#and look at that hot air mobile home

[13atoms]

Handsome and a Genius (Spencer Reid x F!Bau!Reader)

Inspired by that one scene in x files where mulder stands like a himbo looking handsome and being the future of beauty. you know the one I mean

Summary: Spencer’s overactive brain draws more attention than it ought to on a case, and you see him in a new light. 3k words.

Contains: hostile witnesses, spencer being clueless (but an absolute babe), friends to lovers. (No offence to Florida im sure it’s very nice, reader is having a bad day, and I am far too British for that kind of heat)

The sticky Florida air had long since plastered your clothes to your skin, leaving you short of breath and with the unpleasant feeling of damp hair against your scalp. The whole team had groaned at the revelation their next case would be in the outskirts of Miami, and as soon as the plane door opened you understood why.

You were hot, and grumpy. The salty, swampy air made you feel disgusting as you approached witness after witness. There was a serial killer operating in and around mobile home parks in the area, with the two most recent murders taking place in Royal Biscayne Trailer Park, both over a week ago. While the rest the team spread out across the other crime scenes, you and your partner had been dispatched to this one.

It was a world away from Quantico: sun-bleached, dense, full of plastic and palms instead of concrete and maples. Nonetheless, the principles remained the same no matter where you were. Take everything in, speak to everyone, suspect everyone. Stepping in and out of trailers gave you very little relief from the heat, although respite from the sun pounding down on you was a welcome break.

Dr Spencer Reid stood a short distance away, shielding his eyes with his hand as he contemplated the sea of trailers around him. He’d stared around as you drove into the park, something faraway in his eyes as he memorised every detail from the safety of the SUV.

Now he stood close to you, heads inches apart as he whispered so that only you could hear. He faced one way, you the other, and you could focus on his words knowing that Spencer was watching your back.

“These things all come equipped with the same locks, at least each model does. If you recognise the trailer home, you know how to pick it. It’s fairly trivial, for someone with some basic industry knowledge.”

You hummed through pursed lips, surveying the small crowd who had gathered to gawk at a pair of FBI officers on their turf.

“And that would be true of all of the trailer parks… we know he’s got a common MO.”

“Exactly.”

“You reckon someone in the industry, then? A salesman? Maintenance guy?”

Spencer rolled his neck, stared up at the sky for a moment. His curls were long at the moment, damp at the name of his neck, a little frizzy in the humidity.

“Not necessarily.”

“It’s quite specific,” you agreed, “anyone operating as a common thief around here would have the knowledge too. We could be talking about a classic escalation – burglar to home invader to murderer?”

His eyes snapped from you to his phone.

“I’ve asked Garcia to check out any patterns in robberies, home invasions… the locks are hardly scratched. We know he wears gloves, cleans his tools. This guy knows what he’s doing.”

You nodded, surveying the street again. The sun was glinting off of white plastic, making you squint. You worried for Spencer, the heat and the light wouldn’t be doing his headaches any good.

“You want me to take that?” Spencer was saying, and you snapped your attention in the direction he was gestured.

There was middle-aged man a little way forward of the crowd, shoulders hunched, hands entwined. Nervous. He had the tan of someone who lived here year-round, not a big believer in suncream, with tanlines when he removed his hat and glasses to speak to you.

“I’ve got it,” you murmured, and Spencer nodded.

It was an unspoken part of your partnership, that Spencer liked when you started conversations with witnesses. You liked that he trusted you, trusted your skills, never questioned whether you’d done the right thing when you spoke to people.

Instead he remained a short distance away, climbing up the front steps of someone’s home for a higher vantage point to survey the place.

“Hello, sir. Can I help you?”

“Yes, ma’am. Thank you. You said you’re with the FBI?”

The man had a tip, and it was an interesting one. A rumour spread throughout the HOA about someone trying the locks at night, the sound of metal against the doorways, silhouettes against frosted glass. A few people even had security camera footage, though nothing identifiable. It was great. You gave him your card, told him to get the footage to you asap.

It must be terrifying, you realised, to hear that kind of noise in the night. To be so close to danger, after a neighbour had been killed. The local sheriff’s department seemed frustrated by the interest the case was garnering – frankly you were amazed the story wasn’t bigger. There was no small amount of comforting involved in the conversation you had with the witness, and soon enough a few more people stepped forwards from the crowd. All seemed middle-aged, likely transplants to the sunshine state, and equally shaken.

When everyone’s stories had finished, they stood in silence for a moment. You frowned, noticing their gazes slightly misaligned.

Spencer.

He was stood at your shoulder, sharp gaze flickering across each face of the gathered residents.

“This is my colleague, Dr Reid. A few of you have already met, I believe.”

“You know,” he began, “the socio-economic factors influencing the way we think about crime in mobile home communities are fascinating. Often trailer parks are stereotyped negatively in the media, and because they are generally cheaper to live in than traditional housing estates, and that can foster a sense of shame or isolation for residents. Transient populations can also make community policing and security difficult, and anomalies in the patterns of everyday life become more difficult for people to subconsciously spot.”

You held your breath, and tried not to look worried at the reaction of the small crowd. Instead, you focused on Spencer. He was speaking with his hands a lot today.

“But I think the assumptions we tend to make about trailer parks completely overlook the very nature of living so close to your neighbours. There is a sense of community in living so closely, as evidenced by the conversations we’ve been having today. I’m not sure whether the killer understands that, or is exploiting the former theory that places like this allow for more deviations from the way we implement traditional security in communities. An unsub might hold some sort of resentment towards trailer parks, or some specific resident in his past, or perhaps he’s simply exploiting how incredibly easy it is to simply walk up to a mobile home and slip the lock open with a humble mass-produced lock pick.”

He was greeted with a sea of blank faces, littered with the occasional frown. Finally he looked to you. You caught the furrow of his brow, the way his shoulders hunched into himself, the clutching of his elbows to his body.

Oh, Spencer.

“That’s really interesting!” you tried to say, but Spencer was already backing away.

“Anyway, I’ll, um, leave you to it.”

“Thank you, Dr Reid,” you called after him, as he fled, disappearing into the shade of a nearby trailer.

 Your heart ached for him a bit, but you pushed that aside. Instead, you had a sea of potentially offended retirees to keep on side.

“God, what I’d give for a brain like that,” your witness laughed, his linen shirt straining under the movement.

You couldn’t help smiling, a little relieved the tension had broken.

“It’s not often someone has a face like that and a good head on their shoulders,” one of the older ladies piped up.

You found yourself looking over your shoulder at Spencer, his profile sharp as he looked down the road, deep in thought.

“He’s certainly a rare breed,” you agreed fondly.

A number of the crowd were following your gaze, and someone in you wanted to snap them out of it. Stop them from staring.

“He actually has an eidetic memory. Once he’s seen or heard something, he remembers it perfectly, forever. It’s incredible.”

“Oh, my goodness! I can hardly remember my own email password!”

“I wouldn’t mind if he hung around me and talked like that all day, even if I didn’t understand a word of it. Though perhaps he could use a haircut…”

There was a chorus of agreement and various coo-ing which seemed to occupy the entire scale from grandmotherly to entirely inappropriate. You couldn’t help staring at Spencer a moment longer, wondering if he was truly oblivious, or simply pretending to be.

A rare breed.

You were certain you’d never met anyone else like him. Certain you felt like a better version of yourself in his company. That you’d trust him with your life, that you searched every room you entered until you saw him. Watched the elevator doors each time they opened, all morning, until Spencer walked in.

You were certain you’d felt giddy the first time Spencer insisted the two of you would work together, alone.

 “Imagine knowing that he’d remember everything, forever…” one of the women was saying, her eyebrows raised in a way you didn’t particularly enjoy.

You cleared your throat, and hooked one hand over the badge at your waist.

“Unless anyone has any further leads, we’d better be on our way…”

The group silenced, and watched you dutifully. You passed out a few more cards, reiterated how dedicated the team was to stopping this killer, and gave out a few promises that there would be a police presence after dark throughout the trailer park.

When the request for any further questions was met with more glances towards Spencer, you thanked your witness, and made a beeline for the car. After only a few seconds Spencer was beside you, jogging to catch up.

“All done?” he asked, and you smiled at the question.

“I think so.”

You started the engine and both waited with the doors open for the car to cool down. The department’s penchant for black SUVs was not helpful when the sun was so vicious. Feeling the heat themselves, the group of residents had dispersed into a few groups, wandering into one another’s homes to continue gossiping.

“God, I’m disgusting,” you lamented, “sorry for the sweat-smell. I might actually take a cold shower when we get to the hotel.”

Spencer was already waving you off, leaning into the car to mess with the AC. Through the open door you saw him groan at the heat, swiping a curl from his face.

“I’m afraid to raise my arms. It’s so humid, I’m not sure why anyone would retire here. High humidity aggravates a number of chronic conditions, especially respiratory ones, which are common in older people. Not to mention the skin cancer…”

“And it ruins your hair,” you teased.

Spencer faked a gasp, and reached for a damp, limp section of his hair.

“I mean, look at it!”

You laughed, and rolled your eyes at him, nothing but fondness settling warm and tight in your chest.

Surveying the road in front of you for one final time you saw a few curtain-twitchers, but no new faces. You climbed into the car, wincing at the heat. The seatbelt buckle was burning hot, and you swore as it burned your fingers.

“I always forget about that,” you grumbled, slamming the car door closed.

“You know, if you fasten your seatbelt after you get out, it stops the metal getting hot and burning you,” Reid offered, and you rolled your eyes at him again.

“Gosh, doesn’t it get exhausting being right about everything?”

Spencer went quiet, and all you heard was the click of his own belt. After a few moments the car was cool and bearable, and your lungs felt like they could finally move again. The sat-nav happily talked away, and you started stealing worried looks at your partner once you’d returned to properly-maintained roads.

“What you said out there was really good, do you mind if we go over it again once we get to the station? I think it’s worth exploring.”

“I shouldn’t have said it in front of them.”

He was right, but you didn’t have to heart to say anything. That was the thing which made your heart twinge about Spencer – he was so insecure, and yet so self-aware, it was the worst of both worlds. Being an expert in body language was a double-edged sword.

“I don’t think they minded. Did you hear those old ladies talking about your big brain?”

Spencer didn’t laugh. He turned himself towards the window, curled up with his hand beneath his jaw.

“They were very impressed. So was I, for what it’s worth. I think we’ll make some really good progress on this profile tonight.”

He hummed agreement. Watched a vista of blurred blue and green and white going past the window. The radio was turned down to a low hum, you could hardly hear it. Silence pierced its way through and sound of mumbled songs and road noise.

“Are you okay?” you asked finally.

“I’m okay.”

You sighed. Tapped the steering wheel. Sped a little to get through an intersection on amber.

 “Spencer…”

“I’m sorry. I really didn’t mean to ruin that for you I just… sometimes I think of things and it’s like I have to tell you.

“Spencer I’m not mad at you! Not at all! I think we’re both just tired, and too warm…”

He didn’t say anything.

“Honestly, I was worried you’d heard what those ladies were saying about you and gotten upset. It was inappropriate of them…”

“I didn’t hear anything. What did they say?”

Your gaze was focused on the road, but you met Spencer’s eye in the rear-view mirror as he watched your face.

“Just that you were a handsome young man. And that they wanted you to get a haircut, which I firmly disagree with…” you teased.

Spencer touched his hair self-consciously. He was still quite curled up, leaning away from you despite his interest in the conversation.

“That’s nice of them, I suppose.”

“‘Nice’ is an interesting way of putting it, but I’m glad you’re not upset about it.”

“When I was a kid, I read a book at the library about how to tell if you’re attractive. It was for women, all about makeup and stuff, but there was a section about what made guys hot. I could never figure it out, I just always thought I looked like an alien.”

The sudden change made you sit up straight, heart in your mouth as you rolled to a stop behind a queue of traffic.

“I think everyone feels like that sometimes. Being a teenager is really hard.”

 “I… yeah. I suppose so.”

“I always felt so jealous of the people who walked around looking perfect every day, confident that they were not. It just never came naturally to me.”

“Really? I assumed you were one of those girls in school who I’d be too afraid to talk to.”

You scoffed, and for a moment were struck by how little you really knew about one another. The way Spencer looked at you, looked it everyone, it felt as though he had an x-ray into every tiny detail of your life. How could he know, though?

“Of course not,” you laughed nervously.

You weren’t sure if you’d prefer Spencer knew the truth, or kept believing whatever he’d made up ini his head. You weren’t sure what any of this conversation meant. Traffic was moving. The precinct was two turns away.

“I’m not sure I believe you.”

He was teasing you. Finally he leant back in his seat, shoulders square to it, legs stretched out in the passenger footwell.

“Either way, I’m glad you can talk to me now. I’d miss it if you didn’t.”

“You might be the only person on this planet with that opinion.”

You took a moment to glance across the car at him, and caught a flash of a smile. He was joking. You released tension from your shoulders you hadn’t realised you were holding.

“I’m sure that’s not true. You’re a handsome genius, just like Barbara said.”

“Her name was Barbara?” Reid laughed.

You shrugged, and took the final turn into the precinct parking lot.

“I’ve got no idea.”

Even with the SUV in park, the aircon no longer blasting away, neither of you moved. Not for a moment, at least. A moment of peace before the chaos all began again. Just the two of you. Wherever you were, with Spencer was your favourite place to be.

“You’re the same, you know. A genius. And handsome…”

You frowned.

“Pretty! Beautiful. You know what I mean.”

“Handsome?”

In truth, you didn’t care about the words. Not at all. Not when your heart was pounding at the realisation Spencer had his gaze fixed on your lips, his eyes soft and pupils blown wide.

“Beautiful,” Spencer repeated, “You know, in a lot of languages, handsome can be translated for men and women. The word itself doesn’t have a gender. Guapa, for example, in Spanish…”

You let him talk, on and on. You decided you wouldn’t kiss him yet, while your hair was matted in sweat and Spencer’s face was brushed with sunburn and embarrassment.

“Bella is more popular in South America, though, or bonita. My favourite is Japanese, though. Kirei. To be beautiful both inside and out…”

Only a few more moments passed before Morgan arrived and banged on the glass with a wide grin and a sweat-beaded brow, announcing a break in the case. You were sorry for the interruption.

[madhattervanessa]

Crush

Summary: Your hot neighbor, Simon Riley, has returned from abroad again and this time, you decide to be brave and confess your feelings to him.

Warnings: Porn WITH Plot I guess lmao, some spanking, hair pulling, but nothing actually heavy, mutual masturbation, nipple play, fingering, p in v, creampie

Words: 3698

Masterlist - Mobile Masterlist

next Part

-

It’s absolutely stupid.

You twiddle your thumbs before planting both hands on the counter again.

Stupid.

Crushing on your neighbor? Forgivable.

Crushing on a hulking man like that, with those soft brown eyes, his stupidly beautiful blonde lashes around them, his deep baritone, his strong hands-

Totally forgivable.

Crushing on a military man who is barely home and barely talks to you?

That should be where the line starts.

Still.

Your cheeks warm immediately when you hear the familiar heavy footsteps coming down the hall towards your door.

Maybe the note had been stupid.

Oh god.

What if he thought it was stupid?

The knock on your door doesn’t leave you much room to think.

You do know him. So this shouldn’t be too awkward.

It’s just Simon.

So, you open the door, chin already tilted up to adjust to his height.

“Hello, love.”

“Hi”, you breathe out, already nervous.

“You mind if I come in?”

You step aside for him, eyes never leaving him as he gets inside.

He mutters a thanks, slowly making his way inside. When you shut the apartment door, he is already turning towards you.

“I-”, he starts and you look down to the scar splitting his lip when he licks over it. “-I didn’t know you uh-” he furrows his brows before starting over. “I like you like that as well.” He scratches the back of his neck and meets your eyes again. “Bloody childish way to say that, huh?”

You smile at him, suddenly feeling very warm and gooey inside, at the sight of this intimidating man looking like a boy talking to his school crush.

“I did leave a note so- I guess we’re kinda even on that.”

“Right.” He sighs.

“So… Coffee?”

“Yeah, that would be nice, I- I brought those croissants you like.”

“So you were coming to confess anyways?”, you tease. You win a little chuckle.

“Just a thank you for keeping the landlord off my ass, love.”

You hum and watch as he opens the door again.

“You comin’, then?”

“Yeah, just, one second. I got a new roast at the shop that you will like.”

“Alright. I’ll leave the door open.”

“Okay.”

-

He is looming over you as you switch out the beans in his grinder before you pull the espresso shots for your coffees.

“You alright?”, you murmur, not looking up as you fill the metal pitcher with milk.

“Yeah. Nothing I couldn’t handle.”

“I know you can handle a broken bone with a smile, Simon. The bar is in hell.”

He huffs. You glance at him to find him leaning against the corner of the kitchen counter, still watching you intently.

“So it is.”

You steam the milk for his latte in comfortable silence.

“Why me?”

You smile and set the pitcher down, briefly knocking some air out of the foam before you continue assembling your drinks.

You can hear the rest of the question he has in his head.

It’s not that Simon is a particularly nice man, nor was he in town for long since he had moved into the building 2 years ago.

“I’m pretty self-sufficient, you know.”

You’re met with silence again. He is watching your hands as you pour pretty patterns into the coffee.

“I like spending time with you when you’re here. I miss you when you leave.” You shrug, keeping your question of, is that not enough? to yourself.

“You know I’m not…” A good man. Enough. Loveable. Able to love anyone.

You’d heard the line often, especially on the veteran’s evenings in the small community you had amassed.

You just hum and turn around. You blow over the hot coffee in your hands and take a first sip.

Your eyes meet his again and just like with the grumpy, scared cat in the alley a street over, you blink slowly, trying to communicate that this is enough, it’s okay.

He pushes off the counter and carefully takes the cup out of your hands. He holds onto one of them as he sets the cup down on the counter behind you.

You are holding your breath, startled and hopeful as he stares down at you.

You don’t dare blink as he leans in closer, and just barely tilt your chin up to his. His hand feels clammy as it holds onto yours.

Your eyes close and you wait, your heartbeat quick in your chest as you feel his breath on your mouth.

Soft, dry lips meet yours in a peck, a shy press of lips against lips.

You inhale shakily through your nose and grip his hand harder as you pull back a little. 

You wet your lips and carefully sneak another look.

Simon’s eyes are still closed and you watch, transfixed, as he rolls his lips, as if to taste you again, before he opens his eyes, too.

You grab his shirt and tug, silently demanding another.

He hums and dips his head for another kiss, this one more insistent.

You let your tongue lick over his lip. It makes him grunt and pull at you, forcing you on your tiptoes as you keep kissing, slowly working each other’s mouths open in an unhurried exchange.

When you part, you can feel your heart in your throat.

He’s pretty. 

