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coffeeshades · 2 months ago

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credits to the gif maker!

LOVE IS COMPLICATED - PART IX

—we belong to you and me

summary: the trials and tribulations of falling in love or two idiots who can't get their shit together.

pairing: pedro pascal x actress/singer!reader.

word count: 2.9k

warnings: 18+ (minors dni). fluff. angst. cursing, age gap, mentions of alcohol and depression. feelings of hopelessness, anxiety. no use of y/n, if i missed something please let me know!

a/n: here it goes. happy reading <3

masterlist!

January 26, 2023

Los Angeles, California

The ceiling isn’t even interesting, but it’s better than everything else right now. You’ve spent too many nights staring at the same spot above you, trying not to think, trying not to feel, but the thoughts always come creeping back. Anxiety’s a funny thing—how it picks and chooses moments to make your life its playground, especially when there’s nothing left to distract you.

You think about your depression diagnosis from a year ago. It feels like a dirty word, one that sticks to the inside of your throat whenever you try to talk about it.

Shame has a way of making you feel unworthy, like there’s a crack inside you that everyone can see. And Pedro…well, he was part of that too. Not because he’d judge you; no, you know he wouldn’t. That’s what makes it worse. He’d understand, and you know it. But it was that very understanding, that softness, that made you feel even less deserving of him. It was easier to push him away, tell yourself that he was better off without you, without your darkness looming overhead.

It was stupid. You knew it was stupid. But knowing didn’t make it any easier. For a long time, you felt like shit. The medication and therapy helped, though. You feel better now, mostly. At least enough to move through the days without the weight of the world pressing down on your chest.

On nights like this, when the city outside your window hums with life, you find yourself longing for him. Wanting him with a kind of ache that doesn’t make sense anymore. Not after a year of silence.

Okay, not complete silence.

There were the text messages, the likes, the little online interactions that served as placeholders for the real thing. But the last time you actually heard his voice was on your birthday. He called, and it was brief. Polite. He sounded tired, maybe distant. You’d called him on his birthday, too, but he didn’t pick up. A few hours later, a text: “Sorry! Really busy over here, even on my birthday. Thanks for the birthday wishes. See you soon.”

Except “See you soon” never came. It was nothing more than etiquette.

Sarah came over a few weeks later. You were sitting on your couch, mindlessly flipping through a book, when she dropped the news. “They broke up,” she’d said, leaning against the counter like it wasn’t a bomb that just exploded in your chest. “Pedro and Julia. Months ago.”

Why didn’t he tell me?

That conversation replayed in your head for days. Maybe he hadn’t told you because you weren’t that person for him anymore. The one he turned to when things went wrong. Life just went on without him in it. The strange became familiar, and here you were, on a Saturday night, staring at nothing.

You push off the sofa, grab your phone from the coffee table, and start scrolling through social media. It’s the only thing that takes the edge off, numbing the ache for a little while. But even that was a trap because almost every post you see is about him.

Pedro was everywhere, and you couldn’t escape him.

The world had caught on to how wonderful he was, and now they all wanted a piece of him. The headlines, the photos, the fan posts—everyone seemed to wonder what it would be like to love him, to touch him. The universe was taunting you with his presence, a constant reminder of what you’d had and what you’d lost. Every time you saw his face, you felt a pang of regret, sharp and unforgiving.

February 4, 2023

New York, NY

The invitation had come a week earlier, but not from him. His sister, Lux, had sent the text. “It would be nice if you came,” she’d written, and your heart had swelled in your chest.

“I’ll try,” you’d replied, though you knew as soon as you sent it that you would go. The next thing you knew, you were on a plane to New York, staring out the window, wondering what you were doing. You hadn’t seen him in person in over a year, and you didn’t even know if he wanted to see you. What if time had passed you by? What if everything between you had faded into the background, nothing more than a memory?

The night of the show arrived, and you were a wreck. A bundle of nerves, second-guessing everything. You sat in the audience, people asking for pictures here and there, and you smiled, happily obliging. But when Pedro took the stage, your heart stopped. He was nervous during the monologue, you could tell, but he quickly settled into the rhythm.

His breathing evened out, and he was so…perfect. He talked about his family, about his mother, and you felt the lump in your throat rise when he got emotional. He was always funny in the sketches, but especially when he almost broke character to laugh. You couldn’t stop watching him.

And you hoped—no, you prayed—that maybe he’d see you through the crowd.

When the show ended, people started to disperse, and there he was, surrounded by his family, by friends, all buzzing with pride and excitement. You hung back, watching as Lux tried to get everyone lined up for a photo. “Who’s gonna take it?” someone asked, and you stepped forward before you could think twice.

“I can do it,” you said, and Lux’s eyes widened in surprise.

“Oh my god, you came!” She rushed over, wrapping her arms around you, and you hugged her back, feeling a sudden warmth in your chest.

Nico and Pedro’s nephews followed, pulling you into their hugs as well. For a moment, it felt like old times, like maybe things hadn’t changed at all. But then Pedro turned, his gaze catching yours, and time stopped.

You stood there, staring at each other, and the world spun and stilled all at once. His eyes lit up, soft and warm, like they always had. He looked like he wanted to say something, but neither of you moved.

Five seconds. Maybe less. But it felt like forever.

You smiled, and so did he, a quiet acknowledgment passing between you. Lux handed you her phone, and you took the picture, watching them all gather together, laughing and chatting. You could feel Pedro’s eyes on you the whole time.

After the photo, he walked over, his eyes locking onto yours again.

“How…what are you…?”

“Your sister invited me,” you replied quickly.

“Of course she did,” he said, glancing back at Lux with a smile.

“Congratulations, you were incredible,” you said, the words tumbling out faster than you intended. “I’m so happy for you.”

He looked at you like you were the most precious thing in the world, like you were the moon and the stars. Your heart raced, and you could feel it thumping against your ribs. He smiled, a half-smile, and his voice softened. “Thank you. I think I butchered a couple of lines, but…"

“No, no,” you insisted, shaking your head. “You were perfect. It was perfect.”

He looked like he wanted to say more, his eyes doing that thing they always did when he was holding something back. But then he cleared his throat, looking flustered. “I have to go get changed and say goodbye to a few people, but come to the afterparty, okay? Oscar and Sarah will be there.”

As if you needed a reason other than him.

“Yeah, of course,” you said, trying to sound casual.

He took a step closer, his big brown eyes fixed on you. “Thank you for being here.”

You smiled, trying to keep your composure. “Always.”

And then he turned and disappeared backstage.

•••

Later, at the afterparty, you felt like a ghost, drifting between conversations. You caught up with Oscar and Sarah, the comfort of their hugs bringing unexpected tears to your eyes. It felt good, to be surrounded by people who loved you unconditionally. But you couldn’t help yourself; you kept looking for Pedro. From across the room, your eyes would meet, and the significance of everything unsaid hung between you.

Twenty minutes passed like that. Stolen glances, quiet tension. Until you saw him slip outside to the rooftop, away from the crowd.

Without thinking, you followed him.

He stood there, looking out over the city, his broad back to you, the skyline of New York glowing in the distance. For a moment, you thought about turning around, about going back inside. But then you stepped forward, standing beside him.

“This city,” you started, “is so beautiful from up here. Makes you forget about all the bad things—like the rats and the traffic.”

He laughed—that booming, wheezing kind of laugh you loved so much—and you smiled.

Pedro smiled at you—that same familiar smile that hadn’t changed in all these years. His eyebrows lifted playfully, and for a moment, it felt like no time had passed at all. But as you looked closer, you saw it—he had changed, and yet the essence of him remained.

His hair was longer now, curling just at the ends in a way that made you want to reach out and touch it. His beard, fuller than before, had streaks of gray decorating his jawline and his hair. The lines around his eyes had deepened, like stories waiting to be told, crinkling when he smiled, as if life had both weathered and softened him.

He turned to look at you. “Hi again.”

“Hi."

“You look good,” he said, the compliment slipping from his lips with ease.

You chuckled softly. “Thanks, so do you, Mr. Popular.”

He clicked his tongue, amused. “What can I say?”

The rooftop was hushed, only the chatter and music from the party drifting up from where you stood. The world below a distant hum, leaving just the two of you bathed in the soft glow of green and gold light from the city. The air was cool but not cold, wrapping around you both in a way that felt intimate, protective.

How Deep Is Your Love started playing, and you looked towards the party, a small smile playing on your lips. As if he could read your mind, he chuckled and said, "How fitting. What are the odds?"

For the first time in what felt like forever, you were under Pedro’s gaze—not the chaotic, feverish attention you were used to, with cameras flashing and crowds screaming your name, but something deeper. His attention had always been different. It was quiet, but focused, like a steady hand on your shoulder, grounding you without a word.

For a moment, you couldn’t speak, couldn’t breathe. The pull between you too strong, a tether stretched thin by years of disconnect but never broken. You felt it—the weight of all that had gone unsaid pressing against your chest. You had to say it. Now, before you lost the courage.

“I was debating whether or not to do this here,” you began, your voice low but steady, “today of all days, but I feel like the right time will never come for us, so I’ll just say it.”

Pedro’s eyes searched yours with anticipation, perhaps fear or hope, watching you with that unwavering focus that made your heart race.

In that moment, you realized, you didn't know where to start.

“I’m sorry,” you whispered, the words catching in your throat. “I disappeared like that, and I know I hurt you. I was... I was dealing with so much, and I wanted to tell you, but I couldn’t move. Some days were harder than others, and I felt so ashamed. So lost. So sad.”

The word sad hung between you, fragile yet heavy. You could see it in his face—how your words cut him deeply. His lips parted, and you saw the pain flicker in his eyes, the understanding that only he could offer.

“Baby,” he said, the word tender, rich with affection. He took a step closer, his presence overwhelming yet calming all at once. His hand moved to your hair, fingers brushing it aside before resting gently on the side of your head. The touch was so familiar, so comforting, you closed your eyes for a moment, letting the warmth of it wash over you.

“No,” Pedro said softly, his voice breaking just a little. “I’m sorry. I’m sorry for not doing more. For not being there when you needed me. I’m a fucking coward.”

You opened your eyes, meeting his gaze. “I pushed you away because I thought… I thought you were happy with her.” Your voice cracked, but you pushed through the pain. “And before that, I pushed you away because I thought you just didn't want me. I figured it was better to let you be.”

He let out a breath, stepping even closer, his forehead nearly touching yours. “I got with her because I couldn’t escape you,” he confessed, the words raw and full of regret. “You were always there, in my head, in my heart. I thought if I could be with someone else, maybe… maybe I’d forget you, but I couldn’t.”

You felt the tears sting at the back of your eyes. The truth of it, the weight of his words, felt like a key turning in a lock that had long been rusted shut. You wanted to say more, to tell him everything, but before you could, Pedro’s hand slipped to your cheek, his thumb brushing the corner of your mouth.

“I was afraid that you'd be the only person I ever actually wanted. And now I'm afraid that my one and only chance at happiness has passed me by.” He whispered, his voice low and intense. “And I…I think about kissing you more than I think about anything else, literally in the world. It’s my go-to thought when my mind has a minute to spare.”

You could barely breathe. The air between you felt charged, electrified by everything he was admitting, by the love you had both buried for so long. “I was so scared,” he continued, his eyes glistening. “So scared of fucking up our friendship, scared of what people might say, and scared of losing you because… I’ve never known what to do with pain, mi amor. All I’ve ever done is hide from it. But I don’t want to do that anymore.”

You reached up, covering his hand with yours.

He closed his eyes for a moment, as if your touch was too much, too overwhelming. Then, slowly, he opened them again, his gaze locking onto yours with such intensity it made your heart ache. “I was such an idiot,” he said, his voice rough with emotion. “I thought I could live without you, but the truth is, I’ve never been able to. Not for a single day.”

You smiled, your own tears finally spilling over. “Well, that makes two of us.”

"You're my favorite person to talk to," he said, "even when we're fighting."

There was a beat, a single breath in which the world seemed to pause, and then he kissed you. It wasn’t a tentative kiss, shy, or unsure—it was everything. Every moment, every longing look, every stolen glance over the years poured into this one, perfect moment. His lips were soft but demanding, his hands slipping into your hair as he pulled you closer. You knew people could be watching from afar, but you melted into him, because nothing else mattered right now.

When you finally pulled back, foreheads pressed together, both of you gasping for air like you'd been drowning and only just found the surface. His forehead rested against yours, his breath shaky, and in that moment, you saw it all—the vulnerability, the fear, the anger, and beneath it all, the raw, unrelenting love.

Pedro’s voice was thick with emotion as he spoke, “I hate myself for waiting this long.” His hands slid down to your shoulders, gripping them with a desperation that made your heart twist. “I watched you disappear, and I told myself it wasn’t my place. But it was. It always was.”

His eyes bore into yours, deep pools of brown that always saw you, even when you didn’t want to be seen. His hands turned and pushed you slowly to the railing, and you could feel the cold biting into your back even through the thick layers of your jacket.

“I hated myself too,” you admitted, the words spilling out in a rush, messy and imperfect, but true. “I thought about you every day. And I hated myself for it because I couldn’t let go. I tried, God. I tried with everything I had to move on, but it was always you. It was always you, Pedro.”

His lips trembled, and you saw the tears in his eyes—the same tears that were stinging yours. He let out a bitter laugh, shaking his head.

“We wasted so much time.”

You nodded, your own heart breaking at the realization. All the years you had spent avoiding each other, convincing yourselves it was for the best, when deep down, you knew the truth.

You had been running—both of you—from something that had always been there.

“I know,” you said softly, reaching up to cup his face, your thumb brushing against the scruff on his jaw. “But we’re here now. I'm here, and I'm not going anywhere."

He nodded, a slow, deliberate movement. “I love you,” he said, the words a soft confession.

You smiled, face wet with tears, your heart finally free of the burden it had carried for so long.

“I know."

a/n: aaaahh finally!!! these idiots got it right it only took like 20 years lol.

an extra final chapter is coming very soon. i had so much fun writing this. i started writing this silly little fic right after a breakup because i was feeling lonely and it was the best way for me to not feel like that sooo i wanted to thank everyone who read, liked, reblogged or commented, it means the world to me that someone else enjoys something that takes so much of my time. love you all so much!!!

#pedro pascal imagine #pedro pascal x reader #pedro pascal smut #pedro pascal fluff #pedro pascal fanfiction #pedro pascal angst #my writing #pedro pascal fic

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save-the-villainous-cat · 9 months ago

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"Does the little Hero need a hug?" "No, fuck off"

Quickly, the hero’s head jerked back to the body on the ground.

Their hands were still shaking, their breath still something they had to take control over again. Frantically, their brain searched for a protocol they could follow, some kind of procedure or advice, something, anything that could save the situation.

“Ouch.” The villain leaned over their shoulder like a curious child. They seemed to study the body until they spat out a diagnosis. “Ohhh, definitely dead, yeah.”

I am going to jail, the hero thought. Panic gnawed on them relentlessly. I am going to jail.

The villain approached the body until they were close enough to kick it with their foot. Not really impressed, they cocked their head.

“Shame. I thought they had some potential.” They looked back at the hero and something in their face softened just a bit. “Your first body, I presume? Don’t worry, it gets easier.”

“Gets easier?” the hero croaked. They could feel tears run down their cheeks, their nose clogging up. It hurt, everything hurt.

“The offer still stands, I can give you a hug.”

“I don’t want a hug,” the hero said, their voice trembling. With a bloody hand, they went through their hair a few times. This couldn’t be happening. The hero wasn’t a killer. God, they wouldn’t even hurt a fly.

“You know that person-” the villain kicked them again “-was a criminal, right?”

The hero couldn’t see, they couldn’t think.

“Oh God,” they whispered. “Oh God.”

“They weren’t going to show you any mercy,” the villain said. “You defended yourself.”

“No no no no. This isn’t right, I didn’t…I couldn’t have— I wasn’t trying to kill them.”

For a moment, the villain didn’t say anything. They stood there and stared at the hero who was so ashamed that they had to turn away. The hero couldn’t control the tears, couldn’t control the sobs. It was difficult enough to be out here and fight every night.

It was difficult enough without the villain showing up unwanted and making fun of them every now and then. It was enough to punch people the hero didn’t know because of agendas that didn’t align.

They hadn’t noticed it but this had bitten chunks out of them for a long time.

“Okay, listen.” The villain’s hand found the hero’s shoulder. “Things like this are unavoidable when you do this job.”

“No, it shouldn’t be…it can’t be, fuck, I thought — I really thought I—”

“Deep breaths,” the villain instructed. They stood in front of the hero now. They were calm, collected. No mocking. No jokes. They’d done this before. “Don’t turn around again. Eyes on me, sweetheart.”

The hero nodded, wiping tears and snot away. They didn’t know what had come over them. They hadn’t cried in years. But then again, this was probably way overdue.

“That’s good. Keep breathing.”

“I’m fine, I…what are you doing?” The hero looked them up and down, ready for something but after that outburst, they were tired enough to call it a day. Or better, a night.

“I heard you were around, so I thought I should check out what you’re doing,” the villain said. “Are you sure you’re okay?”

“Why do you care?” the hero asked, trying to put as much disgust into their voice as possible. After all, this was the villain. However, it didn’t really work out for them. Calming down from an almost-panic-attack was just as tiring as living through one.

“You snapped out of it pretty quickly, I’ve never seen that before.”

“I’m fine,” the hero insisted. They wiped the last tears away and took in a deep breath. What had just happened?

Only now, they realised that the villain was still holding onto their shoulders. With one movement, they brushed them off, heading towards the exit of the abandoned building. What was that? They had sent people to hospitals within minutes, they had always been efficient and quick.

They had expected any reaction to an enemy getting killed but this one?

Their head hurt. They wanted to go home. Fall into bed.

Shit, they hadn’t cried in years.

“Hey.” The villain grabbed their arm before they could escape. “That was just the tip of the iceberg, wasn’t it? You have quite a lot bottled up, don’t you?”

The hero dared to look into their eyes and they got so uncomfortable by this confrontation that they wished to walk into the ocean and never return.

Because the villain was right. Maybe. The hero tried to remember but the last years seemed very foggy.

“Christ, what happened to you?” the villain asked but not even the hero could really remember.

