#thank you for enduring it to this point

[stormkobra-5]

Boxing Badass

Poe Dameron x fem!Reader (Modern AU)

Summary: Poe Dameron, an Air Force Reserves fighter pilot, owns and operates a boxing ring on the side. You’re Y/N “Starfire”, his very best fighter in the ring. Although, there seems to be something between you two that neither of you will admit-- until you make a bad decision against his wishes that will cost him money and some of his ego. Now he’s gonna show you your place-- and he’s gonna do it right on the floor of the ring.

A/N: Ok, so, I came across the picture in the far left moodboard, and I just. Dude. I fucking lost any worries I had about writing smut because hot damn that is my favorite picture now. Good lord. And I admit to shamelessly stealing lines from his Beirut reading because good fucking lords and ladies the living fanfiction-- you won’t believe it till you hear the words come outta his mouth. (I’d also like to mention that I know nothing about boxing...) This is my very first smutty fic, so...

Anyone who was tagged doesn't have to read this, and I'm sorry if you didn't want to be! :P

Notes: I’d like to thank both @foxilayde for some much-needed advice on writing smut, and my bro, @poeticsorcery, for helping me when I got stuck, giving me scenarios and phrases-- thanks, Gadget! And also? Because this is Modern!Poe? He’s bilingual (he speaks Spanish duh), for plot purposes.

Warnings: Oh boy. *heaves dictionary of smut onto table* This story is 18+ ONLY!!! MINORS DO NOT READ, DO NOT INTERACT. Violence, language, light angst, fluff. Shameless smut, reader has a praise kink, breeding kink, use of the word “sir,” fingering, oral (f receiving), light bondage, glove-play, thigh riding, bratty sub!reader, unprotected PiV, edging, orgasm denial, foul language, spanking, overstimulation, plot what plot, porn without plot, okay maybe a little bit of a plot

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Ok, so you like him.

You like him a lot.

Captain Poe Dameron of the United States Air Force Reserves is a fucking badass. He flies an F-16 jet he absolutely adores, his formal uniform is covered in medals, and he’s like a Guatemalan/Cuban Maverick-- oh he’s a total Top Gun fan, but he’ll also point out what is and isn’t regulation and boast about what he has and hasn’t done if you were to watch it with him.

Not to mention he’s fucking gorgeous. His golden-tan skin is somehow nearly unblemished. On his right cheek, under his eye, is a small scar, and on his left are two little pockmarks, giving him a rough edge. His strong nose and stubbled jawline, his toned, lean-muscled chest, his inky black curls that sometimes spring free over his forehead, his deep brown eyes-- everything about this man is just ugh. So fine.

He has everybody he knows swooning over him. Women, men, and it doesn’t help that he has a reputation as a sex god. The rumors that fly about Poe Damneron are obscene, filthy, and unbelievable. A supposed-ex-boyfriend even complimented him by saying he could last all night, and then some. A couple one-night stand girls talked about how he doesn’t even have to actually touch you to make you come. With how cocky he is and how he carries himself with that-- I dunno big dick energy-- you believe every word of it.

But it’s kinda hard to hear all that about somebody you consider to be your best friend.

He’s in the reserves, so a second job is a good thing to have, for the mind as well as the pocket. Poe-- along with his friend Finn, also in the reserves as part of the maintenance crew-- owns and operates a boxing gym. Fight nights win him a lot of money if his fighters can best another’s, not to mention he bets. Heavily. And he always fucking wins.

That’s how you met him.

You’re an up-and-coming female boxer that had went by the name of “Foxtrot.” You had a few gigs, here and there, but nobody really wanted to keep working with you-- either a female in their ring undermined their authority or they were simply tired of hearing the snide comments. Until you got to Yavin 4 Boxing Club, where you met Poe Dameron, your new boss. He immediately took you to the ring, where he showed you some trick moves, and then to test you, pitted you up against a boxer that very night.

You won. For the first time.

Poe Dameron set up your career. He gave you a new name, “Starfire,” and in three years of working with him you’d become his best fighter in the ring. Anybody who questioned the presence of a female fighter was quickly shut down. Unbeatable, unquestioned, you guys were a power-duo. You made thousands of dollars a week from just the Friday Fight Nights, and even though you maybe wanted to add Saturdays, too, Poe absolutely forbade it. “I don’t want my best fighter getting hurt, babygirl,” He’d always tell you, giving you that damn pursed-lips-clenched-jaw kinda look and shaking his head. “One day a week. That’s it. We’re doing good, we don’t need any more money.”

But you were more than just his best fighter. Somehow he started integrating you into his friends, introducing you to Finn, Rey, Rose, Ben, and even his Labrador, Beebs. You started hanging out. Soon... soon you became friends. Maybe even best friends. And you hated it, because you’d fallen for him far harder than you’d ever thought possible.

It was his fucking smile.

You didn’t notice it at first. You just thought you were growing to love him as a friend, but then you realized that at the mere thought of seeing him, your heart started pounding. Your face would flush. Butterflies would erupt in your stomach. But then one day you’d been getting ready to practice for an upcoming fight. Poe had been standing nearby and watching, ready to give tips like he always did, and you made a joke about wrapping your knuckles. Hell, you don’t even remember what you said. Whatever it was, it had made Poe laugh-- and at the sight of that beaming grin that makes the corners of his warm dark eyes crinkle up, you were a goner.

You were in love with him.

And despite the fact that you can take direct hits without batting an eye, the thought of rejection and ruining your friendship if you asked him out on a date he isn’t interested in has you terrified. But you keep up flirty banter with him. You try to test the waters, see if he is interested; he can’t take his eyes off you when you practice, so that has to be a good sign, right?

But he’s also ridiculously bossy, which has you always acting the part of the rebel. You don’t know why-- maybe you like the way that muscle in his cheek twitches when you refuse to do something he tells you to, especially in front of other people. Maybe you like the sparks that ignite in his eyes as he turns to give you a glare from under his thick brows. Maybe you just enjoy getting such a strong reaction from him. All you know is you really like pushing his buttons.

Today is a prime example of that.

“What do you mean, no?” You scoff, in utter disbelief at the man across the desk from you. Poe lounges in his leather chair with a brow raised and his lips pursed a little as he regards you. He’s wearing those stupid navy-blue dress pants that show off his thighs and, yes, you’ve checked him out on numerous occasions, his great ass. He’s wearing that stupid matching blazer that squeezes his arms in all the right places, and he’s wearing that stupid white shirt, not to mention his signature chain necklace where his mother’s ring hangs. His curls are messy from where he’s run his hand through them, and despite the fact that you know he probably shaved this morning, he’s got fine stubble accentuating his damn right-angle jawline, framing his full lips. Damn you want to kiss him. You wonder what those lips would feel like on yours...

Miraculously, it only makes you want to defy him more.

Tonight’s Friday Fight Night. Coming all the way from Samoa to this little Californian city is a hulking 7-foot goliath of a man called “Chewbacca.” All week posters had been put up around town: Starfire vs Chewbacca, One Night Only. This was your night. If you could bring down Chewbacca, all the boxers in a 500-mile radius would come to test your mettle, and you’re more than positive that you could bring any one of them down. The money you’d get from this night alone would set you up even better than you already are.

And Poe’s suddenly telling you no.

“You heard me, sweetheart,” He says, leaning back to swing his ankles up onto the table-- those fucking. Untied. Combat boots. How the fuck does somebody wear combat boots with something that’s almost a damn suit?! Your eyes reluctantly trail up his picturesque body to meet his eyes, which are fixated on you like a predator: you know that look. It’s the look that tells you that you’d better damn well listen to what he’s telling you to do. “Finn’s going into the ring tonight.”

“Finn?!” You exclaim, because, well. Finn might be muscular enough to lift missiles and other payloads onto the underbelly of an F-16, and sure he’s been trained, but he’s not a boxer. He’s the co-owner. He doesn’t even have a boxing name.

“Yeah. Finn. Why’re you repeating everything I say? Something wrong with your ears, princesa?” He reaches forward and casually plucks one of his F-16 models off of his desk, turning in over and over in his hands. Usually his little nicknames are endearing to you. Always he’s calling you something other than your name, whether in Spanish or English. In fact, aside from repeating it when you first introduced yourself, you’re pretty positive he’s never said it otherwise. But right now, it’s just fucking annoying. You know he doesn’t mean it that way, but they sound mocking, almost, and you wanna throw yourself across the table and beat the shit out of him.

Or fuck the shit out of him.

You can’t tell. You’re gonna go with the former.

Although from the way your eyes are trained on his hands, admiring how fluid his movements are as he flips the airplane, you’re seriously fucking thinking about it. He’s just sitting there, sitting like that, all stretched out and leaning back playing with that jet with his deep brown eyes on you and a smolder on his face?! Good god.

You drag your gaze off his hands and cast a glare around the room, at his decorations and awards that clearly show off that he’s a fighter pilot. At the very reason for his cocky, arrogant self. Though you’re pretty sure he’s always been arrogant. He was born arrogant and cocky. He probably winked at his goddamn wet-nurse when he was born.

Sweet lord do you want him.

But you want so much more than... him.

You maybe want to wake up next to him. Maybe want to give him a kiss before he goes off to work. Maybe want to stay up late joking about corny old horror movies. Maybe you want to be his. But if Poe wanted you, he’d ask for you, wouldn’t he? Because he’s Poe Dameron, and he’s not afraid of anything, not even the prospect of rejection.

And it’s so fucking painful to be so close, yet so far. You’ve fallen hard for a man you’ll never have, and your heart is this close to breaking every goddamn day. Which is why you’ve bagged another job, in another town, far away from this place, far away from Poe, so that maybe you can recuperate from unrequited love. You told Poe just earlier today-- that you’d gotten a job, have a new apartment waiting for you, that it’s too far away, really, for rational visits, and that you’re already completely packed to move out of your roommate Jess’s place. You’ve known Poe for three years now, and you’ve never seen him go so... cold. At first you saw something like disappointment, but then his expression shifted. Guarded, cool, calm, he’d nodded and said, “Best of luck then, Y/L/N.” The use of your last name hurt-- it was so formal. Like you were strangers, when you aren’t. Really, you should be glad that he’s using nicknames for you now.

But it only makes it more painful. Once you move away... a writhing ball of grief has been clawing at your heart for weeks now. Leaving his presence will only make you feel worse for awhile, you know this, but eventually, you’ll recover. You’ll learn to deal with the fact that you fell in love with Poe Dameron, but he never loved you, not the way you wanted him to.

Honestly, you wonder if him being pissed has anything to do with him denying you to fight tonight. “You can’t tell me no. This is a golden opportunity for me.”

“A golden opportunity to get your head knocked off,” Poe quips, eyes flicking to you briefly. He sets the plane down, shifting his position so that he’s leaning on the desk and facing you. “I’ve met Chewbacca before. This guy...” He searches for the right word for a second, licking his lips. “This guy is massive.” He decides that’s the appropriate term, nodding to emphasize his point. “I’ve seen him fuck up guys that give you a hard time in thirty seconds flat. There are rumors going around that he ripped somebody’s arm off in New Zealand, I dunno if that’s...true, or not, but...” His hand comes up to scratch the back of his head for a second before slamming back into the table, his intense gaze meeting yours as he tries to get across the gravity of what he’s telling you. “I don’t want you getting hurt, princesa. I... You’re...”

I need you. You’re my best fighter. It’s what he always says. Sometimes it’s all you wonder if you’re good for to him. Nothing but a paycheck that does the dirty work for him. You stand from your chair abruptly. “Fuck you, Poe.” You’ve said it to him before, but on much lighter, not-serious terms, in a joking fashion. But this time you’re truly pissed. You let him know it; you storm out of there and slam the door behind you even though it’s never closed.

Last I checked, I’m still on the roster, Poe.

You should know by now that you can’t tell me what to do.

~~~

When you arrive at the Yavin 4 Boxing Club that night, ten minutes before the fight’s about to start, the street is packed with so many people anticipating the match that you have to park a block away and hightail it to the club before you miss your window. Fighting through the thick crowds isn’t so difficult. They recognize you at once and start chanting “Starfire,” which you can only hope Poe doesn’t hear, because that would give away your presence here.

It must not, because you make it to the locker room without any trouble, just in time to see a shirtless Finn wrapping his knuckles. “Yo, buddy,” You say, to which he turns and smiles when he sees you.

“Hey, Y/N! What’re you doing here?”

“What are you doing here, princesa?” Poe’s voice comes from behind you, and you heave a sigh. You’d really been hoping not to run into him tonight-- at least, not until you beat the living daylights out of Chewbacca.

You turn to find him glowering at you with his hands on his hips. He’s got the muscle tick and the sparks in his eyes, so you know this is probably the worst you’ve done so far. “The people came here to see Starfire fight Chewbacca,” You say with mock-cheerfulness, only making him clench his jaw. His anger only fuels your frustration. “So they’re gonna see Starfire fight Chewbacca.”

“I’ve got two grand on my fighter,” Poe points out, voice low and dangerous. His implication makes you so furious your fists tighten enough for your nails to cut into your skin. He thinks you can’t beat Chewbacca. It’s all about the dollar signs. This has nothing to do with you.

The words flow out of your mouth before you can stop them, and now you and Poe are nearly chest-to-chest and fuming like bulls seeing a red cape. “That all you care about? Money? That all you ever care about?”

“Guys--” Finn tries, but Poe talks over him in order to say firmly to you, “Finn is bigger, broader, he can take the hits.”

“You think I can’t?”

His blunt honesty surprises you. “No, I don’t. I think you’re gonna get your ass creamed in that fucking ring, and I’m trying to protect you!”

“I don’t need protection, Poe!”

You two are kind of circling each other now, and your shouts have escalated into a yelling match. “I’ve got money, reputation, and your safety riding on this--”

“Oh, my safety’s last on your fucking list, isn’t it?” The built-up frustration of the last several months of being near him but not with him is flowing more fury behind your words, and you’re ready to get Poe on the floor and--.... well, you’re not sure what, but he’s not gonna like whatever it is you’re gonna do. “I’m gonna fuck you up, Poe Dameron!”

He’s undeterred, of course, and shouts right back at you. “You wanna fuck me, huh?! Go right ahead! I’ll fuck you so hard you won’t be able to fucking walk!”

“Guys!” Finn puts himself between you two.

Which is good, because you have no fucking idea how Poe got “I’m gonna fuck you” out of an angry “I’m gonna fuck you up” and why for some reason, he thought you’d said that in anger, as a threat. Not to mention he’d “threatened” to fuck you back, to the point of not walking? The images he just put in your head... Despite the fact that you’re both frustrated with each other, you both pause, brows furrowed, for a distinct what the fuck moment.

Finn shares in your what the fuck moment, looking between you two with disbelief. “Wait, what? That what this is about? You guys have some deep sexual tension you need to work out? I need to step outta the room? You wanna head somewhere else maybe?”

“Shut up, Finn,” Poe snaps, and pushes past him so that you and him are face-to-face again. Behind him, Finn throws his hands up in exasperation before addressing the ceiling.

“I tried, God. Really, I did.”

Poe’s hands are on his hips again as he glares at you. “...Don’t go out there.”

You turn on your heel without a word and plop your bag down, stripping yourself of your jacket and shoes so that you’re only in sweats and a tank top-- it’s how you usually fight. You wrap your knuckles, blatantly ignoring Poe’s presence. Even as he comes up behind you, so close he’s nearly flush against your back. He doesn’t touch you, but he doesn’t have to. His voice is all but a husky growl in your ear, his hot breath sending shivers down your spine: “Don’t say I didn’t warn you, babygirl.”

A shudder wracks your body, a shudder which he most definitely notices. When you turn to look over your shoulder at him, he has a look in his eyes that outdoes his usual spark. It’s more of a fire, one that makes your stomach flip in all the right ways. His face is inches from yours, and you half consider pulling him in for a kiss--

--but if he wanted it, he’d have done it himself. You frown as the giddiness is replaced by frustration. Anger. Toward yourself, of course, for not being good enough for Poe to want to be yours just as badly as you wish you were his. You turn your back on him and leave the locker room, going straight for the ring.

As soon as you exit, you’re greeted by a swarm of cheering audience, half-drunk already. Bets are being passed around, and you angrily remember Poe pointedly telling you that he has two grand on this fight. Oh, that pisses you off. You’re gonna beat Chewbacca solely based on your anger toward Poe.

People part before you like reeds under the prow of a boat, so you’re easily able to reach the ring. You grab hold of the ropes and haul yourself up into the arena, your ears ringing with the reverberations of the cheering crowd, bouncing off the walls and pounding into your skull.

You’re eager to get into the arena. You want to beat the shit out of this Chewbacca.

Almost immediately upon entering that ring, you regret your decision.

You feel the blood drain from your face at the sight of your massive, massive opponent. He really is over seven feet tall, isn’t he? This guy is ridiculously enormous. Even Finn, at 6′ 2″, would have been absolutely dwarfed against him. Rippling with corded muscle underneath of dark caramel-brown skin, he must be nearly eight feet tall. Thick, long hair, brown-and-black, falls from his head, tumbling far down his back. He’s a literal giant. Yes, you’re strong, but you’re still much smaller and much more frail than this guy. Finn lifts missiles onto jets for a living. He might have been able to get a few hits in, might have been able to wrestle this guy to the ground and keep him there. You... you’ll be lucky if you get a single hit in. You’re beginning to understand why Poe didn’t want you in this fight.

“Oh fuck...” You breathe, but there’s no backing out now.

“Ready?” The announcer calls out, and you barely have time to raise your fists before Chewbacca rushes you. He swings high, aiming for your head with a guttural roar that sounds more animal than human. You dodge, intending to go low, but this guy clearly knows more about boxing than you do. Maybe his entire life has been about boxing.

His knee comes up and cracks you hard in the face. Your nose isn’t broken, but blood pours freely from it and you see stars from the impact. You’ve bitten your tongue (not badly enough to bite it off, but it only adds to your injury), and with the sudden silence of the crowd you can hear your ears ringing from the blow. In a daze, you stand there for a second, unsure of what exactly is happening, even when Chewbacca picks you up and throws you across the ring.

You roll up against the rope barriers and come to a stop, unable to move enough to even make a show of struggling. You’ve been K-O’d in 10 seconds flat, when Finn might’ve maybe lasted 30. You’re suddenly fully aware of Poe’s position: it wasn’t if anybody could win, he probably had a bet on how long his fighter could last against Chewbacca. Why risk his best fighter that brings in all his money? If you’re not out for a couple weeks, you’ll be surprised— wait, what are you talking about? Weren’t you planning on moving on Monday? Fuck, you can’t even think straight. You don’t know that you’ve been named the loser until you’re being carried toward an ambulance against a familiar chest that smells of jet fuel and iron. Poe is carrying you.

You’re placed on a stretcher, and you wonder if the crowds are disappointed that they came from who-knows-where to witness Chewbacca floor you in 10 seconds.

~~~

So, you’ve suffered a concussion.

Not a bad one, but a concussion.

Moving will have to be put off till next week, so you’ve made plans to wait until next Monday. For three days, you’re in the hospital under watch for any signs of anything worse than your concussion, or complications due to— you get a visit from Chewbacca, who humbly apologizes for knocking you so hard. In fact, he’s a pretty nice guy. Besides him, Jess comes to see you, make sure you’re alright; Finn, Rey, and even grumpy old Ben visits you.

But not Poe.

“He was here with you while you were out of it,” Rey tells you when you dare to ask, “He was out of his mind with worry— still is. But because you’re out...” she sighs, regrettably, “He had to go back to the club. Sort things out before he risks losing the fame he’s built up.”

Ah. Because of you, in a sense. If you’d just listened to him, he wouldn’t be in this position. No wonder Poe doesn’t want to be with you. You’re nothing but trouble.

So you text him with a simple, I’m sorry, Poe.

But he doesn’t respond. The idiot still has his read receipts on, so you know he got it. Fine, he can be that way for all you care. Which you do, very much, but you have to try not to.

You hear nothing from Poe while in the hospital, not your first couple days home. It’s almost been a week until you hear from him again. You’re sitting on your shared couch, while Jess sits in the nearby chair eating popcorn— you’re not sure what you guys are watching, you’re too concerned with Poe. Which you shouldn’t be. But you are.

Bloop. Your phone goes off. Somebody texted you. You’d be lying if you said your heart wasn’t pounding with the hope that it’s Poe, and then if you said it didn’t soar with a combination of relief and anxiety when you see his name on the bar of the text.

Get to the club. Now.

A vague and mildly-exciting order. But despite your earlier disobedience costing him two grand, reputation, and quite nearly his club, you feel the need to text back— albeit immediately— with:

You don’t text me for a week and now you want me at the club? Why?

There’s brief hesitation. Then you see bubbles, and with a zoom sound effect, Poe responds with a firm, simple answer.

I said NOW.

Fine. Be an asshole then, don’t tell me, you think as you slam your phone down. You briefly, briefly, consider not going. But his adamancy has you concerned. He doesn’t text you for a week and then is telling you to get to the club ASAP? The why is so powerful you barely question the when.

So you tell Jess you’re going out, and toss on a pair of sweats and a hoodie. When you get to the club, you’re surprised to only see Poe’s pitch black corvette sitting out front. Nobody else is here, and the club is, to outsiders, closed.

“What the fuck, Poe?” You mutter to yourself in your car, extremely confused. You force yourself not to run to the building. You need to act nonchalant about this. Like maybe you’re not as worried as you really are.

You have to knock, because for some reason, the doors are locked. When he doesn’t answer the first time, you try to knock a little more carefully, trying not to seem like you’re ready to kick the door down yourself and call 911.

But he answers. He’s wearing that spotless, gunmetal gray blazer with the sleeves rolled up, the white shirt that has a cover over the buttons, and a pair of black jeans with those stupid untied combat boots. That fire you seen in his eyes last you set eyes on him is blazing in his coffee irises. His curls are disheveled, and his jaw clenches at the sight of you. Suddenly you’re aware that the last thing he said to you before he texted was that he’d fuck you so hard you wouldn’t be able to walk.

