#things get lodged in there without expectations

[archivistofnerddom]

Just in case you think being a nerd doesn’t help in the real world:

Back when I was in college (some 15 years ago at the time of this particular event), I got a high-five from a professor because I knew that Tenzing Norgay and Sir Edmund Hillary were the first two people to successfully summit Mount Everest and return. The reason I knew that? Because, in one of the Lord of the Rings Extended Editions’ appendices videos, Sir Edmund Hillary visited set one day when they were filming — and I was (and still am) a LOTR nerd.

So, yeah. Being a nerd means that random information and trivia gets lodged into your brain for unexpected reasons. You don’t always have to explain how or why it got there. Just, revel in the strange confidence that you picked up absurd caches of information due to whatever your specific nerdy interests are.

[solelifauna]

Yandere Batfam & Neglected Reader Prt.1

When your late mother had a one-night stand with Gotham's richest man, you find yourself at odds and cast aside by your father and his wayward family. Yet, it's only when you find peace that it all comes crumbling down.

TW: Neglect, injury, violence, death

(Y'all, it gets worse in the next post)

To be adopted by Bruce Wayne was akin to a golden ticket; rare but life-changing. You had been one of those (un)lucky souls who just happened to catch the infamous Bruce Wayne's attention, but not how you’d typically expect. You see, you weren't just some random kid, no, you were the byproduct of a one-night stand between your mother and Brucie Wayne. Of course, you obviously didn't know, and your mother was more than content in keeping who your father was a secret. So for the first 11 years of your life, you lived in ignorance of who your father was. Not that it really bothered you; your mother’s love was more than enough, and as long as you had her you knew you’d be fine. 

Then of course, tragedy struck. Your mother was caught in the crossfire between two rival gangs, a stray bullet lodging itself in the side of her head. You don't know how long you spent crying, cradling her dead body, willing her to come back to life. It wasn’t until police and paramedics had to pull you off your mother, that you realized the gravity of your situation. Without your mother and no father, you’d no doubt be sent into one of Gotham City's many orphanages left to be trafficked and killed. Running away seemed like the best option until a positive paternal DNA match came in for one Bruce Wayne. To say you were dumbstruck is an understatement. Bruce Wayne was your father? The man known for adopting children and loving them as his own was your father? You were both relieved and delighted. You didn't know Bruce Wayne personally, but just seeing the way he treated his other children gave you hope, hope that you could heal with this man and finally know your father.

So when child services dropped you at the manor, a small suitcase in tow and a shy, nervous smile on your face only to be met with poorly hidden annoyance and contempt; to say you were heartbroken would be a disservice to yourself. It was easy to discern that your presence was not welcome and considered a hindrance. Bruce spoke to you disconnectedly, offering a quick apology on the loss of your mother before handing you off to the family butler, Alfred. At least Alfred had the decency to apologize on your father’s behalf, taking his time to talk to you and show you around the manor. You liked Alfred, he seemed kind. It wasn't long until you both ran into one of your other siblings, the eldest brother, Richard or Dick Grayson. He seemed the kindest out of the bunch on tv, so you were hopeful he'd have a different reaction compared to your father. 

Disappointment was your friend once more when Dick gave you a strained smile and conversed with you with fake interest. He left as soon as the opportunity arose. Your other siblings were no different; Jason was rarely ever at the manor and when he was, he certainly didn't bother even acknowledging you (not that you minded, he was scary when he was mad). Tim couldn't care less about your presence, finding annoyance when you’d go up to him and try to converse.

Cass or Cassandra talked to you here and there, never unkind, but you knew you were just an afterthought for her; Stephanie on the other hand initially interacted with you, asking you questions and occasionally sitting and talking to you. It was soon that you realized she was just bored and you were the newest “thing” in the manor. Her interest wore off a week later, her interactions with you now short and dry.

The family as a whole just seemed to disregard you and often stilted their conversation around you. You’d notice the dining room would be filled with laughter and loud talking until you'd walk in; silence would overtake the once lively place as everyone switched to hushed conversations. It’s as if everyone but you knew something you didn't, a big inside secret that bonded everyone together. It wasn’t until you accidentally discovered that Bruce Wayne was Batman and that the rest of your siblings had vigilante alter egos that everything made sense. This had to be why everyone left you out! It was because they had a secret identity to protect and you obviously couldn't know!

You thought that once they knew that you were aware of their nightly activities, things would change for the better, that you’d be included and accepted. If anything, your admission was the worst possible thing you could have done. At least before, some of them had pretended to interact or say something to you. But now that you knew their big secret, they no longer had a reason to maintain their forced fronts and pretend to care (even if it was barely caring). They had bigger, better, more important things to worry about than some random girl who popped up and wasn't even a vigilante. 

But ever the idiot, you still tried. You still craved their love and affection, going out of your way to take gymnastics to impress Dick or take coding classes to try and engage with Tim. You even tried talking to Jason about books, something Alfred had mentioned was dear to Jason. You tried sign language with Cass but she was never around long enough for it to matter. None of your attempts were successful. You didn't even bother trying with Bruce, you knew that the man wanted nothing to do with you. 

The straw that broke the camel's back for you was when your half-brother, Damian Wayne was introduced to the manor. You thought that he'd be met with the same coldness as you, and that you’d finally have someone who was in the same boat as you, someone who'd understand. Boy were you wrong. Damian was met with such a warmth it made your skin itch and your eyes teary. You wanted to throw up, this isn't fair, he doesn't even try and he gets their love and attention, yet here you were begging for scraps. Regardless, you thought that at least you could try again with Damian, he was technically blood-related to you after all. Yet when he pulled a knife on you and almost cut your throat, instead leaving a cut on your cheek down to your jaw, you could only stare at him in shock. 

You expected outrage and at least some sort of punishment for Damian, considering he had attacked you unprovoked and that you had no prior martial arts training, you were just a civilian. Dick only pulled you aside after Alfred had patched you up, you’ll never forget the words he said to you.

“(Y/n), what Damian did was a mistake. He’s had a rough childhood with some very bad people and it's not his fault he reacted this way. I know you're hurting, and I promise that this will be the first and last time this ever happens. Please, forgive him.” Dick said softly and mourningly.

You just let out a quiet “okay” not even focusing on Dick’s words, no, your main point of focus was the large, warm hand tenderly cradling your injured cheek. You didn't even realize how touch starved you really were, practically melting into his palm. You almost verbally protested when he retracted his hand as soon as you said “okay”. He was leaving.

“Thanks (Y/n), we really appreciate it. He's a good kid, I promise, he just needs some love and attention is all. I’ll come around to check on you soon, okay?” He said, moving away from you, obviously distracted.

You just “hmmed” in response. You knew he was lying, he would never come see you after this, and you were partly right. He came around the manor all the time now, but never for you, only for your attacker. Damian never did apologize for attacking you by the way. He just moved on, most likely realizing that you weren't a threat and were not worth his energy. 

Your cheek would still forever be scared though, not that anyone cared.

That's okay though, you honestly didn't want to talk to him anyway. The entire “Damian” incident was forgotten about quickly as the family bonded and had movie nights, patrols, and hangouts that you were not invited to. Well technically you were, but you realized that your presence just ruined the overall mood so you just decided that it was better if you just stayed away. It's fine, you did NOT need them. You had other people in your corner that actually cared so you were fine (not really).

Thankfully, you had convinced Bruce (not that he really cared) to let you stay at your old school and not transfer to Gotham Prep. So you got to keep your friends, the only people who understood your plight at the manor, the only people who cared; it was after this that you decided to stop caring as well. You weren't chosen by Bruce Wayne, you were forced upon him. Wayne Manor was not your home, just a stop along the way.

So, you made your peace.

Then, of course things changed, and now the bat family was starting to turn their interests on you. 

Catching attention in Gotham was never a good thing.

[heich0e]

"kats, your tag's stickin' up."

katsuki hums in some kind of recognition, your remark of no particular interest to him at the moment. he's sitting with his back to you at his kitchen table, hunched over a bowl of cereal—the boring kind that's good for you, the kind of stuff your grandma likes—and a textbook that's been meticulously highlighted and has notes written in the margins. you reach towards the back of his neck without thinking, pinching the little tag between your fingers and tucking it back down under the collar of his t-shirt. your fingertips brush against the warm skin at his nape as you do so.

the boy in front of you grunts in surprise at the unexpected contact, his shoulders lifting all the way up to his ears as he pitches himself forward across the table away from you. he almost knocks his bowl of cereal over in the process, and he chokes loudly on the mouthful he's chewing as he goes.

"the hell was that for?" katsuki barks out hoarsely after he's managed to swallow down the cereal lodged in his throat, he doesn't turn to look at you as he says it.

"jeez," you remark incredulously, startled by his reaction to such an innocuous gesture. "i was just tucking in the tag!"

"never asked you to do that," katsuki grumbles as he settles back in his seat. you watch as he fiddles with the spoon in his bowl, but doesn't take another bite, and you can't help but notice the pink flush that's crawled up his throat all the way to his ears.

"hey," you remark curiously, still standing behind him with your hands on your hips. "is your neck ticklish?"

he finally turns in his seat, glaring at you over his shoulder.

"no," he snaps.

his cheeks are pink too.

you and katsuki have only been hooking up for a few months, so there are lots of things you don't yet know about each other. sure, you've been superficially acquainted since high school—at least enough to recognize each others' names—but knowing someone in passing and knowing the intimate intricacies of their body are two vastly different things. hell, this is only your second time spending the night at katsuki's apartment, and the first time ever on a school night.

your eyes glance over to the clock on the stove at the reminder. it's still only 7:30—katsuki had risen at the ass-crack of dawn, much to your horror. his first class isn't even until 11:00 while yours is at 9:30, and you would have happily slept in for another hour if not for him waking you as he crawled out of his bed.

"hey, you mind if i borrow a shirt or something to wear to class?" you ask him, scratching at the warm skin of your tummy under the oversized hoodie you'd pulled on when you rolled out of his sheets that morning. you wouldn't be opposed to keeping it on, but it's a nice brand—and one of his favourites, given how often you've seen him wear it—so you don't dare request it.

katsuki turns to look at you again, cheeks still pink, eyes still narrowed.

"a shirt?" he asks. "why?"

"you got cum—"

"for fucks' sake," katsuki interrupts you, looking away—largely, you suspect, to hide the renewed reddening of his cheeks. "didn't you bring a change of clothes?"

"i would have," you chirp, "but if i recall correctly, the text you sent me at 11:30 last night seemed like me getting here right after i left the library was suuuuuper important."

"just.. wear that one." katsuki waves his hand dismissively over his shoulder, and you stare at his back a little dumbfoundedly. you hadn't expected that at all.

he shoves another spoonful of cereal into his mouth.

katsuki sure has been full of surprises these past few months. you learn more about him every day. and not just about his body and what makes him feel good—that's sort of a given with casual, no-strings relationships like this one—but about his likes and dislikes, his quirks and eccentricities too. like what he eats for breakfast, or how his neck is ticklish, or the way he organizes the shoes on the shoe rack just inside his front door. you're not sure you dislike it, either, unravelling him bit by bit.

and katsuki doesn't say it, but he feels largely the same—realizing with every passing day that he's uncovering more about you than he ever thought he would that first night the two of you ended up fooling around after running into each other at a bar near campus.

katsuki had just gotten out of a long-term relationship. well, just meaning five months prior—though his friends often remind him that there's nothing "just" about five months. but contrary to popular belief, katsuki had always been a serial-monogamous dater, going from one long-term relationship to the next without any flings in-between. he had no intention of hooking up with anyone, least of all you, that night.

but one thing lead to another, and now here you are: shuffling around his kitchen as you try to find where he keeps his mugs, wearing his favourite sweatshirt. and katsuki knows you take two sugars in your coffee. knows you'll wait until the absolute last minute to head to campus for your 9:30 class. knows you'll take your notes in purple pen through your lecture because you claim the colour helps you remember the lesson.

but it's not just you who katsuki's learning things about these days.

for example, he's learning that maybe he's just not cut out for casual dating.

because every little thing he learns about you is starting to feel a lot like a string.

[solar-wing]

⚣ Jason Todd: NSFW Alphabet 🔴

⚣🔴 A/N → I forgot I had written these out and had them on my old account. Did a little fine-tuning to them though. WARNINGS: 18+ MDNI | it's an NSFW alphabet so just expect the unexpected and the expected.

⚣🔴 Words → 3.6K

REBLOGS & replies are greatly appreciated, please! 💛

⚣ ENJOY 🔴

A = Aftercare (what they’re like after sex)

This man can go from rough and hard to soft and gentle in literal seconds. It’s like watching someone come out of a trance or possession. He’ll clean you up with a fresh rag and make sure you’re comfortable, especially if you’re sore (you’ll most definitely be). He’s clingy though.

You won’t get anywhere without him right beside you. And he won’t say it, but he loves it when you try to take care of him too. Jason is dominant and prefers to be in control, but that man is as needy as a newborn baby, and it gets 10x worse after sex.

B = Body part (their favorite body part of theirs and also their partner’s)

Jason’s relationship with his body is difficult, but, if we’re talking about one where he’s healed, maybe been to therapy, and (slightly) moved on from his trauma, he probably favors his arms, chest, and hands. Jason prefers strength overlooking aesthetically fit, and he kind of always looks like he’s bulking but it's defined somehow. And because that adds to his overall size and level of intimidation, he loves working on those specific groups to increase them so he can in turn use them to intimidate people, especially those who try to flirt with you in front of him.

Now, on the other end, Jason is 100% an ass man. You can not change my mind. He loves you wearing any kind of tight or fitting material that molds to the shape of your butt and just being able to oogle and smack it when he wants. And smack it he does. Dude has the equivalent of 100 cheese necks in one palm and you feel it every time he lands one on your ass. 

Bonus points if you have thick thighs that jiggle when you walk. He’ll be paying extra special attention to those, especially if you’re wearing any kind of short shorts or fitted athletic wear. He also has a slight obsession or fascination with your neck. Whether in the act or just chilling, his hands will somehow find their way to your neck whether it’s a gentle caress or a firm grip. And if he’s feeling a little possessive or riled up in the moment (which is frequent) it’s his favorite place to mark, and if you try to cover them up, it’s more motivation for him to leave even bigger ones. He likes it when people can tell and see that you belong to him.

C = Cum (anything to do with cum, basically)

More of an oozer than a shooter unless he’s been holding a load in for a while. And his loads are thick. He may not shoot far but he’ll definitely give you enough to fill the bottom of a glass. 

Also, no questions asked, he’s coming inside you. You just have to choose if it’s going to be your mouth or ass. Don’t ask, it’s a territorial thing with him. The thought of you walking around and greeting people while his babies are lodged deep inside your ass or fresh down your esophagus does wonders for his pride.

D = Dirty secret (pretty self-explanatory, a dirty secret of theirs)

If you’re not around and he’s really horny, he’ll masturbate with a piece of your clothing. Sometimes, he’ll also call you in the middle of it and won’t tell you just so he can hear your voice while edging himself to completion.

He also will purposely start arguments with you so you can have a reason to have angry make-up sex later.

E = Experience (how experienced are they? do they know what they’re doing?)

Some small experiences before he died, and little hookups here and there when he came back and was somewhat in a good place with Bruce and himself. That being said, he gets most of his experience from his relationship with you. He quickly learns what he does like and what he doesn’t, and makes it known to you immediately. 

He also may or may not go to Dick for advice or tips on how to improve. Going to Bruce is out of the question. And not just because that’s still technically his dad.

F = Favorite position (this goes without saying)

Doggy for one. It’s something about him grabbing you by your hair or even better, around your neck and forcing your body against his while he pounds into you from behind. He gets an exhilarating high from having you at his mercy and you surrendering yourself to him.

He also does favor missionary if he’s in a slightly more tender mood. But, If he’s feeling jealous or pissed off about something, he’s putting you up against a wall or in a corner with his hands around your neck and ramming you like there’s no tomorrow. Your legs will not be functioning for 24 hours.

G = Goofy (are they more serious in the moment? are they humorous? etc.)

Tends to be more serious in the moment. When he’s in the mood, he’s fully in it. Especially if he needs to get his frustrations out. However, the sound of you moaning and screaming his name will definitely bring a smug grin to his face.

H = Hair (how well groomed are they? does the carpet match the drapes? etc.)

He keeps himself adequately groomed. May grow some facial hair and have a little bush down there along with a happy trail but he’s good about keeping it neat and clean. And, if you want him to, he’ll shave it all, no questions needed.

I = Intimacy (how are they during the moment? the romantic aspect)

This he struggles with at times. It’s something he wasn’t given much of (especially with Bruce) so he doesn’t really know how to act when in those moments and he tends to get really uncomfortable, especially if it’s a particularly vulnerable moment for him. As far as during sex, he’s definitely on the more rough and brutish side, but he’ll always do his best to check on you.

It’s something he’s getting better at though. Even in moments without sex where you two are just lounging and sitting together, he’s good at reading you and knowing what you want or how to make you happy with small gestures and actions. He just wants to make sure you’re happy and that you feel loved (and that you belong to him and only him).

J = Jack off (masturbation headcanon)

Mentioned with dirty secrets. Really only does it when you’re not around. He’ll rarely do it just for the heck of it. He prefers getting his pleasure from pleasing and fucking (owning) you.

K = Kink (one or more of their kinks)

Dominance/Submission (Power Play) - Jason has had many things happen to him that he didn’t want or couldn’t control. It’s basically what influences this kink more than others. You submitting to Jason, letting him lead and have full control in sex and even in domestic scenarios creates a very satisfying and pleasurable feeling inside him. It also serves as reassurance for him, knowing that you fully trust him to the point where you basically surrender yourself to him. Getting back to more dirty things, this kink can include other aspects such as orgasm denial, bondage (on you), and verbal affirmation of your submission (dirty talk).

Choking (giving only) - This plays into the dominant/submission kink as well. It’s a rush from the feeling of control he has over whether you get to breathe or not while pounding your brains out. But, he’ll never go too far and he hopes you know that. However, he’s not at all okay with it being done to him. He does not like his neck being touched at all for that matter. Call it PTSD from his time with Joker and other things that have happened to him in the past, so it’s a big no-no. Although, with time and him getting more comfortable in the relationship, if he gives you a clear consenting sign that he’s okay with it, he’ll allow a gentle caress and rub down his neck, but only from you. Anyone else who tries to touch him on his neck risks several broken limbs.

Mirror Sex - A key part of his possessive nature toward you. He loves seeing himself fuck into you and even more, his ego gets a big boost from seeing you turn into an erotic mess while he’s inside you.

Size Difference - The fact that Jason can pick you up and throw you around like a rag doll, dwarfs you in size, or that his clothes (even if you’re tall and broad) can look three sizes too big on you is a major turn-on for him. He won’t say it, but he likes the idea of someone smaller than him that he can protect.

L = Location (favorite places to do the do)

Weird enough, the thought comes to mind that Jason has a weird obsession with having sex with you in tight spaces. Mainly, places like the shower or the car. It ties a bit into his power and size kink. Something about the size of his body towering over you in a small space riles him up like no other. It’s the feeling or sensation that he’s got you cornered that drives that feeling. Kind of like an outlet for him to deal with his trauma of when he was actually trapped/cornered.

Also, he has it in his mind that whenever you move in together, he has to fuck you on every single available surface in your place. Christening your home with your love is how he likes to think of it. Plus, he gets a nasty kick out of when guests are over, imagining in his mind that they’re sitting in places where he had you crying out and cumming on his dick multiple times.

M = Motivation (what turns them on, gets them going)

#1:Jealousy & Possessiveness – The idea of you finding anyone else attractive, let alone giving them your attention which is only supposed to be reserved for him, he’ll be quick to snatch you into the nearest closet or bathroom to remind you who you belong to. And it doesn’t matter who it is besides your parents or his family. It could be the barista at the cafe, a random guy who gave you a friendly nod, or god forbid, an old classmate or co-worker you happened to bump into on the street. Jason is a selfish & protective little fucker who doesn’t even want to consider the idea of someone else thinking they can have what’s only for him.

#2: Clothes – Please, exercise caution when picking your outfit for any particular event. Jason’s never gonna tell you what you can’t wear, but keep in mind that again, he’s a selfish and protective little fucker who has the sex drive of a large animal. Wearing anything even slightly tight or a bit showy for his taste can and will land you in many situations where Jason has pulled you aside somewhere quiet and private to have at your body. And don’t let him catch others ogling your outfit or even giving you the slightest compliment or all hell is breaking loose. Not to say he doesn’t like it, he loves it. But, you’re for his eyes only. Now, if it’s his clothes you’re wearing out, please be aware that at some point, you may be buying him a new shirt/hoodie cause he’s about to rip it off you.

#3: Arguing – Something in that man thrives on chaos, and when you and he are going at it, he can’t help but get hard. And again, hot, angry makeup sex. Duh…

N = No (something they wouldn’t do, turn-offs)

He will not do any form of rape/forced play, including machoism and sadism. His vigilante life and past trauma already left a deep scar on him and anything that resembles that can and will trigger him. Plus, he knows he’s way stronger and doesn’t want to even take the risk of hurting you in any way.

Unless we’re talking Arkham Jason. That’s a completely different story.

He would clear it with you first that you’re okay with bondage and choking, but he doesn’t want it performed on him, especially the choking, as we’re already aware that he’s very sensitive about his neck.

Any extreme BDSM kinks like piss play or fisting is also a major turn-off for him. Exhibitionism is a straight-up no. Jason would rather drink from the Lazarus pit than have anyone looking at you in a state that he’s only allowed to see you in. Don’t even attempt to pitch the idea of a threesome or foursome or just any suggestion of bringing someone else in on your fun. It will turn into a major argument and not a good one that ends in happy fun.

O = Oral (preference in giving or receiving, skill, etc.)

Inexperienced but picks it up quickly and learns what gets more of a reaction from you. He’s a fast learner and loves it when he’s able to drive you over the edge with his mouth alone. Also, if we’re talking about eating out, he’ll happily do it till the sun turns blue. There’s something about tasting you on his tongue that just really gets him riled up.

But, if we’re talking dick-sucking, definitely prefers receiving over giving. Jason finds it extremely hot seeing you go up and down on him with your mouth, especially when he grabs your hair or head and starts to force your head up and down or starts thrusting in your mouth. He loves seeing you slobber and choke all over him. And if you look up and give him a teary-eyed but submissive look, game over (in a good way).

P = Pace (are they fast and rough? slow and sensual? etc.)

Definitely fast and rough. And if it’s not, you can bet he’s delivering some powerful strokes that will have you squeezing and clenching your legs all around him. Plus, he notices the harder he goes, the more you squeeze yourself against him while pressing your nails into his back and biting at his skin, trying to silence your loud moans and cries. Though, it’s probably not the best idea because he’ll just go even harder to force those noises out of you. And, those are marks and scars he will PROUDLY wear.

It takes him time (if you even decide at all that you want him to) to learn how to move at a softer, slower, and more sensual pace. But, if it’s something you truly desire, he’ll work on it and do everything he can to make you happy. But, that doesn’t mean rough sex goes away. It actually makes it even more hot, especially when Jason is in one of his moods.

Q = Quickie (their opinions on quickies, how often, etc.)

He’s not opposed to them. But, Jason likes to take his time with you. He doesn’t like to rush and hates the idea of feeling as if someone is going to interrupt him. No one should intrude upon your special time with each other. God bless (and protect) the unlucky souls that do.

But, if he’s really in the mood and he can’t get you to an ideal private place in a fast enough time, he’s not above pulling you into the nearest dark room or corner to get down and dirty, especially if he’s feeling a little territorial because someone decided they wanted to be brave stupid and hit on you. He’s more than happy to remind you who you’re in a relationship with. Or if you’re not in a relationship, then just who’s fucking you every single night, plain and simple. Either way, quickies to him are basically just his versions of reminders to you for what happens when he gets a bit jealous.

R = Risk (are they game to experiment? do they take risks? etc.)

You’d have to move at a snail’s pace with him if you want to introduce something new to your routine. If it’s something small, then he may go ahead and give in to it, but Jason craves consistency and normalcy, and that includes sex. Asking him to try something new can hit a sore spot cause it may seem like what you two are doing now isn’t enough for you anymore.

But, if you reassure him it’s not that, and just slowly introduce the idea to him, (double points if he likes it off the start) then you’re definitely in for a treat. For you, and you only, he is willing to step out of his comfort zone, as long as it’s not too crazy or on his no-no list.

S = Stamina (how many rounds can they go for? how long do they last?)

Depends on his mood and what prompted the sex. He could go for one round or two if he’s just feeling a little feral and wants a piece of you. If it’s a jealous or angry fit after an argument, you might wanna cancel any plans after, cause he’s certainly not letting you leave the bed, the house, or wherever you are until your legs are basically useless.

The same thing goes for the duration of a round, especially if you’ve got the good good (hehe). If you’re really giving it to him. Mans may be lucky to make it past 10 minutes, but that’s not too bad. It means he can cuddle you, or you cuddle him. Either way, cuddles are non-negotiable after a round. But, if you two just got done hashing it out over something or you decided to poke one too many of his buttons, he’s dragging it out as long as he can. This means exiting out of you whenever he feels like he’s getting too close, and denying you your own orgasm as well (that damn control factor strikes again).

T = Toys (do they own toys? do they use them? on a partner or themselves?)

Jason doesn’t own any toys and never really had an interest in them. It’s not something he’d really get into on his own and only would experiment with them if you asked. The most he’s got is handcuffs or rope he’d use for bondage but that’s as far as he would take it.

If you were to use toys, he’d definitely prefer him using them on you unless there was something else specific involved that didn’t cross one of his boundaries.

U = Unfair (how much they like to tease)

50/50. If you’re teasing him, payback’s a fucker named Jason. He’ll kiss all your sweet spots, nibble on your chest, and barely give any attention to your dick/genitals. Especially if he’s in one of his ‘I want to hear you beg for me, tell me who owns you’ moods.

If he wants to get to the point, then you can expect to be promptly thrown onto the bed or whatever surface is nearby, and the most he’ll do here is tie or cuff your hands so you can’t touch him, knowing how much you like to feel his body while he’s ramming yours.

V = Volume (how loud they are, what sounds they make, etc.)

Jason’s loud. But, in a very grunty-like way. You may have to fight tooth and nail to get him to moan for you, but by golly is he expressive when you manage to get it out of him. For the most part, though, he’s giving grunts, growls, and grumbles. You’ll mainly hear him whisper into your ear, reminding you that he’s the one currently plowing your guts and that no one else is allowed to see you like this but him.

W = Wild card (a random headcanon for the character)

He likes fucking you with clothes on frequently. You’re wearing a tight compression shirt that’s showing your pecs, abs, and just overall body, he’s got you bent over a surface while oogling your muscle constricting under a shirt. Wearing a jockstrap or thong in the gym and he can see it, he’s pulling them down and that underwear aside just enough to get inside you. You’re not complaining though. If he’s wearing his own compression and muscle shirts all the better for you, getting to ogle and rub his muscles while he’s hammering inside of you like an animal.

He also really enjoys massages. Particularly on his shoulders, back, and chest. He loves it when you lick and play around with the head of his dick and when you run your fingers through his hair while his face is buried in your neck kissing and leaving marks all over.

X = X-ray (let’s see what’s going on under those clothes)

Bigger than average.

8-9 inches minimum. He’s thick and girthy down as well. Maybe narrower at the base with a really large and bulbous head. Entering can be a bit of a challenge, but it gets easier the further he gets inside. Also has a curve to his dick.

Y = Yearning (how high is their sex drive?)

Jason has a fairly high sex drive and the Lazarus pit only increased that. His libido can sometimes be more emotion-driven so feelings of love, anger, or even just a slight irritation will get him hard.

Maybe you’re not fucking every hour of the day, but he’s gotta have you in some shape or form at least once or twice a day. Whether it’s a blowjob, hand-job, or one of his jealous reminder quickies.

