#too lazy to edit this and post to ao3 so here you go

[kingbyx]

Little Cathy what a dream, held her hand and made her scream.

—

Stanford was stood, somehow even more anxiously than usual, in front of his locker. Class had only ended a few minutes before, but it was Friday and the school was already pretty much empty.

Still, a handful of students hung around to talk to friends, make plans, collect things from their locker for the weekend, and, apparently, consider every life choice that had led them to the current moment.

That is what Ford was doing. Standing at his open locker with his hands shoved deep in his pockets (as they often were at school) despite having nothing more he needed to get from it, and questioning his life.

His brother, Stanley, stood next to him. An obnoxious smile on his face as he nudged him away from his locker and tilted his head towards the other side of the hall.

“It’ll be fine Sixer, just go!” Stan said, winking in an exaggerated manor. With a sign, Ford complied. Taking his time to lock his locker, ensure his bag was zipped and his hands were hidden in his pockets, he took the five steps down the hall to where Cathy stood at her locker.

You see, the terrified Ford had a good reason to be scared.

He had a crush.

Stanford had never like a girl before, though he had understood it was expected of him by the age of 15 to have such feelings for the opposite sec.

Cathy was different though, he actually wanted to talk to someone other than his brother for once! She was cool, and confident, but smart like he was, one of the top students in their year. She was brilliant in mathematics, and though she wasn’t against sports she never seemed overly enthusiastic about them.

She was a lot like Ford, but more, he wished he could have her confidence as she walked down the halls without fear. When he had explained to Stan his conflicting emotions, he had immediately jumped to tease him for his crush.

Though he hadn’t thought to label it himself, he was now convinced that’s what it was. Why else would he want to talk to her? Clearly, it was the only good explanation.

Stan had given him the plan- to ask her if she wanted to go for a walk and check out the new ice cream shop that had opened by the beach- and so here he was. Standing by the locker of his crush with sweaty palms hidden in his pockets and what was certainly a terribly awkward smile on his face, no matter how normal he tried to force it to be.

Before he could open his mouth to get the first word in, Cathy looked up and beat him to it.

“Oh, hey. Pines, right?”

His eyes widened in alarm. This was not going to plan! He had a weather appropriate conversation starter ready and everything! He panicked, stumbling over words as he tried to return her greeting.

“Ye- yes, that’s uh, that’s me! Ford- uh, Stanford Pine’s. You might know my brother Stanley, he talks to many people- uh, I think! And you are Cathy- you’re- you’re the only other tenth grader in my advanced physics class.” He stopped himself, laughing anxiously, that was terribly awkward even by his standards. An that bar may as well have been in hell with how low it was.

Cathy, completely defying his expectations again, laughed at his awkwardness. But it didn’t feel targeted like it usually did- she was laughing with him, not at him.

“Yeah, yeah, I remember you. You sit right by the front, you’re very smart, always happy to answer questions- even when the teacher hadn’t asked them.” Her posture was relaxed as she spoke, a light smile on her face as she laughed at her own joke, most people were tense as they spoke to him. Whether in fear or anger it didn’t matter, they often came together.

“You seemed very smart as well, it was so exciting to see another person my age in that class with me.” Cathy agreed with him again, this was going shockingly well! He almost wasn’t sure how to proceed after such a turn of events, but he forced himself to push forward.

“Oh, uh, any- anyways,” the awkward stutter forced itself back into his mouth, and he had been doing to well too, shit! “I was wondering, if- of maybe you wanted to go check out that new ice cream shop that opened by the beach? I was, uh, meant to go with my brother, but he had plans, and I thought it would be- it would be nice to get to know you. You seem really cool, and confident, and smart- and, and-“

“I’d love to, Ford. You seem pretty cool too. Do you have anything after school or do you just want to go now, it’s not far to the beach if we go through the bush, it’s a beautiful walk too.”

Ford was all smiles and red cheeks as he happily accepted, quickly asking Stan to tell their parents where he went, and assure them he wouldn’t do anything dumb.

The walk was beautiful, and they got to the beach in nearly half the time Fords planned route would have gotten them. He made sure to remember the shortcut.

She never once asked about the fact that he kept his hands firmly in his pockets the whole time. She knew about his fingers, of course she did- the whole school did, though only the bullies really brought it up, he knew that most were aware of his defect. That they, even if they didn’t say it, thought he was weird.

Cathy was different though, she was smart like him, and she didn’t care about his fingers. It was perfect, she was perfect.

It was a short but nice walk down the road to find the little hut with the shiny new ice cream logo, advertising new and classic flavours and all sorts of add ons.

“What are you gonna get?” He asked as they got closer, standing at the back of the short line. Gesturing with his head towards the large sign above the counter with the many flavours displayed.

“Hmmm, not sure, I might be boring and try their vanilla though, it’s one of my favorite flavours.” She replied.

“That’s not boring at all!” He said, “vanilla is a wonderful flavour. You should try the French vanilla, it’s always better than regular, that’s why it’s my favorite flavour besides cotton candy.”

“Cotton candy? Not what I was expecting from you Ford.”

“My brother always said it was a strange choice aswell, but he thinks most of what I do is strange- even when it’s something as simple as studying for a test!”

Cathy laughed, and so did Ford. It was nice.

They got to the front of line line and ordered- Cathy with a waffle cone of French vanilla and Ford with a basic cone of Cotton Candy- and walked towards the beach to enjoy their treats.

The sun was still high in the sky, parents and children ran along the beach laughing and playing as Cathy and Ford talked. Not dressed for water, they stayed back from the waves, but they did end up taking their shoes off to enjoy the warm sand.

Ford, without really noticing, kept one of his fingers somewhat tucked away beneath the rest as he held him cone. Cathy didn’t seem to care about his mutation, but it was habit.

By the time they had finished their ice cream, the sun was nearly beginning to set, and the beach around them was void of people- they had walked past the busiest sections and into the lesser used, quiet areas.

“We should get heading back, my parents want me home by 7,” Cathy said, and Ford nodded his agreement before turning around, “I’m sure my parents feel the same,” he said. They began walking back towards busier areas of the beach.

They continued to speak as they walked, about school, friends, the future, books they liked, whatever came to mind. Ford kept his hands in his pockets again, but Cathy let hers swing freely at her sides.

There was maybe… 10 minutes of walking before they got back to the most popular areas of the beach, when Ford felt suddenly brave.

Cautiously, he pulled his hands from his pocket and brought it to Cathy’s the next time it swung by. Their hands brushed in a silent question.

Without stoping talking, her hand grabbed his. His fingers curled around hers, glad his sudden bravery had payed off, when Cathy suddenly went still beside him.

She looked down at their hands, fingers sliding across his own until she was holding his hand up and in front of her face.

His other hand came up to do- well, he wasn’t sure what exactly, but something- and seeing his other hand, was the straw that broke the camels back, the confirmation that she wasn’t hallucinating.

Dropping his hand, Cathy screamed.

—

A little over an hour later, Stanford stumbled into his brothers bedroom. Stanley was sat on his bed, struggling through over due homework that he hated doing, probably forced by their parents. He looked up at his brother as he entered, a smile on his face, but it fell quickly when he saw him.

Ford met himself fall onto the bed beside him, quickly gathered into a side hug.

“I thought it was going well?

He simply shook his head no.

Later, he would explain what happened. How Cathy had been terrified- probably the only person in the school who hadn’t know about his fingers- and how a kind older woman had heard her scream and came running. She had thought Ford was some predator, assaulting young girls on the beach.

He had booked it, hearing Cathy explaining the situation behind him. He wasn’t sure exactly what she said- if it was positive or negative. He had no idea how she really felt- logically, he knew it was probably just shock- but his heart refused to listen to logic.

Cathy though he was a freak- a monster, just like the rest of him.

It wasn’t the time for all of that though. Now, it was the time to return his brothers hug and to help him with his homework.

Stanley would always be there for him.

[ghoulphile]

sticky fingers | c.h./the ghoul

➥ pairing | cooper howard/the ghoul x f!reader ➥ word count | 4.5k ➥ warning(s) | 🔞 smut; mildly dubious consent, dirty talk, degradation kink, fingering, squirting, rough sex, size kink, standing doggystyle, overstimulation, teasing, choking, dacryphilia, cooper howard is his own warning (he nasty y'all), canon compliant - takes place around ep 7, a grab bag mix of the show and the games ➥ summary | “Lil girls should know it’s rude ta steal.” ➥ notes | i love my men like i love my beef jerky 🫠 i wrote this over 16 fevered hours after finishing the finale. hope you enjoy~ minor edits 4/22/24 | x posted to ao3 | masterlist | feedback is always appreciated ❤️ feel free to send in thots, questions, requests!

It begins, as most things in the Southwest Commonwealth do, with a fight for survival.

City life is tough to be sure, but here on the outskirts of pocket civilizations where there’s nothing but long stretches of desolate wasteland - arid, sunbaked earth and scorched shrubbery - for miles around?

Well, if the ferals, fiends, and super mutants don’t get you in the night, then the desert itself will. During the day the sun burns overhead so nuclear hot, heat glimmers on the horizon in dancing waves.

Unforgiving, relentless as blink-and-you-miss-it mirages are swallowed by ever shifting sands.

It’s easy to get lost.

Even easier to boil alive in your armor if you’re unprepared.

Far too many travelers from the Eastern Commonwealths have met their demise here, where shade is sparse, and water even moreso. The rain - if it does blow in over the mountains - brings rad sickness.

If you’re lucky enough to still be alive, the only reprieve from the heat is in the stooped bones of bombed buildings and ramshackle shacks... where you're just as likely to catch a knife in the back from a chem fried addict as you are relief.

Because here, in the Wastes, danger lurks in sand and shadow alike.

You don’t trek out into the flats half-cocked: a fact all locals know. And if you do decide to? Well, you learn one way or another.

No, only the truly ignorant - or the desperate - dare to tempt man and nature.

Consequently, as you dust off the crumbs from the last half of a Fancy Lads Snack Cake and suck a melted smear of icing from your thumb, you're of the latter half.

You tried holding off for as long as you could. But once the shakes started, you knew you couldn’t put off eating lest you pass out and wake up in a slaver camp.

Well, shit, you think as you rattle a dented canister of purified water. This fucking sucks.

Almost going cross-eyed, your tongue hovers under the rim as you watch the last lazy drop fall free. You catch it with a grimace, smacking your lips. The water tastes metal warm in your sour mouth, barely enough to wet your whistle - let alone your thirst.

You began rationing the last of your supplies days ago, and it’s been a battle against light-headedness ever since. Pretty soon you won’t have the strength to defend yourself, scavving be damned.

Come on. Think - gotta think. What can I scrap for caps?

Not only is Filly more than half a day away, Ma June isn’t one for charity cases. The fact she offered twenty extra caps last time for some burnt books and bent bobby pins was as close as you were ever going to get to a Wasteland miracle.

Sunken cheeks and pleading eyes can only get you so far; everyone’s gotta eat.

"Fuck..." The palms of your hands grind into your eye sockets until you see stars. "FUCK!"

There are two unspoken laws in this otherwise lawless land: steal or starve, live or die. A grim reminder that surrounds you in old bleached bones, empty bullet casings, and scraps of cloth fluttering in the breeze.

Someone always has to be top dog. If you’re lucky, they might be willing to share their spoils.

It’s as you’re considering what pieces of yourself you’re willing to barter that you see them. On the horizon, coming from the west, are two dark blobs.

Stark against the flat plains - a shining beacon of salvation - is a man in a ratty duster and cowboy hat. The saddlebag tossed over his shoulder bounces with his steps while a dog trots beside him, its sable coat rippling with muscle.

Pay dirt.

Making sure to keep low and distant, you stalk them. Watching, waiting for the opportune moment to strike.

When the sun dips low, the sky a swath of pale pink and gold, they make camp at a blown-out Drumlin Diner. Off in the distance, thunder rumbles and sickly clouds gather.

Dark and roiling, acid green; a Radstorm brewing.

Electricity cracks at your skin, stands your hair on end. You scrub your hands over your arms, huddling into yourself for warmth. Meanwhile, the stranger seems to luxuriate in the budding promise of rad rain.

He lounges under an awning, his back pressed against a defunct Nuka Cola fridge. He gazes in the direction of the oncoming weather while mindlessly running his fingers through the dog’s fur as it curls up against his legs.

Occasionally, its ears twitch, and its eyes crack open.

Whenever it glances in your direction, you hold your breath and squeeze your eyes shut but it never gives any other indication that it notices your presence.

A small mercy you’re thankful for.

While you’re a pretty good shot, your body is weak with hunger. Besides, you have quick hands and light feet. There’s no doubt you can stealth your way in and out before he realizes his pack is lighter than he left it.

You’ll only take what you need - not interested in causing any more trouble than is necessary. Some food, maybe something to drink if he can spare it, and something to pawn. Just enough supplies to get you sorted in Filly.

Anyway, he certainly isn’t hurting for it by the look of things.

Any guilt you felt was short-lived when he settled down after dropping his pack inside, walking out with an inhaler of Jet in one hand and a can of Cram in the other.

Watched, greedy, as he cracked it open and picked at the tin of meat with lazy fingers. Salivated as he sucked them clean in between deep pulls of chem.

Soon, you decide, licking your lips as he chews, swallows. Soon.

However when push comes to shove, the stranger proves far more keen than you give him credit for.

The world spins like a hit of Daytripper, a kaleidoscope of color as your skull bounces off the wall with a loud crack. Air rushes from your lungs as something huge - hot and heavy - slams into you from behind.

Pins you against the wall with ease as your ears ring.

Something rattles loose; your teeth too large and your tongue too thick. Warm metal floods your mouth as the side of your face throbs in time with the rabbit fast stutter of your heartbeat.

Pain sparks and your stomach rolls.

"Wha's?" you slur, thoughts dripping like wax. "Wh-at's..."

Meanwhile, a gloved hand lassos around your throat like a collar. Brute fingers squeeze the tender flesh of your jugular until you hear your pulse in your ears. Senses struggling - sluggish to adjust in the encroaching night - as tiny cavities eat at your vision, little pockets of darkness.

“Lil girls should know it’s rude ta steal," a gruff voice mocks. “Betcha thought you was real slick, huh? Tch. You ask me, you’re dumber than shit, Darlin'.”

Trying to regain your bearings, you shake your head only to groan. “I don’t - ‘m not -” It’s difficult to concentrate, a throbbing tempo taking up residence in your temples. The words come slow. “Wha’d you mean?”

He whistles, long and low-pitched, "D’ya have any idea who you're fucking with?"

“N-No…”

“How’s about I show you, then?”

Warm breath puffs over the shell of your ear, a tongue sliding out to trace along the lobe. You jolt, squirming in discomfort as he crowds closer.

“Tasty lil thing like you, wrapped up all nice and pretty just for me." He chuckles. "Why, it must be Christmas.”

What the hell is he talking about?

It’s hard to breathe with his heavy weight suffocating you; the scent of gunpowder and bitter smoke clogging your nostrils with every labored inhale. His lips - ragged - scrape over the nape of your neck.

The grip on your throat squeezes once, twice; leather sticks to your sweaty skin.

You squint your sore eyes, taking in the faint flickers of firelight that spill through the open doorway. The desert chill of night has settled in, creeping through the busted out windows to dig beneath your padded armor.

Thunder rumbles directly overhead as lightning follows in flashes of acid green. It’s only a matter of time before sheets of rain come pouring down; the air sticky with humidity, trembling with energy.

The Radstorm has finally arrived.

You’ll undoubtedly get sick if you leave the shelter of the diner - might even die from it if you can’t afford or find any RadAway. But as the stranger’s chest digs into your shoulders, and the dog curls up in the corner - uncaring of your plight as its nose tucks into the whip-thin tail - you think you’ll take your chances.

Tilting back to glance at him from over your shoulder through damp eyes, you say, “Look--”

Only his hand moves, viper quick, as it slides from the front of your neck to the nape. Strong fingers clamp down like a vice, like scuffing an unruly dog.

He grinds your face into the wall, rough metal shredding your cheek.

You cry out, a soft, pained little thing that echoes through the empty diner.

“Now why’d you gotta go an' make me do that?”

A phantom glimpse told you all you needed to know; broad jaw, thin lips, a hollow nasal ridge, creeping radiation burns and cracked skin. Ghoul.

“Let’s try this again, Sugar.”

His free hand - sans glove - creeps over the curve of your hip to splay along the swell of your belly, fingers tucking up under the hem of your shirt. You shiver at the stroke of roughened skin.

“Don’t take another peep or I might jus' have ta pluck out those pretty eyes of yours.”

Dread pools low in your gut, a leaden ball.

Everything in you screams: RUN, RUN, RUN.

Alarms blare but you freeze. Stare straight ahead at the featureless wall, eyes wide and unseeing. Through the foggy mire of your thoughts - half formed and shapeless - you have enough presence to understand the precarious nature of your position. 

Heart hammering, you plead for mercy, “Please, I’m - I’m sorry.”

"Aw, ain't that real sweet?" He remains impassive, unmoved. "The little thief does got some manners after all."

Without warning, the sharp toe of his cowboy boot kicks apart your feet. In the ensuing empty space between your thighs, his leg slots into place. Spurs dig into the tender meat of your ankle, little kisses of pain, as his hips rut forward against your ass.

You choke on your spit, pulse jumping in your throat.

"H-Hey, that's..." You attempt to shove at any part of him you can reach to no avail. Built and broad with compact muscle, it's like trying to move a brick wall. "I said I was sorry, okay!"

He ignores you, burying his face into the space behind your ear. A deep inhale sounds next to your head, the expansion of his chest against your back so firm you're not sure you won't fuse together.

The whiskey rough groan he releases does wicked things, makes your mind wander to places it shouldn't. Full of grit and gravel as his cock twitches against your backside, a burning line of heat.

A shiver ricochets down your spine.

He grunts, says, "Mm, you smell good enough ta eat."

The cap of his knee nudges up against your clit with a sudden jolt, shocks of pleasure electrifying your body. Tears prick the corners of your eyes, and a sob threatens to scrape its way up from the depths of your throat.

You swallow, mouth desert dry. "Come on, let's just forget all about this, yeah?" you reason. "No harm done. I'll even give you whatever I've got left so - so..."

He makes a noise in the back of his throat, the vibration rattling through your chest. "So?" he prompts, plucking at the waistband of your trousers.

"So let me go?"

"Now why would I go an' do an asinine thing like that?" he replies. "If you think you can buy your freedom, think again, Sweetheart."

Rain pings off the metal roof, the smell of pungent ozone and rusting metal wafting in through busted windows and open doors.

“'Sides,” he pauses to turn your attention outside, “I’d hate ta have you yakin’ before the fun’s even started.”

There’s no way to misconstrue his meaning when he punctuates the statement with a teasing rut of his hips. Those rugged fingers tug open the clasp of your trousers, yank until the material goes slack and pools around your ankles.

“Hey, wait--!”

You jolt, hands scrambling for purchase as he slides his leg against your core. The friction of his pants through your thin cotton underwear makes you ache.

Ripping through your bottom lip, blood beading to the surface, you choke on a high-pitched whimper. "I..."

There's no way he can't feel your reaction.

How quickly you're getting wet as he drags you along the length of his thigh while yanking your hips back into the cradle of his pelvis. You meet him in a slow grind that boils your blood and steals the breath from your lungs.

It’s been - shit - far too long since you’ve felt anything other than hunger, thirst; the animal drive to keep pushing forward.

"You like this, don'tcha?"

You hear the dagger-sharp smile hidden in his words.

He croons, "What would your fellow smoothies think, huh? Here you are lettin’ a ghoul get you all hot n bothered - and you’re lovin’ it. Ain't you?"

You throb in response, heat stealing its way into your cheeks as you turn your head away in shame. His dark chuckle lets you know he felt the squeeze of your thighs, the rock and dip of your hips against his knee.

"I - I don't..." you stutter, struggling for a retort. “I’m not--”

A tremble works its way through your body, crushed as you are between the rad warm burn of his body and the wall. Completely at his mercy as you try to figure out where it all went wrong and what you can do to worm your way out of this one.

Terrified of what'll happen if you stay, terrified of what'll happen if you go; stuck in limbo as what was meant to be a simple grab-and-dash devolved into this confusing cluster of shame and lust.

You loathe the embers of desire kindling to life low in your belly.

"You really outta start bein' more honest, Sweetheart."

A large hand dips beneath the worn band of your underwear, and you wait with baited breath. Helpless as calloused fingertips brush over the swell of your mond.

Your inner thighs are uncomfortably sticky with slick, and your eyes burn in humiliation. Your throat trembles around all the words you want to say.

"Didn't anyone teach you lyin' was bad?" he asks rhetorically as his fingers slip down to play with the swollen bud of your clit, tapping lightly.

You keen, low and wounded.

Short nails dig into your palms as you flex your hands for want of something to grab onto.

“I am being honest,” you bite out through grit teeth. Sweat dapples your furrowed brow. “Just lemme go, please.”

"I find that hard ta believe," he replies. "Sorry to say, but you're shit at lyin'. Just look how hungry your lil cunt is for me."

It’s the only warning you get before those long digits plunge deep inside, two becoming three as they stretch you wide. Hollow you out; knuckles massaging your entrance as the tips prod along the sensitive front wall of your cunt.

You clamp down with a strangled moan. “Shit!”

This is a horrible idea - but it’s been forever and a day since you’ve felt anything other than your own touch.

Whether it be the bone-deep loneliness you’ve been shoving down for months or the sudden, inexplicable need for contact, you long for a reminder that you’re still alive.

That you’re not some wrath of the Wasteland filled with sand and blood, doing whatever it takes to survive in a place that would rather see you fail.

“I - I’m not sure.”

He snorts but offers no council or reassurances, using his free hand to yank at the back of your head in impatience. While it might’ve been a fairer fight if you weren’t in such bad shape, there’s no denying that he’s proven himself to be more adept.

Stronger, quicker.

This is going to happen either way.

And that turns you on - even though you feel like it shouldn’t.

If you give in, if he forces you to give in, it’s not really your fault then, is it? You can enjoy it because you have no choice.

Fuck it, you think, closing your eyes and tilting your head to the side in submission.

Like a doll with cut strings, all the fight drains from your body and you’re left sharing space. The ghoul is a furnace of heat behind you, barely any space to breathe he’s crowded so close.