#we do it better yeahhh #realised this a few months ago #can’t remember big portions of my childhood #writing snippet #heroxvillain prompt #heroxvillain snippet #heroes and villains #hero #villain #hero x villain #heroxvillain #an answer for an ask #request

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enhas-pov · 6 months ago

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cold hearted

summary: reader and niki who are in a toxic relationship get into a heated argument

warnings: swearing, violence, anxiety, emotional abuse, toxic relationship

word count: 700

════════════════════════

looking down at my phone, i look through all of the texts i sent niki a few hours ago when he was supposed to be home. he left at 3pm and told me he’d be back at 6, it’s almost 12am. my eyes were still fixed on my phone when suddenly i heard the sound of the door opening. i watched him walk towards the kitchen without uttering a single word to me, it’s like he didn’t even notice i was sat right there in front of him. “seriously, niki? not even a hi?” i heard him release a sigh before he turned around to face me. “hi. happy?” he left the room before i could even say anything. i got up from the couch and followed him to our bedroom where he was changing out of his clothes. “you’re just gonna pretend like you’re not 6 fucking hours late? do you know how worried i was about you? i texted you like 20 times-“

“god, can you please shut the fuck up for once? i saw your texts, i chose to ignore them because of how fucking annoying your clingy ass is” i watched him silently as he hopped onto our bed and got under the blanket. “are you just gonna stand there?” he looked up at me and rolled his eyes when he noticed mine being teary. “here we go again..“ “why do you have to be so fucking mean to me? what did i ever do to you, hm?” when i raised my voice at him, i saw how i caused him to get annoyed at me. “i’ve had enough with your bullshit ___. wipe those fake tears away and go to bed” he got up from his comfortable position and walked towards me, angrily grabbing me by my arm. “don’t touch me” i practically spat in his face. “what makes you think you can talk to your own girlfriend like that? do you not know that i also have feelings, or do you just not care? you know what, niki? you’re a cold hearted piece of shit. you’re the worst boyfriend ever, fuck you-“

*smack*

…did he just slap me? “there you go again, always playing the victim. do you ever think that maybe you’ve done something wrong for me to act like this? i do everything for you, ___. i take you out on dates, i buy you gifts, i care for you, i give you love and attention, and you have the audacity to say that i’m the worst boyfriend ever? no, YOU’RE the worst girlfriend ever. you don’t appreciate all the shit i do for you. you’re the one to blame, this is your fault” it went completely silent after. he was stood in front of me waiting for me to say something, but no words were coming out of my mouth. “are you done now? cause i’m tired, and i was about to go to bed before you decided to open your fucking mouth” i look up at him for a second before slightly nodding. making my way over to my side of the bed, i hear him mumble something to himself “finally. always getting on my fucking nerves..” he got in bed with his back facing me. “goodnight” i quietly say as i get under the blanket. “yeah, whatever”

*2am*

i was struggling to sleep after my argument with niki. was it really my fault? i felt guilty. i could’ve just let it go and it wouldn’t have ended like this. “niki..?” i sat up and placed my hand on his bicep to see if he was awake. “what is it?” he’s quick to respond, was he even asleep? “i’m sorry about how i reacted earlier. i feel really bad” he turned around to finally face me before also sitting up. “you made me take my anger out on you. you shouldn’t have taken it that far” he brought his hand up to stroke my cheek where he had slapped me. “see. you’re all red and hurt now” i lowered my head in shame. i felt humiliated. “i know, i’m sorry..” he placed a kiss on my forehead, and i could feel him smile against me. he did it again. he always does this.

#niki #enhypen x female reader #enhypen fanfic #enhypen niki #niki enhypen #nishimura riki #niki x reader #toxic relationship #enhypen fic #enhypen x reader #enha x reader #enhypen fanfiction #enhypen angst

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m0nnypie · 3 months ago

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JUST ANOTHER SUMMER DAY

WARNINGS: smut, +18, MDNI, tigh riding, all characters are age up. Kaminari Denki x FEM!reader

Sinopsys: You and Denki have been friends for a long time, and you've never crossed the line of friendship. But what would happen on a day when you were alone in the dorms and it was hot?

Words: 1.5k

You and Denki had known each other for a long time, 3 years to be exact. At first, you didn't like him very much, since he was friends with Mineta. But Kiri ended up making you change your mind when he introduced you. Even so, you always held back a little around him, and that's why you never went beyond the line of friendship.

I say this because you crossed that line with others a long time ago, when you kissed Mina to see what it was like to kiss a girl, for example. Or that time when you and Bakugou were drunk and made out, you two never brought it up.

Anyway, you never crossed that line when it came to him. You were afraid. You were terrified of thinking that if something happened, everything would change and get weird. You wouldn't admit it out loud, but after so much time together, you might have developed feelings for him.

You snapped out of your reverie when you noticed a pair of golden eyes staring at you, with a smile you hated.

“So…you have this thing about your body being all cold, huh…” Shit, you didn’t like where this was going. “And it’s hot…I was wondering…if you could, I don’t know…sit on my lap so I can hug you and make the heat go away?”

What the fuck. How could he have the nerve to ask that like that with that smile on his face? You wanted to kill him. “No, that’s not happening.”

“Come on! I’ll do anything for you, I’ll buy you your favorite candy for a week! Or I’ll wash the dishes for you for a month! Or I’ll buy you that game you wanted! Pleeeeease, I’m dying of heat!”

You turned your face to the side, you didn’t want him to see your red cheeks. Shit, you really wanted that game.

“Okay, but I want that game today!” You saw his smile grow bigger, and then he settled back on the couch and patted his lap twice.

You were going to die of embarrassment, but a deal is a deal, right? As soon as you sat down, he immediately hugged you, putting his head on your neck.

You stayed in that position for long minutes, or it seemed like long minutes, with you running your hand over his head and him hugging you. As soon as you moved a little to adjust yourself, you felt something... no, not fucking.

You felt Denki pull you away by the shoulders, you could see that his entire face was red. "Sorry..." he said in a whisper that was almost impossible to hear if it weren't for how close you were.

You bit your lip thinking. And before he could leave out of embarrassment, you kissed him. Holy shit, you kissed him. And he kissed you back! What the hell was going on?

You only separated when you were out of breath. You pulled away panting, and with red faces, not sure if it was from the lack of breath, the heat or embarrassment.

“I want to fuck.” His eyes widened, you said it like it was nothing. He felt shame invade his entire face, but all he did was agree. And why wouldn’t he? He would do anything you asked.

You started kissing again, but this time you started moving your hips, making your pussy rub against his thigh. Then you stopped, he was sad, thinking you had regretted it, but then he saw you taking off the short shorts he had been eyeing all afternoon and your pink panties.

So you started moving again, this time giving him more pleasure. You were going to cum if you kept rubbing yourself against his thigh like that.

He could feel your wet pussy rubbing against him, and my god, he could cum just from that. His dick was already starting to hurt in the shorts he was wearing. And it didn’t take long for you to cum all over his thigh, resting your head on his shoulder.

“Do you have a condom?” You asked quietly, he could only hear you because you were practically riding on top of him. And it was obvious that he had it, he always took it with him wherever he went, always thinking about the day he would lose his virginity.

“Y-yes…it’s here” he reached for the condom in his pocket and gave it to you. You stood up and stared at him, he didn’t understand anything. “The shorts Denki, you’re supposed to take them off”

His eyes widened, but he obeyed you and took them off, leaving him completely naked now, making your dick hit his more or less toned belly. You sat back on his lap and started putting on the condom. He started to sweat nervously, holy shit was he going to lose his virginity now?

“Are you a virgin?” His eyes widened at the question, holy shit you would definitely give up if you knew. So he just bit his lip and looked away from you. “Denki…” he looked at you again.

“It’s okay…relax, I just want to know so this can be as pleasurable as possible for both of us…” you looked at him with so much love that he could swear you really liked him, and then he finally nodded his head affirming that he was a virgin.

“Great…” you started to spread kisses across his neck, making him sigh. Then before he could react, you were adjusting yourself so his cock could enter you.

The movement made both of you moan, he might not be big but he was quite thick. You stood still for a while to get used to it, then you started to move.

Your hands immediately went to his shoulders. As his hands began to explore your body, first on your waist and belly, and then pulling your shirt up over your perfectly hard breasts, he decided he was going to do what he probably saw in one of the porns he uses to masturbate.

As soon as you felt his mouth on your nipple, you let out a loud moan. You had to bite your lip so that any noise other than your bodies together could be heard.

You continued to ride him, speeding up each time you felt your pleasure increase, which only got worse when he squeezed your breast with one hand and sucked the other with his mouth. And in a few seconds you came, your vision going completely white. You had never come so fast.

He was still hard, and he hadn't come even once. But that was okay, after seeing you come twice because of him, he'll be able to use that memory to masturbate whenever he wants. But apparently you had other plans, because before he knew it you were kneeling in front of him with a mischievous smile that he didn't recognize, but that made you look fucking hot.

So you put it in your mouth, and he felt like he almost came just from that. As soon as you started sucking him, smearing his cock with your saliva and your cum from before that you didn't even care about feeling. Then when he started moaning loudly, you stopped.

“W-why did you s-stop?” He was panting with so little, what a cute little virgin you thought.

“If you moan loudly, I'll stop, leave and pretend this never happened” you said seriously, you certainly didn't want anyone to catch you two having sex in the living room. So he just agreed, and grabbed a pillow and put it on his face. You almost laughed at that, he could make you laugh even in moments like this.

But then you stuck it in your mouth again, pushing any thoughts you had away from your mind. And in a few minutes, he ended up cumming in your mouth.

As soon as you swallowed, you started to get ready while looking at the mess he was in. He hadn't removed the pillow from his face yet, but he seemed to be out of breath. You laughed, catching his attention.

You could tell he was nervous, you didn't blame him, you were nervous too. "So... does that mean we have something?" He asked almost stuttering, as if seconds ago you didn't have his dick stuck in your mouth.

"If you want..." you said with your heart beating fast, almost coming out of your chest. But you calmed down when you saw his eyes shine and a smile appear on his face.

He got up to hug you, but before he did he smiled embarrassedly because he realized he was the only one who was still naked.

But as soon as he got dressed, he hugged you so tightly that you could swear you were going to die suffocated by it. "I really like you..." he whispered in your ear.

A silly smile appeared on your lips. "Me too kami..." You hugged him back, anxiously waiting for what would happen to your relationship from now on.

130 notes · View notes

sandcobangevent · 24 days ago

Text

Missing you comes in waves (and tonight I'm drowning)

by @jonk-md and @glitterymumfriend

“Wait – wait, no, shit-” John scrambled for his phone, almost dropping it in his rush to activate the screen. Staring back at him was confirmation that it was 11:56am on Friday, 18th September.

His dad’s birthday was 17th September.

He’d forgotten his dad’s birthday.

He couldn’t believe it. He forgot. He forgot.

Distantly, he could hear Mariana calling his name, feel Sherlock’s hand on his shoulder. But he couldn’t do anything but stare at his phone screen until it went dark again, guilt pooling in the pit of his stomach.

He felt his lips moving, was vaguely aware of himself telling them he needed to call his mum. They might have said something in response, but John walked away in a daze, absently dialling Carol Watson’s phone number.

“Don’t be silly, Johnny love! It’s alright, I know how busy you are with that charming detective of yours.”

“I just- I’m really sorry, mum.”

“Nonsense! I was fine – I had a grand old time at the bingo with the girls, they kept me company. Speaking of, would you believe that Annie’s youngest has gotten herself engaged? Annie wouldn’t stop going off on one about the ring not being the right cut of diamond but frankly if that’s her only complaint it must have been a stunner, you know what she’s like-”

John hummed non-committally, shuffling things around his desk as he listened to his mum fill him in on all the gossip. Usually he’d have cut her off, but he couldn’t bring himself to do it this time.

He already felt like he’d failed her, once again.

After a while, she trailed off, wrapping up the tale of how Mr Prescott’s dog had gone for the milkman again. “You still there, love?”

“Yeah, yeah I- sorry. I’m still here. That sounds lovely, mum.”

She was silent for a moment, before he heard her sigh. “John, lovely, it’s OK. It’s been over 20 years since he passed on. You don’t need to check in on your old mum every year, I promise. I miss him – I always will – but I stopped grieving for him before you flew out to Afghanistan that first time. Was too busy worrying over you instead!” she joked. Her voice sounded a little wobbly, and John felt even worse.

He forced a chuckle in response, reaching out to idly run his fingers over the top of the framed photos on his desk.

“Don’t go fretting about it like you always do. I know how much you get stuck in that head of yours – don’t do it now. Go talk to Sherlock and Mariana, head out for a pint or something and enjoy your day.”

“Alright, mum. Take care.”

“You too, Johnny – love you!”

“Love you too.”

The line disconnected, and John dropped his phone on the desk with a sigh, slumping into the chair and placing his head in his hands. He did his best to focus on what his mum had said – that she was OK, that he shouldn’t worry himself – but he couldn’t shake the shame.

The feeling that he’d failed her. Failed both of them.

John Watson didn’t leave his room for some time.

He knew the others were concerned about him, but he couldn’t bring himself to talk about it. How did he admit to his two best friends that he’d completely forgotten his dead dad’s birthday, all because he was selfishly occupied with the podcast? That he’d not had the wherewithal to message his mum, even once, on the day?

That on top of all of the guilt and shame, he still missed his dad even after 25 years?

It was as if he’d plunged into an ice-cold lake the moment he’d seen the date. Like he’d been wandering along the surface, blissfully unaware until the once-solid floor had given way to murky water. He could make out the light from the surface above him, but everything felt distant and fuzzy, thoughts overruled by the fight-or-flight panic over an inability to breathe.

He doubted they’d be harsh with him – they were both far too good people to kick someone whilst they were down. But a small part of him, one that was surprised whenever people chose to stay, chose him, was too scared of risking it.

He played it off as tiredness, though he was fairly sure neither of them were convinced. But they were, as previously stated, good people, and didn’t push him on it. Instead they fussed from a distance, placing a cup of tea on the coffee table next to him without asking, or putting an old match re-run on in the background as they got on with their individual activities in the evening.

Hell, Sherlock had even complimented him about his idea of luring the murderers to 221B again.

As much as the quiet affection from the others warmed him, however, it was underpinned by a swell of guilt each time. That voice in the back of his mind told him that he didn’t deserve the care and attention. He’d been an awful son to both of his parents, and was wallowing in self-pity and keeping the truth of it a secret like a coward.

He tried to contest it – his mum had said herself that she was fine, and that he shouldn’t beat himself up over it. But every time he tried to remember that – to cling to it as if it were a rope – the self-loathing twined around his legs even further, pulling him deeper to the point where he was starting to lose sight of the surface.

He was almost relieved when he made it to bedtime and was able to hide away in his room again without being questioned. Perhaps he just needed a night to process things, and he’d be a bit more level-headed on how to resolve it all when he woke up?

He should have known it wouldn’t be that simple.

He was at his early 10th birthday again, and his dad was in goal. He aimed, kicked, and watched in excitement as the ball just skimmed past his dad into goal. He’d scored!

But when he turned his attention to his dad again to brag about it, something was wrong. His dad’s mouth was moving, but he… couldn’t hear it.

He couldn’t hear his dad’s voice.

What did it sound like again? Was his voice on the higher end of the register like his, or deeper like Sherlock’s? Was there an accent?

He couldn’t hear his dad’s voice.

His appearance was the next to go. Between one blink and the next, he couldn’t remember the colour of his dad’s eyes any more. His features started blurring, fading away one by one. His hair, the shirt he’d been wearing, how tall he’d been.

Panicked, John reached out, flinging himself forwards to grasp at the figure that had replaced his father between the goalposts. It was too late, however – as his hand went to make contact, it passed through as if cutting through smoke, the edges of it curling up and away from him.

The form of Harry Watson dissipated.

He was gone, and John had no memory to cling to.

A distant sobbing noise caught his attention, and he wheeled around to see his mother. Not as she’d been back then – how she’d looked when he’d last seen her. He tried to go to her, but she took a step back, her bloodshot eyes meeting his as she scowled at him.

“How could you?!” she screamed at him, cheeks soaked by tears and hands clenched to her chest, “How could you forget him? How could you leave me?”

“Mum-”

She didn’t hear him. Instead, she turned and stalked away, out of the garden and into the distance. He tried to follow her, but he couldn’t move his legs. He tried to call after her, but when he opened his mouth no sound escaped.

Like his father, Carol Watson faded away.

Like his mother, John Watson was abandoned.

He was alone.

He didn’t come to awareness with a yell, the way he often did with night terrors.

Instead, John woke quietly, tears streaming down his face onto the pillow and chest aching with loss.

Once he realised it had been a dream, he climbed out of bed, turning on the desk lamp and reaching for the photo of his dad. He stared at it, taking in every minute detail as the memory – his actual memory – flooded back again. His dad’s eyes were hazel, like his. He’d been wearing his Star Wars t-shirt and shorts on the day, and his voice when he’d praised John for his penalty skills had been warm and slightly nasal.

Overwhelmed by the sheer relief that he still remembered, John’s body shook as he began to sob. He hugged the photo frame to his chest, biting his lip in an attempt to be quiet so as not to disturb Sherlock the next room over.

He felt like he was still drowning in that ice-water lake, still trying to claw his way to the surface but unable to. The same trapped feeling from his nightmare bled into his waking mind, leaving him powerless to do anything but cry as his thoughts spiralled.

He’d remembered this time, but what if he woke up another night and didn’t? He didn’t have any videos of his dad – his mum had never been able to afford a video camera when he was younger, all they had were disposable camera photos.

And his mum – he knew she’d put on a brave face often enough when he was a kid, both when his dad had been deployed and after he’d passed. She’d been inconsolable when the news first reached them – the neighbours had come over to look after them both once they’d heard Harry Watson had died – but she’d fought to keep herself together for him in the weeks, months that followed.

What if she had been putting that mask back on again to protect his feelings when she’d told him she was OK? He was torn between the urge to take the next train to Swindon to see her and the worry that if he did so, his fear that she was actually suffering would be confirmed.

He felt exhausted, and curled back up on the bed with the photo frame still gripped tight. The murky depths of his emotions dragged him under, and he fell asleep feeling like he’d never be warm again.

His lack of proper sleep was impossible to hide that next morning, and the concern from the others was even more palpable. John could barely make himself respond to anything, unable to even try and muster up a laugh as Archie rolled off the sofa whilst asleep.

Eventually, Mariana couldn’t take it any longer.

“OK, that’s it – what’s going on, John? You called your mum yesterday - is she OK?”

John swallowed, equally relieved and anxious that the topic was coming up. He took a steadying breath before responding, trying to twitch his lips into a facsimile of a smile.

“Yeah, she’s fine,” he replied, “Talked my ear off about Tockenham’s hot goss , as usual.”

“Oh yeah? Any more news on Charlie’s mysterious beau?”

“Nah, they’ve kept pretty tight-lipped on- wait, hang on, how do you know about that?”

“We catch up pretty often, John. She asks me to give her updates on what you’re up to, given you won’t tell her any details yourself.” Mariana replied, smirking at him.

Usually, he’d sputter indignantly at the comment, but the mention of his usual avoidance made him feel even worse.

Mariana noticed, and her smirk disappeared quickly, replaced with a greater look of concern. She stepped forwards, leaning against the kitchen table he was sitting at and placing a hand against his arm. “Seriously, come on. What’s wrong?”

He sighed again, tilting his head back to stare at the ceiling in order to avoid her gaze. “It’s stupid. It’s just… Thursday was dad’s birthday. And I was so distracted getting the episode uploaded, I didn’t realise the date. I forgot my dad’s birthday, Mariana.”

“Oh, John…” she bent forwards, pulling him into a hug.

“I’m so sorry.” she murmured against his temple, and John squeezed his eyes closed to avoid crying again. He pressed his head against her shoulder, taking deep breaths in order to try and calm himself.

“I usually call mum on the day, check in on her. Even when I was on my tours, I did my best to secure a video call on the day, or at least send an email.” he explained, absently processing the shuffling noise from the doorway indicating that Sherlock had just arrived in the kitchen, “Every year – and when I was home with her, I’d buy her some flowers or chocolate or something. But I didn’t this year. I didn’t think to, because I didn’t remember.”

“Was she disappointed? Is that why you’re feeling upset?” Mariana asked, letting go to lean against the table again and face him. He looked away, unable to meet her eyes.

“She says she’s OK, but-”

“But you don’t really believe her. Or, at least, your anxiety is telling you she’s lying.” Sherlock’s voice chimed in, finishing the thought. The detective circled around, taking the chair across the table from him, piercing eyes studying him intently.

Unable to speak through the lump in his throat, John nodded.

“Oh John, I’m sure she’s alright. It’s been over twenty years, right? And if you’re still feeling awful, maybe you could do something belated?” Mariana suggested, rubbing his arm soothingly.

Above his head, where the surface of the lake glittered faintly, a shape formed.

A life ring.

John reached for it, finding it to be just out of reach. But it was there .

“Do something…?” he rasped, turning to look at Mariana. She nodded, and the ring bobbed a little closer.

“You mentioned flowers – you know, I saw an advert the other day for a company that sends same-day delivery bouquets. You order one, and they’ll send the request to a local florist who can deliver them to the address you provide.”

This time, his fingertips brushed against the edge. Feeling slightly renewed, John kicked at the knot of doubts around his ankles, trying to free himself.

“She’s always loved dahlias,” he murmured, “do you think there’s a chance they’d have those?”