Z = Zzz (how quickly they fall asleep afterwards)

He can go to sleep fairly quickly, but only after he’s properly cared for you and cleaned you up. Also, he has to have your body pressed against him. Cuddles are vitally important and you should never once not want to cuddle him. It’s the one intimate thing he’s got down perfectly to a T. 

However, he has more than once fallen asleep while still inside you and in the position you both finished in. It can lead to a comfortable or uncomfortable scenario, depending on the situation.

☀️ | Jason Todd/Red Hood | ☀️

☀️ | Masterlists | ☀️

[princessbrunette]

⋅˚₊‧ ୨୧ ‧₊˚ ⋅

when you miss rafe, you miss everything about him. you’d only been staying at your own house without him for a few days since he’d been busy ‘handling business’ and you’d had serious withdrawals to the point where everything reminds you of him. you blab about him at the table at the family dinner (PG details about your relationship, of course.) you talk about how much you miss him at brunch with the girls (almost to the point where they send your tipsy ass home because they can’t handle it any longer) you even find yourself doodling in your journal, his name with hearts around it— even your name with ‘cameron’ on the end of it. god, you were in deep.

you start to ache for it. but not in the way you’d expect. did you need him to fuck you soon or you were pretty sure you’d die? yes. but you craved the taste of him like no other. it’s the bare minimum for guys, but he kept his dick clean — his diet was good and he was fairly hydrated so his cum tasted as good as cum could taste — but it didn’t matter, what mattered was that it belonged to him.

you think to text him, but need to hear his voice instead so you call. “rafe?” you’re breathless when he answers.

“you alright, baby?” god— you melt.

“can i come over — i— need to come over rafe, please?” you beg and he sits up in his seat, sensing urgency in your tone.

“uh— yeah, was actually gonna come see you soon. you’re alright, yeah?”

“y—yes. i’ll see you soon.”

you’re over at tannyhill in record time, and as soon as he’s got you in his room you’re all over him, pulling at his clothes as you latch your mouth to his, panting and touching him everywhere. he’s never seen you this needy, you must really need some dick.

“y’know it’s only been a few days, kid.” he deadpans, smugly but you don’t care about his teasing, sinking to your knees and starting to work at his belt. “what are you— y’don’t wanna… get on the bed, maybe?” his hands hover hesitantly in the air.

“dont want that yet. just wanted to taste you. missed it, rafe. need to lick it up.” it’s like you’d been hypnotised and he stares at you for a moment with parted lips as it sinks in.

“yeah, yeah alright.” he relents, nodding and helping you with the belt.

soon he’s got his cock lodged down your throat, a gentle hand cupping the back of your head as he softly tilts his hips forward, lightly thrusting. he was trying to be gentle, give you what you were craving without making it all about him but it was hard when it felt this good.

“there you go, baby. that’s what you wanted, huh? missed me down that little throat. poor thing, ran here so fast you could barely breathe when you got through that door. just needed to suck it, ‘that right?”

⋅˚₊‧ ୨୧ ‧₊˚ ⋅

[freedomfireflies]

Reckless*

Summary: The third part to Knockout*

The one where Harry secretly gets paid to fight, but you're the one paying the price.

Word Count: 9.2k (...no comment)

Content Warning: 18+, violence, mentions of an abusive ex, mentions of blood, smut

Harry’s fist instantly snaps closed around your hand, subtly but pointedly tugging you back. Seeming to want to put a bit of space between you and the man standing before you.

“Oh, do you…know each other?” you ask slowly, glancing between the two rather curiously.

Jesse offers nothing more than a raise of his eyebrow, redirecting his attention back to Harry as though encouraging him to respond.

Harry merely grits his teeth. “We used to. Long time ago.”

It’s hardly an answer, somehow just as frustratingly vague as you expected, yet you nod, nevertheless. “Ah. I see.”

Jesse’s smile somehow stretches a bit bigger. “Are you working today?”

“Uh, no. Just…came by for the keys,” you answer, shifting your weight from one foot to the other almost nervously. “Why?”

He shrugs. “Thought I’d…maybe stick around a bit? Catch up?”

Harry’s grip gets stronger.

“Besides, today’s pie is apple, yeah?” he asks. “You know it’s my favorite.”

You force a tight-lipped grin and a hum of acknowledgement before the three of you fall silent. Continuing to stand by the door to the diner as the rest of the room continues on with their lunch. Their soft murmurs and clinging cutlery like white noise in the background of the conversation. 

You clear your throat. “Okay, well…I’m gonna…I’m gonna tell him goodbye, and—”

“Oh, sure, no problem,” Jesse says, waving you away before returning to the counter. “Yeah, go ahead. I’ll be right here.”

The last word has hardly left his mouth when Harry suddenly spins on his heel and drags you back through the door. Pulling you into the parking lot without so much as a goodbye before leading you around the side of the building.

“Harry,” you murmur hesitantly, almost cautious of his rather silent reaction. In the little time you’ve known him, you’ve never known him to be this quiet when he’s upset. Or this well behaved. “What’s wrong, what is it?”

He continues his furious stride until he’s brought you both into the alley. Releasing you in order to run a hand through his hair with a strained, “Fuck.”

You slow to a stop and stare at his tensed back. “Harry?”

A long pause. Deafening and loud enough to lodge your heart in your throat.

Finally, “How do you know him?”

“What?”

“Fucking Jesse, how do you know him?” he repeats, somewhat viciously.

Your head tilts. “We…I mean we’re friends, but we…we used to date. For a while. Couple years ago. Why?”

He turns, and the pinching of his features together makes your stomach twist. “Was it him?”

“…Harry—”

“Was it…him?” His eyes flick to yours. “The one you fucking told me about. The one who treated you like shit, the one who fucking threw things at you. Was it him?”

You’re almost surprised he remembered. After all, the revelation of your last relationship had been quite a while ago. An off-handed comment made one stormy night as you sat together in his favorite booth, talking about the past and exchanging odd traumas.

But he does. He remembers. And he’s looking at you like your answer is going to break his heart. 

You suck in a quiet breath and hold it deep within your chest. “Yes.”

Your voice is small. Timid and weak, nearly carried away with the wind. But it reaches him, nevertheless, and his expression guts you.

He steps back. Trying to get away, either from you or your admission. The truth he can no longer stand to be so close to.

“Why?” he whispers, and your lashes flutter. “Why did you…why would you keep him in your fucking life after he…”

You offer him the same answer you’ve offered everyone else. “I don’t know.”

He runs his tongue over his bottom lip and takes another step. Glancing over your face as if searching for more than you have to give. “Cherry…”

“I know.” You can feel the tears already working their way to your waterline. “I know, but he’s…he’s trying to do better. He’s trying to change—”

“Oh, that’s fucking bullshit,” he scoffs, hands shoving into his pockets almost vengefully. “No, that’s bullshit. He’s not…guys like him don’t change. They just get better at hiding it.”

Maybe he’s right. But it stings to hear. “I…yeah. I know. But we’re just…we’re friends. We don’t talk a lot, just when he needs help.”

“So he uses you?”

“No, he…” You hesitate. “I don’t know. I don’t think he means to—”

His vile scoff cuts through the rest of your excuse, and perhaps it’s for the better.

“I’m sorry,” you murmur, fingers itching to reach for him. You feel naked without his body against yours. “I should have…I should have warned you. Or told you, I just…I didn’t think—”

“Are you safe?”

You stop. “What?”

“Are you safe?” he repeats, a tad softer. “When he’s around you, do you feel safe? Do you know that you’re safe, and that he won’t…that you can leave? If you need to?”

 You consider this for only a moment before nodding once. “Yes. He’s never…it’s never been like that. He’s just…he gets very angry. And sad. And I think…a part of me wants to help, I guess.”

His expression drops ever-so-slightly, as if wounded. “I know, Cher.” He moves closer to you once again, and you feel like you can finally breathe. He places his palm against your cheek and brushes his thumb beneath your eye. Wiping away the first tear. “You always give your kindness to those who don’t deserve it.”

 You take hold of his wrist and bite back a sigh. “Everybody deserves kindness.”

“Maybe.” His voice is quiet. Labored and thick. “But maybe you deserve it more.”

There’s something…heavy in the way he speaks. In the way he feels. As though he’s carrying the entire weight of his world – and yours – on his shoulders. 

You know there’s more to the story. More to this anger that’s so prominent in his heart and more to his background with Jesse. You want to ask, want to understand.

But if he wanted you to know, he would have offered.

Maybe he thinks he’s sparing you. Maybe he thinks he’s protecting you in the only way he can, and you feel grateful for him. Grateful for this subtle, unspoken act of intimacy and protection that you’ve become so familiar with in the time you’ve known your handsome stranger.

You choose to have faith in him. In what brought you to him.

“I have to go,” he says now, dipping down to brush his forehead to yours. “Cause if I don’t, I’ll fucking kill him.”

You smile to yourself, but a part of you knows he means it. “Okay. Will I see you again?”

His other hand slips around the back of your neck, keeping you close before he exhales a shaky breath and brings his lips to yours. Kissing you hard and with a thousand unspoken promises. “Of course. M’never gonna leave you, sweet girl. Swear it.”

And it’s the most beautiful thing you’ve ever heard.

You kiss him until you can’t breathe, clinging to his hoodie as if begging with him to stay. To keep himself close to you.

And when he eventually pulls away, you nearly crumple to the ground.

“Okay,” he whispers, reaching back to slip his hood on. “Okay, I gotta go. Or I’ll never leave.”

You touch your fingers to your lips and nod once. “I know. Just come back, okay?”

He grins, and it’s wickedly delicious. “Always.”

With that, he turns around, and disappears down the alley. Rounding the corner of the building before disappearing from sight.

Leaving you exactly where he found you, only a few hours ago.

With a heavy heart and weary mind, you make your back into the diner and toward the man still waiting for you.

Jesse has never scared you. Annoyed you, but never scared you. He’s been in your life far longer than you care to admit, ever since you were just kids. And maybe that’s why you keep him around. Because a part of you believes you owe it to the people you used to be.

You loved him. You really did. He was cute, charming, witty. He made you smile, made you laugh. He listened when you talked, said all of the right things. Of course you wanted to believe him when he said he’d do anything to make it work.

His anger had taken him away from you. Had changed who he was. Or perhaps merely highlighted who he’d always been.

He was the one to end things. Claiming he could never offer you the life you deserved. That until he had his temper under control, he couldn’t be with you. You had agreed to remain friends and help him when he lost his way.

He seems to lose his way a lot these days.

And maybe that’s the part that scares you…just a little bit.

“Hey, sugarplum,” he calls once you enter, grinning brighter than he has in weeks. “You all right?”

You nod as you join him near the counter, hands disappearing into your pockets as if to hide. “Mhm. Are you?”

“Absolutely.” He leans over to nudge his elbow against yours. “Feel like it’s been forever.”

“Jess, I saw you last week,” you can’t help but laugh.

“I know, but that was last week,” he argues coyly. “Which is like a lifetime ago.”

And even if there’s a part of you that feels cautious of him, there’s also something so familiar about his company. The sound of his voice, the way he laughs. His effortless ability to remind you of the way things used to be.

Despite how it ended, you can’t help but feel calmed. Your muscles unwinding as you grow a bit more comfortable in his presence.

“Ha, very funny,” you tease, stepping closer as though drawn in by his charm. “Well, if you’re waiting for the apple pie, that’s not until tomorrow.”

“Then I guess I’ll just have to come back.”

The conversation lulls as the two of you smirk at each other, and for the first time in days, you don’t feel so on edge.

 “Fine,” you agree. “But you can’t come back to the kitchen with me. Not after last time.”

He pretends to pout, but it only makes you smile. “Oh, come on. Everything was going so well up until the flour incident.”

You reach out and shove his shoulder playfully, and he laughs. “All right, enough. Why are you really here?”

“I told you, I wanna catch up. Clearly I’ve missed a lot.”

The mention of Harry is like a sharp needle to your blissful bubble, popping you free of his spell until you come crashing back to earth. “Right. How, um…how again do you guys know each other?”

“Oh, we don’t. Not really,” Jesse explains, shrugging one shoulder up almost casually. “We used to go to the same gym. Spot each other now and then. But we never really knew each other, I guess.”

“Ah.” 

“Was kind of surprised to see him with you, though,” he adds. “But good surprised. I told him he should come check out the diner, and I’m glad to see he listened."

Harry’s previous mention of how he found you suddenly clicks, and you nod, eyes drifting toward the floor. “Yeah, he…he seems to like it here.”

“Yeah?”

“Mhm.”

“Good.” He seems oddly thrilled by this. “And I guess you two are…?”

The implication brings a rush of heat to your cheeks, and you quickly shake your head as you step back. Almost as though guarding yourself from his question. “Oh, no, we’re…we’re just friends. Or we’re…yeah. Friends.”

His brows furrow but he’s smiling. “Are you…sure about that?”

No. “Yeah. We don’t…we don’t really know each other that well, is all. We just…we like to talk.”

“I see.” He studies you for a moment, somewhat curious. “I’m glad he found something here he likes so well.”

The heat in your face begins to burn. “Yeah, he…he really likes the pies.”

Jesse hums, expression mischievous. “Yes. The pies.”

You force a laugh and nudge him again. “Okay, enough. I should…I should probably get back—”

“Wait,” he interrupts, slipping off the stool in order to get closer, “is there…any chance you’d fancy a drive? Thought we could go around the block a few times like we used to. Just…listen to the radio and people watch.”

Truth be told, the offer is compelling. Because you know if you go home, all you’ll do is worry. About Harry, about Jesse. About all the things you wish you could do for them but can’t. 

Maybe a distraction is what you need. One day where you aren’t expected to fix everybody else’s problems but your own.

So, you nod. Tentatively but with a small grin that makes Jesse’s entire expression light up. 

“Great,” he chuckles before nodding his chin at you. “So…do you want me to drive? Like old times?”

Your answer is to dig back into your pocket for the keys before tossing them over. “Think you already know the answer to that.”

He laughs again and spins the ring around his finger. “Then let’s hit it, sugarplum.”

It’s almost too easy to settle back into your old habits. To follow him to your car, hop inside the passenger seat, and allow him to take you away.

And it’s nice. Comfortable and…safe. Windows down, music loud. The two of you singing along with every bad song that comes on. It really does feel like it used to, and for just one evening, you forget about everything else. And you let yourself just…be.

The two of you drive around the city until the sun goes down. He tells you about his new job at this fancy law firm and you tell him about this new recipe you’re working on for the diner. You talk, and you laugh, and you sing until your stomach hurts. 

You forget. And you’re okay with that.

“Okay,” he finally declares not much later after a quick glance at the clock. “I know you have to get back, but I just have one last thing I want to show you.”

Your brow raises. “Oh? What?”

“A surprise.” He begins to grin, almost wickedly, and it makes you smirk. “It’ll just be a quick little detour, and then I’ll have you home. Promise.”

You consider this for only a moment before sighing. “Fine. But just for the record, I hate your surprises.”

He merely winks before taking a left and leading you both out of town.

The further you go, the darker it gets. This part of the city appears to be rather neglected, with very few lights along the street to guide you. The buildings are rundown and abandoned, there’s police tape over half the doors and boards across half the windows. 

Sketchy would be putting it mildly.

Yet Jesse appears undeterred, swinging into one of the large, unkempt parking lots where a collection of cars are already gathered.

“I don’t…understand,” you begin slowly, glancing around the dark space in search of answers. 

However, instead of answer, he merely puts the car in park, tosses you the keys, and hops out. “You’ll see. Come on.”

Despite your hesitancy, you choose to follow, trailing after him as he begins toward one of the shabby buildings just up ahead. 

There’s a strange sort of itch crawling its way up the back of your neck. Blossoming into your cheeks until you feel a twinge of apprehension.  

But Jesse walks ahead as though he hasn’t a care in the world. Nonchalant and relaxed, leading you to the door.

Then, he knocks twice, stops, and adds three more.

A beat passes before there’s a sharp, electric buzzing. Immediately followed by the sound of something rather heavy before the door suddenly swings open.

Your breath catches.

The inside of this disheveled building is divine. Luxury drips from floor to ceiling, a rather stark contrast to its exterior. There’s fresh paint on the walls, towers of champagne in each corner of the room, and a crowd of men and women dressed to the nines in their most elegant and expensive outfits.

But there’s something off. They’re yelling, and cursing, and cheering. Raising their glasses while shouting at something happening in the middle of the room. 

And that’s when you see him.

Even from this distance, you’d recognize him anywhere. The soft, sweaty curls matted to his forehead. The blood that drips from his mouth and jaw. The tattoos and marks that glisten from his chest – the same tattoos that you saw for the first time only hours ago.

Your stranger. Landing hit after hit to the man standing just opposite him inside the large ring. 

You don’t move. You don’t think you can breathe. You can’t think straight or understand…and then Jesse throws his arm around your shoulder.

“Let’s go have a look, yeah?” It’s posed like a question, but he’s already leading you toward the crowd before you can decide on your answer.

Your heart is in your toes as he slips through the collection of onlookers. Pulling you to the front until you have a near perfect view of the violence happening only a few feet away.

A perfect view of him.

You’re not sure how long he’s been at it. Clearly long enough, if the new cuts and fresh bruises are any indication. He doesn’t seem to notice you, instead throwing his arm toward his opponent before ducking down to miss the strike back. 

You hear yourself gasp as you recoil away from the forceful blow, nearly hiding yourself beneath Jesse’s arm while he laughs.

“What’s the matter, sugarplum?” he hums. “Thought you’d wanna see what your little boytoy gets up to when he’s not with you.”

You can hear it now. The vindictive sneer hidden beneath his charming chuckle. And that uncomfortable itch begins to burn as you pull yourself back in order to see him. “What?”

Jesse nods toward the boxing ring. “You see, when he’s not with you…he’s quite busy. Beautifully and spectacularly fucking me over.”

You feel the blood drain from your face. “What…what are you talking about?”

“Do you know what this is?” He raises a brow. “Do you know what he really does?”

“He…he fights. He gets paid to fight.”

“Right. And who do you think pays him?”

And that’s when it happens. That’s when the final puzzle piece clicks into place, and you understand. You see the whole picture laid out in front of you, and it wears his face.

“You.” It’s a strained, timid whisper that’s buried beneath the loud, vulgar hollering.

Jesse nods. “Exactly. I pay your boyfriend to beat the shit out of anyone dumb enough to get into that ring with him. And all he has to do…is fucking win.”

The cheering grows louder in your ear as he steps closer. Forcing your attention to split between the two men.

“But I have a problem,” he continues. “You see, Harry can win a fight in his goddamn sleep. He never loses. Ever. That’s why I pay him so much fucking money. That’s why I’m his sponsor.”

Your stomach twists.

“So, imagine my surprise when he suddenly started to lose. Night after night. Over and over. Constantly and consistently losing fights he should have been able to win with his fucking eyes closed.”

There’s something trapped in your throat. The room is spinning, and there’s a ringing in your ear that just won’t quit. 

“And then I find out…he’s fucking throwing them.” His hand finds your hip and he turns you toward the ring. “Every goddamn night, he throws the fight. Because, for some reason, he seems to think that these fights are up to him. He thinks that he gets to decide who wins and who loses.”

He leans down now, lips hovering near your ear while his voice settles into a rather malicious hiss. 

“But the only person that really loses…is me,” he sneers. “Because if he doesn’t win, then I lose a shit ton of money on him. And I don’t really think that’s fair…do you?”

You suck in a quiet breath right as Harry steps back to avoid a massive swing before landing his own blow just beneath the man’s jaw. 

“So, I wondered. Wondered why the switch. Why he’d suddenly be willing to lose so much money and allow his ass to get kicked into his throat…for nothing.”

He leans back now, and your lashes flutter.

“And then I found him…with you.” He tsks almost teasingly while his head cocks to the side. “Seems my best fighter has found himself distracted. Pussy-whipped by a pretty face that serves him fucking pie. And he thinks that if he throws the fights…he can save you.”

A set of knuckles connect with Harry’s left cheek, sending him stumbling back while you suck in a sharp inhale and turn away.

“So…I want you to watch,” Jesse tells you, snaking an arm around your waist in order to keep you in your spot. “I want you to fucking see what you’ve done to him.”

Your features twist into a fearful grimace as you drag your eyes back to the ring. Watching as Harry swipes the back of his hand across his mouth to clear the blood before surging forward. He swings and it’s a miss. Arm flying over the other man’s shoulder before he’s shoved toward the rope.

He’s losing. A few more strikes to the face and you’re almost sure he’ll pass out.

And you don’t understand. Can’t comprehend any of this. Why Jesse brought you here, why Harry does this to himself, and why you’re somehow a part of it.

They lied. They both did. Harry looked you in the eye and told you he didn’t know Jesse. Even when he knew about…all of this.

Jesse being involved in some sort of illegal fight club doesn’t surprise you. Perhaps it should, and yet, it might be the least surprising thing you’ve learned so far. 

But Jesse being Harry’s sponsor…being the one who pays him to do this to himself, who gambles on Harry’s very life…

Another strike is laid to his jaw, forcing Harry’s head to snap to the side.

And he sees you.

You watch the realization pass over his face in real time. The way his eyes widen and his lips part.

He stumbles back from the blow, catching himself on the ropes before Jesse tightens his hold on your hips…and Harry looks over.

The rage that settles into the lines and details of his features is evident. The way his teeth grit together, the way the veins in his neck strain against his skin, the way his fingers flex by his side.

He must understand why you’re here now and he channels this understanding and rage into his next hit.

He spins to the side, flings his arms around his opponent’s waist, and yanks him down.  Throwing him so hard to the floor, you’re almost surprised he doesn’t break his spine right down the middle.

Half of the crowd cheers while the other half yells in disappointment.

But Jesse merely smirks.

And you realize that this is what he wanted. To use you as a tool in his game. A pawn for his pleasure until Harry’s hand was forced.

Harry rears back only to raise his fist into the air. Over and over, he lands his knuckles to the man’s face. Hit after hit after hit until there’s blood everywhere. Dripping from his knuckles, the man’s nose, his mouth.

He doesn’t stop. Even long after he should, and the man has gone limp. He goes and goes and goes until the referee has to physically step into the ring and drag him back.

And the fight is declared over.

They grab Harry’s wrist and sling it into the air, raising his arm in victory while the room hollers their support. 

Your heart is racing inside your chest, going far too fast, and you feel a rush of blood to your head. Your knees are shaking, and your hands feel clammy, and you can’t breathe and why won’t that ringing in your ear stop?

“This is what he’s good at,” Jesse murmurs to you now, lips ghosting down the shell of your ear. “This is all he’s good for. And he fucking knows it.”

The room begins to disperse while Harry is led out of the ring and into the shadows on the far side of the building. 

Your eyes and your heart go with him.

“So, you’re gonna do what you do best,” Jesse continues. “You’re gonna remind him why he has to fucking win. Because if he throws one more goddamn fight…I’ll fucking kill him myself.”

With that, he releases you, and turns around. Disappearing into the crowd before you can stop him.

You stand there, in the middle of this extravagant room, and you stare at the ring. And the blood stains on the mat. And the shadows that dance across the floor from the chandelier on the ceiling. The collection of empty glasses and empty promises that are scattered about the vast space.

Then, your feet are pulling you toward the door Harry disappeared into. Taking you to him, despite everything else. Because even after all of this, you want to help him. To make sure that he’s okay, and…and fix him. Somehow. 

The door leads to a hallway that leads to what you can only assume is a locker room. It’s empty when you arrive, although you aren’t too surprised. The other fighter was taken to the opposite end of the building, and the people who led Harry away don’t seem to be around.

You hesitate for only a moment, attempting to decipher if you truly feel safe being alone with him after everything you’ve seen in the past 24 hours.

But the answer is obvious.

So, with a deep breath, you brave a step inside. 

The shower is running. Steam already beginning to dance through the air as you pass by the collection of lockers and benches. Looking for any sign of him. Your stranger who perhaps isn’t so strange anymore.

You see his clothes tossed toward the floor. See a trail of scarlet streaks leading you further into the room and toward the showers just around the corner.

And you don’t hesitate now as you step past the wall in order to see him.

He’s standing beneath the stream of water, one hand braced against the wall as he stares down at the floor. Watching the blood disappear down the drain.

And he’s…beautiful. It’s the first time you’ve ever seen him – all of him – and you feel your breath hitch as you step closer. Allowing your eyes to travel along his tall, tensed frame. From his curls to his thighs and everything in between.

“Harry?”

Your voice snaps his head up, and he turns. Instantly pushing off the wall in order to fully face you. 

“Cherry, you can’t be here,” he breathes, and it’s almost lost beneath the heavy stream of water. “Can’t be in here, it’s not safe—”

But you’re already moving closer, toeing off your shoes and tossing your jacket aside before stepping inside the showers. 

His lashes flutter, the muscles in his stomaching quivering as he leans back. “Cher, I mean it. You can’t…I can’t let you see me like this.”

You step up to him. Ignoring his protests and the water pouring from the ceiling, you step up, you put your arms around his shoulders…and you hold him.

At first, he goes still. Deathly still, almost bracing himself from your touch. Afraid of what it means.  

Then, he settles. Understands that you only want to help, and slumps into your embrace while his face buries into your neck.

You reach up and run your palm down his head. Carding your fingers through the wet curls before squeezing the back of his neck. “You’re okay.”

He takes in a sharp inhale, arms snaking around your middle. “You shouldn’t be here,” he says again. And his voice breaks like the cracks of a sidewalk.

You merely hold him tighter. “But I am.”

And there’s so much to say. So much to understand and question, but right now, he just needs you to hold him. To let him know that it’s okay – that he’s okay.

That you’re not going anywhere.

You stand there for what feels like hours. Until your clothes become soaked, and your fingers begin to prune. But you keep your grip on him tight. Offering nothing more than soft murmurs of, “It’s okay. We’re okay.”

He’s angry. So very angry, and you can feel it in the way his muscles twitch beneath your hands. Can hear it in the shallow breaths he takes and the clenching of his jaw. 

He’s trying to keep himself together. For you. But he’s moments away from slipping, and you can only hope you’ll be able to bring him back.

“Harry?” you whisper, scratching your nails down his bare shoulder.

His head shakes. “No. I don’t wanna fucking talk about it.”

“Har—”

“No.” He leans back, lip curled up into a snarl. “No, I can’t…I fucking can’t—”

“Okay, okay,” you interrupt, taking hold of his wrists to keep him close. “Okay, I understand—”

“You shouldn’t be here,” he says for the third time. “You aren’t supposed to be here, and I can’t fucking believe he brought you.”

“I know. I know, but I’m okay. It’s okay, I promise—”

“What did he say?” His eyes flick between yours. “What did he say to you?”

You feel your insides twist as you squeeze his hands. Taking a moment to find the right words. “He…he wanted me to see what you really do. And…to tell you that you have to win.”

His brows stitch together. “What else?”

“Nothing,” you lie. “Just…just that.”

And maybe he doesn’t believe you. Maybe he knows there was more to Jesse’s threat, but it doesn’t matter because he’s tugging himself out of your grasp and turning toward the wall before you can argue. Sending his knuckles straight into the tile until it cracks.

You gasp, quickly surging forward to pull on his arm in protest. “Harry—”

Surprisingly, he allows you to yank him away, but he doesn’t look at you. He keeps his venomous glare on the drain, chest heaving with uneven breaths.

But you aren’t deterred. Instead, you guide him back to you, and lift his hands. Studying the torn skin of his knuckles closely with a sigh. “Harry…”

The wounded waver in your voice makes his expression soften, and he allows his shoulders to roll back. Releasing a bit of his rage. “It’s okay. M’okay, Cher—”

“No,” you argue softly. “No, you’re…”

You can’t find the words. Can’t find the right thing to say that explains this anguish in your heart. That lives within your chest.