His cock thickens where it digs into the soft fat of your ass, as large and intimidating as the man himself. “Now stay still for me.”

The or else goes unspoken.

Then he’s stepping away, a rush of cold air filling the empty space at your back.

You shiver, tempted to turn around. Maybe make a run for it. The only thing stopping you is the awareness that his threats aren’t so idle. In your experience, it’s far better to befriend the monster than to anger it.

So you comply, waiting an eternity as your senses strain to pick up on anything other than the murmuring hush of rain, the rumble of thunder, as the Radstorm continues to blow its way through.

Though just when you think he might’ve left, ready to chance moving, you hear the clink of a belt buckle clicking open. The scuff of boots across the linoleum before broad hands shove up under your shirt, scarred palms bare as they settle on your hips.

You tense before forcing yourself to relax.

“You ain’t as stupid as I thought,” he says. “Good girl.”

A test.

You breathe a sigh of relief.

“I can listen,” you mumble, keeping calm as his hands explore the plains of your stomach, pluck at the waistband of your panties. “Promise ‘m not gonna do anything else.”

Learned my lesson the first time. Got my skull cracked open for it.

“That’s what I like ta hear.”

Without warning, your panties are being ripped from you, scraps of fabric fluttering useless to the floor. You squawk in indignation but then a heavy hand settles between your shoulder blades.

He presses down, and you follow without complaint, finding yourself bent in half.

And then the fat head of his cock is right there, teasing at your entrance. He plays with your cunt, slipping the shaft between your wet folds. Dragging up the length of you to tap at your swollen clit.

Jerking in his hold, you whine and try to bear down with all your weight. “Please,” you squirm. “Please, c’mon…”

His grip remains firm, bruising as he exhales next to your ear, a pleased little grumble. “Thatta girl. Now tell me, who’s my pretty lil thief?”

Every hard ridge of his body bites into the softness of yours, your stiff nipples dragging against the rough material of your shirt. Zings of pleasure shoot through you; bursting in your bloodstream, fizzy like warm Nuka Cola.

“I-”

“Go on now, Sweetheart: say it.” Fingers dig into your hips so hard your bones ache. “Or I jus' might be tempted ta take a bite outta your pretty lil backside instead.”

He’s bluffing, you think, half delirious, … Right? He wouldn’t--

You swallow, throat clicking, and squirm against him.

Is that a chance you’re willing to take?

No, no it’s not.

“Y-Yours - I’m - I’m your little thief.”

The unexpected flare of satisfaction in his voice is almost your undoing. A hand pets down your flank, swatting the outside of your thigh playfully.

“Good girl.” He demands, “Say it again.”

Sharp hip bones kick forward against your ass as he lines himself up and starts to bully his way inside.

“I’m - YOURS!”

Your soft, gummy walls flutter, squeeze until giving in with a pop under the hard pressure of the fat head. His cock stretches you out, thick and girthy.

Ridges of scar tissue and patches of rough friction pockmark his shaft, massaging tender places as he fills you up, fucking you open.

He feeds you inch after inch… until he can’t.

“Wait!”

Accommodating his girth is a struggle, your cunt filled to the brim by the time he’s halfway inside. No amount of slick could make him fit, so he makes do with harsh little jerks of his hips. Forces himself deeper and deeper until he glides home nice and smooth, sheathing himself to the base with a sigh of satisfaction.

You clamp down hard with a hiccupy whine, walls furtively trying to push him out. “A-Ah!”

“Goddamn,” he huffs, hands kneading your ass, “You’re a tight fit.”

Tears prick your lash line, your hips shifting as you try to stop him from moving. Begging for a moment of reprieve. You’ve never taken something so big and thick, so textured before.

Coupled with the minimal foreplay, it feels like he’s punched his way through your body. Hollowed you out to make a home for himself.

Pussy aching, a low burning tightness creeps over your lower belly as tender flesh pulses uncomfortably around the unforgiving heft of his cock seated deep inside. You swear you feel him poking your belly button.

“Please,” you pant, heat settling into your cheeks. “J-Just wait a sec-ond! I can’t - oh shit.” 

“Aw, look at you.” Fingers reach around to brush over your cheeks, gather the tears that’ve slipped free. “Didn’t mean ta make you cry,” he lies.

The sound of him sucking his fingers clean reaches your ears. Your stomach swoops, and your clit throbs. Dazed as you wonder what his mouth would feel like on your pussy.

"Hah - too much, you're - fuck - you're too big."

He snickers. “Can’t be helped, I guess.” Body rippling in a shrug, his hands re-settling on your hips. “But that’s all right - I like it better when they cry.”

Before you can retort, he pulls his hips back.

Your toes curl in your boots, feet squeaking across the linoleum floor as your sweaty forehead grinds into the cool metal of the wall. The texture of his shaft burns as it slides through your swollen folds, dragging against sensitive spots you didn’t even know existed.

You can’t tell if it’s the best you’ve ever felt or the worst, but you nearly sob all the same, nerves alight with liquid fire. Want him as deep inside as he can go; a frenzy of desperation that needs him to stuff you so full you choke.

“See for all your whining, you’re takin’ me so well. What did I say about bein' honest?”

You sniffle, blurry eyes creaking open to stare out the window.

Your body throbs in time with your pulse, your pussy so stretched out you can’t clench down when he thrusts in deep. The fat mushroom head teases your cervix, a faint whisper, before he’s drawing back again.

“T-Too fast,” you stutter, head rolling back to rest on his shoulder. Your thighs tremble, knees going soft. “Slow down, slow down.”

“Sh, you can take it. I know you can.”

With a grunt, he surges forward. Wasting no time in starting up a brutal pace that rattles your bones. He drives you hard into the side of the diner; tits crushed and face smashed, a disgusting mixture of tears and drool wetting your cheek.

“Just like that, Sweetheart.”

You do little more than hold on, all thoughts driven from your mind as he fucks you swollen and bruised. Cunt a sticky mess as your slick eases the way, clinging to your inner thighs and dripping down his heavy balls.

Every thrust punches little sounds from you, and he grunts. “Fuck!”

Your hands cling to the sides of his hips, focusing on the shift of muscle beneath heavy fabric. “I can’t,” you slur, eyes cloudy as you glance up into his, gazes meeting for the first time. “Please, I - ah!”

His thrusts turn punishing, even more so than they already were, hips meet your ass with enough force to leave bruises. “What did I say about sneakin' a peek?”

While the words sound threatening, his voice is heated and breathy. For all his talk, he doesn’t look away. In fact, his hips slow into languid rolls, grinding close. When your eyes slide from his, he reaches down to pinch your clit between his fingers.

“Ah, ah, ah,” he chides. “You keep those eyes on me.”

Pretty, you think, dazed.

Glinting in the slants of firelight like wet sand or a Nuka Cola bottle in the sun; bourbon warm as they peer at you from beneath a heavy brow bone.

“That’s it, there’s my good girl."

Eyes fluttering when he flexes his hips in reward, the tip massaging along your g-spot, your mouth drops open on a whine.

“O-Oh! Right there, I - fuck, please don’t stop. ‘m so close.” F-Feels s'good.

His bare hand reaches up to curl around your jaw, gnarled fingers pushing their way past the open circle of your swollen lips. They compress your tongue as they gather saliva, stroking along your tastebuds.

Gritty, rough; he tastes of dirt, blood, and gunpowder.

You sneak a kiss to his scarred knuckle when he pulls free.

“Shit, I’ll be damned. You’re just a nasty lil freak, ain't you?”

You moan in response, stretching up on your tip-toes and arching your hips to change the angle. Your palms rest beside your head, docile.

A crazed grin cracks the corners of his lips, his teeth bared like an animal. “I like that,” he husks. “Now be a peach…”

Then those soaked digits are finding their way between your thighs, ghosting over your skin to smear spit onto your abused clit. The tender bud throbs beneath his fingertips, swollen and begging for attention.

He hitches his hips forward to feel you jerk, pulsing beneath his touch as he resumes a fast, jolting pace that has you smacking into the wall.

“And cum for me.”

A deep rumble escapes his throat, the sloppy, wet sounds of him fucking you ringing loud in your ears. Your hips roll, unsure if you want to press forward into the swirl of his fingers or back into the rut of his cock.

Tears stream down your cheeks, your chest heaving with weak sobs.

“Please,” you whine, his shaft pinching your walls uncomfortably. You feel swollen, rubbed raw. “A-Almost there.”

A nip to the ear is all it takes.

“Hhaah, I’m--!”

The liquid heat that’s been pooling low in your belly - building and building - finally bursts in a gush of slick that soaks his hand. Darkens the crotch of his pants as it drips down your thighs to splash against the tile.

You sob, a full body tremor zipping through you like bottled lightening.

In the aftermath, your cunt twitches in time with your heartbeat. Hands numb and head full of cotton as cramps bloom between your hips. Sharp little stabs shoot up behind your navel.

“Shit, I’ve got myself a gusher,” he laughs, a nasty little smirk tugging at his lips. “Look at the mess you made. Now if you ask real sweet-like, maybe I’ll let you clean it up with your tongue.”

You sag, too boneless to be ashamed as electric aftershocks tingle along your nerves. All the while, his pace never falters, quickly fucking you into overstimulation.

Your clit twitches pathetically when the fat head of his cock drags along your g-spot. "No more," you mumble weakly, letting him maneuver your body how he likes. "Please."

“Heh, let’s see if you can do that again.”

You whimper, “Oh, oh, please n-no. I - I can’t. You’ll break me.”

“That’s real cute,” his lips, harsh and rasping, drag over the shell of your ear, “but I wasn’t askin’.”

The grip on your hips tightens to the point of pain, digging in and marking you up.

“Now, why don’ we have some real fun, Darlin'?”

[azzibueckers5]

i want you to need me (need to want something more)

part 2: in which paige is so up. like so fucking up.

(ao3 link) (part 1) (wc: ~ 8k) (read iwkpa before this series)

cw: sexual content

AN: i hope this fixes the heartache adequately? if not don't let me know I'll cry <3 ummm I wrote the majority of the smut having been up for like 36 hours straight and then edited it after three glasses of wine? so uh good luck— ill go through and edit again in a couple days lmfao but im warningggg you i got really lazy towards the end like. i’m sorry <3333333 also pls suspend your disbelief about the wings theoretically making the playoffs in 2026 cause... whewwwww not looking likely. also this is literally twice as plotless as the last chapter of iwkpa... and three times as nonesensical and ridiculous so just like. keep that in mind. also it wasn't supposed to be this smutty man idk it got away from me. happy day!

+1 october 2026, dallas, texas

paige’s phone finally rings with the familiar ringtone she’s been waiting on for what feels like hours, just as she’s ushering her straggling teammates out of her apartment. she’d hosted a watch party after practice for the final game of the liberty–mystics semifinals, and though she loves her teammates, she’s been subtly (and then entirely unsubtly) trying to kick them out since the final buzzer in dc’s overtime loss. 

nai and lyss had tried valiantly to cheer her up, but not being able to be there for azzi and having to watch her expression crumple through the television screen had been entirely awful and she’d just wanted to sit on the alone couch in silence until her girlfriend called. 

the silver lining of their loss meant that azzi might be able to make it to her semi game tomorrow night, but she puts that thought on the backburner when she answers the facetime, jumping straight into sympathetic girlfriend mode. 

azzi’s already talking on the other side of the line, hammering on angrily about “the fucking shit ass refs” and how it was a “rigged ass fucking game,” and paige fights to keep her smile at just seeing azzi’s face on her screen a secret. post-loss azzi is a force to be reckoned with and she won’t jeopardize putting herself as the target by showing positive emotion.

it seems azzi has skipped being sad about it entirely and jumped straight into being pissed, which is precisely paige’s post game specialty, and she lets her ramble, chiming in here and there with indignant comments on how bad the refs were and agreements with how poor their screens had been. 

azzi had, surprise surprise, played spectacularly, and had unofficially locked in rookie of the year with a 27 point effort, but paige knows the competitive nature of her girlfriend is cut from the same cloth as her own, and her main goal is to try and keep azzi’s anger directed away from her very few mistakes and make sure she doesn’t veer into self-deprecation. 

she’s mostly successful, and by the time azzi leaves the facilities, she’s calmed down enough to let the loss sink in a bit more. when she finally climbs onto the bus that will take them back to the hotel, she seems to relax even further, and lets out a quiet “i miss you.” 

paige’s face softens immediately. “miss you too, az. so bad.”

“booked a flight already for tomorrow morning, but i might not get in early enough to see you before the game.” she says it apologetically, like she’s sorry she can’t charter a flight there herself, and paige smiles a little bit at how in sync they are, how much she can tell they both just want a hug. 

seeing each other four times over a four month span wasn’t exactly conducive to a honeymoon phase, and though they were putting up a valiant effort anyways, she craved azzi’s physical presence more than anything. paige doesn’t think she’d ever been on facetime this much, and that’s including the month before she’d quarantined with the fudds and had been stuck inside all day, on the phone with azzi every millisecond. 

it still isn’t enough, though, and her heart rate speeds up at just the thought of having azzi within arms reach in only a day’s time. 

“s’okay, i’ll play better even just knowing you’re in the stands,” she says, and means it. azzi has always been the best motivator.

“you better. one of us has got to wi-”

“shhhh,” she cuts azzi off, “don’t jinx me.”

“yeah, yeah.” she pauses for a second, just looking at paige through the screen, and then there’s commotion on the other end and she gets distracted for a bit, clearly trying to negotiate seating arrangements. when she turns back, she sighs, “listen, baby, i’m gonna hang up so no one kills me for being on the phone on the bus, but i’ll text you when i get to the hotel.”

paige pouts. “how about you call me when you get to the hotel.”

azzi’s face is soft and knowing when she says “you’re gonna be asleep by the time i get there.”

“nuh-uh,” she claims, fighting a yawn. “gonna wait right here, awake, on the couch till you call.”

azzi just laughs. “if you say so. i’ll see you tomorrow, baby. love you.”

paige hangs up with an i love you too and a smile, and is only a little guilty when she thinks about how excited she is that azzi is coming to dallas tomorrow, instead of having to wait longer for their teams to arrange it.

she wedges herself further into her couch cushions, and puts on a random show, determined to stay true to her word and wait up for azzi’s call. 

she must fall asleep like that, though, nestled into the couch, because she wakes what feels like hours later to the gentle sensation of hands in her hair and the murmur of her name. 

she blinks, disoriented and disbelieving, to the sight of azzi standing above her, looking soft and delightful and angelic. 

paige stares. 

“hi,” the vision before her says, bashful, and paige’s brain suddenly registers that she’s not dreaming and that azzi is in fact, standing in front of her. 

in her living room. in dallas.

she shoots up from her position on the couch to sit up and pull azzi down into a hug, and the brunette sinks into her, pressing her face into paige’s neck like she’s needed the contact just as badly. 

“az, wh- what’re you doing here?” 

her words are slurred into azzi’s shoulder, voice thick with sleep and confusion, and she can feel azzi’s laugh at her bewilderment against her chest, because azzi here. in paige’s arms. 

what.  

“changed my flight, couldn’t wait until tomorrow,” she says, and paige’s heart swells. she doesn’t think she’ll ever get used to hearing azzi say things like that and knowing that she means for them to come across exactly as paige’s heart interprets them. “needed a consolatory cuddle.”

paige just hums and burrows closer, relishing in her presence. “what time s’it.”

“little past three. told you you’d fall asleep.”

paige slides her hands up underneath azzi’s sweatshirt just to feel more of her skin and ignores the opportunity to argue with her about how she’d only fallen asleep because azzi took too long to call, and instead leans back to press a gentle kiss to her mouth. “missed you.”

“mmhm.” azzi knocks their foreheads together in agreement, kisses her again, short and sweet, and then climbs off paige’s lap, ignoring her grumbling protests.

she holds her hand out, waiting, and says “c’mon. more of that after but in your bed.”

and well. paige would be crazy to refuse. 

she latches sleepily onto azzi’s back as they stumble down the hallway, and paige knows azzi has missed her because she doesn’t complain when she stays tucked up against her side throughout their entire nighttime routine– even while they brush their teeth at the same time, knocking elbows– and making the process of getting ready for bed highly inefficient. 

they shed their day clothes simultaneously, and paige bats a t-shirt out of azzi’s hands when she goes to put one on, pressing her now naked front up against azzi’s bare back and running her hands down from her ribs to her hips, grunting in protest at the idea of azzi covering any skin. azzi glares, entirely non-threateningly, over her shoulder.

“s’too late for that. sleep only. save it for tomorrow.”

“yes, ma’am.” she presses a kiss to her shoulder, “just like to feel you.”

azzi melts immediately– score– and when they climb into bed, paige instantly pulls azzi into her arms, relishing in the skin on skin contact and burrowing them under the covers.

she curls closer, trying to crawl inside azzi’s skin, and presses a contented sigh into her shoulder as their legs tangle. “goodnight, rookie of the year azzi fudd.”

her responding giggle is soft and just for paige, and she wants to bottle up the sound and keep it for a day when she’s desperately missing this. “night, p. love you.”

they drift off in seconds, and paige sleeps better than she has in weeks. 

…

when she wakes, a second time, it’s to little rays of sunlight slipping through the cracks in her blinds and the vision of azzi sleeping peacefully next to her, head pillowed on paige’s bicep and face relaxed. 

her heart clenches in her chest at the view and she takes a second to imprint the sight to memory, eyes tracing the slope of azzi’s nose and the birthmark on her jawline and the dark smudge of her lashes. it feels peaceful in a way that waking up first in their dorms in storrs and watching azzi sleep had never been.

aside from the fact that she’s only gotten to wake up next to her a measly four times since july, she also relishes in the security of an azzi that was entirely hers in her arms. 

she’d spent years stirring to the same sight, but never for the reasons paige had so desperately dreamed of, and it was surreal, in a way, to know that she could gently shake azzi awake and kiss her as much as she pleased. 

she’d done just that their first night together, in this very bed. paige had jerked awake before dawn with wet eyes and the crippling fear that she’d dreamed up the entirety of the prior day's events, and even the sight of azzi sleeping steadily beside her hadn’t been enough to stop the racing of her heart. she’d coaxed azzi awake, gently, just to kiss her, to cement it as real, and azzi had caught on immediately to her insecurity, whispering reassurances and apologies into paige’s skin until they’d both drifted off again, appeased. 

paige loves her so much. 

she’d almost forgotten, in the year they’d started referring to as the between, how well they could read each other's thoughts, and she’d missed the intimacy and comfort of just being so wholly understood by someone else. 

they’d slotted right back together as if they’d never been separated, except this time with awesome things like blatant flirting and sex and transparent feelings, and after spending so many years pining after azzi and thinking hopelessly that she’d never have her in the way that she truly wanted, whenever she’s reminded that she does have her, she gets a little bit breathless.

her attention is pulled from her nauseatingly sappy thoughts when azzi begins to stir, blinking awake slowly, and paige watches, enraptured, trying to catalogue every flutter of her eyelashes, every shift of her brow. she opens her eyes briefly, and glances at the way paige is unashamedly observing her, before closing them again and nestling closer, smile growing on her face. 

paige curls the arm azzi’s been using as a pillow tighter around her side, wanting her even closer, and is delightfully reminded by the bare skin of azzi’s lower back that they opted out of clothes the night before. beautiful. past paige was so thoughtful. 

“s’rude to stare, y’know,” azzi mumbles into the skin of her shoulder, eyes still shut. 

paige debates if she wants to be sentimental or annoying in response. being strictly sentimental might have quicker morning sex odds, but why choose one path when you can have both? 

“can’t help it, you’re too beautiful.” her voice comes out raspy in the way she knows azzi loves, and she fights to keep her smirk internal when the brunette’s cheeks flush. incredible. she’s so in there.

azzi pokes her gently in the stomach, yawns (extremely cutely), and says “corny this morning.” 

“s’not corny if it’s true.”

“that just made it doubly as corny.”

“whatever. missed you while we were sleeping.” paige’s grin is wide and pleased, and azzi fights a smile, nose scrunching. paige wants to bite her nose. mornings apparently give her cuteness aggression. 

“how’s that possible when you told me on facetime last week that you dream about me every night.” 

paige brushes a thumb over the smooth skin of azzi’s cheekbone, soft and fond. “s’not the same as the real-life thing.”

azzi rolls her eyes, disbelieving. “alright prince charming.” 

paige flicks her forehead affectionately, and they lapse into a comfortable silence for a minute.

and then azzi makes a point to be a pest and drags her frigid toes up paige’s calf, nudging at the back of her knees, and it’s extremely annoying, and entirely unsexy. 

in an completely unrelated turn of events, heat pools like lava in paige’s core, and her abs clench on instinct. 

azzi laughs, disbelieving and gleeful, and pushes up on her arm a little bit to look down at paige. “there is no way that turned you on.” 

paige has been more or less half turned on since the second azzi got here last night. 

“bruh,” paige turns her face away from azzi in defiance and grunts, “it didn’t.”

“really,” the brunette’s fingers tease down paige’s stomach, and she grins, taunting, when goosebumps erupt across paige’s abdomen. “so you’re saying if i move my hand down-” she drags knuckles lower and ghosts a touch over the apex of her thighs “-here, i won't find you wet?” 

her voice comes out low and intentional, and paige doesn’t know how the mood switched so fast but she’s absolutely not complaining one bit. 

it’s too early to come up with a quick response, so instead paige just surges up to kiss her, tongue slipping in almost immediately, and she shifts azzi fully on top of her when she returns the kiss with the same fervor. 

it’s languid and heated all in one, and paige lets herself bask in the feeling of having azzi on top of her for the first time in weeks, dragging her hands across her back and down to grip her ass, swallowing her moan at the contact. 

“g’morning,” azzi says when they break apart to breathe, smile radiant and achingly beautiful, and paige can feel her own answering grin splitting across her face. 

“excellent, fantastic morning.”

azzi giggles– paige wants to wake up to that sound for the rest of her life– before dragging her mouth down to paige’s neck and trailing kisses down her throat to her collarbone, careful not to leave any marks. this cautiousness must fly out the window when she gets to paige’s tit, however, because she immediately sucks a bruise into the soft skin of her flesh, before continuing on a warpath down across paige’s abdomen. 

she starts at her navel, biting a mark into the muscle of her stomach and pausing to admire, before repeating the process twice more, moving down. by the time she gets to paige’s pelvis, she’s downright dripping, hips twitching against azzi’s arms and begging for contact. 

