#( just imagine how different it would have been )

[darknight3904]

𝘑𝘶𝘯𝘰

𝘓𝘰𝘨𝘢𝘯 𝘏𝘰��𝘭𝘦𝘵𝘵 𝘹 𝘍𝘦𝘮!𝘙𝘦𝘢𝘥𝘦𝘳

𝘚𝘶𝘮𝘮𝘢𝘳𝘺: 𝘖𝘷𝘶𝘭𝘢𝘵𝘪𝘰𝘯 𝘸𝘦𝘦𝘬 𝘪𝘴 𝘢𝘯𝘯𝘰𝘺𝘪𝘯𝘨 𝘦𝘯𝘰𝘶𝘨𝘩 𝘢𝘴 𝘪𝘵 𝘪𝘴, 𝘣𝘶𝘵, 𝘴𝘱𝘦𝘯𝘥𝘪𝘯𝘨 𝘮𝘰𝘴𝘵 ��𝘧 𝘪𝘵 𝘸𝘪𝘵𝘩𝘰𝘶𝘵 𝘓𝘰𝘨𝘢𝘯 𝘩𝘢𝘴 𝘺𝘰𝘶𝘳 𝘮𝘪𝘯𝘥 𝘳𝘶𝘯𝘯𝘪𝘯𝘨 𝘸𝘪𝘭𝘥…

𝘛𝘢𝘬𝘦𝘴 𝘱𝘭𝘢𝘤𝘦 𝘢𝘧𝘵𝘦𝘳 𝘋𝘦𝘢𝘥𝘱𝘰𝘰𝘭 & 𝘞𝘰𝘭𝘷𝘦𝘳𝘪𝘯𝘦 (2024).

𝘛𝘩𝘪𝘴 𝘪𝘴 𝘢 𝘥𝘪𝘳𝘦𝘤𝘵 𝘴𝘱𝘪𝘯𝘰𝘧𝘧 𝘵𝘰 𝘮𝘺 𝘴𝘵𝘰𝘳𝘺 𝘛𝘩𝘦 𝘖𝘵𝘩𝘦𝘳 𝘓𝘪𝘧𝘦 𝘠𝘰𝘶 𝘥𝘰𝘯'𝘵 𝘩𝘢𝘷𝘦 𝘵𝘰, 𝘣𝘶𝘵 𝘐 𝘥𝘰 𝘳𝘦𝘤𝘰𝘮𝘮𝘦𝘯𝘥 𝘳𝘦𝘢𝘥𝘪𝘯𝘨 𝘪𝘵 𝘧𝘪𝘳𝘴𝘵.

𝘞𝘢𝘳𝘯𝘪𝘯𝘨𝘴: 𝘭𝘢𝘯𝘨𝘶𝘢𝘨𝘦 𝘪𝘯 𝘭𝘪𝘯𝘦 𝘸𝘪𝘵𝘩 𝘵𝘩𝘦 𝘮𝘰𝘷𝘪𝘦. 𝘌𝘹𝘱𝘭𝘪𝘤𝘪𝘵 𝘚𝘮𝘶𝘵 18+

𝘞𝘰𝘳𝘥 𝘊𝘰𝘶𝘯𝘵: 1.9𝘬

𝘉𝘢𝘴𝘦𝘥 𝘰𝘯 𝘵𝘩𝘦 𝘴𝘰𝘯𝘨 𝘣𝘺 𝘚𝘢𝘣𝘳𝘪𝘯𝘢 𝘊𝘢𝘳𝘱𝘦𝘯𝘵𝘦𝘳.

𝘗𝘳𝘦𝘷𝘪𝘰𝘶𝘴 𝘗𝘢𝘳𝘵 / 𝘚𝘦𝘳𝘪𝘦𝘴 𝘔𝘢𝘴𝘵𝘦𝘳𝘭𝘪𝘴𝘵 / 𝘔𝘺 𝘔𝘢𝘴𝘵𝘦𝘳𝘭𝘪𝘴𝘵

It was an understatement to say Logan Howlett was good-looking. Every day waking up next to him was like an episode of America's, or well, Canada's next top model.

If there was a god up there, you wanted to thank them for whatever was in Logan's genetics, Even now, with messy hair and half awake, he was giving you butterflies.

"Quit starin', bub." Logan huffs as he brushes by you to get to the coffee maker.

You swore he was some alien from another planet. Seriously, how was he this hot?

Even at work, you found yourself daydreaming about him.

"Y'know, you're not paid to slack off." Matt huffed as he rearranged a shelf that some kid had messed up.

Your coworker's words had you groaning in annoyance. How could he be so inconsiderate? Interrupting your thoughts like that?

"The shop is literally empty!" You huff looking around at the little bookstore.

"Well, if I don't have a hot boyfriend to dream about, I don't see why you should get the privilege to." Matt grinned

"Whatever." You roll your eyes, "Not my fault he's the whole package."

Nearly a week had passed since you had gotten to have real alone time with Logan. Between work, running Laura around, and Wade's impromptu visits to your shared apartment, you and Logan hadn't seen much of each other.

Normally, you'd be able to accept this, after all life was busy. But, today it was like someone had lit a fire under you and the only way to put it out was with Logan in between your thighs.

Perhaps it was just because it was ovulation week, but all you could think about was getting home and pulling Logan into bed with you. God, you missed him so much...you were a ball of hormones and want as your mind wandered, imagining little versions of you and Logan running around the apartment, terrorizing Laura and Wade when he visited.

Friday night was often filled with stress, usually, you were sitting on uncomfortable metal bleachers, watching Laura's soccer games. But, this week was different, the game had been rained out and Laura had convinced you and Logan that she could sleep over at a friend's house.

The soft clink of keys had you turning towards the front door. Finally, Logan was home.

"I'm back." He announced as your cat, Jingle jumped from your lap to greet the man.

"Missed you." You smile as he plops down on the couch next to you, pressing his lips to your forehead briefly

"Wade kept me out longer than I thought he would." Logan says, "His fucking mouth is going to get him killed one day."

"If he could die." You snort

Logan lets out an amused scoff as he pulls you into his lap, eagerly pressing a kiss to your neck. His hands are a welcome weight as they settle on your hips, squeezing at the soft flesh there.

"Laura at her friends?" He asks with a coy smile

"Mmhm. Dropped her off myself." You say, wiggling your hips a bit in anticipation.

" Gonna take a shower," He says, "Meet me in the bedroom?"

You giggle and smile at the mischievous look on his face.

"Make it quick." You press a kiss on his cheek.

The scent of Logan's shampoo wafts down the hallway as you shimmy into something you've been keeping a secret for a few weeks. A lacy blue babydoll lingerie dress sits on your body as you quickly step into the matching thong it came with. You stand in front of the full-length mirror Logan hung on the back of the door to your shared bedroom.

You mess around with your hair, trying to find the perfect look, and then swipe on a strawberry-flavored gloss, one of Logan's favorites. You can't help but feel a bit giddy as you take in your appearance. Messy hair, shiny lips, and the perfect little number on your frame, you're sure to drive Logan even crazier than he already was for you.

The squeaking of the bathroom door's hinge's have you whirling around, unsure if you should lay on the bed, or perhaps sit on the edge.

You don't get a chance to make up your mind as Logan pushes the bedroom door open. A deep green towel is wrapped around his waist as your eyes greedily roam his perfect torso.

Logan sucks in a breath as he crosses the room to be closer to you. A big hand runs up your side, ghosting over your chest and then back down to land on your waist.

"Where'd you get this?" He smiles, eyes anywhere but your face.

"bought it a couple of weeks ago." You softly say, suddenly shy under his gaze, "Do you like it?"

"Love it." Logan smiles, meeting your eyes and letting the towel drop from his waist.

You let him push you down into the soft sheets of your shared bed, moaning a bit when his hands begin to wander.

Warm lips press against your neck, and then your collarbone, and then they begin to trail down to your chest. Logan's hands push the thin straps of your dress off your shoulders and his mouth begins to softly tease one of your nipples while one hand delivers feather-light touches over your panties to the mess between your legs.

Logan's mouth leaves your chest as he pulls you to the edge of the bed, letting his knees hit the ground as he gently pushes your legs apart. His hands pull your panties down and you hear a deep groan when the wet fabric finally hits the floor.

"Missed her," Logan says, pressing a miss to your upper thigh

You roll your eyes at his comment, he had recently taken up talking to your cunt, referring to it as her.

A loud moan escapes your lips as he buries his head between your thighs, licking up your slit and gently sucking at your clit.

"Ugh, Logan..." You groan, you're extra sensitive after a week apart.

Your hips jump off the bed when he slips two fingers into you, pressing at the spongy part that only he can reach.

"Fuck-" You gasp as he sucks at your clit again, this time rougher than the last.

Finally, this is what you needed, you groaned again as you pictured what was coming next. Your stomach tightened with need for release as your cunt wept and ruined the sheets below you. You were desperate for his cock, craving the way you knew it'd stretch you out, putting an end to the past week of torture.

Logan pushes your hips back down as your body goes taut and your orgasm takes over. Your hands tug at his soft brown hair as your chest heaves.

Logan presses a kiss to your clit one more time before sitting back, his eyes looking up at you.

"Not bad." You sigh, a dopey smile on your face

Logan lets out a scoff as he stands up and pulls you further up the bed with him. You greedily run your hands down his chest, admiring the way his muscles tense as your fingertips tease them.

"Greedy," Logan comments as you pull him on top of you

"Can't help it." You sigh, "I've missed you."

"I can tell. She's like a fucking waterpark down there." Logan laughs as he presses a kiss to your forehead.

"You're gross." You comment as you feel your face heat up

"Only for you," Logan says

You suppose you might've had a clever retort but the push of the cock that you had craved all week long has you shutting your mouth.

Logan's hips gently meet yours as he sets a slow pace. A quiet moan leaves his lips as you wiggle below him. The stretch of him is as good as you remember but you need more.

"Harder." You groan as he looks down at you

"Don't wanna hurt you, sweetheart," Logan says worriedly

You a frustrated breath tumbles from your lips as you wiggle your hips unhappily. Logan was always so considerate and gentle with you. Always taking his time and making sure you were okay. He was truly ethereal in the bedroom. But, right now he was driving you nuts.

Logan lets out a loud oof as you push him off you and down onto the bed. You can tell he's confused as you settle yourself into his lap and reach into the bedside drawer.

A smirk plays on his lips as a pair of fuzzy pink handcuffs come into his line of sight.

"Those for you?" He asks, "Want me to tie you up, bub?"

You roll your eyes as he plays with the thin strap of the lingerie that had fallen off your shoulders.

"They're for you." You smile as you grab his wrists, pulling them behind his head so he's stuck to your bed frame.

Logan's smile falters a bit but he lets you maneuver his arms anyway, "I can break these, easily."

"But you won't." You whisper into his ear and bite at the flesh there

"But I won't." Logan softly says, his eyes following your figure

Warm butterflies swim in his stomach as you line him up with your cunt again. He's never tried this position with you before, fearing it might be too much, after all, he wasn't the smallest guy around.

A soft groan leaves your lips as you sink down on him again. He feels your nails dig into his shoulders a bit as his head falls back a bit.

"New position?" He asks, regaining his confidence when he sees you're not in pain

"Mmhm." You say, focused on moving your hips

Logan's eyes widen as he lets you take what you want. The soft fuzz on the handcuffs tickles his skin as he itches to run his hands up and down your pretty body.

"Careful," He cautions you as you roughly move your hips above him

"Logan..." You groan, your eyes squeezed shut

He groans, as your pace quickens. The lust that clouds his brain is a tough fog that he can barely think through. He's worried that you're going to hurt yourself like this.

"M-Missed you so much." You confess, "Been thinking about you all damn week."

"Yeah?" Logan smiles and presses a kiss to your collarbone

"Yeah..." You sigh, "I've been so fucking horny lately."

Perhaps it's your admission or the lacy little thing that has yet to come off your body, or the new position, Logan's not entirely sure, but something in him snaps. Perhaps he shouldn't have been so worried about treating you like some delicate little flower.

The handcuffs don't stand a chance as he frees himself, from them. His hands come up and he quickly pulls out of you. A loud frustrated whine leaves your lips as you let him manhandle you.

"Logan I want to-"

He cuts you off as he spins you around and presses your chest down into the bed. You can feel the way he towers over you as he palms your ass, clearly liking the way it's on display for him.

"Have you ever tried this one?" His deep voice crowds your mind as he pushes into you again. A long moan leaves your lips as he chuckles at your submission.

A wonton cry leaves your lips below him as he finally moves his hips, cock hitting all the right places inside you.

Finally, you were getting what you wanted.

Not me disappearing into the void and then coming back and deciding it's the perfect time to write a bunch of smut...

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[sinofwriting]

The Wedding Bells Aren't For Me - Max Verstappen (& Lando Norris)

Words: 1,682 Summary: It’s Oscar’s wedding and Lando is ready. He’s ready to finally ask her out. But Max just had to ruin it. Note(s): Piastri!Reader, Lando is upset and bitter in this. Lando girlies please be nice to me.

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Lando smiles as he watches Oscar and Lily finish their first dance, other people starting to join. It had been a beautiful ceremony, one that Lily had clearly put a lot of thought into and the reception hall showed that as well.

His eyes move around the room, taking in the few different people from McLaren, Oscar’s family, Lily’s family, and drivers, retired, active, never made it to F1, there was quite a collection. He pulls a bit at his tie as he notices the table that a few drivers and their partners had taken over.

Charles and Alex, Pierre and Kika, Lily and Alex, and god that was a bit confusing, Mark was over there as well, Carmen and George and most importantly Y/N, Oscar’s sister.

She was laughing at something Pierre just said, Kika and Alex both examining her nails while Charles shakes his head at the French driver.

She looked gorgeous in her maid of honor dress and Lando can remember the confusion that had flooded him when Oscar had said that she was the maid of honor before he tried to get the best man position despite knowing that Oscar hadn’t even considered him to be a groomsman, they just didn’t talk off and away from the track. Though a bit of bitterness had hit him when he learned who Oscar’s best man was.

The color of the dress brought out her eyes and the thought reminds him of her speech. Talking about how as both sister of the groom and best friend of the bride, she had been so happy when they got together and how thrilled she was to see them take this next step.

A soft smile forms on his face as he remembers her speech, it had been heartfelt and with a few funny moments. He had expected her to bring up some embarrassing moments, but she had only gently teased the couple a few times. Even Logan hadn’t brought up anything embarrassing in his best man speech.

As he stares at her, he can’t help but imagine her in a different dress, in a wedding dress, a veil covering her face as she walks down the aisle to him. It was far too soon to think about to consider, but maybe it was like what people said, there was just something about weddings.

He continues to watch her as she talks to Kika, Alex, Pierre and Charles. Sometimes Mark chiming in or George or Carmen, but it’s mainly those five that are talking. It’s surprising seeing how easy the five converse. He hadn’t really been aware that she was close to Charles or Pierre. He knew she was close to their girlfriends, to most of the driver’s girlfriends, as fans like to share photos of the girls together and talking.

His eyes break away for a moment as he hears the loud sound of laughing and watches as Lily laughs, a hand over her heart as Oscar and Logan bicker about something, he thinks he can hear just the word karting.

It makes him wish Carlos was here, but there was no way in hell that he was ever going to get invited. The thought of Carlos makes his eyebrows furrow because what was Pierre or George doing here?

Oscar wasn’t close to many drivers on track let alone keeping up with them off track. He knew that because of Logan, Alex and him talked a bit off track. Charles and Oscar had joked about the father and son thing, but a genuine friendship had formed after Monaco this year. But Pierre and George made no sense.

The only thing he can think of is that George had been one of the few drivers that had also been somewhat close to Logan, having the same manager, and maybe he had gotten an invite like that. And well Pierre and Charles were probably the friendliest drivers off track, probably the only two that would actually be friends if they hadn’t ended up in F1. They were an oddity.

The sound of her laughs draws him out of his thoughts and he smiles again at the sight, drinking it in.

He doesn’t know why, but the sound of it now fills him with confidence. He was going to do it. He was going to ask her out. He’d wanted to since the 2024 season had started, since after seeing how happy she was for Oscar in Qatar when Oscar won his first sprint race. He should have done it sooner, but it never felt like a good time, but now feels like the perfect time.

She was happy, smiling, and weddings made people think about love, about relationships, being in love.

Lando nods to himself, taking a deep breath. He was going to get up and ask her to dance and then as they danced, maybe he’d press a little closer, maybe not, and he’d ask her to go on a date with him.

He’s just about to get up when he notices someone enter the large room.

Max.

He shakes his head. He knew from overhearing Charles and Pierre that the older driver would be late, having to take his jet later than everyone else coming in due to some meeting or something, but he’d honestly figured it was just an excuse. He knew that Lily and Oscar had sent out the wedding invitations before August, but they hadn’t taken away his invite? Made an excuse about needing to give his seat to someone else?

Then again, Charles was here as well, and if it had been up to Lando he wouldn’t have gotten an invitation or it would have been rescinded after Monza, after Austin, after fucking Vegas.

His eyes go back to Y/N, the sight of her calming him down and he stands, ready to go ever to her when she stands as well. His heart thuds in his chest and he expects her to turn towards him, but she doesn’t. She’s moving, practically running and Lando’s fists clench as she throws her arms around Max’s neck, the other driver’s arm wrapping around her waist and squeezing tight.

The hug seems to go for hours before they finally stop, but even then, it’s just a small step away from the other. Her arms are still around Max’s neck, his hands now settled on her hips and it makes Lando burn. Max shouldn’t be touching her like that, shouldn’t be touching her at all.

Anger fills him as he watches her lean in and then their lips are brushing before Max moves a hand to her lower back, removing what little space there had been between them and fully kisses her.

He just had to take everything from him. From everyone. Max knew how much he wanted the championship, had to have known how much he wanted her, and he still took both from him because that’s all that Max does. Take and never even thinks of giving back.

—

“She never looks at my nails like that.” Pierre complains and she can’t help but laugh, her fingers wiggling a bit in Kika and Alex’s hold. “Paint them and maybe she will.” Pierre makes a face. “But the smell is so bad.” Charles tilts his head in confusion. “The smell?” “It’s a bit chemically. Too strong for some people.” “Ah.” Charles nods. “Like hair dye.” “Actually, exactly like hair dye.”

“Have you guys seen the photo of Charles’ as a blonde?” Her eyes widened at Alex’s words. “No.” Alex reaches for her phone, smiling at Charles when he presses a kiss to her hand before giving it to her. “Someone tagged me in it on TikTok, they did a wonderful job.” She tells them, scrolling before finally turning her phone and showing Pierre and Kika and then her.

Another laugh leaves her as she looks at it and Pierre and Kika join her, having been stifling their laughs.

“Oh, Charles.” “I know.” “Please never bleach your hair.” He shakes his head. “Never.” His fingers twirl a lock of Alex’s hair, tugging it lightly. “This one would murder me.” “Mate, your mother would murder you.” Pierre laughs. “Pascale would murder you and whoever sold you the bleach.” Kika murmurs, making them all laugh.

She’s about to ask how Pascale is, both of Pascales, but her attention is caught by someone entering the room and her eyes widen, a smile blooming across her face and she’s getting up and rushing over to him.

She throws herself at him, grinning at the laugh he gives as his arms wrap around her waist, squeezing her as she squeezes his neck.

“You made it.” She murmurs. “I made it. I nearly killed him but I made it.”

She takes a small step back, Max’s hands settling on her hips, giving them a squeeze and she can’t help but lean in. Lips brushing together before a hand is on her lower back pressing her closer and Max kisses her.

