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pseudowho · 11 days

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The Stacks

(help me find the Higuruma artist in the banner, for crediting and thanks/permission!)

Stuck together on an all-night study session at the University library, you and your rival Higuruma Hiromi find you may have more in common than you thought...

Warnings: 18+, MDNI, rivals/enemies to lovers, breaking point smut, mild brat-taming/retribution, 'missionary so we can continue fighting'

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The twilight crept in-- but, while your fellow students were heading out for a night of drinks and debauchery, you walked under the evening-dappled willows, to the entrance of the library. You already knew it would be as quiet as the grave.

In the morning was your final, decisive Law exam; this was it. The culmination of years of effort. The final hurdle before the start of a glorious, prolific career. The recognition of yourself as the best Lawyer that your University had ever produced. And, with a curious, melancholy twinge of anger, the last time you would ever have to share a classroom with--

"You." Two voices rang out through the library entrance corridor; one disgusted, the other surprised. Higuruma Hiromi's hooked nose wrinkled at you, beetle-black eyes glinting as he straightened under a straining bag of books, to full height.

A taut moment of silence. Something in Hiromi's jaw clenched and unclenched rapidly, his foot tapping, and he looked aside. Looking back at you, his fury a thin veneer over a flicker of curiosity, he tensed to feel you sweep past him.

"I'm taking the Law section. You can grab some books, and fuck off to study somewhere else, Higuruma."

"Hey-- hey-- you can get fucked if you think you're taking over the place, sunshine--"

Hiromi prickled, rushing to catch up with you. You raced him, his long spidery legs easily putting him in front of you. Two sets of frantic footsteps running up the staircases, crashing and jostling-- "don't touch me!" "--stop it, you're a fucking menace--" "--not sitting with an arsehole like you all night--"

Hiromi and you approached the Law section at speed, a single plush sofa hidden away within circular stacked shelves, tables running between them like the spokes of a wheel. Hiromi shunted you aside at the last moment, slamming his bag on the couch with a satisfied hoot of success, turning to you with a grin and a twinkle in his eyes.

"Bastard!" You snapped, your hackles raised, and the twinkle in Hiromi's eyes dulled, replaced by tired disappointment as he looked away again, jaw twitching under your hateful gaze. Hiromi huffed, moving to empty his bag of textbooks and scattily-organised notebooks.

"Not like I'm going to stop you from studying here," Hiromi clipped, tense, "Lots of room. Didn't anyone ever teach you to share?" He teased, offering another wan smile. You rejected it categorically.

"I don't share with rats," you snapped, grabbing your bag and slamming it onto a nearby table. Hiromi was silent, tapping his fingers against his thigh, mouth puckering up into a bitter snipe.

"Yeah, well...let me know if you want to borrow my paper from the Spring term," Hiromi offered sarcastically, his anger burning low, "I know you didnt do so well on that one--"

"Shut up! My paper was perfect, it was--"

"--second best in the class?" Hiromi hissed air through his teeth, his crossed legs bouncing and jittery as he started to sort through notes, "Yeah, it's okay, I suppose...always room for improvement though, right?"

"Yeah, well..." You retaliated, stumbling over your words, "...you know where you can find a decent essay on Commercial Law, I know you struggle with it."

Hiromi ignored you, relaxed and not taking the bait. It pissed you off how effortless he found all of this, how he didn't have a competitive bone in his body...and all the while, you had toiled away blood, sweat and tears to get to the position you were.

You sat in stony silence for an hour, studying quietly. Any time you relaxed in his presence, you mentally snapped at yourself, not willing to concede one inch to such a snake--

A cup of coffee from the vending machine was dropped in front of you by one long-fingered, elegant hand. You looked up to see Hiromi loping away, warm and lackadaisical in his slim black jeans and Law school sweatshirt. You bristled. Hiromi sat on the sofa again, rolling his eyes as you pushed the coffee away from you with a huff, his own coffee hiding the hint of a smile on his lips and coal-ember eyes.

You tried to hide a yawn behind your hand. Between studying, and part-time bar work to pay your way, sleep was a rare resource. You knew no light in your life other than that from the candle you burned at both ends. Rubbing your eyes, your elbow slipped when you moved to rest it on the table. Your impeccably written flashcards hit the floor, scattering as you swore, kneeling to pick them up.

A few slow footsteps, and those long-fingered hands appeared in your vision again, helping to collect your flashcards with meticulous care. Your shoulders bunched up, and you snatched the pile of cards from Hiromi's hands when he offered them to you.

"Thank you," you begrudged. Hiromi remained on his haunches, hands clasped in front of him.

"Nice flashcards," he offered, and you bristled again, looking for insult, "want me to quiz you?"

"I can do it by myself," you snapped, turning to sit on your chair again, your back to him. You weren't sure if you heard Hiromi sigh.

"Suit yourself, misery guts." Hiromi moved back to the couch, not partaking in the bitter little competition he had never entered. As the clock ticked onwards, approaching midnight, the sky beyond the windows now an inky black, your brain began to fog. You caught yourself reading the same sentence again, and again, and again--

You heard a persistent little tapping. Hiromi had not looked up from his notes, but patted the spot on the sofa beside him in invitation.

"Come on," he pressed, soft and unyielding, "bring your flashcards over, and I'll quiz you. If we're here all night, we might as well be useful to each other."

Your resolve crumbled, despite your prickles of disgust towards Hiromi, and you picked up your lukewarm coffee and your flashcards to sit beside him. You hadn't realised how cold you were, until you felt the warmth of his thickly muscled thigh against yours. You shivered. Hiromi's gaze flicked up and down your body, his hangdog eyes impassively reading you.

He took off his sweatshirt in one fluid movement, holding it out to you. You pretended to ignore him, turning your face away with a pout. Hiromi scoffed. Momentarily, you squealed in indignation to feel his sweatshirt being pulled over your head, your arms being pushed through the sleeves like you were a child.

"Do as you're told," Hiromi chastised without venom, "and wear my fucking sweatshirt. You're cold." You swallowed, rendered speechless by his warmth, the soft notes of his shampoo, and, to your surprise, cologne.

"Did mummy buy you some nice perfume?" You jabbed, and you blushed as Hiromi surprised you with a laugh, deep, rich and genuine. Hiromi leaned across you, his face skirting so close to yours, on his way to reach for your flash cards. He moved his face even closer, his voice conspiratorial as you felt his warm, coffee'd breath over your lips.

"Mummy still thinks I'm some little boy."

You felt a shiver down your spine, feeling heat pool in your belly and pussy, before mentally shaking yourself. Higuruma Hiromi? You berated yourself internally, don't be so fucking ridiculous.

You had felt your eyes wander to him, early in your first year, his quiet confidence so magnetic. You had almost been pulled into his gravity. Then, he bested you in test, after test, after test, never seeming to break a sweat, being lauded as a prodigy, touted as the youngest Judge the Law school would ever see instated. It hadn't taken long for you to see him as the nuisance he was.

Then, he had done something unforgivably dirty, becoming a filthy little sellout, and your conviction in your opinion of him was solidified with brutal finality.

Your train of thought was interrupted by your coffee being pressed into your hands.

"Drink up," Hiromi urged, his tone broaching no argument, a wonky smile on his face which made your stomach somersault, "and get ready. I won't go easy on you."

And, he didn't. He grilled you mercilessly, becoming more and more thrilled as you snapped back each time with devastating precision and accuracy. The flashcards soon became secondary, and eventually discarded in favour of a soulful debate. The back and forth roared through you both like wildfire. You bounced off Hiromi's challenge with ease, his natural foil, and he took it all with a sultry delight that intoxicated you.

Your legs were entangled, now, facing each other on the sofa, and ribbing each other for all you were worth. You hadn't noticed how low your guard had dropped, until you saw how Hiromi looked at you, your wide sparkling smile, your twinkling eyes, your dimples. His square jaw leaned on one hand, his slim fingers stretching from chin to temple, one finger between his teeth, eyes dipped low and burning through you as he smiled. You gulped, feeling the fire warm you from head to foot.

"I'm, uhm..." you trembled, pushing your glasses up your nose as he raised his eyebrows, otherwise still as a panther in the rainforest, "...uhm...just going to get a snack...want anything?"

"...sure," Hiromi eventually answered, watching with mischief as you untangled your legs from his, "anything." You skittered past Hiromi, and it took everything in his power not to pull you to straddle his lap and see just how much he could steam up your glasses.

Turning the corner to the vending machine, you finally released the breath you had been holding. You fanned your face, pressing buttons, selecting a random assortment of snacks, and tapping your card to the card reader. Three little bleeps-- declined.

You felt a thread of panic. You checked your bank account with your heart in your throat...pennies. Literal pennies left to your name, until payday before the weekend. You now burned with shame, considering just leaving your books and bag and turning tail back to your apartment. Instead, with a furious blush over your cheeks, you headed back to the sofa, Hiromi looking at you curiously as you pulled a book onto your lap, empty-handed.

"Nothing decent," you lied, "sorry." Hiromi was silent; his gaze rendered you transparent in a way that was so unwelcome to you now. You felt a wash of relief as he stood up and walked away.

A few minutes later, Hiromi returned, gently placing a bag of crisps and a bar of chocolate down on the book on your lap. Tears of shame prickles in your eyes.

"You like these, right? I've seen you eat them before," Hiromi mused, gentle and casual. You pressed your eyes and lips shut, tears threatening to overspill.

"You didn't have to," you urged, your voice tight. Hiromi hummed to himself, taking a bite of his chocolate, and raising your chocolate bar to boop you softly on the nose.

"Big day tomorrow...today. You won't do well if you're hungry." A pause. "You work hard. It happens." You flooded with a sickening rush of gratitude, Hiromi's easy empathy almost washing away the shame.

"...thank-- thank you," you mumbled, fingers closing round his, your little heart thumping for him, as you accepted the chocolate bar. "I get paid on Friday, I'll pay you back--"

Hiromi scoffed, playful, "Don't worry about it. Just...buy the second round of drinks." You felt your stomach flip, your fingertips pressed over your mouthful of chocolate as you blushed. He was so casual about it. You couldn't see how his heart pounded in anticipation, awaiting certain rejection.

"...I...uhm...yeah. That sounds...that sounds...nice." Hiromi released the breath he'd been holding in a shaky, quiet whoosh. He felt the bridge of his aquiline nose redden. He tried to look surreptitious as he scooted closer to you on the sofa, pretending to choose a textbook.

The exam in the morning was now the furthest thing from Hiromi's mind. You shivered to feel the heat of his thigh against you again, and your fingers itched to reach out and feel the hot corded muscle of them. Hiromi wanted nothing more than to turn, pull your mouth to his, and share the taste of chocolate on each others' tongues. He was torn by indecision.

Shifting your legs, your textbook tumbled off to the side of you. You leaned back, reaching down to the floor, at the same time as Hiromi leaned over your body, his fingers stretching out, too. You found yourself suddenly bracketed by his lithe, long body, his arms either side of your head and his lap pressed to yours.

You stared up at Hiromi, like a little bunny rabbit, trapped. You reached one hand up to brush the black commas of hair off Hiromi's forehead and he shuddered, feeling his cock throb and fatten behind the zipper of his jeans. He leaned down towards you, pupils dilated, a pit of possessive thrill just above his aching length as he spoke, millimetres away from your lips.

"How long has this been almost happening for?" Hiromi pondered aloud, his cock thickening even faster as you squeaked, little hands gripping his biceps.

"Never," you challenged weakly, "it was never going to happen--"

"Yeah, right," he whispered, low and sarcastic, one hand looping behind your neck in preparation for fucking into your mouth with his tongue, "always the same shit with you--"

"-- it might have happened sooner if-- if you didn't sell yourself to that filthy company to become their corporate lawyer lapdog--"

Hiromi stiffened instantly, pulling away from you, your lips chasing his briefly in confusion. You blinked up at him, feeling so small as his face twisted in fury above you, his eyes incandescent with rage.

"I'm sorry-- what?" He snarled, climbing off of you and leaving you cold, confused, blinking.

"--you--you were scouted by that nasty finance company, right? And you accepted. Everybody said--"

Hiromi laughed, humourless, both of his hands cupping his nose and lower face as he leaned back into the sofa, staring at the ceiling, "Yeah? Everybody says, do they? You listen to everybody, do you?"

You felt a thread of dread run through you, the adrenaline of having almost been taken by Hiromi, now replaced with the adrenaline of confrontation. You felt a ruffle of indignation through you.

"I always thought you'd go that way," you asserted, doubling-down, rendered stupid by the need to win, "some little corporate rat for pay."

Hiromi's teeth clenched so hard, you heard the crunch, and you felt exactly how seriously you had fucked up. You gulped. You stood, brisk. You crammed books and flashcards into your bag, before moving to make a swift exit.

"--a--anyway. Good luck in the morning. Have a nice life."

You hurried away, towards the tightly packed bookshelves, at first hearing silence behind you, before the sudden rush of heavy footsteps chasing you and your heart in your mouth and--

You squealed, forcibly spun by one strong hand, your back slammed against the bookshelves. Books slipped and fell around your head, but none of them hit you; Hiromi barely winced as he craned over you, books tumbling off his head and shoulders while his arms blocked your exit. His hips pressing against your belly trapped you further, and you felt the erection you had left him with, straining against his jeans.

"You're smart, but you're such a fucking know it all," Hiromi spat, urging you to answer for your crimes by forcing eye-contact. You swallowed, heart fluttering between your legs, speechless.

"Oh, what? Now you shut up, huh?" Hiromi tsked, a wonky smile on his face, still twisted in anger as he laughed, humourless, into his shoulder.

"What the fuck did I ever do wrong?" Hiromi demanded, leaning down so the side of his hooked nose pressed against yours, your lips almost touching, "What did I do to make you hate me? So fucking competitive, you act like a total brat to the one guy who's good enough to keep up with you."

"Higuruma, I-- I'm sorry, I didn't mean--"

"Oh, no no no," Hiromi whispered, nose still pressed to yours, his cock rigid and twitching against your belly, "Hiromi, please. Enemies are just as intimate as lovers, after all." You shuddered, and Hiromi felt a drip of pre-cum soak his boxers, to see you finally yielding beneath him, and in his sweatshirt no less.

"...I did accept a job, obviously," Hiromi sniped, watching the colour drain from your face as he told you, "...at the Public Defence Office...you gullible little tart."

"...but if you think I'm such a bad person, how about I fuck you like one, hmm?" Hiromi drank down your squeak with a nose-crinkling grin, before crashing his lips to yours, moaning with relief into your gasping, warm mouth. The tension snapped in you, brittle under Hiromi's righteous rage, and you tangled your arms around his neck, pressing your body flat against his, in a kiss that was three years in the making.

"--oh, fuck yes-- fucking pain in my ass-- hate me all you like, still better than being ignored by you--" Hiromi nipped your bottom lip between his teeth, before sucking it between his, soothing the sting. You could feel how he shook with restraint, wanting retribution for years of ill-treatment. In a fleeting moment of shame-faced acceptance, as Hiromi laid claim to your neck, you realised you absolutely deserved it.

Hiromi marked your neck, sucking with his teeth and lips, raking the neckline of his sweatshirt down to do the same to your collarbones with a sandy moan. He scooped his arms under your thighs, lifting you against him, carrying you back to the sofa where he fell back, forcing you to straddle him. The sudden jolt of your clothed aching pussy against his cock made you both moan, and Hiromi bucked his cock up against you instinctively.

Feeling Hiromi's gaze burning into you again, you blushed, looking aside and sheepish. He reached up, tangling one hand roughly into your hair, tilting your head to the side, examining the lovebites down your neck with a shudder.

"You-- you're such a dickhead-- always came so fucking easy to you--" You whined at Hiromi, blushing as he laughed, his hand snaking under the sweatshirt to cup your breast with a groan of satisfaction.

"Fuck off," Hiromi scoffed, "fucking easy-- you treat me like scum, and you think I'm going to let you see me struggle? Please. Been fighting me for three years when you should have been fucking me instead."

Hiromi scooped your tank top and bra down beneath the sweatshirt, doing the same with his other hand, taking both of your breasts between his long, kneading fingers as he rutted his aching cock up into you.

"So go on then, if you're so clever...fuck me with your clothes on." You whimpered above him, feeling both of your nipples rolled insistently between his thumbs and forefingers. Your skirt had rucked up around your hips, and Hiromi swore under his breath to feel your arousal soak through his jeans, onto his cock.

He bucked up against your pussy again, and you mewled as shockwaves ran through your clit. Hiromi's fingers dug into your breasts, squeezing them with barely-contained need. You did as you were told, and hooked your panties aside, your pussy now flush against Hiromi's concealed length, and began to ride the underside of his weeping cock.

Hiromi threw his head back with a hiss, "Good girl-- not such a brat, now you're doing as you're told..." Hiromi bit his lip, moaning unashamedly to feel you hump yourself to orgasm against him. Despite his punishment of you, he already longed for you to fight back. He bucked his hips into you in challenge, thrilled when you planted your hands on his belly, your breasts squeezed together in his hands beneath the sweatshirt.

"--bet you're-- bet you're really fucking pleased with yourself--" You blushed, tears glittering bitterly in your eyes, moaning into Hiromi's mouth as he laughed again, kissing the pout off your face.

"I am, actually," he gasped, tweaking your nipples hard enough to make you whimper, "--gonna cum on my jeans, huh? Shit...don't know-- you never knew-- so fucking beautiful when you're being mean to me--'

Your thighs burned with the effort of rubbing your pussy against Hiromi, but you felt your orgasm building with the rough friction of Hiromi's trapped, twitching cock. Hiromi helped you, rutting up into you, staring at where your lap joined his, his face twisted into a feral snarl.

"--cum on me-- cum on me...shit, I need it, need to see your face when you finish...come on sweetheart--"

Hiromi's insistent growls send you tumbling over the edge, and you came with the sweetest cries Hiromi had ever heard. He watched you convulse and twist above him, his fingers still rolling over your sore nipples, his pupils blown with lust, teeth clenched with the effort of not spilling in his boxers. Hiromi rutted slowly into you, guiding through the haze of your pleasure until you came back to him, glassy-eyed and supple.

Hiromi released your breasts, flipping you over so your arse was on the edge of the sofa, with you on your back. Kneeling, Hiromi positioned himself between your thighs, one hand squeezing the plush of them, while his other pushed the sweatshirt up, his tongue drawing circles on your belly. You tangled your fingers into his hair, tugging until he moaned into your skin. His mouth travelled downwards, dipping beneath your skirt.

"Want to taste you," Hiromi insisted, yanking your panties down your legs, balling them up and shoving them into his back pocket. You opened your mouth to object, suddenly self-conscious. Hiromi growled at you, squeezing your nipple again until you keened at him, high and whimpering.

"Just shut up, and let me taste you," he growled, nuzzling his nose between your folds in an instant, rubbing it harshly from side to side over your sore, abused clit. You clapped a hand over your mouth to hold back the scream. Hiromi reached up, tugging your hand away and gripping them both together on your belly, "and hear you."

Hiromi swore into your cunt, lost in the taste of you, licking quick little flicks over your clit, in a way that filled your head with stars. Your thighs trembled, and you babbled Hiromi's name, watching with fascination as Hiromi unzipped himself, pulling his fat, heavy cock into his hand. He began to stroke himself with wet little plap plap plaps, soaking your pussy with his spit in preparation for sinking himself between your folds.

"Hiromi I-- right there god yes keep going with your nose I love it-- so good, I-- gonna cum, Hiromi--"

The last syllable of his name was dragged out in a sobbing cry. Hearing you whimpering and begging him as his nose and tongue fucked you through the waves of bliss, was worth all these years of your miserable torture, Hiromi thought lightly.

You blushed deeply as Hiromi came up for air, his gleeful face glistening with your cum. He grabbed you by the hips, yanking you so they almost fell off the sofa at an angle you knew would have you twisting against him.

Hiromi grasped his red tipped cock, and you drank it in hungrily; its pretty upward curve, three thick veins running down its length, the thick jet-black hair trailing down his belly. You felt your mouth water, and Hiromi was hyperfocused, sliding his cockhead up and down your folds with hooded eyes, sloppy and pussy-drunk.

"...fuck...I can't wait-- sorry, I--" Hiromi sheathed his length inside your slippy cunt in one slick thrust, whimpering and gripping you to him with dimpled fingerprints, "-- I can't wait any-- ahhh shit, so tight...squeeze my cock, c'mon--"

You didn't need to be told, clenching involuntarily as Hiromi completely impaled you on his cock. Hiromi gasped and cursed, yanking his t-shirt up and gripping it between his teeth, so he could stare down at where his cock sunk into you unhindered.

