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dollfacefantasy · 5 months

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Playing to Win

pairing: stepdad!leon kennedy x fem!reader

summary: your new stepdad isn't much older than you, yet he has the audacity to ask you to call him daddy?

cw: nsfw (18+), smut, p in v, dubcon, daddy kink, humiliation kink, spanking, praise/degradation

word count: 4.3k

a/n: i got a little silly hehe. this is technically my first commission. if you’re interested, check out my ko-fi. as always i appreciate the support, smoochies.

this is my first commission written for my beloved @nexysworld. without her, this would never have come about. she's a great writer and such a sweet person. you all should go check out her blog if you haven't already.

“You want me to call you what?” you ask incredulously as you stare down the man standing across from you.

“You heard me,” Leon says with no sense of teasing in his voice.

You laugh in his face, a cruel, unabashed laugh. You could not believe his audacity to ask you to call him daddy.

Technically, he was your new stepfather, but it was comical to you to even acknowledge him as such. He was right around your age, only a couple years difference, no way in hell were you going to call him daddy.

You had been open with your mother about your displeasure over Leon’s presence in your life. You called her a cradle robber and a cougar but to no avail. She continued her relationship with him; a young, bright eyed, rookie cop who always thought he knew best.

He wasn’t the problem so much. Sure, he was kind of annoying, but he was also pretty cute. He was funny, and if these were any other circumstances, you could see yourself and him getting along great, even being friends. Generally, he was nice to you, maybe a little over friendly if you were being honest. It always seemed like he knew something you didn’t, but you assumed that was just his nature.

“You’re funny, Leon,” you taunt, “Seriously, good joke.”

“It’s not a joke,” he corrects you and folds his arms over his chest, “Now that I’m taking a more serious role in your life, I expect you to show me some respect.”

“Oh, you do?” you laugh, “Leon-”

“Daddy,” he corrects.

You almost can’t speak, stunned to silence by the nerve of him. Was he doing this to annoy you? Was it supposed to be funny? Because there’s absolutely no way he could be serious about this.

“We are almost the same age. You realize this, yes?” you ask, enunciating the words slowly to get your point across, “I’m not calling you anything but your actual name. And maybe not even that cause you’re pissing me off, and I don’t wanna talk to you.”

“All this attitude, sweetheart, and for what?” he says as approaches you, “I’m not asking you to run a marathon for me. All I want is to be addressed properly.”

You scowl at the pet name. He brings a hand to your face, stroking your cheek with his knuckles before you swat it away.

“What is your problem, Leon?” you say angrily and shove him away, “Is this some fucked up fetish of yours? Like it’s not pathetic enough you’re fucking a divorced woman twice your age, right? You have to feel in control of me too to get it up?”

You laugh at him again when he responds with a glare. Rolling your eyes, you walk closer to him and get in his face.

“Aw, did I hurt daddy’s feelings?” you mock in the sweetest tone you could manage, giving him puppy dog eyes and putting emphasis on the title he was so obsessed with, “I’m so sorry daddy. Please don’t be mad at me.”

You’re about to laugh again before Leon spins you around so you quick the motion nearly gives you whiplash. Your back is flush against his chest, and even though you were teasing, your little performance clearly had some effect as you could feel his dick, now half hard, against your ass. It causes a small flash of heat in your belly that you try to pretend didn’t happen.

“Listen up, I’m not going to tell you again, baby. You do what I’m asking you, or we’re going to find another way to get it through your pretty little head,” he says.

His grip was firm. Despite his usual officer friendly persona, he could obviously be serious when he wanted to be. It didn’t shock you. You knew he was fit and could be intense. You’d caught him working out with his shirt off, sweat dripping down his muscular back while ‘Kim’ by Eminem blasted in his airpods. You tried to deny it, but it had left you feeling a little hot under the collar for the next few days.

You squirm in his hold, but he keeps your wrists pinned to your lower back. “Oh yeah? What are you gonna do, send me to my room? Ground me?” you say as you try to wriggle away.

“Oh no, we’re past that. You want to be a brat, I’ll handle you like one. I’ll put you over my knee and smack that cute ass until it’s raw, and you understand who’s in charge around here,” he says.

“You’re gonna spank me?” you shriek. You thrash harder in absolute shock. “No way! Are you fucking crazy? My mother will kick your ass.”

“Your mother isn’t here, babe. I’ll do whatever the hell I want,” he says. His fingers only tighten on you, digging into your flesh. An arm loops around your waist and starts pulling you over to the sofa. “Maybe she’ll be grateful that someone’s finally trying to teach you some manners.”

Even though you knew he was in shape, he was much stronger than you thought. He sits down on the sofa and folds you across his lap with no real effort. You’re secure there too, unable to get to your feet or away from him. You still try though, flailing your limbs about and bucking your hips.

“There, there. Let’s calm down, honey,” he coos, now clearly taunting you. He rubs the swell of your ass over the tight dress you were wearing. “Just tell Daddy you’re sorry, baby. I’m not a bad guy. I’m willing to hear you out.”

You don’t even respond. You pound your fists against his leg while kicking your feet.

“Poor baby. There’s no reason to throw a tantrum,” he says in the most condescending voice you’d ever heard. He gives you a light warning tap on the ass. “Just tell me what I want to hear, and Daddy will make it all better, give you all the kisses you need until you’re back to being a good girl.”

He was driving you fucking wild. Your body was taut with anger while your mind ran wild with frustration, not only at him, but at yourself. You could feel your panties getting sticky with arousal as he spoke down to you.

“Shut up, Leon!” you say and continue struggling.

His hand comes down again, cracking a little harder against the supple flesh of your ass. You suck a sharp breath in. It didn’t hurt yet, but it stung. Anymore force behind the swing of his palm and you knew he could fulfill his threats of marking up your ass.

“You wanna try that again, princess?” he says, “I’ll give you one more chance.”

“No! I’m not calling you Daddy you sick fucker! I-”

A loud slap echoes through the room. That was the smack you were scared of. So hard you could feel the burn beneath your skin. There was absolutely no doubt about his strength now. He lands another two, one on each cheek, drawing whimpers from your throat.

“Watch your mouth,” he says, “I’m sick of the whining and the back talk. I’ve given you more than enough chances to fix your behavior. I’m done playing nice with you.”

In a quick motion, he yanks your skirt up to bunch it at the small of your back. You squeal out “Leon!” but it makes no difference. Again, you attempt to wriggle away. All it does though is give him a view of your ass wiggling around in those cute panties you wore. The ones he had seen peeking over the waist of your jeans.

He lays more lashes to your skin in rapid succession. You wriggle slightly and involuntarily whine. Your ‘stepfather’ felt no guilt though. Partially because it was all part of the plan, partially because he could see the light purple fabric between your thighs darkening with arousal. Plus, the pathetic noises spilling from your mouth only made him want to work harder, rip more sweet cries from you. He continues cracking his solid hand against your bottom, sending ripples through the soft flesh. Your cheeks burn with embarrassment, your eyes start to water, and your bottom lip juts out into a quivering pout.

“Oh, look at that sweet face,” he coos, taking a break from spanking you to stroke your cheek, “I know it hurts, baby. But it can all stop once you decide to stop being a stubborn little brat.”

He punctuates his statement with another swat. Your body jolts forward at the contact, head falling forward to hang in shame. You hate yourself for playing into it, but you can’t stop the automatic response that exits you in a humiliating whimper.

“I’m not a brat.”

“Oh you’re not? Could’ve fooled me,” he responds. He cracks his hand against your cheeks a few more times before giving you a break and rubbing the sore skin.

“I’m not. You’re just… you’re just mean.”

The words tumble from you in a pitiful cry, physically hurting you to say something so pathetic. To show such weakness when he was being such a prick. You shut your eyes, and a warm tear falls down your face. That only made you feel worse, making you want to cry more. A vicious cycle you couldn’t break out of when all your mind could think of was your stinging flesh and his patronizing voice.

“I’m being mean to you? Aw baby, after all the things you said, you think I’m the mean one?” he mocks.

“I-I’m sorry,” you whimper out without really thinking about it.

“I don’t need you to be sorry, sweetheart. You know what I want,” he says.

What’s supposed to be a groan comes out as a frustrated whine. You shake your head weakly and open your eyes again. His fingers slip beneath your chin to lift your face to look at him.

“Just say it. Say it and it will all be over. We can get on to helping you feel better,” he says.

The pain radiating from your ass, now glowing red, was almost enough to make you give in on the spot. But you could hear it in his voice. He was so fucking smug, having so much fun watching you cry and shift around in discomfort. You couldn’t just let him win.

So you shake your head defiantly, sniffling as your watery eyes connect with his in a stare. You immediately regret your decision because the amused glint that forms his eyes lets you know that he enjoys the resistance more than your submission. The corners of his lips tick upwards into a slight smile. Now it’s his turn to shake his head and mockingly tut at you before swinging his forearm and blasting your sore flesh with the heel of his palm.

You cry out, the noise strangled with despair. Your teeth dig into your bottom lip to restrain the louder sobs that were bubbling in your throat.

“Just give in, sweetheart. There’s no need to act tough for me. Do what I know you want to, and say the word,” he orders, his words coming out low and slow.

You know you should, but god, you don’t want to. It’s like your most basic instincts don’t want you to either. You have to think through it, force your tongue to conjure the word and expel it from your lips.

“I’m sorry… Daddy,” you whimper. A couple more tears leak from your eyes. The humiliation that mounts in your chest is like nothing you’ve ever felt before. But as the heat rises to your cheeks and clouds your mind, making you feel dizzy, you feel a deeper sense of heat spreading out in your lower belly. And it only gets worse when he starts in on you again.

“Oh, that’s my girl. Such a good girl when you want to be. I knew you could do it,” he coos, “Say it again for me, baby. Least you can do after being so cruel.”

At this point, you figure you’d already said it once, so what’s one more time. You say it again if for no other reason than to stop his harsh blows from raining down on your sensitive skin.

“I’m so sorry, Daddy,” you cry.

“That’s right. I know you are, honey. I know you don’t mean that stuff. You just wanted some attention, right? Wanted some time with Daddy all to yourself,” he says as his hand comes up and starts stroking your hair.

You weakly shake your head. You weren’t acting up because of that. He was being an asshole. That’s why you were acting up. Or were you even acting up? Your reaction was justified, wasn’t it? All the attention on you mixed with the shame boiling in your head makes it hard to think through this stuff.

“Oh, are you shy? Don’t wanna tell the truth?” he coos with a cruel chuckle. One of his hands rubs your aching ass while the other trails up and down your thigh soothingly. The latter hand slowly creeps to the junction of your legs. “I know that’s what it is, doll. I can feel it.”

As he says that, you feel fingers petting the damp fabric that conceals your cunt. You take a sharp breath to which his chuckle grows into a short laugh. He presses his fingers against the cloth, and you can tell immediately that even his movements are done in a way to mess with you. His digits drag against your panties, not giving you the pressure you need on your clit. You squirm awkwardly in an effort to find a better angle and not feel the soaked garment cling to your folds.

“Feeling a little impatient?” he teases.

You nod, any remaining shreds of dignity you have slowly being peeled away. You just couldn’t resist. The potential pleasure that’s just out of reach. The heat of his thick cock against your hip. His voice, like soft velvet slipping over your mind.

“Well honey, show me you can ask nicely, and I’ll be happy to help you out. Won’t even make you wait, we can get right to what you really want,” he says. His tone sounds slightly more genuine here.

“Pretty please, Daddy,” you force out. Your eyes cast down in shame as if you’re studying the pattern of the living room carpet.

“Pretty please what, babydoll?” he says, the teasing returning for a moment.

“Pretty please… fuck me,” you squeak.

He smirks, his victory written all over his face.

“Woah, listen to the mouth on you,” he tuts, “Normally, I wouldn’t let that kind of language fly, sweetheart, but I think you’ve had enough punishment for one day.”

His hands squeeze your waist and flip you over on his lap. He wipes away your tears with his thumb and presses a kiss to your forehead, that stupid smug expression on his face the entire time.

The next move is guiding your body onto the couch. You whimper as your back meets the cool leather. He pays that no mind and instead lifts your hips and tugs your skirt and panties off in one motion. You notice in your peripheral that he takes a souvenir, shoving the light purple underwear in his pocket.

After giving your ass a firm squeeze, his hands drift up and pull your shirt off. His eyes fixate on your tits, his soft hands coming to cup them and flick his fingers over your nipples which were beginning to perk up.

“No bra? I guess I should’ve expected that from you,” he chuckles as he continues fondling your soft breasts. The touch relieves some of the building pressure, the weight in your chest just begging to be squeezed and massaged. He watches the pliable flesh move beneath his fingers before giving your nipples a quick pinch and moving to undress himself.

He doesn’t waste any time, his clothing pooled on the floor in mere moments. He gets on top of you. Large hands hook behind your knees, angling your hips upward. Your legs come to rest on his shoulders as he grabs his cock and swipes the tip through the slick that had collected between your thighs.

“So fucking wet, I didn’t even need to warm you up,” he grunts as he pushes the tip in.

You bite your lip, unable to stop the whine it brings out of you. He exhales with amusement, and his free hand goes to your face to rub your cheek. It was only the tip so far, but you couldn’t even deny how good it felt. And while he moves with a purpose, he draws out this first thrust as long as possible. He inches it in, going as slow as he can. The pleasure he gets just from watching you squirm with desperation is clear in the way he looks down at you.

“There we go. Just what you need. Daddy filling you up. Gonna make you a good girl from now on,” he coos and drags his thumb over your bottom lip.

Without even thinking, you open your mouth and flatten your tongue against the digit before wrapping your lips around it. You suck on it gently, softly moaning as your saliva coats his thumb.

At this point, it’s physically impossible for him to look more pleased with himself. Honestly, it seemed like he took more enjoyment from watching you slip farther into his grasp than he did from the feeling of your cunt pulsing around him.

Once he’s all the way in, completely buried in your warm, wet embrace, the hand that had been guiding his cock slides up. He gently thumbs your clit, grinning as your sweet mewls become the slightest bit louder.

He begins dragging himself in and out, savoring the feeling of your walls gripping him, sucking him in. It seems you only clamp down harder as he plays with your pretty little bundle of nerves. He keeps toying with it as his hips work back and forth.

Your eyes flutter, becoming half-lidded with the smooth stream of pleasure flowing through you. You whimper and whine while still sucking on his thumb. He started to repeatedly tease pulling it out before pushing it all the way in, nearly gagging you.

“So precious, aren’t you?” he whispers, leaning forward.

Your thighs are now pressed to your chest. His cock so deep it reaches places you didn’t even know about. He picks up the pace a bit, balls smacking against you with each move. To your dismay, he removes his thumb from your mouth, dragging it down and smearing spit down your chin. Your disappointment is only momentary as he’s quick to capture your lips in a searing kiss.

His soft lips move against your wet ones while he continues pumping deep. Your head swims with the pleasure he provides. Everything becomes a soft warm haze as he toys with your clit and stretches you out. The gentle kisses combine with the tender feeling of his warm skin sliding against yours.

“Gonna have to do this every time you get bratty, baby. Keep you dumb on my cock, exactly where you should be, making sure you don’t get outta line,” he grunts, eyes closing as a wave of pleasure hits him, “This all you needed, just some time with Daddy.”

You nod lazily, all hopes of keeping a resistant exterior up gone out the window. “More kisses, Daddy,” you mumble as you connect your lips in a messy kiss.

He chuckles at the lack of resistance left in you. He returns your nod and indulges you. His tongue slips into your mouth, meeting your own as you make out.

It’s all so good. You can’t get enough. Everything is him right now. It’s all for him. You know you’re getting close and so does he. He can feel the way your pussy rhythmically constricts around him. It’s working him closer too, but he can’t let it end yet. Not before he gets to the final step.

His movements become strategic. You’re teetering on the edge, getting enough pleasure to keep you whining and clutching at him, but not enough for that final push to heaven. Just one more stroke in the right wave, and you know you could get there.

While your head continues to fog up from his efforts, he pulls away from kissing you. He nestles his head in between yours and the couch cushion.

“You know, honey, now that we’re seeing eye to eye, I think I should let you in on something,” he whispers, hot breath fanning across your ear.

“Mmm, what?” you ask. You were only half paying attention, too caught up in the heat of the moment.

“I’ve had my eye on you for a while, sweet thing,” he rasps.

“Really?” you ask, unsure why he was bringing this up but choosing to go along with it in your dreamy state. He had been dating your mom for a while, so maybe he had this little infatuation for longer than you thought.

“Mhm, earlier than I think you know,” he says with a nip to your earlobe.

“That’s nice,” you murmur and nuzzle your face against his hair, breathing in his scent.

“Aren’t you curious when? When was the first time I saw your pretty face? The first time I wanted to slide into this tight pussy?” he murmurs.

“When?” you ask. You tried to feign interest, but fuck, you really just wanted to cum.

“I remember it, clear as day. It was at a party, you remember that guy from high school who had the 3D tv in his basement. It was at his house. You were down there, looking so fucking cute, talking to some douchebag. And I heard you talking to him. About Fortnite,” he says.

You just nod and moan. You honestly didn’t even remember that he went to your high school, but you didn’t really care at the moment. It still felt so good, him drilling in and out of you. You just couldn’t help but wonder why he thought now was the time to bring this up.

“You told that guy your gamer tag. But I realized I also remembered that name. I had played a match with you before. You beat me, stole my victory royale,” he says with a soft laugh.

“Umm… ok,” you reply, totally lost and not just because your mind was all cloudy from being railed into the couch.

“Tell me, honey: do you remember the name rookiepillz?” he asks.

“No?” you say. Was this really the time for this conversation? That was all you could think. But before you could voice your complaint his hand starts rubbing your clit again with even more pressure than before. All words in your throat tangle up into a string of whimpers.

“You should. I sent you a message after that game. Told you ‘I’m gonna fuck you and your mom sweaty,’” he says with a particularly hard thrust, “Well, look at us now.”

You listen, absolutely lost, until the dots start connecting. You turn your head to look at him, not believing this was real. You did remember that message. It made you and your friends giggle for the next hour, created an inside joke for the next few years.

“No way,” you say. You try to keep your voice even, but despite his insane words, his cock was still hitting just right, “Rookie- fuck! Rookiepillz?”

He puts in a couple of those strokes that hit just right, brushed all your sweet spots, filled you up the perfect amount. All the while his thumb rubs your clit in tiny, quick circles. You couldn’t hold on. A sharp cry leaves you as you gush around his cock. You grip the couch for support as your body rolls with the rush.

“Yes way, sweetheart. Rookiepillz,” he grunts.

When most of the high has finished and you’re starting to come down, you open your eyes and look up at him with disbelief. He’s grinning, so satisfied that he’s gotten the last laugh.

“Wha- you’re… you’re fucking insane… literally why would you remember that? And why would you take it so seriously? It’s Fortnite!” you moan, still feeling the aftershocks of your release.

“I play the long game, baby, and I play to win,” he moans as a strained expression washes over his face. He snaps his hips a few more times before slamming in all the way with one final thrust. “This is my ultimate victory royale.”

With that, he empties himself inside you, hot cum flooding your cunt. You whimper yet again. It still felt good even if you just found out his motivation behind all of this was borderline psychotic.

He pumps in and out a few more times before pulling out. His chest puffs with deep breaths on top of yours. Both of you lay together in silence for a few moments. What had just happened? You could barely even comprehend it. Instead of driving yourself as crazy as he is by dwelling on it, you shove him off of you. You get up and start putting on your clothes again.

“You’re fucking crazy,” you say.

He laughs and sits up on the couch. “Don’t act like you didn’t have fun, baby,” he says while stretching, “You were such a good girl for your daddy.”

Your eyes widen and cheeks burn with embarrassment at his teasing. God, why had you ever said that? Now that you weren’t all worked up, you just wanted to go back in time and kick your own ass for even thinking of giving in.

“Shut up,” you grumble.

He stands up, still laughing and clearly on top of the world with his “victory.” You smooth out your outfit as he starts putting his own clothing back on. He holds up his belt and cracks it teasingly.

“Watch your mouth, there’s still time before your mother gets home. That sweet ass might not have enough marks,” he taunts.

You shoot him a glare before storming out of the room.

“Oh come on, babe. If you’re not into that, maybe we could play some Fortnite?” he calls.

#leon kennedy x reader #leon kennedy smut #leon kennedy x y/n #leon kennedy x you #resident evil imagines #resident evil x reader #leon kennedy imagine #resident evil smut

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honkytonk-hangman · 2 months

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How It's Done – Oneshot Version

Jake ‘Hangman’ Seresin x Aviator!Reader

Originally posted by unicornships

Summary: “Like me? I didn’t even think you wanted me as a squadmate, let alone–” you stop speaking, but only because Hangman cuts his eyes sharply away from you to glare out at the ocean. “Well, I do.” He says kind of indignantly, all things considered, and eyes you almost sourly. “You can just say no if you don’t–” “–No, I do!” you quickly cut him off, because at the end of it all, you’re a little too much of a hopeless romantic to let this moment pass you by.

Warnings: erm maybe just some references to sex? jake being jake? language? minions. big warning for minions xD

Notes: Originally I intended this to be a two-parter series, but I wanted to change how it went, so I rewrote the parts I didn't like and made the entire thing into a oneshot instead!!! This fic will replace the 'part one' already on my blog, but I will keep this part up, linked at the very bottom of my masterlist! thank you everyone for being so patient! Thank you @hangmanssunnies, my love my biggest support <3

Words: 11.6k!

“Well, I’ll be damned…”

You pinch your eyes shut and steel yourself at the sound of the all too familiar Texan drawl, hanging on to the hope that perhaps he isn’t talking to you. You’re out of luck though, and moments later Jake ‘Hangman’ Seresin slides into the open space next to you at the bar, already posed in a casual lean as he looks you up and down appraisingly.