She nearly moans into it.

It had only been a few days, but those days had been long with them only exchanging a few texts as she wrapped herself up in making sure the wedding and reception were perfect while he tried to cram in as many meetings and things as possible so they could just be together for the last two and a half weeks of January.

“I never want to do that again.” Max murmurs when they break apart. She smiles, pecking his lips. “Me neither. And we won’t have to again. I’ll be around you twenty-four seven.” Her heart beats faster, excitement rushes through her as she’s reminded that they now fully live together, she’ll be going to every race this season, she’ll be with Max all the time. “Good. Now, let me congratulate my future brother-in-law.” She beams, kissing him again before they walk over to where Oscar and Lily are and as they do, she can’t help but think of how soon enough it will be Max and her getting congratulations on getting married.

[real-camera]

so i dont actually have a lot of stories about getting injured, and that number is wayy lessened due to my kinda bad memory so if it’s fine, im just gonna infodump a bit abt the summary of the brain-multiverse in my mind bc thats the only thing i can remember mostly clearly with a timeline (<- has been building the world since before covid)

uhh so like we start with characters made from songs or stories, ocs to do cool stuff, and at some point i realized that there’s too many universes so i do a purge of them with a ceremony, the multiverses (at that time, only one multiverse) are destroyed, yet still remain as fragments for the characters

i make an oc that i plan to use more frequently than the others, and the other previously main characters are still main characters, im just not making them the spotlight character, or the character that i focus on/imagine from their perspective-ish, as of that time. All the previously made characters (like a hundred kinda developed ones bc they tend to stick to a genre of music or story) are now in the same universe, but none of them have the memory of the previous multiverse. due to my character’s (call them M for now) backstory and role in the world (which would take too long to actually explain) theyre one of the few who are actually aware of the multiverse, with the multiverse being canon in their memories due to the multiverse being part of the ‘host’ M. they are able to travel multiverses, but can only interfere with select labeled multiverses (interactables?)

there’s chaos events (limited to the universe, caused by C) world events (limited to the universe, caused by world/NOT outside interference, and universe events (limited to universes of that type, cause is kinda funky depending on the event)

so im not too sure about all of that, they may change, they may get more added on, doesnt matter because for every thing that is, there is one where it isnt and many inbetween

so now that we got the Origin multiverse, or the High Magic multiverse, due to many people there and the world being very powered, and kinda op compared to the other worlds, its part of the Named side, in which basically all the characters are named.

Then we move onto the semi-Named side, originally based in a Danganronpa world so Ultimates and stuff exist before eventually adding magic. theres also an M there, however very few other characters there are also named compared to the High Magic multiverse. the M there is different from the M in the High Magic in what they are, their origins, and a lot of stuff, however they are also aware of the multiverses due to how their character originated and branched from the other M

while some characters are exclusive to their multiverses, some characters are in both, so in the crossover universes (in which the higher magic universe crosses to the lower one, as they have magic to spare so they can bridge the gap) there may be more than one character with the same name and appearance

there’s also those two people, not M, who have their own lore i wont be saying but who are related in some way (cousins or brothers or idk) who literally moved from High Magic to Middle Magic, so the Ms check up on them from time to time.

then there’s the Low Magic multiverse where magic is rarer. (High Magic has magic, basically everyone is magic in some way, and there’s a lot. Middle Magic has magic, most people have magic, there’s not really a lot but also not little. Low Magic has magic, it’s rare to have magic, and the amounts of magic there is kinda lower than average.)

this one is odd bc i spent the least time here so each plotline/universe varies from each other in many ways

i have to be kinda vague bc each M has a different plotline and if it was different enough for me to know it, it’s different enough from other Ms. also important note: magic isn’t exactly magic, im just saying it because that’s the easiest explanation

now i think that’s basically the gist of it? theres been a recent development in which i switched spotlight characters in the High Magic (i often use High or Middle Magic) and im starting to develop another character a bit more now, also adding more characters as well lol, but besides that, yeah that’s the summary :3

uhhh idk if this summary infodump was fine but oh well, i dont have injuries that i remember that seemed important

uhhhhhhh

@hero-dualies-3 ?? idk i dont talk to my other mutuals i talk/interact the most with like two mutuals and one of them tagged me

open if anyone not tagged wants to join ig

it's so weird to me that everyone on this website is a human person outside of their weird internet niche so rb this with a random bit of your lore

[thexsilentxwordsmith]

Simon "Ghost" Riley x Fem!reader, Johnny "Soap" Mactavish x Fem!reader

Fandom: Call of Duty

Character(s): Simon Riley, John Mactavish, Reader

Summary: Friends and coworkers, Sgt. Mactavish and Lt. Riley have one thing in common: how much they want you, though one is less vocal about it. During a night out, you think you've secured one lover, but suddenly you are leaving out of the bar with both as all that intense attraction comes to a head.

Word Count: 8.8k

Warnings:

“Aye, would you look a’ that,” the Scottish sergeant nudges the silent and skull-masked lieutenant at his elbow, nodding towards the subject that has caused his sudden outburst. “She decided ta come after all.”

Two sets of eyes lock to the door as a familiar face steps foot inside that dingy little hole in the wall bar right outside the base, the one that the boys happen to frequent quite regularly whenever downtime is available. Tonight is one of those nights where most of the squad is here, ready to let loose for the first time in months and though you don’t always feel the need to imbibe with your teammates, tonight…tonight just feels different.

“Fuck, she does look a sweet thing tonight, doesn’t she, L.T.?” Sgt. Mactavish says with an unsubtle lick of his lip just before he takes another big swig of his lager, his eyesight lingering a bit too long on your legs, risking him getting caught. 

How is he supposed to look away when that dangerously short denim skirt and tight little top you’ve decided to wear leaves barely anything to the imagination, that gorgeous figure of yours on display for any hungry beast to devour with his gaze?  

“Settle the fuck down there sergeant,” Lt. Riley shoots back with a lilt of agitation, his sight narrowing with the furrowing of his brow under his black balaclava as he stares pointedly at the younger officer, “ya know the fuckin’ rules about fraternization. Ya really gonna risk it all on a recruit?”

A snort exits out of the scot’s nose as he sets his glass back on the tabletop with just the foam from his beer pooled at the bottom. “Ye sayin’ ye wouldn’t try an get a piece ‘a that if ye had tha chance?” he snickers out the question as the lieutenant raises the bottom of his mask before grabbing his own glass, ready to bring it to his lips. “Guess all the times I’ve caught ye lookin’ musta been my imagination then.”

Lt. Riley pauses with his cup half raised. “Drop it while you’re ahead, Johnny,” the command is firm and he continues on with his drink, hiding behind the disguise of his stoic demeanor to convince the sergeant that he isn’t gnawing at the bit to get another glimpse of your curves in that revealing little outfit as now you’ve given him so much silky flesh for his eyes to devour. He has to bite his tongue hard to keep himself from losing it. 

“Rules be damned, ye know you’d hit if ye had tha chance,” the sergeant whispers under his breath as he waves over the waitress to order another round for himself. “ ‘sides, they’re more guidelines anyways.”

The lieutenant is never going to admit it out loud to the cocky sergeant, but he hates how right he is with his statement. There is something about you he yearns for, that draws his eyes constantly, that keeps him filled with fantasies enough to fuel each one of his late night wank sessions for months and months now. He’s becoming insatiable even though he’s better at keeping a straight face, but inside he is burning just to get a piece of you. Too bad there is no way in hell he’d ever get the chance… right? 

You can feel eyes on you from the moment you enter the establishment, though at first you aren’t sure where they are coming from until you pass by the table where a couple of officers sit on your way to the bartender and you hear the distinct sound of choking. From the corner of your eye you can see Sgt. Mactavish sputtering into his glass, coughing up the beer that’s gone down the wrong way as the lieutenant next to him smacks his bicep and you have to speed up to hide the smile spreading across your mouth.

Drink secured and in hand you cross over to one of the tables sequestered by your company as a small group of privates wave you over and you take a seat, still keeping an eye on a couple of specific officers. This isn’t the first time you’ve noticed certain behaviors from them whenever you are around; at this point it’s almost obvious that they are taken with you, though they still pretend that they are hiding it well.

You like that attention, almost crave it. It’s a strange little game that you can’t help wanting to play with them, but more than that you want it to lead to something. Just a night, one night, to know at least one of them biblically; that’s all you want.  

Every once in a while as you sit there drinking and joining in bits of cheerful conversation, you’re sure you catch them stealing quick glances your way while the other is distracted. You start to wonder: what would it take for either of them to ever risk breaking the rules just to have a little something with you? 

You study them for a while and the two have really been putting them back. All that liquor has to be lessening their inhibitions, evident by the way they start getting sloppy with their glances. Now, instead of sneaking peeks in your direction, they are lingering a bit too long and if you time it right you just might catch them in the act.

The later it gets and the more liquor that snakes its way down your throat, the more bold it makes you and soon you’re thinking about ways you can put that question to the test. You’re not shy by any means, but you know when to play your cards and when to hold your hand and right now you think it’s the perfect time to go all in. If you can just get either one of them alone and make a move, maybe that would be enough to have them give you what you want: a night as their plaything.

Sure enough, not even a few minutes later you lock eyes with the sergeant. It’s only for a moment before he quickly diverts his gaze, but not before you pop off a sly little grin that you know he can see. There’s a reason behind your smile that you know he is able to read. In that split second that your eyes connected, even in the dimly lit bar, it felt like he was trying to undress you with his gaze and now he knows that he’s been caught red handed.

Oh yeah, this is your moment and you are going to take it...but how? 

How are you meant to make your move if neither has been on their own for long enough for you to get close? It’s like they are purposely making it more difficult for you than it has to be… at least that is until you watch Sgt Mactavish quickly stand to his feet, finish the last swig off his new glass, and take off in the direction of the restroom. No clearer sign could be given; this is the only chance you’re going to get and you know you have to take your shot.

It’s now or never. 

Abandoning your drink, you wait a couple minutes before slipping out of your seat and away from your table to make a beeline straight behind your target. The closer you get the harder your heart pounds in your chest. What is your plan once you corner him? There isn’t one, not now that you’re closing in on your goal. This could all blow up in your face, but at least you have to try; the punishment will be worth it.

Closer and closer the door gets until you are on it. Heartbeat in your ears you slowly and quietly open the door and peek your head inside. Your eyes clock only a singular pair of feet and with a quick glance behind you at the rest of the bar, you open it fully and step inside. With the handle still in your hand, you back yourself into the door to softly close it and engage the lock. 

The sound of flushing and the zipping of a fly makes you lose focus before you can finish making sure you won’t be disturbed as the sergeant comes out to see you standing there completely out of the blue.

“Did ye get lost lass?” the scottish sergeant questions playfully as he crosses the small room to the sink.

There’s only silence, his question is left unanswered as you decide that this is the time for action, not words. He isn’t aware that you’ve made your way over to him until it’s too late and you have your hand pressed firmly right to the middle of his taut chest, pushing him back into the wall right next to the sink as you move in close.

“What’s all this about, hmm?” he asks curiously, trying to keep calm under your touch.

You look up into his face, a gleam in your eye that he can’t ignore. “You know what this is sergeant,” you smirk, teeth looking more like fangs ready to sink into his skin, “or do you think I’m oblivious to how you’ve been looking at me?”

Subtle isn’t your strong suit when the liquor starts rushing through your system and right now you are using that to your benefit. Bright blue eyes stared back into your own, a spark as if from a match igniting within them that shimmer through the irises as he stares back at you. 

“Been wonderin’ if ye would pick up on that,” he says as he smirks right back at you, not trying to hide anything now that he has been read to filth. “It’s been gettin’ harder and harder to be coy when yer ‘round.” 

What is he supposed to say again? There is something he should be telling you right now, but he can’t remember as your body presses into his. No, that’s not entirely true. He knows what he needs to say he just desperately doesn’t want to say it, not now when his hands are getting their first real feel of all these curves he’s been dreaming of having under his touch for so long.

But he has to speak up, if only to cover his ass later.

“We shouldn’t, ye know the rules and…” he hesitates with a shuddered breath as his fingertips connect with a bit of skin along your hip and you promptly cut him off.

“I won’t tell if you won’t,” you say.

The movement of his hands stops and he looks into your face. “Yer serious?” he questions with a lick of his lips, his jaw shifting as he impatiently waits for you to reply.

You can’t help but smirk. “As a fucking heart attack, sir,” you murmur as you lean yourself into his hands so that he has no choice but to keep them on you. “I know what the rules say, but I don’t care, not tonight. I want you, so what the hell are you gonna do about it, hmm?”

You take his hand in yours and bring it up to your breast, placing the palm directly over your shirt and closing his fingers around the tissue. Watching his hand closely you can see it twitch as if he is struggling with himself on whether he should remove it or keep it there and maybe do something more. 

You look back up into his eyes. “Gonna let this opportunity pass you by sergeant?” you ask, laying the seductive tone on thick for good measure. “I thought you were a man of opportunity.”

Well goddamn you don’t have to tell him twice. The blood racing violently through his veins makes his temperature spike as he grabs you by the waist to spin you round so that your backside rests against the edge of the small sink. He stares at you silently and you fear that you may have overstepped, but then his gaze shifts. 

“Ye best know what yer askin’ for,” he says.

“I do,” you respond. “So are you going to keep standing there, or…?”

Without another word he picks you up with little effort, his biceps straining against the sleeves of his t-shirt, and sets you on the countertop next to the sink. Your legs are already open, but he parts them further with his hip so that he can slip himself between them, hiking up your skirt so that it sits on your waist and leaves your panty-covered pussy exposed. Immediately his hand harshly catches you by the back of the head, making you gasp in response to his roughness.

My, he is an eager boy, all ready to play.

He stares at you, chest heaving pronouncedly up and down as he feels like he can’t take a full breath, the focus somewhere else in his body now. You are caught up in the moment of peering back into those baby blues as they gaze back at you with an intensity that makes your heart pound faster. 

Is it getting hotter in here or is it just you? You can’t tell. The haze overtakes you and the next thing you see is his face leaning in silently and suddenly your mouths are connected together, instantly breaking that tension in the best fucking way possible: with a moist, sticky embrace that has left little room for breathing.

His grip in your hair is strong, holding your head in place so there is nowhere for you to turn and you are forced to accept the brunt of his need on your lips until you can feel them burn the harder he presses. There is stubble along his jaw that pricks your cheeks and the skin around your mouth, adding another layer of sensations to the mix already working on your lips. The taste of the cheap beer that he had just chugged is still on his breath, crisp and hoppy and it hits your tongue with its sharp bite, but it does little to deter you from taking every ounce of his embrace.

Your own hands run up the back of his neck through the cropped bits of hair around his mohawk. The feeling of your fingers against the short hairs make that cocky bastard shiver before melting into you and you sigh into his mouth at the delicious reaction. Is it that easy to make him fold? Oh, you are going to use that against him in the future.  

Strong fingertips bore themselves into your hip, pulling your pelvis more flush against his and fuck if there isn’t something hard already pressing back against your sex; it does feel good to your inebriated brain to rub your barely clothed pussy against the bulge forming through his jeans.

“Shit, ye tryin’ to make me blow right here? Haven’t even gotten to the fun part yet,” he says playfully with a hiss against your parted lips.

Your hips roll into him again. “Guess you better get me the fuck outta here quick sergeant,” you shoot back, “cause I’m not stopping. Gotta itch that needs to be scratched something terrible.”

Catching your bottom lip, he pulls it out of that mischievous smile it is currently contorted into and sucks it between his teeth to give it a nip. “Ye are full of surprises, lass.”

“You have no fucking idea,” you whisper onto his mouth before you are back on him in another flurry of heated, frantic kisses that make you lose track of everything outside of his mouth.

“Ehem.”

At some point the bathroom door had opened and closed, though neither you nor the sergeant had taken notice of the prominent squeak of the hinges. Both of your heads unlock and turn towards the sound of the familiar voice where the imposing figure of the lieutenant takes up the entire frame, his arms crossed over his chest as he stares back at the mess you two have already become. 

Your heartbeat pounds in your ears as anxiety sets, making you momentarily forget what you know and fear that this is going to ruin everything for you…until you see it. There is a sparkle you detect in those dark eyes, the same one you’ve seen before. Even with his stoic posture, you know that this isn’t a reprimand that’s coming and it makes you feel at ease.

“L.t.” the Scottish sergeant greets him. “I… I mean we…” 

Lt. Riley doesn’t say a word as the man still between your legs struggles to come up with some explanation for what the lieutenant has just walked in on and as he does you notice that the masked officer isn’t paying him any mind, instead he is staring straight at you. You are full of fire tonight now that you have a bit of liquid courage in you and that makes you prepared to do whatever you need to to get what you want. Instead of letting the sergeant flounder on, you interject.  

“See something you like, lieutenant?” you ask as you keep your eyes locked to him. 

Sgt. Mactavish turns his attention back to you, surprised by your attitude. “What?” you ask him with a chuckle. “Did you not know that the lieutenant here looks at me the same way you do? Or has he been able to fool you?”

Pushing back the sergeant so that you can get to your feet and straightening your skirt back down to at least cover your ass, you make your way over to the other officer currently present in the small space. Those striking amber eyes never leave yours as he looks down at you through the space in his balaclava; this is the closest you have ever been to this beast of a man, but instead of being intimidated at all by his impressive size, you are only thinking about climbing him like a tree.

What’s happening? 

Before you can stop yourself, you blurt out the thought that had just burrowed its way into the front of your brain without even thinking. “You know…there’s enough of me to go around if you want,” you say. 

That strong jaw shifts beneath his mask; is that a smirk you can nearly make out through the fabric? “Is that so?” he questions curiously, that low, gravely tone sending a shiver down your spine. “What makes ya think I want anythin’?”

You chuckle again. “Fine, then tell me I’m wrong, but I can’t help wondering why you would follow us in here,” you push back. “To piss? I doubt it; you haven’t even tried to move from this spot. To catch us?”

You pause, but he doesn’t interject. “I don’t think that’s it either,” you say with a smirk.

Lt. Riley knows you can be strong willed when you want to be, he’s seen it time and again during training and in the field, but now that it is directed at him it is something else… something that is making him weak the longer you talk. 

“Well?” you ask, not letting yourself back down. “Are you going to fess up?”

Several seconds of heavy silence permeate the space and yet the lieutenant still doesn’t speak, not even to confirm or deny your suspicions which already speaks enough as is.  

“That’s what I thought,” you answer yourself with a shake of your head.

Taking a step towards him and extending your pointer finger you poke the tip directly into his sternum as you look up at him through heavy-lidded eyelashes. Even from that one pressure point you can feel how fast his heart is pounding and fuck does that feel like some sort of accomplishment in itself.

“Don’t think you’re any slicker than Sgt. Mactavish over there,” you say under your breath. “I can feel your gaze lingering on me all the time, lieutenant, and I’m certain it’s not because I’ve done anything wrong. Are you going to try and deny that? Come on, sir, tell me I’m wrong.”

Standing back, Mactavish watches from the sidelines as you put that massive man into his place and fuck does that make his heart skip a beat. Strong-willed women are the Scots one weakness, someone to push back when he shoves and give him a run for his money. Just the way you were kissing him seconds ago he knows he would be absolutely knackered come the morning and he desperately wants to get out of here to get started on that as soon as possible. Goddamn, if he gets any harder he is gonna rip through the zipper of his jeans.

You push the lieutenant some more. “So, how about you stop undressing me with your eyes and just do it for real,” you challenge. “Or is your hand enough to keep you satisfied?”

“Watch your tongue, luv,” he says. 

