#WE HAD TO DO THAT IN PITCH BLACK SO WE COULD HEAR HIM COMING BUT WE COULDNT SEE HIM AND WE HAD TO BE SOSO FUCKING QUIET

[kandibatz]

had a dream where for some reason bob was moth themed instead of devil themed and somehow it was so so much more terrifying esp in the context of the dream

[alvojake]

Stargirl Interlude | L.HS

「pairing」 : bf!heeseung x fem!reader 「word count」 : 1.3k

「synopsis」 : it was showtime, but heeseung just had to sneak his pretty girlfriend, you, into the back so he could fuck you. you were his good luck charm, after all.

「genre」 : smut, fluff, rockstar!heeseung

「warnings」 : MINORS DO NOT INTERACT!!!, cussing, unprotected sex, quickie, kissing, biting/marking, creampie, petnames (doll, baby, pretty girl...), praising, slight fingering, teasing, hair pulling, slight dacryphilia, public sex, lmk if I missed anything!

“Fuck Hee, what if someone comes in?” You gasped as his lips latched onto the supple skin of your neck, teeth grazing over your jugular. His knee shoved your legs apart, pressing it right against your thinly covered core, seeing as you were wearing that cute black dress that he told you to before leaving.

“No one is coming back here; they’re all too worried about making sure everything is set up.” He groaned against your skin before pulling away to seal your lips in a heated kiss, pressing his knee right against your core to hear your pretty moans.

“Hee–”

“Shhhh, doll, don’t worry so much.” He whispered softly, hands reaching for the hem of your dress, hiking it up over your hips. “You just try to keep your pretty sounds down,”

A soft gasp fell from your lips as his fingers brushed over your covered slit, feeling your slick soak through the thin fabric. Heeseung chuckled as he latched his lips to your neck once more, biting down on the junction of your shoulder, relishing in the way your body trembled. 

He moved your panties to the side, running his fingers through your folds, feeling how wet you were. Your eyes fell closed, and your bottom lip got caught between your teeth as his fingers prodded at your slit, teasing you.

“Seungie, please.” You whined, gripping his shirt with a vice-like grip, the need coursing through your body making your brain all fuzzy; the only thought in your mind was having him buried balls deep in your soaping cunt. 

“Fucking hell, baby, you’re dripping in my hand.” His voice was low and husky as he licked his way up to your ear, taking the lobe between his teeth, making you shiver, “too bad we don’t have a lot of time, or I’d be on my knees devouring you whole.”

You whined at his words, feeling yourself growing wetter by the second, which, of course, didn’t go unnoticed by your boyfriend. With a chuckle, he shoved his middle and ring fingers into your wet heat resulting in a choked moan falling from your lips, eyes screwed shut, and fingers dug into his shoulders.

The lewd, wet sounds that were coming from where Heeseung’s fingers scissored you open were deafening. Making your ears ring as he continued to litter your pretty neck with marks, showing that you were taken.

“As much as I want you to come on my fingers, I need you on my dick.” Heeseung breathed out, pulling his fingers from your clenching wall, making you whine. He was quick to swallow all of your whines as he kissed you messily, hands making quick work of his jeans. Pushing them down just far enough for his cock to slip out, hitting his abdomen, tip red and decorated prettily with beads of precum.

He pressed your body tightly against the wall, taking your right leg with his hand before using the other to line his cock with your entrance after shoving your panties to the ground. You buried your face in the crook of his neck, teeth latching onto his skin as he pushed into you slowly.

“Shit…” He groaned as your warm walls wrapped around him snuggly, a tighter fit than normal due to the lack of preparation.

Heeseung gave you barely a moment to adjust before he pulled back out and pushed in, leaving you gasping against his skin, fingers digging into his biceps. You tried to keep your noise on the down low, but the position, the two of you were in allowed him to hit all of the right spots to make you see stars. Choked gasps and moans fell from your lips the faster his pace got, growing in pitch by the second.

“You’re so noisy, doll. Do you really want someone to catch us?” He mocked you, a smug smirk tugging on his lips as he watched you shake your head against him, biting your lip to try and muffle your noises once more. The dark-haired male trailed his hand from your hip up to your head, threading his fingers through your hair and tugging back harshly. A high-pitched whine tore from your lungs, and tears stung at the corner of your eyes as you looked up at him. His hips never faltered as he took in your already fuck-out expression, loving the tears that had started falling from your eyes, which caused some of your makeup to smudge under your eyes. You looked so pretty like this, and god, did he wish he could just say fuck the show so he could take you home and fuck you into oblivion. But alas, the band wouldn’t survive the night without his vocals.

“Hee!” You squeaked as his tip kissed your cervix, eyes screwing shut as you felt the coil in your stomach start to tighten.

Heeseung tugged on your hair once more, tilting your head up so he could kiss you once more. The kiss quickly turned wet and messy as you couldn’t focus on kissing him properly due to the instrumental amount of pleasure that racked your brain.

“Close already, doll?” He teased despite the fact that he wasn’t too far from him either, but hearing the weak mewls that left your kiss-swollen lips was too good to pass up. 

Untangling his fingers from your hair, he let your head fall back into the crook of his neck while he found your hip once more, pounding into you relentlessly. The tiny storage closet is filled with lewd, squelching noises as well as quiet, soft moans and groans from the two of you.

“Hee–” You were cut off when the coil in your stomach finally snapped, and you were coming around Heeseung’s dick, causing him to groan at the feeling of your walls fluttering. Choked gasps caught in your throat as he fucked you through your high, legs threatening to give out as they shook under your weight. Heeseung was the only thing keeping you up right, his hold far too strong to let you go anywhere.

“Such a good girl for me– fuck… letting me fuck you before my show,” He groaned, hips faltering as his high approached, “always my little good luck charm, isn’t that right doll?” Your eyes nearly rolled to the back of your head as he continued to fuck into you, throwing your body into a state of overstimulation.

“Sungie…” You whined out, more tears falling from your eyes as you let your head lay back against the wall. Heeseung cooed at you, kissing away your tears and whispering praises as he spilled his seed deep in your womb.

He continued to pepper your face with soft kisses, bringing you back down from your high. Tilting your head up, you capture his lips in a gentle kiss, relishing in the warmth it brings along with it until he pulls away with a small pout.

“They’re probably looking for me,” He grumbled, pulling his soft dick out of you, watching as both your and his cum trickled out and down your thigh. You whimpered in his hold as he scooped the cum on his fingers before pushing it back into your sensitive cunt.

“Hee–”

“Shhh, pretty girl, we gotta keep your stuff full until we get back home.” He pressed a kiss on the corner of your parted lips before letting your leg fall and reaching down to grab your discarded panties, hiking them up and over your hips. You let out a breathy sigh when he fixed your dress, then encased your body in his arms and peppered your exposed neck and shoulder with wet kisses.

“Heeseung, man, where are you?” Your body tensed up at the sound of Jake’s voice, one of Heeseung’s bandmates.

Heeseung chuckled softly before pulling away from you, cupping your cheek in his hand. “I’ll see you after the show, my pretty girl.” Then, with one last lingering kiss, he slipped out of the room, leaving you there to collect your bearings before walking out to watch your boyfriend perform.

@alvojake | Do not steal, plagiarise, translate, or repost any of my work

𝖉𝖎𝖘𝖈𝖑𝖆𝖎𝖒𝖊𝖗 : ᴛʜɪꜱ ɪꜱ ɴᴏ ᴡᴀʏ ᴀ ᴛʀᴜᴇ ʀᴇᴘʀᴇꜱᴇɴᴛᴀᴛɪᴏɴ ᴏꜰ ᴀɴʏ ᴏꜰ ᴛʜᴇ ᴍᴇᴍʙᴇʀꜱ. ᴛʜɪꜱ ɪꜱ ᴘᴜʀᴇʟʏ ꜰɪᴄᴛɪᴏɴ ᴀɴᴅ ꜰᴏʀ ᴛʜᴇ ᴇɴᴊᴏʏᴍᴇɴᴛ ᴏꜰ ᴛʜᴇ ʀᴇᴀᴅᴇʀ ᴀɴᴅ ɴᴏᴛ ᴛᴏ ʙᴇ ᴛᴀᴋᴇɴ ꜱᴇʀɪᴏᴜꜱʟʏ.

[princessbrunette]

˚˖𓍢ִ🐰໋✧˚.🎀୨୧ ⋅˚₊

let’s go back to my roots. let’s talk about girly, prissy, spoiled bunny!reader with rafe.

you’re untouchable, kook royalty just for your attachment to the cameron’s but you don’t even care about all of that. all you care about, is rafes time money and attention.

he loves you a lot, but more so — he puts up with your shit. whilst you don’t have much of an attitude, soft in all corners of your life, you can still manage to be a nightmare. you clutter his sink with your makeup and skincare, decidedly a maximalist when it came to your self care and beautification rituals. he plucks a clump of mink eyelashes from the side of the sink, something he nearly mistook for a spider and sets it aside— only calling out a “jesus chr — bun, told you to clear out your shit. my bathroom looks like fuckin’ sephora. in here, now.” before he hears the soft padding of your feet come tottering along, happy to do as your told.

if that’s not making him huff and puff — it’ll surely be the outfits, moreso scraps of fabric you parade around in. expensive, according to his black card, for items of clothing that cover so little — and he can’t say you don’t get your moneys worth, toddling around in strappy powder pink dresses that leave nothing to the imagination or white mini skirts that cling to the fold of the bottom of your ass cheeks, giving not only the chumps at the country club a good look — but his closest friends too. his life had become a sequence of tugging down your hem, manhandling you to be decent. “you—y-you think i need my fuckin’ friends getting an eyeful of your pussy each time you move? are we gonna have to have another talk about what’s appropriate, bunny girl? huh? or maybe the belt will help you learn a valuable lesson. fuck.” he sulks, stomping around after his threat. you’re clung to his bicep with a dazed smile only five minutes later because his mean treatment usually flew through one bedazzled ear and came out the other. soft and dopey as ever.

back to him ‘putting up with you’, there’s a ton of reasons why that is. like aforementioned, he does love you a lot. you’re his little prized possession, his trophy. you were soft in all the ways that mattered and understanding, always listening when no one else would, even if he was admittedly in the wrong. that, and you really did fuck like a bunny rabbit.

you had a libido that was constantly set to high, all hours of the day. you were a chronic pillow humper when rafe wasn’t available to sate you, the man often times walking in to find you teary eyed with a white lacy thong binding your spread knees, pulled down just enough to grind your messy, glossy pussy against the fluffed white pillow from his side of the bed. because really, you were a chronic rafe humper— but you were well behaved enough to know that sometimes he had to handle business and didn’t have the time to feed your greedy cunt.

you’d grown accustom to taking him in any position too, whether it was in doggy style — waving your plush ass in the air, pointing that fluffy pink bunny-tail butt plug straight at him as you mewl into expensive pillows, or you’re crouched on his lap on the couch, feet planted either side of him, a high pitched whimper punched out of you each time you slam your hips back down on his cock, mushroom tip thumping your cervix. you said you liked the pain, liked when it bruised, liked when you could still feel him the next day when you missed him. reminded you of how grateful you are to have a boyfriend who dicks you good.

you had a little obsession that was serving as a problem though— having to give you plenty of ‘sit down talks’ when he talks to you real slow like you’re stupid because you keep begging him to breed you. it seemed no amount of “sweetheart, i’on know how many times i have to say this to get it through that head, but you are too young for a baby. i—i gotta get my shit together first, alright? promised you as many babies as you want after i secure tannyhill did i not? i…i really need your patience… okay?” would stop you from bouncing on his cock with a feverish and determined look in your eye, or locking your legs around his waist when he’s about to nut— babbling tearfully as you beg “please daddy, please gimme a baby. please want — want your babies!”

you’re lucky he was so much stronger than you, often wrestling you down to straddle your face and aim his cock at your mouth before he blew his load, gritting out a spiteful “well you’re gonna have to fuckin’ swallow them ‘til the time comes. fuck.” through gritted teeth as you mewl miserably (but lap it up nonetheless)

you gave him trouble, but nothing he couldn’t handle. he wouldn’t trade his spoiled bunny girl for the world.

˚˖𓍢ִ🐰໋✧˚.🎀୨୧ ⋅˚₊

[intoxicated-chan]

Breeding Kink Miguel O'Hara?👉🏻👈🏻🥺

We’re Both Sinners

✿ฺ Paring ➳❥ Miguel O’Hara x F!Reader

✿ฺ Summary ➳❥ Miguel couldn’t describe it, for the first time, he felt like he lost all sense of control.

✿ฺ (A/n) ➳❥ I gotchu! Inspired by “Sinners” by The Ari Abdul. Also, I’m sorry that this seems rushed, I haven’t written a lot of smut before so apologies!

✿ฺ Word Count ➳❥ 877

✿ฺ Content Warnings ➳❥ Female reader, breeding kink, sexual content, p in v, pet names (Mi Amor), office sex, bruises, biting, nearly caught? Fingering… Please let me know if I missed anything!

The first time was a complete accident. Miguel had no clue that the condom broke so suddenly, he really shouldn’t be surprised since of how hard he was going. It took the cum leaking out of your cunt that sparked something inside of him.

Of course, he’d never do anything without your permission but every time, the words were at the tip of his tongue. How much he wanted to beg you to let him take off the condom and let him fuck you raw. He was getting harder and harder every time, he knew if he didn’t say anything soon, he wasn’t going to be able to control himself.

It was so distracting that he couldn’t even contain himself during work. The shame he felt during important meetings when he felt himself get hard by the simple thoughts. The embarrassment he felt when he was forced out of his thoughts and everyone was staring at his flustered face. Never again. He couldn’t let that happen again.

You noticed his distraction from day one. He seemed lost in thought and papers began piling up on his desk. You knew that it wouldn’t be long before Miguel returned to his home office and remained there late into the night.

It was supposed to be a simple visit. Bring him his lunch and talk with him. His office was dark, almost pitch black but it was normal. The only light was the very small lamp on his desk, facing away from him.

You set his lunch down next to his laptop and sat down at the chair in front of his desk.

You waited a few seconds before you called his name, “Miguel~” You waved a hand in front of his face, and it made him jolt, “I brought you lunch.”

“Uh, thank you, mi amor.” He smiles. You could see him avoiding your gaze.

“How was the meeting?” You begin to poke at him.

“It went well. We went over some numbers that an employee messed up. And-”

“Miguel.”

“Yes?”

“You do know that there was no meeting. Not a single one today.” You sigh, “What’s got you so distracted that it’s affecting your work?”

He glanced at you but immediately turned away when your eyes didn’t move from his. You leaned in, “Please, talk to me.” You whispered.

He felt his cock twitch, “Don’t say that.” He huffs heavily.

“Don’t say what?”

He hissed, “You don’t know how you affect me, do you?” He chuckled, “Teasing me and all.”

He suddenly reached over and grabbed the collar of your shirt, “You said you wanted me to talk, alright then. I’ll show you what’s got my head in a blender.” You can see his blood-red eyes seeping past his brown ones.

“Has anyone seen Mr. O’Hara?” One employee asked another, holding a stack of papers in his arms, “I have the papers he requested.”

“I was told not to bother him.” Another told him.

“Seriously? After I spent hours going through everything he just gave me.” He shakes his head and walks towards his office.

“I wouldn’t-” The employee ignores the other one who sighs, “Do that.” Leaving him to face the consequences.

The employee managed to free one hand and used it to knock on the door, “Mr. O’Hara?” Silence, “Sir?”

“I thought I made it clear that I am to be bothered,” Miguel growls.

“I’m sorry sir but-”

“Come back later!”

The employee huffed but walked away.

“Nearly got us in trouble.” Miguel seethed, feeling you tighten around him as he continues his brutal pace.

“B-But he didn’t hear anything.” His hand slaps over your mouth to silence you.

“But he could’ve and I can’t have that happening.” He whispers in your ear.

Miguel has you bend over his desk. Whatever was originally on his desk was now on the floor. One hand remained on your mouth and the other was gripping your hip.

Your neck is littered with bruises and maybe a bite or two from his fangs. Your hair is a mess from moments ago.

You continue to moan into his hand, “It’s like you want to be caught. Is that what you want?” He removes your hand and grabs a chunk of your hair, tugging, “You want everyone to see how much of a whore you are for their boss. I’m sure you’d enjoy that.”

Miguel let his control slip, hearing himself groan and you cry… He pounded into you harder than ever. You felt another orgasm come and you completely lost count.

But it wasn’t long before his thrusts became sloppy, and soon you heard him loudly groan, cumming inside of you.

He released your hair and his grip on your waist, but he remained over you. His hands support his tired body, “Still distracted?” You pant.

You try getting up but he pushes you back down, “And where do you think you’re going?”

“You still have work.”

“I’m sure they don’t mind having their boss without a few more hours.” You let out a yelp when you felt two of his fingers thrust into you, “Besides, I can’t have this going to waste.”

“But today’s meeting is important!” You retort.

“I’ve got two hours, you’ll be more than filled up by then.”

© Intoxicated-Chan, I do not allow my work to be copy, translated, or put my work on any other platform without my permission.

[alisonsfics]

place to crash

pairing: carmen berzatto x reader

summary: carmy steps in as your knight in shining armor when your apartment’s electricity breaks, which makes you both test the line between friends and something more

word count: 2.9k

warnings: swearing, whole lotta fluff

“Oh, come on. Hurry the fuck up,” you muttered to yourself. You were currently on hold with the electricity company.

After a hectic service at the Bear, you had come home to your pitch black apartment with no power. The one thing you wanted to do was curl up and eat some leftovers while watching some tv, but that clearly wasn’t happening tonight.

“Hello? Are you still there?” The man’s voice echoed through the speaker. “Yes, I’m here,” you said, quickly. You didn’t want to risk him hanging up on you and having to start this process all over again.

“So, it looks like our crew has already gone home for the day. We can’t send anyone to look at it until tomorrow morning.” He told you. You huffed, running your fingers through your hair. “Alright, thank you. Have a fantastic night,” you said, passive aggressively.

You threw your phone down onto the kitchen counter.

With the electricity out, that also meant no air conditioning. You pulled your hair up into a quick ponytail. You were already sweating, so you knew there was no way you could stay at your apartment for the night.

You glanced back down at your phone, and it felt like the answer was staring you in the face. You opened your contacts and saw the one person you knew you could always rely on.

You clicked on Carmy’s name, smiling to yourself when you saw his contact photo. It was a goofy picture of the two of you from a party that Sydney threw. He had his arm haphazardly thrown around your shoulders. You were sticking your tongue out at the camera while he kissed your cheek.

You both had a history of becoming more affectionate than normal when you had been drinking. That night was a great example.

It only rang once before he answered. “Hey, what’s up? Are you okay?” He asked, immediately. Having seen Carmy less than an hour ago, he knew something was going on if you were calling him so soon.

“Hey, I’m fine, no need to panic. I just have a little favor to ask you, but you can totally say no—” you started to explain before he interrupted you.

“You’ve got it. What do you need?” He answered without a second thought. It made your cheeks heat up. Carmy was always ready to drop everything for you.

“You don’t even know what it is yet, Berzatto.” You told him, giggling to yourself. You couldn’t see him, but you could perfectly imagine the way he’d shrug. “I don’t need to know. I have no reason to doubt you.” He said, simply.

“Not even gonna make me work for it?” You teased him.

“You never have to work for it. Not with me,” he told you, honestly. Every time you talked to Carmy, it became harder for you to pretend you weren’t head over heels for him.

“Alright, well the power is out at my apartment—” you started to tell him. “Come stay at my place tonight,” he offered. You felt so grateful for him.

“Are you sure it’s not a burden? You don’t have to feel pressured to say yes.” You assured him, but you knew his answer wouldn’t change.

“Of course I’m sure. I’m not letting you stay at your apartment with no power. Come on over. I’m making dinner now. You eaten yet?” He asked. “No, not yet,” you told him.

“Alright, perfect. I’ll make you a plate, and I’ll see you in a few minutes,” he said, and you could hear that he was smiling.

“Thank you, Carmy, truly. I’ll see you soon,” you said, before hanging up.

You quickly grabbed a bag and stuffed some essentials inside it before heading out the door. Carmy’s apartment was only a short walk from your apartment. After five or ten minutes, you were at his door.

You knocked on the door and heard a lot of noise on the other side. “It’s open,” you heard Carmy yell.

You turned the doorknob slowly before walking inside. You saw Carmy turning his pullout couch into a bed. He was neatly fixing the blankets and adding some pillows.

You also noticed the table was set with two plates of pasta, and you couldn’t tell where, but from somewhere in the apartment jazz music was playing.

“You didn’t have to do all of this for me, Carmy,” you said, feeling guilty. He put a final pillow on the bed and walked towards you. “I wanted to,” he said, simply. He wrapped his arms around your waist, pulling you in for a quick hug.

“I’m sorry about your apartment,” he said, sincerely.

“None of that is your fault, Carmy. You don’t have to apologize.” You replied. His hand grazed the small of your back, and he gestured towards the dining table. He even made sure to pull your chair out from the table for you.

“Such a gentleman,” you said, unable to get the smile off your face. You always felt like a giggly schoolgirl around Carmy. “Only the best for you,” he jokingly flirted, but wasn’t willing to push it any further.

Carmy cared about you so much. You were practically his world, and he was terrified that if he told you that, you’d leave.

After eating dinner, you both got ready for bed in Carmy’s bathroom. It made you feel like a married couple, and you had to force yourself to ignore it.

“I know I’ve asked you like ten times, but are you sure you don’t want my bed? I can sleep on the couch.” He offered, wanting you to feel right at home. You grabbed his hand without thinking about it.

“Carmy, you are so sweet, but I promise that sleeping on a couch will not kill me. I will be fine, sweetie.” You told him. You weren’t sure where the pet name had come from. You’d never called Carmy “sweetie” before.

Carmy had practically jumped out of his skin hearing the name roll so smoothly off your tongue. He only wanted to hear you call him sweetie from now on. It took everything in his power to not confess his love to you right then and there.

“Okay, fine,” he gave up, knowing you were more stubborn than he was. He wrapped his arms around your waist, pulling you into a tight hug. You happily wrapped your arms around him as he held on to you.

You were taking in every part of this moment. You could smell his cologne, the same one he’d worn since you met him. You’d told him how much you liked it once, and he promised himself he’d never change it.

“Goodnight. Sleep well,” he said, kissing the top of your head and leaving you smitten.

You walked into the living room, and fell asleep within seconds of crawling under the blankets.

In the middle of the night, a sound woke you up. You jumped to sit up, looking around to see what the noise was. The bright LED numbers from the clock read 3:42. You realized the sound was someone jiggling the doorknob on the front door.

You jumped off the couch and ran into Carmy’s bedroom. You were half awake, and it was the only thing you could think of.

You reached forward and placed your hand on Carmy’s forearm, trying to wake him up. He jumped up as soon as you touched him.

“What’s wrong?” He asked, quickly. Even being half awake and in a dark room, he was somehow still able to sense that you were afraid. “It sounds like somebody’s trying to come in the front door.” You told him, which woke him up fast.

He grabbed the bat from beside his bed and headed towards the front door. Your fear only made him more confident. He knew that he needed to step up and protect you.

You stayed behind him. He got within a few feet of the door. Then, you both saw the door start to open.

“Get the hell out,” Carmy threatened whoever was on the other side of the door.

The door quickly was flung all the way open. “Cousin, chill the fuck out. It’s me.” You both heard Richie say.

You both breathed a sigh of relief. Carmy dropped the bat down to his side, irritated at Richie. “Do you know what time it is? What the fuck are you doing here?” Carmy asked him.

Richie flipped on the light switch and held up his spare key, as though that explained his presence.

“Oh shit, Y/N? What’re you doing here?” Richie asked, finally noticing you standing behind Carmy.

Before you could even answer, Richie’s eyes darted between the two of you. He saw Carmy just in boxers and you in an oversized tshirt, which he assumed must’ve belonged to Carmy. Then, it made sense to him.

“Oh wait. You two are hooking up?” He asked, smirking at the both of you. Richie was the most convinced of all your friends that you and Carmy were meant for each other. He saw it all, especially the way that your’s and Carmy’s gaze always found each other in a crowded room.

“No!” You and Carmy both quickly assured him, but Richie’s smirk didn’t fade. He didn’t believe either of you for a second.

“She’s just sleeping here tonight,” Carmy tried to explain.