It makes your teeth grind.

It makes your face hot.

“If it isn’t Mirage. Would have invited you to play with us if I’d known you were here earlier…” Hangman cocks his head, and his lips tip up in an infuriatingly perfect smile. “But one can never really be sure if you’re around or not… and that's before you get in a cockpit,” he grins, but when you meet his eye at last, he looks away from you, toward Penny who seems to approach in the nick of time, saving you from needing to respond.

You blink down at your drink, and finish it quickly, unnerved by what you think might have just been a compliment of sorts from Hangman. You’d been stationed together previously, though you weren’t friends, so you’d been expecting something a little more acidic in nature. You’d heard him interact with other aviators, knew he liked to push and poke them, usually got away with it too. For some reason though, he’d never really gone there with you and frankly you’ve always just chalked it up to not being worth his time. In fact, you’re pretty sure the only times you’d ever actually spoken had been in the sky. To be completely honest, you’re more than a little surprised that he remembers you at all.

You didn’t exactly go out of your way to stand out…

You were naturally quiet, which wasn’t helped by your social anxiety, resulting in most people describing you as extremely shy. They wouldn’t be wrong, you suppose, you did tend to keep to yourself, the idea of having too many eyes on you all but unbearable to you. But if you’d thought a roomful of people singing happy birthday to you was bad, somehow being under the unwavering stare of Hangman is approximately one thousand times worse.

“Penny, my dear… I’ll have,” he stops to glance pointedly down at your now finished beer, adjusts his stance to lean even more and unwittingly makes the muscles in his bicep bulge.

“Five more on the Old Timer,” Hangman says, nodding to the man who sits on the other side of the bar.

Internally you blanch, but externally, you say nothing and give even less away, feeling a little ping of satisfaction that apparently, you know something Hangman doesn’t. Before he’d come along, you’d been carefully watching the interaction between Penny and Captain Mitchell. You’d never met the man before, but you knew how to read military insignia, which at this point, was more than you could say for Hangman, who dismisses him quickly.

You wonder if Monday morning you’ll be able to work up the nerve to tease him about it.

You’re distracted from your thoughts when Penny returns with the requested drinks. You had no real intentions of going and hanging out with Hangman and the others, but before you can excuse yourself, your empty beer is smoothly plucked from your hands, replaced quickly with a brand new one.

“Help me carry these back?” Hangman asks then, jerking his head in the vague direction of the pool table. You frown when he immediately takes off walking, not actually letting you help him at all, all four beers still slotted between his fingers. You find yourself following him anyway, as if he’d placed some kind of spell over you.

Hangman stops ahead of you at the ancient jukebox, looking back over his shoulder at you, nodding in a pleased manner when he sees you trailing behind. He waits for you, gaze never leaving your form, even as he nods to the space next to him. You awkwardly step up to the spot opposite to him, and look past the glass and at the selection inside. Hangman, once more, takes up a lean, this time against the rickety machine.

“Would you be so kind as to select track number…” he trails off as he checks the list of songs, but quickly flicks his gaze back to you, and smiles bright, tauntingly, again. “Eighty-Six?” he asks, but it's barely a question. You nod, and swallow, shifting from holding your beer with two hands to holding it with just one. You carefully tap the chunky ‘eight’ and ‘six’ keys as he watches. The machine’s little analogue screen confirms that your song is next up, and nervously, you look back up at Hangman, horrified to find he’s just been staring at your face for the past however long.

“S’been a while, Mirage.” He drawls, making you blink rapidly and look away.

“Has it?” Is all you can manage meekly in reply, surprised when he lets out a genuine sounding laugh. He hums warmly, and you practically feel it in your chest.

“And yet,” he lifts hand, two beers held expertly between his fingers, but he extends it to tap your nose, almost making you almost flinch.

“You haven’t changed at all.” Hangman grins Cheshire-like down at you, before his eyes narrow ever so slightly, and he leans in even closer while flicking his eyes up and down your form again.

“I don’t bite you know,” he tells you, his voice sounding serious, but his somberness lasts mere seconds.

“Well, not unless you ask me to first, sweetheart,” he winks and his smile grows large as your eyes grow wide and you splutter, flustered.

Your face grows hot with slight embarrassment, a wave of inner resentment at his teasing washing through you.

Hangman laughs, seemingly bored with you now, and he turns to walk back toward the pool tables. Without even looking, he beckons you to follow with one finger on his still occupied hands. For a moment your pique prevents you from doing so, certain that if you were to dip into the crowd now, he’d not care enough to seek you out again, let alone notice you were missing.

You know he didn’t mean it, you know his flirting is just to get a rise, but you also know that he’d never do it to Phoenix, or Halo, and a little bit of you hates yourself for being such a marked pushover. You make the decision now that you won’t let him do it again, if you can help it.

Your eyes travel past Hangman then, towards the pool tables where you can now see another figure has joined the other gathered aviators, and for the first time all evening, you don’t feel nervous to go join them.

You follow after Hangman, but quickly diverge from his path, cutting around a gathered group of Navy personnel to get there faster. As you approach, you take a moment to shake off any lingering anxiety, before gently laying a hand on the faded Hawaiian shirt in front of you, doing your best to keep yourself from bouncing on your heels.

Rooster half looks ready to wave off whoever is trying to get his attention, but when his shaded eyes land on you, he spins his whole body to face you, grinning widely in unguarded excitement as he gathers you up in his arms.

“Miri!” he exclaims warmly, and you can’t help the laughter that bubbles out of you when he briefly lifts you off the ground.

“I was just about to ask Phoenix if she’d seen you yet.” Rooster informs you.

“Seen who?” Phoenix steps around him, frowning as she quickly glances you over, though it disappears quickly.

“Yeah, that about tracks…” Rooster mutters mostly to himself.

“Nat, this is Mirage, you know her right?” Rooster introduces the two of you, and while neither of you make to shake hands, you only feel friendly energy radiate off the other woman, even as she openly looks you over now, nodding at Rooster’s words.

“Right, I have heard about you… I guess there's no real mystery behind your callsign… I didn’t even realise you were here… Sorry,” she tells you bluntly, but you appreciate her straightforwardness.

“They said ‘Wallflower’ was too long.” You joke lightly, and the other woman smiles. A moment passes between you, and you get the distinct feeling that Phoenix has become determined to never let you go unnoticed in her presence again.

You aren’t sure just yet if you appreciate that, but you are sure that you’ve just made a friend.

“Mirage?” Another voice joins then and you look to your left, smiling again when you see another familiar face.

“Bob!” you move to embrace him too, not seeing the look shared between Phoenix and Payback who watch you in surprise.

“Huh. Figures.”

Neither you or Hangman have moved since Rooster and Mav went down. The rest of Dagger had returned an hour ago, mission complete. There was no reason for either of you to be on standby.

And yet.

When the call came through that Dagger Two had been hit, both you and Hangman had separately requested to be launched, to help, but you’d been denied.

As a rule, you made yourself easy to work with, even if those around you were less compliant, and you’d experienced plenty of that, flying alongside Hangman the past few weeks. Whether it was him leaving you to get shot down in training, or refusing to fly as a team during simulations. And yet, despite his habit of ‘hanging you out to dry’ being the reason behind his callsign, deep down, you’ve never once doubted flying alongside him in the real thing like the others seemed to.

You’re glad for that lack of hesitation now, glad that it only takes a single moment of eye contact from across the tarmac for the two of you to understand one another perfectly. Glad that when you got word that somehow, Rooster was supersonic again, you already know his answer before you even ask.

“Hangman? Hondo’s cleared us for take off with the ground crew, against orders. You with me?” you ask quietly, looking over at your wingman, knowing that when you return you’ll most certainly be court marshalled, but unable to sit and do nothing any longer.

“To hell and back, Mirage,” comes his immediate reply.

You see him move in sync with you, both of your canopy’s lowering at the same time.

You ignore the panicked voices ordering you to stand down, long enough for Hondo and the others to get you on the catapult, and by then it’s too late.

In two seconds you’re propelled from zero to over a hundred and sixty, and in your ears you hear Hangman right behind you.

“Do you want to get a coffee with me?” The question makes you jump, your drink almost sloshing everywhere. The sudden voice, as well as the person it belonged to, takes you completely by surprise, but you’re thankful he doesn’t draw attention to your startling.

Up until moments ago, you’d been peacefully watching the ocean toss and turn, burying your feet in the damp sand and thinking about what you were going to do with your upcoming two weeks of post-mission leave.

Most of Dagger were a little further up the shore, a bonfire crackling away, although you weren’t the only one to have splintered off. Mav and Rooster were currently standing in the shallows talking, and you think Halo and Phoenix have moved to sit apart from the others as well. You had managed to sneak away easily enough, content to just sit on your own for a while, though your efforts appear to have been mostly in vain, if the man now plopped in the sand beside you is any indicator.

You blink at each other.

“What?!” you blurt out dumbly, not completely certain you really understood what he’d said. Hangman’s lips press into a thin line, and he looks away from you, linking his hands together around his knees, and staring out at the rolling waves.

“Coffee. Would you like to get one with me?” He repeats, sounding only a smidge impatient, but it still doesn't clear up much for you.

“I… No, I heard you the first time… I… I just don’t understand… why?”

Over the past three weeks you’ve been forced more out of your shell than you ever have before. It was torture. It was wonderful.

Part of you pats yourself on the back for being able to ask him so starightly, but another part of you slaps yourself in the face for questioning him.

Hangman turns to look at you apprehensively.

“Are you asking why coffee or why am I asking you?” He speaks slowly and carefully, his face blank and devoid of any hint he was teasing, though you think he might be anyway.

“Why… Why are you asking me?” You push, shuffling your feet in the sand, drawing his attention for a moment. He looks back at your face and frowns slightly, cocking his head.

“Because I like you? And that is usually what somebody does when they like someone. Ask them.” He answers, and this time you definitely get the impression he’s politely trying not to laugh, but for once, you don’t feel like you’re on the outside of the joke.

Still, you find yourself taken somewhat aback at his confession, admitted so easily and freely, as if it shouldn’t come as a surprise to you, which confuses you.

“Like me? I didn’t even think you wanted me as a squadmate, let alone–” you stop speaking, but only because Hangman cuts his eyes sharply away from you to glare out at the ocean.

“Well, I do.” He says kind of indignantly, all things considered, and eyes you almost sourly. “You can just say no if you don’t–”

“–No, I do!” you quickly cut him off, because at the end of it all, you’re a little too much of a hopeless romantic to let this moment pass you by. Especially when for the past three weeks you haven't been able to get rid of the odd heart skips you got whenever Hangman acknowledged your presence at all.

And besides, you weren’t blind.

Hangman was ridiculously pretty, and not anywhere near as much of an asshole as he wanted people to believe.

He looks at you blankly for a moment, processing your words, before his face breaks out in a smile. It isn’t one of his usual smirks or tauntingly pearly grins, though. It’s softer, sweeter, and you stare mesmerised as he looks away from you again quickly, and down at his linked hands, nodding.

Two days pass, and even when you’re sitting across from him in a small, niche little coffee shop you had no idea existed, you feel like you’re in a dream.

You’ve never seen Hangman out of uniform, you realise, and it’s a whole new experience you’re forced quickly to process when he stands to go get your drinks.

Dark jeans, white shirt, casual jacket. It’s a simple outfit, but goddamn does he make it look good. Nervously you have to wonder if your white and blue sundress, sneakers and bomber jacket were having the same effect on him, though you highly doubt it.

He returns quickly, attentively, placing both your coffees down, before folding himself into his chair once more. You both look at each other awkwardly before you distract yourself by taking a sip of your coffee. Hangman seems to do the same, but instead of drinking, he begins tearing into several little sugar packets, and emptying them into his coffee foam.

You huff out a tiny laugh before you can stop yourself, and his eyes quickly snap to you.

“What?” he asks defensively, but the corners of his mouth twitch.

“I just… I guess I never figured you for a sweet coffee kinda guy…”

“Oh, and why is that?” his twitching lips turn into a full smirk, but it isn’t his usual Hangman smirk. You chew on the inside of your lip, and sip your coffee once more before answering.

“I’m not sure. I guess you just don’t seem like the type of guy who…” you trail off, unsure of what exactly you’re trying to say and even more; how to say it.

“Listen, I may have rippling, glistening abdominals, but I have a sweet tooth,” he says, putting on the defensiveness now, leaning toward you and pointing at himself. You pinch your brows together and purse your lips, nodding vehemently.

“I know how to have fun,” he tells you, tipping a third sugar into his coffee.

“Of that I don’t really doubt, Hangman,” you say, but his gaze snaps back to you again, almost sharply this time.

“Jake.” he corrects you.

You pause.

Of course, you knew his first name, but you’re fairly certain you’ve never once used it. Hangman has just always been, well, Hangman. But you weren’t in a cockpit right now, he’d asked you out, this wasn’t the time and place for callsigns. He wasn’t Hangman, and you weren’t Mirage.

“Jake,” you say slowly, carefully, as if he’ll tell you any moment he’s just kidding around. But he doesn’t.

“Miri,” he replies, slow like you, but softer, and it’s silly, but it sounds so nice coming from him. You shake your head and swallow.

“Jake, if you don’t like coffee, why did you ask me out for one?” you ask him, watching as he blinks slowly at you, before his gaze slowly drops to the latte in front of him.

“If I asked you for a drink, you might’ve got the wrong idea,” he starts, speaking carefully. “If I asked you for dinner, it could be too formal, too awkward–”

“–It’s already awkward,” you point out, making him grimace slightly, so you shrug.

“Coffee just seemed like– I just wanted to–” he cuts himself off and drops both hands to the table.

“Look– I just didn’t want there to be any misunderstanding about what this was. I like you. I know you like coffee.” Jake admits all in a flurry, his voice quiet, and his eyes flickering around as he speaks.

For as long as you’ve known him, you’ve never seen Jake unable to maintain eye contact, actually it seemed to be something he took immense pride in, and it always made you slightly uncomfortable, but right now he appears completely incapable, and it's not a side of Hangman you’ve ever seen before. You realise you might be meeting Jake properly for the first time.

You decide to let him off easy, with all the newfound courage Dagger had been feeding into you the past few weeks, and you change the subject.

“You know, when you came up to me at the Hard Deck that first night, I was kinda surprised you remembered me at all,” you say slowly, sipping your coffee and eying him evenly. Jake frowns then, but it smooths out into a cool grin, and he leans back in his chair, cocking his head.

“Are you kidding? I’m always clocking possible threats.” he tells you, making you cough lightly.

“How am I a threat to you?!” you ask in disbelief.

“Oh, I could name a few,” Jake teases, nodding at you, but flicking his eyes away, almost making a show of clocking an incoming group of customers behind you.

You weren’t clueless, you knew you were a part of Dagger for a reason. You were damn good at your job, but still, Jake was Hangman, not only was he an aviator you respected, he was an aviator with very high personal standards, and for him to see you as comparable to him… well truthfully, you find yourself rather humbled.

And then flustered, at his clear unabashed flirting.

“I always thought you flirting was just you messing with me,” you admit, and he grins wider.

“Can’t it be both?” he asks, leaning forward again, and clasping his hands together. He seems to have no problem maintaining eye contact now, you note. When you cold-stare him, he simply shrugs.

“You’re cute when you get all flustered and nervous, what can I say?”

“Literally anything else.” You grumble back.

You finish your coffee and push the cup to the side, crossing your arms on the table and leaning forward like he was. Jake mimics you, pushing his own coffee away, clearly with no intention to start, let alone finish it. You aren’t as good as him with eye contact though, no matter how much you’d come out of your shell, so you take the opportunity to glance sideways out the window, only for your gaze to catch on something.

Your heart thumps loudly for a moment in your ears, and you wonder briefly if you should act on the thoughts popping around your brain right now, or if you should just stay put.

You lean forward even more, and flick your eyes back to Jake who is staring at you curiously.

“Hey, I have an idea…” you start, chewing on the inside of your lip, before standing up. You only hesitate a little before offering your hand.

“You with me?” you ask without thinking, the words the same as the ones you ask time and again to your wingmen while in flight manoeuvres. Jake stares up at you for a moment, before he too stands, your heart skipping when he takes your hand. With a tiny squeeze you almost don’t notice, Jake grins, and nods.

“Oh, hey! Stop! That’s not fair!” You elbow Jake in the side, but it’s already too late. The hand he’d shot out to block your light gun had done its job, and where you’d previously been neck in neck for score on the dual Time Crisis cabinet, Jake’s character was now cheering in victory, while your screen was asking you to insert more coins and try again.

Jake chortles and you both slot your plastic guns back into their plastic holsters at the front of the machine.

“We never agreed to no interference,” he says proudly, and you sock him in the arm only half as hard as you can.

“I didn’t think it needed to be said!” you exclaim pointedly. Jake grins down at you, and collects his tickets.

“Quit complaining, all these are gonna go towards whatever stuffed bear or whatever the hell you want anyway.” He rolls his eyes, and gestures to the shoddy ‘rewards’ counter of the arcade you’d spotted from the coffee shop.

“I want the Minion.” You state firmly after glancing at the redemption counter for three seconds, and spotting the big ugly yellow creature on the top shelf. Jake sighs in a put-upon manner and shakes his head.

“See, this is how you know I really like you. I’m willing to ignore that,” he says, and you actually think he might be serious this time. You grin up at him as he takes your elbow, and begins leading you toward the back of the room.

“What are you going to cheat me out of kicking your ass at this time?” you glance around you, goosebumps trailing up and down your arm as Jake lets his hand slide from around your elbow, down your forearm and into your hand, which he squeezes as if in warning.

“I didn’t cheat, I simply used black ops tactics,” he says, narrowing his eyes at you. You purse your lips at him and narrow your own eyes back.

“Cheat.” you say again, pronouncing each syllable deliberately.

You come to a stop then, and you look up at the old photo booth machine. Jake pulls out a fistfull of tickets, squinting his eyes at the label with instructions, before looking back over at the redemption counter. He seems to run some numbers before he looks back down at you with a grin, and waves the strings of crumpled tickets.

“My cheating means we can use the booth, and still have enough for a Kevin plush, so I don’t wanna hear no more complaining outta you,” he waggles a finger in front of your nose, and you blink up at him sheepishly.

“Jake– I don’t really want the Minion…” you say, before your voice turns suspicious. “Anyway, how do you know which one is Kevin?!” you lift an eyebrow, only for Jake to roll his eyes and push you into the curtained booth.

You orient yourself in the tiny enclosed space, looking around you as Jake takes a moment to feed several lines of win-tickets into the machine before he follows you. He’s forced to duck down real low, making the space even smaller, and you both stare for a moment at the small seat barely big enough for one person, let alone two.

“Well, either you can sit on my lap, or I can sit on yours, darlin’, but I know which one I’d prefer.” Jake intones lowly, and for the first time in an hour or so, you feel yourself get all flustered again. Honestly, you’d kind of forgotten about the explicitly romantic tone of this meeting until now, and more than that, your stomach begins to flip and flop like the first time you’d gotten in a jet when he eases past you and drops himself onto the bench before patting his thighs.

“Jake, maybe if you just move over a litt–”

“No can do, honey,” and he’s not even trying to tease you, he demonstrates the spread of his legs, and the tight fit into the booth, before looking back up at you expectantly again.

“Okay… Okay…” you say more for your own sanity than anything else, and turn, quickly perching yourself on his leg before you can really think too hard about what you're doing.

Your efforts are for naught though, because the moment you’re sat down, Jake’s hands are tugging you against him further, sitting you more comfortably on the thick expanse of his thigh, and you barely repress the noise that nearly escapes you at the feeling of his fingers digging into your hips.

“There we go, sweetheart,” he says softly, almost to himself, and moves his hands to wrap around you completely. If he notices your little noise, which by his self satisfied smirk he definitely has, he thankfully chooses not to say anything. Your face grows warm, not only at the hold he has on you but at the pet name too.

“Did you just call me ‘sweetheart’?” you ask, sounding half bewildered, half incredulous, forgetting for a moment where exactly you were and why. As you look over your shoulder at the man behind you, Jake stares back, his smirk still in place even as his eyes seem to search your face, his own expression mostly unreadable.

“Would you prefer ‘honey’?” he almost purrs, his voice distinctly amused, but you notice that he doesn’t back down, doesn’t apologise or step back.

It makes your stomach twist up in knots. It makes your heartbeat skip like a record.

You turn away from him, shake your head.

“It’s fine,” you tell him bashfully, wanting to grumble slightly when against your back you sense what you think is him puffing his chest a little. Quickly, you add: “Not at work, though…”

Jake chortles, but as you peek over your shoulder to look at him again, he’s relenting, his smirk gone and replaced with a far softer smile as he nods.

“Not at work, though.” he repeats lowly in confirmation, almost making you jump when he shifts one hand to steady you around the waist, his other reaching out to begin fiddling with the controls on the lit up screen in front of you.

“Alright, let's get this show on the road shall we?”

By the time you’re exiting the tiny cubicle, Jake’s hands still attached to your hips as he follows you out, you’re both laughing quietly to yourselves. You’re amazed to find just how much Jake can affect you, either setting you at complete ease or sending you into a tizzy, depending on what he’s said or done. Usually you wouldn’t be surprised by other people’s effects on you, you were jumpy and anxious by nature, but it was rare that somebody who put you on edge as much as Jake did, could also give you such comfort.

When he detaches his hands from your sides at last to survey the sheets of photos spat out by the booth, you marvel at how much you start to miss the contact. With all the subtlety you can muster, you inch closer to him, under the guise of getting a look at the photos as well, though really, you’re only hoping that you might prompt him into reaching out for you again.

