#KNOW THAT THIS MADE ME NEARLY HIT THE FLOOR

[m00nl1ghts1vt]

Positive - Chris Sturniolo

Pairings - bf!Chris x fem!reader Summary - When the whole house comes down with the flu, you have a hard time recovering which makes Nick jokingly plant the idea of two pink lines in your head. Warnings - established relationship, mentions of abortion, angst, mentions of pregnancy, fluff, crying 🥲 W/c - 1591 A/n - Hey!! Sorry I haven't posted all week 😭 Still working on getting into my inbox, it won't let me see anything on my phone or computer☹️ Also I just want to say thank you sooo much to everyone who has been interacting, I'm almost at 200 followers!!🫣 Masterlist Current Series - City of Love Top Liked - Pierced

Tears prick at your eyes as you look at the pregnancy test in your hands, the word 'pregnant' etched across the little screen. Your chest heaves up and down, and your heart thumps so fast you feel like it could shoot right out of your body. It was nearly two in the morning, your boyfriend was still awake playing a game on his PC, so you knew you had to keep your panic at a minimum.

The last few weeks, the whole house had been fighting off the flu - first Matt, then Nick, finally hitting you and Chris at the same time. Luckily, it cleared up quickly for the boys but not so much for you. Your sore throat and stuffy nose were gone but you could shake the constant state of nausea you were in ever since the seasonal stomach flu took over. Earlier in the day you were telling Nick about how you still felt sick to your stomach, but your other symptoms were gone, and he wittily came back with, “imagine if you’re pregnant.” Nick’s half sarcastic joke made your mind wonder. It wasn’t like you to not keep track of your period, but with the last couple months being jam packed that it slipped your mind. Pulling up your Flo app and noticing you were five days late; you made sure to add a pregnancy test to the weekly grocery order that the boys put you in charge of earlier in the day.

Somewhat in denial, you pushed off the idea of taking the pregnancy test all day, not telling a soul because you were sure it’d come out negative. That’s until the possibility of the test being positive ate away at your brain. 1:48AM and here you were - on the bathroom floor with your knees pulled to your chest, wide eyes, and trembling hands. Squeezing your eyes so tight that you feel a slight burning sensation when you open them. You hold your breath, hoping and praying the test you pinched between your fingers somehow magically changed from positive to negative, but you were wrong. It was positive.

Hot tears stream down your face, a small sob escapes your lips, and you quickly slap a hand over your mouth. You were in the hallway bathroom which was probably the worst place to have a private moment, it was the bathroom all the boys shared. Mentally scolding yourself for not using the half bathroom in the front of the house, you pull yourself to your feet and turn on the sink to splash water in your face. The raw reality smacking you, knowing only you and your baby knew of its existence made your head spin to the point you were dizzy. Despite rarely using protection, pregnancy wasn’t something you and Chris had talked about. He never talked about the future. If you were being completely honest, the dynamic your relationship with Chris had been more of a ‘go with the flow’ type of vibe. The idea of walking in Chris’s bedroom and telling him that you were pregnant with his child made your gut churn. You grip the countertop tight, taking a few more deep breaths in an attempt to fight off the nausea and lightheadedness taking over your body. When the feeling weighs down on you, becoming too much for you to handle, you drop to your knees, flipping the toilet lid up, and emptying your guts once again. You had been puking off sporadically all day long, and you lost count of how many times you had thrown up hours ago.

Continuing to heave violently, you drown out the sounds of Chris calling your name through the bathroom door, “babe? You okay?” And when you don’t answer him, only responding with hurling sounds, he decides to enter the bathroom anyways. Chris’s flu, along with both of his brothers, had been long gone, so it worried him that you weren’t recovering like normal. You look up at him, not fully processing the moment, the positive pregnancy test was sitting on the counter in plain view for him to see. He keeps his eyes locked on you, shutting the door behind him, “we got to take you to the emergency room in the morning, baby.” He shoots you a sympathetic look before hooking his arms around yours and helping you to your feet.

You suck in a breath as he engulfs you in a gentle hug. “Chris,” your voice barely above a whisper, still breathing heavily while your heart thumps violently in your chest. Chris rubs his hand up and down your back, soothing you more than he knew. He plants a kiss on the top of your head, “you need me to get you anything?”

Letting your eyes fall to the test, you let out another soft sob. It makes Chris pull away, confusion etched across his face, “what's wrong?” He asks you, placing each of his hands on your shoulders, concern laced through his voice. You stare into his blue eyes, letting them seize your momentary sadness. You let your eyes fall to the counter, not being able to tear them away from the pregnancy test. Once Chris notices, you can feel his body tense up and his eyes widen like a deer in headlights, “what the fuck is that?”

The harsh reality of his words hit you like a freight train, making you wish he didn't know. You step away, crossing your arms over your chest, and not daring to say a word. “Fuck man,” you watch as he tugs a hand through his hair, picking the test up and squinting in disbelief. “No fucking way!” he spits out in shock, his voice louder than before. Chris tosses the pregnancy test in the sink, placing both hands on the countertop as he leans over. He looked like he just got the worst news of his life.

To you, his actions were confirmation he wanted nothing to do with you or this baby. You panic, pushing past him, slinging open the door, and footing it back to his bedroom. Chris’s feet are quickly in tow behind you once he hears the soft sobs and sniffles you let out while trying to escape his pent-up rage. Finally in his bedroom, you attempt to swing the door shut behind you, but Chris intervenes, pushing it open with his hand. “Y/n,” he sounds quietly, the angry Chris was no longer present, but you didn’t care. His initial reaction had you shook to your core. It’s not like you expected him to be jumping for joy, but you wanted him to be supportive and not flip out like he did.

Now in Chris’s closet, you shove clothes into one of your spare duffle bags, not letting your eyes meet him. He has his body pressed against the door frame, blocking your only exit, “you’re not leaving.” You wipe your tear-stained cheeks and look up at him, “you don’t want me here.”

Chris’s face contorts with a mixture of frustration and empathy, he takes a deep breath before sitting on the floor with you, “I want you here, baby, I do. I'm just- I don't know.” Your face was swollen, and your vision was blurred from crying, but you could make out the pained expression etched across his face. A few tears slip from his eyes, and he wraps an arm around your waist, pulling you closer and planting another kiss on your forehead as he rubs your back in a soothing manner. Anywhere with Chris was your safe place, knowing your boyfriend brought you so much comfort, you didn’t care about breaking down in his arms. You let the sobs erupt from your chest as he hugs you tight, “shhh, we're gonna be okay.”

“I-I’m so sorry Chris,” you choke out through your tears. Chris pressed his cheek to the top of your head, running his fingers through the ends of your hair, “none of this is your fault.” His soft tone relaxes you, helping you push your worries to the back of your head. Chris guides you through deep breaths, wiping the leftover tears from your cheeks once you’re calm enough. Letting his hands drop to your lap, “whatever you want to do, I’m here,” he reassures you. You suck in another scattered breath, nodding a few times before pulling the words from your throat, “I can’t get an abortion, Chris.”

“Then you don’t have to, Y/n,” he eases while rubbing a hand up your thigh, “it doesn’t matter what option you choose, I’m not going anywhere.” Throughout your relationship with Chris, you had never seen him with this much emotion. A few tears slip down his cheeks and his lip bottom quivers before he pulls you into another hug, this time tighter than before. Tangling his hand in your hair, “I love you.” You strangle out a laugh, “I love you," knowing how vulnerable the two of you looked on the floor of his closet, bawling your eyes out at 2AM.

In a way, the revelation broke through a comfort barrier the two of you always held onto so tightly. Chris being scared to commit and you having a hard time with expressing what you actually wanted from him. The thought of starting a family together freaked you and Chris out to no end, but both of you were ready for the blessing placed upon you.

He pulls back abruptly before pressing a kiss to your lips, “we’re gonna be great fucking parents.”

🏷️ - @lvrsturniolo @thepubeburgler @unknvhx @m11rx @ribread03 @emely9274 (if anyone else wants on my tag list just let me know!!)

[skeletboi]

Part 16 of the Intridimensional au!

First /// Previous /// Next

___________________

Fiddleford, what the hell is that thing?” Stan asked, motioning to the memory gun.

“I- this? It's… nothing. Don't worry ‘bout it Stanley.” Fiddleford responded.

Stan took a cautious step forward, feeling a bit like he was approaching a hurt puppy more than a human being.

“It sure as hell doesn't look like nothing.” he said trying to get a better look at the gun.

“Really, Stan doncha worry ‘bout it. It's jus’ an invention I done whipped up to help me deal with some them spookems Ford an’ I are always runnin’ into.”

“Deal with? That can't be a good thing. If it's not a big deal, then just tell me what it does.”

“Well… well it jus' erases some bad mem'ries is all.” Fiddleford said, looking away and attempting to hide the gun behind his back.

“It does what?!” Stan asked, taking a step forward and reaching for the gun. “Fidds there is no way that's safe!”

“It's fine, Stanley, doncha try an’ take this from me! Ya don’ know what I've seen in this town! I love yer brother, but he's messin’ with somethin’ serious. I don’ know where he's gettin’ all these ideas from- but it's dangerous. I- I can't-” Fiddleford practically yelled, backing away.

“I've seen shit, too, and I've been there- but this sure as hell isn't the way, Fidds. Give me the gun.” Stan said back, trying his best to be gentle, but tripping over his own peg leg as he took another step closer and sending them both to the ground.

“No. I need it, Stanley, ya don’ understand!” Fiddleford yelled, pushing Stan off of him and scrambling to his feet.

Stan tried to get up, but stopped as Fiddleford aimed the gun at him.

“Fidds.” He said carefully. “You don't want to do this.”

“I'm sorry, Stan. I don’ want to, but I need this.” Fiddeford said, his hand trembling, tears streaming down his face.

“I’m sorry, too.” Stan said, pushing the gun away with one hand and grabbing a book from the floor with the other.

He leaned up on his good leg and hit Fiddleford across the face with the book as the gun skidded across the floor. Fiddleford collapsed onto the ground and Stan grimaced.

“I really am sorry, Fidds.” Stan said, struggling to his feet.

He grabbed a pillow from the bed and put it under Fidd's head, checking to make sure there was no blood from the hit, and turned him so he was laying on his side. He looked to the gun on the floor and frowned, his sadness turning to anger as he thought of Ford's careless dismissal of Fiddleford's anxiety.

He grabbed the gun as he left the room, grief warring with anger as he carefully made his way through the cluttered hall. He knew Ford had walked this way to go back to his lab, but Stan had no idea where this lab was.

He glanced down at the gun in his hand, then paused when he got a glimpse at the floor below him. There were muddy shoe prints leading down the hall. He slid the gun into his inner coat pocket and followed the trail around the corner until it dead ended at a bookshelf.

“You have gotta be shittin’ me, Sixer.” Stan mumbled.

He ran a finger over the bookshelf, glancing over the dry titles until he came across one he recognized.

“The Siblings Brothers. That's a bit obvious.” He said as he pulled the book from the shelf.

The shelf clicked and creaked. Stan opened it, and probably would have been impressed by the elevator hidden behind it if he wasn't too busy being angry. He looked to the keypad next to the door and nearly laughed. It was just like the one on the old vending machine down by the dock when they were growing up. He didn't even have to think about it, he input the code for jelly beans and toffee peanuts, and the elevator door dinged open.

The elevator automatically opened on the third floor and Stan stepped out, following the hallway down until it opened into a vast room that had to be at least double the size of the house itself.

“Holy shit.” he said aloud.

“Fiddleford! I need you to check the pressure gaug-” Ford started, but stopped when he got a look at Stan.

“You should work on your security, Sixer.” Stan said.

“Stanley! What the hell are you doing down here?! And where is Fiddleford?!” Ford asked.

“I'm here to talk to you about this.” Stan said, taking the memory gun from his inner coat pocket and holding it up for Ford to see.

Ford's eyes widened in recognition, and, to Stan's surprise, horror.

“Where did you get that?!” Ford asked, his voice laced with fear.

“You do know about it! And you just let him use it on himself?! I was under the impression that you cared about him, Ford!” Stan yelled, his anger returning in full force.

“No, Stan, I- He told me he destroyed it! I never would have let it go on if I had known!” Ford yelled back, sounding more panicked than angry.

“You knew he was anxious, Ford! Did you think he just magically got over his anxiety?!” Stan yelled.

“No, no- I- well, I don't quite recall…” Ford said, looking down at his feet.

“You don't fucking-” Stan paused, the realization dawning as he looked at his brother's frowning face.

“I'm sorry, Stanford…” Stan heard from behind him.

Stan and Ford both turned at the voice and saw Fiddleford standing at the end of the hall, a hand to his head.

“Fiddleford, what did you do?” Ford asked, the panic in his voice turning to anger.

“I didn't have ‘nother choice, Stanford. You wouldn't listen to me! I still don't understand where you're gettin’ all these ideas! I couldn't get rid of the gun- I- I needed it.” Fiddleford said, his voice rising in panic with each word.

“So you used that machine on me?! All I have is my brain, Fiddleford! How dare you use that on me!” Ford yelled back.

“I know, Ford. I'm sorry. I jus’- well I jus’...” Fiddleford stuttered.

“You just what?! Wanted to ruin this for me?! Everything I've worked for! Who cares where the idea came from?!”

“I care, Ford! I know you're smart- I've always known that! But this is somethin’ else!”

“This again?! Why can't you just listen to me! This is my life's work, Fiddleford! This is the final step in proving myself! Don't you get that?!"

“You have everythin' ya need ta prove yerself in those journals a' yers!” Fiddleford yelled back, tears running down his cheeks. “You're so obsessed with proving yerself that you don' even see how dangerous this damn portal is!”

Stan looked from Fiddleford to Ford and frowned.

“Wait, did you say portal?! What the fuck does that mean?!” he asked.

“Nothing, Stanley! Just stay out of this!” Ford yelled.

“Nothing?! This is obviously something! Goddammit, you two are mad scientists, aren't you?! Why didn't I see that sooner?!” Stan yelled back.

“Hey now, that ain't nice a ya, Stanley!” Fiddleford said. “We ain't crazy! We jus’ get a bit caught up in our projects!”

“You tried to erase my mind with that crazy gun of yours ten minutes ago!” Stan responded, nonplussed.

“Yeah, well- you hit me with a book!”

“Of course I did! You were-” Stan started, but stopped when Ford started to laugh.

“Well, well, well.” Ford said, his voice echoing oddly in the large room.

____________

I did not have time to proofread. My bad.

*edit: I went back and half proofread. It needed some help frfr.

Also sorry about leaving y'all on a cliffhanger, then not posting for another day. Have another cliffhanger, as an apology.

[gothamite-rambler]

"Why does he keep aiming for that spot?!"

Batman lay face down on the ground, groaning in pain. His groin throbbed painfully from two brutal kicks delivered by Lex Luthor's nearly steel-toed boot, nestled within that ridiculous suit of his.

Superman stood nearby, sympathetic to his friend's plight but secretly grateful it wasn’t him on the receiving end.

Superman (comfortingly): So, uh, you doing okay, B?

Batman: He kicked me in the groin twice with that damn suit. You think I'm doing okay?

Superman: It can't be that bad, can it?

Batman growled in response, still writhing in discomfort. He was familiar with the idea of turning pain into strength, but this was an entirely different matter. Lex relished seeing the caped crusader in such distress.

Lex: Ah ha! Look at me, I've got the upper hand on Batman!

Superman (pointing at Batman): All you’re doing is kicking him in the crotch! That’s a low blow, literally!

Batman (deadpan): I hate you right now for saying that. And I hate Lex for putting me through this.

Lex: Well, that's what he gets for thwarting my plan to eliminate you! He’s lucky all I did was kick him where it hurts. With a limp dick like that, I can’t imagine he gets much action anyway.

Batman groaned and struggled to his feet. Fueled by frustration, he lunged at Lex, but the villain seized his fist and swiftly delivered a third kick to his groin. Batman whimpered and fell forward.

Batman (with a heavy sigh, fighting back tears): Oh God, that hurt even more than the first two!

Superman (glaring at Lex): Dude seriously, knock it off! That's the lowest type of fighting. I rephrased it for you, best buddy.

Batman (weakly, eyebrow twitching): Don't call me that while we're in the middle of a fight!

Lex: You’re losing this fight, Batman. You’re so stubborn—just stay down, you weak beta! Unlike me and my super suit!

Batman rose to his feet once more, refusing to give up, which made Superman groan in embarrassment as he shielded his eyes. Lex retaliated with a punch that sent Batman sprawling backward. Undeterred, Batman charged again, only to be knocked down once more. Superman quickly sidestepped, narrowly avoiding a collision with Batman as he crashed to the ground for the second time.

Superman (frustrated): Batman, can we team up to fight him already?!

Batman (on his knees, gasping): Just... give me a minute.

Lex (annoyed): Ugh, he is persistent.

Superman: You have no idea. He’s actually a really decent guy once you take the time to know him.

Lex: Doubtful.

Superman: He’s usually calmer than this, but you did insult some of his family. That’s a sensitive topic for him.

Lex (uninterested): Don’t care, Superpussy.

Superman rolled his eyes. Batman, clearly in agony, mustered the strength to spring to his feet one last time, but it quickly became apparent that Lex was enjoying this brutal exchange as he kicked him in the crotch for a fourth time. Batman was regretting not adding a codpiece to his suit.

Superman: Can we call for a time-out before he makes himself infertile?

Lex laughed and, with a triumphant nod, walked away. Superman approached Batman, who lay on the ground, desperately trying to suppress his screams.

Of course! Here’s the revised version with "dick" included:

Batman (pained confusion): He keeps kicking me in the dick—why? Why does he keep kicking me in the dick?!

Superman: He just doesn’t like you. Welcome to the Lex Club. But I think I have a good idea.

Batman (with fierce indignation): If you suggest you hit him really hard, I swear I’ll kick you in the dick with kryptonite shoes!

Superman: Well, we could... hit him really hard—

Batman growled in pain, doubled over.

Superman (nervous smile): Together?