“You came,” He comments dryly.

“You told me to,” You state the obvious.

Poe scoffs, eyes casting around the parking lot in disbelief. “Since when have you decided to do what I say?”

“Look--” You sigh, heavily, because despite you leaving in a few days, you don’t want to part from him on bad terms. You want to see him smile one more time before you go, keep it emblazoned in your memory. “Can we talk inside? Or you wanna do this out in the cold, rainy night for aesthetic?”

With a snort of amusement, Poe backs up, allowing you to slide past him into the small foyer. Behind you, he all but slams the door before he locks it-- the action makes you shudder, because now you’re thinking thoughts you shouldn’t be thinking. It doesn’t help that he’s fucking smirking, like the asshole somehow knows about the twist he just caused in your stomach.

You try to push away the flood of unwanted emotions that will just complicate things. You never understood the whole yearning thing, until you met Poe, and now, you get it. You wish he’d ask you out, and even now you’d probably scream yes as if he just asked you to marry him, putting off moving indefinitely. You’re sure-- more than positive-- that he knows what he’s doing to you. A combination of wanting to be able to call yourself his girl, and, right now, a whole lot of sexual frustration. Slamming and locking a door shouldn’t turn you on, but it did, and now you have to get rid of that little emotion, too.

You’re by the ring before either of you say anything. “What do you want, Poe?” You turn to face him with your arms crossed, but your whole nonchalant persona crumbles to bit when you see his face.

Poe’s irises are blown black, and he’s watching you like a wolf ready to devour its prey. His jaw is clenched and his hands are on his hips, and he looks like its taking every ounce of his being to hold back from doing whatever it is he wants to do to you. His neck is visibly straining with effort, although aside from being flushed, his face shows no other emotion but irritation.

At this point, you’d gladly let him do whatever he wants.

You think him locking the door turned you on? That’s nothing compared to what you’re feeling now. There’s a rush of warmth between your legs, and you shift slightly, trying to fight the ache in your core-- and you really really hope he can’t tell.

“What do I want?” Poe echoes softly. He doesn’t move his hands from his hips as he steps toward you, and he doesn’t have to. For every step he takes, you back up, until you’re up against the ring’s raised floor. You act as if he has an arm on either side of you, but you’re not threatened. He gets up so that he’s inches from you, just inches, and dear god if he doesn’t close the distance--

“I want you to get on your knees. Crawl. And beg me to fuck you.”

Oh god.

He’s entirely unfazed by the effect his words have on you-- you can’t control it. You let out a sound that’s somewhere close to a moan, but more of a gasp. Physically, you pinch your arm to make sure you’re not dreaming. Nope, it’s fucking real alright. Poe just said that to you, and he’s entirely serious. You want to be angry that that’s all he seems to want from you... but now there’s a wetness between your legs you can’t ignore, and you desperately want him to take care of it.

Hungrily, you think, his eyes flick up-and-down your body, but he doesn’t move. “But we can’t all have what we want.”

Damn him to hell, he’s doing it on purpose. He knows what he does to you, what he’s doing to you. What, is it some kind of punishment? “You can,” You blurt out before you can stop yourself. “You could get anything you wanted.”

“Can I?” He arches a brow, his tone mocking. “Even you?”

All rhyme or reason has left your head. All you can think about is him touching you, and you know if you walk out now and leave you’ll never forget the time you could have been railed by Poe Dameron. Even if he never loves you, you can at least know that for one night... he was all yours.

But your voice fails you. You try to speak but you can’t form the words, so you nod. There’s a flash of emotion across Poe’s face, but it’s gone so quickly you can’t read it. He takes another step closer, nodding for emphasis. “Oh yeah? You gonna be a good girl and do what I say?”

“Y-yes.” You have your back against the wall now, and Poe only comes closer, shaking his head.

“I don’t know about that, sweetheart. Last time I told you to do something, you ignored me. I think, before I do anything, I’m gonna have to teach you how to behave.”

“That’s how we’re gonna play this?” You breathe, trying to speak around your dry mouth.

“Turn around,” He orders, jerking a vague nod to your question while also indicating the rope fence above you. “Grab the ropes.” You do what he says, immediately, desperate for his hands on you--

--but nothing happens. You expect a laugh and a joke about how horny you are for him, and you’re ready to whip around and punch him squarely in the face. But... then you hear something... unexpected. “...Y/N,” Poe says softly, almost a whisper. There’s no trace of his bravado, only warmth. And it’s the first time he’s said your name since he met you. He comes to stand beside you-- the fire is gone. He looks almost anxious, maybe a little hopeful, and definitely softer than he’s been with you. “Color system. Green is we’re good, yellow we need to slow down, red’s a full stop. If you don’t want to do this... tell me now.”

Maybe you’re overthinking things, but you swear he’s just as desperate as you are right now. But not for sex. Maybe for something else. Something more. You let go of the rope so that you can face him, tentatively putting your hands on his chest. He inhales abruptly, closing his eyes for a second. His hands shoot to your waist as if to steady himself and convince himself that you’re really there at once. “Poe...” You want to ask him if he feels the same way you do, but before you can say a word, his lips are on yours.

You’ve hardly started moving your lips against his in response when his tongue swipes across your bottom lip, begging for entrance. Eagerly, you open your mouth to him, and he tilts his head to get a better angle; briefly his tongue fights yours, and he pulls your body flush against him almost possessively as he takes control, licking deep into your mouth. Poe hungrily kisses you, thoroughly exploring you in the most passionate kiss you’ve ever experienced in your life that seems to last only a few moments-- you break away for air far too soon, breathing heavily.

Poe gives a breathless chuckle, lips red and swollen. “I take it you are okay with this, then.” A hand leaves your hip to retrieve something from his pocket, and he lifts a pair of handcuffs and gloves between you. You have no idea what he plans on using them for, but you trust him, especially since the first thing he asks is, “Color?”

“Green,” You pant, and turn to grab the ropes again. Poe reaches up alongside you and carefully cuffs you to the rope, pressing a kiss to your cheek as he moves to stand behind you.

You hear the exaggerated snap of him pulling on the gloves seconds before he pulls your hips back a little, kicking your ankles apart. Internally, you curse yourself for not wearing lacy panties or anything impressive: just a sports bra and a pair of boxer briefs. Not that it matters anyway, because Poe doesn’t even care what you’re wearing: in one swift move, he yanks your pants and briefs down to the floor. You hear him let out an appreciative exhale at the sight of you, and his hands find your hips again. “Eres hermosa, princesa,” He breathes.

“That better have been a compli--” You’re cut short, words trailing to a moan, as he grinds into your soaking core, interrupting any hope for a complete sentence you may have had.

“I’m gonna show you what happens when you don’t listen to me, sweet thing,” He whispers as he rocks into you, not that you can even comprehend what he’s telling you when he’s humping you. “You want me to fuck you? Show me you’re paying attention. Count for me.”

Poe’s hips stop moving as he backs up, but you don’t have time to ask count what? His gloved hand comes down hard on your ass, and the sound echoes in the emptiness of the ring, obscenely loud and mingled with your yelp of alarm. Did he just--

It feels like a hundred bees have decided inexplicably to sting your ass at once. It burns, and your cheeks throb; he does it again at the height of the pain, and you can’t deny that despite the fact that tears are jumping to your eyes and it hurts, his actions are only adding to the wetness between your legs. “I gave you an order,” Poe snaps, punctuating his sentence with another smack. “What did I say?”

Your foggy mind struggles to understand his words, and when you do, it takes you an agonizingly long time to remember what he did tell you. “T... To count,” You choke out.

“Good. Now I’m gonna have to start over.” Oh lord. “You gonna count this time?”

“Y-yes...”

“Yes what?”

At first you’re not sure what he means, but then you realize he wants you to call him something-- he’s an officer, what else are you going to call him? “Sir. Yes sir.”

“Good girl,” He tells you, and you can’t help it; you moan at the praise. He picks up on it immediately, his tone almost teasing as he leans over you from behind. “You like that, huh? Like it when I call you a good girl?” You can only whimper in response; he has a forearm around your waist to steady you, and his touch is like hot fire even when you can’t feel his skin. You want to tear his clothes off and wrestle him to the ground-- maybe it wasn’t a good idea for you to let him cuff you, because if you don’t go insane from his lack of touch, you’ll be missing your guess. “You gonna count for me?”

“Yes sir,” You manage, and Poe chuckles-- at your agony, at how badly you want him, you can’t tell, and you decide you don’t care when he slaps your ass so hard you’re surprised you don’t see stars. Barely, you manage to choke out one. Then two. The hard smack of his hand sheathed in a thin but painful layer of rubber stings twiceover with every slap he delivers, and your knees start to shake with the strain of keeping you standing. You get to six before you falter, missing one.

“Naughty, naughty, babygirl,” Poe says, running his hand down your cheeks to try and soothe them, “I told you to count. Use your words, sweet thing, or I’m gonna have to start over again.”

“F-five,” You wheeze, not intending to go through twice what he’s intending for you.

“...It’s six,” Poe corrects softly. “You learn your lesson yet, or you think you need more? You gonna listen to what I say?”

Finally. The respite has your ass so sore and stinging that you can’t imagine sitting for awhile-- he’s making good on his promise to fuck you so hard you won’t be able to walk for a week. He massages your cheeks, leaning over you from behind. “...You okay?”

The cuffs are all that’s keeping you standing at this point, your legs are shaking so badly. Tears streak down your cheeks. Poe shifts from leaving his hands on you to helping hold you up. “Too far?” You manage to shake your head, because even though it stings, you liked it. And you want more from him. Whatever else he had in mind for you.

“Color?”

“Yellow,” You breathe, because you do need a minute to recover. Immediately Poe reaches up, uncuffing you from the ropes; you fall, limp as a ragdoll, but he catches you effortlessly. With one swift movement, he sweeps you up against his chest bridal style and carries you up into the ring. By the time you’re up there, the initial shock has left you-- and you want more. You pat his chest as he goes to set you down. “Poe. Green.”

He smiles, kissing your forehead. “Cuffs still good for you?”

“Yeah.”

Poe steadies you as he sets you on your feet, waiting to see if you can stand on your own. Once he’s sure you can, he hooks his fingers under the hem of your hoodie, pulling it up over your head along with your bra. Carelessly, he tosses them to the side without taking his eyes off your naked form. “...You’re beautiful, cariño.” He backs you up against the ropes, which hold your weight just as well as the wall for now. “Why did we wait...?” He breathes, and at first you barely catch what he said because you’re too focused on him cuffing your arms over a rope and behind your back, supporting your form even if your legs were to give out. He doesn’t give you time to answer, though, because his mouth is on yours, kissing you breathless. His hands trail up your body, coming to squeeze your breasts-- he hasn’t taken the gloves off.

He smiles into the kiss as you arch against him with a groan. Pulling away from your lips, he leaves a hot trail of wet kisses down your neck, biting and sucking and licking until your knees give. A hand leaves your breast to hold you up, wrapping around your back until you’re prone like one of those ridiculous movie posters from the sixties in a vampire’s arms. As if sensing your thoughts, he bites down on your collarbone hard, actually growling when you cry out. He soothes the mark with gentle licks, trailing lower, and lower.

Seemingly of its own accord, your head throws back when he takes your nipple into his hot mouth, sucking hard enough to hurt, until you’re sure he must have a hold of your whole breast and is going to rip it clean off your body. The other he squeezes hard, pinching and twisting and you’re sure he’s going to make you orgasm just from this alone. The pressure builds in your lower abdomen, and builds, and you’re on the cusp of cumming right there--

--and then he stops. He pulls back with a pop, wiping his mouth on the back of his sleeve and licking his lips. “I don’t think so, baby. Not yet, not until I tell you. Understand?” Your hips buck and you whimper, desperate for that release, but he only holds your hips still as he catches his breath against your chest. It’s gone too soon, and only when you’ll need to be built up again does Poe do anything: he licks a thick stripe up your abused breast, pausing only to lap at the sore nipple before continuing up to your neck. “Good girl,” He whispers in your ear, low and husky.

Poe takes a step back, putting a hand on his hip and bringing the other up to your mouth. “Open up.” He slips his fingers in and you do what he wants: you start sucking, gauging his reaction as you swirl your tongue around his digits. You must be doing something right, because his lust-blown eyes are trained on you as he nods in confirmation, biting his lip. “That’s it. Get ‘em real wet, babygirl.” He has you suck until you’re drooling down your chin, and then he starts to pull his fingers out; you catch the glove with your teeth, trying to pull it off. Poe freezes, pursing his lips. “You really wanna try that, cosa dulce? I need to punish you again?” Reluctantly, you release the glove. “That’s what I thought.”

His fingers trail down your neck, down between your breasts and abdomen. Your hips buck as he gets closer to where you want him, and he shakes his head, clicking his tongue. “I don’t think so, chica bonita. You want me to take care of you? Let’s see if you can stop moving.”

You grin, growing bold. “Let’s see you get off as well as you will with me if I shout red.” Pointedly, you glance down to the obvious tent in his pants, and he frowns. “Stop teasing me, Poe. Take the gloves off.”

He starts nodding, eyebrows arching cockily. His eyes gleam with an idea, one you’re certain both takes care of the problem but also avoids it for as long as possible. “You want me to take the gloves off?” He gives you a smug smirk. “Alright then; I’ll take the gloves off.” Poe steadies you by your hips and slots his thigh between your legs, pressing it up toward your core. You can’t help yourself: you whine, rocking your hips against his leg desperately. His hands now free, he starts taking off his gloves, painfully slowly, gently tugging at the fingertips. “You wanna cum before I can touch you, sweetheart? You’re gonna do it right here.”

Oh hell.

He knows you’d much rather have his fingers buried deep inside you rather than humping his thigh, knows you’re gonna have to try and resist the urge to rock your hips even though every fiber of your body is telling you to move, to get that friction at any cost. But you don’t. You grind once, twice, then groan in frustration through your teeth and force yourself to sit still. The bastard knows you’re not gonna call red, not when you need him so badly. Not when you so desperately want him to fuck you into oblivion. It takes every ounce of willpower you have, and then some, as he watches you struggle with a smug-ass grin. He starts pushing his thigh up into you, moving back-and-forth and flexing his quads as he tries to prompt you to move, creating just enough friction to be agonizingly out of reach. You wonder what kind of sex-school he went to in order to learn this, vaguely in your puddle of a brain.

You’re a whining, panting mess by the time he gets the first glove off, and now you’re regretting making him take them off. Poe removes his thigh from between your legs, and you whimper at the loss of pressure. “You want me to touch you? I told you earlier to beg. Maybe if you be good and do what I told you, I’ll go a little faster.”

You have, in this moment, zero willpower to resist anymore. You need him. “P-please Poe, please--”

“Please what?” It’s the taunting I can’t hear you, and you growl in frustration. The bastard actually chuckles.

“Sir, please sir--”

He tears the glove off and slips his hand between your legs-- you let out the most obscene moan possibly ever uttered on the face of the planet when he swipes his fingers up through your folds, teasing your clit with his thumb. “Soaking already, babygirl? How long you wanted this from me, huh?” You can’t speak, unleashing some kind of whimpering squeal that makes him smirk. “Speak up, sweetheart.”

“L...Long... T-time...” Your stuttering sentence trails off as he slides two fingers inside you, curling them to hit that perfect sweet spot-- how he found it so quickly is beyond you, literally, because you don’t care. All you care about at the moment is reaching that ecstasy just out of reach, rocking against his hand as he fingers you to the brink of shattering oblivion before pulling back, easing his ministrations so that you can’t reach your release. He gets you so close and then takes it away, repeatedly, so many times you’re beginning to wonder if you’ll even be able to reach an orgasm after this.

Poe pulls back, and you’re breathing and whining like you just ran a three-day marathon without breaks. The ache in your core is almost painful, throbbing and pulling at you from deep inside, needing to release itself, and you’re sure if he doesn’t let you cum, you’ll actually explode from the pressure. You buck your hips toward him as you let out a whimper, seeing him lick his fingers clean of your juices. When he’s done torturing you with that image, his hands find your hips. “Color?”

“Poe-- the color is green, if you ask me one more fucking time and don’t actually do something, I swear--”

Poe smirks to himself, and in one swift move has shrugged his blazer off. He rolls up his sleeves, and your heart stutters as he jerks his chin at you. “Greedy girl. My fingers not good enough for you?” Before you can so much as blink, he’s on his knees, hooking your right leg over his shoulder and shooting you a cocky grin. “Good thing you taste so good, hermosa.”

That���s all the warning you get before he’s diving into your heat, dragging his tongue up your sex. You yelp, trying to rock against him, but even though you’re half-standing, he somehow has you pinned. You can’t move more than an inch in any direction, left only to be a moaning mess as he laps at you relentlessly, messily, his stubble chafing your inner thighs and scratching at your folds in a sinfully blissful way. His nose brushes against your clit, giving you that extra bit of friction as he dips his tongue inside you, licking at your walls.

Never in your life have you yowled like a cat in heat, crying out probably loudly enough for the people on the street to hear you as he pleasures you. “Come on, baby,” He groans into you, “Let go, I’ve got you.” You actually scream when you cum, and it trails off into a moan as he eagerly eats you out like he’s a man with his last meal, savoring the sweet taste of you on his tongue, circling your entrance and lapping at your heat, easing you through the shuddering waves of your powerful high.

“You good?” He whispers as he pulled away, licking his lips. You wish you could feel embarrassed about the way your release glistens all over his face, but... it’s kinda hot...

You nod breathlessly, and he immediately stands up, reaching behind you to undo the handcuffs. “You’re such a good girl for me, sweetheart.” He eases you to the floor, getting you on your hands and knees. You know what’s coming next, so you obey, biting your lip when you hear him undoing his belt. “Beg me to stuff your pussy, pretty baby.”

“Please, please--”

Apparently that’s all he needed. He gets down on his knees behind you and spreads your legs apart, and you hear a smile in his voice when he says, “Mírate, cosita bonita. ¿Todo para mí?”

“Huh?” You choke out.

“You’re gorgeous, you sweet girl,” Poe replies, but you’re not entirely sure he answered your question. You don’t have time to think, though, because Poe is sliding his length into you, taking it slow so you can grow used to his sheer size-- he didn’t give you warning, didn’t give you a chance to see him so that you’re prepared-- even only his tip seems too much for you. You don’t have to tell him yellow, he knows to slow down for you, taking a moment of pause for you. He reaches up to tuck strands of your sweaty hair behind your ear, silently asking if you’re alright; he only continues when you nod, giving him unspoken permission. You cry out as he keeps going, stretching you well past your limit, doubling over you, grinding his forehead into your spine and eliciting a feral growl. “Oh, baby,” He moans into your back. His hands are gripping your hips tightly enough to leave bruises. “You’re so fucking tight...”

Your whole body feels hyper-aware of every minute touch to your skin. His calloused fingers sliding up and down your sides as he freezes once he’s up to the hilt, giving you another pause. His ragged heavy breath on your spine, and his necklace hanging low enough to rest on your back. The cool metal makes you shiver against him, especially as he wraps an arm around your middle, his other steadying himself on the floor of the ring. Most of your focus, though, is between your legs, where he’s stretched you farther than anyone ever has before, reaching much deeper than you thought was possible. “You good, babygirl?” He breathes, “Should I stop?”

“Um, no,” You whisper in a strained hiss, making him chuckle against your skin. “Did you just plan on staying like this, or are you gonna move?” He kisses your shoulder and pulls back a few inches before thrusting back in, slowly at first, until you urge him to go faster, harder, giving him permission to let himself go into that wild frenzy you see in his eyes. He’s pounding into you fast enough and hard enough to take your breath away. When you reach your climax your vision goes white, your ears ringing with both your screams and his. But he’s still hard and you’re still wanting, so neither of you can stop there; he pulls you up so that you’re flush against his chest, holding you by your neck and jaw with one hand, his arm a barrier across your chest as he holds your shoulder.

You keep going. He whispers sweet praises alongside dirty promises of filling you up again, and again, and again, until you’re so full of him that you’ll never be able to move again without feeling him inside you. His passionate, gentle kisses are stark contrasts to how violently he ruts into you, and if you didn’t know any better, desperately.

There comes a point where you can’t take it anymore. Where no matter how much you love this, how he’s fucking you so intensely you’re seeing stars and can’t breathe, you feel like if he keeps going you’re going to crack in half. He makes a fist in your hair and pulls your head back to deliver sloppy, passionate kisses to your mouth, still thrusting into you, albeit more gently. “Poe...”

“I know, baby, I know,” He breathes, and he’s flipping you over to lay you down on your back. “One more, sweet thing. Can you give me one more?”

You nod, breathless. Because you have to. You don’t want this to end, because you’re terrified of what will come after. Will he regret it? Will he do what you fear most, and only view you as a one-time fling? You can only hope not. But it seems you might not have to worry after all.

Poe guides your legs to wrap around his wide hips. His hands find yours and he entwines your fingers together. As he thrusts slow enough to keep from hurting you (but still plenty firm enough), his lips are on yours, tongues battling for dominance in a mess of heated breaths and moans. “Y/N, Y/N...” Poe’s breathing your name like a mantra with each rock of his hips into yours. His kisses trail to your neck as his thrusts increase their pace, losing their rhythm. “Cum with me, you perfect girl,” He whispers in your ear, and that does it for you-- with a soft, strained cry, your walls clench around him as he spills himself inside you, leaving you both breathless and boneless when the waves of your shared ecstasy fade.