“They do generally bloom in Autumn,” Sherlock pointed out, “and whilst they have multiple meanings assigned to them within the language of flowers, one of those is ‘inner strength’. Sounds like a fitting choice.”

Something sliced through the vines around him, and his next kick brought him closer to the surface. And, as he searched on his phone and found an offer for a bouquet of mixed dahlias available for delivery in Wiltshire, his hand made contact with the ring and clung to it.

“Oh they’re absolutely gorgeous , sweetheart! Judy from across the road looked jealous as anything when that cute delivery lad came by with all these flowers for me! Bet she’ll be grumbling away at the next bake sale.”

“I’m glad you like them, mum.” he replied, breathing slightly easier at the happiness in her voice.

“I’d love anything from you, love, you could get me a £2 bouquet from Tesco and I’d be thrilled. But they really are beautiful.” she took a breath, before adding, “I’ve placed them in your dad’s favourite vase, on the kitchen table. Brightening up the room, as always. Oh! Speaking of brightening up, you’ll never guess...”

John listened to his mum chat away, somehow able to find even more things to talk to him about only one day later. Soon enough though, she said her goodbyes, explaining how she was meeting up with some of the book club for a couple of drinks.

“You tell Mariana and your Sherlock that I say hi, won’t you?”

“He’s not- I- alright, mum. Will do, I’m sure they say hi back. In fact, you know Mariana does, since apparently you two chat now!”

“Oh don’t worry too much, lovey, I’m keeping all the embarrassing childhood stories to a minimum! Toodles, love you!”

“Love you too- wait, what do you mean childhood- aaand she hung up.” he sighed in frustration, but aside from the concern that Mariana knew stories he’d wanted to keep buried he felt far more at ease than the last time he’d ended a call with his mum.

He wasn’t completely recovered yet – he was out of the lake, but the ice-water was still clinging to him, keeping him chilled. He was out of danger, though, and from the noises coming through the door to his room he suspected he’d be feeling even closer to normal by the end of the evening. Mariana had called an emergency movie night after his flower order had been placed, and had promptly ran out the door to gather supplies. He hadn’t seen her since – had spent most of the morning and early afternoon taking Archie for a long walk around the park – but he’d heard her shuffling around 221A as he’d climbed the stairs past her door.

Plugging his phone in to charge, he left to join the others in the living room.

He walked out to see bowls of popcorn on the table, pillows and cushions clearly raided from bedrooms scattered across the sofa and armchair, and the TV on, paused on-

“Is that Back To The Future ?”

“Yeah, seemed like a good choice for an impromptu film night.” Mariana confirmed, flopping into the armchair – her usual viewing spot – and tilting her head towards the sofa.

Sherlock had settled into his normal half of the sofa at the same time, and met John’s eyes from across the room. “You mentioned, once, that your father enjoyed the trilogy. That he’d watched them back-to-back a few times.”

John swallowed, taking a steadying breath at the rush of emotion that hit him. “Y-yeah, he-” he cleared his throat, working his jaw for a moment before carrying on, “he really loved sci-fi movies. Apparently he dreamed about getting a DeLorean for years after the movie came out. Mum says when I was born he’d argued the cause for me to be called Marty – Martin, legally, of course – but she shot that down pretty quickly.”

“Good thing, too – imagine being Martin “Marty” Watson!” Mariana teased, “You’d have been stuck with some stupid nickname like, I don’t know… Martian? MegaWats?”

“Hey! I’d have rocked the nickname MegaWats! Could have been known for my electric personality, eh?” he replied, grinning as he dodged the cushion Mariana flung at him whilst booing.

Sherlock sent them both an unimpressed look, but there was a barely-contained sparkle of humour in his eyes. The sight of it alone helped to ease some of the permafrost chill – he could feel his fingers again, and used them to retrieve the cushion from where it had landed.

The next moment, it hit Mariana with a satisfying ‘ thump ’. She squawked in mock-outrage, but before she could send it back Sherlock cleared his throat.

“Perhaps we can get on with watching the film now that we’re all gathered?”

Chuckling again, John settled onto the sofa and grabbed one of the bowls of popcorn. After some shuffling around, everyone was settled and Mariana hit ‘play’.

Mariana mentioned that she’d seen the movie once, years ago, but that she hadn’t really paid attention to the plot of it before. Sherlock appeared to be caught somewhere between bafflement and outrage at the storyline.

Now and again, John found himself pointing out something about the movie that reminded him of his dad – like how his childhood dog had been called ‘Einstein’ after the Doc’s dog. That had caused Mariana to demand to see photos of ‘Einstein Watson’, which John promised to find when he next went back to Tockenham.

Between those moments, however, John zoned out of the movie, having seen it so many times he didn’t need to focus on it. Instead, he switched between watching the screen and watching the other two.

These two people, who had known him less than a year and yet felt closer to him than any friends he’d made in the past. Who had listened to his worries and had put in the effort to try and support him. Who had remembered his dad’s favourite movie after one conversation, and had gone to the effort of setting up a movie night to watch it with him in the hopes he’d feel better.

And he did – he’d felt the tension leaving him as the movie progressed, breathing coming easier as he listened to Mariana laughing at the Doc’s antics, or Sherlock’s outrage at the idea a car would vanish into another point in time at just 88mph. A glowing warmth forming at his core, pressing outwards and chasing the chill he’d been trapped with since he’d first spotted the date on his phone.

As the movie came to its conclusion, with the DeLorean vanishing into the sky as the credits started to roll, Mariana sat up and stretched, yawning as she tiredly rubbed at her eyes with one hand.

“Right, I think I’ll leave you boys to it. Have a good night’s sleep, whenever you both eventually go.”

“Good night, Mariana – and thank you, again, for everything.”

She stepped over, ruffling his hair before bending down to press a light kiss to his forehead. “Of course, John. You’re one of my best friends, I wouldn’t leave you to suffer alone. I’m just glad you got around to telling us what was going on.”

“Yeah – sorry for worrying you. Have a good night!”

“You too. Night, Sherlock!”

“Mm, good night Mrs Hudson.”

The other two rolled their eyes at each other, before Mariana let herself out of the door. John heard her descend the steps, before the familiar sound of her flat’s door closing.

He knew he needed to call it a night – he hadn’t had all that much sleep the night before – but he couldn’t make himself get up.

“You’re avoiding going to bed. You’re still upset by something.”

John flinched, turning to face Sherlock. The other was studying him, looking concerned.

“I… what?”

Sherlock nodded towards his hands, drawing John’s attention to how he was picking at his nails. A nervous habit of his, and one that the consulting detective was well aware of.

He shrugged self-consciously. “It’s stupid, Sherlock. Don’t worry, I’ll get over it.”

“If it’s causing you enough upset to block you from going to bed when you’re clearly exhausted, it’s not ‘stupid’. What is it?” his gaze was zeroed on his face, now, kaleidoscopic eyes taking in every detail as if he was studying an elaborate painting.

Knowing it was futile trying to lie to him, he closed his eyes, trying to figure out how to explain.

“I just… worry, Sherlock. What if this is just the first sign that I’m starting to forget him? He’s my dad, he was the love of mum’s life, what if I start to forget more than just his birthday? What if I forget his face, or the sound of his voice, or all the other details I’ve tried so hard to keep hold of?”

A lightbulb seemed to go off in Sherlock’s head. “You had a nightmare last night. Not night terrors, not memories of the war or the bomb. It was about your father, about forgetting him.”

John sighed, shoulders slumping. “Yeah, mate. I, uh… I dreamt that I forgot him, that everything I had stored in my head disappeared. As I said, it was stupid.”

“Yes, it was.”

John’s head shot up to stare at Sherlock, hurt by the comment. Sherlock met his gaze, however, and continued. “It was stupid, because it’s not something that would ever happen. Nightmares often are nonsensical – a culmination of negative images your psyche produces as it sorts through everything you’ve taken in. This one is no different.”

“How can you be so sure, though? I already forgot his birthday, who knows what will slip my mind next time?”

Sherlock’s gaze flickered over him, eyebrows drawn together in thought. After a moment, he seemed to reach the internal conclusion he was working towards, because he nodded slightly before meeting his eyes again.

“It’s not possible, because there are various behaviours and interests of yours that display the ways in which you remember your father. Would you like me to prove it?”

John’s heart skipped a beat, cautious hope forming. He trusted Sherlock, knew the detective never said something he did not mean. Not to him.

“Please.”

Sherlock nodded again, before looking away. His eyes flickered around the room, before focusing in on the muted TV, displaying an old re-run of Match of the Day.

“Your chosen support of Swindon Town is one indicator.” He began, eyes looking towards the screen but somewhat distant. John had seen this behaviour multiple times before when Sherlock had been processing things internally, figuring out how to vocalise his thoughts. He watched quietly, taking in how the light from the screen highlighted his features. After a pause, Sherlock found his words and continued.

“Whilst I don’t know a great deal in the way of sports teams, I know tat people will generally select their favourites for three key reasons. Either it’s their home town’s team, a team that is especially successful, or the individual grew up in a household where that team were already being supported.

“Your support of Swindon Town FC is a combination of the first and third reasons. From what I gather of the league tables – and your various outbursts of frustration – it is safe to rule out that Swindon’s team could be considered ‘successful’.”

“Oi!” John protested, jokingly. Sherlock glanced at him, flashing a boyish grin before continuing.

“So, focusing on those two reasons. Swindon is geographically the closest town with a larger, more well-known team, true, but Bristol isn’t too far away and both of their teams appear to be doing rather better in the league. So that would indicate the need for another reason.

“That other reason was something I noted when we visited your childhood home a few months ago. Amongst the various trinkets and wall decorations in the living room was a signed Swindon Town FC shirt, dated from 1985. Four years before you were born, and not something you brought with you to London, so not yours. No other visible team memorabilia around the house outside of your old room, so not Carol’s. Ergo, it belonged to your father. He was a Swindon Town supporter and, because of that, you grew up to be one, too.”

“What else?” John asked, “Supporting a football team doesn’t really seem that solid, if I’m honest.”

“Your music tastes,” Sherlock replied, shifting sideways on the sofa to face John more directly. John shuffled to match him.

“What about them?”

“In a similar vein to sports teams, many children will develop a fondness for music they heard growing up. Your taste is very eclectic – despite your tendency to sing that waterfall song whenever you’re brushing your teeth after a good day – but there’s a clear preference for the genres of rock and pop, often older tunes rather than the ones playing in the charts now.

“On days where the topic of parents arises – be that Mrs Hudson speaking to her father back in Spain, or a case that focuses on a parent-child relationship – you have a tendency to listen to certain artists and songs more often.

“Another observation I made in the home, past the football shirt, was the shelf of CDs above the sofa. Mostly bands and artists from an older time, based on the designs on the spines that I could see. A few names I recognised from the playlists you’ve shown me before. The CDs themselves haven’t moved in some time – the spines facing the room were clear, as was the shelf they’re on, but the tops of them were coated in a layer of dust. They’re in an awkward position, being above the sofa. When dusting, your mother runs the cloth along the shelf and the section she can easily reach, but does not make the extra effort to reach higher to dust the top.

“The CDs aren’t hers – they are your father’s collection. And on those days when you play certain tracks more often, those songs are from artists that appear on that shelf. You are thinking of Harry Watson, and listen to songs that remind you of him as a way to feel closer to him.”

They had drifted closer together without John realising. John took a shaky breath at the wash of emotions brought on by how much Sherlock had observed of him without him even realising. However, he still wasn’t convinced.

“A lot of people listen to the music they grew up with, though. That doesn’t necessarily make it about me remembering my dad.”

“A fair counterpoint – well-reasoned, well done Watson.” the detective replied, offering him another smile. “In that case, I’ll move on to something more specific. How about the way you hold cutlery?”

“What?”

“When using a knife and fork, you hold the knife in your left hand and the fork in your right. If it were only a fork you were using, it could be excused away, as it could be if you were left-handed or ambidextrous. But you aren’t – you’re right-handed.”

Sherlock reached across, taking John’s left hand between his own. One wrapped across the ends of his fingers, whilst the other took his wrist in a gentle grip, just below the tan-line from where his watch usually sat.

They’d held hands before, but this felt different – more tender, more intimate somehow. Sherlock’s fingers were cool, but points of heat emanated from every point of contact between them. He swallowed nervously, turning his attention back to Sherlock, whose eyes were still focused on his wrist.

“You wear your watch on your left wrist, and favour picking things up with your right hand – your dominant one. Carol is the same, from what I have seen of her, and appliances around your childhood home were in positions favoured by right-handed people. The handle of the kettle pointing to the right, for example. So, why do you hold cutlery with the technique often used by left-handed people? Because you grew up mimicking someone who was left-handed: Harry Watson.”

“How can you tell?” John asked, hushed. Sherlock’s thumb swept gently over the tan-line, and John’s breath hitched.

“In photos of your father, I could see a watch on his right wrist,” the detective explained, his thumb continuing to brush over the pulse of John’s wrist. “There was also a particular photo of him holding a rifle – a training session based on his uniform and the surroundings – which had his left pointer finger held against the trigger.

“Harry Watson was left-handed, and you learnt to copy him in the way you held cutlery, despite being right-handed like your mother. You still do it today. It’s a habit you share with him. One you aren’t doing consciously, meaning it’s written into your subconscious – something that’s very unlikely to change.”

Sherlock’s fingers squeezed around his own, and John squeezed back, before using his other hand to adjust their grip so that their palms were touching. He placed his free hand on top of Sherlock’s, their conjoined hands a source of heat that warmed him through.

“Then of course, there’s the photo on your desk.” the detective continued. His voice sounded slightly unsteady, and a light flush had started to form across his cheeks. John stared, entranced.

“You are a sentimental man, and have a few important photos in your room. But specifically, it’s the one of you and your father I want to bring up.

“It’s faded, the colour desaturated in parts but otherwise undamaged. Sunlight damage. Photographs can start to fade when exposed to sunlight, due to UV rays. Given the age of the photo and the state that it’s in – plus the fact that it’s current position on your desk avoids any sunlight reaching it – I can deduce it’s been out on display near-constantly since it was first developed.

“Your room in the house was covered in posters and photos, but only a few have made it to London with you. One is of your mother and people that I believe are your grandparents, based on similarities in features. One is the photo you have of us, Mrs Hudson and Archie from a few months ago. And the third is you and your father.”

Squeezing his hand again, Sherlock continued. “It’s a treasured photo, and one you clearly rely on. You think of your father often, and care deeply about the visual reminder. This leads me on to my final deduction.”

“Which is?” John breathed.

“You are not adept at remembering dates. In fact, you keep nearly every date that’s important to you on your calendar. Friends’ birthdays, anniversaries, special events. You have nearly all of them written down – to help you remember them. But not your parents’ birthdays.

“This is because they are so important to you that you have managed to remember them, unprompted, every single year. You said it yourself: this was the very first time you forgot your father’s birthday.”

Sherlock’s eyes locked with his, gaze intense and earnest. John felt like he was unable to breathe again, but this time the feeling didn’t scare him.

He was with Sherlock: he could never be truly scared of anything so long as he was there.

“Do you understand the importance of that?” Sherlock continued, “That fact, alongside all the others, combine to provide only one possible answer. You care deeply about your parents, especially your father, and his memory is so completely entwined with your day-to-day life that you will never be able to truly forget him.

“Mistakes happen, John, you’re human. But you resolved it as soon as you realised. A bad son would have stopped caring years ago, wouldn’t be so hung up on this that he suffered nightmares from it. You love them so much that you have continued to remember, even during some of the most stressful times of your life. You have faced so much pain, so many events that would make a weaker man crumble, and you have continued to think of your parents, remember them, and care .

“You’re a good son, John. You are a good man, and Harry Watson would be proud of you.”

Eyes stinging, John let go of Sherlock’s hands to pull him into a hug, ensuring to wrap his arms around the other’s upper back. He pressed his face against Sherlock’s neck, taking deep breaths to avoid crying. He felt Sherlock’s arms twine around him in return, pulling him closer.

With that final confirmation, all of the remaining despair left him, melting away under the blazing heat of Sherlock’s conviction. John doubted he’d ever feel cold again, so long as he was close to the man shining like the sun in his arms.

He pulled back after a while, but was reluctant to move away. Instead he studied his friend’s face. They were so close, he could feel the other’s breath against his cheek, could pick out the multitude of colours in his eyes.

“Sherlock…” he began, biting at his lip anxiously. Sherlock’s eyes flickered down, zoning in on his mouth, and he watched the detective swallow.

“ John. ”

Without thinking about it, one of John’s hands rose to gently cup his face. Sherlock’s breath stuttered, his eyes closing as he pressed into the touch. It was John’s turn to swallow, his thumb absently smoothing against the other’s cheekbone.

The signs were all there, but he had to be certain that he wasn’t reading into things.

Truthfully, John felt as though he and Sherlock had been circling around each other over the past few months. He’d become aware of it after he’d been shot by Abe Slaney, in the following weeks where Sherlock had hovered and fussed in his own way.

He noticed how they’d both hold onto each other perhaps a little longer than necessary, how they’d had more quiet, gentle conversations away from the recording on his microphone, how sometimes he’d stare at Sherlock only to realise he was staring back.

The emotional rollercoaster that had been seeing Carrie again had left him scared – scared that Carrie’s words would bring his myriad flaws to the surface and Sherlock would observe them and decide he wasn’t worth it.

However, Sherlock hadn’t seemed to pay it any mind. If anything, the lingering touches and quiet stares had increased, to the point where a day without coming into contact left John feeling unsettled.

Bringing himself back to the moment, John took a breath, and released it shakily.

He had to be certain, and for that he had to be brave.

“Sherlock,” he began again, pausing as the other’s eyes fluttered open again to meet his, “I want to be clear, you can say no. If you aren’t interested, or- or anything, say no and I won’t bring it up again.”

Sherlock’s brow furrowed slightly, eyes darting across his face. After a moment, he blinked, eyes widening slightly in realisation. “Are you-”

Be brave, John.

“Can I… can I kiss you?” he asked, voice wobbling.

He watched, awed, as the other’s cheeks flushed red. As his pupils dilated, and he licked his lips before replying.

“ Please .”

The second that word had left Sherlock’s mouth, John closed the gap between them. His other hand rose up, joining the first in cradling the other’s face as if he were made of crystal. Sherlock kissed him back almost immediately, one hand curling against the nape of his neck as the other was placed between his shoulders.

John Watson had enjoyed his fair share of kisses in the past, but none of them held a candle to his first time kissing Sherlock Holmes.

After an indeterminate amount of time, John pulled away, pressing light kisses to Sherlock’s cheeks, his nose, his temple, before returning to his lips again. Sherlock hummed into the kiss, the hand at his nape pushing up to card through his hair whilst the other hand pulled the doctor closer to him.

Eventually needing to breathe, John pulled back again only to press his forehead against Sherlock’s, awed by the dazed expression on the other’s face. His hands slid down from his jaw to his shoulders, thumbs rubbing soothing circles into Sherlock’s collarbone.

“Was that- was that OK?” he found himself asking, a twist of nervousness in his gut despite everything.

Sherlock brushed their lips together again briefly in response, before rubbing his cheek against John’s in a way that absently reminded the doctor of a cat nuzzling. It was oddly endearing – something that John thought often about the consulting detective.

Opening his mouth to tell the detective as much, he was interrupted by a jaw-cracking yawn. He felt Sherlock chuckling quietly at him and grumbled amicably.

“Alright, alright, it’s not that funny.”

“It rather is, I’m afraid. But it’s understandable, you’re already running on fewer hours sleep than your body is used to, and emotional stress can be exhausting.” Sherlock replied, pressing another gentle kiss against his temple before moving back. John missed the warmth almost immediately.

“But I don’t wanna go to bed, I’ve been wanting to kiss you for months!” he whined, too tired to be embarrassed by his own honesty. Another pretty flush formed over Sherlock’s face, and his expression flickered from surprise to amusement.

“I’ve wanted the same. But I promise you can kiss me again in the morning.”

