#This man has been stuck in my skull for days

[nonsensefromtheabyss]

Alastor Analysis

(Throwing my hat into the ring because the smiley fucker has me in a headlock. Warning; long and potentially insane. God I hope the cut works.)

I think something significant is gonna go down with Alastor in the next few episodes. I think the man is slipping.

Something that sticks out to me on rewatch is that Husk isn’t worried by the lights flickering or Alastor’s voice changing (the usual signs of him getting vicious.) He doesn’t look scared when the collar appears; his initial order of reactions actually goes ‘surprised’, ‘bitch please’, and then he starts doing damage control. It takes Alastor pulling on the chain to make him stop and actually look at how angry the overlord actually is. It says a lot to me that Husk’s first reaction is to be pissed off. He looks like he’s recognising that his bitchy demon master isn’t going to take any advice and he’s gonna be made to back off—and he’s angry about that. 

To detail, the fact that he approaches Alastor directly with his concerns and not Charlie (you know; the all-powerful, hotel owning, hell princess whose daddy’s in town), and puts the focus on him possibly getting into trouble means that Husk did all this out of a sense of concern or compassion. Husk isn’t acting purely in the interests of the hotel here, he’s trying to protect Alastor. This is a genuine offer of advice being thrown in Husk’s face for no apparent reason beyond arrogance; he has every right to be pissed off, and he is. He’s angry with Alastor and he shows that even as he’s shutting up. Angry, not scared.

Husk bitching about Alastor isn’t unusual. He cares enough to try and help the bastard out. The way he interacts with the conversation initially indicates to me that means he normally feels safe enough to do things like this. He’s comfortable calling his master out. He’s doing his best to stop Alastor making some kind of mistake. He is trusted with the information that Alastor isn’t a free man himself. When the chain appears, he’s frustrated, he cedes ground… but he isn’t scared. 

I don’t think Alastor manifesting Husk’s chains is unheard of in their relationship—Alastor’s a mean bitch who only tolerates a little bit of poking before he snaps—but I do think that the pulling of that chain is usually as bad as it gets. That’s the point where Husk stops talking but hasn’t started looking worried yet. Husk was probably fully expecting that being knocked to the floor would be the end of the matter. 

He’s scared—the most scared we’ve ever seen him—only after Alastor goes Radio Demon on him, and that’s why I think it’s something he’s never had happen before. Husk wasn’t expecting that degree of reaction at all. And I think it’s a sign that Alastor is starting to lose it.

We know the smile is fake. We know it’s a form of self-imposed self-discipline that’s as rigid as it is insane. And we now have it confirmed that Alastor has some pretty aggressive insecurities that are eating away at him behind the facade. Last time he was seen as ‘less than’ he slaughtered hide way to the top of the Pride Ring

Going episode by episode, there’s a subtle pattern of Alastor getting progressively more snubbed, which isn’t really what you expect when you’re introduced to the character in the Pilot. Vaggie describes him as someone of almost mythic power and, even with Angel’s levity and irreverence, that’s the impression that sticks, cemented by the way he takes out Sir Pentious. You get an immediate impression of what Alastor was like at the very top of his game.

You know: before the Seven Year Absence.

In the first episode, there’s the advert. The video advert. It’s all played for jokes (as it should be) but if you look at it as a first domino it makes sense. It’s our reintroduction to Alastor as a character: he’s made a terrible, unhelpful tv commercial and the ‘good’ one (we never get to see) was made with significant help. He clearly loathes having to do it, and he’s clearly got no real skill in it (if he did, he’d be showing off because he’s unbearably vain, you all know this is true.) He’s out of his element and he’s not adjusting quickly enough; people don’t know him from the radio anymore because Vox has the monopoly in entertainment.

Speaking of, in the Second Episode, we get Vox, aka the first and only person who gives a damn where deer boy went. Vox gives this shit by playing dress up and writing a diss track which Alastor immediately co-opts to make him rage quit. The song slaps—Alastor’s part in the song slaps… but it’s worth pointing out that Vox is the only person shown caring that The Radio Demon is back; the other two V’s are mildly entertained because they have renewed lease to absolutely dunk on Vox, and, while the crowds are drawn to the radio, they don’t look… bothered. There’s no big reaction of ‘dear god, it’s him (the deer god)’. Granted, we don’t see their response to the threat, but tbh if any radio threatens you with a return to The Bad Old Days the only honest reaction is to be a little scared, you don’t need to be in Hell for that.

In any case, regardless of how much he sucked at it, Vox still felt confident enough to make his little coping track public in the first place. He felt certain enough about Alastor’s lack of standing to make his own insecurities into a musical. The cultural idea of Alastor and his mythos has degraded enough for people to take potshots and then broadcast those potshots for funnsies. It’s pretty far from where we started in the Pilot with Vaggie not even wanting him past the door.

Third Episode… people of the conference room, please raise your right hand if you care why this staticky twink has been gone for seven years. *cue the deafening silence of no hands being raised*

Alastor is shut down and dismissed entirely in front of every other overlord at once, and it happens without consequence. He can’t do dick. He can’t play up the mystery, or draw them in to his narrative, or do anything to take control of the room. No one asked, no one cares. The meeting (which, if Carmine’s surprise at seeing him there is any indicator, he might not have even been directly invited to) moves on. I’m almost certain that the only reason he played coy with Zestial was because he thought he could have that Moment with everyone there and listening. He wants so desperately to be listened to.

We know that the hierarchies in Hell are less about who could actually make you eat concrete and more a popularity contest. That’s made explicitly clear in the first episode with low level sinners tearing strips off of Charlie, and clearer still in Helluva Boss where Stolas gets disrespected by the whole club for his messy personal business—in song form. And what I’ve not actually seen anyone else talking much about is how Alastor may be a very physically powerful demon but he’s getting no respect from any of his old peers. Sure, maybe the masses are spooked, but it’s not to the point where it’s making anyone else lose their chokehold. The people huddled around his radio still flick their eyes back to Vox’s screens when he talks. The egg boys ask him inane personal questions the same way they would anyone else. His own peers neither respect him nor care that he’s come back. Nobody has shown (positive) interest in the hotel now that it’s his personal enterprise.

We’re told the time skip was five months. We have no idea if things have changed in those five months, but Alastor starts Episode 5 palpably agitated. I’m guessing things didn’t go up for him. I’m guessing that it’s setting in for him that this is the vibe now, and the only person who actually thinks him untouchable is, well, him.

Add Lucifer. Suddenly, his business partner might not actually need him at all, either as help or an emotional connection, because she can replace them with her father, the actual king of Hell, who doesn’t like him; there’s an infinitely more powerful and capable demon in what is functionally Alastor’s home; said powerful demon has no fucking clue who Alastor even is, the role he plays, or the effort he’s invested (regardless of reason) into Charlie’s project, and there is no Alastor Approved way of making any respect happen on that front. As far as he’s concerned, he’s looking at a brick wall with FUCK YOU PERSONALLY graffitied on it.

Regarding the songs with Alastor in them, both of them are serving two purposes; the first is to piss off someone who slighted him, but I think the second is to reassert to everyone present his importance specifically after an instance of them forgetting. With Vox the primary objective is roasting the other overlord into shut down and the secondary is warning everyone listening that he’s still a viable threat despite what they just heard. With Lucifer, the first goal is to piss harder than the devil, but the second is reminding Charlie that he’s important and he has a place with them. Little as he’d like to admit it, it’s two cases of Alastor demanding a return to the way things usedto be. He wants to be the most terrifying thing on the wavelengths by default, and is willing to short out the power supply to all Hell to get that; he wants to be valued so much by the people around him that the most important man in Hell can’t just supplant him by being there. Obviously it doesn’t work out like that, but a self-absorbed nightmare man can dream.

And then Husk brings up the idea that he might be vulnerable on top of All That. It’s the final straw. He has spent the last few episodes very subtly scrabbling for a shred of acknowledgement and his bitch ass is getting none. 

Mimzy, if I’m allowed to speculate a little, is deliberately thrown into the mix at this juncture because of how she relates to Alastor in juxtaposition to the damage his seven year absence and unspecified deal has done to his reputation; she wants to hide behind his coattails because he’s the big, scary Radio Demon who can protect her from anything, because who in their right mind would cross him? She’s literally a part of his old life. She’s reacting to him the way everyone did seven years ago—with complete and total faith in his ability to be an unholy monster at a moment’s notice.

Being told ‘hey, maybe she’s in deeper shit than you can shovel because someone’s tying your hands’ is, to Alastor, just another snub in a long, illustrious line, and this time it’s personal because it’s coming from Husk. It’s not just a newly popular medium he’s no good with, or Vox with his haterection, or a meeting he can’t derail with his personal life, or a boardroom full of equals he newly means nothing to—it’s his own people thinking he’s not capable anymore. And Husk is happy to say that with literally the most powerful man in Hell right there for comparisons in inadequacy. Going full dial eyes on him isn’t just an over-vicious retaliation, it’s a demonstration and reminder of what Alastor is capable of… and it’s probably done for himself as much as it’s about putting Husk back in his place. 

Because that’s what Alastor used to be able to do; make all the other overlords cower on their knees at his feet while he regaled them with all the ways in which they could fuck off. 

Seven years of possibly not entirely voluntary absence… and this is the closest to that he can get. A guy whose soul he owns, who will be back to snarking in a few days time, having to be dragged into prostrating himself on the carpet. One of the few people who inexplicably give a shit about him promising to shut up only on pain of death.

And at the end of the episode everything he’s done means nothing and he has to tell Mimzy to leave anyway… and he’s subdued and uncomfortable about it. She’s his friend, one of the few people willing to tolerate him, and apparently one of the last people to share the perception he has of himself… and he has to tell her to go because the reality is that he, for whatever reason, is not making choices which are entirely his own. The reality is that Husk may be right; Alastor’s grip on everything and everyone around him is, for a variety of reasons, not as strong as it used to be. The guy is unravelling behind the mask; he’s insufferably proud and it’s starting to strangle him.

The point of all this is, there’s a pattern of escalation here. I think Alastor is out of his depth and it’s going to start showing. I think he’s going to make some sort of desperate bid for control to get his standing back. I think he’s going to have to reckon with his own disappearance. And… I don’t think it’s gonna be pretty.

TLDR: My Beloved is a time bomb and him dominating Husk was just the alarm going off. I believe this with my whole heart because of Reasons.

(Side note: I think it’s been sidelined and/or cut due to season constraints and the show being rushed to shit by production, but I do believe Charlie and Al must have some kind of bond. It’s been five months of living together and she doesn’t turn around and refute his claims or even look surprised by them, which implies to me that the events are true if not the presentation. Obviously the girl’s got daddy issues and Al doesn’t actually see her as a daughter, but I really don’t think that equals ‘there’s no fond feelings here at all.’ Plus everyone else is there watching their nonsense; while Alastor has 0% shame, I’m pretty sure someone else (Vaggie) would have something to say if him claiming affection for Charlie was as left field for them as it was for us. Really wish we had more time for relaxed character interactions to let dynamics breathe, there was such potential in HH’s concepts but I feel like we’re skipping whole chunks. I want the dumb beach episode, you know?) 

[myfriendtheghost]

good morning my love

[couldeatthatgirlforlunch]

Nonsense

Synopsis: While on the brink of death, you confess your greatest burden to Rex. He always had a crush on you, so he decides that at his final moments, he should grant both of your last wishes… Until Invincible saves you.

You go on with your life, but Rex can't seem to forget what you did under that rock.

Pairing: Rex Sloan X Gn!Reader

Tw: Mentioned sex a lot, but no description, except a mention of multiple orgasms; Mentioned virginity loss; Mentioned dying; Mentioned self deprecation; Mentioned loneliness; Unrequited love on Rex's part until the end; Happy ending; Despair; Reader is a late bloomer, that makes them insecure, and their perception of dating is skewed because of that; Drunk confession; Mentioned past cheating (it's Rex guys); English isn't my first language.

Word count: 4,5k

Requested? Nope.

Extra notes: Imagine Rex singing Nonsense instead of Sabrina Carpenter. Divider

General masterlist

The urge to laugh is too strong, no matter how hard you try to hold it in, it bubbles from your guts until it's spilling from your mouth and echoing around the hole you're stuck in. It's inappropriate, you know it is, and you're not sure how your colleague might feel about that.

But it's your death too, so you think you can react however you want.

“What the fuck? Are you going crazy on me now?!” Rex, so eloquently, exclaimed. It just makes you crackle harder, tears swiftly starting to leak from your eyes.

“It's just- HAHA- it's funny! In- In a- HA- really fucked way… HAHAHA!” Rex stared at you with wide eyes, weirded out, and almost afraid of you.

“Hot stuff, hmm… I know I’m not the most gracious dude you know but…” He turned his head from one side to the other, looking around. “We’re about to die here, I don't think it's funny.” He crossed his arms. “And I’m trying to escape this shithole we’re stuck in. I’m gonna be pissed if you just keep sitting there and giggling.” He scowled.

You kept giggling.

“It's just… I’m a fucking loser!” You threw your head back, tears streaming down faster. “I’m about to die a virgin! HA!” You clapped your hands when your eyes started burning, trying to coax more genuine tears from laughing instead of crying.

Rex blinked.

“You… Uhhh…?”

“I’m about to die! And I never even had sex before! HA!” Suddenly, the giggles became so forced that the signals of an approaching headache made themselves known inside your skull. “I was just a lab rat! I’ve never ever lived anything! Never dated anyone…” The urge to cry got stronger as your heart constricted, and the situation didn't seem all that funny anymore. “And I’m still a virgin…” You sniffed, uselessly trying to wipe your face with both hands, a little too aggressively. Crying was no worth when death was knocking at your door. Rex winced.

“Oh man… I’m so sorry-”

“AND I’M STUCK HERE WITH THE BIGGEST WHORE I KNOW!”

Rex frowned and pursed his lips.

“Hey! That was not cool… Fair. I guess. But not cool…” Rex sighed, walked towards you, and dropped down to sit by your side. You giggled harder, clapping weakly, eyes closed.

“AND HE NEVER EVEN FLIRTED WITH ME! HAHAHA- HAHA- HA. Ha. Ha…”

Silence overtook the hole for a minute, broken only by you sniffing.

Getting buried to death by Doc Seismic would've been quicker. But getting stuck in a 8x8 feet hole after an earthquake he caused, not being able to get out despite both having superpowers, and then suffocating to death, was almost as humiliating as dying a virgin. Almost.

You were so far below that you couldn't even hear the fight anymore, you only could wish you wouldn't be dead by the time someone found you both. You knew having powers that need to be charged by sunlight would fuck you up one day. And of course Murphy’s Law would cause you to be stuck with a guy whose powers were also useless in this situation, because Rex either would've exploded you both, or caused the rocks above you to shift and crush you faster.

You snorted at the thought.

“Am I ugly?” You blurted out one of the thoughts that crossed your mind sometimes, when loneliness and self deprecation decided to torture your mind a little, and you found yourself getting jealous of people in positions you didn't even wanna be in. Because of course you didn't want to be Eve, and get cheated on multiple times by Rex, or Kate, and her dating dynamics that just weren't what you felt was for you, or even Amanda, that didn't even have to do anything to make a guy so whipped for her, that he decided to look like a kid just to be with her while her curse of forever looking like a child still had a hold over her life. But at least… At least they were wanted.

Rex's eyes widened again.

“WHAT? NO! What the hell? Of course not! You're hot. You're… Beautiful. Hey, don't feel bad about an asshole like me never hitting on you. Guys like me, we just… We never go for people we think are out of our league. We go for accessibility. And you're… Shit, you're the most intimidating person I’ve ever met… In a good way.” You rolled your eyes.

“Atom Eve is not ‘mid’, you jackass.” Rex shook his head.

“Didn't say she was, honestly she's not even my type. I mean, anyone could see that we weren't meant to be together. I just dated her because she came onto me first…” You deadpanned him, unimpressed to be hearing this during your final moments. “Don't look at me like that! We're cool now! We talked about it and she agreed we weren't good. Plus, she's with Mark now…” Your shoulders slumped, defeated, not a single ounce of fight left. “... And if we're gonna point fingers, she was into him while she was with me! So, I’m not totally guilty here…” You gave him the stinky eye, because he was cheating on her at the time. “... Just 98%...”

You sighed, looking away. Staring at nothing. Head empty. Just disappointed.

“Whatever…”

Rex cleared his throat.

“Why is it such a big deal anyway? Sure, you're kind of a loser. Not by my standards!” His voice raised at that. “I don't really care ‘bout that… Never heard anyone saying that sex is overrated? Because it is! Look at me. I used sex all the time just to feel better about myself. All in the past, of course. I’m a changed man.”

You huffed, almost bored, but thankful for the distraction. At this point, you felt hollow. Absolutely empty. Nothing could affect you anymore. For better or worse. You were gonna die anyway.

“Everyone says it's overrated, but that's because everyone has sex… I’m just… Touch starved, I guess. And lonely… I can't remember the last time someone hugged me. Or wanted to spend time with me. Or looked at me. I only held hands with someone, romantically, once. On a double date I was just because someone needed to bring a friend.” You sighed. “Everyone says I’m beautiful, but people don't try to talk to me. No one tries to get my number. And I’ve never even reached the talking stage. All my friends are dating, while I’m just the odd one out…” You pursed your lips. “And everyone tries to give advice by saying ‘the right person will come if you stop looking’, or ‘at the right time’, or ‘you don't need it anyway’. But that's not what bothers me. None of those things are problems to people who don't care. I live my life. I don’t search for it. I don't spend my days thinking about it. I’m not the most romantic person you’ll ever meet… But I’m horny. And alone. I don't need anyone interested in me. But it would be nice to have someone trying every once in a while…” You shrugged your shoulders. “And honestly, it makes me feel insecure. I feel bad thinking I might date someone in the future and they’ll say ‘I don't have a problem with (Y/N)’s exes, because I’m their first’ as if that's a prize, or a quality. No one is worth enough to be that important. But people who are in love say you don't regret those things if you're with the right person. Well, I’m a full grown adult now, and this person never showed up. Maybe they never will. And I’ll end up being a 42 year old loner who everyone pities, and no one understands why I’m alone. I know I would be great. I know I’m a keeper. But… When you get used to being alone, you don't know how to stop. So I guess my viewing on dating is also skewed from that.” You rolled your eyes when they burned again. “And people my age give me weird looks when I say I have so little experience. Because it's not normal. I’m not normal. That's how I feel. I'm weird. There's something wrong with me.” You blew a raspberry, contrasting to the tears rolling down your cheeks. “Not that it matters anymore. We're about to die… FUCK YOU SEISMIC!”

You slumped back against the wall so lazily that your body slid down the rock and dirt underneath you until you were laying down. Your eyes closed shut, ashamed at having vented to someone like Rex, who certainly didn't need to hear about all your paranoias caused by your own mind, and neither understood it.

You spent the few next minutes in silence, and it was horrible to find out that you at least could feel embarrassment.

Rex tugged his mask and goggles off, deposited them on the ground on his other side, took his gloves off and did the same. Then he ran a hand through his ginger and sweaty hair, before tying it in the bun he always wore.

“I could… Help you?” He asked, tentatively.

You whipped your head in Rex's direction, eyes wide, as if you just heard the most absurd idea ever.

“What?”

“Yeah… There's nothing wrong with you, (Y/N). Maybe you’re just unlucky, or maybe everyone is as afraid of you as I am… But, if you're up for it, it would be an honor to spend my last minutes tangled with you. And you would know what it's like to have sex. Not to brag, but I’m quite good at it too, I’m sure you've heard before, so you're in good hands.” He shrugged with a little smile. “No pressure.”

He said no pressure, but when he looked at you like that, it was impossible not to feel compelled. Tan skin, red hair in a slutty bun, thick eyebrows, wide and bright green eyes, meaty lips, each corner pointing up in a grin that assured you everything was going to be fine.

And that's how it happened. That's how you lost your virginity. Between a rock and a hard place.

Minutes later, Invincible rescued you both.

“What does he have that I don't?” Rex glared daggers at the random agent from the GDA you were talking to. Too flirty, in his opinion.

“Hm?” Mark asked, not really paying attention.

“That old geezer (Y/N)’s talking to.” The ginger pointed at him, obnoxiously as ever. Mark’s eyes widened and he begged at the other with his eyes to stop.

“Stop pointing! They’ll see!” Rex just brought his other hand up and flipped at the guy’s back with both hands. Mark groaned and grabbed his arms, forcing them down. “Maybe he's more polite?! I don't know. Why do you care?”

Rex groaned louder than him. Some people around turned their attention on the two of them momentarily, including you. But that was just for a second, before you shrugged your shoulders and you dismissed him. Again. The ginger deflated at losing your attention once more.

“Oh, so he's better than me because his parents raised him?! Nice one, Mark.” He scoffed. “He’s just a stupid fucking nerd cocksucker who works on finance, wears a toupee, lives with his mom and wouldn't even be able to get his micro dick hard on front of someone like (Y/N).”

“... Okay?” Mark crossed his arms. “I thought you were different now.” He lifted an eyebrow. Rex scowled.

“I am! I just- just…” Rex stuttered. “... It doesn't make sense!” He basically screamed, pointing again, exasperated, with both arms out. Mark face-palmed with a sigh, ignoring the eyes on them again.

“Rex… Do you like them?” Rex’s green eyes widened at that, his heart fell to his feet, his muscles froze for a second and a half.

“What? I- no. No, of course not.” His voice came out thinner and higher than usual. Mark tillted his head.

“Are you sure?”

“Am I sure? Yes! Yes, I am. Why? Does it look like I ain't?” He scoffed again with a grimace, crossing his arms protectively around himself.

“Kinda.”

“Well, you're wrong!”

“Mhm. Was it out of nowhere or did something happen between you two?”

“Pfff, fuck off.” Mark shrugged his shoulders.

“Okay.” He turned to leave, but Rex stopped him before he could.

“I can't say what happened, past me would, because I was a jerk, which I’m not anymore, but something happened, I just won't say what.” Invincible sighed and rubbed his face.

“And did you talk about it with them?”

“Of course not!”

“You should.”

Rex cried out.

“Terrible advice. Horrible. Shitty. You're the worst friend ever!”

Mark shook his head.

“Then nothing will change! Just think about it. Use your new maturity.” He raised his eyebrows to emphasize his point, while Rex pouted. “It's okay to be jealous, man. But to get them, you have to talk to them.” He patted his shoulder. “Took me long enough to understand that, but you’ll get there.”

Rex let out all the air on his lungs, staring at you with longing. He chewed on the interior of his cheek when he watched you write your number on the guy's hand with a pen you snatched from his chest pocket.

“... You're right. Thanks, man.” Rex mumbled with his jaw tense and fists closed tight. “I’ll talk to them.”

Mark watched wearily as the redhead stumped all the way down the room to get to you. He winced at the prospect of what would happen, but ultimately decided to give his friend a chance, and just wait.

“HEY JACKASS!”

“Oh no…” He mumbled, wincing.

You blinked as you looked up at your colleague approaching, looking furious.

“Oh hey, Rex, what's up?”

“You!” He shoved his pointer finger against the guys's chest. “(Y/H/N) doesn't like ugly bald assholes! Get out of here before I beat you and shove a bomb up your-”

“REX!” You slapped his chest, then watched, speechless, as the poor guy scrambled away from you. “Why’d you do that? He's not even bald…”

“Heh, cutie, you don't know guys like I do. You have a long way ahead yet. You started off just fine with me.” He pointed his two thumbs at his chest, proudly. “I get that it's hard to find someone on my level to compete with for your second time, but please, don't insult yourself by giving ugly losers a chance.” He puffed his chest out. You blinked, mouth falling open.

“... Okayyyy? That actually wasn't going to be the second? That time with you helped me a lot, thanks by the way, I’m way more confident now and I think it shows.” You shrugged. “I went on three dates already and two of them are obsessed with me.” You laughed easily. “Still weird to talk about it though, never thought I'd say something like that, but yeah. Thanks again.”

You patted his chest and walked away.

Mark walked in Rex's direction after he watched you distance yourself from him.

“Mark. That didn't work. You told me it would work.”

“... You look like a kicked puppy. It's… Weird…” He blinked, and crossed his arms. “Also, what you did, that's not what I meant.” He shook his head. “Definitely not.”

“... Did you hear anything?”

He shook his head again.

“Just the part where you screamed at that innocent guy, you should get sued for harassment.”

Rex huffed.

“What do I do now?”

“Try again. Nicer this time.”

“Here. Coffee for you.” Rex left a cup in front of you.

“But I don't drink coffee?” He blushed as red as his hair, so hard that the roseness showed through his tan skin.

“Since when?!”

“Since always?!” You stared at him, confused.

“... Okay. Noted.” You stared at each other in silence, for a moment. “... Let's go on a date!” He blurted.

“What? Why?” You jumped from your seat, shocked out of your sockets.

“Because we had sex!”

“You had sex with half the people you know!”

“Not anymore! Not- not since you.”

You sighed deeply, praying for patience, and holding your eyes from rolling inside your skull, purely out of the kindness on your heart.

“Rex, we can't go out.” Rex’s jaw fell, bewildered.

“W-W-Why not?”

“Because- Are you kidding me? Is this a joke?!” You gestured wildly, as if the answer was obvious. “Why do you want to go out with me?” You placed your hands on your hips and raised your eyebrows, inquiring for a logical answer.

“... Because I’m into you.” You rolled your eyes.

“Yeah, sexually. I know you are. We had sex under a rock, you came three times, it was kinda obvious you were attracted to me.” Rex shook his head hastily.

“No! Not like that. I… I think I’m in love with you…” Silence reigned over the room for a couple moments, that felt like an eternity for both of you. You didn't even want to give him an answer, because what do you say to something like that? To someone like him? As for Rex… “... Can't you say something already?!” He exclaimed while shaking his hands, sounding pissed off, but actually desperate.

“... You're not in love with me.” You stated.

“Yes, the fuck I am?”

“No, the fuck you aren't. You might be in love with my guts. Or with intimacy. Or the attention. Or you're having a trauma response to almost dying, and got emotionally dependent on me because I was there, and we kind of comforted each other. But you are not in love with me.” You shook your head, sporting a serious countenance and hugging your torso protectively.

“(Y/N)... That's what you think of me?” You blinked.

“... I don't know. Yes? No? Maybe?” You shook your head and shrugged your shoulders. “What I think doesn't matter. Even if you're a good guy now, I know my luck. You think you're in love with me now because I gave you some attention, and we had sex, and we were on the brink of death.” Rex tried to interrupt you, but you raised your hand, he took a step forward but you took a step back. “But it’s not real. You’ll be entertained with me for a while, then we’ll run out of things to talk about because you're not that interested anymore, and you're just gonna look for me for sex, and then I’m gonna feel like everyone pities me and thinks I’m stupid for being with you, for thinking I actually had a chance at a relationship. And I'll feel like that too. And then it's going to end.” You took another step back, and he took a step forward, his expression looking more crestfallen the more you looked bothered, hurt and defensive, while trying to hide. “You don't want me, Rex. You just want someone. And you might genuinely want someone else, one day. But that person is not me.” You straighten your posture, kicking your vulnerability away, and willing every ounce of determination to show. “Again, thank you for taking that weight off my back, and for making it fun, but don't think for a second I had any hope or intention that it would turn into more than just sex.”

“(Y/N)...”

You faked the same friendly smile you always give everyone, trying your hardest to pretend everything is okay, the future isn't weird, and nothing has changed.

“If you wanna be friends with benefits, that's cool with me.” You shrugged, and walked away to lock yourself in your room.

Rex didn't talk to you again for a while, and you were okay with that. If he was going to act like an idiot, then he could do it away from you. Meanwhile, you distracted yourself with training with the other Guardians, saving people, enjoying time alone — as you were used to —, and sometimes indulging in the attention of those guys you got out of luck, at least while it lasted. Good things were rare for you, so you usually just took what you could get. That didn’t mean you were going to humiliate yourself for crumbs, and that's surely what any ill intentioned person will try to give you

That is, until your peace was disturbed in the middle of the night. You had a hunch about who was knocking on your door, but you were rooting for the possibility that it was just Rudy calling you for an emergency.

But it wasn't, it was Rex. And he was drunk.

“Look… I don't care what you think…” The redhead was so out of it that he needed to hold on the threshold so as not to fall, while the other held his beer and pointed a finger in your general direction. “If I said I’m in love with you… I’m in love with you…” He lost balance for a second, but got a hold of it soon enough. “I’ve never said that to anyone… Anyone… You can… Ask around…” His eyes closed, surely heavy.

“Rex, go to your room.” You mustered all the patience in the world to utter those words as calmly as you could manage.

“No… Now you're gonna… Hear me…” He opened his eyes and chugged the rest of his drink, shooking you to your core. “You blame me… You blame other people… You blame yourself… You blame everyone…” You crossed your arms and tapped your foot at how long it was taking him to formulate sentences. “But the truth is… You can have everything you’ve ever wanted…” He tilted his head, probably because of how heavy it felt. “With me…”

You sighed, exasperated.