“azzi, baby, you’re killin’ me,” she slurs, when the younger girl sucks a particularly deep bruise into the meat of her inner thigh, so close to where paige needs her. 

“i’ll get there, be patient,” she says, voice unfairly clear in comparison to paige, eyes dark and teasing. paige has never been particularly patient to begin with, and if she expects her to start now, she’s sorely mistaken.

“need it now, please,” she keens. it seems she’s not above begging this morning, and she’d be embarrassed if it weren’t for how hot the brunettes gaze is, how affected she looks from between paige’s legs.

“need what?” she simpers, the bitch, breath blowing across paige’s cunt in a way that must be intentional. 

paige nearly cries at the ghost of sensation, arching her back in search of more, and whines out “your mouth, please azzi, need it,” hands coming down to tangle in her hair.

it seems azzi is feeling accommodating this morning, because she smiles, bites at the mark she’s just left high on paige’s quad, and then dives in, flattening her tongue immediately and lapping at paige’s dripping center like she’s starving for it. 

and jesus christ, paige is so super not gonna last if she keeps this up. because paige is worked up from the teasing, and from azzi’s general presence, and from the fact that she just slept naked next to her after almost a month of not seeing her. and also the fact that azzi has decided to fucking devour her, hands pressing into paige’s thighs to keep her steady, tongue dragging down to her hole and circling before tracing back up to suck at her clit. 

she repeats that motion several times, before moving down to focus at paige’s cunt, thrusting her tongue inside and letting her nose brush the bundle of nerves above, and. 

and usually, under normal circumstances, paige takes a minimum of ten minutes to come. usually, also, however, paige is not being given the most attentive head of her life, and isn’t coming off a month of being touch starved.

thus, it only takes a few minutes before she’s slurring out  “fuck, azzi m’gonna come fuck,” hips trying to grind up into the younger girls tongue. 

azzi nods, the movement nudging paige’s clit, and breathes out “want you to, please.”

she sounds almost as desperate for it as paige is, like she needs her to come this instant, and this thought combined with another purposeful lick at paige's entrance has her coming with a cry, the world falling away beneath her. 

her vision goes white, hips twitching as her orgasm crashes down onto her, and her legs tighten around azzi’s head. 

but azzi keeps going, flicking her tongue around to trace at paige’s entrance as she spasms, and she whines when paige tugs her off, like she’s actually upset. 

jesus fuck.

if paige hadn’t come literally seconds prior, the sound alone would’ve pushed her off the ledge. 

her whole body is buzzing, limbs lax against the sheets, and she grins lazily down at azzi when her body begins to resume normal functioning. 

“be honest, are you cheating on me?”

“baby, what,” azzi laughs, full and surprised, as she crawls up paige’s stomach and returns to prime kissing range. 

this means that paige has to kiss her for a second, slow and intimate, and she gets distracted by the taste of herself on azzi’s lips and how hot it is to have her in her lap again, nerves still buzzing with her release. 

and then they part for a second, and paige remembers her question. she elaborates,“how did you get better at that. gonna make a girl suspicious.” she pairs this thought with an exaggerated pout for good measure. 

“you’re ridiculous,” azzi says, smiling, trying to lean back down and slot their lips back together, but paige holds her still, stubborn.

“you didn’t deny it.” 

“oh my god. there’s only you, p.” 

“swear?”

“swear,” she says firmly, indulgently, and pairs it with another lingering kiss. 

and then azzi shifts on top of her, but she’s too distracted by her mouth to notice the new placement of azzi’s legs until she grinds down, and paige’s brain shuts off when she realizes that azzi has maneuvered their hips so that their cores are aligned, clits grinding together whenever she rocks down. 

it should be too much sensation– and it is, she’s just come– but she chases the feeling anyways with a strangled cry, feeling her entire body shudder when she realizes what azzi’s goal is.

she wrenches their mouths apart when azzi grinds down again and her head drops back against the pillows. “azzi, fuck,” she moans, and her hips move away from the feeling on instinct, still reeling from her first orgasm. 

“s’it too much?” azzi breathes, and. isn’t that a great question. 

because it is– she’s so sensitive that the pressure of azzi’s hips on her own hurts a little bit– but she doesn’t really want azzi to stop, despite that, so she just chokes out a groan and holds the brunette’s hips above hers for a second, giving herself time to breathe.  

azzi’s kneeling, a little awkwardly, above, and it would be an uncomfortable position to hold steady if it weren’t for the strong muscle of her thighs, flexing a little bit as she hovers, looking like a fucking godess-sex-demon-angel-creature. or something. 

she’s looking down with half-lidded, knowing eyes, and she keeps eye contact as she drags two fingers through the slick at her own core and then grazes paige’s, hips twitching, before mixing their wetness together on her fingers. 

paige watches, in a trance, and her blood gets so hot at the vision that she has to look away for a second to contain herself. 

“fuck, azzi.” 

she doesn’t think she’s said anything but those two words for the past ten minutes. 

“you wanna taste?” she asks, and before paige answers, she’s moving her fingers up to paige’s mouth and asking for entrance and jesus fucking christ. 

paige’s body might ascend to a higher plane

she opens, immediately, and the taste of them mixing together on the pads of azzi’s fingers has her moaning, desperately and without restraint, hips moving up to find azzi’s again despite the sensitivity. she licks at azzi’s two fingers, sucking them further into her mouth and watching the azzi’s expression, her eyes stay transfixed on paige’s mouth. distantly, she appreciates how turned on and wild the other girl looks too, her composure slipping with every movement of paige’s tongue, every meeting of their hips.

“we taste good together?” she asks, voice low, before removing her finger from paige’s mouth to allow her to answer. 

paige can only nod vigorously, though, not sure that she’s capable of words right now considering azzi is trying to kill her. 

the brunette grins wickedly. “wanna taste it.”

she repeats the process from before, dragging her fingers– still damp from paige’s tongue– through her own slick, before sliding them briefly into paige’s entrance. the intentional stroke leaves paige gasping, but she doesn’t get a chance to catch her breath because instead of bringing her fingers to her own mouth, azzi returns to paige’s, pressing them down on her tongue and ensuring their mixed wetness coats her mouth before she’s dipping down to kiss her, hungry and desperate. 

holy fucking shit. 

the action has paige already close to the edge of another orgasm like it’s nothing, hips grinding together and mouths moving messily. she doesn’t know where azzi learned this, doesn’t even want to know, but she just counts her lucky fucking stars that she gets to experience the hottest thing in the universe. 

in an ideal world, paige would wait for azzi to work herself up in tandem with her, would be able to stave off her own orgasm until they could come together. this simply is not possible, however, with how keyed up she already is from getting eaten out, and how hot it is to have azzi moving above her, just as desperate, and the vision of her, fucked out expression and curls bouncing as she grinds their cores together with reckless abandon. 

she grips azzi’s hips to assist her, adding more force to her thrusts, and azzi must be able to tell that she’s close from the noises she’s making– paige has long since stopped paying attention to the string of needy whines coming out of her mouth, too pleasure drunk to care– because she asks, voice desperate, “you gonna come for me again, paige?”

paige keens an affirmative “yeah, gonna come, fuck,” and azzi makes an approving noise in the back of her throat, reaching down to tug at one of paige’s nipples. 

the new sensation, combined with a particularly delicious grind of their hips and the view of azzi’s concentrated, pleasure-ridden expression has paige arching off the bed and coming with a scream, azzi’s name tearing from her throat. 

blood rushes to her ears, muscles spasming, and she tugs azzi off immediately, pulling her up to straddle her abs as paige’s body tries to catch up to the earthquake that just tore through her. 

she’s sure she takes a minute to come down, and when she blinks her eyes open, she’s met with the sight of azzi hovering over her, looking like she’s desperately trying not to grind too hard into paige’s stomach, biting her lip, and the view almost makes her come again on the spot. 

she looks angelic— in a demonic, sinner sort of way? if that’s possible?— curls framing her face, lips bitten raw, a flush spreading down from her cheekbones to her chest. 

“you back with us?” she asks, self satisfied and teasing. which is like. fair, because she’s just absolutely ruined paige, twice, but also. paige needs to even the playing field a little bit. can’t have her getting too big a head. 

there’s a reason paige usually gets her off first– more than just for her own enjoyment of seeing azzi fall apart. because if she doesn’t fuck an orgasm out of the younger, coax out the needy side, she gets an ego like this. paige is determined to fix that. 

she raises an eyebrow and tightens her hold on azzi’s hips in response, before pulling her down so her cunt grinds hard, on the taught skin of paige’s abdomen. 

immediately, she keens, head thrown back, and her hands fly up to her chest to play with her own nipples, fingers tracing the skin of her areola and squeezing. she’s dripping, slick pooling on paige’s stomach, and the feeling of it makes paige dizzy with the desire to get her off.

she keeps her hands rocking azzi down into her stomach and back up, watching the arousal echo across her face and down the rest of her body, and when azzi moans particularly loudly at the feeling of her clit pressing down, paige smirks. “you wanna come, baby?”

azzi keens. “yeah. please.”

paige just hums, and stops the movement entirely, holding her still and relishing in the broken whine that she releases when paige prevents her from grinding down again to get friction. 

she curls her hands behind azzi’s thighs and tugs, almost moaning at the feeling of the strength of her quads and the drag of azzi’s wetness up her navel and in between the valley of her breasts. she looks confused for all of two seconds before realization crashes over her face, and she keens, even before paige tugs her over her mouth. 

she pulls azzi fully over her, gazing at her fluttering cunt, the soft pink just begging for her mouth, and when azzi whines again, waiting, paige listens, settling her over her mouth and immediately getting to work. 

she drags her tongue through her soaked folds, and she feels like a dying man in a desert who’s just found an oasis, moaning at the taste of azzi on her tongue and relishing in the answering moans she can hear above her. 

she sucks at her clit for a few seconds, and smirks into her when azzi’s thighs twitch, before switching to her entrance, tracing slowly and then thrusting in, slick dripping down her chin. 

“please, paige– i need it please– love your mouth so much–” azzi sounds absolutely wrecked above her, and paige thinks that if she could pick the way she dies this would be her choice in a heartbeat: azzi, needy and pliant above her, blissed out expression on her face and moans of paige’s name tumbling from her lips, the muscle of her thighs caging paige in and the taste of her, sharp and sweet, flooding her senses. 

she knows she’s close, can feel it in the tremor of her legs and the grind of her hips and the clench of her walls around her tongue, and when azzi breathes out “so close, please,” and throws her head back, paige drags one of the hands that’s been holding azzi’s thigh to her entrance, curling two fingers immediately into her cunt to press down on her g-spot and sucking at her clit, hard. 

and azzi positively sobs above her, clamping her legs down firmly and cutting off paige’s ability to breathe as she comes, wetness flooding out of her. paige keeps at it, licking her through it, watching as she keeps her head tipped back, fingers still clutching her breast. she looks positively sinful. 

azzi slumps backwards when the last of her orgasm washes away, and paige reaches up to maneuver them into her desired post-sex cuddle position– fronts pressed together and legs tangled. 

it’s a little sweaty, and there’s slick all over paige stomach and thighs, and more on azzi, but they curl into each other anyways, contentment settling deep in their bones. 

“missed that,” she says, pressing a messy kiss to azzi’s forehead, “solid elven out of ten.”

she mumbles “fourteen,” in response and bats at paige’s shoulder lazily, somehow pressing even closer, and paige laughs softly at how needy azzi always gets after sex, wanting to be practically inside paige’s skin. she’s never once minded, knows with certainty she never will. 

she wonders if there will ever be a time when she gets used to the sex– both how good it is, always, and just how unreal it feels to have azzi like that, under her or above her but always wholly paige’s. 

she doubts it. 

she thinks that if she had to pick a moment to hold on to forever it would be this one, them tangled together, skin on skin, just basking in the warmth of each other, and the intimacy of it makes her feel light headed in the best way possible.

they doze for a bit, sun casting shadows through the blinds over azzi’s back and making her look holy in the morning light. 

azzi starts drawing lines, softly, over her stomach at one point, and paige glances down at where her fingers are tracing the marks she’d left on paige’s abdomen and then back to azzi’s self satisfied face. “possessive, hmm?’

“yeah,” she breathes, and then presses down on the biggest one. “mine.” 

and. well. paige is wet again. 

she rolls her eyes a little bit at azzi’s conviction, like she has the need to scare everyone else off, which is absurd. “been yours since we were, like, sixteen.”

“yeah.” azzi smiles and nips paige’s shoulder. “been yours too, y’know. even if i didn’t know the depth of it.” she laughs a little before continuing, “used to get so fucking jealous when you would flirt with girls in front of me, but i convinced myself it was cause they didn’t deserve you.” 

“yeah?” paige grins, wide and happy, something settling in her stomach at the idea that azzi had been just as possessive as her in college even if she didn’t know why. 

azzi nods in paige’s shoulder. “mmhm. i was so stupid. teenage paige was much smarter, should’ve just listened to her.”

“maybe, maybe not. she was a little overeager,” paige says, wistfully. her sixteen year old self had thought they’d be locked in by the time they were twenty, probably would’ve, like, proposed by twenty-two. she’d definitely be a little disbelieving at how long it took them to get here, but she’d think it was all worth it if paige gave her the details. especially if she emphasized how pretty azzi sounds sitting on paige’s face. 

azzi breathes out a laugh, seemingly agreeing. “true. it’s probably a little soon to be married with like, seven kids which is i’m guessing what we’d be according to her life plans.” 

she says it so casually, like the thought of marrying paige, having kids with her, isn’t some ridiculous idea but instead a given. as if it was obviously part of their future one way or another. paige’s heart flutters sickeningly in her chest. 

her grin is a little soft on her face when she asks “yeah? gonna let me put a ring on you?”  and it’s supposed to be teasing but she just sounds entirely soft and hopeful. whatever. 

“yeah,” azzi smiles radiantly right back. “if the ring’s big enough, probably,” she adds airly. 

paige laughs, bright and disbelieving. “liar. you wanna marry me so bad.” she basks in the thoughts of their future, giddy. “an’ imma put at least seven kids in you, mama. prolly more.”

azzi hums happily in agreement. “i’m maxing you out at ten.” 

“so we can run five on fives?”

“exactly.” 

they sit in contented silence for a minute, and paige lets herself revel in the future that azzi is laying in front of them as the other girl curls closer, hiding her face from the blonde. 

“speaking of like- putting a baby in me,” azzi starts, and paige’s ears perk up. this promises to be a delightful sentence. 

she fiddles with paige’s fingers and stays buried in her shoulder, shy. “could we maybe- if you like- if you like wanted- maybewecouldgetastrap.”

the last part comes out jumbled together, and it takes a second for paige to process. and then.

her brain whites out. 

wow her life was awesome. like so, so awesome. 

despite the fact she just came, twice mind you, heat pools immediately in her core, and she feels a little lightheaded from the idea. her imagination is having one of its best days in a while. oscar worthy film productions are being written. 

they are so having sex again before they get up. 

a slow, obscene grin drifts across her face. “azzi fudd, you’re filthy.”

“whatever. your hips just twitched.” she burrows further into paige’s neck.

“i’m ordering one as soon as we get out of bed,” paige agrees, and then, just to be annoying, “gonna get a neon green one for the wings.” 

“absolutely not,” comes azzi’s indignant response, though paige can feel the smile against her skin.

she gasps in mock offense and rolls them over so she can look down at azzi’s wonderful, flushed face beneath her. she pouts.  “you sayin’ you won’t love our children if they turn out a little green? i can’t help what i am.”

it says something about how sickeningly in love she is, probably, that they’re discussing sex toys and she’s focussed on the thought of how endearing it would be to have imaginary little green alien kids of theirs running around. whatever.

azzi rolls her eyes, affection seeping out of her pores. “i’m saying that if you come anywhere near me with a chartreuse dick i’m calling the police.”

paige is sure her grin is enormous. “yeah, baby? what’re you gonna tell ‘em– that your incredibly hot girlfriend wants to fu-”

azzi cuts her off with a kiss. “shut the fuck up.”

they absolutely have sex again before they get up. 

…

paige has to be at the practice facilities at one, so they eventually drag themselves out of bed around eleven, the blonde grumbling the entire time about leaving the warmth of her comforter. 

they bicker in the shower over where they should go on vacation during the offseason (they settle on azzi’s idea, hawaii, because paige relents immediately when she mentions the word bikini), argue about how many vegetables azzi puts in paige’s omelet while they’re cooking (“you need nutrients, paige, they’ll make your muscles stronger.” “you seemed to think my muscles were plenty impressive earlier, given the bite marks on my abs.” “just shut the fuck up and eat your eggs.”), and fight over who has to sit on the rickety bar stool while they eat (they compromise with azzi on paige’s lap on the good stool, and only feel half as ridiculous as they should.)

it's the best morning paige has had in quite some time. 

and then azzi drops her at the facilities, driving paige's car, with a lingering kiss over the console and a “love you, baby, gonna kill it,” before promising to go grocery shopping and stock up on even more vegetables to torment paige with, and she could cry at the domesticity. 

she doesn’t, but. it's a near thing. 

she walks into their shoot around with the most lovesick smile on her face, feeling like she’s floating on air.

the aces won’t know what hit ‘em. 

…

the game is physical in the way only the knockout game of a playoff series can be– elbows jabbing with a little more force than usual and boxing out more aggressively than strictly necessary. paige is expecting this, is prepared for this, and even knocks in her own unusually rough shoulder bump when an aces player throws too much weight behind a screen. 

it’s a close but winnable game by the time the fourth quarter rolls around, and paige can taste the championship finals. she’s proud of her efforts, 21 points overall and 12 from the three. (she always shoots threes a little better when azzi is near, like her impeccable form rubs off on paige).

the wings start really trailing away after a three from maddy puts them up by 9 with four minutes remaining, and las vegas goes from physical to downright reckless, trying to do anything to get a block, a steal, some points. 

young gets the ball to start the aces next play, and paige narrows in to guard her, aware that there’s a screen incoming. it still catches her off guard, however, when a player– she can’t even tell who it happens so fast– collides with her back and gets tangled with paige’s already moving body, somehow catching on her jersey and sending them both tumbling, hard, to the ground. 

paige lands smack on her back, head thumping against the floor, and she takes a second to evaluate the damage. her head is throbbing, dull ache already spreading through her skull, but her limbs seem to be relatively fine, and her jersey is rucked up high on her chest somehow from how the aces player– whose identity is still a mystery to paige and who is lying in a heap a foot away. she covers her face with her hands in an attempt to block out the noise of the crowd and decipher if this feels like a minor annoyance type of injury or a big fuck up. 

nothing seems broken, which is good. 

a little deliriously, she wonders if maybe this clip will go viral, what with her abs being out and her head tipped back in pain. is that weird to be thinking about? she doesn’t really care. 

when she establishes that she’s pretty sure she doesn’t have a concussion, she widens the fingers over her eyes and peeks up at the circle of teammates around her. 

she’s expecting to see some concerned looks, considering she just fell pretty hard and might have hit her head, which is why she’s bewildered by their smirks of amusement, and only a few concerned comments.

“you okay there, lil’ paigey?” says nai, who’s squatting to her left, positively gleeful, and instead of gesturing at her head, like a good, concerned teammate, pokes paige in the stomach, laughing. 

“bruh, what the fuck,” she grits out, and covers her eyes fully with her hands again. maybe if she acts more injured, dijonai will stop being so annoying. 

but even maddy, usually a little more motherly in that regard, looks at paige a little funny when she asks sympathetically, “how bad does your head hurt?”

before she can respond, jj piles on immediately with shit eating grin on her face, saying “her head or her stomach,” and paige finally sits up enough to glance down in confusion. 

distantly, she hears nai say “we should ask azzi,” but she’s too busy looking at the unmistakable trail of marks starting from her navel and sensually trailing down past her waistband from where azzi had been focussed this morning. 

and ohmygod. 

paige now understands why everyone is trying not to laugh at her. 

she jerks her head back up in panic, frantically shoving her jersey back down across her stomach, and generally contemplates how bad it would be to try and hang herself from the basketball hoop. 

jesus fuck she is going to kill herself. 

the hickies were, like, so extremely visible. to everyone. for at least fifteen seconds.

to like. the entire arena probably. and the millions of people watching on tv–

“i don’t- um. it’s not,” she stutters, hands trying to shove her jersey back into the waistband of her shorts while still sitting, eyes wide and cheeks burning. 

this might be the most embarrassing thing that’s ever happened to her. probably. 

azzi is going to murder her. 

the medical staff crowd in just as arike whistles out a low “she claimed yo ass reallll nice huh, paigey. gotchu all marked up.” fucking bitch. 

and paige has no response, couldn’t even give one if she wanted to anyways because their trainer is helping her onto her feet, and grilling her about her fall. 

she actually thinks she might collapse from the humiliation. 

her ears and cheeks are probably redder than a tomato. 

as the medical staff usher her over the bench to get her evaluated, she glances involuntarily over to where her family and friends are sitting courtside. nika and kk are on either side of azzi absolutely cracking up, and surely saying something exceedingly inappropriate, while azzi stands in the middle, hands over her face. 

awesome awesome awesome. 

it's not like they’d been trying to hide their relationship– it’d be kind of hard to come up with excuses as to why they’d been spotted flying to random cities just to get less than 24 hours together and posting random funny anecdotes from their time together on social media– but this is a level of out there that was sort of undeniable if you were paying attention. it was quite clear that someone had given paige those marks– she supposed a cupping excuse wasn’t going to cut it– and it wouldn’t be hard to put the pieces together on who that had been, especially given the fact that azzi had been spotted in the dallas airport the night before. the plausible deniability of the nature of their relationship had sort of just crumbled into nothing.

cool cool cool cool cool. 

like azzi can feel her eyes from across the court, she lifts her hands for a second and makes eye contact with paige. her cheeks are crimson, concern and embarrassment warring across her face and eyes wide like she can’t believe that's just happened, and yet. 

she looks like the prettiest girl in the arena, prettiest girl in the world. 

and paige can’t help the lopsided, guilty grin that spreads across her face. she’s sure this will be clipped a million times, but she doesn’t even care because the embarrassment is sort of fading away. 

because everyone with half a brain cell now knows that paige definitely belongs to azzi fudd. and that’s the best thing she’s ever accomplished– certainly not something to be ashamed of– and. whatever. let people talk. 

paige can see azzi roll her eyes from all the way in her spot on the sidelines, and her smile only grows, pleased and unabashed, and then turns to give the poor trainer her full attention. 

the short rest of the game involves paige enduring a litany of comments from the bench while trying to convince the training staff and coach to let her back in, insisting that she’s not concussed. she’s unsuccessful, but the wings pull off the win anyways, and then she gets to bask in the glory of a trip to the league championship, which is fucking awesome.

she breezes through the post game handshakes and celebration with her head held high, humoring the comments about making sure she ices her head and her stomach, and simply sits with the euphoria of winning the series. 

when her friends and family are finally allowed onto the court, she’s still sweating, confetti sticking to her jersey and grin wide across her face as she catches drew when he leaps into her arms. 

