#infinite is only so big because all of these fucking guys are so tiny. so fucking tiny. bro doesnt even show his face half the time im goin

[acidicpenumbra]

two "ultimate" level douchebags

#shadfinite #infinadow #< they make me reaaaallt mad whys infinite so freak boy can we kill him #shadow the hedgehog #infinite the jackal #sth #sth fanart #sonic the hedgehog #scraparts #infinite is only so big because all of these fucking guys are so tiny. so fucking tiny. bro doesnt even show his face half the time im goin #to give him 1 solid W in being over 3'3. #lord knows he fucking needs one #besides that i feel like jackal being taller than hedgehog makes sense #i dunno part of it is just me doing lineart before realizinf. im just making excuses but it looks better anyway Amen Ok back to your #regularly scheduled sonknux or something. ok thats a lie i only have one posf of them but my wips man #i kind of want to draw knuxouge next but dont expect anythinf because the second i have a specific thing in mind before i start drawing i #will not draw for the next six weeks #should probably do the sth fandom thing and draw that new sonic frontiers sonic but im not doinf that lest i lose my mind. amen brother #anyways whats up chat im eating a sandwich and considering hopping on splatty. replayed sonic 3 earlier did some team sonic racing #touched sonic forces which meant infinite was on my mind #seriously what is wrong eith these two #anyways anyways SHUT UP STOP TYPING SO GODDAMN MUCH ok #i havent played animal crossing new leaf in a week. oopsies #and thats the long ass rant in my tags done my bad

[cursedzucchini]

You know what? Fuck it

DC x DP prompt #3

I think at least lmao.

Anyway! Jason starts making videos on YouTube for one reason or another (is really stressed, no one listens to his rants Abt books who cares). His content is mostly bad books he read or really really really long rants Abt pride and prejudice. Like 3 hours on one tiny detail he noticed on his 214th read through.

He's kinda popular, mostly bc his terrible books videos. He talks Abt the ones that made him the most mad, which coincidentally are mostly romance and supernatural. Like he's one of the well known figures in the supernatural romance critique group (whcih is pretty small, but well). (Also he doesn't show his face on camera, bc secret identity and stuff, it's just his voice over a video of something mundane, like the sky or a room in which is a fly or something)

And now this can go two ways, that i can think of (w dead on main in mind at least)

1) one day Jason finds a book which is supernatural romance and is actually good. It has a kidna cliche system for the supernatural stuff, but with a refreshing twist. The characters have depts and flaws, yet are still very likable. The plot is actually interesting and overall the story's theme is death, not belonging anywhere and overall stuff that is very close to Jason's heart. The story doesn't shy away from violence and it is suprisingly accurate.

(I'm.gonna reblog this w pretty long idea of what this book could be Abt, bc i don't wanna annoy ppl lol)

Anyway Jason kinda falls in love w it, and it becomes famous for being the first novel Jason rated positively or something.

Meanwhile Danny, who was told by jazz writing is good way to get his feeling out, and just wanted to make a quick buck, is really fucking confused how tf did his book become so popular and who tf is this nerd who rates books for a living.

(basically big fan Jason and suspicious/awkward Danny lmao)

2) there is a famous series on Jason profile. It's the worst fucking series he ever read and it's just fucking awful. All the characters are fucking terrible, always going on and on about one thing, the romance sucks in a way that isnt even funny. Jason would love to believe some wrote this as a joke, if it wasn't for the absolute cringefest this was, and it wasn't a whole ass series!! Like who writes 12 books for a joke?

Danny ducking Fenton that's who. Dude was so ducking annoyed at his rogues, he threatened them w writing a terrible romance novels abt them. The ghosts, knowing his terrible grade in literature backed off for a moment, before someone crossed the line. And write Danny did. It was the worst thing he had ever written, the love interest was perfect caricature yet still faithfully go the original. And Danny, because fuck them he lost sommuch sleep over that one prank, decided to publish it. (The book was pretty thin so it didn't take that much time writing it). Unfortunately it became immensely popular in the infinite realm. So the ghosts started crossing lines on purpose. Before Danny figured it out, he had already published his fifth book and was writing another three. After some bargaining, getting a book written Abt them as a piece of shit love interest became a reward.

And while yeah, he had to say his writing was terrible and the books sucked, some small part of him was kinda proud y'know? Like a mother of her twelve ugly as fuck toddlers.

So when he saw some nerd on the internet not only shit talk his book, but also get money of it?

Danny decided to haunt him (just like his books did him, now that everyone knew Abt them thanks to this guy)

(enemies (sorta it's not that serious tho) to lovers ala terrible writer Danny who hates his books and kinda famous YouTuber hasn't who also hates Danny's books)

--

Fuck this is way too long wtf. Anyway imma reblog this w 1) book idea. Might add whatever i think the twelve books could be Abt. Pls if u want to add anything to this pls do!!

#dc x dp #dp x dc #dp x dc crossover #crossover #dcxdp #dp x dc writing prompt #jason todd #danny fenton #writing prompt #dead on main #youtuber jason #jason the youtuber lmao #writer danny #they r so dumb wtf #also i imagine batfam doesnt know and they find out by either jason crying abt how good this book is and how he needs to meet the author #and how he needs to make a video abt it or 2) the same thing but hes pissed off bc he juzt spend his time to read that abomination and #just wants to kill danny lmao #im not sorry #ghost zone #also i imagine the first one to get a book abt them is kitty w johny 13 as a guest and its just romeo ajd juliet parody #in jasons words the bike has the most personality lmao

[rmoonstoner]

Lucky Dip

Miguel O'Hara x fem!mutant!reader (Gambit's sister, co-leader of the Thieves Guild.)

Warnings:

18+, size kink, size difference, chase kink, pie eating, p in v sex, cream pie, biting and scratching, mentions of blood from the biting and scratching, pain kink, praising the reader, teasing, slight rope bondage(webbing)

Mutant powers were chosen at random, using a 20 sided dice, 3 times. Speed, teleportation, and luck. Seems fitting for the sister of the gambling cajun, Gambit.

Note:

As it's a one shot, I didn't bother with forcing Miguel to say shock. In this, he swears like a normie.

***

Something definitely was not right in the Thieves Guild. Your brother, Remy, had been training new recruits for the past two weeks. Normally that wasn't a problem, but the X-Men had called out of the blue and specifically requested his assistance. They actually requested both of you, but you weren't too keen on going with him after the last time.

The last time you went, Hank had taken every chance he got to see if your luck was as infinite as Remy had claimed. He and Logan even picked up the habit of doing the Speed Ball special to you, without warning, or just outright throwing random shit at you to see if they could hit you.

As fun as it was being tossed around like a rag doll, it wasn't exactly the type of attention that you wanted.

So, with Remy leaving for whatever mission the X-Men had, that left you in charge of Friday's last class of the day. Then hopefully an entire weekend of lounging around, eating the stash of goodies while your brother was away.

"Now 'member, cher, dere's a big guy on da new recruits roster. He's very strong, an' he's as testy as Logan. Be careful 'round 'em." Your brother cautioned as he subtly pointed at the large man in a white jacket, a pair of glasses on his nose. He was calmly drinking a tiny cup of espresso, all by himself in the cafeteria. He just looked grumpy, a lot like Logan.

"I'll be fine, Remy. You worry too much."

"I mean it. Try not t'get yourself killed, cher. He didn't like it one bit when I hit on 'em. He threatened t'slit my throat if I ever did it again, so maybe you just dun leave him be. Has sharp ass claws, and he has dis sticky shit dat he shoots out of his wrists." Remy said with a froen. You could see he was obviously upset at being turned down and threatened.

"Shut up. You're just salty he refused your advances. Unlike you, I don't make it a habit to hit on the new recruits, or my teammates." You remarked as you jabbed him in the chest. Remy feigned a shocked and innocent expression while putting both of his hands up.

"It's not my fault dat I was born a ten."

"Wow. What the fuck, Rem? It's hard for the members to take you seriously as a leader when you're always such a salacious slut. I can only imagine how insufferable you are when you go work for the Professor."

"You're just jealous Xavier asks me for help, and not you." He said and you rolled your eyes with a huff.

"I think you're jealous that the recruits listen to me better than they listen to you. Sure, exploding shit is cool and all, but I can drop-kick them into any dimension of my choosing because I can teleport! And because of that, I got to go hang out with the Avengers. They are on a higher tier than the X-Men." You gave him a sassy response and he snorted and looked away.

"Ugh, sometimes I tink Kurt would've been a better sis den you. At least he don constantly undermine my authority."

"Kurt talks shit about you behind your back, you saucy wench. He prays for your soul every night. Now that's bad if a priest prays for you, nightly." You shot back and he huffed. A second later, he started to swear up a storm in French as he searched his pockets.

"You alright?"

"I can't find my cocaine. I jus' put it into my coat pocket dis mornin'…"

"Good. You don't need the drugs. You remember what you did the last time you went over to the school with that shit?" You said and Remy just crossed his arms and pouted.

"Xavier forgave me."

***

The class had started, and you weren't surprised to see all the students, except for one, at the back of the class. The one at the front was the guy your brother had warned you about. He was huge, and he looked very grumpy. You decided to just teach a few basic pickpocketing techniques, and hopefully no one would get hurt.

"You son of a bitch!" One advanced student, John, was mad that the new guy hadn't followed the basic rules. Instead of stealthily trying to steal something from John's pocket, the new guy simply lifted John up by the ankles, turned him upside down, and shook him until his pockets were empty. Now John was struggling in the guy's grip, kicking and swearing. You went over and sighed.

"Okay, enough. Put him down. John, take the rest of the class out of here. I need to speak to this guy." You said firmly and the guy dropped John and stood back with his arms crossed while looking exceptionally pleased with himself. John took the others out of the room as he glared at the new guy. Once they left, you turned to look at him.

"What the fuck is your deal, buddy?" You asked as you leaned against the wall.

"John was trying to take my watch. No one touches my watch." He simply said, arms crossed.

Your eyes went to his wrist, seeing a fancy and very high tech looking watch that you would see Tony Stark, Reed Richards, or Hank McCoy wear. You raised a brow and slowly looked at the arm it was on.

He had massive arms and legs, a muscular torso, thick neck, and his face was pretty. You were one hundred percent certain that he had abs for days under that tight fitting white coat he was wearing. He was fine as hell, and you understood why your brother was disappointed that this guy told him a resounding 'No.' with a capital N.

"The whole point of the exercise is to steal something undetected. He would give it back when the exercise is complete. We don't attack our own people for following basic training orders, and we have a code of not stealing from fellow guild members"

"I didn't attack him. I stopped him from stealing from me, then I promptly liberated his belongings."

"Look, that's not how we do shit here, man. Our whole shtick is steal in secret from the rich and undeserving. Not shake the change and drugs out of The Spot." You scolded him and rolled your eyes.

"That's a stupid hero name. Who names themselves 'The Spot?' Sounds as lame as he looks."

"Right. What's your name, anyways?"

"Miguel O'Hara."

"Do you have a hero name? And please don't say Spider-Man, there's already two of those."

"Uh…" He stalled for a moment as he looked away.

"Right. Gotta work on that, then. What's your background? Like, human, Mutant, or…?" You asked while looking at his red eyes, sharp claws, and his funky looking vampire fangs.

"I am classified as a mutate. External forces caused my powers to develop." He said as he explained exactly what his powers were.

"Was it an accident?"

"Sort of. I did this to myself. I was trying to find and antidote to reverse a drug addiction to a drug that once you stop taking it, you die. My boss drugged me, hoping to black mail and keep me on payroll. When that backfired, I fled. That's why I am here. I want to destroy his business and take everything he holds dear." Miguel now looked very angry, with both fists clenched.

"Well, you're not gonna get very far acting like a bag a rabid Wolverines. My brother also doesn't take too kindly on people disrespecting him or myself, or the others he has put in charge of the Thieves Guild." You explained as he shifted and gave you an unreadable look. It was almost threatening.

"Look, Miguel, I don't give a shit if you wanna be here for revenge purposes, but while you're here, you will work as a team with everyone else, or you can get the fuck out of our hair." You said angrily and he tilted his head, a large grin forming on his face.

"What?"

"Nothing."

You suddenly got an idea, and you gave him an evil smirk. It was his turn to be worried and intrigued.

"Tag, you're it. Catch ya later, loser!" You declared and slapped him exceptionally hard on the ass, then darted out the door.

Miguel snarled and was off, chasing after you.

You ran past a few members, warning them to get out of the way as you hopped up the side of an empty elevator shaft and clambered up. About half way up, you could hear the hollow thuds of the metal at the bottom of the shaft, and it was loud!

Not only was it loud, but the vibrations shook you off balance. You almost slipped as you watched Miguel bound up the shaft after you effortlessly.

Your eyes went wide, and you quickly exited the elevator shaft and ran down a few hallways, then came to the stairs and ran down to the next level, and into another room. After, you teleported down to the main training room. There, you crawled up into the vents and found a shortcut to get you up to the roof. Once at the top, you waited for Miguel by watching the spot you came out of. You remembered your brother saying this guy had a good sense of smell, so you figured that he'd be a while since you teleported.

"What are you waiting for?" Miguel's voice surprised you.

"Jesus. Fucking. Christ!" You hissed as you turned around to see him hanging upside down from a billboard. You promptly backed up, tripped over your own feet, and fell back. Before you could hit the ground, Miguel had caught you and was now hunched over your body on his knees.

How did he find you? You were fast, teleported, and had luck on your side. Why the fuck did Lady Luck just suddenly decide to fail you now?

"Guess this means I win. What's my prize?" Miguel said smugly as he leaned down, his face just a mere inch away from yours.

You felt everything heat up as you became very aware of how he was perched over you. He was between your legs, both of his massive arms around you. One hand was firmly on your ass, his fingers grasping you tightly, while the other was holding your neck, fingers on your sensitive pressure points. His torso and hips were flush against yours, feeling like a perfect fit

"Oh, uh…" Your face went hot as you looked away nervously.

"You know, you're hot when you're angry. Even sexier when you're speechless." Miguel's voice rumbled as he forced you to turn your head, then he licked your lower lip. You sucked in a breath and felt him push his hips forward a bit.

So many things raced through your mind at that point. How unprofessional this man was. The audacity of this man that was pushing his huge and hard length against your aching core. How he was daring to do this, to you, the sister of the leader of the Thieves Guild.

And how fucking dare his sexy perfect face be that God damn smug.

He was pretty hot. Like, hot enough to give your brother some serious competition. Remy would not react well to not having any of the attention on him…

But it was nice to have some attention you actually might consider for once. Plus, you were suddenly feeling exceptionally horny.

For some reason.

"You know. I don't like your brother. At all. I honestly don't see how you're related. But you… I like you and I think that I deserve something good for catching you. I was told you're uncatchable." Miguel husked as his hand grabbed your hair and he yanked your head back. You hissed as his mouth smoothed over your throat. You went rigid and squeaked as he licked a line down the column of your neck to your collarbone. You squirmed and wriggled as a small moan escaped you.

"What's the matter? Cat got your tongue?" Miguel hummed as he thrust himself against you. You whimpered and rolled your hips in return, which made him chuckle darkly.

"I'll even make a deal with you. You let me have a taste, and I'll be a good boy for you. I will listen to your orders without question. I won't cause trouble, and I'll even let your playboy brother continue to have his pick of the dating pool." As he spoke, his nose nudged alongside yours. You could feel his lips right there, barely touching you as he breathed hot air into your face. He smelled like spicy coffee and mint.

That wasn't all you could smell.

You could smell something else. His cologne or aftershave. It was woodsy smelling, with a hint of something floral. You smelled the deodorant he was wearing, which surprisingly smelled like fruit. Then the cleaners he used for his clothing, fresh lavender.

All of those smells were intoxicating, comforting, and most definitely arousing. So arousing, you decided to say fuck it and go for it. You deserved it. Remy be damned if he didn't like it.

Instead of answering Miguel, you bucked up and dove your hands into his hair, pulling him in for a heated kiss. You could hear the groan come from deep in his chest as he returned the kiss with much enthusiasm. You pulled on his hair as he moved down to your chest and started to pull at your shirt. Luck decided to spare each button and seam as Miguel tugged it off violently.

He growled when he didn't find a bra underneath and he was quick to find and suck and tug on your nipples with his teeth. You whined loudly as he kept thrusting his pelvis against yours. The way he was doing it was specifically for your benefit, using your groans as cues on where you needed the friction the most. You were almost at the peak, but it wasn't enough.

You suddenly turned the tables and flipped him onto his back, straddling him. He gasped as you grabbed his coat, then teleported it away. Next went his shirt, and you stopped when you saw his hero uniform underneath.

"You weren't kidding about being one of them Spiders." You said as your hands smoothed over the silky smooth fabric.

"I'm not a liar." Miguel purred, his hands finding your hips and squeezing them as he pushed up with his hips.

"Unlike my brother. That's a good trait to have. I like it."

"I have other good traits."

"Really? Such as?"

"I've been told I have a mean tongue punch." He said with hooded eyes as he ran his tongue over his fangs. You blushed and grinned.

"Oh…" You were very intrigued. Miguel returned your grin, his large hands smoothing up and down your sides.

"Si, la Diosa Fortuna." He husked back in Spanish. You loved Spanish, and his voice was absolutely perfect for it. You found yourself grinding down hard, loving the size of him and how he held you against him.

Again, everything was turned upside down, with him hovering over you. You gasped as his hands came down, hooking his fingers into your pockets and yanking them down your legs. He threw them somewhere, you didn't really care where, and he growled when he found your bottom matched the top, too.

No underwear.

"Dios mio…" Miguel's eyes went red once he saw you bare. You squirmed, trying to close your legs and hide, but he was quick to place both palms flat on your thighs to keep them spread for him.

"Mierda… Tan Bonita…" He hummed and leaned down to have a closer look, and you felt yourself grow wetter as his breath met with your heated skin. You could hear him inhale and groan.

You tried to sit up, but he grabbed your wrists and pushed them above your head. He grinned and tsked at you as he gave you a slow grind. Another groan came bubbling forth from your throat and you suddenly felt him let go, leaving something warm and sticky on your wrists.

What the..?

You tried to bring your hands up to inspect them, but they were stuck to the concrete. You almost panicked, but Miguel soothed you by gently stroking your thighs. His face slowly dipped down to just under your breasts, placing gentle, feather light kisses to your cold feeling skin. You exhaled slowly, feeling his hands glide down your stomach and to your hips, placing kisses where his fingertips touched.

"I saw you the first day I got here." Miguel rasped as he licked your left hip and squeezed the right with his hand.

"You were busy with Remy, and a few others, playing Poker…" Miguel grinned and looked into your eyes.

"And the smug look on his face as he hit on the guy you were clearly enamored with…" He went on as he switched sides, kissing and licking at your right hip.

"It made me mad, that he didn't respect you enough to leave the guy alone… Even madder when the guy reciprocated his flirtatious advances…" By now he sounded angry, but his touches were still gentle and purposefully focused on your pleasure.

"Which is baffling to me, since you were letting your brother win the card game. I saw your hand. It was the highest the deck can hold, and he was bluffing with a pair of twos…" He whispered loud enough for you to hear as he hoisted one of your legs up and put some of his webbing on your ankle. He did the same to the other leg, then connected the two, before finally chuckling at his handiwork.

"And I absolutely loved how that flipped the petty switch on in you. Your body language changed just enough for me to notice that you weren't letting him steal your crush aaand the win from you." He smirked and ducked his head under the makeshift rope, so it and your feet were now behind his head, the backs of your knees draped over his shoulders. He sighed and kissed your thighs as his hands cupped your ass, giving it a hefty groping.

"You slammed those cards down, glared at him, then took his comical looking little sack of treasure. I enjoyed seeing the joy drain from his stupid purple and black eyes as the dude that you two were flirting with tried to switch back to you, only for you to throw the cards in his face and vanish. That was wild to see. You know your worth, and that's so fucking hot." Miguel spoke between wet sloppy kisses all over your thighs and hips. He seemed pleased with the small yelps and gasps that came from you.

"You make such pretty little noises… And I haven't even had a taste of your sweet nectar yet… Which, by the way, smells irresistible…" He purred out, face getting right close to your core.

"I want to hear you make a lot more noises for me…" Miguel hummed, right before he went in for a teasing lick.

You felt your breath catch as his tongue slipped along your wet hole. He made a deep groan as he pressed his face closer, shoving his tongue inside and wriggling it around. The action was so sudden, you bucked. He was prepared for that and he held you down firmly as he licked upwards and rubbed his nose into your clit.

"Ah, fuck! Miguel…" You kept trying to move your hands, frequently forgetting he had them bound.

He hummed and moved a hand down between your legs as he moved his tongue up to your clit, sucking it in between his lips while his fingers quickly replaced his tongue.

One finger slid in easy enough, but it was a large finger. He probed and prodded you, then slipped another inside to scissor them until he found that sweet spot that would make you arch and moan.

He felt so good!

"You taste so good…" He mumbled while slurping at your clit, fingers slowly stroking your gspot.

You whined and squirmed more, hands making fists, face scrunching up in ecstacy as you peered at him through half hooded eyes. His tongue swirled up and down, pushing in and lapping at your sensitive bud. Your knees shook, eyes rolling back as you arched even more for him.

Just a little bit more…

Miguel decided that now was a good time to pull away. You groaned in disappointment and thrashed a bit to let him know you were displeased with him suddenly stopping. At least he kept his thick fingers inside of you, but he refused to budge them. He looked you in the eye and grinned while he slowly licked his lips and fangs.

"I want more of you." He leaned in and husked into your ear. You felt a shiver ripple through you, right down to your throbbing cunt.

"Miguel… Please… Stop teasing me…" You softly begged him as you clenched around his fingers. He hummed and nodded, then proceeded to wriggle his torso between your legs, so your roped up feet would stay wrapped around his waist.

"What do you want from me, hermosa?" Miguel asked while he slowly undid his belt and pants. Your eyes carefully watched him while you subconsciously licked your lower lip.

"Show me the rest of that fucking suit of yours. Please?" Your voice was full of need as you struggled with your confines.

Truth be told, you could break out of them, if you wanted to, but the thought of being dominated like this was thrilling. Miguel was proving to be quite the asset, because he was exceptionally great with that mouth of his. He hadn't even poked you with his teeth, thank the Gods. You could even swear his tongue was longer than a normal person's should be.

Miguel smirked at you and he shucked his pants real quick with a kick behind him. That left him standing in that blue and red. Your eyes raked down his form once more, going wide when you saw the bulge between his impressive thighs.

"I take it you like what you see?" He purred as the suit slowly crumbled away into a fine holographic dust, leaving him naked, aside from his footwear. Every muscle, curve, and dip was on display, and you groaned as he reached down to cup your face. His other hand gripped his leaking cock, and he pressed it against your opening, sliding it up and down your slick folds.

"Yes…. Please?" You gave him a pleading look as you lifted your hips, trying to encourage him to slip inside.

Miguel's eyes narrowed, hand slowly going down your body to your dripping center. He pressed his thumb over your clit and began to push himself in bit by glorious bit. You sucked in a deep breath as the head of his cock sank deeper and deeper, and quickly exhaled as he pushed himself to sit fully inside of you. Your mouth was wide open, eyes nearly shut with tears leaking down your cheeks at how much he was stretching you.

"Mierda… So tight… So wet…" He hunched down to whisper in your ear as he patiently waited for you to adjust and give him the go ahead. You controlled your breathing, feeling him whisper his praises as he gently stroked your thighs.

"So good… Your pussy feels so good… Amazing… You can take it…" His voice was rough and low, almost gravelly as he nipped your neck just behind your ear. You whined, moaned, and gasped as he dragged his fangs along your skin. He felt you flutter around him and he drew back just enough to look into your eyes.

"Miguel, please… Please, fuck me…" You breathed out as you ground your pelvis into his. Miguel groaned, his hands going down to grab at your backside, pulling you up as he sat on his knees. It was a bit awkward with your hands still stuck to the roof, but it was worth it with how much deeper he seemed to fit.

"Si, si… Just hold on…" He replied and then started to thrust in a heavy rhythm. He was testing to see how you felt and you answered him with a groan and writhed as he went harder. You could hear how wet you wet for him.

"You like that, yeah? Being fucked like this?" Miguel growled as he increased the pace. You weren't able to reply as he slammed hard against that sweet spot. You could only moan loudly and you came. You convulsed as he chose to keep pushing against that spongy mass of nerves.

Miguel was quick to stimulate your clit once more as he went faster, drawing another orgasm from you too quickly. You shook, thrashing as you yelped. He adored the noises you made, how you whined for him as he hit that spot especially hard, or how you gasped and barely could breathe when he decided to push you tightly down against the concrete and drag himself especially slow, teasing you.

"Such a good girl… Can I come inside?" He groaned as he went in and nudged his nose against yours.

"Y-yes… Oh Gods… P-please… Please fill me…" You managed to reply between strangled breathes and drawn out moans. Miguel grunted and his lips crashed against yours as he hungrily kissed you and started to go even harder.

You felt him pulse and twitch the closer he got. You couldn't do much but wriggle in his grasp as he moved on to your neck sucking and licking your skin. His teeth dug in a bit more as his claws gripped your hips, both just barely breaking the skin.

"So good… Gonna fill you…. Fuck…" He mumbled feverishly as he worked his pelvis hard against yours, making sure to rub your clit as he pushed in all the way. His teeth sank into your flesh, claws digging in as his cock spurted a thick load and painted your walls. You felt how warm it was, the rush of his fluids as he kept coming, pumping more and more into you. It got to the point where you started to feel it leaking down your ass, pooling under you as he started to move once more.

"More… One more…" He mumbled and kissed you hard. You could taste your blood on his lips as he dove his tongue in and amped up the speed of his hips again. You groaned and started to yelp as he fucked you hard a fast.

"Your hands… Scratch me…" He was desperate to feel your hands on him again, so he reached up and slashed the webs, freeing your hands. You quickly brought them down to his shoulders and dug them in, causing him to hiss out a loud moan.

"Like that, harder…" His voice cracked as you did what he asked and dragged them down to his ass, leaving angry lines in your wake.

He shuddered and suddenly twisted your body, and you heard the sound of the webbing snap at your feet. He somehow got your left leg straddled with his, with your right being put over his shoulder, one of his arms holding it in place, all while keeping his throbbing cock inside of you. He panted hard as he pushed in, somehow getting it deeper with each thrust.

"Oh fuck, so deep, Miguel, fuck…" You panted as you watched his face, with him damn near snarling as he looked at you intensely.

"Gonna put more come in ya… Gonna… Gonna…" He started to trail off muttering in Spanish as his movements got sloppily. He brought a hand down to rub at you, his face turning to your leg, tongue licking a stripe from your ankle to your calf, his eyes never leaving yours. You dug your fingers in harder, pulling him in closer as the obscene squelching noises got louder along with your moans.

"This is the best pussy I've ever fucking had…" He managed to get out, before the Spanish came spilling forth in a jumbled mess. His face twisted into sheer ecstacy as he slammed into you hard and released another fat load into you.

This time you got to see his expression as he came. He was gorgeous and sexy as his brows furrowed, eyes shut with tears streaming from the corners of his eyes. His mouth was divine, with him chewing on half of his lip, one fang hanging over it. His nose was crinkled just a bit, and his cheeks were blushed out on his lovely cheekbones.

He looked like a marble Renaissance statue of a God.

You felt yourself let go again, coming hard along with him. He made a whimpering noise as you clamped around him, and he brought you both to rest on his back, you on his chest. You both stilled, only the sound your heavy breaths filling the night air.

"Wow, that was amazing…" Miguel murmured as he kissed the top of your head. You hummed and snuggled in a bit closer.

"It sure was. I suppose you're going to rub this in my brother's face when he gets back?" You asked. He chuckled and patted your ass.

"That depends "

"On what?"

"If he tries to hit on me again, I'm definitely gonna rub it in his face, along with the fact that I stole this from him, and he didn't even notice." He grinned as he dug into his jacket beside him and showed you a small gold pill box. Your eyes went wide and you gasped.

"Miguel! You didn't!?"

"Sure did. Took it while he was busy smooth talking that brunette with the white streak in her hair. She saw me take it from him, too, and she didn't tell him. Dunno why."

"Oh, her? That's Rogue. Remy has the hots for her, but she keeps turning him down. She can't touch anyone without sucking the life from them... That, and something about him being too sleazy for her or something."

"Oh man, if he doesn't wanna be called sleazy, maybe he should stop hitting on anything with a mouth. I guess I'm doing him a favor, then." He laughed. You rolled your eyes, but knew he was right.

"True. I think he won't ever stop being a horny menace, even if he manages to find a partner."

"Being a horny menace isn't so bad."

"Are you for real, right now?"

"Well I think being a horny menace is okay if it's with one person all the time." He said with a charming grin, those fangs making him look extra alluring.

"Miguel, what are you implying?"

