#Replacement Bucket Teeth

[rustedhearts]

on the mat (boxer!steve harrington x fem!librarian reader)

summary: steve tries to teach you a few boxing lessons in the ring, but ends up (re)learning a thing or two about you instead.

uses she/her pronouns and female anatomy.

✶ the king of the ring (1993) ✶ main masterlist

tags: the return of casually dominant!steve; play fighting? i guess?; smut (fingering); slight humiliation kink?; finger sucking.

october 24th, 1993

The gym sat in a stiff, sticky heat. A palpable humidity settled in your body, bloating with exertion and frustration and just a little too much humiliation for your liking. Beneath a pair of padded, pink leather boxing gloves, your fingers were sore and tired, slick with sweat from hours confined. They sat now balled up on your hips, chest rising and falling in heavy huffs beneath a soaked-thin sports bra.

And there Steve stood across the ring, shiny and pink-less, grinning like he'd been given a lollypop. Your eyes narrowed into slits, lips drying with thirst. A burn gathered in your chest a few minutes ago, and now every inhale felt like sucking on fire.

"Ah, come on, angel," he cooed, shaking his hand out of one glove to free his fingers and push back his drenched hair. "You're doin' so good."

Somehow, a few hours ago, Steve roped you into training with him. He'd been begging to teach you how to properly box since you started dating, and somehow, he finally convinced you. It was just as exhausting and demanding as you thought it would be, and now you were dripping buckets and making a fool of yourself in front of the man you loved. It was tiresome and humiliating, and you wanted it to be over the minute it started.

"Then I say we call it a day," you huffed.

Wiggling his swollen hand back into the weathered gloves, Steve shook his head and cocked a sideways grin. "I don't think so, sweetheart—"

"Steve," you whined, foot stomping. "Come onnnn."

His shoulders quaked with laughter, and the pinched glare you had on your face morphed into a weepy pout. Steve pulled at the laces of his glove with his teeth until they were well enough taut to stay put, sneakers scuffing over the mat as he headed your way.

The gym was closed on Sundays, so you had the place entirely to yourself—it was easy for Steve to pull strings and get his way. With the amount of championships he'd won over the past few years, Steve could get away with just about anything these days. Endorsements and companies hoping for brand deals kissed his ass just for a chance at conversation. So, if Steve Harrington wanted a private gym for a training session with his girlfriend, he'd get it.

But that left you entirely at his mercy.

Steve brought his puffy, gloved fists to your arms, tugging you close. Lip jutted and eyes down-pointed, you opted to huff and puff at the ground instead of meeting his eye like you knew he wanted. He brought a fist to your chin, kicking it up gently.

"Sweetheart," he chuckled. "C'mon, don't be a baby."

"M' not bein' a baby," you grumbled, jerking your chin away.

Another smile toyed on his lips. "No?"

"No."

Steve replaced his touch under your chin, urging your head back where he wanted. His touch smelled like leather and the salty musk of sweat, and every spent and frazzled nerve in your body sparked with arousal like severed wires in an electric rainstorm. You inhaled sharply, following his guiding touch until you caught sight of his strong chin.

"Gimme a kiss, angel."

The roll of your eyes was entirely theatrical, because the gruff sound of his voice rumbling through you had you squirming. But it was so easy to give into Steve—sometimes, you liked to make him wait a little. Sometimes, you wanted his voice to drop from that soft, fluffy coo and dip into something dark and firm.

Steve bent his neck, leaning toward your mouth. You turned your head. In your periphery, the delicacy of his features congealed like spoiled milk—narrowed brows and hard eyes. The yellow spotlights above the ring blazed down like sunlight, singing your skin with unforgivable heat.

"Hey." Steve flicked your head back with his glove against your cheek. "Give me. A kiss."

You fell into his touch, but when you inched forward on the tops of your new Reeboks, your mouth merely grazed. Brushed against his lips in a soft, chaste kiss. When you sank back to your height, Steve's chuckle was sharp and huffed through his nose. He dropped his hand from your face and stepped back.

"Back in position."

Groaning, you let your arms drop limply at your sides. "Steve—"

"Now," he barked, voice clanging off the walls like metal.

You jolted, trudging toward the center of the ring with a grumpy, nonsensical grumble of disagreement. Steve shook his head as he headed toward the corner, pulling at the laces of his gloves with his teeth until they smacked against the mat. He fumbled in his gym bag, pulling out the flat pads meant for throwing jabs. When they were snug around his hands, he stood to his full height and sauntered toward you.

Wordlessly, Steve assumed a firm stance and held out the pads out in front of him, biceps veined and bulging. His eyes bored into you over the top of the black leather, void and heavily-lidded. You sighed, arms limp and buzzing.

You lifted your right fist and let it tap the left pad weakly. It barely made a sound. Steve shook his head again, slow and steady, but still he didn't admonish you. You tried again with the left fist, tapping just a little harder on the right pad.

"Pathetic."

Your eyes snapped over, breath hitching. "What?"

Steve hadn't moved an inch, breath sure and steady. "I said, pathetic."

Your stomach grappled, a new wave of heat singing your cheeks. “I-I’m not—“

“So hit me like you fucking mean it.”

Though foggy with exhaustion and void of any semblance of desire to put any sort of effort into this, the way Steve’s voice sliced around his command made your insides surge. Pathetic.

You’d show him pathetic.

It shot out before you could truly control it: your first careening into the pad, striking Steve’s hand with vigor. The smack was sharp and acute, and delight burst his pupil to dilation.

Your fist buzzed in the glove, slick with sweat and swollen from work, but it felt…good. It felt good to hit, and it felt good to watch pride swell in Steve’s gaze because of something you’d done.

His lips parted to speak, breath short and clipped with intention to speak, but you beat him to it. Another hit to the glove—a swift jab, knocking him off kilter. He wavered a moment, then steadied. His eyes bored into you like he’d just seen you for the first time. And maybe he had.

You tore at the velcro of your gloves with your teeth, shaking the leather off. Every part of your body felt like it was convulsing. You could barely see straight, and everything came with a haloed glow. You shuffled back toward the edge of the ring.

“Where y’ goin’, angel?” Steve asked, inching forward.

Huffing, you tossed your gloves on the mat and glared at him. “To change. I want to go home.”

Steve took another step forward, following every move backward like the pair of you were tethered together. “We’re not done here.”

Hands on your hips, you sliced him with a look meant to kill. “Yes, we are.”

You turned then, eyes set on the locker room door across the gym. You barely got a toe toward the edge of the ring before Steve had you by the arm. Somehow, the pads were on the floor again, and Steve’s most lethal weapons were out to play.

“Hey! Steve, don’t—“

You pushed him. He tugged you closer. You gaped at him, at his display of audacity. You pushed again, a firm palm to a firmer chest. He let go. You turned again, but this time, he had you by the waist. Anchoring you, pulling you back. You planted your heels and resisted with all your might, grunting and mewling for release. But Steve’s hold was inescapable.

It tugged you to the mat, weighing you down until the pair of you slipped and ended flat in the ring. A pair of limbs scrambling and tangling, knotting together between huffs and groans. He flipped you over onto your back, and you kicked at his hips with the heels of your feet until it gave you an inch up. Twisting and churning, clawing with your hands. What the hell were you doing? You had no idea, but your body was on fire and you couldn’t breathe—and it all felt so good.

With all the writhing and tumbling, you found your way toward the edge of the ring. You wrapped your fingers around the lowest rope, teeth gritted with exertion as you pulled. But Steve was down on you, heavy and full of cords of taut muscle that you were no match for. And even without the weight of him, he still had his hands.

“Nah, nah,” he huffed, a chuckle airing through his nose as he watched your fingers tremble around the rope. “You’re not goin’ anywhere.”

Your hand slammed against the mat, caged in his own crushing your fingers in his palm. It was then that you decided to give up on your fight. Pinned by his body, inhaling his exhales, licking beads of sweat as they dripped into your mouth. His hair coiled over his brow, tickling his lashes. His upper lip snarled into a smile, and with his big, hulking form between your legs, you suddenly forgot all about how tired you were and just why you ever wanted to get away.

Like Steve said, you weren’t going anywhere.

Keeping you stationary with his hand around your wrist, kept above your head and off the side, Steve made quick work of the ties on your shorts. Pulling their knot loose, yanking the band down your hips. He pressed the pad of two fingers into your damp, sticky panties over your crotch, and when you shuddered in a gasp, he chuckled again.

“God, you still like it so tough, huh?” He pressed a little harder, rubbed small circles into your clothed nub.

His breath tickled your face with every word spat out. “Pretend you’re so sweet and shy. But you, honey…you like to be fucked. Mean.”

The rubbing burned against the friction of your damp panty fabric and Steve’s fingers. His touch stung, like it always did. And the light in his eyes was one of fiery delight and wonderment. Absolute desire, lapping its forked, devil tongue between the pair of you. You released a sweeping breath, face creased with anguishing pleasure.

Steve rummaged the surface of your face, glowing like a jewel with salty dampness. You rose and fell with such shallow, struggled breaths that he was certain you’d run out of air.

He fell down on his arm a little, nose brushing your nose. “Tell me,” he whispered, voice an echo in your fuzzy, sloshing thoughts. “Tell me you like me mean.”

You choked, air catching in your throat. Right in the middle, where your heart sat waiting, and pulsing. “I-I…I…”

His lip curled again, nose scrunching to follow the crude expression of a growl. “I think you love it, don’t you? C’mon, tell me you love it.”

Oh, the sound of his voice, sweetened with mockery and seasoned with humiliation. He rubbed a little faster, enjoying the tremble of your thighs. Your body was rippling.

“I-I,” you gasped, fingers curling into a fist above your head. “I…Oh, Steve—p-please!”

“Tell me you love it,” he bit, teeth snapping at your mouth.

“Oh,” you howled, bucking into his touch. He pushed the cotton aside and let his fingers breach the bare warmth, and now you were certainly a puddly mess. He prodded at your hole with a spongy touch.

“You love it,” he coaxed, the sound of his voice nearly hypnotic now.

Convincing you, telling you, promising you. You loved it.

“I love it!”

With your confession, he plunged in. His fingers buried themselves inside you until he caught resistance, watching you jerk upward and hold tight, breath bubbled in your throat and swollen in your chest. The veins in your neck scraped their way toward your jaw, protruding without air. He curled his fingers just a little, watched you twist a little to the left. Like some sort of woman possessed.

He gently rocked his fingers in and out, each time nudging that little spot inside you that grew sore and hungry. You caught your breath when he kissed your mouth, releasing it between his lips sealed over yours.

“I love it,” you murmured again, vision spotted and streaked. “I do, I do, I do.”

He clamped your babbles with more wet kisses. Silent reassurances. Gentle and full-mouthed, absent of tongue and just breath, transferred between one pair of lips to the other. Your chin tipped upward to follow them, chasing after more pecks. Steve pulled away just far enough to find amusement in your suffering.

"You'll get a kiss," he murmured, too soft for his cruelty. "When you gimme what I want."

And when you cinched your brows together with feigned confusion, Steve tipped his head a little toward the light haloing behind him, beaconing from the gunmetal roof. The slightest arch of a brow, the knowing narrow of a pair of whiskey-colored eyes flecked with sage.

"You know what I want," he rasped.

Heart hammering hard against your ribs, flesh singing with stimulation, bones droning with desire—all you could manage was a nod.

He wanted what he always wanted—all of you.

One more gentle prod, fingers goading against the swollen, fleshy tissue pulsing deep inside you. One more kiss to the underside of your jaw, lips cradling the pulse point below your right ear. One more squeeze of your wrist in his big hand, thumb into a mass of uneasy muscle fluttering with life punctured by the teeth of his love.

Orgasmic euphoria erupted into bursts of color. Crimson red like the blood Steve shed. Cognac brown like the bits of his eyes illuminated only in direct light. Black as the color of his love, bruised without mercy.

Tiny, pitiful whimpers pipped out of you in short successions. Steve quieted them with more kisses, just as promised. He slipped his fingers from your quivering cunt with caution, parted lips gliding wetly across your cheek from their place on your mouth, smearing hot breaths and spit.

"Open," he whispered, though when his fingers came to your lips, they were already ajar and releasing pants.

You sucked them clean, blinking blearily as he fell into your neck, equally as spent by his exertions. His fingers coasted down your arm as they left your wrist, releasing your binds. You shivered absently when they slid against your ribs, pressing into the curve of your waist.

"I still wanna fuck," Steve huffed, nosing at your neck where the perfume you applied hours ago faded with sweat. "But gotta lie down first."

Giggling, you kissed the wetness of his hairline etched above his temple lazily. "Me too."

"Well yeah, I rocked your world."

#rolly! #boxer!steve harrington #steve harrington smut #steve harrington #steve harrington au #steve harrington fic #steve harrington x reader #steve harrington x y/n smut #steve harrington x y/n fluff #steve harrington x fem!reader #steve harrington x you #steve harrington fanfiction #steve harrington fanfic #steve harrington fandom #stranger things au #steve stranger things #stranger things fanfic #boxer!steve #dark!steve harrington #dark steve harrington #steve harrington blurb

[alizalayne]

Hello! this will be a quick process post so that you can see how I needlefelted a fursuit head!

I began by following the "bucket head" tutorial by Matrices, then added a layer of polyfill so that I wouldn't use as much of my merino wool. This is how I typically make a doll head, my "core wool" is often polyfill because it really likes to clump together and fuse.

Overall, this project took about two months of my spare time. This is the first fursuit head I have made, but not my first needlefelt project.

I would really like to encourage other people to try making masks this way! You can do any kind of subtle color with wool and the wool fiber is very cheap. If you wanted to make a fursuit head with the entirety of starry night flowing over it, or a head with tons and tons of complex colors, I think wool might be the best material. I also did not need to know how to pattern or sew in order to make this-- it was sculpture rather than sewing, which I am bad at.

The rest under the cut!

Another angle where you can see that I am building up the structure of the head.

I then made the ears, which are translucent because they're felted, just like real ears!

I wasn't happy yet with the proportions at this point, so I spent a lot of time figuring that out and deciding where and how I'd be placing the eyes.

I made a pair of sculpey follow-me eyes by using a little soy sauce dish as a concave circular mold and tried a foam clay nose and teeth. The sculpey eyes could be more successful, they took a lot of shaving and adjusting to get right and they eventually cracked from the strain I'd put them through while making them more shallow. For a while, I intended to make wefts of white wool to use on the sides of the head, but I ended up preferring a domestic shorthair head shape because it reads the most clearly as a cat vs any other animal.

I originally intended to have the eyes behind clear plastic domes and used "shaker domes" that people use to make greeting cards to cover the eye, but in the end they made the eyes too dull. I made foam clay housing for the eyes and painted it pink with acrylic paint. I used stick-on car window tint to create the pupils. My visibility inside the head is really good!

Finally, after fiddling, one of the eyes was deeper than the other and I had to re-set both to account for it. I added spot glitter on top of the acrylic paint on the eye using some gold watercolor paint I had, which was silly because I'll need to wash the head at some point. I will probably seal the eyes before washing and hope for the best. I intend to spot clean the head until it absolutely needs to be washed, at which point I'll remove some pieces or find a way to protect them while soaking the head in a cool dr. bronner's bath.

I glued down a layer of felt fiber on top of the foam clay "tear ducts" and then felted new fiber over the tear duct skin and cheeks to blend them into the face. I also removed the teeth and closed her mouth because I didn't have time to adjust the teeth as much as I wanted before the con that my friends and I attended. I would like to modify this head so that she can open and close her mouth.

Lastly, I added wire whiskers with little glass beads looped onto the ends and paper eyelashes that I also watercolored and sealed, like the insides of the eyes. Like I said before, it's gonna be a problematic wash, but I'm confident I'll figure it out, and I can always repair her or replace her lashes if something goes wrong.

Last thing, to keep the inside of the head nice and cool and prevent fogging since in the end I closed the mouth and had sealed eyes, I made a snorkel out of a snorkel mouthpiece fitted into two collapsible auto funnels.

I would say that realistically this entire project cost me less than $150. I had some materials lying around, like the wire and the beads and the sculpey.

I added two ear vents on either side of the head so that I had options on where to feed the snorkel out. If you look at the other pictures on the blog of me wearing the head, you mostly can't even see the snorkel mouth. However, it was a little problematic to let go of the snorkel to talk. it would be perfect for a silent suiter, but I'm lucky that so many people wanted to talk to me. I'd like to try and replace the snorkel mouth with something I can talk in, but I'm not sure what to use. It should be something that can create a seal to keep my breath out of the head. it's possible that I will be able to make something with a painter's mask.

I hid the "seam" between the head and my body with two yards of tulle tied into a big bow and sewn down onto the neck so that it wouldn't move around.

I hope that if you try making something similar you'll show it to me!

#fursuit #fiber art #needlefelt #sculpture #dolls

[prettybabybaby]

Dark!Ethan x reader where she’s dressed as a princess for the Halloween party without knowing Ethan would dress as a cardboard knight. Maybe he comes to her rescue when a guy at the party won’t leave her alone and she jokingly calls him her knight in shining armor and kisses his cheek as a thank you but Ethan thinks he deserves more than just a friendly kiss.

¡ 18+ only ! ¡ minors do not interact !

content: noncon, dark!virgin!ethan, fem!reader

¡ scream masterlist !

ethan shudders as he sinks into you, the muscles in his arms flexing as he covers your mouth with one hand and holds your wrists over your head with the other. your eyebrows cinch and your eyes water, your tongue poking at his palm in a weak attempt to get him to release you.

the cardboard and cheap tule of your dress make an ugly noise as they brush against each other as a result of ethan’s stuttering hips. you look up at him, anika’s red bucket hat replaced the duck taped helmet on his head, taming his curls. his lip is tucked between his teeth, a long groan growing higher as your traitorous cunt clenches around his pulsing length.

the memories flashed behind ethan’s eyes, feeling so far away despite only taking place no more than ten minutes prior. the featherlight touch of your lips on his cheek fleeting as if you couldn’t wait to get away from him. as if you were repulsed by the short lived contact. this time he wouldn’t let you walk away.

years of being your dutiful little protector needed to come to end and your debt needed to be paid. he was good to you, so good, and you took advantage of him. he could see that now.

he had dreamt of your slick walls choking his sensitive cock, trapping him inside your warmth, milking him dry until you were stuffed full of his seed. a white stream of his purity trickling out of your abused hole when he finally pulled out of you.

you are his first, just like you were supposed to be.

#tw noncon #ethan landry (belle's version) #dark!ethan #dark!ethan landry #ethan landry x reader #ethan landry x you #ethan landry x y/n #ethan landry smut #ethan landry blurb #yandere ethan landry #scream ethan landry #scream ethan #ethan landry fanfic #scream vi smut #scream six #scream vi #ethan landry

[theidiotwhowritesthings]

INEVITABLE [2]

din djarin x female!reader

warnings: language, mentions of the slave trade, canon violence, blood and injuries

word count: 6,030

Summary: It was like fate or destiny had planned from the beginning for you to be on the run from the law. With the words ‘I can bring you in warm, or I can bring you in cold’ adorning your rib cage you always wondered what was worse: Knowing you were bound to being wanted or realizing your soulmate was a cursed bounty hunter. You had a mission to finish and no bounty hunter, soulmate or not, was going to stop you.

[previous] [next]

02: FALLING FOR YOU

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"courage is knowing it might hurt, and doing it anyways. stupidity is the same. and that's why life is hard." ⏤jeremy goldberg

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It had been a very long time since Din was nervous before a hunt. Wary, maybe, or concerned, but not nervous. He had retreated to the Razor Crest for the night, needing the time to mentally and emotionally spiral while in the safety of his own ship, then the next day he started tracking you down once more. Din thought surely you would’ve left Bespin entirely, but he tracked you back to a cantina. A different cantina. But still.

 Just as he had yesterday, Din simply stepped into the building. He had planned to be more tactful today, but realizing you were in another cantina had been curious enough to throw him off entirely. You sat at the bar this time, turned so you could lean your back against the counter, with pretty eyes glancing around the room. Your eyes darted to him, away, then back again. Din expected a lot of reactions to his presence, but he never would’ve guessed that you’d roll your eyes with a huff and turn back around. 

What the hell?

Din crossed the room. Grogu whined from inside the closed pram floating behind him. The child hated being locked away, and Din hated locking him away, but he didn’t trust himself around this quarry. And that’s what you were. A quarry. He had to remind himself of that again.

