#Glimmer did nothing wrong

[gyllenism]

when ur a commander mourning ur dead mother and lowk have a short lived arc where they parallel the “villian” of the story (caitlyn and jinx = glimmer and catra idc what you have to say)

[snortoborto]

They're Vriska kinnies okay?

[sunni-stuff]

Part 1 This is part 2 Part 3 Part 4 Part 5

With the train ride now over, the sergeants ran, scouring the market for two familiar faces. Their footsteps in sync, crunching delicate mounds of white snow. Soap broke through the crowd first, then Gaz and Gary were right with him.

“Where the hell are they?” Gaz pants out, his breaths misting in the cold air.

“You said the marketplace,” Soap huffs.

“Yeah, I said the marketplace, but it's not like I know exactly where they went!” Gaz snaps back.

While the two sergeants bicker, Roach quietly breaks away, scanning the area until he spots the familiar figures they’d been hunting for. Price and Ghost stand outside a cigar shop, deep in conversation. The satisfied grin on Price's face tells Roach everything—he got what he was after.

“They’re over there!” Roach exclaims, snapping his partners out of their lovers' quarrel.

Gaz and Soap go silent, their eyes following Roach’s line of sight until they, too, spot their Lieutenant and Captain.

In a heartbeat, the three of them are sprinting toward their unsuspecting targets. Soap grins like a madman, practically buzzing with mischief, while Gaz shakes his head, both amused and slightly wary of what might unfold. Roach, meanwhile, is simply thrilled to be along for the ride.

They skid to a stop right in front of the two men, chests heaving as they catch their breath in the biting winter air.

“The hell is wrong with you lot?” Price’s voice cuts through, laced with a mix of annoyance and bemusement as he shifts his attention from Ghost to the winded sergeants.

Ghost, arms crossed, eyes them with quiet scrutiny. His winter coat does little to conceal his bulky frame, a silent reminder of his imposing presence as he stands beside Price.

Price and Ghost waited for an explanation, knowing well everytime those three got together, they were definitely up to no good.

Like how they put semi-permanent green dye in Ghost's shampoo for Halloween.

“We… we saw. A kid with your face,” Gaz manages, still catching his breath, pointing straight at Ghost.

Ghost raises a brow, baffled. A kid with his face? What the hell did that mean? Did they think he looked like a baby?

Soap huffs in mock disappointment, shooting a playful glare at Gaz. “Oi, I wanted to say it!”

Predictably, the two dive into another back-and-forth. Gaz isn’t one to shout, but Soap has a talent for riling anyone up.

Price lets their little show go on for only a moment before his stern voice cuts in, slicing through their bickering. “One of you properly explain, or you'll be walking back to base.”

Roach steps up, eager to clarify. “There’s a kid, probably about two, and she looks exactly like the Lt. Scowl, glare, and all!”

Price and Ghost pause, their expressions twisting as they both try—and fail—to imagine a little girl with Simon’s permanent scowl.

Price shudders, shaking the thought from his head. “That is not a face a kid should have.”

“That’s exactly what I said,” Gaz chimes in, nodding emphatically.

Ghost throws him an offended look, his usually hardened eyes showing a glimmer of hurt. “What’s that supposed to mean?”

“Nothing!” they all exclaim in unison, even Price, who quickly averts his gaze as Ghost’s glare narrows on him.

Ghost huffs, then crosses his arms. “Did you take a picture?”

Soap snorts, leaning against the wall with a smirk. “Aye, right, 'cause that wouldnae be creepy at all.”

Ghost stares daggers Into Soap, rolling his eyes and pushing himself off the wall. “Okay, then where is she?”

The three stooges lead the charge once again, this time with their Captain and Lieutenant in tow. They weave through the crowd toward the train park, where Soap eagerly scans for the woman and kid he’d spotted earlier. But the line they were in is empty, the pair nowhere to be found.

“Shite. I think they’re gone,” Soap mutters, his Scottish accent thickening in his frustration, the words rolling out with a clipped bite. 

“So the imaginary woman and kid don’t actually exist,” Ghost deadpans, unimpressed.

“They exist!” Gaz insists, voice edging on exasperation.

“Sure,” Ghost replies, his tone flat and thoroughly unconvinced.

Roach snickers, then glances over at Price—only to see him staring slack-jawed through the window of a nearby café, his cigar dangling from his mouth, forgotten.

“Cap?” Roach says, touching the older man’s shoulder.

Price doesn’t look away, nodding toward the café. “Found them.”

Everyone turns toward the café, eyes landing on you and Adira. The little girl is happily weaving between your legs, her tiny hands gripping your coat as she entertains herself, all while you order hot chocolates to fend off the winter chill. A soft smile touches your lips as you watch her play, blissfully unaware of the audience gathering just outside.

The barista, with a warm smile, hands over two cups, one with a little extra marshmallows for Adira, her voice bright as she wishes you both a merry Christmas. You take the cups with a grateful nod, handing one to Adira. She immediately takes her drink, sipping eagerly, her small feet bouncing on her heels from the sugar rush.

“Yummy?” You ask, glancing down at her with a soft smile, a wave of motherly pride swelling in your chest as you watch her delight in the simple joy of her drink.

Adira nods eagerly, her eyes lighting up as she pulls away from her straw with a satisfied sigh. “Yummy.”

With a soft chuckle, you both leave the warmth of the shop, stepping out into the crisp air. Hand in hand, you walk back toward the park, the world around you feeling peaceful despite the cold. As you reach the crosswalk, you stop, waiting for the light to turn. Adira looks up at you, her little face filled with contentment as she swings your joined hands back and forth, her sugary energy still buzzing.

Across the way, the team stood frozen, unable to look away from the scene unfolding before them. Everyone but Ghost was struck by how much Adira looked like him—her features unmistakably mirroring his, save for the color of her hair and skin. The resemblance was uncanny, and for a brief moment, it felt like the world had stopped around them.

“She looks nothing like me,” Ghost stated plainly, his voice cutting through the stillness as though it were fact. His expression was unmoving, a wall of stubbornness in his eyes. He was ready to die on that hill.

Then, as fate would have it, a woman walking her dog passed by, and Adira’s cherub-like face hardened into a cold, calculating stare. It was subtle, but unmistakable. 

“Nevermind,” Ghost muttered, his earlier conviction faltering as he watched her shift before his eyes.

“So… you’ve been having fun these past years?” Roach asked, his gaze flicking between Adira and Ghost, curiosity getting the better of him.

“Not that I know of,” Ghost grunted, his eyes still locked on you and Adira, a mix of unease and something else flickering across his face. He couldn’t pull himself away.

“Let’s get closer,” Price commanded, already making his move. Soap and Roach exchanged a shrug, falling in line without hesitation.

“Excuse me?” Gaz sputtered, though his body had already begun moving before his brain could catch up, unable to defy the Captain’s order.

Ghost fell silent, teeth gritted. This wasn’t a situation he was used to, especially not one where he was forced to go in blind. He stood stiffly at the crosswalk, trying to hide his glances, his focus split between the team and you.

Soap ended up the closest, standing just next to Adira. The little girl paused, her big, doe-like eyes lifting from her drink to catch sight of him. The recognition was instant. Her lips pursed into a small line, and her gaze grew heavy with annoyance. 

“Ugee…” she whispered, scooting closer to you.

Soap froze, his mind stuttering for a moment. Did she just—? Did she call me ugly?

Gaz, standing behind him, couldn’t contain himself. A muffled laugh broke through as Soap turned to look at the others, wide-eyed and speechless, completely taken aback.

“Do ye lot think I'm ugly?” Soap asked, his voice thick with disbelief, clearly thrown off by the little girl's words.

“Not the time, Mctavish,” Price said, a tiny laugh tugging at the corner of his lips despite the situation.

The streetlight flickered green, signaling it was time to move. You adjusted yourself, ready to cross the street. Each member of the team started mentally preparing, unsure of how—or even if—they should approach you. Ghost, however, was the first to make a move, determined to intercept you. But Soap, ever the opportunist, beat him to it.

Ghost wasn’t exactly subtle, and having him try anything would probably send you running in the opposite direction.

“Excuse me, aren’t you the lady from the train?” Soap called out, his voice light, though his intentions were clear.

You paused at his interruption, recognition flickering in your eyes. You remembered the man who bumped into you earlier. “Yes? Is something the matter?”

“Do you happen to know where I could find Leslies?” Soap asked, a hint of uncertainty creeping into his voice, though he tried to mask it.

“The pub?” you asked, raising an eyebrow.

“Yes,” Soap confirmed, his face lighting up with a mix of relief and surprise at your easy response.

You look around for a moment, trying to remember and see the street names of your current location. “Uh…it should be about a couple blocks south from here. They have a big sign, you can't miss it.”

Thank God for Soap, because that one question was all he needed to keep you trapped in a conversation, his charm working its magic as you giggled and chatted away easily, the awkwardness of the situation melting away.

Meanwhile, Ghost’s attention shifted to Adira. He looked down at her, and she, almost instinctively, looked up at him. Their eyes locked in a silent staring contest, each of them studying the other. The intensity in their gaze was undeniable, both sets of eyes reflecting the same quiet, unwavering strength. It was like looking in a mirror—a mirror that mirrored back his own hardened stare and no-nonsense attitude.

Adira was, quite literally, his mini me. The resemblance was impossible to ignore.

“How old are you?” Ghost asked bluntly, his voice low as he kneeled down to Adira’s height, his gaze intense but trying to soften.

Adira paused for a moment, glancing up at you for help, but you were still caught up in conversation with Soap. She turned her focus back to Ghost, her small fingers fidgeting with the hem of her coat as she murmured shyly, “Two…”

She was two. Two. Ghost’s mind raced, trying to piece together the details, but nothing clicked. Nearly three years ago… what had he done three years ago? He kept everything categorized, stored in his mind like a well-organized file system, but this was something that didn’t fit.

Then, Soap’s voice broke through his thoughts. 

“You don’t seem like the type of lass to frequent Leslies.”

You giggled, a soft blush creeping up your cheeks at Soap’s question. He wasn’t wrong… at least, not entirely. “I’ve only been to Leslie’s once, and, well… it’s how I ended up with my little blessing.” You glanced down at Adira, the warmth of your smile radiating as you spoke.

Everything shattered in that moment. Ghost’s stomach twisted painfully, his heart skipping a beat as the realization slammed into him like a freight train. Leslie's. Almost three years ago, during that stupid holiday.

His mind began to piece it together, the hazy memories from that night slowly coming into focus. He remembered the bar, the laughter, the way you had caught his attention. You were easy on the eyes, easy to make laugh, and most importantly—unlike everyone else. You didn’t ask questions, didn’t pry, you just let him lead, let him slip into the night with no strings attached.

But now, as he looked at Adira, everything fell into place. The way she stared at him, those familiar eyes, the resemblance he couldn’t ignore. His breath hitched, and the weight of the truth crushed him—she was his daughter.

A knot formed in his throat as he tried to process the fact. Adira. His daughter. The little girl standing before him was his flesh and blood, the result of a moment he'd long since buried in the depths of his mind.

---

Taglist: @auradaniela98-blog-blog @cumsluut @unstqblecvrses @moraxnomora @serafina-nyx @sage-burrow @skylarmitchell @xx-wal1flower-xx @n-y-x04 @gluttonybiscuits @imahugenerdlol @wehrgabriel @blackhawkfanatic @tazuduck @soxocs @jingyuansspouse @cutiecusp @sleepyoriana @forgottensomewhere @puppylikethedog @spongelistener @caged-birdies-blog @bubblegirll26 @misscaller06 @fuckbananas03 @watu2ka @yukisdelusional @redroserabbit

[softaestluv]

pt. 2 to this blurb | pt. 3 | filthy fingering, a little bit of spiteful smut, overstimulation

Your feet stumble behind Kyle’s, scuffing your combat boots on the white tiled floor in your messy trek. He’s got a tight grip on your wrist, pulling you along with a speed you can’t quite match.

“Kyle, what the fuck are you—“ You start, exasperated, but you come to a startled halt, crashing into his back as he fights with the door handle in front of him.

You’re shoved into the room as soon as he gets the door open, turning to look at him with a scowl, but you don’t get to express your dismay for long when he pushes you on his bed. The springs squeak under you, masked by the surprised gasp you make.

“Kyle. What the fuck.” You say through your teeth, glaring up at him from your seated position.

He’s quiet, lips pressed into a thin line, teeth clenched behind his cheeks, jaw tense. His eyes are just as rigid, hammering you to the thin military standard blanket, offering little room to test his patience. It’s the exact look he wears on the field, dark and dangerous, hooded and intended.

When he speaks it’s the same honey cadence as always, but it’s steady, low. Makes a string of goosebumps spread down your back. It juxtaposes your usual banter, meant to annoy each other, friendly fire, snake baby claws and teased nips under each other’s skin. Except now nothing about his demeanor is friendly.

“Gon’ make you cum jus’to prove a point now, okay?”

You cackle, loud and obnoxious, gripping your stomach in dramatics, “That’s what this is about? Did I hurt poor Kyle’s ego?”

“Are ya backin’ down from a challenge? Too scared to be wrong?” He smirks, crossing his arms over his broad chest.

You scoff, rolling your eyes, dismissing his words with a wave of your hand, “You couldn’t even get me wet.”

“Let’s see, then.”

Your mouth falls open, staring at him in utter shock. “Kyle, you can’t be serious.”

He just looks at you expectantly.

You pause, gulping the excess saliva building in your cheeks, wiping your clammy hands on your knees because he’s dead serious.

“God, what a typical man. You can’t live with the fact that every girl you’ve been with probably faked her orgasm?” You taunt, only egging him on more, but you’re hoping he’ll shove you right back out his bedroom door in retaliation, “Do you even know where the clit is?”

“Only one way to find out.” He replies, arching his brow.

You bite your tongue, let the silence consume the room, suffocate the both of you back to reality, but it does nothing to shift his mood. A man determined, decided the moment you let your smart mouth run too far out of your control.

So you give in, making quick work of your boots because you don’t want him to gain any more ego-driven pride. Your pants follow, dropped to the floor tentatively, squeezing your thighs together in a weak attempt to cling to the last thread of your dignity.

Your eyes follow him to his knees. You think he might pry your thighs open, check if there’s a wet patch on your panties, because you know there is, but he leans forward just enough to hover close to your mouth and dips two fingers into the seams.

“Want you to count ‘em,” He breathes against your lips.

“Lucky if you can even get one.” You say, trying your best to keep your voice stable, but it wavers, embarrassingly so.

He huffs a laugh, “D’ya ever shut up?”

“Try and make me.”

The look in his irises glimmers mischievously, but he doesn’t say anything else, just holds your gaze as he slips your underwear over your legs. You exhale a shaky breath when scorching palms part your knees, eyes steady on yours as he rubs his hands to the inside of your thighs.

His stare makes the air feel thick, a heavy weight smothering your chest, and fills your lungs shallowly. Makes the few seconds seem like an eternity too long.