"How about dinner, tonight? Before Remy gets back? I know this amazing little place that has the best Jerk spiced fried potato wedges, and fantastic Belinis."

"A date? That's what you want from me?" You asked, a little surprised he wanted to see you again.

"Yeah. I like you a lot, and you're fun."

"You know what? Sure. Your tongue punching game was very convincing."

***

Note:

I wrote this while in an edible stupor over a few days. When not high, I was at work, escaping my duties by writing this trash and waiting for the floors and the laundry to dry. This was not proofread.

Also, I did not write the reader with the same Cajun accent that Remy has because:

1. That's too much work for a one shot.

2. I envisioned the reader to be biologically related through blood, and were separated young enough for her not to share the accent, but you can disregard this and do you.

***

Tags:

@theaussiedragon @einno-arko @autismsupermusicalassassin @readingfan @missdragon-1 @marvelescvpe @lunar-ghoulie @cicithemess2000 @animesnowstorm @mahbeanz @dafuqelaine @bby-lupin @paranoiac-666 @konniebon @cl0v3r-s0up @seraphine-so-pretty @jupitersmoon167 @butterflypillows @ivystoryweaver @mintellaine @bxdbxtxh15 @badbishsblog @cleothegoldfish @xxmadamjinxx @bitchyexpertprincess @sakurayuki8655-blog @jklkverr

#spiderman 2099 smut #spiderman 2099 x reader #spiderman 2099 #miguel o'hara smut #miguel o'hara x fem!reader #miguel o'hara x you #miguel o'hara x reader #miguel o'hara #miguel spiderverse #atsv miguel #miguel o'hara x y/n #18+ fanfic #18+ content

[ayjaydraws]

thinking about the sonic movie again and realizing sonic is the bad guy

Like what the actual shit bro. Like wtf. Sonic. Bro. What the fuck.

Ok so you yeet this man that you basically don't really know into fucking mushroom hell. Doesn't matter if you knew the planet is habitable or not. You just know this man hunts you because the government wants him to and that he thinks your infinite power source thing that you got going on is pretty epic. Ok so now instead of  being like chill and going like "hey bro how about that just like don't kill me and let me live on peace and for that I might help you with some experiments and lend you a quill now and then how about that" you fucking destroy his machines, let him get physically assaulted multiple times by your new dad and the SLINGSHOT HIM TO ANOTHER PLANET AND YOU ARE JUST CONTENT WITH LEAVING HIM THERE UNTIL HE DIES I GUESS????? WHAT THE ACTUAL SHIT SONIC. Have you ever thought about that there might be someone out there who would kinda be pissed about that guy going missing and being declared non-existant? Like finally having family seems to be such a big thing for you but apparently only your family matters because as soon as someone treats you shitty that means that no one likes him and would be said so it's completely justified to just REMOVE HIS ENTIRE EXISTENCE FROM EARTH MY GOD SONIC YOU OF ALL PEOPLE SHOULD KNOW HOW IT FEELS SO LOSE SOMEONE YOU LOVE WTF YOU RUINED THIS MANS LIFE. HE HAD A RELATIVELY NORMAL LIFE ON EARTH AND YOU JUST YEETED HIM OUT OF THERE JUST LIKE THAT WTF. NO WONDER THIS MAN ENDS UP BEING FUCKED UP. You created your own nemisis sonic. You guys could have been friends. Cool lab buddies doing epic experiments together. You could have been the one to convince him to stop building weapons for the military and actually to something productive that helps humanity or something fun. Sonic this is the man who could have build you a hover board and you just SMASH HIS LIFE INTO TINY LITTLE PIECES. GODDAMMIT SONIC BECAUSE OF YOU HE TALKS TO ROCKS AND STINKS NOW WHAT THE FUCK. I HATE YOU SONIC YOU FUCKING INCOMPREHENSIBLE MORON.YOU DISGUSTING DEMENTED PSYCHOPATH. YOU ASSHOLE.

Wtf, sonic. Wtf.

Sicerly,

Fuck you

#sonic movie #sonic movie 2 #dr robotnik #sonic robotnik #agent stone #movie robotnik #stobotnik #sonic cinematic universe #dr eggman #eggman #sonic #sonic movie fanart #jimbotnik #robotnik fanart #robotnik #sonic the hedgehog #sonic the hedghog movie #ivo robotnik #sonic au #sonic movie au

[elliebear666]

I wrote more of this story because I'm horny and in like with this guy that probably just wants to fuck me.

Fearing I wouldn't be able to trust my own legs to keep me standing, I scooted awkwardly off of the couch and used the coffee table as leverage to stand. Once I was certain I wouldn't fall over, and despite the sick excitement that left my body shaking and my heart racing, I walked to the door. I swore my heart would break free from my chest and I would die then and there. When that didn't happen, I took a deep breath and unlocked and opened the door to my apartment.

And there he was. Tristan, in all his chiseled beauty, dark skin tantalizingly visible from his partially unbuttoned shirt. In that moment, I wanted to jump up and down and scream, lust and excitement finally overtaking my fear and weakness.

"Hey," Tristan said coolly. He smiled, white teeth gleaming in the darkness.

"Hi," I squeaked like a scared mouse, my face burning hot with embarrassment. Of course my body would fail me with the first word I said to him.

"Can I come in?" Tristan asked. "It's cold out here."

"Of course!" I peeped. I stood aside and gestured awkwardly into my apartment.

"Thanks." Tristan ducked his head instinctively as he passed through my apartment's threshold. I knew he was tall, but forgot how tall.

I wanted to ask him a million questions, the thought of each question nibbling anxiously at my consciousness. Instead I said, "Make yourself comfortable," with a blush and a smile. I gulped and exhaled loudly.

Tristan walked leisurely across the room and sat down on the couch. He pulled out his phone and typed something short before putting it away.

"So," I said abashedly. It was hard to meet his gaze. He was smiling, and it made me infinitely nervous. My stomach was tied in a hundred knots, the fluttering of tiny wings turning ominously into a murder of crows.

"So," Tristan replied. "What's up? How have you been?" He rubbed his chin and looked me dead in the eyes. His gaze didn't waver, and he kept my eyes locked in place for what seemed an eternity.

Finally, gathering my wits about me, I managed to say, "Nothing really. I've been writing more. Nothing big but… you know."

"Did you ever write more on that series you mentioned?" He remembered!?

"Um… a little, yeah. Having some writer's block." I laughed nervously and straightened my glasses.

"Damn. That sucks." It seemed like he was genuinely interested. "The writer's block. I've been… working a lot pretty much. Not much else going on."

"Right," I said softly. His eyes roamed my figure as I shifted uncomfortably. "Yeah, me too. Still only part time, but like… that's what I can do."

"Yeah. Um…" Tristan paused and a grin lit up his handsome features. "Are you going to just like… stand by the door?" He laughed.

Oh god. My face ripened, and I shook my head and, perhaps too quickly, hurried to the couch. "Sorry, I'm being weird."

"You don't have to apologize, Beka," Tristan said calmly, his voice soothing and destabilizing both. "And like… you can relax around me. I feel like you're always so nervous when we talk."

Despite his attempts to assuage my anxiety and fear, my face burned like the sun. I wanted to tear my hair out and bash my head repeatedly against the wall. I was acting like such an idiot! "You're right," I said quietly. "My bad I just…"

"You just?"

"I um…" was I really going to say this? My heart jumped about erratically as the fear of bearing my soul to Tristan twisted my insides cruelly. "I like you a lot," I finally blurted out.

Tristen grinned. "I know."

"Like a lot."

"Yeah. I think you're pretty cool too. And you're beautiful…"

I nodded, trying to smile but all my body could do was drain my face until I was as pale as a ghost. "Thanks. You too," was what came out of my mouth. Fuck. Shame tinged my blanched face, and I couldn't help but grin.

"Thanks," Tristan said, still smiling. "So um, you mentioned Netflix?"

Thank god! Something to take my whirling thoughts off of Tristan's handsome face. I wanted to kiss him, desperately, but I needed to play my cards right if I wanted this to become more than a hookup. Unless… that was all he wanted.

[purpledragonbae]

Okay so today I had a big epiphany & it’s essentially a way of life that probably isn’t so popular with the good old logical patriarchy, but to me trumps any amount of logic and actually is the ultimate logic - FOLLOW YOUR JOY. This is the way to fucking live guys. Like it is so infinitely logical because we are on this tiny ass planet for a very short ass time. It makes zero sense to slave away in spaces we hate or relationships that suck or jobs that feel like torture. That’s us choosing to suffer! So like wherever your essence calls you to explore is the ultimate journey. Living based on this will bring so much abundance into your life because everyone wants to be around joy.

I’ve been on a mission to find the ultimate philosophy of life and a couple years ago mastered this way - but careful because the universe has ways of testing this way of life and once you start to live in this frequency, you may suddenly start to experience triggers coming up. These triggers are the tests. They are your vulnerable spots, the bruises and scars that hurt you in the past that are oh so easy to sink back into.

We think we need to heal all these scars but that would take your entire life. Why not transcend this by simply deciding that the past is the fucking past. Why not wake the fuck up to the fact that this is your one life and the most valuable resource is time. Once it is gone, it is gone and there is no going back. This is everyone’s only regret is not having this realization sooner. Everyone regrets the days wasted fighting or feeling sorry for yourself or not embracing this beautiful fucking world and this one chance at experiencing it all.

Don’t fuck up your chance of happiness getting stuck in a loop of “healing”. Trust me - I’ve experimented with this for years now & you will just keep going back to the same pain over and over and reliving it every single time something sparks it. It is so much better to just let it go and follow the things that bring you joy in your life now.

#how to be happy #how to find happiness #joyful living #why am I depressed #why am I not happy #search for happiness #happiness #be happy #depression #anxiety #secret to happiness #secret to life #secret to joy

[haitaniapologist]

FOR YOUR LOVE I'LL DO WHATEVER YOU WANT.

pairings — haitani ran x female!reader.

genre — fluff, smut, a little bit of angst because they are idiots in love.

warnings — an unhealthy obsession with using dashes instead of commas, sentences with strange structures and grammatical errors because english isn’t my first language, sexual content, vaginal sex, fingering, daddy kink, nipple play, strong language, violence, violence between kids, minor character death, an horrible family, implied domestic abuse, stab and knife mentions, SPOILERS for the tenjiku arc and the three deities fight, plot divergence.

word counting — 9.3k

song — bad liar, selena gomez / for you love, maneskin.

notes — first time writing such a long smut scene, so it's probably a bit cringe? idk. but a big big kiss to @markedsweetly who heard my concerns and hyped me up to write this. i made ran and rindou one year apart for plot purposes. reblogs, comments and likes are appreciated <3 i can't write short fics anymore lmao

tagging — @mitsuika @etheralyonn @aetheriaess @sanzu-s and em too i love you guys mwah

THERE'S +18 CONTENT UNDER THE CUT, MINORS DO NOT INTERACT.

you first met the haitani brothers when you were seven.

born and raised in roppongi, with an almost millionaire grandmother, your parents gladly left her your education — while they enjoyed her money in fancy trips to europe or to southern asia, everything to not be caught on her iron grip.

that meant that you — her only grandchild — was the victim of her loud voice and cold gestures. even though all the riches in the world surrounded you while you grew up, you only craved attention. a kind word here and there, sometimes a hug or a kiss on your cheek would be enough. but it seemed that you were never enough for your grandmother and, when you started to use glasses, everything became worse. you weren't her perfect grandchild anymore, and she blames your father's genes for that — of course, hers and her daughter's dna were perfect and would never produce such a failure.

but you liked your glasses. you looked like a smart cartoon character, but your grandmother's words were too painful for a seven year old to endure. and you did what your seven year old mind imagined was the best solution: you ran away from her and from her home.

you didn't know the neighborhood that much, as the old woman never left you wander alone, but your tiny feet brought you to a playground, a place you never had the chance to visit before. you only played inside your grandmother's house, and your heart ached to meet kids your age and scrape your knees like they did. you didn't know what to do first — it seemed like infinite possibilities had opened themselves for you, and you wanted to try them all.

the swing was your favorite of them all. the strange feeling in your tummy from swinging back and forth and seeing the world from different perspectives was the best feeling you ever experienced, but even that couldn’t erase the loneliness you felt. there were some other kids in the playground, and they all seemed to be friends. you wanted to try to socialize with them, but you were too shy to do so.

“hey, four-eyes!” you heard someone calling, and stopped the swing, thinking it was with you — you were the only kid wearing glasses in the playground, or so you thought.

but you weren't, and you watched with horror as two older kids surrounded a boy your age, with a round pair of glasses adorning his face.

it was some sort of camaraderie what you felt for haitani rindou at that moment. you two were the only kids with glasses in the playground, and you couldn't let the older kids bully him because of that. you needed to help him somehow, and an abandoned bat and the stupid courage of a seven-year-old child was what you needed to help the boy in distress. glasses were cute, and if the older kids couldn't understand that, it was their problem!

“where the fuck is your brother?” you heard the taller one ask while you organized your plan in your head. “if you don't tell us where he is, you'll be the one paying for what he did to my bike!” you watched with admiration as the boy only scoffed and returned his eyes to his book.

“listen here, you little shit.” the book was taken away from his hands, and you knew it was the time to act. “you don't understand how bad your situation is? we are older than you, and we’re in two, while you—” the older kid didn't finish his sentence because your bat met his head, making a loud crack sound.

rindou watched with something akin to awe in his violet eyes as a girl with pigtails and a pink skirt beat the shit out of a ten year old bothering him. but he joined you in the fun, too, before the other kid could do anything to you. how could he not? first, he knew ran was going to tease him if word reached him that his little brother was saved by a girl, and second, those boys were bothering him for no reason. ran wasn't the one who stole his bike — he didn't need to steal anything. their parents were rich, for god's sake.

you two punched and kicked the boys until one of them collapsed to the ground, too bruised up to do anything except accept his fate, and the other ran away, too afraid of the rage of two seven year olds with glasses.

rindou watched curiously as you straightened your skirt — he never saw you before, and he and ran knew all the kids in roppongi. “you didn't need to help me.” he was the first one to speak, cleaning his lenses in his shirt.

“geez, is this your way to thank me?” you replied in the same tone of voice, sitting again in the swing.

“i never asked for your help.”

you chuckled at his answer. "but i'm sure you would need it." you shrugged. you didn’t know what urged you to help him — but you wanted to make you dad proud, as he always said you should help those in need when he found time on his “busy” schedule to talk to you. “your glasses are cool. i'm y/l/n y/n.” you offered him your hand.

rindou found you interesting. you seemed like one of those spoiled and preppy kids, but just by the way you kicked that kid's stomach, he knew you were different. “haitani rindou.” he sat in the swing next to you, shaking your hand, the book long forgotten. “your glasses are cool too.”

that handshake was the beginning of the greatest friendship that ever existed, in your and rindou’s opinion.

that afternoon, you and rindou talked about everything. from your favorite cartoons to your home live, you opened yourself to him — you never thought you needed someone to complain about your grandmother to, and rindou made you realize that she was a bitch. he also told you about how absent his parents were, and the only person who took care of him was his older brother. you envied him for having someone as kind as his brother seemed to be in his life.

“we can take care of you!” he blurted out, feeling his cheeks heaten up. “if you want, that is.” rindou added, not looking at you, a pout in his lips.

before you could agree, you heard an unfamiliar voice calling for your newest friend.

“i finally found you, rin! it's time for dinner.”

already? you didn't notice the time passing, too entertained by your chat with the youngest haitani. you pouted. no one seemed to be looking for you, and you're too prideful to go back to your grandma's house again, but you were hungry.

“ran!” rindou exclaimed, his face lighting up at his brother's presence. ran eyed you curiously. he was observing you and his brother chatting for almost half an hour before making his presence known, intrigued as to how you managed to make him open up. rindou wasn’t an extroverted kid, and mainly talked only to ran — though he was a little bit jealous that he wasn’t his brother's only friend anymore — so to know that rindou found a friend for himself, made ran happy. but, judging by the red skin on both of your hands, the oldest haitani knew how you two bonded up. “that guy who thought you stole his bike came to bother me.” rindou updated him on what happened. “me and y/n beated the shit out of them. you should’ve seen how scared they were.”

oh. so you could beat people, huh.

kind of ashamed to meet rindou’s older brother face, you just waved in his direction. the rumbling in your stomach wasn’t helping too, and you knew that if stealing food would be your only option, you would starve to death.

too caught up in your mind, you only noticed ran’s presence when his shoes appeared in your field of vision.

“i’m haitani ran. thank you for helping my brother.” he offered you your hand, just as you did with rindou, and you shook it.

“y/l/n yn.” you answered, lifting your face to meet his eyes. with age, you came to realize that was the moment when you fell in love with him, even though you didn’t know what romantic love was. but you were sure that the first time you looked in haitani ran’s violet hues was when your entire life became doomed, as if they cursed you. even if you tried to find eyes like his — with a longing in them, something that made your heart ache, that made you want to cradle him in your arms and kiss his worries away — you would never be able to find.

haitani ran cursed you with just a look.

that night, ran and rindou took you to their home. their parents were in a business trip, so it was just the two of them in their house. your mind couldn’t comprehend how their parents could have left them alone, without the supervision of an adult, but you envied their freedom. the haitani brothers had wings, while you were clipped by your grandmother the day your parents left you with her.

you told them how your home life was, and ran swore that, someday, he would beat the shit out that cranky ass old woman that made your life so miserable. he didn’t know what came to him to be so protective of you — maybe it was because you helped rindou and he felt in debt with you, but deep down, ran knew that it was because he never wanted to see that sad pout gracing your lips ever again. you were too cute to be sad, and his eight-year-old self blushed when he thought that. rindou even gave him a puzzled look at his reddened cheeks, but ran just shoved the bowl of ramen noodles in his brother’s face.

they fed you and gave you a place to sleep that night, and you didn’t even know how to thank them — because ran and rindou showed you that existed a world that wasn’t dull and cold, with just cruel wolds and punishments when you did something wrong. they showed you that kindness and fun still existed, and you wished you could’ve lived with them forever.

“so.” ran started while he and rindou helped you make the couch a little more comfortable for him to sleep. he was a gentleman, and he would never let a lady sleep on the couch. “do you accept rin’s offer? can we take care of you?”

rindou almost choked on his own spit with his big brother’s words, and they fell into their routine of bantering over what one said. ran almost missed your answer, but, as a teenager, he swore it was the moment he fell in love with you.

“yes!” you said, a full-teeth smile making its way to your lips.

but morning came, with your dad in the door of the haitani house, banging on it desperately.

you didn’t know what to do when he hugged you while crying, just putting your tiny arms around his shoulders. it was at the doorstep of the haitanis that your father showed you, for the first time in months, a sign that he loved you — promising you that he and your mother were divorcing and you would live with him, away from that witch that called herself your grandmother.

ran and rindou watched with confused looks on their faces the scene folding in front of them, but they understood what happened when you called that man “dad” and how tightly he held you.

he was the only one looking for you.

you said goodbye to the brothers with a kiss on their cheeks, thanking them for taking care of you.

you were a bit sad, of course. you enjoyed your time with them, and was afraid that maybe you would never see them again. it would be a shame — when you thought you had finally make friends, you would lose them as if they were dust.

however, in a hot night in the middle of july, after moving in with your father to a house a lot smaller than your grandmother’s — still as fancy as hers, though, because you dad was a rich man still, married or not to your mother — but that you actually felt like home in, you were meet with ran and rindou throwing pebbles at your window.

the smile you gave them could rival the brightness of the sun, in ran's eyes, and that was the start of your late night rendezvous with the brothers.

the friendship you had with both of them was different — it was like you and rindou were cut from the same flesh, siblings from different mothers. you were best friends, and you would do anything to see a smile on rindou's lips. the feeling was mutual, of course. with rindou, you felt that you had someone you could share anything with, without the fear of being judged. with you, rindou found someone that wouldn't make fun of his interests and someone that understood him. you always encouraged him to be more open about his feelings and not stay in his brother's shadow for too long, and he always supported you on your strange hobbies.

however, things with ran were different.

you couldn't call what you two had as friendship. teasing each other was what you did more than anything, and even if sometimes ran said things that would hurt you, you replied with the same venom he used on you. his presence annoyed you, and he said you were an insufferable daddy's little girl — and he was a lanky bastard that didn’t have manners in your eyes. besides that, you still would do anything for him and he would protect you from anything and anyone — both saying it was for rindou's sake.

at twelve and thirteen, rindou and ran were arrested for the murder of the vice president of the largest gang in tokyo, roppongi kyougoku. you didn't know how to react. you knew how violent they could be, sometimes even joined them in their conquest of roppongi and seeing with your own eyes how they fought — it was to kill or to be killed, nothing in between. but you weren't expecting things escalating that much and, of course, you were worried about them. why they, alone, decided to accept a fight with the city's largest gang?

when you visited them in juvie for the first time, asking what happened, rindou said it was because they were challenged by them, and wanted to show to everyone that the haitanis brothers could rule roppongi just fine, without the need of a gang behind them. ran, however, had something else in mind before killing that guy that even rindou didn't know: he overheard the vice president of roppongi kyougoku commenting with the president how you would be a cute whore for them when they ended the haitani brothers.

but he would never tell you that. it would break your heart knowing you were, somehow, responsible for a man's death. but ran couldn't contain the anger inside himself when he overheard them talking so poorly of you and when rindou had the guy between his legs, the oldest haitani extravasated.

that got both him and his brother in juvie, but he would do that again — if that meant protecting you.

your visits were the highlight of their weeks. you were only allowed one day per week by your dad, and they understood why. they were delinquents who didn't have a future, hands only meant to punch and kill, while you had all the opportunities of the world in your soft ones, just waiting to be picked up by you.

but you still stuck alongside them, nonetheless. rindou was your best friend, and ran, well — ran was your first love. you couldn't leave them behind.

they left juvie after almost two years of being in it, and you were there to meet the haitanis when they were released. they were different, somehow, and you couldn't bear yourself to ask what happened to them there. you were well aware of what could've happened, and your heart ached for them. the hug you gave rindou was like water in the middle of a desert, and you hadn't realized how much you missed your best friend in your life. rindou wasn't one to go to school that much — he only went because you pestered him — and when he was away, you noticed that no one could compare to him.

you even though you had got over your silly crush on ran, but only the feeling of his hands hugging your waist was enough for you to know that they were always there.

but he only saw you as a younger sister, the girl with pigtails and pink skirt that bonded with his brother over with by punching some bullies, you were sure of that. he never gave you clues thinking about you in another way, but why, since he left juvie, he was more affectionate with you? kissing your forehead every time he saw you, offering piggy-back rides when you were too tired after spending the night in their company, and even putting his arm over your shoulders when you three were in crowded places.

maybe your mind was just playing tricks with you, making you over analyze things that were just what they were — a brother giving his sister some affection.

you still stuck with them nonetheless, even though their business was becoming more and more dangerous — the haitani brothers could be the kings of roppongi, but you were its princess. your everyday life was still the same, but everything was different. everyone seemed to be afraid of you now, but you couldn’t and wouldn’t complain about it. the feeling of being feared was amazing, and just the thought of you telling something that happened to the haitani brothers was enough to make people afraid to mess with you.

and, of course, the rumors about ran killing that guy because he had badmouthed you was starting to spread — ran didn’t care, and you didn’t believe it.

it was three peaceful — as much as peaceful it could be being friends with the haitani brothers could be — years, and your’s and ran’s feelings were just getting stronger. rindou noticed, being the perceptive boy he was, but every time he tried to bring the subject with both of you, he received two different reactions — your blushing face and high pitched words about ran just seeing you as a sister and you seeing him as a brother, and ran slightly widen eyes, but overall impassive face, dismissing his younger brother.

two idiots. that was what you were. but what could he do? you two weren’t children anymore, and should sit and talk and sort your feelings for each other. he was getting tired of the stolen glances and blushing cheeks and subtle touches. he could endure long make out sessions and whatever more couples did, if that meant that useless pinning would stop.

at seventeen, you became tenjiku’s princess.

you were kind of surprised to know ran and rindou were in a gang, but when rin told you the leader was someone they met in juvie, you understood. you didn’t personally meet the members of the s-62 generation, aside from ran and rindou, but you knew what they were. you even teased rindou about it — he was almost like a kid that didn’t have friends so just hung out with his brother’s ones — but it was just that. they didn’t want to drag you into the darkness of their job, and ran especially forbid rindou to talk too much about them to you. you were too precious to fall in the cobweb of dangerous things they did.

but you met them when tenjiku was formed, and despite everything telling you to not get involved, you found yourself lost in another pair of violet eyes.

your relationship with kurokawa izana wasn’t one for the movies. neither of you loved each other, and he knew when you looked into his eyes you were thinking of someone else — someone he knew was fuming internally every time he kissed you in front of him, or when he was affectionate with you in front of the whole gang but he didn’t care. you helped him relieve stress when he needed, and he helped you forget the eyes that cursed you when you were seven, even if it was for a few moments. it was a mutual benefit relationship, without both parties having feelings for each other. it was what you both needed at the time.

ran, on the other side, was miserable.

no one could know, of course. if izana was the one who made you happy, he was fine with that. but why couldn't it be him? why couldn’t be him receiving your kisses, your hands on his own, or you trapped between his arms? every time he saw you with izana it was like a knife piercing his heart. but maybe that was what love was: a knife, and in loving you, he gave it in your hands and orientated you in what direction you should stab — his chest, and he would gladly bled to death if it was your hands stabbing him.

every time someone asked if he was okay — hell, even shion noticed he wasn’t on his best days — he told he was, and ran though everyone was buying his excuses of waking up with his left foot, but everyone could see the longing reflecting on his eyes when the couple was in the same room as him.

however, the guilt of what you were doing to izana was too much for you to handle. he was such a sweet boy and handled you with the most care in the world, but you wished it was another pair of hands interlaced with yours. another pair of hands running through your skin on moonless nights, another pair of hands caressing your lips and another pair kissing them. you felt as if you committed the biggest sin on earth every time you closed your eyes and imagined ran instead of izana touching you.

but you still cried when kurokawa izana bled to death in front of you, ran’s arms securely wrapped around you and rindou by your side. you didn’t love him as a partner should, but as a friend. izana was there to listen to your late night thoughts when rindou wasn’t, and you cared deeply for him as a friend should.

you stayed with them, watching sorrowfully when ran closed both izana’s and kakucho’s eyes, tears freely falling from your eyes. you said nothing — you couldn’t.

but when the s-62 generation expressed their desire to stay with their leader until the police arrived, you snapped off of your trance.

“no.” it was what you said to rindou.

“no what? this isn’t your choice, y/n.” he replied more harshly than he intended to. you were in a delicate state of vulnerability, but so was he.

you inhaled profoundly, new tears pricking in the corner of your eyes. “are you really going to leave me again, rin?” you asked, your lips quivering and heart clenching. “this time isn’t juvie.” you tried to resonate with him, but rindou wasn’t meeting your eyes. his mind was already made. “then let me stay with you. it’ll be better if i’m with you in jail.”

“y/n, listen to me, okay? we owe it to izana, you don’t. you need to go back home before the cops arrive.” rindou tried to resonate, but the sight of you crying wasn’t helping. he wasn’t the best at dealing with emotions, and when you cried, he normally just held you until you stopped — but you were never crying about him, or trying to make him listen to you. automatically his eyes searched for ran’s, who understood his brother needed help.

“y/n?” ran called for you, scooting closer to where you and his brother were. when you didn’ answer, he tried a different approach. “pretty girl?” he wasn’t one to call you by pet names — rather than daddy’s girl or stinky — but he needed you to listen.

but ran wasn’t ready to see your tear streamed face.

he thought he knew what pain was. he thought pain was when he called for his mother in the middle of the night after a nightmare, only to be met by silence. he thought pain was when he watched rindou getting lost in books rather than socialize with other kids. he thought pain was covering rin’s ears when they’re just kids so he couldn’t hear their parents fighting. heck, he even thought pain was watching you and izana all lovey-dovey in front of him. but nothing could prepare him to see you crying over him and his brother.

“come here.” he called you and you obeyed, feeling the tip of his fingers touching your cheeks, wiping them. you didn’t notice him taking off his gloves. every tear that came down from your eyes was like an ocean on his face, and he swore he would be anything you desired if you returned to smile. “that’s our choice, pretty girl. but we can promise you one thing. are you listening?”

you nodded, leaning into his touch.

“we will come back to you.” still with a hand on your face, he handed you the pair of his gloves. you took as it was something worthy of your worship. with a kiss to your forehead, ran put you on your way home, his heart heavy and hammering in his chest.

he knew he wouldn’t keep his promise.

you deserved so much better, and the adoration in your eyes when you looked at him was the most powerful weapon you had against him.

