#will my guilt and anxiety win out or will my pain

[lowqualitycleric]

I've been debating if I'm going to call out sick to choir because it's an awful pain day and I just want to go to bed. And I was leaning towards 'I can suck it up' - except I've been sitting in my car outside my apartment for 23 minutes because the idea of walking up the stairs sounds nightmarish. Which is probably a sign that today would be an understandable day to skip.....

[sweets3rial]

Blinded !

Kinktober Oct 9 !

re4!leon x mercenary!reader

summary: he can't see. all he can do is feel; feel her curves, the warmth of her skin, and her shuddering breaths against the shell of his ear

tags: TW!!: dubcon and mild non-con themes, enemies/lovers trope, bondage, blindfold, sub to dom leon, mentions of past relationship/memories, slight knifeplay, mentions of cuts and blood, re4 setting, yearning, doomed love, teasing, smut, the tiniest bit of fluff, rough sex, oral (f! receiving), vaginal fingering, p in v, pussy slapping, cowgirl, creampie, etc.

word count: 5.2k

be sure to check out my kinktober masterlist to see what's coming up in the future ;D!

the reverberating sound of heels clacking surrounded him. slowly and slowly getting closer. his jaw clenched, and his nails were digging into his palm. he was denying his anxiety, his fear, there was no doubt that a woman was walking towards him but he was in a vulnerable state.

he couldn’t see her. a black cloth was placed around his eyes, and he could only see a faint image of her silhouette, but she was just a blur due to the room’s low light.

he struggled against his restraints with a low grunt. handcuffs, no doubt, ones way too tight for his wrists. the metal dug into his skin, making him feel even more restrained. the footsteps stopped before him, and the sudden realization felt like a heavy weight on his shoulders…he recognized that perfume.

you must’ve noticed his realization, and a small scoff left your lips.

“never thought I’d catch the Leon Kennedy like this,” you mocked, placing a hand on your hip as you stared down at him. a sense of pride swelled in your chest. finally, you are the one looking down on him and not the other way around.

“and i never thought we’d meet again, at least not like this,” a small grin appeared at the corner of his lips. he was trying to cover up the millions of thoughts running through his head. why now? why do you appear now of all times? where have you been? why hasn’t he heard from you in months?

a small, bemused scoff left your lips. you stepped forward, dragging your heel behind her. you leaned forward, placing your hands on his shoulders, which caused him to jump. you’re in control; he no longer has this hold over you like he has all these years. you’re triumphant. you win.

years of playing cat and mouse have always ended up one way or another: in bed or with painful scars — both physically and emotionally.

“did you miss me?” you whispered, loud enough so he could hear you but low enough to where no one else could. shivers ran down his spine, and he adjusted his posture, leaning forward so he was beside the shell of your ear. you were warm, and the smell radiating from the sweet spot on your neck was dragging him in, pulling him closer and closer to you without any restraint.

he was helpless, tied up, and blindfolded, but also because you were his weakness. he hated to admit it, but it was true. days and nights he’s spent contemplating leaving his job and giving up on his job to pursue a life with her.

but he knew it could never happen, and it probably won’t ever happen. at the end of the day, passionate nights mean nothing. when the morning comes around, you both have to face the daunting reality. you have duties. duties that drive them against each other more often than you are brought together.

“quit the act and tell me what you want,” he bellowed.

to her, this was no act. did you miss me, Leon? do you feel the same way i do? do you feel the anger? the guilt for being angry and the confusion?

you pursed your lips together, peeling away from him slowly and letting your fingertips drag down his shoulders. you stepped back.

“you know what i want, Leon,” your steps began to circle him. “give me the amber, and both of us can walk away peacefully,”

the sound of a knife being slid from its sheath slowly made its way to his ears. he turned his head, following you as you stepped behind him.

“you know i can’t do that,”

you stopped. directly behind him. then, the feeling of a cold blade was pressed to his neck. his body tensed up as he tried to lean away from the edge of the blade.

that’s when he felt your lips brush up against the shell of his ear, “i don’t want to hurt you,”

further, the knife dug into his skin. he clenched his teeth, keeping a small wince hidden. it stung, but it stung even more because it was her.

“too late for that, isn’t it?” he snapped, and he could feel your tense up as a response.

and it was just the response he wanted. he wanted you to feel that guilt, he wanted you to know how you make him feel.

the nights you’ve left him in a cold bed, alone and vulnerable. the promises you’ve broken. the meaningless words and the endless lies.

you stood up straight, and the knife left his neck, slicing his skin even deeper. a small, surprised wince left his lips as you stepped back.

your fingers found the back of his neck, your nails slowly creeping up into his hair. he fell weak. the feeling was so familiar to him, your fingers tugging at his blonde strands and your nails scratching at his scalp.

he was pathetic. his eyes fluttering shut and chills running through him. a low hum escaped his lips, his head tilting to the side as he both tried to shake you off and lean into you more.

that was the problem. you knew everything. not only his job, where he lived, his name, and life but also just what could make him fold. small and gentle kisses, soft scratches at his scalp, whispers in his ears, and your smile. your damn smile.

if he wasn’t blindfolded, he would probably be in a much worse state than he is now.

“Leon, Leon, Leon,” you sighed, almost disappointed. your fingers traveled back down his neck, hooking the collar of his navy blue t-shirt.

“what do you want me to say?” you waltzed back around him, now standing in front of him. with a heavy sigh, you dropped into a squat, crossing your arms over his lap and leaning your cheek against his thigh.

he was growing hot. god, he could only imagine the look on your face. those fake pouty lips and those sly eyes looking up at him with a pleading and pawing at him like a cat. more like a fox.

“i’m sorry, baby,” you scooted forward a bit more, your hands practically splayed over his crotch. “i’m sorry that i’ve hurt you, but i’ve changed, i promise,”

Leon’s teeth began to nip at his bottom lip, you know what you do to him, and continue to use that to his advantage. his breath hitched as your fingers came up to toy with the belt buckle of his pants.

“i’m a good girl now, i’ve always been your good girl,” you were messing with him; tugging at the strings of his heart and also at the hardening cock in his pants.

you could feel it, pulsing on the purchase of his thigh, filling up with blood with every small touch and sly word.

“that’s the problem with you, Leon,” your tone was quick to change. “you allow it. you allow me to hurt you, you allow me back into your life, you don’t even fight it,”

how can i? he thought. how can i when it’s you? you’re all i’ve wanted. you’re all i need. even if i wanted to turn you away, my heart won’t allow me.

you let your head fall into his lap. it’s so odd. even in a situation like this, you find yourself feeling comforted in Leon’s lap. even though he’s tied up and bleeding from a cut on his neck.

if it was just them in the comfort of his apartment, his hands would card through the locks of your hair and massage your scalp. you would nuzzle into his abdomen and he would chuckle as he buried his nose further into the daily newspaper.

why did things have to end up this way? why couldn’t you walk a different path? maybe in another universe, you and Leon weren’t rivals but rather friends or even lovers. touch

but this isn’t another universe. you were doomed from the moment you met.

“you’re right,” he admitted, “i can’t fight against you because even if i do,” he looked down at her. he could see you faintly through the black fabric of his blindfold, laying helplessly in his lap.

only if this was another one of those passionate nights.

“you’ll come crawling back into my lap anyways,”

an unamused scoff left your lips. he was right. even if he pushed you away, fought against you, and kicked you to the curb. you’d come crawling back, scratching at his door like a stray cat.

and he’d open the door and let you back in again.

and you could be gone for months maybe even years without any contact and he’d still sit on his porch, waiting for your return.

with a sigh, you took the tip of your knife and began to drag it in circles around the imprint of his cock. his femur muscles tensed up and his toes curled inside of his boots.

“you say you hate me and how revolted you feel when you think of me,” taking your thumb, you pressed down onto the tip of his cock, emitting a low groan from his parted lips.

“but i think you’re lying,” you began to draw circles with your finger at the tip of his dick. the friction from his jeans was only adding pleasure along with the pressure of your thumb.

you looked up at him from his lap, eyes wide at the way he was struggling to keep a straight face. his eyebrows were twitching, beads of sweat formed at his hairline and his chest was heaving up and down.

he was keeping his mouth shut, preventing any unwanted moans from slipping out; knowing that it would only feed your drive.

“when i cross your mind, is it really hate that you feel?” your thumb smoothed along his shaft moving closer and closer to the base.

“or does the thought of me make your heart rate peak and your dick swell?” he adjusted his lap, pushing his hips forward into your hand.

“stop,” he grumbled, biting down on his lip even harder. he didn’t want you to stop. he wanted you to take what was hers. he wanted to feel your plump lips wrap around the sticky tip of his cock.

he wanted to feel your warm mouth envelop his dick until tears brimmed in your eyes and you were struggling to breathe.

“tell me, Leon,” your tongue lolled out, kitty licking at his jean-clad cock. he wanted to grab you so bad; pin you down and rip off whatever garments you had on. but he was locked in place.

your saliva was slowly starting to seep through his jeans and his boxers. he could practically feel your tongue slowly licking up at the pre cum dripping from his swollen tip.

“what do you think of when i cross your mind?”

god. when he thinks of you he can’t help but feel the ache in his heart.

images of your prancing around his house in his clothes. your fit so much bigger, falling mid-thigh and draping off your shoulders. every time you reach up he catches a glimpse of your plump ass and the little panties you wear underneath.

he thinks of waking up next to you; you’re propped up on your elbow toying with strands of his blonde hair with your fingers. you’re still naked and you’re smiling down at him, welcoming him with a morning kiss.

he thinks of you spread out beneath him; your skin is wet and sticky with sweat. your fingers are curled in his sheets and you’re burying your head into his pillows — muffling the sweet moans of his name.

he thinks of holding you against him, rocking his hips into yours, and drawing out quiet and sleepy mewls from your plump lips.

then the image of you walking away crosses his mind. you look back at him once and then he doesn’t see you again.

but you’ll never know that. because he’ll never tell you.

and you know that. your question will always remain unanswered but that’s okay.

standing up from your position, you leaned forward until you were face to face. he was still breathing heavily, you could see his eyes moving about curiously from underneath his blindfold.

you reached up, swiping your thumb over his bottom lip. there was a small cut, now scabbed over but still very swollen and new. it was probably from when he fell after you hit him in the back of the head.

“i guess you’ll never answer me, huh?” you whispered, mostly to yourself but you knew that he heard. you grabbed his chin, tilting his head up slightly and he willingly followed your guide.

he was leaning towards you, blindly trying to find your lips. you couldn’t say no, leaning in closer you let your lips connect with his. a soft and slow kiss, one that is rarely shared between you two.

he needed you against him. you were too far. he needed to see you. he needed to touch you. he was deliberately twisting the chains of the handcuffs, hoping that the pressure would cause them to snap.

he was also tugging at the rope that kept his ankles tied to the legs of the chair. he needed to be set free.

not because he wanted to escape, but solely because he wanted to touch you. he could care less about whether you wanted the amber or not.

he knew what you wanted more. and that was him.

he leaned further up into your lips, swiping his tongue along your bottom lip swaying you to lean your head to the side and allow his tongue to push up against yours.

the iron taste on his lips was invading yours, his blood was warm and fresh, staining your lips like the sweet juice of a strawberry.

you moaned into his mouth, crawling into his lap with your knees on the lateral side of his thighs. he groaned at the sudden pressure of your hips on his. he ground his hips up into yours, desperate to feel any kind of friction.

your mouth dropped open into a shaky moan, and you began to grind your hips down to match his pace.

“fuck, you’re wearing that skirt aren’t you?” he groaned into your lips.

“your favorite,” you smirked. only if he could see you in it, just so he could tear it off of you anyway. that tight black skirt that hugged your curves so perfectly and the way your belt would hang loosely on your hips.

fuck, he could see it now. you bit down on his bottom lip, drawing out more blood from his cut. he winced, but it turned him on more than it hurt him. you were consuming him slowly, part of him will always be inside of you, whether it was the small drops of blood coming from his lips or the weight of him in your heart.

“are you wearing my favorite pair?” he asked breathlessly. he was trying to distract you, distract you from the fact his left foot was now free, and the chains of the handcuffs were slowly starting to lock. he just needs one more foot and for this damn chain to break, then he’ll finally be able to touch you.

it’s the one thing he wants the most.

you let out a small chuckle, “what do you think i’m using to blindfold you?”

fuck. so your bare pussy is rubbing up against the bulge in his pants, god. your lips moved from his, across his jaw, down his neck, and stopped at the cut you gave him earlier. you flattened your tongue over the dry blood dripping from his cut.

you nipped at the reopened cut with your teeth, causing him to falter. like a vampire, you sucked greedily at his neck, your hands running up and down his abdomen. he was helpless beneath you, and god, it was bad. he was praying for strength, praying you wouldn’t leave him like this, praying he’d get a taste of the sweetness dripping from your cunt.

finally, his right foot was free, and you were still unaware. he couldn’t help but smile a bit. you were so oblivious, driven by the lust running through your veins, but he would be lying if he said he wasn’t as well.

then, snap!

he’s got you.

the sound of the chains breaking sounded through the room, and your breath hitched. at first, you thought it was something from behind the door, but you were mistaken. a strong arm wrapped around your waist and a hand gripped the back of your head.

one minute, you were seated in his lap, and the next, you were being slammed to the ground beneath you.

the air was knocked out of you, and your vision was a blur. it didn’t take you long to realize that Leon had escaped from his restraints. he was hovering above you, one hand keeping your wrists locked together above your head and the other holding your thighs apart.

you whined as your bare wet clit was exposed to the crisp, cold air. you arched up into him with great anticipation. he didn’t need to see to know the ways of your body. he didn’t need to see to know how to devour your sweet pussy or to suck at your pretty clit. he didn’t need to see to know how to fuck you dumb. all he needed was his hands and the cock pulsing in his pants.

“got you,” he heaved, hovering directly above your face.

you watched as the tip of his nose traveled from your chin down your neck, your sternum, your abdomen, all the way until he was in between your thighs. he kept a hold of your wrists, bringing them down from above your head so that they’re rested on your stomach. he was using muscle memory alone to map out where to be and what to do.

oh, how the tables have turned. now he’s in control.

he parted your quivering lips with his two fingers, using his thumb to lift the hood of your clit before his nose came to nudge at it gently. a small whine left your mouth, and your hips bucked up into his mouth.

“Leon,” your tone was both stern and pathetic at the same time. you didn’t know whether you wanted to order him around or beg him. he could feel how needy you were, dripping all over his fingers and legs quivering.

“you want to know what I think about, huh?” he asked, flattening his tongue over your slit and licking up to your clit. a deep moan left your mouth, and your back left the ground, arching into the air. “i think about you like this,”

his lips wrapped around your clit, sucking hard. you choked on your breath, your nails digging into your palms and the heel of your shoe digging into his back. his lips left your clit with a pop, “all spread out for me, quivering and struggling against my grip,” he continued.

his fingers teased the ring of muscle around your hole, and he could feel the way you were clenching around absolutely nothing. he spat onto your cunt, causing you to jump, that’s when he let his middle finger sink into your aching cunt.

a shiver ran through you, and your mouth dropped open into a gasp. your gummy walls clenched around him, sucking him in and begging for more. “i think about this pretty pussy,” he curled his finger upwards into that spongy spot that had you trembling.

“how tight it is, how wet it gets for me, how it tastes, and how it reacts to my touch,” his tongue flicked over your clit repeatedly as he sunk another finger into you.

“Leon!” you whined, digging your heel further into his back, and it hurt like hell.

“I think of your voice and how beautiful it is and how i yearn for you to say my name,” he was breathless now, focused completely on your pleasure and his. endless moans slipped past your lips; now you were completely enveloped by the pleasure and the passion, the lust and the heat.

wet squelches of your cunt sounded throughout the room, along with his heavy breaths and your moans. you were dripping on the floor beneath you, dripping all over his fingers and palms. it’s been so long since you were underneath him like this, and he was between your thighs.

it was your favorite sight. his hair was all messy, sticking to your inner thighs. even with your black panties tied around his blue eyes, but you knew you were staring at you. his cheeks were flushed red, and his eyebrows were turned upwards. this was pleasurable for him, too.

he loved nothing more than being suffocated by your plump thighs and sucking the sweet essence that dripped from your cunt.

“fuck, you’re so wet,” he breathed out. his fingers kept up at the same pace, curling up against your sweet spot repeatedly. it was driving you mad, every moan you let out and every breath you took in only made you dizzier and dizzier. every curl of his fingers and every flick of his tongue was driving you closer to the edge.