John blinked, waking up a little at the implication. They hadn’t explicitly defined anything, but did that mean…?

“What about the day after? Do you promise I can kiss you then, too?”

Sherlock gave him a look that was so tender, so full of warmth and affection that he was worried he’d start crying again.

“I promise,” he vowed, quiet but emphatic, “tomorrow, the day after… as many days as you want.”

Well, in for a penny…

“All of them. I want all of them, if that’s what you want too.”

Another kiss, lingering.

“Nothing would make me happier, John.”

__________

Check it out on AO3 too!

#sherlock & co #sherlock and co #fanart #fanfiction #john watson #sherlock holmes #mariana ametxazurra #event #flash bang #flashbang event

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band--psycho · 1 year ago

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Simon 'Ghost' Riley x Reader - The Funeral

This is my first story for Simon Riley!

I hope you all enjoy this! 💛

Warnings - MW3 spoilers (Don't read unless you want the game spoiled for you), violence, mentions of death, funerals, swearing

“What’s he doin’ here?” Price snarled, his eyes narrowing in Graves’ direction, as the smoke from his cigar left his lips.

“He shouldn’t be ‘ere,” Ghost stated coldly; his eyes also fixed on Graves.

“No he shouldn’t,” Y/n agreed, her thumb rubbing soothing circles on the back of her boyfriend's gloved hand in an attempt to sooth him.

They were right; he shouldn’t be here. He had no right, not after everything that happened between Soap and Graves.

But here he was.

“But he is,” she continued; squeezing Ghosts hand, pulling his gaze away from Graves to her, his eyes softening almost instantly as he took in a deep breath.

She knew that Ghost and the rest of the 141 team wanted nothing more than to beat the crap out of Graves.

She wanted that too. She’d give anything to wipe that smug smirk off of his face.

But she knew she couldn’t, not here.

None of them could do anything.

Even though Soap was probably cursing them from the afterlife for not doing so.

“Just ignore him,” Gaz said; noticing the rage building in his friend's eyes.