Batman (with reluctant resignation): Whatever.

--- Three hours later ---

Wonder Woman laughed hysterically as Batman, now out of his suit, iced his groin while lying flat on the floor. Unfortunately, the ice didn’t take away the pain.

Batman (groggy): This is not funny!

Wonder Woman: I’m sorry—no, I’m not! I can’t believe he kept targeting your crotch. Why didn’t you stop charging at him after the second kick?

Batman (weakly): Because the Batman doesn’t go down easily!

Wonder Woman: Or because you’re the type of man to engage in a dick-measuring contest with a villain. And he wasn’t even one of yours!

Her laughter only intensified as Batman scowled, frustrated that she had a point. He certainly didn’t want Lex to get away with his jibes about Nightwing.

Wonder Woman: What happened to your pre-planning?

Superman: He was pretty enraged, to be honest. But at least we finally took him down together. I told you hitting him really hard would work!

Wonder Woman (still chuckling): I love that you risked your normal bathroom habits and the chance of having kids just because you didn’t want to let Superman help you.

Batman remained silent, choosing to lay there, engulfed in both pain and embarrassment.

[ursa9909]

Arcane Season 2 thoughts/ *crack*/ AU/ whatever

Okay but I love seeing people pointing out the parallels they've seen between the seasons, and it has me thinking/hoping we get one between when Caitlyn saved Vi by trading her gyn for shimmer and then seeing it in s2 where Vi is saving Caitlyn from some injury.

Like it's probably the 3rd act, they've not quite yet gotten back together but they aren't on exes terms anymore. Something goes wrong like it always does and Cait is bleeding out, maybe she took a hit for Vi, maybe it's wrong place wrong time, maybe it's like what Cait said and that one or both of them (her and Jinx) would end up in a box (hey angst writers there's an idea with Vi being truly alone).

Either way, Vi's pleading with her again only this time it isn't to go, she's lost so many people already. Jinx is gone or dead, Ekko may be in the arcane or something (i don't know to much league lore i just play the game lol), Vander is a harry beast that's probably dead in at the very least in terms of who he used to be.

But Cait doesn't want to lie to her again (redemption and what not) so she just repeats her apologies and tries to comfort a crying Vi.

Pan to Cait waking up in a completely different location, unaware that Vi did something (like Cait's trade of her only protection in the lanes with no hesitation), alone. She wonders about, hesitant at the silence all around when she gets distracted by the piles of newspapers trying to figure out what happened and what the status of the world is at the moment.

She hears running, loud thunderous boots hitting the floor, her blood spikes the last time she felt this way was when Jinx abducted her to Zaun before everything went to hell. Cait finds her letter opener and it's all she has, she braces and waits, it's still dark out be it early morning or late night.

She lunges at the shadow, her body aching as she wrestles with the person, only her energy is sapped almost immediately, the person holding her hand easily holding her letter opener inches from their throat.

"You're alive" is all Vi can say, her voice horse and practically non existent. And Caitlyn is just sagging on top of Vi hurting and confused and why is the muscular pretty woman under her crying.

It takes a hot second for Vi to calm down, nearly rebreaking Cait's ribs as she clings to her. The brawler tries to force air over her shot vocal cords, but over time she's able to tell Caitlyn what happened.

And then they made up and Cait made Vi mute by fucking her into oblivion. IDK.

[biitchcakes]

do i add lindsay to my multi ... that is the question

wait

WAIT

ARE U FOR REAL

[heavenbarnes]

I wanna make it (so badly)

Art Donaldson x Fem Reader

Warnings/Contains: reader is AFAB with she/her pronouns, swearing, inappropriate employer/employee relationship, dry-humping, a lot of heavy petting, implied age gap, effective-infidelity (reader tested, tashi approved), oral sex (f!receiving), art is a bit of a pervert and mega-pathetic (endearing), references to religion (worship).

Word Count: 5.8k

i white knuckled the steering wheel on the way home from this film thinking about art donaldson- this is, essentially, an ode to that

Youth tennis lessons, $20/h, call for details

Finding work was hard, keeping work was harder.

Cleaning, baby-sitting, pet-sitting, pet-walking. There was virtually nothing you hadn't tried.

Odd jobs, odd hours, and the occasional odd employer.

You'd played tennis for the last couple years of college. Nothing remotely competitive but you and your friends had looked cute in the skirts and they'd give you whole hours out of class to play.

You were above average with a good arm and better patience.

Another odd job to add to your growing list.

You'd been particular about where you'd posted the ads, the neighbourhoods you'd chosen. Only the ones with manicured lawns and white picket fences.

Tacking the paper to boards in upmarket cafes, fancy supermarkets, ladies-only gyms.

The kind of people that want their kids playing tennis and could find their way to increase your pay- if you did well.

You always did very well.

So your little car looked a little out of place in this neighbourhood, fingers holding the scribbled post-it note with the address. Your scrawling handwriting detailing the "Donaldson's" were enquiring within.

Pulling up outside the house, you had a quiet inkling that you might've been out of your depth. Whoever owned this house deserved more than an above-average-ex-college-student that only learnt the sport to spend time with friends.

But they'd requested you, you'd have to let them come to that conclusion on your own.

Your knuckles only hit the door once before it was being swung open by someone that looked destined to be a security guard, like he'd come out the womb with his future decided.

What the fuck had you gotten yourself into?

He'd left you in the "formal lounge" to sit smack-bang in the centre of a couch that wouldn't even fit in the lobby of your apartment building- let alone the apartment itself.

As you admired a painting on the wall that you'd only ever seen in books, high heels on the stone floors made you jump in your seat.

The most beautiful woman you might ever see in your life appeared before you and said your name in a way that had you standing from your seat.

Your face faltered just enough that you hoped she didn't notice. There was something about her that told you she noticed everything.

Fuck me, that's Tashi Duncan.

If you know a thing about tennis (or even just watched the news) you know exactly who this woman is. You remember her more from your childhood but you remember her all the same.

The woman that once held the world by the balls.

She apologised for her husband's absence, that he was busy. It wasn't lost on you that the "husband" she casually referred to was Art Donaldson, US Open champion.

The Donaldson's.

Ah fuck.

Tashi went on the explain that they were wanting to begin lessons for their daughter Lily. You assumed this was the one you could hear running circles around the informal lounge.

"With all due respect, am I not the least qualified person in this home for that?"

You watched a perfectly formed cheekbone lift in what was nearly a smile. Strangely enough, something in the pit of your chest was dying to make her do that again.

There was something about her that demanded to be impressed.

You were no exception to the rule.

"My husband and I have seen some of your matches, we liked what we saw."

How? Your 'matches'- if you can even call them that, were nothing of note. You don't even think faculty bothered to watch them. You weren't quite sure why they'd even recorded them.

A silly part of you began to wonder how they'd even got a hold of them- until you remembered who they were.

The Hermes and Peitho of tennis.

"You did? I always thought of myself as more of a casual player."

"And that's what we liked, we know better than anyone how brutal tennis can become. We want someone to help Lily enjoy the game."

Oh, okay then.

You'd made a quasi-college-career out of purely enjoying the game. You were sure you could foster the same spirit for the six-year-old performing the entire 'Encanto' soundtrack in the other room.

Tashi laid down a tight schedule, Monday to Friday, 3pm to 6pm. You would teach Lily the wonders of the game on the court behind their home.

Their home you'd come to find out was a luxury rental when you'd complemented Tashi on another of the art pieces that'd apparently come with the place.

You'd also come to find out they typically live in hotel rooms, but they'd settled in this area for the time being as Art had a good thing going with a regular playing schedule and a sporting-goods deal.

You nodded along like you could begin to understand a life like that.

As she showed you back to your car (the one you suddenly felt humiliated for her to see you own), she called your name one last time from the doorway.

"You undersell yourself, we'll give you eighty an hour."

She left you choking on your tongue with one foot in the car and the other on an Italian cobblestone.

You were never going to walk or sit another dog again.

Lily was going to win her first Grand Slam by ten if that's what they'd pay you.

As your peeled your car from their turn-around area, you watched a Jeep Wrangler slow as it passed you. You couldn't see through the tint but you just knew it was him.

And you knew he was watching you.

-

The minute you'd told your roommate the situation you'd come into, she'd called bullshit.

A few texts from Tashi's now saved icon and a weird little photo you'd taken from inside the guest bathroom, it'd been enough to convince her.

"Fucking hell, are you God's favourite or something?"

You'd argue you were quite the opposite, she of all people should know. She'd seen some of the states you'd come home in after your other random jobs.

Felt good to be the winner.

Even just once.

In the air of some girlish fascination, she brought up a Youtube video of "Tashi Duncan Career Highlights" courtesy of "tennisguy779."

You'd protested it, rolling your eyes while feigning disinterest. No use, the minute you caught her out the corner of your eye- you were captivated.

It was entirely possible to imagine she hovered above the court, like there was a greater force placing her exactly where she needed to be, exactly when she needed.

It was even easier to believe she was just that good.

As you watched her play, listened to the sounds the game could draw from her- you wondered if this was how she and Art had felt.

Had they curled up in their informal lounge like you were right now? Had Tashi studied your every move meticulously like you assume? Had Art passed comment on your form? Did he think you were any good?

Tennisguy779's lineup changed quickly to "Art Donaldson Career Highlights" and you felt your chest constrict. An inexplicable feeling washed over you.

Like you'd been caught with God's forbidden fruit.

Your roommate had tried to question why you'd effectively flown off the couch, only to be met with a muttered 'goodnight' as you shut the bedroom door behind you.

Thin walls meant you drifted off to sleep that night with the rhythmic sounds of Art, grunting his way through an ATP Challenger.

It was no surprise you dreamt of him.

-

The Donaldson's tennis court was down a steep set of stairs, set back into an oasis of lush greenery.

Perfect for a 6-year-old's first lessons.

You didn't know if it was the grand balcony that overlooked the court or the fact a well-manicured Tashi stood atop it, but you felt positively observed.

Lily was in the midst of showing you how she could do a cartwheel (she couldn't) when the voice in the back of your head started echoing a promise of $80/h.

"Alright, lets channel some of that into your elbow."

Give a six-year-old a racquet half the size of her and she's going to blow effective chunks, but at least she has the spirit. Maybe it's her energy, maybe it has been a while since you've been on the court-

The kid's running you ragged.

Coupled with her height, you're spending more time bent over than you are up straight and it's all going to your head. All you can hope is Tashi isn't up there watching you stumble after the ball.

But you're sure there are eyes on your back.

Lily is a quick learner and you work out a tradeoff of one tennis skill for one spinning heel kick (mandatory that you watch).

Roll on 6pm and she's dog-tired, however, she's managed to hit the ball at least twice. Surely that's earned your keep. She lays star-fished on the turf and murmurs something about a piggyback.

You know you're about to earn your keep.

By the top of the staircase, you're more than happy to hand over a Lily-shaped-sack-of-potatoes to Tashi's mother. As you emerge from behind an ornate gargoyle, your suspicions proved correct.

Art Donaldson had been watching your every move.

Left alone on the balcony with him, you're acutely aware of the fact he's standing between you and your exit, and he's just had a full show of you bent over and flitting about his tennis court.

That and you still haven't said so much as 'hello' to the man.

You dwell on it for a moment and then there's that feeling back in the pit of your stomach, like any minute you'll be caught with fruit in hand- in throat.

The Original Sin.

Luckily, Art made the decision for you, crossing the space to shake your hand. If he noticed the way your hand trembled, he didn't seem to mind.

"It's nice to finally meet you."

You wished you had more to say to him, or maybe something more intelligent. Something better than a quiet "and you."

He was the better conversationalist, thankfully. Head motioning to the court, he looked down his nose at you when he spoke.

It should've felt condescending. It didn't.

"How did she go out there?"

"Yeah, really good- not a Disney character I can't name now."

He laughed.

Really laughed, like the joke was better than it was.

Like there was a preening little flutter inside you that said "do it again!"

You shrugged your shoulders like making him happy came naturally as you squinted up at him, as if he was the sun.

"You were watching? You must've seen her picking it up?"

Because he was the expert. Because he is the champion.

He hummed as he nodded, eyes skywards like there might've been something more important behind the clouds.

"Must've been distracted."

Within an instant- his eyes flickered to your own and you were sure he watched them change. He must've seen something he liked, the corner of his lip quirked up before he spoke again.

"Come on, I'll sort your payment and then we'll let you get home."

And for whatever reason, his hand fit perfectly in the small of your back as he lead you inside.

-

And how quickly did you become a strange piece of furniture in the Donaldson's home- in their life?

An ottoman for Tashi to rest her tired feet on.

An abstract piece on the wall for Art to admire when he passes it.

A projection of constellations across the ceiling to keep Lily bright behind the eyes.

At least you belonged- there was no doubt that this was where you belonged.

That wasn't to say your tennis skill had improved any, lesson after lesson you still couldn't wrap your head around why they'd even signed you on, let alone kept you.

"Ok, don't watch that one either- maybe just do what I say and not what I do."

You hadn't nailed a single one, at this point you couldn't blame Lily for skipping around pretending her racquet was a horse.

Wasn't like she'd be learning anything if she was paying attention.

"Ok, here we go just- ok right, when your parents ask how today went, please be kind."

"Your elbow is too low."

It was a miracle you didn't scream.

Art entered the court with a swagger that you could only assume struck fear when he was your opponent.

Right now it struck pure embarrassment and Lily wasn't helping.

"Daddy, she didn't hit a single one!"

"Alright, I don't think daddy needs to know that-"

"Daddy knows, daddy's been watching."

Daddy really needs to stop calling himself that.

Lily and her racquet took off for another tour of The Grand National as Art approached you with quiet determination.

It was like waiting for impact, his eyes never wavered off his daughter as he made towards you. At the last moment, he snapped his attention in your direction- with a smile that should've felt condescending.

It wasn't.

"If your elbow is too low you lose topspin and power."

If you deserved the $80/h you were earning, you might've known that.

As Art stepped up to you, the turn of the planets on their axis slowed down and it could've been entirely possible to believe it was only you two.

And Lily upon her trusty steed.

The gallops of her tennis shoes thinned out as Art placed one hand around your elbow, lifting it higher. His other hand held your waist as he pulled your back flush to his chest.

"Lily, go find grandma."

Then it really was just you two.

Your heart hammered against the shell of your ribcage, blood rushing around your ears as you felt Art's chin perch at your shoulder.

"If your elbow is high enough," His hand lifted it up and you let it stay there. "And your hip is turned."

He didn't have to say it with the gravel in his voice, but he did. He didn't have to hold your hips as he moved them, but he did. He didn't have to stay without so much of an inch between the two of you, but he did.

With one hand in the curve of your waist, he tossed the ball into the air with the other- then he whistled.

Like the obedient thing you didn't know you were, you raised the racquet and sent the ball flying through the air without even blinking.

As the streak of green hit the court and rolled away, you found yourself lying in wait, as if you were waiting for something- your next command?

"Good girl."

There it was.

Under the all consuming effect that Art Donaldson just seemed to have on people, you'd entirely forgotten you were in a position you could be 'caught' in. By his all consuming wife, of all people.

So, you should've moved.

Quite honestly you should've straightened up and cleared your throat and thanked him and told him it was time for you to go home.

You should've moved.

But Art wasn't moving. If anything he was staying purposefully still at your backside.

Obedient thing you seem to be.

"Show me that again?"

So,

You teach Lily the bare basics of tennis for three hours and receive $80 on the hour.

Then Art spends three hours of his spare time teaching you to perfect your swing- in a way that couldn't ever vaguely resemble professional.

A simple transactional arrangement.

Your tennis improves on a slow but sure basis and he gets the most off-court action he's seen since college.

Even if it is just heavy petting on astro-turf.

A hand under the hem of a tennis skirt. A pressing hip against your own. A deep breath as your hair brushes past him.

You figure Art will take what he can get.

And it's never enough to raise alarm. Sure, there's that fluttering in your chest that warns you might get 'caught' but you're never quite sure what one might 'catch' if they found you out.

It's undoubted who that 'one' is though.

The one who holds the cards- holds the throat, maybe.

Tashi, who's presence precedes her perhaps more than her reputation. Even when she isn't there, she's there.

So, when Art's hand lingers too long on the outside of your thigh and you think you can feel it verging into the territory that'll change everything- it's Tashi on your mind.

You're beginning to think your conscience sounds a lot like Tashi.

-

Who are you if not obedient to the Donaldson's?

Chasing Lily around a court.

Adhering to Tashi's every request.

Being Art's fantasy.

Being Art's.

Most of the time, anyway. Three hours a week.

Something to keep him bright behind the eyes, maybe. Something to keep him happy. Something to keep him-

Winning?

He tells you he plays better with you around. The way he says it makes you giggle, a girlish little noise that sort of just slips out. He serves the ball with his eyes on you and, sure enough, it lands smack where he wanted it too.

Everything where he wants it. When he wants it.

Shy and inconsequential touches and glances shared just between you.

Until, well- until they weren't.

"Would you like a coffee?"

Tashi's mother had taken Lily off to bed, leaving you and Art separated by an island. Kitchen island.

He braced both palms against it as he watched you watch the door, wondering if you should cut and run, wondering if someone else might come through it.

Talking yourself out of it. Whatever it might be.

"Yes please."

Even he looked surprised, brows raising an inch as he turned to the Nespresso machine. You took the moment to watch his back, the muscles moving under the cool-dry fabric of his shirt.

You spent all your time pretending not to notice him that actually allowing yourself the chance to study him made you lightheaded.

Had he always looked this captivating?

He broke your focus with a coffee cup, sliding it towards you as he rounded the bench. His eyes didn't even waver off you as he took a sip of his own.

It wasn't lost on you that he managed to tongue foam off the tip of his nose.

This was the longest you'd stuck around after a tennis lesson, longest you'd allowed yourself to be in his presence. You weren't quite sure how big this thing could get.

Your mouth was opening before your brain had decided it was a good idea.

"Mr. Donaldson-"

"Art."

"Uh, Art- I really appreciate the help you've been giving me- uh, you know- with tennis."