“you and azzi are nasty,” he says, instead of congratulating her. of course. brotherly love in all its wonderful glory.

“bruh shut up,” she says, shoving him off with a hand to his forehead. “fuck outta here.” 

he just cackles maniacally, and runs off, surely going to find dijonai, his favorite. 

and then azzi herself is in front of paige, smiling small and proud, a little sheepish. 

paige’s grin turns impossibly fond, a little cocky. “hey there, baby.”

“hi,” she says, eyes furtively looking around to see who’s paying attention to them. she must either not realize that the answer to that is everyone or decide she doesn’t care, because she brings a hand up to paige’s cheek and asks earnestly, “you okay? it's not a concussion, right?”

paige smiles at the concern- it's ridiculous how a simple gesture like that can make her cheeks flush– and shakes her head. “nah, we chillin’. you can still kiss it better though.”

azzi just groans, and pulls the older girl in for a hug. “bro. imma kill myself. or you. haven’t decided which yet.”

“nooooo,” she drags out, wrapping her arms tighter around azzi’s back and pulling her closer. “don’t do that, i like you possessive. gotta make sure everyone knows i won jus’ for you.”

azzi huffs, sending goosebumps skittering across the skin of paige’s shoulder, and pokes paige’s side. “makin’ it real hard to want to congratulate you.”

paige grins into her shoulder. “you gonna let me kiss you as a prize since everybody knows i’m yours now?”

“no,” azzi whines, emphatically, and then hums like she’s reconsidering, smile pressed into her skin, and paige knows she doesn’t really care that everyone will be in their business now either, can feel the humiliation in azzi falling away. “beat the liberty for me and i’ll think about it.”

as motivators go, it’s a fairly good one. 

(the wings do not win the championship, and it’s a heartbreaking, well fought loss, but azzi kisses her anyways– wet cheeks and cameras around them be damned– and as consolation prizes go, it’s pretty up there. paige promises sweetly that they’ll win it the following year against the mystics and gets an elbow in the stomach as retaliation.)

(a clip of that interaction goes almost as viral as the tv clip of paige’s fall in the semis: her, getting dragged to the floor by her jersey and immediately covering her face in pain, the hickies ridiculously visible to the camera, and carrying an undeniable insinuation. the broadcast must desperately want to change the stream to a less graphic display because they immediately switch it to the camera view of paige’s family and friends, who begin to realize what’s on paige’s abdomen and who immediately turn to azzi in amused disbelief. the announcers stumble through a comical explanation of the people in frame, and one laughs when the other says and that is azzi fudd, probable rookie of the year for the mystics and paige bueckers’ uh. close friend.)(it's not the worst thing that’s ever been part of paige’s digital footprint, even if her mother disagrees.)

AN: badda bing badda boom. such concludes this journey fr fr fr this time. this was ridiculous I'm. deeply sorry if you wanted plot. if you give me a comment/ask/anything I will personally kiss you on the mouth I'm so serious they make me so happy and motivate me so much. ily for reading <333333 ok bye

[freakingholland]

freakingholland's batboys headcanons part 2

dates and love languages edition!

A/N: hi cuties, here's another portion of my headcanons, please let me know if you want more! And as always - please let me know what you think about those! Also a disclaimer - I think all languages of love would apply but I thought it would be more fun to focus on 2 per person. Additional info! I have a dc event going on so if you want to request something now is the perfect time - post here :) Stay whelmed xx

questions/ideas here! - rules here my AO3 archive is here If you enjoyed my work: Ko-fi.com/freakinghollandmasterlist masterlist

Dick Grayson - quality time and acts of service

Loves going out on fancy dates, but his preferred dates are the stay-in ones. It’s more convenient and less energy-consuming but can be just as fun as being out and about.

He likes to order food, not because you both are too lazy to prepare it, but because it takes time. Sometimes it’s junk food, sometimes it’s proper meals from your favourite restaurant.

Most likely to bring home flowers just cause. Doesn’t matter if he’s running late from work, if he’s tired, absolute definition of if he wanted to he would!!!

Makes sure to buy plenty of snacks and drinks prior to the date night. Doesn’t spare money on food, dude’s got a proper appetite.

Usually wants to watch a movie, 90% of the time it just plays the role of a background noise (sometimes sleep just happens to take over entirely).

Loves catching up with you, likes to gossip as long as it’s not too derogatory.

Likes playing video games like it takes two, overcooked, stardew valley. Will watch youtube videos on games as well as streamers on twitch.

If the apartment is clean enough and you’re not expecting visitors he will propose doing a blanket tent. If your apartment could use cleaning then it’s a productive date aka cleaning night with music (beware he’ll deffo do a cartwheel in the living room).

Jason Todd - quality time and gifting

Jason loves going out on fancy dates. He likes the anticipation and more or less meticulous preparations for such dates. Genuinely enjoys watching you get ready and just chatting about everything and anything. Demands mirror pics before leaving.

It doesn’t matter what kind of entertainment you choose, he is willing to spend any money when it comes to having quality time together (not that other guys wouldn’t, it’s just Jason puts the most pressure on it). Cinema? Theatre? Going to a formal ball? Just tell him what you want to do (if you don’t he’ll make you talk).

If the date doesn’t extend to later-ish night time, he proposes the idea of making shopping stops along the way back home. His favorite stop Is definitely a book store (I know I know cliché but it’s fun to go to book stores isn’t it? Come on we’re all readers here! Doesn’t complain about going to drugstores or second-hands.

He has a favourite bakery with diabetic-friendly desserts (I hc Jay as a diabetic as I’ve mentioned here and here!). If you end up having a date at your own place he will bake something offbeat.

If you don’t feel like going out he will gladly snuggle with you and read a book. He just wants to be in the same room as you.

Have you seen that tiktok trend of eye-colored bracelets? Will buy materials for that and make them on a lazy night.

Tim Drake - quality time and physical touch

I feel like Tim is very much a fifty-fifty guy date types wise, totally depends on your energy levels. That aside he gives off major out-of-town weekend getaway type of vibes. 2 days off? Why not visit Paris?

He feels mentally supported by you and thus tends to plan little trips every couple of weeks to show his support. Sometimes it’s sightseeing in London for 3 days and sometimes it’s a trip to a hotel with a spa visit for an hour or two.

He realises how caught up and locked in with work he can be at times and feels guilty. When you go somewhere his devices are off (not entirely - for safety reasons).

Wants to hold hands every-freaking-where. If you’re not holding hands his palm is either on your thigh when sitting or draped over your shoulder. I don’t think you understand, he’s like a flypaper - I mean it!

If you end up having a date at home he would want to do some work here and there. Would need proper convincing to shove work aside – but it’s not impossible. It’s hard to resist snuggles with your partner when you’re hella tired.

Will whip out a board game for two. If it’s not strictly a date night will host a game night with the rest of the fam at your place.

[lgbtlunaverse]

heads- up: someone is taking jc-centric fics and turning them into jc-bashing wangxian fics

I don't usually like to bring twitter drama over to tumblr but since the perpetrator in this case explicitly said they do this ON TUMBLR I felt it was pertinent to do so.

Today user DyuaLan on twitter, aka @jiaoji on tumblr, publically bragged about finding chengxian, xicheng, and zhanzheng fics and changing the names to make them wangxian fics with jiang cheng bashing.

When authors (understandably) reacted to this by blocking them, they boasted about still having 15 stolen fics in their drafts on top of the ones they've already posted.

And that they do all of this stuff on tumblr anyway, not twitter

If you have written any kind of Jiang Cheng ships, or Jiang Cheng-centric fic in general, and are not a fan of your work being stolen, it's in your best interest to block them.

They also said that they block everyone they steal from. Though if you go to the blog now and are blocked, please don't panic, that might just be for fanwar reasons.

Here's proof that DyuaLan is in fact the same person as Jiaoji:

(@jiaoji and @jiaoji2 lead to the same blog, it was probably called this because they at some point lost access/moved from their previous blog @jiao-ji)

And here jiaoji is bragging on their tumblr about feeling too lazy to even rewrite someone else's work

Their ao3 is "Jiao_ji" where they have 16 works total, most of which are in portuguese, making it harder to verify which ones are stolen, as a lot of their "sources" are probably in english. (Most of the fics they have written on tumblr itself are also in english) They also have a wattpad account with the url "Dilf_ji"

As a bonus here they are 2 years ago whining about zhancheng authors blocking them because it means they can no longer steal their fics, this has been going on for a while.

And talking a bit more about stealing from chengxian and zhancheng authors:

While I haven't written any jiang cheng ships, I am a fic writer, and I know the work that goes into it. I can work on a single oneshot for months on end. So this kind of attitude, where if you hate a ship the author's work is just free for the taking, is appaling to me. Inspiration is normal, fandom is inherently transformative. Hell, ao3 has a "works inspired by" function for exactly that. But wholesale lifting someone's else's writing, only changing the ship and adding salt about a character you hate? Yeah, no. "Character bashing" fics aren't my cup of tea in the first place, but if you're going to do it, at least have the decency to write the damn things yourself.

I don't like doing callouts, so while I know that I can't really control anyone else's actions, I want to say for my own peace of mind... please just block this person. I don't wanna cause even more discourse. Remember: you don't feed trolls. I posted this because i think writers deserve to be warned when someone is maliciously stealing and editing their work, not to instigate harassment.

[copper-16]

Hothead

Jule gets injured, and Lena tries to deal with her worry on top of the fact that she's still trying to keep it a secret that she's hopelessly in love with her best friend.

Luckily for her? Someone happens to feel the exact same way.

(a/n: Someone asked me MONTHS ago to write this...and well I'm like 6 months late but better late than never I suppose! Also I started writing this when Feli was still at Wolfsburg so she's still at Wolfsburg for the sake of I was too lazy to change what I had already written, take it or leave it.

I love getting to write Obi...so much. Like SO much! So much that I actually didn't edit this at all I just scrolled over it really fast and said MEH it's probably good to post (so sorry if there are mistakes). Also this is cross posted from ao3 because I'm pretty sure the request was sent on here, if I remember correctly. But anywho, enjoy!)

It was a dirty foul. 

It was a really dirty foul, in fact, and pretty much all of the Wolfsburg girls are ready to throw hands when they see what has occurred. 

Jule had been taking the ball up the right side of the pitch after Obi had sent her a lovely little long ball, when the Werder Bremen defender had gone right for her ankle instead of the ball. It was a crunching tackle, a dangerous and thoughtless one from the Werder player, and it sent the blonde winger tumbling to the ground with a cry of pain. 

It was late in the game, they were up by one goal anyways, but as soon as Jule was hitting the ground, all hell broke loose. The Wolfsburg players were immediately going for the Werder defender who dared to hurt their golden girl, none leading the charge more than Lena. 

The brunette was halfway across the field from Jule when she went down, but suddenly Lena was right next to Jule as she pressed her face into the grass, her ankle ringing with pain. 

“Jule? Are you okay, should I get the medic?” Lena asks softly, her face close to Jule’s. The blonde can smell the patchouli and ylang-ylang of her perfume, and the way that Obi tugs her kit down from where it had ridden up before she placed her hand gently on the wingers back. 

Jule hated the medic. She hated going down, didn’t want to hog attention away from the others, stop play, or force a substitution to be made unless it was absolutely necessary. 

But the pain in her ankle isn’t subsiding in the way it should be, and she knows that she won’t be able to walk it off like she normally should. The blonde screwed her eyes shut in frustration as she nodded, moving to turn over on her side and eventually back as Lena began to flag down the team medic. 

Which of course, happened to be the exact same time that the Werder defender decided to open her mouth, her words callous and unkind. 

“Oh Jesus, why is she being such a baby? She’s fine, I hardly touched her,” the defender scoffed, and here’s the thing. 

Lena knew that she had a reputation for how easily she found herself in the middle of a fight. It was a fair one, she knew that. The midfielder was the one most likely in her team to be found arguing with the referee, or to get into some sort of a brawl with another player, or something of the sort. 

But her hot headedness in general paled in comparison to any sort of reaction that she had when it involved her blonde teammate. 

It was a known fact at Wolfsburg that Lena and Jule just had an inexplicably close relationship. Ever since the winger had joined the German side, her and the midfielder had been completely inseparable. 

For the older women in the team, the writing is on the wall, clear as day. But Jule is rather oblivious to the fact that her best friend is hopelessly in love with her. She would never imagine that Lena would actually reciprocate what she told herself was a silly little crush. 

But it wasn’t just that, for either side. 

Jule was gentle, maybe not always on the pitch but she was known for being incredibly sweet. Lena wasn’t exactly known for her saccharine like personality, but her and Jule just always seemed to work together. The midfielder was fiercely protective of the younger girl, whether that be batting away creepy men at clubs or making sure that she had eaten that day. It was the fact that they were complete opposites that seemed to make them work so well together, totally balancing one another out. Jule had this uncanny ability to calm Lena down, no matter what was occurring, whether it be in a game or when they are getting too competitive playing a board game with teammates. And in kind, Lena makes sure that Jule isn’t stepped on or bothered by anyone around her. 

So for someone to say something like, something that is so blatantly rude and careless, all of the Wolfsburg girls were immediately turning to Lena, knowing what was about to happen. 

“Oh you absolute BITCH–” Lena started as she turned toward the woman in a second, and she would have slammed right into her if it wasn’t for Feli, who wrapped her arms around the brunette at the last second and pulled her away. 

“Not helping right now Miss Hothead,” Feli grunted out as she hauled Lena back with everything in her, the midfielder still practically snarling at the woman as she strained against her teammate heavily. 

“Lena?” 

The brunette turns on a dime at the sound of her name being called softly by the winger, and Feli nearly falls over at how quickly the midfielder moves away from her, completely abandoning her course of action in favor of turning toward Jule. It wasn’t very often that Jule used her real name as opposed to calling her Obi like the other girls, but when she did, the brown eyed girl knew to pay attention. 

The blonde didn’t actually need the midfielder, but she knew that Lena was on the cusp of a yellow card, and the last thing she wanted to do was turn this into a card party, especially not when Lena had managed to make it through nearly the whole game without one. 

“Are you alright?” Lena asked as she knelt down next to the winger, the anger wiped from her face in favor of a kinder, softer expression, the kind that was only reserved for Jule, and Jule alone. 

Her eyebrows were knit together lightly, her head tilted to the side in worry as she looked down at her teammate, who shook her head slightly. 

“It's a bad sprain or a possibly fracture,” Jule explained, parroting what the medic had told her as he nodded along. Lena hated the fact that she could tell Jule was trying not to cry, and it made her equal parts sad and murderously mad at the defender for causing the blonde to hurt this much. 

“Help me up?” the blonde asked, breaking Lena out of her train of thought as she nodded. But the German midfielder was more than a little panicked, staring down at Jule who was looking at her with big, misty eyes, and clutching at her ankle. 

The brunette hardly even thought about it, she simply acted. She didn’t think about the setting or the consequence, but rather on what was right in front of her. 

The older girl reached down, hooking her arms around Jule’s back and under her knee, and lifting her into the air with a slightly scary lack of effort. Suddenly the blonde’s face was right in front of her own, and Obi could stare directly into the wingers eyes. 

(Behind them stood Ewa, Alex, and Feli who, alongside thousands of fans, all but had their jaws on the ground) 

But Lena isn’t focused on that, but rather the way Jule is looking at her, her eyebrows pulled together in concern. The wingers face is red, if not from exertion than from this interaction, and the midfielder can see the baby hairs that have loosened from her ponytail and frame her face. 

“Obi?” Jule asked, her voice very soft, only loud enough for the brunette to hear. 

“Yes?” She replied instantly, her heart jumping into her throat. 

Sometimes Lena had these…moments with Jule, where she thought maybe it was possible that the other girl felt just as strongly as she did. 

“I can walk…I–I need to walk off the pitch,” Jule said, louder this time, and Lena startled at her words, despite still holding the blonde safely in her arms. 

The moment popped like a needle, and the brunette flushed an even deeper shade of red at the realization that she was definitely just kidding herself. 

It simply wasn’t possible that Jule felt the same for her as she did.

“Right! Yes, well, here we are,” Lena said quickly very carefully lowering Jule to the ground and waiting for the medic to 

Which left their teammates to watch the whole interaction, Alex, Ewa, and Feli still standing in a line as they looked back and forth between the winger and midfielder. 

“Did she just–” Alex started, her voice incredulous as she was cut off. 

“Yes.” Ewa says, never one to mince words. 

“In the middle of a–” Feli tried this time, faltering when the Polish forward answered yet again. 

“Yep.” The striker said again, and the three women were stuck standing there in amazement at what had just occurred. 

“Hopeless lovesick idiots, the both of them!” Lynn whisper shouted as she walked past the trio from just behind them, her hand cupped over her mouth as though she was trying to be sly, despite the volume of her voice. 

But neither Jule nor Lena heard their scheming teammates, both of them too focused on trying to get the winger off the pitch to be paying attention to their teammates. Obi helped Jule to wrap her arms around the shoulders of the medic as she hobbled off the field, Vivien taking her place on the pitch. 

Lena doesn’t bother looking toward her coach, she knows that she won’t get a sub out, not this late in the game. But her heart isn’t really in it anymore, it’s back in the medical room where she knows that Jule is, probably getting an x-ray or something of the sort. 

Not that it really matters though. Jule’s injury has sucked the energy out of the match as quickly as it had come, and it ends up being a passing game for Wolfsburg for the remaining few minutes of the game. 

Meanwhile, Jule had just gotten situated on a bed in the medical room when Svenja had burst in the doors, her eyes searching for and immediately finding the blonde winger. The older woman hadn’t been playing, had only been sitting on the bench when Jule had gone down, and had instantly gone to get permission to go check on the younger German. 

It wasn’t news to anyone that Svenja was absolutely the team Mom of the group, now even more so because she was an actual Mom. But she always made it her mission to look out for the younger girls, in whatever way she could. 

Like when they got hurt, and she knew that they would likely be stressed and in pain. Jule can’t help the relief that washed over her when the door swung open to reveal Svenja, her eyes watering. 

“Hey kid,” the forward soothed gently as she came to stand next to Jule, who swallowed thickly as she did her best to offer a smile, even if it came out as more of a grimace than anything else. It was Svenja who sat with her for the next twenty minutes as they ran more tests, brought in a portable x-ray machine, determining that it was a small fracture in her ankle. It was minor, she would likely be out for the next four weeks and in a boot, but it meant that she wouldn’t have to have surgery, which of course was good news. 

The doctors had just given her a boot to wear as well as some crutches, slipping out of the room and leaving Jule to get down from the table, when they first heard it. 

At first glance, it sounded like a commotion in the hallways, and Jule thought that maybe it was the girls celebrating the win. 

But it only took a second for her to realize that was in fact not the case. It’s Obi’s voice that she hears, high and shrill. The midfielder sounds beyond stressed and panicked, and Jule feels her eyebrows furrow in concern at the noise. 

“Where is sh–” Obi cuts herself off when she all but busts open the door to the med room, Feli hot on her heels. 

“Jule!” the midfielder exclaims, her eyes widening as she realized that she had found the winger. 

“Jesus, did we have to sprint the whole way?” Feli pants, following Obi into the room with sarcasm dripping from her tone. Svenja forces down a chuckle but Lena doesn’t even bother paying her any mind, her eyes wild with concern. 

“Are you okay? What did the doctor say? Is everything alright? Do you need–” Lena started, only for Svenja to very quickly cut her off, sensing that the German midfielders' panicked energy was not what this room needed right now. 

“Feli, could you help Jule with her boot and crutches while I talk to the lovely Ms. Oberdorf for a second?” Svenja said, a question that wasn’t really a question at all as she drug the brunette out of the room, leaving Feli and Jule both to stare after them, a little bit lost but shrugging all the same. 

Svenja closed the door behind them, turning to Obi with a disapproving glint in her eyes. 

“Okay, you need to get it together lover girl, because you can’t–” Svenja started, but Obi shook her head, pulling back in clear disagreement, her expression weak. 

“Lover girl? I don’t even know what you’re talking abou–” she started, only for Svenja to double it and cut her off again. 

“You can save the denial for someone who actually believes you. We all know you love that girl, it’s about as clear as a sky blue sunny day, but perhaps we aren’t ready to have that exact conversation. So for now, I need you to calm the hell down and rein it in. You’re here to help that poor girl relax, not to stress her out with a game of twenty questions. Understand?” Svenja asked bluntly, knowing that sweet talking her way with Obi wasn’t something that was really all that necessary. 

The midfielder swallowed thickly before she nodded, her cheeks tinged with pink from embarrassment. But Svenja just pays her no mind, turning back toward the med room, where Feli and Jule were having a conversation of their own. 

Obi had to give herself a bit of a pep talk before she went back into the room, and by the time she reenters the med room, Jule is upright with a boot and crutches. 

“Lena, I’m going to take Jule home, would you like to come with us?” Svenja prompted, gesturing as subtly as she could toward Jule. 

It didn’t matter either way, because her sentence was barely done before the midfielder was responding. 

“Yes, absolutely!” Lena chirped out, her voice about two octaves higher than normal. Jule was a little pink in the face from using the crutches, but she still looked up with a quirked brow, entirely unimpressed with how fake her friend's voice sounded. 

She chose not to comment on it further, her foot throbbing painfully inside the boot as she made her way slowly out to the car. The winger is so focused on her journey, in fact, that she hardly notices the way that Lena hovers behind her, just on the off chance that Jule stumbles and needs help. 