“i’m close,” you whined, writhing underneath him and clamping your legs around his head. he groaned into your clit, the vibration sending you off the edge. you clamped around his fingers, the muscles of your thighs spasming as you inhaled a sharp breath.

you came, and you came hard. stars danced behind your eyes, and your mind went blank. it was like a shock ran through you, all your muscles tensed and then relaxed. he gave your clit one last kiss, then another to your abdomen, then up, up, up until he reached your chin.

you could smell your cunt on his lips, and he gave you a taste by placing a wet kiss on your lips. a wet kiss that turned into a passionate and deep makeout, with tongue and clacking teeth. one hand was running up and down your side; he was making a mental image of your figure. that way, it’s forever permeated into his mind.

he was making a picture of you in his head: the curve of your hip, the dip of your waist, the dips of your ribs, your plump breasts, and your stomach. your hands were tugging at the buckle of his belt; you were hungry and desperate.

you needed to feel him inside of you and the drag of his tip as he pounded in and out of you. his hand left your hip, and he reached to help you take his belt off. you let him do the work, focusing on exploring his body with your hands.

the rippling muscles of his back and shoulders, the warmth that radiated off his skin, the smell of his fading cologne, and the gunpowder on his clothes. his lips were so warm, tainted with the taste of your cunt.

it was so sloppy, so rushed. no words were needed to express the passion and the deep need for each other.

you helped him, taking your feet to push his pants down his hips. he groaned as he was finally able to free his cock, his tip was a deep red-purple, almost like a bruise. thick veins ran up the side, filled with warm blood. his balls, heavy and taut.

“Leon, hurry,” you were caught off guard when his hand suddenly came down and slapped at your clit, hard. you jumped, an unsolicited moan slipping past your swollen pink lips. he did it again and again, getting rougher each time.

“don’t,” slap! “fucking,” slap! “rush me!” SLAP!

“Leon!” you exclaimed.

you arched your back, feeling another orgasm inching closer. he grabbed the base of his cock again, bringing his tip down towards your clit. he slapped his heavy cock against your clit; it was so different this time because now you could feel the warmth of his pre-dripping onto you.

“fuck,” he cursed, pressing his tip into you, and as his tip stretched past that ring of muscle, you found yourself scratching down his arms and struggling to breathe. he was only feeding you his tip, thrusting it in, then out and in again. each time, it left you with a wet pop!

“look how patient you’re being,” he thrust in only a few more inches, teasing you but also himself. “see what you get when you’re patient,”

“fuck you,” you seethed, wrapping your legs around his waist and gripping the collar of his shirt, you flipped the two of you over; now he was on his back, and you were on top. you sunk onto the rest of his length, the sudden intrusion caused both of you to gasp.

your hips stilled, taking time to adjust, and his hands came to grip your thighs with a vice grip. your toes curled inside your heels, your skirt now resting around your hips, and your shirt under your bust. one of your hands rested on his chest while the other gripped at his jaw.

“you just don’t ever shut up, do you?” you spat, slowly beginning to rock your hips. you would laugh if you could see the way his eyes rolled into the back of his head. you were so fucking tight, so warm and wet, but made perfectly for him.

one of his hands reached for your hip, guiding you up and down the length of his cock.

“you piss me off,” your voice grew weak towards the end as his tip brushed up against your cervix.

“says the one who’s taking my dick so greedily,” his hips snapped up into yours, giving you a taste of what he could give you, and it was good. a loud moan lolled off your tongue. your hips are faltering, and your hips are bucking. he let out a breathless chuckle, “can’t even ride me anymore, you that eager, baby?”

he planted his feet onto the ground, gripping your hips, and thrust up into you hard. you slapped your hand over your mouth, preventing any other moans from slipping out, but even that failed. every thrust was like a ball of fire erupting inside of you; heat surged through every vein of your body, and you could feel it simmering down in your core.

“fuck, Leon,” you cried out.

you were a complete mess, digging your nails into his chest and crying like a pathetic bitch. it was so good, the pulsing of his cock, the drags of his swollen tip, and the way he hit your g-spot repeatedly with no fail. he was making a complete mess out of you, and you were letting him.

his balls slapped up against your ass, wet and heavy, eliciting the most lewd sounds.

“take it, baby, take it,”

you collapsed on top of him, letting him cage you against him as he continued to thrust into you. you sobbed into the crook of his neck, your knees and legs completely sore. his eyebrows knitted together as he struggled to keep his composure.

a ring of your juices mixed formed around the base of his cock and stuck to the tuft of dark brown hair at his abdomen. wet plats! and squelches were heard all around you, and you were completely blind to the fact that anyone could hear you.

“oh my god, take it,” he breathed out. you were reaching your second orgasm quickly, soaking his shirt with tears of bliss and drool, and he could tell from the way your walls were clamping down on the girth of his cock that you were close.

“want it inside, please! cum inside me, please,” you begged. he shut you up by grabbing a chunk of your hair and slamming his lips onto yours. you continued to moan and cry on his lips, struggling to kiss him back.

your mouth dropped open into a gasp as the tightness in your abdomen snapped like a rubber band. your thighs clamped on either side of his hips, and your walls clenched. you cried out his name as you came all over his cock, and he let out a deep grunt as he buried himself deep inside of you.

his fingertips dug into your back as he emptied his load inside of you, hot seed flooding your canal. you shivered at the feeling, wanting to crawl away from the overstimulation, but you kept yourself held down. he rolled his hips up, fucking his thick load into you deeper and deeper.

you both let out a deep breath, relaxing into each other and soaking in the bliss. he ran his hand up and down your back soothingly. his other was massaging at your scalp, a silent apology for pulling your hair earlier.

you sat up on his lap, his half-hard cock still sheathed deep inside of you. taking your thumb, you slipped it under his blindfold to slowly reveal him to the light. he squinted against the bright light, blinking rapidly to adjust to his surroundings.

he looked up at you. your hair a mess, your clothes wrinkled and dirty. your lips were swollen, and you were out of breath. you swiped your thumb over his bottom lip again, ogling the deep cut you gave him, both on his lip and his neck.

“did it hurt?” you asked quietly, leaning down and placing a soft kiss on his lips.

he hummed into your lips and shook his head, “it’s fine,”

you pulled away, swiping away the dust beneath his eye and on his cheekbone. there you were, his sweet girl. so caring, so gentle. he knows deep down inside you don’t want to hurt him. you could’ve easily tortured him to answer, stabbed him in his thigh, and pulled out his teeth until he was rendered helpless.

but instead, you use your libido and sex appeal, you kiss him gently and clean his dirty face. this was the true torture, knowing that moments like these only last for a short while before you have to go back to hating each other again.

you stood up from his lap, his cock leaving you with a pop. as you stood up, you continued to leer down at him.

he rested his head back against the concrete before resolving to stand up as well.

“you knew i didn’t have it, didn’t you?” he groaned, tucking his dick back into his pants. you smiled to yourself, tugging your skirt back down your hips and dusting off the dust on your clothes.

it was obvious he didn’t have the amber, it wasn’t in his gear or any of his pockets when you searched him. you knew he didn’t have it from the start. you just needed an excuse to get him underneath you or on top of you.

before he could zip up his pants, you threw something at him. his quick reflexes allowed him to catch it before it dropped. when he opened his fist, he couldn’t help but smile a bit. your crinkled panties.

“expect me when you get home, Kennedy,” you smirked back at him, “i’m coming to take back what’s mine,”

he’ll never know if you meant your panties … or him.

divider creds to @saradika ,, photos off of pinterest)

a/n: i apologize, i scheduled for this to post at 10:59 PM and i was wondering like ummm why am i not getting any notifs...turns out i scheduled it to post at 01:59AM .... so sorry guy :3! but i hope you enjoy this one :D!

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[a-b-riddle]

Know Your Place (2)

The knot of guilt had twisted into straight up anxiety. You didn't do repeats, but fuck if you didn't want to feel Johnny's mouth against you again. He treated you like you wanted to be treated: cared for and absolutely defiled.

It was electrifying.

And it terrified you.

You rarely canceled hookups when they had gotten to the point where the one night delight had sent you confirmation of their STD panel. Yet here you were sprinting to the hotel where you had met Johnny a month ago.

And when you walked back into that lobby, it was dejavú.

He was sitting at the bar; eyes glued to the door. He’d been waiting. Just like last time. Maybe that's what had set the night off to such a different start. He wasn't scrolling on his phone or making idle chit chat with the bartender to pass the time. He had made it known in subtle ways that as much as this may have been a means to blow off steam, it was about being with you.

With as much confidence as you could muster, you sauntered over to him, heart fluttering wildly in your chest. His tight navy blue Henley was doing him and you a favor. His denim jeans would undoubtedly hug his ass in such a way it was make you and sculptors envious.

The bastard was handsome and he damn well knew it.

"What changed yer mind?"

Fuckkkkkkkk

Fuck. You remembered he had an accent, but fuck you forgot how it practically made you pray that he was the type of man who liked to dirty talk, give directions.

Prayers: answered.

You shrugged. Trying to come off as nonchalant when in reality you couldn't get out of that lounge soon enough. "I wanted to do it again." Jesus. Be a little less brash. "With you." You quickly add. Fuck, why was this so awkward. "I wanted to do this again with you."

Those blue eyes scaled up and down your body, taking you in. It didn't matter that you knew he wanted you. It didn't matter that he had seen you naked. It didn't matter that he had told you multiple times how fucking stunning he found you. There was always that nagging feeling in the back of your head going

Is he looking at my stomach? God, I shouldn't have worn this. i should have worn spanx. I look like a busted can of biscuits.

The ugly thoughts almost made you shift in discomfort under his gaze, but you held firm, reciting your mantra in your head.

You are desirable. You are worth pleasure. You are in control.

“Ye want it like last time or are ye goin’ to let me fuck you properly?” And just like that, your confidence was taken down a peg. You had took penetrative sex off the table for about two years. It wasn't anything traumatizing, it wasn't painful. It just wasn't as good.

You've found that there was an assumption that bigger girls were able to take it more roughly. And after a few times of men treating their dicks like battering rams, intercourse was a course that was no longer on the menu. Plus with the only option being oral, you mostly always came and your partners were far more enthusiastic. Win-win.

“I can’t cum that way.” You crossed your arms, your tits perking up in hopes of making him remember how good it felt to titty fuck you. How hot you looked with his cum all over your face and chest. When his eyes didn't leave yours, you decided to relent. He gave you the best not one, not two, but three orgasms of your life and if you had stayed like he had asked, he probably would have given you several more. At this point you were curious. If his mouth can do all those deliciously despicable things, you wanted to know what his cock could do.

“Don’t get upset if I don’t.” You ordered, not caring if the bartender heard you. “I haven’t faked it since college and so my pornstar moaning may not be up to par." Johnny smirked before shooting the rest of the amber colored liquor in front of him.

He stood up, practically towering over you before leaning in and whispering, “Oh, I’ll have ye moanin’ just fine, Bonnie.”

Yep.

Definitely curious.

There was no foreplay this. No slow undressing. Not delicately exploring each other's bodies. It was feral and carnal and something neither of you had anticipated. Not even desire, but pure need to be touching each other again.

Johnny's shirt was the first thing that was taken off, and before the door had even fully closed. His mouth was on yours instantly. Tasting you as if it let him breathe easier. His hands worked at the zipper of your dress with expertise. Not allowing it to fall from the floor before he started working on your bra. His mouth never leaving yours.

You normally would reprimand a date for their eagerness, but you needed this just as much as he did. Needed his hands on you, in you. And more importantly you knew that Johnny can deliver you to paradise on a silver fucking platter.

By the time both of you were fully undressed, the sound of soft pants filled the room as if both of you had forgotten to pull away from the other's lips and come up for air. When you did, your brain went on autopilot.

You sank down to you knees in front of him. One hand resting on your thigh while the other took hold of him. He sucked in air through his clenched teeth as one of his hands made its way home into the crown of your hair.

Seeing him stare down at you with glossy eyes and an open mouth made you promptly spit on the head of his cock. Stroking your hand up and down to coat his entire shaft.

"Fuckin' Christ," he groaned. "I dinnae stand a chance with you, did I?" You weren't what he meant. Did he think he was the reason you initially didn't want to meet up again? Or was it something else? No. It couldn't be.

In response you gave his shaft a tight pump. And another. And another. Rolling your wrist against his already leaking head. Not breaking eye contact you dragged your tongue up the underside of his cock before taking the tip in your mouth. Flattening your tongue and teasing the slit, feeling the ridges underneath before taking him deep into your throat.

Tears prickled your eyelids as you felt him pulsing in your mouth. "That goddamn mouth." His eyes shut in concentration. "Need ye to stop before I fuckin' cum, Bonnie." It was a warning that you didn't plan on listening to. At least not until his grip in your hair tightened, still soft enough not to be painful, but firm enough to make your soaked cunt clench.

"Naughty fuckin' minx." he growled hoarsely. "Think I'd just come down your throat and we'd be done?" You nod, his hand loosening with your movement. "You'll have to be punished for that. Trying to make me cum two minutes in like a goddamn school boy." His blue eyes burned into you. You had almost wished he came if not to give him the same euphoric feeling he was giving you, right now and without even touching where you ached the most.

"Open your thighs and let me look at that pretty pussy. " His voice was gravely and stern. You leaned back, pressing your palms against the cool hardwood floor as you parted your thighs. He wasted no time in crouching down and sliding his fingers through your slick folds.

"Fuck." You whimpered as he softly grazed your clit with each stroke. Never missing.

"This all mine?" He asked. You let out a weakened yeah before your body bucked. "So sensitive." His mocking tone pulled out that masochistic part of you that loved to be degraded. "On the bed, on your knees."

You got off your knees, feeling the blood return to your feet from being in such an awkward position on the floor. You obeyed his orders, letting him take control even though that was not what either of you had in mind.

"So what are you gonna do?" You attempt to add a sense of mocking to your tone, but you're breathless. Definitely getting in some cardio tonight. "I'm not much into corporal beatings. I'm a fan of the occasional swat, but not really a get over my knee and count type of girl."

"No, but I plan to make you beg to cum," he said, the hair on his hair tickling your back. "And make you see how good you can take my cock."

He gripped your cheeks, kneading and spreading them before settling his eyes on what he had been after. "So I take it you're an ass man." You say it with such casualty he had no choice but to bark out a laugh.

"No, Bonnie," he answered, giving the flesh a firm squeeze. "I'm a this-ass man." He leaned forward, stroking his tongue over the puckered ring. Having to hold you by the fat of your ass, giving it a squeeze to keep you in place.

"Oh my god." Your hands gripped the bed sheets, mouth hanging open and eyes clinched shut. Fuck. Oral was on the table, but neither of you had talked about rimming. Most guys you knew never mentioned it and honestly with how some men kept up with their personal hygiene, you weren't exactly up for returning the favor. But if Johnny made you feel like this, you would gladly reciprocate.

He brought his hand down, stroking the back of your thigh, his tongue never stopping as he slid two fingers inside you. You instinctively slid your knees further apart, granting him easier access.

Good pet. If Johnny's tongue hadn't been working your asshole he would have delivered the words of praise just to gauge your reaction at the name. Pet.

"I'm so close." You moaned. "Please don't stop." Your pleading was cute, but it wasn't enough.

"No," he said, slowing down his fingers. "I'm not gonna give it to ye' til yer beggin. Ye' wanted to make the rules. No penetration. No repeats. Ye' said ye' don't cum from fucking and I'm about to break that rule too."

You weren't sure if it was agony or the best thing you ever felt, but he resumed his work. Only slowing down when you began to rock against his face and tighten around his fingers before he would slow down or pull away.

After the 8th time your orgasm escaped you, you kicked your feet against the bed in the cutest fucking tantrum the man had ever witnessed. "Johnny, please!" you begged.

"Please, what?" He teased, his breathe now blowing against your weeping, sore cunt. "What do you need, Bonnie?"

"Please make me come. Please fuck me. Pleaaaaassseee. Just let me come." You practically squealed out when his fingers entered you again. Pressing your face into the pillow you able to muffle your pitiful, pathetic cry.

"Fuck ye?" He taunted, curling his fingers as he kneeled behind you. The tip of his cock brushing against the inside of your thigh. Fuck. It was too heavy to even go upright. "Thought that sort of thing didn't work for ye."