“Oh yeah, I’m sure there’s been lots of sleeping going on here.” Richie teased, causing Carmy to put his head in his hands.

“The electricity is out at my apartment, so Carmy’s letting me crash here tonight. That’s it,” you tried to shut Richie up.

“So you came here for the electricity?” Richie asked, very aware of the double entendre. He loved how much he could get under yours and Carmy’s skin with just a few comments. “You’re the worst, Richie.” Carmy said, exasperatedly.

“See, we have the pullout,” you said, gesturing towards the couch. You saw a mischievous glint in Richie’s eyes. Richie was like a brother, so you knew the joke he was going to make before he even opened his mouth.

“The pullout COUCH, you fucking child,” you said, smacking his arm. Out of the corner of your eye, you saw Carmy with his eyes trained on the floor and his hand covering his mouth as he tried not to laugh.

You crossed your arms and frowned at him. “You are not helping,” you said, glaring at him. He quickly held his hands up in surrender, not wanting you to hit him too.

Richie moved past the joke, but wasn’t quite ready to stop teasing you yet.

“The couch looks pretty messy to me. I wonder how that happened.” He teased. You knew that was just trying to get under your skin, but if you stopped denying what he was saying, he’d be so much worse.

“Yeah, cause I jumped up in a panic thinking someone was breaking in.” You defended. Carmy placed his hand on your back, rubbing small circles. You and Richie were the two most stubborn people he knew, and he knew that neither of you liked to lose an argument.

“And little Carmy was ready to protect you? I won’t lie, that’s pretty sweet, dude.” Richie said, watching the way Carmy’s cheeks turned a soft shade of pink.

“So, why’re you here?” Carmy asked, changing the subject. Richie plopped himself down on the couch. “I need to crash here too. My neighbors are in a big fight and they won’t shut the fuck up.” Richie explained.

“Well, you aren’t staying here. Go find some other fucking place to stay.” Carmy said. He didn’t want anyone to break up his alone time with you.

“That’s not what you told her.” Richie argued, gesturing towards you. Richie had a point, but Carmy would never tell you no.

“Richie, just please leave. Besides, there’s nowhere for you to sleep,” Carmy begged him. Carmy knew if Richie stayed out, it would ruin everything with you. Richie would tease every move he made, and he couldn’t be as affectionate with you. That should have been Carmy’s first indicator that you both were more than friends.

“I’m taking the couch, you two figure out the rest.” Richie said, grabbing you both by the wrists and shoving you into Carmy’s bedroom. Carmy went to open the door, but realized Richie was leaning against the back of the door.

“Richie, let us out,” Carmy begged. You went and sat down on Carmy’s bed. “Carmy, c’mere, you know Richie’s stubborn, and he won’t give up,” you said, patting the spot next to you.

“Reminds me of someone else,” he teased you as he sat beside you. You lightly smacked his arm. “I am not stubborn. I was out there defending myself but also defending you. He’s gonna be insufferable at work tomorrow. He’ll tell everyone that we hooked up, and we’ll never hear the end of it.” You rambled.

“He’s been trying to get us to hook up for years, it might just be easier to actually do it and shut him up.” Carmy joked before he could process the words he was saying.

You felt your eyes go wide. “I’m sorry, Carmen Berzatto. Did I mishear you? Did you just suggest that we hook up?” You asked, truly stumped.

“Don’t look at me like that. I was just joking.” He tried to backpedal. He couldn’t read your expression, which was a first. It was because if he’d actually suggested it, you would have said yes immediately.

“I’m sorry about this. First, your apartment. And now, Richie being Richie.” He said, letting you rest your head on his shoulder. “Carmy, none of this is your fault.” You said, grabbing his hand and tracing your finger over his tattoos.

You both were painfully aware of the fact that you’d never been this physically close before. This was beyond the level of affection that you both could defend as friendly.

“So, if it wasn’t Richie, you were gonna protect me?” You asked.

“Of course, I was. I’m always watching out for you. Gotta keep my girl safe,” he said, wrapping his arm around your shoulder.

You sat straight up. Once again, you thought you’d misheard him. “Oh, fuck it,” he said, cupping your face and kissing you roughly. It didn’t take you any time to kiss him back.

He pressed his palms against your back and carefully pushed you back onto his bed. You ran your fingers across his toned chest. You could feel his muscles flex under your touch.

“I thought you said you were joking,” you teased him as he pressed kisses down your jaw. He let out a soft chuckle, his chest shaking against you. “Why? Do you want me to stop?” He teased.

“Fuck no,” you mumbled, cupping his face and pulling him down to kiss you. His fingers fumbled with the hem of your tshirt, letting his hands slip under it and caress your skin.

He felt you groan against the kiss and took it as a sign to keep going. One of his hands crept higher up your chest while he removed his other hand. He grabbed the bottom of your shirt and was ready to pull it over your head when the door burst open.

“Richie, the fuck? Get out,” Carmy yelled, quickly pulling your shirt back down to make sure you were completely covered. You hid your face in Carmy’s chest, not wanting to face Richie. You could already imagine the smug grin on his face.

“Well well well,” Richie said, in his signature “I told you so” tone.

Carmy didn’t want to put up with his gloating. “Richie, enough. Out!” He repeated, grabbing a pillow off the bed and throwing it at Richie’s face. The whole time he kept one arm wrapped around your waist, keeping you close to him and letting you hide from Richie.

Richie jumped backwards to dodge the pillow and finally closed the bedroom door. As soon as the door clicked closed, Carmy cupped your face with one hand and kissed you again.

You could feel the butterflies in your stomach as he ran his hand down your side. He let his fingers trace every inch of your skin.

You placed your hand on his chest and pushed him away. “Did I do something wrong?” Carmy asked, immediately concerned.

You quickly shook your head, trying to reassure him. “There’s nothing I want more right now, but we can’t do this with Richie here. You know that, Carm.” You said, caressing his cheek.

“One part of my brain knows that, but the other part knows how long I’ve waited for this, for you,” pressing a soft kiss against your cheek, “but you’re right.” he said.

“We’ve waited this long, what’s a little longer?” You joked, smiling up at him. He kissed your forehead, falling in love with the way you were looking at him. “Tomorrow night. I’m gonna take you out to dinner, and we’ll have a real date. I’m gonna spoil you.” He said, brushing a piece of hair behind your ear.

“I’m looking forward to it,” you said, leaning forward to peck his lips.

You both sat in silence, soaking in the moment. You both knew that it was perfect, and you wanted to remember it forever.

“You look really pretty in the moonlight.” You complimented him, admiring the way Carmy’s curls framed his face.

“You’re making it really hard to not fall in love with you,” he teased, pulling you in for another kiss.

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[kiiozawa]

and i know it's going to eat you up inside

As much as sukuna had been groveling in my drabbles, I decided to write the breakup scene between sukuna and reader.

It got kinda long, so I put it under a read more so it doesn't take up ppl's dashes xoxo

☼ pairing; ex-bf! sukuna and server! reader (this is reader breaking up with sukuna)

☼ warnings; sfw, this is basically a prequel, but there isn't a happy ending here. slight toxicity. sukuna may be a little ooc here idk bro i'm new to this, modern!au non-curse!au, reader is called princess, brat, sweetheart,

☼ word count; 1,047

☼ notes; thanks to everyone who likes my little universe!! i appreciate it. 🌺🤞

Your bedroom is pitch black despite it being late morning already. The gunk in the inner part of your eyes feels gross as you rise from your slumber. You have last night’s mascara running down your tear-stained cheeks, but at least you don’t have to work a shift at the restaurant tonight. Time feels like it's moving so slowly yet too fast simultaneously. You swear that you have heart palpitations as you make a poor effort to get out of bed. 

Bzz-Bzz-Bzz

The familiar sound comes from your phone which is at 18%. The blue screen is the only source of light: 23 voicemails and 45 missed calls from Sukuna, your now ex-boyfriend. Ice fills your veins and you want to go back to sleep again. Despite your better judgment, you decide to listen to the voicemails, starting with the first one and making your way to the most recent one.

[9:38 PM]

“You can't be serious. Princess, this has to be a joke. You wouldn't break up with me over this. C'mon, answer my calls, baby. You wouldn't do this.” 

End of voicemail.

[11:12 PM]

"Listen you fucking brat, pick up my calls. I'm not fucking around. You're not breaking up with me. You can't."

End of voicemail

[1:56 AM]

"You're mad, I know that sweetheart. I'll take you to your favorite restaurant tomorrow and I'll get you flowers again. We can talk it out."

End of voicemail

[3:02 AM]

"Princess, I tried to stop by your apartment again, but you didn't answer. You're my girl, princess. You should know that by now."

End of voicemail 

[9:45 AM]

"I'm still going to be here for you sweetheart. Call me when you come back to your senses."

End of voicemail

Silence fills your room as you finish the very last voicemail. The automated voice asks you if you want to delete the messages, but you can't bring yourself to do it—your phone powers down from being left uncharged during the night. Fresh tears start to bubble up, you bite the inside of your cheek to keep your sobs in. 

A storm is brewing in your heart because a part of you wants to call Sukuna back and tell him that you made a mistake. The other part of you reminds you that you left for a reason. The memory of last night comes flooding back in as tears roll down your cheeks. 

⊹˚₊‧───────────‧₊˚⊹

You accidentally tell Sukuna "I love you." at the end of your call only to be met with silence on the other end. It has only been a couple of months since you began dating the tall tattooed man, but it comes out so naturally that you don’t even realize it until it is too late. You quickly excuse yourself and tell Sukuna that you’ll see him in a little bit for your date. 

You could feel your nerves going haywire in your body as you check yourself out for the 10th time in your vanity. Surely, Sukuna will tell you that he loves you, right? He might have the empathy capacity of a walnut, but he will definitely assure you that he does love you, right? Except, you don’t hear those reciprocating words come out of his mouth throughout the whole date. The earlier nerves were replaced by a dull pain in your chest. You’re hoping and praying that Sukuna will just say it as you’re in the passenger seat of his car when he pulls up to your apartment building. It starts to dawn on you that he isn’t going to tell you those four little words that you yearn to hear. And it sends your heart to your stomach. 

"Umm... About earlier-" Your voice is shaky as you try to find the courage only for it to be in vain. 

"Don't worry about it." Sukuna interrupts as he leans over to kiss you only for you to hold up your palms to his chest and look at him with wide eyes. 

"Excuse me? Is that really all you have to say?" Frustration coating your words. You hear Sukuna grumble as he looks at you with what you can only categorize as annoyance. 

"Tch, you shouldn't be so needy, babe. Y'know that I don't like clingy girls." He mocks as he leans back into his seat, pulling a cigarette out of his pack from his leather jacket. 

Something in you snaps and you swear you feel the moment your heart shatters into tiny million pieces. Heat coats your cheeks as you press your lips together. You have your fists so tight that they turn your knuckles white. Despite the pain in your heart, your eyes remain surprisingly dry as you open the door. 

"I'll see you tomorrow, doll." He says as he exhales the smoke from his cigarette. 

"No you won't."

"I thought you didn't work tomorrow?" Sukuna raises an eyebrow. 

"I don't. I'm saying that I'm breaking up with you, Sukuna." The words feel like they weren't coming from you, but you have your resolve of steel. You slam the door shut as you run into your apartment building. Even through the glass doors, you hear Sukuna’s booming voice calling out your name. Still, you refuse to turn back. Your phone buzzes and you don't need to look to know who is calling you as you enter your unit. 

Once you get into your room, you yank the sheets off your bed because it all smells like him. A fresh change of sheets later, you lay down as tears suddenly start to escape your eyes. All you want is to answer Sukuna’s calls, you want to give up and tell him to come up and hold you and comfort you.

Soon enough everything in your room starts to remind you of Sukuna. The dresser he put together for you, the pictures of him on the wall, the nightstand where he would put his pack of Camel cigarettes. You feel like you are being haunted as the tears keep flowing out. Your choked sobs are silent as the buzzing of your phone fills the room. You have to stay strong because you deserve better. If Sukuna can’t tell you that he loves you, then you’ll move on, right?

 well we all know how that works out don't we rip reader

[zeltqz]

call me or not, it's up to you pt 2 | haitani ran

☰ — synopsis : you finally called ran back after a disagreement with your boyfriend.

☰ — pairing : haitani ran x fem!reader ☰ — length : 5.8k words ☰ — contents : nsfw and 18+ contents, mentions of violence, protected sex, protective ran ☰ — notes : this has been in the drafts for WEEEKS but i had to post for my mans birthday, couldn't miss it

On the way home, Ran’s peaceful drive was interrupted by the sound of his phone ringing. Initially he would’ve ignored it, but one glance to where his phone was sitting in the cup holder, he almost lost control of the wheel seeing your name. The streets were fairly empty at this time of night, so nobody was disrupted when he pulled over abruptly, clearing his throat before answering.

“Hello?”

Soft sniffles filled the car from where his phone was connected to his speakers, and his concern grew significantly. “Ran?”

“Why are you crying?” he asked, fingers tightening against the wheel as he waited for you to continue.

You paused briefly, exhaling exhaustedly. “A—are you busy right now?”

“No.” He started driving again, slowly. “But why are you crying?”

“I need you to pick me up. If that’s not too much stress for you. I, um, I really need help.”

“Sure, I mean. Send me your location.” You murmured a soft agreement and he heard your fingernails tapping against the screen, a notification message sliding down his screen seconds later. “Why do you need help? Talk to me.” Ran leaned forward to connect his GPS to your location.

“It’s a long story,” you sighed. He could hear your teeth clattering together as you shivered. It was incredibly dark outside right now, the skies pitch black, streets tinted orange from the streetlights, and the heavy rainfall that’d been plaguing the city for the last few hours. 

“We have time,” Ran responded simply. He could practically feel you hesitating. “(Name) I need the full story here. Talk to me while I come get you.”

You pressed your lips together tightly, wrapping your arms around yourself as you shivered, goosebumps erupting on your skin. Your shirt was soaked through at this point, your jeans soggy and the lack of a coat made you certain you’d catch hypothermia later. 

“I—uh. Basically I got into an argument with um, Masato. You know him? He’s the um, dude from my story. A month ago?”

“I’m aware,” Ran responded dryly.

You swallowed thickly. “Yeah well. He was driving me home and we got into an argument because I didn’t like how he was flirting with one of the waitresses at the restaurant. And then he wanted to check my phone. I said no of course, but not because I was cheating or anything. I just didn’t like how he kept deflecting whenever his issues was brought up. But anyway, the argument escalated and he basically kicked me out the car and left me stranded god knows where. All the buses stopped running an hour ago, and the nearest train station is a 45 minute walk away. I have no money so I can’t call a cab. My wallet is in his car…and everything is just such a mess. I don’t have a jacket, I’m cold and I just don’t know what to do.” 

By the time you finished your voice was tiny, and the sniffles came back as you fought from crying. Ran could practically picture your face right now, all teary eyed and sad and his grip on the wheel tightened immensely. 

“I’m about fifteen minutes away, baby. Okay? Is there anywhere warm you can get to?”

You looked at your surroundings. A lone empty highway, with a diner in the distance, the words “OPEN 24/7” flashing in neon lights. “Yeah. There’s a diner around here.”

Ran looked at the map on his phone and confirmed the location of the diner with you. You nodded and he told you to get there quickly and he’d order you something once he got there. You thanked him and hung up, slowly making your way inside. You felt like a crazy person when you walked in, clothes soaked and wetting their floors as you made your way to sit down by the heater. A few concerned employees and customers glanced at you, but you ignored them in favour of wrapping your arms around yourself, a pitiful attempt of creating warmth.

Ran’s speeding managed to cut the fifteen minute drive into eight, and you were too busy staring at the table, tracing the wooden pattern with your eyes to see him pull into the parking lot. It wasn’t until the bell rang as  he walked did you finally look up and meet his gaze. 

He rushed over to you and you stood up quickly, wrapping your arms around him. He dropped his head to rest on top of yours and he could feel you shaking against him. 

“You alright?” he asked and you nodded, not removing your head from his chest. He wrapped his arms around you tightly, feeling you clutch onto the front of his shirt. 

“Um excuse me?” The two of you broke apart, staring at the waitress that stood a few feet away from you both, a notepad in her hand. “Are you two ordering anything?”

“You hungry?” Ran asked, looking down at you. You shook your head. “Thirsty?” You thought for a minute before nodding. “Hot chocolate for the lady please. Put marshmallows, whipped cream, whatever’s available in there.” He handed her his credit card and turned his attention back to you. “Look at me.”

You tilted your head up to look at him and he reached a tentative hand out to your cheek, cupping it. Your face was wet, from tears or the rain he didn’t know, frankly he didn’t care. His thumbs wiped some of the water away from your cheek, tracing over your features softly.

“I’m sorry,” you whispered, wiping at your own face. 

“For what?”

“For calling you like this. I didn’t want you to see me like this again. This is so embarrassing.” 

Ran dropped his hand down to your arm, soothing the goosebumps erupted on your skin. “Take this.” He shrugged his jacket off his shoulders and you held your arms out as he helped you fit in through it.

“I look ridiculous,” you said with a teary laugh. 

“You look cute.” He pinched your cheek and you pushed his hands away, a small smile on your face despite it all. The waitress came with your drink and the two of you sat down. He watched you take small sips of your drink, avoiding his intense eye contact.

After you finished your drink, he reached forward and wiped some whipped cream from the corner of your mouth. His thumb traced down to your chin, lingering for a few seconds before pulling away. 

“Thank you for the drink.” You pushed the mug in the middle of the table, wrapping your arms back around yourself. “I’ll pay you back—”

“Don’t be ridiculous.”

Your eyebrows furrowed. “I don’t want you—”

“You just told me your wallet is gone. How are you going to pay me back?”

“...I’ll get it back—”

“Like hell you are,” he interrupted and you sat back, looking at him shocked. “You’re never seeing that man again. I’ll make sure of that.”

You scoffed, shaking your head. “Unbelievable. I didn’t call you so you can control every aspect of my life again Ran.”

He leaned forward, elbows resting on the table. “Why did you call me then? Last I recall, you have plenty of other friends that have cars.” 

“T—that doesn’t matter why I called you, Ran,” you spluttered, not sounding the least bit convincing. His eyebrows rose and so did your temper. “I’m serious. I called you because you were the first person I thought of. You’re thinking too much about it.”

“Sure. If that’s what you believe,” he said, tone dripping with condescension that made you roll your eyes. Times like this is when you realised that missing Ran is completely different than actually being around him. He was insufferable and you remembered exactly why you had to break things off. 

Ran stood from the table, dusting his clothes. “I’ll take you home. Come on.” He held his hand out.

Reluctantly you stood, grabbing your phone and storming past him, ignoring his hand. He simply smirked and followed after you. You waited outside his car, standing by the backseat with your arms crossed, his jacket over your head acting as an umbrella.

He unlocked his car and you slipped into the back.

 “You can sit up front,” he suggested, shrugging when you stubbornly shook your head, staring resolutely out the window. He rolled his eyes, a light smirk still on his face. He drove at a slower speed than he usually would when he saw you starting to doze off against the seats, driving around in circles just to give you enough time to rest. You woke up an hour later, rubbing your eyes and blinking to adjust to the bright lights. 

Looking around you realised you were parked in a familiar looking garage, the car empty. You slipped out of the car and into the house, walking through until you entered the living room. Ran was seated on the couch, watching tv and texting on his phone.

“Uh, Ran?” You approached the couch and he casted a glance in your direction. “Why am I here?”

“You really thought I’d take you home after that story you just told me on the phone?” His nose scrunched as he flipped through the channels. “I’m not stupid.”

“Okay, Masato isn’t like a serial killer or something. Relax. I’m safe at home.”

“Any right minded man that would leave a girl stranded on the streets in the freezing cold is definitely a cause for concern alright. You’re not going back there till I take care of things.”

“Oh. And by “take care” you mean getting your men to kill him? That’s it?” He stayed silent and you groaned. “I can’t do this. I’m tired, Ran. You know I hate violence. I don’t want the man dead either—”

“Well I do.”

“Good thing it’s not your call then,” you shot back, frowning. “This is my life not yours. You don’t get to decide who gets to stay in it or not.”

He tilted his head back and looked behind at you, the smile on his face turning into more of a smirk. “Do I get to stay or na?” You rolled your eyes and he reached behind him, grabbing your arm and pulling you closer to the couch. “Well?”

You shrugged, looking down at him. “I dunno.” 

Shrugging his jacket off your shoulders, you folded it neatly and slung it on the back of the couch. “It’s complicated Ran,” you said, placing both hands on either side of his head, on the back of the couch.

“Doesn’t have to be.” He grabbed one of your hands, caressing your knuckles.

You found yourself hard pressed to look into those violet eyes of his staring intently back into yours. “Ran…it’s not that simple.”

“It can be. You just don’t like simple.”

You forcefully removed your hand from his. “Excuse me?”

“You always feel like shit has to be complicated in order for it to work. I noticed that you know?” You scoffed, and he rolled his eyes. “Don’t act dumb. We dated for seven years, I think you’d know a person after that long.”

“Crazy because if I were to sit here and say false things about you, then you’d just deny them because I don’t know better than you. Isn’t that right?” 

“Nothing about what you say about me is false. You know this,” he said with an exaggerated sigh. He reached in his pocket, putting a cigarette into his mouth. 

“So if I called you cold and manipulative, would you say I’m correct?”

He lit his cigarette and tossed his head back to look at you, exhaling smoke from his mouth. “You wouldn’t be wrong, no. But you’re only focusing on the negatives.” He reached his hand out again and you hesitated for a split second before grabbing his hand, allowing him to pull you back closer. 

“I can’t think of any positives.”

He rolled his eyes. “Sure.” He took the cigarette out of his mouth and patted the spot on the couch next to him. You walked around the couch, sitting beside him, cringing at the feeling of your wet clothes on his leather couch. 

He put the cigarette back in his mouth and examined you. “You’re still cold.”

“I’m fine.”

He wrinkled his nose, exhaling smoke through his nostrils. “Go shower. Wear some of my clothes.”

“Are you sure?” 

He waved in the general direction of his bathroom and you thanked him. You returned back to the living room half an hour later, wearing one of his shirts that were too big for your body. Flopping back on the couch beside him, he offered you a cigarette to which you shook your head.

“Anyway back to me,” Ran said. You rolled your eyes. “You really can’t think of any positives to describe me? Come on, think deep.”

“This is starting to sound like couples therapy,” you stated dryly, He didn’t respond, just continued staring at you. “I dunno,” you said, picking at the skin on your lips. “Like, you’re funny I guess? You’re sweet, and caring in your own twisted fucked up way. You’re protective in a way that is a perfect mix of just good and overbearing. You’re fucking annoying sometimes too and—”

“Woah woah woah. Going off topic, a little bit?”

You smiled, a genuine laugh leaving your lips and Ran’s heart fluttered at the sight. He slung an arm over your shoulder, tugging you closer. You sighed, resting your head against his shoulder, closing your eyes when he kissed your forehead. 

“I missed you a lot, you know?” You hummed in response, snuggling up beside him. When Ran had came back home and let you sleep in his car, he turned the heating on in every room in the house for you. The fact you still snuggled close to him for warmth made him smile a little bit.  “Didja get my voicemail all those weeks ago?”

“Yeah.” You shifted to look up at him. “Gave me a bit of an ego boost not gonna lie,” you admitted.

He looked down at you. “Why’d you take so long to call me then?” he asked, trying to keep his voice calm and level, to not show any betrayal of emotion. You didn’t respond and looked at the tv, distracted by your thoughts. He jostled you lightly. “Hm?”

“I don’t know,” you finally said after a few seconds. You looked back up at him. “I was petty and hurt still and part of me wanted to make you jealous.” You laughed lightly. “Was pretty shitty of me. I wanted to call you, but I couldn’t bring myself to do it. And I shouldn’t have left you hanging like that. But I’m sorry, Ran.”

Ran hummed, the sound vibrating from his chest into yours. He looked away from you, staring at the television with an unreadable expression.There were many times you couldn’t understand what he was thinking. Ran was a man with an unbreakable exterior, and you could only think of one time in your eight year long relationship when you actually managed to crack through that hard shell of his. 

When you found out Izana had died and Ran had gotten himself and his friends arrested. He was released a couple hours later and you came to pick him up from the station. It was hard seeing him more quiet than usual. He barely said a single word to you when you took him home and spent the night with him. That night was when you finally saw Ran cry for the first time and it was overwhelming for you. He wasn’t balling with tears, just a few drops and you wiped each tear drop away with your thumb. That night was so memorable for you and it stayed in your mind all those years later. 