“Can I buy you a drink, bucket head?” You asked. Din narrowed his eyes at you in a glare⏤ knowing good and well you couldn’t see it, but it made him feel better to do it. You glanced over your shoulder at him with that same infuriating smirk you shot him yesterday. “What’s your poison of choice?”

“You’re coming with me.” Din demanded.

“Mmm, no thanks.”

Din shook his head, “That wasn’t a choice.”

“It kind of felt like a choice when I kicked your ass yesterday and ran.” You snickered. “Mandalorian.”

The way you said his title was mocking and it made Din’s skin bristle with irritation. His hands drifted to his hips and he leaned in toward you. “Get up now.”

You groaned. “Seriously, bucket head⏤”

“Don’t call me that.” He snapped.

“⏤what do I have to do to get you off my back?” You had continued on, unphased by his demeanor. “Credits? Is that what gets you going in the morning?” You turned back around, maintaining your confident posture, and it put your face by his. “I can get you some credits. Probably. Do you take IOUs?”

Din tried to keep his composure. He had dealt with plenty of quarries who mouthed off to him, but this was the quickest it had actually worked. Din leaned back to stand tall once more. You quirked an eyebrow up at him and he locked his jaw. He wondered if you could hear his teeth grind together. Din reached to his belt, pulling off the binders, and slammed them on the counter by you.

“Put them on.”

“That’s a bit lazy of you, don’t you think?” You replied. “At least all the other hunters I faced did their own dirty work.”

Briefly, Din felt a flash of anger at the thought of a bunch of hunters manhandling you. It was gone as quick as it came, and the feeling was replaced with annoyance that it came at all. This soulmate thing was becoming a real nuisance. Fine. You wanted to make this difficult? Din would be the bounty hunter you expected him to be.

Din grabbed you by the wrist roughly, spinning you in your seat so he could twist your arm behind you. His other hand grasped you by the back of the neck and he slammed you into the counter. The sound of your grunt of pain made his grip marginally loosen. He leaned in once more, “Anything to say now?”

“Now? No.” You replied. “But I’ll let you know if I think of something.”

If Din thought fate had been ridiculous before for picking a quarry as his soulmate, he was really hating it now. Not only was his soulmate a quarry, but it was a smartass slave trader with the most aggravating of smirks. Maker, he was looking forward to shoving you into the carbonite freezer. Din grabbed the binders off the counter and connected it to both your wrists behind your back. He ripped you up and out of your seat then without a beat he began to shove you out of the cantina. 

You begun to kick your feet, slowing your pace, and Din grabbed you by your upper arm so he could drag you along as needed. Din turned his head to look at you in skepticism. Yesterday, you had been quick to plan an escape route, but now you were going willingly? He didn’t trust it.

“Tell me, why would you go to a second cantina knowing I’m chasing you?” Din blurted.

“You want me to just reveal my grand master plan? I think not.” You chuckled. “You can just keep on wondering, bucket head.”

“It’s… reckless.” Din wanted to use the word ‘stupid’, but he couldn’t force it out.

You shrugged best you could with his hand wrapped tightly around your arm. “I’m reckless. What’s your point?” He shouldn’t have even asked. Din shook his head and mumbled curses under his breath. He was able to get you a few more streets over before you cried out in pain and hunched over. “Ow, ow. Wait⏤ Hang on.”

Din’s feet skidded to a stop. “What?”

“My leg. I just⏤ Let me lean for a second, okay?” You grunted and limped over with him in tow to lean against a hand railing. Din looked for any obvious injuries. “You’ve been dragging me down the road, you ass.”

Guilt rolled through him like a crashing wave no matter how much he tried to hold it back. His fingers loosened around your upper arm. Half a sigh left his lips a fist suddenly slammed up into his side right under his diaphragm making his breath stutter. Din spun, but you had already hooked one end of the binders around his wrist and the other to the metal bar you had been leaned against. He went to grab you, but you threw yourself over the bar and away from him. His hand shot to his blaster, but Din found it in your hand.

“How…” He breathed and glanced down at his situation.

Din reached for the keys on his belt, but while one of your hands held him at blaster point the other held up the keys. He blinked in shock. Din would never admit it aloud, he could barely admit it to himself, but he was mildly impressed. In fact, he’d be very impressed if his anger wasn’t overshadowing everything else.

“I’m a pickpocket. Should’ve warned you.” You shrugged. “Listen, how about we end our working relationship here.” Din huffed and tried to pull his arm free from the metal bar uselessly. “I’ve hit all the cantinas I need to in this city so I’m gonna be on my way, and I’m gonna leave you here. Let’s just agree to part ways as bitter friends.”

Din gnashed his teeth. “Release me. Now.”

“Yikes.” You made a clicking noise with your mouth. “You’re not exactly in the position to be making demands, bucket head.” You threw the key over your shoulder and then tossed the blaster as well⏤ so both would be out of reach from him. “It was so nice to meet you, by the way. Would love to never meet up again.”

You winked at him and he glared at you the entire time you sprinted away. Din turned to the pram to see Grogu had already opened the hatch and was staring at him. Din tugged on the binders once more, fruitlessly, then motioned to them. Grogu hopped out of his pram with a mischievous giggle and Din let his head fall against the metal bar with a ‘clang’. 

The Mandalorian was pestering. You had a bad feeling he wouldn’t just give up. In fact, arguably, he could come after you with a vengeance after you hooked him to a metal bar. He’d get out free, but you hoped you could get a few worlds away before he did. You had a feeling no matter who he asked on the street to grab the key and blaster they’d steer around him without making eye contact. The faults of being an intimidating Mandalorian, you supposed.

You were on your way back to the local tarmac in hopes that you could bum a ride off someone. As you walked, you had pulled out your list to scratch names off. Technically, there were a few other places you needed to check, other cities, but it’d be a little awkward for you to sit in your third cantina of this world and have the Mandalorian walk in again. Maybe for now you’d put off the rest of Bespin and come back later.

“Lookie, lookie.” A whiny voice sang in a tone that made you wince. A slimy looking human stepped into your path from around the corner. A group of four other unfamiliar men stepped out behind him. He whistled. “The Mandalorian’s friend is all alone.”

You narrowed your eyes in disbelief. “Friend? Excuse me?”

“Don’t play coy.” He snapped. “We saw you with him.”

“Yeah, alright, and what part of seeing us together made you think we’re friends?” You scoffed. “Was it the part where I broke a bar stool over his head or when he put me in a pair of binders?”

The men behind the first began to mumble skeptically, but the first refused to cave, “No, no. I’m telling you the two of them are⏤ look! Look, here he comes to save her already!” You stiffened in shock and whirled around to see the silver Mandalorian stalking toward you from down the road. How in the hell had he gotten out that quickly? “What did I tell you, boys?”

You scanned the area. To your right were the backs of buildings and the closest alley was further down, beyond the men blocking you. To your left was literally nothing. A protective guard rail and a view of the clouds. So that was out. And now you had a fucking bounty hunter stalking you from behind. Great.

“How about this,” You hissed, “Let me pass then you can beat up on the tin can, yeah?”

“Boss, I don’t think she’s⏤”

“Fine, fine, whatever.” The man snapped. “Get the kriff out of our way.” You gave the Mandalorian, who had paused, a brief salute and hurried past the men who left a space for you. You got a few steps away when you heard the man speak once more. “Don’t forget, I want that beskar. As for the kid, we can just sell it.”

You came to a screeching stop. A chill ran up your spine. A kid? You turned around to see the men slowly approaching the Mandalorian who continued to stand his ground. The pram behind him now rested right beside him and the hatch was open to reveal a small, green creature with large ears and wide, innocent eyes. A kid. Fuck.

The men had completely forgotten about you to focus on the Mandalorian so not a single one of them noticed when you began to approach them once more. In a swift, practiced motion, you drew your dagger and threw it with a precision that came from years of ingrained muscle memory. The blade buried itself into the back of the closest man, and his scream of agony made his friends pause and whirl back around. The Mandalorian took this as his opportunity to strike.

You lunged forward to get your blade back while hiding behind the man’s body best you could to avoid being hit by stray blaster fire. He spun, startling you, and began to swing out to try and make contact. You ducked under his arms to avoid a blow but that put you further into the fray. You didn’t notice the attack coming from your side until an elbow slammed into your face. You heard a crunch, felt the warm blood spray down your face, and with a groan, you hit the ground dazed. One on one you did fairly well in a fight, but more than that and you struggled. You rolled over and glanced up to see even more people showed up to the fight⏤ all friends of the ones you were fighting. They came up from behind the Mandalorian. 

Once you were on the ground, it seemed like nobody cared about your presence at all. They swarmed the bounty hunter in a mass. You knew beskar was rare, but this seemed like overkill. A young cry filled the air and you spotted one of the men rushing toward you with a squirming bundle in his arms. The roar of anger that left the Mandalorian was ground shaking, words in a language you didn’t recognize ringing loudly, and it was followed by a wave of fire from his vambrace as he took on every single adversary that came at him.

You jumped up as the guy with the kid rushed by, and on instinct you ran after. Your face throbbed with pain, but you didn't let it hinder your speed. Luck was on your side and the man ended up cornering himself by staying too close to the railing. When he tried to turn down a different road you were able to cut him off and back him up against the guard rail once more. 

He reached for the blaster at his hip, but you were faster. You drew the weapon from under your jacket and aimed it at his head. “Don’t.”

“What?” The man narrowed his eyes. “What the kriff is that?”

“Firearm.” You replied. “Nice, isn’t it?” He shifted and you tilted your head. “The slug in this weapon isn’t meant for you. Set the kid down, and I’ll let you walk away.”

The child in his arms squirmed enough to be able to look at you and even from this distance you still couldn’t tell what species it was. But, you could see the kid was young⏤ a toddler at best. You stayed firm in your stance, and the man was nervously shifting as if trying to gauge how serious you were. As if to prove your point further, you pulled back on the revolver’s hammer so the slug clicked into place.

Slowly, the man held the kid away from his chest in surrender but he stopped suddenly, “How do I know you won’t shoot me the second I hand the kid over?”

“I told you,” You said, “This slug has someone else’s name on it.”

“What about the Mandalorian?” He cried. “He’ll kill me.”

“Probably.” You shrugged. “But I figure, you set the kid down and you’ll have time to run at the very least. You hurt the kid, and that block of angry beskar is going to stomp your teeth down your throat.” You gave him a mocking grin. “So, make your choice and make it quick.”

Blaster fire came much too close and you had to duck to avoid being hit by a stray bolt. The Mandalorian was barreling in your direction while the last few fighters fired after him. He barked something and you turned back to see the man holding the kid had been hit. He slumped to the side, hitting the guard rail, and with a surprised chirp the kid went right over the side of the city. 

You dropped the firearm and leapt over the edge right after him.

It was perhaps one of your least thought out plans, but the moment your hands grasped the kid you spun in the air and used all the momentum you had to throw him right back over the rail. The few broken bones or concussion he might get from being thrown so violently was better than the fate you were about to meet. Loud wind whipped past you as you fell. This is not how you thought you’d be leaving the world of the living and despite your entire body being filled to the brim with terror and fear as you hurtled through the air there was still just enough room for regret to take root.

Not regret at leaping over the edge for a kid you didn’t know.

Regret that you never got to see the life leave Viktor’s greedy eyes.

Nothing could have surprised you more than a solid force tackling you from behind. The air left your lungs while firm arms wrapped around you and the trajectory of your fall changed as you were suddenly being rocketed up. Glancing over your shoulder best you could, you spotted a chest of silver beskar. Before you could comprehend what was happening your feet touched down on solid ground. The hands wrapped around you dropped and you found yourself falling to your hands and knees⏤ still shaky from falling a few hundred feet.

“Patu.” A chirp followed by excited babbling made you lift your head to see the child standing right in front of you. He reached out and gave your face a little pat. He looked entirely unharmed. The situation was starting to become clear once more and you saw your firearm lying on the ground out of your peripherals. 

You lunged for the weapon, but a heavy boot dropped down to rest on it⏤ pining it to the ground. Sheepishly, you peered up to see the Mandalorian staring down at you with his hands on his hips. You pressed your lips together and then scrunched your nose out of habit only to wince in pain from the movement. You cleared your throat. “We, uh, need to stop meeting like this.”

“Get up.” He said tensely. You sighed and pushed to stand, dusting off your pants, and tried to puzzle out if you could make a clean getaway by breaking into a sprint now. The Mandalorian stepped forward, lifting a hand to your face and you flinched back. “Stop. Stay still.”

The bounty hunter’s hands cupped your face in an almost tender way. Your eyes widened in confusion both at his actions and the flickering flame of warmth that sparked in your belly at being this close to a man who was hunting you. His hands shifted, thumbs tracing your cheekbones, and then he used both thumbs to snap your nose into place. You let out a howl of pain and shoved him back, “What the⏤” You lifted to touch your nose and realized it wasn’t nearly as tender anymore. “What the hell, man!?”

“Your nose was broken.” He replied.

“Yeah? Well, warn a girl!” You scoffed.

The Mandalorian tilted his head. “Would you have let me fix it if I warned you?” No. Of course not. You mocked him under your breath by mumbling his words. He nodded. “Thank you.”

“Hmm?”

“Thank you. For saving my son.”

You glanced back at the small child standing by your boot now. He gave your leg a little pat before waddling over to this father. The Mandalorian picked him up and you wondered if the man under the armor was just as green as the kid. How did he fit ears like that under his helmet?

You pointed down to his boot, “That’s mine. Giving it back to me and letting me walk away would be a real cool thank you gift.” The metal pram from earlier drifted toward the two of you and when it came to a stop the boy jumped from the armored arms holding him into the floating crib. You were surprised to see the man move his boot out of the way and bend over to pick up your weapon. The Mandalorian held it out to you and your lips twitched up in excitement. “Glad to see we could settle this, bucket head.”

The second your hand grabbed the firearm you realized he wasn’t letting it go, but before you could tug or even speak his other hand shot up and clicked one binder around your wrist. You gasped, “You dick.” You could’ve sworn a chuckle left the helmet’s modulator. He tucked the firearm into his belt and then clicked the other half of the binder to his own wrist. “Is this because I called you bucket head?”

“That didn’t help.”

“So, I save your kid, and you still arrest me?”

“Yes.” He nodded and leaned into your space to pull the blade from the sheath around your thigh. He tucked that into his belt as well and took a few steps away. You dug your heels in. “Walk.”

“What about⏤”

“Walk.”

You grumbled in annoyance and picked up your feet. He seemed nonplussed with having to drag you down the road and it looked like his end goal was the tarmac where you had initially planned to be. The pram lingered beside you and the green child was babbling excitedly as if the two of you were having a full blown conversation. You kept glancing at him out of the corner of your eye.

“Your kid talks a lot.” You said, tugging on the arm connected to him⏤ not that it seemed to bother him.

“So do you.” He hit back.

“That’s…fair.” You admitted. “Where are you taking the savior of your child?”

“I could’ve saved him without you.”

You scoffed, “Yeah, well, if I knew you had a kriffing jackpack I would’ve let you.” The Mandalorian came to a sudden stop and it jerked on your arm. “Bucket head, come on! Seriously?”

“You didn’t know I had a jetpack?”

You narrowed your eyes at him trying to figure out the catch behind this obvious trick question. You shook your head. “Why would I know that?”

“When we met, I saw you watching me.” He replied. “You were checking me for all my weapons.”

You winked, “Maybe I was just checking you out.”

“Stop.” The Mandalorian said firmly and started walking again. The two of you got a few more feet before he spoke up once more. “If you didn’t know I had a jetpack, why would you jump over the edge?”

“Did you miss the part where your kid went flying over first?”

“You’d be willing to die for a stranger?”

You shrugged. “He’s a kid.” The Mandalorian stopped again and turned to stare at you. Your eyebrows furrowed in mild annoyance. Why was this conversation still happening? Maker, at this point you were hoping to be thrown in a carbonite freezer just to avoid his heavy gaze and questions. “Can you finish arresting me please?”

After a beat, the Mandalorian began to walk and you took that as a victory. You’d take what you could get today.

Watching that bastard grab Grogu and run away while he was left trapped in a mob of smugglers was the most rage Din had felt in quite a long time. He had been ruthless in cutting down the men that swarmed him, and he would’ve killed every last one in that moment if he had the time. As soon as he had a window, Din was sprinting after the man who had taken his son. 

Din hadn’t even realized you were still around until he saw you holding the man at the end of your weapon. The blaster bolts that fired around him missed you by an inch, but it hit the man right in the side and all of Din’s rage turned to fear when he watched Grogu get thrown over the edge. Even knowing he’d be able to fly after him⏤ it didn’t stop his stomach from turning to lead. Then fear morphed into absolute confusion when he watched you drop your weapon and literally leap over the railing. You disappeared out of sight and seconds later Grogu came flying over the railing back to safety. Din lunged forward to catch the kid before he hit the ground.

“Gev!” Din set Grogu on the ground, pointing at the boy to make it known he was serious, and then Din dove over the edge.

He didn’t understand, couldn’t fathom, what was going through your head. What kind of quarry would stop mid-escape to risk their life in the way you had? You had been in the clear. The smuggler’s let you pass and instead of disappearing when the opportunity presented itself, you came back and stabbed one of them. Din hated to admit it, but he had also been very aware that you stayed in the fight and he had a visceral reaction to watching you get elbowed in the face hard enough to collapse.

It was how the smugglers got the opportunity to grab Grogu.

Like a kriffing idiot, he had gotten distracted and nearly lost his son because of it.

‘He’s a kid.’ Your voice echoed through his head the entire walk to the tarmac. Initially, Din had been confused why you’d trust him to actually catch you. Did you actually know who he was? Your soulmate? And you assumed he’d have to catch you? But, when you admitted that you had no idea he even had a jetpack, Din felt floored. You hadn’t jumped over the edge trusting he’d catch you. You jumped over the edge thinking it was going to be the last thing you ever did, and you did it to save a stranger. No, a kid. That’s what you said. The look on your face, the tone of your voice, it was natural instinct for you. The obvious choice. 

You hadn’t given sacrificing your life for a child a second thought.

Din hadn’t decided yet if that made you honorable or insane.

A thought drifted through him before he could stop it. It was an action taken right out of a Mandalorian’s playbook. He forced it out of his head. You were not a Mandalorian. You were a quarry wanted for slave trading. A quarry. His soulmate quarry. Dank farrik. Din lowered the ramp of the Razor Crest and led you on. 

“Can I use the fresher before you shove me in carbonite?” Din did a double take at your words⏤ a common occurrence with you he was learning. You seemed to be entirely serious with your request though. You shrugged nonchalantly. “Being frozen with a full bladder is miserable.”

“You’ve been in carbonite before?”

You paused then pointed to your face with a tight lipped smile. “Bounty.”

“I’m not putting you in carbonite.” Din replied. He ignored the confusion drawn on your features and closed the ramp. Din then unlatched the binders and pointed down the very short hall. When Peli had rebuilt the Crest for him he had it modified for just a bit more space, but the fresher was nearly laid out in the same position. “Fresher’s that way. There’s no weapons in there.”

Din wanted to get the ship up in the air right now, but he didn’t trust you not to make a break for it. He got Grogu settled with a ration bar and then he perched himself on the edge of a supply crate facing toward the fresher. While waiting, Din pulled your weapon out from his belt and admired the metal work. A slugthrower. Impressive. He hadn’t seen one in a hot minute, and this one was built by someone who knew what they were doing. The dark metal was carved with swirls and designs of gold. The handle carved in wood and ivory. Though he hadn’t seen one in ages, Din was familiar with firearms. He popped out the ornate cylinder and raised an eyebrow at the single slug loaded in. All other five slots were empty.

The other weapon you carried was a simple metal dagger. Not as rare, but vibroblades were more popular. 

The mystery of who you were seemed to grow with every second he was stuck with you.

Din set the firearm down by his thigh and unintentionally his hand drifted up to rest over his left ribcage where your words stained his skin. ‘Would you really arrest your soulmate?’ All those years he thought those words, rolled them around in his head, there was a sharp difference. Now, he heard the words in your voice rather than his own. Even once he rid himself of you, that would linger.

He heard you shifting in the fresher and drew his own blaster to rest on his thigh⏤ pointed toward where you’d be, but with the trigger finger resting on the side of the weapon. He didn’t think he’d need to use it, but if Din had learned one thing about you thus far it was that you were unpredictable.

