#WOW this was a fun one to write

[brother-emperors]

--or perhaps,' continues Octavian. 'You're angry that I've outplayed you at your own game because you were too busy fucking in your old master's house to notice anything that was going on around you.'

He smiles suddenly, bright and wide. 'Enjoy the party, Marcus.'

this scene takes place sometime after philippi, and was originally just some historical fiction I was writing last year for fun focusing on antony, octavian, and agrippa. then I got stressed out watching the new season of a show, started drawing while it played, and ended up turning it into a short comic lmao

the dialogue in this scene is referencing this bit out of Suetonius:

In early youth he incurred the reproach of sundry shameless acts. Sextus Pompey taunted him with effeminacy; Mark Antony with having earned adoption by his uncle through unnatural relations; and Lucius, brother of Mark Antony, that after sacrificing his honour to Caesar he had given himself to Aulus Hirtius in Spain for three hundred thousand sesterces, and that he used to singe his legs with red-hot nutshells, to make the hair grow softer. What is more, one day when there were plays in the theatre, all the people took as directed against him and loudly applauded the following line, spoken on the stage and referring to a priest of the Mother of the Gods, as he beat his timbrel: "See'st how a wanton's finger sways the world?"

Suetonius Augustus 68

what a fun group of people!! they should all eat each other

[derpycatsu]

opened my 3ds for the first time in months and continued my pokemon Y game and well. i havent really put it down. so here are some sycamores :) i think he is very cute

[carlyraejepsans]

Do you enjoy underfell? I thought you disliked aus /genq

i don't dislike the concept of AUs itself, I'm just not a fan of like... the subculture that spawned around them in the UT fandom specifically and how it eventually took over almost all canon content (especially when it limits itself to the bros)

i like aus visually! i am an artist at heart after all. it's just that, if I'm going to care about them as stories and not just fun design ideas, my bar is uhh almost impossibly high the further you move from canon lolol.

[sentientstump]

that melting expression spoke of troubled analysis of surroundings, it appears on my face every day too. (translation: ayo, my eyesight is also goofy!!!)

doodle page with exploration of the theme for this comic below 👇🏼

literally drew that face and was like "huh, i will implement this idea into the very core of my being. no one can stop me " or something like that- xD

[kasper7489]

I kinda hopped into the dc fandom by reading fics (I know I know lmao)

But as I've read more comics and looked into different characterization and analysis I now have a more developed idea as to how I view a lot of the characters and have preferences to how their written. I'm def the type to click out a fic if I find myself thinking 'he would not fucking say that'

Anyway this is just to say it's very funny to me when I go thru some of the fics I bookmarked at the begining of my interest and find myself going Uh Oh! I don't think I can read this anymore!

[hidey-writes]

Day After Day | 日复一日

25k | T | Weilan | Case Fic, Undercover Married, Grief

Shen Wei swallows. “And this is why you asked me to—” he makes a vague gesture that means go undercover as your husband “—pretend with you.” Zhao Yunlan comes to a stop, eyes on Shen Wei. “That’s why the cover is a married couple. The reason I’m asking you is because there are no other options for people to go undercover with.” Shen Wei scoffs to give himself an excuse to look away. “You certainly know how to flatter someone, Zhao Yunlan.” Or: Four Haixingren disappear for two months after a stay at a romantic mountain retreat. Shen Wei and Zhao Yunlan book a weekend there to find out what happened.

it's finally here!!! my beloved fic for the 520 day guardian reverse exchange! this was written for trobadora, who gave me the most delicious set of ideas to fit into a story. it was so fun.

i have no idea how to describe this fic, frankly - this is, hands down, the most complex and most heartwrenching and most incredible thing i've ever written in my entire life.

here is a list of some things in it: a kiss, a mystery, a change of heart. old chinese people, dark energy world-building, lesbians, big-time character parallels, forgery of documents, rainstorms, rowboats, lollipop symbolism, [redacted], bedsharing, grading, the stupidest undercover name ever. zhao yunlan described with so many light metaphors. shen wei being the most shen wei i could make him.

read Day After Day | 日复一日 on ao3 here!

[pangyham]

been thinking about the liyue gang and how id draw their physical builds so here are some thoughts i had for xy cy and gm in particular

- xingqiu, unsurprisingly, would be quite lanky. i like to think he has broad-ish shoulders, like a thin athlete's build? hes a long boy to me haha, long face, neck, limbs, fingers etc, so naturally hes stands (comparatively) tall at 5'6" or 5'7"

i like to think hes most physically attractive one and has that handsome princely and boyish charm to him because it adds a lot to his fuckass duality LOL

- chongyun is a lot like xiao imo! short stature but with muscular arms. he seems nimble and flexible because of his normal attack animations (which bears a lot of similarities to xiao's actually! this + the fact that chongyun's normal attacks create gusts of wind further reinforces my hc that xiao trains him). sometimes i watch high energy choreography vids on youtube and some dancers look incredibly light on their feet, almost like their body is inherently bouncy? and i imagine chongyun to have that agility to him. chongyun has a delicate face and aura and i let that bleed into my hcs for his fighting style and physical capabilities hahaha. hes kind of like a cat who's deceptively strong. as for height.. just a few inches taller than xiao, so perceptibly short at 5'4"

- ga ming my new beloved. pretty much similar to chongyun but more muscular and stronger just because he wields his claymore with ease. theres a noticeable weight different between cy and his claymore the way he lugs it up after he swings (or even other claymore users like razor who, on his last hit, bounces from impact). meanwhile ga ming literally slams his to the ground LOL. i love his movements though hes very swift and expressive and radiant.. if cy has delicate movements then ga ming's is fierce and (charmingly!) assertive

ga ming is wonderfully charismatic though, i know hes not well known in liyue harbor yet, but he seems like the type to gain a reputation from his friendliness. how could no one adore him hahaha. 5'5" for height! just between xy and xq

[blueskittlesart]

POST MORE SWORD OF FATE PLS IM BEGGING

i have very little in terms of actual art LMAO but i CAN explain the sword thing because i checked and i did in fact never make this plot point public. i struggled for a while with creating a villain for this story until i realized that. i put "sword" in the title of the game. of course it has to be about the fucking sword. DUH.

so i want SOF to deal very heavily with religion, specifically the way in which hyrule's religion forms post-sksw but pre-reincarnation. i've placed it on the timeline directly after sksw, making it the first actual reincarnation in hyrule. what this means is that there's no actual proof yet that the reincarnation thing is real and not just an insane bluff on demise's part, and so several key characters including link and zelda barely believe in hylia or demise at all when the story starts. my thought with this setting's version of ganon is that he's the polar opposite of the nonbelievers. The gerudo don't really exist as of now, but he DOES come from the desert region of hyrule--specifically, he was raised in a cultlike offshoot of the sheikah religion which interpreted the hylia/demise myth completely literally and believes that a doomsday is coming, heralded by the foretold return of demise. Because of this, he knows more about the cycle and how to set it in motion than basically any other character. Crucially, he and his people are some of the only ones at this point aware of the existence of the master sword.

ganon finds. a sword. a sword which he THINKS is the master sword. and this theory is only reinforced when the sword begins to speak to him about his destiny and the salvation of hyrule. unfortunately it is not the master sword and he ends up basically a pawn in the greater plans of what's left of demise & ghirahim within that sword, manipulated into attempting to revive demise and destroy the reincarnated hero and princess. he remains in denial until basically the very end of the final battle, completely convinced that he is the true savior of hyrule and LINK is the one being misled. ghirahim is a very good manipulator lol

[redriotinggg]

When Sanji is bitten by a spider that has eaten the Cupid-Cupid Fruit, the Straw Hats learn there is only one way to cure his illness.