You both collapse right where you are, dazed and covered in a sheen of sweat that’s chilling you to your core in the cool air of the ring. You’re shivering like a withered leaf, and Poe immediately takes action. He pulls out of you, pressing a kiss to your cheek when you whine from the sudden emptiness-- and, if you’re honest, your pitiful sound was partly inspired by how absentminded he is all of a sudden. He leaves the ring completely, and you’re left laying naked in the ring, unable to move and freezing; Poe doesn’t leave you wondering. He returns-- having clearly washed up-- with your clothes and a couple of rags. Gentle as ever, he cleans you up, careful of your sensitive flesh, and even helps you dress. He drapes he blazer over your shoulder and does one button so that it stays on you. He carries you out of the ring and into his much warmer office, where he keeps you in his lap when he sits in his leather chair. You curl up against him, nestling your head up under his chin.

“...Don’t go,” He whispers softly. Confused, you lift your head to be able to look at him. He closes his eyes, pressing a series of gentle kisses to your temple. “I’ll give you fight nights on Saturday, too. The whole damn week if you want. Just... don’t move away. Please.”

You drop your forehead onto his collarbone, sighing through your nose. “That... wasn’t why I was moving, Poe.”

“Ok, was is the keyword here,” He mumbles, and you can hear faint amusement in his voice. “I’m taking note of that. Just letting you know.” When you start stifling laughter, Poe chuckles and shifts so that he’s hugging you against him, resting his chin on your head. “Go on.”

“I was moving because of you.”

“Ouch.”

“Not like that.” Absentmindedly, you trace the wrinkles of his shirt. The words still don’t come very easily, but considering what’s just happened between the two of you, it’s fairly easier. “I... Really, really like you, Poe. I have for awhile. But you’ve never seemed interested, and you’re you, so if you were I knew you’d ask, and it was painful to be so near to you, so I figured moving away would be better, but it was painful and I didn’t want to and now with what happened with Chewbacca I was sure you hated me—“

Your jumbled slew of chopped sentences and slurred words that don’t even begin to scratch the surface of your emotions is put to a stop when Poe slowly reaches up to playfully cover your mouth. His deep chuckles reverberate through your head as he says, “Ok, I’m gonna respond to you in the order of which you said it.” His hand moves from your mouth to cradle your head. “First of all: if you weren’t able to tell, I like you too, but... it’s a bit stronger than that.” Your heart jumps. “I’ve never been able to say anything because you’re different— I didn’t want a fling or a casual hook-up. That’s easy. What’s really difficult is letting someone you really care for know it. I know we’ve known each other for years now, but I wanted to ask you out, to date you— though now I guess we’ve skipped most of those bases.”

You snort with amusement, making him smile as he buries his face in your hair. “...Then you said you were moving away. I figured if you were going that far without a problem, you didn’t want anything to do with me. Figured I’d blown all my chances. So I... I decided I better make a move. This wasn’t exactly what I had in mind, but... I’m hoping it worked.”

“...What about what I did? I—“

“We’re good, sweetheart. Chewbacca’s signed on with us, so now we’ve got two of the best fighters in our ring.” He kisses your temple. “...I didn’t want you going in there because I didn’t want you getting hurt.”

“I know that now,” You say, tilting your head so that you’re eye-to-eye. “I’m sorry I made you worry.”

“Worry? I was fucking terrified,” He corrects, though it’s lighthearted. He nudges your nose with his. “So... you’re not moving anymore, right?”

How could you? You had no reason to anymore. Poe wanted to be with you, and that’s all you’d wanted. Just a chance. “Nope,” You reply with a smile. “Though now I’ve gotta unpack all my stuff, cancel that new lease, tell the club I’d signed up to... It might be easier just to move anyway.” You’re teasing, of course, and he knows it. He shakes his head with amusement.

“I’ll take care of it. I’ll even help you unpack, but I’ve got a suggestion. It might be stupid, but I’ve gotta ask.” When you nod, he pulls a little back from you so that he can give you his serious talking-business face. “What if— again, this might be stupid— now we’ve known each other for three years, right? We practically live together anyway. How many times have we stayed over at each other’s places for a day or two just for the hell of it? I’m just saying: I mean, we’d be pretty good roommates.” Slowly, a smile creeps across your face as he continues. “The food’s good. Can’t complain about room service. There’s a one-animal petting zoo. The sex is amazing— you’ll be bunking with the greatest fighter pilot in the galaxy, after all. At-home dates. Plenty of room, too.”

You wrap your arms around his neck. “Poe?”

“Hm?”

“You don’t need to advertise. You could just ask.”

He swallows hard, almost nervous. “...Ok then. How about you move in with me?”

You pretend to think about it, then give him a peck on the cheek. “Sounds great.”

Poe’s face lights up in a beaming grin. “Really?”

“Yeah.” You embrace him tightly, which he eagerly returns. “...How about we start tonight? Wanna go cuddle on your ridiculously soft bed?”

“Ah-ah,” He laughs, standing with you in his arms. “Our ridiculously soft bed.”

“Ours,” You agree. It wasn’t exactly how you’d pictured it— not a heart-wrenching declaration of love that involved flowers, maybe some rain... but it was probably better, honestly. It was finally happening between the two of you, and you couldn’t fathom anything else having lead to it now.

It was completely, fully, a very Poe way of doing things; and you couldn’t be happier.

Even if he had made good on his promise to make sure you couldn’t walk.

______________________________________________________________

Thanks for reading!

I'm sorry if you didn't want to be tagged here, or if I forgot anyone-- I used my Banks of the Nile taglist like I'd said I would. You don't have to read it though! <3

Taglist:

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#i'm so sorry this sucky smut is on my masterlist #thank you for enduring it to this point #poe dameron #poe dameron x reader #oscar isaac

[recitedemise]

𝗠𝗮𝗻𝘆 𝗼𝗳 𝗚𝗮𝗹𝗲'𝘀 𝘃𝘂𝗹𝗻𝗲𝗿𝗮𝗯𝗶𝗹𝗶𝘁𝗲𝘀 𝘄𝗲𝗿𝗲 𝗮𝗴𝗴𝗿𝗮𝘃𝗮𝘁𝗲𝗱 𝘁𝗼 𝗯𝘂𝘁 𝗱𝗲𝘃𝗲𝗹𝗼𝗽 𝗶𝗻𝘁𝗼 𝘁𝗿𝗮𝘂𝗺𝗮 𝗿𝗲𝘀𝗽𝗼𝗻𝘀𝗲𝘀, 𝗿𝗲𝘀𝗽𝗼𝗻𝘀𝗲𝘀 𝘁𝗵𝗮𝘁 𝗠𝘆𝘀𝘁𝗿𝗮 𝗮𝗰𝗰𝗲𝗽𝘁𝘀 𝗹𝗶𝘁𝘁𝗹𝗲 𝗰𝘂𝗹𝗽𝗮𝗯𝗶𝗹𝗶𝘁𝘆 𝗳𝗼𝗿. This lengthy headcanon will refer to canon dialogue from mostly Gale, sometimes others. Reader's discretion is very much advised. There will be in depth explorations into grooming, emotional abuse, heavy manipulation, and suicide.

First, let it be said that Gale, a mortal man, will always be the powerless one in his dynamic with Mystra. Of course, nearing forty years of age, he remains entirely responsible for his own actions, his own foul blunders and every hurt he'll cause, but it's important to remember who formed much of who he is: his goddess, his deity, and egregiously, his lover.

Mystra is power. Mystra is possibility. She knows what sway she holds over her Ioyal, vulnerable, and entirely mortal followers. In all ways that matter, they are but lambs she can steer and herd as she sees fit. She knows they can't deny her, and knows they'll never want to. Gale's sheer servitude and complete devotion; to the very quick of his bones, she lapped them up.

Gale: I was just... practising an incantation. Player Character: No, there's more to it than that. I know devotion when I see it. Gale: What can I say? She's—she's Mystra. I can't describe it, the need I sometimes feel to see her - to draw the filaments of fantasy into existence... Mystra is all magic. And as far as I'm concerned, she is all creation. Player Character: I didn't realize the depth of your devotion. Gale: Magic is... my life. I've been touched with the Weave for as long as I can remember. There's nothing like it.

Gale, orb in his chest, doomed to be eaten by the very thing he loves the most, still speaks so reverently of the goddess, of his lover that has left him to die. He conjures images of her memory—and she is all the while forgetting about his.

Minsc: Gale reminds me of vremyonni of my homeland. The man-mages of Rasheman. While the girl-folk go on to rule as wychlaran, Weave-touched boys were hidden away. Trained to work their craft in silence and secrecy. It is an old custom, not well-observed. In truth, I thought it born of caution after some catastrophe of wizardly men-folk of old. Now, I wonder if it was not done to hide them from Mystra, and the snares she sets for young and prideful boys, hm?

Tales of Mystra's treachery spreads far, leaving those familiar waters surrounding Gale's tower in Waterdeep. They whisper her name, afraid to utter it one time too many, suspecting, perhaps, that she'll show in their mirror like some Faerûnian Bloody Mary.

Talent rouses Mystra. She can see who uses the gift of the Weave and feel them, sampling whatever delight sings their veins as they pull from her domain. Not unlike a spider, she'll follows every tremor that strikes her as just a sliver more profound; and Gale, a prodigy, plucked the Weave's web to so garner her focus. And like some black widow scurrying, she surged down that ripple to prey on a boy. There, Gale, so impressionable, was just a mite older than twelve whole summers. He sat so stunned, beholding Mystra as she lured him into the cradle of her Astral domain. Bathed in her magic, pleasantly coddled within that glittering cosmos, Gale felt blessed in a way he'll struggle always to recount, no word, no language, fit to describe it. He felt chosen. He felt seen. And potently, to a child, he felt loved. Now, imagine a child experiencing something like that. Imagine what they'd think, how brilliant they must be when stood beside the rest. She told him he was gifted, made his heart swell not unlike a child's appetite for praise. She knew what she was doing by offering these morsels, by preying on a child's most delicate mind, and Gale, child prodigy, was already so awash in the idea that his value was in magic. Unfortunately, Gale, susceptible, had no way of squirming out of his goddess' grasp.

Reality: She's laid down the seeds to creep into his heart. When he's just old enough—seventeen's sufficient, she thinks—she stakes her claim and makes him hers.

Gale: My virtuosic talent once caught the eye of the goddess of magic herself, Mystra, who named me her chosen and her lover.

Gale is stunned when she takes him to bed the first time. (Is this really happening?) Mystra claims his mouth in a kiss, taking everything she knows he offers so willingly. Mystra, of course, is not so stunned.

Dream Visitor: An elder brain... one of the cruelest and most powerful creatures in existence, enslaved by mere mortals. Gale, tasked with Mystra's missive to sacrifice himself: This is it... I must do as Mystra commands.

Gale has worryingly low self-esteem beyond his magic. As already explored, his entire worth as a man hinged on and was built entirely off his talent as a wizard. He fought tooth and nail for any crumb of affection Mystra would offer his way, something she only gave him at all seeing his gift as a child. He wants her forgiveness. He desires it genuinely. He believes so firmly that he has wronged his goddess, buying into the idea that sacrificing himself will right his wrong. She holds such dominion over him, making him reduce his confidence in himself into a mere, trifling pittance; after all, she wasn't just his lover, but the patron deity he prays to. And regardless, Gale is a people pleaser, his initial acceptance of her missive coming as no surprise.

After all, Gale, at times, goes to incredible lengths to appease his audience. This habit, compulsion, impulse, whatever you want to call it, is a quality that was relentlessly exacerbated in his relationship with his immortal paramour. He wanted to content her, felt all he did was never enough, for as a matter of principle, he was oceans, leagues, and entire galaxies beneath her. Gale figures: well, how can a short-lived dalliance satisfy a god? He had to make her happy. Indeed, he'd done everything she'd ask. He'd bedded her how she liked, kissed her how she wanted, and of course, even said those words she'd said tasted best. She was his lover, a lover that never tended to his own needs and pleasures, and he fooled himself into thinking that's enough. He won't bend backwards for everyone, mind you, but if you're of the ones he would, he would stop at nothing to make you happy. After all, people pleasing is a way to keep oneself safe, a trauma response to sidestep discomfort, and though it achieves only a direly tentative peace, when that is all you've been fed, you will pursue it.

Gale did not want to lose Mystra; he couldn't bare the sting of it. And so, when Elminster visited him, Mystra's call for his death offered oh so callously, Gale, heartbroken, felt that part of him kick up. He couldn't endure the guilt, was so hungry for a chance to let his weighty heart breathe, even if it meant dying in the process.

At least this way, he'll finally do something right. At least this way, Mystra will forgive him, and all his friends will survive.

Gale: After I was afflicted with my condition, I locked myself in my tower for an entire year. I was inconsolable, wallowing in my self-inflicted tragedy. I'd given up on myself.

As a byproduct of people pleasing, Gale, too, is all too quick to accept all guilt. He self-deprecates, gaslights himself to a venomous degree, and twists his reality in so cruel a way as to make him the villain Mystra'd led him to believe. He self-flagellates himself, the first one in the world who will throw Gale of Waterdeep a mental punishment. Mystra's a goddess, after all, seen as utterly faultless, and twined so tightly with a being so mighty in esteem, Gale slipped into the role of the guilty often. When tied with anyone with grandeur like this, so immeasurable in their own self worth, it's important to keep in mind this: you are nothing but a prop in which to fulfill their ego. Gale was not Mystra's, not by a long shot. Rather, Gale was a tool, simply her mortal extension.

And he took every blow meant for her... a common and terrible habit for many people in imbalanced, ego-fueled relationships.

Gale's life beyond her wasn't something that interested her. She took most of Gale's devotion, manipulated his life to be her sole mantle of attention, for Mystra is not a goddess that shares very happily.

Indeed, long before his self-imposed isolation, this jealous deity did well at keeping him isolated.

Player Character: Picture kissing him. With tenderness. Then, with passion. Gale: I... I didn't think— Narrator: You perceive quick-fire embarrassment, trepidation, and finally... elation.

And so, cheated out of love, so reduced in his value as a man and lover both, suffice to say, Gale's slow to believe he can ever be loved. That's what happens when you're with someone so cold, consistent only in their infinite lack of respect. Gale looks at fondness, and he feels—confounded, to be sure. He thinks, is this truly mine to have? He doesn't know what to do, is nearly forty in game, and despite having lived decades devoted to one relationship, he feels, at the same time, entirely out of depth. To be frank, he greets it with embarrassment, like he's been caught red handed with something not his at all. He's like a child caught rummaging with his hand in a cookie jar, all this isn't mine to enjoy, not mine to indulge in, but he thinks, startled, but god, do I want. He wars with disbelief, uncertainty, and need, and in so many ways feeling utterly starved, with just a glimmer of affection, he falls fast into love.

Scenario: (And if properly romanced, it changes his world.)

Gale: In her (Mystra's) likeness, I used to read a thousand stories. She was beauty, wisdom, elegance, power... she contained universes. But now... it is hard to see any redeeming qualities in a lover who condemned you to death. I'd much rather gaze into your eyes than hers. Yours are capable of tenderness and feeling... No god could ever compare.

He says it with sincerity. There is such wonder, such love, and such awe in his eyes. He makes the act of kissing him feel like you've just reached into the trenches to but pluck him soundly from his ruin and despair. You think, Gale Dekarios, how unloved have you been all this time?

Gale: To know you love me for the man I am, and not the magic I command… none have loved me so purely before.

The answer is: entirely.

For so long, Gale thought love was simply being chosen. He knew nothing of being favored for the quality of his character, to be cherished and accepted even in those ways he fumbles and lacks. Again, his needs were seldom met, often treated with utter indifference by Mystra herself, and to meet someone so eager to treasure him, dote on him in a way his heart, his body is somberly new to, raptures his spirit and captures his soul. He's seen for who he is. He's... loved, desired for his silly quips, his easy smiles, and his growing affections. He bares himself to them, and in turn, they cradle his heart like something entirely precious. Gale thinks this has to be dream. He says, at times, you are more than I deserve.

Scenario: (But sometimes, he hopes too strongly and loves too greatly. As it always does, then, like he's once more wanted too much, he watches something beautiful slip right through his fingers. Of course, Gale Dekarios. Of course it does.)

Player Character: I didn't know you felt so strongly, Gale. Gale: Perhaps I should have done more. Been more charming, more flattering, harder to reach... but I was only myself, and sometimes that isn't enough.

They don't love him anymore. It breaks his heart. He hurts so much, so profoundly and deeply, and he doesn't realize that he breaks their heart in turn.

Unable to ever voice his feelings with Mystra in any way that amounted to much, Gale's a tendency to wallow, expressions coming off as potentially 'guilt-tripping' and even, on occasion, passive aggressive. Firstly: Gale NEVER means to manipulate emotions, and he's no intention of twisting anyone's arm, either. Fact is, Gale, never taken seriously when he'd bared his vulnerabilities to the Mother of the Weave, can end up saying just a little too much. He feels very deeply, and for most his life, seldom had an outlet for these weeping sentiments. He sometimes lets slip raw words and oftentimes heart-wrenching expressions; all the same, it's not so pitiful as to shepherd an outcome, but rather, is a gesture taken by a man so desperate to be heard. It may feel like scheming, but the truth is far, far greyer: feeling as though he's no right to share the depth of his heart, Gale simply lets it geyser out in a way he can't cork up. In ways he doesn't realize, he's adapted to this ache, passively reacting so his feelings can at least be seen and recognized—no matter how pitifully unwhole. With someone who values so little his thoughts... well, when he slips into these moods, one can hardly feign shock.

Situation: (And if no one shows him trust and tenderness, any true care in his character or worth, Gale gets swallowed up by how wronged he was.

He thinks: Let me be a god. Let no one hurt like me anymore.)

Gale: They only want us to serve them, pray to them...and ultimately, to die for them. But what if we didn't need them? What if we wielded their power instead and helped ourselves in all the ways they refuse to? I could make that happen.

Gale is not above anger, and as stated, he is not above pettiness; however, more than that, he is not above righting himself whatever wound he was struck. Gale, if not offered much by ways of affection, understanding, is made to believe that one idea that's lived growing in his mind: Gale Dekarios is far from sufficient; he has to be more. He has to be better. Gale, in such an unkind ending for himself, sips too desperately—and perhaps greedily, too, but desperately serves as a far better word—at that idea that he needs power. And so, wresting the Crown of Karsus for himself, he spites Mystra in his own way, becoming a god he feels is leagues better than she will ever be. Damn her thoroughly. Damn her ego, her power, and her endless indifference. He will serve the people, protect them, and in ways Mystra never could, better the world.

Situation: But as a god, he loses all sense of his kindness. Humanity. All who loved him leave him, and even Tara spurns the image he's become. With power, he's gained the respect he thought he always wanted... but in turn, he lost in even greater measure all the love he's known.

Endnote: But healing, knowing to forgive himself and knowing he's deserving of care simply for being Gale Dekarios will remain, always, the best path for him.

#HEADCANON. #Oh... anyway. This. Was. A lot. #And it was a lot for me mentally and emotionally to write. #So much of this hit home. #Gale isn't perfect. He can be petty and immature—a byproduct of not being all too good at venting his frustrations when #it gets to a point. He has very bad self esteem. He is not forgiving of himself and is too forgiving of Mystra. #He endured FOR DECADES the cold indifference of a goddess he called his lover. #I know people dog on him because he's a grown man with these hurts and traumas and responses #but just because his trauma manifested in ways you don't find palatable or hot or sexy #doesn't mean they aren't scars left by trauma buddy!!! #And quite frankly that bit about God Gale sounding vindictive and angry #yeah! SOMETIMES people who have so cold and uncaring and belittling a partner #end up angry. You shoved someone into a corner and hounded them for SO LONG. Don't start crying when they rear back on you and bite #I have a deep connection with godhood Gale. But obviously a healed Gale that finds love and acceptance in himself is so much healthier. #I'm rooting for you Gale (always). #So much of this was typed up with a lot of first hand experience so... to say this was a Gale exploration #as much as a way to navigate my own trauma is an apt one. #No two tales of abuse are alike of course. Gale's experience isn't my experience. But I can sympathize a great deal. #TL;DR: This meta post means a lot to me. K. Thanks.

[claitea]

oh my god parfum palace. the zekrom and reshiram statues. unova lore? unova crumbs please

#clai speaks #SORRY I AM EXCITED ABOUT KALOS I JUST STILL NEED TO THINK ABOUT MY FAVORITE REGION FOR A SEC #ohhhh my god what is this about exactly what are we doing #when does this take place how far back #i dont think it can be THAT far back because that was lumiose in its entirety just as it appears in xy modern tower and all #so nothing about the war az was a part of or anything #why kalos why now. why did you wait so long to make pokemon z you ASSHOLES #I HAD TO ENDURE SO MANY YEARS OF ew kalos suck its so underwhelming like YEAH SURE FOLLOWING UP GEN 5 WAS HARD BUT #I LOVE GEN 6..... IT JUST NEEDED MORE ATTENTION PLEASE LET THIS BE WHAT REDEEMS IT #thoughts all over the place sorry. i am sleepy but also so excited #what was the point i was trying to make. unova lore somewhere in there please thank you

[delicatefade]

I finished 'the sky sang out your name to me' and MAKER WHAT HAPPENS NEXT???! What happens to Eilan in Solas' bold new world?! If you ever do write a part 3 please let me know I am so curious to follow her story it was fabulous and heartbreaking!