The fresher doors slid open and you stepped out. When your eyes landed on him, you let out a huff and lifted your hands in surrender. “You did a lot of work to just shoot me now.” Din motioned to the ladder leading up into the cockpit with his blaster. “You… want me to climb?” He pushed off the crate and gave a single nod. “Yeah, alright, sure.” You sighed and walked to the ladder. You paused to glance over your shoulder to Grogu who was still scarfing down his ration bar. “Your dad is kind of a dick. Anybody tell you that before?”

“Buir!” Grogu laughed and followed it with babbling.

“I’m taking that as a yes.” You mumbled to yourself and began to climb. Din followed. He wanted answers from you as much as he wanted to get off this world. At the top of the ladder, Din passed you and ushered you into the cockpit. He pointed to the passenger seat and didn’t miss how you rolled your eyes before dropping down. Din took his own seat, but spun the pilot’s chair around to face you first. He pulled the binders from his belt.

“Hands.” He ordered.

“Oh, good.” You smirked and offered him your wrists. “I was starting to miss these things.”

Din clamped them in place then turned back to begin lift off. It wasn’t until hyperspace that he turned back around, and Din was startled to see your eyes had been drooping closed. At his movement, they snapped open once more and your posture stiffened. He took the moment to really soak you in. Specifically, he let his eyes trace the golden band around your neck⏤ the lights of hyperspace reflected off the material same as it did his own beskar. At first glance, he’d label it a gaudy accessory that didn’t match the worn down nature of the rest of your outfit. However, even from here Din could see the faint scars that half hid under the gold. 

It wasn’t a necklace. It was a collar.

“What now, bucket head?”

“Now, you tell me why someone who is clever enough to escape multiple bounty hunters is reckless enough to visit another cantina right after running into me.”

You shrugged. “Maybe you’re not as intimidating as you think you are.”

Din leaned back in his seat, arms crossed, “All the other hunters find you in bars as well. Why’s a slave trader visiting every cantina in the galaxy?”

He really doubted the backstory the bounty puck was giving him now, seeing the metal that adorned your neck, but Din wanted to see your reaction. There was a brief flash of anger across your face, gone as quick as it came, and Din could tell you were biting the inside of your cheek to refrain from saying whatever words were spinning around in your head right now. Finally, you smirked, “I’m on the search for the galaxy’s best cocktail.” You leaned forward. “You wouldn’t believe what world is in the lead, Mandalorian.”

Din wasn’t sure what was more ironic⏤ that fate lumped him together with a quarry or that fate picked a person who never knew when to shut up. He shook his head, “You asked me earlier what it would take to get me off your back.” Your eyes marginally widened. “Do you still want to know?”

“Name it.” You answered.

“I want answers.” He stressed and watched as your jaw locked in irritation again. “What are you searching the galaxy for?”

For a long moment, you just stared at him. Din could see you analyzing him. It was that simple action, and the way he saw you sizing him up when you first met, that told him you weren’t just some mouthy, arrogant idiot. You were clever. It was probably how you escaped so many bounty hunters in the past. 

You shrugged, “Revenge.”

The answer didn’t necessarily startle him. It was only revenge, love, and greed that could have someone dedicate so much time to their end goal. Piecing together the parts of the puzzle he had gave him a blurry image. Din nodded, “Whoever you’re going after, do they deserve it?”

“Yes.” You replied without even a pause. “They do.”

You didn’t fully understand the line of questioning being thrown your way, but considering the options it wasn’t the worst scenario you found yourself in. The Mandalorian had turned back around without another word after asking you his last question and it now left you sitting in your seat exhausted and confused. More than anything you craved sleep. After your last 24 hours that wasn’t surprising. What did surprise you was how easily you were dozing off while being in this too small cockpit with the Mandalorian bounty hunter. It was like your stupid body didn’t perceive him as a current threat.

Maybe he wasn’t. He said he wasn’t going to throw you in the carbonite freezer, and from what you knew about Mandalorians they were the type who held honor above nearly everything else. You had given your freedom to save his kid and you prayed he didn’t take that action lightly. 

“I have another question.” The Mandalorian spoke without turning.

“Alright, but if you get another one then I’m allowed one now too.” You argued.

You just barely saw the tilt of his helmet in agreement. A part of you hoped he was done questioning you about your goals in life. It wasn’t a topic you wanted to explore any further with this stranger. But, the Mandalorian caught you off guard by veering far away from his previous questions.

“What you said when we met…” He hummed, “What did you mean by that?”

“The soulmate thing?” You snorted. “Yeah, hilarious, isn’t it? You spooked me for a second with how quiet you got after I said it, but now I know silence is just your go-to intimidation tactic, bucket head.” From where you sat you could see him stiffen and assumed it was from your chosen nickname for him. “Does your kind even have soulmates? Do I need to explain⏤”

“My kind?” He finally glanced over at you.

“Yeah. Whatever you are.”

“I’m human.”

You rolled your eyes. “Okay, you’re not allowed to sound so surprised that I didn’t know. You’re covered from head to toe in metal, and I just assumed you were the same kind as your kid.”

“Grogu was…adopted.” He replied. 

Huh. Grogu. That was the kid’s name. Well, that was one of two that you got. You leaned forward, resting your elbows on your knees after he turned back around to scan a map on the control panel. “So? What do I call you then? What’s your name?”

“Mando. You can call me Mando.”

“Mando as in Mandalorian?” You laughed. “Maker, even ‘bucket head’ is more imaginative than that. You seriously go by that?” Mando didn’t reply and you snickered some more under your breath before leaning back. “I’ll consider it, bucket head.”

You could hear him mumble a string of words that you were going to assume was his native language. You'd also assume he was cursing. That's usually the response you got. The cockpit was filled with the comfortable silence of hyperspace and despite being seated on a metal chair, you began to doze off again. It was getting harder and harder to keep your heavy lids open, and faintly you thought you heard the Mandalorian speak once more before you lost the battle against unconsciousness.

“Sleep, mirdala runi. You’re safe.”

mando'a translations:

gev: stop (stay) /// buir: Parent (father) /// mirdala runi: Clever soul

taglist: @onceinamando @hrtsforpascal @lil-dragon-draws @harriedandharassed @aheadfullofsteverogers @elfamosotoga @the-anchored-sailor-girl @garbo-lesbo @moonlqghts @stokeholdsblogdsblog @morks-watermelon @http-onie

#the mandalorian #din djarin #din djarin x you #din djarin x reader #mando #mando x reader #mando x you #mandalorian x you #mandalorian fanfic #mandalorian x reader #female reader #reader insert

[gyllenhaalstories]

LEG LOCK — ELWOOD DALTON 🏆

summary: happy international women’s day! let’s celebrate by getting absolutely wrecked by this this man who was sculpted by the gods.

warnings: i know nothing about the ufc, curse words, smut (the pet name doll is used, degradation, mild nipple play, worship kink, size difference* kink, marking, dacryphilia, blowjob & throat fucking, mild CNC, throatpie, choking, 69, pussy eating, fingering). 18+ NO MINORS.

word count: 4465

photo credits: me @/gyllenhaalstories / divider credits: @/firefly-graphics

notes: *you do not need to be smaller than him, size kink applies to all heights & weights. when road house comes out, let’s all disregard the fact that my portrayal of dalton will most likely be so far off, okay? okay. i want to give a big shoutout to @jakegooglyeyes​ for the ideas, i had to steal them to make this fic as filthy as possible. ❤️ thank you for reading & REMEMBER TO REBLOG!

“Come here, doll.” Dalton abandoned the magnificent view of the Vegas Strip he had from this hotel suite to turn his head in your direction. A couple of floors higher than where you were residing for the duration of the event and you would have your heads in the clouds. “I need you to show me how much you missed me.”

You walked from across the room, silk bathrobe wrapped around your body from when Dalton left to prepare for the fight and you relaxed in the tub that sat between the living and the bed rooms. Bath time was cut short, your eyes had been glued to the television screen while you watched the fight that ended incredibly quickly. In a blink of an eye, you got a text from your man indicating he was on his way (or so you assumed with the series of emojis he sent you, including an eggplant followed by droplets of sweat), then you heard knocking at the door.

The rest happened just as quickly, he replaced the hot and foamy water of the bath by cold one in which he dumped bucket after bucket of ice cubes to chill his worked up body. He hopped out of the ice bath and barely covered himself with a matching bathroom. He was still wearing the same compression shorts as from the fight, cup and all. A few glasses of electrolyte drinks, a pain killer as a safety measure and he was ready to go. His shorts were still damp. He was not playing.

You made your way to Dalton and wrapped your arms around his muscular shoulders. You had praised him enough, he could catch a break from all the ego inflation and try to get in touch with reality instead — with your help, of course. “You’re asking for a lot.” You smirked and pulled him in for a kiss. “You weren’t gone for a long time.”

“You’re so silly.” He mirrored your smirk as his tongue brushed over his teeth that had been covered by an official UFC branded mouth guard during the fight. His hands found their usual place at the small of your back. “I’m not asking, baby doll.” He rubbed his hands up and down on your back, surprising you when you felt some kind of pressure against your shoulders that was pushing you down.

You wanted to tell him he was needy, that he could enjoy the rest of his night and drop the bad boy act for an hour or two. You wanted to tell him you were still sore from a few days ago when he fucked you like it would be the last time, that he could wait a little longer. Your head wanted to tell him many things, your body, however, was only saying one thing.

His left hand was resting on top of your head, helping you go lower and lower until you dropped to your knees like the ‘good fucking girl’ you were. He gave you just enough freedom to take your time and leave a trail of kisses that started from his puffy pecs.

You traced the shape of them with your tongue before you gentle wrapped your lips around his small nipples. You flicked your tongue over the sensitive buds, drawing soft whimpers out of him. You gave his other nipple the same treatment and glanced at Dalton quickly, catching him as he was lolling his head back from the feeling of your warm mouth on his cold, hard nipples. You continued to paint his body with open mouthed kisses all the way down the small valley between his hard abs.

His eyes rolled backwards when you reached his Adonis belt — his sweet spot. His grip on your head loosened, you knew you were pushing all the right buttons. He would never get enough of you worshipping him. Whether it was with your words, your hands or your mouth; he soaked it all up and let it spark fireworks through his body. All those kisses and touches only made him even more aroused, pumping blood to his constricted cock.

Your kisses lingered on each side of his waist, making sure to suck just long enough to leave marks that were darker than his tanned skin. You gently licked over the groove of the muscle until you noticed a wet spot on his skin. You kept going until both sides looked bruised, unlike the rest of body. He left the octagon pretty much intact after the victory by knock out.

“I fucking knew it.” You raised your eye brows, looking up to meet Dalton’s darkened blue eyes. “You missed me.” He chuckled, satisfied by how you were treating him. He felt special a lot of the time, especially when cameras and spotlights followed his every movement on the stage while he threw punches at his opponents. However, nothing could compare with the way you made him feel like the king of the world.

From your position, down on the floor, he could absolutely pass as a king. He looked tall, impressive — intimidating. Dalton was towering over you and enjoying himself while he did it. You let your hands explore his toned legs, noticing how some muscles twitched under your touch. You continued to cover his lower abdomen with kisses and hickeys until you, too, got impatient enough to feel the urge to rip the shorts off his body.

Dalton’s arms moved out of the way after he let the bathrobe fall to his feet. He arched his back just enough to push his crotch impossibly closer to your face. He clicked his tongue as some imaginary clock was ticking as well. You needed to hurry up.

You squeezed your thumbs between his hips and the waist band of his shorts. You leaned your head on the hand was now caressing your cheek while you pulled down on the bottoms until he could easily step out of them. You discarded the damp fabric and let him adjust to the freedom. Your eyes widened with excitement — and hunger — as you watched his cock twitch and throb before you.

When you opened your mouth, awfully slow in his opinion, he quickly guided himself to the hole you were presenting. He barely gave you time to stick your tongue out that the tip of his cock was pushing deep in your mouth, a grunt of relief escaped his open mouth. “Been thinking of that mouth of yours all fucking day.”

You gagged around him, hands gripped on the smooth skin of his waxed legs. The trick that said to squeeze your thumb inside your hand had long stopped working for you. Dalton liked it rough — no stupid tricks could save you. You moaned around him and tried to bop your head back and forth to coat his veiny length with spit. You opened your eyes for a split second, meeting with his intense gaze while tears already started to pool and threaten to fall down your face.

“Gonna make yourself look all pretty for me, doll?” He started to thrust his hips, refusing to follow the pace you were setting. He wanted to feel you, all of you. He would not stop until he got what he wanted. His hands met on your head, he was already locking his fingers together.

Your eyes widened with fear and a small scream got stuck in your throat. You pulled away — while you still had time — to take as many deep breaths as he would let you.

“Answer me.” Dalton ordered.

“Yes. So pretty,” you obeyed, panting. “Just how you like it.”

“Just how I love it.” He corrected you with an arched brow. He guided your head to his crotch again. “Make yourself cry on my cock, baby.”

You nodded frantically and opened your mouth, jaw relaxed with your tongue out, already begging to taste more of his precum. Slowly, you took him in. Inch by inch, you adjusted to the size and weight of him against your tongue. You pushed your head as far as you could take it and pulled away. You spit on his cock and tried again and again, building speed and rhythm that made Dalton grunt of pleasure.

Whether you were moaning or whining around his cock, he did not care. He enjoyed the vibrations too much to stop and let you speak. With his hands on your head, he helped you move back and forth despite the strings of saliva that dripped down your chin and despite the tears that streamed down your face. He made you look up at him, and he could have finished right here and there in your mouth as he took in the sight.

It was messy. You looked so messy. Spit and tears had fallen down on your exposed breasts. You, too, were no longer wearing the silky bathrobe and it made him want to cover your whole body with various marks. Hickeys, spit, cum — whatever he could come up with to mark you as his, he would do it. And you would let him. Happily.

“Oh, doll,” Dalton chuckled in between moaning. “How could I not want to ruin you when you look so beautiful for me?” He gripped on your hair a bit, anchoring you down on his cock to keep you in place while he kept going with the dirty talk. “Let me hear your cute noises when you choke on me. Don’t fucking hold back.”

So, you did just that... Not that you had a choice, really. Dalton had taken over control of your strokes. All you could do was take it and let him hear how much you liked it. You reached to touch your neck and felt the size of the bulge his cock was creating in your throat. It hurt so bad. Your throat was hurting from the intense fucking, your eyes were hurting from the relentless crying and your knees were hurting from your position. You did not know what you should focus on.

Dalton figured it out for you as he made you hold his cock in your throat again. You could swear you felt him throb in your mouth, and judging by how he pulled your head away from him, he felt it too. “Jesus fucking Christ.” He laughed, his chest rising up and down from his breathing. “You’re so greedy, baby. You want me to cum already?”

“Yes, yes, please! You sounded so adorable when you begged.

“Nah,” He walked away from you, towards the bed. “You don’t deserve it yet.”

You put your palms on the floor and crawled on all fours, following him.

He fell on the bed, heavily, with a loud groan. The mattress curved under his weight and he waited until you were kneeling by his feet again. He reached his knee up to your chin — the same one he used to knock his opponent out for good — and made your head tilt up to look at him. “You good?”

You nodded and resisted the urge to wipe your face clean. It was uncomfortable. It was degrading.

He adored it. “Use your words.”

“I’m good.” You sounded confident enough to earn gentle taps of the back of his hand against your cheek.

Without losing anymore time, Dalton pushed you back down on his cock. Deeper than before. Deeper than he had done it in a long time.

You coughed and choked and gagged — a symphony of sounds that only got him craving for more. He could not move his hips a lot from this sitting position, so his expert hands did all the work for him.

The more you were fighting back, audibly yet incoherently begging for mercy, the deeper he was fucking your throat.

You could not even open your eyes, all you did was try and grab at anything you could reach to try and hold you back from running away from his cock. Not that you wanted to, it was just reflexes sending alarms to your brain to stop the torture. But it felt too good, but you wanted him too much.

He noticed you managed to slide your hands between his thick thighs and the bed, keeping you in place but also making it so that your head was at the perfect position. More back and forth, more strokes of your head on his sensitive cock and he made you stop moving.

Inside of your mouth, you twirled your tongue around his tip, while also trying to breathe as best as you could, guessing he was getting close and that the end was near. You were working hard to earn his release, to earn yours too so you could extinguish the fire burning inside of your lungs. You could have never guessed what he was about to do.

With impressive balance, Dalton leaned back and lifted his legs. First, he moved each leg on each side of your arms. He kept going, rather slowly, until his legs reached your shoulders. His feet were now hovering your back, heels pressing between your shoulder blades. Dalton crossed his feet together and erased the distance between his thighs — between his thighs and your head.

Soon enough, you felt the muscles of his thighs on each side of your face. Your eyes widened with surprise, with a hint of fear too. He stopped tightening until you were in a solid leg lock you could not escape. Well, you could, but that meant you would lose the privilege of feeling his cock in your mouth and that was much too high of a price to pay. The pressure of your position, locked between his legs and his cock, made you dizzy. That paired with the cruel lack of oxygen, it felt like you were choking without the feeling of his rough hand around your neck.

Dalton moved his feet, pushing his cock so far down your throat that you could not even physically gag around him, all that was left for you was to continue sobbing and to “Take it, take my fucking cock!” He grunt, nose scrunched and lips curled back. “The more you cry, the less I wanna let you go.”

Your eyelids started to feel heavy and your fists let go of the sheets you were strongly holding on to. Your hands travelled to the outside of his thighs were his muscles were bulging with the effort.

“You’re my perfect little doll.” He reminded you of your metaphorical position, just a toy for him to use until he unleashed all of his pleasure inside you. He also reminded you of your literal position, his feet digging against your spine to the point it started to hurt.

You gave three quick taps to his right thigh.

He smiled down at you, eyes and expression darkened with his lust. He bit on his lower lip while the pleasure was building dangerously big in his core.

You tapped him again as you started to squirm inside the fatal leg lock. You gathered all the strength you had to look up at him.

At the moment your eyes met, he shot his load of cum deep in your throat. Dalton came in many ropes of cum that you swallowed instinctively, not that you could do anything about it. He was lodged so deep inside of you that he forced you to take him and his cum until he was finished.

Boy, that first breath of fresh air felt even better than watching your man win fights after fights, belts after belts. Dalton freed you of the leg lock and pushed on your forehead to get you off him. Your knees gave in under you and you sat down with each leg caging you in. You were seeing dark spots and colours, or maybe that was the bruise on the knee he used to fly on his opponent’s face. It was hard to tell. And it was hard to think.

His chest was reddened from the force of his orgasm, his cock was a slobbery mess of spit that dripped down to his balls and the floor. Your chin was dripping too, but neither of you had it in you to clean up. If only he had thought of filming you being the best slut in this goddamn world for him. His right hand held his cock, trying to stop the twitching. His left hand stretched towards you with his fist closed. He smile when you bumped your fist against it.

“Thank you.” You whispered, more like mouthed. Your throat felt so sore that the vibrations of your voice were painful.

“You have such good manners, baby girl.” He was now cradling your head in both of his hands, not so accidentally smearing more of your spit over your face. “I trained you good.”

Your hands reached up to your jaw and you massaged each side of it lightly.

In the meantime, Dalton pushed himself further on the bed and laid down, squeezing a pillow under his head to prop himself up. He used his pointer and middle fingers in a come hither motion, ordering you to get on bed with him.

You happily obliged, definitely needing some recovery time after the roughness with which he had fucked your mouth. You both laughed when he saw just how much you were struggling to lift yourself off the floor, so he offered you a strong arm to hold on to and he pulled you up on your shaky legs.

Dalton clicked his tongue in disapproval when he understood you were trying to lay down next to him. “Who said I was done? I certainly did not.” He had you on your tired knees again, pulling you down so your faces were closer and he could kiss your swollen and spit covered lips. One of his hands travelled down your body, down to your pussy that had been left untouched this whole time.

You watched him, watching you. His eyebrows moved in funny ways and his jaw dropped while his fingers dipped between your soaked folds. You moaned softly when he smeared your wetness over your clit, the outside of your pussy and even your inner thighs that were just as messy as the rest.

“If you want us to stop...” He interrupted his sentence with a rough kiss that he ended by pulling on your bottom lip. “Why is this pretty pussy so wet for me?”

You failed to come up with any clever response, instead you let your moans and whimpers speak for themselves.

He slapped ever so lightly your pussy, making you flinch at his touch. “Come on, baby. I need to taste you.” He stretched his arm out to catch you as you tried, again, to lay down. “Not like that. I want you to sit on my face.”

