#i love rigid made up rules

[squigliez]

.

[yzzart]

YOU'RE RULING THE WAY THAT I MOVE... ── KENJI SATO

── summary: Kenji was insatiable, they say.

── content warnings: F!reader, 18+, nsfw, fiance!kenji, oral (f!receiving), finger marks, petnames, dirty talk, explicit words, explicit content.

── word count: 1.206!

Oh, Kenji Sato was, unconditionally, insatiable. — Perhaps, mentioned in countless reports and comments and rumors from journalists, a little voracious and avid. — Making it clear that he looked for satisfaction around him, wanting to end this thirst on the court.

Being one of the biggest, and best, baseball stars, he had the reason, and right, to cause this. — Everyone could agree, right?

But this feeling remained in his chest, covertly, off the court; of course, trying not to show it in the public eye. — There was a mixture of need and lack that only Sato could admit; poorly, dramatic.

Kenji felt hungry, needing to be close to you, causing any physical contact, wanting to enjoy every inch of your body; aspiring to press it around you. — He wants to feel, touch and delight you. — And that drove the young boy crazy.

At the same time that you drove him crazy, leaving Sato thirsty, greedy for your smell or just seeing your gaze against his, you also directed him to the light; being a guide on your troubled path. —Kenji was grateful, and, gods, as he was. — The possibly true meaning of walking through heaven and hell in one walk.

He was trapped, connected to you; always keeping, like a magnet, his strong, long arms around your waist, pressing himself against you or fitting his face into the crook of your neck, nudging his nose into the back of your neck. — Sometimes, his teeth run through your skin, a sensitive spot, marking the area and then kissing it; conveying a loving and ironic action when saying “sorry, my love”.

Also, Kenji remained, pleasantly, surrounded between your thighs and holding them, with such precision and rigidity, leaving, in the future, marks of his long fingers; unable to avoid the possessiveness that coursed through his veins. — Delighting, relishing in the taste of your pussy; keeping him even more addicted to you, being certified as a starving animal.

That mouth, so bold and sharp, that responded and argued everything that came to mind, in fact, was smeared with taste and pleasure; sucking, kissing your folds, incredibly wet and mixed with his saliva, in an unruly way. — Attacking your sensitive and pulsating clitoris, his tongue surrounding it with slow circles and tracing lines across the region. — Rarely threatening contact with his teeth.

The damned man knew how to torture you and thought it was funny, he had, unquestionably, a talent for it.

“Ken, holy shit…!” — The environment, unstable, dark and poorly lit by the small bands of light that came from the huge windows, covered by curtains, was filled with the moans and whimpers that came out of your beautiful, dirty mouth. — “Ngh!” — You choked, trying to breathe.

Kenji would like, would love, to live with his face between your thighs; he could forget about baseball, save the city from monsters, everything. — Everything to devour you.

“My little princess with that mouth…” — A pop, made by his mouth, when sucking one of your folds was exclaimed. — “…so dirty.” — Pretends false hurt along with a pout, quickly licks his lips. — "So good…"

Raising his shiny orbs of desire and lasciviousness, Kenji witnessed, or rather, enjoyed your dazed image, hazy of the purest pleasure you received, feeling in a cloud of delight. — The large t-shirt, which belonged to your fiencé, lifted up to your collarbone, showing off your perky breasts and your messy hair spread across the pillow. — A magnificent work of art, somewhat angelic, apollonian.

Your little face manifested the lost between lust and excitement, being a sight for Sato's eyes. — You looked wonderful, as always.

“You know, hmm…” — The heat of his tongue returned, moving, slowly, to your entrance, tasting, ambitious; Sato's name was begged, almost inaudible, landing in his ears. — “I would spend hours eating that pussy.” — He had already confessed to that filthy curse so many times, but that's not a complaint. — “Oh, but, you know, don’t you?” — He growled.

“Hm, hm…” — This was an attempt to state what I had heard. — “Ken, please…” — You didn’t know what, in fact, you were begging, you didn’t care about blurting out disconnected words and things; the older one raised his eyebrows, mocking you.

“Fuck, baby.” — Kenji exclaims, almost breathless, closing his eyes and tracing a line with his tongue to the small, quivering dot, focusing on it; impatiently, wanting to enjoy your orgasm. — "I know, i know." — He babbled, clicking his tongue and increasing the speed of his licks; distributing a messy, clumsy, obscene kiss to your pussy.

A scream, thin and tearful, with a melodic tone, and considered music for the player, broke free from your mouth. — Being caught off guard during the change of promptness. — Without delay, one of your hands fell on Sato's black hair, pulling it sharply. — And you swear you felt a dirty smile, then a giggle, which sent a wave of shock through you.

When you felt a hot, scorching sensation of pleasure and voluptuousness boiling in your stomach, accompanied by the impression of numbness dominating your extremely sensitive little spot, you knew you were close. — Kenji too. — Your chest burned, rose and fell, trying to regulate or catch a breath, and your back arched; whining, immorally, even more so for Ken.

Holding your thighs, feeling a mediocre courage in trying to close them, which were increasingly trembling, Kenji's hands slowly caressed them; wanting to reassure you. — The coldness of his engagement ring ran across your skin, giving you goose bumps. — From the movement made in his mouth, Ken had said something, but, covered with exultation, you was unable to understand; probably words of encouragement.

"Oh, Ken, Kenji...!" — You screamed, frantically, while miserably moving your hips against Kenji's mouth, warning him; even if there is no such need. — Understanding what was going on, a growl came out of the older man's mouth, maintaining his rhythm. — “I’m close, Ken…” — You cried, feeling tears invading your eyes.

Suddenly digging your nails into Sato's scalp, as tears, witnesses of desire, fall from your eyes, you cum in Kenji's mouth; deliciously releasing all your pleasure. — Your head resting on the pillow, your chest rising and falling under pure exhaustion. — Therefore, you continues to be devoured by your lover.

Kenji, by gently opening your thighs a little, gets drunk on your orgasm; persistently tasting, tasting and eating your pussy. — Now, unshakable and extremely high level of sensitivity. — The tongue cleaning, searching and not leaving any drop of your cum with his greed and thirst to be quenched.

You were being adored, worshiped —even ecstatically— and you appreciated it. — Sato never tired of making you feel this way.

“Please,” — As he start to pull away, Kenji lifts his head, to get a clear view of you, and the glow on his chin and mouth, caused by your cum and his saliva, sends butterflies to your stomach. . — "you're so perfect." — He murmured, stunned and swallowed dryly. — “I wanted to stay buried in your thighs, like, forever.”

Your hand, which was still between his locks, immediately messed them up; mercilessly finding his change in personality ridiculous. — Addressing a low "i love you” to him.

“Me too, love” — He took a deep breath. — “But, i’m serious.”

[parkerslatte]

Different

Azriel x Fem!Reader

Word Count: 1.7k

Warnings: none

Summary: Ever since Feyre arrived at Velaris, they have only ever known Azriel a stoic and mostly serious. But once his wife comes home, she sees a different side to him.

A Court of Thorns and Roses Masterlist

•••

Feyre watched as Azriel stood by the window. His shadows moved over his shoulders and around his ear as if whispering something to him. The expression on Azriel’s face was his same neutral one that only ever seemed to change the smallest amount. And only ever in the presence of the Inner Circle and even then there would only be a small hint of a smile. 

It was late at night and everyone was enjoying a relaxing night with a few bottles of Rhys’s expensive alcohol. So far, Azriel hadn’t moved from his place at the window, his back was rigid as if he was expecting something, though that was the only indicator that he was. His face was his usual stoicism, giving nothing away. 

“Az, are you ever going to get away from that window anytime soon?” Cassian complained. 

Azriel turned his attention to Cassian and scowled. “I’m busy.”

“Not busy enough to spend time with the people you love,” Cassian teased. 

“Az, sit down, you won’t miss anything,” Rhys chimed in. 

With a final look through the window, Azriel walked over to the rest of the Inner Circle and sat in the armchair. His back was tense and he was not fully relaxed. Ever since Feyre had known him he had always been somewhat alert to everything. 

While everyone continues with the card game, Feyre couldn’t help but pay more attention to Azriel than to the game. Like Feyre, Azriel didn’t seem to be paying any attention to the game either. Instead he stared at the table in front of him completely lost in thought. 

Elain, who was sitting on the floor beside Mor, looked up to Azriel. “It’s your turn,” she said. 

“Oh,” Azriel said before picking a card out of his hand and placing it on top of the pile. 

“That isn’t a card you can even put on top,” Cassian complained. 

Azriel rolled his eyes. “Does it matter? You change the rules when you’re losing anyway.”

“I do not!” Cassian exclaimed. “I take this game seriously.”

“Until you are losing,” Nesta mumbled under her breath. 

Cassian began to argue back, clearly becoming outnumbered in his argument. Feyre only watched on with amusement. 

However everything was quickly interrupted by a new voice, one Feyre had never heated before, cut through the argument. 

“I leave you all alone for a few years and everything goes to shit?” 

Everything goes silent as everyone stares at the beautiful female who had just entered the room. Before Feyre could even process everything, Azriel threw his cards back down on the table and rushed up to the female.

The female giggled in delight as Azriel’s arms wrapped around her and swung her around. Feyre looked at her two sisters, each of them held the same expression she did. Confusion. 

What shocked Feyre the most about the situation was the bright and wide smile stretching across Azriel’s face. She had only noticed now that he had dimples. 

“I missed you so much,” Azriel mumbled. 

“It has only been a few months for you,” the female replied. 

“That is too long for me. I always wish for you to be next to me,” Azriel replied and pressed his lips against the females. His arms circled her waist, making sure there wasn’t a single gap between their bodies. The female threaded her fingers through his hair, causing Azriel to sigh in delight. Feyre couldn’t help but feel surprised by this display of affection from Azriel. 

Feyre leaned back against Rhys. “Who is that?”

“Azriel’s mate and wife,” Rhys answered.

“What?” Feyre exclaimed. “None of you have ever mentioned her before.”

“That was Azriel’s decision,” Rhys replied, filling up his glass. “You see, Y/N works as a researcher all over the continent for me so she is rarely ever here so none of us can protect her. Azriel has made a lot of enemies over the years and if he were tied to her, she could be put in even more danger.”

“When was the last time they saw each other?” Elain interjected. 

“For Azriel a few months ago,” Rhys answered. “Those two weeks just before Solstice when Azriel wasn’t here, he was on the continent with her.”

Feyre watched as Azriel buried his head into Y/N’s  neck, holding her against him tightly. Feyre smiled at the sight. 

“It has been at least two years since the rest of us have last seen Y/N,” Cassian chimed in. “It would be nice of her to greet the rest of us.”

Y/N pulled away from Azriel to smile at everyone else. “Give me a break, Cass. If you were to go without a hug from your mate in a few months, you wouldn't be jumping to greet everyone else first.”

“She knows about us?” Nesta asked. 

Cassian nodded. “Whenever Azriel meets up with her, she always asks about you all. Apparently she has been excited to meet you all.” 

Feyre watched as Azriel and Y/N walked over to join the group. Azriel’s gaze never left Y/N for a single second. Feyre’s gaze shifted down to their joined hands. She hid her smile behind her glass. 

Y/N quickly greeted Rhys, Cassian and Mor with a hug and she gave a small nod to Amren. 

Azriel sat down on the armchair first and as Y/N was about to sit in the arm of it, Azriel pulled her down so she sat in his lap instead. His arms locked around her waist as his chin rested on her shoulder. Feyre was sure she had never seen him look so happy before, so at ease. The smile on his face was one Feyre had never seen. 

“It is great to finally meet you three,” Y/N said, her gaze flicking between Feyre, Nesta and Elain. “This one here,” she said, reaching to cup Azriel’s cheek, “has told me a lot about you.”

“It is great to meet you,” Feyre said with a smile. 

“So now that introductions have finished,” Cassian begins, “can we get back to the game now? I was about to win.”

“Is that because you changed the rules halfway through the game?” Y/N teased. 

Cassian rolled his eyes. “You know what, Y/N. I don’t think I missed you at all.”

Y/N chuckled. “We both know that’s a lie.”

Azriel laughed along with Y/N and placed a soft kiss to her shoulder. He looked completely different to the stoic and serious shadowsinger Feyre was used to. With Y/N, Azriel seemed like a completely different person. The tension had vanished from his body and his shadows, which were once sliding over his shoulders, were now caressing Y/N legs and arms. One of his hands caressed her thigh while the other threaded with hers. Feyre could see the goosebumps appear on Y/N’s skin wherever he caressed. 

Azriel whispered something into Y/N’s ear which caused her to turn to him, smiling wide, her lips hovering just above his. The glimmer in Azriel’s eyes was prominent as he looked at her. It was as if she hung the stars. There was so much love and tenderness in his eyes that it could only be described as something out of a romance novel. She had never seen him look so at ease before. It was if everything else had melted away and the only thing left was Y/N.

Feyre couldn’t help but feel giddy at the sight. 

“How long have they been mates for?” Feyre asked Rhys. 

“Nearly three hundred years,” Rhys replied, wrapping an arm around Feyre. “They have been married for longer, the bond snapped nearly fifty years after they were married.”

“They seem happy,” Feyre said, her eyes not shifting from where Azriel and Y/N sat. 

Rhys smiled at his two friends, friends he considered family. “They are. Azriel is always his happiest when Y/N is around. He always has been ever since they met.”

“Why does she go away for long periods of time?” Feyre questioned. “It feels like torture when I’m away from you for too long. I cannot imagine being mates to someone for three hundred years and only being able to see them every few months.”

“That is the way it has been through their whole relationship,” Rhys explains. “They both knew what each other did for a job and neither of them wanted the other to give it up.” 

“How long is she back for this time?” Feyre asked. 

“I hadn’t asked,” Rhys said. “But I have a small feeling she will be here for a while this time.”

Feyre frowned. “How so?”

“Because if I know anything about Y/N, it is that she would never decline a glass of my finest wine and so far she has declined every glass Mor has offered her,” Rhys observed. 

Feyre looked at Rhys excitedly. “Does that mean—?”

Rhys smiled. “They haven’t said anything so I assume that they wish to keep the news between them for a little while longer.”

Feyre smiled over at Y/N and Azriel. She caught Y/N’s eye. The beautiful female only sent a wink Feyre’s way, a clear indication that she had overheard her and Rhys’s conversation. 

“Az, it’s your turn,” Nesta said. 

Azriel throws all of his cards onto the table. “I think I am done for the night.”

Cassian groaned . “Really?”

“Really,” Azriel said. “I want to spend time with my gorgeous mate and wife.”

Cassian chuckled. “That is only an excuse because you are losing,” the general teased. 

Azriel rolled his eyes and swooped Y/N up in his arms. Her arms locked around his neck. “If you need us— actually don’t even try to contact us at all.”

Y/N threw her head back and laughed as Azriel carried her out of the room. Feyre could hear them laughing loudly even when the door was firmly closed behind them. Feyre leaned into Rhys and linked her fingers with his.

“I am happy for them,” Feyre said, her eyes staring at the door where Azriel and Y/N had left. 

Rhys kissed the top of Feyre’s head. “Me too.”

[unreliablesnake]

Surprises (Simon "Ghost" Riley x reader)

Summary: Price finds out at a family gathering that his favorite niece's new boyfriend is none other than Ghost. The lieutenant thinks he's in trouble. How bad can things be?

Note: A little fluff and angst. What do you think? / If you want to know when I post new stuff, follow @unreliablesnakefics and hit the get notifications button.

Simon knew he fucked up the moment he realized you were Price's niece.

The very niece he babysat several times when you were little, the one he talked so much about whenever they were discussing family. He loved you, he was proud of you, and despite you now being an independent young woman, he still treated you as if you were an expensive and rare piece of jewelry that had to be locked away.

So yes, when he attended a family event you invited him to and met the captain there, he knew he was in trouble. You had talked about your Uncle John before, sure, even joked about the two of them possibly knowing each other, but not even in his wildest dream could he suspect the two men being the same.

And now he was sitting there across from him at the long picnic table in the garden, his blue eyes piercing through his skull. Every time you intertwined your fingers with his on top of the table or leaned over to place a soft kiss on his cheek, he could almost hear the annoyed groan leave his lips.

You suddenly rested your head on his shoulder, smiling sweetly when he looked down at you. He couldn't help himself, he just followed his instincts when he leaned down to place a kiss on the crown of your head. That move made the captain snap.

"Simon, why don't you help me bring out some nice, cold drinks?"

He gulped before nodding, his entire body suddenly going rigid from the terror he felt. "Hey, he barks, but doesn't bite. You'll be fine," you assured him as you kissed his shoulder through his shirt.

With a sigh, he stood up and followed Price into the kitchen, carefully closing the door after himself. "Look, Cap, I didn't know she was your niece. I'm sorry. But trust me, I'm serious about this relationship. I really like her," he began to explain the situation without hesitation.

But Price didn't seem interested in his excuses as he was quick to raise a hand to stop him. "I don't care, Simon. She likes you too, it's obvious and she told me before, I just don't want her to suffer if…"

If he dies on the field. That's what he wanted to say, he knew that. Nodding, he leaned against the kitchen island and folded his arms over his chest. The two of them stood there in silence for a while, trying to figure out what to do now. Simon understood why Price was so worried about this relationship, but he also had to understand that he wasn't about to give you up.

"Would you be happier if she was dating a civilian? Some loser who doesn't even know what he wants to do with his life?" he asked to break the silence.

Price drew in a sharp breath that he let out while running a hand through his hair. It was easy to tell he was dying to light a cigar, but his sister had a strict no smoking in the house rule. So he settled with the second best option and began pacing in front of him.

"You, as a person, are not the problem, Simon," he began. "You're a good man, I know that. The problem is our line of work. And the fact I'm your higher-up, and now I have to think about you not only as my right hand, but also as the boyfriend of my favorite niece. Every time I send you somewhere dangerous, I'll have to consider how she would react if something happened to you."

With a loud gulp, Simon considered his reasoning. He was right. Everything he said was understandable. "If you think it would be better if we broke up, just say it," he told him eventually.

There was no response for a while, they stood there in silence once again. But then Price shook his head and extended his hand. "Just make her happy, that's all I'm asking for," he said with a smile. "And don't tell her that we know each other. I don't want her to worry."

Hesitantly, but Simon shook his hand. He had no idea what made the captain change his mind, but he didn't have an issue with that as long as he was okay with him being with you. He then opened the fridge and began to put a selection of drinks on the counter next to it.

Once they made it back to the family, you immediately gave him a worried look, silently asking for a story he wasn't about to give you. So he lied like Price had just asked him to do, even if it hurt like hell.

"Everything's fine, he just wanted to get to know me," he told you with a smile before giving you a quick kiss. "We're good."

"Sure?" you asked with a suspicious look on your face. Simon nodded. "All right, if you say so. I'm glad he likes you," you noted with a smile on your lips.

Before he could say anything, Price raised a hand. "If I might add, you chose well, kiddo," he said with a smile before flashing a smile at the lieutenant.

"I know," you said with a triumphant smile before giving Simon a kiss.

[the-californicationist]

he comes closer and closer...

Price/Reader - TW: bondage, explicit consent, anal fingering, begging, male whimpering, edgeplay, blowjobs

“I want you to remember, especially in an hour or so, that you asked for this,” you kissed his bearded cheek softly, smelling his cologne, “Begged for it, even.”

“Aye. I did,” he replied, his accent thick and heady.

Captain Price was fully naked and strapped down to his office desk, tied with a length of paracord. His body was stretched out like a rubber band, his skin shining from sweat and covered in dark hair. You could hear his labored breathing and feel his eyes on you, watching you as you walked around the desk, rubbing his arms and legs with your hands, playing with his nipples, fondling him everywhere except where he wanted you to. 

“And yet, you say I’m being unfair?” You pouted playfully, settling yourself between his knees, purposely avoiding his twitching cock.

“Edging involves at least a little…attention. Touch me, love. Please.”

“Begging again? How desperate you are tonight,” you smiled, lowering your mouth just above where his pink head could reach. Watching his hips and cock strain towards you was enchanting. 

“Baby, please, it aches. You can’t…please, don’t just leave me like this.”

“Maybe just one little taste, hmm? Just to see if you’ll be a good boy.”

“I will,” he strained harder, fighting the ropes, “I will, I promise. Please-please-please…”

“I don’t know, Captain. Do you remember the rules?”

“Yes, love, I remember. Please, just -”

“Tell me.”

He sighed, and you watched his abs flex on the exhale, his belly convulsing with his ragged breaths,

“I have to warn you when I come, and…”

“And?” You drug out the word like a sticky strand of taffy, pulling it to the point of breaking. 

“...and if I don’t, I can’t have your cunt.”

“No, you can’t. So, be good, John. Show me you want this pussy.”

He growled, 

“Fuck, I want it right bloody now. Please, baby, I -”

“Shh. Enough. You need to learn patience, my darling. We’re just getting started.”

You put a dollop of lube in your hand and rubbed it all over his shaft. He was so swollen, and the cockring you put around him had kept him that way for a while. It was wrapped around the base of his shaft and under his balls, stretching the skin and keeping it rigid. He was grunting as you worked him, his whole body reacting to your touch. The desk creaked as he strained against it. You were a little concerned about its integrity. If he broke the straps, or the desk, there were no rules left to bind him. 

“Mmm, unhgh…yeah, just like that. Fuuuuuck…” Price groaned loudly. 

You stopped, pulling away from him with a wet pop. 

“Ah! No, no, no…” He complained. 

You ran your fingers up and down his torso, threatening to touch his cock again. Every time you got close, you could hear the wood of the desk cry out, stretching from his strength. 