He placed his coffee mug down, nodding as he did it. "My pleasure."

Naturally.

That brain of yours was still firing off at a mile a minute. There was a very tiny voice right at the back that said it was up to you how this night would end- you had a choice to make.

Placing your coffee mug beside his, you scanned his face to find him already looking at you. Perhaps the choice was already set.

Maybe it was fate.

All he said was your name, it could've been the way he said it- but your whole body was losing the rigidity it'd formed when he first asked you to stay longer. When he'd made the choice.

Crossing the small gap between you two, Art was careful to keep one hand on the kitchen bench as the other hovered beside you. Not touching you,

Yet.

One step closer and the tip of Art's nose was touching yours. You think you might've been able to smell the coffee off his breath.

It thinned out- leaving you with his sweat. Musk. Art.

A sudden surge of morals overcame you, your voice broke out as a gasp.

"What about Mrs. Donaldson?"

"Actually, it's still Duncan."

You screamed.

Right in his face.

Tashi's voice made you jump out of your skin.

However, Art didn't move. As you turned your head to gauge the way his wife stalked across the kitchen, you felt his nose brush against your cheek.

Tashi retrieved a tall bottle of Pellegrino from the fridge, taking a poignant sip as her eyes flitted between the two of you.

What a fucking sight.

Her husband, eyes shut and face pressed pathetically to their daughter's tennis instructor- his hands itching to close around your waist.

You, young and bleary eyed looking utterly caught. Staring up at her like she might decide your fate.

It took all your strength to find your words.

"I’m not here to teach tennis, am I?”

“No, of course not. You’re frankly terrible at tennis.”

There's the Tashi you were expecting.

Her words should've stung, but they didn't. They couldn't, not when her husband was laying his hands against your back and rubbing soothing circles down the length of your spine.

Not when his lips were mouthing wet kisses along your cheek.

Not when she was right. Spade's a spade.

"Why am I here?"

She snorted, a real dissatisfactory sound- like she hoped you were smarter than that. She was halfway to her bedroom before she cut you loose.

"Careful, he makes that sound before he cums."

-

And he had, just like she'd said.

Art had cum in his shorts, pressed up against your thigh with his face still smushed against your own.

And you'd taken it, obedience in spades.

You'd stood there and let him hump your leg like a bad dog and you'd even pat his head and whispered kind words in his ear after the mess he'd made.

Then you slipped out the front door to your car and you'd pretended not to notice that there were two bedroom lights on upstairs.

You hadn't even divulged the freaky details to your roommate when you got home.

But the showerhead knew all about them.

Visions of Art on the clouds of steam- replayed in your head the sounds he'd made right in your ear.

How he'd whimpered your name when he splashed his boxers like a fucking teenager.

It was no surprise you dreamt of him.

You even showed up next day, valiantly. You didn't run for the hills or even straight to a tabloid about how weird the Donaldson's really were.

And maybe that's why you hadn't told your roommate either.

Because telling someone what Tashi allowed? What Art liked?

That'd mean you'd have to admit your dirty little secret.

You loved it.

When you showed up, something was different. No usual chatter in the house, no shoes by the front door. You checked out the front window to see what you'd missed when you arrived.

Tashi's car was gone.

"She's taken her mom and Lily to the ballet."

At least you didn't scream this time.

You were lucky your back was to him, lest he see the self-righteous little smile that broke when the words settled.

"Oh, ok."

"I'll see you on the court."

Oh, ok.

Lest he see the disappointment that took over.

Following him close behind, you didn't know why you were effectively surprised that he still wanted to continue with your lessons. You'd half expected- hoped, he'd bend you over the kitchen island.

Tennis was fun too, you guess.

Thinking about it, something that bold didn't seem the style of the man who'd nearly blacked out rubbing up on you. Beckoning you onto the tennis court with two fingers and a wry smile did, however.

You fell into your usual position, hip turned and elbow curved on your side of the court. You waited for him to appear behind you, chest melding into the curve of your back.

It never came.

Art took long strides towards the net, vaulting it in one smooth motion. He ended up parallel to you, waiting with a ball and racquet in either hand.

The smile had left his face, a rather blank expression taking over as he sized you up. And there was that fear- knowing what it felt like to be on the wrong side of him.

This was going to hurt.

From the moment he pressed the ball to the neck of his racquet, it was all over. Your feet were never in one place for more than a second, your arms burned above you, your head permanently on a swivel.

Art didn't look like he'd broken more than a sweat.

You knew he had, you could see it in the neck of his shirt. But he didn't look it.

He looked calm, he looked in control, he looked-

Like he was enjoying himself.

For every rally that you managed, you thought you saw an inkling of pride set in his features.

For every serve that you missed, you knew you saw unbridled lust.

Not a point scored in your favour, you hit the ball towards him one last time before you collapsed to the turf. Flat on your back, reminiscent of your first lesson here.

You watched the clouds shift over your head, listening to your pulse thick and fast in your ears. Just underneath it, you could hear footfalls approaching.

No hurry, but impending.

Soon, the sun above you was eclipsed by Art Donaldson. His golden hair shone with the halo of light behind it.

Now this was God's favourite.

"You can't be giving up this easily?"

Forcing a laugh, you threw your arm up and over your eyes. "Wanna bet?"

Turns out he did- turns out Art struggled to do anything but win.

Somehow, you found it within yourself to stand back up. This time it was only a practice, you weren't brave enough to face off against him another round.

This was more your speed.

The hand that wasn't holding your elbow was curving around your front, the pleats of your tennis skirt lifting over his fingers. You felt a warm hand slowly moving across the front of your underwear.

Two fingers migrated south, pressing against the seam of you- he must've felt the pure heat radiating beneath his fingertips.

Turning your head even an inch, you found the curve of his nose pressing into your cheek.

"I didn't give up."

He hummed, the vibration rolled across your shoulders.

"Mmm, you didn't."

The hand sans-racquet dropped between your thighs to press his palm into your cunt. It was Art who flexed your fingers and cupped it.

"Where's my prize?"

There was no trophy, no podium, no medal.

But there was Art between your legs, slinging a knee over each shoulder like he might've been the real winner.

You'd never been inside the 'changing shed' behind the court, of course it was nicer than your actual home.

Your head made contact with the hard wood behind you, bench digging into your ass as you felt a hot mouth moving against the seat of your underwear.

Running your fingers through his hair, your gripped the ends of it- tugging him closer until you felt the flat of his tongue through the thin fabric.

Needy fingers tugged the ruined garment down your thighs, tucking him into the pocket of his shorts. You knew all too well that you'd never see them again.

You were sure Art would be seeing a lot of them.

His tongue ran up the split, one long stroke before you felt the curve of his nose press to your clit. The ridge of it moved as his tongue retreated back to your entrance.

With everything he had.

Your eyes had been rolling back in your head as you arched your back, the moment you were able to find a semblance of control- your gaze fell before you.

Naturally, Art was already looking up at you. Two hands splayed across each side of your hips as he pulled back to wrap his lips around your clit.

You couldn't help the hazy little smile on your face as you watched his eyes.

Utterly devotional.

The more you tugged on his hair, the hungrier he seemed. Pulling from the root seemed to spur him on, seemed to tell him 'good job' and he was responsive.

His tongue flicked beneath your clit, pressing it to his upper lip as he brought two fingers to your entrance. He stroked a couple times, making your hips twitch against him, before he sunk in to the last knuckle.

Turns out Art had a style about him. One he brought to the tennis court and, seemingly, to the floor of his changing shed.

The style was calculated.

Every move he made was engineered to get something out of you- a reaction, a whimper, a twitch. He was doing what he did best.

Playing a game.

Art struggled to do anything but win.

"Fuck- Mr. Donaldson."

"Art."

Even muffled against your cunt, you were good at following his orders. Even more so when he was the decider of your imminent orgasm.

You threaded your fingers in the sides of his hair, pulling his face flush against you so you could ride his mouth. Taking every last thing from him you could.

It drew the most pathetic moan you'd ever heard, straight out of his chest and hit you straight at your core. The burning coil tight within your stomach was unraveling quickly.

You heard the murmurings of words, among the blood rushing in your ears. Easing up just enough, you let him pull back to speak.

"Tell me this feels good, please."

Your chest thumped, the sight of Art helpless between your legs was one thing. Hearing him beg?

You might black out.

"Art- you feel so fucking good," Dragging him right back where you needed him, the tip of his tongue drove against your clit. "You're gonna' make me cum."

He whined.

A heady drawn-out sound that quite literally sent you over the edge. Your hips lifted off the bench, the heel of your foot digging into his back and making his whine turn into a whimper.

Your orgasm broke you apart until it felt like white-hot flame licking up your sides. Of course, Art never relented, drinking in everything you could give him- literally.

The moment you felt the peak begin to subside, the urge was ramping right back up. Like he knew what he was doing, his eyes locked back onto yours as he sucked at your clit.

He was going for gold.

A quick second orgasm hit, seemingly out of nowhere. Your thighs clenched around Art's head, his hands coming to each of them.

You relaxed yourself a bit, feeling like it might be too much- until you felt him pressing your thighs even harder to either of his ears.

Oh, ok.

Art Donaldson knew what he liked.

You physically had to push him off you, watching him fall back on his outstretched palms as you let yourself breathe for what felt like the first time.

Wet eyes, wet chin, chest rising and falling like he'd run a marathon- Art sat sprawled out before you like he'd stumbled upon an alter (he had).

Breathless, you gestured towards him. Your hand dropped a little as your eyes fell between his legs, wordlessly offering a deal.

A deuce.

His cheeks flushed, more so than they already were. His eyes fell an infinitesimal amount before he spoke up.

"Uh- I already have."

Of course he had. He makes that sound before he cums.

Instead, you heard him shuffle back onto his knees as he all but crawled towards you. He draped his upper half into your lap, head resting against the soft cotton of your skirt.

Coming off the other side of a high, the reality of your situation began to settle for you. Why they'd really called you here- what purpose you really served.

All you could do was gently stroke a hand across Art's head, feeling him go limp against you. Boneless, but not spineless.

He must've known you were going to speak, he must've heard the intake of breath or just felt you shift. He cut you to the chase- beat you to the punchline.

Art nuzzled his face further into your lap as you felt him mumble against your thigh.

"I can't lose- you."

[chuluoyi]

𝐁𝐀𝐍𝐄 𝐎𝐅 𝐄𝐗𝐈𝐒𝐓𝐄𝐍𝐂𝐄

- sylus x reader

you and your lover are hailed and feared, but who would have guessed that behind closed doors, both of you are just that — lovers?

genre/warnings: very suggestive, making out, fluff, comfort, period cramps, assassin!reader (not l&ds mc), loosely based on sylus' secret times: midnight warmth & exclusive care!

note: very self-indulgent bye pls don't look at me :') this fic is a companion to assassin!reader series (strictly (un)professional and jealousy incarnate)

“Who’s ther— lord! Missus! What happened to you!?”

On a rainy night, you staggered into the base, drenched and covered with dirt. Your steps were unsteady as you made your way through the front door, and the first person to see you, Luke, was so shocked by the sight that he rushed to your side.

“Kieran! Call Boss!” he shouted to his twin, who immediately sprinted off to find him, steadying you. “Are you injured?”

“No,” you hissed, wincing as you clutched your abdomen. “Let go, I’m fine—” But before you could finish, you missed a step and—

—fell into Luke's arms.

In that very instant, Luke genuinely feared for his life. He squeaked and stammered, incoherent sounds escaping him, because oh lord— if Boss sees me ever touching his woman—

“What are you doing?”

And there came his nightmare. Sylus’ deep voice cut through like a blade, marking the arrival of doomsday itself.

“B-Boss! It isn’t what it looks like!” Luke quivered, desperately trying to explain himself.

However, Sylus paid him no mind and exhaled sharply, immediately moving over to pull you out of Luke’s grasp. “Are you hurt?”

“I’m fine!” you insisted, pulling away from him while staggering. “I’m not wounded or anything. Just... I just need a bath, please.”

Sylus eyed you from top to bottom. You had just been out for a reconnaissance, and yet you looked as though you had been through a tornado and back. Disheveled, your dress was smeared with mud and dirt, and even grime clung to your hair.

“Did you fall into a sewer or something?” he questioned, and he knew he had hit a nerve when you shot him a glare.

But you spared him no answer, walking away with labored breaths and a hand pressed against your lower belly. It was clear you were in pain, and the sight tugged at him as he followed you.

“What’s wrong?” he asked, his concern growing. “What hurts?”

“You don’t have to fuss over me—” your breath hitched, feeling exhausted, and ashamed all at once. “Just my period, nothing much,” you murmured in a quieter voice so the twins wouldn’t hear.

As you reached the stairs to the second floor, you felt like collapsing. Did you really have to climb these stairs, too?

As if reading your mind, Sylus let out a sigh, but you nearly squealed when he lifted you into his arms.

“You’ll get dirty!” you rebuked, even as he took large strides up the stairs. “Sylus!”

“Just hold onto me.” He shot you a pointed look. “You can’t even walk without gasping for air, and you still want to climb the stairs? You’ll end up rolling and breaking your back.”

Despite your protests, your lover immediately brought you to his bathroom and sat you down on the sink. He turned the hot water on and then faced you.

“So? What did you get yourself into?” he asked, his red eyes narrowing in dissatisfaction. “You were fine, and you didn’t face anyone.”

You pressed your eyes shut, leaning against the wall, resigned to explain. “Fell into mud. Totally idiotic, I know, but my cramps started right before, so…”

“I don’t recall you experiencing this before. What brought this on?”

You met his gaze indignantly, retorting, “Well, a certain someone banged me so hard last night, and I got my period right after.”

It was quite unexpected, but still answered his concern. So, to that, Sylus snorted and tousled your hair, a playful twinkle in his eyes. “Ah, sorry, I guess?”

You pursed your lips, aware of how unapologetic he was. He smirked and added, “Now that I’m dirty too... I suppose we’ll have to take a bath together.”

“Are you mad? Do you want to get covered in my blood?”

He shrugged nonchalantly. “Why not—”

“No,” you retorted firmly, clearly irked. “You take the bath after me, and that’s final.”

. . .

“Put your arm around my neck,” Sylus commanded when you both emerged from the bath and already dressed in silk bathrobes. You complied, and he swiftly lifted you into a princess carry, bringing you to the bed.

Despite yourself, your heart fluttered at his action. He set you down gently, and the moment your back met the soft surface, you relished it and let out an involuntary moan. “Ahh...”

Your voice was soft and sultry, though tinged with a hint of pain. Sylus placed his hand gently on your face. “Your cheeks are warm,” he noted. “And you still look pale.”

"Mmm," you mumbled, suddenly the total fatigue catching up to you as you leaned into his touch. Seeing you so pliant like this seemed to flip a switch inside him, and he immediately settled next to you and placed his huge hand on your lower belly, pressing down on it.

“What are you doing?” you frowned.

“I’m giving you a massage,” he replied. “Stop squirming. I’m trying to pamper you here.”

“You don’t have to…”

“My woman is in enough pain that she doesn’t talk back to me. It’s feels off.”

“...actually, you suck. You’re too rough.”

Taking your whine into account, he adjusted his touch, softening his pressure. "How is it? Better?"

You didn’t immediately reply, indulging in the warm sensation, letting out a sigh as you squeezed your eyes shut. “Mm... Yeah, it feels good now. Don’t stop…”

There was something quietly erotic about watching you, usually so defiant, surrender to his touch like this. Sylus felt a deep, protective satisfaction as he continued his gentle ministrations—

But after a while...

Before he could stop himself, he leaned in, pulling you closer as he buried his face in your shoulder, inhaling deeply, savoring the scent of the bath foam you had just shared. “Mmm…”

You were caught off-guard and shivered at his breath tickling your skin, eyes fluttering open. “Sylus…” you murmured, a mix of protest and surprise in your voice.

But he didn’t pull away, his lips lingering against your skin, his gaze fixed on your bare neck, whispering, “Just relax. I’ve got you.”

Then, when he suddenly nibbled on your neck, you jolted awake. The gentle bite on your sensitive skin sent another shiver down your spine, stirring a mix of warmth that made your pulse race.

But he didn't stop there, as Sylus trailed your neck with a series of kisses and wet sucks, his breath hot against your skin. Soon, the only sounds filling the room were his quiet sighs and the soft noises of his lips as he continued to bite and pepper kisses on your skin, over and over.

“Ngh…” Each touch left you almost breathless, and the heat between you growing with every passing moment, making your toes curl and you moan softly by his ear.

“Hold me,” he gruffly whispered, and as if bewitched, you clung to his shoulders. He let out a husky chuckle. “Not too hard, or you won't be able to sleep later.”

“And whose fault would that be?” you quipped, entangling your legs with his, savoring the warmth of his body against yours.

“I’ve spoiled you rotten, haven’t I... sweetie?” he murmured amidst kisses, his tone laced with intrigue and his burgundy eyes flashing with a glint. “Just let me have my fill for a while.”

If you had a mirror, you’d see the hickeys forming on your neck, but instead of fighting him, you pulled him closer, letting out breathy moans freely and massaging his scalp as if urging him to go further.

“Naughty vixen—you are,” Sylus rasped deliciously in your ear, thick with desire and restraint as his grip on you tightened. “Tempting me, knowing full well I can’t do anything to you…”

A low giggle slipped from your lips. “Unfortunately… I learn from the best.”

Hard to get, snarky, taunting... You were the bane of his existence, and yet Sylus wouldn't have it another way. Your defiance and teasing only deepened his affection, making every challenge you presented feel like an irresistible part of what drew him to you.

He knew when his patience was on the verge of snapping, so to end it, he sucked hard on your shoulder one last time, making sure to leave another mark there. The squelching sound reverberated through both of you, before he pulled away and planted a firm kiss on your forehead, a gesture of both dominance and fondness for you.

“Now sleep,” he grounded out. “Your body has been through enough.”

“Mngh...” you whined, curling into him in contentment, your head nestled against his toned chest where you could feel his strong, steady heartbeat. “Really unfair...”