You glanced at him quizzically. You were exhausted — definitely more exhausted than the man who had one of the most critical fights of his career just a few hours ago. You failed to choose between rest and pleasure.

So Dalton picked for you. He manhandled you around, helping you climb on top of his head in the position he wanted you in. You were on top of him, your core just a few inches away from his mouth and you were facing the rest of his body. His cock was still hard, throbbing with the need to be touched by you again. He wrapped his arms around your legs and forced you down on him.

At first, you felt his tongue that was poking out of his mouth. He licked over and through your folds, teasing your clit that he sucked on for a few minutes. Then, you flinched again as his tongue poked at your entrance. He switched between licking and sucking, so that you could warm up to the familiar pleasure that his mouth procured you. With goosebumps all over your skin, and his tongue abruptly entering you, you fell forward and your face met with his cock again.

He was not the smartest man, but when it came to having his way with you, Dalton would always come up with a reason or an idea to get his dick wet and preferably buried in your holes. It did not matter which one, as long as he was inside you, he felt like a champion.

You caved in to the urge of feeling his cock again, of tasting it and of worshipping him more than you already had. You leaned on your hands that were digging in the mattress of the hotel bed. You bopped your head up and down on his length, taking your time to feel every part of him. You wrapped your lips tight around his tip, feeling how it stretched you out. You licked over the bulging veins of his cock, moaning along with him when he let out noises against your core.

Dalton planted his feet on the bed, legs spread open to give you space. He would soon tip over the point of overstimulation, but you felt way too good to tell you to stop. He focused on you, on tasting you and on pulling the sweetest sounds out of you. And then, he jerked his hips forward.

You choked on his cock and coughed.

He sucked on your clit to make you forget about it. He did it again, replacing whatever reaction you had with more waves of pleasure that built up at the bottom of your tummy. He played this game for a little while until he could not stop himself anymore. He fucked your mouth, the more you drooled — the deeper and the harder he fucked it. Simultaneously, he pushed his tongue in your pussy and swallowed all of you, moaning at your taste.

You pulled your head away from him, a small scream emanated from you when you felt your hole being stretched by a thick finger. You mumbled a few curse words that earned you a second digit inside of you. Was it a reward or a punishment? You had no idea, other than it felt amazing and it made the whole night worth it, from the sobbing to the lack of breathing. When you adjusted to the blissful pain of the stretching, you continued to suck him off, focusing on the swollen, red tip of his cock.

He was not having any of it. Dalton clenched his abs, fought his own tiredness and sensitivity and fucked your mouth hard. His fingers matched the pace, pushing in and out of you fast and deep. “Attagirl,” He grunted. “ So damn hot.” he praised you and stilled his hips so that his cock was hitting the back of your throat and you struggled around him. “Love the way you clench around me when you’re choking on my cock.” You gagged as an answer. “Makes you tighter.”

Sounds of protest failed to provide you with any mercy, he was fucking your mouth and your pussy like he owned them. Which he did, and he was making sure you would remember that you belonged to him for many days to come.

He felt you coming. He felt you clenching even tighter on his fingers to the point he struggled to move them at all. He kissed and nibbled some more on the skin of your inner thighs that were squeezing his head just like his own thighs had squeezed yours. Quickly he focused on sucking your swollen clit into his mouth and moaning against it.

And you felt him cumming in your mouth for the second time that night. Your orgasms lingered together, grunts and moans melted into each other as you both tried to drag the wave of euphoria for as long as you could ride it.

Much to your surprise, Dalton was the one to tap out. He was squirming under you before you had time to swallow every drop of his seed.

You carefully licked what had fallen on his abs and pelvis until you cleaned him up. At the same time, he stopped sucking on your clit to lick you clean with a flat tongue and wait as you released his fingers from your grip. He sucked them in his mouth and released them with an audible pop.

He granted you with the permission to, finally, lay down on the comfortable bed. Your head rested by his hip as his rested by your thighs. His fingertips gently caressed your skin, not even minding that you were sweaty just like him. “Doll?”

You hummed in response, too tired to lift your head and look at him. Instead, you admired the view that you had from your spot, all cozied up against his body. Your eyes were not close, but not wide open either. You appreciated the quite blurry appearance of his puffy abs and v-line, of the curve of his hips, and of how his torso was rising and falling down to the rhythm of his breathing. You tried to match his deep breaths and slow releases.  

“You’re fucking amazing.” He turned his head to plant a few kisses on your thighs, smoothing over the spots where he had been gripping hard on you.

“I know.” You chuckled along with him.

You both agreed you would clean up later. The rest could wait, not everything though — Dalton was already looking forward to wreak havoc with room service.

“Sounds like a good plan to me.” You let him take a power nap next to you while you replayed the events of the night in your head. “El’?”

He leaned on his elbows so that he could look at you. You were so beautiful, fucked out of your mind like that. No wonder why his phone lock screen was a picture of your post orgasm glow. He noticed you were smirking. He carried the reputation of being a straight up pain in the ass. You helped with keeping him balanced and somewhat sound of mind. But he loved the way you matched his crazy just as well as you kept him grounded. That push and pull game of feeding into his unhinged antics and keeping his feet not too far up from the ground was one of his favourite things.

“That was so much fun.” You let out a sigh. He responded with a content “Yeah, I know”.

“I was thinking of something...” You refrained from pointing out it was an usual event for him to use his brain to do the thinking rather than his fists — or his cock. “What other battle moves can I practice on you next time?”

#jake gyllenhaal smut #jake gyllenhaal imagine #jake gyllenhaal x reader #elwood dalton smut #jake gyllenhaal fanfic #jake gyllenhaal

[neuroprincess]

Baby's First Tantrum - Melissa Schemmenti/Female Reader

Melissa Schemmenti/Female Reader

Summary: A garden carrot and some earth lead the moms to deal with LuLu's first tantrum.

Classification: Domestic fluff

Warnings: None

Word count: +1300

Unrevised

Formula and breast milk were quickly replaced by a variety of different foods, from fruit and vegetables to meat, occasionally light desserts and often pasta. This is Luca's diet and, to his moms' pride, he eats almost everything without hesitation. But that doesn't mean that the couple give everything or let him eat whatever he wants whenever he wants, they don't give sugar, candies, chocolate or anything with condensed milk, the first sweet he tried was a birthday cake in the first year of life and didn't seem interested. The boy has a great interest in vegetables in particular, taking the beans out of the pods, hunting for pieces of zucchini in the rice, eating pumpkins as if they were watermelon, having fun destroying the "little trees" aka broccoli with teeth, which may have helped his teething more than the dozens of silicone toys bought. He also likes fruit, bananas not so much, apples only in juice, but he loves citrus fruits, can devour an orange easily on his own and loves to crush tangerine slices in chubby little hands before eating it. Any pasta on the colorful plate will disappear in less than half an hour, without even needing help. Sometimes Aunt Kristen fills him up with pumpkin tortelli while no one is looking, his favorite and her most favorite crime. In short, since babyhood he has developed a good relationship with food, with different tastes, colors, scents and textures. It's no different with what's planted and harvested. Mel's mother keeps a vegetable garden at the back of the house, full of healthy tomato plants, bright strawberries, long-stemmed carrots, radishes, green beans and a dozen spices that make the Schemmenti's recipes extra special. It's a sunny Sunday after a rainy week, perfect for checking, fixing and taking care of anything the garden needs, and of course the little boy, who has just learned to run and jump, wanted to join in, exploring the environment and the places he couldn't reach before growing a few inches in the last quarter. There are a few toys that the other grandchildren play with too, flowers in different colors, ceramic decorations from gnomes to colorful frogs, but his main interest is to be around his moms. 

"LuLu, which color is that?" the teacher asks pointing to the blue watering can in hand, seeing it as a great opportunity to teach him colors and new things.  

"Bwue!" he shouts excitedly and shrilly, the way a toddler can "Sky is bwue!"  

"Yes, sweetheart. The sky is blue." Y/N agrees, caressing her son's coppery hair, then puts the bucket hat on to protect him from the strong sun "And the trees?" 

"Yewow!"  

"No, it's green, like grass." she takes some grass from under their feet and shows it to him before putting it in his little hand so he can feel it better "Grass is nice, isn't it?!"  

"Green..." he repeats.  

Luca agrees, opening a big smile, one very similar to the other mom's, showing teeth. Green eyes sparkle as he plays with the small amount of grass, until a gust of wind snatches it away from him and scatters everything across the garden where it belongs. He looks at the scene with sadness and tears in the eyes, a cute little peck if it didn't mean imminent crying. Not only had he inherited his mom's tough and temperamental side, but also her sensitive side, the one she usually showed with family and friends. They had to be alike in every way, she thinks to herself as she lovingly caresses her five-month-old belly, wondering if their little girl will be like that too. Her wife quickly comes to the rescue, attracting attention by acting surprised as she pulls a carrot out of the ground, it's like magic for LuLu, who quickly forgets about the grass and concentrates on the vegetable, enchanted by it... and the brown thing around. 

"And which color is that, bambino?" she asks as he approaches with slow and clumsy steps, there's no answer. Before she can say anything else, the carrot is practically snatched out of her hands, and he immediately tries to put the dirt-filled piece in his mouth, but is stopped by his mom "No, sweet..."

"Mama Mel, mine." the baby protests unsatisfactorily, clenching hands in frustration and frowning in an angry expression "Eat."  

"You'll eat, but first we have to wash the carrots, sweetheart." Melissa gets up, putting the dirty gloves in the pocket of her gardening apron, going to the garden tap to do it.  

"Mama!" he turns to the younger, pointing to the carrot that's moving away from him so that she can do something about it "Mine carrot!"  

"LuLu..."  

"No! No! No! Mine!" he now shouts scandalously while he watches the vegetable being washed "Noooo!" and continues as the teacher approaches, kneeling down to offer the food.  

His agitation only increases with the gesture, Luca continues to shout more and more, like never before. Both try to calm him down patiently explaining why washing is necessary and that he can now eat. This is completely ignored during the child's tantrum. All the boy wants is the carrot as it was before and to eat the dirt together, no matter how much the moms insist that it might be bad for him, it doesn't matter, it's what he wants at the moment and the only thing that matters, his needs. It's not as if they haven't faced some of their son's scenes before, but never like this, on this scale when the boy starts throwing himself on the ground too. Hands and feet hitting the soft grass hard, hot tears running copiously and shrill screams make up the first official tantrum, with the bonus that he's getting very dirty in the process. 

"LuLu, my love, please stand up." Y/N tries to lift him off the ground, without success, considering how chubby and strong he can be, her growing belly not helping at all with the task. 

"Bambino, be a good boy! You don't have to cry like that..." Mel is a little harsher in tone, just like the one she uses when her students are making her lose hair or giving headaches "Look, the carrot is here, mama just took the dirt off, you can eat it now, sweetheart." she tries to point out, only making the situation worse.  

"I want!" he shouts, standing in front of them "Mine!" and takes it from her hands, staring sadly.  

 "Earth is bad for your stomach, love." the younger explains once there is a space for it, and the crying stops momentarily.  

"Carrots eat." even at less than two years old, he already seems to know how to argue "Me too."  

"But earth tastes really bad, you know what it reminds me of? Chocolate, it tastes like chocolate." she tries to argue back, using his aversion to food and how the two things are almost the same color.  

"And that's where the worms live, do you want to leave them without a home? We can't eat someone else's home, LuLu." the redhead helps, patting his back with one hand and wiping away the tears staining his flushed cheeks with the other "Right?"  

"Right!" the boy agrees after thinking for a second and he smiles at them both, and they sigh in relief, then smile at each other. 

He finally gives in and takes a big bite out of the vegetable, not managing to tear off as much as he wanted, but leaving a mark with his teeth and taking just enough to taste it. His eyes close in delight and the toddler flashes a huge smile. Without even remembering that a minute ago he was trying to eat earth, in less than five minutes he totally forgets what he wanted and what has just happened, Luca runs excitedly around the garden exploring every part that his sneaky little legs can take him and hands can reach, all the while eating pieces of his carrot proudly grown by Grandma. A little adventure in the garden on a late Sunday afternoon, the best family time  

"Ready for round two?" Y/N asks as she sits on the garden stool, putting her hand on belly.  

"Ready for her?"   

"Nah, she won't give us any work. I'm talking about making LuLu take a bath, our son is so dirty." 

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[jen-with-a-pen]

ALL TIED UP - FIVE

Previous ⊹ Series

summary: Steve's night is made when his barista ends up sharing a class with him. But Steve's paranoia gets the best of him– can he really trust his gut?

pairings: Art Student!Frat Brother!Steve Rogers x Film Student!Sorority Sister!Reader

word count: 2.66k

warnings: flirting, fluff, hand holding, closeness, steve is adorable when he's nervous, paranoia, unease, cursing, barista lore™

a/n: had fun writing this one as we build up to friday! i might be switching the days/chapters around in the next few, but we'll see. depends on the depravity of my brain 😈

gif by @paliaphrodite | additional graphics + dividers by me ♥

my ao3 | my masterlist | all tied up masterlist Read this fic HERE on ao3! ♥Reblogs and comments are highly appreciated as always♥

Last Thursday.

Learning how to draw, when he already knows how to draw, makes Steve feel bad at drawing.

Sitting in the lecture hall of the art school, he doodles over the half-assed notes he manages to take during the first thirty minutes of class. Usually, he loves Drawing 101; it’s his easiest, only late-night class each week and one of the only times he can relax without worrying about one of the brothers barging in with another stupid homework question. Usually, it's just him, his earbuds turned up a touch too high, and whatever subjects the instructor places in front of him. On Thursday nights, nothing stands between him, an easel, and two straight hours of sketching pots and people. 

Except when a said-Thursday night happens to fall on ‘mandatory lecture’ day.

It hasn’t been an hour when Steve gives up trying to force himself to focus, instead choosing to mindlessly doodle over and around the page. The Drawing 101 guest professor continues to drone on about different types of graphite in the pencils kits Steve and twenty-odd other kids in the course were forced to buy. Steve doesn’t understand– nor does he particularly give a shit– as to why a 3H pencil is better over a 3B pencil, or how using an 8B pencil isn’t preferred over a 7B pencil.

A pencil is a fucking pencil.

Steve sighs, failing to stifle a yawn. No amount of coffee– not even the triple espresso concoction his barista had him try earlier that day– could save him from falling asleep in this godforsaken, decades-old room with dimmed lights and sporadically-filled seats scattered amongst the vast sea of empty ones. Honestly, nobody ever came to monthly lectures, save for when their usual professor mentioned the material would be part of their written midterms. Guest lecturers result in a lesser turnout, too, and Steve partially wishes he’d chosen to spend it back at the café or in the library. As the professor continues on to the next type of pencil, the double doors at the back of the room creak open. Still dazed in a bored stupor, Steve cranes his neck over his shoulder to see which unlucky bastard is almost an hour late to the snoozefest. 

He immediately wakes up, shooting up in his seat as if a bucket of ice water were splashed on him. He can’t believe what he sees: it’s her. Her. His barista. 

Mouth agape, he stares as she slowly closes the doors, careful not to draw too much attention to her late arrival. When nobody bothers to acknowledge her, she makes her way down the carpeted steps of the lecture hall in search of refuge in an empty seat. Her eyes dart across the aisles, desperate for just one, inconspicuous place that will draw the least attention. 

As she combs the rows with a furrowed brow and bottom lip slipping adorably between her teeth, Steve realizes he’s got some sort of a chance. Eyes dart to the professor, then back to her. Steve subtly raises a hand, waving to get her attention. Locking eyes, she finally sees him. Relief and surprise replace her bitten lip with a beaming smile. Steve’s heart soars, skipping far more than several beats. He doesn’t– he can’t– take his eyes off her as she quickly shuffles through the row of seats, plopping down next to him and dropping a tote bag at her feet. She pulls out a purple notebook and pen, slouching back into her seat with a relieved sigh, knee brushing gently against Steve’s. A ghost of the sweetest-smelling perfume drifts into his nostrils and he has the urge to replace his oxygen supply with it.

Steve feels like he’s dreaming. Cloud nine, light as a feather, the whole fucking nine yards. He skims over her features in the dim light of the lecture hall– the curve of her lips as she whispers to herself, flipping through the pages of her notebook, trying to find a blank spot; her eyelashes that flick up and down as she copies down the date and class number. He trails down her neck, crossing over the gold bar necklace she wears every day, to her shoulders and arms, her hands. When his eyes drift back up to her face, she’s staring back. Heat blooms in his cheeks and nerves constrict his chest in embarrassment. She smirks, shaking her head and turning her attention to the professor’s current ramblings on B and HB pencils. Steve opens his mouth to speak but quickly shuts it.

What would he even say? How would he get away with trying to talk to her in the middle of the lecture? The professor would hear him, he’d get called out, everyone would see him–

She huffs, turning to another blank notebook page. Steve side-eyes her as she quietly tears the page out and scribbles something on the first line. Side-eyeing Steve, a small smile pulls at the corners of her lips as she discreetly slides the paper over to him.

hi stranger.

Steve can’t help but grin. It spills across his lips as more heat blooms, trailing up his ears and down his neck. Trying not to seem too eager, he clicks his own pen and scrawls a response. The professor’s voice fades into background noise, going through one ear and out the other. He’s a goner and so is Steve.

YOURE THE STRANGER, STRANGER

He slides the paper back to her. She scoffs a laugh, smile growing wider. 

last minute class drop + switch. u know how it is.

TRUE. DIDNT KNOW YOU WERE AN ART KID

She shakes her head, quickly scribbling when Steve cocks his head, mouthing a ‘what?’

film kid. have to take art class for credit. only one available.

Steve’s surprised at her response, nodding once he thinks it over. It makes sense. 

She makes sense.

It fits her. It fits the way she moves, the way she carries herself, the ease in which she comes up with witty comebacks. It’s then and there Steve really thinks about the contrast between the two of them– the way he’s perceived versus how he perceives her. He’s a frat brother, a six-foot-two guy with muscles he doesn’t know how to use yet, and a lifelong artist who doesn’t fit in– no matter how much he tries to claw and fight his way out of the hole people dig and throw him in.

If anything, he doesn’t make sense. 

Brow furrowing and jaw set, Steve’s caught in the downward spiral he’s been fighting to keep at bay since coming to Richards– since he pledged his life away to Sigma Theta Beta and the never-ending identity crisis the brothers force upon him every waking moment. But, it’s with her that he feels more like himself than anywhere else in the goddamned world. It’s with her he wants to– willingly– be himself. He wants to be himself with her.

He, however, doesn’t realize the hack job he’s performing on his poor cheek tissue until a soft hand covers his, squeezing lightly. Warmth spreads like wildfire across Steve’s skin, breaking him free and bringing him back to the real world. Concern veils over his barista’s expression; her soft, searching gaze jumps between his baby blues.

‘You okay?’ she mouths, studying him, hand still on his. Her brow twitches upwards when he still doesn’t respond. Steve holds up an index finger and goes back to responding on the paper. 

SORRY. LOT ON MY MIND

She nods heavily in agreement. 

same. pencildick up there is putting me to sleep. how do you even do it?

Steve bites a laugh back. 

DRAWING, COUNTING THE CLOCK

Before she takes it back Steve adds,

AND NOW YOU.

Her smile is bright enough to light up the darkened lecture hall. 

Two whole pages are filled by the time class lets out. Front and back. 

Steve allows his barista to take the lead in following other students out of the lecture hall. Buzzing conversations reveal a shared eagerness to get the hell out of there and go spend the rest of their Thursday night doing something else more worthy of their precious time. Steve slings his bag over his shoulder as he follows close behind, verbally continuing their written conversation about her shift from earlier in the day and swapping ridiculous ways on how they’ll manage to work every type of pencil into their midterm.

As he plods next to her, Steve fights an innate urge to place a light hand on her lower back to guide her out on their way to the parking lot. Instead, he gets the door, jokingly half-bowing with an outstretched arm to the second set of double doors. Continuing out of the building, Steve takes a breath, deciding now is the perfect time to ask if she’s busy tonight. Instead, though, she stops abruptly. Steve runs directly into her, arms jutting out instinctively to steady both of them out of sheer instinct. Grabbing her shoulders, she spins around to face him, closer to his chest than either realized.

Steve feels his ears turn red again. She looks up at him, blinking before taking a step back, lips parting slightly. An awkward beat hangs in the air before Steve clears his throat and rubs his neck.

"You, uh,” he swallows, preparing himself for the inevitable, “You maybe wanna go grab a bite t’eat, or somethin’?" 