The lieutenant is struggling to find the words to tell you off, but presented with something he desperately wants they simply won’t come to him. So there he stands, silently staring as he comes to terms with the fact that he is throwing caution to the wind and taking what he wants. The only thing that has him hesitant is the fact that you were just wrapped around Johnny.

Sensing that delay you turn your attention back to the only other person in the room with an idea even more insane than actually trying to approach one of them in the first place, but opportunity keeps knocking and you are going to keep answering. 

“What do you think, sergeant? Think we could have another join in with our fun?”  

If it will get him a chance to have you, Mactavish is willing to do anything, even if it means he has to share. It’s not like it’s with some stranger; LT is a friend, his colleague, a blood brother. Actually now that the idea is presented before him, he has to admit that it doesn’t sound half bad. He wants to fuck you, but maybe he wouldn’t mind watching you be fucked too.

“I can share,” the sergeant says with a smirk. “What ‘bout ye, LT?”

Turning your attention back to the lieutenant with a smug grin on your face, you wait for his answer. Lt. Riley shakes his head and follows it with a defeated sigh; this is a terrible fucking idea, but god damn is he in it now. That tension that has steadily been building since you got in close finally comes to a head and the need to take you is overwhelming. All that yearning he has done from afar makes his hands tingle at the thought that they can now be filled with you. 

“Fuckin’ hell,” he growls as he gives himself over to his desires and wrenches that god-forsaken mask above his lips urgently, an arm snaking its way quickly around your waist as he turns you both around and shoves you into the wall directly to his right. Instantly his firm, bulky body is pressed tightly into your curves as he lifts your head by the chin and meets your lips with a feverish intensity that sends your fucking head spiraling.

He is pressed in hard, his kiss even more greedy and desperate than the sergeants had been as he steals every bit of your mouth with his own over and over again, rough and desperate being the signature left on your lips until they are on fire from the friction and you can’t breathe.

“Do ya even know how much I’ve fuckin’ wanted to do this?” he groans into your mouth, the feral lust in his words palpable on your tongue. “Since the moment ya arrived I’ve been fuckin’ chompin’ at tha bit to get at ya. Now that I have ya, I’m gonna get my fuckin’ fill, pretty girl.”

One of his large hands slips down into the back of your skirt so he can fill his palm with as much of your ass as he can hold, pulling your hips forward so that he can grind himself against you. You can feel his cock growing hard the longer he is pressed to you; it’s throbbing on your bare thigh as his assault on your mouth makes it impossible to even think of pulling away.

If it had only been one or the other you would have gladly fucked them right here in this filthy bar bathroom, but there is no way to take full advantage of this opportunity presented to you in such a tight space; you all need to go somewhere that will allow everyone to easily get involved in the screw-fest that is about to happen.

“Who’s room’s closest?” you murmur through his kisses burning across your lips as a damp heat gathers between your thighs. “We need to go.”

There is another warm body at your elbow now, moving in against you as the sergeant nuzzles his face into the crook of your neck, his lips desperately trying to make purchase with your warm, silky skin; he was getting lonely waiting for Simon to finish getting that first bit of contact and he needs more. 

Fuck, is it good to be you right now stuck in the middle of this lust-filled sandwich.

“That’d be me, sweet,” the sergeant groans into your ear, finally answering the question that you had almost forgotten you’d asked.

You break away from the lieutenant long enough to give Mactavish a proper kiss for giving you what you wanted, a little treat for being good before you put the question to the lieutenant. “Are we going or not?” you ask him, hand reaching up to outline his strong jaw with your fingertips.

The touch from your fingertips makes his skin burn under the contact and he is ready to drag you out this instant. “Johnny, let’s go,” he agrees and you all quickly exit the bathroom as inconspicuous as possible, which with the way your cheeks are now flushed bright red and the two men stalking behind you tug at the crotches of their pants is a feat in itself, but somehow you manage… you think anyway.

The moment you are all outside the heat-packed bare and into the cooler night air, the change in temperature seems to fuel your giddiness. No matter where you turn there is a hand or an arm around you somewhere, pulses racing violently that can be felt through all the touches of skin to skin like a drumbeat to make you all walk faster until finally the base comes into view.

But amongst the flirty touches there is a bit of secrecy that the two men share between them, whispers that you can’t quite make out as they keep you preoccupied and you leave it be as you can’t be bothered to care what they keep murmuring about to each other.

You've barely clambered your way inside Mactavish’s room before the tension of the moment can no longer be kept restrained. The door is flung shut with a bang and your body is immediately pinned to it, each man claiming a side of you, desperately exploring every inch of your curves through your clothes as they move in closer. Your needy bodies grind against one another like animals in heat, rubbing and touching, greedy hands roaming until you three are nothing more than a tangled mess of hot, glistening skin covered by a thin layer of fabric.

Lt. Riley is the one to take the lead as his fingers dart to your skirt, lacing them into the waistband and ripping the small piece of jean fabric down off your hips until it crumples to the floor at your feet. You flash him a smile as you pull his mask up and off his head so that nothing restricts you from getting at his lips. You barely have time to register the coif of dark blonde hair and stark features that get revealed to you as you are immediately standing taller on the balls of your feet to bind your mouths together in a kiss that sets his soul on fire. 

A pair of rough, weathered hands glide across all this new skin available to their touch, capturing as much as they can hold, playfully flirting across your lower abdomen and the seams of your panties that still cling to your form for the moment before they too find their way onto the ground. 

Not one to miss out, the sergeant's hands splay up under the bottom of your shirt with fingers that have a need to feel even more skin. You release the brown-eyed lieutenant and lick your lips to get the last of his taste off with your tongue before turning to the other and that spunky scot darts in before you can take a full enough breath to fill your lungs. 

The back of your head bounces off the door as he aggressively takes your mouth as if it is his property, only pulling from your lips long enough to jerk your top and bra up and over your head in one smooth motion, throwing them both to the ground behind him before he dives back in. 

Your wrist is in the lieutenant's grasp now as he forcefully tugs at it, bringing it into place over the massive bulge tenting the crotch of his jeans. The stiff peak meets your touch and bobs in rhythm to match the pounding of his heartbeat and you rub the swell before cupping your palm up against it. His bassy groan fills your head as his lips descend onto your neck in feverish fashion and you undo the clasp on his pants, rip down the zipper, and shove your hand inside the recesses of his clothing to massage him through his underwear.

With your only free hand you loop your fingers around the clasp of Mactavish's own pair of denim and using feeling alone you tug and pry until you are able to unhook the button. He leans his hips into your hand to help and soon the pants are barely clinging around him so that the slightest movement will cause them to fall.

"Open your legs," you hear that heavy British accent as the lieutenant whispers the husky words into your ear from his place just under your jaw as your mouth still dances with the other officer.

There is pressure over your lower abdomen and you adjust your stance so that the gap in your legs is wider. That heavy mitt slides down past the hem of your panties and straight inside, descending right to your petals that he is pleased to find already a good bit damp.

His thick finger teases around your silken lips, tantalizing your body with anticipation before he finally parts through the barrier and drags that thick digit up the length, gathering as much of your wetness on it as he can before he goes in search of that bundle of nerves he knows is somewhere close. A smile forms on his mouth when you buck against his hand as he lands the pad of his middle finger right on it and presses down.

"There she is," he groans and begins to roll his finger around the organ with a soft and steady touch till he has it throbbing.

The need the action produces rushes through your limbs like liquid fire and immediately you pry down the sergeant's pants, a bit of a struggle with only one hand at your disposal, to expose his skin tight boxer briefs that leave nothing much to the imagination as the jeans fall to his ankles. A moan is hummed into your mouth as you find your way past the waistband and wrap those soft fingers around his throbbing shaft. 

Jesus, both of these boys are packing.

He has to release your lips so he can breathe as the intensity catches him by surprise and his body convulses slightly. "Christ, I've been fantasizin' 'bout that soft hand bein’ wrapped 'round my cock," Mactavish moans, his mouth ghosting around your face as your head is dragged back to the other side to reconnect mouths with the lieutenant. The poor sergeant is too absorbed in the ecstasy of your strokes to bridge the gap between his lips and your flesh just yet. 

He is struggling to speak as the pressure from your hand compressing as your stroke makes him lose even more of the little bit of sanity he has left. "Better than I coulda imagined. Yer a natural, lass." 

The scot’s hands know exactly what to do even though his mind is still reeling from that initial contact and when he looks down, he catches himself pawing desperately at your breasts, cupping them in his hands to massage the mounds, enjoying the weight in his palms as he teases the nipples until they are hard. 

The men unintentionally work in tandem as you do the same to them and with your body being stimulated so thoroughly you are quickly becoming putty in their hands with a mess gathering between your thighs that the lieutenant can feel slowly dripping down his fingers. Good, you are going to need everything to be nice and primed for what they have secretly planned. All that whispering they had shared on the walk back had been for a reason, a plot that they came up with on the spot on how to share their treat for the night. 

Why should you have to choose who to start with and who to leave out? No, there's no need; brothers in arms share everything after all - everything- and you don’t have to be no exception. You wanted to go home with them both and that is how they’d like you to take them. The lieutenant taps the sergeant’s arm so that he is forced to break away and a knowing glance is shared between them. 

"I think our sweet thing needs a bit more, yeah?" Lt. Riley asks his partner in mischief as he pulls away from your lips and Sgt. Mactavish nods. 

The sergeant turns his sight back to you and you meet his gaze with an intoxicated, doe-eyed look that makes his heart skip a beat. God, you look stunning as a mess like this and he wants to make it worse. 

"We're just gettin' started," he breathes into your face.

"Come 'ere, pretty girl," the lieutenant beckons as he again seizes your wrist in his grasp and draws you over to the bed, his pants slipping off his hips as he moves and he steps out of them so that when he reaches the mattress he only has his shirt and boxers to remove. 

As a mass of naked, bulked-out muscle now, he sits down and situates himself before spinning you around by your hips, ripping off your soaked panties, and pulling you down so that you are forced to be seated in his lap. His cock prods its way through your thighs so you have to open them, veins throbbing from being so engorged. 

Your eyes lock to it through your lap. "I need you inside me," you moan, positioning your hips so you can try and grind against it. "Please, I’ve waited so long for this."

"Mmm, I like tha way ya beg, sweetheart," the lieutenant praises as his fingertips drift across your throat to feel how quick your pulse races under his touch. "I can't fuckin' say no ta that. Let's fix that ache."

Reaching between your thighs, he grabs a hold of his cock and grips it firmly at the base. His other arm secures you around the waist to his taut chest so that he can lean you both back and align the head with your entrance. You can feel the delicious way it prods right at the hole and your body trembles as you wait impatiently for him to thrust it in, your heart beating out of your ribcage. 

That first bit of penetration as the head of his cock slides in stretches you out so fast that you cry out with a jolt, but that arm around you keeps you from slipping. You continue to whine as he thrusts the rest in until he has you sitting on his thighs completely inside your tight cunt, pulsating. His lips gingerly pepper the side of your head with kisses until your muscles relax and your body finally accepts his girth.

“How’s tha’ princess?” he growls low in your ear with his warm breath trickling down your neck to make goosebumps raise along your skin. 

You nod your head up and down in short bursts as you fight with your tongue to recall how speech works. Fuck, you can feel his pulse as his cock throbs as if it has its own heartbeat.

“Ya feel so fuckin’ good,” Lt. Riley grunts as he grabs onto your waist to guide your body so you slowly start to bob up and down on him.   

It’s a good thing he sets the rhythm for you as you can barely focus on anything as the feeling of your superior stretching you out mixes with the adrenaline rush making you lightheaded, but through that haze you glimpse Sgt. Mactavish and beckon him forward so you can tug down his boxers and release his cock while he flings his shirt up and off his head.

Lt. Riley grabs onto your thighs and holds both of them gripped tight in his large hands, spreading them wide so that Mactavish can easily make his way in between them. The hair-speckled muscles of his abdomen shift along your bare spine as he leans you both back again so that the man before you has better access, both of you needing to be at the right angle to accomplish what is about to come.

"Think ye can take more, angel?" the Scot says with a mischievous grin plastered to his lips as his fist strokes along his cock to coat the shaft in the bit of precum that has dribbled out of the tip. 

There is warmth at the side of your head right at the edge of your ear, a shuddered breath that makes your pupils dilate and your own breathing gets caught in your throat. "Ya wanna have us both in ya, dontcha sweetheart?" the lieutenant growls, the heat from his breath brushing over your cheek as his fingers squeeze around the meat of your legs. "Fillin' ya full, givin' ya everythin' ya could ever want: both 'a us at the same time in this sweet, little pussy."

You pause as you try to think, but all you come up with is that you have never needed anything more than to have both of these men at once. Lt. Riley, however, takes your silence the only way he can, that you are having second thoughts.

“If ya don’t want it luv, jus’ say tha word,” he says. “It ain’t gonna hurt our feelin’s ta take turns. Do ya wanna stop?”

You can sense how close his lips are to your ear and it makes it hard to get the words out so you shake your head instead.

“Ya want us both?” he asks for clarification and you nod. 

He has to be absolutely sure. "Need ya ta say it, luv," he groans as he tenses his glutes, causing his cock to pulse inside you till it pushes you to moan out loud. "Look at your sergeant an say it."

You refocus your sight on the buff, naked man before you who is hungrily stroking himself to the sight gifted to him. The blue of his eyes shift in the dim light, a sparkle that you can't help but smile at as you swallow to find your voice. "I can take more," you say without breaking eye contact with the short-haired sergeant. "I want you inside me too, sir."

"Good girl, good fuckin' girl," the lieutenant praises in that gruff voice before placing another kiss to the side of your head. 

"Such a good little lass for us," Mactavish adds as he steps himself into the gap that’s been so generously created for him. His hands glide over your inner thighs, up and down the tender flesh a few times as if he's adoring it with his fingertips before he grabs back onto himself to align the tip of his cock at your opening just above the lieutenant's that is already stuffing you. 

Leaning his head forward, Lt. Riley's lips gently connect with your feverish shoulder at the nape of your neck and delicate bites are soon ascending up your throat. "Gonna need ya ta breathe, alright?" he says softly with his mouth still lingering just below your jaw. "Jus' breathe, sweetheart. We’ll make it fit."

Your eyes flutter closed as you succumb to the overwhelming ecstasy coursing through you at everything that is happening, but a firm hand under your chin brings you back into the room and your eyes back onto your second lover. 

"Eh, eyes on me, doll," the sergeant says as he holds your face up to gaze into his. "Wanna look inta those pretty things when I enter ye."

The lieutenant's lips rest against your throat as you feel that firm second tip begin to press harder at the top of your entrance, making you wrap your thighs around the sergeant’s hips. You breathe in through your nose deeply as he slowly sinks it in to rest just the head inside the threshold. The glazed over look in your eyes as you take him in is enough to almost send him reeling over the edge. His chest heaves with each breath as his head falls limp, muscles contracting as he pauses to give you all a moment to adjust.

Your whimpers mix with Mactavish's deep grunt and Lt. Riley's satisfied hum to fill the small room with the most unique music these four walls have ever heard. The pain of the intense stretch gradually eases after a moment and now that pleasure has taken its place you beg for the scot to keep going.

He smiles hungrily."Almost there, lass. Jus’ a bit more.”.

"Fuckin’ look at ya. You're doin' so well, sweetheart," Lt. Riley moans more of his praises as the sharp edge of his teeth drag across your neck, doing everything he can with what he has available to him to make sure your body stays in a state of pure bliss. 

Mactavish's fingers dig into your hips as he thrusts again, this time all the way till he reaches the base of his member and you buck backwards, but the lieutenant has you secure in his arms so that you don’t go anywhere. 

"Tha's it, pretty girl, tha’s it," he mutters sweetly as he lifts his head to find your cheek, nuzzling against it while placing sweet kisses along the surface. Your face is burning and he can feel it against his mouth.

"God, ye are a marvel," Mactavish adds with a hiss trailing the end of his sentence. "A fuckin' dream."

All the undivided attention, all the stimulation and heightened sensations of pain and pleasure has you in a daze of ecstasy so powerful that your head is spinning, drunk off all that intensity and they have to take control as you can only manage to take what they give. 

Rotating your shoulders and turning your head with a bit of effort you find the lieutenant's face and before he can even think you immediately move in for the kill, connecting your lips with force. His hands compress around your thighs the harder you go in so that he can meet you with the same intensity. Your mouths dance together for a few more minutes before you wrench your face away only to have your hands reach out to find their place at the back of the sergeant's neck to pull him into a kiss just as heated. 

No one gets left behind tonight. 

Lt. Riley takes the opportunity of your distraction and rolls his hips to start thrusting, wanting to take you by surprise and it does. The whine you release into Mactavish's mouth is his evidence that he's done just that.

"Fuck," the sergeant exclaims in a burst as he too feels the effects of the lieutenant's movements and instinctually bucks his hips into you, causing you to whine louder. 

Your head falls back against your superior's firm shoulder, your arms raising up to wrap around his neck to help you hold on as the two men begin to drive themselves deeper and deeper into your sopping wet pussy, stretching your tight hole to capacity. Your breasts bounce in rhythm, your body forced to move with the strength of their combined thrusts as eyes are locked onto the delicious sight of your body taking them. 

Lt. Riley’s hands are still preoccupied with your thighs, but one of Mactavish’s is free and he uses it to cup around the plump bit of tissue to massage the nipple between his thumb and forefinger for the second time; the man just can’t keep off them. “Ye don’t know how much I’ve wanted te get at these juicy things,” he groans at the feeling of your soft skin filling his palm. “That’s why I was always makin’ ye run laps just te see ‘em bounce.”

You knew that’s what it was, why he always seemed to single you out in training when you swore up and down that you didn’t do anything wrong. So this had been a long time coming, a desire that had been long held.

“Knew the moment ya stepped on base, ya were gonna be trouble for me,” the man behind you pants, wanting to add his own two cents. “Told myself not ta look, rules and all, but fuckin’ hell sweetheart, how could I not? Ya got in my head fuckin’ quick. An’ with that strong, bull-headed attitude to match; christ, you are a deadly thing, luv.”  

They find their rhythm in tandem, keeping pace with one another to get every benefit of slipping through all that slick, all parties working to that one collective end of everyone cumming like a three-headed monster of ecstasy. Thrust after thrust, bodies stimulated from adrenaline, you all are drawn even closer to that most satisfying end.

“You’re doin’ so fuckin’ good, sweet girl,” your lieutenant praises and the sound of his voice is almost enough to make you break. “You gonna cum for us, yeah? Need ya ta cum.”

You swallow, your mouth dry from hanging open as it’s too much to hold in all those delicious moans. “Close,” you mumble into the small space created by your bodies, but all this friction is working a little too well for your lovers.  

The sergeant is the first to break. “Shit, gonna fuckin’ come,” he groans as his abs strain, the pressure in the base of his stomach almost at its peak. Fuck, it’s just too satisfying to last any longer. 

The other isn’t too far off either. “Ya ready for it?” Lt. Riley says, his breathing shaky and uneven. 

You nod your head, a little disappointed that you aren’t fully there yet, but you know it can’t be helped. “Good girl,” he moans. 

The sergeant pulls out first and you take his cock into your hand, tightly holding onto the shaft to stroke it towards your breasts as the lieutenant stays in to keep going. Lt. Riley is so close he can feel that tightening in the pit of his stomach about to snap and with a few more ragged thrusts he too pulls out to be met immediately with your hand that keeps up the stimulation. Having both of their cocks in each one of your hands, you stroke them furiously.

