#I read everything in his accent and I’m so happy

[midnighvtm4ss]

Rosemary

Summary: After finding out Arthur’s secret you soothe your aching heart with a nice girls night out drinking in Rhodes. Unfortunately for you your problems seem to follow you everywhere. part 1 | part 2 | part 3 | part 4

AO3 link (a better rewritten version of this fic on ao3)

Pairing: Arthur Morgan x f!reader

Content: angst, hurt/no comfort, nothing a girls night out cannot cure ;) grammar errors for sure :(

a/n: I know you guys all wanted part 2 to be their happily ever after but,, I crave some more angst so yeah it gets messyy !! But nonetheless our girl gets some fun with the girls and some more information about Arthur and Mary’s hush hush meetings. Let me know your thoughts about it and if you sweets want part 3 !! P.S. I recommend you listen to “Rosemary” by Sierra Ferrell while reading. It’s so so good, it also kinda inspired this little fanfic here <33 (gif from pinterest)

“G’mornin’ sweet girl” Arthur groggily whispered against your neck giving you a light kiss, the movement causing the thick hair of his beard to tickle the space between your neck and your shoulder, before rolling out of bed with a tired groan, the mattress shifting under his movements unlike your unmoving form.

After your late night discovery of not one, not two but a whole drawer full of your boyfriend’s ex-fiancé letters it was safe to say that sleep didn’t come easy for you. As much as you wanted for all of this to be a dream, to close your eyes, wake up and sigh of relief laughing about the ‘bizarre dream’ you had with your Arthur while cuddling under the soft protection of the thick bed sheets, reality decided to slap you right in the face instead, leaving you awake all night trying to hold onto all the broken pieces of your heart.

During your sleepless night you wandered to yourself your next move. Should you just throw everything into his face revealing to him that you knew that the ‘sorry fellow’ of the letter was, in reality, his ex fiancé and yell at him as soon as he wakes up or wait and find out more before confronting him ? Considering the fact that you couldn’t properly read, you just had Mary’s name on various envelopes as evidence. Maybe they’re catching up on each other’s life. Just harmless conversations.

Although your heart screamed at you to just confront him first thing in the morning you knew that with what little evidence you had you would just cause a scene. You needed to go deeper into this story. As much as I’d hurt you needed to know for sure if you wasted three years of your life going after a man whose heart had already been claimed a long time ago.

You brushed off Arthur’s affection muttering a quick tired ‘morning’ before stretching your limbs out and leaving the tent, ignoring the man behind you still sitting on the bed looking at you with a puzzled expression at the lack of your usual loving greeting. Even though you two had the biggest tent in camp, aside for Dutch, it felt claustrophobic being in there with him. You needed space to think, to breathe, to not hurt.

The fresh breeze of October grounding you from your spiraling thoughts as you walked towards the pot of coffee on the fire near Pearson’s tent.

“Well look who’s here in all her glory” a voice, which you recognized as Karen’s by the thick accent, basically yelled at you over the nearby round table.

“You look like you fought a damn herd of buffalos Miss. What the hell are you an’ that old man doing in the night” she cackled at the last sentence gesturing you to join her at the table. Seated on her left Tilly shook her head sending you a sympathetic look.

“Are you already drunk ? Why are you so loud for, it’s seven in the morning” you grumbled in your mug of coffee as you took a sip, instantly cringing at the burnt taste that filled your mouth before sitting down with them.

“I’m happy to inform you that I haven’t had a sip since yesterday at lunch” she smiled smugly lifting her chin up at her achievement.

“That’s ‘cause we haven’t seen Miss Grimshaw yet. Bet you by the end of the day you’d kill for a little bit of booze after that woman.” Tilly said fixing the buttons on her yellow blouse, her words reminding you of the long day ahead of you, making you mentally shiver. It wasn’t exactly that you dreaded the woman, after all, you all knew she cared about you in her own twisted way but her attitude didn’t help with making the camp’s chores more tolerable. It seemed like the warmer weather of Lemoyne was putting everyone on edge.

After a few minutes of Karen and Tilly arguing on what was the worst chore to do around camp Abigail and Mary Beth’s dainty figure joined your small group, Mary Beth’s eyes briefly locking on yours before greeting the other girls. You couldn’t quite understand the meaning behind that look but something told you that at some level she knew something about the letters. That possibility made you nauseous to even think of because it would mean that Mary Beth, the girl who always put a smile on your face, the one who always had your back ended up covering for your cheating partner. You needed to know the truth and you needed it now. But before you could even mutter a word to her Karen called your group to attention.

“Gals, I don’t know about y’all but if I stay just one more moment in this godforsaken camp I’m gonna lose my mind.” her statement gaining a few nods and grunts among your group. With the unnecessary gunfight in Valentine leading you all to move further away from the West and this absurd play at sheriffs in town, tension was undeniably high around camp. “I heard from a handsome fella I met in town that there’s going to be some famous lady from Saint Denis singing at the saloon this evening. Heard also there’s going to be some rich folks from Saint Denis with her. Are y’all thinking the same thing I’m thinking ?”

there was a moment of silence as Karen looked at everyone with gleaming eyes.

“Hells know I need a break from this. I’m in” Tilly was the first who broke the silence followed by Mary Beth, the two girls earning a big smile from Karen.

“I don’t know, I have Jack and,” Abigail never had a chance to finish the sentence as Karen immediately interrupted her, telling her to leave Jack with Hosea for a few hours at not make a fuss. It’s not like you were going to be there all night, plus god’s knows how that woman needed some well deserved time for herself once in a while.

You couldn’t lie, the idea of going out after weeks of being in the same spot with the same routine every day excited you quite a bit and if on top of that you add some good ol’ pickpocketing then consider yourself sold. You were going out this evening no matter what.

“Are y’all lazy do-nothin’ girls done chit chatting !? There’s so much work to do today and you’re all sittin’ there doing nothin’. This generation is unbelievable. Get your asses off to work. Now.” The unmistakable trill of Miss Grimshaw's voice shook you from your comfortable seats putting you all to work for the day. As you got up from your seat you tried your best to ignore Arthur’s piercing gaze on you.

––––– ✧ ✦ ✧ –––––

The sun was slowly setting over flat iron lake, the sky tinted with a mixture of oranges and pinks. You passed your day washing the camp's dirty laundry, scrubbing dry blood and dirt from the old fabrics of each camp’s member clothes. Managing more or so to avoid Arthur throughout launch, the task not easy as he sat down with you and wouldn’t stop talking to you or asking you questions. You tried your best to not straight up ignore him, answering with monosyllabic answers to his questions. Eventually, he understood you weren’t having it, his hands leaving their place on top of the one you had flat on the table. An annoyed expression evident on his face. Why all of a sudden were you ignoring him ? His mind working miles an hour to find out what he did wrong but failing at the task. You seemed fine last night so what the hell happened to make his darling so distant from him.

When you were getting up from the table to put your dirty dish in the washing bin he tried to stop you, his calloused hand delicately taking your wrist. His confused face met with your tired one. He studied your face almost as if the secret to your behavior was hidden through your mesmerizing features. He tried to say something but the words wouldn’t come up, leaving both of you staring into each other eyes, his aqua ones filled with turmoil, before Uncle's voice burst your bubble calling Arthur for work.

After that, you only saw him half an hour later mounting on his horse before riding off.

You definitely needed this night with the girls.

Putting on your last finishing touches to your lipstick you met with Tilly and Abigail near the horse-drawn carriage that Lenny swiftly stole from a nearby town.

“Hello ladies,” you faked a bow lifting your skirt up by the sides the action causing the other two girls to laugh “ready for this eventful evening ?”

“Well of course I’m ready” Tilly replied mimicking your fake posh accent before getting on the carriage helped by Lenny who was your driver for the night since he also had some business to attend to. You waited for Karen and Mary Beth before going off to town, the drive to Rhodes filled with light chit-chat and silly songs, your mind and heart already feeling at ease.

As you all thanked Lenny for the drive you looked around noticing the numerous people around you, the town buzzing with life but most importantly buzzing with opportunities to steal. Before entering the saloon you strolled through the town, Abigail and Mary Beth’s skilled hands already pickpocketing around while you, Karen and Tilly distracted the poor fellas.

Twenty dollars in your pocket and half an hour later you entered the saloon, gladly finding an empty table to sit near the stage that was occupied by a tall blonde woman in a fancy dress who you deduced was the famous singer from Saint Denis.

With drinks on the table and the sweet melody of the guitar, a light conversation about your successful operation sparked amongst your group until a man approached your table, the heavy scent of alcohol evident on him as he tried to drunkenly flirt with Tilly, ending up insulting her rather than woo her earning a slap in the face from the girl, attracting some attention to your table. Luckily the slimy man was too drunk to react and decided to wander off as you all giggled at the situation.

Round after round you all let loose getting up to dance to the merry melody of the music. Tilly standing near the table swaying in her red dress, with Karen by her side singing her heart out, already too drunk for her own good, while Abigail chatted with one of the men from Saint Denis. You shot her a wink as soon as you noticed the wealthy man making her face light up with mirth.

What an absolute fool you are John Marston.

The only two sitting down were you and Mary Beth, whose eyes never left you since sitting down. Her presence a reminder of your cracked heart. It was supposed to be a fun night at the saloon away from your problems, but your curiosity and need to be wrong about Mary and Arthur gnawed inside of you.

“Mary Beth,” you cautiously greeted her, scooting your chair closer to hers so the other girls wouldn’t hear the two of you from their nearby positions. You didn’t want any more drama to spread around tonight.

“Hi,” there was a long uncomfortable pause before she looked up to you again and started blurting everything out. “I’m sorry, I really do. I should have told you he was receiving letters from her again I just didn’t know how to tell you. When I found the first letter two weeks ago he told me he was gonna tell you. But then I saw how you reacted yesterday seeing her letter and I knew he didn’t” She took your hands in hers before continuing, her words coming out fast, the alcohol in her system making her accent heavier “Oh I’m such a fool, please forgive me, I just didn’t want to come between your relationship”.

You were taken aback by her sudden confession, you thought it would be a tad more complicated to let her open up to you about it. Hearing her point of view definitely helped you clear your mind a bit, she had a fair point. It wasn’t her fault Arthur decided to hide something like this. Your anger towards that man growing more and more. Nonetheless, you couldn’t help but notice one thing.

“You said the first letter arrived two weeks ago ?” you asked her. His drawer was full of letters, it was impossible to send that many letters in just two weeks.

“Yes, then I gave it to Arthur, I usually pick up the mail but Arthur has been helping me lately, why?” you started to fidget with the bracelet Arthur gifted for your first anniversary, a small gesture you did when thinking or anxious. The dots in your mind slowly connecting.

––––– ✧ ✦ ✧ –––––

You were about to go back to camp, everyone was on the carriage. Lenny, who had come back from his business with some intel, was back in his driver seat ready to go when you noticed you forgot your gloves at the saloon. Quickly apologizing you clumsily hopped down the carriage, your tipsy state making your movements far from gracious, giggling to yourself you walked back to the saloon to retrieve your gloves. Thankfully they were still on the table untouched.

As you walked back to the carriage enjoying the chilly weather of October from the corner of your eyes you noticed a familiar figure standing outside a building. Maybe it was the alcohol running through your veins or perhaps your curious nature but you turned to steal a glance at the figure.

All color drained from your face as you saw who it was.

As you saw her.

You met her just once in the past but the figure you saw was unmistakably the one of Mary. Smiling up at a man you instantly recognized.

You felt your heart cracking even more. You ran away as fast as you could, leaving pieces of your shattered heart behind as you reached the carriage, quickly hopping on.

During the whole ride, you tried your absolute best to not cry in front of everyone and ruin the cheerful mood, biting the inside of your cheeks as a distraction.

––––– ✧ ✦ ✧ –––––

You were back in your tent when Abigail stopped by.

“Hey, I saw you earlier and you didn’t look so good, are you ok sweetie ?” she asked, her sweet voice full of concern as she put her hand on your shoulder moving it in a calming manner, the tone of her voice and her action causing you to break down in tears like a child to their mother. She quickly pulled you into one of her comforting hugs as you violently sobbed your heart out. Soft ‘It’s ok’ left her lips as she held your shaking form in her arms. Managing to let out a small ‘Arthur’ to answer her question on what was wrong.

Seeing him with Mary tonight was the final straw. You didn’t need any more evidence, you already had everything you needed. He lied to Mary Beth about the letter, he lied to you about it too, matter of fact he lied to you about everything. How could he walk around kissing you, touching you, acting all caring as if nothing. As if he didn’t have a drawer with Mary’s letters, as if he didn’t lie to you this whole time.

Your heartbreak slowly turned into anger, the more you thought about it the more your blood boiled.

“Wanna talk about it ?” sensing you calming down from your sobs she gently fixed a strand of hair behind your ear, a concerned expression evident on her fair features. You dried your tears, your hands stained with mascara. You undoubtedly looked like a mess, or at least you felt like it.

Then, a familiar sound of hooves on the ground could be heard from the entrance of camp.

Arthur was back.

“Oh, so help me God I’m gonna strangle that piece of shit”.

[foulphantomllama]

My Secret Desire | AESPA Winter x Male Reader

AESPA Winter x Male Reader (POV)

Y/N is an abroad student from Europe. When he realizes he has feelings for his bully, Minjeong, their love-hate relationship made them push each others limits.

I will be releasing it in chapters. If you guys like it, i will make it as long as possible. And also I can take requests! Enjoy your reading.

The Exchange Student

It was always hard for me to go to school in the mornings. There were multiple reasons but the main one was my bully. Minjeong. But everybody was calling her Winter. Because she was stone cold, rude. Her attitude has a certain charm, I’m not going to lie. I guess this was the main reason I took the bullying for so long. I may be an exchange student but, i wasn’t really the type you expect to get bullied. After all, she was literally pocket size. I even can call her efforts cute. It was like taking a beating from a two year old. But little did I know that this cat has very sharp claws.

I had classes three days a week. So does she. She was not the brightest student, but she was always on time to classes. I don’t remember a single one that she missed. I, on the other hand, was pretty good at my grades and I knew my way around nearly all of the subjects. But still, she found something to make fun of me. But mainly me being a westerner. As time passed by, I get used to her attitude towards me. At some point I was addicted to her verbal abuse. She mocks my accent, my eating habits, the way I study. Everything. This toxic relationship started to grew inside me. It was just like I had found the motivation I needed to stop thinking about the choices I made with my life. And I was still getting pretty annoyed at some things she does but, overall, I started to fell for her.

Like I said, waking up in the morning always made me think about my choices. What the fuck I was doing in Korea tho? But I always ended up looking at myself at the mirror. Although my self-esteem was at its lowest, I was surprisingly pretty egoistic. Don’t ask me how that is possible. I don’t know either. Just like one of those mornings, I come to school, grab myself a freshly brewed americano and when I was on my way to the class, I saw Minjeong coming towards me. “Hi” she said with a soft, nice voice. Something I did not heard from her before. She got me. “Hi” I said back. “Look” she started to talk. I was nervous. Why I was nervous? “I’m so sorry for all my attitude towards you.” I was shocked. Did she just.. apologized to me? “Don’t worry about it. We’re adults after all, In fact I was starting to like it.” I answered. “Ha” she smirked at me. But that smirk was too evil and too inviting. She was fucking me up. Making me stand for everything I hated before. “So, can we just talk over there?” she said to me. I accepted. We started walking together.

After a little walk, we sat at a bench looking towards our building. She took my cofee off my hand and started drinking it. “Sorry, I’m so nervous.” She said. “I was probably never should have bullied you from the start.” She looked at me. Her face was to innocent to be guilty. But she was. I knew that but still, wanted to hear the rest. “Do you need something?” I asked. “How did you knew?” she answered back. “My father says If I don’t pass my classes this year It will be over for me.” “What will be over?” I answered. “School.” She said. “He says he will remove me from the school.” She put the coffee to the side. Something was seriously off. I could feel it. But I agreed to help anyway. She was so happy when I agreed to help her. Some of it felt insanely real. Was it real?

[cottonlemonade]

How You Met

word count: 1098 || avg. reading time: 5 mins.

pairing: post-time skip!Hinata x chubby!Reader

genre: angst with comfort, happy ending

warnings: spoilers

It was still hot outside even though it was nearing midnight and Hinata’s eyes began to sting. The temperatures rarely dropped below anything considered perfect summer weather in Japan. Last year when he realized it wouldn’t snow during wintertime he found it new and exciting. This year, the prospect only filled him with dread.

For the most part, he really enjoyed Brazil. He had found a new love in beach volleyball, got along pretty well with the people around him and… and that was about it. It wasn’t unusual for him to feel lonely when he had time to think about something other than training on his delivery runs - or when he was alone in his apartment and happened to glance too long at his lock screen showing his friends grinning widely into the camera.

But tonight felt different. The last delivery he had just dropped off was for a married couple, the husband being Japanese. As he opened the door to receive his food, his eyes lit up and after noticing Hinata’s accented Portuguese when he asked for the money, he had switched over to his native language with a hopeful glint in his eyes. And that was all it took. That short exchange had cracked the dam inside of Hinata that had been filling up since his arrival a little over 18 months ago. He reached a park, scarcely bigger than the gym back home, that, from the looks of it, seemed to be mostly deserted. Through the sparse amount of trees with their lusciously green canopy, he spotted the hustle and bustle of a restaurant. Warm, inviting lights, laughter, music - people having a good time. And as usual, he was on the outside looking in. He slowed and eventually got off his delivery bike. Maybe he shouldn’t be riding it when his vision started to blur. A few drops fell onto the pebbly pathway from an earlier short November shower.

Not bothering to wipe away the water from the bench he plopped down and took a deep breath. He had trouble doing so in the swampy humid air. He leaned forward, staring at the ground. Another wave of laughter carried over from the restaurant. He slung his arms around his chest, his head was almost between his knees now and he coughed a little when he felt a lump in his throat. He began to mutter to himself in Japanese. “Why am I here? What was I thinking? I miss everyone so much. I wanna go home! I -“

“Hey, are you okay?”

Hinata quickly turned his head away, closing his eyes to keep calm.

The voice seemed to belong to a young woman. You stood a couple of meters away, a plastic bag from a convenience store in one, a popsicle in the other hand.

Just wishing you would leave him alone, he nodded but couldn’t stop a small sniffle.

“Yeah, you see, I don’t believe that.”, you said in a kindly teasing sort of way. He only realized now that you spoke Japanese.

You added, “Do you want to talk about it?”

“No.”, he said to his shoes, worried you might think less of him when you saw the big heavy tears now rolling down his face and onto the clenched fists on his knees.

Your shadow, formed by a streetlamp behind you, nodded thoughtfully, then held the popsicle between your lips while rummaging in your bag for something.

Pebbles crunching under your shoes, you came closer and a moment later placed a pack of tissues and a small bottle of strawberry milk next to him, taking a couple of steps back again.

He looked up.

“Of course, I don’t know what’s going on, but I’m sure everything will seem a little better tomorrow.”

Your smile was genuine and sweet. A slight accent told him you weren't a native speaker but the only thing he could really make out in the faint light was your curvy silhouette.

When he didn’t say anything you went on, “It’ll be okay. Maybe you should get some sleep.”

After a short unsure pause you walked away. He watched you go. His eyes fell onto the gifts next to him and he let out a small thankful whimper, using his shoulder to wipe away the tears that threatened to fall again. Hinata cleared his throat and, gingerly at first, grabbed the milk and tissues to put in his pocket for later.

The following morning he woke up tangled in his bedsheets and quieted the blaring alarm on his phone. He yawned, rubbed his eyes, and as he stared at the ceiling of his small apartment the previous night came back to him. A short twinge of embarrassment rose in his chest. It wasn’t that he had never cried in public but just because he had done so before didn’t mean he was immune to the feeling of shame that followed.

He rolled over and spotted the now-empty bottle of strawberry milk sitting on the low table in his cramped room. What would be the chances of seeing you again? At the very least he wanted to thank you for your kindness. But he was also so desperate for a friend, especially one he could speak Japanese with. And so, deciding he would drive by the little park again tonight, he crawled out of bed and got started on his day.

Six days later and still no luck. It was pretty absurd to hope to find one person again in a city as huge as Rio de Janeiro, especially after only seeing them through a veil of tears in the weakened light of a park lantern, but if Hinata was good at anything it was never giving up.

The first week passed. Then the second.

At this point, he had to squeeze the pack of tissues in his pocket to make sure he didn’t just imagine the whole exchange.

Then two nights later, as he hurried up the steps to an apartment building he felt his determination slipping a little. What if he had already passed you on the street and didn’t recognize you? You might stay that kind stranger forever. He rang the bell of this latest delivery and absently drummed his fingers on his thighs as he waited for the door to open.

“Boa n- oh! Hey you!”

Hinata’s eyes widened. He recognized the voice. Oh, he definitely didn’t expect you to be this pretty. A smile, wider than any he had felt in months, spread across his face. Finally. He found you.

a/n: is it very obvious yet that I love the trope of meeting your s/o when one of you is having a really bad day?

[beenbaanbuun]

halloween w/ choi jongho

so bunny found yet another thing to hyperfixate over… this is sooooo my-older-brothercore of me🧍🏻‍♀️

genre - nsfw

warnings - switch!jongho, switch!reader, bunny!reader, ghost!jongho, groping, desperate!jongho, mention of creampies… i think that’s it

not proof read (it’ll do it later but i’m a lil busy now!!)

“i hate you,” you splutter out as your boyfriend struts into the room, draped in his halloween costume that he’d spent so long trying to keep a secret. you hadn’t understood why he’d kept the idea under lock and key when you’d been so eager to show him your pastel pink bunny costume with the ears and tail to match. the dress you picked out was just on the sexy side of innocent, and jongho had fucked you in it the very same day you showed it to him. he’d been so eager to get his hands all over your costume, and yet you hadn’t been allowed a single glimpse of his.

you can see why.

the tactical gear fits him well, covering his body in a thick layer of padding that you want nothing more than to feel pressed against your spine as he fucks you from behind. it’s surprisingly realistic, from the thick khaki kevlar to the fake magazines in each of the pockets; even the name tag boasts an all too familiar callsign. you’re barely able to rip your eyes away from those five letters to look at his face, covered with just a balaclava for now, the rest of his face covering gripped tightly in his hand.

but even with his everything but his eyes covered you can see the smirk he wears clear as day. his pupils glisten with mischief and one of his eyebrows is cocked just enough that the thick, painted material covers it. the bastard, you think to yourself. of course the cocky little shit would go and do something like this.