"Johnny, please." you said, shaking your ass like a bitch in heat. Looking for more friction. "I can't-- fuck-- you have to--- please." You couldn't think you just needed this knot inside of you to unwind before it ripped you apart.

"Ye beg so pretty for me." He said, stroking his cock as you started to lose your mind. "Makes me almost feel sorry for ye, but you need more control than that." He tsked as he took his hand out and brushed the back of his fingers against your puffy cunt. Stifling a laugh as you jerked away. "Is it too much?" He asked, lining his cock up and stroking your folds.

"Please." You whimpered and that was it. Johnny knew that you weren't leaving him a second time. Not when he looked in the mirror to the right and could see how your mascara began to run down your face. You're the perfect girl for them. The perfect pet.

"Tell me, Bon. Need me to finish ye' off?" He asked pushing the tip in and only pulling away when you attempt to throw your ass against him. Huffing when he did.

"Yes!" You cried. "Please please please."

His hand snaked around your throat, cupping your jaw before he turned your head to look into the mirror. Your bodies glistened with sweat and the sight was something you would keep stored in your memory forever.

"I want ye you to see how fuckin' gorgeous you look while yer takin' my cock." He growled out, his tone darker than you had ever heard him before.

"Yes, sir." You breathed out. Another remind on how you'd adjust easily with them.

He slowly slid into you and for that you were thankful. The burn of the stretch equaled the pleasure that coursed through you as he filled you.

His slow deep thrusts made your head swirl. Over and over, the sounds of your sopping wet cunt and soft moans and groans escaping the two of you. You braced yourself as he started picking up the pace, but it still wasn't enough. You still teetered on that edge, so close to tipping over.

For several minutes he fucked you knowing that you were so close to coming, but being too much of a sick bastard to give in without you showing him how desperate you were for it.

"Rough," you eventually sobbed, your back arching as your head fell against the bed. "Want you- rough, please." You choked back a scream as he drove his hips foward.

"Keep those fucking eyes open and don't you dare cum until I tell ye' to," was his only demand as he held onto your waist and fucked you how he wanted to that first night.

Sounds of slapping flesh and soft whimpers filled the room as Johnny brought you to seeing the face of god.

"Johnny Johnny," you squealed your orgasm gaining on you. It wasn't until you felt his thumb applying just the right amount of pressure on your asshole did you begin to fall apart. "fuck fuck fuck fuck fuck."

Some books say that orgasms are like seeing stars or electricity coursing through your body. In reality it is waves. Waves of euphoria crashing down. It's that high you get from holding your breath too long and taking that much awaited breath.

Johnny's orgasm quickly followed and when you felt his cock pulsing inside you, it brought on another orgasm. Johnny hissed as you tighten against his now sensitive cock, but admiring the sight when he pulled out.

His spend leaked out of you.

"Guess we got kind of caught up. Dinnae even think about getting a rubber." It wasn't an apology, but he at least wanted to seem like he was sorry for coming inside you.

"UDI." You replied, eyes closed and head still reeling from the aftershock of that second orgasm.

"What?" He asked, making you realize you were incoherent and most likely stroking his ego even more.

"IUD, fuck, sorry." You correct. He let out a chuckle before you rolled over, arm covering your eyes as you try to gain some You felt his cum begin to slide down to your thighs. "I'm gonna go clean up." You inform before rolling awkwardly off the bed, if not to save the poor maids from having to see the evidence on the sheets.

When you came back into the room, Johnny was on the bed. Still naked as a jaybird with his softened cock resting against his thigh.

This was always the awkward part. The departure. The gathering of clothes and minimal eye contact.

"Well, I should be-" you started bending over to retrieve your bra before he stopped you.

"If ye fuckin' leave like ye did last time that ass of yours will be meetin' my belt, now lay down."

"Excuse me?" your tone is more confused if anything. He said it without a hint of anger, authority or sterness and yet you had to refrain from scurrying into the bed.

"I get ye' may not be a cuddlin' type of gal, but I am a cuddlin' type a man. Leaving me without the proper aftercare isn't a good look on ye, Bonnie." He threw you a lopsided grin. His hands resting on the back of his hands, making you want to see if riding those biceps of his would get you off as easily as it would riding his face.

"Besides," he shrugged. "Ye' came before I let you."

"I tried to hold it off." You argued before dropping your bra back unto the floor and crawling next to him. "I just never had to."

"That's the whole point." He said, rolling over to face you. "Seeing ye come undone whether ye want to or na." He scooted closer. The front of his body touching yours as his hand came up to cradle your jaw. Lightly brushing his thumb against your bottom lip as he spoke. "And ye'd been so adamant about not being able to cum on my cock. Such a good girl for me."

"So you're not going to punish me?" You tried to mock, but were actually curious about what kind of man Johnny really was in bed. He had no problem taking control, but what other kinks did he have lurking below the surface.

"I can punish ye," he winked. "but I think ye might like it too much." You huffed air out of your nose, wanting to bury your head into his chest, worried that the action may be too intimate for what this was.

What you were.

[miyacults]

begging on my hands and knees for a sequel to the daddy gojo fic but w sugu please please please

a/n: my dear nonnie this is less than u actually deserve but i hope it fuels the stsg daddy agenda im pushing here.

violet, blue, green, red to keep me out… i win.

( ft. suguru geto. )

Suguru’s nowhere near salvation—soul too damned to expect something else—yet his heart aches, breaks, and cries blood at the mere thought of not deserving you. He might have made a path down the cursed side of being a Sorcerer with Satoru next to him, making the best of his efforts on keeping you away from that devilish facade of his you haven’t seen yet, and although he’s the one to blame when you finally do, well—he can’t hide anymore. That’s the price that comes with being one of the Strongests.

< part one.

wc: 3k (proofread? probably not)

cw: [ 18+ explicit content minors dni ] technically this is part two of a gojo fic (linked above) but can be read individually so no biggie. fem reader (female bodied). teacher!suguru meaning he did not deflect here okay, we’re living a happy life away from the pain. first one was gojo action so this is for geto action only but poly satosugu is clearly implied, that’s the whole point of this basically hehe. daddy kink and daddy dynamic so be very careful! minimal to no prep. unprotected sex. p in v sex. mentions of blood. mentions of death. these two pamper reader too much so reader’s a little spoiled but in the good way. geto is a sweet pretty much. if i forgot anything to put here lemme know. enjoy! <3~

From time to time, Suguru wonders about his soul in genuine distress. Perhaps out of guilt and worry and only in moments like these—well past midnight with bloodied nuckles and heavy footsteps echoing through thin walls, dragging himself up the stairs of the palatial home he and Satoru bought together, with nothing but a familiar sense of anxiety building in his chest. But it’s not like his personal cup of remorse is filled with all the haunting thoughts of the bad things he has done and seen in his life thanks to his sinister line of work, or as if such awful thoughts could actually pull some strings within his untainted heart—because that’s far from being the case.

It’s just—it’s just who he is. The blessing and the curse of being a Sorcerer, of swallowing venom as a whole to save the lives of those who live an ignorant bliss.

White marble stains in scarlet as he approaches his bedroom in silence, mind reflecting on the fact that things should be good now, that everything’s fine and danger has been erased. Any man in love would have handled the situation in the exact way he did, wouldn’t they? He wonders about this, too, quite frequently, and he hates to admit that the question lingers on his brain for far too long for his own liking. It makes him dread the fact that he’s not doing a good job in taking care of you.

Yet it doesn’t matter, as Suguru already knows the answer better than anyone—and he doesn’t qualify much for the kind-hearted-person term (or so he’s been thinking since the last blossom of his youth and the tragedies that showered his naive teen years catches him off guard). But he really doesn’t want to either, because then that would mean that he can’t successfully protect the thing he cares about the most in the world. And he can’t let that happen.

But the look Satoru shoots at him as soon as he opens his bedroom door and finds him sitting comfortably in the wide couch—awaiting his return, as usual—has him breathing correctly again, mind turning back from unwanted ideas that bother him to no end.

“You got busy tonight, huh,” Satoru murmurs quietly, head lolling to the side while scanning his best friend’s tired figure.

“I took care of the scum,”

“And didn’t invite?”

Suguru’s lips turn into a devious smirk, heavy body finally falling between the many soft pillows his large bed has.

“Princess was so upset, needed you to stay by her side,” he resolves quite calmly, dried blood forcing a horrid contrast to his charming features. “If I’m not there to hold her, then you must,”

There’s a silent warning to his words, and Satoru doesn’t have to make an effort to catch it immediately. He already knows it by heart, he always has—he always will.

“She couldn’t stop crying for over an hour anyway,” he ends up retorting sharply instead, hoarse voice weighing a tone of suppressed anger. “Hope you gave the bastard a merciless death,”

How couldn’t he after what he did to you?

The day had started quiet, tranquil—the week itself abnormally peaceful for them. Maybe it was the fleeing summer coercing the unpleasant job of Sorcerers into days of calm, long work hours slowing down and making them believe they couldn’t relax a little bit. So they decided that it would be a good idea to take you to that new coffee shop in Shinjuku you were dying to go lately. And it was fine, of course, you were incredible happy to be outside the walls of home as you hold hands with both them in a sea of smiley people.

Until it wasn’t.

That desolated look on your face when you found yourself trapped into the arms of some Curse User seeking vengeance towards them—Suguru memorized it, because it caused him some undescribable pain he couldn’t possibly explain even if he tried to. His heart shattered into a million tiny pieces at the sight of gleaming tears drying in your cheeks and the sound of broken sobs, garbled whimpers of their names coming out of parted lips as you held onto nothing for balance, unable to stop yourself from breaking down at the fear, the horror, the trepidation it forced your body into a shock.

He couldn’t prevent what happened after they took you back and he tried to calm you down by placing you in Satoru’s lap, hurriedly murmuring something about making it right. It’s gonna be okay, princess, you’re gonna be okay. He won’t hurt you ever again. I’m here to protect you.

Maybe—just maybe—you heard the strained tone that bathed his words in that moment. And maybe you didn’t understand it right away, or maybe you didn’t want to.

Because Suguru has always been there to make things right, and nothing else has to matter when he and Satoru are there to protect you from the dangers of the world.

Like they have devoted themselves to do.

Suguru doesn’t remember the exact time you came into his life—he doesn’t really care to, because he knows you’ve pretty much always been there. He has no idea where do his memories begin or end at, but the teary-doe look of your face has been plaguing the tissues of his brain for so long now he can’t find himself to remember a time where it hasn’t been there.

He remembers his first day at Jujutsu High, during the spring of him being fifteen and you a little less than that, when he saw you adverting everyone’s gaze as you walked behind your mother (an assistant director, of all things) towards the offices in silence—floral dress wrinkly as you seated in some chair and patiently waited for your mom to finish off her work. No complaints but with a huge pout, bored to death.

He remembers the first time Satoru made you cry by telling you you were a weak nuisance (and how he shortly laughed at that), and he remembers the sickening feeling of nausea that infected his stomach shortly after—and he remembers how it didn’t disappeared until he handed you a beverage from the machines and you smiled at him like none of them ever harmed you in the first place.

He remembers you admiring your mother’s ivory dress the day she married principal Yaga, and he remembers the way he took your hand into his to give you a little bit of courage as you and Satoru walked down the aisle side by side, carrying the rings of the newlyweds.

He remembers the winter of Satoru’s eighteenth birthday, when the white-haired man accidentally dropped a box full of the school’s Christmas decorations over you, making you trip down the stairs and hurt your ankle. He remembers the tears that stained his posh pajama pants when you shouted at him—immediately, instantly—crying out his name and seeking comfort. He also remembers the way Satoru moved around you like a lighting bolt, reaching and lifting you up in his arms before Suguru could arrive. Soothing sweet words into your ear, kissing your cheek as he darted a glare in his direction.

He remembers that they both shared the same thought at that moment, even though it was never vocalized.

He remembers how you have always made him feel this sick—as if you’re infesting his body and refusing to let him cure himself off you at all. He remembers because the feeling doesn’t really stops, never has, probably never will, and he has now grow a little too familiar with the lingering explosion of things that do make him feel alive bubbling in his chest. He’s now used to you setting his soul on fire and making him sick.

But it’s special, nonetheless. A sugary sweet method of inflicting pain—as Satoru likes to say.

Because Suguru Geto is not exactly a good person by his own perspective—but he likes to believe he’s a good man to both you and Satoru, for selfish that could be. The kind of man that puts your safety and well-being on top of anything else, the one that ensures both of your happiness above his own. He’s the type of man that allows some of his darkest desires to die in a fire, following what he believes is the right thing to do.

Suguru’s nowhere near salvation—soul too damned to expect something else—yet his heart aches, breaks, and cries blood at the mere thought of not deserving you. He might have made a path down the cursed side of being a Sorcerer with Satoru next to him, making the best of his efforts on keeping you away from that devilish facade of his you haven’t seen yet, and although he’s the one to blame when you finally do, well—he can’t hide anymore. That’s the price that comes with being one of the Strongests.

“Sugu?”

He can hear it clearly, so vivid and bright and sweet it makes him terribly sick all of a sudden. Singsong and gently voice, coated in saccharine sugar echoing through his ears as the most enthralling tone wraps around his name like a prayer, the deliberately long uttering of ‘Sugu’ forcing the curves of his lips to fall abruptly, his heart stopping without notice and an invisible punch to the guts knocking all the air out of his lungs.

“‘Toru, Daddy, where are you?”

Suguru waits—pretends he doesn’t really care as your footsteps sound closer, closer, closer, and his posture maintains, seemingly calm, apparently unbothered, somewhat bored. But, oh, Satoru knows.

Satoru knows as he sits by his side on the obsidian sectional sofa, with legs crossed and arms splayed over the border, that his best friend’s mind is going on a haze, a brand new sense of anxiety crawling under his skin like a thousand bugs eating him alive. Satoru’s almost certain, he’s sure that if he gets a little closer, the violent sounds of Suguru’s heart pounding in alarming violence against his ribs would cause him physical pain. It puts him on edge; the mere thought of his best friend’s reaction at what’s about to happen now.

If it were him, he wouldn’t care. He hadn’t care in the past, actually. Satoru has always been more than happy to let you near the side of him that glows closer to hell than heaven itself.

But Suguru is different, he thinks.

“She’s supposed to be sleeping,” Suguru stares at him blankly, a hint of irritation in his voice. “It’s long past midnight, and she gets all cranky in the morning every time she stays up,”

“She was sleeping,” Satoru stands up, a sigh sliding past his lips while moving to the bedroom door. “But you already know how she gets if she wakes up for water and is all alone in bed. She gets all needy,”

Suguru raises an eyebrow.

“And who’s fault is that, huh?”

“It’s not polite to finger-point, Suguru.”

Both of them stay silent for a bit, carefully paying attention to your sounds. Suguru tuts his tongue when he hears you calling his name near the bathroom hall.

“I’m too bloodied for her to see me like this,”

“Clearly. Just stay there, lemme—,” Satoru scoffs, opening the door and then closing it behind him swiftly before you can catch a glimpse of the inside. “Oi, sweets, what do you think you’re doing out of bed?”

“But ‘Toru,” you complain in a hushed whine. “You left me alone, you know I don’t like that. It didn’t felt warm anymore,”

Suguru can’t see you—all he has is a muffled sound of your distorted voice, and he swears he knows exactly the way your lips are pushing the loveliest pout to ever exist, the way you’re looking at Satoru through sleepy eyelashes as you put your little complaint out.

And he also knows Satoru might have rolled his eyes playfully at the sight, pulling you closer to steal a kiss from your frowned lips.

“So needy, my baby is so needy,”

“Is Suguru not home yet?” you ask slowly, perhaps setting your groggy eyes into Satoru, staring at him with that enamored look they both know too well.

“Do you want Daddy?”

“Yeah, I do,” you snort.

“I’m your Daddy and I’m home, so,”

“I want both,” you giggle softly, so sweetly Suguru can feel his insides melt at the sound of your bubbling laugh.

He’s sure Satoru has you entangled in a hug, probably sneaking his hands all over your body and tickling your sides to pull a smile.

“Oh, your dumb Daddy, too. Alright. I dunno where he is, sweets,” Satoru states, as if.

“How mean, ‘Toru.”

“Excuse me? What did you just call me?”

“Mean. You’re lying to me.”

Suguru smirks at that. He stands up from the bed and walks towards the door to open it and find you both in the exact position he predicted.