Her eyes widen, lips twitching at the corners. She looks like she’s about to answer before quickly realizing something, as if internally scolding herself for even looking excited. Pressing her lips together, her eyes dart back to her phone.

"Shit, I–" she quickly types a response and shoves it back in her pocket, exhaling in frustration. 

"What is it?"

"I would love to, Steve. I really would, but," she closes her eyes and sighs, "I can't. My sisters need me back at the house. They said it’s an ‘emergency.’" She adds sarcastic air quotes, rolling her eyes. 

"Oh!” Relief fills Steve’s chest, thankful she’s not purposefully blowing him off with some shitty excuse. “Okay, no yeah, I–I totally get it, family can be-"

She smiles softly, shaking her head and taking his hand to run a thumb over his knuckles. The gesture is so casual, so soft, yet it sends goosebumps up Steve’s arm. 

"Oh, no. No, they're not my actual sisters. They're, um, my sorority sisters." She flinches as 'sorority' leaves her lips.

Steve blanches, swallowing a disbelieving laugh. He can't help the lopsided smile spreading across his face. He can’t help taking both her hands in his and holding them in excitement. The odds of it– all of it– all the things, of all the people, she’s the one to make him feel less alone. She’s the one that understands everything.

He tries, and fails, to contain his excitement.

"No, I– I completely get it. My frat brothers are insufferable and I'm the newest pledge, so–"

It’s her turn to blanche. "You? You’re a new pledge, too?"

"Yeah, I, uh, I’m required by my scholarship–"

"Oh thank God it's not just me!"

"There's one for sisters, too?" Steve gawks. He’s truly in shock at the audacity of Richards to make any student required to endure the circle of Hell that is Greek life. He squeezes her hands. She matches him.

"Of course there is, meathead,” she snorts. “Title nine, or whatever the hell."

Steve nods. "I can’t tell you how glad I am not to be alone in this. It's fucked up, but maybe not as much now that I know you're in the same boat as me."

He pulls her ever-so-slightly closer. She lets him.

"Guess that makes you the Jack to my Rose."

Steve furrows his bro, cocking his head like a confused puppy. 

"Oh God– Don't tell me you've never seen Titanic," she gasps, feigning offense and sending Steve off course, thinking he’s fucked up somehow.

Sarcasm isn’t his strong suit.

"I, uh– no, not that I know of. I–I mean I've heard of the Titanic, but I don't remember the– well I know there's a movie, but I–" 

She laughs, full and genuine, stepping forward as her hands leave his, placing one on his shoulder. Her touch is soft, gentle, more comforting than anything he’s ever felt. 

"I'll show ya some time. Don't worry."

Squeezing his bicep, her fingertips glide down to his hand, grazing his fingers for the slightest moment before slipping between them, lacing them together. Electricity shoots up Steve's arm. Without another word she leads him out of the building, walking down the sidewalk lit by the moon rising overhead and scattered street lamps illuminating the parking lot. 

Steve decides then and there he’ll go wherever she takes him. Anywhere. Everywhere.

She stops at the edge of the parking lot and turns to him. "This is where I leave ya, my car’s over yonder.” She nods to a blue sedan with a Richards sticker on the back windshield sitting underneath one of the street lamps. “Plus, I’d like to save you walkin’ me to my car for another night.”

Butterflies. Steve nods. She scoffs a laugh.

“Text me, meathead. I'll see ya tomorrow?"

“Tomorrow.”

She releases his hand in slow motion and Steve hopes she’s relishing every bit of physical contact with him as he is with her. He heads to his own car parked in the darker side of the lot under the shadows of the perimeter trees and dimmer lamps, swaying languidly and ambling across the pavement in a trance. Steve makes a note to himself: watch more movies, because he sure feels like he's in one. 

The trance is broken when a split second of what sounds like a scream echoes over the lot and is snuffed out just as abruptly as it started. 

Steve freezes, key halfway into unlocking the driver’s side door. Ears prick up, breath held firm in his chest. Turning over his shoulder, he gasps, startled as a blue car– her car– slowly backs out from under the streetlamp and exits onto the road casually. Steve watches it disappear from view. The sound of the engine gunning it down the road leaves Steve alone in the dark, a sick uneasiness pooling in his gut.

He gets in his car, tossing his bag into the passenger seat and pulling out his phone.

You okay? Did you hear that?

Steve turns the engine over and throws the car into drive, foot hard on the brake before checking her text back. 

Hear what? I’m okay! :)

The uneasiness doesn’t leave him. She doesn’t usually text like that. 

“Fuck, get a grip, Steve,” he mutters to himself, resting his head against the steering wheel. He takes a second to gather himself and calm his nerves. The paranoia he’s been trained to feel thanks to his brothers, in combination with the fear of fucking everything up with his barista tonight, must be mixing together and clashing against every active nerve in his body. He’s fine. She’s fine.

She’s obviously driving right now, of course she wouldn’t fucking text how she normally does. She’s probably using voice text. Calm. Down.

Steve sends another text before tossing his phone into the passenger’s seat, the unease refusing to dissipate. He turns on the radio, turning up the song blasting from the speakers in a sorry attempt to silence his racing thoughts. 

No big deal. Get home safe.

His phone stays silent the rest of the night. It stays silent as he gets home, as he throws a bowl of ramen together, as he throws himself onto his bed and flips open his laptop to watch some random brainrot he finds on Netflix. 

He nods off, letting himself be taken by exhaustion as the uneaten bowl of ramen sits on his desk, growing colder, while the dim computer light and hum of dialogue pull Steve further and further into a dreamless sleep.

His phone dies silently in his hand. 

#All Tied Up #All Tied Up Series #Big Red Bow Series #Steve Rogers POV #steve rogers fanfiction #steve rogers fanfic #steve rogers fic #steve rogers x reader #steve rogers x female reader #steve rogers x f!reader #steve rogers x you #steve rogers x y/n #steve rogers #modern steve rogers #artist steve rogers #college!au #modern!au #steve rogers series #slowburn #marvel fanfiction #marvel fanfic #fic #jen writes #chris evans characters #chris evans x reader #chris evans fanfiction #chris evans series #captain america x reader #fluff #angst

[getoswhore]

‘ CATTLE ‘N CREAM! — jean kirschtein.

☰ ft : farmer! jean x cow girl! f! reader

+ synopsis : jean is very adamant about being a responsible farmer with his cattle, and he never misses the very important day when they need milking... | est. 1.7k wc

cw/tw : sws + modern/farmer au, lactation kink, pussy drunk! jean, nipple play, lots of titty sucking :o, ‘lil manipulation ‘cause he's a lying perv, reader is a human/cow hybrid, pet names (jean calls reader cattle + sweetheart), praising, creampie/half cum shot, cum eating, this is kinda filthy and a little rushed at the end...

+ note : yesyes, ik–WE all know that i don't write for aot anymore :c but this was always one fic i RLLY wanted to post, sooo yeah :c also, @gabzlovesu ‘cause ik you were rlly excited for this :c + @jeanslove since she asked so nicely. <3

a ringing clap of bell peals roll through the sleeping farm like thunder; the singing metals clinking together as if their sound was twirling through the old ridden barn walls like alarms. and soon, the sleeping silence was quickly replaced with rising animals of all kinds mewing out in hunger, impatiently waiting to be fed.

with lazy eyes fluttering wide at the sudden racket to awake and prepare for a busy day, a clear view of new daylight unwraps its hues to the world through the small garden window ahead of you. it's still dim, but the plum rays peeking through the mountains tell you it's that time of the month again. you can even feel it too; a sudden sharp ache tingles in your chest, feeling more notable every time you move in your soft bed of golden hay, sensing your perk breasts feeling heavier and fuller, almost firmer too...

and all you can do is weep out in silent pain, waiting impatiently for when the farmer comes over to your stall–for when jean can dump the soft pallets of grass into your personal trough before you can show him your issue.

the palms of your hands and naked knees kiss at the golden floors before quickly rearing yourself up–fast and eager, hearing the familiar soft clicks of heavy feet make their way towards your stall.

widening eyes peering up in elation; muddy boots with farmyard muck stuck beneath them appear into your sight. and you catch glimpse of the freshly laundered coveralls fitting nicely around the tone of his thigh–the torn denim even fitting tight to his chest.

“mornin’ sunshine, how's my favorite little cattle doin’?” jean gives a warm smile, a bright one too with pretty teeth and with the fat of his cheeks rising high.

but seeing the small pout fixated on your features makes him frown.

“whats wrong? somthin’ bothering you–oh...”

he notices, quite quickly.

“already needin’ milking, huh? thought another week or so...” jean stares with wide, dilated eyes; a heavy gaze viewing a clear sight of your perk tits filled all round and full, almost too full where one little squeeze can make them leak.

he kneels down to open the small gate between you two, unlocking the locks and freeing an open space. jean gets close soon as he does, kneeling in to get a better look.

“poor girl, must be in so much pain being all filled up like this.” he kicks over a metal bucket close by, and you prep yourself up, getting eager and ready, knowing the tension is going to release...

“hm, must be extra sweet with them being this firm.” and he doesn't hesitate to test that theory; reaching an eager hand out with all five lilthe fingers curling around the soft mound of flesh, giving it a gentle squeeze.

like he had thought, a dribble of milk leaks through the thin, printed fabric you wear; the milky substance soaking through and a dark wet spot spreads around it, making you hone out. and he quickly glides a thumb over the hard pebbled peak pressing wetly against the cloth till he deemed enough.

jean pops his thumb into his mouth, tasting the sweet liquid soothe against his taste buds with savory delight.

he hums, “this is why you're my favorite, always sweeter than ever.” his soft words are like auditory caramel to your ears, rushing a perky smile to rise at your cheeks.

“yeah, ‘n that pretty smile of yours is my favorite too.” jean could feel his coveralls becoming a size too small by the second; his cock beginning to throb and pulse, erecting at just the pretty view of your half-naked body glowing before his eyes.

“alright, let's get you ready.” you lean in, letting the farmer clip his fingers around the thin stings of your bra and letting the fabric tumble down till it freed your perk breast. and your breasts bounce, jiggling down at the sudden release of your support as a cold shiver licks up your spine at the sudden slick breeze kissing at your skin.

jean’s leafy eyes couldn't peel off of the pretty view of your breast, boggling at how the pebbled peaks leak with fresh milk–ready to drink and savor...

and it made his mouth water.

“ya’ don't mind if i take one more little taste? just a little.“ jean gives you a gentle look, eyes almost droopy and filled with need.

you nod.

he's quick to latch both hands around your firm breast, clipping eager fingers around the tough skin and tugging lightly.

your throat bobs as you whine out, weeping at the slight pull, yet it felt so delicious; feeling more of your built-up liquid slick out and pebble around your hardened nipples before drooling down.

before collecting against his tongue.

you were too focused on the needy hands squeezing at your soft mounds and not on how jean nudged his face between your breast with a flat tongue sticking out long and ready.

he's never done this before.

it made your back arch with hooded eyes to glaze with euphoria, watching how he lapped at the sweet juices you gave to him with licks and broad, rough stripes across your perk nipple.

it made you feel... special to be treated like this, to have such appreciation...

jean leans back, feeling you twitch in his hold, “squeezing just hurts ya’, i think i know a way to ease the pain a lil’?” his tongue swipes over his bottom lip, catching the little droplets clinging at his skin.

head tilting in enthusiasm question, you wonder and he's more than ready to show you.

his mouth splays open wide with a wet velvet tongue laying flat to press against your hardened peak as he leans back in, drawing your nipple at the center hard into his mouth.

it's warm, wet, and foreign as his lips seal around your sensitive nipple, giving it a good suck till it fell in drops; milk practically pouring out with ease into his watering mouth. and jean was more than delighted to swallow down the honey-like beverage.

the soft hum he emits in satisfaction vibrates around your soft bundle of nerves, and the suckling sounds did something to you, deep inside you–those filthy, wet sounds rang in your ears as you watched how jean tenderly cradled your perk breast. you were just as entranced as he was nursing and lapping at the trickling juices, feeding off the sweet taste like a hungry little calf himself.

deep down, you wouldn't even be able the fathom the idea of how long jean has been thinking of this moment–ever since he’s got you–ever since he’s added you to his little farm, he's always fetishized this sick little scenario of sucking on your tits till milk spilled since day one...

jean squeezes your other desolate breast, pinching a thumb and forefinger before gently twisting in a half circle, forcing your whole body to shudder at the pull. it makes your skin spike with goosebumps, toes to curl and pretty eyes to knock to the back of your head.

it's addictive getting that response from you.

he can feel you tense up beneath his hold as he licks and sucks softly at your hard, sensitive tips back and forth between your nipple, and areola, and even the flesh around that, earning more of a delicious squirt of milk that quickly disappears across his tongue.

jean was so far gone too that the tent pitched in his coveralls went completely unnoticed–if he had been paying attention, he’d realize that his swollen cock was pearling with oozing pre and leaking just as much as your breasts were...

jean hesitates to pop off for a breather, but when he does, the cold lingering feel makes you whine out in need, and he almost felt bereaved when he did too.

his mouth was wet with translucent white, a pretty view of a slick shine gathering at the plump of his lips.

“fuck–taste so fuckin’ good.” his words are barely even words, only breathy and lost–too dazed at the fever dream coming to life.

“‘m wanna–fuck–wanna pump my milk into you, fuck you full with my milk? yeah? how does that sound? give you some of mine...” jean was fumbling over his words like the fingers fumbling over his gold-plated buckle.

and you can feel your cunt leaking at this point; pretty pussy pulsing a damp spot to form a little circle of slick and feeling the cool air hit against your cow-printed panties.

you groan, muscles flexing and cunt clenching desperately around nothing hungrily as you watch jean unzip his jeans desperately. embarrassingly, it takes him a few tries, too focused on the way how you lean back for him; pretty body lying still on your back with teasing legs spreading wide, breasts stretching out, pulled by gravity, everything seeking the centre as you cast your whole body open to him.

he curses at himself, almost drooling at the clear view of your pussy; the fat outline of your lips pressing hard against the thin cloth.

it makes his heavy balls tighten.

jeans throbbing cock finally bobs free from his confines; it's pretty, you think, a blushing pink at the crown, long and thick with bulging veins pulsing around the shaft, and oozing pearls of pre spills over, shining his tip raw with cum.

it twitches in his hand that fists it tightly and eagerly–giving it a long and quick stroke with a firm twist to the tip, and squeezing more of his pre to drool out sloppily.

you moan out nimbly at just the sight.

“like it baby? yeah? gonna like it more once i fill you up.” jean tugs aways at your panties, making view of your pretty pussy and gazing deeply at how it drools in marbling slick.

“such a pretty little cattle–my little cattle.”

he nudges the crown of his cock at your sopping entrance, already nudging himself between your slippery folds with greed. and he's quick to pull your legs around the slim of his waist as your bodies eagerly find the places where they need to meet; his heavy cock pressing in slowly till he couldn't anymore, filling you up in one swift motion of his hips buckling hard against yours.

your jaw hinges open, mouth left agape at the raw feeling of skin on skin–of his cock barreling deep into your cunt to the hilt.

enchanted at the soft touch of silken skin and harsher hair bumping against your puffy clit as he quickly finds a rhythm, a cruel one too, almost sloppy and uneven, but enough to make your mine trance off into a complete and utter mind-boggling daze.

your slick juices gush out by the intrusion, the slop of it drooling outside your little hole as he drags his cock into your inner gummy walls. jean groans out a pitiful moan, the sloppy mess of your pussy already creaming a translucent milky ring around the base of his cock makes his hips stutter, and eyes to even widen in fierce feral intent.

your breast bounce along in sync too as you roll eager hips to urge him in deeper–harder. and his mouth comes down between your jiggling chest to thank you with wordless kisses; suckling bites into the tender flesh as he rocks into you harder.

feeling the deep press of the crown of his cock kissing at your softest spots made not only your cunt to leak, but your breast to as well. a cute fall of milk pours down, even making a flow down to the middle of your tummy.

“fill you back up all nice and full f’me.” jean can feel his cock pulse as each thrust–at each heavy contact your skin clashes together with.

ankles locking behind his back as you clench, arche, twist, and writhe beneath him, you can feel him throb, deep. feeling how his aching cock grows bigger as he gets closer, his knot fixated only to fill you up till it was deemed.

thrusting his hips faster, he bottoms out with the final buckle and let's out a long and deep guttural moan as his cock spurts out thick ribbons of warm cum deep into the womb of your cunt. and he tries, he really tries to keep moving his hips to drag out his high, but instead slips out like a dog in heat–popping out of your little drooling pussy and cumming all over your tummy.

jean desperately tries his hardest to slip back into your warmth, but his body curls, hunching over at the stomach-churning high as a pitiful puddle of his sticky mess pools onto your skin.

he sucks in a deep breath through gritted teeth, “i want–you gotta swallow this up, its good f’you, promise...” he's already grabbing your sweating, shaking hands to swipe up the globs of cum and breast milk sticking to your tummy to wipe up.

“lick it up–promise it'll be good for you, promise...” jean’s eyes are barely open, only a small peak of them can be seen through the thick of his lashes.

and your still trying to catch your breath, but the eager man prying your own sticky webbed hand to your mouth makes it impossible.

parting your swollen lips, you lap between your fingers, tasting the mixtures of salt and sweetness stick to your tongue and melt into your taste buds as you feel his thick cum leak out from your stretched little hole.

it's filthy, but it makes jean’s cock throb back into wake...

let's all support the good farmers–the ones who are passionate about their herds.

#goo goo ga ga #💌.aot masterlist #💌.jean krischtein #jean krischtein #jean x reader #jean kirschtein fanfiction #jean x you #jean x y/n #jean smut #jean aot #aot x reader #aot x you #aot x y/n #aot smut #aot jean #attack on titan #jean kirschtein x reader #jean kirschtein smut #tw lactation

[marvel-ous-m]

Been thinking about modern AU Elementary School Librarian!Eddie and Substitute Teacher!Steve.

Eddie, who doesn’t really know how he ended up working at the school. A series of events that made him luck out, he supposed. He had always loved books, and practically lived at the public library in between working at the shop and sleeping. He had gotten to know the librarians there over time, had familiarized himself with the Dewey Decimal System from browsing the aisles, and had begun to explore different genres of books after finishing his sci-fi/fantasy bucket list. One evening, while he was curled up on one of the couches in the corner, re-reading The Hobbit for the hundredth time, a little girl with fire-red hair and her front two teeth missing ran up to him and begged him to read to her. He had glanced around the room for a moment, searching for the girl’s parent, but came up with nothing. At a loss, he decided he might as well read to her.

They got through three books that the girl- Max, she had said her name was- had picked out. By the end of his time reading to her, a small group of kids had crowded around him, and a couple of parents were on the outskirts of the makeshift circle smiling at him, clearly pleased that their kids were enjoying “story time”. One of the librarians noticed too, apparently. As Eddie was leaving to walk back to his apartment that night, he was slid a printed-out job posting for the librarian at the elementary school. Eddie never really saw himself as a ‘kids’ guy, but reading to them had been the highlight of his day, and they had all said he’d done the voices well… maybe this would be a good thing. Certainly better than the muscle strain he had almost daily from fixing cars.

So he submitted a resume. He got a letter of recommendation from the librarian who slid him the job posting, and somehow, even without having any certification past his High School Diploma, he landed an interview. They had been desperate, apparently. It was a tiny school in their tiny town and they needed someone to fill in. After only fifteen minutes, he got offered the job- pending results of a four week job shadow with the retiring librarian they were trying to replace and background checks. Two months later and he had become a well-established faculty member at the school, ‘Mr. M’, who did the best monster voices (according to the kids), decorated the library to make it look like it was out of a fairytale (with the help of the art teacher and his now-best-friend Robin Buckley), and even filled in for the music teacher on occasion. It was the best thing to ever happen to him.

Roughly three years after he was hired, he finds one of his lunch breaks being interrupted by Mrs. Harrington’s 3rd grade class. She had always been a bit of a bitch, but she never operated off-schedule. Eddie put his lunch away and observed as the kids flooded into the library and ran around, all finding a book to read or an activity to quietly play with. Will Byers (one of his favorite kids- not that he had favorites, but he totally did) ran up to him, holding watercolor markers and giving him puppy dog eyes. Eddie sighed and rolled up his sleeve, then helped Will sit on his desk so he could reach Eddie’s arm better. Will had asked about Eddie’s tattoos at the beginning of the year, wondering why there wasn’t any color on some of them, and then had been determined to color them in. And Eddie? Well, he couldn’t say no to the kid. Plus it was pretty adorable to have his ‘metal’ tattoos covered in washable marker.

