#Mercifully clean.

[nights-at-crystarium]

wolqotd

Living spaces. Is your WoL tidy and organized, or are they the type to casually create mess and chaos around them?

[your-internet-bf]

We hadn't always gotten along. When our parents got married, we could barely stand each other. How could we get along with some brat we barely knew? Luckily, I had an idea. I bought a clicker - you know, the one they use to train dogs? - and got to work.

I started with "thank you". Every time you said it, maybe at dinner, in the car, at a restaurant, I pressed the clicker. You couldn't tell where the sound was coming from, and nobody else seemed to know what you were talking about. But soon, I started helping you with chores around the house and when we finished, *click*. And without really thinking about it, you'd say "thank you."

A few months passed, and you'd started to notice things about me. I took care of myself. I was clean, and I exercised regularly. You'd hang around when you knew I'd be back from the gym just to catch a whiff of the sweat and metal on me when I returned - our eyes caught once when you got a little too close, and for the first time you saw something primal, a little dark, in my gaze. But it passed in an instant.

We started getting along better, now. So one day, when you were lying on the couch with a snack bowl, I snatched it up and motioned to throw it into your mouth. Well, innocent enough, right? And it wasn't like I was eating much, so it's fine, right? Every time you open your mouth to catch, *click*, *click*, *click*.

Then, I invited you to come work out with me. Every time you did a squat, *click*. I told you it was a metronome to keep your intensity up, but you noticed the bulge in my sweatpants was bigger than usual. Wait, when did you start noticing my bulge, especially enough to know that...?

Finally, it was time. I'd been listening outside your bedroom door for weeks now, and I knew when you'd be asleep. I quietly opened your door and stepped into your room, locking it behind me. You stirred at the sound of the lock clicking, but I wasn't afraid.

I gingerly pulled down the covers and just... stared for a while. I'd never taken the time to really look at how beautiful you are, how gorgeous those curves were. I could hardly stand it. As you lay on your side, I took out the clicker, and *click* it once. Laying on your side, like you were on the couch with the snacks, you obediently open your mouth.

I pull down my pants, my long, thick cock swinging between my thighs. I brush the back of my hand over your cheek, then set it firmly against the back of your head, and push into your mouth.

You wake up almost immediately, but my hand stops you from pulling back as I force inch after throbbing inch down your throat. The more you struggle, the tighter you feel, the harder I push, until you felt your nose press into my hips. You push as hard as you can against me, but I'm so much bigger and stronger than you it doesn't do anything. I don't even budge.

I start to grind into your skull, making you swallow the thick, heavy head of my cock again and again, as I groan in pleasure. I start thrusting harder and harder, making your eyes water as I slam my hips into your face again and again, until finally, mercifully, I release inside you, deep inside your throat. You feel me pulse with your whole mouth, and you struggle to swallow each load of thick, hot, sticky cum while I'm still inside you.

With a shuddering breath, I pull out, letting you breathe properly for the first time in minutes. I watch while you cough and catch your breath, and then I ask, "what do you say?"

You breathe in intending to scream, but then you hear it, just one soft *click*, and all you can say is "thank you".

You stare at me, confused. I wipe my cum off your chin with my thumb, and *click* again. "Thank you", you say.

"I knew it. You're such a good girl, aren't you? Now," I push you onto your back, "spread for me."

*click*

You raise your legs to either side, exactly like you're doing a squat.

"I don't - I don't understand," you whimper, legs still in the air.

"You don't have to," I reply, reaching one hand between your legs to feel how wet you are.

"You're soaking, little girl," as I bring my hand up for you to see... Then make you taste it. I reach back down and slip in two of my thick, strong fingers, and cover your mouth with my other hand as you moan. I press up in just the right spot, rubbing in tight, quick circles so deliciously that you can't help but arch your back and grind into me. You feel the pleasure build and all thought leaves your mind; the only thing that matters is my fingers inside you, the scent of my hand over your mouth, and the lingering taste of me.

But before you can finish I pull my fingers out, pressing up and out, leaving you twitching and gasping. "Not yet," I mutter, and I move myself down between your legs. I line up my cock, slapping it down on your tummy first. It reaches your navel, and you feel a wave of fear that only makes you wetter. I pull back, then start pushing in.

It's thick, thick, thick, and heavy. I stretch you out wider than you thought possible, pressuring you in every direction, spreading your aching cunt and making you feel full inside for the first time in your life. Long, deep strokes, moving your whole body with every thrust, reaching inside you, my breath coming fast and hard.

And you hear it again.

*click*

"Thank you," you choke out between sobs.

*click*

"Thank you," you moan.

*click*

"Thank you," you plead, tears in your eyes.

My strokes come faster now, slamming inside you like an animal as you continue to thank me for raping you. Finally, finally, finally, you feel me tense up and slam deep, deep, deep inside you, pressing your whole body into the bed, as I cum again. Huge, hot, sticky white loads of my cum shoot inside you, filling you, as my breath comes in gasps, and as I do you feel it too, now, the wave of pleasure cresting, and you cum, your legs squeezing together, your face screwed tight, moaning with the release of months of tension. And as you cum, you hear a new sound, a familiar sound, but it's deeper than the others...

*click*

And you cum harder, knowing I'm training you like a bitch in heat.

I climb up next to you, and just gaze into your eyes for a moment. Then I smile. "Let's go again."

*click*

[obsessivevoidkitten]

Animal Farm: Tuesdays

Three Yandere Dog Men x Gender Neutral Reader

CW: Noncon, knotting, nonhuman genitals, cum swallowing, spitroasting, biting, male harem, dog men, reader fucked silly, general yandere behavior, licking, scent marking Word Count: 555 (The next long awaited installment in my farm series. I hope you all love it. <3 I did not bother having this beta read, sorry for any mistakes. The original fic can be found HERE along with the links to the other installments)

You were still tired from the thorough orgy that the harpies had given. At least they provided you with plenty of gentle aftercare. But now it was Tuesday. And that meant that you were the property of the dog-men. Another day in the endless cycle of being a cumdump for horny monster men. You really dreaded time with the dogs. They always ended up biting the hell out of your neck. You entered the small cabin that the dog men inhabited and one of the cat men, Lionel, came stumbling out with a dazed look on his face and cum dribbling down his thighs. Good… maybe that would mean there urges were already taken care o- Your train of thought was interrupted when you were thrown on the bed by the most assertive of the three dog men, the one that had the ears and tail of s German Shepherd, Thorn. His claws slid under your waist band and partially pulled down to reveal your hole which he lapped at like a treat. “Fuck, I have been waiting a week for this farmer~” Apparently breeding Lionel did nothing to quell the desire to bury their knots in you. When he got tired of fucking you with his tongue he slid his dick in to the base, the bone in it jabbed you painfully until it mercifully swelled to full size. The stretch was only mildly uncomfortable. After bringing you to climax his knot inflated in you and kept the two of you tied with him periodically humping gently to enjoy the sweet friction against his knot as he plied you full of his hot seed. He gave your neck a quick bite before sliding out of you and then before you knew it one of the other two, this time the husky-like dog man, Corr, was slamming into you. But the third, Len, the fluffy one that had the features of a Newfoundland, couldn’t wait his turn. So while Corr was busy breeding your overstimulated hole Len took it upon himself to slide past your soft lips. The smell of his musky cock filled your nostrils as his nuts slapped your chin with every thrust. You whimpered and moaned lustfully into his cock as Corr started to knot you. Corr bit you on your shoulders and back as he began the long process of slowly depositing cum in waves into you as dog men did. Your body shook as you came again, but you started gagging a bit as Len knotted in your mouth. His dick twitched periodically as it sent another wave of bitter cum down your throat, leaving you no other option but to swallow. If you thought you were done you were sorely mistaken. Thorn had gotten hard again and plunged his cock right back into your now cum-lubed hole the second Corr had pulled out of it. A few hours later, when the fuck fest was finally done, the dog men all turned very loving and gentle. They licked you clean of their seed and bathed you, but they rubbed your clothes with their scent before allowing you to get dressed again. They spent the rest of the day feeding, cuddling, and caring for their little mate who was too dazed and tired from all the sex to really do much.

[zephyrchama]

Paper cuts come when you least expect them. You thought it was pathetic that a mature human such as yourself couldn't even flip a page without slicing their skin open, but old Devildom books were made of the worst paper. Super thin, and sharp like a blade when touched at the wrong angle.

The small distraction sucked you out of the novel you were reading and back into reality. You shut the book and shook your hand, waiting for the pain to run its course. These actions did not go unnoticed.

"Let me see your hand," Satan murmured. He was suddenly looming over your armchair and gently cupping your fingers.

"It's not bad, don't worry." You were more concerned about the book's pages. Satan's collection had a lot of rare and expensive tomes. The novel in your lap looked fine, but how angry would Satan get if a drop of blood spilled onto it? He might not verbally assault you like he would others, but you feared he'd sulk about it for at least a few weeks.

Satan pulled a square cloth from his back pocket. He paused to stare at it. It looked fine. Maybe a little wrinkled, but nothing that should have made him frown. "My handkerchief is dirty."

He roughly shoved it back into the pocket and instead lifted the hem of his shirt, then lightly blotted at your wound with the still-warm fabric.

"Hey! Nooo, that's just going to make your clothes harder to clean later." You went to jerk your arm back, but Satan's gentle hold turned into an iron grip. Those abs weren't just for show. "It's gonna stain! Knock it off. I can lick it or something."

"Oh, good idea." Satan's shirt slid back down as he dropped it and knelt. He rested his elbows on the seat cushion, one on either side of your legs.

"I can do it! I can do it!" You tried to stop him, but he was already seductively dragging his tongue over your fingertip. "Don't even thi-- ahhh, Satan come on!"

There was far more blood rushing through your face than in the tiny little cut. It astounded you how Satan could pull off an embarrassing action so smoothly, without hesitation.

"Are you done yet?" You didn't know if it had been five seconds or five minutes, but you thought it was long enough.

"Mmh." He mercifully stopped, giving your palm a quick peck. "Move over."

The armchair was meant for one, but it was big and cushy. If you scooted to the side it could probably fit two. "Why?"

Satan was already climbing into the space next to you, raising you onto his legs. "I'm gonna make sure it doesn't happen again. I'll read to you."

He leaned back into the chair, pulling you along with him, and curled an arm around your waist to reach the novel. "So, which page were you on?"

[radiance1]

"Old fuck!" Said Dan as he kicked down the wall to Vlad's office. Vlad only let out a sigh, apologizing for the noise and then ending the meeting right then and there. He glanced over at Dan and wrinkled his nose in distaste. "Do you truly have no concept of a door?"

"It's more fun this way," He mentioned offhandedly as he stomped his way over the Vlad's desk and slammed his hands down on it. "Do something for me!"

Vlad, silently, moured the loss of another table and those three glorious months of peace. He looked Dan in the eyes and raised an eyebrow. "And what, exactly, do you want me to do for you?"

"So you know Superman-"

"No."

Dan reared back like he'd been slapped. "The fuck!? You didn't even hear me out yet!"

"I don't need to." Vlad calmly sipped at his tea that wasn't there a second ago, and then let out another sigh. "And do stop screaming obscenities at me, it is horribly low-class and you're better than that."

"You're only saying that because I'm a fusion of you." Dan pointed out with a deadpan expression. Vlad snorted. "Obviously."

"Hear me out and I'll think about it."

Vlad sighed again, crunching away at a cookie -seriously where is he getting all of this??- before waving a hand in Dan's direction that basically said "Go on."

"Alright so Superman, you know the guy and you most certainly know his weakness." He swipped a cookie, then continued at Vlad's nod. "Kryptonite, nasty stuff yea. You know who uses Kryptonite the most out of basically everyone?"

"Lex Luthor."

"Lex fucking Luthor."

Vlad placed his teacup onto the desk, threading his fingers together and resting his chin on them as he stared the fusion down. "You know, if you wanted me to... complicate, his gathering of Kryptonite. You could have just led with that."

"Would it have worked?" Dan genuinely asked.

"I would have thought it over a bit more before my refusal." Vlad answered and Dan growled. "Just accept already you old-timer."

"Now, now. If I didn't know any better, I would think that you were perhaps, worried about the Man of Steel himself?" At that, Vlad's eyes turned red as a playful smirk graced his lips.

Dan's eyes narrowed as he lifted a finger towards Vlad acusingly. "Don't you dare try your mind control bullshit on me."

Vlad chuckled. "Oh I would not dream of it, I was merely..." Vlad's eyes shined with mirth as he deliberately paused. "Stating an assumption."

Dan hissed, translating his sheer annoyance through ghost speak while Vlad respond back with a purr. More than throuoghly pleased.

Usually, it was the other way around.

"You can go to hell with your assumptions." He leaned over the desk, destroying it even further as he his claws dug into it. "Either you deal with him or I'll do it myself."

Vlad stared him down for a good few moments, the room falling silent as they stared each other down. Vlad sighed. "Fine, I don't need your little temper tantrum leaving me with such a giant mess to clean up." He tapped a button under his desk -mercifully safe from the destruction- and waved Dan away. "Now if you will excuse yourself, I have a few calls to make, a desk to replace, you know the works."

Dan nodded and over to the giant hole in the wall before pausing. He reached out with ghost speak, sending out a violent threat through intent if he did not follow through.

Vlad simply responded with nonchalance, exasperation, and even a bit of annoyance.

A few weeks later

Lex Luthor is livid.

Someone has been buying up all of the Kryptonite before he could get to it, which should be impossible in itself. But no, then they proceeded to mess with the shipments he managed to get his hands on, interrupt deals to acquire them and even outright destroyed a few.

He has his own stockpile for emergencies, yes. But it's very noticeably dwindling.

Meanwhile with Vlad

"Now what exactly am I supposed to do with all of this?" Vlad asked himself, staring at the large pit of Kryptonite capable of filling multiple warehouses.

Honestly, it was utterly useless to him.

[btssavedmylifeblr]

Void - Part 10 - Wednesday

title banner by @rude–jude♡

Genre: Sci-fi with a little angst and a LOT of smut

Pairing: BTS x Reader (yup - all seven)

Summary: You are the only female crew member on a 12 year space mission with seven handsome men. The sexual tension is real, y’all.

Word Count: 1.9k

Part 9 /?

Part 1 Part 2 Part 3 Part 4 Part 5 Part 6 Part 7 Part 8 Part 9

Warnings: very short chapter

Mercifully, Taehyung does not wake you up with a thumb in your mouth. You wonder if you will even see him today, given he only signed the form to hide his feelings for Jimin. 

You head straight for the greenhouse, determined to avoid Hoseok for as long as possible. Will you ever be able to face him again? Maybe you should start working nights.

Luckily, there’s plenty to do in the greenhouse and you manage to work all day without interruption. Dinnertime arrives and your stomach grumbles, but you procrastinate heading for the kitchen out of fear of who may be eating there. You can’t stomach bumping into any of the men you’re fucking or any of the men you aren’t.

At a little past seven o-clock, Taehyung sticks his head into the door of the greenhouse. He furrows his brow to see your hands covered in soil. “I thought we had a date?”

“Huh?” you ask, wiping the dirt from your hands onto your pants. “I thought that was pretend. For the benefit of the crew.” 

Taehyung laughs, stepping further into the greenhouse. “Well, some of it was, but I did actually make dinner.”

“You did?” You aren’t dressed for a date. Not that you have anything else to wear. Just a different slightly less dirty jumpsuit. At least none of your clothing is covered in semen today. Yet. 

Taehyung is wearing the same jumpsuit from the accident with the rover. It’s still missing a sleeve from where it was cut off of him. It’s quite flattering on him, no surprise. His exposed upper arm has just enough muscle definition to draw your attention. It’s still in the sling but the bruising has faded. The asymmetrical look with its rough unsewn edge makes him look rather roguish. 

“Come on! The food’s getting cold!” He ducks back out of the greenhouse, waving for you to follow him.

You clean your hands with a cloth and follow him. You're surprised when he veers away from the kitchen and heads for the hangar instead.

The overhead lights in the hangar are off. The room looks so different, it takes you a minute to process what you are seeing. The Europa rover sits in the middle of the room, glowing from the inside with soft blue light.  Scattered around the room are little twinkling lights of white and blue and green. 

“Taehyung!” you gasp. “What is all this?”

“A date!” he answers triumphantly. He clambors up onto one of the large wheels of the rover and opens the door. Even from a distance, you can see a white tablecloth covering the center console, topped with more twinkling lights. He reaches down a hand to help you up. “Your chariot, m’lady.”

“This is…” You are at a loss for words as you take his hand and climb up into the rover with him. “This is so…” You examine one of the twinkling lights on the make-shift table up close. It’s one of the LEDs intended for lighting your paths down on the Europa ice sheets. At least it was rechargeable. "Taehyung, this is so much work for a fake date.” 

Taehyung laughs. “Just because we’re not bumping uglies, doesn’t mean it can't be a real date. I like dates.”

He pulls out a reusable water bottle from behind one of the seats that makes a surprising pop when he opens it. Then he pours something golden and bubbly into two champagne glasses. 

Without thinking, you take accept glass as he hands it to you, then do a double-take. “Is this champagne? Where on Earth did you get champagne? Or champagne glasses?”

He laughs, enjoying your surprise, as he takes a sip from his own glass. “Unfortunately, it’s not the real stuff, just some apple juice I ran through the carbonator.” He clinks his glass to yours as you hold it, still suspended in shock. “The glasses are from Earth though. Packed them for a special occasion.”

He stares a bit wistfully at the glass in his hand and you get a little pang of sadness. “Were you planning this for Jimin?”

He looks up at you and shakes his head, waving your concerns away. “No, no, no. I did this for you.”

“For me?”

He nods. “I’m trying to make amends.”

You’re surprised. “Amends for what?”

He sighs. “For the tape, for the jealousy, I feel like…” He gestures around at the ship in general. “I feel like a lot of this is my fault.”

“What? No.” You shake your head. “This is my fault. I started all this.” 

Taehyung gestures to one side of the console table welcoming you to sit down. “It seemed like you and Jimin were happy though, until I broke my arm and messed everything up.”

“Yeah…” You sigh as you sit down across from him. You sip your fake champagne as you remember orgasming with Jimin inside you, but Yoongi’s voice in your head. “Mostly… but there was something missing…”

“Ah,” Taehyung gives a bit of a teasing smile. “A certain flight engineer, perhaps?”

“Yeah,” you shrug nervously, running your finger around the rim of your glass and teetering on the edge of admitting your real problem. “And not just him…” 

Taehyung nods knowingly. “We do have a devastatingly attractive crew, don’t we?”

“Yes!!” You exclaim, laughing in relief at someone who finally understands. “Why did you all have to be so fucking hot?!”

“All of us?” He places a hand on his chest in fake surprise. 

“Oh shut up, you know you’re hot.” The bubbles in your glass make you feel a little tipsy even if there's no alcohol in them.

Taehyung gives an exaggerated wink, then laughs. "You are very good at seeming uninterested in anyone though. I couldn’t believe how well you held it together when Jungkook stripped in front of you for that haircut.”

A lightbulb goes off. “Oh my god, you put him up to that, didn’t you?”

Taehyung bursts into delighted giggles and you smack him on his good arm. “You did! You maniac! Are you trying to kill me?”

“Not my finest moment, I will admit. Perhaps I had ulterior motives for throwing the hunk at you. Sorry. Just one of many reasons I owe you apologetic fake champagne.” He takes another sip and smiles as he recalls the memory. “Still, you kept your cool remarkably well. If it were me, I would have had his dick in my mouth well before the end of that haircut.”

Your mouth falls open. Fuck. That’s… that’s a very attractive mental image. Your pelvic muscles flinch with a twinge of arousal. 

Taehyung sees your surprise and his eyes widen. “Oh shoot, sorry, I didn’t mean to make you uncomfortable.” He takes your glass from you and sets it down on the table, before turning to rummage with something in a cooler sitting under the seat next to him.

“Oh no.” You squirm in your seat. “I’m not… you didn’t…” you stammer. Fuck. What are you even trying to say? “I just didn’t realize you were attracted to Jungkook as well.”