Finally the moment of no return is reached and the Scottish sergeant is the first to go, the stringy spurts of milky white cum hitting your chest to gather between your breasts as he shudders in your hand. Through his grunts and moans of pleasure as you stroke his cock of everything, your lieutenant blows too and the warm fluid shoots up between your thighs to cover your lower abdomen. You don’t stop your work until your hands are forcibly removed and only then do you finally let them go.

But even though they are finished, they aren’t done with you yet- oh no, you are going to cum if it’s the last thing Lt. Riley does.

You are taken by surprise as there is suddenly a finger circling your clit and you moan into your throat. “Did ya think it was over? Can’t let ya not get yours, luv,” your superior whispers into your ear. “Want ya ta come for me, sweet. Come on my fingers.”

The two middle fingers on his hand are immediately shoved into your dripping hole and he curls them again and again over your G spot with a steady touch until he has your thighs quivering. Not one to be outdone by his superior, Sgt. Mactavish falls to his knees and leans in, his heated, panting mouth advancing to just above the lieutenant’s fingers so that his tongue can lap at your clit.

Lt. Riley can feel your swollen walls as they start to flutter around his digits, your hips bucking wildly over Mactavish’s face as you stroke your fingers through the hair of his mohawk. The lieutenant needs you to come, he needs to feel that you’ve gotten yours; you’re not leaving here unsatisfied as long as he’s around. A few more curls of his fingers and strokes of your clit and you go silent as that tightening in your belly is pulled completely taunt and all at once snaps. 

“Tha’s it,” your superior says amusedly as you let out a cry and your walls clamp down around his fingers, “good girl. Ride it all tha way out for me, luv. All tha way. Fuck…there ya go.”

You grind your hips into his hand and against the sergeant’s features until you can’t go anymore and settle back against Lt. Riley’s hot chest in contented exhaustion. The lieutenant’s fingers lay resting inside you as Sgt. Mactavish pulls back from your pussy, face dripping and accentuated with a smile before he wipes the contents away onto the back of his hand.

The sergeant looks so pleased with himself. “Been a while since a pretty thing’s ridden my face,” he says. “God, I missed tha’.” 

The lieutenant lets you ride each balmy wave of ecstasy that washes over you to its end before the fingers inside you are pulled out and he brings them to his mouth to lick them clean as Sgt. Mactavish tilts your chin up and leans in to leave you with a breathless kiss on your raw lips for a job well done. He is more gentle this time, more sweet, and you swear you can feel his mouth turn up into a smile against your own that you can’t help matching. 

The break in the kiss is slow and as he pulls away he strokes your cheek with the backs of his fingers. “Ye were brilliant lass,” he says, punctuating it with one last peck on your lips as he moves back. 

The lieutenant helps you off of his lap and sets you carefully down onto the bed beside him, making sure you’re steady before letting you go as the sergeant steps off somewhere into his room. You don’t pay much attention as your sight is focused on your superior, taking him in without the hindrance of his mask as he stares back at you.

“Ya really did so fuckin’ good, pretty girl,” he praises, admiring all that visible heat in your cheeks that he is partly responsible for. “But I knew ya would.”

He leans in to place a grateful kiss to your parched lips and you graciously accept it, letting your lips linger for as long as possible. Just as the kiss is broken, though, the squeak of metal is heard followed by the sound of rushing water and you both turn to the source to find Mactavish standing naked against the doorframe of his bathroom.

“Comin’?” the sergeant calls out.

Lt. Riley immediately goes to stand and offers you his hand. “C’mon, we need ta get ya cleaned up, sweetheart. We made a bit of a mess,” he says as he helps you onto your feet and guides you by a hand placed to the small of your back over to the shower and the warm water waiting to coat all of you. You stare up questioningly into his face as you go, but he just smirks as if he’s guessed what you are thinking. 

“Don’t ya worry, night’s still young and we ain’t gonna be done for a long while yet.”

[literally-loco]

My Boys' Girl (18+)

Pairings: John Price / Simon "Ghost" Riley / Fem!Reader / Johnny "Soap" MacTavish Content Warnings: Voyeurism, mentioned exhibitionism, she/her pronouns used for reader Word Count: 1.1k A/N: Shorter fic this time-I've got a longer one in the works tho! Also-If anyone has any fic suggestions PLEASE tell me and i'll try my best xoxo

———————————————————————— “She wanted to show off for you, Cap.”

————————————————————————

John Price knew what his boys got up to in their spare time. He didn’t have to be told-he saw how they looked at each other, how they’d cuddled up to each other in the back of the van when they thought no one was looking, how they’d instantly look at each other at the mention of an “early finish.” He knew what they got up to. Not that he cared-he loved his lads like they were family. He’d shot enough evil glares at anyone who dared to criticize or gossip about the two. But what he didn’t know was how they’d managed to pick up you. The pretty little thing he’d seen clutching Johnny’s arm when they went to the pub, with the most beautiful eyes. He was happy for his lads-how they’d found home in each other, but God his eyes were drawn to you. Your perfect curves, your breasts (even if it made him feel like a dick), and your eyes. He could envision them looking up at him through those beautiful lashes, lips wrapped around his cock. 

He felt terrible about it. The lads obviously liked you a lot, and you’d been nothing but nice to him. And here he was-fantasizing about you. He’d often find himself getting off to you, wearing whatever tight little dress he’d seen you in. Cock in hand, imagining it was your mouth he was fucking. Nearly every night he’d flick through the selfies he’d gotten from MacTavish, nearly every photo including you. 

And then another notification came through-a photo, as usual. But it wasn’t the usual jokey selfie-which usually included you draped over the lads in some sort of way. This was different. This photo was…new. Evidently Ghost’s hands-based on the glove-tilting your face up by the chin, with your big, beautiful eyes staring into the camera. Eyes lidded every so slightly, with a blissed out look on your face. God you looked perfect. 

He hadn’t realized how long he’d been staring at that picture, his cock already stiffening in his trousers, until the next one came through. He exhaled sharply through his nose, gripping the arm of the chair a lot tighter than he had previously. It was like he could feel all the blood in his body rushing down, as he caught sight of you in the photo. Ass up in the air, face down in the pillow. Ghost’s hands were clearly holding your hands behind your back, and your pussy was barely covered by the lacy piece of string you called a thong. 

“She wanted to show off for you Cap.” The text read, and Price sucked in a breath. His hand swiftly reached down to palm his now painfully hard cock through his trousers. He could just imagine slipping his fingers inside you-finding that sweet spot deep inside you that would make your toes curl. 

His fingers were pressing the call button before he knew what he was doing. 

“Evening Captain. To what do we owe the honor?” Johnny’s voice rang out, sounding slightly too amused with himself.

“Photos, MacTavish. What was up with that?” Price asked, his voice catching in his throat slightly at Johnny’s ever so evil chuckle.

Price swears he can hear the plot in Johnny’s head as he spoke, the soft rustling of the duvet giving away where exactly he was. “Why don’t I put her on the phone for you?” 

————————————————————————

You could barely think-but somehow managed to pull yourself together enough to take the phone off of Johnny. “He-Hey John!” You squeaked out, instantly covering your mouth to conceal the moan that dared to try to escape your lips. Ghost’s hands gripped your hips, fucking into you at such speed you wondered how his knees didn’t give out, with his cock hitting that sweet spongy part deep inside you. 

“Heard you wanted to show off for me, love?” His voice rumbled through the phone, dark and smooth like a good whiskey. That teasing tone, the soft chuckle in his words, it was enough to send a shiver down your spine. “Go on then. Talk to me.”

At that, Ghost picked up the pace, hands gripping the flesh of your hip so tight you were sure it would leave bruises. “Is he making you feel good, love? Making your legs shake?” You inhaled a strangled gasp, biting your lower lip slightly. 

“Asked you a question.” Ye-ah-” You whined, bucking your hips back against Ghost. Something about having Price on the phone, with Ghost fucking you like his life depended on it, and Johnny watching from the corner-it felt so dirty. But so good. “Need-need to cum-” 

“I know you do, love. Gonna cum for me?” Ghost’s hands found your clit, earning a string of moans out of you. “Yeah she is-can feel her squeezing around me. So fucking tight-and wet-” Ghost’s thrusts grew staggered, his hips slamming into yours. You didn’t care to be quiet anymore, there was no point. 

————————————————————————

John already knew what was going on. He’d known before he’d called. He knew when he called that you’d be on your back-but he hadn’t expected to be listening. It felt dirty. But God the way your sweet little moans had him gripping his aching cock, and his head tossed back over the chair. Bucking his hips up into his hand, imagining he was fucking your soft little cunt. “Gonna cum for me?” He’d asked-and the gasps and moans he got in return had him gasping for breath. 

“I know you need it, love.” He murmured into the phone, trying his hardest not to cum before you. “Be a good girl and cum for me.” He needed to hear you cum. To hear those gorgeous gasps as you came on his Lieutenant’s cock, imagining he was the one balls deep inside you. “Come on, love, cum for me.” 

And the shuddering moans he received was enough for him to spill over his hand. Panting heavily-he was barely aware enough to hear Ghost’s cursing gasps as he followed. 

“Enjoyed the show then, Captain?” Johnny’s voice was back, sounding equally out of breath as the rest of them. “Should’ve seen it in person-she played such a good girl when you got on the phone.” His words sent another shudder down his back.

“You knew then?” 

“Had a hunch. Couldn’t keep your eyes off of her.” Price groaned as his hand-the clean one-came up to cover his face. He’d been that obvious. The whole time. 

“Don’t worry lad-she’s already eager to see you again. I’m always down for a good show-and Simon’s pretty interested in seeing how she’d take both of you.”  Well shit. The next pub meet was going to go very well for him.

[moodymisty]

Part 1

Author's note: I love him

Relationships: Mortarion/Fem!Reader

Warnings: Mortarion's confession, NSFW flashback in the beginning with male masturbation, vomit (nonsexual and unrelated to NSFW scene), gross Morty body stuff, he has zero rizz

The repeated hiss of his respirator is heavy in the stagnant air of the hall, only occasionally losing its smooth crescendo and decline when his throat hitches. His breathing has never been normal- he stopped caring about that sort of thing long ago.

Pale eyes glance around again.

You should be here by now; But he spots nothing familiar.

Did you decide- to for the first time since he first cast his eyes on you- to disobey him? Did something else distract you?

His mind fills with imagery of you wandering off somewhere else, to someone else- and in an impulsive fit of doubt he decides that he would have one of his men drag you here if need be.

He could, and if anything the behavior would be expected of him. Encouraged. You don't make the Pale King wait.

But yet... He waits- patiently- eyes flicking to the entryway every twenty seconds or so. A primarch standing around like a beaten dog waiting for it's master.

Embarrassing.

Attempting to clear his throat Mortarion shifts beneath his clothes, feeling the way they almost stick to his skin. He bathed himself relatively recently by his standards- though instead of the stick of grime and dirt, it's the catch of dried sweat from no less than an hour ago.

He can still feel that sensation in the back of his head, the aftershocks of thoughts and actions forbidden. He hates how this one has lingered. They've all begun to.

His cock throbbed, leaking over his gaunt, pale fingers and making his shaft slicker- and the feeling even more pleasant.

He covered his face full of a warranted shame, grunting and huffing as he ground into his own hand like some sort of feral street dog. His knees cracked, his back ached- he imagined the callused give of his hand was warmer, wetter, tighter- squeezing around him. Pushing back. Trying to push him out; The difference in size too great. The way he was bent made the imagery more vivid, like you were pinned underneath him.

If he closed his eyes tight enough, he could just picture it, though the image was just out of reach- his fingertips ghosting the very edge but unable to grasp it.

He stained the fabric of his bed once he was done, shoving it into the fireplace to burn. No one will ever see the scattering of fabric that is yet burned, nor would they question it even if they did.

How much farther can he let himself fall? Enough that he's found himself overtaken by desires that he once thought were pointless- inconvenient and only satiated out of maintenance, desperate for something he knows he cannot have?

Maybe... Perhaps if he-

If you refuse him, he can abandon this entire pursuit- throw himself back into his work and give not a single thought to you again. You could leave The Endurance and he wouldn't even know you were gone, lost among an endless sea of pointless existences.

Because he can't... he can't keep doing this.

It's consuming his mind- You are consuming his mind.

You eat away at it like a disease bent on devouring him more than the poisons of Barbarus ever have; At least they never impeded with his mental capacity.

As you do right now- your soft eyes eat away at his dried, scarred skin like a flesh eating plague as you come to stand before him, and now his tongue feels as if it's made of lead.

He called you here- coming to you would seem too desperate- and your first words had been to apologize if you had offended him. A smart intuition, because you did offend him; You offended him by refusing to leave his mind, you offended him by refusing to leave him be in the sanctity of his warship, you offended him by offering him what he can only describe as pity.

But pity wears away; You've stayed, endured where your fellows left. For what reasons kept you going? Kept you here? He'd like to know.

"I," Mortarion hesitates for a moment. "I wish to speak to you about a particular matter."

This is it. He is just going to do it. Just get over this, and if you refuse? if you run away from him in fear or disgust? He's down his last remembrancer.

boo hoo. He never wanted them anyhow.

His rusty armor clunks against each other as he shifts. You watch him with expectancy, a soft look on your face that has Mortarion almost at a loss for words, if only for a moment.

He should take off his respirator for this.

It's clunky, gets in the way, he feels like it muffles his speech and baseline humans have trouble understanding him. Their paltry hearing, though it is fact. Though he's never remembered you having an issue with it.

He can feel your eyes watching keenly as he starts to unfasten in, accidentally tangling his hair a bit at the nape of his neck. He hears the hiss as it unseals, and he pulls it away from his face to fasten it to his belt. He feels ok, and takes on full breath of cool Terran air before opening his mouth to let the first unmuffled word pass.

But before a single word can leave his lips he instantly rips into a massive cough, covering his mouth with his hands. He feels spittle and blood from popped blood vessels hit his palms, and his ribs shift uncomfortably as he keels over. He can feel the way his lungs are ripping themselves apart, filling with blood and mucus. The next cough sends him to his knee, his leg plating hitting the ground hard enough to crack the tile beneath him.

He can barely make out your expression standing before him as tears prick the corners of his eyes, and another burst of coughs tear at his throat like the claws of a gauntlet.

You look horrified.

He tries with all his might to tense his throat and halt the hacking, but only manages to suck in just enough breath that it brushes the back of his throat and makes it all worse.

You take a step closer to him, but it's clear there's nothing you can do to help him.

"L-Lord Mortarion! Are you-"

From the incessant coughing his throat seizes up so much, his stomach muscles ache in pain, and he feels a familiar rising warmth in his face and mouth.

No. No no no no no-

Fulgrim's banquet feast from the night before suddenly rises in his throat, then his mouth, and before he can even try stopping it- it's running through his fingers and all over the floor with a disgusting splatter.

After harsh fit of coughing wracks his body, slowly feeling the ache in his chest of his lungs finally healing before it finally secedes; He wipes his eyes to see you standing and staring at him in shock, the primarch's dinner all over the floor in front of you.

Mortarion has had a long life; Longer that yours, by a decent margin. Embarrassment was never something he dealt with.

Now, he feels like he is quite literally going to explode. If the ground were to open up and swallow him, he would probably acquiesce to his fate with little complaint.

No one would miss him. Plus he's sure Garro and Typhon would manage just fine without him.

"Are..."

You look at him with wide eyes, mouth slightly agape. He can see your lips twitch as you try to find the words. He perhaps would understand if your little brain couldn't find any.

"...Are you ok?"

He doesn't quite know how to answer that question, honestly.

His lungs have degraded and rebuilt themselves enough to breathe this cool, poison-less air, and while he had anticipated some coughing, he failed to remember just how... Intense, it could get.

He should have known eating last night was a mistake.

You just seem worried, however- looking at him like he's going to fall right over hands outstretched towards him. You look at him like he's sick, but sick in a way that would could in theory help.

You take a step forward, much to his surprise; Though of course not close enough to risk slipping.

By the Throne- the half thought of that crosses his mind and he wants to cast his own head into his bedchamber's fireplace.

"I-" Mortarion lets out another brief cough; Of which thankfully doesn't lead into another fit. "I am fine."

He is fine- his lungs have adjusted and the air doesn't burn his throat, but you don't seem to take his words seriously. With the deftness of your thin fingers you unwrap the shawl around your shoulders, handing it to him.

"...Here."

He doesn't get what you mean by this at first, staring at the patterned fabric like it in some way offended him. You gesture it out to him again, and he then realizes you're offering it to him to clean up, of which he then begrudgingly grabs, before wiping the bile out of the corners of his mouth and fingers.

The soft fabric of your clothing now destroyed, he balls it up in his fist and holds onto it, discontent to ever dare try and return it to you soiled.

"Lets, lets get you something to drink. I would think you might need one right about now..."

You reach to grasp his hand- the clean one- and try to pull him along, of which he allows, surprisingly.

He lets himself get toted along by someone half his size; A pathetic sight.

He continues to let it happen until you find a serf you can order to get some water, and Mortarion can shirk off to clean his hand and face.

His mouth doesn't taste like bile anymore, at least.

When he sees you again after he's cleaned up, there's an odd look on your face. Your wring your wrists nervously.

"...You were going to say something?" You look at him expectantly, before clarifying. "Before you started coughing, you... You said you wanted to talk to me. What was it?"

He had.

He had wanted to tell you how he felt, and instead he had humiliated himself by coughing blood and vomit all over the floor. He displayed right in front of you that he is a broken, sick and decayed excuse for a man; He was built for death and war, not... this. The fact that he's even allowed himself to make a fool out of himself like this is an embarrassment to the entire legion and reputation he's crafted.

How you could ever look at him the way he so boldly, pathetically, desperately wishes when he- a primarch- just displayed what a vile excuse for a human he is?

Mortarion swallows thickly like there's a literal knot in his throat, before just turning around and walking away.

[imagitory]

I've never been more heartbroken in my life.

I was gobsmacked in 2016, don't get me wrong. I was devastated and frightened and shaken beyond words. I even had to go behind a wall and collect myself at one point that horrible November 9th, 2016, after colliding with a man wearing a red MAGA hat at work. A good chunk of us at work talked amongst ourselves about it, offering each other comfort.

But this? This is different. I could imagine dumb people making excuses for voting for Trump in 2016 -- saying that they thought a businessman would be good for the economy, saying that they wanted someone who wasn't a "Washington insider" like Hilary Clinton. Sure, it was stupid, but people can be stupid. Quite frankly, a lot of people are stupid, in this country and otherwise.

But now? Anyone who voted for Trump now has voted for a man who not only rounded up immigrants and put them in concentration camps separated from their families; bungled the response to COVID-19 so badly that the American death toll easily surpassed every other country on Earth; has poisoned the Supreme Court to the extent that they overturned years of precedence with Roe V. Wade and has basically given Trump cart-blanche to do whatever he wants while he's president; was the first president in history to refuse to concede on election day; was impeached for crimes in office not once but TWICE; was instrumental to and passionately supportive of the full-on attempted coup at the U.S. capitol on January 6, 2021 that could've very easily resulted in the deaths of his own Vice President and multiple members of Congress; has spoken glowingly of despots like Vladimir Putin and Kim Jong Un and even said he will be "a dictator on day one" if elected again; has both used slogans originally used by modern American Neo-Nazis ("America First") and purportedly told one of his ex-subordinates that he wanted generals like Adolf Hitler's...but also has by the day proven more and more just how mentally inept, vindictive, and mean-spirited he truly is.