When he does finally drop his gaze, his eyes pool dark, irises dilating at the sight of your bare cunt. You tilt your own head to the ceiling, squeezing your eyes shut because you can’t muster the strength to watch him examine your pussy. So, you fall back on your palms unexpectedly when he hoists one of your legs over his shoulder.

You know you’re pent up, don’t necessarily get much action in your line of work, but the noise of your arousal squelching loudly in the room when he slides two fingers between your folds stings embarrassment down your chest and behind your eyelids.

“Thought I couldn’t get ya wet, love?” He drawls.

God, you didn’t know you were that wet. Hadn’t even been touched yet, not even a kiss, and your traitorous pussy is leaking for any attention.

You do know that it only makes him entirely too smug. Even more so when one finger slides in with no resistance despite how thick it is, practically suctioning him in for more. But he works you up to it, takes his time dragging against your eager walls until your fingers fist the blanket under you.

You have to roll your tongue over your teeth to stop yourself from moaning when a second finger joins the first. They’re bigger, thicker, longer, fucking better than yours, scratch a delicious ache against your gummy pussy that makes your head slump forward, each thrust finding a spot your slender fingers can’t quite reach.

The pleasure goops over you, tacky and thick, melting the molten lava in your core into your bare flesh. It takes every inch of your control to remember that you’re supposed to fight your impending orgasm, pretend that you’re not clinging to desperate straws to deprive Kyle of your own pleasure.

It almost hurts. Your body wants it so badly, haven’t had something warm, something real stretching your walls in so long that it wages a war between your willpower and your animalistic innate desires. And Kyle knows that, of course he does because he’s Kyle fucking Garrick.

“Fight it all you want,” He says, curling his fingers against the exact spot that makes a pinched whine escape the tight confines of your lips for the first time the whole night, “Only denyin’ yourself of the inevitable.”

“Fuck. You.” You grit, “Not even— mmh! close.”

He laughs, “Didn’t your folks teach you ‘t’s bad to lie?”

You open your mouth to respond, snarl at him not to talk about your family when he’s got his fingers buried in your cunt, but he presses against that sweet gooey spot again and all you can manage is a pathetic mewl.

And then his deft fingers turn brutal, unrelenting, bullying that spot until you’re snapping your head forward, eyes flying to his.

He tilts his head, smug grin on his stupid lips, “What’s t’matter? Cat got your tongue?”

You want to yell at him to shut up, go to fucking hell, anything, but it takes all your energy to focus on not finishing, have to bite the inside of your cheek until you taste metallic blood. Even still your arms are slowly dipping lower onto the bed, brows pinched, face squished in agony because you’re too stubborn to give in that easily.

Your nails are probably ripping the seams of his blanket, but you’re holding on to them for dear life as if they’re the last thread connecting you to your diminishing self-control. Like tearing his mattress to shreds will stop your hips from bucking into his palm.

It doesn’t of course.

He hums, approvingly, satisfied like he already won long ago. He did, you’ll just fight tooth and nail, fangs and claws, to prolong his pleasure for as long as you can manage.

“Tha’s more like it.” He purrs, “Can’t hold it much longer, can you?”

“Shuddup,” You slur, grounding your hips stiffly so they stop betraying you.

Suddenly, his face is next to yours, leg unceremoniously falling to his hip, “Gonna cum f’me? Huh?”

You shake your head weakly, but tears are welling in your lashes at the sheer force you’re trying to drench the unyielding fire thrashing under your skin cold and dry.

“Hate you.” You croak, staring at him with dewy-eyes and heavy lids.

“Wouldn’t ‘ave my fingers in your pretty cunt if tha’ was true, would I?” He lilts, and a part of you knows it’s true, but it only makes you want to hate him even more. “We both know I won, love, jus’ let go.”

You bare your teeth at him in a growl; you know he’s just trying to convince you to finish, to succumb and let him win, but it works. It’s not like you had much control anyways.

Your body seizes, falling back on to the mattress as you arch your back, jaw going slack. A broken noise leaves your chest as you tremor with every pulse of the searing pleasure. It seeps throughout your body, blinding and uncontained, makes your legs shake as you struggle to breathe.

“There’s a girl,” Kyle praises when you mutter a weak ‘one.’

His fingers slow just a bit, allow you time to come down from your high. Your hips convulse involuntarily, swollen walls fluttering frantically around the girth. Your eyes are hazy, look at him a little dazed, like you hadn’t expected to finish that intensely.

You think it’s done, prepare to hear his boastful bragging you don’t really care about because you’re entirely too blissed out to care about anything, really. But the bastard seems to have other plans.

Three fingers swipe against your clit, and your muscles tense, stomach tighten at the sensation.

Your hand flies to his wrist, “Kyle, no, no I can’t.”

“I won,” He says plainly, pinning your hand down, “I’m taking my prize.”

And he doesn’t stop until there’s an obscene amount of your cum gathered in his palm, a sopping filthy mess. Sobbing into the sheets with pure overstimulation, malleable and pliant, crying his name orgasm after orgasm.

[amiableness]

Kiss and Makeup

Pairing: James Potter x Fem!Reader

Summary: James ruins reader’s date and attempts to make it better.

Word Count: 2829

Warnings: Jealous!James; kissing; and reader wearing heels, jewelry and makeup.

A/N 💌: A quick James oneshot that’s been on my mind, but I’m heavily consider making a second part to this.

As usual, thank you to @moonpascal for reading!

.・。.・゜✭・.・✫・゜・。.

“Go on, kiss and make up!” Sirius’ voice trails after you as you hurry down the corridor, James close on your heels. On any other day, you might have tossed a playful jab back at Sirius, well-accustomed to his relentless teasing about you and James. But today, the weight of everything made your throat tighten, leaving you silent, your focus fixed on reaching the safety of your dorm.

The sharp click of your heels echoed off the stone walls, and James’ muttering about your surprising speed in heels barely registers. Your anger simmers, blocking out his words as you storm ahead and shove the door open. James is right behind you, catching it just before it could slam shut in his face, determined not to let you shut him out.

“Get out, Jamie.” Though your voice was laced with anger, the way you used his nickname gave him a glimmer of hope. It wasn’t hopeless—there was still a chance to make everything better.

“I’m not leaving until we figure this out.” James says, stepping forward and leaning against the post of Lily’s bed as he watches you roll your eyes and turn into the room. He doesn’t say anything as you begin furiously grabbing clothes and scattered heels off the floor—remnants of you getting ready for a date, now tainted by the tension hanging between you two.

“There’s nothing to figure out! You ruined my date, plain and simple.” You spin around, clutching a black heel in your hand, and for a fleeting moment, James braces himself, half-expecting you to launch it at him in a fit of frustration. But it’s you, his sweet best friend—the one who cares so deeply for others that you always put them before yourself. It’s a trait that drives James a little crazy sometimes, knowing you’d sacrifice your own happiness without a second thought.

The realization only sharpens the sting of your anger, an unfamiliar weight he’s not used to carrying. He can recall times you’ve been disappointed—maybe after one of his careless pranks or his thoughtless disregard for someone’s feelings—but never this. Never this level of anger.

“I said I was sorry.” He tries, crossing his arms over his chest as he watches you scoff and turn away, angrily kicking off your heels. You bend down to pick them up, and despite himself, his eyes drift to the curve of your body. He knows he shouldn’t be looking, but he can’t help it—he’s never been able to take his eyes off you. And now, a bitter feeling twists in his gut, knowing you’re dressed all pretty for someone else.

“You’re not, though. Why the fuck did you feel the need to scare him off?” You toss the heels into your trunk and turn to face him, arms crossed. He opens his mouth to respond, but the words die before they form—because he doesn’t know how to tell you the truth. He knows exactly why, but admitting it out loud would change everything between you. And he’s not sure he’s ready for that.

The silence between you stretches, heavy and unspoken, as you wait for an answer he isn’t ready to give. You both know exactly what you’re waiting for—a proper explanation.

One you’ve been holding out hope for, quietly, for years.

“It’s not fair, you know.” You let out a deep sigh, turning to face your desk, your gaze falling on the mirror. James watches as you begin to remove your jewelry, your back turned to him, but his reflection still catches glimpses of you.The anger in your voice has softened, but he knows that if he says the wrong thing, it could all flare up again, as sharp and sudden as before.

“What isn’t?” He hesitates, watching you carefully as he takes a cautious step forward. His eyes follow the way your lips part in the mirror, the soft exhale of frustration escaping you as you fumble with your necklace.

He wants to step forward, to gently brush your hair aside and unfasten the clasp, to press a soft kiss against the back of your neck once the necklace slips away. But he can’t—so he remains still, trapped in silence, as he watches you instead.

“Why is it that you go out with girl after girl, but when I show interest in a guy, you scare him off?” You already knew the answer—weren’t blind to it. It had been clear to everyone that you and James had been circling each other for years, dancing around unspoken words.

But he refused to admit that he cared for you as more than friends. It felt pointless to tell him how you felt when it was clear James was intent on keeping you in the friend zone.

From the moment crushes became a part of your life, James had been yours. But you were never certain about his feelings—until that one night when he got blackout drunk and confessed he was in love with you. He has no memory of that drunken night, but you overheard him later, telling the boys he’d never drink that much again because he wanted to actually remember the parties he went to. You’d felt a pang of disappointment, but you were gathering the courage to confront him about it. Then, the next day, he hooked up with a girl from Ravenclaw, and just like that, all your resolve crumbled, leaving you feeling more invisible than ever.

He didn’t remember what he’d said, and if he was out with other girls, it was clear he didn’t care enough to mention it while sober.

That was a year ago, and you still hadn’t brought it up. 

So, to cope with the mess of it all, you went on a date—a rare one, the first in nearly a year. And now, here was James, wrecking it all over again.

“I—” He stops himself, clearing his throat, the tension in his voice betraying the lie before he even finishes. “I don’t think that’s true. You go out on dates.”

He knew he spent a lot of time flirting with girls—whether it was during class, when he should have been paying attention, or at parties where conversation flowed too easily. But when someone showed interest in you? That was a different story altogether. He’d like to blame it on the fact that you were his best friend, but deep down, he knew better.He was protective of you because he couldn’t stand the thought of anyone looking at you the way he did. Was it selfish? Definitely. But the thought of losing you terrified him more than anything.

“You know that’s a lie. You saw how excited I was! Why did you take that from me?” You were fully aware of how weak and accusatory your voice sounded, but you didn’t care. You were hurt, and it was clear in the way you shook your head, disappointment heavy in every movement. James watched your reflection, noticing the way you swallowed hard as if trying to shove down the swell of emotions threatening to break free. And with that, a wave of guilt slammed into his stomach, settling there like a stone.

“I just didn’t want him to hurt you!” 

“So you decided to take that off his hands and hurt me instead?” You scoffed, making James flinched as if you had slapped him. It probably would have hurt less if you had.

“Merlin, no! Sweetheart, that wasn’t what I was trying to do—”

“Then what were you trying to do, James? Because I’m getting tired of this little game, we have going on.” 

He lets out a shaky breath, his eyes following your hand as you gently remove one of your earrings. For a moment, your gazes meet through the mirror, and the weight of it all presses down on him. He wishes, desperately, that you would justturn around and face him.

He was racking his brain, searching for the right words, trying to find a way to fix this. He considered stepping back, giving you space like he did when you got agitated with him. But this felt different. It wasn’t just about a moment of frustration—it was something deeper, something that could damage your friendship permanently if he didn’t speak up. He knew he had to fix this.

“You guys make up yet?” Sirius hollered, and James could practically picture him standing at the  bottom of the stairs with his hands cupped around his mouth as he shouted at the both of you.

Sirius’ words from earlier echoed in his head as if they were taunting him, swirling around like a cruel mantra. 

Go on, kiss and make up.

It felt like an accusation, a reminder of how much he’d messed up. He could feel the weight of it pressing down on him, twisting in his gut. Every nerve in his body screamed that his next move would either make everything worse—digging the hole even deeper—or finally give him a chance to tell you why he’d ruined your date. But the fear of losing you pushed him forward.

“Tell me to stop, sweetheart.”

“Stop what—?” You ask, tossing your last piece of jewelry into the ceramic dish with a sharp clang before turning to face James. Your breath catching in your throat as he moves closer, and without thinking, you instinctively take a step back, bumping into your desk. The sudden movement rattles the items on top, sending a soft, anxious clatter through the room.

A sharp gasp escapes your lips as James reaches out, his hand gently cupping your cheek, his thumb grazing the edge of your jaw. You stare up at him, wide-eyed, and James can’t help but think how pretty you look—more than he’s ever allowed himself to admit. 

He’s never been able to admire you like this before, not without the constant fear of you catching him.

His hands are shaky, and his proximity to you is making him nervous in a way that he couldn’t quite shake. But he didn’t know how else to explain himself. So, tentatively, he let his fingers graze your skin, admiring how you melted into him. He watches, heart pounding, as your lashes flutter and your lips part in surprise at the softness of his touch. The anger in your eyes had faded, leaving behind disbelief and something that looked dangerously close to hope.

He startles both himself and you when the words slip out, low and raw: “You make me so fucking nervous.” You blink up at him, silent, processing the confession. His gaze drifts over the mascara you’d carefully applied, the gloss glistening on your lips—details he hadn’t noticed before, but now felt like a punch to his gut. The jealousy flares, burning hot and fast in the pit of his stomach. It was devastating to realize you were all dressed up, and it wasn’t for him. Those heels, thoseglossed lips—they were for a guy who hardly knew you. 

Not like James knew you.

You part your lips, and James unknowingly silences you with a gentle brush of his thumb just beneath your lower lip. A soft, satisfied smile tugs at his mouth as he hears the gasp escape you. His hand rests on your left hip, pulling you closer, grounding you against him. The tension in the room thickens, and just like that, your anger has melted.

“If you want me to stop, just say the word, sweetheart.” He murmurs, his voice low and thick with intention as he edged closer. His fingers caressing your jaw, tilting your face upwards, bringing you within a breath of him. The air between you crackles, heavy and charged, and you feel the pull—the tempting, intoxicating proximity. He was so close now, you could feel the warmth of his breath, and all it would take was the slightest movement for his lips to claim yours.

You thought about saying it—the words were right there, just on the tip of your tongue. But then his lips brushed against yours just barely, and everything else faded away. You couldn’t bring yourself to say no—not when this was something you’d wanted for years. Even with the anger simmering inside you, the frustration over James ruining your date, you couldn’t pull away.

Not now. Not when he was so close.

If anything, a strange sense of relief was starting to wash over you—relief that he had ruined it. Because if he hadn’t, it might have been another guy standing where he was now, and the thought of that made something tighten painfully in your chest.

“Last chance.” He mumbled, pulling back just enough to meet your eyes, searching for any sign that you might stop him. The only sound between you was the uneven rhythm of your breaths, erratic and heavy, pulsing with the desire that surged between you both. When you didn’t say a thing, no rejection, no hesitation—only the warmth of your breath mingling with his—he offered a barely-there smile before leaning in, his lips finally capturing yours with a slow, gentle kiss.

He started slow, cautious, as if afraid he might push you away. But the wrecked hum that escaped your throat—the sound of pure desire—told him everything he needed to know. You wanted this as much as he did.