“you don’t like it?” as much as you’d like to hear that thick mancunian accent come from jongho’s mouth, you’re happy he doesn’t attempt it. it probably would’ve put you off a little; given you the ick to end all icks. besides, his own voice is far prettier to you, the soft cadence of his teasing heading straight to your pussy, which clenches around nothing. what did you do in your past life to be cursed with such an evil, incredibly attractive man as a boyfriend.

“you know i like it,” you spit, petulant and irritable as you fold your arms tightly over your chest, “and i hate you for doing this to me!”

“doing what? making you wet?” jongho smirks, just watching the way his words make your brain short circuit. he’s cocky enough without the costume, and yet somehow it’s made him worse. you suppose it’s character accurate in a way; you can only hope he doesn’t start making awful puns halfway through the night.

“you’re annoying,” you roll off of the bed, pretty pink thigh high’s hitting the floor with a thud as you manoeuvre your way over to the dresser where your heals lie. normally you’d rather die than go to a party in anything but your comfiest of sneakers, but the grimy brown shoes would clash horribly with your outfit. the pink mary janes fortunately aren’t too uncomfortable, and you suppose you have a big strong man to prop yourself up on if needs be. giving him the satisfaction of you clinging to him all night would surely make him unbearable, but you can cope with a few hours of over the top flirting if it means your feet are rescued from a grizzly fate.

you bend over to fiddle with the buckle, unsurprised by the gloved hand that makes its way to the swell of your ass. the skirt has already risen above the crease in your thigh, but thick fingers push it higher, desperate to get a glimpse as the pretty pink panties you’re wearing underneath. there’s no doubt in your mind that he can see the proof of what his costume has done to you; the little wet patch that sits at your crotch feels particularly cold as he reveals it to the room. there’s a low grunt from him as his fingers press into your exposed flesh and you can’t help but swell with pride knowing that he isn’t the only one able to perform some sort of sexual-tension based torture.

you stay in that position for just a second longer than you need to before shooting up to stand once more. his hand remains steady against your ass, the muscles in his arm tensing and relaxing as he kneads it like some sort of stress ball. part of you is tempted to see where he takes this; to see whether he’ll push you over the dresser and fuck his cock into your awaiting hole. the other part of you wants nothing more than to push every single one of his buttons. a couple of seconds pass as the two sides of your brain go to battle, and as you push his hand away with a giggle, careful to brush your own fingers against the tent in his trousers, you can tell that the latter has won.

“we have a party to get to, right?” every ounce of innocence you can muster finds its way into your voice as you turn to face him. there’s a hint of trouble behind the thin veil of excitement the words wear, one that you can tell by the look in his eyes that he hears clear as day. good; it was never your intention to hide your plan from him. you want him to know that you’re up to no good. to have to sit at that party and watch you tease him over and over again with no way to fix it. you want the tension to build until there’s no other option than for him to take you into the bathroom, or out front to his car and fuck you into next week. you can already imagine the way his voice cracks as he comes up with some unbelievable excuse as to why the two of you have to leave early, the way his hands cover his boner as he stutters out apologies to his dear friends.

its almost too delicious.

“don’t you just want to stay home, honey?” you can hear the desperation in his voice already; it shoots straight to your core, “don’t you wanna take advantage of this costume?”

“don’t you want to show it off?” you counter, “surely you didn’t put all that effort into becoming ghost just to rile me up, right? i know yunho will be gushing over it, baby. don’t you want to soak up their praise a little?” you lay it on thick, blinking up at him with a twinkle in your eye as his adam’s apple bobs up and down in his throat. the poor thing looks desperate, bless him. you lean in a little closer, watching as his eyes shift down to your cleavage; it makes you feel like you have all the power in the world in the palm of your hands.

“i’d rather soak up your praise,” he says as he reaches a hand out to where your nipple pokes through the soft material of your dress. you push it away, lacing your fingers with his own gloved ones and giving him a reassuring squeeze. you hope the tiny action is enough to let him know that he will get what he wants… eventually. “please baby,” his voice is as strained as the cock in his pants. he sounds beautiful, “let me fuck you, won’t you?”

“and here i thought soldiers were supposed to be patient?” you purr, “be good and i’ll let you cum inside.”

[riizegasm]

Serpent || H. DM (Taesan)

❀ pairing: mafia boss!taesan x rival mafia boss!reader, implied fem!reader

❀ genre: enemies to allies to lovers, suggestive, fluff

❀ word count: ~6.2k

❀ warnings: explicit language, mentions of guns, blood, and everything else related to organized crime, suggestive themes, taesan is slightly ooc

❀ summary: Your alliance with the Giant Mountain crashes into your life like a brick through a glass window. As you work together to defeat a common enemy, you realize the old saying is right. The enemy of your enemy is your lover…or whatever…

❀ a/n: Okay so I’m a deep introspection writer, not an action writer, BUT!! I absolutely adore this fic! It’s so different from my usual portrayal of loser!taesan, but it works so well. I really hope you all enjoy this as much as I do. As always, likes, replies, and reblogs are encouraged. Happy reading!

Your heels click rhythmically against the spotless marble hallway, their sound interrupting the tense silence in the building. A pair of grandiose mahogany doors are opened for you, two men stepping aside to let you in. The office that it leads to is lavish, all of the furniture black with little chrome accents. Even the large desk in the center is an inky shade, clearly recently polished. 

A pair of equally spotless black shoes are propped up on its surface, mile long legs stretched out as their owner reclines in his chair. The smirk that the man wears is sickening, all too familiar. 

“Well, look what the cat dragged in,” the man purrs. “What brings The Beauty of the North into my office?”

“Taesan,” you sigh, pointedly ignoring the nickname. “I need your help.”

You don’t know if it’s the desperation that colors your tone or the obvious frustration painted across your delicate features, but the smirk drops from Taesan’s face. His expression shifts into something more serious, something that could even be mistaken for concern, if you didn’t know the man so well. But this is Han Taesan, for Christ’s sake, the Giant Mountain, known for his harsh and stoic nature. There’s no way he is capable of feeling anything, let alone feeling anything for you. 

In an unlawful world full of enemies and allies, it would be fair to say that Taesan is neither. Your territories are separated from each others’ by the Dragons, an established mafia group known for their arms dealings. Although neither you nor Taesan specialize in arms deals, it makes sense that the groups closest in proximity to you would be your biggest threat. After all, territory disputes are common in your world. 

And well, the enemy of your enemy is your kinda not really friend, or however the saying goes. 

Within a few moments, you are making yourself comfortable in a seat across from Taesan, a steaming mug of tea warming your hands. The man’s expression of concern has completely dropped now, exchanged for the blank stare that he’s known for. Despite the look, you can tell he is still prepared to hear you out, having ordered his men to leave you two in privacy. 

“What’s going on?” Taesan asks after a moment of silence. “It must be pretty bad if you’re coming to me for help.”

“Intel says that the Dragons are preparing a territory breach. Apparently they’ve already started preparing to move their sales into my territory.”

Taesan scoffs. “And what does that have to do with me?”

You roll your eyes, unsurprised by Taesan’s standoff-ish attitude. “Because you’re next. My source says that they’ve already planted a mole so that they can take you down from the inside once I’m gone. They’re banking on the fact that both of us deal with their attacks alone. But if we deal with them together…”

“We can save both of our asses in one go.”

Despite the way Taesan nods in clear understanding, a scowl begins to cloud his features. Just as fast as it appears, though, it vanishes, replaced with the signature blank stare. 

“How do I know this isn’t a set up?” He questions. “The Dragons and I have been on decent terms for over a year. Why should I believe that they are making their move now?”

You sigh, reaching into your purse to fetch the item that brought you here. You force yourself to ignore the reflexive way Taesan’s hand twitches at the sudden movement, no doubt ready to grab one of the weapons he undoubtedly has stored in his desk. What you’re looking for is hard to miss, and you drop it on the unblemished desk with a loud thud. 

The red brick isn’t particularly large, just sturdy enough to do some minor damage. A piece of white paper remains taped to its rough surface. Across it, bolded words are scribbled. 

THOSE WHO DO NOT FALL IN LINE WILL PERISH!

The only indicator of the sender of the message is a small stamp of a dragon’s face at the bottom of the paper. 

“This shattered the window of one of my shops at around 4am today.”

Taesan hums softly, picking the brick up to inspect it. He lets his eyes linger on its inked surface before nodding to himself. When done, he tosses it back onto the table, not once flinching at the sound it makes. 

“So, will you help me?” You hope your words don’t sound as desperate as you feel. 

Taesan blinks at you once, twice, before sighing. “Fuck it, I’m in. Where do we start?”

You can’t help the small smile that blooms on your face, pleasantly surprised by Taesan’s willingness. 

“First, we find the mole.”

.          .         .

Han Taesan’s main office, or the Mountain Top as it’s better known, is just as flashy as Taesan himself is. Sleek black furniture and equally ebony walls are decorated with hints of chrome, their reflections shining in the perfectly polished marble floors. It’s tasteful, almost. Well, it’s as tasteful as any space run by a man in his twenties could be. But you imagine that it’s much easier when your empire is passed down to you by a filthy rich grandfather and not fought for tooth and nail like the one you yourself have built. 

There’s a difference in respect, you’d assume, between a leader who fought for their empire and a leader who was given it. But Taesan’s men don’t seem to show any lack in their appreciation for him. They bow a full ninety degrees as the man treks through the hallways, mile long legs moving gracefully in perfectly tailored dress pants. He commands a degree of authority without ever having to open his mouth. That silent reverence is probably what is saving you from a slew of unsavory comments from his underlings. 

Men in the business are never shy about treating pretty people like they are nothing more than just that. You’re used to people outside of your organization seeing you as nothing but a literal and metaphorical breeding ground for promiscuity. It took years of decapitating people for them to realize that your power extends to much more beyond your looks. 

The thought makes you sway your hips a little bit more than usual as you follow Taesan down an immaculate hallway. He leads you to a small set of doors, not bothering to knock before he simply barges in. The room hosts a slew of monitors and keyboards, all seemingly monitored by one person who sits at a central desk. 

The kid is clearly young, boyish features and a dark brown bed head giving him away. A pair of headphones fit snug over his ears, making it so that the boy hasn’t acknowledged either of his guests. Taesan just chuckles fondly before reaching over and snatching them off. His laughter only grows as the boy scrambles to his feet, falling over himself to bow deeply. 

“Sir, please excuse the disrespect,” he blubbers. “I was just watching back the tapes of yesterday’s deal and I got too into the details and—,”

Taesan claps a hand over the boy’s shoulder, smiling softly. You try not to stare at the handsome way his features contort in obvious fondness. It’s amazing to see Han Taesan be anything other than his stoic self. You would be lying if you said that he didn’t look undeniably attractive. 

“It’s okay, Woonhak. Seriously, straighten up.”

The boy does as told, embarrassment still coloring his cheeks. You struggle not to coo at the plush redness of his cheeks, further emphasizing his youth. 

“I came because I need your help with something. We need help with something. This is Y/N…,”

“The Beauty of the North,” Woonhak breathes, clearly in awe. “It’s an honor to meet you.”

This time, you don’t bother to hide your smile. “You as well, Woonhak.”

“What can I help you with?”

Taesan clears his throat, back to his stoic nature. “I need you to pull all phone records and text conversations for all of our men and scan them for any mention of the Dragons.”

“All of them?” Woonhak scoffs in disbelief. “But that’s over fifty men.”

“I know. But it’s really important, and time sensitive, too.”

You nod in agreement. “We’d like to have them by tonight, if we can.”

Taesan folds his arms over his chest, making his suit jacket shift across the broadness of his shoulders. You struggle to look away from the tightening fabric, hating the warmth that rises to your cheeks at the sight. Now is not the time. 

Woonhak seems to mull over the timeframe before responding. “I mean it would take all day and I would have to get to work right now, but I think I can do it!”

“Perfect,” Taesan sighs. “I’ll get Sungho to cover the rest of your workload for today. And Woonhak?”

The boy in question cocks his head, not unlike an intrigued puppy. 

“This stays between us, okay?”

The boy nods eagerly, miming zipping his lips closed before smiling. You can’t help the tiny laugh that bubbles in your throat at the over exaggerated action. Taesan seems amused too, if his hint of a smile is anything to go by. It’s only when the two of you exit the room once again that his smile drops. 

“Are you sure we can trust him?” You ask, nerves beginning to tickle at the base of your stomach. 

Taesan sighs. “Honestly, he’s the only one that I can say for sure that I trust. If he were the mole, my whole organization would be going down in flames.”

“Let’s hope that it’s not him, then.”

“Yeah,” Taesan mumbles, shaking his head. “Let’s.”

The tense aura that had once overcome the space begins to dissipate as Taesan straightens up, casually fixing his tie before beginning to head back down the long hallway from which you came. He clearly makes no move to check if you’re following behind, but something tells you that he’s listening to the measured clack of your heels against the marble floors. The tilt of his head is subtle, but it’s a dead giveaway that he’s listening; Han Taesan actually gives a shit about whether or not you’re following him. 

You only make it a few paces before Taesan stops short. He freezes so abruptly that you run straight into him, yet the force doesn’t sway him one bit. He’s silent for a moment, two, until a short yell echoes in the otherwise silent hallway. Silence quickly returns, then fades once again when it is pierced by a sound you know all too well—a gunshot. 

Taesan is quick to spring into action when a bullet whizzes past the both of you, luckily missing and lodging itself into an adjacent wall. He turns quickly, wrapping an arm around your waist before pulling you tight against him. He ushers the two of you behind a large pillar that divides the massive hallway in two. You remain tucked against the man’s chest, his crisp suit jacket wrinkled where you’re holding on for dear life. 

It’s not like any of this is new to you. In your business, shootouts and confrontations are just about an everyday affair. But it’s different when it’s on enemy turf. It’s different when you are miles away from your own headquarters and your own men. For all you know, Taesan could use you as a human shield while he escapes! But something about the way his large hand spans your waist, keeping you tucked to his chest, proves otherwise. 

“Are you okay?” He whispers, breath warm as it fans your face in the close proximity. 

“Yeah, you?”

The man just hums in response, the simple vibration making a home in your own chest where it’s pressed to his. It brings you an odd sense of calm despite the calamity around you, another set of shots going off. They whiz past the pillar the two of you are tucked behind. 

Taesan reaches into his suit jacket and pulls out a pistol, clicking the safety off and cocking it immediately. His other hand still remains firmly on your waist, not once faltering where he keeps you tucked close. He’s quick to lean over you, arm outstretched, only taking a quick peek around the pillar before firing off three shots. You can feel the recoil in your veins, the simple pop pop pop nestling deep into your flesh. No matter how long you’ve been in this world, the sound of guns firing at close range will never not startle you. 

There’s a loud thud that fills the office space, followed by a prolonged period of silence. Taesan’s breath is shaky but controlled, clearly preparing to fire off more shots if needed. But as some more time passes, it’s clear that the shooter is down. Taesan, however, doesn’t move, still peering down his nose at you. You hate the way that his gaze ignites something deep in your core. Silently, you pray that he can’t feel the heavy thump of your heart against your ribs, or that he at least just passes it off as adrenaline. 

“I think I got him,” Taesan whispers. “Stay here, I’ll go ch—,”

“MR. HAN?? Sir, where are you?!” A voice exclaims from down the hallway. 

Taesan visibly exhales at the sound of the voice, finally taking a step away from you and ducks around the pillar. You loathe the way his absence leaves you cold. 

“What the fuck was that?” Taesan exclaims. “Sanghyuk, please tell me that wasn’t one of our own.”

You take that as your cue that it’s safe to come out, steps shaky as you leave your hiding spot. The war zone that you step into almost makes you collapse. There’s a series of bullet holes lodged into various walls and some desks. A few bodies lay unmoving further down the hallway, all dressed in black suits similar to Taesan’s. But the man in charge is stationed on the other end of the hallway, bent over a limp body with a few of his other men. A sea of crimson slowly expands below their feet, matching the color splattered along the wall. If you looked close enough, you’re sure you would be able to see some brain matter stuck to the sleek white walls. 

Taesan is merciless as he lifts the body’s head by pulling on a fistful of hair. He takes one look at the face and scoffs before letting the face fall back to the floor. It makes a wet smack when it hits the floor, sending another splatter of blood up to Taesan’s ankles. The man doesn’t even flinch, brows pinching in anger as he rights himself. He crosses his arms against his chest, letting out a bitter chuckle. 

“Fucking Minjoong!” He exclaims. “I should’ve known to not let in that slimy fuck.”

You swallow thickly. “Who was he?”

The man next to Taesan responds, running a hand through his dyed red hair. “A fairly new recruit. He cornered us coming back from a deal and begged to be let in. But it’s clear now that he was a mole.”

The final word has you looking to Taesan, searching his features for any sign of relief. But it doesn’t come. Instead he just motions at the bodies strewn across the office, sighing loudly. 

“Clean this up,” he orders. “I’m taking Y/N home. Everyone is dismissed for the day.”

The man next to him splutters. “But sir, it’s only—,”

“I don’t give a shit. We’re done here.”

.         .         .

A few days pass before you hear from Taesan again. It’s filled with much of the same mundane work that you always do. Your underlings make runs for you, support your fronts, and send you reports, just to wake up and do it all again the next day. The monotony gives you a dangerous amount of time to think. And every time you’re supposed to be thinking about the Dragons and their next move, your mind wanders to broad shoulders in black suits and large hands steadying your waist. 

You’re caught up in your familiar daydream when the text from Taesan comes in. You try your best to ignore the flutter in your core as his name pops up on your phone screen. 

Minjoong isn’t the only one. I’ll meet you at your HQ in 15.

It’s exactly fourteen minutes later when one of your men is knocking on the door of your office. He has Taesan in tow as he steps into the large space, greeting you with a small bow. 

“The Giant Mountain is here to see you.”

You smile, trying your best not to let your gaze flicker over Taesan’s figure where he stands. “Thanks, Donghyun. I’ll call you if I need you.”

The man sends another small bow before he leaves, closing the door behind him with a soft click. It leaves you and Taesan in an uncomfortable silence, tension inexplicably high. For a moment, you swear Taesan eyes the curve of your chest before meeting your gaze. But you’re sure it must just be a figment of your imagination. 

“So,” you begin, folding your manicured hands underneath your chin. “What did you find out?”

Taesan smirks before sitting down across the desk. He’s surprisingly relaxed for being on supposed enemy turf, legs stretched out as he sinks into his seat. 

“There’s four.”

You cock your head, confused by the simple statement. “Four of what?”

“Four filthy fuckin’ moles in my org. All of them were stupid enough to text evidence back and forth to each other.”

“So you know their plan?”

Taesan sighs. “Not quite. Only bits and pieces were explained in the texts, but it’s enough to prove that Minjoong’s little attack from the other day was intended to cause chaos.”

“Not to kill you?”

The cocky smile you’ve gotten used to Taesan wearing crosses his countenance. “Not yet.”

There’s something in the gleam in Taesan’s eye that fills you with both terror and excitement. In a world like your own, organization leaders have to be predators, ready to pounce on anything that crosses their path. Even though you aren’t his intended target, it’s impossible not to feel like prey as his dark gaze bores into yours. Even as his expression drops into his calculated stoicism, you can feel your heart pounding against the cage of your ribs, just waiting to be exposed and devoured. 

“I’ll have some of my men do some…gathering of information out of the three remaining moles and see if we can get anything about the Dragons’ plan for you,” Taesan says with a slow nod. 

“Thank you,” the words lift a weight off your chest as they are spoken aloud. “Seriously.”

Taesan just shrugs. “We’re allies now. It’s the least I can do.”

The “least he can do” turns out to be exactly what you expected. The picture comes to your phone late at night, and you gasp when you see the carnage it contains. Blood is splattered across a large black tarp, speckled in some spots while it creates crimson lagoons in others. If you look closely, you can spot some teeth strewn across the carpet, shining like stars in the night sky. In the foreground, there’s a table laid out with various instruments, pliers, bone saws, and hammers, along with two detached fingers, dripping a sea of red onto the table. The text it accompanies is simple:

Got what we needed. My HQ, tomorrow at 10.

Despite the nausea that lingers in your stomach from the picture, you find yourself in Taesan’s office at approximately 10:01 am the next morning. The man has forgone his suit jacket this time, his crisp white shirt rolled up to expose the tattooed skin of his forearms. There’s something about him that seems a little disheveled, erratic, but you can’t quite put your finger on it. It isn’t until you see three crushed energy drink cans by the trash can that the pieces come together. 

“Great, you’re here!” Taesan greets. “So those fuckers put up a fight, but eventually we got somewhere. It turns out that the four of them joined my org to—,”

“Taesan,” you interrupt, trying not to coo at the confused look you are given in response. “When’s the last time you slept?”

Taesan sputters for a moment, ruffling his already disheveled hair. “Like two days ago. But that’s not important! We have so much to do. We’re finally getting somewhere.”

“Taesan, you need to sleep. Do you have a place you can sleep here?”

“The penthouse,” Taesan responds, voice small like a scolded child. 

“Then let’s go. You need to get some rest.”

It takes a bit more back and forth and jerky movements of the body to convince Taesan to take a well deserved break. The elevator ride up to the penthouse is short enough that Taesan doesn’t have the chance to change his mind. When you step into the apartment, you notice how different the space is from any of Taesan’s offices, yet threads of the man’s style are still there. 

Floor to ceiling windows allow for plenty of light to fill the space, despite the overcast skies. Most of his furniture is in various shades of gray and black, matching the sky. The floors are sleek as you step in, clearly recently mopped and polished to the point where your reflection stares back at you when you glance down. The pristine floors are just one of the many things about this apartment that shows that it is untouched, uninhabited, and that Taesan really hasn’t slept. 

“I’m going to go,” you say softly, watching as Taesan loosens his tie with a sigh. “Get some sleep.”