And unlike in his previous races, Trump is ahead in the popular vote too. We can't just blame this on the electoral college being antiquated and gerrymandered AF like in the Trump-Clinton or Bush-Gore elections. Even if all of the third-party voters in this country had grown a bloody brain cell and voted for Harris so as to show solidarity against Trump and his form of American fascism, it still somehow wouldn't be enough. We could potentially blame this on lower voter turn-out -- according to what I'm seeing so far, even with all the votes not counted in this race yet, it looks like there were far less votes cast this election than in the last one, though likely still more than the 2016 race. But even so, I don't think that's the only problem. I truly think there were just a lot of people who turned out en-masse to vote for Trump. And all I can think in regards to those people is...

This is beyond stupidity or even selfishness. This is cruelty. This is large swaths of people deciding that they want fellow American citizens to suffer -- because in their minds, if those people suffer, that'll somehow make them happy. This is a large chunk of America saying, "yeah, you know all that crap about 'liberty and justice for all'? Screw that, I want a 'strong man' to bully people different from me for my own amusement." And -- perhaps -- there's also an element of feeling like their vote doesn't really have any consequences for them, so why should they care if the man they voted for is a god-awful person? It's not like that man will hurt them.

I had hoped. I had hoped, seeing the outpouring of support from liberals, independents, and conservatives for Harris/Walz. I'd hoped, seeing how many ex-Trump appointees were standing up against him, how much people were shouting their disdain for Project 2025 from the rooftops, and how many women were protesting in the face of Roe V. Wade being overturned. I truly had started to hope that America would prove we'd grown beyond our country's own original sin -- how our United States preached freedom for all while still being built on the backs of slaves and refusing to grant a vote to over half their population -- by electing a smart, successful, charismatic woman of color who sees our country as great in potential and wants us to pursue that potential as our first female president, rather than backtracking all the slow progress we've made over the last 200+ years.

But now...my hope has faded. My heart is in pieces and the world is so dark. I hardly know how I'll function at work tomorrow, even if I know somehow, I have to try. We'll all have to stand somehow. Somehow, someway...we'll have to find the strength. We'll have to stand, and we'll have to keep moving forward, even when it feels like we're a Little Mermaid walking on knives.

We'll have to stand.

[rothpie]

❝FIDELITY❞ |part2

MASTERLIST -`✮´- Rafe Cameron x Kook!Reader x JJ Maybank

Summary: Kook!Reader’s world is upended by betrayal, and her only way forward might lie with the most unlikely person—JJ Maybank. But as they build a new life together, old flames and past mistakes refuse to stay buried.

Warnings: mentioning fighting, mentioning abortion, pregnancy symptoms, kind of depression, mentioning alcohol and drugs

previous - next

Sometimes, the reason we go through certain things is simply that we don’t care about the consequences of our actions or decisions. You didn’t think it through, didn’t realize. Calling it a 'youthful mistake' would have been foolish—especially when the mistake is this big.

You took a risk. You both did, as if it were just a game. The harshest blow was realizing that, because you were the ones who did it. You threw caution to the wind and made every reckless choice possible.

But now, it wasn’t about a fleeting pleasure. It was the baby growing inside you. That was the reality staring you in the face. Hard to believe, but you were pregnant.

You were aware that your whole life was about to change. You didn’t know if it would be for the better or worse. You’d never seriously thought about the idea of starting a family before. Being a mother at 20 wasn’t part of the plan. Building a family, raising a child…

You’d never considered that kind of responsibility. More than that, you didn’t even know if you were ready for it.

The morning sickness was hitting harder each day. You’d lost your appetite. You didn’t even want to drink water.

It had only been a few days since you got the positive test result. The moment you saw the double lines, you ran out and bought a few more tests. It was hard to believe. You clung to the hope that it was a mistake. You wanted to believe that. The idea of it being real frightened you more than you thought it would.

The thought always made you anxious, yet somewhere deep down, you convinced yourself you weren’t pregnant, thought it was just some illness. Maybe food poisoning, maybe something else, but not pregnancy.

It couldn’t be. Experiencing something like this at 20 was too much to handle. You grew up in a well-off family; you were always part of the Figure Eight, but that didn’t ease your worries.

Not having financial worries didn’t mean you weren’t afraid of your family’s reaction. Who would accept their 20-year-old daughter being pregnant outside of marriage?

You couldn’t even imagine how you’d react as a parent. This was reckless. What you did wasn’t something most people would do. Just because you like walking on the edge, does that mean you have to? Would you jump into the ocean, knowing you’d drown?

But you did.

Even though you hadn’t been careful, you took Plan B. But which day did you skip it? You couldn’t remember.

You didn’t know if it was you or Rafe who forgot to be cautious.

It didn’t matter anymore. Three out of four tests had been positive. You were carrying his child. You were pregnant, and worse, you felt utterly helpless.

One of the hardest things about living in the Figure Eight was not knowing who was real and who was fake. You had no one to share this with, no one who could help or support you. Except Rafe.

He was your only reality. Your boyfriend, your confidant, the person who understood you best. You were like two halves of a whole. You didn’t deny that he had a dark side, but with you, he was different. It was as if he allowed you to see the real Rafe, let you in.

The peace you felt when thinking of him turned to unease the moment you realized you were carrying his child. The man who once brought a smile to your face now filled you with anxiety because you didn’t know how he’d react.

You had no idea how to tell him. Not just him, but also your family. Even if you couldn’t imagine Rafe’s reaction, you knew you’d be the biggest disappointment in your family’s eyes.

You didn’t want anyone to see those tests. You couldn’t risk anyone finding out before you told them. You thought about throwing them away, burning them—anything to get rid of them. But they’d find them. You could hide them, but eventually, someone would see.

You were losing your mind. The thought of someone finding out was driving you to paranoia. You tried to think of the safest way.

That’s why, when evening came, you didn’t hesitate to toss the pregnancy tests into the ocean. Your worry was turning into paranoia. You started thinking you looked pregnant, that it was obvious when you looked in the mirror. But it wasn’t. Maybe you were only a month or two along, and that wasn’t possible. No one could tell you were pregnant. But whenever your mom looked at you, you panicked, as though she’d somehow know. Instead, they thought you’d started using drugs.

Your behavior had changed; you looked and acted different, both physically and mentally. They were worried about you.

And you knew it. You noticed, but worse, you were scared for yourself. You were afraid of what the future would bring, afraid of people’s reactions.

Days had passed since you took the tests, and without realizing it, you’d shut yourself off from the world. You hadn’t meant to, but you were terrified that someone might see you and guess the truth. But they couldn’t know—you were just being paranoid.

When it came to handling crises, you were probably one of the worst people alive. In moments of crisis, your biggest fears came to the surface. No one would say you had leadership qualities. You were obviously terrible at managing situations. Maybe you should have learned how to handle this, worked on it—but you never did.

And of course, it affected your life negatively, as it was now. Your communication with Rafe had dwindled. Every time you were with him, you worried you’d let something slip. You were on the verge of tears all the time. You were afraid he’d notice, afraid he’d think something was wrong with you.

You’d pushed him away, which was one of the biggest mistakes you’d ever made.

You had no idea how many times he texted you, how many times he called. You hadn’t counted. In two week, you’d met only twice, and even then, it was brief. He wasn’t just worried about you; he was worried about your relationship.

He thought you wanted to break up with him, thought you were losing interest. At first, this thought made him sad, but now it was making him angry. He was starting to take his frustration out on everyone around him. The idea of you breaking up with him haunted him every time he couldn’t see or reach you, and it made him furious.

He was exhausted from trying to reach a compromise. He started to think you didn’t even want to make things work. He thought you were ghosting him, slowly pulling away. In some ways, he was right, but the person you wanted to distance yourself from was never him. It was what you had to do that you wanted to avoid. You didn’t know how he’d react if you told him. On top of that, you felt ashamed. Because you were the one who put yourself in this situation. You did this to yourself. You should never have played that risky game in the first place.

You weren’t looking for someone to blame, of course. This was something you both shared. It was a thrill you both enjoyed. And now, here was the result, inside you.

You knew you shouldn’t have shut him out, that you should have told him the moment you found out, but you couldn’t. You were scared, and it consumed every part of your life and social life…

You just needed a little more time. Just a bit more. You needed a few more days to process this. Then you’d tell Rafe, and after that, your family.

But when had fate ever been on your side? When had it ever smiled upon you?

The way you were shutting Rafe out was driving him crazy. Ghosting him weighed on him so heavily that he was about to lose his mind. You were the one he relaxed around, the one who brought him peace… so why were you pushing him away?

He couldn’t understand. He turned to drinking more, got into fights. He even asked Topper for advice. But he waited. He waited for you to come to him, for you to explain. Maybe he thought you’d heard bad news at a family breakfast. His mind went to such extremes that he even wondered if your family had asked you to marry someone for a business merger. But still, he held back. He gave himself and you time, waiting for you to choose him again.

But you never came.

He texted, called. You left him in limbo with single-word replies. Every day, he checked your Instagram stories, looking for any sign, just a hint of how you were doing, what you were up to. He went around to all your favorite places, hoping to see you, but you were nowhere to be found. He thought you were avoiding him like he was a plague.

After two weeks, he couldn’t hold back anymore. Not any longer. Rafe had always been intense, quick-tempered. Everyone knew he had anger issues. You knew, too. But even so, he held back. He stopped and waited for you.

But when you didn’t go to him, he decided to come to you.

It was a split-second decision. He didn’t think much about the consequences. He didn’t care if your family was home. All he wanted was to hear from you what was going on, to know why you’d been ghosting him.

As he got into his car and drove toward your house, he didn’t send you a text or give you a call like he usually did. You didn’t think anything of it. You didn’t expect anything bad, but somehow, that feeling in your chest hinted that today would be a rough day.

You woke up and had breakfast. When your family left, you went from your room to the living room, wrapped yourself in your favorite blanket, and put on one of your favorite shows. But even though your eyes were on the screen, you weren’t watching. Your mind was elsewhere. You were so panicked that you were terrified someone might find the pregnancy test—even though, even if they did, they wouldn’t know it was yours.

You planned to spend the whole day in the living room. That was your plan. But even if it was your plan, God seemed to have different plans for you.

You realized this the moment the door was pounded on, echoing through the house. You didn’t know what was happening, but your gut was already screaming that it was Rafe. Your heartbeat sped up. Was it the strength of your intuition or a consequence of something else you’d done? You weren’t sure, but you knew the person outside was Rafe Cameron.

What were you supposed to say? What kind of lie could you tell?

You had nothing but the truth.

With your heart pounding, you gently pushed the blanket off yourself. The pounding on the door didn’t slow. Even though you had a feeling it was Rafe, the moment you heard him shouting your name from outside, you were certain.

Trying to steady your trembling hands, you held onto something for balance as you got up. Your legs were shaking. You didn’t feel ready to talk, but then again, how could anyone be ready for something like this?

He was angry; you knew it. If you’d been in his position, you might have been even angrier. You two were in a relationship, and what you’d done was foolish, plain and simple.

As you walked to the door, you tried to control your breathing, which had become erratic. Your heartbeat seemed to speed up even more, as impossible as that seemed. You made it to the door, and after taking one last breath, you opened it. After days apart, you finally saw him again. When your eyes met, you exhaled involuntarily. He wasn’t looking at you the way he used to. There was no tenderness; he was angry. His hair was disheveled, dark circles framed his eyes. His clothes were wrinkled, and he looked like he hadn’t eaten properly in days. His brow was furrowed. You couldn’t even begin to guess how furious he was. His knuckles and cheekbones were bruised and scabbed over, and even though you didn’t know what happened, you could tell he’d been in a fight.

But even as his eyes met yours, he couldn’t find words. It was as if he was at a loss. What would he even say? Would he ask, 'Why?' On his way to your house, he hadn’t even considered what you might talk about. He hadn’t thought about what you might explain to him. All he wanted was you. The happiness you’d once had.

His lips didn’t part. His gaze swept over you. You knew you didn’t look well. You hadn’t really taken care of yourself. You’d spent days lying in bed, only leaving your room when absolutely necessary. You hadn’t even slept well. Your mind had been tormented, torn between terminating the pregnancy and having the baby. Nights were sleepless, and when you did sleep, you were plagued by nightmares. You’d been in pain, in a way, but you didn’t want anyone to see it.

Rafe raised his hand to his head and closed his eyes, trying to hold himself together. He could tell you weren’t in great shape, and as he looked at you with those anxious, pained eyes, he realized he couldn’t bring himself to be angry. He took a deep breath before speaking, and it didn’t seem like he was struggling to find words. He’d never been one to hold back his thoughts; he always said whatever came to mind. But he wanted to control himself, didn’t want to take this approach with you.

“Can I come in?” His voice wasn’t exactly asking. He was going to come in regardless. He just thought he’d be polite. After all, this wasn’t a breakup; it was just that things weren’t going well between you.

The coldness in his voice unsettled you, but you nodded and stepped back. You didn’t feel like you could say anything. How could you look him in the eyes, let alone offer an excuse? Or would you just blurt out, 'I’m pregnant'? What would you even do?

You were sinking deeper and deeper into this mess.

Without waiting for you, Rafe walked into the living room. He knew where everything was; it wasn’t his first time here. The chill between you two as he walked through the room stung. Every corner held a memory. It wasn’t just about sex—even though those were his favorite moments with you. It was also the laughter you shared, the first time you cooked for him in your kitchen, the moments sitting on the balcony, talking and watching the ocean… It was as if every memory was flashing before his eyes. He didn’t want to lose you, but he also needed to understand why you were acting this way.

He heard your footsteps behind him as he stopped in front of the sliding door, staring outside, trying to figure out what to say.

Thoughts of talking to Topper and Kelce flashed through Rafe’s mind, but he quickly pushed them away. The memory of Kelce’s insinuation—that you might have someone else—only fueled his anger. It wasn’t that he believed the idea; he knew you weren’t that type of person. No matter what happened between you, he respected you and was sure you’d never do such a thing. The fact that a so-called friend would casually accuse you like that only made him more uneasy.

You watched him in silence. It was clear he wasn’t going to speak first. You couldn’t tell if he was simply angry with you or if there was something more—perhaps hurt. It was hard to read him, especially when he didn’t want to be read. Rafe Cameron was good at hiding his emotions, and while he was generally open with you, now you couldn’t understand him.

When you realized he wasn’t going to say anything, you stepped forward and started to speak, only to find yourself lost for words. Your gaze drifted over Rafe, finally settling on his hands. You were worried, but truthfully, his injuries were just an excuse to break the silence.

“Your hands…” you murmured, your voice trembling. “Are you okay?”

Hearing your voice after so many days made him almost forget to breathe. He hated that you were his weakness—hated it with every fiber of his being. But his curiosity and anger hadn’t faded. Even if he hated it, his love for you outweighed his frustration.

As he slowly turned around, he looked down at his bruised knuckles, examining them. He’d lost his temper with Kelce for the things he’d said about you, but he didn’t consider it important enough to mention. He thought about responding, but he hadn’t come here to answer questions—he was here for answers.

If you were going to leave him, he’d rather hear it from your lips than be ghosted like some fling.

“Where were you?” he asked, ignoring your question. It didn’t matter to him anyway. He raised his head, watching you intently. He wanted to understand why you were acting this way, why you’d left him so confused that he’d started doubting himself—wondering if he’d done something to hurt you. Running a hand through his hair, he kept his gaze on you, demanding an answer.

“Home,” you finally managed. For a moment, he thought you were joking. You’d been home all this time? You’d had every opportunity to call or text him, yet you’d chosen to ignore him?

Rafe let out a bitter laugh, glancing around the room. He was afraid of what he might yell if he kept looking at you, and he didn’t want to become that person.

You leaned on the couch to steady yourself. It wasn’t the pregnancy making you feel unwell; it was the guilt eating away at you, making you feel like a terrible person. You didn’t want to cry or make him feel worse. You should’ve told him right away when you found out.

Biting your lip to hold back tears, you struggled to keep your emotions in check. Even if you weren’t ready to tell him, he deserved to know. But the words felt sealed inside, as if they’d made a pact never to leave your lips.

As you lowered your head, you heard him say your name. Clearly, he was struggling to keep calm. He started pacing, his voice trembling with anger. “Do you think I’m an idiot?” His gaze remained fixed on you, his movements tense as he continued.

“Look,” he began, trying to lower his voice. He was choosing his words carefully, but it didn’t help calm your racing heart. “I don’t know what happened that day, but clearly—clearly something happened that drove you away from me. I need to know. Do you understand?”

Could you tell him? You were terrified of his reaction. But maybe it wouldn’t be as bad as you feared.

He called your name again as you looked away, his voice filled with an almost desperate edge. He clenched his fists, his eyes narrowed, watching you as he took a step closer. When he finally stood in front of you, your breath caught, your throat tight with the urge to cry.

He lifted your chin, bringing your gaze level with his, his brows softening with a hint of sympathy. His hands threaded through your hair, his eyes never leaving yours. But looking back at him was nearly impossible; tears pooled in your eyes as you bit your lip, struggling to hold back.

“If you’re going to break up with me—” he started, and you shook your head, biting your lip harder. Breaking up had never crossed your mind.

Without the answer he wanted, he closed his eyes, pulling his hands away as he stepped back, trying to make sense of it all. “Then what!” he yelled, his patience snapping. He needed to know what was going on with you—why you’d been ignoring him for two weeks, why you hadn’t called or texted. Each shout made you flinch; you weren’t used to him raising his voice.

He turned, muttering, “I’m going to lose my fucking mind!” You took a step back as he kicked the couch in frustration, hands in his hair as he stared out the window.

He kicked the couch again, letting out a strangled cry. “Fuck!” He was breathing hard, and it was the first time you’d seen him this upset. He usually kept his cool.

“Please, don’t…” you spoke in a shaky voice. The tears were threatening to fall, and his anger scared you—not for yourself but for him.

He turned back to you, his chest rising and falling rapidly as he tried to steady his breathing. “What’s going on with you?” he pressed, his voice thick with tension. “I’m right here! Just talk to me.”

But you remained silent, your gaze dropping as you bit your lip harder. Finally, his patience wore thin. "Fuck! You don’t get to do this! You don’t get to disappear, and then act like it’s no big deal—like I’m supposed to just… what, wait around for you? I can’t—”

“I’m pregnant.”

The words slipped from your lips. You didn’t need to look up to know that they’d stunned him. His whole demeanor changed. His expression froze, his eyes widened, and then hardened into something unreadable. He ran a hand over his face as though he could erase what he’d heard.

“Pregnant?” he repeated, his voice flat, as if testing the word on his tongue. His gaze lingered on you, filled with shock, confusion, and something deeper that tugged at his heart. He couldn’t believe it, but he knew it was possible. There’d been times when the two of you had walked a fine line, but he’d thought you’d always been careful.

When you finally met his gaze, his anger seemed to dissipate. He looked at you, searching for the truth in your face. You sniffled, nodding as your eyes filled with tears. He stared at you, each second of silence amplifying his heartbeat. Finally, he spoke, his voice quiet and laced with shock.

“I thought… I thought you were on the pill?”

You nodded, swallowing hard. “I don’t know when it happened. Maybe when we were drunk… or—I don’t know.” You felt as if you were standing on the edge of a cliff, a wave of vulnerability washing over you. You waited for anything—a word, reassurance, even anger—but Rafe’s response was none of those.

Rafe looked down, running his fingers through his hair as he exhaled slowly. When he finally looked up again, his expression softened, revealing something unexpected: a rawness, almost painfully vulnerable. “I… never thought about it…” He shook his head slightly, pausing to search for the right words. He ran his hand through his hair and avoided eye contact, looking around instead. “I… care about you. You know that. But… I don’t know if I can do this. I mean, I’m not ready to be a dad. Not now. Maybe not ever.” His voice was low and hesitant, as though he still couldn’t quite believe the situation.