“He best keep his distance,” Price replied simply; before heading into the crematorium, followed by Gaz, Y/n and Ghost.

~~~~

The service was hard, beautiful but hard. When it ended Gaz went with Price to get the car, while Y/n stood outside and waited for Ghost who was still inside saying his final goodbye to Soap.

She knew how close they were.

Even though Ghost would never admit it; Soap was his friend. His best friend.

As she stood outside, memories of Soap flashed through her mind; reopening the wound of grief all over again, that was until an unwanted voice interrupted her thoughts.

“Y/n, I just wanted to give my condolences to you and the rest of the 141 team,” Graves said, his voice filled with as little sincerity as possible.

He could act like he cared all he wanted; but everyone at that funeral knew it was a damn lie. Just like when he denied carrying out Shepherd’s orders.

It was all bullshit.

But Y/n knew she just had to remain calm and civil.

Ghost would be outside soon; Price and Gaz would pull up in the car and then they could go and give a toast to their fallen friend.

“I’ll be sure to pass the message on,” Y/n answered as bluntly as she could, with a small fake smile.

Like hell she would; but she was hoping that that would be enough to get him to leave her alone.

To her dismay, it didn’t.

Graves just hovered around her like a vulture.

“Why the long face sweetheart?”

“Why would I be smiling?” Y/n snapped back, the rage clear in her voice.

“I’m sure Soap wouldn’t want you to be sad,”

That sentence was enough to tip Y/n over the edge she’d been teetering on since she saw him.

Graves was talking about Soap like he knew him; but he didn’t.

He didn’t know anything.

And that's why she punched him.

Again and again, until Graves was on the floor.

The only reason she stopped was because a pair of familiar gloves hands wrapped around her waist, pulling her off of Graves.

“You don’t know shit about what Soap would want!” Y/n venomously spat, as Ghost placed Y/n behind him.

“Car. Now.” Ghost ordered lowly in Y/n's ear, pointing at the car that had just pulled up outside. He wasn’t mad at her.

If anything he was worried. He’d known Y/n for so long and he’d never seen her snap like that; she was always so calm and composed, which just made him want to punch the shit out of Graves; but he didn’t.

He just took a deep breath and said, “shame about your fall,” before walking to the car.

“All good?” Gaz asked, turning in his seat slightly, his eyes flicking between Y/n and Ghost with a questioning look.

“Yeah,” Ghost said, his attention solely on Y/n, who hadn’t said a single word since she’d gotten in the car.

Gently, he reached over to her, taking her hands in his, assessing the small bloody cuts that were on her knuckles.

“Love-”

“I’m fine,” Y/n whispered, interrupting Ghosts words and refusing to meet his gaze, knowing that if she did, all the emotions she’d been keeping in, were going to spill out.

“Nothings broken,” Ghost assured her, placing her hands back in her lap before he began stroking the back of her neck.

It was a soothing technique he knew helped Y/n when she was stressed or upset.

Almost instantly he noticed how her body relaxed and leaned into his touch.

He could see in her eyes that she was trying to be strong, just like she had been for the last few weeks and he wasn’t about to question her about what happened.

That could wait.

He just wanted her to be okay.

He knew little things like rubbing the back of her neck would help her, so that’s what he was going to continue to do, until she was ready to talk about it.

“What happened?” Price questioned, his eyes fixed on the road ahead of him.

“I punched Graves,” Y/n admitted; patiently awaiting the lecture she expected from her Captain.

What she did wasn’t just out of character it ask was just something that she shouldn’t have done; she knew that, and as much as she hated to admit it, she didn't regret it at all.

Price's eyes glanced up at the rear view mirror, his eyes meeting Y/ns, with a small smirk on his face, “Good.”

(Let me know if you want to be tagged in any future stories involving Ghost -or any other 141 members)

#simon riley x reader #ghost x reader #ghost imagines #simon riley imagines #simon riley imaigne #ghost imagine #mw3 imagies #cod mw3 imagine #call of duty modern warfare 3 x reader #team 141 #simon 'ghost' riley #simon 'ghost' riley x reader

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thehottiesknoweren · 11 months ago

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Keep that toxic ass love

“If that’s the way you love then i don’t want any of that shit”

Choso x reader

Tw: toxic relationship, breaking in and entering, smut (poorly written sorry), choso breaking shit/destroying stuff and overall needing therapy, mentions of pregnancy ( barely even there dw)

___________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________

It was a regular Saturday for you.

Cleaning,

Cooking,

And fighting with choso.

You sighed as he kept blowing up your phone, he was cursing your out one minute and professing his love the next and honestly it was exhausting,

Last night you went to a party with your friend and posted you having fun on your story, drinking, smoking and just being a vibe.

You and Choso hadn’t been speaking to each other for at least a week, you guys were on a break, Or more like he was on a break and you were just done with his ass completely.

After viewing your story he spammed your phone with a bunch of nonsense which you didn’t reply to and simply just blocked him.

That was a mistake.

Ten minutes later he was at your house slashing your tires, and then he quickly drove away when he was done.

He then messaged you from a different number rambling again which you also blocked but that didn’t stop him.

No.

He just kept getting new numbers and you decided to feed into him a little because why wouldn’t you if he wasn’t going to leave you alone?

Choso: people who love each other don’t go out with other people while they’re just taking a break from the one they love.

Y/n: you used the wrong “they’re” it’s *their* 💀

Y/n: someone who loved you wouldn’t care about that yet I do doesn’t that tell you something goofy?

After sending that message you blocked his number again and put down your phone but who would’ve guessed this man got a new damn number.

“Text now need to take away his damn subscription or some shit damn” you yelled to yourself.

Choso: you don’t love me yet that’s all you could say when you were creaming on my dick huh? Lying ass bitch.

Y/n: never creamed on your dick. The orgasms you gave me were so weak they wouldn’t have been enough to cover the tip. All that dick yet you don’t know how to use that shit…. And how you love me but ima bitch? I see why your mother didn’t want your bipolar ass. Leave me alone don’t you got better things to do?

Y/n: And another thing, yes I don’t love you. That left last month when you thought it was okay to buss out my windows and made me cut up my thighs piece of shit. I wish you were swallowed.

Choso: I paid for the window and kissed every scar I left on your body. I didn’t mean for it to go that far, I just blacked out,

Choso: I know I’m acting crazy but I need you baby, I need my baby give me another chance I’ll get help I’ll make it right,

Y/n: Every time I do you hurt me. Do you know how much shit you’ve done to me? Choso I’ll probably never be with another man and I know that makes you happy but it shouldn’t, you’ve hurt me so bad, physically, emotionally and verbally I can’t even want a relationship. Just stop coming around I don’t need you.

He stopped texting you after this and you went to go lay down in your bedroom, sobbing in the process.

You knew deep down you loved him and wanted to be with him, he’s all you knew.

He’s the first person to explore your body and teach you what feeling good in bed meant, he was the first person to take you on dates, shopping sprees and wouldn’t let you lift a finger when you didn’t feel good, he always took care of you, did you lie earlier to hurt his ego? Yes but you had to.

Because he was also the person who slut shamed you, insulted you, broke into your house, broke everything you owned, just a few weeks ago he cut up most of your clothes that he didn’t like and burnt them, he also never knew when he was wrong and would blow the smallest thing out of proportion when you proved him wrong saying you were ungrateful.

And do you know how he solved all of this?

Sex and shopping spree’s

but to be honest you were pretty sure the sex was for him. He would destroy your health in every possible way and then he would only opt to take you shopping and then after that he would get you into the bedroom and fuck you until you were crying his name and spewing affirmations of love.

And you couldn’t take that anymore. Everyone told you that you deserved more than a man who only offered you sex and money, and although you didn’t really believe them and wanted to be with Choso you noticed that being around him only hurt you

As you were deep in thought you weren’t aware that your breathing was heavy and you were sobbing, you were having a panic attack.

The bed sunk down and a pair of hands wrapped around your stomach, you knew exactly who it was

“it’s okay” he whispered in your ear trying to calm you down.

“Choso I can’t do this with you anymore” you said. Your breathing got a little calmer, “I-I’ve been going to therapy and-“

He cut you off, “you know how I feel about that shit, why would you go?” he was getting mad so you got up out of the bed,

“That’s why. Look at the way you act” you said, also getting a bit mad and confused because he just said he would go to be with you but at last it was probably another meaningless lie spewing from his lips.

“I’m sorry that I act that way but it’s because I love you, I get mad because I love you and don’t want to lose you, it’s like when I see you doing things I don’t like I get angry and black out because I’m scared of losing you but I’m not realizing the things I do are causing me to lose you” he got up and tried to hold your waist but you pulled away.

“If that’s the way you love then i don’t want any of that shit” you looked him dead in the face letting him know you meant what you said, “if your love is you hurting me any time we argue then keep it choso” you broke eye contact because you could feel yourself starting to cry.

You felt him wrap his arms around you but you didn’t stop him, he begin to place kisses on your forehead while holding you in his arms, “I’m sorry baby, please don’t cry my love” you could hear him sniffing and looked into his eyes to see tears there too,

Suddenly he picked you up and laid you on the bed quickly getting on top of you and laying down. He kissed your chin and kept saying how sorry he was while keeping his arms wrapped around your body.

You didn’t respond but you didn’t stop him and after a while you two just laid there in silence, not a word from either of you until he decided to speak again, “I’d do anything for moments like this, moments I get to hold you” he started kissing your neck,

“Choso we can’t keep doing this, if you say you’re gonna change than do it. I can’t wait for you much longer”

He stopped kissing your neck and looked at you with a smile, he knew you were giving him a second chance, “I will baby I promise.” He kissed you passionately amd you couldn’t help but be happy,

His kiss begin to go lower and he slowly made his way back to your neck, he took his time sucking on every area his lips touched,

And his lips kept getting lower and lower until he made it to the end of the bed, he was quick to take off the skimpy satin nightgown you had on, underneath it was just you in panties no bra,

He quickly stood up and started to take off his belt and as soon as he was done he wasted no time taking off your panties and spreading your pretty legs,

He dragged one of his fingers through your folds picking up some of your juices and making you moan and arch your back in the process he put his finger in his mouth. “Just how I like it. Good girl” he said positioning his head in between your legs.

He quickly put his tongue to work and showed your touch deprived pussy just what it missed.

You never touched yourself when you and Choso were arguing, because you knew he would be right back. You felt as though only letting him touch you made you crave him more and although you would never admit it to him you never saw yourself giving up on him and not touching yourself was basically a guarantee that you wouldn’t lose fillings.

Choso on the other hand would touch himself to the thought of you everyday or sometimes just the control he had on you, he would think about how he was the only person to ever have you and only person you ever allowed to touch you. Shit like that turned him on.

Your legs started to shake intensely as he ate you out and just as you were about to cum he stopped,

He got off his knees and stood right in front of you, he put his body in between your legs and aligned his cock with your entrance, “you ready?” He looked at you but you only gave him a moan in response.

As he entered you, he could here the wet sound pussy made and that was music to his ears only making him speed up his pace to hear it more

“Fuck” he said under his breath,

You were a moaning mess for this man

He felt himself get closer to his orgasm so he came closer to your face and placed kisses all over it, you wrapped your arms around his neck as he continued to thrust inside you,

Soon you could feel him leaking inside you making you arch your back, you knew he was trying to hold his orgasm so that you could cum with him because his thrust were sloppy but firm enough so that you could feel good.

As soon as he felt your nails dig into his back he knew you were cumming.

As you painted his cock he painted your insides, “I love you” he kisses you one more time before exiting your pussy,

You could feel him getting off the bed and then you saw him entering the bathroom, you heard running water and was about to doze off but Choso came and picked you up bridal style.

He made sure you peed and cleaned you both up, “you made a mess in the bed now I have to change the sheets” he chuckled while you sat in your vanity chair wrapped in a towel, you watched him change the sheets and take the other ones to the washing machine. You couldn’t help but smile at him, he was so cute.

He came back into the room this time he didn’t have that same cute look though, he seemed mad and as he looked directly at me I couldn’t help but wonder why,

“What the fuck is this?” He held up something pink and white and as I looked closely I saw it was a test.

The test.

#jjk #jujutsu kaisen #jjk x reader #choso #choso smut #jujutsu kaisen choso #jjk choso #choso kamo #choso x y/n #toxic choso

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ray935sworld · 5 months ago

Text

The right kind of comfort

This story is based on a very funny post by @yeastinfectionvale that I took a little to serious. I may have misunderstood the assignement and my brain came up with this story so... I hope you enjoy it anyway!

And shout-out to @hotmessmaxpress for explaining to me how to do the under the cut post. Thanks again.

Summary: Bez crashed in Assen and gets his d sucked by Valentino Rossi. But is that really what he needs or who he needs? (Hint Bez x Marc at the end) 3.4k words

Don't like it, don't read it. Continues under the cut and on AO3.

Story includes a negative self-view while dealing with insecurites. Please don't read if this may trigger you

A DNF. Another fucking DNF after Le mans. He had one podium back in Jerez and beside that had to be grateful to even have made it to P6. He had to get used to P14, P11 and P13. And he was regular outscored by his teammate. The year before Bez already had 2 wins before Assen and had lead the championship for 2 races. Now he was lucky to get points. He was fighting against Raul Fernandez in the championship standings for P11, with just 6 points separating them. If he had known that when he was 3rd last year, he probably would have laughed in disbelief.

What had happened? What had happened to him? Why had his performance suddenly drop drastically when he was still working hard? He was still trying his best. Now it was his cursed reality. He was doing everything. He put in the work to figure out what his problem was but it ended up being worthless. Whenever he thought he had made progress, he got in the race and messed up. Every time.

With more self-doubt than ever, he headed back to the garage. Technically his bike was still running and he wasn’t hurt – beside his pride. But he knew if he continue, he would just damage the bike further and he didn’t had to put his mechanics through the troubles. So he went back, keeping his head low. He tried not to face them.

His mind was screaming at him. They were disappointed in him. They had to. He kept messing up their hard work. He didn’t deserve being part of the team or even being in MotoGP. He should just go back home and beg his father to give him a job in his shop. He could hide in shame in the back and work on some cars, never to be seen again. Maybe that wasn’t the worst idea after all. No more cameras, nasty comments and he wouldn’t disappoint everyone the way he does now.

He felt random hands on his shoulders, trying to encourage him. Fake. Someone told him it was okay. It wasn’t. They said that he was just struggling. He’d soon make his comeback and show them what he is really able to do. Lies. They didn’t actually believe he could do it. They didn’t thought he was a good rider. They didn’t believe in him. They just had to say it. After all, his action determined how their work was depicted. So if they fucked him up further, they would hurt their own career. Right? So they needed him to perform. And every basic psychology said that talking shit about someone who trust you was the worst thing to do.

He sat down for a moment. He pretended to listen to his mechanic, just nodding along but in reality, he was trying to down the voices in his head. Valentino Rossi – a god a motorcycle racing – had thought he was good enough to be trained by him. Maybe he was wrong. He had gave him a place in his team. Twice. For 5 years he was in one of his teams. And now he was messing up his last year with them. How he managed to secure that god damn Aprilia contract was still a mystery to him. He didn’t actually deserve it. He would disappoint them too. They wouldn’t renew his contract, maybe even replace him during the season and he wouldn’t find another bike cause no one was as stupid to give him a chance. Not when so many talents were currently competing and already knowing on the door from Moto2 and Moto3. HE wanted to cry at the thought of having to give his dream up that early. After only a few seasons in MotoGP, he’d be forced out. He wanted to cry. He felt tears in his eyes and just as he was about to wipe them away he heard his head mechanic say “I think you should get changed and take a break. We will have a debrief later and talk about how to improve. Alright, Marco?”

He nodded. He wasn’t of any use anyway. He couldn’t even handle a debrief right now. How was he supposed to handle a bike?

He somehow ended up in his motorhome. He didn’t really remember the way there, just that he had hurried and did everything not to be seen. Luckily most people where watching the race so he could easily slip away.

He opened the door and the first thing he felt was the way his heart broke. He felt it deep in his chest. His tears started flowing and he pressed his back to the door. A sob left his lungs. He was crying and he wished he wouldn’t know whose hand it was when someone lifted his chin. But he knew.

He didn’t had to know to recognize how the skin felt on his. He looked up. He didn’t want to. “That was a stupid one” his mentor whispered. He almost cried harder but instead forced a laugh. “At least I’m young enough to actually compete” he shot back.

He couldn’t pinpoint the moment when he had started to cover up being hurt by attacking back. Maybe he had just started to copy his behaviour on track to off track. He really just wanted to break down and cry but right now, with Vale’s hand on his cheek, there was no way out. He could push him back and ran of course. Vale certainly wouldn’t stop him. But why would he? Wasn’t that man in front of him his gay awakening, the one he had jerked off when he was a teenager. Wasn’t he everything he wanted in moments like this?

It’s not like he had lost his looks since Bez was 17. He was still hot. Probably even hotter. And an orgasm was a good way to get ride of his thoughts.

“At least I was actually able to compete” The words felt like a knife was pushed in an already open wound. So Vale truly didn’t believe he was able to compete at the top? He swallowed when he felt his until then closed legs been pushed apart.

He smiled while sitting down almost pressed against his crotch. His grin wasn’t the one that Marco was used to. It wasn’t the kind Vale smile he usually had when the academy was together at the ranch. It was the one that made him feel like he was nothing more than prey for a wild animal. Like there was no purpose for him other to get fucked right there and then, on the floor of his motorhome.

As if he had read his thought, Rossi put his hands on him. His finger tips started to touch the neck of his suit. He was playing with it. “But what you are currently doing… It’s just sad to watch” He felt tears return to his eyes and his mind racing. All the thoughts he had tried to get ride of were suddenly back again. They were stronger. “Pathetic… Fighting for… What was it? P14? P15?” His hand were on his suit. He felt them burning through the white leather. His left hand was holding his hip in place. His right hand was on his zipper. He opened it painfully slow.

Bez let out a whine. He didn’t enjoy this kind of intro. Of course he liked foreplay, but not in sticky cloth, when his body was full of sweat and he felt like he was starting to cry if he didn’t got distracted. And he needed hands on his naked body not on the fucking zipper. “One or two points while Digga is on the podium keeping Marquez behind him. And you fail to stick to those few spare points.” “I’m sorry” he forced himself to say. He looked up again. He stared at him, refusing to break the eye contact first. “I made a mistake, okay?! I’m sorry” he defended himself. His mind didn't got quieter. It got louder with each of his words.

Skilled fingers found their way under his leathers. “I know” he said, there was no love in his voice. No kindness. No comfort, not real one. “And I know you wanna do better” “I… I do” That’s how it regularly went. “It’s just frustrating and I feel so-“

Vale’s fingers felt burning hot on his already warm skin. He pushed the material away from his shoulder and his lips silenced him. Kissing Valentino had long lost the feeling of unfamiliarity and strangeness. Back in 2022, it was an unusual, somehow excited feeling to be noticed like that by someone like him. Now that the hero bliss had worn off a little more – after seeing him naked and getting fucked by him regularly. The need to get ride of his thought was more dominant now. And there was no better way than this… Right? So why push him away? He smiled.

Instead he closed his eyes. He knew it wasn’t what he really needed but it was close enough. So he finally shut his mind up when he felt Vale’s hand in his hair. It glided over a pat of his forehand and buried itself in his curls. He felt his nails tear in his scalp. He moaned in the kiss at the sensation. Vale grabbed a big hand of curls at the back of his head and used it to pull his head back. At the same time his other hand added pressure to his still clothed dick.

Their lips parted with a needy sound. Bez heard an unplaceable sound leave his lips when he obligated Vale’s gesture and let his head fall back. He felt the wall of his motorhome against his head and it reminded him that they were still on the floor. Not that he cared. Not when he felt Vale kissing his throat. Once. Twice. Three times. Then the other side. One. Two… Three. Then he moved to his chest. For a moment he kissed his ribcage. He barely felt it. It was just a short, light kiss on his skin.

“Va-Vale-“ he didn’t even know himself what he was about to ask. “Mmmh?” “Please” he whined in a high voice. He felt needy. An embarrassing red colour painted his cheeks. “Awe” Vale mocked him. His chin hit the abs of the younger one as he looked up. He had put his head on his stomach to smile at him. “Don’t worry” His smile was not as cold as before. Instead there was a fire. Like he was playing a game and knew he was winning. “I got you, Marco. Don’t I? You’ll be a very, very good boy for me and let me take care of you so you can perform again”

He spoke his name so softly that Bez felt a sense of pride rise. He quickly nodded. Yes. Yes, he wanted that. He needed to be taken care of so he could perform again. Maybe he had been wrong. Maybe the thing between them wasn’t as cold as he thought. Maybe there was passion and this whole foreplay was just how Vale was. Maybe he liked it. Bez could deal with it. No problem.

Vale’s hands had by now left his hair and were wandering over his body. He caressed his skin like it was treasure. “Oh Marco, you’re still so beautiful” he whispered.

He quickly grabbed his hips, like he was afraid he would run away or leave as if this was now an option. Bez felt the heat between his legs grow. Blood was rushing south way faster now that the older man’s hands were close to the remaining leathers. He felt himself getting hard. It was uncomfortable against his clothes and there was nothing he could do to prevent it. Not that he really needed to. After all this was exactly why they were there.

“I want you” The retired rider whispered as he pushed the material away from his hips. His naked ass hit the cold floor. For a second if was uncomfortable but Bez made a sound of agreement and quickly kicked everything away from them. Vale could have said anything. With his hands basically on his now exposed cock, he would agree to everything. It felt good to be desired even though it's just in a weird way that he didn't even truly understand. But he didn’t care. He came back, every time and accepted greedily whatever he was willing to give him. He took anything. He wouldn't deny the pleasure his mentor brought him for anything.

He wanted to feel his hands on him, like he did right now. He needed to feel him grabbing his thighs. It was close to being violent. He pushed in the skin and buried his fingers in there for a moment. Marco moaned. He knew his skin was probably turning red, stained with the pressure. Pain and pleasure mixed and his neglected cock stood up for attention. There was a little bit of pre-cum leaking to prove his excitement.

He was no longer thinking. Desire took over and his hands grabbed Valentino. He felt his neck and pulled him closer. He hungryly kissed him. He wanted to feel his lips on his. He wanted to feel his body against his. He wanted to feel his skin on his and pretend just for a moment that this was real. That they were real. That there was hope. That those two had future together even though he wasn't even really sure if he wanted said future not that this was a concern for him at the moment. After all, all he wanted right now was there. He wanted a release. And the one willing to give him the release he needed was his hero Valentino Rossi. He was in front of him willing to fuck him stupid.

He felt his hand wandering down between his legs. Just for a moment he was carefully stroking his thighs. His mind was finally quiet. He could finally breathe. He could just enjoy the moment and that was all he wanted. He kissed his mentor and kissed him again while feeling the vibration leaving the older Italians chest. „How eager" he replied while starting to touch the tip of his cock.

Bez response followed with a needy whine that accidentally escaped his throat. He took it as an encouragement and rubbed the tip of his cock before suddenly leaning down. The rider felt his breath stop for a moment. He started at the dark hair that was now only a breath away. He could feel the breath of the older against the skin of his V-line. It somehow burned against his already hot skin.