So, instead, you bring his ruined hands to your lips, and you hold them there. Kissing the stained, battered skin while he sucks in a quiet breath. 

And you don’t care. About any of it. About the fights, or the lies, or the threats. You don’t care what he really does or who he really is. 

You just want him to be happy. To be safe. No matter what that looks like. No matter what you have to do to make that a reality. 

You want to kiss away his scars, kiss away his pain. Take it and make it your own. Carry the weight he’s been trying to carry all by himself.

You don’t want him to be alone. You want to keep him, you want…

He watches you. Keeps his eyes glued to nearly every inch of your face as you do this. And something changes for him. You aren’t sure what.

But he sets his anger free before slipping his fingers from yours in order to take hold of your face.

And he kisses you. Pulls you to him almost desperately before pressing his lips to your own.

It’s soft, and sweet, and so deliciously him. Gentle despite everything else you’ve seen from him today.

He steps forward, subtly pushing you back. Again and again until your back meets the wet, tile wall.

He holds you there almost hesitantly before straightening up and deepening the kiss. Slipping his tongue in beside yours and savoring everything you have to offer. 

And you let him take whatever he’d like. Allow him to have all of you as his chest meets yours and he cages you there. Hungry kisses now moving for your neck.

His touch travels to your hips, nails curling into your shirt as though resisting the urge to grab hold. And you smile as you wrap your arms around his shoulders. Breath hitching at the way his thigh brushes against yours.

You drop one hand to his chest. Allow the tips of your fingers to dance along the swallows on his collarbone and toward the muscles in his abdomen. Careful to mind his stitching and new cuts.

And he seems to remember now that he’s completely bare to you, his mouth falling still against your wet skin as he steadies himself.

Quickly, you stop yourself from going any further, settling atop his stomach before nosing under his jaw. “You’re so beautiful, Harry.”

He says nothing, lips ghosting across your pulse point before pressing in deep. 

“All of you,” you whisper. “You’re beautiful.”

His lashes flutter shut while his arm loops around your back. Face burying in your shoulder as though to hide, and you wonder if he’s embarrassed or enthralled. 

Either way, you gingerly ask, “…may I touch you?”

There’s a quick pause before he nods. Only once, and then he returns to leaving an array of kisses to your throat. Nipping at the skin until you smile.

So, you continue your search, moving your hand toward his hips and down until you feel him.

And the moment your palm brushes against his cock, you both gasp. Straightening up almost attentively before settling back into the pleasure. 

Your thumb finds his slit and he curses. Hands tightening around the fabric of your shirt, keeping you against the tile as if he’s worried you’ll disappear.

“Shit,” he mumbles, palm moving to your cheek. “Baby, you know you don’t have—”

“Shh.” You wrap your fingers around the tip before smoothing down. “I want to. Please?”

When he says nothing, you stop, and it forces an instant groan. His body seeming to have made the decision for him.

“Yes,” he finally says, nodding again but quicker. “Shit, yes, Cherry. Can do whatever you want. M’yours.”

And it’s the most beautiful sound you’ve ever heard.

You chase after his pleasure as though your life depends on it. And perhaps it does, but you certainly don’t mind. Because his grunts and pants are deliciously addictive. And you could spend the rest of your life touching him if it meant you’d get to hear just one more.

And maybe now you understand why he’s also so determined to do the same for you.

You run your hand up and down his cock, squeezing the tip before moving lower. Palming at his balls before dragging your touch back to the top. 

He does his best not to rush you or overwhelm you. Resisting the urge to buck his hips closer in a desperate attempt for more.

Instead, he focuses his attention on you. A role he seems much more comfortable in.

He kisses you everywhere he can. Your lips, your cheeks, your jaw, your nose, your neck. Below your ear, along your collarbone, and down the dip in your shirt.

Then, his fingers slip down to your jeans. Absentmindedly fiddling with the button before he whispers, “Can I touch you, sweet girl? Wanna make you feel good, too.”

And who are you to deny him?

“Always,” you whisper back, releasing him for only a moment so he can wrangle the wet material down your legs. 

Once he has, he straightens up, and runs his palm along the inside of your thigh. Indulging in the feel of your skin while you take him back in your hold.

And it’s strangely beautiful, this dance you do. The synchronicity of teasing touches and playful strokes that leave you both breathless.

Anytime you gently tighten your fist around him, he curls his finger inside your walls. And anytime you brush at his slit, he brushes at your clit. 

You both share a smile when you realize, and Harry laughs before nuzzling his face back into your neck. Tugging your skin between his teeth to muffle his groan.

“You have no idea how badly I needed this,” he says. And it’s a faint thought, perhaps not meant for your ears. “Fucking need you, baby. Always.”

Your head drops back against the wall. Your body already growing sluggish under the weight of undeniable euphoria he inflicts.

“You always have me,” you tell him. “I’ll do whatever you want—”

“Shit.” He yanks your chest to his, mouth painting warm, wet kisses along your skin. “Don’t say that. Don’t, or I’ll never stop.”

You grin. “Maybe I don’t want you to stop.”

You go faster. Finding a pace he seems to enjoy and zeroing in. You want him to cum – need him to cum. To offer him that release and that promise of more. 

And it works. His tattoos rise and fall under the weight of his frantic gasps for air. He’s tipping over the edge, just needing a final push, and you want to get him there more than anything. Want to see what his face looks like when it’s overcome with pleasure. When he’s releasing into your hand, or your mouth, or your cunt. Want to feel him, know how his body moves when it’s spent.

“Please,” you murmur, almost anxiously as you work him closer. “Please, Har…let me feel you. Wanna feel you cum, please.”

He moves to squeeze the back of your neck before his hand disappears into your hair. Gently but pointedly tugging on your roots. “Baby—”

“It’s okay. It’s okay, you can cum. Can cum for me—”

“Fuck.” He jolts forward, fingers slipping from your cunt. “So good to me, sweet girl. So fucking good to me. Don’t deserve you. Never deserved you—”

“Yes,” you nearly whine. “Of course you do, Har, please—”

He cums with a soft groan that bleeds into your throat. Woven between his kisses and flicks of his tongue to your skin, and it’s everything. The warmth, the feel, the implication. It covers your hand, and wrist, and even parts of your thighs. 

And you watch it drip down toward the floor almost regretfully, but you’re mesmerized. Addicted to something you only just discovered, and desperate for more.

But he gives you no time to reminisce, instead moving his mouth to yours in order to show you exactly how much it meant to him.

  “Knew you’d be good,” he remarks playfully, nipping at your bottom lip before squeezing your waist. “Fucking knew, yeah?”

You release his cock as gently as you can before smoothing your palms up his chest and into his hair. Tugging on his curls in order to bring him closer. “Just for you.”

He smirks to himself before leaning back to study you. Glancing over your body as though in search of something. And the longer he looks, the angrier he appears to become.

Then, he mumbles, “He fucking touched you.”

Your heart wrenches. “…Har—”

“He touched you,” he says again, bitterly, and almost to himself. “He fucking put his hands on you and he made sure I saw. Wanted me to see, and now…now I can’t see anything else.”

You don’t think you’ve ever felt a panic like this. “Harry, please—”

He crouches down, large hands curling around your thighs and pulling them as far apart as they’ll go. Which, admittedly, isn’t very far because of the jeans still pooled around your ankles. But he doesn’t mind, instead staring at your legs rather thoughtfully.

Finally, he looks up.

“I need to wash him away,” he whispers, and your stomach leaps into your throat.

“What?”

“I need to wash him away,” he repeats softly, moving closer to ghost his lips along your hip. “Need to erase him. Need to clean him off you.”

Your fingers twitch by your side, and you aren’t even sure what to say. Because the look in his eye is unrelenting, and you can see how badly he wants this.

“Okay,” you exhale. “Okay, erase him. Make me yours again.”

And this is all he needs to hear, wasting no more time before smoothing his lips and his hands along your thighs and waist. Repainting every inch of you with his touch. Washing away the metaphorical marks Jesse left when he held you and replacing them with his own. 

Even if it’s not inherently sexual, it’s the most erotic and wonderful thing you’ve ever experienced. The way he feasts on your flesh like a man on a mission. Nipping and licking at you just to make you whimper. He’s nowhere near your clit and it doesn’t even matter because he’s so divine.

The heat of his mouth on your cool, wet skin. The way he gingerly kneads at your ass in an attempt to comfort you. Tenderly pulling you closer as though you’re somehow still too far away.

“I’m sorry, Cherry,” you hear him sigh, and it makes your insides tighten. “M’so fucking sorry for doing this to you. For bringing you into this.”

Your expression drops while your head shakes. “You didn’t. You didn’t, I asked. I asked to be a part of you, and I don’t regret that.”

But it’s like he can’t hear you over the sound of his shame. Instead kissing you softer as if to apologize. “It’s my fault. Should have told you the moment I saw him. Should have taken you with me. Shouldn’t have left you with him when I fucking knew—”

“Hey.” You reach down and take hold of his hair. Yanking his attention to you. “None of this could ever be your fault. Do you understand?”

He seems to ignore this as well, nudging his nose against your hip with a crestfallen expression that makes you want to scream.

So, you tug harder, forcing his head back and his eyes on yours. “This is who Jesse has always been. You didn’t change that, and you never will. And I know that. I know him. I know his heart and I know what he’d do to hurt me.”

His lips part, as if going to speak, but you merely tighten your grip in an unspoken order to remain silent.

“And I know you,” you continue. “I know that this is who you are. All of this. The fighting and the bets and the torture you put yourself through. And I know that you would never hurt me. That you have always done your best to protect me, even if I didn’t know what I was being protected from.”

His hands begin to drop down your legs and toward the floor, an act of complete submission. 

“This is not your fault,” you repeat earnestly. “You are not responsible for Jesse’s intentions, and you’re certainly not reasonable for mine. And I need you to know that. Okay? You have to know that. Because I have never felt safer than I do with you.”

His features remain unchanged, and you wonder if he heard anything that you said at all. If he understood and internalized your instance. If he’ll believe it.

And then—

“I love you.”

You feel your pulse skip inside your chest as you suck in a quiet breath. “What?”

“I love you, Cherry.” He says it again without pause, without a moment’s hesitation. Proving that it wasn’t a mistake or a trick of the mind. He really said it. And he meant to. “And m’so fucking sorry it took him for me to realize it.”

You aren’t sure what to do. What to say or…what to think, but he’s already shaking his head and offering you a small smile before you can decide.

“I don’t want you to say it,” he says quickly and quietly. Slipping your hand from his hair in order to press his lips into your palm. “I just want you to know. And I wish I could have done it differently, but…I do, I love you. And I will do everything I can to prove that to you.”

You want to tell him that he already has. Want to tell him a lot of things that maybe you shouldn’t, but he doesn’t give you the chance.

He merely kisses your hand before moving back to your thighs. Looking for your permission to continue. 

Breathlessly, you give it to him.

With a soft grin and great care, he extends his tongue and slowly drags it up your clit. He’s not rushing this time. He’s enjoying it. Allowing himself to indulge in your taste and your feel as you slump against the tile and let him.

He leaves a trail of apologies and promises along your pussy. Kissing, sucking, and flicking until you squirm. And he’s so focused, so dedicated to your orgasm. To making you understand how badly he needs you.

And you do understand. More than you’ve ever understood anything else.

“Love to see you, baby,” he murmurs after a moment, now running the tip of his finger between your folds and down. Taunting you with the intrusion yet not giving it to you. “Love to see this pretty pussy take me.”

You whine pitifully before he finally pushes in. Allowing your walls to beckon him closer until he hums.

“Can’t wait to see you take my cock,” he muses, thrusting the digit once or twice before bringing a second into play. “Gonna watch you stretch for me. Gonna just sit and watch this sweet, little hole take me in. Get me nice and warm. Till I’m soaking in you. Fucking drenched—”

“Harry,” you whine, overcome by a rather euphoric rush that makes him smirk. “Harry, please—”

“What, sweet girl? You like the sound of that?” He ignores your cries and flicks his tongue against your clit. “S’okay. I do, too. Think about it more than I should. Think about you and this tasty little cunt till I’m fucking my fist in the shower.”

The lewd image that’s painted in your head makes your toes curl, and you imagine you’d give anything to watch.

“But it’s not nearly as good as when you do it,” he says coyly. “Won’t ever be able to picture anything else but your sweet, little hand wrapped around my cock. Making me cum like a good girl.”

He adds a third finger, and your vision goes hazy.

“And this,” he breathes, fucking into you a bit faster. Until the sound of your arousal bounces between the walls. “Replay this in my head every goddamn day. The way you sound when you take my fingers, take my tongue. S’fucking beautiful, Cher. The best thing I’ve ever heard.”

You believe him.

“Wanna listen to you forever.” He laps at you like he’s dying of thirst. “Wanna taste you, wanna feel you. Wanna fucking hold you and never let you go. Never let anything hurt you. You’re the only good thing in my life, sweet girl. Need you to know.”

You aren’t sure if the tears in your eyes are from the pleasure or his admittance, but they fall from your cheeks almost mercilessly. And you can’t even wipe them away because, in some strange sort of way, you enjoy it. This pain and this angst that comes with the man on his knees before you.

“You’re mine, yeah?” he asks next. But the lustful undertone is gone. He’s pleading with you now. Begging you. “Not his, but mine. Always mine.”

Your agreeance comes before you can question it. “Yes…yes, I’m yours. Yours, I promise—”

 He groans into your cunt like he’s never been happier. And the reverberation down your thighs and across your clit nearly ruins you. “Say it again. Say it again, baby, please—”

“I’m yours. Just yours, Harry. Not his. Never…never his—”

“Fuck.” He pulls on your thigh in order to bury his mouth into your pussy. And you almost wonder if he’s actively trying to suffocate himself. “Again. Again, Cherry—”

“Yours.” The word drips from your tongue like honey from a honeycomb. “Just yours. Don’t wanna be anybody else’s.”

His entire face is nuzzled between your legs, and it almost kills you. Because he’s so beautiful. You’ve never seen or felt something so ethereal, and you can’t look away. Even when your eyes are desperate to fall shut, you force your attention on him. Watching as he mouths at your clit and drives in his fingers until it hits you.

You nearly collapse onto the floor, but he refuses to let you. Keeping you upright before you can go slipping down the wall and cementing you to his tongue in order to drag you through to the other side. 

“Mine,” you vaguely hear him hum, and your heart flutters. “Always mine.”

When he’s sure you’ve caught your breath, he straightens back up, and takes you in his arms. Kissing you and holding you and keeping you safe. Making sure you understand that he wants more than your orgasms. He wants you. Even without the explicit words, you know his true intentions. Know where his heart truly lies, and you settle there beside it.

Moments pass before either of you speak again. Instead listening to the sound of the running water hitting the floor. 

And you’re afraid to be the first to break this tranquility. Because you know once you do, you might not find it again. Jesse’s threat still lingers rather prominently in the forefront of your mind. And you’re terrified that every time you look at Harry…you’ll remember.

“Cherry?” he whispers minutes later, and your pulse jumps. 

You bury your face in his neck, bracing yourself from whatever he might say next. “Harry.”

He nuzzles his cheek against the crown of your head and sighs. And you can feel the heaviness of the breath leave his body. “I don’t know what to do.”

The vulnerability makes your throat run dry, and you subsequently tighten your arms around his middle. “Don’t have to do anything.”

“Cherry—”

“No, just…we’re okay,” you insist. “It’s okay. You just…you’ll win. You’ll keep fighting and you’ll win, and we’ll be okay. And I won’t have to lose you.”

A beat. “But what if I lose you?”

“You won’t. Never.”

“But he knows, Cher,” he murmurs. “He knows, and he’ll use you to hurt me. He’ll drag you into this as many times as he fucking wants, and he’ll use you. And I can’t let him – I won’t let him.”

“I don’t care. I don’t care what he does, he doesn’t scare me, Har—”

“But he fucking scares me.” His volume rises until it can carry over the shower walls. “All right? He terrifies me. Because now he has the one thing I can’t fucking…”

Your eyelids flutter before you take hold of his hand.

“And he wants to play this stupid fucking game, and I won’t let him,” Harry continues. “I won’t let him use you or threaten you, okay?”

“Okay,” you whisper. “Okay, but you’re the one with all the cards. Right? He’s shown his hand. He’s shown how desperate he is. He can’t do anything to me if he really wants you to listen—”

“You don’t know him like this,” he nearly scoffs. “You don’t know what he’s willing to do—”

“Harry—”

“I can’t…I can’t,” he seethes. “I can’t get him out of my fucking head, and I can’t let him win. I won’t let him win.”

He’s unrelenting. Unwavering in this insistence and you feel as though your insides are being twisted around a knife.

All he has to do is win. All he has to do is let Jesse believe he’s still in charge. And he’ll be okay. You’ll both be okay.

“Harry,” you try again. Softer this time, hoping to reach him. “We’re gonna be fine. Okay? It’s you and me. We’ll be all right. We have to be.”

His expression instantly drops before he dips down and lays his forehead to yours. 

He says nothing else. Offers no more ideas or excuses. He simply exists in this belief and the serenity it provides.

Even if he knows it’s not strong enough to stand on.

“Okay,” he finally mumbles. “You and me.”

And it’s the best thing you’ve ever heard. Because for the first time all night, you see the way out. You see a future where he can be who he is, and you can be who you are, and it can still be all right. Where you can be together and be free of any threats and complications and just exist in this little world you’ve created.

A world outside of the diner and the backseat of his car. A world where he offers you more than his orgasms but his secrets, too. His life. And you need that. You need it more than you’ve ever needed anything in your life.

He leads you out of the shower not much later, digging through his things before offering you his hoodie and sweats to wear home. 

And there’s something so intimate about wearing his clothes. The way the tattered fabric feels against your skin. The way it smells like his cologne and the shampoo he must use. The way it fits your frame as if it was always meant to, keeping you warm despite the frigid air that greets you when you step outside.

You offer to drive him home, but he refuses. Insisting that it’s better if you don’t know where he lives, at least for right now. And you don’t have it in you to argue.

He makes you promise to lock your door the moment you get inside the car, and to lock your apartment door the moment it’s closed. You vow to do both before dragging him closer for a kiss.

And he gives it to you. He gives you five kisses, in fact. One on the forehead, one on each cheek, one on the nose, and finally…one on your lips.

 When he lets you go, you feel empty. Lost. As though a part of you is missing, and it aches the entire way home.

In fact, it aches for the next two days until you can finally see him again. And you busy about your shift, watching the clock like a hawk until midnight finally strikes, and you fly through the kitchen doors. Ready to see him and fill this gap in your chest.

But for the second time this week…booth 505 is empty. 

Instantly, the blood drains from your face. All the way down to your toes, and almost feel faint as your shaky legs carry you to his table.

However, the moment you’re close enough, you catch something just out of your peripheral, tucked just beneath the sugar dispenser. Something that most certainly wasn’t there a few minutes ago. 

A note.

With furrowed brows, you slip the folded napkin free and bring it closer. Straightening it out until you can make out the haphazard message scrawled across in black ink.

Meet me at the station after your shift.

Don’t tell Owen.

H.

Next Part:

~ Uppercut*

Previous Part:

~ Whiplash*

~ Full Knockout Masterlist

~ Main Masterlist

Amazing divider by @firefly-graphics! 💞

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[romanteacism]

Aemond Targaryen NSFW Alphabet

Warnings: +18, Mature, NSFW Word Count: 3,175 NOT PROOFREAD

A - After Care (What are they like after sex?)

Completely focused on you. Gazing at every action and reaction on your body, savoring the remnants of pleasure in your face. 

Aemond would carry you to the tub and join you, as both of you preferred to sleep with a clean feeling. However, whenever you two are in the tub, it will inevitably lead to another session of lovemaking, rendering your cleansing moot. 

B - Body Part (Their favorite part of theirs and their partner's body.)

Aemond loves every part of you: your enchanting eyes, simpering smile— but he must admit he is partial to your tits. He loves resting his head upon the soft globes of your breast whilst you read to him. Playing with your bosom whenever he could, he always marveled at how your nipples would peak by his cold touch, at how soft your skin was. Often in the morning, when you woke in his arms, you would feel his hand grasping your tit as he slept. 

He also loved your lips, often just staring at them when you spoke. There was just something so captivating about your lips. The way they were always pink— almost red, the way you would bite them when you were deep in thought, or how they would turn glossy as you licked them. He especially loved it when you pouted; you often did that when he would tease you or if things would not go your way; it just made your lips even more kissable.

Aemond’s favorite part of his body, his eyes, yes, both of them. He used to despise them, having only one, but when he revealed his whole self to you, he expected you to grow in fear. It caught him off guard as you called him ‘beautiful.’ Softly tracing his scar, and marveled at his sapphire eye. He never used to take off his eye patch, but the moment he was in the privacy of your chambers, it was the first piece of clothing he took off.

C - Cum (Anything to do with cum.)

Aemond often indulges himself at the taste of your climax, licking it clean off his fingers and lips, not wasting a drop of the ambrosia that came from you.

Aemond insists on spilling his seed deep inside your cunt, but there were times when you took him with your mouth, and he tried to pull out— to hinder himself from spilling in your mouth, but your kept his cock lodged between your lips, him reaching his peak and spilling himself in your throat. He was quick to get a cloth, urging you to spit out his spent, but he only marveled as you swallowed. He grew with further need as you cleaned the spilled essence of him from the side of his mouth with your finger and brought it to your lips, moaning as you tasted him. 

D - Deepest Desires (What do they desire the most?)

You. You were everything Aemond had wanted. Sometimes, he wondered if he wanted a dragon as much as he had wanted you. 

The throne. He knew in himself that he would be a better king than his brother, that he had the tact to rule the seven kingdoms. And he would admit he often fantasized about you as his queen. Fucking you on the iron throne, the conqueror’s crown upon his brow, and you bouncing on his cock. 

E - Experience (How experienced are you they?)

Really experienced. And it did make sense; Aegon was his brother, and it would seem that he oversaw that Aemond was as well skilled in the art of pleasuring a woman. You were, however, skeptical at how good he was, that perhaps he had the same taste in depravity as his brother, but you did not like to dwell on such matters because Aemond never gave you a reason to doubt. 

F - Favorite Positions (This goes without saying.) 

Missionary. He liked how you would cling to him, wrapping your legs around his waist and your nails scratching his back. He also liked that the position offered him a view of your pretty face, that he was able to kiss your lips and take your breast into his mouth. 

From behind, but only when you two are standing before a mirror. Aemond wanted, no, needed to see your face every time you fucked. He loves to see every expression and reaction he would elicit from you. 

G - Gifts (What kind of gifts do they like to give and receive?) 

Aemond was never one for material possessions, but he did cherish the little trinkets and gifts you would give him. Once, you gave him a chess set. The one in his room was old and tattered because it was only passed down to him. You had commissioned the game pieces to the likes of their dragons: the King, Balerion; the Queen was, of course, Vhagar. He as well always keeps with him at all times a handkerchief you had embroidered for him, the both of your initials prominent and intertwined within the pattern.

You, however, were the complete opposite of Aemond. Your heart was always bemused and enthralled by pretty and shiny things. Aemond gifts you anything and everything your little heart desires. Often, you would just return to your chambers with parcels addressed to you, no particular occasion to warrant such gifts, only the love of your Aemond. 

H - Honor (How honorable are they?)

Aemond takes great pride in his honor. He always saw him mself better than his brother and nephews. He was never one to indulge, pious and cautious. He, however, made lapses in his honor when it came to you. The night of his fifteenth name day, with him having too much wine, he stumbled upon you in the gardens and boldly took your first kiss. He wanted to regret his actions, but he could not, for he had taken something he had wanted for the longest time. His honor was often tested when you bloomed into womanhood, him pleasuring himself every night with the thought of you, rendering him guilty in the morning, but he could not help himself. 

I - Intimacy (How intimate are they with their significant other?)

Aemond loses the sense of boundaries when it comes to you. Whenever you two are behind closed doors, he is completely in your space. It is either he was laid on your lap, or you were sat in his— you were initially surprised; you did not think he would enjoy such closeness, but your heart would double every time he sought to be near you. 

Aemond often waits for you to return at night, refusing to eat until you are in his company. He would usually be the one to fix you a plate, pouring wine into your chalice as you recalled your day to him, recalling each anecdote and court gossip you had encountered through your ventures. He was simply sitting there, listening intently and adoringly to every word you uttered. 

J - Jealousy (Self-explanatory, how jealous are they?) 

Completely and utterly jealous, bordering on paranoia. You were the best thing that has ever been his, so he was entirely cautious not to lose you. Any lingering look from any man and even sometimes women made him completely ready to challenge them just to show everyone how you were completely his. 

His jealousy did get out of hand once or twice. He recalled that he once cut out the tongue of a knight who dared make you laugh with his jest and how he had cut two fingers of a lord’s hand for daring to remove a leaf stuck in your hair. You, however, were oblivious to the extent of Aemond’s jealousy and possessiveness. Aemond wagers that perhaps one day, his jealousy may drive him to the brink of madness and may possibly kill a man just because of it. He did come close to it when someone during your adolescence dared to court you. Aemond was younger, and the man was a few years older than the both of you. He lacked the strength and courage to challenge him then, but if it were now, he would not hesitate to kill anyone who dared to take what was his. 

K - Kinks (One or more of the kinks)

Breeding. Gods, he loved to fantasize about you swollen with his child. He loved spilling his seed in your cunt, inserting his fingers after his cock as an added measure hoping his head would take. He could not wait for the day for you to grow pregnant with his child, and his impatience was showing, for he had been bedding you every time he could.

Face sitting. Aemond loves to feel your weight against his face. You were scandalized as he proposed such an idea, but it would seem you had grown fond of it. You writhing against his face, your nubbin perfectly aligned with his nose as his tongue thrusts in and out of your cunt. 

Somono. Often at night, he would wake with a great need for you. And instead of being cruel and waking you up from your slumber, he would just slip his cock in between your folds. 

Choking. He loved it when he would hear your whines as he obstructed your air; the way your cunt would clench harder around his length made his peak come quicker. 

Edging and Squirting. He loves to tease you and deprive you of quick climaxes, for he knows if he pushed you to the edge, your release would always be more enjoyable not only for you but for him as well. 

L - Love Language (What’s their love language?)

Touch. He loves to have a hold of any part of you, whether inside or outside of your chambers. Your fingers would always be intertwined under a table. A chaste kiss on your temple whenever he needed to leave. His arms linked with yours as you walked down the halls. His hand was on your waist as you stood together during trials. 

Gift-giving and acts of service. Anything that reminds Aemond of you, he will acquire it and send it to your chambers. Every start of the week, he would sneakily slip out of your chambers before the sun had risen, and before anyone else would wake, he would go to the gardens and acquire you a bouquet of freshly picked flowers, slipping back to your bed before you would wake. He had you believe that a servant was the one to bring you fresh flowers every week, but in truth, it was him. 

M - Motivation (What gets them going?)

Anything and everything you do. One time, during dinner, you just innocently sat there. You weren’t doing anything provocative. You even wore a more conservative dress to please his mother, yet he still had this great urge to be intimate with you. He had to excuse the both of you; unable to control himself, the two of you could not even make it to your chambers, Aemond readily fucking you in a dark, empty hall. 

He likes it when you wear red. It was pathetic of him to grow into a simpering simpleton every time you wore the color, but there was just something about you wearing red that excited him. 

Your jealousy. There are scarce times you get jealous, but Aemond prayed it would come more often because you get all jealous and territorial about him, which causes a great need and pleasure within him. 

N - No (Some things they would never tolerate.)

Share. As established, Aemond was an overly jealous man. He would not tolerate anyone who would dare come near you, let alone the possibility of sharing you.

You being gossiped about by the court. Once, he heard ladies talking baldy about you, and Aemond poured his rage on their husbands, beating and bloodying them; it was safe to say after that instance, no gossip in the court was about you. 