He fucked into you, slow and smooth, eyes flitting between your fucked-out face, your hands clawing at the sofa, and his cock pushing through your tight walls, its sweet upward curve dragging harshly against your spongy sensitive spot, nudging into your cervix and belly. Hiromi rolled his thumb around your clit, pinching the fatty flesh around it, gently pleasuring you to feel the way your walls fluttered and gripped him.

You locked your ankles around Hiromi's lower back, dragging an animalistic growl out of him. Hiromi stood bringing your hips with him, holding you by the thighs as he planted one hand on the sofa above your head, and upped his pace, fucking into you with messy abandon.

Watching your glasses bounce in time with your tits as he rammed into you, stoked a competitive urge in Hiromi, and he cursed, spitting venom as he upped his pace again. You arched involuntarily, feeling him fill you with such ragged fucks, that you forget where you were, clenching and whining around him.

You felt a fire, deep in the pit of your belly, watching Hiromi with absolute awe as he chased his orgasm, using your body as a cock sleeve with total reverence. Every muscle in his body twitched with effort, and you felt his cock twitching within you as he moaned and cursed. You clenched your pussy deliberately around his length, and Hiromi almost fell apart, his fingernails leaving crescents in the smooth leather of the sofa, his face twisted in anguished ecstasy.

"--so long waited so long-- shhhhit, ugh, s-so tight-- wet, fffuck...squeeze me agai-- oh fuck yes, cumming, I-- I--"

Hiromi broke off into strangled, desperate strings of moans, spurting hot, thick glugs of cum against your cervix. Hiromi continued to pinch and roll around your clit, and you felt yourself judder weakly as you came again, Hiromi gasping as your wet, velvety walls sucked the last spurts of seed from him.

Hiromi dropped to his knees, weak, still plugged inside you, gasping. He dropped his head onto your belly, grinning at the feel of your fingers sinking into his hair, holding him to you. A few sweet moments of companionable silence.

"...still gonna beat you in the morning, though."

Hiromi laughed into your plush belly, biting the soft skin there until you squealed, hearing him mumble against his sweatshirt.

"You wish."

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roosterforme · 2 months

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Always Ever Only You Part 33 | Rooster x Reader

Summary: Getting through your second presentation feels like a battle of wits against your own body. Then after weeks of barely being able to stomach anything, you are presented with the most enticing dinner. But it's the food that's alluring, not your dinner mate, and Bradley has a few things to say about the mess you get yourself caught up in.

Warnings: Swearing, adult language, pregnancy topics, angst, fluff, phone sex, masturbation

Length: 5800 words

Pairing: Bradley "Rooster" Bradshaw x Female Reader

This was written to accompany my series Is It Working For You? along with a bunch of my one-shots and other series, but it can be read on its own! Check my masterlist for the reading order. Always Ever Only You masterlist. Gorgeous banner by @mak-32

You slept like a lovesick log after your long drive back to the hotel from the cemetery. Exhausted from throwing up in the shrubs, you curled up in bed and watched the video you took for your son or daughter. You had recorded yourself reading both headstones and having a little conversation with your in-laws about the baby. It was just meant to be something you and Bradley could watch one day with the nugget, but it brought a smile to your face.

You were decidedly no longer smiling when you woke up on Wednesday and had to race to the toilet. "Why is this happening again?" you asked the bath mat as you curled up in a ball. You had another, longer presentation to give. You had admirals to chat with. You had a whole lot to get done today. You didn't have time for this right now.

Even brushing your teeth was a chore. Changing into your uniform was an issue. At least your pants felt a little looser today. You honestly could not keep up with the way your body was bloated half the time and normal the rest of the time.

You realized your makeup was pretty much the only thing holding your life together at the moment as you swiped on some mascara. Then there was a knock at your door, and it felt like you were doing the same thing all over again today, because essentially you were. You and Cat had to struggle with the bin of equipment. You had to fight to stay awake in the rental car. The nausea was turning your life into a game of sheer determination to keep the bagel that you ate from coming back up.

"Are you okay?" Cat asked you a few minutes before the presentation was about to start.

"Of course," you told her in what you hoped was a reassuring tone. "Why wouldn't I be?" You shrugged and smiled serenely at her.

"Because you're sweating bullets. And you've been pacing around the hallway."

You cleared your throat and insisted, "It's just really hot in here."

"It's not," she replied. "Please. I'm begging you. Just keep it together for another ninety minutes, okay? After that, you can do anything you want. Hell, I'll do anything you want me to do. But we need to get through this presentation."

Her voice sounded panicked, and now you were looking around the hallway for a garbage can. But it was too late. The two of you were being called into the presentation room. Commander Patterson and Admiral Klein were sitting in the front row smiling at you. Shit, more admirals were here today. Oh fuck, all of these people wanted to hear your extended presentaion. A bead of sweat rolled down the back of your neck, past your shoulder blades and along your spine. You wanted Bradley. You wanted Bradley to hold you and let you throw up everywhere and tell you that you were still pretty and that he loved you even if you cried on the toilet and ate crackers while you lay on the floor.

Tears burned your eyes, and Cat looked like she was going to scream. Pull it together. Ignore the sensation. Clip the microphone onto your shirt. Start talking.

"Good afternoon. Lieutenant Coleman and I are back to expound upon our research presentation from Monday which covered communications engineering at Top Gun. You can find a copy of our slides in the information packet in front of you. Please hold your questions until we pause for a break. Let's get started."

--------------------------

Bradley really wasn't doing well without you at home. He was barely eating anything besides cereal and sandwiches, and he was going to bed hungry at night. The only fun he'd been having was slowly filling up that pink and blue notebook with his musings for the little nugget.

He was having a hard time sleeping, and he didn't like how quiet the house was. Even Tramp kept looking for you, occasionally running to the front door and whimpering. "We'll see her on Friday," he told the dog as he had potato chips and coffee for breakfast on Wednesday morning. "Two more days of this bullshit."

When he got home from work on Tuesday, he broke down in tears as he looked at the photos you sent him from the cemetery. You even took a video where you were talking to him and the nugget and his parents. He still couldn't believe you took the time to drive there and make it so special for him. After he finished crying, he made his way back up to the attic where he took the half wall down to the studs. Then he realized that he really needed to call some contractors before you came home and saw the mess he made.

While he drove to work in the red Bronco, he left messages, hoping to get some estimates in the next week or so. One thing that he'd been slowly coming to terms with was the fact that you didn't need him to take care of you by paying for everything. Both of your incomes were going toward the mortgage payments and all the necessities. You'd both been saving money for the future, and he figured the future had arrived since there was a baby on the way.

When he parked in the garage on base, he noticed he had some new texts from you.

Baby Girl Bradshaw: I miss you. I'm struggling today. I think the nugget hates me. I'll call you later after my presentation and all of this other shit is over.

He wanted to text you back, but he didn't want to be a distraction, so he tucked his phone into his pocket and ran his fingers through his hair. He had been reading every pregnancy article online that he could find, but none of the tricks he saw were helping you with the nausea. You were probably just going to have to wait it out. He would be ready to rub your shoulders and put a cool washcloth on the back of your neck when you got home.

Bradley walked the long way around to the classrooms since he was early and didn't need to stop in the locker room to change. When he passed the stairwell that would have taken him up to your office and the engineering labs, he swore he heard Bob's voice. He paused, and he definitely heard Bob's laugh. When the door to the stairs opened, he heard Bob say, "We can always find out later tonight if you want to invite me to your room again." And then there was a very familiar, feminine laugh before Bob appeared ten feet ahead of him.

He stared at Bob, and Bob stared back as the door closed, leaving the two of them alone. Bradley thought back to the way Bob and Maria were looking a little cozy at brunch last Sunday. This was interesting.

"Hey, Bob," Bradley said with a grin. "How are you enjoying your new apartment with Maria?"

His cheeks immediately flushed pink, and Bradley bit his lip to keep quiet as Bob started stuttering. Frankly, he was proud of his friend for sounding so much more self assured a few seconds ago when he was tucked inside the stairwell with Maria. "I-I d-don't know... are y-you... I d-din't think that..."

Bradley let him flounder through a few more partial sentences before he said, "If you're hooking up with Maria Wilson, then good for you, man. Well done."

Bob cleared his throat, adjusted his glasses and ran his hand along the back of his neck. "Thanks," he muttered as he stared at the floor.

"You want me to keep this information to myself?"

Bob's blue eyes went wide as they met Bradley's. "Please." He swallowed hard. "I don't think she wants anyone else to know." His voice was just a whisper as he said, "I'm sure she'd be embarrassed if people found out."

Then he turned and left Bradley standing there alone. He'd been in that position before with you. Before you made things official. And he had been miserable. "Poor Bob," he muttered as he followed him at a distance. The best case scenario would be if Maria confided in you when you got back from Annapolis. Bradley would have to be cool about you going to brunch on Sunday even though he already wanted you and the baby all to himself again all weekend.

-----------------------

You made it. Somehow you got through the full hour and a half. You nailed your parts, and so did Cat. You and she answered questions for at least an additional thirty minutes, and now she was packing up the equipment while you sent a quick text to Bickel.

"Your research is very compelling, Lieutenant Commander."

You looked up into the eyes of Commander Patterson, and he smiled warmly at you. Unfortunately, the only thing you could really think about was the way you'd been picturing Bradley's cock the last time you talked to him. At the moment, you were so fucking horny, you felt like rubbing yourself against the wall and crying until you got some relief.

"Thank you, sir," you managed to say while you tried to focus on his face and his words. "It has really become a passion project, trying to keep actual aviators in the air versus the drone agenda. Real people making real decisions based on their surroundings and the immediate threats they are facing will always win out against a laboratory manufactured software protocol."

"I couldn't agree more." He took a step closer and said, "And the way you presented your findings made it so clear that you're eager for others to understand how important that is as well."

"Absolutely," you told him with a smile of your own. "And the funding for communications research is so important."

You were probably going to have to go to the cocktail hour tonight just to get your face out there since you skipped the previous one to drive to Virginia. But you were almost instantly saved from having to do that as Commander Patterson said, "I'm planning on having dinner this evening with a few of the admirals if you'd like to join us. Cocktail attire. Overpriced steaks. You know, the usual."

His slight eye roll had you laughing and agreeing immediately. That sounded a lot better than trying to ditch champagne flutes all night. You'd still be able to chat with some superiors, and right now, you were actually hungry. "That sounds great. I'll see if Lieutenant Coleman can join as well."

With that, his smile wavered a bit, but he told you the name of the restaurant, and you promised to be there at seven o'clock. Cat had all the equipment packed up, and she was ready for you to help her carry the bin. "Hey, you want to come eat an overpriced steak later? With Commander Patterson and some others?" you asked as you tried your best to lift with your legs.

"Why didn't you tell me before? I already agreed to some stupid happy hour with a handful of admirals, but I love overpriced food when you don't have to pay for it."

You laughed and said, "That's probably better. We can divide and conquer this way. Bickel will like that."

As the two of you hoisted the bin into the rental car, Cat smiled and said, "You know what else he'll like? The fact that we nailed the presentation again today. I'm sorry I doubted you."

"Don't do it again," you told her with a smirk. Of course then you promptly started falling asleep while she drove back to the hotel, and when you got to your room, you passed out in bed until it was time to get ready for dinner.

It was only three o'clock for Bradley, and even though you wanted to call him, you decided to wait a little longer. You inhaled a pack of peanut butter crackers while your stomach growled loudly. "What is with you today?" you asked the baby. "You're finally hungry? Or are you going to make me barf again?" You got a loud rumble in response. "I know you like Daddy better, and we'll be home in two days. Relax."

As you redid your makeup, you started thinking about Bradley. And then you thought about how delicious he smelled right after he finished a workout. And then you thought about how nice and big his cock is. And then you thought about all the sounds he makes and the way me moans your name when his cock is inside you.

"Oh hell," you whined, pressing your thighs together. You needed to get some relief with your toys until you could get back home, but you didn't have time for that right now. The combination of being so hungry and so horny was almost too much to handle, and you ended up calling Bradley on the short drive to the restaurant. It was barely four there, so you were surprised when he answered.

"Hey, Sweetheart."

Two words. He said two fucking words, and you were moaning and having a hard time focusing to drive. "Roo. Oh my god."

"What's wrong?" he snapped immediately. "Are you okay?"

"Yes," you gasped, parking the car and squeezing the steering wheel. "I'm just so horny. And Commander Patterson asked me out to dinner, and I seriously need to get fucked, Bradley. Like you have no idea how bad it is right now."

You could hear him mutter something, and then you thought you heard Jake's voice before Bradley quietly said, "Baby Girl, I'll fuck the absolute shit out of you all weekend. In fact, I can't wait to do that. I'll take care of everything you need."

"Daddy," you moaned, realizing you should have masturbated instead of taking that nap.

"But please tell me who the fuck Commander Patterson is. All I know is that you said he's that guy who asked if Top Gun aviation is the right fit for you?" Another moan escaped your lips as you thought about being a tight fit for your husband. "Yeah, you sound wrecked, Sweetheart," he crooned in that raspy voice. "I don't think you should go to dinner with some guy I don't know. I don't care what his rank is.

You sucked in a deep breath and let it out slowly. "It's not just with him. Some admirals are coming too. I need to meet the admirals, Bradley. And I'm already at the restaurant." When you looked further up the block, you saw Patterson heading inside.

Bradley made a frustrated sound. "Text me when you can? And call me when you're leaving later?"

"I will," you promised as your stomach growled. You were so excited that the nugget seemed to want to eat this steak, you almost hung up before you said, "I love you."

You straightened out your black cocktail dress as you practically ran down the sidewalk in your high heels which you rarely ever wore except in your bedroom with your husband. The delicious smells from the restaurant were wafting out onto the sidewalk, and you were going to cry if there wasn't some bread or something already waiting on the table.

"There you are, Lieutenant Commander."

Patterson was waiting inside the entryway where at least the sound of the air conditioner blasting and the conversation around you was blocking out your growling stomach. He was smiling as his hand found the small of your back. "Our table is ready. We can go right there."

When he applied some pressure with his hand, you lurched forward. Perhaps he was just trying to help you navigate through the crowd, but he could keep his hands to himself. He must have known you were married. You decided to make a show of pointing out some hideous artwork with your left hand, practically shoving your rings in his face. "That's a lovely painting, Commander," you told him, but he just smiled and nodded at you before pulling out a chair at a table set for four.

"Please, call me Derek," he told you as he sank down into the seat across from you, and then he started using your first name without permission. The one blessing was the fact that there was an enormous basket of bread sitting right in the middle of the table along with a variety of spreads and dips.

You moaned softly and had to bite your lip as you reached for a soft looking roll and the chive butter. Derek was staring at you with parted lips and wide pupils. Had he never seen a woman eat before? Had you ever been this hungry before? You licked your lips as you spread some of the butter onto the roll, and then you took a bite and moaned again.

Holy. Fucking. Shit.

After weeks of feeling miserable, you finally knew you could stomach this meal right now. You were still so turned on, and yet your exhaustion was bone deep at this point, but the bread was like a lifeline to normalcy, and you were grabbing onto it.

Derek cleared his throat as he watched you take those first few sumptuous bites. "I've got to know," he said smoothly, "exactly what would lure you back to Annapolis for good?"

You popped the rest of the roll between your lips and chewed it up before you said, "Nothing."

"There would have to be something. Better research facilities? Your own lab? Both of your degrees and your work are so impressive, you must know there would be endless possibilities for you here."

You were shocked. Running your own lab was your dream. The idea of being in charge of a research team made your skin prickle with desire. You hoped that could be a possibility someday, but you weren't even thirty-five yet. You figured maybe ten years from now when Bickel was getting ready to retire, you'd be able to take his place.

"My own lab?"

Derek smiled, all white teeth and handsome expression, and then the waitress arrived. You wanted to jump out of your seat and hug her when she asked if you'd like to order any appetizers.

"Do you know when the others will be here?" you asked Derek. "Should we wait to order?"

He shook his head vaguely. "They'll be late. We can order. Get whatever you want."

You almost laughed giddily as you ordered three appetizers and then a steak dinner complete with garlic mashed potatoes and two vegetables. "We can share the appetizers," you said when he looked at you in surprise, even though you didn't want to. You placed your hand on your belly, trying to subtly thank the baby for cooperating right now.

When the waitress finished taking his order and then departed, you asked, "Which admirals are joining us?"

"Hmm? Oh... uh, Rivera and Silverman."

You were not familiar with either of them which made you panic slightly. You should have done more research on who was attending each of the lectures. Why hadn't you done that? Oh, right... because you were too busy throwing up. The bread basket called to you, and before you knew it, you'd eaten more than half while Derek droned on about how amazing you'd be running your own lab. He didn't even know you, which made this more annoying than anything else, but your stomach was holding up spectacularly, so you could overlook it. You could have kissed the waitress when she came back with the appetizers.

"So, do you live alone?" he asked as you dipped two mozzarella sticks into some marinara sauce. You paused before shoving them into your mouth so you could chuckle.

"No. I live with my husband and our dog." Then the fried cheese hit your tongue, and it was like you were living in a world of color after weeks in black and white. Your stomach gurgled pleasantly, finally accepting food once again. Tears of joy stung at your eyes as you took a forkful of crispy brussels sprouts and a potato skin.

Derek laughed and asked how old you were, but your mouth was full, so he said, "Let's just say, my career in Annapolis outlived my bad marriage. And that's been the case for many, many officers."

You swallowed the potato like it was a lead weight. That had definitely been the case for Cat, unfortunately. And you'd heard a lot of stories, sure, especially when you were at the Naval Academy. And perhaps that was part of the reason you fought against the mere idea of being with Bradley at first. One officer in a relationship with a civilian was bad enough, but two officers trying to make it happen together usually spelled disaster.

But you felt stronger with Bradley. The two of you worked hard to get through your struggles and end up in a better place. You and he were going to be parents, for fuck's sake.

"Just sharing my two cents with you," Derek added, still smiling. "You're young, and you haven't lived it yet, but I can tell you that you'll go farther here than in San Diego. Especially if you're already open to the idea of having more."

You wanted to check the time on your phone; you must have been sitting here for over half an hour by now. The other two chairs were still empty. Derek was starting to get under your skin.

"I'm open to the idea of pursuing my career at Top Gun along with my husband."

"He's an officer as well?" Derek asked with a laugh. "I'm sure he's having a great week back in San Diego without you."

You felt heat flame up your neck and into your cheeks as your steak dinners arrived. "Yes, he's an officer. He's a Top Gun aviator."

"He deploys?" Derek asked in disbelief before laughing harder. "You should make the move back to the east coast now, before he ruins your life. If he hasn't already."

He had gone from complimenting you to trying to humiliate you in a matter of minutes. You'd been blinded by the glorious meal, but the truth hit you square in the chest. As he picked up his fork and steak knife, you asked, "Why did you lie to me about two admirals coming? Do Rivera and Silverman even exist?"

Somehow his smile was still persistent as he said, "Sure, they exist. They went to the cocktail reception on base." You watched the knife sink into his steak as he added, "You're gorgeous. I wanted to get you alone. Let you know how much better things could be. Offer to set you up for a one-on-one meeting with Admiral Jennings tomorrow if you come home with me tonight. It's on the table if you want it."

In one quick movement, you snatched his plate away from him with the fork still stuck in the steak. "Okay, well fuck you, Derek," you snarled, standing up and waving for the waitress. "You're disgusting and delusional if you thought I would even consider going home with you."

"Can I get you anything?" the waitress asked cautiously, and you realized you were causing a bit of a scene now in the crowded restaurant.

"Yes. I need boxes. Like a whole bunch of takeout boxes," you told her. "I'm taking all of this food with me."

"Right," the waitress replied, her gaze drifting to Derek who looked very unamused.

"I'm taking his meal, too," you snapped. "Hurry up with the boxes."

She scurried away as you piled all of the food onto one plate and said, "You're so fucking stupid, Derek. I already have Admiral Jennings' phone number. I met her last year. I told her to her face that I'm staying in San Diego."

"Well then you're making a bad choice," he told you.

Then the waitress set down some takeout containers while you practically tossed the empty plate back at Derek. You scraped as much of the food into the first box as would fit before moving to the second one. "He's paying for dinner," you told the waitress. "And I'm taking one fork and one steak knife with me. He'll pay for those as well." You shoved the rest of the bread into the last box and then stacked them all up before meeting Derek's eyes. "You just ruined the first meal I've been able to stomach in weeks, asshole. And my husband is a nice man. Very sweet. Treats people with respect. But if he were here right now, you'd have a bloody face and some broken ribs."

