#you’re not wrong. and there’s a LOT more to it than this blog and the posts have to say about it

[sunlightmurdock]

Ashes, Ashes | One | Bradley Bradshaw x Reader

masterlist | prologue | next chapter

Synopsis: In which Maverick didn’t make it home after the Uranium mission. He’s missing, presumed dead. There are things that have to be done — someone has to take care of the house, the bills.

So, Maverick’s daughter is back in Fightertown for the first time since she was in elementary school. There’s a gaping hole in both of their lives now, and somehow, the world’s supposed to just keep on turning without him.

Warnings: mitchell!reader, no physical descriptors other than the implication that Bradley is taller, no use of YN, age gap (23/33), smut, angst, hurt / comfort, mentions of character death, mourning, military inaccuracies. This entire fic and my blog is an 18+ space, minors do not interact. Do not repost.

…

Crossing the threshold into Maverick’s home doesn’t come naturally to either one of you. This place is something that you had both left behind. Outgrown. It’s solely his. It’s not your home and it has never been, until now. Now, you’re stuck here until things are figured out.

On that fourteen hour drive down to San Diego, you had a lot of time to think. How long is a person supposed to wait for a body to turn up before they go ahead and throw the funeral without it?

Three paces into the hallway, brown wood floors and white walls, you’re met with a smiling family picture. Only, you’re not in it. 

Because, it’s not a picture of Pete’s family. Pete doesn’t have a family. Pete Mitchell has a daughter from a one night stand with a married woman.

This picture is of a real family. Hung on the wall opposite the front door is a picture of Nick and Carole Bradshaw holding their infant son. He’s bald and gummy. They’re grinning and showing him off like a prize trophy — so proud of him even though all he did in those days was drool and pee himself. 

These days, their infant son is up to more important things. Their infant son grew to an upsettingly grand height and is carrying two of your bags in one hand behind you today.

“C’mon, Mitchell — these are heavy.” Bradley huffs softly from behind you, reminding you that you’re standing stationary and blocking his path. 

The nickname stings you. Your name isn’t Mitchell because your biological father had wanted it to be. It’s Mitchell solely because your mother’s husband knew you weren’t his and would rather die before letting you take his name.

You shrug your duffel bag closer to your body and turn left. Bradley huffs under the weight of your luggage from behind you, watching you walk your cute butt in completely the wrong direction. “Wait, where are you going?”

Not struggling at all under the weight of your single duffel bag, you turn slowly to face him and frown slightly. “My room.” 

You don’t remember Bradley. Not in your own memories, anyway. You know he was around, you’ve seen him in pictures but the image in your head doesn’t match. Not quite right. Like puzzle pieces bent and forced together.

He’s taller than he looked at his high school graduation, which sits pictured and framed above Mav’s mantle. Older, but that’s to be expected. Up close, he looks more like his mother than his father. A slight bump in his nose and scars, nicely healed, but jagged and raised nonetheless dusted his cheek and his throat. 

Even with all those differences, there’s a familiarity to him that makes this all feel a little bit less suffocating.

Bradley’s brows draw together. He gives a small nod in the direction of the spare room. “That’s… I usually stayed in that room.”

“Oh.” You hum. With Bradley being ten years your senior, the room was his long before it was yours. With him growing up so close by, it was probably his much more frequently than it was yours. It’s not like you kept anything here anyway. It’s just a guest room that you would occupy every now and again.

There’s a brief quiet between you. 

“I just figured you could take the big room. ‘Til you get settled. I’ll go home once your car is fixed, if that’s what you want.” Bradley adds on. That sad little look on your face is killing him. 

The big room. The loft room upstairs. You’re pretty sure that you’ve never even been upstairs in this house.

“You’re staying too?” 

Oh. Yeah. He hadn’t addressed that point yet. Truthfully, he hadn’t even been planning to stay. He hasn’t even packed an overnight bag. But, from the second that you stepped out of the car and looked up at the house with that look on your face, he hadn’t even considered leaving you here alone.

“Just ‘til we get your car fixed,” He offers with a small shrug. “I’ll be here to run you around until then.”

Like he’s doing this for your sake. Natasha has her own life to get back to and Bradley can’t stand the thought of going back to his apartment alone. 

“Okay,” You agree, turning to peer down the hall towards the spare room. It’s nothing special — it really never felt like yours. “Alright, I’ll take Pete’s room.”

Pete. You call Maverick ‘Pete’ now. 

Bradley just nods, shifting the weight of your bags and nodding for you to head for the stairs. All the floors in this house are tan oak. The entryway is now herringbone. With the help of a friend, Pete had done the entire thing himself. 

Of course, as you walk silently across it, neither one of you would know that. Neither one of you was speaking to him last May, which was why he had needed a project in the first place.

Natasha’s outside on the phone. Bradley’s footsteps thud on the wood of the stairs behind you, following you up. You stop at the top, leaving just enough room for Bradley to stand there behind you.

The door to Maverick’s room is open. His bed is made. There’s a book thrown on top of it, the spine cracked and used, the pages yellow from years out in the sun.

“No way is he still trying to fucking finish War and Peace.” Bradley steps around you with your bags in his hands and heads straight for the book. Pete started this book before Bradley finished elementary school. Bradley twists and looks back at you. “He always gets bored and stops reading, then forgets his page and starts again.”

Another slow nod. One foot in front of the other, your shoes along the tan oak floors. Your fingers trail the white walls. Maverick wouldn’t have minded. This place was always messy before. It’s not now. 

This house is vacant and quiet, but it’s far from empty. It’s filled to the brim, practically pulling apart at the seams with everything that Maverick was and planned to be. He was finishing War and Peace — he made it to chapter 253 this time; further than he had ever made it before. 

Your throat is thick with the knowledge that all you knew Maverick to be, is now all that he’ll ever be. An absent father, a fantastic pilot, a lousy cook. A thousand more things that you’ll never know.

Four days of knowing, a fourteen hour drive down here, and it’s a book that stings like a cold slap to the face, reminding you of why exactly it is that you’re here.

Fire burns behind your eyes, blistering and stinging as Bradley sets your bags on the floor with a soft thud.

He turns with his attention completely on the book, his fingers extending towards the peeling cover of the paperback. His fingers curl around its weathered pages and he lifts it tenderly, examining the front at first.

It’s too early to start this process bawling your eyes out, and you refuse to let Russian Literature be your downfall, again. That thick feeling sits in your throat like a stack of weights as you sit down on the end of Maverick’s bed. The mattress is soft, taking your weight without a squeak of complaint. Maybe he finally listened to you and got a bed that wasn’t so harsh on his back.

It’s been almost two years since you even set foot in this house last. If you had known that Maverick was going to be gone this soon… you sit and think to yourself about if you would have maybe visited more. Probably not.

“I’ll change the sheets and stuff, then I’ll get out of your hair for a bit.”

Lifting your head, you blink at him. He has already started to pull back the comforter and strip the bottom sheet from the bed, awkwardly forcing you onto your feet again. 

Mobile once more, you turn slowly to take in your surroundings. This is Maverick’s room. It’s his house, you were prepared for that much — but this is his room. The last thing you want is to be alone in it all night.

“Oh. Sure,” You nod, setting into motion to help take the sheets off. You watch him instead of what you’re doing. 

He’s so methodical about it, like none of this phases him at all. But then, you’ve not seen how he has been for the past few days. “I was thinking of just ordering food tonight, since I’m kinda tired — and Pete never had groceries. Would you want… to maybe join?”

“Sure.” Bradley nods, tugging the pillows out of the cases. He glances up to you with a strictly polite, neutral smile. Quiet settles between the two of you until the bed is just a bare mattress and uncovered pillows. 

There’s a moment of total stillness between the two of you. Your gaze flickers up, meeting his, and the realization settles between the two of you. Maverick’s favourite cologne was a French thing that some woman in the eighties had liked. Citrus in the shade of cypress wood. The scent fills the room like he’s standing between the two of you.

Bradley glances down at the white sheets in his hands. The snowy white peaks of those mountains, Maverick’s aircraft spiralling into them, engulfed in flames. In a sick way, Bradley hopes that he didn’t manage to eject. At least then, it would have been instant. Maverick wouldn’t have felt anything.

You watch his adam’s apple bob in his throat from the other side of the bed. The last you had heard, Mav and Bradley weren’t on speaking terms. You wonder if this is as weird for him as it is for you.

“I’ll put these in the washer. You can… unpack, or whatever.” He decides finally, already taking one step backwards, headed for the door. You stand there, blinking at him. Even with those steeped, broad shoulders, he makes it through the doorframe unscathed before he turns to check where he’s going.

He probably knows this house inside and out, just like he knew your dad. Once. 

When it comes to wracking your brain and trying to remember Bradley Bradshaw, you can’t ever come up with anything. Maybe a glimpse, here and there. A blue t-shirt with green stripes. His school backpack accidentally left in the backseat of Maverick’s convertible beside your shoddily installed car seat. 

Truthfully, your experience with Bradley Bradshaw is limited. He’s just as real to you as any of the other guys in the stories you grew up hearing about. Your very own Peter Pan is downstairs right now, trying to figure out Maverick’s ancient washing machine, just so that he doesn’t have to stand up here and stare across at you.

He can’t hide from you forever, though. Evening comes, and so does hunger. 

He stares down at the pizza between the two of you as he chews through a bite, brows drawn together slightly. He hates thin crust pizza — it’s the worst kind of pizza. But, when you had suggested it, he had agreed with a tight-lipped smile.

Natasha has gone home. It’s just the two of you. Sitting in this unchanged, all too familiar kitchen. You’re barely unpacked. You set up a couple of things in Maverick’s bathroom, but it doesn’t feel right to be in the big room upstairs. That wasn’t ever your space to claim.

You chew absentmindedly at the bite you had taken. The TV in the living room is off. The record player is coated in a layer of thin dust already. It’s dead quiet. The kitchen light is dim above your heads.

There’s a chip in the corner of the table on Bradley’s side. It’s there because Bradley was running through this kitchen when he was four years old and had tripped and knocked his front tooth out right here. His thumb trails the tiny mark, wondering how his teeth had ever been that small.

Wondering why you aren’t angry with him, too.

Maverick had picked him up that day, turned him around and held Bradley while he cried, stemming the blood and quickly introducing the concept of the tooth fairy. He had done all that he could, and Bradley still found a way to resent him for what had happened to his own father.

Bradley hasn’t ever done a thing for you. Except maybe pay for this pizza. And here you are, calm as can be. 

The sauce base feels tangy and coppery, and the cheese makes him want to puke. He sets the slice down on his plate and wipes his hands on the paper towel beside him.

Finally, he lifts his head and looks at you. Your hair is up now, tucked out of your way after an afternoon of manual labour upstairs. You’re wearing a stretched out old t-shirt. Bradley assumes you got it from a boyfriend.

Really, he doesn’t think you look that much like your old man. He would really have to search for the resemblance. But, briefly, when you offer him a polite smile across the table, he knows that you’re Mav’s kid.

“I’m sorry.” Bradley blurts out. You both look across at each other, equally surprised that he has spoken.

“…For what?” You ask quietly, lips tugging into a small frown.

“I’m sorry that I’m here and he’s not.” He’s just got to say it. He knows you probably wouldn’t bring it up on your own, but there’s a big elephant in this room. Bradley knows what it’s like to sit in your spot, and not know how to talk about it.

It’s his fault that Maverick didn’t make it home.

You stop chewing. That last bite sits in your mouth, doughy and dry all of a sudden. You stare across at him, awkwardly making yourself swallow down the last of your bite of pizza and picking up the paper towel to wipe at your mouth.

“We weren’t that close.” You tell him, like that’s supposed to make him feel better. It doesn’t. It’s like a blow to the chest. You’ll never get the opportunity to fix things, because of him.

But, he knows what it’s like to be told how to grieve. He just dips his head and nods awkwardly. “Right.” 

“I got a call from an admiral the other day,” You pick up the slice of pizza and pick at its toppings. There’s no one here now to tell you not to play with your food. Mav never really cared anyway. Bradley watches you, unhungry. “Invited me down to Miramar. He said he was a friend of Mav’s and that he could talk me through… this whole thing. How it works.” You explain with a shrug.

Bradley rubs a hand over the neatly trimmed hair above his lip. It feels like he has swallowed a golf ball, sitting here like it’s normal to be discussing the measures.

He knows how it works. It won’t be as simple as it was with his own father. At least Maverick had afforded him something to bury. For you, there’s nothing.

“I’ll have to be there around eleven.” 

“Sure,” Bradley nods, scratching at the back of his neck. His legs tingle with stiffness. Clearing his throat, he shifts in the little wooden chair and stretches, knocking his foot into yours under the table. “Oh. Sorry. I’m sorry.”

Your teeth press into the inside of your cheek. Maverick hadn’t ever described Bradley as this nervous.

“It’s fine.” You hum, pushing back in your chair and standing up from the table. “Well, I’ve been up since like… four, so I might just hit the hay.”

“Sure.” Bradley breathes out, hands braced on his thighs, eyes focussed on that tiny chip in the corner of the table. “Yeah. Goodnight.”

The downstairs bedroom seemed bigger when he was a kid. The twin-sized bunks on the carrier feel bigger than the wooden-framed bed that Maverick put in here. Bradley’s shoulder is practically hanging off the side, and the old frame creaks with each movement he makes.

It’s not like he would be sleeping much anyway. When he closes his eyes, the only thing he can see is the fireball Maverick’s plane had turned into as it fell.

Bradley’s hunched over the coffee pot by the time that you wake up. He hears you coming down the stairs and straightens up like he wasn’t three seconds from throwing the stupid thing at the wall, clearing his throat and turning around.

It occurs to him that he should have put a shirt on. This isn’t his place. It’s yours, now, he guesses — either way, he hadn’t considered making you uncomfortable. He folds his arms over his naked torso as you stroll into the kitchen, hair mussed and rubbing at your eyes.

You’re wearing big socks and the same big t-shirt you had worn to eat the pizza last night. He can’t tell if you’re wearing shorts or not.

“Morning,” He offers up, making you lift your gaze from busily tapping at your phone. Your gaze lands squarely on his navel — more so, how low his shorts sit on his hips and the way a soft trail of brown hair ventures from there to his bellybutton. 

Blinking, you find his face.

“Coffee machine’s broken, we can stop somewhere on the way to base if you like.” He leans down a little bit, like an awkward teenager shrinking away from a family picture. You lock your gaze on his, trying not to glance back down at his muscles. 

“Oh. That’s not broken — if you hit it hard enough, it’ll work.” You head right for him, fuzzy socks padding across the floor so softly that it really does startle him when you grab the copy of War and Peace that now sits on the kitchen counter, and slam the book right into the side of the coffee machine.

He whips around as the machine whirs to life. You set the book back down gently, and look up at him. He sets his jaw, brows knitted together, searching your face.

Maverick never taught Bradley anything like that. In fact — Bradley always, always was taught the opposite. You never take the easy way out; if something’s worth fixing, then you fix it right.

Then you, you on the other hand, beat the thing with the heaviest book you can find? He just doesn’t get it.

“Well. Thanks.” He guesses, turning his bemused expression back to the brewing coffee. 

He hadn’t been expecting you to do that. Doesn’t take a genius to figure that out, given the way he’s still glaring at the machine. That coffee pot is older than you are, and Mav never taught him that trick?

“So this guy, the one who called me,” You skim your fingers along the cool granite countertop, just to have something to do, “He was the guy calling the shots up there?”

Bradley blinks. He doesn’t know how much you know about the way all of this works. He knew everything there is to know long before he ever enlisted, but that was because he wanted to know.

“Um,” Bradley grabs his mug and takes a step back for you to get yourself one.  “He was our mission command so, kind of. He gives orders — but, y’know, everything happens fast, it’s… it’s hard to call the shots from back on the boat.” 

“Did he like Mav much?” You ask, head tucked inside the fridge door as you scan for anything to make your coffee a little less black. Nothing. A couple of beers and a block of good German cheese. You swing it shut with a resigned sigh, wondering if you’ll be here long enough to need groceries.

The thought flashes across your mind — what’ll happen to this place when you leave it behind?

“Uh... No, not really.” After a routine training presentation at the very beginning of their attachment, Admiral Simpson had once become so agitated by Maverick that he snapped his own reading glasses in half. Mav got a good laugh out of it, at least.

“Great.” Agitation creeps into your tone as you curl your fingers around a plain white coffee mug. All of his kitchenware is plain white. 

“What?” Bradley tilts his head, trying to catch a glimpse at the look on your face, stuck between whether you’re sad or pissed off.

It’s an easy answer, rolling off of your tongue with a shrug of your shoulders and a deflated sigh. “People usually put us in the same boat — if they don’t like him, they don’t like me.”

That’s something that he thinks he can understand. There’s not an instant dislike, but there’s a pity that he finds in the eyes of people who once knew his father. 

He screws his mouth up, shaking his head and reaching for you without thought. His palm claps against your shoulder, platonic and soothing, but the first time he has touched you nonetheless. “I’ll be there. He won’t say a thing.”

Glancing upward, while his palm lingers on your shoulder, your eyes flit across his features. He doesn’t know quite what you’re searching for, or whether you find it. His fingers squeeze softly against your skin before the touch is gone all together.

You drink your coffees in parallel, both subtly miserable in your silence but comfortable in it anyway. It’s difficult to prepare for a meeting like this — you don’t have a clue of what to expect. 

Bradley wears black jeans and boots with a plain white t-shirt, which convinces you not to wear the more formal dress you had thought you’d have to wear. You slip into his passenger seat in a skirt and Mary Janes.

He drives a loud, blue vintage Bronco. It sparkles inside and out, and makes your dusty old car look even worse. 

Bradley settles behind the wheel to the sound of chilled seventies music, the radio turned low. He drives with three fingers curled around the bottom of the wheel and the other hand resting absently on the stick shift.

Even though he seems calm enough behind the wheel, you watch him chew at the inside of his cheek for the duration of the drive. Gears tick away inside his head. His knee only stops bouncing nervously when it’s time to press his foot against the pedal.

He’s not as good at pretending as he thinks he is; you silently appreciate that he tries, either way.

Bradley, truthfully, spends the entire drive thinking about the last time he was face to face with Admiral Simpson. ‘Son, I’m doing this for you.’ He had sworn, face sullen, uttering the exact same words Pete Mitchell once had when delivering the words that had torn Bradley from him the first time.

Only, Admiral Simpson wasn’t pulling Bradley’s papers — he was just putting him on a month long bereavement leave. His protests had fallen on deaf ears once again, as they had fifteen years ago. He’s now a week into that leave, but it feels like longer.

It turns out that when you cut sleep from the equation, everything feels a lot longer. In his own apartment, his routine has been getting up at 2am after hours of tossing and turning, going for a run all the way down to the docks, coming back and showering, then waiting for the sun to rise.

Last night, he’d been awake in that creaky old twin bed, struck by the realisation that if he spent all night tossing and turning — one, he might actually break the old bed frame, and two, the squeaking of it would definitely keep you up. 

All it had taken was the focus of trying to sit still for so long to finally knock him out. It was the best that he’d slept since the mission.

He kind of hopes that it’ll take him a while to figure out something to do with your car; at least that way he’ll be able to sleep at night. 

“You ready?” His voice startles you from your daydream, the engine cutting out with a jingle of the keys as he stretches forwards in his seat to shove them into his pocket. “We’re headed just over there.”

“Yeah, let’s get this over with.” You’re stepping down and swinging the heavy door shut before you’re taking your next breath, leaving him to catch up to you. 

His long strides have him at your side before long, reaching ahead of you to pull open the glass door to the post headquarters. 

This process has already been easier with him at your side. He’d coolly handed over his service ID and greeted the guard at the gate by name, and he stops you from turning sharply down the wrong hallway with a soft bump of his shoulder against yours.

He catches your forearm as you try to blow right past the front desk, his grip loose but firm. 

“Rooster.” The woman behind the desk stands up sharply, looking sharp in her service khakis, her entire face creased with a deep worry. She’s older, maybe around Mav’s age. “I heard, I’m so sorry.”

Rooster loosens his hold on your forearm, his lips flattening into a line. He stands up straight, his interaction with the woman nothing if not totally polite. His thumb trails across the bend of your wrist as he nods his head towards you.

“Thank you,” He says softly, seemingly unaware of the way you’ve stiffened in the presence of this woman. “We’re, uh… we’re just here to see Cyclone, Lynn.”

Her warm, brown eyes whip towards you, widening. Recognition floods her features as she pieces together who you must be. 

Her boots hit the ground, your lips parting slightly as you realise that she’s headed right for you. Bradley feels your arm tug in his grip and turns his head, taking note of the way you’re trying to shrink behind him.

Lynn is a hugger by nature, and she was a good friend of Mav’s for a long time. She means well, but Bradley isn’t going to let her touch you when he can see how unnerved it makes you.

“We’re a little late. I’ll catch you at the O-Bar this weekend?” His fingers uncurl from your forearm and his palm falls flat between your shoulder blades, giving you a gentle nudge and silent permission to avoid her hug.

The woman stops and there’s another polite, departing exchange between the two of them while you continue down the hall.

Bradley catches up to you as you rap your knuckles against the doorframe, fingers trembling when they come to settle back against your thighs.

“Miss Mitchell.” A chair scrapes along the tiled floor, Cyclone’s signature rumbling voice carrying out into the hallway. His boots tap across the ground, his face creased with sincerity and his hand outstretched when he notices Bradley standing behind you. “Bradley Bradshaw.”

You check back over your shoulder, glancing briefly at the man behind you, who has assumed his best bodyguard impression. 

Standing tall, his uniform crisp and his greying black hair combed neatly, Admiral Beau Simpson slips his palm into yours and shakes your hand curtly. The sunlight catches on his shining name badge, his face heavy with lines and sharp angles.

Letting your hand go, he then reaches to your right to shake Bradley’s. Bradley’s chest bumps your back as he leans into the handshake.

You step away from him, angling yourself closer to the doorframe. “He just gave me a ride here. Is it okay if he comes in?” You answer.

“Of course,” Cyclone is far more polite to you than he has ever been to Bradley. “Anything you need. Please, take a seat.”

It feels a little bit wrong standing before his boss in jeans, and sitting before him. Everything about this feels a little bit wrong. Bradley rests his chin against his fist.

You sit in the chair beside him, shoving your trembling hands under your thighs, straightening up and trying to look as brave as you can. 

It shouldn’t be this stranger sitting beside you in this meeting — your mother should have come with you.

“Miss Mitchell,” The admiral takes his seat on the other side of his desk once again. “I want to first express my deepest condolences. Your father was a good man, and a… extremely skilled pilot.”

Bradley almost scoffs. Even now, Cyclone can’t manage to compliment him.

“We are forever grateful for his service, and the sacrifices he made on behalf of our country. I understand that this is an extremely difficult time, and I’d just like to say that I’m going to personally make sure that this process is as easy as it can possibly be.”

You blink at him. Jet engines rumble on outside of the window. People bustle on outside of the closed office door.

Cyclone glances towards Bradley. 

“When a man is lost in action, our resolve is to initiate a search and rescue effort as soon as possible,” The admiral explains, leaving out the part where that search and rescue effort had been delayed by seventy-two hours after Mav disappeared. “We’ve been working tirelessly, and our efforts to locate your father are ongoing.”

Your brows knit together.

“But— he’s dead.” You frown, rendering Cyclone suddenly quiet. “He’s got to be. It’s been a week. No food, no water, sub-zero temperature. What’s the point in looking?”

Bradley grits his teeth. He looks across at you, the muscle in his jaw ticking. There’s nothing in your expression, no fear or sadness. Your father deserved more than that.

“The point is to bring him home.” He bites from your side, staring straight ahead at Cyclone.

You shoot him a look. When it’s clear that you aren’t going to say anything else, Cyclone clears his throat to continue. 

“Miss Mitchell, we do have to prepare ourselves for the other outcome. If recovery efforts are unsuccessful, in two weeks time, he will be listed as formally ‘Missing in Action’. If that’s the case, we will honor him with a memorial service and all of his service records and personal effects 

are delivered to you.”

You drag your teeth across your bottom lip, swallowing hard and giving a small nod of your head.

“Okay. Two weeks?”

“This is going to be a longer process,” Cyclone warns you. He’d heard that you had come down specially for this, and he doesn’t want to mislead you about the time frame. “The recovery mission, if unsuccessful, will be suspended in two weeks’ time. After that, we’d like you to be local for the investigation.”

“Investigation?”

“Of ourselves. To ensure that the Navy had performed its due diligence, that kind of thing… I’d expect us to be here for a good few months.” He explains.

After that, it’s like Bradley can see a switch flip for you. 

You’re biting at the inside of your cheek so hard that you must be tasting copper, picking at the seam of your jeans and breathing like you’re trying not to cry.

He’s still confused when he’s all but chasing you across the parking lot, listening to you try to control your breathing.

“Hey, hey, hey,” He tries, approaching you cautiously as you crowd yourself against the passenger side of his car. “It’s alright. We’ll get through it, it’s just a couple of months.”

“I— fuck. I don’t want to be here. I-I— I’m going to have to find a job, and I’ll have to call my mom, and— and my friends, and—“

“Hey,” Bradley mumbles, resisting the instinct to throw his arms around you. His brows draw together as he reaches out and squeezes your bicep, bending his knees so he can catch your eye. “It’s alright. I’ll take care of it.”

You know that he’s just trying to be nice, but really, you’re sick of nice. It’s all that Maverick ever was and it left you with no idea of who he really is. “Of what? There’s so much that I have to—“

He nods, closing his mouth, swallowing dryly. Thinking of what he can, feasibly, take off of your plate for you. The idea sparks in him.