“Does that feel good, baby?” You asked him, licking his nipple, biting his skin. 

“Oh, fuck, yes it does. Please, come back.”

You returned to his cock, but instead of quick solid strokes, you pulled him slowly, painfully slowly, and at an odd angle, so none of his regular sensations were available for him to hold onto. Each time you pulled up and over his cockhead, he would grunt for you, like an angry bull. 

Changing your grip, you massaged his balls and he sighed. Then, you rubbed his inner thighs and the skin behind his sack and between his legs, pressing on his internal root, jerking it as if it were his cock at the surface. It made his dick flag up and down as you did so, and he did everything he could to move you either forwards or back, being cruelly teased by your positioning. 

You stopped again. You heard him groan deep and low. His cock was rosy pink, flushed with blood and thicker than you’d ever seen it. You put some lube on your finger and dipped between his legs, finding his asshole, warm and covered in thick hair. He jolted, as much as the ropes would allow.

“What are you doing?”

“Do you remember Warsaw?”

His eyes were wild, but then they went ice cold, the realization washing over him. You chuckled, continuing, rimming your finger around his hole as you spoke, 

“You found me during our field training, and you held me down, plunging those fingers into my pussy and my ass, not allowing me to come for a whole evening, telling me that only bad soldiers got caught, and since I was bad, I didn’t deserve an orgasm. Have you been bad, John?”

You slipped a finger past his outer muscles, feeling the smooth skin inside of his asshole, massaging it in slow, aching circles. He held his breath, but he was shaking his head back and forth, protesting against your appraisal of his sins. You checked in with him, pausing your movements.

“Green or yellow?”

It took a few moments, but he growled out a very clear, 

“Green, love. Green.”

You pushed your finger in until you found the spot you were looking for. You began to rub little firm circles inside of him while jerking his cock with your free hand. There was so much to love about the feedback you were getting from him. His face was wide with intense pleasure, and his pupils were fully blown. You thrust your hand around him faster, focusing on his head. As soon as you saw his eyes clench shut, you removed yourself from him entirely. 

“No! Fuckin’ hell,” he moaned, frustrated and desperate for you to let him finish. 

“Mmm, about to break a rule, Captain? You never were good at following orders.”

You sucked his cock into your mouth, softly, gently, and applied almost no suction. He bucked against the table, slamming his hips and back into the wood. You could hear the ropes tightening against their bites. He was groaning and shaking from your warm, wet mouth. You lay your tongue at the base of his head and began to lap at his skin in long, slow licks. It was too slow and soft for him to feel any release, but it was enough to drive him past the point of normalcy. 

“Fuck! Fuck, more. More, love. I need more, please. Please. Please! Fuuuuuuck.”

You put your finger at the entrance of his asshole, but you didn’t enter him again. Still, he throbbed in your mouth, just the idea of you touching him inside gave him the same sensation. You pulled him out of you and leisurely massaged his dick again, keeping him right on the edge of his pleasure. Price was literally trembling with every moment of your touch, loudly grunting, unashamed of his behavior. 

Then, you decided to finger him again, taking it away the moment his breathing changed. You put him back in your mouth. Then, you took him out. At one point, you left him altogether, making a cup of tea and drinking it while you sat in his office chair, watching him watch you. Smiling. He thrashed against the ropes. 

He really was terrifying, objectively. Price could kill you in less than a second if he wanted to. He was enormous, muscular, and sharp as a knife. There was no where you could run, and there was no chance of you fighting him off. As you watched him writhe and pull at his bindings, you studied his form. His strong legs and huge ass provided immense leverage against the desktop, bowing the edges of its planks downward - ever so slightly - as he thrust against it. The captain’s wide chest bulged with his mountainous shoulders, causing the rope to whine as it tightened on its knot, the fibers stretching past their limits. Every time he threw his hips down in blissful agony, the whole room shuddered. He was like some sort of beast you’d caught in a trap. A tiger by the tail. 

Finally, you decided to end his suffering, but he didn’t know that. As you approached the desk again, he began to beg you,

“Please, love. Please. I’ll be good. I promise. Please, let me come. I’ll be good. Baby, please…”

There it was. That’s what you wanted. An obedient Price was a rare sight, and seeing him unfold right before your very eyes, like a rose in bloom, relaxing into your will - it was mesmerizing. You wanted to rub your nose in those pliant petals, bend them back away from his honeyed center. You were hooked. 

“Mmm. That's it, baby. Surely, such a good boy deserves a reward, hm?”

“Oh, fuck,” his tone was dark now that he knew what was coming. 

You put your mouth on him and grabbed his balls gently in your hand, sucking him with a strong rhythm, massaging his heavy sack with each thrust of your head. Price wasn’t that long, but his girth was a struggle. You pushed past it, giving the man what he’d been waiting for, choking yourself, pulling off his cockring and letting the blood flow back into his core as you swallowed his head in the back of your throat. 

"I'm gonna come. Oh, my God. I'm gonna fuckin' come, baby. Yes-yes-yes...ahhh!"

The wait was so worth it. With each bob of your head, he seized and panicked. It was as if every suckle was giving him a separate orgasm, and he came like a firehose. It squirted down your throat, hot and salty, and he was screaming for you. You were certain the whole base could hear him, even though they were all the way in the barracks. His legs locked out straight, pulling the ropes tight, and his back arched off of the desk in perfect agony. 

You drained his cock by pulling out the last few drops from his shaft, licking them up like dripping ice cream from a cone. Then, you untied his legs and hands. He lay there, panting, his face twisted in complexity, feeling aftershocks and riding them out, sated and drunkenly happy. 

“Bloody fuckin’ hell, girl, you better start runnin'. As soon as I get my legs, you are in for it.”

You bolted for the door, looking back at him over your shoulder, grinning. He had already rolled off of the desk and was trying to throw on his shorts, stumbling, slowly catching his bearings, quickly getting ready to hunt you down.

Reblogs and comments deeply appreciated!

Read Part 2 here.

[chaos-in-deepspace]

L&DS Rafayel: Don't Look At Him | 18+

So my solid rule of thumb is that if a fic is 1k words or longer, it's no longer a drabble...and this is just over 1k. I wrote this before work in like 15 minutes though, but I hope it's still enjoyable! OH! and this was a request, by the way, so hope the requester enjoys this!

♡(ᓀ‸ᓂ)♡ Pairings: Rafayel x Reader ♡(ᓀ‸ᓂ)♡ Warnings: Unsafe Sex, Creampie, AFAB Reader, Jealousy, Wall Sex, Quickie ♡(ᓀ‸ᓂ)♡ Synopsis: Rafayel is jealous that you were so close to Sylus in the N109 zone and decided to remind you just why you come home to him instead. ♡(ᓀ‸ᓂ)♡ Word Count: 1k

Disclaimer: This is an original fan work for “Love and Deepspace”. Do not repost on other platforms or plagiarize. All characters shown in this fic is 18+.

Blog Information | Masterlist

Rafayel

Don't Look At Him

There were few things scarier than when Rafayel let his perfectly made facade disappear. You had noticed it before, how sometimes he seemed a bit more rigid. He always seemed so carefree and lax, but he had fought alongside you before, you knew there was something he hid all too well from most people. Hell, there was that time you had a stalker and he almost incinerated him on sight the moment the man tried to attack you. The cold look in his eyes that day, the serious tone, you just knew he wasn’t all that he tried to make himself out to be. He was so much more and he never let you peel back those layers.

So when he allowed his quirky, artist persona to fade for a little while, you knew you were in deep shit, “So you have a new boyfriend, then?” his words were far colder than you were used to. He had gotten upset before, but it was always cute pouting, this was dangerous.

“Raf, I had to use him to not die in the N109 zone, and we just happened to hit it off and became…sort of friends…business partners?” you trailed off, “Listen, there is nothing romantic going on between me and Sylus.” you tried reasoning with him. You heard his footsteps get closer and suddenly you were up against a wall. He could’ve slammed you against it, but you could feel his hand behind your head, making sure you didn’t get injured. Even pissed he was looking out for your safety.

“Is that so?” he mused, “Are you sure about that? You two looked awfully close,” he said, trailing over your body. You squirm underneath his touch and he shakes his head, “I guess I just need to remind you exactly how devout I am for you,” his breath whispered your name almost like a prayer.

You didn’t know what to expect, but feeling him hiking up your shirt and working off your shorts wasn’t one of them, “R-Raf!,” you gasped out, feeling him taking your pants off as he looked you up and down, licking his lips.

“Sorry, my heart,” he groaned, “I don’t have time to waste right now,” he said, “I’ll be worshiping you later, but for now I need to be in you,” what the hell did he mean by that? His hand went over your entrance the moment he had your pants and underwear down your knees, his fingers finding their mark as he pushed them inside of you with urgency.

You growled out a small curse, shivering at how he began working you open against the wall of his studio…against the fucking entryway because that was as far as you had made it. His fingers felt delightful and you wanted more, rolling your hips and whimpering. He leaned in, capturing your mouth in a searing kiss that was more teeth than tongue at this point, his desperation clear.

You heard him working his pants off, the buckle a clear indicator and you didn’t even get a chance to look down with how he was pressing you against the wall. You could feel his cock against your thigh as he worked on hiking your legs up, supporting you as he prodded at your entrance. He had barely worked his fingers in you and now you could feel his cock and gods everything was a blur.

Rafayel plunged his cock into you, making you all but scream his name against his lips as he kept you there. “Fuck,” he groaned out, “So wet, so tight,” he murmured, his forehead now against yours as he began pumping into you. Your entire body jostled with every thrust and you wrapped your arms around his shoulders for some form of support.

This entire situation was hot and you didn’t know where it all came from. One moment you were coming to the studio, the next you were being pressed and fucked into the wall next to the coat rack because this man was jealous. You couldn’t even say anything as his mouth began leaving a trail of kisses down your jaw and to your neck.

You whimpered at feeling his teeth biting into you, sure enough leaving a mark and possibly drawing blood but you were too fucked out to care. The drag of his cock inside of you was the only sensation you could focus on, closing your eyes and letting out small whimpers and cries. The familiar coil inside of you building faster than anticipated. Rafayel leaned closer, making sure his pelvis was flush to your front so with every stroke he was grazing your clit.

“R-Raf, fuck, mhm-” You were whimpering his name now, so close to release; the feel of his pulsating cock signaled his own. 

“I know, I know,” he groaned, “Wanna feel you soak my cock, fuck -hng please, m-my heart, cum for me,” he gritted out, closing his eyes for a moment before he reopened them and locked his gaze with your own. That was all it took as you clenched tighter, coming undone all over him and possibly soaking his shirt that was in the way. You were whimpering, your clutch on his shoulders stronger as he pulled shaking gasps from you.

He groaned loud against your ear as he spilled inside of you, his seed warming your insides with every stroke and his mouth came back to yours in a sloppy kiss. You groaned into it, tongue playing with his own as you savored the feeling of his languid thrusts into your sopping core. It took a few moments for him to still, catching his breath and panting against your mouth.

“Fuck…Raf,” This was probably the first quickie you ever had with him, normally he liked to take his time with you. The thought was hot though as you clenched down again on his length, earning a groan from him,

“I’m not done with you, my pearl,” he murmured and you gave him a small look of surprise.

“But you just…?” you began and he smirked.

“When have you known me for only doing one round?” his tone was lightening up again, returning to the more familiar Rafayel you knew, “Although this time I want it to be on a bed so I can take my time,” his tone trailed off and you flushed. The day was apparently still young, and your boyfriend had plans to fuck you so dumb you probably wouldn’t remember any man’s name other than his own.

Me? Writing Top Rafayel? I mean...it sometimes happens.

[winterarmyy]

Promise Me | Part I

When he was sent out for war, Bucky made a promise to his lover that might just last through several lifetimes.

Summary: Y/N kept being reincarnated into the world for seemingly endless of lifetimes with the lasting, vivid memories of her past lover during the 40's, Sargent James B. Barnes. While she thought this was a 'punishment' for her sins, she was also unknowingly oblivious to the fact that James was still alive somewhere, almost forever frozen in the time.

Navigation: Part I | Part II | Part III (end)

Words: 6.5k++ (hella long bc lots to cover in the story building part)

Pairing: 40s!bucky / eventually tfatws!bucky x female!reader

Warnings: just slow induced angst for your daily consumption (i guess?) It has a hopeful ending so don't let the first warning chase you away. reincarnation concept. an attempt to follow exact mcu timeline (forgive if i'm wrong at certain parts). slight religious contents. grief & loss. graphic violence. deaths. mention of suicide. a lot of reader's pov, story building > dialogs (sorry guys).

P/S: Another impulsive writing from me y'all. I hope you don't get bored of this tendency of mine lol. I just need to let the fantasies out before it consumes me. So... anyway, it's gonna be another 3 parts fic cause for the love of god, I cannot commit for more :') Also, my first attempt of writing 40's bucky!!! I'm honestly scared. I hope you like it!

Read my other works here: Masterlist

Italy, 1943 – His return

If it was one thing that Bucky should expect when he decided to be in a relationship with Y/N was that he had to accept her for who she was; stubborn, clumsy, bold, clever, sweet and most certainly the prettiest dame he ever met.

He might have unknowingly signed up for it the moment he quite literally fell for her at one of those Stark's science expo. Bucky had been stealing glances at this one pretty lady in the crowd, adored in soft mint dress that falls right below her knees.

It wasn't even a scandalous dress to wear in public but somehow Bucky was more than ecstatic to marvel at her beauty. There was no such thing as a too long of a stare, especially when she laughed like that; throwing her head in amusement, the loose strands of her curls fall back across her shoulders as they slightly shook to the rhythm of her laughter.

A careless misstep, that Bucky could see from a mile away, had caused her to stagger backwards and twisted her ankle into an inevitable fall. Somehow, Bucky managed to slither his way through the crowd towards her, almost jumping forward to catch her before she landed on the ground.

Not only that he was the one who fell first, but he also fell hard.

So, it was expected that Bucky knew what he had got himself into. At least, that was what Y/N had been repeating in her head to convince herself for what she had done. Now that she was sitting at the back of the wobbly military truck, the fear had slowly started to seep into her, causing shivers to crawl all over her nerves.

Y/N just knew it in her guts that Bucky would be absolutely furious when he sees her but what does he expect her to do when she hadn't receive any letters from him for months now. So, when she heard that they needed more medical helpers at the Italy base, she signed up without thinking twice about it.

"There has been a recent attack on the 107th. Too many casualties and much more whose heavily injured. You might have your hands full the moment you arrive to the base. There are few rules..." The lieutenant's voice was rigid just as his demenour when he continued to inform the situation to the troops of medical staff.

No matter how much she wanted to pay attention to his words, Y/N couldn't help but to tune in only at his first few sentences. Casualties, heavily injured. Her hands moved to search for the cross pendent hanging from the necklace around her collarbone, gripping it tight as she prayed that her lover was not categorized under any of those dire circumstances.

What the lieutenant said in that truck could never be more true as the moment they stepped into the medic tent, Y/N and the others were quickly pulled to assist the fallen men. It was truly heartbreaking and horrid to witness the dreading truth behind what the public posed as the "heros of the country'.

Surely they were proud to fight for the nation but then again no human being should ever had to suffer the consequences of war; not the civilians and certainly not the soldiers.

After seemingly hours of continuous stitching, wrapping and patching up; surrounded sound of groaning pain and the endless cycle of inhaling the distinct scent of fresh blood, burned flesh and the bitter of anticeptic odor; the injured soldiers were finally taken care of and had been put to rest.

Y/N looked around the tent, noting the unorganized mess around the patients; the result of the panic and chaos of the whole situation. A thought came to her mind, she might need to do some cleaning up before writing down medical record for each one of the patients.

That was when the lieutenant entered into the tent, and his stern gaze swiftly analyzed the much calmer scene, "Thank you for your service, everybody. I assume the soldiers are stabilized?"

"Yes, sir." One of the battalion doctor replied as he approached, while the rest of the team watched from where they stood.

The lieutenant simply nodded, "Good." He paused for awhile and looked around,  "Now, have any of you met Captain America before?"

There were bunch of no's murmured around the medical staff, some of them just shook their head as an answer and the lieutenant nodded again as he informed, "Well, I guess you are all just darn lucky cause he's here to perform. You are invited to come and join the others to watch, if you want to."

"Steve's here?" She thought to herself.

As the lieutenant continued to explain some things about accommodation, food and medical supplies, Y/N's head were filled with thought that her dear friend, Steve was there too.

"I wonder if he gotten any words from James."

"Maybe he got letters from him?"

"Or could it be that he was here to find James too?

There were so many questions kept circulating in her head that by the time she snapped out of them, the lieutenant was already long gone and some of the medic staff went out to untangle themselves from the hours of stressful tension.

As a nurse herself, she felt the need to take care of her patients and finish her job before anything else. So, she started to clean up the shredded clothes, bloodied guazes and the other medical tools that needed to be sterilized and put away.

By the time she finished, it finally dawned to her that there was no trace of Bucky in the medic tent. Which means he didn't fall into the heavily injured category. So, there was two left; the one she prayed for and the other that dreaded her to even think about.

Y/N quickly made her way towards the tent where she can find the soldier in charge. However, if she was focused during one of the lieutenant's speech in the truck, she would've heard that she and the others were not authorized to enter certain parts of the base, which include the higher ups' tents.

When she was turned down by the soldiers, she sadly walked away towards the main area where Steve was supposed to perform. The drag of her feet across the dusty sand was heavy but no more heavier than the burden in her heart.

She watched as her black pump shoes gradually covered with light sand. Finding it odd that a few weeks ago she was standing on the shiny tile of a hospital in Brooklyn and now she was halfway across the world in the middle of the chaos of a war.

The things she'd do for love.

Soon enough, the dry ground was wet from the sudden down pour, turning it into a murky soggy path. Y/N quickly ran towards the main area where apparently the show was long over. "Did I missed Steve?" She thought as she stepped into the tent where the performers supposed to be.

The tent turned out to be empty and only the sound of drizzling raindrops above it was left behind. She looked around the area and saw the costumes for the performers were still there; the pleated white and red skirt hanging on the rack, white gloves clipped with them, the captain's shield with notes sticking at the back of it and the iconic blue helmet-mask thingy plastered with the obvious letter.

She peeked a little to the right only to see Steve hunched down on the floor, curling into himself just as he always did back when he was left beaten up in the alleyway somewhere in Brooklyn. She guessed that the upgrade of his size doesn't really change his habits.

Y/N walked closer to see him holding his sketchbook on one hand and another was a pencil pressing across the paper, lining the drawing of a monkey on a unicycle. "I guess the serum does not amplify your art skills huh Steve?" she teased as she approached the blonde man.

Steve lifted up his head as he turned towards the familiar voice, "y/n?" His face lit up as he recognized her face. He stood on his feet and pulled her into a tight hug, "It's so good to see you." He sighed, he haven't seen her since his departure when she insisted for him to stay.

But alas, Steve was also as stubborn as her.

It took awhile for him to process it but when it came to him, he gently pushed her away, "Wait.. what are you doing here?" His brows creased into a worried frown.

Y/N simply smiled as she responded, "They needed help, so I volueentered."

Steve shook his head in disbelief, "Bucky made me promise not to let you do stuff like this." In which Y/N countered, "And he also remind you not to do anything stupid until he get back so..." she purposely trailed her words for him to draw the conclusion on his own.

He let out a long sighed before concluding, "Bucky's gonna kill us."

Since, Bucky was in the topic, Y/N took the oppurtunity to asked Steve about him, "About that, have you heard--"

A woman's voice came from her back, cutting in between her words, "Steve?"

Steve nervously untangled himself from Y/N as he shyly greeted the woman, "Hi."

The woman continued to stare at Y/N trying to figure out her role and relationship with Steve but before she could get any strange idea, he quickly introduced her, "This is y/n. She's my good friend from home."

A spark of realization glint through her eyes "I see. I'm Peggy. Nice to meet you." She extended her hand towards Y/N, in which Y/N gladly shook it in hers as she reintroduced herself, "You too. I'm y/n."

After the brief exchange of smile between the two ladies, Steve continued to asked Peggy, "What are you doing here?"

Peggy sighed as she explained, "Officially, I'm not here at all." She paused as she picked her words, "I just came by to oversee the situation after the recent attack."

Although Y/N knew what Peggy meant, she was one of the medic staff that had been stitching up the aftermath of that attack after all. However, Steve on the other hand seemed to be lost.

Peggy further explained, "Schmidt sent out a force to Azzano, more than 200 men went up against him and less than 50 returned." She paused, "Your audience contained what's left of the 107th."

Steve's blues widen in realization that almost looked much like panic, "The 107th?"

"What?" Peggy prompt quickly.

Steve then turned his head to Y/N, "Bucky?" He questioned shortly.

But even she was hoping that he'll know something about Bucky, apparently she was wrong, "I tried to ask but I'm not authorized to enter the tent. I was hoping you heard from him."

Seeing the panic in Steve's eyes, she knew that her lover was no where near the safety that she prayed for. But before fear could set in, Steve sprinted out of the tent, "Come on!" he shouted as Y/N and Peggy ran closely behind him.

When they arrived to the tent, fortunately they had the permission to enter with the help of Peggy. "Well, if it isn't the Star-Spangled Man With A Plan. What is your plan today?" Colonel Philips greeted in a teasing manner.

Steve didn't even bother to greet the colonel as he demanded, "I need the casualty list from Azzano." In which the Philips responded, "You don't get to give me orders, son."