Ahhh!!! Thank you for this comment and the one on AO3. I do have the next part in draft at 65k! It's happening. It's just a much more complicated fic than the first. Multiple POVs, parallel subplots, some that intersect and thus timing is key. Lots more world building too! I zoom out from just Eilan and her POV to see Thedas writ large. What is happening across the map? How are our faves doing? POV characters are Eilan, Solas, Varric, Dorian, Josephine, Sera. A big part of the sequel's arc is Eilan going from thrashing against the horrors of the post-Veil roil to accepting her place alongside the power center in Thedas, even as Solas does his usual "who, me? no i don't want power, i'm just some guy" and yet of course can't help but wield his power because he has it, knows he is right, someone must act, etc. Classic Solas! Oh! One thing I like about them as a couple in the sequel is that Solas actually becomes a better partner! Once he's less myopic on the Veil and more grateful to her, he can actually listen to her complaints and adjusts and likes himself better as a person, so that's cute. But of course it leads them down dangerous roads because again they become so self-absorbed in their relationship. They just keep saying "you're the best" to each other while ignoring all the terrible turns the other takes. Josephine, Varric, Dorian and Sera all take dark turns as their world is ended and they are embittered. Mwhahahaha. I have had SOOOO much fun world-building and writing politics in Tevinter. A lot of that is done. If you really REALLY want to know what happens next in greater detail and don't mind spoilers, I can share in DMs. I do want to finish it but I got Lexlan on the brain. I think you might also really like Lexlan cause, I think, if I am picking up on things correctly, you like this obsessive love. It happens with Lexlan too but manifests in a totally different, fresh, and youthful way. Also that story is just starting and we got some fans on the train so we can all scream together.

#ask #sure he smashes cities but i looooove him #50 points to whoever knows that reference #yes it is the rugrats episode of reptar on ice #yes my back hurts randomly and i must stretch before going to bed #ok but back to fic thank you for reading my story it has me excited to get back to it #also what did you think of the magic game though? it's really endured

[unproduciblesmackdown]

speaking of the horrors brian goosebumpsphantomoftheauditorium is still So funny for being like yeah i'm a ghost i know i'm a ghost. & he's befriended the horror fan menace duo who are giggling clutching each other like omg omg okay. we're fine. we're breaking into the school at night to investigate the horrors aaaa what if there's a ghost eek ok ok!!! & brian ghost who knows he's a ghost is like omg guys aaaa stopppp ;;m;; suffering thee Most but he's not putting on an act to conceal his phantomly destiny. he's just like that

#it's brian colson i believe (unless it's colsen. but i think colson) but clearly this is clearer #the book was killing me & i'm telling you brian especially. his whole thing is being So nervous about everything all the time #which maybe that's meant to be due to [you Did die; alarmingly] but it really does just seem like Mostly personality #the cadence & content of the exchange where he's bemoaning getting paint on his clothes off to the side lays me tf out #just the dynamic like brooke & zeke are Speculating abt Schemes & Ghosts & being hilarious too; here's tina joining in; also magical #while multiple times people just completely in stride And in earnest respond to brian's complete focus on his paint stains issue #goosebumps the musical #also getting Thank You For Being A Friend points like enduring the deadly trapdoors & mystery of; for all he knew ig; a whole other ghost #he has no stake in that beyond just genuinely helping out / providing what moral support he can lol #and You Know What They Say. you probably could've revealed your ghost status & destiny & Just Asked lmao #but maybe he was too nervous like think i'll have to Haint Style Steal Your Breath or sm shit b/c that's easier than a ghost reveal convo #is that a george costanza style approach? i have never seen a full seinfeld episode. no limits to the time/effort/complexity in avoiding #some comparatively more minor issue / hurdle? i understand the like archetypical achievement character of all time in that for sure.... #like yeah they Are alarmed by the apparent ghost / apparent guy who wants to kill them / you as Actual Ghost but they roll w/it too #cracking open goosebumps of all time The Ghost Next Door... #i also need to crack open (press play) goosebumps the musical phantom of the auditorium original studio cast recording again soon #brian's pleeease let this be a normal field trip to brooke & zeke's beep beep seatbelts everyone! dream team for real #completely innocuous haunting except there's a separate totally unrelated guy taking a totally counterproductive approach to things.... #scooby doo villaining it will Not bring the meddling kids!! if i act scary to said kids they'll learn anything besides that I'm scary!!! #bring emile back here like yeah we'll cover for you for real though. appeal to tina's theatre devotion like become frenemies to friends fr #goosebumps ghosts you Do just fulfill your Purpose & then Transcend but brian was just a guy hanging out prior. could do that again

[stillagoodwitch]

made a connection between middle school hyperfixation and current hyperfixation punching biting my pillow losing my mind cat is really concerned

#life has been so much better since realizing pandora is aroace for me #everyone say thank you sy for enduring me being insufferable #i mean at all times but especially tonight... #both middle school hyperfixations kinda… but i think we’re past that point now after my life being taken over for years again

[aliatori]

Oh hello hi, 14, 16 and 25 for the Spotify thingie pls ☺️

14. A song you think is underrated I either listen to bands that are mega popular (at least now, eyeing Sleep Token's recent success) or like, obscure electro-shit, so it took me a while to comb through a figure out a song I think is underrated. I think I'm going to go with The Blood Moon by Holy Boy. 1,425 monthly listeners is a pretty wimpy amount for Spotify, but by the gods, does this song make me want to rip my heart out of my chest. And no, not JUST because it's one of my All Time Favourite Hubriel songs. The entire EP, Holy Boy, is strong imo. It has a lot of the indie-alt sound that's popular in some circles right now, but I guess since it's from 2017 and they haven't made much new music since, it remains under the radar. (As a special bonus for you - even though it wasn't in my top 100 this year - I think Deep Sky has a lot of aliatori/roadsoftrial solidarity. It's very horny and sensual but also has strong folk overtones, which is basically a combination of our brands). 16. A song everyone should know Oh wow, huh. I got stuck on this question for a bit because I don't believe in the concept of universal appeal, lmfao. (There's the most Scorpio thing I'll say this answer). If we take the angle of a song I want everyone to know—DATURA [paroxysm] by Crywolf. It's weird and wonderful in a way I love, and I think Crywolf is also underrated. (And also, like, very hot, in case you were curious). 25. Favourite lyrics of your #100 song Guess what... you STILL get a Sleep Token song at number 100! This time, it's Alkaline.

A friend and I were discussing a while back that this song is very gender and would be max gender without the specific pronoun usage, but even so, I still adore it for those vibes:

It's too late for me now, I am altered There is something beneath She's not acid nor alkaline Caught between black and white Not quite either day or night She's perfectly misaligned I'm caught up in her design And how it connects to mine I see in a different light The objects of my desire

I'm manifesting that a nonbinary artist sing a cover of this with 'they' pronouns. One of my favourite artists HVDES did a cover of "Granite" already, so I think I may have some manifestation powers in this arena.

#ali answers #thanks lovely for asking #you already endure more of my ramblings than most people so I appreciate you giving me the floor to do some more #also on a scale of 1-100 #it was very hard not to use actual irl names in this answer LOL #to the point where I had to delete them and fix it #i kiss u & love u

[hikeyzz]

i wasn't expecting this aspect of recovery and surgery anddddd ngl it's kindaaa triggering in a way i didn't expect either fck

#tw body dysmorphia #i'm gonna talk about it in the tags so pls don't read on if discussing bodies and body dysmorphia can be triggering for you #tw for comments about weight too #i'll add a bunch of extra words in here so that it blocks out the following tags and you don't have to see anythinggg #gonna add the tw at the beginning so you know immediatelyyy #i think we're good now #i lost weight after surgery and not in an 'i weighed myself' way but in an 'its visible to me and the people around me' way #i noticed it first and then my parent noticed it and he doesn't know not to point it out #he thinks it's a compliment #and he has brought it up a few times #like hey your pants aren't fitting the same #hey your face looks sooo much thinner #... thanks dude #like actually no thank you but ugh #i understand it's okay for my weight to fluctuate #i just wasn't trying and this isn't like something to praise #it means i was malnourished in recovery to the point i lost a noticeable amount of weight #i also lost a ton of muscle like i am always shaky and weak now #and thats gonna happen after surgery its expected and i will be back to where i was in a couple weeks in terms of strength and endurance #but again its not something to praise #and people don't get that #and don't understand how triggering it can be when your body changes significantly in ways you didn't anticipate #i loved my body and my curves and obvi i still have them #but yeah i look different than i did a month ago and again i wasn't anticipating it so i do feel sorta uncomfortable in my body now #and like how am i supposed to talk about that?? #when most people around me would be grateful for unintentional weight loss #ugh idk i'll talk to my therapist about it on wednesday #hikey

[fans4wga]

September 25: Read the WGA's email to its membership

[ID: tweet from Adam Conover @/adamconover that says, "We did it. We have a tentative deal. Over the coming days, we'll discuss and vote on it, together, as a democratic union. But today, I want to thank every single WGA member, and every fellow worker who stood with us in solidarity. You made this possible. Thank you. #WGAStrong".

Attached is a screenshot of the first part of the WGA's recent email to its membership. Conover's next tweet says, "Here's the rest of our email to members, which details what happens next:" with the rest of the email attached in screenshots.

Transcript of the WGA's email to its membership:

DEAR MEMBERS,

We have reached a tentative agreement on a new 2023 MBA, which is to say an agreement in principle on all deal points, subject to drafting final contract language.

What we have won in this contract — most particularly, everything we have gained since May 2nd — is due to the willingness of this membership to exercise its power, to demonstrate its solidarity, to walk side-by-side, to endure the pain and uncertainty of the past 146 days. It is the leverage generated by your strike, in concert with the extraordinary support of our union siblings, that finally brought the companies back to the table to make a deal.

We can say, with great pride, that this deal is exceptional — with meaningful gains and protections for writers in every sector of the membership.

What remains now is for our staff to make sure everything we have agreed to is codified in final contract language. And though we are eager to share the details of what has been achieved with you, we cannot do that until the last "i" is dotted. To do so would complicate our ability to finish the job. So, as you have been patient with us before, we ask you to be patient again — one last time.

Once the Memorandum of Agreement with the AMPTP is complete, the Negotiating Committee will vote on whether to recommend the agreement and send it on to the WGAW Board and WGAE Council for approval. The Board and Council will then vote on whether to authorize a contract ratification vote by the membership.

If that authorization is approved, the Board and Council would also vote on whether to lift the restraining order and end the strike at a certain date and time (to be determined) pending ratification. This would allow writers to return to work during the ratification vote, but would not affect the membership's rights to make a final determination on contract approval.

Immediately after those leadership votes, which are tentatively scheduled for Tuesday if the language is settled, we will provide a comprehensive summary of the deal points and the Memorandum of Agreement. We will also convene meetings where members will have the opportunity to learn more about and assess the deal before voting on ratification.

To be clear, no one is to return to work until specifically authorized to by the Guild. We are still on strike until then. But we are, as of today, suspending WGA picketing. Instead, if you are able, we encourage you to join the SAG-AFTRA picket lines this week.

Finally, we appreciated your patience as you waited for news from us — and had to fend off rumors — during the last few days of the negotiation. Please wait for further information from the Guild. We will have more to share with you in the coming days, as we finalize the contract language and go through our unions' processes.

As always, thank you for your support. You will hear from us again very soon.

In solidarity,

WGA NEGOTIATING COMMITTEE

#wga strike #writers strike #writers guild of america #wga solidarity #i stand with the wga #current events #hollywood strike

[moonlinos]

It would’ve been sweet if it could’ve been me

♡ Pairing: Bang Chan × fem!reader

♡ Genre: Single dad!Chan, friends to strangers to lovers

♡ CW: Explicit sexual content (minors dni!), mentions of parental guilt, themes of loneliness, Chan is stuck in the past, lying, mentions of feeling lost in life, story spans over a number of years, nipple play, oral sex (male receiving), unprotected sex, creampie

♡ Word count: 8.2k

♡ Synopsis: Being a single dad to Hyerin is all Chan has known for the past four years. He and his ex-girlfriend reached an agreement that saw her going off to live a life she had always dreamed of while he was left with a life of loneliness, which he endured with a smile on his face for his daughter. A small gleam of hope seems to appear in his life in the shape of you. But hiding himself under a haze of lies seems to be his only option if he ever wants to keep you.

♡ A/N: Based off a request by anon! Thank you for requesting, this was so much fun to write 🩷 I will admit this is a lot more focused on Chan as a character than I originally wanted it to be, and I kinda went a bit crazy with the plot, but I hope you still like it! The song Chan sings to Hyerin is Little Star by Standing Egg 💗

Every day in Chan’s life is a monotonous, never-ending cycle. Like watching reruns of bad TV shows on gloomy Sunday nights, every second of his past and upcoming days is etched into his mind like a quilt of mundane tasks and repetitive moments.

But that wasn’t always the case.

Once, excitement filled his every waking moment. His weekends were a whirlwind of new places teeming with bustling crowds and unfamiliar faces who became fast friends. During his university years, he and his friends lived their lives with ardor, savoring every moment as if it could be their last. His days were filled with an array of unplanned parties and impromptu trips which brought a kaleidoscope of color to his life.

Until he met Dana.

He was about to graduate, and she swept into his life like a hurricane — flipping everything upside down before disappearing just as quickly, with only destruction and ashes remaining in her wake.

He was infatuated; she was bored. That was clear from the start, but Chan was too blinded by affection to be concerned with such a minute detail. So long as he got to have her by his side, he was happy. Their relationship lasted a year, yet it changed his life forever.

He was twenty-one when Dana announced her pregnancy. On his twenty-second birthday, she told him she didn’t want to be a mother.

By that point in his life, Chan had already forsaken everything he had for her. He turned his back on his old friends, the vibrant life he once led, and everything that once made him who he was. Without Dana, he would be left with nothing but the ugly reflection of his self-destructive choices made in the name of a loveless love.

And so, they came to an agreement. Dana would leave — that had been her plan from the start, anyway — but she would leave Chan with a small piece of their story.

Hyerin was born on November 20th, 2019.

Dana left on a plane to New York City on December 1st.

Now, the only speck of color in his life is Hyerin. In the four years Chan has been lucky enough to be her dad, he has found she is much more than simply a reminder of Dana or what could have been between them. Hyerin is his entire world. She is the love he’s unknowingly been searching for his whole life, and he would sacrifice every last bit of himself to make sure she only ever knows happiness.

They live a quiet life, with Chan working a less-than-fulfilling corporate job and spending all his free time with her. He sometimes allows himself to wonder what happened to his old friends — did they all eventually settle for the mundanity of adult life, or are they still chasing an endless thrill? But he never dwells on it too much. The sweet memories of his early twenties are now nothing more than a comforting escape when the weight of loneliness becomes too overwhelming.

Today is one of those days. A late Friday night after his shift, Chan sprawled on his couch with Jisung, a co-worker who became his first friend after many years, a silly smile on his face as he reminisced about a trip to Jeju in his sophomore year of college. This is how he lives most of his life; when he’s not in the present with Hyerin, he’s stuck in the past.

How could he not be stuck in the past? So many people he loved and memories he cherished were there.

“I don’t get how you just left all of that behind for someone,” Jisung scoffs, loosening his tie. “Why couldn’t she just join your group of friends?”

“It’s complicated,” Chan sighs, eyes wandering toward Hyerin’s bedroom door for the umpteenth time to make sure she’s still sleeping soundly. When he turns to look back at Jisung, his expression prompts him to elaborate. “What? You want the whole story?”

Jisung shrugs. “It’s not like we have any other plans for tonight.”

“Well, there was this girl in my friend group. We hooked up a lot, but our relationship went beyond that,” Chan explains, fingers tapping his thighs as the memories flood his mind. It was a sore topic, one he certainly didn’t enjoy remembering. “We never dated, but Dana was jealous, and I couldn’t blame her. Me and this girl were… very close. I couldn’t be in a relationship while also being that close to her, but I also couldn’t imagine us being only friends. So it was easier to walk away.”

Chan conveniently leaves out the fact that he walked away because an artificial love strangely provided solace for his heart, unlike the searing torment of unrequited love, which engulfed him like molten lava.

“And that was the last time you ever had that type of relationship with anyone?”

“With Dana? Yeah—”

“Hyung, you know what I mean. You told me yourself Dana didn’t love you,” Jisung points out. “I mean this other girl.”

Chan shrugs dismissively. “I guess, yeah. Doesn’t matter, though.”

And Jisung scoffs loudly at his words, rubbing his forehead with a sigh. Memories of that love flood Chan’s mind, and he's ready to let them sweep him away when Jisung abruptly turns so he sits facing him, resolve swimming in his eyes.

“Give me your phone,” his loud voice reverberates through the small apartment, prompting Chan to shush him with a stern look. “Give me your phone,” Jisung repeats himself with a harsh whisper.

Chan rolls his eyes but ultimately smiles at his friend. He retrieves his phone from the end table, handing it to a much too enthusiastic Jisung. “The password is Hyerin’s birthday,” he tells him, albeit a bit apprehensive.

He watches amusedly as Jisung types away at his own phone before doing the same on his, handing him the device with a grin tugging at the corner of his lips.

“What did you do, you little menace?” Chan questions the younger boy, narrowing his eyes. Jisung simply shrugs.

“I got you a date tomorrow. Thank me later.”

Chan immediately sits up on the couch, eyes darting toward his phone screen. A chat with a single message from him to an unknown contact makes him question his entire friendship with Jisung.

Me: I’m your date for tomorrow 😉

Me: O’neul restaurant, 6 pm. See you there, cutie

“Jisung, what the fuck?”

“What?” His friend asks between giggles. “Sora has this friend she said desperately needs a date, and I have you in the same situation,” he explains, clearly proud of himself. “I just did you both a favor while also getting boyfriend points.”

Chan’s eyes shift toward his phone once more, inwardly cringing at the messages with a heavy sigh.

“And was making me sound this creepy necessary?”

Jisung waves his hand dismissively. “Nah, that was just a little treat for me.”

“And why the fuck is her name Mystery Girl?” Chan queries, the irritation making him unknowingly raise his voice.

“It’s a blind date,” his friend explains. “This girl’s apparently super picky, kept turning down every guy Sora suggested. So, she came up with this solution. Can’t turn you down if she doesn’t know what you look like.”

Chan groans, ultimately sinking back onto the couch with a defeated sigh. Jisung was trying to be a good friend, he knew that, but he wasn’t at all thrilled with the prospect of a date. Not only did he not want one, but he also had no time for such a futile thing. He had Hyerin, and she was the sole reason for his existence. He didn’t need anyone meddling in their little world. But he didn’t have the courage to tell Jisung that.

It would be a lie to say the past four years weren’t lonesome. Falling asleep alone in a cold, empty bed was a sorrow he had simply grown numb to. Yet, he still yearned to have someone to share the grapples of routine life with, someone whose presence alone would effortlessly diminish his worries, someone he could make love to before falling asleep and waking up intertwined.

But he couldn’t afford to have that.

At least this date was bound to fail; the woman’s demanding nature, coupled with Chan’s unwillingness to even be there in the first place sure to make their wasted time brief.

Just as he’s about to grumble about the messages again, Hyerin comes stumbling out of her room, her small feet shuffling against the floor as she rubs her sleepy eyes.

“Oh, honey, were we being too loud?” Chan asks sweetly, and his eyes discreetly shoot daggers at Jisung, who mouths an apology.

Hyerin firmly shakes her head, the crooked pigtails Chan clumsily had tied this morning coming undone as she does so. He smiles at her, propping his elbows on his knees and waiting for her to speak her little mind.

“I had a dream,” she mumbles. “With a dragon.”

Chan gasps, hands wrapping around her tiny frame and picking her up before walking toward her room. It took him some time, but he ultimately learned that it’s best to ease her back into bed while she’s distracted, lest she throws a tantrum.

“And was it a nice dragon?” He asks. Hyerin giggles, and Chan is positive that the sound has the power to light up even his most somber days.

“Of course it was a nice dragon, daddy,” she tells him. “You said I only have nice dreams ‘cause my mind is pretty, remember?”

Chan nods as he gently tucks her back into bed, triple-checking that she is comfortable and warm. “Of course, of course. How could I forget?” He slaps a hand on his forehead with a sigh. “Hyerinnie has the prettiest mind. It can only make up pretty things.”

Hyerin smiles at him, tugging her blanket close to her chin, her doe eyes already heavy with sleep and blinking languidly. Chan asks her the same question he does every night, although the answer remains unchanging every time: would she like him to sing to her? She drowsily tells him she wants to hear him sing her favorite song, Little Star.

Chan promptly gets under the covers beside her — Hyerin pouting and whining about how he’s stealing her blanket for himself, to which he can’t help the hearty laugh that escapes his lips. Since turning four, she’s developed quite a strong personality that Chan soon finds he adores, much like everything about her.

He turns on his side to watch her features as he sings; her nose and mouth so similar to his, and the way she furrows her brows while falling asleep mirrors his own habits. Chan might not be a happy man in his job or his personal life, but the boundless happiness his little gift provides him surpasses anything else he could wish for. Every now and then, he finds himself wanting more, but it’s not long before he realizes he already has everything he needs.

Chan goes over his rather extensive list of how to care for Hyerin with Jisung for the tenth time that evening, making sure the younger man knows what to do in any situation that could arise in the couple hours he’ll be gone. Hyerin is the one to usher him out of the apartment, assuring him she’ll be fine with her uncle Han, and Chan has to stop himself from wallowing over the fact that his once tiny baby is rapidly blossoming into a young kid.

He made no real effort to dress for his date; a simple button-up shirt and jeans served him just fine, seeing as he plans to return home as soon as possible. His date and he haven’t talked much at all since his initial texts yesterday, texting each other only to confirm the time and place of their basically forced date.

He arrives fifteen minutes late, all but running from the bus stop to the restaurant while cursing Jisung under his breath. This was definitely not worth the hassle, and Chan wanted nothing more than to be back at home with his daughter. He’d pick watching Tangled with her for the hundredth time over an unwanted date in a heartbeat.

Chan finally walks into the restaurant, informing the waiter that he’s there to meet Cherry. His face visibly grimaces as he mutters the words. Fuck this blind date bullshit.

He’s led to his table, dragging his feet behind the waiter. His attention is immediately drawn to the pencil holding his date’s messy ponytail together. He chuckles quietly, circling around the table and forcing out a smile to introduce himself.

But then he’s met with a sight he had long given up hope of ever seeing again: you.