A genuine love confession.

There’s only one crewmate capable of the job.

(read on ao3!!)

—

The Straw Hats have stopped at a small summer island to gather supplies, stock up on necessities, and do any repairs to the Sunny.

When the bulk of the hard work has been done, their captain insists on a bonfire, having found a perfect clearing in the forest.

Sanji’s by the grill, cooking up plenty of burgers, hotdogs, kebabs, and other barbecued treats to fill his crew’s voracious appetites.

He happily watches his crew enjoy their afternoon—Brook’s violin emitting a joyful tune, Nami and Robin engaged in an intense game of cards, Franky enthusiastically sketching something onto a large page, Zoro fast asleep on the grass, and Luffy, Chopper, and Usopp running around as they play their own variation of tag.

Perhaps Sanji’s gaze is drawn to one of his crewmates in particular, following the flow of his curly hair, smiling at the sound of his laughter.

Perhaps. Sanji won’t tell.

“Woah! Look at that!”

The rowdy trio’s game of tag comes to a halt at Chopper’s cry. Luffy and Usopp look to where the reindeer is pointing, their eyes lighting up when they spot the thing that caught his attention.

“Cool!” Luffy begins to race over, but he’s stopped by Usopp.

“Wait! Don’t run, you’ll scare it!”

The trio carefully make their way over to a nearby tree, their attention grabbed by a fairly large spider.

Sanji shudders when he sees the creature. He looks away, focusing on the food. He is not interested in the further details of their exploration.

Luffy, Chopper, and Usopp fawn over the spider, speculating on its species and origins.

“It’s markings kinda look like hearts,” Usopp observes. “They’re even a pinkish-red colour.”

“Aw, so cute!” Chopper squeals.

“I’m gonna name it Cupid!” Luffy declares. “That guy’s in charge of hearts ‘n stuff, right? This lil' girl could be his pet or something,” he laughs.

A bit later, Sanji calls out to them. “Oi, get your asses over here, the food’s ready! And wash your hands if you’ve been touching bugs!”

Saying their goodbyes to Cupid, the boys rush over to claim their dinner.

The crew happily enjoys their meal, thanking Sanji with wide grins that only get wider when he presents them with dessert.

As the evening turns to night, the crew wind down, packing away their belongings and making their way back to the Sunny.

“Are you sure we can’t stay and camp?” Luffy whines. “It’s like, the perfect night for it! We've got the perfect spot!”

“No,” Nami denies flatly. “We didn’t bring the stuff for it and it’s already getting late. Plus, I want to sleep in my own bed. Now hurry up and get going! Franky! Turn on your flashlights, I can’t see!”

“One set of nipple lights, comin’ up! Ow!”

Usopp and Sanji take up the rear, picking up the last of Sanji’s portable kitchen gear. The chef is happily listening to the sniper’s latest tale when he feels a pinch on his ankle.

“Ow! What the hell?”

“Sanji! Are you okay?”

“Yeah. I think something just bit me.”

Usopp looks in the grass, trying to find the culprit. When he does, he gasps. “It’s the spider from before! Cupid, why’d you go and bite Sanji? That’s not nice!”

“‘Cause it’s a good for nothing insect,” Sanji grumbles.

“Actually, it’s an arachnid—”

“You better not have poisoned me, you stupid bug,” Sanji yells at the spider, which scurries away.

“It’d be venom, not poison.”

“You are not helping!” Sanji snaps. “What is this, a Robin impression? Stop with the unnecessary bug facts, this shit hurts!”

“Does it really? You should get Chopper to look at it as soon as we get back to the ship. Here, gimme your stuff, I’ll carry if for you.”

“I can carry it myself, asshole. I’m not that weak.”

“Really? ‘Cause if you’re in pain, the Great Usopp would be more than happy to carry you back to the Sunny.” Usopp smirks and flexes his muscular arms, sending Sanji a wink.

Sanji pretends like his heart isn’t trying to escape his chest and throw itself at Usopp’s feet.

Internally, Sanji is a mess. Externally, he rolls his eyes and hefts his baggage further in his arms.

“You do two push-ups and think you’re a strong guy now, huh? C’mon, let’s go before any other bugs try to make a meal outta me.”

When they make it back to the Sunny, all of their things put away, Usopp continues to hover by Sanji, his concern rising with each passing moment.

“Are you sure you’re okay?” Usopp asks. “You’re all red. You shouldn’t be sweating this much.”

“‘M fine,” Sanji mumbles. The way he sways on the spot doesn’t do much to help his case.

Usopp holds him steady, in full crisis mode as he watches the usually stable chef falter. He hoists Sanji in his arms, dashing to the infirmary. “CHOPPER!”

“What happened?” the doctor asks. Usopp puts Sanji on the bed and recounts the tale.

By now, the rest of the crew has come to investigate the cause of the commotion. They all stand in the doorway, shocked to see their crewmate suddenly so ill.

“It’s only been like 20 minutes! Why does he look bad already? Sanji, don’t die!”

Usopp’s dramatic cry unfortunately has some merit. Sanji doesn’t look well. He is the complete opposite of the perfect picture of health he was less than an hour ago. In just a few minutes, Sanji seems to have lost all of his energy. He’s flushed and sweating, breathing heavily and brows furrowed as he fights some type of pain. Even his usually shiny hair is limp and brittle-looking.

Usopp’s heart positively breaks at the sight.

“I can’t make him a proper anti-venom without knowing exactly what type of spider that was,” Chopper states. He clicks his tongue as he looks at the inflamed, red bite mark on Sanji’s ankle.

“Brook, you help me get Sanji out of this suit. Everyone else, get out so I can treat him. Now!”

The rest of the crew gather on the deck, concern on all of their faces.

“Usopp,” Robin says, pulling the sniper from his worsening spiral of anxiety. “You said Sanji was bit by the same spider that you saw in the forest, right? Draw me a picture. We can use it to get information from the locals.”

Usopp nods. He runs off to the galley and grabs a sketchpad nestled between Sanji’s collection of recipes and cookbooks. Before long, he’s got multiple drawings of the spider, complete with colours and accurate depictions of its heart-shaped markings.

Franky and Nami go to the hospital to ask about an anti-venom while Luffy, Zoro, and Robin go ask around town.

On the Sunny, Usopp paces back and forth, biting his nails and their beds away to nothing as worry engulfs him. He peeks into the infirmary, heart breaking a little more every time he catches a glimpse of Sanji’s pained face.

“Sanji will be alright,” Brook assures him when he exits the room. “He’s stable for now. Our cook is strong. He’s got the best doctor caring for him and crewmates desperately seeking out information. He’ll pull through.”

Usopp tries his very best to believe him.

The rest of the crew returns to the Sunny in less than an hour. Everyone, except Sanji, who’s resting in the infirmary, gathers at the kitchen table.

“Turns out that our little spider has eaten a Devil Fruit,” Robin tells them. “Everyone in the area is familiar with the spider that has eaten the Cupid-Cupid fruit.”

“Wait, the spider is actually related to Cupid? That’s hilarious! I’m like a fortune teller! Hahahaha! Ow!” Luffy rubs his sore head, pouting at Nami.