Knowing that arguments won't help the situation, he control his tone of voice and spoke, "I just need one name, Sergeant James Barnes from the 107th." He took a short breath and insisted, "Please tell me if he's alive, sir. B-A-R-"

Colonel Phillips stood on his feet as he walked towards a table behind him, "I can spell. I have signed more of these condolence letters today than I would care to count." He paused before turning around to eye on Steve and briefly on the very worried looking nurse next to him.

"But the name does sound familiar. I'm sorry." There was a flash of sincerity in his eyes when he looked towards Y/N.

The optimistic Steve continued to insist more about other possibilities than casualties, "What about the others? Are you planning a rescue mission?" They went back and forth about the what is the 'right' thing to do, "Yes, it's called 'winning the war'. "

And suddenly sound of the heavy rain fall was all Y/N could hear, then comes the booming of her heartbeat as the panic started to deprive her of any optimism, clouding her judgment to think of anything near to positive outcomes such as Steve.

It was getting harder to breath and the anxitey slowly choked her, forcing tears to pool in her eyes. Peggy swiftly took a hold on Y/N, before her knees managed to fall to the ground. The muffled sound of Peggy's voice managed to come through but not enough to wake her from the despair.

Before she knew it, Steve was already gone for an unauthorized rescue mission with the help from Peggy. And ever since, Y/N had spend every waking moment digging her knees into the uneven ground. Her elbows bruised from how hard she propped them on the steel edge of the army green cot. Her palms almost dented to shape of the silver cross as she desperately squeeze it between her hold.

She prayed and prayed for his return. For both of her dearest to be safe, to find their way home.

And for a moment Y/N thought her prayers were graciously granted by God, as the crowd was getter louder and the circle of soldiers were geting thicker when the survivors joined the rest of them. There were chantings of "Captain America" that echoed throughout the base and that gave her relief to know that Steve was safe.

But it was not enough to tame her anxiousness. Y/N's focus has never been sharper when her eyes scanned the crowd, she slithered her way between the jumping joy of the soldiers, grabbing onto some men who she mistook as Bucky until she saw him.

Her heartbeat ramped increasingly as she pushed through the soldiers, finding strength from the blood pumping excitement when she recognize those steel blues and that cheeky smile. Not long before she managed to grab onto his hand and pulled his attention to her.

It was brief but he knew that face anywhere; and suddenly his whole body was engulf into a familiar tight hug that he thought he could never be able to feel again. "James." her voice still stuttered even if it was just one word that came out of her lips.

"y/n?" Bucky called her name, almost in disbelief.

God, she never knew that she was able to miss his voice this much.

"Doll, what you doing here?" He gently lead her away, which she reluctantly followed, "I'm here for you." There was no need of lies now that Bucky was here in her arms.

His gaze soften with a mix of concern and joy, "What do you mean you're here for me?" Bucky couldn't help but to let out a short laugh, "Sweetheart, you do realized that you're in the middle of a war?" His brows quirked as he reminded.

Y/N rolled her eyes. Of course, she realized that. The moment she saw that form for enlistment, she knew. But, it didn't stop her to sign up, does it?

She laced her fingers into his, "I didn't come all the way here to fight with you, James." she whispered as she leaned closer, "So, please just shut up and kiss me."

Bucky might have just realized it now; what a stubborn, demanding, crazy little lover got himself. Though at the same time, she had never charmed him more.

Bucky sighed in defeat before running his tongue on his lower lip, "Well then, come here you little minx" he took her by the head and gave her the most desperate yet sweetest kiss she could never forget.

Brooklyn, 1944 – Promises, promises

It was the day that Steve, Bucky and the rest of the Howling Commandos were depolying to the Austrian Alps for one of the biggest mission since Captain's impulsive rescue mission in Italy last year.

Apparently, Zola was on the move and predicted to be passing though the location while travelling on a train.

This wasn't the first time she had sent Bucky away, but the fear of each always felt like it was her first; especially when she thought about the promise of death that's chained to a soldier's fate.

The closer the time of departure, the stronger her grip on Bucky's uniform becomes. And Bucky didn't need to say anything because he knows her too well; she won't take any of his sweet words as a cure for her distress.

Bucky slowly swayed her from side to side as their embrace tightens with need; her face hidden in the crook of his neck while his arms secured around her waist. He had to smile as it reminded him of their late night dance, barefoot on the kitchen floor of his apartment.

He could feel the teasing gaze coming from his back as well as the whistles of the Howling Commandos playfully making fun of him. Bucky was also well aware of the fact that everyone had made theirs bets on when will the Sargent James B. Barnes finally get down on his knees for his little nightingale of a nurse.

Unsurprisingly, Steve might just win the bet afterall. That punk just had know everything about him.

Y/N closer snuggled into him one last time, "Come home to me, James." She whispered against his skin before pulling away. Teary eyes threatened to spill its salty liquid as she looked up at him, "Promise me."

Bucky's charming smile lighten his features as he leaned to press a kiss in her forehead, "I promise."

Brooklyn, 1945 – Loved and lost

Months gone by, entered the new year, and it always felt like eternity for Y/N. She spent nights kneeling next to her bed and days on the church's floor; practically begging to God for the life of her lover, for keeping him away from death.

And the letters from Bucky also come and goes within those few months' time, with his promises of coming home that's laced in the words of his longing and love for her.

But, little did she knew, that promise met it's end of the bargain when the dreaded letter came to her hands. It came from the man she met back in Italy base, Colonel Phillips, sending the words of condolences for the death Sargent James B. Barnes during his honourable mission at the Austrian Alps.

But the first time she read to words, it didn't even register in her head. It was as if her brain failed to translate the message for her to understand. Y/N had been re-reading the same lines over and over and over until it finally clicked.

The usually bright eyes of hers were now slowly filled with tears, she was in the state of shock; that even if her brain knew exactly what had happened but her heart wasn't ready for it. 

The tears started to fall down onto the letter. Drip by drip. And all of the sudden she lost every word that she could ever think of. Her silent scream; suffocating her with each breath she took desperately gripping onto the fragile piece of paper, holding it to her chest hold as if that would help to ease the pain in her heart.

Y/N could feel it in her ripping guts. How all the threads of every joyful memories she could ever once recall; they  unraveled in a way that broke her to pieces until they were all but a rumpled of strings scattered about her feet.

A sharp fall had forced Y/N down to her knees, skin digging into the hard floor as her hands trembled silently, clutching onto the letter.

At first when she opened her mouth, there was not a single sound came out as her breath ripped from her lungs. Each left her with scars of loss and every waking minute in this reality was just pure pain.

Her body bend forward until her forehead meets the floor, that was when she wailed; an agonizing scream that left a haunting memory to the neighbours around her apartment.

She cried like there was too much raw pain inside that she could never contained. She cried like her soul needed to break loose from her skin, desperate to release a loathful rage on the world. 

But it was more than just crying, it was the sobbing of a woman that drained of all hope. She sank on floor, willing herself to be swallowed by the dread and loss. Just screaming out the agonies that been dancing across her vulnerable veins. 

Her chest violently quivered as she was desperately trying to catch the air. She collected every last energy that she had to call out the name of the lover she had loss, "James.." Her gasping breath whispered against the floor, "You promised." 

A month later the nation celebrate to the announcement to the end of a war, but to Y/N it was just another wave of mourning grief to a loss of another precious person in her life; Steve.

Amidst the loud sound of cheering and laughter, she rushed away from the crowd to the place that she had put all her faith into. Stumbling through the empty church and falling at the feet of Jesus' statue, Y/N looked up at the face if God with loath, rage, despair, and tears.

The night was brighten to the flashing light from the firework but all she could think of was how similar the sound of it to a firing canon in the war. And the thought of Bucky and Steve run through her mind.

She had been nothing but faithful to the lord, religiously prayed for no more than saving the life of people she held dear to her heart.

But, God thought it would be merciful to let them die.

Y/N harshly ripped the cross necklace from her neck, tearing her skin apart in the process. She gripped on the cross in her hands, much like she would few month back but for completely different reason.

The crimson of her blood tainted her white collar of her nurse uniform as she she cursed the all mighty God for what he had done. Ever since, she swore to herself to never be naive to the illusion of God's mercy ever again.

Washington D.C., 2014 – An old friend

Fate is full with irony and God has his way of twisting them for his own pleasure.

When Y/N died in the 60's, old and unmarried, even if she doesn't believe in God anymore, her dying wish was to be able to meet her lover and friend again.

At least one more time.

But lo and be hold, God had different plans for her. Y/N's body did die that night on the hospital bed but her soul never did. It was as if she was woken up from sleep in another body with the same face as her, that's when she realized she has been reincarnated.

Apparently, she was only born in the same family lineage as her original life; whether coming from her younger brother or cousin or anyone related back to her bloodline. And sharing even the tiniest amount of blood of her own, triggers every single memory from her previous life.

This wasn't what she wanted.

She didn't want to live knowing she cannot be with Bucky.

So on the 2nd life, she did the unthinkable. She took her own life, thinking that she would finally leave the world behind but she didn't.

It happened again.

And again.

And again.

So, when she reached her 6th life, she realized that she will never able to meet James and Steve ever again; that was when she went rogue.

Her 6th life was filled with rage and vengeance that she took the idea of life very lightly. So, instead of living until the old days, she searched for revenge and got herself tragically killed in the process.

Now, the 18 year old Y/N was in her 7th life, with a new name that was given by her 7th parents, "Evelyn" , and the spitting image of her 1st life. From her dark raven hair to the light brown of her eyes. This time, she decided to try to accept the cruel fate; the cursed that God had placed on her for the sin that she made decades ago.

Y/N walked around the Smithsomian Museum, specifically at the American history section where they put up Captain America's exhibit. It's been how many lifetimes since she surround herself with knowledge of a past that she once lived.

This was the first time, since her first life. And most probably the last time since she was going overseas in a week to continue her studies in Asia.

She walked along the line up display of the Howling Commandos suits, remembering the living flesh of them as she took steps forward to each, stopping in front of Bucky's.

Flashes of him appeared to where the figure stood; the memories was so vivid that she could still feel fabric of his suit against her, the electrifying feeling on his skin on her own.

She ripped her gaze away just to be greeted by the portrait of Bucky, plastered so hugely on the memorial of one of the Howling Commandos section. Despite the cracking of her heart, her body move on its own; as they knew that deep down, Y/N's heart will always be yearning for her lover.

Her gaze soften with longing and nostalgic as she slowly blink at his features. His considerably messy hair, that little frown that he does to act mysterious for the ladies, and the thin layer of beard that she loved to leave her lipstick marks on.

Y/N's daydream were cut short when someone pulled her by the arm, startling her into a defensive mode. Her 6th life's habit almost broke through when she nearly flipped the man on the floor but thankfully she stopped herself as she recognized those blue eyes.

The man's face looked pale like he had seen a ghost, as he uttered a name that she haven't heard for decades, "y/n?"

"Steve..." she called his name wordlessly.

She knew he was alive. Everybody does, when the news came out in 2011, she was merely a 15 year old kid back then. Apparently, the super soldier serum helped him to survive the ice.

She remembered how her parents rushed to her room when they heard the sudden cluttering sounds of panic upstairs, only to find their daughter on the floor looking pale while her cup of iced coffee spilling in all over her study desk as the viral youtube video of Captain America running through New York city barefoot.

She remembered the feeling of both disbelief and joy that rushed through body as her parents helped her to sit up on her bed. The moment that it sunk into her head, she began to cry. Streams of joyful tears broke from her shaky body, each drop washed the painful burden in her heart as her parents lulled her to sleep.

Y/N never made an effort to meet him after knowing truth because who would've believe her words?

She wasn't Steve. There wasn't any super soldier serum in her blood. There wasn't any tank of chemical that drown her with power.

She was cursed and now she had to live with it.

Meanwhile, Steve seemed to be trapped in a spiralling confusion of his own. He examined each of her features and he had not a single doubt that she has the same face to an old friend in the 40's.

The same friend that he knew died of old age in the 60's.

But, how come the person managed to have the exact same face to hers. Now that he looked closer, she was younger than the last time he saw Y/N. She looked like she was in her teens, "Are you really y/n?" His voice was soft as he muttered.

Y/N bit the insides of her cheeks, holding back the urge of telling him the truth, "Sorry, I think you got the wrong person." she tried to untangle his grasp around the thin of her arm.

Even her voice was similar to Y/N, and she was looking at Bucky's photo like she knew him.

How could she say that she's was not Y/N?

Steve reluctantly let go of her arms and took a step away after seeing the distress on her face, "I-I'm sorry. You remind me of someone I know." He couldn't take his eyes off her.

She was just too similar looking to someone precious that he left behind.

"It's okay, sir." She smiled gently, like the way she usually does when Steve apologizes for his impulsiveness of picking a fight in alleyways. She looked up to the taller man as she continued, "Thank you for being alive..." she hesitated to call him by his name so instead she called for his other name, "...Captain."

She thanked him sincerely before walking away, leaving Steve to reminisce the memories of his life with Y/N and Bucky as he stared at Bucky's memorial.

The next week, she left the United States for Asia where she planned to spend 4 years studying at the National University of Singapore, leaving her past behind in hopes of moving forward with her life, refusing to care about the avengers shenanigans anymore, including her dear friend, Steve.

New York, 2018 – New norms

When half of the population was wiped out from the earth, two of them was Y/N's parents. And like every other people who had lost their loved ones during the blip, her parents sudden absence truly take a toll on her, especially when she was planning to live a long life with them.

After graduating and getting a decent job in Singapore, she was forced to go back to New York when it happened. Y/N couldn't just let her childhood house left abandoned, she simply can't let that happen.

You would thought a person who had multiple lifetimes would be used to losing someone they love but no. It only gets worst as the years go by.

The more Y/N tried to fit into the new norms, the more that she could feel herself slipping into old habits of her 6th life.

Until that one drunken night when she visited the Smithsomian Museum again after years of forcing herself to forget about him; it took her one look at the potrait of Bucky, she knew what she had to do.

Germany, 2023 – An old nemesis

Nearly 5 years into the blip and Y/N was already becoming a legend in the underground scene. They called her the Deathstalker. She never really knew the origin of it but nevertheless she chooses to stick with the newly founded identity.

With the skills she picked up on her 6th life, she easily became the most deadly assassin in the business, seemingly in a constant competition of reputation with the highly popular, black widow assassins.

Though she couldn't care less about who was winning the battle, she only cares about tracking anything or anyone related to Hydra.

After that fateful night at the museum, she couldn't to think that this must be her calling.

If the curse made her technically immortal, then why not became the hunter destined to slay the monster. They said that Hydra will never die, but so was she. And if anything good came out from this curse, then she might as well use it to avenge Bucky.

And bring the old nemesis to the ground.

Her 6th life was similar to this but she wasn't going to make the same mistake. The flaming greed to have her revenge was too strong back then, it lead her to be hasty and clumsy, which then let her to an early death.

But, she's grown out of those immaturity.

Nowadays, she takes her time and still get the job done flawlessly. Just like she is now, when the soft but dark sound of her chuckle, interrupted the silence that had claimed the room.

The poor man was sitting limp on the chair with his body tied with it. He had been like this for seemingly hours with a knife in one of his thighs, which trembled with the vibrations of his body.

More so, when Y/N twisted them, causing a keen of pain to clawed up his throat and spilled out a hoarse groan.

"Where is it?" Her fingers wrapped around the handle, as she watched the man tossed his head, more with fear than trying to answer.

"I don't like to repeat myself." Y/N slid the blade free, causing a noise he would not forget. The man sagged against his bonds, panting as he watched the blood surged and dribbled out of the wound.

But then he felt the prick against his other leg, wide eyes turning to watch as the knife was held above his skin, Y/N's hand flat against the top, ready to push in. "Where the fuck is it?" her tone was eerie as the voice changer in her mask produced an emotionless robotic effect on it.

"I don't know what you're talking about." The thick german accent seethed through his voice as he grunted in pain.

There was only boredom in Y/N's eyes as she gazes straight into his. A stab of the knife went through his thigh without a warning, until the tip of it almost met the flat surface of the chair beneath it.

The whole room echoed with the sound of the whimpering and cries of his struggle, "Please, I swear to God I don't know what you're talking about." He pleaded as fast as he can, when he felt the shortage of breaths in his lungs due to dealing with the excruciating pain.

"Playing dumb isn't going to help you, mutt." She twisted the knife, pulled out and stabbed it again causing him to fall into an almost delirious state, "Please, please please, I swear I don't know anything about the serum." He blurted out of misery.

There it was.

The thing she wanted to hear.

Y/N's eyebrow quirked in interest, "I never mentioned the serum in our conversation, no?"

He fucked up.

He knew that he fucked up.

But, does it matter when his body was searing in pain?

By the end of the intense interrogation, Y/N finally got the intel she needed to find and destroy whatever was left behind by Wilfred Nagel, who was recruited by the CIA to recreate the super soldier serum.

Those greedy fuckers just cannot stay away from things that shouldn't be meddled with. Even Y/N could see the potential threats of a successful recreation the super soldier serum; they were practically asking for Hydra to revive to its glory days.

And she would not allow that to happen.

She needed to destroy it before its finished.

A loud wail left the man's lips, almost sounded a little strained as he had been screaming in pain for hours. Y/N mercilessly grabbed him by his sweaty chin as she pried his mouth open. Knowing exactly what was coming, the man begged, "Oh lord, please please help me please."

Leaning closer she coldly spoke, "The gods doesn't care about you. Trust me I've been there." With a swift strike, she forced her knife down his throat, and a splash of red tainted her mask, nearly got into her eyes but she managed to blink before it does.

She stood still as she watched him gurgle on his own blood as death collected his soul. Wiping the blood away from her eyelid, she walked out of the abandoned building with a mission to finish; all the while blissfully oblivious to the war that the avengers were fighting to their death on the other side of the world.

Madripoor, 2024 – The most prized asset

The returned of her parents were as sudden as the lost. Though she was glad that they were back, however she had to live a double life now that they kept asking about her job and personal life as they wanted to catch up for the lost of time in 5 years.

Y/N felt bad for lying to her parents but it was for their own good. Now, that she had sent them to a honeymoon to travel all over Europe, she felt better in pursuing her mission without concerns.

Besides the joyful return there was also the awful ones.

Now, that Wilfred Nagel was back from the blip. The serum was perfected to its finest version. And was stolen by bunch of kids protesting for equal rights.

What a fucking mess that was.

But, she would deal with that later. The main focus right now was to find the man itself. There would be no more serums if the source is eradicated.

That was her priority.

With her face hidden behind her signature mask, Y/N walked through the messy crowd as she searches for Shelby's men. This should be a short meeting, since Shelby and her had history together; or more to a favour that she owns to Y/N.

However, when she tried to tune in into the hushed conversations in the crowd, she noticed that the murmurs seemed to be divided into two hot topics; one about the sudden appreance of the Deathstalker, which was herself, and second was surprisingly about the return of another notorious assassin. 

Then when the conversations died down, a fight suddenly broke out. Y/N hold on the handle of her blades from the side of her thighs, as she stiffed into a defensive mode.

While on the other hand, the crowd seemed to be more interested in recording the fight, than avoiding it.

She seemlessly weaved her way through the people, only to see that the action ended with a man choked onto the table of bar. The attacker's face turned away from her where she could only see his figure from the back.

Then, a gleam of gold caught her attention, Y/N squinted her eyes as she analyzed the man's left arm.

It was not the pattern of the sleeve from his suit.

It was his arm.

A black bionic arm.

Which reminded of her of someone she came across in her 6th life; but his was a tin foil silver with a red star on his upper arm. At the time, he was Hydra's most prized asset, they called him the Winter Soldier.

Part II >>

Read my other works here: Masterlist

A/N: yes, I am well aware that left y'all hanging but I still hope you enjoy this one. Tell me what you think so far, I'm curious if y'all cry at the part where she received the letter or maybe you can comment of something else, I'd still love to hear them ♡

[passesinthemorning]

The way Percy says "that's not how people who love you should treat you" and views the gods as these almost lesser beings for not being human, because humans to him are capable of such love and grace and strength, all because of his mother. His mom, a painfully human person who got frustrated and tired and tried so hard every day for Percy and never made him feel unloved, is human and good and the gods, well, they're something else aren't they? And percy knows not all humans are like his mom, but the best being he has ever known is human and the gods have been nothing but absent and cruel.

Meanwhile Annabeth sees the gods in their rigidity, with their rules and patterns, as being so much easier to understand than humans who gave her love and then took that away, than humans who she can't quite understand the intentions of, than humans who *die*, and can't see where Percy comes from because she has never been loved unconditionally.

And then percy sacrifices himself for them and is just. So loving and loyal? And I love how the two of them are trying to understand each other and how the show is setting up so many of the main themes from the books.

[reiderwriter]

My Love Is Mine All Mine

Week 2 of my Playlist series 🎧💕

Summary: Spencer Reid always liked broken things, but you didn't think you could be fixed. Maybe all you needed was understanding and companionship.

Warnings: slight angst, case details mentioned - misogyny, kidnapping, etc, but no graphic/ explicit details. Hurt/Comfort.

A/N: Tumblr, please let me post haha I've been good, I promise 🙏 This fic is so late because I've been having some technical issues with tumblr and it has greatly annoyed me, so hopefully if you're seeing this it's been fixed? Who knows... Thank you to everyone who has sent in songs so far for the Playlist series, I'll be cresting the playlist today and posting it for everyone to see and use!

Masterlist || Series Playlist

Falling for Spencer Reid wasn't in your plan for the new year, but looking back, it was probably something that was just bound to happen. 

He'd been the first person to show you any kindness after everything you went through, the first person who hadn't put their own rigid horror at your past before their attempts at sympathy. 

You watched the way people recoiled from you as you told them - bluntly, you had to be blunt - what the man in the cabin had done to you. 