It was overwhelming how quickly the kiss shifted—what started as sweet and searching, quickly turned frantic and hungry. The slow, deliberate pace gave way to a fiery urgency. The gentle brush of lips became a desperate meeting of mouths as the two of you gave into years of pining.

Your hands, which had been gripping the edge of the desk hard, moved slowly toward him. You let your fingers trail up his stomach, feeling the dips and ridges before reaching his chest. Your other hand found its way into his curls, youtugged softly, the motion pulling a low, pleasure-filled groan from deep within him. That sound, the sound of him unraveling, seemed to shatter something inside James. In an instant, he stepped closer—if that was even possible—until your bodies were pressed together, the heat between you two undeniable, consuming.

He pulled away just an inch, and the desperate whine that escaped your lips was enough to pull him back in, his arms circling your waist before effortlessly lifting you onto the desk. You gasped his name, the sound caught in your throat, as his lips claimed yours again, urgent and hungry. One hand slid around your thigh, pulling you closer, the heat of his body pressing against yours as he stood between your parted legs. His grip on your hip was firm, grounding, while his other hand found its place at the side of your throat, fingers warm and possessive.

You had never been kissed like this before. It was overwhelming—an all-consuming heat that ignited deep in your belly as James kissed you with a hunger, as if he’d been waiting for this moment his entire life.

And it was ruining you, because if this was how it felt to kiss James Potter, you never wanted to be kissed by anyone else ever again.

He rocked his hips against yours, the pressure making you gasp, and that breathless sound was all he needed. He deepened the kiss, his tongue sliding into your mouth, tasting you as if he couldn’t get enough. You were so completely immersed in him—the feel of his lips, the taste of him—that the low, teasing whistle from your doorway barely registered in your mind.

“Bloody hell, I didn’t expect you to actually go and kiss her.” Sirius’ voice rang out, loud and unfiltered. The words struck a panic through you, your body warming with embarrassment as you instinctively tucked your head into James’ chest, hoping to hide from the intrusion. You would recognize Sirius’ voice anywhere, and you knew you would be teased about this for ages.

James, with you still propped on the desk, remained a shield, his body pressed protectively against yours. He glanced over at Sirius and Remus, who stood by the doorway. Sirius, leaning against the doorframe, raised an eyebrow, a smirk playing at the corner of his lips, while Remus stood next to him, his usually calm demeanor showing signs of awkwardness.

“Fuck off and shut the door, mate.” James groans, his arms pulling you tighter as he fights the urge to hurl a book at Sirius and Remus. Instead, he sends them a warning glare and brings a hand up to the back of your head, the heat of the moment still burning between you, and silently dares them to say anything more.

The boys hesitate, but not before Sirius calls out with a teasing smirk, “Didn’t know you had it in you, Potter. You finally got your girl.” And just like that, the door slams shut, leaving the air thick with tension and you cringing in embarrassment.

Maybe telling him you loved him wasn’t that pointless after all.

please consider reblogging or leaving a comment! it keeps me motivated to write and spread my work! 🤍

[a-hermit-pining]

LADS Men as Omegas (🫣😳)

AN: I have no shame. Top reader rights. IK i suck at abo, i'm working on it people. Forgive me 😭 (I do not own these characters- don’t sue me pls)

Pairing: Lads boys x gn reader

Genre: Omegaverse

Rafayel:

Soft, cuddly, clingy, and the perfect blend of bratty, Rafayel isn’t afraid to play into his omega stereotype. He receives endless courtship proposals, but this little mermaid is already sold on his fated mate.

And when you rescue him, his heart only confirms what his soul already knew.

You are the alpha of his dreams. The dream who stepped into reality to save him. The realization makes him swoon.

He falls in love in the days of his naivety, offering you a scale from his tail in an act of quiet, instinctive devotion.

And when you take it, when you press it against your chest like a sacred vow, he knows.

He was always meant to be yours, no matter what trials your future holds.

Xavier:

The treasured omega crown prince of Philos, Xavier has spent years enduring grueling, mind-numbing courting balls, all for the sake of political alliances.

By the time he chooses you, his trusted knight, it isn’t because of love. It’s because he’s tired.

Tired of being a trophy for an alpha he doesn’t want, tired of playing the part of the perfect prince. He just wants to be done with it.

So he takes the only logical escape in front of him. A marriage of convenience.

He never expected to fall in love.

But somehow, through quiet nights and gentle hands, you change everything. Your kindness reminds him that he is more than his title, that his purpose extends beyond the throne.

Just hold him close and let him nap in your arms.

Because in a world of politics and crowns, you are the only place he can rest. For you, he will travel worlds beyond time.

Zayne:

You are both idiots in love.

You grew up together. Playing as children, bickering as teens, having each other’s backs as adults.

He never saw you as a mate. You were just his friend.

His dorm mate, who fended off riled-up alphas, who gifted him the softest blankets and cardigans when his scars ached. Who brewed coffee before med school boards and kept a supply of his suppressants on you at all times. You were kind, reliable, familiar.

That’s it, right?

Wrong.

He realizes it a little too late.

Especially when he wakes up in your bed, your scents mixed together, tangled in warmth that neither of you question.

You were never just his friend.

You were his safe place.

And maybe, just maybe, he was yours too, he thinks as he lays back down, resting his head on your chest.

Sylus:

From the moment you bowed before the Dragon Lord, your heart was his.

He, who owned the treasures of the world, was given you. A peasant beta, tribute by an indebted village.

You had nothing to return to.

Your home, brimming with siblings, had no space for another mouth to feed. At least this way, your family would be given a year’s worth of food.

Sylus did not favor mundane things.

In his den of glimmering gold, you were nothing more than an unworthy servant, bound by duty.

And yet, he could not ignore you.

Not when you, a mere human, kept doing the most human of things: cooking meals (which he did not require), washing laundry (who did that for dragons?), dusting his endless hoard (a futile task).

You were never worthy of being his mate.

And yet, somehow, there was no one closer.

You weren’t even an alpha.

But Sylus didn’t need one.

Beyond ranks and positions, there was simply presence.

And somehow, without ever meaning to, you became his greatest treasure.

In a world that did not want you, he treasured you.

Caleb:

Ever since childhood, your fates have been opposites. His in the skies, yours deep in the core of the earth.

There couldn’t be a pairing more different.

And yet— You were the one who held him when his scent shifted, the one who comforted him through the awkward, agonizing growth spurts of adolescence.

You were the one who fought for him to enter the aerospace academy as an omega.

And then, one day, he was taken from you.

And all that remained was grief. Never ending grief and hollowness.

The one who flew in the skies had been your anchor, and without him, you lost your place in the world.

So when he returns, changed, worn, distant, you find yourself asking the one question you aren’t sure you want answered:

"What did they do to you?"

And more importantly,

"Are you still mine?"

[gh0stsp1d3r]

Babyproofed claws

req: I was thinking with Logan/Wolverine where he ends up having a little girl with the reader and for a while like a few months/a year she doesn’t show any signs of mutation until one day they see little baby claws come out of her hand🥹 like they don’t hurt her like Logan’s does since she was born with it. And reader loves her even more and reassure Logan that she’ll be okay and that nothing will ever change. So mostly fluff but a little smut at the end pile be amazing! Like not necessarily a full smut just like sexual tension about “baby number two” hoping they have reader’s mutation

Req by @supernaturalstilinski

Warnings: fem!reader, it’s said logan wasn’t born with his claws (not canon, swapped it out to better fit request) , I did tweak the end a lil, dad!logan not proofread, fluff mostly

MASTERLIST | KOFI

Throughout your pregnancy, Logan’s mind was consumed with worry for the entire nine months as he wondered if his mutation would affect her. The thought of her experiencing the same pain as he did terrified him, and he was willing to endure it a million times over again to spare her.

Everything went smoothly for a year, her first birthday a few weeks ago. He thought that she was safe, he thought that by some miracle, both of your x-genes hadn’t passed onto her. He should have known he was wrong.

It started off as a normal night, him waking up earlier than anyone else, padding over towards the kitchen in an oversized jacket and sweatpants. He turned on the tv, quietly letting out a grunt as he sat down on couch and sinking into the cushions.

He got a few minutes to himself before he heard little whines coming from the room, making him sigh, knowing his time was up. He stood up, to already see you standing up, groggily mumbling to her as you picked her up. You glanced up at Logan, murmuring a sleepy “goodmorning” to him.

He sits down next to you, gently wrapping an arm around you and kissing the crown of your head. You put your head on his shoulder, both of you staring at your cooing baby in your arms.

As she lifted her hands in front of her face, you noticed a small glimmer of metal in the dim light. Your eyebrows furrowed in confusion, and Logan's eyes widened in surprise. He practically flew up off the bed, switching on the light to make sure he wasn’t going insane.

“What the fuck?” You murmured, quickly pulling her hands away from her face, making her face contort up and she began to cry.

Logan was speechless, watching you examine the small metal claws, glancing up at him again. His eyes lingered on her.

“No, this… what? How? Her x-rays were totally fucking normal.” He finally spoke, watching her curious eyes examine the metal claws, tilting her head to the side. You still held her arm away from her face, just as confused as he was.

He then watched her retract her claws back into her hands, his eyebrow lifting when she let out a giggle instead of a cry.

You sighed in relief when you saw it didn’t hurt her as much as it had Logan. “Lo,” you turned your attention back to the man. He finally turned to you, his expression unreadable.

“Calm down.” You murmured, noticing how his eyes were about to pop out of the socket and his veins were about to bulge out of his skin.

“Calm down? Seriously? You’re gonna tell me to calm down? Our baby-“

"She's fine, okay? Look," you interrupted him and gestured towards her, causing him to look back at her once more. She was peacefully sleeping in your arms, and you carefully placed her back down in her crib. Logan stood with his arms crossed over his chest, shaking his head in disbelief.

“This still doesn’t make any fucking sense.” He spoke, sitting on the bed next to you again.

“She developed it late.” You replied, cocking your head to the side, as both of you gazed at the crib. “But for some reason, It didn’t look like it hurt for her.”

“But how? I mean,” he choked out a laugh, “her skeleton is probably covered in fucking metal, and there’s fucking claws retracting in and out of her skin, and god only knows if she has regeneration. That shit is gonna hurt.” He raised his voice at the end, you turning to him with a glare when you saw her stir. “Sorry, but it just doesn’t make fucking sense.”

“I know that, logan.” You snapped, glancing at him. “None of this makes fucking sense. But lo, she’s our baby, we just need to help her. Love her.”

He held his face in his hands, shaking his head to himself. You sighed, wrapping your arms around his large frame, kissing the blade of his tense shoulder.

“Everything will be fine, she will be fine. It’ll all work out, Lo. It always does.” You murmured quietly to him.

He shook his head, mumbling “Fuck,” with a bitter laugh. “I can’t even be a good dad.”

“But you are a good dad. Logan, that girl loves you like crazy. Nothings gonna change that.”

He stared back into the crib, thinking for a moment. “How are we supposed to explain to her that she’s different from everyone else? That she’s not fucking normal and it’s all my fault.”

“It’s not your fault. Don’t blame yourself for this. And we’ll figure it out when that time comes. She’s a year old. We have time.”

He huffed, knowing you were right. You always were. He swore that being right was your mutation at this point.

She was peacefully asleep, mouth agape and chest falling and rising. A soft smile made its way onto your face, knowing that despite her mutation, you both would love her more than anything, you always will.

A few hours later, he was sitting with her on his lap, her giggling wildly with the small metal claws sticking out her hands, and Logan sticking foam on the top of them, baby proofing them for her, grumbling under his breath every time she kept jumping on his lap.

“There.” He murmured when he finished, watching her eyes go to the foam on her hands, making her eyebrows quirk in the way his usually did. He couldn’t suppress the small smile that tugged at the corner of his lips.

His smile disappeared when her claws retracted, the foam falling down. He groaned in annoyance, after taking all that time just for them to fall right off, shaking his head.

“Damnit.”

Once she was put back in her crib, both of you laying in bed, you murmur out something that makes him quirk an eyebrow.

“Maybe our second one will have my mutation.” You thought out loud, him looking at you.

“Second one, huh?”

You smirked, and he just smiled back, shaking his head at you.

“That would be nice.” He replied.

[monstersholygrail]

The Mist Switch

Male Fairy x Elf fem!reader— aphrodisiac mist, dub con, nipple play, bondage (vines), clit play, tentacle penetration (vines again), voyeurism

As Elves, neither you nor your elf friend you were secretly crushing on knew just how long your prank war had been going on for. You had started it, of course, after chickening out of your attempt to kiss him and instead pushed his face into a pie.

Ever since then you two had been pranking each other every now and then whenever the mood strikes. The last prank was done by you when you put meat in his trousers and got a beast to chase him around for a bit.

Now was his time to prank you back. He had it all planned. He hired a little fairy to spray you with a magical mist that for 24 hours would turn you into the size of a fairy. Oh he’d torture you until you cracked and finally confessed your love for him.

Could he just admit he loved you too? Yes. Would he? Not when this option was so much more fun.

The little fairy flew and flew until he found you frolicking in a nearby meadow. You looked so beautiful, your soft curves glimmering in the sunlight. As he flew closer he couldn’t stop himself from imagining the way he’d suck on your hard nipples, bringing you to release from that one touch alone. Before he’d move down and stuff his face against your entrance just so he can taste how sweet you are straight from the source.

His mind was hazy with lust as he reaches you, his eyes unfocused on anything beside your gorgeous plump body. Blindly reaching into his bag of magic he sprays some mist in your face at the same time you spot him.

“What just happened?!” You ask in alarm, looking at the unknown fairy who’s staring at you like he wants to devour you.

A warm buzz begins to flood through your body. Making you tingly and aroused. Your eyes widen as you rub your thighs together for some friction. Your pussy gushing with arousal.

“W-what did you do? Who are you?” You ask breathlessly, wanting nothing more than to take this strange fairy suffocate him with your pussy.

The fairy looks at you in shock over your reaction, having no idea what went wrong. You’re not shrinking at all! He looks down at his hand and only now notices he sprayed you with the aphrodisiac mist instead of the shrinking mist! His cheeks burn red from embarrassment.

“I-I was hired to prank you with a shrinking mist but it seems as though they got mixed up,” he explains bashfully, showing you the bottle.

You internally curse your friend for hiring such a dumb fairy but also god do you wish he was here to take care of you. Your eyes fall back on the fairy… the incredibly sexy fairy. Fuck, you just needed something to ease the fire burning hot inside you and soaking your panties.

“Well you caused this so you need to take care of it. Now!” You say with a huff.

You lay in the bed of flowers, throwing your robes off recklessly. Not caring about anything other than this fairy getting you off. The fairy looks down at you in awe, all his recent fantasies coming true. He wonders if he subconsciously did this on purpose just so he could fuck you, but he wouldn’t think about that right now. Not when you need him so badly.