And the look you shoot his way, the frown that forms in your face and your pretty features contract in sudden worry when his frame appears in front of you—it all has his heart pounding like crazy, he feels so loved, he feels so full of you. He feels insatiable.

“Oh,” you let out a little squeal as you shift from Satoru’s embrace and into his, “Sugu, you—”

“Don’t worry much about this, princess,” he mumbles, catching you inside his arms like the world depends on it. “I’m okay.”

But he’s sure you’re crying anyway.

And you don’t even stop to think about the blood. You don’t even care that he reeks of death and violence and Curses as you hold onto him for dear life, with arms that wrap tightly around him and pull him closer, closer, even closer; as lips caress the skin of his neck and little mewls echoe softly against his throat. Pants of I love you, I don’t want anything bad happening to you, I love you, fueling his mind like a bomb ready to launch.

Satoru laughs it off with a devious smile.

“Poor baby, you have her worried sick, Suguru,” he falsely chides. “Guess you gotta make it up to her.”

“Uh-huh,” Suguru nods. “My poor princess, do you want Daddy to make it alright?”

You nod in between heavy breaths, head still buried in his neck. Satoru gives a soft slap to your ass whimsically.

“So needy,” the Strongest murmurs, but he rapidly turns away and aims for the stairs. “I’m gonna go find a snack though, I’m starving. And then I’m gonna prepare a bath so you both can meet me there in a bit,”

Suguru nods.

“Go on. Let me take this princess to bed in the mean time, then we meet you in the bathtub,”

Suguru takes you to his large bed and places you in the middle of many soft pillows cooing in your ear to wash the concern out of you, but you’re reluctant. You cup his face and scan him looking for wounds, soon realizing the ugly streaks of scarlet that stain his face are, in fact, not his. But even then you don’t flinch. Instead, you let your hands wander all over his chest—desperate to pull him into you, to merge your bodies and never letting him go, never separated.

“Oh?” Suguru smiles at your scattered words. There’s still blinks of sleep tugging at your tired eyes, and he can’t help but fondle your face cautiously. “Are we merging with Satoru too, hm?”

You nod, sulky little look fighting sleepiness with all you got.

“Of course, Daddy, always with ‘Toru,”

“That’s right, princess. Always with Satoru,”

You inhale a deep breath. It’s easy for Suguru to notice every little thing about you, so he caught up on your train of thoughts before yourself. You were struggling with some words, biting your lip, eyelashes fluttering, thinking hard about something.

“What is it, baby?” He wonders carefully, hot breath colliding with your face, nose caressing the soft skin of your cheeks as he inhales your scent.

“Did you do a bad thing, Sugu?”

The question lingers on his brain for a few seconds, mind resisting on reflecting such thoughts. Yet his expression doesn’t change, he maintains serenity as the brush of skin above yours doesn’t stop. He holds you like a priced possession, like your mere existence could ever absolve the decaying all Sorcerers are damned to. Like you could kiss him and save him, like you could hug him and guard him—as if you could turn blood into holy water or death into salvation.

Maybe you can.

“Will you still love me if I did?” He asks, not dreading the answer.

“I will never stop loving you, Daddy,”

It ignites his body. Fire burns at his fists and he kisses you deeply, mouths meeting around a new heat, with tongues slipping and teeth clashing desperately. He has no intention of letting you catch a break, mouth falling to your neck where he bites at the sensitive skin and causes you to mewl.

“Ow, Suguru, that’s mean,” you grumble, but you part your bare legs anyway when his hands drop and brush at your thighs.

“Can’t help it, princess,” he press a chaste kiss to your lips once more. “You gonna let me play a little with this pretty pussy, yeah?” The words flee his throat in a raspy tone, and his hands don’t stop. He hikes up that oversized cashmere sweater, that can only belong to Satoru, barely above the line of your lacey black panties, enough for him graze it and get a glimpse of your puffy lips against the fabric, awaiting for him. Suguru traces a finger along your cunt, causing you to shiver at the cold digits. “How gorgeous,”

You pant. “But—The bath, Sugu,”

“He can wait a little,” he says into your mouth “Gonna make you feel really good, princess,” he breathes heavily, rocking his hip a little as a thumb strikes tenderly your cunt through your panties.

And he notices right away—in the way you shiver under his touch when he hovers completely above you, how a breathless sigh escapes past your parted lips and your fists grab a handful of his shoulders to attach yourself onto him and make his bulge nudge your cunt. He repeats the motion a few times, mouth leaving stray kisses in your neck and already throbbing cock humping your covered pussy through his pants.

“Sugu,” you whine at one particularly hard thrust of his hips, involuntary loud moan reverberating from the back of your throat. “‘Toru,”

“Shh, princess,”

Suguru is fast at parting your panties to the side, and he says there’s no need for prepping you tonight, says it’s gonna be real quick so you can both go back to Satoru—with his cock an angry shade of red as its released free from his trousers and it aims for your tiny hole fast, thrusting in one go. You’re whimpering at how fast it happens, cunt burning at the sudden intrusion since he is usually the one that takes his time to properly prep you to take his cock.

You guess he’s feeling off, so you happily comply if that’ll help him.

“Want you, Sugu, I need you,”

“Ah-ah, my good girl,” he grunts lightly, hands steadying you by the ass as he finally bottoms out. “Can you keep doing that for me? Can you be a good girl?”

A loud hiss vibrates through clenched teeth as you wrap your legs around his hips, head nodding many forms of yes as you inch closer to him in distress.

“That’s it baby, take it pretty,”

“H-Hurts a little, Sugu,” you murmur softly, eyes glued to where he’s slowly sliding in and out.

“I know princess,” he pants. “Give it a minute,” He’s practically caging you shortly after, thrusting up roughly as stretched out walls wrap him and suck him deeply. You’re not given a chance to recover or adjust properly, but the burning does start to fade away. Discomfort grows into pleasure and whimpers turn into soft moans as you bury your face on his neck and his hot breath collides sharply against the shell of your ear. “You’re so brave, my good girl. So pretty, my princess,”

You lift your hips to meet his thrusts, dainty fingers digging the flesh of his shoulders when he grunts. And it doesn’t take long for tears to collect in your eyes as heat floods your body once again, the familiar throb of your clit making you aggravate the hump of your hips so your swollen bud finds a little bit of friction. Suguru doesn’t fail to turn you into a needy mess, strong hand coming to cover the cries emitting from your mouth.

Muffled chants of Daddy, Daddy, Daddy, alongside his hoarse grunts and the lewd slap of skin against skin are the only sounds that fly the room when he cums—bruising fingers grasping your flesh harshly as he paints your walls white, and nearly immediately you’re creaming all over the tip of his sensitive cock firmly pressed against your cervix.

“Not leaving you baby,” he pants out. “Not leaving you at all.”

[gingergofastboatsmojito]

Carmy had an anxiety attack and Sydney stopped it

The Bear | 3x3 | Hands

Let us not overlook the fact that this season Miss Adamu ALSO reverted another one of his attacks, just because we focus on her girlboss speech. OK? The girl bossing is great, sure, but that's not the point.

The point is that Carmy was having a stress-induced anxiety attack in the middle of service, which given S2 eps 9 and 10, was bound to happen this season, of course. And Syd stopped it. Very Sydcarmy material, IK. THAT IS THE POINT. But the B side of that point is that so far I saw NO ONE on Tumblr focusing on that part of this scene, unfortunately. Please make my day and correct me if I'm wrong. Show me a post where this guy is showed some compassion when analyzing this scene, and not a post just cheering up on her girlboss one-liner and butch-femme energy. It's like no one cares. Don't get me wrong, I'm ALL ABOUT that girlboss vibe too, one thing doesn't cancel the other one out in my book. But go ahead, show me that post that highlights his anxiety attack too when meta-analyzing that scene, I haven't found it yet. I'm not gonna lie, because of course I prefer to be right than popular: It pains me and infuriates me in equal measure that just because we all love Syd, some people seem to think that's some sort of license to completely disregard Carmy's mental health deprecating by the minute throughout the entire season, in a rather painfully obvious way, since he got out of that walk-in.

Anyway... Moving on. There's more.

Her words or even energy were not what calmed him down and prompted him to get out of the anxiety attack zone and collect himself, it was looking at her eyes. They locked eyes, held their gazes, and only then he was finally able to get it together. In that order, as can be clearly seen in the vid above. It’s the order what matters, he calmed down AFTER locking eyes for a moment, you can see the shift in his energy not as she was telling him she couldn’t babysitter him but AFTER looking at her with piercing eyes for a sec.

Anxiety attacks and panic attacks are not the same. I encourage you to do the research because if you really care you will and this post is not supposed to be educational, I'm not in the mood for that today, this post is cathartic for me. What I will say though is that patients with panic attacks also suffer from anxiety and can also have anxiety attacks. Some even find it hard to differentiate one from the other. Professionals don't. The difference is quite clear: The build-up, the symptoms, the intensity, the duration, etc. Carmy is a C-PTSD textbook case.

The stressor that triggered his anxiety attack this time around was the lack of HANDS, which can also be a metaphor for the lack of help Carmy gets. Syd is pretty much the only one who really helps him. Ever. He's surrounded by people, yet very alone. Granted, he's not the best at asking for help, and he's not the best leader either, and there's only so much Nat can do being in her 3rd trimester and all, etc, so like I said, it was bound to happen to him, and it did, and when it did, Syd put out the fire with her presence and her calm.

She didn't patronize him, he's not a victim around her, he's just himself. He's certainly not cool-relaxed Logan either, she's not his babysitter, and she's just as stressed out as he is, but she compensated his lack of temperance with her peace firmness, and he responded to it. Because even in the middle of an anxiety attack, Carmy never gets his eyes off the prize. HE HAS TO WIN THAT STAR FOR HER, NO MATTER THE COST → She's his star.

Let us please also notice the fact that the C person MADE YET ANOTHER APPEARANCE IN THE MIST OF HIS ATTACK. That's the guilt I mentioned HERE, eating him away inside and causing him apprehension in the least convenient moment because once an anxiety attack strikes, your defenses are down and whatever you are trying to bury deep down your psyche comes up full force. So she keeps contributing to his anxiety even when they're not even together anymore. Classic.

He also thought about the other source of guilt that is eating him away, his fallout with Richie and how his Cousin didn't forgive him yet, even when he apologized to him and told him he loved him.

Another stressor: GUILT.

OK. Thanks for coming to my TED talk about how Syd calms Carmy the fuck down every single time and I need him to do the same for her in the hallway in 04x01 and return the favor, or I will set FX on fire. Because in case you didn't notice, this post was actually about THAT.

Bonus track: To calm down he willingly tried to think of things and people that bring him peace, and not only he definitely didn't think of C at that moment, he thought of Nat, of his time in CA and in Copenhagen, and this time around HE DID NOT ALLOW HIMSELF TO THINK ABOUT SYD, WHO HE KNEW WOULD HAVE ENDED THE EPISODE ON THE SPOT. He deliberately didn't. But she showed up and did the trick anyway:

Remember to follow my tag #Gingerpovs 💋

[wholoveseggs]

How I look camping ⛺️ your page everyday waiting for you to post… like your writing is so good and I’m so obsessed with it. 💜 But about Kol and I guess the other Mikaelson boys (minus Finn),, they’re all scary in their own ways.

With Klaus he’s scary because of his rage and his plans,, you can immediately tell when he’s angry because he makes it known through his throwing things and shouting.

For Elijah, he’s calm and collected and that’s what makes him scary, you don’t know how he’s truly feeling or going to react because he hides it so well. I don’t remember the exact scene but it was in the originals I believe where you could like see the rage on his rage and that too is scary because he’s so angry in that moment that he isn’t even attempting to hide that rage.

For Kol (my love), he’s a wild card, a loose cannon. He can be violent but he can also be gentle as seen with his relationship with Davina. I just think his personality is so fun and intriguing. There is absolutely no reason for a vampire, an original at that to be using a baseball to beat people but he does just because he can?? does this make me crazy?? maybe a bit?

a common misconception i see a lot is when Kol is undaggered and Klaus backs away from him. this is for two reasons… yes, i believe Klaus was nervous of Kol being awake again because he knows his brother is a loose cannon but also because it meant that the others were likely awake as well and perhaps he could fight one of them but he definitely couldn’t find all of them at once.

no matter though because both Kol and Klaus can admit that Elijah is the “scariest” so your love wins that contest~ 💜

Hello again darling camping anon! I have so much to say on this subject.... like SO MUCH. So buckle up.

I think the fundamental difference between the three of them is how they react to and experience control. It's simultaneously an emotion, a situation and a choice. And something that all three of them couldn't really have growing up.

They are all victims of domestic violence, and each one is dealing with it differently. (And not in a healthy way at allllllllll. They absolutely continue the cycle of abuse...)

First we have Klaus, (The iconic little shit that he is)

He clings to control like a lifeline. Being the most helpless as a boy, he has always felt that if he was stronger, had more power, he could keep those around him safe. He believes that the only way he can feel safe is if he's in control. So, in his mind, any time someone takes that from him, they are actively trying to harm him. He will fight for control over everything and anything. His family, his city, his art and (most importantly) his life. His need to control the narrative around him and keep his secrets, is born out of the trauma and fear that his father instilled in him. His rage is born out of his own sense of helplessness.

Joseph Morgan does an excellent job of conveying that pain. Klaus is always a bundle of anxiety and panic and fear, no matter how he's acting. He's hyper vigilant and constantly looking over his shoulder, waiting for someone or something to try and control him again. It's why he clings so desperately to control, because he never wants to be made a victim again.

Second we have Elijah, born after the loss of Freya. I've always viewed him as a tragic character, who seems to be nobody's favorite in the family, but also the glue that holds them together. He's burdened with being the adult in the room. I can imagine that Esther's grief and guilt around losing Freya sort of imprinted on to him. She probably saw him as a replacement for the daughter she lost, putting all this pressure on him to be perfect, while simultaneously giving him no agency to be his own person. His entire childhood was spent either protecting his siblings or taking care of his mother's emotional needs. (This also applies to Finn, who i'll talk about later)

His relationship with control is nearly equal to Klaus'. He's always been a peacemaker, the level headed, calm brother. Always trying to bring harmony between his siblings. And while he has a much different way of expressing his feelings, he is a victim of the same violence that the rest are.

But, what makes him the scariest is the fact that his anger is silent. Elijah doesn't show his emotions, he represses them. And then when his control snaps, it's like a damn bursting. You don't see it coming, because he's so good at hiding his anger (& all of his other feelings). But when it's there, you feel it. And it's terrifying. Because his anger is fueled by pain and a lifetime of having to be strong. It's a glimpse at a deep well of pain that you realize he has been hiding all along.

Daniel Gillies absolutely nails this simmering rage with his eyes. Somehow that man can convey every single emotion without saying a word. When he looks at his family, or a person he cares for, there is this warmth and kindness. But when he looks at a person he is angry at, a person who has hurt someone he cares about, you can see the light almost dim, and his eyes will become cold and dark. You can feel the danger and rage in them. It's a delight to watch.

Third we have Kol, who is a complicated and messy character. Kol was born into a family that already had a system and a hierarchy, and he was pushed aside and ignored. Nobody's favorite, nobody's first choice. He grew up angry and frustrated, feeling unloved and unheard. He looks to his older brothers and their relationship with control, and takes the proverbial baseball bat to it. If they couldn't love him the way he needed them to, then he would make sure that they would at least remember him. So he becomes the black sheep, the outcast. He's wild and chaotic, doing whatever he can to get attention. He doesn't really care about control, because he never had any growing up. I have always viewed his bloodlust as an allegory for addiction. His response to the violence of his youth is to numb the pain with the rush of adrenaline and power. To take from others what was taken away from him.

His rage is the loudest and the quickest to come to the surface. He's not one to stew, he's quick to fight and fast to burn. Which is why his relationship with Davina is so good for him. She loves him the way he needs, and rightfully calls out his bad behavior. As gross as it sounds, she's kind of the mother figure that his actual mother never was. (IM SORRY I KNOW ITS VERY FREUD OF ME .... BUT AM I WRONG????)

I'm not going to bash any acting... But I think Daniel Sharman captures Kol much better. His complicated relationship with death, control and magic is portrayed beautifully. Especially the scene where he is dancing with Davina before he dies. It shows real growth on his part, no longer the baby brother, no longer the victim and the victimizer. In that moment he's the protector, trying to shield his girl from grief. And it always makes me tear up ...