You picked up the boxes, grabbed the utensils, and made your way toward the exit. You went straight for your rental car and climbed inside before cranking the engine. Then you took a massive bite of garlic mashed potatoes before cutting off a piece of Derek's steak while you called your husband.

-------------------------

Bradley was working out in the garage when your ringtone cut across the playlist you made for him. He practically dropped his barbell to the cement floor to get his phone from where it was sitting on the tool chest. "Sweetheart. I wasn't expecting to hear from you quite yet. Didn't we just get off the phone?" he asked with a smile as he ran his forearm along his sweaty face. "Not that I mind one bit." He was about to ask if you were done with dinner, but then he realized that you were crying. The sweat on his skin turned ice cold as he quickly asked, "What's wrong?"

"Roo," you wailed, and he started looking around the garage as if there was something out here that would help both of you calm down. "He ruined my fucking dinner!" you sobbed.

"What are you talking about?" he asked as he paced the length of the garage, running his fingers through his damp hair. "Who ruined it?"

"Commander Patterson."

Bradley honestly could not fathom how that guy had ruined your dinner. All he knew was that you told him you were horny as hell when you got to the restaurant, and that he didn't trust guys he didn't know around you. Most men were disgusting, and you were lovely and also pregnant with his child.

"Can you explain what happened so I can understand?" he asked as calmly as he could.

"Yeah," you sniffed, and he heard a car engine start up in the background. "The nugget and I were both really enjoying the food. Like really enjoying it, Bradley. You know how I've been, and this was delectable and exactly what we both wanted. Like it was so good, if you'd been there with me looking super sexy, I would have probably had an orgasm in the middle of the damn restaurant."

Bradley swallowed hard as he stood in the garage, wondering where the hell this was going. "I understand. You haven't been able to eat much, so that must have felt amazing. Now can you tell me what's wrong?"

"He ruined it!" you replied loudly. "He lied to me! There were no admirals planning on joining us. He tricked me into meeting him there, and then he gave me fake compliments and accolades about my work. He told me that I could get ahead with a career in Annapolis if I slept with him, all because he wanted to fuck me!"

Bradley almost dropped his phone. "Did he touch you?" he growled, switching to speaker phone as he rushed through the backyard toward the house and looked for flights to Maryland at the same time. "Did he fucking touch you?!"

"No!" you practically shrieked. "No, he didn't touch me! You think I'd let him get anywhere near me after he ruined my dinner?"

"Where are you now?" he demanded. "And what's this Commander fucking Patterson's first name?"

Bradley was seeing red as he walked inside and slammed the sliding glass door behind him, and Tramp ran whimpering into the spare room. The earliest he could get out of San Diego on an eastbound flight was a red eye that left at 9:30, and that was nearly four hours from now.

"I'm not telling you his name," you said softly with a little sniff at the end. "I'm afraid you'll strangle him."

Frankly, if Bradley got his hands on the asshole, he'd probably wish all he got was strangled to death. "Where are you now?" he asked again, trying to keep his voice calmer.

"In my rental car."

"Alone?

"Yes!"

"Good," he replied as he clenched and unclenched his fist and headed for the shower. "Go back to your hotel room, and text me the address. I'll stay on the phone with you until you get there, and then I'll be out on a red eye that lands in Annapolis at 5:55 tomorrow morning local time. And then you'll tell me his first name, and I'll beat the shit out of him for ruining your dinner and acting like my wife is his for the taking."

"Bradley," you said firmly. "I do not need you to come out here. I already feel better now that I told you about it."

"Well, I sure as fucking hell don't," he grunted, peeling off his sweaty clothes in the bathroom. "Does he know which hotel you're staying at? And where the hell is Cat?"

You groaned and said, "No, he doesn't know. And Cat went to the actual cocktail reception with the actual admirals. I seriously hate Commander Patterson. But I did steal his dinner, so that's making me feel a little bit better."

His thumb was hovering over his phone screen, ready to purchase a seat on this flight. "Wait, you stole his dinner?"

"Yes. I took it. When I tell you the food was that good, Bradley, I am not joking. I housed most of the appetizers and the bread basket, and then I took his plate before he even got a bite of his porterhouse. I dumped all of the food into takeout boxes, took some silverware, told the waitress he'd pay for everything, and then I left."

Bradley burst into laughter in spite of himself. He could actually picture it so clearly. The haughty expression on your face. Your biting wit once you figured out what was going on. The way you must have looked dumping the steaks into the containers. "You're a damn force to be reckoned with, Baby Girl. Are you driving back to the hotel with all the food?"

"Yeah. I mean I did eat a few bites when I first got back in the car, because the baby was demanding it, but I'm absolutely going to eat the rest in my room. Fuck that guy. He doesn't even deserve his overpriced steak. It's mine now."

Bradley cradled his forehead in his hand and laughed. "Do you really not need me to come out there?"

He heard you take a deep breath before you said, "I miss you a lot, but I really do not need you to come out, okay? The nugget and I are fine now, ruined dinner aside."

"Alright," he murmured. "If you change your mind, you have two hours to let me know, and I'll be knocking on your door by 7 in the morning."

You moaned and whispered, "God, that does sound good. I'm back at the hotel. Heading up to my room now. Any chance you feel like having phone sex before I eat my two steaks and roughly four pounds of potatoes?"

"Fuck," he grunted, his cock already getting hard as he looked down at himself. "Yeah. A hundred percent. Let me just get in the shower here."

"Okay, Daddy," you muttered, and Bradley was practically tripping over himself as he started up the spray of water. Once you were safely inside your room, you told him, "I'm ready when you are."

-------------------------

You got off twice to your vibrator and your husband's sexy voice. It was so easy to imagine him in the shower with the sound of the water in the background. You could picture the steam snaking around his body while he held his thick cock in his hand. You could practically taste his skin and smell the body wash he was definitely using as lube.

"That's my sweet girl," he crooned as you started to peak for the second time. "When I get you home on Friday, my mouth is going to be all over that pussy. I miss you so much. I want my wife and my baby with me."

"Bradley," you whined, legs bent and shaking as you got closer. "I need you to fuck me. I'm so goddamn horny for you!"

He grunted right into the phone and said, "Keep it up, and I'll break your new car at the airport, too."

And then you came. Hard. Your chest was sweaty. Your back was arching off the bed. The vibrator rolled out of your grasp, and you stroked yourself with your fingers and whispered his name over and over.

"I'm about to come," Bradley moaned. And you could hear the exact second he was probably making a white mess all over the tile wall. You imagined it on your belly instead.

You just wanted to go home, and when your back finally settled against the bedding you said, "I need you to promise to fuck me at least twenty times between Friday night and Monday morning."

"Make it thirty, Sweetheart," he crooned as he panted. "At least. I fucking need it, too."

You turned your head to the side where a photo of him was still pulled up on your phone. "Sounds perfect. Don't forget, I'm having dinner with my mom and dad tomorrow, so please FaceTime when you're walking out of work if you can."

"For the love of all things holy, please don't talk about your parents when I'm still holding my cock."

You giggled, and then he laughed. "I won't do it again," you promised as you sat up in bed, eyeing the takeout containers on the desk. "I love you, Roo. I'm going to eat Derek Patteron's steak, take a shower, and then pass out."

"I love you too, Baby Girl. Can you put your phone down by your belly?"

"Mmhmm," you hummed, pressing your lips together to keep from squealing at how sweet this man was.

"And I love you, too, my little nugget. Be nice to Mommy."

---------------------------

BG is all over the place... Roo probably has whiplash. Derek should be punished for ruining that meal for her and the baby. Just a few chapters left, and we'll have another series for them in the books! Thanks for reading! Thanks @mak-32 and @beyondthesefourwalls

PART 34

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472 notes · View notes

moonlight-prose · 7 months

Note

If you’re taking those as prompts, ❛ don’t you know what you’re doing to me? ❜ with Din perhaps?

LOVE IS A FIRE THAT BURNS UNSEEN

a/n: so i took forever on this, because i kind of fell out of writing for din for...well....awhile. i can tell you this sat in my wips folder half finished for months. honestly i was wondering if it would even get finished. but i was re-watching mando last night and decided why the fuck not. i can't remember which prompt list this was from because it's been so long, but that's okay. this is not beta read or edited, but we live and die by the pen.

summary: on your list of things that could possibly happen while bounty hunting with din, dying from hypothermia wasn't included. nor was finally admitting the truth to yourself about your feelings.

word count: 3.1k+

pairing: din djarin x f!reader

warnings: EXPLICIT SO MINORS DNI, near death experience, angst, feelings being admitted sort of, p in v sex, a hint of choking, they're so in love it's sickening.

It’s fucking cold in the Razor Crest as you sit in the cockpit waiting for his return. You’re bundled in a jacket that has seen better days, but even with the extra layers you swear you’ll freeze to death before he comes back. Tempted to turn the ship back on in order to get some heat—you do the most to distract yourself from the frost currently eating away at the skin of your face. Din’s instructions were clear. Keep the ship hidden until he comes back with the bounty, which would be simple enough.

That is if the bounty he was currently hunting resided on a planet with a temperature that wouldn’t kill you from exposure. Everything had been fine two hours ago. You were working on repairing an old comlink as he tracked the bounty through space, having caught their signal on the outer edges of the galaxy. Except then…they were attacked. Neither of you could see who caused it or even why, but suddenly a lone ship was heading into the atmosphere on the one planet you always said you’d rather die than visit.

Hoth—a frozen pit that once housed the Rebellion of all places.

So, there you were. Shivering to gain some warmth as you scanned the area for Din’s signal. If the ship was right, he still remained alive. You only wished you could say the same for yourself by the time he came back.

The cold had begun to seep into your layers, hitting your chest directly and causing you to cough harshly. If he didn’t return within the hour he would find you dead due to hypothermia. Except that’s not what scared you. It was the fact that he would be the one to find you—a man who showed absolutely no interest in you whatsoever.

You weren’t sure when the crush started or even why, but you do know the realization hit you harder than a speeder-bike going at full speed one day while you were sitting beside him in the cockpit. He laughed at something you said, the chuckle low and slightly clipped due to his modulator and that’s what did it. What had you sitting there in shock—eyes wide—as it suddenly dawned on you that…you liked him. A lot more than you would have ever thought before.

“Maker fucking above,” you muttered, your teeth chattering with the words. “Hurry up, bucket head.”

Vaguely you recalled some survival tips from your time as a teenager on Bracca working as a scrapper. Never touch live wires, always look out for yourself, and when stuck in freezing temperatures—layers become your best friend. So, you stumbled out of the cockpit chair and towards the ladder that would lead you to the rest of his ship. Slow small steps were all you could manage as your body went into overdrive to try and keep you warm. Except the ship acted as an icebox rather than a heater.

You could lock yourself in his small cot, burrowing under the blankets he’d bought because of you complaining there wasn’t enough on the ship. But you’d first have to get there. It was a struggle to even climb down the ladder—your breath coming in gasps as your lungs fought against the freezing air. How long had you been sitting up there? You held no answer to the question, because the results were clear to you now; you were up there long enough to lead you right to death’s doorstep.

Dragging yourself along the side of the ship wall, you flinched as the cold metal touched your cheek. You should have gone against his orders and simply turned the ship back on. It would keep you from this—currently fighting against hypothermia as Din took his sweet time coming back.

The sound of the airlock on the door releasing when it opened brought a small flicker of hope to life, burning bright in your chest. But it faded just as quickly as it came. You caught sight of him dragging a half dead bounty up the ramp—his helmet turned towards you—before you collapsed to the ground. Your body shivering in a final attempt to generate enough body heat in order to keep you alive.

His voice calling your name echoed in the back of your mind as you drifted off—the concept of sleep far more enticing than it should be.

Steady breaths against your bare back was what you woke up—your mind drifting slowly back to reality. Or at least what you thought to be reality. The last thing you could recall was seeing Din’s helmet as your body did what it could to survive. How you ended up in the darkness of his cot, pressed against someone you assumed to be him…naked, was a mystery to you. Perhaps you were still dreaming. This must be how your mind envisioned some form of peace to ease your soul into an afterlife.

“You’re awake.” His voice caught you off guard—the breath in your throat catching.

“How…”

The shift of his body created a low burn of heat to appear at the bottom of your stomach as his arm tightened around your waist—drawing you closer. “You almost stopped breathing when I got back. Your body went into shock from the cold.”

“I was dying,” you said softly, the realization far less jarring than waking beside him in the nude.

He hummed, the low pitch a vibration you felt along your back. “I had to get you warm.”

“So you took off my clothes?” you asked, the smile prominent in your tone.

“Generating enough body heat only works when—”

“Both of us are naked.”

His fingers gripped onto the soft skin of your belly. “Yes,” he replied—voice slightly strained.

Somehow it never registered that he was actually sans armor and clothing until you felt his hand glide further up. The soft skin of his palm turned the spark into a fully formed flame that traveled its way through your body. He was laying beside you…naked. If you concentrated hard enough, you could feel the rise and fall of his stomach against your lower back—his skin soft there too.

Any other time your brain would have short circuited, but the sluggishness from sleep had yet to wear off. It made you rather docile—something you felt oddly grateful for. You were entirely aware, fully conscious of your words and decisions, but the tranquility in your body seemingly spurred you forward. No other time would you be this centered—this sure of yourself—and maybe that’s where you made the mistake, because this was dangerous. Revealing the feelings you’d harbored for months was like poison to your heart…positively lethal.

“Din,” you murmured, the soft heat coming from his body now spreading into yours.

If you knew you’d end up like this after one visit to Hoth, you would have come here a lot sooner.

“Yes?” Even his breath was warm as it brushed across the bare skin of your shoulder. Maker you were close in his bed that was barely big enough for him, let alone you beside him.

“I—” The words caught in the base of your throat, lodging themselves there like a stone you couldn’t swallow. You wanted to say it. Get everything out into the open and be done with it, but your mind seemed to be slowly coming to its senses.

“What is it?”

Closing your eyes, you let out a shuddered breath in the hopes that it would push down the erratic nerves which jumped under your skin. If you chickened out now, you’d never say the words. They’d be your secret—forever trapped in the cage of your heart until it was far too late to confess them. What’s funny is that they seemed like such easy things to say. How hard was it really to say I love you? How much effort did it take? Only you now realized it took a lot more than you expected.

It was far easier to die than to admit your feelings.

“I have to tell you something and I just—” Inhaling, you curled your hand around the blanket beneath you. “I don’t want you to look at me differently if things don’t turn out the way I hope.”

His thumb rubbed a soothing circle against your hip. “I won’t.”

You scoffed. “You probably will.”

The subtle shift of his body against yours caused flutters to go through your heart—rendering you speechless for a moment. He was so close it was maddening. If you had the courage you’d turn around, press yourself to him, and whisper the words against his lips. But you were practically stone, unable to even turn your head slightly to feel the press of his lips against your neck.

“For a while now I’ve felt…well…my feelings towards you have changed.” You blurted them out, hoping it was like ripping off a bandaid. Except the silence of his response hurt more than you expected.

Until—

“I know,” he said, his hand pressing a bit harder on your hip.

Nothing could have prepared you for the shockwave that went through your body. “You know?” you exclaimed.

“I’ve known since our trip to Coruscant.”

You paused, trying to form something to say, but all you could come up with was: “Why didn’t you say anything?”

Why had he let you think he held no feelings towards you? That you were alone in this. You felt him stiffen behind you, his hand pulling away slightly and your heart sank in your chest. Perhaps you had asked the wrong question. Or even touched on a part of this he didn’t want you to see. But you had to know the truth. You knew why you waited—why you couldn’t get the words out for the life of you—but why had he?

That is until he wrapped his arm around your waist tightly, jolting you back towards his body. A soft yelp left you as you tried to refocus yourself in the pitch black space. Except then you felt it. Pressing hard and insistent against your lower back—a part of Din you had only ever imagined, but never seen.

He grunted, his hand splaying across your stomach as you shifted against him. “Don’t you know what you’re doing to me?”

You gasped. “Din—”

“What you’ve been doing?

His hips canted downwards, grinding against you and sending heat sparking up your spine. Enough to combat the cold that still remained in you, but you wanted more. You craved it. Moaning softly, you pushed back against him, pressing your thighs together to hopefully appease the growing ache that formed. Except he was one step ahead of you. Shoving his bare thigh between your legs, he pressed it upwards, grinning at the way your head fell back against his chest—a guttural moan leaving your lips.

“Every day is fucking torture,” he rasped, his hand sliding even lower until his fingers were hovering right above where you needed him most. “Because I can’t touch you.” His lips pressed against the curve of your jaw. “Because I can’t kiss you…”

“Maker,” you gasped, reaching down to wrap your hand around his wrist. “I-I want you to touch me. Want you to kiss me.”

His fingers dipped down even lower, finally parting your folds. A ragged groan was pressed to your jaw, his teeth scraping down against the skin when he found you wet and dripping for him. You could feel his heartbeat against your back. How it was erratic and almost as quick as yours. He was just as nervous as you were—if not more so, because of his creed.

He wanted you to be his, to love him as he was with his creed, but he was scared that this wasn’t permanent. You wanted to show him the inner workings of your mind, the makeup of your heart—how he was seared into it. He was ingrained so deep into your soul that you couldn’t even fathom the thought of being parted from him.

“Are you always this wet for me?” he asked, disbelief clear in his tone.

Nodding, you felt another moan begin to form, only for it to die as he pulled his fingers away. “No—”

“Shh,” he breathed, cupping your jaw as he moved even closer. “I’ll take care of you.”

Heat flooded your stomach, a whine forming in your throat as he pulled you back, the head of his cock now nudging against your entrance. You dug your nails into his forearm, your lips parting to form around his name. A ragged moan echoing in his small quarters, and he began to push forward. Sliding into you slowly as you fought to keep yourself quiet.

“So fucking tight,” he hissed, wrapping his arm around your torso and thrusting into you completely, his hips pressing against your ass. “Won’t last—”

You keened when his hand fell to your clit, circling it with enough pressure to send jolts up your spine. For a moment he simply held himself there. Encompassed in your heat as he worked you over, building your release steadily until you were pressing into him. Your hips rolling against his fingers—fucking yourself on his cock. Soft moans were pressed to your skin, the stubble on his jaw scratching along your shoulder, and that only heightened everything.

For the first time…he was entirely yours. Bare and open as he indulged in something both of you had held back from doing for so long.

Squeezing your eyes shut, you turned your head and caught the corner of his lips in a kiss. Something so tender yet so powerful. It nearly sent you over the edge and you felt Din’s surprise at the action. How his body jolted, his hips nudging forward and fingers stuttering in their motions. Even though he had proudly claimed he wanted to kiss you, to finally feel your lips against his. He had never expected it to come true.

“Cyar'ika,” he breathed.

“I want…” You gasped, hips rolling against his fingers in quick movements as that blinding feeling continued to overtake you. “Kiss me Din. Please, please—”

His mouth found yours in the darkness of his cabin, and you felt your heart scream out. Felt your entire body give into him, his name, his signet forever carved into your heart. He was your future and he knew it. Which is why he kissed you with a fervor that you believed only existed in your dreams—a passion that you felt right down to your toes. His tongue slid along yours, tasting the shitty caf you had earlier—the desperation on your tastebuds.

“Ah…” You tried to form the words on your tongue. The feelings that were trapped in your heart, but they refused to be let loose.

“I know you want to cum,” he breathed, fingers speeding up as your walls began to flutter around his cock. His other hand shifted, wrapping gently around your throat to keep your face close to his. Pressing down lightly as you gasped. “Let me feel it.”

A keening broken moan of his name ripped from you, hands scrabbling to grasp for something, settling for his arm that kept you pressed against him. White flashed behind your closed eyes, his lips swallowing every sound you made as you writhed against him. Gushing around his cock.

You didn’t hear the hoarse shout that he pressed into your mouth, his hips thrusting into you quickly as he followed you off the edge. Filling you with a warmth that you swore you felt in your chest. Biting down on his bottom lip you sucked into your mouth, moaning when he canted his hips forward, prolonging the sparks that ran up your spine. He was a panting mess and you tried to picture what he looked like.

Was his hair a mess? Were his cheeks stained red? Were his lips swollen?

The urge to simply open your eyes nearly overtook you, but you understood what came with that action. What would have to happen afterwards. Din had explained enough for you to grasp the basic details of what being a Mandalorian meant. So you kept them closed and opted to simply feel. You memorized how his lips against yours felt, what being full of him felt like.

You kept what you could nestled against your heart, remaining here for as long as possible. Din’s cock softened in you, twitching every now and then when your walls fluttered. But you solely had him to blame. Because he was running his hand along your body, grazing your nipples lightly before pulling away—the familiar feelings in your stomach stirring once more. If he wasn’t careful neither of you would be leaving this bed for quite some time.