Jake chortles and points at a set of two pictures. In one, you’re both grinning madly, pulling silly faces, and in the other, you’re wearing softer smiles, and you notice now, that Jake had pushed his face a little closer to yours. It makes heat rise in your cheeks, not just at the seeming intimacy of the photo, but truthfully, of how much you like seeing the two of you like that.

“You won’t mind if I keep these, will ya?” Jake asks, looking over at you. You simply shake your head, and he grins a little wider, carefully tearing off the two pictures before pulling out his wallet and tucking them inside, for sake keeping, you assume.

Jake lets you keep the rest, and absently, you fold them into the zipper in your purse, too distracted by the fact that he does indeed take your hand again, before quickly releasing it to instead wrap his arm over your shoulder. You can’t stop yourself from smiling a little as you blink dumbly up at him, and he grins down at you, ducking his face even closer to yours.

“Now sweetheart, I believe I was instructed to win you a minion plush.”

You try to avoid Phoenix’s hard stare, and focus on wiping down your helmet.

“You’re acting weird,” she finally announces, still managing to make you jump despite your anticipation. You then immediately proceed to do yourself exactly zero favours, proving her point by refusing to look up at her, choosing to instead hurriedly continue with your current task.

“What? No I’m not. I’m fine. You’re being weird,” you argue, wincing at your clearly abysmal attempts at behaving like a normal adult human. You start re-cleaning the pristine surface of your helmet, your nerves conjuring imperfections you logically know don’t exit.

Just before you completely lose yourself down the spiral of unhealthy compulsive behaviours, A hand, Nat’s hand, stops your own. Tugging the cloth out of your hands and taking your helmet away from you, she places it down on the workbench you stand on opposite sides of. Chewing your lip, you at last meet her eye.

“Miri, it’s okay to have a crush–”

“–I don’t have a crush!” You blurt out both far too quickly to be believable, as well as in sheer panic. Your face grows immediately hot, and you can tell Phoenix is trying not to laugh at the show you’re putting on so poorly. Her lips twitch, but her expression softens from amusement into something softer, mixed with traces of pity. Just when you’re starting to debate the pros and cons of sprinting out of the room, getting in your jet, and then flying away never to be seen again, she relents, releasing you from her eye contact and making herself busy as she tidies up bits and bobs littering the workbench.

You swallow thickly, and stay watching her, your heart rate only spiking higher as your anxiety builds once more at her sudden apparent indifference. You follow her movements without moving an inch, sharply aware that not only was she still very much focused solely on scrutinising you, but even more mortifyingly, that this conversation was far from being over.

“Nat,” you say with surprisingly more strudiness than you believed possible, pausing to swallow the dryness in your mouth. “I don’t have a crush, okay?” You wait for her to look back over at you, nothing but disbelief rolling off of her faux-casualty, giving you a bullshit shrug and a smile.

“Okay.” she says. You had hoped that would be enough, but you should have known better. You clear your throat again.

“Nat,” you say, only making yourself louder, as if that was a sign of nothing going on. She looks up at you somewhat blankly. You know you’re totally screwed already as her eyes dip to watch your finger begin quickly tapping on the bench before you with barely any acknowledgement from yourself. “There’s nothing weird going on,” you say, pleading with your voice and face and every atom of your being that she drops it.

She drops something, unfortunately it’s not the subject though, but you still feel some semblance of stress leaving your body as her fake lack of care dissolves, and she leans back to rest against the cabinet behind her. She crosses her arms and shrugs again while letting out a soft, pitying sigh, which this time doesn’t raise your non-existent heckles as much as it had when it first showed its face.

You stare at one another, at what you think is an impasse and wordless agreement to now never talk of this episode in your friendship ever again, but once again, you should have known better.

“If it’s any consolation, I think he has a crush on you too, so it's not like it’s a total waste of energy… despite all evidence to the contrary,” She says conversationally at first, before muttering out the last part under her breath.

“He doesn’t,” you state with so much certainty you almost forget for a moment that it’s not even a little bit true. Instead, crossing your arms too, you feel like a middle schooler having a much too serious fight with her friend at lunch. “We’ve just become closer, like all of the squad have. You’re just noticing it cause you want to!” you’re a little taken aback by the sound logic of your own reasoning, all points earned to your side then immediately becoming forfeit when you can’t help yourself from stupidly continuing to speak. “Why? Has he said something?!”

Your outburst of near-giddy excitement destroys all chances of you walking this back, and you find yourself with only one option left available. But your prior readiness to exit out of this failed interaction at roughly 300 kts/min becomes soberingly not so fun to fantasise about when you sheepishly remember the current charges against you, for the theft of the $70 million dollar military aircraft you’d technically stolen when you and Jake had taken a joy ride to pick up Mav and Rooster.

You're snapped back into the present as Natasha Trace regards you unreadably and slowly lifts one perfect eyebrow at you. You cover your face and hang your head, you reason with your now permanently mortified brain that if you just admitted to the thing she already believed to be true, she’d stop looking any closer, possibly finding out something actually secret.

It helps that your embarrassment for the flurry of extremely obvious questions is very real, and you groan into your palms. You hear before you see Phoenix laugh, listening to her chortle at your outing yourself, but you notice that he demeanour is warmer now, and she pushes herself up to sit on the top of the bench between you, crossing her legs.

“He’s not said a thing, but he doesn’t need to,” she tells you, seemingly glad to just be able to share her findings and observations, which you uncomfortably realise have been going on for a lot longer than you realised.

“It's what he’s not saying,” she explains, and you blink up at her in genuine curiosity.

“Huh?”

Phoenix turns her gaze upward as she thinks.

“He doesn’t make fun of you… or snipe at you, not really,” she begins, resting her head in her hand. “To be honest when we first met, I was expecting to defend you. You’re a good pilot, a great one, but Hangman isn’t exactly known for recognising that in others…”

You frown up at her, unsure of anything to say to abate her suspicions.

She’s not exactly wrong, even when the two of you were first stationed together, he’d never poked fun at you, never really called you out. To be fair, he hadn’t really acknowledged your presence at all, but these days you knew that was more to do with the fact that all this time, Hangman had liked you, had seen you were shy, and didn’t like crowds, and as you’d found out recently, often made more of a spectacle of himself to draw attention away from you.

You have to stop yourself from smiling dreamily at the thought of him.

“And I mean, he disobeyed direct orders for you, he knew what you were doing, and he went with you anyway… I’m just saying Miri, I don’t think you’d be disappointed if you were to say something–”

You quickly cut her off.

“I’m not saying anything to him!”

At last, given your already clear admittance of your supposed ‘crush’, Phoenix relents, holding up her hands and shrugging.

“Just think about it alright? It’s even sort of… cute, in a weird, Hangman-y way.”

You grumble at her, but thankfully she doesn’t bring it up again for the rest of the afternoon. Still, you leave the workshop with a sparkling helmet, cleaner than you think it ever has been, and with a pressing matter to relay to your boyfriend, most of which involves playing it much, much cooler in front of Phoenix the next time you all hang out.

You know you’ve made some personal growth when you answer the door in your matching Star Wars X-Wing PJ’s and slippers, and aren’t immediately mortified.

Jake stands there, already grinning back at you, and looking like a greek god sent to earth in his dark jeans and plain white shirt.

“Red Leader Mirage, your rescuer has arrived!” he announces, doing what you judge to be a surprising spot-on impression of Lt. Porkins from Star Wars, shooting a lazily salute down at slippers

Unfortunately, you aren’t given the chance to ask him more about his perfect Red Six however, as he’s almost immediately pushing away from where he’d been leaning against the side of your door, posing for your perusal you assume, and holds out a brown paper bag for you to take. You swipe it, and shoot him a thankful smile.

“Thank you, Jake, really…” you side-step his self-congratulatory jokes, but he doesn’t seem phased, simply shrugging, and taking a step closer to you, letting one hand rest gently on your shoulder, before he hooks it and tugs you into him.

You’d started getting all-too familiar with just how physically attentive Jake seemed to be, something you would never have guessed about him several weeks ago, but had come to terms with now. Clingy was never a word you would have used to describe him before. He hugs you briefly, then pulls back to look down at you, his brow furrowed and his expression filled with genuine concern, another thing you’d been getting more familiar with.

“How’re you feeling?” he asks, inviting himself in by walking you backwards and kicking your door closed lightly behind him. You’d come not to mind this sort of thing either, but mostly because you know if you asked him to leave again, he would, no questions asked. That was another new thing you’d been learning about Jake Seresin.

In comparison to how Hangman could be up in the sky, Jake was entirely understanding, one hundred percent supportive, and almost a little too observant when it came to your particular anxieties. It meant he often knew without you saying when to push you, and when to not, and on the occasion that you did need to say, he always respected those boundaries.

It was starting to make you nervous, how much you were growing to like him.

“Cramps are kicking my ass, but other than that, mostly fine. Thank you for these,” you try again, hoping that he really understands just how much you appreciate him coming over for you tonight. Never in your life would you have imagined feeling comfortable enough to ask Hangman to stop by the pharmacy and pick you up sanitary products, and never would you have imagined he’d make no issue of it.

“Sure,” he says, again with a shrug. “You want me to head out?” he asks then, tipping his head back at your door, even as he inches his face closer to yours, brushing his nose tip against yours. Your lips quirk, then break out into a full smile when he grins before dipping low enough to press a kiss to the corner of your mouth. Your stomach somersaults and pulls at least ten G’s for sure as he continues to brush his lips against yours teasingly.

This hadn’t taken much getting used to at all. Jake was a good kisser, and had proved it after your second date, almost in the exact place you were now, both his hands cupping your cheeks and his lips full on yours, hungry and insistent. That had been almost four weeks ago now, but after his hands had tugged your hips flush to his, you’d quickly put the breaks on.

You were still slightly uncertain about going further with Jake so soon. The fact was, you worked together in a high impact, high stress job, and if anything should happen between you, it would be easier to keep things professional if you took it slow

Jake had, to your slight surprise, though you aren't sure exactly what you were expecting, nodded slowly and taken a step back. He’d told you that the only thing he wanted more than you, was for you to want him too. You’d had to explain that your position wasn’t because you didn’t want him, which had led to more making out, but he hadn’t pushed to go further and he’d left that night with the affirmation that however long you wanted to wait was alright by him.

“No, you can stay,” you tell him, wrapping your arms around his neck to stop him from pulling away too much as you try not to full-on pout. Jake smiles against your lips and presses into you further, moving to push you against the wall, where he crowds your space entirely and stops teasing you, capturing your lips with his at last.

You’re about to experimentally slide your hand up his shirt, a thought that had been lingering in your mind more and more these past few days, but your kiss is over too soon, and he pulls back, leaving you breathless.

“Weren’t you waiting for me, so you could do chores?” he prompts, nearly making you grumble. Instead you nod, and gently push back against him, heading towards your bedroom just down the main hall.

“You can wait in here if you like,” you suggest, feeling a little nervous about the idea, but it was something you’d been thinking about for a while now. Even if you and Jake weren’t sleeping together, that didn’t mean the two of you couldn’t sleep together, did it? It was something you’d wanted, specifically with him, but not really something you’d ever experienced before. You were ready to move out of these early stages of your relationship, eager to push yourself and your limits just a little, so you could settle into something more comfortable with Jake, something where you weren’t always a little surprised when he touched you, or called you by one of his innumerable pet names.

Jake shoves his hands in his pockets and nods, clearly thinking through what this invitation could mean as he follows you quietly.

“Um, I feel like I should say ‘excuse the mess’, but you know–” you cut yourself off and gesture around your bedroom when you both have entered. Jake snorts.

“Well that’s what being in the Navy gets you. I won’t judge if you say it anyway,” he tells you lightly, and you scoff.

“Yes you will!” you insist, and are met with a confident, familiar cheshire-grin.

“Mhm, but only a little. Have you changed your mind, honey?” he steps toward you again then, almost closing the distance in one stride, his hands still shoved in his pockets, but his gaze locked intently on you in a way you haven’t felt since that second date. Your heart beats so loudly you’re sure he must be able to hear, but he doesn’t mention it, just waits for you, crowding your space again.

“Oh, I– No… not… I didn’t… I’m sorry…”

The moment you speak Jake is stepping back, pulling his hands from his pockets to hold them up, his expression losing the intensity again.

“No need to apologise, my mistake.” Jake’s words are sincere, but he looks away from you.

You let out a little sigh.

“It’s just so soon, and with the trial–”

“–You don’t have to explain yourself, honey,” Jake pulls his hands from his pockets at last and places them at your waist, drawing you in. You fall quiet as he lowers his face to yours, though he teases you again by not kissing you, simply looking you over, and then smirking when you pout. “You want it when you want it, and that’s when I want it, okay?”

He makes you nod, before he at last lowers his lips to meet yours and kisses you, slow and sweet. You finally get the chance to test the waters a little, easing your hand carefully underneath the back of his shirt, making you giggle against his mouth when he jumps slightly at the feel of your skin on his. Jake doesn’t say or do anything about it though, thankfully just letting you explore a little as he tips your head back further to deepen your kiss, and you brush your fingers up his spine.

After a short while of this, he must feel the urge to tease you again, because with little to no hesitation at all, unlike you, he slips his hands beneath your shirt, his warm palms gripping onto the bare skin just above your PJ shorts, almost making you moan. You’re glad you’re able to hold back the sound, mostly, but your own surprise doesn’t go unnoticed by the blond currently kissing you.

He only continues doing so for a short minute longer, before he’s eventually pulling back, lips pink and kiss swollen. You can’t help but frown at the parting. He squeezes your waist, and nudges your nose with his own.

“What do you want to do, honey?”

You groan at the apparent lack of making out in your future, not because you don’t think he’d agree, but mostly because you’re not quite ready to ask him for more, though a part of you senses he’s not willing to let you off the hook for those chores you’d told him about earlier.

“I need to fold this laundry,” you point past him, to your walk-in wardrobe and the basket that lies within. Jake looks over at it and lifts an eyebrow, which you choose to ignore. He nods then, and takes a step away from you, making you frown even more when his hands fall from your body.

“I’ll help,” he says, making your eyes widen, and you quickly step around him to block his path, where he is clearly about to make for your basket.

“No! Um… It’s okay, It’ll be easier if I just do it…” you trail off, wondering if you sound insane and neurotic, but Jake simply raises his hands again and nods.

“Well, what do you want me to do?” he prods, and you realise, he’s come inside thinking you want him to help with your chores.

“I was thinking… I was thinking it might just be nice for you to just… be here?” You cringe, and narrowly avoid making a face at yourself. Jake blinks at you as if he doesn’t understand.

“You want me to… sit around while you do laundry?” he asks, tone confused, but equally unimpressed. You nod. Jake shifts, then clicks his tongue. “I was not raised to let somebody work while I sit and watch, especially not my girl. My mother would tan my hide.”

You’re a little surprised by the seriousness on his face, despite the humorous inflection in his voice. You suck in a breath, mulling over how to explain to him what you had been thinking when he came inside. Jake’s eyes flicker over you for a moment before he shifts again, crossing his arms and lifting his chin at you.

“Alright sweetheart, just say what you gotta say, I can hear those cogs turning from here…”

“I… I like that you want to help me, I think that’s really sweet…”

“But…?” Jake prompts.

“I find this kinda thing hard, and I was hoping we could just try and do something… domestic…? Together?” your face goes hot at your admission, and when Jake doesn’t immediately respond you wonder if using the word ‘domestic’ was too much, too soon.

“What is ‘this kind of thing’? I get the other part honey,” again, his voice is playful, but you see the seriousness behind his eyes and it lends you even more comfort. How is he so good at this? It’s almost like he’d read your teenage diary entry all about your perfect guy… it's the sort of attention, care, and behaviour that you’ve never actually gotten from a guy you were seeing before, so you aren’t really sure how to compose yourself.

“This kind of thing,” you gesture between you and him, before clearing your throat. “I don't know what to call it– us, but–”

“–a relationship.” Jake cuts in firmly, and you pause, heart thumping. You hadn't actually had this discussion yet, but you guess you’re having it now.

“Right. I mean, I’ve been in relationships before, but they’ve never really worked out and I feel like I never get to the point with boyfriends where I feel fully comfortable, so I–” you clamp your mouth shut, both at the use of ‘boyfriend’, and at the fact you were rambling, and you’re pretty sure it's too early to start telling him about how all your prior relationships failed.

“Right. So, let me get this straight; you were going to come back in here and put your laundry away, regardless of me being here?” Jake holds up a hand as he repeats back the information.

“Yeah…”

“And you just want me to keep you company?”

You nod, and clear your throat.

“Yeah.”

Jake stares at you, a level of understanding crossing his face, before his eyes flick to your laundry behind you, then back to your face.

“... And you’re sure I can’t help you?” His resolve sounds weak, and you think he’s already made up his mind to do as you asked, but his upbringing requires him to triple check. You smile, and this time step toward him, gingerly resting your hand on his arm, which he immediately raises, and flips, sliding it so now you’re holding his hand.

Again, you can’t fathom how he got so good at this sort of thing. Your knees go wobbly.

“I have a bunch of lacy unmentionables in there, so…” you try to lighten things, but it's not a lie. Jake picks up what you’re putting down, and gives your hand a squeeze. He tips his chin at you and lifts an eyebrow.

“Now why’d you have to go and say that honey? You sure you’re certain I can’t help?” his hands slip from yours to rest at your hips again, completely bypassing your top this time and your heart stutters.

You bite your lip, and nod your head, trying not to laugh him off fully, because while that may be your instinctual nervous reaction, you didn’t want to discourage him entirely. You liked that Jake acted as if you were a pretty girl, like you were desirable, and not like the awkward dork you actually were. You didn't want him to stop doing that.

His expression turns a little softer, and he leans down, moving slowly as to give you time to process, and he presses his lips to your cheek, lingering for just a moment before he taps your sides with his fingers, then steps away.

You’re still catching your breath when he looks back at you, pointing at what looks like one corner of your bed.

“Can I?”

You nod, and gesture at the whole mattress.

“Make yourself comfortable!”

–

You can feel the pounding music of the club in your whole body. The lights flashing and dancing in different colourways in time with the music give everything around you an ever changing aura, and maybe it’s all the drinks you’ve had tonight, but in front of you, Natasha seems to glow.

Her hands grasp your forearm firmly and you giggle, uncharacteristically carefree as you almost slip again.

“Alright! Okay, let's get you seated!” she says. She’s had a few too, but not nearly as many as you, and you’re glad for it now as she steers you toward the bar and grabs a paper cup to fill with water from the nearby water station toward the end. You find yourself drinking it without prompting, but miss the taste of the fruity cocktails you’d been downing all night. “I’ll call us a cab,” she says, beginning to pull out her phone, but you hastily stop her, placing a hand on her arm and shaking your head rapidly, making the colours spin even more.

“No! My boyfriend said he’d pick us up!” you insist, ignoring the way her eyebrows shoot up, then stitch together.

“You boyfriend?” she asks, but you miss the real question behind her words, instead you simply nod, and begin to fumble around in your own purse until you find your phone. Nat watches you expectantly as you open your messages, quickly tapping ‘call' on the top icon, and pressing the phone to one ear, and your finger to the other.

It rings less than once before it connects.

“Heeyy!” you sigh in relief down the line, happy to even just hear his voice after all night going without. “Yeah, no, everything’s alright, you just said to call you when we were done!” you say in reply to his amused questioning. You look up at Nat briefly, and if you were more sober, you might’ve been able to tell that she was leaning in slightly to try and hear the voice on the other end, but you aren’t, so you don’t.

“Okay, I’ll meet you out front!” you tell him excitedly, before adding on; “Is it okay if we give Nat a ride home too?” there's a short reply, and at last you’re smiling wide and nodding, even though he can’t see you. “Okay, we’ll see you soooon!”

You hang up and stare back up at Natasha, who's giving you a funny look that you ignore. “He said he’ll be here in ten, he’s been at the sports bar in town waiting!” you tell her dreamily, like she might understand what it means to you that Jake would choose to remain only a short distance away in case you needed anything, in the knowledge that you didn’t always enjoy nights out like this.

Nat simply nods and after making you drink one more glass of water, you begin making your way through the crowds and out of the club.

The air outside is warm, but refreshing and you take in as much of it as you can, not realising how stuffy the air inside the club had been until now. It was getting late, and bars and restaurants around the club are lit up and busy, the streets all around full of people either on their way to their destination, or lingering as they talk.

It doesn’t take long for you to spot Jake’s car and he pulls up close to the curb, allowing you to beeline for the passengers side door, not realising that Natasha follows with more confusion and trepidation. Jake jumps out of the car to greet you, rounding it to quickly steady your wobbly walk with a hand on your hip, and with the other, he pulls open the car door and helps you inside, leaning in to help you buckle in, grinning even as he murmurs quietly.

“You had a good night, sweetheart?” he asks, clicking your seatbelt into place for you, making you giggle at him. You lean forward for a kiss, but he dodges you, somewhat more aware than you are of your present company, and instead rests his hand so he can squeeze your knee. Your good mood isn’t spoiled and you barely notice the dodged kiss, so you simply nod your assent to his question vehemently.

“I had a lot to drink!” you tell him, before bursting out into giggles again, the soft, sweet smile Jake gives you going unnoticed as he squeezes your leg again.

“Yes you did,” he says with clear, fond amusement, and at last moves back so he can shut your door.

Unlike you, on the other hand, Natasha may as well be sober as a judge, and she eyes Jake somewhat distrustfully as she steps closer, lifting her chin up at him as she talks.

“What’re you doing here?” she asks accusingly, making Jake cock his head at her, only half as annoyingly as he can. He gestures back at you in the front seat of his car.