“You need a job. I can get you a job. Um, your friends, we can call them and bring them down for a weekend?” He squeezes again at your bicep, nodding his way through his plans, trying to will the tears in your eyes not to spill over.

You sniff, turning your gaze towards the ground. The lump in your throat burns and bobs as you try to swallow it away. 

Mav really is never coming back.

“I don’t want to go back to his house.” It comes out as a whimper, and really just reminds Bradley that you’re in the same position that he was when he was just a little younger than you. It’s a scared kid type of feeling, being all alone in the world. Being in an empty house had made it even worse.

He licks his lips and glances towards the skies, watching the sun pass behind a cloud. 

“You could stay at my place, for a night or two.” 

…

[louisisalarrie]

helloooo sweet angels. welcome to the show!

I tend to answer and talk about a lot of bbg/2015 things on here and seem to attract a lot of newer fans & Larries (which is wonderful!!!) but I thought I’d just share some resources that you can refer to so there’s not so much back and forth in my inbox.

Arden (cosmicleeds) makes fantastic, super digestible videos recapping years, bbg, rbb & sbb and the big gay war etc., and I think it’s a really valuable way to kind of get your head around some stuff as socials, especially Twitter, have a lot of misinformation, fighting, wrong timelines, stuff that’s already been debunked etc.

so, here are a couple of faves that I recommend newer larries, or people who want refreshers, to watch as it’s a little less overwhelming than the 15k word essays we have on these topics that are hard to read about when you haven’t kind of been introduced to it initially

The Larry Stylinson Timeline - 2015

Larry denials and why they’re meaningless

RBB, SBB, & the Big Gay War

The difference between larry and the rest of 1D

there is a video on each year of Larry since 2010 too, so you can feel like you were there for it!

as always, I also highly recommend Allie’s (skepticalarrie) tags post if you want more of a read instead of a video, with so many masterposts and specific info on everything larry, and also louis and Harry individually

if you’re looking for fic recs or general larry/1d chats and a heap of receipts, Gina (twopoppies) is also very wonderful

and obviously there are a million other fantastic blogs and videos to watch, but I highly recommend those to start off with at least as they are based off facts and are very clear, as opposed to some wild reaching that goes on these days in certain parts of twitter etc.

we’re all here to be welcoming, have a chat, and be here for you to navigate this wild part of the fandom, and while there can be some nasty folks out there, remember that this is a welcoming place where we love love and we are a community who supports each other. the way it should be.

so, welcome baby larries, you’re in for a wild ride!

(also I’m very excited for this year’s recap - I want something crazy to go down the end of this year because damn rewatching 2015 took me right back to the days!)

[caelum-in-the-avatarverse]

Fandom can do a little gatekeeping. As a treat.

So I finally decided to archive-lock my fics on AO3 last night. I’ve been considering it since the AI scrape last year, but the tipping point was this whole lore.fm debacle, coupled with some thoughts I’ve been thinking regarding Fandom These Days in general and Fandom As A Community in particular. So I wanna explain why I waited so long, why I locked my stuff up now, and why I’ve come to the conclusion that I’m a-okay with making it harder for people to see my stories.

Lurkers really are great, tho

I’m a chronic lurker, and have been since I started hanging out on the internet as a teen in the 00s. These days it’s just cuz I don’t feel a need to socialize very often, but back then it was because I was shy and knew I was socially awkward. Even if I made an account, I’d spend months lurking on message boards or forums or Livejournals, watching other people interact and getting a feel for that particular community’s culture and etiquette before I finally started interacting myself. And y’know, that approach saved me a lot of embarrassment. Over the course of my lurking on any site, there was always some other person who’d clearly joined up five minutes after learning the place existed, barged in without a care for their behavior, and committed so many social faux pas that all the other users were immediately annoyed with them at best. I learned a lot observing those incidents. Lurk More is Rule 33 of the internet for very good reason.

Lurking isn’t bad or weird or creepy. It’s perfectly normal. I love lurking. It’s hard for me to not lurk - socializing takes a lot of energy out of me, even via text. (Heck it took 12 hours for me to write this post, I wish I was kidding--) Occasionally I’ll manage longer bouts of interaction - a few weeks posting here, almost a year chatting in a discord there - but I’m always gonna end up going radio silent for months at some point. I used to feel bad about it, but I’ve long since made peace with the fact that it’s just the way my brain works. I’m a chronic lurker, and in the long term nothing is going to change that.

The thing with being a chronic lurker is that you have to accept that you are not actually seen as part of the community you are lurking in. That’s not to say that lurkers are unimportant - lurkers actually are important, and they make up a large proportion of any online community - but it’s simple cause and effect. You may think of it as “your community”, but if you’ve never said a word, how is the community supposed to know you exist? If I lurked on someone’s LJ, and then that person suddenly friendslocked their blog, I knew that I had two choices: Either accept that I would never be able to read their posts again, or reach out to them and ask if I could be added to their friends list with the full understanding that I was a rando they might not decide to trust. I usually went with the first option, because my invisibility as a lurker was more important to me than talking to strangers on the internet.

Lurking is like sitting on a park bench, quietly people-watching and eavesdropping on the conversations other people are having around you. You’re in the park, but you’re not actively participating in anything happening there. You can see and hear things that you become very interested in! But if you don’t introduce yourself and become part of the conversation, you won’t be able to keep listening to it when those people walk away. When fandom migrated away from Livejournal, people moved to new platforms alongside their friends, but lurkers were often left behind. No one knew they existed, so they weren’t told where everyone else was going. To be seen as part of a fandom community, you need to submit to the mortifying ordeal of being known, etc. etc.

There’s nothing wrong with lurking. There can actually be benefits to lurking, both for the lurkers and the communities they lurk in. It’s just another way to be in a fandom. But if that is how you exist in fandom--and remember, I say this as someone who often does exist that way in fandom--you need to remember that you’re on the outside looking in, and the curtains can always close.

I’ve always been super sympathetic to lurkers, because I am one. I know there’s a lot of people like me who just don’t socialize often. I know there’s plenty of reasons why someone might not make an account on the internet - maybe they’re nervous, maybe they’re young and their parents don’t allow them to, maybe they’re in a bad situation where someone is monitoring their activity, maybe they can only access the internet from public computer terminals. Heck, I’ve never even logged into AO3 on my phone--if I’m away from my computer I just read what’s publicly available. 

I know I have people lurking on my fics. I know my fics probably mean a lot to someone I don’t even know exists. I know this because there are plenty of fics I love whose writers don’t know I exist.

I love my commenters personally; I love my lurkers as an abstract concept. I know they’re there and I wish them well, and if they ever de-lurk I love them all the more.

So up until last year I never considered archive-locking my fic, because I get it. The AI scraping was upsetting, but I still hesitated because I was thinking of lurkers and guests and remembering what it felt like to be 15 and wondering if it’d be worth letting a stranger on the internet know I existed and asking to be added to their friends list just so I could reread a funny post they made once.

But the internet has changed a lot since the 00s, and fandom has changed with it. I’ve read some things and been doing some thinking about fandom-as-community over the last few years, and reading through the lore.fm drama made me decide that it’s time for me to set some boundaries.

I still love my lurkers, and I feel bad about leaving any guest commenters behind, especially if they’re in a situation where they can’t make an account for some reason. But from here on out, even my lurkers are going to have to do the bare minimum to read my fics--make an AO3 account.

Should we gatekeep fandom?

I’ve seen a few people ask this question, usually rhetorically, sometimes as a joke, always with a bit of seriousness. And I think…yeah, maybe we should. Except wait, no, not like that--

A decade ago, when people talked about fandom gatekeeping and why it was bad to do, it intersected with a lot of other things, mainly feminism and classism. The prevalent image of fandom gatekeeping was, like, a man learning that a woman likes Star Wars and haughtily demanding, “Oh, yeah? Well if you’re REALLY a fan, name ten EU novels” to belittle and dismiss her, expecting that a “real fan” would have the money and time to be familiar with the EU, and ignoring the fact that male movie-only fans were still considered fans. The thing being gatekept was the very definition of “being a fan” and people’s right to describe themselves as one.

That’s not what I mean when I say maybe fandom should gatekeep more. Anyone can call themselves a fan if they like something, that’s fine. But when it comes to the ability to enjoy the fanworks produced by the fandom community…that might be something worth gatekeeping.

See, back in the 00s, it was perfectly common for people to just…not go on the internet. Surfing the web was a thing, but it was just, like, a fun pastime. Not everyone did it. It wasn’t until the rise of social media that going online became a thing everyone and their grandmother did every day. Back then, going on the internet was just…a hobby.

So one of the first gates online fandom ever had was the simple fact that the entire world wasn’t here yet.

The entire world is here now. That gate has been demolished.

And it’s a lot easier to find us now. Even scattered across platforms, fandom is so centralized these days. It isn’t a network of dedicated webshrines and forums that you can only find via webrings anymore, it’s right there on all the big social media sites. AO3 didn’t set out to be the main fanfic website, but that’s definitely what it’s become. It’s easy for people to find us--and that includes people who don’t care about the community, and just want “content.”

Transformative fandom doesn’t like it when people see our fanworks as “content”. “Content” is a pretty broad term, but when fandom uses it we’re usually referring to creative works that are churned out by content creators to be consumed by an audience as quickly as possible as often as possible so that the content creator can generate revenue. This not-so-new normal has caused a massive shift in how people who are new to fandom view fanworks--instead of seeing fic or art as something a fellow fan made and shared with you, they see fanworks as products to be consumed.

Transformative fandom has, in general, always been a gift economy. We put time and effort into creating fanworks that we share with our fellow fans for free. We do this so we don’t get sued, but fandom as a whole actually gets a lot out of the gift economy. Offer your community a story, and in return you can get comments, build friendships, or inspire other people to write things that you might want to read. Readers are given the gift of free stories to read and enjoy, and while lurking is fine, they have the choice to engage with the writer and other readers by leaving comments or making reclists to help build the community.

And look, don’t get me wrong. People have never engaged with fanfic as much as fan writers wish they would. There has always been “no one comments anymore” wank. There have always been people who only comment to say “MORE!” or otherwise demand or guilt trip writers into posting the next chapter. But fandom has always agreed that those commenters are rude and annoying, and as those commenters navigate fandom they have the chance to learn proper community etiquette.

However, now it seems that a lot of the people who are consuming fanworks aren’t actually in the community. 

I won’t say “they aren’t real fans” because that’s silly; there’s lots of ways to be a fan. But there seem to be a lot of fans now who have no interest in fandom as a community, or in adhering to community etiquette, or in respecting the gift economy. They consume our fics, but they don’t appreciate fan labor. They want our “content”, but they don’t respect our control over our creations.

And even worse--they see us as a resource. We share our work for free, as a gift, but all they see is an open-source content farm waiting to be tapped into. We shared it for free, so clearly they can do whatever they want with it. Why should we care if they feed our work into AI training datasets, or copy/paste our unfinished stories into ChatGPT to get an ending, or charge people for an unnecessary third-party AO3 app, or sell fanbindings on etsy for a profit without the author’s permission, or turn our stories into poor imitations of podfics to be posted on other platforms without giving us credit or asking our consent, while also using it to lure in people they can datascrape for their Forbes 30 Under 30 company? 

And sure, people have been doing shady things with other people’s fanworks since forever. Art theft and reposting has always been a big problem. Fanfic is harder to flat-out repost, but I’ve heard of unauthorized fic translations getting posted without crediting the original author. Once in…I think the 2010s? I read a post by a woman who had gone to some sort of local bookselling event, only to find that the man selling “his” novel had actually self-published her fanfic. (Wish I could find that one again, I don’t even remember where I read it.)

But aside from that third example, the thing is…as awful as fanart/writing theft is, back in the day, the main thing a thief would gain from it was clout. Clout that should rightfully go to the creators who gifted their work in the first place, yeah, but still. Just clout. People will do a lot of hurtful things for clout, but fandom clout means nothing outside of fandom. Fandom clout is not enough to incentivize the sort of wide-scale pillaging we’re seeing from community outsiders today.

Money, on the other hand… Well, fandom’s just a giant, untapped content farm, isn’t it? Think of how much revenue all that content could generate.

Lurkers are a normal and even beneficial part of any online community. Maybe one day they’ll de-lurk and easily slide into place beside their fellow fans because they already know the etiquette. Maybe they’re active in another community, and they can spread information from the community they lurk in to the community they’re active in. At the very least, they silently observe, and even if they’re not active community members, they understand the community.

Fans who see fanworks as “content” don’t belong in the same category as lurkers. They’re tourists. 

While reading through the initial Reddit thread on the lore.fm situation, I found this comment:

[ID: Reddit User Cabbitowo says: ... So in anime fandoms we have a word called tourist and essentially it means a fan of a few anime and doesn't care about anime tropes and actively criticizes them. This is kind of how fandoms on tiktok feel. They're touring fanfics and fanart and actively criticizes tropes that have been in the fandom since the 60s. They want to be in a fandom but they don't want to engage in fandom 

OP totallymandy responds: Just entered back into Reddit after a long day to see this most recent reply. And as a fellow anime fan this making me laugh so much since it’s true! But it sorta hurts too when the reality sets in. Modern fandom is so entitled and bratty and you’d think it’s the minors only but that’s not even true, my age-mates and older seem to be like that. They want to eat their cake and complain all whilst bringing nothing to the potluck… :/ END ID]

-

“Tourist” is an apt name for this sort of fan. They don’t want to be part of our community, and they don’t have to be in order to come into our spaces and consume our work. Even if they don’t steal our work themselves, they feel so entitled to it that they’re fine with ignoring our wishes and letting other people take it to make AI “podfics” for them to listen to (there are a lot of comments on lore.fm’s shutdown announcement video from people telling them to just ignore the writers and do it anyway). They’ll use AI to generate an ending to an unfinished fic because they don’t care about seeing “the ending this writer would have given to the story they were telling”, they just want “an ending”. For these tourist fans, the ends justify the means, and their end goal is content for them to consume, with no care for the community that created it for them in the first place.

I don’t think this is confined to a specific age group. This isn’t “13-year-olds on Wattpad” or “Zoomers on TikTok” or whatever pointless generation war we’re in now. This is coming from people who are new to fandom, whose main experience with creative works on the internet is this new content culture and who don’t understand fandom as a community. That description can be true of someone from any age group.

It’s so easy to find fandom these days. It is, in fact, too easy. Newcomers face no hurdles or challenges that would encourage them to lurk and observe a bit before engaging, and it’s easy for people who would otherwise move on and leave us alone to start making trouble. From tourist fans to content entrepreneurs to random people who just want to gawk, it’s so easy for people who don’t care about the fandom community to reap all of its fruits. 

So when I say maybe fandom should start gatekeeping a bit, I’m referring to the fact that we barely even have a gate anymore. Everyone is on the internet now; the entire world can find us, and they don’t need to bother learning community etiquette when they do. Before, we were protected by the fact that fandom was considered weird and most people didn’t look at it twice. Now, fandom is pretty mainstream. People who never would’ve bothered with it before are now comfortable strolling in like they own the place. They have no regard for the fandom community, they don’t understand it, and they don’t want to. They want to treat it just like the rest of the content they consume online.

And then they’re surprised when those of us who understand fandom culture get upset. Fanworks have existed far longer than the algorithmic internet’s content. Fanworks existed long before the internet. We’ve lived like this for ages and we like it.

So if someone can’t be bothered to respect fandom as a community, I don’t see why I should give them easy access to my fics.

Think of it like a garden gate

When I interact with commenters on my fic, I have this sense of hospitality.

The comment section is my front porch. The fic is my garden. I created my garden because I really wanted to, and I’m proud of it, and I’m happy to share it with other people. 

Lots of people enjoy looking at my garden. Many walk through without saying anything. Some stop to leave kudos. Some recommend my garden to their friends. And some people take the time to stop by my front porch and let me know what a beautiful garden it is and how much they’ve enjoyed it. 

Any fic writer can tell you that getting comments is an incredible feeling. I always try to answer all my comments. I don’t always manage it, but my fics’ comment sections are the one place that I manage to consistently socialize in fandom. When I respond to a comment, it feels like I’m pouring out a glass of lemonade to share with this lovely commenter on my front porch, a thank you for their thank you. We take a moment to admire my garden together, and then I see them out. The next time they drop by, I recognize them and am happy to pour another glass of lemonade.

My garden has always been open and easy to access. No fences, no walls. You just have to know where to find it. Fandom in general was once protected by its own obscurity, an out-of-the-way town that showed up on maps but was usually ignored.

But now there’s a highway that makes it easy to get to, and we have all these out-of-towner tourists coming in to gawk and steal our lawn ornaments and wonder if they can use the place to make themselves some money.

I don’t care to have those types trampling over my garden and eating all my vegetables and digging up my flowers to repot and sell, so I’ve put up a wall. It has a gate that visitors can get through if they just take the time to open it.

Admittedly, it’s a small obstacle. But when I share my fics, I share them as a gift with my fellow fans, the ones who understand that fandom is a community, even if they’re lurkers. As for tourist fans and entrepreneurs who see fic as content, who have no qualms ignoring the writer’s wishes, who refuse to respect or understand the fandom community…well, they’re not the people I mean to share my fic with, so I have no issues locking them out. If they want access to my stories, they’ll have to do the bare minimum to become a community member and join the AO3 invite queue.

And y’know, I’ve said a lot about fandom and community here, and I just want to say, I hope it’s not intimidating. When I was younger, talk about The Fandom Community made me feel insecure, and I didn’t think I’d ever manage to be active enough in fandom spaces to be counted as A Member Of The Community. But you don’t have to be a social butterfly to participate in fandom. I’ll always and forever be a chronic lurker, I reblog more than I post, I rarely manage to comment on fic, and I go radio silent for months at a time--but I write and post fanfiction. That’s my contribution.

Do you write, draw, vid, gif, or otherwise create? Congrats, you're a community member.

Do you leave comments? Congrats, you're a community member.

Do you curate reclists? Congrats, you're a community member.

Do you maintain a fandom blog or fuckyeah blog? Congrats, you're a community member.

Do you provide a space for other fans to convene in? Congrats, you're a community member.

Do you regularly send asks (off anon so people know who you are)? Congrats, you're a community member.

Do you have fandom friends who you interact with? Congrats, you're a community member.

There’s lots of ways to be a fan. Just make sure to respect and appreciate your fellow fans and the work they put in for you to enjoy and the gift economy fandom culture that keeps this community going.

[gojorgeous]

arranged marriage! gojo heacanons

pairing: gojo x fem!reader synopsis: just some headcanons about arranged marriage gojo! headcanons do follow a linear plot content: MDNI (18+ONLY), nsfw & sfw content, arranged marriage, p->v, oral (fem!receiving), pregnancy, breeding, not proofread because i'm lazy!!! a/n: i had a request to do a sort of expansion/sequel/prequel (?) on my business or pleasure fic, so... this is that. enjoy! and remember AGELESS BLOGS WILL BE BLOCKED!! divider credit to: @cafekitsune wc: 2k (that's so much headcanon lmao)

Arranged Marriage! Gojo who reluctantly agrees to an arranged marriage when the clan decides it’s time to secure the lineage and make a new heir.

Arranged Marriage! Gojo whose jaw nearly drops when he sees you for the first time as you’re walking down the aisle. No way you’re that hot… 

Arranged Marriage! Gojo who’s practically rocking on his feet waiting for the minister to give him permission to kiss you. 

Arranged Marriage! Gojo who drags said kiss on a little (a lot) longer than he needed to and spends the rest of the night wishing he’d dragged it on even longer.

Arranged Marriage! Gojo who’s actually really pissed that there are so many damned guests at his wedding. All of them want to talk to him when all he really wants to do is talk to you!!! 

Arranged Marriage! Gojo who only gets about three words into you the whole night and feels like pouting every time someone pulls him away from your arm. 

Arranged Marriage! Gojo who finally relaxes a bit when the party’s over and he finally gets you alone. 

Arranged Marriage! Gojo who has a hard time keeping his hands to himself on the drive home. 

Arranged Marriage! Gojo who can’t help but stare at your lips as you answer his silly little questions about your favorite color and your favorite food.

Arranged Marriage! Gojo who has to restrain himself from literally pulling you out of the car and up to his penthouse. 

Arranged Marriage! Gojo who suddenly finds himself a little nervous when he finally has you to himself. It’s his wedding night and he has to please his wife, right? 

Arranged Marriage! Gojo who revels in tearing away your dress until he sees the lacy little white set you have on underneath.

Arranged Marriage! Gojo who pins your wrists to the bed just so he can admire the way you look beneath him. 

Arranged Marriage! Gojo who nearly comes with no warning the first time he hears you moan his name. He decides it’s his sole purpose in life to make you moan like that as much as possible. 

Arranged Marriage! Gojo who is somehow both gentle and rough, who peppers you with kisses but rocks into you so good he has you seeing stars. 

Arranged Marriage! Gojo who thinks he ascends when you come around his cock and then ascends again when he remembers he married you and gets to see it for the rest of his life. 

Arranged Marriage! Gojo who makes sure to cum inside you and give you every last drop. After all, you have to make a new little Gojo heir, right?

Arranged Marriage! Gojo who holds you tightly to his chest until you drift off to sleep with your head atop his heart. 

Arranged Marriage! Gojo who takes the next two hours to be able to fall asleep himself, too hyped up on all the endorphins he’s feeling.

Arranged Marriage! Gojo whose brow furrows and stomach drops when he wakes the next morning to you not in his arms. 

Arranged Marriage! Gojo who scours the house for you and finds you in the living room reading, already having been up for hours. 

Arranged Marriage! Gojo whose heart fractures a little bit when you greet him soooooo formally and tell him that there’s some breakfast in the fridge. 

Arranged Marriage! Gojo who spends far too long in the shower, letting the water run over him and trying to figure out where he went wrong. 

Arranged Marriage! Gojo who comes to the conclusion that he just needs to win you over a little more slowly, who smiles and thinks he knows exactly how to do it. 

Arranged Marriage! Gojo who finds you still reading on the couch and tells you to get ready to go out– you’re going shopping. 

Arranged Marriage! Gojo who takes you to every designer shop he can think of and buys everything your eyes so much as graze over. Even if you tell him you don’t want it– he doesn’t care. You’re getting it. 

Arranged Marriage! Gojo whose heart flutters in his chest when you smile at a pretty little necklace he buys you. It’s not the most expensive thing he’s bought you by far, but it makes you the happiest nonetheless. 

Arranged Marriage! Gojo who’s confused as to why you keep thanking him so profusely on the way home. His money is your money now… do you not know that? 

Arranged Marriage! Gojo who makes a stop at the bank on the way home and gets you a flashy black credit card with your name (and new last name hehe) printed at the bottom. He loves the way your eyes widen and your lips part when he tells you there’s no limit. 

Arranged Marriage! Gojo who asks you what you want to do that night. Fly to Paris for dinner? Pack for a vacation to Bali? Maybe just a fancy meal at Tokyo’s most exclusive restaurant? He’s shocked when you say you’d prefer takeout and a movie on the couch, but all too happy to oblige.

Arranged Marriage! Gojo who orders half the menu at your favorite ramen restaurant that he’s never heard of. 

Arranged Marriage! Gojo whose eyes go wide when he takes the first bite and tells you it’s the best thing he’s ever eaten. 

Arranged Marriage! Gojo who stares at your lips when you laugh and ask him, “really? The best?” 

Arranged Marriage! Gojo who’s suddenly tugging your skirt down your thighs and burying his face between your legs. He takes one long lick and moans, saying that the ramen is now only second-best. 

Arranged Marriage! Gojo who thinks he could fuck you for hours on his couch, but stops after just a few rounds. He doesn’t want to tire his little baby out. 

Arranged Marriage! Gojo who savors the way you let him hold you after sex. Why couldn’t he hold you like this all day? So what if you’d just met– you’re his wife??? 

Arranged Marriage! Gojo who buries his face in your neck to memorize the moment, dreading the second you pull away from him. 

Arranged Marriage! Gojo who almost protests when you wrap a blanket around your body and pad off, saying you’re going to take a shower.

Arranged Marriage! Gojo who debates cornering you in the bathroom for another round, if only so he can hold you again, but thinks better of it and cleans up your forgotten ramen instead.

Arranged Marriage! Gojo who is completely exasperated when you never return to finish the movie. He finds you sitting in your shared bed, reading again. 

Arranged Marriage! Gojo whose heart drops when you only look up long enough to give him a small smile instead of tumbling straight into his arms. 

Arranged Marriage! Gojo who finds himself once again in the shower contemplating his existence. 

Arranged Marriage! Gojo who decides he’ll win you over one way or another, even if it takes longer than he originally intended… 

Arranged Marriage! Gojo who climbs into bed next to you and slings an arm around your waist casually, like his heart isn’t hammering in his chest when he buries his face in his pillow. 

Arranged Marriage! Gojo who doesn’t truly fall asleep until you turn off your bedside lamp and lie down beside him. His heart does little skips when you don’t wiggle out from under his arm. 

Arranged Marriage! Gojo who wakes first in the morning this time to find you curled so tightly into his chest he’s sure his pounding heart is going to wake you. 

Arranged Marriage! Gojo whose eyes turn into little hearts when you wake blushing after you realize how closely you’ve curled into him. 

Arranged Marriage! Gojo who tells you it’s okay and pulls you back into him and smirks when you can't see his face.

Arranged Marriage! Gojo who spends the next few weeks buying you every knick and knack, every snack and meal, and bending you every surface in the house. 

Arranged Marriage! Gojo whose eyes light up whenever he sees you wearing that little necklace he bought you on that very first shopping trip. 

Arranged Marriage! Gojo who buys you another necklace… this one with his initials dangling from the chain. 