Taehyung turns back to you and smiles. “I mean… how could you not be? That smile… those abs…”

You both sigh in unison, then laugh. “It’s deeply unfair,” you agree.

He nods, then wipes his mouth with the back of his hand. “What’s deeply unfair is how you have this crew wrapped around your finger.”

“What? No I don’t.”

He arches an eyebrow.

“I don’t!”

He sips his apple juice skeptically.

“No seriously! Hoseok and Namjoon won’t have sex with me even though I practically begged them…” 

He shakes his head. “I still don’t think you realize the power you hold.”

“What power?”

“I saw that video you made with Yoongi. That was incredible. When you let go of all the fear and stress and were so open and vulnerable, that was beautiful. It’s no wonder they all love you.”

Something about hearing it from someone you’re pretty sure doesn’t want to have to sex with you makes you feel like it might really be true. But the whole thing is still too embarrassing and uncomfortable to think about for too long. 

“They’re not in love with me. They’re just… I don’t know… can we talk about something else?”

“Sure.”

Taehyung sets down two plates of what looks like fine dining. Red beets sliced thin and drizzled with balsamic vinegar and a rounded mound of rice pilaf topped with a whole chicken breast.

“My god, where did you get all this?”

He smiles, pleased with himself. “Jin helped me with a bunch of it. I’ve technically given up two of my Christmas dinners for this, but it seemed worth it.” 

You are shocked again that he would go to so much effort. “You didn’t have to do all this just for the sake of our pretend relationship…”

He reaches over the table to take your hand in his. “I do want a real relationship with you though,” he says and your heart starts racing. His dark eyes hold such warmth even as the rest of him is so statuesque. But then he draws back. “Even just as a friend.” he says and you’re a bit disappointed. 

The two of you chat the rest of the evening as you savor your meal, both relieved to find someone you can be honest with. 

At one point you offer to mend his jumpsuit sleeve for him, but he declines. “I like it," he says, shrugging. "Reminds me of important lessons."

You wait for him to elaborate, but he doesn't. "I suppose it is rather dashing," you admit, trying to fill the silence. "But I suppose you would make a dish towel look dashing." You can't even blame the fake champagne for your loose tongue.

His eyes widen in delight and he laughs as he pours the last of the bubbly apple juice into each of your glasses.

“So…” he says as you take a last bite of your dessert, a delicious chocolate cake designated for some future New Year’s Eve. “Fuck, marry, kill: Namjoon, Jimin, Yoongi.”

You gasp in horror. “Taehyung, I can’t answer that!”

“Too violent? How about fuck, marry, kiss?”

“No way, not answering.” You mime zipping your lips closed. 

“I’d marry Jimin, obviously.” He continues, undeterred. “And I think I’d have to fuck Yoongi. Those hands… my god.”

“Ugh…” Just the memory makes you groan and collapse onto the table in front of you. “Tae, he’s so good with them. It’s terrible. Those goddamn hands are what started this whole mess.”

Taehyung is pleased to have finally cracked through your facade. “Though the commander… he just carries himself like he has a big dick, you know?”

“Agh…” you groan again, laughing as you stand up. “I think that’s my cue to go to bed.”

“Allow me, m’lady.” He stands up and takes your hand to help you out of the rover. He’s still holding your hand as the two of you reach the floor of the hangar. 

“Thank you again for all this.” You gesture at the twinkling lights spread over the floor, looking especially lovely now that most of the ship has gone dark. 

“Would you mind a platonic goodnight kiss?” He asks, tapping his cheek.  

You bite your lip and shake your head, feeling a whole storm of butterflies in your stomach that do not feel platonic at all. He leans in and gives you a soft kiss on your cheek. “Thank you for a lovely evening,” he murmurs close to your ear.

“Same time next week?” you ask, trying to fight down how on fire your face feels now. “I’ll cook next time.”

He grins. “Looking forward to it.”

______

Thursday is next! And it's going to be dramatic. Hopefully it will be ready soon! Thanks for reading!

[leqonsluv3r]

naughty little bunny

re4!leon kennedy x innocent!fem reader

— a oneshot

warnings: MDNI, 18+, dom!leon, sub!reader, reader is innocent but not stupid, established relationship/dynamic, unprotected sex, leon calls reader bunny, spitting (if you squint), praise, degradation, knife play, reader is female (she/her) pronouns used, spanking, scratching, some aftercare, reader has hair long enough to pull (but no other descriptions).

“she was quiet, like a rabbit. she was methodical with her actions. almost seemingly innocent as she used his knife to hide behind her back. almost as if she was going to stab someone, she heard a noise. a creak in the house. she was tiny, fragile and defenseless except for the knife sheathed behind her frame. she was ready to leap, to pounce until she heard his voice. "bunny..." slow and mercifully calling to her. she was damned.”

— or leon catches reader using his knife and decides to punish her for it

an: this is so long awaited it’s crazy, sorry for the delay my lovelies <3

masterlist taglist

she lays in bed, her body pulled tight under the covers, her body laying in a string of pale skin and tight limbs. she has hickeys over her bare body, her long hair strewn across the pillow. she keeps her eyes closed and opened as she awakes.

another morning of just lying in bed, naked and exhausted as her petite body recovers from leon’s punishment from last night. she smiles weakly at the memory, her body resting against the black sheets.

his touch ghosting over her skin from the night before. he left early in the morning as he always does. it makes her sad but she knows better, he works and does the things he does so she’ll never live like she did before.

he does it for her, he loves her deep down. even if he never says it out loud, she knows.

it’s the same everyday, she stays home. she cleans and cooks, lounges on the couch. it’s not like she didn’t want to just be a stay at home…girlfriend. but he insisted when they’re arrangement got more serious, giving that his undisclosed job was dangerous.

she didn’t ask questions. she knew better, she knew that he was protecting her. keeping her in his possession out of the fear that she would find someone better. which wasn’t possible in her mind.

she knew things, but things she probably shouldn’t because of how private he was. how much he kept things under lock and key, for her own good? probably. she could see the look in his eyes sometimes when he came home from his “work-trips”.

this look that said everything without saying anything at all. he had seen things, things that were probably beyond her comprehension. of course she had questions, doubts, who wouldn’t?

he spoiled her, gave her a home and started taking care of her. giving her a less shitty life. she doesn’t know where it’s going or why he chose of her of all women. two years ago seems so far away now, so not real and she doesn’t know if she’s just numb to it now, or if she’s just too happy with the sex, love and money to care.

eventually, she gets out of bed, pulling the black sheets off of her bare body that’s covered in hickeys and marks of leon’s love. she grabs her pale pink silk robe from the chair and ties it around her bare body.

she looks around the bedroom, sighing. he didn’t even leave a note this time. she thinks to herself as she opens up the curtains to the bedroom, looking outside at the large front yard. the large trees rustling as a small wind blew through them. her flowers that she planted in the garden; a mix of tulips and lilies.

she loved the little additions she had made to his home, their home, even after two years she had to keep reminding herself that she lived there too. even if he did pay for everything.

she protested at first, wanting to contribute, but he told her he was okay with it. that his job paid enough, so she didn’t argue. he didn’t protest when she started picking out furniture, buying her clothes, letting her plant flowers and start a small garden.

he would just smile, nod and hand his card over to her. he never argued. it was when she didn’t follow his orders that he got…upset. he would punish her, even though she was supposed to hate the spanks that left her ass red and bruising, she enjoyed it.

even though she knew deep down she shouldn’t, but she didn’t really care anymore. he was always gentle and rough in the times where it really mattered. she deep down craved it, knowing that if she ever did decide to leave him, she’d never be the same again.

he was unlike anyone she had ever met before. she moved to the bathroom attached to the bedroom, padding her bare feet across the cold tile. she took a minute to look at her appearance in the mirror. the hickeys had swarmed all over her neck like a necklace of some kind.

she lets her fingers trace them with a light touch, sending shivers at the memories of the look. she cracks a small smile. she knows that she is never going to ever forget this, forget his touch.

but she wonders, even if deep down he could ever tell her that he loves her. that he could emotionally open and just tell her. she’s gonna have to find out. but until then she’s just going to wait.

and hopefully he will.

she hopes.

later in the day, she finished cleaning, working in her garden. then she came back in, took a shower. she then blowed dried her hair and styled it as she liked. she put on a tennis skirt and just a tank top and decided to maybe take a nap for a little bit.

she was already exhausted and she had only been up and around for six hours. she let her body relax into the black duvet cover of the bed on her side. her body relaxing into the sheets again as she tried to take a nap. she needed it, at least she felt like she was obligated to it.

she had done what she needed too, taken care of almost everything about the house. she sighed and rolled to face away from the window and moving her face to press into his pillow on his side of the bed.

she inhales him on his pillow, smelling the leon smell that came with him. she smelled the hint of his cologne on the sheets and the subtle smell of his shampoo. it was hard not having him around most of the times. he had taken a week off two months ago, and that was the best week of her life.

just sex, food, sleeping and just them.

but inhaling him now, on the sheets in the bed they shared. it was almost like a drug, a small dose of it that left her wanting more.

she groaned into the sheets, upset. “fuck…” she sighed as she rolled on her back, she looked up at the ceiling of their bedroom. could he be any slower getting home? she thinks as she lets her hands drift to her inner thigh underneath her skirt.

just then as she’s about to get closer to where she really wants her hands, a slam echos through downstairs and she jumps out of bed. her heart pounding in her body as she scrambled over to where leon kept his knifes and other small weapons.

she reached into the drawer and grabbed the knife, holding it behind her back and clicking it open as she quietly opens the door. she carefully creeps down the hallway, her blood pumping fast in her veins.

her breath running fast through her throat, as her heart pounds in her ears. she creeps down the stairs. he usually called out when he was home, or he didn’t slam the door as hard. she didn’t know if it was him, if it was, he was home early.

she keeps the knife of his blade right behind her as she moves, creeping steadily as her breath comes out short. she rounds the corner to the kitchen slowly, looking to see leon standing there.

she breathed a sigh of relief and put a hand over her heart, “thank god.” she breathes out, causing him to turn around and look at her with raised eyebrows. “you okay, bunny?” he asks with a small crooked smirk on his features.

she moved the knife from behind her back to click it shut and hold it, concealing it in her palm. “i just thought you were an intruder.” she chuckles nervously as she looks at him. running her free hand over her face.

“your lucky i’m not.” he mumbled as he dropped his work bag on the counter and looked over at her. her body sheathed behind the corner to the kitchen, she hides her palm with his knife there.

“i suppose.” she hums as she smiles softly at him, her body resting half against the wall. she sheathes the knife in her palm, “your acting weird.” he observes as he looks her over with a trained eye.

she swallows and shakes her head, smiling nervously, “no i’m not, i’m just…your home early. i didn’t expect you to be.” she says with a small avert of her eyes to her feet. he clicks his tongue, shaking his head with a small smirk, he slowly saunters over to where she is.

“give it.” he says sternly as he towers over her, holding out his large hand. “i know you have something that your not supposed to. give it.” he says in a still stern voice, his blue eyes piercing into hers like knives. she feels her panties dampen at his command but she shakily obeys him, moving her palm to give him the concealed knife.

she lays it in his palm, removing her hand and letting it drop back by her side as everything within her screamed: this isn’t good. he’s mad, abandon ship! but he just sighed and shook his head as he looked down at one of his knives. “why did you have this?” he says in a low voice, holding it up in his hands in front of her face.

she shakily breathes, “i thought you were an intruder, like i said.” she says in a small breath as she looks from the knife to him, praying to god that he wasn’t mad or upset with her in any capacity. he chuckles dryly, his blue eyes glimmering a little as he raised an eyebrow at her, “and you thought a knife was going to do something? do you even know how to use this?”

he held up the knife and even clicked it open for emphasis, her breath failing her, her panties dampening at his voice. “n-no? i mean, i’ve seen movies and stuff, i thought it was…pretty simple.” she explains with a small nervous smile as she moves a little on her feet.

he hums in amusement, a grin forming on his face. “it’s anything but simple, baby. you wouldn’t stand a chance against someone with just this knife.” he says in a almost menacing voice. he holds it up to show her but then he quickly moves it to her throat.

she sucks in a breath and her eyes go wide as she looks at him, she looks at his face with fear as the cold metal kisses the pale skin of her throat. she tries to move her head against the wall to get away from the edge of the knife. “they could turn it on you in a second.” he snaps with his free hand to emphasize his point as he looms over her on the wall, she can barely feel the edge of the blade on her skin.

“i-i get it…can you…can you please get it away from me? this isn’t…funny.” she manages to get out nervously as she looks up at him, trying to be aware of the knife against her throat.

he eyes her, nodding slowly, still keeping that smirk on his face. “i’ll take it off after you learn not to put your hands on my knives when you don’t even know what the hell your doing.” he says in frustration, the veins on his arm constricting as he presses the knife in a little.

she felt her blood pumping faster and faster, her heart pounding in her ears. she nods slowly as she’s frozen in fear and she looks up at him. she knew that this was going to end up in a punishment like it always did.

she squeezed her eyes shut as she felt him drag the blade down her throat. she feels the cool metal over her collarbone and onto the bra strap peeking out beneath her tank top. she shuddered as she felt him let it go under the bra strap and the tank top strap, and with one foul swoop he sliced it open.

she gasped as the bra and tank top snapped under the blade on one side. she let her chest heave up and down in fear as she felt arousal going to her core. he watched her face, seeing her flushed cheeks and the rapid rise and fall of her chest.

he knew he was having an affect on her. he wasn’t stupid. he had been with her long enough to know when she was aroused from being punished.

“oh? you like the knife huh?” he says with a mocking tone towards her, running the blade of the knife to the other side of her chest and snapping the other side of her bra and tank top strap off. she flinched again, sucking in a breath and sending daggers his way.

“i’ll buy you a new one.” he says as if he can read the look in her eyes. she was obviously using the fact that he cut her bra off the knife as an excuse to be mad. just so he maybe wouldn’t punish her as bad, yeah, not gonna happen.

she swallows a whimper as he runs the knife over her hot skin and chest, he pulls the ruined tank top and bra down, showcasing her breasts to him fully now. “oh my, gorgeous girl. these fucking tits…” he trails off as he makes a small noise.

“perfect titties baby, all mine.” he says in a low voice as he runs the back of the knife over her nipples, the metal from the knife makes her release a small moan. she can feel them hardening, her pulse pumping from the danger and the sensation.

he chuckles lowly, “you like that? mmm, of course you do.” he says with a small look of amusement in his eyes, his hand moving the knife away from her entirely. “go bend over on the countertop, bunny. strip. you need to be punished.” he says in a demand, not as a question.

she feels her pussy pulse around nothing, practically dripping and needy at this point, a blush covering her face as she walks over to the kitchen island, stripping off her ruined tank top and bra, then sliding her skirt down her legs, then her underwear that are practically soaked through by now.

she lets them pool on the kitchen floor, he watches this with a small smirk of satisfaction and approval on his face. “bend over. you know the drill.” he says with a small grin, she nods slowly because she does know the drill, she knows what happens next.

she’s practically eager for it.

so she bends over the island in the kitchen, her nipples and breasts pressing against the cold surface and making her shiver. goosebumps erupting all over her skin at the cool air of the kitchen, her pussy and ass exposed to him as he slowly walks up behind her.

he clips the knife shut and puts it on the kitchen table before walking up behind her and rubbing his hand over the curve of her ass. “such a beautiful little ass. i think im gonna paint it red.” he says with a low voice as he grins. she bites her lip and feels his words go straight to her pussy.

he then lifts his hand up after a couple moments before bringing it down and smacking her left cheek hard, making her squeal a little. she gave up on trying to keep her noises inside, it was pointless. “mmm,” he licks his lips, rubbing over the red mark on her ass that was slowly forming.

“needs more red.” he says with a smile that was anything but genuine or gentle in this moment. he lifts up his hand again and brings it down on her right cheek this time. this causes her to release a noise mixed with a moan and a whimper. “oh bunny,” he lightly smacks both of her cheeks this time.

“this is what happens when you touch my stuff.” he says with a small mocking pout, she can’t even see his face but she can hear the cockiness, assertiveness dripping from his voice like molasses.

he spanks her again, and again and again.

until she’s practically leaking down the inside of her thigh, her cheek is pressed against the cool countertop and she’s gasping and whining. he clicks his tongue, not denying how his erection is painfully throbbing in his work pants.

“i think you’ve learned your lesson, bunny. what was it again?” he says with a small hint of amusement in his voice as he rubs his hands over the flesh of her ass, soothing over her reddened cheeks.

she sniffles and bites her lip, nearly making it bleed. “not to touch your stuff.” she manages to get out in a strained voice, he nods and smiles. “very good.” he says with a small little tap of her bare hip.

“turn around and lay on the counter for me. you’ve learned your lesson, now it’s time for your reward.” he says with a small grin, unbuttoning his pants. she nods slowly and shakily slides to stand up and turn around on her feet, wobbling a little. he braces a hand on her bare hip, “easy now, don’t fall.” he says with a small smile.

she knows he’s being a little nicer now, but she knows the switch is going to flip again and he’s gonna fuck her until she can’t walk or see straight. which is exactly what she wants and craves. and she feels relief now, relief that she wanted deep down in her bones. this was her kryptonite.

she swallows, hopping up on the counter and feeling the cool marble against the flesh of her red and stinging ass. she hisses through her teeth but accepts it and lays back, her long hair splayed throughout the counter as she feels the marble kiss the delicate skin of her back.

“good girl.” she hears him say as he pushes his pants and boxers down, looking over her body with a small bite of his lip. his praise went straight to her core, her body making her leak all over the countertop.

he released his hardened erection from his boxers, her teeth bit down on her lip in long awaited anticipation of what was about to come. he was always big to her, nothing could match how he felt inside of her.

she was practically drooling at the sight of it, keeping her legs spread on the countertop as she leaned off of her elbows. her bare back coming in contact with the cold marble countertop, as he stepped between her spread legs.

“my sweet little, bunny.” he hums lowly as he runs his hands over the plains over her stomach, admiring the way she shivered beneath his touch. “soaking all over the kitchen, so fucking messy…” she hears him say as he runs the head of his dick through her folds, making her release a small whimper.

“please. just…fuck me…” she manages to get out as she wiggles a little bit, her fists clenched uselessly at her sides as she waits for him to stop teasing her already. he shakes his head, spanking her ass lightly again, “your not in any position to make demands right now, bunny.” he says lowly, almost dangerously as he strips off his t-shirt, tossing it on the floor.

he jacks his cock a little, running the tip over her soaked folds again. the tip catches her clit and it makes her release a small moan. his low tone making her pathetically clench around nothing, she almost hated how him being mean made her so wet.

he leaned over her as she laid on the counter, his length resting hard on her folds as she feels him run his fingers over her cheek in a soft caress. “you gonna be a good girl? accept your reward?” he says with a small daring raise of his brow, an evil smirk settling onto his angelic features.

she doesn’t even have to think before she’s nodding, desperately wanting him inside of her. she wants to feel consumed by him, feel him hold her, feel him absolutely bruise her cervix. she doesn’t care anymore, her thoughts are just; him, him, him. and all on repeat.

he hums lowly, moving a little which causes his dick to prod at her soaked opening. she instinctively grabs onto his bicep at this and releases a pathetic little noise, “mmm, gonna stretch you out all over again. make sure your body doesn’t forget me.” he says in a low rasp as he leans down and lets his hand caress her jaw.

her body melts at his words, her pussy reacting to it more then herself. he taps the side of her jaw as he leans over her, “open.” she doesn’t even have to think either before she’s opening her mouth and he’s releasing spit into her open mouth.

“now swallow and then i’ll fuck you, bunny.” he says demandingly as she closes her mouth and swallows, feeling his saliva slide down her throat. she sticks out her tongue for him, showing him that she did it. he nods in an affirming way, reaching down between them and sticking just the tip in.

she almost would see stars if her eyes weren’t open, she’s sure of it. she feels her mouth fall open, her head rolling back. he pushes in just a little bit more and she wraps her ankles around his back, her hands sliding around and onto his back.