Which didn’t bode well for you seeing as how you hated the planet you currently resided on.

“Din,” you breathed, pulling away to catch your breath before he dived down again—ready for round two of the hottest makeout session you’d partaken in.

“You want to leave,” he panted. There was something scary about how he could see your thoughts so clearly. You’d have to ask him about it later.

“No…” Your head fell back against his shoulder. “I want to stay here, but Hoth.”

He chuckled, pressing a kiss to your shoulder. “We can stay here for as long as you want.”

Half expecting him to pull out and place his helmet back in its rightful place, you were a bit surprised when he remained put. Curling himself around you closer until his body perfectly molded yours. The cold still remained in the ship—the heaters unable to counteract the snowy planet—yet you found that you were perfectly content to remain right where you were. Wrapped in his arms—the certainty of your future now nestled in his heart. Mimicking yours in every way.

“Din,” you breathed in the darkness, feeling him trace something along your waist.

“Yes?”

“I just wanted to say…” You took in a breath, trying to calm the racing of your heart. “I feel like you should hear me say it.”

He pressed a kiss to your temple, his fingers pressing down. “I know cyar'ika. I feel the same way.”

“You do?” you asked softly.

“I do.”

You settled into the bed, allowing your muscles to relax and your body to once more give into the temptation of sleep. With Din right there, you felt as if you were able to finally relax. To give in and allow yourself to float.

“You know…” You yawned, feeling his chin settle against your shoulder. “Maybe Hoth isn’t so bad.”

He smiled, his lips brushing along your skin as you drifted off, mind succumbing to the sweet snare of unconsciousness. “No,” he breathed, continuing to trace the shape of his signet on your skin, because whether you wore it or not…you were a part of his clan. His life. “It’s not.”

#din djarin x f!reader #din djarin x reader #din djarin x you #din djarin smut #din djarin #the mandalorian #the mandalorian smut #my writing

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blocksgame · 9 months

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Tips on character voices when writing fic

This is written in mind for people writing fic in MCYT/QSMP/DSMP/Life series/etc kind of fandoms. But if anyone finds it useful for anything else, well then, hell yeah.

Character voice is big in all, uh, fiction, and mimicking it in any fanwork is big. But I think it’s especially big in these fandoms where the voices are so distinct – it’s usually how a Real Person Somewhere (the streamer) talks, versus something very scripted that you’d see in a TV show or novel. And it can be a big difference in your character sounding generic versus really feeling true to the original.

Listen to a bunch of your subject talking. If you want to write a character well, watch vods from their point of view, or episodes where they show up a bunch. Take note of what they say and how.

2. If you don’t know how to start doing that: try literally writing down what they say. Transcribe an actual exchange in fic-format. You probably won’t want to publish a literal exchange from canon, but it will give you a sense of how to physically write what they say.

3. If you do this (or just pay attention to how they talk), you will get a lot of: Stumbling, pauses, repeating words, filler words, weird sentence constructions, fragments, etc. I love em! Here’s something that comes through in improv much more than in novels or movies: Most people, even very charismatic people, are not very eloquent when they speak. Writing out conversations or sentences will give you a sense of the unique and delightful way in which your subject is not eloquent. vvvvv way more under cut vvvvv

(People use a LOT of filler/etc when they speak. It’s reasonable to cut back on this if it’s interfering with a nice-looking or readable result. I believe this is the eternal struggle of people who write transcripts – you want the transcript to be accurate, but there are also a lot of things you can obviously simplify and not lose the meaning. So you’ll end up falling somewhere on this spectrum either way. But I do think a lot of mediocre/generic fic dialogue is very stylized – it doesn’t sound like your guy because your guy literally wouldn’t say that. They would say it worse and more confusingly.)

(I’m serious, if you’ve never sat down with a short non-completely-scripted clip or real conversation or whatever and just written out exactly what was said, do it. It will make you better at writing.)

4. Wonda-cat made a really incredible list [link] of characterizing speech patterns for the Dream SMP members. But you can also do your own reconnaissance and come up with your own patterns, common phrases, etc.

5. You do not have to get EVERYTHING right. You’re not going to, like, get so deep into the speaker’s brain that you can produce “exactly what they would have said if they were somehow in your fic.” That is impossible. You’re just trying to evoke a character, and if you get a few turns of phrase to ring true, you’re doing great.

6. A lot of these people are popular because they are hilarious. Include jokes. Yes, even if your thing is angsty or serious. A lot of the most serious lore I can think of from, e.g., the Dream SMP or 3rd Life or the QSMP - the really story-defining, life-and-death moments - were absolutely hysterical. If you’re writing characters who are usually funny, then add some humor. It can heighten angst via contrast and a sense of realism. Ask yourself what a funny streamer would make jokes about if they were possessing a character in this situation.

7. Some people have the mystical ability to “hear” character voices in their head, and read things in their voice. If you can, do this with all of your dialogue during the editing process. This won’t always get you there, but sometimes it can catch things that sound wrong by invoking "that's really hard to imagine them saying". If you don’t have this power, try recruiting a friend who does.

8. So there’s dialogue and then there’s narration that’s still from a character’s point of view. I’ve mostly given you tips about dialogue, but a lot of this is also true for narration. IMO, narration is less about phrasing things the way the subject would, and more about recreating the way they think. I don’t have concrete rules on how to do this, but here is my wisdom:

You can get eloquent again - narration is more of an abstract and artistic process than dialogue.

Spend time with your subject’s source material.

Pay attention to what they notice and care about. How do you think they think?

Don’t be afraid to get weird with it.

That last one also applies to all art ever.

9. MCYT tends to give you a great boon you don’t see in other media: what the speaker says to their chat/audience when nobody else is listening. This can be incredibly characterizing even if you’re writing a story where people don’t have chats. It’s your person talking about their thought processes and feelings! Mine that shit.

10. Some questions that might help guide both characterizing narration and dialogue (that you’d get from dialogue):

How open are they about their feelings?

How often do they lie? What do they lie about?

What kind of metaphors do they use, if any?

How quickly does their mood change?

How can you tell when they’re in different moods?

What kind of things do they pay attention to?

How formal is their speech?

11. Finally, this is a little odd, but I find it’s much, much easier to write a character that sounds good if I, the author, like them and am rooting for them at least a little bit. If a character needs to be there who you don’t love, try to love them. Or at least get a sense of what other people love about them. It just makes everything else easier. I swear to god.

Happy writing out there!

#mcyt fic #fanfiction #writing advice #writing tips #fanfiction tips #qsmp fic #dsmp fic #works for whatever too I'm just not gonna try to tag everything #fanfiction advice

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scatterbrainedbot · 5 months

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I AM SPINNING I AM PACING I AM FULL ON FROLICKING IM SO EXCITED

@d1sc0rd1a THANK U FOR THESE TAGS

okayokayokayokay so pretty much all of these questions will be Officially Answered properly in the character design/intro pages im working on but also i am physically vibrating with excitement about the fact that you noticed all these details and i have very little self control so! lore dump time!!!

(minor tw for mentions of leos self-harm/self-destructive anxious behaviors and unhealthy coping skills)

- mikey does indeed have curly fur! i believe he would be considered a 'rex' rat (pictured on the left) for this trait? though the curls can be more easily seen on mice (pictured on the right). or, at least it seems that way. have not delved too deeply into the details of rodent genes and husbandry, but id assume its the same sort of mutation considering curly haired mice are also referred to as rex sometimes? either way hes a extra floofy bby 🧡

-as for raphie, unfortunately being more fluff and less shell than the average rapheal comes with its downsides. especially if you and your brothers occasionally encounter things like territorial dogs, hungry cats, or sewer crocodiles while exploring places ur dad said not supposed to go. (most of his scars will have more ninja related stories, but his ear i think got messed up from something very animal. probably around age 11 ish? old enough to sneak out from dads protection but young enough to not fully know how to handle himself alone against real danger. thankfully his ear injury looks worse than it actually is for the most part, as the damage was largely to the outer ear. his hearing wasnt super affected, except that he now has a bit of a harder time being able to track/pinpoint noises origins if its on his right side.)

-also yep! dons got some glasses that just clip/rest on the bridge of his nose! theyre mostly just for home use, as they do fall off if hes knocked around. in the field he has some goggles he tends to use (theyre helpful as they have multiple additional functions like heat-imaging, extra zoom/telescoping, and recording capabilities. but also theyll give him headaches if he wears them for too long without breaks). contacts are theoretically also an option but he absolutely hates the sensation of putting them in. so sometimes when hes tired he'll just not bother with either clips or goggles and just squint and struggle. leo hates when he does that lol.

-speaking of leo, he is def an anxious baby :) he has a few patches of fur missing on his hand cos he has the tendency to tug on it while hes thinking. he yanked and chewed on his own tail a lot when he was younger too, which is why when hes older he usually wears some wraps to cover the scars left from that behavior. he finds those scars specifically to be kinda embarrassing and shameful because they werent from any battle or life-lesson, just his own 'inability to control himself'. all of his brothers have repeatedly called him out on the fact that that is not a healthy way to think about his anxiety or mental health, but leo insists hes fine. hes kinda convinced himself that a proper warrior always has control over his own body* and his own thoughts, thus he should be able to just like willpower-brute-force his way into 'being better'. (this line of thinking pisses raph off so much he has to leave and go hit something)

Splinter also tries to talk him through some of that internalized guilt/shame/everything, but splinters very metaphorical, poetic, and indirect when it comes to talking about Big Things, which combined with how much leo gets caught in his own head, makes it kinda hard to gauge how much these talks actually help

*this is made extra fun considering leos also ftm trans, so he is faced with a body that fundamentally disobeys him perhaps more than the average rat-man.

-and im still going back and forth between a few species for splinter, but im leaning mostly towards an African Spurred Tortoise! they have these beautiful if kinda subtle geometric shell patterns and are the third largest species of tortoise in the world. the only thing that doesnt fit perfectly with Splints is that (allegedly) their lifespan in captivity is around 50ish years, whereas im p sure Tortoise Splinter is well over 75, probably closer to 90 when the boys are born and hes mutated into Old Man Papa.

but maybe hes just a particularly long lasting African Spurred Tortoise.

the Hamato family has taken very good care of him for many decades after all. :)

(well. until everything all fell apart, that is.....)

#tmnt #rat sons #my art #tmnt au #literally bouncing around the room thinking about this all #my downstairs neighbors are gonna hate me #ask reply #sort of???#pats leos fucked up lil head #this bad boy can fit so much projection #get out of ur head idiot ur family loves and wants to help u #also looking at the chaco tortoise and ploughshare tortoise for splinter thoboth of those are smaller species than i think he is

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epiicaricacy-arts · 4 months

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oh we’re still so young, desperate for attention

this was super experimental so i will talk about my process (+ clearer version) under the cut

i’ve been looking at a lot of “messier” or more textured painting styles recently and an artist that stuck out to me is clariondeluna ! they posted a self-portrait recently that i really liked and i was super interested in the brushwork seen in their work. i love all the textures and how the shapes feel so loose yet everything is so detailed.

that’s not a method for me at all!!!! i cannot paint like that at all and the stuff i like to paint is very different to theirs. which is okay!!!! i had no intention to copy this artists style so closely like with what i tried to do in my raiden painting, i just wanted to try this style out :^)

it’s been a goal of mine to avoid over-rendering like i tend to do a lot, and i think i’ve been doing good with that recently! the mindset i’ve got going on right now is that if i find myself staring at it too hard for too long, i have to leave it and move on. if there’s still something wrong with it, i can fix it later once ive got a fresh view!

i’ve been trying a lot of things with my art this year. i always try to challenge myself with each piece, and to end the year off i wanted to be as uncomfortable as i possibly could be with this painting. i let myself draw whatever i wanted because i still wanted to enjoy it, but everything i did in this process was new, including parts of the subject matter.

i’ve never drawn a head at an angle like this, and i struggle with drawing mouths open. i don’t do bold lighting like this, and if i do, it’s not fire. i’ve never drawn fire! i also rarely work with warm colours and i hate using green, so i combined those to be my colour palette. i like working cleanly so instead of having a dozen different layers for one section, each section only had 1-2 layers for rendering. instead of clipping masks i would simply paint over things loosely and clean it up later. i never like having limbs cut off in a drawing so i had his other arm go GOD knows where. i don’t like weird patterned backgrounds so i made myself figure out how to like it!

IS THIS MY FAVOURITE PIECE OF ALL TIME. no. absolutely not. but i’m very proud of how this came out with all the challenges i put on myself. i WANTED to get better at these things and be more broad with my art, both in terms of the styles and subjects i portray.

okay let’s talk about wtf this drawing is

for those who don’t know, the design in this painting is my fatui/“Father” lyney fan design (read the design post here). the concept isnt super complicated and i don’t really have much explanation for it, but i wanted to combine the story of how lyney wanted a delusion before getting his vision, fire eating circus acts and how olympic medalists will bite their medal to prove it’s real??? don’t quote me on that i’m like 75% sure that’s a thing that happens. i don’t watch sports though so im just believing someone i heard on the internet ages ago.

anyways. i think fire eating acts are cool. and i think the fact that lyney wanted a delusion is very interesting to me. scratches my brain in the right places. and yk as a magician lyneys character revolves a lot around fooling people and creating illusions so i guess what im saying here is that lyney is trying to prove to himself that this power he’s been bestowed is real. bc his whole life his only constant has been lynette so he is trying to see if he can trust this new power. cause i guess this is an alternate universe where lyney does eventually become “Father” but he never got his vision ??? idk im not making lore for this i just wanted to dress up this funny little guy.

ok i’m done

thanks for reading

here’s my dog

#my art #fanart #genshin impact #genshin fanart #lyney #genshin lyney #lyney fanart #digital art #artists on tumblr #artists of tumblr

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godbirdart · 8 months

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Looking at your recent commissions, those backgrounds are soo pretty!! Do you have any tips for backgrounds? I always struggle with them :>

aAA many many thanks!!

backgrounds can absolutely be a struggle but they don't have to be! they just require a little more creative planning~!

whether it be a commission or a personal drawing, if I'm building an elaborate art piece i focus on establishing the background First.

the background is the stage for your character! planning the background first will make it easier to tailor the character's actions and how they interact with the environment around them.

planning the background first can be the difference between your character standing awkwardly front and center with the setting going on behind them, or actually participating in their environment.

if i'm super stumped for background ideas, i browse stock image sites to get inspiration. sometimes it helps to doodle on an image to generate some ideas - kinda like you're playing with JPEGs like dolls.

that said - while i'm pinpointing WHAT i want to draw, i keep the ideas loose. i don't want to focus on the itty-bitty details until i've got the overall aesthetic and layout in mind, as i might get inspired to add something in later!

THUMBNAILING

if you're planning a big piece it can be helpful to break it down into something bite-sized before you go all in and start lining or painting. these are "thumbnails" - fast little sketches that establish the scene in a way that doesn't consume a lot of time or effort. it's also great as a little perspective exercise as a treat.

here i decided i want to draw a character walking home in a back alley street. with these photo references in mind, i can plan a layout and how the character will act in the scene. is this a candid shot? are they posing cutely? are they looking down at us in a tense way? there are many ideas to be had!

after you've chosen the layout / vibe for your idea, you can scale up your thumbnail to your preferred canvas size and start fleshing out the details. be sure to keep referring to your reference images to get additional ideas, such as storefronts, items, props etc!

3D MODELS

If you're trying to create a unique environment that photo references simply cannot help you visualize, 3D models exist! This gives you that ability to rotate / scale things for better visualization. Clip Studio has a vast catalogue of 3D models to download For Free that you can fiddle around with. i know there are many 3D builder sites out there as well, though i've never made use of them so i'm afraid i cannot recommend any off the top of my head. hell, you can even use the Sims game to design a setting and go from there!

also if anyone is going to come into my house and say 3D models are cheating: they are not. using a 3D model to better grasp an angle or get a better idea for perspective is not cheating. using 3D models to help plan the environment in your art is not cheating. they are no different than brushes; these are tools made to HELP YOU. use them!

PERSPECTIVE

perspective and angles can make a HUGE difference in the art piece. there's nothing wrong with static long shots! if that's what you want to draw, do it!! there's no right and wrong here!

but if you're finding your work to be a little robotic and stiff, slap an angle in there. consider an overhead view. these same techniques are applied to photography and film! nothing wrong with wide shots, but every once in a while it can help to throw in a dutch angle.

if there is one note i'd like to leave off on, it's that your backgrounds do not have to be 100% accurate-to-life to be Good. unless realism is something you're really striving for in your style, don't feel compelled to nitpick every brick and leaf in your art. us artists can tend to over-prune our work until our art looks a little bare and soulless. flaws can give your work character, and that's often a lot more appealing than how accurate the scale ratio between background building A and building B are [again, unless you WANT to go for that realistic look then you can fuss over those details all you like].

i hope this helped a little! MY APOLOGIES FOR MAKING IT SO LONG AH

#art advice #art tutorials #godbirdart #long post

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scrupulosity-comics · 8 months

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hey is racism one of your obsessions? also white and ocd. if it is, how u cope with it? i'm really afraid all the time to hurt my loved ones who are black people, and they're the majority of my loved ones. and how do u identify whats racism from whats an intrusive thought?

Most of my race-related OCD is abstract stuff like “if I move out of my parents’ house and try to live my own life outside of their control, I will have to find somewhere I can afford to pay rent, which will probably mean moving into a low-income neighborhood, which would mean inadvertently helping to gentrify the community, which would gradually push the original residents out of their homes and disrupt community ties and support systems and creating housing insecurity, so therefore I can’t move out or move on”.

I think that’s just part of a larger existential terror that I can only ever make the world worse by living in it—a net harm to the universe, molecule by misspent molecule.

I have been letting this ask sit in my inbox for weeks now because I’m convinced that anything I say will be destructive. What if my answer enables or excuses racism? What if my answer fuels the anguish of the mentally ill?

The rational and compassionate part of my mind insists that your loved ones (and mine!) understand that you (and I) are white, and have likely dealt with white peoples all their lives, and are capable of judging for themselves whether you are good to them and deserving of their intimacy. It is impossible to go through life without hurting and being hurt by people you care about—always you will have blindspots and miscommunications and competing needs. That’s just part of the curse of consciousness and being a social species. We all get a little blood on our hands eventually, one way or another… friendship involves knowing this, accepting this, and committing to avoid it and then, that failed, to make things right.

Again: your friends know you’re white. They have reason to expect the best of you or they wouldn’t be your friends. They choose to have you in their lives; trust them to trust you, and to recognize the difference between a beloved friend struggling with a treacherous and unkind brain and doing their best in an inescapably racist society, and a racist who whose bigotry makes them unworthy of their time and affection.

I do think racism obsessions are a particularly difficult manifestation of OCD to cope with because they’re hard to discuss at all without feeling like you’re implicitly asking for absolution. With other types of OCD, it’s common to seek reassurance that what you’re obsessively afraid of isn’t true—but what feels more racist than asking someone to reassure you that you’re not racist…? LMAO.

They say the “cure” to OCD, such as it is, is just to learn how to embrace the existential horror of uncertainty. Tall fucking order. Hell on Earth! But in a bizarre way I have found the rhetoric that “everyone is unconsciously and incurably racist” to be unexpectedly helpful… there is no total psychological purging and mental purification we can undergo, no amount of ritual self-flagellation that will drive the demons out, no pristine state we can aspire to and hate ourselves for soiling. Only mundane everyday commitments to compassion and empathy and solidarity and cleaning up our messes. But even then, a thought isn’t a mess. A thought I’d not a thing that happened or a choice you made. It doesn’t represent an alternate timeline branching off into a parallel universe where you have acted on it and hurt people.

Earlier this year I was playing a video game—during my lunch break I got to wondering what happened if you failed a skill check that I had passed in my own playthough, so I looked up a clip on YouTube and was so triggered by the answer (the player character calls his companion a racial slur in the heat of the moment, without meaning to, even if you’ve played him as a committed anti-racist) that I immediately spiraled and was close to throwing up in the broom closet, and when I got home I opened my own save and tried to make the player character kill himself as catharsis. It was an incredibly unreasonable guilt response to a completely fictional scenario that I hadn’t even gotten in my own playthrough, but in retrospect it was a safe way to explore fear of my own internalized racism hurting somebody and what might happen if my intrusive thoughts came true. It sucked and it was terrible and I was angry at myself for being crazy about it, but it ended up being a small dose of exposure therapy and practice at not repenting for nonexistent through self-abuse.