Before you can cross back through the threshold, a chilled hand grips your wrist, pulling you back softly. Taesan’s eyes are bright when they meet yours, his gaze pleading. 

“Do you mind staying? Just for a bit. I want to tell you what I found out before you go.”

The slight waver of his eyebrows makes you wonder when you went from the stoicism of the Giant Mountain to the open expressions of Han Taesan. The man known for his ruthlessness and icy exterior has seemingly melted into a pool of warmth. He isn’t demanding anything from you, like the way he does with his underlings. Instead he is asking, feline eyes widening so that he looks as if he’s begging. 

“Fine,” you sigh, your resolve crumbling as warmth pools in your core. “Just for a bit though.”

You should have known that Taesan’s information would take longer than “just a bit.” He’s overly animated as he goes through what he found out from each of the moles, not sparing any of the gory details as he spells out their torture. In the end, all of Taesan’s ramblings lead to one central point. The Dragons are after what everyone else in the world is after—money. 

“His attacks on your side are much simpler. He wants to do business with th—,” Taesan cuts himself off with a yawn, nose scrunching not unlike a disgruntled cat. 

“I really think you should get some sleep, Taesan.”

As you move to gather your belongings, a soft voice calls out to you, thick with the beginnings of sleep. “Is that your secret?”

“My secret to what?”

“You know,” Taesan yawns again. “Your nickname. You looking like that. You get plenty of beauty rest, don’t you, sweetheart?”

A snort escapes you before you can catch it, caught off guard by Taesan’s candid questions. “Yes, Taesan. I get plenty of beauty rest. You should too.”

You watch as the man shoots you a small smile before his eyes drift shut, fully succumbing to sleep. The sight of Taesan curled up on the couch, chest rising and falling evenly, has the tendrils of anger slowly traversing your veins. It’s not anger at the mellow expression of the sleeping man before you, but rather at the reason you are in this situation in the first place. 

The Dragons are seeking to destroy lives just for their own selfish gain. All they want is more territory, more arms sales, more men, more, more, more. Their greed knows no end. The thought of all they have destroyed and what they could destroy has you steaming, anger boiling in your gut threatening to boil over. 

The Dragons have plans to take Taesan’s life, and you simply can’t let that happen. 

It’s there, watching Taesan’s unconscious form that you realize that you have to be ruthless in your fight against the Dragons. You have to be swift and venomous, striking like a serpent. With the unwavering stability of Taesan’s men behind you, there’s no doubt that you can be successful. You just have to be willing to die for it. 

.        .        .

Sub Zero is always packed on a Saturday night. It’s one of Taesan’s well known clubs, a perfect front for pushing the more illicit activities that his empire is known for. It’s the only place in the city where someone could buy drugs and do them right then and there, making it a popular destination. With its flashing lights and swanky cocktails, anyone could mistake it as a normal club. But the way the bass rumbles in your chest reminds you that this is anything but. 

Only two of your men flank your sides as you squeeze your way through club goers and partiers. It’s clear that some of them are out of it, too deep into their high to notice the world around them. They move as an amorphous crowd, a blob of bodies that bob and weave to the beat. It makes it harder to reach your destination, but finally you arrive at a roped off section in the back right corner of the club. 

A burly man dressed in a sleek black suit guards the section, eyes concealed as he gazes out at the crowd. Even though you can’t see his eyes, you can tell he’s looking right at you. All it takes is a slight cock of your head before the man is stepping aside, unlatching the black velvet rope to allow you in. You just shoot the man a smile as you climb the few steps to the elevated section, eyes immediately locked on the man who invited you in. 

Taesan looks delectable tonight. He’s not in his normal suit, the way most of his men are. Instead, he dons a leather jacket over what appears to be a black tank top. His black jeans are loose where they fit across his spread legs, the man leaning back lazily. He takes a slow sip of his drink, some type of dark liquor, only greeting you with a quirk of an eyebrow. 

“You came,” he smirks as you get closer. “Didn’t think this would be the crowd for the Beauty of the North.”

You roll your eyes as you sit next to him, your little black dress straining across the width of your hips. The outfit is clearly to Taesan’s satisfaction, if the way his eyes sweep over your figure is anything to go by. His eyes linger on the fullness of your chest, the dip in your waist, and the curve of your hips. 

“See something you like?” You tease. 

“Oh,” Taesan smirks. “You have no idea, sweetheart.”

A molten feeling blooms in your gut at Taesan’s words, forcing you to struggle to hide heated cheeks. But the man doesn’t break eye contact. For as stoic as he is when he’s sober, he’s a pretty loose drunk. His confidence is palpable as he drinks; You hate that you find it as undeniably sexy as you do. 

“Did you invite me to talk business or to flirt?”

Taesan takes a slow sip of his liquor, leaning closer to you. “And what if I wanted to do both?”

At this point, he’s close enough that you can smell the liquor on his breath—whiskey. If it were anyone else, you would hate the smell. But it’s Taesan, and you find your mouth watering, desiring to drink its essence straight from his mouth. You wonder if his lips would be as soft as they look, if his perfect teeth would nibble on your lips just so.

You clear your throat in an attempt to break the haze of your daydream. 

“What did you need to tell me?” You press, voice vibrating your chest along with the bass of the song blasting through the club speakers. 

Taesan leans even closer, letting his lips brush the soft shell of your ear. 

“I know how to take them out,” he whispers. “I just need you to trust me. Can you do that, sweetheart?”

Your breath hitches in your throat, mouth suddenly dry at the deep drawl of Taesan’s voice in your ear. It’s intoxicating, his confidence, the way he speaks, the soft brush of his lips against your skin. It’s enough to have you clenching your thighs together, ashamed at how easily the man gets you going. 

“What am I going to need to do?”

Taesan pulls away only slightly, clearly disappointed by your response. A large hand comes underneath your chin, nudging your face so that you’re forced to lock eyes with him. It only lasts for a moment, Taesan’s gaze flickering down to your lips before meeting your eyes once again. A pink tongue darts out to wet his bottom lip, and you find yourself tracking the motion with your gaze. 

“Can you do that?” Taesan repeats firmly. “Do you trust me, baby?”

You don’t know if it’s the deep rasp of his voice or the fire in his gaze, but something about his demeanor tells you that this is real for him and not just the alcohol talking. Taesan knows that this is life or death for both of you. If you’re in this, you have to be in it for real. 

So you take a shaky breath, nodding slowly. 

“I trust you, Taesan.”

The man smirks, leaning in to place a chaste kiss on your cheek. 

“Good,” he whispers, dropping your face. “Just know that I got you. We’re taking the Dragons down…together.”

.         .         .

The serpent strikes on a Sunday. 

Taesan came up with the code phrase, his signal to let you know that the plan was in motion. It was the signal for you to come into the scene and do what you do best: be the Beauty of the North. 

Your men come in silently, slowly infiltrating the Dragon’s Den by taking his underlings out one by one. You’ve always been a big fan of silence, favoring knives to guns. It allows each of your men the element of surprise, a simple flick of the wrist opening up each member’s throat and exposing their blood to the world. They fall within seconds. 

It almost seems too easy to make your way through the building, only flanked by two of your men, the only two with firearms. Donghyun’s pistol is decorated with a silencer, the accessory allowing you to keep your element of surprise as he takes out three Dragons stationed near their leader’s office. The opening is clear as the rest of your men continue to take out the lower level Dragons, leaving only one man left to deal with. 

Jaehyun counts you and Donghyun down before kicking the door open, both of their guns ready to fire. However, you’re not expecting to be met with at least five men, one of which wearing a calm expression that you know all too well. At least half of the men are somewhat familiar to you, their black suits all to similar to their leader’s, who greets you with a blank stare. It stuns you into place, the two men next to you equally as shocked. 

“Taesan?”

“And here I was thinking that the fucker was lying,” Kim Jaeyoon, head of the Dragons, snarls. “The Beauty of the North really came to fucking kill me.”

You can’t even bother to address the man, too busy searching the familiar feline gaze that remains trained on you down the barrel of a gun. Your heart has fallen to your feet, a constricting feeling squeezing your throat into knots. You don’t even dare to breathe, too stunned by the thought of one wrong move ending in your death at the hands of your ally. 

Jaeyoon lets out a wicked chuckle, seemingly amused by your stunned state. “It’s over. If you surrender now, I’ll let your men join me instead of killing them. I just might let you be my pretty armpiece, too.”

The man rounds his desk, stooping a few paces from you. Taesan moves with him, consistently protecting the man’s flank. You still can’t manage to look away from him, hurt and betrayal leaving a sour taste in your mouth.

“You made me a lucky man, Taesan,” Jaeyoon chuckles. “Who would have thought that you would really deliver me such a pretty thing on a silver platter?”

You flinch away before Jaeyoon can stroke his knuckles against the fullness of your cheekbone. From somewhere behind you, you can hear Jaehyun and Donghyun struggling, no doubt having been restrained the minute you all entered the office. You admire their desire to protect you, even now, when everything is so clearly coming to an end. 

“Don’t play hard to get now. I offered you a generous deal, Y/N,” Jaeyoon cooes, breath rancid where it fans your face. 

Despite your disgust at the man before you, your attention never leaves the figure to his left. Taesan looks stoic as always, almost bored at the interaction in front of him. His nonchalance has anger bubbling in your core, heating your face. 

“Taesan, why?”

The man just blinks back, face unmoving. “Well, the serpent strikes on a Sunday.”

An almost simultaneous cacophony of shots ring out, threatening to burst your eardrums and forcing you to recoil. Something warm and wet splatters across the room, dirtying the otherwise untainted surface of your dress. You’re sure that this is it, that you have finally met your end. But when you don’t feel any sources of searing pain, you dare to open your eyes. 

Taesan’s chest is heaving where he stands over Kim Jaeyoon’s limp body, gun still smoking in his hands. A few of the other unrecognizable men have met a similar fate as their boss, bodies strewn across the luxurious office space. Slowly, Taesan lowers his gun, eyes finally meeting yours. 

“God, I always fucking hated him.”

An arm snakes its way around your waist, pulling your stunned figure into a firm chest. You wonder if Taesan can feel the roaring of your heart where it’s pressed against his, not sure if it’s pounding out of anger or pure fear. 

“Are you okay?” Taesan whispers.

You let out a shaky breath, reveling in the man’s warmth for a moment. But when you regain your composure, you pull away abruptly, landing a harsh blow to Taesan’s arm. 

“Fuck you,” you exclaim. “You scared me, you fuck!”

Taesan hisses as he rubs the sore spot. “What was that for? I just saved your life!”

“I thought you ratted me out!”

Taesan just rolls his eyes, wasting no time in pulling you back into him. This time, he engulfs you in a proper hug, arms tightening around you and tucking you under his chin. You’re powerless to do anything but hug back. 

“I told you that you had to trust me, sweetheart.”

“I did…I still do! It’s just…” you sigh. “Don’t do that again!”

Taesan’s chuckle is little more than just a rumble of his chest underneath your head. “Let’s hope I don’t have to.”

.         .         .

The second time you end up in Taesan’s apartment is unlike the first one. Instead of a sleepy Taesan rambling about his latest torturing, he’s very much awake, mouth too occupied with meeting yours to do any talking. 

Taesan’s mouth is insistent against yours, kissing you deeper, harder, with each press of his lips. It’s far from his usual stoic demeanor, the way his kisses turn demanding and sloppy within seconds. His wandering hands prove to be equally as demanding as they sweep the expanse of your body, squeezing your ass underneath the tight fabric of your dress. 

You aren’t fairing much better, your own fingers tangling in the man’s inky locks. The nibble of teeth against your bottom lip has you arching even further into Taesan’s hold, a soft whimper leaving your lips. It’s too much and not nearly enough all at the same time. You crave to feel the shift of Taesan’s muscles underneath his skin, his hands as they explore you, his mouth as he follows his fingers’ path. 

You’re so consumed that you barely realize that Taesan has pulled away, blindly chasing his lips before you blink your eyes open. Instead of a greasy smirk, Taesan’s mouth is slightly parted, chest heaving where it remains pressed to yours. He slides a hand up to cup your jaw, thumb beginning to trace across your bottom lip. 

“Do you trust me, baby?” He whispers. 

His irises are dark, pupils almost completely eclipsing the small rings of color. Gone is the stoic Taesan that you’re used to. This Taesan feels. And so do you. 

“I trust you, Taesan.”

.FIN.

[thevoidstaredback]

Tales of Conquest, Warnings of Fools:

Letters Between Brothers

Damian Wayne, Dec. 24, 2011

Your forgiveness is more than I ever could’ve asked for. I still don’t think I deserve it, but I will take what you have given me, ahki.

You writing back was unexpected, but I’m so glad you did! Though, I guess this isn’t very secure, huh. Oh, well! As long as nothing incriminating is written down, we should be fine.

How’s father? And your siblings? I understand there are three kids father’s adopted. Also, what about your extracurriculars? Anything exciting going on that you can tell me about? It’s boring, crime wise, where I’m at. No murder mysteries or sex scandals or huge break-ins. Not that I want any of those to happen, but it’d be really fun to get to follow a case that isn’t twelve years old or four states over.

How are you adjusting at all, actually? It was a big culture shock for me for a while, especially because no one here speaks Arabic. Can you believe that? Some of the others still think I made up an entire language just to mess with them! I haven’t been able to speak with someone in our mother tongue in a while, but I’ve been trying not to forget any of it! Even if there’s an accent coming through.

Tell me about your life. Not what the media says. I want to know the real you. Do you have friends? Any pets? What about hobbies? Do you still have that dagger I made you that one time?

Anyway, I gotta go now. I hope to hear from you soon!

I don’t know what holiday(s) father and your siblings celebrate, so I’ll wish you a happy all of them!

سأسامحك دائماً يا أخي لقد وُضعت في أسوأ الاحتمالات وبذلت قصارى جهدك بما كان لديك من معرفة. كنت ستعرض نفسك للخطر فقط إذا عدت.

Danny Fenton

***

Danny had wasted no time in writing a response. Was he going to come off as eager? Probably, but he didn’t really care. His brother had responded to him! Granted, he thinks this is a trick, but there’s some part of Damian that believes Danny’s alive! He forgives him for not going home! It’s more than Danny could’ve ever allowed himself to hope for.

But, gods was he awkward! He hadn’t let Jazz read the letter at all. She didn’t know what he said the first time, she didn’t know what the response said, and she wasn’t ever going to read any of them if he had any say in the matter. Yes, they’re siblings and he loves her just as much as he loves Damian, but this was something she didn’t have any business poking her nose into. He liked to think that Damian would likewise keep this from his own siblings, though he’d totally understand if Dami shared purely because of the suspicious circumstances.

Anyway, Danny had read and re-read Damian’s letter for hours, trying to come up with the best response, only stopping when Jazz called him down for dinner. Sleep hadn’t come easily, either, because of the adrenaline from actually getting a response. He’d hoped he’d get one, but he was also sure that he wouldn’t get one.

But why did he have to be so awkward writing back? Damian’s his brother, not a total stranger! Damian probably wouldn’t care. Danny’s always been like that, awkward at all the wrong times. He’s just gotten used to not hiding it since he left, though it had taken a while.

He has to wonder, though, if Damian is with father, does this mean he’s left the Shadows? How had he done it? Obviously, he hadn’t faked his death. Father is a very public figure, so anything short of Damian leaving a massacre behind him as he left the Shadows would be unlikely. Unless he is still with the Shadows? In which case, Danny’s just doomed himself. Sure, the PO box was set up in the town over, and maybe he struck up a deal to have the letters sent from there to his house, but that wasn’t going to stop ninja assassins. Nothing short of death would stop ninja assassins!

No! Bad Danny! No use having second thoughts now; It’s too late. He just has to hope for the best. Gods, was he hoping, wishing on stars and everything! He wanted this to work out. He wanted to have a relationship with his older brother-

Damn, he’s still the younger sibling. He hadn’t thought much of it before, but both Jazz and Damian are older than him! If he counts father’s children, which he does only to prove his point this one time, then he’s the youngest of six kids! That’s not fair. Who decided that was a fair trade? Could be worse, he supposed. He could be stuck as a middle sibling. Shutter the thought.

“Danny?” Jazz opened the door with a knock, “You ready to send that letter?”

He groaned into his pillow. “I already did.”

“Really?” she wondered, sitting on the edge of his bed.

“Yeah,” he rolled over to face her, “Finished it this morning and shipped it off.”

Jazz hummed. “I still don’t get why you won’t let me read them. I could totally help you with spelling and stuff!”

Danny sat up and stared at her with a dead look. “Jazz, I was taught by people who were the best of the best in their fields. There isn’t a single thing you could do to help me write or read those letters.”

“Why not?”

“Because they aren’t in English.”

“Liar!”

“I’m not lying!”

“Yes you are! I saw the one you got! It was in English!” She paused. “Except for that last bit. That just looked like a bunch of squiggles.”

He crossed his arms over his chest. “That wasn’t a bunch of squiggles, Jazz. It was Arabic, my mother tongue.”

“First,” she adjusted to sit criss-cross on the foot of his bed, “Never say ‘mother tongue’ again; it sounds weird. Second, the simple solution is to teach me Arabic.”

Danny had to pause for a second to let the words register in his head. “You-you want to learn Arabic?”

She shrugged. “Sure. I mean, it can’t be that hard, right?”

“Yes it can,” he sighed, “You’d have to learn a whole new alphabet of letters and sounds. It’s not a Latin based language like English or Spanish.”

“I can do it!”

“I don’t doubt that, but I think an easier language would be better.”

She huffed. “You just don’t wanna share.”

True, but, “I could teach you Romanian? It’s a Latin derived language, like English, so it’s got the same alphabet.”

“Fine,” she agreed after a moment, “Where do we start?”

“Kids!” their dad called from the kitchen, “We have something for you!”

Danny and Jazz shared a grimace. “Down stairs, apparently,” he said. Quickly, they left the room and made their way down the stairs and to the kitchen. Their parents probably didn’t have any actual gifts for them, so they weren’t going to get their hopes up.

They were right, of course. Jack and Maddie Fenton were creatures of habit and obsession; workaholics, in simpler terms.

The two kids joined their parents at the table. “Mom,” Jazz greeted, “Dad.”

“Jazzypants!” Jack smiled, his voice booming, “Dann-o!”

“What’s up?” Danny asked. He wanted to go back to his room and stew over what he’d just sent to his brother. Seriously? ‘I’ll wish you a happy all of them?’ That’s so stupid! Beyond stupid, actually! He wanted to curl up and die. Can people die of embarrassment?

Maddie smiled kindly at her children, somehow matching her husband’s energy but not his volume. “We had another breakthrough in our research.”

“Oh?” Danny had been intrigued by the [now] Drs. Fenton’s research. It was all theoretical, of course, but they claimed to have proof of base for their research. He’d never seen it before, and they’d never offered to show him or Jazz, but they mentioned it in all of their papers. He’d never deemed it worth anything, so it had been pushed behind relevant information like literally anything else.

He still didn’t know how they’d gotten those papers published. They were the laughing stocks of the scientific and occult communities! An accomplishment in and of itself, really.

“Yes,” his mother nodded, “But that’s not what we called you two down to discuss.”

“It’s not? Jazz tilted her head to the side.

“Nope!” Jack’s smile somehow got bigger. “We’ve decided that the both of you are old enough-”

“-and responsible enough.” Maddie added.

“-do go down and see the lab!”

Jazz and Danny had two very different reactions to this statement. Danny was a bit excited to get to see whatever held his parents’ attention at all hours of the day. Jazz, on the other hand, was furious.

“What!” she demanded.

Jack and Maddie didn’t seem to even register her anger. “You two have both proven yourselves responsible in your school and house work, so we figured it was time to let you two in on the family business.”

“But, I don’t want to do lab work!” Jazz objected, now standing with her hands on the table and her chair pushed back aggressively.

“Nonsense,” Maddie waved her off easily, “You’ll love it. Besides, you’ve always wanted to help us in the lab, ever since you were a child.”

Jazz just screamed in outrage. “I’ve never said that!”

She was ignored. “Of course, we’ll have to go over the proper safety measures so that neither of you gets hurt.” Jack stated.

Throwing her hands up, Jazz stormed away from the table and stomped up to her room, the door slamming behind her. Danny has no doubts that she’s locked herself in.

“She must be tired,” Jack smiled fondly, “We’ve got some work to finish up down stairs, Dann-o, but we’ll be back up for dinner, alright?”

Danny nodded and the two left. Quietly, he whispered, “Liar.” to the empty main floor.

***

Danyal Fenton Dec. 27, 2011

Your definition of ‘incriminating’ must be wrong. You reaching out in the first place would’ve put us both in danger had your letter been intercepted. The same remains true for every letter we exchange, though I will not be the one to put a stop to the communication. It is nice to have physical evidence of your conversations, no matter how much time passes between each response.

I am still skeptical that you are my brother, but, as I said in my last letter, I will continue on with a shade pulled over my eyes, ahki.

I have done some research while living with father. My own experiences prove at least some of what they say is true. I never truly believed you had died. I always had a feeling that you were alive somewhere, safe, out of reach of Grandfather and Mother.

Father is well. In public, he is outgoing, drunk, clumsy, able to start a conversation from nothing and let it trail off into a slightly more useful nothing. In truth, he is standoffish, strong, able to talk circles around anyone. He is always ready for a fight and always prepared for the worst. He does not like surprises.

We have four siblings, and one honorary sibling. Richard Grayson, Jason Todd, Timothy Drake, Cassandra Cain, and Stephanie Brown. Grayson is more outgoing than the others, though he has been with Father the longest, so he is just as skilled as him. Todd was dead and refuses to communicate with Father. Drake is smart, but that is all he has going for him. Cain was raised in the League like us, though not at any of the bases we ever visited. Brown was dating Drake, but has since become more of a sister to the Manor.

Alfred Pennyworth is the family butler. He raised Father and continues to stand by his side. He is a formidable foe, though I have yet to see him in actual combat. He, aside from Father and myself, is the most competent resident of Wayne Manor.

Again, you need to reassess your definition of ‘incriminating’. There is nothing I can share, without consequence, that hasn’t already been made public by the GCPD. I will say, however, that my position as the superior child remains unchallenged. Not that any of those bastards Father has taken in would ever pose any kind of challenge to me or you.