“Will! Did he say you could do that?” Eddie looked up at the exclamation, surprised to come face-to-face with somebody who was definitely not Mrs. Harrington.

“Wait- who are you? Do I need to get the security guard?”

“What? No- no, I’m Mrs. Harrington’s substitute. They sent an email out about me I think? I’m- her son, actually. But you can just call me Steve. Or- probably Mr. Steve in front of the kids? I’m still kind of new at this- my mom called me last week and said she needed to stop teaching for a while because she needed to go on my dad’s business trips with him, she’s always been a bit suspicious of what he really does on the trip, and since I just got my teaching certification she figured it would be best for me too be her substitute- and shi-oot, shoot, I’m totally over sharing right now- it’s just the kids begged me to come here and they weren’t doing our math activity so I kinda panicked-“

“Whoa, alright, slow down big boy.” Eddie chuckled under his breath, then grabbed a sticky note and a pen with his free hand and scrawled out his number. Once he was done he handed it to Steve with a smirk. “I’m absolutely terrible at checking my email. So there ya go- the first number is for my cell- teaching these rascals can be a handful, especially with Henderson and Mayfield in your class, so feel free to text me anytime. We can talk about school or… other things.” Eddie let his eyes take in the man in front of him- and damn, this guy was hot.

Steve blushed, stuttering as he spoke. “A-and the second?” Oh shit, he wasn’t just hot, he was cute too. Eddie suddenly wanted to make Steve this flustered all the time.

“Second number is my extension for the phones here, if the kids get to be too much I can come down the hall for a visit and get them focused while you take a break. They have library time on Tuesdays and Thursdays from 1pm to 2:30pm.” Eddie smiled at him, softer this time. “I’m sure you’re doing a great job. They’re just antsy because of the change- but I think they’d like anybody more than your mom- um, no offense.”

“None taken, she’s a bitc- um, a not super nice lady.” Steve coughed, smiling nervously. “Still getting used to kid-friendly language.”

Eddie shook his head fondly. This was certainly the start of something very interesting.

#steddie #stranger things #my writing #elementary school steddie au #I picture Eddie’s library being covered in paper vines and castles and stuff #steve harrington #eddie munson #modern steddie au #stranger things au #fic

[darkficsyouneveraskedfor]

Unsolicited 7

Warnings: bad self-thought/talk, bullying, insults, low self-esteem, money problems, more dark elements to come.

Wouldn’t mind some feedback! Lloyd was driving me nuts so I had to do it. Thank you in advance 💜

Colin stopped calling just after nine. Still you keep your phone on silent.

You grab the bucket of supplies and change for the bus, another day ahead of you, your entire routine thrown off by the latest crisis in your crumbling life. You can make do without the car, just like you can survive without your husband.

You open the door just as a figure appears on the other side. You drop your shoulders as Lloyd blocks your path, propping an elbow against the frame as he looms over you. You check the time on your phone.

“I’m gonna be late–”

“For what? We got a deal.”

“I’ll pay you back for the tow,” you insist, “alright? But I gotta go. The bus–”

“Inside, sweetheart,” he points past you, “let’s sit down and chat.”

“After–”

“Now,” he pushes himself straight and walks inside, herding you back into the house, “I got the estimate, even if you have the car scrapped, you won't breaking even on the tow bill. So, what leverage do you have exactly?”

You roll your eyes, “you’ll have to wait. I’ll pay with interest–”

“Divorces are expensive,” he insists as he grabs the bucket, tugging on it as you resist, “sit down.”

“Please,” you beg, “can we not?”

He yanks the bucket away and drops it on the floor, “you can sit or I can make you sit. You agreed, we’d talk. Now, let's lay out some terms before you go pouting.”

You jut out your jaw and sigh. You shuffle to the small kitchen table and sit. He stays standing, gripping the back of the chair opposite. He gives a long look around, taking in your home. It’s not much, half a duplex, cramped but tidy.

“You keep a nice house,” he muses, “comes with the job, I suppose.”

You struggle not to tear your hair out as you watch him. He pushes away from the table, pacing around as he inspects the drawers and lifts the carafe from the coffee machine, the dregs of the morning’s pot left over. He swishes it around before replacing it.

“You need a way out, in a manner of speaking I need a way in,” he turns to you and grins, “so, I think we have a start.”

You clench your jaw and drag your nails over the wooden table, fighting not to scratch into the surface. He tucks a hand in his pocket as he nears again, kicking a foot up on the crossbar of the chair as he stops. He clicks his tongue as he considers you.

“I’ll get you out of here, baby. All you gotta do is say ‘yes, daddy’.”

You growl and grit your teeth, “I told you, I’ll pay you–”

“I don’t wait. I don’t do interest, but baby, for you,” he pulls his foot to the floor and sidles in front of the chair, sitting theatrically as he puffs out his chest, “I can give you a bit of… dignity. You’ll still be working, earning your way. You’re a maid, I’m messy as fuck, so I think maybe it’s time you move into the private sector.”

“You want me to clean your house?”

He laughs and winks as his tongue pokes out, “that’s the basis,” he traces a flat line with his hands, “you ever heard of something called ‘free use’?”

You shake your head and cross your arm, your puffer jacket swishing awkwardly with the movement. He pauses as his eyes wander down and his eyebrows flick up in amusement.

“No,” you answer aloud.

“Wonderful,” he snorts, “of course you wouldn’t, Colin seems a missionary man. Nice, simple… boring.”

You shudder and hook your leg over the other, “I don’t want to talk about him with you.”

“Oh, I fully intend on helping you forget him. Let me explain; you’re going to come over and make things nice and pretty for me and if I’m walking around, living my life, doing my thing and I happen to think that your ass looks nice and pretty, well, then I’m gonna bend you over and use you until that thought goes back to where it came from.”

You curl your lip in disgust, insides squirming as you swallow tightly.

“And you’re going to let me. You’re going to say, ‘yes daddy, what hole?’”

“Fucking Christ, you know you are the most repulsive person I’ve ever–”

“Yes, yes, I’ve heard that before, but you’re not really in a position to worry about… feelings.”

You stare at him, “if you’re so well off, can’t you go out and get some supermodel off the rack?”

“Boring,” he snickers, “now, that car is caput. Your marriage, eeeh, well that seems about the same. And I know you can’t afford to just walk out. But I can give you everything you need; a roof over your head, maybe some clothes that don’t look like they’ve been fished out of the dumpster, and a good fucking. Or many.” He taunts as he wiggles his shoulders in superiority, “and something even better, revenge.”

You rub your cheek, your other arm kept firm against your chest, “revenge?”

“On that dipstick. He gets to come home to an empty house, pay half the rent, and realise how fucked he truly is. That ex of his, she’s not gonna leave her husband for some half-dime sales manager. She’s married to a goddamn trust fund baby.”

“How do you know all this?”

“Let’s not ask too many questions about how. Baby, you don’t wanna know all that.”

You look down and trace a ripple in the wood with your thumb. Your chest tightens, the clutch of inevitability closing in, squeezing your rib cage until it hurts. What you know of this man is vile and what he won’t tell you, is perilous.

“Okay, I’ll make this real clear for you. I’m being nice, we’re talking.” He sits up, elbows on the table, knees wide, “You want to keep being stubborn, I’m not going to stop. I’m going to follow you to work and I’m going to wait and then I’m going to bug you again. And then maybe, I’m going to call your boss and make a complaint.

“Then you’ll get back here and you’ll be exhausted and annoyed because, lo and behold, I don’t fucking stop. And you’re alone and you’re thinking of your man fucking another woman.” He runs his fingers along his mustache as his lips curl, “And you got no wine left. You take a hot bath and think about your bad life decisions and you still got no plan.

"Tomorrow, you take the bus again, you clean, then you get a call from Donny down at head office. Yes, there was a concerning phone call about you. Things missing in offices. That’s a serious offense, they could call the police.” He taps his fingers on the table pointedly, “Probation for now but likely termination once the investigation ends.

“You walk out just after noon, you can barely see straight. Everything is coming apart at the seams. No car, no job, no husband…” He sits back and grips his thighs, “And good old Lloyd is waiting for you. I might even bring roses, if I’m feeling real nice. But at that point, my balls will be so blue I probably won’t have a thought left above the waist.

“So, baby, let’s make a choice; my way or the hard way?”

You glare at him, breathless. You're dizzy as you try to think. The last few weeks swirl around you, the vortex circling around you. You believe him. You know he won’t stop. All he’s done, you have no doubt that he’ll follow through.

Your cheek ticks. Is that what you're worth? Low. Lower than you ever expected. But what other option do you have?

“Don’t bother packing,” he stands, jolting the table with his ascent, “oh, and…”

He comes around the table and grabs your wrist, forcing your arm up. He grabs your rings and you curl your finger. He tuts and bends it back in its socket until you cry out. He rips the bands past your knuckle and whips them across the room.

“We’re done talking,” he clings to your hand and presses it to his crotch. "Say it."

"Wha--"

"'Yes, daddy'," he prompts, "I wanna hear it baby.

You push your tongue against the roof of your mouth. Humiliation sears behind your eyes, "yes, daddy."

He hums and squeezes your hand around him, a twitch beneath the fabric, "oh ho, see baby, that got me good."

#lloyd hansen x reader #dark lloyd hansen #dark!lloyd hansen #lloyd hansen #drabble #dark drabble #dark!drabble #drabble series #au #the gray man #the grey man

[warmblanketwhump]

What about something with a whumpee who falls through ice?

this turned into some kind of winter epic but I hope you enjoy 😂

One minute, A's standing on the frozen lake, waving at B and C back on the shore. The next, they hear a sharp crack—and they're through the ice and underwater.

The cold feels like a thousand knives—so blinding that A can't see or feel, much less figure out which way is up or down. After a few seconds, they gain their bearings, only to feel the horrifying thud of the solid ice above their head.

Their desperate scream is muted as they hit the ice once, twice, three times, to no avail—

get me out get me out get me OUT

Their lungs burn as they fail to hold their breath any longer, and they suck in a mouthful, then another of water, colors swirling and flashing as their pleas for oxygen go unheard—

—until suddenly their fingers punch through to sharp, clean winter air. A sputters and coughs as their lungs fight to expel water, and they whirl around as they try to get their bearings, then seeing B and C waving and shouting something their ears can’t quite parse out.

A frantically claws at the ice at the edge of the hole, a pained sound escaping from their throat as the thin ice breaks every time they try to grab hold. They feel their muscles seizing up, but force themselves to keep kicking, keep fighting. They can't die. Not like this.

But as the minutes drag on, and B & C are nothing more than moving blurs of color on the shore and their limbs begin to stiffen, the fight within them starts dwindling.

Hold on, A. Come on. Hold on. Don't give in.

“A! Grab on!” A rope suddenly appears a few inches from them, and A kicks toward it with all their might. Their fingers are too numb to hold on very tightly, but they manage to wrap it around their wrist several times and give a weak tug.

“P-p-pull!” It’s a choked whimper, but B and C must hear their small voice because they feel the tug against their skin, then feel their numb, burning limbs scraping over the ragged surface of the ice as they’re dragged back to the blessedly solid shoreline.

As their trembling body meets the cold black rock of the shore, they’re consumed with the terror of what just happened. But when they take a breath to sob, they’re choked by more coughing as their body fights to rid their lungs of the frigid lake water.

B rips off their coat and wraps it around A’s quaking body, hoisting them up in their arms, gently stroking their rapidly freezing hair from their forehead. “Shhh…you’re okay. You’re okay. We’ll warm you up in no time.”

A can’t still their clattering teeth or their gasping breaths enough to respond.

————————

An hour later, A’s still violently shivering despite being wrapped in a blanket, their feet submerged in a steaming bucket of warm water, seated in the chair closest to the fire. They cinch the blanket tighter with cold, aching fingers, pulling it up over their ears and nose. The fire is banked high and crackling, but it does little to displace the bone-deep chill in their core or quiet their rattling teeth.

The first minutes after the rescue were hazy—first jostling and numb as B carried them and sprinted back to the cabin, then cold and dark, and murmuring voices, and frozen clothes peeled away and replaced with warm, dry ones on their ice-cold skin. Slowly, the colored blobs gave way to the forms of their frantic friends, wool blankets, muttered curses and sparks that turned to a healthy flame.

If only warmth would come.

The thought of getting warm was all-consuming for A as they shiver with chills. The bucket of hot water was somehow painfully hot and just not warm enough. The blanket around their shoulders was too thin, and they could still feel the icy water on their skin. The fire should be bigger. But none of the thoughts can make it out of their clattering jaw with any semblance of order.

However, as if B heard their thoughts, A feels them gently drape a second blanket around their shoulder, then feels their hands sweep up and down their back to generate warmth.

C watches them from the other side of the hearth, poking at the fire to stir the flames, eyeing A with concern. “How are you feeling?"

An honest answer bubbles up in their mind. I thought I would die down there.

Instead, they force out a weak “J-just c-c-cold,” before coughs steal their voice again. And though not their first thought, it is true. They weakly rub their arms with shaky hands, desperate to try and help B generate a spark of heat. “I c-can’t g-get warm.”

At that, B leaves and then returns to the fire with something wrapped in towels, handing it to A. “Here. This will take the edge off a bit more. You've had quite a chill.”

A clutches the warm bundle closer to their body, desperate for the warmth to permeate their core. “Th-th-thanks.” Another round of coughing burns in their chest, the lake water still unyielding. They feel B’s hand on their shoulder, rubbing gently, and they look up to see B’s concerned frown as their hand traces up to their damp hair.

“We shouldn’t leave your head wet. Don’t want you getting sick.”

A doesn’t have the energy to explain that they just spent a substantial amount of time in a freezing lake, which pretty much negated the benefits of keeping their head warm by now. But they don’t mind the feeling of B gently toweling the melting water droplets out of their hair, and they lean into the soft touch long after their hair is dried.

A figures they must look pitifully cold, because B continues to run their fingers through their hair, and C, who usually avoids most physical touch, hugs A close to them on their other side, helping them sip from the cup of tea since their hands are too shaky to hold it.

Three hours later, A’s still deathly pale, but they can manage an intelligible sentence, and their hands are still enough to curl around another mug of tea, and they’d managed to eat a little soup for dinner. What their friends can’t see is the ice that clings to A’s bones, the superficial heat unable to thaw the chill that had gripped their core. They're out of the danger zone, but they're still just....cold.

Between the exhausting hours of shivering and the events of the day, it's no surprise when their head starts bobbing, and their eyelids start feeling like they’re weighted. They’re not sure when the transition from waking to sleeping happens—they only feel someone gently lifting their bundled form off the couch to take back to their bedroom. B leaves and returns with two more blankets, draping each of them in turn over A and tugging them up to their chin. “You just rest now,” B whispers, gently smoothing down A’s hair before.

Despite the warm layers, A just can’t chase the cold out of their achy bones. Chills crawl across their skin, and they clutch the pouch of hot water closer, trying to envision themselves sinking into a hot spring, or sunning themselves in a field on a hot summer day.

A strange childhood memory resurfaces in a dream—of swimming in a frigid lake too long on a hot summer’s day and emerging blue-lipped and chilled through, of a relative wrapping them in a dry blanket and holding them close in the warm sun.

The memory is full of comfort and they long to re-enter it—but the memory frosts at the edges, and they slip out of the dream-relative’s arms and are plunged back into the lake. The lake freezes over and washes over their ankles, knees, waist as the cold seeps back in, unrelenting, unreleasing, coming from the inside out.

The black water rushes up to their neck now, but A's frozen in place, unable to move or even scream as the water closes over their head—

—and suddenly they're awake, coughing up a lung, unable to take a full breath. Somehow, they’re colder under the blankets than they were in the lake, like the lake had stolen their fire and left them an icy, empty shell. At the same time, they feel sweat prickle on the back of their neck, chilling in the cold air, and as A struggles to draw in a full breath, they get the sensation that something is very, very wrong.

The rest of the night consists of hours of restless tossing and turning, sweating and shaking, trying to stifle the relentless coughs. They wake in the early blue dawn feeling chilled and congested, chest heavy like an iron bar is resting across them. A draws the blankets closer and rubs their arms, trying to generate a little warmth in their achy bones. Everything hurts—even the joints in their fingers and toes, and there's a violent cough that burns in their rib cage every time it seizes their lungs.

The fireplace. That's warm.

The thought of heat propels A to jerk to an upright position. As the blankets tumble off their shoulders, the wintry air sends a sudden, violent chill throughout their whole body, rattling their teeth so hard they're scared they chipped a tooth. Bad idea. They scramble for the top quilt, fumbling as they wrap the precious layer back around themselves and dive back under the covers.

But it’s not warm enough—nothing is warm enough. They hug their knees to their chest and huddle under the blankets, too wracked with shudders to embark on the trek to the fireplace, too exhausted to move, chest burning, and so, so scared.

They don’t know how long they lay there, trembling and coughing, alone. They only feel the hand rest on their shoulder, then move up to their forehead to push away the damp hair, a whispered curse floating out into the air that they can see.

Why can I see words?

Why is my hair still damp?

B's face enters their field of vision, their cool hand on A's forehead.

Why is B cold?

Amid the thoughts, A hears pounding footsteps. They barely register that B is gone before B is back, dragging a half-awake C with them.

"B? What's wrong?" C’s voice is hazy from sleep, and A sees them rub the sleep away from their eyes.

"A's caught a bad chill from the cold water. And they're burning up."

"My....my chest...." A gasps out.

C comes closer, leaning against A’s chest to listen more intently to the rattling sound that comes every time A breathes, then lays the back of their hand against A's cheek. When their face is visible again, it's painted with ridges of concern.

"B, get the fire going."

"C, what's wro—"

"B, now." C's tone sends another chill down A's spine. "And get some water boiling, and those herbs from the pantry."

C's voice is so firm that B doesn't question it again, and scurries off to the main room.

Despite B not receiving an answer, A has to know. In their weak, cough-roughened voice, they rasp out two words: “What's.....happening?"

C gives a small smile, meant to comfort, which only confuses A's feverish brain further. "After your little swim yesterday, you’ve come down with a bout of winter fever."

Winter fever. The words alone send an ice pick through their heart. Winter fever makes its way through their village every year during the coldest months, stealing breath and warmth and life from too many to count. It can strike after a bad chill, or getting one’s feet wet, or even if you don’t warm yourself enough by the fire.

“Am…am I gonna die?”

"Shhhh....you'll be fine. I've helped many a relative through winter fever, and you're going to be no exception.”

A nods, still scared, but anchored by C’s confident voice.

Ten minutes later. A is plopped in front of a fire that's even bigger than yesterday, a pot of water giving off steam that casts a cloudy haze in the main sitting room. They’re nested in two warm blankets, hot water bottles at their feet and on their stomach to try and combat the constant fever chills.

C slowly peels away the layers of B’s blankets and pajamas over their upper body, exposing the skin of their chest to the cool air of the room. A grits their teeth to hide the chill that threatens to tear through them as they feel the goosebumps prickle over their whole body, squeezing their eyes shut at the painfully strange sensation.

Then, a pleasant warm feeling spreads across their chest, and A opens their eyes to see C laying a steaming towel soaked in some type of herb-scented mixture. It’s strong and pungent and not particularly good-smelling, but A instantly feels some of the tightness in their chest ease at the warmth and the medicinal scent.

“Old family remedy. It’ll ease the pain a bit and get you breathing better to get your lungs fighting again.” C nods toward B, who’s refilling a bubbling pot over the fire. “The steam will help, too.”

A coughs weakly, a sharp, rattling sound that makes both B and C tense. “Wish…wish I’d never gone on that lake,” they say, bottom lip trembling. On top of feeling awful, they’ve trapped B and C into caring for them. “Now you’re stuck helping me.”

“Hey, hey, none of that.” C’s at their side, carefully thumbing away the tear that’s slipping down their cheek. “You’d do the same for any of us. Who knows, I’ll probably break a leg hunting, or B will accidentally poison themselves with some root they think is edible.”

A tries to laugh, but a cough steals away their breath. “M’sorry for crying. The past couple days…”

“They’ve been rough, I know, love. I know.” C’s hand cups around A’s cheek, then drapes down to squeeze their shoulder. “But we’re with you. You don’t have to do this by yourself, okay?”

A nods readily, not trusting themselves to speak.

C nods back, glancing back at the fire. “It’s time to change the cloth—don’t want you getting chilled.”