“taking it so well, knew she’d remember me.” he says in a strangled voice as he furrows his brows, pushing into her more until she was filled to the brim with him. all she could think of was she was so full, her nails slightly digging into his back, her eyes fluttering open and shut beneath him. the praise making her pussy and her head swim in delight and lust.

she could only release a strangled noise, he caresses her hair out of her eyes delicately as he leans over her, letting her adjust to his size again. “doing so good, baby. your so good.” he says in a small strangled release of his voice.

she whines and makes noises that would make a grown man blush scarlet as he pumps in and out of her at a punishing pace. his long and thick cock hitting that spot inside of her that made her see heaven and earth. her nails digging into his back and scratching deep, he lets out a low groan at this.

it doesn’t slow him down, just eggs him on. he keeps moving his hips, hitting that spot inside of her over and over again. her head is empty, all she can think of his him and his dick, feeling so fucking full and just euphoric.

“you close, bunny? gonna come all over my cock?” he says in a strained voice, she can tell he’s close too. he wants to feel her come around him, let her climax push him over the edge. she nods rapidly and releases lewd noises at his words, he reaches down and grabs her thigh that’s wrapped around his waist, pushing it up higher.

the new angle making her practically draw blood on his back, his chest heaving over her as he grunts and groans, making her whimper. every hit and punch of his dick to her cervix is bringing her closer and closer. he reaches down between them with his free hand and rubs her clit.

the sensation does what it’s supposed too, flinging her over the edge as she releases cry after cry, moaning and feeling tears of desire leak out of her eyes. she clenches around him as she comes, he groans and buries his head into her neck.

“so fucking good, gonna come inside, baby. paint your pretty walls white.” he growls against her skin as he picks up his sloppy and stuttering pace, her fingernails still digging into his back as he fucks her through her orgasm to chase his own.

his words making her back arch and her spine stiffen as he finally comes with a few more languid thrusts. releasing a small moan into the skin of her neck. his cum filling her up, making her fuller then ever and she can feel it. the familiar and foreign feeling that feels oddly comforting in a way she can’t describe.

she feels him press a small kiss to the skin of her neck, kissing his way up gently to her lips. his chest heaving from his previous release as he looks straight down at her, her eyes connecting with his in a way that makes her blush. makes her feel embarrassed after so long but oddly connected.

“i love you. you know that right?” he says and finally, finally her confirmations are there. her head moves to nod, looking up at him with a languid smile, “i know.” she whispers, her mouth dry. both of their skin covered in a thin sheen of sweat from the sex they had just had.

but the words ring out in her mind like gunshots, making her wanna cry. she doesn’t but she finally knows, all the actions and things he’s said since they’ve been together have been solidified. she feels like she could die a happy woman if she passed away right now.

he smiles, a rare occurrence, down at her. he leans down and presses a slow kiss to her lips, tasting her and conveying another message through his actions instead of his words.

after he pulls away from the kiss, he slowly pulls out of her. it leaves her oddly vulnerable and cold, he notices the change and grabs a paper towel from the roll on the kitchen island and wipes the inside of her thighs and where she was leaking with his release.

“feel better?” she hears him ask, she nods with a small lovesick grin on her features. she absolutely feels better. not a thing is wrong for her right now. she feels like she’s where she needs to be, right here with him.

“yeah, much better.” she says softly, a scarlet covering her cheeks as she sits up on the counter. this prompts him to pull his boxers and pants back up, tucking himself away. “i love you too…” she starts and his head peeks up and looks at her as she sits on the counter.

a cheeky smile before she continues, “in case you didn’t know.” she adds with a small giggle. he rolls his eyes playfully and steps in between her bare legs, moving some of her sweaty hair away from her forehead, “i did know babygirl, but thank you for telling me.” he whispers sweetly.

and he’s only sweet with her, she knows that. she knows she is special to him, just as he’s special to her. his girl, his bunny, his love. everything that he wants her to be, she’ll be for him. and she’ll do it with pride. because he loves her and she loves him just as much.

if not more.

an: go to this post to join the taglist (also linked at the beginning with my masterlist), pls reblog and follow for more, my asks are open in my bio. i missed posting oneshots, this one (amongst others) has been sitting in my drafts for the longest. so my apologies. i love you all <33

taglist: @heartsforvin



[mxstellatayte]

Carlos and quote 13

nsfw under the cut <3 minors can lurk but please do not interact!

you really shouldn't be doing this.

you really shouldn't be at his house again, moaning his name as he fucks into you better than anyone could ever fuck you, making sure your hips are bruised and your body is sore the next day.

yet here you are.

"oh, fuck, carlos, please!"

"what is it? what do you want from me?" his left hand holds both of yours above your head, both wrists contained with his own large palm, and his right kneads at your breasts while his hips fuck into you ruthlessly. "or are you too dumb from my cock to know?"

"need to cum," you nearly sob, the pleasure and pain making tears form in the corners of your eyes.

"so do it," carlos replies, his hand leaving your breast and immediately finding your clit, rubbing the tight circles he knows gets you off almost immediately. within seconds, you cum with a cry of his name, your shoulders burning as they fight to pull your arms from his grasp. when he mercifully releases your wrists, your hands immediately fly to grip at his broad shoulders to ground yourself through your orgasm. the sound of you moaning his name and spasming around him sends carlos into his own orgasm, and you fall limp at the feeling of his cum warming you from the inside.

eventually, carlos pulls out of you as gently as he can, and you gasp at the overstimulation and the feeling of both of your fluids seeping out of you before he gently presses them back in with two fingers. "i'll be right back, okay? i'm gonna go get a towel to get you cleaned up." your heart stirs once more at the immediate change of demeanor, the harsh and almost ruthless attitude giving way to a much more gentle and caring side of him. when he comes back, warm washcloth in hand, carlos can't help but smile at your closed eyes and blissed-out expression, knowing that he's the only one who can fuck you this thoroughly. you don't startle when he gently wipes at your inner thighs and does his best to clean you of any sweat, folding the washcloth so that only a fresh part touches your skin. after throwing the washcloth into his hamper, he settles into the sheets with you, eyes widening when you lift yourself on top of him and begin gently rubbing yourself on his strong thighs.

"still?" you hum quietly in false confusion, holding his forearms tight in your grip. "you're still needy? oh, cariño, i just fucked you."

"i haven't seen you in a month," you quip without halting your movements. "it's not my fault you can fuck me better than anyone ever has and ever will."

"so you admit it."

"just shut up and fuck me already."

little author's note on this one! i really enjoyed writing this blurb, so if you guys want to see more of this dynamic and maybe how their relationship came to be, let me know! my asks are always open <3

[ghcstao3]

Price survived the sarin gas inhalation but it benched him for quite some time so Ghost had to take over the CO's responsibilities.

so now Gaz joins Ghost and Soap on missions and is forced to listen to their horrible jokes on comms.

but one day Soap says something so smutty to Ghost that Kyle is convinced Soap's days are numbered but to his utter surprise Ghost rolls with it.

Gaz suspects that Soap's and Ghost's bond is deeper than they let on.

don’t worry, happens to the best of us haha. love this idea btw im so sorry it took me so long to get to it 😭

-

Gaz has seen and heard… a lot during his time in the military.

From having witnessed the much more traumatic gore and destruction and men gone mad with power to the decidedly less impactful crude jokes and stupid things soldiers get up to in their downtime, Gaz doesn’t think much could surprise him anymore.

As it would turn out, however, there’d been one thing that he’d left unaccounted for: his lieutenant and fellow sergeant’s flirting.

Now, he’s heard Ghost’s awful jokes before. He’s heard the offhand teases and ‘buy me a drink first’s, but without Price as the voice of authority, Gaz discovers that there is far, far worse to be said between the two of them—specifically by Soap.

The team’s first mission without Price, with the captain still in early recovery, Gaz gets the general sense of testing the waters. The mission itself goes off without a hitch—they couldn’t call themselves an elite task force for nothing—but the comments not meant for Gaz but still said over comms are certainly… something. Bordering on raunchy. But it’s fine, whatever, Gaz has heard far worse from soldiers who aren’t even friends, let alone whatever Ghost and Soap are.

The second mission is already worse.

Soap seems to have taken Ghost’s silence as permission to continue with his over-the-top flirting, and Gaz has already begun to worry at what point it becomes too much. At what point Soap will cross the line, and at what point Gaz will have to figure out what to wear to his friend’s funeral.

The second mission, none of the above occurs. They all make it out alive and with minimal injuries—though Gaz could argue his brain has already been scarred by what Soap seems to deem appropriate to say to his lieutenant.

It’s the same thing for their next few outings. Price is doing better but is still out of commission, and Gaz cannot wait until he’s back, it’s started to get so bad. He’s heard more than he wishes to forget. He thinks it’d do him well to have his mind erased, scrubbed clean of Ghost and Soap’s worsening banter, but alas.

But up until this point, anyway, he’s chalked it all up to the lack of Price in their ears not letting them get away with the awfully filthy talk and increasingly terrible jokes.

Gaz is fearing for his own life when it happens.

Mercifully, Price is green-lighted to go back into the field at some point during the task force’s current mission, so Gaz has been counting down the days until finally, finally someone with a voice of higher authority than Ghost’s can cut through the line and tell them to either knock it off or keep it to their own channel.

They’re almost in the clear, Gaz thinks, and just as he does is when Soap says something that no way in hell Ghost should be tolerating.

“—bet you’d like that, wouldn’t you, LT? Havin’ me on my knees, cryin’ and beggin’ for mercy?”

Honestly, it isn’t the worst Soap has said these past few months. Not by far. But it’s the directness and very clear implication of what he means that sets Gaz on edge—because surely, surely even Soap couldn’t possibly outright proposition Ghost with a blowjob and not be reprimanded for it.

Yet for some reason, Ghost’s response is not keep it tactical, but rather, “Ask nicely and you might get it the other way ‘round.”

Gaz isn’t sure how to move on normally from hearing that, but he manages, somehow. The only good thing to have come from Ghost’s reciprocation is that it manages to make Soap go quiet for the remainder of the mission, unless there’s something critical to be mentioned.

It doesn’t click for Gaz right away, too focused on the mission and figuring out the most effective method of brain-bleaching, but hopping off the heli back at base and watching Soap drag Ghost off to god knows where is certainly telling of something that he’d missed all this time.

He’d bring up to Price later, he thinks. The captain ought to know if Ghost and Soap were really a thing—and if not yet, well.

They probably would be soon enough.

[aliensupastar]

shouldn’t feel like a crime

Rating: Mature

Pairing: Carmy Berzatto/GN!Reader

Word Count: 2.1k

Summary: You finally try Carmy’s cooking. Follow-up to “not wrong, but not right”

Part I Part III

Warnings: minor angst, comfort, fluff, depiction of an eating disorder, food and eating, healing?

A/N: first off, thank you all so much for the love on the first part! i wrote it as a comfort during a difficult time and it was so nice to see people enjoy it. i didn’t intend on writing more for it, but a few people asked for it and i finally got an idea for a follow-up! as a disclaimer, i wrote most of this before season 2 came out and edited it afterwards, but there are no spoilers. gif by emziess <3

Carmy is a good boss. You know this, you’ve known it for months. His sometimes-abrasive idiolect aside, he runs the restaurant like he cares about every brick that built it, every burner the crew uses to make each dish, every ticket that comes through that god-forsaken machine on the expo station. It makes any screaming match easily forgivable, and any nightmare lunch rush endurable. 

What you didn’t know was that Carmy could also be a good friend. Since your stint in the emergency room he’s made good on his agreement with you, without ever being overwhelming. He’s instead mercifully subtle. There’s a few bottles of lemonade kept in the office’s mini-fridge now, for when you get dizzy. He’s lent you that coat of his a few times, when the night air ends up chillier than you predicted that morning, and you’ve left your own jacket at home. And he never fails to give you a look, during the busiest hours at the restaurant, communicating quickly, and quietly: Are you good? And you know if the answer is no, he’ll let you take a breather without a single complaint, but you always respond with a quick nod and push through the rest of the shift.

In turn, you do your best not to worry him. You take vitamins and get better sleep and try to stop pushing yourself to the brink of passing out. You even eat one of your safe foods in front of him, at family while everyone else enjoyed the samosas Ebrahaim had cooked up that day, and for once it felt good to eat; the constant playful bickering and banter a welcome distraction from the usual stress that follows your meals. 

It’s nice. Maybe you don’t necessarily feel like you’re getting better, just more… stable. Less like you’re in a free-fall and more like you’ve got both feet on solid ground. 

When you go to leave after closing up one night and find that it’s raining, impeding you from making your usual trek to the train station, you turn back and head to the office. And a few months ago, you might’ve been too nervous around Carmy to even ask to stay in the restaurant an extra hour, preferring to brave the cold rain and let your clothes get soaked and heavy rather than hang around. You’re relieved, now, to find Carmy right where you left him when you said goodnight just a minute ago, ready to save you from a miserable trip home. 

“What’s up?” He asks when he spots you. 

“It’s raining.” You tell him, nodding your head in the direction of the back door. “Didn’t bring an umbrella. Do you mind if I stick around for a bit, just ‘till it stops?” 

“Yeah, it’s no problem, I’ll be here finishing up for a while, anyway,” He says, then continues after a brief pause. “Y’know you really gotta stop relying on that iPhone weather app.”

You scoff, shaking your head at his teasing. 

“You know I’m too lazy to start using another one.”

“I’m just sayin’.” He pushes out of his chair and walks past you, into the kitchen, grabbing a sponge and the container of soap water he uses to clean the countertops. 

“You want help?” You offer, already taking off your coat and tossing it onto the office chair. 

“Nah, you already clocked out. Don’t worry about it.” He replies, not even looking up as he begins to scrub, but you pick up a sponge anyway and get to work on the counter behind him. 

You fall into a comfortable silence for a while after that, only broken by the sound of rough sponges scraping away at the grime and the faint patter of rain on the roof of the building, and part of you wishes you had more opportunities for this. More time spent with him, outside of the hustle and bustle of the restaurant, even if it’s spent cleaning. His presence has become something you’d rather not avoid, even if it makes your heart race; the unique scent of him on the coat you’ve borrowed is becoming familiar, comforting. 

“Glad it wasn’t busy today.” Your train of thought is interrupted by his sudden comment, but you quickly nod. 

“Practically a miracle, for a Friday.” You agree, hearing him chuckle behind you. 

“Didn’t need that shit today, anyways, not while I’m on,” He says. He was working the stovetop today, alongside Sydney, making an efficient team as they churned out dishes quicker than the customers could file in. It made your day a little easier, the delicious aroma wafting from the kitchen while you savored the downtime granted by the slow day. 

“I’ve never tried your cooking,” You say offhandedly, but your words make him pause and look back at you, eyebrows raised in surprise. 

“Really?” He asks, and you nod. “You’ve worked here for months, though.” 

“I know.” You shrug. 

“How come?” 

That makes you stop scrubbing, turning slightly to look at him. 

“Think you know the answer to that one, chef.” You tease, before continuing to work. He huffs out a laugh, but keeps staring at your back while you scrub. 

“I could make you something.” He finally says, and it makes you truly stop, turning to face him fully. 

“Y’all just cleaned this whole kitchen.” Now it’s his turn to shrug. 

“I don’t mind.” You give him an incredulous look.

“I- If you think I’m gonna help you clean the stove and the plates again, you’re wrong.” Carmy just shakes his head, tossing his sponge back into the container of water and grabbing a few clean pans. 

“C’mon, I can’t have you walking around saying you’ve never tried the food at the restaurant you work at,” He says. “You like spaghetti?”

He’s casual in the way he asks, but you’re still standing by the counter, eyebrows raised in shock. Your mind is starting to race, the way it does every time you’re faced with food, but Carmy’s already pouring olive oil into a saucepan and brandishing his chef knife to chop an onion. 

You approach the stove he’s standing at carefully, like it might just burst into flames, and you can already smell the familiar scent of garlic and olive oil and god, he’s only been at it for a minute and it already smells like heaven in this kitchen. 

“Smell good?” 

“Yeah,” You practically breathe out. “Shit, smells amazing.” 

He smiles at that, a rare thing to see on his face. He’s thoughtful for a moment, before saying:

“This is, uh, Mikey’s recipe, actually.” 

Your eyes widen, a bit taken aback by his mention of his late brother. At least, his mention of Mikey to you. 

You’d learned about what happened to Michael just a few weeks after being hired, after having witnessed the heavy silence that overtook the room when he’d been mentioned, and asking Marcus after work what all that had been about. Since you received your explanation, you’ve tried to mind your own business when the melancholy that came with Michael’s memory returned, giving those who seemed to know him best room to process before getting back to work. 

Carmy’s never talked about Mikey to you directly; no one has. You’re not sure what to say. 

“Mikey, that’s… your brother, right?” You ask hesitantly, even if you already know the answer before Carmy nods. 

“Yeah. He used to run this place, before it was The Bear.” He tells you. 

“Before?” Your confusion and surprise seeps into your tone. “What was it before?”

“Still a restaurant, but, quick service. Italian sandwiches. We weren’t called The Bear, we were-“ He chuckles, caught up in reminiscing. “We were called The Original Beef of Chicagoland.” 

“No shit! This used to be The Beef?” He nods his confirmation and you’re instantly brought back, the memory faded like an old photo that’s been shoved into storage and forgotten. The only thing that wasn’t hard to recall was the sandwich you’d ordered, practically dripping with flavor, the exact kind of comfort food you’d needed that day.

“Been here before?” He asks.

“Yeah, I just- I didn’t recognise it.” You’d sat at a table across from the friend that dragged you to the slightly shabby establishment, silently relishing in the deliciousness of your food before the panic could set in, so enraptured by it you didn’t even care about the booming voice coming from behind a door that presumably led to the kitchen. Not even when the person it belonged to came out to the front and-

“Mikey, was he like, tall? Black hair?” You suddenly ask, gesturing how tall you’d remembered the man being, and now Carmy’s the one that’s confused. 

“Uh, yeah. You- you knew Mikey?” He sounds a little breathless when he asks, but you shake your head. 

“No, but when I came here before, he was still running the place, I guess. And just… loud as shit. Hard to ignore,” You look up and meet Carmy’s eyes. “Hard to forget.” 

You both share a laugh at that, at the memory of his brother that he loved, and that you barely even knew. 

“Yeah, that definitely sounds like him.” The sweet smile stays on his face as he chops and sautées, refusing to let you do more than start boiling the spaghetti for him. All you can do is watch the pasta and watch him as he navigates his brother’s recipe like it’s pure muscle memory. 

As much as you like to steal glances at him during opening prep, you don’t get to see as much of him during service hours. You’re just as busy working front-of-house, keeping people happy and keeping Richie off your ass, as he is while he’s trying to keep up on dishes. You don’t get a ton of chances to see him like this, in his element. He plates the finished spaghetti perfectly, in two bowls, so you know he won’t let you eat alone. 

Still, the anxiety in your stomach rises when you accept the fork Carmy hands you, and you can’t help but pause. He does, too, and you know he easily recognises the cause of your trepidation. 

“What’s up?” He asks, his voice gentle. You shake your head, trying to rid yourself of the conflict in your mind, but you can’t stop yourself from saying it. 

“Do you… just, maybe have an idea of-“

“I have no clue how many calories are in this.” He answers your question before you can even ask it, and you can’t help but let out a breath of amusement — at yourself, at him for somehow knowing. 

It’s his gentle smile, one that lacks judgment or pity, that pushes you to finally swirl the spaghetti around your fork and take a bite and-

Oh my god. 

You can’t help the moan that escapes you during that first bite, ignoring Carmy’s chuckle at your slight dramatics. You can see why he’s hot shit in the restaurant world; the dish barely looked fancy or complicated when he’d made it, certainly not as complicated as anything on the menu, but somehow it tastes better than any pasta you’ve ever had. You would say you’re in disbelief, but you don’t pause long enough to think about anything but this, how amazing every flavor bursting on your tongue is.