You, who were next to him as he made stupid decisions during college. Like when he drunkenly thought it wise to bet his laptop in a game of beer pong.

You, who always made him your special hangover soup after a party. He especially loved it when you let him keep the leftovers, knowing that he and his roommate were hopeless in the kitchen.

You, who filled the space in his cold sheets with warmth and always made his bed feel like a sanctuary.

You, who let him make love to you despite you both swearing to be only friends.

You, who later had to watch him walk away from you like a coward, driven by sheer fear.

You, staring back at him with a stunned look on your face.

“Chan?” You ask, an unsure lilt to your words.

And Chan embarrassingly fumbles over his words, his tongue tying itself into knots in front of you. He notices you pursing your lips to stop from giggling and clears his throat a bit too loudly, a few patrons turning their heads to look at him. But he can’t bring himself to care, not when it seems the universe has turned the wheels of his fate in his favor for once.

“Uh, hi,” is all his brain can muster among the jumble of thoughts inside his head. He mentally berates himself for acting so damn awkward when you’re clearly not as affected by this encounter as he is.

“Damn, it’s been so long,” you marvel, eyes not leaving his face for a second. “I thought you moved to a different country or something. It’s so strange how we never ran into each other.”

Chan forces out a chuckle, hands now fiddling with the menu on the table. Of course you two never ran into each other; he only ever leaves the house for work or when he has to accompany Hyerin, and he doubts you frequent playgrounds or zoos.

“Yeah, I… don’t go out much anymore,” he simply says.

You hum, and he properly takes in your appearance. You haven’t changed one bit; from your hair to your choice of clothes, you’re still the same girl who ruled over his every thought during college.

You two order your food and fall into an infuriating cycle of small talk. Chan doesn’t want to talk about the weather or if you have seen the latest movie yet — he’s desperate to ask you how you’ve been, if you ever pursued your dreams, if you can still outdrink anyone in your friend group, and—

And if you’re still single because you find relationships a hassle.

But as the food arrives, you fall into an even more frustrating cycle: silence. Chan feels restless, squirming in his seat every few minutes while you calmly eat and watch the people around you. He remembers your habit of scanning crowded rooms and making up stories for strangers with your vivid imagination. He wants to ask if you still do that, but it seems he’s only grown into more of a coward since your last encounter.

You’re the first to break the silence, waiting for the waiter to leave with your plates to ask what Chan has been doing since graduating. It’s a casual question with no weight to your words, as lighthearted as you have always been. And the complete opposite of his every possible answer.

How can he tell you he’s given up music altogether, now surrounded by gray walls and lifeless faces in his corporate job? How can he tell you he’s alone most of the time, partly by choice and partly because he doesn’t know how to dig himself out of this comfortable hole he’s trapped himself in?

How can he possibly explain that he agreed to be a single father, sacrificing his own happiness for the selfish whims of a woman who never even loved him?

You’re still the same; the same carefree eyes and attitude, same easygoing approach to everything life throws your way — such as meeting him again after years.

All of him has changed.

Chan can’t tarnish your colorful life, can’t sit before you and spill out his problems or grumble about the overwhelming loneliness in his life when he knows damn well that was a consequence of his own choices.

He wants nothing more than to be the same Chan he was in college. Creating life stories for strangers in dive bars with you, not caring about whether he’ll have enough money to pay the water bill next month, not having to bear the burden of something as precious as a human life depending solely on him.

It’s selfish, but he wants nothing more than to go back.

So he does.

“I actually still write songs, though it’s only a freelance thing,” he lies. He hasn’t written a single note in years. “Other than that, I’ve just been taking it day by day. Same as I’ve always done, I guess.”

And your eyes immediately light up — you’ve always loved his songs, after all. Your conversation flows much like it used to in the past after that, with you making witty jokes and Chan laughing loudly at them. You tell him you started working as an art teacher for the elderly when living off of commissions became impossible, and that you adore the stories they share about their younger years. They remind you of your own stories together, you admit with a genuine smile.

Your conversation is endless, continuing even as Chan walks you to your car in the empty parking lot. The night has grown colder, and the crescent moon gleaming in the sky above him almost feels like a sign that things will change for the better.

As you two stand in front of your car, a smile tugs at the corner of your lips. Ever the free soul, you ask him outright if he would like to come back to your place. There are no further implications hidden in your request beyond a hookup. Nothing’s ever heavy with you, every little thing always feeling light as a feather.

He says he would love to, but quickly excuses himself under the guise of calling his roommate about the spare key. Chan hurriedly calls Jisung as soon as he turns a corner in the parking lot, ensuring you won’t be able to hear him. It’s juvenile, the way he’s actually taking pleasure in almost creating a different version of himself — a version much closer to who he was when you were his, at least in some sense of the word. He’s a father, he should be responsible and dependable, but the weight of that role had been thrust upon him far too abruptly. He can’t be faulted for wanting to go back in time.

“Okay, I have no time to explain,” he blurts out as soon as Jisung picks up the phone. “Would it be too much to ask you to stay the night?”

Jisung chuckles at the other end of the line. “Damn, was the date that good?”

Chan ignores his sly comment, because yes, the date was everything he never thought it could be.

“I’ll be back first thing in the morning,” he assures him. “I’ll even pay you if you want. How much—”

“Hey, no need for that,” Jisung cuts him off. “You know I love looking after Hyerin.”

And the pang of guilt inside his chest at the mention of his daughter’s name almost knocks the air out of his lungs. He feels ashamed, as if he’s neglecting his daughter for a hookup, going after a fantasy that has long crumbled and faded away.

“How is she? Is she okay?” He asks, guilt washing over him like a wave. He hadn’t thought of his daughter for a second that entire night. “Did she cry at all? Did she notice I was gone for longer than I promised?”

Jisung calls out his name with a chuckle, prompting him to stop his rambling. “Relax. We painted each other’s nails, she did my makeup, had her dinner, and is now sleeping soundly after listening to another one of uncle Han’s phenomenal stories about frogs,” He details, causing a hearty laugh to fall from Chan’s lips at the image of Jisung’s face painted with Hyerin’s cheap children’s makeup. His friend then adds, “Go get laid, man.”

And so Chan hangs up the phone, all but running toward your figure waiting by your car. You smile at him, taking his hand and pulling him into a tight embrace. It’s the first time he holds you in almost five years, and he feels his dull world away from Hyerin slowly fill up with vibrant hues.

It takes you less than fifteen minutes to reach your apartment building, and Chan is thanking any higher power that might listen for that. The sheer anticipation of what is implied to happen once you two are alone together has him picking at his cuticles until it stings.

He’s nervous, to put it lightly. A couple of terrible drunken hookups in dingy motels after office gatherings were his only sexual encounters after Hyerin was born.

But once you’re standing in front of him in your living room, your eyes never leaving his even as you’re slipping off your heels, Chan knows you’re both equals in this playing field. 

He’s the one to pull you into a kiss, lips barely grazing against yours. But the feeling of finally kissing you again after so many years was like wildfire, consuming him wholly until the kiss turns feverish. His hand travels from your shoulders to your lower back, pulling you flush against his body. You hum against his lips, fingers clumsily undoing his buckle, and the prospect that you might be as eager as he is has him gripping the fabric of your dress.

Chan swears his vision goes black the moment your fingertips brush against his hardening erection, the feathery touch enough to make him sigh into your mouth.

A hand is pressed to his chest before he has the chance to think, and you’re pushing him backward until his back meets the wall. You immediately drop to your knees in front of him, leaning forward and nuzzling your face against his clothed cock.

“I missed you,” you whisper, hungry eyes looking up at him. “Don’t think I got to say that.”

Chan takes in the sight of you, memorizing and storing it in his mind alongside the countless images he already had of you on his knees for him. His fingers thread in your hair, your lips falling open with a sigh.

“I missed you too,” he professes. You have no idea how much.

With a smile, you quickly work his zipper open, pulling his jeans down his legs and pressing a wet kiss to his clothed erection. Chan feels your tongue lap at his member through his boxers, lips sucking around the head as your nails scrape the flesh of his thighs lightly.

It feels like you mouth at his length for hours, the light gray fabric of his boxers stained with your saliva and his precum, leaving Chan panting and tugging at your hair. You trail soft, wet kisses down his thigh while pushing his boxers out of your way, his cock already swollen and flushed. He’d be embarrassed for the way his body reacted so responsively to you if you weren’t also visibly as affected.

Your tongue circles his length languidly, lapping at a small bead of precum with a hum. Finally wrapping your lips around his tip, your tongue flicks teasingly beneath the head of his cock, Chan sucking in a deep breath and using his grip on your hair as leverage to pull you toward him. You almost obediently drop your jaw to slide his now fully hardened length into your mouth, your hand wrapping around the base as you begin to bob your head up and down his cock. Chan hisses your name when you relax your throat after a few passes, taking him fully into your pretty mouth, your nose brushing his pelvis.

“Fuck, you always looked so pretty like that,” Chan chokes out. “Pretty lips taking me so well.”

You groan at his words and the vibrations traveling along his shaft have Chan growling with a harsh tug of your hair, causing you to sputter as his cock hit the back of your throat. You seek purchase in his hips as tears prick the corner of your eyes. You’re unrelenting nonetheless, circling your tongue around him before pulling away, hands now sliding up his thigh before gently gliding over his balls. As you slowly lick from the base of his shaft all the way up to the sensitive tip, Chan’s gaze shifts down as he catches a glimpse of your thighs rubbing together. He feels himself twitch, and immediately pulls you away from him.

“Don’t wanna come like this, I need to fuck you,” he rasps out.

You stand back up, legs wobbly, and fumble with the buttons of his shirt while he slides your dress down your shoulders. Your movements are messy and filled with urgency, your breaths quickening as you both want nothing more than to strip away any form of barrier between you. Piling up five years of yearning will do that.

As your impatience reaches its peak, you tear open the last remaining buttons of his shirt, your nails grazing his skin as you slide the fabric down his shoulders. A wave of goosebumps travels across Chan’s body, and his hands abandon the task of removing your dress in favor of tracing the curve of your ass before picking you up off the floor.

“First door on the right,” you tell him, your words answering his unspoken thoughts as if you could read his mind. Chan nods, your proximity making it impossible for him not to press his lips to yours, tongue sliding over your bottom lip before licking into your mouth with a low hum.

He collides with a wall, missing the entrance to your bedroom by a hair’s breadth, and you giggle against his lips. Chan smiles back. Nothing’s ever heavy with you.

He lowers you onto the bed gently, his body instinctively slotting between your spread legs the way he did so many times before. You soon also wrap your thighs around his waist as you always did, pulling him closer until his cock is pressed up against your clothed pussy.

“Wanna ride you,” you tell him, grinding your hips forward and eliciting a quiet moan from Chan’s lips as he hastily nods. With a tight grip on your waist, he flips you both effortlessly.

Promptly sitting up on his thighs, you finally rid yourself of the inconvenient fabric of your dress, followed by your bra, your nipples instantly hardening. Chan sits up, eyes transfixed on your chest as his calloused thumbs trace the nubs before his lips circle around one, sucking harshly. As you gently roll your hips, he can feel the way your soaked panties cling to his skin as your core presses up against his thigh.

Your fingers tangle in his hair with a whimper, pushing his face into your breasts as he bites the sensitive skin. His lips leave your nipples with a wet sound, then trailing kisses up the column of your neck until his gaze is locked on yours again. He was dying to mark you, bite and suck on your skin until it blossomed into a beautiful maroon — but he knew better. You weren’t twenty anymore, and you weren’t his; in no sense of the word.

“I’m on the pill,” you tell him, eyes heavy with lust.

And he knows this is a terrible idea. This was exactly how he came to be a father.

But it’s not his mind that’s doing the thinking, and so he nods, his grip on your hips tightening as you pull your soaked panties to the side just enough to slide the swollen tip of his cock against your slick folds. Chan sucks in a breath, fighting a war against his own body not to come from this feeling alone. It wasn’t just how long it had been since he was with someone, it was you. It was all you. The effect you had always had on him having never faded, simply laying dormant until his body had you again.

Chan rests his forehead on yours as you slowly sink down on his length. His lips find your neck again, gently sucking the skin into his mouth as you slowly grind down on him, a whine falling from your lips and going straight to his cock. His hips buck up unwittingly, causing you to moan loudly in his ears. But your slow pace remains, and Chan knows he should savor this moment, but he wants nothing more than to fuck you into the mattress until he forgets every minor issue aggravating his brain.

Such as the fact that he knows you will leave his life again the second you find out he lied to you.

So his hands find your waist and he flips you down onto the mattress once more. His eyes bore into you as you suck in a breath.

“Fuck me,” you plead, hips grinding into his cock again. “I want it, please—”

Chan doesn’t waste another second, retreating only to plunge back harshly into your cunt. He moves with deep strokes, hips falling into an erratic rhythm, your nails digging into his back as your thighs clenched around his waist. All he can hear is static and your choked moans as he presses you into the mattress.

“Missed this so fucking much,” he groans against your ear. And finally succumbing to his desires, he bends down to suck and nibble on the delicate skin of your neck, mind too focused on how your walls squeeze around him to worry about marking you. He laps at the small bruises he leaves behind, your fingers tangling in his hair as you mewl.

You roll your hips, matching his rhythm, and Chan feels a familiar heat rise within him. He reaches down to glide small circles around your clit, your body jolting and squirming. He absentmindedly smiles against your skin.

After an entire night of pretending his life was the same as it was five years ago, fucking you required no acting.

“It’s too much, fuck,” you whimper, tugging him by the hair until your lips are crashing together in a sloppy kiss. Your walls tighten around him, body clenching as the tension finally snaps, your orgasm coursing through your shaking body as Chan growls into your parted lips.

He keeps fucking into you, until his hips meet yours one last time, and a low groan reverberates through the room. His cock twitches inside of you as his body stills, filling you with his warm release which leaked out of you and onto your sheets as he pulled out with a sigh.

Chan throws himself onto the mattress, labored breaths leaving his heavy lungs. He pulls you into his arms, and you melt into his embrace as if it were a habit. It’s as though he’s gone back in time, even if temporarily.

He feels like he’s simply a guy making love with the girl he adores in the familiar comfort of his dorm room again.

When the first rays of sunlight seeped into your room, Chan was already awake. He watched as you slept, eyelids fluttering and a small smile adorning your lips.

It was as if you were his, in every sense of the word.

Guilt.

That’s what Chan feels every time he sees Hyerin’s laughing face on his phone’s wallpaper when he’s out, entertaining the silly lie he crafted.

It’s been two months since you reconnected and you effortlessly slipped him back into your life. The reunion with his old friends was expected — but Chan dreaded it, regardless. He found that out of the nine people that once comprised their group, only five remained. He wasn’t the only one who had gone his own way.

But he was the only one who had done it in the worst way possible, carelessly ghosting every single one of them, hoping his existence gradually faded from their memories.

That made facing his once best friend frightening. Minho was the first friend he made on the very first day of university, when Chan walked into his dorm room only to find he had snuck his cat into the building.

They were roommates for two years, and best friends for four. Chan complained loudly when he was assigned a new roommate. Minho was silent as he watched his best friend turn his back on him with no explanation.

Minho initially ignored him entirely, and Chan doesn’t fault him. When his vibrant face turned cold upon seeing him walk into a bar, Chan knew he earned that the moment he decided to ignore his friend’s every text message and phone call. When Minho made backhanded remarks about how nice it felt to have him back in their group, he knew he deserved it for not answering the door the only time his friend came looking for him.

It takes a drunken argument leading to a fist colliding with Chan’s cheek for Minho to finally address him. It takes them being escorted out of the bar by security for them to finally have a conversation, tears and resentment flowing freely as they sat at a bus stop late at night. After that, their friendship returned to what it was before, as if they had never been apart even for a second.

Despite the years and the changes, Minho was still his best friend — which was why he was the only person he came clean to.

Hyerin loved Minho, especially his cats. Her new favorite pastime quickly became going over to his house to play with her new ‘friends’, as she called them. And Chan was overwhelmed with happiness to witness his best friend falling under his daughter’s spell — his house now containing its very own box filled with every toy Hyerin mentioned even once, his kitchen stocked with all her favorite foods, and his cats falling asleep beside her anytime they came over to visit.

It was as if he was watching his two worlds collide. His past and present, which he had separated out of a senseless fear, intertwined so effortlessly it made him feel stupid for ever thinking he needed to build this barrier. For assuming the people he loved so much would reject him.

Made him feel even worse for walking away in a futile attempt to protect his feelings, because it only resulted in more hurt.

After so much of his time spent wondering, Chan finally has the answer to his questions. Some of his friends did settle for an ordinary adult life, some already married and some focusing their energy solely on climbing the corporate ladder. Still, some remained relatively unchanged — much like you did.

His social life blossomed again after reconnecting with his old friends. However, he still refused to hire a nanny, too fearful to leave Hyerin to a stranger’s care, resulting in constantly having to come up with excuses when his parents aren’t able to babysit. He won’t deny that he often fabricated these lies purely because staying in with his daughter and watching Tangled now outweighs any appeal of noisy nightclubs.

Jisung remained his salvation whenever he wanted to spend the night at your place, with Chan slowly but surely running out of reasons as to why you can’t go to his apartment for a change. He hasn’t had the heart or the courage to tell you the entire truth yet, only owning up to his lie about his job after you understandably asked him to listen to his new music and he was put on the spot.

Ever since you walked back into his life, he finds himself weaving a web of little white lies that slowly chip away at his heart.

He’s at a small gathering for his friend’s birthday, listening to Minho all but eulogize his fiancee. They have been a couple since university, Chan playing the wingman and encouraging his friend to finally do something about his crush (mostly because he couldn’t handle any more of Minho’s whining before going to sleep). Despite what everyone around them surmised, they beat all the odds and statistics and stayed together even after university. Chan would be happier about that if he hadn’t bet money on them breaking up before graduation. He wonders if Hongjoong will ask for his twenty bucks now that they’re friends again. 

“No, really, settling down with someone is so good,” Minho says after another shot of Soju, a silly smile etched onto his lips. “I thought I would hate it, y’know? Thought slapping such a significant title on our relationship would wear it down, but it’s the complete opposite. Ever since she proposed, it’s like we’re two love-struck nineteen-year-olds again.”

Chan smiles, saying they should drink to that purely because he hopes the sensation of alcohol burning his throat will numb his overwhelming jealousy. After congratulating Minho for the umpteenth time, he finds himself listening to yet another story about his relationship.

And he’s happy for Minho, just as much as he’s happy for Wonwoo for getting married last year. He couldn’t express the overwhelming joy he felt upon discovering these people, who once meant so much to him, had successfully navigated their way through life. But envy rears its ugly head every time he listens to one of their stories, because Chan’s direction in life seems to be a winding road. He’s a father, and his love for Hyerin is immeasurable, but he’s still actively lying about this side of him simply because he feels as if maybe he made the right choices in life at the worst possible time.

As he’s walking out of Hongjoong’s apartment with you later that night, he wraps an arm around your waist, a smile spreading across his face when you nestle closer to him. You two discuss Wonwoo’s marriage, with you talking about how beautiful the ceremony was, but ultimately scowling at the mere thought of getting married. Chan feels the corner of his heart crack at your words, but he laughs it off.

“Do you think he wants kids?” he wonders aloud.

He expects you to laugh at his sudden curiosity. He doesn’t expect you to dig at the fissure in his heart with your words, causing it to shatter completely.

“Gosh, it’d be so weird to see.” You cringe, snuggling deeper into his arms as a chilly breeze brushes against you two. “I like kids, but I’d never have them myself. Feel like it’d kinda ruin my life.”

Chan feels his grip on your waist loosen.

“Having kids doesn’t ruin your life,” he reasons. “You’re given the chance to care for something so precious, so important to this world…” he trails off, shaking his head and taking a step away from you. It feels as if exasperation has filled his entire being. “You look into their eyes and see yourself, and it’s— the love you feel when you first see them is so pure and earth-shattering that you can’t think of anything but how to make that tiny being only experience the good in the world. It doesn’t ruin your life.”

You eye him with confusion, cocking your head to the side and huffing out a laugh. “You talk like you know what that’s like. If you ever have kids one day, then you’ll know—”

“But I do know,” he’s yelling before he can stop himself, his footsteps coming to a halt. “I know because I have that. I have that and it’s the most precious thing in my life and yet I’ve been taking it for granted. And for what?”

He scoffs bitterly, his gaze fixing on your features; your flushed cheeks and slightly smudged lipstick, the way your puzzled eyes gleam under the moonlight. He shakes his head. 

“For childish illusions. The illusion that I could go back in time if I pretended hard enough, the illusion that this romanticized idea I have of my early twenties was superior to the life I have now,” Chan lets out a heavy breath, averting his gaze to the pavement. “The illusion that I could ever have you.”

“So it’s my fault you chose to lie about being a dad?” You blurt out.

He doesn’t lift his head. He can’t, the burden of guilt and shame weighing too heavily on his shoulders for him to face you.

“It’s my fault. You were simply the catalyst.”

“What do you even mean?”

“I mean I’ve always felt this way,” he exasperates, finally lifting his head but keeping his gaze anywhere but on you. He’s a coward. “I’ve always felt like maybe I was too young to be a dad, too immature to fully understand the consequences of the choices I made. I don’t regret my daughter, but I certainly regret the timing, and this haunts me every day. Meeting you again just made these feelings worse because you represent everything about my past that I no longer have.”

You remain quiet for a beat, but it feels like an eternity as Chan is forced to endure the deafening ring of your silence.

When you finally speak, your voice is unsteady. “You know, that’s why I always figured it was for the best that you left.”

“What?” Chan turns his gaze toward your face at last, your words stomping on his scattered heart one last time. He expects anger, but sorrow has taken over your expression, one so heavy he doesn’t recall a single moment in the years he’s known you where he’s seen you like this.