(This scene always makes me laugh, I truly believe Elijah is the funniest character)

And last, we have Finn. Who I love to make the butt of the joke here on this blog. But I do have a few things to say about his character.... Which is.... He isn't really a character. But an object.

They drag the poor man out to show the audience what bad thing can happen to an original. First with his death in TVD, teaching everyone about the white oak stake and sirelines. Second in TOG with Lucians deadly bite. He's just... Not written to be liked.. and it's never really explained why they kept him daggered for 900 years.

And with Finn... there is no control or lack thereof, because he has no agency. And his rage comes from the fact that he is a man out of time, with no one who cares about him.. And it makes his character all the more sad and pathetic.

They make him this bitter, angry villain. Trying to kill his niece, and they never justify exactly why. I think fear of Dahlia is a piss poor excuse. I would rather he lean into revenge for being daggered than trying to hold onto his righteous nonsense.

(But lets be so real here... its because the writers didn't want to give him any depth. They didn't want us to get overly attached, so they could use him as a low-stakes original vampire that demonstrates the actual deadliness of a weapon or person)

But!!!! Yusuf Gatewood is the absolute GOAT and his portrayal of Finn and his rage is just delicious. He almost reminds me of like a rabid preacher, the way he spits out his hatred and bitterness. But it's so fun and I enjoy it every time.

Anyways.... Sorry to hijack your message lol.. I just love to psychoanalyze crazy fictional men!

[tears-grow-gardens]

TW- ed rant

This is my first ever tumblr post. Normally I'm just a wall flower, sitting quietly in the tumblr corner reading other peoples posts and thoughts hoping to feel less alone in my own mind. I'm not even sure what I want to say but for the past 4 years I have struggled with my eating, some days are really bad and other days it's just like an itch, like I know all the rules, fear and guilt that has stained me but I feel stronger not to let it win. 2-3 years ago I was at my worst, I was in my 3rd year of University, I had lost all hope and drive in my life and I let everything crumble through my fingers, I was failing classes, isolating from everyone, loosing sight of my dreams and what mattered to me. I don't know who was holding the wheel to my life but I felt I had lost control with all of it. I didn't know how to change or help myself, I was so tired of always feeling like a failure to myself and everyone around me. I had been dealing with depression and anxiety for so long and serious case of undiagnosed ADHD and all these feeling felt so permanent, like they would never go away, so I turned to something I felt I could control, which was food. There was nothing I hated more in the world than myself, my body, my face, the way that I believed people saw me. I hated every inch of who I was. I thought that if i could control what went in i would get the results I've always wanted and maybe even get to like the way I look. And the results came, it felt so good to be able to get something right, like for the first time in my life I didn't feel like a complete failure. The feeling of hunger gave me power, how I didn't have to say words to people that I was hurting inside because they could see it from the outside. Wake up, look in the mirror, walk, workout, coffee, walk, coffee, porridge, starve, walk, mirror, bed. This was my life but fortunately or unfortunately I was sniffed out like a rat from one of my house mates who confronted me, it felt like I was standing there naked and exposed with all my secrets written on my skin. After that I felt I had to change, I felt watched and analysed with every move I made. My weight goals put into a box, I tried to make amends with my body and mind but from the years to follow the voices never left my head. Sometimes the voices are merely a whisper and other days the voices are so loud it feels like everyone else can hear them too. Now here I am on tumblr 4 years later writing to say I have relapsed, not that I think I ever recovered but more I was idle with temptation to destroy myself and now I'm back, born again to hack my body to pieces. Ive found myself almost everyday purging in the bathroom, even if its been a normal, healthy meal. I just want to crawl out of my skin and shrink into nothing. I don't want to die and I don't want to live like this but i feel years of rage within me of unnoticed pain that I want to scream to the world and let them know. I have dreams and I want them to exist one day as true but I don't know how I'll ever rid myself of these dark paralysing thoughts. I'm so tired of feeling unloved and lonely, in my 22 years of life I have never known what it is or what it feels like when someone choses to love you. Im so convinced by my own hatred for myself that I believe everyone else sees me the way I do. The toxic thing is, is that I want this for myself, I want the hunger in sanctuary of starving, I want to feel small and fragile and i want people to worry, i want them to say "she's lost weight", while they ponder on how hurt I must be to have lost myself this far.

Anyway enough for one day. idk if anyone reads these long word vomit tumblr posts but thank you if you've read this far and welcome to my fkd up mind.

[dragonnarrative-writes]

hi! hope your week is going well. for the wip game, i am a big fan of slasher handler, but i’m also intrigued by being gaz’s ex. your choice, but if there’s anything you want to share for either 👀🧡

For the WIP Ask Game!

Oh. Oh. Oh. Being Gaz's ex is... a helluva project. It's an exploration of the end of a relationship when no-one is "winning." I wanted to explore another side of Golden Boy Gaz, where his dogged determination to do right in the world has a negative impact on his relationships.

The main character is Autumn, who has filed for a divorce that Gaz refuses to sign off on, and I'm waffling between writing it from a first person/reader POV or third person.

This first part takes place with Gaz in the hospital after an injury. Autumn is still his emergency contact. I'm skipping ahead a bit, but I think this short exchange really showcases the energy I'm going for.

“Who are you texting?”

“Ron,” you answer without looking up from your phone.

“Does Ron know that you’re married?”

When you set your phone down, Kyle, Price, and Soap are looking at you with hard expressions. Simon’s out, picking up lunch. If Kyle was going to spring a guilt trap, now would be the time.

You'd tell him that Ron is your cousin Veronica, who’s allowed you to move into her apartment since you started your new job, if he’d just asked. A part of you reflexively thinks about his pain levels, if he’s due another round of pills. That part is quickly squashed by the knowledge that he knows to ring the nurse if his pain gets to bad, instead of taking it out on you.

So you go low. “Did Crystal know you were engaged?”

The next section hurt my feelings when I wrote it, so I'm putting it under the cut.

CW: Discussions of infidelity, relationship turmoil, inattentive partner

Autumn isn't leaving Gaz because he cheated, by the way. That happened once before they got married and once after. They almost called off the wedding, the first time, but they did premarital counseling and things were "resolved." The second time happened a year into their marriage. With a second round of counseling, Gaz really seemed to get his act together. Autumn went into individual counseling to work on trust, anxiety about his job, her expectations of the relationship, and general maintenance. And there weren't any issues with infidelity ever again. In fact, she once offered to open the relationship, with rules, and he declined.

She's divorcing him because her eyes are brown.

The issue in their relationship, as I see it, isn't that Gaz did something really bad. It's that he and Price have the same affliction that makes them not recognize that they don't actually see their partners as whole beings. Two years after they got married, Autumn realized that Gaz didn't really care about her as much as either of them thought. He got her birthday wrong (switched the month and day). He forgot their anniversary after he cheated. He bought her apology flowers, an arrangement which contained flowers she was allergic to.

And when she bought colored contacts on a whim, he didn't make any comment until she prompted him.

"Hey, does anything about me look different?" She asks, three days into wearing the contacts.

"I've been trying something new with my eyes, but I'm not sure if it's that noticeable."

"I dunno, lovie, you look stunnin' as always."

"Nothing seems different to you?"

And he looked at her, really looked at her, for a minute. "You know I've always loved your green eyes."

And that was the beginning of the end.

[the---hermit]

A lovely festive card from a friend and random notes.

19|12|2023

I am back after being very ill again. This time I got the flu, and to make things worse my panic disorder kicked me once again and it was bad. I am starting to feel a bit better now, but I am still very weak and my stomach isn't at its best yet. I spent a couple of hellish days, and decided to skip class this week. I confident I will be fully recovered for Friday when I'll have to speak in the seminar, but until that day I am not leaving my house and I am taking things slowly. This of course means that my nice study plan is totally fucked. I am so beyond schedul and I am not in shape to get caught with it, so I will simply have to sit down and make a whole other plan. I am starting to slowly getting back into doing some work during the day, but I have not enough mental energy to power through the book I have to study. So this week I will try to stay productive as much as I can but minding what my body allows me to do. I will study less hours during the day, do lighter stuff, and stop whenever I feel like I need to lie down, or move around depending on what my body is asking me. This morning for example I got about an hourish of work done, I was very happy with myself but then I simply had to accept that I needed to lie down, and I did so. I am fighting with the guilt of not sticking to plans and feeling overwhelmed with everything I have to do, and I am trying my best. The other thing I am struggling with at the moment is food, not in a concerning way, but more in the sense that right now I feel like I lost the joy of eating and having a good meal and that is impacting my mood so bad. First a couple of weeks ago I went to the dentist and struggled so much with pain in my mouth for a while, and now due to my stomach being affected by the flu, eating has just become something I have to do and I despise feeling like this. I want to sit at my table and be happy about what I am going to eat, I want to look forward to my meals and I have yet to figure out how to get back there. Maybe I just have a bit of a scare since in the past two or three years I often had my anxiety and panic symptoms strongly linked to my stomach and I am now scared that I'll get back into that stupid place in which eating was anxiety inducing for me. I just hope that will get better soon and that I will be able to enjoy the amazing food my family will make during the holidays.

calm hobbit winter activities and productivity:

read first thing in the morning (I managed to read ten pages which is such a big win after these awful days)

wrote notes for the second chapeter of Nature, Human Nature and Human Difference by Justin Smith

updated my reading journal

started watching cabinet of curiosities (in the past few years I have been terrible at watching new series, but this morning when I had to lie down after studying I felt like watching something new could be a good way to keep my brain a bit active. I watched the first two episodes and loved the first one. The second one fell very flat for me but I am exctied to see more of it, it definitely has the gothic horror vibes I adore)

started reviewing my men theories and power practices notes and added a few additional informations here and there

practiced my presentation for Friday

📖: Bookshops and Bonedust by Travis Baldree

[ishkrisq]

Captaincy

It wasn’t helping , Ishan behind the stumps wasn’t fucking helping . It was going to be a tough match and Shubman could hear the crowd roar , he could feel the sweat dripping down and most important of it all , he could feel the weight of the captaincy on his shoulders .

Ishan wasn't even doing anything distracting , they were pure professionals on the field . It was just all the overwhelming emotions that were probably ticking him off . He could feel Ishan't gaze on him and some part of him just wanted to prove it to Ishan and to everyone else that he deserved this position given to him.

On the next ball , he tried to go for a boundary but hardik bhai was able to stop the ball . He ran for a run and but as soon as he reached the crease he heard shouts behind him. He looked back to see someone lying on the ground , clutching his eye in pain . He realised it was Ishan who was missing behind the wickets .

Ishan was surrounded by his team and the medical staff was quick to take him inside . Shubman just stood there frozen , his mind racing with concern .

"Ishan's going to be okay Shubman " Saha bhai got him out of his head with reassuring words . Shubman gave him a shaky nod . He still had a game to win .

----------

"Abh thik hai ishu?" Rohit asked as he gently inspected Ishan's injury .

Ishan winced in pain as Rohit probed his swollen eye. "It hurts a little Rohit bhai," he muttered, his voice filled with frustration.

Rohit placed a comforting hand on Ishan's shoulder "The medical staff said it's not severe. You'll get better before the next match."

Ishan nodded weakly, grateful for the support of his captain. The thought of being unable to contribute to the team weighed heavily on him. He didn't even get to bat .

"Ishu mere bhai I'm so so sorry" a whining Hardik burst inside the locker room and rushed towards Ishan. His face was filled with guilt and worry.

Ishan managed a small smile, his swollen eye crinkling at the corners. "Aarey aapki galti nahi hai bhai"

Hardik shook his head adamantly. "Nahi nahi , I should've been more careful with my throw. I shouldn't have let it hit you!"

Rohit stepped forward, his tone firm yet reassuring. "Hardik, accidents happen on the field. It was nobody's fault."

"Let me take you to the hotel Ishu , tu rest kar aaj aaram se " Hardik said, his voice filled with concern. Ishan nodded gratefully, feeling the exhaustion from the match and the pain in his eye catching up to him. He needed rest, both physically and mentally.

----------

Shubman was dying . The urgency of seeing Ishan was eating him up inside . He was beyond happy that they had won though as the captain he had to stay back for much longer than everyone else.

As the team bus pulled up to the hotel, he practically bolted out of his seat, his heart pounding with anxiety. He needed to see Ishan, to make sure he was alright.

He saw Rohit bhai in the lobby and quickly approached him. "Bhai, how is Ishan? Is he okay?" Shubman asked, unable to hide the worry in his voice.

Rohit smiled reassuringly. "He's doing better, Shubi. The swelling has gone down a bit, and the medical staff said he should be back in action soon."

Relief flooded Shubman's body, and he let out a sigh of relief. "Thank God. I was so worried about him."

Rohit patted him on the back. "Now go and see him. He's resting in his room."

Without wasting another second, he dashed towards Ishan's room. Ishan was lying on the bed, a cold compress covering his eye. His face lit up with a smile when he saw Shubman enter the room.

"Shubi!" Ishan exclaimed, his voice filled with happiness. "Idhar aao captain ji ."

Shubman rushed to Ishan's side, his heart swelling with relief and affection. He sat down on the edge of the bed, careful not to disturb Ishan's injured eye.

"Thank God you're okay, Ishu," Shubman said, his voice filled with genuine concern. "I was so worried about you."

Ishan chuckled softly, wincing at the slight pain it caused. "Itni chinta mat kara ka shubhi ." He playfully nudged Shubhman's arm. "Aisi choti moti chot mera kuch bigad sakti hai kya ?"

Shubhman hit his head "Tereko har samay mazak hi sujta hai . How many times have I told you to wear a helmet "

" Haww , aise patient ko koi marta hai kya? " Ishan said with a pout . Shubman's face clearly showed that he wasn't amused at all.

Ishan laughed, "Achha sorry sorry. It was just bad luck yaar. Couldn't have predicted that ball would hit me in the eye."

Shubman couldn't help but finally smile at Ishan's infectious laughter, the worry and tension from earlier dissipating into thin air.

"Well, you better be more careful next time, Ishu," he teasingly scolded. "Otherwise, I might just have to tie a helmet to your head permanently."

Ishan feigned shock, his hand dramatically covering his chest. "Oh no, captain ji! Anything but that!" He grinned mischievously.

Shubhman couldn't help but laugh. Seeing Ishan's playful spirit brought a sense of normalcy back to the room.

"You better believe it, Ishu," Shubman replied, his voice filled with mock seriousness. "I'll make sure you have a helmet on even when you're sleeping."

Ishan playfully threw a pillow at Shubman, causing both of them to erupt in laughter.

"Congratulations Shubi . Hum har Gaye but I'm so proud of you for winning "

"Toh phir uss bet ka reward ?"

Ishan raised an eyebrow, a mischievous glint in his eye. "Hmm, what do you have in mind ?" he asked with a playful smirk.

Shubman smirked, "Oh, I have a few ideas in mind, Ishu," he replied, leaning closer to Ishan. "But we'll have to wait until you're fully recovered."

Ishan's cheeks flushed with a hint of pink as he met Shubman's gaze. His voice lowered to a seductive whisper. "Well then, Captain Ji, I can't wait for that delicious reward."

Leaning in closer, Shubman captured Ishan's lips in a tender kiss. The soft press of their mouths sent an electric current coursing through their bodies, igniting a fire within them that burned hotter with each passing second.

Ishan responded eagerly, his hands finding their way into Shubman's hair, pulling him closer as their lips moved in sync. The taste of Ishan was intoxicating, a sweet blend of desire and passion that left Shubman yearning for more.

They broke the kiss, both breathless and flushed with desire. Their gazes locked, filled with an unspoken understanding and a hunger that couldn't be contained any longer. Shubman's hands found their way to Ishan's waist, pulling him closer until their bodies were pressed tightly together.

"I missed you," Shubman whispered, his voice laced with longing.

Ishan's eyes sparkled with desire as he leaned in, brushing his lips against Shubhman's ear. "I missed you too shubi."

As the moon cast its gentle glow through the sheer curtains, Shubhman and Ishan found solace in each other's arms. They lay intertwined on the bed, their bodies formulating a perfect fit, like two souls finally reunited after a long separation.

The softness of the sheets caressed their skin, embracing them in a cocoon of warmth and tenderness. Ishan traced his fingers along the contours of Shubman's face, memorizing every dip and curve as if committing it to memory. Shubman closed his eyes, surrendering himself to the sensation, his heart fluttering like a thousand butterflies in his chest.

At this moment, time seemed to stand still. Their worries and responsibilities faded into insignificance. They existed only for each other .