“Miri called, sounded pretty hammered,” he tells her as if that explained it. Natasha narrows her eyes and crosses her arms.

“Yeah, but she said she was calling her boyfriend, what’re you doing here?” She dares him to reply with anything but the truth, however luckily for Jake, unlike most men caught in her crossfire, he’s able to brush her off with an infuriating grin.

“I guess she dialled the wrong number, do you want a lift home or not?”

At his ultimatum (however hollow it really is, he wouldn’t leave her on her own in the middle of the night), Natasha frowns darker at him, but accepts the door he opens, waiting for her to get settled before he closes it behind her and returns to the driver's side.

When Jake checks his rearview he notes in amusement that Nat has situated herself in the middle seat, giving herself a perfect view of the two of you in the front. You don’t, nor do you seem to have any weariness in the bloodhound you’ve just set upon the both of you, but if he’s honest, Jake had known from day one that the second Natasha Trace suspected anything, your little secret was over.

He drives back as normally as he can, but it's strange to him now to have you sitting right there in his passenger's seat, and not have his hand in yours, or on your thigh. It’s strange to him to be in this space where the two of you are usually so open with your affection, and have to suppress it. Jake does not like it.

The car ride home is quiet, you seem content to look out the window, the tiredness hitting you now, but every so often he and Nat make small talk about whatever football scores interested them in the past week or two, and before too long, he’s pulling up outside her home.

Looking over at you to find that you’re slumped over asleep on his window, Jake follows Natasha out of the car with a simple offer of making sure she gets in alright. The congeniality doesn’t last very long, and once they’re standing on her porch she turns to him with a frown.

“You don’t really think I’m that stupid, do you?” she asks, for once not sounding angry or scolding, but seemingly subdued, maybe even a little upset. Jake sighs and runs a hand through his hair. Looking back to his car to make sure you’re still alright, he levels his squadmate with a serious expression.

“No, I do not,” he tells her sincerely. “But it’s Miri’s choice to not want to be public yet, all I’m asking is that you respect that,” he goes on after a moment. He doesn’t really believe she would say anything, but he feels the need to get her agreement, if only for your peace of mind in the morning.

Nat hums to herself and briefly looks away to fish out her keys. Once she has them in hand, she looks up at him again, a little grin on her face this time.

“How long?” she asks. Jake rolls his eyes and can’t resist the urge to mess with her just a little.

“Few years,” he states matter of factly, waiting for her eyes to pop wide before he lets out a victorious laugh and shakes his head. “A month or two,” he admits truthfully, accepting the hard sock in the arm as Nat scoffs at him and moves to unlock her front door.

“Something, something, I’ll kick your ass if you hurt her,” she grumbles as she steps inside, immediately kicking off her shoes. Jake straightens up and gives her a mock salute.

“Yes Ma’am,” he says, chortling to himself as he receives a middle finger for his efforts and the door is closed and locked again.

Jake feels a little lighter on his walk back to his car, and when he climbs in, he leans over to carefully adjust your crooked neck and make sure your belt is still strapped properly. You wake a little, confused at first, and blink up at him in happy wonderment.

“Hey!” you mumble, like it's the first time you’ve seen him tonight. Jake chuckles and leans closer to press a kiss to your forehead.

“Let’s get you home baby.”

–

You awake the next morning with nowhere near the headache you’re expecting, but with an array of distinct memories that cause a pit to open up in your stomach. The pit then begins to growl as you register the warm, homey smell of food, and with little effort, you force yourself up and into the kitchen, where you immediately attach yourself to Jake’s bare back.

His skin is warm and feels so comfy against your cheek, and the soft little laugh he gives makes your belly flop around. He lets you stay like that for a few moments more, moving slowly but smoothly so you can move with him, and at last when whatever he’s doing with his hands is finished, he reaches around for you and rests his hands where he can.

“Did I really call you last night? While with Nat?” you squeeze your eyes shut, hoping you’d just imagined it all, but another soft chuckle lets you know you hadn’t.

“Never thought you’d be the one to let our little secret slip first. I underestimated you baby.”

You groan into his back, and try to hide your face, but before you can complain or dodge him, Jake has turned himself around, letting you instead smoosh your face in between his gloriously golden pecs, and you think things may not be so bad.

He wraps his arms around you properly, and for a moment you just stay like that. You wonder if you can convince him to come around shirtless more often, the warmth radiating off his skin feeling heavenly, not to mention he looked almost as delicious as the food he’d made. You wonder if he’d already worked out this morning, or if you can join him after breakfast.

One of Jake’s hands moves away from your back and cups the back of your head tenderly, making you mewl slightly, and you look up at him to give the attention you know he’s asking for. Jake stares down at you with a soft little grin, and readjusts himself slightly, so he’s able to drop his lips to meet yours briefly.

One kiss becomes two kisses, becoming three kisses and after that any semblance of chastity is given up on and he kisses you full and sweet, deliberately slow like he’s teasing you to ask for more, but for now you’re simply content to wash away all of last nights worries like this.

Coming up for air, Jake barely breaks apart from you, his lips still brushing yours when he speaks.

“I asked Nat not to say anything, she respects you enough to do that I think,” he says, dropping a few more soft kisses to your mouth when you crane your neck up for more. He goes no further this time, though, and leans back from you to gauge your reaction after several moments, and you force yourself to open your eyes and pout.

“It’s not that I think she’ll tell anyone…” you say to him, scrunching up your features as you recall your lack of playing it cool the first time she had brought Jake up to you. The memory makes you grumble to yourself, and you once more attempt to hide your face in his chest. Jake laughs, and makes you jump when he pokes your side.

“What is it?” he asks, like he already knows. You tell him, voice muffled in his skin, but clear enough for the details of your embarrassing inability to throw the scent off to be heard. Jake’s body shakes with more laughter as you relay the information, but instead of trying to make you stop hiding away, he simply cups the back of your head again, and holds it nearer, allowing you to wither your embarrassment away in the safety of him.

“I think we both know that the minute that woman suspected anything, it was game over,” he tells you once you’re done, still holding you close, but you feel his lips press to the top of your head sweetly, and you do your best to snuggle yourself closer.

After the bulk of your mortification has eased away, Jake makes you detach from him, but only so the two of you can eat your breakfast while it’s still hot.

“You know I don’t want to keep it quiet, like, forever, right?” you ask out of nowhere, your memories of last night replaying over in your head while you ate. Jake looks up at you and cocks his head.

“I’m happy to do whatever you’d like to do, for as long as you’d like to do it,” he says matter of factly, but despite the sweetness of his words, you can’t help but frown at him.

“No you’re not, and we both know it,” you push back, grateful for his always tender manner of going at your pace, but you’d likely never have been with him in the first place if he hadn’t thrown you out of your comfort zone that first time.

The only difference is, now you are with Jake, and you understood these things about yourself, and how they weren’t always as scary as your mind might make them seem. Jake frowns back at you, clearly ready to protest.

“I know you pretty well too, you know,” you cut him off. “I know you like PDA, and that you wish you were able to be more open when we’re out with people. I know you like to show off, and part of that includes me,” you tell him adamantly, because you know you’re right.

Jake huffs out a sigh and leans back in his chair, looking at you dead on, you know him well enough to know he’s a little annoyed at you calling him out, but you aren’t doing it to annoy him or just for the sake of starting an argument.

“Okay, so what if I do? That doesn’t change the fact that until you want something, I’m not gonna go for it,” he says, still frowning at you like he doesn’t understand what the point of talking this through is even about.

You change tack and, with your heart beat thumping a little wildly, get up from your seat and move toward him. Even in his annoyance, Jake makes room for you, pushes out his chair and wraps his arms around your waist when you seat yourself on his thigh, your own arms linking around his neck.

“Well maybe I’m giving you permission to go for it,” you say softly, quietly, because the idea still does make you incredibly nervous. But you like Jake, no scratch that, you think you’re in love with Jake, and you think he’s in love with you too, and something about that feeling for once in your life makes you want the same things he does too, including the PDA. You want him to sling his arm around your neck, you want to be able to kiss his cheek or hold his hand or whatever it is you two want to do, not just in the comfort of your own homes, but out at the Hard Deck with your friends, too.

Jake blinks up at you, like at first your words don’t even register, but then he’s tightening his hold around your waist, and grinning wolfishly up at you, all cocky and infuriating if you didn’t find it utterly charming. If you didn’t completely adore him, even this part.

“Permission granted, Lieutenant?” he asks mischievously, and you can’t stop yourself from giggling, like you’re drunk all over again.

“Permission granted, Lieutenant!”

#jake seresin #jake seresin x reader #jake 'hangman' seresin #hangman x reader #jake 'hangman' seresin x reader #jake hangman seresin x reader #top gun maverick #jake 'hangman' seresin fanfic #jake hangman seresin #top gun fanfiction

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blippymilk · 3 months

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Dirt Bike Racer Fem! Reader x Brozone (+ Poppy)

(TYSM for all the love, request, and followers guys!! The little comments y’all be putting on your request and under my post make me wanna tear up a lil bit 🤧)

John Dory:

- Finds it incredibly hot that you’re a (famous) dirt bike racer

- Didn’t know you were a female at first until you took off your helmet and revealed your (GORGEOUS) self

- Never thought he had a chance with you tbh :(

- But then realizes HE’S JOHN DORY, THE LEADER, J.D and gets the courage to ask you out (however that story ends up is up to you)

- When you guys finally end up together his heart is content

- Although sometimes he feels that he has to go beyond his expectations because his girlfriend is literally a dirt bike racer!

- So yes his ego is hurt a little bit (but he’ll never stop loving you so don’t even worry)

- He would love to take your motorcycle for a ride all day

- And if he doesn’t know how to ride one yet (which I doubt) he will (put his ego aside and) ask for lessons (don’t tell anyone though)

- Definitely getting matching cycles

Spruce:

- Kinda thinks you’re a walking hazard/danger sign at first

- But Bruce believes the heart wants what the heart wants and it wanted you

- Has to get used to the loud noises your motorcycle makes when you take off anywhere, but eventually gets over it

- Loves riding on the motercycle with you after a couple months

- Has you under a oath to never speak about the time he tried to take it for a ride by himself with zero experience (🫢)

- Makes sure the keys (or anything that the lock can be picked with) for the motorcycle are always out of reach if you decide to have kids

- Doesn’t mind you taking the kids for a ride (but they have to be 10 or older 😢)

- Definitely wears a shirt that says ‘My wife is a famous dirt bike racer, how about you?’

Clay:

- You definitely bring out the fun in him (and he hates that at first)

- You met him during his serious boy Clay get up so at first he didn’t take you too seriosuly

- But when he learns it’s ok to loosen up, he found himself falling for you (he been loved you, he’s just embracing it now)

- Wants to be on your motorcycle more than you do

- Definitely already knew how to ride one (he was fun boy Clay soooo)

- Teach him all the crazy tricks in the book, he’ll end up mastering them all

- Please convince this man to wear a helmet cause if you don’t , he’s not even touching one

- Screaming all types of things while on the bike

“I LOVE MY GIRLFRIEND!”

Floyd:

- It’s a little weird with Floyd

- Like he loves and supports the fact that you’re a dirt bike racer but he doesn’t think about it too much (at least for the first part of the relationship)

- Secretly terrified of the roaring of your engine behind his calm smile

- You didn’t realize he was either until one day he walked into your garage and you started it up, causing him to completely fall onto his back

“Oh my gosh Floyd are you ok?

“Yea bab- yeah I’m fine…”

- Unlike the other boys, you have to convince him to ride on your bike

- Sit him in front of you so he’s convinced you won’t leave him behind :(

-Eventually he learns to enjoy it to some degree (still prefers the car tho if you know what I mean)

- Attends every event you have with the biggest “____’s #1 FAN!” sign anyone there can bring, and please don’t let him find out if someone is trying to show him up 😭

Branch:

- Ok let’s be honest if you met him during his first Trolls movie phase, he would actually despise you (at least at first)😭

- The nerve he’d think you’d have to turn on your loud engine while the village could possibly be hunted down by bergens

- After the first movie events and knowing everyone’s fine and well, he starts to show some interest

- You may or may not catch him at one or two or all of your events

- He can’t decide if he wants to ride your bike or not

- Like you’ll offer to take him for a ride and every time he’s just like:

“Well- like…um- ye- well actually, wait no, actually…maybe- well…”

- It’s to the point where if you want him to go with you, you’re gonna need to snatch him on and put the helmet on his head

- Since he’s one of the few trolls that knows about the internet, he made a fan account for you where he uploads all your clips, and makes sweet commentary and deletes all hate comments and possibly comments “____ is better” on fan accounts for any opposing riders

Poppy:

- You might have to run away from this girl at first

- Begs to ride your bike before you’re even together

- And when she is with you like Bruce she feels the need to take it upon herself to try and ride the bike

- Let’s just say she enjoyed your physical attention and the way you kissed her “boo-boo’s” afterwards

- So by the time she heals you’ve learned to take Poppy for frequent rides

- Has no shame in asking for lessons at all

- Definitely asks you to take, her, and Viva for a joyride

- Let’s the whole pop village know that her girlfriend is a famous dirt bike rider (as if they don’t already know 💀)

“Oh you’re boyfriend’s a baker? That’s crazy cause my girlfriends a dirt bike racer!”

“No way she’s a CEO? Mine ride’s a dirt bike, and she’s well know!”

“You’re girlfriends a top secret spy for the biggest agents in the world? That’s insane, my girlfriend rides a dirt bike!”

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lavendertales · 3 months

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dinner party || Steven Grant x f!reader

summary: after attending the same book club for weeks, you and Steven run into each other at a dinner party and all of your curiosity and tension finally clash together.

word count: 3.8k

A/N: first fic of the year yaay😌 felt like writing something lighthearted so no warnings besides tension, a hot makeout session & Steven being a sweet literature nerd. I'm actually having a very hard time getting into writing & posting lately but I'm working through it. anyway, feedback is always very much appreciated ❤️

You weren't planning on showing up to this dinner, but according to your friends, "it’ll do you good" to socialize and get out more. While they may have been right about joining the book club to begin with, you don’t want to reveal the real reason why you're attending this event because they’re gonna be all over you, asking incessant questions and badgering you all enthusiastically and frankly, you need some time to process what you're feeling.

What are you feeling exactly?

You're excited about the possibility of seeing Steven again tonight. He’s the big reason why you're going to your book club’s owner’s house for this dinner party in the first place. You can’t help but be attracted to him; that much is clear, blatantly obvious. You are definitely attracted to him. He’s so damn intelligent and curious about things and open-minded and sweet… oh lord, he is so intoxicatingly sweet. And so shy! Steven seemed like the kind of man to wear his heart on his sleeve and that is like a breath of fresh air to you.

And when he mentioned the dinner party happening tonight… you figured it was the perfect excuse to go. It’s not a sin to want to see someone you're attracted to, right?

And it’s been such a long time since you’ve felt this attracted to someone.

Okay, so bottom line is, you're here tonight to show support for the book club, to have some wine and maybe talk to Steven.

You definitely want to talk to Steven. Or at least see him.

He’s got such a sense of humor too. The kind where he doesn't necessarily intend to joke but it comes out funny anyway and it makes you giggle involuntarily. He can make you laugh by saying dry and bad jokes, and when he talks about poetry and interprets it, about history, the way his eyes flicker when he talks about literature in general...

Yeah, one might say you are dangerously attracted to him.

Maybe tonight is a mistake. Maybe you shouldn’t be around him and wine. The combination oozes trouble, and you are not a troublemaker. You are certainly not a reckless person when you drink. You're fun and lighthearted and honest, a little too giggly sometimes, but never reckless. You don't plan on binge drinking, so you should be alright.

Unless your nerves get the best of you and you remain tongue-tied around the sweetness that is Steven Grant.

By the time you soothe you nerves, you are on your second glass of wine, politely engaging with the guests, with Miranda—bless her for starting this book club in the first place—and then you decide to indulge into some appetizers and look around her library. Man, she’s got a huge collection! She has a library in the living room and, from what Miranda herself says, three smaller ones in the three bedrooms.

She says it’s okay to take a look throughout the house—or should you call it a mansion because damn!—and so you look in the first bedroom. You are more interested in the library. The book collection is so damn impressive. She even has first editions of books that would be considered extinct nowadays and you are in absolute awe.

“Oh, hi.”

You turn around so violently you nearly pull a muscle in your neck and spill your drink. There’s Steven, holding his own glass of wine in one of the hands, a boyish grin on his face. You instantly feel your cheeks burn at the sight of him: he’s wearing black suit pants, a turtleneck sweater with the sleeves rolled up and his hair is so curly and luscious it almost makes you sigh.

“Hi,” you finally reply with a flustered smile. “Sorry, I didn’t realize anybody was gonna sneak off to look at books.”

“That’s my idea of a party to be honest.”

You both chuckle, and you can’t take your eyes off him. There’s simply something magnetizing about his presence, about the way he makes you feel just by being around you and that’s dangerous. This has the potential to be a fatal attraction and it’s scaring for all the reasons that it's exciting.

Steven approaches you, although visibly hesitant himself. You clear your throat in an attempt to diffuse your own tension. “But it is a great dinner party though,” you say, avoiding his gaze. “Everyone’s so nice.”

“They are, yeah.”

“The music’s nice too. The food is—“

“Nice too?”

You break into nervous laughter. “I’m babbling. I’m sorry. I tend to do that when I’m nervous.”

“That’s alright. It’s—quite endearing, really.”

Your eyes shoot up at him. Your cheeks burn by this point, and you're fairly certain he can see how red they are, too.

“But why are you nervous?” Steven asks and his voice is so sweet and filled with care that it's impossible to not melt.

“Um… this is not a conversation for a second glass of wine.”

“For a third glass maybe?”

Your eyes widen some more and you find yourself absolutely flabbergasted at the notion that this sweet, intelligent and introverted guy is being flirty right now.

He’s flirting with me.

He’s actually flirting with me.

“Maybe,” you decide to tease against your better judgment. “But I wouldn’t want to ruin my image by binge drinking tonight.”

“I was thinking about getting a third glass myself, so I doubt you’d ruin anything.”

It’s tempting. Too tempting.

You shouldn’t.

But he’s so close to you and he looks and smells so good it impairs your judgment. There is no judgment to be done though. You are feeling needier and more impatient than you have in a long time, and you can barely keep it together.

“If you’re having one, then fine,” you reluctantly agree. “But three is where I have to draw the line.”

Steven giggles. The sound is so youthful and pleasant it’s almost like it tickles your skin.

There’s a moment of hesitation and silence between the two of you as you both acknowledge the fact that you should probably head back downstairs, but you remain locked in some sort of trance looking at the books on the shelves, still nursing on your second glasses of wine and stealing glances at each other. The tension is so thick that you're starting to wonder whether a knife would be able to cut through it.

“Can I confess something to you?” you foolishly ask.

Steven offers a polite smile and a nod right next to you and you feel your heart racing.

“I wasn’t totally sure if I wanted to come tonight,” you muster up the courage to say.

“After what I can assume are a lot of dinner parties over the years, this one probably seems a bit dull.”

“No, it’s—“

“Nice?”

You both giggle and exchange a glare that’s filled with yearning. Oh god, the yearning is consuming, devouring from inside out, clawing with unbearable hunger.

“Yeah,” you laugh. “But I’d agree with you in the slightest. It’s just an ordinary dinner party, nothing fancy. And I am all for that. But... I’m glad you’re here tonight.”

Silence. You gulp, afraid to find his eyes this time around.

“I really like—“

No. Stop before you say something you’ll regret and scare him off.

“I really like talking to you,” you smile at him, and you are so relieved to see Steven smile as well. Watching him be so flustered is an absolute delight. “So you’re pretty much the big reason as to why I decided to come tonight. Don’t get me wrong, I do enjoy the other members of the book club, but it’s just—“

“I was looking forward to seeing you tonight too.”

That shuts you up real quick. Your pulse has skyrocketed, and all you can do now is gaze practically shamelessly at this beautiful man, now in front of you. Your knees weaken, your yearning suppresses all other sentiments, and he is all that you can see. All that you want, the sole reason why you can scarcely think straight at the moment.

It’s a primal instinct, to want and to have, and to be had.

The more you look at him, breathless, the more you wonder if he feels like that too. He probably thinks in far more decent terms than you do because you can get a bit too dark on the inside to think straight and decent.

“I really enjoyed getting to know you over these past few weeks, to connect on a human level,” Steven continues. “I mean, who you are. And who you are is… really fucking spectacular.”

You haven’t heard him cuss before and you wouldn't have pegged him as the kind of guy who cusses, but it’s definitely doing something to you. Might be him, might be the wine, or it might be a combination of the both. At this point, it's futile to try to understand.

Tonight is shaping up to be quite the evening after all.

“I’m—not,” you smile flustered. “I try, but sometimes I—I go a little dark.”

“That's alright. Everyone does, don't they?"

You scoff. “How are you so open-minded and okay with the idea that someone is telling you upfront, ‘hey, I’m kind of a mess sometimes’? How are you so—so dreamy?”

Steven laughs, scratching his head, and you realize you might’ve made him a bit uncomfortable with your previous remark. But it’s a genuine question because how is he this dreamy?! Can he actually be the ideal man?

All you know is that Steven makes you feel things you haven’t felt since high school, if maybe ever. You haven’t felt anything this intense in years. It might actually rekindle your hope for the male species.

“I wouldn’t call myself that,” he giggles. “A couple of my former dates might disagree with you. I'm not actually a pro at dating."

“Yeah well, an ex might be bitter enough to think that way. But I do think you’re an amazing guy, and… I’m glad you’re here tonight.”