His thin lips are slick and shiny with your combined spit, his brows slightly furrowed as he looks at you.

“Can we fuck?”

You bite your lip at him, waiting for his answer as you watch the words wash over him. There’s just a minimal pulse of his pupils and a barely-there intake of breath.

“Thought I was going to take you out a few times, first.”

“I think the brunches and buying me coffee counts.”

“Tha’s different, love.”

“Is it?”

You fiddle with the hem of his shirt, still looking at him.

He doesn’t answer, just keeps looking.

“So, that’s a definite no?”, you murmur. He takes a deep breath.

“Let me ease into it.”

You smile at him and nod.

“Yeah, I can do that.”

His gaze lowers to your lips. 

You stop yourself from leaning up towards him, simply tilting your chin up a little. 

You wait for him to close the gap.

You don’t have to wait long.

He bumps into your chest with his, his head tilted as he kisses you again, carefully pecking at your lips with his, once, twice, then three times, before he licks your bottom lip.

The pressure makes you walk back a little until you bump against the kitchen counter.

His hand that has been holding yours moves to hold on to your hip instead. His other is moving your face to his liking. You let yourself be guided, losing yourself in the sensual kiss you share, the movement of your tongues against each other.

You let the hand that was holding on to his shirt wander up, over his hard stomach to his chest, until you reach his neck. You gently hold on to him, struggling to breathe before he finally pulls back again.

You’re panting slightly as you open your eyes again.

He groans, closing his eyes again and pushing his forehead to rest against yours.

“Fuck”, he murmurs, his nose nudging against yours, lips brushing slightly before he puts a little distance between the two of you.

“Why’d you stop?”

“Feels like you’re testing me.”

“I’m not. Just… letting you go as far as you like. I just-” You exhale shakily, looking at him, again. “I just want to be close to you, Simon.”

He nods and bends towards you to kiss you again. His hands wander down to your thighs. You gasp into his mouth as he lifts you onto the counter.

He steps forward, between your legs, before pulling you flush to him. You can feel him straining against his jeans, his hard cock pressing offensively against your sweatpant-covered center.

“Close ‘nough?”, he murmurs against your lips and you hum out a soft sound. You let your feet tangle behind his legs, urging him closer until he presses up hard against your clit.

“Mhm”, you moan. He looks at you, his breath stopped, before kissing you again- this time he’s rougher and the way his hips move up against you has you moaning into his mouth.

“I want you”, he groans, grinding his cock into you a little harder. “Want to do right by you.”

“Shut-”

He kisses you, again, silencing your protests. His hands are holding your hips, helping him grind against you. You are fisting the collar of his shirt, tugging him towards you as you nip at his bottom lip with your teeth.

He grunts and there’s an aborted moan that slips from his mouth into yours.

You grin and go to do it again but he holds you back by your throat, a gentle but warning touch. It makes you look up at him, mouth still open with a smile stretching your cheeks.

“Careful.”

“Or what?”

“You don’t want to get into a game of escalation with me, lovie”, he rumbles, his hand dropping. His thumb rasps over the seam of your pants and you gasp into his mouth.

“Don’t want to escalate just- mhn- just want you to stop treating me like glass, Simon.”

He hums and presses another short kiss to your lips before pushing his thumb down against your clit. 

“‘m treating you like something precious, love, not like glass.” He watches, eyelids low as you strain against him, already dizzy with the pleasure shooting up your spine from watching him rut against your thigh while he slowly pleasures you through your thin sweatpants. 

“I know you’re a tough birdie. Don’t ‘ave to prove it to me.”

“Don’t have to prove anything to me, either”, you challenge. 

He grunts wordlessly before pulling you forward again, your ass almost slipping off of the counter. You hold on to his shoulders in shock as the room spins around you. 

“Bedroom”, he just murmurs and you nod before cradling his head, and kissing him.

He only drops you when you have finally arrived in his bedroom.

It’s an awkward scramble once he has set you down. 

You’ve just flung your panties off when he is on you again, his stubbled face rubbing against your chest. He scratches his teeth over your skin, following it up with a lick over it. He is smearing the width of his tongue up over your breast until he reaches your jaw. The filthy gesture makes you gasp.

He tastes the sound with his mouth, leaning down into you, his hands on the headboard behind you. You have to hook your legs over his thighs to make room for the hulking man.

He blocks out the window behind him and you can’t help but stare at him as he licks his lips before spitting in his hand. You follow his hand down to his cock and swallow hard as you watch him stroke himself, coating himself with spit.

“Want you to touch yourself”, he whispers, so quiet, yoou almost don’t hear him.

He tugs your hand down to his mouth. He doesn’t look away from your eyes as he pushes two of your fingers inside his mouth, then guides them down to lay atop your pussy.

“Show me what you like.”

Your gaze drops down to his cock and you start rubbing your clit without a single thought. He watches intently and you see his hand squeeze a little tighter around his cock.

“Simon.” 

“Yeah?”

“I want you to play with my tits”, you breathe out.

“Fuck.” He stops stroking himself, immediately. “You want me to suck on your pretty tits, love? Yeah?”

“Yes.”

He doesn’t hesitate. He leans in and licks at your nipple, his other, still slick hand, roughly grabs the other to let your nipple roll under his thumb. Your eyes roll back at the feeling.

It’s perfect. 

You slide two of your fingers inside of your pussy and Simon does something magnificent with his tongue on your breast. It makes you cum- quick and easy. Simon stays right where he is, continuing to lick and suck at your nipples as you whine and ride out your orgasm.

You jump when one of his broad thumbs nudges against your clit.

“Simon-!”

“I want to see you cum again”, he groans. You barely lift your hand away from your pussy when he speaks up again. “Put your fingers back inside your wet little pussy.”

“Si-”

He groans and there’s that glint in his eye, like the one you saw when you bit his lip in the kitchen.

“Simon, I want you to fuck me, please.”

He lifts his thumb to his mouth, sucking your slick off of it.

You reach out to stroke his cock and he makes a small sound as you stroke him with your slick hand.

He presses closer. You guide his cock until the tip of it nudges your pussy.

“Wait, are you- don't we need a condom?”

“I have an IUD and I got tested last month, it’s fine”, you whisper.

You know Simon doesn’t fool around when he is away but he says it anyway.

“I want you to fuck me bare, Simon. Want you to come inside of me”, you add, your hand still stroking him.

He groans again and his hips rock forward. You gasp as he leans forward, covering you with his body. He moves you, angling your hips up before he pushes another inch inside. 

His lips swallow your moan.

He is big- you saw, but now that he is pushing his hard cock inside of you, you feel like he is splitting you apart. 

He stops halfway and you release a breath into the small space between your mouths. He gently strokes your hip and nudges his nose against yours before pressing a gentle kiss to your temple.

“Alright?”

“Yeah.”

He rocks his hips back and forth, slowly pushing another few inches into you. It makes you gasp into his ear- the sound results in a strong thrust that rocks you up the mattress.

“Fuck, Simon-”

You look down to where he is fucking into you, hypnotized as he stops about halfway, every time.

He sits back, his eyes trained on you as he fucks into you a little harder. His hands wander over the sides of your body until he stops at your hips. He pulls you into his thrusts, fucking you hard but slow. It makes you mewl and you blush at the unfamiliar sound escaping you.

“Simon”, you whimper and he furrows his brow. “Come here”, you sigh.

He wraps his body around you, using his other arm to pull you closer. It pushes your tits up into reach for his mouth. You whimper and arch into him more as he greedily licks at your nipple again, repeating what he had done earlier.

He folds you up further until your thighs are completely resting on his waist, his legs basically underneath your ass. It makes him stroke against something delicious inside of you. You don’t even get to say anything before you’re already coming again.

And then, he starts to fuck you. It’s a chaotic shift, the way he suddenly starts using his grip on your hips as a counterweight to thrust into you, mercilessly giving you the rest of his cock.

You can hear how wet your pussy is and the way it parts for Simon as he fucks into you. The wet, rhythmic squelch seems embarrassingly loud in the room.

“Fuck, love- feel so good-”

You hear the sounds coming from your mouth as if they weren’t your own- hoarse, high-pitched mewls, breathy uh-uh-uh’s, as he ruts into you. When you clamp down on the meat of his shoulders with your nails, you hear him groan.

“That’s it-”

You’re overstimulated at this point but the friction is making you see stars in the best way. When Simon slows down, you sob with relief.

“Made a right mess, didn’t you, love”, he breathes, his own breathing barely stunted while yours is ragged. When he leans back, you open your eyes only to find your legs shaking without his waist to cling onto.

He ushers you into his lap, wrapping his arms around you.

You grumble, barely any strength in your body left to keep it tensed enough to follow him.

You sigh and rest your head on his shoulder, your nose pressed into his neck.

“You need to come-”, you slur.

“‘m letting you catch your breath first. Y’alright?”

“Yeah. Great, actually.”

He hums, obviously not believing you, and the suspicious sound makes you giggle.

You let your hands wander, admiring the broad plane of his chest, the scars crossing it.

He tilts your chin up to his again. His kiss is gentle, barely making your lips part. You can feel one of his hands stroking down your back until he can grasp one of your asscheeks in his hand, kneading the soft skin as he keeps kissing you. You gasp and bite at his bottom lip, smiling as you wait for his reaction- only for a loud smack to reverberate through the room. Your ass burns from his hand and you groan, pushing your forehead against his as you grind your cunt against his cock.

“You like that?”

“Yeah”, you breathe, chest already heaving from the excitement of making Simon use his strength against you. “, do it again.”

He growls and kisses you, his broad palm rubbing over your reddened ass cheek before smacking it again. You gasp into his mouth and lean in closer, rubbing your tits against his chest. Your whole body suddenly feels restless, your cunt rubbing up against his cock while your hands roam over his body, feeling up his arms, his shoulders, his chest.

Simon bodily hauls you up and pushes his cock inside you again. Your legs shake as you try to control how quickly you sink down on him. 

Another smack to your skin makes you whimper and collapse onto him, his cock bottoming out inside of you. He grabs your thighs and you barely manage to lift yourself enough to start to ride his cock.

The sound Simon whimpers into your mouth as you roll your hips is worth ignoring the growing soreness in your muscles. 

“Fuck, that feels good”, he groans. It makes liquid heat shoot through you and you double your efforts, folding your legs over his thighs. Your eyes snap open as he rests his forehead against your collarbone, his hands losing their tight grip on you.

You reach up to cup the back of his head, fisting his hair as you try to concentrate on setting a good rhythm for him. But the way his cock fills you out is starting to make you quiver, the pleasure already mounting up to being overstimulating again.

You’re gasping into each other’s open mouths as you ride him. 

You can feel him tightening his grip on you before he starts to meet your thrusts, effectively bouncing you up and down in his lap. It makes you shake, the angle hitting something disastrous. 

“Fuck, Simon- I can’t- I’m going to cum- a-again”, you whimper. It makes him moan into your mouth and you stutter in your motion as you feel him get even harder, his thrusts short, aborted. You mewl at the feeling and dig your nails into his scalp and his shoulder.

He growls and sinks his teeth into the skin of your breast as he cums. You clench around them and feel a few tears slip over your cheeks as the last few thrusts make you cum one final time.

You collapse into each other and you let your lips brush over his temple before resting your head on his shoulder again.

He is gently stroking your back, not even minding the sweat clinging to your skin.

When he wraps his other arm around your hip and lifts the two of you, you just sigh into his skin. He gently lays you down on his bed.

“Going to be right back, love,” he murmurs before pressing a kiss against your temple. You just sigh and nod.

As soon as he isn’t covering your body anymore, you can feel yourself shivering from the sudden cold. You huff before grabbing the comforter to cover yourself. The faint sound of a window cracking open makes you bury even deeper into the blankets.

“Hey. Eyes open for me”, he grumbles and you startle awake with a confused “huh?”. 

Simon is sitting on the bed, holding out a glass.

“Drink something.”

You groan and bat at his hand but he just wraps it around the cool bottle of water.

“Brat”, he murmurs and you open one eye to glare at him before popping the lid open and gulping down some water. After handing him the leftovers, you watch as he immediately downs it all in one go. He sets the bottle down on the nightstand and just looks at you for a moment.

“Come on. Gotta go shower.”

You close your eye again.

“I’m cold.”

“I’ll keep you warm. Come on. Up.”

You go willingly into his arms.

He is still naked, still warm, and you sigh as you get up into his warm embrace. You stumble towards the shower together. He makes you check the temperature and adjusts it until it’s boiling hot and just to your liking.

When you return from your shower, the afternoon sun bathes the bedroom in warm light.

“You still want your coffee and croissant? Or d’you want to take a nap first, princess?”

You grab the shirt he'd discarded and throw it on before turning towards him.

“Maybe we can… do coffee and croissants on your couch?”

“Yeah, alright. You mind if we catch up on some shows I've missed out on?”

“I’ll probably fall asleep.”

“Alright love”, he murmurs, before pressing another kiss to your temple and wrapping his arm around your waist to lead you towards the couch. Halfway there, he just picks you up bridal style, letting your snuggle into his shoulder while he presses another kiss to your forehead.

-

Thanks for reading!

Requests are open and always appreciated

[lilpotatjj]

Cait and Sam watching their own wedding night episode? Yes aaand no. We all know what these two lovebirds did...like come on who wouldn't? I escalated a wee bit. That's one of my longest Oneshots (almost 5000 words) and I'm gonna continue this with a hugh story about them. Living the forbidden lie in all his cuteness.

Warning: starts with super fluffy and lovely cuteness and turns into a soft 18+ hot mess. Sam beeing Sam and Cait beeing most of the time Cait with slightly cute shyness

(Credits to the Gif owners)

♡Chap.1-Directing their own happy hour♡

A crazy year is over. Filming has long since been completed and the premiere of the first season is over. Several interviews have been held and the first episodes are already on TV. It's September, cool and unpleasantly rainy in LA this year and the day before the premiere of the seventh episode. It's called 'The Wedding Night'.

Cait was out and about, drenched after a conversation with one of the co-producers. It was up in the air whether there would be a second season, but the prospects looked good. She didn't think to bring an umbrella. Why in LA, where it is usually quite warm, even in September.

She ran to her car, the newspaper just over her head for protection, and got in. 'Jesus H. Roosevelt Christ... What the hell is wrong with this weather?' she cursed and was completely soaked. She quickly switched on the engine and turned up the heating. As she drove off, her mobile phone suddenly rang in its holder on the dashboard of the car. 'Hey Sam,' she said simply and focussed on the road.

'Have you been bathing?' he asked wryly, obviously making himself comfortable.

'Very funny...the weather in LA almost reminds me of home,' she was finding it difficult to speak. She was shaking a little and had trouble concentrating. 'I'll call you later if it's unfavourable?' he asked and she said no, perhaps a little too quickly. 'Ah ok' he paused for a moment. 'Tell me what's going on, I'll be fine' she said with chattering teeth and he had to smile, sitting up straight again and looking thoughtful. 'What do you think about travelling to my place and I'll tell you what's going on when you've warmed up at my place?' he asked sincerely without any ulterior motives.

Her cheeks flushed, which wasn't just because she was cold. 'All right, I'm on my way. The same hotel as always?' she asked and he replied with a quick "Yes". The rain didn't stop, on the contrary, it even got heavier. She parked the car in one of the parkingslots in front of the hotel and dashed inside as quickly as she could. Once inside, she asked at reception for the surname Heughan. The servant nodded conspicuously. 'Ah yes, Mr Heughan, he had informed me. He's in room 0410,' he said and with a very friendly smile, he pointed down one of the corridors. Cait thanked him and walked towards his room. Once there, she knocked on his door without thinking. He opened it for her and looked her up and down briefly before she simply entered his hotel room. He looked after her, slightly amused, and went into the bathroom.

When he came out again, he found her standing by the radiator, shivering slightly. He went to her and put a towel over her shoulders. She looked at him gratefully and unconsciously smiled far too sweetly. 'Thank you,' she said quietly and his eyes stayed on hers for longer than he wanted. The reason why he grabbed her towel and started playfully rubbing her hair dry. 'You should bring an umbrella next time,' he said with amusement. 'It wasn't raining when I was out' she gave him an annoyed look as he then went to the wardrobe to lend her some of his own clothes.

'Here' He held the clothes out to her wordlessly and she took them hesitantly. 'It's not going to stop raining that quickly for now. You can spend the night if you want. I'll sleep on the couch,' he said as he looked out of the window. She gave him a look of disbelief. 'Oh come on, we slept anywhere on set where there was space and time. You can sleep in the bed with me' she said dryly without thinking about it and Sam turned to her with his typical look, eyebrow raised slightly, he nodded.

She was right. Time on set was often pretty tough. Sometimes there was no time to sleep and filming often lasted well over 24 hours. Sometimes one of the props or simply a bench was a comfortable place to sleep for a short break. But now they are no longer on set, there is no one around to watch them.

'What did you want to talk about?' she asked curiously as she came out of the bathroom, dressed in one of his big hoodies. She almost sank into it and yet it looked great on her. 'Right, exactly... I wanted to ask you if you'd like to watch tomorrow's episode of Outlander with me' he said and she looked at him curiously. 'What episode was it again?' she asked, rubbing her face tiredly. 'The seventh episode,' he said, unconsciously tense. 'oh ok' came from her, benignly ignorant. 'What's the name of the episode, I'm just too tired to remember which one the last one left off at,' she said, pouring herself a sip of the wine on the table.

'The Wedding Night...' She choked and coughed for a moment. Now it dawned on her. It was that episode. She remembered all the scenes on set too well.

'Are you ok?' he asked without making any facial expressions. 'Yes... I'm sorry,' she apologised and put her glass down again for safety reasons. 'But we're going to need more wine,' she said with amusement and her grin was almost unpleasant. The mood was strange. He scrutinised her carefully while she just stared at the wine, motionless and thoughtful.

She looked slowly at him, his gaze still fixed on her. You would have thought he was burning every corner of her face. It made her nervous, but not in an unpleasant way. She felt the heat in her cheeks and stood up abruptly. 'I think I've spilt...I'll be right back' she disappeared into the bathroom in a flash. She was aware of what was happening, or so she thought, but she was still unsure. He was and is her co-partner. What would the media say, Starz or everyone involved in the big picture? She didn't realise she was breathing faster.

'Cait, are you all right?' he asked anxiously from behind the door. 'Y..yes...I'll be right back.' She splashed water on her face and then came out again. 'And you're sure we should sleep in the same bed?' he asked with raised eyebrows, almost admonishingly. 'That's fine, it's ok,' she said dryly and gave him a cheeky look. She stood in front of him. He was so tall that she always had to look up at him. 'But only if you change too...I doubt you want to sleep in those jeans...you already hated them on set' she looked at him challengingly and tugged at his collar. He enjoyed her closeness. It was clear that he had had feelings for her for some time. It was impossible not to, given the sight of her and her wonderful character. But whether she would ever be serious about him was an open question. He doesn't push her, gives her room to manoeuvre and is patient. Like a crocodile patiently waiting to snatch its prey.