“You're going to feel better soon...” he sighed, one hand soothing your back and the other resting on your waist. “And as soon as you do...”

A wicked grin curved his lips.

“I'll pick up where I left off.”

[dawnwriterimagines]

The Verdict Due

SIMON 'GHOST' RILEY x FEM!READER TASK FORCE 141 x FEM!READER

Traitors Among Us (Part 1)

Innocents Among You (Part 2)

The Guilty Plea (Part 3)

Clear Skies (Part 5)

Summary: You head to Laswell to talk on the rest of your now ruined military career. Of course, you're forced to confront your team as it happens, the last people on earth you'd like to see.

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Simon's steps are slow, lacking energy or purpose. Releasing the buckles strapping his vest down to him, he finally arrives to his door, lifting the camo from himself.

His forehead pressing into the wooden door, he finds it harder and harder to open everyday, seeing reminders of you every moment of everyday, when he closes his eyes, when he lays down in bed. Hell when he opens the door. He hated this room now.

Outside of the place that you both had made your home away from war, from battle, from the base, this was where the two of you had once spent most of your time.

He raised his head off the door, before bringing it back down on it, then doing it again, this time hard enough to hurt. "Fuck," he cursed, cursing himself, his stupid decisions, the times he'd never get back, the mistakes he'll never be able to erase. Huffing out bitterly, squeezing his eyes shut, he's still for a moment, before banging his fist against the wall. "Fuck!" There's a crackle along the wall, a clatter of dust and dried paint hitting his feet.

A shuddered breath leaves him, swallowing down his grief, his anger at himself. But, he can't help it. He's ruined everything.

Simon's head stays there against the doorway, he doesn't want to go in.

His head turns a bit, seeing a figure down the hallway, straightening up, dark eyes squinting. "Johnny?"

Quiet and Still. The Scotsman's mouth is set in a hard line, he runs a hand down his face, smearing the mess he'd made of himself. "I..." he breathes deeply. "I saw her today."

"You what?" Simon perks up, eyes wide. He looks past his comrade, seeing the open doorway of your room, "She's here," he speaks, voice alight and hopeful. Making his way past Johnny, "She's here?" he asks this time, bracing himself at her doorway.

But, the room is a mess and void of you. He'd nearly forgotten how the soldiers had left it, the day it happened he could watch it, it would've been too finalizing of what he thought was your betrayal. Today was meant to be the day they'd clean it all up, due to plaguing themselves with missions and ops that required long weeks, long hours. No one wanted to think about what they'd done.

But, now they'd only made another mistake in waiting too long. And now you had to be greeted by this mess.

"I didn't know it was--" Johnny couldn't turn back to the room, back to Simon, as he spoke. "I didn't know we did so much to her. I thought--how long--how could I--" he shakily began. "--how could you?" Simon's eyes flicker to his friend, dark circles and sunken cheeks seem to worsen. "She was so...she couldn't even look at me, Si. Like I'd make her sick, like I'd--hurt her again...I've never--" his fingers claw at his chest, hoping to rip away the ache in his heart, eyes haunted to tears and staring into the dark of his memory as he thought back. "I'd never--" he can't finish.

"She was here?" Simon asked again.

Johnny's clouded eyes look to Simon, opening his mouth before opting for nodding. Clearing his throat, finally seeming to get a handle on himself, "Just left."

"She what?" Simon bolts out towards the stairs, pushing through the doorway and jumping down the first flight to rush through the rest.

As he gets to the lobby floor, he shoves through the door, revealing the hallway to him, running down the long stretch before ramming into the side wall to catch himself at the corner. He continues down the way, running as fast as he's able, before bursting through the side doors of the front lobby.

He sees you immediately, beyond the glass doorways.

"(Y/n)..."

He's running before he can think to get his legs moving.

---

Leaving the dormitories, finally leaving behind the spare hospital wear that you had swapped for your own clothes, you waved down the first vehicle you'd seen.

The driver letting you into the truck, the two of you unaware as he begins to drive off, Simon shoving his way through the residential doors and coming to a stop in the middle of the street as you drive away.

You, having hopped a ride with one of the soldiers making his rounds, the Jeep shakes with the changing terrain, providing more conversation than the trooper that was much too quiet. Shifting his shoulders, adjusting his fingers around the leather, glancing one too many times through the mirror.

It was getting weird. But, you were a familiar face on the base, unfortunately now, it used to be because you were good at your job, the best sniper they had on the force. But now, it was because you were the first proclaimed traitor of the force in decades and the first to be wrong about.

So, the new attention is nothing to be pleased about.

"Find something interesting to look at, soldier?"

Back straightening, body stiffening and eyes facing the road, the trooper swallows thickly at having been caught eyeing you. "No, ma'am!"

"Then I suggest you keep your eyes on the road."

"Yes, ma'am!" clearing his throat. "Sorry, ma'am, I don't mean to stare."

Arms crossed, head turned to watch the smaller buildings go by, your jaw clenched. "It's fine..." you breathe, before relaxing a bit more as the drive goes farther and farther away from the residential areas. Eyes flickering over to the still tense trooper, you mutter. "Ease."

His shoulders drop, head turning, flustered. "Sorry, ma'am."

It was always strange to be called 'Ma'am' by fellow soldiers, usually you were only a year or so apart, others you had been younger by ten years or older by five. But, this trooper was new to the force, young, clearly still jumpy, you had been the same after your first missions on the Task Force.

"I'm sorry, ma'am," the trooper then speaks, shakily.

"You don't have to keep--"

"About what happened to you," he continued. "I'm not sure if you heard that yet, but it's--that sounds--I can't imagine. I'm sorry that happened to you."

For a moment too long you're quiet, holding your breath, staring at the scenery as it whistled on past, the wind whipping through your hair. Your nails tearing into your skin as you rake them over your scars, smearing the line of blood left after ripping out your IV line, abandoning it as you found a ride.

"Get any cool scars out of it, at least?" he jokes, lightheartedly.

Your eyes snap his way, his eyes widening before he looks back to the road, back to stiff.

You open your mouth to speak, but you can't. You're just angry, too angry to find the words. But, you don't want to take it out on him, he was just attempting to alleviate whatever burden he imagined to be on your shoulders. But, all it was was a reminder, this was all anyone could think of anymore, when it came to you, this ordeal.

The apologies, the reminders, the quiet looks, the whispers, the fucking gnawing pain still splintered through your spine, you were tired of it.

The car pulls up to the largest administrative building on the base camp, hopefully you were right and this was where Laswell was posted up.

Quickly pulling the car handle as the trooper steps out of the vehicle to assist you, you hurriedly speak as he reaches to touch you. "I've got it," you hiss out, harsher then you meant. Stepping down and off the platform, onto the sidewalk, you forget you don't have your IV pole to at least stabilize you. So, when you stumble, he grabs your arm, his other resting on your shoulder.

"Woah!" his grip lacks gentleness, though not bruising, it's enough to set you off.

Your arm goes back and over his arm, shrugging him off, roughly. "I said I got it!" Your palm pushing into his shoulder and sending him back and off of you, he shifts back and nearly off his feet, catching himself.

"Alright, jeez!"

You're stumbling back into the light pole luckily a few steps behind you, leaning yourself against the cemented metal, you balance yourself. Shaking off the buzz in your ears and rubbing away the tension built along your skin, taking a few shuttered breaths, turned away from the soldier.

The trooper takes a few steps away from you, expression lifted to frustration and annoyance, rolling his eyes, brows furrowed and back pedaling to the Jeep. "Fucking crazy," he mutters to himself, adjusting his gear and stepping up back to the vehicle.

But, he doesn't make it very far until you're on him.

"What the fu--!"

Taking the opening of his kevlar and yanking him out of the vehicle, unable to catch himself fast enough to get to his feet. You hold a steel grip on the collar of his uniform, literally holding him up by his straps, pulling his entire bodyweight off the ground, leaning down so you're face to face with him. "Say it again," you snapped, eyes dark and boring into his skull. "I wanna have a good excuse for what I'm about to do to you."

He was taller, probably stronger, but looking up at you, he could see the years of mayhem and chaos that's burned itself into your irises, made you the lieutenant he'd tripped up on properly respecting. "I didn't--I didn't say anything! I'm sorry, ma'am, it won't--it won't happen again!"

Nostrils flared, eyes flickering between his wide, fearful ones, your hands loosen around his gear. He falls forwards, landing on his forearms with a groan, releasing a relieved breath.

He looks up, watching as you turn and make your trek into the building. You had seemed so fragile before, with a limp in your walk, scars head to toe and those braces along your legs, he assumed you had no fight in you. He couldn't have imagined, five minutes, he'd be wrong.

---

"Laswell."

The Station Chief turns, manila folder files in hand, brows raised at the intrusion before her eyes widen at the sight of your tired figure.

"Gray..."

You don't wait to be invited inside, instead pulling up a chair as you let the door close behind you. Not fully out of a lack of respect but your legs were killing you and surely if you wait a second longer you'll literally tear a muscle. "You free?"

"Never. But, I can make time," she answers. "Is something wrong?"

You bite down on your tongue. What isn't wrong.

"I put in a request for council in resignation, ma'am. I'm just here to know if it went through."

"I did...receive your request," The woman is still quite surprised to see you, a bit off put at your presence, hearing about your scars was one thing, seeing them was another. "Of course. Though, I expected you to wait for my call before deciding to come to me."

"I'm sure," you feigned a slight chuckle that faded as soon as it started. You say nothing else but stare.

Laswell sighs, tossing down the folder she'd been holding. "Look, Lieutenant Gray--"

"Just (L/N)," you gritted out. "Please." You couldn't stand your codename at the moment, you didn't want to carry a single thing this team had given you.

"Lieutenant..." Laswell pulled up a chair on the opposite side of the long table, facing you, "You've accomplished much on the force, saved lives, eliminated threats that had the potential to level the united nations, your honors and distinctions. At the very least, here, your guidance is a treasure..."

"I'd like my resignation to be approved, Chief--"

Laswell continues. "I need you to careful think about what you're doing here, Gray--(L/n). I don't want you to be motivated by what's happened to you, you still have a place on the force, it doesn't have to be beside your team. Don't waste your talents in the field because of this experience."

"Experience," You scoffed at the word, nose cringing up in disgust at the downplay. "I didn't go on a rollercoaster at Disney World, god--I was tortured by my team for weeks while my fiancé threatened to kill me afterwards..." you were about to lose your mind. "What makes any of you think I'd want to stay here? Why can't any of you just respect my decision to leave? I'm resigning."

Laswell settles back into her chair, lips pressing together, she makes a hum of a sound. "I can arrange a transfer," she compromised. "But, my authorization goes through only after informing Price, he also needs to sign off on this."

Your jaw clenches, your fingers tightening around your clasped hands. "Then how about that favor you owe me?"

Station Chief straightens, brow lifting and arms crossed. "Excuse me, soldier?"

Sighing, reaching a hand into your bag, you bring out a folder of your own, some documents signed off. "I had to wonder who the evidence was sent to, given it was right after our mission and Price doesn't even look at his reports to sign off on something in under 24 hours, it wasn't him," watching as Laswell opened the folder, revealing her own name signing off on the interrogation, just a few of the photos that'd declared you guilty. "Thanks for ruining my career, Laswell."

She spreads out the evidence, her own signature on the papers, she breathes out. "And what are you trying to do here, Gray?"

"Stop calling me that."

"Trying to threaten me with what exactly--?"

"Nothing," you answered. "I'm asking for a favor, from someone I thought was my friend," you find it harder to say, Laswell's jaw clicks and she shifts in her chair. "You owe me that much."

"It's the job, (L/n). I was protecting our own, our resources were very promising."

"Until they weren't, huh?" you sarcastically gritted out.

"Yes..." Laswell sighs. "I do apologize, (L/n), but--"

"Just do this for me," you interrupted, pleading this time. "Please. I can't go to him, I can't even look at Simon, let alone Price. Forget about being in the same room with them. I just--I can't be here, this isn't where I belong anymore," looking down at your hands, the scars that circled your wrists. This was a final decision. "I'm resigning with or without you."

Rising from your seat, Laswell stands as you do, "You resign without clearance, they'll take everything from you. Your pension, your insurance, retirement, everything, you'll be dishonorably discharged, you understand that?"

"'Course, I do," you admit. "Honestly, I thought I'd be dead on a mission somewhere before I saw any of that, I don't expect anything out of this. Nothing's...worth any of this."

As you turn the handle to leave, Laswell speaks once more. "I just wanted to enlighten you on what I'm risking for you, signing off on this."

At that, you glance back to her, watching as the older woman sighs heavily, picking up a pen, opening up the manila folder she'd been holding onto previously. Opening it up to reveal your resignation papers.

"If I do this, when I call on you, Gray," Laswell says. "I expect you to be there."

As she wrote her signature down on the dotted line, you swallowed down the ache that's plagued you for weeks, "I swear."

As the station chief continues down the packet, turning to the next page and signing once again, you slowly slide back into your chair, sitting silently as you watch her sign off on your leave from military service.

You bring your hand up fast as a tear runs down your face, wiping it away before Laswell can see, sniffing quietly.

---

Walking slowly down the side hallway of the admin building, you stare out into space, your eyes glistening as you hold the signed resignation packet to your chest, pressing it to yourself tightly.

Passing the front desk, the security posted up at the elevators, you enter the main hall and come to a stop. Your grip on your documents tightening as you watch rain pour out onto the outer glass of the windows.

Watching the downpour outside, you can't seem to get your feet moving to just leave this place. That's all you need to do, just...walk right through it, into a car, past the gates, onto the highway. Just...go home.

As you flinch at the pitter patter of the rain hitting the building, a short burst of thunder, you try to inch your way closer to the doors but the closer you get, the more you can remember. The more you can feel.

The rain gets louder, and louder. It's cold, although you recall it being 90 degrees and in the middle of the desert. It must just be you.

Putting your folder away and into your bag, the automatic doors open for you, but it's too hard to step through. Staring out into the open landscape, the dividing border of the desert land and the gates surrounding the base. The dry ground now turning muddy, trucks driving by and the mud swelling up at the change in pressure, soldiers rushing through the rain, kicking up mud, flicking up umbrellas.

Breathing deeply, you scuff your shoes forwards, feeling the first drop hit your skin, it's warm, but it's no comfort. Gasping at the feeling, you stumble back into the building, the automatic doors closing.

Short gasps of breath quietly leave you, your nails burrow into the skin of your forearm, you stare at the rain as it pelts at the ground, flooding pot holes and falling into storm drains.

The automatic door opens again, you back up, shifting to the side, as an officer gives you a strange look as he walks past and into the rain.

Your hesitance to proceed into the rain was noticed by a few in the main lobby. Like Kyle, who still stood in his mission uniform, dropping off his reports to the main desk, getting off the elevator to see you staring up at the cloudy sky.

His eyes widening in shock, he's lost in his own world when he begins to take steps towards you, lips parting in disbelief, voice cracking as he breathes out to say, to beg or plead for forgiveness.

The automatic door opens again as you shuffle forwards to try to step outside, he doesn't fully notice your fear of the weather when he speaks.

"(Y/n)..."

You turn at the sound of your name and his eyes flicker to the large scar along your cheek, the red of your eye still, that had changed the color of your iris, maybe permanently. The way you hold your bag tight in your hands as if to shield it from the rain before yourself.

You don't say anything, he hadn't expected you to. You stare at him, surprised to see him, then the expression changes to terror, brows pulling inward and hands sinking into your bag to bring it closer. His heart aching at your reaction to him, his lips pressing together, he doesn't know if she should say another thing. Just let you go.

"(Y/n), I..." he can't help himself as he continues, breathlessly.

You back away from him, out of the building and into the rain. The moment it hits your back, soaking through your shirt, rain hitting the top of your head, down your back, you tense up and spin around.

Kyle's brows furrow, before worriedly witnessing as you curl into yourself instantly, crying out in terror, your hands coming up and over your head. "(Y/n)!"

Realizing what you'd done, your back hits the glass doorway, too late for the doorway to register you wanting to come back inside. You stumble to the corner of the building, just next to the doorway and under the too small gutter to find any shelter from the pelting water at your skin.

A loud sob leaves you, squeezing your eyes shut, you can feel the torture starting again, the unbearable freeze of your limbs, the force of crashing pounds of water along your spine. The screams they would pull from you...

Your torment lasts only a few seconds, suddenly the rain stops, but the sound continues around you. A coat settling around your shoulders and over your head, Kyle's hands on your shoulders, he's yelling over the thunder. "Come on, let's get you out of this. Come on, (Y/n)," he takes your arms. "Let me help you, please!"

"You did this," you cried. "I told you. I told you it wasn't me. But, you kept turning it back on! And then you'd leave it like that and it drove me fucking insane. I'll never be ok again, I can't--" hyperventilating. "Don't touch me, Kyle."

Kyle swallows thickly, head hanging low, squeezing his eyes shut for a moment before leaning down to you. "I can't leave you here like this, please, love," he hauls you up to your feet. You shove him back, pressing yourself further into the corner, shaking, "(Y/n)--"

"Don't put your fucking hands on me. What don't you get, huh?" you spat. Pulling off the jacket he'd placed over you, tensing at ever drop of rain that fell over you after, but you toss it back at him. "I don't want anything from you. Never again."

"I'm sorry," Kyle clutches the jacket. "I'm so bloody sorry. I'm sorry for every damn thing I'd ever done to you. I'm sorry we didn't listen. I should've never done that to you. I didn't want to, I just--I thought I was doing the right thing for all of us," his voice breaks and he cries under the rain as his little sister, his family, hatefully stares him down. "I thought you'd give in, that it'd be over as quick as it started! I'm sorry I couldn't trust that you were telling the truth all that time."

"I don't want your apology!" you yell. "Cause you'll never know the same feeling. You'll never understand what you've taken from me. What you've done to me--" hiccupping painfully.

Kyle looks away from you, inhaling with a shudder, reddening eyes are covered as he raises his hands to run over his face.