I must ask, you know where I am, so is it not fair that you tell me where you are? The return address you have used leads to a PO box in Elmerton, Illinois, but I doubt that’s where you really are. Your description of ‘boring’ in regards to the crime rate is fully expected of anywhere when compared to Gotham, though that goes nearly doubly so for the midwest.

It was a shock to me as well, though I have been handling it. None of the others have noticed any unease, so I will take it. It will not do to show weakness in the face of enemies. I can agree, however, that the lack of use of Arabic is disappointing. I do not fear that I will ever forget the language or our home, but I do regret to say that I have encountered similar problems you have.

Father insists that I go to school with others my age to ‘socialize’, though I do not see the point. It’s all thinly veiled insults from the adults we are placed in the charge of. I am much smarter than my peers, so I have not been able to have a single intelligent conversation with any of them. The exception, however, being Jon Kent. He is adequate company. Our Father and his father are friends.

I have a cat named Alfred, after the butler. I would like to get a dog, but Father has denied my request. I have, however, managed to hide Goliath in the cave. Father knows he is there, but the others remain oblivious.

As for hobbies, art is the only one worth mentioning. I have several sets of paints and colors and pencils, though I remain partial to charcoal. Paper is the easiest to use, but I prefer canvas.

Of course I still have that dagger, Danyal. I have many weapons, but that is the only one that has never left my person.

Father is Jewish, though he was raised Catholic, and is an atheist; Grayson is Christian; Todd was raised Catholic, but is atheist; Drake was born to a Christian mother, but he follows after his father as an atheist; Neither Cain nor Brown were born into religious families, so they don’t follow any religion, as far as I’m aware.

Pennyworth has decorated the Manor for all of the holidays, though the only tradition I’ve actually seen practiced is the gift exchange from Christmas.

Honestly, you must work on your formatting. You give almost no information in exchange for your questions getting answers. It makes your letters very short. So, I will turn all of your questions back on you. I expect them to be answered sufficiently.

أفضل ما لدي لم يكن جيداً بما فيه الكفاية كنت أعلم أنك لا تزال على قيد الحياة، ومع ذلك لم أفعل شيئًا سوى نشر كذبة وفاتك.

Damian Wayne

***

The letter was a surprise, especially considering it’s a page and a half, though he should’ve expected it. He found it hilarious that the first thing Dami had done this time was to insult him. At least he’d waited a few lines in the last letter! It hurt a bit that Damian still thought this was a trick, but Danny couldn’t find it in himself to blame him. He’d’ve acted the same way if their roles were reversed.

He liked hearing about Damian’s family. They’re so different compared to what the media says. Then again, he expected that. Most people are hardly ever exactly how they’re portrayed to bigger audiences. The Drs. Fenton being an exception.

And, yeah, he knew Dami was going to search the address, but did he really have to come out and say it like that? At least he knew the Shadows (League?) hadn’t gotten in the middle, otherwise he’d’ve been cut down by now. Small blessings.

Ah, Goliath the dragon bat. Danny remembers when they got Goliath. Hiding him was hard, but they managed. Though, he’s fairly certain that Mother knew they had him hidden in the caves of Nanda Parbat. That does beg the question, though, of how the hell Damian managed to get a - by now - fully grown dragon bat across continents and into a cave in New Jersey without being spotted? Did he even really want to know? Probably not.

Danny could remember the expression on Damian’s face when he realized that Goliath was getting bigger. They’d found him on their first mission for Grandfather after leaving the group that had been sent with them. They’d kept him moving between their rooms when they got back, never keeping him in one for more than a night before moving him to the other. Then suddenly, the creature they’d found that was no bigger than their forearms was as long as their arms from shoulder to fingertip! They had only been able to keep Goliath between their rooms for another month before having to hide him in the caves under Nanda Parbat.

And the food! Goliath, even as a baby dragon bat, could eat triple his body weight. It was a wonder no one found him! How does Damian keep him fed? And how have his siblings not noticed the dragon under their house? Thoughts for another time.

Danny closed his book as he finished it. It was the astrology one, clearly written for people new to the topic, but he wasn’t complaining. It was easy to understand and he found himself actually enjoying it more than he originally anticipated. He could see why the girls in his class liked it, too. He could see himself falling deeper into this rabbit hole, but he wasn’t upset about that.

He moved on to read the second book he’d gotten, the one about witchcraft. Briefly, he chuckled at the image that he was slowly coming to see as his future. “A witch,” he hummed with a smile, “Mother would be so disappointed.”

The book opened up with a brief history about the topic before going into a deep dive about different practices and how things had changed and improved throughout history. It also gave names to famous witches and witch hunters, one that he recognized.

Jack Fenton, about three years after Danny had been taken in by the family, had given Danny a full rundown of his and Maddie’s family histories. Fentonightingale had been the family name until Jack’s great-grandfather had changed it to Fenton when he married. John Fentonightingale was a well known witch hunter in Salem, Massachustes in 1600. He was best known for eating a slow acting poison in the form of - now extinct - flowers as evidence against an unnamed witch on trial. He died shortly thereafter, leaving his grieving wife and children.

The humor was not lost to Danny. “Looks like dad’ll be disappointed, too.”

“Knock, knock?” Jazz asked from the hallway, knocking her knuckle on his bedroom door.

“Yeah?” he called back, closing his book and putting it down.

Jazz opened the door. “Well, I couldn’t help but notice that you’ve been hiding out here all day. No plans with Sam or Tucker?”

Danny shook his head. “Nah. Tuck’s spending the break with his family and Sam’s been forced to go to a rich person party somewhere in Washington.”

“DC?”

“State.”

“She’s not too far.”

“Too far for an emergency extraction.”

“You sound like she’s gonna get killed or something.”

Danny snorted. “Don’t jinx it, Jazzercise.”

“I’m not gonna jinx it, Danimal.” She leaned against the door frame. “Besides, even if she did die, she’d come back as a ghost just to haunt you.”

He groaned and flopped over onto his side. “Don’t even joke about that!”

“Why, ‘cause I’m right?” He groaned again. She laughed. “Alright, Dannibal Lector, since you’re obviously bored out of your mind, you wanna come watch a movie with me?”

“And risk mom and dad dragging us down into the lab?” He sat up, “No thanks.”

“Come on,” she goaded, “It’ll be fun! I’ll even let you pick the movie!”

“Hmmmm. A documentary on ghost hunting or a mockumentary on ghost hunting? Such a hard decision.”

Her arms dropped to her sides. “Come on, D! You can’t stay locked in here forever.”

“Actually, J, I think I can. I’ve got food, water, and entertainment. I’ll be fine.”

“What about when you have to pee or shower?”

“I’ll put a bucket in the corner and dump it out the window.”

“That’s disgusting.”

“And rainwater is clean enough.”

“It’s literally not, though.”

“Well, I won’t know unless I try.”

“You’re not gonna live in here by yourself!”

“Why? You wanna join me? Sorry, but there’s only enough pillows for a one person fort.”

She snorted and shook her head. “You’re unbelievable.”

“What’s hard to believe? Unless you’ve got pillows hidden up your-” He cut himself off with an exaggerated and mocking gasp. “Jazz! Do you have pillows hidden up your ass?”

“Danny!” she scolded, but her tone was fond, “Watch your language, brat!”

“What?” he giggled, “It’s a genuine question.”

Jazz rolled her eyes, “No, I do not have pillows shoved up my ass.”

“Language!” he mocked.

“Are you gonna come watch a movie with me or not?”

“Sure, sure,” he stood, “But if we get dragged down to the lab, I’m blaming you.”

“Yeah, yeah.”

*

Danny was right. He was right and he was never listening to Jazz ever again. He could live in his room until he turned eighteen! That was totally something he could do. It wasn’t like he’d been raised to survive off of less in less space.

Instead of watching a movie they’d seen a million times before, the siblings had decided to watch YouTube on the TV. Halfway into Episode 4 of Buzzfeed Unsolved, their parents came up and dragged them down to the lab to show them their breakthrough from the previous night.

Looking at it, it was much less a breakthrough and more of ‘getting closer to the final picture’. The Ghost Portal had been a project that Jack and Maddie had been working on since college. A friend of theirs had gotten sent to the hospital for this project and had yet to be released. What had given them the idea that this was safe to build in their basement, let alone show their children? Regardless, it was too late now, so Danny and Jazz were forced to roll with it.

“We’re almost done with it!” Jack looked like a proud parent when he was looking at the thing.

The Ghost Portal, as it was now, was built directly into the furthermost wall of the basement. It wasn’t load bearing, thank the gods. The portal was ten feet deep, seven and a half feet tall, octagonal in shape. The paneling that covered the walls and ceiling was black with electric blue circuitry cutting through them. The blank spots where the paneling was not put up were gray, matching the cement floor of the lab. There were some work lights inside, white LED strips that lined the bottom seams where the floor met the walls. The floor itself was made of black tile and nearly completely covered in loose cables and unfinished paneling. There was a red button in place of one of the missing side panels that screamed ‘accident waiting to happen’.

“What is it?” Jazz asked, not daring to go closer than the stair doorway. Danny didn’t blame her.

“It’s the Ghost Portal, Jazzy!” Maddie’s grin was huge, taking up nearly her whole face. “We’ve nearly got it finished.”

“Yep!” Jack nodded excitedly, “All we’ve got left to do is finish the inside paneling, build the outer frame, and turn her on!”

“What about powering it?” Danny wondered just as Jazz said, “‘Her’?”

Jack still hadn’t taken his eyes off of the thing. “She’s already connected to the power grid; That’s why the circuitry in the paneling is glowing, see?”

Danny picked his way through the papers cluttering the table next to him, finding the portal’s blueprints on the very bottom. The handwriting in the margins was messy, obviously from two people and taking up almost every inch of the paper. The schematics of the portal itself was done in white and much neater than the black ink from his parents’ handwriting. A third person, probably their college friend, had been the one to draw the thing with the first basic formuli. Overall, it was messy and a hazard to look at.

“Are, uh, you guys sure that this won’t blow up our house?” Danny asked, unable to keep from scrunching his nose up at the sight of the blueprints.

“Positive.” Maddie sounded so serious, like it was the absolute truth.

“You wanna check out the inside?” Jack asked, practically bouncing like an excited puppy.

Jazz was quick to shake her head, going so far as to take a step back into the landing at the bottom of the stairs. Before Danny could follow her lead, though, Jack grabbed Danny and pulled him forwards.

“Go on,” the giant man urged.

Gulping, Danny complied. He was so going to lock himself in his room now. He didn’t plan on leaving until Sam and Tucker were both back in town! “Alright.” He hoped his hesitation was obvious enough for his parents to get the cue that he did not want to be doing this. Unfortunately, neither picked up on it. Jazz did, but she wasn’t about to risk moving closer in case Jack or Maddie got the idea of shoving her towards the thing, too.

Danny had a bad feeling about this.

Stepping into the tunnel that was the portal was like walking into a different world. Somehow, even though he was only half a foot in and there was light on all sides, it was dark in there. The blue from the paneling was nearly nonexistent, and the white LEDs lining the floor were so dim that they were useless. Was this a purposeful thing? How was this possible?

The cables and cords that had been visible from the outside were almost invisible in the somehow lower lighting of the portal tunnel, same with the unfinished wall panels on the floor. And, as a result of the hazardous mess on the floor and the near pitch dark, Danny tripped halfway through. His training didn’t let him fall, but his inability to keep up the rigorous schedule he’d been raised on made him reach out to steady himself on the wall.

Millimeters before his fingers so much as grazed the button he’d not been able to see after crossing the threshold, Danny heard the barely there whisper of “Time Out.” followed almost immediately by “Time in.” at the same volume.

Catching himself on the cold, softly glowing paneling of the wall, Danny was quick to straighten out and turn around. That thing gave him the creeps and he would much rather go back to reading his book, thank you.

“So, Dann-o?” Jack clapped his shoulder when he got back to them, “What’d ya think?”

Unable to disappoint the people he’d come to see as his parents, Danny plastered a smile on his face and said, “It’s pretty cool. I can’t wait to see what it looks like when it’s finished!”

Maddie cheered. “Right? As soon as it’s done, those assholes at Harvard will have to take us seriously!”

Danny seriously doubted they would. In fact, he doubted the portal would even work at all. It’s a hypothetical experiment that had the potential and huge likelihood of going catastrophically wrong. How much power would it take to even turn the thing on? Several city blocks at least, right? If that blows up, it'll take out not only their house, but probably half the city and everyone within the blast radius.

Danny should report this to somebody.

“That’s not even the best part!” Jack exclaimed, hurting over to what looked like an electrical box that had been set into the unfinished walls of the basement lab. Opening the small metal door revealed a hand scanner that Jack quickly placed his hand on. After five seconds, a small compartment just above the scanner opened up. Inside was a small glass phial of thick, glowing green liquid. Liquid that Danny recognised.

Shit.

“This is what’s gonna power the portal after the initial launch,” Jack explained, his voice reverent as he cradled the phial in his large hands, “Ectoplasm.”

Ecto-what? Danny knew that glowing liquid. He’d only seen it once, but he knew what it was. He could say, with full confidence and  a puffed chest, that what his dad was currently holding was a phial of Lazarus Water. The color and consistency were the same as the Pits. The stuff even glowed like the Pit Water! It was terrifying that Danny had encountered any of the stuff this far from the Shadows, and he found himself taking several steps back toward Jazz.

“That’s, um, that’s-”

“Awesome, dad!” Jazz said for him, placing a hand on his shoulder and gently pulling him back. He was so glad she had because he was sure he was seconds away from freezing in place. “Danny’s getting tired, though, and I’m a bit hungry, so we’re gonna head back upstairs now. Is that alright?”

“Sounds great, sweetie,” Maddie waved the two off in a clear dismissal, “We’ll be up in a few minutes.”

Danny rushed up the stairs, waiting for Jazz in the kitchen. When she joined him she muttered, “Liar.” under her breath before closing the door. “So,” she said to Danny.

“So.” he repeated.

“What made you so freak out down there?” she asked, “Not that I blame you. That portal thing freaked me out, too.”

Danny shrugged. “Don’t wanna talk about it.”

“It’s not healthy to bottle things up, Danny.”

“I know, I just don’t want to talk about it right now,” Or ever. “Bad memories.”

Jazz’s expression softened. “Alright,” she nodded, “Do you want some chips?”

He shook his head. “No. I’m gonna go to my room.”

“You can’t hide in there forever!”

He was halfway up the stairs. “I can try!”

Translation 1 - Arabic :: I will always forgive you, brother. You were put in the worst possible situation and you did the best you could with the knowledge you had. You would have only jeopardized yourself if you went back.

Translation 2 - Arabic :: My best wasn't good enough. I knew you were still alive, yet I did nothing but spread the lie of your death.

Part 1 Part 3

[eevees-hobbies]

This One's for the Dads!

Authors Note: This was originally going to be a spicy one-shot with Satoru Gojo, but then it turned into something else.

Synopsis: Father’s Day is among us and it impacts Gojo, Geto, Toji and Sukuna (yes, even him) differently. 

Content Warning: There is some smut below. None in Toji’s and it’s kind of angsty. Female ReaderXCharacter, Mentioning of fathers day, breeding kink, implied child abandonment, reference to spitting in someones mouth, playing with nipples, almost getting caught, making out fingering, sex, etc. Minors DO NOT Interact.

Likes, comments and reblogs always appreciated!

The Dads Who Stepped Up

Satoru Gojo

“Happy Father's Day, Satoru!” You shout while simultaneously setting off a loud party popper. The red party string erupts from the boisterous instrument and floats to the floor onto the accented rug. The love of your life and least funniest person in the world, Satoru Gojo—who had just walked into the door of your shared home—looks at you in surprise. 

Truth be told, it was the end of a particularly long and stressful workday, and he was looking forward to coming home and collapsing into his king-sized bed without further thought of carrying the world's weight on his shoulders. But here he was, being accosted at his own front door—by you. 

“Happy Fathers D-?” His voice trails off as his eyes wander down your frame and settle on your midsection. Your face grows hot as you follow his eyes; instinctively, your hand shoots down to cover your stomach. You scold yourself quietly for not thinking of the implications behind your gesture.

“Yeah, I should have thought this through. Don’t worry, I’m not pregnant.”

“Oh”

You make a mental note of his change of tone. He sounded disappointed, but you can’t imagine why since pregnancy scares have always stressed you both out in the past. 

“Then, why are you wishing me a Happy Father's Day? I’m not exactly a dad.” Gojo closes the door behind him and opens his arms, allowing you to approach him and melt into his embrace. His familiarity calms you, as does the scent of his cologne and the way he rests his chin on your head. For all the things that Gojo is for you—and he is a lot of positive things—he also is a sense of security, comfort, and unconditional love. 

“But you are, Satoru. I know I joke about you having an army of secret kids out there-“ 

“I meaaaaaaan-”

You pinch his bicep playfully, earning a pained chuckle from him. 

“You’re a father figure to Megumi, Yuta, and Yuji, to only name a few. Think about how much you’ve stepped up and mentored them in their darkest moments. I want you to consider where those kids would be without you, Satoru.”

While you’re talking, Gojo lifts his blindfold from his eyes and rests it on his forehead. His usual playful gaze is gone, replaced with something more reflective as he considers your words. It’s almost enough to unnerve you, but you continue in an attempt to convince your partner that today is a day for him, too.

“I know you’re always bragging about being the strongest, to the point where you’re downright annoying, but please accept that you serve in this capacity, too. Look,” you break free from his embrace, walk over to your dining room table, and pick up several envelopes. 

Gojo follows behind you, peering over your shoulder. “What are those?” 

“Signed Father's Day cards from the boys.” You hand them over to Gojo, who then opens the one on the top of the pile, which just so happens to be Megumi’s

Gojo can’t help but smile as he reads it aloud: “Thanks for everything. If I had to choose between being sold off to the Zenin clan and you, I would choose you every time.” 

He looks up at you, his voice soft and devoid of his usual arrogant tone. "That’s the nicest thing he’s ever said to me.”

You smile as he reads through the other cards. Yuta’s is the sweetest and tugs at your heartstrings as he describes a point in which meeting Gojo meant not having to live in fear anymore. 

Yuji’s card makes Satoru chuckle with the use of an inside joke that doesn’t sound too appropriate for a student-teacher relationship, but you don’t press it. 

You watch Gojo, enjoying this moment in which he feels valued, something his thankless job often fails to offer him. 

After Gojo places the cards on the refrigerator via the picture magnets of you two, he turns to you. “Baaaaaabe!” 

There he is, you think as he throws his arms around you and nuzzles his face into your hair, “I’m not gonna’ lie. I kind of wish you were pregnant, though.”

Suddenly, the arrogance is back, his voice absolutely inundated with it, “I like the idea of a little Gojo running around, and you make me sound like a perfect dad.”

You recall your conversation from minutes ago in which he sounded disappointed when you said you weren’t pregnant, “Gojo, we’ve talked about this. When you get horny, you start talking about making a family.”

He whines, “Come ON! It’s Father’s Day! MY day! Humor me.”

You laugh and nod, not entirely sure what you’re consenting to, but he’s right. It is Father's Day, and it was your intention to make him feel like this was a day for him, so what was the harm in playing along? 

Gojo picks you up and places you on the counter, his fingers gripping the edge of your skirt and hiking it up. He’s on you in an instant, attaching himself to you as if you’re his lifeline.

You loop a finger around the hem of his blindfold, removing and flinging it across the room. His white hair falls into his face, adding a breathtaking contrast to his sky-blue eyes. 

“Would it be so bad, Y/N?” 

“W-would what be so bad?” Gojo’s warm mouth is on your neck, leaving a trail of kisses but still somehow managing to speak against your skin.

“Making me a dad,” he pauses. “Letting me make you a mama.” Gojo leans closer to you, allowing you to wrap your arms around his shoulders. You’re situated on the counter, but his proposition makes you feel like you’re falling. And what he says next shakes you to your very being.

“Let me put a baby in you, Y/N.”

You open your mouth, ready to list why you both shouldn’t even be entertaining this conversation—but, to your surprise, you can’t find the words to say no. And perhaps it’s because it’s something you actually want, or maybe it’s because Gojo is now positioning his cock at your entrance, and when that man pulls his dick out, you get a little dumb. Honestly, your only flaw.

You have follow-up questions. You’re unsure if he’s being serious; he often talks like this during sex, a consequence of a man with a breeding kink, but this sounds different. Feels different. So, is he serious? Your second question is, how did he pull his dick out so quickly?

You don’t get much time to ask as he smacks the fat tip of his dick against your sensitive clit; the sound of his meat hitting your already moist cunt echoes through the kitchen. The action sends shockwaves through your body, and you arch your back, pressing yourself further against his body, which almost doesn’t feel humanly possible. 

Gojo smirks, “Mmm, so receptive for me, baby. What if I juuuuust put the tip in, like this?”

He’s a man of his word as he presses the head against the entrance of your tight cunt, watching as it does what it does best and welcomes Gojo’s dick. But he doesn’t push in any further, only allowing you to feel moderately stretched and not as full as you’d like.

“Don’t tease me, Gojo.” You attempt to make your demand sound menacing through gritted teeth, but it comes out more like a whine. Pathetic. 

He wraps a hand around your chin and pulls your face within mere inches of his. “I will if you ask nicely.”

You huff. God, for all the reasons you love this man, he can be fucking exhausting. But your body deceives you; your cunt grasps at the head of his cock, part of you enjoying his little games.

“Please, Saturo, make me a mommy.”

As the last syllable leaves your lips, he pushes forward until his dick is flush against your pussy. The momentum of the push bounces you back, and some of the appliances on the counter tip over. Gojo’s hand shoots over your head to get leverage, resting on the cabinet while the other wraps around your waist. 

“Fuck,” he groans as he slides in and out of you. “I swear to GOD I’m getting you pregnant tonight. You want that? To carry my babies?”

Fantasy or not, you’re into it. You tighten your grip around his neck and moan into his ear, your honeyed voice only making him thrust more aggressively. 

“You’re going to be a great Daddy, baby!”

The arm that was around your waste is now in between you both, his long fingers rubbing your clit, the friction making your inner thighs clench—a telltale sign that you’re getting close.