—

you were met only with rindou when you came to pick the brothers from jail.

the disappointment in your face wasn’t ignored by your best friend, but it was ran’s decision to not indulge in his feelings for you. the youngest haitani tried to talk sense in the oldest mind, but he also didn’t want to listen to ran’s depressing talk about you deserving a man that would give what the best the world had to offer and not the worse, so he let his older brother to his devices. if he wanted to avoid you like the plague, that was ran’s fault.

“ran said he couldn’t wait for you because he needed… to see if our house is still standing.” rindou hated lying to you, but what he could do? ran’s feelings were his business, and he didn’t have enough energy to deal with it.

it was bullshit and you knew it. because you took care of their house when they were away.

you were hurt due to ran’s actions. you didn’t understand what wrong you did that caused him to act as if you didn’t exist, not even sparing a glance your way when you were hanging out with rin in their home, and you felt like a fool thinking your feelings were reciprocated. but the way he held your face on that august day, how gentle he was wiping your tears and how tenderly he kissed your forehead made you think that maybe, just maybe, ran haitani loved you as much you loved him. he even gave you his gloves as a sign of his promise, and just stared at you blankly when you returned them. but you were wrong, of course, and it angered you, and, in turn, you started to avoid him too.

he couldn't pretend that it didn't bother him, because it did, but you were just giving him a taste of his own medicine. however, you were still beside them, even when ran and rindou joined rokuhara tandai — but in contrast with tenjiku, you weren't involved that much with the gang members or its interests. you knew south and kakucho, of course, but you were now a college student and didn't have the same time you did when you were a high schooler. that only added to ran's resolution — you deserved someone who was studying to have a future, and not a gang member like him, that only knew how to kill rather than do mathematics.

it was a rainy day when everything changed.

you were studying for an exam in the haitanis' home — your father was with one of his mistresses and you couldn't focus with their loud moans in your room — when both ran and rindou received a message from south, requesting their presence for a fight. you tried to not sound too worried, especially for ran, when you asked what happened. you knew they were going to be fine, they always promised you that.

you gave rindou your goodbye, murmuring a muffled good luck on his chest, ignoring completely ran — and not seeing how his face winced in longing and a bit of hurt to not receive your hugs. but it was for the best, it was what he told himself.

rindou just rolled his eyes at his brother's and his best friend's antics. he was on the verge of treating you two like kids and lock you in a room until you fucked.

you watched from the window them getting on their bikes, your gaze locking with ran's. it was almost violent, the intensity of it, and anger boiled inside you. he was the one who started to ignore you, and now he looked at you as if you stole all the stars of his universe? you gave ran your middle finger and returned to your books, turning off your cellphone to not be distracted by anything.

fuck him and his violet eyes.

but it was getting late, and they weren't back yet.

you knew you could trust in them. the haitani brothers ruled roppongi alone, and you saw testaments of their strength many times before. but your gut was telling you that something was wrong, and you feared for the worst.

with your cellphone in hands, almost calling rindou to see if everything was alright, you heard the door opening. almost sighing in relief because the brothers were safe, the relief you were feeling soon turned into annoyance.

“ran, for god's sake, get out of the counter, you're wetting my textbooks!” you almost screamed, seeing months of your work being wasted because of ran's recklessness.

he gave you a puzzled look. “as if i care for your textbooks right now, y/n.” ran took a deep breath and you noticed how his face was filled with pain. you furrowed your brow, both in irritation and worry, but ran seemed to interpret that as the first. “well, i'm sorry, miss perfect, but i have other problems right now than thinking about your damn textbooks!”

you rolled your eyes, instinctively going to take the first aid kit they had in the bathroom. when you arrived back in the kitchen, ran was already shirtless. but you were too worried about your textbooks to actually care about that. “oh, yes? what could be more important in your life than my textbooks? your ego as a delinquent that is clearly hurt?” you noticed that he was quite beaten up, and that was unusual for ran. since he killed the vice president of that gang, ran only used his baton during fights. “can you please move over so i can take my books out of here and help you?” you almost pleaded, your hands already making movements they knew since you were eight.

ran scoffed but did what he was told. you smiled at him while putting your textbooks on a safer place, returning to your task at cleaning his wounds.

“my ego isn’t hurt. i still have a long line of girls wanting to fuck me unlike you, who only have eyes to those damn textbooks.” he replied harshly, and you felt as if your heart broke into a million pieces.

yes, you knew that. ran was a beautiful man, with his two colored braids and enigmatic violet eyes — then why did such acknowledgement coming from his mouth hurt you like that? was it because you didn't stand a chance against those girls? because you weren't pretty enough, or hot enough? because you've never been enough for him?

“you jealous? at least my textbooks aren't assholes like you.” you managed to say, but your voice was much weaker than before and you hated how his words had such an effect on you.

you two stayed silent for a few moments, you trying to not shed the tears that were blurring your line of vision, focusing you eyes in the black ink on his chest, and ran heavily breathing, as if being close to you was equivalent to running a marathon.

“y/n.” ran called you, his voice an octave lower. you acted as if you didn't listen to him, keeping your eyes trained on his chest, cleaning another cut. the urge to ask him who did that and to chase that person to the depths of hell for doing that with him was almost consuming you. “look at me.”

you felt his fingertips touching your cheek, and you closed your eyes. his touch was as light as a feather — but it burned you, as if he wanted to leave his mark on your face, to show everyone you were a property of haitani ran. and you almost gave in and opened your eyes, but you would be doomed if you did that. they would curse you, again.

“fuck you, ran.” you spitted, but your voice was too soft for what came from your mouth to be considered an insult. but his name on your tongue was almost like a nectar, too sweet and addicting — you wanted to say it until your voice became hoarse with need for him. you felt ran's lips on your jaw, and a shiver ran down your spine at the feeling of his kisses. “i hate you.”

you felt the vibrations of his chuckle beneath your hands on his chest before you heard it, and the sound of it erupted butterflies in your stomach. then you felt a kiss to the corner of your lips, and you cursed your body for reacting so dearly to him and his touch, your cheeks reddening up. “we both know this is not true, y/n.” ran whispered against your skin, caging you between his arms. there was nowhere you could go now. you nodded your head negatively, and ran chuckled again.

you were too damn adorable with your eyes shut as if ran was a demon offering you a pact, and you were a saint being tempted by him. but maybe he was that, and he couldn't wait to ruin you — especially now that he was aware of your feelings, judging by how you reacted to his words. ran didn't mean to hurt you, too upset with the loss of someone he called a friend and unfortunately lashed out on you when you didn’t deserve it.

but he was determined to make up, and show you that even if he had all the girls in the world at his feet, you were the only one he would ever want.

“no? you hate me?” he mocked you, and you felt his nose brush against yours, his lips mere centimeters from touching your own. “then why don't you look at me, my pretty girl?” he asked in faux curiosity, one of his hands finding its place in the base of your neck. you heart was hammering inside your ribcage, and your lips parted at the possessiveness dripping of his voice. “if you look at my eyes and say that you hate me, i'll leave you alone.”

it was such a tempting offer, but could you do that? did you want to do that? ran was where you always envisioned him in your wildest dreams — towering over you, encaging you with his long arms and lips brushing your own. however, was he just doing that because he wanted his dick wet and you were the closest pussy he had? you didn't want ran to toy with your feelings. you were already so hurt from how he was acting towards you and his words earlier — you were too vulnerable right now, and you hoped he wasn't using that just to get into your pants.

but the way he was holding you, how his breath was fanning in your face and how quickly his heart was beating beneath your hand was proof that he was desperate for a reaction from you. ran never thought he ever felt such need in his entire life, especially to hear words coming from your mouth. he needed to know if you would give yourself to him — because, if you were willing to, he would gladly give and devoted himself entirely to you.

you slowly opened your eyes, adjusting to the kitchen light, and you noticed that ran's face was much closer than you first thought. you could count the small freckles he had in his cheekbones and watched as his pupils winding by the sight of your eyes. it was almost as if he was getting high just for being that closer to you.

“so?” he taunted you, lips brushing against yours.

you were ready to say it, the words tasting like raw onion in your mouth — maybe it wasn't what you wanted, but what you needed. you should sit and talk to ran before anything else. you couldn't give your heart to someone you didn't know if wanted to take care of it.

“i… i want you.”

it was everything ran needed to hear before closing the distance between yours and his lips.

it started gently, as if you both were too afraid it was just a dream and you could wake up anytime, alone and cold in your beds. but, as soon your hands traveled from ran's chest to his shoulders and you came impossible closer to him, something shifted. the kiss became more aggressive, more primal, as if you two were beings led by carnal desire before anything. the hands that was in the back of your neck made their way to your throat, and you gasped when ran gave an experimental squeeze.

that was his excuse to deepen the kiss, and you swore that he ruined any other kiss you've already had.

no one ever kissed you with the same desperation as ran did, with the same desire. as if he was a sinner and you were a goddess promising him forgiveness, as if you were something worthy of endless worship. but, in ran's eyes, you were — the moment his hands touched you skin he felt a little less war torn, and he knew peace, truly peace, having you between his legs and your hands circling his shoulders.

his lips suddenly left yours, and before you could even protest, ran nuzzled his head in your neck, his lips leaving a trail of red marks on your smooth skin. and your hands were in his hair, messing the perfectly styled braids he did every morning, but he couldn't care less. not when you were chanting his name like the most rare breed of nightingale, like a siren who was trying to make him her next prey.

“ran, ran, ran.” you sang, and moaned audibly when he bit down on a particular spot that even you didn't know would feel so good. ran swore that no drug effect could ever compare to you moaning his name like that.

you whined when ran’s lips left your neck, and he cradled your face between his hands, his thumb brushing your swollen lips. he was drinking in the sight of your dishevelled hair, flushed cheeks and chest raising and falling quickly. you were a work of art, and he was the artist. but he was no better, and your pupils were widened of how discomposed he looked — totally different from the calm and smooth ran you knew.

“what is it, my pretty girl? were you calling for me?” he asked in faux sympathy, because he knew what you wanted. but he wanted the words leaving your lips, you begging for him. “what do you want, hmm?”

you inhaled deeply, your senses too numb by his smell. “i want you, ran.” you pleaded, blinking slowly at him.

he smirked at you. “i already know that, y/n. aren't you a big girl with heavy textbooks? use the words you learned in them to answer what i asked.” he mocked you, and you huffed.

as much as you wanted to be a brat, the ache between your legs was too strong to let you spit back at him and lose the chance of making it better. “please, ran. i want your cock inside me, filling me up! please!” hot tears were almost slipping from your eyes, and you wanted nothing more than to make him beg for you. make him moan your name as you were doing with his.

he hummed, and you felt humiliated — you knew he was as desperate as you were, but why weren't you in control of the situation too? “if my girl asked so nicely, who i am to deny her?”

he easily lifted himself from the counter with you on his arms, and you hooked your legs around his waist, using this opportunity to pamper his neck with kisses — biting here and there, trying to extract gasps or moans from him. and when you did, you swore it was the most amazing sound that graced your ears in a long time.

“fuck, y/n.” ran moaned audibly, closing the door of his room with his feet, and the sound went straight to your core. you smiled proudly at the sight of the red skin of your neck, knowing that it would leave a bruise. “admiring your handwork, baby?” he teased you and you smirked up to him, feeling your back touch the mattress.

“it’ll show the line of whores after you who you belong to, baby.”

ran was caught by surprise by your words, but something inside him flamed up. it was good to see this new side of you — if ran knew how possessive you could get just by an assumption, he’d said those words to you sooner. before you could try to change your position and be on top of him, ran’s palm slid inside your shirt, pressing you down in the sheets.

“ran.” you tried to protest, but his other hand circled your throat again, and you held your breath.

his signature smirk made its way to his lips. “not tonight, pretty girl. i’m trying to redeem myself because of how i treated you, y’know.” you nodded, the hand in your throat soon meeting the one inside your shirt. the piece of fabric was soon on the floor, and ran’s head was between your breasts, kissing the skin that was uncovered by your bra.

you helped him with taking it off, tossing the bra in the direction you thought your shirt was, chuckling at the faint blush covering his cheeks. “what? never saw a pair of boobs in your life?” you teased, but guided his head to one of your perky nipples.

“not as beautiful as yours.” ran whispered against your skin, his tongue soon encircling your left bud, enlightening a mewl to leave your swollen lips.

you sang his name again, and ran felt as if he was the most powerful man on earth. your praises, your moans, your reactions, everything you were doing was making his cock twitch inside his boxers — and that prompted his mouth to leave your left nipple and starting to pay attention to the right one, while his hand travelled to the hem of your panties. he needed to feel your cunt clenching around his fingers and, then, his dick.

your mind was filled with pleasure, and you just noticed that something had changed when you felt one of ran’s long fingers passing through your folds. “w-what—” you felt ashamed with the sound you made when ran’s thumb started to circle your clit.

“you are already this wet for me, pretty girl?” he asked, and a high-pitched whine left your lips when he stopped sulking in your breast and his hand left your folds. “take your skirt and panties off, sweetheart.” he demanded, his voice dripping with authority.

firstly, you nodded, your hands unzipping the skirt and tossing it to the ground. “what about you?” you asked breathlessly under his gaze, your body hot and oversensitive. “y-your trousers.” you felt the need to explain, and your face grew even hotter than it was before. you watched with awe as ran unfastened his belt — your gaze enchanted by the intricate lines of the tattoo you knew you would find the other half in rindou's body --- the heavy piece of clothing it was holding falling to the ground. but you regretted your words as soon as ran started to tie your wrists together with it. “why?” you asked with a pout that ran kissed as soon as he was finished with your hands, who were resting in your stomach. “i want to feel you, too.”

he just smirked at you, no more words were needed. because he was a menace, both in streets and in sheets, was your conclusion.

ran positioned himself between your legs, kissing your clothed cunt. “hey there, pretty.” was he speaking with your pussy? but before you could ask him, ran yanked your panties down your legs, gently putting them on top of his trousers, and manoeuvred your legs to rest on his shoulders, as if you were a rag doll. but to some extent, you were — his rag doll. ran could do anything with you now, as you were wrapped around his finger.

you whimpered when you felt his warm tongue licking your arousal from your folds, the act too lewd for you to bear. you were no strange to sex, but doing that with ran was something you weren't prepared for. his eyes were focusing between your cunt and your face, and he was looking at you between your legs like he was a lion, and you were the naive gazelle that entered his den.

your moans and whimpers filled the room alongside the sounds of him slurping your juices, and you got louder as soon as two of ran's fingers entered your hole and his tongue started to play with your clit. the overstimulation was too much for you, and your wrists were aching by the force you used to try to set them free. you needed to use your hands — either to bury ran's face deeper in your cunt or to just feel him, scratch his shoulders or have his hot skin beneath your fingers.

“ran, please, please, please!” you didn't know what you were pleading for — maybe it was to cum or the have your hands free — but your voice prompted him to go faster and faster, until you cummed all over his face.

“good girl.” he praised you, lifting from between your legs. ran watched enamoured how you came down from your high — heavy breathing, tear streamed face and flushed cheeks, the skin of your chest marked with the kisses he left before. “fuck, i love you.” he murmured before kissing you again, not caring if you heard or registered his words — and god, you could taste yourself on his lips. you whimpered on his mouth from the sensation.

the kiss was short, ran's cock inside his boxers too heavy for him to be comfortable doing anything else than just bury himself inside you. he released your hands from his belt and as soon as they were free, you used them to palm the outline of his member on his underwear. “i need it inside me, ran. right now.” you were too sexy commanding him, and ran could cum just by how beautiful you looked up at him.

“your wish is my command, y/n.” he answered breathlessly, freeing his cock from his boxers and you took that opportunity to stroke it, smudging the pre cum that was leaking along its length, pumping it a little.

you beamed at how he moaned your name. “are you liking it, pretty boy?” you asked in the same tone of faux sympathy he used with you earlier, smirking at him. “do you like it when your good girl plays with your cock?” you quickened your pace, smiling at how his breath became quicker with each up and down of your hand.

but soon ran came back to his senses and he smiled down meanly at you. “i would like if my good girl shut her mouth and let me fuck her pretty pussy.” he whispered, towering over you and making you back hit the mattress again, your hand promptly leaving his cock. “or she isn't my good girl anymore?” you felt the tip of his member poking at your entrance, and you mewled. “is she my bad, bad little slut?”

you negatively shook your head, desperate for him to fill you up. “n-no. i'm your good girl, ran, i promise!” pleased with your answer, he started to move — first the head entered your hole, and then a bit of the length, until you grew used to it.

“then why— fucking god, why are you so tight?” he asked more to himself than you, but ran doubted that you would ever answer him seeing how fucked up you were already. he sank a little more into you, until your walls were clenching all around his cock's length. but he didn't move.

why he wasn't moving?

you whimpered in agony, your nails digging crescent forms on the flesh of his shoulders. “ran!” you squealed, urging him to do something. you needed to make him move, and now. “daddy, please.” you whimpered in his ear, tugging his head down by one of his braids. “move, daddy, please.”

fuck. fuck, you would be the death of him with your fucked ou expression and sweet words, calling him daddy as if you knew he liked to have authority in bed. maybe you were a minx and could read his mind and body as much as you wished, knowing exactly how to rile him up. but he fulfilled your wishes, and started to hammer into you at a speed that you thought was impossible. “s'much daddy, it's too much! but it’s s’good, so good for me!” you moaned shamelessly, drool running down your lips, mixing at your chin with the tears of pleasure falling from your eyes.

“yeah, baby girl?” he grunted in your ear, watching as you nodded vigorously at his words. “daddy is spoiling you the way you like it, yeah?” you could only whimper in agreement with his words, too lost in the feeling of having him inside you for the first time to be able to form a coherent sentence.

but ran was no different. he was doing anything he could to not cum immediately at the feeling of your pussy clenching and squeezing around his length, and your moans were only making him go wilder than he already was. his hand found your clit again, and the high-pitched moan that left your lips was enough for him to know that you wouldn't last too long. neither was he, but your pleasure came first that night.

but the way your walls were clenching around him, ran knew you were much closer to cum than he thought. “i love you, ran, oh my god, i love you so much.” you chanted while you came again, and ran swore that you squeezed him even more than you were before.

“my g-good girl.” he whispered, slowing down his pace so he wouldn't cum somewhere you didn't want to. as you returned to your senses, ran quickened his movements up again. “i'm going to cum, sweetheart.” he grunted, and you focused your eyes on him, watching as haitani ran lost his composure because of you. “where do you want me?"

you feigned a thoughtful expression, but your mind was already made. “inside, daddy.”

it was the push ran needed to shoot his cum inside your pussy, coming down to kiss you while he felt eaves of pleasure run through his body. you kissed him back hungrily, finally taking the lead of a situation — making him your rag doll, as you kissed and bit his lips.

ran broke the kiss to slide off of you, laying down next to you. “i love you too, y/n.” he said, pushing your body against his own. you giggled fondly, tracing the patterns of his tattoo. you felt a kiss to your forehead, and sighed happily.

after a few minutes of just your heavy breathings filling the room, you spoke again. “then why… why were you ignoring me?” his behavior was haunting you since the day they were released from jail.

“you deserve someone better.” it was ran's only answer. you kissed his jaw, encouraging him to speak what was inside his mind. “someone… someone so much better than me. someone who can give the entire universe if you want, not someone who can only give you bruises and bloody hands.” it was painful to let such words out of his mouth — what if you agreed with him? what if you thought he was right and would walk away from his life, now that he opened himself fully to you? he was dark and twisted, everything that you weren't and didn’t deserve, and would only bring darkness to your life. but he couldn't force you to stay with him.

“that's what you don't get, ran.” you whispered, your voice full of love and adoration for him. “that's my decision, not yours. and i chose you.” you smiled, nuzzling your face on his chest, his hands encircling your waist and bring your naked body even closer to his. “i choose you and your bruises, your scars and bloody hands. i choose you and your darkness, and your terrible sense of humor, and your braids and everything you have to offer me.” you confessed, cheeks heating up again. “i don't care if i deserve better. i want you. and i’ll always choose you.”

“you're the love of my life, y/n. i swear to god.” you heard him muttering in your hair, smiles filled with love in both of your faces.

—

“for fuck's sake.” you heard rindou say from inside his room, a puzzled look on both yours and ran’s face. when did he arrived?

you and ran were now in the kitchen, you wearing one of his shirts and he in a pair of sweats, while he made some ramen noodles for you both — just like he did when you two first met. it had been a long ride since then, but you now could happily say that ran was yours, and you were his.

“what is it, rin-rin?” you smiled at your (now) boyfriend calling his brother by your childhood nickname for him.

rindou appeared in the kitchen, a frown of annoyance adorning his face. “i know you two needed to fuck and sort your feelings, because seeing you two pinning and being depressed because of each other was one of the hardest experiences of my life.” the youngest haitani answered, a disgusted expression on his face. “but, next time, make sure i'm not home.”

your eyes widened. how didn't you think about rindou? ran and rin left together, then why wasn't he with his brother when he arrived?

“i do not need to hear my best friend call my brother daddy again.”

#haitani ran x reader #tokyo revengers #tokyo revengers x reader #haitani ran #haitani ran smut #ran haitani #tokyorev x reader #— june writes.

[iwaasfairy]

𝚂𝚃𝚁𝙰𝙽𝙶𝙴𝚁

sometimes you meet a stranger on a windy balcony in the middle of the city, and sometimes you fall in love with him too.

.wordc. 4k+ tw yandere, implied noncon, toxic relationships, older meian, daddy kink, cunnilingus, brief drug use, fluff ??

If the light hits you right, you look infinite. And even if it doesn’t, you still look about a million miles out of his league for what he’s concerned. All bright smiles and quiet apologies when passing by people. He should be a waste of free time to you for all intents and purposes. A face in the crowd. The thought makes his chest feel a bit tight though, because despite the irrationality of it, he still wants to be here. With you, bathed in the glow of the sun and resting so peacefully beside him.

He doesn’t like feeling like just another guy, reminds him too much of his past disaster relationship. Which is why you’re so different, so perfect. Other people judge, you don’t. You never judge him, so he thinks the least he can do is the same in return. His ex-wife still has the keys to his place, though she doesn’t have the intention of using them ever again. She’ll lose the keys long, long before he changes all the locks. You still have to get settled into his bed first, but if you were to ask for the keys he’d let another set be made instantly.

Because he’s known you for only a little while and you already have his heart beating erratically. No longer overcome with the sense of longing. If anyone were to ask, and his friends do on occasion, he’d tell them this is it.

Now, there’s you. A stunning, young thing, beaming warmth and goodness from the seams. He’s not entirely sure what he’s doing here, truth be told, because as much as he stares at you through thinly veiled casual curiosity, there’s no changing the fact that he could be twice your age and you should most likely be disgusted by him.

He’d been coming to that quiet balcony staring out into nothing everyday for months. But you’d walked up to smoke beside him, resting your chin on the railing and looking so fucking small and vulnerable. Maybe it’s the way you don’t even spare him a second glance, not gawking at the huge, hulking attraction of a guy he finds himself being looked at so often, or the little tears that glisten at the base of your lashes as you take a deep pull and let the drug filter in. He guesses that to you, most people are big and overwhelming, considering.

He’s no longer in his prime. He knows it better than most, is confronted with it every time his reflection catches him. He’d thought it then, still thinks it now. Older, divorced and between being busy with work and his growing collection of dropped hobbies, there’s hardly anything he can offer you. He’s at least lucky he’s not balding, but he knows he looks pretty much his age with the thin lines here and there, slightly greying temples and stubble that doesn’t stay away long when he shaves. God, he feels old.

It’s a fucking miracle and a half that he managed to keep his usual wit, entertaining you in your nightly loneliness and carefully offering to walk you back to your street for safety. It’s difficult not to seem like a threat when you’re— him, but he’d been genuine. You were too tiny and kind to be out by yourself. You’d taken it, too sure that he was out for no harm. Looking back, that young naivety is something he should be worried about.

He didn't buy his way into your pants that night, but you’d clearly been some level of upset, so that first time had been a lucky lay. A one off, he’d thought. The way you creamed around his cock and moaned so softly, so beautiful when digging your nails into his shoulders. You could’ve told him it was a dream, slipped out like nothing ever happened.

He’d forgive you. At this point he’s almost certain he’d do anything for you. If you asked him to seriously injure your asshole boss for you, he wouldn’t think long. You’re too kind to ask that though, too forgiving too. He takes a few deep breaths as he thinks, finally tearing his eyes away from your cute, sleeping pout to look out the window.

There’s some noise from the waking city outside, he still worries it’s gonna wake you badly and you’ll curse him for one of the many mishaps he’s committed against you and walk right out. You could’ve, probably should’ve. But you’ve ended up in his bed a few times now, and every time it gets harder to just let you go with a coffee and a quick kiss that doesn’t promise much of anything. He’s not even sure that you have his number. But as long as you keep showing up to that balcony, he’ll give you whatever you want.

An almost unnoticeable tap comes to his shoulder. When he turns, you’re up, barely. Eyes open just the tiniest sliver, shuffling a little closer to his warmth. Fuck. You’re so fucking tiny compared to him, his huge, burly body sticking out like a sore thumb from the blankets while you’re buried deep in them. He stays on his back when he reaches over and runs a thumb along your cheekbones, letting the soft skin warm under it. You snuggle into his chest with the last of your fruity, soft perfume that clashes so violently against his.

It makes his chest feel like it’s caving in, pulling the air out of his lungs with each move you make. And he’s always had a bit of a possessive streak, but this is on a whole new level. He doesn’t want you to leave. He shouldn’t let you.

“Mornin’,” he offers, voice too deep and a bit raspy. You hum. Your palm presses to his chest, not hard enough to push, though that is what he thinks at first. Only just enough pressure to be present, to feel his skin under yours. Hesitantly, he rests his hand on your hip under the blankets, running the calloused pads of his fingertips over your exposed side. You mumble something about the light and the curtains, slurring the words and making him utterly weak once again. “Yeah, s’my bad.” He takes a deep breath, and you make no effort to get up.

“Have breakfast with me?” You look utterly content in his arms. Say yes. Say yes. “Or ya can use the shower, I think ‘m gonna take a day off.” He knows, actually, because he’ll at least drive you back home if nothing else. You’re not taking a tram all the way back to your apartment, he won’t let you. He doesn’t feel the need to tell you that right now though.

Doesn’t need to tell you how jealous he feels when he sees you text someone in the morning, but it’s only because he knows how lovable you are. It’s every soft breath, every time you talk or wrap your lips around your straw and each time you adjust your bra or panties or prance in with skirts that should be too fucking short to wear outside, or say his name in that lower, softer rhythm that has him going entirely crazy.

And with a mumbled agreement, he pulls you close and presses a kiss to the top of your head, as you let out a sleepy giggle and kiss his neck.

+

It’s been almost two months of unspoken routine. You don’t always show, but most nights you do. At least once a week for sure. You know the way to his place, hid out from the rain once. You know where he stashes the fresh towels and you’ve flipped through the pictures of him in the national hall with his arms thrown around his team, drenched in sweat. You talk over a glass of champagne that you admit to bringing to impress him with hot cheeks. It takes a little coaching but you let him in too, the few times he visits your apartment, your roommate out for the night.

But you look more at ease in his house, he thinks. Giddy being swayed in his strong arms and being lifted off your feet to reach the higher shelves. He guesses two months in you reach the honeymoon phase, though you’ve still yet to label it, which admittedly, gnaws at him. You don’t seem like the type to leave his house and run into someone else’s arms, but sometimes he thinks the one mark over the row of other splotches on your tits doesn’t look familiar enough to be his.

Sometimes he walks you to the tram and some guy sneaks a good look at your ass, and you don’t flinch. You smile at the next door neighbor, a guy frustratingly close to your age, and he smiles back. Maybe, maybe you’re fucking them too, it does seem to come naturally to you. He doesn’t resent you for it, but that guy— you wince when his fingers dig too hard into your hip. That’s when he has to soften, apologize and lean down to kiss you, which at least you don’t shy away from.

One Saturday you come to the balcony late.

Nervously picking at the elbows of your sweater, he takes a long look at you. You walk up closer after a breath of silence, before slowly wrapping yourself around his side. Your breathing is shaky when you cling on. “I’m glad you waited for me, I don’t— wanna be alone right now.” He knows he shouldn’t, but he tilts your head up into view to watch your teary eyes clench shut, you’re shaking. He might be too, but for different reasons.

You’re so perfect. An angel, his angel, no one should so much as look at you wrong.

“Who did this?” he breathes, and you flinch at the harshness of his voice. But he could never hurt you. Ever. There’s a sprouting seed of anger growing with each passing second though. He lets out a trembling breath. “Tell me who did this to ya.” He’ll kill them, he’ll kill them, whoever hurt you, he’ll—

“No,” you say. Why? His mouth is already opening again, but you tug at his shirt collar and look at him so sadly that for a moment he forgets all about anything else. Nothing beside you matters anyway. “Leave it, Shugo.” You all but pull yourself toward him by the fabric to make a little kissy pout, and fuck, there it is. His little baby. He kisses you, gently and slowly a few times as you whisper it to him again. You can sense that he’s mad, but there’s no way you know just how much.