Carmy finishes his pasta before you do, but he stands next to you till your bowl is empty, before taking it over to the dish pit and beginning to scrub down all the dishware he’d used. And you stand there for a second, staring at his back, unable to process all the emotion filling you as he washes your bowl. The bowl he let you get dirty, because he wanted you to be able to try his food. 

The utter warmth flooding your senses is almost overwhelming.

Then, despite your earlier protests, you pick up the sponge he abandoned earlier and get to scrubbing the stovetop down again. You ignore the few warm tears that escape your waterline in the process. 

You mindlessly follow Carmy around as he walks through each room, shutting off lights and locking the front entrance and office doors. When you inevitably make your way to the back exit, you push open the door only to find that it’s still raining, worse than it was hours ago. You can only sigh and lean your head against the doorway in defeat. 

“Need a ride?” Carmy offers easily. 

You think back to the frame that sits on the countertop out front, holding a slightly crumpled index card: “I love you, dude. Let it rip.” Words you’ve seen nearly every day since your first on the job; you just now realize they’re probably Michael’s.

It feels like too much. The letting you stick around, the pasta, the… everything. 

You nod anyways, accepting Carmy’s offer, letting him lead you to his car, and he lets you lead the way home.

[widowbitessting]

Sugar Mommies Season 2, Pt:6

Polite Reminder That All My Work - Especially For Sugar Mommies - Is 18+! Minors Do Not Interact.

“Hey darling, are you busy?”

You look up at Carol with a glare, pink barbie toothbrush in your sweaty palm; white bristles blackened from the grout you were being made to clean. 

You bite back the urge to swear at her, instead opting to force a toothy smile to your face. 

“Not really no, why?”

Carol, ever so smug, leans against the door frame with her arms crossed. 

“Are you sure, kitten? You seemed hard at work when I came in.”

“What do you want, Carol?” You can’t help the bite in your words. 

You’re really not in the mood.

“Oh stop pouting, princess; you earned this punishment yourself.”

She may have a point there. 

Carol continues on, “I warned you not to push me. And what did you do?”

“I didn’t listen, obviously.”

“Lose the attitude or I’ll have you clean the sidewalk too.”

“…sorry.”

A raised eyebrow makes you continue your apology. 

“Sorry Captain, I’ll stop being a brat.”

“There’s my good girl.” Carol crouches in front of you, balancing perfectly on the tip of her toes. You really have to fight the temptation to push her over. 

God. Your inner brat is thriving. 

“Tell me, my good thing. When do your classes finish?”

You brush some loose strands of hair from your glistening forehead. 

“Finish? For break?” 

“No love, when do you finish for the weekend?” 

“Oh!” 

“And did I say you could stop working? You’re still in your punishment, darling.” 

You automatically go back to scrubbing, pushing the bristles of the toothbrush into the cracks between the tiles a little more harder than needed.

“Answer the question, baby. I know that dumb brain struggles to comprehend simple questions sometimes but c’mon; I know you can do it.” 

“I…” You have to wrack your brain to think, “Wednesday. I think. I’m sure my Friday classes are cancelled.” 

“Think you can find out before the end of the day for me baby girl?” 

You look up at Carol and nod. 

“Sure. Why the rush?”

“I’m thinking of whisking you away after your last class until Monday. Does that sound good?” 

“A holiday?” 

“A mini one, yes.” 

You jump up and grab Carol into a hug, toothbrush clattering to the floor behind you.

She wraps her arms firmly around you.

“Where are we going?” 

“Do you really want me to tell you or do you want it to be a surprise?”

You don’t do well with surprises. 

At all.

“Just tell me!” You pause. “Please.” 

“Such a good girl, using her manners.” Carol presses a kiss to your nose. “I’m taking you to go and see Nat and Wanda.” 

You squeal so loudly you’re sure only dogs can hear it. 

Carol seems to be prepared for it as she doesn’t wince, instead choosing to grin down at you. 

You’re all but vibrating with excitement.

“We’re going to see them?!”

“Yes, sugar. Thought the news would cheer you up. Get you to stop pouting.”

“I wasn’t…” You trail off, fighting the urge to push out your bottom lip.

“Yes you were, my darling. Such a pouty little baby, hmm?”

She’s doing this deliberately. 

You’re already in trouble - your current predicament proves this - and Carol probably has another two, if not three, punishments already thought out. 

You’re really stumped at how to reply. 

Mercifully, Carol decides she has toyed with you enough.

“How about this: the sooner you finish your punishment, the sooner you can speak to Natasha and Wanda. I’m about to go and call them to discuss our trip…it’d be a shame if you were too busy pouting and being grumpy to speak to them, wouldn’t it?” 

“Huh?”

“You heard me. Get scrubbing, little girl.” 

“But I’ve only done half!” 

“Scrub fast.” 

She leaves you and the bathroom and you can only stare after her.

A second later, you hear her shout, “They have a present for you too, bunny!”

You perk up at the mere mention of a gift. 

“A present?” You call out, peering out of the doorway as Carol saunters away.

“Mhm. although, if you’re not there on the call with them then they might just return it…” 

You know she’s lying.

Heck, a toddler would be able to tell she’s lying. 

“You’re bluffing.” 

Carol turns to look at you. 

Her face is smug. 

So.

Freaking.

Smug.

“Try me sugar; see where that gets you.”

*

It’s safe to say, you never want to clean grout ever again. 

Your knees are throbbing, back sore like an 80 year old woman who's worked every day of her life; and you’ve cracked enough nails to know that Carol can pay for your next manicure appointment. 

You might even throw a pedicure and a chiropractic appointment in there too. 

But does that stop you barrelling out of the bathroom at full speed, with the toothbrush clattering behind you?

No. 

It does not. 

When you stumble into the room, Carol is saying her goodbyes and is about to press the hang up button.

“I’m here!”

“Timing on that, baby girl; you almost lost your present.”

You go to tear her phone from her hand but Carol moves it just out of your reach.

“Say please.”

“Please, Captain.”

“Good girl,” she pecks your cheek and hands you the phone. “You talk to them and I’ll inspect your work. Make sure you didn’t cheat and take any shortcuts.”

“I’m offended you’d ever assume I’d do that.”

The smirk on your face makes Carol roll her eyes and tap your nose. 

“I’ll be back in a minute.”

“Okay! The bathroom is glistening.” You say. “Take your shoes off!”

The faint “No!” has you giggling as you place Carol’s phone against your ear.

“Hi!”

“Well hello, naughty girl.” Natasha’s voice fills your ear. 

Your smile is officially cemented to your face. 

“I -”

There really isn’t any point in denying it.

“Yeah.”

Natasha tuts at you. 

“My, my, what are we going to do with you, hmm? A good grout scrubbing is a fairly decent punishment…but I know for a fact if I asked you to FaceTime us right now…you’d be smiling. You haven’t learnt your lesson, have you, kitten?”

“…I have…kind of.”

“Mhm. That really is believable.”

“I’m glad you think so.”

“Then switch this to a FaceTime kitten. Prove me wrong.” 

Those final three words really are like the nail in your coffin. 

They grate down your bratty side, taunting and teasing you, and it makes your eye twitch. 

There’s no denying that Natasha did it purposely. 

In fact, you know she did. 

She knows how it works on you. 

Knows that you’ll be her good little submissive and do as she says.

Natasha knows you better than yourself at times.

Which is why, the second you press the FaceTime icon on the screen, you know you’ve made a huge mistake.

Natasha’s perfectly beautiful face comes into view, as does Wanda’s.

You can see them.

And they can see you.

Your eyes automatically lower in submission, smile sliding off your face. 

It doesn’t go unmissed by Natasha, eyebrow raising slightly as a smug smirk forms on her lips.

“Well, hello there, little brat.” 

“Hi…”

“Use my title.”

Your brain takes a second to buffer.

“Your…huh?” You risk a peek up and quickly look away again.

“My title. Just like I trained you to do.”

“...daddy.”

“Now use it in a sentence. Go on, kitten.” 

“..hi daddy.”

“There we go, pet. That wasn’t so hard now was it?” Natasha says, “we miss you, pumpkin.” 

All humiliation is quickly forgotten.

“I miss you two, too.” 

“But we will see you soon!” Wanda shouts, jumping up and down. “Wednesday, Carol says.”

“That’s in like 3 days!” You let out an excited squeal and flop down onto the bed, your h/c hair fanning out around your head. “I don’t think I can wait that long.” 

“Well there might be something to help…ease your tension, baby girl.” Natasha says. “Check under the bed for me?” 

You had completely forgotten about the gift.

“Oh!” 

You leave them on the bed as you dive underneath, snatching the gift bag before resurfacing with it clamped tightly in your hands. 

“I love presents!” 

“We know you do, baby.” Natasha smiles.

“Open it, I can’t wait to see what you think!” Ever Wanda the impatient one. 

You tear into, gift paper soaring over your head and as you reach into the bag, you tilt your head in confusion. 

“What is it?”

You inspect the wrapped package.

“It’s a toy.” Natasha says.

“A toy?” 

Looking back at this moment, you’re ashamed of how long it takes your brain to connect the dots and figure out what kind of toy it is. 

“What? Like a My Little Pony?” 

“No but it’s something else you can ride.” Wanda says with such a straight face, her joke washes over you.

“Oookay…” 

You tear the paper open and all but drop the box as if it electrocutes you, when your eyes see the word ‘g-spot’. 

“Oh my god.”

You’re red. Blushing crimson as you hastily cover your face and let out an embarrassed laugh. 

“You owe me $5.” Wanda says smugly. “I knew she wouldn’t act cocky.”

“Is that what I think it is?” You mumble, still hiding behind your hands.

“A sex toy?” Natasha says. “Yes, yes it is. We want you to try it out for us. Now.” 

That makes you peek up through your fingers. 

“Now?” 

“Yes, baby. Now. We haven’t had the time to play with you in so long. We miss you.” 

“I - I miss you but, on camera?” 

“You can do that for us, can’t you?” Natasha is staring at you. “If you’re uncomfortable, remember your signals, my love.”

“I - I’m okay, I just…”

“Shy?” Wanda asks. 

You look at the toy again and can’t help but smile in embarrassment. 

“...yeah…” 

“It’s just us, baby girl.” Wanda says. “You’re with us, you’re safe.” 

“Why don’t you open the box, hmm?” Natasha suggests, “have a look at what we got you.”

Your hands are shaking. 

Because why wouldn’t they?

The item is pink. 

Soft to touch, incredibly soft in fact. 

You keep the toy on your lap, so the two women watching you intently can’t see it.

“It’s big.” 

“It’ll fit, don’t worry. Once you’re worked up and ready to take it, it’ll fit.” 

“Can you read the name out for me?” Natasha asks.

You quickly look up and meet their eyes. 

“Why?”

“Because I’m selfish and I love to see my baby girl blush, that’s why.”

You push your face into your hands in an attempt to hide. 

“The G -” 

“Nu-uh.” Natasha stops you. “Let us see that beautiful face.” 

You shake your head.

“No?” 

You shake your head again.

“Look at me and say no. Go on, detka.” 

“I…can’t.”

“And why not?” 

“‘Cos…” 

“Wow, such a good reply. Stumped us there, baby girl.” Wanda’s reply makes you smirk, even though you try your hardest not to. 

“Now you’re ignoring orders?” Natasha’s voice wipes the smirk clean off your face. “Look at me and repeat what you said. Last chance, Y/N.”

“Hey!” Your head snaps up and you shoot the redhead a glare before quickly looking away. “Don’t full name me!” 

“She just did, sugar. Answer her. Now.”

You - somehow - manage to drag your eyes to Natasha and for one brief second, you hold her gaze.

And then quickly look down. 

Submitting. 

“That’s what I thought.” Natasha licks her lips. “Now show your doms your beautiful face so we can see that pretty little blush.”

You do as you’re told, even if your bottom lip is sticking out a little. 

“There she is.” Natasha smiles. “Our blushing beauty.” 

“I’m not b -” You sigh. “Okay, fine, I am.”

“And we love it.” Wanda says. “Think you can read it out for us?”

“Signal in, detka.” Natasha orders. 

“Green…I’m just…”

“Shy, we know, my love, we know. But you’re okay. If you don’t want to read it out you don’t have to.” 

“I want to. Believe me, I do.”

“Go for it then, sweetie. At your own pace.” 

“The…um…the G-Spot Massager…” 

“God, you’re such a good girl.” Natasha coos. “You did so well for us, honey.” 

“Do you think you wanna try it out for us?” Wanda asks. 

You meet their eyes.

“Yes.” 

[loveydoveysortastuff]

Feast Upon You...✨

Anon: How would Wanda react to someone hitting on her girlfriend? 🔞

Rating/Warnings: NSFW. Public sex, eating out, fingering, jealous Wanda. Pairing: Dom!Wanda MaximoffxSub!Reader Word Count: 1364

This is my first fic so please be nice! Comments and feedback are welcome :)

If you have a prompt, send me an ask! - Kara ✨🌛

✨Wanda would quite literally freeze on the spot.

 ✨Walking back from the bar with both of your drinks in her hand, when she spots the jerk putting his arm around your shoulders, she’d quite literally stop moving.

✨And glare directly at the man who is trying to put his moves onto you.

 ✨The glasses in her hand would creak and groan against her strong grip and Wanda (not so secretly) wills one of them to break, just so she can shove one of the sharp shards through his eye socket.

 ✨You let out an awkward laugh and try your best to create room in the already enclosed space of the booth.

✨It does little to make a gap between you both; his leering body chasing you, eager to keep you pressed to him.

 ✨Wanda catches the moment you heave at his smell: a grotesque combination of sweat and stale alcohol filling your nostrils.

 ✨When you finally glance at your girlfriend, your eyes are full of irritation.

 ✨That look alone makes Wanda move again; legs moving quickly as she strides towards the two of you.

 ✨The man doesn’t look from you when she clears her throat, in an attempt to be polite.

 ✨Or when she slams the two drinks on the table.

✨He barely flinches when Wanda says: “Hey, dickbag.”

✨Instead, he cosies up closer to you, reaching a finger to trace it down your jawbone.

 ✨And mercifully, that’s Wanda’s final straw.

✨Her eyes glow red and it illuminates the dark corner the three of you are in; and finally, that ominous glow catches his attention.

✨“Can I help you?”

✨You can pinpoint the exact second he registers that it’s Wanda Maximoff glowering down at him; not some random stranger.

✨He all but jerks, face paling like a mother’s face in her early weeks of pregnancy, and you can’t help but giggle at that.

 ✨“Not so cocky now are you?”

✨“I didn’t - "

✨ “Didn’t what? Believe my girlfriend when she said she was waiting for me? I suggest you move. Now.”

 ✨He falters and that alone makes Wanda’s anger spike.

✨The red consumes her eyes and clouds around her fingers; and the man, lets out a pathetic whimper before his body is thrown from Wanda’s seat and out of the double doors to the bar.

 ✨Wanda doesn’t even check to see if he’s okay, doesn’t give the blatant stares and whispers a second look, as she grabs you by the arm and all but drags you into the back.

✨Shoving you into the vacant (and mercifully very clean) disabled toilet.

 ✨Smashing her lips to yours seconds before the door can even fully shut. Wanda not caring if anyone sees.

 ✨It takes your breath away and you stumble backwards; feet tripping over themselves as Wanda completely takes charge of you, hands gripping the back of your neck so tightly it’s borderline painful.

 ✨"Who owns you?” She growls as your ass bumps into the small sink on the wall.

 ✨"You do, mommy.”

✨"Such a good girl for me, aren't you, prinzessin? My good girl."

✨"Yes, mommy. I'm yours. Always yours." 

✨Her lips move down to your neck and she bares her teeth.

 ✨It drives Wanda wild, licking and nipping at your skin that is scented with the perfume you always wear.

✨Your head lulls back, eyes rolling shut, a happy sigh escaping your lips.

✨Wanda knows your neck is your weak point, knows that all she has to do it grab it with her hand or bite down with her teeth, are you're nothing but putty in her hands.

✨"Did he hurt you?" she asks.

✨Your brain falters and Wanda nips you, causing you to let out a pained gasp.

✨"I asked a question, baby. Answer it."

✨You force your brain to focus.

✨"I - no, he didn't, mommy."

✨"Are you sure, baby?" Wanda asks as she moves to the other side of your neck. "Waste of space, hitting on what's mine."

✨"I'm sure."

✨She hoists you with little to no warning, picking you up and settling you on the edge of the cupboard as her lips find your own again.

✨"I want to taste you." She tells you, fingers pulling up at your skirt. "And I want you to be loud. Let the whole bar hear you."

✨She goes to yank your panties down but only finds your soft skin instead.

✨Her eyebrow quirks up, a smile pulling at her lips.

✨"No panties this evening, hmm?"

✨You shake your head, blushing slightly.

✨"Naughty, naughty girl." Wanda murmurs. “I’ll have to think of a different trophy to take then, won’t I?” 

✨She very slowly drops to her knees between your spread legs and you can feel how wet and needy your pussy is. 

✨Wanda’s mouth waters and her tongue pokes out to lick her bottom lip. 

✨”I was thinking about taking you to get ice cream after,” she says, planting a kiss on your left inner thigh. “But I think I’d much rather eat you for dessert - what do you think?” 

✨And Wanda - your ever crafty girlfriend - waits until you open your mouth to reply before leaning forward and kissing you directly where you ache for her. 

✨You let out a strangled sound, one that is on the verge of being just too loud. 

✨She kisses you again, wet mouth pressing against your soft lips; doing so until your hands latch into her hair and you try to tug her where you need her the most. 

✨Her tongue parts you, your taste filling Wanda’s mouth as she rises higher until she finds your puffy clit with ease; arms worming around your thighs to keep you in place. 

✨Her lips close around it and she sucks your clit into her mouth.

✨”Oh fuck.” 

✨There’s a dull thud as your head falls back. 

✨Wanda’s eyes drift up to look at you and she smirks against you, seeing how your body is already tensing against the mirror behind. Your bottom lip is trapped between your teeth and your eyes are screwed shut. 

✨”You’re soaked, darling.” Wanda says, slurping you greedily; a string of your wetness attached to her lips. “I bet I could slip three fingers into you so easily.” 

✨She attacks your clit, tongue flicking at it with such a pace that it has you arching. 

✨You hate that you’re already so worked up, hate that she edged you for two hours that morning because you refused to drink your water the day before. 

✨But you love the stretch as she slowly pushes three of her fingers into you. 

✨Love how you clench around her and almost pull her hair from her roots as she curls them just right into you.

✨”There you go, baby.” Wanda bites your thigh again. 

✨When she moves her fingers and slams them back into you, her mouth finds your clit again and you moan, toes curling. 

✨There is one thing you adore about Wanda, and it’s the use of her hands - no, her fingers. She’s a woman of many talents and her finger work is definitely in the top 3.

✨You’re chanting the word fuck, body coiled tight, and you both know your release is imminent. 

✨”You have 5 seconds to cum.” Wanda orders, fingers working in and out of you quickly. “Otherwise I will edge you until next week.” 

✨“Shit.” 

✨It hits you when she gets to 3, a body trembling orgasm that tears through you violently and leaves you with trembling legs around Wanda’s head. 

✨She slurps everything you have to offer, drinking it down as if she was a starving woman and you can’t help but grind your pussy down onto her face; desperate to chase that second high that is just tantalisingly out of reach. 

✨And just when you think Wanda is going to grant you another release, she stops. 

✨Pulling away and out of you as you let out a mewl of incoherent words. 

✨"I’m taking you home and you will be cumming until I decide to stop, understood?” 

✨You nod. 

✨"My good little slut. Mine."

[tadpolesonalgae]

Pools of Sunlight

Cassian x reader

A/N: just a short piece, but I hope it gives some comfort :)

Word count: 753

Sunlight pushes through your lids, eyes scrunching as you pull yourself tighter beneath the blankets, curling closer to the bone-deep warmth of the duvet.

Shadow falls over you, and you manage to crack your eyes open drearily, sleep making your lids feel thick and heavy. Warm hazel is watching you quietly, the edges of his mouth softened, the morning light adding a honey-like quality to his eyes as he gazes at you. Your attention drifts up to where the shadow is mercifully coming from, his wing held slightly aloft in the air, shade from the sun.