“Go to sleep!” You insisted.

“With you?” He giggled, and before you could say anything, he somehow managed to stumble inside your room. You guess it would be the easiest thing to push him out, but you were too nice to watch him fall in the middle of the corridor, despite having too little patience to take care of him throughout the rest of the night. The goal was to get rid of him as soon as possible.

“No, not with me! In your own room! Alone!”

“You're jealous baby? You shouldn't be… I only have eyes for you…” He fell on your bed, basically dead weight, and you wondered if he passed out. “My body is yours…”

You huffed, uncrossed your arms, and tried to pull him out of your bed by pulling on one of his arms, but he was too heavy, and not even in the slightest controlling his weight to help you. You don't even think it's out of pettiness, just drunkness.

“Shut up and get out of here.” You rolled your eyes.

“I’m not perfect… I’m not the best you could get… But I want you… You can…” His face was planted in your mattress, causing his Voice to come out muffled. “Gimme a chance… You're hot…”

“Tsk.”

“But not only that…” Rex turned his head to the side to look at you, looking more awake now, just a little. “You're way, waaayyy out of my league… You're smart and… A-And great…” He blinked slowly. His face was squished against the mattress, causing his full lips to pout, while he stared almost dreamily at you. “Y-You asked me… T-That day… You asked me why I never hit on you… You came straight out of my dreams… And I… I didn't want to get rejected…” He groaned, closed his eyes, and scrunched his face, as if having a bad memory, or a migraine. You hoped he wasn't getting sick. “But then w-we had sex… And it was fucking amazing!” He blew a raspberry. “Just to reject me later.” He sighed deeply.

“And?” You rolled your eyes.

At this point, you just gave up on lifting him for now, and sat down next to his torso on the bed, wondering how to convince him to fuck off out of your room

Sitting down proved to be a bad idea when he inched closer to lay his head on your lap, nuzzling your thighs.

“Don't run from me, baby… I know I’m an idiot… But I’m trying my best to change… Taking constructive criticism and… Respecting opinions… And all…” He left a delicate, barely there, but reverent nonetheless, kiss on your thigh. “And you deserve only the best… Of the best…” He sniffed. “D-Don’t go for a dick l-like Immortal…” Rex lightly nibbled on your flesh, on the same place he left that peck, so delicately that he was basically running his teeth along your skin. “You deserve someone like Mark… And I’m trying to be more like him…” He pouted and frowned as if you had given him an answer he didn't like, but his eyes were still closed. “One chance… Just… You deserve to be loved… You're… The exact opposite of the old me and everything I did… I never wanted to hurt you with that… You're… A constant… You're… Safe… You're… Reliable… You're just… Genuine, and special like that…”

He fell silent suddenly, and you sighed, not really sure which course of action you should take, and even thinking he fell asleep. Until he spoke again, spooking you even.

“Just because it didn't happen yet… Doesn't mean you can't be loved…” He slowly cracked his eyelids open and, with great effort to balance his head, looked up at you. “Please baby, don't say something like that again, it's just… Not true… And I’m gonna… Beat anyone who made you think that…” You let out a weak, wet laugh you didn't even know was on your throat, and swallowed, suddenly finding yourself emotional, while amused, just because of his last words. He looked like a puppy, looking up at you like that. Damn pretty boys. “I know you're lonely… I’m lonely too… We can be… Lonely together… Or whatever cliche shit people say to something like that…” He closed his eyes again, and nuzzled his face on your skin once again, seemingly satisfied to stay there.

Rex let out a soft, happy hum, when you, hesitantly, lifted your hand from the mattress to his mess of red hair, and started rubbing your fingernails against his sensitive scalp without damaging his bun. Sending tingles through his nerves and warming his insides more than the heat from his explosions ever could.

“Rex…”

“Let's just try… Please… If it doesn't work out, that's okay… But… We’re both… Tired of being alone…” You felt your eyes sting. “I know I’m an idiot… But we have to… Try…”

You felt the moment he actually fell asleep, dozing off on your lap, leaving the both of you in a literal and metaphorical uncomfortable position, that would surely leave you regret and pain the next day.

But as you looked down at him, it was just like that day again. Dark and uncomfortable. You feeling desperate while focusing on his stupidly handsome face, with his tan skin, aquiline nose, messy red hair, full lips, dimpled chin, thick eyebrows and long lashes. Part of you wished he would just open his eyelids and look at you with those innocent, sad green orbs again.

And just like that day, you decided to give him a chance.

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[osamucide]

BITCHBOY ⊹

ALL I WANT IN THIS WHOLE WIDE WORLD IS TO BE YOUR BITCHBOY . . . ft. Osamu Dazai

wc: ~6.8k

cw: 18+ MINORS DO NOT INTERACT. icky pervy stoner roommate!Dazai <333 also pathetic wet cat mess of a man Dazai, afab+gn!reader, established roommate relationship, no established romantic relationship, implied bi!Dazai if you squint, referenced whore!Dazai, weed smoking+intox/noncon (reader says "stop" once and he does not stop), dubcon (becomes 'consenual' but Dazai's coercive+they're high), noncon elements can be interpreted (esp at the end) to be roleplay with prior consent! dirty talk, shotgunning, fingering, squirting, kissing, penetration, creampie, insulting nicknames (Dazai receiving), biting, this is depraved and I will answer for it on judgement day

reid: he’s all i think about.

tags: @kalsplace

You’re grumbling under your breath when you’re about to cross the threshold to your apartment because, as if the rest of your day hadn’t been annoying enough, your stupid key decides to give you extra trouble—as of late, it’s not working unless you jam it in the lock at a very specific angle and jiggle violently until just before you’re sure the knob will fall off, all whilst cursing your landlord’s neglect of the crummy old building like some enchantment or spell that ties the whole rage-inducing, access-granting ritual together.

Couldn’t your good-for-nothing roommate hear you struggling with it?

“Hey, sorry,” he chirps too brightly for the evening hour, floating out of his room as you shut the door behind you with a sigh—ever the mind reader. You forego your eye-roll this time; you’re convinced that one of these days they’ll get stuck in your skull what with how much you do it. You hear Dazai sauntering toward you as you’re shrugging your jacket off, hanging it up, tossing your bag on the table. “Was busy.”

You’re ready to turn and scowl at him, but when you face him, he’s waggling the little pipe in your face—the green one with blue flecks in the glass, undoubtedly what he was busy with while you broke into your own home—and you won’t admit that you already feel your irritation start to melt away when it slides from his fingertips to yours. You clutch it, latch onto the mouthpiece, and watch as the brunette flicks the flame out and lights you up.

You exhale gratefully, take one more pull, and hand the glowing bowl back for him to catch the remainder of before he lights it again. “Thank you," you croak before short cough leaves you. “Was real close to bitching you out for not leaving the door unlocked.”

Dazai blows his smoke directly back in your face with a small grin. “Redeemed by my weed once again.”

You chuckle and wave it away, making a point of sliding by him and toward your room to change. You need to unwind a second before dealing with him for the rest of the night. “‘S’all that ever redeems you. Crack a window, will ya?”

It’s really not a bad arrangement to have a live-in pot dealer—that’s basically what Dazai is and has been as long as you’ve roomed with him. Sure, he's also a pain in your ass; the man can hardly cook, you had to show him how to use the washing machine in the common area when you first moved in, and only a bit ago, after almost half a year of sharing a living space, have you convinced him to keep his mess of discarded socks and food packaging contained within his bedroom. It took a lot of harsh reprimanding about how you're not his parent and he's not your teenage son for you to realize it'd be a little of his own medicine to get him to start taking you seriously. Leaving your empty takeout box on the coffee table right where he liked to eat his, tossing your sweatshirt over his spot on the couch and refusing to move it for days—he took the message, albeit smugly, after that, and hasn't given you trouble since.

Even despite being a pain in the ass, though, especially now that he at least cleans up after himself, you have to admit you don't hate his presence in your home and in your life. You chalk it up to how infuriatingly charming he can be—you know he's a detective, and he's certainly got talents for sniffing out your emotions, solving your day-to-day problems, and smooth-talking, but all of that falls under being nosy and weird when he tries to guilt you into praising him for it. If he was any less annoying, you'd maybe even admit to yourself that he's kind of attractive; only physically, of course, which you've known since the day you met him, but any other way he might be—retaining a heavy air of mystery in spite of how bubbly he is, occasionally inviting you out drinking (mostly so you can drag him home once he overdoes it), smoking you up without asking for money—is just so overshadowed by what a fucking weirdo he is. You can’t separate it.

He certainly keeps you on your toes.

That’s really the worst thing about him. You know you’ll exit your room to grab your leftovers from the fridge and he’ll be pestering you to watch some movie with him—probably one of his cringy rom-coms (the fact that he watches and unironically enjoys them serving only marginally to make him a little more of an interesting character) during which he'll sling his feet across your lap or curl up into you so he can pinch your side once or twice just for your reaction, leaving you red in the face and mildly irritated while he giggles condescendingly at you. But as you always do, you think as you sigh and lift the hem of your sweater to curl it over and off, you’ll concede.

Your head’s caught in your sleep shirt when you hear your door creak open.

“Um, privacy?” you half-yelp—something you’re still figuring your way around with him. You jump out of line of the door as you poke your head through the neckline to shoot him that glare you saved from moments earlier.

Dazai just snickers, eyes wide and innocent. You're naked from the waist down. “Could’ve locked it.”

“As if that would stop you,” you snap back, stretching the hem over your thighs and ass as you skitter awkwardly back over to the edge of your bed where a pair of comfy shorts lay. “Get out!”

“Will you hurry up and put your pants on? I got My Big Fat Greek Wedding locked and loaded.”

“Yes, yes, just get out.”

He’s still snickering when he disappears behind the door. He doesn’t shut it all the way, and you mutter freak beneath your breath, secretly hoping he hears you.

You tug your shorts on and meander back out as the intro rolls, set on your leftover homemade tonkatsu; as you settle cross-legged with your plate on the couch, Dazai reaches over and plucks a piece of cabbage off it.

You side eye him as you chew. He’s already occupying himself with packing another bowl—he must've finished the first one himself. You'd half-expect him to reach for one of the prerolls he keeps in the coffee table drawer so as not to have to go to the trouble again, but he does.

“You eat yet?” you ask carefully.

He shakes his head as he uses the butt of the lighter to press it down. Of course not. Even weed doesn’t make him eat. You’ve expressed concern over his eating habits before, but he always dismisses you with a hum and that smug smile.

You make a point of tearing the remainder of your cutlet in half with your utensils. When he reaches out to pass you the pipe, you reach back, chopsticks pinching a hefty piece of pork.

Dazai raises his eyebrows at you.

You raise yours in reply, as if to say, take it, or I’m not smoking anymore with you.

So he does, reluctance veiled thinly by amusement. You know him well enough by now; or, you think you do, at least. As he chews, he balances the chopsticks back on your plate and turns to you with the lighter, curling his own legs beneath himself.

Only satisfied when he swallows, you set your plate aside, face him, and press the pipe to your lips again, looking to him. To his pretty brown eyes that search you owlishly, that you swear sparkle with a little more vigor after even the smallest bit of sustenance enters his system. Maybe you should just leave him to starve, but then where would you get your weed? You’re an idiot, you’d say if you weren’t waiting on his flame.

But before he can light it for you, he pulls the lighter away, and you chase it with a soft hey—he’s grinning at you again, like a devil, like always.

“You always do that, you know?” he asks.

“Do what?” you mumble impatiently against the piece.

He gives in and dips the flame down into the bowl; you inhale deep, flower crackling softly as you do, and he only answers when the smoke’s halfway down your throat.

“Look up at me all cute like that every time I light it for you.” Those brown eyes bore into yours and you become aware all too quick of the fact that you do—you do indeed peer up at him through your lashes; your eyes water as smoke burns your throat and you blink away, trying not to cough out your hit at how he’s gazing at you, but he doesn’t stop there.

He would never stop there.

“Makes me think bad things.”

So you cough out your hit anyway.

“Oh, yeah?” you ask, choked, face red from more than just the sting of the weed. You busy yourself with pulling another hit while it’s still lit.

“Mhm,” he agrees. “Lots of ‘em.”

Your head swims now—you’ve built up a decent tolerance from living with him, but forgetting to breathe at his words and zeroing the huge puff you take next surely doesn’t help. You cough again, and nothing leaves your lungs this time as you debate whether to take his challenge.

Another thing you’ve learned about Dazai—he loves to fluster people. If living with him wasn't enough proof, you’ve seen him do it millions of times to pretty bartenders, or on the off-chance his partner from work joins you drinking; off-chance, truly, because Kunikida already has to put up with Dazai all day at the office, and anything more than what’s required of him might be better off called torture rather than fun. And beyond loving it, Dazai demonstrates it like a long-honed skill—the exploitation of people’s humiliation, the monopolization on people’s most sensitive spots. He had previous work in it, he’s said, but you can’t imagine what job could possibly entail all that. You think he just doesn’t know when to shut his mouth—no, he’s smart enough to know when to; he just doesn’t like to. He’s what most people would refer to as an asshole.

And yet, you find yourself torn between feeling disgusted and entertained by him all the same. Although you often find yourself the victim of his little mind games, you’re not above jabbing back at him. What does that make you, you wonder? The question briefly crosses your mind, but you shake it off as, in your buzz, you swat away the bait; decidedly, you’d rather watch My Big Fat Greek Wedding in peace, finish your tonkatsu, and then go to bed tonight.

“You’re gross.” The scoff you let out sounds more like a chuckle.

Dazai tilts his head, flicking the lighter for you again; he sparks the bowl as he watches you, as if in exceptional contemplation, and you make a point not to do it again—you inhale and gaze straight down at the flame.

“You don’t wanna hear what it makes me think about?” he asks cutely, unwilling to let you get away just yet.

You ignore the slight flush undoubtedly on your own face as you slip the bowl back to him; doubly so, you try not to watch the way his lips wrap around the mouthpiece.

But right now, you can’t seem to help that your bleary-eyed attention is on him. Just as he exhales, you remember you haven’t replied.

You’re not quick enough. He doesn’t take your silence as an invitation; it’s an opportunity. You see it in his smirk, just a second too late.

“Makes me think about how pretty you’d be looking up at me like that from your knees.”

He’s good at his games—he invents them, after all. But you’d be damned if he thought you wouldn’t shut him down when you weren’t in the mood.

“Yeah, no, don’t particularly wanna hear about it, thanks.”

This might be a new low, even for him, you think. Who the fuck just says shit like that?

When you think about it a second longer, though, he really hasn’t brought anyone home to fuck obnoxiously (a boundary you were quick to set with him) in at least a couple weeks, so maybe he’s just pent up. Either way, his comment makes you wrinkle your nose, furrow your brow—hopefully negating the pink inevitably tinting your cheeks. Fucking weirdo.

“N’ now you’re blushing all cute, too,” he observes; you scoff again, more pointedly this time. “Thinkin’ about it?”

As if, you want to say, but the words get stuck against the roof of your dry mouth, so you conjure up some of your spit, swallow it down, and hope he doesn’t notice—but it’s Dazai; he will—that your high's settling onto your shoulders swiftly. He’s pointing the bowl back at you, and as you grab it robotically, you’re still trying to speak—a sure sign you should both shut up and keep your places on opposite ends of the couch and watch the movie and finish the tonkatsu, but instead you just balk. No matter what you do, you play right into his hands—that’s how it happens all too often, and you certainly won’t learn now or anytime when his weed’s coursing up to your brain and back down to your thumping heart. Dazai lights your next hit for you, laughing like it’s all some big joke, and maybe it is—maybe you’ll blow your smoke in his face this time and pick up your tonkatsu and shut up and just watch the damn movie.

As if you’d ever be so lucky with his antics.

You’re shaking your head in near-awe when you pass it back to him once more.

“I mean, we basically kiss through this thing all the time,” he says like it’s relevant, waving the pipe about. “I don’t think it’d be so weird if we fucked. Or if you sucked me off, at least.”

“It—it would totally be weird, Osamu,” and when you speak his name so lightly, blinking at trying to muster up your own laughter as a defense mechanism, his sight flickers up to yours. “That doesn’t even—I’m not sucking your dick.”

“Shame,” he purrs. “‘Cause I know how pretty you’d look. Your lips all wet and pouted against my t—”

“Oh, my god, shut up.” Now you laugh, out of pure disbelief at how far he’s taking it. He pokes at the tail end of what’s left in the bowl and chuckles, too, seemingly ready to let it go now that he has you laughing. "You're horrible."

The more you let him talk about it, the more you entertain him, maybe you can let it peter out.

“What about me? Do I look pretty when I do it?” he asks, batting his lashes as he pulls another hit off the pipe.

“Sure, yeah, whatever,” you let your laughter idle as he doesn't tear his gaze away from you. He looks pretty. Whatever. You cross your arms as you feel the familiar tingle of your high behind your eyes.

“Would I look pretty on my knees?” he prods.

You could slap him—if nothing else, just to make his face burn half as much as you know yours is. When he sets the bowl and lighter aside and goes back to observing you, eyes low-lidded and red, chin rested on his hands, propped up by his elbows on his crossed legs, you have half a mind to shrink away from him—but you keep cool, even if the way you're at eye level with his searing stare feels a little too intimate.

You mirror his position. “Hmm, I don't know.” You steal his thoughtful tilt, too, and tack on, “Maybe if you were begging like a little bitch.”

You're prepared for him to laugh tauntingly again and then let this die where it stands because he got a reaction out of you, right? That’s always what he’s looking for, so it’s about time he goes back to his corner of the couch where you'll bully him into a few more bites of tonkatsu.

But he stays locked onto you, quietly.

And then he's shifting forward off the couch and down to the ground.

“Osamu—”

“Uh-uh,” he chides you softly, crawling to situate himself directly in front of your figure. Looking up at you all cute. “I’m gonna be the one begging, remember?”

Your disbelief swirls with refusal as he paws at the hem of your shorts as if to say, turn, please, and fuck—what can you do other than turn red as a rose as he grabs your ankles, unfurls your legs, and props his chin on the cushion between your thighs? You feel alarmingly higher, blearier when his fingers creep up beneath the fabric, slowly, looking at you as if for reassurance.

“We're not—you can quit fooling around, seriously.” You want to laugh again but it comes out deadpan, strict; you feel heavier with each landing of his fingertips against your skin, and he just keeps looking up at you. Cute. Pretty. Taking it too far.

“I want to,” he mumbles, retracting his hands only for them to find your hips, your waistband. “Come on. ‘Wanted you so bad for so long. I know you want me, too,” he speaks your name slyly, quietly, and it prompts your breath to quicken a little; he traces circles into your hipbones with his thumbs, toys with the elastic at your waist, snapping it softly, and you squirm. “Please?”

For so long? you think. How long?

“I—I'm not high enough for this, Osamu,” you try to joke, but he just twists around to the coffee table drawer for one of those prerolls and his lighter.

“I can get you higher,” he offers—tone still much too innocent, motives still haphazardly veiled by what a big jokester he is, and he sticks the joint between his lips and lights it.

Before you can coherently protest, he rises, supporting himself on your thigh with one hand and removing the joint from his mouth full of smoke; when he leans into you, you catch his wrist to keep him from ashing on the back of the couch, grab his face in a half-attempt to stop him in his tracks—but ultimately, when his mouth meets yours, you open for him.

The plume of smoke he shotguns into your mouth is thick; you breathe it in. His palm like a brand against your thigh.

And he doesn’t stop.

“Osamu,” you whine against his lips, still mushing his face away and hating how your dry throat roughens your voice. He just kisses you, kisses you, and your fingers find the pulse point in his wrist—he’s a decent kisser, you think, at the very least. You have half a mind to let your fingers slide to the mess of brown hair beyond the apples of his sharp cheekbones, and—

You backtrack in your mind. You’re actually probably too high for this.

You have to detest the way it feels so heavenly when he squeezes the fat of your thigh, dodges your lips, and works steadily in a line from the corner of your mouth to your jaw, all tongue and teeth in his pursuit. You have to detest it. Fucking weirdo, you repeat in your mind. The joint burns between his fingers. You snatch it from his grasp and pull your head back, raising your feet to kick him weakly in the abdomen, and he relents—your toes feel asleep when they hit the carpet again, and you hoard the joint between your fuzzy fingers when he reaches for it back.

“Osamu,” you say again, stern, eyes wide. The weed. You're high. You're both high, and this is weird. He’s just your weirdo roommate and you got home wanting to end your stressful day without complicating anything else in your life today.

So why, when he looks at you like you’re a caged animal that’s just as afraid of him and he is of you and works the joint from your fingers to take another drag, do you let him cup your face and exhale more smoke down your throat?

Why do you chase his lips when he blissfully, needily, sinks to his knees once again and starts to traverse beneath your shorts?

With the right focus of mind, like staring at your hand when you’re spinning and convincing yourself that the world around you is actually moving and you’re staying still, you can almost pretend he’s a stranger—some sexy, enchanting stranger that you met on the train home after your shit day, meant to relate to you with docile nods and hums as you air your grievances about work or school or whatever, meant to kiss it off you like it’s just a little bit of dirt.

Getting out of your shorts is like getting out of second skin. You're taking another hit, unwise or not, because it's back in your hand and you don't know what else to do; you watch him in your haze with a mix of anticipation and distrust, but right now, anticipation is winning by a small margin. You’re high, you tell yourself—twitching already, in that way that has nothing to do with desire but rather just means you've smoked a little too much too quickly, and the idea that Dazai might still fake you out and send you to bed feeling half-hot and bothered, half-violated, with no pants on and a near-empty stomach bobs around in your inhibited brain—again, you expect him to laugh, say you’re fried, clap you on the shoulder and tell you it's a joke but he doesn’t, he cranes for a hit from the joint and you hold it to his lips shakily and he touches you on the exhale, the pads of two of his fingers nestling carefully between your folds over your underwear and when he brushes your clit it’s—

Fuck, it’s electric.

“Osamu, stop,” you say, hoarse and abrupt, grabbing his wrist. "I'm—"

“What?” he asks, teasing lilt to his tone. Beneath your hand his thumb comes up to replace his fingers, to loop circles around you, and you're shuddering, back bowing, and he's grinning at you wickedly.

“I—I'm high,” you admit, voice feeling thick, soupy as it leaves your throat.

“So? Me too.” He blinks at you, slow like a cat, in a way that you're pretty sure he's still mocking the way you apparently always flutter your gaze at him when he lights you up. “‘S the best way to do it.”

“Yeah, but—”

He doesn't interrupt you with but what?

And yet, you still don't finish your sentence.

You glance down to where he’s rubbing you gently, where you hold him at bay—where you could yank his arm and twist it uncomfortably if you really did want him to stop but the longer he circles over the fabric that’s growing increasingly, alarmingly wetter, the more you melt away from yourself and you think, fuck, he really is gorgeous as he’s resting his cheek against the inside of your thigh.

“Scoot forward f’me, please?” he almost whines; his voice changes, stricter when he says, “And stop letting that burn. Smoke it.”

And you comply, shuffling your hips forward and placing the filter between your teeth.

Dazai looks up at you. All cute. Heavy-lidded, red-eyed. Hungry.

And you look back, apprehension sparking but then fading with each drove of smoke you inhale. Heavy-lidded, red-eyed. All cute.

“Let me taste you, please,” he almost whispers. You almost find yourself a little endeared by his pointed pleases.

“This is fucking absurd,” you croak, but your resolve is leaving you. He’s a little blurry. “You’re such a sicko.”

His smile widens against the word. Sicko. Almost like he’s pleased to hear it leave your mouth. “Surprised it took you this long to figure out, baby.”

His touch is impatient and restless and crawling as your underwear goes, too—and you don’t appreciate how good it felt when his thumb was on your clit until it’s back again and you’re slipping the joint out of your mouth to let you jaw fall slack; you tangle a hand up in that messy hair that is much softer than you could’ve imagined and all but yank him back toward your cunt.

“Please,” you echo him, finally. “It felt so good—do it again.”

“That’s it, baby,” he encourages you in your whimpering, fingers prodding at your hole and tongue landing a feather-light lick to your wetness. “I know you want it.”

The sounds are lewd. Disgusting, really—fitting for how he’s acting. Dazai swirls his tongue in circles around your clit as he works his middle and ring fingers into you; cracked gasps leave you at the intrusion, and you can’t keep your eyes open when he curls them upward ever so slightly as he makes out with your clit. If you were sober you’d, of course, be embarrassed at how you’re already gushing for him, but all your mushy brain can think about right now is the sparks bolting to your otherwise-numb fingers and toes with each suction of his pretty pink lips against you—isn’t this wrong? Shouldn’t you feel weird? Yeah, probably—but you’re forgetting why, and you’re forgetting to care.

He hums against you and it sends a shockwave throughout your already-vibrating body; the moan you release into the air is like song, even to yourself. Is he really good at this, you wonder, or is it the weed?

Oh right, the weed. The weed, the weed, the weed.

You pull his mouth off you, almost dropping the joint that’s not much of a joint anymore—only the filter remains.

“I don’t think this is—”

Fuck, you keep going back and forth. You keep breaching the surface just for him to tug you beneath the water again and convince you the drowning feels nice. And it does, for a few seconds—until it starts burning your lungs to a crisp again, at which point you tear away from him kick up, and in the moments you spend sucking in air you don’t get how he stays beneath for so long, like it’s nothing, how he doesn’t stop—he doesn’t stop, his fingers still curling inside of you, and you’re going under again to the sound of his voice.

You feel suffocated. More delirious by the second. It’s nice.

“You already told me it feels good,” he mumbles against you, lapping at you, and you’re letting up on his hair, letting him become a weight again where you should float.

And the lack of oxygen must be getting to your brain because, even though you still don’t think you want to drown, you cease your kicking. For the last time.

“Osamu,” you cry. It sounds like a moan. It might be.

“I know, I’m such a sicko.” There’s no remorse in his words; there can’t be, not when he’s still curling up into your g-spot in just the way that makes you croon his name again—undoubtedly a moan this time—but when he comes into focus again, he looks so apologetic. “You can say it again, baby. It’s okay.”

“S—sicko,” you mutter disapprovingly, but rolling your hips all the same.

He smiles. Soft, kind, apologetic.

You’re scared to move. You know if you do, you’ll both be able to see the wet stain collecting beneath you on the cushion. You feel it.

So you barrage him with more.

“You—you’re a fucking pervert. You’re disgusting.” You feel wetness on your face, too. You deduce that it’s from how perfect his fingers feel inside you, goading that warm slick out of you and into his palm, onto the couch; regardless, you don't stop berating him, your tone harshly contrasting your wriggling hips. “You disgust me.”

“I think you like it.” He presses up, hard, and you gush, gasping. A short, clear spurt narrowly misses his face; he leans back down to lick it off, off the cushion, off your thighs, off your crying cunt. “I think you like how nasty I am.”

“Disgusting,” you whisper. “Disgusting. You're disgusting.” It’s a little chant you hold onto as he rises again to kiss you, messily—a means to replace his lips with his wet fingers, shoving them past your lips and against your tongue where you lap at them instinctually, like you’ve been waiting for it. It’s so wrong to be tasting yourself on his fingers, but your eyes roll back anyway, just to lurch forward as his hand retracts and you find him grinning once more as he slips his sweatpants and boxers down in one swipe. “You’re disgusting.”

“You’re disgusting,” Dazai mocks, giggling. “You just tasted how fucking wet you are.”

“Osamu,” you whine as he kicks his garments aside; you begin to draw your feet up, your knees to your chin, but his hands, stronger than you anticipate, pry you open and flip you to your back and he grins, biting into his bottom lip all the while. Why, you wonder, when the dim living room light glints off his teeth as he situates himself between your legs and leans down to cage you in between his arms, do your hips hitch toward his? Why are you so adamant to deny him?

“You gonna say it again? C’mon, I love hearing my name,” he breathes, ducking down to lick across your jawline. “But I love when you call me those words. Say it again. Tell me how nasty I am.”

“You’re the worst,” you groan, but it sounds comical, even to your own ears, because you’re scratching at his shoulders in a way that draws him closer to you rather than further away.

“More, baby,” Dazai hums into your neck, reaching down to swirl his tip against your wetness. When you feel him, you jump.

It feels good. It feels even better than his thumb and you don’t know if you’re still on your way up but you feel higher and higher by the second and the instinct to push him off is slipping further beyond your grasp. When he pulls back to watch your mouth fall open as he rubs himself into you, you almost let the word pretty slip past your lips—he looks so pretty, tongue flicking, eyes dark, and you catch yourself with your lower lip between your teeth, reflecting the desperation he conceals in everything but his words.

Pretty isn’t what he wants right now, though—and suddenly you feel compelled to give him what he wants, if only it means he’ll keep touching you like this.

“S’fucking nasty—degenerate fucking freak—” you eek out; you don’t know much longer you can tiptoe the line between repulsion and sheer need, but you’re tilting further and further with each circle of his dick and you can tell he’s getting off on the way you’re lurching into him now, running toward his touch instead of away from it.