“I’m glad you’re here tonight.”

Oh fuck. Fuck, fuck, fuuuuck. The way he says your name right after that sentence, your full first name, with that British accent sprinkled in, oh my God.

You discover, much to your dismay, that you are feeling things you haven’t felt in years. Carnivorous, urgent, tingling and prickling your skin and you're in imminent danger.

“So did you find what you came in here for?” Steven asks all of a sudden and just like that, when your eyes meet, you're a puddle.

Your heart’s thrumming in your ears, pounding away in your chest; so, so loudly you're afraid it might burst out for him to see it too. You haven’t felt this way in a long time, that much has been established; but this just seems incessant and over the top. You barely know him as a regular person and you just wonder… can you be this insanely attracted to someone you barely know?

“I think I did,” you respond eventually, your voice scratchy against your dry throat, like sand on paper. “Except now I’m debating… um… whether I should or should not have it.”

Steven takes a step closer to you, thus indirectly forcing you to look up at him and you swear you feel your knees buckle under the weight of this solitary glare. Then he clears his throat and stares at you, cheeks flushed and all.

“If you really want it, perhaps it means you should have it,” he says. “There should be no hesitation with the things you want.”

“What if—what if I’m not fit to have it? What if I do something to ruin it? Because this thing, it's—it's beautiful and sweet and kind and a lot of the time I'm not. What if when I inevitably hold it in my hands, I'll stain it?”

This would be a great time to claim this is a metaphor about a book on the shelf, but it isn’t. You know it, Steven knows it. There’s no need to pretend, even if no specific words are given.

“I suppose you have to take a chance and see what happens,” Steven says nearly breathless and to my shock, you see his eyes drop straight to your mouth. “It’s a gamble, as with most things.”

You unconsciously lick your lips and bite on your bottom one, and something changes in his eyes. You swear it fucking does. It can’t be just your imagination, however hormone-soaked it may be right now.

“Take Orpheus and Eurydice for instance,” he continues. “Their love was no gamble, no what if’s. They just knew it from the moment their eyes laid on each other. They knew they had to have each other.”

Okay, so citing one of the most infamous love stories of all time is not helping right now because you're really about to throw caution to the wind and live in the moment, for once in this damned life.

What repercussions would there be, anyway? You simply want to kiss him, that’s all; to kiss him on his cheeks, his nose, his lips, down his neck and down his whole body till he’s writhing beneath you and he’s a pleading, mumbling and sweaty mess. Pleading for the kind of release only you could give to him.

Okay, maybe some repercussions. And this isn’t the time or the place for any of that.

Shit, the image of a sweaty, pleading Steven haunts you now as you're met with his blown-out eyes, somehow still kind.

“That’s… I can’t argue against that,” you smile, way too flustered about the images running through your head. “Thank you for the wise words.”

“I have often been told I am somewhat of a wise man,” Steven jokes.

You chuckle. “You really are though. Um, Steven?”

You're not really sure what happens after you call out his name; all you know is that you pull him in by the wrist, our eyes locked in what seems like a pleading glare, both of us begging the other to move, to do something, anything, and then your body is pressed against the bookshelf, one large hand on the small of your back and the other in your hair, while a sweet mouth is a hot furnace on yours, pressing and touching relentlessly.

And you feel like you're straight up in heaven. You taste, see and feel heaven.

Christ, his lips are so soft, and yet the way he kisses is passionate, tender and ferocious all at once. It’s like he’s trying his hardest to let you know he’s gentle and caring but that he wants this so fucking much and the mixture, the entire idea in and of itself, has you absolutely feral. So much so that you kind of groan into his mouth, and that seems to spur him on. He pushes a bit of himself into you, and you're melting. You're melting and burning up and you never want to be apart from him, from any part of him.

You're left confused when you don’t feel his mouth on yours and oddly disappointed, but then you notice why he stopped. Miranda’s in the doorway, her hand on the knob, chuckling at you.

“My apologies,” she smiles at you. “Didn’t realize I was interrupting.”

“No, we were not—it’s not—“you start, losing the string of your own sentence as you manically lick your lips in what appears to be a feeble attempt at memorizing the taste of Steven's lips.

“If it’s urgent, the bedrooms are all free, and the bathroom’s stocked.”

You feel a rush of embarrassment flood you, and your cheeks are even redder than before.

“We weren’t planning on—on any of that,” Steven mumbles.

Miranda cocks an eyebrow at you, and you both feel like two teenagers being scolded—oddly enough. “Didn’t look like that from here. I was wondering how long it will take you two to finally get your act together. Enjoy the evening!”

With that, she leaves, and you feel even more determined to explain yourself, even if… really, there’s no reason to feel this way. You only shared one kiss, albeit a very heated one. Nothing else happened.

Could it have happened? If Miranda hadn’t walked in… would you have gone all the way?

You know you could have, with the way you felt so devoured and consumed by that kiss and by Steven himself.

Steven clears his throat, scratching the back of his head as he looks at you, his whole face red, just like his lips. Now that you’ve had a taste of his lips, of the way he can be when he wants something—someone—you feel feral, in an absolutely unhinged desire for more.

And it scares you as much as it thrills you.

"I'm really, really sorry," Steven apologizes.

“No, I’m the one who’s sorry. I feel like I sort of lured you into this… bookish trap.”

And then something hits me. “Actually… no. I’m not sorry,” you correct yourself.

Steven seems surprised, only pleasantly. “I’m not sorry about this. We didn’t do anything bad, right? Unless the kiss was bad, in which case…”

He giggles, and he’s so damn sweet you could eat him up, spread him on a cracker.

Naked.

Okay babe, focus. Stay on topic.

“It was the stellar opposite of that,” Steven smiles reassuringly, though his eyes maintain that look in them that’s rather… feral as well.

“I’m not sorry about the kiss because… truth be told, I’ve been sort of… thinking about this for quite some time.”

“Yeah? Anything else you thought about?”

Oh shit, when he’s intentionally flirty is just so attractive you can barely hold yourself together in one piece.

“A lot of anything else,” you admit and gosh, how is it possible that your cheeks are burning even more?! “But this is a third glass of wine conversation. Or—maybe for another setting.”

Steven smiles, still flustered himself. His cheeks are rosy, slightly reddened, and it paints such a beautiful image. It is now that you realize he truly is beautiful: his chocolate brown eyes, long eyelashes, gorgeous hair, and simply the kind aura about him that makes you want to be around him at all times. He exudes safety and warmth and you have genuinely become frightened by how much you am into him already.

“Maybe that glass of wine isn’t such a good idea in the end,” Steven mutters affected.

“Oh? How come you changed your mind?”

“Full honesty?”

“I usually appreciate it very much.”

He leans back in, his eyes roaming your figure and your spine tickles with electricity. A hot and cold shiver passes through you; you tremble. You actually tremble. Holy shit.

“It’ll have quite an effect on me and I might want to take Miranda’s advice from before. Get on with what we started.”

Nothing but a faint oh leaves your mouth; and that’s barely the word itself, just a gust of wind that resembles the word oh, because your brain cannot compute anything at the moment besides what he just said.

And what he said is… well.

“And that would not be the gentleman-y thing to do,” he carries on, and his face is so flustered and yet riddled with something akin to neediness that your head starts spinning again.

Of course he wants to do gentleman-y things. Of course. How on brand for someone such as Steven Grant.

But oh how much you'd love to tell him—and show him—that he can easily do the opposite of that.

You can’t get the sensation of his lips pressed against yours out of your mind. You can’t get his taste out from your lips or your mind. It’s like he’s infiltrated far below the skin, straight into your bloodstream, swimming in your veins, becoming one with your entire system, and you find yourself absolutely speechless. You have genuinely no idea what to tell him or what to reply to him, so you kind of just stare at him in disbelief whilst also wishing for more, almost begging through that single stare, begging him to do anything remotely close to that kiss. Any touch right now would send you into a pleasurable orbit, even a breath in your direction would set your whole body on fire, and as you're thinking this, you come to realize maybe it isn’t such a good idea.

After all, you're still at the dinner party where loads of other people are and something like this, with someone as special as Steven, requires to be in a very intimate setting.

“Is there ever a time when you don’t think of the gentleman-y thing to do?” you chuckle and immediately face palm yourself mentally. Why would you so shamelessly pose such a flirty question when both your minds are in very fragile states right now?

Good god, get a grip over yourself, woman.

“Right now would be a very solid example,” he replies and you could so easily faint right now knowing that those words actually came out of his mouth. “But we can’t always give into our very first urges, can we? Otherwise it’d be so much chaos in this already chaotic world.”

Your jaw slightly drops as you look at him in awe. “You are... impossibly poetic.”

Steven chuckles, a soulful and hearty sound, and to know you are capable of rising such crystalline sounds from him, from such a beautiful man, it means so much to you.

“I just say what I think, nothing to it,” he keeps laughing.

“You’re really making things difficult right now, you know?”

“How so?”

“Well… let’s just say I have half a mind to surrender to that very first urge regardless of what might happen.”

“Kind of an unreliable narrator that urge, isn’t it? Saying it wants things, and it wants things badly, but rationality knows that if we do give into it, into that lust, we also become unreliable in a way.”

Your jaw drops further, and you shake my head. “Steven, you have got to stop with this, seriously. You’re making things very hard for me right now.”

“Sorry! I'm sorry.”

But he keeps laughing and laughing, even as he allows you to leave the room first and leads you back into the kitchen where we end up having a glass of water and talking about literature for another hour.

And around midnight, you arrive at the startling realization that you might be falling in love already.

#steven grant #steven grant x reader #steven grant x you #steven grant x y/n #steven grant x f!reader #steven grant x female reader #steven grant fanfiction #steven grant fic #steven grant fluff #steven grant smut #oscar isaac #oscar isaac fanfiction #oscar isaac fic #moon knight #moon knight fanfiction #moon knight fic

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claymorexpunisher · 5 months

Text

Don't Poke the Daddy (18+ One-Shot)

Pairing(s): Damian Priest/Fem. Reader

Summary: Reader lets it slip that she finds Drew incredibly attractive and she decides to wear his merch one night at a show. Her boyfriend Damian doesn't think it's so funny.

Tags: 18+, bratty reader, Daddy kink, light humiliation, rough sex, Dom!Damian, jealousy, posessive!Damian, dom/sub dynamic, unprotected vaginal penetration, fingering, oral sex (man and woman receiving).

Word Count: 2,005

Drew was the first person to greet me as I walked into the venue hours before showtime.

He and my boyfriend Damian have been at odds with one another for weeks now and it kinda tickled me to find out that Damian’s disdain for the Scotsman ran a bit deeper- especially after I drunkenly let slip how gorgeous and incredibly talented, I thought Drew was.

Maybe it was a bit mean of me, but the bright idea to dress in the skimpiest outfit I could think of, along with Drew's merch to show my support for Drew and ruffle my man’s feathers came to me recently and I was just now working up the nerve to see it through.

Juuust to see how Damian would react.

Drew at least seemed to think that it was a fantastic idea, if the way his face lit up and he smirked salaciously was anything to go by.

Damian, however, wasn't nearly as amused…

I had stayed behind while Damian drove to the venue earlier in the day for call time, giving me plenty of time to really plan this out.

And to be honest? I felt hot as hell as I tied up the black heels along my thighs and I slipped the black and blue plaid skirt onto my hips, finishing off with a Big Daddy Claymore crop top that I made at lightning speed.

I pretended not to notice Damian's eyes boring into me as Drew pulled me into an affectionate embrace, clearly also feeling Damian's eyes on us.

"He's pissed." Drew chuckled, knowing exactly what I was up to without me even having to say anything.

"I know." I replied, smiling innocently, and making him laugh.

I swore I practically felt the daggers Damian was now throwing at us.

But I was hellbent on waiting to see if he’d actually call me out on it.

After more idle chit chat with Drew, I finally met my boyfriend halfway, having to look up to look into his stormy dark eyes.

“Hi, baby.” I purred, smiling innocently.

Upon assessing my not-so-innocent demeanor, it was as if something clicked in Damian’s brain and my heart skipped a bit at the light smirk that graced his lips.

Not at all the reaction I was expecting.

“Hola, princesita.” He purred back, letting his eyes survey my frame from head to toe, just to watch me squirm a little.

“Thanks for coming.” He said.

“Of course! I told you I’d be here.” I replied, standing on my tippy toes to place a chaste kiss on his lips.

I grunted softly in shock as he suddenly placed a possessive hand to the back of my head, deepening the kiss and I moaned softly as his tongue momentarily explored my mouth, possessively stroking mine all while his eyes bore into my own even as he pulled away.

“Nice outfit.” By the way Damian played things off, anyone would think he was amused by my antics.

But his tone said otherwise.

I recognized that tone immediately…

I instinctively pressed my exposed thighs together, just knowing in my gut that I was in for it.

“Thanks…” I replied, hearing the breathiness in my voice.

Rather than answer, Damian left my side for a moment and he and Finn, Rhea, and Dom quietly murmured to themselves before he came back to me.

“Let’s go to the locker room.” Was all he said as he smiled softly at me and kissed my temple.

And I could do nothing except quietly obey and wonder where the hell this was going.

Surely, he wouldn’t punish me here at the venue… in The Judgement Day’s locker room…

Upon entering the locker room, I could hear my heart pounding in my ears.

I was shoved up against the locker room door forcefully, already feeling the slick arousal beginning to pool inside my black lace panties.

My panties were roughly yanked to the side before Damian dropped down to his knees and my hips immediately bucked at the first languid strokes of his tongue along my glistening folds.

“This morning, I thought about how good you’ve been lately. And that you deserved a little reward…” Damian stopped long enough to speak before he got back to feasting on me, and I scrunched my eyes shut and pushed my hips onto his mouth, urging him on.

“Oh my fuck…” I moaned as one of his thick fingers slid into me as he suddenly sucked firmly on my clit, causing an electric to shoot from between my legs and down to my toes.

Then I clamped my mouth shut, remembering where we were.

My hands traveled underneath my crop top, and I roughly tweaked one of my nipples, hissing at the delicious bite of pain mixed with the sensations from Damian’s mouth.

I let out a strained sound as his finger crooked inside of me, pressing against my sweet spot, and I felt the muscles in my stomach began to tighten and my legs wanted to close reflexively, signaling to Damian that I was dangerously close to cumming.

The fabric of my top and skirt rubbed softly against my sensitive body, making my back arch that much more and I felt the vibration of Damian chuckling as his tongue swirled against my clit before he brought into his mouth again.

Just as I was about to cum, Damian stood, as calm as ever, and he slid my panties back in place as if he didn’t just have his face between my legs and he hadn’t just been eagerly tasting me not even 3 seconds earlier.

“And then… you decided to piss Daddy off.” He said, dashing my hopes for release.

I gaped at him in shock, my body trembling as it slowly came back down from my impending orgasm.

“Oh, you’re shocked? You really thought I was gonna reward you after you pulled this shit?” Damian chuckled softly, the sound somehow making me feel as if he’d just flicked his tongue on my clit. “Nah, mi vida... You can watch the show from here and think about how you’re gonna apologize to me later. And then maybe you’ll get to cum.”

I continued to silently gape at him as he gently shoved me aside and he sauntered out of the locker room, leaving me behind to do as he commanded.

The rest of show time went by torturously slow as my panties only continued to dampen even more, and they rubbed against my sensitive clit.

I watched the show in The Judgement Day’s locker room like Damian asked and it felt like 1,000 years had passed before we were in his rental and making the trip onto the next town.

“So… you figure out how you’re gonna apologize yet? Because I didn’t think that was funny.” He said, his deep voice seeming to fill the car with its power that had me immediately standing at attention again.

“I think I… have an idea on how to make it up to you.” I replied tentatively, biting my lip as I looked behind us at the clear road.

Thankfully we were in buttfuck nowhere so there were no cars behind us or, anywhere, really.

So, what I had in mind was definitely possible, but we’d still have to be careful.

As I reached over and began unbuckling Damian’s belt and exposed his cock to find it hard as a rock, I gave it a few slow, tentative strokes, watching his features.

I stifled a giggle as his eyes widened and the car gave a sudden jerk as my tongue surprised him.

“Will this help?” I asked cheekily, still watching his face and enjoying the quiet struggle in his eyes, but his voice gave nothing away for now.

“Maybe.” Damian replied shortly, now staring straight ahead at the road as if he were completely disinterested.

I smirked, my hand gaining more momentum before I adjusted myself in the passenger and clicked off my seatbelt and then I brought my mouth down onto his cock, teasing the head momentarily before I thought better of it.

Gripping him firmly, I relaxed my throat, breathing calmly through my nose as I felt his length reach the back of my throat.

Staying there for a few seconds, I then slowly slid my mouth off, tracing a vein at the vase of Damian’s cock, smiling filthily as it jerked in my hand in response, and I heard a muffled groan slip out of his mouth.

“How’s it feel, Daddy?” I asked, looking up at him with devilish amusement sparkling in my eyes.

“Shut up.” Damian said sharply and without looking away from the road.

I was kinda impressed at his willpower and how steadily he was still driving us to our destination.

My tongue swirled over the head once more before I brought one of his balls into my mouth and sucked firmly, pleased to hear him groan and break off into a deep growl that made my body sing.

Then I was confused when he stopped me, just as he was about to cum himself.

“I thought this was-“ I started to say, but quickly shut my mouth as Damian held one finger up to silence me.

“Get in the back seat.” He commanded after he stopped the rental on the side of the road.

My heart pounded hard in my chest as I did as I was told, sliding into the back seat of the car before Damian followed suit.

Practically giving me whiplash, Damian flipped me onto my back against the backseat, hiked up my plaid skirt and then he teased the head of his cock against my slick entrance.

“I think you deserve this now, muñeca…” He smirked and I let out a gasp, any coherent thought in my brain snatched away as he entered me without warning.

My slick arousal helped my pussy accommodate his size quickly and I couldn’t help but rock my hips to meet his thrusts, my mouth opening in a silent moan as I felt a bead of sweat trickling down the back of my crop top.

Damian gripped said crop top, using the material as leverage and I nearly sobbed as his cock nudged against my sweet spot without mercy.

My cheeks burned as the wet sounds coming from between my legs filled the space between us and I bit my lip almost to the point of pain as I tried to shove away another impending orgasm.

My body shook with all the sensations coursing through me and I moaned loudly as Damian’s free hand gripped my hair and he pulled me into another possessive kiss.

He thrusts were relentless and I could do nothing except tell him how much I loved it through jumbled sentences and overwhelmed sobs.

“Yeah? I bet you’re not thinking about him now, are you? Huh? You remember who you and this pussy belong to now?” Damian growled and I could see several veins in his neck bulging as he fucked me.

I reached out and trailed my tongue over one of them then sucked on the skin, marking my territory as well and I felt his cock pulsate inside of me in response.

“You, Daddy! Y- you… fuck!” I yelled; my eyes scrunched shut tight as my thighs began to tremble.

Damian didn’t let up until I came hard, my juices spilling between our bodies as I shook.

I lay there, trying my damnedest to come back down, when suddenly Damian pulled out and he gripped his cock in his hand.

I did nothing but watch as an orgasm shattered him and he stroked himself with earnest, allowing the milky ribbons to paint all over my crop top, soiling Drew’s logo.

As he started to come back down, Damian smirked, his chest heaving up and down with exertion.

But he looked incredibly proud of his handiwork.

“I’m so glad you get it now, princesa.” He said, before his tongue wrestled with mine once again…

@theworldofotps @alyyaanna @moonwolfdemonprincess21 @lynswinterwonderland @mohawkmama @rollinsland

#damian priest #damian priest x reader #damian priest x female reader #wwe fic #wwe smut #wwe fanfic #wrestling smut #🫡#also- get it? Dont Poke the Daddy? Like Don’t Poke the Bear- 😭😂😂💀

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whereireid · 1 year

Text

𝐋𝐎𝐕𝐄, 𝐍𝐎𝐓 𝐋𝐈𝐊𝐄

pairing: miles quaritch x fem!reader | masterlist

Summary: You don't like Miles Quaritch, but that doesn't matter — because you love him.

— warnings: fluff + angst = declarations of love, star-crossed lovers. // nsfw content — f receiving only.

“Why don’t you want to be with me?”

Quaritch’s voice is quiet, his breath fanning against your neck as he speaks. His hands grip your shoulders, forcing your back against him. It’s almost pitiful how he’s knelt down to such an emasculating height, his lips pressing against your warm neck, hoping for you to indulge him for just a second.

You close your eyes. “I don’t like what you do,” you say weakly, your chest growing tight as he suckles softly against your skin.

“You don’t like what I do, or you don’t like how I do it?”

Miles Quaritch is not a nice man. He’s unnecessarily mean and grumpy, borderline sadistic — remorse or empathy is a foreign concept to him. The dead Colonel which lives within him is the reason why your pleas fall on death ears; he is stuck in an everlasting cycle of choosing his absolute authority over the blissful domesticity that you offer him.

“Maybe I just don’t like you.”

Quartich’s teeth nip at your shoulder, causing a whine to fall from your lips. “That’s mean,” he says, his hands cupping the curve of your thighs. “Ain’t no reason for you to be mean, sunshine.”

Warmth blazes within you as he beckons your legs apart. You feel trapped, the light, feathery feeling of his hands caressing your legs sending guilty sparks of desire flickering through you. His tongue gently laps at the mark he’s left at your neck, running over the crevices of the dips where his teeth had been. It pains, and you imagine he’s drawn blood, a soft hum rumbling against your skin as he runs his fingers along the inner skin of your thighs.

With a sigh slipping past your lips, you say, “I’m not mean. I’m just honest.”

“Why do you have to lie to yourself?” He says it less like a question, and more like an amused observation.