He gave her a charming smile and went to his wardrobe, took out more comfortable clothes and looked at her briefly. She sat down on the couch and unconsciously inspected him as he disappeared into the bathroom. He didn't miss her gaze and when he came out again, he saw her sitting on the couch with her head resting on her hand. She grinned at him. 'Do you want to watch something or are you too tired and want to go to sleep?' he asked solidly, closing the curtains. He turned round and noticed that she already had jumped into bed. She snuggled into the big duvet. He laughed briefly and shook his head playfully. 'well...I take it you've had a full day today...want to talk?' he came round and lay down in bed too. They both looked at each other, snuggled together under a blanket, she was quiet for a moment and had to look at him. It's a completely different feeling alone without people from the set. Far away from all the other trailers, other people or cameras. There was no one here. The thought of it made her heart beat gently faster and she almost forgot to speak, let alone breathe, at the sight of him.

'Yeah...I had a call today and two other annoying appointments before that. I've been travelling all day...then there's the rain...I'm honestly glad to be with you right now' the last words came out of her innocently and unusually meekly. She is usually the type of person who says what she thinks, with consideration for the feelings of others. But it's easier with him. She can be whatever she wants, let herself go with him. He listened to her quietly and attentively.

'Sam... what is it between us?' She looked him in the eye and tried to understand the moment. He brushed a strand of hair out of her face with a wave of his hand, ignoring his own pounding heart. 'We're just lying here talking,' he replied briefly in a low voice. Jesus, can't he stop being cute for once? Struggling to concentrate from his voice and the sight of him, Cait swallowed with difficulty, unable to find an answer.

It was so quiet. Neither of them said anything. Her breathing was much faster and without thinking she snuggled up to him, hiding her face in his chest to hide her burning cheeks. She could hear his heart beating softly and realised that it was also much faster. Sam took her carefully in his arms and decided to remain silent for the time being, to savour the moment. He could smell her hair and buried his face in it a little, kissing it and noticed her smile. He did the same and had to smile. As always, no one needs to say anything to understand.

The sun's warm rays tickled Cait's cheeks and she moved slowly. A large, warm body lay close to her. You really don't need a heater when you're lying next to this 1.92m tall man. She grinned happily as she realised who it was. He was still asleep. She took this moment to observe his sleeping form. He looked so content and balanced, still holding her tightly in his arms.

His calm breathing was soothing, like a lullaby. It was nothing new, sleeping with him, hearing his breathing, feeling him against her, his embrace and yet this time it was completely different. She felt a tingling in her stomach at the mere thought of wanting to touch him. It made her nervous and she suddenly looked away from him only to look back at him again. Her gaze kept switching between his lips and the air she was trying to stare into. No Cait...you better not. Once you start, it will end badly... she thought to herself and thought back to their time on set. They often kissed away from the camera. Out of spontaneous situations to practise, of course...right? The heat rose in her face again. She tried to control her thoughts, but her heart was making it damn hard. She didn't even realise that she had come closer to him, her face close to his, her breathing as if she were climbing a mountain that was out of reach. However, with an unmistakable sound in her voice, she freed herself from his grip in a flash and sat down on the edge of the bed.

Without realising it, she was sweating. She clutched her forehead and tried to get her breathing under control. Damn Balfe, a little more self-control! Her thoughts were waging a war she was in danger of losing. He opened one eye and watched her actions. She flinched slightly as he began to stretch and looked slightly to the side in his direction. He couldn't help but grin self-consciously. She was so cute. He didn't know her to be that shy or insecure. On set, they could both let Jamie and Claire hang out, kiss or touch each other however they wanted. Nobody would have thought it was anything serious, at least that's what they both thought.

She stood up abruptly and looked nervously at him. 'I'm going to freshen up,' she said briefly and Sam let himself fall into his pillow with a smile. He wanted the time to last. To savour this precious moment, just with her...just with Cait.

He made breakfast and the rest of the day was relaxed. Except for a few little things Sam had to do this time, the day was uneventful. Cait spent the time in his room and fell asleep on his couch once again. She was far too tired from the last few days, not to mention the previous night. Snuggled up with one of Sam's woollen blankets, she slept peacefully. The blanket smelled wonderfully of him and transported her to dreamland far too quickly. When the Scotsman returned later that day, he saw her curled up on the couch. Still asleep. He put the key away and took off his shoes to go to her. With quiet steps, he stood next to her and looked at her without a word. She looked so innocent. He often did, watching her sleep. Her soft purring when she slept. Her soft smile when he always secretly snuggled up to her, just to be close to her unnoticed. He loved it.

Sam simply stood still for another moment and looked down at her thoughtfully, bent down and got very close to her face. He could feel her breath on him. The corner of his mouth twitched impatiently and he gave her a delicate kiss on her soft lips. His heart did what it wanted and almost ran away from him, but he didn't care. The kiss was short and so gentle that Cait didn't wake up, at least that's what he thought and realised he was wrong. The ball of blanket and the supposed Mrs Fraser inside it moved gently. She opened her eyes just a crack to somehow recognise what in God's name was happening. Sam was already scurrying about, unpacking a few things he'd been shopping for. There were a few bottles of wine and something to nibble on.

She sat up in a daze, her hair in a wild mess and yawned tiredly. 'What time is it?' she asked with a husky voice. 'It's already 7 pm. How long have you been asleep?' He brought two bottles of wine to the table and two glasses. 'Too long... Well, I don't think I'll fall asleep that quickly watching TV,' she said with amusement and ran her hands through her hair to fix it a little. 'Are you hungry?' he asked, unpacking a bag at the same time. It was Asian Food. 'Yes,' she replied curtly and watched the Scotsman without realising it. Her gaze was dreamy, as if she was looking at the jackpot she had won. He came over to her and set her something to eat. She had to smile. Of course he knew exactly what her favourite food was. 'Thank you,' she said and they both ate some of the food.

'Do you remember filming the episode?' he asked when he had finished eating.

'Yes, quite a lot. I'm curious how it was edited. Some days were so long and tiring,' she took a breath and looked at him. 'It was sometimes very difficult to stay relaxed and yet... You made it easy for me to shoot the more difficult scenes,' he said with a smile and looked at her in detail. She couldn't avoid his gaze and was caught up in it. She quickly picked up her wine glass and took a good sip.

Cait laughed softly as she remembered. 'Did you remember the scene when Claire said "go to bed"? God, how many times we replayed that just because our producer never liked the look in your eyes and then I said "to fuck" off camera, or so I thought? Your look afterwards was exactly what they wanted to see and it was recorded,' she laughed and took another sip. Sam did the same and poured the red wine down his throat. 'How could I forget?' his voice sounded ironic with an amused undertone. 'At least it wasn't too cold when we were naked for what felt like 24 hours,' he said and poured more wine.

She looked silently into her wine glass after his words, then raised her eyes and literally stared at him. He's like an accident... you don't want to look but you can't help but stare at him with curiosity and anticipation. Too mesmerised by his gaze, she once again couldn't get a word out. He could throw a bone now and she would run after it like a dog. He raised an eyebrow questioningly. 'The episode is about to start,' he breathed so quietly that she had to think for a moment whether she had heard him correctly.

Sam came closer to her, looked deep into her eyes and was tired of seeing her like this. She was literally begging to be touched. The Scotsman didn't hesitate a second longer and kissed her gently yet firmly. Cait was briefly surprised and yet she accepted the kiss without hesitation. As if they had kissed hundreds of times before, he brought her to him by taking her face in his hand. He stroked her cheek tenderly and was the first to break the kiss. Cait just looked at him. She could have sworn her heart was stuck one floor below. He smiled at her and she did the same, returning his smile with a blissful grin. He took the remote control without another word.

The atmosphere was strangely relaxed, but you could just feel the crackle. He switched on the TV and the episode started. She looked over at him expectantly, so he couldn't help but lean over and grab her, cuddling her right next to him against his chest. Cait took a contented breath and drank more of the wine as she savoured his closeness and warmth.

They both made comments here and there and had to laugh and shake their heads when Rupert and Angus burst in. 'I remember one of them fell badly once,' Sam laughed and they both grinned. Then came the scene where Claire asks Jamie to bed. Both the Scot and the Irishwoman watched the scene tensely and had to smile again and again. 'How many times we had to repeat that...but you did a good job,' she said contentedly to distract them from what was actually happening. Jamie grabbed Claire's breast. 'Christ, how many times you made me laugh, Cait...you kept making jokes about my breasts,' Sam said with amusement and Cait turned bright red. 'Well I was nervous as hell...we had to take our clothes off...I was afraid I'd ruin your view of naked women' she said sheepishly and he took her chin and forced her to look at him.

'my god Cait...how can you say that...' he whispered more and she looked at him nervously and slightly guiltily. Before she could say anything, Sam beat her to it. 'Your body is beautiful.' She stared at him and their gazes parted as the scene came where Jamie plopped on top of her and penetrated her. The situation couldn't have been stranger. It was weird for both of them to see each other like this. It looked a thousand times hotter on the screen than when they were both shooting that scene over and over again.

Sam grinned at Claire's sweet words when she said she gets crushed by Jamie. He noticed Cait's tension, she squeezed her legs tightly together and banished all her thoughts to the farthest corner of her brain cells. To no avail. Sam looked down at her and took the wine glass from her hand. How much had they actually had now? Both bottles of wine were empty.

Cait looked at him questioningly, but she knew the answer. Sam slowly stroked her legs and hesitantly approached her face. Her breathing increased, her lower lip quivering in response to his touch. She closed the gap and kissed him. But this time more demanding and with far less restraint. Gripped by what was on the television, Cait pressed herself closer to him and without thinking about it, she sat on his lap. He gasped briefly under the stormy kisses only to continue on her neck. She let out a sigh. A soft, pleasurable sound that he knew all too well. It had almost always driven him crazy when they gave their all during filming and he wasn't allowed to have her completely. Shooting a scene is one thing. Shooting naked is something else, but constantly filming wild sex scenes in the nude with such a beautiful woman is simply torture. With her playful but otherwise confident character, he would have liked to show how much he really liked her. He constantly had to touch her. On her breasts, her body and getting closer to areas with his face that made him want to seriously give up control of himself.

Meanwhile, no matter what was on the television, she only had eyes for her Scotsman. She looked at him dreamily, losing herself in his gaze. Everything about him is so attractive. His hair, which she now clung to in order not to lose her mind. His upper body, his beard and God damn his face, with his ice-cold blue eyes that almost robbed her of her will. She unconsciously moved onto his lap when she realised that he was already more than ready for action. Now she smirked cheekily at him, causing him to bite his lower lip. 'You little beast....now you're showing your true colours,' he said almost choking and his gaze didn't leave hers for a second. Somehow they knew it, but it was different here too. He took off her hoodie and just looked at her for a moment. As if he couldn't believe what he saw, he grabbed her breasts as if he wanted to make sure they were the same as usual. He kissed one of them gently and played around with the other.

She leant her head back with pleasure and let him do his thing. 'Sam....' she breathed and looked at him, slightly dazed. 'You too....' she whispered excitedly and took off his shirt too. She looked at him with red cheeks. It didn't matter whether it was the alcohol or Sam's fault. No matter who she drank from, she would be intoxicated by both. She touched him on the shoulder and ran her fingers down his neck to the area below his belly button, from which a few hairs flashed out. Sam's eyes were fixed on Cait with an expression as if she were made of glyphs and he was trying to decipher them.

She grabbed his belt with her hand and tried to open it, but this turned out to be difficult when sitting. He grabbed her ass and literally threw her on the couch, took off his pants only to stand completely naked in front of her. Her gaze was discreetly surprised and looked at his best piece. She was not prepared for that now. They always wore protection on set, which didn't help much when Sam had a hard-on, but it covered everything. She swallowed and for a second a shy shadow could be seen in her eyes. "We want to stay fair, my dear," he pointed to her pants and came closer to her playfully. She looked at him nervously and had to smile to cover up her nervousness.

"Do you want to continue?" he asked as a precaution and in answer she nodded and looked at him with a cheeky, innocent face. He grinned confidently and helped her undress. There she was, completely exposed with a red glow on her cheeks. They had both played through this position so many times before, but this one moment now belonged to the two of them alone.

He grabbed her by the hand to pull her up to him. Cait stood directly in front of him and looked him in the eye anything but uncertainly. She literally felt his heartbeat, as if the two were synchronously forming a unit. She took his hands and intertwined her fingers in his. "Caitriona you are so beautiful" proudly sounded in his voice and she smiled happily at him. "Just you and me" she whispered lovingly, looked at him longingly and Sam couldn't ask any more questions, because she had just answered them.

He kissed her, longing and greedy, clawed at her ass to lift her up and faltered briefly. There was no cut, nothing that interrupted them despite the swaying and could stop the lust of both. He let himself fall back a little on the couch, with her on his lap, without even thinking about breaking the kiss.

Now nothing went according to the script. He was the director of this scene and decided how to proceed in accordance with his Irish beauty. She enjoyed every touch, every second and breathed heavier as he caressed her breasts. Cait became more impatient and looked at him almost begging. He grabbed her ass again to lift her and positioned her so that Sam could penetrate her without any problems. He smiled... She was more than ready. A groan on her part indicated that the tackle would continue as he was into her completely. The Hugh Scot didn't want to slow down, not to be careful that something unexpected happened.

Cait moved and he adjusted to her. This time he couldn't help but moan quietly. She rested her forehead on his and continued moving. Regardless of the hotel neighbors, neither of them cared how loud they were.

He had to smile at the sight of her. She moaned subtly differently than when they were filming. It sounded the same as always, but there was a hint of honesty in the sound of her lovely voice. The sound that makes his bones tremble and underlines the pleasure he is really giving her. Flowing through the alcohol and the rush of adrenaline that they both experience and that made them both sweat, he felt how aroused she already was. He concentrated on her to give her the moment of happiness, but had great difficulty enduring it, especially with her moaning. She really deeply enjoying it.

'Sam...' damn it, he tried so hard not to lose control, but moaning his name like that almost pushed him over the edge. He gasped heavily and bit her shoulder. Finally, she felt a wave rushing deep inside her and completely flooding her. She moaned louder and let him feel how much he loved her without ever having said it.

'Sassenach!' He gasped at the same time as her and let himself fall completely as he came inside her, clawing a little too hard at her round ass. She sank exhausted onto his shoulder and gasped for air. Completely out of breath, both of them tried to understand the situation they were in.

'Everything ok...Mo Chridhe?' He hesitated at first, but he had to say it. He loved her and had no doubt that this would ever change. She was too perfect, her temperament, her way of dealing with him and her laugh. God, how much he loved her laugh. The Scotsman lovingly wrapped the wool blanket around her and let her get some air, but it was starting to make him nervous because she was still hiding into his chest. 'Is everything ok, Cait?' he asked nervously. She turned her head so that her face was directed towards the crook of his neck and he could feel her breath. He got goosebumps.

'I love you...' she whispered softly to him. Three words that could throw him off balance and almost made his heart stop. A smile twitched across his lips. 'I love you too... Sassenach...' he said lovingly and playfully and felt her smile. 'What do we tell the producers?" she asked, quite worried. 'Nothing at first. It will be difficult to hide it... at least partially. Maybe they'll let us do it and accept the unspoken facts. Filming should be easier for both of us,' he tried to explain and stroked her back. Suddenly he looked at her with a Jamie expression, as if he had traveled through time in just a second. 'Could you now...' he paused briefly.

'What?' now she looked at him confused. 'I mean we didn't use protection...' he got nervous and the Irish woman had to giggle. 'No...that's out of the question, don't worry' she said. He smiled in relief. 'We missed half the episode,' he said and she snuggled up next to him. 'It doesn't matter...we'll watch it again then" she said with a cheeky undertone and he kissed her extensively.

[byuntrash101]

lovers on the sun

reader x dom!mingi ft. yunho angst | smut | mdni 4.8k you never understood why mingi chose that life. chose to be an outcast, a loveless bandit. over the years you came to terms with it. you got married, you grew. but when the outlaw finds himself gravely wounded his instincts drag him back to you. to the person he's willing to sacrifice everything for. nsfw tags under the cut

plot, outlaw!au, friends to strangers to lovers (?), hurt/comfort (the hurt part doesn't go too hard dw), a lil' angsty but lowkey wholesome, cheating, mutual pinning, good ending, yunho is mentionned but does not appear. nsfw: nipple play, body whorship (f), pet names (baby, doll) oral (f), slight begging, unprotected sex (i mean they didnt have a choice back then), mingi in the cowboy hat and leather coat (im weak for him </3), big dick!mingi, multiple orgasms (f), creampie, cock warming, he's madly in love with you

playlist: jeannette - el muchacho de los ojos trites, david guetta - lovers on the sun, amy whinehouse - love is a losing game

a/n: thank you so much @ssaboala for hosting this amazing collab. and thank you @hwaightme for helping me so much and brainstorming ideas. also i really recommand you listen to the playlist it will for sure put you in the nostalgic western mood <3

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You can’t help but be worried as you wake up to a cold bed. You haven’t seen Yunho in a couple of days. You wonder if he’s fine as you look out the window of your room to the cornfields. It’s just after dawn but the hot summer air is already laying heavy over the fields, making the green and yellow stems undulate. 

You sigh heavily, imagining your husband on his horse in his uncomfortable and sweaty uniform combing the streets, the plains, the fields, the whole town, the whole state, maybe even the whole country. All of that on an empty stomach and sleep deprived.

But you knew he wasn’t going to come home before he caught him. Song Mingi. Ever since he was appointed sheriff it has been his life goal to catch him. The public enemy number one. You couldn’t even begin to imagine how much blood this man had on his hands. He pillaged and robbed and murdered. Always slippery like an eel and managing to get out of justice’s grasp.

Until a couple of days ago where he made a fatal mistake. Your husband jumped out of bed in the middle of the night and mobilized the entire department to look for the man. He was hurt and hiding somewhere. He only needed to be found. The dangerous outlaw reduced to a defenseless flower only waiting to be plugged. This time he knew he was done for and Yunho was going to finally catch him and bring him to justice and ultimately to the gallows. Where your husband thought the fugitive’s righteous place was. Behind the church and six feet under.

You chuckled humorlessly to yourself at the name. You used to know this name. You used to know it very well. Or at least you thought you did. You used to be close to Song Mingi. The three of you were. Mingi, Yunho and you. You were just a bunch of teenagers, you didn’t have a worry in the world. But you grew up and Yunho joined the force as Mingi did and you can only guess power got to his head. He eventually got caught involved in shady business with even shadier people. Until he left and became the fugitive. The outlaw you only knew by the wanted posters put up everywhere in town.