Eyes return to bright but soft hazel, tan skin seemingly warmer with a morning flush, and you manage a sleepy smile, rolling closer. Thick, muscular arms wrap around your torso, dipping beneath your ribs as he shifts to his side, allowing you to press against the hot, bare skin of his chest.

Habitually, you’re pulling his scent deeper, memorising every new second with him, committing every moment to memory, precious time kept deep in the chambers of your mind for whenever cloudy days settle, or he’s taken away for longer than usual.

The pads of your fingers trace his skin, pulling over toughened scar tissue, a faint waxy sheen over the healed wound, and you press a kiss to its peak. His own broad palms begin to wander, one cupping the crown of your head, stroking your hair lethargically, thumb soothing over the notches of your spine further down.

“Morning,” he murmurs into the warm quiet, lips brushing over your skin with the hushed greeting. You hum pleasantly, nosing at his throat, settling deeper into the lines of his body like you might find a way to press entirely against him, so not a single part of you is detached. “Morning, Cass,” you mumble back, content to rest for a while more before making the journey out of bed. He must settle with your choice, as he makes no move to push back the covers, despite the sun already being up.

“What time is it?” You ask sleepily, a faint frown between your eyes.

“No idea,” he replies, inhaling softly, no doubt indulging in your own scent, one he tells you he would drink pure if he were able to liquefy it. Crisp and clean; soft and sweet.

“You have training this morning,” you manage to mumble, frown abating when his palm settles over your back, seemingly desiring contact as much as you do. “Az can manage for today,” he soothes, kissing the crown of your head. “Besides, I like to think I’m good company.”

A husky laugh tumbles from your lips, throat raspy from sleep, and you tilt your head up to meet his gaze. Deep, swirling hazel, flecks of dusty greens making a circuit around the centre of his iris, held in by a ring of rich brown, like the piping liquid of freshly made tea. The laughter fades, and you regard each other quietly, mouths soft and alluring.

You meet in the middle, warm lips slanting against one another, sweet and tender as sunlight pools on the covers.

You pull away, palm splaying openly across his chest, the reassuring pulse of his heart echoing up fingertips and into your arms. “Taking the morning off?” You murmur hopefully, legs twining with his own. “If that’s what you’d like,” he replies, a faint trace of a chuckle in his deep, sleep-roughened voice. A smile tugs at your mouth, curling closer into him. “What about a day?” You ask, a tone of scandal entering your question.

He watches you for a little, before his features shift into a set of resignation, smiling faintly. “If that’s what you want.”

At his reply your frown, pulling away a little. “I want you to want to spend a day with me,” you mumble, rubbing your eyes, covering your mouth as you yawn. He laughs lowly, the noise melting across your breast bone like butter and syrup.

“I want to spend the day with you,” he chuckles, wing curving over you, pulling you into the space that’s opened up. “I want to spend a lifetime with you.”

You relent, softening back into his arms, pushing into his heat, melding with his form. “Any lifetime?” You ask, and you can practically hear as he rolls his eyes, fingers skating up your sides ticklishly, making you laugh and squirm, before coming to a rest on your bare skin.

“My lifetime,” he murmurs, laughter brightening his smile, eyes twinkling. “Our lifetimes.”

general taglist: @myheartfollower @tcris2020 @mali22 @amygdtjhddzvb @sfhsgrad-blog @needylilgal022 @hannzoaks @hnyclover @skyesayshi @nyotamalfoy

[bzurk]

brushstrokes

Your memory is broken, made of puzzle pieces that don't fit together. Like a shattered mirror, fragmented and sharp, never meant to be pieced together again. You are held together by the four men you find yourself inextricably drawn to. Can you put yourself back together before the guilt shatters you completely?

The light hurts. It’s crimson red, sharp and blinding, like blood dripping into your eyes and staining the insides of your eyelids. You squeeze your eyes shut, a cascade of red and black dancing in fragmented waves across your vision. The brightness of the light sears into your skull, rendering any attempt to open your eyes an ordeal of piercing pain and queasy discomfort.

You slow yourself down, forcing the air out of your lungs in an attempt to relax. Take your time. Breathe, then open.

Following your own advice, you inhale shakily. The air scrapes down your throat like sandpaper. You release it in a controlled sigh, trying to ground yourself in the present.

Slowly, you blink your eyes and try to adjust to the light as you take in your surroundings. The current bane of your existence is a singular round bulb screwed into the white ceiling, its harsh glare casting stark shadows that make the sterile room feel even more oppressive. You're in a bed, swathed in a light gown that, though faded and worn, is mercifully soft against your sensitive skin. You frown at its pale blue hue, clinical and impersonal. There's a set of chairs next to one side of your bed, accompanied by a small side table cluttered with medical paraphernalia.

You try to reach out and wince at how stiff you are. You lift the light, white sheet and wince; one of your ankles is heavily wrapped in white bandages.

You glance around. No water. No signs of other people. You slowly sit yourself up, head spinning, but you manage to keep yourself upright. Gingerly, you probe your face. A plaster clings to your temple; your eyes feel hollow above gaunt cheekbones, and your lips are dry and cracked. Running a hand through your hair, you find it soft and clean, falling in loose waves down your back. Pain flares in your shoulder when you move, and your left hand meets resistance atop the sheet. An IV is embedded in the back of your palm, the clear tubing snaking up to a hanging drip.

"What the fuck," you echo hollowly, wishing you had a mirror. What the hell happened to you?

Do you wait for someone to find you, or do you go find someone yourself? You puzzle it for a moment, listening attentively. Faint footsteps, coming towards you. You glare expectantly at the door, but the footsteps pass right on by, leaving you in an unsettling silence.

Carefully, you swing your legs over the bed and set your feet on the ground. The linoleum is cold beneath your bare feet, sending a shiver up your spine.

"One, two," you whisper to yourself, palms pressed into the mattress, "three!"

You push yourself up and immediately regret it. A crippling wave of nausea and dizziness swarms you, and there's a blistering pain in your left ankle that feels like fire crawling up your leg when you try to take a few unsteady steps towards the door. Your body feels foreign to you, each movement a struggle against the weakness that seems to have taken over your limbs. You lean against the small side table, halfway across the floor, blinking the spots out of your vision. You're definitely not in any state to run or fight, but what choice do you have?

You limp across the room, the IV stand clattering along like a reluctant prisoner, your heart thudding wildly in your chest. Your untethered hand grasps the doorknob and turns it slowly. It clicks open and you push the door open with a shaky breath. The hallway outside is just as white and sterile as your room, the walls stretching out like an endless tunnel. You can hear faint beeping noises coming from somewhere down the hall, and you take a few tentative steps forward, your bare feet slapping against the floor. There's no one in sight, but voices drift down from one end of the hallway, their tones muted and indistinct.

"Hey! You're awake!"

You falter, dread tightening its grip on your spine.

The voice belongs to a nurse, her figure unmistakable in blue scrubs, pushing a trolley laden with tools and supplies. Your eyes, trained by survival instincts, flick over her form, scanning for threats. Breast pocket, lanyard, pant pockets, hands – no weapons. Logic whispers that she is merely a nurse, that you are in a hospital. Yet, logic is drowned by the cacophony of your racing heart, the slickness of sweat on your palms, and the primal urge to flee.

The nurse holds her hands out placatingly, the way one would soothe a spooked animal, her voice low and calm, “You shouldn’t be walking on that ankle just yet. Let’s get you back to bed, okay? I’ll page the doctor and your captain, I’m sure he’ll be happy to know you’re awake.”

“The- the captain?” you ask, but your voice comes out as a whisper, the words like sandpaper scraping up from your throat. You take a wary step back into the room on your good leg.

The nurse takes the IV stand from you easily and smiles, her expression kind, but you can’t shake the feeling of unease squirming in your stomach as she herds you back into the bed. “I’m sure he’ll be happy to explain everything, let me just—”

“What happened?” you croak, cringing at the sound of your own voice, a dry and broken thing.

She busies herself, checking your IV, adjusting the blankets, retrieving a bottle of water from her trolley. “You don’t remember? That’s okay, it’s normal after traumatic events and accidents. Your doctor will fill you in."

You take the water gratefully, taking large gulps. The water is cold and refreshing, almost stinging your throat. You try again, throat soothed, “What happened to me?”

“Don’t you worry, the doctor’s on his way, honey. Think one of your boys should be on their way, too! You’ve been out for a while, they’ll be happy to hear you’re up!”

‘One of your boys’?

You don’t have children, so that can’t be it. Your father… You can’t recall what he’s been up to, it feels like years since you last visited. Has she mistaken you for someone else?

“They’ve been taking turns to stay nearby in case you wake up, isn’t that so sweet? Think this week is the big one in the mask, think I saw him in the halls a few days ago-”

The nurse’s blabbering goes in one ear and out the other, radio static.

Big one in a mask. You don’t know anyone like that.

You don’t really know anyone, when you think further about it. Nobody to call to collect you, because surely you can’t fucking drive with a busted foot, and you’re unsure if they have any of your belongings - a wallet, a phone, your clothes. The only thing on your person is the necklace resting against your shoulder, fallen from its place against your chest when the nurse ushered you into bed. You reach up to fix it, to inspect the warm metal you can feel, when the door creaks open again and two men rush through. The nurse who had been keeping you company nods to them, smiles at you, and then steps aside.

One of the men is the doctor, clad in a pristine white coat with a stethoscope casually looped around his neck, embodying the quintessential image of medical authority. The other man, however, is a stark contrast—a towering figure clad casually in faded jeans and a black hood, his face obscured by a skeletal mask that transforms him into a haunting spectre. He is exactly as the nurse described, big guy with a mask, but her words couldn’t prepare you for the sheer size of him. He stands out immediately, an imposing figure whose presence seems to suck the light from the sterile hospital room, making the walls close in around you.

His eyes are the only visible part of his face, sharp and calculating, glinting with a familiarity you can’t quite place, something about them that stirs a vague recognition deep within you. His broad shoulders fill the doorway, and his silent, commanding authority feels eerily familiar. It's as if his very being demands your attention, making it impossible to look away.

He approaches the bed, his gaze locked onto yours, and you catch a flicker of something in his eyes—concern? Recognition? You can't be sure. But your heart skips a beat, a primal instinct whispering that you know this man, that you’ve encountered him before, perhaps in a different context, a different life. The doctor begins to speak, but his words are drowned out by the thundering of your heart, your attention riveted on the masked man as you desperately try to pull the threads of memory together.

You should fear him, you think, this personification of Death.

"How are you feeling?" the doctor asks, his voice a distant echo as you continue to stare at the man in the mask, searching his eyes for answers.

Death is cold, unfeeling, all-consuming. Death is the embrace of complete and utter nothingness, a black void where things simply cease to exist. Death is selfish, taking and taking and never giving. Death does not feel remorse, yet craves it in others. This man may don Death’s image, dressed head to toe in black, his pallor pale and his energy overwhelming, but he is not Death.

His eyes speak of warmth, comfort, security. You can visualize the way they light up, crinkling at the corners in crow’s feet and folding into half-moons, the image ingrained in your mind from the time you’d gifted him the mask—

The doctor repeats your name, jolting you from your reverie.

“The mask.” You rasp, refusing to tear your eyes away from the masked stranger.

“I’m sorry?” The doctor blurts.

“The mask,” you repeat. “I made it, didn’t I?”

The stranger nods slowly, his eyes narrowing with sharp scrutiny.

You remember it; the way your hands fiddled with the fabric and paintbrush, sitting at a desk in the dark, illuminated by a small lamp. The rest of the scene evades you - the time, the place, the room - but you can recall the smell of bleach clogging and burning your nose, the way it had stained your favourite pair of leggings, the delayed appearance of your corrosive paint against fabric canvas, slowly revealing the bones and teeth that made up the skull.

“Why do you- how did you get that?” you demand, your voice trembling.

His eyes narrow almost impossibly further, “The fuck you on about, Art?”

 “Where did you get that mask?” you repeat, your torso twisted to face him at the side of your bed. “It’s mine, I made it. And- and did you call me Art? That’s not my name. You’ve all got me confused for the wrong person!” 

A suffocating silence falls, heavy and oppressive. His expression transforms, warmth replaced by an icy, guarded mask. He withdraws, shutting himself off completely.

The doctor, sensing your disorientation, asks gently, “What do you remember?”

You swallow hard. “Nothing.”

“The brain sometimes suppresses traumatic memories,” the doctor explains, prodding your ankle, searching for pain. “It's natural. They’ll come back over time.”

"No, I..." you trail off. "I don't remember anything."

He hums. "Like I said, it's not a surprise. Give it a few days. I'm sure the lieutenant can help fill you in."

The masked man leans in, his gaze intense and unyielding. “What do you mean, you don’t remember anything?” he asks, voice cautious.

You meet his eyes, caramel depths holding secrets you can’t grasp. “I—I don’t know anything,” you confess, words spilling out in a rush. “I just woke up, and the nurse mentioned a captain and an accident. I don’t know what’s happening, where I am, and—and I want my dad – has anybody called him yet? - and I feel like I know you, and that’s a mask I made, for—for…” You trailed off.

The doctor and the stranger speak over each other, their words a tangle of confusion.

“For who?” the doctor inquires.

But the masked man’s question chills you to the bone. “Where do you think your father is right now, Art?”

His question lingers, absurd and ominous. Dread pools in your stomach.

“Back home,” you whisper, uncertain. “On the farm.”

Before you can think of anything else to say, he turns and storms towards the door, throwing it open and slamming it shut with enough force to rattle the lamp above your head. You stare at the door, a tear slipping down your cheek, an ache in your chest you can't explain.

The doctor clears his throat, gently repeating your name. "You don’t have any immediate family listed."

The fragments of your memory sink deeper into the fog of confusion, and you cry, the weight of the unknown crushing you.

[002yb]

Suspension with no pay is a generous punishment, given how severely Dick knocks another officer's lights out. He's lucky no charges will be pressed. His 'colleague' probably isn't keen to air the dirty details of his provocations to the police commissioner; to have them put on paper.

Dick isn't too eager to discuss it, either. Just thinking of it tests his temper and his resolve not to tear through the precinct to the infirmary the bastard hides away in; to grab him by the collar of his uniform again and wail on him for being a sick fuck.

Gordon wants an explanation. Because he knows Dick. Because he knows Dick doesn't do shit like this without reason.

Dick keeps his mouth shut. He sets his jaw, clenches his teeth. He wants to scream, but he swallows it down. Looks just over Gordon's head instead, and waits to be dismissed.

He takes his punishment. He slams the door on his way out.

The only thing he wants is to go home, but he doesn't want to bring his bad mood past the threshold. So Dick sits outside, back to the wall, and makes himself breathe.

His knuckles are still red and swollen, but they'll bruise in the coming hours. He picks at split skin, smudging away blood that beads up.

There’s no cleaning up the mess he is, so Dick settles in. Dropping his head back against the wall beside the door. Breathing. Meditating. Glaring off at nothing as he sits, stews, and broods. Hands clenching periodically because he still wants to hit something.

Someone, specifically. Because Dick wasn’t done fucking them up before other officers stormed in to intervene. Alerted by shouts and familiar sounds of a scuffle. Baffled, probably, that good boy Dick Grayson can lose it worse than any of them ever could.

So Dick sits there. For a long time, until he feels numb. Until he can compartmentalize and put all his anger and irritation and hurt behind him. Because he’s not bringing it home.

Not this.

Not with Jason there.

Jason who, after some hours, comes up the stairs and startles at the sight of Dick sitting just outside their flat, quiet and unnaturally still.

Jason who sees the damage to Dick’s hands and the storminess to his expression with just a quick glance, and who takes that ugliness in stride and sits beside it anyway. Because it’s Dick.

Somehow it’s both easier and harder to breathe with Jason there beside him.

Mercifully, Jason doesn't pry. Not yet. He just sits there with Dick, quietly shuffling through the mail he must have grabbed on his way up. Ads, bills, notices.

It's so normal, so mundane that Dick feels winded by it. The easy slope of Jason's shoulders, the quiet contentment in his expression. They're outside their flat, sorting through mail; when they go inside, they'll debate on eating in, going out. They'll talk casework, get distracted by their own banter. They'll go on patrol, come home and tend each other's hurts. And they'll go to sleep together, same as any other day. One of many.

Fuck. Dick looks skyward. Blinks. Breathes.

Then he turns to look down at that pile of mail. Distracts himself with the cluttered ad that shows deals at a nearby grocery that Jason scans and scoffs at or stops to consider.

'Are you happy?'

'Depends who won the fight.' Is the cheeky reply.

Dick snorts, but doesn't comment. Doesn't trust his voice, or what words might pour out of him. Despite the lack of bruises anywhere but along his knuckles, Dick doesn't doubt it looks like he's the one that got fucked up.

Apt. Because to Jason, Dick doesn't look upset - he seems hurt.

And Jason isn't going to badger Dick. Or chide him. He trusts Dick's judgment, his reasoning, even if Jason likes to be contrary and challenge Dick at every turn.

But he's a Robin at heart, always curious. And he's also a street kid in soul, nosy because intel is an invaluable resource. He's also Jason, who worries even if he's prickly about it.

'Must've been fucked to get under your skin so bad.'

The words are there, but they're ugly. Dick swallows them down and deflects:

'Got suspended.'

'With pay?'

'Without.'

'How long?'

'A week.'

Jason clicking his tongue and scoffing about it, but he doesn't care about the lost income. It's a line of questioning to gauge the severity of the fight.

When Jason asks about on a scale of Damian to Jason, how mad will B be about it, Dick can't help the quiet laugh that bubbles up in him. He considers, then shrugs, 'Tim levels, maybe?'

Jason sitting with that, puzzling it over until something seems to click and he grimaces. Because, 'what the fuck would you be fighting over me for?'

Dick can't talk about it: about how an officer implicated themselves in the solicitation of a 'back alley whore,' a child, at the time. Provoked by the picture Dick keeps of Jason as his lock screen. Unable to resist the temptation of mocking, ridiculing Dick 'perfect golden boy' Grayson by going after his boyfriend, 'How much is that running you? Used to be dirt cheap, back in the day.' , 'Gotham's sloppiest seconds, or mine at least. Does he still cry pretty when you--?' Etc. Etc.

So maybe Jason figures it out for himself and makes an accurate guess. Because since Jason came back, he hasn't dealt with the police in any notable way. Not as a civilian, at least.

Jason would know that if someone saw Dick's lock screen and talked shit about Jason's appearance or other superficial bullshit, Dick wouldn't be so quiet about it. He'd be ranting and raving, incensed because he insists Jason is handsome, gorgeous (and it's sweet, because Jason isn't anything to write home about; a fun fight to provoke, some days, if only because Dick gets so up in arms over it).

And if it's not anything to do with present!Jason, that only leaves all the shit of his past, which is...

They haven't talked about it. Jason doesn't doubt that Dick knows, it's just - Jason doesn't want to talk about it.

Just Jason recognizing Dick's kindnesses for what they are. How Dick defended him. How he hurt enough for him that Dick risks it all. And then he comes home and waits outside because he won't bring that anger home like Jason's dad would. And he goes so far as to bite his tongue because he won't corner Jason into talking about shit he doesn't want to.

Just Jason, breathing steady and changing the topic entirely: 'I'm happy.' So happy. Happier than he's ever been. It's jarring, sometimes, how happy he is. Because there was a time when he didn't think he'd be allowed it. But here he is. With Dick. At their flat; a shoddy home, but theirs. Where they'll make dinner together and complain about romance not existing in the kitchen, get outta my way )< ; and where they'll talk circles around case work before they start bantering, gossiping, laughing. And where they'll leave for patrol but still flirt over comms and come back and hide their hurts only for the other to poke at them because they know. And they'll sleep. And it's warm. And of course Jason is happy.

It's a simple life, but it's theirs.

Oh, Jason looking at Dick's bruised hands and feeling overwhelmed at just how happy he is - to be loved and cared for so much. ;////////;

Getting all bashful as he tells Dick again, 'I'm really...really happy.'