"Your apologies. Your wishes for forgiveness," you seethe. " You should keep them. They mean nothing to me."

With that, you shove on past him, re-entering the building and rushing down the hallway, you turn the corner away from Kyle. Leaving the distraught man out in the rain, the automatic door sliding closed as he looks on after you.

Part 5 OUT NOW!

[logansdoll]

hammered

you get a little too turnt during girls night, and logan comes to your rescue.

CW: heavily suggestive, profanity, Logan's your white knight, Ororo's gettin lit, men are creeps, you're actually drunk as a skunk, etc.

"You guys got together?! Why didn't you tell me?!" Ororo gasped, loudly, sitting up straight in her seat.

Your brows furrowed, eyes widening at her volume, a few passing party-goers sharing concerned looks.

"Say it louder. I don't think the rest of the city heard you..." you grumbled, face burning as you took a sip from your strawberry daiquiri.

She sat next to you on the little leather couch situated at the back of the club near the bar, which had began to trickle with activity.

The three of you had been there for only about thirty minutes, the buzz of the night starting to pick up, the dance floor packed with dancers and drinks flowing.

And the eyes, still staring.

"Ignore her, (n/n)," Jean smiled, kindly, as she rested a reassuring hand on your shoulder. "I think it's sweet you two took it at your own pace. It shows how serious you both are about this."

The three of you were having easy conversation, drinking and gabbing about whatever came to mind, when you and Logan were suddenly brought up.

And Ororo nearly died of shock when she found out you two were official.

"And speaking of seriousness... I believe we have an audience..."

Another group of three in particular, whose gazes were piercing you and your friends from across the way.

The three intense pairs of eyes belonged to three men in their best designer.

They each had their own outstanding feature: the tallest one sitting on the right had long, black hair, while the one on the left had arms roped in tattoos and lip piercings, the final one having a buzz cut and a snaggle-toothed smile.

Their lustful stares all but ignored by the two sitting next to you, your mind preoccupied with downing your second daiquiri that soon turned into a third.

You barely paid the men any mind, already knowing a man ten times hotter than all of them combined.

You actually missed him a whole damn lot.

You both were supposed to have a date night, but he got called last minute to round up Rogue and her friends who were causing havoc at some far off arcade.

So the girls dragged you out to the club, much to your protest.

'The kids just had to choose tonight of all nights...'

Ororo scoffed, gulping down another jell-O shot, "Waiting on him to come?" she chuckled, the flashing club lights making her light eyes sparkle.

You flushed in your mini dress, feeling hot despite the blasting AC and your exposed skin.

"You'll be waiting a while," she sighed, crossing her smooth legs over one another. "I heard Scott over the phone... those kids are in serious trouble."

You'd be lying if you said you weren't disappointed that he wasn't there, resting his hand at the small of your back, giving you those lustful stares on the dance floor, and complimenting your outfits in his own Logan way.

You'd done so much to make sure you looked hotter than hot, too.

You had raided your closet and pulled out a short, backless mini dress that made your legs look longer and showed off the curve of your spine sliding down towards your ass.

You loved, loved, loved it—how beautiful the black fabric looked against your skin; how sexy it made you feel.

Not to mention it was one of Logan's favorites.

He'd torn it off you many times.

Combined with your stiletto heels, fresh mani-pedi, the perfume adorning your wrists and the back of your knees, and hair that gracefully caressed your shoulders, you felt like a damn vixen.

Ororo sat up, taking your hand in hers, "No sense in sitting around while you wait, eh?"

She smirked at you, mischief in her eyes.

"Let's dance."

You paused a moment, hesitant.

But in that instant, those three daiquiris hit you like a truck, and all inhibitions went out the window.

'Fuck it.'

You stood up, chugging the last of your drink before taking her hand.

"Let's do it."

Famous last words.

Smoothly, you glided your fingers up your body, swaying your hips in rhythm with the beat as Ororo danced with one of the men.

You two had been dancing so well, you called the attention of the entire club. And with you about seven daiquiris in, it felt as if the music was coursing through your veins and melding with your bones.

The men of the establishment were hounding you both relentlessly—Jean having escaped to the bar to strike up some friendly conversation with the bartender—and even with your inebriated state, you fought them off vigorously, smacking away hands and returning advances with a sharp tongue.

Though the novelty was beginning to fade, and the urge to go home had began to set in.

As if on que, your phone began to buzz, taking your attention away from your thoughts.

"Hold up! I'm getting a call!" you laughed. "I'll be right back, 'Ro!"

She gave you a wink before you went stumbling off the dance floor, tugging a loose strand of hair behind your ear.

You decided to go to the nearest ladies' room, leaning against the wall where the long line started, before flipping open your phone.

You looked down at the caller ID, grinning to see the name of your favorite guy on the screen.

"Heyyyy, Logan," you sang into the phone with a drunk giggle.

"There you are," Logan let out a sigh of relief from the other side of the phone. "I've been tryin' to reach ya. I just finished roundin' up the kids and droppin' 'em off back home, so I'm free for the rest of the night if ya still wanna go out."

"Oh!" you chuckled, "Sorry!"

As you paused, Logan suddenly became confused.

"Where the hell are you? It's so loud, I can barely hear ya."

You placed one foot up on the wall, leaning your back flush against the cool tiles. "'Roro 'n' Jean took me to the club 'n' these guys tried to join us," you slurred. "Oh, they bought us drinks, too. And one said he liked my dress. He wasn't as good looking as you."

"You wearin' the backless one?" he asked, sounding intrigued.

You giggled giddily in response, finding humor in his quiet curse.

"Damn... ya had to pull that one out?"

"Oh, you should see me, Logan... I look gooood," you smiled, looking down at yourself. "But it's not the same... s'not as fun without you."

You lowered your foot back down to the ground and crossed your arm over your midsection, suddenly feeling cold and small.

"I miss you, Logan," you said, quietly. "Could you pick me up, please?"

His chest warmed at your tone, unable to fight the smirk on his face.

Despite the fact that you were absolutely sloshed, your mind still drifted to him, and even missed him when he was away.

It was adorable.

"Sure, sweetheart. Where are—?" "Wait!" you shrieked, a smile blooming on your face as you got quiet.

Logan cocked a brow.

'Huh?'

It was your favorite song.

"Logan! It's my song! I'll be right back!" you smile into the phone before hanging up, scrambling back to Ororo.

When you shimmeyed back onto the dance floor, she happily greeted you, moving in sync with the rhythm as you began your own moves.

"Oooo, what's that?" you asked, pointing at the glass she was holding.

It was orange and topped with ice and chopped oranges and strawberries, reminding you of a tequila sunrise.

"Want it?" she giggled, holding it out for you to take.

Which you gladly did, tossing it back lie it was water, humming approvingly at the taste as you licked the remnants off your lips.

The two men next to her were close to falling out from the scene.

"Fuck," one of them groaned. "Can you do that to me?"

You turned to them, brows furrowed. "Fuck off. My guy's gonna be here anyyyyy second."

Ororo gasped as she threw an arm around you, pulling you close to her perfume-soaked neck, "He's coming? That's great!"

You both cheered together, throwing your hands in the air as you continued to dance.

"C'mon," a man smirked from behind you. "What's he doing leaving a pretty lil' thing like you alone?"

Your face fell, expression annoyed as you turned to him, "Didn't I tell you to go somewhere? He's gonna show up sooon..."

The man had gotten closer, so close that you could see him lick his lips, expectantly.

He scoffed, leering down at you under the strobe lights, "But he ain't here, is he?"

"I wouldn't put money on it, bub," Logan replied from behind him.

Your eyes lit up like stars as soon as you laid eyes on your dark, handsome bodyguard.

He stood there behind the man with his thick, leather-clad arms crossed over his broad chest, which was covered by his white tee.

And he looked less than pleased.

"Logan!" you smiled, moving to stand by his side like a magnet.

The man turned to face him, watching as Logan snaked an arm around your waist, pulling you close.

"This is the boyfriend?" he laughed, amused.

His words hardened Logan's expression tenfold, and it took everything in you not to giggle.

"Yeah, I am. And why the fuck are you still here?"

His words forced the man's expression to meld into one of frustration, and you bit back an amused smile at the sight.

You were drunk out of your mind, but you knew better than to interfere.

The man swallowed thickly, "I was just—"

"Harrassin' my woman."

You felt your heart flutter at the nickname.

He'd been calling you that for a while, but somehow it always felt like the first time.

"I didn't know she was yours—"

In a flash, his Logan's fist was up, his claws were on display and right in front of the man's face, scaring the shit out of him.

"I don't like repeating myself," he spat, his tone leaving no room for argument. "Fuck. Off."

You both watched the man scatter, eyes wide as he scrambled toward the bar.

Damn.

'What a bitch...'

"You alright?" Logan asked, taking off his leather jacket as he glared around the room, taking notice of the other leering men on the dance floor. "This place is full of fuckin' sleazeballs."

You shrugged, running a hand through your hair, "Eh, I managed."

Wordless, he handed over his jacket, your nose wrinkled in confusion.

"What's that for?"

"You're shivering, (n/n)."

You looked down at yourself, realizing that you were, indeed, shivering.

"Oh."

"C'mon," he sighed, draping the jacket over your shoulders before resting his hand at the small of your back, steering you toward the exit. "I think that's enough fun for one night."

Glancing back at Ororo, he gave a small look, slightly concerned.

"Scott's on his way for you two... You gonna be good?"

"Tipsy, but okay!" she gave him a thumbs up, along with a little wink. "Have fun, you two!"

He ignored the innuendo, but nodded, going back to ushering you out the back door.

"I missed you, Logan," you confessed, a slight whine to your voice as you practically clung to him.

"I know you did, sweetheart," he sighed, approaching one of Cyclops' cars. "Let's get you home."

The moment you hung up the phone, he sped over to the club, breaking about fifteen different traffic laws in the process.

An annoyance he decided to deal with the next day.

Without warning, you grabbed him, shoving him up against a wall of the alley you were in, interlocking your fingers as your free hand traced mindless shapes in his chest.

"You look so good, Logan," you purred, eyeing him up and down with hungry eyes, heating him from the inside out. "So good."

Suddenly, your lips attached to his neck, lazily peppering the flesh with kisses and pecks, with the occasional nip.

"(n/n)... you're drunk," Logan stated, moreso for himself, as he weakly tried to pry you off.

"I'd do this anyway," you grinned into his skin, pulling back to look at him, gaze half-lidded. "You look so sexy..."

Slowly, your lips curled into a hazy, loving smile, your eyes staring up at him like he was the only thing in the world.

Fuck...

You'd think he was about to go into cardiac arrest.

'This woman's gonna be the death of me...'

"What's wrong?" you asked, lips pouty and eyes glassy as you looked up at him, your expression one of hurt. "You're not touching me..."

"Doll," he sighed, voice slightly strained. "As gorgeous as you look... and as much as I wanna pin you against this wall... you're fuckin' hammered. And I'd like to feel you up when you actually know what yer doin'."

He pulled back to see your reaction, only to find you were already out like a light, softly snoring and drooling all over his shirt.

A soft smile fell onto his lips at the adorable sight, the man brushing some of your hair out your face before scooping you up in his arms, pressing a long kiss on your forehead.

'Somethin' else...'

[gojonanami]

cw: 18+, smut, sex (p in v), cream pie, bed breaking sex (literally), based off a post in a Reddit thread

“Toru, ngh, please, please—“

“Please what, sweets? You’re going to have to use your words if you want something,” Satoru’s hips roll into you at an agonizingly slow pace, every thrust made you cling to him harder, your nails digging into his back.

“Please, harder, i need to go harder—“

“Heh, so greedy, my girl’s a needy one isn’t she?” And you know he’s not talking about you but your cunt, your dripping wet entrance currently filled up by his dick at the moment, “but I can’t refuse my Princess when you asked so sweetly, can I?”

And he begins to rut into you, fucking you into the mattress as you body wrapped around his for dear life. Fuck, he was so long, the curve of his length reaching every spot that had you nearly seeing white.

“Still s’fucking tight for me, huh?” Your bed frame begins to creak underneath you, as he rails into you, thick cock fucking you open, as the frame rattles against your floor, “that’s it, fuck, s’ perfect for me, good girl,”

And the praise sends a ripple of pleasure up your spine, as his tip begins to hit your cervix, “Toru, s’big, ngh,” and that only seems to make him grow bigger inside you, your warm heat pulling him in deeper. He fucks you even harder, the sounds of skin slapping together ringing in your ears.

He leans back to see where your bodies meet, “Taking me so well, like you were made for me, pretty, hah,” grunts escape his lips, “never gonna let you go, Princess. This pussy, these noises, you — all just for me,”

You moan, nodding, “just for you, Toru. Only ever for you,” and that makes him pull out to the tip only to thrust back in hard.

…maybe a little too hard.

SNAP!

You yelp and he grunts as the bed frame under you both breaks to bits, mattress still in tact as you hold onto him. And you both stare at each other for a moment, a small giggle overcome by the look in his eyes — want.

He pulls out of you, a small whimper at his absence, and he’s yanking the mattress off the wreckage that was formerly your bed frame.

He’s back on top of you in a moment, sinking into you with one thrust, continuing to fuck you hard and fast.

Fuck, that was so fucking hot. You’re close, you can feel the coil of heat in your stomach grow tighter as your hips meet every rough thrust he gives.

“Toru, ‘m close—“ and his fingers reach between your bodies to rub at your clit.

“Cum f’me, cum on my cock, sweetheart,” and you do, walls squeezing his cock, as he fucks you through your orgasm, the creak of the floorboards making you wonder if he’ll fuck you through the floor too. Your toes curl, as you drench his cock with your juices and it’s too much for him

His hips begin to stutter, a low moan leaving his lips, “I’m—“

“Cum inside me, Toru,” and he groans your name, before cumming, warm, thick seed spilling inside you, the sloppy thrusts growing louder as he fucked it deeper inside. And finally he stills, lying beside you, as he eases his cock from inside you, a soft moan at the sight of his seed spilling from your cunt.

Pants fill the silence of the room, eyes shut, until both of your gazes flutter open to glance at the broken bed frame.

“You owe me a new bed frame,” you grumble.

“I’ll buy you a new one every time if we do that again,” and you snort, your eye catching his, until both of you dissolve into laughter.

“You’re a dumbass, Satoru,” and he’s grinning, wrapping his arms around you.

“But I’m your dumbass,” and you roll your eyes, “you’re the one who begged me to fuck you harder,”

“‘Begged?’” You scoffed, “you’re the one who practically seduced me tonight,”

“And you weren’t asking me to by wearing that dress?”

“No, I just—“ and he’s got you pinned under him again in an instant, “Toru—“

“I think we can use our mouths for something much more productive,” he leans down, to meet your lips in a languid kiss, his cock already growing hard against your thigh as a thought occurs to him.

“Is your couch any sturdier than your bed frame?”

(He ends up buying you s lot of new furniture the next day).

[lovelyghst]

ex-boyfriend simon riley making you admit you still love him if you wanna cum <3

he can be such a jerk sometimes! calling you up one evening, claiming he was just wanting to check in on you and how you know how overbearing protective he can be sometimes, acting surprised when you snapped at him barely after his greeting.

“what has you so frustrated, hm, dove?… christ, can practically feel you seethin’ through the screen.”

you bit your tongue and gave him the truth over the phone; how he shouldn’t be calling you without warning like this considering you’ve broken up, and it’s inappropriate to be labeling you those sweet pet names you unfortunately and unknowingly still adore deep down.

how you don’t appreciate his abrasive bluntness, then again, he should know very well that you never have liked that part about him.

you told him the truth, though you couldn’t be entirely honest with him, in the sense of how fucking needy you’ve become with his absence. for touch and care, proximity and security, and all that.

but you are over him, undoubtedly, and you let him know that.

“yeah, baby, whatever you say…

…bet you rub that little cunt raw every night thinkin’ve me.”

and that shut you up quick.

he hummed in understanding, like your silence was readable.

“poor girl prob’ly hasn’t had any proper attention since i’ve been gone… shame such a pretty thing has to be so neglected, eh?”

butterflies invaded your tummy at the compliment, and you cursed yourself for your hasty, blind acceptance of it. but you can't blame yourself; what girl wouldn’t at least begin to crumble at that voice?

“i’m right, yeah?” he taunted, and it almost made you sick when you caught yourself rubbing your thighs together at his meanness.

“c’mon, sweetheart… you know you can be honest wi’ me.”

and god, was his cocky tone so infuriating; you wanted to reach through the phone and slap his smug face straight for overstepping your relationship’s boundaries so blatantly, and with such a deeply rooted nonchalance in his voice that always had you heated and wet.

“say the word, ‘nd i’ll come over and fuck you right now.”

…which is why you had eventually asked him oh, so nicely:

“please..?”

you could practically hear the shit-eating grin on his face, followed by the faint noises of boots hitting hardwood floor and then the clicking of a door’s lock, the obnoxious ringing of keys clanging together.

“just give me ten minutes, doll.”

and now, as he bullies and buries his cock deep in your warm cunt, reaching all those sweet spots you or another man could never even come close to, you can’t really think much of his misbehavior.

truthfully, you can’t think much of anything at all, at the moment.

he had teased you prior to finally managing his way inside you, for god knows how long. his mouth, his fingers, his cockhead; all had brought you to the edge rather quickly, over and over after each other, but he was yet to give you that final push.

he puts his full body’s weight on you, strong pecs pressed up against your heaving, sensitive tits, and his stubble tickling your neck unceasingly. you can’t stop squirming and writhing beneath him, and his hot groans right up against your skin aren’t helping, either.

it’s always been a feat taking his cock, being crammed in your precious cunt almost every night when you two were together, but now it’s been weeks, and you nearly forgot just how big he was.

you missed it, admittedly. all of it; the veins and ridges, the unforgiving stretch. the slight twinge of pain he always hushed with his fingertips pressing your swollen, little clit, or a calloused thumb shoved between your puffy lips to suck on and drool over to distract yourself.

you missed his stamina, his libido. most striking of all, his selflessness in the entire act. he’s a soldier, he serves you right. most times.