The fairy’s wings flutter and he’s flying down on top of you before you can change your mind. Not that you would with your need so unbearable. He lands on your soft belly and he could just melt into you, your skin is so warm and lovely. You hiss the moment he touches you, you’re so sensitive you could cum just from his little body grinding onto you.

Using his strength he picks up your breast and opens his mouth wide to suck on your hard nipples just as he imagined. You moan loudly, hips jerking in the air. The little fairy holds on tight and sucks greedily on the bud, basking in the way you writhe against the grass.

“P-please! I need more,” you beg, your mind lost to the lust that rages through you.

The fairy releases your nipple with a loud pop. He flies down to your glistening cunt, your folds all lovely and wet and waiting for him. His cock tents in his small pants, getting harder and harder the longer he touches you. Using his body he spreads your fat lips and you moan, trying to rock closer to him. He cries out, holding onto you so he doesn’t fall off.

With a bit of his own magic he commands vines close by to wrap around your arms and legs, tying you firmly you to the ground. You gasp and squirm against them, their rough caress only turning you on even more.

The fairy pulls down his pants and lines his aching cock up against your clit. He grinds into you and you both release long ragged moans. His own mind begins to cloud over and all he can focus on is giving you both the pleasure you need so bad.

Your body twitches and shakes with deep pressure of the fairy’s cock rubbing your clit so nicely. You can feel his hips snap against your core, short grunts leave you every time his balls slap against your over sensitive clit. The vines stopping you from moving with him or moving away from the unrelenting pleasure.

Yet you still have a deep rooted need to be filled to the brim and you throw your head back, the fire inside you only getting hotter without your release. Sensing what you need, the fairy uses more of his magic and a second later you jump as long thick vines slide deep inside your hot wet cunt.

The fairy and his vines work in tandem to bring you higher and higher. The fairy digs his fingers into your wide waist and ruts into you like a madman, wildly desperate to feel you come undone because of him. All while his vines plunge deep into your depths, brushing along your gummy walls and hitting you just right.

You cum with a fierce scream that echoes throughout the meadow. The fairy releases soon after you, his hot cum jolting outward and spraying all over your delicious belly.

The fairy sags against you, completely spent. The two of you lay there, your limbs still tied to the ground as you both shake with the force of your release. You can feel the heat inside you start to settle a little yet it’s still there, just waiting to ignite.

The sudden sound of a branch snapping in the distance has your head jerking up in surprise. You come face-to-face with your elf friend, a smug smirk on his lips. He crosses his arms and leans against a nearby tree. Looking up and down your plump form you can see his own eyes cloud over with lust.

“Well, well, well. What do we have here?” He asks, pushing off the tree and heading toward you both.

[eraserbread]

megumi's babysitter x dad!jo

"and they lived happily ever after... the end."

next to you, tucked politely under his covers, megumi scowls at nothing, soft cheeks all bunched up and unimpressed. he doesn't like bedtime stories, but his dad insisted he open his imagination at least once a day. come to think of it... his dad has quite a few odd requests he insists upon.

"even you don't believe that, do you, nana?" for his age, megumi is extremely well and thoroughly spoken. he calls you by a nickname, because he prefers it over yours, and his dad introduced you as a nanny, though you were more his babysitter. you just let the kid say what he wants, correcting him isn't what you should spend your energy on.

"in some circumstances, yes," you mutter, kicked up in his big, downy bed. he's so babyish when he's sleepy, trying everything to keep his eyes open so he can hear your response. you laugh softly. "alright, megumi. I'll stop bothering you."

"is my dad home?" he asks as you slip out of his bed, eyes finally fully shut. glancing at the clock on his bedside, you nod.

"he should be. i'm sure he'll come kiss you goodnight."

"don't want him to kiss me goodnight." he grumbles, then succumbs to the throbbing pressure of sleep. it happens so quickly with children, you're almost jealous of how peaceful he looks when he's asleep.

you laugh at his early set pessimism, turning around to leave the room and him to his sleep.

you're humming a tune buried deep in your mind as you gently close megumi's door. the lights in the hallway are off, just like you left them, but towards the kitchen, a warm spill of light coats the expensive wood flooring.

you smile, knowing there's only one person flicking on that lamp. as you approach, familiar laughter booms from around the kitchen, your silent footsteps are strict and strong as they make their way to your... boss.

yeah, boss is easy enough.

"ah, suguru, you know that's not true. i only told her what she wanted to hear." gojo leans over his counter, freakishly long forearms resting on the cool marble. he's yapping about on the phone, messy, light bangs covering his beautiful face.

"look who it is!" he notices you immediately, holding the phone from his ear so he can shoot you a wave. "is megumi asleep?"

"won't be for much longer if you keep yelling like that."

he laughs again, sending a silvery hot wave of shivers through your body. there's something here with you two. something both of you partake in and never mention outside of the headiness. a piece of you knows it's wrong, taboo, almost. but gojo is so well-behaved around his son that it doesn't really matter. megumi could be in the attic, and he in the basement, and gojo would still never utter a curse.

let alone show you any ounce of devotion or sensuality.

you're not quite sure why that concept is barreling toward a change tonight.

maybe it's the way he looks in those pressed, black dress pants or how his gold rings shimmer on his long, long fingers. perhaps it's that special, sharp-toothed smile that does you in, but you're in,

and you're drowning.

"well, that's not a very funny joke."

"i don't joke." you don't mean to sound aloof or off-putting, and gojo understands that. he thinks you and his megumi are very much alike in terms of personality. it seems he reels in the quiet, mysterious kind with his stupid dad jokes and caring archetype.

"'course you don't." gojo mutters, then turns back to his phone conversation. "megumi's babysitter’s in the room, I'll call you back... alrighty friend... see 'ya..."

"he had the rest of his noodles from yesterday for dinner... made sure he did all of his homework and cleaned out his backpack for him, too."

"and you made his school lunch?"

"yes, sir."

"and a nighttime bath? they're his favorite."

you nod. "hair washed, too."

"good, good." he stands up straight, blue dress shirt clinging to his familiar, dewy skin. you can't help but trail your view from his glimmering lips, down to the gold on his neck that runs into the collar of his shirt... so mystifying...

he's getting less strict around you, now. you can tell when he walks over to you, smirking the corners of his lips up. instantly, you're standing up straight, lips parted as he closes in.

he's not usually so careless, but you look so beautiful right now. you treat his baby like he's your own and are thoughtful and motherly to the core. it's based in everything you do, even to the way your hand reaches up to cradle his cheek when he kisses you.

this is your reward for a night well done. a kiss to the lips, his long arms crossed around your waist, and your name in the air. one kiss doesn't suffice, he has to pull you in closer, arching your back with the strength of his grip as he kisses you again.

then, again.

and again, this time. tilting his head so he can deepen it. his tongue is peeking from his lips, sliding against the swell of yours before they're tasting your sweet warmth.

he only pulls away because he's breathless. so are you -- flushed to the core, as well.

"wh-what was that for?" you're looking away, pressing the back of your wrist to your lips as you blush uncontrollably. he's just smiling at you, still holding you tight.

"a bonus for a job well done." then, he's pulling away, leaving you cold and touchless.

he's never done more than that, and that's the most he's done. you understand it's out of respect for you and professionalism, but when you're being pulled into rooms and kissed while on the job, it's inevitable that those lines start to fade together until they dissipate completely.

but you don't want any lines with your boss. you want him on top of you. you want to tangle your hands in his hair and stare into his freakish blues until his gaze feels like home.

"again - great job, today. gonna go kiss my megumi goodnight. feel free to take your leave whenever you're comfortable!"

"uh-" you start, but he's waving you off, back facing your reddened face. "okay..."

[hrrtshape]

So I tried a mix of the anti method and affirmations, and I feel like I'm doing a good job shifting, but then when I open my eyes I'm still here?

I was trying to shift while showering (because you can shift anywhere at anytime ofc) and I used that method, and I always feel so close to being in my DR-- and then nothing. A slightly jarred feeling when I open my eyes, but I'm still in this reality.

I know that you don't need a final push, and some people feel like they snap into place etc. etc. I just don't know how to fully get there?

Hope that makes sense, I love your new tiktok page!

you're just expecting a jumpcut when what you're building is a dissolve.

people talk about snapping into their dr the way youtubers say and just like that i'm cured. skip the edit.

shifting is (sadly) binary. you are. or you aren't. and the moment you go "where is it?" you've voted no.

you're using the anti method (our cursed child. our gaslight gatekeep girlboss tool.) which means the foundational assumption is i am already in my dr, perchaaaanceeee i've just forgotten. cool. now act like it!!!!!!!!!!! you are brute-forcing assumption into structure.

what that means practically is:

no i want to be in my dr. no i'm so close. none of that soy milk hope-core shit. you're not on the verge of heaven, you're in heaven with mild amnesia and a blunt in your hand, therefore you say things like:

this is just the transition period. my dr is stabilising. i've already shifted, i'm just adjusting to the perception shift. every second i feel confused is just proof of reorientation. this is memory reordering, not failure.

say them out loud. say them in your head. say them while shampooing. let your hair carry the truth. you're in your dr with coconut-scented certainty.

after you say your affirmations, you don't pause and open your eyes like the secret door to narnia's going to swing open and edmund's going to hand you turkish delight (@velvetbeeez mention, hi thought of you). no. you say your affirmations and you NOTICE. how your body feels, how the water hits your back, how the tiles look, how your brain flickers. you clock the incongruences, you make a note of them, not as wrongness, but as signs of shift. like:

that's funny. this wall's never looked that sharp before. why do i feel like i'm standing straighter today? this shampoo smells like a dream. like my dream. huh.

BECAUSEEEEE. you're not seeking proof. you're documenting it retroactively. you're not manifesting...........you're remembering (she said it?? she said it!!!!). you got blackout drunk on reality and are now piecing it together from glimmers.

if you're still waiting to open your eyes and see dr hogwarts or paris or your billionaire boyfriend on a fainting couch with a camus paperback.......i am sighing. the anti method is a cognitive overwrite, not a fireworks show. you're not waiting for your surroundings to change. your surroundings have already changed, you just haven't updated the map. so update it. live like it.

"but how do i live like it if i don't see it?"

no. no. we're not doing this again. this isn't plato's cave. BABY this is YOUR cave. you decorated it, you hung the posters, if the light looks off, it's because your eyes are adjusting, not because it's not real.

so if you say things like "i'm in my dr, i just forgor," follow it with one small non-performative gesture. not a ritual, not a task, just a nudge, a little......lean. reach for a towel as if it's the one from your dr bathroom. say "thanks" to the shower water as if it's dr-filtered with lavender. look at your hand and go, "this is the hand he kisses." (or she. or they. or you. or god. i'm not judging.)

people expect a jumpcut, which is understandable. but we are doing DISSOLVE edits......... real terrence malick hours, you feel jarred because you were already in, and your cr brain did a bitchy little bootloop to remind you that it's losing control because it's a LOSER AND HATES PEOPLE WINNING. the confusion is confirmation, lean into it. say, "cute try." say, "i've had worse transitions." drink water. not because hydration = shifting (unless you decide it is, then it literally is), but because your body believes anything with enough narrative conviction.

ok. SO. what did we learn today.

stop seeking entry. start recognising OCCUPANCY; your affirmations are not doorbells. they are location pings; every "nothing happened" moment is just your brain buffering. let it load.

you're not almost there. you're not getting close. you're not so close you can taste it. you're eating it. right NEOW. the meal is just taking its shape

chew. swallow. say thank you. also. joan of arc never saw the shift coming either. well it was a different one. but you get the point

and thank you for loving the tiktok page!!!!!!!!!!!!!

[ice-eise-babyy]

Highlight | J.B.B

Pairing: Bucky Barnes X Reader

Summary: A single comment takes a toll at your self-confidence, unintentionally pushing bucky away.

Warnings: really fluffy, slight angst (so slight you won't even feel it), implied smut, Sharon (unintentionally) being a bitch, cursing (real brief)

A/N: loosely inspired by a real life event. I do request so please go slide in my asks. that's it. Happy reading!!

Bucky loved you.

Every atom, essence, and fiber of you, he loved. There was nothing about you that could change his perception of you.

He had learned to memorize every inch of you with his eyes closed; Using only his tongue, fingers, and lips. Making a mental map of each dip and curve, every scar and mole, and all of your smile lines and wrinkles. Not only that but also your whole being. He knew you so well that he could tell what you wanted— what you needed before you could even say it. It was like a telepathic connection...

That's why it didn't take him long to figure out that something was wrong.

It was never your intention to make Bucky worry.

It all started with a small comment...

You had just finished showering in the gym shower after your training. Your body was wrapped in a towel that was way too short for your liking. displaying the stretch marks on your outer thighs, making you chew the insides of your cheeks.

And as if it wasn't enough to make you self-conscious, "Woah... That's some marks you've got there y/n..." It was Sharon as she entered the gym shower. Sounding perplexed and repulsed by the sight.

"Yeah.." you said, masking the rising insecurity with a faux chuckle before getting the hell out of there.

You ignored the twisted feeling in your stomach and the lingering embarrassment her words had caused. Brushing it off and pretending like you weren't affected by it. But soon it was eating you up like mites on wood. Nipping and nibbling at the last bits of self-assurance that you have.

It was affecting you so much that you hadn't even noticed that you were starting to distance yourself from Bucky...

Bucky, knowing you better than he knows himself, immediately noticed this. He didn't miss how you'd flinch at his touch. he caught how you'd recoil and pull away whenever he sought a hug or a kiss. It didn't go over his head when you started wearing more layers than just his shirt.

Of course, he was worried... But he pushed the worries away thinking that maybe you were just tired...

Weeks went by, yet you continued to distance yourself from him. He didn't want to think about it too much or ask you about it, afraid that it would only push you further.

So he convinced himself that you just wanted a bit of space. Especially now that you were getting some actual rest since you were jam-packed with missions and meetings the previous month.

It wasn't until last night...

˚‧⁺  ･ ˖ ·˚ ⋆｡˚ ˚‧⁺

"Sure, thanks Steve..." You bid Steve goodbye as you got off the elevator, just now getting home from your first mission of the month.

You opened the door with ease, not wanting to make any noise as you entered your shared room with Bucky. Tiptoeing as you entered, concerned that you'd wake him up.

"Hey, doll..." Your whole body jolted as you heard him, his voice sounding hoarse with sleep.

You simply looked in his direction and gave him a lopsided smile,

Just a smile?

"Go to sleep..." You told him as you left him to shower...

He in fact did not go to sleep. He waited for you. Wanting to wrap his arms around you and kiss away your exhaustion from the mission.

"I told you to go to sleep, bucky." he looked in your direction, admiring how adorable you looked in his hoodie and some basic sweatpants.

"How can I?" He shrugged as if it was the most obvious question, "you're not here with me.." he added, extending his arms out for a hug.

You gulped, hesitating for a little while longer. Soon giving in as you saw the expecting look on his face. His slate blue eyes glimmered in the darkness as you walked over to him.

He sighed, letting out a breath he didn't know he was holding as he wrapped his arms around your waist. Burying his face in your clothed stomach as you stood there.

"I missed you," he nuzzled into you more, "so damn much." He said as he finally pulled away, looking up at you with those pretty blue eyes.