[dufferpuffer]

Can I get your take on some er.. interesting discourse I saw today? There was an ask floating around asking if Remus would be an abusive partner. Now I personally think literally anyone is capable of being abusive as humans, but putting that aside for a moment, I don’t necessarily think of Lupin as being anymore likely than the average joe to be abusive in a relationship (atleast not physically, I could possibly see emotionally). This is a very hypothetical question with a lot of factors at play so I also think it’s very hard to answer. I think your pretty fair and balanced and I trust your judgment on the character and their relationship dynamics so I came to you for your thoughts on this one. (Though if it’s too dark you can skip it, id totally get it)

Yes. ABSOLUTELY - if not reigned in. But not intentionally. Remus naturally does things to defend himself, even if the ideas he is defending against are unrealistic and anxiety/paranoia based.

-- Would he hit/hex his partner? He had the shortest argument in the world with Harry and hexed him into a wall. He has 'physically lashing out' in him... but only a short burst before he is crying down the hall. He HATES tension. He would want to run away before he gets that heated. Harry surprised him. I could see him breaking a plate or something, but only the one, and not as a way to intimidate. He is just angry. Fuck this plate.

-- But if his manipulative habits aren't kept in check... ...He manipulates people to like him. He makes himself the sort of man they will think positively of. He holds his tongue on his true thoughts and tells lies so people perceive him how he wants. See: How he treats Harry... especially vs. how Sirius, or even Severus treat Harry. Remus bases his behaviour on how Dumbledore acts... but while Albus is doing his best to play magical 5D chess before a war. Remus is only nursing his own anxieties. If his partner is weak to this: he will abuse that. Constant white lies, sweeping problems under the rug... The more he gets away with the more he does. He will make himself seem better than he is, more responsible and in control, gaslighting his partner to believing lies - telling himself: 'I will become like this. It's ok if I lie now, because my intentions are good... and I don't want to lose their trust early before I'm good enough for them...!' Even if his partner can call him out whenever he starts - and he can trust that they love him even at his worst... ...other people can't love him at his worst.

-- He will try and control what his partner says about him in public. ...beyond a 'don't talk about my toilet accident at the party' request. It starts out more reasonable, 'please don't bring up that little fight we had...' But the more control he feels, the more his anxiety wins: + 'Don't bring up your depression... everyone will think I'm not doing enough!'+ 'Why did you talk about the new shirts I bought...? Yes I know they are nice, but... but what if they think I'm shallow?!?' + 'Look, just don't talk about my work - let ME talk about my work.' Eventually his partner is scared to say anything to anyone, because Remus wants to be in charge of conversations so he can control how he is perceived through his partner... all the way to asking them to act certain ways for certain people. And if they upset him...

-- He is a guilt-trip king. Remus isn't the type to blame everything on his Lycanthropy. On the contrary - he will push himself when he really shouldn't. 'No, no - I should pull my weight and go do the shopping, like I promised.' But he does like to feel accepted and his pains appreciated, like a grumpy old man whinging and fishing for compassion: '...I'll go do the shopping. But oof, my back is really killing me after last Full Moon... and these cuts on my armpits sting when I lift my arms up - see? Look at that - they pull! New scars for sure. I'm still getting dizzy spells... oh, but I'll go, I'll go! I'll walk all the way to the shops and back.' ...perhaps hoping he doesn't have to do the shopping without feeling selfish for asking. But that's not abusive, just somewhere between cute and annoying.

What is abusive... are threats. Threats to himself, to the relationship. eg. His partner says they aren't going to avoid talking about their depression - just because he worries it'll make him 'seem bad'. + 'Oh, so we can talk about all our little problems to anyone now?? Well then I'll go and make sure EVERYONE knows that I am so stressed out, all the time, and your clothes are always on the floor of the bedroom, and-' (not the best example ik - I'm just trying to get across that he will make a big deal of tiny things because he is worried that they will go poorly if he can't control them.)

And of course, ever the classic: "Well if I'm such a bother then I'll go. I'll leave! Goodbye! You won't have to see me again, or deal with my 'problems'..." He feels the relationship is always teetering on the edge, even when it isn't - so there is catharsis for him in having the power to 'end' it. Of course the only way to deal with such behaviour is to give him the agency to do that if he wants... but let him know he is wanted. His partner can't bend the knee and give in to the demands, nor FORCE him to stay... but they can wave goodbye and say the back door will be unlocked whenever he wants to come back. ...I think there is a case to be made that leaving without much contact is abusive in its own right.

-- Basically: I think Remus is highly susceptible to being abused. Once he gets genuine affection he wont be able to quit it even if it turns cruel... ...But he is also very likely to be the abuser. The type of abuser that justifies all their actions as being needed, because they are all born from him trying to manage his anxieties.

He knows they are 'wrong', but the more they work the more necessary they seem. He see's himself as a 'special case' and that dating him will NEED some unconventional methods. It all comes back to his Lycanthropy, but indirectly. His anxiety is caused by him not wanting to be distrusted for his condition - but it has seeped its tendrils into everything.

I think anyone who dates Remus needs to be very emotionally mature and have a thick skin because they can't let him engage with this bullshit... while also helping to shoulder his anxieties. He can't just stop freaking out about how he is perceived on a dime. He will likely ALWAYS be anxious about it, as its born from a real source: People will treat him like shit if they find out he is abnormal.

But he needs to know his partner is on his side. That they can be trusted not to sabotage his image. They like him with all his imperfections and struggles. And threats won't work on them. Trust and communication will.

All of these issues are 'they started as small favors and comforts... and then as they worked, they grew bigger and bigger'. None of them are 'Remus wants to control and hurt.'

I think the essence of what I want to say is that Remus has lots of poor coping strategies and unhealthy behaviors he has had to lean on to survive... and he needs to be shown betters ways, and supported.

[cosmicbash]

I saw this too late :’( but aren’t Em’s boobs in those pics just MWAH? Cant you imagine a very enthusiastic Kelly trying to convince Marshall to get a nipple piercing and mister grumpy grandpa Mathers just getting absolutely appalled and horrified by that request. Then maybe Colson finds him looking up online sex shops for nipple clamps.

(((I just found this sitting unposted in my drafts????? and its good?? so why didnt i ever hit post??))

Em's boobs just looked so squeezable 😩😩

I envy that guy who copped a feel after Em teased him over their neverending handshake.

If only that could be ME

Also you are NEVER TOO LATE to say ANYTHING about Ems tits in an ask. That IMMEDIATELY revives my artistic spirit. I need those tits like water bby and I know kells would too.

Also nipple piercing em is 😏🥴🥴

So. Ahem

TittyTitTittyTitTittyTitTransitionTit

They've been laying in Colson's bed bickering over it for at least a half hour. Their once content not!snuggling and casual body exploration falling apart completely in favor of an argument.

"Come on, just one little hoop-"

"Ha!"

"It doesn't even hurt that bad I swear babe-"

Marshall's next snort sounds almost gutteral with how hard he holds back another mocking fit of laughter. "Doesn't even hurt- yeah, cuz a literal needle jabbing through one of the most sensitive spots on my body to rip flesh out and make a hole is like playing patty cake-"

"Oh come on, when you word it all fucking extra like that of course it'll sound bad- look-" Colson knew feeling offended was a little stupid but he has never let being stupid stop him before. "If anyone between the two of us has a more accurate pain scale for piercings do you really think its the one that has a single set of pierced ears? Hm? Or maybe the dude with like a dozen-"

This time Marshall did laugh openly at him, tone shifting over to a properly annoyed one.

"Really? Your pain scale is super fucking skewed Colson! How many times this year did you smash literal bottles and shit over your head? Divebomb off a stage to bust your ribs? Sleep through nasty tattoo spots? Don't you dare try and act like I'm being a pussy over nothing."

It's out of Colson's mouth before he can stop himself. His childish selfish wants completely winning out in a "Pftt, well you totally are."

Regret wells up just as fast in him as the anger does in Marshall's eyes. His semi comfortable spot sat over the other man's lap rapidly upseated in a flurry of fast movement. "Fuck you."

"Fuck. Em, come on-" Colson knows when he's stuffed his foot in his mouth and this is definitely one of the worser times. He should have been more mindful of the tension already present, or of his partners ever denied sensitivity to such subject. But the match is lit under Marshall's fire now.

"Some of us don't have a pile of pills or gallons of alcohol to hide behind everytime we go out and fuck our body up some more you know-"

And there it is. The always accurate defensive jab off Marshall's sharp tongue.

It hurts more this time than Colson expects it to. Maybe because he knows he deserves it for pressing and trying to guilt trip the other rapper. And maybe because he knows by now he really should be getting his shit together so the other man doesn't have such an easy diss to throw his way.

To their credit though, he can see a flash of regret pass over Marshall's face too as soon as it comes out.

Not that it stops the brunette from getting dressed any further, or slows his obvious escape.

"I'm--" sorry. Colson can almost hear it. See the word curl and shape on Marshall's lips, but the anxiety further up in blue eyes prevents it. They both know it wont allow it to come out. So another exasperated noise does instead, hands flying up to rake through the rare hatless head before Marshall is moving again. Sweats yanked up and feet thankfully left bare.

"It's my fucking nipple you asshole."

And then he's gone. Out of Colson's room without another outburst. Off to lick his wounds or more so, allow Colson to lick his own.

A few months ago the blonde would have chased after, continued the shouting until it teetered on that scary ledge of physical, their fingers grabbing too tight at eachothers skin, fists shaking, anything to keep Marshall from leaving.

But now? He's learned enough to take note of the shoes in the corner of his room, the discarded kangol, wallet and keys neatly tucked away in the spare nightstand, and so many other little anchors locking Marshall down around the room. It's just space. Space needed to run and cool off somewhere else in the house, prevent a bigger fight. A smart skill Colson should really use more himself.

So he rolls himself over into the warm emptied spot on the bed and waits. Ego wounded and heart a little sore by his own fault.

It only takes an hour for Marshall to come back and even less time than that for Colson to file his horny nipple ring tugging dreams far far away in his mind. An argument decidely NOT for another day or at all if he knows whats best for them.

Keeping Marshall back curled in his bed is obviously whats best. It keeps that gnawing need to drink his sorrows away, and makes the world's edges feel less sharp.

He wants to apologize as soon as he hears the click of the bedroom door, but he manages to bite it back until sock padded feet are thumping softly across his carpet beneath the bed. A rough sounding "Sorry-" leaving his tongue before he even sees Marshall walk into his line of vision. It's the one thing he has on the other man, his ability to actually say the word first, without painful prodding. And he's not going to let go of it no matter how petty he wants to be.

"Don't." The older man is sighing, but in a soft way. It drags his eyes away from the wall finally. The relief he feels just seeing Marshall back standing there in his room quickly replaced by a blip of confusion.

He's got stuff clutched to his chest, a bottle of peroxide, wipes, some plastic packaging. And up further Colson can see how embarrassment is burning his cheeks pink above his dark beard. His expression twisted into one of discomfort.

"Well?"

"Well?" Colson feels even more confused. Marshall is acting like the little bottle in his hand might as well be a bouquet of apology roses and he can't for the life of him figure out why.

"You gonna fucking pierce me or not?" He's chewing the insides of his cheeks. Usually Colson finds this cute but his ears are still ringing from the question. Excitement racing through his veins like gasoline lit by a match.

It's not surprise he practically jumps off the bed. "For real?? For real, for real??" He has to be dreaming, he must've slipped right off into a depression nap at some point while Marshall was gone because there's no way the other man can be serious.

But he is. Hands discarding the clutter of alcohol wipes, peroxide, and clean packaged piercers needles on the bed like it's nothing. "If you're telling me you sat here running your mouth and can't put your money to it now then I'm seriously gonna smack you this time-" Marshall's huffing at him, hands a little shakey while he wrestles off his shirt. "I had to bullshit to your bassist that you were having a manic episode and wanted a new piercing to get all this shit so, don't think you're getting off scott free either. I'm not having those dudes speculate where I let you pierce me if they see you come down without a new one-"

"Oh my god-" Colson still can't grasp reality. He's never won an argument this hard against Em before. Usually his crazy ideas are just whacked back down with a bat. He almost feels like he should cry.

Marshall looks like he wants to as well, but for a different reason. His anxiety visible in the twitchy movements of his hands and the squint of his face. "Please don't tell me you toked your brains out while I was gone-"

"No!" That jerks Colson back to full functionality. His hands moving to grab at the items and heart racing like a horse in his chest. "I-- I just needed a minute to- fuck- to fuckin process that-- you're serious? You're really serious about doing this?"

"Getting less by the second."

God he wants to kiss him. And shit, he does, hand coming up to drag the older rapper down by his neck and seal their mouths together in a firm smooch. Grin breaking their lips apart when he just can't hold back his giggles anymore. "Holy shit, I'm so fucking excited-"

"Shut up." He can feel just how hard Marshall's own heart is galloping when he lets his hand drag down the man's chest after they part. Palm pausing over the hard punch against skin like a magnet. He's certain that's not excitement, which makes it even hotter.

The dudes terrified but still willing to go through with this to please him.

He's gonna suck his dick so hard after they're done. Hell, he'll shove him down on the bed and ride him until sunset. This is a bazillion times better than apology roses.

"You do, uh, know what you're doing right?"

Colson does NOT. But he grins and nods his head anyway. He knows how to give someone a piercing yeah, he's done tons of his own and other peoples. Through the nipple though? That's gonna be a first, but his other hand is already tapping away super fast and discreetly on his phone while he pushes Marshall down to sit in his emptied space on the bed. "I got you baby-" He's gonna wikihow his way through this before anyone changes their mind.

[kingofthering]

rosquez with number six please?

6. things you said under the stars and in the grass

Emilia Romagna 2021, Thursday.

Marc has always been good at sleeping early and well during race weekends.

Of course he got excited and nervious when he was a kid but when he found out that a lack of sleep led to his focus being all over the place and things being more complicated than necessary on the bike? Yeah, he fixed his sleep issues.

More arose when he was older, the stakes higher, his body changing, and Marc met the specialists and the therapists. Some breathing techniques and focusing exercises he still found silly but for the most part, he knew what worked for him now.

Then he started fucking up his eyes and his shoulders and his arm and pain and medication entered the discussion too.

Tonight was apparently a night where his arm would be extra annoying and Marc wasn’t feeling like going through the side effect of his meds just for the pain to subside enough to let him sleep.

The sky is dark and the paddock empty when Marc opens the door of his motorhome.

He lets his feet guide him through the passages he can go through easily. He’s not sure how he manages to enter the track but he does.

Running into Valentino sitting on a patch of grass was not something Marc expected but he would recognize those curls anyway.

Marc lets himself sit down next to Valentino, hands behind his hips.

“Trouble sleeping?” Marc asks with his eyes on the sky above. The night is clear enough to let the stars shine through.

“I thought I was fine with the whole last race at home thing but maybe it’s getting to me a little, I have to say,” Valentino admits.

Marc finally turns his head to meet Valentino’s eyes. He looks— quiet, maybe a little tired. Not a face the rest of the world ever gets to see.

“Right. Makes sense.”

“You?”

“Well, it for sure isn’t thinking about your last race in Italy,” Marc shrugs. Valentino laughs. “Shoulder’s being a bitch and pain meds will make my head foggy. Thought a tour outside would be nicer.”

Valentino nods, understanding. Marc will always be amazed —and jealous— of how well Valentino’s body handled the length of his career but he knows that Valentino understands what he means there.

Silence surrounds them for a moment and then—

“You think you’re gonna miss me?”

Marc chuckles, the question not exactly catching him off guard. It’s very Valentino. It’s very in line with the state of their relationship now, too.

“I’ve been in a paddock without you before,” Marc shrugs, thinking of Valentino’s broken leg in 2010. He’s not evading the question, not quite.

Valentino smiles back. “Right. And then you immediately started winning and wouldn’t stop. Performance anxiety, much?”

It gets a laugh out of Marc. Touché. Not that Valentino is right but he’s not the first person pointing out the coincidence, it’s fine. Marc could also tell him about how he finally was brave enough to go ask Dani for advice that weekend in Mugello.

“Remember what you told me the first time I met you?” Marc changes the subject. The truth is, he has never wanted to know the answer to that question, very much aware that the moment didn’t have the same significance for him (a 15-years meeting his idol) and Valentino (a man close to his thirties, meeting yet another fan). “You said that I should tell you if anyone was bothering me because you had influence around here.” And then, because he can, Marc says: “You think I’m gonna be okay without you next year or are you gonna put Luca in charge of that mission now?”