“You’re going to look so fuckin’ beautiful pregnant. How many are you going to give me? Cuz once we start, I won’t be able to stay off ya.”

You moan in approval; Satoru is a pervert, a menace, but never a liar. You know that if he promises to keep you barefoot and pregnant, he fucking means it. 

“Stick out your tongue for me, baby.”

You happily oblige as his mouth absorbs your tongue, sucking harshly on it. Kissing while fucking is something you both often do, but you and Satoru are just so comically bad at it—taking intermittent pauses, too caught up in the pleasure you’re both feeling to move your lips. But he never allows your tongue to retreat back into your mouth, sucking on it while he continues to pound your core.

You dig your nails into his shoulders, realizing that he never removed his shirt—he was so horny that he only had time to drop his pants down to his ankles and fuck you right there on your kitchen counter. And the thought alone has you grabbing his hair and gushing on his dick.

Gojo lets out a whimper as your cunt spasms, sending him over the edge, and shooting ropes upon ropes into your sex.

You’re both left panting, forehead to forehead.

“Happy Father's Day, Satoru.”

Suguru Geto

“That’s the last of it,” you say as you dump an endless supply of glitter into a trash bag. The living room was a mess.

For this Father's Day, Mimiko and Nanako begged to be in charge of the activities. You were touched. The girls were obviously happy to hold this responsibility, so you willingly passed the baton to them.  

And you had to admit, you were impressed by the itinerary. They planned a trip to some of Seguro’s favorite places, including a Soba restaurant that typically had an extensive waitlist. Tonight was no exception, but the girls had made reservations months in advance. 

You all concluded the day at home with home movies, cake, and a poster board with bright red glitter proclaiming that Geto was the “World's Best Dad.” 

Hence, the mess.

The girls were now tucked away and asleep in their respective bedrooms. You and Suguru were taking the time to clean up the living room, but a quiet lull had settled between you both. You looked back at him as you tied the trash bag closed. 

Geto is sitting on the couch, a smile on his face that you can’t help but return. He looks perfect like this, you think to yourself. He is wearing black jeans and a loose grey sweatshirt, and his signature hair, which is often tied up, flows freely past his shoulders. 

“Y//N, this is the happiest I’ve ever been, and I owe a lot of this to you. This wouldn’t be a home without you.” He gestures to the room around you both, and you take it all in—it’s not the most luxurious of homes, but it belongs to your family of 4, and it’s brimming with character. 

You can clearly see what he’s referencing—the pencil marks on the walls indicating the measured inventory of the girls over the years, the pile of shoes near the door (the girls have far TOO many, you often say to no one in particular) and the framed family photos of you all on every wall.

Suguru interrupts your thoughts as he pats the vacant seat on the sofa beside him. You accept his invitation, sitting down and draping your legs into his lap. He gently pushes you back so you’re lying underneath him, his dark eyes penetrating your soul.

His voice is soft, and his touch is even softer as he slides a hand up your shirt, your bra removed hours ago, “I couldn’t do this without you. I wouldn’t want to do this without you.”

His deft fingers circle your nipples, making them unbelievably hard and earning a moan from your lips, “Suguru, the girls could hear us!”

“Sounds like you better be quiet then” His head disappears under your shirt, and while you can’t see what he’s doing, you can feel his hot mouth on your nipples, rolling them around his tongue, sucking and teasing the flesh, making the heat between your legs grow exponentially stronger.

You begin to grind against him, trying to rub against any part of him to feel some semblance of relief. He chuckles, slipping a hand into your waistband and past your underwear. He lets out a murmur of approval as his hands dip into your needy sex, immediately stroking the soft-spongy spot deep in your core that drives you crazy.

Geto’s fingers are a godsend as they curve, stroke, and scissor you, adjusting to different motions depending on the sounds you make. His mouth still hasn't left your nipple, his suckles getting more aggressive as you feel his teeth nibbling. 

Suddenly, you both hear a door open from within the hallway and freeze. You hear someone—one of the girls, but you aren’t sure which—pad their way to the bathroom.

You both stay as still as humanly possible, knowing that if you duck down enough, whoever crosses in the hallway won’t be able to see you on the couch. 

Suguru pulls his hands out of your pants, which you assume means that your sexual escapade has concluded until those same fingers, which are covered in your essence, are now pressing against your lips.

He doesn’t give you much of an option as he pushes them into your mouth, forcing you to taste yourself on your tongue, swirling his fingers around to mix with your saliva.

The bathroom door opens, and you hear the footsteps back into their room.

“Good job,” Suguru coos, pressing his lips against your stomach and pulling his fingers from your mouth.

“And thank you for an excellent Father's Day, my love.”

The Dad Who Stepped Out

Toji Fushiguro

“Here’s what you asked for.” Toji enters the kitchen and drops a grocery bag on the table. You glance over your shoulder at your stay-at-home boyfriend, who seems grumpier than usual today.

“Thanks. Hoping to try this Carbonara recipe out.” You rifle through the bag and pull out the ingredients.

Toji lingers in the kitchen—-unusual for him as he never offers to help cook, but you don’t press it, not wanting to catch the strays from whatever has him pissed off.

“I forgot…I forgot what day it is,” he mumbles softly.

Oh, you look over at the calendar on the refrigerator and nod. The date is circled in bright red marker. There’s a note to yourself that reads, “Father's Day!” 

“There were so many brats at the store today with their moms pickin’ out dinners. Barely could find anywhere to park.” 

He’s rubbing the back of his neck as his eyes look anywhere but at yours. You can tell that this is bothering him as Toji wears his stress on his shoulders, which are now hunched in a way that looks far from comfortable.

You learned early in your relationship not to bring up Father’s Day; it’s a sore spot for him. Much of what you know about Toji and his relationship with his son was shared reluctantly as a result of an ultimatum by you: open up or get the fuck out.

You choose your following words carefully. “Do you want to talk about it, or is this you venting?”

Toji sighs and shrugs, “Let’s hear it.”

“I think you should call your kid, Toji. He’s probably thinking about you, too.”

He holds his hand up, signaling that he doesn’t want to hear anything else about the topic, and exits to the bedroom. You glance sadly at your ingredients and conclude that dinner is going to have to wait as you follow Toji.

He’s lying on your bed almost as if asleep, but the scowl on his face and the way he’s biting his bottom lip gives him away.

You sit on the edge of the bed, “what do you need right now?”

“Honestly?”

“Yeah, but within reason, Toji. Because it seems like you don’t want to do what makes the most sense which is to pick up the fucking phone and call your son, so yeah, what do you need that I can give you right now?”

Toji’s face goes slack, and he opens one of his eyes. “Just sit here with me, yeah?”

You nod and crawl beside him, laying your head on his bicep as he wraps his arm around you.

Dishonorable Mention

Ryomen Sukuna

“Woman! Isn’t there something that you’re forgetting?”

Sukuna taps his foot as he sits at your dining room table. You would think that a modest two-bedroom apartment would humble the king of curses, but it doesn’t.

“What is it now, Sukuna?”

“I was watching the news, and every segment specified that it’s Father's Day?”

You nod, not entirely sure where he’s going with this.

“Well? Where’s my gift? My words of adoration? Your mouth on one of my cocks?”

You blink slowly, “Sukuna, Father's Day is for those with children. Are you telling me that you have-?”

‘He waves his dismissively at you, “Don’t be absurd, woman. You know how I feel about those disgusting creatures.”

“Then?”

Suluna’s patience with you is running thin. You sometimes like to play games with him to get a rise out of him. He’ll remember to spit in your mouth when he beds you tonight.

He speaks through gritted teeth, “you call me daddy every chance I have you split open on my dicks. Now wish me a happy fathers day.”

You consider your options here; on the one hand, pissing off Sukuna could be fun; on the other hand, he is right, you do call him daddy in the bedroom, so you relent, “happy fathers day, Sukuna.”

His chest swells in triumph. “Now, that wasn’t so hard, was it?”

[snowberrycherry]

chanel!! ..hear me out könig eating 🐱. That’s it. That’s the ask. <3

ur mind> we r now bffs sorry

[a/n] i had to add ghost i couldn’t control it 🫨🫨

part 2 here

Borderline

könig x fem!reader

warnings: oral (fem receiving), ghost walks in and watches at the end but everything is consensual, read at ur own risk, mdni.

⋆｡°✩ ♡✩°｡⋆ ⋆｡°✩ ♡✩°｡⋆ ⋆｡°✩ ♡✩°｡⋆

At first, you thought he was just doing it to be an asshole, knowing how most of the time you couldn’t resist his lips working all over your cunt, hearing you scream out his name as he made you come countless times. He would regularly plead with you to let him taste you at the most inconvenient or random times. Nonetheless, over time you started to realize it was maybe some sort of kink? You had questioned him about it, making his face turn a bright shade of red, registering that you had figured out his secret turn-on. He shyly explained to you that the exciting exhilarating feeling of someone catching him in between your thighs gave his stomach uncontrollable butterflies. That it satisfied him to no end, knowing that only he could make you feel that way. The sudden rush of happiness when you heard his words made your heart flutter, it made you feel crazy, but in the best way possible. So it became a non-spoken agreement enfolded with you two by taking extensive risks and pushing boundaries.

————————————————————

“I’m almost finished, besides Simon is coming by in like 10 minutes to pick some files up” you argued.

He only recently started doing this, but whenever he could König would stop by to see you in your office, accompanying you while you finished up your work for the day.

”But Liebling”, his accent always seemed to thicken when he begged,” I want to eat you out now”.

You gave him a light-hearted laugh, “And if he walks in here, where will you go?”. He stood up from the chair across from yours and stepped over to you. A confused expression swept over your face as he knelt on the floor, “I’ll just go like this,” he proudly said, cramming his massive frame underneath your desk, flashing you the brightest smile like he had solved the world's greatest mystery. You sighed down at him, shaking your head, “You’re insane”.

He trailed his hands up your legs, rubbing his thumbs on your thighs, “ So is that a yes?”.

Another exasperated sound escaped from you, it was definitely a risk, but the way his mouth worked wonders on you, it most definitely wouldn’t take long for you to come.

“Make it fast, König”. With a firm nod, he instantly pulled down your pants so they were resting on the middle section of your thighs, along with your underwear. You were on full display for him and he was in awe. “You’re already so wet” he exclaimed, running his index finger along your aching cunt. “So sweet,” he said, slipping it into his mouth, savoring your juices like he would die without them. You moaned, wriggling your pelvis attempting to get whatever friction you could from him. He gave your thigh a small kiss before biting down on the soft flesh, marking you as his. You let out a sharp yelp when you felt his teeth sink into your skin, but he quickly soothed the pain with a cool peck. He charmingly grinned up at you, eyes tainted with fervor, and went ahead to bury his face deep inside of you. He flicked his tongue over your pussy, tracing different types of shapes all over you. Your hand flew to your mouth to stop your cry of pleasure when he angled his tongue right into you, thrusting in and out as if he had something to prove. His nose pressed right down on your clit as he was tongue fucking you relentlessly, with immeasurable passion.

Breathlessly he pulled away, “Am I making you feel good?” he whined, looking up at your eyes which were glazed over with lust and need. He got a response to his question with your legs locking around his head, dragging him back into your pussy. The messy sounds echoed throughout the walls as he lapped up all your juices.

You were too caught up in ecstasy with his lips and your spit-covered thighs to hear the first delicate knock. The second one however was louder pushing you out of your trance causing your eyes to snap open.

“He’s here” you whispered frantically to him. He broke away despite wanting to stay and swiftly slid your panties back up. He looked around for a place to hide himself but didn't get a chance to move when a rough voice spoke out. “Who are you talking to?” You wanted to cry. Of course, with your luck, it had cursed you with him arriving 5 minutes earlier than expected. Fuck, you mouthed to König, who surprisingly looked rather calm for the predicament you both were in. You knew you had to say something. This is so embarrassing. “Uhm,” you said nervously, “No one… Just come in”. The door opened and in walked Simon. His familiar tall figure, with the same mask that he wore everywhere, his dark clothing that was just so…him. When you first started working there, you had the smallest crush on Simon. His mysterious energy was so attractive to you. You forgot about it when you started seeing König, but a small piece in the back of your mind hadn't moved on. “Your early,” you plainly stated. He shrugged, “Didn’t think it was that big of a deal, I just need those papers and then I’m going”. Thank God. Sometimes he would strike up a casual conversation with you. It wasn’t much, but in the current situation, with Königs head in between your legs, you were never more grateful. “Right, hang on there somewhere in here” you pointed to all the papers scattered over your desk.

Nothing could have prepared you for what happened next. You hadn’t even bothered to worry about it, figuring that he wouldn’t have the nerve to do anything that could heighten the risk of getting caught.

That’s what you thought until you felt his warm fingertips glide your underwear to the side, his hot breath hovering over your pussy once again. “So what have you been up to?” Simon asked innocently, having no clue what was happening just beneath his vision.

You felt a long lick along your sopping cunt followed by a muffled kiss on your inner thigh. “Ohh, nothing same old same old”. A stream of cool air blew on you with his lips enclosing around your clit, giving it a single harsh suck. You weren’t certain with what he said, but it was something along the lines of Are you okay? You lifted your head up at him, “What?”

“You're shaking” he responded. You felt Königs lips form a smile against you when he heard Simon’s words. He’s sick.

“Yeah, it’s just kinda cold,” you said, relieved when you finally sought out his papers. “Here” you said, scooting forward to place the documents as far away as possible to conceal your semi-bare body. The movement caused your hips to crash right into König’s face, suffocating him with your dripping cunt. Just how he liked it. He couldn’t help it. He really couldn’t. As hard as he tried, he let out the faintest whimper.

“What was that?”

Shit. You looked around, pretending to search for an explanation that could have caused the sound. “Hmm.. uhm.. not sure. It was probably nothing though, anyways I should probably get back to work”. You were practically praying that he would go.

“Alright, well I’ll see you later”, he said, turning to leave, but not before looking back, giving you a hard stare like he could see right through you. You give him a tiny wave, hoping it would put his mind at ease.

Words couldn’t describe the amount of relief you felt when you heard the click of the door closing, leaving you alone with just König now.

You reached down and grabbed at his hair, yanking him away from you, ready to curse him out for causing an embarrassing scene right in front of your lieutenant. “I actually hate you”, you gasped at him, “What were you thinking?”.He gazed up at you, his blue eyes shining with desire and longing, “ I tried, I really did, but you just taste so good”.

————————————————————

Weird. That was definitely …strange. Simon thought to himself as the door fully shut. He wandered to the side of the wall that had a medium-sized window. The white shades were slightly turned up, allowing him to see just a slit of your office. Curiosity got the best of him and before he knew it, he was bending down a bit, squinting his eyes to get a better view. That’s when he saw the tousled light hair right in between your legs. Your fingers brushing through it bucking your hips right into his mouth. He wanted to walk away, to pretend he never saw anything, but he couldn’t. He couldn’t help the intense pressure running down right to his cock, feeling himself get hard at the lewd sight. He lifted his hand to his own lips tracing the tips over them, fantasizing what it would be like if it was him instead of König. He watched as you bit your lip, leaning your head back, squeezing your tits as you rocked back and forth. He reached his hand down right to his crotch and hesitantly started to palm himself through his jeans. The way you looked, like an angel, he pondered, letting out a deep breath at his sinful thoughts about you. Distracted and absorbed in his own arousal his mind didn’t catch on when your eyes started to gradually open. Unfortunately for him, it was right in his direction. Realization washed over him when he saw your piercing eyes widen with horror, making contact with his own. He couldn’t move. All he could do was stand there like a deer caught in headlights. It was too late for him to play it off like he was simply walking down the hallway. He was cornered and in the worst possible situation. Against all odds, he watched in dismay as your head tilted to the side ever so slightly, still staring directly at him, your lips turning up into a smile. Your hips rolling into König's face with more speed and a determined intention…purposely putting on a show… just for him.

“ Oh Fuck”

[only-luce-the-goose]

Hiii pookie 🫶🥹

it's me again the same anon from Arthur's long fic 😂 i thought it would be nice to thank you again for fulfilling the request, they were all absolutely beautiful and I enjoyed them a lot✨,now proclaimed you one of my favorite Arthur writers ✨🥹🫶

i used to want an Arthur in my life now I NEED him 😭

Also today my mood was so bad but reading the fic distracted me a little from everyday things, thank you once again i send you a hug and kisses 🫶😚🫂💗💗

I hope you have the best days, always and forever !!!🙂‍↕️love ya boo💗

(if you didn't get enough of me, I promise that if I have any more ideas I will let you know so you can use them with your writings about other pilots)

A Bit Off

A/N: Hi Anon!!!!!

I’m so, so happy you enjoyed them and I feel privileged to be your favourite Arthur writer 🥰🥰. I’m thinking I might start writing for other drivers as well.

I swear I need an Arthur in my life too 😫. I’m sorry you weren’t feeling too well today, I’m glad my writing was able to help you feel better! 😘

And I will never get enough of you, message as much as you want!! 🫶🏻🫶🏻

I’ve currently got another Arthur fic and an Ollie Bearman fic in the works. I just wanted to write this little one as thank you for your kind words and requests. It’s also kind of based off how you felt today, enjoy ☺️

Arthur Leclerc x reader

Synopsis: After a bad day, Arthur just wants to make you feel all better

(He’s such a cute, lil smiley boyyyyy 😍)

You woke up on the wrong side of the bed, you felt down and depressed all day for no reason. Unfortunately, Arthur wasn’t around and wouldn’t be back for another 3 days. All you wanted to do was cuddle up and watch movies with him.

You stayed on the couch, drowning in your favourite hoodie of Arthur’s, watching your comfort tv show. You heard the door at the front of the apartment unlock, keys jangling as the door was pushed open. You pulled the baseball bat out from under the couch and crept over to the wall next to the hallway.

You heard shoes being toed off, sock padded feet slowly walking down the hallways. You waited for the footsteps to come closer before you stepped out from the wall. You swung the bat.

“OHHH HOLY SHIT BABY ITS ME” Arthur screamed in his Monegasque accent. You immediately dropped the bat, “oh my god, Arty! You’re not suppose to be here for 3 days!” Arthur smirked when he said “I know. I wanted to surprise you, gorgeous”

Tears sprung to your eyes and you buried yourself in your boyfriend. Your arms wrapped around his neck, your nose pressing against his jugular as you deeply inhaled his cologne. Arthur’s hands firmly wrapped around your waist, he kissed your temple and leaned his head against yours.

He felt teardrops on his collarbone, prompting him to let go for a second. He found you with wet eyes, teardrop stains down your cheeks. “Bèbè, what’s wrong?” Arthur pouted. He raised his hand and wiped your tears. You made eye contact with him and the flood gates opened.

You weren’t sad about anything in particular, you just started babbling about anything and everything. Arthur guided you to the couch and sat down, pulling you on top of him and he laid down. Your legs ended up in either side of his body, your chin rested on his chest, your noses nearly bumping.

Arthur let you get it all out, contently listening. After you finished, Arthur extended his neck and pecked your lips. “It’s ok to feel like this, love” you kissed him again “thank you Arty” you had cried yourself to exhaustion, he could see your eyes started to droop. He pulled the couch blanket over you both as he watched you fall asleep.

“Good night, my love” he said as he kissed your nose, “I love you, bad day or good day, I don’t care.” You lazily smile and confessed “I love you” back to him, drifting off to sleep. Arthur followed you not long after.

[tipofthemountain]

i just want you

my requests are open!

the alternate ending!

tags: simon “ghost” riley x gn! reader, lots (and i mean lots) of angst, cursing, let me know if I missed anything!

word count: 1.3k

summary: It’s not always easy being with someone who never lets you inside their head.

a/n: :D happy reading! teehee

my requests are open!

༺𖤓༻༺𖤓༻༺𖤓༻༺𖤓༻༺𖤓༻༺𖤓༻

It always seems to rain in movies when something sad happens. It applies to the situation at hand right now.

You and Simon had been together officially for a few months now. After months of ‘i just don’t think it’s time’ or ‘i’m not the relationship type’ Simon finally asked you to be his girlfriend. Of course it was rocky, a story with a sad beginning always ends with a sad ending. You thought it would all eventually work out though. Simon would open up to you about everything he’s been through. He would talk to you about something, anything you didn’t care. The only things you do know are the things his friends have only slightly hinted at.

So when Simon came home in a complete shut off mood (again) it set something off in you. You’ve had enough.

“I can’t do this.” You whisper just enough for him to hear. Simons head moves toward your direction. Your back is turned to him as you stand in the kitchen. He’s sitting with a cup of water in his hands at the dining table.

“What?” Simon asks. His eyes bore into the back of your head almost like he’s trying to telepathically get you to look at him.

With a single tear running down your face you rest one of your hands on your hip. You look up to the ceiling with a sigh escaping your lips.

“You… this… us. I can’t do the whole you shutting me out at every chance you get.” You finally turn to Simon looking into his light eyes.

He’s standing there looking down at you with an unreadable expression. He’s silent and doesn’t say anything for a minute and neither do you. You wait for what feels like hours for him to say something but he simply doesn’t. So you walk away into the living. A few more tears slip out of your eyes but your face doesn’t change expression. You aren’t sad you’re more angry than anything.

Simon follows you but keeps his distance. You hear him let out a sigh before finally saying something.

“I can’t lose you.” He says but that only makes you chuckle.

“You can’t lose me? That’s all you have to say?” You turn towards him laughing except there is no joke.

“I’m sorry. This is who I am.” He says walking toward you but you put your hand out to stop him from getting close.

“It doesn’t have to be. You could just talk to me when you come over instead of just shutting me out.” You sigh rubbing your temple and taking a seat on your couch.

Simon takes a seat beside you but still at a distance. His hands clasp in his lap and you look at him through your peripherals.

“I don’t know how to talk about these things. I never learned how. It’s been the one thing I’ve struggled with my entire life.” Simon lets out. He’s twirling his fingers together awkwardly wait for you to say something.

“I just want to know how your day is when you come over. I want to know your favorite color. I want to know how your friends are doing. I want to know you Simon.” You say looking back into his eyes. You can see his eyes are slightly more wet than usual.