O - Oral (Preference in giving or receiving.)

Both. However, he was more biased in giving rather than receiving; he would always savor the way your cunt felt and tasted against his lips and tongue. He remembered the first time you took his cock in your mouth; it was something more normalized, the women fulfilling the man’s needs, but he still blushed as you knelt before him, sucking him off until he came undone on your face. 

P - Past Pursuits (Any past paramours to worry about?)

Aemond had admitted that he had employed a few whores before you, but there was no intimacy with them, except for one madame he had lost his virginity. He would often come to her not to fuck, but for comfort, for she already had Aemond in such a vulnerable state. That, of course, immediately ceased when both of you reached a deeper understanding. 

Q - Quarrels (How often do you quarrel?)

Rarely. Aemond was always cautious not to pick fights with you or place his anger upon you— he could not bear it. It sickens him when the both of you have disagreements; he cannot stand it when you are cross with him. Though he has a great deal of pride within himself, it is always shed when it comes to you. He always being the one to apologize first, even at the times you were at the wrong. It is only for you that he can actually apologize, own up to his mistakes, and put his hubris to the side.

R - Remembrance (Things they do and leave as a reminder of them. How well do they remember things about their partner?)

Aemond knows everything about you. Anything with regards to you was engraved in his brain. It surprised you with all of your babbling and anecdotes you share with him; he still remembers everything you say. 

He never forgets your name, day, or special days that are set with milestones for the two of you. 

He knows everything you like, from your favorite dish to your favorite dessert, your favorite flower, color, gemstone, and even fabric. 

S - Stamina (How many rounds can they last?)

All day and all night long. You were always the first to tire, and your Aemond was an insatiable being that could never have enough of you. 

T - Time (How many hours are spent with each other? How much time do they have.)

Every spare second was spent with you. He would often ask you to accompany him during his readings or watch him whilst he trained with his sword. He could not stomach any prolonged time away from you; it made his skin crawl and stomach twist not to have you by his side. Even when the war began, he took a risk and brought you to Harrenhall, not being able to leave you in Kingslading for a prolonged period of time. 

When it comes to your intimacy, Aemond likes to savor and prolong his intimacy with you. Nothing about your coupling was quick. However, there are times when your husband is busy with his duties, forcing the both of you to hasten fucking. 

U - United Front (How do they and their significant other show their unity and devotion to each other?)

You and Aemond often coordinate your everyday clothes, showing that both of you are bound to each other. Your initials would always be a constant on his clothes, your ribbon tied at the hilt of his sword as a reminder of you. You were gifted a sapphire pendant by Aemond during your courtship, and ever since, not once did you take it off, not wanting to lose that reminder of him. 

V - Volume (How loud are they?)

Aemond is fairly quiet, only letting out small groans and sighs; the loudest he would be is during his climax, an animalistic groan leaving his lips as he spills his seed. The loudest your Aemond was during coupling was when you had taken his cock in between your ample chest, him spewing out moans and groans that echoed through your chambers as you slipped his length in between your tits. 

W - Wild Card (Random headcanons about them.)

Aemond does straighten his hair. Before, it was done by his squires, but you now took their place and did the service for him. 

He hates desserts, often finding them too sweet; however, he does love candied lemons. 

He wishes to have a pet cat. When the rat catchers were killed by his brother, the hand decided to place a clowder of felines to catch the rats in the castle instead. You would often catch him petting the employed animals. One would even stray to your bed chambers, and instead of Aemond shooing it away, he would caress its fur and even let it sleep at the foot of your bed. 

Pretend as he might, Aemond enjoys the gossip of the court, indulging and voicing his opinions and criticism when you speak of the latest talk. 

He detests poetry; he believes if one wants to say something, one must say it plainly and not dance along the subject and offer flowered verses. However, he does try to like it because you absolutely love hearing songs and sonnets. 

Aemond likes to be held, especially after demanding days; he would lay his weight atop you and make you hold him to calm him down. 

X - X-Ray (What's underneath?)

Big, too big, if you were being honest. The tip of his cock was a nice hue of pink, and there was a long vein along the shaft, and it was slightly curved upwards. You never thought you would find something so phallic to be so… appealing, certainly not beautiful, but his was. 

Y - Yearning (How long had they wanted their significant other?) 

Aemond had known you since he was but eight, and ever since, he knew you were the one he wanted to take to wife. All he ever wanted and dreamed about was you. And the moment you declared yourself as his, he was wrapped in an overwhelming feeling that he could not even speak of. All he could say was that he was truly blessed that the gods heard his countless prayers and gave him you. 

Z - Zzz (What are their sleeping habits?)

He would often feel you kick his leg in the middle of the night, waking him, but he would only smile to himself and hold you closer to his chest. 

He is bothered by the number of pillows you have placed on your featherbed, but he does use most of them. And during winter, your legs would always grow cold, for Aemond would hog all of the fur blankets as his lithe form would be quick to grow cold, the fire in his veins dying down as he rested.

Aemond does not sleep well when you are not by his side. He would toss and turn as he had been accustomed to holding you in his sleep. The scent of you being the only thing to calm his raging heart. 

[seijorhi]

Etched in Red: Vermillion (Part One)

Event Masterlist

Okkotsu Yuuta x female reader

Part Two

w.c 1.4k

tw: yandere themes, kidnapping, implied dub/non-con, non-explicit gore

There’s nothing… wrong with being weak.

It isn’t a moral failing or anything to be ashamed of, it just is. For most people – normal people – that’s okay. They accept it, adjust their lives accordingly and move on. 

The thing is, most people don’t actually need to be strong, not in the physical sense. 

Most people aren’t jujutsu sorcerers.

Yuuta frowns, watching you laugh as Inumaki offers a hand to haul you up to your feet, brushing the dirt and grass of your skirt once you’re upright. Another sparring session that ends the exact same way all of them do; you, flat on your ass, wholly at the mercy of whichever of his friends is standing over you.

Problem is, they’re going easy on you; Maki leaving her left side wide open, Panda practically telegraphing his hits. Lately, he’s noticed it with Yuji and the other second years, too. It’s like an unwritten rule that they never go too hard, never push you too far. Trying to help you without hurting you in the process.

Because the simple, painful truth is, you aren’t strong enough to take it.

And believe it or not, he does get it… sort of. When Gojo dragged him into this he was petrified. Useless. He got thrown in the deep end, first first with Maki and then with Inumaki, and he had to figure it out fast, but… he also had Rika. 

He also had his cursed technique. 

Three years in, with graduation looming, you’re a step above a window. Still a grade four, although unlike with Maki it’s not some political, sexist bullshit keeping you there.

For right now, that’s okay. They’re your friends, none of them think any worse of you for it. They cover you on the missions you’re sent out on, and that’s not gonna change any time soon, but–

“Everything okay, Yuuta?”

He exhales a shuddering breath then straightens and turns your way with a smile. “Yeah. Yeah, I’m fine. Are you?” he asks, idly toeing at a rock by his feet. Maybe you won’t notice the flush colouring his cheeks. “Looked like you hit the ground pretty hard back there.” 

You laugh, waving it off like it’s no big deal, and to be fair it isn’t – you go through this multiple times a week, but that doesn’t mean it rankles him any less when you say, “Nothing I can’t handle. Toge was taking it easy on me.”

You don’t know the half of it. 

“C’mon,” you tell him. “Panda says you’re up.”

—

Forty minutes later, breathless, aching and bruised all over, Yuuta shuffles with you and the others back to the dormitories to shower before eating when a familiar head of white hair pops into view.

“Yuuu-taa,” Gojo greets in a sing-song voice, altogether too happy for the group of exhausted, hungry students glaring back at him. “A word?”

Not remotely a request, considering he’s got an arm looped over Yuuta’s shoulders, steering him away from the rest of the group before he can get so much as a word out. 

Leading him into an empty classroom well away from the dormitories, Gojo props himself up against one of the desks, leaving Yuuta to stand awkwardly in front of him, trying his best not to feel like a misbehaving child about to be lectured. 

When he speaks, there’s no trace of levity left to soften the blow. “What happened?” 

Gojo isn’t talking about the training session outside.  

Yuuta swallows, stiffening. “It doesn’t matter, does it? You read the report. As long as she’s with me, Rika and I–”

“So you expect the higher ups to send you along on every mission she’s assigned?”

His cheeks flush again, this time with indignation. “They can’t send her alone! She’s not– she… ” Isn’t strong enough.

At his floundering, Gojo lets out a heavy, over-dramatic sigh, as if the weight of the world rests on his shoulders alone. “Yuuta, you’re a special grade. Do you really think they’ll let you play babysitter just because you have a crush?”

His heart squeezes, a thick lump lodging itself in his throat. He doesn’t deny it, there’s no point. Blindfolded or not, Gojo sees everything.

Not that his Sensei has room to talk about crushes. 

“I don’t care, I’ll go anyway! I’m not letting her get hurt.”

“Special grade or not, you won’t be able to stop it,” Gojo tells him, a strange sort of smile teasing at his lips. “They’ll smell her coming a mile away, that inexperience, overconfidence. Such a weak, tasty little sorcerer. Easy pickings. She’ll draw them in like flies to honey, one after another, until there’s too many to fight all at once – that’s what happened last time, didn’t it? You lost focus.”

Yuuta stills entirely. 

Gojo tugs at the bandages over his eyes, revealing one brilliant, blue iris. “She dies. That’s the only way this goes. You understand that, don’t you?”

—

It kills Yuuta that Gojo turns out to be right.

The body lying on the cold, metal table can barely be called that. Half a torso and a leg. That’s all he got back after getting rid of the curse. 

“Okkotsu,” Ieiri’s calm voice breaks through his reverie, and he glances up to find her tired eyes boring into him from across the room. If he didn’t know better, he’d almost think she looked concerned.

“‘m fine,” he mumbles, letting his head tilt back to fall against the cool tiles. “I’m not the one who died.”

Ieiri opens her mouth, only to close it a moment later. “Of course.”

And so it goes. Inumaki, Panda and Maki hover, quiet and subdued. No one knows what to say, but none of them are surprised, he can tell that much through the thick, strained silence. 

Death is pretty much a constant for them. Jujutsu sorcerers don’t tend to lead long, happy lives, but this isn’t just losing a classmate seven days out from graduation. A pang squeezes at his chest and he doesn’t bother holding back a heavy exhale. 

“I’m tired. I’ll… catch you guys later, I guess.”

Yuuta doesn’t wait for an acknowledgement, turning on his heel and leaving them there outside the gym, staring uselessly after him.

But he doesn’t head back to his room. There’s nothing for him there. 

No, Yuuta walks for a long, long while. Back to civilisation, to the city teeming with people and curses, each step more surefooted, eager than the last.

By the time he reaches the apartment, he’s pounding the pavement, and takes the stairs two at a time. His hand shakes as he slots the key into the first lock and twists, then the second, his heart’s halfway to his throat when he pushes it open, heading straight for the bedroom–

The knot in his chest loosens, a relieved sigh escaping him at the sight of you, spread out in his sheets in nothing but your underwear, fast asleep. Safe, where he left you.

It takes him no time at all to toe out of his sneakers, shed his jacket and climb up onto the bed next to you, mindful not to jostle you too much, not to disturb the thick metal links coiled loosely at the bottom of the mattress. Your eyes are still puffy, cheeks wet with the sheen of tears when his fingertips glide over them, intent on smoothing your hair back from your face. 

Poor thing, you must’ve tired yourself out. 

Yuuta has every intention of letting you sleep for a little while longer yet – he’d meant what he’d said to Maki and the others, there’s a bone tired weariness that’s been clinging to him since he dragged himself back to campus that morning, and it’s only now, here, lying next to you that he feels it start to leach away, like poison syphoned off. 

A small, soft smile tugs at his lips. 

Perfect, beautiful girl. 

Gojo was right. You had to die. There aren’t enough sorcerers to deal with the increased curses plaguing the city. Weak or not, they would’ve kept sending you out, and he wouldn’t always be able to guarantee that he’d be there to protect you.

You had to die so they’d leave you alone. So that he could keep you safe. 

Nestling closer, he thumbs at the curve of your cheekbone again and brushes a kiss against your lips, doing his best to ignore the hot pulse of want that burns through his blood, coiling tightly in his guts. 

There’ll be plenty of time for that later. For now he just wants to lie here with you, safe and tucked away. Together. 

It’s better this way. You’ll see.

[strlingsav]

I need some... toe curling, mouth watering, hair ripping, blood spiking, heart racing, jaw clenching, rough, creamy, absolute filthy Simon...

Tension, tension, tension girl I'm feening

OKAY !! I'll do it!! A little drabble (not rly a drabble) just for you!

Fighting

– Simon "Ghost" Riley x F!Reader

— Yourself and Simon have an argument.

Explicit sexual content under the cut. Read at your own risk.

It was like running in circles- endlessly tired, exhausted, and finding yourself in the same fucking place you were when you started. It felt like nothing you ever had to say was reason enough to convince him to change. It was a tireless fight, begging Simon for more affection, more time, more attention than he was able to give.

It didn't stop the irritation from building, though. It crept under your skin when he'd sit on the sofa watching the TV instead of talking with you. When he'd get ready for bed and fall asleep without so much as a "goodnight".

You'd certainly grown sick of the distance. Of feeling like a stranger was living with you. Trying your hardest not to take up space or make a single noise for fear of pushing him even further away. Living in your home had turned into an abysmal state you didn't want to put yourself in.

It hadn't crossed your mind to approach him- not until you'd finally reached your wit's end, finally cracked the porcelain facade that had been saving your relationship. Not anymore.

He didn't expect it- in fact, things were fine, to him. Admittedly, his mind was elsewhere, though he had a good excuse; the toll of deployment. He needed a good reset, a recharge, and in the meantime, he had neglected you. Unintentionally, of course, but still, he'd made you feel unwanted, unloved- nearly a burden.

Your patience had snapped, run so thin it finally tore like a thread under tension. Though he thought nothing of it- his hands had taken hold of your waist, pulling you into his chest as you finished the dishes in the sink. You knew by the rigidity in his muscles and soft breaths against the back of your neck; he wanted you.

Any other time, you wouldn't resist him. The warmth of his palms, the smell of his body- he could pull arousal from even the deepest parts of you. Though now, you recoiled from his touch. You shrunk yourself down, pressing against the counter until he released his grip.

"You tired?" He asked.

You scoffed, so quiet and meek it was nearly pathetic. You were still afraid to say the wrong thing, to send him packing.

"No," You shook your head. Honesty was important, but you weren't sure you were ready to have this argument. So you settled for half-truths and cowardice.

His hands once again reached your hips, large fingers digging into your skin, wrapping a giant forearm around your middle as he pulled you into him.

"You want me to beg?" He mumbled in your ear- so clearly turned on by the idea of begging for a piece of you.

Your eyes clamped shut, swallowing harshly as you tried to resist temptation. It felt good, so fucking good, to feel his hands on you again, to have his voice in your ear, his soft breaths against your skin. You could've crumbled then and there, fallen into him and let him have what he wanted- but your body had a way of preventing such weakness.

You were sad. Instead of utterly aroused, soaking your panties, you felt sick, nauseous. It lodged in your throat, stung at your eyes and twisted your face into a look of contempt.

"You want me now?" You asked, slipping from his grip and throwing your dish towel on the counter.

He raised a brow, watching you. "Thought I was bein' obvious."

"You were," You nodded, your hand finding the counter for balance. "But you just pick and choose when you want me, right?"

His brows furrowed, and he took a step back to allow for some space between you.

"What's that s'posed to mean?" He tilted his head, eyeing you down.

Your heart had begun to race, your chest heaving to keep up with the pulse in your ears.

"You haven't touched me in weeks," You breathed out. "Haven't hardly said a word to me in weeks."

He sighed, hanging his head briefly. His eyes met yours and he nodded slowly.

"Takes time to get myself reacquainted after bein' gone. Thought you understood," He muttered.

"Don't blame me for this," You scoffed, though this time it was audible and poignant. "You want to fuck me but you won't spend time with me? Talk to me?"

He raised his brows in shock, tilting his head as if it could allow him another lead to follow. He stepped closer, trapping you between his arms with your back against the counter. You avoided his eyes, avoided letting him see the tears gathering in your waterline.

"I do wanna fuck you," He answered. His eyes glowered at you, menacing and almost threatening.

Your jaw clenched. A look of disgust crossing your features.

"You think if I didn't fuck you it'd change anything?" He asked, watching your eyes meet his. "You been missin' my attention, sweetheart? I know I miss bein' inside you."

You huffed, nostrils flaring as he brought his lips to your neck. Your hand reached his chest, using all your strength to push him off- he remained a statue, still pinning you against the counter.

"Don't fight me," He murmured. "I know you're mad- needy," He pressed his lips against your jaw, hunched over enough that he could whisper in your ear. "I'll make it up to you, love."

You wanted to roll your eyes, but his voice called to you like a Siren- it nearly made your eyes close to savour just how good it sounded to be taken care of. To be touched, fucked, by him again.

"I missed you," You admitted, still soured by his behaviour. "And you just want to fuck me."

He drew his hand up your side, his large hand encasing your waist.

"Missed you too," He said, like it was obvious. "Can't miss you and want you at the same time?"

His lips were inches from yours, forming a small, nearly unnoticeable smile. He liked the fight, the rejection; it only made him work harder for an even sweeter reward. His fingers worked open the button of your jeans, causing you to stutter.

"Y-you can," You trailed off, your head falling back as he sensuously dragged his lips up your neck, teeth softly scraping your flesh.

"Then what's the problem?" He mumbled.

You sighed, relaxing into his arms as his hand swiftly dove beneath your panties and his fingertips pressed against your clit.

Despite your adamant denial, you were wet. Pulsating, sore, desperate and needy. He was right- you missed his attention. Yearned so deeply for it, it nearly hurt.

His fingers drew soft circles around your clit, your body jolting with every rotation, your knees weakening against him. He had no qualms about holding you up while he touched you, nor when his fingers slid inside you so easily it made him chuckle.

"I'll take proper care of you, sweetheart," He said softly.

His lips met yours, in the middle of a gasp, fighting you to move your lips against his, accept his tongue in your mouth. You did- without hesitation, and let your hands glide over his shoulders so he could hold you up.

"Simon," You muttered. "More- please," You breathed into his neck.

Your hips rocked against his hand, his fingers deep in your pussy, throbbing around his digits while he coaxed whimpers and moans out of you. Your arousal was evident, loud echoes off the apartment walls of the mess he'd made of you.

He loved it. Loved hearing how fucking turned on you were. Loved that your pussy got wet so easily without more than a few strokes of his fingers. Loved that you clenched around his fingers and struggled to get closer, grasped at his shoulders and ground your hips to get more out of him. He liked setting the pace, though. Wanted to watch you cry and beg to go faster, harder.

He'd give you relief with his cock, instead. Wouldn't want to waste the feeling of your pussy tightening around him- it always made him cum even harder when you milked his cock. He withdrew his fingers, forcefully lifting you from the ground.

He entrapped your lips with his again, trudging down the dark hallway until he found the light of your bedroom and kicked the door open. He set you down, lifting his shirt over his head so you could run your hands over his abdomen.

You shivered, his broad shoulders flexing, swaying as he maneuvered toward you, forcing the back of your knees to hit the bed. You fell back, sitting on the bed and staring up at him expectantly.

"Turn over," He ordered, watching with amusement as you scurried to land on all fours.

Your head peered over your shoulder, lowering yourself to the bed as he stepped behind you. His belt clanked as he pulled it open, tugging his jeans down to reveal his cock. He'd been struggling with his own desire- as much as he'd missed you, he couldn't ever properly fuck you unless he knew he would be totally, completely present.

He ran his palms over your ass, drawing a shudder from your body as the warmth crept further up your waist. He lined himself up with your weeping cunt, slowly working his way inside with short, soft thrusts until his hips met your ass.

You were breathless- mouth agape, eyes fluttering shut as his cock nudged your cervix, stretching you out enough that your body erupted with goosebumps. He grunted softly at the feel of your pussy around him, the deliciously wet, plush walls inadvertently pulling him in. He too, shuddered, then bent at the waist to mould his chest to your back.

"'M sorry," He breathed against your shoulder blades. "Been neglectin' you."

It didn't bother you that Simon apologized when he was inside you- he was already vulnerable, already bearing himself to you; the apology sent warmth radiating through you.

"It's okay," You slurred, twisting your body to find his dark eyes already watching you. "Don't stop," You muttered, breathing out. "Just don't stop, baby- please," You moaned out, guttural and breathless while his thrusts pushed you forward on your hands.

His soft lips touched your shoulder, wrapping an arm beneath you to pull your back even closer, using his other hand to adjust the flesh of your ass so he could bury his cock even deeper inside you.

"Neglected this sweet fuckin' cunt too," He groaned. "Can never stay away from you- never get enough."

You sighed aloud, especially as his cock withdrew from your walls, leaving you empty and hollow- before sliding back inside. His arm moved to cling around your waist, his hard fingers sliding down your stomach to rub at your swollen clit fervidly.

"Don't do it again," You chided, though with half of your usual authority while he rutted his hips up against you. "I missed you," You muttered.

He left another gentle kiss against your shoulder, now breathing a bit heavier in your ear. You could feel the Adonis belt of his abdomen hit your ass, his dick angled just right as it rubbed inside you, his calloused fingers rubbing back and forth across your clit; your stomach had begun to tighten.

"Missed you too," He uttered, exhaling sharply when your pussy clenched around him. "Bloody fuckin' hell I missed you."

"Simon-" You gasped, your climax approaching at an unexpected pace while his words hit your ear, warm breath tingling your skin. "Keep going- I'm so close," You whined, your hips pushing backwards to force him inside you, faster, harder.

"Christ, love," He grunted. "Keep doin' that, 'n' I'm fuckin' done in," He chuckled, short and deep, hardly long enough for you to notice, but it moved through your back.

You came shortly after- knuckles white with the strength of your grip on the sheets, lips parted in a gasp, a heavy groan vibrating from your chest. Your stomach tensed, pussy tightening around his cock in short bursts, making his hips stutter with every thrust. As your eyes clenched shut, a black abyss of swirls and stars appearing behind your eyelids, you breathed out finally.

He wasn't far behind, finishing inside you as he always did, though he stayed still for a moment after, catching his breath. And when he finally came down from his climax, he fell to the bed, pulling you into his arms.

A soft kiss on your temple, his dick still lodged inside your worn pussy, coated with his cum, and he muttered a quiet, 'Night, love. We'll talk in the mornin'."

[bungalowbear]

Wanna Bet?

Pairing: college!Miya Atsumu x reader

Summary: Atsumu makes a bet with his teammate that he can make you over and turn you into the star of the summer festival. Cue the beach volleyball montage and the girl with glasses getting contacts!

Word Count: 8.3k

A/N: This is my entry for @bloompompom’s rom-com collab. The film I chose was She’s All That. This is my first time writing for Atsumu, so please be gentle with me. Thank you Bloomy for hosting! I had a blast writing this!

On a spring afternoon, the university gym’s doors swing open and Atsumu leads the small group of his teammates down the steps. Their bodies are yearning for replenishment, so they start in the direction of the north gate to their usual post-practice dining spot. 

Although still weeks away, conversation about summer and upcoming festivals starts up. The one that’s mentioned first in Tanabata, happening on campus in July. Oriver and Adriah talk about going as a group, while Kiyoomi mumbles that he’d rather not go at all.

“I think I’m gonna pass, too,”Atsumu says. Each of his teammates send him confused looks. “What?”

“Doesn’t your girlfriend like doing that kinda stuff?” Oriver asks.

“Oh, yeah. Didn’t Ami win Miss Tanabata last year?” Adriah adds.

“Yeah.” Atsumu hums noncommittally. “I think so.”

Kiyoomi peers at Atsumu beneath the short curtain of dark bangs, his voice slightly muffled by the face mask covering the bottom half of his face. “And she’s fine with you not going?”

“W-well,” Atsumu chuckles, a nervous hand coming up to rub at the back of his head, “Ami and I are kinda, sorta…not together anymore.”

There’s a collective sound of understanding hums.

“Huh?!” The setter’s expression shift instantly. Brow furrowed and mouth set in a deep frown. “What’s that mean? Why don’t you guys sound more surprised?”

“Given your track record, we expected a breakup to happen. Just not so soon,” Shion says, shrugging. “She’s the captain of the cheer team, so we thought it’d last at least until the end of the season.”

Kiyoomi rolls his eyes. “Yeah, that whole star athlete and head cheerleader thing is so typical.” 

Atsumu pouts, annoyed that they’re right. His relationship with his ex is the longest he’s had while being in college, and he’s sure it only lasted so long because of the mutual status boost. But he didn’t anticipate it ending so abruptly. When they came back from spring break Ami told him it wasn’t working out anymore. That she met some ski instructor at the lodge she and her parents went to in Hokkaido. 

We had an instant connection, Ami had told him with a deep, breathy sigh. She looked like one of those anime girls with hearts in her eyes after meeting a cute boy. Delusional is what she is, Atsumu thought.

“Whatever, there are thousands of girls at this school. Any one of them could put on some makeup, wear a pretty outfit, and become Miss Tanabata.” Atsumu spreads his arms out, confidence oozing out of his every pore. “With the right boyfriend of course.”

Oriver and Adriah make gagging noises. Kiyoomi stares flatly, unimpressed. But Shion is the only one with a twinkle in his eye.

“Any girl, Tsumu?” the libero goads.

“Any girl,” the setter confirms.

“Willing to bet on that?”

Atsumu’s head tilts, his eyes half-lidded in friendly challenge, to stare down his teammate. “What are the terms?”

Shion grins.

“I pick a girl for you to makeover,” he says. “If she doesn’t win Miss Tanabata at the festival then you have to streak at our graduation ceremony.”

“And when I win,” Atsumu says, “you have to call me Atsumu-sama every time you see me until we graduate.”

“Deal.”

The two shake hands, making the bet official. The team continues walking and Shion starts planning his pick while Atsumu listens without much care. That is, until you walk by. Arms full of art supplies, large glasses frames sliding down your nose, paint stains on your clothes, hair pulled away from your face with a bandana. Your expression is set in impassive stone as you stride across the walkway.

Shion smiles. “Her.”

“No,” Atsumu jumps in front of him, “Anyone but her.”

“Too bad. She’s my pick.”

Atsumu whispers your name, looking over his shoulder to make sure you don’t hear him. You’re the girl that works at the convenience store with Hinata. “Her? But she’s so…” He wraps his arms around his middle, an unsettling feeling making him shiver. “Unapproachable.”

But Shion doesn’t budge. Instead he smirks. “Time’s ticking, Tsumu.”

Atsumu straightens, taking a deep breath, and mumbles, “Fine.”

The team collectively turns their heads when Hinata and Bokuto race toward them from the direction of the gym, having stayed back for a brief meeting with the coach. Once they catch up, Hinata asks what they were talking about. Shion opens his mouth, about to explain, but Atsumu elbows him and subtly shakes his head, intent on keeping Hinata out of this loop.

You’re on the night shift at the convenience store. Flipping through a newspaper, you clip out headlines of major conflicts around the world. You’re going to use them for a paper mache project for one of your art classes.

The bell above the sliding glass doors chimes. 

“Welcome in,” you greet the new customer without looking up.

There’s no greeting in return, but that’s fine with you since the words are mostly out of habit anyway. The customer’s faint footsteps roam the aisles as you continue cutting strips of paper. After a few minutes they approach the register. You put the scissors down and look up. You recognize the customer who towers over you, even though you sit on a high stool, from the other side of the counter as Miya Atsumu. 

You’re only familiar with him because of how much Hinata talks about his teammates. And the names that comes up most frequently are Bokuto Kotaro and Miya Atsumu. The former an outside hitter, and the latter the setter for the school’s volleyball team.