And because it feels a little too heavy, a little too raw, Jason would cough and deflect in his own way. Grumbling because, 'Would've been happier with an expulsion, but...' Shrug.

Dick laughing under his breath. Taking the out. 'On my way. It was a 'formal reprimand'.'

Then Jason snickers because, 'Could I give you more names? Speed up the process.'

Which oops. Too dark, too soon. But after the initial grimace is a brittle laugh because wow.

Then something something Jason standing up and offering Dick a hand to pull him up, too. And they go about their routine. When Dick settles down, Jason starts prompting for details on the fight. How fucked was the officer's face? How many men did it take to tear Dick away from him? (♡ˊ͈ ꒳ ˋ͈)

Dick teasing him about it sounding like Jason likes that Dick lost his shit. And Jason owns up to it fully. Of course he likes it; it was for him. (ᴗ͈ˬᴗ͈)ꕤ.ﾟ

Jason makes it easier for Dick by teasing him about it. Taking some of the weight away from it. Because this is how they look after each other. ♡

[abiiors]

cruel summer - ross x reader ˚˖𓍢ִ໋`🔆:✧˚.🍉⋆𖧧🐚

a/n: sufjan stevens summer?? maybe?? slightly, if you squint. cw: CHEATING (if you have problems with it, this one's really not for you), brief mentions of the death of a parent, one extremely brief mention of a slap, SMUT wc: 12.6k (wtf!)

the first day of summer is always dull at the villa. 

it’s the summer solstice—something the owner used to believe in, and so you keep the tradition, moving all your belongings to the little caretaker’s cottage for the next three months. it’s hard work, taking care of the guests, taking care of the villa, but it’s fun. there’s your seventy year old fisherman aldo who greets you with all the grandfatherly warmth in the world. he promises help should you need it. (you suspect you do, it’s your first year doing this alone after all) 

there’s marta, the cook who’s worked here since before you were even born, excited to get back to work and try out some of the new recipes she’s perfected over the course of the rest of the year. her son helps out too. enzo helps with the cleaning and the more manual tasks, helps you make sure the place is spotless. then there's the more seasonal staff, people who want to spend a summer abroad doing menial jobs and traveling. they never stay long but they're good help.

all in all by the time the villa is open for business, you’re confident that it’s going to be the perfect getaway for any couple that chooses to rent it, specifically the one who has chosen to rent it—for four whole weeks. not that you don’t get long stays from people, it’s an absolutely gorgeous property after all. but four weeks is rare. 

you suspect it’s someone on their honeymoon—high on newlywed bliss and disgustingly in love. 

mr and mrs macdonald.

“we have a booking under macdonald?” is the first thing he says to you. 

hastily you look up from your phone (which you shouldn’t have been on in the first place, but the only people you’ve seen here today are a few tourists dining at the restaurant adjacent to the villa and the locals dropping by for a catch up) and nod.

macdonald. yes. that’s a name you know. 

you stand up to your full height and come up to about his chest, craning until you can meet his eyes…or well, the sunglasses, in his case. he looks like every other tourist you’ve seen—a white linen shirt, sunglasses, suitcases, slightly pink in the face. but that’s not all. 

a chain peeks from under his collar, resting delicately around his neck. his sleeves are folded up to the elbows, forearms littered with tattoos, and you suspect there’s more of them that you can’t see. the top two buttons of his shirt are unbuttoned, giving you a generous view of his chest. 

not that you should be noticing any of that. 

he is holding hands with his wife right in front of you after all… a wife that has her eyebrow raised at you at the moment. 

“right!” you clap, putting on your best customer service voice, “the honeymoon couple.”

she makes a sound at the back of her throat, something that’s almost like an incredulous laugh. the man, however, smiles and shakes his head. 

“not honeymoon, no. just a vacation.”

inwardly you cringe. the owner would have never outright assumed something like that. the owner, incidentally, would have also had the perfect comeback. you awkwardly toe the rug under your feet.

“oh, sorry about that. let me just, uh, let me get you checked in.”

mercifully they say nothing after that. they wait, holding hands and looking around the lobby of the villa, making little comments about the decor and the vibe. from the corner of your eye you see him rub his thumb on the back of her hand, then you see her put her thumb on his, stopping his motion entirely. he doesn’t try again after that. 

“leave your bags here, i’ll send enzo to get them. he’s our helper, by the way.” you look around for any sign of enzo and find him gone, probably helping around with other things. quickly you explain some general things, let them know where to find stuff they might possibly need. 

“and do you live here?” the man asks, catching you off guard. it clearly catches his wife off guard too because she stops looking around and stares right at you. you suspect if it weren’t for her sunglasses, she’d be openly glaring daggers at you. 

“not here,” you laugh, slightly awkward, “the cottage adjacent. it’s right by the edge of the property if you take the back entrance.”

“ah! we’re neighbours.” it’s the first time the wife speaks directly to you, startling you a little. you nod dumbly. 

“i guess we are. have a good stay mr and mrs macdonald!”

the wife is about to thank you when the man waves his hand, “please! it’s ross and ava. we’re staying in your house, after all.”

“ross and ava,” you repeat weakly. any other time you would have quickly corrected him, not my house, but with all his attention on you it’s like you’re tongue-tied and on auto-pilot. only capable of nodding and smiling. 

“thank you,” the wife—ava—says softly, and then she holds her husband’s hand, pulling him along with her. ross gives you one last nod and follows her inside. 

you make your way outside, trying to find enzo, and ignore the “seriously?!” that echoes from inside. 

“handsome man,” marta side eyes you while making a breakfast spread the next morning. you sit on the counter next to her, legs swinging, swiping a fresh muffin while you wait for the coffee to brew. 

“handsome married man,” you deadpan. 

she tuts. “they don’t seem that much in love.”

“nonna!” you jump off the counter, a little flabbergasted, but she only shrugs. “none of our business, okay?”

flustered, you gather the breakfast trays, balancing one in each hand and pushing the door open with your hip. the villa has old servant's passageways, still functional albeit dimly lit, but it’s faster to use the main hallways. 

besides, it’s seven in the morning, you doubt either of them is awake. 

quickly, you make your way to the dining hall, balancing the trays at each turn and making sure to dodge furniture and other decor until you take one more turn and feel your foot getting caught up in the rug. 

fuck how did you not see that?! your eyes widen, body struggling to not flail and drop the trays—the muffins and frittatas can’t fall, there’s no time to replace them if they fall. 

panic surges in your body as you lose your balance entirely until—

“careful!” an unfamiliar voice calls out. an equally unfamiliar arm wraps around your waist, his other hand coming up to stop the trays from falling. somehow you manage to salvage the other, and quickly set it down. he follows suit and sets the other down next to it. 

“fuck, you alright?” his voice comes from right next to your ear—ross. here. with his arm around your waist. 

and like a starstruck idiot you do absolutely nothing to step away. 

“sorry! yeah, yes!” you mumble quickly, scrunching your eyes shut and taking in gulps of air. a moment later, he’s the one to step away. 

you open your eyes and smile tightly at him but the moment you look at him properly, it’s like all the air in the room vanishes. suddenly, it’s a million degrees hotter. his hair is in the same bun they were yesterday, but now there are a couple flyaways, plastered to his sweaty forehead. his t-shirt sticks to his body, damp with sweat and perfectly moulded to the contours of his chest. it’s not hard to make out the precise shape of his arms and shoulders and chest. 

the gold chain is only half visible, resting comfortably on his collarbone. 

he looks like a statue carved out of marble. 

“th-thanks,” you stutter, belatedly kicking yourself for checking him out so blatantly, something that’s definitely not gone unnoticed. his mouth curls up into a smirk, his dark eyes that you hadn’t seen yesterday, stare at you with a kind of intensity that makes you want to melt away right there on the floor. 

“you’re welcome. it would’ve been a shame to let all that go to waste.”

“it would have.”

ross points at the muffins. “you made them?”

“me? oh no, i can hardly cook much less bake. marta, our cook…”

“ah…” he nods an wipes the bead of sweat from his forehead. an errant thought enters your head—one that contains your tongue and his chest and sweaty bodies moving against each other. you cough and bite your tongue. hard. 

“i’m sure you’re hungry after…”

“my run? yeah,” he smiles, “starving. have you had breakfast yet?”

“what?”

“have you had breakfast? or do you not…?”

“no no,” you take another step back, wondering if it’s wise to stand that close to him, “i mean yes, fuck. sorry.”

he snickers, “‘s alright, love. breathe. i was only asking if you’d like to have breakfast with me if you haven’t already had it yet.”

if your jaw hadn’t dropped before, it sure does now, eyes wide and trained on him to make sure he’s not making fun of you for some reason. he wants to have breakfast with…you. 

“mrs macdonald—”

“ava won’t be up for another two hours.” his voice is firm, it leaves no room for argument. “besides, she doesn’t really have breakfast. and i think… if it’s okay with you, that is, i’d like to have company while eating.”

the cacophony of thoughts rages on in your head. this is so improper! god, what would the owner say?! but then again your job is to keep the guests happy, isn’t it? it’s not like you’re inserting yourself in other people’s businesses. he asked—

“well?”

his expectant gaze makes you realise you’ve been staring at him absently for the last minute. he’s clearly waiting for an answer.

and it should be no, you should say no. 

but when you look at his dark eyes and alluring smile somehow the ‘no’ gets lost on your tongue. all you can manage is to pick the trays back up and murmur a quiet ‘yes’.

“rome? that’s your favourite?”

“yeah, what’s wrong with that?” he crosses his arms in front of him, playfully defensive. you observe more keenly than you should. the black tee stretches over his arms, emphasising the precise shape of them. satisfaction runs through you when you see the tattoos on his arms—the ones you hadn’t seen yesterday. you were right, there are so many more…

“it’s just so…cliché,” you giggle and take a sip of your coffee. it’s lukewarm now, that’s how long you’ve been sitting together. “so touristy!”

“i am a tourist!” he retorts. 

“you’re right, you’re right. i just… there’s better places, y’know? smaller, hidden gems that get overlooked so often, it’s unfair. and rome’s beautiful, don’t get me wrong, there’s a reason it’s such a tourist destination but…”

“but?”

“it feels…synthetic? i think that’s the case with a lot of big cities though, so i can’t blame rome solely.”

ross leans forward and rests his chin on his palm. his coffee cup sits on the table, long forgotten, and his gaze is focussed solely on you, studying, curious. 

“so what feels like home then? if not rome… don’t get me wrong, i don’t mean it in a bad way but you don’t sound…italian?”

you take another sip of your coffee and set the mug aside, a little further away from his. this is not a conversation you were prepared to have, not with someone who’s virtually a stranger. not with someone you’ve known for a grand total of one day. 

“i am…italian,” you pause, feeling your way around the words you’ve just spoken. “but also not really? i have grown up all around the world essentially, whatever struck my mum’s fancy. but i’ve always spent my summers here in the villa. with her.”

“did she work here?”

you trace the rim of the mug, nodding slowly. “something like that…”

“and your dad?”

“not in the picture. never knew him really,” you interject quickly before ross can assume. “bit of a mamma mia situation. my mum had her fun, i suppose. good for her.”

he’s quiet for a bit, letting his eyes roam all over your face—not in a way that would suggest anything, but you suspect he’s thinking, ruminating over the information you just gave him. 

“you didn’t answer my question. what feels like home?”

“that’s a bit personal,” you scoff and immediately go red in the face. he’s a guest not your friend. “i’m sorry, i didn’t…that’s not…”

“‘s alright, love,” he laughs and leans back once again. “it was a bit personal. someone needs to call me out on my nosiness every once in a while.”

still, you sputter out a couple more apologies until ross places his hand on top of yours, startling you into silence. “stop with the apologies, will you? you haven’t said—”

“ross?” 

if you weren’t mortified before, you certainly feel it now. your face, red just a moment ago, pales quickly, as ava—mrs macdonald—comes into the dining room. 

her hair is in the same loose curls it was yesterday, perhaps slightly messy, and even then it looks effortless and gorgeous. her pyjamas are monogrammed with her initials. and her platinum band glints on her finger when the sunlight hits it directly. 

worst on all, she’s staring at you, at your hand under her husband’s—who looks barely fazed at the moment. all calm and collected. 

“good morning, sweetheart,” he gets up from his chair and walks up to her. your skin buzzes where his hand just was, and you look away as they kiss, mortified of intruding on them like this. she’s the first to pull away. 

“you had breakfast,” she says, her tone flat and matter of fact. 

quickly, you scramble off your seat. “let me get you something to eat, mrs macdonald.”

“no need,” she smiles at you, but it’s almost as icy as her glare—mechanical and devoid of any warmth. “i don't have any appetite.”

you nod and smile, keeping your eyes locked on a vague spot on the wall behind her. it’s only when you’re about to leave that you see him from the corner of your eye, grinding his jaw and looking nothing like he was just a few moments ago. 

“i have a favour to ask of you.” it’s ava who approaches you a week later. 

the entire week you’ve stayed away, only talking to them in the capacity of a host—making sure they’ve had all the meals they requested and given them any and all information about the town they might need. you’ve even made sure to speak directly to ava when you can help it. ross, for his part hasn’t made it any easier. 

every morning you run into him in the hallway—some days he’s in the same black tee, others he’s in a tank top that shows off his toned and (now) tanned arms. it’s the same time every day, and yet you do nothing to change your route and take the servants’ passages for once. this is easier, you tell yourself. it’s the faster route. 

fortunately, you don’t trip on the rug again. rather, you make it a point not to. 

he asks you to be his breakfast companion again, and once again the next day. you waffle off some excuse and hurry away before he can protest. on the third day he stops asking. when he passes you in the hallway, he greets you with a polite smile and a nod and then keeps walking towards his balcony. 

“a favour?” you ask, and ava nods. 

this close, she’s absolutely gorgeous, like a face straight out of a magazine. “i wanted to plan something special for ross. a nice dinner perhaps?”

“that’s…” you swallow a strange emotion, “that’s a great idea. how can i help?”

“is there a way i can rent a boat for the day?”

“for…dinner?”

“yeah, i’ve, um, i think the ocean looks quite nice out here. peaceful. ross would love to have a romantic dinner out on the ocean instead of just on the beach.”

“right, yeah.”

“oh, and money’s not an object,” she interjects quickly. “i’m willing to pay well for it.”

money is the last thing on your mind, but you nod and smile at her. 

“i’ll get you the details by tomorrow.”

she nods and smiles too, much more excited that you, granted. but you expect her to thank you and leave it at at. what you don’t expect is for her to grab your hand in hers and hold it tight. 

“thank you. this…this holiday is important to us, to me…” her smile turns mechanical once again and she nods some more. like she’s trying to convince you and herself. “i need this to be perfect.”

“it will be, mrs macdonald. i’ll make sure of it.” 

it’s only when she leaves that you have to resist the urge to bash your head through the wall. who the fuck promises something like that to a stranger, to a guest?! without even bothering to make sure you have the resources you just promised. 

there’s only one person you know who even has access to a boat. (even though it’s nowhere near the right type of boat but at this point what’s the harm?)

aldo is laughing along with the other fishermen when you reach the dock. the sky is darkening, almost dark blue with just a tinge of red and orange. aldo greets you with open arms. 

“i need a boat!” you pant, panicked and half out of breath. 

he laughs wholeheartedly. “take your pick!”

“no, not that! i need…i need a romantic boat.”

the gaggle of seventy-odd-year-old fishermen giggle like a bunch of teenagers. “we romanced our wives plenty on these boats,” one of them pipes up, another round of raucous laughter follows suit. 

you wait for it to die down before you practically beg aldo. “it’s for the guests at the villa, please. i don’t know anyone else—”

“carissima…” he puts a hand on your shoulder, “i was joking. i know what you mean and yes, i can ask a few friends if they have something available. i’m sure they do.”

relief floods through your veins, and you practically sink to your knees onto the cobblestones. instead you pull the old man into a tight hug. “thank you, thank you, thank you…”

“you’re handling it well,” he declares in a tone that leaves no room for argument. “your mother would be proud.”

you pull away at the mention of her, giving him one last tight smile. “thank you, aldo. call me with the details please.”

once he nods you leave, trying not to dwell too much on what he said. 

that night you lie in bed, staring up at the same plain ceiling you’ve stared at every summer and you think. 

you think about ross and his wife. 

you think about ava and what this holiday means to her. 

and you think about the owner, wonder if she ever slept in this exact bed and thought of things she shouldn’t, thought of people she really shouldn’t. 

and when you do eventually fall asleep, much past your bedtime, you dream of him—on a boat in the middle of the ocean, kissing you by the candlelight. 

it’s a beautiful summer evening, perhaps the best one of the season, when you wait for the macdonalds at the beach. it’s warm but not unbearably so, the light is still golden, almost angelic, and the boat looks perfect. you hope it’s exactly what ava had imagined, hope that it won’t leave her wanting for anything. 

you check your watch. 6:37 pm…

it’s fine, really, it’s not super uncommon for guests to be running a bit behind. they’re on a holiday after all, but you would have hoped for a call or a text or something. besides, you’ve been busy enough today to not know whether ross and ava went out or stayed in—not that you should be dwelling on it too much. and yet, here you are, checking your watch once again, wondering where he—they—got caught up. 

you look out at the ocean, calm and quiet for tonight, and then up at the golden horizon. it should be beautiful, everything should be perfect. 

exactly nine minutes later there are footsteps. 

one set of them. 

eagerly, you turn, your face ready with the polite yet friendly customer service smile, but it drops the moment you see ross. 

he’s alone. the sleeves of his linen shirt are rolled up to his elbow, his hair is down too—it comes up to about his shoulders. it—

something’s wrong. you realise it about two seconds before he comes to a stop right in front of you. too close, he’s so close. and yet you don’t take a step back. you simply crane your neck up to stare at him and part your mouth, about to say something but the look on his face stops you in your tracks.

his eyes are cold, flat. his mouth is pressed into a straight, unimpressed line. his hair is all over the place too—messy and tangled like he’s almost been pulling at them out of frustration. 

this is not the time to let your mind wander, but for once you let yourself imagine what he might do to get rid of his anger, his frustration. how he might…take care of things. 

“you’re alone,” you blurt out, voice barely above a whisper.

“ava’s not coming,” he swallows roughly. for one insane moment you think his gaze dips to your lips, but that’s a desperate thought. one that is strictly not real. “i want to use the boat.”

“w–what?”

“i want.” he stops between each word, “to use. the boat.”

“i thought it was—”

“a surprise? please!” he laughs, sardonic and borderline cruel. heat rises up your cheeks. “i want to go and have that dinner that was planned for me. i refuse to waste any more good evenings.”

“yeah,” you swallow roughly, “yes, of course. right this way, it’s all—”

“and i want you to join me.”

it’s like the sand beneath your feet shifts with one sentence. your jaw drops into a gape, eyebrows flying into your hairline. you imagine if ross weren’t so angry, he’d be laughing at you. still, this is wrong. on so many levels. 

“i can’t!”

“will you get in trouble for it?” he challenges, and you shake your head dumbly. no, nothing of that sort. not anymore really. “then i insist. i don’t like eating alone, love. don’t sentence me to that, not when it’s so gorgeous outside.”

the image sharpens in front of you then, ross out on the calm, peaceful ocean, watching the golden sunset, drinking straight from the bottle of champagne that’s on board. the food behind him would grow cold eventually. you don’t think he’d eat it if you sent him out there alone now. 

“your wife—”

“doesn’t care,” he says firmly. “she’d be here if she did.”

and that’s not something you can argue with really. so you nod. it’s just to keep him company, you tell yourself, it’s good service which is what you’re supposed to do. the owner would have done the same, she would have gone above and beyond.

“are you sure about this?” 

“yes.” the one word answer leaves no room for argument. 

you look down at yourself—a cotton t-shirt and a pair or breezy shorts, comfort over style for when you have to constantly run around. if ross notices this inner dilemma, he doesn’t let it on. he simply gestures for you to walk. 