Conflict bubbles within you. You’re stuck in a predicament that has no immediate solution, the close proximity of Quaritch causing your morality to turn grey. “I’m not lying. I don’t like you,” you mumble, a quiet hiss catching in your throat as you feel his fingers glide over your clothed folds.

“Why not?”

His motions still. His breath is heavy against your neck, his tail thrashing behind him as he awaits your answer. You pause, the silence palpable and thick. You can list almost a thousand reasons as to why you don’t like him — because he’s mean and domineering, a sadist who gets off on other people’s pain.

None of that matters, though.

Those reasons don’t matter because you love him.

“You don’t want to know the answer,” your voice wobbles slightly as his nose nuzzles against your skin, and he breathes in your familiar, Earthy scent; magnolias and freshly-washed linen drowning him into a well-accustomed bliss.

Quaritch continues to kiss your neck. This time, his lips feel feathery, his pecks peppery and chaste. “I already know it,” he breathes, his persistent energy overwhelming as he gently slides your underwear to the side. “Trust me when I say, sunshine — I love you more.”

Like the aftermath of a gun going off, his confession rings in the air. Your chest grows tight, your heart hammering in your chest. You swallow, your throat dry. “Please don’t say that.”

“It’s true.” His fingers slide through the slickness that he cultivated, a soft coo of affection slipping past his lips and wafting against your neck as he basks in how wet and flush your cunt feels against him. “I love you more than anythin’. My sweet girl, don’t you know that by now?”

“Please stop saying that,” you plead, your voice wavering slightly as his fingers easily find your sensitive bundle of nerves. “It isn’t fair for you to say that.”

As he rolls the delicate nub between his fingers, you lose balance, pressing into his chest for support. It feels dirty and wrong that you’re allowing him to spark an insatiable desire within you, pleasure crackling through you like electricity as his lips drag along your neck, leaving soft, purple bruises in their wake.

“Work with me here, sunshine,” he drawls, his voice husky against his chest, and you whimper, trembling as you slowly open your legs for him. “That’s my good girl, so eager to please.”

You don’t like him. It’s impossible to like him, even when his fingers are causing pleasure to roll through you in stormy waves. Warmth burns inside of you, the gratification that the motion gives you painfully satisfying.

“You’re so mean.”

“I know, sunshine.” Quaritch’s voice sounds a little sad as he speaks, and your chest tightens as his fingers glide down your cunt, towards the entrance. “I’m sorry.”

Dumbly, you let out a soft moan, your walls clenching down around his fingers as they glide inside of your cunt. Your walls are tight and slick around him, inviting and warm, and you feel your knees buckle as his fingers curl.

Shaking your head, you breathe, “you’re not sorry; you never are.”

“I am, ‘specially if it means losing you if not.” Quaritch softly scissors your cunt, his fingers skilful as they work inside of you. “You’re the best thing that’s ever happened to me.”

“I didn’t happen to you.” You lax in his arms, your thighs burning as his motions grow slow and sensual, an unbelievable heat pulsing through you. “You sought me out.”

You can feel him smirk against your neck. “That’s right. You wanted me too, though, sunshine. You still do.”

He pumps his fingers in and out of you, his movements dangerously sluggish. You try not to moan, the sound of your bliss dying in your throat as his motions begin to cause your vision to glow black and starry. You stay lax against him, your legs trembling as he mumbles praise against the skin of your neck, and a soft cry is dragged from your throat as he finally draws out what he wants from you.

“Oh,” you mumble, your eyes screwing shut as the sound of your squelching cunt echoes around your bedroom, your wetness painting his knuckles as he continues his deliberately slow motions. “Oh.”

“That’s it,” Quaritch praises, his lips pressing heartily into the crook of your neck, his teeth grazing against your pulse point, “cum for me, sunshine.”

Unable to hold yourself up any longer, you collapse into him. Your heart feels tight in your chest, your throat dry as you gasp and writhe in his hold, but he keeps you still. There’s a comfort which mulls through you as he nuzzles against you, a soft purr vibrating against your neck as he feels you twitch around him.

When you finish twitching, Quaritch finally allows himself to pull away from you. He scans your frame, his eyes falling to the wet mess of your underwear, which is pooled around your ankles. A flash of sympathy glosses over his eyes, but he clears his throat. You don’t move, your breathing heavy, and he can’t tell if you’re angry or pleased. His lips tug into a frown as he wipes your slick, which had painted his blue fingers white, onto his cargo trousers — leaving the mess until later to clean.

His presence is overbearing, hot and cold all at once. You hear him stand, his boots padding against the floor as he hesitantly recedes from you, walking towards your bedroom door as a means to exit and leave you alone.

“Wait,” you say timidly, your heart hammering in your chest as you hear his movements still. “Just — just wait.”

You hear him stop. You hear him shuffle. You close your eyes. “Please don’t go,” you finally continue, your voice small and strained as you shakily intertwine your fingers together. “Please don’t leave me.”

There’s a beat of silence. Thick and tense. You wonder if the question fell on deaf ears, if he’d just leave you like he’s been known to do many times before.

The response you get it bittersweet. You don’t know if you truly want him here — you don’t know if you want him, but the feeling of his arms wrapping around you and pulling you against him has your heart fluttering in your chest. You stay with your back to him, your underwear still pooled by your ankles, your head resting against his crotch.

“It’s okay, sunshine.” Your throat grows tight and you swallow the lump in your throat as he speaks. “Let’s go to bed.”

Cocooning you into a bed of warmth, Quaritch’s fingers rest at your hips as you nuzzle against his chest. You don’t say anything, your body curled against his, listening to the rapid pitter-pattering of his heart.

You don’t like him. He’s cruel and callous, fighting for the wrong side of history. He’s awful; just awful, but it doesn’t matter, because he’s like that to everyone but you.

You don’t like him, but none of that matters, because you love him.

And you just can’t help it.

— tags: @clockmax @numarusworld @anoungsoneandonly

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katasstrophy · 1 year

Note

I think everyone in the Bllk Fandom has agreed that everyone single guy would be intensely and stupidly obsessed when in love, but who are the biggest simps in your opinion and what is the simpiest thing they would do?? (Simp is used very affectionately btw)

nonnie, if they ain't simping, I don' want 'em ! tags. afab! reader. use of y/n once. suggestive themes in isagi’s. i think i use one bad word lol. kayla if you’re reading this the nanase one’s for YOU! 🫵

THE BIGGEST SIMPS OF BLUE LOCK (AFFECTIONATE):

—TOKIMITSU AOSHI

this hunk of a nervous wreck genuinely wakes up every day baffled by the fact that he gets to call you his romantic partner. it is beyond any semblance of logic he possesses why you chose to date him of all people — you asked him out, yet he was the one that almost keeled over from nervousness — and it regularly sends him down a neverending loop of self-doubt. your presence, however, soothes the brunt of that spiralling. it doesn’t stop his anxiety entirely, he knows that’s not how it works, but being around you dulls the noise in his head to a thrum he can manage, focusing instead on being in the moment with you. that’s why tokimitsu has the uncanny ability to spot you wherever you are, no matter the circumstances. he could be in the middle of an intense game with thousands watching from the bleachers or waiting near a busy intersection in shibuya to treat you to some umeboshi riceballs for your date, he’s so attuned to you, he’ll glance up and you’re there, cheering him on or giving him an enthusiastic wave with a grin that splits your cheeks apart, the sight making his heart beat erratically in his ribcage, this time not from nerves, but love.

—NANASE NIJIRO

this absolute sweetheart of a man is always talking about you, not that it ever occurred to him that he shouldn’t. he’s the type of boyfriend who finds a million ways to sneak you into the conversation while hanging out with his friends, completely turning the topic from him to you. a simple question of what were you up to this weekend? leads to an inevitable but hearty ramble of oh y/n and i went on a picnic back in kansai, and they made these super yummy wanpaku sandwiches- until basically everyone in his immediate circle can recount your life history. and nanase manages this so naturally, so effortlessly, that his friends don’t even notice they haven’t been told a single piece of information about how he’s doing until they draw a blank about anything regarding him, but can recall your great sandwich making skills and the promotion you recently received with great detail. on the occasion you go pick him up after late-night practice, his teammates frequently congratulate you on things you have zero memory of sharing. at your quirked brows, nanase only chuckles and rubs the back of his neck sheepishly, as if to say i just can’t help myself when it comes to you. he really is your most ardent supporter.

—ISAGI YOICHI

you know those how men wanna be treated when their boys aren’t around memes? isagi’s stance towards your relationship is the furthest thing away from that. he’s open and honest with his affection for you and doesn’t give a rat’s ass about who happens to see him being horrendously smitten with you. he spins around with you at the airport every time you come to greet him home even though he knows it’s super cheesy and the paparazzi may be watching. he rests your chin on your shoulder at formal events, gently swaying your bodies as he hugs you from behind to cure his boredom. he flashes a cheeky grin when you ladle him with sweet pet names, cooing right back at you. his teammates tease and make fun of him mercilessly for it, but isagi’s quick to spit back an aw, not getting any good pussy lately? sorry for your loss, humbling them so nonchalantly you almost forget to smack him for it. it doesn’t deter him in the slightest as he hooks a long finger past the waistband of your pants to pull you closer, ushering you out so you can go home and watch the newest episode of your show together, leaving his gobsmacked teammates behind.

—BONUS: RAICHI JINGO

he has such that’s my wife! energy. raichi would love to show you off and rub it into anyone’s face that he scored the fucking jackpot with you, so everyone can go cry about it while he gets to hog all your attention lol he adores you.

#—ping! new message from (anon)#i almost put reo here but i was like no. no no no he’s obsessive not simpy! there’s a difference 😌✨#—bllk.thoughts!#blue lock x reader #blue lock x you #bllk x reader #bllk x you #tokimitsu aoshi x reader #nanase nijiro x reader #isagi yoichi x reader #raichi jingo x reader

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yougottalovebuckybarnes · 2 months

Text

A/N: Hi everyone! After a LONG time, I have finally returned to writing! :) It has been a long journey for me offline, but I am proud to say that I have finally graduated from college! This fic is a little self-indulgent, but I thought it would be a good way to kick off my return to writing! I hope you enjoy!

-M <3

=======

Proud (Bucky x Reader)

========

My heart thudded heavily in my chest, my breathing short and shaky as the sound of cheering entered my ears. Bright lights flooded my vision as I exited the short tunnel into the stadium, but my vision adjusted quickly to find the rather large venue filled to the brim with people.

Friends, family, lovers….

Everyone was here to celebrate with us. And what a magnificent occasion it was. After a lengthy five years, I had finally reached the end of my college journey. The moment I had pressed submit on my final assignment for one of my required courses had been one of the most freeing ones of my whole life. The urge to both laugh and cry had hit me all at once, and I celebrated in quite an exciting manner with the love of my life.

Bucky. God, I loved that man more than he would ever know. To be quite honest, I did not know if I would have even reached the end of my program without his support. 5 am coffee runs, continuous attempts to make me laugh when my papers drove me to tears, encouraging texts on the days of my in person finals… his support was endless. I could not have ever wished for a more perfect partner.

The joy of finally completing college had slightly dimmed when Bucky had told me two weeks ago that he was scheduled to be out of the country on a mission the week of my commencement ceremony. The heartache in his eyes nearly saddened me more than the fact that he wouldn’t be there at all. He had truly wanted to be there as much as I did. That warmed my heart just as much as him being there.

But still, my heart remained hopeful. My eyes carefully scanned the overwhelming number of people in the confined space, trying to identify the man that I loved amongst them. But my hope slowly depleted as the seconds passed by, unable to find him. A soft sigh escaped my lips as I found my seat, waiting patiently as the ceremony began.

My nerves as I walked across the stage to accept my diploma turned into happiness, finally having accomplished one of the hardest adventures of my life. My next steps post graduation were uncertain, but there was no need to worry about that for now. The only thing I knew was that I would have Bucky by my side. There was no need to worry about the future with that in mind.

Following a few last parting words from our university’s president, we were released from the stadium. With a few parting goodbyes to my close friends, I emerged from the tunnel to where the crowd waited to greet their graduates. I watched with a small smile as all my peers met with their families, the sound of laughter and the sight of smiles filling the space. With one last look, I turned to make my way back to my car to make my drive home. But the feeling of arms around my waist caused me to stop, my heart nearly stopping in my chest as I heard an all too familiar chuckle from behind me.

“You weren’t really going to leave without saying goodbye, were you?” Becky’s voice was soft but raspy in my ear, and a smile grew across my lips before I turned around.

I wrapped my arms tightly around his neck, letting out a watery laugh as I embraced him tightly. “I can’t believe you made it.”

“I wouldn’t miss it for the world, doll.” Bucky mused softly, kissing the top of my head. “I also threatened to kick Sam’s ass if he didn’t get us back in time.”

“You’re too mean to him, you know.” I shake my head with a grin, pulling back to look at him fully. “But just this once, I’m glad you added a little pressure. I’m so happy to see you.”

“’m so happy that I made it back in time.” Bucky cupped my face gently in his hands, his smile bright as he gazed down at me. “I’m so proud of you, baby. You did it!”

“I did it.” I repeated softly, my eyes pricking with tears slightly at his words. “I did it.”

Bucky leaned in to kiss me, just a gentle brush of his lips against mine before pulling away, letting his forehead rest against mine. “Let’s go celebrate you properly, shall we?”

“What did you have in mind?” I inquired with a laugh, taking his hand in mine as we walked towards my car to make our journey to wherever our next destination would be.

“ Just you wait, Y/N.” Bucky chuckled, kissing the side of my head. “It’s a surprise worthy of a college graduate. “

—-

A/N: i know, that ending was ass. I’m sorry😭

#bucky barnes #bucky x reader #bucky x you #bucky imagine #buckybarnes #bucky barnes x you #bucky barnes fluff #bucky barnes x reader #bucky barnes x female reader #marvel imagine #bucky barnes fanfiction #bucky fanfic

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xoxostarzzz · 5 months

Text

Something Stupid like 'I love you'.

- eventually chuuran (and reader)

- slowburn enemies to lovers

- gender neutral reader (gn!reader)

- will have multiple chapters

------

Something Stupid like ‘I love you.’

Another horrible morning on your way to the stupid place people call work, the’Armed Detective agency’. Which, you think is the most stupid, unimportant place in the world. The people you work with the most is a sadistic doctor, two siblings complicated relationship, a maniac, a guy who needs anger management, a guy who looks like he should be retired, children, and an orphan. And, worst of all, a narcissistic childish brat called Ranpo Edogwa, who just swears he’s the best person in the world. And worst of all? Everyone at your godforsaken work decides to support him!

And the enemy of your stupid work is equally horrible. It’s ran by a lolicon, has abused kids, a controlling “mother”, emo siblings, fangirl, grown man with a bowl cut, a ginger. And worst there? Another dude with anger issues, who’s short as can be, has a haircut that looks like a five year old is his barber, another ginger, and wears the lolicon’s old hat. Chuuya Nakahara. He has mood swings like crazy, and is completely insufferable. Both of these guys make your life miserable, except they really don’t try to…

Well, Ranpo totally tries to get on your nerves. But he’s just naturally a brat. And Chuuya has anger issues for days, but that’s also just how he is. So, why do they annoy you so much in particular? They make you feel weird, just them too. You’d never admit it, but the feeling was….

Oh. You’re here. You could tell by the sudden candy wrapper on the ground, you looked to the right, and the Armed Detective Agency building was there, so was Ranpo. One hand on his hip while the other was on the stick of the lollipop in his mouth, eyes closed like always. Your eyes changed to look at him, side glancing, and quickly became more annoyed just at the sight of him.

“Why are you here?”

He snickered, ready to make some smart comment. ‘I work here’, ‘because I’m the greatest detective’. He seriously thought that he was the best, better than everyone, and that everyone envied him. That’s how he is.

“Because I, the greatest detective Ranpo Edogwa, work at the Armed Detective Agency.”

You made a ‘tsk’ sound, as you clacked your tongue down. Not looking at him anymore, he responded exactly like you imagined. In fact, since he’s so “smart”, he probably knew you thought he’d say that, and said that just to annoy you. You were just about to step inside of the building- why would you want to be near him? Especially when he’s making his stupid smart comments. But, no. He decided he wasn’t done yet, and grabbed you by the sleeve.

“They aren’t here yet. They’re in the cafe.”

You rolled your eyes at that, what was he playing at? Why would he help you? He’s too annoying- too bratty, to do that. Or, as he puts it, “too great”- not that he is. You looked towards him again, head turned instead of the measly side glance like before. Deciding to play at his game, and to let him get what he wants. To be honest, it was really just to stop him from whining like a little kid by the end of it.

“All of them? Then why are you here?”

“I went to get my candy, and didn’t know where to go.”

Theres another thing that ticks you off. He, as a grown man, oldest in the Armed Detective Agency- doesn’t know how to get from one place to another. How do you, as a twenty-six year old, not know how to get from one place to another? If you’re so great then lead yourself to the cafe for gods sake.

“And what do you want me to do about that?”

True, what does he expect you to do? Lead him there? As if you’d ever lead someone as annoying as him to the cafe.

“Lead me.”

You could almost feel how happy he was with himself for saying that. He knows you despise him, he knows he’s the worst in the world to you. He just purposely annoys you because you don’t see his “greatness”, it’s ironic.

“What would ever make you think I’d lead you?”

His eyes finally opened, oh how nice of him to let his eyes fall onto yours. It’s the least he could do anyways… But, as if he’d overwork his “ever so great self”, wouldn’t want to have the greatest detective tired, would we? He gave some stupid smirk, as if he could already tell how upset you’re gonna be. He only knows how to make you look dumb and him look even smarter just cause he planned all of this out already. He planned on how to make you look, and seem, as stupid as possible.

“Because Tanizaki locked the door, so you’d be stuck here with me if you don’t. Now lead me.”

He’s really just so annoying. He’s the kinda dude who’d purposely annoy you your whole life just to amuse himself and make himself look even better. He stopped smirking, and just stared at you with his baby puke colored eyes. You groaned, before walking away from the door, clearly having an annoyed walk, you couldn’t make it anymore obvious. The steps were angry, yet slow where it didn’t make you look stupid- just mad. He did some little jump like a five year old, then started following you. One hand now holding the lollipop in it, other fixing his hat.

He watched you walk in front of him, as if he was fascinated… with how horrible you are, obviously. Seriously, who gets that upset just over having to lead the worlds greatest detective? You should be honored! You should thank him! This should be an amazing thing to you, thats how stupid people like you should feel when he tells them to lead him somewhere. Who do you think you are to get mad cause’ you have to do something for the smartest man in the world?

The lolipop went back in his mouth, he stopped fixing his hat. He also had picked up the candy wrapper off of the ground from earlier. No, not out of the goodness of his heart. Just to look at the candy wrapper, and mess around with it. Annoying crinkles from it were heard from behind you, he was probably just trying to annoy you again. He looooves seeing stupid people upset, stupid people like you. The crinkling continued, louder and louder. You eventually got fed up, and spoke in a somewhat louder voice than your usual one, as you side glanced behind you to look at the annoying, horrible man.

“Would you just shut up already?”

He snickered again. Great. What an amazing and communicative response. Really gave you a good answer. You rolled your eyes again, is that all you can do? Stopped by the door entrance, he took this as the perfect opportunity to put the crinkled up, germ ridden, candy wrapper trash, in your shirt. Just from the back, as if it was the most funny and rude thing in the world. He’s so amused and confident with his actions, he happily hummed to himself as he closed his eyes while walking into the cafe with all of the other memberers of this stupid agency.

You were about to walk away, but no. Ranpo had decided to drag you in, your eyes angrily shot to the annoying mastermind infront of you, but your eyes only met the back of his head. You then had also realized, one of the cafe ladies had seen you walk in. Now you didn’t want to make yourself seem rude, or pouty, so you stopped whining. Smiled at the lady softly, just to be slammed down in a seat at the bench of a table, where Ranpo was. So he’s not done annoying you yet? How nice of him.

“Aren’t you happy to be in the cafe with the greatest detective in the world?”

“No.”

“Rude.”

He also completely hated this, but as long as you’re upset, he’s happy. So he just had his chin rest on the palm of his hand, as he looked at the cafe area, where their usuals were being made. Ranpo was getting his usual of the sugariest treat they have there, and the sugariest candy filled drink they have too. Yours was being made too, you got one snack/treat and a drink. If you looked from behind Ranpo (which you wouldn’t, you don’t want to see Ranpo at all), you would see Dazai snickering. He probably took part of this, maybe cause Kunikida couldn’t come today. Whatever.

A lady came over and put what you two normally get on the table, you moved as far away from Ranpo as possible as you ate. He ignored it, and happily ate his sugary junk while his eyes were closed. He completely ignored you now that sweets was in the question, no wonder he’s single. You eventually finished your food, you had to make sure you didn’t look at him or else you’d not be able to finish it at all. You took the drink, and looked out the window, not looking at him at all. He took note of this, and said,

“You’re supposed to agknowledge me.”

You looked at him for once, clearly unhappy by that statement. He dragged you here, against your will, and still has the nerve to complain about you not wanting anything to with it, or him? And he swears he’s smart, if he really is that smart- why can’t he just leave you alone for once?

“Oh I’m sorry, princess. How is your food?”

“Was that that hard to do?”

“Yes.”

He rolled his eyes this time, before quickly changing his attitude. He happily hummed, and went back to his sweets. You sighed, and looked out the window again.

You’re gonna be here for a while, huh?