Your gaze dropped, and you couldn’t look at him. He wasn’t looking at you either. The problem was, you really loved him. Deep down, you’d cherished the thought of a family with him, even though you knew he’d reject it. You weren’t sure if you were ready to be a mother, but the thought filled you with peace. You had expected a negative reaction from him, and deep down, a part of you had hoped he would accept this baby.

“I know it’s unexpected, but—” you began, finally looking up at him.

Rafe cut you off, his voice low and uncertain. “Look, I love you, okay? I love what we have. I don’t want anything to change.” His eyes flashed with a glimmer of desperation. “We don’t have to do this. There are options.”

His words pierced your heart. “Options?” you repeated, your voice barely louder than a whisper. The meaning of his words sank in, heavy and cold. You had considered this too, but hearing it from someone else, especially him, made your chest feel weighted down. He’d voiced something you hadn’t even dared to say aloud.

Rafe didn’t avert his gaze, running his hand through his hair with his shoulders tense. “I just don’t think we’re ready. I’m not ready.” He looked at you. You could see the fear and resistance in his eyes. “This could ruin everything we have… everything we’ve built. I just thought… maybe we could handle it, so things could go back to normal.”

You took a shaky step back, your legs trembling. His words weighed heavily on your chest, making you feel like you were shattering, piece by piece. “You think we can just ‘handle it’ and everything will be fine?” Your voice cracked, but you didn’t care. The pain in your chest was unbearable, and your heart pounded with the weight of it.

Rafe reached out to you in a few strides, his hand extended. You flinched and pulled back. “Please, try to understand,” he pleaded. “I love you. I want you, just you. Not this… not this.”

Tears stung your eyes, your voice barely a whisper. “I… don’t know what to do. I don’t know if I want this… You—” You cut yourself off. You didn’t know what to say. Neither of you knew how to be parents, but what if you wanted to keep it? What if you didn’t want an abortion—what would he do then?

Rafe let out a deep breath, frustration growing in his eyes. He was searching within himself for options. He didn’t want this to happen; he didn’t want to lose you, but a baby? He couldn’t do this. “I don’t know how to be that person, okay? I don’t know how to be a dad. I can barely take care of myself.” He looked at you sincerely, his face full of pain. “But I know I can’t do this.” He searched for a sign of agreement, a supportive expression on your face. He wanted to see something positive that would keep your relationship intact, but all he found was disappointment.

Rafe was right in some ways. But you didn’t know how to be a mother either. You could learn together—why was he shutting it down? You pulled back your tears, swallowed the pain in your throat, and steadied yourself before looking Rafe in the eyes. “So… if I decide to keep it? What then? Do you want me to do this alone?” The truth hit Rafe like a punch, knocking the breath out of him. He had assumed you would agree, that you would choose him. He hadn’t even considered this possibility. “After everything, are you just… going to leave?”

The silence that followed was deafening, and though Rafe hadn’t said it out loud, his answer hung in the air. He dropped his gaze, and deep down, he knew he’d made his choice. He didn’t have the time for a baby. He wasn’t ready to be a father. He was certainly not ready for such a responsibility. This was something he imagined happening far into the future, maybe in his thirties—but definitely not at twenty-two.

You knew his answer. You understood. You took a few steps back, creating distance between you as you drew a shaky breath, your voice barely holding together. “I can’t believe I trusted you. I thought that—” The words caught in your throat. You couldn’t pull yourself together, feeling on the verge of breaking down.

Rafe’s eyes shone with pain, but he said nothing; his silence spoke louder than any words he could have offered.

You wiped away your tears, and with every passing second, your heart broke a little more. “I guess I was wrong.” Your voice trembled, full of a sadness you couldn’t hide.

Rafe assumed that the conversation was over and the decisions had been made. There was nothing left to say. He had his answer, but he didn’t feel any relief. He couldn’t look at you. What he wanted was certain, clear, and final. He turned and walked away, the weight of his decision pressing down on him. He didn’t look back, didn’t expect you to stop him because he knew you wouldn’t. He hadn’t wanted the relationship to end. He loved you, but even that love couldn’t overcome a responsibility like this.

Leaving you alone and helpless in your home, he walked toward his car. He didn’t want one last look. If he looked, he might regret the impact of his choice on you, but this was it. He wasn’t ready and never would be. Even being able to handle a serious relationship was a big step for him, but the idea of a child? He couldn’t accept it. Getting in his car, he hoped that one day you would understand.

Top

Hey. Golf?

[black--sun]

He isn’t even going to think about offering to check up on Shiro’s boyfriend. He pushes the urge back to the dark, shadowy part of his brain. Shiro won't appreciate the offer. He won’t appreciate Ichigo involving himself at all. He doesn’t want Ichigo to fix his problems, he wants him to listen. So Ichigo gives a vague grunt, even though he has a lot of thoughts about all of that. “If he kills you, you won’t be around to stop me taking him out to your favorite burying spot and putting him in a box in the ground.” Ichigo isn’t cruel by nature, but he can’t imagine having any mercy. He’d put that guy in the smallest pine box he could find, bury him, and sit on top of his fresh grave to make sure no help came.

There was a time he wouldn’t have been able to keep his emotions in check. He would’ve flown into a rage and used his fists. He would have beat that asshole to death. But he’s older, and he knows from experience that there’s no number of punches or blows he can throw that’ll make it better. He’d leave that guy with plenty of time to think about his mistakes before he died.

His eyes go to Shiro at that sudden remark. He doesn’t know how to answer. He figured Shiro might not even remember that shirt. It wasn’t like he told Shiro how much he liked it. It wouldn’t have surprised Ichigo if it was shoved into the closet or balled into a corner in the back of one of Shiro’s drawers. If he even kept it. He finds a lopsided smirk. “How would you even know? That closet is huge.” Though he wouldn’t be surprised if Shiro never threw anything out, he’s so attached to his things.

He rolls his eyes hard. “I’m not just telling people that. I actually do it. Why is that so hard to believe?” He presses his lips. “You can think of it as my daytime uniform if that helps.” Though truthfully, he’s used consultant to describe both jobs. It’s one of those words that fits a lot of different scenarios and keeps him from misspeaking. He isn’t Shiro. His truth-sidestepping doesn’t come fluidly.

Ichigo snorts. “You mean you like showing off and luring sales attendants into the dressing room.” That’s Ichigo’s takeaway. “I guess shopping while drunk and high explains some of those outfits.” He pulls his keys, phone, and pills from his jacket. “I guess we’re driving seperate?” Since Ichigo isn’t leaving his car and Shiro likely doesn’t want to be stranded without his own vehicle.

"About my- ?" He almost says boyfriend, but stops himself and shrugs. "I dunno. I guess I did. It's hard not to wonder if the cop you're bangin', who clearly knows who the biggest drug dealer in town is, is just being a cop. Under cover or whatever. Maybe it just looked less suspicious to be upfront about it when I asked him if he was a cop. You were worried about that girl in my bathroom, but the cop would be the right way to do it." Shiro's aware of his own weaknesses. A hot guy with that added element of forbidden and dangerous that being a police officer brings certainly got his attention.

He tosses his phone onto the bed after sending Ichigo the lady's contact info. He knows Ichigo would treat her right if he contacts her at all.

That laugh sounds uncomfortable. Part of him wishes they could dispense with the trying they're both doing, the other part of him is grateful for the efforts. "It's true, I been bad at not giving you what you want from the very start." Shirt? But it only takes him a second, because when he moved out of his apartment he found that shirt. He thought about giving it to Renji to give back to Ichigo, but he couldn't quite make himself do it. "That was your favorite?"

He gets his answer the moment Ichigo looks at him. They know each other well enough for him to read Ichigo just fine. It's flattering. Then the verbal answer Ichigo gives is weirdly touching. It's very sweet, and maybe too honest, but he finds himself liking it anyway. If they can't be together, maybe they can at least be on good terms. Even not being partners, he likes Ichigo's company.

He snorts. "Of course I did, I look good in or out of anything." But being put to bed sounds nice. Warm and cozy and comfortable sounds nice. He is tired, mentally at least. He offers up a little half smirk at the reassurance. "Let's get outta here. Where do you wanna go?"

[who-is-page]

Greener Grasses and Fossilized Paw Prints: Where (and Why) the Greymuzzles Go

Author: Page Type: Essay Words: 1,229 Summary: Page's personal experience as an adult canine psychopomp, and how it applies to the dearth of older otherkin in general alterhuman community spaces. Answering the question of: where are all the older otherkin? And why do people always seem to eventually leave? Author's Note: The term "greymuzzle" is used within the scope of this essay's title to reference older otherkin who have been active in alterhuman spaces for extended periods of time (a nod to the word's original definition within furry spaces), and is not referring to greymuzzle's most frequent definition in alterhuman groups as a community-given term denoting an individual with noteworthy activity and contribution.

[Part of the Sol System’s Alterhuman Writing Project for 2024. If you don’t want to see these posts, block the tag #inkedclaws]

When I was a young otherkin, bright-eyed and bushy tailed, I found it difficult to conceptualize why there was such a dearth of older community members, especially those 30 and above. I could understand the theoretics behind the disparity, of course— social media platforms, as we all know, tend to skew towards younger audiences due to generational differences in technological proficiency/preference. Established adults with working lives and families don’t necessarily have the same amount of free-time that young adults or teenagers do, either. But even with all that taken into account, it seemed like the number of otherkin aged 13-21 in comparison to the number of otherkin aged 30+ was less a gradual decline and more an unfathomable chasm of difference. The community had been around for decades at that point, with plenty of ghost town groups and abandoned forums to demonstrate that fact… and unless the Veil was secretly age-restricted, those people hadn’t up and disappeared into thin air. So where were people going? And, more importantly, why?

It was a question I’d never been able to answer in a way that felt satisfactory as a teenager and later as a young adult. But now, feeling the call of the void myself, I finally do have an answer and an understanding that I never could have achieved five or ten years ago: why the fuck would I be online when I could be playing video games or having sex with my hot partners instead?

It’s a crude and simplistic way to put it, but just hear me out. As an established adult, I have access to funds, stability, and freedom that I never had as a teenager or even as a young adult who still felt at the mercy of an uncaring universe’s slightest whims. My support systems in high school and college suffered from the same sort of financial and social precariousness that come with the territory of navigating the world as a young adult, but my support systems now are made up of other established adults; while I’ll never say that everything is always perfect for all of us, it’s much easier to get on your feet and stay on your feet when your arms are linked with people who are more firmly rooted in one way or another. I have access to a type of freedom that I could never have imagined as a teenager, because it was literally outside of the range of what was possible for me and my peers.

And more than just that freedom is the fact that I, as an adult, have a family! “Having a family” has, in my experience, some shitty, heteronormative connotations. As a teen, I always took it at face value as juggling bills, kids, white picket fence, other boring responsibilities that eat up your time, etc. But as an adult, now I know that having a family can be anything you make of it, and I make it extremely, obnoxiously queer. In my case, it’s living with people who understand me on a deep, foundational level, and who love me not in spite of who I am but because of who (and what) I am. It’s not passively being around those people; it’s actively, enthusiastically spending time with them because it’s fun and because I love them too and because they’re my people and I picked them and they picked me. As a kid, I’d never consciously recognized the difference between people you’re passively around because you have to be versus people you intentionally choose to be around and who intentionally choose you right back. In part, this is because as a kid you often don’t get the option to make that choice, while as an adult you have more control over your environment. Too often online environments feel like the former, rather than the latter, even if being within them is, technically, a choice. But here, now, I have people in my household who will go out of their way to intersect their daily lives with mine and ask, “You wanna walk to the park?” “You wanna grab a coffee?” or “You HAVE to see this YouTube essay I’m watching and no I don’t care that it’s 4 hours long on a topic you know nothing about, just trust me!!!!!” and that’s such a radically different and wonderful experience.

As an adult, I live with a group of people who make being alive more fun than I could have ever imagined. I have the ability to make my own fun in ways I couldn’t as a kid, for a variety of reasons. I don’t have to feel like an anxious purse chihuahua 24/7, agonizing over my existence and every possible thing that is liable to go wrong if I frivolously spend money on so much of the thought of a hot coffee. And I finally, finally understand why older otherkin disappear off the face of the Earth. It’s because being an adult nonhuman-identifying person is amazing in a way almost no one ever talks about: the euphoric experience of being known and loved, and of knowing and loving yourself.

There are so many exciting and wonderful things I could be doing in the meatspace with people I have actively chosen to spend my life with, and who fully accept and understand me as someone who’s queer, plural, and nonhuman. There’s so many enriching ways I could be engaging with my hobbies, the environment around me, and my local community. With this all in mind, why the fuck would I ever be in public online spaces where people try to argue with me about whether or not I exist, or if my experiences are real, or if I’m using the right and latest lingo to describe my experiences? Why would I subject myself to that when I could just roll my eyes, close the laptop, and go be a beloved canine psychopomp in the comfort of my werehouse instead?

That’s the crux of it. As adults with families and support networks, we have the option to not subject ourselves to the morifying ordeal of being known by asshole strangers online if we don’t want to. We can stick to just our families and our friend groups, and we will still have people around us who understand and who acknowledge and interact with our alterhumanity. The alterhuman community isn’t the only or even most important place for being our authentic selves; rather, it takes a backseat in the day-to-day life. It’s still something that’s fulfilling and worthwhile to engage with, but only on our own terms (terms that are quickly becoming incompatible with the ways Internet culture is evolving). But more often than not, there’s just more fun things to do.

In some ways, it’s kind of a relief to have had this epiphany. People haven’t vanished from alterhuman community spaces because they collectively ‘grew out of it’ like some anti-otherkin insist, or because the various generations of otherkin are so extraordinarily different from one another as to be oil-and-water. People vanish from online alterhuman spaces because offline life as an adult alterhuman is awesome. As an archivist it’s frustrating, but as a nonhuman, I find it a specific type of happiness that’s worth celebrating in its existence and prevalence. It’s an assurance that life only gets better as you get older: isn’t that grand?

[crimsoncandy04]

Had to take a brief break and nap (the flesh vessel demanded it) but I'm back now.

Here is The Unwilling Sex Slave of The Balladeer pt 3!

Before Scaramouche had left for Sumeru he had given you a gift. Not that it was useful to you at that point.

Your old electro vision.

You had wondered what happened to it.

Apparently he had kept it.

And as you felt him hang it from your clit piercing and give it a small tug, you had wondered briefly if he had given it back to mock you in some way.

Because literally without arms and legs what vision could possibly be useful to you? Maybe this was for protection or something? You couldn't imagine why Scaramouche would just let you have it suddenly unless it was as a humiliation or a way to keep you safe while he was away.

However after a few days you began to notice that your vision was showing up differently now.

What had been liquid lightning almost after the fight in Inazuma damaged it and made it "leak" according to you, was now becoming scarily useful as you realized it was not only able to move at your will, but it was solid enough to morph into a sort of "vine" that you could now wield a little with your mind.

For the past few weeks you had been practicing reaching out with the cursed tentacle-like violet appendage and would grab things by coiling around certain objects and then pulling them towards you.

It was easy from that point onwards to slowly start making more of these electro vines until eventually you could successfully lift yourself up again by making them all materialize from your spine and acting similarly to spider legs underneath you.

You got yourself out of bed first. Then began to practice walking around and eventually scurrying up walls and hanging on the ceiling.

FINALLY after what seemed like ages, you began to form a plan to escape once and for all. And it involved the subordinate girl who had been in charge of caring for you in Scaramouche's absence.

You had purposely let yourself fall to the floor one night. Feigning a terrified shriek as you heard the bedroom door swing open and saw the worried face of the young fatui girl who quickly came to pick you up and put you back onto your cushion.

You made your move then.

Using your vision in its damaged but useful new form, a thick violet vine suddenly sprouted from your back and wrapped itself around the girl's neck.

Squeezing until she fell to the carpet completely unconscious but thankfully not dead.

You were better than the evil prick who captured you and ruined your body.

You didn't kill innocent people.

Leaving the "base" wasn't that hard once you realized you had just been upstairs in Northland Bank the entire time and utilized your new ability to crawl across the ceiling and get to the door undetected. Once the secretary was distracted by a client, you quickly used your new "legs" and scuttled out the door before it shut again.

The cold midnight air kissed your cheeks like a long lost lover of yours. You wanted nothing more than to stay here in this moment forever and just relish in the fresh air that had been denied to you for archons knew how long.

You were a little out of breath now but decided to slowly go in the opposite direction of mondstadt as you knew for a fact Scaramouche would hear about you being in the small nation probably before you even got there.

You could just picture it now.

You cross the bridge to the gated city of freedom, only to realize freedom wasn't for you as Scaramouche would be waiting for you just outside of the gates, arms crossed in his usual stance as he captured you once more and did archons know what to you next for trying to leave him again.

No.

You knew your best bet was just probably stay in Liyue for now until you gave birth at least. And so you hoped to probably find a village or something as you pulled yourself up the mountain side behind the bank and headed west towards the chasm instead.

However luck was on your side this time.

Because as you crawled over some large rock formations and found yourself inside the old mining area now condemned from the public, you realized a little too late that a group of hilichurls had spotted you.

They didn't even have time to charge at you before they were suddenly wiped from existence via a powerful anemo twister that picked them up and threw them over the cliff side.

Your heart began to burst with sheer joy as you spotted your friend Aether after so long. You immediately called out for him. His eyes widened as he saw you. Not from disbelief. But from horror.

You used your electro legs to scuttle over to him as he instinctively reached out and pulled you into a big hug just like you used to. Tears ran down both of your cheeks as you could hear Paimon yapping about what happened to you in the background.

"Y/N! You're you again! I thought I'd never see you after you vanished again!" Aether sobbed as he held you protectively against him.

You just blubbered back.

"I'm so sorry! He did something to me! He did this! I hate him! I hate him so much! I'm so sorry Aether!"

"Don't be sorry! You didn't do anything wrong yet suffered everything alone... I'm the one who's sorry. I failed you. I failed you as a friend so many times... please... please forgive me Y/N..."

You and stayed in each other's arms in silence for a moment until Paimon's screeching voice finally cut through to you as she squeaked about there being fatui making their way into the entrance to the chasm.

Sure enough. In the distance, a large group had gotten in and seemed to be breaking off into two large teams before heading in opposite directions within the chasm. You looked into Aether's eyes with fear and desperation.

"Aether please don't let them take me again! I need to hide!" You imagined him grabbing you maybe. Perhaps running to a far away location and helping you hide somewhere safe. What you didn't imagine him doing was suddenly pulling out a fucking teapot and grabbing your waist as you three were suddenly warped inside.

You feel grass underneath you as you tilt your head and try your hardest to get up again using your vision. But it was harder for some reason now. Luckily Aether seemed to notice and just picked you up and carried you inside what appeared to be a fully functional and rather extravagant looking Liyue themed mansion. Once inside Aether put you down on the sofa in the front room and then asked if you were hungry or sore anywhere. You were confused about why he'd ask suddenly until you remembered your pregnancy.

Honestly you tried to disassociate from this truth at times. But as your friend showed you kindness that wasn't laced with horniness for once, you felt tears begin to fall from your eyes as you suddenly break down on the spot.

"Yes! It hurts everywhere! I hurt every day! I hate being alive anymore! I hate everything! I wish I was never born to begin with! I hate what he fucking did to me!" The sobs that escaped my throat were nothing short of pitiful. Aether said nothing as he quickly rushed over and held you close again. Trying his best to offer you comfort as you wept bitterly for the life that was taken from you.