“after you,” he says and gives you something that vaguely resembles a smile. on him, it’s still gorgeous, still makes his dimples appear and his eyes crinkle, and for a brief second you simply want to stand here and stare at him in the dying light of the sun. 

instead you nod and turn towards the boat, trying not to wring your hands together. 

it’s only a couple hours. it won’t change anything. 

it’s excruciatingly awkward in the beginning. 

you suspect if ross were in a better mood, he’d be up for a good conversation—and you’ve had those, at least once you have. a good conversation over food while he’s all sweaty and his t-shirt sticks to his body. 

you suspect if ross were in a better mood, he’d be here with his wife. 

“you won’t ask me what happened?” his question startles you. because of course, you want to ask! you just didn’t think he’d appreciate it.

“i didn’t want to pry…”

“you won’t,” he sighs. “you’d be doing me a favour.”

“so i’ll act as your therapist then?” you quirk and eyebrow and ross cracks a tiny smile. “breakfast companion, therapist, makeshift date, what’s next?”

you regret it as soon as the words tumble out of you. what were you fucking thinking?! this is not a date. you and ross, on a boat in the ocean, with fancy champagne and a candlelit table… it’s not a date. it’s two people having dinner so it won’t go to waste. you’ve worked too hard on it to throw it away like this. 

“i’m sorry i—” you sputter, shaking your head wildly, “that’s not what i meant, that’s—”

“we’re separating.” 

it shocks you so much that you gape at him. it’s a sudden confession, one that you would have never expected him to say out loud. not to you, a complete stranger. then again, maybe it’s better to talk to a stranger anyway. 

“but you seem so happy,” you hesitate, wondering if that’s something he’d even want to hear. 

it turns out not. ross rolls his eyes. “oh come on, darling, let’s not lie. we have been here two weeks and we’ve already fought thrice. this was supposed to be a last ditch effort, did you know that? this holiday. after this,” he swallows, looking off into the ocean, “when we go back to london… i’ll call my lawyers and she’ll call hers.”

“oh…”

“yeah.” 

silence settles over you, uncomfortable and sticky. you wonder if he wants comfort, sympathy. if he wants you to agree with him or challenge him, if he wants you to be a sounding board and just let him vent, if he wants this to be a conversation. 

“sorry,” he shakes his head, “a lot to dump on you isn’t it?” 

“yes…” you turn to him, taking your time to look over his face. it’s so much more tanned than before, a bit more freckled too. there’s a hint of sunburn poking through his shirt collar and suddenly your mind flashes images of ross on the beach in front of you. ross, shirtless, lying in the sun with those annoyingly hot sunglasses covering his eyes, ross coming out of the water, dripping wet and fucking dreamy. “but i don’t mind.”

you clear your throat quickly, cursing in your head for sounding so breathy. 

ross raises an eyebrow. “you tell me something.” he turns and grabs a bottle of expensive champagne. you expect him to get the glasses next, instead he opens the bottle and takes a swig directly from it.

“a secret,” he winks, “for a secret.” then he extends his hand and offers you the bottle. 

at first, you hesitate. it isn’t for you, none of this is for you. but you’re here now, aren’t you? so you grab the bottle from him, trying your hardest not to dwell on the brush of his fingers, how you both linger for just a moment too long. 

you take a sip of the champagne and think, feeling the bubbles all the way down. 

“this is my first year running the villa alone…”

“is it?” ross sounds surprised. you wonders if he means it as a compliment. 

“it was, um, it was shut, last year. my mother used to run it. she’s not…alive anymore.”

his eyes widen. “oh, that’s–i’m sor—”

“no please,” you interrupt before he’s had the chance to finish it. “i’ve heard that far too much. i’d rather not be offered condolences ever again.”

for a moment he is quiet, then he nods like he understands something. “you’re a natural at it. everything has been so good for us so far. i mean look at this fucking boat, this food. you’ve planned everything so well.”

a wave of uncharacteristic shyness floods your brain. “it’s not just me,” you smile bashfully, “the entire staff she trained still works here. they do more than i ever could, honestly. i’m just…learning the ropes.”

“and do you like it?” ross takes a sip of the champagne and leans against the railing. you mimic his pose, looking off at the horizon. 

“honestly? yes! i never thought i would and now… it’s like i know why she loved doing this. growing up, i’d always feel like a ghost haunting a mansion, and now i finally get it.”

“a ghost haunting a mansion,” he smiles and hands you the bottle, “you were pretty dramatic as a child.”

a laugh bubbles up in your throat because he’s right, you were dramatic. perhaps you still are deep down under all the grief. ross must have sensed the sudden shift in your thoughts because he expertly changes the subject. 

“have you always had the villa in your family?”

“oh that’s a funny story, if my mum is to believe anyway.”

ross turns, his back pressed to the railing and his eyes focused entirely on you. he’s so close. golden light reflects on his skin, in the hollow of his throat and over every bit of exposed skin. with his hair tied up now, you can once again see that gold chain, dainty and pretty, and you wish you could trace it with your fingertips, feel it against you somehow. you watch ross swallow some of the champagne, how his adam’s apple bobs and a drop of it clings to his lips and suddenly it’s like your cheeks, no, your whole body is on fire. you look away and continue.

“so the story goes, and mind you i don’t know how true it is, she was travelling around england. my father was, turns out, some minor aristocrat with a useless title, no one important really. but he had an estate, a whole lot of money and an ego the size of britain. 

“his mother never liked that he was with a ‘filthy commoner’ like my mother and oh she made that very known…” ross makes a face and you laugh, feeling a bit lighter than before. 

“and then she fell pregnant, my mum. she was so happy, wondering how to tell him, getting scans to show him and whatnot. somehow his mother got the news first,” you wince and ross leans forward, his face rife with interest and so much closer than before. “that woman made her a deal—leave now and never contact my father again, they will set her up with a small house and some money in any country of her choice so she won’t have to worry, as long as she stays far far away.”

“generous,” he whistles low. 

“it is, isn’t it? she didn’t take it though, she fancied herself in love. that night she told him about me. turns out he was only ‘fucking around’ and ‘did not want a child’. he told her to get rid of it, she said no and they fought. and when she raised her voice, he slapped her. my father slapped my pregnant mother…”

ross gives you his rapt attention.

“she didn’t run though. she stayed there the night, shared a bed with him even though they stuck to their corners. in the morning she went back to his mother and accepted the offer.”

ross laughs, sharp and surprised, and then clamps his mouth shut. “sorry i–it’s not funny, i know, it’s just—”

“no, it is,” you interrupt quickly, “we used to laugh about it.”

“and the house…?”

“is the villa, yes. the small ‘house’ they promised her.”

“seems like his mother had more integrity than him.” ross extends you the bottle of champagne again. gratefully, you take it. 

it’s half-empty now, gone in the flow of the conversation. you feel it too, the bubbles flowing through your blood, buzzing through your head in a way that almost feels soothing. that, combined with the gentle rocking of the boat… you close your eyes and inhale the ocean breeze, take another swig of the champagne. 

“this is nice, isn’t it?” you speak, eyes still closed and tipping your head towards the champagne.

“‘s amazing,” he murmurs. his voice surrounds you like it’s floating on the breeze, like he’s so close and so far away at the same time. his cologne, too, is suddenly so much stronger. 

your heart beats in your throat. you know what you will find when you open your eyes—ross, so close and irresistible, in the dying light of the sun, more tempting than the damned apple. an involuntary gasp escapes you when you feel his breath on your face, feel the fabric of his trousers brushes against your leg. his breath quivers. 

“if i kiss you right now, would you kiss me back?”

you swallow, wondering if it’s a yes or a no. “why don’t you find out?” 

a moment later you feel his hand on your waist, holding you just tight enough to send butterflies fluttering in your stomach. it’s slightly cold from holding the champagne bottle, not that you particularly care. a second later, ross crashes his lips against yours. 

it’s not soft like in the movies, it’s not a kiss of love or tenderness. 

it takes you precisely one second of hesitation to give into your instincts and kiss him back—you hand in his hair and the other fisting his shirt, wrinkling it, leaving your mark on him even if it’s insignificant and ephemeral. you kiss him back with just as much hunger—all tongue and teeth and roaming hands. 

ross’ hands moves from your waist and comes to rest on your ass, hitching your leg up, wrapping it around him. his hand spray across the back of your thigh, rough fingers trailing up smooth skin, it’s all too much, too much for you to hold back a moan. 

you moan into the kiss and somehow that undoes him completely. 

air whooshes out of your lungs as ross flips you both, trapping you between him and the railing. the bottle of champagne falls and rolls away, dripping the last of its contents on the floor, but it’s so insignificant, so inconsequential… not when you have this burning need coursing through you to feel him everywhere all at once. 

involuntarily your fingers fidget with his trousers just as his mouth moves to your jaw. he stops you though, lightly swats your hand away and pops open the buttons of your shorts instead. you let him, mostly because when they touch your stomach it’s like lightning exploding right under your skin, crackling, buzzing, you simply want to feel so much more of him, of his fingers. 

“ross…” you moan, not sure if you want to beg him or stop or let him take charge completely. 

“i know, darling,” he breathes, kissing you again. tentatively he dips a finger inside the waistband of your underwear, asking for permission.

“please, fuck, pl–please.”

you throw your head back, whimpering when his teeth graze your neck and his finger presses into your clit. it’s heady and intoxicating and all you want to do is be greedy and ask for more and more and more. you don’t have to ask though. his fingers work against your clit, creating a rhythm just perfect enough to weaken your knees, and you hold on to him tight, your nails digging into his back. 

would they leave crescent moon marks on his skin? just dark enough to stand out, just dark enough to be distinct. will his wife look at them and know what they are?

his wife…

and just like that all your ecstasy turns into nausea. 

you falter, a small hesitant movement. and that’s all it takes to shatter the moment entirely. 

“we can’t,” he pulls his hand away abruptly just as he’s about to push his fingers inside you. you stare at him in surprise, gripping the railing to stay upright. it’s hard not to pant and breathe hard, especially when he’s breathing heavily too, guilt written all over his face. 

his lips are swollen, wet. red enough to almost make you go back to him and kiss him all over again, thread your fingers through his hair—it looks so lovely and effortlessly messy. the top three buttons of his shirt are undone, gold chain fully on display, gleaming against tanned skin. you swallow. fuck. 

“we can’t…” he repeats, and steps away completely. 

you imagine what you must look like—t-shirt almost off your shoulder and the buttons of your shorts undone. not naked and yet so exposed and vulnerable. you wonder if his mouth left any marks against your neck. 

“what…” humiliation burns through you. what the fuck were you thinking, throwing yourself at him like this?!

ross looks like he’s trying hard not to lose control, jaw set, eyes firmly on you and pupils blown out so wide you resolve almost weakens. but the ring on his finger glints and just like that the nausea is back. the guilt, the self loathing, all of it is back with a vengeance.

“i’m married.”

and that shuts you up thoroughly. surely the captain of the boat heard everything that happened just now. surely…

you hurry as far away from ross as possible, turning around and fixing your clothes. ross stays where he is, his back towards you, hand trembling by his side.

the food stays untouched. 

the awkwardness from before is nothing compared to what you feel now, completely unable to meet his eyes or even turn around to look at him, not even to check if he’s still facing the other way. maybe throwing yourself into the ocean is the best course of action right now.

in a moment, you will gather strength again and tell the captain to take you back to the shore. in a moment you won’t have to share the space with him, you will finally be able to get a full breath into your lungs. for now you stay still, ignoring the fire still burning low under your skin and right in your belly, lust coiled like a snake. for now you simply look out into the ocean and will your body to stop shaking.

“enzo, would you set up breakfast today?” you find him in the gardens bright and early the next day. not that it matters how early it is anyway, not to you who hasn’t slept a wink the whole night. you’re sure there are dark circles under your eyes to give that away instantly. 

enzo looks down at his hands and then back up at you, slightly apologetic. they are covered in soil, of course. he’s been helping with repotting some plants. of course he can’t just leave all of that and do your job instead because you’ve fucked up and made a giant mess. of course not. 

“right…” you trail off and back away. 

“it’s okay, i can—”

“no,” you cut him off, a little sharper than you intended, “that’s alright. i’ll do it.”

and you will. you can act like a professional and do your fucking job. you will be in and out as quickly as possible and not look anyone in the eye. you will nod and smile and get the fuck out of there. 

absently, your hand trails over the faint hickeys on your neck. hopefully, they’re well covered by the concealer you slathered on at 5 in the morning, hopefully the collar of your shirt helps disguise it too. not like ava would be there to see it, she’s yet to be in the dining room for breakfast. and yet you don’t know what would be more mortifying, her seeing it or ross seeing it. 

“good morning,” a voice greets you the moment you step foot into the dining room. a pit opens in your stomach. 

ava sits at the head of the dining table, still in her night clothes with a dressing gown loosely wrapped around her body. it’s… she’s…

“i know i’m up early, and in here” she laughs, “not very much like me.”

her fingers are curled around a fork in a tight grip, knuckles almost white, tines digging into the place mat. it takes you a second to find your voice.

“morning, mrs macdonald.” the words burn like acid on their way out, and for the first time you look at her properly. she looks exactly how you feel—circles under her eyes, a sallowness to her face, like her skin is stretched thinly over her face. she looks like she’s been up all night, tossing and turning. “is r–mr macdonald joining you?”

“no,” her voice turns sharp. “he says he has a migraine. just me today.”

“ah…” you nod, rooted in the spot awkwardly. 

“champagne hangover, i suspect.” 

a quick hot and cold flash runs through you, like she’s caught you directly in a lie. and maybe she has…how much did ross tell her exactly? did he tell her? 

ava smiles, cold and hollow. “i’m starving, though.”

“yes, of course,” you avert your gaze, eyes firmly on the ground. fuck fuck fuck. she knows. bile churns in your stomach as you move on autopilot, doing the same thing you’ve done every day for the last three weeks. except this time there will be no joining ross for breakfast. 

through some miracle of fate, ava doesn’t bring up the boat or the dinner or the champagne again. she just thanks you and digs into her breakfast, eating like absolutely nothing is wrong. the ring on her finger is still there, just as shiny as before. 

you leave her be and get out of the dining room. there’s no air in there anymore, there’s no air in this entire villa anymore. your breaths turn into pants, footsteps echoing in your ears and the rush of blood almost drowning them out as you run run run through the corridors. you need to get out of here, out of this place but there’s nowhere private enough to go but back to your own cottage, and so that’s where you turn. 

soundlessly, you slip out of the back door and run on the little cobblestone path until you get to the door to your cottage. it’s unlocked, to your utter relief. silently, you thank your past self for forgetting to lock it because all you need right now is to shut the world out and rot in bed. 

the moment the door thuds shut, you feel your lungs filling with air again. it’s quiet here, it’s silent. 

and your bed looks cosy at least. 

you close your eyes and release a deep sigh once you settle on top of the covers. does ava know? you wonder if she’s somehow guessed it… if she somehow saw the marks you left behind… 

the memory comes back to haunt in full force—your thigh hitched around ross’ waist, your hand in his hair and his in your underwear, touching and teasing and making you taste insanity. against your better judgement you close your eyes and clench your thighs together, wondering if your hand can replicate the feel of his. it can’t, you know it can’t. nothing ever will. and yet…

slowly you hitch your dress up, bringing it up to your thigh and all the way past your hips until it’s bunched on your stomach. your pale pink underwear is next to go, discarded carelessly somewhere in the room. 

there’s not much ceremony to it, just your fingers gently pressing against the bundle of nerves as you close your eyes and think back to yesterday, to the roughness of his hand and the hardness of his body… fuck. it doesn’t feel the same, it feels nothing like it did, no matter how hard you try. the only thing you manage to do is get frustrated finding the right angle. 

fuck this, a pillow should work just fine if not your hand. 

and it does, it’s better once you have a white pillow clenched between your thighs, slowly moving your hips against it, feeling the friction, the familiar feeling. it’s a slow build, but it’s there, it’s something. 

inside your own bedroom, you barely hold back moans. unintelligible, lustful sounds, maybe his name slips out once or twice too. if anything, the thrill of it adds to the feeling. you’re sure there’s a wet spot on the pillow now, a slick little stain where you’ve been grinding onto it. your thighs tremble from the effort and it’s only just starting to feel good, feel so so good—

a sharp rap on the door scares a yelp out of you. 

shit shit shit, what were you thinking?! it’s probably enzo or marta coming to check on you, wondering why you weren’t in the villa. 

“coming!” you yell out, voice shaking, hands shaking even more. 

the person doesn’t go away. instead, another knock follows. 

cursing to yourself, you get off the bed, and smooth down your dress again. you’ll find the fucking underwear in a minute, the dress isn’t transparent. 

“what’s—” you stop abruptly, coming face to face with ross who looks like he hasn’t had a moment’s worth of peace all night. great, that’s all three of you then. 

“let me come in,” he breathes, almost urgent. “please.”

your heart's in your throat, thudding and thudding, fast enough that it might just leap out of you completely. and here you are in front of him, trying to stay cool like you weren’t just touching yourself to the thought of him mere seconds ago. 

ross’ eyes scan you, from your messy hair to your wrinkled dress. can he tell something’s wrong? 

wordlessly you step aside and he enters, closing the door behind him. 

“your wife knows.”

“she suspects.”

“and?”

“and what?” he whirls to look at you. “what if i said i no longer care if she does.”

“ross!” your voice rises. your back is pressed to the wall, as far away from his as possible even though the room feels like it’s a tiny cardboard box at the moment, “you can’t say things like that. not after–not…”

“after what i said yesterday?” he takes a steps towards you, you stay rooted in your spot. “what if i changed my mind?”

another step, he’s barely four steps away from you now. 

“what if i changed mine?” you challenge, which is perhaps not the wisest thing to do right now but…

“have you?” he asks, boldly taking two more steps.

if you had, you wouldn’t be standing there right now without any underwear on, desperately wishing he’d find out and fucking do something about it. use his hands again, use his mouth too maybe. 

you turn your face to the side, trying not to whimper as he finally closes the distance between you and stands close enough that you feel the warmth radiating off his body again. 

“can i find out?”

saying no would be wise, you know it. and yet… it’s you who kisses him first. unlike last time he lets your hand roam wherever you wish. unlike last time his t-shirt is first to go—the only time you briefly break the kiss to get it off him and somewhere on the floor. his tanned skin is warm under your hands, freckled chest that you instantly touch all over. 

his kisses turn feverish as his lips move along the hollow of your throat, your collarbone. “you are so perfect, fuck.” 

his words, spoken in a low whisper, travel straight to your core. heat pools, or rather intensifies, as his hand comes to rest on the back of your neck. ross doesn’t need much strength to hold you in place, to stop you from squirming and firmly against him, tits brushing against his naked chest.

his mouth travels lower, ghostly kisses trailed to as much of your cleavage as the dress offers. 

“ross,” your fingers tighten on his shirt, “please, i need—fuck, need you.”

he can most definitely hear the blatant desperation in your voice, whiny and practically begging to be touched, to be fucked. 

“anything you want,” ross groans. “jump.”

it doesn’t take you another second before your legs are around his middle and his big hands are gripping your thighs, under your ass. rough, calloused fingers digging into soft flesh while you tug at the hair at the nape of his neck and make him groan. he really is fucking beautiful, especially in the morning sunlight streaming into your room.

you kiss again, urgent and desperate. somewhere at the back of your mind you’re aware he’s walking, taking you to the bedroom, but you’re too engrossed with how his tongue feels inside your mouth. how his tongue might feel between your legs. 

but a foot inside the room and ross comes to a stop, his eyes widening. 

he takes the room in and you wonder what he sees, craning your neck to look around as well. and there it is, your pale pink underwear dangling carelessly from the bedpost, the pillow in the middle of the bed, sheets wrinkled. it’s not that hard to guess what happened in here…

that much is confirmed when you meet his eyes again and see pure lust in them. they look so much darker than before, so much dilated. ross all but throws you on the bed, climbing up after and practically on top of you. 

“what was happening here…before?”

“does it matter?” you raise an eyebrow, hoping he doesn’t see the flush growing rapidly on your cheeks. the chain dangles from his neck, so close now, practically touching your skin. you hook a finger in it and tug him closer. 