A’s too tired to do more than just track C with their eyes as they move to the fire, get a new cloth, and swap out the cooling one with the gentlest of movements all while keeping A nested in blankets. They’re still feverish and achy and so tired, but the fear is evaporating as quickly as the steam from the pot over the fire.

I’m not alone.

#whump prompt #cold whump #falling through the ice #chills #fever whump #pneumonia #ALL OF IT #near drowning

[the-whole-shebang]

i’m hyperfixated on LOZ again and i request more botw champion headcanons bc i miss them

Champion Headcanons P. 8

Sorry no TOTK characters, I haven't had time to play it yet ;-;

Link isn't allowed within 10 feet of a caffeinated beverage after what happened last time.

Link accidentally called Daruk dad one time and Daruk almost started crying.

Purrah figured out how to install mobile games on her shekiah slate and plays them during important meetings.

Yunobo crys when people yell at him, and Teba found that out the hard way.

Urbosa doesn't speak to pets in a baby voice. She treats them like an esteemed colleague.

Here are a couple different items from Robbie's bucket list: Invent shrink ray so I can carry Purrah around in my pocket, clone all the champions just to see what happens, lick the malice goop, slowly replace all of Revali's weapons with foam look alikes, etc.

Zelda has sensory issues.

Sidon talks with his hands and has definitely hit someone (probably Teba) in the face because he got too excited.

Mipha has a fear of heights.

Urbosa had a pet snake at some point.

Both Link and Riju will never back down from dare and they have definitely almost died because of their stubbornness.

Revali can't swim.

Sidon's height, build, and the fact that he basically has a mouth full of shark teeth is incredibly intimidating, but he's completely unaware of that.

Link once hosted a DnD campaign for all the champions and all hell broke lose.

#fanfic request #fanfic writer #botw #botw champions #botw headcanons #daruk #link #revali #urbosa #zelda #mipha #robbie #purrah #riju #yunobo #teba #sidon #zelda breath of the wild #zelda tears of the kingdom

[goodluckdetective]

Here’s the thing they will realize later, after hurts have been mended, apologies have been given and things have been properly said: neither of their plans would have worked.

In one world, Crowley says yes when Aziraphale begs him to stay, unable to leave his angel knowing he will soon walk into a pit of vipers more venomous than he ever was. He grits his teeth and accepts his halo back with shaking fingers, and tries to focus on the grin on Aziraphale’s face. He does not stop wearing black, nor does he stop going by Crowley: Aziraphale doesn’t want him to do either regardless. And when Aziraphale hands him a crank and a chart of stars, he actually manages to smile within white empty walls.

It works, for a time. Aziraphale, to his surprise, does not expect him to change other than his occult classification. The other angels are resistant, of course they are, but changes are made, actual good ones. Less people starve. The clause about the humility of the poor is thrown out and replaced with a doubling down against the rich. Unicorns make a comeback, though in small numbers. And after long days when work is done, Aziraphale asks Crowley to show him work on the stars, and they map out new galaxies that will last far behind 6000 years.

Crowley isn’t happy there: it is too clean, too sterile, too full of backhanded comments and belittling taunts. But he is not miserable either. And that’s perhaps the biggest surprise.

Maybe that’s why he doesn’t notice the other angels planning the second coming after Aziraphale and him are both positive the plans have been scrapped for good. He notices before Azirpahale but not before Metatron has stripped him of heaven’s light once more and locked him in a cage with a bucket of holy water at the ready. For Metatron and the others know that Aziraphale can be tempted into what they want by or in this case, for, the original tempter himself.

Unlike Aziraphale, Heaven’s love has always been fickle. Crowley has always known this, has wanted Aziraphale to understand it too. But that doesn’t mean it doesn’t hurt to see Aziraphale find him in the cage and realize that Heaven invited Crowley back to cage Aziraphale in return.

In another world, Aziraphale leaves the bookshop after a kiss that gives him enough second thoughts to leave the elevator behind. Crowley does not take off his sunglasses until Aziraphale is seated in the Bentley and Aziraphale hates himself when he sees the tears the shades hid. They embrace for a long time before Crowley pulls out one of the few books he actually keeps: a map of the stars.

They don’t go to Alpha Centuri because both have had more than enough of Gabriel. Instead, they go to other planets, other stars, some of which were born by the very star factory Crowley started. They spend time on Earth too, keeping an eye out for the second apocalypse Crowley warned Aziraphale they are planning. Aziraphale does as much good as he can on those visits, often wearing himself out to exhaustion. Every time they have to leave, when Heaven or Hell catch up to them: unlike their former bosses, they are enough of a threat to never leave alone. Crowley often has to carry Azirapahle away from the planet they long called home after these trips, the angel barely awake after doing as much as he can. Aziraphale knows he doesn’t like leaving either, he hates suffering as much as Aziraphale does, but unlike the angel, he’s able to separate himself from it instead of it eating him alive.

Aziraphale isn’t happy, away from Earth, from his dedication to doing good. But he is not miserable either. And perhaps that’s the biggest surprise.

Aziraphale plans to surprise Crowley with a proper dance in a lovely garden in France when they arrive to find the Earth is not the Earth anymore. Instead it is either one of the following: a burnt out husk of sulfur, or a glass dish like a macabre snow globe.

In the former scenario, there is no outrunning the demons, who want to ensure the last angel left (because they got Gabriel as soon as they could, Aziraphale was always going to be last) is dead and gone. With no power of Heaven to draw from, Aziraphale cannot run fast enough and Crowley cannot carry them both with enough speed to escape them. The demons catch up them both on a small house on a small planet and the house goes up in hellfire with a snap of a demon’s fingers.

When Crowley screams out his name, Aziraphale is sorry he will not be able to soothe his tears this time.

In the latter scenario, the glass globe that Heaven crows over like a magpie, Aziraphale looks at what Heaven has wrought and falls to his knees. He does not hear Crowley shout as he takes in what God’s plan has turned out to be, he does not feel Crowley shake his shoulders as he sees the world he loved preserved in its last moment of agony. He does not even feel his feathers burning until half of them have fallen out, his halo has cracked and his eyes start to bleed black.

If this was the ineffable plan, he thinks, he loathes every part of it. And as he falls, Crowley desperately trying to hold his feathers to skeleton-boned wings, he realizes there is no hell left to fall into, only a black hole where one demon will never find him again.

Neither of these situations happen. Instead there is an uncomfortable elevator ride, a silent car and more than enough tears. There will be more unpleasantness after that, such is the nature of things. But eventually, there will be awkward meetings, apologies shared, and forgiveness spoken. And one day, somehow, there will be a cottage in the South Downs where there is a garden almost as grand as Eden, a library to entice any bibliophile and a kisses that are not a goodbye but a hello.

#Iz writes #character death #fic #good omens #good omens season 2 spoilers #good omens fanfic #good omens spoilers #ineffable husbands #take this fix it of sorts where I point out the ending we got is actually the best outcome #is this a fic or something I cranked out in half an hour: who’s to say

[arminreindl]

Baru: The Cleaver-Headed Crocodile

Ok back on my croc stuff, today discussing Baru. Like most the other crocs I've been talking about, Baru was a mekosuchine, a member of an endemic radiation of crocodilian native to Australasia. Baru is easily among the largest of this group and among the most robust, with massive curved teeth and almost inflated looking jaws. Left my interpretation of Baru darrowi, right the illustration by Willis et al. from 1990.

My reconstruction differs subtly in some regards, obviously the jaw material shown is from Ristevski et al. 2023 and elements of the posterior skull are based on the older Baru wickeni. My mandible also turned out slightly different, tho the quality of the images in the original description is not great so that is not guaranteed.

Anyhow, this head likely sat atop the body of what was a decently large crocodilian, with estimates suggesting four or even five meters in length for both currently recognized species Baru wickeni and Baru darrowi. As you can see below, I went for the lower estimate (which is the one given by proper publications), which still renders an immense animal all things considered, certainly holding up with many crocs of today.

Currently, there's two recognized species, one unnamed species and one that has been reassigned. The older of the named species is Baru wickeni, which was found in the Lake Eyre Basin and Riversleigh World Heritage Area during the late Oligocene. Like I already said, it was approximately as large and robust as the later Baru darrowi, but did differ in some regards. The skull had much more prominent crests, the nasal bone extended into the opening for the nares and importantly, the cutting edges of the teeth were smooth.

During the Miocene, Baru wickeni would be replaced by Baru darrowi, known from younger strata of the Riversleigh and the Bullock Creek fauna. Baru darrowi had less prominent crests, but in turn slight serrations on its teeth. Also the nasal bones did not extend into the nares. Baru darrowi is the species shown at the start.

The other two are then the unnamed Baru species from the Alcoota fossil site and "Baru" huberi. I talked about the latter before and how it is now thought to be something else entirely. Which leaves us with the Alcoota form. Generally regarded as a distinct species, fossils of the Alcoota Baru have been found from 2000 onwards near Alice Springs and appear to represent an animal more robust than the other known Baru. Below you can see a skeletal mount on exhibition at the Megafauna Central in Alice Springs (image by Aussie Bucket List) and a skull held by Adam Yates, an important researcher of this animal.

A little side note I want to mention is the name Baru. As you might have guessed from the etymology of various other mekosuchines (Kambara, Mekosuchus, Quinkana, Kalthifrons), the name actually ties into the native People of Australia. Specifically, Baru is a figure in the mythology of the  East Arnhem Region, which describes him as a sort of totem crocodile that brought law to the lands he named. Baru also had a fight with Jarkitj (Willy Wagtail) after stealing fire for himself. Sadly I couldn't find much about the mythical Baru beyond a brief summary written up by George Pascoe Gaymarani you can read here.

Returning to the animal, one would suspect that the robust skull meant that it didn't quite hunt like modern crocodiles, especially considering the serrated teeth found in the younger species. Well, tho nothing concrete is known Willis and colleagues speculate that this might have been an adaptation to shallower waters. While modern crocs tend to ambush prey, grab it using a strong bite and conical teeth and then proceed to drown it, Baru may not have had that option. A modern croc can just drag a zebra for instance into deep water, weaken it and let go to adjust its grip without the risk of it getting away. In shallow waters, this may have been too risky and lead to prey escaping. So Baru's robust head and curved, sometimes serrated teeth were built to inflict a lot of damage upon prey when lunging, securing the bite and incapacitating it. Willis estimates that it may have taken prey as heavy as 300 kilos.

There's also the interesting tidbit of Baru wickeni coexisting with a diverse croc fauna, yet being conspicuously absent from more southern regions of Australia despite entering the respective drainage basin. I go into more detail while talking about Australosuchus, but the jist of it is that Baru was likely not as cold resistant as Australosuchus and thus not found as far north.

Alas, as with other mekosuchines, not much art of Baru exists aside from this absolutely fantastic piece by @knuppitalism-with-ue

As per usual, this deep dive is brought to you as part of me redoing the wikipedia page of this genus, which resulted in a major size increase. The image below is just to show the difference, but if you want to read it here's the link: Baru - Wikipedia

#mekosuchinae #wikipedia editing #wikipedia #baru #baru wickeni #baru darrowi #baru huberi #croc #crocodile #paleontology #palaeoblr #prehistory #oligocene #miocene #australia #long post

[pearbunny]

the bucket list ✘ [six]

series masterlist | prev | next [ ❀ spotify playlist ]

summary: Fly to Korea. Check. Buy a bouquet of flowers for a stranger. Check. Have said stranger come along with you to accomplish your bucket list? Well that wasn’t on the list, but falling in love was. 

pairing: han jisung x afab!reader

genre: 18+ [MDNI] strangers to lovers, non idol au, crack, mostly fluff, later chapters to include: slight angst, comfort, smut.

general warnings:  tourist!mc, slow burn, adult themes including but not limited to: suggestive content, nudity, cursing, mentions of death, eventual smut.

word count: ~5.8k 

chapter content: smut containing: drunk consensual sex, brief breastplay/fondling, protected sex, praise kink, forced eye contact, clit play, awkward day after, hangovers, headaches, mentions of vomit, mentions of food, road trip, shared bed trope, slow dancing.

author's note: Sorry for the delay! This past weekend was my birthday so I was a little wrapped up. That's not to say that this chapter was difficult for me to write; i've never written smut and my current issue is that I feel like it's a little too... clipped. It's okay, we aim to improve! Other than that, I really like how this one turned out. If you would like to skip the smut, please skip to the first page break under the cut. :) Songs mentioned in this chapter: Miley Cyrus - Violet Chemistry | Journey - Lights | Beabadoobee - Dance with Me

You’re not sure if the alcohol is to blame for the butterflies in your stomach anymore. It probably isn’t the reason for the lump in your throat either.  

You look up at Jisung through your lashes, unsure of what will  happen next. You start to shift around nervously in place, trapped between him and the kitchen island. He had tossed off his jacket when he came through the front door and you hadn’t paid too much attention to the fact that his band tee had its sleeves cut off; however, trapped between his arms on either side of you, you couldn’t help but to notice the musculature of his biceps. 

”I do.” Jisung shifts his weight on one foot, causing him to lean closer to you. “I do want to kiss you.” 

“I—“ You swallow that lump in your throat,  your chest lifting  as you breathe the heavy tension in the air. 

The smirk playing on his lips turns into a small smile. “I’m not going to kiss you if you don—“ 

You place your lips on his in the middle of his sentence. It’s quick, it’s chaste, but you can't form words with your mouth. You look up at him, scared that maybe you did something wrong. Maybe he didn’t actually want to kiss you, but dammit you wanted to kiss him. 

There’s a moment of shock written on his face, as if kissing him was the last thing he expected from you. That shock is replaced with that same playful — sexy— smirk as he brings his right hand to cradle your jaw. He brings you closer to him and you can feel him exhale a shaky breath before he captures your lips in a much more firm and fruitful kiss. 

You’re unaware of when you held your breath waiting for him to kiss you, but the kiss surely had you longing for air, taking shallow breaths every chance that you could moments between kisses. You bring your arms around his neck, fingers gently combing through his hair. 

He brings his hands at your waist, fingering the fabric of your trouser’s waistband. In his kiss, he runs his tongue across your bottom lip and right when you open your mouth just slightly, his teeth tug back at your bottom lip. 

Maybe it’s the alcohol and your lowered inhibitions. Maybe it’s the fact that it had been so long, but a sound escapes you, a mix of a lustful sigh and a whimper. You open your eyes mortified, but he’s looking at you with a hunger in his eyes. 

“Tell me to stop.” 

You shake your head, pursing your lips together in a tight lipped smile, poorly containing your eagerness. “I don’t want to.”

With those words, he captures your lips again. This time, you’re both on the way to his room, littering the path there with articles of clothing until you were in your bra and underwear and him in just his boxer briefs. When the both of you have managed to get into his room, he breaks the kiss, squatting down briefly to wrap his arms around your legs, just under your ass to lift you up easily into the air. He carries you to his bed, sitting himself down with you in his lap. 

Jisung’s lips leave hot open mouthed kisses down from your neck, across your right collarbone, to the tops of your tits until his lips meet the fabric of your bra. With one hand on your waist, the other hand reaches behind you to undo the bra and it falls to the floor. Immediately, his mouth latches onto your left nipple, tongue playing with the already hardened bud while his hand massages the other. 

You moan this time, arching your back into him. You roll your hips involuntarily searching for some kind of friction between your legs.

He slides both of his arms down to your hips, stilling you for a moment as he catches his breath. You can feel how hard he is already underneath you and it’s almost uncomfortable how wet you’ve become. He takes in a breath, shaky, and runs his tongue on his bottom lip. After a moment, he reaches over to grab a condom from his bedside table. You take the package from him and get off his lap, momentarily kneeling on the floor. Your hand gently strokes his visibly hard cock over his boxers before freeing him to unwrap the condom and roll it over his length. The whole while, he’s watching you with half lidded eyes, simply admiring the sight.

You stand again, then position yourself on top of him, using one hand to align him with your entrance. Jisung takes your jaw in his hand and brings your face up to look him in the eyes. You gnaw at your lower lip at the way he maintains eye contact with you. His hand replaces yours on the hilt of his cock and you brace yourself with your hands on his shoulders.

Slowly, you sink yourself halfway down on his length. You gasp at the stretch you feel and he groans deeply at how tight you feel around him. He winces when your walls tense around him. His thumb caresses your cheek gently. “You gotta relax or this is going to end soon for me.” 

There’s a nervous lopsided smile on his lips and it almost makes you laugh. “Sorry, yeah…” Your voice is barely a whisper, but you nod your head at him and remain with him half sheathed within you, giving yourself a bit of time to adjust to his girth. Once you’ve relaxed around him, you sit yourself lower on him, moaning the rest of the way down. 

“Fuck,” Jisung runs his thumb on your bottom lip before leaning in for a kiss. “Just like that.” 

You nearly whimper at the praise. You start to bounce up and down on him. He brings a hand to your waist, guiding you up and down on his cock. He’s letting you set the pace, if not for you comfortability, for his concentration on making sure he doesn’t cum too early with how warm and tight your pussy feels around him. 

Your mouth hangs open the moment you start gyrating your hips, the very tip of his dick able to find a certain spot inside of you that brings you close to seeing stars. Jisung’s hand travels from your jaw to your neck, holding you in a position where he can see your face as you bounce on him. At this point, he starts to assist you, thrusting up into you so that you’re meeting in the middle. And with every thrust, you can feel him reach just slightly deeper and deeper each time.

You collapse into him, putting all your weight on his chest. He falls back and for a moment, he’s concerned. “Are you okay?”

You nod and shut your eyes tightly, placing your hands on his chest. “I’m so close, Jisung.” 

When the words leave your mouth, his thrusts up into you harder and his hands,which are now on your hips, bounces you up and  down onto his cock. The sounds of skin slapping against skin, moaning, and grunting fill the room as you cum on his cock. You fall onto him, your strength dwindling.

“I got you, don’t worry,” He brushes your hair out of your face, slightly stuck to your face from all the sweat you worked up. He then lifts you up gently, never once taking you off of his cock. The slight movement makes you feel so good and when he thrusts up into you, you moan right in his ear, clinging on to him in the air. He lays you back on the bed, leaning over you now. “You sound so pretty,” He hitches one of your legs onto his waist and starts to slowly thrust in and out of you, groaning as your walls start spasming around him. 

“Jisung,” your voice is a high pitched whine between your heavy breaths, eyes shut from the pure overstimulation. “Please!” You beg for another release, the heat that is pooled at the bottom of your stomach still present.

He stops his movements and you almost want to cry. “Y/N. Look at me when you beg.” 

Your eyes open to find him looking up at you with a smirk on his lips. When you don’t say anything, he pulls out almost completely then thrusts his hips back into you. You wince at the pleasure it brings you, of being filled completely after feeling so empty without him inside if you. You look him straight in the eyes and he can’t help but admire how you look right now: eyebrows knit so tightly together, the bounce of your tits when he thrusts into you, sweat glistening all over your skin, hair pooled around you messily.

“P-Please, Jisung. “

“Good girl.”He leans forward to bring both your legs over onto his shoulders and leans forward, thrusting hard into you again and again. 

The feeling is overstimulating: the slight pain and pleasure of being so stretched out, his cock hitting your special spot over and over again, bringing you closer and closer to your orgasm. You reach one hand between your legs, your middle finger playing with your clit, frantically rubbing circles until you cum again.

This time, Jisung cums with you with a final thrust, and it feels warm. 

When he pulls out of you, you’re so spent and exhausted, you don’t remember falling asleep.

Your eyes flutter open and it takes you a moment to realize that you’re not in the guest room that you had been staying in for the past couple of days.The first thing you notice is how much your body aches. Not only were your legs and back aching, but your head was aching too. It felt like there was this constant pressure on your brain. The second thing that you notice is that you’re naked beneath the sheets.

You sit up in a panic. Looking to your left you see Jisung’s sleeping form. Heat rises to your cheeks as you clutch the sheets to your chest. The door to the living room is open and you can see the path of clothing leading from the kitchen. You look back at Jisung and observe as his chest rises and falls with his steady breathing. The fact that he’s shirtless and his toned pecs completely on display for you was something you put into the back of your mind. 

You slip out of the bed and tip toe quickly across his room to the door, grabbing your panties on the way out. You shake your head in an attempt to shake the embarrassment off. You take one large silent stride into the kitchen and regret the idea immediately, the pain in between your legs screaming at you. So instead, you shuffle your way to your room, as you collect the rest of your clothes on the way. 