“A bite from the Cupid Spider can do multiple things, depending on who is bitten," Robin continues. "However, it only causes illness in someone who has a requited love but has not actually expressed their love. To save Sanji, whoever is in love with him must tell him the breadth of their true feelings, lest he remain bedridden forever. Or worse.”

The crew sits in silence for a moment, reflecting on the information.

“Alright, who’s in love with Sanji?” Luffy demands.

All eyes go to Usopp.

He is so red in the face Chopper is concerned he'll pass out. His eyes are so wide Zoro wonders if they'll pop out of his head.

"What are you waiting for?" Nami cries. "Get in there and confess your love so Sanji gets better!"

"I-I-I-I-I-I'm not—"

"Oh, please, this is not the time for your anxious, denial bullshit! Go fix Sanji!"

"Can't we just kill the spider instead?" he suggests meekly.

Luffy and Chopper gasp in betrayal.

"That would be a bad idea," Robin warns. "That spider is very well-respected on this island. Causing it harm would no doubt incur the wrath of all the locals. There is nothing you can do but speak from the heart."

"You got this, Usopp-bro! Just tell Sanji how you feel! It'll turn out super!"

On stiff legs and with wobbly knees, Usopp leaves the galley and makes his way back to the infirmary, deaf to the sounds of his crew's encouragements.

Despite his desperate pleas to the universe, Sanji is awake when Usopp steps inside. He looks even worse than before. His skin is pale, covered in a sheen of sweat. His eyes are lidded and he's got bags under them like he hasn't slept in days. But even still, a smile lights up his face when he sees the sniper.

"Usopp," he says, voice quiet and raspier than usual. His smile is no less bright.

"Sanji," Usopp returns, taking a seat next to the bed. "I've got news. So, turns out that the spider that bit you has a Devil Fruit power."

Sanji scoffs. "Of course it does. Just my fucking luck. So, what? It ate the Sick-Sick fruit and now I'll feel like shit forever?"

Usopp chuckles drily. "No, nothing like that. We can actually help you pretty easily. Or, I can, anyway. I just... I have to... to..."

The sniper closes his eyes as a fresh wave of anxiety washes over him. He can't do this! It's too scary! But he has to.

How many times has he been in this position? Forced to watch someone he loves suffer from an illness, unable to do anything but try and distract them from their pain.

This time is different. Usopp can stop this. He can stop Sanji's suffering. All he has to do is be honest.

Well, best to rip off the band-aid.

Taking a deep breath, Usopp grabs Sanji's clammy hand in both of his. "I love you!"

"I-I've loved you for a long time, Sanji," Usopp admits, and the words start flowing, unable to stop. "I don't know when exactly it started, but I know that I do because I think you're so amazing! You're so cool, and strong, and talented. I love that you act all grumpy but you're actually extremely kind and considerate. I love spending time with you! I love it when you tell me stories about Zeff and the Baratie. I love that you always ask me questions when I'm telling you about something because you make me feel heard. I love that you always wrap your arms around me when we party. I love it when you smile at me and dance with me.

"I love how you look in the early morning and when the sun is setting. Well, I love how you look all the time because you're so gorgeous it isn't fair! All handsome and pretty at the same time. You dress nice, and you smell nice, and you make me food and protect me—! Sanji, I love you!

"I'm sorry it took a stupid spider to force me to say it but I lov-"

Usopp's speech is cut off as desperate lips meet his own. He melts into Sanji's embrace, returning the kiss with all he's got. His heart is beating so fast he thinks it might pop right out of his chest, but nothing could possibly take him away from this moment.

When they pull apart, foreheads resting against one another, Usopp is taken aback by Sanji's appearance. He looks as healthy as ever, save for his very intense blush. But his eyes are shining and his smile is hopeful and adoring.

"Do you mean it, Usopp? Do you really feel that way about me?"

"I do. A-And you? D-do you feel...?"

"The same," Sanji promises. "Everything that you said, I feel the same way. Usopp, I love you! I—did you really just cure me with a love confession?"

Usopp blinks, and then he bursts out into laughter. Sanji joins him, the two holding one another as they laugh at the absurdity of the situation, their hearts full to bursting.

"Anything is possible on the Grand Line," Usopp reminds him. "Especially for the number one lover on the seas, the great Captain Usopp!"

"Number one lover, huh? I don't know if I believe that." Sanji pulls Usopp in close, whispering into his ear. "I think you'll have to show me."

"T-that can be arranged."

Usopp leans in and Sanji goes to meet him, lips pressing together again, and again, and again.

[incorrect-fnaf-quotes]

There’s an idea that’s been on my mind for the last several months, and while it’s not FNaF related at all, I still want to share it because I like it.

It’s entirely fantasy—it would be surprising if it wasn’t, given everything that’s involved it, but, Anyways-

It follows Binx—an (anthro) jackalope, their sibling Rox, and a few others that I’ll eventually get to. But, for right now, I’m going to focus on these two. Getting straight to the point... Rox died.

Some time before the main plot would start happening, Rox proceeded to get captured by someone, lost her antlers and an arm, and then was killed. Binx found him—but it was too late.

And while, at first, Binx doesn’t do anything major, and simply grieves over their sibling, until they remember something—resurrection. Rox is gone for about a month before it happens.

Basically stealing something that can actually cause the revival, Binx immediately went into the process of trying to revive their older sibling, not wanting her gone any longer.

However, here’s the thing about resurrection in this world. It’s obviously a thing that can be done—it can be successful—but it’s not an easy thing. You could have whatever to cause a resurrection, but it has the possibility to not work.

There’s only about a 9% chance of any revival/resurrection actually ever succeeding—and Binx just happened to get lucky. But even then, there’s more problems going on.

While it brought Rox back, and healed the bare minimum, one: she’s still needing time to to actually recover. Two: Rox can barely remember anything after being brought back.

He still remembers certain things—who he is, going on adventures—dying, etc. However, Rox is unable to remember Binx at all, among other people and other certain things.

And then comes another problem. While actually being alive now, the whole resurrection doesn’t seem to be a permanent one. It basically worked, but only a little bit?

Think of it as a spell—Binx revives their sibling—she’s alive again—not a sort of zombie or anything—but slowly, the spell is disappearing, and soon, Rox will die again. But, clearly, Binx doesn’t want that.

...But, in other words: Never try to resurrect anyone here. It just sucks.

So, what follows is basically: Binx must try to find a way to fully save their sibling before it’s too late, as well as wanting to get Rox’s memories back—while Rox himself... doesn’t really want that.

I don’t think I’m doing that great at describing this—but, trust me, there’s a lot to it, but I just don’t know how to describe it the best.

That whole situation isn’t the only thing going on—because, at the same time as that, there’s a villain (of course) going around, and the siblings need to be protected.

Uhhh... yeah. That’s all I have to say.

[indestinatus]

feeling like a 25yo modern woman going out on dates and taking care of my apartment 😌

[chaostheoryy]

Wedding Crashers [Bradley “Rooster” Bradshaw X GN!Reader]

Summary: As one of Bradley’s most treasured companions from his early Navy days, you’ve been lucky enough to find yourself at his side more and more. However, no amount of caffeine-fueled rendezvous and shameless fun prepares you for the moment he asks you to be his plus one at Maverick’s wedding.