“You were always like this, Chan. You might think you were a different person back then, but you said it yourself,” you shrug with a sullen chuckle. “It’s only an illusion.”

He hums, nodding his head as it dawns on him. “You were never gonna be mine, were you? No matter what I did. I lied to you because I thought you would never want someone like who I am today. But I guess that was all in vain, ‘cause I’ve always been like this.”

“You always talked about getting married, settling down, having kids.” As you run a hand through your hair, an exasperated sigh falls from your lips. “You went along with our bullshit, but even back then, you were always like the dad of our group. This has always been you, Chan, but that’s not a bad thing. Don’t think you need to change or lie about who you are ‘cause you’re the most amazing man I’ve ever met, but…”

He scoffs. “But?”

“But we’re too different. We’ve always been. We’re great together in every way but the way you want us to be — the way I would love for us to be as well,” you simply say, offering him a smile that doesn’t quite reach your eyes.

“And would it kill you if we tried? ‘Cause this unfulfilled hope has been killing me since I first fell in love with you.”

“What’s her name?” You simply ask, avoiding his question altogether. Chan furrows his brows. “Your daughter, what’s her name?”

He shifts on his feet. “Hyerin.”

“I hope she knows how lucky she is to have you as a dad.”

Chan shakes his head. “I’m far from the perfect father.”

“Good,” you state matter-of-factly. “Perfect wouldn’t be you.”

You fall into a much lighter silence, although it’s still far from comfortable. A swarm of questions fills Chan’s mind, but his words fade into silence and die on his lips.

He knows everything is over when you suck in a sharp breath, muttering, “I can’t be what you need. When love becomes too serious, I feel trapped and run away. You know what that’s like,” you trail off. “I know we loved each other back then, and I know I still love you now, but I think it’s my turn to walk away. I’m sorry, Chan.”

And just like that, he’s left to watch your figure slowly grow smaller and smaller as you fade into the dimly lit street. You don’t reprimand him for lying or question if he also loves you still. You don’t explain why you can’t make an effort, probably because you’re unsure of the answer yourself. It turns out you both remained unchanged.

And after all this time, it’s only then that Chan realizes you were always just as lost as he was.

Chan didn’t allow himself to think much about you since he watched you walk away that night. He missed you often, as he had done for so long before your last encounter, but he had long grown numb to that feeling.

In the two years he was apart from you for the second time, he learned that life isn’t black or white. He could be a father while also being his own person; a son, a friend, a boyfriend. He learned that prioritizing Hyerin didn’t mean neglecting himself, as that would negatively impact her as well. She couldn’t only know happiness if her father was always dripping with sadness.

He learned he doesn’t have to choose between who he is now and who he was at twenty years old; they were both him, with certain moments bringing out glimpses of one or the other.

Hyerin started elementary school and is blossoming into a caring little girl, no longer needing Chan to tie her pigtails in the morning or remind her to brush her teeth before bed. Although she still demands that they maintain their nightly routine of lying together until she falls asleep to the sound of his voice singing her favorite song.

During his first parent-teacher conference — after walking into the classroom fifteen minutes late — he’s stunned to see you sitting across from him yet again, a pencil holding up your ponytail the same way it did that night at the restaurant. He couldn’t help the smile that spread on his lips.

You were Hyerin’s teacher. He recalled picking her up after her first day of school and listening to her gush over the art teacher who was so pretty and nice, and talking about how she wanted to be like her when she grows up.

It felt as if you were destined to find each other every time one of you chose to walk away.

Your friendship picked up again slowly this time — no rushing into bed together and no rushing into long overdue serious conversations. They had already been avoided for years, anyway, they could wait a bit longer. This is exactly what you needed; patience. Chan had never had the patience to wait for you, while you never had the patience to understand your own feelings.

It’s been ten months now, and he’s yet again sitting before you. The teachers and parents converse around you both as you sit in silence. When you think no one is watching, you exchange glances, struggling to suppress the silly smiles that insist on spreading across your faces.

As people leave the room one by one after the meeting, Chan approaches you.

“You’re Bang Hyerin’s father, correct?” You speak with a grin.

“Correct.”

“She’s an amazing kid,” you tell him.

He smiles, shifting his gaze toward his feet before his eyes find yours again as you speak.

“We could grab a coffee this weekend.”

This time, there are further implications hidden in your request. You’re not asking as a friend, like you’ve been doing these past months. Some things are heavy with you now, and this is something he’s only recently come to find. He’s also come to find that he loves that change.

So he answers, “Sure. Tomorrow at three?”

“Then I’m your date for tomorrow,” you say with a giggle. “See you there, cutie.”

And Chan lets out a hearty laugh at that, which earns him a scolding look from the other teachers in the room.

He isn’t sure what will come of this. Maybe you two are better off as friends and all it will take is a couple of months to figure that out. Maybe time has changed you both more than he can understand, and you will finally be able to try something real after all these years of unfulfilled hopes and childish illusions.

Either way, Chan knows he won’t let go of you this time.

He wants you to be his, in any sense of the word.

♡ taglist: @bloom-ings, @linocz, @farahia, @mirbokk, @jisunglyricist, @jazziwritesthings, @seungseung-minmin, @yourcvndx, @hynjinnnnnnnie @vlctorriaa @yongbokkiesworld

#stray kids #bang chan smut #skz smut #stray kids x reader #bang chan x reader #bang chan #bang chan x you #stray kids smut #skz #bangchan smut #bangchan x reader #bangchan x you

[jamminvroomvroom]

die for you.

ln x driver!reader

in which you can’t stand each other, or so you say…

this took waaaay too long for me to hate it sm but she’s here! and she’s long! love this concept so much, thank you for this request. so many feels so many vibes, tell me what you think <3

loosely inspired by die for you by the weeknd

warnings: 18+!! minors dni!! smut, language, slight glimpses of she fell first, he fell harder, rivals to lovers/enemies to lovers, choking, hate sex? bar fight, mentions of blood

8.3k words (oop)

it’s rare that you miss a podium, so when you do, it tastes bitter and stings like a bitch.

the car has been on fire all season long, a thing of beauty in your calculated hands. so, the string of bad luck you’re enduring, small mistakes with big consequences, it’s quite the pill to swallow.

out of the car you jump, teeth grinding hard out of frustration. you could see the commotion ahead of you, members of the papaya team celebrating their driver. your eyes roll so hard in your head that you feel a lasting ache. you side step members of your team, dodging every single person that tries to talk to you, your comms officer knowing better than to try and engage with you. you know you’re being unreasonable, it was a p5 finish! but it isn’t a podium or a win, so quite frankly, you aren’t interested, and you certainly don’t have any energy left to hear how amazingly well he had driven.

lando fucking norris.

what was once quiet disdain had grown into fully fledged hatred and you fear you’ll be violently sick if you catch a single glimpse of him on the podium. sure, he’s talented, and sure, he’s beautiful, you suppose. that doesn’t mean you have to like him. not anymore. he lives under your skin, inescapable.

you struggle through every interview in the media pen, most of which dissect your recent fall from grace, your mouth forming a hard, unimpressed line every time they mention the orange goblin and his recent streak of podiums and good luck. you wish the journos would bring up his string of women and the probable plan b receipts that went with them. that, you would love to talk about.

you drive in silence back to your hotel, leaving the track as soon as possible, and quickly find solace in your bed for the night. the idea of seeing the inside of a club makes you nauseous after your epic downfall. as your eyes are drooping, your body going limp under the thick duvet, a knock sounds from the door.

“no.” you shout flatly, but the only response you get are giggles from the hallway. for fuck sake, you mutter, groaning as you shift out from beneath the covers and trail apprehensively towards the door.

george and alex appear before you, and you throw your head back is exasperation.

“mate, it’s 9:30.” alex laughs, taking in your fancy attire; pyjamas that you’ve had since you were 17.

“what’s your point?” you croak, glaring up at your obnoxiously tall friend.

“why aren’t you getting ready to go out?” george questions, leaning against the doorframe. he, too, was obnoxiously tall, you thought, feeling the strain in your neck as you move your glare onto him.

“if it wasn’t obvious, i’m not going.” you deadpan, crossing your arms over your chest. “i thought that was clear after i ignored all 77 of your texts.” you smile sarcastically, rubbing sleep from your eyes.

“don’t be boring! you’re an f1 driver, you’re in a cool city, you’re rich and, let’s face it,” he sasses. “you need to get laid.” alex says, like it’s the most causal thing in the world. your eyes bulge out of your head at the utterance of the last bit. george bites back laughter.

“choosing to ignore that.” you hiss. “i’m sorry but i refuse to go out and celebrate that arrogant, whiny little bitch.”

they both know exactly who you’re talking about.

you and lando have simply never seen eye to eye. your karting days were spent pushing one another off the track or into a muddy puddle if things got a bit heated out of the car. sure, olive branches were extended, and maybe adolescent feelings were secretly harboured, but he never gave you any reason to tell him that. you’d grown out of the childish violence when you graduated into formula 1, but you hadn’t been able to shake the rage he made you feel.

it didn’t matter how many dinners you attended where others had conspired and forced you to sit next to each other. it didn’t matter how many times you turned up to play padel and were met with the same lame excuses of ‘oh, did we not mention lando would be here?’ it didn’t matter how many times you’d hugged it out on the podium while adrenaline and tensions were running high.

it didn’t matter how many times he’d watched you from across a crowded room and you’d found his eyes, watched him back. it didn’t matter how many times he’d smirked at you at the start of a race weekend, made you blush. and it certainly didn’t matter what happened last time you found yourself in a club with him.

you just don’t like him. not anymore. you sleep better at night when you lie to yourself.

~ the last time

you sink shot after shot, cocktail after cocktail; the taste of fruity liquor stains your lips and burns your throat. you feel electric, sizzling with ecstasy and the heat from the flashing lights above your head.

it’s approaching 4am and you can’t recall a time in your life where you’d felt so fucking good. the high of your first win is indescribable.

you’ve lost track of the guys, alex and george have packed it in and gone back to their hotels with their girlfriends. pierre and kika are somewhere in a corner, you’re certain. you’re pretty sure you’ve even seen lewis with his entourage and a brick wall of a bodyguard trailing behind him. and at the bar, a set of eyes watch you.

lando isn’t even listening to oscar anymore, no. he is too entranced in the way your hips move to the beat, lost in the carefree lines your body makes in the crowd. he’s itching to go to you, put his hands in places that would stay between you, him, and god, but he doesn’t think a broken nose would be good for business.

everything changes when you spin around, facing his direction. then, it begins: the same thing that happens every time you end up going out in the same group. you watch one another, pretending you’re not both achingly desperate to find out how the other tastes.

but lando is feeling bold. he tells oscar he’ll see him in the morning, and then, egged on by a moscow mule and a few too many shots, he makes his way towards you. it is instinctual, magnetic, the way he is drawn to you.

hands on your hips, lips on your neck. the song changes. you recognise the weeknd’s voice. you are disappointed in yourself but it feels too good to stop.

you know what i’m thinkin', see it in your eyes
you hate that you want me, hate it when you cry
you’re scared to be lonely, 'specially in the night
i’m scared that i’ll miss you, happens every time

the lyrics sober you up. you’re in the first taxi you can see when you finally get outside.

alone.

~

as much as that memory makes you shiver, for several different reasons, you find yourself putting on some makeup and raking through your suitcase for something to wear. george and alex are waiting downstairs for you at the bar, and when you finally make your way down there, they have a martini waiting for you. they watch in impressed horror as the alcohol disappears from the glass mere seconds after it touches your lips.

“let’s get this over with.” you sigh.

-

it could have been worse, you suppose.

the club is packed, hundreds of faces blurring into nothing. you feel better knowing that there is a one in a million chance of running into lando.

you’re tucked into a booth with alex and george, carmen and lily, a few faces you can’t quite place, and charles and pierre. you’d conspired to sit on the outside, prepared to make a quick getaway at the first sign of tension.

you’d been in a state of fight or flight since your last run in, nails bitten down every time you thought about his hands on you, how good they felt on you. it scared you more than anything had in a long time, how your desire had festered.

you go to take a swig from your glass, only to find it empty, aside from a few sad ice cubes. you watch jealously as they melt into nothing, wishing they would take you with them, shoving your glass across the smooth table top when your frustration boils over.

you’re on edge, ridiculously afraid of bumping into a curly haired man. it wasn’t him you were scared of, per-say, more yourself. god knows what you’d do if you felt those warm, calloused hands pulling your hips into his again.

“you okay?” pierre calls across the table. he and charles abandon their conversation as soon as your glass goes flying towards their side of the table. you’re broken out of your trance, caught off guard like a deer in headlights.

“tired.” you reply, shrugging it off like it was nothing. it’s clear immediately that they don’t buy it.

“she’s hiding.” alex chimes in from beside you, and your elbow goes straight into his ribs. he feigns pain for a moment, cackling at your reaction.

“from who?” charles inquires. you roll your eyes, blush spreading down your neck already. you hate everything about the conversation, and yet you need to see where it goes. you’d planned your escape, and now was the opportune time to make it, but you seem to be glued to the leather of the booth.

“lando.” george smirks into his drink as a he speaks, wiggles his eyebrows.

“oh yeah, we know all about that.” pierre laughs, his head tipping back in amusement.

“what?” you spit, eyes wide with confusion.

“don’t think me and kika didn’t see you two before the summer break. that night you won? we thought you’d finally cave.” pierre explains, his grin conveying pure evil.

several “what?!”’s sound from around the table, and now all eyes are on you.

“nothing even happened.” you mumble. “he came over to me and then i left.” you look away, twisting your hair around your finger. you are sweating.

“you looked like you were minutes away from being arrested for public indecency.” pierre smirks. you almost launch yourself across the table, intent on strangling him, and then perhaps throwing yourself in front of an oncoming uber outside.

“well, well, well. i fucking knew it.” alex is giggling beside you.

“come on guys, leave the poor girl alone.” lily winks at you, but even she has a twinkle in her eye. “there’s obviously feelings there.” and just like that she betrays you. her sympathetic smile doesn’t make you forgive her.

“i think you guys just need to get it out of your system,” charles starts, pausing to take a sip of his drink. “just fuck.” he waves his hand, like it was the most causal thing in the world.

the table erupts in laughter and you decide that you are well past the end of your tether. you shake your head, declaring that you need another drink, or ten, and strut away from the table. a chorus of ‘love you’-s and ‘get some’-s sound from behind you. you reply simply by raising your middle finger and refusing to look back.

the bar is in sight, just about in your reach when your evening goes from mildly bad to aggressively worse.

“fuck sake.” you sigh.

“and good evening to you too.” lando replies. he’s blocking your path, materialising before you out of nowhere.

“get out of my way, lan.” it sounds like you’re pleading and you cringe internally.

“don’t you wanna congratulate me?” he feigns a pout and you almost swing for him.

“no, not particularly.” you say dryly. “all i want is a drink, so if you’d just…” you gesture for him to move. of course, he doesn’t.

“haven’t seen you in a while, though. thought maybe you’d missed me.” he takes a step closer; goosebumps litter your bare skin.

“you are such an entitled prick.” you spit, moving to step around him but he catches you, gripping your wrists and pulling you in. you feel heat radiating off of him, expensive cologne overwhelming you in the best possible way.

“and you, honey, are such a fucking brat. but you don’t hear me complaining, do you?” lando whispers, cool breath hitting your face, minty, laced with champagne and cockiness. you almost fold, thighs clenching so tight that he must have noticed.

“move.” you grumble through gritted teeth. you are crumbling painfully, embarrassingly fast.

“make me.” your underwear is damp, but you are fuming.

“don’t fucking test me, lando.” something in your chest sets on fire and you’re over him and his bullshit, and the way he makes you feel.

“i know you want me.” he dips his forehead down to rest gently against yours. his grip on your wrists tightens, thumbs swirling circles into the flesh, right where your pulse is.

you lean in, mere centimetres separating your lips. his eyes darken, the assumption of victory over you tugs his lips into a smirk.

“all i want is my fucking drink. come find me when you’ve managed to navigate your gigantic, stupid head out of your arse.” you catch him off guard, wriggling out of his grip. you’re shaking when you walk away, thoughts of doing things with him that would get you both fired invading your foggy brain.

you try to disappear into the crowd, finally breathe a sigh of relief when your hands meet the cool surface of the bar. you order your drink, putting it on your tab and drum your nails against the marble top. you’re lost in your own world, watching as concoctions are mixed, as shots are downed. you finally feel at ease, until your evening takes yet another turn, one that was somehow even more unfortunate than all the others.

your attention is rudely stolen by the guy stood next to you.

“can i get that for you?” the random man speaks, in a way that he must of assumed was smooth. slimy, you think. he’s gesturing to your drink, clearly having watched you add it to your bill already.

“no, thank you. it’s already paid for.” you smile politely, turning on your heel. it seems he wasn’t quite done with you. you feel a clammy hand tug on yours, a wave of sickness washes over you.

lando’s hands are bigger, warmer, softer.

“where are you rushing off to, babe?” the sweaty man asks, his tone fake in a way that makes you uneasy.

“i need to get back to my friends.” you try to pull your hand free, but he won’t budge. “can you let go-“

“i can show you a good time. always thought you were kinda hot.” you’re panicking now, looking every which way for a familiar face, a security guard, anyone.

“take your hands off of me.” you snap, still wrestling to pull yourself free.

“one night with me would pull you out of that little slump you’re in.” he leers. you visibly gag, white hot rage blurs your vision.

“okay you piece of shi-“ you snarl, interrupted by a flash of curls and tanned skin.

“she told you to let go.” lando stands in front of you protectively, rigid and furious. you’ve never been so happy to see his annoying(ly beautiful) face.

“and what are you gonna do?”

“hands. off.” lando stands up even straighter, looking bigger than you’ve ever seen him.

“okay, mate, whatever.” the stranger rolls his eyes, shoves your hand away.

lando turns to you, opening his mouth to speak when…

“keep that stuck up bitch all to yourself.”

and then, everything goes to shit.

lando whips around, fists are flying, the stranger topples to the ground, amassed to nothing in the face of the mclaren drivers rage. lando doesn’t stop there, makes sure he is sufficiently dealt with, flat on his back on the sticky floor. you don’t know what to do, calling out for lando, begging him to stop, as satisfied as you are. lando hears your shouts, pulled out of the chaos and back to you. always back to you.

“are you okay?” he has his hands on your face searching for any remaining fear or upset. a crowd has formed and you see alex and george towering above the other club goers, jaws agape.

it’s as if he dj has it out for you, and you realise that the song has changed to something moodier, slower, one that gives you whiplash.

even though we're going through it
and it makes you feel alone
just know that i would die for you
baby, i would die for you

“we need to get out of here. security are coming.” you mutter, keening into his touch.

“i have a car outside.”

“well, let’s use it then.”

-

you can’t help but stroke over his knuckles mindlessly in the car, an unlikely comfortable silence settling between you. they look raw, cracked slightly and you have an overwhelming desire to kiss them better. your head is fuzzy, and you’re unsettled with confusion, but at the same time, you feel lighter.

“why did you do that?” you murmur, disrupting the quiet that has settled over the backseat of the town car, the question burning desperately on your tongue.

lando turns his head so that he’s looking down at you, his good hand comes up to cup your jaw softly.

“no one can talk to you like that.” he’s staring so deeply into your eyes and you almost squirm at the intensity. you feel exposed, bare.

“but why did you step in before that?” you reiterate shakily. lando hums in understanding.

“i’ve known you since we were 10 years old. i know when you’re scared.” he whispers, breath dusting your cheeks. you almost lean in, then, something about his words pull you even closer towards him. you feel warmth creeping over your chest, sinking into the pit of your belly.

“we’ve arrived.” the driver calls from the front, signalling that you need to get out of the car. it was like an elastic band had snapped, and you spring away from lando, scrambling to undo your seat belt, the moment of weakness long gone.

you sneak into the lobby, on the lookout for any angry PR teams or incognito photographers that are scoping for their next pay check. the coast seems clear, so you manage to scurry discreetly into the elevator. you hit the button for the third floor.

“can you hit the button for five?” lando asks, leaning against the opposite wall.

“you’re coming to my room.” you state, offering no other explanation, even when he raises his eyebrows.

the ding of the lift has lando pushing himself off of the mirrored wall, trailing behind you into the corridor. the lights are low as he follows you to your door, hands deep in the pockets of his jeans. he watches in anticipation as you rifle through your small bag for your keycard. the green light gives you the go ahead to open the door, and he awkwardly follows you inside, peering around the room.

you notice the slight apprehension in his features, eyes blown wide from alcohol and adrenaline. they seem to sparkle more than you’d seen in a while, a hazel-y blue twisting with secrets and unspoken thoughts.

“let me find my first aid kit.” you tell him. you guide him towards the foot of your bed, gesture for him to sit. “make yourself comfortable.”

“you don’t need to do this.” lando replies, sitting down anyway.

“and you didn’t need to get between me and that dickhead but here we are.”

your words elicit a low chuckle from him, and you’re glad you have your back to him while you dig through your suitcase. he can’t see your smile at the wholesome sound, and he doesn’t need to.

random pieces of clothing fall out of the bag as you rummage through it, your attention taken up completely by your mission to find the small box. you don’t notice the pile of garments littering the floor.

“wow, didn’t take you for that kinda girl.” lando teases. your cheeks flame red when you catch sight of the cherry red thong that has managed to get caught in the wheel of your suitcase.

“shut up, i’m helping you.” you grumble, balling up the lace and burying it at the bottom of the case.

“why is it ferrari coloured? something you wanna tell me? do you think charles is… foxy? or is it fred? oh, i bet it’s fred, isn’t it.” he’s laughing now, loud and boisterous, and if it wasn’t for the butterflies erupting in your belly at the sound, you would have throttled him.

“i’ll leave you to bleed out.” you tease back, pointing at the dried up blood across his knuckles.