You think you need him to fuck you, now, or you’ll cry.

“Osamu, please,” you continue, sounding on the verge of tears now—where you should’ve been before, when you genuinely wanted him off you, yes. You wanted him off of you before. Didn’t you? There was a time, a mere few minutes ago, when his fingers in your skin and his animalistic gaze were revolting. Right?

“What’re you beggin’ me for?” Dazai asks like he doesn’t know. He knows. He knows what you don’t want to admit to yourself and he’s going to dangle it over your head, he’s going to rub it in your face, he’s going to make you answer through your hazy high that he never should’ve come onto you through to begin with, and you’re going to give him what he wants—you always give him what he wants, even if you don’t mean to, even if you don’t want to, but now you think you want to. You want to, because it feels so good, and he’s slowing down, he’s stopping and when he takes his hand away to swipe his thumb across your chin, pull your lip from between your teeth and work your mouth open with his fingers again, the loss almost hurts. You want it. You want to.

It’s going to hurt even more to say it, but you want it. And before you can even get it out, before the words even hit what little air is between your lips and his, Dazai looks thrilled at what you say next.

“Please, fuck me,” you whisper.

“Well, since you’re asking so nicely—” He reaches back down, but the smugness doesn’t waver; his tip catches on your entrance—emitting a lewd squelch that should make you cringe but instead prompts your lip to fly between your teeth again—and you hook your tingling feet behind his back, legs astride his waist as you're pushing his bangs from his face all in one motion. “I guess I’ll fuck you, pretty baby.”

"Yes," the dreaded word falls from your lips when he finally works his way into you, past that tight ring of muscle, to nestle snugly inside you until the head of his cock kisses your cervix.

The noise you draw from him—something between a sigh and a moan—is heavenly. His nose nuzzles the trail he licked across your jaw before and you find your hands linked behind his neck, urging him down, onto you, into you—and when he recoils his hips to thrust back in again, quick and short, you keen against him, pathetically, in a way your past self—the one from four or five touches ago—would hate you for.

You should hate how gross this is. How gross he is for this.

But you don't, and you're not going to torture yourself with asking why anymore.

The friction inside you doesn't feel comparable to anything; for the first time in a second, you feel grateful for the weed pulsing through you. You let your eyes roll back and flutter shut without consequence.

Dazai moves against you like water. Water you're content to drown in this time; his touch doesn't crawl anymore as much as it seems to soothe and as he picks up his pace, brings a hand to your cheek to wake you back up, pull you back above the surface.

"You sound s'fuckin cute," he sighs; those eyes, predatory before, are now just brown and melty, honey-colored backgrounded with red fog, not so searching as much as they seem attentive, not making you feel so uncomfortably vulnerable as they do softly seen. He thinks you sound cute. You giggle through the unrivaled pleasure, giggling through your own moans which hit your ears and do sound cute—sound especially cute woven through his.

"Y'sound... so," you start, "so fucking—unh, Osamu, don't stop!"

He chuckles now, low and breathy, and you push his hair back from his face again; his eyes roll back when you do it, and you just do it over, over, over, drawing clipped groans out of him, stealing the words from his throat as he steals yours and you tug, you tug on his hair and the moan he lets out, broken between thrusts, is so raw and laced with need that you moan in reply, clenching around him because, fuck, he sounds so cute, too. "Wanted this for so long, baby. Pussy feels s—so much fuckin' better than I could've imagined."

"How long?" you finally poke back—you want to know. You want to know how long he's been holed up in the mess of his room, jerking off to the thought of his cute little roommate finally falling between his fingers—you want to know how bad he's wanted this, and if getting you high out of your mind just to get it was worth it. You focus your voice to ask him. "How long you wanted this, 'Samu?"

"So long—since—" he gasps, fucking into you harder, faster, deeper; you tug his hair again, exposing his neck, and yank him down to sink your teeth into his neck. You need the reprieve as he starts hammering against the deepest parts of you, eliciting wet smack! after smack! from between your writhing bodies. You jostle beneath him as he finds his breath; "Since I fuckin' met you. Always wanted you."

"Yeah?" You mean it to be a teasing little rhetorical question but it comes out more like encouragement amidst the bliss radiating from your cunt throughout your whole body, but you find it in you to continue— "You been—you been thinkin' of me under you like this? Like the sicko you are?"

Unbelievably faster and harder. You choke on a scream; Dazai's grunting above you, and it hits you that those names really do spur him on. You're far from offending him—you're bringing him closer and closer to filling you up with each and every insult and jab you throw his way and if you were any less cockdrunk you'd be hurling even more barbs at him about how that makes him so much worse, so much more gross but it just spurs you on, too, right now—and you realize, when he looks at you with those fucking eyes again how bad you want him, how bad you've wanted him, too, for so long; you couldn't—wouldn't admit it because he's just your weirdo roommate but really, maybe that's what you love about him. You certainly love the way he makes your toes curl when he reaches down to play with your clit again. You cry out against him.

"Osamu, fuck!"

"Say it again," he begs you, pretty brown eyes glassy as they fall shut, as the tip of his nose touches yours. "Say it again, please, baby."

You know what he wants.

"F—fucking pervert," you huff, doing everything you can to hold onto the rope that's uncoiling rapidly inside you, coming further and further undone with each slam of his hips into your ass. "Ah—you're disgusting. Disgusting."

You fall back on your mantra and it has his thumb moving faster, harder, just like his thrusts, just like his voice, even if it sounds unconvincing through the shockwaves of pleasure; you feel it, the unraveling, it's washing up on you so quickly, so much quicker than it should be at the hands of your weirdo roommate.

"Don't stop," he pleads like he's not the one fucking you to orgasm; you see white, you feel as light as air—god, has cumming always felt like this? Shouldn't you hate it? Shouldn't you hate that it might never feel like this again?

You do, you do—you hate weed and you hate sex and you hate your weirdo roommate Osamu Dazai for coaxing the most mind-blowing climax you've ever felt out of you, but you don't hate any of those things, not really; you hate that it's never felt like this before, and that it can again if only you can push your pride down for a few more moments and call him a—

"Freak—gonna—gonna cum in me?" you goad, breathless, lucky for speech as he fucks you through the otherworldly high, as you clamp down on him and screw your eyes shut until you can keep going. "Gonna fill me up like the nasty motherfucker you are?"

"Ngh—yeah, yeah, yeah...!"

Dazai, in all his depraved beauty, fucks his fat load into you mercilessly; you twitch, shake beneath him, driving strained sobs from his chest and talking him through with soft yeahs, want y'r cum, filthy fucking sicko freak, you disgust me. He loves it. He falls apart, and you tug on his hair once more as he slows, as he spills out of you, as he looks at you with so much adoration in his eyes.

"You—" Dazai's breathless, heaving. "You're amazing."

You giggle again, wiggling a bit and trapping him further close to you, fingers in the hair at the base of his neck. Soft. You don't feel any less high; just blissed out. "You're cute."

"Knew you thought so," he sighs, lopsided smile coming back; you don't know where in the pleasure he'd lost it, but its return has you tilting your chin up to kiss him once more. Soft. Gentle, sweet, no tongue; not gross, not hungry, just sweet. Satisfied.

"But you're still weird," you tease against his lips. Sly.

When Dazai pulls back, the hunger in those eyes sparks again.

"Want me to show you how weird I can get?" he threatens.

"I dare you," you taunt back.

And he grins, fully and wickedly, once more; you can count on it. He'll show you, alright.

[vktrjyce]

tell me that i'm what you need

a jayvik college au

length: 6.8k

author's note: them in a college au has been rotting in my brain since I finished act 3, and i had to write it. it's completely self-indulgent and i understand that and i do not apologize. i have TONS more ideas for this so if it gets enough traction maybe i'll write more LMAOOO. jayvik has their hooks in me good you guys. anyways, thanks so much for reading!! i hope you enjoyed it, and feel free to leave likes and comments! i'd love to hear any feedback or thoughts :) have a great day!!

there is also a playlist that goes along with this fic!

tags: college party ; weed smoking ; trans viktor ; sub jayce talis ; dom viktor ; college au ; shotgunning ; making out ; sexuality crisis ; first meeting ; viktor is hot and confident and jayce loves it ; they're both idiots

warnings: sexual content, weed smoking

summary: Jayce goes to a party with Caitlyn and gets more than he bargained for when he meets a handsome stranger in the basement.

originally posted by vktrjyce

Jayce followed Caitlyn into the overflowing house, wincing at the music pounding against his skull. Three different people bumped into him in the foyer alone, the third spilling an obscene amount of beer on his shoes. He grimaced, waved away the guy’s half-assed apology, and attempted to adjust to the stickiness. It felt a little like he’d surpassed his age of enjoying parties like this. Or maybe he simply needed to be with the right crowd. 

This did not feel like his crowd. 

“Cait!” He shouted over the music, grabbing his companion’s arm. She turned to him with a raised eyebrow, “This is really how you want to spend your Friday night?” 

She pressed her lips into a thin line and leaned towards him, “Vi invited me! I couldn’t exactly say no.” 

He overdramatically rolled his eyes, a knowing smile on his face, “So your girlfriend’s the partying type?” 

Caitlyn’s own eyes widened, her cheeks going slightly pink, “She’s not my girlfriend! Yet…” She shook her head, dark blue strands swaying back and forth, “And her sister threw this party. She’s just along for the ride.” 

“Mmhmm.” Jayce scanned the crowd, looking for a head of hot-pink hair he’d only heard about in stories, “So, where is she?” 

“I don’t know. I can’t see her from he-” 

“Cupcake!” A muscled arm landed on Caitlyn’s shoulders, simultaneously knocking her into Jayce’s side. The owner of said arm had the exact hair he’d been on the lookout for. Also, the ‘Vi’ tattooed on her face was sort of a dead giveaway, “I was beginning to think you weren’t coming.” 

Caitlyn looked over at Vi, a pleasant smile sliding across her face. She leaned into the woman, “What, and leave you to your own devices? I can only imagine the chaos that would ensue.” 

“You think so low of me. I’m hurt.” Vi teased, before her eyes landed on Jayce, “Who’s this?” 

Caitlyn answered before he had a chance to, “This is Jayce Talis. I’ve told you about him.” 

Jayce, in turn, offered a polite smile and a small wave. 

“So, this is the brainiac?” Vi gave him a once-over, pursing her lips, “Quite the pretty boy, isn’t he?” 

He choked out a slightly embarrassed chuckle, resisting the urge to rub at the back of his neck. His Mother always scolded him for having such an obvious nervous tick. 

“Don’t say that, it’ll go right to his head.” Cait retorted, giving her friend a knowing look, “And it’s big enough already.” 

The man barked out a laugh, “There’s better ways to show off than making fun of me, you know.” 

Once again, her eyes widened, “I wasn’t-” 

“Aww, are you trying to seduce me with your stuck-upness?” Vi cooed, pinching Caitlyn’s cheek. Though she scrunched up her nose, she didn’t pull away from the touch, “If you are, it’s working.” 

“You’re an idiot.” She deadpanned, and then looked back at Jayce, “You both are.” 

“I guess you attract them.” He winked at her. 

“I like this guy. He’s not all prude and stiff like most of the people you introduce me to.” Vi commented, grinning, “We could have some fun together, pretty boy.” 

“The feeling’s mutual, Vi.” 

“I don’t know, the thought of you two together doesn’t sit well with me.” Caitlyn piped up, “And I absolutely do not want to be demoted to third-wheel.” 

“I don’t think you’ll need to worry about that.” Jayce gave her a knowing look, sending her gaze to the floor. So he turned it on Vi. She smirked in response. 

“You guys want a drink? The kitchen’s stocked with all kinds of stuff.” She offered, pulling Caitlyn closer to her.

“I wouldn’t mind a drink.” His friend responded. She looked at Jayce with a warning on her face. He was no longer welcome in the group. 

He heard her loud and clear. 

“You guys go ahead, I’m gonna go mingle for a bit.” He told them, taking a step back, “We’ll meet back up later.” 

Caitlyn’s look turned grateful, eyes sparkling in the strobe lights. Vi nodded at his declaration. 

“Alright, see you later, then.” She bid him adieu, turning Caitlyn (presumably) towards the kitchen. 

As they walked away, he heard his friend ask, “Where’s Jinx?” 

“Somewhere causing problems, probably. I think she was trying to make fireworks or something.” Vi’s response came, and then they were out of earshot. And Jayce was all alone. 

He shifted his weight, patted his hands against his pants, and then decided he should do something. Something other than standing in the middle of this room. Watching the party go on without him. Like a loser. 

He sucked in a deep breath and moved further into the house. 

People were dancing, mingling, playing games, and making out on practically every available surface. He could only imagine what others were getting up to in the non-public spaces. He’d had his own fair share of trysts in his younger days. Now, though, he much preferred a quiet night in or hyperfocusing on a new project. Cait always teased him for ‘turning into an old man.’ 

Maybe she had a point. Just a little bit. 

It took Jayce a 10-minute conversation with Salo and another 15 minutes of standing against a wall before the noise and the lights became too much. He was uncomfortable, on his way to overstimulated, and in desperate need of a small respite. So he went looking for one. 

All the bedrooms were… occupied. The bathroom, when not occupied, was more of a cesspool of untoward activity than a sanctuary. The backyard was just as loud as anywhere else. All that left him with was the closed basement door. Which had an eccentric, bright pink ‘Stay Out!!!’ spray-painted on it. 

He did feel bad about ignoring the warning, but desperate times called for desperate measures. 

Jayce opened the door, stepped inside, and shut it behind him. The immediate quiet, even with the muffled music through the wall, sent relief through his body. He sighed and walked down the stairs. About halfway down, a familiar skunk-like smell wafted its way up to him. But since he’d already committed, he simply wrinkled his nose and kept going. 

He stepped off the final stair, turned the corner, and took a look around the room. 

It was a typical basement- a couple of couches, a TV, a coffee table, and various movie and show posters on the walls. The lights were off, save for a warm-colored lamp on the table. None of it was out of the ordinary. Nothing particularly caught his eye. 

What did gain his attention, though, was the man on the couch. 

Pale and lanky, long brown hair with strands of blonde pulled into a low bun, clad in a burgundy cardigan and black sweats with a leg brace on the right knee. Only his side profile was visible from here, showing off a long nose and sharp cheekbones. A beauty mark sat above his thin, pink lips, which were currently wrapped around a half-smoked joint. His long lashes fluttered closed as he inhaled, pulled the joint from his mouth, and laid his head back against the couch. One long finger tapped against it. 

Jayce was, for one moment, very taken aback. If this guy was a girl, he’d be stunning.

“Uh-” He grunted out, like an idiot. 

The man’s eye opened, iris sliding in his direction. No other part of him moved. He exhaled the smoke and closed his eye again, “The bathroom is upstairs, on the second level. At the end of the hall.” 

As if this stranger’s looks weren’t enough of a shock, his words came out accented. It sounded Russian, or maybe Czech. It made him sound melodic, like voicing an elegant song instead of speaking. Jayce found himself wanting to hear more. 

“Oh, no, I, uh-” Jayce cleared his throat, then tried again, “Sorry, I was actually just trying to find a quiet place for a minute. All the noise was… it was a little much.” 

The man’s eyes opened again, and this time he turned his head towards Jayce. The latter discovered two distinct things at that moment. 

One, he had another beauty mark. Under his right eye, lighter than the one above his mouth. 

Two, the attractiveness increased tenfold when he saw his whole face. A few strands of his hair had fallen out of the bun and framed his face. Seriously, he could be a model or something.

The stranger raised a thick, dark eyebrow, “Why come to a party if the party is going to be ‘a little much’?” 

“Well, that’s not-” He scoffed, rubbing a hand over his jaw, “I didn’t- I came with a friend, so.” 

Piercing golden eyes watched him with mild curiosity, “And where is your friend now?” 

“She’s with her- you know what? It doesn’t matter.” Jayce shook his head, feeling a little disgruntled, “You’re the one hiding down here all by yourself.” 

“Well, I live here. I can’t exactly escape the party.” He explained, tilting his head from side to side, “This was supposed to be my safe haven.” 

Jayce ignored the last part, partly out of stubbornness, and responded with a question, “You live here? I thought Vi’s sister was the host.” 

“Jinx.” The man explained, looking away. It gave Jayce a chance to take a deep breath. He felt like a bug under a magnifying glass with those eyes on him, “And she is. She’s my roommate. One of them.” 

“Jinx? What kind of a name is that?” He chuckled. 

There was no response. Only a noncommittal shrug as he lifted the joint to his lips once again. A motion by which Jayce found himself hypnotized. The slender fingers holding it, the way his lips pursed as he inhaled, the twitching of his eyelids. It looked so natural- as simple as breathing. He was so caught up in it that he didn’t realize the man’s gaze was on him again. 

“Do you want some?” He asked, jolting Jayce out of his trance and offering the weed up. 

He could feel his face heating up, both from being caught staring and from the offer. He’d had weed a couple of times in the past, but it never ended well. Whether it be not knowing his own limits or peer pressure, he always went too far and got too anxious to enjoy it. He was open to it, but that didn’t stop him from feeling nervous. A familiar emotion right now. 

“Oh, I uh- I wouldn’t want to intrude.” 

The man smiled, just a small thing, but it made a certain softness take over his face, “A little late for that, no?” 

His cheeks were sure to be bright red now. He laughed nervously. 

The good-looking stranger shook his head, gesturing for Jayce to come closer, “I’m joking. Come. The company might be nice.” 

“Are you sure?” The question came out hesitant, but he was already moving over to the couch. Something about the way this guy spoke made him feel compelled to listen.

However, that could be the sleep deprivation talking. Or he’d finally lost it. Both were possibilities. 

“I find you… intriguing.” His new acquaintance told him, watching as he sat on the opposite side of the couch, “Besides, you said you needed a moment of quiet.” 

“I guess that’s true.” He shrugged, “Thanks. I appreciate it.” 

“Mm.” Humming, he offered the joint to Jayce once again. This time, he took it. 

It was only then that he realized there was a cane resting next to the man. Silver with a red and gold handle, decorated with graffiti that matched the ‘keep out’ sign on the door. He wondered if it was the stranger’s doing, but that felt unlikely. It didn’t seem like his style. 

Jayce took a drag, forcing himself not to cough as the marijuana burned all the way down. He really was not used to this sensation. The only thing worse than the burn, though, would be looking like a fool in front of this interesting guy he’d just met. He had to play it cool. 

God, he was such a loser. 

“You’re supposed to exhale it, you know.” The man spoke up, amusement lacing that magnetizing accent. It was just shy of patronizing, which strangely made his stomach coil.

This entire interaction was making Jayce’s head spin a little bit. 

He let the smoke out in one quick breath, which immediately sent him into a coughing fit. He hunched over himself, hitting a fist against his chest in an attempt to clear the pipe. He didn’t think this could get any worse. Either the humiliation or the coughing would kill him. A death that he’d happily embrace. 

“There, there. Easy.” A hand rested on his back, lithe fingers rubbing into the muscles, “You haven’t smoked much, I see.” 

Jayce barely noticed the hand on him, too preoccupied with trying not to die. He shook his head, letting out a hoarse, “Not really.” 

“Here.” The joint was taken from his hand and replaced with a glass of water, “Drink.” 

He didn’t hesitate to chug half of it. Then he slumped back against the couch, eyes closed as he took a few deep breaths. The burn had subsided, leaving only a bit of irritation in his throat. At the very least, he’d stopped coughing. Small victories. 

“Are you alright?” 

Jayce looked over at the stranger- his savior, in a way- and froze. Those amber eyes were locked on him, rimmed with red, and hungry. That feeling in his chest tightened, making him feel on edge. 

He swallowed, “Yeah. Yeah, uh, sorry. I don’t- I’m sorta new to this.” 

The man tucked some hair behind his ear and laid his arm over the back of the couch. His hand was only a few inches away from Jayce’s face. 

“Was this your first time?” 

“No.” He shook his head, “I’ve done it a couple times before. Just… not in a while.” 

“I see.” He picked at a loose thread sticking out of the cushion, “Did you enjoy it? In the past?” 

Jayce’s mind was starting to feel foggy. He pursed his lips, “It wasn’t bad. I think I just… I did too much too fast. Got in over my head.” 

“Mm, you seem like the type.” The man’s fingernails were painted black, the polish chipped, “To get in over your head, that is.” 

“Yeah?” He smiled lazily at his new friend, “What about you?” 

The man shook his head immediately, “Definitely not. I am always calm and collected. Just don’t ask anyone close to me for a second opinion on that.” 

That made him laugh. He laid a hand over his stomach, head tilted back. When he looked back at the stranger, still chuckling, there was something close to admiration on the guy’s face. Again, his stomach did a flip. What a strange way this night was going. 

“What’s your name?” He asked, voice deeper and accent more prominent. 

“Jayce.” He responded, “Jayce Talis. You?” 

“Viktor.” The man told him, and it was perfect. He couldn’t think of a better-fitting name. 

“It’s nice to meet you. Even if I made a complete fool of myself with the weed.” 

Viktor snorted out a laugh, taking another hit from the joint. He made it look effortless, “Not at all. You’re new to it. I’ve been doing it for a long time.” 

“You never get sick of it?” 

“Never. It helps too much. With the, eh, pain. And, you know, it quiets the mind.” 

“Right.” He gestured to the leg brace, “I don’t wanna pry, but I assume that’s what you’re talking about.” 

“Well, there are worse ways to be nosy.” He responded, screwing up his lips, “You’d be right, though. It’s my bad leg. I was born with it.” 

“I’m sorry.” Jayce blurted, because he felt like an idiot. The weed definitely wasn’t helping with his stupidness, “You don’t have to talk about it if you don’t want to.” 

“If I didn’t want to, I wouldn’t.” 

He held his hands up in surrender, “Alright, that’s fair. I just don’t want you to feel pressured.” 

“My hero.” Viktor deadpanned, rolling his pretty eyes, “Can you feel it yet?” 

Jayce furrowed his brows, “Feel- oh, the weed?” 

The other man nodded in confirmation. 

“A little. I don’t think I had much, honestly.” 

“Do you want more?” 

“And have another coughing fit? I can’t take more embarrassment, Viktor.” 

He chuckled, “You’ll survive. And we can try another way to get it down for you.” 

“Another way? Like what?” 

Something mischievous had crossed over his face, which was slightly scary, “I believe most people call it, uh… shotgunning. Have you heard of it?” 

Jayce most definitely had. And the prospect was simultaneously intriguing and panic-inducing to him. 

Viktor was nice and funny, and he was good-looking. But shotgunning was sort of… an intimate thing? In a way? The kind of thing you did when you wanted to get up close and personal with someone? 

Was that what Viktor wanted? Was he coming onto Jayce? 

If he was, well, that was flattering. But Jayce wasn’t really… he’d done stuff with men before. The typical college, experimenting stuff. And it was fine- wasn’t terrible. But he didn’t think that was really… him. 

But he was also a little high. And spiraling. And he was having a good time with Viktor and he didn’t want it to end. 

So what the hell? Why not? What’s the worst that could happen?

“Yeah, I- I think I have.” He spoke, finally giving in and rubbing at the back of his neck, “We could give it a shot. If you want.” 

“Excellent.” Viktor patted the empty spot next to him, “Come.” 

Jayce followed the order with no hesitation. Like a dog obeying the commands of his master. Something about it made the other man’s eyes light up, much to his confusion. 

“So, how are we-” 

He didn’t get the chance to finish his sentence. The words were cut off as Viktor slid onto his legs, seating himself right on Jayce’s lap. It sent his brain, his heart, his whole body into overdrive. It didn’t even occur to him to move him, though. He was too busy trying to remember how to breathe. Not necessarily in a bad way, but definitely slightly unnerving.

Friends could do stuff like this, right? 

Did Jayce even want to just be friends? Was there something more here? 

Viktor smelled like weed, cinnamon, and old paper. It drew him in with every breath.

Jayce, even with his sluggish mind, was coming to a semi-realization. While he couldn’t be sure how true it would feel in the light of day, it felt true now. Which could mean tons of things, honestly. 

Jayce was realizing that he liked this feeling. He liked the buzzing under his skin, the fogginess behind his eyes. He liked the weight of Viktor on him, liked the smell of Viktor, liked Viktor. Something about him was just so magnetizing. It made him nervous. This whole thing did. But he found that he didn’t really mind it. 

This was surely a crisis in the making. Something to be dealt with and reflected on in the sober light of day. He could analyze every move, second-guess every word and every reaction. He could take the time to nitpick his feelings until everything was clear. But right now, that didn’t matter. 

Right now, he felt good. And he wanted to keep doing what felt good. That should be simple enough. 

He nodded to himself. Literally. He probably looked like a freak to his companion. If he did, he garnered no reaction. 

“Open your mouth,” Viktor told him, raising the joint to his lips. 

Fuck. A cacophony of not-appropriate things flitted through his mind in reaction to the words. Not on purpose.

“Wait-” He heard himself saying, which was the opposite of what his heart (and his dick) wanted him to do. Apparently, his head still had the wheel. 

Jayce rested his hands on Viktor’s hips to stop him. Even through the thick cardigan, the latter’s hip bones were prominent. It made something twist unhappily in Jayce’s chest. 

Viktor did wait, pausing with a raised eyebrow and the weed an inch or two from his mouth. 

“A-are you okay like this?” Jayce stuttered out, looking up at the star of his current dilemma, “Your leg-” 

The questioning look on Viktor’s face turned to amusement, and he tilted his head, “That’s what you’re worried about? You idiot.” 

The word didn’t even sting like it would’ve from anyone else. It sounded like an endearment more than anything. 

“My leg is fine.” He hummed, resting a hand on Jayce’s shoulder. The weight was nice, soothing, “I’ve lived with it all my life. I know what I can handle.” 

Did weed have some sort of magical attraction properties? The sensation in his chest certainly felt like something out of a fairytale. 

“Okay.” Jayce exhaled shakily- again, not on purpose, “Okay. I just wanted to check.” 

“How kind of you.” That hand left his arm, coming back a moment later as Viktor grabbed his chin. He squeezed lightly, causing Jayce’s lips to pucker, “Are you ready?” 

Jayce nodded eagerly, giggling. Any harder and his head probably would’ve snapped off. 

Viktor gave him a look of approval that made his lungs ache, “Inhale when I exhale. Yes?” 

He swallowed, “Yes.” 

The man half-smiled, gave him a little nod, and took a long drag. It looked so easy, so beautiful, when he did it. Which was a strange thing to think. A strange action to find beautiful. But it was, nevertheless. 

Jayce parted his lips when Viktor lowered his hand, watching with expectant eyes as the man leaned toward him. Their noses brushed, sending a tingle through his skin. His breath hitched, and then the smoke was blown into his mouth. He closed his eyes and inhaled. 

It burned again, but he loved it this time. It filled his chest, his brain, left him feeling a little weightless. 

There was no coughing when he exhaled. Only the relief of subsided stinging, the warmth of Viktor against him. His nerves began to hum from his head to his toes. 

He was pretty sure he understood what all the hype was about now. Why the drug was so popular. 

But then again, that could all be because of Viktor. 

Viktor, Viktor, Viktor.

“So beautiful.” He heard his companion say, and there was a thumb brushing over his bottom lip. 

Jayce blinked his eyes open. It was harder than usual. Everything felt a little sluggish. 

Viktor was watching him. The whites of his starlight eyes were red, his gaze half-lidded, and that hunger was back. He looked like a cat on the prowl. Stalking its prey. 

Jayce had never been so pleased to feel like a cornered mouse. 

“Do you like men, Jayce?” 

“Do I-?” The question echoed his own thoughts bouncing around his mind. It sent a strike of panic through him, slightly dampened by the drug in his veins. He didn’t really have an answer for him. This night had brought up a lot of feelings on that exact topic, and most of them were muddy. It was terrifying, “I don’t… I’m not really sure, Viktor.” 

“Allow me to rephrase my question, then.” He hummed, and he was back to brushing his fingers over Jayce’s face. His lips, cheeks, nose, the space between his eyebrows, “Do you want to kiss me?” 

This question was much simpler. But it wasn’t much easier to answer.

He really liked Viktor. He was drawn to him like a moth to a flame. Viktor was funny and he had a nice accent and his face was- honestly, the only word that came to mind was beautiful. He’d never found a man beautiful before. 

Jayce wanted the answer to be easy. He wanted it to come to him like a reflex. But he was scared. The fear was holding him back. 

He tried to remind himself of the vow he’d made only a bit ago. Analyze emotions later, do what feels good now. 

If Viktor was a woman, Jayce knew what his answer would be. And that should be enough for now. He met Viktor’s gaze once more.

“Yes.” He whispered. It felt a little like signing his death sentence. 

“Go on, then.” Their noses were touching again. Viktor’s skin was cold on his. Or maybe Jayce’s was just unusually hot. 