“fuckin’ christ, sweetheart… missed this tight, messy thing wrapped ‘round my cock… practically stranglin’ me ‘n with no remorse, eh?”

shit, and you missed his dirty talk most of all.

“gonna fill this pretty, little pussy… keep ‘er happy all night, make up for lost time with my girl.” he wraps his hand gently around your jaw, making your eyes meet his. “you’d like that, wouldn’t you?”

you nod frantically, swallow as best you can, before sucking in a breath. “yeah— yes, please, si… i-i want it really bad… please.”

he kisses your lips with a smile, and then all over the side of your face, up to your forehead. he just can’t seem to stop kissing you.

“tell me, sweetheart. y’wanna cum, too?”

“i do, si—! i really, really do- fuck, please?” you beg and beg, and as much as it turns him on, digs at his heart to just give in, he sticks to his guns and merely adds:

“then say the words, pretty girl,” he coos, making you whimper in frustration. “that’s it, y’know what i wanna hear.”

you huff a whine in response, albeit your breath is strangled when he doesn’t halt his movements for even a second.

you really, really don’t want to give him the satisfaction.

he’s nearly panting himself, big chest and even bigger shoulders rolling upwards with every thrust. “y’ain’t cummin’ til i hear you say it, baby. c’mon, now. jus' admit it, that you still love me.”

he buries his cock to the very hilt, taking your slackened jaw tighter in his hand as he watches your eyes grow even hazier from his pelvis rubbing up against your vulnerable, needy clit. the stern look he gives you tells you he's serious about his last statement, but you'll later swear you sensed a bit of sadness, even despair in his expression.

“i love—” you choke on your own breath, desperate to sputter out the words. “i love you, si…”

and he practically has hearts in his eyes. “you mean it?”

“yes—! yes i do, i promise i still love you, please,” you spill, sounding closer to a temper tantrum than anything. “just lemme cum, please, si… really need it, please, i-i’ve been good...”

he hums lowly, contented, satisfied for once. as if those three words themselves — i love you — are the ones actually stroking his fucking cock. his ego maybe, you’d think, but jesus.

if you knew just how badly off he was beforehand, you never would’ve let him get this cocky and in control.

“love you too, sweetheart.” he kisses your puffed out lips, wipes a tear you hadn’t even noticed was trickling down your cheekbone. “always been my good, patient girl, haven’t ya?”

you nod once more, pinched brows and bleary eyes doubling in severity at his soft tone. simon praising you and being so, so uncharacteristically sweet has always made you fawn after more, even now. especially now.

“tha’s right, baby, you’re my good girl… now do me a favor and cum on my cock for me, yeah? lemme feel every last bit of ya.”

he ultimately resumes moving inside you, and it makes you wonder when he ever even stopped. your brain shuts off when he snakes a hand between your bodies, smoothing over your tummy before his middle and ring fingers quickly find your tortured, little bud. pressing hard, making you writhe with oversensitivity.

he works you over the edge diligently, and embarrassingly fast on your part, taking into account just how long he had edged you for. the sight and sweet noises you make are a dream; a reality he awfully missed, and something no other girl could compete with.

"that's it... easy, sweetheart," he coos softly.

he gives you a moment to come down from your high, softly palming your throbbing cunt to assist in grounding you, but you're barely able to finish catching your breath before he's doing it all over again! resuming flicking at your clit, rubbing you harshly and overstimming you enough to make you fruitlessly jolt and cry out beneath him.

he frowns down at you, damn-near condescending. "again, for me?"

you twitch and moan relentlessly as he gradually coaxes another orgasm from your tuckered body, his cockhead hitting that part deep enough inside you to make you see stars, his hard abdomen pressed against your tummy making the pressure of it all skyrocket tenfold.

the sensation of you finishing around his length once more has him barreling into his own orgasm, and soon fucking his pent up cum deep into your cunt with a few hard thrusts and a grumbled, broken groan right at your temple.

endless praises spill from his lips as everything becomes a blur for you; from the moment he's pulling out of your used cunt—crawling down and giving it and your pretty tits a couple sloppy kisses before briskly redressing himself—to being coddled in bed and squished between his muscular arms and torso.

he holds you so close to him that it makes you wonder why, or even how you could ever turn your back to it. he truly makes you feel like a spoiled doll in this sort of space. a doll with shaky legs, ruined makeup, and half a conscious.

"remind me why we broke up again?" he chimes.

you groan aloud, burying your face somehow further in his chest. "shut up, simon."

he laughs softly, pestering you with even more quick kisses, one after another to the crown of your skull. large hands rubbing up and down your back, moving to knead at your ass and thighs for a short moment. he just loves touching you so much.

“c’mon, pretty girl. let’s go get you cleaned up,” he mutters with an exhale. "how's a hot bath sound?"

you have no time to interject, other than a displeased pout and shake of your head, before you’re being hoisted up on your wobbly legs, then swept up and carried to your restroom when you couldn’t even make it three steps before your knees began to buckle on you.

you’re dizzy, utterly dazed and half asleep as he bathes you. making sure you don’t lift a finger as he works, treating you as nothing less than a princess. your loosened muscles somehow melt even more with his precise touch and strength, and you remember just how much you love being turned utterly numb and dependent on him.

you’re pretty sure you fell asleep the moment you were wrapped in a warm towel, pulled into the strong embrace of his meaty arms, but something he said moments beforehand had stuck with you.

“hey,” he whispered, soapy hand turning you to face him. he leaned in and kissed the area between your brows. “i’ll be better this time.”

“you promise?” you mumbled. your head fell atop your knees, arms wrapped around your legs and keeping them close to your body.

your extended pinky finger made him chuckle a bit, and he quickly looped his own around yours. solidifying his words. “promise.”

[soaps-mohawk]

Cherry Red, Crimson Blood

Chapter 33: Ghosts of the Past

Summary: It can't be a coincidence anymore.

Pairing: Poly 141 x reader

Word Count: 5,411 words

Warnings: ANGST, emotional turmoil, panic and panic attacks, anxiety, drugs used for drugging, very brief mention of predatory behavior, author can't write call of duty missions for shit, withholding the truth, hints at betrayal, Alpha/Beta/Omega dynamics, Alternate Universe, very much leaning into that AU now, brief mention of guns and bullets

A/N: Ummm...yeah. You'll see. Bit shorter than normal but my obsessive need for cliffhangers prevents me from shoving it all into one chapter.

MASTERLIST | <- Previous | Next ->

Her head is spinning. There’s a steady throbbing behind her eyes, her blood pumping in her ears. Her shoulder aches from the cold tile floor under her. She can’t quite bring herself to move yet, the deep ache in her bones still lingering. She pushes through the haze in her mind, trying to bring up the memories of what happened. 

Someone had entered her office. She hadn’t even had time to turn around when she was hit from behind. That explains the throbbing in the back of her head. Likely concussed, though it hadn’t been a hard hit. Not hard enough to do serious damage, not even hard enough to make her see stars. Just enough to incapacitate her so she couldn’t fight back. There had been a sting of a needle in her neck. Whatever it was, it was fast acting, maybe a minute before she lost consciousness. 

Ketamine...maybe fentanyl. 

She pushes herself up to sit, blinking back the dizziness and the nausea. Whoever attacked her wanted her out of the way, incapacitated for long enough to do something. 

A horrifying thought flashes through her mind as she comes back to reality. She’s one of the few on base that knows you’re completely alone. She’s likely the only one who would care if you went missing. She tries to keep herself calm, tries to slow her breathing as she feels her pockets, pulling herself up onto her knees, gripping the side of her desk as she fights the nausea and pounding in her head that nearly blinds her. 

Her phone is gone. 

Her legs shake as she forces them under her, pulling herself up. She needs to get to the barracks, needs to check on you. She stumbles to the door, pushing it open as she tries to keep her breathing under control. You’re smart. You’re going to hide, or run, from any threat. You’ve learned your lesson from the last time. You won’t go easily again. 

The walk to the barracks feels like it takes forever as she half stumbles her way across the base, fighting the wind still whipping through the open areas between the buildings. Her head is throbbing, the haze of the drug still lingering. It’s the terror in her mind, the horrible thoughts of what might have happened keeping her moving forward. She only gets glances as she crosses to the 141’s barracks. None of them even think to ask her if she’s alright. 

There’s no help from the others. 

She pushes open the door to the barracks, blinking through the burning of the bright fluorescents. She feels for you, having to exist in such a bright, clinical space. 

Dread begins to fill her as she reaches your door, finding it open. The door jam is broken, the wood around the lock splintered. Your dresser had been pushed behind the door, but it hadn’t stopped whoever wanted to get in. The window is open, and she can only hope you crawled your way through to safety. She steps up to your desk, books and snacks in disarray, some having fallen to the floor. She swallows thickly as she stares down at the wood, her fingers shaking. 

Her phone is sitting on the desk. 

She picks it up, the screen flashing on. There’s a missed call from you. Whoever had broken in must have made it look like she was the one responsible. She goes through her contacts, finding your number before calling. She doesn’t have hope that you’ll answer, but she has to try for her own sanity. 

The phone doesn’t even ring before it goes to voicemail. 

She steps out of your door, going through every room she can in the barracks, shouting your name. She doesn't have hope, except maybe that you doubled back and barricaded yourself somewhere. It’s not likely you would answer to her anyway, if you thought she was the one behind all of this. 

She heads outside, trying to catch any lingering hint of your scent, but the wind has dispersed it completely. There’s soldiers milling around, likely on their afternoon breaks. She doesn't hesitate as she approaches them, asking every soldier she sees in the area if they’ve seen you. 

“I saw her.” One finally says. Allen, his patch reads. “Running towards the trees.” 

“Was anyone following her?” She asks. 

He shrugs. “Dunno. Didn’t stay long enough to see.” 

She feels the urge to punch him, to yell at him for not helping, but she knows they have strict orders to keep away from you. They might have not known any better, or wanted to risk a reprimanding if they disobeyed orders. 

She continues to take deep breaths as she glances towards the trees. It won’t do her much good to try to go looking by herself. You wouldn’t have followed the trail. You’re too smart for that. She’d need a whole army to search the base for you. 

Her hands shake as she searches through her contacts. She’s not expecting an answer. She’s probably busy with the 141 away on a mission. No one will know. No one will know until it’s too late. She’s not sure what to do. Would the commanders on base believe her? Would they organize a search based on her word alone? By then it might be too late. It might be too late now. 

“Laswell.” 

“Kate, Kate I can’t find her.” She gasps out, spinning around in the middle of the road, as if you might come popping out of thin air, or creeping out from behind a building. She’s panicking, speaking the words aloud feeling like an absolute truth, as if she’s speaking it into existence. 

“Who?” Kate asks, sounding confused. 

She chokes out your name, her hand pressed to her chest to try and calm the panic quickly rising in her. “She’s gone.” 

Kate takes a deep breath to keep her head clear and calm. It’s far too much of a coincidence to deny it now. The cameras, the sudden deployment, the call from Shepherd for the whole team, the discovery of the files. 

Now this. 

“Kate?” 

She’s never heard Christine so emotional, so uncomposed before. “I’m here.” She says, composing herself. One of them needs to be clear-headed and logical. “I’m going to contact command, alert base security. You look everywhere you think she might possibly be.”

“Yeah, okay.” Christine lets out a breath. “I can do that.” 

“I’ll call back as soon as I can.” She says. “If you find anything, I need to know immediately.” 

“Yes ma’am.” 

Kate knows she’s trying to calm herself, get her head on straight again. “Christine? We’ll find her. No matter what it takes.” 

“You don’t....you don’t think she’s...” She can’t manage to finish the sentence. 

“No.” Kate says, not even having to ask what she means. It’s not a lie, though. If the conspiracy that’s been brewing in her head is true, you’re more valuable to them alive. “If what I think is happening is actually happening, she has to be alive. She’s no use to anyone dead.” She says, speaking the thoughts aloud for the first time since the delivery of the cameras into her hands. 

“I hope you’re right.” 

Kate holds her phone in her hand, taking a breath. She’s not sure how it happened, how you managed to disappear out from under Christine’s watchful eye. Something must have happened that separated the two of you long enough for you to disappear. Christine wouldn’t just leave you like that unless it was something important, or if she sensed something wrong, something that might put you at risk. You wouldn’t have left the barracks on your own, not unless something forced the two of you apart. 

She should call them, make them aware. 

She can’t bring herself to. Not yet. She can’t distract them. The job comes first. She’s always hated those words in the context of the initiative. Why would they put an omega through this? What was the real reason? The idea of the initiative always left a bad taste in her mouth when she thought about it too much. She’ll know soon. She’ll get her answers as soon as her team finishes combing through those files. 

She won’t call them until they know for sure. Not until they’re positive, not until there’s proof. They’re not in a place they could easily leave, either.

Sometimes the greater good has to come first. 

Her hands are shaking as she dials the number for the base commander. They have an omega to find. 

Christine’s heart is pounding as she races around the base, checking everywhere she can think of. She’d gotten looks as she combed through the mess, wide eyed and nearly shaking with fear. Her scent must have been projecting, all the control she’d mastered slipping away. She’s never felt panic like this before, not even in the toughest situations with omegas. This is different though. You’re her only patient. She had been tasked with keeping watch over you, they had trusted her enough to take care of you in their absence again, even after everything had happened. 

Your mental state scared her. Seeing you like that wasn’t a surprise after everything you’ve gone through these last few weeks, but that doesn’t stop the worry, the concern as your doctor. Sure, whoever took you, if they took you, might want you alive...but can your mind keep itself alive for that long? 

She asks everyone she can in the mess, the kitchen staff and everyone sitting near the doors if they’ve seen you. 

No one. Not a single soul saw you. It was unlikely you’d run to the mess, but that would have been the logical move. Run where there’s a crowd, though if you thought they wouldn’t help you, you might have avoided it. 

She checks the med center next, combing every inch of it she can. She’s not sure you would have risked running there if you thought she was behind it. Did you see your assailant’s face? You must have, if they drugged you too. You wouldn’t go quietly, so they would have had to reveal themselves to you. 

You know it’s not her behind it. 

She tells herself that to make herself feel better. 

Would you think she was, even if evidence pointed to it? Would you think she would betray you like that? They would have taught you not to trust anyone, but why now? Why would she strike now when she’s been with you in your weakest moments over the last two weeks? There were plenty of times she could have done something, yet she hadn’t. She wouldn’t have. There was no amount of money in this world that would have convinced her to turn against you, betray you and your pack. 

She had been willing to fight tooth and nail to avoid sending those files to Shepherd if John hadn’t told her to do it. He trusted her. 

That trust will be broken now. 

She left you alone, and now you’re gone. 

Or dead. 

There would be no escaping their retribution. They’d hunt her down to the ends of the earth. Alex would never forgive her. Hell, he’d probably join them. 

She checks the gym, even though she doubts you’d run there of all places. She combs every corner she can, getting one of the soldiers to unlock the training rooms just in case, even though it was illogical to think you’d be able to get in with them locked. She can’t be too careful, though. Maybe they taught you how to pick locks. 

She even checks the pool, looking at every inch just to be sure. 

She’s not sure if it’s a relief she can’t find you compared to the alternative, or if it’s almost worse. At least if she found a body there would be closure. The panic could ease for a moment and she’d know. She’d be sure. 

She runs through the barracks once more, combing through every closet and toilet stall, but as expected there’s nothing there. Just your forced open door and the open window. Whatever happened, you did what you were supposed to. You called her and you ran. You learned your lesson, the lessons they’ve all taught you. You did your best, and that is enough, even if her darkest thoughts are true. 

You must have run for the trees. It’s the most logical place to run. There’s plenty of places to hide, lots of space to run and double back on your trail, to confuse whoever was following you until they gave up. 

Would they give up? Or was their motivations strong enough to keep them prowling, hunting every inch of the forest to look for you. 

What if they’re still out there looking for you? What if you’re still out there, afraid and alone. 

She hadn’t seen your phone in your room. She prays you grabbed it before you left. Maybe you’re out there trying to call Kate, trying to call anyone who might be able to help. She wishes you’d call her, but why would you if you think she’s still behind it? 

Whoever did this planned this out perfectly. 

It’s all premeditated. All of it. 

What if you’re out there distressing? 

She feels like vomiting, her stomach churning uncomfortably. You were already so worked up about your pack being gone, something like this might have sent you right over the edge. She curls her hands into fists, trying to stop them from shaking. She doesn’t know what to do. 

For the first time in a long time she doesn’t have a solution to a problem. 

She leans against the wall outside the barracks, taking deep breaths. She’s no good to anyone if she’s panicking. You need help. You’ll need her if they find you. She’ll be the only one that will be able to help you. She’s not even sure your pack knows yet. Could Kate tell them? It’s been weeks and there’s been no word. Kate hadn’t been able to give her anything as expected, only that she’d pass the word along once they had a moment. 

Had she been lying, or had they truly been off the grid completely? Has this deployment really been that serious? They had called in the whole pack. Or had that been premeditated too. Get you alone and wait for the perfect moment. It can’t be coincidence that they waited until you were distressed enough being separated from your pack for so long. 

None of it is a coincidence. 

Would Kate tell them this happened? Would she risk it now that your life is in danger?

Or is Kate in on this too? 

She shakes the thought from her head. She knows Kate. Kate had picked her specifically for this job. She spent weeks with Kate interviewing and being debriefed for this position. Kate wouldn’t do something like this, not with how close she is to John and the pack. They trust her and she knows them enough to pick an omega that fits in seamlessly with them. She wouldn’t betray them and you like this. 

Something is going on behind the scenes. Something has happened to cause all of this. It’s all related. It has to be. It’s all too convenient, all too orchestrated. It has to revolve around the cameras. There’s no other thing she can think of that might cause this series of events. 

Unless it goes even deeper than that. 

“Dr. Keller?” She looks up when she hears her name. 

“Yes?” She says, pushing herself to stand up straight as an officer approaches.  