“of course, i am in urgent need of medical attention!” he exclaims sarcastically, clutching his hand. you roll your eyes.

“you know where the door is.” you stand from the floor, carrying a little square antiseptic wipe with you.

“yeah, i do. feel like staying now, though. i’m just so comfy.”

and with that, he throws himself back on your bed, closing his eyes as he sinks into the mattress.

you stare at him for a second, noticing the way his eyelashes dust the tops of his cheeks, his tanned, thick neck peeks out from in between the undone buttons of his dress shirt. you exhale shakily, moving to sit beside him on the bed.

“give me your hand.” you instruct him, tearing the packet open and unfolding the wipe.

“romantic.” lando snarks. you shove his shoulder in response. he holds his hand out.

“whatever.” you sigh, avoiding eye contact as you run the wipe over his knuckles. you can see how they are already tinged purple, wincing at the idea that it is your fault.

“what is it?” lando asks, noticing.

you don’t respond. this proximity is odd, you can’t quite tell yet if you like it. what you do know is that you certainly don’t know how to handle him now that the alcohol is wearing off and you’re left tending to the wounds of a man that you could have sworn you didn’t like.

“so that’s how it’s gonna be? we’re going back to the silent treatment again?” lando scoffs.

“don’t know what to say.” you mutter, keeping your eyes trained on every line and indent of his knuckles.

“why do you hate me so much?”

“i don’t.”

“yes, you do.” he scoffs.

“i don’t think about you enough to hate you.” you lie. it’s cruel. he winces.

that shuts him up.

“i’m gonna go. thanks for this.” lando waves his hand and you feel a wave of guilt hit.

“no, fuck, i’m sorry.” you apologise, bowing your head. “stay.”

“i’ll stay if you tell me why you hate me.”

“i’ve never hated you, lan. haven’t always particularly liked you but i never, ever hated you.”

“okay.”

that’s all it takes for him to flop back onto the bed. some unexplainable instinct that you loathe has you crawling onto the bed beside him. you wrap your arms around your pillow, watching him watch you.

“i used to have such a big crush on you, you know.” lando says. you stare at him blankly.

“what?”

“yep. i think i was about 15. you were the first girl i ever really liked that way.” he smiles, recalling the memory. “it kinda sucked because i knew you wouldn’t even look at me twice but it’s funny thinking back to that time.”

~ 15

he watches the way her hair gets caught in the breeze as she takes off her helmet. two messy braids are shaken free, and his heart skips a beat or two, or seven, when she turns around with the biggest grin on her face.

she’s just won a race, another one, and he’d be so jealous if it wasn’t her.

he thinks she’s the most beautiful girl he’s ever seen. george and alex go over to her, congratulating her, hugging her. he wishes he could do that. he definitely can’t.

she doesn’t see him, the only times that she does are when they argue, when they push eachother off the track and scream at one another across a gravel trap. the times when she plants her pointed finger in his chest and calls him dirty, the times he gets heated and calls her something he doesn’t mean under his breath. and she always hears him. always. he watches her eyes pool with tears every single time.

he wants her, in a way he’s never wanted anyone before. he’s never felt like this, wonders how he can make it go away. she hates him. she must.

he can never have her, so why even try?

~

“i had no idea you ever felt that way.” you’re quite shocked, really. you knew that you had this intensely charged sexual tension between you now, but you had failed to realise how far back this all went.

mutually, at least.

“i’d say i’ve done a pretty good job of hiding it.” his smile changes slightly. it was now a sad smile, one that conveys disappointment in himself, and that you hated to see. it reminds you of the one you’ve gotten used to seeing on your social media feed after he’d had a shitty race.

you sigh, bracing yourself for what you are about to say.

“you’re not the only one who hid it.” you raise an eyebrow, your face says ‘guilty!’

“no?” lando’s eyes widen at your revelation.

“i think we were 13. you gave me half a cookie to apologise for pushing me off track.” you smile coyly. “it’s kinda sad but 13 year old me died inside.” you laugh.

“so, we’ve both… liked each other.” lando assesses. you nod.

“when did you stop?” you inquire, scanning his face. you take in each detail, each individual freckle, the curve of his lips. he seems closer, all of the sudden, and that’s when you realise you’ve closed the space between you. lando is within reach now, it would have been so, so incredibly easy to shift even closer still; it was like you were in his gravitational field, reeled in by pretty, pretty eyes.

“who said i stopped?”

“oh.” you breathe.

~ 13

he snaps the crumbly biscuit between his fingers, trails towards her awkwardly. he feels bad, feels a strange pang in his chest that he doesn’t recognise.

he finds her around the back of her parents car, arms crossed, eyebrows scrunched, pouting hard. he thinks she’s cute.

“why are you here?” she whines.

“this is for you. i know it doesn’t make up for the race. i didn’t mean to take you out, i swear.”

he sounds panicked, sincere. her tummy turns funny.

he’s holding out a cookie, the children’s equivalent of an olive branch.

her face softens. she accepts it. they bite into their cookies at the same time.

it’s not the worst day in the world anymore.

~

messy kisses and soft whispers lull you to sleep.

his nose bumps yours every time your lips meet, gentle and plush.

you feel delicate in his arms, treasured. his lips press gently to your hairline. he’s different, softer than you’ve seen him since you were teenagers splitting cookies.

it’s the easiest thing in the world to curl into his side, mould together until you’re part of him, and drift off.

-

the heat wakes you up.

you stir, eyes fluttering open, searching for the source of the onslaught of warmth. it clicks quickly, and you realise that you hadn’t dreamt the events of the night before.

lando is in your bed.

lando had protected you.

lando had wanted you since you were stupid kids who didn’t know any better.

he is the heater that had woken you up, and suddenly you don’t care that you’re far too hot. you curl back into his side, head rests on his chest. it rises and falls softly, his heartbeat thrums beneath your ear. you are jealous of how pretty he looks when he’s asleep, relaxed and infatuating. you lose track of time, gazing up at him.

a sharp pain in your side makes you groan. you had fallen asleep in your dress, lando in his jeans and his shirt, and now you’re paying for it, your fingers searching for the zipper that was now digging into your side. your movements draw him out of his slumber, and when you look back at him, he’s watching you, rubbing sleep from his eyes.

“you okay?” lando croaks, his voice deep and sleepy. it sends shockwaves through you.

“mhm. how did you sleep?” you ask, mindlessly running your hand over his jaw like it was the most natural thing in the world. a smile breaks out across his face, eyes fluttering shut once more.

“really fucking well.” he laughs, almost in disbelief.

“yeah, me too.” you smile at him, shy.

“what’s bothering you?”

“well, a human heater woke me up and now this fucking zipper is killing me.” you joke. it’s weird that this doesn’t feel weird.

“i am pretty hot i guess.”

“yeah, yeah.” you roll your eyes and stand from the bed.

lando sits up, resting on his elbows. his eyes follow you as you walk around the room. you take a bottle of water, drinking half of it before passing it to him. his lips wrap around the bottle and you have to turn away, the ache between your legs that you’d been fighting for months rearing it’s irritating head. you clear your throat, composing yourself.

“need to get this dress off.”

lando pulls himself off of the mattress, stalking towards you. you stop in your tracks and he meets you at the foot of the bed. his hands find your cheeks, thumbs smoothing over your skin in little circles, and then kisses you deeper than he did last night.

it’s impossible not to melt into him, hands running over his chest, his shoulders, and finally finding solace tangled in his curls. if someone told you the morning before that you’d wake up in lando’s arms, you would have cackled, urged them to seek medical attention, and probably spat in their face. how things change.

“i think you should keep it on, look so pretty.” lando breathes, staring down at you. you blush hard, leaning into him.

“but i’m uncomfortable.” you grin coyly. and then, a surge of confidence has you whispering: “i’ll let you take it off if you want.”

“let me make you comfortable first.” lando murmurs, dipping his head down until it rests in the crook of your neck. “want me to get you nice and comfortable, baby?” he kisses up your neck.

you cave, finally.

it takes him all of thirty seconds to have you spread out on his face, laying himself down on the mattress and pulling you on top of him so that you’re hovering over his lips. he mouthes at your panties for a second, getting his first taste of you, and then he drags them to the side, clearing a path. his tongue laves over your cunt, groaning as soon as he gets a proper taste.

your dress fans out over your thighs, and lando has disappeared beneath the fabric. you can tell he’s there, though, by the strong hands gripping onto your thighs, the tuft of curls peeking out, and the feeling of his nose bumping your clit as he buries his face deeper and deeper between your folds.

“lando.” you cry, throwing your head back. the straps of your dress are slipping down your arms, skimming your goosebump ridden skin. he just groans into your pussy in response, pulling you impossibly closer to his mouth, backwards and forwards until you’re grinding down on his willing tongue. you reach down blindly, grabbing one of his hands where it rests on your thigh, and your other threads through his hair, gripping tight as you revel in the pleasure.

lando pulls your clit between his teeth, grazing over the bud and you’re jolting, writhing above him. you feel like you’re going to die, heat pricking all over your skin, your tummy tight from the building orgasm. he’s so eager, sliding his entire face through your slippery folds, obscene sounds falling from his lips that ricochet through your quivering body.

tears prick your eyes when you finally let go, slumping forwards from the overwhelming sensation taking over every single nerve. he lifts you off of him, laying you back on the bed as you come down from your high.

“you okay, baby?” he coos, brushing sweat dampened hair from your eyes.

his lips are stained, dark pink and shiny, a mixture of enthusiasm and your slick coating them. lando scans your watery eyes, feral at how fucked out you look all because of him, and tantalisingly licks his lips.

“need you.” you moan, reaching out for him. his shirt is wrinkled where he’d slept in it and your shaky hands find the few buttons that are actually done up. you push the material off of his shoulders, pupils blown wide at the sight of his toned chest, at the feel of smooth, golden skin. you pull him in by the shoulders, swallowing him whole as you kiss him with everything you’ve got left.

lando’s hands find your thighs once more, running his hands over them to push your dress up your hips.

“wanted this for so long.” he whispers into the kiss, pulling away so that he can take the dress off of you. he looks ravenous the more he pushes the fabric up your body.

you feel vulnerable under his intense gaze, watchful eyes taking in every movement you make. you try to pull him back in for another kiss but he resists.

“let me look at you, please?” lando asks. “there you go, baby, let’s get this off, hmm?” he sits you up so that he can get it over your head, and you lay back, bare aside from your panties that he’d left in disarray.

he sucks in a breath, raking his eyes over the curve of your lips, your collarbone, the slope of your breasts. his gaze lingers there for just a second, before continuing further over your belly, the length of your legs. you want to hide away, pull him in so that he can’t look at you like this, or just dive under the duvet and stay there until you need to catch your flight.

“god, you’re so, so fucking beautiful.” he gasps, awestruck. he sounds speechless, and you feel yourself going red again.

“come here.” you whine. “needed you for so long.”

your admission seems to kick him into action, because seconds later, he’s on top of you, fingers grazing the band of your underwear while you fiddle with the button on his jeans.

“gonna be good for me, aren’t you?” lando stares you down, tone sending a shiver down your spine. you nod, batting your eyelashes. “words, my love.”

“yes, lando.” you affirm, arching into him. that’s all he needs to know, kicking his jeans away, boxers too.

“good girl. took care of me so well last night, now ‘m gonna take such good care of you.”

your eyes skim his body, honing in on how hard he is. your hand finds his cock, tentative at first, stroking over it softly. it’s heavy in your hands, red and dripping already. he wants this just as bad as you do. you continue to jerk him off, watching the way his eyes squeeze shut and his lips part, soft pants falling out. a low hum sounds from the back of his throat, and you wet your lips, threading your free hand through his hair.

lando opens his eyes at the sensation, gently batting your hand away. he dips down even closer, resting on one of his forearms. he lines himself up and your legs wrap around him instinctively. slowly, he pushes inside of you, his breath catching in his throat.

“fucking hell.” he groans, deep and guttural, something carnal sending shockwaves through his body. “been dreaming about all the ways i’d get to fuck you.”

your eyes roll back and you go languid in his arms, feeling every inch of him slide against your slick walls.

“want you.” you rasp, clinging to him, your fingernails leaving patterns between his taut shoulder blades as you beg for it.

“you have me, baby.” and then he kisses you, messy and slow, stealing the air from your lungs. you’re dizzy when he pulls away, sitting back slightly to change the angle. you cry out, feeling him even deeper and everything is more sensitive, warm. you roll your hips, meeting his thrusts deliciously, and he chokes out a moan as you clamp around him. “yeah, that’s it. fuck yourself like that for me.” he encourages.

this is all too much, too good. you have whiplash, physically and emotionally, eyes pooling with tears as the man you’d wanted so badly that you hated him for it rocks into you. lando hits the right spot every time he pistons his hips harder, and his nimble fingers slide up your abdomen, applying light pressure to your navel that makes you writhe.

“fucking perfect for me. gorgeous.” lando slurs, entranced by the sight of where you’re joined. he can see just how wet you are and it drives him insane, barrelling into you like a man possessed, drunk on every single way that your body responds to him.

his wandering hand finds your breast, kneading it before he traces your nipple. he watches the way it hardens at his manipulation, wetting his lips. he collapses back on top of you, sucking the bud into his mouth. you’re panting, whining beneath him as his tongue swirls over your chest, switching to the other side. you jolt, a silent scream scratching your throat when he slips his hand between your thighs, working your clit with the pad of his thumb. he’s rutting against you, grinding deeper, faster, uncontrollably.

“come on, baby. you’re so close, so tight for me.” he mutters into your skin. you nod frantically, your words lost on you. he kisses over your collarbone, the base of your throat, until he finds your lips.

“so close.” you sigh.

he stops.

“tell me you’re all mine.” lando growls, his entire demeanour changing. the tone of his voice almost finishes you off but you’re suddenly enraged. you’re too close for him to stop.

“c’mon lando.” you hiss, trying to move your hips but he has you firmly in place.

“need to hear you say it.” his hand slithers over your chest, finding a new home at the base of your throat. it makes you throb, the way his thick fingers wrap around you. slowly, his grip tightens, and you see an opportunity.

you buck your hips hard, whimpering at the sensation, but your plan works and now you hover over him. he’s still buried inside you, and you can feel him pulsing as you steal control.

“for once in your life, honey, shut the fuck up.” you smirk, mischievous in victory.

slowly, you build up your rhythm. he feels bigger like this, deeper, and you almost lose yourself in the small circles you make with your hips.

“knew you’d be like this. you liked giving yourself to me but i just knew you’d need to take back control.” lando teases. his hand is back around your neck, squeezing slowly, and you grind frantically, dizzy for him. “i was right last night, wasn’t i, baby? pretending to be my good girl when really,” he pulls you down so that you’re chest to chest. “you’re just a fucking brat.”

lando holds you close as he fucks up into you, feeling the way you go limp on top of him as the pleasure washes over you like a million electric shocks. you’re crying, tears pooling on his chest, because there is nothing you can do, nothing you want to do, but take it. he’s got you right where he wants you, and you’re loving every fucking second of it.

“yeah, baby, take it how you want it.” lando commands through gritted teeth, and you move your hips in a feeble attempt to match his speed. everything is slippery, everything feels wet and flushed.

the power play, the position, the frenzy he seems to be in as he fucks you, it all has you gushing, spilling all over him. you choke out a sob, shuddering as the elastic band in your belly snaps. lando stops his thrusts, replacing them with small rolls of his hips to help you through your orgasm.

a sharp breath and a string of curses from him give you the strength to muster the last little bits of energy you have left to look up at him. you pull your head up off of his chest just in time to watch him shatter into a million little pieces.

his neck flexes as his head rolls back, sinking into the pillow, his eyes tight. swollen lips part and your name falls from between them like a prayer. you can feel him filling you up, his hands tightening their hold on your hips like he’s scared to let go, like the world will stop if he does.

the world stops anyway, because then you’re looking at each other. really looking at each other.

it only takes a second for you to be drawn in and his hands leave your hips to cup your face. his calloused hands feel your skin, stroking over rosy patches on your cheeks. it’s deathly silent all around you, apart from the breathless pants you share.

swollen lips crash hard into yours and you melt. he’s still buried so deeply inside of you, your hips digging into his, impossibly close. you’re blindly reaching for any part of him you can get your hands on, and his big hands slide down your body until they meet the small of your back. ever so carefully, he flips you onto your back, easing your spent body into the mattress.

lando collapses on top of you, mouthes at your neck for a moment, delicate kisses making your eyes flutter shut. the eye contact almost sends you into cardiac arrest as he pulls out, oh so slowly. tease.

he holds you close in the shower, fingers massaging every part of you. sex and sweat are washed away, almost lovingly. you let the water run for far too long, content in clinging to him. it’s quiet, reflective time for both of you, exactly what it needs to be. you’re both hung up on questions that need to be asked, neither one of you brave enough to take the first steps. you know one thing, and one thing only: something has changed, in a forever kind of way.

your hair is stringy, half dry, and you’re stood in your underwear. your legs are still shaky.

“your flight soon?” lando asks. he’s stood in his boxers on the other side of the room, scrunching the water out of his curls.

“yeah.” your throat feels raw.

“and you’re going back to monaco?” he’s stopped what he’s doing now, staring at you. you can see the cogs turning behind his eyes.

you nod.

“fancy a sleepover?” he grins, boyish and careless. your heart falls to your feet.

you’re giggling when he sweeps you into his arms and kisses you into the freshly made bed. the sheets are on the floor by the time you finally remember you have a flight to catch.

you’re his now, you realise. he’s too beautiful for his own damn good.

-

“baby?” you hear lando call from his bedroom. you make out the faint sound of his footsteps making their way in your direction. he appears before you can even answer him, and he’s smiling softly at the sight of you bundled up in a blanket, sprawled across his couch.

“what is it?” you ask. the next thing you know he’s on top of you, peppering kisses over every single inch of skin he can get to on your face. “hey, get off, muppet.” you whine playfully, ruffling his hair.

“do you know how much i love having you here?” he murmurs. it’s endearing as fuck and you fight a foolish, dopey grin.

“you’ve mentioned once or twice…” you’ve been here since your flight touched down a week ago. you haven’t even been home to get clothes, not that you needed them in his company.

“we might have a teeny, tiny issue.” he squints, pulling a face.

“and what’s that?” you ask, your voice measuring equal parts cautious and amused.

“so, alex called…”

“oh, shit.”

“we have to go to dinner tonight.”

“we have to?”

“he’s suspicious as fuck. you do realise they’ve been plotting for us to happen for years,” you roll your eyes as if you say duh. “and also, you’ve been in monaco for a week and haven’t seen him once. oh, and also, the last time we saw them, we were running away from a fucking crime scene.” lando smiles sarcastically, and you sigh, defeated.

before you can reply, your phone is ringing somewhere beside you. you root around in your blanket searching for it and when you find it:

“son of a bitch.” you exclaim, showing lando the caller ID. alex is one persistent motherfucker.

“hey girl.” alex singsongs down the phone before you can even say hello.

“hello to you too.” you can hear the fear in your own voice.

“dinner. tonight. although, i’m sure lando already told you.” alex teases.

“why would lando have told me? what?” you choke. lando slaps his hand over his face. your voice has gone up several octaves. not suspicious at all.

“so, you’re at home? you haven’t been at his place since last week?” the playful interrogation begins.

“why would i be with lando?” you try and feign disgust at the implication. it does not work.

“because you hate fucked after he beat up that perv? i have to say, i didn’t think he had it in him but he’s been in love with you since he was like, ten, so, you know-”

“bye alex.”’

“you’re not denying it-“

“bye alex!”

you’re flaming red when you throw the phone to the other end of the sofa. lando, as on brand as ever, is cackling into a pillow.

“he is such a fucking shit stirrer.” you bury your face in your hands, slumping back into the fuzzy cushions.

“well, he’s right about one thing.” lando trails off. suddenly he’s looking anywhere but you and you see him gulp, hard, swallowing his words, like he’s too afraid to bare his soul.

“huh?” you ask gently, sitting up to reach out for him. “what’s wrong?”

“we need to get ready for dinner. that’s what he’s right about.” lando says, standing from the sofa and walking towards his room. you’re suspicious, watching him go with furrowed eyebrows.

-

“lando, behave! you’re the one making me go to this dinner.” you squeal, batting his restless hands away.

you’ve made it as far as the elevator before he pounces on you, caging you in against the metal walls.

“but you look so good, can’t help myself.” he mutters between kisses on your neck, pressing himself even further into you.

the hand that finds it’s way between your legs, exploring beyond the hem of your skirt, is the one that makes you press the button for his floor. why have plans when you can have sex?

he gets through the door to his apartment at lighting speed and carries you all the way to his bed.

when you’re sweating and breathless a good hour later, half of the bedding on the floor with your clothes, you realise you never cancelled your plans.

lando is drawing shapes into the bare skin of your arm, kissing over your shoulder as he does so. his eyes are dropping from all of the over-exertion and you want to count each and every freckle on his face while he falls asleep. he’s cute like this, soft and yours.

and idea comes to your mind, and as if he can see the lightbulb, lando half raises an eyebrow at you. you giggle, somewhat evilly perhaps, and scramble for your phone on the beside table.

“what’re you doing?” lando groans, pouting as his outstretched arms try to find you.

“getting even.” you state.

with the phone in your clutches, you roll back over towards him, holding the camera above you both. he hears the shutter sound as you snap the picture, and peers closer to see the screen. when he sees the groupchat open, he quickly understands what you’re plotting.

“may i?” you ask for his consent.

“are you kidding? go for it. that’ll shut them up.” he laughs sleepily, muttering something about how this is the most lando thing you’ve ever done

FROM: you

TO: the groupchat

1 image attached

couldn’t make dinner. something came up xx

“alex always thinks he’s right, this’ll teach him for being such a little shit.” you flop back into bed even more satisfied than you were before.

you hear lando inhale shakily beside you.