He listened to your words, didn't interrupt, didn't quietly shake in anger, and refuse to meet your eyes like your father did, didn't weep for her baby like your mother did. He took your hand as it shook. He held your gaze. 

It was his job to ask questions, but there weren't many left to answer. 

The only reason you were alive was because his team had tracked the string of bodies to your kidnappers home. You were alive because one of his coworkers had put a bullet through his head, ending your nightmare. 

The very idea of love was repulsive to you as you emerged from that basement in the first days of the next year, and you remembered thinking the snow looked fresh and soft. You remembered wanting to lay in it, to wrap it around yourself like a warm blanket and drift into sleep. The cold ground would be as much comfort as you would allow yourself. 

Because after everything, you knew you didn't deserve love. 

You accepted understanding from him, though. 

When the shock wore off, you were awash in all the misery inflicted upon you. You raged, kicked, screamed, broke things, and made people uncomfortable. Nothing would numb the pain of being trapped inside your head, your head still trapped inside that basement, that cage. 

He came to visit you at the hospital. The nurses had given up on you, were content you were physically healing, and that they had technically done their job but not bothered by your deteriorating mental state. Some days, you swore that they pierced your skin in the wrong places purposefully, not even searching for your vein. 

But then he was there, with a book and a chess board, and he'd asked you if you'd ever played before. 

“No. Chess always seemed too…” You swallowed the bile that drowned your lungs and tried again. “Before, it was boring. An old person game, too many rules. Now… He said we shouldn't do things like this. Said we shouldn't cultivate our minds.” 

It was a confession again, but one that took a weight off your shoulders, and not one that pushed it further down. 

“Would you like to learn?” His tone was so soft and awkward, like a teenage boy asking a girl out on a first date, that you almost giggled. 

“I'll be honest and say you'll never beat me, I've played through most board combinations, including a large proportion of the 10^80 theorised checkmate positions, so if you'd rather do something else, that's fine, or I can leave, too, if… you'd… prefer?” 

You had laughed then, a thing that bubbled up from the pit of your stomach and left your shoulders shaking as you gasped for breath doubled over. 

You'd been in hell for six months, and he'd drawn you out of it for a few moments by rambling about chess. 

“Are you a patient person, Doctor Reid?” 

“I think so.”

“Then set up the board and let's play.” 

He beat you every time, obviously, but you enjoyed his small explanations of the moves, and you did improve slightly. 

More than that, you enjoyed his company. It wasn't that you talked extensively In your hospital room, oscillating between your lowest point and somewhere just a rung above that where the snow was falling and the air was fresh, but that he never looked at you the way others did. 

You were discharged and were sad to lose that small glimmer of normality. He'd come twice a week throughout January, and now you were back in your usual shape. You were being discharged, and so that would end. 

You were surprised that he came to pick you up from the hospital the day you left. 

The parents who had looked everywhere for you for half a year hadn't wanted to, and the close friends from before hadn't spared you a thought since reposting your missing poster on their social media pages. 

But the man you played chess with twice a week, the man who'd carried you out of hell himself was there. 

“Ready to go?” You nodded, dumbstruck, and followed as he grabbed your bag. 

You weren't exactly sure where it was you were going, but you followed the man anyway, only a small part of your brain shouting in protest considering the last time you'd been blindly trusting.

He led you back to an apartment with some bare furnishings but a large window and a warm soft blanket covering the bed. It wasn't his, but yours. 

“Your parents are paying for it. They're taking the city to court due to the circumstances. Apparently, there were numerous phone calls to law enforcement that went unnoticed, but the city is looking to settle, so you don't have to worry about rent for a while, maybe ever again. The WiFi is all set up, hot water is working, and so is the heating. The locks are triple enforced, and I'm right down the hall, so if you need-” 

“What?” 

He blinked at you and suddenly, looking sheepish, as if becoming aware that he'd presumed a friendship between the two of you without consulting you first. 

“I live down the hall.” 

You stared at each other for a few moments as you processed his words. He lived down the hall. He'd driven you to your new home, set everything up for you, and he lived down the hall. 

“You're a good man, Spencer Reid.” You whispered, turning away to not let the moment linger anymore than it already had. 

Chess nights became routine. You'd set up the board and play for an hour or two or until you were sick of losing. 

Gradually, though, the nights got longer. He'd arrive just as you were eating a meal, and you'd invite him to join you, or he'd bring along takeaway and you'd eat quietly together, talking about everything and nothing.  

One day, you'd mentioned a film. A popular one, one you'd loved as a child and still rewatched to this day. 

“I've never seen it, is it good?” He'd said. And in your shock, you jumped up and sent half the chessboard flying. 

“Well, it seems that now our game is over, that we have time to give you an education, Doctor Reid.” 

“I have three PhD's-” 

“And still you haven't seen Clueless?” 

You'd pulled him over to the couch he'd picked out for you, loaded up the movie and then invented a new tradition. 

Chess nights and film nights were separate days of the week. So he could always promise to be around for one of them even if he had to miss the other because of work. 

You didn't ask him about his job anymore. He saved people like you, and you didn't need to be thinking about people like you too much.

What they went through, if they survived physically. If they survived in other ways. 

He always visited you first when he returned, though. There would be a knock on your door at some point in the day or night, and he'd let you know he was home safe. 

Another tradition. You'd opened the door to let him in the first time he'd returned from a case after you moved in, and he'd leaned down and wrapped his arms around you. 

You heard the breath of relief, loud and emotional, and hadn't quite realised it had come from you until a few minutes later. Some part of you had thought he wouldn't come back. 

Now, every time he came home, you ran to the door and quietly comforted each other, reminding the other that no matter what happened, you were both there for each other. 

You weren't sure when traditions and movies turned into love or if it had lingered over you the entire time. You didn't think you could love someone right then, your heart broken into small pieces with the torment you'd suffered. 

But it was stitched back together with pieces of him still lodged inside. He was in the very fabric of your being as you became whole again. 

The truth was that you most likely couldn't find love again because there was no room in your heart for anyone else. And you'd never be able to reschedule chess nights to go on dates anyway. 

You weren't sure if Spencer ever figured out how much of hum you carried around with him, how your eyes followed his lips as he ran through decades of memories to give you the fact he thought would please you the most. You weren't sure if he loved you as much as you did him until you were.

You'd agreed to watch one of his movies for a change, agreeing to stop the streak of 80s brat pack classics to watch a black and white war film from Russia with no subtitles. You'd sat together on that couch under blankets you'd bought together months earlier, and he'd pulled you in closer.

“I want to watch the movie and translate at the same time. You should sit here.” He'd pulled you into his lap, letting your back fall against his chest as his lips fell to your ears, and he began to whisper. 

Sitting there so closely, so intimately, was almost torture. Unconsciously, your head tipped back with his words, displaying your neck and shoulders, silently willing his lips to drift even once. His arms wrapped around your waist, and you did your best not to squirm the entire movie, but with your heart beating out of your chest, it was a hopeless cause. 

“Did you enjoy it?” He whispered as the credits rolled, but you hadn't even noticed the movie had ended. It wasn't until the silence that followed his question stretched out notably that you came back to reality. You couldn't answer, in fact. You gaped for a few short moments, hoping something vague but accurate enough would just pop into your mind. 

As you attempted to negotiate yourself out of distraction, you turned your face to his, but he was closer than you thought.

Your noses touched, and your breaths mingled. His arms still wrapped around your waist, and your blankets still anchored you to one another. 

“I wasn't paying attention to the movie, Spencer. I'm sorry.” The words came out of you so fast, yet so quietly that you were surprised yourself how honest you had chosen to be. 

“Why not?” He asked, eyes having drifted sleepily down to gaze at your lips. 

You didn't answer his question but felt your cheeks flush red. You thought about pulling away, moving back, or at least laughing everything off, but you didn't. You stayed there, still like a deer in headlights. 

“Your voice was too distracting,” You forced some of the tension out of your body and let your head fall against his shoulder again, hoping this moment wouldn't end anytime soon. 

“Distracting?” He sounded concerned and shifted in his seat, lifting you up from your happy place in his arms until you were again face to face. “Did I make you uncomfortable?” 

The look on his face was so concerned and focused that you had to pause for a second to catch your breath. He cared about your comfort so much and paid attention to each word that came out of your mouth. He wanted your happiness more than anything in the world. 

“No. I'm never uncomfortable with you, Spencer.” You were back to whispering now, hands floating up to grab his own, fidgeting by his sides. You bought them up to your face and guided his hands to your cheeks, needing to show him just how comfortable you were with him in actions, not just words. Words could be dishonest. Actions were honest. 

His concern melted away as he began stroking your cheek with his thumb, smiling sweetly at you. 

Though you were both content, you'd never been quite this intimate before. So when his thumb swiped over the corner of your lips, your eyes both caught on each other. You could see him weighing up the outcomes in his head, going back and forth between pulling away and pushing in closer.

Slowly and softly, as though he were trying not to startle you, his head moved closer until his lips were on yours. 

It was a quiet kiss. You wouldn't describe it as fireworks, or butterflies, or anything loud and grand and passionate. It was quiet, and it was right. 

He pulled away seconds later, trying to gauge your reaction, but you followed him away and kissed him again. 

When you finally pulled away, it took you a few seconds to realise you'd climbed back into his lap, unconsciously having moved closer to him. You guiltily looked up, waiting to see any discomfort on his features, but to your surprise, he was busy straightening out your hair. 

“I love you, Spencer,” you whispered as he took care of you. He smiled, looking down at you once again, pulling his arms around you to gently lower both of you down to a laying position on your couch. 

“I love you, too,” he said as you held each other and drifted into contented sleep.

[night-raven-tattler]

What's your ideal type?

A/N: This is a series where I write what I think is the ideal type for all the boys of the main cast. Enjoy!

Characters: Heartslabyul dorm (Riddle, Ace, Deuce, Trey, Cater) ×GN!Reader (separate, romantic)

Other parts of the series: Savanaclaw, Octavinelle, Scarabia, Pomefiore, Ignihyde, Diasomnia

Warnings: food (Trey's first bullet point)

By opening the document, you agree to Mx Tattly's terms of source confidentiality.

-ˋˏ’✄┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈

Riddle's ideal type would be...

Someone who can gain his respect. A way into Riddle's heart is to catch his attention, either through your extensive knowledge about your favorite topic or a very solid sense of self. He likes people who can hold their head high so their crown won't fall off.

Someone who can understand his need to stick to the rules. His journey of self improvement made him understand he can't always force people to stick to all rules. But he still has a long way to go until he can break out of his bad habits, and if you wait for him to catch up, he'll appreciate it.

Someone who allows him to feel his emotions. Always forced to listen and never argue, Riddle has a lot of pent up emotions that spill out through anger at every inconvenience, but no one really taught him how to sit down with himself and understand what bottled up emotion is making him react. He needs someone who can at least nudge him towards trying to understand what and why he's feeling.

Someone who takes him out of his comfort zone. The rigid routine he has been stuck in over the years left its mark on Riddle, making him fear trying out new things. He fears the consequences of failure. But it's natural to be bad before you are good at something, and if you can push Riddle towards trying new things you get to see him at his most vulnerable: someone who simply loves to learn about the wonders of the world around him.

『••✎••』

Ace's ideal type would be...

Someone he can get a reaction out of. Ace is a major tease and a bit of a jerk, but that's part of his charm. From annoyance to fluster, if he can get himself to stay into your mind longer than expected, he'll gladly extend his stay there for as long as possible.

Someone who is not afraid to call him out and keep him in line. Ace doesn't just nod and agree: he likes to make a statement, to be honest and call people out, but his thoughts don't always go through any filters before leaving his lips. He appreciates when you can be honest in return and tell him that he is going too far.

Someone who doesn't get offended from every honest thing he says. Like I mentioned above, Ace doesn't really use his mental filter, and things just come out of his mouth sometimes. He doesn't always mean harm, he just wants to get his point across and be as straightforward as possible. He likes when you're willing to take his feedback before commenting on his lack of filter.

Someone who pays attention to him. It's a surefire way to gain Ace's affection. Rewarding him in just the right ways will have Ace following you like a puppy, if he's not doing that already. Save him a seat in the cafeteria. Get him those cherry flavored candies. Cheer for him during a basketball match. Soon enough he'll reciprocate the gestures.

『••✎••』

Deuce's ideal type would be...

Someone who is comfortable with change. Deuce is always working on ways to become a better person, a better student, a better son, even a better boyfriend. If you can understand why he always needs to seek ways to change, you'll be a welcome presence in his life.

Someone responsible. Deuce is not the most reliable student out there. He's trying, but not always succeeding. So, if he has someone to look up to, it will motivate him and won't let him dwell on his shortcomings for too long.

Someone he can make mistakes with. He deeply regrets his past as a delinquent, so he holds himself to a standard that always seems to be out of his reach, and kicks himself up when he doesn't reach it. If you can teach him that baby steps are more important than huge change, you'll earn a place in Deuce's heart.

Someone who finds family important. This might sound weird, but you won't always be Deuce's top priority. His mom, Dillah, is the only person who was in his corner no matter what while he was growing up. He wants to do everything he can to repay her for everything she did. Someone who understands the importance of family in Deuce's life reassures him that not only you'll fit in his family, but you'll be on a similar page when he decides it's time to bring up you two making your own.

『••✎••』

Trey's ideal type would be...

Someone who appreciates baking. You don't have to be good at it. You don't even need to know too much about it! Trey likes the attention you give him whenever he bakes, especially since he does it very often.

Someone who doesn't push him to be more than what he is. Trey has a very solid sense of self, and knows exactly what he wants to do to live a comfortable and satisfying life. Just trust him and let him know you are confident he knows what he's doing, and don't bring up any "wasted potential" talk.

Someone who calls him out when he jumps to conclusions. Trey is observant, kind and compassionate; however he also tends to underestimate the people around him, in the way that he thinks everyone who has his sympathy needs his support. Don't hesitate to remind him how that backfired for him, and he'll appreciate it.

Someone who can enjoy a small prank war with him. At the end of the day, Trey likes teasing people and a good, harmless practical joke has him smirking at you for days. You can always try to put salt in his coffee or misplace his notes, but you also need to be prepared for the consequences.

『••✎••』

Cater's ideal type would be...

Someone who doesn't wear their heart to their sleeve. They say a bit of mystery makes someone more attractive, and Cater totally agrees. He does find the honest types adorable, but to catch and keep his attention on you, you have to leave some cards close to your chest. It will leave him curious and eager to unravel you, piece by piece.

Someone who enjoys aesthetic things. Cater often takes out his phone to snap pics of various things he finds cool or interesting to post to his Magicam. Don't be afraid to send him pictures you've taken as well! Just don't send too many pink things.

Someone who gives him space when he needs it. It's no secret Cater is pretty closed off emotionally and doesn't really like to make close relationships. While it's good to bring him out of his shell in the emotional department, overdoing it will overwhelm him and push him away. You have to do it bit by bit, leaving him enough space to decide when it's okay to seek you out himself.

Someone who is willing to be more emotionally open first. Creating a safe space is key. You will have to make the first step if you want you two to develop a deeper connection. If you extend your hand first, he'll at least consider taking it.

『••✎••』

[startrekfangirl2233-writes]

Lens Flare

Jake 'Hangman' Seresin x Reader

Description: Over the past three months, your career has grown by leaps and bounds. Yet at the same time, you can't help feeling dissatisfied. A lot of your feelings stem from what you did the last time you saw him. Jake Seresin. Lieutenant Jake Seresin. It had been fun, in the hangar, under the dead of night - passionate and hot. So too had been the video you filmed and the pictures you'd snapped. But hindsight, well, maybe there is a reason why they say "Hindsight is Twenty-Twenty". Because Jake hasn't called, despite how badly you want him to. A new assignment in North Island might have the potential to change everything for Jake and our Shutterbug, including how they approach everything they hold dear.

Warnings: Once again, this is just some porn with plot. The feral plot bunnies ran away with me, I fear.

Word Count: 8502

A/N: Hiya everyone! I'm baaack! Enjoy this sequel to my fic Photo Finish. It's just as smutty and gorgeous as the last one!

This fic is brought to you all by the constant support of @horseshoegirl, @sarahsmi13s and @desert-fern. You're all my heroes and I love you to bits for keeping me from ditching this story before it even started! I couldn't have written it without you!

AO3: Cross-posted Here!

Wattpad: Cross-posted Here!

An old photography teacher of yours once told you never to submit photos with lens flares to any publication, magazine or contest. He considered lens flares the biggest mistake for a rookie photographer. He’d declared, quite adamantly in front of your entire class, using your pictures as examples, how lens flares made photos look cheap and low quality. Given his dislike of the trick of light, he’s also taught you a plethora of tricks to prevent them. Over the many, many years since you left his class, you’ve started to relax and deviate from the rigid rules of photography he once taught you. For a large portion of your career, you've been photographing subjects which cannot be posed in a studio, which helps. Every snick and whir of your camera feels like you are letting go of rules and embracing your art.

You’ve always heard wildlife photography has a tendency to relax photographers' attitudes. It’s a truth you’re very thankful you had the chance to experience. After all, there are no rules when it’s just you, your camera and what feels like the entire world a hair's-breadth away from your camera lens. It’s hard to be frustrated with the sun glancing across your camera lens when it highlights fox kits gamboling in dewy spring grass. Or elk on a frost-bitten winter morning with clouds of their breath dissipating into the clear air. Those pictures were once-in-a-lifetime shots, perfect in their imperfection and richer with the sparkling halos of light.

Being back in New York after years of traveling has made you appreciate the photographs you took even more. Now you feel like you can fully appreciate the wilderness in them. New York is wild in an entirely different way. It’s louder, greyer, more populous, yet just as vibrant. In New York, you’ve been able to capture human nature, snapping minuscule interactions between people who are always in a hurry and always moving. But you also have to work to make enough money to fund your passions. Not having to travel helped bring some stability to your passions. But of all of the things you thought you'd be photographing, fashion models and clothes were never an option. In a way, photographing fashion and fashion models is capturing another kind of wild animal in your lens sights. Models and designers are wholly proprietary and protective over what they consider theirs, whether their clothing or their aesthetic appearance. You’ve had to shoot and reshoot, as well as touch up your photos more than you've ever had to before. Of course, in this case, your primary objective is to make the models and the clothes they are wearing look otherworldly and incredible. 

At first, the thrill of doing something new was alluring and exciting. But after a year, trapped in New York City, doing the same thing and working with the same people day in and day out, you can’t help but miss wildlife photography. It's like a persistent ache below your breast bone, something calling you back to the life you lived before. You're missing traveling in arid deserts and verdant forests even more now. And then the US Navy came calling. Now, while you miss the wilderness, you think you might just miss something else, more.

It’s late, half-past three in the early hours of the morning, and you’re sitting out on the balcony attached to your overpriced shoebox of an apartment. You’ve found yourself sitting out here more and more as the summer heat turns into the cool of fall. Your balcony is so small there’s only room for a single chair, and your feet are propped up on the wrought iron railing. New York’s the city which never sleeps and the crackle and groan of the city resonates around you. Your oldest camera, a Canon you bought in college with the pennies and dollars you’d saved from tips earned from waitressing, sits on your lap. All night, you’ve been trying and failing to chase away how unsettled you’ve been feeling by peering through the viewfinder and trying to see things from a different perspective. 

But it hasn’t worked. You've been feeling discomfited of late, unsettled and restless. Maybe your listlessness has something to do with your next assignment. You can’t lie, not even to yourself no matter how hard you try. It has everything to do with your next assignment. You should be excited. You should be asleep, because at least if you were asleep, the time would pass sooner. For once, you will not be photographing a new designer collection. In the morning, you're flying to San Diego to take pictures at North Island Naval Base for a follow-up piece sanctioned by the US Navy. Your team is joining you, which should be a comfort, albeit slight and slim. There will be more planes to photograph and possibly shots you can take from within the cockpit or from up in the air.

It took three months to publish the article on the US Navy’s newest hotshot aviation squadron. There had been countless revisions and rounds of approval with the US Navy's Office of Public Relations to greenlight the endeavor. It's been exactly the same amount of time since you met the Dagger Squadron, too - only three months after you edited the photographs, focusing maybe a little too much on one face in particular. Three months after you took the biggest risk of your life, professionally and personally. Three months after you made a sex tape with a client. It doesn’t help that he was a memorable client, too - and how you haven’t been able to forget him.

It's only been two weeks since the magazine hit newsstands with your picture of the Daggers in all their finery near one of the jets on the front cover. Everywhere you go, it seems you see their faces - his face. Your phone has been ringing off the hook ever since. Everyone wants you to take professional portraits of their clients. But your phone has never had the voice you so desperately want to hear on the other end of the line. It's a nationally distributed magazine, after all, and like everything nowadays, published both physically and digitally. The magazine had also mailed special copies to each member of the squadron which was your subject. So he has to have seen it. So why hasn't he called? It's the one question on your mind. It may be the only question on your mind, but it's far from the only thought in your mind. 

Chances are, he doesn’t want to talk to you at all. After all, why would he want to?

You couldn't silence the thoughts if you tried - and you have tried, repeatedly. Getting drunk made you maudlin, going out had you seeing his face in every stranger’s and getting laid had made you wish you were with him rather than anyone else. Over and over again you’ve found yourself thinking about those last few moments with him, agonizing over every detail, from the kisses and touches to the last time you saw him. Maybe you hadn’t been entirely clear in your note to him. You can recall the note as if you wrote it yesterday, the note you'd affixed to the flash drive you handed him.