Rating: Teen+

Warnings: Cursing, alcohol consumption, (spoilers!) a heated make out session, and implied sexual encounters

Word Count: 5.4K

A/N: Man, oh man. This one sure got out of hand. Did I intend to write this much? Absolutely not. But I am just a slave to the feral little writer in my head and they said they needed more. I’m also tempted to pull a Crawlin’ Back to You and create a NSFW sequel like I did for Cobb Vanth so we’ll see what the people have to say...(No beta as usual. Just me, myself, and the feral little voice in my head.)

“How would you feel about crashing Mav’s wedding?”

Now there’s a question you weren’t expecting to hear at nine in the morning.

Ever since Bradley made the decision to stay in San Diego after the big mission that reunited him with his surrogate uncle, the two of you have been meeting for coffee at Ferry Landing every Sunday. It started as an accident, really—you bumped into each other one morning, not realizing the other person was still in town and decided to catch up over lattes and pastries. It’s not every day that you get a chance to rekindle a friendship from your Navy days. Especially when that friendship is with one of the best pilots that has ever graced North Island’s runway.

You stare blankly at him for a moment as you process his inquiry. “You’re joking.”

“Mmm…” He narrows his eyes, tilting his head and biting his lip in faux deliberation. “I wish I was. But no. I am not sitting through a long, boring and ridiculously outdated ceremony by myself.”

“Bradley, you’re his best man. You’re gonna be right up there with him!”

He groans. “I know! I just—Please. Don’t make me brave this one alone. I’ve gotta stand in front of a hundred-plus people in matching suit and tie with a bunch of dudes I barely know. Then what? Have drinks with Mav’s crotchety old Navy friends?”

“He’s not a grandpa, dummy.”

“Good point. Now that you mention it, I’d probably be more excited to share a beer with a group of grandfathers than those geeze—Ow!”

A quick jab of your fist against his shoulder silences whatever other bratty comments he has sitting on the back burner.

“Fine,” you say with a pointed glare. “If it’ll get you to stop whining, I’ll go.”

His face lights up like night sky. You can tell he tries to hide it, but it’s harder for him to contain his youthful jubilance than it is for Top Gun cockpit jockeys to keep it in their pants. “Really?”

“Yes. But you owe me. Big time.”

“Okay. Yeah. Great. Whatever you want!”

His arms ensnare you in a rib-crunching hug. All the air is sucked out of your lungs and, for a split second, your feet clear the earth from the sheer force of his embrace. If it wasn’t for the fact that you placed your drink on the railing of the rickety wooden pier, you’d be coated in a blend of espresso and hot milk by now.

“Jesus, Bradley,” you groan as he places you back down, “I didn’t know the idea of getting stuck at a wedding was such a fucking nightmare.”

“Hey, getting shot down in an F-18 after blowing up an unsanctioned enemy uranium enrichment plant can really change your perspective on things.”

You scoff. “Right. I’ll be sure to squeeze that into my schedule next week so I can understand where you’re coming from a little bit better.”

“If that’s what it takes for you to get me,” he replies with a crooked smirk.

An agreeable lull settles over the conversation as you both look out at the bay. With crisp waters backdropped by the San Diego skyline and impossibly blue, cloudless skies, it’s a view you’ll never cease to enjoy. Having Bradley at your side to soak it in with you makes it all the more surreal.

“Why me?” It’s a valid question, one that’s been bugging you from the moment he asked you to go with him.

His face contorts into an almost painful expression of bewilderment. “What do you mean, why you?”

“I mean, why are you asking me to be your plus one. You’re basically an A-list celebrity around here and I’m sure there’s an astronomic number of people who’d be thrilled to go with you. I’m just saying, I don’t see why I’d be the first person you wanna ask.”

“Okay, first off, I’m C-list at best. Secondly, who said you were the first?”

As calm, cool and collected as you try to be about the situation, it’s impossible to keep all of your emotion locked up in a box. Your face falls at his remark.

“Oh. That’s—Yeah. No. You’re right. I don’t know why I thought—“

The flat, almost unreadable look he’s been giving you vanishes in an instant. A humongous grin stretches out from ear to ear in its place. “Hey. I’m kidding. Of course you’re the first! Who else would I wanna ask? Natasha? Hangman?”

You both cringe at the very mention of Jake Seresin’s call sign. Never in your life have you met a more unbearably cocky person. And you only spent thirty minutes in a room with the guy. You can’t imagine just how insufferable he is up in the air.

“Seriously,” he adds as his hand finds a resting place between your shoulder blades, “I’m asking you because I want to. Because I can’t think of a better person to crash a wedding with.”

At this point, you’re not sure if you’re blushing or not. And frankly, you can’t blame yourself if you are. You’ve always known that the bond the two of you share runs deep, but a part of you has always hesitated to believe that you actually play a significant role in his life. Why would you? He’s Bradley fucking Bradshaw. And you’re…Well, you.

But apparently being you is enough.

You grin. “Well, consider me your wingman.”

The gleeful twinkle in his eye shines even brighter at your response. You don’t know how it’s possible, but somehow this spunky golden retriever of a man manages it. “You’re my wingman? Nah, fuck that bullshit. I’m yours, sweetheart.”

***

The day of the wedding comes much faster than you expected. It seems like just yesterday that Bradley was asking you to be his plus one but somehow that’s a whole month and a half ago now. Time is the universe’s most nefarious trickster.

You’ve spent far too much time trying to figure out what you want to wear. Weddings aren’t exactly your forte, especially having spent most of your time surrounded by military brats who, between the toxic masculine mindset and the constant anxiety of being one phone call away from a suicide mission, are afraid of commitment. Getting invited to a wedding by one of your former Navy buddies is about as likely as a thunderstorm in San Diego.

But hey, you’ve managed to pull something nice together for this shindig. It’s not Tom Ford or Louis Vuitton nice but it’s still quite the look. The outfit hugs all the right places and is undeniably flattering. And, if you’re being honest with yourself, it leaves very little up to the imagination in certain parts of your body. Who can complain about turning a few heads because their ass looks good?

“Holy shit,” Bradley gawks as he watches you descend the steps into the parking lot of your apartment complex. “You look amazing.”

Yeah, can’t help but blush at that.

“You don’t look too bad yourself, Bradshaw,” you reply with a coy smile.

Dressed in a sharp, black tuxedo, he looks incredible. How a man who is a ten on even his worst days manages to get even more attractive is beyond you. 

“I clean up when I want to,” he says proudly.

“I can tell.”

He gives you a once over, soaking in every detail of your outfit. When his eyes trace over the more…personal aspects of your figure, he makes no effort to hide it. He’s looking and he wants you to know it.

Despite the butterflies in your stomach and the color in your cheeks, you manage to play it cool and roll your eyes. “Alright, would you quit checking me out and get in the damn car? You can’t crash a wedding if you don’t actually go to it.”

He smirks at your flustered diversion but turns to pry open the passenger door of his Jeep. “After you, my dear.”

Once you climb in and he shuts the door behind you, he circles around to hop in the driver’s seat. Rather than start the car, however, he turns to you and holds his hand out, palm up as if waiting to receive something.

You eye him quizzically. “What?”

“Where’s my tip?”

“Your tip?”

He fakes offense. “Uh, yeah! You really expect me to chauffeur your ass across town and provide unbeatable, gentlemanly service, and you’re not going to tip me?”

“Oh my gosh, you’re right. I’m so sorry. Hold on.” You pat your lap and hips, pretending to search your person for a wallet. “Ah-ha! Here it is. For you, my good sir.”