He lets you kiss him deeper, tongue melting with yours and pull you up against his body for safety, lets you pretend that everything is okay and eventually laugh it off as you two stumble into his apartment with heavy pants, biting down on the skin of your neck hard. He throws your legs over his shoulders and buries his head between your legs and makes you cum, and cum and cum. Lets you fall asleep right after, brushing his fingers along your shoulder and so close he’s scared his heartbeat will wake you.

It’s an hour or so after that your phone shakes, lighting up with a message. Someone named Alex apologizing about the fight and about making you cry. More messages come, a group chat of your “friends” this time and how they should have been more understanding, that they too are sorry. The timing is too neat not to have been talked about too. Would you really miss a bunch of gossip like that?

The light shuts off again after a few seconds, and he stares down at you sleeping so peacefully. Is it so wrong to just want you to be happy like this all the time, not worrying about any of them? You’re safe in his arms. Other people are unpredictable. They cause issues.

You’re too sweet to see it though, but he’s got some years of experience on you.

After a shower early in the morning he goes out for coffee, back again before you wake up. He smiles a bit wider when you do wake and your troubles from last night seem to have evaporated with the sun. His innocent, perfect little flower. He'll never let you feel like that again.

Shugo watches you sit on the counters and talk as you lick at the whipped cream moustache, kisses you until you melt in his hold too. He asks you to be his girlfriend with a deep rumble of his morning voice, and you say ‘yes’, eyes wide with surprise but happy nevertheless.

He doesn’t tell you it when pushing your hair away from your face, kissing down your neck and feeling your legs wrap around his waist. But he really loves you, you know?

+

Your friend Alex is declared missing six days after your fight with him, and you’re inconsolable for a few hours when the police calls. He understands that, though the tears in your eyes are a bit too much for him. Your friend hurt you, wounded you, you shouldn’t be this sad. What comes around goes around, doesn’t it? But he understands that you’re too kind and naive to see it. However, he doesn’t understand when you tell him you need a few days to be alone.

It won’t do you any good, you’ll just be lonely and he tries to tell you as much, but you just get more upset at his touch. You push his hands off when he tries to pull you back, and he’s gotta admit, that stings.

“He’s just missing,” he ends up mumbling, “it’s not like he’s dead.”

Your eyes go wide, and you stare at him for a few moments, before getting off the couch and walking over to the hall and when he tries to ask where you’re going, you’re basically shooting him lightning, your tears running in crooked lines down your face. “I can’t believe you just said that like it’s no big deal that he’s gone,” you hiss, and maybe it’s that youthful fighting spirit that breaks out next when he tries to comfort you again. “Don’t fucking touch me, I’m going home.” The clock is so loud as it ticks. Oh, so that’s how it is. You’re attached to your friends like that, yeah?

He watches you stomp around his house as you collect your stuff, whispering curses under your breath when you can’t find your shoes fast enough. He stays quiet. You pause before leaving, tell him you’re going to your best friend’s place, and that he shouldn’t worry. He might have responded before you slam the door, he’s a bit too lost in thought.

You’re perfect for him, one little fight won’t change that, you’re not to blame here. But it becomes glaringly clear that he’s right. Your friends are no good.

+

Sometimes you feel like you’re here too often, considering it’s only been three months and a bit. You like Shugo a lot though, he’s as sweet as he’s big and you think it’s the former Captain in him that always seems to know you before you know you. It also doesn’t hurt that he’s so attractive it makes you dizzy. But despite all his best efforts, it’s been a bit lonely. And quiet. This isn’t necessarily a strange thing in itself, if not for the way you left it off with your friends. 

Dropping off your radar so slowly it’s barely noticeable, the people you talk to everyday don’t start conversation anymore. Your messages go unread for days at a time, and when they’re finally opened it’s the same short response. ‘Super busy, no time to talk.’ You in comparison have never had this much free time, but ever since the fight Shugo’s been on his best behaviour. He even made sure to move his work home so you wouldn’t be too alone while you’re still on break. His idea too, said the stress has clearly been taking a toll on you.

He’s not entirely wrong either. With everything changing so suddenly, you’ve never felt smaller. You feel fragile. Shugo’s good company though, never bothered by your attention being on him. You let out a breath, drumming your fingers on your knees, deciding it’s been a bit. You get off the bed and tiptoe into the living room where he sits with his eyes aimed at the screen, hair loose and dress shirt two buttons lower than it should be to keep you sane. 

You walk up behind your big hulk of a boyfriend to put your chin on his shoulder, hugging him close. Shugo makes a soft noise of agreement, and you rest your nose at his cheek. “Are you hungry? I can make you a snack.”

“S’alright, baby. ‘M gonna finish up ‘ere and pay attention to ya.” With a few clicks more he closes the laptop, getting up from the chair and sweeping you up into a bridal lift so quickly it makes you hick, giggles breaking out after.

“You’re already done?”

His pretty eyes are aimed down at you with a kind of shine you rarely see with other people. It’s so intense, sometimes it’s almost a bit scary. But to have been a top level athlete for years does take a ton of dedication, so it’s no wonder he’s dedicated in other areas as well. “No, just realized I’ve got a hunger for somethin’ else.” He easily carries you back to where you came from, tossing you down on the bed and kneeling over you. His lips curl a little when you blink up at him, before he nods at your chest. “Take that off for me.”

The flimsy top you’d thrown on comes off just as easily at the order, pulling the few bows and shrugging it off. You smile at him sweetly as you grab your tits, pushing them together a little. “Like this, daddy?” He grunts some agreement when he lowers himself, but you roll over before he can use his mouth on you like he so obviously wants to, grin slipping on. He doesn’t hesitate to pull you down on the bed more by your shorts and you squeak when his palm instead traces along your back, settling at the top of your spine and wrapping around your neck. The bed shifts when he sits down over your legs.

“You’re gonna be testy?” It barely takes a second for him to have you back the other way, yanking your legs up and pulling your shorts along with your underwear over the curve of your ass and up your legs. “I don’t fuckin’ think so,” he says, pushing one knee to your chest and you quickly hook your arm around it. He dips down to press a few kisses down your chest, then licking a stripe up the underside and taking your nipple into his mouth. You don’t think you’ll ever grow tired of how easy it is to let him take the lead, his fingers slipping between your legs to dip into your little cunt and rubbing your clit.

“Mhm, wet already?” He chuckles, sucking harder until you mewl under him and spread your thighs more. Tugging him a bit closer by his hair, he slips a finger inside and pushes his palm up to your sensitive nub, sucking marks all over the last ones. You shake under him, rolling your hips to meet the precise, practiced way his finger curls into you before he adds another. With a loud pop he disconnects from your other nipple to squeeze your tits together, then kneeling at the side of the bed. “C’mere.”

Your hips angled up to give him better access, he fucks his fingers into you faster and deeper, now instead starting to lick and suck at your pussy and your oversensitive clit. He lets you rub against his tongue and beg for more, giving into you so easily. And you moan louder as the feeling builds, being driven crazy. “Daddy.” You push softly at his head once you’re close, looking at him so blissed out between your legs. “I’m gonna-”

“Y’taste so fuckin’ good.” The short sentence is enough to have your head spinning, definitely when he dives back in again and fucks his fingers right into that spot. 

“Ahng, I’m gonna cum. Please don’t stop.” You know he has no intention to. Sucking over and rubbing his tongue along your clit until your vision goes white and your toes curl, back arching from the bed. “Holy — fuck, fuck, ah- daddy, daddy, thank you.” You cum so hard your head pounds, and only when you twitch from overstimulation does he pull away.

You sit up right away to pull him onto the bed and towards the headboard so you can ride him, but a flash of light catches your eye.

On the bedside table, your phone’s ringing. Only, it’s not ringing so much as it’s lighting up. And normally you wouldn’t care, but a thought worms it’s way out of you. “Is my phone on silent?” You didn’t do that. You wouldn’t have, considering you’ve been waiting for people to ring you back for ages. So… Shugo must’ve.

You reach for it, but his arms are longer and he snatches the device right from under you, something that makes your brows furrow. “Daddy, give it back, I wanna know who’s calling,” you pout, watching a bit absentmindedly as he turns the screen away and taps something.

“No one’s calling.”

Your brain whirls. “Yes, it was. Give it to me, I want to talk to my friend.” You would’ve let it ring, you’re still hot and bothered and Shugo’s very hard in his shorts, but you can’t make sense of it. “Shugo, give me—”

He holds it away when you reach for it again, and this time your brows furrow hard enough to look like a glare. But he doesn’t give in, frowning back at you. “It’s not gonna be your friends, ya know that, it’s a wrong caller.” You know that. Your head pounds harder, and another thought makes it’s way up, but you try to squash such an ugly thought. No way your boyfriend would have something to do with the radio silence.

He taps away as you try to make sense of it, you never once hesitated giving him your phone, you never had anything to hide. But the blocked numbers, the opened messages, all your calendar notes vanishing. You thought your phone was old, that the apps were freaking out. “There, ’s gone.”

“My friends—”

“Stop talkin’ about your stupid friends,” he snaps, wrapping his arm around you and pulling your vunerable, naked body into his lap as he tosses the phone aside in some laundry, “they’re no good. I’ll take care of ya.” And you try to pull back to look at him, really look at him, in hopes that this is some kind of joke. But he stares down at you like he’s making total sense, and you’re too confused and surprised to do much of anything. “They won’t bother us anymore, promise. I took care of ‘em.” With that he kisses you again, and you feel like the world crumbles around you.

He pulls you closer, rocks his hips into you and it’s almost automatic when you kick at his thigh to get out of his reach, falling back onto the bed. Part of you wants to ask, but a larger part of you just wants out of here. Far away from him for a while. Your stomach is so heavy, you don’t know what to make of any of this. Just that it isn’t right, the way he’s looking at you with such intensity isn’t all there. You start climbing off the bed, quickly fishing your clothes from the ground. But two strong arms wrap too tight around you, a hand coming over your mouth as he yanks you back into him. Grip painfully tight on your face.

“You can’t leave.” He pries the clothes from your grip, ripping them in half in the process. And you trash against him, tears welling up as you realize how terrifying this is. “You’re mine,” he coos it sickeningly sweet, grip loosening for only a second when you kick at his shin and claw at his arms. “Just—” It’s no use, he’s so, so much bigger than you. He drags you back and bends you over the bed, holding you by your neck and pressing his shin over your legs before he uses his entire body weight to keep you in place.

“You’re still mine, right?” The kisses he plants on the side of your neck are so cold now, they make you sick. He rubs himself on your hip, hard cock twitching. Like this is just some lover’s spat to him, like you aren’t crying your eyes out right now. He presses a kiss to your head. “Ya don’t have’ta be upset, it’s only ‘cause I love ya.”

#meian shugo x reader #meian x reader #yandere meian #tw.yandere #tw.noncon #tw.toxic relationship #tw.daddy #💫ch.meian #meian shugo smut #meian smut

[jangofctts]

Are You in Or Out?

Rated: Explicit 

Word count: 11.5K yall I am SORRY

Warnings: good lord y'all here we GO-- smut, explicit language, violence and mentions of blood and gore, injuries, unprotected sex (don't be a dick, wrap that stick!), oral (m&f receiving), blindfolding, vaginal and anal fingering, vaginal and anal sex, double penetration, spit is used as lube but for the love of GOD doNT DO THAT, there are some dom vibes on Paz’s end    

Summary: The job you’re on takes a turn for the worst--Paz comes to your rescue and you're brought to the Covert. There you meet Din Djarin. though during a good natured sparring session, you’re suddenly stuck between an age old rivalry that spirals out of hand. Hopefully an agreement can be met. 

a/n: hey...how y’all doin....SO lemme explain you smthn. I said helmets must be OfF--giv me them LIPS BABEY so this is a slight AU in which mandos can see other mandos’ faces. ya get me? I also tHot that it would be nice and fun to set the timeline 5-6 years BEFORE the plot of the Mandalorian so we gots a younger din here. anyway, as always enjoy and I hope you like!!

Mistakes, mistakes, mistakes—

Some as little as burning your finger on the nozzle of a smoking blaster or tripping over your own shoelaces. Simple things. Mindless things. 

Nothing that could ever compare to the catastrophic decision of picking up bounty hunting as a reliable source of income. 

The little ones were easy—tax evaders and deserters of the Empire—most who’d yield and gladly follow without complaint just at the sight of your blaster pointed between their eyes. And the gag of it is—most of the time you never bothered to load the damn thing. 

Reckless.

An invitation for disaster. 

But skirting that precarious edge, one little slip up away from plunging head first into inevitable trouble is better than Bracca. Stars—anything is better than Bracca. There’s no glory in bounty hunting but there’s even less in ship scrapping. Abysmal pay in exchange for risking your life on rain slicked metal with only the Ibdis Maw to break your fall.  

The guild you work for is considerate—scratch that. Greef Karga is considerate. Sure the flirting is a touch unbearable but it saves your ass in the long run. All easy money bounties set aside for you in exchange for a cheap drink, hollow laughs and sugar sweet smiles. 

It’s enough credits to get by—more than plenty to rent a room and charter a ship. 

But there’s only so many bounties to capture within the limits of the guild and oh so many people the empty blaster trick works on. And so the credits begin to thin; it gets too expensive to buy off a pilot and the debate over buying food or being able to pay for your room becomes more frequent than the scraprats that skitter inside the walls.  

It’s suicide to snag a higher paying bounty because....well—these bounties shoot back. 

Whatever.

 Might as well die trying. Who knows, maybe you could score big time if you manage to pull this off. 

Maybe. 

                                                       -=-=-=-

You’re not sure who’s more surprised—Karga when you asked for the bounty or yourself when he actually gave it to you. 

“Are you sure, kid? This could—“

“End in a fiery shitshow? Yeah—I figured that,” you sigh, swirling your drink with a little complimentary toothpick. “But I need the money.” 

“Hah! You’ve got guts, girl.” He flashes you a smile and smooths down his mustache with his thumb and forefinger. “Tell you what. The last assignment was just taken but I’m sure if you run you could catch him. Work somethin’ out.”

Jumping from your seat, you throw on your coat and toss a couple credits onto the table to cover the drink. “What’s he look like?” 

“Big fellow—Mandalorian. You’ll know when you see him.”

You shout your thanks over your shoulder and hightail outta there. The landing docks aren’t far, you can see them from here. It’s finding the guy that could pose a problem.

If he hasn’t already left, you bitterly think. 

However, it seems the universe is on your side today. Karga was right. He is big. Stands out like a sore thumb against his ship that glitters dully in the overcast sky. Kinda like an oversized blueberry. A yellow and blue blueberry….not important—

“Hey! Hey, you!” You’re so close, just a couple yards away. You swear and hurry up your pace as he steps onto the loading ramp. “Big guy! Large...blue man?”

You trip over your own feet as he turns his head. Fuck—

No way are you gonna be able to bargain with this guy. Built like a fucking AT-AT and probably just as stubborn. After all, no one would ever be dumb enough to come between a Mandalorian and their quarry. You grimace, and suck in a breath—

Before a word even leaves your mouth he interrupts with a steady, unwavering;

“No.”

Your brows furrow. “I didn’t even say anything!”

“I know what you were going to ask,” he huffs, crossing his arms over his broad chest. “I work alone.”

Ok, then. You didn’t want to resort to begging, but you’re kinda running out of options here. You take a steadying breath and plant yourself at the bottom of the ramp. “C’mon man. Look—I’ll let you take seventy percent of the cut and I can—“

“You’ll let me?” He repeats, the staticky tone of his voice dropping into an edge more cutting than broken transparisteel. The metal platting on the ramp vibrates from the weight of his step to move closer; Stars it takes every fucking inch of willpower to hold your ground. “You’re lucky if I let you leave with your life. Get lost.” 

Fuckfuckfuck—you should listen. You wanna fucking run for the hills and never look back in case he comes looking to purge your name from the kriffing galaxy. You clench your jaw and steel your nerves. Too bad—you’ve dug your heels so far into this empire of dirt and false bravado that your only way out is continuing to poke the sleeping bear until he snaps your spine or caves.

You have to crane your neck to glare into that dark strip of his vizor, seeing as he’s invited himself into your personal space. “No.”  

“No?” He mocks, now toe to toe with your scuffed up boots. 

Your teeth clench, a scalding flush burning through your cheeks and all the way down to your chest. He’s toying with you—finding amusement in your stubbornness and apparent lack of braincells for challenging him. “You don’t scare me.” 

The man hums, a deep purr that rumbles through his entire ribcage as he raises his gloved hand. You curse yourself for flinching because surely he’s about to crush your skull like a fucking grape, but no. All he does is fix your rumbled collar then pat your cheek.     

“I don’t need the extra baggage.”

“I’m not baggage,” you sneer, slapping his hand away. “I can handle myself.” 

“With an empty blaster?” He points out, tipping his head to the side. “Your parlor tricks won’t do you any good on this job.”

“I’m a good shot!” You sputter, placing your hands over you hips and mustering up your best glare. “W-when I have ammo…” 

“Right.”

Meeting Paz Vizsla, could have gone far better, to put it into the most simplest of words. Jagged and hard to settle into a routine around each other for the journey to Nar Shaddaa in a tiny, old, and cramped freighter ship. Most cycles you have to wedge yourself beside a cargo crate to sleep. In addition to that, how it’s able to break through the atmosphere let alone fly is beyond you—an entire mystery on its own.       

At least you’re able to sit in the spare seat inside the cockpit—one of the only places available to stretch your legs. The only problem is that it’s also where Paz Vizsla likes to lurk (well, not lurk—it’s his ship and it’s where he can comfortably fit but—to each their own). 

There’s a net of tension still woven between you—each interaction like tiptoeing over eggshells. Though, like all things, it becomes simpler. There’s not exactly any ongoing conversations—you don’t want to pry into a life you know nothing about—it’s not your business despite the cumulation of questions that linger in the back of your mind. You know when to take a hint—not every person is willing to indulge you about their livelihood, and surely not something as secretive and well guarded as the Mandalore.  

Familiarity is what you want to call it. Comfortable with each other’s presence with small talk speckled in throughout the never-ending vastness of hyperspace. Compared to the infinite turmoil in your life, slippery footholds and uncertainty—Paz Vizsla is steady. In a way— predictable and safe in the confines of this ship.       

You’d even go as far as to label him kind, a friend maybe—if you look past the grumpiness and rather poor taste in corny jokes. You know it’s stupid, no doubt stemming from the deep ache of loneliness that comes hand in hand with staking it out on your own in the galaxy; but you can’t help but wish that this could be a new normal. Not some once in a lifetime thing where you both part ways, fade into the recesses of memory and leave it at that. 

If things go well—and rarely do they on a job—maybe you’d pluck up enough courage to ask him if you could stay. There’s no harm in it…right?

                                                 -=-=-=-

Well—the cynical part of you was right.

It did end up in a fiery shit show. 

Turns out the stupid quarry you’d been tracking excelled in long range weaponry. A former marksman for the Empire to be exact. Guess that tidbit of information wasn’t pertinent. A need to know sorta thing, if you will. 

You feel the molten bolt of plasma connect with your side before your ears pick up the sound of a weapon firing, like a crack of lighting in the empty alleyway. And before your body even connects with the duracrete, Paz is returning fire. A brilliant neon red against the hazy blur of shadowy buildings.  

Kinda weird how knocking the back of your head hurts worse than the literal blaster wound burned into your side. Shock maybe. Or the heat from the plasma cauterized each veins and artery it tore through and ate away at flesh and nerves. Hm…          

You’re sprawled in a wet pool of something—either your own blood or a puddle of stagnant gutter water and damn—you’re wearing your favorite shirt.

It doesn’t matter at this point…

You’re choking on your own air from the big ass hole blasted into your diaphragm, so to say things are looking grim is an understatement.  

Nar Shaddaa isn’t your first choice to kick the can on, but hey—not everyone gets the luxury of dying on Naboo. And just as you’re ready to slip away into that sweet, sweet abyss, it seems your fellow armored friend has other plans. 

The beskar is freezing against your cheek after he deadlifts you off the duracrete—you remember that plain as day. That and the hushed rumble of Paz’s voice insisting you save your dwindling supply of air instead of apologizing to him—or ordering you to stay alive for kriff’s sake. It’s impossible to argue with Paz—like trying to bite through durasteel, and while those beckoning tendrils of eternal slumber are mighty tempting, you cling to your life with all the strength you have left. After all, inconveniencing someone with a corpse is such a party foul to the highest degree.    

The rest is muddled—like dredging up silt and clay in a murky river that just leaves you with a pounding headache between your eyes. It’s a terrible mess of pain and bouts of temporary consciousness, mistaken with fever dreams and yup—more pain. The only consistent is Paz—hovering nearby or settled beside you—through thick and thin as you heal. 

There’s no solid reason your brain can conjure as to why he brought you to the Covert—it’d have been easier to just dump you at the nearest hospital and be done with it. You’re not his responsibility and you’re too afraid to ask what it means. Too many possibilities—too many answers you aren’t in the mood to face or untwist.     

And so you leave it be, set aside for another time—which brings you to the present day…        

You’re splayed over your little makeshift cot, feet propped up on a spare pillow as you scour through a cheesy Coruscanti gossip magazine. It’s years old—the only piece of entertainment you could find other than a weapon in the Covert. And seeing as a massive hole had been blasted through your ribcage, picking up the clever art of throwing vibroblades or shooting targets to pass the time was out of the question.   

Even if you’d rather fall into a Sarlaac pit than stare at the wall for hours on end yet again—it hasn’t been all that bad. It’d taken weeks before you regained enough strength to sit up on your own, let alone walk—and walking is putting it lightly. It was more of a stiff legged shuffle better suited on a two hundred year old woman seconds from disintegrating into dust at the mere hint of a breeze.  

Not to mention—your right lung was all but shredded. Ripped apart from the plasma bolt and miraculously reconstructed by a more than questionable bacta tank, hopeful thoughts and well wishes. To this very day you still sound like a broken air filter. 

Eh.    

Could be worse. 

At least you aren’t dead. 

Just another setback that adds on the growing pile of reasons why never to leave the Covert. Free food, free board and mild entertainment to top it off. Paz had stayed at your bedside for the most part while you recovered—stuck with babysitting your sorry ass until you regained a bit of mobility. The times Paz hadn’t been at your side to stave off the boredom, it was up to you to find your own fun. 

Snooping is what Paz had labeled it—but you saw it more as an adventure. You met Din Djarin exploring (lost is what you actually were) in the dimly lit underbelly of Nevarro, after all. Yes, you may have scared the ever loving shit out of the poor guy and yes, he may have singed off your brows with a five foot jet of fucking fire—but hey. No one got hurt.        

And you made a new friend. Sorta…Din is difficult to read, subtler in his soft spoken words and quiet demeanor. A bit like a skittish loth-cat at the start, but nowadays it’s not uncommon to find him lounging in the same space as you or hovering over your shoulder, awfully curious in whatever it is you choose to do. Like Paz, Din isn’t overly fond of sharing much information about himself but he never complains after you regale tales of your own vastly fascinating past. He seems interested enough—tilts his head a tick to the right when you speak to indicate that yes, he’s listening despite the unforgiving dark line of his visor.      

There are others in the Covert too—some so elusive you have a hard time believing they exist. Shadows of what they once were before the rise of the Empire. And so, you count yourself lucky that you’d been introduced to two others—Aeris Fenn, a young man nearly as tall as a Wookie, and a woman named Ives Arrey; her armor a flashy green—damn near florescent in the light. 

They’re nice enough company. Aeris is a chatterbox, his wit sharper than a blade but lacking in any forethought before he speaks. Ives is the far opposite—rolls each sentence in her mouth before she voices it, but in no way is she angelic. Maker—you’d bet your entire left asscheek she’s behind each bad decision and silly shenanigans Aeris sticks his nose into. He never learns—not after a harsh chiding or cuff around the helmet from Paz or the Armorer could dampen is childlike enthusiasm or steer him away from repeating the same mistake over and over.  

Though if you read one more kriffing sentence of this garbage magazine you’re about to invite chaos himself to entertain you. Good thing too because just as you sit up to find the red armored Mandalorian—Paz rounds the corner and steps into your little broom closet that hardly passes for a room. 

“Paz!” You greet, tossing the magazine over your shoulder. “Please tell me we’ll be doing something interesting or else I might start ripping my hair out. Or maybe commit a heinous crime—haven't decided yet.”      

Paz grunts and shakes his head. “You’ll be doing neither. But today we’ll be sparing—hopefully that will curve your boredom.”

You scrunch up your face. “Sparring? Er, no thanks—I choose life.” 

“You breathe funny since your injury,” he says, jabbing a finger between your ribs. “And all you’ve been doing lately is laying around.”

“Oh, I’m sorry,” you sneer, tucking your arms over your chest. “Didn’t realize I was supposed to be running laps with half a lung.”

“It’s like stretching a muscle, you need to gain your strength back.” He retorts. “This will be good for you.” 

You groan and flop back into bed. “I don’t wanna. I was pretty much dead like three cycles ago—cut me some slack, man.”

There’s a brief silence as if he’s mulling over your words, but he’s stubborn. You crane your head to look at him as he says your name with a deep sigh attached to it.   

“Truthfully, I’m surprised you’ve survived this long.” He says it quietly, fragile even, like he’s still expecting you to tip over and die on the spot. You very well might.  

You huff. “Wow. Thanks, Paz.” 

You feel his heavy stare through the helmet. “What happened to you that night was a mistake. It wasn’t preventable but the least I can do is teach you basic selfdefense.”  

You gripe out your complaints but you know you’ve been beat—and well, a bit of your agreement is based on guilt. 

Damn it.  

                                                     -=-=-=-

It’s weird to see Paz without his heavy duty gear—like seeing him naked or a crab without a shell. The only piece he continues to wear is his helmet and padded gloves and under clothes, but it’s still weird. Strange enough that it shocks you tongue into remaining still instead of bitching about this. 

He leads you to a wing of the Covert you’ve yet to discover and ushers you through the doorway. The floor is padded, a bit smaller than you expected and already occupied by none other than Aeris Fenn. 

It’s a whole other kriffing shock to the head seeing him without the plates and layers of fabric and beskar too. The armor makes him bulkier—fuller and much more intimidating. Now, with only his black underclothes on, Aeris could be the spitting image of a sentient tree. Willowy limbs that stick out like branches as he stretches on the padded mat. He lazily swings his head around as you greet him, his face still covered by the black beskar painted with streaks of red. 

“So you choose sparring over knife throwing?” Aeris snorts. “And to think I thought of you as a friend.” 

“You think I chose to be here?” You say, grumpy and still upset at the choice of activity. Really, a brisk walk around the Covert would’ve been fine.

Aeris shrugs. “Ah, and I see you’ve roped in my favorite vod. Tch, he uses his fists instead of his words to teach. I wish you luck—you’ll need it.”      

You open your mouth to retort but Paz beats you to it. 

“Leave.” 

“I’ve just arrived, actually,” Aeris scoffs, folding his torso over his other leg to stretch. “Perhaps you could reschedule. After all—our guest is quite free most days.” 

Welp—you’re perfectly fine with that. Problem solved. 

You spin on your heel and make a break for it but Paz snatches your wrist and pulls you back to his side. “Aeris.”  

“Paz,” Aeris mocks, tipping his helmet to the side. 

Paz exhales, a long, tired sound and grovels out another plea in clipped Mando’a. Aeris languidly stands and brushes off imaginary dust from the front of his pants. “Sorry, what was that? I don’t understand your accent.” 

“Boy—“

“No, no, it’s alright.” Aeris sighs, waving his hand in a mopey display as if he were told that his birthday party were canceled for the fifth year in a row. “I’d have trouble speaking too if my enormously thick head were cooped up in that little bucket of yours all day.”  

You wince. 

In the time you’ve known Paz Vizsla, he’s never been one to launch into rash decisions fueled by anger—he lets it simmer and build like an oncoming storm over the ocean. Devastating once it reaches land.

Aeris bobs his head and inspects his black leather glove, picking at a loose thread on the inseam over the thumb. He clicks his tongue. “Or'dinii—you’re going to kill her.”  

Your offended scoff is ignored as Paz steps forward; jutting his chin up to even out the few inches Aeris holds over the man. “You still haven’t learned to shut your mouth, boy.” 

The tension surges and crackles like a volt of electricity through the air—unresolved and ready to ignite with the sparking embers of Paz’s growing irritation. It’s not a fight Aeris Fenn will win. He’s volatile and hotheaded—but his expertise is in long range weaponry. Precise, deadly and swift—not whatever this little pissing match is heading towards.    

Aeris clicks his tongue as Paz digs a fist into the black fabric of his shirt. Paz yanks him forward, the metallic clink of their helmets colliding an unpleasant scrape that pierces your eardrums. Aeris snarls out sharpened words in Mando’a as his willowy fingers shoot up to curl beneath the lip of Paz’s helmet. 