Sure, you told him to call you when he was in New York next. But really, you wanted him to call you, period. Or text you. Something, anything to show you’re lingering in his memory in the same way he lingers in yours. You thought your dalliance had been memorable enough. You hoped you were memorable enough. After all, it's not every day you let a man fuck you up against his jet and record it, forget a man you’ve known only for a few days. Maybe it’s a little silly how attached you’ve gotten to him, given the short time frame, after what should have been completely meaningless sex. 

But it’s not meaningless anymore, at least not to you, after how many times you've seen the video since you last saw him. Your camera hadn’t hidden a single thing when you made your little home movie all those nights ago. You’ve seen how his hands had been gentle, his eyes soft. Your entire countenance had been beckoning, beguiling in the throes of passion, needy in a way you’ve never let yourself be before with anyone else. He’s also spoiled you for any other man on the planet - or at least in New York. You haven’t hit the same heights since him, and a part of you is sure you never will again. And now you have to enter the lion’s den, venture right into enemy territory with your head held high and only a camera to shield your too-hungry gaze.

A thump on the railing drags you out of your reverie. Your neighbor’s escape-artist black cat makes himself at home on the railing, paws flexing as his tail lashes through the humid night air. Like you’re in a dream, you lift up the camera and peer through the viewfinder. Tonight, everything seems to be coming back to lens flares. The neon lights fracture in your camera lens, softening the visage of the cat on the railing, green eyes luminescent. With reflexes born of years of wildlife photography, partially stunted after nearly a year of fashion photography, you depress the shutter with a soft snick and a near-silent whir. What you’re left with is a long exposed image - neon lights blurring in the background as one shines behind the cat’s head. Even his fur is blurred, only green eyes in focus, piercing into your soul. It’s perfect, as expected, and you hope it’s an omen for the days to come while you’re in San Diego.

Green eyes, different from those of your neighbor’s cat, haunt you, even more, the following day as you pile out of one of the minivans the studio rented for you and your team, as well as all of your equipment, on the tarmac at North Island. The humid, sticky air stinks of jet fuel and salt water. The wind brushes past you, snatching at your hair and ripping your sun hat right off your head. It's hot as it brushes by, providing no relief to the insistent heat.

Your team just laughs as you chase, bedraggled and exhausted, after your hat. The wind pushes you towards the hangars at the end of the tarmac, colossal doors thrown open while rows of jets stand gleaming. For the first time, you think you understand why Jake is so in love with being up in the air in his jet, how close to the elements he must be with adrenaline coursing through his system. You raise the camera resting against your chest, leaving your hat to fly where it wants, because you have to capture this.

When your camera focuses, you start snapping with abandon, capturing the sun-drenched metal and heat waves rising off of the pavement.  You’re not sure what pictures the editors will select to go with the article the journalist is going to write. Regardless, you’re stealing the time to take some filler shots now, when it’s bright out still, and blindingly golden outside. Your team is far behind you, still clustered by the cars, as you trail between the shining metal hawks, cockpits closed and emblazoned with names and callsigns. Your heart stutters in your chest when you see his jet, the text dark and fresh, announcing he’s been promoted. So, he's still operating out of Naval Air Station North Island. 

Faintly, you can hear voices emanating from one of the open hangars, so you creep closer, your old Canon camera clutched to your chest like it can protect you. Twenty-four of the US Navy's best aviators are saturated in gold, settled in creaking plastic chairs. Jake’s at the podium, laser pointer in hand, completely relaxed as he talks about things you couldn’t understand if you tried. The light glints across his face, catching angelically on the burnished strands of his hair. A singular fluffy lock has broken free of his hair gel’s hold, trailing softly across his forehead. It makes your fingers ache to push it back into place. But you can’t, because you won’t interrupt or embarrass him. So you take pictures instead, breathlessly, silently, framing the aviators limned in gold like they’re deities waiting to go to war.

You’re not sure when it happens, but he sees you - bright green eyes colliding with yours, a nearly imperceptible frown creasing his brow before the skin smooths. He doesn’t look happy to see you. In a way, it makes sense. You were just a one-night stand, something sexy to indulge in - not someone he'd want to keep forever. The look lances through you, skewering you in place as the wind and sun stick your blouse to your back. He doesn’t acknowledge you but for one curiously blank look, and you’re mortified as you walk silently back to your crew, who are now grouped around the jets in awe.

As expected, Adam and Lea, your stylists extraordinaire, are already scribbling away. Lea's flicking through the tablet in her hands. If you were a betting woman, you'd bet good money they are already planning outfits to take advantage of the blue, gold and white theme of North Island.

“Hey, Boss!” Amy, your assistant, is nearly bouncing in place with her excitement. You're not sure how she's so energetic despite the heat and the hours of travel. “Our liaison should be joining us soon. They'll give us a tour of the base and then show us where we'll be setting up shop this week.”

She doesn’t notice how frozen your smile feels and how mechanic your nods are. All you can think about is Jake. He must have known, right? What are the chances he didn’t know you were coming to North Island to take more pictures? There must have been some briefing or notice informing the aviators why you're here. After all, you’re here to photograph the Dagger Squadron. Then why was his face so blank when he saw you earlier? Thinking about him is driving you crazy, but you're not sure you can stop. All you want is to know whether he could ever feel as strongly for you as you do for him.

When your liaison walks up ten minutes later, you’re pleasantly surprised to see you have not one liaison, but two. Neither of your Navy appointed liaisons is Jake, something which you should have expected, but you were still hoping for regardless. Lieutenant Commanders Trace and Floyd are smiling from ear-to-ear as they greet your team by name. Lea and Katie seem especially enthused at seeing the soft-spoken bespectacled WSO again. Lieutenant Commander Trace is her same unflappable, cool, collected self. Her presence and dry sense of humor has you in stitches as you and your team follow behind her like a herd of ducklings. There are familiar faces around what seems like every corner of the base. But none of the faces are the face you still want to see so desperately.

Jake Seresin shows up again as you’re oooh-ing and ahh-ing over the big hanger, burnished yellow, orange, red and pink in the light of the sun. You’ve got your camera up to your face, lips pursed in concentration, eyes squinting as you peer myopically through the viewfinder. It's his voice you hear first. Just hearing it, with the same rough timber, makes you remember what he told you, before you fell into his arms and headfirst into this situation with Jake Seresin.

God, baby. You killed me this morning. Wearing that pretty little skirt and those high heels. I wanted to bend you over and fuck you until you were leaking my cum.

It’s not a good sign, is it? How you’re unable to even look at his face without giving yourself away. The evidence of your feelings must be on your face, which feels uncomfortably hot. The heat is completely unrelated to San Diego's sky-high temperature and you shy away from eye-contact when you pivot and face the rest of your team, and the trio of Lieutenant Commanders. The sight of him hits you in your solar plexus, robbing your breath and leaving your palms uncomfortably clammy.

“Hi.” 

It’s a quiet greeting, your voice swallowed by the sight of him. It feels like your tongue is two times bigger than it should be in your mouth, unwieldy as you force it to move like you want it to. He doesn’t hear you, or even acknowledge you standing there waiting for him to notice you. Standing there, you finally realize how big a gulf there is between you and Lieutenant Commander Jake Seresin.

It's a sharp contrast. He's standing there in his khaki uniform crisp and new, blond hair dark at his temples from the shower he must have taken. In contrast, your shirt is covered in wrinkles, your hair is frizzy with flyaways escaping your braid and your worn jeans are butter soft but have definitely seen better days. He ignores you for the rest of the afternoon. It hurts, of course it does, when he doesn’t notice you in the same way you notice him. But you have a job to do. You can’t - you won’t - jeopardize your career for a man, not even a man as beautiful as he is.

The now-trio of Lieutenant Commanders shows you the Officer’s ready room, where you'll be setting up for the interviews. Each member of your team is also given a badge on a lanyard allowing you limited access to certain areas of base. Soon enough, you're left to survey the ready room and prepare your team for the days ahead.

“I know it's been a long day already for you all.” Your smile is a little wry as you continue, “It's been a long day for me too. All I want is to unwind and get out of these heels!”

You let the scattered chuckles from your team peter out before continuing.

“Before I can do so, we need to sync up on what we're going to be focusing on over the next few days.”

“First and foremost on our list? Getting pictures of the Daggers while they are being interviewed. The interviewer is an old friend of Admiral Kazansky's and will be spotlighting each of the Daggers. As a part of the interview, we will be expected to get photos of each member of the squadron in their flight suits, their khaki uniforms and their dress uniforms.”

You raise your hands up to stall any questions. “I'm aware this isn't exactly the type of photo shoot we're used to. Katie, you’ll be on hand to help with their make-up during the interview. We're keeping it light and subtle. For the interview photos, we want the aviator's uniforms and medals to shine.” 

“Seb and Kris - the two of you will be measuring the light levels in this room during various times of day and setting up artificial studio lights as necessary. I'll also need you both to check on the lighting situation in the big hangar we were in with the desks and the United States flag on the wall.”

“Adam and Lea, it may not sound like it yet, but I will need you both on your A-games. By special request of Admiral Mitchell, we've been asked to stage a beach bonfire. He wants this interview to echo the beginnings of this squadron. They became a team on the beach and now they are a family. I'm thinking we need cozy textiles and bright winter-toned colors. I'll leave the color palette to you both. All I ask is we have a cohesive palette for the squadron as a whole. As always, measurements for the aviators are included in this dossier. One of the minivans is yours. Our office in San Diego knows to expect you both.”

It doesn’t surprise you at all when Adam and Lea make a beeline for the doors as soon as you’re done with them. You’ve worked with them both long enough to know how they operate. They’ll be downtown and looking through the clothing on display before you can blink.

“Ames, while I run point with the admirals,  you'll be sourcing the beachfront we can use for the bonfire. I'm not sure who you'll need permission from, but there might be a bar owner who can give us permission.”

Before long, it feels like you're the only island of calm in the entirety of base. Seb and Kris wander in and out of the room, measuring the light and carting in and out lighting equipment. Even the teleconference you have with the Admirals, both of whom are in Hawaii, due to fly back in a couple of days, goes smoothly.

Over the next few days, you find yourself building on the rapport you created with 6 of the aviators in the Dagger squad in the following days. You also meet the other half of the Dagger Squad. But at the same time you are building a relationship with the other Daggers, it feels like you're losing the relationship you once had with Jake.

The only time you see him during the four days of interviews and pictures is when he is being interviewed. Even then, he spends more time chatting with Amy and Katie than you. Even when you address him directly, he's silent, content to play puppet to your puppet master and then disappearing to an area off base you don't have access to. It hurts, and you’re starting to get weird looks from the other Daggers. They’re all too polite, or too cognizant of their positions in the Navy to ask you any prying questions. At least, until the bonfire.

It hadn’t been difficult to organize at all, in the end. All Amy needed to do was speak to the proprietress of The Hard Deck, a little bar a few miles off base. Penny had been more than happy to hand over the usage of the beach outside her bar for the night. The combination of good food, even better alcohol, and of course, no interviews relaxed the Daggers enough for you to get the candid shots the magazine was looking for. Halos of light spark across your screen with each snap you take - lens flares sparking to life, again and again.

“Why aren’t you hanging out with Jake?”

The question makes you jump and nearly chuck your lens cap into the bonfire. You fumble awkwardly as you try to collect your composure.

“Lieutenant Commander Trace. What can I do for you?”

Your voice is a little shaky as you wheel around and face her.

“You don’t have to do anything for me!” She’s smiling at your discomfort, something wicked curling her lips. “And anyways, didn’t I tell you to call me Natasha three months ago?”

 You’re smiling despite yourself at her antics.

“It’s good to see you again, Natasha.”

“Forget about me. Why aren’t you talking to Jake?” 

You should have known she wouldn’t be able to let it go.

“Three months ago, you could barely keep your eyes off of him and the same was true of him. He went out of his way to chat you up every chance he got. And now? Something happened between the two of you after we all left the hangar, and now neither of you is talking. You were fine when you showed us the pictures the next day. But now?”

You shrug, lifting your camera up to snap another couple of pictures of the squadron having fun.

“Oh my god. I can’t with the two of you. Either you walk over there and talk to him, or I’m going to get him to talk to you!”

You grab her arm before she can march away.

“I can’t, Natasha.”

You try grabbing for her, but before you can, she’s already gone. His eyes cut over to yours the more she speaks, and you’re not sure you like the way he’s glancing over at you. Your heart is in your throat as he skirts around the bonfire and sidles up to you.

“What are you doing here? Natasha has this crazy idea you’re heads over heels for me, but the way you’ve been acting says differently. So what are you doing here?”

His voice is so quiet you can barely hear it over the crackling bonfire. His face doesn’t change its expression once the entire time he’s speaking to you, barring one tiny, blink-and-you-miss-it smirk. Once again, you have to thank Adam and Lea for their work because the Lieutenant Commander looks good enough to eat in his sweater and butter-soft jeans. But you know he's not happy to see you. The disappearing act he's been pulling ever since he saw you outside the hangar four days ago is proof.

“You know what I’m doing here, Jake.” 

“You're taking photos for another article. I know, I know.”

His smirk deepens, eyes twinkling maddeningly as he prowls closer to you.

“But between you and me, it’s just the official excuse, isn't it?” He tugs at a strand of your hair, reeling you closer to him. “But unofficially, I bet you want more of me. Maybe you want to make yourself another home movie? See my handprint on your ass cheeks again?”

His words have heat rising to your face, never mind how your skin already feels too toasty from how you've been huddling near the bonfire all night to keep yourself warm. Form-fitting dresses are not beachwear, especially not in late November. But you’re dressing to impress, wearing sharp blazers and business frocks. Add to the dress the camera and purse you’ve got over your shoulder, and you’re definitely not equipped for the beach.

“How do you know what I want?”

Your voice is thready and light, and your head spins the closer he gets to you. It's weird. You've been aching to have him this close to you all week, but now, when he is actually close to you again, you feel like it's too much, like he's too much. Every night in your hotel room, you've been coaching yourself to ignore him. You’ve had to in order to compartmentalize and be professional while on base. Yet, after only a few minutes in his presence, all your defenses are shredded like tissue paper.

“Because you're looking at me like this.”

Wafts of fragrant wood smoke drift by you and him as you stand mere inches away from each other. You can’t refute his statement. Not even a little bit, not even at all. You've never been able to mask your emotions, wearing your heart on your sleeve and your feelings in the pursed set of your mouth and the raise of your eyebrows. But you’re still not sure what you can say. If he’d propositioned you with the same vulnerable look in his eyes the first day you were in North Island, when he first saw you again, you would have folded like a cheap lawn chair. Then, you probably would have been more than content to pass on your expensive hotel room and make his lonely base apartment a little warmer. But he didn’t, and you’re not sure you can take the risk anymore.

Jake’s shoulders hunch, sinking into the impossibly soft cashmere of the sweater at your lack of response.

“I…” His smirk flattens, something like his Hangman mask taking its place. His shoulders never drop past his ears the longer you stand there with him at arm’s reach and pretend like you’re having a blast at this beach photoshoot turned bonfire party.

“I’ve read this all wrong, haven’t I?”

His sigh is gusty and almost too loud. “I was waiting for you to say something, because I’ve been dying to see you again. But then you ran away when you were taking pictures of the Top Gun class. Afterward, I - I didn’t know how to say I missed you, which is weird, I know. We only knew each other for a singular night.”

If your jaw isn’t on the floor already, you know it will be soon. Already, you’ve been getting too many questioning glances from your team and the Dagger Squadron. Then there is Natasha’s well-meaning meddling from a few minutes ago. Even the admirals have glanced over every once in a while at you and the normally cocky Lieutenant Commander standing in near silence. It’s not a conscious thought which has you whirling around in the silky sand and snagging a hand into his sleeve. You’re not sure why you’re doing it. All you know is if you’re having this out now, you need to have it out in private where it will not be injurious to your career or his.

Thankfully, Jake doesn't fight you as you pull him towards a corner of the parking lot. Your face feels flushed, and your chest heaves with panic at the thought someone could know what you and Jake did.

“I…” 

You cover his mouth with your hand, pretending the feeling of his skin on your hands doesn't burn, like you’re not completely aware of the masculine heat emanating from his skin. For several long moments, you stand in the shadows between two pick-up trucks in the parking lot. Each of your muscles is tense, waiting for someone to realize you've disappeared with Jake Seresin, of all people. You don’t want to think about the possibilities they were assuming. The prickling, uneasy sensation doesn't pass with the moments but does fade a little.

“What was that about, huh?”

You just glare in response.

“I thought it was better to have this conversation where we were less likely to be overheard, is all.” 

Your voice is prim, and your nose is tipped upward. It's obvious Jake doesn't feel the same way you do about this conversation, if he’s asking you questions like this.

“C'mon, sugar. If you wanted to let me down, you could have just said it by the bonfire. I promise I won't harass you.” His brow is furrowed as he thinks through all the implications of your statement. “Then or now.”

“I…” You fling your hands upwards, feeling this sudden urge to rage at the stars above you. How have things gotten so twisted? In your head and between you and Jake? 

“I don't want to let you down, Jake.”

You growl, then, because you know what you feel, but the words aren't coming out of your mouth the right way. He's patiently waiting for you to figure it out, lips pressed into a thin line, and green eyes scorching through you.

“I’m not rejecting you, Jake. When I came to North Island Naval Base and saw you standing in front of the lectern, I wanted you to smile when you saw me. I wanted some indication you felt the same way I did. I also wanted to kiss you, but it wouldn’t have helped then.”

You're smiling again, just a slight curve to your lips, a smile Jake is mirroring.

“Then you pretended I didn't exist. You pretended I was just someone you worked with before. Not someone who you were intimate with. Not someone whose life you changed with your stupid smile and your piercing eyes and your big, gentle hands. I…” 

To your embarrassment, you're sniffling and fighting back tears. “I didn't know why, or how to deal with it, so I just pushed back all my feelings. I pretended the same thing you did, and tried to ignore how much it hurt.”

“Fuck.” The quiet expletive echoes around you. “I messed this up, didn't I?”

He's pacing now, back and forth in front of you, shoes sliding through the gravel as he marches. He's ruffling his hair, face scrunched up in anguish at your words.

“I haven't been able to stop thinking about you. I've watched our video so many times, I know my favorite parts. Fuck, sweetheart, I even took the picture of your ass with my handprints on it with me when we were deployed a month ago. I was nearly given so many demerits because of how hot that picture is.”

Your heart seems like it’s going to burst out of your chest, beating as hard as it is. 

“So why didn’t you call?” The same plaintive, sad tone is in your voice again.

“What could I have said?” He’s finally stopped pacing back and forth at least. He flings his hands out from his hips “Sweetheart, I want you, I need you. I wish I could fly to New York right now to taste you again?”

You have to snicker at the sarcastic, sardonic note in his voice. 

“It’s a little melodramatic, but I would have taken it.” 

Just as quickly as you snicker, the laugh peters away into a gentle sigh. “All you had to do was tell me you missed me, Jake. All I wanted was for you to tell me you wanted to see me again.”

“Would it have mattered if I did?” 

He’s stepped closer again, close enough you can feel the heat of his skin against yours. One of his big hands cradles your jaw as he looms over you.

“I asked you a question, pretty girl.” There’s a smirk on his face as he ghosts his lips over yours.

“Why would my answer matter then?” You’re not sure where the sass is coming from, but it’s making Jake smirk even more. “Knowing the decision you made?”

Thankfully, you don’t have to think of a response with a brain wholly occupied by the man drawing you into his arms. You melt into the kiss like it's something visceral you've been missing. His hair still feels the same against the pads of your fingers, golden silk, as you wrap your arms around his neck. He still tastes like you remember, too, cinnamon and smoky spice intermingling on your tongue as he licks into your mouth. Your heart sings when he gently positions your camera so it isn’t crushed between the two of you.

You whimper when he pulls away, chasing after his mouth like you're addicted to it. He still kisses like he flies, you note dimly, thoughts far away. The car at your back is cool, the metal searing into your skin as the sun has long since set. But the cold temperature of the car has nothing on the man crowding you up against it. His eyes are lidded, gaze hot as he takes in the sight of you. The dual temperatures are enough to make you shudder.

“Look at you, darling.” His hands are just as hot as his gaze as he trails his hands down your sides. “A single kiss, and you’re aching for me.”

You can’t deny the effects this man has on you. In truth, the time for denial would have been some time before you made the movie at the hangar. You’re so far down this path there isn’t a way to turn back. 

“You want me just as much.” 

Your voice is quieter than the rush of the waves, yet loud enough you can see the impact as they hit his ears. He’s still just as fit as he was three months ago, all hard, hot muscle as he presses up against you, cedar and plum wafting through the air off his skin. You can feel the jut of him against your hip as he muscles you even further against the car, spreading you out like a meal he wants to eat. He transfixes you with a glare when he pulls away, even as he smirks at your breathy moan. You watch, eyes lidded, as he opens the truck door and sets your things on the broad seat. You’re panting with need when he comes back to you, body shivering as he leans into you again. His hands find their home against the curve of your waist, fingers still nimble as they focus on tracing your curves in a way which might be driving you just a little mad. You almost wish you were wearing a blouse and skirt again like last time, because at least then you could feel his hands spread across your ribcage, searing their heat into your bones.

You’re lost in him, utterly captivated by the way his tongue tangles with yours, the way he makes you moan. Unlike the rough, claiming kisses of your first sexual encounter with Jake Seresin, these kisses are tender and sweet. They’re searching and tasting, like he’s trying to learn what makes you tick and what makes you moan. In truth, it feels like he’s trying to take you apart only to put you together again. This time, you’re not sure you’ll ever be the same, forever changed by the man in your arms. 

“Fuck…” The word is an exhale pressed to your pulse-point, sticky, sweet, and blindingly hot. “Baby, let me take you somewhere other than this dusty, dirty parking lot. I think I really need to see you spread out on my bed this time.”