“Lieutenant Colonel Woods, Base Commander.” The officer holds out his hand. 

She shakes it, her palms sweaty but he doesn’t seem to care. 

“We’re rounding up everyone who is still on base.” He says. It’s the weekend. A lot of them will have left. All the more easy to sneak you away. “We’ll search through every building and send out parties to comb through the forest.” 

She nods, taking a deep breath. “Thank you, Lieutenant Colonel. I’ve checked everywhere I can think of. There’s no sign of her.”

“If she’s still on base, we’ll find her.” He says, far more confident than she feels. 

If you’re still on base. The words make her want to vomit. 

“The front gate guards are compiling a list of everyone who has come on base and left base within the last two hours.” He continues. “If someone took her, we’ll know.” 

“I’m worried about her.” She says, the only thing that’s coming to her mind. It’s true. She’s never been quite so invested in the wellbeing of a patient as she has you, but then again, she’s never been this involved in the life of a patient before. “A lot of things could go wrong quickly.” 

“We’ve got a lot of boots on the ground out there looking.” He says. He’s trying to be comforting. She knows this, but that stiff military mindset keeps it from sounding more than cordial and practiced. What if they’re all in on it? “We’ll find her, or we’ll get answers to what happened.” 

The wait is the worst part. She’s going crazy, waiting for any word. Anything that might hint at what’s happening. There’s been nothing yet, no sign of you, but it’s hardly been twenty minutes. She can’t stop the spiraling thoughts. She can’t take her own advice, apply her own knowledge and teachings. Not right now. Not while she’s bordering on a crisis. She needs to find you. She needs to know you’re alright. 

Don’t let them find a body. 

She’ll never live with herself. She left you alone. She let this happen. She was supposed to be watching you, taking care of you, and now you’re gone under her watch. 

They’ll never trust her again. 

Her phone ringing nearly has her jumping out of her skin. She fumbles for it in her pocket, her fingers trembling. Please let it be you. She lets out a breath of disappointment before answering. 

“Kate?” Her voice shakes. 

“Any news?” Kate asks. She sounds disheveled herself. 

“Nothing.” She swallows thickly. “They’re still looking.” 

Kate sighs. “I don’t think she’s on base.” 

Hearing it nearly makes her legs give out. She’s known that’s likely the case since she called Kate the first time, but hearing it out loud solidifies that as a fact. She’s been keeping a fool’s hope that you managed to hide somewhere, that you got somewhere safe, even if she knows better. 

“This goes a lot deeper than we all thought. It was never about the cameras or the initiative.” Kate continues. 

“The reports, the prying.” She says. “It wasn’t about tracking progress for the sake of progress.” 

“No, it wasn’t.” 

“Sir.” A soldier approaches, saluting the Lieutenant Colonel. 

“We might have some news.” She says, putting her phone on speaker. She hopes it’s true. If they can get a name, then they’ll have an easier time finding you. 

“At ease.” Woods says. 

“We have the list of everyone who left base in the last two hours.” He says, handing over a tablet. “There’s only one.” 

“Colonel McKinney.” Woods says. 

“He left in his personal vehicle 50 minutes ago.” The guard says. 

“Give me every detail you can on that car.” Kate says. 

“It’s a blue Ford Fiesta, registration plate Papa Juliet 64, Hotel Tango November.” Woods says.

“I’ll get eyes on that car.” Kate says. 

“I’ll alert local police.” Woods says. 

“We will find her.” Kate says, and Christine knows she’s trying to reassure her. 

“Do they know?” She asks. 

“Not yet.” Kate says. “They’re not in a place where they can do anything about it, and the last thing they need is to get distracted.” 

“They're not going to like being kept in the dark on this for so long.” She says. 

“I know. But it’s for their own safety above all else.” 

And the greater good of the world, Christine knows, even if Kate doesn’t say it out loud. It’s always for the greater good. That’s why the job comes first, even if it’s at your detriment. She feels like screaming, like throwing her phone. 

It’s not fair. 

Her hands are still shaking as she ends the call with Kate, not feeling any more comforted than she had before. It’s possible Corporal McKinney was involved. It’s too coincidental that he left base within the time you went missing. Why would he take you, though? Was he involved in all of this too? She’s never heard you mention his name before, nor have you brought up any strange feelings about any of the soldiers on base. Omegas are good at reading others' energies. It’s a natural defense mechanism and with your pureblood status, it makes you all the more aware of things in your environment. 

Then again, you kept the cameras from all of them. What else have you been hiding? 

She pushes the thoughts away. Now is not the time for conspiracies she can’t get an answer to. They need to find you first and ensure you’re alright. That’s the most important thing. 

“Lieutenant Colonel!” A soldier says, approaching their makeshift headquarters. “We found something, sir.” 

“What did you find?” He says, standing up straight. 

“A bullet on the trail, sir.” He places the bullet in Woods’ hand. “About a quarter of a mile from the trailhead.” 

Christine feels like passing out. Her legs are wobbling, knees shaking as she stands there, staring at the bullet. She needs to sit down, she needs to breathe. 

Don’t let them find a body. Please don’t let them find a body. 

The tear that trails down her cheek is hot against her clammy skin. 

Kate sighs as she puts down the phone. She wants to put her head in her hands, scream, punch something, anything. She can’t, though, she’s doing double duty. She’s the only one she trusts to do both of these things. This pack is hers to watch over, hers to help, and that includes the entire pack. 

Not much can be done until Corporal McKinney and his car are found. There won’t be any leads until then, unless they come across something on base. She hates it, that she can’t do more. She knows if she tells John, they’ll abandon this mission and be on a flight home in a heartbeat. It won’t do anyone any good until they know more, until the 141 are in a safer position. 

She hates keeping it from them, but it’s for everyone’s safety. 

Especially if what she uncovered is true. 

She can hardly believe it herself. Her eyes keep flickering to the files her team had uncovered, the truth finally spilling out about everything. There is no initiative. There was never going to be an initiative. They were all pawns being placed for a move like this, for a situation that calls for such drastic measures. 

The last few hours have hardly felt real. 

“Bravo 0-6 to Watcher 0-1 how copy?” John’s voice comes through the comms, almost startling her. 

She still has a job to do. 

“Loud and clear, Bravo 0-6.” She says, clearing her throat. 

“Kate, there’s nothing here.” 

Kate blinks at the screen, at the map that had been carefully laid out with exact points, confirmed visuals. “Come again?” She says, praying it was her overactive mind that misheard. 

“The warehouse is empty. There’s no sign of any missile having been here in the first place.” John says. 

What? Kate flips through files, scanning every bit of intel that had been given to her. 

They’re all pawns. 

There was no missile. There was no real intel. A red herring.

Separating the pack leaves members vulnerable. Take away the four and leave the omega alone and unprotected. Separate her from the one person left to keep watch over her, leave her vulnerable. 

It’s what they wanted all along. That was always the plan. 

“John, there’s...” She trails off as dots begin appearing on the map. She zooms in, her stomach dropping. “Four vehicles approaching your position.” 

“Friendly?” He asks, but she can hear the doubt in his voice. He knows they’re not. He’s done this enough times. 

“I don’t think they're meeting you for a picnic.” She says, trying to identify the vehicles. 

“We’ll dig in here. Keep them from getting in.” John says. 

“John...” Kate says. She should tell him. She needs to tell them before something goes wrong. If this was all a trap, then things will go wrong, yet she can’t bring herself to say it. Not yet. “Don’t come out of there in a body bag.” 

“Don’t give up hope on us yet.” He says before the line goes dead. 

Kate lets out a long breath, rubbing her eyes. It’s going to be a long next few hours. 

Your head is pounding. There’s a throbbing behind your eyes beating in time with your heart. It hurts, a quiet groan leaving your lips. The world is spinning and you haven’t even opened your eyes. Your entire body feels like it’s twisting and turning, your organs wringing themselves like a washcloth. You’re going to be sick, but you can’t even manage to lift your head. 

Everything feels heavy. Nothing is moving despite your brain telling it to. There’s a deep ache in your muscles and joints like you’ve been immobile for far too long and need to stretch. Your limbs try to move, yet nothing happens except a sharp pain in your left calf. You let out another groan, fingers curling at the sharp pain that radiates up through your leg to your hip. The throbbing behind your eyes intensifies as your head is moved, tilting up before falling backwards weakly.  

“Easy.” A voice coos at you, easing your head back straight. It flops to the side, none of your muscles coordinating like they should. “...know...dose...twice.” 

The words float in and out, muffled like you’re underwater and just barely bobbing above the surface. You do feel a bit like you’re underwater, trying to kick up to the surface of consciousness. Something is holding you under, keeping you from reaching that surface. 

There’s a hand on your face holding your head up as your muscles fight to activate enough to hold it up themselves. The hand is warm against your skin, rough and calloused. There’s two textures, skin and rough fabric against your face. Awareness begins to come back to you slowly, your mind clearing the fog the longer you’re awake. Your body hurts, muscles aching. You try to move your arms but you can't, something biting into the skin of your wrists as you turn them. 

“Don’t hurt yourself.” The voice says, calloused fingers brushing your arm. 

You flinch at the touch, muscles contracting painfully before they relax. You let out another groan, your brows pinching as you try to get your eyes to open. The haze hasn’t entirely lifted from your brain yet as you slowly become more aware of your surroundings. It’s cold where you are, goosebumps forming on your skin. It’s uncomfortable, your body too exposed. You want a sweatshirt, a blanket, something to keep the cold away. Something tickles in the back of your brain as you begin to pick up scents, several all at once, meshed together. It’s overwhelming, too much information flooding your brain all at once. 

The motion is automatic and instinctual as you turn your face to press into the hand on your cheek. You inhale deeply, trying to block out the overwhelming wave of senses, trying to get a sense of who it is in front of you, who is with you in the room. 

Woody. Soft wood. Cedar? It smells like a candle your mother used to burn. 

Sweet? Something sweet. Chocolate? Richer. Dark chocolate. 

Memories begin to float back as you inhale the scent. You know that scent. You’ve smelled it before. Your frown deepens as you hold your face there, nose pressed against the palm as your mind sluggishly digs through your hazy memory banks. You can’t even remember where you are or how you got there. 

“Good girl.” 

You know that voice. You’ve heard it before. Somewhere in the back of your mind it triggers something, some faded memory shoved deep into the depths of your memory bank. You dig for it, mining your sluggish brain as you try to figure out who it is, why it’s all so familiar. 

The other part of your brain focuses on your body, waking your muscles back up. With it comes the pain, the achiness: the throbbing in your calf, the pulsing behind your eyes, the ache in your muscles and joints. There’s a light somewhere in front of you, bright and shining through your eyelids. You don’t want to open them. It feels wrong, the bright light right in your face. You don’t like it. 

You pull your face away from the hand, your head drooping forward slightly as the muscles in your neck finally begin to engage. The scent is wrong. It’s not the right kind of wood. There’s no damp earth after a spring rain, no scent of petrichor. The touch isn’t right. It’s not soft enough, not warm enough. 

It’s not your alpha. 

The tingling in the back of your brain intensifies as you shoot into hyper-awareness from your sluggish state. Your instincts are awake, suddenly overwhelmed by the explosion of scents and sounds. There’s voices all around, quiet and hushed, but they might as well be yelling in your ears. There’s so many scents blending together until you can’t tell one from the other. 

Except the one in front of you. 

Cedar. Dark Chocolate. 

Memories crawl forward from the recesses of your mind. Childhood. Texas. Summer heat. The charcoal in the barbeque. Cedar and chocolate always too close. You hated it. You’ve always hated that smell.

Your eyes force themselves open, eyelids peeling up like a damp window that’s been closed for a decade. The window had been hard to open, yet you managed it with the adrenaline pumping through your body. 

Your heart rate picks up at the thought, some fear you can’t quite conceptualize yet in your half-aware state burning in the back of your mind. You breathe heavily as you fight to get your eyes open, blinking against the obtrusive light. Fluorescent, too bright to be comfortable. 

White walls, bright lights. Boots on the floor. 

Your pack. 

Where is your pack? Where is your alpha? 

Where are you?

Finally your eyes open, squinting against the bright light. You can’t see anything, the light directly in your eyes. It burns, tears gathering on your lids as you fight against the oppressive, blinding sun being directed at you. 

Voices float in the background and suddenly the light is turned away. You blink away the bright spots left in your vision, a couple tears falling uncontrollably. Rough fingers wipe them off your cheeks almost tenderly, but not tender enough.

Rough fingers across your skin, gripping you tightly, anchoring you. A soft voice floats through the air, rough yet comforting with the soft words calming the panic in you.

It’s not right. 

Nothing is right. 

You’re breathing heavily as you finally get your eyes fully open, the muscles in your neck contracting as you slowly lift your head. There’s someone kneeling in front of you, arm draped across their knee. They’re like a shadow, hidden mostly from view as you blink clarity into your eyes. Your brows pinch into a frown again as you blink, your gaze focusing on the face in front of you. 

You know that face. 

“There she is.” 

You know that voice. 

It’s been years since you heard it last. Memories slam into you in an onslaught, memories from your childhood, back when things were fine, things were normal, things were as they should be. 

Family. Texas. Alphas.

Cedar and chocolate. 

Your breath catches in your throat as you stare at him, blinking in shock. Your brows furrow in confusion, your still foggy brain trying to piece everything together. 

You know him. 

It’s been years but you’ll never forget. 

The light brown hair, bright blue eyes, dimples indenting with that too-friendly grin. 

Your mouth is dry, your tongue heavy as it opens, forming the name on your lips. The name. It comes out in a croak, barely audible and understandable, but laced with confusion and disbelief. 

“Phil?” 

NEXT ->

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[writersdrug]

Bartender ghost’s reaction to waitress reader getting hit on by a customer or customers.

There's not nearly enough of these in my askbox send me mooooreeeeeee

He kinda hates it. He hates seeing her getting ogled at, hates seeing them scribble their numbers on the receipts, hates the way they make you run back and forth to grab them ketchup, mayo, more drinks, or to ask Soap for an extra side of fries - hates the way they try to chat you up, leaning back in their seats and saying anything that'll get you giggling and bright eyed - Simon knows it's all for their pleasure, having you at their beck and call for an hour or two, making you their personal little errand girl and watching you weave around tables and customers for their own enjoyment.

Simon isn't mad at you for wearing those shorts and skirts that have the patrons' eyes glued to your backside, or those low-cut, tight tops that hug you so nicely, making them stutter as they give you their order. He's mad at them, those sleazeballs who think they're worth your time or attention. You're his waitress, not their toy. His pretty little over-achiever.

And that's exactly why he tolerates it. He knows you're a grown adult, and he knows you're smart. You play their game, smiling sweetly and acting the tiniest bit coy and frazzled, nonetheless fulfilling every single one of their requests. Pretending to be apologetic about a burger not made to a customer's liking, then barking out orders to Soap once you're behind the kitchen door (don't worry, he barks back). You do it all for the fat tips, the double, sometimes triple digits on their receipts. He swallows the bitter taste of jealousy - well, he tries to. He's got his own patrons at the bartop to worry about.

You waltz over at the end of your shift and slap a receipt on the counter. "Some bloke left me a billion dollar tip." You say with a cheeky grin, cheeks flushed from hours of running between tables.

Ghost cocks an eyebrow, looking at the receipt. Sure enough, the idiot had left his mobile number in the tips section - technically, he left you four billion.

"That won't go through, 'n you know it." He says, looking over the edge of the receipt at you.

You purse your lips and tilt your chin down, looking up at him through your stupid, bloody, gorgeous eyes. "Twenty percent auto-grat, since that's technically not a tip? Pretty pleeeeease?"

He wants to say no, just to prove he's strong-willed against your flirtatious antics. He's an ex-SAS soldier. He's better than this. Your charm may fool those boys at his tables, but not him.

That is, until you carefully wrap your delicate hand around his wrist, using your other fingers to fold the receipt over his knuckles. "It'll be our little secret."

Thank god he has the counter to hide his raging hard on. He huffs and snatches the receipt from your fingers, turning to the POS.

"Fuckin' whatever." He says, punching in the tip. You squeal in delight and flit back to the restaurant floor to finish your tasks.

"Thanks Simon!" You chirp, and he grunts over his shoulder - discretely pressing his boner into counter.

You have to fan the heat from your face, remembering how his wrist felt in your hand.

[writtenapoiogy]

consumed by flames; jacaerys velaryon

pairing: jacaerys velaryon x f!reader

summary: bathtub funtime 18+

word count: 2.0k

warnings: nsfw. 18+, smut, MINORS DNI, porn w lil plot, bathtub sex, jacaerys is a pleaser, jacaerys loves wife!reader and creating heirs, fingering, unprotected sex, penetrative sex, slight a little more than slight choking, breeding kink, slight dirty talk.

a/n: briefly proofread yet again it is 1am almost 2 and i've been up since 5am yesterday but i had to get this out 😁

You and Jace had just come back from a ride on Vermax. After the war, life on Dragonstone had been peaceful for a short while. Sometimes you wish you and Jace could lock yourselves away at Dragonstone and just kick everyone else out. That sadly, was not possible.

It had been a couple of months since Queen Rhaenyra took her rightful seat on the Iron Throne.

Which means the two of you were also still newlyweds.

Due to the war, You and Jacaerys had to wait to wed, which was dreadful for both parties. Once Rhaenyra had her coronation your wedding ceremony soon took place.

Within the two months since You and Jacaerys spent half that time at the Red Keep enjoying the celebrations and helping get Jace’s younger siblings settled in.

Nearly every day following your wedding, you and your husband had laid together. Every time better than the last.

You and Jacaerys had only been back at Dragonstone for roughly two weeks. The first week was spent wrapped in each other’s warmth. The smells of sex never leaving your chambers. Jacaerys was a man on a mission. He constantly wanted to please you. Teasing you till he knew he was the only one that could satisfy you the way you craved.

After that pleasure-filled week, everything sort of died down. You and Jace had been busy with the tasks of being the Prince and Princess of Dragonstone. A weight you were not expecting to be hit with.