In the blink of an eye, Paz lifts Aeris up by his collar and launches him across the room like he weighs nothing more than a couple of down pillows. His helmet meets the wall with a resounding clank, chipping some of the red paint outlining the visor. Ouch. 

Like a kicked dog, Aeris clambers to his feet, still dazed and swaying and for a fearful second you think he’ll retaliate. But with whatever braincells he happens to possess today—he instead spits out a venomous curse that even yourself would hesitate to repeat. He leaves without another word, bristling with rage. 

Your flash Paz a questioning stare. “The hell was that about?” 

Paz waves it away with an irritated grunt. “His heart is in the right place but he is young. Aeris doesn’t understand his place in the Covert yet and I doubt he will for years to come.” 

You frown. “Poor guy…” 

Paz mutters something under his breath. “Enough distractions. We’ve wasted enough time already.”

“Y’know…I think that’s enough excitement for today. I think I’ll be going now—“ Your last ditch attempt at weaseling out of this is quickly thwarted the moment you turn your back.  

You wheeze as the heel of Paz’s palm shoves into your shoulder blade, the force of it sending you stumbling to the ground. “Paz—“

“Go on. Hit me,” he orders. You squeak, narrowly avoiding the well aimed kick that skims the top of your scalp. 

You scramble to your feet, skirting out of range of the oncoming right hook. “So you attack me instead?” 

“How do you expect to catch quarries who are bigger than you?” He presses. You hiss as the points of his knuckles dig into the meat of your shoulder. 

You dance out of reach and rub your arm, a dull throb flaring up in the muscle. “I dunno—electrocute them?”

“Not if they take you by surprise.” 

You screech as his knuckles skim your cheek. Adrenaline pierces you veins and you wildly throw a flaky punch that wouldn’t even impress a toddler. He catches your fist with ease, his entire hand dwarfing your clenched fingers. “You can do better than that.” 

You snarl and struggle to rip your hand back. “I’m a scrapper. I don’t fight.”

“No,” he retorts. You fall onto your ass as he abruptly lets go of your hand. “You’re a bounty hunter.” 

You roll your eyes. “Hardly—why can’t I just stay here?”

Although there’s nothing to see with that swatch of black covering his eyes, you can certainly feel the look he’s giving you. A deep sigh hisses through the vocoder. “You can stay here—“

A triumphant smile splits across your face—

“—but not without contributing where it’s due.”

You puff up your cheeks and let out a dismayed stream of air. “Booo—lame.”

He sighs again and helps you off the floor. “Even if you leave the Guild, what I’m teaching you is helpful.”

“Yeah, yeah,” you say. “I’ll give you a call after I use your invaluable skills to beat up some thug.”

Paz ignores your comment and turns on his heel. “Let’s go through it again. This time use your front two knuckles instead of your whole fist.”

As your eyes land over the stretch of tight fighting fabric over his back an idea pops into your head. It’s a petty move but getting a punch in is fruitless—like trying to beat up a brick wall. You don’t fancy a broken hand and your knuckles are already bruised and swollen to the point where it’s hard to bend them. 

And so, without any forethought and with a running head start, you launch yourself onto him, your arms coiling around his neck. It does the job—takes him by surprise and makes him tip to the right. 

Aha! Yes!

Your reign of victory is short lived, however—

He latches onto your forearms strung around his neck and yanks. And much in the same way he threw Aeris like a sack of potatoes—you’re no different. For a short stretch of time that feels kriffing endless; you soar through the air, your directional whereabouts violently ripped out beneath you and equally nauseating in the same breath. 

Why you ever agreed to this—you don’t know.   

Your shoulder blade connects with the mat first, leaving behind a dull sting as you roll and tumble with uncontrollable momentum. Oh, yeah—you’ll feel that in the morning. 

Groaning, you thank the Maker that your body eventually settles into a miserable little pile of limbs and pain. But, it seems whatever higher power that lingers in the edges of the galaxy hasn’t decided to put you out of your misery just yet. 

A bulky shadow blocks out the dim lighting overhead, and for a brief anxiety ridden moment you’re afraid it’s Paz. You roll onto your back with a pathetic groan, a beg for mercy on the tip of your tongue—but as your eyes flutter open they’re met with an entirely different man. 

Din Djarin looms over you, his head cocked to the side as you blink in dumbfounded bewilderment. Ah, hell— 

You swallow, a furious heat bitting at your cheeks. “Uh…fine weather we’re having…”

“We’re inside,” he states with a brief glance up to the ceiling. 

You purse your lips. “Huh.”

With a pensive hum he offers his hand, you sigh and roll over, accepting his gloved hand. He hoists you up easily and adjusts your rumpled collar. “You ok?”

“Pfft, yeah,” you groan, rubbing your throbbing shoulder. “Never better.”

The low grumble of your name is a cross between disbelief and irritation. Din jerks his head, his attention zeroing in on Paz. “Are you trying to kill her?” 

“She isn’t made of glass.” 

“She is still recovering—“

Normally you’d intervene, but their bickering is tiring and it gives you the excuse to lie down. By the time one of them caves you’ve counted exactly one hundred and twelve weird ceiling stains. They should get that checked out.  

“Very well,” Paz snarls, cutting through your wandering thoughts. “You teach her.” 

Din scoffs, his shoulders drawn tight as he stomps over to your splayed out self. “Get up.”

“Geez, fine,” you grumble, not in the mood to test his patience further. “Since you asked so nicely.”

Later he’ll no doubt apologize but right now? He has to prove a point. Din cuts right to it, moves in close to place your clenched fists in the right stance and nudges at your feet until they’re a bit wider than hip distance. 

“You have to get in close with a bigger opponent,” he says, stepping into your space until your fists are close enough to touch his chest. “We don’t have much range here—easier to break our guard too.” 

“Right. And how would you suggest I do that?”

“You’re always beating me at cards.” Din says, tipping his head to the side. “You have a clever mind. Use it.” 

“But I always cheat.” You point out, dropping your guard to swat at a stray hair.   

He catches your wrists and returns them to where they ought to be. “Quick enough to get away with it.” 

You make a noise of uncertainty but do as you're told. Din takes a couple steps back and with a rough order you begin. 

He’s faster than Paz—bats at your guard in quick bursts and steps away when you attempt to hit back. It’s a dance almost—somehow elegant in its brutality of bruises and flashes of pain as you move around one another. Compared to Din, Paz is almost clumsy but unpredictable. Din—despite the rapidness of his attacks and evasiveness, becomes predictable.

He steps to to left—you follow. He rocks onto his toes to jab his fist forward and that’s where you find a break. Punching Din’s helmet won’t do you any good but catching the juncture of his shoulder with your elbow is completely feasible. Too bad that you’re not the only one with a clever mind.        

Din uses the momentum of your attack to catapult you to the ground—his own body rolling with you in order to capture you in a headlock of sorts. This sucks. After this you’ll never be setting foot in this Maker forsaken room again. 

Din tightens his elbow that’s looped around your throat as you squirm and flail, trapped against his chest. He grunts as your elbow digs into his ribs but holds steady and snakes his free arm across your front, pinning your limbs to your body in an unbreakable vice. All mobility is cut off as his knee pushes between your thighs, locking your leg out into an uncomfortable and frankly quite awkward angle. 

Inhaling a shaky breath, you arch as the crown of his helmet skims along the curve of your throat; the bite of beskar frigid and startling against your flushed skin. You can see his visor out of the corner of your eye; glittering and dark like the polished obsidian on Black Spire and endless like the greedy maw of a black hole. 

Your breath hitches as he shifts and curls his head closer to your ear. His voice rumbles low and deep through his chest and vibrates against the delicate cartilage. “Yield.” 

However much your pride wrestles with the sensible part of your brain, it’s all for naught as you jerk your head in defeat.  

In retrospect you should’ve said something—used your voice or made some kinda sound because suddenly Din’s forearm digs alarmingly hard into your windpipe. He read the stuttered jerk of your head as another pitiful act of defiance but no. Nope. 

Here you are—asphyxiating.   

Not exactly what you had in mind, being strangled by a Mandalorian and all—but a chokehold where you could very well die was not it. 

Fuzzy darkness begins to shade the corners of your vision, lightheadedness and a curious warmth that prickles down your spine settling low in your belly. A raspy gasp manages to slip through your blocked off airway, and stars why does this feel good?   

“Din—”

Paz’s sharp bark is distant above the ringing in your ears and it all stops.

You gulp in air that burns your throat like refined fire whiskey—hunched over the mat as a large palm rubs soothing circles over your upper back. You cough and roll over, sounding like a dying animal run over by a speeder then hit with a spiked club to polish it off. 

You’re quickly herded into Paz’s arms and pulled into his lap. Still wheezing and attempting to recover lost oxygen, whatever Din is trying to say translates into an indiscernible hum against the ringing in your ears.  

“I’m fine,” you mutter, though neither of them care to listen. Like bristling wolves, snapping at each other’s heels.  

“Apologize to her,” there’s not so much as a centimeter of room to argue. “Now.”           

It’s nice of Paz you suppose—defending your honor and what not, but you’re not a vengeful person. It was an honest mistake and you want to explain that so Din quits looking like a kicked puppy, yet the sudden touch over your ankle stops you. All the times Din has initiated contact it’d been a friendly pat to your shoulder or ruffling you hair, and while touching your ankle isn’t exactly scandalous it’s certainly an odd place to put your hand on. 

Your fingers clutch Paz’s shirt as you eye the man lingering at the bottom of your feet, his gloved thumb unconsciously rubbing patterns into the exposed skin between your boot and your pant leg. “Cyare—I’m sorry.” 

You blink and lick your lips. Interesting. “I-I don’t know what that word means.”

His hand inches higher, resting on the swell of your calf. “Sweetheart…darling…loved one—“ 

There’s a shift—a dark undercurrent that none of you should be dipping your toes into. There’s a million and one things to say or do to sever this at the root, but are you going to? Nah. 

Din’s thumb now rests over your knee, goosebumps following in his wake. “Should I keep going?” 

It too hot—stuffy with both of their heavy stares locked on your flushed face. You squirm and glance up at Paz who only offers an impassive stare. Great.   

“I can make it up to you,” Din continues, his hand stationary—a warm weight even through the fabric of your pants. “If you let me.” 

Your mouth feels drier than the desert on Jakku. This…nothing good could come out of what Din is hinting at. This is uncharted territory—launching yourself into the great unknown without any idea of what’ll fester and grow if you agree. 

It’s not like it hasn’t crossed your mind—it’s just…it’s never been both of them at the same time. These men are short-tempered, an open flame to jet fuel with deeply seated ire woven into the very fabric of their beings. You’ve barely scratched the surface on the inner workings of their mutual hostility, but you’re bright enough to question if this will make it worse. Tinder and brittle twigs feeding and enabling the hungry flames of rivalry to spiral and consume with chaotic brilliance of a dying star—

But, oh—

Isn’t it worth taking the risk? 

You suck in a grounding breath and slowly extend your leg that Din touches, gingerly skimming the toe of your shoe along the inseam of his inner thigh. “H-how would you…make it up to me?”

Din preens at your answer and shuffles closer, lifting your legs so that they rest in his lap. Devotion drips off his words like a fine liquor as he toys with the laces on your boots. “Anything—say it and it’s yours.”    

Sparks of molten heat race down your spine and metastasize in your lower belly, spreading through each vein and artery like a some sort of invasive ivy. You spare a look up at Paz as he shifts.      

“Go ahead, girl,” Paz assures. “Answer him.” 

It’s an unspoken, buzzing sort of thing like the static air before a storm, crackling and surging with pent up energy. You all know the implications of what’s to come—but it’s your words, quiet and steady that irons that nail into your coffin.

“Take me like you mean it.” 

The next few moments pass in a dizzying blur, a mess of anticipation as your shoes are yanked off, your pants following soon after and tossed into some unknown corner of the room. Paz helps you out of your shirt, a shiver wracking through your body from the chill, leaving you bare save for your underthings. Yet the warmth that seeps through his shirt and his hands that linger over your ribcage do a lovely job at making up for the cold.

Din shuffles closer and brings his fingers up to cup the side of your face, lowering his head to rest the crown of his helmet on your forehead. “Wanna touch you.” 

Your breath hitches as Paz’s hands sweep up your torso, cupping and kneading your breasts. “Y-you already are touching me, Din." 

Paz snorts as the rough leather of his gloves scrape over your skin and unhook your bindings. You hardly hear Din over your own whine as Paz rolls your hardened nipples between a forefinger and thumb. 

“I want to feel you—without the gloves,” Din clarifies, fighting to keep your attention on him. “Will you let me?”  

Maker that shouldn’t even be a question. You moan out your approval, delighted that both of them decide to slip off the padded fabric. Din touches your bare thigh the same moment Paz returns his hands to your tits and it’s exhilarating. The rasp of their bare palms against your flesh is addicting—something so foreign and warm compared to their usual armor and thick layered clothing. 

You arch into Paz’s hand as it curls around the base of your throat, a tentative pressure but still heavy. “You’d let us do anything, wouldn’t you? Needy little thing.”

“Yes,” you croak, already debauched and falling apart at the seams. “Anything.”

You’re all too happy to fade away in the embrace of the larger man but the other participant is far from letting that slide. Din grabs your hand, guiding it towards the front of his trousers, the drawstrings already loose and easy to pull aside. He groans and twitches as your fingertips flirt along his navel, then curl over the waistband, tugging his pants the rest of the way down to pool around his knees. 

You reach for the already impressive outline of his cock pressing against his boxers, but Paz cupping your cunt through your underwear just before you touch Din is distracting. You gasp and arch as Paz digs the heel of his palm against your clit, electrifying ecstasy zipping down your spine with each touch. 

There’s a twinge of guilt after Din huffs and drags your limp wrist back to his cock, this time encouraging you to palm him by guiding your actions with his own hand until you lazily oblige. Din’s quiet grunts, gravely against the vocoder do nothing but throw more jet fuel to the fire inside your belly. The growing urge to actually touch him gnaws and corrodes the forefront of your brain. With a firm yank his boxers are quick to join his trousers and Maker—

Fuck—

Will he even fit?

Din is thick, rosy brown and flushed at the tip and beginning to curl towards his bellybutton. A bead of liquid shines at the tip, dribbling down the underside as he wraps his fist around the base of his length. He gives himself a languid stroke before he, once again, reminds your hand of what it’s supposed to be doing. Din is searing in your palm, molten and stiffening to hardened steel in your grip.   

“You look so fuckin’ pretty like this,” Din hisses as his head rolls back onto his shoulders. “S-so pretty holding my cock.”

Your desperation tears at your insides, insatiable and Maker— you wanna taste him. You want to hear every little stuttered moan and feel each twitch of his hips as he claims your mouth as his own.    

But before you’re able to ask Din if he’d be willing to fuck your throat, Paz grips your knee and slings your leg over his thigh, murmuring praise as he peels off your underwear. Paz’s hand snakes down to your pussy and runs two thick fingers through your already slick cunt, then delicately parts your folds. 

It’s like a fucking bomb going off as his thumb grazes over your swollen clit. His forearm locks tight around your waist, keeping you in place as you arch and tremble. Paz is feather light and teasing, as he strokes over the little bundle of nerves in a painstakingly slow rhythm. 

“Paz—“ 

He nudges your cheek with his helmet and chuckles. “You’re so sensitive, vaar’ika. Such lovely noises too.”  

Paz trades in his light touches for using his two fingers instead. They form a relaxed ‘v’ shape, trapping your clit in between the digits as he massages in a steady up and down motion. You cry out, every nerve shocked and flooded with saccharine pleasure, shoving you so treacherously close to that precarious edge of release.      

You have no fucking chance as a different set of fingers, leaner in length but just as bulky, carefully prod at your entrance. Din’s pointer finger slides into your cunt, quickly adding a second as your core clenches and stretches for him. The dual sensations over your clit and Din’s fingers steadily pumping and curling inside you send you hurling into that dazzling white-hot pleasure.     

Throwing your head back, you cry out—a jumbled mess of their names or just nonsense— pleasure crackling out from your core and all the way down your legs. Your cunt tightens like a vice around Din’s digits, your legs twitching as your high dips into prickly overstimulation. You whine, and swat at Paz’s hand, Din pulling out his own fingers a moment later and wiping your wetness on the inside of your thigh. 

Your head rests in the crook of Paz’s shoulder as your breath fans across the side of his helmet, fogging up the metal where the blue paint is chipped and scraped away. The shirt he wears smells a bit like sweat but the underlying scent of him is comforting—worn leather and something crisp, like fresh laundry. You don’t mean for the words to slip out—

You know better than that, but everything feels muddled and silly and, and, and—

“I wish I could kiss you.”  

It’s like dousing ice cold water on a pile of smoldering coals. A silence, petrifying and like the inhale before jumping off a cliff and into a rocky sea, ensues. Stupid, stupid, stupid—  

Paz shatters the fragile suspense with a rich laugh that burns away all the icy worry making itself a home in your ribcage. He moves his arm up, his fingers gripping your jaw to fix your gaze onto the other Mandalorian. “You want his mouth on you too?”  

You whimper and nod, but it isn’t enough. 

“Use your voice vaar’ika,” Paz hums, pressing the crown of his helmet against your cheek. “Tell us want you want.” 

“I-fuck—” Paz’s fingertips sneak up your torso, rough callous catching deliciously on your skin. “I wan’t your mouth on me. B-both of you.” 

Paz chuckles and releases his hold on your chin. “You’ll have to be blindfolded, sweet girl.”

Din scoffs, a harsh crackle through the vocoder. “Like she’d want to see your face anyway.”

“Please,” you mewl, turning your head to curl into Paz’s neck. It’s not ideal, but it’s a sacrifice you’re willing to make. “I don’t care. I need—“

“Patience, little one,” Paz purrs, rubbing up and down your bare sides in a soothing manner. All it does is stoke the flames. “You’ll get what you want.” 

Paz shifts, reaching for your abandoned shirt and stars—

You can feel his cock, firmer then tempered durasteel and poking into your lower back. Oh, hell—these men are going to ruin you. 

You’re nudged forward, your vision going dark once your shirt is securely tied around your head. The knot traps a few hairs that pull sharp against your scalp but the measly pain is worth it. Oh so worth it.  

“Is it too tight?” You hear Din ask, concern lacing his gravely vocals. 

You wave your hand in dismissal. “S’fine.”

“Cant see anything either, right?” 

You squirm, your patience spreading thin. “Din, please.”

“Fine.” There’s no bite to his tone and under different circumstances you’d have more composure. Acknowledge that they’re putting their religion, their whole being into your hands—a fragile trust that could so easily be shattered. 

Your ears pick up their subtle movements, their helmets landing onto the thin mat with soft thunks. With bated breath you wait for them to jump into action, seize every spare moment to taste your skin and breathe the same air. But—

“You need a haircut, vod.”

“And you need to shave.” Retorts Din with bitter indignation. 

“It’s hardly even stubble.” He chortles. You giggle and twist away as he scrapes his prickly cheek up and down your neck. “Besides—she likes it.” 

There’s another lull, and with the blindfold everything is amplified—the quick and quiet breathing of Din on your right and the slide of fabric against skin as Paz shifts. Your attention is captured by Din’s bare palm, warm and calloused like weathered leather left out in the afternoon sun. He caresses the outside of your thigh in smooth, longing strokes, enraptured by the softness of your skin. You whimper and let your leg fall open, exposing more of your thigh for his curious exploration. 

The sudden touch on your cheek is jarring. You know Paz is there—it’s not an easy thing to forget the solid chest you’re leaning against but it’s hard to focus. Difficult to settle on one thought before it slips away like grains of sand between a clenched fist. Paz’s touch is heavier than Din’s, ambitious and greedy but…mindful. Even as his fingers spread along your jaw and drag you into a deep, mouthwatering kiss. It’s…stars—   

There’s nothing that can describe this. No word that could ever hold a candle up to the way his lips, plush and soft, move against yours. His nose brushes against your cheek as he tilts his head and deepens the kiss, his warm tongue sliding against the seam of your bottom lip. 

You whine and bury your hand into his hair as Paz groans, a low rumble in his throat. You wonder what color it is, but carding your fingers through the curls atop his head suffices for now.

Your curiosity is abruptly ended as Din’s hand snakes around your forearm. You’re forcibly yanked away, only to be met with another pair of lips. Din murmurs an apology at the sting of his teeth bumping into your upper lip, but the pain is hardly the first thing on your mind. 

Din’s kiss is devouring—  

Scalding and bright—the galaxy, a thousand suns, all there ever will be and all that ever was. The way his lips move against yours is a devastatingly sharp contrast to the steady, syrupy sweet kiss Paz offers. Desperate and eager to surround you in his own arms—steal away any lingering thought and replace it with him. Din Djarin—  

You gasp as Din’s teeth nibble and pull on your bottom lip, only a moment before he surges closer, wrapping his hand around your jaw to hold it open as he licks deep into your mouth. Breaking for air, Din tangles his fingers into your hair at the base of your neck and yanks, baring the column of your throat. His travels down, the tender kisses morphing into teasing nips and lingering sucks that’ll turn into tender bruises in the morning. 

Din hovers over your breasts, his heated breath and cooling saliva the catalyst to the goosebumps that rush over your skin. He lightly tugs on your nipple using his teeth, then plants a sweet kiss over your sternum.   

“Can I taste you?” Din murmurs, his lips ghosting over your flesh. “Maker—wanna put my mouth on you.” 

“Din—“ A different set of lips latching onto the juncture of your neck and hijacks your train of thought. Wipes your mind clean until Paz is the sole thing you can consciously focus on. 

Paz laves his tongue over the shell of your ear and urges you to lean back against him once more. Your nose scrapes against his stubble as you tuck your head into the crook of his neck, his hips lazily rolling his hardened cock into your backside. 

“Or…” Paz rumbles, capturing your hand and interlacing your fingers with his. You marvel at the sheer size of his palm—astounded still when he leads his and your hands to palm his cock. “I could give you this. Fuck your pretty little cunt until you’re screaming for me.”

It’s a punch to the gut. Why the fuck do you have to choose? You squirm as Din points his tongue over your nipple then sucks it into his mouth. 

Working through the fog in your head, the answer is clearer than fucking crystal. Because who in their right mind would turn down a Mandalorian’s request to eat you out? Not you, that’s for sure. “Din—want your mouth.”

Din huffs in triumph and slips between your legs that part to accommodate his broad shoulders, leaving no patch of bare skin untouched and worshiped. You shiver as his tongue circles around your bellybutton then retreats. Din settles his head beside your knee and mouths a kiss there.  

You whine his name and buck your hips, heart beating wildly in your ears. The teasing is unbearable and, stars—if he doesn’t start now— 

He nibbles on the inside of your thigh, laving his warm tongue over each mark he leaves behind, buffering the sting of his teeth. Din snake his hands under your ass, hooking your knees over his shoulders as he heaves your cunt closer to his mouth. Din’s thumbs part your soaking pussy, his breath hot fanning over your cunt. His tongue his scalding—like liquid velvet as he dips the tip of his tongue from the base of your slit all the way up to your clit. 

Din sucks on the little bundle of nerves, rolling his tongue until you’re crying out, molten pleasure zipping through you. He grunts as your fingers tangle into his hair—fuck. Fuck, you need more.   

Arching into his mouth, all thoughts are obliterated; nothing but the warmth of his tongue, and his lips, devouring you as if he were a man seconds from death and you’re his saving grace. That frenzied desperation lingers on the edges of his movements like he’s afraid you’ll fade into smoke—but you’re not going anywhere. Not even a million credits could convince you to push Din’s head away. 

He sinks two fingers into your clenching hole and curls his fingers, stroking and curling his fingertips to make you sing. Zeros in on that little spot that causes the involuntary twitches of your leg and wrenches embarrassing, high pitched mewls that fill the room. You’re careening towards your high, the sensitivity of your last orgasm amping up the influx of pleasure. 

“Shit—Din. Close—I’m so close,” you gasp, pulling his hair tight enough that you know it must hurt. He makes no sign that it does, just groans and buries his tongue into your dripping hole, licking alongside his fingers that shovel more of your wetness into his mouth. 

Your release unfurls through your body like sticky molasses—smoldering embers that seep into each limb until they’re heavier than lead. Fuck—it’s so hard to think and at this rate your brain is as good as gone.   

You pay only a fraction of attention to Din as he kisses his way back up your body and lands a final one over your lips. His thumb grazes over your chin, his gravelly words of praise cutting through some of that foggy haze, how good you were, how fucking delicious you tasted when you came on his tongue. You taste your own arousal on his mouth as he noses your cheek and captures your lips in another kiss.           

“Are you done?” Paz asks dryly, much too barbed to be thrown your way. You groan when Paz jostles your limp body as he hoists you back into his lap.

“Just starting, actually,” Din quips. “Why don’t you hand her back over? I’ve got some more things I wanna try.” 

Paz scoffs and secures a heavy arm around your middle. “Greed will get you nowhere.” 

“Neither will your arrogance.” 

“Shut up—both of you,” you interrupt. Your voice is raw and choppy but it does the job. “Just fuck me already.”

For now their little spat is sidelined—it’s not worth ripping off that bandage of a temporary truce. There’s a chaste moment of quiet, like they’re considering tearing into each other’s throats instead, but with a touch to Paz’s thigh the standoff fizzles out. 

“We need to work on your manners,” Paz suggests, curling his large, calloused hand around your neck in a loose hold. “I believe it’s please fuck me.” 

Maybe if you weren’t practically a pile of brainless goo, you’d argue. See how far you can push—though this time you fold. “Please fuck me. P-please—I need it.” 

Seemingly satisfied with your answer; Paz wedges a hand between your bodies to grip his cock and run the tip through your folds, soaked from you own wetness and Din’s saliva. The head of his member nudges at your entrance, and wether it’s his size or the fact you can’t see anything—you panic. 

Your hand shoots out, nails harpooning into the meat of his forearm. “W-wait—you’re too b-big.”  

Paz freezes and moves you up his lap and presses a kiss over you hairline. “We can stop. Just say—“

“N-no, I’m fine,” you assure, planting an apologetic peck on his stubbled jaw. Stopping is the last thing you want to do—it was just…overwhelming. A sensory overload testing the very fringes of your being. “Go slow?”

You feel his head bob in compliance as he moves you back to where you’re hovering over his cock. You relax this time, not as many alarm bells clanging through your head as your cunt flutters around the fat tip and then that glorious, first thick inch. Paz’s thumb bumps over your throbbing clit, coaxing your pussy to take him further. 

“Yeah, that’s it vaar’ika,” he grunts, his breath fanning over your neck in quick pants. “Taking my cock so fucking well. So nice and pretty.”

Your pussy flutters, fresh waves of arousal hot and burning.You nearly keel over when Paz starts shallowly rocking his hips, easing your body the rest of the way down his length until the back of your thighs touch his. Maker—how the hell is he all the way inside? You can feel him in your fucking guts—         

“See?” Paz purrs. He sucks a bruise into the meat of your shoulder and pushes his palm against your lower stomach, making the fit even tighter. “Fits fucking perfect.”

The noise your cunt makes pulling out and the debauched moan that filters through his vocal chords is obscene. If anyone where to walk by, well—it’s certainly not training that’s going on, for the better lack of words. 

Paz holds true to his word—keeps his pace limited to deep, languid thrusts that brush up against something that makes your whole body shake—like strumming a golden chord molded to a musician’s fingers. Fuck—he’s doing all the work too. Lifting you by the swell of your hips and pulling you down onto his cock with a rough buck of his hips. 

Abruptly, he slows to a gentle rocking—quick to lock you in place as you thrash and roll your hips. “Paz—n-no. Keep going. You n-need to—“

Paz silences your please with a wet, open mouthed kiss. “Our friend looks lonely. Why don’t you use that pretty mouth and suck his cock?” 

Din. 

You hear the man curse in Mando’a, probably some stab at Paz—

But with a pat to your outer thigh, you don’t need any more prompting—you’d give up your left hand to get a chance to suck him off. With the help of Paz, you’re eased onto your hands and knees, shocks of white-hot pleasure zipping through your core at the change of angle. Like this Paz is seated deeper inside, stabbing into each spot that makes you sing.    

Fuck—your arms are shaking—only able to hold yourself up for half a click and then you’re sinking face first into the floor, ass in the air as he fucks into you. Paz clicks his tongue and wraps his arm around your front, pulling you back up from your slumped position. 

“I told you to suck his cock, girl. Not take a nap.” Paz accentuates his words with heavy, well measured thrusts—the kind of force you know will leave your whole lower half throbbing and sore in the aftermath. 

You whine as Paz grabs a hold of your jaw, digging into the tender joints until your mouth falls open. “Good. Keep it like that.” 