Arranged Marriage! Gojo who makes you ride him so he can see his letters swaying from your neck as you come on his cock. 

Arranged Marriage! Gojo who spends every waking moment with you on his mind, who gets in a sticky situation while fighting more than once because he’s waiting for you to text him back or remembering all the nasty things he did to you last night. 

Arranged Marriage! Gojo who finally takes a look at the pages of those books you like so much and realizes the pure filth his dirty little wife reads right beside him every night. 

Arranged Marriage! Gojo who’s not angry or put off, but rather excited. He uses it as a manual the next he has you under him and when he repeats a line verbatim from your book he laughs so loud at your shocked little blush that he’s sure you’re both getting a noise complaint in the morning. 

Arranged Marriage! Gojo who makes every effort to find out what you like (beyond reading smut) and buys you front row tickets to a concert for a band that you both happen to love. 

Arranged Marriage! Gojo who finds out your favorite movie series and takes three (unapproved) days off of work just to have a marathon with you. 

Arranged Marriage! Gojo who is having his morning coffee (full of cream and sugar and caramel sauce, of course) when you make your way into the kitchen with your lip pulled between your teeth. 

Arranged Marriage! Gojo whose eyes blow wide when he sees a stick with two little pink lines and realizes he’s managed to knock you up on the first try.

Arranged Marriage! Gojo who simply has to have you right then and there, bending you over the counter and groaning your name when he slides inside your cunt. He’s gentler this time, though. Can’t be too rough when his wife is pregnant, right? 

Arranged Marriage! Gojo who goes overboard with his excitement and buys a new car the same day he finds out you’re pregnant. It’s practically a tank with all its safety features. He says you’re only allowed in that specific vehicle for the foreseeable future. Get used to it. 

Arranged Marriage! Gojo who’s all over you now. Whatever restraint he had before is gone now that you’re carrying his baby. He touches you… everywhere. All the time. It’s like it pains him to not have at least a smidgen of his skin on yours. 

Arranged Marriage! Gojo who keeps trying to win you over in the following weeks. He needs you. Not just your body, but your mind and your soul, too!

Arranged Marriage! Gojo who just lets it slip that he loves you when he’s balls deep in your cunt. Doesn’t even get embarrassed or flustered about it, just keeps pounding into you and whining about how much he loves you over and over again while he’s filling you up. 

Arranged Marriage! Gojo who lets the floodgates open after that. He tells you he loves you at every opportunity. It gets to the point where those three little words don’t even fluster you anymore, but you haven’t said them back. Not yet. 

Arranged Marriage! Gojo who waits patiently. He knows he’s getting to you, little by little. He’s sure he’ll hear you say it back soon. 

Arranged Marriage! Gojo who’s blindsided despite having convinced himself he’d be able to play it cool. He’s got you on the couch, wrapped up in his arms with his head on your tummy (he gets to hold you as much as he wants now hehe). You’re braiding his hair when you tell him that you love him. 

Arranged Marriage! Gojo who flushes the deepest shade of pink you’ve ever seen and pulls down his blindfold like he needs to see you say it again.

Arranged Marriage! Gojo who begs to hear it again and again and again until he’s smiling so wide it's literally blinding. 

Arranged Marriage! Gojo who thinks his arranged marriage was definitely the best thing to ever happen to him <3

taglist (DM me to be added!): @lacheri, @la-undercover-latina

please consider leaving a comment, sending an ask, or reblogging! interacting with authors is the best way to support them! thanks for reading ♡

[endlessthxxghts]

Bend Over

Javier Peña x afab!reader || W/C: 4.8k

Summary: Your dresser craps out on you. Your boyfriend, Javier, comes with you to IKEA to buy a new one. Then, he fucks you on it.

Content/Warnings: I think you know what you guys are getting into based on the summary😗. Reader is able-bodied. Slight implied physical descriptors Javi is taller than reader, and the IKEA dresser is slightly bigger/taller than you (everything else is neutral - no size descriptions - ex. "your form", etc.). Pet names (good girl, querida, cariño, baby, baby girl, mama, mi amor). Implied that reader knows Spanish. A little allusion to our favorite contractor, Joel Miller (blink and you’ll miss it). SMUT 18+ MDNI. Public sexual activity (exhibitionism). Finger fucking. Edging. Slight undertones of BDSM dynamics. Javi’s filthy mouth. Thigh riding. Hickey/marking. P in V unprotected sex. Choking. Breeding kink (I’m not sorry). Cum play. Anal play. Brief pussy licking + rimming. Allusion to further sexual activity. I thiiiink that’s it… let me know if I missed anything!

A/N: HIII I’M BACK! I went to ikea to buy a new dresser. And the thots between @javierpena-inatacvest and I ran wild. So, this was born.👹 Also, I no longer have a tag list, but I teased this story TWICE in some WIP tag games, and a few of you were giving me so much love and wanting me to let you know when this story was posted, so I’m adopting the tag list (at da bottom) one last time to say how much I love you all. 🥹 I’m sorry this took me so long. Thank you so much. I hope you enjoy, please let me know what you think!!!!

MASTERLIST || NOTIF BLOG

It was supposed to be just a trip to IKEA. It was supposed to be a productive day of building your dresser and rearranging your room. That is what it was supposed to be. 

How it ended up with you getting your guts rearranged on top of said dresser—you’re not so sure. But, considering this is Javier Peña you’re talking about, maybe you have a slight indication of why your day ended up the way it did. 

It was early this morning when your dresser decided to shit on you; all you did was slide the door open, and it completely pulled off of its hinge. Now, you don’t mind a doorless dresser, it’s modern, you tried to convince yourself, but when you pulled out the second drawer and the wood snapped in half, scattering your panties all over the ground—yeah, okay, it was definitely time for a new one. 

You called your boyfriend after you cleaned up your clothes, and asked if he wanted to come with you on your hunt for the new piece of furniture. Why are you even asking? he scolded as he saddled up into his Jeep and made his way to your place. 

He stepped out of his seat in the driver side, rounding the hood to pull you in for a lengthy kiss as he pulled the passenger side door open for you. “Well, hello to you, too, baby,” you giggle as you break the kiss for a breath of air. He leaves a slap to your ass as he guides you by your hips into the passenger seat. He even buckles you in, stealing one more kiss before you two head off. 

You thought shopping for a new dresser would be simple: get in, choose a sizable one that could fit everything your previous dresser could, and also make sure it matches the rest of your room’s theme. Simple, right? Wrong. As long as Javier was involved, he took his sweet time really studying each option you were pointing out—analyzing it to ensure it wouldn’t crap out on you like your original one did. 

“How long did you have this dresser?” He asked as he was pulling into the IKEA parking lot. 

“Mmm, I don’t know,” you thought, “maybe a few years?”

“A few years?!” Javier asked, exasperated. “Where the hell did you find that fucking thing?”

You let a beat of silence pass before you answered. “...I thrifted it,” you admit weakly. 

Javier puts the car in park, his face in utter shock at what just came out of your mouth. “Querida, what-” he starts. 

You pull him in immediately, shutting him up with your lips against his. It works, of course. “Let’s go?” you ask. 

“Y-yeah, vamos (let’s go),” he says, flustered. 

“Javi, c’mon,” you whine, feeling exhausted after his analysis on your third option since the first two didn’t pass the Peña inspection. “Since when were you a contractor? The first two were perfectly fine, baby, it’s IKEA for crying out loud.”

He scoffs. “Living on the ranch with Pop,” he replies to your sarcastic remark. “You and I are both aware I know my way around some handiwork,” he adds as he looks back to you, a shit-eating grin creeping on his face. 

You want to roll your eyes, but you can’t help the way your body ignites to the suggestion laced in his words. “Pendejo,” you mutter to yourself, fighting the heat from making it to your face. 

You walk around some more while your boyfriend opens every nook and cranny of the wooden frame, but then right as you turn your body, you find it. The dresser. HEMNES. You quickly make your way to it, running your hands along the dark brown surface, crouching down to open up and see how much space is in the drawers—which, it’s very spacious. The drawer itself is taller than your waistline, probably reaching just at your belly button. It’s perfect. “Baby, wait, come here! I think I found one!” You call out. 

Javier follows your voice, intrigued by your excitement—you didn’t show this much enthusiasm with the other ones he was looking at. He rounds the corner and is met with quite a view. You are bending over the top of the dresser, on your tippy toes, trying to feel for the depth of the dresser. He sees you settle your hands at the edges of the top and shake it a little, testing out its durability while also unknowingly wiggling your ass. Fuck me, he thinks. Quickly adjusting his pants, he makes his way to you, situating his body directly against yours as he cages you in. 

“Jav-” you softly gasp, not expecting to feel him. Immediately you’re pulling yourself up, still on your tippy toes, but your back is now flush against his chest. 

“Ay, Dios mío,” he grunts as he whispers in your ear, “Querida, please get up.” His hands are on your hips, pulling you away from the dresser. You turn in his hold, a giggle leaving your throat as you look at his stressed out expression, realizing why his reaction was so pained. 

“What’s wrong, baby?” You ask him quietly. “Saw something you like, huh?” You pull him in by his neck, kissing the side of his mouth before you pull away from him completely. Gesturing to the dresser, you ask, “Does this one pass the inspection, sir?” 

He glares at you before he replies. “Yeah, let’s get this one.”

Your eyebrow quirks up. “You didn’t even look at it.” 

“I saw enough, cariño,” he says gruff, looking at the tag on the display and taking note of which aisle the box will be at. 

You know your man well enough to know when he’s turned on, and that little unintentional stunt you pulled when making sure HEMNES was the right dresser for you—oh, it absolutely sent him over the edge. You decided to let him brew in his own arousal until you checked out your purchase, but the moment you set foot in his car again, you were set on starting something you wanted him to finish. 

“Thank you again for coming with me, baby,” you say as he settles back into the driver seat, your hand taking its seat on his upper thigh. 

The muscle twitches underneath your palm. “Mhm,” he mutters, voice wavering at your contact. Just as Javier puts the car in drive, he’s immediately pushing it back to park because your hand slides higher, closer, to the hardening bulge between his legs. His hips softly buck into your grasp; you take one look at him, and you can see the veins in his neck popping. A victory smile graces your face as his turns into a scowl. “What are you doing?”

You feign as much innocence as possible. “What am I doing? I’m just saying thank you, baby, I can’t tell you thank you?” 

“Right,” he says unconvinced. Your fingers continue to draw little shapes across the strained material of his pants. You go to cup him entirely, but the strength of his hand stops you. 

He releases your hand and gets out of the car, the car still running. He is at your side faster than you can take your own seatbelt off. He’s pulling your door open and giving you no chance for debate, his hand wraps around your jaw and pulls you into a bruising kiss—a messy yet calculated dance of teeth and tongue, and in pulling away he’s biting your bottom lip, pulling the sweetest little desperate whimper from your throat. He clocks the way your hips softly grind into his seat. 

“J-jav,” your voice shakes, “w-what are you doing-”

His grip on your jaw tightens, giving you a little shake as he speaks. “You had your fun, cariño,” he breathes. “My turn now.” 

His hand leaves your face and snakes down the front of your body, unzipping your jeans as you just stare wildly at the sight below you, your breathing erratic as your body anticipates his next move. 

“We- we’re in the fucking parking lot still, Javi!” You whisper yell at him, pissed, even though your body is doing absolutely nothing to stop him. He smirks at that fact. You want this. 

“Guess you’ll just have to keep quiet for me, yeah?” His fingers slip past your jeans, past your underwear, and you’re fucking soaked. His middle and ring finger bypass your clit, circling your entrance to gather the wetness accumulating before he comes back up to circle your throbbing bud. 

“Oh, fuck,” you yelp out, your eyes rolling back and your hips pushing into his hand as you hiss out in the pleasure. At your volume, Javi’s quick to stop his ministrations, cupping your mound and squeezing you as a warning. If the space allowed, you know he would’ve slapped your cunt. This alternative is equally as dizzying. 

“Open your eyes, baby,” he rasps. Your eyes flutter open. “You see all these people, huh? You want them to see you? See my good girl getting finger fucked in broad fucking daylight?”

“F-fuck, Jav” you whimper, much quieter this time, as your eyes land back on your man’s as you try and grind yourself on him. Javi’s fingers find your entrance then, sliding in with ease as a new wave of arousal pours out of you. 

“Oh, you like that idea, don’t you?” His fingers speed up their momentum as he adds his thumb into the mix, hurtling you much closer to your finish line than you anticipated. 

“Baby, I’m c-close, I’m- fuck- I’m gonna cum, Javi, I-” you bring your hand up over your mouth to stifle the sobs that are about to leave your mouth.

“Yeah, baby? Gonna give us a show?” He asks, his breathing just as erratic as yours. All you need is one more little push from his thumb on your clit, and then-

“No!” you cry.

Right as you were about to fall over the edge, Javier completely pulls his fingers out of you, standing up straight as he licks his fingers off. Your hips don’t realize he left you as they buck a few more times, chasing the feeling of what could have been. 

“Baby, please, I was so close,” you heave, your heart rate equivalent to that of a hummingbird. 

Javier leans down into the car, slotting his lips against yours terribly slow; your taste lingers on his tongue. He pulls away. “Sorry, mama,” he whispers. “Only I get to see you fall apart like that.” 

He zips and buttons your pants up, leaving you a stunned, aroused, wet mess as he makes his way back to the driver seat and pulls out of the parking spot, driving back to your place as if nothing even happened. 

The drive home is short, but it feels like the longest drive you’ve ever had to endure. He rests his hand on your thigh the entire time, squeezing you every now and then as his pinky leaves featherlight touches where you need him most. He talks to you during the drive—about what, you honestly have no clue, but it seemed the conversation was enough for him to sustain alone. 

You’re brought out of your daze when his hand grabs your jaw, turning you to look at him. “You okay, baby?” He asks, knowing damn well what’s got your head in the clouds. 

The throbbing between your legs remained consistent—worse, even—on the drive home, so no you’re not fucking okay. You don’t tell him that, though. “Mhm,” you hum, not trusting your vocal cords to string together something coherent. 

He pulls your lips to his—a lingering one, one that has your mind slipping further. Breaking the embrace, he says softly, “Go unlock the door, amor, while I carry the box in, yeah?” 

On wobbly legs, you make your way to your door, missing the hole a few times but eventually the key slides in with ease. You toss them into the bowl on the entryway table, making your way to the kitchen to grab yourself a glass of water to contain yourself until Javier comes inside. 

Apparently, you’re way more distracted than you thought, because one gulp down and he’s behind you—hands on your waist, mouth on your neck. You set the glass down a little harshly, its weight suddenly increasing tenfold with the way he’s on you. 

“Baby,” you whine, your head falling back onto his shoulder. “Please.”

Your boyfriend is turning you around then, turning you to face him, and his mouth is on yours, licking and sucking as his body pushes you up against the fridge, your head landing with a soft thud as his mouth starts to descend down your neck while his fingers work your buttons and zipper for the second time today. 

He’s pulling your bottoms down to your ankles—they’re loose on your form, so they don’t restrict you too much from opening your legs when he slots his thigh in between you, hitting right against your core. 

His lips never leave you, biting and kissing every inch he can reach while his hands find their home at the globe of your asscheeks, securing his grip as he begins a steady pace of your crying pussy back and forth on his clothed thigh. 

“Just like that, cariño, I can feel you fluttering on me already, holy fuck,” he groans as he continues his assault on your chest, leaving pretty bruises all over the valley of your breasts. “Making such a mess, pretty girl,” he mutters into your skin. 

Your hands snake to the curls at the back of his head, yanking them as he brings you back closer and closer to the finish line. He brings his lips back to yours sloppily, one hand leaving your ass to paw at your chest, his fingers rubbing and twisting at your nipples; they harden in his touch.

Your eyes struggle to stay open, his tight jeans providing the yummiest friction against your clit. “I- I’m gonna- please, Jav, I- I need to cum,” you sob. 

His hand at your chest snakes down your body, following the path to your sex. Just as you think he’s about to slip his hands between your legs, his hand changes direction, both hands going up to grip your waist to stop you from moving. His thigh leaves your core, and you’re fighting—your hips chase his muscle, your fingers scrambling to pull him flush against you, but he doesn’t budge. It’s no use. Your high is gone again, painfully forced back to the start line as Javier bends down to grab your panties and work their way back up your legs. 

You’re a heaving mess, tears falling from your eyes as pathetic little protests fall from your lips. 

Exhausted, you sigh and finally blurt out, “Javier Peña, what the fuck are you doing?” 

You can see the faintest shit-eating smirk fall on his face before he mirrors what you did earlier: feign innocence. “Gotta go build your dresser, mi amor.” 

“I can fucking build it later.” 

“But I’m already here. I’ll do it.” 

“Yeah, but your presence is needed elsewhere,” you say, annoyed. You faintly gesture to your sobbing cunt, silenced by your soaked underwear. 

“But if I’m here, I’ll do it, so you don’t have to,” he says, placing a chaste kiss to the side of your mouth. 

“Javi,” you whine, hoping a thousand different ways of are you fucking serious right now translates to him in the tone of your sexual frustration. 

“Just sit pretty for me while I go do it real quick, okay, cariño?” 

Not giving you the chance to respond, he drags you by the wrist to your bedroom, forcing you to get settled in the reading chair you have in there—a prime spot to watch him get all sweaty as he works. Great. 

You wouldn’t have riled him up if you had known this was the kind of torturous game he had in mind. 

Twenty minutes in, and Javier is sweating alright, but it’s not for the reasons you’re thinking. Yeah, it’s a physical strain building this dresser, but this is fucking light work for him. 

No, he’s sweaty, sticky, and disgustingly hot because his dick is at his full potential, throbbing and leaking at everything you put him through—and everything he put himself through, pulling you to the brink of orgasm twice without letting you fully submit to it. He damn near always gets off when you do, and teasing you like this teases him just as much, if not more. 

He’s almost done, he just has one more drawer to put together and slide into place, but he takes a step back and uses his arm to wipe the sweat across his forehead, his breathing heavy during the action. It takes everything in you not to completely melt at what he’s forcing you to witness, a faint whimper escaping you at the sight of him. 

It takes him barely a minute to get the last drawer assembled before he attempts sliding it into place. It goes in with ease at first, but before it can fully shut, the drawer gets stuck, unable to close by an inch. What the fuck, he mutters under his breath, lifting it up and wiggling to see if it’s just a kink inside the railing. Your jaw falls a little open at the vulgarity of his mouth; you are way too wound up and everything he’s doing right now has your pussy doing backflips, somersaults, cartwheels—you name it. She’s very eager. 

Fed up with the drawer, Javier completely opens the drawer and then slams it shut, using his hips to give the drawer a full-force push. The slam of the wood is deafening, but it does nothing to hide the sweet little gasp that comes out of you, his cock twitching at the sound. 

A high-pitched, breathy squeak of an oh fuck leaves your mouth, and Javier turns to check on you. He sees your fingers skating down your front, running your middle and ring finger over your soaked center, your clit’s fire immediately reigniting at the contact. 

“¿Cariño?” He calls, a sternness evident in his tone. You know not to test that tone. Your fingers’ movements pause, your eyes meet his and they’re dark. “What do you think you’re doing?” Jesus fuck, he doesn’t even know if he has the strength to fuck you like he was planning on, the sight of you touching yourself has a fire igniting through every vein in his body. 

Your eyebrows are furrowed, nervousness written all over your face. “I…um, I-” you start. 

“Get up,” he cuts you off. 

“What?” You say softly, your brain already scrambled eggs and unable to register what he just asked of you. 

His singular eyebrow raises as he stalks closer to you, his hard gaze looking down at you as your pussy cries even more at the attention. Now his command registers, and you’ll be damned if you have to make him repeat himself. 

You remove your hand from your center, lifting yourself off your chair. He snags you by your waist, pulling your body flush against his front as he steals the breath from your lungs, your tongues meeting hungrily. You moan into his mouth, your hands slowly wrapping around his neck, but before you can grip his sweet curls, he’s pulling away from you, your surprised gasps blessing his ears as he flips you roughly but with ease towards the direction of your new dresser, already in its place secured against the wall. 

“Javi,” you whimper again for what feels like the millionth time already. 

“Dime qué quieres, cariño,” (tell me what you want) he rasps in your ear, his hands skating down your front and resuming what you so desperately started.

“F-fuck-” you start, “fuck me, Javi, please, please fuck me,” you beg, your heart stuttering as he dips his middle finger into your entrance.

He kisses your temple as your eyes fall shut, a contrastingly sweet gesture for the way he’s about to ruin you right now. 

“Then bend over.” 

Now that sobers you up a little. You start to crane your neck in his direction. “W-what?” But he’s quick to grab your jaw, bringing your eyes back to your dresser. “Go do what you were doing earlier, baby. Bend over that dresser for me,” he says, soft but stern, then he’s taking a step back, letting you get there on your own. 

So hooked on his body heat, you can’t help the shudder that leaves you, but ultimately you’re making your way to your new dresser—picking yourself up on your tippy toes to lean over the top, just like you were doing with the store’s floor model. “L-like this?” You ask, voice trembling in anticipation. You stick your ass out a little extra for good measure. 

You hear his belt buckle before you register his deep grumble. “Yeah, baby,” he tells you, slowly making his way to your backside. “So good for me,” he breathes, his fingers hooking into the hem of your underwear and letting them fall to the ground. You step out of them, knowing his next step is gonna be to nudge your legs further open—and he does, using his foot to nudge both of yours outwards. 

He runs his middle finger through your slick as he lets his jeans fall, your hips push further into his touch, chasing the pleasure you’ve been buzzing for all morning. 

“Baby, please,” he hears escaping your mouth. 

“Nuh uh, baby,” he tuts, “I told you. You had your fun already, it’s my turn.” 

He runs his fingers through your wet seam, properly soaking his digits before he brings his hand to his own arousal, covering himself in your slick. He groans at the feeling. Javier crowds himself behind you, his tip immediately mirroring the path of his fingers. He catches himself against your clit, and he smirks at the wrecked sounds of your heavy breathing. 

He pushes himself into you, slow and steady, getting you comfortable in his size. His fingertips are digging little bruises into your hips—his way of grounding himself from absolutely pummeling into you from the get go. 

You two have been together for quite some while, but Javi knows he’s big. It’s evident in the way you mewl and convulse every time he’s inside of you. Too big to get used to, yet perfect for the slight tinge of pain he knows you love. 

“Baby, please move,” you pant. 

“You sure, cariño?” He says softly, his dominant demeanor fading to make sure you’re alright. 

You reach back to grab onto his hand and drag it up your own body, settling his long digits around the base of your neck. With a squeeze of your hand over his: “Fuck me, Jav, please.” 

At your queue, he’s pushing himself into you entirely. “Yeah, baby?” He snarls. “Want me to fuck you like this?” His hips form a hard pace, your hips digging into the ledge of the dresser. “This what your pretty little pussy wants, huh? What she’s been fucking crying for, baby?”

“Fuck-” you gasp. “Fuck, yes- Javi, yesyesyes! Amor, please,” you wail, your eyes rolling back as the pressure of his fingers on your neck restrict your blood flow, filling your body with a euphoria only he can give you. 

His eyes scan down your body, taking in every inch of you with nothing but pure adoration. The sweetness fades when his eyes zone in on where your two centers meet. He lets out an audible moan at the sight, sending your pussy fluttering at the sound. “Look at you, bebita, fucking creaming on me, holy fuck,” he groans, his cock sliding in and out of you with ease.

“I- I’m close, baby, fuck-” your breath stutters. “Touch me, Jav, I- I need you,” you moan. 

“Shh, I’ve got you, mi amor.” Javi’s hand on your throat leaves you and coasts down your spine, his grip fixing itself on the globe of your ass. 

He reaches down with his thumb to gather some of your slick, dragging it up to your tight, more inexperienced hole. You gasp when you feel it, your ass bucking further into his touch. “Oh, my baby girl likes that? You like your ass being played with, cariño?” He taunts, hooking his thumb inside. “Want to me to fuck you there next time?”

“Fuck- yes- please,” you whimper, your pussy fluttering around him at his words. His other hand snakes to your front and reaches for your clit, drawing tight, calculated circles on you. “Oh, fuck-!” you yell out.

“That’s it, baby, fucking- dámelo, fucking soak me, querida” he forces out between his teeth. Your body twitches in his grasp, knuckles stark white against your dresser, eyes clamped shut as you cry out in the overwhelming pleasure consuming every inch of your body. “Fuck,” he groans, your sounds forcing his balls to pull taut. Javi’s fingers speed up along with his thrusts, hurtling you towards your long-awaited climax. 

It’s overstimulating, him fucking into you so harshly as every nerve ending in your body pops off like fireworks. Yet, you feel the way his cock twitches inside of you, the way his pace stutters for barely a second, and you know he’s close. It’s overstimulating, yes, but you want, no, need him to continue, you need him to chase his own finish line—you need him to root himself so deep inside you, you’ll feel traces of him for months on end. 

“You’re close, I can feel it,” you gasp, building your own rhythm of your hips to help him along. “Need it, baby, need you inside of me,” you pant, your voice desperate. You pull yourself off the dresser and push your back into his chest, both his hands leaving your body to grip onto the darkwood, caging you in. 

“Yeah?” you feel his heavy breath fan across your cheek. “Tell me how fucking’ bad, querida, wanna hear it,” he says, voice strained.

You look back at him as best you can in this angle, your lips ghosting his jaw as the slick sounds of you grow louder. “Need you so bad even plan B can’t help us- God- please cum inside of me, Javier Peña, fucking give it to me,” you beg, your moans echoing the walls and rattling every fibre of his being, pushing his body into a state of pure ecstasy as he begins to empty himself into you. 