Right now he had that same unreadable, blank expression on his face as he stared at the television, his fingers softly grazing the unshaven stubble on his jaw. You looked up at him, chin on his shoulder and waited for him to finish his thoughts.

“What’s his full name?” he asked after a long moment of silence.

You swallowed. “Why?”

He shrugged. “Just curious.” You were looking at him weirdly, eyes roaming over his face as you tried to uncover any hidden agendas he might have. It still pissed you off how irritatingly good his poker face was.

Squinting at him, you slowly pulled back to sit close beside him, fiddling with the loose string on the sleeve on your shirt. “Promise you won’t…hurt him?”

“I won’t… not kill him,” he said with a smile that grew when you looked up at him exasperated. “I just wanna ask him some questions, s’all.”

You nervously chewed your bottom lip raw by the time you decided. You sighed. “It’s Masato Hirakawa. He’s my accountant,” you told him and Ran shifted on his side to look at you better. “He asked me out one evening and I said yes. We didn’t make things official until like two weeks ago and then that’s when things started going downhill.”

“Whaddya mean?”

You scrunched your nose. “We got drunk at a club last week and Yuzuha drunkenly mentioned the voicemail you left me and I just laughed it off but Masato looked confused and asked what we were talking about. I told him not to worry about it and he got upset, thinking I was hiding shit from him which made no sense because you left that voicemail before we were even official so I wasn’t cheating. But he didn’t care. He then went down a rabbit hole once he figured out your name and started like internet stalking you. He was googling everything he could find about you, was stalking your Instagram, seeing your lifestyle and he took whatever he was feeling out on me.”

Ran’s eyebrows slowly rose as he considered what you just said. 

“Not physically,” you quickly added upon seeing his reaction. “No I mean he would get mad and yell at me, then one night he accused me of being a gold digger and using him for his money and I reminded him just because he’s an accountant that he’s not some millionaire and he needs to calm down. He started ranting and raving about you at any given time and it just got annoying. Every time I was on my phone he thought I was having an affair with you even though we haven’t been in contact in a literal year.” You laughed dryly. 

“It was so stupid. And for what? It was only a week and it made me feel like I was just so…” you paused, trying to figure out the right words. “I don’t know. I just hated it so much. Then today with the car I slept in the car and he took my phone and listened to the voicemail you left and then was convinced that I was sleeping with you while seeing him and he woke me up by yelling at me and stuff. Then kicked me out.”

“Is that why you called me?”

You nodded, fingers trembling as you played with the string. “I’m sorry, by the way. I didn’t mean for all this to happen. You were just the first person I could think of helping me in that moment. I didn’t—”

“Stop stressing.” He grabbed your wrist and you let go of the string as he guided your hand to his mouth, pressing a kiss to your knuckles. “You calling me back was the best thing you could’ve done.” You smiled wryly, meeting his eyes for a few seconds before looking away. “Come here.”

Slipping into his lap, he cradled you against him. “You mad at him?” he asked and you nodded. “Let me take care of this? Please?”

“I don’t know…”

“I won’t kill him if that’s what you’re so scared about. Just wanna spook him a little,” he said, making you giggle. 

You looked up at him and nodded. “Just a spook. Promise?” His eyes dropped down to your lips and your face heated up when you realised where his gaze was trained. 

He leaned down and kissed you softly, his hand rising to your cheek., looking searchingly in your eyes for the longest two seconds of your life. “I promise,” he whispered against your lips before pulling you in for another kiss.

Twisting your body, you turned to loop your arms around his neck, his hand sliding over your knee to pull you over, straddling his lap. His hands slipped under your shirt, rubbing up and down your back. He pulled away, smirking. “No  bra?”

“It was wet from the rain,” you mumbled, kissing him again. He groaned into your mouth, all decorum gone as moved his hands to your chest, cupping your breasts, your nipples already hard and poking his palms.

“Mmm take this off,” he said, tugging at your shirt. 

You shut him up, kissing him again as your hands flew to his shoulders, your whole body warming at the feel of solid muscle, still prominent even through his shirt, underneath your palms. “Take yours off shirt,” you replied, biting his bottom lip with a smile.

He rolled his eyes. “Unbutton me then.”

Now it was your turn to roll your eyes, his smile growing as you got to work, unbuttoning them one by one, your skin growing hot at black ink peeking through. He shrugged his shirt off and your hands flew right back to his shoulders, running them down his chest and letting your fingers trace along his abs. 

He sat up and kissed under your jaw. “Now your turn.” You cupped his face as he sucked, your fingers moving to his hair, tugging when his tongue licked and sucked harder. 

You pushed him back and he watched you lift your shirt up and over, stretching in the process and tossing it to the other end of the couch. He licked his lips as his hands flew to your hips, fingers dipping shallowly against the band of your panties, snapping them back against your skin.  You kissed him sloppily again.

His hands slipped under your thighs, lifting you up and carrying you as you squealed, legs wrapping tightly around his waist as he carried you to his bedroom. Depositing you on his bed, he wasted no time climbing on top of you, pinning your wrists to the mattress as he kissed down your body. 

He latched onto a nipple, his tongue snaking around it as he licked and sucked. The warmth of his mouth and his hands tweaking your other nipple were making you dizzy, biting your bottom lip hard as you began to get restless. He kissed down your stomach, his hands pushing your legs apart. 

“Holy fuck, you’re so fucking wet,” he breathed, eyeing the wet patch in your panties.  He peeled them away and ran his finger through your folds, smirking at the hitch in your breath. “All we did was kiss.”

“S—shut up,” you hissed, irritation turning to pleasure when he swirled his finger around your entrance, and he had to bite his lips to keep from groaning when your hips started stuttering, a silent plea for him to go further. He slowly sunk his finger in and you gasped, back arching against the bed. He pulled out before sinking fully in, teasing you with only the tip of his finger.

You irritatingly looked at him. “Stop being a fucking tease,” you complained, trying to shimmy your body further down the bed, needing more of him. Ran grabbed at your hip, stilling you and you whined loudly.

“Easy.” His voice was light and playful and that only angered you even more. Idly pumping his finger in and out of you, he added another and you writhed, restlessly moving to fight back the heat forming in your abdomen. His fingers curled against that spot that had you melting against the sheets. When you were least expecting it, your eyes closed and head thrown back, he leaned forward, wrapping his lips around your clit, and sucked. 

You moaned loudly as his tongue began working at your cunt, licking sloppily like a man starved. Slipping his fingers out, he parted your folds with two fingers, eyes trained on the way your pussy was gleaming with a mixture of your slick and his saliva.

 “Fuck,” he breathed. He looked up at your body, over the curve of your breasts. “Sit up for me. Wanna see that pretty face.”

“Nn-nn,” you said, shaking your head, writhing against the sheets as he buried his face back into your pussy, sucking obligingly at your clit. His tongue was making you feel everything at once, his fingers sliding back into your pussy making your hips stutter, your body was heating up, and you could feel the incoming pressure of an all familiar orgasm building until it stopped.

Ran simply stopped his ministrations and stilled his fingers in you, the thickness of his two fingers sitting in your pussy has you gushing a little more around them, and your clit felt cold without his mouth. 

You sat up and stared confusingly at him. “Why’d you stop?” 

He presses a longing kiss to your inner thighs. “You didn’t wanna cooperate with me. So why should I give you what you want?” You groaned loudly as he smiled, lips curving against your skin. He continued to lather kisses to your thighs, coming dangerously close to your pussy and just when you’d get your hopes up, he’d move back to your thighs. 

“Ran, please.” You moved your hand to his hair, trying to tug him away from the marks he was leaving against your thigh but he was nothing but stubborn. “Rannnnnnnn,” you groaned. 

“You know what I was want,” he stated simply, and your face scrunched imperceptibly. “You’re so cute when you do that.”

“Ran I’m serious. Eat me out or I’m leaving.”

He arched an eyebrow at you. “So bossy.” He looked up at you and you were still partially glaring at him. He smiled. “Keep looking at me just like that.” His head lowered, ignored hearing you call him a masochist under your breath and smirked at the sound of your breathing hitching, effectively shutting you up as he licked a stripe up your slit.

The eye contact was overwhelming and hard to maintain, especially when he slipped two fingers back inside you without warning. You were struggling to keep your eyes open and effectively failed, shutting them as his lips sealed around your throbbing clit. The pressure was re-building and your hands flew to his hair, gripping tight and tugging as you chanted his name over and over again as you came. 

Ran sat up, swiping a hand over his mouth as he rearranged you on the bed, wasting no time and letting you catch a breath before he pinned your wrists to the mattress with one hand, sloppily reaching for a condom in his bedside table with the other. 

He grabbed a condom and you watched as he rolled it on in record time, his eagerness rolling off him in waves as his hands darted straight to your hips, lifting them up at an angle, fingers digging into your skin as he slid his cock in slowly. His mouth fell open at the tight warmth stretch of your pussy, a low groan escaping him. 

You raised your arms up and he let go of your hips, leaning down to let you accommodate him, wrapping your arms around his neck as your legs locked around his waist. He slid his arms under your back and held you back just as tightly, his hips pressing flush against yours. 

You almost whined at the feeling of being so full, the thickness of his cock nestled between your walls dizzying. He pulled out and slowly pushed back in, his pace speeding up as you started to let your moans out. He buried his face into your neck, inhaling that sweet perfume you always love to overspray on yourself, taking in the heat of your naked body below him, and began littering your neck with kisses, sucking hard at your skin till it bruised. 

Your hands flew to his neck, taking your nails up and down and dragging red long streaks onto his skin. He pushed himself up, hands on either side of your head and began snapping his hips until you got louder. The bed was squeaking,  your voice was getting higher, and the wet sounds of your pussy reached your eyes making you feel hot. 

“I’m close,” you whimpered, gripping onto his arms, and he grunted at the bite of your nails digging into his muscle. 

“Me too baby.” He pressed down on your stomach with a firm hand, hips slowing down to slow but deep thrusts. You could feel his cock stretching you out as he hit deeper, his hand applying more and more pressure until it was unbearable. You came with another loud cry, his hips stuttering against yours before he cusses and pulls out abruptly, your body cold and empty and you push yourself weakly onto your elbows to watch as he sprays his cum on your inner thighs, painting them white. He tapped his cock against your pussy, sliding it up and down your wet folds before exhaling deeply. 

He sat back onto his knees and examined your spent body, how your eyes were unable to stay open for more than three seconds without slowly closing shut. 

He moved to lay beside you, gathering you in his chest. 

“Wait. I need to clean up,” you muttered, trying to keep your legs open to chase away the feeling of wet cum in your inner thighs. 

“Who cares,” he grumbled, hand sliding down your leg to throw it over his hip. “Sleep with me. It’s almost 3 am.” He fell asleep not even a second after finishing his sentence and you rolled your eyes, a fond smile on your face. 

Ran was nothing but a deep sleeper, and you took advantage of that to brush his hair out of his face and cup his cheeks, playing with his nose as he slept soundly in front of you. It took an hour for you to fall back asleep and you woke a few hours later. 

Rolling onto your side, you slapped around for his laptop on the bedside table and opened it,wincing at the bright screen. Through the blindness you were able to make out the time as 8am. Carefully you slipped out of bed and took a brief shower before heading to his kitchen. 

Ran was able to sleep through mainly anything, even his alarms, but the sounds of you clattering around his kitchen effectively did succeeded in waking him up. He snorted once he checked the time, mumbling “this girl,” under his breath and slipped out of bed to take a shower and brush his teeth. Whatever you were cooking ended up taking nearly a whole hour and you re-entered the bedroom with a tray full of food, Ran had been reduced to idly scrolling on his phone, scratching his stomach. 

“Good morning,” you chirped, climbing onto the bed and placing the food on his lap.

“Morning baby.” He pressed a kiss to your forehead and you smiled at him. “What’s all this?”

“I felt bad about um, getting you to pick me up yesterday so I wanted to uh, treat you I guess.” You sat beside him, resting your head on his shoulder and looked up at him. “I barely cook so you better finish every single thing on that plate.”

He snorted and pulled you in for a kiss. “I appreciate it. Thank you.” 

“No thank you. Seriously. I really owe you one Ran.” You smiled shyly at him before clearing your throat. “Now shut up and eat.”

He rolled his eyes when you grabbed the fork, forcefully stabbed the eggs and held it up to his mouth. “Say aaah.”

He stared blankly at you until you glared at him. He sighed and opened his mouth, the smile coming back in your face in full force as you fed the fork into his mouth. He chewed and you were already restabbing the fork on the plate to pick up some waffles when he stopped you. 

“I can feed myse—“

You shoved more food into his mouth. “Is it good?” You asked, trying not to laugh as you saw him struggling to chew with his mouth full. He nodded once he swallowed, kissing your forehead again and gathering you back into his chest. 

“It tastes amazing. My baby so talented. Come here.” He brought you back in for another longing kiss, his hand cupping the back of your head. You pulled away and removed your head back to his shoulder, tracing your fingers across his chest as he ate. He pushed the plate to the side once he finished and turned to face you. “What’re you doing today?”

You hummed and spread your hands flat against his stomach, feeling the slow rise and fall of his chest. “Me and Yuzuha are going to Masato’s to pressure him into giving me my shit. If he doesn’t then I’ll call the police.” 

He wrinkled his nose at the idea and you went back to dragging your finger across his skin, tracing his bellybutton. 

“I don’t want you going over there.”

“Relax. Hakkai and Mitsuya are going to be there too incase he wants to try something.” He wrinkled his nose again and you turned to look up at him. “Okay don’t be like that. They’re strong!”

“All it took for me was a brick and he was out.” Ran laughed when you rolled your eyes. 

“You’re not immortal, you know. Smashing anyone over the head with a brick would knock them out!”

“All I hear is excuses. Besides I thought you said you’d let me handle it, hm?” He jostled you playfully and you shook your head. 

“I was thinking about it and I really do not want you and your goonies to torture the dude until he’s on the verge of death. I hate him but I don’t want to hurt him either.”

“You’re too nice for your own good you know? People will take advantage of that,” he stated calmly and you sighed, settling back beside him. 

“…I know.”

“So let me handle it,” he proposed. You weren’t looking at him so he tilted your face back to his, forehead pressing against yours. “Let me take care of it. And you.” He laced your fingers together as you stared him deeply in the eyes, letting him attempt to persuade you. 

After a few moments you bit down on your lip and sighed. “Okay. Take care of it but I don’t wanna hear what you do or say to him. Alright?”

His grin turned wolffish and he pressed another kiss to your forehead. “You don’t gotta worry about a thing. Just get some sleep,” he said as he gently laid you back down on the bed and tucked you back in, “and let handle everything for you.”

[scudslut]

Ok hear me out. Reader and Daryl go on a run for supplies with a few other people. Reader makes a mistakes and almost gets seriously hurt/ near death experience. Daryl gets pissed at reader, maybe yells at her. Reader laughs it off and acts like she doesn’t gaf. Daryl later finds reader all shaken up and crying by herself. Love if you don’t, love if you do!

stay with me

daryl x fem!reader

wc: 2k

warnings: typical twd gore/violence, mentions of death, mentions of trauma/ptsd

a/n: absolutely love me some good fluffy angst, thank u nony❤️ i hope you like it:))

As much as you tried to prepare yourself for the inevitable situations runs would put you in, the blood-chilling reality of it never got any easier. No amount of mental prep could stove off the sounds and smell of the dead, nipping ravenously for a taste of your sweet living flesh.

Of course, over time you’d learned just to shut your brain off and fight. Fight as hard and tirelessly as you possibly could, but mistakes could still be made. Shit happened, whether it was your fault or not.

Hours earlier, a group of you went a few miles east of the prison; Daryl having spotted a little strip a few days prior, not too overrun that he thought might be loot-worthy.

It was a simple run really. Keep close, hit a few shops in and out, then head back home. That’s it. Follow the plan, get as much useful shit as possible, and get the fuck out of there. You guys had it down to a science at this point, runs becoming so second nature it was almost too easy to let your guard down nowadays.

“Hey D, I’m gonna go check the storage room back here. Might have something we could use,” you voiced to your partner a few isles down, still keeping your tone as low as you could.

“Gimme a sec, I'll come help ya,” you heard him say but you kept moving. You two had already cleared the main area, you could handle a walker or two if there actually was any behind the small door. You figured you would’ve heard something by now, some sort of banging or grumbling to announce their presence, but there was nothing, the coast presumably clear.

You should have waited.

Crossing the few miscellaneous isles you reached the back door, giving it a small rattle. Still complete silence, not even the faintest groan or shuffle. Knife at the ready, hand clamped over the cool metal handle, your heart rate picked up a notch as it always did before opening into the unknown.

“You got this, come on,” you muttered to yourself, before throwing the door open, bracing for attack. The door flew wide, only to reveal a dark, empty room. Squinting through the dimness, a few high, dusty shelves were visible, stocked with all sorts of canned goods. Fuck yea, that was certainly useful.

“D! Come look what I found!” you rasped, dropping your knife into its holster and shuffling in. You unslung your backpack from your shoulders, digging through it for a flashlight excitedly. It’s been so long since you’ve found this much canned food, surely enough to keep the group well stocked through most of the winter that was approaching. A loud creak from the left caught your attention as you sped forward. Hands finally finding purchase on the flashlight, you flicked it on, scanning across the room to the sound.

Dust caked the air, making the already dark room fuzzier and your eyes took a minute to adjust. You took a few smaller steps closer, peering wearily ahead and then you saw them.

Beady, soulless eyes staring back. A whole rickety staircase of them, heads turning one by one to the light source in your hand.

“Oh fuck.”

There had to be at least 10 of them that you could see, the top of the stairs pitch black and unrevealing.

Your feet stumbled backward, hands desperately reaching for the knife at your hip, dropping the flashlight in the process. It rolled and caught under your heels, knocking you on your ass as the corpses advanced, jaws snapping.

These were those moments. When you felt your heart in your throat, brain stuttering on action. Time moved so slowly that the fragments were almost visible and every thought screaming in your mind sounded like gibberish. You know you should move, is that what it was screaming?

The first one got to you, grabbing your leg trying to crawl up and finally, you were kicking, scrambling, grabbing onto the knife and slamming it into its skull with a loud squelch.

“Daryl!” you yelled. You needed him. Now.

3 more dropped before you, slinking towards you and you were trapped — the first corpse lying heavily over your midsection.

“Yea, yea girl. I heard ya,” you heard him respond, still sounding a few isles away.

No no no, this was not how you were gonna die. Not today. Please.

You kept stabbing, each kill taking everything out of you as you struggled against the body weight atop you. They just kept piling, you could hardly feel your legs anymore, the circulation surely cut off below your knees. And more were coming, a never-ending stream of hunger.

Another one landed before you and you had just enough time to catch its shoulders before it was inches away, snapping at your neck. Your arms burned, tears welling in your eyes as you realized this could be it. You didn’t know how much longer you had before they gave out and rotting teeth would be sinking into you, tearing you apart.

The walker kept snapping, so close you could see the layers of rotting flesh peeling from its face. You had been close to walkers before, had stared into the lifeless eyes too many times to count, but this was different. More were coming and the face in the reflection of its eyes was barely recognizable — terror painting every feature you’d known on you distorted.

The bones cracked in its left shoulder and it dislocated, dropping down to centimeters from your skin.

“No,” you sobbed quietly. Daryl wasn’t going to make it, you knew that. He was going to walk in and find his girl as dinner. You hoped he just booked it, and didn’t waste his time trying to save what would long be gone.

The walker fell limp in your arms and you flinched harshly, expecting excruciating pain to follow as it bit. But there was nothing.

“The fuck are ya doing! Get up!”

Daryl was suddenly right before you, ripping each body off your aching limbs and you were now acutely aware of the larger pile by the stairs, all with arrows and stab wounds littering their heads. When had he gotten in here?

You didn’t hear his words, adrenaline coursing so loudly through your system that all that could be heard was a loud, shrill ringing.

“Goddammit girl, wake the fuck up!” he shouted, grabbing you by the shoulders in an attempt to lift you. Your brain caught up then, as he harshly placed you on your feet. Walkers scattered the floor around you, and a grumble at the stairs announced it wasn’t the last of them.

Daryl reached down, grabbed your dropped items, and shoved them in your dumbstruck hands. “We’re gettin’ outta here, now,” he seethed, dragging you along and slamming the door behind you both, crossing the lines of isles quickly to the front entrance.

The fresh, afternoon air hit your nose in a gust and the last of the fuzz chipped itself from your senses slowly.

“Hope yer fuckin happy with yerself. Can’t ever listen to a goddamn word’a mine, can ya?” Daryl quipped beside you. His eyes were slits as they dug into you, so fuming you could see the heat radiating off his skin in the early autumn brisk.

He was angry at you, you knew that. But you also knew it was because he was scared. Hell, you were fucking terrified to stone back there, but if you wanted to calm him down at all, you knew you had to act unfazed.

Gathering any remaining wits about you, you took a deep inhale, “I’m sorry, I wasn’t expecting them.”

He didn’t respond, wouldn’t even look at you anymore as he began to pace the graveled parking lot.

“Hey don’t stress Dar. I’m alive, we’re good,” you attempted to soothe further.

“Don’t stress? Yer a real piece a work, y’know that! Always fucking up everyone’s shit cause ya don’t wanna use yer brain, huh?”

Well, that did not go as you expected.

The rest of the group had started shuffling out of the other shops around you, making their way to the vehicles.

“Jeez, you need to lighten up,” you brushed past him, head high. You couldn’t let his words affect you, not with all the other emotions coursing as well. You didn’t understand what he meant. You had never put anyone other than yourself in danger, how could you possibly be fucking over everyone else?

You decided to wait in the car as the rest of the group went back for the cans, tag-teaming whatever walkers remained. The loot had decently filled both trunks and everyone was happy to call it a day and head back.

Your eyes followed Daryl as he jumped into your car, eyes trained on the windshield, “Ya alright at least?” he muttered glancing at you briefly while shifting the car into drive.

“I’m good, you big grump,” you huffed with a tight-lipped smile. “That much food will last us a long time. I believe a thank you is in order, don’t you think?”

You were not good. Not at all, but there was no reason to worry him anymore, putting him through enough today as it was. Your hands were shoved tightly under your thighs, so he couldn’t see the tremors racking through you.

You had smelt death so many times it didn’t bother you much anymore. Today you had smelt your own. Saw your life in that walker's eyes, mere seconds away from demolition. It was safe to say you were shaken to your core.

The journey back was silent, both not in the mood to chat for very different reasons, and the whole time you were trying to keep each breath of yours steady.

You helped unload as much as you could, before slipping away discreetly to your cell. You didn’t want anyone to see you like this, you felt kind of pathetic honestly. This was life now, it had been this way for a long time now, you shouldn’t be so shaken up as you were but the terror just wouldn’t leave your body.

Panic washed over you once again as your eyes hit your dim cell. Your mind was quickly slipping back into those last moments, the darkness and dust all too similar. The fear you had felt coating your veins icily and your breaths started to become agitated. There was nowhere else to go though. If you left the cell someone would see you.

Subconsciously, you backed yourself into the corner of the room, crumbling down to the floor with your head in your hands. Deep down you hoped your hyperventilating would knock you out. You didn’t want to think anymore — see it anymore. Tears were burning the back of your throat as you held down sobs, feeling the walker's hands and weight atop of you all again.

A small yelp escaped you when the hands became real. Pressure on your shoulders and waist and your head snapped up from its hiding spot, reflexes already prepared to fight whatever presence was with you.

“It’s jus’ me, hey, hey,” you heard through your panic, his blue eyes just recognizable through blurry tears. “S’okay, relax.”

You couldn’t calm down this time, vicious sobs finally breaking their way out of your frame. Running was your first thought; you didn’t want anyone to see you like this, Daryl or not. Emotions were never a strong suit of yours and would always find yourself dealing with them in private, away from sympathetic words and pitying eyes. But Daryl was never like that, he drew you in and held you tight, uttering no more words other than the ones to confirm it was him. If you asked him to say more, he would, but he knew this was what you needed. Someone to ground you back onto Earth and out of whatever images tormented your head.

So that’s what he did. Held you for hours as your body expelled all its terror and lingering adrenaline. He’d give quiet coos through each wave of shakes, grabbing a blanket to warm you through the cold sweats. And finally, once the fear faded to exhaustion, he scooped you up off the stiff concrete and into your soft cot.