There was no more hesitation. He put his hand on his head and tried pushing him towards his leaking dick. The next thing he knew he felt warm lips on the tip of his dick. Before he could even realise what was going on his whole cock was surrounded by heat and wetness. He almost screamed from the pleasure.

His lover sat a fast and unbroken speed. Clearly not his first time. Bez knew that. But now with his hand burried in Vale's hair, all he could do was moan his lovers name. He tried to control his breathing. He couldn't decide if having his eyes wide open or closed tight enough to see stars was the better option. His gronas formed words. "Vale! Va-Va-Fuck!"

He sucked him off and when he felt a familiar heat pool in his lower abdoman he let go of his head. Instead his hands now formed a fist and he pushed it against the ground. „I'm… I'm gonna… I'm gonna come! Fuck! Vale-!"

Then the sudden release hit him. The tension left his shoulders as he came. He didn't had the strength to continue to push himself against the wall so he didn't. He let go and breath. He was breathing heavily. He was trying to control it when he felt Vale's mouth leave his skin. He looked up. His eyes were tired but he could clearly see the smirk in the older man's face.

He had swallowed and was now getting ride of the last drops that were still in the corner of his mouth. „Better?" he asked and kneeled next to Bez. For a moment he hesitated but than quickly nodded. „Yes, thank you Vale." „Always" he whispered and kissed him. This time it was a soft one. Almost careful as if he wanted to apologize for being to rough earlier.

„Okay, the race should almost be over. I'll be heading back now and you should finally take a shower" he announced and stood up. Bez stared at him in disbelief. He had gotten used to the sudden end of their sessions. That didn't mean he liked it. “See you later, okay?”

Bez knew he couldn't expect anything different. It wasn't part of their arrangement. So he faked a smile. “Yeah, see- see you”

Vale didn't even looked back as he closed the door. The silent 'click' confirmed that he was now gone. He had left. Bez stared at the door. He imagined Vale was still standing there.“I just… I need someone and I don't want to be alone right now”

He buried his head against his knees. Emotions he couldn't place overcame him as he was cursing himself again.

That night he went out. Not with the academy or his team. They asked him to join but he politely declined. He wasn't in the mood, at least not for the popular, loud, straight club, they always went for. He now went to a different kind of club. More private. Less known. It was a messy one actually. The kind no one told you about. He preferred those one. Especially cause this one, was known to be a gay club.

So he sat down at the bar. He burried his head in one of the biggest hoddies he owned and looked around. He watched a young woman flirt with a slightly older one. Both laughing and sharing glances. They looked so in love. They looked happy and Bez wanted excatly that. He was on his 3rd drink when a voice behind him suddenly addressed him. For a moment he was annoyed. He had no interest in talking to a fan. He wanted to bury his Frust in alcohol.

“Sorry about your DNF. You really deserve better”

Confused he turned around. He knew this voice a little to well. He was meet with a shy smile. He smiled back. Maybe it was a reflex, the crippling loyalty or the alcohol. Probably a combination of all three. But he smiled back, a kind, real one.

“Sorry about your penalty. P10 after a fight like that was undeserved" he said and watched Marc Marquez smile.

#valentino rossi #marco bezzecchi #marc marquez #i got carried away #ray's writing #I got a way too detailed thought about how this story may continue and 0 time to actually write it #I only wrote this cause it was stuck in my head #I finally found a way to start a possible Bez x Marc story cause I wanted to write one but didn't found a good start #This was planned to have a differnt twist and I originally planned to make this crack but my brain doesn't like crack so have this instead #I wanted to write this funny and short now it got insecure and long #my apologies for any inaccurancies its my first time publishing smut and I didnt pay attention in biology #oh and im a lesbian so...#the right kind of comfort

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olivialau · 3 months ago

Text

Shadow's Embrace Ch.21

Sukuna x Reader

Disclaimer:

This is a work of fanfiction based on the universe of "Jujutsu Kaisen," created by Gege Akutami. The original manga, anime, and characters belong to their respective owners and creators.

Notes:

This story unfolds in the Jujutsu Kaisen world, set in a slightly altered universe where Sukuna inhabits his own vessel distinct from Itadori Yuji's body, making him a separate entity.

Summary:

Ryomen Sukuna, the King of Curses, becomes fascinated with a female sorcerer rich in potential but lacking control. Initially seizing her for his destructive plans, Sukuna aims to bind her abilities through a contract. Yet, as he tries to dominate her, he finds himself intrigued by her strength and determination. Over time, his interest evolves from strategic advantage to a deeper, personal connection.

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CHAPTER 21 - Tightrope

Every instinct told you to flee, to shut down the conversation before it reached a point of no return, but you had no choice.

You had to lie your way through this.

If Sukuna found out your cover was blown… well, you didn’t even want to think about what he’d do to you. You were expendable to him—useful, sure, but pawns could always be replaced.

You forced a pained expression as you began. “You want to know more about the kidnapping?” Your voice was steady but weak.

“To be fair… I barely saw Sukuna. Maybe two or three times? It’s hard to remember. I was in shock…” You clenched your fists in your lap, nails biting into your palms, and cast your eyes downward, as if recalling those moments was unbearably painful. It wasn’t entirely a lie—there had been plenty of shock—but that wasn’t what Gojo was after, and you both knew it.

You risked a glance upward through your lashes, hoping to see some sign of belief, but it seemed today was not your lucky day.

"Hmm." Gojo rubbed his chin, his expression thoughtful but distant. “I think you know that’s not exactly what I’m getting at here."

Shit.

A cold sweat prickled at the back of your neck. He wasn’t buying it. But you couldn't fold now—not with everything at stake.

“I don’t know what you mean, Gojo-sensei,” you said, forcing your tone to remain neutral. “I’m really not sure what you're getting at.” The lie felt like lead in your throat, and you could barely supress the nervous fidgeting of your hands.

Gojo sighed, but it wasn’t out of exasperation. It felt more like...pity.

“Listen,” he said, his tone gentler now. “You don’t strike me as a bad person. I’m not sure what hold Sukuna has on you, but I doubt you’re working with him by choice. I wouldn’t be surprised if he’s coercing you, threatening you in some way. He’s not exactly known for playing fair, is he?”

The knot in your stomach tightened, but you remained silent, hoping he’d continue without expecting an answer. And he did.

“The thing is,” Gojo went on, “I can’t ignore the signs anymore. There have been too many coincidences for me to just look the other way. You know what I mean, right? The fact that Sukuna let you walk away at all—no way that was an accident, not with someone like him. And then, just as the veil is lifted, we find you in that warehouse?”

He leaned forward slightly, not in a threatening way, but intent for sure. “That place was a mess. Blood everywhere. Clear signs of a fight… And yet—” He stopped just short of a challenge. “Not a scratch on you.”

You could feel the walls closing in around you. It was no use denying it anymore. Gojo wasn’t just suspicious—he was convinced.

“Then,” he said, ticking off more points like a prosecutor building his case, “you suddenly decide you want to move out of the dorms, after everything that’s happened? No protection, just like that? Not to mention the sudden boost in your fighting skills... That doesn’t happen overnight without help from someone extremely skilled.”

You stared at the floor, overwhelmed with shame. You could barely bring yourself to look up again.

“And you know,” he said, a small laugh slipping from his lips, “the biggest clue that gave you away?” You forced yourself to look up, your heart pounding so hard it hurt.

Gojo’s grin grew wider, almost playful. “You’re a terrible liar.”

He now burst into a full laugh, clutching his stomach as he wiped away a tear. “I mean, seriously. I thought I was bad at lying, but you? Pfft.”

Him laughing like that when you had sweat nearly dripping down the crack of your ass, was rough. But you silently thanked him for easing the tension, if only a little.

As his laugh slowly subsided, the playful air shifted into something much more serious. “Listen,” he said softly, his tone laced with genuine concern. “I’m not reporting this to the higher-ups. Because if they find out? You’re dead. No trial, no explanations—just dead. And I’m not about to let that happen.”

Your breath hitched. He was letting you off?

“And more than that,” Gojo continued, “I still see potential in you. A lot of it. So I want you to stay here. Keep training at Jujutsu High.”

You blinked, processing his words. He wasn’t angry. He wasn’t condemning you. He was giving you a chance.

“So here’s what you should do,”

His voice was steady but carried an unmistakable warning. “Just… don’t let Sukuna drag you in any deeper than you already are. You’re playing with fire. He’s dangerous—like, end-of-the-world dangerous, and more importantly, evil. If things get out of hand, tell me. I’ll be watching too, but I need you to be straight with me.”

It was silent for a moment, and his eyebrows seemed to furrow slightly, as if his next words pained him despite the unwavering conviction in them.

“And if you cross a line—if you hurt someone... I won’t be able to protect you."

"I’ll have to stop you myself, even if that means killing you. And trust me,” his tone softened just a fraction, “that’s the last thing I want.”

You almost let out a nervous laugh, half-expecting him to throw in some offhand joke to lighten the mood. But there was no quip, no wink behind his blindfold.

This was Gojo drawing a line in the sand—one that you hoped, with all your might, you’d never be forced to cross.

Despite the gravity of his warning, he was letting you off the hook, for now, and you were immensely grateful for that. You bowed down with gratitude, shame, and fear all at once. “Thank you, Gojo-sensei,” you murmured, as you struggled to find more words.

Gojo dismissed your formality with a casual wave. "No need for that," he said, rising to his feet in one fluid motion. He stretched lazily as he sauntered towards the door. Pausing at the threshold, he glanced back. "And don't forget," he added with an enigmatic smile, “practice control over your cursed energy intake. You’re gonna need it.”

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You made it back just in time for the second half of the day’s classes, but your thoughts were far from the lessons being taught. The conversation with Gojo lingered in your mind, and you couldn’t shake the uneasy feeling of having been seen through so completely.

It was oddly familiar, like the embarrassment of being scolded in high school when you and Ayumi were caught skipping class or sneaking a smoke behind the building. Though, this felt a hundred times more intense than those scoldings ever had.

Still, it was infinitely better than what Sukuna would’ve done had your cover been blown. You wouldn’t have walked away from that encounter—no, it would’ve been a massacre, and you’d have been on the wrong end of it.

When classes finally ended, you let out a sigh of relief, quickly gathering your things. You waved goodbye to Itadori, Kugisaki, and Megumi, pausing to thank the latter again for helping you with training.

Itadori who stood to your side, pouted. “No fair! I had to sit through a boring class while you two got a private lesson from Gojo-sensei.”

In response Kugisaki rolled her eyes and nudged him playfully. “Quit whining, Itadori. Gojo was probably relieved to have a break from you for a change.” She smirked, clearly enjoying the jab.

Megumi just shrugged, brushing off the compliment. “It wasn’t anything special.”

Now, as you walked the final miles to the apartment, each step felt heavier than the last. You silently prayed Sukuna wouldn’t be home—you’d had enough confrontations for one day.

The conversation with Gojo had been a sobering reminder of the perilous tightrope you were walking—a clear confirmation that you needed to banish those odd, dangerous thoughts about Sukuna that sometimes crept into your mind.

You repeated this to yourself once more before turning the knob and stepping into the apartment.

The apartment was silent, but you felt his presence immediately, like a looming storm. It was impossible to miss. You wondered if he might be in his room, but the sensation felt too close for that. Your eyes swept the space until they landed on the couch.

There he was, sprawled out with an air of indifference, eyes closed as if in sleep. Though you knew better—Sukuna’s senses were way too sharp to have overlooked your entrance.

You hesitated. Should you just ignore him? The couch was the only place to sit, but the idea of disturbing him felt like playing with fire. Swallowing your unease, you managed a tentative, “Uh… hello?”

Silence.

“...Hello?” you tried again, your voice a bit less certain this time.

Then, Sukuna let out a low, irritated grumble.“What is it, brat?”

Oh no. You definitely weren’t going to ask him to move. He was the King of Curses, after all—how could you? What had you even hoped to accomplish by speaking up?

“Uh, no, never mind,” you muttered quickly. “It’s nothing.”

Sukuna’s eyes snapped open, glaring at you with a fury that made your blood run cold.

"Then keep your mouth shut.”

You swallowed hard and took a few more steps into the apartment, your gaze dropping to avoid his. It was then that you noticed the red stains splattered across his clothes. Blood.

Of course, you knew what he was capable off, but you’d never let yourself think too much about what he did when you weren’t around. Seeing the evidence so plainly, however, made it impossible to ignore.

Gojo was right. Sukuna wasn’t just dangerous—he was evil.

You set your bag down on the kitchen floor, trying to push aside the disturbing images that flashed through your mind as you stared at those bloodstains.

Tomorrow was Friday, which meant only one more day until the weekend. You’d have to travel back to your hometown for Ayumi’s memorial, and seeing as Sukuna controlled your entire existence through the binding vow, now might be your only chance to ask him about it.

“Actually, there was something I wanted to ask you…” you began hesitantly.

An irritated “Huh?” came from the couch, though Sukuna's eyes remained closed, barely acknowledging you.

The words seemed to catch in your throat, but there was no turning back now. “It’s about this weekend,” you continued, forcing them out. “My friend, Ayumi… It’s been two years since she passed. There’s a memorial service, and I have to be there.”

The room grew still, suffocatingly so.

Sukuna’s eyes opened slightly, his gaze sharp and studying as it fixed on you. The silence stretched on, and you started to doubt whether you should have said anything at all.

Then he let out a deep, mocking chuckle. “Ah, so you’re still pining over that pathetic friend of yours?" His lips curled into a small smirk, as he continued. “That stupid girl who got herself killed by a curse?”

You felt like you’d been slapped. You knew Sukuna was callous, indifferent to the lives of others, but the harshness of his words cut deeper than you’d expected. You stared at him, trying to find some flicker of humanity in his eyes, some trace of understanding. But there was nothing—just cold, empty malice.

“She wasn’t stupid,” you said, forcing out your voice as you struggled to keep it steady. “She was—”

“Dead,” Sukuna interrupted. He sat up slowly, his movements predatory, like a beast preparing to strike. “She’s dead because she was weak. And you, mourning her like this, are weak too.”

It felt like every word out of his mouth was designed to hurt you, to crush any sense of hope or comfort you might have had by targeting the one person you held most dear. Your hands clenched into fists at your sides, and your body trembled with a mix of anger and frustration.

"Fuck. Are you really that evil? Can’t you see it’s important to me?’”

“Important?” Sukuna laughed, a harsh, grating sound that you hadn't heard from him in a while. “You humans are so pathetic, clinging to the dead as if they still have any meaning. Wasting your time and energy on those who are already rotting in the ground.”

The fury that had been simmering within you boiled over, and you realized just how deeply you despised Sukuna. How could you have ever felt anything other than hatred for him? Every interaction, every moment of doubt, now seemed like a cruel joke you had played on yourself.

“It’s not a waste!” you shot back, your voice rising with your anger. “It’s about honoring her memory. It’s about love, about loyalty to the people who mattered! But you wouldn’t understand that, would you?”

“Love? Loyalty?” Sukuna repeated calmly, as he stood up to face you. “Such foolish sentiments. The dead are gone, and no amount of mourning will change that."

"And you—” He broke off, his gaze sliding away from yours, as though fearing that meeting your eyes might force him to confront something he was desperate to avoid. “You think I care about your feelings?”

“I don’t care what you think!” you shouted, the words bursting out of you in a flood of emotions. “I’m going to that memorial, whether you like it or not!”

For a moment, the room was completely silent.

You fully expected him to lash out, to remind you of the binding vow that tied you to him, to punish you for your defiance. Instead, he merely stared at you, his expression inscrutable.

As you glared back, you detected something in that cryptic gaze—something that wasn’t quite cruelty, but wasn’t compassion either. It was a kind of confusion, as if he were genuinely puzzled by your outburst, unable to comprehend the depth of your feelings. There was no overt malice, no anger—just a cold emptiness that made your heart ache in an unexpected way.

For a moment, you almost felt sorry for him, for being unable to grasp the most basic of feelings.

But that pity was quickly overshadowed by your anger, by the realization that he would never truly understand what you were feeling. He was a monster, not just because of what he was, but because he was incapable of being anything else.

Unable to stand the tension of your locked gazes any longer, you stormed out of the apartment, slamming the door behind you. You half-expected him to chase after you, to drag you back and beat you up.

But there was nothing—

only the rapid thudding of your own heart.

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Thank you for reading!!! I promise they'll get there guys, eventually lol. <3

If you want to be added to the taglist, so you don't miss any updates, please let me know in the comments or with a private message. Thankyou!

Taglist: @sukunasthightattoos , @tomiokasecretlover , @6demonize6me6 , @blindbabycadder , @domainofmarie , @marcoschuitmaker , @geniejunn , @chanaaaannel

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shinagawa-division · 3 months ago

Text

Happy Birthday Tomi!

Mature Themes Ahead. Minors Do Not Interact.

— Shinagawa Division, August 14th, 2024 —

The sun had set over the city of Shinagawa, casting the restless city in darkness as the building lit up and shown as brightly as the stars in the night sky. On the residential outskirts of the city, in her bedroom of her mansion, Miho Kobayashi was currently finishing up getting ready to meet her darling husband to spend his birthday with by having a lovely date at the finest restaurant money can buy. Fitted in a tight, black dress with diamonds, Miho was putting on the finishing touches to her makeup when her phone pinged, signaling that she had gotten a message, causing her to put down her blush brush and went to pick up her phone which pinged again…and again and again and again, almost rapidly, catching the female CEO off guard.

“What the hell…” She muttered as she held the still pinging device in her hands, just who the hell was messaging her so much? Opening her message app, she saw that she was being spammed with the same link over and over by her friends, colleagues, and even random numbers, furthering confusing the raven haired woman even more, at first she thought that it was some prank or that maybe her phone got hacked again but then she got even more messages, each one telling her to click the link, that she had to see what was happening and the most confusing part, people were giving their condolences.

Having enough with the suspense, Miho clicked on a random contact and tapped on the link which immediately brought her to a video. It was that of a bedroom of what looked to be in some high end hotel, it looked to be empty until the door suddenly bursts open and in came two people that were locked in a very passionate embrace, their facing pretty much glued together as they were eagerly making out with each other. Miho’s mind went blank as her face scrunched up with disgust at the thought of being sent a porn video…until she looked closer at the couple, specifically the man of the two who looked scarily familiar to her…husband…

Miho’s heart froze and promptly dropped to her stomach as the couple pulled away and she could clearly see her husband, the person who vowed to be with her in sickness and in health, until death do them part, Tomi fucking Chōten push the woman who he had just been making out with to her knees, who only giggled and started to unbuckle his pants to pull out his length and give him a blowjob, the Socialite throwing his head back and groaning in pleasure. Miho’s knuckles were pure white with how hard she was gripping her phone, her mind going a million miles per minute as she tried to grasp the situation, surely this couldn’t be real right? It had to be some AI generated garbage, Tomi wouldn’t do this to her, he couldn’t, not after everything, not after she bared her heart and soul out to him, not after she told him everything about her past traumas, including with how her first engagement ended, there was no fucking way he would do this to her twice.

‘Damn this is so fucking hot, I love NTR’

‘I’ll pay 20 dollars if you fuck her face’

‘Hey! I know that guy! Isn’t he that rich motherfucker from Aoyama?’

‘God I wish that were me’

‘Oh shit, you’re right, wait, isn’t this guy married? Damn, I’d hate to be his wife right now’

Almost as if spitting in her face, a chat box appeared which was rapidly being filled with messages and donations, other people were watching this, they were watching her husband sleeping with another woman, the shame and embarrassment Miho was feeling was sickening, apparently the footage she was looking at happened to be live footage, which meant that this was happening in real time, Miho was just sitting here getting pretty for a man who currently had another woman’s mouth deepthroating his cock. The camera angle had switched, zooming in closer on the male’s face, there was no doubt about it, it was truly Tomi Chōten, his bleached blonde-white hair was disheveled and out of its usual ponytail due to the heavy make out session he and the woman had, those gray eyes that Miho once adored were hazy and cloudy with lust and would shut close solely from the pleasure he was getting from the woman that was lathering his cock with licks and kisses.

And most of all, the most telling feature that convinced Miho that this was indeed real, were his eyebrows. His goddamn eyebrows that were long, thin, and had the iconic loop that nothing and nobody could replace. Miho wasn’t aware of how weak her legs had gotten but she had collapsed on her knees on the floor as she just numbly stared at her phone in horror and disbelieving anger. The woman in the video, which Miho subconsciously note was a younger woman presumably in her early 20s, with orange hair and blue eyes, popped his cock out of her mouth after giving one last suck and stood up, grabbed Tomi’s hand as the camera angle changed again, closing in on the two of them and Miho watched with sickness as she guided him towards the bed.

The woman took off her heels and lifted her skirt up, tugging her panties down and tossing them to the side, looking back at Tomi with a lustful look, almost as if giving an invisible command to take her, Tomi scrambled to get on the bed, positioning himself behind the woman and Miho’s eyes, who were slowly gathering tears at this point, widened as she realized that they were not going to stop any time soon, they really were going all the way. Miho desperately wanted to do something, to scream, to cry, to get angry and trash her room but she couldn’t will herself to move an inch, too shocked and paralyzed by the utter betrayal of watching her second husband commit adultery.

The final nail was in the coffin the moment Tomi entered the other woman and immediately began thrusting, moans and cursing spilling out from the both of them as the bed creaked and rocked with their movements.

“Oh fuuuuuck~! Daddy, your cock’s so fucking biiiiig~!” The woman gave a moan so pornographic that it would’ve made the most degenerate person blush but all it did was stab another knife into Miho’s chest, the tears finally spilling out and pouring down her cheeks, messing up her make up and creating tear tracks. The worse part was that she could clearly see Tomi’s ring glittering in the light of the hotel room, fucker didn’t even bother taking it off.

“S-shit..so fucking tight..” He groaned and Miho wanted to vomit with how much he looked like he was genuinely enjoying having sex with another, much younger woman, her other hand that wasn’t gripping the phone had clenched into a fist so tightly, her nails had cut into her palm with blood starting to drip down, almost in tandem with her tears.

“A-ah…mmf, yeah? You like that, Daddy? I’m better than-fuck!-your skeleton of a wife, right? Bet a prudish-ooooh-bitch like her couldn’t get you this fucking hard-shit!” The woman moaned, throwing herself back in time of Tomi’s thrusts, said man still had that lust filled glossed over look as he continued to pound into her.

“Y-yes! God, yes! S-so much better than her!” He gritted out, pumping inside her faster as the woman made eye contact in the direction the camera was and gave an evil grin causing Miho’s heart to stop for the nth time this night alone.

The rest of it was a blur, Miho couldn’t even recall anything after that except waking up in her bed, still in her dress, her injured hand now bandaged and what remained of her phone was sitting in a plastic bag gon her bedside table, the device completely shattered into pieces. Miho blinked, eyes staring blankly at her ceiling before the events of last night came back to her, making her eyes twitch slightly before slowly sitting up to get ready for the day.

— Later, Aoyama Division, August 15th, 2024 —

In a luxurious hotel located in the city of Aoyama, Tomi Chōten groaned as he slowly woke up, a headache pounding in his head and his body completely sore as he tried to recall what the hell happened last night but to no avail, as if something was blocking his memory of last night. He looked around to find the place cleaned up aside from his clothes which were strewn everywhere across the floor and the bed he was laying in to be a mess. Looking down, he was shocked and horrified to find that he was naked and covered in bruises, scratches, and bite marks as well as dried up cum which signified that something definitely happened last night and Tomi felt ice cold fear wash upon him at the realization of what he had done.