“You want me to?” Jayce was over-thinking. As he, clearly, had a tendency to do. But some part of him felt like this was all a prank, or a dream. Surely, the moment he leaned forward it would all go up in a cloud of smoke. 

“Take what you want, Jayce.” His voice was lower, deeper. The words curled with his accent, like music notes drifting through the air, “Hesitate, and the opportunity will slip through your fingers.”

That was all the push he needed. 

He kissed Viktor. Slowly at first, awkwardly. He was giggling again, mostly out of nervousness. Jayce had experience in kissing- 95% of it was with women. And this was different. 

He’d lean forward and end up squishing their noses together. Let out a chuckle, re-adjust, try again. Their teeth clacked together on the next kiss, a jarring sensation that made them both flinch. Still, they were smiling and touching and going for more. Jayce tried to kiss him and missed, planting a smooch right on his chin. 

“Shit-” He snickered, pulling away. His cheeks were red-hot, “Sorry, sorry.” 

“Don’t be. And don’t be nervous.” Viktor’s eyes crinkled a little as he smiled, “We’re in no rush.” 

“Yeah. Yeah, you’re right. Okay.” He took a stabilizing breath, half-grinning, “Can I try again?” 

“I’d be offended if you didn’t.” 

Jayce laughed and kissed him again. A little more sure this time, but just as sloppy. He leaned up off the couch, pressing his hand into the small of Viktor’s lower back. Needing him closer, closer, closer. His lips tasted like raspberries. 

Viktor’s fingers tangled into Jayce’s hair, keeping his head right where he wanted. He kissed him like he was a master at it, like it was something he’d done a million times. It made Jayce feel very, very inadequate. 

He nipped at Jayce’s bottom lip, pulled back enough that Jayce had to chase him for more, then plunged right back in. A gentle tug on the locks in Viktor’s hands had Jayce’s mouth falling open. Viktor’s tongue slipped inside a moment later. One of his hands came to rest on Viktor’s face, thumb brushing over that sharp cheekbone. He allowed himself to be manhandled- let Viktor use his mouth as he pleased. He couldn’t stop fucking smiling. 

“There we go, you’re getting the hang of it,” Viktor murmured against his lips. His kisses moved to Jayce’s chin, mouthing along his jawline, “So eager, too. Like a puppy. Will you wag your tail if I call you a good boy?” 

He wanted to be embarrassed about the comparison. Wanted to not like the insinuation as much as he did. Mostly, though, he just wanted more Viktor. 

“Fuck.” He breathed, tilting his head back to give the other man more access. His pants were starting to strain a little bit. 

“I think that’s a yes.” He whispered, his breath sending goosebumps across Jayce’s skin. 

Viktor’s kisses moved up, up, up, until he was nibbling on Jayce’s earlobe. He gave it one sharp tug. 

And Jayce fucking whimpered. 

He’d never made that noise before. He didn’t even know he could make that noise. It definitely didn’t sound like something that would’ve come out of him. But it had. His face was on fire. 

“Oh, you like that?” Viktor practically purred. He pulled away to look at Jayce, and his hazy eyes widened a bit, “You didn’t know you liked that.” 

“No, I-” He swallowed, shifting a little in his seat, “I didn’t mean to make that… noise.” 

As if his inexperience wasn’t bad enough, now he was making sounds that could only be labeled as pathetic. Viktor must have thought he was such an idiot. 

The man frowned, pink lips forming an adorable pout, “I put work into getting that noise from you. I’d appreciate if you didn’t try to downplay it.” 

Jayce blinked up at him, “You liked it?” 

Viktor stared at him like he was an idiot. Jayce could only focus on how pretty he was like that. 

“Kiss me again?” He pleaded, because the way his head was already spinning wasn’t enough. He needed more. 

His companion was happy to oblige. 

The kiss was back to passionate and sloppy, all tongue and teeth and wandering hands. Jayce’s shirt got halfway unbuttoned, Viktor’s hair was let down, and the forgotten cup of water was kicked onto the carpet. Neither of them noticed, or maybe they didn’t care. Too caught up in each other to remember there was a whole world around them. 

They’d fallen into a rhythm, moving together like partners in a dance. It was euphoric.

“Shit-” Jayce moaned, eyes rolled back as the other man sucked at his neck. 

Viktor ran his tongue down Jayce’s pulse point, kissed the spot right above his collarbone, and then bit down. Hard. 

Jayce hissed at the sting, then grunted as it immediately turned into pleasure. All of his blood had gone South. His head was blissfully empty. Had he ever felt so needy in his life? If he had, he definitely couldn’t remember it. 

Viktor slid his hands down Jayce’s arms, interlocking them with the ones still on his waist. His fingers were slender against Jayce’s, bony and long while the other’s were thick and strong. They fit together perfectly.

Viktor kissed him again, then again. Little pecks that left him desperate for more. 

“Had enough yet?” He asked through the kisses, his lips swollen and red, “Perhaps you should return to the- mm- party. If you’ve had your moment of quiet.”

“Trying to get rid of me?” Jayce asked, his breathing ragged. The question was asked jokingly, but it made his chest ache. Maybe he was doing terribly- maybe this wasn’t as good for Viktor as it was for him. He squeezed Viktor’s hands, still clasped in his own, “And here I thought we were having such a good time.”

“Whatever gave you that idea?” He shot back, attempting to hide the amused smile on his lips. He certainly thought himself funny. It made Jayce’s fear die down, just a little, “Be a good boy and lay me down. I need to rest my leg.”

The nickname went straight to his dick. It also made him sit there for a solid five seconds like an idiot as his mind tried to process the words. Then he did, and it immediately had his heart lunging with worry. 

“Does it hurt?” Jayce asked earnestly, hooking his hands under Viktor’s thighs to lay him down on the couch. He knelt in between the man’s legs, the right one stretched out and relaxed. 

Viktor let out a relieved sigh as he settled into the couch, “It was starting to pinch. Nothing too bad, don’t worry.” 

“Are you sure?” Jayce asked softly, one hand holding him up while the other held Viktor’s hip. He watched the man closely, worriedly, “We can stop if-” 

“Do you want to stop?” 

“No!” He choked out, dark strands falling over his forehead. The answer came out faster than his mind could keep up. Complete instinct. He furrowed his brows, “No, I don’t. I just am… worried.” 

“Jayce, I am high out of my mind, having my way with a beautiful boy. I am fine.” 

He grinned at the sentiment, even as it made his face heat up, “Beautiful? Really?” 

Viktor rolled his red-tinged eyes, “You know you’re beautiful. I won’t feed your ego. Come and kiss me more, yes?” 

Jayce giggled. He leaned down, “Yes.” 

It was easier to kiss Viktor like this- more familiar. He still wasn’t the one leading, but it did feel like he had more control. Not that he’d minded being at the mercy of his companion. 

Jayce’s hand slid down the other man’s hip, grasping his thigh and pulling the leg against his waist. He could nearly wrap his hand entirely around the limb, fingertips almost touching. It made something primal, maybe territorial, bloom in his chest. Viktor was so fucking skinny.

“Mm-” Viktor gasped as their groins slotted together, fingers digging into Jayce’s shoulders. He looked up with those pretty sunset eyes, lips parted, “Jayce.” 

If he was sober, Jayce would’ve realized that his name sounded a little like a warning. But he was high, he was horny, and he had never been much of a good listener. And Viktor smelled so good and his skin was soft and Jayce was kissing up and down his throat. Really, it wasn’t his fault. He had too much he was preoccupied with. 

He rolled his hips again, desperate for friction, and paused. Something about that was… off. It didn’t feel how it should. 

“Hold on,” Viktor spoke up again, another warning. Jayce couldn’t hear him- he was too busy thinking. 

The cogs in his head were turning, and he was realizing, and- Shit. He pulled away like he’d been burned. He watched with wide eyes as Viktor sat up, the latter’s expression nearing resignation. 

“Jayce-” He began, and it sounded like the beginning of an explanation. 

Once again, Jayce was not listening. How the hell was Viktor so calm? This was serious!

“Oh my God.” He breathed out, running a hand through his already messy hair. He sat back on his heels, “Oh my God, Viktor, where’s your dick? What happened to it?” 

The other man watched him in stunned silence. It was totally unnerving. Really, why wasn’t he freaking out?!

“Did I crush it? Oh my God, I’m so sorry. I didn’t know that was possible. My Mom always told me I had more strength than I knew what to do with, I just didn’t think it could do this-” 

Viktor snorted. Loud and sharp enough that it shut Jayce up, quieted his mind. The two stared at each other for three long seconds. 

Then Viktor started laughing. 

The sound was light, a little wheezy, and beautiful. Despite the strangeness of the situation, it made Jayce smile. He’d never heard a laugh quite like it. 

Still, that didn’t take away from the very real panic coursing through him. 

“Jayce, you are- oh, God.” He chuckled, covering his mouth with a hand, “It is a good thing you have your looks.” 

He furrowed his brows. His brain was very slow right now and he was very, very confused. Shaking his head, he rested a hand on Viktor’s knee, “I don’t understand.” 

The smile the man gave Jayce was equal parts fondness and patronization, “I don’t have a, eh, dick, as you so eloquently put it. I never have.” 

Jayce tilted his head to the side as if things would make more sense at a 45-degree angle. He blinked once, twice, three times, “What?”

Viktor rolled his eyes, more for theatrics than anything else, “To put it technically, I was born a female. Which took me very little time to realize was not the case. Thus, here I am now. Not a female. My body simply… is a little behind in the process.” 

“Oh.” 

Jayce was the dumbest fucking idiot in the world. His face was absolutely on fire, embarrassment burning through him. Part of him hoped death would just take him now, or that this was all a dream he’d wake up from. If only to save himself from the humiliation. Viktor must have been kicking himself for spending time with such an imbecile. 

“Is that a problem for you?” Viktor asked when Jayce stayed silent, an incredulous eyebrow raised. The warmth was gone from him, defenses raised as he waited for an answer. 

Jayce lurched forward, desperate to fix the situation, to stop being so damn stupid. A large hand cupped Viktor’s cheek, “No! No, not at all. I’m sorry, I just- I feel so stupid.” He laughed, more self-deprecating than anything, “You’re great, Viktor- wonderful. And I’m an idiot. I didn’t- I’m sorry, my brain is not working. It’s not a problem. I like you how you are.” 

The word vomit spewing from him was grating on his nerves, making him cringe. He wanted to curl into a ball and die. This was the worst. 

He expected Viktor to pull away. To tell him to leave, that they were done and Jayce was unwelcome. He expected to be shunned for his idiocy. He would’ve deserved it, too. 

Instead, the man huffed out a laugh. He shook his head, “I’m not sure I’d go so far as to call you an idiot, Jayce. But it certainly was not one of your finest moments.” 

“Definitely not.” He grinned, running his thumb over the sharp cheekbone, “Try not to hold it against me? I don’t care that you’re a guy without a dick. I like you. I’m just very high.” 

“Oh, you like me?” Viktor wrapped a hand around Jayce’s forearm, “You just met me.” 

He gave a half-assed shrug, getting a little caught up in how starkly contrasting their skin tones were, “It doesn’t take much.” 

“Just weed and some kissing, huh?” 

“You also happen to be very cool.” Jayce argued, a teasing lilt to his voice, “Though the weed and the kissing don’t hurt.” 

Viktor chuckled. He looked so lovely with his hair down and a smile on his face. Jayce wanted to commit it to a canvas and look at it forever. 

“Can we do some more of it? The kissing?” He asked before he could stop himself. This longing in his chest was more than he could bear. 

The man’s eyes shimmered like starlight, something akin to pride flaring in him. He liked that Jayce wanted him. Jayce liked it too- he liked that look on Viktor’s face a lot. 

Just as Jayce’s companion opened his mouth to respond, though, they were interrupted. 

The door to the basement was flung open, letting in a flurry of pounding music and strobe lights. Jayce jumped a foot in the air, heart rate skyrocketing, while Viktor didn’t move a muscle.

“Vik, you down there?” A voice that could only be described as cackly called. From here, Jayce couldn’t see any part of the intruder besides black scuffed boots and two ankle-length blue braids, “Ekko says I can’t set off my fireworks unless you’re there to supervise!” 

Viktor laid his head against the back of the couch and looked up toward the doorway, “I’m assuming you won’t be taking no for an answer?” 

“Nope!” Came her enthusiastic reply as she rocked back and forth on her heels, “I told you I was gonna make you participate in the party. You’ve had your time.” 

The man let out a long sigh before responding, “I’ll be right there.” 

“Don’t take too long! I’ll be on the roof!” 

Then the door slammed shut, and they were in the quiet again. 

Viktor looked at Jayce with an expression bordering on apologetic, “It seems we’ll have to rain-check our kissing, unfortunately.” 

“You have to go?” He didn’t mean to sound as pathetic and whiny as he did. The thought of parting with him right now made him very sad. 

“Jinx is not one for patience.” Viktor got to his feet, stretching his arms above his head until his spine popped. His shirt rode up, giving Jayce a peek of smooth skin over a prominent hip bone, “And I’d prefer if my house didn’t get burned down by her antics. I like having a place to live.” 

Viktor was reaching for his cane and Jayce was panicking, panicking, panicking. He didn’t want to say goodbye, not yet. His mind was a haze but he knew that much. 

“Well, can I see you again? Sometime soon?” Desperate. He must’ve looked so desperate. He didn’t care. 

Viktor paused and looked down at him, half-smirking. His fingers tapped against the head of his cane, “I’m sure you’ll see me again, Jayce. Some time.” 

“But-” 

“You can stay down here as long as you’d like.” Viktor walked towards the stairs, favoring the weight of his bad leg a little, “Enjoy the quiet, get some rest, take care of your… predicament. No one will bother you.” 

It didn’t take a genius to know that the ‘predicament’ was Jayce’s not-so-subtle erection. His cheeks were heating up again. All he could do was watch with resignation as the man moved away from him. He was like water Jayce was trying to hold in his hands. 

Just as he was about to ascend the stairs, Viktor stopped again. He looked at Jayce over his shoulder, gazing through strands of brown hair. His eyes shone with warmth, “Thank you for keeping me company. I hope it was as… enjoyable for you as it was for me.” 

He left after that. Deserting Jayce in the basement with kiss-swollen lips, too-tight pants, and a whole lot of questions. 

[joonberriess]

teeth. ☆ j.jk

⋆ TAGS — ghostface!jk, breaking in, TW: non-con to dub-con (oc does NOT consent verbally even if she does participate hence the dub-con), brief knife play, cunnilingus, degradation, misogyny(?), objectification, blow jobs, brief face/skull fucking, fuckin in the woods, unprotected sex, nasty talk by jk, possessive!jk, hints of kidnapping/captivity, fear play, facial, jk is lowkey yandere, iconic what’s your favorite scary movie scene but my style, DEAD DOVE, slight praises, ass n coochie worship cause jk is a ass man certified LMAO, cheerleader!oc, college setting

⋆ WORD COUNT — 4.2k

⋆ now playing: teeth - 5sos ⋆

“Color me your color, baby, color me your car, color me your color, darling, I know who you are,”

The music blared loudly, you hummed under your breath while lining over your lips with a dark lip pencil. The hour was getting closer and you realized you had to speed things up if you wanted to meet with your friends on time (you had been stuck in your cheer uniform ALL DAY). You moved around your room quickly while tossing articles of clothing onto your bed, no outfit in particular on your mind.

You uncapped the red lipstick and ran it over your lips slowly, filling in the blank spaces and blending the two colors to perfection. You decided a white long sleeve tucked into your mini jean skirt would serve as a perfect combo. If you were lucky, maybe that cute college senior Kim Seokjin would give you his jacket to wear. The idea has you smiling like a dummy.

Before you can slip out of your skirt the phone downstairs begins ringing loudly. You could have very well ignored it but you don’t feel like listening to your parents nag at you for not picking up the phone if it happens to be them. “Ugh, seriously.” You mutter and quickly run downstairs to the kitchen.

“Hello?” You softly sigh while twirling a piece of your hair around your finger.

“Hello,” some guy’s deep voice greets you, he says nothing else and you tilt your head in confusion muttering a soft ‘yes?’. “Who is this?”

Immediately you frown in confusion and balance the phone between your ear and shoulder, “Who are you trying to reach?” You pop a piece of chicken from your mom’s leftover casserole into your mouth.

“What number is this?”

“Uhh..what number are you trying to reach?”

“I don’t know.”

You hold back a deep sigh and check the time behind you on the clock, you really don’t have patience for this nonsense. Especially for some weirdo who’s either prank calling or just doesn’t know how to work a phone. “Then you have the wrong number,” you eat another piece of casserole, “it happens, take it easy though.” You hang up quickly before he can utter another word to you.

You had just set the phone down when it began to ring all over again, “Ugh…hello?” You stare at the decorative ceiling in annoyance, “Hello?” You say loudly when the other person doesn’t say anything for a few seconds.

“Why don’t you wanna talk to me? Just wanted to apologize, ‘s all.” He says with a teasing lilt, but it sounds more condescending than anything, “Just wanna..get to know you.”

You ignore the nasty little shiver you get down your spine when he talks to you like that, a deeper part of you is literally drooling over how this guy’s voice sounds but too bad he’s a weirdo though.. Your gut twists uncomfortably as your eyes dart to the side to look out the patio doors. “Okay..well you’re forgiven now, bye.” You go to hang up.

“Wait–if you tell me your name I’ll tell you mine.”

You can’t help your scoff, “Yeah, right. I don’t think so, why the hell would I give you my name? You sound like a total creep right now, you know that?” You huff and open your fridge up for a drink, “Besides, what’s your deal anyways? You keep calling and I’m obviously not who you’re looking for.” You complain while uncapping a bottle of water.

“Because,” he calmly starts, “I wanna know who I’m lookin’ at right now.. Pretty red lips and a tight little uniform on,” he draws out huskily.

You immediately go still, “W-What…how do you..?” you look around the empty kitchen and living room. “This isn’t funny.” You quickly head down the hall to the front door, making sure the locks are set before you go back to the living room and make sure the patio doors are locked as well.

“Never said it was babydoll.” He muses, “Though I do gotta admit, red looks spectacular on you, wonder if you got more around here in your drawers.” He trails off, the sound of drawers slamming close and another opening could be heard on the other side of the line.

You wait with a bated breath listening carefully, you slowly turn your head to look up at the ceiling. There’s a low thumping noise that follows the sounds you hear from the phone. Your eyes slip shut as you try to control the sob that’s about to come out of your throat, “What do you want from me?” You croak in a tiny voice.

“What’s your favorite scary movie sweetheart, hm?” His footsteps are heavy as he starts walking around upstairs in your room.

You blink your tears away and stumble towards the hallway to your only escape route: your dad’s office. “I-I don’t like any scary movies,” you whimper quietly, “p-please, I don’t wanna die.” You sniffle. You can hear him humming in the hallway upstairs now, causing you to duck into the office as silent as you can.

“That wasn’t my question. Time’s ticking babydoll, I’m not exactly a patient guy you know.”

“H-Halloween..!” You whisper-yell, “I like Halloween.”

“Which one?” He asks, you can hear him loud and clear at the bottom of the staircase, “Hm?”

You sniffle softly and back away, “Rob Zombie’s version,” you utter softly and hear him pause in his footsteps. He stands there for a few seconds before he slowly draws nearer and nearer. Your eyes squeeze shut as a terrified whimper escapes your lips, before you can plead with him the door slowly creaks open and a hooded figure stands in the doorway with the phone held up to his ear. You stare at him, the phone slipping from your trembling hand as it slams to the floor with a loud thud.

He tilts his head to the side and raises his gloved hand to wave at you. “Hey there sweetheart,” he purrs from under the mask.

You scream out in fear and knock over the desk chair, you’re lucky as hell your dad has a set of patio doors himself. You slip through the doors and run down the small hill, looking back and forth in time to see the hooded figure chasing after you.

The sounds of leaves crunching and branches snapping fill both sides of your ears. Adrenaline kicks in like never before and has you running the fastest you’ve ever moved in your entire life. If you can lose him in the woods you’ll make it to your neighbors’ in five minutes tops, might even get lucky if you detour to the main road but the hill to climb up will only slow you down.

“Don’t be like that babydoll!” He calls out from your left? Right? You don’t know where his voice is coming from, and quite frankly you’re too scared to look. You hear his heavy footsteps (now) directly behind you before a hand tangles itself in the back of your uniform top, gripping it tight as he stops you from going any further.

The force itself is enough to send you flying to the ground, knees scraping hard against a tree stump. You break your fall with your hands, crying out from the pain that erupts in both palms as tiny twigs and rocks dig into your soft skin. “Gotcha.” He chuckles and squats down to your level to admire your bruised form. You must have gave him a run for his money with how hard he’s breathing under the mask.

“P-Please!” You crawl backwards, back hitting the tree stump, “I don’t wanna die,” you pathetically cry, “I promise I won’t tell anyone if you let me go.” Call it cliche but it was worth a shot to plead with your killer? Stalker? You don’t know anymore.

He tilts his head, “Heard that one before, you’re not the first to beg so sweetly like that babydoll. Almost melts my poor little heart,” he coos mockingly, “but don’t stress your pretty little head over that, you’re not meant to use that brain of yours—meant to sit and look pretty for me.” He purrs and reaches out to run a gloved hand over your dirt stricken thighs.

You curl away and try to escape his touch, “Why are you doing this?” You whimper quietly, watching as his hand rubs circles over your bruised knees. A tremor runs down your spine as his leather gloves run over your shaking thighs, his touch feels scorching hot despite the cool material of his gloves pressing against your skin.

“Been watchin’ ya for a while,” he murmurs, “night n day—just imagining allll the different ways I could have you. Bet you’d look pretty with a mouth stuffed full of cock, wonder how pretty you’d look with cock deep inside your little cunt baby,” he trails off while giving your thigh a rough squeeze, “always did wonder how that pussy tastes.” You can practically picture the shit eating grin he must have under the mask.

You hate that his nasty words have a bubbling heat building in your lower stomach, it shouldn’t be that arousing to you yet here you were in the middle of the woods being fondled by your stalker while he talked about how much he wanted to fuck you. His voice even sounds hotter in person vs the phone.

“Penny for your thoughts?” He chuckles.

You land a harsh kick to his arm with a loud, “Get off of me!” You quickly turn over to stumble to your feet while he curses under his breath and stands to chase after you.

He’s not so gentle this time with the way he snatches you and slams you right up against the tree trunk, letting the chips and splinters bite into your skin unforgivingly. “Thought we were over this,” he growls, “was gonna treat you nice and sweet but by the looks of it you just wanna be tossed around like the filthy little slut you are,” he hisses in your ear while pressing you tight against the tree.

You whine loudly and push back against him in an effort to get him off of you, “Let me go—let go!” You growl angrily, “you’re a fucking psycho creep!” You grit your teeth while trying to turn to look directly at him.

He doesn’t shy away from hurting you to get you to become docile again. He pins both wrists behind your back in a tight grip, squeezing both of your hands until you hear a low threatening pop. A pained little whimper escapes your lip as he forces your head against the bark, “You gonna sit still like a good girl or do I have to tie you up?” He growls menacingly.

“I-I’ll be good!” You cry out as the pain starts to become unbearable.

“What was that?” He whispers in your ear, “Couldn’t hear ya.” He smirks.

A quiet sob slips from your lips as you slump over in defeat, “I-I’ll be a good girl.” You softly reply, too hung up on the pain to reply with the unbridled anger you feel right now. “Just please—let me go.” You sob.

He ignores your cries and instead brings out a rather intimidating looking hunting knife, it cuts into your skin almost right away with the slightest little touch. “Please no—” You immediately begin, thighs shifting as they slide against each other in an attempt to block him from either cutting or stabbing you. The only thing you achieve is the blade running into your thigh and slicing a small line downwards.

“None of that now babydoll,” he whispers while letting your wrists go and setting his big hand over your hip, “just sit still and look pretty for me yeah? Don’t need to think, just feel.” He breathes out as he guides the knife up your skirt, letting the sharp tip (which you noticed was slightly curved like a hook or something) hook under the side of your panties.

Your poor heart hammers in your chest as you begin to hyperventilate, “W-What are you gonna do to me?” The blade tugs at your panties, no doubt already piercing through the flimsy little material.

“Fuck.” You hear him whisper from behind, “You’re driving me fuckin’ crazy you know that?” His tongue clicks in annoyance as he suddenly yanks the knife down, a loud riiip following in suit, as well as your terrified scream/sob. “Gonna have a taste now babydoll, put your hands right there—yeahhh, good girl. Keep ‘em there baby,” he has you bending over with your legs spread wide apart and your hands over the tree, “ ‘s like a fuckin’ dream back here, fat little cunt n a nice ass.” He whistles while smacking his hand against your poor cheek.

You bite your lip as the cool air fans over your moist cunt, at this point in time you have long given up making any excuses as to why your pussy was drooling for this weirdo. Still didn’t mean you were less scared but you figured if you complied the faster things would go over. “Look at this slutty pussy, already leakin’ like a bitch in heat. Does a scary man like me chasing you through the woods get you goin’ sweetheart? Maybe you’re a little more fucked than I thought.” He chuckles.

There’s a brief pause and you wonder what he’s doing back there, so you turn your head to look at him when you gasp softly. He has the mask thrown off to the side, his face in all his glory—messy black hair and a lip ring with an array of piercings on his ears— he sits there with a shit eating grin, “Guess the cat’s out the bag huh?” You eye him with distaste before turning back around, you had at least hoped he was ugly or something.

“God,” he groans, “can’t get over this ass,” he mutters to himself while smacking both cheeks and pulling them apart to expose both of your holes to him, “wanna see it wrapped ‘round my cock, gonna have you squirting and messy babydoll. Might even have to get you on your knees to clean up your mess,” he whispers as his hot breath fans over your pussy lips, “you’re gonna be lookin’ at me with those sweet little eyes of yours too, gonna bust my load all over that pretty face of yours.” His tongue dips between your soft folds, licking from your winking hole down to your swollen little clit hiding under its hood.

Your eyes squeeze shut as his hands steady you by the hips, his face is practically smushed against your cunt as he slobbers over it with his greedy tongue. He sucks on your inner folds, getting every nook and cranny as he slurps up the mess he leaves behind before lapping over your clit with his tongue. Your thighs shake a little, you’ve never had anyone this eager to eat your cunt out like this. He’s a fucking menace and you hate how good he is at this.

“Fuck,” he pants softly, “can’t get enough baby, could eat this pussy for days.” He all but moans while latching on to your clit.

A shocked cry leaves your lips, you dig your nails into the tree bark and hold on tightly as your swollen bud throbs in his mouth. He doesn’t let up, suckling on your clit like a lollipop with just the right amount of pressure around the bud. A new wave of slick gushes from your untouched hole, loud mewls and whines leaving you as you subtly rut back against his face. It’s pure heaven.

He spreads your cheeks apart and pulls back to harshly spit on your cunt, “There you go, get nice n wet for me babydoll.” His hot breath fans over your empty little hole, “Good girl.”

You shouldn’t like the way he’s talking to you, but something about him calling you that has a delirious little whimper leaving you. He dips his tongue into your pussy, the sensation definitely welcomed as you sigh in bliss. His tongue wiggles around and curls upwards to brush over your sensitive walls in a flicking motion.

He jiggles your ass in both hands, moaning at the sight of the fat slipping through his fingers from his tight grip. He flicks his tongue back and forth over your swollen bud, you nearly double over as his tongue traces letters on your clit. “W-Wait,” you bite your lip as your eyes shut and you reach behind you to tangle your hand in his hair.

You freeze when you realize what you’re doing, but instead of getting angry with you he leans into your touch with a low moan. Clearly he loves it so you keep your hand in his hair, occasionally pulling just a tiny bit. When he pulls back to catch his breath, audibly gulping as he sits back on his haunches, “Turn around.” He says breathlessly.

From behind you can hear him shuffling around, the sounds of a belt being unbuckled fills your ears. “On your knees babydoll,” he rasps out while fisting his cock, sliding his thumb over the mess of precum he’s made at the tip of his cock. He’s watching you with dark lust filled eyes as you slowly fall to your knees in front of him, eye contact never wavering.

“Shit—when you look like that you make it harder for me to hold back.” He groans while licking his lip, “Exactly how I imagined you’d look.” He purrs as he brings the head of his cock to smother his precum over them, “Stick your tongue out for me baby—there you go, just like that.” He grins softly.

You lay your tongue flat under his fat cock, delighting in the delicious weight over your tongue. You can’t help but flick the tip of your tongue upwards causing it to brush over a throbbing vein. He releases a quiet hiss, fisting the shaft as he roughly slaps it against your tongue in repeated taps.

“Will you look at that, ‘nother little filthy slut we got here, how many other cocks you sucked huh?” He pushes into your mouth and holds the back of your head with one hand tightly fisted in your hair. You gag around his cock and fruitlessly claw at his thighs, “What’s the matter? Can’t take it? Poor baby can’t handle having a cock stuffed down her throat? Pathetic little thing you are, can’t even do what you were made for,” he rasps out while rolling his hips against your face.