“I-“ Simon begins to say but stops himself. This only makes you more angry. You stand up in front of him and throw your hands up in exhaustion.

“I’m ruining myself trying to be there for you. I’m standing right fucking here begging for you to just let me in to your life but you won’t let me!” Your voice becoming louder than you wanted it to. The anger finally bubbling to the surface. You’ve had enough.

“I don’t know what I’m doing! I’ve never felt this way before. Not with anyone ever. I’m scared you’ll leave just like everyone else!” Simon stands above you yelling back just not as loud as you. His thick accent shining through with every word he threw out.

“I’m not going anywhere! Not until you tell me too! I don’t care about anything except for you. I just want you!” Your eyes begin to betray you. A waterfall of tears cascades down your face as Simon moves to hold you. At first you push him away but eventually give up. He’s quietly muttering ‘i’m so sorry’ and ‘i’ll be better’ over and over again into your ear.

After 30 minutes of you bawling into his arms and Simon repeating himself you pull back from him to which he actually lets you this time. You don’t know when you ended up on the floor but you don’t make an effort to get up either.

“My favorite color is green. My friends are a bunch of jack asses. My day was spent training recruits and prepping for a mission. I don’t like the way the cook at base makes tea. I used to have a german shepherd named Riley.” Simon spills out information catching you off guard. You look up at him and his big hands cup your cheeks. His thumbs while your tears away gently. You say nothing and just look into his eyes. You still can’t read his expression but maybe that’s a trick that will come in due time.

“I’m more of a rugby fan than football. I don’t like seafood. I can’t stand people who chew gum loudly. I’m not a cereal person. My guilty pleasure is listening to pop music.” Simon continues on after you say nothing. His hands made their way to your own. He’s rubbing his thumb across your knuckles softly. All these useless facts that you’ll forever remember. It’s not a lot and you know this. It’s only the beginning but everything had a start. Your still silent so Simon continues to ramble. He lets everything and anything out.

“I don’t talk about my family because I have a hard time remembering them. I know you know they were all murdered and Im still not able to talk about it. Maybe one day I will be. I want to be able too. It’s just difficult.” He says with a heavy sigh. A tear he’s been trying not to let slip this entire time finally drops onto the floor. You take your hand and swipe the tear line from his face and rest your hand against his cheek which he melts into.

“Im sorry. Im sorry I haven’t been what you deserve. Im sorry I’ve been silent instead of giving you answers to things you’ve wondered for nearly a year now. Im sorry you felt you had to stay with me even though you could have left. Im sorry for keeping you out. I’ll try from here on out to be better. I’ll be anything you want me to be.” Simon looks deeply into your eyes. His words tunneling deep into your heart.

While yes there is no fixing the many months of silence, there is to fixing the future. He’s not always going to be open because that’s not who he is but for you he’s trying and that’s all you ask. It’s all you want him to do.

“I just want you.” You finally say. You lips seal with Simons in a slow kiss. After releasing from the kiss you take Simon into a rough embrace. Your arms wrapped around each other’s body’s. You stay like this for what feels like hours. The silence being more comforting than before. This silence being good.

You pull away from Simon and he watches as a smile creeps into your face as you let out a laugh. This one being more of a happy one then the sarcastic one before.

“So your favorite color is green? I always thought you where more of a blue person.” You say smiling. Both you and Simon laugh before embracing a happy kiss onto to each others lips.

Maybe there will be a happy ending to this sad beginning.

༺𖤓༻༺𖤓༻༺𖤓༻༺𖤓༻༺𖤓༻༺𖤓༻

final thoughts: i might 🤏🏻 write a alternative ending to this where there is a not so happy ending. Depends on how this does! I’ve been trying to get this to post for like 2 days now so if your reading this it means it worked! YIPPEE!

Also! I’m still dealing with a bunch of medical crap but i’m okay! I’m just trying to live dude.

Love ya! Thanks for reading!

[sukunasbow]

jealous girl, maggie greene.

summary: in which you and your wife visit the sanctuary after the war, but some of the saviors take a liking to you!

warnings: fem!reader and not yet proof read!

notes: most of my fics are gn!neutral but this was part of the request! the request was anon so i hope this finds you bby and ty for the lovely request, maggie is one of my favs too!

Now that the war is over and Negan’s living in a cell, the remaining Saviors are left in Daryl’s care at the sanctuary. Your wife isn’t all that happy about this, but the two of you decide to go to the sanctuary with Rick and Daryl in order to help keep things in order.

Rick finishes his speech to the people in the building, then taking Daryl upstairs to discuss things. Meanwhile, you and Maggie walk around the rundown factory, watching the Saviors sort their cans of food.

“Well, hello there.” A voice catches your attention, making you turn around. Your greeted by a man with his hair half-tied up, wearing a grey sleeveless tank top. You shake your head and laugh at him, knowing he has no chance, your wife just a bit in front of you, talking to another Savior. “What’s funny, baby?” He grins, letting out a small laugh of his own. You let out a long sigh, “I’m taken.” You put your hand directly in front of his face, showing off the nice ring Maggie managed to get for you back at the prison. “Oh, I see.” He nods, pausing for a moment. He’s making it seem like he’s going to back off, but he proves you wrong when he opens his smug mouth again.

“Does that really have to stop us?” The man mumbles. “Us?” You raise an eyebrow. “I’ll stop you.” Maggie suddenly walks up to the two of you, “Hey, I’m her wife.” She seethes. The guy looks shocked, simply walking away as the girl stares him down. “Hot.” You joke, Maggie snaking an arm around your waist, letting the other guys that were staring you down know you’re hers.

This doesn’t seem to stop some of the men, however, as another one approaches you now that you’re once again separated from Maggie. This time, Rick and Daryl are surrounding you, the three of you discussing the future of the sanctuary. “Hey, ma.” The unknown man smirks, interrupting Rick. “Excuse me?” Rick glares at him. “Oh, you her husband?” The guy backs up a bit. “Nah, but she’s married and you’re a pervert, so back up.” Daryl defends you this time. “Oh, so you’re the husband?” He laughs.

You scoff, “I don’t have a husband, dumbass, I have a wife.”

“Oh, ya like girls?” His tone grosses you out even more than before.

“I like my wife, now go sort your food cans with the other’s before I starve your ass and take them.” You huff. He rolls his eyes and storms off.

“We aren’t going back there.” Maggie presses her lips into a firm line as the two of you enter your shared home, back from the trip to the sanctuary. “You don’t have to tell me twice.” You laugh, still feeling icky after the situation. “I’m serious, those men are pigs, all up on you like that.” Your wife takes off her flannel jacket and tosses it on the ottoman in the small living room as you grab a snack from the pantry. Taking a bite into a cookie, you raise an eyebrow, “Are you okay?” You ask her. She’s obviously not, she’s still seething after everything, angrily sitting down on the couch and sulking like a toddler that was denied a candy bar. “I’m fine.” She mumbles with her smooth southern accent. “You’re not fine, stop being like that.” You join her on the couch, offering her a cookie, which she denies. You eat the cookie instead, “You know you’re my wife, right? You’re the only one for me.” You turn to face her, looking into her beautiful green eyes, a small smile starting to form on her face. “I love you, hm?” You press small kisses all on her face until you reach her lips, waiting for her to say the phrase back. “I love you too.” She laughs. “Good.” You kiss her lips.

[sardonic-the-writer]

𝐌𝐞𝐫𝐜𝐬 𝐖𝐢𝐭𝐡 𝐀 𝐑𝐞𝐚𝐝𝐞𝐫 𝐓𝐡𝐚𝐭 𝐈𝐬 𝐇𝐞𝐚𝐯𝐢𝐥𝐲 𝐂𝐫𝐮𝐬𝐡𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐎𝐧 𝐓𝐡𝐞𝐦 𝐖𝐨𝐮𝐥𝐝 𝐈𝐧𝐜𝐥𝐮𝐝𝐞

↳ includes: scout, soldier, medic, and spy

↳ warnings: mentions of surgery and alcohol

↳ song: runaround sue—dion

masterlist | commissions | carrd

𝐒𝐜𝐨𝐮𝐭

• He’s such a doofus. It takes him at least a month to pick up on it

• The entire time you’re flirting or making moves on him, he’ll jokingly reciprocate it under the impression that you’re just joshing around

• It takes one of the other team members approaching him for the mercenary to realize what was actually going on

• “Son.” Engineer had sighed as he stood in the doorway to Scout’s very messy room, “You do realize they like you?”

• Scout’s very dismissive and red faced about it

• “What? Psh. Stop messing with me, Engie. Don't you have sentries to build or somethin’?”

• The second Engineer leaves, he’s practically tearing up his room in a tirade of emotions

• Overthinks the past few months with you way too much. Practically wears a spot into the floor from all the nervous pacing he does

• In the end, Scout confronts you to ask you out

• Tries to be formal, but we all saw how that turned out with Miss Pauling. Eventually just gives up on trying to be suave— and not succeeding —to blurt out what he’s thinking

• “So, uh, yeah. I’m not so. Er. Good at this sappy stuff, but there’s a Tom Jones museum I think we could go check out. Together.” Scout pauses, accent only getting thicker with worry, “Alone. Y’know?”

• Over the moon when you say yes. All nerves dissipate and are immediately replaced with a cross between a smug and relieved victory

• If you look close enough at his ears, they’re a little pink

𝐒𝐨𝐥𝐝𝐢𝐞𝐫

• If he hasn’t known you for long, Soldier will actually just chalk your actions up to being a communist spy

• A very exasperated Demoman had to get Miss Pauling to bring in heavily classified paperwork on you just to prove to him you weren’t a commie

• “Very well maggot! I’ll believe you— for now! Sleep with one eye open!” Soldier had barked, slamming down your file on the dining room table as a tired Pauling watched. You noted that the papers were upside down, and you doubt he even read them. Or that he could read

• He’s very blunt with everything. Words, actions, emotions, etc. Doesn’t understand why other people can’t just do the same. It would make conversation so much easier to him

• So he’s not oblivious to your attention per se. Just very curious, I suppose

• It takes maybe less than two weeks after the Communist Incident, as Demo had dubbed it, for him to corner you

• “Maggot! Do you find me attractive?” He demanded

• You’d been eating breakfast at the time, and almost choked to death on your laughter at the question

• “Short answer, yes.” You gasped through wheezy laughter, the volume only increasing at the frown on Soldiers face. “Follow up question; is that really how you just asked if I had a crush on you?”

• Nods and booms back that he thinks you’re also easy on the eyes. Proposes the idea of doing a training course with you sometime. Breaks out into a crooked grin when you accept

• “Excellent! I expect you up at oh five hundred for the course tomorrow!” He saluted you, which was Soldier equivalent to a bone crushing hug of respect

• You returned it, and missed the way his eyes crinkled with happiness behind the brim of his helmet

𝐌𝐞𝐝𝐢𝐜

• Always so consumed in his work that he probably just ends up finding out from Archemedies

• The birds had always been allowed to rest on your shoulder while he performed risqué experiments on you, acting as a distraction from the feeling of someone sifting around in your guts

• I guess the dove had picked up on one too many looks you’d tossed the ex-doctors way

• To this day, no one can understand how the two of them can communicate, but one thing leads to another and suddenly Medic is looming in your doorframe silently

• “What’s up, doc?” You’d greeted him with a Bug’s Bunny quote and a grin. Medics lips only twitched up slightly as he pushed his glasses back up the brim of his nose

• “A little bird told me zhat someone has a crush, ja?” He barreled right into the topic, leaving no room for you to prepare for the sudden accusation. Medics scrutinizing gaze didn’t miss the way your eyes glanced in the direction of his lab, no doubt silently cursing Archemedies

• “No need to fear, freund.” He unclasped his gloved hands from behind his back and approached you. “I simply am here to offer you a deal.”

• Turns out the deal was a chance talk over cheap beer in his office. Pretty rare, considering how much of his time Medic chose to dedicate to work

• “I’ll take it.” You shook his hand, briefly noting how large it seemed even when compared to you

• “Vunderbar, mein schatz.” Medic smiled gently, leaving you to wonder what he had just said

𝐒𝐩𝐲

• There is no hiding when it comes to this French fuck

• Spy immediately picks up on every glance. Every chance of avoided eye contact and unnecessary clearing of a throat

• Suddenly he seems to be a lot more talkative towards you than normal. Hanging out by your side at gatherings rather than a dark corner with cigarette smoke curling around his head

• Fleeting touches slowly begin to sprinkle themselves in between conversation. A hand on the shoulder here, and a brief touch to the pulse point there

• The first time he did the latter, he noticed how fast your heart was beating and couldn’t stop himself from letting out a slight chuckle

• If he was nicer, Spy would definitely take action and approach your first. In fact, sometimes he almost finds himself wanting to

• But the man knows how people work. If you truly wanted to pursue him, you would come around eventually. No point in making rash decisions. He was a patient man, after all

• A small part of his ego preened at the thought of making you work for it

• And come around you did eventually did

• Finds himself opening the door to his smoking room one late night only to be met with the image of a very frazzled looking you

• You rush out something about a date too fast for his ears to catch. Spy is simply too busy letting his eyes roam over your casual cloathing and slight fidgeting. The crooning of an old French record plays from behind him as he blinks down at you

• “Would you like to come in?” He finally sighs out, opening the door a little wider in the form of an invitation

• By the time you manage to get inside, you notice he already had a wine glass set out for you

[lundenloves]

𝐖𝐡𝐞𝐧 𝐈𝐭 𝐑𝐚𝐢𝐧𝐬, 𝐈𝐭 𝐏𝐨𝐮𝐫𝐬

olivia finally wrote smut, the crowd goes wild.

{✧} Summary: After relentless drunken encouragement from 141, Simon Riley decides to take a girl home whom he's caught eyes with a few too many times. What he doesn't expect however, are the unknown feelings in his chest after her simple acts of affection and pleasure he was always deprived of.

{✧} Pairings: Simon 'Ghost' Riley x F!OC

{✧} Word count: 6.3k

{✧} TW: Smut! Oral both M and F receiving. Angst if you squint into his general storyline. A bit fucking devastating on that part. Blunt and true to his character with the issues he was given, although subtlety as he tends to bury everything. Sigh.

part two | masterlist | taglist

{✧} Ok. *Claps hands together* So, I wrote this in just over a week. I do not know how this happened or where the words came from but they certainly... worded. Basically, It's just a mass product of 2am writing. A stab in the dark as long as you act like Ghost has a more Northern voice. Which he fucking doesn't. This fucker grew up in Manchester and got given a Cockney accent. Anyway, I hope this alleviates at least some of the horniness in the cod fandom because fucking hell. Ignore how the pacing is fried. *Salutes* Happy reading, kids.

“Lt. You are a machine, sir.” Soap saluted his lieutenant with a half-drunken snort. “Got all them lassies eyeing you up.” He nodded toward a general direction, taking a short swig of the beer in his hand. 

“That’ll be right, Sergeant.” Ghost grumbled, leaning against the bar with no interest in the women behind him whatsoever. He never was made for women. Well, aside from the obvious things he knew were attractive. Being tall, having muscular thighs, broad shoulders, the voice. Not to mention the plethora of skills he harboured once he occasionally did bed someone, and the whole military idea. People seemed to get off on it. However.

“Naw. I’m serious.” He tried again, leaning on the bar to find Ghost’s eyes. “When’s the last time you got with someone, eh?” His brows wiggled in amusement of his own question. A question that was fucking painfully Johnny. Ghost only looked to him through a sideward glance, swirling the last of his whisky in the short glass his hand dwarfed. 

The thought of taking someone home was nothing but a task. One that made Ghost audibly sigh, tilting his chin up for the last mouthful of drink. “Treat yourself, Sergeant.” His eyes landed on Soap’s, slamming the glass back onto the bar and standing up straight. 

“Aw, come on Lt.” 

“Respectfully, I’m not–” His words were rarely broken, although the way this woman walked right between him and Johnny caused a pause. One he looked down at her for, his palm still splayed on the bartop. Long fingers tapping the surface. “Eighteen anymore.” He finished.

The look Soap gave Ghost behind her back was one easily mistaken for lust itself. His eyes pointed to her momentarily before flicking back to the lieutenant. “No. You’re not.” He nodded  slowly, taking steps backward and mimicking sexual acts with his fingers. Mouthing, “Her.” 

She was none the wiser of the acts behind her. Simply stepping between two men to reach the bar and leaning forward on her forearms, back naturally arched with the action. The broad man to her left shifted on his feet, and a subtle sigh left him with a flex of his square jaw. Johnny was on the other side of the bar, enticing Ghost to make a move. His smirk disappeared to take a swig of the fresh beer he had ordered, flicking his pointer and middle fingers together, gesturing Ghost talk to her. 

Instead, all Soap received was a scowl and two fingers his way. Fuck. Off.

He steeled himself and took a spacing step backward, dead eyes instantly catching the dark ones next to him when she had touched his skin upon her own movement. Had they not moved at the same time, he would have walked away without second thought. But now, her warm smile of apology felt obligatory and he returned it in his own way. A slight raise of his brows. 

“Sorry I’m dead in the way.” Her strong Mancunian accent almost caught Ghost off guard. London hadn’t given him many Northerners, and now, there was one standing in-front of him. Soap was leant forward on the bar opposite, watching their interactions intently. Even Price had joined in, a subtle smirk over his lips, raising his glass when Ghost had turned to them.

He cleared his throat, “Not at all.” The deep-voiced words were accompanied by a shake of his head, directed more to the men on the opposing end.

She turned to him, “Northern?” The smile that bit down on her bottom lip made the side of his own tilt upward ever so slightly with an amused nod. The strong arms that were crossed over his chest loosened, fingers outstretched momentarily in a way of agreement.

“Manchester.” He confirmed and she turned back to the bar, retrieving the multiple drinks for her group. Soap and Price had now recruited Gaz, the three of them all gawking at the scene ahead and sharing words. 

“Figured.” She looked up at him, the tray of drinks held by both her hands. Simon briefly wondered if she was likely to spill it, his eyes cast down toward the shots. “I should take these back.” The words came with another smile, a polite one. 

He absently nodded, eyes following her without turning his head. Soap, Gaz and Price were all grinning on their way over, Johnny failing to miss a flirtatious salute to the group of women. “Thought you were leaving, Lt.” He near-shouted, and Ghost held a finger out for the bartender, requesting the same drink as Price took the seat beside him. 

“What was the chat?” Gaz stood beside Soap, the four of them forming a conversational square shape. “Anything worth sharing?” He nudged Johnny who clapped his hands together and rubbed them enthusiastically like a child.

“Nothing.” He replied bluntly, eyes lazily shifting between the three men.

Price leant an elbow on the bar, looking back to the group of women. The girl from earlier caught his eye, laughing loudly and knocking back shots like there was no tomorrow. He nodded toward her, “She’s certainly one for you, Simon.”

There was zero subtlety between Soap and Gaz who instantly turned. Much to Simon’s joy. “Can you turn around any fuckin' faster?” He berated with a wounded sigh, Johnny’s shoulders bouncing in amusement. 

“Go talk to her.” Instead of replying, he shook his head turning back to the bar and Price stifled a laugh. “Might as well try, no?” The glass of whisky he had finished was pushed from hand-to-hand, looking back up to Ghost who pulled a face. “They’re interested.” His lips downturned in fairness, turning his palm upright and tilting his head in saying so.

Simon cleared his throat, taking a sharp swig of his drink. “Good for them.” 

She had looked toward the bar, locking eyes with Simon who had been caught staring. Much to his own dismay. Although, her smile returned and he found himself shifting his feet once again, unsure of how to react. Lifting his glass an inch or two in recognition of her efforts. “Aw c’mon, she’s so wanting to fuck you Lt.”

“Christ, Johnny.” Price scoffed, the wrinkles by his eyes emphasised with an afterthought laugh. Gaz turned to Simon with a shrug, one that spoke louder than anything else, ‘he’s not wrong’, it said. Not that they would know anything, only projecting their own desire for scoring tonight. Being away for weeks, months, at a time with near-zero female company was sometimes gruelling. For the more sexually active soldiers anyway. Ghost never seemed to care. Permanently focused on the mission at hand or anticipating the next.

Aside from a few late nights.

“I’m leaving.” He announced, sliding his now empty glass to the barhand.

“This guy isn’t real, man.” Soap pointed with his thumb, Price shrugging an amused smirk, arms crossed over his chest. The woman from earlier had caught onto his exit via her diligent staring, grabbing her bag and approaching the four men rather sheepishly. Something about a group of huge men wasn’t exactly inviting, although it was at the same time. 

“Alright?” Gaz was the only one to see her, turning the other three toward the direction. 

“Alright.” She returned with a smile, eyeing up Ghost. “You leaving?”

He nodded blankly, eyes hooded over upon looking down at her. The veins on his hands visible for the low bar light, emphasising each one that created a pulsing feeling between her legs. Ghost wasn’t stupid. He knew what was going on, standing straight and rubbing a hand across his brow and down to his jaw where it stayed. 

“I’m Thea.” She said to him, and him only. 

“Simon.” He dropped the hand from his face, holding it out for her to shake. 

Soap was practically fucking bouncing from behind her, drunkenly chuffed for his lieutenant when she had taken his hand for a little too long. “Mind if I leave with you?” Her question couldn’t have meant a whole lot more than the obvious. Simon forgot he hadn’t his mask on when the faintest smirk had tugged the corner of his lip upwards.

His eyes averted toward his unit, “Gents.” He gave them a short nod before gesturing she walked ahead of him with a leading hand, following behind her with one subtle look back. Price raising his glass high once again.

“You lot military or something?” She asked when he had held the door, dipping under his arm.

“Something like that.” 

The somewhat curt responses and deliberate movements were attractive to Thea. Everything was calculated, it was obvious he had a job as such. Not to mention the build. “You live far from here?” He took a deep breath with the question, digging into his pockets for a cigarette.

“A good way away.” She nodded, sucking her bottom lip between her teeth. 

Simon produced a carton from his jacket, further patting around his trousers for a lighter. “Mine then?” He mumbled for the cigarette he had stuck to his lip in the meantime, it moved with the words he spoke.

“Yours.” She nodded, watching as he lit it up. 