His name lost all familiarity. But your heart couldn’t forget about his soft half smile. About the warmth pulling in his orbs when the three of you stayed up in the hill to watch the stars, sleeping under the open night sky, despite the snakes and coyotes. Even the crackling fire couldn’t rivalize with the blaze of his sharp eyes on you. You couldn't forget his rough hand snaking its way on your nape, pulling you closer to lay the gentlest kiss on your lips. You nervously glanced over at Yunho sleeping next to the both you. You felt nervous even if this happened long before you got married, long before he confessed to you. And for Mingi there was not a trace of doubt on his sharp features, no evil in his eyes. Only love. You thought at least.

That was the very last night you saw him. The next day he fled to the valley and proceeded with his life of crime. Your heart ached again, how could he have chosen that life… over what he had. Why would he choose a blood stained pile of shriveled dollar bills instead of this night on the hills with you… instead of this kiss? Instead of you?

You shook your head trying to forget about the uncomfortable feeling of your skin crawling as the wholesome memory turned into bitter dormant ache. You have accepted it over the years. Truth was you never knew Song Mingi… You only knew about the sheep but never about the wolf.

But then again you have to get on with your day, and carry on. Life goes on and doesn’t wait. You have to take care of the animals in the barn.

Since Yunho was the town’s sheriff earned enough money for the both of you it wasn’t necessary for you to have a huge farm. A couple of pigs, some hens, two horses and a cow was well enough and tending to them was the only labor you ought to do. 

You traded your nightgown for a dress more appropriate to work in. A light blue flowy ankle length dress with long sleeves and a high neckline that was going to protect your skin from the hot sun, but would still let you breathe through the light material.

You hoped in your worn out brown leather ankle boots and headed to the barn. First of all, you start by checking if the hens laid eggs, you gently push the chickens to harvest the six eggs and place them in your basket that you set aside then you go to feed the cow. You go to take a big serving of hay and you make a mental note that you’ll have to go by the neighboring farm and purchase some more because you are running out. Maybe the cow and horses have been especially hungry lately. 

You place the hay in the big manger and head to the fence to let the cow take a stroll in the prairie next to the house. 

As you reach out the fence, you nearly scream. The handle is covered in blood. The colors leave your face as you realize that the traces are fresh as you see one single drop on the dusty floor. You squint and realize there’s a trail of blood going out the barn. You follow the trail circling the barn and landing behind it, the trail disappearing behind tall weeds and bushes that you had left unattended for quite a while.

You pushed aside the leaves and discovered some rags maculated with blood and at the end of the trail a man, lying, his back resting against a small trunk, sitting on a pile of hay. Barely holding off.

Mingi didn't even know why he dragged his mutilated body out here to rot in the sun, he didn't know why he took that chance. He just had to. If he wasn't going to see the sun rise again tomorrow then he at least wanted to see it set on a familiar face. A face he held in his memory so dearly. Even after all these years. 

After all this time, when he finally sees it, the face he pulled through thick and thin for. Your face. Your face emerging from the bushes. There are not enough words in the world for him to express the relief he feels. He doesn’t have enough time to carefully curate them and voice them outloud. So he only chooses to smile.

You, on the other hand, felt your heart jumping in your throat, the frantic muscle getting stuck there, making you swallow thickly as your eyes grow in surprise. You have trouble believing your senses. Have you stayed in the sun for too long? Have you contracted yellow fever? Can you trust your eyes, reflecting this image of the past? A figure you thought (and maybe even hoped) you would never see again?  But you know your eyes aren’t deceiving you the second his lips curl into a half smile, rounding up only one of his cheeks. The familiar sight takes you back to the hills, to the crackling bonfire, to the starry sky, to the warmth of his orbs. Even if you see the red tint of diluted blood on his teeth and the way pain twits his eyebrows. It’s the same. The same smile you remembered.

“Mingi?” you finally breathe out, broken voice hindered by your heart still sitting in your throat. Barely audible. But still heard by the beaten man. 

“Hi doll” his deep voice echoed yours, hardly louder than a whisper. 

There’s no resentment, no hatred, no evil in his voice, in his eyes. And for that instant you forget about the endless tales of horrors, about the murders and the blood and you forget about the wolf. Because you see only the sheep, hurt and needing your help.

You throw yourself on your knees next to him, you wrap your arms around him, careful to avoid the wounds. 

Mingi closes his eyes and you lean against him as he suppresses a cough. He almost forgot about the smell of your hair, about the warmth of your hands, about the sound of your voice. Almost, but he didn’t. He could never even if he tried. He could lose everything but you. And if you were only a memory then it was all he needed.

***

You brought the man inside, limping and leaning on your side. You sat him in the wooden and creaking chair of the dining room. The tall man grunted as he settled down.

You kneeled next to him. And very carefully, you lifted his long leather coat to uncover the blood maculated shirt.

"So... How does it look doc?" Mingi joked, even going as far as to lightly chuckle before the sharp pain on his side wiped the half smile off his face.

"Let me help you" you said, carefully peeling the fabric off, the coagulated blood stuck to the opened wound, making Mingi wince as he felt the air blow on his sweaty skin. You ran your finger across his skin, carefully avoiding the wound.

Your touch was so soft, so gentle. Mingi sighed, closing his eyes. Your tenderness almost making him forget about the pain jabbing him. It's been so long, so so long since Mingi has felt this. He hasn't felt a soft touch in a lifetime, a contact that was free of any kind of aggression, that didn't demand anything from him, that only intended to soothe him.

It's been so long since he's felt safe.

That was the word. He felt safe. Safe with you even though he was half naked, wounded and unarmed. He felt safe.

You took your time to treat the wound, cleaning it with what you had on hand, which was the rest of a bottle of home distilled bourbon, warm water and clean rags. You patched him up and handed him his hat back.

"You should go, Mingi" you started after a long silence. You tried to conceal the lump inside your throat as you enunciated the heavy words.

Mingi looked up at you, grabbing his hat. He didn't want to go.

"Y/n.. I-"

"You know he might come back. If he finds you here he's gonna..." you hesitated. “Finish the job”

"You mean kill me?" Mingi looked you dead in the eye, a coldness laying latent in his orbs, a coldness that gave you shivers along your spine even with the hot sun heating up the windows of the small dining room.

You closed your eyes shut trying to chase away tears. After all these years and all he’s done. You couldn’t bring yourself to hate him.

Mingi wanted to scream. Why did he get to be with you, to touch you, to lay next to you every night while he was perpetually running, fleeing and living on the edge of the world like a wild dog. Barely surviving on the sole memory of you and the love he felt and feels for you.

"Mingi..." you started hesitantly. You had the chance to ask now, maybe this opportunity would never represent itself again.

"Why did you kiss me that night?"

Mingi’s anger evaporated into smoke as his eyes snapped to you. For all these years he had feared you somehow resented him. That somehow the tales of his life came back to you and poisoned your heart. He feared that you too saw him as the bandit, the outlaw he had become. But there was no hatred in your quavering voice, no bitterness pooling in your orbs. Only incomprehension and sorrow. 

Your eyes were glazed over by a sheen of budding tears, drooping in sorrow and you looked up intensely at the man. 

You waited for an answer, you waited long enough, you waited for years. And waiting again for those few seconds was too much.

“Why did you kiss me if you were going to leave me Mingi?” this time you called his name. And Mingi felt like the question had wrapped around his heart and was holding it tightly, squeezing it until the agonizing organ gave out.

“What did he tell you?” Mingi finally spoke, tipping his cowboy hat down, making sure to conceal his face.

“What?”

“What did Yunho tell you?” Mingi reiterated, this time his voice broke, echoing the shattering of his heart.

“I-” you started, stuttering.

“I never did any of those things, y/n” he finally rips the hat off his face, the disheveled and sweaty hair adding a layer of urgency to his state of despair as he raises his voice in frustration. “Yunho planted the evidence! He framed me! Because he couldn't stand that I was to become sheriff, he wanted to control the city, he wanted the power and he wanted… you…”

Mingi took a deep breath, his voice softening to a whisper. “He wanted you for himself. Because that night I-... I-” Mingi hesitated as you hung on his lips. “I wanted to marry you, y/n.”

You felt the blood vanish from your face. You became livid and your vision blurred, your world was crumbling before your very eyes.

“This is impossible” you whispered more to yourself than anything else.

“In the morning I told Yunho that I had kissed you and wanted to marry you and he couldn't bear it. So he framed me as a bad man to get me out of your life. I ain't no saint! I know! But the rest of it, I only did because I needed to survive. I stole to feed and killed to defend myself. Never in cold blood. Y/n, you have to believe me!”

Mingi’s words were mushing together barely making any sense in your ears that were already rigging, you felt dizzy, you felt ill. How could that be the man you married? The man you shared your life with. The man that looked at you with the most innocent big round eyes. The man that you knew cherrich justice above all else, so much that he didn’t care that sword of justice he was wielding struck his best friend because he was led astray and that was the treatment reserved for criminals. 

But that was all an act. It was never about righteousness and justice, it was about vengeance and envy.

Your knees gave out and you stumbled onto Mingi’s chest. He caught you in time, wrapping his strong arms around you, grunting as you pressed your weight onto the fresh wound. 

Your life was collapsing. Your chest started to heave up and down rapidly, your heart racing as your reality faded to black. Nothing to anchor yourself to. Nothing real, nothing you could hold on to to keep yourself afloat. Only lies and smoke. And you fell and fell into panic and into Mingi. 

Suddenly you were back again, back from the darkness and you looked at him to find your peace again, both lost in this familiar silence. He protectively wrapped his strong arms around you, and soothingly pressed your head against his chest, the leather of his long coat brushed against your cheek as Mingi held you just like that. He felt his warmth, you heard his heart beating against his ribs and you felt… him. Not the outcast, not the outlaw, but just your friend Mingi.

Ever so gently, with a softness you had never ever known from a man, even your husband, he wrapped his hands made rough from labor around your chin and gently lifted your face upwards, you found that Mingi’s eyes were as deep as the sea, just as mysterious and alluring, strangely welcoming.

And slowly, very slowly Mingi closed the distance between you. Giving you all the time in the world to voice your desire for him to stop if you felt that way. But you didn't want him to stop, instead you gripped at the long coat tighter, somehow afraid that he too was a mirage, a body made of haze that was just another lie. You had to make sure he, at least, was real. True.

And he was.

When your lips connected you felt as if your body has gone up into flames, open fire bursting from your chest to your heart, convincing you to close your eyes, and give complete access to Mingi. But even though he didn’t that use trust to his advantage, he didn't engulfed himself into you. Instead he gently deepened the kiss, taking the time to let you warm up as your fingers relaxed around the worn out leather. Mingi’s hands were getting to know you, caressing the soft cotton of your dress. His rough palms contrasted greatly with the softness of his touch.

Slowly he parted his lips, his tongue gently slipping into your mouth inviting your tongue into a dance, giving a few kitten licks and getting to taste you, you moaned when his hands reached down to the small of your back. 

“Mingi” you breathed against his mouth. There was no words to describe what that simple word did to him. Simply his name gently murmured like this. It was like having an angel speaking of the devil's name so fondly, so gently. He didn't feel worthy but there was plenty of time tomorrow for guilt. Today Mingi only had time for you.

He gently laid you back onto the wooden dining table and you hoisted yourself up on your elbows, he leaned over you as his kiss spilled from your lips to your neck. You whined once when your lips mourned the loss of his warmth and once when you felt his hot and wet tongue glide across the thin skin of your neck, you let your head fall back as Mingi progressed further down until he’s met with the collar of your dress. You don't want to lose the way he feels on your skin so your hands quickly busy themselves with the buttons, practically ripping them off to take the thick fabric that separated you from Mingi off you while he watches with this signature half smile, satisfied to see you so eager to expose yourself to him. 

As soon as you’re done with buttons he latched on your skin again, sucking on your collar bone going down and then up the curve of your breasts until he reached your bra he swiftly reached around to unclasp it, he drew back to see the way your beautiful breasts spilled out of the article, gently falling over at each side of your chest. Mingi’s breath hitched in his throat as his eyes avidly roamed over you, taking your form in. 

The way his eyes turned sharp as he looked at you made you squeeze your thigh together as your felt arousal pool into your lower stomach, heat spilling into your underwear.

“So pretty” he murmured before he wrapped his lips around one of your nipples, immediately hardening into a tight nub. He flicked his tongue on the erected knob while his warm hand kneaded the other one, perfectly distributing his attention to your body, already feeling sensitive. You arched your back and pushed his face further into your skin when he sucked on the hardened nipple, making your moan his name. 

“Fuck- Mingi” you panted. “Don’t stop”

Mingi briefly stood back up to take the long coat off, only harboring the leather vest that let you admire his toned arms flexing as he ripped the coat off to throw it over one of the chairs. He didn't even bother taking the dress off you, only flipping it over your stomach as he pulled down your underpants, leaving your bottom half completely nude. 

Suddenly coy you pressed your thighs together, shielding your modesty from his ardent gaze, he looked back up at you with knitted brows, such desperation swimming in his eyes, as if he absolutely needed to see you.

“Please” he exhaled. “Please let me see you, y/n” he pleaded.

And you finally parted your legs, first your feet then your knees and finally your thighs.

“Fuck” Mingi cursed as he palmed his aching  lengh throught his pants. He was finally seeing you, like how he imagined you a thousand times. But even the wildest dreams could never live up to that reality, to the truth of you, you were breathtaking. The way your beautiful center was already swollen with need, twitching in anticipation to be touched, your folds covered with the glistening sheen of your juices lazily running down your entrance. 

Mingi felt like he’d finally seen the light. Like redemption was within grasp, somehow contained within your holy form. He felt like he needed to worship you, like he needed to get on his knees and so he did. 

He kneeled in front of you, snaking his arms around your things and grasping at the supple flesh to pull you closer to him, bringing his lips close to your most private of places.

You felt heat rush to your face and chest as your heart raced, uncontrollably hammering into your chest, menacing to break free anytime as Mingi dug his nose right into your folds. 

“Oh my g-” you gasped as soon as he made contact with you. Your head immediately spinning, your core quivering and demanding more.

Mingi planted one soft kiss on your sensitive bundle of nerves, then went to your entrance where he flattened his tongue to swiped it across, spreading your folds and scooping as much as your slick as possible, earning a whimper from you. Mingi wanted more of this, of your sweet taste, more of your honey coating his tongue, more of your beautiful voice singing soft melodies into his ears, more of your beautiful face looking down at him in pleasure, glossy eyes pleading for more.

“Baby” he moaned against you before burying his face into you, flicking his tongue on your clit as you moaned again, louder this time. Mingi concentrated on this part of you, assaulting your clit with flicks after flicks, jolts after jolts of divine pleasure, spreading heat in all of your limbs. Mingi felt your thighs tense up in his hold and he suddenly let go. 

You whined as you felt your desperate center throb for more of him. You looked up at him right on time to see him sink not one but two long fingers inside your tight heat. Immediately curling them into your sweet spot. Your eyes rolled back to the back of your head, once again you let out a lewd sound that bounces off the walls making the hairs on Mingi’s nape stand and his length leak arousal. 

“You like that?” he asked, deep voice a little more impatient.

“Yes!” you exhaled. “Please more, more” you begged, your eyes coming back into focus.

“Of course, doll” he said before coming back down to your demanding center. He pumped his long fingers in and out of your heat, each time your eager little cunt pulled them back inside, tightly gripping around them. He wrapped his tongue around your clit, sucking and licking until you were on the verge of your release.

“Please” you said, your hand flying between your legs to keep Mingi’s face exactly where it was. “Don’t stop” you breathed, your thighs tensing, your swollen clit pulsing under Mingi’s wet and hot tongue.

“Fuck” you said, pressing on his face a little harder which made him smirk agaisnt you. “I'm cumming” you said in a strangled moan, you legs trembling your orgasming center gushing more and more of your honey , completely quenching Mingi’s thirst for your sweet nectar, walls fluttering around his fingers as he guided you down.

Mingi hurriedly kicked his pants off him and stood between your legs, large cock resting heavily in his palm, the head made red and shiny with precum.

“Please give me another one of those” he whispered with edginess, deep voice strained with need. “I wanna see and hear that again.” he rubbed his cock against your folds, mixing both of your essences into one, drenching his length with your slick. “Please this time cum on my cock” he gently pushed his tip inside you, closing his eyes shut as he felt your walls fluttering around his cock head, finishing your previous orgasm around his cock, your pretty little pussy pulsing around him as he continued to push himself in, breathing heavily to keep himself from bursting on the spot.

“Fuck” he cried, finally peeling his eyes open. “You feel so good around me baby” he breathed. “You’re so pretty, so perfect” he praised you. Taking a good look at you. You were stunning, beads of sweat running down your temples, your breasts spilling from the half undone dress, said dress completely wrinkled and roughed up, not hiding anything away from him anymore. 

“Ok” you said, out of breath, pushing a dampened strand of hair away from your face. “Make me cum around your cock, Mingi” you said, spreading your legs even wider, giving Mingi an even better view of his cock splitting you in two.

“Fuck-” Mingi cursed again, immediately taking you up on the offer. He started to pull out only to push back in again, just as gently. The way his girth split you open made you moan his name. You whimpered at the delicious stretch of your walls accommodating his generous mengh as he filled you up to the brim so perfectly almost like you were made for him entirely. 

“Please harder, Mingi” you said, your fingers pulling into the leather cropped vest, where you could see from underneath his toned abs and belly button. 

“Of course, doll” he said as he picked the pace, a wince of pleasure sneaking on his face when you gripped even tighter around him, letting out a satisfied groan. 

With each powerful thrust he was grazing against your g spot making your moan and arch your back, pushing your hips into him everytime he pushed himself back in.

“Fuck you’re so good to me baby” he panted, a large bead of sweat running from his hairline along the bridge of his sharp and long noze. 

You only replied with more moans, growing louder and louder as you both fucked each other, rocking the dining table recklessly the sound of your skin clashing and filling up the space along with groans and grunts.

“Baby, I'm close” Mingi said in a strangled and high pitched moan that was far from the usual deep voice he used.

“Me too” you answered “Please inside” you struggled to make sense. “Please cum inside me”

You didnt care about the consequences right now, moreover you weren't even thinking about them. You only thought about Mingi deep inside of you giving you the raw, rough unfiltered love you have been needing for years. Ever since he kissed you back on the hills. And suddenly you were back at the hilltop again.

Your body started to shake as you came undone again as Mingi delivered large and thick ropes of burning cum inside your heat, your name slipping off his lips a thousand times. Both of your bodies going up in flames, throwing each other in the fire that lighted you both as he kissed you again.