His balls press snug against your chin as spit and drool dribble from the corners of your mouth. Your tears run freely no doubt ruining your makeup for the night, you probably look a hot mess right now. Your stalker moans and pants freely above you, he doesn’t bother hiding how good he feels right now as his cock twitches occasionally. You really lose it when he forces your head down and keeps you still, pelvis pressed right up against your nose as he rolls his hips in quick grinds.

“Oh shit,” he breathes out, “feels so fuckin’ good babydoll, knew you were the one when I first saw you.” He whispers out while slipping his cock out of your mouth, relishing in the gasping noises you make, “Gonna make you into my little cock sleeve, don’t need you doin’ anything else..belong with me right on my cock.” He shoves himself back into your mouth and begins fucking into your throat roughly. You cry and gurgle while weakly slapping your hands over his thighs. He doesn’t let up and only fucks your throat more eagerly.

“Fuck baby, c’mere,” he yanks you off his cock and brings you up to him.

He doesn’t waste time bending you back over the three and shoving his fat cock into you. You let out a loud cry and dig your nails into the tree from the pressure and slight twinge of pain from the size of his girthy cock. It sits nice and snug against your walls, curved slightly upwards to press into your g-spot, not quite hitting it but brushing over it.

“Oh fuck,” you whisper out as your toes curl from inside your shoes.

When a couple more seconds pass of him just idly rocking into you, he pulls all the way out until only the head remains before slamming back in with a loud slap. You jolt in pleasure as a tiny scream escapes, he doesn’t let up and keeps the same harsh pace he started with. His cock punches deep into your pussy, poking at your cervix painfully as you yelp out in pain between your moans.

“Fucking hell,” he moans out while moving his hands from your hips to your bouncing tits, “got a nice little pussy n a pair of pretty tits just for me right sweetheart?” He slaps one of your tits before taking your pebbled little nipple between his fingers and meanly pinching it.

“Mm!” You arch your back and try to twist away from his bruising grip. He manages to grip your other tit and knead it in his big hand.

Loud squelching noises fill the space around you in the woods, some of your slick even drips down onto the ground with tiny wet splats. The sound is filthy and has your face burning up in embarrassment as you hide in your hands with low whimpers and whiny moans. He suddenly changes the angle and begins grinding his fat cock right up against your g-spot, pressing insistently as he hits it over and over again.

“Oh you like it there don’t you sweetheart,” he grins while rolling his hips in slow circles, “go on then, fuck yourself on my cock like the little whore you are. Get that pussy nice and soaked for me.” He growls quietly in your ear while pinching your nipples once more.

A quiet squeal erupts from your throat, you shakily manage to knock your hips into his in a sloppy pace. “Please,” you slur out as your eyes slip shut, “c-can’t do it,” your pace is nowhere near the same as before.

“Can’t what?” He moves one hand down between your thighs, “Hm?”

You press your forehead against the tree bark in defeat, sobbing quietly as you wiggle your hips side to side, “ ‘s not the same, need you to f-fuck me.” You shamefully admit.

“Like this?” He slaps his hips upwards, “Or like this sweetheart?” He purrs and begins plowing into your drenched pussy, stuffing his cock deep inside with every thrust.

You throw your head back with a loud moan, “Yes, yes!” More drool begins slipping from your chin as you part your legs a bit wider and arch your back.

He swears at you from under his breath while rolling your swollen clit between his fingers. The sounds of skin slapping against skin begin louder, his balls collide with your swollen puffy folds and your ass ripples from his pelvis from his harsh thrusts. “Little fucking slut,” he grits out through his harsh punishing thrusts, “fuckin’ mine you hear that? So help me you ever think of looking at someone else I’ll fuckin gut them like a fish n fuck you over their dead body.” He hisses, “Better yet covered in their blood.” He roughly smacks your clit.

You mewl loudly and go still, your pussy pulses like crazy as you feel your orgasm hit you at full force. You cum with your clit trapped between his fingers and his cock stuffed deep. The orgasm is so strong it knocks you off your feet as you wobble and shake like a newborn lamb. “P-Please,” you sob out.

“On your knees,” he growls while slipping from your drenched cunt, “fuckin’ look at me.” He aims his cock at your face and strokes himself with loud slick noises. You stare up at him with a dazed expression, too fucked out to reply. He cums with a low moan, making sure to coat your lips and face with his cum as he taps the head against your cheek, “Fuck…” He sighs in bliss while lazily flicking his wrist.

You blink slowly and the last thing you see is him picking his knife back up.

+

Jungkook hums under his breath while he lazily digs through his bowl of popcorn, he’s been switching channels for a couple of minutes now. Nothing good is ever on these days, he rolls his eyes and shakes his head while flicking through the channels.

“Oh,” his face lights up in joy, “baby come look at this,” he grins and turns the volume up all the way high, “found somethin’ perfect for movie night.” He turns to look behind him, eyes wild and filled with sadistic joy.

“She was last seen Friday in the evening by her parents who were only going a few towns over to visit family. Her friends have all stated she was supposed to be meeting them that night but never showed, one even said they had spoken to her hours prior about their plans to meet. They said she wasn’t acting suspicious or anything—”

A muffled sob erupts, the sound of a cage rattling heard next as Jungkook slowly turns to look at your cowering form. You look so adorable all curled up in the cage like that, mascara streaking and lips wiped red from your lipstick. “Don’t like that movie?” He pouts, “Pity.” He turns back around and replays the entire missing persons ad.

TAGLIST: @fragmentof-indifference @jungkooksseuphoria @kooliv @angelarin @jjeonjjk7 @lilliankoo @pb-n-juju @ellesalazar @saweetspoiled @laylasbunbunny @prettyprincejk @cherrysainttt @hyunjinswifeee @joongraduatewithonor @hellbornsworld @leire-mia @m1sss1mp @lissful @winkii @lifeless-firefly @exactlygreatcoffee @taestoess @ayalies @floweryjeons @softtcurse @lilspinachwrld @tearyjjeon @littleobsessedkitty @lovelovelovebts @angeljmnie @rerefundslocals @bangtans-mama @thvhoe @maddkitt @tvse @ohjeon @teteswtnr @jkslovey12 @kelsyx33 @milfpo1ice @sluttydidi @ztyur @beomgyuult @shescharlie @sweet-sourhotcoco @lalita-7 @hazzzelsdimension @p34rluv @kook-net @bonita0-0 @vmapy @dahliadaenerys @gukiebaby @babycandy111

[halloween m.list]

[limethefirst]

Void Runners Pt. 1

pairings: Deadpool x Wolverine x teen!reader

warnings: contains heavy spoilers for Deadpool and Wolverine, swearing, blood, the normal deadpooly stuff

summary: Reader has been trapped in the void for a few months now, after getting into trouble with the TVA, when they suddenly stumble upon a Deadpool and a Wolverine.

Part 2 / Part 3

a/n: if this gets popular enough I might write a part two, I'm having Deadpool and Wolverine brainrot, also this is unedited so pls tell me if you see mistakes

It had been 4 months since you had been sent to the Void; the apocalyptic like plain, becoming what you had accepted as your new home.

You were a time traveler, that had accidently messed up some big event and that caused the TVA to come and take care of you. You weren't sure what the big event was, something about some saving some rich guys parents. You thought you were doing a good thing by it but apparently not.

Whatever it was, it didn't matter anymore, you were now stuck here. You'd been alone most of the time, sometimes seeing other people but you had learned quickly into your stay that these others were part of this group formed by Cassandra Nova, an insanely powerful woman who you never dared cross paths with.

Until unfortunately today.

Sadly you stumbled upon the wrong people at the wrong time. As you were walking through the dusty plains, you saw two men falling from the sky, thinking back on your heroic days you felt obligated to help out. That was not the best idea, you tried to go up to the men but instead they started arguing when a fight suddenly broke out between them. By the time the fight had ended you had blood all over your (as clean as they can be in the void) shoes.

"Augh, I just cleaned these too." Is what seemed to snap the men out of whatever had just happened.

"Oh my gosh! How long has the movie been out? Five days, and we are already getting reader inserts? Wow!" The man in the red mask said to no one in particular, "And what might your name be sunshine?"

"Uh Y/N, are you guys okay, you seem to be stabbed in a lot of places?" You answered a bit concerned after seeing two men almost tear each other apart.

"Oh this? Sorry, my partner here has weird kinks-" The strange man is cut off by the other seemingly older man punching him in the jaw. "See what I mean kiddo?"

"Enough Wade." The older man gruffed, his arms crossing as he shakes his head disapprovingly.

"Whatever you say sugar cube!" The man known as Wade looked back at you, "Oh you must be wondering who we are huh! Well this hairy beast of a man is the one and only Wolverine, and I am your friendly neighbor Deadpool!" Wolverine looked at you and sighed at the at his 'partners' antics.

From there things only went downhill, and that is how you were stuck with them being hauled off to Cassandra Nova's lair.

"Awee are we having a flashback already?!" Deadpool's annoying voice rang from in front of you. Currently you were stuck in a ball like cage with, Johnny Storm, Wolverine and Deadpool.

Johnny began to explain to the men where we were all headed, going over the basics of who were about to meet and the type of woman Cassandra was. You looked a bit ahead as you noticed you were already here.

As you guys had come to a stop you saw the others being throw out of the cage, you held up your chained hands to the man before they could throw you as well, "I got it, thanks" jumping out before you got tossed as well.

At the same time you got down you heard Deadpool's odd comment, "Huh, Paul Rudd finally aged." You turned down at the man slightly and gave him a quick look of confusion unsure what he was talking about; his partner seemingly unphased by the comment, most likely used to it.

Looking ahead ignoring the bickering next happening to your right, you saw what seemed to be a bald woman in the mouth of the giant skull. As the dust cleared you could see her get up from the wheelchair she was sitting on, "What was the point of the wheelchair.." You dully commented.

Deadpool adding on, "Oh ableism great, that's not gonna go over well with the Woke mob!"

You looked at your surroundings, no longer caring about the scene unfolding before you, Deadpool began to talk with Cassandra, somehow coming up on the topic of a coke, loving roommate.

After a bit more talking between the two you hear Deadpool slandering Cassandra, and then telling her it was all Johnny who said it. This brought back your attention just in time to see Johnny's skin ripped from his skeleton.

"Not my favorite Chris." Deadpool says, not having much remorse for the scene in front of him.

"You piece of shit you just got him fucking killed." Wolverine adds, pointing at the remains of Johnny.

"Awe I kinda liked him," You mumbled to yourself, as Wolverine looked at you with a look of discouragement on his face, almost as if saying not to get Deadpool started with this.

"Hey we are all grieving," Deadpool yells, "He doesn't know what he was doing to the budget." He mumbled the last part.

Cassandra ignored his words and walked past the group, "Shush, Alioth's hungry."

"There must be some kind of mistake," Deadpool started again, "Big yellow is an anchor being and I'm Marvel Jesus, MJ if you're nasty." Cassandra turned her head a little as you stood next to them listening to their story, not getting the chance to hear it earlier. "This may be hard to hear but there's another British villain, he's gonna destroy my universe and I'm gonna stop him."

"Oh honey you don't really strike me as the world saving type." Cassandra answered him, this seemed to upset the laidback man. You watched as he seemed to straighten himself up hearing that. "Did I hit a nerve?" She turns back, almost sarcastically.

"I didn't want it to come to this," Deadpool says, "Either you help us or my friend here is gonna sing the entire second act of Music Man with no warm up"

You look at him confused, "What the hell is that?"

"Where'd you get the chair?" Wolverine asks Cassandra as she walks back towards the skull.

She quickly answers, "Every once in a while we get a Charles here, never mind though, he didn't care to find me."

Deadpool leans back seemingly annoyed, "Ughh Gen Z and their trauma bragging!" He shoots you a quick glance, "Can't you just stuff it down and turn it into a cancer like the rest of us?"

"But I'm not like the rest of you, except maybe the Wolverine, now we could be truly terrifying together." A light smile graced Cassandra's face as she watches you guys.

You watch their exchange a little more before you notice the purple mist coming up behind you guys slowly getting closer. As you turn back around you see Wolverine getting dragged through the ground and Deadpool backing up.

"I am so not with them." You tell Cassandra hoping that doesn't happen to you.

"Oh yes they are." Deadpool fires back, making sure he isn't next. Unfortunately for him he was, you watched as Cassandra got behind him and put her fingers in his head.

She began to whisper something and within the next minute she let go. Deadpool shook his head and started rambling yet again, "You are so mean! I could taste your fingers! They taste like hate, and where in God's name is the intimacy coordinator?!"

"You're so lost Mr Wilson, long before you came here." Cassandra told him.

He took out his knife and held it up, "This is baby knife, she's gonna fuck you in the face now."

Cassandra looked at the knife at back at him, "If you're going to kill me it's going to take more then a little blade."

"How about six?" Before she could say anything else, Wolverine came up behind her and stabbed her with his claws.

"Holy shit" You said covering your mouth.

Before you could celebrate, Cassandra began laughing and fell from the claws, "This has been fun but the big guy needs to eat and the rent is due." She turned around walking away as a looming shadow of darkness rose above the skeleton you were in.

Before anyone had a chance to say anything people had scattered and Deadpool grabbed you and hoisted you up over his shoulder taking you towards the machine Wolverine was trying to fix for an escape.

You hadn't a second to say anything because the next thing you knew, you were being taken with them hopefully away from the giant monster.

[lilahriot]

Namgyu : Friends With Benefits Head Cannons

Warnings: nsfw / Drugs / spit kink / slight description of sex / slight abuse / possessive

namgyu x f!reader

Hello fellow namgyu apologists 🙏🙏 I’ve been wanting to post sm like this for a long time ! This is a little icky but wtv

• When you’re angry with him, he’ll just stand there and take whatever you have to say. Weather you get angry and decide to slap him, he’ll take the slap and continue to stare at you until your done. If your arguing he’ll probably try to grab your hands to make sure your listening. Not necessarily in an aggressive way, but more frustrated. Every time you talk he’ll slightly bite his lips or inner cheek, out of habit. After arguing he’d probably completely ignore you for a few hours, expecting you to come and make things better again, he doesn’t want to be seen as weak or vulnerable, so begging for your forgiveness is not his style. Although he doesn’t come to you at first, if it’s been a few days he’ll try to approach you slyly and try to get on your good side by trying to hold hands or him patting your shoulders while you do something.

• He becomes way more affectionate on some kinds of drugs, it really just depends on what he’s taken. On weed, you noticed that he would become more clingy and more willing to please you, more hungry for you but is also a little lazy on cannabis. on cocaine he is more confident with himself and is usually quite cocky. When you visit him at the club, it’s like drawing out a wildcard, he may be out of his mind on drugs, talking to other girls or hiding in the nearest corner trying to count the seconds till his shift is over.

• That man definitely has a spit kink… As you kiss, he would try to muster up enough spit so he could pass it to you through your lips and make it sit in your mouth. After you swallow it, he would whisper something along the lines of…

“You like my spit? You’re so disgusting” into your ear as he smirked and slightly laughed to himself. Whenever appropriate, he would try to use spit. It didn’t matter to him, if it was on his hands before he attentively stuck two fingers into you, watching your eyes roll back to the back of your skull, or aggressively spitting on your breasts just to see it drip down your chest.

“So beautiful” He says as he scans his dark evening dust eyes all over your body, watching the spit drips from top to bottom.

• On days you couldn’t go to see him, you’d send him a quick photo of your body, sometimes not even getting a reply from him until a few hours later, regardless of wether he had read it the second you sent it. He wanted to play hard to get, like you not being able to come over to see him meant that you didn’t love him. He loved to play bratty.

• Your relationship with namgyu is more of a close friends with benefits situation. He treats you like his girlfriend, but it hasn’t been labeled whatsoever. Having asked Namgyu about it, he had always said “Why does everything have to have a name.. like why can’t we just do what we do?”

This hurts a little, because you want a relationship with him. You want to be able to post cute stories about him on your instagram, you want to have the stereotypical romance story relationship that all of your friends have, but namgyu is against the idea. Like he’s scared of commitment, scared of the idea of being emotionally wedged to a person. You know he loves you, in his own strange way, but he is cold. Bad at showing true feelings. You once confronted him about it, he waked out and ignored you for days, then came back, the first thing he did was touch you. You hate how easily you give into him. You hate how you’d always come back for more, no matter what he did.

part two here 🤍

[ryo-kaikura]

Yandere Male Siren x Pirate Male Reader

Tw: yandere, mentions of killing, maybe actual killing, forced abortion

Btw, you're around 180cm, you're slightly a jerk, I made siren autonomy to have both male and female genitalia in both siren form and human form, it's 18+ in more ways than one. I was also slightly horny making *that* scene (⁠◔⁠‿⁠◔⁠)

—————————————————————

You're a captain, the captain of one of the feared pirates, the black skull, but currently you're on a small boat, rowing to a beach… why? Because you're meeting a siren.

Usually, sirens are out to kill but it seems like this one isn't like the rest. He's kind, good looking and has a beautiful voice, his name's Morien.

Though truthfully his name has a slightly eerie meaning… Most parents don't truly think deeply of their children’s names especially when they even threw that children away.

I mean I don't like sirens but Morien is kind. When we first met, I was scouting for a deep enough area to dock, since I was familiar with the rocky area unlike my crew, and sending any of them would lead to their deaths. And even though I knew the area, it seems like I would've still died in a whirlpool that mysteriously showed up. In my almost unconscious state I saw a big black fish tail that seemed to gleam under the little to no sun in the area I was pulled in. I didn't even realize my foot got stuck between some rocks until the black fish tail came around and showed a hand that pulled me to the surface. While being pulled to the surface, I seem to have gone unconscious.

When I came to, a siren, with flowing dark blue hair and skin that seemed to be bathed in milk with its almost near milky white color and a fish tail that seemed like the starry night sky with dark purple and black shine and tiny sparkles as the shine reflects on it, was wrapping my injured leg with a leaf. In an instant I try to get to my sword but realize it's nowhere near me. So I prepare myself for any horror it might show to me… but after 30 minutes it seems l be struggling with the bandage.

‘How cute’ so I called out and the siren seem to be in fear while turning around. And with a squeak he said “imsorryiwaspassingbysawyoustuck *inhale* soItriedtosaveyoubutionlynowhowtobringyoutothwsurface *exhale* plsdontkillme” and you just responded with a chuckle which seems to cause him to turn red. The siren then continued “my name's Morien, what's yours?”as he tilted his head. “Mine's M/n, fishy”

“By the way, aren't sirens supposed to go in groups? Why're you all alone, fishy”

“I was thrown out of the kingdom, since I refuse to lure any humans” “but I'm also lonely since anyone that saw I was a siren would try to kill me, by the way… I put your sword next to me, since I didn't want you kill me :(´◦ω◦｀):”

.

.

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After that we talked until the sun was around halfway from setting. And he gave me a bell, where I could just say the location and ring the bell and he would instantly be notified

—————————————————————

After month of doing like this, suddenly I felt the boat steer to the left where I saw it was filled with Rocky areas, the I saw, Morien singing? But it doesn't seem like Morien, and Morien said he was kicked out for not luring humans

.

.

.

FUCK!!

Those are sirens.

I quickly took control of the ship from one of my crew that had been lured and brought the ship to safety. Later that night when they came to, they were instantly apologizing for falling for a sirens trick. Of course I forgave them, seems stupid not to forgive them since I was also lured but… they don't know that.

After a few more days sailing I saw a man desperately calling for help. So I asked my crew to help him up. But as they were bringing him up, they seemed to be completely whipped by him. The man introduced me and my crew as Caelun. He has dewy light brown skin that's almost white, flowy honey colored hair and green pupils, his height around 170 cm. Though e got everyone whipped, I could care less, in fact its seem I'm excited to meet with Morien.

That night we were able to anchor the boat and I decided to meet with Morien, so I said the location to the bell and rang it before going down on one of my small boats. Unknown to me, a certain honey colored hair is following me but he's not fully human, as where his feet are supposed to be is a fish tail. Not long after, I docked my boat and saw Morien. And like always he seemed giddy to meet with me again. After talking for a while and the moon already at its peak I decided to go back but suddenly Morien suggested bringing him on the ship. I didn't know how, but somehow he was able to turn into a human. So I brought him back with me as I rowed the boat back, unknown to me, the certain honey haired boy was furious.

When I got back, I introduced him to my crew and it seemed like his height's now 175cm and his once flowing hair turned into short messy dark purple hair, after that I gave him his own room and went back to my own. Suddenly I saw Caelun wearing lingerie on my bed, I couldn't seem to look away, somehow, I got hard. Without a care in the world, I went and had fun with Caelun, we did it till morning, where he had bite marks and hickeys that all around his body, cum was still dropping from his gaping cunt that seemed to be unable to close with how long I fucked it open, I'm also praying he won't get a kid cause of this. Cause of the intense fucking we did, I let him rest.

After the refreshing night, Morien seemed to be in a pouty mood all the time.

That night, I went back to my room and saw Caelun wearing new lingerie. Feeling a little pent up, I made him ride me, but unknowingly I gave him a perfect opportunity, while he was riding me, he started singing… not long after I passed out but I still could feel him riding me. When I came to, I felt love bursting out of my heart for him. I shoved my dick till I kept pounding on his cervix which seemed to cause him to squirt endlessly. After that was finished, I started making out with Caelun kissing him and manhandling him to my liking, I kept fucking him over and over again even after r the sun has risen to its peak. After I finish Caelun looks like he's pregnant with how swollen with cum his cunt is. As I want him to be pregnant with my child I took a toy that he seemed to have brought, that is the size of a fist and plugged his cunt so while he's out and about it won't spill.

Later after discussing routes and everything else with my crew, Morien wanted to see me, he started to say how Caelun is the siren prince and how he kept luring humans. But I didn't want to hear any of it, so I reprimand Morien for slandering someone else cause of his jealousy and went back to my room and slept with Caelun.

The next morning I made Caelun do some chores on the ship but it looks like every step he took, it made him more and more stimulated till he was overstimulated and kept squirting since I did add an extra toy to tease his clit.

I soon helped him and made Morien clean after the mess.

A few weeks later, after fucking Caelun almost everyday and only cleaning his cunt after he felt sick cause of it, he was finally pregnant. So I hurriedly tried to find a suitable docking place to go and bring Caelun to his parents. After three months I was able to dock, I ordered my crew to take a months vacation and then I brought Caelun deep undersea, I was able to breathe underwater since Caelun help and used one of his singing to make me able p breath underwater.

Why is it that I wasn't shocked he was a siren and a prince, it was because the night Morien said those things, I confronted Caelun, and he told the truth but said nobody was ever kicked out for not wanting to lure humans, since it not like any humans were kicked out since they didn't want to hunt.

After that day my distrust for Morien grew. Somehow, I realized Morien was following us to the kingdom, I have to protect my baby.

Later, I brought Caelun to the king and we chatted, and I agreed to help raise Caelun’s children.

Later that week, Morien found me while I was exploring the kingdom and asked to talk. Not long after, he started singing and then I realized Caelun had caused me to hate and distrust Morien even though Morien saved me and even though the king felt like a nice person, it turns out him and Caelun had hidden motives, so wanted to leave with Morien but Morien said he had something to do.

A few days later

I went back to the kingdom after Morien didn't come up and visit me. I'm glad the spell still worked, so I went to check on Morien, just to see him get told his crimes?!! I won't stand for this.

I ready my sword and lunge at the guards, causing a commotion. I hurriedly took Morien and swam as fast as possible away from the kingdom.

But unfortunately, I was never faster than those born under the sea. After getting caught, Caelun was shocked to see I was helping Morien. He kept asking if my promise to help him raise our child was a lie. I simply told him that I would never want to raise my child with someone who mind controlled me to have a child with them.

But all Caelun said was “hah! Why would I, a prince, try mind controlling you, I don't need to try to do that, when I want something, then I will get it, anyway, I'm already pregnant with your babies, and you'll need to take care of it” while a look of disbelief and confusion was shown on his face.

Then I saw a rumbling behind me and heard Morien shout “don't disrespect him, when you have no basis, I as the second prince and successor of one of the great sea serpents shall judge the king and his son!!”

After that, Morien judged the king as someone who was unworthy of being the king and listed all the king “crimes”...

Huh…

Why did I put quotations as if I know Morien is saying baseless crimes…

Haaahhh… must've been the lingering mind control.

Soon Morien lunged at the king and pulled his heart out, seeing such a gruesome scene, Caelun passed out. Then I heard Morien asking the guards to drag the unworthy first prince to the dungeon.

.

.

.

.

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Morien's POV

Son of a bitch, Caelun was able to destroy my mind control on M/n, and even though M/n didn't realize it, the one who saved him wasn't me, but Caelun, no matter, I'll just kill him and the children that bitch made with MY mate.

I went back to the kingdom that knew I was the star of destruction but didn't treat me any differently, and started my 10 year long plan. What is my 10 year long plan? Taking complete control over the kingdom. Originally I was going to be kind to the king and kill them after the king is old and dying but after I saw Caelun go outside the barrier and save a human, I fell for the human and decide to jump star my plan. So I warned Caelun that his father was searching for him but in truth, his father didn't need him for anything. I just needed a perfect time and place to start my ego.

(In my world, Ego's are ancient powers everyone has but nobody knows about this anymore since less and less people has been using their ego's because it's much easier to use magic, since if their ego's are attacked of damaged it will directly affect the users soul)

What I didn't realize was that after I sent Caelun back home, they realized that the prophecy was true, about the fact I am the star of destruction and anyway they treat me, I will end up usurping the throne but it was said that if I found the “one” My desire to destroy would disappear.

Didn't matter though, I had wanted to have the throne since I was small. When I saw that the Mermaids, a creation made by one of the ancient sea serpents, in fact were just the creation of one of the old gods' ego, trying to paint the siren kingdom black. I realized that I might be the star of destruction but not entirely on the siren kingdom, but on another kingdom instead.

Afterwards, I was just planning on killing the king so I could frame the mermaid royalty. But now, not only do I want to destroy the mermaids but I also want to get rid of the existing challenges in my way, and one of them is Caelun.

The only problem that Caelun pose Is the fact he is completely and at an entirely higher level than me in his proficiency in magic and his singing.

No matter, all I cared is that he is now completely crushed and I have M/n completely under my spell.

Currently I'm going to the dungeon, to see my elder brother in his demise.

“Wakey wakey~, brother.”

“Why are you doing this Morien, I thought you were not gonna complete the prophecy, why are you doing this”

I opened the bars and looked at Caelun's, chained to the wall, heavy belly. Every time I see this abomination, I wish to kill him.

“Hah! And here I thought you were a genius, didn't you know the signature markings on M/n are MINE. You just had to break the spell on him and get pregnant with MY mate's offspring”

“I knew it was yours but it's using that spell means I you were to order him to die he will kill himself and that's dangerous, what if someone mimics your voice”

“That's true but you need not worry, in fact, I already have it under control. Anyways, aren't you curious why you said those things in front of M/n”

“!!! What!!! You were involved with that?!!”

“hah, that funny, I'm shocked you didn't realized, didn't you taste something funny from the food I gave you before you wanted to list my crimes 😊”

“Wha-”

“I laced your food with a puppetry potion, and I forced you to say those things, just to crush all hope My Mate has for you. And now, all I need to do is get rid of those things in your stomach.”

“Wha-, no please, no.”

(Specified gruesome abortion scene, skip this paragraph if you can't handle it)

I started to gather my mana into a black ball of smoke and directly fused it with his stomach, when I saw there's barely any life in it now, I raised my foot and brought it directly on his stomach. Not long after, I saw blood gushing out of his pathetic cunt, and I saw happily as some egg sack skins and egg sack insides came pouring out. It would mean the babies are completely dead.

To make sure, there are none alive I checked using my ego. When I'm sure they're all dead I left. Unknowingly, an egg was still alive but he was able to successfully nurture it.

————————————————————————

A few months later, I finally married and officially mated M/n and decide to live on the surface, after completely blackening the concepts of mermaids to humans, while sometimes taking time to clean up trouble under the sea.

Though, M/n will never realize, I killed his offspring that he had with my brother nor will he realize any girl or boy that flirted with him are now on the dining tables of the sirens. I will make sure of that

————————————————————————

This was supposed to be like the little mermaid but if Ariel never realizes Vanessa is Ursula and even though Ariel realizes Vanessa is Ursula, Ursula still won the last battle and completely took over Prince Eric’s mind. Idk how it went like this… though because of that I switch their names, og

Caelun saves you

You fell for Caelun

Morien and his group lures your boat

You didn't fall for it

Morien turn human cause he want to know why you did get lured

Morien realize u like Caelun and went crazy

Morien mind control causing u to hate Caelun

Caelun gets killed

U and Morien had babies

Morien= Inspired by: Welsh/Celtic roots “mor” (sea) and “ien” (youth or life)(unsure about the ien for youth/life). Romantic and eerie—like a sea spirit who never ages and always takes.