She also entirely misses the several eye rolls from both Feli and Svenja as they walked out to the car, both women equally annoyed by their collective cluelessness. 

Not my circus not my monkeys, the defender mouthed to the forward, whose face immediately dropped in indignation. 

“Yes it is!” She exclaimed, shooting a dazzling (and decidedly fake) smile at both Obi and Jule when they turned back around, equally confused by the seemingly random words. 

But Feli waved them off, a thrilled grin on her face at Svenja’s little outburst. The defender helped get Jule into the forward's car before saying goodnight to her teammates and heading back to her own apartment. Lena followed Svenja’s car in her own, figuring it would be good for them to have possible means of transportation if they needed anything. 

It was Svenja who helped Jule instead, getting her set up on the couch and dolling out pain medication before she began to go over the list of what to do with Lena. 

She didn’t bother with asking the brunette if she was staying with Jule, she just…always had been. There was no use in denying the inevitable, really. 

“Okay, and you call me if you need anything, alright? Even if it’s the middle of the night,” Svenja told Jule, who gave her a small smile and a nod. 

“Yes, yes, of course Mom. Thank you for everything today,” the blonde replied softly, and the older woman squeezed her arm affectionately before seeing herself, leaving only the winger and midfielder in Jule’s apartment. 

It was hardly the first time that Lena had been here, quite the opposite really. The two of them were practically inseparable, and spent most of their time together, at one of their two apartments. 

Obi was so used to Jule’s apartment, the younger girl practically considered her a roommate. The second bedroom had a dresser with her clothes in it and a toothbrush for her in the bathroom, so it wasn’t that big of a stretch honestly. 

But for some reason the midfielder can’t seem to sit still today, floating around the apartment doing odds and ends, asking Jule if she needs something every few minutes (seconds, really), and exerting a rather tumultuous energy over the whole place. 

After about fifteen minutes, Jule sighs heavily. And right on key, Lena appears by her side, looking down at her with wide eyes. 

“What! What is it?” She asks breathlessly, having run in from the kitchen. Jule shakes her head, her expression set with exasperation that masks the hurt she’s beginning to feel. 

“Lena, if you do not want to be here you can just go home! I broke my foot, not my entire body, I do not need a babysitter,” Jule huffs out, having mistaken Lena’s nerves for annoyance. 

But she’s surprised by the way that the brunette’s face falls, and she instantly settles down on the couch next to her teammates, shaking her head. 

“No, no, there is nowhere else I want to be, I promise. I just…I don’t…” Lena trails off, struggling to find the words. Her face is screwed with indecision, and it makes the wingers heart leap into her throat. 

“You don’t…what?” Jule prompts lightly, her voice light and barely audible. It sounds rather breathless, and she hates herself for a moment by how much her voice gives her hopes away. She prays Lena won’t pick up on it…or maybe she prays that she will. 

Obi looks over at the blonde, her heart thumping in her chest. Jule is looking at her with an entirely unreadable expression, and for just a moment the brunette wonders if it would even be possible for her friend to feel the same way that she does. 

She couldn’t explain her attraction to Jule, nor could she articulate how strong it was. It felt like the winger was the sun, and the brunette was simply made to orbit around her. 

Everything was better when Jule was there. Her laugh, her smile had this completely contagious property, and it made Obi feel lighter, happier, better. 

She made Lena better, just by being herself. She was warm and kind where the midfielder was callous and gruff. She was soft and forgiving, forcing Lena to relax and give herself some grace. 

It wasn’t something she could explain, because how on earth are you supposed to describe the one person in the world who means everything to you? 

Lena opens her mouth, her feelings on the tip of her tongue. They’ve been sitting there for a now awkwardly long period of time, the silence clinging to them both, hanging in the space between them. Jule is staring back at her, her jaw clenched shut, her teeth clenched with a nervous anxiousness, wondering if this is the moment where everything will change.  

But doubt creeps into the brunette’s mind, and the thought of confessing flees her mind as quickly as it comes. 

“I just don’t know what to do to help you feel better, that's all,” Lena finally says lamely, and it takes everything in Jule for her expression not to drop in disappointment, swallowing the feeling and offering a smile instead. 

“You make me feel better just by being here,” she admitted, and it was the truth, if not the entire truth. 

Was it lying, if it was a lie of omission? 

Jule isn’t sure. She isn’t sure what she’d rather be: filled with regret because she never said anything, or filled with regret because she had. 

“But if you’re just going to sit here with two working feet I wouldn’t say no to a sandwich,” the blonde tacked on at the end, the breath stolen from her lungs at the way Lena’s face lit up, a laugh tumbling from her mouth. 

“You got it, coming right up!” She announced as she hopped up from the couch, leaving Jule to her thoughts. 

Just as she often did, the German winger spent the next few minutes mulling over the pros and cons list that had only grown as time dragged on. 

To tell her best friend that she was in love with her, and risk all of the fall out if she didn’t feel the same? Or never tell her, and simply live with what could have been, if she was a little less scared? 

It seemed like an easy choice when she framed it like that, but the actual implications of her actions somehow seemed so much larger. 

She’s so lost in thought, that she hardly notices Lena coming back with food for them both, until the midfielder is placing her hand gently on Jule’s thigh. The touch causes the blonde to jump, and Lena retracts her hand just as quickly, as though she’s been burned. 

“Sorry, sorry,” the midfielder is quick to say, but Jule shakes her head emphatically. 

“No apologies, please. I was just lost in thought…about my foot! About my foot, I was thinking about my foot!” Jule explained, seeming a little too happy to be thinking about her foot when the person on the receiving end of her words doesn’t realize its a coverup. 

But really, what was she supposed to do? It wasn’t like she could just tell Lena how she felt, right here and right now. 

“Thank you for the food,” the blonde rushes to say instead, and the two fall into gentle chatter as they eat their food. Jule is honestly glad for the distraction, would rather do anything other than talk about her injury right now. 

She’s lucky it wasn’t worse, that it wasn’t badly broken, or required surgery, but it still sucked to be injured regardless. 

The winger knew that she was lucky to have Lena to sit here and make her laugh, to drop whatever she had been doing to be here. So amidst her confusion over whether to admit her feelings, still her gratitude toward the midfielder balloons in size. 

When Jule leaned forward to put her plate on the coffee table, Lena is looking at her closely. 

“What else do you need? What can I get you?” The older girl asks, and Jule shakes her head slightly, a soft smile on her face. 

“I’m fine Obi, I don’t need anything else. I honestly just kind of want to go to bed,” Jule admitted, and Lena nodded, before looking down with a furrowed brow at the blonde’s boot. 

“What?” Jule asks with a tiny chuckle, loving the fact that she could see Lena’s brain work in real time, as if she was working out a very complex math problem and not staring at her teammates foot. 

“That thing has to hurt to walk on, doesn’t it?” Obi asked, and Jule shrugged before admitting that while it was a bit painful, it was manageable. 

But that seemed to do nothing but displease the midfielder further, and before Jule could hardly say a thing in response, Lena was reaching forward, and just as she had on the football pitch, picking the blonde up. 

Only, in this instance it was a tad more appropriate than it had been earlier in the day. 

“Oh! Lena, what are you doing?” Jule asked with a laugh, still amazed that the brunette could pick her up with such ease, with so little effort. 

The midfielder rolled her eyes, carefully navigating them around the couch and toward the stairs. 

“Clearly I’m using the fact that I have two working legs to flex on you! Now, what do we say?” Lena teased, throwing on an overly saccharine and fake tone that is clearly meant to get Jule to laugh. Not that she cares, because it works easily. She tips her head back slightly, content when her teammates catches the change of weight easily. 

When she leans back in she’s still giggling, but when she opens her eyes she finds that her face is a lot closer to Lena’s than she had anticipated. The younger girl swallows roughly, blinking several times to try to rid her expression of surprise. 

Lena’s brown eyes are staring at her pensively, softly. The sense of gentleness that her gaze held was one that had always just been reserved for Jule, and here it was, just for her. 

As brash and argumentative as Obi could be, there was no one in the world who could cause her to soften quite like Jule Brand. 

The older girl clears her throat after a second, focusing on continuing up the stairs and into the bedroom. 

The next few minutes are filled with getting themselves situated and ready for bed, teeth brushes and sink showers attempted because the thought of having to stand on one leg to shower sounded like hell on earth. 

But there was Lena, always there to hold her up and make her smile, even when she was just doing mundane tasks like brushing her teeth. 

They switch her boot out for an ankle brace, to give her some support without being too restrictive. Lena shoves a pillow down at the end of the bed gracelessly, before gently propping up Jule’s foot with great care. The two acts are entirely juxtaposing of one another, and they make the blonde giggle as she settles into her bed, the flush that coats Obi’s cheeks as a result not lost on her. 

“Will you stay with me?” Jule looked up at Lena, her face filled with uncharacteristic worry. It was hardly a question she needed to ask, and the answer from her teammate is both immediate and automatic. 

“Of course,” she replied, moving to turn the light off and climb into bed next to her best friend. 

But it’s only after the lights are turned off, and the comfort of darkness has descended on them both, that they are able to finally admit what’s been on the tip of their tongues for weeks now. 

The fact that’s probably both surprising to the two of them is that it’s Jule, and not Lena, who says something first, her boldness coming out of nowhere even if it didn’t last for more than a single word. 

Lena was laying on her back, staring up at the ceiling from her spot on the left side of the bed. Jule laid on the right side, turned on her left side so that she was facing her teammate, which was how she usually slept when there wasn’t anyone in her bed anyways. 

The winger can just barely make out the brunette’s profile, the bridge of her nose and the sharp edges of her jaw, her chest rising and falling shallowly, heartbeat quickened by whom she was in proximity of. 

“Lena?” Jule asked, her voice quiet. It was rare for her to say the midfielders actual name, and Lena’s heart skips a beat at the question. 

“Yes Jule?” She responds, her voice equally soft. 

“I–” Jule opens her mouth to say more, and finds that she isn’t sure what to say. 

It’s an uncomfortable reality, to realize that you care so greatly for another person in life that you find yourself unable to fully elucidate your feelings. 

But before she can even try again, Obi is cutting her thought process off softly. 

“Can I be honest with you about something?” The brunette asks, struggling to keep her throat open enough to explain how she’s feeling. 

“Yes,” the blonde replies instantly, her words filled with relief and hope, and it’s her tone and that alone that spurs Lena on, that allows her to say what she’s been feeling for months. 

“When we were downstairs and we were talking before and I paused I…I wasn’t brave enough to say it but I can now,” she began, taking a very slow breath before continuing. “I think I love you, Jule.” 

“You think?” The winger asked, her voice small but neutral in its tone. Lena swallows roughly at the sound, wondering if she’s made a big mistake.

But it’s too late now to think about that, so instead she forges ahead. 

“No, not I think. I know I love you, and I have for months now. Maybe ever since I met you,” Lena admits, finally turning her head to look at Jule. The blonde is sitting in bed on her side, facing the older girl. 

When the brunette turned toward her, the winger reached out with her hand, running her fingers gently over the midfielders cheek until she was cradling her jaw. 

“I love you too,” Jule whispered into the space next to them, and she can feel rather than see the tear that slips down Lena’s cheek, the wetness seeping into her palm. The midfielder turns her head, pressing an impossibly soft kiss to the inside of Jule’s wrist. 

The brunette moves with such gentleness and care, it physically feels as though the blonde’s heart will burst from how in love with Lena Oberdorf she is. 

Obi moves lightly, but with purpose nonetheless, as she gathers Jules into her arms and finally, their two bodies are pressed together softly. 

The winger tucks her body into Lena’s, not caring that her foot protests at the movement as she’s engulfed in Lena’s scent and the warmth of her body. Jule tucks her head into the midfielders neck, clutching to the brunette as Lena’s hands bring her close, keeping her safe. 

The sigh of relief that they both let out happens at the same time, as the comfort of finally being pressed together is realized. Jule cuddles into Lena, feeling sleep pull at her, the worry of her feelings not being returned now swept away like a leaf in a strong current. 

“I love you,” Jule murmured into Lena’s neck, the soft puff of air tickling the brunette’s skin in the best possible way. She smiled softly, tightening her grip imperceptibly. 

“I love you more,” Lena promises, pressing a kiss to Jule’s temple as they melt into one another, sleep coming to claim them both in the darkness of the blonde’s bedroom. 

There is still so much to talk about and discuss properly, sure, but for the night nothing else matters, except the fact that neither of them can really tell where the one ends, and the other one begins.

[hawkinsbnbg]

WIP Word Game

Rules: You will be given a word. Share a snippet from a WIP for every letter in that word, then tag some people and give them a new word.

Thanks for the tag, @pentapoctopus 💖 My word was COMPLETION.

C: Fools (chapter 1 is already up on ao3, but I really need to go back and edit it again one day 😅)

"C'mere, sweetheart," Eddie said quietly, beckoning him over. Given that Steve was already sitting on the floor, he naturally scooted into the space between Eddie's open legs and looked up at him with his doe eyes.

O: Part-time Lover (part 3 of Bad Decision series, not posted)

"Oh yeah?" Robin gave him a wicked smile. "I doubt he'd still find you sexy if he knows about that one time you had a dildo stuck so deep in your ass that you got wheeled straight into the ER."

M: dream boys, don't get lost in your fairytale (not sure if I'd ever post this because it has grown so out of hand, but let's hope that I'll be done with it by the end of this year 🤞)

"Missed you, too," he returned softly, feeling dizzy and out of breath. "Daddy."

P: Risky Business (part 2 of Bad Decision series, not posted)

"Perfect," Billy repeated the word slowly, like he was tasting it, relishing the taste of it. An easy smile perched on Billy's lips as he carded his fingers through Steve's hair. "What else can I do for you, princess?"

L: Still Loving You (the prologue is already up on ao3)

"Listen, you could pretend all you want, and I don't care what you've been up to all those years. But don't ever expect me to forget about us. It pains me right here." He clutched his chest, almost pleading with her to look at his broken heart. "To finally see you again, only to watch you act like we're merely strangers and refuse to acknowledge my existence in your past."

E: Still Loving You (this is my first time writing them fighting. so excited! 😆)

Eddie caught her hand before she could get away. "What? So now I'm just Mr. Munson to you?"

T: untitled (omegaverse, alphas can shift into wolf form though most have lost that ability due to evolution, lonely o!Steve as a Disney princess)

Teddy was a big dog, bigger than the strays that often visited him for sure, and would dwarf Steve easily if the canine ever stood on his hind legs. With soulful russet eyes, black silky fur, and long sharp teeth, Teddy had burst into his monotonous life like a storm, saving him from a deathly fall from a willow tree one evening.

I: sweater weather (not posted)

It wasn't until Nancy, Jonathan, the kids, and the Upside Down that he realized how much of a bullshit he had been. And even then, he still clung pathetically to the few scraps of what once was in hopes all the horrible things that had ever happened to him would start making sense.

O: untitled (cat shifter Steve au)

"Oh, it's nothing fancy, just an experiment of mine." His ringed fingers scratched under Steve's chin absently, causing those heterochromia eyes to glaze over and squint into lazy slits. "This big boy seems to like it a lot, though."

N: princess treatment (not posted)

No wonder Dustin always acted so smug for being his favorite. Because Steve started seeing the appeal of the whole I'm-the-chosen-one thing.

No pressure tag: @kissesforvamp @rabidaly @wheneverfeasible @pukner @katyawriteswhump @fayefayefaye90 @lexirosewrites @thorniest-rose @mixsethaddams

Your word is: PARAMOUR.

[avonne-writes]

ma’am what is this sex robot thing….. it seems I have missed something 👀

Hahaha I mentioned it here 😄 16-year-old HS Bucky has a fantasy where he's a sex android that Gale purchases. I wrote a drabble about this for you (explicit!):

Edit: posted on AO3 too

"Our new model." A faceless man in generic cyberpunk clothes gestures at Bucky’s naked body. "A significant upgrade from the last one."

Out of the shadows, a figure steps forward. He's lean and graceful, and his plump lips look glossy in the lights of the android store. There’s a smile playing about his mouth. His shoulder-length blond locks are a spun gold so pure that no synthetic android hair could ever replicate it. The collar of his sleek black coat is turned up around a silk scarf, and neon blue shades hide his eyes. It’s hard to see whether he’s pleased with his order or not.

Still, from the tilt of his head, Bucky can tell that he’s looking at him, assessing whether he’s worth his price. Up from his toes, over his calves, the strong muscles of his thighs, to his cock, long and hard between his spread legs, pressed to a toned stomach even Ronaldo would admire. When the stranger's gaze reaches that point, he steps into Bucky’s space, smirks, then reaches out to run his gloved fingers up along Bucky's cock, where he swipes his thumb over the head. -

"Fuck." Bucky moans under his breath as his muscles tense to thrust forward.

For a moment, he freezes. Shit! He didn’t mean to make a sound. Did his mom hear? He listens intently, but there’s nothing but the lazy stream of water from the shower and the beats of his frantically pounding heart. Sighing in relief, Bucky puts his left hand back on the shower tiles and starts moving his right fist over his hard cock again. Letting his wet curls fall over his forehead, he bows his head and watches the circle of his fingers move up and down in rhythm with his pleasure until it gets too good to keep his eyes open. -

This time, he’s standing naked in an all-beige living room where unrecognizable robotic gadgets buzz on the walls. His owner sits on a beige couch with his legs spread and his sunglasses off. The black coat still drapes over his back. His hand, bare now, pulls Bucky's cock away from his stomach to guide the tip of it to those shiny, slick pink lips of his.

"You should say my name more often." Gale says mischievously. His tongue darts out to flick against the drooling head of Bucky's cock. Again and again, from different angles until he finds the best one.

"I’m here to serve you." Android Bucky replies, his artificial voice strained with sensory overload as Gale deep throats him like it’s the easiest thing in the world. When he pulls off, it’s like a vice milking Bucky of everything he’s worth.

"Mmm, but you're serving me." Gale replies in a sultry voice, deep and satisfied. "You’re so good for me, Bucky." -

Panting, Bucky blinks and squeezes the root of his cock to keep himself from coming where he stands under the hot shower. He knows that edging is supposed to make coming even better, but whenever he gets himself to the brink, he can't hold himself back for more than five minutes. He just can’t. One thought of Gale on top of him and he loses it. He doesn’t even need his imagination, just the memory of the three blowjobs Gale has given him so far is enough. A flickering recollection of pink lips around his cock, blue eyes -

- looking up at him like they want him to lose control, to thrust up and take what he aches for, and his thighs clench to thrust as he gives in and tries to fuck Gale's mouth. But suddenly, Gale's hands are on his hips holding him down, and Gale’s pulling off him with a wet little sound that -

- echoes in the shower stall. Bucky's going to run away if his mom hears him now but he’s barely able to hold back. He chokes back his moans and presses his forehead to his left to stabilize himself. His hand speeds up on his throbbing cock, pulling the pleasure out roughly -

- as though Gale owns him, like he wants Bucky tied to him through this too. A bed creaks under Bucky's weight, his bed, but he’s still a sex robot for Gale's pleasure, he’s just there to make Gale feel good, and Gale wants to feel good by making Bucky come until he can’t anymore. This is Bucky's main use, satisfying him, being good for him.

"That's it." Gale smiles at him, blue eyes fixed on Bucky’s as he draws him closer to bliss. "You're gonna sit there and take it. My Bucky." -

"Yes." Bucky whispers as the heat rises in his chest and -

- Gale throws his head back and moans, his lips parted around his pleasure and his eyes half-lidded when he looks at Bucky again.

"Oh Bucky, you’re so good. You're the sexiest thing I’ve ever seen." He rides Bucky's cock with abandon. They've never done this before but moving inside Gale's body is instinctive, it’s what Bucky was made for. It’s both of their first times but there’s nothing awkward about it, just steady rapture because Bucky's cock finds Gale's sweet spot every single time.

And when Gale cries out and tightens around him -

- Bucky comes all over his own fist and the tiles in thick ropes. He comes so long that he thinks he might lose his balance. Stars dance behind his closed eyes.

God...

It's so good.

It feels like it lasts forever. It might have been an entire minute this time. Bucky's gonna measure it one day.

Huffing through his nose to keep his noises inside, he slowly opens his eyes again and looks around. Gradually, the bliss fades. Nothing changed. He’s still in the shower, and no one walked in on him. His mom doesn’t seem to have heard. She's probably downstairs still, making food for when Gale’s coming over later today. It’s all good, thank God.

Bucky needed these precious few minutes of self-care if he's to get through the night sharing a bed with Gale and not being allowed to touch him under his pyjamas. It’s been getting harder to do that since they started fooling around.

Harder, ha.

He snorts to himself and cleans up the mess he’s made, finishing up in a few seconds then stepping out of the stall. Since he forgot to bring himself any clothes but the pyjamas he came in wearing, he just wraps a towel around his hips and walks back to his room with the pjs thrown over his shoulder.

What he doesn’t expect is that when he walks through the door, instead of an empty room, he finds his boyfriend lying fully clothed on his back in Bucky's bed and looking like the meal a Marvel supervillain would taunt the starving hero with. Bucky takes one look at him and feels all his muscles tense upon realizing just how naked he is in front of him.

"Hi." Gale smiles sweetly.

Bucky feels like a pervert.

"Hi Buck." He might be embarrassed, but he tries to channel his inner android for confidence. Soon enough, when they're both ready, Gale's going to see and touch him completely naked anyway. "You okay?"

"Yeah. I was just bored so I came over early." Gale stretches, gives Bucky a once-over, then blushes and averts his eyes. "Did you just take a shower at 3 pm?"

Bucky hides his cringing face by turning to look for clothes in his closet. "I was sweaty."

That makes Gale laugh. Quickly, before he loses his confidence, Bucky drops his towel and throws clean clothes on. The whole thing lasts less than ten seconds, but he’s still nervous when he turns back around to look at Gale’s face. He knows his body doesn’t exactly look like Ronaldo's - yet - but Gale’s hair isn’t made of actual gold either. It should be fine.

And it is, because when his gaze lands on Gale again, he realizes that Gale has closed his eyes. There’s a pink flush on his cheeks, but otherwise, he seems calm and comfortable as Bucky skips over to him and throws himself into a hug so enthusiastic that the bed creaks.