He wanted to stay like this with you. He needed to stay like this with you...

The pad of his fingers dug into your hips as his grip tightened, pulling you to his lap.

"I missed you too..." You said, your fingers playing with the hair on the back of his head...

It was like all your worries were thrown out the window as he held you by the neck and captured your lips with his. Kissing you with such need and longing. It was as if a huge wave of relief washed over you... Until his hands started exploring under your hoodie.

All your insecurities resurfaced as you recalled the marks that you were hiding under these layers of clothing. Sharon's words replaying in your head like a broken record.

No...

It was like your body was moving on its own accord. Your breathing lodged in your windpipe as you realized that you had unintentionally pushed him away... Your hands trembling as they hovered mid-air, a short distance away from his chest which you had just shoved away...

"I..." You started but it was like the words were caught in the back of your throat...

You felt guilt settling in the pit of your stomach as you saw the pain flickered amongst the flecks of navy in his eyes that Momentarily looked down before looking back at you, helping you off his lap.

One...

Breathe...

Two...

She's just tired...

Three...

Be understanding...

"It's... It's fine..." The reassurance tasted bittersweet on his lips, a tight-lipped smile decorating his features...

You felt like the knot of guilt in your stomach was about to snap as you didn't fail to notice how his smile didn't reach his eyes... Or how the inflection of his voice came across as insincere, strained, hurt...

He's hurt... Because of me...

He wasn't hurt, no.

Hurt was something a 3-year-old would say if he scraped his knee. Hurt was something a teenager felt when he got his heart broken from puppy love. Hurt is something minor. Something that can be easily cured with words...

This? This was neglect.

He felt neglected... He felt like you were drifting a bit too far...

Too far from him...

˚‧⁺  ･ ˖ ·˚ ⋆｡˚ ˚‧⁺

He has never been the type to openly talk about what he felt... But this— this thing you were doing? It was just unbearable... In ways that no simple words formed by letters could describe. And what's worst about this was it was you.

So, he ultimately decided that he had enough of it...

You were comfortably reading a book on the couch. The cap of your purple highlighter in between your lips as you highlight lines from your book with it. The bright color perfectly emphasizing your favorite parts.

A few other teammates were also in the living room. Respectfully busying themselves with whatever task they had at hand when suddenly, a very upset-looking bucky came storming into the living room with a scowl on his face.

"Let's talk. Now. In private." He snatched the book from your hand and tossed it on the coffee table automatically catching your attention

Confusion etched your face as you looked up at him, your knuckles turning white as your grip tightened around the highlighter.

"What are you—!" Your question abruptly interrupted, the world turning upside down as he threw you over his shoulder like you weighed nothing.

The rest of the team looked at one another with puzzled looks, watching you writhe as he walked away with you on his shoulder like a bag of rice.

"Bucky!" You squealed, thrashing against the super soldier while you repeatedly told him to put you down. The purple ink from the highlighter in your hand staining his white tank top.

"Talk." Was all you heard as you landed on the bed with a guttural 'oof'

"Rude!" He gave you an unamused look, crossing his arms as his gaze followed you as you propped yourself. Sighing as he saw that familiar pout on your lips.

"I'm worried about you..." You felt a shiver run down your spine as he walked towards you.

"What do you mean...?" You facepalmed mentally as your words came out trembling.

You were sweating, not wanting to talk about any of this any further. You already knew where this was going...

And you didn't like it...

"You're just..." He paused, looking for the right words, "You're not being you... And you—" he cut himself off, noticing how you moved away when he sat beside you. "You keep doing that"

"That? What's 'that'?"

"You keep distancing yourself from me..." You felt the guilt claw up your neck as you heard the way his voice sounded so defeated.

You never intended to worry him, and you never would want to. But looking at the situation at hand made you realize how much you got drowned by your self-doubt that you had been depriving him of the truth...

You felt torn as you sat there staring into the hazy silver hue in his blue eyes, the distress and yearning flickering in them.

You wanted to tell him about everything. You wanted to tell him how Sharon's words made your confidence falter. You wanted to show him why...

But it scared you...

The mere thought of his repulsed expression made your heart sink to your toes.

"I don't know if I've done something wrong. If I've said something you didn't like. If I had been too much. If you need space—"

"No! It's not like that..." Your eyes widened as his rambling slowly sunk into your skull,

He's blaming himself...?

"I just... It's..." He held your hand, soothing you through your anxious state...

He hated seeing you like this, he hated how much you were holding back, he hated how you were hesitating... But he was patient with you like he always is. Because he knew firsthand how hard it is to open up.

"Please... Please tell me.." you let out a shaky breath. Your fingers fiddled with the highlighter as you closed your eyes for a moment to collect yourself.

The moment you opened your eyes and witnessed the unshed tears gloss over his pretty eyes was the exact moment you figured that you had lost at whatever this was...

Your hands fidgeted with the highlighter as you told him everything he needed to know— from the stretch marks that had you questioning your self-worth to Sharon’s comment that rang in your ears like a constant reminder. You just laid it all out there, hoping he’d understand how much it had gotten to you. Even though you knew it still wasn't enough of an excuse for how you've treated him...

The tears prickled your eyes as they pooled; you felt so small. So vulnerable around him... Just how you liked it.

"I'm so proud of you for telling me doll..." The pad of his thumb swiping away the single tear that rolled down your face...

"Can I see...?" You looked at him with wide eyes, why would he want to see such a sight?

"James..." His name slipped from your lips as a hesitant whisper, but your thoughts became a jumbled mess when he suddenly got off the bed and kneeled in front of you, looking up at you with those big blue eyes...

"Please...?" He pleaded, removing the highlighter before holding your hands in his.

Your man was literally on his knees for you, his eyes wide with hope and vulnerability, like he was silently begging for an answer. His voice was so full of genuine longing and yearning. How could you say no to that? At that moment, with your heart swelling, saying anything but yes felt impossible.

You meekly nodded and he looked like a kid on Christmas morning, beaming with a grin.

Goosebumps formed on your skin as you felt his hands twisting with the waistband of your pajama shorts. He looked up at you as though to ask for permission so you granted it with another nod. You lifted your hips for him to fully remove them.

Suddenly,you felt the insecurity clawing at your neck; feeling exposed and just... Bare as you sat there in just your tank top and underwear. Displaying parts of your body that only he had the privilege of seeing.

You pressed your knees together, knowing that the marks only get worse around the insides of your thighs...

Bucky didn't like this... But he had more than one way to keep those legs spread for him...

"So pretty..." he murmured, his voice soft and full of admiration as his hand gently held your calf as if you would wither under his touch if he wasn't careful enough. His other hand was doing the total opposite by holding your other leg in place and slightly spreading it. He leaned in, pressing a series of slow, lingering kisses from your knee, his lips feather-light as they brushed against your skin. He moved up to the side of your thigh, each kiss seemed to carry a silent promise, a vow of how much he adored every inch of you. The warmth of his breath and the tenderness in his eyes made your heart stutter, filling you with a sense of love and security that felt overwhelming.

You let out a whine, desperate and needy when you felt him detach his lips from your skin. Already yearning for the sensation of his lips on you. "What are you doing?" Gazing at him curiously as he took the highlighter in his hand

He didn't answer.

He held your knee in one hand to avoid them from blocking his line of sight. His mind was in a whirlwind as he saw the marks.

They're beautiful

How dare you deprive him of this.

You gasped as you felt the cold ink of the highlighter on your skin. Bucky moved his hand gracefully as he left traces of bright purple along your stretch marks, tucking his lower lip between his teeth as he concentrated.

"What are you doing, James?" Another attempt for an answer as you watch his hand in between your legs only to be met with silence once again.

He pulled away once he finished, a satisfied look on his face. Looking at his work with such pride in himself. It was beautiful. You were beautiful. Nothing could ever compare to this, to you. No art made by Monet, Renoir, or even Van Gogh could ever come close to how ethereal you looked...

"This," he started, his fingers gently tracing the trails of purple ink on your skin, "This is to remind you that I will always love all of you"

You bit back a smile as you looked down at him; the lovesick look in his eyes told you that his words exude nothing but honesty. And it was as if everything was just now sinking into your mind. Crimson tinted your cheeks, heating up as you realized that you were half naked with a super soldier in between your thighs. Kneeling for you.

You let out a strangled moan as he pressed his lips on your skin once more. Trailing wet kisses to your inner thigh, inhaling as his nose poked your clothed core. You smelled so sweet...

"You think you're getting off the hook that easy?" You gulped so hard that he probably heard it, you couldn't help yourself. How could you when Bucky was looking up at you like someone who hasn't been fed for the past few months? The warmth of his blue eyes dissipated as it was replaced by something familiar but different... Something feral.

"Spread those pretty legs for me, doll. I'm going to fuck you until you're finally convinced that every part of you is perfect"

[sheepispink]

‘Rest and Recuperation’

supersoldier!reader x lt!ghost (part 5)

part one Series Masterlist

cw: psychological distress,mentions of reader unintentionally harming themselves (as a result of distress), mentions of vomiting(non-graphic), mentions of pulling hair out, HEAVY angst on this one, but comfort too dw

ever wondered what a super soldier crashing out would look like? well, here you go

WC: 5.2k

prev

————————————————-

Ghost sees it everywhere, starting from the day he received the request from you. He had stood at that sink for almost fifteen minutes, scrubbing the copper smell off his hands until the skin felt raw. When he finally left the bathroom, only after the mirror had steamed up to obscure any attempt at viewing, he saw it again; the star on the calendar. Then, Friday night, he had shrugged off his gear by the door, reaching into his wardrobe for a fresh towel, the red mark glimmering in the corner of his eye. He ignored it until Saturday morning, crossing off the prior day only to realise that the marked date was all the more prominent now— it was today.

He knew, somewhere in his chest, that what he was doing was wrong— similar to the countless times he’s been far too ruthless with his kills. His gut knew as he walked past you in the corridor, or when he left the base with his team. His heart knew when Soap and Gaz questioned him about it and yet his brain ignored their concern, because Ghost didn’t feel guilt, no—just like Reaper wouldn't end up upset over a missed birthday.

Reapers didn’t have feelings, they did what they were told.

Still, his instincts screamed at him when he had been carrying those drinks, the first when the two sergeants were concerned over you and the second being the soldier who had offered to help him— the one he now knows was actually you. He wonders if he really had known, somewhere in the back of his head, all that you were going through but had just chosen to ignore it. This whole time, his eyes moved past when he saw shredded carrots tangled in your hair, the red marks on your wrists when he picked you up your separate evac vehicle or even the hazed look in your eyes when he finally commanded you to stop. It was a decision that he made— to ignore all the signs— and now he’d have to handle the consequences.

————-

It wasn’t a difficult deployment, quite the opposite, but for the first time he was angry at that. Whilst his teammates snickered odd army jokes between each other or whispered before they were supposed to catch some sleep, his mind was like a treadmill; the thoughts wouldn't leave, repeating over and over and the same questions as to why he even let this happen and all he could’ve done to stop it. However, the one thing that plagued his mind the most was how he’d rectify this mistake. If he was forced to be honest, you were the best asset to every team the military had and with the highest success rates known. It’d be stupid to lose such a valuable player in the grand scheme of these events, that meant apologising, but not only that-fixing the problem at its root else it’d sprout once more like a pesky weed.

He’d expected that Price would’ve sorted that out by now, giving you sweet apologies then interrogating the information out of you even when you didn’t want to give it up. But now it seemed like everyone was stepping around you like you left glass in your wake, a danger for anyone who stepped to close.

“I’ve been gone for two weeks– how are they not stable by now?” He had to force down the anger as he looked between his three other teammates, the two sergeants looking especially conflicted. Still, they only gave false promises of how they’d get the information, somehow drawing it out of you with soft words and caring touches. Even Price, who had been the one to oversee you entering this base and still allowed it through. He knew there was nothing humane about the super soldier program and still accepted you in.

Price had never felt a touch of worry about you even when looking at the gruesome pictures attached to the medical files, now that Ghost considers it. Though, it’s not like he hadn’t flicked through the pages like it was a mere magazine either.

The point is you’re running out of time, and they have to act fast to prove your worth to the program before you’re pulled back to be a full-time guinea pig again. That is something all their future missions cannot afford.

—---------

Naturally, Missions was his solution to this problem. What would be the point in attempting to prove your worth any other way?

It wasn't the wrong option either; you obliged easily and got geared up as per usual, arm still wrapped with a bandage, and as soon as he gave the order, you were back on your killing spree. It was ruthless, somehow more than you usually were, like everything bullet shot was an intentional thought, something your heart carved the path for. And so, for the next two weeks you were deep in field combat, if not all the time. Ghost saw it as an easy distraction from everything that happened, especially as how each kill was as simple as a flick of the wrist for you, even if it meant you had to dodge all the more bullets.

As expected, the results did not disappoint and with another five hostages safely tucked into a truck to be taken to a safe location, another job was left completed. Though, he had avoided your gaze as you were tucked into your evac truck, sat in the helicopter himself—he already knew what the look on your face would be, he knew he’d be the monster again. He’d submit the report tonight and the general would approve your stay, future missions wouldn’t be compromised and he and Price would go back to not having to break a sweat because you’d do that for them. Then maybe later the others could try to ease it out of you again, with nice words and kind faces—the way it should’ve been done. Nor would he feel this strange feeling akin to regret in his stomach— he’d fix this, things didn't have to change.

The helicopter lands, quelling any last thoughts in his head as he steps down onto the asphalt and heads into base as per usual. That is until he’s stopped in his tracks by an unfamiliar sight, that being your evac truck parked and the doors open. It usually arrived a bit later than the helicopter, but it wouldn't have turned his head if not for the fact a soldier was dragging you out the back with your arms in a tight lock behind you.

“What the hell do you think you’re doing?”

Instantly, he forgets about any previous resignation and storms forward, but despite the authority echoing off of him the soldier only gives him a strange look. “Escorting Reaper out? Why?” None of this looked as casual as the soldier made it out to be, especially the tightening grip on your arms as your eyes were in a haze, almost like you were drugged up or something like that. “Escorting? You’re dragging them.”

“This is.. normal procedure, sir? Reaper is always restrained after being on field.” Ghost narrows his eyes at the man’s last words, suddenly noticing properly now the red marks littering your wrists from pulling so hard on your restraints. Even your face is red marked, scratched at but not enough to leave a permanent dent in the skin.

“And why is that?” This idiot must be lying to him, just like those other pricks who decided to pick on you even with him knowing; he’s positive he’s lying straight to his face.

“We’ve sent reports to you and the Captain before, Lt. This is why the Captain ordered for them to travel separately in the first place—post field makes them freak out.” The soldier gives him a shrug, and a grin that’s nothing short of mocking. It makes his blood boil, the way the fool acts as if you’re some kind of freakish turn of nature, something only to be mocked and has no defence of its own—doesn't he know you could snap his neck in two with just a word? Ghost grits his teeth as the soldier pushes you forward, your eyes starting to blink now but still not very awake. He can't even say anything to the fool; Ghost had laughed about you the exact same way not too long ago.