“No fucking way, no fucking way, no fucking way,” At this point, you’re whisper shouting, extremely conscious of the possibility that Jisung could wake at any moment. You grab your towel and make your way into the bathroom for a shower. 

Under the hot water, your muscles relax, but your mind is still going a hundred miles per second. Everything the night before comes rushing back and you have to brace yourself on the shower wall to keep from slipping from how weak your knees feel just thinking about it. Sure there were hazy spots in your memory, but from what you could remember, it was a good night and it’s not like you could deny that you wanted to have sex him. He looked so good in that shirt, but even better with it off.The way his hot skin felt beneath your fingers, his arms around you tight, his mouth on your skin…

You turn the shower knob for the cold water. 

After wrapping your hair up in a towel and getting dressed in a simple black tank top, black hoodie, and gray sweats back in your room. You stand at the door, hand on the knob, hesitating to open it. Is Jisung awake? Did he get in the shower while you were getting ready to leave for Busan?

You contemplate for a moment on whether or not to stay in your room until Jisung knocks on the door to let you know that he’s ready to head out, but then you remember that your phone and the hangover drink are on the counter. You open the door just a crack, your eyes scanning the common area for any sign of Jisung. His door to his room is closed and his clothes are picked up, which means that he already used the restroom. 

You open the door the rest of the way and quickly bring the rest of your supplies over to your suitcase before you pick your phone up from the kitchen counter. You check the battery: 5%.The time on your phone read: 12:00pm. You were already late and normally, you’d be stressing out, but the ache in your head isn’t allowing you to focus on anything other than that pain at the moment. 

You open the hangover drink and start to chug it down when Jisung opens his room door. He opted for a far more comfortable outfit, a large loose fitting hooded sweatshirt, with some sort of graphic on its front and gray nike brand drawstring sweats. He had his hair tucked into his black ribbed beanie, just the back longer bits at the nape of his neck peeking out. 

“Oh, hey good morning.” His voice is low and rough and it reminds you of last night. You almost choke on your drink. Every single thing was reminding you of the night before.  Instead, you clear your throat after finishing the drink. 

“Hi…” Your voice trails off and it’s just as hoarse as his. Wishful thinking hopes that it's because you hadn’t used it all morning, but reality tells you it’s actually the opposite: overuse. You hand him his drink, your hand trembling slightly.

He takes the drink from your hand, “So um abo–” 

“We should get going, we’re already two hours behind.” You’re quick to interrupt him. While you really enjoyed last night, you don’t really know what it means for your friendship and you don’t want to think about it at the moment. 

You go towards the front door and exchange your house slippers for outdoor shoes. Despite you not knowing the way to the garage, you grab your suitcase and head out the door. Jisung follows behind you, slinging his duffel bag around his torso with a large sigh. He wanted to talk about it, that much was evident, but the fact that you were so avoidant made him think that you’re regretting the whole thing. 

Jisung takes out his car fob and presses a button to unlock the car. You look around to find the lights flashing on a white Kia Sportage; a four door Crossover SUV. You follow Jisung towards the trunk of the car and place your luggage inside, ignoring Jisung’s help. He frowns slightly, but stuffs his own belongings in the trunk and closes the trunk afterwards. 

When Jisung slides into the driver seat, you’re already strapped in. “Do you mind if I plug my phone in? I didn’t charge it after last…” Your voice trails off, deciding against finishing that sentence. You clear your throat instead, “I can put the directions on if you want.” 

“Sure,” His response to you is short. He’s not dumb, he gets the vibe that you don’t want to talk about what transpired between you two. You aren’t being very subtle about it what with you avoiding his eyes more than usual. He presses the button and brake pedal to turn the ignition on and reaches over your headrest to see behind the car, pulling out of his parking spot. 

You connect your phone to the chord in the center console and place the phone in your lap, using the car’s touch screen to input the address of the hotel. The navigation pulls up a couple of routes, all similar in time. “It’s going to take us four and a half hours to get there.” 

Jisung’s eyes are focused on the road in front of him, casually cradling his head in his left hand, arm resting on the car door. “Well. It’s going to be a long ride. Might wanna get comfy.” You pout, sinking into your seat with your arms across your chest.

It had been an uneventful ride so far. Your spotify had auto-played whatever playlist you were last listening to. The music is a soft hum through the car speakers, turned down low by Jisung so it doesn’t hurt your head. Even though he’s a little annoyed at you avoiding him when he’s literally sitting right next to you, he’s not cruel enough to make your hangover worse.

You sit with your arms still crossed over your torso, cradling your stomach that is seemingly fighting a war inside of you. When Jisung pulled into the highway about an hour ago, it didn’t start off too bad, but for the past fifteen minutes, the congested lanes became stop-and-go and with every gentle pull and push forward, your stomach has been doing somersaults. It isn’t the fun butterfly in your stomach feeling either, it’s the mouth salivating to prime for the possible up-chuck of whatever was in your stomach– which right now is just water and the hangover drink– kind of somersaults.

You press your forehead against the cool glass of the passenger window and lean forward to aim the a/c vents towards you, trying to cool yourself down. You’re dehydrated, hungover, nauseous, and stuck in traffic on a long drive with the guy you just met last week and had mind-blowing drunk sex with last night. You groan and roll your eyes at the whole situation. 

Jisung takes a glance at you and puts his blinker on for the right lane. “You okay?”

You close your eyes and try to focus on your breathing to try and calm your stomach and keep headache at bay. “That hangover drink did nothing for me.”

“Mmm, okay, we’re going to take a small detour.” He looks back and forth between the right lane and behind the car as he merges over.

The traffic is so bad it takes another five minutes to even exit the highway. Jisung pulls into a parking lot and turns the car off. He reaches for the car door handle and stops, looking over at your form, slouched in your seat. “You want to stay in the car?” You only groan in response. “I’ll be right back.

You have no clue how much time passed when you hear the car door open up again. You dozed off a little while Jisung left to try and rest, but opening your eyes, you don’t feel that much better. You bring yourself to sit up and look over to the driver’s seat to find Jisung with a brown paper bag in his lap. 

“You still feeling like shit?” He opens the bag and places his iced americano down into this cup holder in the center console. “Here,” Hereaches out to you, placing a warm cup of coffee into your hands. “Vanilla creamer for your sweet tooth.” 

You smile a little at that. You bring the cup to your lips and just smelling the blonde roast of coffee helps to alleviate some of the pressure you feel in your head. You inhale deeply then exhale, your shoulders relaxing. “I’ve never loved the smell of coffee so much.” 

Jisung chuckles at you and reaches his hand into the bag, taking out a brown take-out box and placing it in your lap. “That’s because caffeine restricts your veins which means the pressure of the blood in your head kind of goes away.” 

“Oh, well..  Thanks.” You still feel a little awkward. You take a sip of it then place it in the free cupholder to check what was in the box that he had placed in your lap. You open it to find a pair of chocolate croissants. “You didn’t have to do this.”

Jisung shakes his head and places the bag in the backseat. “Well, you look horrible and it’s kind of counter intuitive, but having something in your stomach helps with the nausea. But one of them is for me.” He turns the car back on and heads back towards the freeway as you nibble silently on your pastry. 

When the stop-and-go traffic clears away and it’s just a bunch of cars on the road all moving at a constant speed, your stomach stops flipping and your headache is bearable enough that if you just don’t think about it, you can ignore it. 

Jisung taps his index finger on the steering wheel as he drives, keeping beat with the song playing over the speakers. This is the first song that’s played that he seems to have interest in, the first song he can even pay attention to since he’s no longer worrying about how sick you looked. Now that your headache is mostly gone, you reach over to turn the music up.

Miley Cyrus’ voice is distinct as she sings what you assume to be the chorus. You don’t immediately recognize it, so you assume it’s one of her newer ones. Your head starts bobbing to the music, in time with the beat and Jisung’s drumming on the steering wheel that has grown from a single finger tapping to both hands slapping the wheel. You stare out the window, watching the sun start to slowly make its descent in the sky. 

You tune back into the song when the beat switches up. It’s got a more minimal instrumental than the previous part of the song, just what you think is a drum bass, snare, and high hat with possibly a bass guitar. The sudden change catches your interest.

Fingers start to dance along the figures and the shapes. Mixing all the colors like we’re making a Monet. There’s something between us that’s too major to ignore. May not be eternal but nocturnal nothing more. 

Jisung’s drumming patterns keep up with the song, but you’ve started listening to the lyrics and you can’t help but to snap your eyes away from the window to him. He’s nodding his head, biting on the corner of his lip. You can’t tell if he’s thinking about the lyrics as much as you are. 

Then, his head turns towards you even just a centimeter and you’re quick to reach over to press the skip button before the bridge repeats the same lines again. 

Jisung laughs at you. It’s not a chuckle, it’s a whole hearted, full chested laugh. “Come on, Y/N, really?”

You clear your throat and pick your phone up, still connected to the car. You start closing down unnecessary apps that are still open in the background of your phone in an attempt to act as casual as possible. “What? What do you mean?”

Jisung looks from the road to you, then back to the road and sighs heavily, a slanted smile still on his lips. “Forget it. Nevermind.”

You look back out the window before you drift off again. 

“Y/N,” Jisung’s voice startles you awake. “We’re here.” 

You look around to find that the sun was just above the horizon, casting pink and orange hues into the sky and ocean. You didn’t realize it when Jisung booked it, but the hotel was a relatively close distance away from the beach. You stretch your arms above your head, letting out a loud groan as your muscles untense from the awkward position you had fallen asleep in. You open your door and step out of the car, breathing in the salty ocean air. It felt fresh and the slight night breeze felt cool against your skin. 

Before you can grab your things from the trunk, Jisung already has all the bags and suitcases on him. “Let’s go check in.”

You nod and follow him into the hotel lobby. It’s a pretty nice hotel with an extravagant looking lobby. Looking around, it’s decently busy, filled with not only foreign tourists, but Koreans looking for a small vacation. You fall in line with Jisung and rub the sleep from your eyes. You take a step forward when you’re next up and accidentally bump into Jisung’s shoulder. By reflex, he quickly turns and puts an arm around you, making sure that you’re okay and that you don’t stumble over. He looks to you with his brows raised and a small smile before he turns his attention to the person at the front desk. “Checking in. It should be under Han Jisung.” 

The receptionist types loudly on their keyboard and hands him two room keys in a small hotel key shaped envelope. “Single full queen room. Room 547 on the fifth floor.” 

You brows knit together. “S-Single?” 

Jisung shakes his head. “No, that’s not right, I booked a double.” He pulls his phone out of his pocket, looking through his emails for the confirmation. He shows it to the receptionist. “See? A double.” 

The woman looks at the email then back at her screen. “Hmm. Yeah. Let me see what happened on our end here.” 

Jisung and you turn toward each other with dejected looks on your faces. You’re still feeling awkward and Jisung is feeling tired from driving for nearly five hours. He rolls his neck to relieve some of the tension and takes his beanie off, raking his hands through his hair only to put it back on immediately after. 

“So, I’m not exactly 100% sure what happened, however, I believe in the time that you purchased and booked the room, our systems flagged the room as double booked and it went to the other guest. You were supposed to get another email to offer the single room, but it looks like our automated email did not send and instead booked you automatically for the same price as the double.” 

Jisung leans against the tall counter of the front desk and rubs his temples. “So, there’s no other room available?”

The receptionist shakes her head. “No sir. Not for the same price. Everything else would be a suite.” 

“How much is the suite?” 

The receptionist checks her screen. “The difference would be about 135,000 KSW”

Jisung looks to you to find you shaking your head. “Well, what do you wanna do then?” 

You sigh and pull your hoodie over your head. “It’s fine.”

“We’ll just stick with our room, then.” Jisung takes the keys from the receptionist and pulls your suitcase behind him towards the elevators with you beside him. 

In the elevator, Jisung presses the button for the fifth floor. “I can sleep in the car.” 

You shake your head, “Let’s just see what the place looks like.” 

You walk into the room and look around. It’s actually pretty small, which you figure is so that they can accommodate as many guests as they can. You step inside after slipping your shoes off at the door and walk around the small space, enough for two people. In the center of the room is the queen sized bed facing a wall of full floor-to-ceiling windows. In the corner closest to you on that same wall is a small circular desk with two chairs. The opposite corner has a couch that is so tiny, it would be an absolute pain to sleep in even for you. Right across the door that leads into the hallway on the opposite side was a closet that was left open so that you could  see into the bathroom on the farthest end. 

Jisung takes his own shoes off and wheels your luggage across the room and places it by the small couch in the corner. He does a really quick scan over the room and purses his lips. “So… about the car?” 

You make your way towards him and sit on the couch. “You can’t sleep in the car.” 

He sits next to and shrugs his shoulders. “Well I can’t sleep on this couch.” 

There’s a silence that passes between you and it’s thick and it’s awkward just like the rest of the day has been between you two.

Jisung stands back up and places his duffel bag on the floor. He’s had enough of how awkward you’re being and in all honesty, you’re making the situation way more awkward than it needs to be. “Come on. Let’s go.” He extends his hand out to you. 

You raise a brow at him, “Where are we going?” 

“Trust me.” 

You hesitate but eventually stand up, ignoring his helping hand.  

Jisung awkwardly places his hand in the pocket of his hooded sweater and leads the way out the door. 

Jisung takes you out on a small drive. On your way to wherever he’s taking you, you both point out a couple of places: the mall, the convenience store that you could go to if you find that you forgot something back at the apartment, a McDonald’s where you can quickly grab a bite to eat, a cute cafe that you want to try. 

“Do you know where we’re going?” Your eyes watch the coast, the moonlight reflecting on the waves of the beach. 

“Not really.” Jisung leans forward in his seat, searching for the right place. “I know what I’m looking for, I’m just… not sure if I can find one” You’re about to ask what he means by that, but he speaks up again, excited, “Oh, right up ahead!”

You look towards where he was pulling up to. It’s a relatively empty parking lot with tall lights barely illuminating the area. He parks his car, not paying attention to the designated lines for parking spots and walks out of the car and opens your door for you. He offers you his hand again, but this time he positions himself so that you have no choice but to take it. Eventually, you do, and he helps you out of your passenger seat. 

“What are we doing?” You look at him confused as he leads you away from the car. 

“Stay right there.” 

You stay in place, looking around the empty lot. It looks like it used to be a building, but was torn down and is now being used as a vacant lot for additional parking. It’s relatively dark, but you’re right under the tall lamppost, casting tall shadows around you. 

Jisung goes back to his car and leans over the passenger side to reach the dial of the media console, turning the music up loud enough for you to hear. He looks through his phone that’s connected to the car, searching for a slow song. The soft melody of an electric guitar plays. 

Jisung reaches his hand out to you again and you shake your head, smiling incredulously. “What is this, Han Jisung?” 

“Slow Dance in A Parking Lot.” He gives you a lopsided smile. While you were caught up in your own thoughts, over thinking what having sex with Jisung meant for you and the remainder of your trip and stay in Korea, Jisung was doing his best to keep things normal, even remembering a silly item on the Bucket List.

You close your eyes, smiling to yourself. You take his hand and he pulls you close to him. He places your hand on his shoulder and you do the same with your other hand. His hands rest at your waist and he starts to lead you in swaying to the music. 

“Is this Journey?” 

Jisung laughs a little, “Yeah. Lights by Journey.” 

You close your eyes and place your head on his chest, completely following his lead. You weren’t much of a dancer, but stepping side to side was easy enough for you, and thankfully he wasn’t over complicating the steps. You sigh contentedly, and breathe deeply, inhaling the scent of his cologne. 

He places his chin on your head absentmindedly. “So, Y/N, now that you kind of have to talk to me…”  His chest vibrates when he talks. 

“Yea?” You weren’t sure if you were prepared for this conversation. 

“Are we cool?” You actually don’t expect the question from him. “Like, it happened. We can’t just ignore it.” 

You stay quiet and choose to listen to the rhythm of his heartbeat instead. When he says nothing, you know he’s expecting you to answer. “Yeah but, what does that mean for us?”

“Whatever you want it to mean.” 

You pull your head off his chest and stand up straight to look at him. “Whatever I want it to mean?” You give him a genuine smile. He was so incredibly patient with you and it kind of made you feel bad. You weren’t sure what you wanted it to mean. You search his eyes to find something, anything that could help you, but you don’t find it. Instead, you find comfort, which is better than any solution you could have found. You don’t answer him, instead you change the subject as the song changes over the car’s speakers into something slow, with an acoustic guitar. The singer’s voice is high pitched, feminine and soft.

If you wanna dance with me, then dance with me

“Jisung?” You speak over the lyrics, your voice loud enough for only him to hear. 

“Yea?”

“You don’t have to sleep on the couch. Just… no funny business.”

He places his lips against your hair. “No funny business.”

You nod your head and wrap your arms around his neck, leaning into him more as you both continue to dance in the parking lot, basking in each others company.

“Y/N?” Jisung asks you a question this time, mirroring the way you had just asked him.

“Hmm?”

 “You don’t have to decide right now.”

‘Cause if we dance, we don’t have to speak

You close your eyes and focus on the moment. You can hear the faint sounds of the waves hitting the shore. The gentle breeze doesn’t seem chilly, even as all you’re wearing is a hoodie, tank top, and sweats. The soft thump of Jisung’s heartbeat in your ear is a constant reminder of how close you two are. There’s a tickle in your stomach, a small roll in the pit of your gut, it’s faint, but it’s there.

And I know it's hard to tell, but I think I really like you

ending author's notes: It's fun reading theories that you come up with, but no hints this chapter. I really really liked the end scene and I hope you guys enjoyed it too. Small reminder that reblogs and comments are highly encouraged!

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[coffeeandbatboys]

Congrats love! That's amazing.

Okay how about 7, Mayday, and 🥰

Merci buckets.

Love oo

Prompt: Writing little notes on post-its and leaving them in random places to read.

This one turned angsty but I promised that all of these would have a happy ending so obvs had to fix it.

Warnings: presumed death. Angst. ending.

Fate (Mayday x Reader)

The morning before Mayday shipped out was spent on bitter tears and desperate kisses. He promised that when the war was over he'd make up for all of the time you lost.

It had been hard, adjusting to the lack of company.

You'd periodically find a love note scribbled on colorful flimsi somewhere in your speeder or around the apartment. They brought you more joy than he'd ever know.

He had left you with no doubt about his love, and anticipating the next time you'd see him.

But weeks turned into months.

Months turned into a year.

The republic fell, replaced by an even more corrupt empire. A lieutenant had told you that most of the troopers on Barton IV were killed in action.

So you rebelled. For four months you did everything that the Empire stood against, and they made sure you were punished for every last insignificant crime.

They were banishing you to one of the infamous ‘hellhole planets’

You were dropped miles from the base with half a ration bar and a torn up coat. Trekking through the snow and the ice, you thought that maybe just dying was a good idea. You had fallen too many times to count, and it was becoming hard to get back up when you felt like your muscles were being stabbed by a million icicles. But a voice called to you. Someone across the frozen ground was running in your direction.

Standing on shaky legs you raised a hand to your eyes to get a better look at who it was.

You recognized clone armor and began to trudge through the snow once more.

When the trooper reached you, you had fallen again. He dropped to his knees and removed his bucket. You looked into his eyes and hope swelled in your chest.

He kissed you with the same passion as the last ones you’d shared all that time ago.

“M..mm..may..ay..d..d..ay?” You gasped through chattering teeth, blinking through the snow on your lashes. His forehead rested against yours.

“It’s me, Mesh’la,” his voice broke. “Come on, let’s get you out of here.”

He held you in his arms and helped you all the way back to the base.

You cried and held onto him for hours, praying to whoever that it wasn’t a dream. He was so different from the last time you’d seen him, but he was still your Mayday.

“I read your notes,” you hiccuped, tears freezing on your cheeks. “The imperials told me that you were dead…”

He tightened his grip on you and his beard tickled your neck. “No, no, cyare. I’m right here. I’m okay. Maker, I’m so glad you’re alive.”

You swallowed thickly. “Me too.”

You gave him the best kiss you could with how cold it was. As soon as his lips met yours, it was like something inside you exploded and it was no longer cold anymore. He nudged your nose with his.

“I missed you, Mesh’la.”

You scoffed. “You have no idea, Mayday.”

His expression turned playful. “Perhaps you should show me, then.”

#commander mayday x reader #mayday x reader #commander mayday #mayday x fem!reader #commander mayday x fem!reader #mayday tbb #tbb mayday #coffee’s 270 follower celebration #star wars