"Bucky." Gale giggles, drawing out the last syllable, but he doesn’t make any attempts to get out of the whirlwind embrace.

Bucky cups his warm cheeks and kisses him. "Wanna play something?"

"Yes." Beaming, Gale steals a kiss in return. "Cyberpunk 2077?"

[wanderingaldecaldo]

Ten Opening Lines

Tagged by @ghostoffuturespast @merge-conflict @luvwich, thanks chooms!

Ranked in order of personal preference. There's a very clear theme of opening in the middle of a scene with limited POV. What can I say, except I am lazy and like to take as many shortcuts as I can? 🤷

10. Changes - [SilverV] Post-Mikoshi PWP with grumpy Johnny and Nomad V getting him excited about a party at Kerry's. Written for Reverse Big Bang based on some really cool art. It's my most popular fic on AO3 bc it's SilverV. The opening line is uninspiring. 😬

Johnny paces back and forth, cigarette pinched between his organic fingers.

9. Lover's Spit - [Mitch/Val] PWP. Really nothing going on here at all besides smut. The opening is... not great, and feels very much overly wrought, but it really is PWP so IDK what to tell you. At least you know what's coming. Heh.

Val’s emerald eyes shimmer with desire in the dim light of the tent as she kneels before Mitch and reaches for the waistband of his pants.

8. Helplessness Blues (coming soon [heh] now available!) - [Ros/Val] A psychological investigation of V masquerading as PWP. (But really it's smut.) A fairly bland opening.

Deep in the pitch black safehouse, V holds her breath as she flips the switch to the generator.

7. Triangles - [Corpo V/Mitch/Scorpion] PWP. Again, nothing much but smut, this time with 50% more limbs to keep track of!! Really like the opening paragraph though. Here's two thirds of it:

When Panam suggests they stop for a drink after taking out the Raffens, V can’t say no, and when she suggests they invite Mitch and Scorpion, V goes along with that too, since they seem like good guys.

6. This Must Be The Place (Naive Melody) - [Mitch/Val] Would you be surprised to hear it's another serious thinkpiece concerning grief pretending to be PWP? I do like opening in the middle of a scene like this, in the middle of a drive:

“Tell me something,” Mitch says, glancing over as he takes a drag from the cigarette in his organic hand, then releases the smoke out the cracked window of the Coyote.

5. Untitled WIP; next in Into My Arms series - [Mitch/Val] A tender, slightly steamy piece inspired by a prompt that @theviridianbunny submitted literally years ago. It's in editing hell right now. However the opening is fun! What's Mitch up to??

Just as Val is finishing up her short backup shift on the truck, Mitch pulls up in his Colby and climbs out with a grin.

4. Untitled 00M WIP - [James Bond/M!Dench] I got reallllly into 00M over my Cyberpunk break last fall. Not sure when I'll get back to this, but I expect I will. I love Daniel Craig and Judy Dench's chemistry so much, and I know I'll watch Skyfall again within the next few years, and I'm sure it will put me right back in my feels.

M awakens quickly and motionlessly; her husband is off on his regular business dealings and without his usual snores, the room is still.

3. Know Your Rights - [Gen] a young Valentino meets a NCPD Patrol Officer. Written for an art trade with Steel, where I think I got the better end of the deal with this piece of Mitch lmao. Still, I really do like the opening. It's so disgusting.

The back of the cop car smells like piss and rotten garbage.

2. Blaze of Glory - [referenced Panzerboys] A prequel to NOGLY. Born from a poorly thought out in-game mechanic that gave random police histories to NPCs. Thanks, CDPR, for the trauma you inflicted on countless fans from seeing their favs (falsely!!) accused of things like, oh I dunno, sexual assault. Another of my favorite openings, and the piece includes a couple of my best sentences ever.

Mitch knows the moment V sees it.

1. No One's Gonna Love You - [Mitch x Val] aka NOGLY. A very self-indulgent ~60k words of smut, grief, and hurt/comfort, of course. Another cold open, and one of my favorite opening scenes I've written.

V blinks, opens her eyes as her OS restarts from another crash.

I feel like this one went around a bit ago, so I imagine some of you have already been tagged. Tagging with the usual no-pressure: @theviridianbunny @shimmer-like-agirl @nananarc @aceghosts @lemonlilactea @tafferling @streetkid-named-desire @procyo9 @impishbiscuit

[the-whispers-of-death]

hi, Ive been writing and want to post fics in the future and I saw your post about tagging fics correctly. I’m not super knowledgeable on that could you give some examples on how to correctly tag fics? and then especially with dark fics, smut, fluff etc. as well?? sorry if you’ve already posted something about it I couldn’t find it ☺️

I haven't really made a post on how to properly tag posts (I say posts instead of fics because I'm talking strictly about Tumblr writings and not Ao3 works) but I'll do it now!

(NOTE: This post became so long that I'm too lazy to go through fully and edit it. So beware of any typos.)

How to Properly Tag Your Posts:

So I'm assuming that you already know how to tag posts in general. There's a section at the bottom of the post where it says "add tags to help people find your post" and you can just add up to 30 tags.

It's recommended that you at least have five tags, as the first five (I believe it's five, I'm going based off of memory of me seeing that somewhere) are specifically used to push your post out into the Tumblr world for everyone to see. That's not to say you can't use more than five, it's just that five is like the minimum you should use if you want people to see your posts.

Onto how to properly tag your posts.

How To Properly Tag "x reader" Posts:

First, I will be talking about how to properly tag your posts using the example x reader posts (because this issue was the start of this entire thing).

If you're writing with a female reader in mind (ie you use she/her pronouns to refer to the Reader or you use feminine terms ((good girl, wife, girlfriend, waitress, queen))), you should tag your post as female reader. Now there's many different ways you can tag it as female reader:

fem!reader

fem reader

female!reader

female reader

f!reader

f reader

x fem!reader

x female reader

x f!reader

There's also tagging it as "(Character) x female reader" (any of the female reader variations listed above). "(Character)" is just used in place for the character in which the reader is romancing/in a romance with. Just input whatever character is being romanced and voilà!

For example, if you wrote a Simon "Ghost" Riley fic with a female reader, you can tag it: "simon ghost riley x female reader" or "simon ghost riley x fem!reader".

(NOTE: I believe the use of capitalization ((or lack thereof )) is key to posts being tagged correctly and showing up in that specific tag, simply because after posting, any tag that I've had something capitalized is lowercase when posted. I don't know if this truly makes a difference, but I try my best to just do lowercase when tagging anyways.)

Now for any other reader (male reader and gender neutral reader), the same thing applies but with those variation of male reader tags and gender neutral reader tags: male reader, mreader, m!reader, gender neutral reader, gnreader, gn!reader.

How to Properly Tag Dark Fic Posts:

Now tagging for dark fics! Here are the most common tags I see when seeing properly tagged dark fics. (Before I scroll.)

dark fic

darkfic

dead dove

dead dove do not eat

tw: (input whatever trigger here)

cw: (input whatever content warning here)

Not a lot, but again, I don't read a lot of dark fics. I'll expand on trigger warning (tw) and content warning (cw) tags because I know how I worded that might be confusing.

So for example, say you're writing something with stalking. You'd tag it as "tw: stalking" or "cw: stalking". So basically anything you feel like you need to warn readers ahead of time before they go further into the post, you tag it using trigger warning or content warning followed by that thing.

Also, I believe it's good to add content/trigger warnings onto the post itself as well as tagging it with the content/trigger warnings. Just so that those who like dark fics can see what is in the post instead of looking in the tags (if the post is very long and doesn't have a "read more" thing, then a reader will have to scroll all the way down just to see the tags).

How to Properly Tag Smut and Fluff:

And lastly, we'll be talking about to properly tag smut and fluff. (Because there's also a problem in the COD fandom where smut isn't properly tagged.)

When tagging a smutty fic, it's important to not only tag it as smut, but also to tag what you may see in the post. (Similar to dark fics, but you don't have to put tw/cw in the tag.)

Examples of this would be:

tw: smut (I know I said you don't have to put tw/cw, but I do this tag simply just to cover my bases)

smut

bottom reader

bottom male reader

top reader

top male reader

sub reader

sub male reader

dom reader

dom male reader

x bottom reader

x bottom male reader

x top reader

x top male reader

x sub reader

x sub male reader

x dom reader

x dom male reader

(input whatever is being done in the post ((ie: oral)))

I'm going to stop there, because if I continue, the list will be very long and I've covered the gist of it. (Hopefully).

Now, again, I recommend also labeling in the post what's going on in the post, just because I know from personal experience that I don't really check the tags (until I've hit something where I'm like "is this tagged correctly, because this post should fall under my tagging filter) and it's just so nice to know what type of reader (bottom/top or sub/dom) the post is written for.

Now for fluff, it's easier because you can just tag it as "fluff" or "sfw". Not much needs to be done for tagging fluff. You can just tag it as fluff.

Some More Things of Note:

I have two more things to talk about. The first being the "read more" feature.

The "read more" feature can be put on your post when you start a new paragraph/start writing your post, as a whole set of options appear when you make a new paragraph/click on the "type here" when staring writing. (At least on web you can do that. On mobile, the read more feature is down at the bottom, right below where you can enter the tags.)

The "read more" symbol looks like this (and it's the same symbol on both mobile and web):

(Forgive my terrible screenshot abilities.)

Just click that symbol and it'll have a squiggly line with the words "keep reading" in between (and after posting it'll just appear as the words). The reason to use this post is when you have a very long post, as it will help others when they stumble upon your post while searching in a particular tag.

The last thing I wanted to talk about was the content label of post.

You find content label at the bottom right next to post (when you're on the web) or at the top right next to post when you click the meatball menu (when you're on mobile). The default is set to "For Everyone" but you can change it to mature (and select why it's mature, either for sexual themes, violence, or drug and alcohol addiction). Changing the content label of your post to mature can help give an extra security measure in addition to tagging your post.

So say you're writing a dark fic or smut, you can choose to change it to mature for violence (for a dark fic) or change it to mature for sexual themes (for smut). Just toggle on whichever you feel best fits the post and if the reader has that specific content hidden, it'll hide the post.

Anyways, that's all I can think of right now. I hope this post helped you!

(EDIT: I can't believe I wrote this post and forgot to talk about angst! Anyways, I hope whoever asked this is still reading this post, so they can know this answer.

So for angst, I'd follow the same steps for tagging dark fics with the tags being: tw: angst (again just to cover my bases), angst, and then input whatever tw/cw you want.

Again, I'd also label it on post that it has angst and then the content warnings for said angst.)

[torchwoodfanweek]

Welcome to Torchwood Fan Week!

so, you're a fan of torchwood? and creating and enjoying fanworks? then you've found the right place! we're chill, accessable, and open to all. no signing up or anything of the sort required (cos im far too lazy to manage that sort of thing basically)

what is fan week

simply, a week's worth of prompts with the aim in inspiring some great torchwood related fan works, which are then posted during the week in question for us all to enjoy

how do i participate in the fan week

if there is currently one running (there is, on the 25th of august! prompts here) then find the prompts list and get creating! if there is not currently one running, then don't be shy to find old prompt lists and have at 'em. the ao3 collection is only open during the active week, but so-called 'late' entries will still be added to the masterlist, just be sure to tag this account so i see it!

further faqs and blog navigation (including prompts) below the cut

faqs

what counts as a fan work?

anything you want! art, fic, video edits, metas, analysises, character studies, collages, a nice little crotecheted myfanwy. all of it! you can't go wrong!

can i post...?

yes. the answer is almost certainly yes. its only a no if your work has absolutely zilch to do with torchwood, which frankly is unlikely. fandom crossovers, obscure big finish characters, 'pre-canon', ocs, and anything else along these lines is 100% welcome

how do i post?

here on tumblr! tag this blog and/or use tag your post with #torchwood fan week and i'll be sure to see and add it to the masterlist. for works on other sites, such as fics posted to ao3, your tumblr post can just be a link to the fic. additionally, there is an ao3 collection for fics, open during the week of the event

do i have to...?

no <3 you can do whatever you fancy really. you can only do the one prompt that you like, do five different versions of the same prompt cos you couldn't decide. you can mash them all into one. you can purposefully misinterpret a prompt and take it off somewhere weird, whatever floats your boat

i have another question

shoot me an ask im house trained, promise

blog navigation

in the spirit of keeping everything quick and easy to find, some links for your viewing pleasure

#admin post - previous admin posts, though most if not all of the information here is now found somewhere in the above.

#prompt post - for finding those prompts!

#torchwood fan week masterlist - just the one for now, this is the place to find a wonderful treasure trove of fan works (you're all brilliant i love you)

have fun x - @myarmsaretoolong

[theforlorne]

🐑 ♡ Here's one letter fresh from Sup-port, addressed to a very fantasic fox ♡ 🐑

Dear @redfoxwritesstuff,

Nobody can deny the hard work you put into your stories, as well as your efforts to make a safe, welcoming community alongside your fellow co-owners in the Voxtek Discord Server. Now it's time to share the love to Tumblr!

The way you write captures the reader's attention in an instant to take them into the heart of the story you have created. Your writing style is just that beautiful, and the emotions linger long after that ao3 tab is closed. The first chapter of Misdemeanor, wow.

For this reason, you are one of the first creative souls to be recommended to all the lovelies that will see this post! Thank you for all that you share, and thank you for continuing to be a positive force in fandom.

Wishing all the best, and sending all of our love,

The Sup-port Team xo

Let's see what other letters arrived for you!

From @redvexillum ♡

"She's a kind soul uwu"

From @crackrodent ♡

"Kit and Red are both amazing people and writers. And even though theres a lot of things i admire about both of them individually id like to start by saying how amazing of a team they are. Whether its on the voxtek discord server or on tumblr while bickering over Adam and doorknobs.

Kit has been my biggest supporter as i learned to cook this year. She's almost always the first person i tag when i need help with anything from anxiety kicking my ass to well... anything. I even asked her to explain credit scores to me and she did without any judgment. She's the most kind and understanding person i know.

My life is infinitely better knowing Red and Kit."

From @nyx-umbrakinesis ♡

"Kit is one of my favourite people in the entire world she's my wonderful quirky, kind, little traumatised, beautiful, funny, salty, shy, anxious, force of nature, occasionally sad and silly at self caring and self deprecating, lovely adorable little flower, loving, kind, hugely talented and an amazing internet wifey and I'm so grateful to the depths of my soul that I met her."

Kit's Advice To You

"Have goals. Write daily. Have a set writing time- even if it's just 15 minutes. Growing as a writer is a process and if you want to grow, it takes work (and if you don't want to grow, that's fine too!). Things like making the decision to start outlining when writing longer fics, editing for more than just grammar correction and paying attention to what you change or what you don't like while rereading your work, what you think you can do better all can go a long way. And of course, reading. Both 'real' books, old books, new books and fanfic all help too but not just for enjoyment. Paying attention to how dialog is written, how the scenes are structured, how the story moves, what you think is well done and what you don't think is well done and why you feel that way are all as important as the simple act of writing.

And having some writing buddies helps too. I am a better writer for having Vexi as my writing buddy, to encourage me to step out of my comfort zone, to (playfully) shame me when my writing gets lazy and to (annoyingly) remind me to self care and take breaks. A writing buddy with the same writing goals as you is a great tool to have too."

Want To Write A Personal Letter?

Kit's official Sup-port tag is #fromsup-port2redfoxwritesstuff

[pedroshotwifey]

Favorite Bounty Chapter 3

Series masterlist

Pairing: Din Djarin x afab reader

Chapter W/C: 9k

Chapter tags/warnings: SMUT!! (Ik, finally), vaginal fingering, blowjobs, oral sex, female masturbation, lil bit of angst, no use of y/n, reader being a horny cuss, getting caught, canon-typical violence, I'm probably forgetting stuff but let's just say im not, PLEASE READ AUTHOR'S NOTE UNDER THE CUT

Chapter summary: You and Mando get to know each other a bit more...intimately. Despite your frustrations, you learn that you really can't resist the man.

A/N: Hey, I'm going to go ahead and put it out there that these first few chapters will not be the best. Favorite Bounty was the first thing I ever wrote, so please keep that in mind. I have gone through and edited the small things so there is a bit of improvement from when it was originally posted to ao3. After chapter 4 is out, every chapter after that will be brand new and will have better grammar/writing. Thanks for reading! :)

***

You wake up stiff as a rock.

When you open your eyes, you don't recognize your surroundings through the grogginess of sleep. You only panic for a second though, before you remember where you are. 

Memories of last night begin to flood your head and you feel a blush creeping onto your cheeks as you remember why you probably feel so stiff. You had slept on top of Mando the entire night.

You have to stop the gasp that threatens to escape when your eyes come into focus and you realize that you are still in the same spot as you had fallen asleep in. You feel the cool metal of Mando’s breastplate biting into your cheek. 

You are laying sprawled out on top of the Mandalorian. Your hands are resting flat on his chest on either side of your head and your legs are almost straddling his torso under the blanket. 

You feel one of his hands resting gently on your back, his thumb absentmindedly stroking circles over your shirt. His other arm lays beneath his head, acting as a makeshift pillow. 

Your mind is screaming at you to jump up and get yourself away from the Mandalorian, but your body isn’t listening. You feel your muscles loosen as your eyes slowly flutter shut. Part of you wants to just pretend that you’re still asleep. Maybe if he thinks that you aren't aware of his subtle affection, he will hold and soothe you longer. 

You have a suspicion that he wouldn't want you to be aware of the gentle intimacy of the entire situation. He might have been okay with it last night, but for some reason, you know he wouldn't want to have so many emotions on display for you. 

To be honest, you think that Mando may be a little touch starved. The thought almost makes you giggle, and you have to catch yourself so as not to disturb your current position

You try to focus on the lazy circles Mando’s thumb is continuing to make to distract yourself from smiling. You can't seem to remember the last time you felt this safe and content. Kriff–maybe you were touch starved too.

It's surprisingly comfortable to lay on the heap of beskar, but you figure that feeling may come from the fact that it is Mando that you are on top of. It literally feels like one of your fantasies has come to life, and there is no way you are going to end it sooner than you need to. You would lay here forever if you had the option. 

You have no idea if he is still asleep or not, though if you had to guess it would be the latter. You figure you should savor the comforting feeling before he inevitably separates from you and resorts back to his old cranky self. Letting out a small sigh, you nuzzle your head onto his chest and allow yourself to let go of any worries for the time being.

Without opening your eyes, your brows furrow when you feel Mandos' thumb abruptly stop the soft motions on your back.

“Cyar’ika?”

If the sudden sound of the Mandalorian’s voice just barely crackling through the modulator hadn’t sounded so soothing, the intrusion would have made you jump. You worried that if you opened your eyes again, Mando would be gone and you would be laying alone in your cot, waking up from a dream. 

You wouldn't be able to stand it if all of this was just a figment of your imagination, so just in case, you kept your eyes tightly shut as you responded.

“Mhm?”

It wasn’t much of a response, but it was a response nonetheless. You shift your hands to fold under your chin so you can prop yourself up and off of the cold feel of beskar. When Mando stays silent, you risk slowly opening your eyes to peer up at him.

You sigh with contentment when you meet his gaze. You can't help but flash him a small smile as you make what you hope is eye contact. Seeing your admiration, Mando lifts his hand up from your back to rest it softly on your head, cradling you closer to him. 

You let your eyes droop slightly as he begins to stroke your hair. The intimacy of the whole situation is overwhelming enough to bring you to tears, but you hold them back and savor the moment instead. It's nice to know that he apparently doesn't mind you seeing his affections.

“Sleep well?” he asks you. You shiver at the sound of his voice. It's the same baritone as usual, but laced with traces of sleep. He sounds as at ease as you feel, and you love that he knows he can let his guard down around you. 

As you open your mouth to respond, you feel the ship lurch. Before you even realize what is going on, Mando has lifted you up by your arms and plopped you back down in the mess of blankets beneath you. 

As you try to reorient yourself, the ship moves again, almost as if something was pushing hard on the side of it. You look up to Mando, eyes wide with alarm and confusion. He is already running towards the ladder of the cockpit, presumably to check what's going on outside. 

You are standing by the time he jumps back down into the hull. 

“Damn pirates,” he answers your question before you have a chance to voice it. “Grab the kid and get into my bunk,” he instructs you. “The heat killed the rest of our fuel. We’re stuck on the surface until we get more.”

You gape at him as he struts to the gun locker and pulls out two blasters and a rifle. You can see the unmistakable tension in his stride as he rushes past where you are still glued to the floor. 

He starts to reach for the button so he can lower the ramp before he notices that you still haven’t moved. “Grab the kid and get in the damn bunk!” he barks at you.

The command sends you into motion and you fly to the back of the hull to retrieve the child from his closed hover pram. He was still sleeping and he startled when you snatched him up - you winced and made a mental note to apologize later. 

You make record time crossing back to hit a button with your open palm and clamber into Mando’s bunk. As you start to turn around so you could close the bunk door, you see the ramp of the ship slam down, letting a rush of cold wind blow inside. 

The pirates had blasted it open and caught Mando off guard. As he realized what happened, he swiveled around to face your direction before pulling the trigger on his blaster. You felt your mouth go dry at the image of the Mandalorian pointing a blaster your way, you are still too blissed out from this morning to understand exactly what he was doing. Your eyes screwed shut involuntarily as he pulled the trigger. 

When you opened them, you were in the dark. You quickly realized that he had shot the control panel to the bunk door, ensuring your safety if the pirates tried to open it. 

Honestly, he hadn’t even realized what he was doing until he had pulled the trigger. Mando knew that in reality, it probably wasn’t the best course of action, but what's done is done, no sense in overthinking it now. 

The pirates wouldn't be able to reach you and the kid if they discovered that you had been on the ship with him, and that's all that matters to him at the moment. With a quick shake of his head, he turns back to the now-open ramp and raises his blaster.

***

The sounds coming from the other side of the bunk door are muffled, but you can still hear the absurd amount of blaster fire ripping through the air. You stifle a gasp and hold on tight to the kid. 

Everything had happened too quickly for you to process it, one second you were laying in ecstasy on Mando’s chest, and the next you were stuffed into a dark room with only the kid to keep you company. 