“Will this be all for you?” You grab the protein bar and sports drink to scan. The blonde comes to the convenience store fairly often. Coincidentally, only when Hinata’s on shift. And usually you don’t have to interact with Atsumu at all, but right now your orange haired coworker is currently on his break.

Atsumu nods, and you tell him his total. He digs through the pockets of his sweats and places the assorted coins in the small tray in front of the register. You input the amount into the register and the drawer opens. Grabbing the correct change, you place it in the tray. 

“Thank you for coming,” you recite the words offered to every customer on their way out and pick up the newspaper and scissors again. “Have a good night.”

“Actually—”

Your eyes cut sharply to him and his mouth snaps shut. Atsumu’s Adam’s apple bobs when he swallows, but he recovers with a grin that slowly smoothes his lips into a soft line.

“Actually, there is something else.” His hands are inside the pockets of his jacket as he leans forward against the edge of the counter. You don’t miss the subtle invasion of your personal space. “I wanted to ask if you’re free tomorrow night?”

Your brow furrows, leaning back slightly in your seat. “Tomorrow night?”

He nods. “Are you doing anything?”

“Did Hinata put you up to this?”

“No.” The edge of his lip twitches. “He doesn’t—”

“Then is this some sort of new social outreach program?”

“What? No, I wanted to talk to you about…” His voice trails off, eyes glancing down at the newspaper strips, then snap back up to you. “Art.”

“Art?” You raise a skeptical brow.

“Yes.”

“You don’t take art.”

“How do you know?” he asks.

“I’ve never seen you in any of my classes. Or in the art building.”

“I’m taking one of those, uh,” his eyes move to the side as he struggles for whatever words he’s trying to spew out, “by-myself-classes.”

“Independent study,” you correct dryly.

“Right.” Atsumu’s smile is back in full force as he repeats, “Independent study.”

His gaze doesn’t waver. In fact, his expression grows to show off a row of pearly white teeth.

“I don’t think so,” you say.

“Huh?” The setter tilts his head. His expression is painted with confusion, as if the opportunity to spend alone time with him has never been rejected. “Why not?”

You’re saved from having to answer when Hinata comes in through the front doors. He’s back from his break which means you’re heading out to yours.

“Atsumu!” The shorter boy comes to stand beside his teammate at the counter. “I didn’t know you were stopping by.”

“Hey, Shoyo,” Atsumu greets him. “Just came by for a snack.”

“I’m going on my break now.” You try to leave while they’re distracted. But of course, Miya Atsumu has to open his big fat mouth.

“So, about tomorrow night,” he starts. “What time should we meet up?”

You freeze at the end of the counter. Your supplies are tucked against your chest as you stand with your back to the two athletes. Maybe you can just keep walking and pretend you didn’t hear him. You’re a little anti-social so it wouldn’t be all that out of character for you.

“Oh?” Hinata’s voice chimes. “Is he the one who’s taking my ticket?”

“Ticket?” Atsumu asks. You turn your head to catch the setter’s brows rise in intrigue. “Do tell, Shoyo.”

“Since we have tomorrow off from practice I was going to go with her to see this real artsy movie that they’re showing for one night only, but something came up and I can’t go anymore.” Hinata looks up at his teammate with relief and gratitude. “So, thank you for going with her.”

Atsumu turns his smug grin in your direction. “Not a problem, Shoyo.”

“This is great,” Hinata says. A bright smile lights up his expression. “My work friend and my teammate getting to know each other.”

You sigh, knowing you’d never want to be the one to dim Hinata’s excitement. It’d be like blowing out the candles on someone else’s birthday cake. So, when you make your way around the counter and pass by the pair, you grumble, “The theater on the east side of campus. Seven o’clock.”

You walk toward the front, and right as you pass through the sliding doors, Atsumu calls after you with an eagerness too suspicious to be real, “See you tomorrow!”

Atsumu arrives at the theater before you do, reveling in the shocked expression that briefly crosses your face when you spot him by the entrance. You quickly school your features and walk up to him.

Although this technically isn’t a date, Atsumu is still slightly appalled at the apparent lack of effort in your outfit. He’s wearing a henley and his best khaki pants that Kiyoomi steamed for him, and you’re in a pair of loose fitting jeans and a t-shirt that is two sizes to big for you. Ami always dressed up whether they were going out to dinner or just to the nearest Family Mart.

He watches you fish the tickets out of your boxy crossbody. At least you’re familiar with the concept of accessorizing. That’ll make his job a little easier.

You hand the usher your tickets to tear then head over to the snack bar. Atsumu insists on paying. Popcorn, no butter, to share. A bottled water for him and Cherry Coke for you. He’ll steal one or two of the candies you picked out, but he doesn’t tell you that.

Once you’ve found your seats, Atsumu asks about the movie. You tell him it’s a surrealist film from France. His face must betray his confusion because you explain the concept to him until the lights dim and the trailers start.

He can’t really follow what’s happening. Nothing seems to make sense. And when it does, it doesn’t seem to fit within the context of the whole movie. He decides to turn his attention to the popcorn. His eyes keep looking down, waiting for your hand to reach over so that he can accidentally grab some too. Except when it happens you don’t really pay any attention to it. You say a quick sorry, keeping your eyes on the screen.

Atsumu frowns.

No big deal. His next tactic is a classic and sure to execute. He starts by slowly extending his arm into the air as if he’s stretching, even throwing in a soft grunt, then when he lowers it he subtly begins to curl his arm around your shoulder. He’s done it with plenty other girls and each time it worked like a charm. Atsumu is sure he’s nailed it again. That is, until he’s two inches from his target as his hand hovers above your opposite shoulder. That’s when your eyes leave the screen. All it takes is a sharp glance out of the corner of your eye to make him abort. He plays it off and quickly raises his other arm to add to the illusion of stretching. Defeated, both his arms drop heavily onto his lap. 

Atsumu doesn’t try again.

When the movie finishes and the lights come back on you throw your trash and walk out of the theater. You both briefly go your separate ways to use the restroom. After, you meet in the lobby then exit the building together. You walk down the street until you reach the bus stop.

Turning to face him, you ask, “So what did you think?”

“It was, uh,” he starts. “There was a lot of…sexual imagery. So it seemed like a romance between the main pair, but then there were some parts that were really random. Like when the woman hurt her finger. Didn’t they realize the bandage kept reappearing and disappearing? I’m sure continuity was a thing in the 30s.”

You smile, amused by his observation. 

“Remember, surrealism is meant to be an expression of the unconscious mind. So even though we watched the same thing, we both could have different interpretations. Even from what the director’s intentions were, if any.”

“Right.” Atsumu hums, thoughtful. “So what did you think?” 

The bus approaches the curb then. You both board and pay your fare before finding seats in the back. He lets you slide into the seat by the window and he takes the aisle. You speak low to respect others on the bus as you share your analysis, and he’s awed by how you answer. Atsumu knew you were smart from how Hinata spoke about you, but hearing it for himself is something else. 

When you’re done he stares at you, analyzing your face.

“What?” you ask.

“Do you ever think about wearing contacts?”

“No, not really.” You slip your glasses off, blinking a few times as you look over his shoulder, then put them back on. “The idea of touching my eyeballs is so bleh. Why do you ask?”

“No reason.” Atsumu carefully adjusts your glasses so they sit correctly on your face. “Just think your eyes are really beautiful.”

Atsumu dons his most charming grin. He’s got you in his clutches. A few compliments here, natural physical contact there, and he’s got this in the—

“Oh, please.”

His stomach plummets at your scowl.

“I knew it.” Then you grumble to yourself, “I should have trusted my instincts.”

“What are you talking about?”

“My eyes are beautiful?”

Your voice rises with incredulity, earning you a few glances from the other passengers. Atsumu shifts in his seat. He says your name.

“Is this what you meant when you said you wanted to get to know me? Was this some sort of prank?”

Atsumu stops breathing. For a good three seconds his brain stops working, frightened by how close you are to the actual truth.

The bus stops and you rise from your seat. You push past Atsumu’s legs and escape down the aisle and out the back door. Atsumu follows after you, calling your name as you get farther down the street. He easily catches up to you, but even as he trails on your heels you ignore him for an entire block. Until finally, Atsumu grabs your arm and swings around to step in front of you.

“I only agreed to this because Hinata was really excited about it.” You shrug your arm out of his hold. “Is this how you treat your teammate’s friends? By coming on to them and then going back to your little squad and having a big laugh about how girls fall for your dumb pickup lines?”

“That’s not what I—”

“Yeah, right.” You cross your arms, defensive, as you glare daggers at him. “Like you didn’t try to put your arm around me? And don’t think I didn’t notice how you waited until I was reaching for popcorn just so you could too.”

Atsumu’s cheeks burn, caught in the act. 

When he doesn’t come up with a response fast enough, you scoff and walk past him, leaving him feeling like he really has his work cut out for him.

Despite your last encounter ending on an extremely sour note, Atsumu is back at the convenience store two days later. He doesn’t peruse the aisles like he did last time. No, he comes straight to the register. You frown when he smiles easily at you.

“What are you doing here?”

“Well hello to you, too,” he says.

“If it wasn’t already clear, I have no interest in speaking to you if you’re not going to purchase something.”

Atsumu eyes the small bins on the counter filled with trinkets and individually wrapped sweets. He grabs two candies and sets them on the empty counter space between you. The urge to swipe the cocky smirk off his face is great, but instead you ring him up.

“You’re off in an hour, yeah?” he asks as he hands you a coin.

“How do you know—”

“It’s such a nice day out today. We should go to the beach.”

“I’m not going anywhere with you.” You hand him back his change. “Stalker.”

“That’s a shame. Guess I’ll just have to sit outside. On the curb. With my backpack.” He jerks his thumb over his shoulder at said backpack. “Asking every person who walks by if they’d like to go to the beach with me. I mean, I wouldn’t want any of the food I packed to go to waste.”

“If you do that I’ll call the police.”

Atsumu pouts. “Just ‘cause I want someone to experience the joy of the beach?”

“For loitering.”

“Oh, c’mon. You’d really call the police?” 

You fix him with a flat stare. He clears his throat.

“Look, you’re important to Hinata.” He puffs his chest out, pointing a thumb in between his very toned pectorals. “And as his senpai, I’m obviously a huge influence in his life.”

You roll your eyes. “What’s your point?”

“My point is that we should at least be friendly with each other. Don’t ya think? For Hinata’s sake?”

“We can do that without going to the beach.”

“I know, but it’s more fun this way.”

You’re still not convinced.

“Please?” He says your name. “One more chance. If I totally blow it again then I’ll stick to just small talk when I come through here.”

“Fine,” you relent. Atsumu throws up a victorious fist. “But this is the last chance, got it?”

“Got it,” he repeats.

An hour later and it’s the end of your shift. Since Atsumu already has his backpack full of everything you’ll both need, you walk directly to the train station. When you tell him you don’t have a swimsuit he says there’ll be plenty of shops selling some and that he’ll buy you one when you get there. So you board the train and head to the beach.

When you arrive, the first thing you do is enter one of the shops to buy your swimsuit. You quickly pick one out and, as promised, Atsumu pays for it before you go into one of the changing rooms. When you reemerge, he has his back to you. But when he turns his brows shoot up nearly to his hairline. 

“I don’t really wear stuff like this,” you mumble, crossing your arms over your stomach. Your head is turned away. Your cheeks are warm from embarrassment. You usually like to wear lose fitting, comfortable clothes since you’re always on the move. And it’s just easier to wear things that are okay getting paint or glue or clay all over them.

“Sorry.” His expression returns to pleasantly normal. “You look nice. That’s all.”

You both leave the shop and head down to the sand. You walk along the shore side by side. The silence isn’t awkward, but you’d rather something besides the sounds of your feet trekking through the sand fill the emptiness. You wrack your brain for something to say, but it’s Atsumu who’s the first to speak.

“Is this your first time at the beach?”

“No,” you say. “I came once for a project. It was a study on the ocean and how pollution—”

“Do you ever, like, do anything for fun?” Atsumu interrupts. 

Your brows narrow. “I have fun.”

“Oh, yeah? When?” he challenges. When you open your mouth to respond he adds, “And going to see those smart people movies doesn’t count.”

“Why not?”

“You should be going out when you’re having fun. With other people, with friends. You have those, don’t you?”

When you stay silent, he looks over at you. Your eyes are averted, watching the water recede before the next wave.

“I have friends,” you say in a soft voice.

“Other than Hinata?”

“Fine.” You huff. “I only have one friend. Happy now that you’ve found out how much of a loser I am?”

“I don’t think you’re a loser. If you were a loser, do you think the star setter of the school’s volleyball team would be at the beach with you?” 

He plays up his declaration with his back straight and hands on his hips, his face turned toward the ocean so the breeze blows through his hair. You should find it annoying, pretentious even, but instead you’re amused. A giggle passes through your lips. You try to hide it behind your hand but he’s already noticed and is laughing along with you.

“Hey,” he steps in front of you. He holds out his hand. You look down at it in confusion. “Friends?”

You’re tempted to take it. While you’ve been happy all this time being in your own bubble and occasionally letting Hinata in, you can admit to yourself that something is missing. And just maybe, Atsumu is the one who can help you figure out what. But you still can’t help but be wary of him.

“We’ll see how the day goes first.”

You walk past him, taking hold of his elbow as you do.

You both walk a bit more until you reach a cove. There aren’t as many people on this part of the beach so it’s the perfect place to set yourselves up for the day. Atsumu takes off his backpack and fishes a couple towels from inside and hands them to you. As you’re laying them out, you hear someone call his name. 

You look up to see Hinata at the top of the steps that lead to the street. A taller man with white frosted tips is on his left and another with a wide brimmed hat and a face mask on his right. Hinata waves both hands in your direction and you wave back in confusion.

“I thought you said it was just us two.”

“I didn’t invite them.” Atsumu turns to you, raising his hands in front of him. “I swear.”

“Relax, Miya.” You chuckle. “It’s fine. Hinata talks about you all so much I figured I’d eventually have to meet the rest of the team.”

“Right.”

The rest of the volleyball team files in behind the three at the stairs. They all race down the stairs to join you in the cove. Hinata makes a beeline for you, the strap of a long bag over his shoulders and a volleyball under each arm. 

“What are you all doing here? Did Atsumu tell you we were coming to the beach?” you ask your friend.

“We haven’t had a team outing in a while, and when Shion,” he pauses to point to the one who Atsumu pulls away to talk to privately, “suggested the beach Meian, our captain, said it was a good idea.”

“Oh, okay.”

The rest of his teammates are curious about you and so they crowd around you for introductions. Bokuto and Meian carry a large ice chest. Adriah, Oriver, and a couple of the other guys have bags full of food, towels, and sunscreen. Sakusa is setting up his large umbrella and parking himself beneath its shade. Shion comes over when he’s done talking to Atsumu.

They all seem to know you even just a little. Bokuto is the one to tell you that Hinata talks about you all the time, which makes your friend’s face turn bright red.

The bag Hinata carries turns out to be holding a volleyball net. After it’s set up the teams are created. Atsumu ropes you onto his team and shows you how to position your hands to pass.  He then stands beside you and shows you the proper form. You copy his stance, bent knees and joined arms outstretched. Hinata helps you practice by throwing you a few loose balls. Atsumu praises you for how quickly you catch on.

Meian calls for the game to start and everyone gathers on their respective sides of the net. Sakusa keeps score from under the umbrella. You’re a bit overwhelmed with how competitive the others are, so you make sure to stick close enough to Atsumu in case you need help. Which is often. You frown when he tells you that they’re toning it down for your sake. If this is what toned down looks like for them, you’re interested to see what they’re like in full action.

After a few games, everyone settles on towels to eat the sandwiches and fruit that was packed. Atsumu unpacks his backpack to show you what he packed for both of you. There’s sliced watermelon, macaroni salad, and egg sandwiches. You thank him before grabbing a half sandwich from one of the bento boxes.

You chew on a piece of watermelon as you watch Atsumu talk with his teammates. His expression is bright as he jokes with them. He will occasionally get poked fun at and that’s when his expression shifts to incredulity, but you even find that sort of endearing.

You turn to Hinata. He’s watching you with thoughtful eyes. You ask if he’s okay. He shakes his head and smiles brightly at you. 

“Yup!”

At the end of the day you all ride back together on the train. When you can’t fight your sleepiness, your head ends up resting on Atsumu’s shoulder. The last thought you have is that you feel like you had more fun than you were expecting.

You don’t know how this happened.

You’ve been staring at the bulletin board for ten minutes now. At the sheet of sakura colored paper that has a list of names typed onto it in black letters, yours at the bottom. Atsumu’s ex-girlfriend Ami is at the top. You have no recollection of entering the Miss Tanabata contest. Sure, you enjoy looking at and making pretty things, but you have no intentions of being one. At least not one held up to the standards of a beauty pageant. 

Someone is messing with you. That’s the conclusion you draw when you finally tear your attention away from the board and head toward the glade. You join Atsumu for lunch you quietly take your seat next to him on the bench. You pull your lunch out from your bag and notice his leg anxiously bouncing up and down. 

“Atsumu?” He perks up at you saying his name. “What’s wrong?”

“Are we not going to talk about it?”

“About what?”

“About your nomination for Miss Tanabata?”

“Why would we?” You pop the lid off your plastic bento box. “It’s not like I’m actually going through with it.”

Atsumu’s eyes widen. He frantically turns his body to face you. “W-why not?”

“It’s obviously someone’s dumb idea of a joke,” you say.

“But your name’s already on there. It’d be rude to back out now.”

He has a point. Even if you didn’t enter yourself, the people who organize the festival are probably already accounting for how many contestants there are. You know first hand what it’s like to prepare for big projects. You don’t want to make any trouble for them.

“I suppose…”

Atsumu leans forward, face inches from yours. You’ve noticed he doesn’t fully adhere to the etiquette of personal space. “You’ll do it?”

“Yes,” you concede. You place a hand on his shoulder to regain the distance between you. “But I don’t really know anything about beauty pageants.”

“That’s fine. I’ll take care of everything,” he assures you. “And I know just where to start.”

“Your eyesight is really bad, you know?”

“I do.” You laugh, watching Atsumu unbox your new contact lenses. You’re both in the small bathroom of your studio apartment. “I’m well aware of my prescription.”

“I had to special order these. Express delivery, too.”

“Well,” you shrug, “you were adamant.”

Atsumu chuckles and gestures for you to take off your glasses. You do, and set them on the counter beside the sink. Turning to the mirror, you stand side-by-side with Atsumu while he gets everything ready. Your eyes wander to the mirror. You can’t see yourself, not really. Your face is smudged of all recognition, as if you were a sketch and someone took their thumb and rubbed at the pencil lines that contour your features.

“Everything’s ready,” Atsumu declares. He nudges your elbow to get your attention. “You nervous?”

“A little,” you admit.

“Don’t be.” He offers you a warm smile. “I’ve been wearing them since high school and really the biggest problem you’ll have is remembering to take them off before you got to sleep.”

You hum. “If you say so.”

You wash your hands and dry them off. You take one of the lenses from their package and Atsumu hands you the bottle of solution. You rinse it then tip your head back and carefully place the lens onto your eye. You flinch when you make contact. The feeling is uncomfortable at first but you blink a couple times to let yourself adjust. You do the same with the other lens.

Once they’re both in place you drop your gaze to the mirror again. You raise your brows slightly at your reflection. Atsumu was right. The glasses did hide a lot of your face. You feel exposed, like there’s too much of your surroundings you’re seeing without your glasses to frame your view. 

But you’re also intrigued by your bare face. You always thought you were average looking, and maybe you still are, but it’s like your seeing a whole new person. The shape of your cheekbones is slightly off. Your eyes have more space between them now. But somehow it all works.

Atsumu clears his throat, then asks, “What do you think?”

“It’s…different.”

“Good different?”

You turn your head. He’s already looking at you, expression of an eager puppy waiting to be told he’s done a good job. That he’s a good boy. The corners of your mouth tilt upward into a shy smile.

“Yeah,” you say.

The two of you are hanging out in one of the studios in the art building. Well, you’re working on your class project and Atsumu is hanging out. He lounges across the worn sofa at the edge of the room, too long legs dangling off the end.

He blew off his teammates to hang out with you. Again. Lately he finds himself wanting to spend all his time with you, which confuses him because he’s never felt this way with past girlfriends. But you’re not actually his girlfriend. Sure, he spends nearly all his time outside of classes and volleyball with you. But at best you’re a friend. And at worst…you two still wouldn’t even be talking to each other outside of the convenience store if it wasn’t for the bet.

What bothers Atsumu the most is lately there’s something warm and unfamiliar stirring in his chest when his eyes are on you. Everything inside of him is telling him to keep you close, to make sure you’re a friend that he’ll always have. He can’t explain the feeling other than he needs to know you for the rest of his life.

The thought makes him freeze.

You look at him from the corner of your eye and smirk, catching him staring at you. 

“You didn’t bring anything to work on. Again,” you tease.

Atsumu shakes his head, clearing it of his sudden revelation, and rises from the sofa. 

“I’m just observing today,” he, thankfully, says with a smooth voice.

“You’re always observing.”

“That’s ‘cause I like watching you.” He walks across the room and stands behind you, close enough that if he took a deep breath his chest would connect to your back. He remembers his previous remark and adds, “Doing art, that is.”

You lift your head from your project, turning your body slightly so that you can look over your shoulder at him. Your eyes flicker down to his lips for a split second.

“You do?” you whisper.

“Yeah,” he says softly.

Electricity. Magnetism. It’s pulling you both closer together. Atsumu leans his head down, slowly, inching at a snails pace toward your face that tips upward to meet him halfway. His chest stirs again when your lips are about to touch. His heart is pounding with the fact that this will be the first time you both share a kiss. 

Your eyes fall closed. You want this. He wants this. 

So why does he pull away? 

When the kiss doesn’t happen, your eyes reopen and your expression immediately falls. Atsumu wants to kick himself. He wants to kiss you, but he doesn’t understand what this feeling is inside of him. He made a bet. You’re just a bet. 

Right?

He’s made this all more complicated than it should be. 

You clear your throat, turning your attention back to your work. He watches you stare at your hands for a few seconds before you start up again. He lingers for a few minutes before settling back down on the sofa.

Awkward silence lingers between you for the rest of the night. Neither of you dare to address it even when he walks you back home.

The izakaya is buzzing with excited chatter. The volleyball team is celebrating a big win with an even bigger dinner. Seriously, you’ve never seen a group of people eat so much food. 

Atsumu is on your right, but neither of you have said more than a few sentences to each other. Thankfully, Hinata is on your other side so he’s made sure to make you feel included as much as he can. It also helps that the statistician, the only other girl in the group, is seated right across from you. She’s sweet, if not a bit skittish, and you’ve made plans to meet up at a cafe later on in the week.

When everyone has had their fill, the tab is paid and everyone files out the door and onto the sidewalk. 

Your apartment is only a few blocks from here so you told Atsumu that you’d be fine walking by yourself. When you told him that you thought it was the right thing to do, but now you’re not so sure. He seems like he wants his space, but you can’t help but wonder and worry if the almost kiss at the studio is what’s making him so weird with you now. You don’t like this distance between you. It doesn’t feel right after getting to know each other better. You want to clear the air. 

Thankfully, you catch him before you all go your separate ways. You won’t ask him to walk you home, though you really want to. You want to spend a little more time with him. Instead, you settle for reassurance.

“Atsumu.” You cling to the back of his shirt. Enough to catch his attention, yet weak enough that he can escape if he wants to. Your voice is small, uncertain when you ask, “We’re good. Right?”

“Yeah,” he says without looking back. “Of course. Why wouldn’t we be?” 

“I just wanted to make sure. After what happened in the art studio…I just—”

“Don’t worry about it,” he cuts you off. “Nothing happened.”

Finally, Atsumu turns his head to look back at you. But it’s not his usual smile that he fixes you with. It doesn’t reach his eyes.

“Right.” You release his shirt. “Nothing happened.”

“I…” Atsumu’s lips part. His chest expands in a silent intake of breath. He looks like he’s ready to say something. Instead, he deflates. Averts his eyes. “I’ll see you tomorrow for lunch. ‘Kay?”

You nod once, then Atsumu jogs off to catch up with Sakusa without looking back.

The festival is in a few days and all participants are required to help decorate the quad. You’re helping hang a banner in between streamers when there’s a commotion behind you. At first you don’t pay attention but then you hear a familiar voice. 

You peek over your shoulder and see Atsumu with his hands flying over Hinata’s face, trying to cover his mouth, but Hinata dodges every attempt as his voice carries across the quad.

“A bet?!” Hinata shouts. His incredulous tone is accompanied by a tight expression. You’ve never seen him look so angry before.

“Who told you?” Atsumu asks.

“It doesn’t matter who told me. You didn’t tell me.”

Things didn’t get better between you and Atsumu after the izakaya. You’d hoped you could get past whatever weird tension was forming between you, but Atsumu wasn’t giving you any clues as to why that wasn’t possible. Hinata has known him longer so maybe he’s what Atsumu needs to get out of whatever funk he’s in. Although, this looks like too heated of a talk between them to be any sort of constructive. 

You hand off your edge of the banner to the girl next to you and walk over to the pair. However, the closer you get, the more your stomach sinks.

“You and Shion bet you could turn any girl into Miss Tanabata,” Hinata accuses, words seething. “And you chose her. She’s my friend, Atsumu. Why would you pretend to get along with her for something as dumb as a bet?”

“Shoyo, please.” Atsumu’s eyes are wide and frantic, like a cornered animal. “Let me—”

“Am I a bet?” you interrupt loudly.

Atsumu’s eyes dart to you. He still has that look of an animal, but now more like a deer caught in the headlights, when he says your name. Nearly half a minute goes by and your patience wears thin when he doesn’t say anything more. 

“Am I fucking bet?” you repeat through gritted teeth.

Atsumu has the decency to maintain eye contact when he confesses. His voice is soft, thick with guilt.

“Yes.”

One word is all it takes to shatter the illusion. You look around the room and the heavy weight of everyone’s eyes on you brings you back to reality. You don’t fit in here. You’re only here because Atsumu made it happen.

Your eyes return to Atsumu. You see the struggle in his eyes, torn between being silent and still or speaking up and coming to meet you.

When he makes his choice and the gym remains painfully quiet, you turn away and flee the quad.

You’re in the art studio working on your project when Hinata pokes his head in. He calls your name and you look over your shoulder at him. When you don’t tell him to get lost he takes that as his cue to enter.

He shuffles over to your workstation and drops the bag of takeout on the corner. He begins taking out the containers, and with a single whiff you can tell it’s from your favorite restaurant. 

You sigh. Hinata has always been a great friend to you, his cheerful and genuine personality sinking its teeth into you the first time you met. Which is why you feel awful even asking your question. But you just need to hear the words come out of his mouth.

“Did you know?”

“No,” he answers. There’s not a trace of offense heard in his voice.  “I wouldn’t have nominated you if I did.”

“You nominated me?”

Hinata shrugs, cheeks dusted with pink. His fingers trace the edge of the food container lid.

“I was really excited to see you and Atsumu getting along at the beach,” he confesses. “You were my first friend outside of volleyball that I made when I first came here. So, I was happy that you were coming out of your shell and talking to someone who wasn’t me or a classmate for a project.”

“I guess I am a bit of a hermit,” you say.

“I talked to the guys.” At the mention of his teammates you immediately frown. “They didn’t mean to hurt you. They were really just trying to knock Atsumu down a few pegs, but didn’t think about the aftermath of it all. They all really like you, and Shion especially wants to apologize for hurting your feelings.”

You’ve had a few days to process everything, but that sting of deception still lingers. The handful of times you were around his teammates you never once felt that they were bad people or would want to purposefully hurt you in any way. That’s probably the reason why you feel as sad and disappointed as you do. You really thought you’d found people you could open up to, but all you did was get hurt in the end.

“I’ll think about it,” you say.