Scrambling to get out of the bed, the Socialite hurried to put his clothes on, not giving a damn about his dirty body and went to grab his phone that was lying on the bedside table, fully charged surprisingly but he didn’t care about that, he paused as he saw that he had a bunch of unread text messages and a whole lot of voicemails coming from acquaintances, colleagues, his parents (who sounded especially pissed off), Karada and Luis, and from one unknown number. Sitting back down on the bed in shock, Tomi hesitantly went through messages, most of them were trolls but a large majority were death threats and comments about how much of cheating piece of shit he was and how his wife deserved so much better than him, some even sending links to various news articles and the trending hashtags on PROFILE, which was having a field day dragging his name in the mud with various clips of his infidelity circling the internet.

BREAKING NEWS: AOYAMA SOCIALITE TOMI CHŌTEN SEX TAPE LEAKED

TOMI CHŌTEN, HUSBAND OF FAMOUS CEO, MIHO KOBAYASHI, CAUGHT CHEATING WITH AN UNKNOWN WOMAN.

WILL MIHO KOBAYASHI AND TOMI CHŌTEN GET A DIVORCE?

Then there were the voicemails…

From his parents…

“You filthy little ingrate! Do you know what you’ve just done?! Videos and picture of you fucking some whore are all over social media! Do you have no shame?! Or perhaps you do because you have brought it towards our family name and tarnished it! Your father and I expect you to be back at the mansion RIGHT NOW or so help me God, Tomi, you will regret it!”

“No words can express how utterly disgusted and disappointed I am in you, Tomi. I do not know what possessed you to do such a heinous thing, especially putting it on the internet for everyone to see your filth and degeneracy. Your mother and I are doing everything we can to do damage control but the truth is that you completely destroyed our family name. Come back to the mansion, there is much we need to discuss.”

From Karada and Luis…

“Tomi…dude…just…why? Didn’t you love Miho? She’s actually a really cool woman and you…really did that…I don’t know what to tell you, bro but…you messed up…you messed up big time.”

“I don’t say this a lot even though I should but you truly are a fucking idiot, Tomi. I expected this sort of stuff from Karada but you? Eh, well, I guess this isn’t too shocking now that I think about it but still, I guess all your vows from your wedding were just bullshit huh? Whatever, anyways, as you can guess, the public is having a field day tearing down your public image and reputation so…good luck, I guess.”

And finally from the unknown number, Tomi froze once more when he heard Miho’s voice, staring off cracked and watery at first, as if she had been crying but growing more and more angry and vitriolic later on.

“I..l don’t know what to say…bra-fucking-vo I guess, truly a stunning performance, y’know I think you should take after your brother and go into acting because this was nothing short of amazing, you truly are dedicated to the act…more dedicated than to me…I guess that’s where you slipped up.”

“Everyone told me that this was a bad idea, that I was making a mistake, that out of all the people in this godforsaken country, choosing you to be my husband was only going to come back and bite me on the ass. I defended you, y’know, I told everyone that they were wrong and that I had faith in you, that perhaps you would change…I’ve never felt like such an idiot, I can already hear them, the never ending cycle of “I told you so”’s.”

“You knew…you knew about everything and what I’ve been through, I told you about how my last engagement ended, I put everything on the line for you, my heart, my soul, my dreams and you FUCKING RUINED THEM LIKE THE BASTARD YOU ARE! HOW DARE YOU! HOW DARE YOU DO THIS TO ME?! DID YOU ENJOY IT?! DID YOU ENJOY RIPPING MY HEART OUT AS YOU BANGED HER?! YOU PIECE OF SHIT! I HOPE YOU FUCKING ROT IN HELL, I HOPE THAT BITCH GETS PREGNANT AND YOU HAVE TO LIVE WITH THE CONSTANT SHAME AND HUMILIATION AS I HAVE AND DON’T YOU DARE EVER COME NEAR ME EVER AGAIN OR I WILL FUCKING KILL YOU—“

“Greetings, Mr. Chōten. This is Goro Eguchi from the Kobayashi residence, please pardon me for the interruption but I have come with some very urgent news. My Lady has hereby banned any and all visitations from you or any of you associates on her property and has now declared that she wants a divorce, I’m sure you can understand why but the papers will be sent to your mansion tomorrow. Mr. Chōten, I strongly recommend that you sign those documents and go through the process with giving as little difficulty as possible as quickly as possible, failure to do so and My Lady will take legal action against you. Right, and another thing, My Lady has told me to tell you that you are allowed to keep your ring, she said and I quote “perhaps you can give it to that whore as a form of child support”. I believe that will be all, good day Mr. Chōten and goodbye.”

Tomi only sat numbly on the bed, there was only a ringing in his ears that seemed to grow louder and louder, he had only just noticed that the ring on his finger was actually missing this whole time and all of a sudden, his eyes grew damp with tears. Outside of the hotel room, a housekeeping maid jumped in fright and promptly scurried away from the door once she heard Tomi scream and start to destroy everything in the room.

— Earlier, Aoyama Division, August 14th, 2024 —

The gala was in full swing, people were mingling and enjoying themselves, all of them attending to celebrate the birth of one Tomi Chōten who was currently socializing and networking with various other businessmen. One of those businessmen happens to be Masuzō Shinomiya, the CEO of the most popular video game making company in all of Japan, Player One Studios as well as Japan’s most eligible bachelor. He’s quite the talk of the town, with women falling for his handsome looks and dark aesthetic while men were jealous of his looks and riches but couldn’t deny his wealth and fortune.

If you were to ask Tomi Chōten however, he completely despises the man, simply due to the fact that he is the older brother to bane of his existence, Sumire Shinomiya.

“Lovely party, as always, Chōten-san.” Masuzō took a sip of his champagne and Tomi only gave a polite smile in response, refraining from scoffing and retorting with an insult. “Thank you, Shinomiya-san.”

“However..” Masuzō drawled, downing his drink completely and turned to face the Socialite. “I’m a bit bored, you don’t suppose this place has a gambling den?” He asked and Tomi raised an eyebrow but nonetheless nodded. “It does, why do you ask?”

Masuzō smiled and Tomi felt a shiver down his spine from how similar it looked to Sumire’s, the family resemblance was borderline uncanny between those two. “Perfect, I don’t suppose you men fancy a few games, do you?”

Tomi should’ve said no, he wanted to say no but as he heard the other men around him agree, he couldn’t help but bite his tongue and smiled, nodding his head. “I don’t see why not, follow me gentleman, I’ll lead the way.”

It wasn’t long until they all entered the gambling den and were sat around a large blackjack table, the dealer, a cute young woman with orange hair and blue eyes, bowed and greeted them before shuffling the cards. As they were all preparing themselves for a night of gambling, Masuzō grabbed a waiter and whispered a few words to him, the waiter nodded and left dutifully before coming back with a variety of drinks on a platter, serving each man their drink before getting to Tomi who raised an eyebrow at the cup of liquor that was placed in front of him.

“I’ve never seen this kind of alcohol before, what is this.” He demanded the waiter however, Masuzō came to his rescue.

“Relax Chōten, this is my gift to you, I had that liquor imported from Barcelona, it’s unknown to some due to how exotic it is, only the very best of the upper echelon are able to afford that drink.” He explained as he took a sip of his whiskey, the other men could only murmur in awe at the nonchalant display of wealth, Tomi hated to admit that even he was impressed so all he did was huff and began to drink it, it was surprisingly pleasant, with a hint of a fruity aftertaste, he couldn’t help but drink some more and Masuzō could only smile mysteriously, knowing that his gift was very we’ll received.

The night continued, the games continued and the more sloshed the men became, all except Masuzō, who only watched with a blank face as Tomi got more and more handy with the dealer who did absolutely nothing to stop his advances, all she did was look back at Masuzō who only gave her a nod, making her nod back and gently pulled Tomi into a deep kiss, the Socialite jolting in surprise before eagerly kissing her back. The other men were too wasted to care, some even giving the two of them cat calls and cheers, the dealer pulled back to whisper something in Tomi’s ear before the two of them went to go exit the room. Masuzō waited for a minute, finishing his 15th shot of whiskey before leaving the room to go follow the two, only stopping when he saw the two of them enter the cab he had called in advance and drive off.

“Fucking finally.” He sighed in relief and went to fish his phone out of his pocket, seeing the familiar icon of his creator, he sent her a message.

Did my part. Your turn.

— Shinagawa Division, August 15th, 2024 —

Sumire Shinomiya walked down the hall leading to her aunt’s room, carefully holding a tray of food and painkillers. She had managed to convince Goro to let her serve Miho her lunch, the butler hesitated at first but after seeing how genuine she looked, decided to let her. Sumire balanced the tray with one hand and use the other to knock on the door. “Miho? Can I come in? I got your lunch…”

It was a few minutes before the door opened to reveal the CEO, her hair was frizzy and out of it’s usual bun, she was dressed in casual wear and her face looked messy from angrily wiping away tears and makeup. Sumire bit the inside of her cheek, a pang of heartache going through her as she looked at her aunt who only stared at her niece with a tired look before sighing and letting her in, it was completely dark inside save from the few strands of light that peaked through her curtains but Sumire managed to navigate it expertly and sat the tray on the dresser.

Turning around, she looked to see that Miho had gotten back to bed, facing away from her. Sumire bit her lip in thought before walking over to the massive bed and slowly sat down on a free spot that was close to her but far enough to provide some much needed space. “Miho…”

“Say it.”

“What?” Sumire blinked in confusion and Miho turned around and sat up to face her, a defeated and slightly angry look on her face. “Go ahead and say it, I know you’re dying to tell me you told me so, I bet your so fucking happy right now, what, do you want me to tell you that you’re right?! That you’ve been right all along and that I deserved this for not listening to you—“

“Miho stop!” Sumire cut her off, placing her hands on her shoulders, a frown on her face and her eyes expressing genuine sadness. “Look…I’m not happy about this, despite what you think, I’m not happy that bastard hurt you like this when he knew that you went through this before and honestly, I was so ready to go hunt him down and string him by his balls when Aiko stopped me…Miho, I’m sorry this happened to you, despite what I said and did at the wedding, I really wanted you to be happy.”

Miho sniffled as she reached up to wipe her tears, releasing a shuddering breath, she gestured for Sumire if she could get a hug with the Anarchist hesitating for a moment before slowly wrapping her arms around her aunt, a weird feeling in her chest but pushed it down when she heard Miho start to softly cry.

“I’m sorry…” She whispered, Miho only responding with more sobs and holding her tighter. The aunt and niece duo stayed like that for what felt like hours before Miho finally pulled away with one last sniff and wiped her eyes again. Sumire fiddled with the silk sheets under her and almost shyly asked, “Are you okay?”

“No.” Miho said bluntly making Sumire wince but Miho patted her head. “But I do feel a little lighter now, thank you.”

Sumire slowly nodded and turned her attention to the tray of food sitting on the dresser. “I think your food’s gone cold.”

“Let it, I’m not hungry anyways.” Miho laid back down and closed her eyes, Sumire only sat in the dark and silent as she watched her aunt drift off to sleep once more before carefully standing up and walking over to the dresser, opening the drawers to find something and sure enough, managed to snag her aunt’s wedding ring before closing the drawers and sneaking out of the room as to not disturb her.

Now back in the corridor, there was nothing stopping Sumire as she began to hum cheerfully, a wide grin spreading across her face as she almost danced her way down the stairs and towards the basement to her lab where the rest of her “siblings” were chilling and waiting for her.

“Family!” She called as she jumped the last step onto the floor, giggling gleefully. “Operation Break The Hegemony was a success!” She threw her arms up in celebration yet only receiving silence as Malphas, Aiko, and Seizou only looked at each other than back at their creator. Sumire huffed and scowled before dramatically clearing her throat and repeating herself, “I said…Operation Break The Hegemony was a SUCCESS!”

“Okay? So you ruined your aunt’s second marriage, do you want a fucking medal?” Malphas raised an eyebrow, clearly not giving a shit about the whole thing despite his part of the plan. Aiko only shifted from side to side uncomfortably as Seizou was much too busy on organizing his Yu-Gi-Oh cards to listen, Sumire rolled her eyes and sighed. “Y’know what, fine, whatever, thank you Mal-Mal for your assistance, you were a big help.”

Malphas shrugged and went back to scrolling on his phone. “You say that like you wouldn’t find some other way to break those two apart…but you’re welcome.”

“True but this way won’t involve me straight up murdering the guy.” Sumire walked over to one of her lab tables, setting Miho’s ring on the surface before looking back. “Which one of you has the other ring?”

Malphas sighed before getting up and walking over to his creator, pulling out Tomi’s ring and handing it to her. “Right, I’ve been informed to tell you that your friend got the money and that it was a pleasure doing business with you.”

“Lovely but I think it’s best if she laid low for the next couple of weeks, something tells me that shit is about to get messy.” Sumire chuckled as she went to grab a cylinder container from her weapons vault, walking back to the lab table, she opened the container to reveal acid nearly bubbling at the surface. With a smile on her face and humming a tune once more, Sumire grabbed a pair of tweezers and one by one, dipped the two rings in the small vat of acid, the pieces of jewelry hissing as they were dissolved and eaten alive by the acid. Sumire discarded the tweezers and closed up the container of acid, placing it back into the vault.

“And what’s done is done, finally, we’re fucking free of that bitch ass loser, haha!” Sumire squealed out a laugh before falling on the couch next to Malphas who only gave a lazy “yay” in response, Seizou only hummed and Aiko frowned, Sumire noticing immediately and looked at her little sister in concern. “What’s wrong, Ai?”

“I’m glad the operation was a success big sister but…I feel bad for Miss Miho…I looked at the footage of her in her room when the livestream was happening…she was in so much pain…” Aiko sorrowfully admitted, shyly fiddling with her gloves. Sumire and Malphas shared a soft look before Sumire sighed and moved to kneel down to her little sister.

“I get it, Aiko, I meant what I said to Miho, I really didn’t enjoy hurting her with what I did…but this was necessary, she won’t ever know what happened but she’ll be thankful that she never stayed in that marriage one day.” Sumire brought her into a hug, carefully rubbing her back, Aiko hugged back and rested her head on her shoulder. “I guess…but now Miss Miho is going to have to start over again, I’m afraid she’ll probably give up on finding love after this.”

Sumire only stayed silent for a minute before speaking up. “Seizou. What are the chances of Miho dating again?”

Seizou perked up at the sound of his name being called, automatically responding. “Seizou calculates that there is a 15% chance of Miho Kobayashi finding a significant other after today’s events, Seizou also calculates that the chance will decrease over approximately the next few months.”

Sumire sighed and Aiko winced, Seizou only continued to speak, ignoring his sisters’ reactions. “However, Seizou has seen support and public opinion of Miho Kobayashi grow exponentially since yesterday and has only continue to increase, Seizou hypothesizes that Miho Kobayashi will receive many suitors in the upcoming months.”

Sumire smiled and Aiko perked up. “See Aiko? There’s still hope for Miho, we just gotta give her time to heal, I’m sure she’ll bounce back from this in no time and when she does, we can work on finding her a proper, much better partner. How does that sound?”

Aiko beamed brightly, eyes shining in excitement at the thought of playing matchmaker. “Amazing, big sister!”

*Gives you the divorce papers* Happy Birthday Tomi!

Also shave your fucking eyebrows

@aoyama-division

19 notes · View notes

anonypussi · 8 months ago

Text

Inquisitor Cal shows a good time to Jedi Cal

for @hereforthefanficsandromance ily 😘

I wrote this for miss V's fan fiction (cause im cray-cray)

MDI | Cal x Cal (yes you read that right) | Inquisitor!Cal x Jedi!Cal

Warnings: choking, light degradation, themes of BDSM, face humping, unprotected sex, proceed with caution (or with excitement idk you do you)

Cal was four holographic films into the night and about ten strokes away from finishing himself off when he sensed it.

Immediately, his erection flagged out of sheer shock like a sail that lost its wind because no way— no way was he mistaking the face staring back at him through the doorway of his cabin.

He scrambled, because how the fuck did he miss this person stumbling into his ship while he was preoccupied? The molten embarrassment makes itself known on his face as shoves his dick back into his underwear. There was no way to play this off, it was so obvious what he was doing alone in his room— and he was not going to take the entire blame for this awkward situation.

“Oh shit-“ he began, getting up quickly to get this person off the ship so he can just fly away and pretend it has never happened. He definitely did not get walked on jacking off alone by a stranger (he will never sleep right after this). He couldn’t even look at this person in their eyes without feeling the crushing shame through his veins. “Hey, what are you doing-”.

He stops abruptly, his thoughts fleeting out the window. His eyes were solely trained on the infamous white insignia on the stranger’s chest, which he bleakly realizes is a breastplate being worn by no one else other than an Imperial Inquisitor.

Great. Not only did he get walked on jacking off. He got busted jacking off by a fucking Imperial Inquisitor. If Cal wasn’t already shifting into defensive, the Force reinforcing the wall around his consciousness and flinging his lightsaber into his hand, he would have gone hysterical with how absurd this situation was.

Yep. He has to kill this motherfucker. Screw the Jedi principles. He refuses to let this Inquisitor he just met yet go back to their lair and make jokes about his dick. They would never let him live it down- oh gods now all of his future interactions with the Galactic Empire’s Inquisitors would involve innuendos.

How the fuck is he going to explain this to-

“I’m not here to fight you,” the Inquisitor said. Cal’s eyes flicked to its face after trying to stare a hole into its breastplate. His mind went blank and he froze.

Because that’s his face. The Inquisitor is wearing his own face.

Did they clone him?

The Inquisitor sighs in irritation. “Will you listen to me?” He growls, Cal becomes fascinated with how his eyebrows scrunch in anger and how his jaw clenches while swallowing. He continues, “Or do I have to force you to listen to me?”

Cal almost laughs. Force to? Typical.

He takes a breath instead. He doesn’t really want to have a fight in his own ship, wearing only his underwear while his opponent is fully decked out in full gear. He doesn’t raise his lightsaber, noting that his opponent- his twin hasn’t pulled out his own weapon, yet. Cal eyes at the dark uniform, taking in the sleek black clothes and protective plates. He sees the red glow right next to the unmistakable small signature imperial logo printed on his left breast.

This was it. He was looking at his worst fear, of submitting to the delicious veil of the dark side of the Force. He couldn’t take his eyes off of the golden orbs on his face, the same orbs he sees on his enemies.

Anger. Hate. Fear. Power.

He doesn’t even recognize himself. He is not Cal. He has his face, his body, eyes, nose, everything. However, the way how this person- this monster carries himself at first impression, was unmistakably not Cal. He forced himself to not flinch as the monster sighed and stepped back, away from him.

His heart seized, and his breath cut off at the horrifying realization that his only family left wouldn’t distinguish them physically. What if this clone hurts his f-

“CAL.”

His eyes focus directly on this Inquisitor, who snapped him out of his own turmoil. The monster stares at him back, his face completely devoid of emotions as his eyes analyze his copy (the better copy of himself).

Cal knew what he needed to do.

“How did you get on my ship?” He asked, willing his voice to not crack as he stoically stared at the man. The inquisitor purses his lips and Cal does not miss how his eyes looked at his saber.

“You were at the bar downtown.”

Cal blinked at him. “What?”

“By coincidence,” he continued, clearly not impressed with Cal, his eyes boring into the Jedi as if saying keep up with me, will you? “We used the same cup, I saw you. And knowing you, I figured you’d hide your ship here.”

Yeah, that explains why there are two Cal Kestis in this universe.

Cal didn’t let up his lightsaber. “And you’re me. But you’re-”

“An Inquisitor?” The man interrupted, his expression finally deviating from blank to a mocking curiosity. “Clearly,” he says, setting his hands on his hips and Cal could already do that by habit, the way his gloved fingers rest easily on the belt. “I was on a task to retrieve this artifact, we thought it was a form of Holocron, however when I activated it, it brought me here, and I knew this place was not my home.”

“Right. And you expect me to help you?”

“Is it your job to hunt down Inquisitors?” He snarled, irritation finally coming through his stoic facade. “Helping me would keep the number of those fucks the same, not helping me would just add more problems for you.”

Cal bristled, clearly not wanting to deal with this and do something else entirely different. “Why not go to your brothers and sisters?”

Thirteenth scoffed. “Would you rather me go to them over you? Kriff, you know how to hurt my feelings.”

“How did you get in here?”

��I’m literally you,” He exasperated as if that was the clear answer to his questions. “I flew this piece of junk before,” Cal grimaced at the Inquisitor’s insult. “Can you at least put that damn thing down?”

Cal didn’t need a moment to decide on that. “No.”

The Inquisitor pursed his lips and kept his eyes on his opponent. Cal holds onto his gaze as he tries to forget what he was doing earlier before this confrontation. The messy sheets behind him and the damning bottle of lube really didn’t help him do that. The silence was just awkward. Cal couldn’t tell if the Inquisitor even wanted to fight him after walking in on him. This is what is happening, right?

The Inquisitor backed off, now slouching his shoulders as if he wanted to make himself look smaller, more harmless. “Fine,” he exhaled and moved his hand to reach for the weapon strapped to his back. Cal adjusts his position, mentally preparing himself for a nasty fight in such a tight space.

He sees the signature weapon, expecting it to ignite bold red.

Except that didn’t happen. The Inquisitor chucked it at him unkindly, clearly annoyed with him. Cal disengages his weapon and catches the chucked lightsaber after it bounces off his chest, glancing at it with disgust and judgment with its design.

“Now I’m defenseless,” the evil clone stated. Cal blinked at the hidden memories the Inquisitor held with his weapon. He felt the disgust at how many people were slain, the disgust of how his clone was able to carry out such atrocities with no hint of remorse on his face. “Do you trust me?”

Cal would have said no if he didn’t see the other memories. Memories of the Inquisitor, being more Cal than a bloodthirsty soldier of the Galactic Empire. He sees him volunteering at a very cozy library that is hidden away from the peering eyes of the Empire, talking to passerby and their children as they venture through the walls of books. He sees him purposely thwarting imperial soldiers from finding force-sensitive children more than a dozen times over the years. He sees him kill Fifth Brother for threatening to kill someone Thirteenth Brother clearly cared about.

He sees him fighting against a fallen Jedi, a newly formed Inquisitor, Fourteenth, pleading with him to not fully succumb to the dark side of the Force, to endure the long road of redemption, with him.

So his clone’s name is Thirteenth Brother. But he goes by Cal when he doesn’t want to be a monster an Inquisitor.

But once an Inquisitor is always an Inquisitor.

“You know I won’t trust you,” Cal started saying before realizing what he was even saying to Thirteenth. “But I will help you return home. Do you have the artifact with you?”

Thirteenth visibly relaxed, his features almost softened “Glad you asked,” he said and he reached behind once more to grab something from his satchel. “Right here,” he pulls out the cube that resembles a Holocron, glowing eerie green as it dimmed and lightened periodically. Cal almost wanted to step closer to the Inquisitor to inspect it himself, fingers itching towards the object.

Thirteenth smirked with a glint of unkindness in his eyes. “However,” he began, Cal braced himself, already knowing whatever he was going to say would sting. “Before we get into that, I’m giving you a chance to get your dick wet before we proceed. Straight back to your cabin alone after drinks is just sad.”

Cal blinked. His mind went blank for a second as Cal.exe rebooted. Then the feeling of embarrassment comes back in full force and Cal seethes at his clone for making fun of him for jerking off alone. They are literally the same person. “Don’t even bring that up!” He exclaimed defeatedly and Thirteenth chuckled at him.

He hoped this would be a swift mission for both of them.

______________________________________

The atmosphere is thick with tension.

Almost suffocating.

Every movement is deliberate, every breath heavy with suppressed emotion. The air crackles with the electricity of their simmering anger, each moment stretching out as they refuse to be the first to break the silence. Cal found himself inhaling sharply over every small little thing he immediately found irritating, knowing that his emotions were being influenced by Thirteenth’s simmering rage through the Force. Kriff sake, he couldn't even wash the dishes without feeling the urge to grab a plate and throw it at Thirteenth.

Thirteenth is currently fixing up the wiring behind the subspace transceiver underneath the holographic pod. Cal would have felt appreciative for his double to help him out with that, but all he felt was annoyance because he knew Thirteenth wasn’t fixing that out of the goodness of his heart.

What heart, Cal thought spitefully.

Thirteenth's fingers tighten around the tool in his hand, knuckles turning white with the effort to contain his frustration. He shoots a glance in Cal's direction, eyes narrowed with resentment but quickly averts his gaze, not wanting to give Cal the satisfaction of seeing his agitation.

Cal's jaw works in tight, controlled movements, muscles twitching with the effort to keep his anger in check. His grip on the last dirty mug tightens as he struggles to contain the torrent of words threatening to spill from his lips.

Instead, Cal calmly shuts off the water facet and makes his way to his cabin. He needs to get his clothes off of him, put on some comfort clothes and forget the entire fucking thing.

The ‘entire fucking thing’ involves no one other than Boba Fett. Not only Cal’s man-crush has caused this tension, fucking Thirteenth made the entire situation almost damn unliveable. Cal did not want to walk in on Thirteenth screwing Boba Fucking Fett in a dirty alleyway, hear their moans and grunts of pleasure, and Cal sure has hell did not need Thirteenth to catch him looking and give him a show.