The moment he enters his room, his hands are desperately searching the cluttered expanse of his desk, searching for any sign of said reports through the stacks of files stamped with the big red letters of ‘TOP SECRET’.

‘Behaviour Reports—Super soldier, Subject: Reaper’

His gloved fingers graze over the letters as he picks the file up, flicking open to the first page, only to find that at least fifteen different reports had been noted in this file— all on different missions. Something uneasy settles in his gut this time, a warning, or perhaps it’s that knowing feeling again that he’s tried to ignore before—the one that had him churning with unease on lonely nights and battlefields quiet enough that you’d meet death before you’d even hear a sound.

‘Subject 56 didn’t like being locked in the back of the truck. They continued to keep asking questions on why there was no light until they fell quiet. Doesn’t seem to be a cause for concern’.

‘There are many indents in the walls of our trucks due to Subject 56’s outbursts. They grow erratic every time they’re placed inside, but never seem to attack any soldiers who touch them. Banging and scratching is all we can hear for the better half of the journey, after that they fall quiet. No signs of harm done to their hands.’

‘A change has occurred in Subject 56’s– well, Reaper’s—usual behaviour post field work. The subject is in a haze when leaving the truck, and occasionally a sound similar to gasping for air is heard. We checked on Reaper, however no source of harm seemed to be done to them, and so we continued the journey. They couldn’t leave the truck by themselves, so I had to restrain them and lead them to the base myself.’

‘The haze is a side effect of recent tests that the scientists have run, nothing to be concerned about. It’s been tested and proven to wear off quickly.’—Captain John Price

Ghost’s eyes widen over the last three entries, all of which have only lasted over the event of one month. He hadn’t known that you were going through this, at least he hadn’t read these files before— not that he hadn’t seen them sitting on the edge of his desk for weeks. What he didn’t understand is how the scientists' altercations with you had led to such drastic changes. Sure, he had noticed the significant upgrade in your abilities around that time, but this was insane, you were barely awake when you left battle, and he hadn’t even known this entire time. You were only just functioning, and he had treated you as if you were just some kind of machine that could turn on and off at will. His hands flick over the following reports, landing on the most recent one accompanied by pictures.

’Reaper is dead silent when entering and leaving the vehicle now. They can hold themself up to some degree but still don't seem to be ‘mentally there’, almost like they’re on autopilot. The retaliation has returned, though it seems to be a physical and non-verbal thing— like they’re fighting against something and not the restraints itself. There are red marks on their hands from the handcuffs, despite them being relatively loose, and only there for the purpose of keeping them from grabbing at their hair again. No recurrences of vomiting or passing in a month—a good sign, I hope.’

Ghost had been on many missions with you, since you were better in certain situations than longer field deployments. There were other reasons of course, the main one being to test the use of your abilities in countless situations; as the first of your kind, you were bound to be tested at the every turn.

But he didn't know this.

He should’ve questioned why you were placed into a separate evac truck in the first place, not blindly giving into the excuse of you potentially ‘freaking out’. No, he had all the materials available to him; he shouldn’t have been such an idiot and just opened his damn eyes, seen the facts in front of him and understood what he’s done. Ghost can’t imagine the days you’ve come out of a mission feeling like the world would topple over just for him to tell you to shove a sock in it and push you into something else. Again and again, another training session, again, another mission, again, another killing spree—-again you’d suffer in the back of that pitch black truck, not even sane enough at the moment to guess if you’d be lucky this time and get out with a mere scratch.

For once in his life, he leaves you hanging at your usual time in the gym, stuck in his room hunched over his desk as he mourns all the changes he could’ve made— the littlest of things he could’ve done. This was more than losing an important asset, he knew that, and that’s what scared him the most; this was losing someone in their very self, a humanity so far gone they become nothing but a mindless tool for the higher ups to puppeteer. It’s such a cruel fate, it almost has him going back to memories that were supposed to be buried after years of experience.

When he first saw you, all he could think about was how young you looked, how his eyes were like that one day until they were snuffed out. He scoffed at the thought before, but that’s the only thing you had left, the naivety in your appearance, and even that was used as a tool to increase your performance. Built to deceive and for people to undermine you, only for you to deal the final blow before they realise the grave mistake they had made. He had unintentionally fallen for that too, and now he was experiencing that exact blow right now, striking through his heart.

—— ——

The information is shared with the rest of the team, and you're pulled out of missions for the time being, no notice given to you other than being told to take the opportunity to 'rest and recuperate’. You didn't have a choice, really; there was no way Soap and Gaz would let you do more than some simple exercises a day nor would they let you skip a meal either. They were good at taking care of you, similar in a way a big brother had that protective instinct— he’s been tempted one or two times to tell them off for spoiling you sometimes. But things were getting better, much better; even when Gaz and Soap got sent on deployments, you showed no resentment towards Ghost taking you to the mess hall to eat with him and Price— not that he spoke much either way and not that you showed much emotion on the regular anyway.

In fact, right now he was supposed to be fetching you. Ghost places the weight down and lets out a small huff, shaking out the weight of guilt that’s settled on his chest each time he has a second to think. Things are fine now— he made the right choice, he fixed it. That’s right, everything would be back to normal soon enough, especially with the higher ups now off your back too. After rinsing off his sweat before he makes you pull that disgusted face Soap accidentally caused before, he zips up his jacket and heads through the corridors towards your room. “Oi, Reaper. Time for dinner, y’know the drill.” He raps his knuckles against the door, only to find it unlocked again with the door swinging open as he turns the handle. There’s no sign of any unsavoury presents this time, something he definitely got worried about for a second, but your pills have been left open again and the room is strangely.. Disorientated.

It’s weird, since it’s not trashed nor is it messy like some soldiers around this base. Books have been toppled onto the floor, clothes spilling out your closet onto the hardwood floor and even your bedsheets have been removed from your bed, spread around like they’re dominating the room. That wasn’t the odd thing though, no, it was the fact it looked like it had been ‘placed’ to be that way. Sure the uniform had been thrown out, but there wasn't a single wrinkle in the fabric, or the books looked like they had just been dropped in trail, barely having been pushed off. He had to roll his eyes really—is this what a super soldier tantrum really looked like? You were so perfect that you couldn’t even trash a room the right way, it was almost cute. At least, that’s what the others would say.

Ghost decides to check the track next, but it’s void of any presence of you, and even when he checks your other usual exercise spots you’re not there either. He even peeks into the mess hall, considering you might’ve gone there first, but it’s to no avail— there’s no sign of you anywhere. He swallows sharply, trying to keep his head from steering to any other crazy possibilities which didn't actually seem too farfetched anymore. That’s a lie, it won’t happen again. He fixed everything. Of course— that’s why he knows exactly where you are right now, and no, he’s not worried about your safety either.

He walks through the muddy forest floor, having only rained a day prior, but it makes your footsteps all the more prominent. Eventually he reaches their end, his hand nudging forward the wooden door just a smidgen to let his eyes peek through. It should’ve been obvious really—where you’d be right now. After all, it was the last day before the fox would be taken someplace safer. It was supposed to be earlier, but some complications arose, and hey, you looked a lot happier anyway.

You nearly always come by, sit before the fox and just watch it move around you, intrigue in your eyes. He sometimes watches, wondering if you’ll say anything to it, but you catch him staring anyway. Either way, you always looked content, sitting there with your hands in your lap as you just sat still and observed, eyes dropped and relaxed, tension lost in your shoulders and head likely empty from the usual thoughts he hopes.

That’d be the same today, except probably a little sadder if you had that emotion— the others told him you had cried, but he doubts that it was actually because you were sad but rather a byproduct of pain. He’d have to take you for dinner eventually, and hey maybe you’d even talk to Price properly, since he said you’ve been a lot quieter since Ghost returned. But then again—when did you ever speak much? When were you allowed to speak that much?

He pushes the door open, seeing you standing before the fox, who sits upon a rickety table, looking back at you. “Oi, time to eat. You can see him tomorrow mornin” He scoffs, rolling his eyes up at you when you stay motionless, not reacting to him in the slightest. “I’ll tell Price to come ‘ere and help me drag you back y’know.” His voice is gruff and echoes across each wall of the cabin, but it’s no use, you’re still as a mannequin.

But your palms are clenched. Your eyes are blank and hazed, and he only realises now that the fox plush he knows you own is torn on the floor between you and the actual fox, who can only whimper at you. Your nails dig into your palms, red marks on your arms from nettle stings and harsh shrubbery on the path up to this cabin—easily avoidable if you paid much attention on the walk-up, though not if you were in some kind of rush. Strangest of all is how your eyes are bloodshot red, not even blinking as you stare forward, like you're stuck in your own time and space. “Look, I know you’re upset but–”

—----------------

The floor is crumbling beneath you, cracks that sprouted a week ago spreading across the crappy wooden planks down to the hardened stone that makes up the ground which holds you upright. Your feet are unstable, teetering on the edge as it splinters beneath; you’re struggling to manage even more than usual, shifting the weight back and forth in a way that makes you all the more dizzy. That’s not important though, no, it’s the walls disintegrating all around, everything you know and love dissipating with it. The fox stares back at you, black eyes so glassy they may as well be the beads of a bracelet you’d wear if you were like any other person your age; it knows it’s leaving you too– the both of you have been hanging on this edge for the past week. You could handle any mission, any bullet, any punch thrown your way and that was the problem in itself. You couldn’t handle anything else. It was a ruse, a whispered lie, one they meticulously planned behind closed doors on those same meeting tables used to control your entire life.

Change–that’s what you said you wanted, even if you had to grapple at the chains on your neck and leave rope burns on your palms. You got exactly what you wanted.

Ghost had returned, reclaimed the control over you that had always belonged to him, and he pushed you into mission after mission. Retaliation, that was your choice. So when he used the command words on you that day, you fought and screamed and cried– except it only seemed to work in your head. As soon as he spoke, you lost any little control you held, but still. You persevered. Concentration, that was all– you just had to focus. It was your body, not Ghost’s, nor this damn military’s.

Though you should’ve known that the one who creates the puppet controls it, and you wish you had realised that sooner. Longer and longer the missions dragged on, each and every time you fought desperately: refusing to sleep in the evenings, so your body would be weaker in the mornings, denying food, so your fingers could barely keep when they clutched their weapons. Yet still, your body was stronger than your mind, continuing to perform each task it was ordered to complete in a flawless manner and when finally, it was returned to you, you were ruined. You slumped immediately after the battle, the rubble scraping against your throbbing shins as two soldiers dragged you into the evac truck. Drowned in shadows, you had failed to realise that you wouldn’t survive this ride because of your pathetic efforts. Your mind was too exhausted to fight off the visions that always haunted you, too clouded with the disappointment of failure for the voices to stay away this time.

You don't remember when you exited that truck, only that you woke up on the floor of your room, your face raw with scratches and your head sore, hair strands on the floor beneath you.

Still, again and again, the cycle repeated. Missions and retaliation-your mental state worsening by the day. Until it all stopped. An order was given, something was discovered, bad or good you weren't sure. “Rest and Recuperation”. They all dared to smile in your face as they announced it to you, a grin almost devilish the way your rotted brain decided. It had to be some kind of sick joke; who gives a super soldier ‘Rest and Recuperation’ if it was not the order itself?

‘You know which one.’ The voices whispered as you tossed and turned each night. Of course, it could only be one.

The one that would send you back to the labs to be slit open and reattached by scientists with morality worse than Frankenstein’s. Again.

Weakness, disappointment, and regret was all you could manage to cycle between as you were forced into the shameful lifestyle. No longer revered by your peers, you were now merely pitied, like some kind of broken hope.

Every day dragged on harsher than the last, worse than any needle or scalpel that had attacked you daily for years– no this was a new type of pain. You were powerless in your own body, your mind so run down that you couldn’t defy even the simplest things, like a mindless puppet as you agreed to whatever Soap and Gaz had in mind for your ‘Rest and Recuperation’. That was only surface level; none of them knew about the nightmares, the visions you saw each night that had you hurling into the bin in your room, nor the voices that bounced from each ear until you crumbled to the floor in distress. Each and every time you woke up it would repeat, not a second of relief nor silence in your own head. The bile lingered on your tongue, the skin on your face has been carved into by your own destructive hands and the haze grew stronger with each passing minute. You were in a losing battle against yourself– and you couldn't even fight against it because you knew all it’d do for you is get you back onto that operating table again.

Now you are here, the last thing tethering you to this Earth trying to leave you behind and there’s nothing you can do, barely able to feel your own fingertips. You can't step out of line, the higher ups, Ghost, your body won't let you.

—-------

You're grasping at your throat as the breaths come out ragged and Ghost almost stumbles forward if not for him quickly catching his footing. “What’s wrong? Can't you breathe?” You ignore him, nails digging so deep they draw blood out of your barely healing wounds that are always hidden by the tight buttons of uniform. His eyes narrow in confusion as he watches you struggle, swaying all the same. You’re acting up again–why are you always like this? Just like when you saw him in the infirmary.

“Answer me.” He demands, his hand reaching forward, but you push yourself away with so much force that you fall directly onto the sharp edge of the crappy workbench. The wood pierces into your skin, making it throb with pain, but it only serves for your vision to grow more hazed, your fingers losing less and less control as the seconds pass.

“Get off of me!” Your voice is scratchy as it vibrates against your throat, pain tingling down to your stomach and every cell that connects. Still, no action is aimed at him, only returning to yourself as you fail to connect with your own damn body— feeling like nothing but a ghost passing through. He doesn't notice though, consumed by a concern that swells into anger at the sight of you worsening. He’s fought so hard to give you everything you needed to improve so why won't you just take it?

“I told you, you just need to rest–”

“What kind of super soldier takes a break?!” You shout, more of a rhetorical question and something to just force the air out of your lungs. “You– you told me that when you met me.” Your hands slip into your hair, nails scratching harshly against your scalp. “I don't understand– I don't understand! All you do is say all of this ‘rest and recuperate' and–”

“Because that’s what you need, if you just sat down for a moment you’d understand-” He argues back, something in him panging when you stammer over your words, but he’s more annoyed at the fact you’ve repeated his own wrongs back to him. He knows he said things only a monster would say to someone–he knows what he did to you.

“You’re lying! All of you are always lying! Super soldiers don’t bloody rest! I’m supposed to fight!” Somehow your voice has actually got louder than his ever has, enough to make the fox whine and scramble away, dashing out of the door and only making the last of your will wane smaller. “You just want to send me back isn't it? That’s why you keep saying those stupid words, and all of this treatment. I’m not useful anymore, am I?”

Quiet. Silence rings out after your pained cries echo through the room, Ghost’s wide and once emotionless eyes staring at you with regret. This was his fault, not yours. You had been eating yourself alive, literally, because of his own harsh manner and need to validate his actions. Did he ever really think about your perspective? Had he ever really considered what you would want? No, this entire time he’s only looked at you with pity, when that’s the complete opposite of what you need. You knew you were good on missions, you knew that you were an excellent fighter. All you’ve needed this entire damn time is reassurance, confirmation that they won't let you be sent back to be tortured again. He should’ve known by the needle pricks on your arms, the nightmares the others told him about hell even the way you flinched every time a nurse was brought near you. The signs had screamed at him, even when you asked him if you had done a good job back when he first met you. But he was stubborn, he decided he wouldn't give in because you were a ‘monster’, someone synthetically produced. He thought that he decided to determine your worth.