Marc watches Valentino’s face work through a myriad of emotions. He might see guilt in there but that could also be wishful thinking.

“I think you’ll do fine on your own,” Valentino eventually says. No excuse. Not that Marc expected any but it’s natural to notice anyway. “Maybe even better now that I won’t be there anymore.”

“Right.”

Marc doesn’t remember their last honest discussion, the last exchange of words that wasn’t coated with fake politeness or dripping with acid sarcasm.

He doesn’t know either if Vale’s retirement will be good enough of a reason for them to be able to have those again. The nice talks, the genuine interest in each other’s wellbeing, the easy laughs like they used to never be able to keep away when Marc joined the premier class.

On-track battles haven’t been their issues in a good while. Things would be much easier if their issues weren’t rooted much deeper than that, now.

“I mean, I’ll still have my team and Luca and all the guys out here. I’ll be in the paddock. We can hang out if you do end up missing me,” Valentino chuckles.

Marc looks at him and tries to study him. He almost looks like an angel with the limited lights of the circuits falling down on him like that. How ironic.

Maybe Valentino’s offer is genuine. Marc no longer knows how to read him properly. Sometimes he wonders if he ever really knew how to.

“Sure, we’ll do that,” Marc answers. Valentino smiles. The conversation dies down after that.

Marc doesn’t know how long he stays staring at the stars. The position should hurt his shoulder but it’s been quiet since Marc sat down on the grass. Maybe the only thing Marc’s brain needed was a distraction.

In the end, the thing that makes him move is the wind, the cold starting to raise goosebumps on Marc’s skin.

“Here,” Valentino says once Marc is up. Marc looks down and finds Valentino handing him his sweatshirt. “You won the last race, we can’t have you catch a cold now. Come on, You know that I run hot and I’m not gonna stay much longer anyway.”

There is a “Promise me?” fighting the right to come out of Marc’s mouth. That and some form of protest too.

Marc goes for neither. Instead, he says “Thank you” and accepts to wear Valentino’s sweatshirt on his way back to his motorhome.

If he goes to sleep using the piece of clothing as a pillow, thinking “that’s a new perfume”, it’s between Marc, his shoulder and himself.

(He can ask Valentino when they have one of their little dates next season.)

[simslegacy5083]

NSB (Straud Legacy) Gen 9 Ep 43: The Big Game

The Story of a Family

---------------------------------------------

The butterflies in Luigi’s stomach over finals were nothing compared to his anxiety over the big game.

Judging by the huge decorations draped all over the public buildings and the palpable air of excitement on campus, he was clearly not alone. It almost seemed that the games that weekend were a much more critical part of the university experience than the boring exams that had just ended.

It wasn’t only the students swept up in the excitement either. A decent number of townies, tourists, and fans had come out to join in the fun and cheer on their favorite team. This included most of Luigi’s close family members, even though he wasn’t sure he’d be playing that night. He had lost some ground as he’d struggled with his anemia and was still an alternate on the team, rather than a member of the starting lineup.

---------------------------------------------

Luigi’s red-headed rival, on the other hand, had recently won a slot as a starter despite his injury and the encumbrance of that worn old support brace.

Beau had only just begun playing without his brace for short periods at practice, and yet he showed up to the evening’s matchup with both hands free. Coach Silva seemed worried about his decision, but the other Sim was adamant it wasn’t a problem and he’d play better without the restriction.

Unfortunately, he was only fine for the first few rounds. As the pressure and excitement of the tournament mounted, it became increasingly obvious Beau was in pain. After losing the team a critical point, he finally jumped up and ran over to the bench, gripping his injured wrist tightly.

---------------------------------------------

When Beau told Professor Silva he could no longer play that night, their coach nodded and thanked the boy for standing down when he needed to.

Luigi’s heart first leaped than sank in his chest when the Prof turned to him as their best chance to hold the line against Britechester in the tight and hard-fought scuffle. He’d dreamed of this opportunity, but being the secret cause of his teammate tapping out made it a bitter win. Beau found a completely unexpected way to twist the knife by telling him to “knock em’ out sire” without even a hint of recrimination or insincerity.

Luigi was certain he wouldn’t have been as focused on the team’s success if their positions were reversed. Even as things stood, it was hard to put aside his guilt and anxiety to concentrate on taking over the still warm station of the sim he felt uncomfortably suspicious was, just then, the better man.

---------------------------------------------

As Professor Silva went to grab an ice pack for poor Beau, Luigi did his best to confuse their foes with the unexpected shift of strategy and playstyle.

The real world and Luigi’s worries faded away as he settled into his usual gaming groove. He’d done this so many times in practice, he knew his team and was able to quickly be where they needed him time and again.

In the end Foxbury narrowly squeezed ahead of Britechester and Luigi stumbled from his station to celebrate with the others.

He was exhausted, but triumphant. For the first time in his early and unusual college career, he felt completely in tune with the entire team, reveling as comfortably with his rival and his coach as the teammates he knew better. In that moment Luigi was able to set his guilt aside and bask in the pride of a job well done.

---------------------------------------------

View The Full Story of My Not So Berry Challenge Here

[rpking99]

Jessica Cruz Origin and how she was fucked up for a while

Ah, Jessica Cruz. My fave Green Lantern

Okay so to start us off simple... Why do I love her? Well... As someone who suffers from anxiety and depression, and has so for years, I always found her inspiring and good representation of what living with that condition can be like

She doesn't just magically get better after getting the ring. She is so scared that some days it's hard for her to leave the house

That pain hits me so hard because it is so relatable to me.

But it also shows why she is PERFECT for the Green Lanterns. Their power comes from Will, from their courage. Their ability to overcome Great Fear. And she overcomes great fear every time she gets out of bed.

Her origin though? Ironically, super complicated. Gonna go with her personal origin first before hero one.

Jessica Cruz and her friend went out camping when... They where basically caught in a slasher movie. All her friends killed. And she only survived thanks to lick

As you can guess: lots of survivors guilt and trauma from this, leading to her mental health issues

And then three months later... She was met with a magical ring

This is how she originally looked, using the code name Power Ring.

So... We all know Earth-3, correct? Evil earth. Batman is Owlman, Superman is Ultraman, Wonder Woman is Superwoman, Flash is Johnny Quick. Evil wins, everyone's the opposite of who they normally are. Going by the Crime Syndicate. We got that? We got that

Okay. So during an event called Forever Evil, the Syndicate invaded earth. Big dramatic fight. The Hal Jordon of Earth-3 died and his ring flew off to find a new user like every Lantern Ring

Now the thing of the Ring of Volthoom, the Ring Power Ring has, it that it is a parasite. It latches onto someone filled with fear and then uses that fear to control them

It found Jess... But so did the Justice League. And they all helped her. Helped her heal, supported her, helped her resist the ring

And then, eventually, she destroyed the Ring of Volthoom.... Summoning a new ring in its place

After all, what shows the ability to ober come fear more than literally shattering a parasitic ring that feeds in fear?

And she rises... As the sixth Lantern of sector 2814

And it was glorious!

What is Jessica Cruz about? Not letting trauma define you. She is about healing and true bravery. She has social anxiety, she has depression, she has self loathing. But she works had to over come it all

...

And then DC fucks or up and makes her a Yellow Lantern! Because heaven help us if we have nice things!

And the worst part for me?

I hate that she ACTUALLY LOOKS GOOD JN YELLOW!

Ugh!

Anyway. On to the Yellow Lantern thing and why THAT is bad.

So first off they turned a disabled character, as well as a character of colour, into a villain

Now. Onto the main issues

Jessica Cruz. She suffers from anxiety and depression. Social anxiety, stress issues, all this sort of stuff.

The Yellow Corps is all about GIVING INTO great fear, as well as being able to CAUSE great feed into others.

I feel like it should be super clear what the issue is here!

It's character regression, it's turning her into the type of person who slaughtered her friends, it's insulting to people with these mental health issues as it implies they should just give into them and lash out at others!

And they have Jess say that the reason she is doing this is because it is "exposure therapy"

Which... NO! NO! FUCKING NO!

Exposure therapy should only be done with a professional there in order to help pull you out when it becomes too much, as well as making sure the exposure is a gradual build. Stepping stones. Not jumping into LITERALLY ALL THE FEAR AT ONCE!

Also it is a bit dubeous on if it works with cases like Jess', classes built from trauma rather than pure paranoia/stress. But I'm not a professional and don't wanna give my opinion as fact here

Luckily she is back in green at this point of the comics but.... Yeah. It's been rocky

[davnittbraes]

The Third Step - Chapter Nineteen

Part of The World Is Light, Embodied.

Pairing: Din Djarin x F!Reader

Rating: Explicit

Word Count: 5400

Warnings etc.: smut, ridiculously sappy post-coital convo, fairly graphic description of a burn wound I guess, angst, anxiety, reference to past trauma, why do these two always make me cry, ok FUN STUFF - stripping (sans cheesy club music,) Mando’s Fingering Skills™️, squirting, one (1) nipple pinch, otherwise non-rough nipple play

Notes: @fellow writers - you ever plot out a chapter like “ok, so I need to cover this this and this, and they need to do this and this” and then you sit down to write it and literally NONE of that happens? Lol yeah, that’s this chapter.

Please check out the Series Masterlist page for more info.

“Kriffing ow.”

Your fingers tremble, a sharp spike of pain jolting through your entire body, and you grit your teeth through the tiny pinpricks that follow as you continue to pull back your shirt. Thankfully you’d put on a simple button down, you could peel away one side to get to the wound by just undoing a few of the top buttons. 

If only it didn’t hurt so much. 

Stop whining. Patch up and go help Mando. 

You throw a frown in the direction of the bunk. Fat chance of that. He’d kicked you out of the cockpit just after you made the jump to hyperspace, insisted you start tending your wound while he put the kid to bed. 

A part of you could admit it was nice having someone care about you like that. But guilt still roiled in your stomach, hot and sickly. You aren’t used to sitting idle when others were busy. 

The fabric of your shirt clings tight to a small patch of burnt skin and a jab of pain pulls your attention. 

Pfassk, the bolt burned right through your jacket, shirt and a bit of your skin. It’s not a wound you can stitch close, you should really put some bacta on it… but there’s only a little left in the medkit, and who knows what might happen between now and the next town? If you clean it really well, it’ll probably be fine. 

“Want help?”

Mando’s quiet modulated voice accompanies his soft bootsteps, heading toward you from the other end of the hold.

The shirt finally comes free of the wound and you sigh in relief as the pain ebbs. “Nah, I got it. How’s the kid?”

“Fine. Sleeping.” He rifles through the medkit on the crate beside you, pulling out the bacta spray. 

“Oh, it’s ok, I don’t need -“

He holds it out, black visor steady on you, silent command obvious in the stillness of his frame.

For a moment you just look at it, the little silver cylinder grasped between orange-tipped fingers, debating on dragging this out, see who wins. Then your wound gives a particularly strong pulse of pain and you can’t stop the subsequent flinch. 

The helmet tilts. 

Dank farrik. 

Taking the bacta spray, you start applying it to the wound. “When will he wake up?”

“Not sure. It’s different every time.”

The bacta soothes the burn instantly, cooling burnt flesh and numbing the pain to the point where you can breathe easy again. “How many times has he done something like that?”

Mando takes the bacta spray as you hold it out for him, digging into the medkit again. “Twice, that I’ve seen. And once he used his powers to heal Karga from a venomous bite.”

Twice. In all the time Mando and the kid have been together, the kid has only done that twice. Kriff, in the months that you’ve been with them, he’s never even used his powers. 

And given his reaction to using them, you can guess it’s not easy for him to do so. 

Guilt churns in your stomach again. “He didn’t have to do that. For me.”

Mando pulls a square adhesive bandage from the medkit, peeling it open and turning to you with an authority that silently says there’s no use arguing with him. You let him press the bandage over the wound, touch firm but gentle, smoothing out the edges to make sure it seals properly. 

His hand lingers, gloved thumb tracing the bandage, voice dropping low and soft. “He saved my life, too.”

You blink in surprise, surge of panic at the thought of Mando in danger - in life-threatening danger - squeezing your lungs tight. Silly, he’s been in those sorts of situations many times and he’s capable of taking care of himself.

But based on how he just said those words… maybe there was one time when he wasn’t. 

A deep breath shifts through the modulator. “It was shortly after I found the kid. A mudhorn, a beast at least fifty times my size. Tried to kill me, and almost succeeded. One more blow and I would have been dead, but the kid stopped it. Lifted it right into the air. I killed it, and the kid slept for almost a full day.”

Your hand flies to grasp his, clasping tightly. If it weren’t for the kid, he wouldn’t be here, with you, right now. 

If it weren’t for the kid, you wouldn’t be here right now. 

Something heavy and cold drops into the pit of your stomach. 

You hadn’t realized - too caught up in getting off Savareen and cleaning up to get back to normal.

A normal you would not have if it weren’t for a little green dude. 

You almost died today. 

One inch deeper and the bolt would have dug into your heart. 

And a blink, a breath, a single fraction of a moment in time was all it took.

You’ve had brushes with death before. Too many to count, actually - between how far the slavers pushed your physical limits to whatever scuffles or brawls you got yourself into throughout your life, there were many times you’d faced death and barely avoided it. 

But you’d never cared about what you would be leaving behind. 

Until now. 

The movement of Mando’s thumb gliding along your collarbone suddenly feels like so much, a reminder of the life that runs through his veins and yours, a life that you almost lost. 

Warmth blooms along your skin under his touch and your focus shifts. 

In an instant you’re aware of how much of your skin is bared - not much, by most standards, you only undid the buttons down to just below your breasts. 

But certainly more than you usually expose. 

Sure, there had been a couple times when he’d seen more of you - Nevarro, when you’d shown him your scars and later that night he’d seen you in a nightshirt for a brief moment. 

But all of your… intimate encounters with Mando have been in the dark, as his lack of helmet necessitates. 

The little shiver of anxiety mixed with arousal flares, runs over your entire body, prickles along your skin. 

Keeping your gaze fixed to the visor, you lift a hand to pull the collar of your shirt open just a bit more. 

He starts, yanking his hand back as if only just now realizing what he’d been doing. 

Your heart flutters. So endearing, this sudden nervousness from the man who just last night had his head between your thighs. 

You try to keep your voice level amid the flush of adoration and anticipation, not wanting him to hear anything but absolute certainty. “Do you want to see?”

His breath catches through the modulator. A moment, then he takes the slightest step back, though his hands twitch as if tempted to reach for you. “I would never ask you for something I cannot give myself.”

This man. This beautiful mass of contrasts. One who kills and holds those he cares for with the same hands. One who fucks you against a refresher wall but balks at the thought of seeing you naked, only because of his sense of fairness. 

Slowly, you take a step, close the distance between you. “You’re not asking. I am.”

Your heartbeat is pounding in your ears but you can still hear him swallow thickly, see the slight tremor run through his frame. 

And yet, he doesn’t move, doesn’t speak. 

What does he need?

Something nudges your thoughts, an idea, a memory… there, after he had shared the box found in the sewers of Nevarro, full of remnants of his people. What had he said to you? 

Gar haat’taylir ni. 

You see me. 

Reaching for his hand, you bring it to your shirt, curl his fingers over the first button still fastened, force your mouth to form the foreign words. “Haat’taylir ni. Please.”

His fingers clench under yours, breath shuddering through the modulator. 

A spike of anxiety pierces your chest. Does that mean something else in this context? Kriff, should you have even said them? Did you just cross a line - maybe his language was sacred, and non-Mandalorians weren’t allowed to -

His free hand slides along your jaw, tilts your head back just slightly with a firm grip on the back of your neck, thumb gliding over your bottom lip, leather of his glove soft. “‘Gedet’ye.’ Please.”

Oh pfassk. 

The rush of arousal is dizzying, your thighs squeezing tight against the pulse of it in your core, blasting anxiety away in its intensity. 

Your voice quivers just a little as the word falls from your lips. “Gedet’ye.”

His soft groan shoots straight through you, sparks into the heat of your arousal, dims the anxiety and nervousness at the thought of what you’re about to do. 

He pulls away, and your stomach sinks, embarrassment sour on your tongue. 

What… I thought… 

Then he speaks, voice dropping low, rasping with his own arousal. 

“Show me.”

The sudden shift from spiralling shame to fierce desire shades the edges of your vision, stutters your heartbeat. 

Ok. You’re doing this. 