You give him the middle finger with both hands.

He barks out a laugh and nods enthusiastically. “Fair enough,” he says as he starts the engine. “Let’s blow this popsicle stand. Next stop: holy matrimony.”

***

Though the ceremony itself is far from exciting, the venue is stunning. Maverick, being Maverick, managed to work some magic and secured the entirety of Harbor Island Park for the big day. With the San Diego skyline to the east and North Island directly across the bay, it’s the perfect spot for the occasion.

The entire time vows are being exchanged, your eyes wander to the groomsmen standing behind Maverick. Standing up there with a big smile on his face and admiration in his eyes, Bradley watches as his father’s best friend finally gets to say “I do.” 

Every now and then, he steals a glance your way. You lock eyes, share the tiniest grin, and both end up biting your lips to keep from drawing attention to yourselves. 

Though you won’t admit it, there’s another, less innocent reason you have to avert your eyes so quickly each time. Yes, this is Maverick’s big day and he is glowing up there with Penny’s hands in his. But, as much as it drives you crazy to even think about, there’s another man stealing the spotlight with his broad shoulders and bright eyes. The more you look at him, the harder it gets to look away. And man, would it be a treat to see all that Bradley Bradshaw has to offer.

***

The dinner is exceptional. And not just because it’s being held in a waterfront restaurant with floor to ceiling windows that overlook the harbor. While you’re no wedding food aficionado, you’re pretty certain that this is the best meal you could possibly ask for at such an event. It tastes like heaven and the preparation is infuriatingly impeccable. Honestly, who the hell takes the time to make little sauce flowers on the plate of every single guest? It should be illegal.

You’re sitting alone at the reception table while Bradley fetches you both another glass of champagne when you hear a vaguely familiar voice utter your name. It sounds strange. Not in an uncomfortable way, but in a “I know you so well even though you and I have never met” kind of way.

Sure enough, you find yourself looking up into the impossibly hopeful eyes of Pete Mitchell. Though you and Bradley have known each other for years and have spent a lot of time together in recent months, you have never once gotten the chance to meet the man behind so many of your friend’s life stories. Guess it was only a matter of time. You are at his wedding, after all.

Clambering to your feet, you instinctively raise your arm to salute him. “Captain Mitchell. Sir. It’s an honor.”

With a chuckle, he reaches out and grabs your arm, lowering it back down to your side. “Please,” he says. “The only time anyone seems to call me Captain Mitchell around here is when I’m getting reprimanded. Maverick is fine. Or Mav, if you wanna save yourself a couple syllables.”

“In that case, it’s nice to meet you, Maverick. I hope you don’t mind me being here.”

“Not at all,” he beams—his smile is ludicrously bright and charming in a way that almost makes you nervous to be on the receiving end. “I was actually hoping I’d get the chance to introduce myself sooner or later.“

You blink. Now that’s a statement you weren’t expecting to hear. “Really?”

“Of course! I’ve been eager to meet the person Bradley speaks so highly of.”

“He’s mentioned me?”

Maverick laughs again. “Once or twice,” he replies. “And by once or twice, I mean you’re just about all he talks about whenever we catch up.”

There’s definitely color in your cheeks now. It shouldn’t be a surprise. Seriously. Of course he’s mentioned you. You’re someone he spends a lot of time around. At the very least, he’s shared a story or two with Maverick about your caffeine-fueled Sunday shenanigans or late night phone calls.

“Hey, Mav.”

Both you and Maverick find yourselves turning sharply at the sound of Bradley’s voice. Just as expected, he’s got a glass of champagne in each hand. He hands you one and places the other on the table next to you before giving Maverick a tight hug.

“Thank you for coming, Bradley,” Maverick says as he clings to the fabric at Bradley’s shoulder.

“Wouldn’t miss it for the world.”

When they separate, the two exchange gentle smiles. There’s so much admiration in their eyes—the kind of admiration that only comes from shared experience and years of devotion. Bradley may not be his son, but it’s clear that Maverick would do everything in his power to protect him.

“I see the two of you have finally met,” Bradley notes as he snags his glass from the table.

“That’s right,” Maverick says.

Bradley’s eyes jump between the two of you. “And?”

“And we were just discussing how nice it is to put a face to the name after all these years,” you explain. A smirk pricks at the edge of your lip. “Especially since you seem to spend a lot of time gushing about me to poor Maverick here.”

Never before have you seen Bradley Bradshaw grow that red, that fast. Whatever supplier he gets his daily dose of confidence from has apparently gone out of business because the signature Rooster smile that you’ve grown accustom to seeing flees his face faster than a supersonic jet. He’s embarrassed. Scandalized, even.

He’s never looked cuter.

“Great. So glad you two are getting along,” Bradley mutters. “I’m gonna take that as I sign that I need to spend a little more time at the bar.”

He slinks back a step and is about to turn and head away but Maverick intercepts him with a hand on the shoulder. “Hey, hey, hey. Relax. I’ll get out of your hair. The groom’s gotta make rounds and say hi to everybody before people start getting too drunk or too bored to stick around.”

Maverick yanks Bradley into another hug, then turns to smile at you. 

“It was nice meeting you, Maverick,” You say as offer your hand, assuming he intends to shake it.

To your surprise, however, he doesn’t take it. Instead, he wraps you up in his arms and gives you a hug. You nearly melt. To be welcomed so wholly by the person who means more to Bradley than anything in the world is something you can’t possibly take for granted.

When he releases you, he lets his hand rest on your shoulder. “I’m sure we’ll see each other again soon. In the meantime, keep an eye on this son of a bitch for me, would ya? He’s trouble.”

The ear to ear grin that finds your lips threatens to crack your face wide open. “Yeah, I know,” you reply. “That’s kinda why I keep him around.”

“Good. Now, you two go have fun!”

You watch for a moment as Maverick strolls over to the next table and shakes hands with another pair of guests. When Bradley clears his throat, you turn your attention back to him. There’s still a faint pink tint in his cheeks but overall, the chagrin that had stricken him during the conversation with Maverick appears to a have diminished.

“So…?”

The puzzled expression on his face is almost too amusing for you to hold in a chuckle. “So, what?”

“So, what’s the play for the remainder of the evening? Surely you don’t plan on sitting at an over-decorated banquet table all night.”

“Absolutely not. I’d rather suck Hangman’s dick.”

“Gross.”

“Exactly.” He takes a massive gulp of champagne and unbuttons his suit jacket to loosen up. “The plan is: get trashed to the point where the floor becomes the ceiling and the walls are made of liquid, then—without a single sober brain cell left to hold me back—embarrass the ever-loving fuck out of myself by tearing the dance floor to shreds.”

You bark out a laugh. “I really hope you aren’t expecting me to do the same.”

“C’mon. You’re really gonna ride the bench while I carry Team Wedding Crasher to the championship?”

You consider his words for a moment. As much as you detest the idea of making a fool out of yourself in front of several dozen well-dressed strangers, you find the sheer possibility of disappointing Bradley to be even worse. Besides, life’s too short to give a shit about what a bunch of middle-aged Navy officers think of you.

“Alright, wingman,” you declare with a smirk. “Let’s give ‘em hell.”

***

Hell hath risen. 