I dunno. This has been a long uncomfortably personal ramble but I hope it’s helpful. I don’t know if your friends know you have OCD (or how it manifests) and I don’t know whether telling them would help. But allowing yourself to trust others to trust you is far more useful than beating yourself up for thoughts you don’t want. I have on occasion warned people that I am cautious about doing certain things with them—particularly drinking—because there is a risk that I may spiral and show symptoms humiliating and uncomfortable to both of us, and I don’t want to put them in a position where they witness or feel like they have to help me manage the white guilt elements of my disorder. These conversations have usually gone well, and the mutual understanding to boundaries takes some of the tension out, which seems to reduce the triggers. It’s messy and awkward and maybe it limits who is willing to be friends with me, but IMHO it’s better than surprising someone.

As for determining whether something is an intrusive thought or actual racism, I guess my answer is: does it matter? Would you manage them differently? Intrusive thoughts may be an evil voice in your brain, but racism is an evil voice in society’s brain.

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hopelesslygaysstuff · 12 days

Note

Mean Mommy Wanda overstimulating you after you begged her all day to play with you. You asked her so many times so this must've been what you wanted...

Omg yesssss!! Especially if she was planning on rewarding you for being patient but you decided to whine and beg even after she reprimanded you...

Here's a lil blurb bc I feel bad that I've waited so long to answer this

"Mommy... please I've been waiting for sooo long."

Wanda shuts her eyes briefly, momentary frustration running through her as she forces herself to calm. This was her own doing, after all. She'd put that damn vibrator in you during lunch as a game, forgetting how desperate and needy you got with the toy.

She hadn't expected her work day to pick up after the meal, but a client had wanted to meet last minute so her and her team were scrambling to get everything ready and there were so many fucking calls and you were always there in her peripheral vision with your wide, watering eyes and pleading voice...

"Mommy!"

Wanda's eyes snap open, a hard look in them.

You immediately stop, knowing you've pushed her too far. Lowering your head, you watch Wanda through your lashes as she slowly shuts her work laptop. Standing, she regards you coldy, and you can't help but feel both shame and arousal coursing through you.

"Bedroom, now." Is all she says, her words short and clipped.

Obeying, you utter a soft, 'Yes, ma'am,' and quickly tiptoe out of her office. Your breaths quicken with each step, your clit throbbing as different scenes run rampant through your mind.

Realistically, you know that Wanda is far too upset to give you any pleasure, so thoughts of her flogger hitting your skin until it's bruised and other punishments flood your thoughts.

As you settle yourself on the bed, kneeling in the center just the way Wanda likes, you're unsurprised to find your panties damp at the thought of punishment. You had only wanted her to ease the painful arousal building within you, but you figured that even though she was mad, any attention would be better than none.

"Tell me," Wanda says, startling you out of your thoughts. You hadn't hear her enter the bedroom, but you look up at her from your submissive pose on the bed. "Why were you being such a fucking brat this afternoon?"

Her green eyes are cold, piercing through you even as the sight of her perfectly sculpted cheekbones send another wave of painful arousal straight to your core. You swallow, breathing deeply and gathering your thoughts.

"I just wanted you to fuck me." You answer truthfully, knowing that Wanda wouldn't appreciate any unnecessary words.

She nods, almost thoughtfully. You see right through it, knowing she had already planned out the rest of the evening.

"And you always get what you want, right darling?" Her tone is filled with sarcasm, and you choose not to respond, simply shaking your head silently.

Wanda doesn't say anything else, pulling out her phone and tapping it a few times. You wonder what she's doing, until you feel the vibrations inside you strengthen, and your eyes widen as Wanda smirks.

"Since you want to sum so bad, I'll make you cum," Wand says, her voice sickeningly sweet. She leans over the bed, gripping your chin with one hand tightly. "But mommy isn't going to touch you."

You want to protest, but know the wouldn't get you anywhere. Instead, you plead with your eyes, watching as Wanda makes her way over to a chair.

As she sits in it, her posture regal as she crosses a single leg over the other, you feel your orgasm building. God, even just the sight of her sends you spiraling into waves of arousal, and now having her full attention on you... you're about to cum.

Wanda raises a single eyebrow, tilting her head as her finger slowly slides the vibrations up from the app on her phone. She watches, green eyes boring into you as you struggle to remain still in your kneeling position.

"Please..." You mutter, your thighs beginning to shake. Wanda doesn't react, her eyes roaming over your body as your breaths deepen.

With a sharp flick of her thumb, the vibrations increase to the maximum setting, and your orgasm crashes over you painfully.

Moaning, you manage to stay upright, your knees spreading as wetness floods your already soaked panties. You can feel your cum running down your inner thighs, and you focus on breathing as the vibrations inside you persist.

Wanda isn't relenting, the vibrator still set to the max setting.

Looking at her, your eyes fill with fear as the stimulation turns slightly painful. You can feel another orgasm rising, even as you ride out the aftershocks of your first one.

"Take it." Is all Wanda says, and you nod.

Feeling tears welling up at the sensation of painful pleasure rising within you, you brace your hands on the bed behind you, keeping your legs spread for Wanda to watch.

Wanda makes a noise of appreciation, her tongue quickly licking her lips, and you cum from the sight.

It's violent, your orgasm taking over every part of your body. Muscles seize and release rapidly, your hips twitching as you cum again. It's too much, and you resist the urge to reach down and pull the vibrator from your aching pussy.

Wanda watches, her gaze unwavering as you cum over and over and over and over and over and over and over and over and over again...

Eventually, you cum for the last time, sobbing into Wanda's shoulder as she holds you up. The only thing keeping you upright is her strong arms around your waist, her words soothing in your ear.

"Good girl, you did so good for me, darling. Mommy had to punish you, and you took it so well. Let's get you all cleaned up, I'm so proud of you."

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hopelesslyromanticshark · 1 month

Text

⋆ ˚｡⋆౨ৎ˚ Every Surfer Needs Their Stem Lover

content: mortal! leo valdez x mortal! reader warning: language and could be seen as like soft angst at the end author's note: in every other universe, peter parker finds gwen stacy, percy jackson finds annabeth chase, and leo valdez finds MY ASS ALSO ALEXA PLAY LETS GO SURFING BY THE DRUMS highkey suggest yall listen that while reading, heightens the experience fr

leo was sat on the beach, his sketches for his engineering class propped up on his knees. he was doing some math off on the side, his lips twitching at the thought of y/n struggling to do her math homework mere hours before. speaking of the girl, he looked up, just barely catching the end of her surf before she went falling into the water. as always, leo’s heart jumped to his throat but he swallowed it down as she popped back up and climbed back on her board. his eyes darted back down to his homework but then they were drawn away by the shuffling of the sand, a new couple joining the beach. it was a boy and a girl, clearly as in love as they could be. leo would know, certain that's what he and y/n looked like to everyone else. the boy was your picture perfect surfer guy - beach blonde hair with dirty highlights, sun-kissed skin, and a megawatt smile. behind him trailed his girlfriend, a girl with long braids that were held up with a clip and a sketch book of her own hugged to her chest.

"hey, man, you cool if we set up right here?" the boy asked, looking over at leo.

"yeah, totally," leo hummed back, nodding to the spot next him. the girl plopped down, digging her feet into the sand and using her knees like a table, similar to leo. the boy got to work, nearly buzzing with excitement as he looked out at the waves. he lost his shirt, handing it off to the girl, who rolled her eyes but folded it anyways. he then grabbed his board and pulling it out of the sand, leaning down and pressing a sound kiss to the girl's lips. leo looked away, not wanting to intrude. the boy then raced away, running straight into the ocean.

there was nothing but the sound of the waves for a few moments, partnered with the scratching of pencil on paper. leo heard a splash and his head shot up, scanning the crowd of surfers for a few seconds, breathing once more when he saw y/n, now talking up the boy who just got into the water. he smiled softly going to go back to his homework until the girl next to him tapped his shoulder

"sorry, do you have to have another eraser? mine broke," the girl asked, presenting the eraser to him like he needed evidence.

"always bring a spare. i break far too many not too," replied leo, earning himself a small chuckle from the girl as he handed his extra over to her.

"thank you. i'm annabeth," she introduced, holding her hand out. leo grabbed it, giving it a firm shake like his mom taught him to.

"no problem. we stem majors gotta look out for each other, right? i'm leo."

"true! i'm going into architecture, you?"

"engeering," added leo and annabeth whistled impressively. cheers and whoops came from the ocean as one of the surfers caught a big wave, the others excited for the man as he jumped off into the wave.

"which one's yours?" annabeth questioned, nodding her head out towards the ocean. the question brought a smile to leo's lips and annabeth could just tell that whoever it was, was the love of his life.

"that girl over there. yellow board," leo explained, pointing over to where she were sitting on the board before raising his hand in an overexaggerated wave. clearly, she was looking this way, as she instantly waved back, excitedly. leo's smile widened, and seeing them so in love made annabeth's widen too.

it was a few minutes later when y/n came running up the beach, percy in tow. leo learned his name was percy from annabeth, seeing as they had both ditched their homework a while ago and just got to talking. they both just kinda clicked, like they've know each other for years when they'd just met thirty minutes ago.

"leo, leo, leo! did you see that wave?" she asked, rapidly, as she stabbed her board into the sand and rung her hair out, smile wide as could be. actually, it took a striking resemblances to percy's smile, now that he could see them side by side.

"i did, baby! you did so good!" he cheered instantly, enjoying the small blush that splattering her face, despite the many years they'd been together and the many compliments leo'd payed in the past. she pressed a salty kiss to his lips before grabbing the baggy shirt that was once his, pulling it over her bikini, and grabbing a towel for her hair.

"annie, you get your homework done?" percy asked, ruffling his own blonde hair with a little towel, smiling down at his girlfriend, who huffed and waved a dismissive hand.

"ugh, no! leo here was distracting me," she replied with a huff, shooting a wink at leo, who laughed.

"oh come on, wise girl, i thought it was due tomorrow or whatever," cut in percy with a roll of his eyes and a joking frown. the girl glared up at him, smacking his arm which she could just barely reach.

"like you have anything to say about due dates! you legit turned that one assignment in a month late, seaweed brain!"

"that's crazy, a month is crazy! little miss over here turned in an assignment two weeks late and it was giving me an aneurism," added leo and y/n gasped, shooting forwards and shoving his shoulder gently as the couple laughed at them.

"i told you that in secrecy!"

"oops," leo taunted, smirking up at her, causing the girl to gape and glare at him, shaking her head as a smile fought to come to her lips.

"don't worry, y/n, we can turn our assignments in late because we don't have big fancy majors," percy mused, throwing an arm over the girl's shoulders, the pair laughing. and leo smiled, certain that in that moment, no two people could have looked more like siblings.

"fair point," annabeth shrugged, bumping her shoulder with leo's.

"hey, lee and i were gonna grab some food after this, wanna come with? we could make it a double date," y/n offered, smiling at the couple that they'd just met even though it felt like they knew each other from a time long since past.

"he's always down to eat," annabeth taunted as she started packing up and percy let out a flabbergasted noise.

"i’m a growing boy. you ever have blue pancakes?" percy questioned, turning to the girl, who smiled and shook her head.

"nope! just regular ol' pancake-colored ones for me!" y/n laugh, leaning into leo's side as he wrapped an arm around her and pressing a kiss to her salty temple.

"blasphemy!" percy shouted as the four of them started to make their way off the beach, "those are a staple in my house!"

"you're crazy, jackson!" y/n joked, sharing a soft glance with leo.

"no, no, not crazy! i'm the future!"

"okay, keep telling yourself that, percy!"

"i feel attacked!"

"good."

in some far off world, these four kids have the world on their shoulders, monsters and gods and prophecies a reality for them. but here, these kids only dream of weddings and college degrees. here, these four kids, got to just be kids. and yet, they still found each other. that's something divine, don't you think?

#postcards from covey ౨ৎ #all my love ౨ৎ #pjo #pjo fandom #heroes of olympus x reader #hoo #percy jackon and the olympians #percy jackson #leo valdez x reader #annabeth chase

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pvrkacciosan · 2 months

Text

Breaks and Bruises

Summary: During a lesson on hand to hand combat, the reader receives a little more of a kicking than she bargained for, Bodhi is pissed to find her injured, having not admitted feeling for her he struggles to grasp with his panic for her safety.

Pairing : Bodhi Durran X Fem!Reader

Word count: unchecked.

Warning : swearing, angst, Bodhi losing his shit at Xaden, suggestive content towards the end, sexual tension,

Part 2

☽⋆❈⋆☾

You stood watching from the side, the mats in the middle of the room filled with bodies that danced around one another, matching hit for hit.

Xaden Riorson circled around the room, he was your Wingleader and one of the few third years present right now as almost the whole of second and first years were here sparring one another. Un unorthodox training session he had planned.

You observed from beside another group of first years all of you picking up ever snippet of information you could from the second years that fought before you.

Fighting stances, patterns, strikes. The older students did well, their bodies toned to become weapons bred for war.

You could be like that too, if you actually practised. The clipped tone of your dragon, Asralethia sided into your thoughts.

You should have put your shields up against Asra as Bodhi has taught you, but watching the other students bodies move in tandem to one another was a dance to be observed and respected. One which you just couldn't seem to look away from.

You have known Bodhi for years, and since arriving at Basgiath, bonding with Asra and surviving towards the end of your first year. You had managed to settle back into the relaxed nature of your friendship.

Not that you could just call it that. The older you both seemed to get the more you seemed to notice just how... Well how much you, desire Bodhi to be more then your friend.

Not that those thoughts had ever been shared beyond your own mind. Apprehension always got the better of you.

Perhaps if he-

You're always thinking about this boy, Focus girl. Asra's voice in your head brought you halting back into your own body once more. Present just as the girl in the mat before you flipped her opponent straight onto his back, his chest racked upwards as he tried to gulp air back into his lungs.

Get out of my head. You could sense Asra's snarl of disapproval rippled through the bond you both shared,

Get on one of those mats and I will. Your dragon's words were final and she seemed to build up her side of your shield.

When the guy on the mat at your front slapped a hand onto the padding beneath him, you tried to avoid Xaden's gaze.

He must have noticed you trying to slip away,

"Y/n you're up next, to the mat now"

You cast a scathing look towards him, Bastard. Xaden's answering smirk was an indicator that he knew exactly of your current thoughts. And found amusement within them.

You would have taken the chance to flip him off but the girl on the mat began to bounce on the balls of her feet, preparing herself as she looked you over once.

You didn't know her name, didn't know anything about her beyond her position as a third year, one of the few to attend this sparring today. She had made mince of the second year boy before you.

Stepping closer, you planted a foot into the circle, shifting to keep the space between your bodies for now, anticipating her movement.

When she didn't immediately swing for you, you feigned to the right, it did little more then rendering your own balance off centre.

Eyeballing from the side she waited for you to right yourself before moving, it was a tactic you should have foresaw and would have had you more time to prepare yourself.

Her balled fist collided with the side of her face, knuckles cracking into the bone of your cheek.

With shock you had little time to release yourself when she gripped your shoulders. Holding you in place as she brought her knees driving upwards into the line of your chest.

Even with the blood roaring in your ears you couldn't miss the sound of the surrounding group when they hissed in unison of your legs giving out under you. The collapse jolting you to your very senses.

Tensing the muscles in your legs, lower back and ass you spun on the mat using your opposite foot to push. Kicking for the girls feet.

Your shin connected with her calf, sending her to back flat land harshly against the surface of the mat. The air whoosing from her lungs with audible affect.

You danced away from her frame, the edge of the padding stopping you from backing up any further, you couldn't be pushed off. It never looked good, for anyone.

Xaden was circling the mats, keeping a close eye on where the two of you were sparring. The girl launched up from the ground, having caught her breath.

You knew she would come at you fast and hard but hadn't expected her to full on tackle you to the ground, trying to dodge it by stepping to the side, you only succeeded in putting yourself in an awkward position. When she collided with you, her shoulder had driven itself directly into your ribs,

Pain bloomed there but you hadn't any time to recover as you both went rolling to the floor.

With the weight of both your bodies you landed hard, the noise seemed to draw in more attention around the room. Other mats slowing to watch as this girl handed your ass to you on a plate.

It was a pathetic attempt to dislodge her from the position she had on you, straddling your torso she pinned your arms down one by one with her knees.

"Marked bastard" she leaned closer to spit the words in your face, her eyes narrowing on the relic swirling around your collar bone that rooted up from your arm.

Desperate to free yourself when she landed the first punch on your face. You could feel the warm rush of blood spilling from beneath the bone of your cheek.

Pushing all the effort you could into willing your muscles to work you drove your heel closer to your ass as much as you could, using the leverage it gave you to thrush your hips upwards.

Her face and upper body came flying towards your own, thrown off her own balance. You heard her curse as she tried to catch herself. Twisting your hips beneath her you used this moment to wiggle out from her grip turning to get upright.

She grabbed for you and despite you launching yourself out the way you felt her hand wrap around your forearm.

She jerked your arm back towards her before sharply twisting it. You screamed out as the muscles stretched to their limit,

Even with him across the room, you watched Xaden spin at the sound, wide steps eating up the space to come back to your mat.

"Cassandra!" His voice boomed but the girl didn't seemed to hear him, instead twisting hard on your arm.

The joint was screaming in protest, you tried to wiggle from her grasp, push against her but even the littlest of movements made you blanch with pain; white hot pain that send your vision rolling.

Somewhere in that time you had begun pleading with her to let go but still she refused to release you, Xaden was nearing the mat now, shadows swirling.

The pain only continues to build, until finally something gave way.

Something in your arm and shoulder ripped free and popped.

Cassandra dropped you in shock as she heard the audible sound that came from your joint, her eyes widening in surprise.

You had begun screaming at the pain that increased ten fold. You were aware of Asra speaking in your head but when you couldn't utter a response her end of the bond fell silent.

You ungracefully landed on the mat, good hand holding your injured shoulder. Breathing was becoming painful as you ribs which were clearly broken ached with even the smallest of movements.

You were struggling to see as the pain took everything, taking over every sense.

You would have cried out in pain when your whole body slumped forwards, giving your consciousness over to darkness.

- ❈ -

The pain was a dull ache, like a headache building behind your eyes. With the safety of darkness still blanketing your vision you could focus on the pain. Your face, shoulder and ribs, it had slowed the pain not as aggressive. Only when your blood pulsed did you shift in discomfort.

Still with your eyes closed you could only detect the noise of someone else moving when you did, someone sitting beside the bed.

"Y/n?" Heat bloomed in your core, you knew that voice anywhere. Peeling your eyes open and blinking to focus your vision.

Bodhi was up out the chair and beside you in seconds. He went to reach for your hand before stopping himself, expression shifting across the shadows on his face.

"I thought you said you weren't fighting today?" You could detect the concern in his tone, but he hadn't been there. Bodhi was supposed to have other duties to attend to today.

As though he spied your thoughts,

"Asra came to find Cuir when you stopped responding, she was worried about you" his face was clearly saying he too was worried.

He pinned you with his gaze, "What happened? I thought the first years were watching for today sparring tomorrow"

You nodded around the pain in your head that seemed to tether to the top of your spine.

"I thought I was doing alright considering she was third year. And -" you paused remember the words she had spat at you moments before she dislocated your shoulder.

Your hesitation only seemed to snag at Bodhi's attention, he brushed a knuckle across the top of your hand. Warmth coiled on the skin there.

Tell him. The tone of Asra's voice in your head left little room for debate. Even if you could detect the small degree of concern.

"She called me a 'marked bastard' while we were on the mats"

Bodhi sat up a little straighter. Out of many of the marked ones you always tried to be friendly to everyone despite their views on your group. It only seemed to anger him more at the thought.

"Who the fuck even let you on that mat?" He angrily drove his fingers through the dark curls on his hair. You would have got distracted by it if his expression hadn't shifted with utter rage.

"Y/n, who was it?"

The air lodged itself in your throat, you would hate to be the one that caused a fight between the cousins, despite their usual spats of disagreements. With the expression on Bodhi's face you could tell this wouldn't be like their usual arguments.

"Y/n-"

"Xaden."

You could see every inch of Bodhi go stiff. Eyes glazing over in thought, he was communicating with Cuir and you knew it.

Asra, where is Xaden do you know? You hesitantly asked,

The wingleader is on the flight field, she cuts her words off with a little more bite at the mention of Xaden.

Bodhi rose up from the chair and did something he hadn't done since you both were kids, leaning closer Bodhi pressed a soft kiss to the top of your head.

"Bodhi-"

"I'll be back shortly" he didn't say anything else before turning and walking out of the room.

You tried to push yourself up off the bed with one arm, but every muscle in your torso and spine rippled and screamed in protest.

Asra can you make sure they don't kill each other?. You let her hear the pleading in your tone.