Ghost hates to admit it, but it’s painfully obvious to him even now that he’s messed everything up.

You slide down, unable to hold yourself up much longer, and he lunges forward to catch you, sliding onto his knees as he grabs you firmly. Blood trickles from the wooden corner, leaking forward from a sharp scrape on your lower back as you slump forward, hands still trying to dig into your neck before he pushes them firmly down and instead wraps them around him, pressing your nails into the expanse of his back.

“Not once have you ever failed me Reaper, and yet…again and again all I've done is fail you.”

His own arms tighten like a vice around you, his head buried into his neck as he smells the coppery crimson staining your skin.

“I’m.. so sorry.”

———————-

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[suni-writings]

Take the pain away.

jude bellingham x fem!reader

wc: 2.2k

+18!! mdni

(content warning: unrequited feelings, cheating [unrelated to jude x reader], toxic relationship [also not jude x reader], smut, fingering, unprotected sex [have safe sex pls])

it's been a while since i wrote a jude smut, but you ask and i shall deliver. we have been waiting for this one. heavily inspired by "fuck the pain away (lost tapes 2022)" by tory lanez.

He was exhausted. Not because of football, not because of fame, but because of his best friend. Being physically exhausted was something he was used to — Jude could get rid of it in a few weeks if it resulted in some type of pain. Emotionally, however? He was clueless as to how to heal it, especially since time did nothing but deepen his feelings towards her. It messed up his head, his thoughts got foggy, and he seemed to act out of impulse whenever he was around her. Nothing could really stop him when she was next to him, and that was his doom.

Well, that and her boyfriend. Her hideous, stupid attempt of a man of a boyfriend, whom did nothing but make her feel bad and cheat on her. She wasn’t the girl Jude used to know anymore — the fierce one, who everyone would be scared to even look at her the wrong way. Somehow, that manipulator managed to get her undivided forgiveness every time. It was a never-ending cycle, one that was tearing his mind apart. He was always the one to rescue her, until that dumbass showed up again, promising to be different and acting like a prince for a week.

That night wasn’t any different. The moment his phone vibrated in his pocket and Jude saw who sent the message, he already knew what it was about. And, despite being tired, he still walked up to her house, because she had him at his mercy. He wanted nothing more than to see her okay again, to be her sunshine of her rainy days.

Even if for a single moment only.

She had left the door unlocked for him. Jude carefully got inside, taking a deep breath. He could hear her sobs coming from her room, which he carefully walked up to.

“Princess?” Jude called out softly.

Even in the darkness, he could see her hands coming to dry the tears in her eyes. She sat up, still sniffing, and he sat next to her. He caressed gently her face and wiped another tear.

“Wanna talk about it?” he asked quietly.

“What’s the point? You already know what happened. It’s what always happens.” She let out a humorless chuckle and sighed. “I’m sorry. I probably look like shit right now.’

Bellingham took a moment to look — more like admire — her face. Red glimmering eyes, puffy nose, the bite marks on her lip to avoid crying. She still looked breathtaking.

“You look like a mess, honey,” Jude smirked. “But still pretty as ever.”

She gave a small smile, that quickly turned into a grimace, and she looked at him.

“I feel so weak, Jude. I don’t know why I keep letting this happen, I don’t know why I’m so—” she stopped midsentence and laid in bed again, holding back her tears. He was next to her, supporting the weight of his body on his elbow. “Please, take this pain away. I can’t handle this anymore.”

He took a deep breath yet again. There’s not much he could do, and all his options sounded selfish; even if it was for her own good, it also benefited him. Like leaving that project of a man for once and all. He slowly took strands of her hair out of her face, gently outlining her cheek. He avoided looking at her lips, because he couldn’t do anything about it. Especially with her this vulnerable.

“I’m here, princess. What can I do for you?” Jude asked quietly, toying her hair between his fingers.

“Take the pain away.” She begged again and looked into his eyes.

She had no idea how much Jude wanted to do that.

“I can’t do that. I’m not him, I can’t fix his mistakes, but I can—” he bit his tongue when he realized he was about to say too much; to act selfishly, to prove her she could do better, to give her a taste of what she could have.

A few moments of silence fell between them and her eyes searched for his. She leaned closer, as if she got the hint. As if she wanted it too.

Jude could be her temporary relief, he didn’t care. If he could help, he would.

Who was he trying to fool? If he could have her in any way, he would.

“Fuck the pain away. I could fuck the pain away, baby.” He whispered as he looked at her in her beautiful, almost translucent nightgown. “An eye for an eye. Give him a taste of his own poison. You say the word, I’ll do it.”

She leaned even closer to him, her hand gently resting on his face as she caressed his cheek. She bit her lip, thinking. She was desperate, and Jude was right there for her.

If her boyfriend could do it, then so could she.

Without a second warning, to Jude’s surprise, her lips crashed into his, hastily seeking relief. When their tongues touched, she was in a frenzy, and everything started to get blurry.

All she could think was the way Jude kissed and bit her neck, the way his warm tongue descended to her collarbone and threatened to go even lower. The way she tugged, on Jude’s hair, not wanting the moment the moment to end, needing more of his kisses. Of his burning touch.

“Need to take this off, princess.” He muttered against her collarbone, holding the hem of her nightgown. She nodded and stood her arms up so he could easily remove it. “Making this all so easy for me.” He said once he saw her breasts and tossed the nightgown away, biting her nipple before gently sucking it while caressing the other with expertise.

She was already panting. In a single attempt, he brought his covered knee close to her core, and the damp in her panties was undeniable.

That only fueled his anger. That bastard had her and didn’t touch her properly.

His mouth left her breast and moved back to her neck, sucking and biting it while his hand descended to her core and she her back almost arched in anticipation; if he knew she was that touch deprived, he would’ve suggested that a long time ago.

With his hands underneath her underwear, he pressed two fingers against her clit and moved them slowly, pressuring further to see the way her chest rose, the way her cheeks flush and how her mouth opened, too scared to make a sound.

So, without warning, Jude inserted the two fingers inside her and moved them fast, curling them until he found the spot that made her back arch, and the room became filled with moans. He kissed her throat, his mouth vibrating with each moan that came out of her mouth. His movements were precise, fast, and with an urge to prove something that, before he could realize or properly enjoy what he was doing, her walls were closing against his fingers.

“Jude, I’m—” she tried to say, but he smirked against her skin and moved his fingers even harder.

“You’re what? Tell me, baby.” Jude teased her and her back arched. He felt his fingers hurt, but it didn’t matter. Not when she was coming undone in his hands.

“Jude—” she tried to warn again, and he kept moving his fingers, looking at her in the eyes. She struggled to keep them open, trying to keep eye contact.

“Is that everything you know how to say now? My name?” He hit the spot once again and smirked. “I could get used to that.”

Her walls fully clenched around his fingers, and she finally came, seeing stars behind her eyes and leaving a loud moan. It was something she had never experienced so strongly, and she didn’t know if it was because her boyfriend didn’t care about her pleasure or if it was because it was Jude. Maybe the answer was both.

“Fuck.” she muttered, panting. He just smirked, looking into her eyes and leaning away, putting his own fingers in his mouth to taste her.

“Now that’s a very—” his fingers left his mouth with a pop once he made sure to savor the taste. “—very good girl. And a delicious one, if I might add. Could taste you for fucking hours.”

Jude didn’t care if he still had his clothes on. He had a taste of hers, and nothing would stop him now.  If he already couldn’t stop himself before touching, the gods may as well punish him, and it wouldn’t be enough for him to stop.

He kissed her again, making her taste herself before lowering the kisses — from her mouth to the spot under her ear. From her neck to her collarbone. From the valley of her breasts to her stomach. The kisses only lowered. Before he could reach her panties once again, starving, she tugged on her hair.

“No.” She shook her head. “I’m too worked up for you to eat me out. Need more.”

He bit his lip and smirked. As much as he wanted to taste her, he wanted to be inside her. He took off his shirt in a swift move and she sat up, crawling closer to him to kiss him and bite his neck. He felt like his skin was on fire and the bulge on his sweatpants only got harder. He took a deep breath.

“You’re not helping, princess.” He sighed.

“Am I not?” Now it was her time to tease. She straddled him and sat right against his crotch, making him almost roll his eyes. “You should take those sweatpants off.” She said as her hands caressed his abdomen.

He quickly turned the position, now on top of her, and took his sweatpants off.

“Good enough for you, princess?” He whispered, leaning closer.

“Better if you took your underwear off.” She smirked.

“Brat.”

Instead of taking his underwear off, he took her panties off in one single move. A risky one, since he could’ve ripped it from how quickly he took it off. He lowered and admired for a moment.

“Such a pretty pussy. A shame you won’t let me eat you out.” He whispered as he looked at her core, gently touching her puffy clit once again. She was stretched, but not enough. He didn’t pay attention to that when he had his fingers inside her — he just wanted to see her pretty face coming.

“Jude.” She called him out with some urgency, and he sighed.

Maybe the gods couldn’t stop Jude, but she could.

He took his underwear off, only now realizing how painfully hard he was. She watched as his cock sprung out, rigid, leaking with too much precum. He bit his lip and put his hand around his cock, spreading the precum slowly. He knew how sensitive he was right now, and he had to hold it back for her. He lined his member with her entrance and slowly dipped inside her.

She moaned loudly and Jude could feel his breath stopping from how tight she was. He gave her some time to adjust to his size.

“This is too much.” She whined.

“Darling, I’m not even moving.” He replied. “Your boyfriend lacks even in that area? He’s truly useless.”

She would’ve chuckled if she wasn’t having a hard time with the way his cock filled her, the burning sensation from the stretch seeming unending.

“It hurts.”

Jude leaned close to her, their lips almost touching.

“It doesn’t, baby.” He thrusted one time, to make her more used to the movements. “I’m taking the pain away. Just feel me here. That’s all you have to do.” He pressed his hand against her belly and thrusted once again, earning a moan and feeling himself from how big he was.

She could do much better than her boyfriend. He wanted to be the much better.

He started properly moving, hard, fast, desperate for his own release as well. To prove her how much better she could be fucked if he was the one doing it. And each time he hit the spot, he could feel her walls clenching. His hand never left her belly, knowing how deep he was going into her. He couldn’t stop.

She wrapped her legs around his waist and held his hair as his movements became more frenetic, moans dripping from her mouth to his ear with anything he did. He moaned whenever she clenched too hard against him.

“You’re so fucking tight.” he muttered, panting, trying to keep the pace. It was taking all of his willpower to not just come already. She didn’t reply, of course. She was too busy scratching his back and moaning desperately.

His movements became more erratic, slower, and, when her walls clenched around him one last time, he spilled everything inside her and fell to her chest, trying to catch his breath.

“Jude?” She called him out once they could properly speak.

“Yeah?”

“Stay. For the night.” She pleaded softly, caressing his back that were marked by the painting her nails had done.

“I wasn’t planning to go anywhere else, princess.” He smiled at her.

Jude held her against his chest, as she peacefully slept. He leaned his chin on the top of her head and, once he was certain she was sleeping, he sighed.

“I can’t take the pain away because I’m not your man.” Jude whispered. “But I wish I was.”

[n0tamused]

can I get prompts sentence fluff no. 21 with Anaxa,Sunday and phainon (if not wrong your limit characters is 3 right?)

Fem reader is the one who ask "can I kiss you" and then the male characters Will be the one who reply It

˖ ࣪⊹Memory of the kiss

21."Can I kiss you?" "You have no idea how long I've waited to hear you ask that."

Contents: Anaxa x Reader, Sunday x Reader, Phainon x Reader, written with a fem reader in mind although gender is not explicitly stated anywhere, fluff, I got another request for the same three with the prompt "first kiss" so I sort of mixed those two prompts together here

Words: 330(Anaxa), 486(Sunday),295(Phainon)

Ko-Fi |  1.5K followers event

˖ ࣪⊹Anaxa

The question did not startle him or shock him as much as you expected, in fact he barely reacted at all as his gaze fixed itself onto yours, an invisible thread tying the both of you together. For a moment, Anaxa believes your hearts shared a beat, one or two, but for once he is speechless, letting the pregnant and wordless pause stretch on. He is looking at you with this glint in his eyes that is hard to escape, it is softening the lines of his face and making him seem younger than he is, soft in ways you dared not voice. 

‘Can I kiss you?’ - it was such a simple question, too simple for him to ponder over it for this long, but he does. And when he notices the fleeing time he clears his throat and takes a breath, offering you a smile he seldom shared with any other person. 

“Yes” he blurted out, shocking you with his boldness. “Now, don’t act so surprised, although I doubt my next confession will feel any less so to you.” He sighs, half in disbelief of his own feelings and the words his tongue was spouting, but Anaxa was nothing if not honest. “You would not be able to guess how long I have waited for you to ask..” he speaks softly to you now, his gaze only flickering to the side for a moment as you feel quiet in face of his honest display. Your mouth opened and closed, at a loss for words, before you took up the hints of a first blush wanting to creep up onto the scholar’s cheeks.

You giggle, and the sound seemingly makes him draw in on himself with a half frown and a furrow of his brows. But before he can banter and scold, you place your hand on his cheeks and lean in, slowly, your breath tickling his skin before your lips pressed together and the world fell quiet around you. 

˖ ࣪⊹Sunday

“What seems to be troubling you? You said you had a question for me, did you not?” Sunday asked as he came to a stop before a shelf of books in a lonely corner of the Astral Express, his tone calm and warm but mingled with notes of curiosity for your avoidance of the topic you, yourself, wished to bring up. 

You sighed, debating whether the moment was right, but tonight was so far away, and tomorrow was uncertain - there is no time like the present moment. Walking over to him you feigned interest in the messy pile of records that Sunday was busying himself with sorting out currently, but your heart was pounding in your throat and your focus was on him alone. After your fingers brushed against the old and yellowed paper you looked back at him, seeing him still waiting.

“May I kiss you, Sunday?” you finally ask, and if a person could be red and pale all at once, Sunday would be that person now. The wings on his head gave a little startle of their own, a quick flutter up and down as he digested your question. 

Just as you were about to excuse yourself and save you both the trouble, he looked about the empty Express carriage, as if someone might see, before looking at you with a glimmer of expectancy and hope. It startled you with how clearly it showed. 

“Is this what you meant to ask? This is not another one of your jests, is it?” Sunday inquired slowly, as if stepping around the crack of the frozen lake. 

“This is no jest, I promise you. I would not have joked about a matter like this.. If you are-”

He raised his hand and your voice faded off. Sunday shook his head, fighting back the blush that was unavoidably crawling up his neck.