“Oh…fuck,” he grunts, his hips coming to a halt as he nearly wheezes through his orgasm. Once the sensitivity calms down, Javi pumps himself in and out of you a few more times for good measure, pushing his load deep inside of you. You can feel the way he slides in with a wet ease, and it makes butterflies in your belly erupt, a small gasp of a giggle, knowing that the soaked sensation isn’t because of solely your own product. 

“Fucking perfect,” he grumbles, slowly pulling himself out of you. He takes a small step back to get a look at your used cunt, puffy and glistening. His mouth literally waters. 

Javi drops to his knees, settling his broad palms on each of your ass cheeks to keep the view of you open for him. Slowly, he leans in, the flat of his tongue running over your delicate pearl through your cum-soaked folds, a mix of you and him blessing each taste bud on his tongue. He hears your breath hitch. 

He brings his tongue back in, collecting up the salty combination, before he’s on you again, mapping out the ring of your puckered muscle before he softly peppers the area in sweet kisses, your rear slightly irritated with his repeated slamming into you. 

He pulls himself away, giving you a moment to turn around; your back is to the dresser now. He places several kisses on your thighs, giving a few more kitten licks to your center before he’s rising to his feet and pulling you in for a deep yet gentle kiss. You can taste both you and him, and it makes your heart want to burst at the seams with warmth. 

“You okay?” He asks softly as his lips break away from yours. 

“Always with you,” you offer bashfully. 

“Good,” he says firmly, kissing the tip of your nose. You hear his hand smack the top of your dresser a few times. “I guess this thing is pretty fucking durable, huh?” 

“Mmmm, maybe. I think it needs to pass one more test,” you tell him. 

His eyebrow quirks up, you can see his mustache twitch, fighting his smirk. “And what test would that be, mi amor?” 

Taking a step back out of his hold, you back up into the dresser again, grabbing onto the ledge and you jump, spreading your legs wide open for him to fit in between. 

You can see the way his eyes flash impossibly darker. He stalks up to you again, his hands squeezing your thighs before he’s back on his knees, his head immediately burying himself in your core. 

Oh, yeah, this dresser passes the test, alright. 

Tagging those who showed interest when I posted the WIP !! @honeyedmiller , @punkshort , @joels-shitty-puns , @bearsbeetsbeskar , @janaispunk , @starry-eyes-love

If you enjoyed this, come check out my masterlist for more or follow my notifs blog @endlessthxxghtsnotifs to get updated on when I post new stories! Much love💚

@pedrostories

[littlexdeaths]

what are friends for? - e.m.

best friend eddie munson x fem reader

18+ ONLY MDNI

warnings: period talk/period blood, eddie is the sweetest as always, grinding, fingering, one singular use of daddy

a/n: thank you to @callsignraver for the title idea 🤭 the eddie edit was made by me! you can use it, just please credit my side blog (strangergraphics), if you do. now enjoy xx.

“Come on, sweetheart. You can tell me,” he sounds so sincere, which is why you can’t even look at him.

Because looking at him would just open a set of floodgates that you aren’t prepared to deal with right now.

Looking at him is only going to fuel the fire that is raging in your lower abdomen— that was lit the moment you stepped foot in the trailer.

A fire that he’s been steadily stoking with each brush of his fingertips against yours as you reach for more popcorn. Or when his knee bumps casually into yours as he shifts on the small sofa.

Which for someone as fidgety as Eddie Munson— was a lot.

“I promise I’m not gonna laugh or anything, just tell me what’s wrong.”

Your best friend had been able to pick up on the shift in your mood almost immediately. But he chose not to comment on it until now, unable to handle it any longer.

But how in the hell were you supposed to tell him that it’s his fault? That he’s driving you crazy?

That you want nothing more than to have his fingers buried inside you?

“You wouldn’t get it,” you sigh, shifting your body further away from him on the sofa.

Clinging onto the arm for dear life as you pretend to watch the clash of light sabers on the tv screen.

His snort has your eyes rolling.

“Try me.”

Your hands move up to rub your temples, eyes slipping shut.

“It’s a dumb girl thing—”

He jumps up off the sofa before you can even finish your sentence, returning from the bathroom mere moments later with a bottle of Advil in tow.

Eddie doesn’t register your confused expression as he stands before you, holding out the bottle.

“Cramps, right?” he asks, a kind smile tugging at the corner of his mouth.

You feel embarrassed, because of course that’s what he would think. He’s heard you drone on and on about it over the years. He only wants to help, like the kind friend that is he is.

Friend, being the keyword here.

“I um…” you mumble, taking the bottle from his outstretched hand.

You attempt to ignore the heat that continues to pool in between your thighs as you stare at the veins protruding from his hand. The way his thick fingers were previously gripping onto the pill bottle.

How they would feel gripping your inner thighs….

No. Stop it.

You mentally scold yourself, chewing on your lower lip as he takes a seat on the sofa.

“I appreciate it, but that’s not the issue.”

Now he’s the one who looks confused, leaning forward as he scratches at the stubble on his jaw.

“Then what is it?” he prods.

Eddie knocks his knee into yours again, tingles shooting up your spine from the subtle touch.

“It’s just, I’m feeling…”

“Tired?”

“No.”

“Bloated?”

“No!”

“Hangry—”

“Horny!” you shout, startling you both, “I’m horny.”

Your voice has gone soft, a near whisper compared to your previous volume. The air around you is suddenly thicker, and you are once again unable to meet his gaze.

“Oh,” he says after a long pause.

“Yeah, oh.”

You feel the tips of your ears warming as you continue to stare down at your lap. The beginning chords of the imperial march are the only thing filling the uncomfortable silence between you.

“I mean, I could always help you,” he replies finally.

His words cause your eyes to shoot up in surprise, your head turning to meet his molten hues.

“That’s— I wouldn’t ask you to do that, Ed.”

His ringed hand suddenly reaches over to rest on your knee, fingers slipping beneath the rips in your jeans.

“What if I want to?”

Now you’re the one rendered speechless.

“What if I have wanted to… for a long time,” he continues, his other hand reaching up to cup your cheek.

His thumb brushes over your lower lip, determination in his eyes as he leans further into your space. You can’t help how your body gravitates towards him, your hands clutching onto the soft cotton of his t-shirt.

You can feel the way his breath mingles with yours, nicotine and movie theater butter. But it’s the flecks of honey in his eyes that break down your remaining defenses.

You answer him with a kiss, lightly pressing them to his. Testing the waters. Eddie eagerly deepens it, pulling you in closer until you’re in his lap. Your thighs bracket his hips, his hands encircling your waist.

The kiss becomes heated, faster than either of you are prepared for. You lower your hips harder onto his lap, inhaling his soft gasp as your bodies meld together. His grip tightens on your hips as you eagerly grind yourself against his crotch, welcoming the friction.

“Hold on, baby.” He groans again, his large hands stopping any further movement.

Baby.

He’s never called you that before.

Your lower lip juts out in a pout as he maneuvers you off of his lap, and back onto the soft cushions of the sofa. The male quickly sinks to his knees, his hands splaying across the tops of your thighs as he works himself between them. He chuckles at your expression, shaking his head slightly.

“Patience, pretty girl,” he hums as his hands slide further up your thighs until they reach the button on your jeans. “Let’s get these off, yeah?”

Your nerves suddenly kick back into gear, despite the flames continuing to lick your skin. Eddie has become so tuned into your emotions over the years that he can sense this new shift immediately. This was an emotion he has seen plenty of times, but it was never because of him.

The notion has his hands freezing as they hover over the closure of your jeans.

“Shit, did I do something wrong?”

You quickly shake your head, letting out a nervous laugh. “I just… don’t wanna make a mess.”

His expression softens as you gesture to the tan sofa beneath you. The male rises to his feet without another word, darting over to the laundry basket that is seated on top of their washing machine. He digs through a pile of clothes until he finds whatever he’s searching for.

A dark maroon towel.

He clutches the soft fabric in his hands as he makes his way back to you, resuming his previous position between your legs. He sets it next to you, his brown eyes nervously shifting between your thighs and your face.

“You can touch me, Eds,” you say, carefully taking his hands in yours to guide them up to the clasp on your jeans.

Eddie doesn’t need to hear anything else.

He makes quick work of removing your jeans, tugging the denim down your thighs. His eagerness has you giggling, the tops of his cheeks flushing a light pink even in the muted light.

He pauses for a moment, leaning back as he drinks in your newly exposed skin. His eyes darken even further as his calloused fingers grip the hem of your cotton panties.

“God, take them off— please,” you whine, no longer caring if you sound pathetic.

You’ve waited far too many years for this to happen, and your patience has finally run out. Eddie chuckles, sliding your panties (pad and all) down your thighs. The male carelessly tosses them over his shoulder, ignoring your small protest.

“Lift up,” he hums, motioning you to guide your hips up.

He easily slides the towel beneath you, letting your body relax against the plush material. Eddie gently rests his hands over the tops of your thighs once more, beginning to spread them even wider. Your cheeks warm as his eyes zero in on your core, whining softly as he licks his lips.

“Christ,” he breathes, inhaling deeply as he notes the way your arousal shines in the glowing light of the tv.

He leans back for a moment, dark eyes flicking up to meet your gaze as he slowly slides each of those gaudy rings off his fingers. Eddie takes his time in doing so, the clink of metal echoes in your ears as he gathers them in his palm.

“Gimme your hand,” he says softly, but the command in his voice lingers all the same.

You hold out your left hand towards him, ignoring the way it trembles as he begins to slide each of his large rings onto your fingers. His dimples indent his cheeks as he grins, carefully lifting your knuckles to his lips. He presses a soft kiss to each one, ensuring that he keeps his eyes trained on you as he does so.

“Keep those safe for me, sweetheart.”

He winks playfully, leaning forward to brush his lips over the bare skin of your shin. His hands hook under your knees, allowing you to drape your legs over his shoulders. His movements have slowed drastically, taking his time before his fingers finally dip between your thighs.

Your soft gasp spurs him on, his fingers running through your drenched folds. He gathers your arousal on his fingertips, dragging them up to encircle over your swollen bud. You let your body relax against the couch cushions, allowing your eyes to slip shut as he continues his gentle touches.

But as soon as his touch starts— it stops just as fast.

A whine spills past your lips as his large hands wrap around the meat of your thighs and squeeze.

“Eyes on me, baby,” he coos, pressing his lips to the curve of your knee.

His teeth lightly nip at the skin there, causing your eyes to flutter back open.

“Yes, sir,” you giggle as he groans.

His fingers are back on you before you have time to mention his reaction, circling your entrance before dipping inside slowly. It causes your breath to hitch, his middle finger able to stretch you out better than any of yours ever have.

Eddie curses under his breath as he adds another, your body almost greedily sucks him in. Your hand instinctively reaches forward to grip onto his bicep. The rings that adorn your hand are biting into his skin, the thought alone makes his jeans impossibly tighter.

“God, you’re so wet,” he moans, guiding his fingers even deeper inside you.

You reply with a soft whine, your thoughts entirely too jumbled to provide him with anything else. His eyes have momentarily dropped from your face to where his fingers are nestled inside you. He slides them back out, admiring the sticky pink mixture that’s coating his thick digits.

“Eddie, don’t tease,” you huff, guiding your hips back towards his awaiting hand.

Your impatient attitude has him chuckling, those dark hues flicking up to meet yours again.

“Oh, you want these back, baby?” He taunts, his other hand gripping onto your thigh as he eases three of the digits inside your entrance.

The brunette holds them there, enjoying the way your body begins to squirm beneath him. Taunting you.

“Go on, say it, sweetheart.”

He raises a brow at you, slightly pushing his fingers in deeper, before he quickly retracts them with your continued silence. Repeating the action.

“I want…” you start, but the curl of his fingers makes you lose your train of thought.

“Hmm, you want what?” he prods.

He completely removes them from your entrance, ignoring your pleading eyes as he slides them back up to dance around your clit.

Your soft mewl of his name does nothing to deter his actions, it only slows them.

“Come on, use that pretty little head of yours,” he hums as the tips of his fingers graze over your swollen bud.

“God, just— please!” your voice raises an octave, taking on a breathy quality.

The corner of his mouth pulls up in a smirk as he tilts his head at you. His fingers dip lower, circling over your puckered hole.

“Ya know, while I usually prefer something along the lines of master… or even daddy,” he muses, noting how your breath hitches.

“God, sure has a nice ring to it.”

His head falls back as he laughs, a playful pout adorning his lips as you swat at him. Those simmering embers have quickly morphed into a raging fire, ready to engulf you both in the flames.

“Eddie, I swear to God. If you don’t put those fingers back inside me, I will—“

The rest of your threat gets caught in your throat as he thrusts his fingers back in, a strangled moan takes their place.

“See, was that so hard, princess?” he teases.

You don’t answer him, instead grinding your hips down to meet his palm. Eddie pumps his fingers faster, his thumb pressing onto your clit. The wet squelch that follows has him moaning, nuzzling his face against your knee.

Your hand releases his bicep, slipping down his arm to tangle your fingers together. He holds them tightly, beginning to curl the others inside you. The calloused tips brush against your sweet spot, pulling another whine from your throat.

“Oh, right there,” you pant, chest heaving as his thumb firmly massages your clit.

That fire continues to burn brighter with each thrust of his fingers, ready to swallow you whole.

“That’s it,” he grins, watching in awe as you make a mess of his fingers, streaks of red and pink dripping down his knuckles.

“Makin’ such a mess f’me, baby.”

You barely register his words as your back arches up off the sofa. Your eyes squeeze shut as white hot pleasure bursts behind your eyelids. His rings dig into your skin from how tightly you’re grasping him, legs trembling as he coaxes you through your high.

Your ears are ringing as you finally collapse into the lumpy cushions, whining as he continues to gently thrust his fingers inside you.

“Come ‘ere,” you mumble, eyes fluttering open to meet his.

His cheek is smushed against your inner thigh, only breaking your heavy lidded stare to slide his fingers out of you. He hums, carefully lifting his fingers towards the dim light from the tv. He rubs them together, gazing in utter fascination at the sticky strings they leave behind.

You already miss his warmth, tugging playfully on his unruly curls to grab his attention. He chuckles, wiping his fingers on the towel beneath you before he’s hovering over your body. Hips pressed into yours, not caring if you make a mess on the front of his pants.

“Thank you,” you whisper, twirling one of his curls around your ringed finger.

“No need to thank me, sweetheart.” He grins down at you, his dark eyes almost sparkling.

“Besides…” he pauses, nuzzling his nose against your cheek. “What are friends for?”

tagging: @xxbimbobunnyxx @undead-supernova @munsonhoneybaby @hippiegoth97 @cinemabean @strangerstilinski @corrodedcorpses @curlyjoequinn @mugloversonly @eddiesxangel @hellfirenacht @splendiferous-bitch @razzeith @aleisashortcake @ali-r3n @eddie-is-a-god (i tried tagging you i promise 😭)

[ddejavvu]

Spring Fling - Jake 'Hangman' Seresin x Reader (Part Two) (18+) / Part One

Summary: You should have known the ‘no refunds’ detail on the website for Spring Fling was a red flag. But you paid no mind to it, eager to be assigned a quick fuck for spring break. When the man that walks through your cabin door is none other than Jake 'Hangman' Seresin, your wildly infuriating fellow pilot, you have two choices: bicker the entire time and have a miserable spring break, or fuck.

Contents/Warnings: smut, minors dni. fem!reader, pilot!reader, enemies/rivals to lovers, lots and lots of arguing, could these two people be any less cooperative, sex seven ways to sunday and then some, seriously like so much smut it'll make your eyes bleed, makeouts, rough sex, oral (m+f receiving), penetrative sex, will add as i post

WC: 5.3K / navigation / inbox

A/N: if you've been on my blog anytime since last year and you've heard me mention 'my big hangman fic', this is it! I've been working on Spring Fling for almost a year now, and I'm so excited to share it with you. I hope you enjoy this, and I'm glad so many new people are making their way into our top gun fandom because of twisters and Glen's role in it. Welcome, and enjoy!

feedback is greatly appreciated! comment, reblog, talk in the tags, send me a message, tell me what you think!

An uncomfortable nap taken out of sheer spite does nothing to improve your mood. Your neck is stiff now, as is your spine, and it pops when you stretch from your place on the tiny loveseat.

“Well, Sleeping Beauty has risen,” Jake grins, the cocky expression boiling your blood, “Ready for dinner, sunshine?”

“I’m going to push you off of this boat.” You grumble, and Jake blinks, toning his smile down into a grimace.

“Well, maybe some food’ll improve your mood.” Jake rises from where he’d been presumably sleeping as well, though you’re surprised he fell asleep after you and woke up before you. His bedhead gives him away, and he runs his fingers through it, “We’ve got a table reserved in the restaurant for 6, darlin’. We should get there a little early, though, wanna head out now?”

Your nose wrinkles involuntarily, though you wouldn’t have stopped it, “You reserved us a table? I’m not eating with you.”

“We eat together all the time,” He scoffs, “Come on, Y/L/N, this is no different from eating in the mess hall.”

“It’s different because everyone who sees us is either going to think we just had sex, or that we’re about to,” You protest, but he’s out of sympathy to feign.

“Or both,” He grins, running a hand once more through his slightly less messy hair. He’s still barely dressed, and it takes effort for your eyes not to naturally drift away from his face. 

“You’re usually wearing a uniform when we eat in the mess hall, Hangman,” You narrow your eyes at him, glancing pointedly below his neck to his bare chest, but straying no further, “Unless they’ve hired you to be a stripper on board, and I’m just now finding out?”

“Nah, I auditioned but they said I was too good,” He crosses his bulging biceps over his chest, a haughty smirk on his face, “I didn’t wanna steal any tips from the ladies.”

“Right,” You drawl, aiming to move past him to reach your suitcase that’s been mysteriously moved from beside your head to the side of the bed opposite from where Jake had been sleeping. Except, the man blocking your path doesn’t move, and you’re stuck in the small hallway-like space that the loveseat is squished into.

“Hangman,” Your teeth are gritted, and they warp your words slightly, “Move. I need my suitcase, I’m going to change for dinner.”

“I don’t see anything wrong with your dress,” He eyes the fabric with feigned consideration, “Except of course that it’s a little long. It only needs to go up to about here,” He snakes a hand towards your waist, laying two hefty smacks against the skin on your hip that lines up just beneath the curve of your ass. He moves faster than you can back away, but you land a valiant smack against his hand when he withdraws it, “Then you could join my stripping act.”

“Hangman, if you touch me again, I’ll rip off your balls,” You swear, but there’s still a glint of mischief far too bright in his eyes for your liking, so you shove past him, making sure to tap your knuckles gently between his legs for good measure.

He groans, hunching over and breathing heavily, “Shit, Y/L/N, you trying to take out the Seresin line?”

“It’s not that bad,” You drawl, setting your suitcase on the bed and delving into its contents, “But a world where you can’t reproduce sounds like one I want to live in.”

You’re already halfway to the bathroom, your evening dress in hand when he calls back, “You act all high and mighty now,” You can hear the grin that Jake’s voice indicates, even if he’s rummaging through his own suitcase for something to wear, “But later tonight I’m gonna have you beggin’ for me to knock you up, darlin’.”

Jake’s efforts to break into the bathroom you’re changing in are certainly impressive, if nothing else. He tries the knob at first, like you’d have forgotten to turn the lock before stripping naked. When you demand a reason he claims he’d forgotten his deodorant, which is a perfect excuse seeing as you miss no chances to point out his sweat-stench after training.

You spot the stick on the counter and give yourself the satisfaction of rolling your eyes, even if he’s not present to see it.

The second time he knocks, having learned his lesson, “Y/N, I need to pee.”

“I’m changing!” You cry, the straps on your dress proving impossible to untangle. Apparently being jostled in a suitcase wasn’t ideal for the dress’s shape.

“Changing what, seasons? By the time you get dressed our leave will be over, and you’re gonna have to get back into uniform.”

“If you’re so anxious to get to dinner, go by yourself!” You insist, frustration laced tight to your tone, “I’ll figure this fucking dress out, enjoy a leisurely meal, and then I’ll meet up with Daniel afterwards!”

You’re so used to Jake’s rapidfire quips that the silence ensuing after your declaration feels awkward. But it’s a victory, one that you don’t often win against the man outside the bathroom door, and you let it ease the sharp sting of annoyance that your dress is needling into you.

A fist lands heavy against the door, and Jake’s voice is unusually devoid of mirth, “Open up.”

“Jake, no!” You spit out his first name like a hex, “I fucking told you-”

“I’m going to help you,” He calls through the door, knocking incessantly, “Come on, you said you can’t figure out your dress, I’ll help you.”

“Nice try!” You scoff, finally pulling at the correct string and watching as the others fall into precarious place around them. You jab your arm into the hole it’s created and slip the rest of them into formation, standing triumphant in front of the mirror and realizing you look quite like you’ve had sex after all.

You smooth down a few flyaway hairs, grab Jake’s deodorant, and fling the door open, just as Jake flattens his hand to slam his palm into the wood, no doubt trying to make more noise than a simple knock.

You’re looking at his face, and he’s looking at yours, but both of you can feel his hand pressed firmly into your tit. You don’t doubt that he’d intended to hit the door instead of you, but he’s not moving away, either. You both stand paralyzed until his brain catches up with his body and he jerks his hand away, lashes fluttering as he blinks bewilderedly despite the wry grin purposefully etched into his features in an attempt to remain nonchalant.

“Didn’t mean to do that,” He simpers, and you’re certain that’s the closest to ‘I’m sorry’ he’s ever given you. You know him well enough to know he’s adequately flustered, but outsiders might not catch the barely-there pink tinge to his tan cheeks, too distracted by his charming smile.

You overlook the accident if only to save yourself the awkward confrontation, ducking your head and shoving the deodorant stick against his chest. His hands come up to catch it and you make a break for the heels you’d set out by the closet, intent on strapping them on instead of talking to him.

He mumbles a distracted, ‘Thanks,’ when you hand him his deodorant, but the stick remains firmly capped in his hands as his gaze trails after you.

“Your dress looks nice.” He concludes, voice a tone softer than it normally is. It’s- nice. You’re too used to the bite of his southern drawl, the way he pairs a cocky quip with an eye-roll more vicious than even the most belligerent teenager. Now they’re soft and gooey-brown as he stares at the straps on your shoulders. This isn’t the first kind thing he’s ever said to you, but it’s certainly the first in a long time, and you swallow the urge to use it against him.

“Thank you.” You grumble, then, to steer away from the thick silence you’ve been enveloped in, “Not sure it’s worth it, though, those straps were fucking confusing.”

You swear you hear a mumbled, ‘It was,’, but Jake’s back is turned to you as he sets his still-capped deodorant on the bathroom counter, so you can’t be sure.

You’re surprised to find that the elevator is just as empty as you’d left it when you and Jake board to head to the 9th floor. The restaurant Jake had reserved your table at is upscale, and you presume everyone else is too busy boning to manage a sit-down meal. You settle against the back wall of the elevator in silence, looking but not watching as Jake presses the 9 button with a thick finger.

The last time you were in this elevator, Daniel was backing you up against the railing and kissing you.

Just the thought brings heat to your cheeks, and you’re thankful for the support that the wall behind you offers. If it wasn’t there, you’re not sure your weak knees would withstand the crushing weight of your weighty crush.

“Was that where he sucked your face?” Jake’s voice shatters your reverie into a million tiny, unsalvageable pieces, and you forget any momentary truce that you might have had with him only moments ago.

“Excuse me?” You level a glare at the man across from you, unimpressed with his accusation even though it was accurate, “He did not suck my face. He kissed me like a gentleman.”

Jake lets out a bark of laughter, “Right. Because gentlemen smear a woman’s lipstick halfway over her chin.”

Despite knowing you’d have seen any makeup smudges when you’d been in the bathroom earlier, your hand darts to your chin.

Jake takes it as an admission of guilt, and his sharp grin only grows, “Exactly. I’ve sucked faces before, I know what the result is.”

A rather unsavory memory assaults you of Jake crowding a vacationing New Yorker up against a wall of the Hard Deck. You push away the nauseating burning in your chest at the image, intent on never seeing Jake Seresin’s tongue inside of anyone’s mouth but his own again.

“You suck faces,” You conclude, still slightly bothered by what you’d recalled, “Daniel kisses.”

“Daniel,” Jake snorts, grasping for something to tease, “That’s not a very moan-able name, is it?”

“Neither is Jake,” You retort, “Jake sounds like a toddler running loose at the mall.”

“That’s why the ladies call me Hangman,” Jake grins, his eyes narrowed in an attempt at a smirk, “Well, some of ‘em call me Hungman by the end of the night.”

“Oh,” Your face twists into a grimace, and you’re thankful for the dinging of the elevator, “You’re not allowed to talk at dinner.”

“Only way you’ll get me to shut up is if you gag me, darlin’.” Jake laughs, stepping out of the elevator and following behind you even as you storm ahead towards the entrance to the dining room.

It’s an opulent room, chandeliers and crystal adorning every surface. You slow your pace before you reach the reception desk, so that the poor employee doesn’t think you’re going to vault over the counter and attack him, but you’re fairly certain there’s still a scowl on your face when you attempt to speak with him.

“We have a table reserved,” You inform the man, conscious of Jake’s impressive build lingering behind you, present and firm, “Room 838?”

With a quick few buttons pressed on the screen before him, the host nods, customer service smile on full force as he gestures to his left, “Of course, right this way.”

You let him lead, and you try not to get distracted by the grandiose decor. Whether it’s authentic material, or just plastic spray-painted gold, it’s beautiful, and you’re so absent-minded that you don’t acknowledge your table until you’re stopped in front of it.