You force your trembling hands to steady as you reach for your buttons. One by one your fingers slide them free, the fabric of your shirt falling open as your hands move down your midriff.

The black visor stays on you the entire time. 

It’s hard to breathe, your chest tight, heart pounding so quickly it almost hurts.

Your fingers loosen the last button and freeze.

Dank farrik. 

Why didn’t you think of this?

Your back. Your scars. 

You couldn’t… no, no way, there’s was no way you could -

Panic wells up underneath your ribs. Stupid, you’d gone ahead and promised him something you couldn’t give, what were you thinking -

“Tionas.”

The softly spoken word yanks you out of your spiral. He takes both of your hands in his, strength of them familiar and grounding. “Only what you’re comfortable with.”

Your breath leaves your lungs in a rushed exhale - you hadn’t realized you were holding it. 

Anxiety dissipates, leaving only affection. Of course. This is him. Unlike most, he will never expect anything more from you than what you’re willing to give. 

The warm bright thing in your chest flares. 

You want this. You want to give him this. 

An idea flits across your thoughts. 

Your lips curves into a smile, tugging on his hands until he follows your silent command, letting you move him to the storage crate beside you and guide him to sit. 

You pause, just admiring how he looks sitting there, long legs bent at the knee and spread, hands resting on his thighs, all broad strength and incredible power and unmatched intuition that lets him see parts of you that no one else has seen. 

Mandalorian, hunter, warrior - man. Patiently waiting. 

For you. 

For you to give him something you’ve never given anyone else. 

The coals of your arousal flare to life so intensely your thighs clench with it. 

Lifting your hands, you pull your shirt open, let it hang loose, framing the curves of your body. The chill air of the hold swirls over your skin, pebbles your nipples through the cups of your bra, the pricks of sensation shooting straight to your core. 

The orange-tipped fingers of his gloves flex just slightly on his thighs. 

You tilt your head to the side, running your gaze down his form. He could reach out and touch you, he’s close enough. So why the restraint?

Whatever the reason, you want to see how far he’ll take it. What will make that infamous restraint crack. 

The thought is so arousing and exhilarating you have to bite your lip to stop from grinning. 

Reaching up, you hook your fingertips into the cups of your bra and tug them down, breath catching as your breasts spill out and the cool air rushes over your nipples. 

A hiss flows through the modulator, those gloved fingers curling into fists. 

Getting there. 

You trail your fingers down your midriff, back arching into the touch.

The leather of his gloves creaks.

You toe off your boots, push them aside with one foot, and slip your fingertips under the hem of your leggings. 

A tremor runs through his frame, armour glinting in the light of the hold with the movement. 

Closer. 

Slowly, you pull your leggings down, letting them glide down your thighs. Bending to push them past your knees and down your calves, you catch the sharp intake of breath through the modulator as your breasts fall further out of the cups of your bra. 

So close, now. 

You meet the black visor’s gaze as you step out of your leggings, fingers smoothing over the tops of your thighs. Goosebumps break out over your skin, body bared to the air except where your shirt and underwear cover. A shiver races down your spine, pools in your core, sends a rush of arousal that clenches your inner walls in anticipation. 

But he doesn’t move. 

Your hands twitch with the desire to touch him, pull him close, feel him. The same need forces your feet to move, take a step toward him until you’re standing between his knees, looking down at the black visor, senses filling with the scent and the closeness of him. It only makes you need him more. 

And still, he doesn’t break.

He’s staring up at you, unseen gaze heavy on yours, shoulders rising and falling quickly with obvious rapid breath. His hands are curled into fists, pressed tight against his thigh plates. 

Maybe he’s waiting for permission?

Maybe he doesn’t think you’re attractive. 

Pfassk, maybe he’s repulsed by what he sees, and here you are, shoving it in his face -

A pained groan filters through the modulator. “Are you done? I need to touch you, mesh’la, please.”

Your lips fall open, pussy throbbing as his words sink into your skin. 

The anxiety spiral fizzles out as quickly as it began, confidence surging to take its place. 

His words, the desperation in his voice - you’ve never felt more beautiful in your entire life. 

You smile crookedly, playful elation light in your chest, arousal hot between your thighs. “Not yet.”

Spinning around with all the grace you can muster, you hook your fingers under the hem of your underwear and tug them down over your hips. 

The sound he makes as you bend over to slide them down your legs yanks a moan of your own from your throat. 

You straighten up, look at him over your shoulder. He’s nearly shaking, hands splayed over his thighs, black visor fixed to your bare ass. 

Crikking hells, his reaction to your nakedness is hot. 

You’re done teasing. 

Shifting, you spread your feet just a bit so your pussy is exposed to his view - pfassk, you’re already so wet, the cool air rushes over your slick folds - and open your mouth to speak, tell him to touch you.  

There’s a whirlwind of movement and his gloves are tugged off and hitting the floor and yes his hands are on you, one grabbing the curve of your hip while the other dives between your thighs. A moan punches from your chest, head falling back at the feel of his fingers sliding through your folds. 

He groans, low and rough. “Fuck, you’re so wet already.”

“For you. I want you, always want -“ your words choke off as a thick fingertip glides over your clit. 

His hand on your hip shifts, holds you as his fingertip circles your clit firmly. “I know. Me too, cyar’ika.”

He starts a steady rhythm and sparks of pleasure swarm down your body, curling your toes against the cold durasteel floor, parting your thighs even more. 

Oh pfassk that feels so kriffing good -

Your hands cup your breasts, a shudder running down your entire body as the warmth of your palms envelopes your peaked nipples, hips rolling back and pleasure arcing up with the combined sensation of his fingers moving just right over your clit -

Then he stops, and you cry out, rising pleasure shuddering to a halt. But he isn’t pulling away, his hands are grasping your hips and pushing, turning you to face him, pulling you down onto his lap. 

Stumbling with the movement, you manage to get your legs on either side of his, gripping his arms as he settles back against the wall, the cold of his armour biting deliciously into your inner thighs.

The helmet tilts, black visor clearly taking in the sight of you. His voice rasps through the modulator. “Want to watch you come for me.”

Oh pfassk. 

A fresh wave of arousal flushes through your core. Your hands move to curl around his wrists, bringing one hand to a breast and the other to your aching cunt. “I want you to watch, too, see how good you make me feel.”

His groan bites off as his hand cups your breast, the other your pussy, fingers slipping through your slick. “Fuck, only want to make you feel good, mesh’la.”

Your hips press down into his palm, your hand curving his tighter to your breast. “Make me come for you, please, gedet’ye -“

He thrusts two fingers deep into your cunt and your back bows with the stretch, words cutting off with a broken moan. His palm grinds over your clit as his hand on your breast flexes, squeezing, fingertips digging into soft flesh. 

Pleasure courses through your veins, dizzying, rocking your body with the force of it, hips rolling with each wave. Your hand lets go of his wrist, clings to his arm for balance, a whimper slips from your mouth at the feel of his muscles flexing under his clothes with every thrust of his fingers into your wet heat. 

His hand on your breast slides out from under yours, shifting to pull your nipple between his finger and thumb, and cricking hells  -

Your entire body shakes with pleasure, so intense it sets you reeling, both hands now grabbing at his arms to keep from falling backward.

A low hum filters through the modulator. “Does that feel good, mesh’la?”

He does it again, tugging your hardened nipple just right as his fingers curl deep inside your cunt and press against some spot and your panting breath chokes in your throat, pleasure so bright it’s blinding shooting through your entire body. “Oh pfassk yes like that - “

“Fuck, look at you.” His voice is so low, so rough it’s almost a growl. “So fucking beautiful like this, like always. Come for me, I want to see you come.”

Your orgasm suddenly looms, drawing tight across your hips and thighs and his fingers pulse against that spot inside you as he rolls your nipple between his thumb and finger and -

Words fall from you, rushed and broken, eyelids closing and head falling back as pleasure becomes overwhelming. “Please don’t stop I’m gonna come -“

A sharp pinch to your nipple makes you gasp, eyes finding the black visor in surprise and you can’t look away, gaze fixed to him. 

His palm presses over your clit and his fingertips flutter inside your cunt, pulling you right to the edge. “Eyes open, cyar’ika. I want to see.”

Oh kriff. 

Pleasure breaks and it’s -

Blinding white and silver and black -

A rush of hot slick heat squelches with the movement of his fingers - 

It’s so much and your brow furrows with the effort of keeping your eyes open, whimper pushing from your throat -

Thighs tremble and you can’t breathe and still his fingers pulse inside your cunt, pressing against your inner walls as they flutter and squeeze and -

The low rasp of his voice breaks through the throbbing of your heartbeat in your ears. “Look at me, almost -“

Something cracks and gushes and a cry tears from your chest, your entire body shudders hard, his hand leaving your breast to move around your back, keep you there, keep you on his fingers as pleasure shatters over you. 

Wet slick throb heat -

Then there’s the release and you’re falling, crumpling against his chest and it’s too much, so much still, waves of pleasure sending tremors through your muscles and pulling another rush from your cunt and everything narrows into that moment, the feeling of his fingers still inside you as you flutter and clench and hot slick pools in his palm, engulfs your throbbing clit and it feels so good -

A high-pitched sob - yours, muffled in his cowl as you scramble to pull him closer, needing an anchor, a final wave of pleasure ripping through your body and stealing every ounce of strength you have left. 

Your lungs gasp for air, filling for the first time in who knows how long, catching once as he gently slips his fingers from your pussy. Quiet words are falling above you, Mando’s low rasp full of something like awe. 

“So beautiful when you come, fuck I could watch you forever…”

Your heart skips a beat, squeezes tight, so tight it hurts and tears sting in the corners of your eyes. Thoughts still scattered, you pull together enough words to say what you want him to hear. “Want you… inside me please… want you to see what you do to me…”

His moan is soft and broken through the modulator, a large hand cupping your cheek to gently pull your face to look at him. “What I do to - fuck, tionas, you destroy me and heal me in the same breath.”

The warm bright thing in your chest shoves a needy cry from your throat. 

You push yourself up right with your hands pressed against his breastplate, shifting forward so you straddle his hips closer, moaning when your naked pussy presses against the hard length of his cloth-covered cock. His hands grasp your waist, holding you there as his hips flex under yours, push his cock against your cunt, sparks of arousal flexing back to life with the grind of fabric, rough and soaking wet with your release, on your sensitive clit.

Your gaze flits over the helmet, catches on the black visor, sees your reflection there - features contorted in pleasure limned with something like need but deeper, a primal desire for connection. For him. 

His hips arch up under yours again and echoing groans fall in the small space between you. 

It’s too much and not enough at the same time. 

You paw at his cowl, tugging as if it would bring him closer, thoughts so clouded with need it’s hard to focus on anything but the emptiness of your cunt. “Need your cock inside me now, gedet’ye.”

His growl is deep even through the modulator and a strong arm bands under your ass to lift you up for a moment, his free hand fumbling beneath you, then there’s the press of his bare cock to your folds and your hips rock forward to pull the smooth head to your entrance and he bites out another groan as you push against the hold of his arm to sink down onto his cock. 

The stretch is everything, slick walls easing the way, the thick of his cock divine and you stop breathing again until your thighs are flush with his once more. He’s deep - so deep - and your pussy pulses around his length and pfassk it’s so good -

Then his hips flex and the arm under your ass lifts and your eyes widen in shock at how good that feels, the weight of his cock pulling slowly along your inner walls before he lets you slide back down into him again.

You want more, more of this and more of him.

Your thighs strain with the effort but you find a rhythm, his arm aiding your movements, and you lose yourself in the drag and thrust, the repeated empty and full, pleasure thrumming through your veins.

His hand cups your cheek, draws your gaze to the black visor - when had you closed your eyes? It fills your vision, blends with your pleasure until the sight of him becomes a physical sensation itself, stroking a part of you that you didn’t know existed. 

A calloused thumb brushes over your cheekbone. “Can you feel it, mar’eyce?”

You know he’s talking about that, the source of that strange primal need, the thing that’s been pulling you toward each other since your first meeting, always there but now brought into the open, glimmering under the warm light of the hold, evidenced there in the glint of his armour and the faint tremor of his golden-skinned hand and the open, vulnerable expression on your face, reflected in the black visor. 

As his cock sinks into your heat once more, words drift from your lips. “Yes I feel it, I feel you, and me, right here where we belong.”

His cock throbs inside you, an answer pulse of your pussy pulling moans from both of you. Pfassk, your thighs are screaming for rest but you can’t stop, the need to feel him come inside you driving your movements faster. 

His hand falls from your face to grab desperately at your hip. “Fuck, yes just like that -“

“Please come for me need to feel you -“ Your voice cuts off as his hips suddenly drive into yours, head of his cock pressing tight against that bright point of pleasure-pain, tearing all ability to speak from your thoughts. 

Again he draws out and back in and there right there oh pfassk -

Again and again -

Your core flexes and squeezes and you’re going to come again -

His voice stutters with every thrust. “Do it, come again for me, let me see you come on my cock.”

It blindsides you, pleasure rips through your body out of nowhere and your cunt pulses around the thick of him, drawing his cock deep to shove against that spot and it’s so much -

He grunts once, twice, again and his cock throbs against your walls as he comes, fingers digging deep into the softness of your hip. 

Bright wet heat and then -

The drop and you’re sobbing as it finally releases you, reeling, but he’s pulling you close and tucking you into his chest and you’re safe. 

Time passes quietly. The only sounds are your slowly steadying breaths and the hum of the ship’s engines. Nothing moves while you hurtle through hyperspace together, embedded in this moment, just the two of you.

Eventually your thoughts pull together, start to pick through what just happened. 

What… did just happen?

Your body is satiated, pleasantly wrung out, drifting on the remnants of the haze of pleasure. Yet there’s a raw ache in your chest, a sense of vulnerability that draws down the corners of your mouth, makes you want to curl up in a ball and never look at the world again. 

But his hands are on your back, warm and firm and stroking smooth lines up and down, pausing occasionally to brush a thumb over the back of your neck or the curve of your spine, as if seeking to reassure those vulnerable parts of you. 

His touch curves around that raw ache until you can’t feel it any more. 

And you suddenly realize you’re freezing.

Legs still bare, the chill air of the hold sends tiny shivers along your skin. 

“Pfassk.” You burrow closer to him, seeking his warmth beneath the hard lines of his armour. “Cold.”

He moves beneath you, a rustle of movement then he’s draping his cowl around your waist, pulling the fabric over your legs. “Better?”

You hum in acknowledgment, though common sense provides a logical option. “Could just get dressed again.”

His hands pause their journey on your back, arms tightening around you. “I’ll keep you warm, cyar’ika.”

A little huff of laughter vibrates through your words. “And naked.” 

“Exactly.”

His hands start up their motion again, and the shift of the cloth of your shirt over your back makes your throat close over. 

Swallowing hard, you turn your face into the curve of his neck, the words too hard to say with any force of volume. “Thank you. For not… for letting me keep my shirt on. I can’t - I can’t do… that… “

One of his hands finds your cheek again, fingers tucking under your jaw to bring your gaze to his, words falling soft through the modulator. “I didn’t ‘let’ you do anything. You have the power to choose what you give to me.”

You’re staring at him, you know it. 

But what else are you supposed to do?

No one has ever spoken to you like that before. 

Power? 

You’ve never had power. At one point, you thought you did, thought you were choosing the life you had. But you only did it was because of the power someone else has held over you. All of your different lives and identities, they weren’t chosen because you wanted them - they were an escape, a means of hiding from those who would do you harm. 

They were aliases, false fronts, make believe. A way to hide your true self.

All because of the power others held over you, the power to take your life away from you. 

A life you realize you don’t want to ever let go of. 

And now you’re sitting here, naked and spread open in his lap, as vulnerable as you can be, and he’s saying you have power. 

That warm bright thing in your chest grows, expands until you can barely breathe, barely say the words building up on your tongue. “How do you do that? How do you make me feel so strong and alive and real?” 

He pauses, and you can almost feel his gaze tracing your features, noting the open plea in your expression. “Because you do the same to me, tionas.”

Oh. 

No one has ever made you feel this way before.

Or him. You tilt your forehead to rest against his, cool beskar soothing. “Everything is different with you.”

A soft sigh filters through the modulator. “Yes. Everything is different with you.”

*****

Mando’a translations:

Mesh’la - beautiful

Cyar’ika - sweetheart

Tionas - question

Gedet’ye - please

Mar’eyce - something wonderful discovered, a state of heaven

*****

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