Caelun= Inspired by: Latin caelum (sky/heaven) Caelun is airy, sky-linked, and peaceful—offering a celestial counterpoint to Morien’s dark oceanic lure. Air vs. abyss.

[nonbinoclard]

>>> TUNES TO LOSE YOUR MIND TO <<<

KEEP IN MIND: This is a living playlist! Songs may be added and removed at times to further curate the vibe I'm going for. I'll try to keep this post updated, but you can just check out the link for an up-to-date track list.

(EDIT: Song discussions are not finished! I have a lot more to say. I'll reblog when I've updated.)

This is set in a sort of nebulous time between Harry's life right before Martinaise and the night before he lost his memory. I wanted this playlist to feel erratic-- full of manic energy one second, then slow and bleak the next, dreamy, unreal, then right back to ridiculous.

(In no particular order. Shuffle for full emotional whiplash effect.)

I Don't Like My Mind - Mitski

I don't like my mind, I don't like being left alone in a room [...] And then I get sick and throw up and there's another memory that gets stuck / Inside the walls of my skull waiting for its turn to talk / And it may be a few years, but you can bet it's there, waiting still

The days before cleaning out the rooms... also, eating an entire cake and throwing it all up again feels very harry-esque... Overindulgence

A whole cake, so please don't take / Take this job from me

End Of The World - Hether

I mean, I could just post the entire set of lyrics as evidence, tbh. Struggling to find meaning and purpose in his life in the wake of heartbreak (5 year old heartbreak, but who's counting anyway)

I wake up in the morning and I wonder / Why everything's the same as it was I can't understand / No I can't understand / How life goes on the way it does

Cane Shuga - Glass Animals

Baby, don't go / I'll stop breathing coke / No more bloody nose / No more John Does Burn through my love / Just like your drugs / I've had quite enough / Or lack thereof

This is about the last moments of Harry and Dora's relationship to me. The chorus (a kind of circular, endless, self-aggrandizing internal monologue likely fueled by stimulants, implied in the song) continuing after the second verse kind of reflects the solution for Lonesome Long Way Home.

"11 Voyager Road. You no longer live there. Those times are gone, and so are those people. Why did you come here? Why are you still here? And where’s the dealer? You have to get back to work. That’s all you have now."

Hot Venom - Miniature Tigers

Hot venom is mixing with my blood / I can feel it on my fingers and taste it on her tongue / It feels so good to fall in love with you

I've heard a lot of people say this song is about heroin addiction, which is thematically appropriate for this playlist, but also. Harry's unhealthy obsession with Dora/Dolores Dei. Adoration (and hatred) so strong it's killing him.

Her venom makes me strong / Stronger than I am on my own / Before too long, I'll wake up to it gone / Wondering how I ever was happy [...] You can't go back now; that's not how this works / And as long as she's gone, I can never be happy

Who Is She ? - I Monster

This is just straight up about Harry's recurring dream to me. Just. Gestures at the lyrics.

Oh, who is she? / A misty memory / A haunting face / Is she a lost embrace? Am I in love with just a theme? / Or is Ayesha just a dream?

I feel like it falls in line really well with the idea that Harry's mind has been affected by the Pale-- a lack of memory, or maybe mixed memories, in a misty haze beyond the boundaries of reality. (and maybe Dolores Dei has started haunting him via Pale? Like some theories I've read.)

Somewhere across the sea of time / A love immortal such as mine Will come to me / Eternally

I Don't Miss You at All - FINNEAS

Dummy - Portugal. The Man

F the World - The Northern Boys

You Stupid Bitch - Crazy Ex-Girlfriend (TV Show)

These shards are a metaphor for my soul Won't stop the self-pity 'cause I'm on a roll

This song perfectly captures the inherent melodrama of a mental downward spiral imo. Catastrophic and all-encompassing. This is what I think it sounds like in there (Harry's head).

You ruined everything / You stupid bitch / You ruined everything / You stupid, stupid bitch / You're just a lying little bitch who ruins things / And wants the world to burn / Bitch / You're a stupid bitch / And lose some weight

Oleander - Mother Mother

Intermission - Scissor Sisters

Skit #2 - Kanye West

Self explanatory. He's got no money. He's got no clothes. He has no car and he has no hoes.

We broke, broke broke phi broke We ain't got it Broke, broke, broke phi broke We ain't got it Don't spend no money, ain't got no clothes Ain't got no cars, ain't got no hoes

Nobody - Mitski

My God, I'm so lonely, so I open the window To hear sounds of people, to hear sounds of people

This one is more about the feeling of the song itself rather than the lyrics specifically; I love the upbeat tempo that continues through the song (trying to remain steady, continue working), how the beat is simple at first then builds into a kaleidoscope of sound by the end of the track (overwhelmed by the world), then ending in a distorted loop (trapped in a cycle). This song has always felt really authentic to my own experience with mental spirals. The themes of loneliness tie it all into a nice bow.

I'm A Broken Heart - the bird and the bee

Not Allowed - TV Girl

Party Time - The Northern Boys

Comfortably Numb - Scissor Sisters

(Do The) Act Like You Never Met Me - TV Girl

Novocaine For The Soul - Eels

Basket Case - Green Day

Do you have the time / to listen to me whine About nothing and everything all at once? I am one of those melodramatic fools / Neurotic to the bone, no doubt about it

I just think this one fits him well during Martinaise... just shaken up and unloading trauma onto unsuspecting strangers like a can of soda (bad analogy lol), depending on the dialogue you choose.

I went to a shrink to analyze my dreams She says it's lack of sex that's bringing me down I went to a whore, she said my life's a bore So quit my whining 'cause it's bringing her down

Sometimes, I give myself the creeps / Sometimes, my mind plays tricks on me It all keeps adding up / I think I'm cracking up Am I just paranoid, or am I stoned?

Also it's just a little pathetic, which just... it fits. Sorry Harry.

Labyrinth - Miracle Musical

[lay-z]

🕊 Day 10 – Santa Soap and his most dangerous mission

A continuation to 🌨 Day 2 – Quaint, which means it’s set in the same universe!

Synopsis: At the annual Christmas party on base, you’re torn between making a quick escape and holding out to get a glimpse of someone special.

Pairing: Simon Ghost Riley x fem!Reader

Warnings/Info: No smut. | military!Reader; cussing; nicotine addiction; friendship; mutual pining; medical inaccuracies; humour; fluff; friends/teammates to lovers

Word count: 2.5k

↳ back to 🎅🏼 Masterlist ☃️

You’ve made the internal decision that you’ll clock the next bloody bastard who dares to approach you only to comment on your appearance tonight. The fact that you’re wearing a dress and heels and some makeup for a rare change, has definitely gained too much attention from the wrong crowd. 

Standing in a corner of the adapted and decorated event location, close to the ceiling-to-floor windows that lead to the equally decorated large balcony, you pick at the sleeve of your dress with one hand while holding an empty wine glass in the other, feeling yourself getting terribly antsy as the night progresses. 

Hell, it has already slipped your mind at this point in the evening, why you even decided to get all dolled up. You hate the attention from male soldiers here on base, especially superiors who might take it the wrong way, though you could care less about the rookies. You stand above their opinions and the rumours about you. 

You’re at a point where you’d kill for a ciggy right about now, but you’re trying to quit the dirty habit to start the New Year a better person than last. So, cold turkey, because you’re that determined and petty to quit after both Gaz and Soap taunted you about never being able to do it. On top of that, more alcohol is also not an option, because it would only worsen the need for a beloved cancer stick. 

Glancing at the watch on the wall, you see that it’s been barely an hour since you showed up here, and you’re already mentally debating if it’s appropriate to make an early escape back to your quarters. Perhaps you can dodge Captain Price on your way out, the man who’d secretly ordered you to socialize and mingle.  

However, in the back of your mind, there’s also that nagging voice that keeps making your stomach twist and knot with questionable words and thoughts, and desires, about your Lieutenant. 

You haven’t seen him yet… and most importantly, he hasn’t seen you!  

No, you didn’t dress up for Ghost, of course not. That would be so silly and frankly, also pathetic. 

“Oh, look at ye!” 

Once Soap’s voice reaches your ears over the noise of the surrounding crowd, you fear your eyes might roll back so far into your skull that they might get stuck this time.

You cross your arms over your chest awkwardly, still holding the empty wine glass, “Will you leave me alone already? No, I don’t wanna kiss under your fucking mistletoe and I’m not gonna call you ‘Santa Soap’, either.” 

Gaz practically spawns next to Soap, wearing a matching Santa hat like the goofy Scotsman, a drink in his hand, pearly whites gleaming in the dim light as he grins mischievously, “Now, why would you be such a grump on this fine evening, Sergeant? Our Santa here’s simply trying his best to spread the Christmas spirit.” 

Meanwhile, Soap nods enthusiastically while fetching another mistletoe from the inside pocket of his dark grey lumber jacket, just like the one you’d previously thrown away when he tried to make you kiss him earlier. 

“Did you seriously bring more than one?” 

Soap nods innocently, bright blue eyes shining with mirth and liquor, “Aye, ‘course. Cannae show up unprepared, my wee she-elf.” 

Gaz snorts, “Always pack enough ammo.” He nods approvingly and takes a sip of his drink. 

You roll your eyes again, “Ugh, shut up you two.” 

“Aw, are we a bit narky, eh? Need a ciggy that bad already, lassie?” Soap coos tauntingly, grinning boyishly when you scoff and turn your back to them dismissively, a clear pout on your red-painted lips. 

“I think she’s just vexed, because our Lt. didn’t show up yet.” Gaz mumbles into his glass, peeking over the rim as he gauges your reaction. 

That makes your breath falter momentarily, because have you been that obvious lately? 

After you spent that night on guard duty with Ghost a few weeks ago, you felt like you’d made progress with him. He’d opened up a bit about his childhood and past, though he always kept things sort of vague, and in return, you were soaking up each tiny bit of intel you could gather about him, eager to solve the puzzle – or get a glance of the display picture of the puzzles' carton, at least. 

The mystery about him didn’t stop your rapidly cementing crush on him, either. And it’s an odd feeling, falling in love, after so many years of successfully throwing yourself into your career instead of focusing on a possible romantic relationship. 

Who knew you’d find the latter at your bloody job of all places. 

You look down into your wine glass, swirling the last ruby droplet around as you bite your tongue, feeling your cheeks heat up in embarrassment. Here you are, thinking you were being sneaky with your growing – and much forbidden – infatuation with your superior.  

Soap nudges Gaz’ side while you’re not looking, shaking his head at his friend and teammate with his thick brows furrowed chidingly, making Gaz shrug in return, his expression apologetic before he lifts his drink up to his lips again. 

“Think I saw him head out on the balcony, lassie,” Soap remarks, his voice surprisingly serious and soft for a change, “If ye’re stealthy enough ye might catch him.” 

“We both know that’d be impossible, Johnny,” you retort languidly as you lift up the wine glass to slurp up the tiny droplet, “No one can sneak up on Simon. Plus, he’s not here, so stop lying.” 

“Simon?!” The men bark in unison, eyebrows shooting up as if you’d just insulted their mothers. 

“Oooh, since when are you two on first name basis?” Gaz inquires curiously, his warm brown eyes getting that familiar spark whenever he smells potential new gossip – gossip you won’t provide this time. 

“We’re not,” you lie, smacking your lips as you crave another drink – and a cigarette along with it, “– and if we were, I wouldn’t tell you, Garrick.” 

Soap snickers, stepping around you and giving your shoulders a few squeezes. He rubs them obnoxiously until you shrug him off with an annoyed click of your tongue and a glare over your shoulder. 

“Could you stop? You’re so annoying.” 

Gaz laughs as he watches you and Soap act like cat and dog, his eyebrow quirking with a knowing smile when Soap pries the wine glass out of your hand next, giving your back a soft shove towards the balcony doors.  

“Yeah, yeah, and I’ll keep bein’ annoyin’, so ye better take a breather now, sweetheart.” 

“Muppets,” you mutter under your breath, getting more agitated by their behaviour, “Both of you!” 

Gaz lifts his hands in surrender, chuckling as he takes a side step to let you walk past while you keep mumbling to yourself under your breath. 

“Risky,” Gaz remarks, flashing a grin at Soap once you’re out of ear shot, “This might be your best work so far… or a guaranteed arse kicking, MacTavish. You don’t think she’ll notice?” 

“Nah,” Soap sighs dreamily, looking in the direction you left in before he perks up again, “Let’s get another drink, eh?” 

As you step outside onto the balcony, you take a swift glance around before you immediately regret not bringing your jacket as the icy winds swirl about. 

Hugging your arms around yourself, you take a few sauntering steps farther out on the spacious balcony, admiring the fairy lights wrapped around the long railing and the clear night sky as you tip your head back to look at  the moon and stars. 

It’s still a wonder to you, how unique the sky looks in different countries; have you spent some of your time on deployments simply stargazing whenever you found yourself on guard duty and whenever you felt safe enough to do so. 

And suddenly, as the noises from inside, all the chatter and boisterous laughter and music, are simply muffled into the background, you feel utterly lonely and… strangely defeated. 

“What the hell am I even doing here?” You groan quietly and sigh deeply, warm breath puffing and fogging up in the cold. 

“That’s what ‘m askin’ myself.” 

Nearly jumping out of your skin with a gasp, you almost turn your ankle in your pumps as you flinch away from the dark corner to your right.  

You can only see the flickering flame of a lighter first, followd by the amber glow of a cigarette tip, blue smoke curling in the darkness and evaporating into nothingness, before the behemoth of a man steps out of the shadows towards you, like the grim reaper himself, living up to his name as Ghost. 

“Fucking hell, Simon,” you chide, still breathing heavily as you clutch your rapidly beating heart, though now it’s beating for a whole different reason, “You need to stop scaring people like that!” 

“Not my problem you’re jumpy like a little bunny.” He retorts gruffly, though you can clearly hear the smile in his voice before you can see it. 

His simple, black balaclava is rucked up over his nose again as he takes another lazy drag of his cigarette while his dark eyes give you an agonizingly slow once over, one that has your heart flutter and your cheeks burn. He keeps the smoke in his lungs as he speaks, “You look nice. Different.” He exhales.

Needless to say, you don’t clock him for that. 

“Different,” you repeat under your breath as you look at him; drinking in the exposed, pale skin of his neck, his cheeks, his mouth, as always. You notice that he shaved. He’s wearing a pair of jeans that clings to his muscular thighs nicely, a dark hoodie and black leather jacket along with boots. 

He looks nice. Hot, actually. God... he’s so hot... 

“Aye, different as in nice. Want me to tell ya that you’re beautiful?” He asks bluntly, taking another drag, “Would feel wrong to tell ya that now, lass. You were already beautiful without all –“ He makes a vague gesture to your face and dress, “– ‘o that.” 

“Okay, thanks.” You squeak; your throat now terribly dry. There is nothing you would love more than snatch the cigarette from his thick fingers to take a greedy drag and calm your jangled nerves. 

“Mhmm,” he hums, then and doesn’t stop staring; his onyx eyes flickering over your form as if he’s assessing you. 

“Why are you out here anyway?” He makes another gesture at your outfit, “Dressed like that. It’s too cold, ya dafty.” 

You could ask him the same, but you feel like you know the answer to that. He hates crowds and avoids social gatherings if he can help it, but Price has ordered him to attend just like he did you. 

“I just... needed some air,” you shrug and Ghost nods as he fetches a pack of smokes from his chest pocket, flicking the lid open with his thumb before holding it out to you. 

Your fingers twitch against your arms, nails clawing into the fabric of your dress while your nostrils flare as you get a whiff of sweet, sweet tobacco. But then, the nagging voices of Gaz and Soap echo in your mind, and if they would catch you smoking out here, you’d never hear the end of it – and frankly, that’s not worth your nerves. 

“Can’t,” you croak out, refusing reluctantly. Your eyes flit from his offer up to his eyes while he raises an eyebrow under his mask questioningly, “I quit.” 

Ghost snorts, flicking the lid closed again, “Why?” The small pack disappears back into his pocket. 

“Someone told me it’s unhealthy,” you jest with a small shrug, hugging your arms tighter around yourself as the cold starts seeping into your bones. 

“Hmpf,” he hums again and pauses before he takes another slow drag, “What an arsehole.” He exhales through his nose, smoke curling into the air as he smiles bemusedly. 

And then, there is a tense pause as you watch how the golden glow of the surrounding fairy lights reflect in his dark brown eyes, adding a sudden soft warmth to his lingering gaze. 

“Can you blow some smoke in my face?” You ask, biting your inner cheek before adding, “I read that’s what pregnant ladies do when they struggle to quit smoking at once.” 

“Bollocks.” He barks out a laugh, flashing his slightly crooked teeth you’ve come to adore so much. Teeth who’ve been broken violently and been fixed too many times. 

“It’s true!” You whine playfully, chuckling along with him, and then he gives you an odd look, his lips tighten into a line before he speaks, “Close yer eyes.” 

Your stomach does a flip at his soft-spoken command, your heart flutters violently as he takes a step closer, taking a long drag. And then, you do as he says and close your eyes, tilting your head back expectantly. 

A few seconds later, the warm caress of his breath and thick cigarette smoke brush over your cold skin, making your skin pebble underneath your dress. You inhale greedily, lips parting slightly as you try to catch the taste of it discreetly. 

“More?” He rasps and you nod slowly, keeping your eyes closed, “Yes, please.” You utter softly. 

Another few seconds later, you hear the crunch of boots on concrete, and then you suddenly feel the tentative press of chapped lips on yours. 

Your eyes squeeze together, and you nearly pull back in shock, but his hand is already cupping the back of your head gently, his other warm mammoth hand resting on your waist; his body heat seeping through your dress as he closes the distance between your bodies. The fabric of his balaclava brushes against your face as your noses nudge together before makes you tilt your head. 

He kisses you slowly, somewhat clumsily, as if he’s calculating and overthinking each move of his lips, but by God, it’s good. So good, and so much better than you always imagined, because it’s real.  

Your hands slip to the front of his broad, buff chest, fingers clutching his open leather jacket and holding on for dear life as your brain starts to shut off. The tip of his tongue brushes against the seam of your mouth and your lips part wider on instinct. His tongue dives in, seeking and rolling against yours almost timidly, and you can taste the nicotine, the whiskey, and the remnant minty taste of his toothpaste. 

When a soft moan is torn from your throat, his hand squeezes your hip and his fingers brush through your hair before he grips the nape of your neck, holding you in place when he pulls back, breaking the first kiss you shared.

Your breaths mingle, hot and panting, as you gaze at each other with half-lidded eyes. His heart is thudding harshly against his chest, feeling it clearly beneath your palm, though it matches your own rapid heartbeat. 

“...’m sorry, bunny,” Ghost says eventually, his voice rough and husky, his lips still brushing yours as he speaks, “I just... couldn’t keep ignoring that bloody mistletoe.” 

[lucid-loves]

Hi there!

🍄💛-anon here

I’m recently new to your bling and have to say that I absolutely love love LOVE your writing style, word choice, and plot structure. It is so interesting to read these stories recently while I’m off on break.

Now onto the real thing: I don’t know if you’re requests are open but I cannot get out of my head y/n seeing ghost go berserk for the first time because someone injured them either during training, while flirting with them and they reject it, or during a actual mission. Once y/n gets better she tells ghost that it was hot and spicy stuff happens (or not completely up to you).

If requests aren’t open please just ignore this. Have a great day!

-🍄💛!

Sorry for such a late reply. A lot of things going on in my life, one of which was moving into my own place! Anyway, here's a story that I hope satisfies that itch in your brain~

Down With Your Love

Pairing: Ghost x sick!reader (fem!reader, 141!reader, callsign “Moth”)

Word Count: 9.8k, One-Shot

CW: strong language, angst, violence, blood, fluff, attraction, one-shot, reader POV and Ghost POV, minors DNI, EXPLICIT SMUT, P in V, passionate kisses, hickeys, oral, praise kink, passionate sex, possessive sex

Let me know if I missed any CWs.

Story Synopsis: You are one of the new recruits that have been trying to prove yourself on base. Every day you have been pushing yourself to achieve your goals and stand out amongst your peers. However, you pushed yourself too hard and woke up one morning with a fever. On sparring day monitored by Ghost of all days. Ghost, a man that has had his eye on you for several reasons, steps more into your life as he determines that if you won’t take care of yourself, he will do it for you.

As soon as you came back to the realm of daylight, you knew that you were sick. Last night’s sleep was spotty at best, moments here and there of waking up with a creeping ache, heated turn, or throbbing headache that followed you into your dreams. Your mouth was drier than the canteen’s toast, the world spinned on a slow record, and god, your head wouldn’t stop pounding. 

You groaned as your eyes adjusted to the sunlight pouring through your barrack window, the annoying buzz of your alarm clock sending wave after wave of ache through your delicate skull. It was always way too early to do anything, but it was especially too early to even wake up with a fever that stuck to your skin. 

Turning in your firm bed took a lot of energy out of you alone, but you had to get up. You didn’t have the luxury of calling in sick. You were a newer recruit, eager to prove yourself and earn a spot into one of the more elite task forces. If you were to call in sick today, on sparring day of all days, everyone would think that you chickened out. You’d rather eat your boots than have anyone think that of you.

Pulling yourself up by your bootstraps, you got dressed and ready for what was no doubt going to be a long day. You wiped the sweat off your forehead with a soft cloth before heading out, joining the throng of recruits making their way to breakfast.

Who knows, maybe all you needed was something in your stomach to lift your spirits. As you got closer to the canteen, the typical smell of bland eggs, bacon, sausage, and toast filled your nose. Your stomach flipped violently as the scent, your body revolting against even the notion of food now that you could smell it. Feeling dizzy, you leaned against the wall to catch your breath. A couple of on-lookers glanced your way, but ultimately decided to mind their own business.

Well, you couldn’t not eat. You needed something light at least. Maybe some ice cold orange juice with toast topped with jam. Or perhaps some oatmeal with sweet brown sugar and a banana. You felt your stomach ease some at the thought of an easier, lighter breakfast.

Once you caught your breath, you headed in, bracing yourself against the onslaught of voices rumbling for the new day. The sound of everyone chatting and chewing at once made you wince in pain. What wouldn’t you give for just a second of peace and quiet right now. 

As you expected, the line for the oatmeal was short. Many of the soldiers, mostly men, often opted for the usual hearty breakfast packed with protein. You preferred that kind of breakfast too most days, but not today. Instead, you scooped a medium portion of sticky, warm oatmeal into a cheap white bowl. The smell was a breath of fresh air compared to the fatty stench that permeated throughout the canteen. The brown sugar began to melt into the oats rapidly while you grabbed a banana and fresh orange juice. 

You took your usual seat in the back corner, no one inviting you over or joining you. Not that you minded. You usually kept to yourself, slipping under the radar of a lot of social circles. Not that you were anti-social, but you preferred quietness when you could get it. Ever since joining the base, it’s been nonstop activity with testing, working out, training, and talking. Pushing yourself to the limits with everything that landed on your plate probably caused you to get sick in the first place.

There wasn’t much choice though if you wanted to survive, to stand out amongst all of the recruits that joined with you. You wanted to be elite. Someone that could hold their own on the field. Not who you were now.

That’s why it was so important to attend the sparring today. That, and the fact that the base’s best was leading it.

Thinking of the devil, in walked the guys that everyone wanted to be. The 141. Countless missions, countless successes. Some of what they accomplished sounded straight from some hero comic book. There was a buzz wherever they walked. Everyone gave their utmost respect when they passed. 

And that’s exactly where you want to be. 

You played it cool, only sparing a quick look in respectful acknowledgment, before turning back to focus on holding down your oatmeal. The hairs on the back of your neck stood up, your instincts telling you that someone was staring at you. Slowly, you looked around the room to see if your hunch was right. 

Maybe your fever was making you paranoid. 

You finished up your breakfast, downed your orange juice like your life depended on it, and rushed to leave. A little break in the Records Room would probably be good for you before the sparring class began.

Little did you know that you were being watched. Watched by someone you would never expect either. Ghost, the man, the myth, the legend, watched you hustle out with a slightly more rock in your step than usual. He found your breakfast of choice this morning odd as well. 

Ever since you joined the base, he’s had his eye on you. He was stuck in a meeting room with large windows overlooking the base. He was bored out of his mind as the higher-ups droned on about statistics he didn’t care about one bit. He was a man of action. He delivered the results, not analyzed them. 

He had settled on people watching to entertain himself. He saw the bus pull up, dumping fresh meat onto the mass of concrete that was home to everyone here. A sadistic side of him enjoyed seeing the wide-eyes and hopeful smiles. He loved breaking them. Make them realize that this shit was no joke. He also liked seeing them filter out over time, making those that didn’t belong call it quits.

It was easy for him to pick out the ones that thought they were hot shit. Smirks, muscles meant to show off rather than be functional, side-checks against the recruits they thought were in the way. Those were always the most fun breaking. The military was no walk in the park.

But then, you stepped off the bus. Your hair was military tight, as it should be. Spick, span, and way to pretty to be here. You had a hard look, taking everything with a serious attitude, committing everything to memory so you didn’t look too foolish as you navigated around the first few days. 

He had blinked a few times, hardly believing that a beauty like you wanted to be here. As soon as the meeting was over, he found your file. You had big dreams. Almost all new recruits did, but your aspirations were motivated by something more than just wanting to tell people what to do. 

You had people to save. To do that, you need strength and power.

He could relate.

Since then, he’s been checking your progress subtly. Your test scores have been great and only improving with each month. Your aim has been getting much better since your first day. You have been doing good with building up your muscles and stamina too. As far as he could tell, you were adjusting well and taking care of yourself.

Except maybe for today.

It was odd to see you eat so light to start off your day. You seemed tired as well. Late night studying? Not wanting to spar on a full stomach? That would be smart. You seemed like the type to consider something smart like that as well.

For now, he let it go, chalking it all up to you just needing a little more sleep tonight. He was sure that you had the sense to take a break if you needed it.

~

You sat in the back corner of the gym, keeping yourself away from as many warm bodies as possible. Christ, you were on fire. Your head felt heavy too as you cooled it against the brick wall. You took a deep breath, trying to stop your heart from feverishly racing. Please, just last until after class.

Ghost walked into the class, everyone standing to salute, including yourself despite how much you felt the room blur. When he signaled for ease, you gladly took your seat. 

“Sparring day. You’ve been training with bags and instructors up to this point. Now, you train with each other. No pull backs, no instructions. You will bruise. You will ache. It’s better than being dead on a field, so be grateful. First up, Blue and Jets.” The lieutenant commanded right away. The recruits exchanged worried looks as the first two victims got up. 

You watched the men circle each other, trying to read each other’s movements before striking. Blue, the recruit nicknamed after the constant blues music coming from his room, made the first advance. An attempted straight punch to the chest to knock his opponent off his feet. Jets back stepped just in time and grabbed the arm, twisting it to pin Blue down. 

As the men continued to tackle one another, you felt your eyelids get heavy. The break in the Records Room was short-lived, people coming in and out to find important information. You pinched your thigh hard to stay awake.

After the two men were done throwing fists, the next couple of recruits were called up. Then another. Then another, each called by the moniker if they already earned one. You suppressed a yawn and kept your head up despite how hot your body burned. 

Finally, it was your turn. “Moth, you’re up against Will.”

You got up a little too fast, the world smearing before your eyes as you made your way to the mat. No one seemed to notice that you were sick thanks to how you stubbornly maintained your composure. Solid stance. Hard eyes. Purposefully slowed breath. Yeah, your body was screaming for you to lay down, but you weren’t a quitter.

Ghost watched you carefully, noticing how your usually smooth movements were just slightly choppy. It was a millisecond delay that didn’t seem significant to everyone else, but could mean life or death if this wasn’t practice. Nervous, perhaps? 

Your opponent rushed forward, banking on his strength to overpower yours. Even if you weren’t sick, it would have worked. While you worked hard to build more of that physical power, you could never measure up to the strength of some of these men. Your body wasn’t built for it. Instead, you relied on stamina, quick reflexes, and proper timing to gain the upper hand.

With a quick sidestep and lean, you dodged the first attack. A surging headache washed over your skull as if someone took a hammer to it. The world went white for a second. A second too long. You lost your balance in your momentum, allowing an opening for your opponent to land a blow. 

A terrible, agonizing pain immediately spread across your face. Your cheek was sure to bruise and blood began pouring out of your nose. You tasted metal on your tongue, a disgusting flavor that almost purged your breakfast right there. God, was this what dying felt like? 

Your body finally checked out, your vision turning black through forceful rest. You were plunged so deep into a sleep that not even the yelling in the room registered in your exhausted brain. 

As soon as Ghost saw you lose your balance, he knew that something was wrong. Everything happened so fast. Your stagger, the punch, the fall, the blood. The horrific fire bubbling in his soul at seeing you get hurt burst like a volcano once he realized that you weren’t getting up. 

“What the fuck do you think you are doing, recruit?!” He began to scream as he touched your forehead. Bloody hell, you were scorching. Why did you even get out of bed this morning?!