"Don't worry Y/N. You can stay here forever for all I care. I won't let him hurt you anymore. I promise. I'm just so glad that you're alive. And here again. You don't know how much sleep I've lost, wondering if he killed you. Wondering why I was such a terrible friend for not being able to find you no matter how hard I tried." Aether began to shed tears as well as you both just sat there for a long time after. You couldn't even embrace your friend anymore. That bastard Balladeer has stolen so much from you.

You hated him so much.

***Time Skip***

Aether stayed by your side for quite a while. You didn't tell him about your vision because you felt like it was slowly ceasing to work now anyway. You couldn't use it as much and when you tried, you'd get zapped across the room and after this happened twice, you decided it would be unsafe for the baby and removed your vision using your own teeth to unhook it from your clit before tossing it into a nearby storage chest.

Other people visited now and then. Namely a woman called Noelle and a very fun young lady from Liyue who worked as a chef called Xiangling. Aether would step out for commissions and other things but the day he suddenly disappeared and didn't return for almost a year, you grew worried.

You delivered your baby boy late one night. Noelle tried her hardest to help you as there was no time to get a doctor or take you anywhere. You remember screaming for her to just kill you. To stop the pain and cut off your head if needed. Thankfully Noelle was a very patient and calm lady and she assured you it would pass and that you would be okay.

You were. And after you successfully delivered the child, Noelle even swaddled him for you and placed him on your chest so you could somewhat hold him even if you didn't have arms anymore.

It was a bittersweet moment.

You had dreams about that long haired woman with the fox several times while Aether was away. She seemed to be almost watching over you and your son.

Giving you advice and mental comfort now and then.

You finally learned her name.

In fact after a few days of being nameless, you in turn, gave this name to your son as a way to thank the spirit woman for watching over you.

Makoto.

He was such a sweet boy. Always wanting to be next to you. Always laughing and playing with Paimon and Guoba so nicely. You were actually amazed at how fast he seemed to catch onto the emotions of others and how quickly his tiny mind learned things.

By 10 months he was already walking and attempting to make little noises that resembled words. The only thing about baby Makoto that you weren't exactly gushing over was his appearance.

He looked EXACTLY like Scaramouche.

Like a tiny clone.

But thankfully his personality seemed to be a stark contrast to his father's.

At least you thought so.

One night after "Auntie Xiangling" had successfully helped you put Makoto to bed, you had another strange dream involving someone who looked like Scaramouche but wasn't exactly...him?

He was clearly him. But his eyes held a certain shine that reminded you of Makoto. He wore a long purple veil and was dressed in all white robes.

To your surprise, he suddenly reached out and pulled you into a gentle embrace upon seeing you. Your spirit looked like the old you so this time you were able to wrap your arms around him back. However instead of kissing you or attempting to do something nasty like... what was his name?

This man suddenly began to cry as he held you. His voice shaking as he spoke in broken sobs.

"I'm sorry! I'm so sorry! I love you so much! Please... please... I'm so sorry!"

He sobbed violently as he began to fade a little. You didn't know why, but for some reason you couldn't be angry with him. You didn't know who he was but as he became even more transparent by the second, you almost felt a sense of loss come over you as you felt him softly kiss your forehead before telling you that you were the best thing that had ever existed in his life. And that he deserved a thousand painful deaths for harming you.

You woke up from your dream to see Aether standing beside your bed trying to gently shake you awake.

His voice was urgent. And what he had to ask you was nothing short of a terrible way to begin your day.

"Y/N, I hate to bring this up so suddenly, but I really need to know how you ended up in your condition again. Please I need to know what you remember!" Aether noticed your worried and hesitant expression. He places a gentle hand on your cheek and assures you that it's important but to not worry because you were still safe there.

You sighed and told him the same brief summary you gave everyone.

"long ago, I was kidnapped and trafficked by the fatui. I endured terrible things at the hands of a man who I believe had an electro vision like me. Evil things. In fact his treatment caused me to have memory issues due to the amount of trauma it gave me. But you saved me Aether! And now I'm here. And my baby and I are safe!"

You saw Aether's expression change to confusion, then shock, then realization.

He quickly fled again. Calling out over his shoulder that he was coming back again but needed to go to Inazuma.

You couldn't possibly fathom why your friend was such an oddball at times.

***Time Skip***

Aether came back as promised and after that life became a lot easier for everyone.

Makoto had just celebrated his first birthday and was now impossible to handle as his curious and playful spirit refused to be tamed for very long.

It hurt you to have to reprimand him but you tried your hardest as you didn't want to raise a spoiled child and knew he would need guidance regarding his sensitive and empathetic nature in a world as unforgiving as this one.

Aether found someone in Fontaine willing to help you with getting some prosthetic arms and legs and by that time you desperately needed them as Makoto was everywhere.

You were struggling to stay balanced on the metal limbs and learning to maneuver yourself again was beyond difficult at first but you couldn't keep your son locked away in a teapot dimension forever. He needed socialization and friends.

And so you decided to try your luck and take him for a little trip to the nation of wisdom to get him some new educational books for children and hopefully let him run into a new friend while you two were out.

You were in the busy market place trying to haggle for some promising beginner language books when suddenly you turned around and realized that Makoto had run off again.

You quickly dropped everything and went running to look for him. Nearly falling several times as your long dress that was originally meant to hide your new legs suddenly became a mobility hindrance. But you refused to stop.

What if he was hurt?

What if he was lost and scared?

What if someone took him?

Your heart felt like it was going to beat out of your chest until you rounded a corner and saw your son...in the arms of a man who looked identical to him.

Makoto seemed to sense your presence and his little arms immediately reached out for you as the man brought him over and handed him to you.

Thank the archons!

"thank you so much sir! He's such a handful sometimes. I swear once this one learns how to run I'll never find him again. Heh." You hold your son close as the man suddenly looks you dead in the eyes and asks if you would like him to accompany you while you shopped since he had time and your son seemed hell bent on exploring.

Normally you'd immediately say no.

What kind of mother just handed off her baby to a stranger? Just ABANDONED them to do her own thing?

But the way Makoto kept trying to reach out for him made you pause a little.

Why was he so comfortable with this man? They looked identical but there was no way this man was...

No.

That man wielded electro. You distinctly remember it. This man before you, although similar to your son in appearance, wore an anemo vision on his chest clearly.

There was no way.

You sighed as Makoto started to get fussy and began to squirm in your arms.

Well, he didn't exactly hurt him the first time... and he even gave him back to you without needing to be asked.

Maybe just for an hour?

You'd be keeping both of them in your line of sight though.

"okay. But don't you dare go too far with him! I really do need to get some shopping done before we go home and it'd be nice to be able to focus for once without tiny hands hitting me in the face and demanding new toys."

The man chuckled.

You oddly liked his laugh a little bit.

You decided to ask his name.

He hesitated.

"I have had many names. Most unimportant and useless. But I suppose if you want an alias to refer to me by, The Wanderer should suffice."

Makoto began to kick now.

"Hey sweetie please stop, that hurts. It's not nice to kick people either. You're hurting momma."

Makoto persisted. A tantrum quickly starts to form. However without being told, Wanderer suddenly gets the boy's attention with a rather scary and stern tone. Holding out his hands as if to ask you for the fussy child in your arms.

"You, stop that right this instant." Wanderer took Makoto and held him gently.

"And after your mother was so kind in bringing you with her here today. You should be more grateful. I know many mothers who'd never bother being as generous as yours." Wanderer and Makoto made eye contact and strangely enough the boy was listening to him. He stared up at the man with the huge hat as if he could actually understand him.

"There now. That wasn't so hard was it? There's no need for such tears right now. And look, you've made your mother happier too. You should be a good boy more often and keep her happy with everything she does for you." Wanderer spoke in a low tone. His words were almost soothing to hear despite them being a reprimand.

Why did Makoto like him so much.

At least he was nice?

You sighed and thanked Wanderer before turning and motioning for him to follow you as you went back to your shopping.

***Time Skip***

Wanderer proved to be more than just a good and trusted babysitter for Makoto. He was almost scarily intuitive to what you enjoyed as well like your favorite foods, songs, clothing brands, preferred books, etc. it was so easy to talk with him that you quickly became friends much to Makoto's delight as well and spent a lot of time together. You were practically a little family.

And dare you say that by your son's second birthday, both of you seemed to have developed feelings for each other.

Though Wanderer seemed to be a little more smitten than you. (You wondered if he was just into motherly women or something because his infatuation was almost shocking and you weren't used to the attention at first)

It all happened so quickly in your opinion; Wanderer had just finished giving Makoto his bath and had put him to bed before he met you in the small apartment living room and joined you on the couch (you didn't know why Aether refused to let him be around you and you introducing Wanderer to him as your friend had led to a small fight between you that ended with Wanderer inviting you to live with him temporarily in Sumeru City while Aether cooled down.)

You might have been a little desperate yourself as you felt him gradually get bold and cautiously take your hand in his. His lips eventually found yours too. And after that it all felt like a blur.

His head somehow ended up between your legs. Your thick thighs squeezing his head as Wanderer tongue fucked your tight canal and pulled you against his face using your hips. You screamed and whined as he got you to finish several times before you started seeing stars. He seemed to pay a lot of attention to your clit too. In fact by the time he finally sat up from where he lay, it felt a little sore.

Not that you minded.

He held you protectively in his arms as his head rested between your large breasts and his lower body thrust into you. His girthy length stretching you wide as you swore he was trying to fuck another kid into your womb. Wanderer groaned and moaned as he came deep in your hot depths. More than once.

Finally after that he flipped you over on the couch and began to fuck you again from behind.

"Fuck you feel so good Y/N. What IS it about you that just makes me want to devour you like this? That makes me want to claim every inch of you ~" his last words came in a sort of growl that made your pussy throb and clench even harder around him. He grunted as he bottomed out in your sopping cunt for perhaps the 5th time that night.

"harder Wanderer ~ please don't slow down! I need you so much! You feel so good inside me~" you whine as you feel him reach under you and cup your breasts before pounding roughly into your pussy from behind. Using his own weight to pin you underneath him as he kissed your neck and continued rambling.

"you feel divine. I could fuck this pussy for the rest of my life. Fuck Y/N don't squeeze like that! Fuck. I'm gonna ruin this pussy for anyone else! Gonna stretch it to fit MY cock only. Fuck I love you Y/N" Wanderer panted in your ear as he obliterated you and continued to pinch your nipples.

You were rendered speechless and incoherent as the night went on and Wanderer filled your pussy to the brim.

Time went on after that night. And within a few months it felt like Wanderer was practically your spouse as he made himself extremely useful in nearly every way. He cooked, cleaned, tended to Makoto, and even kept you beyond satisfied sexually.

You eventually found yourself even referring to him as your partner in front of strangers.

Everything would have been perfect if Aether didn't seem to hate Wanderer's guts for seemingly no reason.

And everything came to a shattering halt one day when you learned that you were pregnant again and decided to tell Aether in hopes that your friend would try to get along with the man you loved.

No such luck.

"WHAT DO YOU MEAN YOU'RE HAVING ANOTHER KID WITH HIM!?" Aether had screamed as he quickly turned on Wanderer who had been sitting beside you in the Cafe.

What did he mean "another?"

"You have no conscience! Not a single ounce of decency or respect! What the HELL is wrong with you?! After EVERYTHING you're just going to cozy up with her as if it all NEVER happened!?"

Aether got up and left abruptly after that. His parting words being only.

"I told you to be honest with her. She deserves to know. But yet here you are, so selfish...I need to go. Congratulations Y/N. I know you're happy. And no matter what I'm not upset with you. It's HIM I hate seeing."

And then he stormed out and left.

Leaving you in tears as Wanderer tried to comfort you and assure you it's alright. Wanderer gave the waiter mora before just ushering you out soon after that.

You wanted to brush off what Aether had said but some things were confusing you still.

"another kid?"

"tell you what truth?"

"everything that happened?"

What was going on?

You tried to ignore these thoughts as you watched Makoto laughing and running alongside his stepfather as Wanderer carried you in a backpack on his shoulders (You didn't mind letting him do this when you grew tired of using your fake legs and wanted to be carried. It actually seemed to make Wanderer happy when you did as he often joked about enjoying the feeling of carrying his entire family and keeping them safe when Makoto grew tired too and was put into his harness that Wanderer wore on the front of him.)

But tonight you really kinda let him carry you because you wanted to think for a bit.

You felt like you needed to see Aether.

What was going on with him?

Was Wanderer perhaps...

Not who he seemed?

[endless-ineffabilities]

in the land of gods and monsters, I was an angel

President Aemond Targaryen x reporter!reader

mini smutshots from the National Anthem series

🍒 18+ MINORS D N fucking I 🍒

a/n: may this serve as your lusty reprieve from the great shitshow that has been unfolding. This contains scenes scattered throughout the series, and may contain spoilers, but who are we kidding. We knew these things would happen. No taglist—this will find you I'm sure.

main masterlist

after Aemond wines and dines you, convincing you to take on the job

The ride back to his suite was torturous. He wasn't sure if he had ever been left desiring someone so much, after his fingertips dragged along the wet lips of your pussy.

Your panties were lodged in his pocket like some consolation prize.

He'd much rather have the real thing, much rather be thrusting deep in your throbbing walls. His pelvic bone slamming against your ass as he jackrabbits with wild abandon. You, his pretty girl, his angel, squirting all over him.

All over his desk. All over the pristine leather backseat of his car. All over his Lyseni cotton sheets.

All over his thick cock.

Finally alone, he leaned back in his chair, bringing the delicate fabric to his face, inhaling deeply as his other hand slid down, unzipping his slacks, freeing the ache that had been building the whole night.

The desk was littered with confidential files and pressing matters, but all he could focus on was you—and how much he wanted you there, spread across his desk, begging.

His grip on his cock tightened, knuckles whitening as he drew your lace panties closer, pressing them firmer against his face, savoring every lingering trace of you. The scent was intoxicating, clouding his mind with memories of your skin, the sounds you made when he almost had you.

He imagined you there, straddling him, back arched, your tits bouncing free from your stiff white blouse. You would plead for his hands on you.

His strokes quickened, his jaw clenched as he envisioned tearing the lace from your body, you in different yet equally tantalising positions.

A low growl escaped him as he came, hips jerking, his release hot and messy over his fingers, desperate satisfaction twisting into a smirk on his lips.

It won't be long until he had the real thing.

His angel, falling apart on his cock.

The President and yourself, one night in his palatial holiday estate

The silk of his tie was tight over your eyes, leaving you in total darkness as you lay sprawled on the bed, legs spread and wrists pinned above your head.

"Look at you, angel," he murmured, his voice husky as his fingers traced down your throat, feeling the way you trembled under him. "Completely at my mercy. Can’t see a damn thing, can you?"

You shook your head, breath hitching as his hand slid down, spreading your legs wide, controlling your every motion. Controlling you.

His lips dragging down your neck, he bit just hard enough to leave a mark. "You’re not touching me tonight, angel," he growled, his mouth wetly brushing your ear, sending a shiver down your spine. "All you get to do is lie there and take everything I give you. Understood?"

"Yes, sir," you shakily whispered back.

With a wicked smirk, he slid the thick head of his cock against your drenched folds, dragging it up and down, coating himself in your slickness before finally plunging all the way in, stretching you wide with one unforgiving thrust.

"Aemond," you gasped, a shuddering moan leaving your lips as he filled you, every inch pushing you to your limit.

"Fuck, you’re perfect," he groaned, his hands on your hips in a bruising hold, keeping you in place as he pounded into you, hitting the soft spot in your walls, leaving you trembling. "Such a good little angel…"

"You feel that?" he hissed, his pace unrelenting as he drove into you harder. "That's what it’s like to be fucked by a man who can't get enough of you. Who's going to ruin you every damn time until you’re soaked and wrecked, begging for more."

President Aemond was just as fucking mouthy in bed as he was in those rallies.

But just like everyone else, you were entranced by him. You would eat up every single word.

Especially there, especially then.

His fingers found their way between your legs, circling your swollen clit, his touch skilled, ruthless, dragging you closer to oblivion with every flick.

"You're dripping for me, angel," he muttered. "So desperate for my cock, aren't you? Want me to fuck you so hard you can't even walk tomorrow?"

"Yes, Aemond," you gasped, each word a broken plea as he hammered home, his pace vicious. "Please… don't stop… Don't you dare fucking stop."

"Oh, I'm not stopping," he growled, practically splitting you open as he buried himself deep, until you were a writhing mess beneath him. "I'm going to fuck you... until your pretty pussy can't take any more."

And with a final, brutal thrust, he sent you over the edge, your release crashing through you in waves, leaving you breathless and shuddering, barely able to moan his name as he drove into you a few more times, his own release tearing from him with a guttural moan, his presidential seed coating your insides.

When he claimed your lips, tongue dragging along the outline of your mouth, he decreed, "You're mine, angel... Mine forever."

At the height of Aemond's campaign, in his office

Under the grand mahogany desk in his office, you were on your knees, Aemond's cock stretching your mouth as he lounged in his leather chair.

He had one hand buried in your hair, guiding you as he wanted. The heady taste of him filled you as you hollowed your cheeks, dragging your lips down his length, letting him hit the back of your throat with every stroke. Tears gathered in the corners of your eyes as you fought to take every thick inch he fed you.

His angel, ever so eager to please.

"I wanna see you choke on my cock, angel. Take all of me. Like that... good girl."

Just as he let out a soft, restrained groan, the office door opened. You froze, your poor heart racing as you recognized the heavy footsteps that entered. Aemond's bodyguard, Steve, had stepped into the room, file in hand.

Aemond didn't even flinch. He leaned back slightly in his chair, his face impassive as he addressed Steve in a perfectly composed manner. "You have that report for me?"

"Yes, sir." Steve's voice was just as steady, but there was the slightest hesitation, a subtle shift in his voice that told you he knew exactly what was happening.

Aemond's fingers curled in your hair, urging you to continue. So you did, the thrill of being discovered sending an undeniable thrill through you. You began to move again, tonguing his length.

"Just leave it on the desk, Steve," he said dismissively.

When Steve rushed out of the office, your Aemond resurfaced.

"You love this, don’t you?" he muttered, his composure slipping now that you were alone again. "Sucking me off... knowing someone could catch you, knowing they'd see how filthy my angel truly is."

Not long after, the warm, salty taste of him hit your tongue in hot and heavy spurts, filling your mouth.

He held you in place, refusing to let you pull away as he emptied himself down your throat.

You kept your lips sealed around him, your tongue pressed flat along the underside of his cock, feeling every shudder, every twitch as he spilled the last of his release.

"Fuck, fuck yes... my good girl."

You wiped your mouth with the back of your hand, but Aemond was quick in letting you know that he hadn't had his fill of you yet. Truthfully, he never would have enough.

Always needing you, always needing more.

His strong arms carry you sit on top of his desk, hitching your skirt up to reveal the glistening lips of your pussy.

It was his angel's turn.

And so the President got on his fucking knees, and devoured.

May the gods bless Westeros, indeed.