“Here you are; have a lovely meal.” The man politely excuses himself, heading back to the front to greet whoever else is waiting to be checked in for their tables.

You’d been too overwhelmed by finding out that your hot sexy mystery man was actually your brutally combative fellow pilot to think about what dinner would entail beyond heated bickering. He’d drawn a comparison to the mess hall and your brain had run with it, but this is decidedly different from the drab benches you’re used to.

This is a small, delicate, round table, a white tablecloth draped elegantly overtop. It’s two candles, giving off a small aura of warm light around the dim restaurant, crystalline dishes framed with polished silverware. It’s an enclosed space, it’s knees brushing and eyes twinkling with candlelight, it’s electric shocks when skin meets skin. It’s romantic by design, and you refuse to share it with Hangman.

But you can’t refuse.

The waitstaff is limited and overworked, evidenced by the mountain of covered trays you see them rushing to different tables. It would be rude to storm out, and while you’re not worried about offending Jake, you don’t want to inconvenience the staff.

Jake sniffs out your internal conflict by only a glance at your stiff stance, a skill he’s acquired after years of working out the perfect way to get under your skin. He can read you like a book, and he knows fury and guilt are waging war in your head right now.

You’d like to think he thought fury would win, but it’s guilt in the end. You step towards your chair, reaching out with two fingers to pinch the candle on your side of the table. The flame snuffs out beneath your touch, and the mild burning sensation is worth it to hear Jake scoff.

“Nicely done, killer,” He drawls, sounding offensively unperturbed by your obvious dislike of him. To your complete and utter indignance he reaches behind your back to pull the chair out from it’s seat, offering it to you as a peace treaty.

You are not a peaceful person, not when it comes to Hangman.

You take the opposite seat, maintaining sharp eye contact with Jake as you sit down. He inhales, and you take satisfaction in the puff of his chest, a telltale sign that he’s beginning to get aggravated. He lowers himself into his own seat, but notices the way your hand darts for the one candle that’s still lit, and he snatches it out of your way before you can snuff it out. It causes the silverware on the table to rattle, and you and Jake are required to send placatingly charming smiles to the people at nearby tables who turned at the commotion.

He turns that once-dazzling grin on you like a weapon as he relights the blackened wick of the candle you’d pinched, letting it burn once more to illuminate his features.

You don’t waste a second in snuffing it out again, “The point was so that I didn’t have to see your ugly face.”

“You are the most charming dinner guest I’ve ever had the pleasure of dining with,” Jake croons, unflappable as ever, “Put your napkin on your lap, Y/N, it’ll keep your dress dry when you’re drooling over me.”

You take ash-stained fingers and leave streaky, dark prints on the white cloth napkin, draping it over your lap and folding your hands neatly over it.

“Careful, Hangman,” You warn, your voice low and your face deceptively cheery as you nod kindly at a passing waiter, “They gave me two different knives to stab you with.”

“God, why are you so pissy?” He asks, and for a moment, you don’t know the answer. It catches you off guard, and that’s never supposed to happen, not around Hangman. He speaks again before you have the chance to respond- typical.

“So, we ended up on the same sex boat. Whatever, Y/L/N, shit happens.” His jaw is tense, fraught with annoyance while his eyes blaze like the jet engines he’s so used to gunning, “I’m just teasing, y’know. You know me, I’m not a monster, I’m not going to force you to have sex with me. If you don’t want to, then we won’t, and that’s that. You don’t have to keep snapping at me, I won’t bite you.”

It’s possibly the most heartfelt, sincere thing that Hangman has ever said to you, albeit in exasperation, and you’re not sure you’re comfortable with that. Your rapport with the man has always been full of quips and jabs, nothing like what he’s just unleashed. You’d known he must have had a soft side, but you thought perhaps he’d left it back in Texas, because this is something new. You see a waiter approaching from behind Jake and smile politely at them, clueing your dinner date in to their appearance.

“Unless you want me to,” Jake adds with an insufferable wink, using the last few seconds that you’re able to speak freely to tease you. 

“Welcome,” The waiter smiles, once more with that impeccably tuned customer service politeness as he hands a wine list to Jake, “What can I get started for you this evening?”

As much as you hate to admit it, Jake’s teasing quip is familiar, a well-worn blanket you find comfort shrouding yourself in, and it breaks the awkward tension that had arisen when Hangman had spoken so sincerely towards you.

You don’t dare let a smile grace your features, but one tries; instead you settle for a kick to his shin beneath the elegant white tablecloth.

“We’ll have- mm! The- uh, the…” Jake trails off, eyes roving down the selection and realizing too late that he’s more attuned to cheap liquor in a beachside bar than he is to elegant pairings of food and wine. He recovers quickly, that special brand of Seresin charm, grinning across the table at you, “Actually, we’d like it if you surprised us. Money’s no object,” He throws in a grotesquely over-the-top wink, “Just make it special for my roommate here.”

Your teeth ache as you grind them together in a smile, and you swear you can feel your right eye begging to twitch, “How considerate of you, Jake.”

“Anything for you, dear,” He replies easily, accepting two dinner menus from the waiter and thanking him. You maintain the common courtesy of waiting until the poor man is out of earshot before tearing into Jake, and he’s lucky he’s got both of the menus still in his hands, or you’d smack him upside the head with one.

“I’m not paying out of my ass to get drunk at a candlelight dinner with you.” You hiss, courteous of the other patrons, but barely able to contain yourself.

“No, you’re not.” He agrees, blinking like he’s not sure why you’re close to shouting, “I am.”

“That’s- ooh!” You fume, eyes clamped shut and jaw so tight it hurts. You take a second to breathe, “Hangman, you know damn well I don’t like owing you money.”

You have a very strict no-loans policy, though it only applies to yourself. You have no problem spotting Natasha for a few drinks, or treating Javy to animal fries at In-N-Out, but you’d rather die than let someone use their dollar for your snack at a vending machine. Feeling like you owe something makes your skin crawl, and it’s something your friends have all had to accept. All, of course, except for Hangman, who seems to delight in making your skin crawl.

“You don’t owe me money,” He laughs, taking a sip of the glass of ice water that had been waiting at his place on the table, “And you don’t owe me anything else either, darlin’. I’m paying for the wine.”

“Then I’m not drinking it,” You decide, still caught in your blustering fury, “I’m too tired to deal with your bullshit - you can mill around the ship and beg some poor woman to drink with you, and I’ll go back to our cabin and sleep.”

You wish that the man across from you wasn’t so adept at setting your nerves on fire. You chalk it up to years and years of flying together, at each other’s throats despite being on the same team, but Jake really is able to infuriate you with something as simple as a grin. The way that hollow manipulation glazes over his eyes each time he doles out a charming smile makes your chest burn, and you wish you could get a handle on your frustration. It’s embarrassing, really, that he knows how to pick you apart and induce insanity; you wish you improved at resisting him through practice, but that’s not how it works. It only gets worse, worse and worse and worse until you’re sitting across from him at a candlelit table, yearning to whack him over the head with a black-foldered menu.

“Fine,” Jake snorts, setting the glass down in the wet indent it had made on the tablecloth before, condensation beading at its base, “You don’t have to have any. But you have to take me back to our room - if I get wine drunk, you’ll have to stop me from kissing everyone.”

The startling admission does exactly what Jake intended it to, and you’re caught off guard, the rapidly ticking bomb of frustration inside your chest temporarily disarmed. 

“You’re a drunk kisser?”

“A winedrunk kisser, yes ma’am,” Jake nods, the ammunition he supplies you with a far cry from his typically competitive nature, “First and only time I’ve ever had wine was at my sister’s wedding a few years back.” He reminisces, still holding tight to both menus as candlelight flickers on his tanned face, “She wasn’t necessarily thrilled that I started kissin’ on the groom, but I looked good in the veil when the photographer came around.”

He’s good-natured about the snort you let out in response, and finally he offers the menu to you like an olive branch, “You gonna whack me with this thing?”

“How’d you know I wanted to?” You arch an eyebrow, taking the menu from him. Prices aren’t listed - the cost of your meals was included with the boarding pass, but extras like drinks are something you’ll need to pay a tab on later. Nevertheless, the food looks to be worth your money.

“You get this look in your eye when you’re feelin’ feisty,” Jake notes, taking a look at his own menu, “Your jaw gets all tight, and I start gettin’ the urge to cover my crotch.”

Today was not the first time you’ve ever whacked him in the balls; evidently he does learn, even if he chooses not to apply that knowledge.

You neglect to respond, no longer irritated enough to tell Jake that he’s deserved every hit he’s taken from you, but never vulnerable enough to apologize. Instead you bury yourself in the menu, appreciating the array of cuisine that you’re not often treated to on a naval base. 

Jake lets you remain silent until the waiter comes back with the wine that he’d ordered, and you nod in thanks with a poorly-concealed clenched jaw to the man when he pours you a glass.

“That looks wonderful, thank you,” Jake gushes, eyes slightly narrowed as he raises his glass to his nose, inhaling the aroma wafting from the wine that he swirls gently, “Smell that, darlin’, ain’t it good?”

You reach for your portion with tense fingers that nearly shatter the stem of the glass as they wrap around it. The scent of the wine is oh-so-tempting; surely Jake’s objective for getting you to smell it was to wear you down into tasting it.

You won’t give in.

“Smells fantastic,” You concede, and if the waiter’s realized he’s in the lion’s den, pinned between two aggressors ready to rip into each other’s throats once more, he doesn’t show it. He merely bows, stepping away again and leaving the bottle on your table.

“That’s good,” Jake muses nonchalantly after a sip, glancing down at the menu in his lap as if you’ll believe he’s perusing it instead of plotting a way to make you explode at the table. 

“Well I’m glad you like it, because you’ve got a whole bottle to finish,” You snipe, “I’m not a toddler, Jake, you can’t trick me into eating my broccoli by pretending it’s the best thing you’ve ever tasted.”

“Who said anything about tricking you?” He leans back in his chair, wine set back on the table, “Y/N, I can enjoy a nice glass of wine without it being about you, thank you very much. Believe it or not, the world doesn’t revolve around you, and you’re not the only thing I think about.”

You’re more than used to Jake’s accusations of your egocentrism, not because it’s true, but because it’s what he defaults to whenever he can’t think of a response, but is too stubborn to let the issue go. They don’t worry you anymore like they used to, but they do irritate you, and you’re glad for the deep, smooth voice that calls your name from your left to distract you from Jake’s insults.

You know it before you turn; Daniel is there with his roommate. She’s gorgeous, her dark hair intricately braided and styled, a compliment to her skin that’s only a shade lighter, and you’re only slightly jealous of the way his arm is draped around her middle. You quell it by reminding yourself that you’d frenched him in an elevator only hours after meeting him, and this is a cruise meant for casual sex.

Perhaps your voice is a notch too sincere when you greet him, “Daniel.”

You miss it, your attention fixed on the couple approaching your table, but a muscle jumps in Jake’s jaw as it tightens. 

“Well, I guess you’re all some people think about,” Jake drawls, his grin now wolfish and lethal, and while your voice was slightly too kind, his voice is slightly the opposite, scathing in a way, “So you’re- uh, Elevator Boy?”

Daniel’s slight smirk is bashful where he bites the inside of his cheek and nods, “I guess that’s accurate. I- uh, I hope you don’t mind.”

“He doesn’t,” You reply before Jake can conjure up any more misplaced snark, “We’re not hooking up.”

Daniel’s brows furrow for only a split second, a confused reaction he hadn’t been able to politely mask in time. His roommate glances back at Jake, and the knit of her brow is less fleeting; clearly she’s thinking you’re out of your mind for not fucking him.

“Random roommates don’t always work out, I guess,” Daniel smooths over the awkward silence that’s befallen your table, and you want to kiss him for it. Well, you want to kiss him regardless, but now you’re positively fiending for a repeat of earlier.

“He’s my coworker,” You explain, “We really can’t.”

“Oh!” He laughs, and his roommate seems equally amused by your poor fortune, “That’s crazy, and- there’s no changing roommates, is there?”

“She’s stuck with me,” Jake continues aiming that deadly grin towards Daniel, and you’re surprised he hasn’t caught on fire yet. 

“Well, if you ever want to switch for a night,” Daniel squeezes his roommate’s side, his fingers ghosting over her exposed skin in the cutout dress she’s sporting, “I’m not an idiot; Danica’s ogling you.”

You marvel at the friendly banter they share after only a few hours of knowing each other, but Daniel seems fantastic to get along with. Danica laughs at his teasing and manages to look barely bashful when she nods at you, “I wasn’t gonna say anything when I thought you two were enjoying yourselves, but I’d be happy to step in if you wanna get lucky for a night.” 

“That sounds great,” You jump at the offer, but Jake speaks at the same time, voice a hair louder than your own.

“We’re not interested.” He dismisses Danica’s offer but he looks at Daniel to do it, something dangerous gleaming in his eyes that you’re only used to seeing on the tarmac.

A laugh escapes your throat, horridly disguised as something casual and not your breaking point, “Oh, we aren’t interested? I am.”

Jake blinks, shifting his sharp gaze towards you, “No switching rooms, Y/N.”

“That’s for official placements,” You sit up straighter in your chair, turned fully towards Jake now instead of angled towards Daniel, “But they’re not gonna come check on us at two in the morning to make sure we’re all in our bunks. We can swap for a night.”

“I don’t know why you’re fighting so hard for a night in his bed, the elevator seemed to work just fine. Maybe Danica and I can have a few drinks tonight, and you can slip off and defile floors 1-4.”

“That’s not-” You’re hot on Jake’s trail, intent on defending Daniel and pointing out the hypocrisy in Jake’s scathing statements, but a firm hand falls on your shoulder that silences you. Daniel’s grip is firm, but not painful, more grounding as his touch practically sucks the fire out of your veins and replaces it with calm.

“I think drinks after dinner are a great idea.” Daniel speaks coolly, with all the perfect composure you wish you had around Jake, instead of the barrel of gunfire perpetually smoldering inside of you.

“Me too,” You add, and one of Jake’s eyebrows ticks up.

“Really? I thought you said you were going to bed after this. Something about being too tired to deal with-”

“Your bullshit, Hangman.”

What you engage in next would preferably be described as a battle of wills, but to the outside eye, might look like a staring contest. It’s your vicious glare against Jake’s lazy grin, eyes alight with mischief as he does what he does best - piss you off.

“We’ll plan on drinks, then,” Danica breaks the ice, and you’re grateful for the tones of her sweet voice, “There’s a bar on the ninth deck, do you want to meet there?”

“That sounds great,” You hope she takes your kind smile for what it is; gratitude, “We’ll head there when we’re finished with our food.”

“Right,” Daniel nods, squeezing your shoulder and letting go, taking Danica by the waist once more to lead her to the table their water had pointed at, “See you then.”

Whatever farewell you murmur is lost in the general hubbub of the restaurant, something that you wish would happen to the grating tone of Jake’s drawl.

“So,” He muses, playing coy, but you won’t have it, “You’re not tired anymore?”

“I don’t know what’s wrong with you,” You steel yourself, inhaling and letting your chest puff with the breath, “But whatever you’re doing here; trying to ruin this for me just for shits and giggles - it’s gotta stop. I’ll leave you alone, and you can fuck as many people as you want on this ship, okay? You can have what you came here for, a week-long hookup, and all I’m asking in return is for one chance. I just want one. fucking. chance. to enjoy myself. Okay?”

His eyes cloud over throughout the duration of your speech, and it’s a look you’ve never seen on him before. It’s unsettling, like something’s dimming his spirit, though you can’t tell what. You’ve quipped back at him before, practically every time he’s ever teased you. But perhaps he’s just as unsettled with your newfound sincerity as you were with his, because his face settles into a hesitant expression. You press on.

“You told me earlier that you’re just teasing me, and that you’re not a monster. If that’s true, then leave me alone.”

He looks wounded only by a slight twitch of his eye; perhaps the prospect of being around you and not lunging teeth-bared at your throat is too much to bear. But he nods, slow and rickety like the joints in his neck protest the movement, “Fine. If that’s what you want, I’ll leave you alone.”

“Thank you.” You respond stiffly, glad for the menu in your lap as it provides an easy out for you; you’re not sure if you can stand looking him in the eyes. You’re afraid you’ll see disappointment there, perhaps real dislike, and you don’t want to find out that the only reason he speaks to you is to mess around with you. You’re content in feeling like you’re friends as well, and if he gives himself away now that you’ve asked him to ease up on the teasing, you’re not sure you’ll enjoy yourself at all on this vacation, no matter how much cheap, distracting sex you have. The truth of the matter is that you value the blossom of his friendship no matter how thorny it can be, and you’re not sure if he’s capable of playing nice without an occasional bite. 

You’re sure things will go back to normal on the weathered tarmac, but until then, bobbing along on ocean waves, you want Jake Seresin to be your friend, not your frenemy. If he’s incapable, you want no part of him.

feedback is greatly appreciated! comment, reblog, talk in the tags, send me a message, tell me what you think!

[sai4u]

★ — couple of the year .ᐟ

⤷ gq couple interviews with nct dream

⌗ ft .∿ dream ot7 x reader

⌗ genre + warnings .∿ fluff + someone please jeno from this

⌗ trini’s note .∿ okay last re upload from the deleted blog 😭. also if you never seen a gq couple quiz, here’s one of my favorite examples :)

⤹ ⊹ mark lee .ᐟ

✶ mark would have extreme confidence that he would get all the questions correct. at most, maybe one or two questions wrong but he wouldn’t sulk it off, he would more than likely say, “I knew that” or “that was my second guess, I swear”

✶ weirdly enough, he would get the much deeper, or “harder”, questions correct more than the basic questions like what’s your middle name or what’s your favorite color

✶ for the deeper questions he gets correct, he would constantly answer, “see, I told you I knew you baby” with his lil smirk or a sly smile

✶ I think mark would almost always have a story attached majority of the questions you asked him. some are embarrassing, some have you giving a belly laugh, and some are sentimental. the sentimental ones, he’s holding eye contact with you, matching your smiles, and mouthing, ‘i love you’

✶ as for questions about him, he would let out an exaggerated sigh when you get them wrong. he would act so heartbroken and go on this dramatic ramble of how he thought his partner knew him

⤹ ⊹ huang renjun .ᐟ

✶ renjun is a shy lil thing for these types of interviews. quite nervous that he’ll get some wrong but confident enough that he’ll get most of them right. though, he does believe he’ll get more questions right than you will and he wasn’t wrong

✶ he would stand firm on the questions he got wrong that he thinks he got correct. he blames you that you never told him this information or that you’re a liar, sometimes side-eyes you before you say if he’s wrong or right. if he got it wrong, he would have hard evidence that he is correct and even state word for word on when you said the correct answer in the past

✶ as for questions about him, he would maybe allow bonus points. it depends on how many bonus questions you gave him, which would total how much or how little bonus points you get

✶ ngl, renjun can become a petty lil mf when it comes to his questions. he think it’s only right after the struggle you put him through answering some of those questions and fighting for his case

⤹ ⊹ lee jeno .ᐟ

✶ slightly like mark and has extreme confidence that he’ll get every question right except….anyways ! it’s not that he’s not an attentive bf (cause he is, trust !) but he’s truly shocked at how many he gets wrong. but at the same time, the ones he thinks he is wrong, he gets right ??? idk man. he knows who was your first best friend but doesn’t know your favorite meal…

✶ a lot of laughs are shared between the two of you cause it truly is funny at his reactions at whether or not he’s right. usually his jaw is dropped; if he’s right he nods his head in a slightly cocky manner but if he’s wrong, he shakes his head and curses himself

✶ but at the same time, you throw him some bonus points to help cause poor baby is not doing so good. in the end for the questions about you, he doesn’t do as bad but he believe that definitely isn’t his best and plans to be a better bf to you

✶ for questions about him, he assumes just about half the time that you won’t get this question right, and it could be the most basic questions anyone could easily answer. like why is mans shocked that you know his favorite artist and his favorite pastime…?

⤹ ⊹ lee haechan .ᐟ

✶ it turned from a cute quiz to a full blown competition. out of all of dream, his confidence is at an all time, always, when it comes to being the best boyfriend God can put on this earth. but oh do you have something planned for him

✶ haechan is more than a thousand percent confirmed that he’ll get all answers right and sits in his seat with such confidence. you roll your eyes and look through the questions as he continues to boast

✶ the questions were going good, ofc he was getting every single correct cause again, he’s the best (he prefers the term “perfect) you could ever have. until it’s questions that even you may not know the answer to that starts to trip him. he thinks you’re pranking him, even after you assured him that you aren’t

✶ haechan would trip you up so you can forget the correct answers to your questions. a firm believer that haechan would sit in a certain position to have you gushing, you try to hide your smile while asking the question but it’s no use when he’s around

✶ though when it’s his turn to ask the question, he is absolutely terrible. he’ll throw in bonus questions to trip you up and when you get them wrong, he is so dramatic my goodness. he’s even worse than mark and think it’s the death of him that you don’t remember his comfort meal

⤹ ⊹ na jaemin .ᐟ

✶ jaemin is actually mellow about his confidence for this couples quiz. he’s as confident as haechan but not nearly as bad as haechan can get. don’t get me wrong, he always assures that he’s the number one boyfriend material but thankfully know he’s not perfect

✶ I’d say out of all dream, jaemin would have, I believe, the third highest score. potentially a tie with renjun for second if he tries hard enough. he gets the easy and hard questions correct without breaking a sweat and sometimes throw in extra info for that question, just to show that he really is attentive

✶ throughout the quiz, he would blow air kisses and reach to grab your hand but you would think that he’s trying to cheat. which leads you to move it out of his reach and leaving him with a small pout

✶ another pouter on our hands guys ! he mostly pouts when he doesn’t get his bonus points or when you reject bonus points from him. no jaemin, you cannot get two bonus points just cause you named your partner’s dream career out of nowhere

✶ when it comes to jaemin’s questions, he is very nice about it and isn’t too harsh with the questions. though, he does throw some curveballs so prepared for that. he’ll go from what’s favorite movie to who’s the first person he talked to on the phone that day

⤹ ⊹ zhong chenle .ᐟ

✶ an actual comedy show when a couples quiz and chenle is combined. listen, he believes these questions doesn’t prove that he is a good boyfriend but he will do it just for the sake of you :p

✶ but at the same time, he will put on a game face and take this couples quiz veryyyy seriously. he refuses to even let a slim of doubt enter you just cause of a couple incorrect answers. I do believe as just as the amount of answers he gets correct, his ego gets stronger and you can tell from his stance

✶ though, (just like renjun) almost every answer he would get wrong, he would firmly believe that he is right. he’ll have you thinking that maybe YOU’RE the one with the wrong answer. he’ll do everything in his power to prove that he’s right and sometimes it gets a bit scary how hard he’s fighting for that point

✶ I would say that his score is pretty decent but he definitely could have done better. though after the interview, he’s still stuck on the questions he got wrong. cause wym your favorite ice cream isn’t cookies n cream ???? he literally saw you eat it last week

✶ now chenle giving you the questions….be prepared for a lot of sass, a lot of dramatic signs, and a lot of ‘I thought my partner knew me better mmcht’

⤹ ⊹ park jisung .ᐟ

✶ literally the best and most perfect companion for this quiz (yes I’m being biased, sue me). the man who would score the highest out of all seven boys but still keep a humble posture throughout the quiz. he blushes after you praise him for the amount he gets correct, which is all ofc :)

✶ sometimes he’ll be specific for certain questions, even after you told him he can keep it vague. he’ll go into detail of how your morning routine is set or little signs to show that you’re not in a talkative mood at the moment

✶ deeper questions are the ones that he is the most confident in, he mentally prepared himself for these type of questions. he’ll give reasons as to why you dislike this food or how you have a heavy distaste towards sports. starting to think it’s just jisung’s excuse to ramble about you

✶ as mentioned before, jisung isn’t as cocky as the members but internally, he knows he got this quiz in the bag. he stays humble and gushes on how much he got right

✶ for questions about himself, he’s one hundred percent sure that you’ll get majority correct. but he isn’t worked up if you were to get them wrong; instead, he lets a lighthearted ‘tsk’ and tells you the correct answer. he also reassures you that you still are a good partner to him, no matter how many you have gotten wrong :)

౨ৎ honestly shocked on how little time this took but I’m really happy with how it came out :)

౨ৎ lemme know if you guys want a 127 and/or wayv version of these hcs 🤭

kisses to you all and God bless you 💗

© 𝟤𝟢𝟤𝟦 𝗌𝖺𝗂𝟦𝗎. 𝖺𝗅𝗅 𝗋𝗂𝗀𝗁𝗍𝗌 𝗋𝖾𝗌𝖾𝗋𝗏𝖾𝖽

[itsmarsss]

Vulgar Display of Power [Miguel Diaz x fem!Reader] (Cobra Kai)

You can never fucking beat him in a fight and it's getting frustrating.

Request: omg more miguel please!!! smutty if u can xx already dating if you want? Fic title comes from my (second) favorite Pantera album. Word count: 4,350 Warnings: SMUT. established relationship, theres plot but it only serves to justify the sex lol, i use present tense in this, degrading, first time sub!miguel kind of, handjob, fingering, oral sex, penetration (p in v), semi-public sex (i guess? no one's around but the location isn't exactly private), a lot of use of pet names (baby, babe, love, mi amor), so much swearing. obviously no one is a minor here I don't mention much context but can be read as hs senior year or later, doesn't really matter. if you're a minor kindly keep away from my blog and this fic please

“Fuck!”  You yell out as Sensei Lawrence announces Miguel’s win. In turn of your frustration, Miguel sports a grin that playfully mocked you.