Not for the partygoers, of course. The devil spares their innocent souls this round. Instead, you and Bradley have found yourselves consumed by the cursed flames of alcohol’s aftermath. The drunk bliss you’ve enjoyed for the past few hours has faded, leaving behind a brutal malady of headaches and nausea. So here you are, kneeling on the tiles of an upscale restaurant bathroom with your head in the toilet.

“You alright in there?” Bradley asks from the other side of the door.

The groan you utter in response is far cry from conveying a coherent thought, but he takes it as an answer nonetheless. He pushes open the door—which, bless your drunken ass for being too lazy to lock it—and crouches down next to you. A gentle hand begins rubbing your back.

“How you feelin’?”

“Never better,” you manage to grumble as you lay your head on the arm you’ve draped across the toilet seat. “How ‘bout you?”

“I feel like dog shit.”

“Great.”

He chuckles and takes hold of your forearms to help you to your feet. “Let’s free up the bathroom and go get some air.”

Clinging to his arm like a frail, old grandparent, the two of you make your way outside. The earth isn’t swaying anymore but man, your legs want absolutely nothing to do with getting your body from point A to point B. Thankfully, Bradley seems to have enough mental and physical strength for the both of you.

A short walk down the path that lines the rocky shoreline later, you find yourselves back at the park where the wedding ceremony had been held earlier that evening. All the chairs and decorations are gone. The only sign of celebration that remains are a few pink and white flower petals nestled in the grass.

Bradley helps you ease yourself down on one of the waterfront benches before taking a seat next to you. With his bowtie undone and his hair disheveled, he looks far less put together than the man who’d stolen glances at you during the ceremony and yet, he still maintains that aura of charm that makes it impossible for you not to swoon.

“How are you so put together?” You ask. “I’m pretty sure you had twice as much to drink as I did and I’m the one getting pried off the bathroom floor.”

He smirks. “Guess I’m just that tough.”

The flat, unamused look on your face must communicate your disbelief perfectly because he chuckles and runs a hand through his hair.

“I’m kidding,” he adds. “Pretty sure I’m going to go full Exorcist on my bathroom the second I get home.”

“That’s hot.”

You both laugh.

A pleasant silence falls over the bench as you both look out at the water. Reflections of the city lights dance across the waves like sea-bound stars. The gentle breeze that kisses your skin brings with it a comforting chill that perfectly balances out the discomforting heat of your impending hangover. You still feel like crap but it turns out a beautiful view works wonders when it comes to distracting a person from suffering.

After a moment, you dare to peer at Bradley from the corner of your eye. He looks so at peace. There’s the tiniest smile lingering at his mouth and the way his attention is torn from the bay every time a plane flies overhead reminds you of the unbreakable optimism of a child. How can a man so handsome and resolute be so gentle? How can that gentleness be a privilege you’ve become so familiar with?

“Thank you.”

He’s not looking at you when he says it, but you tear your eyes from his face as if you’ve been caught anyway.

“For what?” You ask.

“For coming with me tonight. I know weddings aren’t the most exciting thing in the world, but it means a lot to me that you came anyway.”

You study his expression closely. It’s hard to place your finger on why, but you get the sense that he genuinely hadn’t expected you to say yes. 

“I’m glad you asked me,” you admit quietly.

He turns his head to look at you. “Really?”

You nod.

“Good.” He exhales. The blissful smile on his face curls into something more playful. “I was worried you might regret the whole thing after I peeled you off the dance floor.”

“Y’know what? That blonde bitch is lucky I was too hammered to tussle. If I were sober enough to plot my revenge, I would’ve snapped the heel off one of her stilettos and watched her stumble into the dessert table. I mean, c’mon! Who trips a person throwing it back to Lady Gaga?��

“That should be a federal offense.”

“Seriously!”

There’s another lull in the conversation. It’s not a bad thing by any means, but it definitely makes you wonder what is going on inside the man’s head. He may not be as outspoken as other Navy pilots like Hangman, but he certainly isn’t shy either.

“There’s one thing I’m disappointed I didn’t get to do tonight though.”

You raise your brow at the comment. “What’s that?”

“I never got the chance to ask you to dance.”

“What are you talking about?” A huff of laughter rolls off your tongue. “We literally just spent the last two hours dancing!”

He considers your reply. “Yeah, that’s not quite the dancing I’m talking about.”

Oh.

Oh.

You blink. With your jaw hanging loose from its hinges and your eyes wide, you must look like a grade-A idiot.

“You…Wanted to slow dance with me?”

“Is that really such a surprise?”

And just like that, your cheeks are turning red and whatever hope you had for staying calm, cool and collected about the whole thing has skipped town. 

“N-no!” You stammer. “Well, yes. But it shouldn’t be. I mean, you asked me to be your plus one at a wedding so I really shouldn’t be shocked. That’s kinda the whole point of plus ones, right? I guess I just never expected you to actually want me to be that kind of plus one. And I know that probably makes zero sense now that I say that out loud but it’s just—“

“Hey.”

The remainder of your blabbering monologue dies on your tongue when he reaches over to cup your jaw in his hand. His fingertips caress the delicate skin just below your ear while his thumb strokes your cheek with timid curiosity. 

There it is. That sweet-tempered charisma that you’ve been so fascinated by. Oh, what a privilege. What a dangerously addictive privilege to be on the receiving end of such an unrivaled indulgence.

“Bradley,” you exhale. 

You don’t know why you say his name. You don’t even know why you say anything at all. It just sort of slips out, as if you’ve been holding it in all night. And the way his pupils dilate ever so slightly as your voice floats into his ear makes it clear that he’s been waiting just as long to hear you say it.

He’s staring at your lips now. It’s painfully obvious and he doesn’t give a damn. He’s telling you exactly what he wants without uttering a single word. As if to seal a letter of his desire, the thumb on your cheek glides over to brush the corner of your mouth.

The beating of your heart is deafening. Sure, the sound of the waves colliding with the rocks just a few steps away is irritatingly loud but they sound like they’re a mile away in comparison to the thudding in your ear. What you would give to tune it all out right now.

Fearful that he’ll take your silence as an indication that he’s crossed a boundary, you lean into his hand and kiss the pad of his thumb. His breath catches in his throat. The fingers at your jaw twitch. His thumb, now pressed to the center of your mouth, traces your bottom lip with the measured stroke of an artist smearing paint across his canvas. Never before have you felt so delightfully fragile.

“Fuck,” he whispers with the desperation of a man forced to sin. “You have no idea how bad I want to kiss you right now…”

You nearly choke on the lump in your throat. A reply lingers in the back of your mind: then why don’t you? But, as if he can hear your every thought, he answers before the question can breach your vocal cords.

His tongue dips out to wet his lips. “But I know if I do, I might not ever want to stop.”

Just like that, the sense of helplessness that you’ve been feeling gives way to unrestrained desire. You want this. You need this. You don’t even know what this is but you aren’t about to let it slip away.

Fingers curling around his wrist, you squeeze his forearm like a vice. “I don’t give a damn if I suffocate,” you growl. “Kiss me right now or I swear to God, I’ll rip that mustache off your face.”

Maybe threatening a man isn’t the most romantic thing you could have said but it gets the job done. His lips instantly come crashing into yours. It’s so fast, so passionate that it draws a small gasp from your lungs.

Instinct takes hold of your body as your hands blindly seek shelter somewhere in the sanctuary of his body. One hand ends up clinging to his shoulder while the other curls around the back of his head to bury itself amongst the fine hairs on the nape of his neck. Fingernails scrape their way up his scalp until his tongue dips into your mouth and drives you to anchor yourself to the earth by grasping at a fistful of his hair.