Paz’s hand falls away, replaced by a softer touch. The pads of Din’s fingers hook under your chin, guiding and tempting you nearer to what rests between his legs, hot and heavy and large.       

You feel the tip of his cock, flushed and pulsing, rest on your bottom lip. You lap up the beads of sticky precum with kitten licks that morph into suckling the entire head. Din grunts out your name and tangles his hand into your hair as you tongue at the ridged frenulum. He never forces you to swallow down more of him—lets you cradle the first few inches in the wet warmth of your mouth and languidly roll the pad of your tongue around him. 

You want to take him deeper, let Din fuck your throat raw, but your jaw already aches. Your lips are pulled tight around his shaft, drool dribbling down your chin and landing on the mat below. You’re not sure if you could take more of him without the danger of your teeth catching or dislocating your jaw. So you manage like this—hollowing out your cheeks and and using the momentum of Paz’s thrusts to pleasure Din.          

It’s frustrating—it must be each time you let his cock slip out of your mouth to breathe or the fact Din isn’t able to fucking fit his cock into your mouth. Annoying that you aren’t able to think properly to help him out a bit ore when that said brain is being fucked straight outta you, put through the wringer and then body slammed onto duracrete. 

Din cups your cheek, strokes over your skin with his thumb and maneuvers himself out of your mouth. You whine and lean into his palm, his touch addictive like smoldering coals in the dead of winter.    

“You want me there instead of him?” Din purrs, using the tips of his index and middle fingers to tilt your chin and drag you into an open mouthed kiss. “Fuck you like you deserve.” 

The profane imagery of Din between your legs instead makes you clench tight. It only takes a couple seconds and a few more feverish kisses before you’re nodding to his request. Paz mutters a swear, hesitates, and reluctantly pulls out, leaving your cunt empty and aching with need. 

Din, however, is speedy—quick to hoard you to himself and yank your legs over his hips so that you’re draped on his lap. He jumps straight to the point, no fancy maneuver or drawn out teasing—just grabs the base of his cock, slides the flushed tip between your folds and sinks into your cunt. Even after your pussy had been stretched and molded around Paz’s length, you struggle to take Din’s entire cock into your aching center. It’s easier than Paz but, Maker—not by much. 

You whine, harpooning your fingernails into his shoulder once he bottoms out. Din snarls a curse and latches his teeth onto the juncture between your neck and shoulder, prickly pain shooting directly to your belly. “Fucking tight. H-how—fuck.”

There’s no time to adjust before Din sets a pace, harsh and desperate—his hands digging into the flesh of your ass for better leverage. Each roll of his hips borders erratic, taking his pleasure without thought—intent on reaching his own end before it could be yanked out from under him. Din’s staggered exhales below your ear are interlaced with subdued moans that start low in his ribcage then dip into a higher, airy pitch. A delicate sound you’ll guard closer to your chest than any secret you possess for the rest of your life—precious and yours. 

Din turns his head to steal a kiss. “You feel fuck—fucking good. Wanna feel you cum around me. S-squeezed so fucking hard around my fingers—“

You choke out a groan and feel your arousal begin to drip down your thighs—hear the thrusts of his cock into your cunt become shamefully wetter. Heat sizzles down each vertebrae in your spine, burning up each and every cell with the brilliance of a wildfire. Stars, this is gonna destroy you.      

Din’s hand sneaks between your bodies and rubs tight, little circles over you swollen clit. There’s no build up to your orgasm—just a blinding surge of blistering warmth that knocks you off your feet and steals away all the air left in your lungs. Your nails dig into Din’s back as you shake and grapple for a foothold in your own consciousness—the steady warmth of his body a much needed anchor for the madness that threatens to drown you.  

“Good girl,” Din praises, pace faltering from just how tight your pussy squeezes and flutters around his cock. “S-such a fucking good girl for me.”     

Regaining some semblance of control, you realize he’s still fucking going—still rock solid and throbbing, fucking you through the aftershocks of your release. Your arousal turns sharp, like rough cotton over a fresh sunburn as it dips into overstimulation. It’s not unpleasant but Din has to slow his hips to a delicate roll for you to recover.            

In the time it takes to inhale, a different calloused hand kneads into your lower back then smoothes up your spine. A second later you feel the scrape of Paz’s stubble prick along your exposed shoulder as his tongue drags along your sweat dampened skin—all the way up the curve of your neck and ending at the shell of your ear. 

You’re not sure if it’s intentional, but as Paz crowds closer the tip of his cock pokes at your other hole. With a surprised mewl, you tense and shy away—but he follows, molds his chest against your back to sandwhich you in. The hand gripping your bicep jumps to your neck and pulls your head against his shoulder. 

Two of Paz’s fingers dip down the curve of your ass and brush along the puckered skin—far less jarring this time. “Do you want to be fucked here too?” 

Maker—

You’re gonna fucking explode.  

Stuffed to the brim already, it’s hard to imagine Paz cramming himself in along with Din. A little red light blares in some corner of your mind but it’s quickly soothed as Paz plants soft kisses over your cheek and jaw. You trust him—there’s no reason to think he’ll hurt you or push you to the point of pain.

You catch his mouth with a kiss and rock your hips back. “Y-yeah, ok. I trust you.” 

You feel his smile curl against your cheek. “Don’t worry vaar’ika—I’ll take care of you.”

Paz strokes your bottom lip with his thumb and kisses the crown of your hairline as you sink into him. With his ring and middle finger, he pushes past the seam of your lips. “Suck.”

You obey, sealing your lips around his two digits and coating them in your saliva. Paz pulls them out with a pop and moves them between your legs, and with the added wetness dripping from your cunt, the first finger is easy enough. The second and third have you gasping as he scissors them and stretches your tight hole wider. You claw your nails into Din’s shirt—and he’s no better—Din’s own hands are clamping around your hips, struggling to keep still and biting back moans each time your cunt constricts. 

Your hips begins to meet the thrusts of Paz’s fingers as your body familiarizes the feel of him there. It’s a deep thrill that rushes up through your spinal cord—much different from anything you’ve felt before. 

“You like this, don’t you?” Paz goads, chuckling when you whine as he extracts his fingers. “I think you’re ready to take my cock, yeah?”

You shudder and nod, your voice no more than a squeak as it pilfers out. Paz strokes the top of your head and tips you forward into Din’s eager arms as Paz slicks up his length in a mix of precum and your dripping arousal. He touches the swell of you ass in warning, lines himself up with your hole and wedges the tip of his cock inside of you.     

Involuntary tears dampen your makeshift blindfold as Paz buries himself deeper, his rumbling tone urging you to relax—relax even though your mind is drowning in an ocean of arousal and swirling emotions you have no hope to pin down and analyze. It’s for the best—thankful as Paz bottoms out that it wrenches you back to a feasible reality you’re able to manage.

“Shit—I-I’m gonna die—“ You sob, writhing at just how full you are. But there’s nowhere to fucking go—     

“Easy,” Din breathes, and you wonder if he’s said it to keep his own head on his shoulders. “Easy.”

Din’s gravelly rasp cuts through the fog in your head, and stars—you sound like you’re fucking dying. Your wheezy breaths and lightheadedness would certainly suggest that—but no…no, you’re fine. Better than fine.     

A rush so acute and devastating launches up your spine as Din’s patience cracks. He experimentally rolls his hips and that’s the end of it. You’re swallowed up in that riptide you fought so hard to avoid—fuck. You won’t be the same after this. How can you?  

You can feel them both, separated by a thin wall as they sprint towards their own highs. You’re never once left empty—Din reaches the end of you as Paz pulls out and while there’s not exactly any finesse involves it’s the best fucking thing you’ve felt in your entire life. There’s no bickering—no teasing and you’re struck with an idea that makes you clench tight around both of them. You wouldn’t mind if this was the way they decided to settle scores or finally see eye to eye.   

This time you can’t discern your high—just a constant overflow of ecstasy and dazzling arousal like an imploding supernova. You cry their names—sob and shake in their hold with such fervor that Paz traps you tighter between them to keep you still.  

“Fuck—you get so fucking tight,” Paz growls, blunt nails digging into your hips. “And so fucking wet.”

His fingers touch the inside of your thigh and stars—he’s right. “I get to fuck your cunt next time—see how much you’ll drip for me.” 

Even if the blindfold were off—there’d be nothing to see but a white wash of nothing. Blinded by pleasure and bursting at the seems. 

Jealous, Din steals your breath away with a kiss, licking and nipping at your swollen lips until you whine his name. His jagged pants fan across your chin—chapped lips and patchy facial hair tickling across your bottom lip as you breath the same air. 

Din whispers your name like a prayer, his fingers clutching tight around your thighs as his pace starts to flounder to choppy jerks. “Shit. I-I’m close—“

Your fingers twist into his hair. “Yeah—ok baby. Let go.”

Din’s teeth sink into the base of your throat and cums. His seed coats your insides—hot and copious and fucking shit—if there’s a next time you want him to cum in your mouth.      

You don’t get time to relish Din’s stuttered gasps of your name, laced with praise and a show of a tender and bleeding heart before Paz is gathering up your hair in a tight fist and jerking your head up. “You—you want me to cum too? Say it.” 

Without a breath of hesitation you beg for it, cry and arch into him. It does the trick—

Paz is loud—shouts a thunderous roar and buries his cock deep into your hole. Din is still recovering from the aftershocks of his release when Paz pulls out after what seems like ages pumping you full. His cock no longer there to plug you up, his cum begins to dribble out and mix with the mess between your legs. Your legs shake and you wobble--crying out as Din slips out, your body dreadfully empty and aching.     

You're lowered to the mat by Din and if you weren't still trying to formulate words, you'd thank them. Lips dart over your cheeks and hairline, and for once nothing needs to be said. It’s nice...the radiating warmth from their bodies and the simmering flush through you body is something you could get used to. But you’re no stranger to the shifting tides of the future. 

You shrug it off.    

Your eyes are heavy and with one of them stroking your hair and the other your thigh, you drift to sleep. Later—later all unspoken things and disastrous words can be dealt with tomorrow. You must be dreaming when it’s said--careless and bold, but the words nestle into your heart and sprouts with fear. 

“You love her, don't you?” 

translation:

vaar’ika--pipsqueak 

or’dinni--dumbass idiot 

vod--brother/comrade 

tag list: 

@bobafctts​ @djxrxn​ @teaofpeach​ @corrupt-fvcker​ @nelba​ @datmando​ @ben-is-a-hoe​ @dreams-like-clockwork​ @aerynwrites​ @auty-ren​ @huliabitch​ @anxiety-riddled-mando​ @phoenixhalliwell​ @trippedmetaldetector​ 

#happy SINday :) #pls accept some mando schlong #din djarin x reader #din djarin x you #paz vizla x reader #paz vizsla x reader #paz vizla #paz vizsla #din djarin #the mandalorian #the mandalorian x reader #star wars #sw #fanfic #my writing #reader insert

[capseycartwright]

your love takes me there, this I swear

buck loves just about everything about eddie - but he especially loves his hands. 

or, musings on how buck fell in love with eddie because of his hands. inspired by this gifset of eddies hands and my utter lack of self-control!

ao3 link

Buck loves just about everything about Eddie. Really - the list of things he loves about Eddie is long, and possibly embarrassing, and ranges from the perfectly mundane like Eddie’s smile, to the downright cringey, like how much he likes the tiny, adorable snuffling noises Eddie makes when he’s sleeping on his side. 

Buck loves everything about Eddie -

But he especially loves his hands.

Buck’s not entirely sure when he first noticed Eddie’s hands, but he thinks it was probably fairly early on in their friendship. It sort of came with the territory, noticing hands - hands that worked to save someone's life on a medical call, hands that fought fires. Buck probably noticed fairly early on, because he had to watch Eddie work, and how could he not notice that Eddie had quick, clever hands - hands that had clearly seen plenty of medical emergencies before and knew how to work quickly and effectively? He admired it - even underneath all his initial assholerely, Buck admired it. Eddie was a clever guy, and good at his job, and he’d been a threat, in the beginning, and then he’d quickly become Buck’s best friend in the entire world.

Eddie’s hands were focused, and clever, at work - they had been from day one. Buck, to this day, liked to sit back and admire Eddie’s hands when he could. Eddie’s hands were clever, and they were strong. Every day of his life, when Buck put his uniform on and started work, he put his life in Eddie’s hands, and Eddie had never given him a reason to question the unwavering faith Buck had felt from the moment they’d worked to save that man’s life in the ambulance. Eddie’s hands were the hands that Buck trusted to double-check his harness, when he was going to do a rope rescue - it was a job Buck had never really even trusted Bobby to do, always doing a third check when someone else had checked him over, just to be sure - but Buck trusted Eddie to do it. The routine was familiar, now - Buck would harness up, and Eddie would double-check every clip, every knot, tugging and tightening with a practiced ease and familiarity. 

Eddie’s hands were the ones who would operate the winch, when Buck was doing a rope rescue. Buck always felt safe, knowing Eddie’s hands were the ones that were holding onto his rope, that Eddie’s hands were the ones his life was in. Eddie’s hands were the safest place Buck had ever known. Eddie’s hands were the ones he felt on his shoulder, during a fire, reassuring him that Buck wasn’t alone. Eddie’s hands worked alongside his, to wrangle hoses and pull victims out of fires. They were hands Buck knew as well as his own - hands that felt like an extension of his own, while they worked. 

He noticed the way Eddie’s hands worked, first - and then he noticed how Eddie handled Christopher. Buck was probably biased, yes, but he firmly believed Eddie was the best father in the entire world. Eddie - he never babied Christopher, never made his son feel less than, he was never cold with Chris, never denied his son anything. The first time Buck met Christopher, he’d driven Eddie to Christopher’s school, and he’d watched as the hands that had saved lives in the aftermath of the earthquake had lifted his son into a relieved hug with a gentleness Buck hadn’t seen from the older man, until then. 

Eddie’s hands were always gentle, and loving, with Christopher. Over the years, Buck had watched as Eddie’s hands had ruffled Christopher’s hair, hands that had helped Christopher with his crutches, hands that had supported and loved the little boy in all the ways Buck had never experienced in his life. He thinks - in hindsight - watching Eddie with Christopher only ever helped Buck fall completely in love with Eddie. Eddie was soft, and kind, and gentle, and patient with his son - even when Christopher was throwing the kind of epic tantrum Buck wasn’t sure he’d know how to handle, Eddie would simply give his son a firm look, and with gentle hands, direct him to the couch and explain that they needed to talk about their feelings - not shout about them.

How could Buck not fall in love with the hands that tucked Christopher into bed every night, hands that put Christopher’s glasses aside when Christopher fell asleep while they were reading - hands that easily lifted Chris from the couch and into bed, after movie night, hands that were raising the best kid Buck knew. Eddie didn’t give himself enough credit, if you asked Buck - because he was the greatest example of fatherhood Buck had ever seen, and he got to see it every single day. Buck felt like he learned from it - learned how to be a role model, putting Eddie’s parenting into practice as Jee-Yun got older and Buck’s role in her life felt infinitely more important than ever.

Buck noticed the way Eddie’s hands worked, first - and the way they loved Christopher, second. 

The way Eddie’s hands loved him was the greatest revelation of Buck’s life. Looking back - Eddie’s hands had been telling Eddie’s secrets for years, long before Eddie himself had ever confessed his feelings for Buck. Buck remembered the first time they hugged - really hugged, and not the slap on the back,  bro-style hugs that had dominated the first few months of their friendship. 

No, their first real hug had been after the bombing - Buck didn’t like to think about those few months, all that much, and he liked to think about the time he spent in the hospital even less, but there was a moment that he liked to think about. Buck had been alone - which was rare, given the shifts the 118 and his family took to keep him company as he recovered - and Eddie had come, late, after a shift, and he’d found Buck crying. Buck had been too tired and emotionally wrung out to be embarrassed, and Eddie had simply wiped away his tears with those magnificent, healing hands, and he’d hugged Buck close, as though he could squeeze him hard enough and put all the broken pieces of Evan Buckley back together and from that moment Buck was sure the only place he could truly be happy was when he was being held in Eddie’s hands. 

Eddie’s hands had told the story of his feelings long before Eddie had said the words out loud - hands that offered Buck coffee, on his bad mornings. Hands that took Buck’s keys from him, on the days he was too tired to drive, hands that bundled Buck into the passenger seat of Eddie’s car. Hands that lingered and hands that held Buck close and hands that loved and said so much long before either of them had found the words for what had started burning between them so many years previously.

Buck remembered the moment it had all been set alight - and you’d have to forgive the ironic metaphor, for a firefighter, but he wasn’t sure there was any other way to describe how it felt to finally love Eddie loudly and freely - it was as though his body had been set alight with it all and Buck had been so fucking happy to burn because it was Eddie, and maybe that wasn’t all that eloquent but Buck would walk through fire every day of his life if it meant he got to have five minutes at the end of every day with Eddie - he was just lucky that he got Eddie for so much more than 5 minutes, he got to have Eddie all the time.

Eddie had kissed him first. Buck would always remember the moment - the way their argument seemed to stop, right in the middle, because suddenly, you could cut the tension between them with a knife and something shifted and changed and Eddie was cupping Buck’s face in those beautiful hands of his and he was kissing Buck like he was worth something and pleading with Buck to understand that regardless of anyone else - Eddie couldn’t live without him. 

Buck loved being loved by Eddie’s hands. Over the years, it felt like Eddie’s hands had mapped every single inch of Buck’s body - Eddie’s magical, magnificent hands knew exactly where to touch, where to tickle, where to hold. God - Buck would never get over how it felt to be held by Eddie. Eddie had big hands - and the multitude of entirely not PG fun that brought about aside - Eddie’s hands were big enough to make Buck feel held. Eddie’s hands felt like they spanned the entire expanse of Buck’s ribcage, familiar and grounding when it felt like Buck’s lungs were being crushed with the weight of the anxiety that felt like it was never going to let him be, even after years of therapy and talking and recovery. Even then, Eddie’s hands were steadying, keeping Buck above water.

Buck loved to hold Eddie’s hand. Eddie’s hands - just like the rest of Eddie - were warm, warm and calming and familiar and Buck took every opportunity he could to link his fingers with Eddie’s - across the centre console of the car, in the grocery store, sitting on the couch watching TV after Christopher had gone to bed. 

Buck could write a novel, about the way Eddie’s hands felt - calloused, and a little rough, the result of a life spent working manual jobs that required those helpful, healing hands of Eddie’s. They were still soft, though - soft, and warm, and familiar, and the greatest comfort Buck had ever known, whether that comfort was in a ridiculous haunted house Chimney had forced them to go to (it was, in Buck’s defence, actually terrifying, and he’d been justified in holding onto Eddie’s hand with a death grip), or whether that comfort was the steadying presence of Eddie by his side as his doctor had quietly admitted Buck’s yearly scan of his leg had shown a strange abnormality. Hands that had held Buck close as he panicked, and cried, hands that had shared in Buck’s joy as everything had turned out to be just fine. 

Hands that had shaken, as he’d proposed to Buck. They’d talked about marriage, in that vague, far off, maybe one day sense - and if Buck was being honest, he wouldn’t have minded if they had never gotten married. What they had, the love he and Eddie shared, was too big to be described only by marriage and a ring - but Buck couldn’t deny the thrill that had gone down his spine as Eddie had gotten down on one knee and produced a ring with shaking hands and asked Buck to make it official.

“Penny for your thoughts?”

Buck hummed happily, leaning back against Eddie as his husband slotted himself behind Buck on the couch on their hotel balcony, bracketing Buck’s hips with his knees. “Just thinking,” he said, marking his place in his book, twisting a little so he could look at Eddie. The four days of glorious, uninterrupted sunshine had done wonders for Eddie, a healthy glow to his skin that could only be the result of a slow, lazy, ‘we’re not doing a single adventurous or touristy thing’ kind of honeymoon. 

“About good things?” Eddie asked, those glorious hands of his threading through Buck’s hair, familiar as they tugged at his salt-water matted curls. 

“About you,” Buck admitted, twisting his fingers with Eddie’s, taking a second to admire the bright platinum wedding band that sat there - a wedding band Buck had put there only a few short days ago. It was simple, plain and thin to anyone who might give it a passing glance - and engraved on the inside, decorated with words that would only ever go a fraction of the way of explaining the love that Buck felt for Eddie - love that consumed him in the best and brightest and most welcome ways. 

“I’m right here,” Eddie reminded, as though Buck could forget that he was on a blissful, week-long honeymoon with his husband in a very fancy, very quiet, five-star hotel. It had taken them a long time to get to where they were - and so they had decided they were going to savour every single second of their first week of marriage. 

“I know,” Buck reassured, pressing a kiss to the back of Eddie’s hand. “I was just reminding myself of how much I love you.” 

Eddie’s smile was the most glorious thing Buck had ever seen - forget art, and music, and ancient cities full of history. No, Eddie Diaz’s smile was one of the greatest wonders of Buck’s world. “I love you too,” Eddie reassured, his other hand coming to rest on Buck’s chest, right where his heart was, and a part of Buck wanted to scream it in time with the thrum of his own heartbeat, to try and make Eddie understand what Buck still felt like he didn’t have the words for - it’s yours, it’s yours, it belongs to you.

Buck loved Eddie’s hands - hands that healed, and helped, hands that had given Buck hope, hands that loved. 

Hands he was going to get to hold onto forever. 

#911 fox #evan buckley #eddie diaz #buddie fic #in which i ramble #in which lorna writes fic #its just 2k about eddies hands don't @ me i know i have a problem

[biomecharnotaurus]

I'M ASKING YOU ABOUT HALO I've been meaning to get into it but I've only played Reach so far and that one doesn't even have master chief in it. Tell me about the specific, in-depth lore or tell me why I shouldn't play it.

Pik

PIK

WHAT HAVE YOU DONE!!!

THIS IS LONG, LONGGGGGG

So, you know the modern Doom lore, right? MAKE IT 700 TIMES MORE COMPLEX AND EVERY SINGLE SIDE CHARACTER HAS AT LEAST AN ESSAY WORTHY OF BACKSTORY. AND EVERYTHING IS DARK AS SHIT. HAPPINESS IS MOMENTARY, THERE IS NOT 1 (ONE) HAPPY CHARACTER WITH A HAPPY ENDING.

Like, I can't fit all of the infos I have about these characters in 50 different posts, AND I DON'T EVEN KNOW ALL OF THEM!! HELP!!

I'll just explain some of the main things about the first games because REALLY IT'S A MESS.

So, there are extremely religious alien group called the Covenant, they used to worship the Forerunners (MORE ALIENS) that were killed during the war against the Flood and they fucking hate humans SO THE COVENANT AND THE HUMANS HAVE A FUCKING VIOLENT INTERSTELLAR WAR.

They really like Halos, which are funny WEAPONS OF DEATH AND DESCRUTION FROM ANCIENT ELDRITCH ALIEN TECHNOLOGY, THEY HAVE THEIR OWN ECOSYSTEMS ON THEIR SURFACES TOO LIKE EARTH but they are machines and if activated they fucking ANNIHILATE THE WHOLE GALAXY. They were made to study the Flood but THEY ARE TOO FUCKING DANGEROUS.

The Flood are pretty much if mushrooms evolved in to lovecraftian horrors and they are tiny lil parts of a fucking massive worm god thing called the Gravemind, THAT IS MADE OUT OF CORPSES AND MINDS OF THE INFECTED FUCKERS! Once they infect somebody their mind becomes part of the entity and they become a fucking hideous zombie, so this bitch ass worm mf is pretty much diet omnipotent.

Now, the funny space marines in power armor like Master Chief are called spartans.

There are 4 generations of spartans:

Spartans I

WE DON'T EVEN KNOW IF THEY WERE ACTUALLY A THING. Sgt Johnson is TECHNICALLY one. Maybe.

Spartans II

You probably know Jorge 052 if you played Halo Reach! Massive guy, yellow armor, big guns, him. He is a spartan II. So is John 117, Master Chief!!!

So, how do you become a spartan II? YOU AREN'T THE ONE WHO DECIDES, SPARTANS II ARE SELECTED CHILDREN THAT GET KIDNAPPED BY THE ABSOLUTELY NOT EVIL MILITARY AND VIOLENTLY TRAINED IN TO WAR MACHINES. Literally war machines, because do you know what they do to those children? FUCKING BIOMECHANICAL AUGMENTATIONS TO MAKE THEM SUPER FUCKING STRONG AND OTHER FUCKING NOT VERY NORMAL HUMAN SHIT. SCI-FI STEROIDS. NOT EVEN ALL OF THEM SURVIVE THE SURGERIES, THEY RARELY DO. They also don't remember shit about their past pre-kidnapping life and even if they become adults, they still have the mind of an incredibly traumatized child with too much knowledge about war. Their brain cortex is also connected to their armors...there is more but pretty much ye

Spartans III

All of the other spartans from Halo Reach are spartans III! Exact same kidnapping-training-augmentations as the spartans II, EXPECT THE KIDNAPPED CHILDREN AREN'T EVEN SELECTED, THEY ARE RANDOM ORPHANS FROM RANDOM DYING COLONIES. Some of them turn out okay, some others kill themselves, some other are fucking sociopaths that hate humanity and everyone because of what they did to them! Fantastic!

Spartans IV

More recent Halo games! Halo Wars! The spartans you play as in the online of Halo Infinite!

Same augmentations as the other spartans, expect no more kidnapped children, these are all adults that were willing to join, ex ODSTs (I'll talk about them in a minute) and ex very-good-high-ranking standard UNSC marines! A lot of them have prosthetics, because of their past war experiences.

Talking about

ODSTs

(Orbital Drop Shock Troopers) aren't spartans, they were what came before the spartan program was made. They are uh..."fancy" standard marines? They are extremely well trained, but they aren't biomechanical like spartans. Their gear is pretty much slightly better than the standard marine one and it's resistant to...well...getting thrown from a spaceship inside of a pod in war and then having to fight to death thousands of aliens.

Now, ODSTs are treated like shit. Literally, to test out John's augmentations they made a couple of ODSTs fight this poor child that didn't even understand how strong he was, and well...they all got killed. Brutally. John wasn't exactly proud of what he did.

OKAY THERE IS A LOT MORE, A LOT, BUT. REALLY. I SUGGEST PLAYING THE GAMES.

Take in mind most of the Halo lore is in the books tho, of course the games have lore but it's nothing in comparison to all the stuff from the novels! There is also A LOT of alien lore with various species, I think you would like the sangheili, for example

#halo #ask #pikkish #truly sorry LMAO

[bamfdaddio]

X-Men Abridged: 1980 - The Dark Phoenix Saga

The X-Men, those enduring mutants that have sworn to protect a world that hates and fears them, are a cultural juggernaut with a long, tangled history. Want to unravel this tapestry? Then read the Abridged X-Men!

(X-Men 132 - 140, X-Men Annual 4) - by Chris Claremont and John Byrne, John Romita Jr. and Bob McLeod

Go on. Name a more iconic X-Men panel. I’ll wait. (X-Men 134)

If you were born in 1980, you were born under the sign of the Phoenix. This means you will have great hair, but you’ll also be absolutely corrupted by power. Don’t worry, as long as you don’t consume any stars and/or galaxies, you should be fine.

This year hits the ground running, introducing Emma Frost, Kitty Pryde and Dazzler in one fell swoop. The White Queen is the first of the Hellfire Club to make her move, but Phoenix is quickly able to dispatch of her, as you can read here.

Cyclops, worried that the rest of the Inner Circle will soon come in for the kill, decides to abscond to Angel’s Aerie in New Mexico to throw their pursuers off their scent. Jean decides to make the most of it and has sex with Scott on top of mesa. (Kinky!) She also shuts off his uncontrollable destructo-beams, nbd. This somehow inspires Scott to go from reactive to proactive and lead an ill-advised charge straight into the Hellfire Club on the night of their big ball… soirée... thing. Call it a Hellfire Gala-avant-la-lettre.

Fine, he might have been inspired by the raw power of the Phoenix. She’s the biggest gun on their side and, if there's one thing you can be sure of, it´s that reliable powerhouse Jean won´t switch sides in the middle of battle.

Oh wait, that's exactly what she does.

As soon as they enter the Hellfire Club, Jason Wyngarde, who reveals he’s actually Mastermind, takes control of Jean, finally turning her into the Black Queen. With the power of the Phoenix and the patriarchy on their side, the Inner Circle makes short work of the X-Men. They consists of:

Jason Wyngarde, aka Mastermind.

Sebastian Shaw. Often shirtless. The Jeff Bezos of mutantkind. Has the ability to absorb kinetic energy, which means punching him only makes him stronger. (Colossus and Storm figure this out the hard way.)

Harry Leland. Ability of mass manipulation, which has got to be one of the dopest powers ever. Uses it to dunk Wolverine three floors down into the sewer.

Donald Pierce. 25% robot, 100% asshole, 100% useless in taking out X-Men, 225% the worst.