You know that you need to remain calm in order to think straight, but there was nothing you could do about the panic building up inside of you. You didn't get to see how many pirates were huddled outside the ship, but judging by the number of shots you can hear now, it must be a lot. 

The kid shifts in your lap and you look down at him. You flinch as you hear a shot ring out close to the bunk and he jumps at your reaction. 

The reality of your situation is really starting to sink in, and you are now focusing on trying not to have a full blown panic attack in front of the kid. You never were the best at keeping your composure in scary situations, but you know you can tough through it for the sake of the little womp rat nestled in your lap. 

“Shh it’s going to be okay honey,” you tell the child as you gulp down your anxiety and squeeze him tighter to your chest. “Your daddy is going to handle it and we’re all going to be okay.”

You wish you could convince yourself of the words that come out of your own mouth. You try to stop the tears that threaten to fall as you move your hands to cover the kids ears. You know you can’t do anything else but wait right now. 

****

Din has two of the pirates down before they even realize what hit them. As he jumps down onto the surface, he scans the remaining pirates scrambling around. He counts six, maybe seven, before he lands.

It will be a challenge, but Mando knows that he is perfectly capable of taking the squad down in a reasonable amount of time. He makes sure to position himself in front of the opening of the Crest so that none of the gang members can slip past him and possibly discover what he has hidden on board. 

He sends a silent prayer to whoever is listening that the door to his bunk stays in place while he has his pack to it. He knows he would not be able to know if you and the child were revealed until the pirates tried to get past him, and by then it would be a struggle to get all of them down before one was able to get to you.

He grits his teeth at the thought but turns his attention to the criminals beginning to surround him. He raises his arm and shoots the one closest to his left, causing the one on his right to lunge at him.

He has that one down just as quickly as he had the one before him. He can see clearly now that there are only four members left, it shouldn’t take too much longer to have this thing over with. 

****

You figure it's only been about five minutes since the door had shut into the black pit of Mando’s quarters. Your heart rate has started to slow a bit and you are able to make out the outline of your hand when you hold it up in front of your face. 

There is a little less commotion from outside than before, but it's still enough for you to worry about the numbers Mando may be facing right now. You think back to earlier when you were curled up on top of him. 

To be honest, you are still confused about the sudden outburst of affection from the Mandalorian. You just hope it wasn’t pity. As much as it would make sense to think of it that way, the ordeal didn’t seem very one-sided. 

The way Mando had held you was warm but possessive, as if he was scared to let you go. The memory sends a shiver through your spine. You wish he was here comforting you now. You close your eyes and imagine being back in his arms with the kid in your lap. 

Why hadn’t he said anything before? You know that he had to have seen your slip-ups, and as much as you hated that idea, you also know that it means he would have known how you felt. 

Before you can come to a conclusion, you are pulled from your thoughts when light suddenly floods into the bunk. Your eyes snap open as you realize what happened and you make immediate eye contact with an unfamiliar face.

****

A sudden surge of panic shoots through Din’s veins as he swivels around trying to count the remaining gang members. He just downed two more of the four that had been left, but there was only one more crook in sight. 

He doesn't have much time to look around because the one still in view is dangerously close now. He let his guard down for too long, letting the thug get the advantage by closing in on Mando from the side. 

He sees the pirate lunging for him in his peripheral vision and fumbles with his blaster, startled by the unexpected movement. As he tries to get into position, the pistol slips from his grasp and falls into the snow with a heavy thud. 

He knows he doesn’t have time to bend down and pick it up before the pirate would be around his neck, so, trying not to panic, he rethinks his strategy. The Mandalorian curses himself internally for his mistake but quickly makes up for it by spinning on his heels to box the gang member in between his body and the side of his ship with his arms on either side of the crook. 

Before the pirate can understand what's happening, Mando brings his head down hard on top of the ugly stranger’s. With a deafening crack, the now unconscious pirate slumps down into the snow next to Mando’s discarded pistol. 

Now that the primary threat is disposed of, Din shakes off the ringing in his head and scoops his weapon up. As soon as he is steady on his feet, he hears a scream coming from inside of the ship. 

****

As you lay eyes on the pirate, neither of you move. 

A million thoughts run through your mind, telling you to run or push the pirate away from you, but your body doesn't seem to listen. You open your mouth to yell for Mando and feel your eyes grow wide in hopeless panic when no sound escapes. Only when you feel the kid struggle in your hold do you feel the vibrations climbing up your throat.

The next few moments happen in a blur. Before you can even blink, you see the flash of beskar coming up behind the pirate, who has now begun to move his arm towards you. Trying to come to your senses, you dodge to the side to miss the intruder's hand as he tries to grab your neck. You tuck the kid underneath your bunched up form and close your eyes, bracing yourself for the blows that are sure to come. 

As you settle fully into your protective stance, you hear a loud crack from outside the bunk. Your body jolts at the sound, but your mind immediately relaxes at the sound. You know what it means. You know the sound a skull makes as it collides with beskar. 

Slowly, you open your eyes and glance outside the bunk. Mando is standing there, unmoving. When you see the unconscious body on the floor in front of him, confirming what you already knew, you loosen your grip on the kid and sit up. 

The Mandalorian can see the tears brimming your eyes as he finally moves towards you, wrapping his strong arms around you and the child in your own. 

As he pulls you to him, you let out a shuddering breath and release the tears from your eyes. You run your hand over the kid's head, calming him down as much as you can. Though he didn't seem too concerned throughout the whole ordeal.

The three of you stay huddled up together for a moment before Mando pulls back. He turns around and nudges the body at his feet to the side, making room for you to step down from the cot.

He holds a hand out for you to take and eases you onto the floor. You give him an appreciative look as you find your balance. As soon as you are on your feet, Mando snatches his hand back as though he had been burned, like he suddenly remembered that you were capable of such a thing. 

Before you can open your mouth to question him, Mando has already bent down and thrown the body over his shoulder. Without another word, he turns around and walks to the open ramp of the ship to dispose of the pirate. 

Your brows furrow. What has him in such a hurry? You wonder quietly to yourself. Did you do something wrong? When he comes back, your feet are still rooted to the spot he left you. You open your mouth to say something but decide against it as he continues to seemingly ignore you. 

The kid has fallen asleep in your arms, which you find are littered with little blood spots, and after Mando makes it clear that he's not going to say anything, you turn on your heel to take him to his pram. 

“I'm going to put the kid down and get in the fresher,” you mumble over your shoulder, breaking the silence. You see him nod out of the corner of your eye and resume your task. You try not to let it bother you, but you feel your stomach drop at his changed demeanor. 

Not thirty minutes ago, he had gathered you into his arms, and now he’s treating you like a total stranger. Tears brim your eyes once again as you realize that maybe you had read too much into it. 

You try to resonate with yourself as you tuck the kid into the blankets in his pram. Maybe he was just shaken by the whole situation. Kriff, you know you should be a lot more concerned than you are. A few weeks ago, you would have been shaking in your boots. 

You’re not sure what changed, but you figure it has something to do with your trust in Mando’s abilities. You know that no harm would ever come to anyone he didn’t want it to, and so far, you have given him no reason to dislike you—you don’t think so at least. 

You try to shake the thoughts from your head as you close the child’s hover pram and make your way back to the main hull. You can hear the Mandalorian continuing to dispose of gruesome evidence before you lay eyes on him. 

He appears to have cleared an area around his messy bunk, and is now wiping the frame around it down with a wet cloth. You stand in the entrance, debating on whether or not to ask him if he wants help, but you decide against it when he looks up at you.

He holds eye contact just long enough for you to start squirming before he turns his helmet back to the task at hand. Your cheeks blush a furious color and you turn before he can get the chance to see your embarrassment. 

His nonchalant treatment hurts. You scold yourself for thinking that way, it's not like anything has changed just because he held you for five seconds. He was vulnerable and probably not thinking last night, it would be unfair of you to assume that anything is supposed to be different now. 

You brush your unshed tears away as you close the door to the fresher. Maybe you’ll feel better after a soothing shower. You turn the knob on the fresher all the way up and begin to strip out of your clothes. Once you’re done, you stick a hand into the stream to feel the temperature, stepping in once you are satisfied with the warmth.

The relief is instant as the water hits your back. You sigh as you feel yourself melt into the stream. You stare at the water swirling down the drain and try to focus your mind on anything but Mando. 

He seems to be controlling every aspect of your life at this point, not just your actions and emotions, but your thoughts as well. Come to think of it, you can't seem to recall the last thing you thought of or did that didn't have something to do with the man. 

You bring your hand up to let it run over your face, ignoring the water dripping off as you reach your chin. You are just now seeming to realize how exhausted you are. You open your eyes wide, trying to fight off the sleep threatening to take over them. 

To be honest, you’re not sure if the sudden change stems from the loss of adrenaline, the fact that you are still trying to wake up in the first place, or because of the constant facade you have managed to put on since joining Mando on the Crest. 

Whatever it is though, you just want to give in and fall asleep where you stand. If you’re asleep, you won’t have to put so much effort into walking on eggshells around Mando, and you won’t have to dwell on things that apparently don’t even matter. 

You decide that sleep sounds like the best plan you can make right now. After you finish washing up, you are going straight to your cot. 

You hear a heavy knock on the door as you reach for the shampoo and you have to try not to slip after the sound makes you jump. You must have been too tired to hear the tell-tale thump of Mando’s boots as he approached the door. 

You huff out a breath, trying to stop the irrational anger that threatens to take over from the scare. As you reach a hand out again, this time to steady yourself against the wall, he knocks again. Impatient bastard. 

“What is it Mando?” you ask in a tone a bit harsher than intended. You feel a blush rise to your cheeks at how childish you probably seem to him right now. Clinging all over him and then getting mad because he isn’t paying you the attention you thought he would. 

You hear him sigh behind the door before answering. “There’s a town not too far from here,” he cuts right to the chase. “I’m going to go and try to find some means of fuel.” His tone is still nonchalant, but you do better with brushing it off this time, your anger making it easier. 

“Okay,” you tell him, doing your best to sound just as uninterested as he did. He says nothing else, but you can hear him shuffling around outside the door almost as if he were hesitating. You roll your eyes, wishing he would go ahead and leave already. 

“Okay, I-...” he trails off mid-sentence with a frustrated sigh.  What else does he want? You begin to scrub shampoo into your hair as you wait for him to finish whatever it is he wants to say. You almost forget he is still standing there by the time he talks again. 

“I’ll be back soon,” he says. You can hear him walking off before you even get the chance to banter back. You give your head a shake and scrunch your face up. What the fuck? 

Whatever. As you step out of the fresher, towel in hand, you decide you’re not going to deal with his bantha-shit right now. If he wants to have an attitude, so let him. 

After you peek your head out the door to make sure Mando already left, you secure the towel around your body and pad over to your “quarters”. Despite the intrusion this morning, it’s still pretty warm in the crest so you pick out a satin sleep tank top and a matching pair of shorts. After pulling them on and checking to make sure the kid is still sound asleep in his pram, you lay down on your blankets. 

You realize relatively quickly that your master plan isn’t going to work. As much as you try to push every thought from your head, you find yourself staring at the ceiling with some taunting memory or thought playing on repeat. 

You huff in annoyance as you lift yourself from your cot, suddenly wide awake. How convenient. You walk around in the hull, looking for something to distract yourself for the time being. When you turn around to make a third circle, your gaze lands on the unfinished cloak you were making for the kid.

You sit back down and immediately get to work with the needle. You are already about halfway done so it shouldn’t take long, but you’ll take the welcomed distraction nonetheless. 

****

You end up finishing the project much quicker than you had anticipated. After hemming the edges–and stabbing yourself with the needle about ten times–you are able to call it done. It's not perfect, but you are proud of the results. You want to have the kid try it on right away so you can make any adjustments necessary but find him still softly snoring in his blankets. Great. 

You roll your eyes. There really is nothing to do on this maker-damned ship right now. It’s just been cleaned, you’ve already showered, and you had a snack while you worked on the child’s cloak. 

You curse yourself for being so awake as you rack your brain, trying to think of something–anything–to do. As per usual, you come up with nothing. Well… almost nothing… 

You sit down on your blankets and shiver as you let your hand wander to your chest. You inhale sharply as the pad of your finger grazes over your stiffening nipple. You know it's not a good idea, but just the idea of getting yourself off in Mando’s ship is enough to feel the arousal taking root deep inside of you. 

You feel your eyes flutter shut as you bring your other hand up to cup your neglected breast. You decide you’ll just be quick, you are way too pent up not to continue at this point. You can feel the frustration embedded deep in every pore of your body. Every muscle tense and every hair standing on end from the pure agitation flowing through your veins. 

You let a hand travel south as you make the realization that you need this. Mando shouldn’t be back for another hour or so, you have plenty of time to do what you need to do before he gets back. It’ll be fine. 

Eyes still shut, you snake a hand down the front of your shorts to swipe a finger over the thin cotton fabric of your panties, feeling the wetness that's collected there. 

“Oh, fuck,” you shudder at the contact you’ve been missing for so long. You bring your hand back up and push your shorts all the way down your legs, discarding them with a light kick when they reach your ankles. 

With that out of the way, you get your hands back to work, bringing them back to their earlier positions. You tweak your nipple as you let your hand roam into your panties, circling a finger around your clit just light enough to be a tease. 

As you begin to apply more pressure, an image of the Mandalorian forces itself into your mind. The memory of him sitting in the pilot’s seat in the cockpit, legs spread wide open, presenting a large bulge in his pants. 

You hiss as you let a finger dip into your wetness before dragging it back up to your clit. You can’t help but imagine that it's really Mando sitting in front of you, rubbing your sensitive bud and bringing you pleasure. You wonder if he would be quiet as usual, or if he would be vocal, finally able to express his thoughts and feelings after being so quiet underneath his helm.

Maybe he would praise you as he worked you through your orgasm, telling you you’re a good girl, letting you know how good you feel as he works a finger into you. You whimper at the thought and start making faster, tighter circles on your clit. 

“F-Fuck, Mando!” you shock yourself as you call out his name, but you find yourself too close to the edge to care right now. You’re almost there, you can feel the coil in your belly getting ready to snap. One more pinch on your nipple or flick of your finger and you’ll be tumbling over. 

Your movements are sloppy as you focus on your end goal, one last touch and-

“Having fun?”

Fuck. Your movements stop abruptly as you hear the familiar modulated voice sounding from above you, but not before you feel yourself tip over the edge. Your entire body shakes and you keep your eyes locked shut out of embarrassment. 

“Ah, f-fuck!” you practically scream as you continue to convulse involuntarily. You absolutely hate how much it fuels the fire to know you’ve been caught by the same man you were fantasizing about just moments ago. 

Even after you come down from your high, you refuse to open your eyes. As flushed as you know your body is right now, you feel an impossible heat flood through you, turning you an even brighter shade of red. As you lay there in shame, you think that you have never been more humiliated in your entire life.

You stay put for what feels like an eternity before you finally find the courage to crack your eyes open. You realize quickly that you can't see much else than the Mandalorian’s intimidating form looming over your quivering form. Nowhere for you to look but at him.

“Well?” his tone is not mocking, but you’re not dumb enough to think that it’s not genuine curiosity that has him repeating himself. Your eyes fill with tears as you attempt to meet his gaze, only to shy away again when you feel the weight of his heavy stare. 

You open your mouth to say something but find that the most you can muster is a small squeak. A tear trickles down your cheek and into your hairline as you watch Mando cock his head to the side, a silent tell that he is not going to give up until he gets an answer. 

The asshole knows what he's doing, he knows that you want this, that you are embarrassed, that you are aroused because of it, and that you are dying for him to touch you already. Even so, he looks into your eyes for permission, which you grant with a slight nod, as he brings a hand up to rest on your bent knee. 

Your eyes flutter shut as he begins to draw slow circles with his thumb over your bare skin, only to jolt back open when he speaks for the again. 

“Nuh-uh, sweet thing,” he starts, bringing his other hand up to grab your chin between two fingers. “I asked you a question.”

You gulp as you feel your eyes widen at his boldness. The grip he has on your chin isn’t too tight, but it’s enough to both intimidate you and have you biting down on your bottom lip to stifle a moan. He sees your internal struggle and chuckles darkly, causing you to shudder as he tilts your face up to meet his helmet. 

“Answer me cyar’ika,” he tells you and you know by the way he gives your chin a light squeeze that this is the last warning you would be getting before he decided to either lunge for you or stop his actions completely.

“I was,” you mumble, barely coherent to him. 

“What was that?” he asks, leaning in so that your nose almost bumps into his helmet. “I didn’t quite hear you.”  He brings himself over you even more so that he can slot his head next to yours as if he were going to whisper something into your ear. 

The weight of his body is surprisingly comforting and it brings you a newfound sense of comfort. You take a deep breath and turn your head so that your lips are brushing against the side of his own, right where his ear would be. 

“I was, Mando,” you say, louder this time. “Until someone had to interrupt me and ruin my fun.”

Mando stills at your accusatory tone and it almost scares you how quickly he jolts back up to a standing position. 

“Well,” he retorts, “Maybe someone should have picked some place other than the floor of my ship to indulge in their pleasurable desires. Your face flushes a bright shade of red at his response, and you find yourself curling up to make yourself a little smaller. 

Once back completely on his feet, Mando straightens out and tilts his helmet up to gaze down at you. “If you wanted some help, sweet thing,” he says, “you could have just asked.”

Your eyes widen once again at the sight of the imposing man pinning you under his gaze. You want to pinch your arm so you can try to convince yourself that this is even real in the first place. Never in your life would you ever have imagined yourself to be in this situation–dreamed of it,  sure–but never actually thought it would come true. 

“Are you still offering?”

His head jerks back down at your words and his hands fly to your body quicker than you can blink. One of them flying to your breast and another landing on your stomach. You are back helmet-to-face once again as he begins to trail the hand on your stomach downward towards the band of your now-soaked panties. 

You close your eyes in anticipation as his fingers drag lightly across your skin, sending a shiver up your spine. His fingers groping your breast tweak your nipple, making you cry out as you feel the cot dip with the weight of his knee coming up to settle between your legs. 

“I suppose I could be persuaded,” he says in a low voice that makes you shudder. “What's in it for me?” You know that he only says the last part for show, but for some reason the sentence sends a fresh wave of arousal through you. 

You think that this must be Mando’s idea of roleplay. It fits perfectly for a bounty hunter; he has something to hold against you, you need help that only he can provide you with, he will grant your wishes if he can find a mutual benefit. 

He pinches your nipple once again when you remain silent–you seem to be at a loss for words more frequently than usual. 

“I-” you start to talk but stop when the embarrassment of what you are about to say catches up. You dart your tongue out to wet your lip before continuing. “I can make you feel good, Mando,” you say, looking right up into his gaze with your best doe-eyes. He curses under his breath when he feels his cock twitch at the sight unfolding beneath him. 

He knows he won't be able to keep up this facade he’s put on to try to gain the upper hand. You are his weakness, and he knows that you know it–subconsciously or not. He bites his tongue and  pretends to think about your offer before giving his feedback. 

“Sounds fair to me.” You can hear the lust thick in his voice, and if that wasn’t enough to make you moan in itself, the finger that suddenly dips farther into your panties to tease your clit certainly did it. Mando has to suppress a groan at the way your body responds to him at the slightest movement. 

Upon hearing your mewls and cries, he feels his canvas pants grow unbearably tighter. In this moment, he would give anything just to be able to lay by your side and hear you make those sweet sounds for however long he pleases. 

He uses the pad of his pointer finger to start rubbing slow, barely there circles over your clit, smirking under his helmet when he feels you buck up into him in search of more pressure. 

“You sure you want this, cyar’ika?” he asks. Even though you are caged beneath him, willingly handing your body over, he still wants to make sure you aren’t going to regret this. Mando often finds that his mind revolves around doubt.  Whether it has to do with a bounty, the kid, or you, he always feels like he is going to do the wrong thing. 

What if you get your release and then decide that all of this was just a mistake? What if you decide you want to leave the Crest, want to leave him? He is well aware that he doesn’t treat you the way you deserve to be most of the time, so why would you want to stay in the first place? 

Mando tells himself that he is distancing himself in order to protect you, but he knows deep inside that he is a selfish man, that he keeps you at arm's length to protect himself. If he has nobody to protect, nobody to care about, he has nothing to lose. He is safe, he is fearless. 

He is brought out of his spiraling thoughts when you speak from beneath him, your sweet voice taking hold of his hand and pulling him out of the deep hole he keeps digging himself into. 

“Mando,” you start, bringing a hand up to rest on the side of his helmet, as if cupping his cheek. He shudders at the gentle touch and you smile warmly, providing a sight that melts his worries away. “I want this,” you stroke your thumb over the place it's resting as he leans into your touch. 

“I want you.” 

That's all it takes for Mando to throw away any doubt and let himself give in to the desires you seem to fill him with. Just for once, he figures, fuck it. He’s not stupid, he knows that eventually he would have to give in to you. Part of the reason he treats you the way he does is because you are so goddam frustrating. 

Your perfectly molded face, your honey sweet voice, the delicate way you handle the child. The way you care for the both of them, giving all that you have to ensure that they are well fed, well rested, and in tip top condition. It scares him half to death how much he really has come to care for you, but how could he not? 

He simply wouldn't be able to bear it if you left. None of his fears matter now though, all that he can think about is finally giving you the treatment, the pleasure, you deserve. Now that he is sure that you feel the same way, it's like a wall has come down, allowing him full access to what’s been hidden behind it for so long. 

He shakes his head as if trying to get rid of any thoughts that reside there as he starts to move again. He picks you up and carries you to his bunk, plopping you down on the sheets and causing you to giggle.  You sit up with your elbows and look at him looming over you between spread legs, moaning as he shoves his hand back into your panties, letting a finger dip down lower to tease into your soaked cunt. 

“Oh, f-fuck, Mando,” you keen under him and he has to try not to melt on the spot. His title has never sounded better. If only he could have the pleasure of hearing his real name fall from your plush lips. His eyes roll to the back of his head just from the thought. 

You look up into his visor as he eases a finger into your pussy, pumping it in and out a few times before adding a second. The delicious stretch has you clenching around his fingers, causing him to release a sharp breath through the modulator. 

You wonder for a second how many sounds his helm keeps from escaping, keeps from reaching your greedy ears. How often does he scoff at your light teasing, or laugh under his breath at your subtle jokes? You brush the thoughts away quicker than they came, you know you can never really know. 