You pulsed uncontrollably around him, as he became sloppy, his thrusts more shallow and irregular until they came to a stop. He crashed over your body, panting, chest heaving up and down as you stroked his hair. He stayed inside you for a while, his cum lazily dripping out of you. He didn't want to lose this connection with you, he wanted to stay right there. Right here with you.

***

“Come with me” Mingi said as he was ready to hop on one of your horses, as the sun was setting over the fields. 

“Mingi I-” you started.

“Forget about him” Mingi cut you off before you have a chance to mention your husband's name. He took your hands into his big and rough ones. “Come back with me to the hills, y/n” he said. You opened your mouth to speak again but Mingi didn't let you talk. He was afraid of your answer. “We won't have much but we will have each other. And if I have you then I have everything” he pressed his chest against yours and you heard his heart beat into your ear, testifying of his true feelings, much deeper than any words. 

This was your chance to let the deceiving lies behind to embrace a life of true love. And you took your chance. As you hoped on the horse right behind Mingi, leaving the empty house behind. You held onto him, your fingers found their way and intertwining with the leather again as you rode into the sunset, lifting the dry dirt in your wake. The stars finally crossing as your destinies took the same path. The sun meeting you on the horizon, inviting you with it.

Two star crossed lovers on the sun.

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a/n: phewww it is done! i cant even begin to explain the STRUGGLE i had while writing this but i hope it turned out good? maybe? it was wayyyy out of my comfort zone if you liked it please tell me in the comments or reblog (pls don't use the community labels please) or leave a nice ask. that would mean so much <3. anyways thank you for the awesome collab anne @ssaboala. don't forget to check out the other authors' amazing fics here. byeee~

[deepfivetraveller]

King Baldwin x Time!Traveler!reader

chapter 1

Chapter 2 here

Okay I’m a little new to writing romance so please take it easy on me. Btw I’ll try to keep y/n as neutral as possible but since this is set in the ancient era and religion is very important, y/n shall be hinted as being Hindu since that’s the only one that seems neutral in this situation.

“Alright that's all for the lesson. And since its complete I expect all of you to be thorough with ‘Life of King Baldwin iv’ during this weekend since there will be a test on this very topic next wednesday. Have a great weekend by the way.” The professor stands up and closes his laptop and all the other students start packing up.

“He had a pretty hard life didn’t he?” One of your friends chimes in. You look at her unsurprised. “You mean king Baldwins?”

“Duh! Poor man suffered an incurable disease almost his entire life! Imagine having skin infested in bacteria, euggh!” She recoils in disgust. “Imagine the cure to that disease being bacteria itself! Pretty sure Leprosy can be cured using multi antibiotic therapy.” Another friend joins in the conversation. You finished packing up your bag so you get up. “But no matter what, you gotta respect him. He never used his illness as an excuse to be a bad king.”

“That’s true….” Your first friend agrees. “He’s tough. When I catch a normal cold I give up all of my responsibilities since I’m sick. Wonder how hard it must have been for him.” All of you exit the classroom. A few minutes go by and topics have changed. A fun conversation lasted for a while before it was time to go, so you three parted ways.

As you entered your home your first thought was to take a cold shower after a long, hot and sweaty day. While eagerly hopping into the shower you get reminded of the conversation you had with your friends a while ago. What did king Baldwin even look like? There were no images in your textbook. Curiosity got the best of you, making you draw back the shower curtains to leave. You wrapped a towel and went towards the table where you kept your mobile, typed a quick ‘King Baldwin the 4th images’ and hit enter. Two images popped up. One being an actual painting from the 12th century while the other being an image reconstructed by scientists which looked…realistic to say the least.

His face in the second photo was majestic. His mouth and nose were almost non-existent, having only two triangular shaped holes instead of a nose. His skin was dry, withered and stretched while having the hue of a dry leaf during autumn. Even though he was severely disfigured his eyes were pure and bright, having a child like innocence towards them. King Baldwin was…Quite handsome.

Okay that’s enough now snap out of it! It’s probably just some AI prompt message image anyway. If anyone found out you found him handsome they’d call you crazy. Plus now is not the time to fangirl over a dead king, now's the time to study. In an attempt to distract yourself you pick up your books to do work. Hours painfully go by as you study but finally, finally it was bedtime. You could care less about eating dinner or even taking a shower, you plop yourself onto your bed and wrap the soft blanket around your body. Thoughts about King Baldwin strike your mind again. Seriously, what's wrong with you?! Why is this man plaguing your thoughts all day?

A sigh escaped your mouth from irritation. If only it was possible to console him for his losses or better yet, cure him entirely. The world would have been a better place if he had the lifespan of a normal man.

But there is no point thinking about this, time to go to bed now. As you try to go to sleep your body keeps doing the fake fall thing, annoying you to the core. And finally when your bodys heartbeat was steady and your breathing was quiet, your body did that fake fall thing again but this time it was actually a real fall.

Eyes widen as you try to grab onto the air to prevent your fall but of course, you fail. Adrenaline rushes through your veins for that split second before you finally make an impact on the cobblestone path?

Owch! That fall really hurt, especially at the back of your shoulders! You hope it’s not bruised there. But after that reality check, you look around only to find yourself in some village?

You can see a few small huts and buildings beyond the grassy field. Where are you? How are you here? Why are you here? Too confused and dazed from the fall, you try to look around for people for help. That is until a holographic screen with text pops up.

Congratulations Ms. Y/n. Your wish to cure King Baldwin has been approved by the ₦ł₥฿Ʉ₴฿₳Ʉ₦Ʉ₴. You are now at Jerusalem, Year: 1181.

“What?”

Yes it’s true Ms.Y/n, you really are in the 12th century.

Your blood is now boiling in anger. “Just because….Someone wishes pity over a dead king DOES NOT ACTUALLY MEAN THEY WANT TO CURE HIM!” You try to grab onto the screen to shake it vigorously but your hands go right thru.

Now now, let’s calm down and try to get over with this together I’m sure we’ll find a solution.

“Calm down…CALM DOWN?!?!?!? I’m in the middle of nowhere in Jerusalem during the 12th century and you want me to CALM DOWN???? I don’t even know French and not to mention I’M NOT CHRISTIAN!” You were screaming with your hand in the air. Pretty sure you woke someone up.

Y-Yes but that’s why I’m here. Don’t worry about communication, the language module for french had been uploaded into your brain while you fell here.

The screen flickers a little, maybe due to fear.

Uploaded knowledge? “But I’m a woman from the 21st century! I can’t live here! I’m wayy to accustomed to the privileges of my time!”

That’s one of my perks miss! By using currency of this time you may purchase products of your time thru me! The screen changes to an online store. For now you have access to basic necessities like food and clothes. As you complete missions you shall unlock other parts of the online market! The screens display brightness increases due to enthusiasm, convinced it has impressed you.

You however look at it in exasperated shock. “How is this even possible?” You say with dread in your voice. “Who sent me here?” You ask, no, demand.

Like I said You’ve been sent here by ₦ł₥฿Ʉ₴฿₳Ʉ₦Ʉ₴. I’m pretty sure you can’t read that since mortals don’t have the capacity to….

Mortals? Is this the play of some higher being? God even? Too many questions float through your head, making you visibly tired. You can feel the bottom of the skin beneath your eyes folding, an indicator you’re developing dark circles.

Ah. It looks like you’re tired. It’s night anyway. You should sleep.

“But where do I-”

“Excuse me madam.” You turn around to see a man standing behind you. “I’ve noticed you’ve been talking to yourself.”

So he can’t see the screen. From his ragged outfit he seems to be a commoner. He also genuinely seems worried so you guess it wouldn’t hurt to ask for help.

“Yes, sorry for that.” You say embarrassingly while you get up. “You see I’m from the family of wandering traders, here to sell spices from my land. I was talking to myself since I was quite irritated at how I didn’t have an inn for the night.” The explanation seems responsible enough I guess.

“But I don’t see any goods with you… And how did a young lady such as yourself travel alone? Where is your husband?”

Crap. He’s doubting you. You need to give him a reasonable explanation fast or he’ll call you a witch or something.

“Oh no sir you’re mistaken! My father is the one who has the spices, it’s his business after all. We had to split ways during travel due to inconveniences, I’m merely here to help him!” You put on your best smile to convince him.

“O-Oh I’m sorry madame! H-Here let me lead you, I know an Inn nearby.” Good. Looks like he believes you. But now it’s your turn.

“I’m sorry sir but how can I trust you?” You step back a little. “What if you take advantage of me? How shall I testify my innocence? The locals would definitely believe you over me.”

“No no please don’t! I’m a married man. My wife’s right there.” he points at the lady standing just outside the house, looking worried. You look at her and she nods her head in reassurance. “You seem like a noble from your land madame judging from your colorful dress, why don’t the both of us show you where the inn is?”

Hmm….Guess colorful clothing is rare here. And he really does seem like he wants to help.

“Very well then. Both of you show me they way.” The man eagerly tells his wife the incident and both of them show you around. The screen follows you, showing you a winking emoticon.

Congrats Ms. Y/n! You have officially begun your first mission!

[oshygoshy]

7:29 am

word count - 953 words

warnings - reader is female in this one. nothing explicit, but suggestive at the end. general intim*cy (throws up, claws at my skin, shakes cell bar handles)

a/n - ermmm guys happy birthday to my glorious king oikawa butttt this is kinda cringe im not gonna lie also i literally woke up at like 3 am and it's past 8 am rn so forgive me for typos my head hurts and my eyes are strained and uhh im formatting this on pc so idk how it looks on mobile but ykw?? that is simply not my business

“who’s blowing up your phone like that?” you mused, sipping your morning coffee as you tried to blink the sleep from your eyes. it was a failing task, though oikawa had to commend you for the valiant attempt.

“i’m not sure,” he hummed, blowing on his tea to try to cool it down. he tried unlocking his phone from his current position, huffing when it didn’t work. he tapped in his passcode and opened up his messages app. 

you peer over his shoulder, resting your chin on his bicep. you raise an eyebrow when you see the message. “japanese? tooru, dear, are you texting one of your fangirls back from home?” 

“baby,” he whispered, turning his head to kiss you on your temple, “you are my home.”

“real smooth. tell me what your side piece said though,” you say, unamused. (but you’d be lying if you said there wasn’t a happy grin on your face.)

“do you remember when i was showing you japan’s volleyball roster, and we were watching one of their exhibition matches?”

“mhmm.”

“remember their athletic trainer?”

you turned your head at that, your cheek squishing adorably against his shoulder. “the really buff guy that you totally had the hots for?”

oikawa’s jaw dropped at that. “excuse me?? i don’t know whether i should be offended or disgusted by that comment-“

“-tooru, please. as your partner, i could see the bedroom eyes you had for him from the audience seating.”

his lips thinned as you turned your attention back to his screen. your sleepy voice tugged at his heartstrings, but he really wished you would say something else. “never said that was a bad thing…he kind of looks like me, don’t you think? it’s clear you have a type.”

“now, i don’t even know what you’re-“ he tried but only got cut off by you again with a giggle.

“-great arms, smoldering gaze, and ample space in the chest!” you say with a wink. 

you hear his audible groan, and can practically feel his eyes rolling in distaste, but you miss his flushed cheeks and dopey grin.

“checks out. he’s cute, in a grumpy kinda way. anyway, tell me what he said.”

“uh,” oikawa started, faltering at that comment. (iwa-chan? cute?) he squinted at his screen; he could really use his glasses right now. “it says…happy birthday.”

you frown. “that’s it? it looks like a longer message than just ‘happy birthday.’”

“he added a ‘stupidkawa’ at the end too.”

you laugh at that, but still have an eyebrow raised, seemingly not satisfied. after a moment, you shrug, letting your curiosity drop, and instead reach a hand up. “you should let me say something back.” you didn’t ask for permission, sending a little smiley face emoji and a bazillion pink glittery hearts. “there. i’m sure these will transcend our language barrier.” 

he shuts off his phone, placing it facedown as you move his cup out of his hands, and slide yourself into his lap. the morning rays are warm, argentina’s summer already making her mark on your glowing skin. but for now, in your private kitchen, his hair blowing gently from the air conditioning vent above, and the most precious smile and both your faces, oikawa couldn’t help but kiss you softly, feeling your smile against his lips.

“happy birthday, tooru,” you whisper against his skin. “my favorite olympian.” you lean back a bit, resting an arm against the counter. “and don’t worry your pretty little head about anything. since today’s the start of the weekend, we can do whatever you want. my treat.”

his hands rested against your waist, rubbing ambiguous shapes into the warmth. “how about we start off with brunch at the cafe we like? the one with the cute cat sitting out front?”

“‘kay. lemme get ready first,” you say, and with much strength, you leave the comfort of his arms, yawning lazily as you head back to your shared room. he stared openly as you stretched your arms above your head, and could only laugh when you flicked his forehead. 

“quit ogling me, stupidkawa.”

“but it’s my job to ogle you! and don’t call me that again. you sound just like him,” he said with a fake shudder. he heard your snicker echo in the hallway as he turned his attention back to his phone.  

it made sense why you were suspicious of iwa-chan’s text at first. though you didn’t speak japanese, it really did look too long to just say “happy birthday.” but he made sure to leave out the second half of his friend’s text. 

oikawa tapped a finger against the edge of the phone as he kept rereading it.

iwa-chan “happy birthday, stupidkawa. take a break, and keep an eye on your girl. some of the guys said they’d buy a ticket just see her.”  you "😊😁💕💖💓💞💖💕💓💓💖✨💖💖" “thanks, iwa-chan i'll be sure to take care of myself." "the hearts were from her. did you know she thinks you have ‘great arms, a smoldering gaze, and a big chest?’” “i told her you called me stupidkawa, and now she calls me that too. you’re a bad influence”

he saw the little dots pop up immediately. japan was only 12 hours ahead, so it should be around 7 pm for him.

iwa-chan “did she really? cute. maybe i should meet her too.” 

his eyes kept flicking back to the last message.

“meet her too.”

“meet her”

“cute”

oikawa raised his brows, thinking. wouldn’t that be a treat, to have iwaizumi and you meet? well, doesn’t matter. they’ll be seeing each other soon in paris for the olympics. but…he thought back to what you said about him. (great arms? cute? you both found each other cute??)

well, maybe they can have another, more secret competition back in his room. winner takes all. 

[the-pit-of-fandoms]

Hidden in plain sight

Simon ‘ghost’ Riley x reader (Mc *main character*)

Summary: After a mission gone wrong, mc is captured and then it is revealed that ghost and mc had gotten married on a mission prior and have hidden it since. Now ghost will do anything to get her back.

Words: 8867

Warning: mentions of gunshots, blood, death, injury, hospitalization. Implied 18+ content.

The day was awful from the beginning. The air was too hot and the ac in the hummer was shot, so that put everyone in a great mood. Even with the blazing heat trapped in the car, ghost’s mask held its place on his face, his determination to keep his identity to himself. His eyes drift over to the warrant that was slumped low in her seat, sweat dripping down her temple and down to her clavicles peeking out of her protective vests and her dark shirts.

His eyes caught the silver chain that was sticking out of her shirts neck line, the metal just barely clinging to her dewy skin. Usually, the chain was for the dog tags worn by military personnel but he found himself smiling, knowing that there was more hanging on that silver gyves that only they knew about.

***

3 years earlier

To say that they were beat up, was an understatement, every move they made was met with a groan or a sharp inhale. The mission was complete and that was all that mattered. Ghost and Mc would be able to lick their wounds as long as they wanted now that everything was done. All they had to do now was wait out the next five hours till their pick-up chopper arrived for them. For now, the cover from an old, abandoned farmhouse around the southern border of Berlin would have to do.

Climbing up on the wooden porch, Mc spotted a pair of worn rocking chairs, situated next to each other. She didn’t know about the owners of the home, but she could imagine an old couple spending the morning on their front porch watching the sun rise on the horizon.

Meanwhile, Ghost was focused on getting the front door open, after a loud knock with no answer or even a sound of movement, he thrusts his shoulder into the door making it pop off the handle. Taking a careful step inside, he diligently scanned for any signs of life. Every surface was cleared and cleaned. Spots across the house looked empty, some in cabinet shelves, some on bookcases, and side tables. It was safe to assume that the people who lived here were evacuated and they took, both monetary and sentimentally, valued things before they left.

“It's clear.” he called out to her as he ventured further into the house and into the back rooms to sweep it fully. Once cleared, he retreated back to the living room, where he found Mc setting an alarm on the frame of the door, making sure that it faced the front yard. Upon seeing Ghost approach, she got to her feet again and closed the broken door.

“Everything all good?” she asked.

“Yeah, they were evacuated with the city. We can lay low here for now.”

She nodded agreeing with the plan. Her eyes meet his shoulder where a long-ignored injury had occurred. His whole shoulder was soaked with his own blood, the only thing that was pressed to the wound was a discarded glove from earlier.

“Let's take care of your shoulder. I'm sure that glove is filthy.” she said stepping towards the bathroom and not looking back to see if he was following.

Ghost smiled at her sureness. There were only a handful of people who could ever tell him what to do and he didn’t care to admit that she was one of them. Somehow, she had gotten him to listen to her without question. So, he followed her to the bathroom, where she had found a first aid kit and a few other supplies. Gesturing towards the toilet seat she had him sit down on the top, while she began soaking her utensils in the hot water filling the sink. He began stripping off his layers until he was down to just his black tank top that laid against his skin.

She also began to peel off her own layers, making sure that she had enough mobility to make this as quick as possible. She had gotten down to a long-sleeved t- shirt herself and, just like ghost, her hefty tactical pant hung off of her hips.

Satisfied with everything, she began to inspect his wound. Dry, brown and grimy blood painted the skin of his shoulder. With a damp, warm rag, she wiped away what she could, getting a better look as the gash. From a single glance she knew it would need a few stitches and without pain sedatives it was going to be painful. The gnarly gash was already red and irritated, sewing it up was only going to inflame it further.

“It’s gonna need stitches.” She said as her fingers barely brushing the area around his open wound.

“Do whatcha need to do, Ace.” Leaning over he picked a fresh dry rag on the counter before rolling it up and lifting his mask just past his lips to placing it between his teeth.

Mc eyebrows furled, he was already anticipating the pain without question.

“I’ll be as gentle as possible.” She promised.

“Don’t worry about it. I can take it.” He just barely said through the towel.

“The boys aren’t around Lieutenant, you don’t have to be so tough. I won’t tell them that you winced at some stitches.” she sassed gathering up her tools and giving them a wipe with some clear alcohol she found in the bathroom cabinet.

Ghost snickered under his breath, “I’ve taken a lot worse injuries than this, Ace.”

“I'm sure it doesn’t get any easier. So quit being such a tough guy.”

Her touch doesn’t change from her soft and careful presses.