Thirteenth knew Cal liked him, and he went ahead to fuck him and brag it in his face. Now, Cal can't even take up bounty contracts with Fett in the future without the blinding embarrassment that threatens to crush him.

All he needed to do was walk to his cabin, change his clothes, and call it a night. Yes, he has to walk past Thirteenth to get to the cabin, but he's a grown-up. He can handle the tension.

But, also, fuck Thirteenth.

Thirteenth is now looking at him with an expectant expression on his face. He finishes up the repairs as he drills the metal sheet back up, his eyes not leaving Cal as he tries to walk past Thirteenth and ignore him.

With a sharp inhale, Cal’s plans were thrown to the gutter as Thirteenth’s voice cut through the silence like a lightsaber.

“You are being pathetic.”

Oh, fuck you, you son of a Bantha.

Cal turns, all common sense thrown out of the ship as he steps closer to Thirteenth menacingly. Thirteenth obviously doesn't flinch at his antics. Cal had enough of this man. He was rightfully pissed and Thirteenth is the asshole if he refuses to see his perspective. “I’m not the one who got some dick instead of doing our job,” Cal hissed.

Thirteenth’s amusement was blatantly clear on his face, and Cal had to resist the urge to deck him.

“At least I’m not so pathetic that I have to jerk off alone every time. I man up and fuck around.”

“You always had to bring that up?” Cal exclaims with annoyance.

Thirteenth is acting like a child. A fucking child. And he's an Inquisitor.

Yep, this is when he walks away.

Cal sighs and turns around to proceed to his cabin, praying to the Force that Thirteenth is not sadistic enough to follow him and continue bickering. His patience was falling apart at its seams and Thirteenth followed him, not letting up the argument for a moment.

“Are you angry at me because you don’t trust me enough to let me run off for a few hours? Or is it the fact I fucked your stupid crush and you didn’t?”

“Shut up,’ Cal groaned exasperated, rolling his eyes hard at Thirteenth as he threw his coat on the dresser.

“You stayed around a lot longer than you should have,” Thirteenth pointed out and Cal froze for a sliver of a second and continued to pull out his bedclothes to play it off. “Did you like watching me get fucked by big, strong men?” Thirteenth asked, his voice low and dark, like telling a dirty secret. It was gravelly, even more than it usually was, scratching away Cal’s self-control like sandpaper on wood. “Did you enjoy watching me beg and cry for it?”

Cal had to swallow hard.

Thirteenth’s eyelids slid low over his eyes, practically fluttering his eyelashes at Cal, the memory of Thirteenth’s lustful gaze on him while Fett thrust into him came back to mind.

Kriff.

“Did you want to do that to me?” Thirteenth purred with a mean sneer. His eyes darted to Cal’s wet lips then back to his eyes. “Hold me down and make me cry? Call you ‘sir’?”

Cal let out a gasp, breath stuck in his throat and he looked at the door behind Thirteenth, trying to judge if he could get away from just sprinting out and never coming back. Cal looks back to Thirteenth before he can let the man extract his thoughts from his mind and figure out his plan.

Only when he looked at Thirteenth, he could see the realization dawning in his expression and absolute glee dancing in his eyes, like all of his wishes came true all at once.

“Or maybe,” Thirteenth said slowly. His other hand came up to unclasp the belt around his (borrowed) coat, letting the bag fall to the ground. Cal felt like he was suffocating on Thirteenth’s stare. He swallowed a lump down his throat.

“Or maybe you want all that to be done to you,” Thirteenth hissed.

Cal was fucked.

Triumph broke out on his face— bright and glorious. His eyes glowed a dark hue of red as the Force entwined the two souls through mutual lust as if this was what they were meant to do.

“You do want me to do that to you.”

Cal wanted to say no. He wanted to deny it. He wanted to shove Thirteenth away and take a lightsaber and cut him down on this spot, maybe even punch him if he needed to— anything except look at him like a Jawas caught stealing a droid red-handed.

Thirteenth stepped closer, right into Cal’s personal space, his hand raised to cup his jaw, his thumb stroking Cal’s lower lip.

“I can do it,” he murmured. His voice was laced with promise and lust. “I had my fair share of brats, and I know how to satisfy their needs.” His hand lowered to firmly grasp Cal’s throat, tilting his face up, and Thirteenth asked, “Do you want me to, Jedi?”

No no no no no no n-

“Put you on your knees,” Thirteenth continued, “smack your ass until it’s cherry red and fuck your mouth afterwards? With no regard if you can breathe?”

Cal wanted to die, wanted to disintegrate and his ashes to fly away in the wind.

Thirteenth’s eyes gentled, the red glow fading away, and he leaned in closer. Too close. Close enough that Cal can breathe his breath.

“Let me have you,” Thirteenth whispered. His tone was no longer teasing, he no longer sounded like he was taunting him, playing with his desires and prancing about fucking other people while Cal desperately hold true to his Jedi values.

Now, he sounded pleading. Pleading. Begging.

Cal’s eyes shut, and his head fell back against the wall. He made a soft noise as lust nearly overtook his self-control. Maybe it was noise to remind himself that this was not a wet dream.

Thirteenth took that as a sign to make a move. He leaned in even further into Cal’s throat, to dip his nose at the length of his column, breathing him in, barely touching his skin other than his hand holding him still.

The hand on his throat should have scared Cal, but it didn’t. It was reassuring, his neck on fire where skin met skin, touch light enough to gently pet a cat.

Cal broke, the Force dropping his walls as Thirteenth’s overpowering presence seeped into his consciousness like tea in hot water. The lust he could feel from him snapped all of Cal’s thoughts as his neurons overloaded.

“Okay,” Cal whispered in response with the quietest voice he could muster like he was hoping this was not real.

Thirteenth responded to that by pressing a kiss to his neck just beneath the corner of his jaw, under his ear, a firm kiss, but nothing more. Then he nosed his way up to Cal’s ear to whisper into it, “Undress for me. I want everything off.”

Cal stepped back almost abruptly, letting Thirteenth’s hand fall from his throat, but he didn’t make a move, like a predator waiting for their dying prey to succumb so they could feast on them lazily.

Cal felt a burning blush creep up his neck and into his face, heating up the rest of his body. There were tremors underneath his skin that he knew had nothing to do with nerves and everything to do with desperation and sheer arousal in his blood. His cock was hard beneath his pants, which did not hide it, but Thirteenth didn’t have to see it to know how it looked.

With the greatest effort, Cal pulled his shirt off, his eyes never leaving Thirteenth’s gaze as he was being watched. He saw how Thirteenth’s eyes dropped down to his chest, slurping up all the detail in the dimmed lighting. This gave Cal the courage to shuck his pants down and prays that Thirteenth would not take this opportunity to make fun of him going commando underneath his clothes.

Cal stood naked, and the Inquisitor stayed clothed. Cal wanted to reach forward, say fuck this, and just rip every article of clothing off of him. However, he stayed put, and there was a small fear in the back of Cal’s mind that this was some elaborate joke and that Thirteenth was cruel enough to pull this prank on him.

Turns out that being Force-sensitive does not grant full transparency between two men who sought a deeper connection. Thirteenth takes this hesitation from Cal as second-guessing and doubts, he looks back up into Cal’s eyes, searching for something, Cal didn’t know. His eyes flickered over every inch of it as if committing every feature and comparing it to himself.

“Tell me to stop,” he murmured quietly, and the silence in the room was loud enough to hear a pin drop. “Tell me to stop, and I will.”

Cal remained silent, but he reached up to put a hand delicately on the back of Thirteenth’s neck and pulled him down for a proper kiss.

Thirteenth seemed to melt against him, just falling into him and using his entire weight to push Cal back and up against the wall. The kiss that Cal had initiated had been taken over completely by Thirteenth.

He pressed his mouth harder and harder against Cal’s own, using the wall as leverage to do so. Their teeth clicked together with the pressure, and almost unconsciously, Cal parted his lips.

Thirteenth made a soft groan at that, a desperate noise that sent a shudder through Cal’s body.

How long, he wondered, how long had Thirteenth wanted this too?

The thought floated away as Thirteenth’s tongue was licking its way into Cal’s mouth. All that remained was the hard line of Thirteenth’s body against his front, pinning him to the wall against his back, and the wet heat of his mouth, devouring him. Cal let out a breathy sound as the Inquisitor rutted his thigh against his groin.

“I want to suck you,” Cal breathed out, taking the opportunity to rut against Thirteenth’s still-fully-clothed thigh. “Please,” he added for good measure, knowing every Inquisitor is the same.

They all lust for begging of any sort.

And to Cal’s delight, Thirteenth fell for that trap.

Thirteenth stepped back to give Cal just enough room for his commands. Cal almost whined at the loss of bodily contact and the delicious friction. He was almost lightheaded from the amount of lust he was drowning in, trying to stay afloat while the tendrils under the water pulled him under by his foot.

“Kneel.”

That simple command meant everything to the both of them for the night. Thirteenth is not simply asking him to stick his dick in his mouth. He was asking for submission, and Cal was not known for submission. Especially to the Empire. However, this was Thirteenth, himself, and Cal would submit to himself.

Cal kneeled, eyes never leaving Thirteenth’s face as he relished in the look of satisfaction on his own face. The hunger grew in his eyes as he looked predatory. Cal’s dick jumped pathetically at the sight as it hung between his thighs, exposed to Thirteenth’s judgment entirely.

“Convince me to fuck you,” he commanded, and if it wasn’t for the lust restraining Cal’s ego, he would have got annoyed at him and snarked back.

Instead, he reached up to the hem of Thirteenth’s trousers and gingerly pulled out his cock from its confines. Cal closed his eyes from the smell of his own sex filling the room and he had to hold back a sound after the fire went through his veins and through his groin.

Cal opened his eyes and looked up to Thirteenth, trying to copy the expression he saw on Thirteenth when he found him with Fett and gave him a firm lick up the shaft. Cal didn’t give him a moment to react when he wrapped his mouth around his cock and sucked.

“Damn,” Thirteenth hissed, tossing his head back in response to the assault.

It was an assault, a reckless takedown of Thirteenth’s walls. With every vicious suck of Cal’s lips, every stroke of Cal’s fist, every lick of Cal’s tongue, Thirteenth felt himself crumbling down to bare himself completely to Cal.

He could not let that happen.

Thirteenth’s foot kicked open Cal’s thighs and a shin pressed against his groin, Cal choked a moan and barely stopped himself from gagging on the dick deep in his throat, he grabbed onto Thirteenth’s thighs tightly.

Thirteenth tipped his foot on its toes and down, grinding his shin against Cal’s groin and he grabbed Cal by the back of his head to thrust into him deeper. Thirteenth’s instructions were clear, and Cal let out a choked breath as he compiled.

Not that he didn’t want to grind against Thirteenth’s shin (more like ankle with how low his hips are now) for his pleasure, but the thought of it, rutting against an inquisitor’s leg like a dog, was humiliating and satisfying in equal measure.

Thirteenth groaned deeply at the sight, his voice sending vibrations through his chest cavity and his body, Cal redoubled his efforts to not abandon the cock in his mouth to focus solely on humping his leg.

He could feel his legs aching from the floors, his thighs burning for the small circular motions for his groin and his jaw sore from holding it open for a prolonged period. The intense eye contact with Thirteenth has stopped Cal from noting his discomfort as he stares at the golden orbs, desperate to prove his worth by repaying him with pleasure.

Thirteenth’s pace has increased to the point where he was painfully grabbing Cal’s hair to move his mouth faster, his thrusts hard enough to press into his face as he desperately tries not to gag on his dick, and fails to do that. As Thirteenth abuses his mouth, Cal in return grabs onto the leg he was using with both hands and grinds hard against it, taking it as he pleases.

Even though Thirteenth has completely put him into submission, Cal still wants to compete with him. He would not fall apart yet, not before the inquisitor. He can feel the Force surrounding Thirteenth rapidly crumble with each thrust, exposing the man’s feelings to Cal as his protective wall evaporates with each pant he releases.

Cal’s entire body is burning, but he doesn’t stop. He won’t stop until he proves himself to him.

For what though?

Thirteenth curses, eyes opening wide as they had slid shut after Cal let him fuck his mouth, the inquisitor curses more and abruptly pulls Cal off of him, one hand tangled in his hair with a grip, holding the Jedi in place to look at him.

Cal coughed and took his opportunity to catch his breath as he held eye contact with Thirteenth, not ignoring how he could see the trembling underneath clothes and the flush on his copy’s face, he noted at the red lips glistening wet as Thirteenth had been biting it to muffle his noises.

Before Cal could start teasing him for not being able to hold onto it for much longer, Thirteenth beat him to it, his hand gripped his hair again and this time, he gripped it tight, painful so that Cal cried out a little. He used that hand to push Cal's face harder against his cock and thrust up against his cheek, rubbing himself off on him.

It felt hot and filthy and a little embarrassing, all the requirements needed to drive Cal out of his fucking mind.

“You are such a whore for my cock,” Thirteenth groaned. The words sound like they were supposed to be cruel, but the tone he said was delighted. “This is what you wanted. Me rutting against you?”

Cal moaned in agreement. His cock was dripping, but he kept his hands on Thirteenth’s shaking thighs while Thirteenth rubbed off on his face.

“Fucking look at you,” he hissed, fingers tightening even more and shaking him a little, making Cal cry out more. “You’re getting off on this, being used like this.”

Oh Fuck, Cal realized, I can come just from this.

Thirteenth seemed to realize the same thing. To Cal’s relief (or disappointment), Thirteenth pulled back from him, grunting when the Jedi got in one last lick on his cock while pulling away. His hand is still tangled in Cal’s hair and he pulls him up, forcing Cal to get up.

“Get on the bed,” he orders, and Cal internally pumps his fist in the air for what is about to happen. As the grip left his hair, Cal plopped himself on the comfy mattress, realizing the duvet was off and folded neatly into the corner. Cal wondered if Thirteenth planned this all out.

The thought was interrupted when Thirteenth suddenly grabbed one of his ankles and pulled him closer to the edge of the mattress. He felt the tendrils of Thirteenth’s force assisting the pull as Cal was brought closer to the Inquisitor with little effort. Before Cal could make a move, Thirteenth gripped his throat, and pushed him back down to the mattress, gently to Cal’s surprise.

The Thirteenth looked good from above. He looked divine, with the look of hunger in his eyes and lips wet with wanton. And he was finally naked to Cal’s delight.

Cal couldn’t stop staring at the lips.

Thirteenth slowly inches closer, close enough that Cal could taste his breath. Thirteenth licked his bottom lip, and Cal could only whimper and try to kiss back in return.

Thirteenth’s worship was efficiently quick as he went from kissing and licking into Cal’s mouth, tasting their precome together, he moved to under Cal’s jaw, bit his ear before kissing down the column of his throat, biting into his skin, and all Cal could do was lay there helplessly and bite his tongue.

Thirteenth’s spare hand strummed Cal’s ribs gently before it circled around his nipple, making Cal squirm. A strangled yelp escaped Cal as Thirteenth pinched it, but Cal held perfectly still as he moaned.

“Oh good boy,” Thirteenth murmured, full of delight. He moved down to suck in Cal’s other nipple as he kept pinching the same nipple.

“Thirt- Cal-“

“Try again.”

Cal’s mind went blank while Thirteenth continues to play with his fucking chest. He couldn’t think straight and could only grunt as Thirteenth pulled painfully at his nipple, before resting it and soothing it with his tongue or fingertips. Cal had to think what he said wrong, and then it dawned on him.

“Sir,” Cal whispered, “please.”

Thirteenth prompted forward, like a rope snapping, and bit Cal’s ear and licked it and Cal could only moan.

Fucking hell.

“I don’t care if you come,” Thirteenth growled right into his ear, “I prefer you like this, desperate and needy. If you want to come, you better convince me” Then he flipped Cal onto his front against the mattress and manhandled his legs to expose himself to the Inquisitor.

Before Cal could feel any sense of shame (there was none), a hard smack landed on his ass, making him shout. It was hard enough to leave a handprint, he imagined, and it only made him tilt his hips more to expose more of his ass.

“Liked that?” Thirteenth asked mockingly as if he couldn’t read all of Cal’s soul through the Force, just like Cal could sense deep desire and lust through Thirteenth.

Cal did not answer as he decided he was not going to further validate that asshole.

Another hard smack landed in the same place, and Cal grunted loudly once more, his cock pulsing and a bead of pre-come slowly dripping from his shaft and onto the sheets.

Cal could feel the smugness from Thirteenth, motherfucker didn’t even bother to try to hide it. Another smack on the other cheek drove Cal forward and flattened himself on the mattress, a broken sound out of him and another smack had him whimpering.

He could feel both of Thirteenth’s hands grip his hips to force him to get his ass back up. Thirteenth smacked him again, and again, and again until Cal couldn’t bother muffling his cries. His ass was hot, throbbing in pain. Hiding his noises was the least of his worries.

And Thirteenth slid his fingers up the crease of his ass, caressing his hole lightly, Cal gave in and begged, “Please.”

“Finally you submit to me,” he hears him murmur in approval. Thirteenth pressed his fingers to Cal’s rim and rubbed the outside of it lightly. Cal pants as he holds back his moans and lets the inquisitor fondle him.

The fingers withdrew, and before Cal could decide to start mouthing at Thirteenth to do something to him, he heard the man move towards his bedside table to find the lube and condoms.

Cal looked over to the condoms in Thirteenth’s hand and a thought came just as quickly Cal tried to squash it before Thirteenth could hear it through the Force, however, it was pointless as Thirteenth looked back to Cal with a sharp inhale, dropping the condoms back into the nightstand.

“You are a slut,” Thirteenth murmured and gods, that should not have sent a violent wave of lust through Cal’s body.

Cal shut his eyes and rested his head against his arms as he held his ass up, he could feel his legs trembling from overstimulation and exertion. He fights down the humiliation of succumbing to Thirteenth’s dominance.

He finches and wills himself to not pull away as he poured lube on his ass and in between his cheeks, with full disregard for how cold the lube felt on Cal’s skin. He felt Thirteenth return to fondling his ass, and when he pushed two into him at once, they went with little friction. Still some resistance though as Cal’s ass burned from the intrusion. He cried out a broken pathetic sound and arched his back like a cat getting that good scratch on its back.

“Good,” Thirteenth hissed, both mocking and sincere. “Fuck yourself on my hand, show me how much you want my dick. Beg for it and then maybe I’ll let you come.”

Cal hates this man.

But he wanted this. Thir- Cal was doing everything he wanted. They were fully transparent with each other and the Force-

The Force unexplainably acted as a catalyst, a bond between them.

Cal let out a moan before he started to roll his hips, and another when he felt the delicious pressure of Thirteenth’s fingers on his prostate.

“More,” Cal whimpered.

“Try again,” Thirteenth cajoled. His fingers split apart, stretching Cal open with little kindness, and Cal couldn’t help but rise up on his toes and cry out, “Please!”

“Please what?” Thirteenth demanded.

“Please fuck me with your cock. Please fuck me, Sir,” Cal sobbed, shutting his eyes and pressing his face into the mattress to smother out his embarrassment as humiliation slithered through his spine. But he has already crossed the point of no return. There was no coming back from this, so he could only proceed forward. “I want you inside me, you to split me open and fuck me up. Please I’ll do anything,” he whimpered.

Thirteenth hummed in approval and kissed the back of his tailbone. “Dangerous promise,” he praised, and Cal tried not to lose his mind on him because otherwise, Thirteenth would have that power over him. “Good boy.”

And he felt a wet dick nudging against his hole. Cal scrambled to move his hands to spread his cheeks for Thirteenth. When he pushed himself in, it slid with ease of extra lubrication that Thirteenth put on himself without Cal’s attention.

Cal moaned and moved his hands back to the mattress for leverage to look back at the Inquisitor, curiosity burning in his gut to see what he looked like from above.

And Gods. Gods. Is this what he looks like when he fuck?

The heavy gaze Thirteenth had on him held Cal into place, like a siren soothing the sailor to look at them. His eyes held promise as he slurped up all of Cal’s features, committing it to memory.

Then, Thirteenth darted a hand to the back of Cal’s neck, gripping it painfully and forcing him back onto the mattress roughly. Cal yelped before he was smothered into the mattress, he barely could turn his head to breathe as Thirteenth held him down like he was a wild animal. Cal groaned as he stayed put, and screamed when Thirteenth violently thrust into Cal’s ass with little regard for comfort or pleasure. He grunted with each thrust that drove Cal further up on the mattress. Cal had enough consciousness to throw his hands up the best he could while being pinned to avoid bringing himself into the wall.

“Pleasepleasepleasepleasepleas-” Cal was chanting through his sobs, doing his best to stay in position for Thirteenth as his legs shook with fervour.

“You have until I finish to come, or you won’t come at all,” Thirteenth growled through harsh breaths of effort. “You are mine now, Jedi. You don’t get to come without my permission.” Cal sobbed out something akin to an agreement. Kriff- yes. Yes, he wanted this. He craved this and he finally got it. He wanted to come for Thirteenth. “You won’t be able to come with anyone else. I am ruining you for everyone. You won’t be able to come without me.”

Cal just yelled in response, tears ready to leave his eyes as he breathed harshly against the now-wet mattress under his face. He was so close. So so close-

Thirteenth stopped and Cal could have started a whole new war over that.

Before Cal could let his rage consume his horniness and get angry at Thirteenth for fucking stopping when he was just right there. Thirteenth pulled out and grabbed him again, manhandling him onto his back.

Thirteenth then grabbed his legs to wrap around his waist and used the same hand that held him down previously to choke him into the mattress. Cal inhales pitifully as he struggled and his dick jumped, he stares at Thirteenth, eyes fluttering as he struggles to keep them open on his face and moaned loudly as he was fucked brutally again.

Cal was getting off on the feral look on Thirteenth’s face as he increased his pace. The grip on his neck tightened again and the grip on his hip left bruises, and his thrusts grew harder and erratic, slamming into Cal harshly with every single one.

Cal whimpered as he took every thrust without complaint, Thirteenth was saying something but went unheard as Cal could only hear the roaring white noise in his ears. Thirteenth moved his grip on his neck to the back and he moved himself lower to breathe into Cal’s sweaty neck. Before Cal could consider moving his hands to Thirteenth’s back and feel the muscles working, Thirteenth bent over to bite the skin around Cal’s nipple and suck it into his mouth.

When Cal cried out, Thirteenth started fucking him in earnest.

Cal knew he was moaning and crying and whimpering, but he couldn’t gather enough focus to worry about it. He could only feel, not think— feel Thirteenth sucking on his tit, feel Thirteenth fucking him like a beast.

Thirteenth grunted with the force of every thrust, the headboard banging against the wall, and Cal could only grab his back and hold on as the pleasure overwhelmed him. Thirteenth used the hand not holding his neck to reach his neglected cock.

And he was seizing up into Thirteenth pitifully as every wave of crashing orgasm wrecked through his entire being. Cal yelled out as his vision whitened out, and was able to breathe after Thirteenth sat up to watch him crumble apart.

Cal comes back to see Thirteenth’s subtle yet triumphant look on his face, his hips still gyrating to give himself pleasure.

“That was good.” He panted to Cal with a smirk.

Vaguely, Cal could feel the Inquisitor still rock solid inside him, so he grabbed Thirteenth’s shoulders for one last time to gain leverage to flip positions. Cal was delighted that his stunt succeeded as he heard Thirteenth yelp in surprise, clearly having his guard down long enough for Cal to roll him onto his back, looking up at him with awe and his dick still snug inside Cal.

Cal wasn’t done, so he took Thirteenth’s hand, the one that had finished him off and was still covered in his semen, and licked his come off it.

“Fuck,” Thirteenth swore, his mouth hanging open. That was when Cal started to ride him at his earnest, hard and fast, half abandoning cleaning up the hand with his tongue. Thirteenth swore loudly, yelling out his orgasm into the darkness of the room, his fingers digging painfully into Cal’s waist, holding him in place as he violently rutted into the Jedi.

His head collapsed on the pillow afterwards, spent and sated, Cal followed him as he slumped his body on top of him, ignoring the wet spot and sweat between them. Thirteenth made a small pleased noise and they fell into silence, basking in the glow of post-orgasm haze, letting their body cool down and their heart slow to normal.

“That was fucking hot,” he told Cal as he wiggled the body off of his and onto Cal’s side, letting his softened cock slip out as he did.

The trickle of come that followed made Cal grimace, to which Thirteenth smirked a little, letting his fingers wander to Cal’s hole and insert a finger in.

Cal drew in a sharp breath but made no motion to stop him.

“So this is how I shut you up,” Thirteen snarked and Cal groaned in annoyance, plopping himself back onto the mattress and Thirteenth laughed.

“How long did you want to fuck me?” Cal asked, jumping straight into it.

Thirteen didn’t mind.

“Since I saw you jerking off. Wondered what it was like to fuck yourself, literally.”

“Is that why you kept making jokes?”

“It got you into bed with me.”

“... fair.”

[This is the most vanilla smut i have ever written]

#cal kestis #inquisitor cal kestis #sw jedi survivor #hereforthefanficsandromance #those in discord pls don't guess who it is im scared of yall #im sorry im gonna repent #I shall now practice celibacy #smut #Cal Kestis smut #gay???? idk they're doing themselves #my work

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