“Yes, please.” The words leave you in a strung out moan as you tug him closer, fisting your hands in his hair and sweater as you see fit. You’re past caring so long as he’s pressed so perfectly against you.

When he finally steps back from you, you’re gratified to see he looks just as rumpled and debauched as you feel. For a few moments, you stand there, drinking him in, hands aching to draw him close again, to touch him again. He takes your hand, entwining his fingers and yours. His hand dwarfs yours, skin slightly rough as his hand cradles yours. You let him lead you to the truck and help you in, because a part of you isn’t sure you’re going to be able to let him go even when you have to.

It’s silent, but for the sounds of the road as he starts his pickup, one hand never leaving its spot on your thigh. Your hands find the camera again, snapping with abandon the vista blurring past the windows and the man driving you. The streetlights halo through the lens view, speckling the pictures with circles of golden-butter light. It seems like time slips past in a slow trickle. You’re still looking through the camera when the engine cuts off, the sounds of the night trickling slowly back into your ears.

Jake’s eyes sear through you when you carefully gather your camera and bag up, legs shaky from that look alone as you step onto the pavement. His hand finds yours again, as you follow his broad back up a flight of stairs and through an unassuming white paneled front door. You’re surrounded by the cedar and plum of his cologne as you step in, the scent lightly drifting through the air. Jake crowds you against the door as soon as it closes, hands divesting you of your things even as his mouth slants over yours again. The heat sparking between you ignites again, a flame bursting to life in your chest, fed by the soft moans leaving his lips as you kiss him with wild abandon.

For much of the way to his bed, your eyes are closed. You trust Jake to lead you the right way, not to hurt you as you stumble and shudder your way through the apartment in his arms. His lips don’t leave yours once, moans ripping out of your mouth as he leaves you breathless. He’s far from quiet too, softly grunting when you tug on the hair at the nape of his neck, gasping open mouthed into yours as you rub at his bulge. Arousal bubbles in your veins, crashing over and through you. You squeal when he pushes you onto his bed, the mattress so firm it's almost hard as you bounce against it. Your hands shake as you fight with your clothes. Adrenalin makes you clumsy as you nudge your shoes off and fight futilely with the zipper at your back. Eventually you give up, choosing to lean back on your palms. When you look up, Jake’s staring down at you, eyes trailing from the curve of your mostly exposed legs up to your chest and back down again. He’s got his lower lips between his teeth, brow furrowed as he shrugs the sweater off.

Once again, you remind yourself to thank Lea for her work, because if you thought the shirt looked good buttoned up, it looks even better as it slips off his arms. He’s still wearing his dog tags, the silver chain glinting in the moonlight through the windows as he prowls over you.

“You’re still prettier than the pictures you take, baby.”

You feel like you are barely breathing as Jake licks into your mouth. The heat of his body grounds you, the points of contact just enough to tell you this is real.

“Breathe, beautiful.” His hands draw you up until you’re kneeling on the bed, your hands on his shoulders as you peer up into his eyes. Your resulting exhale is shaky as you drag in breaths with just enough oxygen to keep your head from spinning.

“Let’s get you out of this pretty dress, huh?”

“Jake.” His name falls out of your mouth like a prayer. His hands are practiced, sure as they drag the zipper down from the nape of your neck to the base of your spine. The fabric of your dress gapes forward until it’s around your waist.

Jake's eyes seem to glow in the moonlight as he takes in the simple black bra you're wearing, hands tender and hot as they drag over your bare skin, mouth wet and sharp as he drags his teeth across your collar bones.

“Mmm, baby.” His moan has you gasping, your body listing into his as he purrs the words into your skin. “I'm going to make you feel so good.”

When he lets go of you, your nipples are firm peaks in the cool air. When he removed your bra, you're not sure. All you know is you want him, desperately, urgently. Your panties feel like too much material as they cling to you, the gusset damp. Your hands are clumsy as you wrench the dress off, shaking as you peel your panties away from your skin, you flush as Jake's chuckles echo in your ears.

Divested of your clothes, you're faced with one of the prettiest sights of your life. Because, Jake’s standing there, with his belt unbuckled, and the jeans unbuttoned. His cock bulges out through the v-shaped opening, and your mouth waters as you look him over.

“God, Jake, please.” Your voice is a whine as you reach for him, fingers resting against his taut abdomen, back arched as you wait on all fours.

“I’ve got you baby.” 

His promises drip over your bare skin like hot and gentle summer rain. Your eyes close as he cups your jaw, the rustle of fabric foretelling his bare skin joining yours on the bed. You let him position you where he wants, drugged by the sensations of his big hands. You steal the opportunity to kiss him again, palms splayed over his pecs, and the cool chain of his dog tags brushing against your fingers. Falling into him is too easy. It’s just a series of kisses, a sweet tangle of tongues as you let him cradle you in his arms. Sparks of need, of want traverse your moon-stained skin, hips canting against his thigh in need.

“How long has it been since you’ve cum, sweetheart?” 

There’s amusement in his tone as you wrap your arms around his neck, breasts pillowed against his chest as you nudge his nose with your own.

“Just a couple of days ago.”

His chuckle makes you pout. 

“And how did you cum?”

He rolls you over, ghosting a kiss over your lips as he peers down at you. “Was it some guy you brought home? Who didn’t know how to make these pretty moans spill out of your mouth? Did he make you think of me the whole time?”

When you moan, it’s because he’s pressing into you, the stretch of him making your toes curl.

“N-no.” You screw your eyes up, trying to string the words together. “It was just me. With a vibrator, watching our video.”

“Fuck, there’s my good girl. Waiting for your Lieutenant Commander to make you scream, right?”

You’re so far beyond words all you can do is tug him down, fisting your hand in his hair until you can kiss him again. He’s just as eager to pull you in, hitching your legs up until they’re propped over his arms, keeping you spread open as he pistons his hips until you see stars. 

“Please, please, please.” 

You’re babbling, your orgasm crashing over you with each sharp thrust. Your moans intertwine with Jake’s guttural grunts as his hips stutter at their steady pace. It feels like you’ve been set on fire when you cum, pulsing waves of heat washing over your body. Jake’s shivering as he slumps over you, blanketing your body with his. His hair is sweat-damp as you card your fingers through the fluffy strands.

“Missed you, Jay.” 

“Missed you too, sweetheart.” The words are languid and soft, syrupy and sweet. 

It feels like you could fall in love with Lieutenant Commander Jake Seresin as he gathers you in his arms for what must be the hundredth time tonight to clean you up. Every glimpse of the man you see when he's not putting on his Hangman mask intrigues you more. There's a gentleness to him when he's like this, a secret softness shining past his imposing exterior. You want to know more. You have to know more. 

The realization of how little time you have left with Jake eviscerates you. Only two days left. Two days to love this man as much as you can. You can’t tell him how close you are to falling for him. Looking at his apartment, you have a feeling it would just scare him away. His apartment is almost austere, the off-white walls blending into the pale cream carpet on the floor. Everything is bare, with no pictures on the walls and no personality. It’s a trend throughout the entire space, everywhere but the bedroom. There's a cheery quilt at the foot of the bed. It's the only vibrant color in the apartment, the one thing which screams home.

“It's pathetic, isn't it?”  You jump at his words, gripping at the footboard of the bed in an effort to keep from falling.

“It's not pathetic, Jay. Just…” You turn, clad in the soft tee he'd pulled over you after the shower. “Just different than I expected.”

“I know what it looks like, sweetheart.” The same sad soft tone is in his voice again. “It looks like I don’t have any roots. Like I’m scared to let people in.”

He slides his arms around your waist, pressing a kiss on your shoulder, his golden hair dripping as he nuzzles into the crook of your neck. “Maybe that is the truth.” 

Your heart breaks a little at the soft surety in his voice, even as he does his best impression of a koala around you.

“Because like it or not, I’m going to leave one day. I’ll have to leave one day. Another deployment. Another mission. And chances are, I may not be coming home.”

You clutch at him tighter, because right now, you’re not sure you can think about him not being in San Diego the next time you’re here.

“I was okay with my reality.”

When you wrestle your way out of his grip, you’re maybe a little too rough, evidenced by the grimace on his face as you walk away. You’re not sure where you’re going but away has to be enough. You’re not sure you can face him after he’s said something like this. After all, here you are, ready to risk it all in a sultry cross-country romance, ready to give your heart to him, possibly years of your life to him. Then there he is, admitting so callously he might not be coming home one day.

You’re staring unseeingly at the stars when he slides his arms around you again.

“Are you okay, Shutterbug?” 

You lean back into him, because he feels perfect against you still.

“Shutterbug is new.” You’re trying to change the subject, because if he’s insistent about it, you’re going to explode.

“Nuh-uh.” His hands turn you around until you’re looking at him again. “Tell me what’s bothering you, pretty girl.”

“You’re so callous about how you’re ready to never come home again! Why would you say that to me, Jake? I’m ready to risk everything for you. A cross-country relationship, half here, half in New York or really, wherever it’s convenient for us to meet. If you’re not willing to do the same, then what is the point of what we just did?”

You’re choking back a sob as you stand in front of him. Your eyes are screwed closed, hands wringing the hem of the t-shirt clothing you. 

“Why does it matter that you missed me, and that I missed you?”

“It matters, because, sweetheart, you didn’t let me finish what I was going to say.”

Your arms wrap around his waist easily as he tugs you closer.

“I was going to say, I was okay never coming home before you. You’ve been running around in my head, the center of every thought, the subject of my every dream for three months. You kept me going when we were deployed, too. All I wanted was to come home safe so I could fly out to New York and see you again.”

“Now, at least I know I’ll be welcome when I come by.”

You’re smiling from ear to ear as you kiss the underside of his jaw.

“Yeah, you will be.”

You're still smiling as you walk into the Officer's Ready Room at North Island the next morning. You've got the same swagger you had in your step the first time you and Jake crashed together. Only this time, you have his phone number on your phone and the promise of a romantic dinner for two tonight. You'd be lying if you said you weren't still worried about the long distance relationship, spending half your life in New York and half here. But more than anything, you're ready for the challenge and excited to. At least you know who you're going home to - and, he knows who he is coming home to, as well.

Taglist:

@desert-fern @horseshoegirl @sarahsmi13s @teacupsandtopgun @dakotakazansky @roosterforme @beyondthesefourwalls @cherrycola27 @thedroneranger @a-reader-and-a-writer @hookslove1592 @mshistorylover @hangmanssunnies @kmc1989 @chaoticassidy

I DO NOT CONSENT TO HAVE MY WORK POSTED, TRANSLATED, OR PUBLISHED ON ANY SITES OTHER THAN ON AO3, ON WATTPAD, OR ON TUMBLR BY ME. IF YOU SEE MY WORKS ANYWHERE OTHER THAN AO3, ON WATTPAD, OR TUMBLR, THEN THEY HAVE BEEN POSTED WITHOUT MY PERMISSION AND I WILL BE WORKING TO TAKE THEM DOWN.

[jjsmaybank20]

Hiiiii, I was wondering if you could write a Barca femini x teen reader fic where she is under an immense amount of pressure from the media and more specifically her father and believes she has to do it all, she has to be perfect, she has to make her father proud. So she balances the weight of school, Barca training and matches, and the extra training she does (she legit runs herself into the ground in an attempt to forgot about all the pressure she is under, however this only causes her to feel even more stressed). The team specifically the captains, More so Alexia start to notice. They ask her if she is doing well and she denies anything is wrong saying she is fine with no further Answer. Reader decides she doesn’t have time for sleep and has to get as much school work done, so she has more time to do extra trainings. So she starts getting like 5 hours of sleep per night or less which is definitely not enough for a pro athlete to function. She keeps this up for a few weeks or days idk. When Alexia and the other decide enough is enough and they intervene. Reader tries to deny it and get up and leave but Alexia isn’t having it and just hugs reader tightly and then they all end up comforting her. They all tell her she needs more sleep and it’s okay to take a day off so she can take care of herself.

You def dont have to write this i jus though i would ask🫶

Feel Good

Barcelona Femení x Fem!Teen!Reader Alexia Putellas x Fem!Teen!Reader

Summary: R is under immense pressure to succeed, but it doesn't take long for it to become too much.

Warnings: R passing out, R doesn't have a good relationship with her father

Word Count: 1.3k

A/N: Sorry this took so long! I changed a few small things, but not too dramatically. Hope you like it!

navigation  woso masterlist

---

From a young age, you always strove to be the best you could possibly be. You worked hard, constantly pushing yourself to be better. When watching you study, train, and play in matches, people would describe you as a perfectionist. You didn’t disagree with that description, but you did believe that you needed to be perfect in order to gain the approval of your team, the fans, and especially your father. 

Y/F/N had always been a cold and tough man. Never generous with his praise, and almost overwhelming with his need for perfection, he ruled your life and your career with an iron fist since the day you showed an exceptional talent for football. You made your way through the youth teams with impressive speed, finding yourself on the Barça B team at the age of 15 and finally being promoted to the first team at the young age of 16. 

Being one of the youngest on the team, the senior players took you under their wing. Lucy and Mapi would joke around with you, while Alexia and Irene would take care of you and keep you on the right track to the point that you saw them as your motherly figures. For a long time, it had just been you and your dad, your mother never really in the picture. You grew up thinking that the only way for someone to love you was if you were practically flawless in every aspect of life, so naturally you assumed it would be the same with the team. 

---

For a while, you were able to balance everything. There was a delicate routine that needed to be followed that guaranteed you would complete your schoolwork on time while also performing the best you possibly could in matches and practices. You were strict with yourself, keeping up a rigorous schedule that impressed even the senior players. 

Slowly, though, your rigid daily life starts to slip through your fingers. It begins when your father starts to comment more and more on a slip in your performance that you don’t even notice. You don’t argue back with him, though. Instead, you decide to add extra practice every day to your regimen. Those added hours of practice means you have to push your schoolwork further into the night, telling yourself that it needs to get done, no matter how late it is. 

Your nights get continuously later, and it begins to take a toll on your performance at practice. At first, your teammates think you're having an off day, and then an off week. When your performance doesn’t improve after that first week, the girls start to get worried. Watching you idly kick a ball around from the sidelines, Alexia murmurs, “I’m worried about la pequeña. She’s been so quiet lately.” Mapi hums in agreement. “She won’t joke around with me anymore. Says that she needs to focus.” The Zaragozan looks at you just as you miss the ball you were juggling. You let out a deep sigh before picking it up and starting again. Mapi’s chest fills with concern at the sight. “She looks so tired.”

You continue to practice, not noticing the two senior player’s eyes on you. After completing the exercise you were working on, you pack the balls up and head inside to the gym. Placing your earbuds in, you don’t notice how Patri and Pina watch you with shock in their eyes as you slip past them on their way out of the gym. 

They flag down Alexia and Mapi as they pass the duo, hoping that they would be able to give some insight as to why you were working out after practice was over. Instead of reassuring them, their captain and Mapi share a glance full of concern. They quickly walk towards the gym, hoping to get some sort of explanation out of you as to why you were pushing yourself so hard. 

As you side step with a resistance band around your legs, you begin to feel light headed. Instead of stopping, you decide that you can just push through and that it will pass with time. Just as Alexia and Mapi reach the gym, your body finally gives up out of exhaustion and your eyes roll back into your head as you crumple to the ground. 

Alexia rushes to your side, pulling your head into her lap. “Get the trainers, now!” Mapi rushes out of the room, following the order immediately. As she anxiously waits, Alexia runs her hands through your hair. Up close, she can now see the dark bags under your eyes from a lack of sleep. “Oh, cariño. What is going on with you?” 

---

As you come to, you are met with the semi-harsh fluorescent lights of the recovery room. Everything seems blurry at first, causing you to blink your eyes to clear away the fog. You groan as you try to sit up, realizing with a start that your head is absolutely throbbing. Even through the pain, you still feel more rested than you have in weeks. You press the heels of your palms into your eyes, trying to block out the bright light. Someone lightly touches your back, startling you. 

“Hey, hey! Calm down, cariño. It’s just me.” You settle slightly at the soothing tone of Alexia’s voice. When you finally glance around the room, you are met with quite a few pairs of worried eyes belonging to your teammates. 

Finally, you look at Alexia. Her eyes are filled with such deep concern that you can’t help but turn away again. She softly speaks up from beside you, asking, “What is going on with you? You look like you haven’t slept in weeks, you seem constantly stressed out, and you haven’t taken a day off in months. I mean, you literally passed out from exhaustion, por dios!” 

You stare at your lap, knowing that as soon as you look up, you’re going to break down. “I’m fine. Nothing’s wrong.” Alexia can’t help but get a tiny bit frustrated with you. Your stubbornness has always been there, and she admires your refusal to quit. In this case, though, she just wishes you would let her help. “Cariño, passing out like that isn’t something normal or fine. Please, tell me what’s happening.”

When Alexia leans down to try to look at your face, she can see the tears forming in your eyes. You glance up slightly, and when you are met with one of the kindest and most caring looks you have ever received in your life, the dam breaks. “I can’t take it anymore! It never ends. It’s always something. One day it’s my footwork, the next it's my shooting. There’s always something to pick apart. And when I’ve finally satisfied him with my football, it’s ‘your grades are dropping’ or ‘your not focusing on school enough’. There's no end to it. I can’t ever stop, and it’s. just. too. much!” You punctuate your last couple words by smacking the medical bed underneath you. 

Your teammates sit in stunned silence for a second, watching as hot tears stream down your face. Finally, Alexia springs forward and pulls you into her arms. Everyone else follows suit, and you finally let yourself let out your anger and frustration in the arms of the people you trust. As you cry, Alexia murmurs into your hair, “It’s okay, cariño. Let it all out. It’s okay. You can rest now. It’s always okay to take a break. Needing to take a break just means that you're human.”

Even when you finally tire yourself out and drift asleep, Alexia holds you tightly. Subconsciously, you burrow further into her arms, the stress crease between your eyebrows that has become a permanent fixture on your face finally relaxing. As she watches you, the captain knows what she needs to do. “I’m getting you out of that house. You’re going to come live with me, and we are going to figure this out. Together.”

---

Join my taglist!

[brodygold]

The Decision

Sam stood in the middle of the soccer field, a light breeze stirring the grass around him. In his hands, he held two jerseys—one gold, the other white and green. He stared at them, the weight of the decision pressing down on him harder than any game he’d ever played.

The Golden Army had approached him first. Brody, now the team’s rising star, had spoken to him with an enthusiasm that was contagious. “You’ll love it here, Sam. We’re more than a team—we’re family.” Brody had offered the gold jersey, the promise of brotherhood and freedom on the field. The Golden Army’s reputation for being tight-knit, fun-loving, and full of spirit had drawn Sam in. But there was another offer on the table.

The Vanguard had come to him afterward. Their recruiter, a tall man named Kareem, had offered the white and green jersey with a stoic expression. “We are disciplined, focused. We play for honor and tradition. There are rules, yes, but those rules make us the best.” The Vanguard’s reputation was well-known: their precision on the field was unmatched, and their strict adherence to code made them champions. They were feared and respected. But they weren’t known for warmth or camaraderie.

Now, standing between both options, Sam felt torn. The Golden Army promised friendship, freedom, and a passion for the game that felt alive. But the Vanguard promised success and power through structure and discipline. Sam had always valued hard work and order, and the Vanguard’s pitch appealed to that part of him. Yet, something about their rigid rules made him uneasy.

Brody had said, "Trust your gut, Sam. We’ll be there for you no matter what. But this is your decision."

Kareem, on the other hand, had been clear. "You follow our way, or you’re out. There is no middle ground."

As Sam weighed his options, he noticed something happening across the field. A group of Vanguard players stood in a tight circle, murmuring among themselves. In the center was one of their own, a player Sam recognized—Liam, one of the Vanguard’s best. But something was wrong. Liam looked nervous, shifting uncomfortably as the others stared him down.

Suddenly, Kareem appeared, his expression cold. He spoke to Liam in a low, firm voice, but Sam could hear enough to understand. Liam had broken a rule. No second chances, no room for mistakes. Kareem’s words were final: “You’re done.”

Liam’s face fell, and without another word, he removed his white and green jersey and tossed it at Kareem’s feet. As soon as the jersey hit the ground, the other Vanguard members turned their backs on Liam, as if he no longer existed. Liam stood there for a moment, stunned, before walking away, utterly alone.

Sam felt a chill run down his spine. The Vanguard’s discipline wasn’t just strict—it was merciless. One mistake, and you were out. There was no forgiveness, no understanding, no sense of second chances. The camaraderie they spoke of was conditional, fragile. Sam couldn’t imagine being part of a team where your worth was determined by your ability to follow rules perfectly, where one misstep could erase you from existence.

As Liam walked away, head hung low, Sam’s gaze shifted back to the gold jersey in his hand. The Golden Army wouldn’t do that. They would rally around you, lift you up when you stumbled. Brody had told him about the time he’d made a crucial mistake during a game and how, instead of scolding him, the team had encouraged him to keep going, to learn from it. Sam had felt a warmth in that story, a sense of belonging.

The decision became clearer in that moment.

He walked over to the Golden Army, the gold jersey in his hands. Brody spotted him first and grinned. “Sam, you’ve made the right call.”

Sam nodded, slipping on the gold jersey. It felt right—light, comfortable, and full of promise. “I’ve seen enough to know where I belong,” Sam said, glancing briefly toward the Vanguard, where Kareem was already looking for a replacement for Liam.

Richard, the Golden Army captain, approached him with a smile that held a hint of anticipation. “Now that you’re officially part of the team, there’s one last thing we need to do," Richard said, his tone both serious and welcoming.