A cloud of smoke burst from the long exhale he had taken, his eyes dark in the dimly lit street, “You cold?” In question for the three buttons that were only a third done up on her vest top, pierced nipples easily visible through the fabric. “You want my jacket or somethin’?” His lips left parted from the draw, looking down at her. 

“I’m alright.” Her words were unconvincing and he nodded at the fact, holding the cigarette between his teeth while shrugging the thick shelled jacket off. It was heavy when she’d taken it from his arm, pulling it on only to drown in it. But oh, it smelled rich and exposed his arms again. Large muscles and inked forearms only now visible although not done any sense of justice by the loose t-shirt he wore. Her eyes involuntarily drifted lower to his hips, dark jeans clad over wide, seemingly muscular thighs.

“Come on then.” He nodded, killing the cigarette with a twist of his boot. 

Ghost hadn’t taken someone home in months. Fucking months. He dreaded seeing her reaction to his dull flat, expensive enough but sparsely decorated for A: he was never there and B: he didn’t exactly know how to decorate well. 

“You live round these parts?” 

“Mm-hm.” It was a flat response. 

“Expensive, no?” 

“Mh-hm.”

She laughed at that, looking up at him with a gleam in her eye. One he hadn’t seen in years, his own stolen from him years ago. Even still, he watched onward, overlooking training sessions, as new recruits began to slowly lose their shine for the forces on the hardship of war. Loading and unloading guns to save and simultaneously take lives. It was a lot. To someone who perhaps wasn’t as stiffly stuck in their ways.

His flat was just as you’d imagine. Dark colours, simple decoration without much personality involved. Thea handed his jacket back once they had stepped inside, watching as he tossed it to the sofa. “Drink?” 

“Please.” She followed him to the kitchen, leaning on the counter. “Just, whatever you have.” 

He looked over his shoulder, “I've only got whisky.” She pulled a face, pushing her forearms further on the counter. “Or shit beer.” 

“The whisky’ll do.” Thea tsked, looking up at him through her lashes when he’d turned around, sliding a glass across the counter toward her. She eyed his tattoos when both of his palms had been placed flat on the marble, standing opposite her. “Why stay in such a nice gaff if you’re never ‘round.” 

“I could be here everyday for all you know.” 

“Yeah,” She swirled the amber liquid around the glass, drawing her finger across the countertop to gather dust. “But you’re not.” 

He didn’t respond, eyes only reading between hers in a long stare. One that ultimately rushed a feeling in her stomach, and slowly created a wetness between her thighs. In his stare came the crude thoughts. The hunger that resides deep within his chest, only freed every few months with someone new each time. “That right?” 

“You tell me.” She competed his silence, taking a small sip of the whisky and Ghost rounded the counter with a grumble. Her eyes drifted to the walls, multiple certifications, photos and memorabilia framed and hung proudly. Just about the only things on show for the type of person he was. 

Lieutenant Simon Riley

“Lieutenant?” 

His chest lifted in a large inhale, followed by a hum of agreement. Eyes following hers to the multiple achievements on the wall. “How do you want this?”

The words came off a drawl, clearly avoiding the topic of his career. 

Thea instead walked closer to the photos littered within the frames. Messily pushed behind the glass, with multiple fold lines and frayed edges. “You’re not even in these.” She pointed, turning back to him with a puzzled expression. Ghost sighed longly, reaching an arm behind his head.

“I am.” His eyes narrowed habitually and she pointed toward his masked self, turning back to him with a quirked brow to which his jaw tightened in answer.

“That almost turns me on.” She snorted and Simon involuntarily relaxed his shoulders.

There was something about her. Maybe it was her boldness, the way she wasn’t daunted by him, or her overall confidence. It wasn’t even like he didn’t know confidence. Fuck, most people in the forces had too much of it. But outside of base, it was near nonexistent around him. Until her. 

“You got the whole getup huh?” She couldn’t help but tease and Ghost shook his head at her relenting smile, hiding his own behind a swig of his drink before discarding it to a side table.

“C’mere.” He said, rubbing his jaw momentarily before taking the glass from her hand, watching her eyes roam the broad expanse of his clothed chest. “I’ll ask again,” The taste of  whisky was hot on Thea’s tongue, looking up at Simon with a sudden lust. “How do you want this?” He reached an arm across her hip, pulling her toward him.

She crossed her arms over her chest in his grip. Her silence forced a growl from him, his hands squeezing at her sides. “However you want.” She purred, reaching upward for his hair and running her fingers through it. 

He grunted in response. An unknown emotion pooling in his chest, drifting down from the feeling of her fingers in his hair straight toward his heart, making it pump just a little faster. The gentle touch of a woman was something he was yet to experience in its full power, leaning forward to subconsciously chase her touch when her hand was taken back. 

Thea looked up at him, the softness in her eyes pushed a movement from him. “Come on.” He stood forward, walking to the bedroom where she followed him. A standard room, tall windows opposite a large bed. No wall decor, or decor at all for that matter save a mirror and a standard lamp on a bedside table that housed a set of dog tags. 

His hand smoothed across her arm, taking her attention back with a pointed stare. 

“Kiss me then.” She caught his solemn eyes, watching them harden as his hand traced upward to her chin, pointing it upward to face him and uncharacteristically planting a soft kiss to her jaw. His thumb swiped across her bottom lip and intruded her mouth, watching expectedly as her tongue welcomed his pointer and middle fingers, swirling around them with heavy eye contact. 

He pushed his impossibly long fingers even further down her throat, provoking a gag from her and a smirk teased his lip. “I know, sweetheart.” The coo was enough for her to moan, reaching a hand for his shoulder, kneading at the fabric of his shirt while surely bruising his tracks. Thea hadn’t ever been with a man this big, she too suspected his lower regions to be just as thick as the large hand he had wrapped around her torso upon taking his fingers back. 

His steps came backwards toward the bed, the backs of his knees hitting the plush mattress and forcing him to sit. Thick thighs at their broadest, his tattoos dark and full under the lack of light in the room. Thea manoeuvred onto his lap, her knees either side of his hips. 

Simon pulled her thighs toward him, shifting so she was flush with his lower abdomen. Her hands roamed his hair once again, caressing behind his ear and down past his jaw. “When was the last time?” She pressed a delicate kiss to his lip, pressing her forehead against his own. 

“A while ago.” He admitted flatly, returning her kiss and silently admiring the smoothness of her lips against his own. 

She hummed against his mouth, the inner corners of her eyebrows raising at his dark eyes. Eyes that were filled with death and fear, the same ones you could expect to find in a therapy waiting room or a likely battlefield. She watched the thoughts run through his head, dipping a glance toward her chest momentarily before averting back up to her swollen lips. 

“I can tell.” She whispered in close proximity and he pulled back, an instant crease in his brow at her words. “Relax.” 

Her hand reached for his, guiding it toward her chest and pushing his palm flat. The gentle thrum of her heartbeat was easily felt although Simon’s eyes remained stiff on hers, only softening when she had placed her palm over his. 

He kissed her in response, a definite difference in pace as his tongue circled her own and his hands guided her against his groin. She lit up at the pressure, fixing to pull her vest-top over her head and wincing at the sharp coldness across her exposed nipples. 

Simon wasn’t surprised by her lack of a bra, although his jaw did tighten at the sight of her. The sensitive beads of her nipples hardened and adorned by piercings that were near teased to him earlier. His hands travelled upward, kneading at the soft flesh and toying with the steel. 

He grunted at the way her lips had connected to his neck, gentle kisses soon turning rough and leaving angry marks. “Take this off.” She rocked on his hips, tugging at the hem of his shirt. 

He compiled without protest, pulling it over his head and holding back the fire within him at the way she hungrily eyed his form. The broad points of his shoulders, collarbones sharp and chest wide, his tattoos expanding upwards just as she had imagined. “You alright?” 

Thea only managed a nod. His hard rippled stomach was flush with her own, a sparse amount of dark hair trailing downward from his navel. She smoothed her hands out over his shoulders, running them softly down his arms. 

His mouth dipped from hers to accomodate her nipple, making lightwork of her perky tits and swirling his tongue around the steel in equal amounts. Thea squirmed at his expert touch, pushing his head back with a moan, dark eyes locking onto his without hesitation. 

Simon stood up with her in his grip. Hands underneath her thighs, creating a deepening need between her legs. A need so vast that she had crashed her lips onto his to forget about it, marvelling at the feeling of his warm skin against hers as he easily placed her down onto her back. 

“I’m taking these off.” His gravelly voice near-growled, kneeling wide between her legs and fidgeting with the fabric of her loose trousers. “That alright?”

“Mmhm.” She provided, leaning up on her arms and looking down at Simon. His hair was a mess from her hands, red marks on his neck deepening with every passing second and his long, thick fingers had succeeded in undressing her bottom half. 

He sat back on his haunches for a brief second, a firm hand pressing himself through his jeans while his other teased at her clit, thumb gathering her slick before rubbing circles into her. The room completely silent if not for her soft whimpers and the passing traffic outside.

His middle and ring finger lapped her pooling arousal, pushing into her with ease and curling immediately. “Fuck. Simon.” He felt his cock twitch at the use of his name, looking up to catch eyes with her. Face flushed beet red, her arms dropped to fall back onto the bed after his head had tilted, the speed of his fingers picking up. 

His thumb continued pressing on her clit, two fingers now three, completely stretching her out before she had been reduced to a whining mess. Hands outstretched to grip on his shoulder, moaning aloud at the sudden loss when he had pulled his hand back. 

Thea sat up immediately, her scorn met with his own look of assurance. Eyes seemingly natural in their advanced expressions, giving way more than words ever could. He pulled her thighs toward him, dipping so they rested over his shoulders and with one fatal lick of his lip she knew. 

Simon’s jeans felt impossibly tight, groaning to himself upon licking a line up her core. “Fuck.” He mumbled against her, and her delicate hand was already gripping on the bed-sheets, knuckles white with his warmth. He’d frankly never seen something so gorgeous in his life. 

A large palm pinned her to the bed. Calloused fingertips grazing just above her navel, fingertips that belonged to a hand strong enough to choke someone to death. “I’m close.” Thea moaned at the pressure, the feeling of his tongue darting in and out of her, sucking on her clit and building a fuzzy warmth in her lower stomach. Never had a man made such light work, reducing her to an embarrassingly short time.

He nodded into her, eyes darting upward when a gush of liquid had released from her cunt in a muffled scream. His chest heaved up and down at the wetness, fingers finishing off the job to create one more cry from her. “Cut the shit,” He spoke, taking the pillow from her grip and throwing it. “I want to fucking hear you.” 

Thea bit her lip, sitting up on shaky legs to push him backward so he was stood by the foot of the bed. “Only if I get to hear you.” She looked up at him with lazy eyes, tracing his v-line and pulling him forward by the belt loops. Face only inches away from his groin. 

Simon ran his thumb along her bottom lip once again, looking down at her with a ragged exhale. His cock hung heavy, twitching as she unbuckled his belt and unzipped his jeans, allowing him to step out of them. “Shit.” She whined. 

“I know.” He began, releasing himself from his boxers and tilting her chin upward to meet his condescendingly empathetic gaze. “I know, love.”

The words rushed a warmth between her legs all over again.

His cock stood without constriction, too heavy to stand upright but not enough to ignore the twitches that came from his thoughts. A thick vein pulsed on the underside of his length, one Thea ran her tongue along eagerly to push a throaty groan from him. “Fuh-uck.” 

Her thumb ran over the slit of his tip, gathering precome for a few pumps of his girth before stretching her mouth over him. Slow at first. Deliberate. Simon’s hand pushed hair from her face, allowing her to look up at him through thick eyelashes.

It had been long. So, so long since he was allowed to make any noise. Being in confined spaces with upwards of ten men almost full time didn’t exactly allow for much, nevermind time to get worked up. His mind had somehow drifted to the barracks, only pulled back into reality when Thea had gagged against his thick length. Her spit joined them together when she had pulled away, using her hand to pump him multiple times. 

“Fuck—“ He groaned loudly, hand on the back of his neck while the other held her hair up. “Fucking hell.” The lone sounds were enough for him to shut his eyes. 

Thea’s jaw already ached. A heat between her bones at the lock, tongue edging around his girth as she took him the best she could. The course hair at the base of his length was addictive, her nose near touching it with every dive save a few centimetres. 

“You’re doing so good, darlin’.” Simon spoke through his teeth, swallowing thickly at the vibration of her moan against himself. “So good f’me.” Almost too good. Too good to the point where he had nudged her with his thigh, nodding to the bed when she had looked up at him. 

“You close or somethin’?” She teased, wiping her mouth with the back of her hand and shifting backward on the bed. Her mascara had smeared over her eyes, cheeks tinted deep red and eyes glossy from his size. 

He ignored her, although the way his cock twitched was an agreement in itself. “I don’t have protec—“

“I’m on the pill.” 

The way his eyes darkened created a pit in her stomach. One that was soon filled when he had joined her on the bed, wandering hands squeezing on her hips in company with continuous kisses that were peppered all across her collarbones. 

His cock dragged against her stomach, thick arms holding himself up above her and exposing defined triceps in the mirror next to his bed. “I want you to watch.” His hand directed her gaze toward the reflection, lowering himself close. “Will you do that for me.” 

It wasn’t a question. 

She watched him in the mirror. The way his shoulder muscles flexed as he leaned forward, prominent veins in his arms only accentuated in the low light. “Mhhm.” 

“Good girl.” His eyes dipping down to where their bodies met, sliding his length up and down her folds before pressing the tip into her. A low groan followed, his eyes cast aside to the mirror where she somehow found solace in his stare. “You alright?”

She nodded tightly, letting go of a breath she wasn’t aware was held. Simon entered her inch by inch, his cock suffocated by her tight walls. “Shit, you’re—“ She swallowed, “Fucking big.” It came out a whine, hand held to her mouth once he had pushed himself flush with her core. 

“None of that.” He spoke curtly, taking her hand and pinning it to her side. Thea nodded slowly, looking between his eyes for the brief moment he had allowed. 

She couldn’t remember who was supposed to be in control anymore when she felt him, thick and warm, hips slowly rocking back and forth. The sound of her arousal against his skin filled the room, head thrown back into the pillow, hands gripping the sheets. 

Simon’s mouth reconnected with her soft chest, teeth dragging across the sensitive skin, groaning and cursing in response to her hand in his hair. Touch. Starved. His eyes fell in a heavy-lidded blissful expression, the mirror supplying image of his momentum. Mouth slightly agape, the ends of his hair wet in sweat from the heat between them.

Thea let go entirely, surrendering to the pace Simon had set. Pulling her bare thighs tighter to his groin and craning his neck to see how effortlessly he slid in and out of her, white-hot pleasure streaking down and onto him. “Fuck.” His deep tone had drawn out in pleasure. “Look at you— fucking, dripping.” 

She pressed weak kisses to his throat, lapping up the perspiration that ran down in small beads. Words wouldn’t tumble from her mouth, thighs clenching around his hips when he had angled forward. “God, Simon—“ Her grin lazily bit into her lip, cockdrunk and exhausted from his earlier efforts. 

He let go a feral snarl of a sound, brows knitted together at the feeling of her walls convulsing against him and the flush of pressure against his cock. Her nails dug into his shoulder blades, certainly drawing blood and sharp breaths through his teeth. “Look at me.” He ordered, cupping her jaw and boring his eyes into her. 

Thea choked a moan, her mouth agape when her climax had rushed through both of them without warning. His headboard simultaneously slammed into the wall with her moans, gasping for air as her hands blindly reached to find him by her head, grabbing onto his forearms with desperation. 

Simon’s head hung low between his shoulders, sweat from his hair dripping down onto her chest. She could tell he was close, the way his jaw ticked and his chest heaved. The coarse hair at the base of his cock rubbed against her clit, sending her overstimulating pulses through his body and turning them into quiet groans by her ear. 

His rhythm had faltered, shaking his head as his jaw loosened. “Fucking hell,” He breathed out, eyes dazed and heavy, feverishly catching a glimpse of her own euphoria in the mirror. 

She reached for his hair, gripping at the roots tightly when his cock had twitched inside her and he stilled, eyes screwed shut at his release. A long breath left him as the muscles in his arms flexed, each one tightening before letting go and Thea whined. The ridiculous feeling of his pulsing cock deep inside her was new, pleasure breaking across his face as he painted her walls with his seed. 

The mirror reflected the loosening of his body, almost going limp above her for a short second when he had pulled out. Eyes locked onto the way his release spilled out of her and back onto his cock. “What a fucking mess.” He almost laughed, looking back up at her with a hint of a smile that she stared at in stunned awe. 

It had taken all of this to prod a single smile from him. Even at that, it wasn’t anything to shout about. Uneven dimples either side of his cheeks when he had stifled a laugh, his right side notably more prominent than the left.

“What time is it?” 

“Almost one.” His words came breathlessly after a long sigh. Large, bright red military digits by his bedside condensed into a small alarm, the only unnatural light in the room. 

She nodded, covering herself with the duvet as Simon found his discarded boxers. The low light against him created shadows of physical fitness. His rippled abdomen only accentuated much to visual delight. “D’you need anythin’?” His eyes had returned to their dead way, naturally darkened and almost offensive. 

“Maybe that drink from earlier.” 

He nodded, fighting the urge to sigh once out the room. Hands palm down on the kitchen counter, rolling out his shoulder muscles and cracking his neck. “I’ll get going after.” Her voice sounded quietly from behind him causing a sudden flinch. 

“Go back to bed.” He barked, tilting his head to shake away the fright. 

Although, he could hear her footsteps approaching, completely disregarding him and slowly padding across the cold flooring to where he was stood. Thea paused before speaking, “I’m going to touch your back, yeah?” 

Simon looked over his shoulder at her, dressed in only her underwear. Small hands inspecting the damage her nails had inflicted on him, scratch marks and a sparse amount of dried blood. “I got you a good’un.” Her tone was light, smoothing over his shoulders and down to his torso. “Sorry.” 

“S’fine.” He provided shortly. 

She nodded to herself, stepping back from him and taking the glass from earlier with her. Simon rubbed his jaw, turning to catch her shadow in the bedroom, watching as she sunk back onto his bed. 

He traipsed to the bathroom, finding himself in the mirror. His inked forearm leant on the sink, turning to assess the damage to his back. He’d had worse. That was easily determined, the dry blood only made him shrug although he made an effort to wash it off for her visual comfort. His skin adorned in scars and bruises from deployments. All holding their own individual stories, not ones Simon knew though. To him they were just signs of a war. Fighting, death, pain. He ran his fingers across them, locking eyes with his reflection. 

And with a sigh he left his mirror image, pacing back to the bedroom and downing his discarded glass of whisky on the way. 

Thea lay on her side, the dark room only lit by outside traffic and her phone screen. Simon felt a fatigued sigh leave him, rubbing his face before rounding the bed to join her. 

She smiled to herself at the way the mattress dipped significantly, an arm resting behind his head, the other hand on his stomach. Thea slid her phone underneath the pillow, turning to face him. “You alright?” She plucked courage to ask, taking in his side profile. 

“Yeah.” His voice was quiet before clearing his throat. “Are you?” Brow furrowed with the question, his head briefly turning to face her, eyes looking between hers for an answer before she could give one. 

“I’m good.” She replied through a simper. “Tired.” 

Simon nodded, turning back to the ceiling. “I’ve an awful sleep schedule.” The dark circles under his eyes said as much, ones Thea had been trying not to make a point of all night. “Never get much sleep when I’m deployed.” 

“You just got back?”

“Few days ago.” He let go of a long exhale.

Thea narrowed her eyes at him, feeling a sudden pang in her chest. “Maybe you’ll sleep tonight.” Her words weren’t intended to provoke a laugh, although that’s what they did. A genuine one too. 

“Maybe.” 

Morning came and sunlight beat through the room without manner. The curtains hadn’t been drawn last night, resulting in a stiff groan when Simon had woken first. The covers were a mess, his legs predictably tangled between Thea’s and it was only when he stretched that he realised she had ended up on his chest. 

He froze after she had hummed in protest of his movement. Her head nestled into the crook of his neck, small hands clasped together over his chest. 

It felt like his breathing had stopped so as to not interrupt her, craning his neck to check the time. 11:32am. A brief feeling of nausea surged through him at that, possibly the latest he had ever woken up since being a teenager. 

It became an itch to get up. 

Simon's eyes ticked between Thea and the floor beside him, figuring the best possible way to make the move. Years of stealth training would’ve come in handy if it wasn’t for her own stretch, eyes fluttering open momentarily before realising where she was. Who she was on. 

“Oh shit.” She lazily cursed, pulling herself away from him and leaving a confusingly bereft feeling in Simon. “Sorry. I must’ve done that in the night.” Her back now to him, curling herself to be smaller on the opposite side of the bed and he stared at the walls blankly. Fingers smoothing across the warmth she had left on his chest before sitting up, palms flat either side of himself. 

She felt his weight leave the mattress, closing her eyes in knowing. The night was done, it was time to go. Even if he wouldn’t directly say that. She turned to her back, watching as he sifted through the clothes on the floor, instinctively shoving everything of his into a corner while piling hers on a drawer unit. Thea wanted to believe he folded her stuff out of niceness, although she knew it was probably his military subconscious. 

She grounded her feet to the floor, feeling conscious of her half-naked body when standing up in-front of the grandiose window. The view wasn’t too impressive, his flat adjacent to other townhouses across the road, like a mirror image. Simon left the room after haphazardly dressing himself, only shorts and a t-shirt although it made Thea feel more exposed as she slowly slipped back into her vest. 

A family across the road had caught her eye. Seemingly a single mother and two boys, all laughing across their dining table. There was something poignant about it – a stoic man across the road, hosting a one night throw away against a loving home. She wondered if Simon had ever noticed them, rubbing a hand across her face at the thought. 

What she didn’t know was that he was behind her, looming by the door as she stared across the buildings. He cleared his throat, “I can give you money– for an uber or somethin’."

“No, you’re alright.” She buttoned her trousers, turning to him without an ounce of hesitation in her quiet voice. Simon stared bluntly, following her movements as she collected the rest of her stuff. “Thanks for the night, Simon.” Her smile however didn’t quite reach her eyes, taking her bag from the counter where the two whisky glasses from last night sat next to each other. Only one of them a real whisky one, the other a standard small glass. Thea sucked her lips inward at his lost nod, eyes darting down to his lips and then between his eyes.