“did it feel good at least?” ross smirks, and you suspect he already knows the answer. 

“not even close.”

“and what do you want now?”

everything, really. 

you want to feel his fingers like yesterday and his mouth between your legs. you need him inside you and in your mouth and everything in between. 

“why don’t you get on your knees first?”

ross raises an eyebrow. so this is how it’s going to be then… 

the anticipation of it makes your pulse raise, makes goosebumps scatter all over your body. he can definitely see you trembling on the bed, back slightly arched, nipples peaking out from the thin cotton of the dress, hair a complete mess. the room burns a million degrees hotter now or maybe it’s just you, dying to be touched.

“let me take care of you then,” he whispers, “just relax for me…”

his words affect you immediately. your toes curls and hands fist the sheets in anticipation of the sounds you know he will draw out from you. 

“was thinking about you,” you confess as he trails a finger over your leg, starting from your ankles and up your shin and thigh until his fingers at your hip, resting where the band of your underwear should have been. 

involuntarily, you lift your hips up, making the fabric of your dress slide away a little more. 

“i could tell” ross teases, a cocky tinge to his voice. then he leans down, his lips dangerously close to your stomach. "come on, darling," he purrs, “spread your legs for me.”

something like a whimper and a moan echoes around the room and ross drags a finger through your slit, lazily collecting the wetness, coaxing you and spreading you open while his mouth presses kisses all over. your lower stomach first, then your thighs. meanwhile, his thumb finds your clit, and just like yesterday, he works it up in a lazy rhythm. 

“shit, ross,” you whimper as a jolt goes through your spine, skin burning wherever his hands touch. the build up is a sweet torture. 

you gasp when he sucks on your clit, unexpected and quick, letting his teeth graze it gently every once in a while. your thighs tremble under his hands, your muscles shift and ross doesn’t stop you at all when you squeeze your thighs together trapping his head between them. his hair is already a mess, all over the place, and his beard tickles the inside of your thighs. 

“oh god,” you moan loudly. “fuck, just like that…” your fingers tangle in his hair, tugging and pulling while you squirm and against his face and ross takes it all. his tongue laps at your folds, his nose pushing against your clit. 

his hand pushes under your dress, pinching and squeezing your nipples at almost a bruising pace, it’s all too much. and yet there’s no way in hell you’d stop him when he meets your eyes from between your legs—eyes dark and intense, beard glistening with your slick. 

you clench around nothing then and for a moment ross looks like he’s going to come undone right there, staring at your with his mouth parted. his eyes have a little glazed-over quality to them, like he’s in a trance. 

you’re so close now, rocking your hips against his face, and your thighs squeeze his head harder. you’re so close you can almost taste your release in the air.  

“so perfect,” he urges and lets his teeth drag over your clit again. “let me taste you, darling, yeah? i know you’re close.”

“so, so close…” your trail off and ross places a kiss on your thigh, utterly out of place from everything he’s been doing so far. in the middle of everything filthy, that one soft kiss feels chaste—a request maybe or even a way to coax you. 

“let go for me then,” he breathes and pushes his thumb against your clit. his tongue thrusts inside you again and you mewl his name. louder than before.

“don’t stop, ross, don’t—” and you feel it then, feel yourself drenching his lips and his chin. feel the spasm of your thighs and your ragged breaths reverberating through your body. 

just like you requested, he doesn’t stop. he laps up every last drop you have to over, fucks you with his tongue till you’re completely done riding out your orgasm. 

once ross straightens you’re met with the loveliest sight you’ve ever seen—his lips raw and red, his beard wet. his hair is almost out of his bun now and that damn gold chain around his neck. it’s all so beautiful, you almost beg him to come up to you. and ross obliges, his arms on either side of you and his body between your legs while he kisses you so thoroughly, you can taste all of you on his tongue—every want, every desire, down to the last drop of lust running through your blood. 

“i need to be inside you or i will die,” he says, his voice more like a growl. and yes it’s so full of want and desperation but that just eggs you on more, makes the heat in your belly flare up all over again. 

“there’s condoms in the drawer,” you moan, trying not to whine when ross gets off your for two seconds to find them, and comes back with the silver square. 

it doesn’t take another second before your legs are around his middle again and his big hands are gripping your thighs. rough, calloused fingers digging into soft flesh while you run your hand through his hair and make him groan. 

“fuck, love” he breathes on your skin and lets you pull the trousers off him. “i couldn’t think of anything else all night. just you…”

“me too,” you confess, a shameful secret, but ross tilts your chin up and kisses you all over again, slow and gentle. 

your hands trace his spine and ross shivers

“want to be inside you,” he groans, letting you hook a finger in his boxers. he wraps his hand around yours too, getting rid of them completely. 

once they’re off him you can’t hold back the shameless gawking. he’s big, fucking huge and hard and leaking with precum already, you’d die to get a taste of him but that’s not what’s important right now. right now you need him to destroy your insides until you can’t remember your own name. 

“like what you see?” he sounds smug, tearing the foil with his teeth and spitting it aside. you blush, and pry your gaze back to his face. 

“let me,” you take the condom off his hands, dying to touch him first. and he reacts just the way you want him too—a hiss when you wrap your hand around base and a moan when you twist it, run it all the way to his tip and back down. 

“stop being a tease,” he grunts, and you decide it’s enough, decide to finally roll the condom down on him. 

there’s barely any words after that. the room is far from silent though—it echoes with moans and sighs and the sound of your laughter when ross nips at your skin. it’s like a little rhythm—he bites softly and chases away the sting with a kiss. he leaves a mark and rewards you with a kiss. he even sees the marks he left before, kisses over them like he’s appreciating his own art. 

his hand inches between your legs and finds your clit once again, fingers rubbing lazily over it, almost in circles, slow at first and growing faster until you’re squirming for more—more friction and more of him and this and ecstasy and ross definitely knows whatever he’s doing isn’t enough but just this once you aren’t opposed to begging. 

“stop being a tease,” you whine, repeating his words from before, and he laughs at your desperation.

finally, ross decides to end this misery. for you and for him. the need is probably driving him insane too. 

when the first thrust comes, hard and fast—and without warning—your eyes roll back in your head. you whimper something, curse softly and hold onto him, legs locking around him so you can take him in deeper.

“shit baby…” he moans too. 

he’s stretching you open with his cock, thrusting into you again and again until the buzz in your head grows so loud, it drowns out any other thought. all you can focus on is his breath and the chain brushing against your chest, cold metal against sweaty bodies. 

that errant image from that first day comes back to you, your tongue against his chest, and before you can over think you do exactly that—trail kisses against his collarbone, his neck, letting your tongue roam over his skin too. you don’t dare use teeth though, you don’t dare leave a mark. no matter how tempting it is. 

your eyes flutter shut, unable to stay open any longer as his hips slam into yours, his hands grip onto your waist tighter. ross tuts.

“open your eyes,” he nudges, “i want you to look at me when you cum.”

and so you oblige, looking him in the eye and moaning his name softly with each thrust, lifting your hips to meet his and grinding your clit on his pelvis. 

the pressure inside you builds with each thrust, your entire body feels charged and taut and a current runs right under your skin. on top of you, he’s as electric as a live wire. 

“look at what you do to me,” he breathes and you feel your thighs begin to tremble. 

he can probably tell you’re close now; you’re certainly acting like it—nails scratching his back, teeth softly sinking into his shoulder so you don't scream loud enough for everyone to hear. (if it weren’t mid morning, you would have liked to scream out his name though.)

your hips thrust upwards, trying and failing to match him. you’re erratic, almost manic. there’s no rhythm to any of your movements, only lust and desire and so much want for him that you feel a wave of it run between your bodies. 

you shudder and gasp, trying to keep your eyes open, to keep looking at him still “gonna cum, f-fuck!”

he opens his mouth to speak too, about to say something but you’re already there. your body goes tense as you squeeze around ross, so tight it practically sends him into a frenzy, fucking into you faster and faster, rougher, harsher. you take it all, trying and failing to keep your voice down to a minimum. ross thrusts into you as the orgasm hits you hard. a second later you hide your face into the crook of his neck, breathing him in and feeling him practically emptying himself into the condom. ross doesn’t stop you, he holds you just as close, for just as long as you want him to.

it’s almost 10 in the morning when you lift your head off his chest in a sleepy haze. ross tries to protest but you kiss him quickly until all his complaints die on his lips. 

“you should go,” you bite your lip, guilty, and thumb the chain around his neck again. if he’s noted this particular fascination with it, he doesn’t mention it. 

“i don’t want to.”

“but…”

“i have to, yes, i know,” he sighs, deep and almost sad. 

it’s a silly thought to want to stop him. the cottage might feel like it’s detached from reality entirely but it’s not. once you step foot outside of it, everything will come crashing down on you. you can easily explain your disappearance away—the farmers market in town, some other errand, whatever excuse that comes to mind. what does ross plan on saying?

you don’t ask, mostly because you don’t want to manufacture and discuss one more thing and make this more morally depraved than it already is. 

wordlessly he gets up and walks around the room in search of his clothes. his nudity doesn’t bother him in the slightest, doesn’t bother you either—for one, you finally know all the tattoos on his body, something you’ve been dying to find out since day one. you let your eyes roam over them for as long as you can, try to commit them to memory before they get covered by his clothes. 

he finds his t-shirt in the living room and comes back to the bedroom wearing it, fully clothed now while you’re naked under the sheets still. 

“right then…”

you smile, a little sad. is this the first and the last time? do you want there to be more?

“let’s just…” you clear your throat, “i’m going to go use the bathroom…”

“and i’ll be gone by the time you come back…”

you nod, already getting up. the sheets fall of your body too but what’s there to care about? he’s already seen all of it now. still his breath hitches in his throat and a jolt of satisfaction run through you. 

“kiss me one last time?” you ask, and ross closes the distance between you, pulling you so close to him you’re almost crushed into his chest, held like he doesn’t want to let go. 

you try not to dwell too much on that kiss—it’s a fucking kiss, not your first and it won’t be your last, there’s no point in reading too much into it. it’s not a lovers kiss. it’s a kiss. because you asked for it. 

and yet his hands cradle your face and you can almost feel him smiling, almost, before he pulls away. then you turn around and practically beeline to the bathroom. 

by the time you’re out and ready to get dressed once again, the cottage is empty, silent. a silence that almost echoes with lingering sounds, but you stay in for the rest of the morning, only venturing out when you can’t ignore your growling stomach any longer. 

marta looks at you suspiciously before feeding you a bite of her orzo. it’s delicious; it always it, her food. but you still refuse when she offers to make you something. you just want to be alone, not in someone’s company and answer a million questions. 

to her credit marta lets you be. 

you don’t see the ross or ava at all for the rest of the day. or the day after.

it’s the end of their third week when ross finds you again, well… a handwritten note finds you, a crumpled piece of paper stuffed through the crack in the cottage door. 

meet me at the beach tomorrow at sunrise? 

the entire night you toss and turn, wondering if you should even go. you haven’t seen him in days, only glimpses of him and his wife. every time he’s in the room your eyes linger on him, stealing glances when he’s stealing them right back. it’s like an unspoken rule between you—no secret meetings. not again. 

and now he seems to want to break it. 

you know which beach he’s talking about—the one where you had a boat waiting for him. at 4 in the morning you give up on sleep completely. you should still have about an hour and a half till you’re supposed to meet him. and you still don’t have a decision. on autopilot you get up and brush your teeth, take a quick shower. no one’s awake yet. maybe marta, but she certainly won’t be out of bed this early. 

by 5, when the mug of coffee in your hands is almost empty, you decide you want to go after all. what’s the harm? it’s not like you’re going to end up fucking him again so publicly on the beach… 

and so you leave the cottage, strolling down to the ocean on the sandy path. the twilight is giving way to some light. the sun’s probably almost on the horizon. still, you reach the beach before ross, before the sun comes up. so you linger, sit in the sand and collect the little shells left there overnight. 

there’s no one here, just you and waves crashing on the beach. it’s peaceful—perhaps the first time you’ve truly felt any peace all summer. and yet somewhere in the back of your mind you can’t shake off the anticipation of meeting him. five minutes have already passed. maybe he changed his mind. 

maybe he’s not coming. 

just as the thought is about to solidify, you hear a set of footsteps. he’s here. and still you don’t turn until ross walks up all the way to you and sits next to you in the sand, his body pressed against yours, thighs touching. you lean your head onto his shoulder, taking in a deep breath. 

“is this a rendezvous?” you almost laugh. it’s a lame joke but ross cracks a smile anyway. it lasts about a second before his face falls again. 

“i’m leaving.”

“i know,” you close your eyes, “next week.”

“no. today.”

a pit opens up in your stomach and you bolt upright. “today?! what…?”

his smile turns sad, and you have a sneaking suspicion that it’s not just because he’s leaving, it’s something else too. you look at his face, properly, at the deep lines etched onto his forehead and the hints of grey in his hair and his beard. his arms, just as gorgeous as usual. his hands, hands that you haven’t stopped thinking about, his fingers…

your eyes linger on them. there’s no ring. he’s not wearing a ring. it’s just pale skin where it used to be.

“our plans changed,” he shrugs like it’s the most normal thing to happen. you remember what he’d said to you all those days ago on the boat. when we go back to london, i’ll call my lawyers and she’ll call hers. so that’s happening then. 

“what time?”

“around 10.”

around 10… five more hours. 

“okay,” you nod and go back to how you were, resting your head on his shoulder. this time ross rests his head on yours, both of your eyes trained on the horizon where the sun rises slowly and the beach turns golden. the water shimmers, gorgeous and like it’s out of a painting. you can’t bring yourself to move. 

“will you have breakfast with me one last time?” ross breaks the silence after a while, and you wonder if it’s a good idea. what’s the point? it won’t lead anywhere, will it? 

“i don’t think it’s such a good idea,” you swallow the lump in your throat, still unable to fully look at him. 

“i see…” more silence follows. you wonder when he will decide this is enough. you wonder when he will get up and leave you here to be rooted in this spot until the sun blazes high in the sky and you can no longer sit outside. instead ross presses his warm fingers to your cheek, and gently turns your face to him. 

“can i at least kiss you one last time then?”

now that… that you can’t say no to. and so you press your lips to his. just that, no movement, nothing—just your face cradled in his hands and your lips against his until you taste salt and realise you’re crying. maybe just a little teary. only then does he properly kiss you, moves his lips against yours until it feels like the sand beneath you is shifting. but it’s going to end anyway, it has to. and so you pull apart, take a deep breath to store his scent in your lungs for as long as you can. 

“i’m going to go stare at the ocean now,” you laugh, teary-eyed. his eyes are tinged a little pink too. 

ross chuckles. “and i’ll be gone by the time you look back.”

and that’s where you leave it. no goodbyes, no hugs and promises to come back. just you staring at the blue sky while his footsteps become quieter and quieter until you can’t hear him at all. 

enzo checks them out. you don’t know if they say anything to him, and he doesn’t mention anything out of the ordinary to you. just that he’ll send someone to clean the room, to which you protest, let him know that you’ll do it. 

the room isn’t unfamiliar, of course not, you’ve been in here a thousand times now and you will a thousand times more. still, something about it looks different. for one there’s a piece of paper folded on the bedside table. something that looks like a note. you hurry to it, not realising that there’s something inside in your eagerness to open it until a gold chain falls out. his gold chain… the one you’ve spent all of summer being fascinated by. and now it’s yours. then you unfold the note. 

thank you for the summer, it’s the best one i’ve had in years. 

ps: the chain is yours. don’t think i didn’t notice.

with trembling fingers, you put it around your neck. the metal is cold of course, and yet it reminds you of sun warmed skin and the sweat between your bodies. you clutch the note close, and sit on the bed. it has to be his side, it smells like him. maybe it won’t hurt to curl up there for just a moment. there’s no one to occupy it for another week after all. 

and so that’s what you do. 

a moment turns to an hour, to several hours until you decide you don’t want to strip the linen just yet. until you decide you want to sleep here for the night. for the rest of the week until you have to give up the villa again. marta raises her eyebrow when she finds out, but you wave her off. 

“it’s my house, nonna, i can sleep wherever i want to,” you say, confident in that statement even though it feels a little foreign. it is your house. it is. 

she just leaves it at that. 

the rest of the summer passes just as you’d planned. 

first there is an actual honeymoon couple—utterly in love and completely inseparable. you find them making out in all corners of the villa, in nooks and crannies like they can’t get enough of each other, like there’s no one else for them but each other. and maybe there isn’t. 

then there’s a week long bachelorette party. the girls convince you to get drunk with them too, to let loose a bit. it’s then that you’re most tempted to look up his number in his booking information and call him, wine drunk and slurring, in the middle of the night. 

what will you say?

what will he say?

it’s a terrible terrible idea. the worst one you’ve ever had. worse than sleeping with a married man and letting yourself feel something for him. maybe you even hate him a little then, just a little bit of resentment tinging the memories of your summer.

a summer that ends within the blink of an eye. 

three months gone just like that. 

and yet you stay. a ghost haunting a mansion like you’d told him all those months ago. now truly alone. none of the staff stay the rest of the year, just some locals who check up on you once in a while. aldo and his fisherman friends who call you over for dinner some days. other than that it’s just you. 

alone all over again. until…

six months later the villa’s phone rings on a cold morning. it’s rare, you think. almost as rare as it is for you to be still here this time of the year, but this year you haven’t felt the desire to go anywhere. this year it’s like you’re froze in summer, trying to chase that which is long gone. 

“hello?” you put on your best customer service voice, cheerful and vacant. 

“is this the villa?” 

the moment you hear it, your heart stops beating. the receiver almost falls. it’s one of those old-fashioned landlines, something you never thought you’d have to change. the chord wraps itself around your finger. a moment later your heart comes back to life, racing twice as fast. 

“yes…” you breathe, voice almost wobbly. 

“is it booked out for the summer yet?”

a smile blooms on your face, just as tears threaten to fall from your eyes. it’s ross. it’s his voice, it’s really his voice. all soft and lovely and already making its way around the insides of your skull. 

“not yet,” you laugh. it’s a watery sound. “you’re early. we don’t start taking reservations this early in the year.”

“oh?” the smile in his voice is clear. “i was hoping you’d make an exception for me. it’s only a party of one…”

you grab onto the chord of the receiver, tightly twisted around your fingers. 

party of one. party of one. party of one. 

“hello?”

“i’m here…”

for a few seconds, he doesn’t speak. but you imagine he’s smiling on the other end. you imagine his dimples on display and the crinkles around his eyes. “and will you let me come?”

involuntarily you clutch the gold chain around your neck, the one you wear every single day. the one you haven’t taken off since that very first day. it’s warm now, just as your skin is. just as his skin once felt under your hands. the tears you were barely holding in fall on your cheeks, and yet your face splits into a wide grin. 

“party of one, you say.”

“it could be two,” he laughs a small, secret laugh, “if you’ll allow it.”

you do a little jump in place, giddy and practically acting like a schoolgirl with a crush. then you clear your throat and clutch the receiver closer. “why don’t you come find out?”

taglist: @scooby-doodoo @partoftheairforce @justgoatsbreakinghearts0855 @beachesgetpeaches @you-muppet @mcabister @alexmarie29 @at-her-very-foreign @hfkait @sierraeslaprincesa @harrie-fic-center @alien-girl-violet @thereisaplaceintheheart @kennedy-brooke @lolidontknowanymore @celestcies @sugarkane1001 @ari-turner @daphnesutton @beliefandsayingsomething @ros3chu @nothingrevealedeverythingdenied @zzzhealy @mattymybeloved @indiaamars @sofaritsalrightt @k4tie75 @wondersecret @indierockgirrl @tonguepiercedanyway75 @if-my-heart-bleeds @abriefnirvana @renitypoem @sinarainbows @lady-may-targaryen @love4agesss @angrylittlebaldman @oneluckygirl @starvchaser @noacfapologyst @abouttofillhisshoes @tbhnotthatfunny @wrongendofyourcigarettte

add yourself to / remove yourself from the taglist