Now don’t get it twisted, you’re not a bad fighter. You’re not even a good one- you’re great. The best, except for…

“Diaz! Good one.” Sensei Lawrence praises.

“Nice, dude!” Hawk comes to fist bump him.

Tory comes to you. “Girl get it together! You’re better than that!”

“I’m fucking trying.”

Miguel hears the two of you talking and decides to insert himself into the conversation. “Come on, it’s not a big deal.”

“I say this with love but it is a big deal and I’m gonna find a way to beat you.”

“Okay. Whatever you say.”

[. . .]

“Hey,” you hear Miguel call from behind you, turning around for a split second to look at him before getting back to packing your stuff to leave the dojo. 

“Hey.”

“So, are we still on for tonight?”

“Yeah. I just wanna go home first and take a shower.”

He scratches the back of his neck. “Hey are you okay?”

“What do you mean?”

“Something seems… weird.”

“I don’t know what you’re talking about, babe,” you tell him, bringing a hand to his face and lightly tapping his cheek.

“You sure?”

“Yes! I just said it is!” You realize you blew up at him for no reason, immediately feeling bad for it and apologizing, not managing to look at him. “Sorry.”

“See? That’s what I mean!”

“I really am sorry.”

“Okay, but something’s clearly wrong.”

You stay silent, and he walks up to you, cornering you so you’d face him.

“What’s going on?”

Honestly, you don’t want to tell him. Because it would sound stupid. Because it is stupid. You don’t even exactly know why it had gotten so under your skin this time. 

“It’s fine. I’m just a bit off today.”

“You don’t have to talk about it, but you don't have to lie either.”

“Fine. You wanna know what’s wrong? I’m frustrated because you keep beating me.”

“What?”

“Every single time we’re picked to fight I just can’t fucking beat you. And yes, I’m glad you don’t go easy on me, cause that would be like a million times worse, but I'm frustrated with myself. You’re the only one I've never fully beat in a match. The closest I’ve ever gotten to that was a tie.”

“Well most of the time it ends up in a tie.” 

“Yeah but none of the time did it end with me winning.”

“I don’t understand why you’re so upset about this.”

“Of course you don’t. I just feel like if I still can’t beat you then have I really been getting better?”

“What? That’s nonsense, babe. You know that, right? Of course you’ve been getting better. We all have.”

“See I told you it would be stupid. I don't even know why I'm feeling this way.”

“That’s okay. We can just sort that out.”

“What do you mean?”

“I’ll ask sensei for the keys.”

“What?”

“We’re gonna stay here and fight and we’re not gonna leave until you win.”

“That’s really not what I was trying to get from this-”

“What, are you scared?” He knew just how to tug on your strings. 

“Oh fuck no.”

“Then we’re doing this.”

“But what about the date?”

“We can go tomorrow. If you need my help today, I'll help you today.”

“Okay.”

[. . .]

“Alright, ready?”

You only nod your head yes, too focused to even speak.

“Okay. Round one.”

You get a couple punches in, but he’s faster than most of your hits. He wins..

You huff, annoyed. “Again.”

“Again.”

“Again.”

“Again.”

“Again.”

“Okay that’s it. Again.”

This time, determination runs through your veins, as tired as you were. Every single moment of feeling weak or inferior or as though you were seen by others as basically the female equivalent of Miguel, and not yourself, not someone capable of being better than him in any way, channeled into this round. 

And you won. This time, you fucking won. 

“Wait that’s three,” you realize.

“Yeah! You won!” Miguel celebrates.

“What?”

“You won, babe!”

“Oh my God. Holy fucking shit. I won?!”

He laughs, coming up to you. “You did.” He places a quick kiss on your lips, but you’re taken over by the adrenaline, pulling him back to you by the collar of his shirt when he went to pull away, tangling him into another kiss, deeper and more passionate this time around. “That was hot,” he comments, as you finally did let him part ways with you to breathe, your bodies still flushed together. 

You feel your cheeks burn at his comment. “I just kicked your ass,” you joke.

He doesn’t even seem fazed by the comment. “Yeah you did,” he grins.

“I did not expect that to unlock some sort of loser kink in you.”

“Hey! That’s not what this is!”

You lift an eyebrow, amused. 

“What, you’re telling me it’s a crime if my insanely hot girlfriend looks insanely hot while kicking my ass?”

“Should I kick your ass more often then?”

“You’re welcome to.”

“You’re so weird.”

“Shut up,” he retorts, finally having enough of the playful bantering, unable to wait a second longer to have your lips on his again. 

Miguel pulls you even closer to him- if that were even possible- by pulling on your waist, not wasting a second more before diving in again, pulling you into a kiss that is much more feral this time around. His actions scream that he wants you, and the high from having reached your goal and beat him in the last round mixed with the lust forming in you from seeing him so affected, so attracted to this, it feels good.

You suppose some people would maybe come into an issue if they found themselves in your place. Men aren’t exactly known for being great at dealing with women being better than them in… well, anything. But Miguel acted genuinely proud of you. Hell, he’d canceled your date night to help you with this because he realized it was important to you. And more than being supportive, he was turned on by your display of power. 

His kisses start trailing out of your lips, to your jaw, to the space below your ear. “You did so well, love. You should get something in turn, huh?”

Your mind was getting a bit foggy. Still, you join in playing his game. “I suppose I should. What are you gonna do?”

“Whatever you want me to,” he breathes out. Oh. That was definitely new. 

“Whatever I want?” He only nods, looking up at you, waiting to be told what to do. Holy shit, that was hot. “That sounds good.”

“Just tell me, please, I’ll make you feel so good, I promise,” he pleads. It was almost pathetic. You decide you’d never get enough of hearing him plead like that. You loved the times in which he was more dominant, but you could definitely get behind this too, no issues whatsoever.

You pretend to think. “I don’t think I will.”

“What? Why not?”

“I want you to guess.”

“What?”

“You heard me.”

“I- Uh- Ih-” he takes a deep breath. He liked that. You smiled. “I can do that.”

“Good boy,” you try, hoping he didn’t find it weird. 

Apparently, he didn’t. “Fuck. Fuck,” he lets out in almost strangled sounds, wordlessly dropping himself to the floor. He looks up at you with doe eyes, as if pleading for permission. You smile at him, signaling everything was okay. You cage his jaw with both your hands, and he closes his eyes for a moment, letting you play with his hair.

“You look so pretty like this,” you coo, and he feels it down his spine, his eyes fluttering open. 

“Sit.”

“What?”

“Sit,” he repeats himself, but it isn’t demanding. Not this time. 

“I heard you.”

“Sit, please, baby.”

You grin. You didn’t know you’d like this this much. “Of course, baby.” You sit down on the bench, legs closed. He parts them confidently, eyes not leaving yours as he does so slowly, positioning his body between them. With his face mere inches from yours, he looks up at you again. 

“Do you want me to kiss you?” He guesses. His cheeks red, he clearly looks embarrassed. It turned him on and it turned you on too. 

You nod eagerly, signaling he’d guessed right. He smiles and closes the distance between you, pulling you down and attaching his lips to yours. It starts out slow, tender, experimental- testing the waters. He grows eager pretty fast, though, kissing you harder, his hands traveling to either of your thighs and planting themselves there firmly, squeezing in a way that makes you gasp slightly in surprise. 

He pulls away just to tease you about it. That’s the kind of little shit he is.

“What was that for?”

“Nothing.”

“Really?”

“Yeah.” 

“Not this then?”

He squeezes your thigh again and you try to act unbothered.” He notices though, pleased with himself.

“Oh shut up.”

“I didn’t say anything.”

“You didn’t have to.”

He pulls you into a kiss again with no warning, more feral than before, his hand traveling upwards, inside the legs of the shorts you were wearing. 

“Take it off,” you pant out, a stern tone overtaking your words, and he complies without questioning. You smile, pleased with that. You lift your hips slightly for him and he throws the shorts somewhere on the floor behind you. 

He stares at your underwear for a few moments, as if lost in a trance. You laugh. “Hello? You here?”

“Yeah. Sorry. I don’t think I’ll ever get used to this.”

“Used to what?” You move a hand to caress his face. 

“The fact that I’m the only one who gets to see you like this.”

“Aw, do you like that, baby? Does it turn you on?” You ask, your tone almost mocking him.

He only nods his head yes, looking embarrassed.

“That’s good.” You make a show to slowly take off your shirt, a sudden surge of confidence running through your veins at his words, discarding it along with the shorts behind you.  His eyes widen and he mumbles a few words, the volume of his words so low you couldn’t make it out for the life of you, before he just surges forward again, not aiming for your lips this time, but for your jaw. 

“What was that?” You manage to breathe out as he continues his trail of kisses along your jaw.

“What?”

“If you’re gonna talk you’re gonna let me hear it. Got it?”

“Oh-okay.” He continues to place quick, slight pecks along your jawline, but you know exactly what he’s doing.

“You’re not distracting me from that. I wanna know what you said, baby. Wanna hear you.”

“I said- I said uh-“ he gulps. “It’s dumb.”

“That’s okay.”

“I just said ‘fuck me’.”

You let out a small laugh. “Oh. It was dumb,” you mock him again, and you can see he didn’t expect that.

“What?”

“I though you wanted to fuck me,” you joke.

 He doesn’t take it as a joke. “I do. I do I just meant- it was just-“ oh. This was for real. 

“I know, love. I was just teasing you. Okay? You’re being so good to me.”

His eyes almost sparkle at the praise. 

“You know I think I changed my mind.”

“What?” 

“Maybe I should fuck you.”

“What do you mean?”

You look down on him and smile, a genuine sweet smile. “Get up.”

“But-“

“I thought you said you’d do whatever i wanted you to,” you fake-pout. 

He doesn’t say a word before standing back up. You do the same, keeping your body flushed to his. You slowly turn the two of you around, cornering him until the back of his knees hit the bench and pushing him to sit down on it. 

Standing in front of him, you tilt your head to the side as you take in the view. He looked disheveled as ever. You loved it. “I think you’re wearing too many clothes.

“I- I can take it off.”

“Yeah I think you should.”

“What… what do you want me to take off?”

“Let’s go with the shirt first, baby. How about that?”

He nods furiously. “Yeah I can do that,” he takes his shirt off in a millisecond, throwing it with your clothes on the floor. 

“Oh, you look so pretty,” you coo, stepping closer to him and lifting his chin up to look at you. You make your way around the bench to be behind him, and you can see him gulp in anticipation. Fuck, you were loving this a little too much. You trace his biceps with your finger. “Your arms, I love your arms, you know that? So big and strong,” you exaggerate, and he quirks an eyebrow at the suspicious comment. This doesn’t sound like it was getting to a nice praising place. “And your body, I mean your abs. Your thighs, your thighs are so pretty, baby,” you crouch a bit, still behind him, wrapping yourself around his back so you could snake your arms to his thighs, still only tracing them with a single finger. “So how come you lost to me like a bitch?”

That seems to remind him very well of what was happening.

“It- it was one time.”

“One time you lost to me. But you’ve barely ever won, have you?”

He stays quiet. 

“Come on, baby, talk to me…” you pout, snaking your arms around his torso and kissing his neck.

“N-no.”

“Did you like that you lost to me baby?”

Quiet again.

“Did it turn you on?” You whisper in his ear and you can feel him take in big a breath. .

He couldn’t even look at you .

“Oh, pretty boy, I wanna hear your voice!”

He gulps again. “It- it turned me on,” he confesses. 

“I never knew you were into this sort of thing.”

“Me- me neither.”

“Do you like it when I’m stronger than you? When I tell you what to do?”

You remove yourself from his body entirely, and he whips his head at record speed to look at you, desperate for your touch again. You circle the bench once again, standing in front of him. You grab his jaw and lifts his head up to look at you, your other hand messing with his hair. “So pathetic. I’ve barely done anything to you and you’re this hard.”

You finally sit yourself down on his thighs, legs on either side of his torso, and he immediately and instinctively grabs your ass ‘for support’ as he’s always insisted with a grin. 

“You’re so fucking pathetic you’ll do anything I tell you to. Won’t you?” You pout, tilting your head.

“I’ll- I’ll do anything you want.” 

“That’s a good boy,” you mess with and pet his hair again. You loved it when it was just long enough for his curls to appear. 

He shivers. “Can you say it again?”

“Oh, no can do, baby. You’ll have to keep being a good boy to earn it.”

“I’ll- I’ll be a good boy, okay?”

You nod silently, your arms draped around his neck, and you pull yourself closer to get access to his face. You kiss along his jawline slowly, paying extra attention to the spots just under his ears, which made him shiver like crazy. When you find it sufficient, you move down to his neck, and he lets you, tilting his head to the side. You kiss down his neck, trying your best to not leave any marks. He’s still shivering now, and you know him well enough to know he’s okay, but can’t resist teasing him a bit more. 

“Oh no, baby, you’re trembling! Is everything okay?” You feign ignorance.  He doesn’t reply. “Aw are you too horny to speak to me? Is that the issue?” You mock.

He lifts his hips for some friction, an involuntary tell that he was enjoying this too. “Aw, do you like it when I’m mean to you? Huh?” You lift his chin again. He begrudgingly nods his head yes. You smile and move your hand from his chin to his cheeks, squeezing both off them. “Does my baby like it when I’m in control? When I handle you like this? When I call you names?” 

He tries to reply, but can’t really with you squeezing his face like that. 

“Oh I can’t hear you baby!” You let go of his face. “You’re gonna have to say it again.”

“Yes.”

“Yes what?”

“Yes, I- I like it when you’re mean to me.” 

“I know, baby boy. I can feel it.” With no other warning, you palm him through his shorts. He was impossibly hard. Knowing he was liking this was for sure improving your confidence. The moment your hand meets his crotch his breathing becomes unsteady and he thrusts his hips up again, wanting more. You start kissing along his neck as you keep feeling him up through the shorts, and then he is gone. He lets himself let out delicious moans you would play on repeat if you could, tilting his head back to grant you better access to his neck. He wants more, and you know he does. But you want to hear him say it. 

After a few minutes, he does. 

“Please take it off.”

You press a gentle kiss to his neck, containing a grin. “What are you talking about, babe?”

“My shorts, take them off, please. Please, take them off.”

You press a quick peck on his lips this time. “You beg so pretty, baby. I think I’ll need more of that.”

He looks confused.

“Anything I tell you, right?” 

He nods. 

“Good. Eat me out.”

His eyes widen at the bluntness of it all. And then he realizes what you meant by needing more of his begging: you weren’t going to solve his little problem all that soon. 

“I- yes. Yeah.” 

You pull yourself off of him and he stands up as quickly as humanly possible, grabbing your hand and yanking you to Sensei’s office, rushing to move everything that was on his desk. You catch his drift and pull yourself up to sit on it. You’re so enthralled you don’t even really have the time to rethink what you’re doing and where you are. Miguel gets himself on his knees, and the sight of it from above is breathtaking. 

“Are you sure you wanna be on your knees? They’re gonna hurt.” You ask him, seriously this time.

“I don’t care,” is all he says, dismissing the thought. He pulls you closer to the edge of the desk, and you let yourself lean back on your elbows. He brings a hand up your thigh and takes off your underwear, you lift your hips up to help. 

He brings both his hands to your thighs, slowly pulling them apart, opening your legs. 

He wastes no time before diving in, startling you when, in a second, his head is between your thighs while his hands squeeze them hard and his mouth is suddenly on you. 

He moves his tongue up and down your clit, occasionally circling around it. Now and then he takes a long lick, from your hole to your clit, letting out a moan from time to time as he tastes you, and he picks up on the shaky breaths and loud moans you let out at that (and the way your hands fly to his hair, slightly pulling it.) 

He moves his tongue to your hole, licking and kissing around it before getting it inside.

It makes you almost want to scream out his name. 

“Oh my god. You’re being so good to me, baby. Please don’t stop-” 

You can feel his smile. 

He takes one of his hands off of your thigh and moves it to thumb at your clit as he keeps fucking you with his tongue. The feeling is heavenly, but you can’t help but want more. 

“Your fingers.” Is all you say, and he gets it.

Normally in a situation like this he’d be teasing you in some way, but right now just the thought of upsetting you with that and having you leaving him to finish himself off, or something down that lane, got him quiet. 

He changes what he’s doing, going back to flicking your clit with his tongue, and slowly inserting one of his fingers. You decide you want to tease a bit more. “That all you got?” You challenge him, knowing exactly what you’re doing. He inserts another finger, not taking the care to do it slowly this time, and he pushes them deep inside you, curling them upwards to make sure you felt it.

You let out a moan that’s so pornographic you’re almost embarrassed at it, but you can feel him grin at it, pleased with the reaction. He keeps on, but at a slow pace. In other instances, you didn’t mind some slow, passionate sex. You loved it, even. But right now you wanted to be fucked.

“Harder.”

He pulls his head up to kiss you. You let him. As you make out, your taste still on his tongue, his fingers thrust harder, deeper inside you, making you moan into his mouth, which Miguel seemed to enjoy a little too much.

You can feel yourself brimming an orgasm, and your words become nonsense as he keeps on, your noises becoming so higher-pitched you can barely register you’re the one making them. 

“Fuck I’m gonna cum. Baby, I’m gonna cum. Holy fucking-“

It hits you suddenly, killing your train of thought. Your body trembles as he keeps thrusting his fingers into you, letting you ride out your high. He laps it all up gladly, but you pull him away, your clit oversensitive. 

That doesn’t mean you didn’t want more.

“Everything okay?” 

“Yes, baby. You were such a good boy. But I want you to fuck me now.” 

Miguel was still not used to you being this blunt. And honestly neither were you, for the matter. The words just kept coming out. 

“What- what do you want me to do?” 

You get close to his ear and whisper. “Whatever you want, baby.”

His eyes widen. Whatever he wants. 

 He pulls you off the desk and wordlessly takes you back to the locker room. He leaves you for a second to retrieve a condom from his bag. A prepared man, you’d say.

You manage to take a better look at him and laugh. He furrows his eyebrows together. “What?”

“You look so fucked out right now.”

He rolls his eyes at you and takes off his shorts, kicking them away. He goes to pull his boxers down but you stop him, stroking him in an agonizingly slow pace. He lets out a groan. “Please stop, I’m not gonna last.”

“Oh poor you.” You yank his boxers down. His dick is so hard it must be painful. And all from losing a fight and being called mean names. He walks the two of you backwards until your back is against a wall. He puts the condom on and looks at you for a green light. 

“Go on, baby.” 

He nods, pressing his cock into your hole slowly, letting you adjust to the intrusion.

“Fuck.” You breathe out.

“Was that a good fuck or a bad fuck? Does it hurt?”

“I’m alright. It was a good fuck.”

“Okay.” He hikes up one of your legs to his waist, and you think he’ll be content with that position, but he hikes up your other leg too, pressing your back even more firmly to the wall and supporting your weight by holding firmly onto the back of your thighs. 

“Woah what are you doing?”

He doesn’t bother responding, thrusting into you experimentally. 

“Holy shit.”

That is enough for him. His thrusts become harder, deeper, faster. He hadn’t realized just how desperate he was until now. 

Hitting the spot inside you that made you see stars with every thrust, it doesn’t take long for his breath to quicken and his thrusts to become sloppier. “I’m gonna- can I-“

Was he trying to ask for permission to cum? Holy fucking shit, that was hot.

“Shh, it’s okay baby. You’ve been so good. You can cum.”

“Thankyouthankyouthankyou,” he chanted.

 You laugh as his desperation, but it quickly turns into a moan, with Miguel eager to cum and fucking you so hard now you can’t even understand how he could still hold up your weight while doing that. Bless you universe for giving you a strong, strong boyfriend. But all of that didn’t matter now, because he was fucking you so good you could feel the familiar sensation of an orgasm building again.

“Please don’t stop.” That was the first time you begged him for something the whole time.

“I won’t, mi amor.” Oh, that broke you. That one pet name didn’t come out all that frequently, so when it did, you felt giddy on the inside. 

With a few more thrusts, both of you reach your high, and at that point Miguel did have to pull you down, although your legs currently trembled so hard it was a little difficult to stand, but he helps you out after tying the condom up and throwing it away.

“Holy shit,” you finally let out. 

“Holy shit,” he agrees. 

“What were you saying about your loser kink again?”

“Will you shut up about that?” He smiles.

“Was I too mean to you? I might’ve gotten a little carried away."

He looks down to the floor in embarrassment as if he hadn’t just fucked you into oblivion. “I liked it.”

“That’s good baby. So, shower?”

“Yeah you stink,” he makes a disgusted face, plugging his nose and everything just to irritate you. 

You roll your eyes at him. 

A/N: pls be kind to me and cut me some slack i've never posted smut before 😭 i promise ive had sex before 😭 fighting for my life lmao

[saintslewis]

𝐢𝐟 𝐰𝐞 𝐛𝐞𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐫𝐞𝐚𝐥 | 𝐋𝐇𝟒𝟒

- drabble.

pairing: sir lewis hamilton x black! fem reader

summary: reader will never let the paddock forget who Lewis Hamilton is.

warnings: cussing.

saint’s team radio 🪩: this is just a lil something. I was pissed tf off yesterday because of some lewis “fans” and i will never miss an opportunity to let ppl know who my goat is 🫦. enjoy

ps, i’m not adding actual reporter’s names for this so i made up random names.

taglist: @mauvecherie-writes @perfecttrashface @non-stop-imagines @emjayewrites @purplelewlew @hopefulromantic1 @motheroffae @exotic-iris13 @httpsserene @queenshikongo3 @greedyjudge2 @cocobutterqwueen

-

The tag from your denim jacket had been irritating you since the second you put it on but you chose to forget about it, often adjusting it with your nails or a little shimmy of your shoulders.

Holding the mic from Sky Sports F1 wasn’t all too odd for you, the broadcast team only handing it to you when talking about Lewis and his achievements. Your support for the Stevenage driver was strong, often being as labelled as biased but you couldn’t care less. The support was mutual between the two of you, usually lingering on the line of friendship but doubt and time was always against you.

Your sunglasses sat on your braided head with a bored expression on your face, just wanting to get this segment over with so that you could go back to your individual blogging and interviews. Standing patiently in front of the cameras while other reporters ran around unorganised, you played with your beaded ‘44’ bracelet.

“My goodness, Y/n! I have no clue how you are so calm, this is always so hard!” One of them exclaimed, laughing in the process. “Not to mention the outfit! You look like you could go to a party!” Another laughed, her smile faltering when your eyes snapped to her, expression never changing.

After a while, the segment began and off the reporters went on a scripted tangent about other teams before getting to the main topic; Lewis. “Now, onto a different subject, Lewis Hamilton’s performance in that car has been nothing short of a…disaster if I could say.” Jimmy said, deciding to look at you as he spoke. Almost as if he was challenging you.

“For a specific race weekend or overall? His teammate, George is doing significantly better. I don’t know what’s wrong with him, it’s like he doesn’t know how to drive.” Jennifer spoke, poorly making an attempt of a joke.

“I’m not too sure why you’re speaking as if he is a rookie. You lot can see that Mercedes hasn’t been doing well as a collective yet you’re targeting one driver who has brought then 8 constructer titles rather than the other who has one win.” Lifting your mic, you spoke with a clear voice, never stuttering.

Frank shook his head and tried to chuckle. “Look Y/n. We understand he’s your boyfriend or whatever but we need to be factual here. What Ferrari has done is a mistake by signing him. I mean, there needs to be more space for others and he’s taking up space.”

“And Alonso���s dusty ass doesn’t need to leave? Using my support for Lewis to try and justify your dislike for him is unprofessional. I have no clue how you have the gumption to say all this.” You responded, still not moving from your spot.

The other 4 reporters stared at you in shock along with other people stopping in the paddock, surrounding the space just in front of the official f1 hospitality suite.

“There’s no need to use aggressive language, Y/n.” Jennifer lifted her hand to place on your shoulder but you moved away in time. “Aggressive for who?” You challenged, tilting your head.

It had gotten quite. “The viewers. It’s not a lie, Lewis is just not good anymore. He needs to make space.” One of them spoke up but you couldn’t be bothered to listen to anyone else other than Frank, your eyes trained on him.

“What? We need to speak with the producers, having an independent journalist was a mistake.” Frank smirked.

“You can take your opinion and shove it up your ass. Thanks for having me, Sky Sports F1.” You turned to the camera to blow a kiss then you gave the mic you were holding to whoever would catch it.

Walking away from the set, you knew what you did was undeniably unprofessional but those people had always had a vendetta against Lewis and any reporter/journalist who support him. Breathing out, you sashayed your way through the paddock with people staring as your braids glided in the slight breeze.

The buzz of your phone shook you out of your racing mind, a little gasp escaping your mouth as you read the notification from instagram.

lewishamilton no joke, that was the best thing i’ve ever seen. glad we have that interview together in 5 minutes :)

You first looked around the paddock after reading that message but you figured that he watched it live just like everyone else did. Your anger for that segment had clouded your thoughts so much, you forgot about the interview you were supposed to have with the champion.

Rushing to the large luxurious paddock club, you received all types of looks from those who either clearly watched the broadcast live or they’re looking at your outfit, although the latter was made up in your mind.

Luckily, he hadn’t arrived to the designated room you booked to have the interview with him but as soon as you got your phone out to record and your notes, the screams and excitement were heard from outside the door and a smile couldn’t help but sneak on your face.

You have only interviewed him three times in your entire career but every time you did so, he never wanted it to end, always trying to make it longer by asking his own questions to you or just sharing a laugh.

With security opening the door for him, he entered the room and spotted you with a smile on his face. He entered alone in the mercedes shirt already on. No words needed to spoken by either of you, Lewis opening his arms for a hug to greet you. Once in his embrace, you thought it’d be quick but to your surprise, it lasted a few moments longer.