“Stay with me?” you rasped, throat parched and raw from crying.

It wasn’t a second thought for him. He was never truly angry with you, and he knew you knew that. He needed you safe with him.

“Always.”

[apoemaday]

Eurydice

by Carol Ann Duffy

Girls, I was dead and down in the Underworld, a shade, a shadow of my former self, nowhen. It was a place where language stopped, a black full stop, a black hole Where the words had to come to an end. And end they did there, last words, famous or not. It suited me down to the ground.

So imagine me there, unavailable, out of this world, then picture my face in that place of Eternal Repose, in the one place you’d think a girl would be safe from the kind of a man who follows her round writing poems, hovers about while she reads them, calls her His Muse, and once sulked for a night and a day because she remarked on his weakness for abstract nouns. Just picture my face when I heard -- Ye Gods -- a familiar knock-knock at Death’s door.

Him. Big O. Larger than life. With his lyre and a poem to pitch, with me as the prize.

Things were different back then. For the men, verse-wise, Big O was the boy. Legendary. The blurb on the back of his books claimed that animals, aardvark to zebra, flocked to his side when he sang, fish leapt in their shoals at the sound of his voice, even the mute, sullen stones at his feet wept wee, silver tears.

Bollocks. (I’d done all the typing myself, I should know.) And given my time all over again, rest assured that I’d rather speak for myself than be Dearest, Beloved, Dark Lady, White Goddess etc., etc.

In fact girls, I’d rather be dead.

But the Gods are like publishers, usually male, and what you doubtless know of my tale is the deal.

Orpheus strutted his stuff.

The bloodless ghosts were in tears. Sisyphus sat on his rock for the first time in years. Tantalus was permitted a couple of beers. The woman in question could scarcely believe her ears.

Like it or not, I must follow him back to our life -- Eurydice, Orpheus’ wife -- to be trapped in his images, metaphors, similes, octaves and sextets, quatrains and couplets, elegies, limericks, villanelles, histories, myths…

He’d been told that he mustn’t look back or turn round, but walk steadily upwards, myself right behind him, out of the Underworld into the upper air that for me was the past. He’d been warned that one look would lose me for ever and ever.

So we walked, we walked. Nobody talked.

Girls, forget what you’ve read. It happened like this -- I did everything in my power to make him look back. What did I have to do, I said, to make him see we were through? I was dead. Deceased. I was Resting in Peace. Passé. Late. Past my sell-by date… I stretched out my hand to touch him once on the back of the neck. Please let me stay. But already the light had saddened from purple to grey.

It was an uphill schlep from death to life and with every step I willed him to turn. I was thinking of filching the poem out of his cloak, when inspiration finally struck. I stopped, thrilled. He was a yard in front. My voice shook when I spoke -- Orpheus, your poem’s a masterpiece. I’d love to hear it again…

He was smiling modestly, when he turned, when he turned and he looked at me.

What else? I noticed he hadn’t shaved. I waved once and was gone.

The dead are so talented. The living walk by the edge of a vast lake near, the wise, drowned silence of the dead.

[kyletogaz]

Picture Day

pairing: kyle garrick x black!reader summary: you’ve come down with a cold and kyle has to do your daughter’s hair for picture day.

picture day is tomorrow, and you’re out of commission. your youngest came home from school and passed his germs on to you. you’ve tried your best to pull yourself together over the weekend so you could go back to your duties, but you’re still cooped up in your bedroom, sick as a dog, while you try not to pitch a fit because you’re stuck in bed.

“i can do her hair myself, kyle,” you protest weakly from where you sit propped up in bed surrounded by your meds and a box of tissue.

“babe, you’re sick,” kyle says gently, eyes softening when you start pouting at his words. “you want my daughter to be sick as well?”

you raise an eyebrow at him, “your daughter? i’m the one who—”

“carried bee for nine months and pushed her out, yeah we know,” kyle huffs, while trying not to laugh along with your adorable 9 year old who’s standing in the doorway giggling at her father.

you roll your eyes at your husband, before turning to bee. “have you decided on a hairstyle?”

you watch as her eyes light up instantly. and then she starts talking a mile a minute, not letting you nor kyle get a word in. your eyebrows shoot up when bee starts talking about braids and how the metal cuffs should match her shoes. and when she’s done giving you two a lecture on how she expects her hair to look, she looks at you and asks, “mama, did you get all of that?”

“i don’t know.” you turn to kyle with an amused grin. “did you, ky?”

kyle narrows his eyes at you, but you just look at him innocently. he’s the one who has to do your daughter’s hair, not you.

“caught the gist of it, darling.” he gives bee a sweet smile, before promising to have her looking pretty for picture day tomorrow.

when she leaves the room, kyle groans and flings himself backwards onto the bed and asks you why can’t your daughter wear the hairstyle she already has. he huffs out a small laugh when you stare at him incredulously.

“because it’s time for something new, kyle. i sent bee to school on friday with the cute little bows your mom got for her. when she came home the bows were nowhere to be found and her hair was all over the place. she looked like she’d been in a fight.” the look you give him when he starts guffawing, just makes him laugh even harder.

when his laughter dies down, kyle thinks about all the times the kids have come home from school looking rough, and it makes him wonder if they’re having recess, or wrestling matches in the schoolyard.

“knowing bee, she probably was fighting,” kyle murmurs while moving further up the bed, as he ignores your whining and protests about how he’s going to get sick.

you stop struggling when kyle pulls you into his arms and drops a kiss on your forehead. you nuzzle into chest, sighing happily when you feel his warm hand stroking up and down your spine. “i don’t wanna hear any complaining about me getting you sick,” you tell him, your voice slightly muffled by his shirt.

“i don’t care about that. i need to be near you. it feels like i haven’t touched you in ages.” kyle knows he sounds needy, but he doesn’t care.

laughter spills from your lips at his words. “i can hear you pouting, love,” you say teasingly. “and no need to be so dramatic, it’s only been three days. you’ve gone longer without physical contact.”

“yeah, and the only difference is that i’m home this time,” he points out, before tipping your head up and kissing your square on the mouth.

“kyle, please,” you whine, gently pushing him away. “are you crazy? you keep it up and you’ll be the one coughing and sneezing.”

kyle huffs, but relents and promises to be on his best behavior from now on. and you can’t say you didn’t warn him. you’re definitely not looking forward to a sick husband. when kyle gets sick, he reminds you of a child. always so clingy and will pout up a storm when he realizes he’s being confined to the bedroom. you’ve had to tell him several times before that it’s the best way to keep the entire household from getting sick. he’d be too delirious to argue with you anyway, much to your relief.

you sent a silent prayer out to the universe and to whoever will listen, hoping your husband won’t catch your bug. because sometimes kyle could be just as bad as the kids when he’s sick.

you’re not sure how long you two stay wrapped around each other, but it’s enough time for you to start getting drowsy. kyle is still stroking a hand up and down your back and your eyelids are starting to droop. your moment of peace and quiet last for about five more minutes, before it’s broken by an angry bellow, which is soon followed by two sets of footsteps and your son yelling bee’s name.

you remove your head from kyle’s chest with a groan, before giving him an exasperated look. “please get them before they kill each other.”

“already on it,” kyle promises as his feet hits the floor and he stalks towards the door, while muttering something about gremlins.

you lower yourself back down onto the bed with a sigh of relief when you hear the bedroom door being shut. you chuckle softly when kyle asks the kids if they’ve lost their minds. yeah, he’s got this, you think to yourself as your turn over and close your eyes.

“love, it’s time for you to take your meds.”

kyle laughs when you respond incoherently. he just knows you’re cussing him out. he makes two more attempts to wake you up, before he pulls the blanket away from your body.

“alright, alright!” you grumble. you sit up and rub the sleep out of your eyes, before glancing over at the digital clock on your nightstand while adjusting your bonnet. your eyes go wide when you realize you’ve slept for most of the afternoon. “why did you let me sleep so late? kyle, i have to—”

“do nothing,” your husband interrupts sternly. “i’ve fed the kids a snack, took coco out for a walk, and started on bee’s hair.”

the tension leaves your body immediately. “and what are the kids up to, superman?” you ask, grimacing slightly at the sound of your voice. you hate having a stuffy nose.

“bee’s downstairs waiting for me to get back. i’m pretty sure junior is in his room coloring, and your puppy is chewing on my damn boot.”

he says the last part about your teething dog with a scowl, and you have to hide your amusement. “okay, good, everyone is accounted for.”

“yes, and dinner will be on soon once i’m done with bee’s hair. you think you can eat anything today, baby?” he asks with a look of concern, brown eyes softening when you shake your head and tell him you don’t have an appetite. “you still need to eat something, love.”

you open your mouth to protest, but one look from kyle has you agreeing that you’ll at least try and won’t put up a fuss. “i wish i wasn’t sick,” you sigh dejectedly.

what’s crazy, is the fact that junior didn’t even sick. he was asymptomatic, just carrying the germs home to give them to you. you really wish those parents would have the decency to keep their sick children at home if they can. no need in getting the entire school sick.

“i wish you weren’t sick either,” kyle replies, before his eyes trail over your body slowly. “it’s been a while since i’ve been inside your—”

“alright!” you blurt out, your voice unnaturally high. “that’s enough, garrick. go finish my child’s hair.”

kyle just barks out a laugh and exits the room, leaving you to think about what he was going to say.

“damn him.”

kyle finishes bee’s hair in no time. he sends pictures to your phone as soon as he’s done.

> how did i do?

> you did great, baby. bee looks so adorable. does she like it?

> of course she does. gotta make sure my princess looks perfect for picture day.

> send her up, so i can see her hair in person!!

not too long after you send the text, bee rushes through your bedroom door with junior and kyle right behind her. she gives you a twirl and poses, making all of you giggle.

and when picture day rolls around, bee is as cute as ever. and of course the little metal cuffs adorning her braids does match her shoes.

“mommy, i can’t wait for you to see the pictures,” your daughter gushes later that evening, while you and your family are sitting in the dining room enjoying a meal together.

you’re so glad you have an appetite and can taste food again. eating dinner with your family was your favorite pastime, and it was even better when kyle was home after being deployed.

you watch in amusement as kyle snatches junior’s spoon from him when he tries to fling a spoonful of food at his sister. kyle snorts when bee shakes her fist at the 6 year old, his eyes catching yours as his lips quirk up into a smile.

“my little family,” you coo softly while looking at your children and your husband in utter adoration.

-

a/n: nothing to say except thanks for reading masterlist

hair series masterlist

[miirohs]

in the middle of the night [r.n.z]

pairing: OPLA!Roronoa Zoro x Reader wc: 1.0k cw: there is a reference to something that is canon in the series, as well as one piece spoilers an: damn thats crazy my drive suddenly came back after years of being gone anyways this was inspired by swim by chase atlantic and middle of the night by elle duhé. note that if the tension is not tension-ing its bc i cant write tension.

Zoro felt more lost around you than anyone else.

You were chaotic and proud, kicking up dust and blowing it to the wind, and yet he liked you. He wasn't sure if he was in denial or acceptance about it.

Though for someone so loud, He knew almost nothing about you and anyone who asked you would only receive a smile, teasing them with tiny pieces dangled over their head like bait.

It irked him a little, if he was going to be honest.

No matter how hard he seemed to slash his sword at the pitch black sky, you seemed to linger in the back of his mind.

He paused for a moment, huffing as he turned the blade in his hand. Trying to cut air didn't seem to help a single bit.

As he leaned against his sword, the atmosphere seemed to have shifted. The wind was slowly dying down, the sound of crashing waves being the only thing he could hear for a heartbeat or two. He could have even fell asleep leaning against his katana if he really tried.

"Fancy yourself a little midnight training?"

He whirled around, tip of the katana aimed directly at your throat. You sat on the railing behind him, hair ruffling in the wind as you watched him with an amused smirk.

His grip on the katana didn't waver, but he lowered the blade slightly, still watching you. "What do you want?" He muttered, tone gruff as he sheathed his katana.

"You're always so serious, Zoro," you complained, swinging your legs idly over the railing. "And you're not, so i guess that balances out," He said, arms crossed in front of his chest.

"The way you talk to me , i makes me think you really do hate me," you hummed, leaning forward on the rails, trying to close the space, "Do you though, Roronoa Zoro? Or are you avoiding me for some other reason."

You both paused, and for the slightest moment you could have sworn you saw his eyes narrow slightly.

"Whatever. Anyways, I'm going back to bed," Zoro muttered quickly, turning his heel on you as you jumped down, light as a cat on its feet.

"Wait, Zoro. I have something to ask of you." He paused. You weren't just going to let him slip away just yet.

"What if we have a little duel? Just me and you." You said, traipsing to his side. "If you win i'll tell you whatever you want to know."

He stiffed up slightly and you grinned. You had him right where you wanted him. Bingo.

"Deal-" He muttered as you breathed a sigh of relief, holding out a hand. "But don't expect me to go easy."

You jumped, tumbling across the floor shocked by the sudden strike. Your hands reached for the sword behind you as you got up, leaning against the railing.

"You play dirty, Roronoa."

"We're not having an official match. After all, you're the one who wanted this," Zoro retorted, a menacing look on his face as you got up.

"You're right," you conceded, a smirk playing on your lips. "No official match. Just a little midnight sparring to lighten the mood"

He came for you again, but this time you were prepared, blade catching the moonlight as you struck him.

He managed to block, and from there you were stuck in a pas de deux.

Your swords continued to clang, and you continued to doge effortlessly, almost dancing on your feet as you got closer.

"Come on marimo, tell me this isn't all you have!" You said sing-songy, pushing him back once again.

It was obvious from the look on Zoro's face that he didn't expect the skill level you had from you. While you did gain a lot from watching him fight, this also wasn't your first rodeo.

As he swung for you again, you managed to hit his side with the spine, sending him back a foot or two.

"Oh you've done it now," He snapped, charging at you once again, "You just had to do that, didn't you?"

Out of nowhere, he striked harder, moving fast as you had seen him move in the field. You, for once, struggled against defending the blows, as he randomly disappeared and reappeared.

For a solid moment, his blade scrape against your eyebrow, and you stumbled. He managed to disarm you, forcing you back into the corner you had come slinking out of, sword to your throat.

You could feel the tip barely pressing against it as you breathed deeply, grinning.

"You got me," you conceded, your voice laced with a playful tone. "But you'll have to admit, that was a hell of a fight."

He grimaced, clutching his chest slightly as he watched you through hawk eyes.

"Where the hell did you get all that from? I didn't even think you knew how to hold a sword?" He hissed, pressing the katana a little deeper on accident.

The feeling of warmth trickling down your skin told you everything, and you reached up, holding the blade firmly into your hands. It dug into your skin, yet the smile never dropped off your face.

"I wasn't just a dancer. I use to be a pirate too." He pressed a little more, and you winced.

"I was... apart of the black cat pirates, three years ago. It was around the time Kahladore- or should i say, Kuro, went missing. I saw my chance and i ran." You whispered, watching him carefully. There was no telling what he would do with the information.

"Have you kept this a secret from all of us this whole time?" He gawked. You only blinked, taking time to process the question.

"Nami knows. She's the only one i told, except now i've told you too," You admitted, looking up at him through hooded eyes.

"How do i know you're not going to-"

"Betray you all? Do you think that lowly of me?" You refuted, pushing his blade away from your neck.

"Now let me ask you something, Roronoa Zoro? Do you like me?"

The silence seem to stretch on, thickening every moment you sat there. He didn't say anything, and you sighed. "Shame. I thought i might get something out of you, but i maybe i was wrong about it."

You sat up on the rails, arms outstretched as you leaned back, hair whipping wildly in the wind as you shut your eyes, "shame, it was a wonderful night."

A sudden yank back awoke you, a yelp escaping your mouth as you skidded and landed on him.

Wait.

You landed on him.

Your cheeks flushed as you scrambled back, at a loss for words.

"Uh... I'm- oh, i'm just going to go to bed-"

Zoro watched you with an amused glint in his eyes as you stammered out your intentions.

"Y/n."

"Yes?" You mumbled, burning feeling spreading to your ears as he called you back.

"Maybe i do like you."

"What?" You squawked.

"Maybe I have liked you," he repeated, his voice softer this time. You were sure if there was a little more light, you'd see a faint blush coloring his cheeks.

A smile spread across your face. "I just knew it."

"Don't rub it in." He grumbled, rolling his eyes as you sat up, gleeful.

"I won't," you replied with a mischievous grin, pressing a kiss to his cheek. "But I have to admit, it's nice to finally hear you say it."

Zoro shifted uncomfortably, his usual tough exterior momentarily cracked by his confession. "Yeah, well, don't make a big deal out of it."

You chuckled, warmth settling in as you got up from his side. "Of course not. This can just be our little secret."

He nodded, a faint smile tugging at the corner of his lips. "Yeah, our secret."

As you climbed down the steps, you paused, turning around.

"Also, if you tell anyone about the fact that i can use swords, i will find you and duel you to the death."

"Sure you will."

"Will too."

"Will not."

"Will too."

[halfmoth-halfman]

our little secret

Pairing: Simon “Ghost” Riley x Medic!Reader Synopsis: Soap finally gets all of his answers- and then some. Word Count: 7.4k Warnings: injury mention, pet death mention, child mention Disclaimer: I do not own modern warfare or any of the modern warfare characters. part one. part two. part three.

Soap has been in his fair share of safe houses.

He knows what to expect when he hears the words: a sparsely furnished studio stocked with the bare essentials. It’s not a problem for him. Safe houses aren’t meant to feel like houses; they’re there to do their job– to keep their inhabitants safe.

So his confusion is valid when Ghost mumbles something about a “safe house” nearby, only to lead him through the dense woods of the mountains they’re stuck in to the coziest-looking cottage Soap has ever seen.

Soap’s frozen, unable to stop staring at the two-story stone house with dark ivy creeping up the grey stonework and an actual babbling brook winding around the right side of the house where it runs into a small pond in the front yard. He doesn’t know where Ghost, of all people, found the one safe house to come straight out of a fairytale.

“Fuckin’ hell Johnny, stop staring like you’ve never seen a house before.” Ghost’s hand harshly shoves into Soap’s shoulder, and Soap stumbles forward, turning back swiftly to glare at Ghost.

The Lieutenant had been particularly testy for this mission, seeming almost reluctant to take part in any aspect of it; regret had oozed out of every inch of Ghost from the moment he and Soap had touched down here, and Soap can’t figure out, for the life of him, why. It wasn’t like they were forced to be here; Soap was in the room when Price asked for volunteers for this mission. He remembers with exceptional clarity how Ghost perked up– as much a man like him could– and how the masked man was on his feet the second Price asked for volunteers.

If he was so eager for this mission, why did he seem so resistant to everything about it?

Tired and impatient with Soap’s lack of action, Ghost starts up the dirt path toward the cottage. It’s not hard to notice how he drags his steps, leaving small trails behind his boots. Soap follows hesitantly, keeping his head on a swivel as they approach the front door. Ghost tries the doorknob only to find it locked; his eyes slide shut, hand tightening around the doorknob before he lets his hand slide from the brass.

“Maybe we can–” Soap doesn’t get to finish as Ghost steps back to turn his gaze to the black iron sconce hanging next to the door. He pops one of the glass panes out with practiced ease, reaching in where Soap’s only now noticing there’s no lightbulb to grab a small golden key. He pops the glass back into place, sliding the key into the lock and turning.

The door swings open, allowing them into the pitch black of the house. For such a quaint-looking home, the endless void that greets Soap when he walks in is something lifted from a horror movie. Ghost shuts the door behind him, leaving Soap standing in the entryway that’s illuminated only by the misty grey of what little of the sun’s setting light is able to reach through the thick cover of the towering pines and low, looming clouds outside to shine through the small squares of glass on the front door.

“Take your shoes off,” Ghost mutters behind him.

“What?” Soap turns around– ready to ask why he should bother with etiquette for a safe house– but finds Ghost already hunched over, one hand on the wall beside him for balance as he unlaces his boots.

Soap copies him, unsure and so so confused. Ghost is as unbothered as ever, disappearing into the darkness of the house while Soap toes out of his boots. He places them next to Ghost’s, standing up right as the house illuminates in a soft amber glow.

It’s just as cozy inside as it is outside, and Soap is stupefied. His mind can’t comprehend the shadowy figure of death and destruction that is his Lieutenant among the picturesque interior of wooden countertops and decorative plants.

Ghost is none the wiser to Soap’s internal crisis, heading to a large armoire composed of deep brown wood that stands against the cream-colored wall next to the entryway. He pauses, leaning back to look at Soap over the edge of the lacquered door. “Weapons go in here.”

Soap joins him as Ghost unloads his weapons into the cabinet. The outside is unassuming— a normal, if a little taller than usual, armoire— which is why the interior catches Soap so off guard. A second set of doors— grated black metal with a keypad in the center— hang open to give them access to an impressive weapons rack that’s already half-stocked. Soap can’t help but gawk as Ghost works on hanging his knives— arranging them by handle color, then length. It’s done so casually, so routine, as if Ghost has done this a million times.

He wants to ask, but he doesn’t know where to start. What the hell’s up with this “safe house”? How did Ghost find it? Did he set it up? It was hard enough picturing the masked giant in everyday civilian life, let alone browsing for the perfect rustic armoire or a faux fur rug fluffier than a cloud.

Ghost walks away, heading towards the kitchen with an unusual hesitance to his steps– like he’s trying to lighten his footsteps against the hardwood floor. Soap quickly stores his weapons, trailing behind Ghost with less caution. 

The kitchen is just as immaculately decorated as the rest of the house– all creams and beiges, a large window above the sink with a collection of herbs growing on its sill, and little pops of color from the neatly organized pots, pans, and baskets sitting on the shelves.

Ghost rifles through the pantry with his back to Soap, and Soap can’t help himself.

“What’s-”

“Keep your voice down,” Ghost snaps, hushed and threatening.

“Why?” Soap huffs, gesturing to the empty space around them. “It’s not like there’s anyone else here!”

Ghost turns to face Soap with a swiftness that surprises the Sergeant, his shadowed eyes narrowed into a glare so fierce it sends an immediate shock of fight or flight through Soap. 

“Simon?”

Your voice is soft and raspy and startles Soap so badly he swears his heart skips a beat. He whirls around to see you standing across the living room, one foot on the bottom step of the staircase. Dressed only in a hoodie that’s obviously too big for you— and the perfect size for a certain Lieutenant— and a set of fluffy pajama shorts, you rub your eye with the heel of your hand, clearly having just woken up.

Ghost groans behind him, and everything in Soap’s head suddenly clicks together: Ghost’s reason for volunteering for this mission so quickly, his expectation of working on it alone, why he dragged his feet to bring Soap here. All of the puzzle pieces floating around in his mind slide into place as he watches you stumble into the living room, still half-asleep.

After your rescue, you’d been confined to the infirmary for weeks. The team had come to see you, sometimes lucky to catch you for the few minutes you could stay conscious long enough to entertain small conversations. You were put on immediate leave once you were well enough, and in the three months since then, no one has heard from you. 

Soap’s glad to see you despite his mild guilt for disturbing you.

You look much better than when you left— less like you’d been repeatedly hit by a bus— and well on your way to recovery. There’s still gauze wrapped around your right thigh, and a few of the worst bruises are still present on your skin, in the process of fading. The only lasting injury Soap can see is the deep scar that trails along the left edge of your jaw from your chin to your ear; you’d had trouble talking while in the infirmary, pain buzzing through your jaw anytime you moved your mouth, but now you’re yawning widely without a single care.

You make it halfway to the kitchen when your eyes land on Soap; you freeze, brows knitting together in confusion.

“Soap?” 

“Doc.”

“What’re you….” You trail off, spotting Ghost behind him. Soap watches how you take in their clothes, the dirt and dried blood stained into the fabric, and how your eyes glance over to the open weapons cabinet near the front door. The shift to Doctor Mode is instant; you straighten up, already looking them over for any possible injuries as you hasten your way to the kitchen.

“I’m fine, Doc,” Soap smiles, seeing some of the tension ease from your shoulders. “Lt. got a little roughed up, though.” Your head snaps to Ghost, and Soap steps aside, setting a gentle hand on your back to guide you and your concern toward Ghost. The Lieutenant glares at him over your head, but this time Soap smiles back, a knowing grin plastered on his face as you fret.