[pricegouge]

i'm still not fully comfortable writing realdad!price and will likely continue with the stepcest buffer if i ever write for that dynamic again, but here are some things i think work better with your actual father for... reasons

cw (besides the obv): implied grooming, noncon/dubcon voyeurism, tradwife training, piss kink, possessiveness, menstruation

when you're older and price is really starting to test the limits of what he can get you to do for him, how far he can train and mold you into that perfect little housewife roll he'd always hoped for you (greeting him by the door with a happy smile and kiss on the cheek, a roast finishing in the oven, timed perfectly to be ready when you're done removing his shoes for him and massaging the ache from his knee), he rewards you with your favorite pet name from when you were a kid dragging around your cute dollies, said now with a different kind of reverance. 'little mama,' he mutters, and revels in the way it makes you squirm, always happy to know you've been taking care of something just right. he watches as you keep squirming about it late into the night, doesn't even feel bad about it - you've known about the nanny cam in your room for years now, sweetheart. if you don't want him to see, you should save it for the shower

i know i'm a broken record atp, but piss kink 😵‍💫 just imagine how much he'd tease you the first time he makes you squirt. 'thought you were past this phase,' he laughs, balling up your soaked sheets

speaking of kink, i think he definitely treats it the same way loosey goosey parents treat underage drinking. he'd rather you try it at home where he can keep you safe, baby. you want to try something you saw on one of your big girl sites? don't be shy, come to papa. he'll take care of you, show you how to do it properly. make sure you have a good time. he just wants to be sure you're prepared (he has no intention of letting you use the what you've learned with anyone else)

period sex. period care in general, really. he'd be sooooo sweet about it i just know it. (by sweet I mean he'd be bullying your cervix every chance he got because it's right there, all swollen and descended, and it's a safe time of the month for that,right?) would also think his dicks a cure-all for cramps but he's probably right about that so we let it slide

[salty-autistic-writer]

Bucktommy with some “had a crush” ChimTommy. (Inspired by the stills for episode 6)

(AO3 Link)

“Do you know I used to have a crush on you?”

Tommy almost chokes on a piece of white bread and wouldn’t that be hilarious? Pulling an Evan right in front of Howie?

Howie, who is responsible for Tommy and Evan meeting in the first place? Without Howie, this wouldn’t be possible. Nothing of this. They wouldn’t sit at the table in Evan’s loft. They wouldn’t eat dinner together. They wouldn’t talk about old and new times.

Tommy wouldn’t be even alive without Howie.

And now …

“What?” He sputters, baffled.

“Yeah.” Howie is patting Tommy’s back with a half-amused, half-worried expression. “Please don’t die on me now. Not again. I might be too drunk to make good decisions right now.”

Tommy shakes his head and reaches for his bottle to pour the pesky bread down with some beer. “I’m good. But … What do you mean you had a crush on me?!”

Howie shrugs. He takes another sip of his beer, his cheeks a little flushed. “Look. No one can blame me. You’re ridiculously handsome and cool.”

“Thank you,” Tommy says, flustered. He feels a sting too though. Old guilt. “I wish I wouldn’t have been such an asshole. You tried so hard even though the first impression you got from me was a racist remark. And I pushed you away.” Hard. He pushed hard. Still remembers the irritation he felt when that new guy just wouldn’t give up. Wouldn’t shut up. Wouldn’t stop being so heartachingly nice. Tommy didn’t know how to deal with that.

Howie hums and nods. “I remember. I was there. Look. We talked about this. Many times. You apologised. I told you I forgive you. We are good. So I really hope you don’t think you still have some kind of debt to pay.”

Tommy swallows. He looks down at his feet, suddenly feeling guilty and bashful. “Well, there’s something I should tell you … I promised myself to be more open in general. We had some talks, Evan and I. About things like holding back truths. Keeping feelings a secret. And I don't want to do that anymore. So, um, you should know that I also had a little crush on you.”

“No way, man,” Howie leans back and chortles. “No way! That's amazing.”

“Well. Yeah,” Tommy smiles weakly. “You were kind. Funny. Capable. Handsome. And after you saved my life … When I saw you at the hospital, showing up and acting like it’s a normal thing to do. Well. I couldn’t really help myself.”

He remembers their hug. He wanted to put everything he felt back then into that hug. Did he succeed? He'll never know. But he tried.

“Imagine,” Howie says, his eyes getting a distant look like he really does already imagine. “Everything could have been so different. But here’s the thing. As flattered as I am, I wouldn’t want things to be different.”

Tommy nods seriously. “Same.”

“Maddie is the one, man,” Howie says dreamily.

Tommy smiles. “I can see that.”

Everyone can see the love. It’s in the glances Howie and Maddie exchange. In the familiar gentleness of their touches and in the fond way they smile at each other when Jee does something cute. And Tommy is happy for them. For what they found and built. What they fought for.

“I would do anything for her,” Howie adds seriously, then raises a brow and moves to clink his bottle together with Tommy’s. “To love.”

“To love,” Tommy says, his mouth suddenly dry.

Love.

Later, when Evan comes home, Tommy still sits at the table and fidgets, lost in his thoughts and memories.

“Hey. You okay?” Evan asks, tilting his head with a small smile and a barely-there frown. “You seem … distant.”

Tommy shakes his head, folding his hands. “No. I’m fine. I was just thinking. Howie and I talked a lot today.”

“Well, I hope he didn’t tell you all the embarrassing stories about when I started at the 118 as a careless, reckless hothead,” Evan chuckles, putting a hand on his hip and leaning against the kitchen counter, his eyes bright and his cheeks flushed. “I talked to Maddie and Josh a lot too today.”

“Oh?” It’s Tommy’s turn to raise a teasing brow. “About me?”

“Maybe,” Evan says, the corners of his mouth twitching and the blush spreading on his face.

After that, a moment of silence stretches between them. It feels … loaded with emotion somehow. It feels like they both want to say something but still hesitate because it feels so significant that they forget how to express it.

But Tommy has too much experience with keeping things to himself. He also knows that time is never a given thing. You never know what will happen tomorrow. Never know how much time is left in a life’s hourglass.

He clears his throat. “Evan. I have to tell you something. I -”

“I love you!” Evan blurts.

Tommy’s breath hitches. Everything seems to slow down until there’s nothing but the echo of Evan’s words.

“I love you,” Evan repeats and he’s wide-eyed, tears glistening in the blue. “I do. And I know we have had some … talks lately. About some serious things. About your past and my past. And, and you don’t have to say it back. Not yet. It’s okay. I needed to say it though. I needed you to know. Because -”

Before he can ramble on, Tommy is already on his feet and reaches for Evan, cupping his face and capturing his open lips in a kiss.

Love.

That’s love.

“I love you too, Evan.”

[mochinomnoms]

Omgomgomg plspls elabroate on PTM! Leona I love that man sm and him having domestic/raunchy thoughts vs acting all "psh, who are you anyways?" is making me have butterflies ahhhh I would've keeled over tbh

(incase you don't know ptm is a shorten name for a telepathy fanfic)

I was thinking about it because I thought it would be very shocking to have Leona in that situation, but decided against it cause I thought it wouldn't be as funny as much as it would be more pathetic. I also wanted to establish that whoever the love interest was would have been in love with the Reader for a while, and I wasn't able to really fit that in the storyline I was setting up.

I hadn't put too much thought about i because of that, but I think Leona would lean to more domestic thoughts with a sprinkle of lewd ones. Even those lewd ones would lean on the more domestic side, thought Leona's version of domestic is a different from the usual seeing as he's a prince.

But many of them are mostly of you two waking up together in the morning, limbs tangled, a few here and there about you two together in the palace, quietly strolling. Another of you laughing as Cheka pulled at his Unca's ears. His favorite ones are you two in your bedroom, his head in your lap as you brush through his hair with your fingers and braid it back. These, and the morning ones, sometimes get directed into little daydreams (or actual dreams considering how much he sleeps) of you two being softly intimate.

Though, he would have some more raunchy ones, which only really occur when he's jealous. I do think Leona would have a particularly nasty jealous and possessive streak, he's just very good at pretending he doesn't. If someone was trying to get into your business, he's thinking about all the ways he could make it obvious that you're his, which mostly include showing off just how good he can make you feel in front of the competition. Those are down right atrocious, they'd make a prostitute blush in embarrassment!

Just imagine how poor you, able to read Leona's mind, just feel!

[throwaway-things]

In the silence

The gentle hum of the BAU office buzzed around you, blending with the rhythmic typing of keyboards and the occasional murmur of conversation. You sat at your desk, your heart betraying a steady pace as you stole a glance at Spencer Reid. He was absorbed in a file, his brows furrowed in concentration, fingers tapping lightly on the edge of his desk. You admired how his mind seemed to race, faster than anyone else’s, solving problems in a way that felt almost magical. And yet, as brilliant as he was, you could never imagine him knowing your secret.

You had been harboring feelings for Spencer for longer than you cared to admit. The connection, at least on your side, had grown deeper over time. He was kind, intelligent, and so utterly unaware of the effect he had on you. You were careful—so careful—never to give any hint, knowing that revealing how you felt could change everything. Your heart was fragile enough without risking his rejection.

But Spencer Reid was not like everyone else. He saw things others missed, read people like they were open books. And though you had perfected the art of hiding, you knew, deep down, that no secret was safe from him forever.

One afternoon, while working together on a particularly difficult case, you noticed Spencer watching you out of the corner of your eye. It wasn’t the usual friendly glance, but something more intense. You tried to ignore it, focused on your work, but the sensation of being scrutinized sent your nerves into overdrive.

"Are you okay?" His voice startled you, gentle yet probing. You looked up to find his eyes—those deep, observant eyes—studying you. He wasn’t just asking if you were tired or stressed. It felt like he was asking about something deeper, something unspoken.

"Yeah," you replied quickly, too quickly. "Just focused on the case."

But Spencer didn't let it go. "You've been… different lately," he said softly, almost to himself. "Your body language, the way you avoid eye contact sometimes, the way your voice changes when you're talking to me— its noticeable"

Your heart stopped. He was analyzing you. You’d been so careful, so guarded, and yet, in that moment, you realized it was pointless. Spencer Reid had already figured it out.

"I… I don’t know what you mean," you lied, trying to hold onto the last vestiges of control. But the tremble in your voice gave you away. Spencer leaned in slightly, lowering his voice.

"You don’t have to say anything," he said, his tone so calm, so gentle. "I know."

It was like the world shifted beneath your feet. The secret you had carried for so long, that you had convinced yourself could never be known, was out in the open. You felt exposed, vulnerable, and utterly terrified. Tears pricked at the corners of your eyes, but you forced them back. You refused to cry in front of him.

Spencer shifted awkwardly in his seat, his face flushed with discomfort. "I'm sorry," he began, his voice soft but laden with regret. "I didn’t mean to give you the wrong impression. If I’ve done anything to make you feel—" He hesitated, clearly trying to find the right words. "I care about you, but… not in the way you might want."

The words hit like a physical blow. You were mortified, frozen in place as the blood rushed to your cheeks. Your worst fear had just materialized—he had figured it out, and now he was apologizing. It was worse than any rejection you had ever imagined.

"I—" you stammered, the words dying in your throat as shame engulfed you. You had never meant for him to know. You had never intended to put him in this position, to make things awkward or uncomfortable. But now, there you were, standing in the aftermath of something you had desperately tried to avoid.

Your heart broke, a quiet shattering that left you feeling hollow. Spencer was kind, as you always knew he would be, but it didn’t soften the pain. If anything, it made it worse. His apology wasn’t cruel, but it was final. You wished you could disappear, that you could take back every lingering look, every subtle sign you thought you had hidden so well.

"I'm sorry," you whispered, voice barely audible. You couldn't bear to look at him, the embarrassment too overwhelming. "I… I never meant for you to find out. I never wanted you to know."

Spencer’s brow furrowed, and for a brief second, you thought you saw a flicker of empathy in his eyes. "You don’t have to apologize," he said gently. "I just don’t want you to feel hurt because of me."

But you did feel hurt. Hurt, ashamed, and humiliated. You swallowed hard, willing yourself not to cry, not to let him see how devastated you were.

Before you could respond, the door to the conference room opened abruptly. Hotch stood there, clipboard in hand, looking between you and Spencer with a slightly raised eyebrow. "Briefing in five," he said, his tone all business as usual. "We’ve got a new case."

You felt a wave of relief wash over you. This was your escape. The interruption couldn’t have come at a better time.

"Thanks, Hotch," you mumbled, quickly rising from your seat and gathering your things. You didn’t dare look back at Spencer, afraid that any more eye contact might make your carefully held composure shatter completely.

As you stepped past Hotch, you could feel Spencer’s eyes following you, but you kept walking, grateful that the professional nature of the job had given you a way out. You needed distance—space to breathe, to process what had just happened without falling apart in front of him.

The hallway seemed longer than usual, the sound of your footsteps echoing in the silence. You blinked back the burning sensation in your eyes, your breath unsteady as you hurried toward the briefing room. There was no time to fall apart now. Work was calling, and you had to focus.

When you entered the room, you were greeted by the usual buzz of the team preparing for the case. Morgan, Garcia, and JJ were already seated, chatting about something you couldn’t quite focus on. You forced a smile and took a seat next to JJ, trying to look as though nothing was wrong, as though your heart wasn’t still aching from the conversation with Spencer.

“Hey, you okay?” JJ asked quietly, giving you a gentle nudge.

You nodded quickly, too quickly. "Yeah, just... a long day."

She smiled sympathetically, but thankfully didn’t press further. You were grateful. The last thing you needed was more questions when you were barely holding it together.

Moments later, Spencer entered the room, taking a seat across from you. You could feel his presence immediately, your pulse quickening as you glanced down at your notes, doing everything you could to avoid looking at him. He, too, seemed more reserved than usual, his expression unreadable as he set his file down.

Hotch began the briefing, and for the next hour, you did your best to focus on the case. It was difficult—your thoughts kept wandering back to Spencer, to his apology, to the crushing embarrassment of knowing that he was aware of your feelings. Every time he spoke, the sound of his voice sent a pang of sadness through your chest, a reminder of what could never be.

The following days passed in a blur. You immersed yourself in the case, using work as an escape from the overwhelming swirl of emotions you were struggling to contain. You avoided Spencer as much as possible, though it became increasingly difficult with every passing moment. The BAU was a tight-knit team, and it was impossible not to interact with him. Each time you had to speak to him or work alongside him, the tension was palpable, the weight of your unspoken feelings hanging between you like an invisible barrier.

Spencer, for his part, remained kind and professional. He didn’t treat you any differently, but the subtle shift in your dynamic was undeniable. He seemed more cautious, more distant, as if he, too, was trying to navigate the awkwardness without making things worse. You wondered if he regretted saying anything at all—if he wished he had kept his analysis to himself.

But it didn’t matter now. The damage was done, and you were left picking up the pieces of your broken heart in silence.

--

Late one evening, after another long day of avoiding eye contact and burying your emotions in paperwork, you found yourself alone in the office. The dim lighting and quiet hum of the computer were a welcome respite from the chaos of the case, but your mind kept drifting back to Spencer. You had tried to push your feelings aside, to forget about that conversation, but it was impossible. The pain lingered, raw and unrelenting.

Just as you were about to pack up and leave, the sound of footsteps approached from behind. You didn’t need to turn around to know who it was.

“Hey,” Spencer’s voice was soft, tentative.

You inhaled sharply, your heart racing. "Hey," you replied, keeping your eyes fixed on the papers in front of you, pretending to be busy.

There was a long pause. You could feel the tension in the air, thick and heavy. Part of you wanted him to leave, to let the silence stretch between you until things faded back into some semblance of normalcy. But another part of you—one you hated to admit—wanted him to stay.

“I, uh… I just wanted to check on you,” he said quietly, stepping closer. "I’ve noticed you’ve been… distant lately."

You let out a bitter laugh, finally turning to face him. “Distant? Yeah, well… I guess I thought that might be for the best.”

Spencer’s brow furrowed, his expression filled with concern. "I don’t want things to be like this," he admitted. "I never wanted to hurt you."

Spencer looked at you, his eyes filled with that same empathy, and it only made things harder. "I understand if you need space," he said softly. "But I don’t want you to feel like you have to avoid me."

But you weren’t ready for this conversation. You weren’t ready to confront the tangled mess of emotions that had been suffocating you for days. You couldn’t handle Spencer’s kindness, not now. Not when the wound was still so fresh.

“I’m fine,” you said quickly, your voice a little too sharp, a little too defensive. You turned back to the papers on your desk, pretending to be engrossed in work. "There’s nothing to talk about."

Spencer hesitated, clearly not buying your attempt to brush things off. "I know this has been difficult—"

“Spencer, I said I’m fine.” The words came out harsher than you intended, and you winced at the coldness in your tone. You couldn’t look at him, not now, not when the shame was still burning in your chest.

There was a long, tense silence. You could feel his eyes on you, searching for something, but you kept your gaze glued to the papers in front of you, refusing to meet his. You wanted this conversation to be over, for him to stop trying to dissect your feelings like they were just another puzzle to solve.

"I don’t want to push," Spencer said quietly, taking a small step back. "But I can tell you’re struggling. If there’s anything I’ve done—"

“Spencer, please,” you cut him off, your voice almost pleading now. "Let’s just leave it."

You didn’t want to elaborate, didn’t want to give any hint of what was really going on. You were desperate to keep everything vague and impersonal, to avoid the emotional discussion that was weighing on you. You needed him to walk away, to let the moment pass without probing further.

Spencer stood there, clearly not fully convinced but respecting your wish to drop the subject. "Okay," he said softly, his eyes filled with concern. "If that’s what you need."

You nodded, still avoiding his gaze. "Yes, that’s what I need."

There was a heavy silence between you, the weight of your unspoken truth hanging in the air. You could feel his disappointment, the unspoken tension that lingered, but you couldn’t bring yourself to face it. Admitting how you really felt would only make things worse. It would only prolong the pain, and you couldn’t afford that.

Spencer lingered for a moment longer, as if he was about to say something else, but then he nodded quietly. "I’ll let you get back to work," he said, his voice barely above a whisper.

You didn’t respond. You couldn’t. You simply kept your eyes down, waiting for the sound of his footsteps retreating as he left the room. When the door finally closed behind him, you exhaled sharply, the tension in your body releasing all at once.

You felt sick. Sick with the weight of your own unspoken truth, sick with the realization that you had just pushed him away. The idea of him knowing—of him seeing how much it hurt—was unbearable.

And so, you sat there in the empty office, your heart heavy with the truth you couldn’t bring yourself to say, knowing that, in the end, you were only hurting yourself more.

--

The following days were still a struggle. You continued to immerse yourself in work, using it as a way to avoid confronting your feelings. Spencer was courteous but distant, respecting your need for space. Every time you saw him, the old familiarity was tainted by the unspoken tension.

One afternoon, as you were sorting through case files in the bullpen, you felt a presence behind you. You turned to find Spencer standing there, a hesitant look on his face.

“Hey,” he said softly. “Do you have a minute?”

You nodded, though your heart was pounding. “Sure, what’s up?”

Spencer took a deep breath, as if steeling himself for what he was about to say. “I just wanted to let you know that I’m here if you ever want to talk. I don’t want you to feel like you have to go through this alone.”

You felt a lump form in your throat. The sincerity in his voice was both comforting and heartbreaking. You had spent so much time trying to distance yourself from him, but here he was, offering support in the most genuine way.

“Thanks, Spencer,” you said, your voice barely above a whisper. “I really appreciate that.”

He smiled, though there was a hint of sadness in his eyes. “Anytime.”

With that, he turned and walked away, leaving you standing there with a mixture of relief and melancholy. You realized that while you couldn’t bring yourself to discuss your feelings openly, knowing that Spencer cared enough to offer support was a small comfort. It was a reminder that even though things had changed, there was still kindness and understanding between you.

As you went about your work, the ache in your heart was still there, but it was slightly eased by the knowledge that you didn’t have to go through it entirely alone. The journey of healing would take time, but Spencer’s gesture gave you a glimmer of hope that, perhaps, things might eventually find a way back to a semblance of normalcy.