Your handmaiden had drawn you a bath to rid you of the sweat and scent of smoke that seeped into your skin. You were about to take off your robe and step into the hot water when your husband walked through the door.

“Jacaerys?” Your eyebrows furrowed as you took in your husband clad in a robe. “My husband, if you also wish to bathe I am sure we can get someone to draw you one aswell.”

It just dawned on you that this was the first time You and Jace had been alone in almost a week. Alone. Alone without one or the other being asleep. The stresses and demands of the day taking a toll on one of you or, sometimes, both of you.

“I do not wish to bathe alone.” He glided over to you and began to untie your robe. “I do miss my wife.”

Jacaerys ran his hands down your sternum after loosening the knot. You took a deep inhale feeling his fiery touch against your ice-cold skin.

“I keep my bath water quite scalding, my love. I do not wish to harm your skin.”

Jacaerys looked at you with a smirk. “You know the words of House Targaryen. I am Fire and Blood. Warm water will not harm me.”

Jacaerys was right about one thing. He was Fire and Blood. Everything he did set you ablaze. From the way he spoke to the way he looked at you. Oh, gods, and his touch. It was like his hands were made of molten lava. A beautiful contrast to your frigid skin. His warmness brought a sense of comfort to you.

“How could I forget.”

Jace’s lip twitched into a smile. He loved you with his entire being. He doesn’t know how he got so lucky. He placed his lips on yours in a sweet soft kiss. “Let me help wash you.” He spoke against your lips

“As you wish, my prince.” You stole another kiss from him. Missing his soft lips.

He pushed your robe off your shoulders and watched it cascade to the floor. You breathe in a sharp inhale as your body gets overtaken by the chill in the air. Your nipples harden and Jace cannot take his eyes off of them, even if he tried.

He offers his hand and you gladly take it. He walked you over to the tub not letting go till you had both of your feet in the water. Jace went to grab the new lavender soap that was imported specifically at your request.

As he walked back towards you, you couldn’t help but notice the tent in his robe. Seeing that made you feel an ache deep inside of you. An emptiness that you need to be filled.

“Just lean back, let me take care of you my sweet.”

Jacaerys wet the bar of soap and lathered it onto his hands. The sweet and calm scent engulfed his sense of smell. He set the soap down and began washing you. He started at your neck and shoulders slowly and firmly massaging the soap into your skin

He did this across the entirety of your body. Jace’s touch brought your body aflame. He was avoiding the parts of you that craved his touch, intensely. You let out a low whine when his hands ran down your side lightly passing over the sides of your breasts. The slightest brush and this man had your body consumed by flames.

You heard a light chuckle from behind you. “Do you find something amusing, Husband?”

Jacaerys shook his head, “Not at all.” He placed a wet kiss on your neck, inhaling your lavender-infused skin. He ran his hands back up and cupped your breasts this time, you couldn’t help but moan.

“Jacaerys…”

And his hands went back down this time spreading your legs apart and you felt the air leave your lungs.

“Jacaerys..”

He was dragging his hands close to your heat. It was right there. And just when you thought he was going to help dull this ache, he withdrew his hands, again.

“Jace, please. You know what I crave. Why are you withholding it from me.”

“Because it is fun.”

You could feel his sly smirk against your neck.

“Say please.” He demanded, his hands cupping your breasts and tweaking your nipples. He was making it incredibly hard to focus on anything.

“Plea-.”

“In High Valyrian.”

He had been getting you to learn High Valyrian. Something about you knowing his mother tongue made him swell with pride. It made him feel as though it would make your family stronger once you have children.

Also, he found it very very hot.

“Kostilus.”

“Hmm, that’s my girl.” Jacaerys brought one hand to your cheek turning your face to his, to take your lips in a fiery heat.

As soon as his mouth hit yours, your own fell agape. You craned your neck desperately wanting to feel his tongue against yours. Oh, how you both missed this. Feeling so needy for each other. Your tongues lapped at the other. You let out whines and whimpers into his mouth.

His right hand stopped toying with your nipples and slid down to your core. Jace rubbed light circles against your clit, eliciting a moan from deep inside your chest. His hand that was on your cheeky slowly slid down your throat till he wrapped his long fingers around it. This made you break away from the kiss. His amber eyes had such a dark look in them. As if you too lit him aflame.

Feeling him around you like this made you dizzy. Engulfed in his smell. In his heat. The fire in his blood.

When Jace thought you had had enough torture he slid two digits into your entrance, making you gasp at the sudden intrusion.

“Fuck, Jace.” Your head lulled back onto his shoulder. You kept eye contact with him. Jace felt some precome leak from his throbbing cock as he looked at you like this. Spread out for him. Slowly grinding your hips down on his fingers. He added a bit more pressure around your neck. Watching as your mouth fell open, you tried to get some more air in your lungs. Solely depending on him for your air, for your desires, for everything.

He kept pumping his fingers into you a such a slow murderous pace. You don’t know how he does it but he had you shaking on the verge of your climax in mere minutes. You were squirming, moaning his name and a litany of curses. You pulled your hand out of the bath water and threw it into his curls. A guttural moan left your lips when the pads of his fingers hit that soft spot deep inside of you.

You came around his fingers with a deep mewl gripping and pulling his hair in the process. The act caused him to whine in your ear. It had been too long. He kept pumping his fingers into you bringing you down from your high. He removed his other hand from your neck and was rubbing you anywhere his hand could reach as he whispered in your ear in High Valyrian. Telling you how good you did.

Somehow in your daze, you understood him.“Get in here with me, please. I wish to feel your skin against mine.” You breathed.

Jacaerys is quick to shed his robe. He pushed you forward slightly and climbed in right behind you. He situated you so that he was able to rub his cock threw your folds. Your chest pressed against his back. You sigh at the feeling of his warm body against yours.

You began to rock your hips, feeling his cock rub through your slit with ease. You heard him breathing heavily in your ear.

“Fuck, fuck, fuck.”

You tried to speak and tell him how desperately you craved for him to be inside of you. But all you could do was babble. The sensation of his tip as it hit your clit over and over again.

“I know, you do not have to say it. Gods, I know.” Jace lifted you up just enough to position himself at your entrance. He swiftly wrapped his left around around you and slowly eased you onto his cock.

You both gasp when he’s fully seated within you. The head of his cock mushed against that spot again. He somehow always knew how to get to it. Jacaerys, with one hand on your ass cheek and his other wrapped around you, slowly lifted you before he slammed you back down on him. A whimper left your lips, your hands flew to the sides of the bath to prepare yourself for his onslaught.

Even when he was going harder or faster he still managed to fuck you with so much love and tenderness.

Jace began slow. Let you get used to him inside of you again. His pace, which quickened by his third deep thrust, had you saying his name in a tantalizing prayer. He kept going constantly hitting your gspot over and over again. The repetition. The mere torture against your most sensitive spot had you reeling.

Water splashing.

You two moaning each other’s names.

And the smell of lavender and sex was all-consuming to the both of you.

You didn’t know what kind of sounds were leaving your mouth nor did you care. Right now all you cared about was that your sweet husband was finally back inside of you. Pleasing you the way you loved. The way he always does.

Your hips bounced with his movements out of pure instinct. “Jacaerys. Please.” You didn’t even know what you were pleading for at this point. But he did. He coaxed you into your second climax of the night. This one hit you hard. Drenching him in your release. You could feel yourself pulsating around his cock. Begging him to come inside of you over and over again.

Jace groaned at the sensation of you coming around him. “Oh you’re gonna look so perfect when my seed takes. When you get all plump from having our heir inside of you.” He kept pumping into you. His thrusts now getting erratic.

“Yes, Gods, please.” You said in a satisfied gasp.

Even his seed was hot. As he came inside of you, you felt his searing essence flow into your cunt. You bore yourself down on him. You wanted nothing more than to keep all of him come inside of you. You wanted to give him an heir. You needed it. You needed his seed to take. The thought of you carrying his child mixed with the feeling of his come leaking out of you had you coming again.

“Fuck.” Jacaerys leaned his forehead against your back as he caught his breath. “We should take more baths together.”

You chuckle, “Oh but how will we ever keep clean, my prince.”

[rafesangelita]

can you pleaseeee do some angst with pogue!sweetheart!reader, like she overhears some of the girls at the country club talking about her and saying things like “i don’t know what rafe see’s in her, she’s still a pogue.” and rafe possibly reassuring her? thank you!

warnings: bullying (?), classist comments, slight fluff

a/n: i got carried away (like always lol) leave requests if you’d like!

“rafe, as much as i love you, i don’t think i can stand out here much longer.” you fanned yourself, using your hand to block the sun from hitting your face. rafe and topper were currently playing golf while you played cart girl for them, the summer heat quickly becoming far too hot for you to handle. rafe paused their game, jogging over to you as he took his wallet out of the pocket of his pants.

“start up a tab at the bar, go ahead and cool off, baby.” you accepted his card, silently asking ‘are you sure?’ before he pressed a kiss to the corner of your lips. “go, on.” rafe reassured you, smiling to himself as he watched you make your way inside the country club.

you couldn’t help but sigh in relief when a gust of cool air blew past you, immediately ordering a virgin piña colada as you took a seat at the rather empty bar. rafe loved to bring you over to the country club, especially since you pretty much knew everyone from all the times you came to sell your baked goods, although it wouldn’t hurt to make some actual friends instead of acquaintances.

speaking of friends, you spotted a table not too far away, all three girls already looking at you before you smiled at them. no one smiled back. clearing your throat awkwardly, you fiddled with the rings on your fingers as you waited for your drink to be made. “you see rafe out on the golf course today? he is just so handsome.” oh, god. your breath hitched, your heart dropping as you continued to listen in on their conversation.

“he is! why he’s dating some pogue baker girl? i’ll never know.”

“that’s literally her over there.”

you shut your eyes, wishing the ground could swallow you whole. “i mean.. she’s pretty and all, but at the end of the day she’s still a pogue.” the girl’s laughter echoed in your ears, your skin flush with embarrassment. “well, it’s obvious that she’s just a charity case. rafe probably feels bad for the girl.” the way they all collectively agreed with one another made tears prick at your eyes.

just when you thought the comments couldn’t get any worse, your jaw nearly dropped to the floor at the next accusation. “maybe he’s paying her to have sex with him or something. i could imagine she has to scrape for some kind of change if she lives on the cut.” you were crying now, refusing to let them see any kind of tears running down your face. “one virgin piña colada.” the bartender placed the pretty drink down in front of you, a round of laughter erupting from behind you.

“a virgin piña colada? what is she? twelve?”

deciding you couldn’t take it anymore, you left a cash tip on the counter and muttered a ‘put it on on rafe cameron’s tab, please.’ before leaving without sparing them a single glance. to say you were mortified would be an understatement. rafe was probably going to freak out once he saw that you just up and left, but you couldn’t bring yourself to stay there another second.

you didn’t even make it out of the parking lot when you heard rafe’s voice calling after you. “y/n!” he was panting when he finally got to you, “hey, wait a second baby.” you quickly wiped your eyes before turning around, your boyfriend immediately sensing something was wrong. “woah, woah, what happened?” rafe tucked your hair behind your ears, cupping your chin before using his thumbs to stroke your tear-stained cheeks.

“nothing, i just don’t feel so good-”

“it’s not that.” he cut in, eyes flickering between yours. “what happened?” rafe asked once again. you knew it was impossible to lie to him. “tell me, baby, so i can fix it.” his jaw clenched, blue orbs wide with concern. you laughed bitterly. “you can’t fix girls who gossip.” at your words, rafe blinked before looking back at the country club. “are you talking about the snobs at the table near the window?” rafe took your silence as his answer, nodding slowly before draping an arm across your shoulders.

“what did they say?” his voice was eerily calm as he walked you two over to his truck. “it’s stupid, really.” you sniffled, letting rafe place you in the passenger seat. he kept the door open, leaning on the frame as he took your hand in his. “tell me.” rafe’s voice was stern, his chest rising and falling with each breath. you sighed, avoiding his gaze as you spoke. “they said that you have to be paying me to have sex with you because apparently i’m ‘scraping’ for change since i live on the cut.”

rafe’s jaw ticked, his eyes narrowing as he took your words in. “is that it?” he cleared his throat, his vision slowly blinding him with white hot anger. “they also said that they couldn’t understand why you would want to be with a ‘pogue baker girl’.. maybe their right.” rafe’s head shot up at your last statement, his face twisting in confusion. “what are you talking about?” he took your hand in his.

“i’m not even worth half of what these girls are,” you bit your lip to keep yourself from crying again, “i don’t have rich parents, i don’t have a trust fund that ensures i don’t have to work a day in my life, who am i kidding?” you shook your head. rafe studied you for a moment. “you know what you do have?” he lifted your chin, “a heart.”

“that’s something that no amount of money can buy. you have something priceless, y/n. you carry it with you everywhere you go.” rafe pressed a kiss to your temple, mumbling a ‘i’ll be right back.’ before he shut your door. you were a mess after that, his words not only being a comfort to you, but affirming.

rafe was gone for a few minutes before he strided out of the country club, a new piña colada in his hand. “here. now we sit and wait.” you took the drink from him, taking a sip as you watched two security guards escort the group of girls out. “what did you do?” you relaxed in your seat, glancing between rafe and the scene before you.

“got them blacklisted from the club. their parents aren’t as rich as you think.” he laughed, moving his attention to you. “don’t ever question yourself like that again. please.” he turned the engine on. “where are we going?” you asked. “we are going to go get you your own card, with your own little ‘trust fund’, alright?” he nodded.

“you’ll never have to worry about anyone talking like that about you ever again.”

[buckyalpine]

Dark Dr.Bucky x innocent reader

Look, proceed with caution. Things are not always as they seem. Dirty. Nasty. Filthy. Dark. All the smut. Imagine Dr. James Barnes, highly known and well respected in his profession, devilishly handsome and so young compared to others in the same field of work.

-

"Dr. Barnes will see now" The red head at the front desk beckoned you to the room, directing you to sit on the large reclining examination chair.

"Y/n?" James strode into the office, offering a warm smile before sitting at his desk to look over your file. He nods before coming over to you again, going through the motions of checking your heart, breathing and blood pressure first. "It says you've been experiencing some lower abdominal pain?"

"Y-yes-um, lower, lower than that" You mumble out as he lightly prods at your stomach to pin point where you're feeling discomfort. You had been too embarrassed to specify where you felt cramping. You really just needed someone to prescribe you something stronger than a Tylenol.

"Are you sexually active?"

"No" You shook your head, feeling your cheeks heat up, holding back a whimper when a wave of pain made you feel like doubling over.

"Alight, I’ll examine your pelvic floor and I’ll take a blood test just to be safe. Put this robe on and then lie back for me and place your legs on the stirrups"

Your eyes grew wide at the flimsy gown he gave you, slipping it on in the bathroom, before making your way back. You’d never felt so exposed, desperately wishing you could close your legs, heat blossoming at your core when you saw him slip on gloves.

"You may feel a little discomfort but it's normal" He reassured you, applying gel to his finger tips before prodding his fingers to your entrance, the sudden coolness making you gasp.

He continued to push his fingers in, pressing against your walls, curling them, hitting a spot that nearly made you scream.

“Does that hurt?” He asked out of concern seeing your eyes glossed over, though you shook your head.

It felt good.

So good.

You struggled to bite back a whimper that nearly escaped, wishing you could stop your arousal pooling out of you the more his fingers stretched you. He shoved them all the way in before drawing them back out, your sticky slick neatly dripping onto his palm.

He hummed, using his other hand to press down on your belly making the feeling of his fingers even more prominent, your cunt starting the flutter and clench around his fingers.

You wanted to die from embarrassment at the sounds that wanted to escape, a different kind of heat starting to spread through your thighs, making your pussy feel tighter and more sensitive.

“Let me just- Without warning, he started thrust his hand, adding a third finger, pumping in and out of you till you nearly ripped the plastic from the chair from your grip alone. You felt so close, so close to something you couldn’t describe, chasing a feeling you wanted over and over again.

“D-dr. Barnes” you stuttered out, nearly squealing when he flicked your clit with his thumb before rubbing tight circles onto your bundle of nerves. “Dr. Barnes!!!”

“It’s okay, almost done” he gave you a soft smile but something in his eyes darkened as they fell to your sopping hole, his fingers moving wildly until blinding pleasure took over and you let out the scream you’d been holding in. Your juices dripped onto the table, sweat covering your body, hardly feeling the same cloth he wiped you down with.

“Your prescription should be at the front to help with the cramping” he helped you onto your shaky feet, chucking when you nearly lost your balance.

“We’ll schedule another check up for next week”

Bucky's POV

So fuckin' tight

Bucky was glad he had his white coat on or you would’ve seen his erection pressed painfully against his slacks. He didn’t need to examine anything to know what was wrong but he couldn’t help it, not with those soft doe eyes you kept batting.

As soon as you spread your legs open, he couldn’t help but get more greedy. He fully intended on just checking on you but every time you bit back a whimper, he needed more. He saw the way your eyes rolled back, the way you were soaking his hand.

Your hope shifted to chase more of them and who was he to deny you.

That button between your legs was too tempting. He told himself not to, he couldn’t go that far but he could feel you craving it and any semblance of control he had went out the window. He couldn’t just leave your cute little button untouched when it was so pretty and swollen.

He nearly came in his pants as soon as he started to play with it, working you up till you were creaming on his fingers. His jaw hardened, breathing through his nose to keep his composure as his cock started to throb, thick ropes of cum soaking his pants.

He was addicted to you.

Maybe next time he’d take care of you using his cock. Convince you only his fat thick length would make his bunny feel better. He’d have you spread out on the table again, pushing the head in to warm you up.

He’d promise his cream would make you feel good. His cum was special, you needed all of his juices and he’d give you every drop. He’d fuck you and stretch you till you were in tears, pumping you with load after load.

He pulled his semi hard, cum soaked cock out of his pants, locking the door before furiously jerking himself off again, needing to calm down before his next appointment.

He couldn’t wait for next week.

I’m so sorry, I wrote this on my break, back to work.