Ghost was surprised when she began to stitch and no pain followed. He was fully ready to bite a hole into the rag in his mouth, but he was only met with light tugs against his shoulder. As the sewing progressed, a slow burn of pain began to set in but it was very manageable. By the time she was done, the rag was taken out of her mouth, he had taken to staring at the adorable concentration that took over her face.

Snipping the last bit of string, she finally looked over to see ghost's dark eyes staring into her.

“Finished.” she said softly but not daring to pull back from his gaze.

Ever since they had been assigned together, their chemistry had been undeniable. She was the only one who ignored his tough exterior and watch out for him just like he had for everyone else. How could he ever act in that? It was inappropriate for a man of his status to have a relationship with a colleague who position was beneath his own. Beyond that, he had so many other things that he couldn’t bring you into, that acting before laying it all out, would be unfair to you.

He was pulled out of his thought when you touch traveled to his opposite shoulder and up to his neck, her thumb gently caressing his jaw.

“Ace.” he says in almost a warning like tone.

“Ghost.” she echos the same tone, moving herself between his legs.

“This is a bad idea.” his mumbles into the inch of air between them.

“So? Bad ideas have never scared you before, Ghost.”

The sound of her voice as she sweetly whispered her name, made his fist tighten. He was fighting every muscle to keep his hands off of her, in spite of the fact that she clearly wanted it too.

Her lips brushed against his and he nearly lost it. He sways towards her, his lips nearly meeting hers, only catching himself at the last second pulling himself back through gritted teeth.

“Ace.” he stops trying to form a simple sentence.

Suddenly, she pulls away, leaving them both stunned.

“I'm sorry.” she says with such surprise, like she had just plunged a knife into his chest with her own hands, “You injured and, we are both exhausted from the mission. T-this was a mistake.”

She immediately gathers her supplies and leaves Ghost alone in the bathroom. Taking a breath to gather himself and pulling his balaclava down, he moves to follow her path to find her in the kitchen, cleaning the tool she had used mere minutes ago.

“It wasn’t a mistake.” he said softly and she stops but refuses to turn around.

With his initial urge dissipated, he approaches and turns her to face him again.

“If we are putting everything out there,” he lifts her chin with a finger, making her eyes meet his, “I want nothing more than to kiss you, but as a superior I have a reasonability to not overstep boundaries and do what best for the people on my team.”

He was surprised at not only the professionalism of his answer but even more so that she didn’t argue right away. Usually, she was able to debunk his bullshit rather quickly.

“I quite frankly, there's a lot about me you don’t know. I doubt you would even want to even be in the same room with me if you knew Simon Riley.”

A small smile formed on her lips and she pushed herself off the sink standing toe to toe with the Lieutenant.

“Try me.”

Present

Everything was going fine as far as a classified mission went. Ghost had yet to be detected and his team suffered zero injuries so that was all he could hope for. He checked once again on Mc who was still three paces behind him. Despite her always being there, he always needed to check to make sure she was next to him. She nodded at him, acknowledging his concern and urging him to move forward.

He signaled for Gaz and Ace to split, going to take the back entrance while him and Soap took the front. Even though Gaz wasn’t his first choice, he was a close second to himself, only tying with soap. It was hard every time you left his side during a mission but due to your agreement, he had to. If your relationship was to be kept a secret, showing favoritism wasn’t the way to do it.

Watching her walk past, he fought every bone in his body not to follow behind her. As they approached a corner a few feet in front of him, she met his eyes briefly as she waited for Gaz to clear so they could move. As she looked at him, she quickly brought her fist to her chest and tapped twice. He gave a slight nod, acknowledging her silent mutual sign they had for ‘I love you’. Ghost had suggested it a few months after they had moved in with each other. Mc was taken aback by his sweet suggestion but eagerly agreed. They came up with a tap to the chest which didn’t seem like much seeing that it was often used in the field as sort of a good luck sort of gesture. To others it would be a simple and it would likely be brushed off but to just them, it was a way to show their love in plain sight. He repeated the same small gesture to her, and her cheeks rose under her mask as she smiled.

“Be safe, Babygirl.” he mumbles low enough for only him to hear.

“Let's move Soap.” he orders moving in the opposite direction.

2 years earlier

The small polish church was all but silent with only three people in attendance. The priest had done hundreds of weddings in his life but it had been a long time since he had seen two people so in love. Even know, in this very moment he knew this was a ceremony he would remember for the rest of his days. After all, it wasn’t every day that the two people in question was both were missing the usual wedding attire. Both were dressed in military gear, with their weapons waiting outside the church out of respect. The man's face was still painted with the black paint that often adorned the soldiers that passed through on the rare occasion. The woman has a clean face that glowed as she looked at her make counterpart, and the priest couldn’t help but notice the intricate French braids that was formed into a bun at the base of her head.

They had come into the church for sanctuary but after an hour of quiet whispers they had asked the old priest to marry them under the sanction of God. Normally the priest would insist on a thorough interview before joining the two but a deep feeling in his gut told him that the love, they held for each other was strong and true so he agreed.

The evening sunset pooled through the stain glass window in front of the alter, showering the couple in beautiful multi colored rays of light. The couples held the simple gold bands that the priest had given them briefly before hand, having no rings on them in the first place, and the old priest refused to accept the idea of exchanging dog tags between them. He could only take so many unconventional requests from the couple.

Having communicated with the couple through English, the priest took it upon himself to recite the ceremony in English as well.

“We are gathered here today under the house of God to unite two souls in holy matrimony. Under gods' guidance, they have claimed their love as strong and pure so we ask you mighty lord for you blessing.” he bows his head reciting a silent prayer. Mc and ghost wait patiently, neither them being the praying sort. Their smiles grew wider as the light shifted slightly, highlighting their joined hands.

“Now before we continue, do you declare before god that you have come here of your own free will and not under the force of others.” asks to Mc first.

She smiles widely, “yes I have come here of my own free will.”

Ghost chuckled along with her, as if he could get her to do something she didn’t want to do.

“And you?” he asks towards ghost.

“Same for me, your holy-ship.” he stutters out the last part.

Even the priest couldn’t help but smile at ghosts' clear unfamiliarity with the catholic religion, and he suspected any other sort of religion. However, he continued, having been satisfied with their light hearted answers. Closing the Bible briefly his attention shifted back to the couple rather than the scripture.

“I have had the pleasure of being a part of many, many marriages in my time, so I have had plenty of practice and experiences so I will tell you what I have told many couples before you. A marriage isn't something that should be done on a whim or because others have told you it is the proper thing to do. You must do it for the love that you share. That is the only thing that can make it stand strong. Do it because you cannot imagine sharing yourself with another living soul. Love takes patience, kindness respect and forgiveness, a lot of forgiveness. I am but a humble servant of God. Whatever you so choose is what it shall be.” he finishes leaving the couple to answer.

Mc looks to ghost, with a questioning gaze no longer confident that he shared the same want for marriage.

Seeing the question in her eyes, he smiles and reached up to cup her jaw, his thumb brushing along her apples of her cheeks.

“I know our relationship hasn’t been a conventional one. Hell, we don’t even show each other affection outside closed doors but I have never, ever doubted your love for me. I know I'm a hard man to love but I will spend the rest of my life, married or not, trying my bloody hardest to love you the way you deserve. As long as you want this, I'm all in with you, love.”

Sniffing slightly and blinking away the mist from her eyes, then nodding to her counterpart.

“Please continue father.” she spoke sweetly and softly.

The priest nods and continues. Holding out the ring for ghost to take, ghost gingerly takes it placing the ring on the first knuckle of her ring finger. As the priest begins to recite the holy scripture, all the while ghost repeats it.

“With this ring, I take you, Mc Y/L/N, to be my lawfully wedded wife to have and to hold from this day forward. For better or for worse, in sickness and in health, rich or for poor. I promise to love and honor you all the days of my life.”

With that, he pushed the golden band fully onto her finger, sealing his vows to his very soon to be wife. He resisted the urge to kiss her on the lips, purely out of respect for the church but utterly hating the decision.

Next it was Mc’s turn to recite the same vows, taking the next golden ring placing it at the same lengths that Simon had just done mere seconds ago.

“With this ring, I take you, Simon Reily, to be my lawfully wedded husband to have and to hold from this day forward. For better or for worse, in sickness and in health, rich or for poor. I promise to love and honor you all the days of my life.”

Tears began to well up in her eyes as she slipped the ring onto his finger. Joining hands again, once more the priest was left to continue the ceremony.

“So, by the power vested in me through the holy catholic church of Saint Joseph, I now pronounce you husband and wife. You may now kiss your bride Mr. Reily.” the priest smiles.

“ ‘Bout bloody time.” He slips out right before pressing his lips to hers. His hand comes up to cradle the back of her head, his other hand pressing to her lower back pressing her to him. Reaching up she cups his neck and grips the lapel of his thick Carhart jacket, her lips humming happily against his.

They pull apart only for the need of air, they would have continued their display if there was no need for oxygen. As they took a breath, they realized that they were still in a church, and they had yet to thank the priest and more importantly sign the marriage license the priest had so kindly provided them with.

Taking the license from the priest he gave a quick little bow of his head, “thank you father.”

“It was an absolute pleasure. Much like love, God moves the world in mysterious ways, but I am thankful for times like these. Usually when kids come in to be married it's all very decorated and extravagant but being able to marry you two in nothing, but your military garb has shown this old man that love still shines over monetary things.” with a deep yet light breath, the priest smiles contently down at the couple, “I wish you both a long marriage full of love and hope, my children.”

Present

Shit hit the fan way too quick for Ghosts liking.

He was usually able to adapt and adjust to complete the mission one way or the other but this time they were foiled at every turn.

He second guessed the probability of getting out in one piece when soap got clipped in the thigh but by some miracle, they found themselves back at their base waiting, more or less, patiently for Gaz and Mc to catch up. The last they heard from Gaz, he had informed Price that both of them were almost at the front and would be out of the vicinity within the next coming minutes. That was nearly thirty minutes ago, and Ghost was now pacing trying to keep his panic and anger under control. He had about ten more minutes left in him before he would blast his way through that building until he had his wife in hand. He was not going to lose you, not if he could help it.

The door flew open as Gaz was practically carried in by another soldier. He was beaten and bloody but the thing that concerned Ghost was that Mc wasn’t with him.

His veins flared with pure adrenaline that felt like fucking lava. Price and soap were at Gaz side before Ghost had the chance to step over to him.

“Where is Mc?” he demanded ignoring Soaps own questions.

Gaz cough grabbing his side in pain not being able to answer quickly enough for Ghost liking.

“WHERE IS SHE?” he growled grabbing the lapel on gaz jacket.

“Ghost easy!” Soap interrupted pushing ghost back.

Ghost hands were shaking. He was ready to tear someone apart and right now, Gaz was not excluded from that list of people, but he held back.

“Gaz?” he warned.

“They took her.” he wheezed.

“What the fuck do mean they took her? You told Price that you were almost out. How the fuck is that possible?” His voice was low and snarling like an animal.

“They had people stationed outside. We were ambushed as we left the building. I barely got away.” He sighed clearly upset that he had to leave you behind.

Ghost concentrated on the rage bubbling in his stomach, suppressing it as he moved to his equipment that was laid out on a table. He would use that rage to get him into that facility and to his wife.

Soap watched him with confusion. Ghost had never reacted like this to anyone on the team not even when Sheperd had betrayed them. Had the stress finally caught up to him?

"Ghost relax, we are getting her back. We just need a plan first.”

“I'm not waiting for a fucking plan. The longer we wait, the more likely it is that she is dead. I'm going and I don’t give a fuck if any of you are coming with me.”

“Ghost we all want to get her back and out of harm's way but you aren't going to if you go back in there blind.” Soap reached over grabbing Ghosts' bicep only for a second before ghost harshly ripped it out of his grip.

“I suggest you keep your hands to yourself if you want to keep ‘em.” ghost threated hoarsely.

Soap looked to Price for some sort of back up, but hesitation was clear on his face which confused Soap even more. Price had never been scared to tell Ghost off, which made him one of the few who could.

“Soaps right Ghost we need at least an idea before we attack.”

Ghosts eyes stayed on Soap for a moment more before turning away and going back to his arsenal.

“My plan is to kill everyone in my way until Mc is safe.” he stated, slid his knives into their respective holsters, then turning to Price and Soap. Both had never seen the kind of darkness that clouded Ghost eyes, Soaps confusion was now turning into fear. “I'm either going as a soldier or as a husband. Only one of them will take orders from you.”

“Husband?” Soap sounded with complete and utter confusion.

The room went silent as Price and Ghost stood off against each other.

“Suit up, Soap. We're going in.” he said still looking at Ghost before moving over to his own

“Alright what am I missing?” Soap demands as the two men began to move around.

Price grabs Soaps dragging him over to the supplies of weapons and armor jackets.

“I’ll fill in the details later, but Ghost and Y/n have been married for a little over two years and they’ve been keeping it secret ever since. I’m the only one who knows about it.”

Soap was rendered speechless, then he began to strap his equipment on in a confused haze.

1 year earlier

It was too close of a call for Y/n. She could handle a lot of things when it came to her line of work, but she drew the line today. When she had watched a rifle bullet rip through her husband's ribs and exit through the other side then was forced to act as a teammate and not his wife, that was it for her. She had watch him bleed for hours in the dirt in the middle of Venezuela, all while keeping her wife tendencies hidden under her teammate persona. Later as he was laid up in the hospital, unconscious from blood loss but stable, nonetheless, she swore she would never be in this position again. At the hospital. She was able to convince captain Price that she should stay with him at least until the mission was wrapped up, and he had to much paper work to object to her offer.

She watched as his chest rose and fell with his shallow breathing. Until he woke up, y/n had taken to reading a book and sipping on her hospital burnt black coffee.

She found herself re-reading the same line over and over again. She couldn’t stop her mind from wondering and worrying. With every person that past by the door, worried that it was Captain Price coming to relieve her. She wasn’t sure if she could lie herself out of leaving.

As Ghost stirred next to her, she was brought out of her thoughts. Slapping the book shut, she was over by his side sitting on the edge of the bed. With another groan and a small shift, when he saw his eyes opened, she felt a lift in her shoulders that she had been waiting for since the moment ghost had been shot.

“Simon.” she cooed.

He smiled lazily with the pain medication still flowing through his system.

“Babygirl.” He sings to her.

She smiles, only have heard that pet name from him maybe a handful of times.

“Hey, Big Man. How you feelin?”

His eyebrows frilled together as a disappointed look graced his features.

“Big Man? I'm your husband, call me hubby or something.” he complained rather childishly.

“Fine.” she paused to look around for a brief minute before looking back at him, “How are you feeling, my love?”

“Great.” he coos, as his eyes roll back.

“Those meds are working then. That’s good.”

“You know,” he smiles, peeling his eyes open, “a kiss would make me feel a lot betta.”

Mc sighed, yet she was unable to hide her smile as she watched her mountain of a husband acting like a lovesick teenager.

“Just a quick one, alright? Then you need to rest some more.”

He huffed but nodded his head anyways.

She leaned down, meeting his lips for a quick kiss.

Before they had started dating and got married, she had always assumed that ghost would be cold in every aspect, after all, that was what he was until she had met the man beneath the mask. Now she couldn’t imagine him being anything but warm. His lips were chapped but they were still warm. A hand found its way to her hip, giving a small squeeze making her snap out of their love bubble.

“Simon.” she warned pulling his hand away.

He hums contently pulling away from her lips, lazily, “I love kissing you.”

“I love kissing you too. Now go back to sleep.” she said softly brushing a hand down his cheek.

He smiled before drifting back off to sleep.

She sighed. She was safe for another hour or two but now she was worried that if Price came, Ghost would spill their secret while under hospital grade pain relievers, but until he conscious again and off his extreme pain meds she would have to make things up as she went.

***

A few weeks later, Ghost was finally ready to go home. Mc had managed to stay next to him the entire time convincing that she had felt responsible for ghost having been his partner for the mission. It also helped that Price was needed for a few more extensive things back at the base that took up a portion of his time. So he had no problem leaving the sarcastic lieutenant with the patient warrant..

With their secret still remaining between two of them, touches were kept to a minimum. That task being hard for ghost to adhere to. His touch brushing along her hips and the back of her hands every once and a while, to which Mc always shooed away. Even on the way home, his warm hand pressing to her knee was pushed away, leaving ghost confused, but y/n had always been a diligent driver, so he would wait until they got back to their shared apartment.

Moving through the door, Mc helped him remove his coat before going to take care of the bags of clothing and forgotten military duffle bags that were forgotten in the backseat of the car.

Simon leaned against the counter, watching as Mc was trying hard to distance herself from him. He hated that.

He smiled as he moved over to her form that was putting clothes into the washer. His hands landed on her hips pulling her into him and wrapping his arms around her in a hug. As she finished, she closed the machine and started it, making the old thing roar to life then turning around in his arms. Finding a light sheen in her eyes, his smile fell slightly.

“Go rest.” she suggested, lightly pushing him away and towards the bedroom. She moved over to the counter in kitchen.

“I will. I want to hold my wife first.” he said following her.

Taking her face between his hands, he kissed her gently. He could feel her hesitation in her as he moved his touch down to her waist where he encircled her. He deepened the kiss and she in turn wrapped her own arms around his shoulders, her fingers entangling in his hair. Parting both of their lips, he was able to slip his tongue between her lips, stroking along her own tongue as she tightened her grip on his roots.

Tears rolled down her cheek, but she was more focused on the burning in her lungs as she continued to run out of air against her husband's lips.

When they finally broke apart, she finally felt the trail of tears, for now she left them alone only worrying about catch her breath and keeping herself from having a panic attack that she had been suppressing for weeks.

Simon cradled her cheeks again, looking at her with a confused glance, “What is it, Babygirl?”

“Don’t ever make me do that again.” she heaved softly, “Please Simon. I can’t do that again. I cant.”

He knew exactly what she meant, and he couldn’t blame her. He didn’t want to think about being in her place. Watching her bleed out and laying in a hospital bed. Having to pretend day in and day out in the hospital, that they were nothing but teammates, it would destroy him.

He wrapped his arms around her, he made sure to cradle her head and plant a kiss on the crown of her forehead. His big frame always made her look small, and as she buried herself into his chest, she looked even smaller. He felt her shake against him as she cried out the stress of her week.

“I won't, I swear. I’ll tell Price as soon as I'm clear to come back.”

She nods and Simon kisses her forehead again before moving down to her lips, placing another soft kiss.

“You were so unbelievably brave, my love. I am so proud of you. I wouldn’t be able to hold out as long as you had.” Simon chuckled at his own admission to his weakness.

“I wasn’t easy.” she breathed.

Simon nodded, running his hand down her arms, continuing to ground them both.