Hinata hums, a simple acknowledgement of your choice. Silence lingers for a minute before he blurts out his next sentence.

“I think you should still do the pageant.”

Your brow furrows. “What?”

“Part of it is the popularity vote, but they also judge you on other stuff, too. Like public speaking and hidden talents. Or something like that. I think you could really win.”

“I don’t know, Hinata.”

“C’mon.” He extends the vowel in the way a younger brother might beseech his older sister. “It’ll be tons of fun. And you can’t let your outfit go to waste.”

“Maybe you’re right. I do still have a hair and makeup appointment at the salon.” 

You frown, remembering Atsumu’s excitement when he told you. Was he so dead set on winning that he put in this much effort?

“So…” Hinata leans forward, his expressive eyes and orange hair filling up your view inch by inch.

You eye the food beside his elbow. A smirk pulls at the corner of your mouth as you reach for it.

“Let’s eat first, then I’ll give you my answer.”

Hinata is quick to open up the rest of the containers of food. You chuckle as he begins to shovel food into his mouth. But you’re content to take your time with yours.

Atsumu watches the pageant from the crowd and can’t help think how stunning you are. He’s glad you kept the appointment at the salon, and that the outfit you picked out together fits you to perfection. You look beautiful in a new kind of way. However, seeing you this way also makes him appreciate the you underneath all of the fluff. He’s been missing that version of you for a while now.

He cheers the loudest for you during the talent portion where you demonstrate how to paint a cat with your eyes closed. When you step off the stage he stares at you until you find his gaze. He chances a small wave. The big smile you wear lessens just a fraction, but his heart thunders when you send him a nod in reply.

When Ami is announced the winner he sees the brief flash of disappointment across your eyes. Though you keep a pleasant expression until the ceremony is over. That’s when Atsumu pushes through the crowd to find you behind the stage. But one last obstacle stands in his way of getting to you.

Hinata.

The squirt has his knees bent and arms outstretched like a bird, barring Atsumu from going any further. People glance their way as they pass by. Atsumu chuckles nervously, but Hinata keeps his determined gaze locked onto the setter.

“C’mon, Shoyo. I just wanna talk to her.”

“Uh-uh.” Hinata shakes his head. “Not until she says she wants to talk to you.”

Atsumu huffs, about to argue further when your voice sounds from behind Hinata.

“It’s okay,” you say, placing a hand on Hinata’s shoulder. “I want to talk to him.”

Hinata straightens up, smiling warmly at you. But when he turns to leave he pointedly glares at Atsumu and lets him know, “I’ll be nearby.”

You come to stand next to Atsumu and watch Hinata walk over to a food stall, excitedly drooling over the selection. 

“He’s been like that at practice too,” Atsumu tells you.

“You know, that actually makes me feel a little better.”

“I deserve that.”

“You do.”

Atsumu says your name. You both turn to face each other, the first time you’re seeing each other so closely in the last three days. You’re looking at him with an unreadable expression and his heart won’t stop pounding.

“I’m sorry. I’m so sorry,” he says. “I was a different person when I made that bet. I went from girl to girl because I just saw them as a way to have fun or let off some steam. Volleyball has always been the most important thing to me, and I didn’t feel like I had any room in my heart for something serious to share that space with. Until you. You slowly crept your way inside and now I can’t get you out. I don’t want to. I want you to stay. That is…if you want to.”

“I was doing just fine on my own before you plopped yourself right into my life,” you start. “I was content to live the rest of college with Hinata as my only friend. But now you’ve made me realize how scary it is to open up to someone, and how much it hurts when they let you down.”

“I’m—”

You raise a hand to stop him. Atsumu holds his breath. He doesn’t think he can handle what you’re about to say. You’re going to let him down easy. Cast him aside in the most humane way possible despite what he’s done to you. He was dumb, ignorant, and so full of himself when he made that bet. But how can he even face another day without you knowing how much he regrets it? How can he prove to you that he’s changed? That he isn’t the same as before? He’ll grovel if he has to. Hell, he’ll even put on a collar and let you—

“But you’ve also shown me how much more exciting life can be when there’s more people to share it with. And that’s something worth taking a chance on.”

Your voice breaks through his thoughts and Atsumu’s brain comes to a screeching halt. He blinks once. Twice. A third time for good measure to make sure he’s processing your words correctly.

“Yeah?” he asks, his hand tentatively brushing against yours.

“Yeah,” you say.

You slip your fingers in the spaces between Atsumu’s. Your soft skin is warm against his, and he feels like he’s closer to being complete.

Epilogue

After four long years your graduation has finally arrived. You’ve worked so hard to get to this point and are ready to move on to the next chapter of your life. 

The ceremony is nearing its end and you crane your neck to where Atsumu is supposed to be sitting with his teammates who’re also graduating. You both decided to sit with your respective friends and then find each other after the ceremony. But now you’ve lost sight of him. How could you, though? He’s supposed to stay seated along with everyone else.

Suddenly, you hear a commotion. You turn and see a familiar shade of bottle blonde hair running down the middle aisle. It’s Atsumu. Only he’s no longer dressed in his cap and gown. No, he’s stripped himself of all his clothes, sans a volleyball clutched between his hands that covers his manly bits, and is now streaking across the auditorium. 

There’s raucous laughter and applause from the students. Scandalized gasps sound from the edges of the room where family and friends are seated. Some of the faculty try to catch Atsumu as he dash across the podium, but he’s in far better shape than any of them and easily evades them.

He jumps down and heads back up the opposite aisle he came down. You’re sitting at the edge of your row and can see him making a beeline towards you, a wildly gleeful expression on his face.

“Tsumu, what—”

“Hold this for me, babe?” he asks in a hurried breath, thrusting the volleyball into your hands. 

He’s fully exposed now. Your cheeks are hot, burning, as there’s an even bigger uproar from the students. He takes advantage of your stunned state and gives you a quick peck on the lips before dashing away once again.

A line of five men in security uniforms chase after your boyfriend. You hear the heavy auditorium doors fly open as Atsumu makes his escape.

You lean back in your seat, wrapping the volleyball in your arms and holding it close to your chest. You can’t fight the laughter that bubbles out from between your lips.

Atsumu never did tell you what he had to do since he lost the bet. So much time had passed that you thought Shion let him off the hook. 

Well, now you know that is not the case at all.

[mesetacadre]

one thing that eventually strikes you after not a lot of time exposed to them is the sheer shallowness of most liberals' reasoning. Usamerican democrats are not the only kind of liberal of course, but their incessant presence means this post is mostly based on them. Liberalism in itself isn't necessarily shallow, even if idealism is, IMO, a very limiting framework. But it is overwhelming how simplistic and even childish these people can get.

It's less that they argue with what you say but rather throw a series of phrases and simple ideas that sound related to what you said. It's uncountable the amount of times liberals' reply to posts of mine talking about electoralism and the marxist position on it (which is more nuanced than "don't vote") just boil down to "but trump", even though most times I'm not even talking about the US, or "well what else do you propose doing" and then ignore the many times I've talked about that, sometimes in the very same post they're replying to. And there is no depth here, there is no substance to take apart in the first place. What I'd consider a respectable liberal explanation on voting; civicism, the idea of representative democracy, how you have to make yourself heard, etc, do actually have some substance and an ideological background. But there is none in this case, none whatsoever. Lesser-evilism is probably the most complicated idea the common USamerican democrat will defend, but that framework only makes sense in actual dichotomies without any alternative choices, which electoralism never is. That's why they like the trolley problem so much, as well. It's an illusion of depth that falls apart as soon as it's constrated with reality.

Let's take another example, liberal opposition to revolutions. The developed liberal opposition to them goes along the lines of the violation of private property and an outright rejection of a class-based analysis of society, of course this argumentative line will vary depending on who's talking. But the vast, vast majority of usamerican democrat liberals who even engage with revolutionary ideas in the first place will not go there and instead, never thinking outside the context of the US of course, will argue nonsense and essentially just call you bloodthirsty, and parrot truisms like "at the end of the day, it will be the common people and/or minorities who suffer the most".

There are no traces of actually engaging with what the other person says, they have lodged themselves in the narrowest worldview possible and will not even let their gaze stray from it, let alone venture out of it. No intellectual curiosity, no willingness to think about other contexts than the US post-2016 and maybe Reagan's years. I can't decide if this attitude is more pathetic or pitiful. Not even expecting them to agree with me, that's their prerogative. There seems to be just no desire to ever change an opinion

[celestiamour]

May I request a flirty Edmund x flustered fem reader? Like the reader is trying to tend to his wounds after a battle or something but Edmund keeps distracting her by trying to show off and making teasing comments? And could it be a non-established relationship?

umm, I know you said requests were open (and you have the right to write what you want anyways) but if you don't want to do this then feel free to ignore this :))

anyways thank you! have a great day<3

ft. edmund pevensie x f! reader — the chronicles of narnia

╰₊✧ edmund flirting while you tend to his wounds┊0.7k words

setting: unspecified narnian age contains: descriptions blood/injury & mentions of battle, ed is a cheesy menace, medical inaccuracies probably

➤ author's note: i made it a bit shorter than planned, but i hope it’s still okay and that you’ll enjoy!!

“oh, god, edmund!” your concerned voice was a bit louder than it was supposed to be upon the sight of one of your beloved kings being brought into the medical tent, prompting you to quickly apologize to everyone in there before rushing to his side. the battle was already over and victory had been named for your kingdom of narnia, so several soldiers injured from the aftermath were being brought to you for recovery (thankfully, there weren’t so many that the youngest queen needed to go running around healing them with her elixir). “i was really hoping not to see any royalty today…”

he seemed a bit paler than usual from blood loss, but he weakly smiled at you rushing to his side, “edmund, huh? whatever happened to you insisting on calling me by my title?”

“is that really what you’re focusing on?” you immediately started removing his armor and cutting away at the fabric of his sleeve that obscured the damage for examination. it looked like an arrowhead got lodged in his arm and the wooden shaft got broken off at some point, needing to be removed in order for you to progress. “stay still and count to ten.”

“i don’t need to count to ten when the ten is right in front of— fuck!!” he almost bit his tongue in the middle of his compliment when you took the opportunity to take out the piece of metal with a pair of tongs, swiftly tossing it on a tray then applying pressure and working your magic as you were trained to.

“stop being so cheeky and let me get you cleaned up!” you huffed, trying to focus on your work instead of his flirtatious advances. it was no secret to anyone with eyes and ears that edmund fancied you and has been trying to woo you for quite some time now, but it seems that the only thing preventing you from being officially courted by him was your own denial of your feelings. even if the royal family made it clear that they would marry for love rather than status, you would still deny with everything in you that he always manages to make you falter without fail.

“a-at least if i die, the last sight i see will be the most beautiful girl in existence by my side,” he joked before hissing at the stinging sensation of you cleaning his wound. it was nowhere near the worst pain he felt or the closest he’s ever been to death, but he thought it would be funny to exaggerate the agony to get you to pay more attention to him as if it wasn’t already all on him.

“don’t say that! it’s not even bad enough to be that much of a bother, just remember to wash the wound with alcohol and change the bandages every day.”

“so i guess that means i’ll be seeing you every day since none of my servants are professionals like you are? i’m a king, you know, so it would only be expected to have the best of the best look after me!”

“… fine, i guess i’ll see you around this time for the next week for so until you’re fully healed…” his stupid smile made you get all hot and you turned around so that he couldn’t see your face for your reaction, but the very action told him everything that he needed to know.

“so do you think you could also help me up then walk be back to the palace to announce our victory and our relationship?”

“you hurt your arm, not your legs, so you don’t need my help to go back! also, we aren’t even a couple yet, there’s nothing to announce!”

“not a couple yet? so you admit that we will be someday?”

“oh, you’re insufferable!”

his cheeks ached a bit from all the smiles and laughter, able to ignore the pain like it was a mere paper cut thanks to the amusement teasing you has brought him. the day you’ll be his and he’ll be yours (although he always was yours) is close, he could feel it— and he’ll gladly milk this minor injury as much as he can if it means bringing that moment closer to him by spending more time with you.

[trickphotography2]

D-Day by TrickPhotography | Chapter 19

Pairing: Jake "Hangman" Seresin x female!reader

Word count: 8.8k (sorry, it's a long one)

Synopsis: After finding out his girlfriend is pregnant, Jake is ready to move in and get married. The last thing he expected was to be hit with a six-month deployment at sea and missing the birth of his first child.

18+, minors DNI

Chapter 18 | Series Master List | Ao3

---------------------------------------

Chapter 19

Jake's heart pounded, eyes darting around the arrivals area at Tokyo Haneda. The arrivals board had said you'd landed twenty minutes ago, and his anticipation was turning into restlessness. He wished he could text you, check in on how you were feeling, how the flight was, and if you needed anything.

He was looking down at his watch again when the doors slid open. His head jerked up, and he felt a twinge in his neck with a flare of disappointment when it wasn’t you. Grimacing, he rubbed the sore muscles, fingers squeezing the cup of coffee he’d sipped on the train. The hour ride took twice the amount of time as a taxi, but after your reaction to the charges on the credit card bill, he was happy to do that if you wouldn’t fight him on grabbing a car back to base. After all, you’d already been traveling for 19 hours. After a nearly six-hour layover in San Francisco and over 11 hours in the air, it was almost 6:00AM local time. Jake had managed to get an early pass off the carrier to meet you at the airport and had reserved the Navy Lodge starting the night before so you could get off the plane and go right in to relax. You’d already texted him that the upgrade to first class was worth it for the lounge use alone during the layover, and he hoped you’d been able to sleep on the flight. He’d been too anxious to ensure everything was ready to get much sleep and regretted it, fatigue making his eyes heavy. After downing the rest of the coffee, he tossed the empty cup.

The doors opened again, and Jake felt his heart stop. He’d never seen a more beautiful sight than you in leggings and his old sweatshirt stretched across your seven-month pregnant belly. A grin spread across his mouth as he gripped the strap of his backpack and started to push through the crowd, watching as you looked for him. When you spotted him, he saw how your eyes widened and filled with tears as you hurried toward him, waddling a little. The smile that hid your wobbling lower lip. 

And then, in an instant, you were there, standing before him. Without a moment's hesitation, he enveloped you in his arms. His lips found the crown of your head, and he felt his heart surge with love at the sensation of your stomach against his. “Hey, darlin’,” Jake whispered, his voice husky with emotion. Unable to speak around the lump in your throat, you held him tightly - or as tightly as you could, between your stomach and breasts pressing against him and forcing you apart. 

Pulling away slightly, you tilted your head up and smiled at your husband, eyes blurry with tears. His lips met yours, and you could feel him grinning as one of his hands spanned your lower back while the other slid to touch your stomach. When you broke apart to breathe, you pushed onto your toes to chase his lips, trusting that he would keep you steady. Jake chuckled, kissing you again before resting his forehead against yours and wiping away the tears from your cheeks. “Missed you,” he said softly.

“I missed you more,” you replied. Shaking his head, he gently broke your hold on him.

“Not possible,” he said, sinking to one knee. You felt a flush rise as he leaned closer and kissed your middle. “Hey, Sloane-girl, it’s your daddy. Were you good for Mama on the plane?” Your hand went to his shoulder, holding tightly to his backpack strap as he leaned against you. 

“You’re gonna make me ugly cry in public, Seresin.” Your tone was teasing, but he could hear the barely concealed tears in your voice. Chuckling, he kissed Sloane again before springing to his feet and tugging you into his arms. 

“Can’t have that, Mama,” he replied. “We need to get your bag?”

“Nope, traveled light. Or a light as you can when you’re huge.” 

“Darlin’.”

“Just have my carry-ons,” you plowed through, ignoring his stern tone. His hold tightened, and he pressed kisses into your hair. You weren’t the only one that had gotten bigger over the deployment. While he’d always been fit, you could tell he’d put on more muscle, and his stomach was firmer against your own. To put it plainly, your husband was hot as hell. And if you noticed the differences in his appearance, he was surely noticing your own. 

Of course, you’d sent him pictures throughout your pregnancy, so it wasn’t like he hadn’t seen your body's changes. But those pictures were carefully curated to be flattering. The weekly picture he requested of your bump was only taken after you’d gotten ready for work, hiding the worst of the stretchmarks on your stomach and breasts. Makeup concealed the bags under your eyes after sleepless nights pacing the house. It was almost comical to think about how self-conscious you’d been about your tiny bump that Jake had watched grow, given that Sloane had more than doubled in size since last seeing him. 

After three and a half months apart, you wanted to look your best for your husband. But instead of taking the time to do that, you’d only brushed your hair and teeth on the airplane, forgoing any makeup, and hurried through customs instead of stopping in the bathroom to freshen up. And you felt like crap and were exhausted after traveling for almost a day. The flight attendants were great, ensuring you had everything you needed. Your first-class seat was converted into a bed, but it wasn’t comfortable. The pillows you shoved under your belly while lying on your side hadn’t helped, as they were too flat. One of the flight attendants had rolled up blankets and suggested using those as a wedge under your stomach, which had helped some. But, per Dr. Shearer’s orders, you’d gotten up every hour to walk around to avoid blood clots and had to rearrange the blankets when you got back into bed. Sloane had also been restless, pressing on your bladder after you forced yourself to drink a lot of water to stay hydrated.  

Jake’s palms lifted to cup your face, leaning down to brush his lips to yours. “You look gorgeous. You always do, but now? Christ, darlin’.” His thumb traced your trembling bottom lip. His soft smile nearly broke you, and you tried to quiet your internal monologue, listing all the faults in your appearance. “Ready to get outta here?” 

“I should probably hit the restroom before we go,” you sighed, placing a hand on your stomach. Jake nodded, leaning down to kiss you before gently batting your hand away as you reached for your suitcase handle. His free hand took yours, raising it to brush his lips to your knuckles. 

Jake waited for you outside the bathroom, and you quickly did your business and studied your reflection in the mirror while washing your hands. The bags under your eyes were slightly less prominent with the excited flush in your cheeks. After drying your hands, you smoothed them over your stomach and took a deep breath. You felt a flutter in your belly and pressed against Sloane, “Ready to go see Daddy?” you said quietly. 

Green eyes met yours when you stepped out of the restroom, and Jake extended his hand. Drawing you in, he grinned against your mouth. “Can’t believe you’re really here,” he murmured. When his kisses bordered on indecent, you laughed and gently pushed him away.

“Remember we’re in public, Lieutenant,” you gently chided, tapping his nose. He smirked, leaning forward to whisper in your ear.

“Good thing we’ve got a hotel to go back to. Realized a few weeks ago that I can’t remember how you taste, which is unacceptable,” he drawled. Your breath caught at his whiskey voice, feeling heat flood your face as a different type of fluttering occurred in your stomach. Trailing his lips along your cheek, he pecked your lips and pulled away. A teasing smolder lit his green eyes as they ran the length of you, lingering on your belly and breasts before rising to meet your own. “Ready to go?” his voice was husky, and his grip on your suitcase tightened. Rather than answer, you held out a hand, feeling his fingers slide between your own. 

The taxi slowed as they neared the gate, and Jake was glad he’d asked for your ID as soon as you got into the car. The moment it had started moving, you’d leaned your head against his shoulder and fallen asleep. After wrapping an arm around your shoulders and tucking you close, he’d rested his head against yours and closed his eyes, his free hand on your belly. He couldn’t get enough of touching you and wanted more than anything to feel his daughter move. 

After the MP checked both IDs, the car pulled away from the guard shack. Jake kept his eyes open, blinking in the weak early morning sun. A tired smile tugged at his mouth when he looked down at you, and he gently ran his thumb under your eyes. You’d mentioned having trouble sleeping, but now he could see how tired you were. 

Your brow furrowed as the car turned into the Navy Lodge parking lot, and Jake chuckled. “Alright, sleepy girl,” he said softly, pressing kisses into your hair. “We’re here. Let’s go get our keys and go to bed, alright?” You groaned, nuzzling closer to him, and he chuckled again, meeting the taxi driver’s gaze in the mirror. The man quickly looked away as he pulled up to the hotel and got out to get the bags from the trunk. “C’mon, darlin’. Gotta open those pretty eyes for me.” After undoing his seat belt, he reached over you and unclipped yours, holding the belt away from your body when you let out a disgruntled little sigh, eyes slowly blinking open. “There’s my girl,” Jake cooed. “Let’s go get more comfortable, Mama.” 

You smiled sleepily, and Jake couldn’t resist kissing you. “Hi,” you whispered.

“Hi,” he smiled. He held out his hands to help you from the car and grabbed all the bags when you reached for them. When you commented on taking your things, he shook his head. “You’re on vacation. Besides, you’re already carryin’ the most important thing.” He handled check-in while you relaxed on the couch and watched the bags, kneading the muscles in your lower back. “They’ve got breakfast if you want me to grab you something,” Jake said when he appeared at your side. 

“I’m fine for now, but we’ll want to grab some stuff for the room later,” you sighed, mentally preparing to push to your feet. 

“There’s a store across the parking lot, and the NEX and commissary are about a 10-minute drive, but the taxis are close.” Nodding, you scooted to the edge of the couch and braced your hands on your knees. When you stood, you noticed your husband was grinning. 

“What?” 

“Nothing,” he replied before handing you the room keys and swinging his backpack over his shoulder. The room was on the second floor, and Jake made sure he was behind you as you climbed the stairs, one hand resting on your lower back. While you internally rolled your eyes at his overprotectiveness, you didn’t say anything to discourage him. It felt nice to have his hands on you again. 

The room was decent-sized, with a small kitchenette and two queen beds. The window faced Tokyo Bay, and you could see a few small boats bobbing in the morning tide. After tossing the bags onto the extra bed, Jake stood behind you as you gazed out the window, wrapping his arms around you and pulling you into his chest. His lips grazed your temple as his palms rested on either side of your stomach. “I saw something and wanted to try it,” he said softly.

“A sexy something?” you asked, rolling your head onto his shoulder when his lips trailed down your throat.

“Not exactly.” His hands moved further down your body to curl around the hem of your sweater and drew it up. You grumbled a little when he encouraged your arms up so he could take it off. His attention turned to your leggings, and he rolled the waist down before tugging up your shirt so it was tucked under your breasts. Jake’s calloused palms slid down your stomach, and he knit his fingers together underneath your bump. His arms caged you in as he raised his hands, lifting Sloane. The relief was immediate, and you sagged back against him, letting out a moan as the weight disappeared and the tension left your back. Jake laughed, and you felt tears spring to your eyes. “That good?” 

“So good,” you breathed, swallowing hard when he kissed your cheek. 

“You alright, Mama?” he asked, concern lacing his voice when he saw the tears on your cheeks. “Does it hurt?” He started to lower your belly, but you quickly closed your hands over his. 

“Don’t you dare,” you breathed, loving the brief reprieve from the extra weight on your front and the feeling of his arms around you. “I just missed you.” Jake whispered your name, lifting Sloane again as he gently nudged you with his nose until your lips found his. 

“Miss you all the time,” he said softly against your mouth. You deepened the kiss, curling a hand around the back of his neck. 

And then Jake froze, eyes opening and meeting yours in wide-eyed awe. “Was that…” he asked. 

“Your daughter moving?” you nodded, feeling Sloane wiggle. Slowly, he lowered your belly - you bit back a groan at the weight now tugging you forward - and turned you around. His hands returned to your stomach, and he frowned when he felt nothing with his light touch. “Here,” you said, guiding his hand and pressing a bit harder.

“I don’t feel anything,” he sighed after a long minute. 

“I don’t either. She might be sleeping. What time is it at home?” Jake glanced at his watch and did the mental calculations to account for the 16-hour time difference. 

“About 3:00 PM yesterday.” 

“Give it a couple of hours,” you assured him. “She’s usually active around the time I get off work.” 

“You sure it’s not just that she doesn’t like me?” While his tone was joking, you could hear an undercurrent of worry in Jake’s words. “I’m just some stranger tryin’ to feel her, after all.”

Sighing, you wrapped your arms around his neck and kissed him, purposefully pressing your stomachs together. Resting your forehead against his, you guided his hand back to your belly. “You’re not a stranger. She goes crazy when we’re on the phone or a video call and she hears your voice. And she loves it when I’m on the flight line, and the jets are taking off or landing, just like her daddy. It’s just been a long day, and we’re both tired. But I promise you, your daughter loves you.”

Jake’s throat bobbed as he swallowed hard. “I’m missing everything, darlin’. I hate that I - ” You cut him off with a kiss, his hands shifting to your hips when you rose onto your toes. The movement pushed you off-balance and forced him to take some of your weight, but you didn’t care - you trusted him enough to make sure you wouldn’t get hurt. 

“I hate that you’re missing it too,” you panted against his mouth. “But at least we have this week, alright? I don’t want to spend it being sad.” Jake nodded, chasing your kiss when you landed on your feet. Gently pushing him away, you gripped your shirt and tugged it over your head, dropping it onto your discarded sweater. “Now, I’m gonna jump in the shower because I feel gross. Do you want to join me?” Forcing his gaze from your breasts, which were so much bigger than the last time he’d seen you, Jake nodded. “Good. Would you mind getting my toiletries for me?” When he nodded again, you smiled and moved past him, undoing the clasp of your bra and tossing it onto the bed. 

Careful to set the water to a reasonable temperature, you did your business and stepped under the spray, tilting your head back and letting out a soft groan. You were so sore. Even with the compression socks Dr. Shearer had recommended, your legs and ankles were swollen to the point of seeing the indents in your skin. Your hips and back hurt from trying to sleep on the plane. Your shoulders from wearing a bra for almost a day. On days like this, you wished you could enjoy an extra hot shower to soothe your tense muscles. Letting the water wash over your face, you rubbed your shoulders and rolled your neck. 

The curtain pulled back, and you glanced over your shoulder to see Jake stepping into the shower, toiletries in one hand. Taking a deep breath, you turned, holding out your hands for your things. Your face flushed when his eyes widened, taking in your naked body - stretch marks, swelling, and all. Forcing yourself not to cover up, you plucked the travel bottles from his hand and turned away to place them on the shelf. 

You felt him move closer, and then his hands on your hips encouraged you to face him. Jake licked his lips and smirked, drawing you from the shower spray and switching spots. He faced you as he tilted his head back into the water, arms bulging as he lifted his hands to scrub through his hair. Heat pooled low in your stomach as your eyes followed the water running down his chest and abs, the lines of his Adonis belt. His cock, hardening under your gaze. 

Your mouth watered at the sight of your naked husband, and his cocky grin let you know that he knew what he was doing. Jake reached for you again, maneuvering you under the spray. “Sorry, darlin’, I’ll stay outta your way,” he drawled. His eyes focused on your breasts and belly as he loosely gripped his dick and lazily stroked. You shifted, trying to ease some of the pressure between your legs. Biting your bottom lip, you forced yourself to turn away from him - as much as you wanted to fuck him, you needed to clean up first. “‘M surprised you didn’t make the water hotter. Usually have it scalding.”

“I’m not allowed,” you sighed, rolling your shoulders to try and loosen some of the tension. “Can’t have any temperature too hot. I hate it.” Jake moved closer to press himself against you. His big hands went to your shoulders, rubbing gently before his thumbs pressed harder at the base of your neck. You groaned, letting your head fall forward and eyes close. 

“Good?” His touch tiptoed the line between pain and pleasure, and you could only hum a response. Bracing a hand on the wall before you, you closed your eyes and pressed back into your husband’s touch. Too soon, his hands trailed down your spine, knuckles stroking lightly until he reached your lower back. He pushed hard, massaging the muscles of your back and hips, and you couldn't keep the loud moan from escaping. Jake chuckled. You struggled to keep your eyes open between his magical hands, the lukewarm water, and exhaustion. After a few minutes, you felt his palms slide around your hips and glide up your belly as he moved closer, gently pulling you upright. His breath was steady on your ear as he slowly explored your new shape, fingers tracing the reddened stretch marks and the dark line below your flattening belly button. You could feel his cock against your ass and shifted as his attention drifted upward to cup your breasts, arousal simmering in your veins. “This alright?” he asked, mouth pressed against your throat as he ran his thumbs over your sensitive nipples. Unable to speak, you nodded, reaching back to touch him. One hand trailed down your body, fingers dancing over your stomach to cup your core. “How ‘bout this?” You let out a shaky breath, widening your stance to allow him better access. “That’s my girl,” he rasped, parting your lower lips. “Wanna taste you so bad, darlin’, but I can wait. Wanna feel you cum on my cock, but I think I’ll settle for you on my hand for now. Gotta be more careful, now, darlin’.” 