#bsd chuuya #bungou stray dogs chuuya #chuuya nakahara #chuya nakahara #fluff #ranpo edogawa #bsd ranpo #ranpo x reader #bungou stray dogs ranpo #ranpo x you #ranpo x y/n #chuuran #ranchuu

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vellichxrr6782 · 2 years

Text

— BAD IDEA.

character[s] — scaramouche. theme & genre — making out, suggestive, scaramouche's usual [mild] cursing. cw/tw — none. word count — 1002 words. a/n — he deserves it.

in every way possible, this would have seemed like a bad idea.

"god, you're so damn impatient, aren't you?" the man in front of you grit his teeth, as you held onto his waist tightly, stumbling into your house.

i mean, who has the guts to get on the balladeer's nerves till he snaps? the answer was you. you feared nothing, it seemed. not even scaramouche's anger. which is why now, you've stumbled into your room, clinging onto his shirt for the life of you, unable to keep your sight off his soft lips.

"i think i can," you breathed out, "i think i can say the same for you." you crashed onto the sofa, leaning against the plush leather. scaramouche hovered above your body, looking down at you. "besides, scara, you were the one who kissed me first. it's like you're almost begging for me to do this."

in every way possible, this would have seemed like a bad idea, but you didn't care, to be quite honest. because bad ideas seem to come to you naturally, when you're in love with a short, angry harbinger who sends death threats on a daily basis.

"someone's being really damn bold, huh?" he ran his fingers against your collarbone, slowly tracing your chin. "someone should teach you what to do with that mouth of yours."

you smirked, a mischievous glint in your eyes, "oh? will you?"

he merely let out a scoff. "who else will?" he remarked, holding up your face to meet his eyes.

his lips crashed onto yours within a second, and you gripped onto his shoulders for support. scaramouche's lips were unbelievably soft, his figure fit in your hands perfectly, as if he was sculpted by a god.

his hands travelled down your spine, giving you shivers. his touch was so incredibly powerful, as if he was commanding your every move.

he pulled away, hesitantly. a string of saliva connected the both of you, and he wiped his lips with his thumb. breathing heavily, scaramouche pushed you down, pressing kisses against your bare neck. he trailed towards your jawline, and you wrapped your arms around his waist.

"you're so needy," you chuckled, and scaramouche rolled his eyes.

"you're enjoying this too, so don't tell me that." he ran a finger over your lips, eyes narrowing as he looked down at you. "i told you to stay away from me, but you dare approach me once more?"

"love, you're addicting." you said, shuffling your legs to position yourself properly. "you can't blame me for wanting to come back to you, again, and again, and again."

"you won't give up, will you?"

"even if you do, i sure won't. cause whenever you walk away, i know you'll come right back." you grinned, and scaramouche felt his chest grow warm. he frowned, trying to suppress a smile.

"fine, do as you please." he muttered.

he continued with his endeavours, passionately covering every inch of you with him. his lips traced your collarbones, trailing down to your shoulders. his fearsome gaze suddenly melted into a look of fragility and broken-heartedness, as if he was afraid he would fall. fall and never be able to come back.

you caught yourself staring deep into his eyes, trying to decipher whatever heaps and bundles of secrets he had hidden within his being. he cupped your cheeks, his usually firm touch suddenly gentle as he took your visage into his mind, every part of yours imprinted in his head.

you didn't realise you were staring until scaramouche smirked, his voice low. "outright staring, are we? use your damn mouth instead of talking to me with your eyes." he was back to his usual demeanour, and your ears felt warm.

breathlessly, you responded with your lips meeting his once again. not a single second was spared, not a single page left unturned. you ran your hands through scaramouche's soft hair, placing your lips on his forehead.

goosebumps formed all over your skin from his touch, and you struggled to hold onto him, switching the placement of your hands over and over again. scaramouche intertwines his soft, porcelain-like hands with yours, pressing a chaste kiss to your knuckles, and then your palm. he muttered something under his breath, breathing out against your skin.

he was warm from the sudden affection, you could feel. perhaps he was embarrassed, or euphoric, or both. you wrapped your fingers around his tightly, unwilling to let go.

scaramouche's violet eyes, bright like his electro vision, peered into your soul, sending sparks flying through your veins, coursing as they made their way. he looked up, hesitant to meet your gaze.

as much as he didn't want to admit it, but his heart was swelling with uncontrollable emotions, unfamiliarity in the most beautiful sense. he was so curious, so helplessly and utterly enamoured by your very presence. despite his harsh beliefs against the archons, he nevertheless uttered a silent prayer for help. he needed help, considering how dangerously allured by you. archons, save him.

"so pretty," you breathed, affectionately smiling, and he scoffed quietly, his cheeks flushed with red.

"you're so pretty." you repeated, leaning your head against his chest. you could hear each beat of his heart, pounding in a captivating rhythm. scaramouche wrapped his arms around your waist, his head buried in your neck.

he thought he would be vulnerable if he ever opened up, but you made him feel so sheltered, that he was sure he would never get hurt again. you made him feel so overwhelmed by himself, by you and by every single thing you made him feel. you made him feel like he was finally, finally worth something.

a ghost of a smile on his face, eyes filled with nothing but endearment and fondness, a touch of tenderness and every beautiful word he could think of was never enough to describe how you made him feel. words were never, and would never be enough.

"everything about me is unparalleled to you."

published on; 17th october, 2022 writing belongs to @/vellichxrr6782 on tumblr.

#[🔖 vellichxrr writes ]#scaramouche #scaramouche x reader #scaramouche x y/n #scaramouche fanfic #scaramouche genshin impact #genshin x reader #genshin impact #genshin impact scaramouche #scara #scara x reader #the balladeer #kunikuzushi #genshin scaramouche #genshin scara #genshin impact x reader

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His Star - His Queen [Chapter 9 - Think Twice]

Impero tibi

Summary: You're scheming away. But so is the Ascendant. Are you sure you can get out of the palace before his plans come to fruition? Can you outscheme a godking? What will you do when you're free? Can you leave things as they are? How ambitious are you?

Link to the Tumblr Chapter Index

Warnings/Advisories: Sneaky sneak, eavesdropping, creepy dialogue, creepy vampire godking man. Graphic depictions of violence, blood, abuse of power by persons of authority, police(?) brutality, manipulative behavior

A/N: Can I just say that I love each and every reader? I love your comments, I love your kudos/likes, I love seeing you guys enjoy reading it as much as I enjoy writing it. I love your patience and support.

I love you guys/guys/pals. Thanks for being here and thanks for being you.

-ˋˏ’✄┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈--ˋˏ’✄┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈--ˋˏ’✄┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈-

If you had to be honest with yourself, there was a slight uneasiness that had begun to creep in. Something about waking up by yourself for the first time in a tenday may have that effect. Or was it having breakfast alone? Maybe it was that Malacai was also nowhere to be found, and a new steward watched over your shadow, tracking your every movement. Perhaps that was a blessing in disguise, because this steward was much easier to evade and lose in your quick strides through the palace corridors.

But having to seek out Astarion actively was the final straw that broke your nerves. You'd never let that be known, though. No. Too much was riding on your ability to remain convincingly composed outwardly. All you needed was to ask him about the promise he made to you last night about letting you leave the palace.

You finally discovered him in his grand study, hidden deep amidst towering shelves and cluttered tables of books. Ballar faithfully stood by his side, while Malacai supported a small stack of tomes. Astarion, engrossed in a volume, flipped through its pages with an air of intensity. The atmosphere was thick with the musty scent of aged paper.

Realizing they hadn't noticed you, you quickly sought refuge behind the nearest shelf, straining your ears to catch their conversation. "...and the location merely needs to be of sufficient size," Astarion mumbled, his attention absorbed by the text in front of him. "The necessary energies will be supplied as per our agreement."

With caution, Malacai was the first to respond, his words carefully chosen as he asked, "and you're certain we cannot utilize—"

"Yes." Astarion cuts him off, his voice sharp and clipped, the sound echoing in the dimly lit room. Abruptly, he slams the worn book shut with his one hand, the heavy thud reverberating through the air. A sense of tension lingers, as if the room itself holds its breath. "The sacrament is much less demanding than the ceremony," he explained, his words laced with emphasis. "Performing the ceremony on a vampire is already daunting, but on a mortal? It will require an immense amount of dark magic to ensure its success." A low, rumbling growl that simmered beneath his tone marked his insistence. "And a success, it must be."

Ballar simply cleared his throat. "Theoretically, the success of the sacrament will ensure, if not aid, that the ceremony does not overwhelm—"

Astarion suddenly interrupts again, his fingers grazing the spines of the books as he blindly adds the worn tome in his hand to the ever-growing pile in Malacai's arms. The sound of rustling pages fills the air as he swiftly selects another book from the shelf. "The ceremony can only take place after the wedding and coronation. But the fulfillment of my bargain with the god and goddess, however, is nearly upon us," he asserts. His eyes dart across the shelves, searching for the next tome. "Ballar, fetch the vessel from the vault and bring it, along with the tomes, to my chambers. I will not be disturbed." With a flick of his wrist, he plucks one last book from the shelf, its tattered cover landing with a soft thud atop the towering heap, causing it to sway precariously in Malacai's arms.

Reverently, Ballar bows his back, his body curving gracefully like a bending branch in a perfect display of deference. "As you wish, master. And what of the final specimens we've procured for the ceremony? Would you still like to examine them yourself?" He murmurs, his voice filled with respect. He dares not lift his eyes, his gaze fixated on the ground.

"Of course, you old twit." Astarion scoffs, his voice barely audible as he mutters beneath his breath. His words, laced with frustration, echo softly against the towering shelves and high ceilings of the study. "The contract drafted up for the ceremony is quite clear in its specifications, and I will not settle for anything less than perfection when the time finally comes. It requires three and a half, and while I have two, I still need the others and the final few of the three-thousand five hundred."

As you observe the Ascendant's gaze shifting towards the shelf behind which you're hiding, a surge of urgency propels you to action. Focusing on moving swiftly and soundlessly, you take cautious steps, your shoes barely making a whisper against the floor. Only when you finally reach safety, do you allow yourself a moment to pause and reflect, the echoes of what you just overheard lingering in your mind.

A sacrament and a ceremony, as they called it. Far as you could understand, and it was hard to discern their purpose. Dark magic is an essential component for both, requiring a significant amount. And The Sacrament is fast approaching, whereas the Ceremony is still some time away.

For now, you can let the ceremony slip from your mind and postpone your discussion with the Ascendant about leaving the palace a bit longer. Whatever this sacrament is about, it fills you with a sinking, ominous feeling, like an anchor pulling you down into murky waters. Something is not quite right.

Perhaps this mysterious "vessel" can shed some light on the situation. They said it was in the vault, right? Can you creep down there before Ballar retrieves it? "Lady Ancunín!" the servant called out, her voice echoing through the grand hall.

Your body tenses, ready to sprint away, until the sound of the voice brings relief and familiarity. "Elowen!" You sigh in relief, a smile spreading across your face as you turn to face her. "I thought you were Crimlilly," you mutter under your breath, eyes scanning the room for any sign of her.

"Criella." The tiefling murmurs the correction, her voice carrying a soft undertone. Her eyes sparkle with amusement as she catches the faint flicker of distaste you struggle to conceal for the other tiefling.

As she closes the distance, you nonchalantly shrug your shoulders. "She's another one of Astarion's ever loyal steward spawn to watch my every move. What can I say?" Muttering quietly, a hint of annoyance in your voice.

As if summoned, you hear a voice down the hall, causing Elowen's attention to snap over her shoulder abruptly. "Lady Ancunín, please! Enough of this!" the steward makes her urgent plea of the steward, laden with desperation. In that fleeting moment, a twinge of remorse washes over you. You almost feel bad.

Almost.

In a rush, you swiftly motion over your shoulder, prompting Elowen to follow, and you both dart away in the opposite direction from Crimsy's reach. "Come on, there's something I need to see," you whisper urgently. Your footsteps reverberate through the labyrinthine palace halls as you navigate through the maze-like corridors, making quick decisions at every turn.

Elowen effortlessly matches your stride, her steps light and sure. The scent of polished wood and fresh flowers permeates the air as you traverse the palace, though you've gotten so used to it by now that it almost slips your notice entirely. Her familiarity with the layout is evident in the way she confidently navigates the twists and turns. A result of her training under Malacai. And for a tenday, you were confined to one wing while she had the freedom to explore. It was during this time that she developed a mental map of the place, surpassing your own.

As you walk, the silence is broken only by the faint murmur of distant voices and the occasional creak of the floorboards beneath your feet. With few servants in sight, Elowen leans in closer, her voice barely above a whisper. "What's this about? Did you find Ancunín to ask his permission to leave?" Her words hang in the air, a mix of curiosity and concern.

"I did find him, but..." you say, barely audible above the soft shuffle of your shared footsteps. Frustration laces your words, evident in the way your eyebrows furrow. "Look, I overheard snippets of conversation, snippets that left me restless. I need to see for myself." A sense of impatience tinged with curiosity emanates from your words. Your eyes dart around, searching for a hint to the location of where to turn next. "Do you have any idea where the vault is?"

Upon hearing the question, Elowen grasps your arm, pulling you away from your admittedly aimless wandering and steers you towards the right direction. "We passed it once with Malacai," she mutters. "It's usually concealed by powerful magic. Why, what did you hear?" Now, she takes charge, leading the way with certainty.

"Something they called a sacrament."

"They?"

"Malacai, Ballar and Astarion." You both pause your conversation as you pass two servants dusting a suit of armor. As you exchange a pleasant smile, they acknowledge you with a respectful "mi'lady," their voice filled with deference.

What a surprise, you still hold a deep, unyielding hatred towards it.

Elowen guides you into a secluded corner, far removed from the opulent glow of the chandeliers that have adorned your path thus far. Here, a narrow spiral staircase beckons, descending into an unexplored part of the palace. The air grows colder, sending shivers down your spine, and a sense of unwelcoming fills the darkness. The sound of your footsteps echoes against the crates that lay scattered about, their contents unknown, atop cracked cobblestone floors. Finally, when you both are certain of your solitude, Elowen turns to you and asks, "What lies within the vault, then?"

Navigating the cluttered corridors is considerably easy despite the dress you find yourself trapped in. Those tailors and whatnot can't come fast enough... for once. Despite distractions, you remain fully engaged in the task. "Astarion asked Ballar to bring him something he called the vessel. I'm hoping if I find it, it might help explain at least some of what this sacrament is."

"Allow me to be of assistance then!" A familiar voice echoed through the air, bouncing off the walls and filling the space around you.

In front of you, a figure materializes in a radiant blue light, casting an ethereal glow. His skin glistens with a metallic silver sheen, and his eyes emit a captivating blue luminescence. Struggling to place him, you barely recognize the familiar smile. "Gale?" you cautiously inquire, your gaze filled with apprehension.

"Dekarios, the god of ambition," his voice resonates with a hint of superiority, filling the space. "To address me by my mortal name requires a degree of familiarity with one another we have yet to attain." Well, he certainly overcomplicates his sentences like the Gale you know. "Right this way then." With a grand gesture, he beckons you to follow, his hand cutting through the air. You blink once or twice as Dekarios defies gravity, his body effortlessly levitating above the ground. His legs, rendered obsolete, remain motionless as he glides across the floor with an air of nonchalance, his robes billowing behind him. Can't he just use his damn legs?

"To where?" You ask, your eyes warily studying the strange 'god'. Elowen stands beside you, her posture mirroring your unease. With hesitant steps, the two of you cautiously trail behind him, the sound of your footsteps echoing against the cold stone walls.

"You wish to see The Heart, do you not?" Replies Dekarios with a playful tone.

Now that just changes the question from 'what is the vessel' to 'what is the heart'.

The sound of footsteps reverberates through the frigid corridors, echoing ominously. Ballar and Malacai's voices can be heard in the distance, faint but unmistakable. Elowen's eyes meet yours, reflecting her fear and determination as she tries her damndest not to panic. You can almost taste the metallic tang of anxiety lingering in the air. The flickering torchlight casts eerie shadows on the walls, heightening the tension. Time is of the essence; reaching the vault seems impossible, knowing that those two are also making their way there as well. "Stall them, no matter what it takes."

When she hears your order, her eyes widen, and she instinctively looks down the corridor. "You can't be serious?" she said, her tone incredulous at what you're asking of her.

"Honestly, I wish I was," you whisper, your voice barely touching the damp walls, mingling with the faint sound of distant footsteps echoing through the corridors like the ticking of an old clock. "But if they catch me snooping around down here..." You trail off, leaving the unanswered question to linger in the shadows.

Elowen, with her keen perception, effortlessly catches on with every word you say. Parts of the palace remained off-limits to you, albeit not much of it anymore. The guest quarters, the great hall, dungeons, throne room, unless the Ascendant is with you... and, of course, the service corridors that sprawl underneath the palace. Where you happen to be standing. "Gods, fine, just be sure you find answers." She insists, her voice tinged with a mix of determination and anxiety. Muttering nervous curses under her breath, she vanishes around the corner, retracing your steps back in the direction you came from.

Not-Gale's voice broke the silence, a reminder of his presence. "Shall we continue?" He asked, redirecting your attention to him before he continues to hover away.

Casting a single backward glance, you press on with your self-imposed mission. But you can't resist stealing a glimpse of Gale—Dekarios, you correct yourself. You had assumed only last night that he had passed away in this world, with his human lifespan. What a way to be proven wrong. "Tell me," you ask, curiosity tingling in your voice, "how much do you know about me?"

"Oh, a great deal," he says, his voice carrying a hint of intrigue. The flickering torches cast dancing shadows on the cold stone walls. "Where you're from, how Astarion found you, your plans to escape..." His words hang in the air, sending a shiver down your spine, spoken so casually like his accusation at the end of his sentence wouldn't make your hair stand on end.

But then a soft chuckle escapes his lips, breaking the tension. "You need not fret, Tav," he reassures, his voice dripping with amusement. "I am rather curious where your ambitions will lead," he admits, his tone almost conspiratorial. The sound of distant footsteps echoes in the distance, creating a sense of urgency. How long could Elowen really delay them? Could she give you enough time? "So much so, in fact, that I am willing to offer you this assistance freely," he offers generously, folding his arms behind his back. "Now, come along. The Heart isn't much farther," he urges, his voice fading slightly as he rounds a corner to your right.

As you continue to trail behind his shadow, you can't help but let your curiosity unleash a torrent of questions. "What do you mean you 'want to see where my ambitions lead'? It's whatever gets me out of here."

"Yes, and then what?" Not-Gale asks, his voice filled with a hint of intrigue. You furrow your eyebrows, ready to ask him to elaborate before he does so anyway. "That is what fascinates me," he continued, his voice low and mesmerizing. Not-Gale's eyes gleamed with a mischievous glint as he spoke and glanced over his shoulder at you. His finger wagging in the air, as if tracing invisible threads. "Astarion's reach stretches far and wide, like an endless expanse of starlit sky. But can you escape beyond it before he snatches you back?" The question hung in the air, unanswered. The distant sound of footsteps echoed from the stone corridors behind you, a reminder of the ever-present danger creeping closer to you.

"Can you be certain of where you choose to hide?" The space seemed to grow colder, as if a gust of wind had swept through, carrying a chilling uncertainty with it. "And what of the resistance? Will you join their valiant efforts to bring an end to his tyrannical reign as godking?" His voice grew firmer, resolute. The weight of responsibility settled upon your shoulders, a heavy burden that threatened to crush your spirit. The taste of anxiety lingered on your tongue, mixed with the bitter tang of betrayal.

How could you solve another world's problems when the ones in your own threaten you still? The Absolute, the tadpoles, your friends' dilemmas and the Bhaal temple. "Your Astarion is desperate to retrieve you, to bring you back to your world. But can either of you be sure that my Astarion, the Ascendant, won't simply take you again?" A shiver ran down your spine, as if a cold hand had grazed the back of your neck. The room felt smaller, suffocating, as the walls seemed to close in around you.

"I am curious indeed as I watch and wait to see what moves you make on this intricate lanceboard. And as I observe, I can't help but consider the calculated moves your husband-to-be is making, the ones he has already made, ensuring that you remain exactly where you are." Not-Gale concluded, his words hanging in the air like a challenge. As your gaze fell to your feet, you couldn't help but wonder what fate had in store, both for you and for the world beyond these walls.

If the Ascendant has his way, he'll be the one deciding for you.

At the end of his long-winded response, his choice of words incites your focused mind and eyes to dig daggers into his back. "You know what he's planning? What the sacrament is?" With a hiss of frustration to your words, not ready to launch into how much he knows about your Astarion.

But he shows not even a shred of interest in your anger. "Indeed. He is keen to prevent a repeat of history, so to speak. You are very... dear to him. In ways I have not witnessed in him before." His words dance on the edge of his lips, as if he is lost in thought, before he regains his focus and directs his attention back to you. "But I have said enough. If you wish to unravel his intentions, you must rely on your own cunning." His words hang in the air, pregnant with possibility. Suddenly, he stops abruptly and pivots towards you. "We have arrived," he declares, extending his hand towards you, beckoning you to take it.

Uncertainty gives you pause as you take in your surroundings with a closer eye. The walls, bare and devoid of any doors, stand naked except for the occasional wooden post that supports the ceiling above. "The vault itself remains hidden nearby," Not-Gale nonchalantly explains, his voice carrying a calmness that only adds to your confusion. "We cannot enter through the door without the favor of Godking Astarion. And if we were to bypass his security using my divine power, he would be alerted to our intrusion. However, by reducing the distance of our teleportation, we can lengthen his response time, giving us ample opportunity to locate the heart for your visual observations."

As you try to make sense of his words, you can't help but feel a sense of unease creeping up your spine. The casualness with which Not-Gale carries themselves adds an extra layer of apprehension to this world.

He's so... lifeless. Mechanical.