Sam raised an eyebrow, curious. "What’s that?"

Richard’s grin widened. "Every member of the Golden Army gets a new name when they join. It’s a tradition, something that marks your new beginning with us. From this moment on, you won’t just be Sam anymore. You’ll be known as Phoenix.”

"Phoenix?" Sam repeated, testing the name on his tongue. It felt powerful, almost symbolic—a name that represented rebirth, resilience, and rising from the ashes.

"Yeah," Richard continued. "The Phoenix rises stronger after every fall. Just like you, choosing to be here with us after weighing your options. It’s a name that fits you perfectly.”

The rest of the team gathered around, and Brody clapped him on the back, a broad smile on his face. “Welcome to the family, Phoenix.”

As the name sank in, Phoenix felt a surge of pride. It was more than just a name; it was a new identity, a fresh start with a team that valued him for who he was and who he could become.

That night, as the Golden Army gathered for their post-practice meal, Phoenix looked around at his new teammates—his new family. The name felt like a perfect fit, a symbol of his decision to embrace this new chapter in his life. As Phoenix laughed and bonded with his fellow players, he knew without a doubt that he had made the right choice. The camaraderie, the acceptance, and the shared journey ahead filled him with a sense of belonging that he had never felt before.

In that moment, Phoenix knew he had found his true home.

[utilitycaster]

Daggerheart Character Build thoughts!

I am actually out at work and haven't checked the version that's since come out, but I did participate in the character build beta, and the NDA is officially lifted, so here's my thoughts from that! It's definitely limited since I just made a L1 character and didn't go through gameplay, though I surmise about some aspects of gameplay.

Overall, it clearly seems to be made by people who love a lot of things about D&D 5e but wanted both more flexibility and more simplicity, which is difficult. I think they succeed.

To that end, it takes away some of the crunchier aspects (precise positioning, exact amounts of gold) and I think for some people that will be a problem, and that's valid, but ultimately this game wants to both allow for interesting mechanics in and out of combat while also not being terribly math/map/resource management heavy. It is a hard line to walk; most systems either go hard crunch or go entirely gooey.

The dice mechanic (2d12, Hope and Fear system) is fantastic; look it up but I think it handles mixed successes more gracefully and interestingly than a lot of games.

The playtest was not super clear on armor and evasion choices (or indeed what evasion means; it seems to be sort of initiative but sort of dex save, or maybe more like the Pathfinder/old school D&D varying ACs by scenario?). It was much, MUCH clearer than D&D on weapon choices (part of why I play casters? Weapon rules in D&D are annoying and poorly explained and many people rightfully ignore them) so I'm hoping this becomes clear when there's a full guide rather than just the character creation info.

The character creation questions by class were fantastic and in general, and this is a theme, this feels like it guides people towards collaboration. FWIW I feel like D&D has that information, but the way it's presented is very much as flavor text rather than a thing you should be doing. Daggerheart makes this a much more core part of creation. The Experience mechanic is particularly clear: you better be working with your GM and really thinking about background, rather than slapping it on as a mechanic.

The other side of character creation questions is that it really encourages engagement with the class, which is something I've talked about. I think either subversion for the sake of subversion, or picking a class for the mechanics and aesthetic but not the fundamental concept, will be much harder to justify in Daggerheart, and I think that's a good thing because when people do that, their characters tend to be weaker.

The downtime is designed for you to write hurt/comfort fanfic about and this is a compliment. There are a number of mechanics that reward RP, particularly one of the healing mechanics under the Splendor track. I feel like a weakness of D&D is that when you try to reward RP it's really nebulous because there's not actually a ton of space to put that - you can give inspiration, but, for example, the empathy domain Matt homebrewed actually feels kind of off because it's based on such fuzzy concepts amid mechanics that are usually more rigid. Daggerheart comes off as much cleaner yet still RP-focused, and I'm excited to see it in action.

A judgement of Candela and I suppose Daggerheart might be that it's designed for actual play. I've mentioned before that I know people who are super into the crunch and combat and numbers of TTRPGs and are less story-oriented, and again, that's valid, but actual play is just storytelling using a ttrpg and so yes, a game that encourages RP while also having mechanics to support that and influence it is an extremely good goal. I am not an actual player, but I do like D&D games with a good plot and not just Go Kill Monsters, and I want to play this. (I also have some real salty thoughts about how if you modify an existing game for AP purposes that's staggering genius apparently, but if you make your own game how dare you but that's another post).

And now, the classes/subclasses. I am going to sort of use D&D language to describe them because that's a point of reference most people reading this will understand, but they are not one-to-one. A couple notes: everyone can use weapons and armor. HP is not totally clear to me but it seems to be threshold based - everyone has the same HP to start but people have different thresholds and armor, so the tank classes have the same amount of HP but are much harder to actually do damage to.

All classes are built on a combination of a subclass and two domains. There are 9 classes and 9 domains. This technically means that if you wanted to fuck around and homebrew you could make up to 36 classes (27 additional) by just grabbing two domains that weren't otherwise combined, which is fun to consider for the potential. Anyway I cover the classes and briefly describe domains within them. You can take any domain card within your domain, regardless of subclass.

There are six stats. Presence, Instinct, Knowledge, and Strength map roughly to Charisma, Wisdom, Intelligence, and Strength. Dex is split into Agility and Finesse; Agility covers gross motor skills (jumping, most ranged weapons, "maneuvering") and Finesse finer ones (lockpicking and tinkering, though also it does cover hiding). The really big wins are first, no CON score, so you don't need to sink stat points into something that grants no skills but keeps you alive. The second one is that the "hybrid" classes spellcast from their physical stat. This is fucking fantastic. The thing about ranger or paladin or the spellcasting subclasses of rogue and fighter in D&D is that if you don't roll pretty well you're locked into the core stats and CON and nothing else. (This also doesn't have rolling for stats: you assign +2 to one stat, presumably your main, and then distribute two +1s, two 0s, and one -1.)

Your HP, Evasion, and Thresholds are set by class, and there's a core ability; the rest is all from the cards you take for subclass and domain.

Leveling up is very much based on taking more domain cards (abilities) but has a certain degree of flexibility. It's by chunks: in leveling up anywhere levels 2-4, you can, for example, increase your proficiency by +1 once, so if you wanted to do that at level 2 but your fellow player wanted to wait until level 4 and take something else at level 2 instead, they could. It allows for more min-maxing, but also everyone has the same level up rules and differs only in the abilities on the cards, which is very cool.

Bard: Grace (enchantment spells) and Codex (learned spellcaster stuff; the spells available are definitely arcane in vibes) based, Presence is your main stat. The two subclasses map roughly to lore-style stuff and eloquence. Core class ability is sort of like inspiration but not entirely. It's a bard; I like bards a lot, and this is very similar vibes-wise to your D&D bards. If you like D&D bards you will like this.

Druid: Sage (nature spells) and Arcana (raw magical power spellcaster stuff), Instinct is your spellcasting/main stat. The two subclasses are elemental but frankly cooler than circle of the moon, and a more healing/tranquility of nature focused one. I really think Marisha probably gave feedback on this one, because the elemental version is really strong. You do get beastform; it is quite similar to a D&D druid under a different system, as the bard, but the beastform options are, frankly, better and easier to understand.

Guardian: Valor (melee tank/damager) and Blade (damage). Strength based for the most part (Valor mechanics assume strength) though you could go for like, +2 Agility +1 Strength to start. This is barbarian but like. 20 times better. It is, fundamentally, a tank class, and it is very good at it, with one even more tank-focused subclass and one that is more about retaliatory damage. You do have a damage-halving ability once per day, but really guardian's questions are incredible. I think Travis and Ashley likely gave feedback. Also rage doesn't render you incapable of concentration as that doesn't seem to be a thing, so multiclassing seems way more possible (you are, I think, only allowed to do one multiclass, and not until you reach level 5 minimum, which I am in favor of). Yes, you can be a Bardian.

Ranger: This is what I built! It is based on Sage and Bone (movement around the field/dodging stuff) and it is Agility-based, including for spellcasting, which is a MASSIVE help (as is, again, the fact that CON isn't a thing.) The subclasses are basically being really good at navigation, or animal companion. Most importantly to me you can be a ranger with a longsword and you are not penalized; Bone works with either ranged weapons or melee.

Rogue: Midnight (stealth/disguise/assassination spells and skills) and Grace-based. Yes, rogue is by default a spellcaster, which does help a LOT with the vibes for me. One subclass is basically about having lots of connections (as a spy or criminal might) and the other is about magical slinking about. Hiding/sneak attack are also streamlined. I will admit I'm still more interested in…almost everything else, but I think it evened out a lot of rogue weaknesses.

Seraph: Splendor (healing/divine magic) and Valor. This is your Paladin equivalent. It is strength-based for casting, again making hybrid classes way less stressful. Questions for this area also incredible; you do have something not unlike a lay on hands pool as well. Your subclasses are being able to fly and do extra damage; or being able to make your melee weapon do ranged attacks and also some extra healing stuff, the latter of which is my favorite. Yasha vibes from this, honestly. Single downside is this is the only class where they recommend you dump Knowledge. I will not, and I never will. Now that I don't have to make sure CON is high? I am for REAL never giving myself less than a +1 Knowledge in this game.

Sorcerer: Arcana (raw nature of magic/elemental vibes) and Midnight based. Yes, sorcerers and rogues now share a vibe, for your convenient….less enthused feelings. Instinct-based, which intrigues me, and the core features are in fact really good. The two subclasses are either one that focuses on metamagic abilities, or one that is elemental based. I would play this for a long-running game, though it's not my favorite, and I can't say that for D&D sorcerer (except divine soul).

Warrior: Blade and Bone, and the recommended build is Agility but you could do a strength build. Fighter! One subclass is about doing damage and one is about the hope/fear mechanics core to the game that I have NOT talked much about. I will admit, the hybrid martials and Guardian are more interesting to me but you do have good battle knowledge.

Wizard: Codex and Splendor. Wizards can heal in this system; farewell, I will be doing nothing else (jk). Knowledge-based, and you can either go hardcore expertise in knowledge, or be a battle wizard.

Other scattered thoughts: healing is not as big a deal here; there is no pure cleric class! There is also no monk, warlock, or artificer. There is not a way to do monk as a weaponless class really though you might be able to flavor the glowing rings as a monk weapon and play a warrior. Wizard, meanwhile, with the right experiences and high finesse, would allow for some artificer flavor. Cleric and Warlock are the two tough ones and I will admit those are tricky; I feel like you'd have to multiclass (which you cannot do until level 5) between perhaps seraph and a caster class and you're still going to come off very paladin.

[mononijikayu]

good luck, babe! — ieiri shoko.

Tears well up in your eyes as you recall that particular day. It was as though you were both bathed in sunlight, her brown eyes shimmering with happiness. But as you both confronted the reality of a future you could not share, tears poured from those beautiful eyes. There was only hurt—a hurt you had forced upon her. Her hands, strong yet gentle, had held yours with a desperate sorrow, promising a love that could not be confined by the world’s expectations, yet ultimately falling victim to them.

Genre: Hidden Inventory Arc to Pre-JJK 0, 2006 - 2015;

Warning/s: First Love, Emotional Turmoil, Breakup, Heartbreak, Angst, Unresolved Romantic Tension, Mature Themes, Cultural/Familial Expectations, Internal Conflict, Cultural Challenges, Mental and Emotional Stress, Angst with Happy Ending, Slow Burn, Romance, Love and Heartbreak, Healing, Growth, Reconciliation, WLW, Second Chances, Relationship Dynamics, Supportive Siblings, Breaking Traditions, Depiction of Implied Homophobia, Depiction of Comphet, Depiction of Smoking, Depiction of Alcohol Use, Mention of Divorce;

masterlist

listen: good luck babe by chappell roan

note: this is the au of let you break my heart again and magnetic. this is if gojo! sister lived and managed to not suffer from a curse. i think this happy ending is well deserved for the two of them. live long and prosper, shoko and gojo! sister!!! :']

2007

SHOKO THINKS IT’S FINE, THAT IT’S COOL. But as she takes another swing from lip and cigarette, to smoke and blow, she knows it's not fine, it's not cool. In the quiet confines of her office, Ieiri Shoko sat hunched over her desk, her usual composed demeanor replaced by a visible layer of distress. Papers lay scattered around, untouched, as her mind replayed the painful moment of your breakup over and over again. The clinical cleanliness of the room couldn't sterilize the heartache she felt. The memory of your words, the finality in your voice, pressed heavily on her, and yet, deep down, she understood the reasons but couldn't accept them.

Shoko had always known the weight of the expectations placed upon you as being Gojo Satoru's sister and a high-ranking lady of your clan. You had always lived in a world bounded by strict traditions and rigid rules—constraints that you, unlike Satoru, never rebelled against openly. Your compliance with these traditions was out of a sense of duty, perhaps even a desire to shield your family from scandal of Satoru’s dislike for tradition, and to maintain the facade of propriety expected of you.

It’s not like Shoko blames Satoru. He himself deals with the pressure of existing just by having his cursed technique. He’s stuck in a hard and a rock place with clan politics and just as much, loving Suguru and mourning his loss from his life — how he’s still protecting him even after all this time, There’s so much that the higher ups think they don’t like about him. You didn’t have to break up with Shoko about it. You can have a choice about it, as Satoru has. But you were too good, a goodie little two shoes. You felt like you had to make up for the mistakes, to correct yourself because the clan says so. And Shoko hates it, she hates that about you. But she hates how she can’t hate you. She hates how much she loves you.

For you, loving Shoko was a truth you buried deep under layers of obligation and appearances. Each stolen moment with her had felt like a breath of freedom, but also like stepping closer to the edge of a precipice. You knew the consequences of a life lived openly with her, how it would be seen as a defiance of your family’s values, a betrayal of the lineage you were born into. The love you felt for Shoko was real, potent, and transformative, but it was also a danger to the life you were conditioned to lead.

Shoko, with her sharp mind and gentle heart, had seen the struggle within you. She knew the love wasn’t one-sided; it was palpable, vibrant, and life-affirming. That was what made the break–up so excruciating. She didn’t feel like a fool for loving you, but she was a fool for hoping that love would overcome it all. She was hoping that love might be enough to inspire you to choose a different path. And somehow, with that hope, she just ended up disappointed. 

The moment lingered between you, heavy and dense, the air thick with unsaid words and stifled emotions. Despite the pain that was evident in your eyes—a mixture of regret and sorrow—there was an undeniable firmness, a resolve that spoke volumes about the decision you had made. It was a painful choice, undeniably, but it came from a place deep within you, where truth outweighs comfort and where integrity demands sacrifices.

You stood there, your stance solid yet somber, reflecting the inner turmoil that had been a constant companion in the days leading up to this moment. The decision to end things hadn't come lightly. It was the culmination of countless sleepless nights, of endless internal debates, and of painful reflections on what it meant to truly love someone—not just in the joyful moments but also in letting go when the paths diverged too greatly.

As you spoke the words, your voice was steady but not without emotion. Each syllable seemed to carry a weight, each pause filled with the echoes of shared memories and dreams that would remain unfulfilled. "This is the hardest thing I've ever had to do," you admitted, the honesty in your voice cutting through the tension. "But it's necessary—for both of us.”

“Does what I have to say matter in this?” Shoko asks, her voice shaking as she looks at you, her face the epitome of grief. The break–up hasn’t even happened. And yet, she just felt like the world fell apart. “How…why? At least tell me why?”

“I can’t do this, Shoko. It isn’t just about us,” you had said, your voice trembling despite the firmness of your words. “I have responsibilities, expectations... I cannot be truly yours without losing everything else.”

Shoko had tried to argue, her own heart breaking as she spoke. “But what about what you want? What about love? I thought you loved me.”

You felt tears prickle your eyes. “I do. I do love you.”

“Then why are you leaving me?”

Your answer had been a quiet, devastating whisper. “Sometimes, it's not enough to just love. I’m not good enough to be strong, Shoko. I….I’m sorry.”

She huffs the air as though she was choking on it. Shoko starts laughing like a mad woman, which only made you feel as though tears would never end. Shaking her head at you, you looked at her almost pleadingly, as though to say, ‘please, i love you. I’m sorry.’ It was cruel of you, Shoko thinks, how you could easily pull her heart strings with your tears. Oh she hates it. She hates how she loves you.

“Then, good luck babe.” She retorts back at you, as though she was cursing you. As if she was releasing all the pain in one tsunami wave. “Really, good luck. Good luck. Good luck.”

“Shoko—”

She shakes her head again, raising a hand to stop you. “Leave. Please. I don’t want you here.”

Now, alone, Shoko allowed herself to grieve not just for the relationship lost, but for you as well. She grieved for the person who had to hide their true self, who had to mask their desires and dreams in the shadow of duty. She grieved for herself, too, for the future she had allowed herself to imagine, however briefly.

In her solitude, Shoko couldn't help but feel abandoned, yet she couldn’t truly resent you for your choice. She understood all too well the cultural and familial shackles that bound you. This understanding didn’t alleviate her pain; it compounded it, knowing you were out there somewhere, continuing to deny the essential parts of yourself.

As the night deepened and the lights in her office flickered softly, Shoko realized this might be her own crossroads: could she move on, knowing you were still in the world, just out of reach, yet forever distant? Her heart still ached with love for you, a love she feared might never find its resolution in her lifetime.

The door to Shoko Ieiri's office swung open with a soft creak, and there stood Satoru Gojo, his usual carefree demeanor slightly muted as he stepped inside. His arrival was unannounced, as was his style, but the timing couldn't have been more intrusive. Shoko, still engulfed in her storm of emotions, looked up sharply, her face a mix of surprise and annoyance.

"Not now, Gojo," she snapped, her voice brittle with barely contained anger. "I'm really not in the mood for your jokes or whatever you're planning to pull."

Gojo seemed to understand easily. For the first time in his life, he closed the door quietly behind him, his usual grin replaced by a more serious expression. He hadn’t looked this serious since that day. But Shoko thinks it doesn’t suit him. He was meant to be a foolish little boy in a grown man’s body. He ignored her request for solitude and instead, walked over and sat down across from her, with his long legs criss–crossed and his bright blue eyes meeting hers with an unusually heavy gravity. Shoko can only surmise that infinity is closed.

"I'm not here to joke, Sho," He said gently as he looked at her. "I heard about what happened between you and my sister. It’s just….. I'm really sorry."

Shoko's demeanor faltered for a moment, the hardness in her doe-like eyes giving way to a more wounded vulnerability. She looked down at her desk, her fingers playing with a pen, her guard slowly coming down in the face of Gojo's sincerity—a rarity that she knew meant he was genuinely concerned. She’s tried not to think about it. It was hard to think about it. But now that he’d brought it up, all she could remember was your tear–stricken face as you tried to turn around and run away, sobbing as you left her all alone.

"Sorry doesn't change things, Gojo. It doesn’t fix anything," she muttered, her voice thick with emotion. “She still broke up with me. And now she’s damn…she’s left me, to uphold some bullshit lie about herself."

"I know," Gojo replied softly, sighing shortly after. Shoko thinks that Gojo understands best. After all, the love of his life left him too. And he doesn't know if he'll ever see him again. "Listen, she's hurting too. and I just..."

Shoko sighed heavily, allowing herself to meet his gaze. "I know she's hurting. But I’m hurting too, okay? She’s hurt me. She's keeping up with the lie she's been told, that loving me is going to be a taint on you and your family."

“I know. And it's not your fault. It’s none of your fault. It’s….” He lets a breath pass through his lips. “It’s just, she hasn’t seen it through yet.”

"Gojo, I just feel like a fool," She admitted, her voice a whisper of defeat. "I allowed myself to believe that things could be different, that love might be enough to overcome everything else. I love her so damn much, Gojo. I love her too much, I’m willing to go through this. But I should have known better."

Gojo leaned forward, resting his elbows on his knees. "Hey, you're not a fool for believing in love and hoping it would work out" he said earnestly. "It's one of the few things worth being foolish for. And you’re not alone in hoping things can change. I think…I think she wishes things would change too.”

Shoko looked away for a moment, gathering her thoughts. When she spoke again, her voice was steadier, but the hurt was still palpable. "It's like we're being punished for something that should be celebrated. Our love wasn't a rebellion, Gojo. It was just... love."

Gojo's eyes held a deep understanding, tinged with a hint of sadness. He knew too well the pain that came with having love tangled grievous prejudice. His response was a whisper, meant as much for himself as for Shoko. "The world can be cruel to those who dare to live authentically, who dare to defy what it deems normal."

Shoko's eyes filled with tears that threatened to spill over. The intensity of her feelings, the struggle to maintain her composure, painted a vivid picture of the emotional toll the situation had exacted. "Why is it," she choked out, the words barely a breath, "that what feels so right to us, so fundamentally pure, is what they seek to destroy? Why must love come with such high costs?"

Gojo reached out, his touch tentative, not wanting to presume but needing to offer some comfort. His hand found her arm, a gentle reassurance that she was not alone. "Because, Sho," he said softly, "Fear drives people to oppression. They fear what they cannot understand, cannot control. And nothing is less controllable than genuine human emotions, genuine love. It threatens them. It’s that powerful.”

Shoko turned to face him now, her gaze fierce despite the tears that streaked her cheeks. "And what if she can't see that, Gojo? What if she's too caught up in the fear, too wary of the repercussions to take a stand with me?"

The question hung between them, heavy and suffocating. Gojo Satoru felt the weight of her despair, mirroring his own past hurts, reflecting the battles he had fought to keep love winning—some won, some lost, but all leaving scars. But he hoped that Shoko wouldn’t give up. That you wouldn’t give up. He’d at least be happy to know that both of you got the happy ending that Suguru and him would never find in this lifetime. He gives a small smile at her direction. 