“I think we can both use a shower. I don’t know about you, but a fuckin sponge bath is absolute bollocks.”

Mc belted out her first real laugh in over a month then nodded, allowing Simon to pull her towards their shared bathrooms.

PRESENT

Price had never seen Ghost move in such an unquestionable and efficient way before. He was cutting through people like they were nothing, all the while keeping himself silent. He wasn’t going to let the enemy know he was there until he was good and ready. Price and Soap were basically just cover; he would get the same help from a bulletproof vest.

“Ghost, we need to hurry. I'm sure they know we are here by now. All hell is about the break loss, L.t.”

Ghost stayed silent. Soap wondered if he had even heard him, but then he answered, “We’re close.”

Decorated military enemies began passing them as they hid in the shadows. They all yelled foreign instructions, pointing and flailing at their obedient soldiers.

Once the coast is clear, they move again coming to a pair of metal double doors at the end of the hallway. While Price and Soap flanked the doors ghost stood ready to kick in the doors if need be. Thrusting his shoulder into the middle of the door, they burst open to reveal a ruined control room. In the middle of the empty room was Mc strapped to a lone chair.

“Mc!” Ghost called out, charging over to unconscious form and sliding to his knees in front of her.

A bruise was already showing on one of her swollen eye sockets and blood was caked around her nose and lips. One of the more prominent injury she had endured was a knife sticking out of her thigh. There was no telling what other internal injuries she had sustained without a doctor.

Price and soap gave each other a look that was more worried than relieved, as they absorbed the state of their newly found comrade. Price turned to guard the door, opening it just a crack to see any commotion coming down the hallway.

“Mc?” Ghost spoke as he gently cradled his wife’s face, hoping to rouse her. “Baby, it's Simon.”

She groaned, as she squirmed in her chair to get away, a distinct wheeze was pushed out of her chest as she moved.

“Easy, easy.” he warned, pressing her down to relax her.

“Simon.” she whimpered her head dipping back from the lack of lucidity.

“It's me. It's me, babygirl. You're safe. We’re getting you out of here.” Ghost kneeled, taking out his own knife, and sliced through rope that strapped her down in the god forbidden chair.

“I'm going to pick you up, alright? It will hurt for a second, but I promise it will be over in a minute.”

She sleepily nodded, reaching out to hook her arms around his neck.

Being a quick as possible, he hoisted her up bridal style being sure to be careful if the knife that was still stuck into the meat of her thigh. She yelped in pain as she was moved, the look of agony on her face twisted at Ghost chest.

“I got you, babygirl.” he breathes lowly to her as she rests her head against his chest, before looking over to Soap, “Let’s move.”

Exiting out the back way they were able to escape the compound unscathed but with y/n fading in and out of consciousness in ghost's arms he was finding it hard to relax in the back of the hummer.

Trying his hardest to alleviate as much pressure as he could from her leg, but with every bump they ran over his heart clenched at her whimper.

Holding her tighter to his chest, he pressed a kiss to her forehead through his mask trying to get her to hold on just a little bit longer.

“Can you go any faster?” Ghost said it a little bit softer than he did back at the base.

“Not if you want the radiator to stay in tack.” Price answers.

Ghost exhales as he feels Mc go slack in his arms again. Dropping his touch from behind her leg and moving it to her wrist to monitor her pulse. A steady beat thrummed under his touch and he let his bubbling panic dissipate from him slightly.

“She’ll be alright, L.t. She’s a strong one if she can handle your disagreeable arse.” Soap teases trying to ease his friend.

Ghost was able hide the smile that rippled across his lips under his mask, he wasn’t about to give Soap the satisfaction of a good comment at a time like this. He was right, though. You were strong and he had to have faith that you were pulling out of this.

If you didn’t, there would be hell to pay.

The fifteen minutes that had passed getting to base had felt like 5 hours to ghost. His mind spiraled and his chest tighten to the point of being painful as he held y/n in his arms. Her heart rate slowed gradually as the minutes ticked by only adding to his anxiety.

As they pulled up to the base, Ghost was already out of the hummer before it even came to a full stop. Kicking through the doors, he was on autopilot as he made his way to the med bay as he cradled you in his arms.

“I need a doctor!” Ghost announced.

Upon hearing the intimidating lieutenant cries, the nurses and doctors snap into action. A gurney is brought to him, and he lowers her down gently to the firm thin cot. A whimper escapes her making ghost pause the nurses before they had the chance to pull you away.

“I’m here baby.” he cooed brush away the blood matted hair away from her forehead.

“Lieutenant, we need to get her to a room.”

“JUST-” Ghost began to snap but quickly corrected himself with a shaky breath, “Just give me a second, please.” he pleaded.

Her gazed over eyes peaked through her eyelids as her touch brushed to his hand that held himself over her on the gurney.

“The doctors are going to take care of you. I’ll be right ‘ere.”

She nods exhaustedly drifting off again. Ghost stepping away, allowing the nurses to wheel you away.

He wanted to feel some sort of relief in fact that you were now in safe and capable hand. Doctors were there to pull you through but he couldn’t stop the sinking feeling in the pit of his stomach. Trotting over to the short row of chairs against the wall, he dropped down into the seat, and rubbed at the bridge of his nose trying to ease the pulsing pain in his head.

His thumbs sat in the corner of his eyes as his elbows rested against his knees. He remained in his position as two sets of footsteps approached him.

“She being seen?” Price asked.

“Yes.” he answered shortly, not wanting to elaborate.

“This never happens again.”

Ghost could hear the strain Price used to suppress his anger and he found it hard to not sympathize with the reaction. Price had gone out on a limb to back up ghost on this. If it had gone bad it would have been over for everyone, they would be lucky if they didn’t get arrested for insubordination

“Understood, Captain.”

Satisfied with Ghosts' concurrence, Price took a seat right next to Ghost, sinking low in the seat, letting out a heavy exhale. Soap sunk into the seat on the other side, also letting out an exhausted breath. Ghost looked over at his colleagues in a confused fashion.

“What?” Soap shrugged. “We didn’t go through all that just to go home right afterwards. We want to make sure she’ll pull through.”

Ghost nodded, almost thankful that he had men like Price and Soap by his side.

As the next hour or two rolled by in silence as Price and Soap don’t feel the need to agitate Ghost more than he already was.

When the doctor emerged making his way over to the three men, Ghost stood quickly to his feet, while Price was startled awake, and soap was roused from his daze.

“How is she?”

The doctor winces slightly before shaking his head lazily. Ghost heart sunk in his chest.

“She’s pretty banged up, but she’ll be alright.”

Ghost sighed with a breath of relief, and he nearly doubled over. He wanted to cry, laugh, and punch something all at once.

“Her thigh is cleaned and stitched up. She has a couple fractured ribs, a broken nose, a concussion, and some bruising around the temple. She will need to be monitored for a week to make sure that she didn’t suffer any permanent brain damage.”

“Can I see her?” he asked hoarsely.

The doctor looked down at the chart, scanning it over before looking back up, “For a little bit.”

Ghost nodded then followed the doctor to y/ns room.

As he entered the room, he bit back a tears seeing her hooked up to machines and wrapped in gauze all the while she slept peacefully in the bed.

Hesitantly he walked over to the bed side and sitting gingerly in the chair situated in the room.

Hearing the slight shuffle in the room, y/n stirred peeling open her eyes and smiled seeing her husband next to her.

“Hi, baby.” she cooed.

Ghost smiled at the use of the rare pet name that she graced him with. He met her reaching out arms to cuddle her gently, being weary of her tender ribs.

He kissed her lightly on the forehead through his mask as he pulled back still cradling her frame.

“How you feeling, my darling?”

“Fuzzy.” she mumbled with her eyebrows frilled making Ghost chuckle.

“Fuzzy?”

“Yeah, take your mask off and kiss me again.” she requested.

He giggled again, “Alright.”

Lifting his mask, he planted his lips against her own.

Pulling back, he smiled back down at her, “That better?”

“Mhm.” She hums the reaches up to pull his mask back down.

She suddenly turned serious, and worry flashed across her features as her eyes dilated.

“Is Gaz, okay? I didn’t see if he made it out? What about Soap and Price?”

“Fine. They’re all fine.” he repeated while brushing his hands along her shoulders trying to ease her.

She relaxed slumping into the bed, her eyes fluttering close as she sighed, “Thats good.”

Ghost wanted to smile but the memory of Gaz returning to the compound without his wife in toe made his anger spike and his jaw clench. Knowing her husband all too well, she peeked back at him, noticing his tight jaw and furrowed eyebrows.

Reaching out and cupping his cheeks she brought him down to her.

“I’m okay, my love. I knew you would get me out of there Simon. I never doubted you.”

“Thats not the point.” He gritted, “I know I don’t show how much I love you but if I lost you, it would break me. I have been through a lot in my life and losing you would destroy me.”

“I'm not going anywhere, Simon. I will fight with everything that I have for you. Things will happen and we won’t be able to stop it so we can't take anything for granted.”

Simon smiled at her exhausted yet wise words.

“Well then you better prepare yourself, Mrs. Reily because as soon as your cleared, you're never leaving our bed.”

Mc giggled at her husband's promise, “Why wait?”

Ghost had to stifle another laugh, “Mostly because we are in the medical bay. Secondly your on a fuck ton of pain meds.”

In her medicated stupor, she began pulling at his mask, revealing his lips again. Instead of bringing her lips to his, her attention was suddenly on the stubble forming on his chin. She giggled softly as her pointer finger ran along the underside of his lip then down to the underside of his chin.

“What in the hell are you doing?” simon smiled.

“Admiring my unbelievably sexy husband.”

A sudden throat clearing cough shattered the private moment the married couple were sharing. Both Simon and Mc looked over to see Price and Soap standing on the other side of the sheet, cutting off everyone from everyone else in the med bay.

Turning back, Simon rolled his eyes as he scooted away from his wife's bedside, trying to bring back his composure.

“Sorry to interrupt, kids.” Price says, stepping into the room and Soap falling in step behind.

“How ya feeling, Ace?” Soap asked gingerly.

“A lot better with that knife out if my thigh.”

Soap giggled trying to lighten the anxious mood in the room. “So, Mrs. Rielly, huh?”

Y/n smiled, “Yeah, sorry for the secrecy but it wasn’t necessarily allowed.”

“Oye, I ain’t complaining. I'm just surprised that you put up with this grump.”

“What can I say? It was hard for him to resist this.” Mc said gesturing to her whole body.

Ghost stifled a laugh with an abrupt cough while Mc giggled the clear effects of her pain meds starting to show.

“Alright, your getting loopy. Go back to sleep.” He found himself stopping before the word ‘babygirl’ fell from his lips. He still wasn’t comfortable calling you pet names in front of his teammates.

“Okay.” She smiled already nodding off.

“Get better soon, Ace.” Price sounded leaving the hospital room.

Soap stuck around for a moment, watching ghost place a quick kiss to the back of Mcs hand. When he finally rose from his seat, he faced John. There was a slight gratefulness in his eyes that warmed soap a little, maybe ghost was as becoming a big softy thanks to Mc.

“Let us know if you need anything L.T.” He reminded his friend.

To which, Simon nodded. As Soap turned to leave, Simon begrudgingly had to acknowledge that this may be the time to have a moment of vulnerability with his loyal teammate.

“Thank you, Johnny, for everything.”

“‘S what friends do, LT.” Johnny responded with a smile then turned to leave.

6 Weeks later

Simon and Mc had lasted pretty well by themselves for the next few weeks. Simon finally put in some of the vacation time that he never uses and stayed home to take care of Mc, to which he had no complaints. The time spent together only made this morning harder. He woke tangled against Mcs body, she still sound asleep in his arms. She had taken quiet nicely to late sleep in’s and quiet days spent together to recover from their years of nonstop military service. Simon had never thought of himself walking away from the military life that he had always known, but maybe he had changed.

As if she could hear his running mind, mc stirred next to him. Turning in his arms to face him, she gradually peeled her eyes open meeting his own.

“Morning.” She cooed with a smile.

“Good morning, love.”

“Have you been awake for long?” She asked snuggling into him further.

“No.” He chuckled, pressing a kiss to the top of her head.

“We have to go back to the office this morning, huh?” Mc stated with a slight groan.

“Unfortunately.” He answered, supressing his laugh towards his wife’s clear disappointment.

“You know you don’t have to go back if you don’t want to. Being a stay at home wife might suit you.” He joked.

She scoffed at his proposal, “And what would I even do here all day? It’s not like we are going to have any kids.”

Simon paused suddenly taken back by the notion, “We aren’t?”

Mc looks up to her husband, confused, “i thought we weren’t. I assumed you didn’t want kids.”

“I didn’t a while ago, but having kids with you, it’s a different story. Besides, did you want kids? He asks with genuine curiosity.

A quick pause passed between them as Mc’s eyes dropped for a moment before going back up to her husbands grey-blue eyes, “I think it would be nice to have a little you running around.”

“Well then maybe we should have a baby.”

His wife’s eyebrows crinkle in confusion and she sat up straight in her bed. Simon watched in awe as her hair cascades over her bare shoulder. Holding the sheet to her naked body, she looked at her husband, trying to decide if he was being serious or not.

“You want a baby?”

“I’m aware that I have a lot of issues that I need to work through and I am terrified at the thought of being like my father but, I have you. Since I met you, I have been a better man than I ever have been. Besides if I learned anything about our last incident is that I would do anything to for you and your safety. I’ve done more than my father has ever done for the people I love.”

Mcs heart bloomed at the sound of her husband growth in confidence. The only thing that she had ever pushed Simon on was therapy, for the soul reason that she hated to see him suffer the way he did. It took him a while to come around to the idea but even Simon couldn’t deny the dividends that were improved.

“Besides,’ Simon continued, reaching out he squeezed his wife’s hips, “I think you would look bloody gorgeous pregnant with my baby.”

Mc bit her lip leaning down and kissing her husband, falling into the warmth and comfort of her husband.

Pulling back briefly she spoke again, “let’s revisit this after work.”

Giving him another quick peak, she moved off their shared bed and headed to the bathroom to go shower. Meanwhile, her husband was happy to watch her naked form walk away.

***

Mc felt very strange walking into the facilities on base as she held her husbands hand. She was used to coordinating times with ghost so they never walked in together. Driving separately, then avoiding her husband until after most of the teams morning work outs, all to keep their relationship under-wraps. Now to be holding hands and walking together, it all felt new and odd.

What was even odder, was that the base seemed to be empty for the most part.

“Did we miss something?” Mc asked outwardly.

“I don’t think so.” Simon responded unsure as he looked around. After a moment, he shrugged then continued along. “Lets go find Price.”

Coming up the captains office, they were still confused as they found his office door closed and the lights off. Movement from the other side of the door made them pause and stop them from turning around. With Simon taking the lead, he knocked on the door before opening it. As their eyes adjusted to the dark the lights flicked on making their eyes dilate to focus before they were interrupted by a flash delighted cheer.

The Riley’s were surprised to find their teammates huddled in a lightly decorated room, including a banner that said ‘congratulations’ across it.

Mc smiled noticing her husbands protective hand that reached behind him. His muscle memory wired to protect her. Seeing that it was just his colleagues he relaxed.

Soap was the first to approach with a wide proud smile. Seeing his superiors unamused look he let out a nervous chuckle.

“Sorry L.T. But we had to celebrate.” He grinned.

While ghost looked clearly uncomfortable, Mc took the reigns as she took ghosts hand gently, “Thank you, Soap. You guys are too sweet.”

“We had to do something for ya. Its not everyday two of our teammates marry each other.”

Ghost grumbled giving a quick, ‘mhm’, before soap’s attention was grabbed by Gaz across the room as he waved at soap.

“Enjoy the party.” He said with a wide smile and thumbs up.

As he walked away ghost groaned beside mc as he looked at the people surrounding them in the room.

Mc giggled at her husbands reaction and turned to him with speaking lowly to him.

“Try to enjoy yourself big guy. It’s a party for us, after all.” She tried to convince him.

“I think I’d rather be in the deserts of Venezuela again.” He groaned.

“That’s not funny.” She said seriously remembering the last time they were in that sandy hellscape.

His eyes looked to her, and upon seeing her sharp eyes his own softened.

“Your right, I’m sorry.” He apologized.

Mc smiled as his arm encircled her waist, bringing her closer. A twing of mischief ran through her briefly as a naughty thought crossed her mind, looking at her husband.

“Come on, play nice for an hour and then I’m sure captain price will let us go home. I’ll let you work on making me a mom.”

Ghost left out a small sigh, giving out a low growl, “fuckin hell” before adjusting his shoulders

“Imma hold you to that Ace.” He whispered to his wife.

[lu-sn]

i am here today to talk about HORRIBLE OVERSIGHT in the pete fandom we NEED to correct our ways and see the light

but it is ok i will Explain

ok do u see this

this is a pha khao ma (spelling up for debate). it's a waistcloth commonly worn in south and southeast asia — you may have heard of it as a lungi / longyi. it's a rectangular, light, soft piece of cloth that (mostly) men tie around their (mostly) waists to wear in hot humid climates because it's very comfy and breezy and dries fast.

some fun facts:

it's very common to wear right out of the bath / shower because the dampness stays on your skin for a while after so this helps air it out

underwear is ✨ optional ✨ (although really mostly only at home. the fear of being pantsed in public is universal, after all)

it's often worn at home, but people wear it out as well and it is especially common in rural communities. if you've got a bunch of old uncles sitting outside on a veranda in a small town, they're all maybe sitting around in pha khao mas

(let me follow this up with: while it is common in rural regions, people in rural areas all over thailand do also just wear shirts and shorts and pants 😂 it is merely an option, not a rule)

what you see is the casual version. there are much more formal versions, and fashionable versions, and they are apparently having a resurgence with the thailand youth rn

the plaid-like patterning is a specific design that has centuries of history in thailand! different regions produce styles of designs with vibrantly different colors and dyes, and they're very proud of it

there's many ways to tie it: in these pictures, pete has it tied so that it hangs down well past his knees, but you can hoist them up to mostly be around your upper legs (leaving the knees showing). this gives you a TON more mobility to, say, run around or climb trees or beat up people

here is a reference of real people wearing pha khao mas. as you can see they are chilling

and the most important fun fact of all:

post-canon pete wears it ALL. THE. TIME.

we know pete wears these in the privacy of his home! they're his comfy post-shower post-workout jammies! every time we see him with one he has a different one! HE HAS LIKE SIX MORE OF THESE TUCKED AWAY.

he probably wore them a lot around his yaai. and now, at home, vegas sees him in them CONSTANTLY.

you may be looking at me, and then looking at these photos, and then looking again at me, and going, lu, noooooooo, this ruins the post-canon pete being unbearably cute and stylish and hot agenda!!! to which i say

no

it ENHANCES IT. it's about the DICHOTOMY

vegas watches as pete walks out of the bathroom wearing one of these and nothing else, and they're riding real low on his hips, and vegas chokes out a "what the hell are you wearing" and pete leans against the doorframe and wiggles his eyebrows and puts on his thickest northern accent and says "you wanna fuck me so bad city boy" and he's RIGHT OKAY VEGAS HATES THEM AND VEGAS DOES WANT TO FUCK HIM SO BAD ANYWAYS

macau gives pete sooo much shit for it but then he watches pete kick ass in one during training one day and pete looks like some rural film movie star in his tank top and pha khao ma and his fists of fury and macau goes, huh, actually, phi looks fucking cool, can i have one

when they visit yaai pete basically forgoes pants and just wears these all the time and blends in with all the old grandpas who pat pete on the back and ask him for his opinions on politics and vegas is so fucking confused and totally in love do you UNDERSTAND

anyway. all of this to say, if you were to write fics where pete wears a pha khao ma and/or draw him in one it would be HIGHLY CANONICALLY ACCURATE. and i would love you. thank u for coming to my ted talk.