She reached for the door handle, walking out without a look back for she feared it would ache. 

And Simon hung by the threshold until she was gone. His fingers absently reaching for the whisky, shutting his eyes at the lone glass after closing the door. The flat fell back to its usual silence, and he found a cigarette on his coffee table, sliding the glass to the wood and leaning back. The smoke felt futile, unfulfilling its job to satisfy.

This was why no one came home with Simon Riley. 

i have no idea how to feel about this. i feel lawst *rick grimes*

huge thank you to two people, @mistydeyes for entertaining my late night rambles and encouraging me to finish this, our british class will resume tonight. do not be late. and @fwibblefwobble for letting me break my vocal chords screaming over instagram voice notes, and watching all the ghost band tiktoks that infiltrated my fyp. ur the mvp.

simon 'ghost' riley taglist: @vamppxncess @freakonfilm @crowbird @misshoneypaper @tallrock35 @fluffmonster @islanderr @blueoorchid @abbugaduu @lea3773 @coldflapjack @rayhawk05 @han11dh @liishook @melovetitties @fallonx @rvjaa @fuckmelifesucks @bhayatsara @takeomisbitch @local-spidey @konigsblog @penutjuice @babychoi03 @sheluvzeren @sparklingtragedy @maviee @wiserebelpartypie @daddylorianisastateofmind @bhayatsara

if you aren’t tagged and have asked, that’s because i wasn’t able to tag your blog!

[thegettingbyp2]

Do you think you could write a Jasper Hale x human!female!reader fic (this would take place during new moon) where he leaves and the reader has to deal with the after math of this. Then he later comes back angst might ensue but perhaps with a fluffy ending? Please and Thank You! 💖

P.S let me know if you need anymore info!

For Good This Time

A/N: If you enjoy this, please consider buying me a coffee :)

You weren’t really sure how your world was turned upside down in a matter of a small few hours. One moment, you had been laying on Jasper’s chest on your bed, his hand weaving through your hair as he read Jane Eyre to you, and the next you found yourself on your own, feeling like your heart had been completely ripped out of your chest.

Jasper had thoroughly broken your heart and then stomped on the broken shards that then lay at your feet. He said that he no longer loved you and that he was tired of constantly having to be cautious around you; that he wanted to be with someone who wouldn’t break so easily. When you found out that the same thing had happened to Bella when Edward broke up with her, the two of you found yourselves growing closer; the pair of you knowing how it felt to have your heart broken by one of the Cullens.

That was a year ago and the pain in your chest was still just as painful as the day he left. Bella had started to grow closer to her old childhood friend, Jacob Black, and whilst you were happy for her and happy that she seemed to be dealing with everything that happened a lot better, a part of you couldn’t help but feel bitter and left behind; that you should have moved on by now. However, although you knew that Jasper was gone, there was a part of you that always hoped that he’d come back. There were a few times where you had been convinced that you’d seen him as you walked down the street and were always tempted to follow him to see if it really was him but had to stop yourself.

So, when you found out that Edward and the Cullens had come back, you raced over to the house that you’d missed so much, only to be disappointed when you didn’t see the familiar blonde head that you were desperate to see.

‘I’m sorry, (Y/N),’ Esme said when she saw the look of realisation on your face that he wasn’t there. ‘He thought it was best if he stayed away from you, he’s been coming back into town every few months to check on you but he thinks it’s best for you if he stays away.’

‘But why would he think that?! The whole time he’s been gone, it feels like I’ve not been able to breathe. I thought we were past this, he knew that he wasn’t going to hurt me, he knew that!’

When you went home that night, you went straight into your room, collapsing on top of your bed as sobs wracked through your body. You have no idea how long you had been crying for but you were just drifting off into a fitful sleep when you felt a freezing cold touch on your cheek. You flinched at the sudden change in temperature and felt the touch retract instantly, a small inhale sounding with it that had your eyes snapping open to look into a pair of the prettiest amber-coloured eyes you’d ever seen.

‘Jasper,’ you breathed out as you sat up on your bed, taking in the sight of him standing at the foot of your bed, looking down at you with a mix of love and fear and worry in his eyes.

‘Hey, darlin’,’ he replied quietly, his Southern accent thick.

You inched your way to the end of the bed, standing up but losing your balance as you refused to take your eyes off of him, terrified that he would disappear if you so much as blinked. Jasper’s hands quickly came out to steady you and the feel of his cool fingers on the bare skin of your arms had you snapping out of the trance you seemed to be in and all of a sudden, tears were streaming down your face again as your fists began to hit at his chest. Your fists were surely going to bruise at the contact to his rock-hard chest and it would be having absolutely no effect on Jasper, yet he still moved backwards with every punch, as if your hits were physically hurting him.

‘You just left! I was a mess and you didn’t care! And then Esme told me that you’d been coming back here! Why? Why bother coming back if you don’t want me anymore? What are you even doing here?’ The feeling of his hands wrapping gently around your wrists, halting your movements, had your voice dying out in your throat and your sobs taking over your body as you let Jasper gently lower you down until you were both sitting down on the edge of your bed, your face buried in his chest as you continued to cry.

He held you tightly against him, his nose buried in your hair as his hand moved up to cup your cheek, wiping away your tears and you couldn’t help but lean into his touch. ‘I’m so sorry, (Y/N), I thought if I left then it’d be safer for you. After everything that happened at Bella’s birthday last year, I wouldn’t be able to live with myself if the same thing happened to you. I kept coming back because I couldn’t bear to be away from you but whenever I saw you, I thought you just needed more time to get over everything. It wasn’t until Carlisle and Esme told me that they’d spoken to you that I knew I had to come back for you. I missed you so much.’

‘I kept thinking that I saw you and it was driving me crazy and the thought of you not coming back because you didn’t want to see me, broke me all over again.’

‘I know, and I’m so sorry. I was stupid and you didn’t deserve any of that.’

‘You told me you didn’t love me anymore,’ you whispered in a shaky voice and you felt him still around you.

‘And I hate myself for it every single second that I exist. There won’t be a day where I won’t hate myself for saying that to you and, if you’ll let me, I’d like to spend the rest of my existence making it up to you.’

You pulled back to look at him and the guilt was written as plain as day in his eyes. Slowly, you moved your hand to cup his cheek and tilted your head until your lips lightly brushed against his, your breath escaping you at the feeling of his lips finally back on yours, something you’d missed for the last 365 days.

‘You’re definitely back?’ you asked nervously, not wanting to let yourself relax only for him to break your heard all over again.

‘For good this time, ma’am,’ he said, a small smirk in his voice as he laid the entirely of his Southern charm on you, knowing it made you weak in the knees before pressing his lips to yours again and gently pulling you both down onto the bed.

[thenightshadowqueen]

The best character from each longform

(in my biased opinion)

This is (obviously) a long one, so if you do want to read it, more below.

(Also I left out the Patreon plays. I might do a separate post for them later; we’ll see.)

Jimmy (Tom, Toby’s Secret Pocket)

Look, Jimmy is the best. He’s adorable. He’s the representation we as the autistic community needed. He has happy flappy stimmy hands. He can’t walk through doors. We love him. (STOPINTHENAMEOFTHELAW!!!!!)

André Beetroot (AJ, Burglary and Bobsledding)

André Beetroot (André Beetroot) was iconic the first time around, but his return as the first recurring SFTH character obviously had to be memorialised.

The boy witch (Sam, Moist and Magical)

I was tempted by the witchfinder general, but the boy witch won out with “Henry Cavill with a wasting disease” and his thick accent. Also the cheeky little look he gives his grandma (Luke) when he flips her off wins him a lot of points.

Hugh’s mum (Tom, Marigolds Bluebells and Hugh)

She’s, like, a fair bit unhinged, but she has good intentions. She’s got amazing quotes, too; “why couldn’t you have just stayed in my womb forever” and “if you love something, lock it up” are both deeply concerning, but I love them.

The wife (Tom, Murders in Space)

This one is kind of an obvious choice. I mean, her quotes are glorious, and honestly “have you ever heard of feminism, James?” gets her top spot automatically.

Mario the sheep (Sam, the Lighthouse)

Was this even a question? I love Mario intending to be a one-scene character and then being forced to star in the whole play. I love the human bits. I love “🐑fuck you🐑”. I love the sheep (aka Sam) having a fucking breakdown at the end. 10/10 all around.

Titch (Luke, the Unrelenting Aubergine)

Listen, I was very tempted by Old Lady Margery (and by Derek), but in the end, canon queer guy with commitment issues and insane amounts of blindness around his own feelings won out. What can I say, I have a type in fictional characters.

Troll Son (Luke, Wine Under the Bridge)

Everything about this character is perfect. Screaming as hello? Colourful troll as a metaphor for being queer? Correcting a geography fact? It’s got it all. It’s perfect. I love Troll Son and his wine bar in Ipswich.

Juliet (AJ, Caesar and Juliet)

Is anyone surprised? She’s a murderous girlboss. “[My mother] said you have to be careful about men; they can be corrupted with power. But what she didn’t know is that so can woman.” They can, and I’m here for it. She’s bathing in blood and her skin is glowing. I love insane women.

Watson (Sam, the Mystery of the Midnight Circus)

Watson, driven mad with grief over his divorce and his one-sided love for Sherlock, becomes a murderous clown. Am I supposed to not love this? Is there even another choice in this play? And his breakdown at the end was gorgeous.

Priscilla (AJ, Pricilla’s Final Petal)

I was very tempted by both of her mums, and also a bit by the groundsman, but ultimately, Priscilla won out. She’s the title character. She’s confused, but she’s got the spirit, and she’s working through her trauma with a buttercup and a piano lesson. Good for her.

Marty (Sam, the Evil Make-a-Wish Kid)

I considered the seven-year-old detective, but in the end, Marty won. He’s evil. He’s a make-a-wish kid. What more can I say? He’s got an iconic smirk. He burns down all the petting zoos on the entire planet (and his mum). He dies at the end. He’s brilliant.

Derek (Tom, Susan’s Holiday)

There were a lot of great options in this one, but “I like looking at the back of another man’s head” was too good to pass up. Also, I adore the whole monologue he has while he’s waiting to be buzzed in.

The gasoline salesman (Luke, Beetroots and Murder)

Okay, I know he’s only in, like, a quarter of a scene. I know that. And I can’t tell you why I love him so much but I do. He’s just. I just love him. I can’t explain it. There are so many great characters in this play, but the way he says “could be, could be” has captivated me. If you understand the way my brain works, please contact me, because I don’t.

Peter Steven (Tom, the Milkman)

I love so many characters in this play. I love Gareth, and I love the Texan bartender, and I love David the milkman. But Peter Steven is the sweetest, most traumatised little boy and I want to protect him. I will adopt him and I will never make him walk on his knees again. I will throw away the PS5 and I will let him dig up the back garden as many times as he wants.

Johnny and Janae (Luke and Tom, the Neighbour’s Under the Bed)

I know they’re two separate characters, okay, but they’re a set. I want to keep them together. And I just can’t choose, okay? They’re two autistic children whose neurodivergence presents in opposite ways, and their parents don’t know what to do with them, and oh look, I’m back to wanting to adopt traumatised children.

Captain Egbert (Luke, the Leftenmost Window)

Shoutout to the mum, but Egbert won this one. He’s, like, kind of an idiot. I’m here for it, though. He’s got the iconic “diluileayilybilyeilysilym” speech. He wants to go to the ~astral plane~ but he’s waiting for his birthday. He lets his wife dip him into a kiss even though it’s 1940. I love him.

The king (Sam, the Prime Minister’s First Day)

Listen, I love several characters from this one, but I’m going with this one. He’s unapologetically a dick. He wears impenetrable armour made from diamonds stolen from Indian subculture. He’s impossible to beat. He’s brilliant. (Also did anyone else kind of find Sam hot as the king or is that just me?)

Franz Haberburg (Sam, the Excited Chinchilla)

Obviously fuck Nazis (god I hope that’s obvious). That being said, some of SFTH’s best characters are Nazis, and this is one of them. He’s glorious. I have never seen such a brilliant rendition of a Nazi chinchilla.

The Italian detective (Tom, the Ingredients)

He can’t pronounce paella. Do I need another reason?

Chip (Sam/AJ, the Cardboard Stegosaurus)

Oh look, another traumatised child! I want it. (No, but seriously, I love Chip and his English/French seizures.) Also he’s one of the few characters who switches actors mid-play, and I love that.

Persephone (Tom, Wild Wet and Worrisome)

She’s amazing. “HEY!” is a gorgeous siren call and don’t let anyone tell you otherwise. She deserved a happy ending and I’m still sad we didn’t get one. I like to think she swam to the shore and found Geoff again, and they lived happily ever after on a boat at sea, singing and not having to kill anyone.

Full Set O’Hands and his love/bother (Luke and Tom, No! I Always Loved that Caravan)

I know, I know, another set of characters, but you really can’t separate these two. They’re insane. I adore them. They’re just… Honestly, these two are comedy gold. Good for them because they are fucking timeless.

Andrew (Luke, All Eyes on Nigel)

Listen, Andrew is a naive little thing, and he must be protected at all costs. He goes through so much shit in this one, and I just want to wrap him up in a blanket and send him to rehab.

Magnus O. Puss (Tom, BUS)

Okay, this was a VERY close one between them and Arthur B. D., but Magnus is a genderqueer icon and we love them for it. Also, I feel like this is some of the most unhinged Tom content we have and I live for that.

Jeremiah (Luke, Inside the Mysterious Cube)

I was so torn because I love Bubba, too, but I’m trying to avoid putting sets of characters where possible, and Jeremiah just edged past Bubba because his death scene was gorgeous. (That is a mildly concerning reason to have a favourite, I will admit.)

Lord Lafayette (Tom, the Midnight Mystery)

You may be noticing a pattern; I adore Tom’s insane characters. We just don’t get to see that often enough. I love his very sexual flirting with Lady Lafayette (Sam). I love him making fun of the detective’s (Luke’s) shirt. I love “what does any self-respecting rich man do when he has a little boy in tights” followed by “captured—and only captured” as a save. I love him.

Dangerfield (AJ/Tom/AJ again, Once Upon a Time I Killed Mum)

I love the confusion when Tom briefly takes over as Dangerfield; it’s not often we get to see AJ understanding something that Sam doesn’t (I say this with all the love in the world). Dangerfield is so fascinating to me. He’s a “cleaner” for a crime lord, but he has mixed feelings about the things he does. I want to know how he got into it in the first place. How did he come into this life? I want to know.

Barry’s wife (AJ, the Hare who Wore a Sweater)

I don’t remember her having a name, but I could be wrong about that. She’s so sweet; she just wants to knit sweaters for the hares in peace. And then Jimmy the hare gets shot, and she and her husband go on a revenge plot. I’m here for it. I love her.

The king/tank commander (AJ, the Oopsie Daisy Bulge)

He’s obsessed with tanks. He used to have gay sex with his fellow tank commanders, but only as a joke. He sailed all the way around, through the other landlocked counties, into the east of France, and they never saw it coming. He drove tanks into the ocean. He’s so stupid he’s almost smart. I love him.

The landowner/farmer (Luke, Too Big to Be a Jockey)

He farms peasants (Luke, you genius). He’s such a dick, with his classist remarks about Johnny Jones, but somehow I love him anyway. His interview process is looking at a photo of someone and then hiring them, and he’s honestly wonderful. I love him.

Larry (Tom, Long Johns—Strike!)

Literally the only thing he does on screen is die. That’s it. That’s his whole purpose. And he does it beautifully.

Wizard Asceroth (Sam, the Dark Moons of Slough)

ASCEROOOOTTTHHHH!!! (I don’t have another reason. I don’t need another reason.)

The French waiter (Luke, Lost in Your Eyes)

I don’t know. I really don’t. But something about this character has stuck with me since the first time I watched it. Gorgeous accent. He kisses Amanda (Sam) for no reason at all. He gets stabbed by a gun. I love him.

The Lady of a Thousand Don Juans (Luke, the Meringue Haberdashery)

She tricked her husband for years. She murdered her own child. She has been a curse on all the Don Juans in this town. She’s one of the only villains who win at the end of a longform, and that’s very impressive. I love her.

Xavier (Tom, Oh my God is This a Joke?)

(Please refer to my previous statement about Nazi characters.) Okay, look. He’s a horrible person. But we as a fandom choose to disregard that because Tom looks amazing in a leather jacket and scarf. I am not above this. I am, in fact, a part of this. Tom looks amazing in a leather jacket and scarf. “I will die as I have lived…. Shirtless!” has to be one of the most iconic lines of all time. There was never any competition.

[darkficsyouneveraskedfor]

Burnt Out 1

Warnings: non/dubcon, anxiety/stress, and other dark elements. My username actually says you never asked for any of this.

My warnings are not exhaustive but be aware this is a dark fic and may include potentially triggering topics. Please use your common sense when consuming content. I am not responsible for your decisions.

Character: Robert Laing

Summary: you're stressed out and ready to escape, but the way out might not be as glamourous as it seems.

As usual, I would appreciate any and all feedback. I’m happy to once more go on this adventure with all of you! Thank you in advance for your comments and for reblogging ❤️

You flinch as you peel away the hangnail. Ugh. You need to stop doing that. Your hands are a mess. Short nails, brittle too. The skin and cuticles are fraying but not on their own. You can’t help it. A nervous habit. Stress. 

You’re not sure how much more you can take. It’s not a choice. Nothing in life is your choice. You didn’t even choose to be alive. Your parents always treated you like your existence was forced even on them. That barely matters. You haven’t seen either of them in years. 

You still your hands and go back to typing. If you don’t get this done, you’ll be in for another lecture from Mr. Brenner. ‘You haven’t finished the group reservation? You’re going to mess everything up again!’ 

Yeah, yeah. That’s how it goes. You can’t do anything right. It’s probably why you ended up here. You deserve this purgatory. 

As you import the files from the travel site and review for discrepancies, you hear the doors. Great, you’ll come back to it. You check the time. It’s not even noon. More bad news and the messenger is the first to be shot. 

You glance over the front desk and do a double take. Guilt speckles over your cheeks. The man is handsome. Tall and trim. You don’t know why you notice but you do. His blonde hair is neatly parted, yet there’s a small wave to it. He wears a fine grey suit which probably costs as much as a week of your minimum wage. 

It shouldn’t matter. It shouldn’t even occur to you. You deal with all sorts. The traveling businessmen, the body builders in town for the convention, and even those meeting for some forbidden tryst. Hotels are not the place for judgement. 

“Hello, sir, welcome to Sapphire Suites,” you smile. You usually only bother when Brenner is around to fume down your neck. “Do you have a reservation?” 

“I do,” he answers in his lilted accent. Oh. Deadly. “I understand I’m well ahead of check-in, however, I only came to inquire if I might leave my bags with you until then.” 

Polite and he reads the fine print. What more could a girl ask for? Usually, you’d be annoyed. Why would you come so early? Our housekeeping isn’t even done their first floor. Not today. He’s too pleasant to be irritated. 

“Well, I can certainly see if your rooms are ready. We weren’t booked up last night so it’s possible.” You offer. 

“That would be wonderful, so long as it doesn’t put you out,” he steps up to the desk as the wheels of his bag quiet. “Robert Laing. I believe I’ve got the executive.” 

You already know it’s ready. It’s expensive and rarely booked on weeknights. It’s only a Tuesday. 

“Let me see, Laing...” 

“L-A-I-N-G,” he spells it out. “No one expects the I.” 

“Oh, thanks,” you backspace and put in the proper spelling. Yep, it’s green. “Good news, it’s set. I just did the keycards so I’ll go grab yours.” 

You go back to the carefully organized folio, arranged by room number. You spent your first hour swipe and coding each one. You take his and bring it back with the liability form. 

“If you don’t mind, there is a waiver,” you put the paper down. “I’ll need a piece of ID as well. And a credit card.” 

“Of course,” he slides out his wallet and provides both cards. You take them as he looks over the form.  

You go to scan both and upload them into his file. You return them as he signs with a metallic pen, slipping it into his front pocket before sliding the page across. You thank him and scan that as well. You come back to hand over his keys and give him the spiel. 

You retract your hand as he looks down at it. You try to hide your chafed and cracking fingertips. You’re mess. Your name tag is barely hanging on and the scarf is crooked and only half under your collar. 

“Your WIFI and room service details are in here,” you point to the sleek little folio with his door cards. “Everything you need should be in your room. The pool is behind me and the private spa rooms can be booked by calling down. Oh—did you need a parking pass, sir?” 

“Please, Robert works for me,” he insists, “I flew in so not driving. Might I put in a request?” 

“Um, okay?” You stare at him anxiously.  

“Any recommendations for in-town activities? I’m egregiously early for the conference and I get restless pent up in hotels,” he drawls. “Perhaps a shopping center or if you’re permitted, any worthwhile bistros?” 

“Geez, I forgot to mention, there’s Ruby’s. The restaurant attached to us, just that way when you head out the doors. They have a patio but it’s getting a bit chilly. And er, the bar, The Gem, that’s on the second floor.” 

“Wonderful,” he covers the key folder with his hand. 

You smile. If Mr. Brenner was there to witness your immaculate customer service, he might just lay off of you. Or he’d ask why you didn’t smile more often.  

“You’ve been amazingly helpful, dear,” he says. “I do hope the day doesn’t prove very hectic for you.” 

“Thank you, sir—Um, Robert,” you correct yourself as his brow tweaks. 

“And you...” he leans forward to read your name tag. “Beautiful name.” 

“Thanks,” you swallow dryly, “enjoy your stay.” 

Finally, he leaves you. You watch him go, his bag rolling after his long strides. You don’t move until he’s closed up in the elevator. You want to cringe. You’re a mess and on top of that, you’re awkward to boot. It’s not that you don’t want to be good at your job, it’s that you hate it, and you’re no good with people. But work is work. 

You retreat into the back room and dig in your purse. Your lips are chapped and raw. You layer on the medicated balm and sigh. You take out the little daisy-shaped mirror and check your reflection. Aren’t you so stupid? Look at you. A man like that would never waste his time with a front desk worker ant, let alone someone so repulsive.