Wolverine is the only one who escapes, resulting in another iconic image:

Apparently, this picture is solely responsible for the fact that Wolverine became the face of the X-Men in the zeroes. It also lit my cigar from the other side of the room. (X-Men 132)

Needless to say, stabbing ensues.

Meanwhile, Shaw pontificates what he wants with the X-Men. He means to use them as guinea pigs to isolate the X-Gene, which he’ll then reverse engineer to give everyone (with money) super powers and all of a sudden, I want Shaw to do a team-up with John Sublime. Jean is not all there, however: she’s trapped in the astral plane, cultivating a cruel streak a mile high.

And suddenly, Jean-turning-evil is not all that funny anymore. (X-Men 133)

Cyclops traverses the mental link he shares with Jean to confront ‘Sir Jason’ and challenge him to a duel. Guy can’t catch a break: in Jean’s mindscape, he is stabbed and he promptly collapses in the real world. Ruh-roh!

Wolverine, meanwhile, has done a passable impression of the Bride against the Crazy 88 in Kill Bill, and he interrupts the Hellfire Club and their gloating. That’s when Jean resurfaces as well, snapping out of her voluptuous Victorian fantasy and, playing a dubious tango with everyone’s trust issues, switching sides once again. The Phoenix is like the golden snitch: as long as your team holds it, it’s enough to win.

Colossus snaps Pierce’s robo-arm, Shaw gets punted through a floor and Leland uses his powers to increase Wolverine’s mass - just when Logan is jumping on top of him. Oops! Should have made him lighter than a feather, Leland.

Jean, meanwhile, is doing her own passable impression of the Bride and goes on what the advertisements would refer to as a ‘Roaring Rampage of Revenge’. (Oh, she roars, and she rampages, and she gets bloody satisfaction.)

This is what happens when you fuck around and find out, Jason. (X-Men 134)

Phoenix makes Mastermind’s mind touch the infinite. His tiny human mind can’t cope. And, just like me when I’m at Pride and surrounded by a bevvy of shirtless gym bunnies, he becomes a dribbling mess. A shell with nothing inside. For those of you paying attention: this is where your Lit teacher would shout “dramatic irony” and underscore Emma Frost vs. Storm on the chalkboard.

This is also the moment where she officially Breaks Bad.

We see powerless people become heroes all the time. The reverse, where the angel falls? That happens far more rarely. I think that is the reason this story was so shockingly effective in the eighties. The reason why it’s still so effective? I think because, like the One Ring, you can read the rise and fall of the Phoenix in a myriad of ways. Is this a victim, reclaiming power? Is this a woman, trying to rise in a man’s world? Is this someone who was always buttoned up, daring to embrace her own power, her sexuality, her dangerous side -- only to get promptly beat down? The ambiguity of the narrative gives it strength, which is why I think it keeps resonating even now. This counts especially in the X-Universe, inherently designed to appeal to the underdog.

Anyway, the X-Men try to flee, but it’s too late. Jean can’t hold it in any more. She explodes in Phoenixesness and vaporizes the X-Men’s aircraft over Central Park. Relishing in her power, Jean easily defeats her friends, before flying off into the galaxy.

In the Avengers mansion, Beast gets the report that the X-Men are trashing the Hellfire Club. Ignoring his duties as an Avenger, Beast chooses his old family and hops off to investigate on his own.

The report, by the way, comes from Shaw, who knows when to turn tail and cut his losses. Among the confused, scared refugees of their party, he begins working a politician on the importance of a Sentinel program. That politician? Senator Kelly. Remember that name.

Jean can’t talk, she’s doing hot girl things. Nomnomnom that star system, sis. (X-Men 135)

Originally, Jean wasn’t meant to die. This one panel, the one showing the inhabited planet, is the reason why she eventually does: Jim Shooter, editor-in-chief, felt Jean shouldn’t be able to get away with a literal genocide. Claremont and Byrne, who had planned to strip Jean of her powers at the end of this, had to change the end of their story within days before it went to print. Additionally, this stoked the adversarial fire between the two: Claremont claims that he hadn’t originally intended there to be an inhabited planet, but felt his hands were tied when Byrne drew one. I wonder how true this is, considering how embedded it is in the narrative, but that’s neither here nor there.

The Phoenix’s genocide alerts the Shi’Ar - and therefore Lilandra - to her presence. Lily says that Galactus is nothing compared to the Phoenix: he merely eats planets, she will consume all that exists.

A hungry Jean, meanwhile returns to Earth, not sure what she’s looking for. She pays a visit to the home of her parents, but when they warily come to greet her, she can’t help but read all the innermost thoughts of her family. Nothing is secret, nothing is sacred. (Imagine knowing all those little thoughts your parents had about you, all those little terrible human things they did in their life. Imagine knowing all their sexual fantasies. Brrr.) It sours the Phoenix against them and she is about to start familicide to her list of sins, when the X-Men attack!

Nightcrawler slaps a psionic scrambler designed by Beast on her, but she’s still too strong. Wolverine tries to end her, but he isn’t ruthless enough to do the deed. When the scrambler overloads, Scott tries reasoning with her, appealing to her love. This causes the Phoenix to waver and Charles Xavier (airdropped in by Warren), bolts Jean telepathically.

Drinking game rule for the Phoenix saga no 6: shout “ca-caw” and take a sip every time the raptor appears. (X-Men 136)

Xavier feels Jean helping him out from within the Phoenix and together, they slowly trap Phoenix in the same sort of energy-matrix as Jean did with the M’Kraan-crystal. The Phoenix finally lays dormant, the X-Men have Jean back and Scott, overwhelmed by emotion, sort of awkwardly proposes to her. Happy Ending! And then, pulling the rug out from under our feet, the X-Men (including Beast and Angel) are whisked away.

They appear in front of Lilandra. The Shi’Ar hold Jean accountable for her planet-killing ways and Lilandra orders her Imperial Guard to take her away! But Charles invokes an ancient law with the same relish of someone who invokes an obscure board game rule against the person who is about to win: he demands a trial by combat.

The rules are easy:

X-Men win: Jean lives

Shi’Ar win: Jean dies.

The trial will be on the dark side of the moon. The Shi’ar are way too strong and, one by one, the X-Men fall, until only Jean and Scott are left. In their last stand, Jean loses control and becomes the Phoenix again, wiping the floor with the Imperial Guard. Technically, they win, but she knows now.

Suicide by abandoned-machine-of-a-long-forgotten-civilization-on-the-dark-side-of-the-moon. (X-Men 137)

She dies. Phoenix dies. The X-Men lose. Scott, bereft, leaves the X-Men.

One detail I love is the holempathic crystal that Lilandra bestows on Jean’s parents.

Without becoming too maudlin, the idea of this is beautiful. A condensed image of a person you love, one you can touch when you feel memories slipping away so you can remember who they were. (X-Men 138)

And with that, season 2 of the X-Men ends. Without Cyclops and Phoenix, the X-Men have to readjust. While Beast returns to the Avengers, Angel takes up residence in the mansion again. He confesses to liking most of the new X-Men, except Wolverine. (To be fair, Wolverine is an acquired taste.) Kitty Pryde also formally starts attending the school and slowly, the Jean-and-Scott-shaped void is filled.

Patriarchal Charles is thrilled to finally have a new teenager in the house who will hang on to his every word. It’ll be like the sixties all over again! (X-Men 139)

There are so many beautiful touches in the few panels:

Wolverine calling Charles ‘Chuck’

Nightcrawler getting drinks (and a beer)

Most amazingly of all, Storm becoming the leader. (I give Chuck a lot of flak, but this decision is Right.) Not just because Storm is the best X-Man for the job, but also because she was a black woman leading one of premier Marvel superhero teams for, what? The better half of a decade? The eighties had barely started, so this was a big fucking deal.

Storm also takes up a motherly role for Kitty, who takes up her suggestion for a codename: Sprite. (This after Kitty rejects Charles’ suggestion of Ariel, which is only fortunate, considering that name would soon be associated with redhaired mermaids.)

The rest of the year is dedicated to two adventures, both of them starring Kurt. The first is depicted in the annual: on Kurt’s birthday, he receives a mysterious package with a mysterious figurine that mysteriously explodes in his face. Professor X calls guest star Dr. Strange for aid, who deduces that his soul has been stolen. What follows is a quest to regain Kurt’s soul in an adventure that feels a little too I just read Dante’s Inferno, check how smart I am.

Hell is a little too pedestrian and boring, though we do get a King Minos hitting on Kurt and Ororo. A man of wealth and taste indeed. Anyway, at the end of this side quest, it turns out all of this was a convoluted revenge scheme concocted by one Margali of the Winding Road. She turns out to be Kurt’s (adoptive) mother, who’s getting revenge for Kurt killing her son.

Kurt, racked with guilt, reveals he had no choice. Stefan had always feared the darkness in his soul and he’d made Kurt pledge to stop him if he should ever succumb to it. After Stefan killed a child or two, Kurt had no choice but to end him. Stefan perished and Kurt was blamed for all of the murders, having to flee an angry mob.

Margali forgives him, with some help from Jimaine, Kurt’s foster sister. In a twist that is a little too soap opera for my tastes (and I watch Riverdale), Jimaine turns out to be Kurt’s squeeze, Amanda Sefton. I’ve always disliked this twist, and not just because of the incesteous vibes: I like the idea of Kurt dating a regular lady who is into him despite his appearance and his being a mutant. Making Amanda Sefton his sorcerous half-sister dilutes that message a lot.

The tail end of 1980 involves Wolverine going to Canada so Wolverine can make amends with Alpha Flight. Kurt joins him, ostensibly to flirt with Aurora, but in fact this shows that Kurt and Wolverine are establishing a rapport. A deeper friendship.

In a pretty paint-by-numbers adventure, Wolverine, Nightcrawler and the worse half of Alpha Flight take down a Wendigo. We don’t get Northstar or Aurora, but we do get more Snowbird, who can change herself into Canadian animals, with the danger of being consumed by her animal side.

We get this delightful panel out of it:

Scared Nightcrawler almost makes me forget how full of shit Jimmy MacDonald is, considering last time Kurt saw them, they tried to kidnap the fuzzy elf. (X-Men 139)

This whole arc is meant to show the softening of Wolverine. Not only does he share his name with Kurt (well, sort of: “Logan, is that your name?” “Yup.” “You never told us.” “You never asked.”), but when they fight the Wendigo and Snowbird turns into a white wolverine to deal the final blow, he talks her out of being consumed by her vicious animal nature.

The year ends with two details worth mentioning:

The Canadian government dissolves Alpha Flight, which I can only find a prescient move that highlights their good taste. A realistic note I like is the minister referring to the mutant problem as ‘an American problem’ even though they employ the Beaubier twins. Wankers.

Fred Dukes escapes prison to join the New Brotherhood of Mutants!

We’re now entering a run of the X-Men which I haven’t read much of yet, but Freddy mentions he was helped by some lady lawyer. That’s gotta be Mystique, right?

I can barely contain my glee.

Ugliest Costume: Despite that godawful hooded thing Kitty wears, I have to give this to Dazzler. There’s no salvaging that costume: I’m sorry, but she’s wearing a disco ball around her neck. It's a boot from me.

Best new character: Emma Frost. Fight me by the bike rack near the parking lot if you disagree.

Turns evil: Jean Grey, famously so.

What to read: X-Men 129 to 137, the Dark Phoenix run.

#x-men #abridged x-men #x-men abridged #cyclops #phoenix #professor x #storm #nightcrawler #wolverine #colossus #beast #angel #dazzler #kitty pryde #emma frost #hellfire club #dark phoenix saga #chris claremont #john byrne #john romita jr. #bob mcleod #sebastian shaw #jason wyngarde #harry leland #donald pierce #lilandra neramani #shi'ar #alpha flight #snowbird

[softcallofdutyimagines]

Can I get some Naga slight angst/fluff? Maybe an enemy group took the s/o and Naga has to negotiate getting them back (like $12 million) and daddy gets them back because “$12 million is a cheap price to get you back” idk I’m in love with how you write for the cod operators ❤️

Need this 😌💖💖💖💖 I turned it into a whole little fic, so I hope that's ok! This got pretty heavy, ngl, but I think it turned out sweet, so I hope you enjoy!!

Reader Pronouns: she/her

Warning: strong language and some pretty disrespectful language towards women, including implied physical violence if you squint, so be careful while reading guys!!!

Naga clears the trinkets and fine antiques off his desk with a full sweep of rage. A vase shatters and a small, crystal idol chips, but all he sees is short, typed ransom note before him.

A rival gang managed to snatch you up in the streets not two days ago. He's been worried sick ever since you didn't come home that evening, and even now it hasn't abated by much. No, instead an anger just as intense as the worry and fear rises to join the others. His entire being trembles almost imperceptibly as he reads the details of the letter.

They want 100 billion kip in gold. He has three days to bring it to the drop point in exchange for you. No guns or weapons on him or his men.

He slams a fist on the desk and collapses his head into his hands. Naga clenches a fistful of hair in one hand and swipes the note out of his sight with the other. He weighs his options only to realize...

Well, he doesn't really have any, does he?

He's very familiar with this group. They're ruthless cutthroats and, if he's being honest, he wouldn't out it past them to have killed you already and be stringing him along right now. In fact, as much we it makes him sick to say so, he almost hopes they've killed you.

It would be a much better fate then what they usually do to their victims.

Even three days is far too long to be in their captivity. God, just the thought of their hands on you... He shrieks in rage, wishing there was something else in his vacinity that he could destroy. But he knows that wouldn't help.

No, the only thing that would help him right now is having you back.

Kapano calla in his right hand man and throws the crumpled up letter to him. "Get the money", he growls.

The other man opens up the paper and reads the sum. His eyes go wide and before he can even suggest that he might protest this plan, a stiletto knife buries itself in the wood beside his head.

"I said get the fucking money!", he screams, eyes wide, teeth bared, and every muscle within him bristling. The second in command bows his head quickly and dashes off before something far worse is thrown his way.

Naga swears and applies some pressure to his forehead. It feels like his skull is about to split.

He spares a glance outside, then trudges to his room. Your, room. The sun hangs low in the sky and he has yet even more to do tomorrow. One piece at a time, he sheds his combat attire, nursing a headache all the while.

On a normal night, you offer to help him out of all the buckles and straps, and oh what he'd give to take you up on that offer now. At last he unclasps his jewelry down to one final necklace. This is a recent one, a locket you gave him with a tiny picture of the two of you inside. He loved it so much, he's since had it encrusted with a ruby heart and wears it daily.

At the memory of you, suddenly he feels unable to part with it, not even for just a night's sleep. He takes it off reverently and clasps it tightly in his hand. Poping open the little door, he fixates on your lovely face as he trudges to bed.

Naga crawls into his side, distracted for a long moment by the perfectly undisturbed second half of the bed. He knows how much you hate a cold bed. On any other night he'd lay in your spot for you until you join him, just to warm up the sheets for you.

He places the locket on your pillow, a shakiness starting to overtake him as he wonders if he'll ever have the chance to warm your sheets and share a bed with you again. At last he lays his head down, and yet he's unable to take his eyes off your half.

Even still, your pillow smells like oils and creams he bought you for your hair. He suspends his hand just over the pillow a moment, thinking of you. And when he lets it drop, he can't tell if it's the cause or the result of the tears flowing from him.

He can't fucking stand it anymore.

Kapano pulls your pillow close to him, holding it tight as he would you. At least tonight he'll have the comforting scent of you as he suffers another fitful night.

The following days up to the trade are slow and painful. Every night is worse then the last as he consumes himself with the stress and worry surrounding you.

He can't get to the drop point fast enough. In compliance with the ransom note, he and his men are unarmed. So they wait. And wait. And wait....

And just as he's ready to pull his hair out, a truck slowly rolls up the abandoned dirt road.

A small squad of men hop out and approach Naga and his gang. Then, bringing up the rear, the boss shoves you along, a gun pressed snug against your head.

"What the fuck is this? You said no guns!"

The rival boss spits, as though Naga's mere presence leaves a foul taste in his mouth. "What? You think I don't know about them?", he nods his head up.

Far, far in the branches, hidden from view at this angle, more of Naga's men wait in the tree canopy, armed and ready for any sign of foul play.

Damn it.

Naga glances over at you. You're looking pale and rather bruised and beaten. A far cry from the carefree, sun kissed goddess he usually knows.

"Alright, there's the fucking money, now give her to me!"

The other man clicks his tongue and presses his pistol against your temple, "Wait until we're loaded up first, then you can have your precious whore back"

Naga seethes at that, but is afraid to make a sudden movement last he lose you for good. And the rival boss notices. He smirks, a gratingly patronizing tone to his voice "Oh, I'm sorry? Did I insult your little harlot? We both know that's all she is...", He leans in far to close and licks your neck slowly, teasingly, before nipping your earlobe, "Isn't that right, bitch?"

This has gone on long enough. Naga's body quivers with boiling rage as his temper shoots through the ceiling. He shouts a command in his native tongue and a hail of bullets rain down on the opposing gang, the first several of which bury themselves in the man holding you hostage.

Behind him, Naga's men on the ground unsheathe small throwing knives and daggers, taking advantage of the surprise gunfire to press the attack.

But, at the death of their leader, the remaining crew scatters like flies and before long, all is quiet.

Kapano rushes forward to pick you up off the ground. He kneels down and cradles you in his arms as he removes your blindfold and cuts your hands free. Your tears carve small rivers through the dried blood running down your cheeks. You try to speak, but all that you can manage is a choked gasp.

He's never seen you like this before. And he never wants to again.

Naga shushes you, holding you against his chest while he strokes your hair. "Shhh, he's never going to touch you again. I promise", he kisses your forehead and helps you slowly to your feet, "Now let's get you out of here baby"

You don't say a word the whole ride back, but Naga holds your hand and rubs your back all the while. When you get home, he sets up a bath for you with all the salts and fragrances he knows you love. He offers you some help, but you say you'd like some time alone.

Somewhat reluctantly, he respects your wishes and sets off to make a meal and some tea for you both. It's all set up on the mat and pillows adorning the main hall. You look lovely as ever in your silk pajamas and lacy robe when you join him after your bath.

Slowly, you find your voice to speak, but it feels as though your mere presence is enough to earn you the praise Naga is showering you in. He's so focused on you, he nearly forgets to eat.

Once you're all finished, he decides to leave the dishes for later, and instead he pulls you onto his chest as you both recline into the fortress of pillows supporting you. Naga nuzzles your hair and kisses your temple.

You smell like jasmine and fresh citrus, infinitely better then the stench of stale sweat and musk of other men that he received you in.

He kisses your face gently, rubbing some warmth into your shoulders. You enjoy the quiet, but a small sniffing sound interrupts you.

"...Kapano?"

He sniffs again, wiping his eyes with his free hand. "Sorry, I just... God, I-I thought I'd never see you again", tears stream down cheeks, he rests his forehead against the side of yours.

You sigh, wishing you could just forget it all, "I know how you feel"

At that he tenses, and a quiet growl escapes your little tiger, "It'll never happen again, I swear it. I wish I could've pulled the trigger on the bastard myself... He deserved worse then what he got. Far worse"

You press a kiss to the broad tip of his nose and smile softly, "I love you, little dragon"

For the first time since he lost you, all those days ago, he smiles. He's not a big fan of when you first gave him that nickname. He hates to be described as "little", it's not very intimidating. But... Suddenly, it sounds quite endearing.

He kisses your perfumed lips, stroking a thumb over your battered cheek. "I know", he smiles. That night, you sleep out amongst the pillows, right where you are.

Tomorrow night, he'll be looking forward to warming up your side of the bed for you.

#black ops cold war #call of duty #kapano vang x reader #kapano naga vang #naga x reader

[awanderingdeal]

Never too late - 1-3

There were so many things Regulus wanted to do as child that his parents wouldn’t allow, but Leo is adamant that it is never too late to do those things. They make a list of ten things Regulus wants to do before he decides what his next step in life was going to be, because he refuses to grow up before he even got a chance to be young. 

Disclaimer: Of course you don’t have to have do any of things to have a happy and fulfilled childhood, but Regulus didn’t not get to do them because he had other interests or because he didn’t have the means (and usually, if that is the case, parents will ensure their child have other fun memories). It was a case of having controlling parents, who thought the only important things were school and hockey and there was no reason to have fun outside of those things. He watched his friends having experiences and he didn’t get choose in whether he wanted to participate or not. 

CW: mentions of toxic parenting and frequent mentions of food.

Please message me if you feel anything needs to be added to the content warnings.

Rating:T 

Credit for the sweater universe and the characters within it go to @lumosinlove. What a hero.

P.S. I was getting increasingly inebriated as I wrote this and I haven’t read it over so sorry for any errors. I will probably edit tomorrow!

“What do you mean you’ve never had a sleepover?” Leo exclaimed, tea sloshing over the side of his mug with the force that he set it down on the table. “Not even with your cousins?”

“Not even with our cousins,” Regulus shrugged. “Maybe when I was really small? Mother and Father weren’t keen on letting us out of their sight much.” 

“Yeah, that's fucked up,” Leo said resolutely. Sometimes he forgot how lucky he was to have his parents, and conversations with Regulus often made him want to call and tell them how much he loved them. 

“I’m starting to recognise that now,” Regulus hummed quietly, giving Leo a shy look. “Guess I should be grateful to Uncle Alphard for the trust fund. At least I’ll be able to pay for the lifetime of therapy I’m going to require.”

“You and Sirius should milk the media by doing increasingly ridiculous interviews for exorbitant fees,” Leo laughed, looking around the kitchen. “Do you have any cookies in this house?”

“Merde, your stomach is bottomless. We just had lunch!” Regulus rolled his eyes, but waved in the direction of one of the cupboards. 

“I’m a growing boy,” Leo defended, pushing his chair back to source the cookies. “Besides, I’m going to need the energy if we’re going to plan your ‘Regulus had a sucky childhood and this must be rectified list’,” he said, his words muffled due to the fact his head was half-way into the cupboard as he rummaged around for a worthy snack. Moments later, Leo emerged with a triumphant smile and his fingers clasped around a packet of Nutter Butter cookies.

“First of all, what the fuck?” Regulus scoffed, taking a long sip of his coffee. “Secondly, really?” he raised an eyebrow. 

“Admittedly, the name is a work in progress,” Leo sat back down, schooling his features into something he hoped looked indignant. “And, I have a brand to maintain,” he continued, biting into the cookie with an overly loud crunch. 

And that was how Leo and Regulus ended up spending an entire afternoon curating the perfect list of things Regulus wanted to experience before he decided his next step in life. 

1) Have a sleepover! Build a fort, play video games, eat all the snacks, stay up all night and have a pillow fight! 

“Babe, sleepovers are supposed to be fun, not meticulously planned military operations,” Finn teased, peering over Leo’s shoulder to look at the schedule on the laptop screen. 

“There is a lot of enjoyment to be found in structure!” Leo argued, tilting his head back to pout at Finn. “I don’t want to forget anything. I just want Reg to have a good time,” he sighed.

“Sweetheart it’s gonna be fine,” Finn reassured, pecking a kiss on Leo’s lips. “You’ve got pizza, you’ve got Mario Kart, you’ve got -” Finn leaned forward to squint at the screen, “building a blanket fort. Hey, I wanna come to this sleepover! You’re gonna have a great time.” 

Leo smiled up at Finn, his boyfriend had a seemingly infinite ability to make him feel better. 

***

 “Bye! Have fun!” Finn yelled.

“Don’t do anything I wouldn’t do!” Logan added, and then the door slammed. 

Leo reached out to grab his cell off the coffee table before wriggling excitedly in his seat, “Okay! Let the sleepover begin. What pizza do you want?”

Regulus rolled his eyes, but his reply betrayed his enthusiasm, “I’ll have an extra large half and half please. One side with ham and pineapple and the other with pepperoni, green peppers, grilled onions, black olives, mushrooms, sausage and extra mozzarella. Oh, and a side of wedges, please.”

Leo spluttered, “Reg!”

“Hey, don’t judge. Your order will be just as big,” Regulus frowned.

“Please,” Leo scoffed. “I live with Finn and Logan. You could order five pizzas and I wouldn’t be phased. No, I am scandalised by your topping choices. Pineapple!” Leo gesticulated his arms widely, “I thought you were better than that. I am seriously re-considering this friendship.” 

“Wow, you really are picking up on Finn’s dramatics,” Regulus laughed.

Leo huffed as he tapped at his phone, “Pineapple on pizza is a very serious matter, thank you very much. Since this is your sleepover, I have ordered the abomination. Consider this a one time pass.” 

“I am honoured.” Regulus drawled, playing up the posh notes of his accents. 

“So you should be,” Leo said, grabbing the cushion from behind him and throwing it at Regulus. 

“Oh, that’s how you want to play it.” Regulus smirked, grasping the cushion that had been thrown at him, as well as the one stuffed behind him. 

“Noooooo!” Leo shrieked. “Pillow fights are not on the plan until -” his words interrupted by a cushion hitting him square in the face. “- 9pm.”

“Oh dear, we can’t mess with your painstakingly designed plan.” Regulus teased, leaning forward to pick up the printed schedule that Leo had shown him earlier. “I believe we are at, 19.30 - play Mario Kart whilst waiting for pizza.”

***

“So, did you boys have fun?” Sirius asked,  as he placed a cup of coffee in front of Regulus, and then Leo. He sounded exactly like Leo’s mother and it was creeping him out. 

“Why are you here?” Regulus grumbled, resting his head against his arms. He titled it to the side and cracked one eye open. 

“Thank you for the coffee, Sirius. You’re the best big brother, Sirius,” Sirius did an uncanny imitation of Regulus’ voice. “We were in the neighbourhood and figured we’d pick you up instead of you getting a taxi back.”

Regulus made another noise that sounded somewhat like a thank you. 

“Did you guys sleep at all last night?” Remus laughed.

“A little bit,” Leo mumbled, staring into his coffee. He wanted it to magically make its way into his stomach without him having to make the effort of lifting it. 

“An hour maybe?” Regulus added. 

Logan snorted as he wandered into the kitchen, “We came in at 3am and they were fast asleep on the couch. We have photo evidence.” 

“And Leo was doing his “I’m having sweet dreams’ snore so I doubt they had only just fallen asleep,” Finn added, following behind Logan.

“I do not have a ‘I’m having sweet dreams’ snore,” Leo said, the tips of his cheeks turning pink. 

Regulus laughed, sitting up-right and swallowing a huge gulp of coffee. 

“I wouldn’t laugh if I were you,” Logan began, pouring coffee beans into the espresso machine. “You were drooling.” 

2) Master that chore list! Learn to cook! It’s a bore, but you’ll thank me later.

“This is an excellent idea,” Remus said, “Perhaps now I will stop being woken up by the sound of the fire alarm.” 

“That was one time!” Regulus protested, shoving Remus in the shoulder. “Leave. I have lessons to learn.”

“Try not to burn the kitchen down!” Sirius sang, as he left the kitchen, his arms piled with snacks. 

“You cannot talk, Sirius Black,” Remus laughed. “And don’t you think that is a bit excessive. We’re going to order take-out in two hours anyway.”

***

“Regulus! Your hand,” Leo shouted when he saw the flames. 

“What?” Regulus asked, but then he looked down and saw the edge of the oven mitt he was wearing were alight. He must have had them too close to hob. Leo noticed the panic in eyes and grabbed the end of the mitt that wasn’t on fire and chucked it into the sink, turning the tap on to smother the flames. 

“Okay,” Leo said, “Maybe we should start with something easier. Let’s try the washing machine.”

Regulus whined, “The washing machine scares me.”

“How does the washing machine scare you?” Leo asked, trying his best to hold in the laugh. 

“It’s scary!” Regulus reiterated. “You put stuff in there and they come out tiny or pink or covered in tissue.”

Leo blinked multiple times, registering the words and then he couldn’t hold in the laughter any longer. “Well, those things should only happen if you do it wrong. Pro tip, number one, don’t put tissues in the washing machine,” he said once he had recovered. “Come on, I’ll show you. It’s really not that scary and I’ll teach you how to sort things properly but really I chuck stuff in together all the time and nothing ever turns pink.” 

***

“Regulus. Leo,” Remus called, leaning in the doorway to the lounge. Leo paused the movie they were watching before turning to look at him. “Is there a reason that all our bedding is pink?”

Leo and Regulus shared a sheepish look. 

“No idea, sorry,” Leo said.

“It was Leo’s fault! He said nothing ever turned pink,” Regulus blurted out, shoving his hand over his mouth as soon as the words left it. 

“Never take up a career in espionage,” Leo scoffed, throwing the skittle he conveniently had in his hand at Regulus. 

“And I suppose you had something to do with the glove in the kitchen sink?” Remus chuckled. 

“Oh fuck, I forgot about that,” Leo said, giving Remus his most charming smile. “I’ll buy a new pair.”