“J-Jake,” you stuttered as he sank a finger into you. Your head fell back against his shoulder, hand curling around the back of his neck to play with his wet hair. His hand left your breast to curve around your jaw, tilting your face closer so he could kiss you. His lips were rough, tongue plundering. He swallowed your gasp as he added a second finger, his thumb finding your clit with ease. 

“So fuckin’ tight.”

“Fuck me,” you pleaded. “Want your - ” He curled his fingers to pet your g-spot, cutting you off with a choked gasp. 

“Gotta work up to that, darlin’,” he chuckled. “Been neglecting my pretty pussy for too long. You been using the toy I bought you?” Unable to speak, you nodded. “Good. Read somethin’ about pregnancy hormones makin’ mamas hornier than usual, and wouldn’t want you to go without.” 

“You read a lot about pregnancy hormones?” you asked, then whined when he withdrew his fingers. Your hand shot down to cover his when he pulled away. 

“Don’t worry, darlin’ - not gonna leave my girl hangin’.” Instead, he tugged you away from the spray and backed you against the shower wall. The tile was cold against your heated skin, and you tried to move forward, but Jake boxed you in. With one hand by your head, his other went back between your legs. His mouth covered yours, panting as you grasped his cock. He thrust into your hand, synchronizing with his fingers in your pussy. You ground down on his hand as he trailed kisses down your throat, licking the water from your tits before sucking on your nipple.

The sensation set you off, and you clapped a hand over your mouth as your moans echoed in the bathroom. Jake continued his ministrations as you came, fingers pumping as he switched to your other breast. When it became too much, you tugged him up and kissed him, feeling his grin against your mouth. He pulled away only long enough to lick his fingers clean before he kissed you again, allowing you to taste yourself. 

You could feel his dick twitch against your thigh and reached for him, but he caught your hand, shaking his head, “Not yet, sweetheart.” Ignoring your whine, he led you back under the shower spray. His hands were gentle as he washed your hair, massaging your scalp and trading lazy kisses. You held onto his shoulders when he went to his knees to wash your legs, kneading your calves and tracing the lines the compression socks had imprinted on your skin. Once satisfied that you were taken care of, Jake quickly washed himself, eyes alight with teasing as he watched you watching him. 

Your patience snapped as he dried you off, and you snatched the towel from his hands and threw it onto the floor. Tugging him back into the bedroom, you perched on the edge of the bed and reached for him. Jake grinned, lowering you onto the mattress as he kissed you. But then you grimaced. “Shit,” he hissed, pulling back quickly. “What’s wrong?”

“Nothing,” you said, bracing your hand on the bed. “Just kinda uncomfortable being on my back.” Glancing over at the other bed, you pointed. “Grab me one of those pillows.” Jake scrambled to get it as you sat up and moved toward the head of the bed. When he extended the pillow, you took it and positioned it under your hips, wiggling as you laid back down. “Much better.” 

“You sure?” He still looked skeptical as you reached for him and nodded. 

“Positive. Unless…” You tried to push down the wave of self-consciousness as he watched you. “Unless you don’t want to?” Jake sighed, crawling across the bed to hover over you, ensuring he kept most of his weight off you. 

“Mama,” he breathed, leaning down to nip at your lips. “I’ve dreamed about this.” 

“How’s reality stacking up?” You sighed when he ran his cock along your entrance, gasping when he tapped it against your clit. 

“So, so much better.” His mouth covered yours, swallowing your moans as he slowly pressed in, inch by glorious inch. Jake’s arms shook by your head when he bottomed out, his breath stuttering as you squeezed him. “Fuck, darlin’, feel so fuckin’ good.” You had to stretch to kiss him, curling a leg over his hips to encourage him to move. 

“Please,” you panted. “Jake, I need - ”

“I’ve gotcha, honey.” Setting a languid pace, bracing himself on an elbow, he reached between you and circled your clit. The extra pressure on your stomach made your back twinge, but you ignored it as your husband played with you, trailing his lips along your neck and shoulders, peppering your face with kisses. Too soon, you came, clenching around him as his rhythm stuttered. He grunted your name against your throat, pausing until you lifted your hips to encourage him to keep going. 

Sitting back on his heels, Jake looked down at you before his eyes fixed on where you were joined. His hips started to move again, and you scrambled to grasp the sheets as he thumbed your clit. “Can’t,” you gasped. 

“Yes, you can, pretty girl,” he growled, angling so every thrust hit just right. “Just one more for me, darlin’.” The combination of his fingers and cock was deadly, but when his eyes finally met yours, you couldn’t hold back. Jake hurriedly leaned down to cover you as you shook, kissing you hard as he finally came. 

You stayed like that, trading tired kisses until lying on your back became too uncomfortable. Jake slipped out of bed to retrieve a washcloth as you curled on your side. After he cleaned you up, he handed you pillows to put under your stomach before sliding into bed behind you. His fingers twined with yours, wedding rings sliding against one another before he rested your hands against your belly. “Just gonna nap,” you promised, pressing back against him and feeling his nod. “Need to get on the time zone.” 

“Just a nap,” he agreed, lips grazing your shoulder. “So happy you’re here, Mama.” 

“Me too, Daddy,” you yawned.

The day flew by too quickly. As much as you wanted nothing more than to spend it in bed with your husband, you eventually forced yourself to leave the hotel. Together, you explored Yokoska, your husband indulging you as you browsed 100 yen and stationery stores, listening to your reminiscing about buying gel pens and trading Hello Kitty and Bad Batz-Maru paper over lunch in elementary school. When you pulled him into candy stores, he said nothing and helped fill a basket with your childhood favorites. When you squealed in delight at finding a vending machine selling a grape drink you remembered loving as a kid, Jake couldn’t help but laugh while digging out the yen to get it for you. He wasn’t a fan of the little pieces of white grape in it and chose to finish the melon soda you’d already opened instead. 

Jake quickly got a taxi and returned to the base at the first sign of you getting tired. While you napped at his insistence, he walked to the store to pick up a few things for the room. You woke to the sound of him loading water bottles into the refrigerator and shoving snacks into the cabinets. When he joined you in bed, lying on top of the covers, his hands went unerringly to your stomach. “Hey,” you whispered, covering his hand with yours.

“Hey,” he replied, kissing the back of your neck. “How was your nap?”

“Would have been better with you. I hate that I’m so tired.” 

“I figured you would be. You had a long day.” 

“I don’t like wasting our time.” 

“Not wastin’ it if you’re relaxing.” Sighing, you rolled to face him, raising an eyebrow. He chuckled, leaning forward to kiss you. “We don’t have to do anything while you’re here. I’ll cancel all the plans, and we can stay like this the whole time.” 

“You want to spend your first time off the ship in months just staying in this room?”

“If that’s what you want, definitely. Just wanna take care of you, Mama. You and Sloane.” 

Rolling your eyes, you pushed onto an elbow. “Spending our whole trip in bed sounds like fun, but I need some stories to tell people when I get home.”

“We can make those up,” he teased, looking up at you as his hand rested on your hip, fingers bunching in the bedding. Shaking your head, you kissed him, tongue teasing the seam of his lips until he opened for you. 

It didn’t take long for your clothes to land on the floor, Jake’s hands roaming your body as you rode him. 

Rooster and Mav met you in the lobby of the Lodge the following day, and you tried not to blush when they inevitably made comments about how big you were and congratulated you on having a little girl. Jake’s arm was around your waist, his fingers lightly resting on your stomach. Together, the four of you took the hour train into Tokyo, and the three aviators caught you up on their deployment while you shared what was happening in Lemoore. 

The city was much bigger and busier than you remembered as a kid. It was a change from your sleepy California home, and you felt a slight pang of longing for city life that was quickly stifled when you looked at your husband. Sure, you’d always imagined living in a bustling city, but if you hadn’t accepted the promotion and transferred to Lemoore, you wouldn’t have found Jake. As if sensing your thoughts, his hand squeezed yours, and he smiled down at you as you browsed a store. “Love you,” you said softly, disentangling your fingers and guiding his hand to where you could feel your daughter moving. Jake’s eyes lit up, turning to face you as he felt the subtle movement beneath your skin.  

While you felt you were slowing the men down, they didn’t say anything when you had to find a place to sit or a restroom. Together, you visited temples and gardens before venturing into Harajuku. The shopping district was crowded, and you were happy to lean against your husband as he lifted your belly, feeding him bits of a crepe over your shoulder while Mav and Rooster looked for souvenirs. Excited by the sugary treat but unhappy with the intrusion on her space, Sloane squirmed in her father’s hands. 

Jake didn’t have liberty on Wednesday and had to be back on the carrier by midnight, so you left Tokyo in the early afternoon and boarded the train back to Yokosuka. The gentle shaking lulled you into a trance, and Jake guided your head onto his shoulder as his arm went around you, encouraging you to sleep. He forced himself to focus on the conversation Rooster and Mav were having as your hand rested high on his inner thigh, your wrist brushing his throbbing cock with every sway of the train. Later, after a dinner on base and a quick shower, he massaged your swollen legs and sore feet before curling up behind you. His hand went around your mouth as he fucked you so sweetly and deeply that you couldn’t help the loud noises you made. After, he touched your stomach, simultaneously fascinated and terrified when you had Braxton-Hicks contractions. At your final check-up before the trip, Dr. Shearer had made sure you knew the difference between them and active labor and when to head to the hospital, a knowing look in her eyes.

Reluctantly, as midnight neared, Jake crawled out of bed and took a quick shower. You could see the concern in his eyes when he caught you shifting from the cramps as he dressed and made you swear to call him if you needed anything. He tucked you into bed, ensuring the pillows were positioned just right, before kissing you and Sloane goodnight. With one final check that your purse sat on the stack of medical records you’d brought ‘just in case’ to make both your doctor and husband happy, he left. 

Mav and Rooster had invited you for another outing to Tokyo the next day, but you declined. A lazy day hanging around the base sounded like heaven. It was a cool day with rain threatening, but you didn’t mind. You debated going to see a movie but found the theater was closed. Instead, you took a taxi to Kosano Park and looked out at the bay, munching on McDonald’s fries before walking to the NEX. Being on base brought back memories of living overseas as a kid, and you felt a pang of regret that your daughter wouldn’t have the same experience. She would never dread shopping for school clothes on base, sure that everyone would wear the same thing, or experience the month-long trips back to the States where you would spend days shopping. With that thought, you walked next door to the commissary to pick up some stuff for the room and a few things for Jake to bring back onto the ship. It felt so nice to be shopping for both of you again that you had to pause in the chip aisle and take a few breaths when tears threatened to overwhelm you. 

You were propped up in bed, eating yogurt-covered pretzels and sipping on a water bottle, watching a sitcom when the door opened just after midnight. Jake smiled tiredly, an eyebrow raised at the sight of you eating in bed before shaking his head and dropping his bag to lie beside you, his head in your lap. While running your fingers through his hair, he told you about the admin work he’d been doing all day while you caught him up on your activities. His nose brushed your stomach before he tugged down the blanket and pushed up your shirt to kiss your skin. You shifted, flushing at his hot breath so close to where you wanted him. Jake looked up at you and raised an eyebrow again. 

“They weren’t kidding about pregnancy hormones,” he panted, holding onto your hips as your fingers curled into the sheets of the spare bed that he’d had bent you over. It had taken some convincing and swearing that you hadn’t had any actual contractions at all and a quick chat about orgasms causing Braxton-Hicks for him to agree to touch you. Unsatisfied by his hand, you’d gotten out of bed and stripped, reminding him that you owed him a video for being right about having a girl. His legs had gotten tangled in the sheets, and he nearly fell to the floor while grabbing his phone while you laughed. But that laugh had died on your lips as he cooed about how sexy you were, a hand between your shoulders gently pressing you down, setting a hard and fast pace. You whined as he pinched your clit, leaning forward to hiss and get a shot of your fucked out expression on camera. “Don’t think I forgot about our agreement of no crumbs in bed.” 

To make it up to him, you woke him up the next morning, slowly pulling down the blankets to stroke his cock and, once he was awake, kneeling on the floor between his spread thighs and blowing him. 

Jake surprised you with dinner reservations for Thanksgiving the next day at the Officer’s Club. To kill time, you took the ferry to Sarushima Island and explored the fortified pathways and old bunkers. The ocean was cool when you walked along the shore, feeling the coral sand between your toes, thinking about the last time you’d walked along the beach together in San Diego and picking out baby names. 

“If we have a boy later, what do you think about still using the name Oliver James?” you asked. Jake stopped walking, eyebrows high over his sunglasses as he smirked.

“Already thinkin’ about having another one?” he teased, stepping before you to tug you into his arms. 

“I mean,” you shrugged, looping your arms around his neck. “We’ll see how it goes when this one makes her appearance. Maybe she’ll traumatize us to the point where we never want to touch -” 

“Don’t talk about my little girl like that,” Jake playfully chided, lightly smacking your ass before leaning down to kiss you. “Besides, it’d take a whole hell of a lot for me to never wanna touch you.” 

Rooster and Mav joined you at dinner, sharing stories about their trip to Yokohama. It was fun to hear them trade stories about the deployment and to hear Rooster’s perspective of what Jake was like at their first base. When Jake and Rooster went up to get second helpings, you were able to chat with Mav for a minute and ask how your husband was doing. The older man glanced over his shoulder at the younger aviators before reaching for your hand and squeezing it.

“It’s hard,” he admitted, “especially when his parents…” You felt goosebumps rise at the mention of your in-laws. Taking Jake’s lead, you hadn’t outreached Sarah once they left the house. After a challenging conversation with Lina where she’d accused you of lying about her father’s behavior, you hadn’t spoken again. Jake mentioned his sister was angry with him, but he didn’t care. You knew she was still following you on social media so the Seresins would be informed about your trip and see the pictures you posted. “But he’s okay.” 

On Jake’s last day of liberty, you reluctantly agreed to take the 40-minute train to Enoshima. As pretty as the shrines and sea caves were, you wanted nothing more than to be closed up in your hotel room with your husband. He paid the fees to take the escalators up the tree-topped hills so you could admire the views of the Pacific Ocean and distant Mt. Fuji. It was a surprise to see a fence decorated with padlocks, and after using an app to translate the signs, you realized you were at a place called Lover’s Hill. A bell hung in a little stand, the placard stating that if a couple rang it, they would be together forever. You set your phone up on the provided photo stand, snapping a picture of the two of you tugging the bellrope with Sagami Bay glistening behind you. When Jake went into a small store to grab you a melon soda and water, he returned with a lock and sharpie. He wrote your names on it before taking your hand, leading you back to the fence, and pointing out a spot for you to lock it. 

At the Navy Lodge, Jake tried to encourage you to pack your suitcase, but you refused. He was due back on the carrier at midnight again, and you didn’t want to spend a minute of that precious time thinking about flying back home the next day. Still, tears gathered in your eyes as he started to clear out the kitchenette, putting your candy in a pile while shoving the snacks into a plastic bag for him to take back to the carrier. You watched him from the bed, biting your lip to keep from sobbing. When he turned to offer you a bottle of cold water, he sighed your name. 

The clock was your enemy as Jake undressed you, his lips caressing every inch of skin he uncovered. With a pillow under your hips, he guided you to lay down as he kissed and licked his way down to the cradle of your thighs. Deliberate and slow, he brought you to the very precipice of pleasure before backing off, savoring your taste and whimpering moans. Again and again, your husband toyed with you until you had to switch positions when you started to hurt. It took some convincing for you to straddle his face, clinging to the headboard for balance, but Jake’s soft pleading and cajoling eventually had you grinding against his mouth as his fingers dug into your thighs.  

Dinner was a quick affair - burgers that Jake ran across the parking lot to grab from a chain restaurant while you begrudgingly checked into your flight and started to pack. Trying to keep the mood light, he joked that he was happy to finally cross off a french fry run off his Daddy Bucket List, and you quickly ducked into the bathroom to hide your tears. You turned on the sink tap to hide your sniffles, but Jake was waiting outside the bathroom and folded you into his arms when you opened the door. “‘M sorry, darlin’,” he whispered against your hair. 

As much as you wanted to focus on enjoying those last few hours together, Jake pulled you onto the bed and handed you a stack of printed papers. Standing before you, he ran a hand through his hair as you flipped through them. He explained that he needed to update his base dream sheet in case he got orders soon and wanted to discuss them with you. Though his tone was even, you could detect an undercurrent of anxiety in his words, and you looked up at him. “So, what do you think the timeline is?” you asked. 

“I dunno. I just… have this gut feeling that it’s gonna be within the next year.” 

You sighed and set the papers beside you, threading your fingers through his belt loops and tugging him closer. Resting your chin against his flat stomach, you looked up at him, “As long as it’s not within the next five months, it’ll be fine. I really don’t want to deal with a PCS with a newborn.” 

“You’d be okay with leaving your job?” he asked tentatively, tracing the curve of your cheek. Frowning, you pulled away from his touch.

“Are you saying you want me to stay in Lemoore?” you asked, a hint of hurt coloring your voice. 

“No! No, of course not,” Jake quickly answered. “I just… Are you going to be okay if we move?” Heaving a sigh, you grabbed his left hand and tapped on his wedding ring.

“I knew that was part of the deal when we married, babe. Do I want to leave my job? No. I like the work and the people I work with. But I love you, and - for now - your career is going to be the one that makes decisions for our family.” Jake swallowed hard before burying his free hand in your hair and tugging gently so your head tipped back. His mouth covered yours, nipping at your lips as he tried to lower you onto the bed. But you braced your palm on the mattress and resisted, chuckling against his lips when he grunted. Shaking your head, you reached for his jeans, quickly undoing the button and dragging down the zipper. 

Leaning against the headboard, Jake whimpered as you sank down onto his cock, hands clasped around your hips. He could feel you clench around him and let his head fall back, grunting when you refused to move. “Darlin’,” he pleaded.

“Nope, not until we get this dream sheet filled out,” you breathed, fighting your own urge to move. Instead, you grabbed the discarded pile of papers and a pen from your purse. Resting them against his shoulder, you started to read off the bases he’d put as his top choices back when he was single. Jake found it hard to concentrate as you debated the merits of each base. But as much as you pretended you weren’t affected, he could see the pulse fluttering in your throat and feel you clench around him when his hands roamed your thighs and ass. When his hands ventured higher to cup your breasts, your head lolled back as he ran his thumbs along your tender nipples. “Back on task, Seresin,” you panted. 

“‘M a great multitasker,” he promised. You laughed, and he groaned as you rocked against him, hips lifting to thrust into you. But you shook your head, setting the papers on the bed and covering his hands with your own. The movement made him moan, and you chuckled, lifting his hands and guiding them to curl around the top of the headboard. 

“You’re the one who decided to wait until the last minute to have this conversation, Lieutenant. Now, don’t move those hands until I say so.” It was torture, he decided, trying to talk about your future as you warmed him, squeezing him anytime you felt he wasn’t paying attention. Most of the time, he loved how thorough and logical you were, but at that moment, he would have been happy with whatever random base the Navy decided to send him to. Finally, Jake felt the pen drag across his skin when you propped the papers on his chest to write the new ranking - Lemoore at the top with San Diego after, but including a few bases in Florida and even leaving Iwakuni, Japan on the list. 

His head fell back, and he swallowed hard when you leaned to place the papers and pen on the nightstand. Chuckling, you licked his Adam’s apple while taking his hands from the headboard. But when you guided them back to your breasts, he shook his head, a sly smirk crossing his mouth. “Had your chance, darlin’,” he murmured, shaking off your hold and resting his hands on your knees that bracketed his hips. His calloused palms glided up your thighs, one circling your hip while the other slid between your legs. Jake pressed his thumb to your clit but didn’t move. “Now you’re gonna have to work for it.” 

The unspoken order was clear, and you pouted. “You’d make you poor, tired, pregnant wife - ”

“Absolutely,” he cut you off. “Especially when she’s being a tease. You wanna come, you’re gonna work for it.” 

“On our last night together?” Jake nearly caved when you leaned forward to kiss him. Your words reminded him that he only had hours left until he wouldn’t see you again for two and a half months. But when you smirked against his mouth when he circled your clit, his resolve firmed. Pulling away, he leaned against the headboard while landing a loud slap to your ass. You jolted, clenching around him, and he groaned. 

“Clock’s tickin’, Mama,” he managed to say, looking down his nose at you. You sighed, rising onto your knees and sinking down onto his cock. You both moaned, and Jake’s free hand returned to the top of the headboard as he fought the urge to help you. The only help Jake gave was the consistent pressure on your clit and the litany of praise and encouragement that fell from his lips - “Feel so fuckin’ good, baby. Just like that. Liked that, hmm? Do it again. Can feel that you’re close.” 

When you finally came, Jake kissed your temple as you collapsed against him, his hands sweeping your skin as he told you how much he loved you. Gently, he encouraged you onto your knees and turned you around, lifting your hips. Your cries were muffled in your folded arms and blankets as he fucked you from behind, thrusting hard enough to punch the air from your lungs. Glancing behind you, you were mesmerized by the sight of his muscles moving beneath his skin, highlighted by the stream of sunset through a gap in the curtains. Your husband grinned as he met your gaze, one hand leaving your hip to run a soothing hand down your spine.

Hit with a horrible sense of deja vu, you refused to close your eyes when Jake tried to get you to relax after a shared shower. His hands drifted over your skin, mapping every curve and divot before pressing lightly when the baby made herself known. He shifted down the bed to press his forehead to your stomach, stroking softly as he murmured his love to his daughter, promising he would be home soon. As usual, when she heard her Daddy, it felt like Sloane was doing cartwheels in your belly. Jake’s grin was worth every bit of discomfort as you threaded your fingers through his hair, savoring the moment for the three of you. 

With less than an hour until the taxi came, you watched as Jake checked the room to ensure all his stuff was packed away. His bags sat by the door, ready for the moment he had to go downstairs and return to the port. With his last check completed, he joined you in the kitchenette, where you sipped a water bottle, boxing you in against the counter. Setting it aside, you wrapped your arms around him and felt him kiss your forehead. “Just a couple more weeks,” he said softly. 

“More than halfway done,” you nodded. Jake lightly tugged your hair, encouraging you to look up at him. 

“It’s gonna fly by.”

“February will be here before you know it.” 

“We’ll have so much to celebrate then.”

“Not sure I’ll be in celebrating shape by that point,” you said, attempting a teasing tone that fell flat. “Can’t have sex for at least six weeks after giving birth.” Jake chuckled, stepping closer so your stomach pressed against his. 

“Worth it.” You nodded, swallowing hard against the tears that threatened to fall. “Talked to my CO, and he’ll make sure I’ve got a private space to be on a call with you when…”

“What happens if you’re in the air when I go into labor?”

“The tower’ll let me know, and I’ll land as soon as possible and call you.” Blowing out a breath, you met his solemn green eyes and forced a smile.

“I’ll make sure my laptop and charger are in my hospital bag.” You watched as the sadness crept into his gaze and his brow furrowed against yours. “It’ll be okay,” you promised. His touch was calculated as he slowly stripped you of your clothes, fingers caressing your bare skin as he kissed you. After he kicked away the jeans and boxers pooling at his feet, you palmed his cock before his hand wrapped around your knee, keeping you steady as he encouraged you to wrap it around his hip. Holding you there, he slowly pressed into you, swallowing your gasps and sighs as he rocked against you.

The front desk called at 11:35 PM to inform you that the taxi had arrived. Jake tried to get you to stay in the room, but you refused. After tossing his things into the back seat, he pulled you into his arms and kissed you hard. “Love you, darlin’.”

“Love you too. Be safe.”

“You too. Both of you.” He dropped to his knee and pressed his forehead to your stomach. “Be good for Mama, Sloane. I’ll be home soon.” You felt him push your shirt up just enough to brush his lips to your skin. 

“Go before I start crying,” you whispered against his mouth when he kissed you again. He nodded, dropping his head to rest his forehead against yours. “I love you, Jacob Michael Seresin.” You felt his smile as he said your full name.

“‘M so glad we aren’t friends,” he chuckled, and you laughed, standing on your toes to kiss him. 

“Me too. So much better being your wife.” 

As the taxi drove away, you lifted a hand and waved. Jake smiled at you from the backseat and blew you a kiss. 

The house seemed empty when you finally made it home. Javy carried your bags to the bedroom while you darted into the bathroom. The plane had hit bad turbulence on the flight home, and you still felt nauseous. You kept that information to yourself when replying to Jake’s text while standing in line for Customs, instead telling him it was smooth.

As tired as you were, it was hard to sleep that night without the sound of your husband’s soft snoring and his hands on you. Sloane seemed restless as well, moving more than normal at night.

“I know,” you sighed, pressing a hand to where she’d kicked you. “I miss Daddy too.” 

February couldn’t come soon enough. 

----------------------------------------------

Author's Note: Jake and Darlin' got their babymoon 🥹 I had a lot of fun writing this chapter - my family wasn't at Yokosuka, but we did live in Japan for 9 years when I was growing up. Guess who didn't realize that Johnny Rockets was an American burger chain until they were 16 since I'd only gone in Tokyo? Yeah... good times...

Though I can't tag her here, May deserves credit for helping me with this chapter and making sure I didn't go too far into the body image angst.

Tag list: @memeorydotcom; @alldaysdreamers; @kmc1989; @djs8891; @caitsymichelle13; @dempy; @midnightmagpiemama; @lovelyladymayyyy; @caidi-paris; @a-court-of-roscoe-and-baby; @bellaireland1981; @lethargicluv; @tenderclio; @lucypaulette; @abaker74; @trhett21; @misshoneypaper; @schreksdoubledeckerhomechecker; @eternallyvenus; @mavrellover91; @chloeforde; @thatbitcily; @rest-of-brazilian-wax; @percysaidnever; @harperdoodle; @hardballoonlove; @maeleeme; @emma8895eb; @xoxabs88xox; @queenslandlover-93; @memoriesat30; @queerqueenlynn; @capswife; @regsg18; @boisewaffles; @fudge13; @starkleila; @shanimallina87

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[kiwanopie]

Hello

How are you?

How would lord crime Kyoomi react when he knew that now - after the heated honeymoon- he is expecting 🙊

Thank you ❤️

If he found out you were pregnant with his baby?

There’s a very specific indication you find, that usually signals when your doting criminal kingpin husband is about to cry. He doesn’t do it often. Sometimes it’s just hearing him silently weep in the shower, or feeling his tears soak into the fabric of your sleep shirt on those particularly gruesome nights, but you usually know when he’s about to do it. Regardless of how he might try to remain inconspicuous.

First it’s a sniffle. A wet little intake of breath usually tailed by frantic blinking. He usually ducks his head or tries to turn his back, in worse cases he just opts to bury his face in his hands to maintain some semblance of dignity. - A few hushed curses, pained twitch of the brow, and a loss at where to put his hands; try as he might, he attempts to hold himself back but then it comes:

The hiccup.

There’s a pregnancy test buried in his bathroom trash can.

Which was already cause to turn frantic and teary-eyed, especially when he knows you’ve been in and out of sickness these few weeks since returning from your honeymoon. It looks like you tried to hide it under some gathered tissue. Face down at the bottom of the bin and he’s only lucky he caught that tronic plastic he assumed was a discarded thermometer at first. In any other case he’d be mortified at the idea of rifling through a trash can, but he dives in without so much as thinking twice. Knocking the poor thing on its side as he snatches the little lodge out of the bin and gapes at those automated letters.