“No, no.. I accept it” he replied in a whisper, wishing no one else to hear the words but you, feeling like a follower making his confession at the cathedral. His blood was rushing, heart pounding in his ears, the sound and the feeling of ants in his clothes feeling worse the more he waited for his judgement.  “I admit, I have waited for a long time for an opportunity like this to arise- for you to.. ask..” the more he talked, the more tremors he felt in his curled fingers.

“If you were anyone else, I’d say you were the one jesting now” you spoke in pleasant disbelief as you took another step closer, a motion at which he straightened his back for. Your hand touched his cheek and made him freeze, but once it began to guide him downward, he put up no resistance. Your lips graced his, and it was something sweeter than any honey, better than any redemption. His ears fluttered once more and stretched forward, covering his face and yours. 

˖ ࣪⊹Phainon

Phainon took many things in stride, not being the one to outwardly follow the strict lines of a plan in his daily routines; it was one thing that made him feel grounded and, in a way, free of the worldly burdens, the looming shadow of the future of Amphoreus. The question with which you broke the silence among you was met with a sweet sound of his laughter. It was only natural, but also a way to cover up his surprise as the question repeated itself time and time again between his ears,

As you looked on at him, his face became more serious, his shoulders going tense. “You.. you are serious?” he balked, staring at you as if you’ve grown a second head. Your nod to his question clarified his thoughts, and suddenly everything felt like it was moving, including the ground beneath the soles of his boots. He did not look like was swaying, he wasn’t, he was a warrior of Okhema and has faced foes that would make someone’s nightmares, he did not fall then and will not fall now - but gods, would his knees willingly give out for you.

“You have no idea how long I’ve waited for you to ask me that” he told you in a voice more timid than his usual persona, but all the more genuine for it.  He didn’t move for a while, still stunned and in disbelief but once you took a step towards him, he met you halfway with a step of his own, raising a hand to your cheek that hesitated before pressing against your skin. Phainon lets you kiss him first, but one taste of your lips had him kissing back in search for more, wanting to commit the feeling to memory. 

Ⓒ n0tamused/jarttavia_. Do not repost, translate, edit, and/or copy any of my works. Likes, comments, and reblogs are appreciated.

[definitelynotanalien]

♪⋆.✮ ‘cause you think you’re such a hard boy, baby

feat: Michael Kaiser, Sae Itoshi, Rensuke Kunigami

tw: toxic men, gaslighting(?), breaking up, kunigami is low-key traumatised, reader is an ah

Your boyfriend is cold, colder than usual. You thought it would’ve changed after you officially got together, even announced it to the press, but he’s acting odd. 

He’s started to avoid you in private, he never texts you to tell you if he’s coming late, and he’s stopped trying to hang out with you. Whenever you suggest something to him he immediately turns it down, and he’s not showing you his phone anymore.

Something had changed. He’s become toxic.

Maybe you should’ve taken your mom’s advice and never dated him, or never even talked to him.

He’s rude to you in public, to the point where even your managers notice the disconnect. He acts as if he’s sooo hardcore, does it make him feel big inside? Especially when you try to break up with him and he starts to gaslight and guilt trip you into staying.

Whatever, let’s see how hard he actually is when you leave.

Michael Kaiser is distant, more so than usual. He’s stopped talking to you, even when other people are around. The only time he seems to pay attention to you is whenever you’re surrounded by the press.

But it’s been on and off, sometimes he’s the usual loving boyfriend you adore, sometimes he’s like this. And it’s not getting for the better, in fact everytime you see him lately something seems to set him off.

He’s avoiding you, and you don’t know why.

Yet even though you know that the problem stems from Michael, you can’t help but doubt your own validity in this scenario. 

Maybe you did something wrong, maybe you were too enthusiastic or you weren’t enthusiastic enough. Maybe he was still pissed at you for not attending one of his soccer matches a few months ago, even though he knew you had work and couldn’t take time off. At the same time you had apologised for the incident, and you thought he accepted it.

But, whatever. It doesn’t matter that much. It doesn’t matter that when you finally confront him about avoiding you, he only responds with a simple, snarky, “Are you crazy?”

You blink, wide eyed and heart pounding. “I’m not crazy, you’re avoiding me.”

Michael scoffs, tossing his long blond and blue rats tail across his shoulder and staring at you half heartedly. 

“Why would I be avoiding you?” He laughs it off, his tantalising blue eyes glimmer in the light of your apartment.

His statement sets you off.

“You are avoiding me! You never talk to me anymore! You ignore me so much in public, that even the press is noticing!” You begin to shriek.

The blond man simply stands in front of you, his hands casually in his pockets as if this is any random tuesday. He licks his fake white teeth as you ramble about how you know something is wrong, and he glances down at his nails.

“And, and, you won’t even tell me why when I ask you! You’re constantly going back and forth between liking me and hating me!” You explain. “It’s like I’m not even your girlfriend anymore!”

There is a pregnant pause.

He runs a hand through his hair, interrupting your swirling thoughts, “You’re fucking crazy.” 

A sudden uneasy quiet envelopes the room, and your hands begin to shake.

Of course he’s calling you crazy. Of course he isn’t truly answering your demands. Of course he’s doing this as he always does. 

But. Whatever. It doesn’t really matter. Why should it. Why should you have expected more from him. Whatever.

You sigh, and poke his chest, where his heart should be. There’s a heart shaped tattoo on his chest, but there’s nothing inside. Michael narrows his eyes, staring down at the point your finger connects to his skin.

“Don’t touch me.” He screams, slapping your hand off.

His previous uncaring and nonchalant mask seems to be ripped off, maybe you were really that repulsive to him.

You look up at him, your hand retracted, “We’re done.”

The world goes silent.

Too cool for love isn’t usually your type. But now you find yourself standing in front of Sae Itoshi, on the verge of tears.

“Do you love me too?” You ask.

It’s an absurd statement, Sae is your boyfriend, of course he should love you. The phrase shouldn’t have made him stop his movement completely, his eyes darting to the side almost guiltily.

You think you’ve caught him off guard, the two of you are in his apartment after a perfect match and he’s rather relaxed, why would he expect his girlfriend to say something as odd as you just did.  

He recovers, straightening his back and pulling out his apathetic persona, “Excuse me?” Sae asks.

Your heart pauses. You know he’s heard you, afterall he gave you a surprisingly large reaction for him, and you know that if he truly loved you he would have no reason to ask.

“I said, do you love me too?” Your voice cracks, stomach swirling. 

Perhaps it’s the calm atmosphere, or the way you’re barely holding in tears as you stare down at the ground, that allows him to tell you the truth. Tell you the truth for the first time in a while.

“No.” Sae turns, resuming his prior actions. “I don’t.”

That’s what causes the dam to break, and gallons of tears to flow down your face. 

Your throat is as scratchy as a record as you question, “You’re leading me on?”

He doesn’t make a noise.

“You asshole!” You erupt, walking up to him and demanding his attention. “I thought I mattered to you, I thought we meant something!” 

He sighs, admitting coldly “You didn’t. We didn’t.” 

“What! You- take that back!” You gesture wildly, pleading to some deity to change Sae’s mind. To convince you that this was all just one cruel joke, or some stupid dare. “Make me think that I didn’t waste my life on you.”

He continues to just stand there, so unbothered and uncaring even though you’re spilling tears and your heart is shaking at the spot.

“You wasted your life.” Sae comments.

His pinkish brown hair is down, with bangs that barely reach his forehead, let alone his eyes. You’re starting to vibrate, as stupid as that sounds, you thought you meant something to him. You thought he cared for you, that he loved you as whole heartedly as you loved him.

“Why are you acting like we were nothing!?”

He bites his lip.

“This is why my friends hate you. This is why your own brother hates you! You’re an emotionless freak!” You lash out, you move your hand to slap him and he grabs your arm midair. He couldn’t even let you have that one.

He stares at you, gaze unwavering.

“I’m done. Let’s break up.” 

He smiles, “Good.”

Rensuke Kunigami is the kindest, most loving guy in the entire world. He’s the type of guy who plants flowers, just to grow them into a beautiful bouquet for you. He’s the type of guy who learns complicated braids and hairstyles to use on you and your future kids. He’s the type of guy who loves wholeheartedly, and worships his beloved.

Rensuke is, simply put, a bleeding heart. And he is the penultimate love of your life, the one man that you always find yourself lingering on and loving. 

He’s the dead parent in films, who are filmed with the blurry nostalgic footage and who the remaining family look towards as a fond yet fading memory. He’s your guiding star, your best friend and most precious treasure in the entire universe.

And you thought he would always treasure you too, after all you’ve been through thick and thin together. You dated before he got accepted into Blue Lock, and stayed together throughout the program, you kept by him even when he returned from the wild card program and became different.

Something is off about Rensuke. Whenever you touch he flinches, even if it’s a simple brush of your fingers. He never smiles in photos, let alone in real life. It’s odd. This big, hunky man used to brighten up years with a mere flash of his grin, and now he can’t even think of it.

And whenever you try talking with him, he always brushes you off. He comes in with one excuse or another, and you find yourself growing more and more frustrated at this.

You thought he would get better after you became fully official, but he’s only gotten worse.

You take a deep breath in, before announcing “We’re breaking up.”

“I love you.” For a second you swear you can see your Rensuke come back, with the innocent flutter of his eyes as he blinks slowly at you. 

The words hit you like a bullet train. How could a monster like him love? Maybe you misheard him, maybe he was lying. Or maybe you were growing insane.

“What?”

He pauses, repeating himself. “I love you.” He says it with such sincerity, as if you are his last and only lifeline, and for a moment you falter.

“You can’t spring that onto me.” You take a step back, trying to escape the thralls of your past love with him. He wasn’t allowed to do this to you, to make you feel like this once more.

He states straight at you, taking a step towards you, “I’m not sorry.”

“Don’t. Don’t do this to me.” You plead, you couldn’t take this. You didn’t care if he somehow got better or not, you just cared that he treated you bad before.

He responds with mere silence.

“We’re- We’re still over. It’s not me, it’s you.” You argue, gesturing as you speak with a certain lost ferocity, as if your old feelings -old self- have reunited with the current you.

Rensuke pauses, before turning away and scoffing. He crosses his muscular arms.

You continue, “You’re different now. You’re not the Rensuke I used to know.” 

“That’s true.” He responds curtly.

“Yeah. So we’re done. Over. Broken up. Get out of my house.” You overexpose yourself.

He blinks, “It’s my apartment.” 

Look at him, suddenly so hardcore. Although you may have forgotten about the apartment, in your defence it was somewhat reasonable. It wasn’t like the pair of you hadn’t lived there together since forever.

“You’re right. I’ll go.” You turn, reluctant to leave past memories behind. Memories from before he turned like this, and after he changed into this.

“Have a nice life…” He says.

You sigh, “I will. I hope you do too.”

“I still love you.”

“I don’t.”

[enderlovez]

Trivia Night

Spencer Reid x BAU Reader WORD COUNT: 791

Summary: Garcia should've known it was a bad idea to put you and Spencer on opposing teams at trivia night, and now she's stuck with two very competitive people who will stop at nothing to win.

────── ꒰ঌ·✦·໒꒱ ──────

Garcia should have known better. Really, she should have.

The idea of a BAU trivia night seemed innocent enough—a fun team-bonding activity after a particularly grueling case. Drinks and snacks and a little friendly competition, what could possibly go wrong?

Apparently everything, when she made the critical error of placing you and Spencer on opposing teams.

"Alright, everybody!" Garcia chirps, standing at the front of the room with her clipboard. "Trivia night rules are simple: answer correctly, earn points; answer incorrectly, face public humiliation—kidding, sort of. Now, let's keep it light and friendly, okay?"

Spencer casts you a sly look from across the room, his lips twitching into a smirk. "Light and friendly," he echoes. "Got it."

You meet his gaze with an arched brow. "Sure, as long as you don't cry when you lose, Doctor Reid."

A ripple of laughter goes through the team, but Garcia sighs, already regretting her decision. "Why did I think this was a good idea?" she mutters to herself, scribbling a quick note to never pair you two against each other again.

The first few rounds go smoothly enough. Questions about geography and pop culture and history fly by, each team racking up points. You nd Spencer trade victories, but the air between you grows increasingly charged with every answer.

"You didn't even buzz in for that one!" you accuse after Spencer correctly answers a particularly obscure literature question.

"Because the answer was obvious," he replies smugly, leaning back in his chair.

"Oh, it's on," you mutter, cracking your knuckles dramatically, much to the amusement of the rest of them.

By the time the final round rolls around, the room is split between two factions: Team Spencer and Team You. Everyone else has resigned themselves to the sidelines, content to watch the show. Even Garcia has given up trying to referee, instead leaning against the bar with a drink in hand.

"This question," she announces, "is for the win."

You sit up straighter, your focus narrowing. Across the table, Spencer mirrors your intensity. His sleeves are rolled up, his tie loosened—classic signs of a man in deep competition mode.

"What is the capital of Bhutan?" Garcia asks, her eyes flicking between the two of you.

Your hand slams down on the buzzer half a second before Spencer's. "Thimphu!" you shout triumphantly.

Garcia checks her clipboard, nodding slowly. "Correct."

You throw your hands up in victory, earning cheers from your teammates. Spencer, however, is already leaning forward, his expression incredulous.

"That was a reflex," he argues. "She didn't even think about it."

You smirk, holding your hand up for a high-five from Morgan. "Or maybe I'm just faster and smarter than you, genius."

Spencer narrows his eyes. "Faster, maybe. Smarter? That's debatable."

The room erupts into laughter as you two go back and forth, your playful banter quickly escalating into a full-blown debate over split-second reaction times and the nuances of trivia strategy.

"Alright, alright!" Garcia finally intervenes, clapping her hands to get your attention. "We're calling it there before this turns into a break up. Trivia night is supposed to be fun, remember?"

You glance at Spencer, who's still staring at you like you've personally insulted his entire academic career. Despite his faux-annoyance, there's a glimmer of amusement in his eyes.

"Truce?" you offer, extending your hand towards him.

He considers it for a moment before shaking it. "Truce. But don't think this means I'm letting you win next time."

"Next time, you'll have to try harder," you reply with a wink.

As the room starts to clear now, you linger by the bar, waiting for Spencer to join you. When he does, he's holding two drinks—one for each of you.

"Good game," he says, handing you the glass.

"You're not mad I beat you?" you tease, taking a sip.

"Mad? No," he replies, leaning against the counter. "Impressed? Maybe. I didn't think you'd know the capital of Bhutan."

You grin, nudging him playfully. "I'm full of surprises."

Spencer chuckles, his gaze softening as he looks at you. "You know, Garcia's probably ever going to let us be on opposing teams again."

"Probably not," you agree. "But it was fun while it lasted."

The two of you fall into a comfortable silence, the earlier competitiveness melting away. Despite the antics, it's moments like these—when you're teasing each other, laughing, and completely at ease—that make everything worth it.

"By the way," Spencer says after a moment, his tone casual but laced with mischief, "you buzzed in half a second early. Technically, you cheated."

You roll your eyes, but your smile doesn't fade. "Technically, I still won."

"Technically," he echoes, his lips quirking into a small smile.

And just like that, the competition starts all over again.