“Hi Y/n.” Lewis spoke, a hand still on your shoulder. You took a quick breath and immediately relaxed on the spot. “Hey Lewis.”

“Your response to Sky was insane but I liked it.” He chuckled, sitting across from you with his legs open and a ring clad hand sat comfortably on his lap.

You didn’t want to show him how the sight affected you especially when your emotions are sky high so you remained calm on the outside. “It’s just…I’m pretty sure I lost my job just now because of how I reacted.” You sighed out, flicking a few braids back.

“Some of them had said worse things so you’re okay.” Lewis responded, his tone wasn’t all too sure but he just wanted to lift your mood. “Yeah but I’m black. They used micro aggressions too.” You couldn’t help but chuckle at everything once recalling back to that moment.

“I heard. I’ll have a word with Sky.” He reassured you. “Oooh okay, Sir.” You joked, masking how the reassurance made your stomach flutter. You’d like to think he was openly flirting with you but you quickly put that thought at the back of your mind.

“I just don’t want those people to forget who you are, you know? I’m sure you hear this all the time. You know what you’re doing and you’re the best at it. I wanna remind the people who the goat is.” You rambled a bit, noticing his smile growing as he listened to you.

“You’re too kind, really. I know what I am, it’s just a little tough right now.” He shrugged as he fully leaned back into his seat. “If you need me to fight anybody in your team, let me know.” You winked, flashing a comical smile that made Lewis laugh.

Giving you a once over, Lewis leaned forward and rested his tatted arms on his knees. “You look good today. You always do but today…phenomenal.” He spoke, his voice noticeably relaxed. “Don’t make me blush, Sir.” You smiled, failing terribly at hiding your feeling.

“That nickname, Y/n,” He chuckled. “Is that door locked?” He asked. All you had to do was nod at the man and Lewis smirked, licking his lips in the process.

“C’mere.”

saint’s notes 🪩: slightly rushed, george pissed me off, hope you enjoyed. bye. <3

[highvern]

Talk

Pairing: Kwon Soonyoung x f!reader

Genre: angst, fluff, smut

warnings:  oral sex/face sitting/69, prone bone, dom/sub dynamics (dom!reader/sub!hoshi),  protected sex, impact play (spanking), mentions of butt stuff but nothing explicit

Length: ~ 4.3k

Note: this ended up way longer than i originally planned... by like 2k but im weak for sub hoshi. realized i accidentally made them schmidt and cece from new girl.... oh well. as always thank u @gyuswhore for suffering my horrible punctuation and EVERYONE HAS TO READ HER UP COMING HOSHI FIC FOR PIRATE HOSHI I DEMAND IT

series m.list: Houdini [s], Green Light [s, f], YUCK [f], Casual [a, s, f], Mine [s], espresso [f, s]

m.list

This blog is intended for 18+ only! Minors/blank blogs will be blocked.

Soonyoung talks. A lot. 

Sometimes it makes no sense. Like the occasions he calls you after a night out and slurs his words through the speaker as you hum agreement to who knows what until he passes out while still on the line, letting you hear every snore and smack of his lips until you hang up; or when he’s inside you and it's all a bit too much that he has to tell you how good it feels in excruciating detail; or when you both wake up in the morning, you late for work and him trying to talk you into keeping the sheets warm for just a few more minutes, and Soonyoung thinks he’s convinced you but fifteen more minutes really won’t hurt because his apartment is closer to your office anyway.

He talks so much that not hearing his voice the second he opens the door is like a slap in the face.

There's no invitation inside, or lukewarm greeting. The door hangs ajar, Soonyoung already back down the hall in the direction of his room with the expectation you’ll follow. 

You do, but with the same hesitancy you’d approach a wild animal: curious and on edge.

Despite the hour, his roommates aren’t anywhere to be seen. No bodies sprawled across the couch or light under their doors. Their presence never stopped you before but it’s unsettling that there's no buffer of anything to break the storm cloud choking the atmosphere. Just stark exposure to whatever is clearly bothering Soonyoung that he won’t tell you about because, technically, you two don’t do that. Or, he does and you vehemently refuse all of it with less and less authenticity each time.

Soonyoung doesn’t prattle on about his day or ask about yours as you trail behind him. He throws off his shirt without a word, collapses on the edge of the mattress, and roughly pulls you into his lap. It’s cold and unfeeling and exactly the kind of sex you’d enthusiastically participate in a year ago. But nothing like the Soonyoung you’ve grown familiar with over the past few months.

He doesn’t comment on the low cut of your top, falling into the motions without the usual banter. 

You wiggle free from his grasp, trying to meet his gaze. “What’s wrong?”

“Nothing.” He doesn’t look at you before taking back up where he left off.

“Stop.” You push him back, trying to get a look at his face but he stays in the crook of your neck. “Stop.”

The silence that follows is loud. He collapses back into the bed, arms curling up to hide away from whatever is chasing him.

“I said I’m fine,” he mumbles.

“Could've fooled me,” you huff.

“Doesn’t matter. Not what you come here for anyway, right?”

A half truth that stings more than you’d like. It sinks in your gut in the quiet dark of his room.

“You know what? Forget I asked, I’m leaving.”

“Wait,” he says, arms attempting to snake around your waist but you’re already up.

“No. You don’t need to be an asshole when I’m just trying to be nice.”

“Because you’re sunshine and rainbows all the time?”

“Did I fucking say I was? If you’ve got a problem with it you’ve had long enough to lose my number.”

“I’m sorry, I just…” he sighs heavily. “Bad day.”

You soften at the break in his voice. Stepping back over, you stand between his legs. He looks small, hunched over with his head in his hands and the weight of the world on his shoulders. The light you’ve come to associate with having him within reach is gone and all that's left is a man you don’t really recognize. He buries his face in the warmth of your stomach, and goes limp as you run a hand across his shoulders.

“Do—” you clear your throat. “Do you wanna talk about it?”

Because if Soonyoung is talking there's less chances for you to open your mouth and screw it all up. You don’t know how to be doughy and tender with the same level of ease he possesses. You’ll probably fail trying but it's the least you can do.

It’s uncharted territory; for you, for this, whatever this is because it doesn’t really resemble anything you’ve done before even though the foundation is the same. Because you care about Soonyoung, and he obviously cares about you. But you’re not sure how to let him and even less sure how to return it.

“No.” 

“Okay,” you say, at a loss for what comes next.

Inactivity breeds restlessness. Without any idea how to do this on your own, you default to the steps he took when you were half cooked on your bathroom floor.

Soonyoung eyes you with questions but doesn’t speak as you drag him into the en suite. Bites his tongue as you work off your clothes under the sterile overhead light and then move to work on his; raising his arms when you poke him and managing his pants on his own. He even smiles, or his mouth twitches in a vague allusion to a grin, when you flick water at him after guaranteeing the temperature won’t give you both pneumonia.

Finally tucked behind the shower curtain, he stands dumbly. Not another move to help, content to watch you wash his hair, nails raking over his scalp until he shivers. 

You ignore the prod at your thigh. Focused on letting the warmth of the water do the heavy lifting, you soak a washcloth in soap and lather his skin until it tinges pink. A shampoo mohawk earns a kiss dusted along your shoulders and you might even blush a bit if you weren’t so focused on perfecting the spikes so he looks like one of those 90s alternative poster boys.

Out of the shower, his vow of silence continues. Everything he isn’t saying is clear in his eyes, especially when you slather his face in one of those mud masks, painting him bright green. He’s less intimidating with chunks of clay in his eyebrows.

He isn’t accommodating but he also doesn’t outright refuse which seems to be the best you’re going to get. 

“You look like Shrek,” you snort, satisfied and turning towards the mirror to cover your own face in a matching shade.  

“Well then you're Fiona.” His head comes over your shoulder, chin digging into bare skin to watch you in the mirror. His chest is sticky against your back from steam but you don’t mind if it means he’ll talk to you.

“Actually,” you think, wiggling to face him. “I think you’re more like Donkey.” 

“The dragon fits you better anyway.”

“Are you calling me scary?” you gasp.

“Yes.”

“Good. Remember that next time you want me to suck on your balls.”

He winces. “I can feel them retreating into my body already.”

“Don’t make me laugh, it’ll mess up the mask.”

Without a care for the still drying mess of his face, he takes refuge back in his favorite place. Tucked under your chin, he sighs.

“I’m sorry I was a dick earlier. Work sucked today. I didn’t get a contract I wanted, they picked some other kid at the studio for it. I’ve taught him for years and they picked him over me.”

“I’m sorry.” You placate him with a gentle hand up his back, nails tracing loose patterns as the fan hums over head.

“Not your fault.”

“No, but it still sucks.”

“Yeah.” He nuzzles closer, arms heavy around your waist like you’d even think to move away. “It’ll be fine though. He’s a good kid and I couldn’t be mad at him. But I shouldn’t have taken it out on you.”

Fifteen minutes later, you both wash away the flakes of clay, cracked around the corners of your eyes and mouths, and retreat back under the covers in one set of pajamas split between: you in one of his shirts with nothing underneath, and him in sweatpants with nothing on top. 

Soonyoung insists that Pirates of the Caribbean is his comfort movie, something about Kiera Knightly with a gun being his sexual awakening (which explains a lot), and you let him put it on the tiny screen of his laptop with plans to fall asleep in the first five minutes.

His lips are at your temple, a dull pressure that makes your blood hum. “I always wanted to be a pirate growing up.”

“Really?” you ask, edging towards unconsciousness from the lazy drag of his fingers on your hip.

“Yeah,” he agrees, eyes glued to the screen. “Have my own ship, no rules, a bunch of sexy wenches.”

“Half naked women with scurvy were a part of your career plan?”

“Okay, maybe I added those just now but my point stands.”

The picture of Soonyoung with a scar on his chest and one of those ruffled linen shirts straight off the cover of a dime novel some grandma would read on the train with no shame isn’t that bad. Actually, it’s pretty sexy. But you won’t feed his delusions.

“What point?”

He rolls on top of you, face open with grave seriousness. “We should role play. Me as the hot pirate captain, you as the beautiful princess. Forbidden love, enemies type stuff. You run away from being royal and end up joining my crew. Oh no, Captain Hoshi, I had no idea this was your room! What an impressive sword!” he squeals in a breathy mock of you.

“And then,” you gasp. “you come in five minutes and I convince everyone to throw you overboard?”

“Hurtful. But I’m willing to forgive you if you call me captain. Just once.”

He’s close enough to kiss, lips pouted as he waits for you to give into his demand. A gentle peck bordering on domestic makes him sigh, the taste of toothpaste lingering on his breath. Just as you think you’ve distracted him away from such an ridiculous idea, he leans back with a gleam in his eye that says he’ll wait all night if you make him.

“How about we roleplay falling asleep?” you sigh, eyes closed against his expectant gaze.

“Nope, too late. I’m thinking about you wearing nothing but a pirate hat and now I’m hard.”

He curls right into the meat of your thigh, hot and ready to go if you give the word. Sleep is tempting but the thought of a quick tumble wakes you up enough to entertain him. 

“Alright, but you’re doing all the work,” you sigh. “Take off my clothes, captain.”

Pausing to let the idea settle, he shakes his head. “That’s actually not as hot as I thought it would be.”

“Oh, fuck off,” you fuff. “I’m watching the movie.”

You try to shove him away with zero intent to actually let him go anywhere and end up pinned, fingers in a tight grip around your wrists that you pretend to fight against. Soonyoung knows you like to be reminded of his strength on occasion; whether thats fucking your mouth until your throat burns or bending you over. This potentially being one since he’s had a hard day and you’re hungover from making him feel better about it. 

He tongues across your pulse until you go pliant against the pillows, legs spread to cradle his hips. A shuffle of clothes and a lift of your hips and he’d be inside you. There's more steps; a condom, a little fingering because his dick was made to stretch your limits. Your legs shake already, desperate for quick fuck so you can passout while Soonyoung cleans you up. 

But his new mood means he’s making up for lost time. Presently, that's bunching your shirt up to your chin and tracing each inch of newly uncovered skin with his tongue.

“Hellooooo ladies,” he sighs, nose buried between your breasts.

“God, you’re lame.”

“Be nice to me, I had a hard day,” he pouts, releasing your hands in favor of plucking at your chest until you sigh in delight.

“I’m literally letting you—hmmm— see my boobs after you said that corny shit. How much nicer can I be?”

He doesn’t answer, choosing to coax a low groan out of your chest with passes of his mouth until you're kicking the sheets. The good kind of sting that ruts your hips against his thigh and makes you dizzy. There will be a permanent wet patch if he doesn’t give you relief soon.

“I have a few ideas.”

“Like what?” You twitch at the thoughts running rampant. Short of donning that pirate hat mentioned earlier, anything he suggests is guaranteed to make you feel better too. 

“Can show you better than I can tell you,” he bites into your nipple, sucking it to a stiff peak for his fingers to pinch before shifting focus to the other. 

“If you try and put your dick in my ass I’ll rip it off.” The words are breathy off your lips. No real threat because he might be able to talk you into the idea if you let him. If he keeps pulling your strings the way he’s learned how. 

But Soonyoung has different ideas, pulling off your nipple with a rough suck, curling your shoulders in. “That was one time and it was an accident!”

“Let me slip a finger in next time I blow you and tell me how you like it.”

“You have and I do. Keep talking about it and I’m gonna need another shower.”

“God, you’re a freak.” 

“Yeah, yeah.” He takes the initiative to roll you on top, palms massaging your ass while enjoying the view of you naked in his lap. 

A sudden moment of vulnerability roots in your chest, warmed by the set of brown eyes peering up at you. “You know I don’t just come here for this, right?” 

Soonyoung’s eyebrows twist for a moment and then soften. “I know. I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have—”

“It’s fine,” you cut him off, not ready for anything deeper. The air is already thicker with the weight of that confession, suffocating. In an effort not to drown in it, you drop your chest flat to his, latching onto the jut of his collarbone. “Is this your big idea? Me on top? Not very original.”

A hand at your ass drags you along his covered cock, already begging for attention. It’s not original but you’ll dry hump him into the mattress until your bones are jelly if he wants. 

“Sit on my face.”

It’s your turn to pull back. “What?”

“Sit. On. My. Face.” His hand is already firm against your thighs, forcing you halfway up his chest before you can argue.

“I heard you the first time, just confused how that's supposed to make you feel better.”

“You underestimate the power of your pussy. Now get up here.” 

The shuffle up is less than sexy. Soonyoung is eager from your permission, rushing you up to his mouth until you nearly knee him in the head.

“Wait,” you say. 

Soonyoung locks his arms as you move off him, reflexive because he lets go a second later. Turning, you eye the tent in his pants as you kneel back down. Perfect position to touch him while he touches you.

“Oh, fuck,” he grunts, fingers tracing through your wetness despite the horrible angle.

You don’t get a chance to orient yourself. He’s already quick to work with teasing passes of his tongue that turn bolder every second. 

“Jesus Christ, give me a second to get your dick out.”

But he doesn’t; too consumed with tasting all you have to offer, wringing you out to dry the second he gets a chance. The flat of his tongue laps up your arousal like it’s more vital than oxygen. There's a wet mess smeared between your thighs from the vigor. 

It takes all your focus to force down his pants, mouth watering at the shiny head of his cock straining from some heavy petting. You keep steady with one hand, jerking him off into your mouth with the other. Soonyoung malfunctions between your thighs as you swallow his cock, a moan right to your clit makes you fumble that last inch into your mouth.

He chokes you with a buck up but you take it in stride. Sucking harder, lashing against the slit until he whimpers. Normally, you’d exaggerate the wet noises at the back of your throat but with the crude dig of his tongue in your entrance there's no need. 

“God,” you warble into his crotch. You arch back into his face, Soonyoung’s fingers digging into the meat of your ass, spreading you out like a full course meal.

In theory it’s hot. Your cunt on his face and his cock in your throat, rutting against each other until you're numb and twitching and covered in each other's mess. In practicality, there is nothing Soonyoung is more relentlessly dedicated to than eating you out until your vision turns white and you have to force him away or risk passing out. It only takes a few minutes before you’re forced to tap out, panting into his thigh and weakly fisting his length with no regard for the mess sticking between your knuckles, as he fucks you along his tongue.

“Gonna come, oh–fuck,” you choke. You want him to come too, in your mouth, on your face if that's what he wants. But by some glitch in the universe, Soonyoung is able to hold back and you’re the one racing to the finish first. “Oh my god, Soonyoung, fuck.”

You jerk him off, grip tight despite the slick mess of spit and pre-cum. It doesn’t help that ever squeeze at the swollen head sends a moan straight into your clit, forcing you hips to rut desperately. 

“Don’t stop. Just, shit – need a little more—”

You pull one his hands away to take over your short strokes, spitting into his palm and squeezing until he figures out what you want; to watch him touch himself while eating you out. The contrast of his fingers tangled between your own, both glistening because Soonyoung is just as close as you are, gets you there.

“Close.” Thighs locked, you suffocate him but Soonyoung doesn’t complain. A palm at the base of your spine forces you down when you shy away from the edge. “Oh, oh, oh!”

A sting of your nails into his thigh is all the warning either of you get. Back arched tight, eyes clenched, you shudder through it. Soonyoung doesn’t stop, sucking away the fresh wave of arousal, tongue verging on punishing against your clit as you sink.

“Okay, that's enough—god,” your voice breaks. “Enough.”

You fall to the side, face first into the covers without effort to soften the blow. The lower half of your body is numb but you can feel his hand skating up the back of your calf.

“Good?” he asks, all too aware of the issue; the smirk is clear in his tone, happy to see you strung out from a few minutes on his mouth.

“Shut up,” you warn but the bite isn’t in it. The urge to kick him in the head is there but none of the energy. 

“Are you tapping out on me or…?” 

The sound of the drawer pauses in case you say no but the idea of not feeling him inside you sounds like the worst thing you’ve ever heard.

“You’re not that good,” you mumble into the blanket. “Fuck me like this, you promised you’d do all the work. Remember?”

“Like this?” he hums, rubbing the head of his cock back through the mess with admiration. 

He obeys with a wet kiss to your shoulder, parting your legs and sliding between without a word. You soak in the stretch, ass arched into his hips to take it all. The cold bites down your back when Soonyoung leans back to watch.

“Fuck, you’re so tight,” he whines. “Shit.” 

He drives into you with a bruising pace, betrayed by his own need to come after having you on his mouth without a tease of relief. You arch into it, the head of his cock dragging deep inside pushing disgusting noises from your lips you pray his roommates aren’t around to hear.

“Spank me.”

He loses it for a second. A rough thrust pushing you down the bed and he scrambles to follow. “Seriously?” 

“Do it,” you bark. 

The first strike is weak. More of a firm caress than the sting you crave; hesitant to push for too much too fast lest you take away any privilege he has.

“Harder.”

The next impact comes hard enough to burn an outline of his hand. And another one that makes your tongue feel too big for your own mouth.

“Oh, fuck, yeah,” you whine. “More.”

Arms pinned beneath your torso, all you can do is lay there and take it. Nerves gone, he spanks you like it’s second nature. Like he’s thought about it before.

“Good?” he asks. Sounds more like a beg for validation. That he’s the one driving you crazy, molding your insides to his cock until it’s all you can think about.

“So good, f–fuck me so good.”

“Yeah?” he breathes against your neck, a hand wedging beneath your hips to drag against your clit in messy strokes. “You’re so hot, fuck.”

There will be a bruise to hide come morning but you can’t care. The slap of his hips against your ass, the flame of his hand still lingering on your ass, his cock drilling your insides; there's no room for anything but Soonyoung, Soonyoung, Soonyoung.

You arch your back to feel him deeper only to have him pull out completely on the next stroke.

“No!” you protest, racing to keep him inside. 

It’s no use, Soonyoung flips you on your back before you can convince him otherwise. He hooks your knees over his elbows, spreading you wide and driving home in one smooth push with his teeth at your neck.

“Gonna come,” he begs, voice weak. You know his game, what makes him tick and come so hard he goes blind.

“Not yet,” you warn. A rough twist in his hair only works against his thinning resolve and that's exactly why you pull harder until his hips kick into a jilted rhythm.

“I can’t – please – I can’t—”

“Not yet,” you gasp. He’s deep, right in the back of your throat making you foggy. “Be a g–good boy and wait until I tell you.”

Hips frantic, voice cracking, he tries to hold off; knows it's better when you tell him exactly what to do. Makes him choke into your chest.“Fuck, fuck!” 

“Tell me how bad you want it. How much you love this pussy.”

“Love it, love your pussy.” He folds in half on top of you, desperate. Every drive of his cock into your center forcing your own desperate noises out. “Please let me come for you.”

“Look at me,” you demand. The command in your voice is paper thin but you're both too lost. His eyes are glassy, frantic to do whatever you ask if it means he can come. “Beg for it.”

“P–please,” he whimpers through gritted teeth. “Please let me come. Need it, wanna come. Please. Please!”

He’s too good to edge. Perfectly pliant to any demand and it makes you want to give him whatever he wants. “Give it to me. Fuck me through it. Let me feel you come for me.”

He latches onto your breast, sucking your nipple as his hips turn sloppy. The squeak of mattress springs are a sound track to his end. You won’t come again but you don’t need to. Satiated with the choked whimpers of your name as he swells against your walls, forcing himself as deep as possible like he’s fucking you raw and full of his cum.

Maybe someday you’ll let him.

Your hips are sore from being forced in half so long but you won’t move away until Soonyoung comes back down. Less from your own will power, more because you’re running on fumes and might fall asleep with him still inside you. He gives a few more pathetic twitches and then goes slack.

“Oh my god,” he groans. “I can’t feel my legs.”

“Welcome to the club,” 

With the grand finale complete, your aching muscles give out completely. You can’t even laugh when one of his hands moves to check your pulse.

“Oh my god,” Soonyoung gasps. “I killed you with my dick.”

“You didn’t kill me.” You slap away his hand weakly. Without distraction, the stickiness of your skin from sweat in the worst places settles in but it’s a problem for later.

“A man can dream,” he says wistfully.

“Of homicide by cock?”

“Of dick game strong enough to murder someone.”

He rubs his nose along yours, breathes mingling in a lazy kiss as exhaustion creeps over your both. 

“Your face smells like pussy.” You slouch into the mattress, deadweight while taking all of his like the perfect blanket.

He kisses you again, tongue teasing at your lips until you give the very real threat of teeth against it and he backs away. “Your mouth tastes like cock so I guess we’re even. C'mon we need to shower again.”

“Nooooooo,” you grumble, clinging to him in an effort to delay the chill waiting to invade between you.

“At least let me get a rag.”

Your legs tighten around his waist, locked at the ankle for dramatic effect. “If you pull out I’ll cry.”

“Words every man wants to hear,” he hums into your cheek with a kiss. “But my dick is sore and we both need to sleep.”

“Fine.”

When he pulls away you feel empty; devastatingly so. But you don’t ask him to comeback. Just pout at the loss and revel in placating pampering you receive in return.

He goes through the steps with familiarity. Wiping away the mess between your legs, tossing your shirt back up from the floor but you forgo it, choosing to sleep naked much to Soonyoung’s delight.

You use his chest as a pillow, curled into his side and tucked under his chin. The steady beat of his heart lulls you off. The last thing you register, on the hazy perimeter at the edge of sleep, is his fingers at your cheek and the ghost of a kiss on your forehead.

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© highvern. copying/reuploading/translating my work anywhere is strictly prohibited.

[jyuansgf]

nsfw content ahead. minors dni.