“Pregnant.”

You’re having his baby.

Concerned wife that you are, you rush into your joint bathroom at what sounds like genuine sobbing from the door of your bedroom. First thing you think is that something awful happened; maybe a bust at his office, maybe an unanticipated call from his father. But you rush in like you’re worried he’s dying, and you barely get the chance to barge in the bathroom before you’re nearly tripping over.

Kiyoomi’s tall and solid, even from his knelt position on the bathroom floor. His arms are stable and unavoidable, they’re wrapped around your lower torso before you can even realize they are. Kneeling before you and holding onto your waist for dear life, you card your fingers through his hair as his tears stain through the front of your dress.

You peep the tipped over trash can and immediately start to sweat. “Why didn’t… Why didn’t you tell me..?”

“I was waiting to tell you at dinner.” You lie instead of telling him you were still debating on whether to keep it or not. “I’m just-… I was nervous.”

You can feel his eyebrows furrow against your lower stomach. “Wha- Did you not think I’d want it?”

You didn’t think he could handle it. This guy already loves you to a degree that’s - in its best light - a little startling. Fawning over you like you get newer everyday and scaring himself gray at the prospect of ever losing you, you can’t so much as step a foot outside without at least ten of his drones hovering over you like clock work. ~ Yesterday you stumbled during a trek to the garden and not even a second later was he calling you on your cell, chiding you for not being more careful of the roots and sending one of his men to pick the jasmines for you.

So, you and a baby? You, barefoot, pregnant, and vulnerable? Holding a physical representation of all the love he’s felt and given to you. You and an heir that’ll be equal parts him and equal parts you and probably all he's ever wanted in the world besides having you all to himself. He’d go crazy. He wouldn’t let you leave the house, or so much as step a foot off of the bed without a palanquin lifting you up immediately after. - And when that baby comes?

Oh, god when that baby comes. “I didn’t want to overwhelm you,” You say. “I know you’ve been busy with work, and you already worry so much. I was afraid a baby would only add more pressure.”

“Angel,” Kiyoomi finally starts to rise on his feet. Cupping your cheeks as he guides your head up at him and meets you with the kind of gaze that says he’s far gone. “Baby, you-… I don’t even know what to say. Pressure? My fucking god-“

He kisses you swiftly, and then again, and then two more times for good measure. “We’re having a baby. You made me a father. I don’t- I can’t even describe how happy you’ve made me.”

“I love you,” a fifth kiss, this time a little slow, next one a little tender. Wetting your cheeks with his that are still damp and finally forgoing his kisses for a tight embrace that submerges you in him. Kiyoomi rubs you down your head and back so earnestly that you almost wanna purr. He’s nothing if not a master at making you feel like the best thing in the world. “I love you and I can't thank you enough. You’re giving me a child.”

You start to tear up a little at his praise and the way his voice breaks as he lauds you like you’re heaven. You're not sure if it's the hormones or the treatment that's choking you up like this, but it's overwhelming to say the least. “I love you too, Kiyoomi. So much.”

“So much.” He parrots. And he sniffles as you melt into him.

He’s truly never letting you out of his sight.

He's truly never letting you out of his sight.

[sarahghetti]

direction to perfection; j.l.

pairing: jake lockley x reader, marc and steven are briefly alluded to but do not make an appearance

summary: one day, your vigilante lifestyle leads to you to crossing paths with a moon-serving weirdo in white bandages. jake promises that he won't get in the way, but there's something about his smirk that has your spidey-sense tingling, and what do you know—

he sets a building on fire.

it's not supposed to be romantic.

warnings: depictions of fighting and violence, injuries, hurt and comfort, reader is a spider-person and thus has a spider-person sense of humour😭.

word count: 3.8k

notes: part of the @MOONKNIGHT-EVENTS bingo! prompt: “'bonfire”

MOON KNIGHT MASTERLIST | ALL MASTERLISTS

You have a love-hate relationship with your spidey-sense—it’s useful enough to give you a heads-up, but it’s not exactly a get-out-of-danger-free card.

It kicks in as you’re soaring through the air, an errant pulse in your veins that tells you one thing: MOVE. But there’s no time—before you even manage to lift your web-shooter, one of Doc Ock’s mechanical arms whips around and collides hard against your torso. For a moment, you feel your ribs crack underneath the metal, the sharp pains accompanied by a real stupid thought, even by your standards: guess I’m going to call in sick tomorrow—

—and then you finally hit the brick wall behind you. The air is ripped from your lungs and your thoughts short-circuit into nothingness. New York’s evening rush hour is drowned out by high-pitched ringing. If it weren’t for your wallcrawling ability, you’d be falling forty stories down onto the traffic below. Instead, rooted into the small crater you’ve made into an office building, all you can do is languish in what surely must be multiple broken bones and a slightly bruised ego for not being able to dodge a hit that you saw coming.

Speaking of—there’s another one heading towards you right now.

You leap upwards without a second thought, just narrowly avoiding becoming a shitty claw-machine prize as the arm lodges into the wall where your head used to be. Spots dance across your vision and you groan—your body does not want to move.

Suspended between two buildings, Doc Ock’s mechanical arms dig into concrete and brick as she follows you up. Her voice is deceptively empathetic. “Down so soon, little spider? I expected more from you!”

One of the arms rears back again but distantly, there’s the clench of a trigger—and it gets pinned behind her by a golden grappling hook.

The wire grows taut then there he is, using the reeling mechanism to lunge upwards. All the momentum is channeled into his crescent blade as Jake jams it between the plates of the trapped arm; it jerks like a wounded animal, suddenly uncoordinated and stiff. When it lashes out again, he easily dodges and jumps across the buildings onto the fire escape next to you.

“Mierda! You okay?”

Glowing white eyes, wide with concern—the sight is enough to shake you out of your concussive stupor. Jake extends a hand, and you take it readily, allowing him to help you up onto the rickety platform.

“Just peachy,” you wheeze as you lean almost your entire body weight against him.

This was supposed to be a simple mission. It wasn’t even supposed to be a mission in the first place, but one detained drug dealer led to another, which led to a smuggler and a mercenary and a goddamn gym teacheruntil you were faced with a whole corrupt laboratory that tied back to Doc Ock’s operations.

Jake got looped in somewhere between the mercenary and the gym teacher, apparently answering some kind of divine calling of his own. Egyptian god of the moon? Protecting travelers of the night? You just call the people you save New Yorkers, no fancy labelling here.

But you’re not so prideful as to turn away help when you need it, especially when it comes gift-wrapped in superhuman strength and a bullet-proof cape. Even though you catch him giving himself these looks in the windows you pass by or having whole conversations to himself under his breath—you’ve seen weirder.

Like now: There’s a clear conflict happening in—on?—Doc Ock. The damaged arm flails wildly through the air, and the other three can’t seem to decide between trying to calm it down, retreat, or kill you.

Those white eyes turn to you. “Sure you don’t want me to shoot her?”

“No!” Now you remember why you were initially wary of him—because when you first met, he was holding one of his blades to a lackey’s throat. Danger, danger! You didn’t even need your spidey-sense to tell you that; he wears the warning like a badge of honour. “We just need to subdue her till the cops come. Follow my lead.”

Jake gives you a mock salute. Fortunately, Doc Ock’s lab was deserted—except for her—when you crashed the place. Whatever supersecret bioweapon she’s cooking up will still be waiting for you to destroy it after you capture her.

With just one press of a button, you’re soaring back into action. The arms seem to have coordinated themselves again—having decided to kill you, how lucky—but so have you and Jake. One lunges towards you, and you pull upwards on your web, going feet over head as you as you flip backwards out of the way.

In that split-second moment when you’re fully upside-down, your arm extends downwards and thwip!—your web attaches to the titanium plating. The world realigns itself, and your momentum carries you in an arc below the arm, dragging it behind you as you continue in your original direction.

As soon as you land on the side of the opposing building, you yank hard. Immediately, your other hand comes up to shoot a dozen or so webs to attach the claw onto the wall. It won’t last—the brick is already crumbling under the force—but it gives Jake enough time to shake off Doc Ock’s attention and join you.

Closer than you were before, you can see just how much force it takes for him to drive his blade through the circuitry. Sparks burst like little fireworks around his hand. He makes it look easy, but a shudder crawls down your spine—you just know what he’s capable of.

You both leap out of the way as the arm thrashes erratically; Doc Ock cries out in frustration. That’s two arms down, and two that are busy suspending her in the air. You’ll have to catch her once you take out another one, but that’s no biggie.

“Jake!” You gesture towards the nearest arm, and he nods in understanding. Despite the pain radiating through your limbs, you grin. For all his snark and murderous tendencies (which you hope are just a joke), he’s a half-decent partner.

It’s too bad, then, that Doc Ock doesn’t seem to care about how good of a time you’re having. Her mouth twists into a snarl, and in a blink of an eye, she’s scrambling away. Retreating? Your poor, bruised head is hopeful for the night to end.

In a way, it’s right—she is trying to get away from you. Unfortunately, it also recognizes that she’s retracing your steps, right back to the lab where you first found her.

“Oh, damn it!”

Your injuries and Jake’s limited modes of superhuman transport make it impossible to gain any real ground as you chase after her. Doc Ock climbs through her shattered window half a minute before you do, and even if your conscious mind doesn’t realize it, some part of you does—it’s an ambush.

You dive to the ground just as a mini fridge is thrown in your direction. Pain shoots down your side, your vision blurring with tears. The sheer wave of nausea that washes over you makes your mouth water and fuck, you might actually puke like this.

There’s something else coming but you can’t do anything other than half-heartedly roll behind the nearest object. The workbench shields you from—what, a chair? You aren’t afforded anymore time to think about it because she rips off the counter next, several important-looking valves raining down around you. Through the noise, you just barely manage to pick up a quiet hissing in the air as you try to gather your bearings.

A line of workbenches down the centre of the room, an aisle on either side.

On the right: sinks and fume hoods.

On the left: whiteboards.

Directly in front of you: the absolute bane of—and possible end to—your existence, holding up that chunk of black countertop as if it were a hammer and you are a nail.

You brace yourself for the hit, but it never comes. There’s a surprised yelp from above you, and your peer through your arms at just the right time to see Jake land a brutal kick into Doc Ock’s chest, sending her flying. You don’t see her land, but you do hearit; equipment crashes to the ground, glass shattering on the linoleum.

With a hand from Jake, you’re back on your feet. Doc Ock is reeling at the far end of the room. The walls are littered with long, deep gashes—some from your initial confrontation with her, some likely from her mechanical arms flailing from Jake’s hit. Several of the fume hoods are missing their windows entirely, which definitely bodes ill considering that there are still chemicals in some of them.

Gritting your teeth, you somehow manage to get the words out, “Just stand down, Olivia!”

A hand is clutched at her side, and some petty part of you hopes that her ribs are broken too. “This isn’t over.”

You gesture to her mechanical arms, two of which are still malfunctioning like headless chickens, then to yourselves, who are (mostly) in one piece. “Well, it sure is about to be.”

She raises her eyebrows at Jake. “You raid a Spirit Halloween and suddenly think you can defeat me?”

“Yeah, sure, let me just take fashion advice from someone cosplaying as an octopus.”

Jake leans towards you. “Do you always talk this much?”

At that, Doc Ock’s eyes narrow, filled with determination. She’s not backing down this time, which means neither can you.

You both ready yourselves like you have countless times before, straightening your stance and setting your shoulders back. But Jake doesn’t show the same patience. No—he sees the remaining mechanical arms twitch in preparation, and a blade is already leaving his hand with deadly-precise aim.

Wait, wait, the hissing sound—the gas—

“Get down!” You ram your body into Jake’s, bringing you both to the ground as the blade makes contact with the titanium, sparks flying out and—

BOOM.

It’s like your heart stops.

For several moments, you don’t register anything at all. You aren’t even sure if you’re still breathing.

Slowly, your senses return. The scent of burning plastic invades your nostrils—even the air tastes like it too. Something’s landed on top of you, pinning you down with a surprising amount of strength. Warm and sturdy and pressing into all the wrong places, but you can’t even hear your own whimpering—there’s nothing but ringing in your ears.

Are your eyes closed? You can’t bring yourself to check. All you can do is try to remember how to live, and figure out what the hell is happening.

Your spidey-sense has gone quiet. That’s—that’s good. Hopefully. Or maybe it’s just been knocked out of you by the blast. You let that last thought get washed away into the muddled mess of your head; you could probably use a bit of positive thinking right now.

Everything hurts. That’s been true for the past hour, really, but there’s no gut-wrenchingly painful burn anywhere on your body like what you expected from a lab explosion. The closest thing is just that warmth against your back, in a thick arm across your chest, and encircled around your wrist, where it lingers along your pulse point.

Something brushes up against your cheek, roughly textured but trying to be so, so gentle. Words start to pierce through the hearing damage. “—estás bien, te tengo. No te preocupes, estás bien.”

“Jake?” Your voice comes out small and tinny, unsure of how loud to speak when everything sounds like it’s underwater. You receive an affirmative rumble, and the tension seeps out of your limbs, just a tad.

Tentatively, you open your eyes. And there’s—nothing. Just a white sheet of fabric covering your entire field of view. Jake huffs out a laugh at your confusion before finally standing up, his cape pulling back from where it was draped on top of you.

“Oh.”

It’s like a bomb went off. Nearly every surface has been scorched black, save for the perfectly untouched flooring around you where Jake shielded you both from the blast. Any equipment in the room has been reduced to pieces—if not completely combusted into ash and soot—and fires still linger despite the efforts of what’s left of the sprinkler system.

No sign of Doc Ock anywhere—she must’ve gotten away. Jake lets out a long string of curses under his breath, then finishes it off with an eloquent: “Fuck.”

The fire alarm is incessant, and the sprinklers have all but drenched your suit. If you had half a working brain left, you’d feel the shivers wracking your body and realize that you’re still bleeding out in several different places, but the only thing that crosses your mind is how tired you are.

You throw your mask off with a groan. The sirens in the distance only add to your growing headache. So close, you were so close this time.

“Come on.” Jake’s stands over you, mask retracted, and you can see the grimace on his face from how the mission turned out. Wordlessly, he offers to help you up, and is promptly ignored. He keeps his hand extended towards you, shaking it a little for emphasis, but you refuse to budge.

That is, until your mind so helpfully strays and wonders—how big was the blast?

Your eyes widen, and your body jerks upright as though electrocuted. Oh, God—you didn’t see anyone else in the lab other than Doc Ock when you arrived, but what about the other floors? What about the pedestrians on the sidewalk below, who might’ve had glass and debris rained down upon them when the windows were blown out?

It takes several tries to get to your feet, none of which are entirely successful because Jake has to intervene halfway through to hold you upright. Your second wind catches him off-guard and his brows furrow as you try to leap back into action. “Whoa—talk to me, bug. What’s happening?”

“Need to—” You try to shrug him off. His grip loosens for all of a moment before you’re stumbling again, and then he returns, as firm and steady as ever. “Was anyone hurt?”

“You.”

“Not what I meant,” you scowl. It’s thoroughly ineffective. The only response you get is a subtle tilting of his head, then a loss of his undivided attention as he listens to something—someone—in the room that you aren’t privy to.

His gaze flickers back to you, marginally softer. “No one else was hurt. You need to rest.”

You don’t dignify that with a response. What’s the point of superhealing if you can’t bounce back after a fight? This time when you struggle against him, Jake lets you go, crossing his arms as you limp around the room.

Fortunately, most of the smoke is being pulled out the windows; what’s left is enough to burn and scrape down your larynx, but you push through it. Doc Ock has to have left some kind of trace—if not during her escape, then in the work she left behind. But kicking around in the ashes yields nothing. There’s no conveniently placed folder full of evil plans, or vial labelled SUPER SECRET BIOWEAPON (ONLY COPY - NO NEED TO SEARCH ANY FURTHER).

Jake sighs. “What are you looking for?”

What are you looking for? The building is still on fire, for Christ’s sake—you should have been gone ten minutes ago. Still, your stubbornness is steadfast. “There has to be—something.”

He sweeps out an arm, gesturing to the resounding nothing around you. With wet curls stuck to his forehead, his tone veers on sardonic. “Oh? Your little spider-sense tell you that?”

“Spidey, and—and it’s not a radar, I can’t just turn it on,” you bristle. His ensuing snicker lands all wrong, and your mouth twists into a scowl. “Funny, is it? Blowing up a building?”

“Hey.” The lightness disappears from his expression. “How was I supposed to know about the gas leak?”

It’s a valid question. Still, the anger in you can’t help but flare up anyways, running on his words as if they were diesel. You bite back a retort at the last second, which isn’t enough because the resulting silence is accusatory in and of itself.

He takes a step towards you, chin raised as water continues to rain down on you both. Solid, sturdy—unyielding. The sight twists your stomach into knots, but you stand your ground, placing your hands on your hips even though it pulls painfully at a handful of your muscles. “Shit happens, bug. It’s no one’s fault—well, maybe a bit my fault, but—”

“I had her.” It’s a blatant lie, but full of conviction as it leaves your lips.

He’s nothing short of incredulous. “Did you?”

“Yes—”

Faster than your hazy mind can register it, his hand shoves at your shoulder. Not hard, but it didn’t need to be—you practically crumple, hands scrambling to find something to hold on to before you land flat on your ass, but Jake wraps an arm around your waist, steadying you.

You swat at his chest. You hate that his warmth is familiar. “Let me go.”

He counters: “What’s wrong?”

“You, asshole.”

“’m the bad guy now? You want a fight that bad?” His eyebrows cock upwards, regarding you like some unruly child.

He’s being inflammatory on purpose and it’s working. You’re an elastic band in his fingers, one that he keeps stretching and stretching and stretching until you snap. “I don’t want a fight, I want a—”

Win, you almost admit. You wanted a win, after all this time you’ve spent chasing after Doc Ock. Countless sleepless nights and lackeys thrown behind bars, only to fail in the final moments when it really mattered. The realization is debilitating, even in the confines of your own head, and so you lash out again, distracting yourself from the bitterness on your tongue by spewing it out instead.

“We’re not all out for blood, you know.” Then, because you can’t help yourself— “I’m not you, Jake.”

“Is that what this is about?” His hand tenses almost imperceptibly against your back, but you manage to catch it. Of course you do, with every sense on high alert, blood rushing in your ears. “You mad ‘cause I’m a killer?”

Something dangerous underlines his tone when he says the word and you flinch, trying to create some distance between the two of you on instinct. Jake doesn’t grant you that—his other arm comes to hold you as well, pulling you in even though you think you might suffocate in his presence.

“You knew this from the start. Don’t tell me you’re going to try to turn me in now.”

“Maybe I should,” you say in a rush, gaze steely as it meets his. For all your superhuman powers, none give you the ability to read what’s going on behind the storm in his eyes. You’re so close, you can almost feel the heat radiating off his skin, hear the words in his mouth before he even says them.

“You’re the one with the spidey-sense.” His voice is low. Somewhere in the back of your mind, through the shame and anger and desperation—you note that he’s called it by the right name this time. “You tell me. Am I a threat?”

Your heart is beating a mile a minute and your stomach is all fluttery and weird but—no. There’s no tingling at the back of your neck, no hair-raising along your arms. Petulance makes you want to lie and say yes anyways, but you can’t bring yourself to form the words. It just… isn’t true. And for some reason, you have feeling that this would be going too far, even as a rash potshot.

When you don’t respond, Jake’s expression softens, the lines of his face giving way to an understanding look that makes you feel smaller than his antagonism ever could. The fires have mostly died down now, but warm reds and oranges still flicker along the side of his jaw, in corners of his irises. His arms feel less like a cage and more like a lifeline, keeping you from drifting out to sea.

“Just—thought I finally caught her,” you mumble, and he pulls you the last few inches into a proper hug. Exhausted, you let yourself melt into his arms, the adrenaline beginning to seep away despite the cacophony of sirens in the background. “It’s been so long, Jake.”

“I know.” He doesn’t, not really—you haven’t divulged just how far this rivalry goes, but you don’t have to think very hard to realize that he’s speaking from experiences long before he ever met you. “We’ll get her next time.”

You snort softly into his suit. “What, you staying?”

It’s silly, the tinge of hopefulness that laces your voice just minutes after you’ve essentially accosted him. But Jake’s grinning when you pull back to look at him, all boyish confidence, and you nearly forget to breathe. “I could be convinced.”

Wait—what? He’s thrown you off-kilter. You—you didn’t think he’d actually— “Well—!”

At your stammering, he lets out a laugh, throwing back his head. It’s a wonderful sound, and when you flick his arm in response, there’s no real force to it.

“Well, you know what they say,” you sniff, trying to maintain your composure. “Friends close, enemies closer, and all that.”

“Right, right,” he nods gravely. The effect is severely diminished by the crinkles at the corners of his eyes. Keeping one arm around you, he starts to lead you towards an exit. “Don’t know how you’ll handle it—your spidey-sense going off all the time with me around.”

On the way out, he picks up your mask from where you discarded it, slapping it a few times against his leg to brush off the soot and ash. His own mask and hood come up to envelope his face as he hands it to you. Distantly, you wonder how his glowing white eyes would look in the dark. Probably a bit stupid, is your conclusion.

“I’m sure I can manage,” you sigh, and once you slip on your mask, he gives you a little pat on the head before you can bat him away. Jake leans away enough to avoid your attempts to tug at his hood, but at the next opportunity, he reaches over again, the little shit, hand drawing in close, and your spidey-sense, superhuman and extraordinary, it’s—

It’s never been quieter.

[longhardtransitionreturns]

Author's note: This is birth and medical fiction. It's all fake, just a fantasy. Of course I don't want this to happen to me or anyone in real life.

I'd like to have a high risk twin pregnancy. The type where I have to fight my obstetrician to let me try to give birth vaginally and then they try to insist I have an epidural so they can cut into me without delay if something goes wrong. I'll finally get them to agree to let me try it natural if I am invasively monitored throughout and I understand I'm going under general anesthesia the second things go south.

When the day comes for me to be induced, I change into a hospital gown & follow nurses instructions as they put IV ports in both of my wrists. I'm catheterized -- a situation that isn't made any more pleasant by the twinges already squeezing my middle -- and by the time I'm being strapped into the stirrups for the doctor to swipe my membranes, I'm so trussed up I can barely move.

It's my first pregnancy & I didn't expect it to hurt so much just to be pregnant. My hips have been sore practically the whole nine months, in part because of how heavy and low I am carrying the twins. Baby A practically lodged himself between my hips last week and the pressure has been slowly increasing. My breasts are cumbersome and it's painful to even feel the hospital gown brush against my areolas. By the time the doctor is settling between my legs to start my labor, I'm eager to face whatever delivery holds for me to make this pregnancy end.

I'm singing a whole different tune 16 hours later. Or rather, screaming one at the top of my lungs. I am in the throes of transition and suffering the pinnacle of a truly agonizing labor. Baby A is posterior and the pain in my back has me at the edge of my sanity, especially now that the contractions are lasting for 90 seconds, with barely a minute in between.

I'm incoherent at this point. I'm in so much pain I'm only able to think about surviving the second I am living. I'm minimally aware when the nurses move my aching body back into the stirrups so I can push my son into the world. I bear down at their direction and it feels like my ass is gonna bust when his head plunges down.

What actually happens is his precious posterior facial features lodge against my clit as a desperate push shoves him just past crowning and my poor little nub starts to sting. It feels like it's being ripped off and I'm humiliated to find I'm begging my doctor to save my clitoris while I'm straining a massive baby out of me.

I don't know how long I howl a about the pain in my clitoris but the next thing I know the doctor is roughly pulling the shoulders and then the body out of my hole, tearing me more in the process.

I'm aware that my aching canal is empty for the moment. I don't realize I am gaped so badly my asshole is almost inverted. It stings something fierce as birth fluids continue to pour out of my loose, sopping cunt. I start to cry when I realize I am still going to have to push Baby B through my ruined pussy.

I drift in and out of consciousness, occasionally aware of the sharp stab of a contraction. I wake fully to a nurse tapping my cheek to see if I've passed out. When I force my eyes open, she informs me Baby B isn't face down anymore and the doctor is about to perform an internal version. She tells me to brace myself because it will be uncomfortable.

I didn't fully realize the medical actuality of an internal version was for a grown man to stick his entire grown man hand through my cervix and into my uterus. I'm in such utter agony I barely register that the nurses are holding me down by my arms and where my thighs are not strapped to the stirrups. I am experiencing the most pain I have experienced up to this point in my life and it seems to last forever.

I never stop screaming, even when they put a mask pumping gas over my face to try to give me some relief, but the tenor of my yell changes when something shifts and then I feel something rip deep inside of me.

Suddenly all the pain that has come before pales in comparison to what I am suddenly feeling in my abdomen. It is indescribable burning combined with a sudden sense of dread that takes over my body. I am 100% certain that my reproductive organs just gave way with my daughter trapped inside me and I am going to die if something isn't done very, very soon.

It must only be minutes, maybe not even that long, that I lay there while the medical team catches up to the realization that me and my baby are in mortal danger. Time slows down and I feel the rip in my uterus expanding as the contractions, one on top of another now, injure me more by the second. Despite no medical knowledge, I know instinctively that the renewed flood out of my pussy is blood and I am hemorrhaging, possibly to death.

I am utterly helpless now. Strapped down in stirrups, paralyzed by pain, my strength seeping from me as fast as the blood flowing between my legs. I faintly register the monitors start to alarm as I lose the battle with consciousness and my world goes dark.

*******

I wake up groggy and disoriented on a stretcher being wheeled somewhere. I immediately start to panic because there is a tube down my throat and I am really, brutally aware of a long, deep vertical incision that extends from above my belly button down to my public bone. I swear I can feel the layers upon layers they sliced through to deliver my baby. I won't know until later about the battle the surgeons waged, first to save my life and then to save my fertility.

Right now I am only aware of how much it hurts to be jostled on a stretcher with a massive cut down my middle. When the two male nurses move me into the bed, I plead for unconsciousness as my body is roughly transferred to a bed. My tailbone hits the mattress and reverberates in the form of a sharp pain through my pussy. I've still got a catheter and I feel like every inch down there has been stitched up.

I hope one of these nurses will realize I am aware and therefore in indescribable pain but it seems like the paralytic they gave me before intubating me is the only drug of the cocktail still in effect. I suffer as they lift my hips and put a pillow under my butt. Then they start taking off my hospital gown completely.

My confusion quickly turns to fear as one gloved hand on each side grabs one of my fat titties and starts tugging. Breast pumps are whipped out and the men make quick work of shoving as much of my massive milkers in to each before turning them on simultaneously.

My uterus, even after the brutal surgical repair, still tries to respond to my milk suddenly dropping. The pain of contracting after uterine repair and a cesarean combined with the sudden gush of warm pressure on my aching tits brings tears to my eyes. I must be a strange sight: intubated and naked, massive breasts attached to pumps, with my deflated belly sporting a huge incision hanging above a pussy so bruised and stitched it looks entirely purple.

The elder nurse pats my naked thigh just before he makes to leave. It jostles everything and our eyes meet as I wince at the pain it causes me. A chill runs through my body as I realize he knows I am awake and feeling way more than I should be.

He looks at me the entire time he lubes his gloved fist, a sinister smile on his face. He settles between my legs and pauses to look up at me again.

"I bet you wish you'd had that epidural, huh, dear?"

My vision goes white as I feel his whole fist plunge into my pussy with a force absolutely intended to cause me a fatal amount of pain. My vision goes white and I feel pressure building in my chest as the stitches holding my cervix together start ripping. The last thought I have before I go into cardiac arrest is how I don't want to my last memory to be of being brutally fisted in my obliterated, post-birth pussy while my heart explodes in my chest.