You tug. He groans. The sound rumbles like an earthquake in his chest and tickles a primal, needy part of you that you’ve long since forgotten. At that moment—at that sound—all of the self control you have left crawls right out of your skin to leap in the waves and drown.

Without so much as a second thought, you crawl into his lap so that you’re straddling his thighs. He has to crane his neck slightly to kiss you now but he doesn’t seem to care. You’re right where he wants you. And the sudden pressure of his hands seizing your waist to pull you flush against his body confirms it.

It’s hard to tell how long you stay like that. The concept of time itself seems to vanish and the world around you has pretty much ceased to exist altogether. All you know now—all you even care to know—is the taste of Bradley’s lips and the heat of his breath on your skin. 

When the kiss is finally broken so you can give your lungs some much needed oxygen, his mouth latches onto your neck. Teeth graze your throat and his tongue leaves a ghostly trail of saliva in its wake. There’s no doubt that you’re going to find a collection of hickeys on your neck tomorrow and, in all honesty, you’re glad. You want to remember this, to look at yourself in the mirror tomorrow morning and think about what it feels like to be consumed by the man you’ve grown to love.

A tiny whimper slips from your mouth as he sucks a particularly dark mark onto your skin. Maybe that was his closing remark. Or maybe the sound you made was a little too reminiscent of a person wincing in discomfort. Either way, his mouth finally eases off and he pulls back to look at you for the first time since this has all started.

“You make me crazy,” he murmurs as he slides one hand down to your thigh.

You let out a breathless huff of laughter. “I can’t make you something you already are, Bradshaw.”

“Fair enough.”

Dragging your hands toward his neck, they find their place just above the collar of his shirt as you lean in to kiss him again. It’s much slower this time. The initial hunger has been satiated just enough to allow you to coast on affection rather than whatever lust-fueled engine had kicked off the whole encounter.

“Mmmm,” he hums into your kiss. “I wanna take you home with me…”

Something hot and heavy pools in the pit of your stomach at that. Making out with Bradley has been heaven sent. It’s more than you could have hoped for and you are beyond grateful for the opportunity. But this impossibly handsome, shamelessly sensual man just can’t seem to count his blessings. He wants more and he has no desire to hide it.

Not that you’re opposed…

You drag your tongue over his bottom lip and grin. “Well maybe if you ask nicely, I’ll let you.”

He shifts underneath you, legs separating just enough to make you feel an ache in your thighs as you continue to straddle him. The movement brings your attention to something else as well. There’s a firm, hot pressure against the inside of your thigh that most definitely hadn’t been there when you first crawled in his lap.

Oh, Jesus…He’s hard, you realize.

“Please.”

No legal team stands a chance against that. He practically whines as he does what you suggest, begging like an animal who can’t wait to be fed. He may not be the kind of guy to shy away from pursuing something, but he’s also not the kind to take what doesn’t belong to him. If he needs to earn your trust or your permission, he’ll do whatever it takes.

You reward him with a sultry kiss. It’s quick, but it makes your intention clear: Yes. You are saying yes.

Without giving him another chance at initiating anything more, you climb out of his lap and stand on the path that separates the bench from the rocky border of the San Diego bay. The evening breeze is much cooler now and actually coaxes some goosebumps into crawling over your arm.

He lingers in his seat, legs now spread wide to ease some of the discomfort between his thighs. You’ve never seen him in such a messy state. His clothes are all ruffled. The unknotted bowtie around his neck is lopsided and threatening to slide out from beneath his collar. The hair on the top of his head is now completely unkempt with a handful of strands dangling over his forehead. And, with the combination of hooded eyes and slick, swollen lips, he looks like the kind of raunchy wedding date people have wet dreams about.

As much as you want to stand there and appreciate the view, the impatient little creature tugging at your gut has other, less restrained plans.

“With all due respect, Lieutenant,” you say as you straighten the fabric hugging your torso, “I don’t have all night.”

A crooked smirk tugs at the corner of his mouth. “10-4.”

Making no attempt to fix any part of the mess that is his visage, Bradley stands up and grabs your hand to lead you back to the parking lot. None of this is what you expected when you agreed to be his plus one, but man are you glad you said yes. Whatever lies in store for the remainder of the night is a gift you just can’t wait to unwrap.

[skitskatdacat63]

This is my personal crossover event of the century

[banned-for-horny]

One of the Good Ones

Mason gets in trouble.

(cw including but not limited to bratty reader, leighton being leighton, and mason getting the humiliation/corruption he deserves)

Mason should have just ignored you. You'd come in, made all kinds of rude and lewd remarks, and really, he should have known something was up when he was able to drag you to office without a fight. You're one of the best swimmers in the class, and you had a reputation as a delinquent for a reason.

A loud thwack! startles the swim coach, but it's your strangled moan in his ear that really drags him back to attention. Your entire body jolts from the blow, chest rubbing against Mason's whistle, thighs twitching and knocking his own together. Somehow, the only part of him that isn't being set ablaze by your touch is his crotch, where his cock strains painfully against his shorts. He can't tell if it's a blessing or a curse.

"Ahem."

Blessing, Mason decides quickly. "Nine."

Behind you with a leering smile stands Headmaster Leighton. "Good." He raises the paddle. "I was worried you lost count. We would've had to start all over again, and we wouldn't want that, right?"

"No, sir," Mason forces out.

You squeeze Mason's neck in a hug and sway your hips, drawling, "No, sir."

Headmaster Leighton brings the paddle down with a fierce swing. Mason's hips jolt up...at the noise. He'd been startled. Right. Just startled. "Ten."

Really, Mason doesn't understand how he got here. He'd expected you to be punished, sure, but then Headmaster Leighton had said something about being responsible for their students in the classroom, and that he should know how to control his students and not rely on the Headmaster for everything and-

Another swing. Another breathy moan. This time, Mason can see your toes curling and throws his head back, desperate for air. "Eleven."

-and now he's here.

Mason isn't stupid. He knows this town is-is sick. Fucked up. And it isn't like he's innocent, either - his little sessions in the lake are saved for rainy days on purpose. But he keeps his hands to himself for a reason, always makes direct eye contact and NEVER goes below the neckline.

But this is also his job. He'd gotten lucky getting a position at the academy, and if he got fired, he would have to resort to some...unsavory work until he finds something more stable.

Thwack!

"Twelve," Mason gasps over your moaning. His hips are twitching, either to grind into your crotch or wriggle away from it. The count is fifteen. Headmaster Leighton wanted him to prove he's capable of controlling himself by not touching you. It's not that hard.

He thinks as much until rough, weathered skin squeezes his knee. Mason's breath hitches in his throat, jaw tight as Headmaster Leighton leans over to eye the little gap between the swim coach and the delinquent.

"You're doing good, Mason," the headmaster hums, squeezing Mason's burning skin as he smiles. "I expected no less from someone like you. As for you..." He rises with a quiet grunt, then wrenches your head back by the roots. Your lips part in another breathy gasp, eyes fluttering. "This is a punishment, you know."

The corner of your lips curl dangerously. "Then maybe you should stop hitting like an old man already and actually punish me."