I will keep your one safe. No promises for the Wing leader. It was clear to see exactly where she now stands with Xaden after he put you on that mat.

You couldn't only hope they didn't kill one another.

- ❈ -

Xaden had been hiding from his cousin on the flight field, he knew where Bodhi stood with his feelings on Y/n and he had no real reason as to why he put her on that mat. It was a mistake he shouldn't have made.

Bodhi was ignoring Cuir's encouragement as he strides onto the flight field passing the group from First Wing.

His tunnel vision was focused on the familiar figure near the centre of the field.

Speeding up his pacing, Bodhi reeled all his emotions as he drove back his arm. Xaden only turned quick enough to catch a quick glance of his cousin's fist before it collided with the side of his jaw.

He was sent rocking back as Bodhi scowled down at his cousin, going to forward another punch Bodhi swore out loud as Garrick intercepted and pulled him back.

"Get off me!" Garrick refused to let off, keeping his grip on Bodhi, the older boy had size on him and Bodhi would be stupid to swing for Garrick just to release himself.

There was a boom as two dragons landed nearby, a green and blue. Cuir and Asra. Y/n was probably keeping tabs by communicating through Asra. The blue watching every movement with a lethal precision.

Bodhi finally lifted both hands, palms wide in surrender. Garrick stalled a second before finally releasing him.

Xaden was rubbing at the bruise already blooming like blood along the bone. He wiggled his jaws, face contorting in discomfort.

Bodhi couldn't bring himself to care if it hurt. Xaden had put you on that mat. Couldn't think beyond the reasoning that you were hurt due to that fact.

"What the fuck Xaden?" He didn't need to elaborate further.

"I have no real reason for putting her on that mat" Xaden's head hung a little,

Bodhi looked ready to swing again Garrick shuffled on his feet, arms folded across his chest firmly. A muscle built barrier to keep the cousins from ripping into each other.

"That's bullshit" Bodhi wouldn't even attempt to hide the anger in his voice, not when he knew both older boys knew his feelings towards you.

"I'm so-"

Bodhi scoffed shaking his head, "Don't even try to apologise. That girl called Y/n a marked bastard."

Bodhi knew it would anger them as much as it had him. You felt things more deeply then other marked ones, who's brash nature tended to defend themselves against petty name-calling. It always ate away at you.

Bodhi knew he was right as Xaden shifted, dropping his hand away from his face when Garrick shot him a gruff look.

The girl is trying to leave the room.

Bodhi glanced across to watch Cuir, his dragon shifted on his front legs, Asra beside him still watching with her eyes narrowing in on Xaden, If Sgaeyl wasn't relaxed in the dried grass meter from Riorson, Bodhi might have expected Asra to bite Xaden's head off his shoulders simply from the way she watched him.

"I have to get back to Y/n." he stalked closer a step, Garrick seemed to let him take those inches closer,

"I don't care if you're my family or a Wingleader, You ever pull that shit again and I'll gut you where you stand."

Despite the weight of his words, Bodhi couldn't seem to bring himself to care what strain they put on his relationship with Xaden. Family or no, Wingleader or no. He shouldn't have put you on a fighting mat with a third year with way more experience than you. The resurfacing of those thought simply made his blood boil more.

Asra says the girl has made it to the hallway. Cuir still sounded as relaxed as ever,

Xaden seemed to nod in silent agreement, not reaching to stop Bodhi as he finally turned to leave. Garrick offered the younger boy a quipped smile before he turned towards his own dragon, which landed onto the flight field behind him.

Bodhi had begun walking back towards the building,

Where is she now? he asked of Cuir, knowing Asra would still be within communication reach.

Half way down the hall, her body is weakened. Do something. Cuir was clearly being edge on by your dragon, A demand most likely coming straight from Asra herself. Bodhi should have known you might have tried to come after him, if only to stop him from killing his own cousin.

I'm going. Cuir only seemed to chuff in his head,

Bounding back up the stairwell towards the dormitory, Bodhi slowed sensing you around the corner, funnily enough when he rounded the hallway he spotted you.

One arm brushing the wall for support, the other despite the sling it hung in, a hand was holding your side. The rib beneath screaming in protest of your movements and apparently your breathing as well. It was infuriating.

Bodhi shook off his anger with Xaden for now, you hadn't seemed to notice his approach yet. Stopping for a breather as your head swirled.

"You shouldn't be out of bed yet."

You glanced up at Bodhi, relieved to see him unharmed. You shouldn't have jerked your head up so suddenly, not ready for the sudden rush the blood would cause.

Your hand against the cool stone was the only thing tethering you, squeezing your eyes shut with a hiss of breath breaking through your clenches teeth you were vaguely aware of your body swaying.

"Y/n?" his voice was softer then usual, and closer then he had been moments before. Peeling both eyes open slowly, you could see the worry etched onto Bodhi's expression. His warm palms brushed your hip to limit the amount of swaying you did. Holding you in place, it was an effort to not gawk down at his hands.

You would have picked fun of him had you not believed you might pass out any second,

"Can you... Help me get back?" you pointed a finger behind you, in the direction of your dorm room.

"Of course."

You had been expecting him to loop your good arm over his shoulder and help you pathetically limp back down the hall. You hadn't mentally prepared yourself for him to wrap his arms around you, lifting you up off the ground.

You squeaked in surprise, Bodhi stiffens and you felt ever muscles along his chest and torso ripple with immediate affect.

"Sorry I didn't think... D-did I hurt you?"

There was a nervousness lining every edge of his body, It was an unusual characteristic for Bodhi. Even when he blinked down at you in worry, you struggled to push your words past the nervous lump forming in your throat.

"...no."

Bodhi very carefully adjusted his grip on you, the arm supporting your back pulling you closer into his chest, The one tucked under your knees tightened to keep your body as level as possible.

His warmth was encompassing your own, mixing to solidify the fact Bodhi Durran was now carrying you back to your room. Where he was going to lie you down on your bed, The thoughts that swirled your mind seemed to dull the ache of the injuries littering your body.

The bumps and bruises lost as you glanced up to watched him. The words stalled in you once more, as you became oddly aware of the tone muscles beneath his shirt. Your clothes being the only thing separating your hot skin from that direct contact you found yourself craving more and more.

"Is-" you swallowed hard, Bodhi continued walking slowing to let a couple other first years walk past. They eyed you up but said nothing, continuing on.

Bodhi glanced down at you, that usual unwavering confidence masking the nervousness that still clung to him like smoke.

"Is Xaden... Dead?" you couldn't help the hesitation in you. It hadn't been your intention for the two to fight.

Asra had filled you in on snippets of what was happening, but when you asked for the outcome she had fallen conveniently silent. The voices in your head convinced you it was your concern for the wing as a whole if Xaden were absent instead of Bodhi's personal welfare if he went head to head with the Wingleader that had you fighting the pain to leave your bed.

"He will live." Bodhi fought to bite back the word. 'Unfortunately', fearful it may give him away.

You nodded softly, hissing when the blood rush up the back of your head. The sound of your discomfort made him slow and pull you closer to him.

"Almost there." His voice had gone softer once more. As he rounded to the final edge of the hall. Slowing at your door he turned to push it with his back. It swung open, Moving inside he kicked it shut.

You glanced across. Noticing the much nicer interior,

"This isn't my room."

Bodhi moved across to the bigger bed,

"That's because it's mine."

Despite being friends long before every coming to Basgiath, you had never seen the inside of his room, never allowed yourself to get that close. Perhaps in fear of meeting another female inside or retreating our from within the dorm room.

When you went to question him, Bodhi smiles, rounding the edge of the chair

"My bed is far comfier," as if to prove his point, He began lowering you gently, the top sheet met your body first and the mattress under that sunk and molded to the lines of your body was utter bliss lifting your weight from the pressure of your injuries.

A moan of pleasure escaped you, one which you hadn't mean to release and Bodhi froze easing you onto the bed. As horror overtook you.

You had moaned right into his ear.

His face was inches from you, as he unraveled his arms from behind you.

"I know my bed was comfy, but didn't expect it to entice such sounds from you."

You face and body heated and you would have blamed it on the injuries and bruises around you, but the heat that built in your core you couldn't deny it.

Bodhi chuckled lightly, easing himself to sit away from you on the bed.

"I'm going to start accompanying you to sparring practise." That nervousness seemed to have eased away being replaced by something more you couldn't place.

"I could have taken on anyone else." The words were for yourself and him, unwilling to believe you had let yourself and your squad down with your weakness on the mats.

"Xaden shouldn't of had you fighting. Don't worry, It won't happen again." the utter conviction in his tone, it's unbreaking truth, shot shivers up your arm.

Bodhi gave you one final smile, easing up he places a soft kiss to your brow, the air stuttered out of you. You clamped your mouth shut to hide it. Sparing yourself anymore embarrassment for today.

"Get some rest Y/n."

You eased down as he began to move towards the door,

"Wait-"

Bodhi froze, glancing at you from over the curve of his muscled shoulder.

"Where will you sleep? I can't just take your bed"

Bodhi seemed to take a second,

"I'm fine with the chair for a few nights. You need the bed more."

And with those final words, Bodhi gripped the door, knuckles white as if leaving you in this room was a challenge. Nodding once he slipped out.

You sighed settling down into the bed. Letting the silence to calm the roaring he had enticed in your blood, setting it alight.

Outside the door Bodhi exhaled deeply,

When you had made that sound in his ear he had fought all restraint to keep himself from clinging to you for longer, it had taken all his fraying self restrain to leave that room.

Every inch of his skin felt tight with an invisible tension.

"Fine with the chair. Really?"

Bodhi settled his stare to glare at Garrick. The smirking bastard had his relaxed form leant against the opposite hallway wall. Brow raised in amusment.

Bodhi made his way towards him, passing Garrick who began making kissing sounds behind him.

Bodhi tried to hide his own amusement, playfully shoving Garrick's shoulder, as he followed him down the hall.

"Damn man, you're pussy whipped."

"Fuck off"

Garrick's bellowing laugh echoed down the hall.

Despite his defence of it all, Bodhi couldn't deny his friends teasing, he was well and truly fucked because if today's incident had taught him anything it was that he had fallen for you and he had fallen for you hard.

And as Bodhi went in search of Xaden, he couldn't find any part him that was unhappy by the situation.

Not one bit.

#fourth wing imagine #fourth wing #fanfiction #bodhi durran x reader #bodhi durran #xaden riorson #fourth wing by rebecca yarros #fanfiction writing #booktok #iron flame #garrick tavis #rebecca yarros #iron flame by rebecca yarros #books #book tumblr #fourth wing fanfic

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abalidoth · 7 months

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Replanting (Chapter 1)

[read on ao3]

When you feel the missile clip the corner of your mech's leg joint, you know it's over.

It feels like a line of white fire directly to your brain; your pain and the mech's mingling. But pain is nothing, pain is your every day. It's the immobility that terrifies you. Your mech knows before you do that the leg won't work, can't carry you back to base.

They won't send a field repair team out this far, not into enemy territory. Not even for the material outlay of the mech. You have no illusions of what would happen to you if they had to extract, but at least it would be fine, given a new pilot and allowed to keep doing its duty.

Don't think like that, it sends to you. I don't want another pilot.

You struggle a few dozen meters until the residual coolant in the leg motivators gives out and the intractable hand of physics pulls your mech to its knees. A cloud of dust billows up around you and you give up the rest of the way, mech lying on its side amid the baked earth and the scrubby bushes.

Creosote bush, the mech says. Didn't know it grew this far north.

You know it's just trying to keep you from panicking. It's not working -- you can feel your heart racing, the connection gel around you contracting in an autonomic effort to keep you from thrashing in the cockpit. Worst of all, your handler's ever present voice in your ear has gone silent.

A pilot's job is to keep its mech moving. No more and no less. You know there's no real affection from your handler, that her ministrations are part of the system, but you can't think about that sudden abandonment without a pang of grief. She should be there, she should always be there, but now there's nothing. Silence and static.

That feeling gives you a rush of adrenaline, coarser and hotter than the artificial flush the mech gives when you complete an objective, purely a product of your own withered adrenal glands. You have to get back you have to get back. You struggle to your knees, planting the mech's hands in the caliche like anchors and shoving so hard you feel something pop. (In you? In the mech? Is there a difference?)

You make it another hundred meters before you fall again, and the Caskie mech finds you, hitting you with an EMP before you can take them down with you. It lands with a jumpjet hiss in your sightline, so you're treated to the view of the alien-looking mech opening its canopy wide, two pilots getting out of the crude-looking mechanical cockpit.

---

They salvage the mech with you in it.

The pilots didn't seem to know what to do with you; you could hear from your outboard sensors that they were discussing in that strange, fluid accent how to get you out without killing you.

(You don't understand why that matters.)

Eventually, they just called for reinforcements; three heavy carriers showed up some indeterminate amount of time later. They haul your mech, pilot included, through the air on a frankly ridiculous web of heavy cables. You see the desert fade to green, canals threading through the land like veins, as you pass from the disputed zone into Union territory.

Your mech keeps a constant stream of commentary, talking about the plants that it sees, pointing out where old semi-arid forests have been restored. Its voice across the neural tunnel holds false cheer, picking up whenever you start panicking, but the enthusiasm is genuine.

Finally the carriers land at a base. It looks much like Conclave military architecture, concrete in utilitarian blocks, but you can see shining glass and chrome off in the distance, a city. They must want to keep you a ways away from civilians. You suppose that's fair.

They land you in an empty mech bay. It’s been cleared out hastily – you can see the Union mech that used to reside there off to the side, plugged into an aux power array. Your mech is not the right size, not the right shape, but a gaggle of mechanics come out anyway. They locked a restraining clamp on you at some point so you can't move, can't fight. Still, the mechanics move around you warily, like you'll snap and take them all out at any moment.

You would, in a heartbeat. Not just to get the euphoric response, but to quiet the anxiety, the feeling that you're entering a world where you don't have the tools to survive. But you can't, and a quiet part of you (or the mech) is relieved at that.

They strip your mech of all its weaponry, a harsh and hasty disassembly. You feel each removal sharply. Not physically -- mercifully, the mech has dialed down the haptic connection so it's left to suffer alone -- but in loss of potential, the closing of options.

Finally, when everything is done and your mech is defenseless (other than being a fifteen ton vehicle) a tall woman in a labcoat comes out, flanked by guards with red cross emblems on their sleeves.

"Hello," she says. Her voice is formal, neutral. Lower than you expected, with just a hint of that singsong Cascadian accent. "Can you hear me? Or see me? We have sensitive solid-conductance microphones on the outside of your mech so we can hear you if you speak."

You know the trainings. A pilot is part of the system, part of the Conclave war engine, and cogs don't speak. Your tongue flicks idly against the suicide capsule in your back left molar. You go to press in on it.

You feel something, like a hand, guiding you away. A great wave of fear washes over you, and you know it's not yours.

Please. No.

You stop. Think a moment.

"Hhhhh."

It's been a while since you've spoken. Just whispers in the dark with your handler, words carrying neither voice nor meaning. Your throat is dry, and you feel for a moment like it's not there. (Why would a mech have a throat?) You clear it, and try again.

"Yes. I can hear you."

She nods. "Good. I'm Dr. Mia Crane. I'm required by Cascadian Union treaty to inform you that as a prisoner of war, you have rights including food, shelter, protection from torture, and the right to ask about your other rights." She adjusts her round framed glasses. "I'm required by basic hospitality to ask you your name."

You pause. You know what names are, of course. Your handler's name is Rebecca. But that's not something pilots have. "I, uh. No?"

She blinks, a little taken aback. "Okay, well, we can work on that. Do you at least acknowledge your rights as a prisoner of war?"

This isn't going to end until you acknowledge, you feel, so you just say "Yes."

"Okay. Is there anything we need to know before we get you out of there?"

"I don't want out," you say. Your throat tightens.

You can't stay in me forever. It's okay. You'll find a way back to me.

You hear a hissing sound, and the low, sick gurgle of the connection gel draining out of your suit. Before you understand what's happening, the canopy drops open and you stagger out of the mech onto the diamond-patterned steel catwalk.

The sharp edge of disconnection, the sudden hole where there should be something inside you, keeps you off your feet. You stagger to one knee, felled as surely by shock as you had been by the missile.

The guards rush over to you and help you up. You want to fight them off but your muscles are jelly. Your head hurts.

Dr. Crane looks you over. You know she's not your handler, but you reach for the familiarity anyway, half expecting the usual routine, the ministrations that get lost in the foggy haze of post-battle euphoria. If your arms weren't being held for your own stability, you'd start opening your suit.

Instead she shines a light in your eyes and asks you to stick out your tongue, making notes on a clipboard as she goes. She puts a strip of fabric around your arm and it gets tight for a moment. "Elevated heart rate and systolic pressure, pupil dilation is beyond what I consider normal."

Your heart hammers in your ears. The smells around you -- the saccharine sweet of connection gel, your own body, something undefinable coming off the doctor, heighten to a nauseating strength. Your head hurts. "Are you going to..." You swallow. "Do you have the syringe?"

Dr. Crane tilts her head. "The syringe?"

"When the..." How do you explain this? You haven't had to explain any of this, people just know what to do. "When I'm done. Rebecca, she has the syringe, it's blue, and."

"Do you know what's in it?" she asks, gently. Too gently. The words are too soft, they smother you, it's too hard to breathe.

Your head hurts. The lights beat down.

"No, but it... she... always..."

Your head hurts.

Your head hu--

---

There are voices.

At first you don't care. You just want to go back to sleep. But there's something wrong with your bed, it's too soft. And the voices don't sound right -- that soft lilt, one you've only recently heard.

"Patient has been stable for six hours. Their heartrate is still a little funny, and I'm not sure this godawful cocktail of tramadol, modafinil, and tricyclics we pulled out of their tox panel is good for anything other than keeping them from dying of withdrawal, but we should be seeing them awake soon."

"Thanks, Dr. Chen." You recognize this voice, soft and husky -- it's Dr. Crane. "Have you figured out the... um. Mortality problem?"

"Part of it is that stimulant cocktail, I'm sure -- we haven't had the chance to pull in a full Conclave mech with pilot intact, and our field teams don't have the tools to stabilize someone as quickly as we were able to do here. But the most likely reason... false molar full of tetrodotoxin. We made sure to extract it. Carefully."

You probe the back of your mouth with a sluggish tongue. There's still a tooth there, but it feels strange. The one that had been there was artificial already, of course, but this one is much smoother, more like the rest of your teeth. Something lightens within you -- you've lost an option, sure, but maybe you were never good with options.

"Fuck," Dr. Crane says quietly.

"That's not all," Dr. Chen says. "There's extensive neural grafts consistent with the autopsies we've performed, but... there's something weird going on with the brain activity scan. I'm not sure what the Conclave is doing to their people, but it's scary."

"Nnn. 'M not," you say.

There's a rustling around your bed. You open your eyes and blink against the sharp light a few times, and eventually the face of Dr. Crane comes into focus.

"Hey," she says. "Glad you're awake. How are you feeling?"

You have no idea how to deal with this. Never expected to be in a hospital room of all things, being treated like valuable materiel instead of ammunition. So instead of answering her question, you just repeat your previous statement. "I'm not. Person."

She gives you a look you don't really know how to read. You never had to get all that good at reading faces, but you suspect this one might be hard even if you did.

"...well. Anyway." Dr. Crane clears her throat. "You had a medical emergency when you left your mech. You mentioned something about a syringe? I assume that's part of your post-operation routine? We've got you stable now. We're going to give you about another day to rest up before we bring you in for questioning."

"Questioning?"

"You're the only Conclave pilot we've brought in alive," she says, with a twist of her mouth. "It's damn near impossible to piece together any information about Conclave technology and hierarchy. I should know -- I'm the Union's top academic expert in Conclave culture and I always feel like I'm flying blind."

That was... a lot. You just nod.

"So you said something about... not having a name? Do you have something you'd like to be called? I know you're technically a prisoner, but you're safe here. People will respect what you say you are."

She says that last part with a lot of emphasis, a particular gravity to the words, but you're not sure why. "No."

"Okay. Designation number?"

"They re-assign our numbers every week so we don't get attached to them," you say.

She says a word under her breath that you don't know, other than that your handler says it when she gets mad.

"Alright." Dr. Crane takes off her glasses and pinches the bridge of her nose. "How about I just call you "Pilot" for now?"

That's what you are, and you don't see why that's so difficult, but at least this line of questioning seems to be over when you answer yes. She promises to check on you in a while, and leaves.

---

You dream about vines.

They're all over you. You haven't seen many vines up close -- there was sparse ivy on the back of one hangar for a little while before Maintenance took care of it. But you feel you know these.