“Wh-What?! I-I didn’t know she was sick!” He began to defend himself, his face flushing as he realized what he has done to you. So much blood pooled on the mat from your nose. It wasn’t broken, but it was damn hurt.

Ghost shot him a deadly glare, not tolerating his excuse. His gaze then settled on everyone else. They shifted uncomfortably, unsure why they were also receiving some grief for something only one recruit did. “Did no one in this room fucking notice that their comrade was ill?!”

His voice came out like gravel, striking their hearts with fear and guilt. They looked at each other, knowing that either answer was the wrong answer. There was no escaping whatever punishment they had to face.

“But, Lieutenant, Moth should’ve stayed in bed if they were sick, right? Is that really our fault?” One recruit piped up, earning some angry scowls as he dug everyone’s grave. They felt the same way, but they would have never said it out loud.

Ghost clenched his jaw tight, embers burning within his eyes that only seemed more deadly with the skull fastened to his mask. He recognized this guy. One of the hot-shots that was in it for his ego. He couldn’t help himself from standing up from your side, strolling over to the boy, and socking him right in the stomach. 

He keeled over, gasping for air with tears threatening to spill. Everyone didn’t even dare to come to his aid. “All of you are responsible for your comrades! If your comrade is sick or hurt, it is part of your duty as a soldier to notice! Do I make myself clear?!”

“Yes, Lieutenant!” The recruits responded in sync. The notion that it was every man for themself was snuffed out immediately. It almost always only took one example to whip everyone into shape. 

“Burpees for everyone and don’t you dare stop. I will know if you do.” He finally commanded. While everyone got to their exercises, Ghost gingerly lifted you up in his arms to take you to the infirmary. Light as a feather and burning with fever. Not even ovens burned as hot as you did right now. Your class was responsible for noticing your illness, but that wasn’t to say that Ghost didn’t also blame you for this. 

You should have stayed in bed today.

~

Hours passed since you first knocked out. The sky was a lazy purple-pink haze, the sun plunging everything into a golden hour. It was the only time of day where all the drab military colors of the base seemed pretty. Your body was sore, your face painfully bruised. The fever dropped some, but not enough to warrant getting back to work tomorrow. 

You tried to sit up slowly, feeling a damp, cold cloth fall off your forehead in the process. A large, gloved hand settled on your shoulder to guide you back down. “You need more rest.”

“L-Lieutenant?” You nearly gasped when you recognized the voice. Turning your head, you confirmed that it really was your Lieutenant sitting next to you, not some fever dream. Your heart quickened as he took the cloth, the scent of his cologne becoming apparent. You would think that he would smell like sweat and gunpowder. Yet, it was the opposite. Clean laundry, fresh oak, smoldering sage.

“In the flesh. You’re still warm. Been asleep for hours now. You should listen to your body when you need a break.” He briefed you. His tone was mixed with a chastise and relief as he soaked the cloth in fresh, cool water. 

A deep sigh escaped your lips as the wrung-out cloth was placed back on your forehead. “My apologies, Lieutenant. I won’t let it happen again.”

Somehow, he doubted that. He thought that you would have been smart enough to know better before, but not anymore. Now he knew that you were stubborn when it came to your health. It only took this instance to know that. “Don’t make promises you can’t keep.”

“Sir?” You scrunched your brows, unsure of what he meant by that. Instead of elaborating, he just took his seat again. You noticed the indent in it before he sat.

“Why they call you Moth?” He suddenly asked. He didn’t normally care about how people earned their moniker. Sure, he could be a little curious if it was strange, though  he still tended to not dig deep into business that wasn’t his. 

When it came to you, he wanted to know everything. Especially how a pretty thing like you got this nickname instead of its more beautiful counterpart; Butterfly.

It felt odd to have such a casual conversation with your higher up. Or rather, it felt odd to have a casual conversation with Ghost. You could picture yourself being at ease with someone like Price or Soap, who outranked you, due to how approachable they were. Ghost was never seen casually socializing with anyone but his team normally.

What made you different?

“I rescue a lot of moths that get trapped inside. Someone caught me releasing some outside in the middle of night and the name stuck.” You confessed. You released any bug that was found inside back outside, especially moths. 

Your habits were moth-like, too. You liked to stay up late, finding yourself at your most productive while the world was asleep. You liked warmth and comfy sweaters. Not that anyone but you knew that. You were hesitant to reveal that to your lieutenant as well. 

Ghost couldn’t suppress the smirk forming on his face. Thank god it was hidden under his mask. For a moment, he thought that you were quite precious for displaying such kindness. Most people would kill or ignore the pests that come in. “Qualities of a good leader.”

“Sir?”

“Looking out for the weak. Taking initiative despite what people think. You just gotta learn to take care of yourself more.” He both complemented and scolded, earning a small smile from you. Seeing those pearly white of yours made his heart flutter. Even with a bruising face, you were still the most beautiful woman he’s met. 

Never in your wildest dreams did you think you would be comfortable enough with Ghost to crack a smile in his presence. Slowly getting more comfortable with him, you allow yourself to relax in the infirmary bed. Your headache began to dull as you took a deep breath. 

“Good girl.” Ghost praised naturally, blush infecting your cheeks to blend with your fever. It was completely unfair that his voice was so deep and smooth for you. You wondered if he talked to other recruits like this. 

The both of you sat like this for a while. Quiet. Resting. Ghost crossed his arms over his chest and learned back. He didn’t have to be here anymore. The both of you knew that. Yet, he wanted to stay. He was determined to stay by your side until you were ready for dinner and then tucked into your own bed. He hasn’t even checked on the recruits doing burpees. Someone would’ve probably relieved them of their exercises after a while, not that he cared. He just hoped they learned their lesson.

As the sun began to dip lower towards the horizon, your stomach grumbled, the oatmeal breakfast long gone at this point. Ghost immediately stood up to get you something to eat. “Any dietary restrictions?”

“No. Just something light?” You answered, surprised that he was going this far to take care of you. If you were slow and steady, you would’ve been able to get up and make your way to the canteen yourself. You weren’t going to argue with your superior, though.

The room was peacefully quiet as you waited for Ghost to return. The light hum of the air conditioner was white noise within your ears, making you close to dozing off once again. Carefully, you sat up in bed, propping yourself up using the pillow and wall behind you. You watched a few soldiers walk across base, killing time before calling it a night. 

You could smell the chicken soup from down the hall, a salty, savory scent that made your stomach grumble. Just as expected, Ghost was considerate in choosing your dinner given your health. “Chicken and rice with crackers. Gotcha a ginger-ale too. Think you can stomach it?”

“I can. Thank you, Lieutenant.” You graciously accepted as you watched Ghost set everything on a rolling table for you. He stayed while you ate, making light conversations, getting to know you. 

The more he talked with you, the deeper he fell. You were strong, intelligent, and beautiful, a perfect trifecta. At the same time, your crush grew every time Ghost demonstrated his approval of something. Whether it was your opinion or observation, he gave an accepting nod of respect. Every now and then, you could see the corner of his eye crinkle slightly, indicating at least a smirk under that mask. 

Once you were done, Ghost took your clean bowl back to the canteen. While you waited, you prepared yourself to make your way back to your room for the night. By the time your superior returned, you were ready to head back.

“You’re gonna rest, right?”

“Yes, sir. I won’t be coming to training tomorrow.” You reassured, Ghost having insisted on escorting you through the base just in case you were feeling weak mid-walk.

He hummed in approval. “Good girl.”

Damn, that still made you blush like mad. You hid your cheeks as best you could behind your hair, but Ghost still spotted the red that graced the tips of your ears. He suppressed a chuckle, finding it cute how you blushed at his praise.

He liked women that liked to be praised.

You felt awkward when you finally reached your door. What do you say now? Saying a simple thanks seemed cheap for some reason. He looked out for you the whole day. But, it wasn’t like this was a date that deserved a goodbye kiss. Besides that, he was still your superior. 

Thankfully, Ghost could sense your apprehension. He made the goodbye for you. “Get some sleep now, Moth. I won’t be seeing you tomorrow.”

You gave a short giggle that had his heart leap. Finally, you laughed for him. It was much prettier than he imagined it to be. “Sounds ominous when you say it like that. Thank you for everything, Lieutenant. Have a good night.”

~

As promised, you didn’t show up for training the following day. Ghost was both pleased and disappointed by your absence. He already somehow missed your presence. To keep his mind off you, he worked the recruits hard, still punishing them for their neglect of you. Has he ever been this tough on recruits like this? No. How else were they gonna learn, though?

The basic training didn’t stop until he heard groans of complete exhaustion. Exhaustion strong enough to have their knees weak. When he finally let them have a break, many of them just crashed on the floor mats. 

The following day, you showed up, body lighter and healthier than ever. It seemed that your body really needed that break. Now that you were back, you were determined to demonstrate to your class that you weren’t as fragile as you seemed to be when you collapsed. 

When you did rejoin the class, you earned a few scowls, still blaming you for all of the work they have had to do recently. Ghost noticed, but bit his tongue as you brushed it all off. In fact, when it was time to spar, you volunteered to go first. He was a bit hesitant to throw you into the ring so quickly, yet he couldn’t deny the determined look on your face.

Your movements were fast and purposeful, no energy wasted. Dodges were perfectly timed, giving you an opportunity to spot your opponent’s weak points. A little too much weight on one foot. A too consistent pattern of attacks. You read them all like open books once they threw a few punches. 

You didn’t need to be the strongest, just the smartest. Ghost was thoroughly impressed and attracted. He knew in that moment of pinning another classmate to the ground that he had to have you. 

~ 

You had been Ghost’s personal protege for a few months. When the offer came up, you couldn’t say no. It was a dream come true to be recognized by someone you admired so much. Not that you were treated much more special compared to your class in terms of training. You actually trained twice as hard as them to prove your discipline. It was only in private that you were treated “special.”

And by “special,” it was really just being able to enjoy more personal conversations with your superiors. It wasn’t just Ghost that talked to you, it was also the rest of the 141. Of course, they were keen on getting to know you as soon as they heard that Ghost took you on as your protege. It was rare when someone caught Ghost’s eye, let alone a recruit. 

When they saw you in action at the various training facilities, they couldn’t deny your raw talent.

Breakfast was less lonely now that you had people to enjoy it with, the 141 taking it upon themselves to include you when they could. More responsibilities, more conversations, more opportunities. It seemed that getting sick was the best thing that happened to you oddly enough.

You really knew that they took you seriously when you were formally asked to come with them on a mission. Nothing too intense. Basic undercover to retrieve some highly sensitive information. If you did well and pulled more than your weight, it could potentially slingshot you into a permanent spot among the 141 team.

Like hell you were going to let this opportunity pass you by. 

“You feeling alright, Moth?” Ghost spoke into your ear, the sound of his voice crystal clear through the earpiece. It sent chills through you to hear it so close.

“Slight jitters, but nothing I can’t handle, sir.” You spoke honestly, tipping your baseball cap further to cover your face. The target was moving casually, not noticing that they were being tailed along the busy street. It was a dinner rush hour with plenty of people walking, so it was easy to blend in with the crowd.

“Deep breaths. You got this. Eye on the prize.” He continued to talk you through it, watching you from across the street where he also stayed undercover. It wasn’t that he doubted your capabilities, but anything could happen. He felt personally responsible for you too. You wouldn’t be here if it wasn’t for him, for good or for worse.

Another voice chimed in. A friendly voice laced with a thick Scottish accent that you had come to recognize. “The both of you got this. Now, less flirting, more sneaking.”

The tips of your ears turned red at the insinuation. Ghost gruffed in response, neither denying or confirming that he was flirting in the first place. When it came to you and how differently Ghost treated you, he was always flirting in his own way.

The target began to weave through the crowd to reach the exchange point. You noticed the fabric of their jean pockets shift, their hands fiddling with what was no doubt the flash drive you needed. Keeping a safe distance, you followed. Out of the corner of your eye, you noticed Ghost also keeping pace across the street. 

No sudden movements. Blend in. Don’t stare. The target looked around every now and then, pretending to read shop signs for the place they were looking for. You knew they were just checking to see if they were being followed. You took a deep breath, nerves jumping as their eyes passed over you.

No, you were safe. Written off as just another pedestrian making their way to a casual, late dinner. This was fine. You’re fine.

The target turned the corner into an alleyway. You lingered back, knowing that you would be caught immediately if you were to go after them too quickly. After about a minute, you cautiously peered around the corner. You spotted the familiar red jacket further down the alley. Listening carefully, you determined that the target was alone. 

If this was the exchange spot, the buyer wasn’t here yet. Perhaps this was your chance to apprehend the target and take that drive. 

As quietly as you could, you stealthily snuck up on the target. It was going to be a quick knockout. Everything was planned to a tee. Yet, nothing could have prepared you for an accomplice to warn the target of your approach. Before you could react, the target turned and pistol whipped you hard against your temple. 

Your vision went dark, a horrible deja vu washing over you. A worse one. This wasn’t some sparring match on the gym’s base. This was real. This was your life on the line. Maybe you weren’t ready for this. Maybe all of the talent you had only worked in a controlled setting. 

Maybe Ghost was wrong. 

In your haze, you saw the barrel aimed at your head. A quick roll over saved you from an early grave, but you weren’t fast enough in getting up. The gun went off in your shoulder, a silencer protecting the conflict from the public. A sharp pain that spread like wildfire burned your shoulder. Blood began to pool against your clothes. No amount of washing could possibly get it all out. 

You didn’t yell. You winced from the pain, but there was no screaming. Your adrenaline was kicking your brain into high gear in order to survive. Grabbing your own sidearm, you attempted to defend, but your goddamn shoulder wouldn’t allow you to aim properly. It was like something was caught in the gears of your movement. Was the bullet still stuck in you?

Everything seemed like it was over for you when your bullet missed. You were going to be gunned down like a dog on the street. Closing your eyes tight, you waited for impact.

It came, but not on you.

Ghost was blind with rage as soon as he saw the gun pointed at you. The blood on your clothes made it worse, his killer instinct taking hold of him. The target was no match for him normally, but especially not like this. Ghost slammed them into the wall, head cracked against brick. In their concussion, they were thrown onto the ground, the pistol spiraling out of their hands in the momentum. 

It didn’t stop there, though. The only way to ensure that you wouldn’t be shot at again was to break their whole fucking hands. From fingers to wrist to arms, Ghost snapped the bones like twigs. Having shoved a dirty cloth from the ground into the target’s mouth, the screams were muted. 

You watched as your lieutenant unleashed his wrath, the cracking of bones seeming to echo through the alley. When that wasn’t good enough for Ghost anymore, you watched him punch the living daylights out of the target until blood splattered across the concrete. 

Watching the scene unfold didn’t make you scared, sad, or even angry. Something dark came over you. You were glad to see this asshole get beaten almost to death. It was punishment to not mess around with things they shouldn’t mess with, not including you. Sensitive information like what you needed to extract weren’t toys to barter or sell. 

Besides that, seeing Ghost nearly kill a guy for you was kinda hot.

“Lieutenant! That’s enough!” Captain Price suddenly arrived, grabbing Ghost’s shoulders to pull him off on what could now be considered a victim. Ghost shook his head as if clearing whatever steam was still smothering his brain. When he no longer felt the full weight of rage, his attention turned to you. 

Clutching your shoulder tight. Bloody. No tears. No screams. No whimpers. Just a steady breath and pressure on your own wound. You were a tough cookie. Most recruits would have cried.

He gingerly tucked loose strands of hair behind your ear. Slowly, he peeled your hand away from your gunshot wound. You winced and sucked in a quick breath, the fire shooting through you. It felt like your muscles were ripped to shreds. The fiery string spread down your whole arm and clavicle. 

“It’ll hurt like hell for a while, but you’ll be okay.” He quietly reassured you, trying to see if he could spot the bullet embedded in your arm. 

You watched Captain Price search the pockets of the target, coming up with nothing in the hoodie. “Front left pants pocket. They were fiddling with it earlier. Did I fail the mission?”

Ghost and Price’s eyes widened at your question. You should’ve had more concern for your injury, not if your job was on the line. You didn’t doubt that you would be okay. Most people didn’t die from where you were shot. Some time, physical therapy, and painkillers should make you right as rain again.

Recovery wouldn’t matter if they demoted you.

“No. Soap picked up extra feed from another source right before the conflict. The accomplice. There wasn’t any way for us to know until now. You are a good soldier.” Price explained, watching the worry melt from your face. It was obvious that you cared and wanted to be here. Now he knew more clearly what exactly Ghost saw in you.

You did some deep breathing while you waited for a recovery pickup. When the unmarked van pulled up, your body felt lighter. They were going to take care of you. They looked out for each other, now including you. You’ve always wanted this kind of support.

Ghost followed you into the back, the inside set up like an ambulance. You were laid out on a gurney, medical officials doing their best to keep you comfortable. It was hard to do that when every bump in the road knocked against your shoulder. 

Soon enough, you were back on base in the familiar medical facility, a doctor prodding at your wound to fish out the bullet. Ghost was there the entire time, hating that you were in pain like this. He couldn’t be more proud of how you handled it, though. 

You gave an agonizing groan as the bullet was extracted, but the relief after was euphoric. It was like getting a pebble out of your shoes after walking with it for miles. The bullet hit the metal bowl beside you with a light clink. “Can I keep it?”

“Why would you want to do that?” Ghost questioned, a tone of surprise light in his voice. 

You instinctively shrugged your shoulders, causing pain to surge through you. Your doctor began to wrap you up. “Seems important to keep, I guess.”

A memento. A reminder. It could’ve killed you if the shot was anywhere else. For those reasons, it felt like something you couldn’t just throw away. After the doctor secured your bandages, they disinfected your odd souvenir and handed it to you in a small zip bag. 

You held it up to the light, catching the fluorescent light on it. Ghost gave a brief chuckle as he thought about how you were full of surprises. 

He was most definitely going to make you his. 

~

It’s been a few weeks since your injury and you were healing nicely. You were dedicated to your physical therapy, taking the proper workouts and epsom salts bath needed to ensure peak physical performance. 

You graduated from calling your lieutenant by his moniker when it was just the two of you. He had given you permission to call him by his real name if no one else was around. When he first gave you that honor, your heart raced within your chest as you played with it on your tongue. Hearing his own name come from your lips made him feel closer to you as well, a fire igniting within his soul. 

You only fed the flames when you said it with a deep blush on the tips of your ears the first few times you used it.

The both of you were hanging out in one of the break rooms near the offices. It was a quiet day, many soldiers busy with work. You were taking a coffee break after grueling hours of paperwork. The coffee tasted better in Simon’s building. It was probably because they deserved higher quality beans as seniors. That, and the fact that you shared a cup of coffee with him. 

The conversation was casual. Just the two of you in a small kitchenette that brought you close in proximity. You could smell his cologne as he moved about. His body brushed against your knees while you sat on the counter. It never failed to make your heart skip a beat.

“Wanna go out on a date?”

You nearly choked on your coffee when you heard the question, his bluntness something that you were still not quite used to. Simon never was the type to beat around the bush. “A date? An official one?”

“Of course. Don’t you know I like you?” Simon smirked under his mask, watching pink creep along your cheeks. You had an inkling of his feelings for you, but you didn’t want to jump to conclusions. The last thing you wanted was to embarrass yourself from assuming that your superior saw you more than his trainee. 

You gave it some consideration. Simon didn’t know that he could feel nervous anymore, yet he did as you gave it some careful thought. It was like he could feel each second passing by when you were quiet. 

Finally, you gave a nod, accepting his invitation. “I would love to go out on a date with you.”

“Great. I’ll pick you up tonight. Wear something nice, but comfortable.” He instructed, a weight lifting off his chest from your answer. With that, he left you in the kitchenette with his finished tea, getting back to the paperwork. You took a moment to let everything sink in. It felt almost surreal. A date with the lieutenant. You. 

Paperwork felt like a breeze when you were in high spirits. There was a spring in your step as you moved across the office, the base, and eventually, your barrack. You were good at following directions, picking out an outfit that seemed perfect for whatever Simon had planned with you. 

You normally weren’t one to dress up or do your makeup, but it was a special occasion. Some light makeup and a clean outfit made you look like someone worthy of dating Simon. Just when you were finishing up some lip gloss, there was a knock at your door. 

Your breath was stolen as Simon stood in the hall, casual clothes showing off his build. His personal sense of style was masculine, a black jacket and nice jeans paired with boots, black button down, and dog tags. He still wore his skull balaclava, demanding respect from anyone on base that happened to spot him in casuals. Not that you minded.

Simon was also speechless as he witnessed you at your more casual. Such pretty eyes. Lips that were plump and kissable. He wanted to hold you close and never let go. He loved how you dolled yourself up for him, yet still stayed true to your natural beauty. 

“Pretty girl. Shall we?” He extended his hand, demonstrating a more gentlemanly side that you didn’t know he had. Graciously, you took it, feeling his ungloved hands for the first time. Calloused, warm, comforting. It was a hand that you wished you could hold forever. 

Wow, you’ve really fallen for him. . .

He escorted you to his truck, a simple black one that fit in with all the other cars on the base. It was kept clean, not even a leftover empty water bottle in sight. An air freshener in the shape of a tree hung from his mirror. The radio softly played for a moment before he turned it off to talk to you. 

You saw a new side of Simon. As soon as the truck left the property, you talked about your interests other than work. You got to learn about his hobbies, his habits, his likes, and his dislikes. He put it clearly what his red flags were as did you. 

A few miles in and Simon removed his mask, allowing you to see his face. A strong, clean jaw. Eyes so blue you could swim in them. A scar along his brow that gave him character. You giggled in your seat. He quirked that brow. “What’s so funny?”

“I wasn’t expecting you to be the blonde and blue-eyed kind.” You admitted, your gaze averting toward the window. 

“What were you expecting?” He played along. The trees flying by slowly turned into buildings as you got closer to the city. 

The familiar golden hour showered over you. “Honestly? Another skull.”

At that he laughed. One that came right from his belly. It felt full and near magical. There was something about you that made him feel comfortable. Normal. He hasn’t felt this way in a long time. “Is this a disappointment for you then? Me not being undead?”

“Not at all. I’m glad you’re living, Simon.” You reassured him. You got to see his smile as clear as day, your stomach doing flips and triggering your own smile.

“I’m glad you’re living too. . .” He confessed, his tone now becoming a little darker. He recalled the day you got shot. Your first outing on the job shouldn’t have gone down like that. He had his eye on you the whole time, but when you turned into that alley, it was like you had completely disappeared. A few seconds too late and you wouldn’t have been sitting next to him now. 

You noticed how his face fell, his grip on the clutch getting tighter. Your own smile faltered in worry. “Simon?”

“I’m sorry for not being there soon enough, Y/n. You shouldn’t have been shot in the first place. If I was following you more closely, it wouldn’t have happened.” He formally apologized. You didn’t realize that he still thought about that day.

Your attention turned towards the window again, knots in your stomach circling over like snakes. “I don’t blame you for what happened that day. I blame myself more than anything. For a split second, I thought that you were wrong for believing in me so much. That I wasn’t as talented as everyone thought I was. You saved my life that day. So rather than saying I forgive you, I want to say thank you.”

Simon took your hand in his and squeezed it tight. He’s never felt close to anyone like this. So raw and open. When it came to you, he didn’t have to worry about being judged. You weren’t the type to be unreasonable or hold grudges. He had his team for support for a long time, but it could never replace the need for a real partner. In that department, he’s been alone for a long time.

If anything, you saved his life. 

"Thought I scared you off back then with my blow up." He admitted, the atmosphere lighter for more honesty.

You felt it too. "Not at all. Honestly, I thought it was pretty hot. . ."

The two of you didn’t need to say anything else to each other on the matter. Both of you understood with just a squeeze of your hands. The security washed over you like a blanket. That, and both of you were near grinning like lovesick teens.

As long as Simon was by your side, everything would be okay. There was no need to focus on the past while there was such a bright future. 

The rest of the ride was comfortable, the city now filling up the whole window. It didn’t take long for Simon to get to the restaurant, find a parking spot, and open your passenger door. The restaurant was nothing too fancy. Up-scaled comfort food. Simon had good tastes. You could tell that he thought about this date carefully.

The host led you towards the back of the restaurant, a special request to ensure as much privacy as possible. You took a seat, Simon sliding in your chair before taking his own. You took in the restaurant. Antique-style lights, fresh pothos plants weaving along the walls, quiet jazz over the speakers. The air was filled with salty, savory, and even sweet scents as the kitchen made both mains and desserts. There was light chatter across the floor, other couples and families enjoying a good meal.

You smiled at the menu selection, already spying several things you wanted to try. One of which being a house cocktail. The waiter took your drink order while Simon settled on a few appetizers to share. 

There was no mention of work during the date. There wasn’t much to say about it anyways since you worked together. Instead, you focused on a little more personal details. You skipped over talking about his family. From the way he stiffened in his chair, you could tell that that subject was touchy. When you switched topics, Simon eased up.

He was grateful that you respected his boundaries. In return, he respected yours. There was a sense of guilt having read your files before and knowing a lot of information already, but he wouldn’t bring it up until you were ready to talk about it. It had to be natural. 

The more drinks you had, the more you loosened up. You felt yourself smiling and laughing a lot more, the air as light as your head. The food was fantastic, the flavors dancing on your tastebuds even after you have swallowed. Of course, for you, dessert was the best part. You’ve never tasted a chocolate lava cake so warm and rich in your life. 

After the meal, the two of you took time to savor your drinks. The restaurant began to filter out as the night went on. You were wrapped up in conversation for a couple hours before the two of you decided to call it a night. Once you got in the car, though, you dropped a subtle hint. “I’m not ready to go to bed yet. . .”

“What a coincidence. I’m not either.” He responded coolly despite his heart racing. A buzz of excitement traveled through the both of you as anticipation to take things further built up. Simon was no longer driving in the direction of the base. He was taking you to his apartment.

The combination of leftover alcohol and rampant emotions put a spring in your step. The two of you practically raced to his place, Simon unlocking his door in record time. You didn’t even have a chance to take a look around as he pulled you into his arms and gave you an earth-shattering kiss. 

Fireworks erupted throughout your body, his kisses sweeter than the lava cake that melted on your tongue. God damn, he was a good kisser. His teeth lightly nipped your bottom lip, determined to make you shiver under his hands. An involuntary gasp parted your lips enough for him to taste you more. As soon as his tongue wrapped around yours, you moaned. 

It wasn’t enough for Simon. He wanted to hear you cry out for him. Pushing your back against the wall, he pinned you in place to take more of his passionate kisses. His hand roamed up your back, desperately searching for the zipper to strip you down. The other was around your thigh, lifting your leg up so he could insert himself closer to you. You felt his erection press against your body, your stomach filling with a pleasurable fire that consumed you.

The zipper went down along with your top, your breasts bouncing free as he took your bra with it. God, he wanted to take you right there by the front door. He wanted to pound into you so hard you would scream and let everyone know in the complex that you belonged to him. 

It seemed that you wanted the same thing as your panties became wet with need, your hips grinding into that massive erection. Drool dripped down the side of your mouth, each kiss wonderfully invasive. Your freed chest jumped with each breath and heartbeat, also aching to be manhandled.

You put your hands on his chest, feeling a burning heat like warming your hands by a fire. Simon smiled against your mouth as your own hands roamed and tugged for him to be a little more exposed too. Taking your hint, he threw his shirt off, feeling your eyes wander over every inch of skin that you could see. Strong. Powerful. Scarred. Perfect.

Even marble statues couldn’t compare to the strength of his body. Simon drove you crazy, your natural honey dripped past your panties and down your thighs. You’ve never been so turned on like this before. It made you want to go feral. It made you want to not only make love to Simon, but to fuck him too. 

You slipped off your bottoms with your panties, wanting him to see just how slick you were. Of course, Simon stared. He couldn’t help it. Truely, how could ever let a pretty thing like you go. 

A borderline evil smirk graced his face, his sharp eyes glimmering in mischief. It would be a waste if he didn’t drink from you tonight. Crouching down, he lifted a leg up over his shoulder for full access to what would undoubtedly be the best meal in his life. Your breath quickened as his fingers spread you open. “Such a pretty pink, dove.”

“I don’t think I have ever received a compliment for my pussy before.” You chuckled easily. Your laugh turned into a sharp moan as he kissed your swollen clit. Fuck, you were dripping. 

“I’ll gladly be the first. Prettiest pussy I’ve ever seen.” Simon praised, appealing to that kink he knew you had. And Christ did that fan the flames. 

He kissed the inside of your thighs, opting to leave hickeys on each side. Your propped leg jumped with each bite, your hands gripping his soft locks tugging. “Simon. . .” 

“I know, dove. But I need to do this to make you mine.” He claimed before leaving another mark on your soft skin. Your impatient moan filled the space, but you didn’t stop him. You wanted to belong to Simon. And if this was how he claimed you, so be it. He could cover you head to toe with hickeys if he wanted, as long as you belonged to each other now.