"Then, Shoko," Gojo said, his voice steady despite the turmoil he felt, "You fight enough for both of you until she can find the strength. You live your truth so boldly, so unapologetically, that it becomes a beacon for her... for anyone who’s lost in the shadows of their fears. You become the light that not only guides but also inspires."

"But what if that's not enough?" Shoko's voice broke on the words, a whisper of desperation lacing through. "What if my fight only drives her further away, into the safety of shadows, where I can't reach her?"

Gojo had no easy answers, no promises that the path they chose would lead to the outcomes they hoped for. "Then you love her from afar," he murmured, his own experiences lending pain to his words. "You love her, and you let her go, hoping that someday, the world you're fighting for—a world where love is celebrated in all its forms—will be the world she walks back into."

The silence that followed was filled with shared sorrow, a mutual recognition of the love and loss that had colored both their lives. Shoko nodded slowly, a quiet acceptance of the hard truths they'd laid bare. She wiped away her tears, straightening her shoulders as if physically bracing herself against the pain.

"Thank you, Gojo," she said finally, her voice firmer now, tempered in the fires of their conversation. "For understanding, for being here."

Gojo offered a small, sad smile. "Always, Sho. You’re almost like family — no, you’re family to me. No matter how dark it gets, you're not alone. Remember that."

As they parted ways, the resolve hardened in Shoko—a resolve not just to fight, but to endure, to hope, and to continue loving, no matter the cost. And in that resolve, she found a sliver of peace amid the turmoil.

As long as you’ll be waiting for her on the other side,

It would be worth it, being in all this pain and grief.

Shoko thinks about your smile, your kisses on her skin.

Maybe one day, she’ll see you in her arms again.

2013

YOU DON’T SLEEP VERY WELL. You fear that you’d sleep and see Shoko again. You fear that you’ll continue to be haunted. But you suppose, you already have too much that haunts you when it comes to Ieiri Shoko. Her judging eyes, the eyes you have so loved, piercing through over and over the lies behind your eyes — it hurts. It scares you. Because you had loved, still do love, her. And she continues to be your grief. A grief that perseveres in absolute devotion within the tenants of your truest heart. 

In the quiet of the night, the world around you is silent and still, you find yourself once again caught in the grip of what-ifs and memories that refuse to fade. You turn slowly, your gaze falling upon the man beside you—your husband, chosen not by the whims of the heart but by the cold calculations of tradition. He breathes softly, peacefully unaware of the turmoil that keeps you awake, night after night.

He has been nothing but kind and considerate, a good man who respects the vows you both shared under the watchful eyes of the elders and your families. Satoru seems to like him enough, but your brother knows just as much as you that you wouldn’t love this man. And if you do, never truly with all your heart. Still, in these many years of marriage, he has upheld every promise he made to you, providing support, stability, and respect. Yet, as you watch him sleep, you feel a pang of guilt for the lack of love you feel, for the hollow space inside your heart that he has never been able to fill.

Your mind drifts, unbidden, to Ieiri Shoko—the love of your life, the blue spring of your eternal summers, your white nights in the winter mornings. It was her laughter echoing in your memories, her eyes bright with the promise of a life less ordinary. You remember the warmth of her touch, the way her presence seemed to make everything brighter, more real. You had loved her, truly and deeply, in a way that you had never managed to love him. She was everything that made life worth living. And you get reminded as you think about a memory.

The balcony was bathed in the soft glow of twilight, the fading sun casting long shadows that danced across the floor. Shoko stood against the railing, her silhouette outlined by the gentle light, a lit cigarette held casually between her fingers. As you entered the room, your gaze fixed on her, a subtle frown forming on your brow as you watched her with a mixture of concern and affection.

"Shoko, you know I hate that you smoke," you finally spoke up, your voice soft yet filled with genuine worry.

She turned to face you, her eyes meeting yours with a playful glint, a thin wisp of smoke curling upwards from her lips. Despite the seriousness of your words, her expression held a hint of amusement, as though she anticipated your next move. "And what, my dear, do you plan to do about it?" she replied, her tone teasing, a challenge in her voice.

Closing the distance between you, you reached out and gently took the cigarette from her hand, extinguishing it in the nearby ashtray with a simple flick of your wrist. The tension between you crackled in the air, charged with unspoken emotion and the weight of unspoken desires.

"I have a few ideas," you murmured, your voice low, filled with a mixture of determination and longing.

Without hesitation, you leaned in, capturing her lips with yours in a kiss that spoke volumes, a silent declaration of your feelings. In that moment, the world fell away, leaving only the two of you, lost in the intensity of your shared passion. Shoko responded eagerly, her arms wrapping around your neck, pulling you closer as she melted into your embrace.

When you finally pulled away, both of you were breathless, the air heavy with the heady rush of desire. Shoko's eyes sparkled with surprise and delight, a smile playing at the corners of her lips. "I love this idea," she laughed, her voice husky from the kiss.

Your heart swelled with hope and affection, a warmth spreading through you at her words. "Maybe we can make it a regular treatment," you suggested, a hint of playfulness in your tone.

"Sounds like the perfect remedy," Shoko agreed, her smile infectious as she leaned in for another quick kiss. As she whispered against your lips, her words carried a promise of a future filled with love and possibility. "Who needs cigarettes when I have you?"

Tears well up in your eyes as you recall that particular day. It was as though you were both bathed in sunlight, her brown eyes shimmering with happiness. But as you both confronted the reality of a future you could not share, tears poured from those beautiful eyes. There was only hurt—a hurt you had forced upon her. Her hands, strong yet gentle, had held yours with a desperate sorrow, promising a love that could not be confined by the world’s expectations, yet ultimately falling victim to them.

Sitting up in bed, you stifle a sob with the back of your hand. The weight of your choices presses down on you, a burden you’ve carried through the years, growing heavier with each passing day. You had chosen this life, chosen duty and tradition over the desires of your heart, and with each choice, a piece of you had withered, lost to the shadows of regret.

You look at your husband again, his face innocent in sleep, undeserving of the resentment that sometimes brews within you. You know this is not his fault—it is the result of decisions made by others, choices rooted in outdated customs and rigid family expectations. But knowing this does nothing to ease the longing in your heart, the yearning for a path not taken, for a life lived in the full color of love rather than the grayscale of obligation.

Quietly, you slip out of bed, moving to the window where moonlight spills into the room, casting long shadows across the floor. As you gaze out at the world bathed in a silvery glow, you wonder about the life you might have had with Shoko. Would it have been easier? Would the love you shared have been enough to overcome the challenges you would have faced together?

But these questions offer no comfort, only a deepening of the ache that sits permanently in your chest. In this life, you are a wife, a role defined by others, your identity shaped by expectations you never asked for. In your heart, you mourn the woman you could have been, the life you could have led.

As the night deepens, you stand alone, lost in your thoughts, the silence of the house echoing the emptiness you feel inside. The realization that regret has become your constant companion is bitter, and you know that come morning, you will wear your mask again, the façade of the contented wife. But in the darkness, you allow yourself to grieve, to mourn a love lost to time and tradition, a reminder of all that could have been.

As you wandered through the dimly lit streets, your footsteps unsteady and your vision blurred, the city seemed to mirror your inner turmoil. The night was quiet, too quiet, and every soft echo of distant traffic or the rare passersby felt like an intrusion into your private world of sorrow. The weight of your decisions, the weight of a life lived in the shadow of what could have been, pressed down on you with every step you took.

The cold air bit at your skin, a sharp contrast to the warmth of tears that streamed down your face, but it was a sobering reminder of the reality you were living. The whiskey had promised escape, a brief respite from your pain, but it had betrayed you, leaving you more exposed, more raw than before. The stark truth was unavoidable now: no amount of alcohol could fill the void left by Shoko, could smother the flames of what you still felt for her.

You paused under a streetlight, the light flickering above you as if struggling to maintain its own existence. You leaned against the cool metal of the lamppost, feeling as though it was the only thing keeping you upright. Thoughts of Shoko swirled in your head—her smile, the sound of her laughter, the way she looked at you with so much love and understanding. It hurt, remembering her like this, as though she was just out of reach, separated from you by more than just time and decisions, but by the very course of life you had chosen.

The voice in your head, her voice whispering, "I told you so," wasn't one of condemnation but of a heartbreaking foresight. She had known, perhaps even before you had allowed yourself to admit it, that the path you were choosing would lead to regret. Shoko had always seen the parts of you that you had tried to hide from the world, the parts that yearned for freedom and authenticity.

And now, standing alone under the flickering light, you allowed yourself to truly feel the magnitude of your loss. Not just Shoko, but the part of yourself that you had silenced for the sake of conformity, for the sake of a peace that now tasted bitter. You drive yourself mad at the memory of day after day of your youth together. You huffed against the cold night air as you thought about how lonely it has been, how truly upsetting it is that you chose wrong.

Eventually, you knew you had to move, had to keep walking back to the life waiting for you at home—a life that, tonight, felt like a prison. But with each step, a resolve began to form amidst the chaos of your emotions. This pain, this profound sorrow, could not be the end of your story. You couldn't allow your fears and the expectations of others to dictate the rest of your life. You owed it to yourself, and to the memory of what you and Shoko once shared, to find a way forward, to find happiness not just for your sake, but as a testament to the love that had once dared to challenge the world.

As you reached your door, a silent vow formed in your heart: you would find a way to live truly, to honor the love you still carried, and perhaps, one day, to heal. Tonight, you mourned. But tomorrow, you would begin to fight for a future where your heart no longer had to hide in the shadows.

You want to call Shoko tomorrow. 

You want to hear her voice again.

You want to see her face again.

You want to love her better this time.

2014

IT WAS HARD TO HAVE A NEW START. After the tumultuous end of your marriage, returning to Tokyo felt both like a defeat and a fresh start. The ink barely dried on the divorce papers, you carried not just physical luggage but a heavy burden of emotional baggage. The dissolution of what was meant to be a lifelong commitment had left you feeling raw and exposed, but also strangely liberated, ready to reclaim the pieces of yourself that had been lost in the shadows of an unfulfilling union.

The Gojo clan, however, had its own views on your situation. Tradition and reputation were pillars of their standing in the jujutsu community, and your divorce was seen not just as a personal failure, but as a stain on the clan's honor. The elders' threats to expel you loomed large, casting a dark cloud over your return. But amidst the storm of disapproval and gossip, there was Satoru.

Satoru, with his unwavering loyalty and irreverent disdain for outdated conventions, stood by you like a beacon of support. When you voiced your fears about the elders' threats, he dismissed them with a wave of his hand and that confident smile that seemed capable of warding off any darkness.

The simplicity of Satoru's statement, "Happy together," carried with it a profound depth, echoing in the space between the two of you. It was a direct command, a plea, and a gentle piece of wisdom all at once. His eyes, usually so playful and mischievous, now bore the weight of genuine concern and a trace of personal regret, highlighting the seriousness of his intentions for you.

His words will always hit you with the force of a revelation. Satoru, despite his outward appearance of boundless confidence and joy, carried his own regrets—regrets about paths not taken, words not said, and choices made in the shadows of duty and expectation. His relationship with Suguru, whatever its depth and complications, had not led to the happiness that perhaps it could have, had circumstances been different.

In that moment, you understood that Satoru’s advice was not just about defying the elders or the clan. It was about seizing the chance for happiness that he, for all his power and freedom, felt he had missed. It was about living openly and without regrets, about choosing love over fear and societal expectations.

"Happy together," you repeated softly, the idea resonating deep within you. It was a simple concept, yet one that felt revolutionary given everything you had been through.

"Yes," Satoru confirmed, nodding emphatically. "You and Shoko have a chance to build something beautiful, something real. Don’t let fear or tradition stand in the way of that. Learn from our mistakes."

“Brother….” You whisper at your brother tenderly. 

Seeing your hesitation, Satoru reached out, placing a reassuring hand on your shoulder. "I know it's a lot to take in," he continued, his tone softening. "And I know you're worried about what fighting this battle might mean—not just for you, but for me as well. But you need to understand, I've been dealing with the clan's rigidness my whole life. I know how they think and how they operate."

He paused, ensuring he had your full attention. "What happened with Suguru... it taught me a lot. Life is too short, and the path of solitude and sacrifice for the wrong reasons—it's not worth it. I don't want you to look back one day, full of regrets, wishing you'd chosen differently."

The mention of Suguru brought a pang of sadness, a reminder of lost friendships and love that had once promised so much more. Satoru's voice was filled with a rare vulnerability as he shared these reflections, giving you a glimpse into the personal cost of his own experiences.

"And I don't want to see the clan's outdated prejudices destroy more lives, especially not the lives of people I care about," he added, his voice gaining strength. "You and Shoko have a chance at real happiness, a chance to live openly and love freely. That's what you should be fighting for, not the approval of some dusty old elders who cling to outdated traditions."

Your mind raced as you absorbed his words, the weight of your own fears battling with the burgeoning hope that Satoru's support ignited within you. It was daunting, the idea of standing up against the formidable structure of clan traditions and expectations. Yet, the thought of being with Shoko, of potentially creating a life filled with the kind of love and companionship you truly desired, offered a compelling counterpoint.

"Satoru, are you sure?" you finally asked, the concern clear in your voice. "Taking on the elders... it won’t be easy. They could retaliate."

Satoru smiled, a slight curve of his lips that carried both defiance and assurance. "Let them try," he said with a chuckle. "I’ve faced worse. And besides, it’s about time someone shook up the Gojo clan a bit. If not us, then who?"

His confidence was infectious, and despite the risks, you felt a surge of courage, bolstered by the support of someone who had become more than just a family member or a fellow sorcerer, but a true ally in your pursuit of happiness.

"Okay," you said, a newfound determination steadying your voice. "Let’s do this. For us, for Shoko, and for everyone else who’s ever been told they have to choose between love and tradition."

Satoru nodded, pleased. "That's the spirit. Now, go be happy. And remember, I've got your back."

With that assurance, you felt ready to face whatever challenges might come, knowing that whatever happened, you wouldn't be facing them alone. The path ahead was uncertain, possibly fraught with confrontation and challenges, but the promise of a life lived true to your heart made it a path worth taking.

As you walked through the familiar gates of Jujutsu High, your heart pounded with a mixture of anticipation and nervousness. The school grounds were bathed in the golden hues of the setting sun, casting long shadows and bathing everything in a soft, forgiving light. It had been years since you last set foot here, years filled with longing and regret, but today you carried a new sense of purpose.

You scanned the area, looking for any sign of Shoko. As you approached the faculty parking lot, you saw her. She was just about to get into her car, her back to you, unaware of your presence. You paused for a moment, just watching her. Time had changed her, just as it had changed you. She seemed more confident, more assured in her movements, yet there was still that unmistakable grace about her that had first drawn you in.

"Shoko!" you called out, unable to keep the emotion from coloring your voice.

At the sound of her name, she froze. Slowly, she turned around, and when her eyes met yours, they widened in disbelief. For a moment, she stood there, stunned, as if she truly had seen a ghost.

You took a few tentative steps toward her, your heart in your throat. "Shoko, it’s me," you said softly, almost afraid that any louder voice might shatter the fragile moment.

Shoko blinked, as if to clear her vision, before a myriad of emotions played across her face—surprise, confusion, and then, a dawning joy. "I can't believe it's really you," she managed to say, her voice a whisper.

As you closed the remaining distance, Shoko's initial shock softened into a vulnerable hesitance. Her eyes, once brimming with an uncomplicated joy whenever she saw you, now held a guarded wariness—a shield forged from the years of pain and separation. Yet, despite the shield, there was an unmistakable flicker of the old affection, a tug at her heart that she seemed to fight.

"I—how long has it been?" Shoko asked, her voice shaking slightly, betraying the turmoil inside her.

"Too long," you replied earnestly, stopping just a breath away from her. You could feel the warmth of her, so close yet still so far, held at bay by the invisible walls she had built around herself.

Shoko swallowed hard, her gaze dropping to the ground before forcing herself to meet your eyes again. "Why now? Why come back after all this time?" Her voice was a mix of hope and hurt, needing to understand your sudden reappearance, fearing the reopening of old wounds.

You reached out, your hand hovering in the air, hesitating before gently tucking a stray lock of hair behind her ear—an intimate gesture that once would have been second nature. Now, it felt like a relearning of the language of her soul. "I realized something," you began, your voice thick with emotion. 

She looks at your eyes, as though she was searching for life, for truth. “What was it?”

"I realized I've been living half a life without you. And no matter how hard I tried to move on, to forget, you were always there—in the back of my mind, in every quiet moment. I came back because I need to know if there's a chance, any chance at all, that we could be something again."

Shoko's breath hitched at your words, her defenses wavering as the earnestness in your voice called to her. "You left," she whispered, a single tear escaping down her cheek. "You left when I needed you most. How do I trust that you won’t do it again?"

The pain in her words stung, a harsh reminder of the consequences of your past choices. "I know I hurt you, more than I can ever make right," you admitted, your own voice cracking with regret. "But I'm here now, Shoko, and I’m not going anywhere. I want to make things right between us, no matter how long it takes. I'm not asking for immediate forgiveness or for everything to go back to how it was. I just want the chance to show you, every day, that I'm here for you."

Shoko looked at you, her eyes searching yours for the sincerity she so desperately needed to see. The conflict was palpable as she struggled between the safety of her guarded heart and the dangerous hope your return offered. Slowly, imperceptibly at first, she nodded, the smallest agreement, but enough to flood your heart with a tumult of relief and determination.

"Okay," she said, her voice barely a whisper, laden with cautious optimism. "We can try. Slowly."

Hearing those words, feeling the tentative acceptance in her tone, you knew the road ahead would be fraught with challenges. But as you stood there, under the fading light of the setting sun, with Shoko's tentative permission to re-enter her life, you felt ready to face those challenges. Whatever it took, however long it took, you were prepared to spend every day proving that the love that had once bound you together was worth fighting for—a second time around.

You searched her face, looking for signs of the love you once shared, hoping it wasn't too late. "I've missed you, Shoko. More than I can say. I've thought about you every day. About us. I left so much unsaid, so much undone..."

Shoko smiled, a gentle, forgiving smile that melted any remaining fears. "I've missed you too," she admitted. "It's been hard, but I always hoped... somehow, I always hoped you’d come back. That we’d get some happily ever after like those cheesy fairy tales, you know?”

“We can have that now,” You whisper to her in a soft tone, her eyes bearing against your own. “Our own happily ever after, like those cheesy fairy tales.”

“Then give it to me.” She laughs softly as you let your fingers trace her cheeks. “Give me that cheesy fairy tale. I’ve waited long enough for it.”

The sun dipped lower, casting a warm glow that enveloped you both, making the moment feel almost magical. "Can we start over?" you asked, heart pounding with hope. "Can we give us another chance?"

"Yes," Shoko answered without hesitation, her voice firm and sure. "Yes, we can start over. Whatever it takes, however long it takes. We're worth another chance. We’ve always been.”

You beamed at her, taking a breath as tears of joy poured. “I love you. So much.”

“I love you too, you idiot.” She retorts back, tears of joy equally pouring.

As you stood there, holding each other in the fading light, the years of separation seemed to melt away, replaced by the promise of a new beginning. You knew there would be challenges ahead, but with Shoko by your side, you felt like you could face anything. This was your second chance—a chance to make things right, a chance to build a future together, founded not just on love, but on understanding, forgiveness, and renewed commitment. And this time, you were determined to make it last.

“Good luck to us, babe.”

You blushed at her words.

You reached out for her hands.

“Good luck to us, babe.”

She smiles and leans in towards you.

A new chapter finally begins together.

It was like blue summer all over again.

[snixxlixx]

thinking about percy and annabeth's different relationships with the concept of choice, and how perfectly they compliment each other

(spoilers for the percy jackson & the olympians book series and season one of the tv show below)

annabeth struggles throughout the series with making choices; when the sirens show her the idealized world her hubris makes her believe she can build, it's one where doesn't have to choose between her father's world and her mother's, or between luke's side and her own. this comes up again when janus asks her to make a choice in the labyrinth, and many more times as she wrestles with the decision to fully give up on luke or not. choice is something that feels daunting and foreign for annabeth, who has been burdened with the knowledge of the great prophecy and the consequences of fate since she was ten years old. i LOVE that the show subtly introduces this aspect of annabeth's character so early, with the scene in the convenience store where she takes every flavor of candy instead of choosing one, and her being the one to witness the string of fate being cut.

percy, on the other hand, embraces the concept of choice and actively makes choices, over and over, even when prophecies and authority figures and the rules of the godly world seem to indicate that he can't. i also LOVE how prominent they make this aspect of his character in the show; he immediately questions the idea of fate being certain and rigid when he learns about the thread being cut, adamantly stating that the choices he makes are important and can change the outcome of what's going to happen. he defiantly chooses his mother over everything in the godly world, and even tries to convince luke that he can still make the right choice after the betrayal.

their relationships with choice contrast in such a beautiful way, and it makes the end of the series all the more impactful. the final line of the prophecy requires them to make a choice together: to save olympus, annabeth must make the choice to let go of luke, and the idealized family she wished for, by telling percy to give the knife to luke. percy then has to make the same choice, the hardest choice he's ever had to make, by giving luke the knife.

in the end, annabeth, who has struggled the entire series to make difficult choices, is finally able to overcome it because percy is there to support her. and percy, who has made difficult choices throughout the series but has to make the hardest one, the one that determines the fate of the world, is able to do it because annabeth is there to support him.

all along, the two of them were fated to make a choice together, and it was the unwavering trust in one another that they'd developed over four years that allowed them to make the right one.

oh, the soulmates of it all.