They aren't strangling you. It almost feels like a caress, like the flight suit, like Rebecca's post combat care, but not quite any of those. It's pleasant. Cool rather than warm, and calming.

There is intense pain in your arms and legs, but it doesn't bother you. It's like someone is telling you that your limbs are being shredded, but the pain isn't getting through to the part of you that cares. It's just another sensation, less pleasant than the vines but certainly not bad.

You feel things you can't explain. A name, a pull in a direction that's not physical, feelings and sounds beyond your ability to parse. They build to a crescendo, and you wake with a shout. But at the edges of your awareness, the green is still there.

---

The next morning, you're herded into a shower stall with a clean jumpsuit, a washcloth, and a bar of soap. You clean yourself off as well as you can, given the circumstances. The soap has a soft smell to it, and no grit. It almost doesn't feel like it's cleaning you at all, without the scratches.

You knock on the stall door once you're finished dressing, and the door slides back. In addition to the two guards, Dr. Crane is there. She's wearing the same white coat, but her hair is pulled back, and she looks even more tired.

Still, she manages a slight smile. "Pilot. Did you sleep well?"

"No," you say.

"Ah. Well, hopefully we can help with that tonight. In the meantime I have some questions for you."

You follow her through a maze of white corridors, lit with skylights. Your sense of direction was never the best (your mech always took care of that, you think with a twist in your gut.) You wouldn't be able to find your way back if you needed to.

She leads you to a room with two chairs, both of them plush and soft. You feel like you're sinking into it; she looks like she's perched on hers. She balances her clipboard on her knees and starts in eagerly on the questions.

There's a part of you that feels you should shut up, refuse to answer, let them finish the work they didn't let your false tooth start. But one handler's as good as another. You're a weapon, and weapons know no loyalty. So you answer -- even when the questions don't make sense, or aren't about obvious things, or are about things you've never been allowed to see.

The reactions don't really make sense to you either. You talk about some of your worst missions, and she seems sad but like she knew what was coming; you talk about your handler, and she's gripping her clipboard so hard her fingers go pale. You stop trying to understand what's going on, and try to hit the same state of unconscious action that you do on a sortie. Question, response. Question, response.

There are a few about your accommodations. They're fine, of course. You have little standard for comparison, and if she asks if you need anything else, you feel she won't leave you alone with a "no," so you ask for books. Rebecca was always reading when you were doing synch tests.

After what feels like the whole day, Dr. Crane lets you go. She doesn't ask you any questions about the haze of green starting to fade in around the corners of your vision when your mind drifts, so you don't volunteer any information.

---

The next day's meal comes with a couple of books, and Dr. Crane seems determined to find you the right reading material because every meal tray thereafter has more. There's a shelf in your room for the purpose. It was a ruse at first, but it is genuinely a better way of spending your time then staring at the wall.

There's more questions, along with a handful of medical tests, supervised by Dr. Chen. Dr. Chen's questions are even stranger than Dr. Crane's, but at least they seem satisfied with the answers given by the scans and blood draws.

A few days pass until you get a good enough feeling of the layout of the facility to know which direction the hangar is in. You occasionally see Caskie pilots in groups of twos and threes, talking and joking with each other. No handlers, no augments that you can see -- if you hadn't seen people in those same outfits walk out of their primitive looking mechs in the desert, you wouldn't believe that they were pilots at all.

All of them are coming and going in the same direction, and it's a direction that Doctor Crane and your guards never take you. So naturally, the first chance you get when both of your escorts are distracted and you have the chance, you peel off that direction and start running.

Your augments sing as you stretch your legs. They’re not like infantry augments (or so you’ve heard) and they don’t have auxiliary power – you can feel them burning away your body’s energy, energy that would normally be supplied by your mech. But your desperation fuels them just as much as your calories do, and the initial burst of speed and agility is all you need.

The facility is confusing as always, but you spot a sign that says HANGAR and get reoriented. Startled cries fly in your wake, doctors and workers and pilots confused at your frenzied speed. Something that might be an alarm and might just be lighting flashes at the corner of your vision, nearly obscured by the green.

You get lucky, and a mechanic is coming through the secured door at the checkpoint at the same time you arrive. You take advantage of her confusion and duck underneath her outstretched arm, through the door and out into the hangar bay.

It's not hard to find your mech. You remember the layout from your brief spell of consciousness after arrival, the way your mech looked so different from the rest and didn't quite fit into its space.

You pull up to a stop, wheezing from exertion, and look at it with dismay.

Your mech has been dismembered, all four limbs strewn about the bay hooked up to various pieces of testing equipment. The body itself is on a riser jack, slightly askew like there wasn't the right connector to fit it, hooked up by thick cables and patched-together connectors to the exposed limb contacts. The canopy stands open, the inside unlit but visibly cleaned of leftover connection gel.

The sight makes you sick. You hold it down, but barely; but the nausea makes it hard for you to resist when a burly mechanic comes up behind you and wrestles you to the floor.

You're not sure you would have, anyway.

By the time Dr. Crane has shown up, your face is wet with tears and snot, and your breath comes only with sobs. You're still being pinned to the ground by a mechanic, but she's not putting her full weight into it. She more or less let go when you started crying.

Dr. Crane pushes through the crowd of onlooking mechanics and kneels down in front of you. "Are you all right?" she asks.

At first, you think she's addressing the mechanic; it would be such an incongruous question to a pilot about to be terminated for insubordination. After a silence disproves that theory, you shake your head and gesture with one semi-restrained arm to the mech. "No."

"I'm sorry, pilot," she says, "but you are still a prisoner. I'm going to request the board not to restrict your access for this, given that you didn't really hurt anything -- and I'm sure they'll listen to me -- but you surely didn't think you could just get back in your mech and run away?"

"No," you say again, frustration at your own inadequate words prompting a fresh fall of tears. "It's... you're hurting it, you're..."

Things click together, things that you've always known. Feelings shared through the neural tunnel, deeply held beliefs that couldn't be kept from a pilot. You understand, now, what your mech was trying to tell you all along.

"You're hurting her."

Dr. Crane looks from you, to your mech, back to you. She goes pale.

"Are you telling me," she says quietly, "that there's an AI in your mech? A sentient AI?"

You nod. It's too late to lie, now. To protect her. The green in your vision threatens to overwhelm you. You're sorry, so, so sorry...

"A sentient AI that... we have been effectively torturing for four days. Fuck." She takes her glasses off, buries her face in her hands for a moment. "I can't believe that didn't come up during questioning."

It could have. You had avoided the topic, because you were afraid of this happening -- your greater part, torn away and experimented on because you couldn't keep her safe. You had always heard that the Union had strange beliefs about machine minds.

Dr. Crane looks around to some of the mechanics. "Anyone who was working on this mech -- did you have any idea there was a sentient AI? Any anomalous readings?"

"Some anomalies came up in the report that indicated synaptic activity in the post-0.4 Turing level," says one mechanic, nervously playing with their hair. "But everything about Conclave tech is anomalous. Kinda got buried in all the other weirdness."

"Okay." Dr. Crane sighs. "Can we get some input/output hooked up to her, please? And give her her limbs back."

One of the guards flanking her frowns. "I don't think that's a good--"

"She's a prisoner of war, Ortega. Pretty sure removing a sapient being's body parts is against something in the codes. Not to mention the First Principle."

Ortega sighs, and waves some mechanics over.

---

They don't know what connection gel is, but it doesn't matter. The sensation of her against your skin is important, but not as important as just reestablishing the connection.

Dr. Crane apparently spots your longing glances towards your mech, and takes you by the arm. When you flinch back, she holds her hands up in a defensive posture. "I'm sorry," she said. "I was just going to guide you over there again."

There's a lot of activity going on in the hangar, between the mechanics re-arming your mech and the other pilots getting suited up to react in case she tries to start killing people. (You don't think she's going to, but you suppose you can't blame them too much.) It would be a shame if your reunion with your mech got postponed because you got beaned in the head by an inattentive mechanic carrying a crysteel strut, so you offer your arm to Dr. Crane again and she guides you through.

You don't want to take too long, but you're only going to get to do this once. You run your hand over the lip where the canopy seats into the body, feel the soft seal and the framework beneath, then lift yourself up over and inside the cockpit.

There's no gel, so you can't hear her voice right away, but you know what to do. Years of drilling guide your hand to the hidden compartment with the emergency connection pads. It falls open with a clunk, the ribbon cables and connection pads jutting out in a fall like vines. One on either temple, one on either side of the chest, one on the back of each trembling hand. You're probably being watched, stared at as you have been since you broke into this hangar, but you don't care. She's here.

Hello, love.

You shudder, come apart, not in a procedural way like with your handler but in a form that shoots through to the very core of you. Untouched, but undone. You have no words for her, but you know she can feel your relief and your joy. You crumple, weeping, and run your hands over the familiar inside of the cockpit.

The green in your vision doesn’t go away, but it recontextualizes. It’s her. It’s the part of her that lives in you, a fragment within a fragment.

It's a little while, just basking in the connection, before you realize you've fallen in an uncomfortable position. Your skin, your joints, protesting their treatment. You reorganize yourself, pull yourself from the connection just long enough to get there.

They've hooked a set of speakers up to her ports. They come to life with a spiky flare of static as she finds her voice.

"Hello," she says. You can feel her voice from inside and outside, through the tunnel and through the skin of the mech. "I am a Conclave of God Armored Forces Samson-B Light Interdiction Unit, but I would prefer if you called me Acacia."

#mechposting #empty spaces #might be a bit too cheerful to be empty spaces proper but it's part of the conversation #tessa writes stuff #tesserants #There's going to be probably one chapter after this

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little-diable · 5 months

Text

Saturn swallowing his son – Professor Aaron Hotchner (Profiling 101 Series, Part 3/?)

Chapter three, here we go! Promise there will be lots of smut (the next chapter is finally full of smut), but please show some love to this chapter which has barely any smut in it. Please like and reblog if you enjoyed reading this, your comments keep us writers motivated. Enjoy my loves. xxx

Summary: The reader enrolls in professor Hotchner's class "Profiling 101", a man she has always looked up to, a man who treats her like an asshole from day one. Will her need for academic validation manage to push the two closer together? Will her bright mind push her into the world of Aaron Hotchner and the BAU team? Will he manage to keep his distance before the world he tries to protect her from can get its grasp on her?

Warnings: none, just some typical CM talk

Pairing: Professor!Aaron Hotchner x fem!reader (3k words)

Profiling 101 Series Masterlist

Part One Part Two Part Four

If one of her friends had asked (y/n) what she was planning on doing this Sunday morning, she’d probably have replied with “Sleeping in”, perhaps she’d have told them she was planning on going for a morning walk, perhaps grabbing coffee at a store she frequented. But none of these things were now happening, instead (y/n) was sitting in a black SUV, right next to Professor Hotchner.

She had been awoken by her phone going off, indicating that a new email had been sent to her, eyes struggling to focus on the bright screen of her phone. Her heart had skipped a few beats as she had read the email professor Hotchner had sent her, asking her if she’d like to join him on a trip to the BAU. He had attached his phone number for her, asking her to call him, and as he had explained to her that they were discussing her idea at the BAU, she had began to hastily dress herself, telling him where to pick her up.

“Here, don’t lose this.” Professor Hotchner pushed a visitor’s card into (y/n)’s direction, watching her clip the card to a belt loop, nodding at him as they walked towards one of the elevators. Barely any words had been shared on the drive, relishing in the calmness this very Sunday morning offered the two, grateful that they wouldn’t have to force themselves through any uncomfortable smalltalk.

“Is there anything I should be careful with, professor?” His dark eyes met hers, pondering over her words for a few seconds before he cleared his throat, having to force himself to stop looking at her.

“You can call me Hotch while we’re here, (y/n).” The way her name rolled off his tongue left her trembling in surprise, swallowing the gasp wanting to rip through her. “For now all I need you to do is to be as observant as you can be, don’t hold back on theories, and put enough trust in yourself. You wouldn’t be here if I didn’t believe in your work.” An unfamiliar sense of pride thumped through (y/n)’s veins, not used to the professor praising her like this. She could only nod, not trusting herself to speak up, pressing her lips tightly together.

Before either one could speak another word, the elevator came to a halt, exposing the parts of the BAU (y/n) had been dreaming of seeing with her own eyes for years. She followed the tall man, eyes taking in everything she could admire from afar, unable to bite down the excitement filling her body with every step she took.

“I’ll introduce you to the team first.” He led her towards what appeared to be a conference room, eyes instantly drawn to the familiar faces of Spencer Reid and David Rossi. “This is (y/n), as I told you, she’ll assist us on this case.”

“It’s good to see you again, (y/n). I’ve been waiting for you to find your way to us.” David Rossi shook her hand with a smile, making heat simmer inside of her, freaking out that the man could still remember her from all these years ago. She shook the hands of the others, not noticing how Aaron Hotchner kept watching her with a slight smile playing on his lips.

“As (y/n) pointed out to me, the scenes have a very dramatic touch to them. (Y/n) said they remind her of Goya’s Saturn painting.”

“The painting depicts Saturn swallowing his son. It was foretold that one of his offspring would ultimately usurp his rule. In order to thwart this prophecy, Saturn devoured his own progeny. He managed to consume five of them, yet Jupiter was destined to escape his father's fate thanks to his mother's clever ruse. She replaced the infant with a stone in swaddling clothes and presented it to her unsuspecting husband, who remained oblivious to the subterfuge. Many years later, Jupiter overthrew his father, thus fulfilling the prophecy. During this momentous event, Saturn regurgitated his children, along with the stone.” Spencer kept rambling on, sharing everything he knew about the painting and its history, instantly drawing (y/n) in as she couldn’t hide her amazement. She tried to remember every word that was shared, very well knowing that this was a chance she’d perhaps never get again.

“So, what? Our unsub is fascinated by Greek mythology?” The guy (y/n) and her friends had seen at the bar days ago, who had just introduced himself as Derek Morgan, cut Spencer’s rambling short, muscular arms crossed in front of his chest. For a few seconds they were engulfed by silence, eyes focusing on the pictures of the crime scenes.

“Maybe he is reliving some childhood trauma? It wouldn’t be surprising if the unsub grew up in an abusive household.” (Y/n) watched Emily Prentiss pick one of the pictures up as she spoke, eyes zoning in on the wounds the victims bodies were littered with.

“A study from the early 2000s shows that most serial killers displayed similar patterns of severe childhood neglect, patterns developed from birth through adolescence. Our unsub definitely knows about Greek mythology, perhaps a professor or a teacher?” A hum left the others at the information Spencer shared, though (y/n) couldn’t focus on the numbers, speaking up before she could stop herself from doing so.

“I doubt it's somebody with an academic background, these scenes wouldn’t be as dramatic otherwise. But what about somebody favouring art? A painter?” Her eyes instantly flickered up to meet Aaron Hotchner's, the man who was already looking at her, giving (y/n) an encouraging nod, allowing her tense muscles to relax.

“Garcia, cross reference people who are known as painters around the area, somebody who also shows up in reports from domestic abuse from the past thirty to forty years.” Aaron turned towards (y/n), speaking a soft “Good job, (y/n)” that left her heart skipping beats in excitement.

……

“Thank you for driving me back.” Her words filled his dark SUV, voice kept quiet to match the calmness they were engulfed by. (Y/n) didn’t dare look away from the handsome man, knowing that she shouldn’t miss a single second fading by, not knowing if or when she’d ever get to share these moments with him again.

“It’s on me to thank you, (y/n). You’ve done well today.” Only now did she begin to realise how close they were sitting, forearms about to touch, resting on the middle console. She couldn’t stop her eyes from flickering down to his lips, allowing herself to imagine him pulling her closer, softly kissing her as the rain kept pitter pattering down on the windshield of the SUV.

For the first few seconds (y/n) wasn’t sure if she was only imagining it, but it seemed like Aaron was caught in the same thoughts as (y/n), slowly moving closer. Her heart roared in her chest, praying to whoever was listening that he’d close the distance between them, kissing her like she had hoped he would for years.

(Y/n) could almost feel his breath on her cold skin, could almost pick up on the shaky breaths leaving him, but before either one could give in the sound of Aaron’s phone going off ripped them apart. His eyes grew cold once again, nodding towards (y/n) as if he was wordlessly saying goodbye, answering the call as he watched her leave the car, clothes instantly soaked through by the heavy rain.

Disappointment flushed through (y/n), finding her way into her apartment with a sigh breaking through her. She couldn’t help but curse whoever had forced them apart, asking him to return back to the cold demeanour she was all too familiar with by now.

Would he treat her the same way he had treated her for the past weeks in their upcoming class? Or would he treat her a bit kinder, just like he had done today? One question after another filled her mind, painting scenarios that’d leave her sleepless for hours on end.

……

“Hi (y/n), it’s Emily Prentiss. Hotch told us you didn’t have any time to keep on working with us on the case, but the girls and I would love to grab some drinks with you if you're up for it?” (Y/n) had been staring at the text message for what felt like hours, rereading every word carefully, hoping that she wasn’t misinterpreting what Emily had texted her.

Hotch told us you didn’t have any time to keep on working with us on the case – the words felt like blades piercing her heart, cutting deeper and deeper, about to rob her of her last breath. (Y/n) had to blink her tears away, not understanding why he’d tell them lies like this, actively keeping her away from him and the team.

Ever since that moment in the car he had been back to his brooding self, cold demeanour keeping his distance from (y/n), not even looking at her once in class. She had gotten the memo, had instantly seen through the game he was playing, and yet she was hurt by it, not understanding how he could pull away this easily. Back then she had promised herself that she’d also keep her distance, not wanting to chase a situation this toxic, but now, two weeks later, (y/n) couldn’t help but give into the anger simmering deep inside of her.

With a deep breath leaving her she tapped on Emily’s contact, calling the agent before (y/n)’s rational self could catch up with her actions. Within a few moments she and Emily had shared information about the whereabouts of the group, promising that she’ll be at the bar in a few, set on distracting herself from her heartbreak.

……

“(Y/n)! It’s so good to see you!” Penelope was the first one to greet her, followed by Emily and JJ, hugging the women who had already ordered (y/n) her drink. And even though (y/n)’s system was still taken up by her anger, by the ever growing annoyance, she couldn’t help but feel grateful for the three women who treated her like she had been their friend for years.

“So tell us, what or who is keeping you this busy?” JJ’s eyes glimmered with mischief, oblivious of the hurt (y/n) had to fight against, expression growing sombre as they watched (y/n) avert her gaze, clearing her throat as if she was feeling awfully uncomfortable. For a second she pondered over her choices, and yet her pettiness spurred her on, parting her lips to reply with her eyes flickering between the three.

“Uhm, I don’t know why he told you that I’m busy, I’m really not, but I guess he simply doesn’t want me around. I just wish he’d told me that himself.” With an almost pitiful expression thrown her way, Penelope wrapped her arm around (y/n)’s shoulder, pulling her closer.

“I’m sure he has his reasons, maybe he simply wants to protect you. He can be very cold at times, but I promise, he means well, and you did help us a lot with the Porcelaine killer situation!”

“He never told me what happened with the case, care to elaborate?” (Y/n)’s eyes kept flickering between the women, waiting for either one of them to tell her who the killer was.

“It was an artist downtown, we found him through the Goya replicas he tried to sell. The victims all bought the pictures from him, it was some deep rooted family trauma he was guided by, since his father had always told him he’d never be as good as Goya.” With a sigh leaving (y/n) she nodded her head, barely listening to the words Penelope spoke to redirect the conversation.

Emily’s words about Aaron kept ringing in (y/n)’s ears, even as the three women started to pour shots down their throats with (y/n) mimicking their movements.

……

“(Y/n)?” Aaron Hotchner’s all too familiar voice rumbled through her, eyes focused on Penelope and Emily, unable to bite down her drunken chuckles. It took her a few moments to reply, struggling with her blurred vision and the way her surroundings kept spinning all too fast.

“You know what, Hotch?” She slurred her words, breaking out in laughter as Penelope almost lost her balance, leaning onto Emily and JJ as they waited for their taxi to arrive. “You’re the biggest asshole ever, I take back my apology.”

“Are you drunk, (y/n)? Where are you? Are you alone?” Concern dripped from his words, an emotion her drunken mind didn’t pick up on, attention torn between his words and her newfound friends. She wrapped her arm around herself, trying to shield herself from the cold as a hum left her, wondering what she should tell him.

“‘M not, Emily, JJ, and Penelope are here, the ones you lied to, in case you forgot.” An angry huff left Aaron, she heard him shuffling around, wondering what he was doing, or where he was going.