You waited for him to be satisfied. He wasn’t, his possessive nature wanting to mark you in more obvious places. He didn’t want to put you in a bad position when you had to work, however, so he stopped. Looking up at you, he smiled, watching you bite your lip in hopes that he would go for your juicy pussy. “Such a good girl, waiting for me. You want me to eat you out?”

The baritone of his voice echoed in your head like a bass string. You nodded eagerly, quaking as his hands teased your legs. “Yes please.”

He hummed in approval. “Good girl.”

His tongue brushed against your clit hard, feeling it throb in celebration against his buds. You threw your head back and moaned, back arching as shockwaves traveled along your spine. Your grip on his hair got tighter. It was a struggle not to pull it as you desired a deeper sensation. Not that Simon would have minded. What he wouldn’t give to be crushed between those luscious thighs of yours.

Simon swiped the full length of you, nectar flowing down his throat like the ripest peach. He loved the way your hips twitched to grind on his face. How you shuttered and moaned and gasped with each lick. He pulled you closer, a large hand groping your ass in the process. Plump. Soft. Heavenly.

You were so close to a climax. You felt the pleasure pooling deep within you waiting to turn into a tsunami. Right at the cusp, you moaned louder, begging with each breath. “Simon~! More~!”

He angled you more to push his tongue inside you. You were tight around it, tasting even more of the honey that flowed out of you. Stars began to swarm your vision as he pushed you closer to the edge. Now, you were really taking advantage of him. Simon felt his hair being pulled harder, just short of it being painful. Your soft thighs enveloped his face as well, a dream come true as far as he was concerned.

You rode his face harder and harder until you exploded. Eyes fluttered closed as you tensed, every cell in your body so blissfully singing in your blood. You screamed as he continued to tongue-fuck you through your orgasm, eager to not waste a single drop of you. His grip on you hardened to keep you from squirming too much. 

Finally, he loosened his hold and pulled back. You struggled to catch your breath and your heartbeat. While you took a short breather, Simon stood to unbuckle his pants. His  girthy, powerful cock sprang up, relieved to be out of its confinement. As soon as you saw it, pulsing and strong, you knew that you were in for an even better time.

“Hands on the door, dove.” He commanded. 

You didn’t have to be told twice.

The palms of your hands settled on his front door, your body bent and ready to take him from behind. The tips of his fingers traced deliciously along your smooth back, down to your hips, and then tapped your butt in approval. “Perfect girl. I really can’t get enough of you, dove.”

His hands gripped your hips to hold you steady while he worked himself in. Despite how wet you were, Simon didn’t want to hurt you with his size. He wanted to make sure you could take it before he went wild. 

You bit your lip and whined as he stretched you out, feeling pleasure already from his erection. His tongue felt great, but it couldn’t possibly beat the weight of his dick. It satisfied that need for something bigger. Harder. And did Simon fit the bill just right.

He pushed in deeper, slowly, until he was flush. You took deep breaths as you got used to having his all. Behind you, you could hear Simon giving a satisfied groan. “So fucking tight around me. Soaking too.”

The praises had you smiling like an idiot. It felt so good to hear him enjoy your body. It helped you relax a little too, allowing him some room to start moving. With a shake of your hips, you encouraged him to thrust as much as he wanted.

Simon started off slow at first. Agonizingly slow. You felt every inch of him slide, twitch, and rub as he moved at a snail’s pace. He wanted to make sure you could feel all of him. That your pussy would remember him and only ever want him. From base to tip, he carved his shape into you. 

A small whimper escaped you as he took his time. He chuckled and watched your ears turn red as you realized he heard you. “Growing restless?”

“Maybe a little. . .” You admitted, your voice shaky as he plunged himself back into you. You could’ve sworn that he was deep enough to kiss your cervix, he was so deep. It made you salivate, drool threatening to dribble out with each parted breath.

“I didn’t realize that my girl could get impatient.” He teased further.

My girl. It had a nice ring to it coming from Simon. That was right. You were his girl now. “Your girl wants to be further claimed by her man.”

You couldn’t be more perfect to him. You said and did all the right things. That itself deserved a reward. Exactly what you wanted. 

He thrusted into you harder this time, making you cry out as he most definitely kissed your cervix that time. His movements quickened, rubbing the sweet spots in you that made you feel alive. Your nails clawed the door, some of the paint scraping off by accident. Not that it mattered right now. In fact, Simon thought it was a good way to remember this day.

Your pussy tightened with each thrust. Honey dripped down your thighs and onto the floor. His grip on your hips got stronger, leaving another version of his claim on your skin. He groaned each time he pushed in, your warmth too good to be separated from for too long. 

“H-Harder~!” You begged, vocal cords raw from moaning so much, but you couldn’t get enough. Just like you wanted, Simon stepped up to satisfy your craving. His chest pressed against your back as he reached underneath you to pinch that sensitive clit. Your vision saw white as he rubbed, pistoning harder into you. His other hand took hold of your breast, tweaking a solid nipple. That made you become undone.

You screamed out your orgasm, too invested in all of the pleasure to care if neighbors heard you. More of your slick coated his cock down to his balls, adding more mess to the puddle of honey on the floor. While you shouted and cried for Simon, he just continued to fuck you. He was getting close to his own climax and it was going to be a big one. 

Simon bit your shoulder, the same one you got shot in. This bite sent earthquakes in you, the pain of it turning into nirvana instantly. His groans turned into growls as he moved rougher, short and hard movements making sure he was deep as he could possibly go. Your tight pussy squeezed around him more as your mind went numb from the bliss. 

His hold tensed as he pulled out, holding you in place to shoot his cum over your back. It came out hot and thick before cooling quickly from the air. The sensation was welcomed as it brought your temperature down. You felt numb and dumb from the sex, legs wobbling for you to rest. 

After Simon’s brain didn’t feel like complete mush anymore, he picked you up in a bridal hold to carry you to his bathroom. Getting off your feet was instant relief. “Don’t worry, dove. I’ll clean you up. Gotta take care of my girl properly, yeah?”

[heartfullofleeches]

Femboy slasher Yandere and Darling is giving me brain rot SO BADLY RN. Okay so what if yandere is a playboy, luring in his victims using his oh so perfectly hot body. One day, he goes out late at night to a bar and finds Darling hooking up with some guy. He plans on killing the both of them, but loses them in the crowd. When he finds them again, Darling is gutting the fool who thought that they would ever touch scum like him, and yandere can't help but plan their wedding.

(This could kinda go with what I had in mind so I hope you don't mind me merging the two- Mentions of Murder/Death)

Femboy Slasher Yan + Femboy Murder-Streamer Slasher Darling-

"Looking for some fun?~ Two cuties seeking third partner to celebrate their anniversary with. Location and pictures provided after a few questions. See you soon ;)"

" "You're making this way too easy, love. People might get suspicious."

"Whaaat? No way - ugh, this blows. I wish we could go to our usual spot, but there's too much attention around that area after that last guy you picked...."

"He was being too sweet with you - he had to die...."

"All he did was give me a free drink - on my birthday!"

Yan's Darling is so weird. Instead of movies of grabbing a bite to eat, Darling has a different idea of what the perfect date night is. They're lucky they're so damn cute in red-

Derailing from your ask a little, Yan actually never murdered anyone before he met darling. Robbed them blind and maybe left a few in the hospital, but he never killed anyone far as he knew or cared. He used his looks to lure people in and take everything from them once they were under his spell. One day, he catches word of another cute face frequenting bars and other places Yan chose as his place of business. He couldn't have that. Eventually, Yan locates Darling on the same night Darling is luring some drunk guy behind some dumpsters. Yan heads over, hoping to catch some blackmail he could used to get Darling off his turf, but what he saw behind those dumpsters was not what he was especially to see."

"Hey gang~ Oops, looks like someone's finally feeling the effects of the medicine I put in his drink. We'll have to cut this stream a little short tonight."

Yan watches as the person behind the dumpsters slits the man's throat - blood mixing with white foam bubbling from his lips. The person looks almost identical to the boy Yan had seen early, but now he's wearing some weird make. It doesn't take long for darling to notice Yan. Instead of rushing him, Darling reaches into the man's pocket and pulls out his wallet - throwing it at the other male.

"That's what you wanted, right? I've seen you around here before, but I thought you'd be good bait to lead the police off my scent when this guy here was found... Wanna be friends?"

Yan should run. He should scream - yell for help, but the way Darling is so carefree and nonchalant about their crimes..... It's the hottest thing he's ever witnessed.

Darling tells Yan all about their life. Killing people has always been more of a hobby to them, but somehow they found a community of freaks who'd pay hundreds to see a cute boy like them crack someone's skull open. Better than being stuck as at crappy cashier job in their book. Their first manager would have been their first victim had he not passed away in an accident the same week Darling planned to butcher him.

Darling and Yan quickly come to the agreement that if Yan lures people away, Darling will do the deed. Yan develops more of a crush on darling seeing how much pleasure and glee comes from killing for rhem. Yan is approached by someone who's cautious of their new friend and warns Yan about them. Yan kills their acquaintance in a fit of rage after they express their plans on telling the police about Darling. Yan realizes he hasn't been entirely in it for the money and has developed feelings for Darlings. Feelings he'll protect in any way necessary. Darling is so proud of him. They give him their favorite knife as part of his promotion to becoming their partner. The two become a team who passionately kiss in between disemboweling the poor fool who was stupid enough to answer their online ad.

[moonriseoverkyoto]

Hii! Just discovered your blog and I fell in love with the Riley!reader drabble (and part two) my request would be Simon and Reader who meet as adults, but reader is younger (and touch starved) and Simon just kinda adopts them as a younger sibling. If that's not up your alley or anything dw just an idea and no pressure<3

If I’m haunted, am I truly alone?

Notes - HiiiI! I'm sorry for not responding sooner. I'm so happy to have my first request! I've been on an unofficial Hiatus but I'd be honored to fulfill your request. This piqued my interest and Im actually considering re-writing my Johnny "Soap" Mactavish x Riley!Reader fic but where reader joins the 141, has her own codename, the whole works. But I'll write this to ease into writing again. Also you didn't specify the background behind this so I took my own liberty and made you a medic.

Pairing - Platonic! Simon "Ghost" Riley x GN! Reader

Warnings - workplace inaccuracies? medical innaccuracies? Soap gets bulled #sorrynotsorry

There was a loud clang that sounded off throughout the infirmary. It wasn't surprising to hear these loud thrums that beat through the place, it kept everyone alive, it reminded them of where they were. Except for you, oh poor you, your first day on base and you were working errands for your coworkers. Suddenly you bumped into a man standing in the middle of the walkway towards a hallway.

"Hey watch where you're going, man, standing in the middle of the walk way, could've stabbed mysel-"

Your voice died out as your eyes peered up and met bright blue ones hidden behind black eye paint, and a sickly skull mask, that you swear softened for a moment upon seeing your anxious stance.

"Yes sir how can I help you?" you said slowly, not sure if the man would respond.

"Here f'r the Sergeant" he spoke gruffly.

"Which one, there's like a couple dozen in here.." you murmured to yourself peering around at all the beds.

"The sergeant with a mohawk that needed facial sutures." he responded, almost as if it was obvious.

"Oh right, yeah follow me. I'm about to do them" you responded meekly, feeling dumb, of course he'd be here a member of his own team. God you wondered what it was like to have somebody always watching your back. Always finding you and taking you under their wing.

He followed you quietly as you approached Soap's bed. Never once getting in your way, but still watching you.

"Aye there ye are, my knight in shining armor here to patch me up" Soap grinned at you. A sigh fell from your mouth as you spoke smoothly while getting out the suture kit.

"Sergeant I've told you, I'm just doing my job"

"Aye but you're a bloody angel to me" He smiled. Your cheeks would've warmed up if it wasn't for the stiff reply from the lieutenant.

"Johnny shut up and let the poor kid do your stitches so we can get back. I'm not doing your report for you."

"Aye L.T."

You took a deep breath as you slowly threaded the needle through his right cheek, taking your time to stitch. No big deal, first patient of the day is nobody else other than the 141. Definitely no reason to be afraid of screwing up your first suture of your military career.

"At the rate yer goin' I'm guessing I'm yer first patient. Don't worry, L.T. won't bite your head up if you rough me up."

"No this is my first time suturing. I'm usually stuck on errand duty" you spoke honestly as you threaded through the last bit of duty. Soap tensed up and you swore you felt that brick wall of a LT at your back.

"looks jus' fine to me" Ghost quipped quietly, you could almost hear the smirk at Johnny's sudden panic. Your heart warmed the praise, even if it was to quell the Scot's worry.

"LT don't let them rough up my face please. Don't let them ruin my boyish looks-"

"What are you goin' on about in here" a voice said.

"Johnny's medic here is takin' the piss from the poor boy about his sutures." The LT spoke to a man at the door. It was Captain Price, you'd seen him before but never in a personal capacity or for your services.

The Captain let out a soft chuckle as he came over and ruffed up the Scot's hair and stepped back to let you have your room. Your fingers finally threaded and tightened the skin before cutting the threat and applying salve.

"Let me see, let me see" Johnny practically begged with a whine, reaching for a mirror. You moved to grab one only to find Ghost handing it to you, patting your shoulder as the scot peered at your handiwork.

"ye got my knickers in a twist for nothin'" The Scotsman huffed, his cheeks turning pink in embarrassment at his worry.

"What, scared I was gonna take away your boyish looks and devilish charm?" You smirked as you packed up.

"Good job for a first timer" Ghost said softly to you as he and his captain chuckled at Soap. His arm barely brushing along your shoulder. Your heart felt warmed at such a notion.

Your meetings continued on as such in this way. You'd patch up one of the boys, Ghost would praise you, and you'd take turns teasing whoever was nervous about being your "first time" as Johnny smirked to himself. With John you always helped him with his aches and pains after he went down with constantly crashing helicopters. Gaz, you always patched him up since he had a knack for falling out of moving objects easily, even coming to you one time with a slight tear and pulled spine. Murmuring something about Nikolai and shooting upside down. Every time, Ghost, or Simon as he revealed one late night, would reward you with a pat or a ruffle of your hair. Price did the same but there was a comforting warmth when Simon did it. It was like the warmth of a fire from home.

Soon enough Simon was letting you work on him and patch him up every mission.

"Why don't blind people go skydiving?" He grunted out as you cleaned him up.

"I don't know but if you don't stop free falling, I don't know what I'm going to do-"

"It scares the shit outta their dogs." he said softly and waited. You smiled softly and then rolled your eyes.

"Oh that is so bad!" You said as you giggled while apply the last of the ointment to his wound.

"How do you turn make any salad into a caesar salad" You spoke to him now as you were bandaging up Price's leg. The poor guy had fallen out of another helicopter, and got practically bungee jumped for free. His back was shot, not literally and thank god for that, and his leg had rope burn from where he got tangled up in the ropes while handing.

"How do you-"

"Ye stab it twenty-three times." Johnny said before you could spit it out. You turned around shocked, how dare he ruin your joke. Your mouth hung in shock as you finished up Price before turning around. "Et tu, Brute?" you said cocking your eyebrow at him, before winding up your gear to launch at him. Quickly, Ghost came up behind you and grabbed you from behind. You melted into his touch but in the same way a feral kitten still bubbles with anger just underneath the surface. It was nice to be hugged by Simon, but you will wanted to get Soap back.

"Looking ferocious as ever." Gaz smiled as he walked in with snacks for everyone.

"He told the punchline to my joke" You frowned almost looking around for somebody to take your side. Ghost nodded to you, his eyes softening as his hand ran up your shoulder and tapped you in comfort.

"Hey Johnny, what's big, warm and bad for your mohawk" you said as you smirked. Ghost chuckled behind you as he caught on quick. Your eyes catch each others for a mere moment before you locked in on the scotsman. Within that half a second, you and Simon had concocted a plan. Price watched with a smile, he swore in another life that you two were twins.

"I don't know the punchline to this on-"

"me." you said as you suddenly jumped at the scotsman, horror covering his face suddenly. Price swear he didn't know a human scream could break the sound barrier till that day. Nor did he know that even medics could be temporarily banned from their station.

One day, dad jokes and bandaids weren't enough for Simon.

"Kid, where's the kid?" Captain Price was yelling as they drug in a large man into the infirmary in full gear. His face obscured from you so you weren't heavily concerned. Soap and Gaz pushed the bed and the masked man into a private care room.

"I'm right here, patching up somebody, old man, grab somebody else with more tim-" You were swiftly cut off at words that shot down your spine.

"Simon's been shot, he only trusts you to pull it out."

"Huh?" You say as you rush over into the private room. Suddenly the masked figure yanked off the balaclava once in the privacy of the room.

"Me shot, you remove, you clean, that clear, kid?" Simon's gruff voice shocked you into reality, you didn't miss the slight teasing tone at the almost neanderthal way he communicated.

"But I've never done this fully by myself-"

"Still only trust you."

"Simon what if I-"

"I'm right here, I'll stop you if it hurts" He said suddenly as he removed his gear and then shed the bloody clothes to reveal the mess of blood on his shoulder where he had been hit. His hand enveloped your wrist. "I promise kid, now can you promise me something?" His voice was calm, levelheaded. But he had a smirk similar to when he was about to tell you a joke.

"Anything"

"Promise me you wont ruin my boyish looks" He smirked. Everyone swore that the sound of a nearby train was actually steam blowing out of the Scotsman's ears.

notes - That’s it!! I hope it was good. I somewhat struggled to directly state the dynamic of Ghost and Reader without making Ghost tooo ooc but I hope I did good!

Requests are open!

Pt.2 is up!

[fangsandfeels]

I think about protective Astarion a lot:

I strongly support the idea that he is Tav's protector as much as Tav is his. He is more closed about discussing his concerns with others - even on happily concluding the romance, he maintains his coy behavior and rebuffs all attempts at prying. But as always, there is a lot going on under the layers.

- I believe he stops seeing Tav as his protector/meatshield even a bit prior to the confession. He has always been more comfortable with “I’ll watch your back if you watch mine” arrangement, but he only fully embraces it after either Tav takes his side in his argument with Araj or helps him murder the orthon and learn more about his scars. Before that, he still subconsciously relies on Tav for safety to the point of rationalizing the necessity to do what he doesn’t want to do just because Tav told him to.

- His best and usual protective side is that he is always there to catch Tav when they fall. To drag them to safety, help them get up, and keep them going. He is there to talk and hear them out when something is weighing down on them. He drops all this flamboyant flirtatiousness he wears when discussing his relationship with others the very instant Tav needs him. He is calm, firm, and attentive because Tav needs him. Being strong for someone else is a very new feeling for him, but it also comes naturally. He doesn't like seeing his partner in pain, but finding himself as someone's source of strength and support is life-changing for him. He likes to realize that he is capable of caring about someone. That part of him is still alive. Like no other, Astarion knows that sometimes you can’t slay all the monsters and terrors that haunt your loved one, but you can be there for them when they fight their own battles. And that’s what he does. His approach is similar to Karlach’s in that regard: if you can’t walk, I’ll carry you, if you need a hand, you have mine, you you need to talk, my ears are all yours.

- After he stops seeing Tav as a protector, he is much more aware of Tav’s vulnerability. Tav isn’t invincible. Tav gets hurt. Tav can be in danger. It becomes particularly glaring when it’s revealed that they all haven’t turned yet because a rogue illithid holds their lives in its webbed hands. A rogue illithid who was lying about a cure all this time. Who never had any intention of removing the tadpole. Who saw ceremorphosis as something good. The Emperor has almost the same hold on Tav and all of them as Cazador on his spawns. It would have puppeteered them into doing its bidding hadn’t it been spending its energy on resisting the brain. This is why Astarion calls Tav a “mindflayer thrall” during their argument. Because this is what they are as long as their safety depends on the Emperor’s good mood. It’s not their fault, really. But Astarion clearly has been thinking about it and worried about it. He probably wished not to be stuck between a rock and a hard place for once, not having to choose between two evils, to be strong enough to get them both out of it. So, he doesn’t exactly lie or try to manipulate Tav when he says he wants to keep them both safe. He wants it. He hates to be helpless, but what he hates even more is to watch Tav trying to keep their spirits up and looking for a way out of their predicament while thing just invades Tav's dreams or invites itself into their skull whenever it wishes. He hates wondering what will happen if the Emperor stops playing nice one day. Oh, if only he could be stronger.

- In general, it seems that he is most riled up and protective of Tav when there is a particular type of threat. Tav can handle themselves in a fight. They take a beating sometimes, but they bounce back (what can’t be said about the other guy) and if they don’t find a fight, the fight finds them. Astarion knows it and he doesn’t really mind. He loves the thrill: his spawn endings made it clear that the man embraces the chaos of making decisions and choosing paths with a smile. Danger is part of the fun. It makes his heart beat.

- He generally does his best to be strong for Tav, just like they stay strong for him. But there are also moments when Tav is in danger, and Astarion sees red. And I imagine it’s not only when Tav ends up at the death’s door. It’s also when something directly challenges Tav’s autonomy. A crazy drow wants to run experiments on Tav? Absolutely not, what the fuck? Even if Tav agrees, Astarion is still uncomfortable with the thought and doesn't hide it. Had Araj tried to force her experimentation on the unwilling Tav or trick them into participating, she would have been turned into a dagger cushion very quickly. Cazador calls Tav cattle (another lover to follow Astarion and lose everything, even their right to their soul and body, because of him)? The mere thought of it, the association, the hint at him being a failure dragging his lover down with him makes Astarion lose his composure and just go for the jugular. The idea of Tav enduring the same abuse or being forcibly changed terrifies him. When Tav does it to themselves, it hurts already. However, if someone does it to Tav without letting Tav have any say, then Astarion would go absolutely feral. If that someone can be stabbed, they will be stabbed. If they can’t be stabbed, Astarion WILL find a way to stab them and eviscerate them. Then, regardless of whether Tav is alright or not, Astarion will experience an emotional breakdown that he will then refuse to discuss with anyone else. He has come a long way, but certain negative emotions are still too much to handle.

[spookypete-94]

O-

GhostxFem!medic!reader

Reader is a medic that has been assigned to specifically take care of TF141. She learns just how difficult the lieutenant can be.

SFW, CW for- language, more then likely medical inaccuracies

You had worked next to Price shortly a few years after he started. Your impressive skill level always imprinted on him. After he became the Captain, he had sought you out specifically. The risks of the missions he was on he wanted someone he could trust on standby to take care of him and his men if something were to happen. Sure, you knew your way on the battlefield and could do basic operations if needed, but your area of expertise was caring for the injured. It was almost like you were hardwired and made for it, a natural.

Once learning Price had requested you, sought you for so long- it was a no-brainer to join him and his team.

"Ready to meet everyone?" He asked, his voice quiet but still carrying a booming effect.

"Sure am," she you replied, crossing your arms as he led her to his office. Inside stood 3 men. One that wore a blue hat in casual attire, the second one with bright blue eyes and a mohawk, and the other was a large looming man that leaned against the desk face covered with a skull balaclava, dressed all in black.

"Would like you all to meet the team medic, this is Y/N L/N. I sought her specifically for us."

Y/N stuck her hand out to greet everyone, shaking the first two, easily learning their names as Gaz and Soap. The third one, however, did not step forward to shake her hand. One could feel the distrust from his gaze.

Fine, You thought to yourself and instead stood next to the Captain again.

Price explained your duties and how you would be attending missions with them on scene, in your own helicopter, and would respond as needed.

"If I could have dog tags, just to have full name and blood type, I'd appreciate it. Makes it easier for me to log and store blood if needed."

Again, the first two she met and Price complied, handing their dog tags over with ease. The large one never left his stance from the desk, arms crossed, hands never reaching into his shirt.

"Lieutenant," Price said just shy of a scolding manner.

"No worries, Captain, I'll manage." you said, waving it off. Honestly, far from offended, dealing with difficult men your entire career, becoming used to it. Price looked at you, shocked, wondering how you would "deal" with it. Scribbling the information down, your own chicken scratch looking difficult to anyone else who might read it before handing the tags back. "Thanks," you said cheerily, handing the tags back. "Lieutenant," nodding in his direction still being courteous to him. "I'll be in the MedBay updating my records and starting carts for all of your needs. Hope you all have a pleasant day." Nodding, and stepped through the group of men.

Once the door was shut, they all turned to Ghost appalled by his behavior to such a kind woman. "Why ya' gotta be like that, mate?" Soap asked him.

"Don't trust new people," he grumbled, leaving them all to shake their heads.

Time had passed, you had her records all updated and built trust with three of the group she cared for. Not quite with "Skullface" though, as you called him. Being on the team with the TF141, means you still had to qualify on all weapons... leaving you at the mercy of the range with the grumpy Lieutenant as he was the instructor.

His tone came across condescending at the very start. The first weapon he picked was a handgun. He showed how to load and reload the mags, how to place it in the bottom of the guns and forcefully shove up to make sure the mags don't fall out. How to use the iron sights and the difference between red dots, the difference between calibers - things already known by you but dared not say anything wanting to make a point. He handed back the pistol, taking aim, and shortly emptied the clip, hitting the metal target in the center. The ping echoed, target shaking with each bullet. Managing tactical reload, dropping the mag, pulling the full one from your belt, reloading it, and doing the same thing.

"You know how to use a gun?" he asked stunned.

"I do."

"You could have led with that."

"Didn't want to interrupt your whole "spiel, "seeming it's the most you've said to me the entire time I've been here."

Behind him, Price stood smiling, arms crossed as he stood at the front of the range. Game, set, match, he thought to himself comically.

"Can we do shotgun next, or are you gonna break the basics down for me on that, too?" Your tone playing coy, making Ghost shake his head, handing her the shotgun.

The day was over faster than Ghost expected it to be, thinking you would be inexperienced.

"I'm sorry I treated you like that," Ghost said humbly as they picked up the empties.

"Used to it."

This answer caused silence among them both. You took it upon yourself that he was waiting for you to answer why.

"Most men in this field just see me as a nurse. They seem to forget that Medic's have to be battle trained, too. Used to being treated like that."

He turned to look at you. "Shouldn't be a medic, you're better than most of the soldiers I've seen in the field."

"All be it surprised, I'm a better medic, then I am on the battlefield."

"Have to be one hell of a medic then."

"I am." you said confidently, throwing the expended bullet casings into a bucket to be repressed.

How grateful you were, that it ended on a positive note between the two this time.

"Here," he said, going to hand her his dog tags.

"Don't need them any more."

Even though his face was covered, you could tell he was confused by your response.

"Got it taken care of." smiling widely to him, throwing your assigned weapons over your shoulder and heading back to the base.

You had left him preplexed and him watching that smile never leave as your legs carried you away. Satisfaction filling you, knowing you made your mark on him.

"Fuckin' hell," he said quietly to himself.

Inevitably, the day came. Ghost had found himself and Soap injured, Ghost was losing blood rapidly, taking the grunt of whatever exploded. They requested evac but had to wait for an extraction team to get to him. His conscious status was in and out, vaguely remembering you and your squad getting to him and Soap. Your facial features make you seem like you were is glowing, the light being so bright. If he had not seen your ability to be deadly, he would have thought an angel was standing before him from the golden glow.

The next thing he knew, he was on the helicopter, finally coming to. He started to sit up quickly, the sudden alertness making him realize what had just happened

"Sit your ass still," you growled to him.

Even as a threat, your voice calmed him, making him indeed sit still.

"Where's Johnny?"

"Next to you, across the bird behind the curtain, my team got him stitched and wrapped up. Hold still," You said, pulling his arm back to her. He realized you were stitching him, hand holding his arm close. Noticing the IV for fluid and another for blood attached into his other arm. There, he saw a rolling cart with "Skullface" wrote on the top where his name should have been, bags of O- blood inside it.

"My blood type isn't O-," he said, head rolling over to look at her.

"Mine is. It's the universal donor."

Finally, he realized what you meant.

"That's your blood?"

"Yup, been pulling mine off for your cart in case something happened since you wouldn't give me your tags that day."

He was silent for a bit. That was her way of managing... using your own blood to save him. "I'm sorry I was such an asshole to you."

"Stop. You already apologized. Just be grateful I did what I did and didn't leave you to bleed out." Some men just needed tough love.

Somehow, you had struck him. He was seeing you in a different light once more. How grateful he was for his mask because if it wasn't there.. you would be able to read his face. Adoration and all. He leaned back into the pillow, letting you finish and look him over. Fingers ghosted across his skin as you moved his body to be able to check for whatever it was you were looking for. No resistance was given by him now. You had earned just more than his respect and trust. Just on the ride back to base, you already had him stitched up.

"Still will have to do scans to make sure there is no internal bleeding, but have to do that back at base. I'm glad you're still alive." you said, patting his thigh in an area that you knew was not injured.

"Fuckin' hell," a phrase he found saying all too much with you. Eyes watching your walk away and prepare for landing.

Soap pulled back his curtain, smiling mischievously at Ghost.

"Not a fuckin' word," he grumbled to him, knowing all to well that Soap knew that Ghost had caught feelings for hyou.

Simon Ghost Riley Masterlist