“he is right sometimes you know.” he repeats his earlier words.

you hold your breath. his eyes say so many things that are too delicate to be spoken yet.

“like… like what he said on the phone?” your voice quivers with anticipation, fear. your heart is thunderous, hammering away like it wants to escape the clutches of its cage.

“yeah. i-“ he stops himself. you don’t need him to finish, you know which two words follow. they can follow in good time, you both know it.

“me too, lando.” you coo.

he’s beaming, eyes half shut. you watch as he falls asleep, the both of you ignoring the way your phones are vibrating so aggressively that they might buzz their way off of the night stand. you lose count of his freckles, but it doesn’t matter.

you’ll have plenty of time to figure it out.

-

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-

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[nanaslutt]

ʚ nsfw under the cut,, minors and ageless blogs dni

Thinking about Gojo getting you two matching Bluetooth vibrators for Valentine’s day....

°❀⋆.ೃ࿔*:･°❀⋆.ೃ࿔*:･°❀⋆.ೃ࿔*:･°❀⋆.ೃ࿔*:･°❀⋆.ೃ

Gojo’s body jerked forward when you upped the intensity of the toy from the little remote in your pocket. The man behind the counter was turned around, pointing at some specialty dessert as he explained it, so he unfortunately missed the way Gojo’s jaw fell open in a silent moan before he corrected himself.

His jaw muscles clenched under the weight of his teeth, his eyes briefly rolling back in his head as the tight cockring vibrated intensely around his sensitive shaft, vibrating his balls along with it.

Turning his head to the side inconspicuously, Gojo gave you a malicious smile, silently cursing at you before he stuck his own hand into his pocket and gave you the same treatment.

Luckily there was no one behind you, so they were unable to see the way you fell against Gojo, your inner thighs pressing together as you gripped harshly onto the sleeve of his expensive jacket, wrinkling the material. You could feel the small bullet vibe shaking against your walls as well as the flat piece stimulating your clit, pressing firmly against it. 

“I-“ Gojo cleared his throat before he finished speaking, noticing how hoarse and unused it sounded. “I’ll take that one, and the brown sugar boba milk t-tea.” Gojo smiled politely, his muscles flexing under your arm.

You gripped him harder, praying he would take mercy on you and order for you with the state you were in. 

Unfortunately for you, Gojo was at his limit as well. He was worried if he tried to speak for you he would cum in his pants before he even finished ordering. "What about you baby?" He asked, looking down at you, trying to turn his head as far to the side in your direction and away from the cashier as possible. This fucking asshole.

Swallowing hard, you went to open your mouth when you shut it just as fast. Gojo had started to slide the intensity up and down, up and down in a wave-like motion, making you feel weak in the knees. Biting your lip as inconspicuously as possible, you stuck your hand out in front of you and waved it, dismissing the attention on yourself by feigning like you didnt want anything.

Gojo smiled to himself when you started repeatedly tapping agaisnt his arm, silently begging him to turn down the vibrator as he took out his wallet to pay. Wanting to show you could be could, you turned him down as well, which made his body visibly relax.

Gojo cracked his neck to the side before he tapped his card quickly and shoved his card back into the sleeve before he turned the intensity of your own vibrator down, to match your energy. Gojo grimaced when he felt a fat bead of pre-cum spill out from his cock, undoubtedly staining the inside of his boxers even more. The softer intensity was arguably more painful and hard to endure than the faster one. The soft, barely there vibrations made his cock throb, begging for more.

After waving thanks to the worker, Gojo turned the two of you around and walked you over a few steps to the side of the building, letting you lean back against it. You took the opportunity to squeeze his arm hard, your lip trembling as you turned your face away from the street and buried it in his arm. "Satoru take me home right now." You begged your hands shaking as you gripped onto him, your legs matching.

Gojo looked down at you and cooed before biting his lip. Caressing the side of your face Gojo made you look up at him, his blue eyes finding yours from under his dark shades. "You sure? Seems like you were havin' fun teasing me back there. Almost came in my pants in front of that poor guy." He joked, his cock throbbing at your pathetic and desperate face.

"Toru, please. Please take me home right now I- I can't stand anymore." You begged the fabric wrinkling under your fingers more. With a soft kiss to the top of your head, you were lifted into Gojo's arms in a princess carry as he started off in the direction of the nearest alleyway so he could teleport the two of you home without being seen. "You can dish it but you can't take it huh princess? Did I play with you too much?" Gojo whispered as he strolled down the sidewalk. 

You nodded into the crook of his neck, ignoring his irritating words. "Don't worry baby, I'll fuck you nice and good when we get home." He reassured you, making you whimper in response before Gojo turned abruptly and walked into the dark shade of the alleyway. He leaned his face close to yours before he added, "But the vibrator is staying inside."

#jjk smut #jujutsu kaisen smut #jjk x reader #jjk x y/n #gojo smut #jujutsu kaisen x reader #gojo x reader #gojo satoru #gojo satoru smut #gojo satoru x reader #gojou x reader #gojo saturo #gojou satoru x reader #satoru gojo #jjk gojo #jujutsu gojo #gojo x y/n #gojo x you #gojo satoru fic #jjk satoru #jujutsu kaisen satoru #satoru smut #satorugojo #jujutsu satoru #gojou satoru x you #gojou satoru x y/n

[randomcanbian]

For the AM Hegemon fic, isn't it Choice & Monsters ( https://archiveofourown.org/works/41882871/chapters/109018587 ) ?

Oh, I actually found the AM fic I was looking for (Our Own Paths by jtav, will link it in the BL rec post I managed to clobber up lmao).

I actually haven't read this yet! I've only recently gotten in the headspace to start long FE3H fic after so long, so I probably missed this! (Right now I'm going through the Byleth tag and working through it backwards haha, I'm still on July 2022).

Thanks for bringing this to my attention 😁 I'm putting it on my multichap to read list, it looks interesting 👀 (I'll be prioritizing my reverse chronology readings and completed works tho ehehehe, it might take me a couple of weeks)

#asks #thanks for the fic tho anon!!! i fucking love hegemon!edeleth ToT #also i think you linked the wrong fic hehe...'A Shared Likeness and Intensity' pops up #if anyone wants my opinions on /that/ fic for me it's like #it's well written on a technical level #some of the subject matter isn't really for me tho--i'm not really a fan of 'my whole world revolves around her' kind of romance #or where the character's self-esteem and self perception takes a deep nosedive if they make a minor mistake when it comes to their partner #i know that's a point of the fic tho! like them unpacking their trauma and trying heal; and that's a symptom of the trauma they endured #but yeah haha not my thing #that said i did spend a whole day reading it! there were many parts that i liked and I liked the overarching plot (I actually like Edelgard #trying to heal from her past and love Byleth getting all excited about history; and the plot of reincarnation (?) and her being recognized; #I LOVE the rest of the cast and they're a joy to read; #actually now that I think about it I actually love everything HAHA except for the Edeleth part of it; for the aforementioned reasons 😅)

[unproduciblesmackdown]

a decade later sure i'll put it into Text Post "tumblr user claims: plausibly may feasibly" form, starting with these classic screenshots i still have saved

this being dialogue from 2015's always watching: a marble hornets story, which is like hey this is a pretty well produced indie venture & you can sure like sit through it even if you then never watch it again b/c it's still kind of overly on the beaten path & "i'm not sure this choice is justified in much of anything" (see: bizarrely omnipresent thread of a love triangle just to be There; typical Mental Patient(tm) Harbinger; several real marked More Is Less instances arguably) that is still a better time than other random horror material i've seen & hated vs. only mostly been underwhelmed by but in an Overall Shrug way alone. yeah imdb's 4.7 out of 10 seems fair enough if you consider like 5 stars truly middle of the road solid if forgettable vs that anything < 7 stars is for [Bad!] or whatever

anyways the main character is named milo & indeed the creator(s) / actors / writers troy joseph & tim were involved in the production at all: tim at least by being the first step in doug jones's casting by reaching out directly (online), but troy & joseph also via Some writing, like in that slender game sequel also: not the Primary creators / writers, but still officially involved in the creative process at all. & i knew of them & they knew of me by this time & in a [source: dude just trust me] style of way, i, a tumblr user, am like "i think milo alwayswatching Could be named after me, milo unproduciblesmackdown. lol." b/c also like yeah i can take it on the chin if it's a coincidence, which is also likely. great name & it's just not being used enough in fictional & nonfictional people's names. you might also be aware that some role in tribetweIve is named milo (maybe the main guy. i never watched it) so you might also speculate it's named after that guy, which seems plausible also, But: afaik there are no other similar plausible shoutouts at all, to that series or to emh which was just as majorly like One Of Those 3 Biggest Online Series. may or may not add a grain of salt to take it with. like my own "of course, there's a grain of salt in 'milo just like me milo, and Uncoincidentally?' b/c how wouldn't there be. a name people have"

the dude just trust me argument: distilling it down to "i went to their first convention & then the same one the next year, & in these experiences i Know they knew of me from that + also online, where people knew my name was milo as well" and "it seems feasible enough it's an easter egg Not Coincidence that i first knew this character's name happened to also be milo b/c someone who experienced a clip sent me an ask about it, so they assumed it was a possible actual connection too lol." and, of course, it might be a fun coincidence after all. but i'm still like "yeah no it Could be a funny little shoutout to me specifically for real" and mean it and, again, i can endure it if i'm completely wrong. b/c who could care, and also b/c it's so funny that the character is a guy who basically just is like "i am going to have a bad attitude. b/c of the insistent tiresome love triangle thing. well now I'm insistently tiresome" and fucking everything up but like, sure. exasperating epic fail protagonists

the only relevance i think it has besides "to me, b/c i can go haha yeah. that might be like: just like me!!" is that it's Also plausible b/c yeah marble hornets Is the kind of series that might go "this could be an easter egg about some queer autistic tumblr user we know about" lmao, its Inherent Queerness both re: the material and in the creators' knowledge like yep that's how our Appreciators skew! like it's low stakes to be like [lol, Me. perhaps] b/c it's obviously of zero importance like it adds no info, i'm just some rando queer fan from back in the day, but it's this potential Fun Fact that's funny to know & it's about "yeah like they knew i was trans back then too & that it was like, amidst the MH Fans, like nobody's cishet man (shaggy rogers voice)" Gay Rights!

#marble hornets #It's Possible And Someone Should Say It #and like fr i'm saying it with a swagful humility b/c yeah ofc it feels like an overreach to be like ME Milo???? but it could be fr #and ofc it's just a funny little detail If So so it's also really not that much of a reach b/c nobody else could care one way or another #the only possible Reactions beyond ''main character named milo? this has zero extra meaning for me'' #is Me; Specifically going [gasp!] (which i did anyways b/c Pointing! & b/c yeah thee whole time it's like It Could Be Just Like Me Fr) #and tribetwelveheads going ''like as in tribetweIve?'' which like still maybe but gotta keep it real with you chief: Less Likely #it's funny if i'm right And it's funny if i'm wrong so like yeah ofc i'll Just Say It. i can endure in good humour if Knowing no it's not #and like i could just ask. but in my prior chitchatting with [Yeah We Know Of Each Other] quadruple A status #(amicable and/or allied acquaintance) like it just hasn't ever been much or really At All abt marble hornets or anything else ''official'' #yeah i Could barge into tim's dms like HEY do you MAYBE KNOW this trivia?? about MEEE??? but like. i'm not gonna lmao #i'm gonna be like: post more new kittycat pics worstie!!!! if anything. #or be like ''you're So right. recommend skinamarink to all past present future marble hornets fans'' hell yeah king #(as someone who Hypothetically enjoys horror; thus in actual practice virtually always hates horror. That Fr! sm good fckg food) #anyways like it can't possibly matter. sure just as plausibly a ''haha no it Is coincidental'' situation like & so i can endure that though #it's most plausible thanks to the [i did manage to make it to their first convention! a lot of fun. & i bought their mask] #like this fact was 99% irrelevant to Anyone Else; e.g. anyone online then or now #but it did boost making me a specific person the main creative / production trio guys Knew Of lol. being a queer autistic fan can do that #i also never use these screenshots lol but i did save them & still like just now stumble across them like oh yeah that guy! that Mystery! #we can keep it up for that mystique & ambiguity. & b/c again i have no cause to barge in at an A.A.A.A. like Answer My Trivia Boy!! #this would Also be funny but for the sake of any actual 4A rapport i will not be attempting it for Detached Jests #(conveniently this prevents me from bravely enduring taking it on the chin anyways! hence casually posting a Fun Fact. we'll never know) #also remembering i don't even have my name being milo on my blog header. But It Is

[old-lorarri]

꒰꒰ ‧₊˚𝐈𝐍𝐊𝐄𝐃 𝐀𝐍𝐆𝐄𝐋 ─ 𝐋𝐍𝟒 ˚₊· ꒱꒱

─ summary . . . ❨ lando loves your tattoos that was no secret but what he loves even more is new tattoos the require him to help you apply cream to them ❩ ─ pairing . . . ❨ lando norris x fem! tattooed! gf! reader ❩ ─ genre . . . ❨ oneshot ❩  ─ word count . . . ❨ 0.4k ❩  ─ warnings . . . ❨ slight nudity, mention of sex, incorrect tattoo healing process - let me know if I forgot anything ❩  ─ author note . . . ❨ now this isn't the best written fic I have ever done but I have just finished watching ink master season 14 sooo this request stood out to me a lot since I wanna get a couple tattoos soon so enjoy! ❩

❨ taglist | masterlist ❩

"Hey babe, do you mind putting some cream on my tat?" Lando had always been fascinated by your tattoos and piercings. More so, your tattoos, the intricate designs that you had etched into your skin, were often what he was caught staring at most of the time. You teased him about none stop because you couldn't understand why he was so interested in them. And in all honesty he didn't know why either.

He always chalked it down to a sheer amount of admiration and shock when hearing that you sat for more than 10 hours for some of your tattoo. All of the pain you endured was definitely worth it cuz you ended up looking even more beautiful than you were before. And earlier in the day you had come home from your final session to complete your full back tattoo.

"Hi baby, sure, lie down and let me work my magic." Lando smiled, looking up from his phone as he lazed on the sofa. Taking off your shirt and unclipping your bra, you lay your stomach on the sofa. The anticipation for Lando to start.

"Okay, you know the drill, baby, film first, then cream." At this point, Lando had done this to enough of your tattoos that you didn't need to say anything; it was your special thing. Come to think of it you couldn't remember a tattoo that Lando didn't help you put cream on while it was healing, it was kinda your special thing.

You hissed as Lando slowly as he peeled the film over the freshly done tattoo before squirting a bunch of cream into her hand and gently applying it to your back. The comfortable silence lay over them like a blanket. To some, this would seem sexual, but to both of you, it was wholesome. The fact that you trusted Lando to look after your body in such an intimate way made his heart melt and to you feeling Lando's hands caress your skin with cream was a source of comfort.

"All done baby" He said as finished up on the rest of your back "Thank you baby, next time I'm thinking of getting a 4 on my hip what do you think?"

"I would fuck you till the sun comes up if you didn't do that, and even if you didn't I would do it anyway"

"Good to know baby"

"Now come here and give me a kiss my inked angel"

─ requested by . . .

anon ─ Absolutely love your writing!!! Perhaps Lando being infatuated with reader’s tattoos and piercings? He loves them but is also baffled about how many she has and how she sat through them?

#꒰꒰ ‧₊˚📁 ─ my works ˚₊· ꒱꒱ #lando norris #lando norris x you #lando norris x y/n #lando norris smut #lando norris x reader #lando norris fluff #formula one #f1 fic #formula 1 #formula 1 angst #formula 1 fanfic #formula 1 imagine #formula 1 smut #formula 1 x reader #formula 1 x you #ln4 #ln4 x reader #f1 fanfiction #f1 fanfic #f1 fandom #f1 #f1 fluff #f1 imagine #f1 instagram au #f1 one shot #f1 smut #f1 x reader #f1 x you #f1 x y/n

[crishayle]

Part of Fortune in the houses

Part of Fortune is a point of happiness in your natal chart. It is on it that you can see where and how to look for your luck. For a more accurate interpretation of this placement, please see the sign and aspects of your Fortune.

Part of Fortune in the 1st house:

Your luck lies in your independence. If you need to make a decision, don't listen to anyone. You really attract good luck when you are in full control and accept your life. Luck turns away from you when you start to envy others or compare yourself and your successes with someone else.What is the secret of luck? In independence, focus only on your life and yourself. It is important to learn to appreciate your desires and not put them below others.

Part of Fortune in the 2nd house:

Your luck lies in finding a balance between material and spiritual values. When you focus only on one thing, you may notice how your resources are being cut off in this area.What is the secret of luck? In the ability to be content with the small and enjoy the big. Appreciate every little victory you have. Keep a balance between the material and the spiritual.Think about your career, but don't forget to text to friends and family :)

Part of Fortune in the 3rd house:

Your luck lies in communicating with other people. I don't know if you believe in fate or not, but I do. I have repeatedly met people with Fortune in the 3rd house who said that talking to other people radically changed something in their lives for the better. Simply put, share your thoughts and ideas with your friends. You will definitely find inspiration!What is the secret of luck? In communication with other people. Also, the 3rd house is responsible for thinking, so most often such people can really attract positive/negative into their lives with just the power of thought. Don't be afraid to discuss your ideas and motivate yourself more and then everything will work out :)

Part of Fortune in the 4th house:

Your luck lies in caring and kindness. Here the rule "give and get twice as much" applies. Luck can turn away from you because of greed, avarice and evil. Also a little advice from a man with Fortune in the 4th house:clean the house more often so that more things, food and money come to the house. What is the secret of luck? In generosity, care and kindness. This person always gets his good back because of the boomerang effect.

Part of Fortune in the 5th house:

Your luck lies in creativity. Stop, I know that everywhere the 5th house is associated only with creativity, but please read on. Creativity in the broadest sense of the word is the ability of a person to create something of his own. It may not be related to art. I have friends with Fortune in the 5th house who have opened their own business or those who are engaged in science. In general, these people create something unique of their own. What is the secret of luck? In creating something unique. Such people achieve success when they reveal their abilities and are not afraid to be themselves. Don't be shy, try and experiment.

Part of Fortune in the 6th house:

Your luck lies in your health. One of the coolest placements.Of course, human health needs to be looked at throughout the natal chart, but whatever you get infected with, you will recover. This is one of the indicators of strong immunity, physical endurance, successful operations, and sometimes longevity. What is the secret of luck? In human health and his ability to wait. The 6th house is responsible for discipline and patience. For such a person, success in his career or personal life may come later than he expects, but it will definitely be worth it.By the way, try to create your own ritual or good luck charm.

Part of Fortune in the 7th house:

Your luck lies in other people.No kidding, career successes and other good things start to happen when you work in a team. Some of my friends with Fortune in the 7th house, thanks to friends, found a good house at a bargain price or had an internship at their favorite company. What is the secret of luck? People nowadays are the most important resource. Communicate more and get to know people. The 7th house in astrology also represents the soul mate. If Venus and the Moon are also in good placements in your natal chart, then Part of Fortune in the 7th house can speak of a happy marriage:)

Part of Fortune in the 8th house:

Your luck lies in the risk. You know, the case when a person doesn't need to do anything to find good luck. The catch is that he gets lucky only at the VERY LAST MOMENT. At the same time, people with placements in the 8th house feel their karma very subtly. Do not be arrogant and do not use your luck for selfish purposes.What is the secret of luck? In the ability to appreciate the gifts of fate. For example, I have a friend with Fortune in the 8th house who complained that he could not buy a new iPhone (although his current phone worked fine) and it was stolen the next day. Fortune in the 8th house is really cool (I'm a little jealous even), just always appreciate what you have and then get 2 times more.

Part of Fortune in the 9th house:

Your luck lies in curiosity. The 9th house is the ability to know the world. People with Fortune in the 9th house can successfully change their profession, get a second higher education or fly to another company for an internship. You have endless potential, so being in the comfort zone only moves luck away from you.What is the secret of luck? In change and curiosity. I understand that sometimes it's scary to leave your comfort zone, but Fortune in the 9th house even encourages mistakes. Luck seems to be trying to teach and add more life experience to a person with this placement.

Part of Fortune in the 10th house:

Your luck lies in discipline and patience. I have not yet met a single person with Fortune in the 10th house who would just be so lucky. These people achieve a successful career or a happy relationship as if climbing a mountain.What is the secret of luck? In diligence and patience. Every time the hope leaves you that all your labors are in vain, remember that you have already passed half the way and the rest is quite a bit. The 10th house is a very long time house in astrology. Yes, it takes a lot of time, but after all, luck will be with you for a long time as well. Saturn (the planet of the 10th house) is very fair!

Part of Fortune in the 11th house:

Your luck lies in the development of spiritual skills. It is very important to keep order in your head. I noticed that such people tend to attract events with words and their thoughts. It is important to maintain a balance between heart and mind.What is the secret of luck? In balance. The 11th house is actually not as crazy as many people think. As soon as a person with this placement finds inner peace and realizes what is really important to him in life, luck begins to patronize him. Listen to your heart and be friends with your mind and everything will be fine :)

Part of Fortune in the 12th house:

Your luck lies in the secret. It's like you're lucky while no one is watching. The very case when you don't need to talk about your plans and dreams to people and then everything will come true. A little more advice:listen to the signs of fate. If the other placements of Fortune achieve success through people, time, karma, self-development, then you are lucky alone.What is the secret of luck? Happiness loves silence. Don't brag and don't share your plans.Less words, more action and everything will work out :)

You can write what questions about the Part of Fortune you are concerned about. I plan to write 2 more very interesting articles about it, so wait :)

#astrology #horoscope #zodiac #astrology community #astrology signs #tumblr fyp #astro community #astrology blog #natal chart #astro observations #astrologer #astro notes #natal astrology #astro placements #astrology notes #birth chart #astrology observations #astroblr #fyp