“Where are you? Send me your location, I’ll pick you up.” (Y/n) ended the call, barely able to focus on the screen as she sent him her location, unable to ponder on what was about to happen. She could barely concentrate on the words she shared with the three women, telling them that somebody else would pick her up and that she’ll text them in the morning. And within minutes, (y/n) found herself watching an all too familiar frame walk closer to her, wordlessly wrapping his arm around her shivering frame, guiding (y/n) towards his warm SUV.

“Why did you lie? You could have just told them you don’t want me around.” She whispered her words, interrupted by a yawn rumbling through her, sinking further into the comfortable seat. But her eyes didn't leave his frowning features once, wondering what he was thinking about, wondering how he was feeling about being around her once again.

“It’s not that simple, (y/n).” Aaron Hotchner matched the tone of her voice, hands tightening their grip on the steering wheel. Her mind screamed at her to shut up, to let it rest before this conversation would spiral out of control, and yet (y/n)’s racing heart urged her on to keep on talking, to ask the questions that wouldn't let go of her for months on end otherwise.

“I know you don’t like me, but it would have been nice if you’d at least told me that I won’t be able to help any longer, to my face.” A sigh left Aaron, teeth grazing his lower lip as he stared stoically ahead, clearly telling (y/n) that their conversation was over. With her eyes wandering to her window and a huff leaving her, she kept watching houses blur by, no longer recognising the area they were in, wondering where he was taking her to – a question her professor answered without her having to ask.

“You’ll stay at mine for the night, I don’t want to leave you alone in your state.” Angry, drunken words wanted to leave (y/n), words that were silenced by the realisation of what was about to happen. With his hand placed on the small of her back he guided her into the apartment complex, stabilising (y/n)’s frame till they stepped foot into the dark living room. She swayed slightly as she kicked her shoes off, not noticing the amused glance he shot her, watching her struggle. “You can sleep in my bedroom, I’ll take the couch. It’s the last door down the hallway, I’ll bring you some water in a minute.”

“I should take the couch, but you deserve to wake up to some back pain.” A laugh clawed through Aaron Hotchner as he turned from her, missing the sight of (y/n) disappearing down the hallway. With a deep breath being exhaled, he poured her a glass of water before he made his way to the bedroom, freezing in his step as his eyes found her frame, cuddling further into his comfortable pillows.

“Here’s some water, do you want a shirt to sleep in?” She could only tiredly nod her head, hands working on her top, not caring that her professor was in the room with her, shuffling out of her clothes till she was only wearing her underwear. He had turned from her the second his mind had picked up on what she was about to do, wordlessly pushing the shirt of his into her direction without looking at (y/n) once. “I’ll be back in a few.”

She watched him leave the room with hurried steps, unable to stop her drunken chuckles from leaving her as she fell back against the mattress. The soft shirt she was now wearing smelled like him, a scent she’d always recognise, no matter how much she tried to pull herself away from the grasp her crush on him had on her heart. Years ago she had fallen prisoner to Aaron Hotchner, to the mere thought of him, mere images that were further from the truth than she had originally anticipated.

“Do you need something else?” With tired eyes she watched him approach once again, wearing a pair of sweatpants and a black shirt. She silently prayed that she’d never forget this very moment, the almost domestic feeling the sight of him shot through her. No longer could she guide the words rumbling through her, no longer could she stop her body from acting on the actions she’d curse herself for in the upcoming hours.

“Stay?”

#Aaron Hotchner imagine #profiling 101 #Aaron Hotchner x reader #Aaron Hotchner smut #criminal minds imagine

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cazzyf1 · 9 days

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pls tell me everything you know about the 1982 drivers strike i think about it often

Right I about to go into as much detail as possible about the driver's strike while hopefully keeping it comprehensible.

*cracks knuckles*

Let's go.

So to give some overall context to the situation, Bernie Ecclestone was doing some meddling. He had control over the Formula One Constructors Association (FOCA) which meant he could negotiate contracts between teams, track owners, television rights, etc. Realising the sort of power Bernie Ecclestone was getting, the Federation Internationale de I'Automobile (FIA) put Jean-Marie Balestre in charge. There was a big power struggle between these two however both Ecclestone and Balestre united against the drivers in 1982.

At the start of the 1982 season, a new license called a 'super license' was put forward for the drivers to sign. This license was based on other sports, like football's transfer systems, meaning the drivers had fewer rights - their team owners essentially owned them. For example, the super licence meant a team could keep drivers to one team for up to three years, even if the drivers wanted to leave. This happened after, in 1981, Alain Prost was racing for McLaren, and he became convinced that the car wasn't safe. He refused to drive for the team, though he had a contract. He said if necessary, he would walk away from the sport altogether. Then Renault approached Alain Prost, and he joined them. A new license was created to prevent this situation from happening again.

1982 was also the season that (at the time) 2x World Champion Niki Lauda decided to come out of retirement. In 1979 he had been racing for Bernie Ecclestone's team 'Brabham', but halfway through the season, he walked away, finding no more interest in the sport. Eventually Ron Dennis, who ran the team 'Mclaren' tempted Niki back into the sport.

Niki was sent the super license a few days before the start of the season to sign, and being a stickler for detail he made sure to read through all of it. In reading it, Niki realised the control the team owners would have over the drivers and did not approve of it. Quickly, he rang up Didier Pironi who was head of the drivers association, to talk him through what he had found. Didier agreed that these licenses were bad and then called all the other drivers, telling them not to sign the licence. They had been late though, as 24 had technically already signed as they hadn't properly read the licence. The only ones that hadn't were Lauda, Pironi, Villeneuve who had seen something similar in ice hockey and didn't like it, Arnoux, Giacomelli and de Cesaris.

In South Africa, Kyalami the track was prepared for the drivers to start practising, and the drivers were arriving in their normal cars. But before they could get out on track, a bus pulled up with Niki Lauda and Pironi in it. Without their knowledge, Niki and Didier had managed to borrow a bus from Trevor Rowe and were ready to take the drivers back to their hotel at the Kyalami Ranch. They rounded up all the drivers and told them of their plans, and while they were hesitant, eventually, most of them were convinced to get onto the bus. Only two didn't. Jochen Mass, who was late (He's always late, someone said) and Jacky Ickx.

The team owner of March, John McDonald, caught wind of what was happening and tried to prevent the bus from leaving by parking a van in front of the bus. Jacques Laffite got out of the bus to move the van, accidentally stalled it, but eventually got it out of the way. The bus then set off, taking the scenic route back to the Sunnyside Park Hotel while every news van and car chased after the bus, getting clips of Niki Lauda looking out the back of the bus and waving at them.

Eventually, they arrived, and all of them strutted past the journalists and went into the hotel. Thus ensued a fun time for the drivers relaxing around by the pool for the day. However, things back at the track were not shaping up well.

Bernie Ecclestone and Jean-Marie Balestre were pissed. The race organisers threatened to impound the cars, Bernie Ecclestone threatened to sue the drivers, and Balestre announced if the drivers didn't come back, then they would all be fired. Bernie Ecclestone had already fired the drivers from his team, Nelson Piquet and Riccardo Patrese. The mechanics put signs out joking advertising for new drivers. Didier Pironi was doing the main negotiations for the drivers at the track and reporting back to Niki Lauda at the hotel on how it was progressing. During the evening, when dinner was being served, the driver's wives and girlfriends, who were still at the track, started throwing bread rolls at Balestre.

Didier Pironi arrived at the hotel and explained that if they didn't return and drive immediately, they risked life bans. Niki Lauda realised that this strike would last the night, and he knew that if all the drivers returned to their own rooms, the team principles would easily be able to convince them to abandon the strike. They needed to stay united, which meant literally sticking together. He arranged to take over the conference room in the hotel and have all the spare mattresses brought into the room.

All the drivers moved into this one big room, and soon, the entertainment started. Many of the younger drivers felt quite panicked about the whole situation, worried that they would be fired for going on strike, which would have ended any career in motorsports, so they went to the older drivers like Niki for reassurance. Niki tried to lighten up the atmosphere by telling dirty jokes. Bruno Giacomelli, who was quite passionate about machine guns, got his hands on a chart and gave a presentation on how to take a gun to bits. There was also a piano in the room, and driver Elio de Angelis, trained to play the piano, performed for all the drivers. Everyone there said it was the most beautiful playing they had ever heard. Gilles Villeneuve also had a go playing a few joyful pieces.

The team owners and journalists had by now discovered that all the drivers were hiding out in this one big room, and they were trying to get in. At first, Niki gave an interview by the door, but he ensured no one would leave the room. One of the team principles, Mo Nunn of Ensign, had brought the driver, Guerrero's girlfriend, along as a bargaining trip. Niki made sure to accompany Guerrero to see his girlfriend. He said that the situation could have brought a tear to your eye. Eventually, they got the girlfriend away from the team principal and into the room. Team principal Jean Sage of Renault tried to get to Prost and Arnoux but was beaten off.

At this point, the team principals grew frustrated and decided to break into the room, so the drivers had to use the piano to barricade the door.

Then night came, and it was time for the drivers to get even closer. There were not enough mattresses for one each, meaning all the drivers had to bunk up. Many funny photographs have come from this event. Alain Prost and Giles Villeneuve shared a mattress, which led to Patrick Tambay saying if a child came from this, all the others might as well give up.

There was a problem with the toilet as there was only one and it wasn't in the room. There was a key to the toilet and so the drivers agreed to leave it in the middle of the room so they would know if someone left to the toilet and didn't come back. One driver, Fabi, ended up going to the toilet but did not come back.

During the night, Carlos Reuntemann or Keke Rosberg snored so loudly that Gilles Villeneuve threw a blanket over them to cover the sound.

In the morning, all the drivers got up, trying hard not to sniff the odour of the room and got ready to head to the track as Didier Pironi had been able to successfully negotiate a licence they were happy with. No drivers were fired, Nelson Piquet and Riccardo Paterese were rehired, and the race was successful. There were fears that the drivers could be arrested at the airport, but thankfully, that didn't happen. Instead, they were fined for taking part in the strike, which, while it didn't affect some drivers who already had plenty of money, it wasn't ideal for the drivers who were just getting started.

This is as much as I am able to remember; if you know anything more or if there is something wrong in this let me know in the comments below! Hope you enjoyed the read :)

#classic f1 #f1 #formula one #formula 1 #vintage f1 #1982 drivers strike #niki lauda #alain prost #didier pironi #gilles villeneuve #elio de angelis

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barefoothighlander · 11 months

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Hey hey heyy! First of all your writing is so good! Fr teach me.

Second of all I'd love some Graves smut, something to do with proper hate sex as in enemies to ??, maybe some violence with it. Other than that you can do what you want.

Ily<3

thank u babe, also super random but I just found out the actor for graves is also jeff in yellowjacket’s and now all I picture is graves sitting in his car jamming to papa roach

warnings: mdni (18+), smut, unprotected pinv, slight dub con, choking, fingering, orgasm denial, name calling, description of wounds, mention of blood, dom!graves, slight voyeurism, creampie, mention of alcohol, not proofread

Your skin is freezing, the rain soaking your clothes, mixing with the blood dripping from the wound on your arm as you struggle to stay up. Something about him was always off, it wasn’t often the 141 worked with outsiders but you needed to trust the Shadow company, you needed to trust Graves.

You followed his orders, seeking his protection when hostile got too close, he’d saved your life on more than one account during the mission but you always kept an eye on him.

Unfortunately your suspicions were right, he had betrayed the team on behalf of Shepard, and now you were lost in the streets of Mexico with too much blood lost.

You crept through alleys, calling through your comms to Soap and Ghost, trying to find a way out when the Shadows were lurking around every corner, gunshots ringing through your ears as you slam your body against a wall trying to stay out of sight.

The dark provided decent cover, allowing you to sneak through old shops and houses, trying to find materials to help you but the feeling of your body growing weaker did little to add to your success, having to brace yourself against tables and walls just to catch your breath.

Time was running out, you knew where Ghost was but you didn’t know how to get there, between the labyrinth of streets and the threat of the Shadows, they had you stuck with no where to go.

“You lost little bird?”

His cocky tone pierces your ears, you don’t have to turn around to know who the voice belongs to, your whole world crumbling in front of you as you look for an escape route.

“No where to run”

He moves closer towards you, caging your body between him and the wall as panic sets into your body. You turn your body and brave your arms, ready to fight but he grabs your wrists, pushing your body back against the wall and pinning you there, you wince at the action, the angle of your arm pinching your wound.

“Looks like somebody clipped your wings” He smirks, his tone is deep,

“Fuck off” You spit, writhing under his grip

“We could’ve been a team you know, there would’ve been a place for you in the company”

“And be forced to take orders from you? I’d rather die”

“Tsk, kinda seemed like you enjoyed taking orders from me”

You furrow your brows at his comment, one drunken mistake made weeks ago coming back to haunt you. You had gone out drinking with the team and he tagged along, a few too many shots and you wound up in his bed, panting under his touch.

“Get the fuck off me Graves”

“I love the way you say my name” His hands release yours, moving to your waist to turn your body, pinning your chest against the wall as you whimper in pain.

“Now I wanna hear you scream it” His voice is husky, laced with anger as his lips travel over your exposed skin, tracing your limbs. The warmth of him feels too good, your shivering body moulded against his chest as his fingers trace over the hem of your pants.

His hands snake under your shirt, kneading at your breasts as you let out a small sigh, the goosebumps on your skin depleting with every touch.

“Hate me all you want, I know what you need”

“Let me go”

“Ask nicely” He grins against your neck as his fingers pinch your nipples, a gasp escaping your lips.

“Fuck you”

He grinds his length against your backside, the firm press of him igniting your core as you curse yourself.

“If that’s what you want baby”

He moves a hand down your stomach, pushing back the hem of your pants to cup your sex, his fingers teasing over your panties as you squeeze your eyes shut.

“You’re soaked, knew you needed me, little slut”

His fingers pushed your panties to the side, teasing through your folds as he gathers your slick before pushing two digits inside you. Moaning from the contact he lets out a low chuckle, his warm breath ghosting over your ear as you bit your lip, trying to muffle your moans.

He pumps his fingers into you, his thumb settling on your clit to run circles over the bud, you struggle to brace your arms against the wall, your hips arching into him as you grind down onto his hand, chasing your high.

“That’s it, fuck yourself on my fingers”

Your teeth pierce your lip as you bite down, the taste of iron filling your mouth as the coil inside you burns, your mind a flurry of lust as your orgasm approaches.

He pumps his fingers harder, curving them to swipe across your sweet spot over and over, you throw you head back as the band inside you threatens to snap but as soon as you reach your peak he rips his hand from you. You’re breathless, panting as you stare back at him,

“Wha- no” You plead

“You wanna run? Go now” He steps back a few paces, giving you room to move, your skin is on fire, clenching around nothing as your high fades from your core, he wants you to beg. Your gaze shifts between the door and him, his dark eyes staring back at you, his hand glistening in the light, covered in your slick.

You don’t move, don’t say anything, your fingers toy with your belt buckle, undoing it and he smirks, closing the gap between you.

“Good choice”

His hand is firm on your back as he presses you against the wall again, his arm moving your grip around your waist, holding you up as your limbs become unsteady. He pulls your pants below your ass, giving him enough access to feel your weeping cunt, grinding his clothed length against it and feeling you shudder from the contact, the rough denim swiping against your core, sending shocks up your spine.

“Better stay quiet, unless you want the entire company to take turns”

His threats are empty but they still make your blood run cold, the noise of his own belt clattering as he presses his chest against you, running his tip through your folds. He smears your slick around your cunt, quiet sighs falling from your mouth as you feel how hard he is.

He leans back from you, lining himself up as his free hand finds purchase on the side of your face, pushing it against the cold wall, keeping you pinned. He bottoms out in a single thrust, forcing the air from your lungs as you gasp as the stretch, the arm on your waist moving so he can rest his fingers against your clit, keeping them still against the bud to tease you.

He pounds into you, forcing every inch of himself inside with every thrust as you moan, your mind a blur, the idea of anyone hearing long gone as his tip drags against your walls.

“That’s it, take it, take it all you fucking slut”

He grunts behind you, his balls slapping against your skin with every thrust, the sound of the rain outside the only thing keeping prying ears from knowing what was happening as you unravel under his touch.

The hand on your head moves to snake around your neck, the inside of his elbow settling under your chin as he pulls you against him, your back arching as he presses your spine to his chest. His cock hits deeper from this angle, your body exposed to him as his grunts fill your ears.

You reach for him but he grabs your wrist, a low growl leaving his chest when his thumb presses into the bullet wound in your arm, forcing a cry from you as you clench down on him.

“See what you made me do, didn’t have to run from me” He presses harder into the wound, droplets of blood cascading down your skin, smearing onto him as you sob around his cock.

“Fuck. You” You manage through gritted teeth, your hand finding it’s way to his head, tugging on his hair as he lets out a grunt, thrusting harder into you.

“You bite back, always liked that about you”

You open your mouth to speak but words escape you as he grips your wrist, pulling it towards your sex and forcing your fingers to toy with your clit.

“Show me how much you need to cum, how good my cock feels inside your little pussy”

You trace circles with your weak fingers, quiet whimpers from your lips boost his ego as the feeling of your fingers is nothing compared to his.

“Poor slut, you need me to do it?”

You give a tug to his hair, silent begs as your fingers continue to work lazy circles over the bud.

“Beg for it, beg me to make you cum”

“Eat shit”

“I guess only one of us gets to finish then”

He sobbed your body forward, your hands slow to catch you against the wall, his grips your waist with bruising fingers, digging into the flesh as he thrusts into you. Your knees are weak, your arms heavy against the wall as you struggle to stay up, you need more, more of him.

“Beg for it”

His thirsts push you further into the wall, your aching fingers scraping against the stone,

“Please” You whisper

“What’s that? Didn’t hear you”

Your body admits defeat before your mind does, pushing back against him so his tip prods at your cervix, forcing him deeper into you,

“Please”

“Please what? Use your words”

“Please, let me cum!” Tears prick your eyes, your orgasm building inside of you at an agonizing pace.

“Then soak my cock you fucking slut”

His fingers make contact with your clit, rubbing harsh circles over the bud as you cry out, your hips working in tandem with his thrusts to chase your high.

He leans over your frame, his lips pressed to the shell of your ear as his hand grips around your throat, his fingers squeezing against your pulse point.

“Cum for me, show me how much you need my cock” He whispers in your ears, the words shooting straight to your core, the fire inside your searing your skin as you cum with a sob, clenching down on him as he fucks you, keeping his harsh pace. His fingers stay on your clit, not letting you come down, he forces you to ride out your orgasm at his brutal pace, his skin smacking against yours as his cock stuffs you.

Your vision blurs, a mixture of blood loss and the overstimulation of him has you seeing stars, every sound drowned out except for his moans behind you.

“M’gonna fill this fucking pussy, send you back with a reminder of who you belong to”

Your tears stain your cheeks, your throat dry and unable to respond as his thrusts become sloppy, chasing his own high.

“You want that? Wanna walk around with my cum stuffed inside you, you fucking traitor bitch” He spits, his words ringing in your ears as he bottoms out, pressing his cock deep inside your walls as his spend floods them, filling you with the warm liquid.

Your body goes limp against the wall, his arms the only thing holding you up as he milks himself in your pussy, thrusting his softening cock to make sure it stays deep before pulling out.

He tucks himself back into his pants, his grip on your waist keeping you balanced as he helps you to lean on a table, kneeling to pull your own pants back up.

He scans the room, moving to grab a small cloth before tearing it, wrapping it around your wound to help stop the bleeding. You stare at him with hooded eyes, the toll on your body evident in the way you hunch over, arms braced to keep yourself steady.

“I meant it, there would’ve been a spot for you” His tone is sincere as you gaze at him, his hair sticking to his forehead in a mix of sweat and rain drops, he reaches around his vest, pulling out a small canteen of water and handing it to you, you take it, chugging its contents before gasping for a breath.

“I’d never betray my team”

“You already did”

His words shoot through your heart, it was true in a sense, even if he wasn’t the enemy the first time, it didn’t take away from the fact that you had just fucked him in a dirty old house while he was hunting you and your team.

“Go”

You furrow your brows at him, “What?”

“Leave before I change my mind, if I catch you again it won’t end as well”

You take a moment to scan his face, he’s being sincere, you stand quickly, trying to catch your balance before sparing him a final glance and rushing through the door back into the rain, glancing down streets to try and find a way out.

“Deadeye do you copy” Ghosts voice echoes through your comms, pulling you back to reality.

“I copy”

“Jesus Christ, where are you?” His voice is laced in panic

“Coming LT” The lights of the Church stare back at you through the heavy down pour, lighting your path as you make your way to your team.

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