“You shouldn’t be up,” Ghost sighs, pulling his angry gaze away from Soap to stare down at you. He’s trying to seem stern, frustrated that you’re up and about, but you pay him no mind. It’s almost sweet, the way his gaze softens the moment he looks at you; he’s concerned for you as much as you are for him.

“‘m fine,” you mumble stubbornly. Ghost rolls his eyes as he lets you look over him. His eyes briefly flick up from your face to Soap before back down to you. Soap’s known Ghost for a long time; he’s learned how to read the subtle changes in those dark eyes, and he can see the way Ghost fights with himself before letting his eyes slide shut in resigned conclusion.

“You need to rest,” he sighs again, faint and gentle, as he lightly grabs your wandering hands and eases them off him. He glances up at Soap again, but Soap avoids his gaze, finding interest in the earthy green toaster and not even trying to hide his grin.

“I will, I will,” you huff. You step back from Ghost, pulling your hands from his to cross your arms over your chest. “Mission go okay?”

You’re talking to him now; Soap realizes when Ghost doesn’t answer. He turns to you with an easy, if a little cocky, smile and a half-shrug.

“Thought they could try and ambush us, but they were no match for us. Right, Lt.?” There’s a quiet, exasperated fuckin’ hell from Ghost, but you’re laughing— your smile not as wide on your left side— and Soap realizes how much he’s missed you.

“We needed a place to lie low for the night-” Ghost starts.

“And this was close by, I get it.” You maintain your smile, nudging Ghost’s arm with your elbow. “Surprised you got here before the storm started.”

“What? That poor excuse for cloud coverage outside? Hardly call that a storm,” Soap scoffs. You shrug, meandering to the cabinet that holds the cups and mugs. 

“If that’s what you want to think,” you tease, but Soap is too busy watching Ghost as he watches you. “All I’m saying is-” The moment you reach up to grab a glass, there’s a hand on your waist and a sturdy body pressed against your back. “-Simon, I can reach just fine-”

He doesn’t listen, grabbing a glass and setting it in your hands while you pout up at him. You roll your eyes, stepping out from in front of him and smiling at Soap like nothing happened.

“All I’m saying is, I’ve lived here for a while; I think I can tell the difference between a little fog and a soon-to-be torrential downpour.” You fill your glass with water as you talk, batting Ghost away when he tries to take the full glass from you the minute you’ve filled it up.

“And since someone-” you send Ghost a pointed glare “-is in such a helpful mood, he can set you up in the guest room for tonight while I go back to sleep.” You saunter past Soap— as well as one can while healing— glass of water in hand.

“Good to see you again, Doc,” Soap laughs as you pass him. You send him a sly wink, playfully bumping his shoulder before heading upstairs. 

A tense quiet looms over the kitchen as Soap and Ghost are left alone. Ghost is staring at him, and he’s staring back, neither one knowing how to break the awkward silence that surrounds them.

Until—

“So,” Soap starts, smug grin crawling across his face and vindication thrumming through his veins. “You and the Doc, eh?”

“Don’t fuckin’ start.”

With that, Ghost marches past him, heading for the stairs and, Soap decides this is going to be one of the top three missions of his life.

-

It’s 5:03 in the morning when Soap is awoken by the loudest clap of thunder he’s heard in his life.

It shocks him awake, shooting straight up from the bed, heart hammering and mind alert. It takes him a minute to realize there’s no immediate danger and that his biggest threat is the blue duvet tangled around his legs. Soap pauses, staring down at the soft blue blanket in confusion.

Why is he-

Oh. 

Right.

Soap takes in the room— cozy just like the rest of the house— taking this once-in-a-lifetime opportunity to see if he can spot any clues, any slight hints that’ll give him insight on you and Ghost. The two of you are frustratingly thorough, as the only unusual thing he finds is the heavy blanket of rain pouring down the window.

Thunder rumbles above.

A door opens and shuts somewhere in the house.

Soap is of a curious mind— perhaps too curious for his own good— but that same intense inquisitiveness is what gave him enough of a glimpse to discover his Lieutenant’s secret marriage, so who is he to fight it?

He gets out of bed, ignoring the instant chill that comes with leaving the warm covers, and changes into the spare shirt and sweatpants you had Ghost give to him. As quietly as he can, he leaves the room, heading straight down the hall and toward the stairs.

The roll of thunder echoes above once more.

Something metal clatters downstairs.

Soap tiptoes down the steps, peering into the living room when he reaches the bottom step. The lights are off, save for the kitchen, where you sit at the small circular table, and Ghost stands at the counter near the sink, pouring boiling water from an old kettle into a black mug. 

You’re still in your suspiciously oversized hoodie but have changed out of your fluffy shorts, trading them in for long pajama pants decorated with those colorful ghosts from pac-man. Ghost is dressed down significantly, only wearing a thin black t-shirt and matching sweatpants.

Soap should be surprised to see the balaclava still on, but he isn’t.

Ghost sets the mug on the table in front of you before he slides a chair over and sits down next to you. You sit up— almost dragging yourself into an upright position— looking far more exhausted than you had yesterday.

He watches you— attentive and alert in an almost too-intense way— shifting slightly with your every move. You either don’t notice or don’t care, messing with the tea bag and sipping from your cup. You wince when you swallow, and Ghost is leaning toward you, gloveless hand coming to rest just under your jaw. His thumb gently trails along the scar on your jawline, quiet murmurs exchanged and lost on Soap’s ears. 

He should go back upstairs; it’s still early, and this seems like a moment he shouldn’t intrude on.

Soap takes one step backward, the woods beneath his foot whining under his weight and settling with a pop. 

Your attention turns to the stairs, and Soap makes a snap decision. He stands up straight, heading down the stairs and into the living room, doing his best to seem casual and not like he was just spying on you.

Ghost pulls away from you, sitting back in his chair as you smile tiredly at Soap. Your voice is rough, more so than the tired rasp of someone who’s just woken up. “Mornin’, Soap.”

“Mornin’.”

“The storm wake you up?” you ask, setting your elbow on the table to set your chin in your hand. Soap shrugs, taking a seat across from you. 

“I was already up,” he lies. You raise a brow, an amused smile that says you don’t believe him, but you don’t say anything. You lean back, grasping your mug with both hands and letting the warmth soak into your fingers.

He notices the mug first, streaks of the cartoon ghost with a crooked smile peering at him through your fingers. Then his gaze moves to your fingers, where he spots a solid black ring sitting comfortably on your left hand.

“You gonna ask about it?” you ask, grinning at him over the steam as you sip your tea. Soap coughs, rubbing his neck with enough sense to look sheepish. He chances a glance at Ghost, but the man’s eyes stay firmly on you. “It’s fine, Soap. I’m sure you have questions.”

He’ll probably never get this chance again.

Fuck it.

“I have a list,” Soap says, a little too eager, leaning forward on his elbows. 

“You get three.” Ghost’s voice is flat and unamused– a stark contrast to your welcoming demeanor.

“Only three?”

“That’s one. You got two left.”

You scoff, reaching over to pinch Ghost’s arm. He grunts– more in annoyance than pain– giving you a half-hearted glare. It’s not ideal, but Soap will take what he can get. Sorting through the mental list of questions he’s been compiling since he first took notice of this little relationship, Soap tries to pick out the most important ones.

The group sits in silence while he thinks; you slowly work your way through your tea, grimacing around every swallow as the storm looms overhead. Thick raindrops assault the kitchen window, a steady waterfall pouring down the glass. Thunder booms overhead, less severe than before but startling all the same.

“Does Price know about…this?” he asks, gesturing to your ring.

“That’s your question?” Ghost scoffs.

It’s a question that’s confused him for months, so yes it is.

“He does,” you answer honestly. “So does my old Captain. They helped get all the legal stuff sorted out.”

“Legal stuff?” 

“‘s a little difficult getting a marriage license for a dead man. Some strings had to be pulled.” You speak so casually as if that’s a normal thing to say. They’re around each other so often, Soap sometimes forgets that Ghost’s callsign is more than just a nickname; he’s a literal dead man walking, the living phantom of Simon Riley.

“Does anyone else know? Your old team? Laswell?” A cold chill shoots up his spine, “Did Shepherd know?”

“No,” Ghost sighs.

“My maiden name’s on all the paperwork. Price and Owens were thorough,” you explain. “No one knows but them…and now you, of course.”

Soap nods, fully understanding the weight of this secret he now bears, but he has to wonder-

“Would you've said anything? Eventually?”

You and Ghost share a look before you shrug, staring down into your half-empty mug.

“We talked about it.”

“After Las Almas,” Ghost adds. “Got too used to keepin’ it a secret and ended up never bringing it up.”

“Old habits,” you laugh softly. There’s a swell in Soap’s chest at the thought of you two trusting him enough to tell him about your marriage, even if it never actually happened. There were times when he wasn’t sure if Ghost even liked him, but after Mexico…there was a bond there that he’s realized wasn’t as one-sided as he may have assumed.

Your laugh dissolves into a hoarse cough, and Ghost is instantly on his feet.

“Back to bed, let’s go,” he orders, no room for negotiation. You roll your eyes, standing up slowly and favoring your right side.

“Make yourself at home, Soap,” you say in your gravelly voice, glancing out to the endless rain. “It looks like you might be stuck here a while.”

-

The storm doesn’t lessen for the rest of the morning and only worsens the following day; it’s clear he and Ghost will be here longer than initially intended. 

Soap doesn’t mind, though.

He’s been given almost completely free rein of the house, presented with the rare opportunity to snoop without worrying about getting caught. 

He notices the pictures on the third day as he’s coming down the stairs. There’s a tall, thin bookshelf on the wall opposite the bottom step filled to the brim with a vast collection of novels and a few picture frames.

He checks the top picture first, carefully pulling it from the top shelf of the bookcase. It’s a picture of Ghost standing in full gear, sunglasses on over his balaclava, holding a fully grown German Shephard over his right shoulder. The dog is looking to the side where you’re standing in matching gear, hands scratching behind its ears as you make a silly face with your lips pursed. 

“Aw, I miss that dog.”

Soap jumps, nearly dropping the picture frame as you appear next to him, looking over his shoulder at the photo. 

“Christ, you need a bell or something,” he mutters, setting the frame back on the shelf.

“Maybe you shouldn’t let yourself get so distracted,” you tease. You turn to the bookcase, a fond sigh as you look over the various photos. You let yourself sit in nostalgia for only a minute before glancing at Soap with a slight grin.

“You wanna see more?”

“I’ve never wanted anything more.”

You gather the pictures in your arms, leading Soap to the living room. You set the photos down on the coffee table and gesture for Soap to make himself comfortable on the sofa while you disappear into the hallway next to the kitchen. Soap sorts through the pictures. There’s one of Ghost sitting uncomfortably rigid in the back of a helicopter as you and Trip sleep on either side of him with your heads resting on Ghost’s shoulders. Another shows you with your old team, everyone dressed in civvies and sat around a bar table covered in empty glasses. The third is a duplicate of the one Soap had found in your desk in pristine condition. 

“I have this if you want to look through it,” you say as you return a large black book in your hands. You hand it to Soap, and he flips it open while you make yourself comfortable next to him.

It’s a photo album.

An entire photo album of you and Ghost– and sometimes the dog and your old team, but that’s not important.

Soap flips through it in wonder and awe. “Who took all these?”

“My old Captain, mostly. Some were me or one of the others. I think there’s a couple Simon took in there, too.”

“What did I take?” Ghost wanders down the steps, stopping when he sees the album in Soap’s hands. “For fuck’s sake, why does he have that?”

“Don’t mind him,” you huff. You lean over a peer into the photo album, pointing at one in the bottom left corner. “That’s one of my favorites!”

It’s a picture of Ghost passed out on a tattered sofa, exhausted, with the German Shephard curled around his head as he uses it for a pillow.

“Riley was such a good dog,” you sigh wistfully. Soap snorts, glancing over to Ghost. 

“Riley?”

“Wasn't my idea,” Ghost grumbles, looking directly at you. 

“Didn’t think you worked on a team before, Lt.,” Soap says, handing the album over to you so you can flip through the pictures, pulling out ones you want to show Soap.

“It happened on occasion,” Ghost shrugs, thick arms folded across his chest. “Worked with Owens once before, and she was impressed enough to ask for me on certain missions.”

“And because he had a crush on the doctor,” you mumble, laughing to yourself as you slide another picture out. Ghost seems less than amused, but he doesn’t deny it.

“You were a doctor back then?” Soap questions. That doesn’t sound right. He’s seen you in the field with the 141, your uniform completely different from what you’re wearing in those pictures.

You hesitate, pausing in your picture collecting to knit your fingers together and pick at your nails.

“Of sorts.” Is all you say.

“It was a specialized position,” Ghost cuts in, walking around the back of the sofa to set his hands on your shoulders. “Interrogation Specialist.”

“So, you questioned people?”

“I tortured people.” You look up from the photos, meeting Soap’s eyes with a distant gaze he’s seen many times on Ghost. 

He doesn’t know what to say to that.

“Is that why they called you Hornet?” Is what comes out of his mouth. It’s absurd enough to shock you out of whatever memory you were stuck in, tilting your head in confusion.

“No? Who told you that?”

“Grizzly. He said something about you being like a hornet in a beehive.” 

You have to bite into your cheek to keep from laughing, and even then, a few giggles escape you. You relax into the couch, craning your head up to look at Ghost, “I mean, I guess that works.”

“If that’s not it, then why-”

“We didn't have a medic, so I had to stitch everyone up a lot. And most of the time, we didn’t have any kind of anesthesia, and I didn’t give any warning before I started poking with the sewing needle. Grizzly complained that I was like an aggressive bee, Trip told him those were called hornets, and that was that. Not as cool, right?” Soap wants to reassure you, but your attention is back to the book in your lap.

You gasp, pulling out a photo to hold it up to Ghost, “Remember this?”

Ghost’s answer is immediate, “Don’t show him that.”

Well, now Soap has to know.

You laugh, sliding the picture back into its place, but briefly look over to Soap, mouthing later with a wink.

-

Over the next few days, Soap learns more about your relationship with Ghost. 

He learns that you met during a black-ops mission, where Ghost was meant to help escort your team– and more specifically, you– to a remote base to question some high-profile prisoner.

He learns that the two of you worked so well together for that first mission that Captain Owens made Ghost her go-to for any outside help if the team ever needed it.

He learns you spent years working together before the thought of becoming a couple even entered your minds.

And he learns that after that first time together, you and Ghost developed a specific set of rules for your relationship that’s only grown since.

You’ve told him a couple: no obvious affection in public, don’t compromise a mission for the other’s safety, respect each other’s space and the occasional need to spend time apart, no letters or phone calls unless it’s an absolute emergency.

Most were proposed by Ghost, but you agreed that it was for the safety of both of you.

He puts together clues about some of the other– possibly unspoken– rules when he watches the two of you interact. Ghost takes your health very seriously, and sometimes his tone borders on commanding when he tries to get you to rest or take medicine or drink tea without anything added to it. You sass him and roll your eyes, but do whatever he says every time. It’s the same when you ask him to get you something or try to get him to be a little nicer to Soap when he asks about some aspect of your marriage: Ghost will groan or roll his eyes but always bends to your will.

You don’t ask about each other’s missions, either. Soap watches you reorganize the weapon cabinet one day, noticing the blood on a few of Ghost’s knives. You ask if it’s his or Soap’s and if either of them needs to be looked at, but when they assure you they’re fine, you drop the subject. 

The biggest question for him, though: the rings.

Ghost’s has found its way onto his finger– the first time Soap has seen it there, while you switch between wearing yours on your finger and on that thin chain around your neck.

It’s on your finger this morning, and Soap is fixated on watching you twirl it around your finger absentmindedly while you stare over the back of the couch at Ghost’s back as he makes breakfast.

(That’s another thing– Ghost has done most, if not all, of the cooking since they got here.)

“It’s weird to see him with a ring on,” Soap quietly laughs. You turn to him, pulled out of your husband-watching trance. 

“Yeah, it’s not often we get to actually wear them.”

“One of his rules?”

“One of mine,” you sigh, gaze drifting back to Ghost. You fidget with your ring again, picking at its smooth, rounded edges with your nails.

“No wearing them where anyone can see ‘em, if one of us leaves for a mission then whoever’s staying behind keeps both of them, and if we both have to leave, the rings go in a small safe in my office.”

“That sounds-” Exhausting. “-thorough.”

“You’d be surprised how many captives forget about jewelry. It’s a whole lot easier to get information out of someone the minute you realize they might have someone they want to protect from you.”

There’s an edge to your voice, some kind of mix of nostalgia and resentment and regret.

But Ghost finishes breakfast and Soap decides it’s better not to ask.

-

Day six of waiting out this seemingly never-ending storm and the three of you are sitting in the living room cleaning your array of guns. 

You’re wearing your own clothes for once, a dark cotton tank top and black sweatpants that lets Soap see the full extent of bruising and bandages around your arms. A long bruise stretches across your neck, still purple and blue, and Soap suddenly understands the uneven hoarseness of your voice.

Your hair is up, pulled out of your face so you can focus on your work. Soap can see the scar from the humvee on the side of your head as it disappears behind your ear.

The ear that hides your tattoo.

It’s a quiet afternoon; it’d be a shame to break the peace. 

“When did you get the tattoo?” he asks anyway. You don’t answer until you look up and find him staring back at you.

“What tattoo?” you ask in genuine confusion.

“The little ghost behind your ear.”

Ghost freezes, head slowly turning to look at you. “What ghost?”

“Oh, that. I got it after Russia,” you shrug. “Whole mission was a total shitshow, but it reminded me how easily you can lose someone, so, after, I found the nearest shop and got it done.”

You return to your guns, but Ghost’s eyes are trained on you. Soap can see the gears in his head turning, and he briefly worries that maybe he shouldn’t have said anything.

“Thought we agreed: no marks, symbols, or tattoos.”

A sharp laugh escapes your mouth, eyes flicking up to Ghost in disbelief. “So if I check out that chaotic sleeve of yours, you’re telling me I won’t find a little hornet hidden somewhere in there?”

A beat of silence.

Ghost grunts and returns to his guns and you grin victoriously at Soap.

-

The power goes out on day nine. 

Ghost is messing around with the fuse box. At the same time, you and Soap have decided to follow “sleepover law”, lighting the house up with candles, moving the sofa and coffee table to build a nest of pillows and blankets in front of the lit fireplace, and piling a collection of snacks nearby.

He can hear the two of you laughing in the living room, you exchanging old mission tales for stories about Soap’s nieces and nephews. Ghost sighs, his fourth and last idea to get the power back on failing miserably. He’s frustrated and annoyed and can feel that itch just under his skin that tells him to isolate. 

To do that, he’d have to go upstairs.

And to get upstairs, he’d have to go through the living room and pass by-

Your laugh echoes down the hallway, and Ghost can feel some of the tension ease from his bones. The itch is still there– the immediate need to run and hide to deal with any sort of negative emotion by himself– but it lessens when he remembers you’re nearby.

He shuts the fuse box, deciding he’s not going to get anything fixed right now. Instead, he wanders down the hall, stopping just before he reaches the living room to lean against the wall and listen to you and Soap.

“I have to ask-” Soap starts, mischief laced in his voice, “-the mask. Does he ever take it off?”

“If he wants to,” you reply through gentle laughter. 

“Really? So what if he doesn’t want to? Does he sleep with it on?”

“Sometimes.”

“What about when you two…”

There’s a brief pause before you snort and answer in a quiet purr, “Sometimes.”

“Nah, yer bum’s oot the windae!”

“...I don’t know what that means, but you asked!”

“You’re not serious!”

“Totally am! I mean…I wouldn’t’ve married him if I wasn’t into it.”

Ghost loves you more than anything in the world, but there’s nothing more he wants right now than for a hole to open up in the ground and swallow him whole.

-

It’s late, almost reaching into the early morning hours, and Soap cannot sleep. He doesn’t know what’s keeping him awake; he just knows that no matter what he tries, he can’t fall asleep.

After the third hour of tossing and turning and grumbling, he gets out of bed and heads to the kitchen. He does his best to keep quiet, all his stealth training kicking in.

He’s halfway across the living room when–

“Watch your step.”

It takes everything in him not to scream as your voice travels up from the floor. Soap looks down to find you lying on your back on the fluffy brown rug, your legs outstretched and resting atop the coffee table.

“Steamin’ bloody Jesus! What the hell are you doing on the floor?”

“Couldn’t sleep. Came down here for some floor time.”

“Floor time?”

“Don’t knock it ‘til you try it.” You raise your brows at him, reaching out to pat the empty spot next to you.

He stares down at you, but you meet his gaze, eyes wide and unblinking to the point it almost freaks him out. Soap relents, bending down to lay next to you. You clap your hands in victory, scooting over to give him more room.

Soap gets himself comfortable, crossing his feet on top of the coffee table next to yours. You two lay in silence, staring up at the ceiling in the quiet dark. 

It is kind of calming, he has to admit.

“I used to do this with Riley,” you speak softly, barely above a whisper. “I’d lay down, and then he’d lay on me. At first, I thought he just wanted to use me as a pillow, but I think it was more of a grounding thing…he was a smart one, that dog.”

“What…happened to him?”

“He got old. K9 unit retired him, and Simon and I took care of him until…Simon was devastated when we had him put down. He refused to come back here for months after. Said the house was ‘too quiet’.”

“Could always have a kid or two,” Soap jokes. “House wouldn’t be quiet for a long while.”

“No,” you snap.

He sits up, propping himself on his elbows so he can face you. “Sorry, I didn’t mean-”

“It’s not…you’re fine, Soap.” You release a long sigh, pulling your feet off the coffee table and sitting up straight. You stretch, back popping painfully from too much time on the ground.

“We’ve talked about kids,” you mumble, fingers moving to fidget with your ring. You look back at him– grey moonlight reflecting off your watery eyes. “Maybe in another life.”

Soap pushes himself to sit up completely, reaching out to settle a comforting hand on your shoulder. You flinch at the contact– relaxing when you realize you’re alright– and Soap pulls his hand away with an apologetic smile.

“Another dog, then? Or a cat? Ghost seems like a cat person.”

You make a sound, some sort of half-scoff, half-laugh that’s muddled by the knot in your throat.

“How 'bout a fish?” 

“A fish it is, then.” Soap hears your watery laugh as you wipe your eyes with your sleeve. You scoot back to sit next to him, leaning over to rest your head on his shoulder.

“I’ll name him Soap, just for you.”

"Thanks, Doc."

-

It’s a whole two weeks later from the day they arrived when the water has eased enough outside for Ghost and Soap to go out and check the roads. 

You sit on the porch, tucked into a dry chair and another one of Ghost’s hoodies with a hot mug of tea warming your hands. Initially, you wanted to go with them, but Ghost refused swiftly and sternly. You argued that you needed the fresh air, and the compromise was made that you could settle on the porch and keep an eye out while they walked down the road.

Everything looked good, no mudslides, no floods, no fallen trees, so he and Ghost decided to head back and get ready to leave. 

Soap spots you as they near the house, staring off towards the brook near the house. You look so calm, so serene that he almost hates to disturb you. But Ghost has no qualms about interrupting your peace as he marches straight up to the house. You don’t seem to mind, judging by the way your face lights up at the sight of him.

He’s had almost every question answered, Soap realizes as he watches Ghost offer you a hand to help you out of your chair, and you use the momentum to pull yourself up and kiss him on the cheek. 

There’s only question left-

“Hey, Ghost?” he asks, once the three of you are back inside. 

Ghost pauses his cooking, looking back at him over his right shoulder.

“How did you propose?”

“What?”

Soap expected that, but he hadn’t expected you to start snickering from where you’re perched on the counter next to Ghost with your head resting on his left shoulder.

“It’s just…I’ve been thinking about it for a while. And there’s no engagement pictures in that photo album so-”

“I didn’t.”

“You…what?”

“I didn’t propose,” Ghost sighs.

Oh…

Oh!

Soap turns to you and your triumphant– if a bit smug– grin. “I beat him to it.”

“By two days,” Ghost huffs, turning back to the food on the stove. “Patience is a virtue, but not one of yours.” You giggle, pressing a soft kiss to his shoulder over his shirt. Ghost nudges you away with a grunt. You lean back for a few seconds before setting your chin on his shoulder so you can stare lovingly at the side of his face. Ghost sighs, letting it happen and turning briefly to lightly tap his head against yours.

“How did you know?” 