Headmaster Leighton's own smile drills a hole right through Mason's stomach. The paddle strikes your bare end once, twice, three times in quick succession. Even when Mason practically shouts "Fifteen!", the older man doesn't stop. You cry out at the sixteenth, bury your face into Mason's neck at the nineteenth. At twenty, your lips ghost over his skin, nails sinking into his roots and jerking his head back. A moan catches in his throat at the sight of the headmaster's flushed face.

"Still enjoying yourself?" Headmaster Leighton sneers.

For a moment, Mason prays he's talking to you, but when he realizes the headmaster is watching him, his tongue shrivels in his mouth. "N-No, sir. Never-"

It's at that perfect, horrible moment that you finally decide to sit up. Your hips drag up Mason's thighs and hike up his shorts, and the throbbing warmth of your ass finally grinds against his length and draws a deep, pained groan from his chest. His hands untangle from behind the chair, digging his fingers deep into your hips to-to push you off. Right. It also keeps the weight of your body directly on his clothed cock, burning and twitching with the desire to rut into you until he cums, and he can't have that. Mason's supposed to be one of the good ones.

"Oh?"

Sobriety crashes into Mason like he dove headfirst into the lake in the middle of winter. His eyes fly to the headmaster and his nonchalant lean against the desk behind him, paddle still in hand, eyes brimming with cruel amusement.

"Mason," he sighs, "I'm disappointed in you. You were supposed to keep your hands to yourself until I was done."

Mason's jaw drops in protest, ripping his hands away from your skin. "Y-You said to fifteen-"

The paddle cracks against the polished wood. "I said, 'let's start with fifteen'," Headmaster Leighton sneers. "Not 'only' fifteen. I know I hired you for your...physical fitness, but it's simple English, really." His sneer melts into a sadistic grin. "Or were you just that eager to join in on the punishment? What do you think?"

Whatever else Mason tries to say disappears in another groan when you lean back, pressing even harder into his erection. Despite the pained tears brimming in your eyes, you smirk. "I think," you hum, "he really wants to join in, sir."

And Mason desperately wants to say no, wants to shove you off his lap and bolt out of the headmaster's office, but he can already imagine it now: Local swim coach teacher physically assaults student, claims it was in self-defense. Headmaster Leighton would have his name slandered, credibility destroyed. Who would ever want to hire some no-named stranger that got caught red-handed by the police?

"I-" Mason chokes out, "I-I should be punished."

Your smirk only grows. Through the haze of his own panic and arousal, he swears he sees the pointed tail of a devil curling behind you. "For?"

"For..." Mason swallows when Headmaster Leighton circles behind him. "For not being able tO-" His voice hiccups when those same, calloused hands palm his shoulders. With each gentle squeeze, he finds the tension in his muscles soften against his will. "For not being able to control myself..."

You pout. That tail he swears isn't there droops. "Control myself against..."

"Against you," he finishes.

The victorious little smile you flash ignites every nerve under his skin. You sit back fully this time, practically crushing his erection and ignoring his moan to say, "See, old man? Told you he'd break."

"As if anyone could hold out against someone like you," Headmaster Leighton scoffs. He gives Mason one final shove before returning to his desk, retrieving the paddle and giving his palm a firm smack. "Now, what to do..." They could let him go, Mason wants to say, but under the haze in his mind, he already knows they won't let him. Whatever little game they have planned, he'd be stuck between them.

"Why don't we start with some strokes?" Headmaster Leighton pats the top of his desk. You smile and slip out of Mason's lap, practically throwing the swimmer into position. He barely gets his hands on the surface when you yank his shorts down, exposing his ass and-

"H-Hey!" Mason squeaks when you grab his shaft. He isn't exactly big, but when your fist closes around his cock, the head barely peeks out of your fingers.

"That's...smaller than I was hoping," you whine. A few hard tugs nearly has Mason at the brink of orgasm and yet you aren't even paying attention, pouting at the headmaster instead. "You said he was a winner!"

"I said he would be 'entertaining'," Headmaster Leighton scolds. "Seems Mason isn't the only one here flunking out of English, hm? Perhaps I should have Doren come in to provide some remedial lessons. Or should I have Sirris come in to check your ears?"

"No!" Mason manages to shout, voice trembling as you continue to stroke his shaft. You're barely moving your wrist, almost bored, and under all the arousal and embarrasment, he can't help but grit his teeth with frustration. "Can we just start already?"

"At least you're eager," you huff, finally releasing his cock. Mason risks glancing over his shoulder and finds you sidled up to Headmaster Leighton's side, tapping a jaunty little tune against the paddle with your nails. "Now hurry up, sir. I'm bored!"

Headmaster Leighton only smiles and traces the edge of the paddle up your throat, chin tilted back to meet his eye. It's sensual, intimate, and Mason feels like he's intruding on something when the headmaster leans down and whispers in your ear. Whatever he says, it draws the corners of your mouth into a wicked smile. You peck a kiss against Headmaster Leighton's cheek. In the same breath, you pluck the paddle from his hand and point it at Mason.

"Let's start with...fifteen," you taunt, voice dripping with glee. "Ready?"

Mason feels like he might faint. He's supposed to be one of the good ones. "...ready."

[benevolenterrancy]

AND IT'S COMPLETED! Last chapter finally posted!

The Torchwood team manages to get themselves dumped into the middle of the Korean War and have to struggle their way through injuries, medical staff, time anomalies, demon hunters, and more general confusion than even they're used to dealing with on the regular in order to find a way home.

Meanwhile the MASH crew get a bunch of British spooks who just may win for being the weirdest patients they've ever had, and that's saying a lot.

[pancakes-with-grounded-hazelnuts]

hsr: references to jingliu, jing yuan, and yanqing's backstories. interpretations + hcs roughly based on anything up to 1.4

(hi i don't make proper theories or analyses. i just scream my feelings into a void in a chaotic barrage of words.)

thinking about sword family again.

how jingliu’s readiness to teach anyone swordsmanship regardless of fame, talent, or circumstances transformed jing yuan’s life. i think about little jing yuan, whose passion for swordplay went against his parents' wishes, whose talent leaned far more into cunning than the blade. and yet jingliu acknowledged his desire to learn and acknowledged him as he was. even now, he still speaks of her with respect and fondness.

i then think about how jing yuan now, many years later, is mentoring a student of his own, yanqing. a boy with no known background but had a fiery passion for swordplay. how he went against public opinion to give him opportunities on the battlefield at a young age. the dubious ethics of this aside, i can see little yanqing felt his passion and abilities acknowledged.

i think of them being acknowledged by their masters, for not only their strengths and weaknesses, but their dreams. i can imagine a great sense of hope dawning on them. they will never forget it.

(extra headcanony territory) and then i picture, the student of her student, standing before her, hungry for another contest, hungry to learn more techniques from her. he knows she's deemed a criminal by the xianzhou, he knows her past is full of painful complications beyond his comprehension, but through all that, jingliu is still a brilliant swordmaster, and that's what matters to him. he will acknowledge her as she is. he will cut through her punishing memories with his sharp tongue. "what's the holdup? it's time for swordplay!" and she will smile the sweetest and most sincere smile she had for years, for there's fun to be had.

and so the cycle of hope has come full circle.

>> disclaimer: i might be too paranoid about this, but i feel the need to note that the positive way i wrote this (and other posts) doesn't mean i think what these characters do for each other is necessarily the best or healthiest (even by in-universe standards, let alone my own). i acknowledge the flaws and greyness of this world, but i prefer to read them in the context of its own setting and focus on the positives for a lot of these posts because it gives me the most joy.