3) Go to your first concert, it’ll be a night to remember

Leo had managed to drag half the team into his mission to get tickets to see Fall Out Boy in a couple of months time. It was a band both he and Regulus loved, and Leo had always wanted to see them when he was younger but it never seemed to work out.  

Between them they had twelve laptops that they were constantly refreshing, waiting for the box office to open. 

“Yes! I’m in,” Thomas shouted, wiggling around in  a celebratory dance. “Waiting time is 27 minutes.” A few seconds later, James was chanting about his access. 

“No suh! My wait time is 35 minutes. How is that possible, I was only a few seconds behind Talker,” James griped. 

“It’s a cruel cruel game,” Ollie nodded solemnly. 

In the end, they did manage to get tickets for everybody that wanted them, even if Leo had lost the will to live by the time he had kicked everybody out of their apartment. 

***

Leo noticed that Regulus was sticking pretty close to him as they walked through the halls of the arena, a sign that he was nervous. “Hey, you doing okay?” Leo asked, bumping his shoulder against Regulus’.

“Yeah,” Regulus breathed. “It’s just...a lot,”  he gestured to the crowds of people around him. They had tried to get there early to ease Regulus into things, but between Talker and Noelle running later, and Finn having an absolute meltdown because he couldn’t find his old tour t-shirt, it was already starting to get quite busy. 

“We can always go if it gets too much,” Leo reassured, smiling softly at Regulus. 

“You just paid all that money for the tickets, we can’t just leave,” Regulus argued. 

Leo slung his arm around Regulus, hugging him close. “Your comfort is worth far more than the price of a concert ticket, Reggie.”

“Don’t call me that,” Regulus moaned, but Leo felt him sink into the hug. Their tranquil moment was ruined by Finn who decided it was the perfect moment to burst into a rendition of Dance, Dance, and James immediately joined in. 

***

“I’m sad,” Regulus sighed, wearing one of the t-shirts he had brought at the concert. He’d been deliberating over a few when Leo had told the cashier that they’d take one of all of them. Thankfully, Regulus had learnt that to argue with Leo when he was trying to show love was futile. “Why am I sad? I just had the best night.”

“Post concert blues,” Leo commiserated, sliding a plate of pancakes across the table to Regulus. 

Logan hummed his agreement, drowning his pancakes in maple syrup, “You’ve got to spend the whole day watching the videos you took. Try and get some of the endorphins back. But really, the only thing that cures it, is booking a new concert. You’re gonna be hooked forever.” 

“Is it also normal to still be able to hear the music?” Regulus said, rubbing at his left ear, before cutting into his pancake. 

“Sure, the music is loud,” Finn answered with a chortle.“ You two blasting music until 2am in the morning probably didn’t help. It’s a good job this apartment is soundproof.” 

“Sorry,” Regulus said, looking guilty, “Did we keep you up?” Leo didn’t even remember falling asleep. The last thing he could recall was dancing around his bedroom screaming along to My songs know what you did in the dark, and then was waking up sprawled across Regulus.

“Don’t worry about,” Finn mumbled around a mouthful of food. “It was nice to see you letting go like that.”

“It would be nice if you could learn some table manners,” Logan chirped.

#Leo knut #regulus black #Sirius Black #Remus Lupin #finn o'hara #logan tremblay #lumosinlove #Sweater Weather #food talk #toxic parenting

[fishmongeringstudies]

six: wandering the city while waiting for a train that'll never come, you stop to wave at a dog on the street only to realize you have mistaken a crumpled bag of mcdonald's for a chihuahua

i almost slipped and died in the shower today. luckily i didn't, because i read somewhere that slipping and dying in the shower makes it a little hard for you to finish writing a manuscript for a novel fictionalizing the events of your freshman spring semester that's definitely going to become a new york times bestseller in about four years' time, but i came pretty close. for a moment i had my hand on the wall and my legs splayed like a barbie doll stuck to a stripper pole and the matchbox world behind the shower curtain was slipping steadily south and heading lower still. and then i caught myself.

several minutes later i heard scuffling beyond the pale, soapy shower curtain and thought there might be someone creeping on me. if someone was creeping on me i had an idea of who it might be, which made the prospect all the more likely and infinitely more convincing inside the grapefruit-sized thing i called my brain. then i heard the clap of god's hands in an ashen sky, and i knew. this was no man made disaster-in-waiting. it had begun to rain.

it didn't rain for long. five minutes at best, two if my grasp on the spatial-temporal continuum is worse than i'd imagined (this is very likely; the stars pass me by faster than i can count them these days), but long enough that anyone who happened to be outside when that first teardrop fell from the sky got a little wet. a little fucked up, if you will, which, hey. good for him. he deserves to get a little fucked up.

but i get carried away. please excuse my personal grievances. this is not a lament, it is a swimming pool. full of tiny colorful fish which flit around at its bottom, chasing strands of sunlight like children on a playground.

the weather forecast says it'll rain again tomorrow, and maybe the day after, too, if the world stays sad enough to let it happen. it makes me nostalgic. when i left in february monsoon season was in full swing, tearing trees from their roots with big meaty hands and making every fleeting boring moment into the kind of gray sunday afternoon on which i imagine the directors of romantic dramas like to shoot break-ups. rain in singapore looks different. it's not a bucket full of water, it's a room. a blue room against a silver sky. your socks stuck to your ankles with the kind of grim determination that makes you almost a little sad to peel them off, to toss them in the washing machine behind the kitchen. there's a little balcony behind the kitchen in the house you left in february, with a washing machine and a ledge for sitting on and a dryer that doesn't work. you used to go there when you wanted to check on the restaurant across the street. from here you can make out the round, blue-rimmed tables that attract students, biking enthusiasts, three am brawls between red-faced european men and their red-faced european friends. if there's noise on this side of the street, it's probably coming from there.

summer. summer reminds me of home. so far i've been telling people that the association is a bad one, and it certainly isn't a lie, but it's not a whole truth either, if one believes in the matter of whole truths to begin with. i'm starting to think maybe there are only skim-milk truths, clotted cream truths, 0% fat yogurt truths. truths that change shape when you aren't looking. we aren't looking most of the time, after all. we're very busy people. all of us. we're trying to change the world.

and for what? who are we trying to save? do you want to live forever? that's the goal, isn't it. i mean it's definitely mine. i won't blame you if the concept of death sits on your shoulder like a fourth generation ipod touch with a broken home button, whispering really fucked up shit into your ear when you're alone. i mean it definitely does for me.

puzzle-girl is in new york now, last i checked. good for her. i hear new york is full of lights and electricity and car exhaust. maybe one day she will learn that friendship isn't an emergency help-line. probably not. my friend thinks she will, thinks we'll come back around in our junior year and everyone will see us stuck to each other again like two grotesque modern art pieces drilled back-to-back into a museum exhibit wall only with a firm mutual understanding of what boundaries are, but i have my doubts.

once someone told me with the kind of half-fake half-genuine smile that makes you wonder if AI technology has advanced far enough to mimic the complexities of stupid hormonal teenagers with really bad interpersonal issues after all that i was blooming. coincidentally all the flowers on campus had suddenly decided to poke their heads out of the dirt like babies busting their way out of refrigerators, guns blazing, hearts shot to pieces, so it's not like he was completely bullshitting me. he was only ninety-eight percent bullshitting me. the two percent is why he comes up in my writing as often as he does, all this time later. like i think he was ninety-eight percent clown but two percent circus, two percent red-nosed reindeer trying to unionize behind a striped curtain, two percent something real. or at least i like to think that way. i'm a writer. we have to pretend there's something to write about. or else what will we write about?

so yeah. one time someone told me i was blooming. at the time i was embarrassed. and then after the story put an abrupt end to itself i was madly obsessed with the idea of flowers jutting out of cracks in the earth, gold pouring forth from blood-wounds, poinsettia eyes, whatever, whatever, and then the flowers started wilting. standing on the path outside my dorm i was like what the fuck? why the hell is everything dying? it's been like three days, god, what are you guys made of, tissue paper?

i was talking to the flowers. which died in spite of my indignation, so that's one for nature, zero for me. good for them. see you next spring, when things will, hopefully, be different. i don't have a plan as much as i have a dream i'd like to see walk into reality on three legs and a pitchfork. but it's a good dream. i promise.

the sky's clear as glass now. it's so bright i could probably stick my hand up there and stir vigorously and then an angel would emerge from the ether, rubbing her eye sleepily with the back of her hand. that's the kind of clarity i'm talking about. making metaphors about christianity-clarity. i am lonely and my dreams are full of beautiful people-clarity.

that's a lie-clarity. loneliness is, as mentioned in a previous installment of the meandering car accident i call this blog, a choice, and i'm too lazy and full of my own slew of interpersonal issues to commit to something like that. but summer is new, and it's like i'm getting used to the body in my basement all over again. how do i step around it, how do i make sure i don't look at its face? and its eyes, oh, those eyes. how terrible. how full of absence.

there will be exactly two hundred students on campus when summer move-ins are finished next week. this school has a population of nearly sixteen hundred. what are we doing?

research. academia. learning a new language. road trips. plane trips. horse riding lessons. research. academia. learning a new language. relationships. spaceships. building a ladder to the moon.

it feels like the sun never sets sometimes. the hours slide into one another like tectonic plates beneath the surface of the world and yet the sky remains just as it looked this afternoon, milk-white and pale as death. a hot summer wind blows and sends the clouds careening sideways into each other, and yet from this distance nothing changes. drop a body in a bathtub and nothing changes. beat someone up and nothing changes. survive thirteen weeks of bad mistakes and then worse ones, midnight mistakes, thursday evening mistakes, the kind of mistake you don't think you'll ever be able to write about, and still nothing changes.

they say there's always a silver lining but what if i want fur instead? let's say i want a fur-lined sky with fur-lined clouds and a little heart-shaped toy that makes a sound when you step on it. let's say i want to be fifteen again. the sky doesn't care. it still looks like a damn sky. the sky doesn't do things out of sentimentality.

it's just kind of there. today i'm just kind of here. today we're all alive. good for you. good for me. good thing my hand was on the wall when i slipped in the shower, so i could get out and dry my hair and then sit down in this shitty weird-smelling lounge with my laptop with the cracked touchpad and my cool elmo slippers, and tell you about this solitary life on mars.

05.26.2021

#i just realized i put my mask on inside out. luckily i have been alone in this lounge for thirty minutes and it is a new mask #so minimal damage has been done but shame on me anyway. i will go reflect in the shame corner now

[seijohsfairy]

𝚂𝚃𝚁𝙰𝙽���𝙴𝚁

sometimes you meet a stranger on a windy balcony in the middle of the city, and sometimes you fall in love with him too.

.wordc. 4k+ tw yandere, implied noncon, toxic relationships, older meian, daddy kink, cunnilingus, brief drug use, fluff ??

+

If the light hits you right, you look infinite. And even if it doesn’t, you still look about a million miles out of his league for what he’s concerned. All bright smiles and quiet apologies when passing by people. He should be a waste of free time to you for all intents and purposes. A face in the crowd. The thought makes his chest feel a bit tight though, because despite the irrationality of it, he still wants to be here. With you, bathed in the glow of the sun and resting so peacefully beside him.

He doesn’t like feeling like just another guy, reminds him too much of his past disaster relationship. Which is why you’re so different, so perfect. Other people judge, you don’t. You never judge him, so he thinks the least he can do is the same in return. His ex-wife still has the keys to his place, though she doesn’t have the intention of using them ever again. She’ll lose the keys long, long before he changes all the locks. You still have to get settled into his bed first, but if you were to ask for the keys he’d let another set be made instantly.

Because he’s known you for only a little while and you already have his heart beating erratically. No longer overcome with the sense of longing. If anyone were to ask, and his friends do on occasion, he’d tell them this is it.

Now, there’s you. A stunning, young thing, beaming warmth and goodness from the seams. He’s not entirely sure what he’s doing here, truth be told, because as much as he stares at you through thinly veiled casual curiosity, there’s no changing the fact that he could be twice your age and you should most likely be disgusted by him.

He’d been coming to that quiet balcony staring out into nothing everyday for months. But you’d walked up to smoke beside him, resting your chin on the railing and looking so fucking small and vulnerable. Maybe it’s the way you don’t even spare him a second glance, not gawking at the huge, hulking attraction of a guy he finds himself being looked at so often, or the little tears that glisten at the base of your lashes as you take a deep pull and let the drug filter in. He guesses that to you, most people are big and overwhelming, considering.

He’s no longer in his prime. He knows it better than most, is confronted with it every time his reflection catches him. He’d thought it then, still thinks it now. Older, divorced and between being busy with work and his growing collection of dropped hobbies, there’s hardly anything he can offer you. He’s at least lucky he’s not balding, but he knows he looks pretty much his age with the thin lines here and there, slightly greying temples and stubble that doesn’t stay away long when he shaves. God, he feels old.

It’s a fucking miracle and a half that he managed to keep his usual wit, entertaining you in your nightly loneliness and carefully offering to walk you back to your street for safety. It’s difficult not to seem like a threat when you’re— him, but he’d been genuine. You were too tiny and kind to be out by yourself. You’d taken it, too sure that he was out for no harm. Looking back, that young naivety is something he should be worried about.

He didn’t buy his way into your pants that night, but you’d clearly been some level of upset, so that first time had been a lucky lay. A one off, he’d thought. The way you creamed around his cock and moaned so softly, so beautiful when digging your nails into his shoulders. You could’ve told him it was a dream, slipped out like nothing ever happened.

He’d forgive you. At this point he’s almost certain he’d do anything for you. If you asked him to seriously injure your asshole boss for you, he wouldn’t think long. You’re too kind to ask that though, too forgiving too. He takes a few deep breaths as he thinks, finally tearing his eyes away from your cute, sleeping pout to look out the window.

There’s some noise from the waking city outside, he still worries it’s gonna wake you badly and you’ll curse him for one of the many mishaps he’s committed against you and walk right out. You could’ve, probably should’ve. But you’ve ended up in his bed a few times now, and every time it gets harder to just let you go with a coffee and a quick kiss that doesn’t promise much of anything. He’s not even sure that you have his number. But as long as you keep showing up to that balcony, he’ll give you whatever you want.

An almost unnoticeable tap comes to his shoulder. When he turns, you’re up, barely. Eyes open just the tiniest sliver, shuffling a little closer to his warmth. Fuck. You’re so fucking tiny compared to him, his huge, burly body sticking out like a sore thumb from the blankets while you’re buried deep in them. He stays on his back when he reaches over and runs a thumb along your cheekbones, letting the soft skin warm under it. You snuggle into his chest with the last of your fruity, soft perfume that clashes so violently against his.

It makes his chest feel like it’s caving in, pulling the air out of his lungs with each move you make. And he’s always had a bit of a possessive streak, but this is on a whole new level. He doesn’t want you to leave. He shouldn’t let you.

“Mornin’,” he offers, voice too deep and a bit raspy. You hum. Your palm presses to his chest, not hard enough to push, though that is what he thinks at first. Only just enough pressure to be present, to feel his skin under yours. Hesitantly, he rests his hand on your hip under the blankets, running the calloused pads of his fingertips over your exposed side. You mumble something about the light and the curtains, slurring the words and making him utterly weak once again. “Yeah, s’my bad.” He takes a deep breath, and you make no effort to get up.

“Have breakfast with me?” You look utterly content in his arms. Say yes. Say yes. “Or ya can use the shower, I think ‘m gonna take a day off.” He knows, actually, because he’ll at least drive you back home if nothing else. You’re not taking a tram all the way back to your apartment, he won’t let you. He doesn’t feel the need to tell you that right now though.

Doesn’t need to tell you how jealous he feels when he sees you text someone in the morning, but it’s only because he knows how lovable you are. It’s every soft breath, every time you talk or wrap your lips around your straw and each time you adjust your bra or panties or prance in with skirts that should be too fucking short to wear outside, or say his name in that lower, softer rhythm that has him going entirely crazy.

And with a mumbled agreement, he pulls you close and presses a kiss to the top of your head, as you let out a sleepy giggle and kiss his neck.

+

It’s been almost two months of unspoken routine. You don’t always show, but most nights you do. At least once a week for sure. You know the way to his place, hid out from the rain once. You know where he stashes the fresh towels and you’ve flipped through the pictures of him in the national hall with his arms thrown around his team, drenched in sweat. You talk over a glass of champagne that you admit to bringing to impress him with hot cheeks. It takes a little coaching but you let him in too, the few times he visits your apartment, your roommate out for the night.

But you look more at ease in his house, he thinks. Giddy being swayed in his strong arms and being lifted off your feet to reach the higher shelves. He guesses two months in you reach the honeymoon phase, though you’ve still yet to label it, which admittedly, gnaws at him. You don’t seem like the type to leave his house and run into someone else’s arms, but sometimes he thinks the one mark over the row of other splotches on your tits doesn’t look familiar enough to be his.

Sometimes he walks you to the tram and some guy sneaks a good look at your ass, and you don’t flinch. You smile at the next door neighbor, a guy frustratingly close to your age, and he smiles back. Maybe, maybe you’re fucking them too, it does seem to come naturally to you. He doesn’t resent you for it, but that guy— you wince when his fingers dig too hard into your hip. That’s when he has to soften, apologize and lean down to kiss you, which at least you don’t shy away from.

One Saturday you come to the balcony late.

Nervously picking at the elbows of your sweater, he takes a long look at you. You walk up closer after a breath of silence, before slowly wrapping yourself around his side. Your breathing is shaky when you cling on. “I’m glad you waited for me, I don’t— wanna be alone right now.” He knows he shouldn’t, but he tilts your head up into view to watch your teary eyes clench shut, you’re shaking. He might be too, but for different reasons.

You’re so perfect. An angel, his angel, no one should so much as look at you wrong.

“Who did this?” he breathes, and you flinch at the harshness of his voice. But he could never hurt you. Ever. There’s a sprouting seed of anger growing with each passing second though. He lets out a trembling breath. “Tell me who did this to ya.” He’ll kill them, he’ll kill them, whoever hurt you, he’ll—

“No,” you say. Why? His mouth is already opening again, but you tug at his shirt collar and look at him so sadly that for a moment he forgets all about anything else. Nothing beside you matters anyway. “Leave it, Shugo.” You all but pull yourself toward him by the fabric to make a little kissy pout, and fuck, there it is. His little baby. He kisses you, gently and slowly a few times as you whisper it to him again. You can sense that he’s mad, but there’s no way you know just how much.

He lets you kiss him deeper, tongue melting with yours and pull you up against his body for safety, lets you pretend that everything is okay and eventually laugh it off as you two stumble into his apartment with heavy pants, biting down on the skin of your neck hard. He throws your legs over his shoulders and buries his head between your legs and makes you cum, and cum and cum. Lets you fall asleep right after, brushing his fingers along your shoulder and so close he’s scared his heartbeat will wake you.

It’s an hour or so after that your phone shakes, lighting up with a message. Someone named Alex apologizing about the fight and about making you cry. More messages come, a group chat of your “friends” this time and how they should have been more understanding, that they too are sorry. The timing is too neat not to have been talked about too. Would you really miss a bunch of gossip like that?

The light shuts off again after a few seconds, and he stares down at you sleeping so peacefully. Is it so wrong to just want you to be happy like this all the time, not worrying about any of them? You’re safe in his arms. Other people are unpredictable. They cause issues.

You’re too sweet to see it though, but he’s got some years of experience on you.

After a shower early in the morning he goes out for coffee, back again before you wake up. He smiles a bit wider when you do wake and your troubles from last night seem to have evaporated with the sun. His innocent, perfect little flower. He’ll never let you feel like that again.

Shugo watches you sit on the counters and talk as you lick at the whipped cream moustache, kisses you until you melt in his hold too. He asks you to be his girlfriend with a deep rumble of his morning voice, and you say ‘yes’, eyes wide with surprise but happy nevertheless.

He doesn’t tell you it when pushing your hair away from your face, kissing down your neck and feeling your legs wrap around his waist. But he really loves you, you know?

+

Your friend Alex is declared missing six days after your fight with him, and you’re inconsolable for a few hours when the police calls. He understands that, though the tears in your eyes are a bit too much for him. Your friend hurt you, wounded you, you shouldn’t be this sad. What comes around goes around, doesn’t it? But he understands that you’re too kind and naive to see it. However, he doesn’t understand when you tell him you need a few days to be alone.

It won’t do you any good, you’ll just be lonely and he tries to tell you as much, but you just get more upset at his touch. You push his hands off when he tries to pull you back, and he’s gotta admit, that stings.

“He’s just missing,” he ends up mumbling, “it’s not like he’s dead.”

Your eyes go wide, and you stare at him for a few moments, before getting off the couch and walking over to the hall and when he tries to ask where you’re going, you’re basically shooting him lightning, your tears running in crooked lines down your face. “I can’t believe you just said that like it’s no big deal that he’s gone,” you hiss, and maybe it’s that youthful fighting spirit that breaks out next when he tries to comfort you again. “Don’t fucking touch me, I’m going home.” The clock is so loud as it ticks. Oh, so that’s how it is. You’re attached to your friends like that, yeah?

He watches you stomp around his house as you collect your stuff, whispering curses under your breath when you can’t find your shoes fast enough. He stays quiet. You pause before leaving, tell him you’re going to your best friend’s place, and that he shouldn’t worry. He might have responded before you slam the door, he’s a bit too lost in thought.

You’re perfect for him, one little fight won’t change that, you’re not to blame here. But it becomes glaringly clear that he’s right. Your friends are no good.

+

Sometimes you feel like you’re here too often, considering it’s only been three months and a bit. You like Shugo a lot though, he’s as sweet as he’s big and you think it’s the former Captain in him that always seems to know you before you know you. It also doesn’t hurt that he’s so attractive it makes you dizzy. But despite all his best efforts, it’s been a bit lonely. And quiet. This isn’t necessarily a strange thing in itself, if not for the way you left it off with your friends.

Dropping off your radar so slowly it’s barely noticeable, the people you talk to everyday don’t start conversation anymore. Your messages go unread for days at a time, and when they’re finally opened it’s the same short response. ‘Super busy, no time to talk.’ You in comparison have never had this much free time, but ever since the fight Shugo’s been on his best behaviour. He even made sure to move his work home so you wouldn’t be too alone while you’re still on break. His idea too, said the stress has clearly been taking a toll on you.

He’s not entirely wrong either. With everything changing so suddenly, you’ve never felt smaller. You feel fragile. Shugo’s good company though, never bothered by your attention being on him. You let out a breath, drumming your fingers on your knees, deciding it’s been a bit. You get off the bed and tiptoe into the living room where he sits with his eyes aimed at the screen, hair loose and dress shirt two buttons lower than it should be to keep you sane.

You walk up behind your big hulk of a boyfriend to put your chin on his shoulder, hugging him close. Shugo makes a soft noise of agreement, and you rest your nose at his cheek. “Are you hungry? I can make you a snack.”

“S’alright, baby. ‘M gonna finish up ‘ere and pay attention to ya.” With a few clicks more he closes the laptop, getting up from the chair and sweeping you up into a bridal lift so quickly it makes you hick, giggles breaking out after.

“You’re already done?”

His pretty eyes are aimed down at you with a kind of shine you rarely see with other people. It’s so intense, sometimes it’s almost a bit scary. But to have been a top level athlete for years does take a ton of dedication, so it’s no wonder he’s dedicated in other areas as well. “No, just realized I’ve got a hunger for somethin’ else.” He easily carries you back to where you came from, tossing you down on the bed and kneeling over you. His lips curl a little when you blink up at him, before he nods at your chest. “Take that off for me.”

The flimsy top you’d thrown on comes off just as easily at the order, pulling the few bows and shrugging it off. You smile at him sweetly as you grab your tits, pushing them together a little. “Like this, daddy?” He grunts some agreement when he lowers himself, but you roll over before he can use his mouth on you like he so obviously wants to, grin slipping on. He doesn’t hesitate to pull you down on the bed more by your shorts and you squeak when his palm instead traces along your back, settling at the top of your spine and wrapping around your neck. The bed shifts when he sits down over your legs.

“You’re gonna be testy?” It barely takes a second for him to have you back the other way, yanking your legs up and pulling your shorts along with your underwear over the curve of your ass and up your legs. “I don’t fuckin’ think so,” he says, pushing one knee to your chest and you quickly hook your arm around it. He dips down to press a few kisses down your chest, then licking a stripe up the underside and taking your nipple into his mouth. You don’t think you’ll ever grow tired of how easy it is to let him take the lead, his fingers slipping between your legs to dip into your little cunt and rubbing your clit.

“Mhm, wet already?” He chuckles, sucking harder until you mewl under him and spread your thighs more. Tugging him a bit closer by his hair, he slips a finger inside and pushes his palm up to your sensitive nub, sucking marks all over the last ones. You shake under him, rolling your hips to meet the precise, practiced way his finger curls into you before he adds another. With a loud pop he disconnects from your other nipple to squeeze your tits together, then kneeling at the side of the bed. “C’mere.”

Your hips angled up to give him better access, he fucks his fingers into you faster and deeper, now instead starting to lick and suck at your pussy and your oversensitive clit. He lets you rub against his tongue and beg for more, giving into you so easily. And you moan louder as the feeling builds, being driven crazy. “Daddy.” You push softly at his head once you’re close, looking at him so blissed out between your legs. “I’m gonna-”

“Y’taste so fuckin’ good.” The short sentence is enough to have your head spinning, definitely when he dives back in again and fucks his fingers right into that spot.

“Ahng, I’m gonna cum. Please don’t stop.” You know he has no intention to. Sucking over and rubbing his tongue along your clit until your vision goes white and your toes curl, back arching from the bed. “Holy — fuck, fuck, ah- daddy, daddy, thank you.” You cum so hard your head pounds, and only when you twitch from overstimulation does he pull away.

You sit up right away to pull him onto the bed and towards the headboard so you can ride him, but a flash of light catches your eye.

On the bedside table, your phone’s ringing. Only, it’s not ringing so much as it’s lighting up. And normally you wouldn’t care, but a thought worms it’s way out of you. “Is my phone on silent?” You didn’t do that. You wouldn’t have, considering you’ve been waiting for people to ring you back for ages. So… Shugo must’ve.

You reach for it, but his arms are longer and he snatches the device right from under you, something that makes your brows furrow. “Daddy, give it back, I wanna know who’s calling,” you pout, watching a bit absentmindedly as he turns the screen away and taps something.

“No one’s calling.”

Your brain whirls. “Yes, it was. Give it to me, I want to talk to my friend.” You would’ve let it ring, you’re still hot and bothered and Shugo’s very hard in his shorts, but you can’t make sense of it. “Shugo, give me—”

He holds it away when you reach for it again, and this time your brows furrow hard enough to look like a glare. But he doesn’t give in, frowning back at you. “It’s not gonna be your friends, ya know that, it’s a wrong caller.” You know that. Your head pounds harder, and another thought makes it’s way up, but you try to squash such an ugly thought. No way your boyfriend would have something to do with the radio silence.

He taps away as you try to make sense of it, you never once hesitated giving him your phone, you never had anything to hide. But the blocked numbers, the opened messages, all your calendar notes vanishing. You thought your phone was old, that the apps were freaking out. “There, ’s gone.”

“My friends—”

“Stop talkin’ about your stupid friends,” he snaps, wrapping his arm around you and pulling your vunerable, naked body into his lap as he tosses the phone aside in some laundry, “they’re no good. I’ll take care of ya.” And you try to pull back to look at him, really look at him, in hopes that this is some kind of joke. But he stares down at you like he’s making total sense, and you’re too confused and surprised to do much of anything. “They won’t bother us anymore, promise. I took care of ‘em.” With that he kisses you again, and you feel like the world crumbles around you.

He pulls you closer, rocks his hips into you and it’s almost automatic when you kick at his thigh to get out of his reach, falling back onto the bed. Part of you wants to ask, but a larger part of you just wants out of here. Far away from him for a while. Your stomach is so heavy, you don’t know what to make of any of this. Just that it isn’t right, the way he’s looking at you with such intensity isn’t all there. You start climbing off the bed, quickly fishing your clothes from the ground. But two strong arms wrap too tight around you, a hand coming over your mouth as he yanks you back into him. Grip painfully tight on your face.

“You can’t leave.” He pries the clothes from your grip, ripping them in half in the process. And you trash against him, tears welling up as you realize how terrifying this is. “You’re mine,” he coos it sickeningly sweet, grip loosening for only a second when you kick at his shin and claw at his arms. “Just—” It’s no use, he’s so, so much bigger than you. He drags you back and bends you over the bed, holding you by your neck and pressing his shin over your legs before he uses his entire body weight to keep you in place.

“You’re still mine, right?” The kisses he plants on the side of your neck are so cold now, they make you sick. He rubs himself on your hip, hard cock twitching. Like this is just some lover’s spat to him, like you aren’t crying your eyes out right now. He presses a kiss to your head. “Ya don’t have’ta be upset, it’s only ‘cause I love ya.”