The question spills from Soap’s lips the moment he catches that little interaction.

“Know what?” you ask, turning to lay your head down, smushing your cheek on Ghost’s shoulder.

“That you wanted to propose. How’d you know you were the ones for each other?”

You sit up, eyes never leaving Ghost, who’s gone unusually still. An uncomfortable tension fills the air, swelling like a balloon ready to burst.

“It was after Sweden,” Ghost mumbles minutes later. He puts the stove on low heat and turns to you, your eyes meeting as he steadily holds your gaze. “We were clearing out that abandoned building, and you found this kid, couldn’t have been more than five…maybe six? They were so scared, but you managed to get them to calm down and come with us. We cleared the place but got ambushed as we were leaving. You gave me the kid and shoved me out of the back exit and-”

“Took a bullet meant for you,” you finish softly. Your hand comes up to graze just below your stomach, absentmindedly clenching the fabric over the spot.

The face you made when he’d brought up children flashes through Soap’s mind.

Maybe in another life.

“Didn’t realize how scared I was of losing you until that moment. You always seemed so sure, so indestructible, like there wasn’t anything that could kill you, like you’d always be there. And then you weren’t, and I thought that was the end until you finally got out of surgery. Wasn’t gonna let you get away after that.”

Tears well up in your eyes, spilling down your cheeks. You try your best to wipe them away, a smile of a million different emotions directed at Ghost. Ghost reaches out, sets a hand on your knee, and you meet his eyes before glancing over and realizing Soap is still there– grinning like an idiot.

“Well, I knew the day we met,” you laugh through your tears. Ghost scoffs, playfully squeezing your knee before returning his attention to the food. “It’s true; you can ask Firefly. Moment you started training with us and flipped Grizzly on his ass, I told her, ‘I’m gonna marry that man’.”

“Fuck off.”

-

They’re packed and ready to leave the next morning.

Soap’s tugging on his boots while Ghost locks up the weapons cabinet, and you stand off to the side, watching. You haven’t said a word all morning, just leaning against the wall with your eyes fixated on Ghost. 

Ghost shuts the cabinet with a sigh as Soap finishes lacing up his boots. Ghost glances at him, different this time– a silent ask for a moment alone with his wife.

Soap gets the message, loud and clear.

“Don’t worry, Doc. You’ll be back in your infirmary treating our stab wounds soon enough.” You huff in amusement, giving him a smile that doesn’t quite reach your eyes.

“I’ll see you soon, Soap.” He nods at you and turns to head out the door.

He leans against the wall just outside the front door, staring at the clear brook water that washes over smooth stones until he catches movement out of the corner of his eye. He looks over and realizes he can see straight through the glass of the door where you and Ghost stand, feet apart from each other.

He should look away, get a head start down the road.

But when has he ever done that?

Instead, he watches Ghost slide the mask from his face, giving you a single nod before you launch forward and attach yourself to him. He holds you close like he’s trying to absorb you into his body, keeping you as close as physically possible. You pull back from him– only slightly– and Ghost wipes away the tears falling down your face. He reaches behind your neck, messing with the clasp of your necklace before his ring slides down the silver metal to meet yours at the bottom.

Your hands wind their way around the collar of his jacket, pulling him forward into a kiss he eagerly accepts. There’s no such thing as a goodbye kiss in the Riley household; goodbyes imply never seeing each other again, and that is a future neither you will accept. Instead, it’s a promise. 

A promise to stay alive, to come back. 

A promise either of you has yet to break.

You pull away, murmuring something against his lips. Soap’s never been a great lip reader, but it’s not hard to tell what you’re saying.

You better come back to me, Simon Riley.

Always.

Another kiss, and the mask is back on, slid into place by your steady hands. Ghost sets his forehead against yours, one last moment together before the inevitable separation. 

Soap turns away when Ghost steps back from you, focusing his gaze on a small leaf on the ground until Ghost walks out of the house, shutting the door behind him.

“Let’s go, Sergeant.”

[xayasmrxsoftlyx]

Imagine a Butterfly Alien

Imagine...

you're a human whose been farming and growing plants for as long as you could walk. You like the birds, the bees, the butterflies, even all the bugs that others thought were gross and useless...worthless, yet you've found appreciation of them.

you're also not ignorant to the fact that aliens have made their presence and cultures known to your world for a little while now. You've yet to meet any in your tiny farming village, but you're sure they can't be too different from any other humanoids you've met before. To say you're a black sheep to your village in those statements would be a massive understatement.

That's not to say you're surrounded by bigoted, closeminded individuals- on the contrary, your little village is eager anticipating meeting these new friends no matter what variety they are. So excited and willing to accommodate.

So, you're more than a little surprised when one day you hear a loud crash on your farm and go running over to investigate only to see a massive Butterfly Alien having torn his wing and crash landed your on your front lawn. Right near your butterfly bush, you reflect later. In the moment, you're sheepish to admit, you're spending the time panicking and crying.

At first, the Butterfly Alien is dazed and equally confused, interesting distended eyes seemingly peering around. You're sat next to him, face flushed and teary eyes, voice high pitched and fast paced; he's in pain and immediately notices tear within the upper quarter of his right wing. You can only assume he starts to suffer shock as he begins to violently tremble. At this point, you're more than upset at yourself for not going to at least one Culture seminar your village held to ease the welcome and culture shock of/for your future visitors.

You're frantic and nearly as trembly as the Butterfly Man you attempt to touch Him, but you flutter your hands around (adorably) unsure if you'd stress or hurt Him further. Tears finally begin to fall as the anxiety of it crests- the Alien flutters His wings quickly, almost desperately, as if gauging them, testing their abilities. You gasp loudly as the tear rips the top quarter of His wing off right in front of your eyes. You begin to hyperventilate as the Man begins to tremor again, whole body shaking like a leaf caught in the wind.

You can't quite see what happens next, eyes blurring your vision with thick tears causing you to wipe at them with the back of your hand. It's as you're doing that when the Butterfly Man moves. It's quicker than you imagine He could move before He's up; and one second later He's flying again.

He doesn't even appear to turn back as he glides up into the sky, as if He'd never crashed at all. You're left there blubbering, blurring vision flicking between the sky and the dinner plate sized wing remnant left in your yard.

You can't understand why, but when the breeze starts to pick up, you snatch the piece of his wing with your shaky hands and hurry inside feeling as if you'd seen a ghost. Unsure where to go with it or what to do with it, you find the biggest frame that you had that could fit it and frame it. It's the only way you can think of no harm coming to it further. It's beautiful, too, soft but vibrant colors popping against the whites of your wall as you hold it up in the sun.

You look into attending some of your village's culture seminars a few hours later after your heart stopped racing and mind spinning with everything that had happened.

Imagine as you're walking into town to see when the next Culture seminar is and you're hearing from whispered shadows as you're walking into town "did you see?" "did you hear?!" "They finally came!" "We need to throw a Welcome Festival!" "I wanna make them food to welcome them!" "I-I heard they're all...single..."

You fluster again when you reach the center of your village square, there's several insectoid aliens that have migrated to your village- drawn by its rich agriculture and farming lifestyles. There's only one Butterfly Alien, though, it's here, and only here, finally here that you get a good look at the person who literally crashed into you life.

He's not just beautiful, all colorful wings and lean muscles and graceful movements, He's handsome, too. He's got these masculine humanoid traits that add a rugged edge to His beauty- He's got a distinct jawline and defined cheekbones and whilst nothing about Him is particularly sharp or overtly (humanly) masculine, there's a defined demeanor to Him that pulls in favor of His handsomeness. The tear in His wing helps strongly to add that ruggedness.

It's hard to tell with eyes like his if you've met his gaze but with his posture shift and almost sheepish expression coming over him you feel as if you may have. You flush, flustered by his attention even so indirectly. The head of your village, MeeMaw, eagerly invites the couple of them into her space and once they're out of sight the whispers turn to full on chatter.

You huff, trying to push past how out of whack everything's become in one day and now you suppose you have a dual purpose for lingering by MeeMaw's quarters. You'll definitely need those Culture Seminars after today, and you suppose while you're at it....You could try and give the Butterfly Man His wing back to Him....You don't know if He needs it, but at the very least you'd have an excuse to talk to Him. You just hope you don't get shy on Him...you certainly didn't make the "best" first impression

(Little do you know, He thought it was so cute. So panicked over Him without knowing Him. So worried over Him without knowing He'd been there to peep on you after seeing just how cute you were tending to your farm

(Imagine He's just so grateful and thinks you're the cutest, sweetest little thing to save His wing for Him. Were you going to go looking for Him like some sweet and brave Knight in shining armor? How adorable!

(So sweet, little human, so cute! Gosh, you must be His! You must be made for Him! Why else would you have been so scared for him? You wouldn't save just anyone's amputated limb, would you? You must...love Him!

(You have no idea, either, until much later anyway, just how rare He is. Insectoid Aliens aren't the most intergalactically social so they're pretty rare off their own planets- Butterfly Aliens especially so, even more so. Mostly due to the fragility of their wings and inability to regrow. If someone wanted, it would be so easy to destroy or even rip His wings from Him, yet you wept over Him. Many would steal Him away, cage Him forever; yet you let Him free. Let Him keep His freedom. You're truly one of a kind. Just as He is.

(That must mean He's right- you are made for each other. He's glad you think He's handsome, He'd fight you for your love even if you were to think He isn't.

[fairydollsteps]

STRESS RELIEF (MINOR DNI)

Synopsis: As expected of his job as the Fortress of Meropide's Administrator, Wriothesley is often buried with piles of paperwork and cases to solve which cause him a lot of stress. Luckily, you have a solution to help destress him.

Feature: Bottom Wriothesley/ Top!Male!Reader

Note/Warning: Smut, making out on bed, overstimulation, use of toy (we going to destroy this man), big fuck machine toy, some crying and pain, bondage (shibari), very rough intercourse, reader is kinda mean is you like it.

Author's note: is surprising to see very less bottom!wriothesley fic because i want him the one screaming. anyway here is smth to feed you all after months of disappearing:)

Fontaine has fallen into the night. The shadows enveloped the beautifully intricate buildings in pitch black. In the reflection of the moon and stars, the water that surrounds the city shimmers. All the townfolk have fallen into a slumber as birdsong fills the air softly like a gentle goodnight. This evening, Fontaine has draped itself in the tranquility of sleep. Except for Wriothesley and you.

Inside the home of both of you lies a naked Wriothesley on his bed, confined and tied into a shibari. He is utterly immobile to move from all the ropes that constrain his muscular body. Red velvet ropes are everywhere and strapping his body down on the bed. His hands and arms are tied firmly behind him as he lies on his back on the bed. His chest is heaving up and down against the ropes and his thighs are bound as well on the edge of the bed, spreading his legs apart.

Wriothesley is feeling multiple emotions at once in his chest. Nervous, excited, and mostly stressed of course. These days, work has become more burdensome than ever before. More dangerous criminals are spotted in Fontaine and more meetings with the Royal Irish Constabulary and blah blah. Nonetheless, his work has kept him for so long that he has forgotten when was the last time he had sex with you. So when you drag him out of his office table and offer some relief, he is quick to accept.

However, he has never expected you to expose him in such a revealing and humiliating way.

Wriothesley attempts closing his legs together against the ropes which to no avail. "Goddam, Y/N. You are cruel," Wriothesley sighs, wondering how is this stress-relieving. The ropes are tight but not too tight to hurt him. Is his first time trying something like this. Then, you finally come in the room with something Wriothesley couldn't latch on due to the restraints of the ropes. Is big. That is all he knows.

"Hello, my dearest," You greet him in a sweet tone, admiring your handiwork. Wriothesley stares at you, curious about whatever you have brought as you sit down at the edge of the bed, still in awe at the sight of him all spread out for you. "Was it too tight for you?" You asked, making sure Wriothesley was comfortable and keeping the stuff you brought hidden from him.

"I can handle it," Wriothesley said in a straight voice but you could tell he was nervous and excited from his blush adorning his face and chest. Your lips curved into a pleased smile and said. "That's good then. I do hope you can handle more than I expected since the night will be long," You get up from the bed as Wriothesley stares at you with a confused look.

"What do you mean?" He asked, slightly writhing against the ropes.

Wriothesley can see you letting out a soft chuckle from his attempt which he slightly scowls at you. You let out soft coos to him and lean over him with an affectionate but playful smile caressing his cheeks gently which Wriothesley can't help but snuggle against your palm contently. Wriothesley relaxed against your touch and he could feel your breath against his ears.

"I did promise you I would fucked you like you want to," You whisper to his ears slyly before you cover his eyes with a blindfold which is something you both have discussed about it before. Fuck that was hot.

Wriothesley gulps as he can hear your footsteps and you hopping over him. He can't see anything. His vision is taken from him and everything is pitch black. Before he could think more, his body jolt with a shiver when he could feel your hand touching his naked cock. "Y-Y/N?-" Wriothesley almost whimper, lifting his head to you forgetting about the ropes only to get pulled down.

"Relax, my dearest. Just relax. You have worked so hard. This is your reward," You purred at him, looking at him and then his beautiful cock. You have lubed your hand and begin jerking his dick off, making Wriothesley beneath you letting out muffled moans. You can't help but smile wickedly. This is only the beginning.

Then, you lubed your finger and began touching his hole. Wriotheslet hitch his breath from the contact. It has not been a full 5 minutes and his body is already shaking. "I have barely touched you and you are already this wet?" You tease him devilishly. His cock already leaking precum which was used as more lube to finger him. "It has been a while huh?"

Wriothesley let out a soft cry when one finger slid in easily. Then another finger which let out a few 'ahs!' and 'ohs!' from him. Then another. Three fingers in. Everything was going too quick but Wriothesley fucking loved it. "I-Is this all you got?" Wriothesley said through ragged breathing, oblivious of what was to come.

"Just you wait. I don't break promises," You begin thrusting your fingers deeper into his prostate. You could tell he was enjoying it when his inside clenched around your fingers eagerly. The feeling is so good that his hip starts moving slightly (due to the restraints) on his own, thrusting back to your fingers which intensifies the pleasure more. "Fuckk……..!!!!" Wriothesley moans loudly as your fingers massage his prostate.

His cock leaks more precum and you know he is about to reach his high so you pulled out your fingers abruptly. Wriothesley let out shocked gasps and whines from the loss. "W-what was that-?" His cries out of frustration from the edging but his voice is shaky from his lost incoming climax.

Then, he screams.

Wriotheslet screams as he could feel something railing into his ass. He didn't know what it was (because of the blindfold) but it was big. So fucking big. Only you know. Is a fuck toy machine. That was the object you have kept hidden from Wriothesley as a surprise. But he doesn't have to know. You grinned wickedly as his body convulse violently as the fuck toy goes deeper into him. It's only halfway through and he looks like he could passed out.

Wriothesley let out loud lewd moans and pleads. "Y/N-! Is too much…! Is too fucking big-AHHH FUCKKK…!!!!!!" The dildo is finally fully in. Wriothesley writhes and whimpers underneath you, trying to adjust to the humongous size of the fuck toy. His hard twitching cock spilled precum, dirtying the sheets and your pants. Wriothesley quivers against the ropes which is no help but heightens his sensitivity and pleasure. He is close to tears from how high the pleasure is. The stretch burns like hell but it feels so fucking good to be stuffed full.

His chest heaves up and down with deep breathing as he tries to calm himself down before losing himself. And here you are on top of him smirking like a devil you are. "That was just the start," you said cruelly before pressing the start button. The fuck toy machine starts thrusting him out at a much slower pace for the sake of his comfort. Wriothesley throws his head back, whining as he cries out of your name. His thighs are trembling at every thrust and his cock spasming violently.

You have noticed that Wriothesley has adjusted well to the humongous dildo and even thrust it back with his hips, letting out a soft cry and moans. Then, he reached his climax and came hard with a scream. His body convulse from how intense the orgasm is. Wriothesley tries to take a few deep breaths but realizes you did not stop the toy. Instead, you increase the volume of it.

"Oh, AAA-aArcHons-!! HNGHAAAAA……!!! P-please stop!!! Stop-" Wriothesley screams from overstimulation before he succumbs to another round of hard fucking from the toy. He just came and he could already feel the core of his stomach tightening again with burning passion. Oh fuck fuck fuck. He is going to come again after a few seconds earlier from cumming. The blindfold is already wet from his tears and he even drooling a bit, showing how he is losing control over his withered body. It's too much as he tries to run away from the pleasure but the ropes and your hands on hips keep him from running away.

His body convulses again as a thick rope of cum then spurts out, soiling his stomach and your abdomen. Eyes rolling back and jaw slack, Wriothesley screams from the euphoric shock. Looking at him, you can't help but bite your lips at how utterly destroyed and gorgeous Wriothesley is.

And oh how so sexy the sight before you. Wriothesley, the strict and hard-working Administrator all crumbled against your mercy and spread out for you while being tied up into a shibari beautifully. Much to Wriothesley's relief, you stop the fuck toy machine from fucking him anymore and lean in close to his face.

"You still conscious, my dearest?" You coo at him. Wriothesley whines when you crash into his lips passionately before letting out a shriek when you accidentally move the fuck toy that is still inside him. "Sorry sorry sorry," you apologize to him sweetly while taking off his blindfolds.

Wriothesley looks at you with teary eyes, wanting to hug but forgetting about the restraints. You smile sweetly at his attempt while caressing his tear-soaked cheeks before asking.

"Again?"

The night is long and you got to reward him more after all.

[lila-lou]

✨Obsessed - Pt. 1✨

Summary: After weeks of searching, you finally found Dean. However, he was no longer the man you had been in love with- but more importantly, no longer the man who never returned your love. Because now, in his twisted state, he was somehow obsessed with you.

Pairing: Demon!Dean x Reader

Warnings: 18+ only! Smut, Language, Angst, Hurt, Violence, Humiliation, naive reader

Word Count: 6960

A/N: English isn’t my first language, so please be lenient. 💙✨

You were trembling, afraid of what awaited you behind that stupid motel door. You had been looking for him for over four weeks now and finally found him. Sam was on another trace, but you would call him as soon as you were sure it really was Dean. With a deep breath, you pushed the door open, hearing the shower running in the bathroom.

The room was dimly lit, the heavy curtains drawn against the outside world. The faint smell of old cigarettes and cheap whiskey lingered in the air, mixing with the steam escaping from the bathroom. Your heart pounded in your chest, each beat echoing the countless fears and hopes you’d carried during your search.

You took a cautious step inside, the creaky floorboards betraying your presence. The bathroom door was slightly ajar, a sliver of light cutting through the darkness. You could hear the water hitting the tiles and a familiar, gravelly hum. It was unmistakable.

“Dean?”, you called out, your voice barely above a whisper, almost afraid to break the fragile reality you were stepping into. The humming stopped abruptly, replaced by a tense silence. Moments later, the water ceased, and you heard the rustle of a towel.

The door swung open, and there he stood. Dean Winchester. But it wasn’t the Dean you knew. The good-hearted, sweet, and brave man was long gone, as you were about to find out firsthand. He was clad only in a towel, and you could see the faint red marks in the bathtub, indicating he had just washed away blood from his body.

"Oh, coming here was a fucking mistake, sweetheart", he growled, flashing you with pitch-black eyes for a second. The beautiful green gone.

You froze, the sight of those eyes confirming your worst fears. This wasn't just Dean in a bad place; this was something darker, something more sinister. Your heart clenched as you took a step back, instinct screaming at you to run, but your legs felt like lead.

"Dean", you whispered, voice trembling. "This isn't you".

He laughed, a cold, hollow sound that sent shivers down your spine. "Oh, but it is me. Just a new and improved version".

The darkness in his eyes flickered again, and for a moment, you saw a glimpse of the Dean you knew, the Dean you cared about. It was enough to keep you rooted to the spot, desperate to reach him, to pull him back from whatever abyss he had fallen into.

"You don't have to do this", you pleaded, taking a tentative step closer. "We can help you. Sam and I, we can fix this".

Dean's expression hardened, the flicker of humanity snuffed out as quickly as it had appeared. "There's no fixing this, Y/N. You should have stayed away".

With a sudden, predatory grace, he closed the distance between you, his hand wrapping around your wrist with a bruising grip. The coldness of his touch shocked you, the pain snapping you back to the immediate danger.

"Dean, please", you gasped, struggling against his hold. "Fight it".

For a moment, his grip loosened, and his eyes softened, as if he was waging a war within himself. But then the darkness surged back, and his hold tightened once more.

"Get out", he hissed, shoving you towards the door. "Before I do something you'll regret".

You stumbled, catching yourself against the doorframe. Tears blurred your vision, but you refused to let them fall. You had to be strong, for him, for Sam, for yourself.

"I won't give up on you", you said, voice firm despite the fear. "I'll find a way to save you, Dean. I promise".

His expression twisted into something unreadable, and for a moment, you thought you saw a flash of regret. But then the cold mask was back, and he turned away from you, retreating into the shadows of the room.

"Go", he muttered, his voice hollow. "Before it's too late".

With a heavy heart, you turned and fled, the sound of the door closing behind you echoing like a final, desperate plea. You knew this was far from over. Whatever had taken hold of Dean, you would find a way to fight it. You had to.

You grappled with all the emotions, feeling the weight of fear, sadness, and determination settling heavily in your chest. For minutes, you sat in your car, thinking about what to do. You knew if you texted Sam, he would rush here, bringing himself into danger. Dean was dangerous. That’s all you knew so far.

You thought a bit longer before you parked your car in an empty side road and checked into the same motel Dean was staying at. Sooner or later, you knew you had to call Sam, but you had to make really sure in which state Dean was. So you planned on keeping your eye on him for a few days before making any further steps.

The room you got was a few doors down from Dean’s. Close enough to keep an eye on him, but hopefully far enough to avoid his immediate suspicion. You unpacked your bag slowly, mind racing with the events that had just transpired. The image of Dean’s black eyes haunted you, a stark reminder of the danger he now posed.

Night fell, and the motel grew quiet, the occasional hum of a passing car the only sound breaking the silence. You sat by the window, the curtains slightly parted, giving you a narrow view of Dean’s door. Every movement, every shadow that passed by made your heart jump.

Around midnight, the door to Dean’s room creaked open. You watched as he stepped out, now fully dressed. He looked around cautiously, then headed toward his car.

You quickly grabbed your jacket and slipped out of your room, following him at a safe distance. Dean drove out of the motel parking lot, and you trailed him, keeping your headlights off and maintaining a good distance.

He drove to a shabby bar outside of town. You waited a few minutes before you followed him inside. With your hood pulled up, you sat down in a quiet corner, watching Dean as he played pool as if nothing had changed. It didn’t even take twenty minutes until he had the attention of a blonde girl clad in tight, short shorts and a shirt that barely covered her boobs. She quickly threw herself at him, flirting shamelessly, tracing his biceps. And Dean returned the flirting.

You watched as Dean flashed her a smile, but there was something off about it—too sharp, too predatory. The girl giggled, oblivious to the danger, as she leaned closer, whispering something in his ear. Dean’s eyes flickered with that same unsettling darkness you had seen before, just for a moment, but it was enough to send a shiver down your spine.

Trying to remain inconspicuous, you sipped your drink and kept your eyes on them. Dean’s charm was undeniable, but you could see the strain behind his facade. The girl led him to a corner booth, her laughter ringing out as they settled down. Dean’s hand slid around her waist, pulling her closer, but his eyes scanned the room, ever watchful.

You knew you couldn’t let him hurt her, but you also knew you had to be careful. Approaching Dean directly could trigger something unpredictable. As you mulled over your options, a large, burly man approached their booth, glaring at Dean.

“Hey, buddy, that’s my girl”, he growled, his fists clenching at his sides.

Dean looked up slowly, a dangerous glint in his eyes. “Is that so?”, he replied, his voice calm but menacing.

The girl rolled her eyes, snapping at the man, “Get lost, Travis! We’re not fucking anymore”.

Travis’ face twisted with anger and hurt, but he didn’t back down. “You can’t just toss me aside for this guy”, he spat, taking a step closer.

Dean’s smile widened, but it was devoid of any warmth. “I think the lady made her choice”, he said, his tone dripping with menace.

The man’s anger rose, and so did Dean’s. He stood in front of Travis, who, blinded by rage, swung his fist at Dean. With a swift and practiced motion, Dean caught his wrist and twisted it until a sickening crack echoed through the bar. Travis screamed in pain, his body collapsing as Dean shoved him back, sending him crashing into a few tables.