Bringing your focus back to the man above you, you relish in the feeling of his fingers scraping against your walls, of his thumb brushing over your clit. You can feel your orgasm building up faster than you previously thought to be possible.

 Your legs are still shaking from the one you had granted yourself, and you feel a little overstimulated, but you find yourself not caring. When Mando crooks his fingers into that sweet spot deep inside you, you can't help the wave of relief that overcomes you. 

You cry out as he coaxes you through your second orgasm, continuing his ministrations, but at a slower pace. You look like heaven underneath him, hair falling onto the pillow and clinging to your face where sweat sheens. You look ethereal in your orgasmic haze, and the image alone is enough to make Mando’s cock twitch, making him buck involuntarily as his sensitive tip brushes the seam of his pants. 

You whimper as Mando whispers sweet praise into your ear, telling you how good you are for him, how only he can make you feel this good, how lucky he is to touch you in this way. You have never heard him speak this way, and honestly, you have a sneaking suspicion that he is too blissed out to know what he is saying.

As you come down, he removes his hands and starts to back away, unsure of what to do next. Your eyes snap to his retreating form as you sit up, a frown painted on your features at his sudden departure. He stops in his tracks when he sees your confusion. Your expression softens as you realize that he probably doesn’t know where to go from here. 

If you had to guess, you would say that Mando probably doesn’t have much experience with this kind of thing, and you would be right. The most he has done is find pleasure through brothels, maybe a few one night stands where he kept his armor on the whole time, always leaving before the sun rise. 

You suppress the urge to giggle when you notice the ever-growing tent in his pants, instead extending a hand as you settle at the end of his cot, legs hanging off the edge. It only takes him a second to figure out what you are asking for before taking a step forwards and placing a large hand in your own. 

You tug a little and he obeys your request, stepping closer until he stands in between your thighs. He looks down at you but doesn’t say anything and you take that as a sign to keep going. The corners of your lips tug into a smile as you release his hand to trace up his arm, all the way up to his shoulder which you mirror on the other side. 

You use his form to pick yourself up and stand in front of the cot, so close that your nose brushes the cool metal of his breastplate. Tilting your head to look up at him, you bring your hands slowly back down to lay flat on the beskar in front of you. Your turn.

Catching him off guard, you push him back slightly and then turn around while keeping your hands on him, making him switch positions. His breath hitches but he still doesn’t move, clearly wanting to see where this is going. 

You smirk at him and use one hand to push him again until the back of his knees hit the bunk, forcing him to sit down on the end. His face is almost level with yours in this position, and it brings you a newfound sense of confidence. 

You take your hands away from him and turn around, watching his hands try to catch your hips in your peripheral. You step away quickly though, just out of reach as you grab hold of the hem of your shirt to slowly bring it up over your head. Your smile widens at the pained groan that comes from behind you as you let the article fall to the floor by your bare feet, leaving you in just your ruined panties. 

Mando visibly stiffens when you turn back around, bottom lip caught between your teeth and hands brought up to fondle your perfect tits. His cock gets painfully harder at the sight and he has to clutch the blankets beneath him in order to keep his hands off his cock. The intimidating look in your eye gives him enough of a hint not to. 

He never thought that he would like to submit to anybody in any circumstance, but something about the way you stare down at him makes him reconsider. He seems to always be in charge–he always has to be–the thought of having someone else dominate him seems almost refreshing, though he thinks that he might feel differently if it wasn’t you. 

You keep padding over to him until you are close enough to put your hands on his thighs and lower yourself to your knees. A blush threatens to rise to your cheeks as you recall the last time you had been in a position like this, patching up a wound for Mando whilst trying not to jump his bones. 

You close your eyes for a beat as you take a deep, calming breath before focusing your gaze back to his helmet. You can't tell if the tremor you feel in your hands as you bring them up to his crotch is from your previous orgasms, nerves, or excitement.

When he feels your fingers start to work at his zipper, he pulls your hands away. You frown up at him, arching a brow to silently ask why he stopped you. 

“Cyare,” he starts, watching as you pull your hands back a little and cock your head. “You..” he sighs heavily, trying to find the words to say. 

“You don’t have to do that, cyare,” he says, finally. You roll your eyes and push his hands back out of the way, fingers finding his zipper once again.

“I know I don’t have to, Mando,” you say, training your eyes to watch your hands as they work with the clasp of his pants. “But I want to.” You feel him shudder underneath your touch as you unzip him completely and make a loose fist to let your knuckles lightly run across his length. Your eyes widen at how much bigger he looks without the pants in the way, only the thin fabric of his boxers concealing him from your hungry gaze. 

“Besides,” you look back up to him, “I am a woman of my word after all.” 

You don’t give him any time to respond before you are reaching into his boxers and wrapping a hand around him. He jerks up into your fist and you have to stifle a moan at how thick and warm he feels with your fingers wrapped around him. 

Pulling him out completely, you lean forward to taste the pearl of pre-cum that's collected on his tip. He bucks up and groans at the feeling of your tongue grazing his most sensitive part, there’s no way he’s going to last long with your mouth on him. The sounds he makes are absolutely sinful, and you have to bite your lip before moaning yourself. 

“F-fuck, pretty girl,” he says when you lick up the bottom of his shaft, trailing the vein that runs there. He hasn’t felt this good in a long time, and he knows it's going to be hard not to come in your mouth the second you take him. 

You smirk at his words as you lean back and use your hand to smear your saliva further around his cock, giving small jerks each time you meet the base. When he moans again, you take pity on him and wrap your lips around the head of his cock, closing your eyes as you suck gently. 

His hips shift, bringing him further into your mouth, and one of his hands fly up to settle in your hair at the sudden warmth engulfing his dick. You quickly pull off of him, watching a string of spit break and fall onto your chin. You tsk at him when he whines from the loss. 

“Nuh-uh, Mando,” you say in a slightly teasing but firm tone, “Keep your hands to your sides for me.” You can tell you are pushing your luck by ordering him around from the way he stiffens, but he obeys none-the-less, fisting the sheets with white knuckles. Maybe you should call him a good boy next time. You have to try not to laugh at the thought.

Satisfied with his compliance, you get back to work, this time taking more of him into the heat of your mouth. You moan around him as you take him deeper, sending vibrations through his spine. As you relax your throat to take more of him down, you begin to wonder if you will be able to. He's bigger than average, sure, but his girth is what makes you nervous. 

You bob your head up and down, trying to keeping eye contact with Mando. You can tell he is struggling to keep his composure, and it delights you much more than you would have thought. Finally, you are able to nestle your nose in the dark curls at the base of his cock. You sigh around him and you can feel him twitch in your mouth, a sign that he's getting close.

You use your tongue to swirl around the tip of his cock when you bring your head up, and each time, you feel him shiver above you. It really shouldn’t surprise you how sensitive the Mandalorian is considering he’s always glued to his armor, but for some reason, it does. 

He whimpers above you and you know that he's about to spill over the edge. Smirking around him, you bring a hand up to fondle his balls, pushing him to his limit. 

“S-shit!” he growls almost incoherently as he spills into your mouth, shooting ropes of cum down your throat. You are more than happy to swallow all that he gives you, but he carries a big load, and you can feel it start to dribble down your chin. 

As he stills, you pull your mouth away from his softening cock. You grin as you watch his form shake from the intensity of his orgasm, reveling in pride and the fact that you get to be the one to bring the ‘feirce Mandalorian’ so much pleasure. 

He watches you with hooded eyes as you swipe your thumb across your bottom lip to collect the cum that leaked out of your mouth. When you push the digit between your lips, he groans once again. 

“Fuck, cyar’ika,” he says, voice laced with both arousal and exhaustion. “That was..” he trails off as he watches you scoot forward on your knees and tuck him back into his pants. He doesn’t finish, he can tell that you know what he means. 

You stand up and stretch before placing a hand on his shoulder to push him down so that he is laying flat on the cot. He can see the tired look in your eyes and knows what you are asking for. You watch as he scoots back to the end of the cot, making sure to leave room for you. 

You glance at the childs pram across the hull to make sure he is still asleep before you climb in behind Mando, closing the door to the bunk behind you. He opens his arms in invitation and you gladly accept, climbing up to tangle with him, head resting on his chest and leg swung over his torso. 

Nothing is said for a few moments as he brushes his fingers through your hair, lulling you slowly to sleep. Eventually, when you feel yourself begin to doze off, he breaks the silence. 

“Thank you, sweet thing,” he says quietly, “for everything.”

You smile into his chest and he hugs you tighter to him. You don't have to say anything for him to know that you want to tell him the same. One good thing about Mandos’ whole ‘no speaking’ thing–he knows how to read you. 

You just hope he can't read everything. You are trying to ignore your feelings right now, but you feel conflicted. You want to ask him why he seems to get so distant, why he was being so weird earlier today, you want to tell him that if he feels differently about you, to let you go.

But on the other hand, you also want to beg him to hold you forever, to take you with him wherever he goes for the rest of your life, you want to tell him that you belong to him, that you want him to belong to you. 

For now though, you can't seem to do either as you succumb to the tiredness that takes over your body. “Youll have to make up your mind,” you reason with yourself as you drift off. You ignore the voice though, perfectly content to stay in the middle ground, wrapped in Mando’s strong arms as you fade from consciousness.

****

Thank you for reading!!

[insert-clever-username-1133]

*burns down building cutely* guys im literally just a girl!!!

welcome to my blog

hi guys!!! im loralai but you can call me lora. this post is a running collection of all my chaos

you guys like lists? good bc that's all ive got for you

~

stuff i do

art

i draw in ibis paint on my phone with a disc stylus and use capcut to edit animatics (which yes, i can still do, despite being in the us). most of my stuff is tagged with either #art or #doodles, rarely both. doodles is my old tag for sketches and... well, doodles. i put everything under the art tag now

writing

i have one published fic right now with another multi chapter on the way and some one shots im going to get to eventually! i don't have an update schedule. im little1133 on ao3

music

if you have perfect pitch talk to me please i need someone who understands the feeling when you get a song stuck in your head and you can't remember what key it's in but all the keys you picture it in sound wrong so now it's in your head but it sounds WRONG

fandoms

epic the musical

this is my main fandom right now! epic has had a huge effect on my life, gotten me back into drawing and writing :) im always down to yap about the babies or read your fic or whatever

i love odypen so so much. also i heard someone use the ship name penelody and that's the prettiest ship name ive ever heard i think. platonic eurypoli is also one of my favs. im a eurylochus defender for life

if you follow me you are big time signing up for epic spam

kotlc

this is my longest-term fandom i think. i love this little fandom so much!! Katie (@ myfairkatiecat , very cool user) got me into it last summer (i know, not very long term for my longest term fandom. im young okay). im a keefe defender (sorry stria) and i love fintan pyren a normal amount. fav ships are sokeefe, dexiana, and fintante! i am a sucker for platonic sophitz. they go well together what can i say

iywalirayhtdwa > wiityispb

percy jackson / riordanverse

i love love love this series so much. leo is my baby. percabeth should be called smartwater for ever and ever. i don't participate in this fandom because i learned my lesson from kotlc about joining the fandom before you're done reading and ive already gotten spoiled enough just from random youtube comments. am i really going to abstain from this fandom until ive read all however many series there are? probably not

greek mythology in general

dnd

yeah... right above this is percy jackson and epic the musical. you knew this was coming. im rapidly turning into the greek mythology kid. it's bad.

hadestown

i listened to the soundtrack with animatics a bit ago and im planning on watching a recording of the actual show. this musical has already. made me. FEEL THINGS. A LOT. doubt comes in absolutely broke me which im sure isn't a surprise to anyone who's seen hadestown. just like in epic Hermes is a whole vibe and a half. living it up on top, chant, and why we build the wall have alternated being played on loop in my brain. this musical is literally so.

im currently playing in a dnd campaign (#ivanna) as an elven wizard named Ivanna and in the late planning stages of dming a campaign (#crossfire campaign) for me and my friends. im unwell about both of these things

mouthwashing

i... don't have much to say about this fandom. im not very active in it. love the fanart. love daisuke and anya ofc. we be taking responsibility with this one

elnea kingdom

i don't really post about this game on here because the fandom is mainly on Reddit. this is here purely for propaganda. look up this game and play it. you know you want toooo ohh you wanna play it soooo baaaad

posts i want you to see

too lazy to do this list rn. im gonna link the seaglass vacker eyes post, the Ody is the short one in odypen, and some of my top posts later

tags ig

#art - self explanatory.

#bookmark - things I'm saving to refer back to later.

#liveblog - ive been doing this less lately but it's always a tradition for me to do at least a few liveblogs whenever im consuming a new media. i love this tag because it contains my magnum opus: my huge reblog chains with every little thought i had while reading kotlc. all of them have like 40 self reblogs to just add to them. there's a chain for each book, and i did it for the first like 5 or 6 books. i highly recommend looking at those they're very funny.

userboxes + other

i don't have a dni. if i don't like you ill block you

im not donating to your gofundme

my interests are subject to change on a whim with zero warning

[goldenblu]

here is teaser #2 for the emotionless sanji au because i'm impatient and really want to start posting chapters on ao3 rn but i know i'm gonna regret it if i do that without writing out at least the first half of the fic. therefore this is what you get for now

(edit: link to the fic)

//

His peaceful mood evaporates the moment he passes by the swordsman dozing in front of the galley. Before he can wonder if he needs to mentally prepare himself for any topics from last night being brought up again, Zoro cracks his eye open and says, “Breakfast was cold.”

Sanji’s temper flares. Obnoxious bastard, he should have known. Dropping the three grocery bags, he skips indignation and goes straight to fury. “Maybe if you woke up on time instead of sleeping all day like a lazy shithead, it wouldn’t have been!” he shouts, his heel slamming down onto metal.

The asshole has the audacity to smirk at him from behind his blades. “Thought a cook is supposed to serve his customers.”

“Unlike you, I have a job and actual shit I need to get done, I can’t just wait hand and foot on your stupid ass.” One of these days, he’s going to kick the shitty mosshead all the way back to the East Blue. What a nuisance. He goes to ignite his leg before remembering the bags of highly-flammable food in close proximity. Damn. His anger dies down, and so he huffs and drops his foot, picking up the bags instead. “Get out of the fucking way, I don’t have time for you.”

Zoro stands but doesn’t move out of his path. Sanji is about to snap at him again when, to his surprise, Zoro takes the bags from him and goes into the galley. Sanji is too astonished to stop him. After a moment of staring at the door swinging closed in front of him, he breaks out of his shock and follows the idiot inside. “What the hell do you think you’re doing?”  

“Putting away the groceries,” Zoro says, like it’s obvious. 

Sanji is going to break his nose. “Why?”

Zoro looks at him like he’s the one who’s stupid. Forget breaking his nose, Sanji’s going to strangle him with his own intestines. “You were the one who was just complaining about not having enough time.”

Sanji gawks at him in slowly growing horror. Is he—is he trying to help? What the fuck. Who is this man in front of him. Because it’s definitely not Roronoa Zoro. “Do you even know where any of those go?”

“Uh.” Zoro looks at the bags he’s holding, then around the galley, then back at Sanji. “I didn’t think that far ahead.”

Never mind, he changed his mind, this goddamn fucking moron is definitely Zoro.

[meggiejolly]

"You were the first" (Outer Banks fanfic)

Prompt from @fictober-event Warnings: (somewhat) Major Character Death (offscreen), past child abuse, mention of overdose Pairing: JJ Maybank/Kiara Carrera Authors Note: I really don't know what this is, tbh. I meant to write a quick little fic mostly to get to my word count goal. It turned out longer and much angstier than I planed. It's my first OBX fic and I don't think I got the voices of the characters write yet. It's not edited at all, I might go over it in a few days and post an edited version on AO3, I'll see.

It was a normal afternoon, boring almost. Kiara and JJ were hanging out at the house, everyone else was off elsewhere. They were lounging, lazily passing a joint back and forth and lamenting that there wasn’t enough swell to go surfing. 

Their lazy afternoon was interrupted by a car pulling up. JJ cursed when he looked up to see the blue sheriff’s truck and threw the almost finished joint into an empty bottle.Then he jumped up and went over to meet Shoupe. 

“What the hell Shoupe? I didn’t even do anything this time!” He called out and Kie questioned if that was a smart thing to say to a cop while reeking of weed. But that was JJ for you. 

She followed after him more calmly. 

“Everything ok?”

Shoupe looked nervous and way too serious, but not pissed off at them. That couldn’t be a could sign. 

“I’m not here for that, no one’s in trouble.” Shoupe paused and it seemed like he was bracing himself for something. 

“They found your father JJ.”

Kie could see JJ tense up but he shrugged nonchalantly. “He’s back in prison then?” 

Shoupe looked uncomfortable. “No. I’m sorry to have to tell you this JJ, but he has been found dead. It seems to have been an overdose.” 

Kie could see how JJ froze, so she softly pushed past him and smiled at Shoupe. 

“Thank you for letting us know Shoupe. Is it ok if he comes to the station tomorrow or something to handle things?” 

Shoupe hesitated for a moment, but with a look at the shock frozen JJ, he eventually nodded. 

“Alright. But please make sure he actually shows up.” 

Kie promised and Shoupe left. For a moment Kiara just stood there, almost as frozen as JJ was.

Then she shook herself mentally and touched JJ’s shoulder carefully. 

“Jayj, hey. Can I give you a hug?” 

That got JJ out of his stupor and he shrugged off her hand. 

"What? Nah, I'm good Kie. Good riddance to that asshole!" 

"JJ…" Kiara tried but JJ interrupted her. 

"It's a relief. Seriously. At least this way I don't have to kill him." He was pacing back and forth now, all nervous energy that Kie was afraid could turn destructive really fucking fast.

"I almost did once you know? Remember that gun we found in that hotel room? I held it to his head when he was passed out on the couch. Was this close" He held up his hand, thumb and pointer finger almost touching, "to pulling that trigger."

Kie wanted to say something, but she didn't find the right words before he continued. 

"Should have known I'd just have to wait, he was bound to do himself in sooner or later. Don't know why I bothered to steal those pills from him when he left that last time."

JJ continued pacing and talking for a while. He said terrible things that had tears running down Kie's face. She really wanted to hug him, kind of wanted to resurrect Luke Maybank just to kill him again. JJ deserved so much better than that fucking monster of a father. 

But she couldn't reach JJ, it was probably better to just let him get it all out and when he eventually ran out of steam she would be there for him. She would hold him and call the other Pouges here and they would remind him he had a family that loved him and would always be there for him. 

Until then she'd just have to stomach what JJ was saying and curse herself for looking away for so long. 

Eventually JJ sank down on a sun lounger and buried his head in his hands. "Fuck." He mumbled, "I can't believe he's dead." 

Kie sat down next to him and this time he didn’t shrug her off when she put an arm around his shoulder. 

“He was a fucking waste of space, a grade an asshole and I hated his guts!” JJ said and Kiara could feel him shaking. She pulled him closer. 

“But he’s my Dad and I love him.” His voice was shaking and Kiara was pretty sure he was crying. She hadn’t seen JJ cry since the day in the hot tub. 

She admired him for still being able to love his dad, even after everything he had put him through. JJ had the biggest heart out of anyone she knew and loved so unconditionally, it was so fucking unfair that his parents couldn’t see that or give him the love he deserved. 

“I know you do JJ, that’s ok.You’re allowed to feel those things at the same time. You can grieve him and be relieved at the same time.” 

Some of the tension seemed to drain out of JJ and he turned to lean into Kiara. His arms went around her and she could feel him silently crying into her shoulder. 

There wasn’t much more to do than to hold him, hum softly and pet his hair, hoping she could give him a little bit of comfort. 

After a while JJ sighed and straightened up. 

“Thanks. I… fuck I needed that. I’m sorry Kie.” 

Kiara shook her head and ducked down a little to look into his eyes. “Hey, no. You don’t need to apologize for needing a hug or crying. I’m here for you, whatever you need.” 

JJ gave her a weak smile. “Thank you. That… that means a lot.” 

Kie smiled back and then reached over to grab one of their beer bottles. It was probably warm now and well on its way to flat, but something to drink would be good after the crying. 

To her surprise, JJ hesitated.  

“I’m… not sure I should drink right now. I really don’t want to end up like him, you know?”

“Yeah. Yes of course. Let me get you some water or something. Be right back.” 

Kiara went into the house and grabbed them each a bottle of water. 

"Heads up!" She called when she came back and tossed a bottle at JJ who caught it easily. 

"Thanks." 

They sat in silence next to each other, sipping their water until JJ eventually said. "You were the first you know?"

"The first what?"

"The first person I ever told that my father hit me." 

Kiara looked at him surprised. "I was?" 

JJ didn't look at her. "Yeah. You had just started hanging out with us a couple of weeks ago and I showed up with a big bruise on my arm. You just asked me what happened and I told you. All nonchalantly, that my dad had done it. I don't think you believed me, you never brought it up again. I don't even know why I told you, I was always so careful back then to make up believable stories for all my bruises, but something about the way you asked me, just made me tell you the truth."

Kie swallowed. "Oh. I… I don't remember that. I guess I must have not believed you. I'm really sorry about that Jay. I should have told someone—"

JJ interrupted her. "No, you shouldn't have. They would have not believed me, and he would have gotten so mad. Or worse they would have taken me away from all of you. It's ok, I handled it. That's why I never told John B. or Pope. Or you a second time, because I was afraid you'd tell your parents and they would do something." 

Kie put her arm around him again. "You shouldn't have had to handle it. I'm so sorry you had to go through that." 

JJ just shrugged, but didn't make her take away her arm. 

"Big John didn't know?" Kie asked after a moment.

JJ shrugged again. "He must have suspected. He asked some pointed questions sometimes, but I was very careful never to let anything slip in front of him, so I guess he didn't think he had enough proof to do anything. He did tell me I was always welcome at the Chateau, which was the only help I wanted anyways." 

Kie nodded thoughtfully. 

"Do you want me to let the others know?"

"Nah, I'll tell them when they get back. Don't want to ruin their day with this."

"They would want to be there for you."

"Yeah, but… they can do that later. Right now you being here is all I need." He leaned in and pressed a soft kiss to her lips. "Thanks for that."

Kie kissed him back and smiled. "Of course, always."