How terribly did your alternate self fail your friends? Gale. Astarion... What next? Wyll turned on Karlach? Shadowheart killed Lae'zel...?

Shaking your head clear, you cautiously place your hand in the cool, unnaturally firm grip of Not-Gale. In a sudden burst of blue sparks and a sharp snap of his fingers, the world around you transforms. The air crackles with an electric energy, and the scent of which fills your nostrils. As your vision adjusts, you take in the ethereal blue glow emanating from Not-Gale's piercing eyes, and he holds your gaze until you tear your gaze away to survey wherever in the hells you are.

True to his word, you find yourselves in an expansive space that feels like a colossal treasure trove. Endless rows of shelves and display cases greet you. As far as the eye can see, rows upon rows of shelves and display cases stretch out, filled to the brim with an astonishing assortment of items. Glimmering weapons, gleaming armor, and ancient tomes beckoning your attention and... is that a set of tableware?

Not-Gale gracefully extended his arm, tracing a wide circle in the air with his fingertips, conjuring a swirling current of magic. The faint whisper of mystic energy lingered in the air. He gracefully turned, defying gravity as he floated above the ground, his legs unused. With a gentle drift, he began to move away, a faint whisper of enchantment trailing in his wake. His voice resonated with confidence, "Ah yes, right here then." Gesturing with a purposeful elegance towards a small case resting on a nearby table as he folded his arms behind his back once more. A picture of composed authority.

With a hint of uncertainty, you cautiously shifted your gaze between him and the glass display case before you carefully approach it. In it, you... you're not sure what you're looking at.

Resting on a red velvet cushion, molded to its shape, is a long, white gem. Like a rainbow, the colors gracefully glided along the surface, creating a wavelike motion. And it pulsed. The gem actually rhythmically pulsed... beat... like a heart. "This can't..."

"Indeed, it is." Not-Gale confirmed casually, his voice lifted with a hint of satisfaction. "This one," Not-Gale continued, his gaze fixed on the object in front of him, "is pure and the last known of its kind to be loose in mortal hands." His fingers delicately brushed the glass surface of the case. He paused, a faint smile playing on his lips. "It was not easy to obtain," he admitted, his tone tinged with a touch of pride, "less so when the others began their own investigations into our intentions." Not-Gale's eyes narrowed as he appeared to recall the challenges he had faced.

Not-Gale's brows knitted together, his voice growing colder. "But she," he sneered, "has meddled one too many times in the affairs of her betters." The room grew colder, as if a chill had settled in the atmosphere. "Perhaps if she'd have preferred an alternative, wished for others to come to her aid..." Not-Gale's voice trailed off, filled with a blend of menace and delight. "She would not have targeted my followers."

Amidst his boastful remarks and meandering speech, you momentarily find yourself disoriented, unsure of where to even begin with your questions. But you gather your thoughts, inhale deeply, and raise your gaze to meet his intense stare and he turns his head to lock his eyes with yours ."If this is the vessel. The heart. What's its purpose? What makes it so... disquieting that even the gods refuse to let it linger in mortal hands?"

Smiling gently, Not-Gale tilts his head at you. "When activated, it becomes a vessel, capable of containing the very essence of a deity, a tangible manifestation of their godhood that can be passed on to a lesser being." His gaze shifts momentarily, drawn towards the mesmerizing gem before returning to meet your gaze. "Once she returns to Baldur's Gate with the Shadowcarver, he will waste no time in summoning us to the sacrament. There are few Glyphblades left in existence, only one left of the Sharran variety that I know of. And with the scroll to guide his hand—"

"Watch yourself, wizard."

As you swiftly spun around, eerie shadows retreat from the figure of the pale elf. Each measured step he took towards you both seemed to exude an air of anticipation. "You'll spoil the surprise," he muttered, his voice laced with a dangerous undertone. Each word he spoke seemed to drip with an unsettling sense of dread, making her uneasy.

"Godking Ancunín, are you prepared to commence our discussions?" The silver skinned man questions, paying no mind to his earlier conversation with you or Astarion's simmering anger.

The Ascendant raises his hand, motioning for silence and demanding patience. "Once I have spoken with my betrothed, I will join you in my study." His response is firm, and only then does he shift his attention towards you. "Come here to me," He beckoned with a curl of his finger.

With no other option, you reluctantly comply and cautiously approach. Your eyes lock onto the tall elf, standing proudly, flanked by a dark-haired human - your royal Chamberlain. "Ballar, retrieve the vessel," Astarion commands firmly, his voice carrying a sense of authority. "Malacai, meet us in the Great Hall." He continues, his arm snaking around your waist, pulling you closer. There was something strangely comforting, yet unsettling, about his touch. He's not him. He's not your Astarion...

His eyes emit a soft, eerie red glow and shadows dance and twist around you, just as they have done in the past. The sensation is both familiar and unsettling, as if the very fabric of reality is being manipulated. Like the shadows themselves are mere marionettes, obediently dancing on strings to Astarion's malevolent song and content with the melody. Yet, amidst it all, you can't help but notice the absence of Elowen among the two spawn. It crosses your mind that they may have left her outside. Dekarios had mentioned something about needing Astarion's "favor" to gain entry, after all.

As the shadows recede from around you both, revealing the soft golden light that bathes the throne room, a faint scent of polished wood and fresh flowers wafts through the air. Besides the palace guards stationed at their posts along the walls and by the entrances, the throne room is empty. With a lingering gaze, like a hawk surveying its prey, he studies you intently, leaving you uncertain of what emotions lie behind his inscrutable expression. With deliberate grace, he descends the steps of the dais, his footsteps muffled by the plush carpet beneath. Silently instructing you to follow, like an obedient puppy.

"My love, you have been quite unruly, haven't you?" Astarion scolds, his voice carrying a strict but tender tone as you stroll down the elegant, immaculate red carpet that leads to the thrones.

"Evading your steward, hardly touching your meal this morning," he continues, his footsteps hushed by the luxurious carpet as you draw near the exit to the throne room, the guards hastily opening the doors for you. His long, pale fingers ticking off each of your transgressions. One, two.

"Eavesdropping, yes, I knew you were in my library earlier," he adds as you step beyond the threshold and into the bustling halls beyond, his words laced with a mix of annoyance and curiosity. You feel a shiver run down your spine as you pass by a row of towering statues, their cold gazes seeming to follow your every move. Three.

"And now here you are, skulking about through areas of the palace that I explicitly forbid you from entering." He concludes, holding up four of his beautiful digits as he turns his head to you. All the goodwill you've painstakingly cultivated, the trust you've diligently earned, reduced to ruins in the span of a single morning.

You come to a sudden halt and pivot to fully face him. As you open your mouth to speak, your mind races to find the right words to salvage the situation. But before you can utter a single syllable, he abruptly interrupts your thoughts by raising his hand once more, signaling for you to be quiet. "Hush, darling," he interjects, and you can almost taste the frustration in Astarion's strict and firm voice. There is no aggression in his tone, just a hint of disappointment.

"From the moment I claimed you as mine, I knew that teaching you the joys of obedience and submission would be a delicate dance, an arduous and protracted endeavor. Today, while you're out, I want you to reflect on what you will say to explain yourself. And tonight, over dinner, you will answer to me." As he inclines his head towards you, his gaze scrutinizes your every reaction intently, as if studying every nuance.

Combined with the weight of his words, a chilling silence fills the air, leaving you stunned. The question lingers in your mind - is he truly still willing to let you leave? There must be a catch hidden in the depths of his intentions. A surge of tension tightens your muscles, causing your shoulders to ache with the strain.

Suddenly, like a burst of sunlight breaking through dark clouds, understanding floods your mind. "I'm not taking a small army with me into the city." You declare, your voice steady and unwavering. Your eyes narrow, meeting his gaze head-on. Even as you straighten your posture, standing tall despite his towering presence, a flicker of frustration dances across your skin. For all that Bhaal made of you, he couldn't have given you a set of legs a few inches longer?

"But of course," Astarion agreed, his voice smooth and velvety. He raised his hand in a sweeping gesture. The warm light from the enormous chandelier above danced in his playful, scarlet eyes. "Though I must insist you at least take Malacai and Crilla with you." The soft rustle of fabric from his new black and red jacket, to replace the one you ruined, followed his movement - as if emphasizing his point. "I can't have my precious queen wandering about without protection, and Malacai is your personal steward, after all," he added, his hand lingering in the air as if to underscore his statement.

His piercing crimson eyes, like two smoldering embers, soften, their intensity mellowing into a serene gaze. A gentle smile, like the curling petals of a blooming flower, graces his lips as he delicately cradles your cheek. You feel the warmth of his touch, like a soft breeze caressing your skin, and you feel the softness of his thumb, gliding along your skin, reminding you of silk. "You must return by dusk," he murmurs, his voice a melodic whisper that dances in the air. The scent of his breath, a faint hint of mint and musk, tickles your senses. "To prepare for supper," he continues, his words carrying a gentle urgency. "Malacai will ensure you remain on schedule."

A flicker of something dark passes through his once soft eyes, like storm clouds gathering in a moonless night sky. His smile, once warm and inviting, twists into something unsettling, revealing the sharp edges of his fangs, like hidden daggers. It's a warning, a silent command not to test the boundaries of his patience any further than you already have.

"Should you attempt to avoid your stewards as you have today," he warns, his voice dropping to a low growl, "I will personally collect you and bring you home." In that moment, you feel a shiver run down your spine, a blend of fear and curiosity. The atmosphere crackles with tension, a delicate balance between safety and danger.

Taking your silence as acknowledgement, you both resume your leisurely stroll through the grandiose palace, the sound of your footsteps echoing softly against the marble floors. As you turn a corner, your eyes are drawn to the grandeur of the great hall that lies ahead. There, you spot Malacai, his tall figure separating from an intimate embrace with a short, silver-haired half-elf. Her long, braided hair cascades down her back, shimmering in the light.

Your heart skips a beat in anticipation, a rush of excitement coursing through your veins, until their gazes meet yours. "Your Almighty Majesty. Lady Ancunín," she greets with a respectful tone as she addresses you both, her soft voice carrying a hint of reverence. She delicately brushes a stray strand of hair away from her deep green eyes, which radiate warmth and kindness. You notice the roundness of her face and the mismatched shade of her eyes. It dawns on you, a realization that shatters your momentary fantasy - she couldn't possibly be who you thought. If she were somehow still alive, she would be an old woman by now.

"Cirrus. What a surprise." Astarion greets, lifting his arm casually to position it above the waist of his jacket, absentmindedly rubbing his fingers together.

Indeed, what a surprise. You've heard her name before. She's... in charge of summons to the palace or something like that, right? Sending for the tailors, the designers, all of those.

Malacai clears his throat with a hint of awkwardness and clasps his hands together. "Please accept my sincere apologies, your Majesty. I just found out we..." His gaze shifts away, almost sheepishly, "we're expecting."

Wait. A vampire spawn, and a mortal... a dhampir? "That's... wonderful, Malacai. Congratulations. To both of you." You speak with sincerity as a small smile forms on your lips.

"Indeed, such heartfelt congratulations are in order..." Murmurs Astarion faintly, unenthused. He studied the half-elf with a curious, lingering gaze, the slight furrow of the brow, the set of determined shoulders, a hint of resilience sparkling in those half-lidded eyes. Then his attention shifted, sweeping the immediate vicinity with a keen, predatory awareness. "Where's your apprentice, Malacai?"

"Here, your Almighty Majesty!" gasped out the tiefling, her words filled with awe and exhaustion as she suddenly appeared at your side. She doubled over, clutching her chest and struggling to breathe, even though she should couldn't possibly still need to.

"Criella. You're just in time." The dark-haired human greets stoically, as Cirrus and the other steward exchange a silent wave.

The soft brush of a hand on your arm brings your focus back to the Ascendant. "Remember what I said." He reminded, his tone firm. "I will see you at supper."

Elowen. You need to ask after Elowen. She has the sending stone...

But you can't risk asking after her. He'd gotten frustrated recently about how close you are to the cattle. Already, he has limited your encounters with the servants you carefully selected, and you have managed to prevent him from doing the same with Elowen by concealing her true significance to you. Already, he's reduced how often you see the servants you handpicked, and you've kept him from doing the same with Elowen by hiding how important she is to you. And by selling how happy you are with her efforts.

You find it repulsive to even pretend that you're fine with servants, but your options aren't exactly plentiful.

With his hand softly resting on your cheek, Astarion tenderly draws your lips to his, melding them together in a fleeting, delicate kiss. He tastes warm, metallic... sweet... an odd blend teases your mouth from his.

Then he simply lets you go and watches you step back toward Malacai and... you should really get her name right. It's not Crimsy. Definitely not Crimlily.

Casting a quick glance over your shoulder, Astarion catches your eye and responds with a reassuring smile. Silently urging you to continue without uttering a single word.

Beyond the palace doors, a carriage awaits, and the once lively courtyard festival now rests in silence, broken only by the occasional chirping of birds.

It could do with more green, you think. The expanse yearns for a touch of verdure, whispers your mind. A magnificent fountain, its waters dancing merrily into the air, standing proud as the heart of an expansive, emerald field. Surrounding this watery spectacle, a stone-cobbled roundabout provides a path for travelers to weave a circle of admiration as they arrive and depart from Ancunín Palace.

To you, it's too reminiscent of a large, empty street in the city in its current state.

Ignoring the confusion of your stewards when you opt to walk instead. Use your leg to explore the city, unlike a certain alternate version of your friend. Also, you're not sure if being in a carriage would help or harm the efforts of meeting with your Astarion and his new... acquaintances.

Thankfully, your dress is not overly fancy and the two vampire spawns somehow remain inconspicuous. Beyond the odd look from time to time, no one seems to realize who you are as you drift from shop to shop, place to place. Your face hasn't gotten around, it seems.

The sun's descent towards the horizon paints the sky with hues of gold, casting elongated shadows. Time is slipping away, and your patience wears thin. Venturing beyond the palace walls traversing the bustling city streets has exposed you to a plethora of unsettling sights that leave you questioning yourself. Your ambitions. The Ascendant has made effective use of the steel watch, instilling a sense of compliance within the denizens of the city. And not a single member of the Flaming Fist has crossed your path, either.

On one hand, the Godking's rule seems unyielding, following an "if it's not broke" approach. Yet, beneath the surface, there lingers a palpable fear, as if the slightest misstep could shatter the illusion of perfection, prompting desperate measures to mend what is deemed broken.

Ahead of you, you witness a petty thief swiftly severing the purse from a noblewoman's grasp. Sloppy work. The hasty act catches her attention instantly, and she lets out a piercing shriek, echoing through the crowded street. The shrill cry reverberates in your ears as it draws the attention of the nearby guards. They pounce on the hapless culprit like hungry vultures descending upon a decaying carcass. The commotion fills the air with a mix of urgency and suspense, as onlookers gasp and mutter in disbelief.

The thief, desperate to escape, darts into an adjacent alley, with the clamor of their pursuit echoing through the narrow walls.

Considering the crime, the small team of guards that pursued the thief appeared disproportionate, to say the least.

If you're going to break your cover, this is a meaningful approach to take.

Paying no mind to the insistent calls from Malacai and... Criella. That's her name. Right? You quicken your pace to catch up with the guards, their voices fading into the distance.

The guards have already tripped the thief on the ground by the time you get there. With a swift motion, the guards deliver at least one powerful kick, the sound of their boots colliding with the thief's body echoing through the air. A pungent mix of sweat and dirt permeates the scene. "What in the hells is going on here?" you intervene, summoning the authoritative presence you have been trained to possess.

One of the men abruptly turns to face you, his eyes piercing through the air, while the remaining members firmly restrain the thief. "You have the audacity to question the authority of the Howling Wolves?" he snarls, his voice laced with a mixture of arrogance and dominance. The burly figure, his beard wild and untamed, proudly puffs out his chest with a sense of authority, the clinking of his chain-mail echoing off the walls of the dark alleyway. "Then you must not be from around here, little lady. Our commands are enforced by the Godking of Faerun himself."

Regardless of whether or not you were the Ascendant's favorite doll, you'd have gladly faced this bastard head-on and twirled your daggers in his ribcage...

Who says you won't, anyway?

"I saw the crime. It does not compare to the punishment. Clap the bastard in irons, but kicking anyone while they're down is a low I will not tolerate."

"Listen here, you—"

"No," Boom's Criella's voice booms, echoing through the corridor as she finally catches up. The sound reverberates off the cold stone walls, commanding attention. "You listen." Her voice carries an air of authority, demanding respect.

From behind, you feel her presence, a subtle shift in the atmosphere. The weight of her words settles upon you, like a heavy cloak draped over your shoulders. "Before you stands Godking Ancunín's betrothed," her voice resonates, echoing through the stillness. "The queen-to-be." Her declaration hangs in the air, a proclamation that cannot be ignored.

You won't lie. Witnessing the guards' momentarily crestfallen expressions fills you with immense delight. Perhaps being the Ascendant's queen has a perk or two.

"My lady..." the guard's voice quivers, his words falter and are abruptly choked, cut short. With swift and graceful movements, you react, your nimble footwork allowing you to sidestep deftly, out of the way. Avoiding the weight of his collapsing body, the sound of his gasping breaths mixes with the thud as he hits the ground. A pungent metallic scent fills the air as your gaze falls upon the arrow, lodged mercilessly in the back of his neck, the cold steel piercing through his chain mail.

Another arrow slices through the air, its trajectory from above unerring as it buries itself into the unsuspecting face of another guard. The nimble thief springs upwards, their movements quick and precise, as they swiftly wrap their arms around the burly guard's chin. The sound of a sickening crack reverberates through the air as the thief coldly snaps the guard's neck.

"Lady Ancu—!" cries out the tiefling behind you. As you swiftly pivot, your eyes capture the horrific sight of a stake piercing through her chest, blood oozing from the wound. Her once vibrant eyes lose their luster, glossing over with a vacant stare. A solitary tear trickles down her red cheek, glistening in the dim light. A raspy whisper escapes her trembling lips, "L...lady..." barely audible amidst the agony, as crimson liquid spills from her mouth, staining her chin. Gradually, she collapses to her knees, her body crumpling into a lifeless heap on her side,

A petite halfling, concealed behind Criella all along, swiftly pulls out the stake from her limp body. "You made it. Good." she remarks, her gaze fixed downwards as she gently pats the spawns pockets. The faint scent of fresh earth lingers, mingling with the metallic tang of blood. "Morning can provide you with all the necessary details." She says without so much as looking up, voice calm but tinged with weariness.

A hint of curiosity dances in your eyes, accompanied by an arch in your eyebrow. "Morning?"

"That'd be yours truly," the thief says behind you. In one swift and smooth motion, they flipped off their cowl, revealing a breathtaking half-elf with shimmering golden hair and striking blue eyes, standing just as short as you. "Aster says you can be trusted," she continues, her words flowing like a gentle breeze, unaware of how your heart skips in excitement.

Aster? They mean Astarion, right? He said that there was magic preventing others from recognizing him. Gods, you need to see him. Feel him. Remember him. Where is he? "He's proven invaluable to our cause thus far. We must guide you to a secure refuge before your Royal Steward catches wind of our presence. Once there, we can move you to where you'll be safest." Her words pour out in a rush. One of her gloved hands brushes off the dirt from her sleek, obsidian-black armor, paying particular attention to the well-worn shoulder-pads.

The halfling rummages through the spawn's pockets, retrieving something unseen. Her lips remain sealed, but her eyes brim with impatience as they lock onto yours. "But for everyone's sake, we can't risk giving you any hint of our destination," she says firmly as she plunges her hand into her robes, withdrawing a potion of some kind, and thrusts it into your hand.

Reading the label, you absentmindedly brush your thumb against it, leaving a faint smudge of ink. The scent of the potion wafts up, a subtle mix of herbs and spices tickling your nose. The label itself shows wear, with frayed edges from years of use, but the text is still legible. A sleep potion?

Your mind flashes back to yesterday. The slumberthorn vine toxin...

Oh no.

"I can't drink this," you say urgently, "blindfold me, deafen me, do whatever it takes, whatever you want - but you cannot put me to sleep."

While Morning takes a moment to ponder your words, the halfling lets out a groan of frustration. "It tastes as sweet as candy, princess, so just suck it down and swallow. I'm sure you're quite proficient."

"You don't get it, if I'm unconscious—"

"No, you don't get it," growls the halfling, her voice laced with a hint of irritation. Her strong, earthy brown gaze locks onto you, her eyes narrowing as she speaks. "You're in no position to make demands, princess."

As she speaks, her voice carries a subtle, mocking tone. She takes a step closer as she hisses, "Drink it or don't. One option is undeniably easier for you than the other."

Morning tries to intervene, raising her hands in a futile attempt to diffuse the tension and saying, "Spellsong, perhaps we should..." but her words trail off, throwing her hands up when her partner shoots her a scorching glare.

Despite your better judgment, you find yourself rolling your eyes this time at this halflings half-headedness.

"Please, it's not a demand, it's a warning," she pleaded desperately.

The halfling's dark chestnut eyes shimmer, as if capturing the essence of the weave, her delicate hands aglow with its energy. A melodic incantation escapes her lips, "Impero tibi!"

And in an instant, an overwhelming drowsiness drags you down into a deep slumber.

-ˋˏ’✄┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈--ˋˏ’✄┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈--ˋˏ’✄┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈-

A/N: The temptation to name this chapter Ambitions was great, but that would have entirely ruined the God Gale reveal.

Chapter 10 is already in the works. I'll keep you updated on how that's going on my blog. Thank you to everyone who patiently waits and reads every update to this story! I am BEYOND excited to post the next chapter. Like, might even make a custom t-shirt to celebrate it, I'm not even joking. I am so hyped.

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