Chaos erupted as a few men jumped to their feet, and the bartender hurried over, his face pale with fear and anger. “Hey! You need to leave, now!”, he shouted, pointing a trembling finger towards the door.

Dean’s eyes flashed dangerously, but he gave a curt nod. “Fine”, he muttered. Turning to the blonde girl, he grabbed her arm, and she grinned, thinking she had found herself a brave man. She pushed herself against Dean, her smile wide and her eyes gleaming. “I’ll definitely join you in leaving”, she purred, looking up at him with admiration.

A pang of jealousy shot through you, sharp and overwhelming. Even after Dean had hurt this man, showing a side of himself that was terrifying and unrecognizable, your feelings for him were so strong that your jealousy for the girl overshadowed everything else.

As they made their way towards the exit, you followed, your mind racing with conflicting emotions.

You got back into your car and followed Dean to the motel, keeping a safe distance to avoid drawing attention. Your heart ached with every mile, the sight of Dean with the girl igniting a tumult of jealousy and pain within you. When they arrived, you parked a few spaces away, watching as they made their way into his room.

As soon as they disappeared inside, you slipped into your own room, a few doors down. The thin walls of the motel did little to muffle the sounds of laughter and movement next door. You tried to block it out, not wanting to imagine what was happening, but the hurt was impossible to hide. It felt like a dagger twisting in your chest.

You sat on the edge of the bed, staring at the wall that separated you from Dean. Tears welled up in your eyes, but you blinked them away, determined not to let your emotions consume you. This was about more than just your feelings for Dean—this was about saving him from whatever darkness had taken hold of him.

Time passed slowly, each minute feeling like an hour. Eventually, the noises quieted down, leaving you in an oppressive silence.

You lay back on the bed, staring up at the ceiling, thoughts racing through your mind. How had it come to this? Dean, the man you cared so deeply for, was slipping away, and there was little you could do to stop it. Yet, you couldn’t give up. Not on him.

The next morning, you awoke to the sound of a door slamming. You quickly got up and peered out the window, seeing Dean and the girl leaving the room. She was still clinging to his arm, looking smug and satisfied. You swallowed hard, the jealousy flaring up again, but you forced yourself to focus. This wasn’t about her; it was about Dean.

The next few days followed a grim, predictable pattern. Dean continued to hurt people, drink heavily, and bring different women back to the motel. Each day felt like a knife twisting deeper into your heart, but you stayed vigilant, determined to find a way to save him. What you didn’t know was that every time you fell asleep, Dean snuck into your room, simply watching you. He knew you never left. Of course you wouldn’t. You loved him.

Before becoming a demon, he always asked Sam how to tell you that he would never feel the same way about you, that you were just like a sister to him. But since he saw you a few days ago, something changed. His urge to touch you, to feel you, to bury himself deep inside you had intensified by a thousand times. You were practically all he could think about.

On the fourth night, you lay in bed, exhausted from the emotional turmoil. You drifted into a restless sleep, unaware that Dean was once again standing at the foot of your bed. His eyes, now a disturbing mix of longing and darkness, traced the lines of your face, the rise and fall of your chest. His hands clenched at his sides as he fought the overwhelming urge to reach out and touch you.

In your sleep, you mumbled his name, your voice filled with a mixture of love and sorrow. It sent a shiver down Dean’s spine. He stepped closer, his breath hitching as he imagined what it would be like to be with you, to feel your skin against his. The desire was almost unbearable.

But something else flickered within him—an echo of his former self, a whisper of the man who cared for you deeply but never in this way. It was enough to make him hesitate, to keep him from crossing a line he knew he shouldn’t.

He left your room, the door closing softly behind him. Back in his own room, he sat on the edge of the bed, his mind a chaotic swirl of emotions. The darkness within him was growing stronger, but so was his obsession with you. He didn’t know how much longer he could resist.

It had been nearly two weeks now. Dean’s self-control was wearing thin, the darkness inside him growing more insistent. Tonight, as he stood in your room again, the sight of you almost undid him completely. Your air conditioner had broken, and you wore nothing but a thin, soft bra and matching panties. The fabric was so thin he could see your nipples through it, and your body wasn’t covered by a blanket.

His breath hitched, the urge to touch you, to feel your skin against his, overwhelming. He clenched his fists, trying to keep the darkness at bay, but it was a losing battle. The demon within him fed on his desires, amplifying them until they were nearly unbearable.

You mumbled in your sleep, shifting slightly, and his eyes traced every curve of your body. The sight of you like this, so vulnerable, so inviting, drove him to the edge of his sanity. He took a step closer, his resolve crumbling.

“Y/N”, he whispered, his voice a mix of longing and torment. He reached out, his hand hovering inches above your skin, the warmth radiating from you like a siren’s call. His fingers trembled, aching to close the gap.

In your sleep, you murmured his name again, a sound filled with so much love and sadness that it pierced through the fog of his desire. For a brief moment, the real Dean fought through the darkness, horrified by what he was about to do.

He pulled his hand back, clenching his jaw. “Get a grip”, he muttered to himself, backing away from the bed.

Dean knew he needed to get away from you as quickly as possible. And so he did. An hour later, he packed his bag, grabbed his keys, and left the motel, driving off into the night without a clear destination. He just needed to escape, to put as much distance between himself and you as he could.

But you had anticipated this. Knowing how erratic Dean had become, you had placed a GPS tracker on his car. The next morning, when you woke up and found his room empty, your heart sank. You checked your phone and saw the signal from the tracker, confirming that he had indeed left for good.

Determined not to let him disappear completely, you quickly packed your things and hit the road, following the signal. It led you through desolate highways, each mile stretching out in front of you like an endless test of your resolve.

Hours later, you found yourself in a small, rundown town far from the main roads. Dean’s car was parked outside a dingy motel that looked even worse than the one you had just left. You parked a few spaces away, taking a deep breath to steady your nerves.

As you stood in front of his room, hearing the shower running inside, you took a deep breath and gathered your courage. Quietly, you turned the doorknob and slipped into the room. The sound of the shower masked your entrance, but as soon as you closed the door behind you and turned back around, you froze.

Dean stood there, arms crossed, eyes black as night. The growl in his voice was unmistakable. “I told you to leave me the fuck alone, Y/N”.

Your heart pounded in your chest, but you forced yourself to stay calm. “Dean, I couldn’t. I won’t let you destroy yourself like this”.

He took a step closer, his presence overwhelming. “You have no idea what you’re dealing with”, he snarled, his voice low and menacing. “I can’t control this”.

“I know you’re fighting”, you said, your voice trembling slightly. “I can see it. But you don’t have to do it alone”.

Dean’s expression twisted with anger and something else—desperation. “You need to leave”, he said again, but there was a note of uncertainty in his voice.

“I won’t”, you replied firmly, stepping closer despite the fear gnawing at you. “I care about you too much to just walk away”.

He clenched his fists, trying to maintain control. “You’re making a fucking mistake”, he said through gritted teeth. “I can’t protect you from this”.

“You don’t have to protect me”, you said, reaching out to touch his arm.

He stared at your hand on his arm, his breath coming in ragged gasps. That’s when he lost it.

He couldn’t hold back anymore. With a feral growl, he grabbed your hips with a force that left you breathless, pulling you up as if you weighed nothing. Before you could react, he threw you onto his bed, and within seconds, he was hovering over you, his eyes a dark, stormy mix of desire and anger.

“Dean”, you whispered, your voice trembling with a mix of fear and anticipation. You could feel the intensity radiating from him, his struggle between the darkness and the man you loved.

His hands gripped your wrists, pinning them above your head as he leaned in close, his breath hot against your neck. “I told you to stay away”, he hissed, but there was a note of longing in his voice that betrayed his words.

You gazed up at him, your heart pounding. “I won’t”, you said softly, your eyes locking with his. “I’m not afraid of you”.

For a moment, he seemed to falter, the darkness in his eyes flickering. Then, with a shuddering breath, he pressed his lips to yours, the kiss filled with a desperate intensity. His grip on your wrists tightened, but you didn’t pull away. Instead, you leaned into the kiss.

Dean broke the kiss, his forehead resting against yours as he struggled for control. “You should be afraid of me”, he groaned, his voice raw and filled with torment.

His mouth wandered over your jaw, trailing open-mouthed kisses down your neck. The sensation was a heady mix of pleasure and pain as he bit your skin a bit too hard, leaving marks that would undoubtedly bruise. You gasped, your body arching involuntarily against him.

His eyes flickered, switching from black to green and back again, a visual testament to the battle raging within him. “Dean”, you whispered, your voice a desperate plea. You wanted to reach him, to pull him back from the brink.

“I can’t stop”, he growled, his grip on your wrists tightening and then loosening as he fought for control. “I don’t want to hurt you, but I can’t… I can’t fight it”.

His hands wandered to your waist, squeezing it bruisingly as he kissed down between your breasts. You knew you should push him away, that this was dangerous, but his mouth on your skin was what you had dreamed about for over three years. He was all you wanted. Even when he ripped your flannel open, exposing your black bra, you didn’t stop him.

By that moment, Dean was gone. His eyes blackened out completely as he leaned down, his breath hot against your ear. “I’m gonna fuck that nice little pussy of yours so good”, he groaned, his voice dripping with dark desire.

A shiver of fear and anticipation ran through you, but you couldn’t bring yourself to resist. The raw intensity of his need matched your own, and despite the danger, you wanted him just as badly. His hands roamed over your body, exploring every inch with a feral hunger.

“How many?”, he growled against your skin before biting your nipple again, the sharp sting sending a shiver down your spine.

You gasped, not understanding his question at first. “Dean… what?”, you managed to breathe out, your mind clouded with desire and confusion.

“How many fucked you before?”, he demanded, his voice low and possessive.

You hesitated, the answer caught in your throat. His grip on your waist tightened, and you knew he was waiting for an answer. “No one”, you admitted softly, your voice barely above a whisper. “No one, Dean”.

For a moment, there was a silence that felt like it stretched on forever. “Good”, he muttered, his voice filled with a dark satisfaction. “Because you’re mine”.

He kissed you with a fierce intensity, his hands roaming over your body with renewed urgency. You could feel the possessiveness in his touch, a need to claim you completely. His fingers dug into your hips as he moved lower, his mouth trailing kisses down your stomach, leaving a path of heat in its wake.

As he reached your jeans, he roughly pulled them down, your breath hitching as you lay in front of him with nothing but your underwear. The way he looked at you made your heart beat faster. You couldn’t believe that this was finally happening. You had wished for this so often, and even if Dean was a demon now, you wanted nothing more.

His eyes roamed over your body, dark with desire. The intensity of his gaze sent shivers down your spine, and you couldn’t help but feel a thrill of anticipation. But beneath the desire, a small voice in your mind reminded you of the reality of the situation. Dean wasn’t himself. If he ever came back to being the old Dean, he would probably hate himself for taking your virginity, for fucking you at all. You weren’t even 21.

Dean’s hands trailed down your body, fingers hooking under the waistband of your panties. He tore them away with a growl, leaving you completely exposed to him. His eyes darkened further, and he let out a low, appreciative noise. “So fucking perfect”, he murmured, his voice rough with need.

He positioned himself between your legs, and you felt the heat of his body against yours. His fingers brushed over your most sensitive areas, making you gasp. “Dean”, you whispered, a mix of plea and longing.

He leaned down, capturing your lips in a fierce kiss. “You’re mine”, he growled against your mouth, his hands roaming possessively over your body. “No one else will ever touch you like this”.

Despite the fear and the knowledge that this wasn’t the real Dean, you couldn’t bring yourself to stop him. You wanted him so badly, had wanted this for so long. As his mouth traveled down your body, leaving a trail of heat in its wake, you arched into him, your breath coming in shallow gasps.

“Dean, please”, you begged, your voice trembling.

He looked up at you, his eyes black as night. “You want this”, he said, his voice a dark promise. “Say it”.

“Yes”, you whispered, your heart pounding. “I want this. I want you”.

With that, Dean pulled down his jeans and boxers just enough to free himself, not bothering to remove the rest of his clothes.

As you saw how he stroked himself, looking at your exposed body with black eyes, finally some sense came to you. Your breath hitched, and you backed away, closing your legs. It wasn't what you had imagined; you always dreamed about it being more intimate, with more love, with cuddling, with him kissing you more, and more softly.

"I don’t want this. Not like this", you whispered, fear creeping into your voice. But Dean wasn’t having it.

His eyes darkened further, a growl escaping his lips as he grabbed your ankles, pulling you back toward him with a force that left you breathless. "You wanted this", he hissed, his grip bruising. "You said it".

You tried to wiggle free from his grasp, but it was impossible. “Dean, don’t, please”, you whispered, your voice trembling with fear.

He snapped again, his grip unyielding. “You said you wanted this, so now you’re gonna fucking take it”, he growled, his voice filled with anger and desire.

Tears gathered in your eyes as he pushed your legs roughly open. But as he saw the tears and fear in your eyes, he hesitated, if only for a second. In his twisted, dark mind, there was still a fragment of care for you left. Dean let go of your ankles, and you instantly backed away, pulling the blanket over your naked body.

“How do you want it?”, he grumbled after a few moments, standing up and pushing his boxers back up, not caring about his open jeans as he headed for the whiskey bottle on the desk.

Dean brushed through his hair, clearly annoyed, and took a big sip of his whiskey. He glared at you, his eyes still dark with desire and frustration. “Not like this”, you whispered, your voice trembling. “I don’t want it to be so… cold. I want it to be nice. I need you to be gentle with me”.

He rolled his eyes, exhaling sharply. “Gentle?”, he muttered, almost to himself, the word seeming foreign and unwelcome in his current state. But the flicker of hesitation was still there, the part of him that cared for you trying to break through.

He stared at you for a long moment, as if trying to process your words, then turned back to the desk, taking another long swig of whiskey. “Gentle”, he repeated, the word tasting strange on his tongue.

He still looked annoyed, but there was a flicker of something else in his eyes—a struggle against the darkness. With a rough motion, he pulled off his shirt and tossed it aside. Your cheeks heated as you watched him.

As he looked at you, he felt a strange clench in his heart, something that felt almost like pain. “Alright”, he muttered, his voice still rough. “I’ll try. But don’t expect me to be all soft and shit”.

He stepped out of his jeans and boxershorts, leaving him naked and without any shame or hesitation. The sight of him, all hard lines and raw masculinity, sent a shiver down your spine. He pointed to your bra, his voice rough as he muttered, “Pull that shit off”.

You hesitated for a moment, the reality of the situation making your heart race. Slowly, you reached up and unhooked your bra, letting it fall away.

Dean’s eyes darkened with an intense, raw desire as he watched your bra fall away. Without a moment’s hesitation, he grabbed your ankles and pulled, making you fall on your back, your breasts bouncing with the sudden movement. He climbed onto the bed, his movements rough and impatient, nudging your legs apart with his knee until your inner thighs hurt.

He hovered above you, his gaze locked on yours, filled with a mix of hunger and something more vulnerable buried deep within. One of his hands slipped between your legs, exploring your most intimate areas with a rough possessiveness. “Fucking wet for a fucking virgin”, he grumbled, his voice low and filled with dark satisfaction. Without warning, he pushed a finger inside you, making you gasp at the sudden intrusion.

The sensation was overwhelming, a mix of pleasure and discomfort that left you breathless. You tried to relax, to trust that Dean would find the part of him that could be gentle, but it was hard with the intensity of his touch.

Dean’s eyes gleamed with a dark satisfaction as he felt your reaction. “So fucking tight”, he teased, his voice dripping with a twisted mix of desire and amusement. His grip on your hips tightened, preventing you from backing away as he pushed his finger deeper inside you, curling it slightly to elicit another gasp from your lips.

You whimpered, your body instinctively trying to retreat from the overwhelming sensation, but his hold was unyielding. “Dean, please”, you pleaded, your voice a mix of desperation and confusion.

Dean grumbled, his voice rough with desire, “Wait until you feel my cock”. He started to move his finger inside you, watching your every reaction closely. His attempt to not be too rough was evident, but he couldn’t quite find a gentle rhythm. His touch was still intense, making you moan strained, trying to ignore the pressure.

Seeing your discomfort, he leaned in and kissed you, his lips hard and desperate. He seemed to be trying to calm you down with the kiss, though his roughness was still present. You could feel his struggle, the battle between the darkness and the part of him that cared for you.

“Dean”, you whispered against his lips, your voice trembling. “Please… just slow down”.

Dean took a deep breath, urging himself to slow down a bit. He looked into your eyes, his forehead resting against yours, the tension in his body palpable. With a careful push, he added a second finger inside you, making you gasp at the increased pressure.

“Fuck, you’re so tight”, he muttered, his voice a mix of awe and frustration. “This is definitely gonna hurt”.

You whimpered softly, the sensation intense and overwhelming.

Dean kept pushing slowly inside you, his fingers moving with a deliberate, measured pace. He was trying his best to get you ready for him, despite the roughness that lingered at the edges of his touch. You whimpered softly, the sensation intense and overwhelming, but you could feel the effort he was making to be careful.

“Just a bit more”, he murmured, his voice low and strained. He continued to move his fingers inside you, curling them slightly to stretch you. The discomfort began to ebb away, replaced by a growing warmth and pleasure.

As he was convinced you were wet enough, he slowly pulled his fingers out, his eyes never leaving yours. He grabbed his dick, positioning himself at your entrance, the tip brushing against you.

You shivered underneath him, biting your lip and gripping his biceps. Dean looked down at your pussy, his brow furrowed with concentration as he tried to thrust inside you as gently as possible. Despite his efforts, he failed, bottoming out with one deep thrust. The sudden, intense sensation made you scream, your body arching against him.

He immediately pressed his lips to yours, swallowing your cry, his kiss rough but desperate. “I’m trying, I swear”, his voice filled with frustration.

Tears welled in your eyes from the pain, but you forced yourself to breathe deeply, trying to adjust to the fullness. “Just… give me a moment”, you whispered, your voice trembling.

Dean breathed heavily, the intensity of the moment making it nearly impossible for him to hold back. You were clenching around him so hard that he had to grit his teeth to keep from losing control.

“You´re so fucking tight”, he groaned, his forehead pressing against yours. His muscles were tense, his body trembling with the effort to stay still.

You took several deep breaths, willing your body to relax and adjust to the sensation. The pain slowly began to subside, replaced by a growing warmth and pleasure.

Before you could tell him you were ready, Dean began to slowly pull out, a deep groan escaping his lips. The sensation was intense, and you gasped, trying to adjust to the feeling of him moving inside you. He pushed back in with measured restraint.

After a few thrusts that left you breathless, you urged him to go slower, the sensation still overwhelming. “Dean, please, slower”, you managed to gasp, your hands gripping his shoulders.

“I’m already going slow!”, he snapped, frustration evident in his voice. The veins on his neck stood out as he fought to hold back, to keep from losing control. His eyes flickered between black and green, the struggle within him palpable.

You could see the effort it took for him to maintain his composure, his muscles tense with the strain. “I know”, you whispered, trying to soothe him. “Just… keep trying”.

His face fell against your shoulder as he continued to push inside you with a strained slowness, his breath hot and ragged against your skin. “Like this?”, he muttered breathlessly, his voice filled with a mix of frustration and desperation.

You nodded, your hands sliding up to tangle in his hair. “Yes, like that”, you whispered, trying to encourage him.

He groaned, his movements steady but tense, each thrust controlled but heavy with effort.

“You feel so good”, he murmured against your shoulder, his voice trembling. “So fucking good”.

“Dean”, you moaned, your body responding to the rhythm he had found. The pain had faded, replaced by a deep, growing pleasure that made your toes curl. “Keep going, just like that”.

He groaned again, the sound deep and guttural. “I should have fucked you sooner”, he mumbled, his breath hot against your ear. “Never felt a pussy like yours”.

His words sent a shiver through you, a mix of shock and arousal. You could feel his desperation, his need to claim you completely.

“Dean”, you whispered, your hands tightening in his hair. “I love you”.

His movements faltered for a moment, the words seeming to reach a part of him buried beneath the darkness. “I know”, he mumbled, his voice thick with emotion. He pushed deeper inside you, hitting your sweet spot with a precision that made you gasp.

“Oh shit", you moaned, your body arching against him, the pleasure intensifying. Your hands tightened in his hair, pulling him closer as you tried to anchor yourself in the overwhelming sensations.

His thrusts became more deliberate, more controlled, as if he was trying to savor every moment.

He felt you clenching around him, knowing you were close. “You’re mine now”, he murmured, his voice rough and possessive. “I hope you know that”.

Your heart ached at his words. Deep down, you knew that the real Dean didn’t love you the way you loved him. But this Dean, twisted by darkness, seemed to be obsessed with you in a way that was both unsettling and intoxicating. In your desperate mind, it was better than nothing.

You clung to him, your body arching against his as the pleasure built to an almost unbearable intensity.

His thrusts becoming more purposeful as he felt you nearing your climax. “Say it”, he demanded, his breath hot against your ear. “Say you’re mine”.

“I’m yours, Dean”, you gasped, your body trembling with the force of your impending release. “I’m yours”.

With a final, deep thrust, he pushed you over the edge. Your body convulsed with pleasure, your climax shattering through you with an intensity that left you breathless. Dean followed moments later, a guttural moan escaping his lips as he buried himself deep inside you, his release shuddering through him.

You were overwhelmed by your first real orgasm, your body trembling with the intensity of it. Your nails dug into Dean’s back as he spilled inside of you, his own release shuddering through him. You both lay there, breathing heavily, your minds spinning from the sheer force of the moment.

Dean’s face was buried in the crook of your neck, his breath hot against your skin. He remained inside you, his body still trembling slightly from the aftershocks. The room was filled with the sound of your combined heavy breathing, a testament to the intensity of what had just happened.

After a while, Dean pulled out of you, letting himself fall back on the bed, one hand resting on his sweaty stomach. You hesitated for a moment, the silence hanging heavily in the air. The intimacy of the moment had faded, replaced by an unsettling awkwardness.

“What do I do now?”, you asked quietly, your voice barely above a whisper.

Dean rolled his eyes, his frustration evident. “Go and fucking clean yourself before you soak my sheets”, he grumbled, his tone rough. Blood and his cum were already gathering between your thighs, making you feel extremely vulnerable.

You felt a pang of shame at his words, your cheeks flushing with embarrassment. The reality of the situation hit you hard, and you struggled to keep your emotions in check. Slowly, you got up from the bed, trying to ignore the uncomfortable wetness between your legs.

You made your way to the bathroom, each step feeling heavier than the last. Once inside, you closed the door behind you and leaned against it for a moment, taking a deep breath.

You cleaned yourself up as best as you could, the water from the sink cold against your skin. As you wiped away the remnants of blood and cum, you couldn’t help but feel a mix of emotions—relief that it was over, shame for what had happened, and a lingering sadness for the way things had turned out.

When you finally returned to the bedroom, Dean was still lying on the bed, his eyes closed and his breathing steady. With shaking legs, you began to gather your clothes, trying to hide your naked body as best as you could. The vulnerability and shame still weighed heavily on you, and you moved quietly, hoping not to draw his attention.

But Dean’s eyes opened, and he watched you intently. “What are you doing?”, he grumbled, his voice rough.

You froze for a moment, clutching your clothes to your chest. “I… I was just getting dressed”, you stammered, your voice barely above a whisper.

He sighed heavily, rubbing a hand over his face. “Just come back to bed”, he muttered, sounding more tired than angry. “We can deal with this tomorrow”.

You looked at him, puzzled. “You want me to stay?”, you asked quietly, afraid to hear a no.

Dean rolled his eyes, his frustration clear. “Do I fucking stutter?”, he grumbled. “What part of ‘you’re mine’ didn’t you understand?”.

His words, though rough, brought a strange sense of relief. You slowly let your clothes drop back onto the chair and returned to the bed, slipping under the covers beside him. The vulnerability and shame still lingered, but his possessiveness was oddly reassuring.

Dean wrapped an arm around you, pulling you close against his chest. Despite his gruff demeanor, his touch was surprisingly gentle. You nestled against him, your head resting on his shoulder, feeling a mixture of comfort and confusion.

“Just get some sleep”, Dean murmured, his voice softer now, almost tender. He was tired and didn’t want to be disturbed. You bit your lip, inhaling his scent. You were sore, feeling it already, but you didn’t mind. Dean, your Dean, albeit a twisted version of him, lay beside you, naked. After he just gave you the best orgasm ever with ease.