– how would they react if you ask them to be rough on you as much as they possibly can during sex? with jing yuan, gepard, argenti. + aftercare. cw: rough fucking, overstim, fingering. a bit of fluff on the aftercare. not proofread.

notes: thanks to my friend for terrorising me into doing this /j ^___^ jokes aside, i had fun writing this!! i didn't want to make this too long so i tried my best.. also my rules, tags everything about my blog is up on my pinned. make sure to read them byf please!! if this one actually gets attention more than i intended it to be, i'll make a part two and a genshin one ;___; 

jing yuan — 

i think jing yuan wouldn’t react any differently when you ask him to be rough on you. jing yuan has always been gentle with you ever since you two started dating—jing yuan can be either a gentleman in bed or.. just fuck your brains out? he’s actually anything you can ask for. he prioritises your pleasure and your comfort more than anything else. you want him to fuck you senseless? sure, you want some intense fucking? go for it, you want some gentle fucking as he whispers some sweet praises right next to your ear? or maybe both—he’s just the perfect man for anything. if you want him to bury your head on the pillows as he pulls on your hair and pounds you from behind, he’ll do it, only if you want him to. although he can’t deny the fact that he likes to see you fall apart on his cock, fucking you rough as possible while his fingers are buried deep inside you. as long as he can make you cum before he does, he’s happy. 

after care with jing yuan is one of the things that you two can always look forward to after having your brains fucked out—and trust me, that isn’t the only thing he’s good at. if he’s that good in bed, he’s definitely more than that when it’s after care. first thing he would ask you if there’s anything that hurts or did he go too far on you, he would even prepare a bath for the both of you (no fucking again, he says) and prepare some sweets or your comfort food after your intimate moment with him. ask him to give you a massage or tell you a random story about his childhood then he shall deliver! or if you just want to lay down on bed, he’ll make sure to clean you up if you fall asleep. he just wants the best for you, and he would be willing to give you more. make sure to thank him, the only thing he’ll ask for you is your love and embrace that he can always come home to.

gepard —

i think he would be a bit taken aback by your request, not that he doesn’t want to do it but he’s got some hesitation in him if he can go that far for you. he would be the type to ask you to show him how you want this to happen or set any boundaries, he thinks you’re someone who should be deeply taken care of in bed and he didn’t even think of this doing this with you at all, he does not want to hurt you. but he’s definitely willing to give it to you if you explain to him that this is not going to hurt you in the least.. it is your request after all. rough sex with gepard would definitely start with lots of foreplay, he’ll hesitate but once he gets the hang of it soon enough you’ll also be fucked dumb on the sheets, and he thinks that awakened something in him.. he doesn’t know that you’re the type to like this nor himself. he would often ask you if you can still take more or if you want him to stop, all his pent up frustrations or stress as a captain of belobog guards will all be poured into you that’ll leave you like a panting mess under him. don’t get him wrong though, he prioritises your release more than his, but forgive him if he accidentally cums inside you again and again.. poor guy can’t help himself at all.

after care with gepard would be a 50/50 situation for the both of you, give him time to recollect himself after because he thinks he’s not able to recover after that.. because of how good it felt. he’ll shower you with kisses and praises immediately after and would ask you questions if he did good or if it’s what you asked for. if you assure him that he did not hurt you at all, that’s the only thing he needs to hear. stay for a little chat with him in bed as you both calm down from it, he would start preparing a bath for you two as he changes the bedsheets, a little subtle kisses before going to sleep is how you two would end the night. he would really do anything for you, if you wanted him to. totally thinks he would be up to doing it again some other time. don’t tease him about it though. he’ll blush a bit if you knew how much he liked it, just a bit, he says.

argenti — 

one of the best gentlemen out there, who just aims to make you feel good no matter what. just like jing yuan, i don’t think he’ll mind it. as for someone who just wants to worship your precious body. but of course he would ask you first if you’re sure about doing it, and if you give him a sign that it’s okay, he doesn’t even hesitate on doing so. he’ll be the type to go slow on you at first, tease you until you’re ready to take him inside your warm cunny. then, the next moment you knew, he’s fucking you in such vigorous pace, would make you suck on his fingers as his lips traces over your body, and if he takes you from behind–he would even wrap his hands around your neck just to take a good look at your pretty messy face, he’ll still kiss your tears away even though he’s ramming inside your sopping wet pussy, he’ll switch by using his fingers, cock or his mouth just to overstimulate you. degrading words would definitely come out of his mouth but he does it in his own unique way (if you know, you know). he will definitely tease you but worry not, you don’t even remember how many times he had made you cum already.

aftercare with argenti? my love, you’re in for a treat. i’m sure we all know this man praises everything he sees, but when it comes to you as if he doesn’t run out of words. your afterglow with him would be definitely something, immediately would cradle you in his arm after making your legs tremble from overstimulation, he would press kisses all over your body and not a single spot would be missed. he would even press a chaste kiss on your clit after he cleaned you up, telling you were such a good girl for taking him or any words of praise that he could think of. the bath was already set up even before the two of you started, some bath bombs, scented candles, and petals scattered all over the floor. he’ll bring you some water or any snacks you prefer as he helps you clean up and after the two of you settles in bed, it would always ends with giggles and topics that the both of you share.. and of course, he doesn’t forget to praise you all over again, may he forgive you for falling asleep as he talks about how your body makes him feel good and how ethereal you are. it’s his way of making you fall asleep after all. 

[jgracie]

THE MONSTER’S GONE, HE’S ON THE RUN AND YOUR DADDY’S HERE

masterlist | rules

in which jason is a hero in more ways than one

pairings jason grace x fem!reader

warnings reader is afab/can get pregnant

on the radio . . . beautiful boy (darling boy) (john lennon)

an my blog has become baby fever central so naturally i had to deliver 🫡, shoutout to anya ( @puffoz ) for helping me name the eldest grace daughter <3

The night after you told Jason you were pregnant with your first child, you’d woken up to the sound of sniffles coming from a certain someone sleeping right next to you. At first, you were confused - Jason had been ecstatic a few hours ago when you broke the news to him, why was he crying now? Then it hit you.

He was scared.

Jason Grace, son of Jupiter, champion of Hera, ex-praetor of Camp Jupiter, Pontifex Maximus and so many other titles you never cared for, was scared. Tenderly, you’d coaxed him out of the ball shape he was currently in (arms wrapped around his knees, head sitting in between his legs) and asked what was wrong, even though you already had an inkling of an idea as to what the matter was.

When he didn’t answer, you didn’t ask again. Knowing Jason like the palm of your hand meant staying silent and waiting for him to be ready to tell you, as expressing and talking about his emotions has been a struggle he only recently began to deal with.

With your hand gently rubbing his back, Jason replied, his voice barely above a whisper, “do you think I’ll be a bad dad?” Only after the question left his lips did Jason make eye contact with you, his eyes glistening with the tears they once held. 

Anyone who grew up the way Jason did would naturally have their doubts about their parental abilities: how was he supposed to take care of a baby when he didn’t even know what it was like to be taken care of as a baby? However, you knew the truth.

“No,” you said. It was a simple answer, full of certainty and confidence, “no, Jason, I don’t think you’ll be a bad father. In fact, I know you’ll be a good one. You aren’t your upbringing - you’re kind, caring and hold so much love in your heart for everyone and everything around you despite the circumstances the Fates put you through. Trust me when I say you’ll be the best dad.”

You were, of course, right. Despite all the hardships that come with pregnancy, yours was a breeze thanks to Jason. Throughout the entirety of the nine months you spent carrying your child, he was nothing but supportive. He’d always buy you whatever food you were craving at whatever time (no matter how strange it was), he’d give you massages, he’d comfort you when you were feeling down and so much more.

The next time Jason cried was in the hospital when your baby had arrived. Natalia June Grace was born at 9:47AM and was everything you wished for and more. As Jason stared into her eyes, the eyes she’d inherited from him, he was filled to the brim with conviction: he was going to be the best dad he could possibly be for his precious Talia.

Despite this, Jason would be lying if he said he didn’t have his hard times. He’d be lying if he said he never woke up in the middle of the night, sweaty as he reached for his glasses and reminded himself that the nightmares aren’t real, they don’t define him, he is not Zeus, he is not Jupiter, he is Jason.

Being Jason meant being an excellent father. In Natalia's eyes, Jason hung the moon and the stars - no one could compare to her father. They had a bond like no other and were inseparable from the minute they met. Everywhere Talia went, Jason followed. Dance recital? He had front row tickets and lots of storage on his phone to film every second of it. Impromptu tea party with her barbies? Jason was there, clad in a tutu as he poured invisible tea into their cups. To you, the fact that Natalia viewed him as her hero was no surprise. Jason, however, tended to need some reminding.

“Mommy!” You heard your daughter yell as soon as she and Jason made their way inside your cozy apartment. While your husband locked the door, your daughter ran to the kitchen and gave you a bone crushing hug. Immediately, you let go of the whisk you were holding and hugged back, unable to believe it was now almost six years since she had been born. Time flies when you’re having fun!

Running your fingers through her hair, you said, “Talia, how was school today? I really missed you!” She replied with a quick ‘good’ before going to sit on the dining table, princess themed bag clutched tightly in her little hands as she yapped to you about everything that had happened at school that day. You smiled, admiring the way your daughter managed to breathe life into the most mundane things.

Just as she was beginning to tell you about her current crush, Mikey, and how he shared his KitKat with her during lunch, Jason appeared, bouquet of flowers in hand as he took your own and pressed a kiss onto the back of it.

“Hi honey, I missed you loads today. Got you these ‘cause I noticed the others started wilting,” your smile widened at this gesture: only your husband would be paying that much attention to the flowers scattered around the house. You gave him a peck on the lips before taking the bouquet from him and going to place it in a vase. While you were doing so, you could hear Jason and Natalia having a conversation.

“Do you want me to put your bag in your room, baby?” He asked.

“No thank you daddy, I wanna show you and mommy something first,” she replied. Then, turning around, she yelled, “mommy, come! I wanna show you and daddy what I did at school today!” 

You obliged, and you and Jason watched as she rummaged in her school bag before pulling out a single piece of paper and handing it to you. On it, in big bold letters, was the title, ‘My Hero’.

“Read it so daddy can know too!” She squealed, nearly jumping out of her seat in excitement. You stared at the picture of a tall, blond man and a little girl in pigtails she’d drawn to accompany the paragraph she’d written on this topic and felt your heart swell with warmth.

Glancing at Jason for a second, you read, “my hero is my daddy. He is my hero because he always plays with me and gets rid of the monsters under the bed when I go to sleep. I love my daddy very much.”

After you’d finished reading, Natalia looked up at Jason expectantly, a big smile plastered on her face as she waited to hear his reaction. However, her smile dropped when she saw tears roll down his cheeks.

Now pouting, she turned to you for answers, “why is daddy sad?” 

You smiled, delicately cupping her face in your palm, “daddy’s not sad, babes, he’s actually really happy. Sometimes, when people are super happy, they cry. Your worksheet means a lot to him, he’s very touched,” at your words, she brightened up.

Natalia then took the paper from you and gave it to Jason, “you can hang it on your wall, daddy, since you like it so much!” She proceeded to give him a peck on the cheek and ran off to her room, not fully understanding exactly how much her simple worksheet meant to Jason.

That was the third time Jason cried: when he realised he wasn’t his upbringing, or Zeus, or Jupiter, or any of the other monsters that lived under his own bed. He was Jason - a great, loving father who put his family above all and was a hero in more ways than one.

[cutielando]

Hello, could you write a jealous!reader x sub!charles leclerc fic, please

subby | c.l.

a/n: no actual smut in this one, kinda just danced around the whole dynamic of it rather than the acts themselves

my masterlist

To say you were furious was an understatement.

You were partying with Charles to celebrate his home win, and had been having a very good time for most of the night.

Up until she decided to flirt with your man, and he did nothing to stop her.

You had been thinking of stomping over to them and giving the girl who dared flirt with your boyfriend a piece of your mind, but you decided against it.

The best approach, which would 100% make Charles realize his wrongs, was not to fight with the girl in public. It was to jump him and show him who's the boss once you both got home.

And that's exactly what you did.

From the second you entered your shared apartment in Monaco, you were bossing him around like you always did whenever he would do this, so he already knew the drill.

"Take your clothes off"

"Get in the bedroom"

"Wait for me and think about what you did, Charlie"

Charles didn’t want to admit, but he found it so hot whenever you would become dominant. A lot of his friends believed that he wore the pants in the relationship, especially in the bedroom, but the truth was far from it.

In reality, you’re the one with the reins, and he loved things the way they were. He hadn’t realized just how much he liked being the one dominated until he met you.

You helped him realize he was submissive like a dog in front of you, something you reveled in.

He lay there on the bed, his clothes off and his body slumped against the bed. You were taking your sweet time getting ready for a long night in the bedroom, which made Charles even more excited for what was to come.

You silently exited the bathroom and stopped before him in front of the bed, eyeing him up and down as he observed you intently,

The whole setting was familiar to the both of you, ending up in this situation more often than Charles would like to admit.

“Charlie, we need to talk about your behavior tonight” you said, pouting and shaking your head as you took in his naked body with more attention.

Charles shivered under your intense gaze, the light breeze flowing through the room tickling his aching length. He was naked, feeling so vulnerable under your eyes, so helpless and small.

"I'm sorry, mommy" he whimpered out, biting his lip as he focused on your body language. Charles knew he was in for a very long night, but he wanted to get a sense of just how long and dragging it was going to be.

But you were unreadable to him in those moments.

"We've talked about this dozens of times, Charlie, and you still haven't learned" you shook your head, tauntingly turning around and walking around the room until you reached the magic closet.

The toy closet.

Charles' eyes widened when he saw you opening it and scanning its contents, knowing you were contemplating just how much you'll put him through for the night.

"I know, mommy, I'm sorry. I didn't realize what was happening" he said, making you smile as you finally found what you were looking for.

You turned around and dangled the two pairs of handcuffs you held in your hands, wiggling your eyebrows at your boyfriend.

Silently, you made your way to the headboard of the bed, taking each of his hand and handcuffing him to the bed, making sure they weren't too tight to hurt him.

"Tsk, tsk, tsk. That just means I'm going to have to teach you a lesson once again" you said, kneeling down before him and running your acrylic nails up and down his thigh, leaving goosebumps along his skin.

He whined out, closing his eyes and allowing himself to succumb to your desires, ready to be yours for the rest of the night.

Just how you loved him.

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[alisonwritesimagines]

Please Don't Be In Love With Someone Else ~LA!Shanks x Reader x LA!Mihawk Imagine~

Summary: You keep waiting for Shanks. But someone new comes along and suddenly, you're not so lonely.

Author’s Note: You read the title correctly. I'm evilly laughing right now as you read this in pain. Also, this is technically a rewrite of the angst ending cause the one I wrote and in my drafts is more fluff than angst.

Angst Ending to I Was Enchanted to Meet You

Reader’s Pronouns: She/Her

Warnings: angst, fluff, but angst to all you Shanks lovers

Side Note: This is a secondary blog. If you comment a question down below, I will not answer since this is not the main blog. Please send the question to my inbox if you want a response back!

Do not repost this anywhere!

It had been years since you last saw Shanks. And it's been a year since you last saw Luffy. Ever since he was old enough to sail off in the world to find the One Piece to become King of the Pirates, you had been by yourself since. Of course you did a lot for your small village to keep you occupied but you still missed your boys.

You were tending to your garden as it was time for you to harvest before it became spoiled and over grown. That was until you heard someone say something behind you.

“You don’t seem like someone who can harm a fly."

You turned around to see the warlord Dracule Mihawk standing before you. You stood up straight to seemed less intimidated.

“I can hurt a fly. Don’t think I’m good at harming anyone else,” you tell him as you crossed your arms.

“I see.”

“I know who you are so what do you want?” You asked.

“I was sent to kill you but in all honesty, I don’t think I can kill you. You’re too beautiful to be killed,” he tells you.

“Who sent you to kill me?” You asked, now worried. You’ve stayed in the island since you were born. Not only that, you stayed even when Luffy left.

“Not to worry now. I don't have any intentions to kill you," he tells you.

"Then what are you still doing here?"

"I'm curious to see why someone would send me to go after you."

"Feel free to stay. Just to tell you, it's going to be quite boring," you tell him.

Mihawk stayed around the next day to watch over you. He didn't understand why Vice Admiral Garp would want a warlord like him to kill a sweet little thing like yourself. You did nothing of the sort that would be considered dangerous or even pirate bounty level dangerous.

"Ow!" You yelled as you accidently burnt yourself with the pan.

"What happened? What's wrong?" Mihawk asked you as he rushed inside your home.

"Just burned myself," you tell him.

Mihawk quickly grabbed your bucket of water before gently putting your finger in the cool liquid.

"Thanks," you tell him.

"Of course."

"I made extras if you'd like. I got used to cooking for two," you tell him.

"Was it for you and your past lover?" Mihawk asked you.

"Not really surprisingly. I used to take care of a little boy who used to live with me who had a bottomless stomach. He wanted to become a pirate so he set sail a year ago," you tell him.

"I see."

"So, dinner?"

"Why not."

—

Mihawk stayed for a couple more weeks before he needed to back out to sea. You stood on the deck as you watched Mihawk get ready to leave.

"So I guess this is farewell?" You asked him.

"For now. I will be back in a month at most," he tells you.

"To finish me off and claim your berry?" You asked.

"No. To come see you again," Mihawk said before sailing off. You shook your head at him before walking back to your home.

You assumed Mihawk was lying or joking when he said he was coming back to see you. But to your surprise, you opened your door to see him standing before you.

"Brought you some new seeds for you to grow in your garden," Mihawk tells you.

"I'm guessing you're staying for dinner?" You asked with a small smile.

"If you'd have me," Mihawk said. You nodded before letting him inside your house.

-

As much as you didn't want to admit, you fell for Mihawk. Even though part of you hoped for Shanks to come back, you appreciated the fact that no matter how long Mihawk was gone for or even if he was wounded badly, he came back to you. Even though Shanks would come back to you, he hasn't for years.

"Will you be mine?" Mihawk asked you one night. After a midnight stroll, you both headed back to your home. Mihawk stopped you from walking inside by holding your hand.

"What?" You asked in shock.

"Be mine. I've fallen for you Y/n. And I swear to you, I would never let anything happen to you," Mihawk tells you.

"Alright. I'll be yours," you tell him. Mihawk gave you a small smile before pulling you towards him.

"May I kiss you?" Mihawk asked you.

"Yes."

Mihawk cupped your cheek with his hand before leaning in to kiss you.

-

Shanks rushed over to your home after being away for so many years. He was excited to tell you his adventures and was looking forward to seeing you once again. He knocked on your door, his heart pounding in excitement.

Instead of seeing you, he saw someone else open the door. His smile faltered as he stared at the stranger in front of him.

"May I help you?" The stranger asked him.

"My apologies. I was hoping to find Y/n L/n? The woman who lived here?" Shanks asked.

"Oh. I'm sorry. She's been gone for quite sometime. She left the village I want to say two years ago? Her and her husband moved to another island."

"Her husband?"

"Yes. I'm surprised she married a warlord but he had been kind to the village whenever he was here," the stranger pointed out.

"Do you happened to know her husband's name?"

"I believe it was Dracule Mihawk."

—

Shanks made it to Mihawk's castle where he knew you would be at. After demanding to see you, Mihawk came out to talk to him.

"You should know my wife is resting," Mihawk tells him.

"You took her from me," Shanks angrily tell him.

"I didn't take her from anyone. When I met her, she was alone," Mihawk informs him.

"She never told you about me?" Shanks asked.

"No she has. I just never told her that I knew you."

"Please. Let me see her!" Shanks asked.

"Let me see if she's well enough to move," Mihawk said.

"Is she sick?" Shanks asked.

"Not entirely."

Shanks waited anxiously for you to come down. His eyes widen when he saw Mihawk helping you down. Your stomach was large but he knew that it was because you were pregnant. And what's worse was that it wasn't Shanks's child you were carrying. It was Mihawk's child.

"Shanks?" You asked in shock.

"Hi, Y/n."

-

You sat in the garden with Shanks alone so you two could talk. Shanks stared at you, admiring your beauty once more. While you thought you were alone, Shanks knew that Mihawk was watching nearby.

“Are you happy my love?” Shanks asked you as he held your hand.

“I am. Hawk Eye makes me happy,” you tell him with a small smile.

“I’m happy that you’re happy.”

“I did wait for you Shanks. I really did. But I feared that if I waited any longer, I’d be too old for you,” you tell him with a frown.

“You could never be too old for me. You could have white hair and many wrinkles and I’d still think you’re the most beautiful woman in the world,” Shanks tells you. You smiled at him before tearing up.

“I loved you Shanks. And I’m sorry I didn’t wait for you longer."

“Don’t apologize my love. I’m sorry I didn’t come back to you sooner,” Shanks said. You nodded before taking off your makeshift necklace that held the ring Shanks gave to you. You handed it over to Shanks before kissing his cheek.

“I hope life treats you well and I hope you find a woman who will love you endlessly as much as I did,” you tell him.

“And if Hawk Eyes dares to lay a hand on you, come find me. I’ll protect you.”

“I know you will."

"So this is goodbye then huh?" Shanks asked you.

"If you find Luffy, tell him I miss him and love him dearly. And that, he's more than welcome to visit me or find me whenever he wants," you tell him. After all, Luffy was yours and Shanks's unofficial son and you two were his unofficial parents.

"Goodbye, Shanks,” you tell him before giving him a kiss on the cheek once more.

“Goodbye, my love.”

—

You sat on the couch in your lounge room waiting for your son to arrive with his new fiancée. Twenty five years had gone by and you had lived your life. Dracule sat next to you as you both waited for your son to come home. Now that your husband has retired from being a pirate, he had spent his time with you while your children explored the world.

“I wonder what she’ll be like,” you tell your husband.

“I trust his judgement. After all, I chose well didn’t I?” Dracule joked.

“You most certainly did,” you smiled.

“Mom! Dad! I’m home!” You heard your son say.

“Over here!” You called from where you were.

You smiled at your son the moment he walked in but your eyes widen from the sight of the woman next to him. Not only did she have the exact same hair as Shanks, but she also had the same eyes as him. It was no doubt that she was Shanks's daughter.

“Mother. Father. This is my fiancée, May,” your son said proudly. You smiled at the woman before getting up from your chair to greet her.

“It’s nice to meet you, May,” you tell her.

“It’s a pleasure to meet you too, Mrs. Mihawk.”

“Please call me Y/n,” you tell her as you shook her hand. You noticed her necklace with a ring on it. It looked exactly like the one Shanks gave to you from years before.

“I like your necklace,” you say.

“Oh thank you. My father gave it to me. Said it was his prize possession,” she tells you. You felt your heart break a little from what she said.

“Will we be able to meet your parents soon?” You asked.

“Unfortunately no. My mother passed away from childbirth and my father passed away not too long ago,” she tells you. You frown from hearing that.

“I’m so sorry.”

“It’s alright. I’m really glad to have met your son,” May tells you. You smiled at her before giving her a hug.

“Well, I know my son will treat you well. And if he doesn’t, you tell me,” you tell her. May smiled at you before looking at your son.

At the end of the night, you stood outside on your balcony as you stared up at the stars.

Maybe this was the universe telling you that in another life, you and Shanks end up together. But you did wish he didn’t have to be gone so soon. You wished that he would’ve came back to you sooner and maybe you two could've had the future you two wanted together.

[mythicmanuscripts]

PLEASE more aemond PLS i am on my knees begging for scraps. ur one of the only writers who actually GETS him

Thank you so much!! One of the main reasons why I started this blog is because I couldn’t find much content of Aemond and how I picture him so this means a lot!! I have a few little ideas that aren’t really long enough for full imagines that I’m just gonna babble on about here for more sub!Aemond content :)) also, you guys are more than welcome to send more requests and to send more specific requests!! Anyway, here’s some random disjointed sub!Aemond babble

I didn’t intend for this to all be SFW thoughts it kinda just happened?? Honestly I have no idea how but yeah this is all SFW, I am happy to write more NSFW though! So if you have any ideas for NSFW sub!aemond then let me know :))

————————————

The first time you ever give Aemond anything resembling an order is at your first dinner after your wedding. Aemond is stiff and formal, barely entertaining conversation, you get the impression that he wishes he were anywhere else.

There’s a pitcher of wine next to Aemond, and you ask to have more wine. You say this out loud, and as expected a servant immediately takes the wine pitcher and fills your glass. You thank them, but then to your surprise when you look back at Aemond he looks angry, and maybe even tells the servant to get lost?

So now obviously you’re beyond confused and you ask him what’s wrong. Which leads him to blush. BLUSH?? And he softly mumbles something that sounds an awful lot like “you asked me to do it and they did”

You press him and eventually realise that for whatever reason, Aemond thought you were asking him to refill your glass and he’s upset that a servant did it before he could. Which… you’ve never been so confused in your life because you what?? He’s barely even speaking to you and then he’s upset he couldn’t fill your glass?? He’s upset he couldn’t do that has always been the servants job?

So without thinking you get up, put your now full wine glass on the cabinet and grab an empty one. You sit back down and ask Aemond to fill your wine glass. You expect him to roll his eyes but he immediately takes the wine pitcher and fills your glass and then gets up and carries the glass to your side of the table, putting it down for you.

You thank him, and to your shock he… smiles?? So then you decide to lay it on thick and say “thank you very much Aemond, I appreciate it” and then he just… actually starts a proper conversation with you and seems very pleased with himself??

So after that you start experimenting, asking Aemond to do things for you, thanking him when he does and praising him and well, he now follows you around everywhere you go and will fire any servants who dare to try and do whatever you’ve asked him to do.

————————————————

When Allicent first met you, she was beyond relieved because she very quickly realised how much influence you have over Aemond. She thinks that she’s finally found a way she can control Aemond and ensure he behaves and does what she wants.

Unfortunately she very quickly realises how wrong she was when she tries to form some sort of pact with you and you shoot her down immediately. You tell her that you have absolutely no interest in being a tool for her to use to control Aemond.

And well, now allicent is in even worse a position because before Aemond would at least mostly listen to her and now? Now Aemond doesn’t even look at her, nevermind speak or listen to her.

Aemond gets all the love and affection and guidance he could ever need from you. Allicent could be on fire next to him and he wouldn’t even notice.

————————————

The first time you suggest kneeling for Aemond, he’s mildly offended. He thought you understood how much he needed to be cared for and loved and never degraded and now you want him to kneel for you?

But, Aemond trusts you and he knows you always know what’s best for him so he agrees to try it once. You put a pillow down on the floor in front of a chair by the fire in his chambers. You sit down on the chair with a book, and have Aemond kneel on the pillow. You let him rest his head on his inner thigh.

Within 2 minutes Aemond is obsessed. He just…. He feels so safe?? You’ve got your hand in his hair, the fire is providing warmth, and it’s just the two of you. Very quickly he closes his eyes and just lets himself drift, the sounds of the fire and of you turning pages lulls him into this calm, almost half asleep state.

So obviously from there kneeling for you becomes common place. And maybe he even starts to tell you things while he kneels? It’s like once he’s there, his head on your thigh, all nice and safe, he’s able to just vent and complain and tell you everything that’s been on his mind.

As much as Aemond loves hearing your counsel and always asks what you think of things, you don’t give him any advice while he kneels for you. That’s not the time, he only wants to be allowed to vent and feel safe when he kneels.

And then maybe you also start reading to him? And god Aemond is just in heaven, not a single one thought in his head. He vents to you, gets all his frustrations out and then gets to just close his eyes and listen to your voice until he’s about to fall asleep right there. Then you help him up and crawl into bed with him, he’s asleep before you can even blow out the candles.

———————————