He had taken your virginity. You had lost your virginity to your best friend, whom you had been in love with from the day you met him. The reality of it all settled over you, a mix of emotions swirling in your chest.

You nestled closer to him, savoring the warmth and comfort of his presence despite the complexities of the situation. As you breathed in his familiar scent, a sense of bittersweet contentment washed over you. It wasn’t the perfect, romantic first time you had always imagined, but it was with Dean, and that meant something.

“Dean”, you whispered tentatively, unsure if he was still awake. “I… I’m glad it was you”.

He didn’t respond immediately, and for a moment, you thought he had fallen asleep. Then he shifted slightly, his arm tightening around you.

“I said you should sleep”, he grumbled, his voice low and rough with fatigue.

“Okay”, you whispered, nestling closer to him and resting your head on his chest.

His heartbeat was steady and strong, a comforting rhythm that began to lull you into a sense of calm. The soreness in your body was a reminder of what had happened, but as you lay in Dean’s arms, it became easier to push away the doubts and fears. For now, you focused on the simple fact that you were together.

The night was quiet, and eventually, you drifted off to sleep, the events of the day fading into the background.

———————————

A/N: Please let me know what you think.🥰 Actually, I have already finished the story. I will upload the other parts one by one and I have to say, this is one of my favorites.

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Part 2

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Taglist: @spnfamily-j2 @kr804573 @kylersgirlfriend34 @spncupcake @woooonau @winchesterwild78 @anacarolinadasf

[luminiamore]

CORPORATE ESPIONAGE.

synopsis: in a world where vampires run powerful corporations, satoru gojo is a high-ranking ceo and a highly respected vampire. you, working for his rival corporation, are sent to infiltrate satoru's company and steal valuable secrets. it didn’t take long for him for to catch you, and he’s not gonna let you go so easily.

warnings: vampire satoru x black reader, enemies to lovers kinda? vampires use compulsion, wall sex, office sex, eater toru

——-

“You want me to what?”

You manage to break the demeaning silence in your boss’s dimly lit office with your sharp voice. Your breath was erratic, almost enraged by the words that had just come out of his mouth. The fucking audacity to even ask this of you.

He groans, shaking his head as he buries his hands in them, “Spy on Kisetsu no Bi.”

Oh. So, you weren’t hearing things. He really expects you to do this- spy on the rival company. Isn’t that a crime somewhere? This is illegal, right? I mean, what kind of boss even asks this of their highest-paid employee? No. No way.

“If this wasn’t important, I wouldn’t have asked- especially because I know how much effort you put in-”

You scoff, “So, this is the thanks I get? A crazy request to do something illegal? I’m not a fucking-”

“This isn’t a request, ( ♥︎ ). It’s either you do it, or you’re out of a job; that’s final.” His voice gets lower in pitch, and you don’t even flinch when he slams his hands on the table, baring his fangs at you in a chilling hiss.

You stay in your spot by the door and allow the silence to simmer. He should know better than to raise his voice at you, even if he were your boss. His heavy breathing was all that could be heard. When he saw the furious expression on your face, he quickly sat back in his chair. Realizing this was not the right approach, he attempted to find another angle.

He clears his throat, “My bad, that was rude. I deeply respect you ( ♥︎ ), and you’re among the few people I trust. That’s why I’m asking for your help with this, for this company.”

You still don’t say a word, but at least a thousand thoughts are circling in your pretty head. Even so, you move slowly towards the chair in front of his table and sit down, crossing one of your brown legs over the other. You adjust your white blouse, covering the accidental peak of your black bra. A slight shift of your head lets him know that you are listening.

He grumbles, eyes trying to stay focused on your face and not your plump body, “You know our rival company is owned by a man named Satoru Gojo. We have always been second to that arrogant bastard, but if we—”

“By which you mean me.”

You watch Toji roll his eyes, “If you could find something, anything that could ruin him, it’ll finally put us on top.”

It sounds reasonable- to a large extent, but could you even get away with this? What if you get caught? What if the media covers this? Could it ruin you?. It’ll plummet this company to the ground. Though Toji may be second right now, he’s still highly respected, even overseas. Almost on the level Satoru is.

“Why don’t you hire a professional? Someone who actually knows how to do this might work better in your favor.” You mutter out.

At this point, you’ll create any excuse to get out of this.

“Everyone knows who I am, you can’t trust anyone to not spread it to the media- no matter how much you pay them.”

“Won’t he know who I am? I mean, I’ve worked here for like 4 years.”

A tired smile graces his face, “You work from home, sweetheart. You only come in once every month, 3 weeks if I’m lucky.”

“What if I get caught? Respectfully, this is insane, Mr. Fushiguro.” Your face twists into an exasperated expression. You didn’t sign up to be no damn spy.

A loud groan breaks you out of your thoughts, “Christ, I’ll triple your pay. Whether you get the job done or fail, you’ll be compensated for it.” There it is. Suddenly, doing this job didn’t sound too horrible. You try to fight the smile on glossed lips, but your boss can see right through you.

“Yeah? I should’ve started with that.” He chuckles.

This time, you roll your eyes, “Whatever. Quadruple it for raising your grown man voice at me.”

“Sure. You’re obviously going under a different name. I have your documents right here, and they contain everything you’ll need.” You watch him pull out a thick folder from under his desk.

When he hands it to you, you’re more than surprised at how much he put into this. There’s a fat document that explains your entire new persona. …Kami Smith? Really? There’s a fake Id, he even went got you a fucking passport. How long did he plan to drag this out? “Maybe change your hair a little bit, you never know if someone might recognize you anyway.”

“I change my hair every week, Mr. Fushiguro. How am I even gonna get a job there?”

He hums, pretending to ponder over your question, “You’re a pretty girl. Don’t get pissed, but apart from how smart you are, it’s the reason you got a job here.”

You narrow your eyes, and he winces, noticing immediately, “I said not to get pissed.”

“Is that all, boss?” You rise from your seat, ignoring his words. With another roll of your eyes, the yellow folder is clutched tightly in your left hand.

Though you want to pretend you’re thinking this over, you know you have no choice but to go through with this. At least you’ll be getting paid, and you don’t have much of a social life to worry about being on the media anyway. You just really hope you don’t go to court over this.

“That’s all, ( ♥︎ ). Be careful, yeah?” Toji jerks his head over to you, though subtle, genuine concern covering his features. It makes you smile, feel giddy even. Sue you for thinking your boss is hot.

You give him a pretty smile and a nod. Toji listens as your kitten heels clack on his tile floors, his eyes never once leaving your frame in that tight pencil skirt. He hates to see you go, but he loves to watch you leave.

He snaps his head up when your voice calls out once more, “Have a good night, Mr. Fushiguro.”

And with the soft click of his door, he’s alone in his office again. He huffs out a breath, spewing curses under his breath, when he accidentally nicks his lower lip on his sharp fang. “Damn.”

——

It turns out your boss was right. You are a pretty girl. Therefore, it didn’t take long for you to get an interview at his rival company, 2 days to be exact. You were rather impressionable, too, so much so that Satoru wanted to interview you himself.

Nervous was an understatement. Could you really pull this off? You never had a liking for Satoru. He was arrogant, self-centered, and a womanizer if the headlines weren’t so obsessed with him. You never met him, but you’ve seen enough online interviews for you to absolutely hate his personality.

His best friend and partner company is more tolerable, though. Even though he looks aloof and nonchalant, you could tell he’s just as arrogant - maybe even more than his white-haired companion. You pretended not to notice his piercing gaze the entire time you walked past him to the elevator, the one leading straight to the top of the skyscraper.

Your outfit was nothing short of professional— a tight dark grey skirt encompassing your wide hips and your burgundy Hermes Porosus bag hanging on the shoulder of your cream silk blouse. Your rouge heels clack on the tile floor with each step you take to the large white office, which the receptionist told you was at the end of the hall.

You lift your soft hands into a fist, and right before you’re about to knock, the door swings open. And lo and behold, there he is.

Satoru Gojo, in all his glory.

The top two buttons of his dress shirt are loose, and you have to fight for your eyes not to waver down to sneak a glance at his porcelain chest. He was attractive, you’re not stupid enough to try and deny that. His eyes had a pretty crystalline glow. They were penetrating- you felt like he knew everything about you with just one look. His hair was frosty, and it looked so... soft.

It was quick, a heated vision of your fingers running through them, tugging and—

“Enjoying the view, angel?”

You blink quickly, snapping your eyes away from his face when you cause a smirking dancing across his lips. Great, he caught you staring. “No. I’m here for our interview, for the job?”

His grin widens, and with a snicker, you hear, “You sure? Could’ve sworn you were drooling a bit there.”

“I was not.” You snap.

Satoru hums, obviously unconvinced, “You’re Kami, hm?”

Your loose curls shake as you nod. It was impossible not to notice- or overanalyze- the way he spoke. Almost like he was doubtful or suspicious of you even. Maybe you’re just overthinking it. There’s no way he already suspects you. Part of you thinks you’re also nodding to convince yourself of your inner turmoil.

He opens the door a little to let you in. An electric surge flows through your body when your arms graze his shoulder because he simply won’t budge until you completely come inside. He leads you to a soft couch with a swift grasp of your hand. As his fingers rub back and forth on your muscles, you can’t help but wonder if he does this to every new potential hire.

The room suddenly feels hot, and you find yourself slightly grateful when he breaks the silence as he’s rounding his own chair, “Where ya from, angel?”

You ignore the tingling in your stomach at the nickname “New York.”

Your answer is immediate. You and your best friend spent an entire day going over the document until you memorized everything. You covered all grounds. You're sure you can answer any question he throws at you about your background.

Another low hum as you watch him click away on his computer, “So, why are you looking for a job in Tokyo?”

“I decided to take my business degree oversees, I needed a new change of scenery.”

If you were pressed on the actual reason for your visit to Japan years ago, you would not be capable of giving an answer. Your memory has a gap between before and after you came. All you really remember is waking up in a Japanese penthouse with at least a million yen in your bank account.

Satoru abruptly stops his typing and leans back in his chair, his attention now and utterly focused on you. “You know, getting an interview here is not easy.”

Internally, you can’t help but roll your eyes. “Yes, Mr. Gojo. Which is why I’m very grateful for this opportunity.”

The silence following your sentence is so loud you could hear a pin drop. It makes you shift your position on the couch, and Satoru doesn’t grant you the mercy of not noticing. His low eyes actually don’t leave your frame once. They move from your thighs to your lips, to the fat of your supple breasts, and finally to your neck. It goes straight to your core, and you can’t stand it.

You clear your throat, “I can explain my-”

“You’re hired.”

You blink, once. Twice.

“I-uh- what?” A sputter in your words makes him stifle a chuckle at your perplexed state. You’re too cute.

With a shrug of his shoulders, he repeats, “The position you wanted? It’s yours, angel.”

There’s that pet name again. “Just like that? You haven’t even asked me five questions.”

Was it that simple? His tone and quickness make you question whether there are cameras in this place. Too many red flags go off in your head, but you don’t seem to notice that brewing gut feeling in your stomach.

Satoru nodded, his smile almost blinding with how wide it was, “Don’t need to. You’re gonna be working in the office next to mine.”

This is convenient. It’s way too convenient.

“Next to yours?” You whisper as if trying to make sense of this, and the tall man in front of you finds heavy amusement in your reactions.

“Next to mine, angel. That won’t be a problem, yes?”

He’s toying with you. He has to be. A fake smile graces your face, “Of course not. When do I start, Mr. Gojo?”

Satoru had no idea how much he had missed you until he saw you again. Changing your hair, growing into your body, or getting a few more piercings were irrelevant to him. He would always recognize you. How is it that you’re even more beautiful? Even more delectable. He hates himself for leaving you and protecting you in the worst way possible. You don’t even remember him— how could you? He compelled you to forget him.

He doesn’t know where you’ve been, who you’ve been seeing, or what you’ve been doing. But he saw you, overseeing the admissions director when they pulled up your application. He couldn’t help but think, is this fate?

“Today. Let me give you a tour, angel.” Satoru isn’t letting you go a second time. He lost you once, and he’d be a fool to do it again after this opportunity presented itself to him. How I missed you, my love.

——

Two weeks. That’s how long it took you to actually start your task in the first place. That’s because the owner of this company won’t leave you alone for a damn minute. Everywhere you go, he’s right behind you. Every time you try and get a minute to yourself, he’s there— pestering you.

The workplace was crowded, but one of the perks of being next to Satoru’s office was being away from the crowd. You tried observing when he leaves for lunch, but whenever he does, he demands that you take your lunch with him. He’s a busy man; you anticipate that he takes as many meetings as Toji does in a day, maybe even more. But for each one, you were requested to accompany him.

At this point, you’re starting to think he’s obsessed with you.

Today, you have a chance. Satoru hasn’t been in the office since this morning, and amid the daily gossip, you caught word that he won’t be in the office all day. This is the opportunity you’ve been waiting for; you just have to wait until everyone leaves by five.

4:55 P.M.

Your door creaks slightly after two soft knocks, “Hey, Kami! I’m leaving for tonight. Since you’re the only person in the office, you mind locking up?”

Shoko was always a kind person. She was one of the few people you spoke to every day when Satoru wasn’t corning you. You stop typing and glance at the gorgeous girl with a grin, “Not at all, you can just leave the keys on the door. Night, Shoko!”

The final ding of the elevator is what you wait for to get up from your seat. Even though you’re the only person here, you still try to make your movements as quiet as possible. You don’t question why Satoru doesn’t have a security code or why it’s open at all, but you are thankful for it.

His office is more.. organized than the last time you were in here. There are storage cabinets stacked on both the wall and his desk, as well as a bookshelf. You’re fast at getting to work. Starting near his wall, you open the first cabinet and shuffle through each folder. Blood supply contracts... NDAs.. employee files.. property deeds.

Nothing of importance is there, so your heels lightly clack on the way to his wooden desk. When you open it, the first thing you notice is a folder called The Red Files. Here it is, exactly what you were searching for. This file is stuffed with everything that could put him out of business permanently— money laundering, the files of all the individuals who were bribed and corrupted by this company, and even embezzlement.

You can hear a buzzing going off on your phone, and you’re confused when you read that it’s Toji calling you. He could have been phoning to check on your progress, but regardless, you decline and continue reading. The more you scan, the more you find illegal activities on top of illegal activities.

What the fuck kind of company is this—

“Find anything interesting in there, angel?”

You gasp, shoving the papers into his desk shelf instinctively as you stand up from your position on the floor. Fuck. Fuck. Fuck. Fuck. You’re so fucked.

You try to stammer out a response, but it’s honestly embarrassing how you’re tripping over your words, “M-Mr. Gojo? I— what?”

His slim body rests on his open door, his gaze unwavering at your slightly quivering frame. He’s wearing a white dress shirt again, but when you look a little closer, you notice that more buttons are popped open. His skin is so smooth, it’s easy to tell where his abs start. Why did he have to be so fine?

He doesn’t seem upset if you’re going by the smile on his smooth face. He seems amused, rather. His voice is slow when he speaks to you, taunting sensual even, “Well? Did you, ( ♥︎ )?”

Your eyes widen slightly, and you’re certain that your breath has been taken away. Well, now you’re double fucked. You didn’t hear him, how did he even get here? Then you roll your eyes again at your ignorance. Vampire. Right.

“..I don’t know who that is, Mr. Gojo. My name is Kami.” Your voice is tense, awkward because… what could you even say? You’ll deny this as much as you can before you inevitably give in.

Satoru rolls his eyes, “Wrong. Your name is ( ♥︎ ) ( ♥︎ ), and you work for that idiot, Fushiguro.”

Now you’re sputtering as you respond, “That’s not-”

“You woke up in Japan a few years ago, too, didn’t you? No clue how it happened, but you had a pretty hefty amount in that bank account of yours.”

Silence. You believe you’re too stunned to speak. How does he know that? He could see the expression on your face, and it made him laugh at your expense. Satoru began walking towards you, and with every step he took forward, you took a step backward. Right up until your back hit the wall, and you had nowhere to go.

His proximity resulted in the scent of his cologne hitting your nose. He appeared more.. bigger in front of you, and you’re almost facing his almost bare chest. Those piercing eyes stare down at you intensely, with so much passion. You’re internally cursing yourself for how you seem to only have these reactions when he’s near you.

You breathe, “I- I have to leave.”

He ignores you and instead presses closer to you. As he leans down, his hair brushes against your cheek, and you hear him breathe deeply. The hotness of his breath when he breathes out is a pleasant sensation for you.

He has to remind himself that you don’t remember him, but he sounds so broken when he says, “You spying on me? Really, angel?”

Your thoughts are confusing, and with how many of them there are, it’s making your head hurt. Why is he saying it like that? Like he knows you? Like you really hurt him. This is your first time seeing this man, but he’s acting like he’s in love with you.

“Mr. Gojo-”

His fang grazes your neck, descending right down to your collarbone, “Satoru. Call me Satoru, angel.”

You’re gasping when his fingers grip your top, pulling and popping one button off. Why aren’t you stopping him? Why are you letting this happen? Your breath is shaky when you speak, “Will I get in trouble for this?”

“In trouble? You’re asking if I’ll take this to the media? Course not, Angel.”

Satoru quickly savored your blood flowing onto his tongue after a small peck to your throat and another one on your chest. You taste so fucking sweet, just like you did the first time.

He continues, “But I won’t let you off so easy. Let’s teach you a lesson, hm?”

Your back is arching in an uncomfortable position on your boss’s desk while your chest heaves from the sheer pleasure running through your entire body. On his knees, the white-haired man holds your thighs in a tight grip while his tongue slides up and down your gushing mound. You’re not sure what lesson you thought Satoru had in mind for you, but it definitely wasn’t this.

The same hair you’ve been fantasizing about running your fingers through is shaking from in between your trembling legs. There aren’t any coherent thoughts in your brain besides ‘Satoru’ or ‘more.’ You can’t hold back your sounds even if you try, and Satoru finds that he wants to hear more of your tunes.

He slurps, his long tongue easily slipping inside you and devouring everything you have to offer. “God, you still taste so good.”

You’re babbling when you respond, you don’t even register his words, “Oh! Yesss- Right there, Toru.”

You’re bucking your hips into his awaiting mouth, it’s so messy and wet. Each time you spasm and try to run away from his onslaught, it just makes him go harder- go faster. His tongue slipped out of you, but the pressure never went away because he quickly slid in two long, slender fingers and began pumping.

You choked, tears brimming in your eyes as he easily nudged your g-spot, “Always so messy, f’me.”

Always? A pitiful sob is the response you give to a sharp pressure on the side of your inner thigh, just where your fat lips meet. You tighten your grip on him when his tongue wraps around your twitching clit. As you’re huffing, tears begin to fall, and burning pressure builds in your core.

The way your hips are grinding against his hand and your arousal is making obscene noises in the quiet of the office are uncontrollable. He curls them, arching them at an angle to penetrate the deepest parts of you. And damn him for knowing how to eat it like this.

There’s a pulsing shock flowing through you with every squelching pump. Your body was filled with euphoria, and Satoru’s eyes were tightly closed, immersing himself in your essence- it was giving you sensory overload. The only thing keeping you grounded in reality at this moment is your harsh grip on his hair.

Satoru needed only three more strokes of his fingers to have your sweet cream covering him. You’re even messier when you cum, even louder, too- he always loved that about you.

“Such a pretty girl. You want more, angel? Want Toru to give you more?” He abruptly withdraws and slaps your dripping lips violently, causing you to scream and cry in his grasp. Instead of giving you an answer, Satoru presses his lips on yours in a furious manner, sucking up the air you breathe and eating every sigh that passes through your lips.

Your soft ass makes it easy for the desperate man to lift you up from the wooden desk with both hands. Your skirt is long gone, and your blouse is completely torn apart when you are pressed tightly against the wall.

Satoru grips your chin and puts your attention on him, “Look at me, angel.”

And with hazy eyes, you do. You experience a plethora of memories as your mind spins. Memories of you and Satoru on a silk bed, on a private plane. Memories of him lying on you and memories of his cock filling you up over and over again start coming back to haunt you when he utters the word ‘Remember.’

You blink rapidly, your mouth opening into a wanton moan when you feel Satoru’s thick tip slide past your entrance. Jesus, huge doesn’t even begin to describe him. Your hands are immediately pressing against his stomach, trying to push him back because it was entirely too much. He grips them both with one hand and effortlessly presses them above your head.

You’re almost distracted by the fact that you’re face-to-face with Satoru. Your Satoru. Your words are a mix of a dragged-out moan and a curious tone, “Toru?”

He is quick when he answers you, almost reassuring you that he’s here. With you, “Yeah, angel. S’me.”

His next words come out in a pained groan, “Come on, take some more f’me. You remember how to, right?”

You’re nodding before he can even finish his sentence, your trembling arms holding on for dear life around his neck as he presses his face into your chest. He’s pushing deeper inside you, and you find it hard to remember how to breathe when he slaps his hips against yours in one go. You’re wailing, breath heaving when you feel your arousal dripping down your thighs.

You’re so full, filled to the brim with 8 inches of fat dick. Satoru was a fucking problem; he doesn’t wait for you to tell him to move— pulls his cock at a slow, agonizing pace before he slaps against you once more. Your pretty pussy is on fire, and you swear you can feel him in your throat.

Satoru is stabbing your womb with each thrust, and he is so proud of you when you start pushing your pussy out. Yeah, you remember how to take him.

He’s panting against your mouth when you tremble out, “Missed you- missed you s’much, Toru.”

He groans, pressing his lips against you for another quick, sloppy kiss, “Oh, I missed you so much more, angel.”

The man above you was quick and precise with his movements. He was punching that spongy spot in you so good if you looked down, you’d be sure to see the creamy paste that started forming at the base of his cock. He just wouldn’t stop talking, “You take it so well, fuck. I’m in your stomach, baby. You feel me?”

His unoccupied hand moves down to your tummy, right where he was poking with every harsh thrust he fed you, “Feel me right there?”

Your eyes roll in the back of your head when Satoru kisses the ankle dangling by his head, and you try to gargle out an answer, “I-I feel you! So deep- so good.”

There was an itch inside you that only Satoru could ever scratch. He always treated your pussy so well, and you’re so far gone on the feel of him every time he slammed into you. Your boobs bounce with every forceful stroke, and when Satoru looks down at you, the only thoughts running through his brain are how good you look.

He can tell you’re close. Your screams are getting breathy, and your body is shaking more frantically under him. There’s no better feeling than this, he finds. No better feeling than your perfect cunt wrapped tightly around him as he fucks all coherence out of you. You didn’t look away from his eyes, from his face— he just looked so pretty when he was flushed and rutting into you like his life depended on it.

He breathes, his fangs poking right near your throat, “Looks like you’re gonna make a mess, angel. Gonna squirt all over me?”

“Y-Yess. Yes. M’gonna cum so-”

A groan in your ear makes you clench down harder on him, “Tell me you love it. Tell me you love how good I make you feel.”

You feel unapologetic when you desperately scream out, “Love it! L-Love the way you fuck me, I love you!”

“I love you, angel. Be a good girl and make a mess for Toru, yeah?”

You are being fucked out of your own soul as he goes even deeper than you imagined. When he bites harshly into your neck, your legs shake, and you can only gush all over him. He holds you like you weigh nothing as he holds the same pace, letting you ride out your entire orgasm.

Fuck, there's so much that it’s leaking on the floor, and that’s what does it for him. That’s all he needed for his balls to churn and for his breath to stutter as he dumps his thick cum inside your perfect haven. Your mind is so gone you don’t hear Satoru’s mindless whispers of how perfect you are.

You watch him as much as you can, as much as your orgasm allows you. You watch his perfect reaction, his brows furrowing, and the words getting stuck in his throat every time he twitches inside you from overstimulation.

Had it not been for the way he carried you and sat down in his chair, you would have assumed it was finished, but he ignored the juices leaking from you every time he moved. He’s still hard, painfully so— you didn’t have time to be worn out before he started slowly bouncing you on his erection again. Everything was messy, your fluids mixing and dripping beneath you two, and the blood from your neck dripping slightly onto your chest. You cried out on his shoulder.

You were aware that there would be a lot to discuss within the next few hours. How Satoru compelled you and forced you to forget him, and how you still legally worked for Toji. You had no idea what you would even say to him, but with each steady bounce on Satoru’s heavy cock, you just don’t find yourself caring at all.

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