(and thanks to @minorfamilysupremacy for being the first victim of said ted talk)

[ms0milk]

𝟏𝟐 | 𝐏𝐞𝐚𝐫𝐥 𝐃𝐢𝐯𝐞𝐫

ー✧ prince!bakugou x royal guard!reader

"You will spend summers in rainstorms and autumns in his orchards because you are Alderan and he will kill Takoban gods to get you there."

cw brief description of drowning and a claustrophobic struggle with the ocean. suggestions of suicidal intention and self harm. reader tries to fight the sea and your prince has horrible misunderstandings about it. bkg 🫱🏽‍🫲🏼 unethical rescue tactics pt 2, borrowed clothes, a fevered fireside confession in the bedroom you’ve been searching for 6.4k

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If Takoba is the edge of the world, Aldera is the center. You so starved for comfort, stand with your feet at the tip of the surf and tie your braids together.

You watch the sea at midnight and the winds coming off the water bite your scars before they chill your bones. Autumn at the edge of the world is miserable. Lakes freeze but the ocean is colder, it's full of tides, which you’ve spent the day reading about. The ocean has a taste, salt and decay. It is unfathomably ancient. You watch its many maws foaming under the moonlight and seashells burn in frigid water when you step onto them.

In the view from Bakugou’s bedroom, you’ve lined your boots up neatly in the sand and stand watch beside them for a moment. You’re dressed to stop a midnight siege, in your white nightgown and padded habergeon, staring so small and far away from the warmth of his fireplace. You in a dark blue world, framed by his open window. Bakugou would have sipped his tea and rolled his eyes at his newly fucked up sleep schedule and how ridiculous you insist on looking in public if his cup wasn’t spilt on the rugs where he dropped it. If he hadn’t already ripped his door off its hinges in his sprint out of the castle.

You couldn’t sleep. You have no appetite and no mobility yet for sparring. Just books. Just Uraraka answering your questions about the sea while watching her men train. The ride with Todoroki yesterday was nice but it left your throat stiff and you are still in your kingdom’s service. Today in Takoba, tomorrow and forever behind your prince. Long before the blue gardens and scars, before the kitchen, before sticky crowds and white horses and cold hallways, something somewhere started to die.

You take another step into the swollen water, it rises with the moon, to confirm your suspicions and grimace when a crab scuttles over your foot. Another step and you’re up to your hem. It would all be easier if your heart was still a forest fire. When did that stop? When did the rain come? Up to your knees now. Seawater climbs your nightgown.

As it stands you’re no longer a dragon, just damp tinder. The black sea sways you side to side at the hips now so gently– keep walking, don’t look back. You will free yourself from doubt and you will fight a god to do it.

“Moon makes tides,” Uraraka yawned and slouched and stretched as you sat on your knees beside her in the pit.

“Can you swim in it?”

“In the ocean?” she squinted, “Yeah of course. But don’t tell me you want to swim in this weather?”

Shinsou could only pretend not to hear for so long from his spot beside you both this afternoon, “The moon makes tides, and tides make storms.”

Good. Up to your ribs now. Wear the rock there like an anchor.

In the cold water your body heat becomes that much more apparent and it’s lovely like home. Genuinely hot for a second. Your nightgown floats up around you and you sink quickly from chest to nose when the sand under your feet drops to freezing nothing. The sudden dip shoots icy pain behind both eyes and the sensation of failing steeles every joint sickly sore. Walking through the ocean is like a fight, like driving a sword through someone solid, like braving a thunderstorm, but sinking into it is easier than sleeping.

You gasp and spit out the aftermath of losing your footing but you also fight too hard in anticipation of sinking and you’re suddenly in the open air up to your waist like a salmon leaping upstream. The weight of the nightgown settles you back down in the water to your shoulders and it’s silent except for the sound of waves kissing the beach and one another. Whistling wind. You bob only some ten meters out from shore, just short of where Todoroki held you back for fear of drowning and something wild like greed blinks open a sleepy dark eye.

You hardly have to move a limb to keep your head above water; the sea is free and gentle. You float easily here, where a lake wants to watch you fight. It’s part of the fun at home and in exchange you are safe in freshwater. Salt stings– saliva pools under your tongue to keep it from getting inside– but it also holds you up in the foam like two hands under the hip.

Is this what you were so afraid of? This is the god you planned on killing tonight?

Every day in this miserable place you have been beaten. You have fallen apart in some way, your hair is too messy, your new clothes don’t fit right. You lose Aldera with every step, heel toe– earrings that are no longer yours, heel toe– a weapon you can't return, heel toe and stand at attention– a brooch you’re too afraid to wear, to lose too, so you keep it under your pillow and wear silver seashells instead. Blue fire took the first victory in the forest and you salvaged your prince with your life thin in your teeth. Takoba took the second victory and strung you out in your nightgown for nobles to pick at like crows. A driftwood table took the third and Bakugou stole the fourth. The only time you have ever won here is when you decided to die. When you churn the water with your arms a pain echoes across your back not quite inside your scars.

Kirishima on the verge of tears, Shinsou above your operating table, Uraraka at your side, Todoroki holding you back from the edge of the world– your prince, wet to his knees– you have never, not once in your life have you ever failed. Their gazes make your throat hurt and you spit again into a tiny rolling wave that lifts itself over your chin and into your ears.

The goddess of the sea does not pity you.

She pulls you into her arms and laughs when you rub your freshwater eyes. She tossels your hair with silent waves you could never have seen coming. She reminds you of her strength. And Todoroki told you that you couldn’t possibly challenge her– eat your words sealace prince. Even just this once, witness me. You are a gem in the crown of Aldera, the left hand of the golden family. Takoba is no setback the sea is not your master, you are a chosen servant, not a mistake. It is so wonderful to be in the presence of a queen again and at night her water is soft and black.

The shore is farther than you remember when you finally glance back at the world. You bob like a peach, a frozen peach, and realize you can’t feel the cold anymore. Time to head back. Today was just a test anyway, to make sure you could put up your fight. Maybe sleep will come now that you’re starting to breathe heavy and now that your muscles ache again after days without real training. Ice creeps up the back of your neck from wet hair.

The goddess of the sea plays with you for a few more seconds and you can’t wait to come back in the warmth of the sun to lay on your back with her to whom you no longer need to prove yourself. The ocean pulls in its depths just as much as it pushes at the shore so you brace your eyes for discomfort and duck under the surface to kick a good length forward. It would have worked in a lake, at the center of the world.

When you resurface you are somehow farther than before and considerably shorter of breath. The cold starts to press on your lungs now that you’re truly using them. It’s okay, one more time. You kick once to let the goddess lift you up with her salt and breathe in the free air before diving under again but all you actually do is stir bubbles around you exactly where you started. If anything even farther. Your boots are too small to see now.

There are no storms, no raging waves, no rain, no thunder, hardly wind, what is putting up the fight? Whatever. You paddle above water, thankful for light clothes, and weary of the growing ache under your jaw– the start of a pulsing headache. More than anything you are finally excited for bed, but no matter how hard you push there seems to be a growing distance between you and safety.

Dread drops in your peachpit stomach and you start to feel long pretty fingers tickle your heels in black water. The ghost of the flame mage happy to drag you with him to the bottom of the sea. Irrational like a fear of the dark, but still there’s no more time for testing pride, you have to get back to shore. The little girl inside of you cowers when you take one more heavy breath and then release it to sink yourself as deep as the salt will let you. You can see the breaking point, all you need is to reach the seafloor and kick yourself to it.

As you drift down into the pitch black something so much better than sand or ghosts meets your feet. You connect with rock as your lungs begin to ache for air and kick with every well trained muscle your legs have, forward towards the shore. Faster than freshwater, you rocket to the surface and gasp excitedly, blink rapidly, and infinitely closer to white sand, and then immediately the goddess pulls you under again.

Sure you found the breaking point, sure your toes tease the start of the shore you want to reach so badly, but that’s what waves do here. Break.

Something so silent couldn’t possibly be this powerful, but your head is forced back under as your hips are pulled back out and you tumble head over knees, mouth filled suddenly with salt and sand in the darkness. Resurfacing is no fun task, choking. You’re thankful it’s easy to float in the ocean but saltwater dries out your mouth as you retch it back out from your throat into the foam and then there’s another break over your head to remind you that humans should stay far away from god.

You’ll die just thirty meters from the shore. Salt blinds you. Water deep in one ear keeps you just dizzy enough to let this sea carry you out once again, and shouting isn’t an option. Shouting or gasping, you have to pick one. Ache has turned to paralysis; muscles so beaten and a heart beating so fast you’re already at the last limit reached by your master, training to failure. Striking and swinging until you can no longer hold your weapon. Hours of training reduced to fifteen minutes at sea.

The bruise of your shoulder protests every paddle you force out of it and goes much stiffer much faster than the rest of you. In a way, the mage is drowning you. In every way the sea is much more claustrophobic than a war room.

The moon watches you heaving for air stuck between beating waves and being swept back out to sea. She doesn’t do anything. You are pulled under again. The rocks beneath you scratch your soft skin this time and your instinct is to flinch which fills your nose with water and drowning is certainly not as peaceful as poetry makes it out to be.

Of course it ends like this. A soggy creature fighting gods alone.

Of course he’s watching you, his captain, being stolen by the sea.

You surface forcefully with a grip on your scruff and while your body remembers how to breathe, magic every furious color of the rainbow arcs above your head. The water recoils for a moment around you in the force of his impact. Bakugou erupts from the sky as he always does into the tragedy of your life in Takoba and you have no control over your searing gaze when it turns to him above you, framed by sparks and stars. Halo from the moon.

You both fall back into the water but not so helplessly as a moment ago. Your prince hooks and arm across your chest, pressing your back to his front and with so much more strength than you could ever muster, rips his way through the water in half of a backstroke. Half of him focused on keeping you afloat and only half of him conquering the sea. His legs create their own current. He holds you and you’re sure you’re breathing loudly enough into his collar to hurt his ears.

You are an excellent swimmer. Weak children, drunk diplomats, tests from your master; you have dragged your fair share of victims out of rivers and as the victim yourself you know better than to struggle or panic in your prince’s grip as he drags you from the goddess, but you can’t help how your fingers scratch at his translucent tunic. Cling to the warmth of his bicep.

In twenty seconds he has reached the break. Strength like a war criminal, like a godslayer. He turns in the water, times it to match the swell of a wave for height, and pulls you chest to chest with a guiding hand on the side of your head to fold you into him. The sea drops you and you know what comes next. Bakugou anticipates your struggle, or a drowned man’s panic, any logical thing and wraps another arm around you tight as he pulls you both under, but you don’t fight a single second and neither do you breathe.

He knows the sea so much better. If you weren’t unraveling like a common soldier you would have realized too, just how much calmer the water is underneath its surface. Even with ears full of sand you can hear the wave crash above you but there is no pull underwater. The roll of the goddess back out to sea twirls through your hair but nothing else. She lets your prince push up to the surface and doesn’t stop you from catching your breath inside the crook of his neck. Eleven seconds to beat the break. What does he even need a captain for?

This time when the tide drops, you don’t quite drop with it. Knees in the sand. Back on solid ground you realize how hard a body can shake and then water is beating you down again from behind, and a warm hand has you by the back of the haubergeon to keep you from slipping out to sea or laying flat down to sleep in the surf.

Both hardly walking, and you more-than-half carried, you and your prince stagger over seashells like glass back to the spot where your boots rest like nothing bad has ever happened at all, chased the whole time by a disappointed tide. You collapse the second he lets you. You, useless with cold and vomiting seafoam.

“Why?!” Your prince chokes, similarly out of breath beside you, hunched over his knees from the effort of winning your war. You can feel the glare. You are warmed by it and then entirely numb again, in a terrible turn of events, to even his attention. The very last ember dies without smoke.

Bakugou, even in a temper tantrum, has never looked quite so disheveled. He’s been wet before, and pushed his hair back with big hands and caught his breath through his teeth just like this, but he’s never looked at you with such confusion. His eyebrows don’t sit right. Without a scowl his whole thing really falls apart, huh?

“Answer me, Eyes!”

You wheeze instead of speaking when you try to use your voice for the first time and spit out the last of the salt that comes up with it. He doesn’t move, catching his breath across the sand at midnight. Your prince really is so pretty and something inside is eating you alive to the beat of the wash of waves. He is a star and you are the bloody little creature beneath him always, not chosen at all.

You sit yourself up. Bakugou is beautiful. Broad chest and shoulders trained for his magic and a wet tunic that clings to every lovely shape, just a few feet too far away to touch. Unmarred face and shaggy hair. His eyes. His jaw slopes sharp, sharper still in the moonlight and dripping with water, up towards his hungry red eyes that eat everything they’ve e–

“Wake up!” He barks.

He’s not eating you. He brings back your focus and when you hold his stare this time it’s so obvious he’s not confused, or angry, not exhausted or embarrassed or exasperated. He’s six and he’s holding your hands in a velvet carriage, terrified.

Oh boy. You guess self-control died with your heart, because your shoulders start to shake in a chuckle.

Bakugou stares. Any fold of his brows melts immediately at the sound of your soft laughter but he hardens again when he speaks. “What about this is funny?!” and pulls himself up to his knees as you lower yourself to clamshells, not-quite-laughing but not fighting the smile either. This is exhausting. “You just tried to kill yourself!”

This makes you snort, which is ugly, and shuts your prince up entirely. One laugh like a lie and then another and you curl in on yourself, shivering arms folded above your head and forehead pressed flat to the sand. Something like an apology. You are redundant, not suicidal.

If it were a real apology you would wait until he spoke again to raise your head like Todoroki in the stables, but that’s not what you’re doing at all. You ache from the inside. Burn in fact. You chuckle again and spit salt one last time when you sit up, then grab for your shoes with muscle memory instead of feeling since the cold has stolen that too. Bakugou is staring again– it is irritating, you should do it less.

The ocean makes a lovely noise when you are not drowning in it. It’s much quieter and sounds a bit like laundry sliding over itself. Or apples tumbling into a basket. You are the first to your feet, clumsily, and you are not so delirious that you forget you need proximity to a fire. Anyone else might not be able to stand through this adrenaline trembling but how many apprentices have come so close to death so many times as you?

“Oi,” Bakugou growls, confused again by the wrong emotion for just long enough to let you escape.

The hill between the castle and the sea is overgrown with dune grasses tall enough to tickle your hips and that is what you decide to climb. Empty stomach, ruined shoulder, shaking legs, deep dead eyes.

Your clothes cling to you. They make you small. He can hardly breathe in the cold as he rushes to catch up, dripping what he's sure are icicles, and you look as if you could hardly stay conscious in it. Does your face feel as red as it looks? Friction or fever? “Captain!” And it’s obvious Bakugou can’t decide on his volume, but bulldozes after you nonetheless husky with exertion, “fuckin wait–”

There are sandy paths beaten into this seaside hill, small like children made them on their happy little way to swim. Bakugou makes quick work of it. You hike. You put all your effort into staying on two feet through a chill you could hardly ever imagine. Heat pounds in your temples, cruelly imitating Alderan fire when really it’s something poisoned like liquor.

“Please don’t follow me sir,” you call over the wind when the prince gets a few steps too close to catching up and he makes a sound almost like words, like words you shot dead in his throat. You know that sound because you have been shot at the same exact angle. Deadly isn’t it? He falls back.

Just for a moment Bakugou stops and watches, filled with something neither of you have the words for yet. Recovering just as quickly as you are succumbing to exhaustion.

Wait, he stares. Just– “Y/n.”

Wrapped in white, you are framed by rolling seagrass in the moonlight. You finally stop climbing and turn. You like a half-drowned painting. In a furred cape you might be a queen. From your spot smiling sadly at the edge of the world, your nose has started to bleed.

“Give me an order.”

Six and shaking in his hands. Eleven soaked in a fruit filled hallway, always working and fond of libraries. Sense of humor that doubles over his queen. Often covered in blood, staring too earnestly right now for him to remember that anger might fix this. Bakugou doesn’t breathe.

You turn back towards the castle alone and for the very last time, your body keeps the tears at bay. On a hill of swaying green grass and bright in the moonlight, your prince, frozen, looks so much like his mother you should kill him for it.

You always thought you were hiding from him on duty, only slightly more stealthy than a dragon. It got better when Jeanist stopped training you in chainmail, but your excitement at every small job bounced off the walls of his castle so obviously. Squirrel duty? You helped a hundred bastards back outside without pause. Sent up to swept bookshelves under the Great Oak and you're the only person he’s ever seen hum to themself so high in the air. Stablehand? Stable master more like. Seven and stacking stools to reach the saddles before Jeanist set you back on the ground by your scruff like his kitten. Bakugou can’t remember what went first, your heartbeat or his hearing.

The very first time you snuck up on him was in August under a plum tree, nine years old. He slept beside his book in the shade on a perfect day, perfectly alone and free of tutoring for the afternoon. Maybe because you were barefoot, but somehow even out of breath, the only thing that gave you away was your voice.

“Careful Highness.” He shot awake with that and figured for a moment that you were a dream while his eyes adjusted to the light through the leaves behind you– panting above him and holding tight to a plum. Like premonition your other hand lurched to catch another as it fell toward him, “they’re ready for harvest.”

Bakugou sat up. Off at an impossible distance for you to have run to catch plums, Jeanist stood beside a hanging line of red uniforms waving a beckoning hand.

“Laundry calls,” you whispered. As the little prince turned stupidly back to you above him, you set both plums on the grass beside his book and bowed.

Wait.

“Maybe a nap in the vineyard? Grapes won't bruise.”

Wait, I know you.

He watched you bow one last time and jog out of the shade back to Jeanist and Alderan laundry, just as he watches you stumble now in the dark, towards the faraway lights of a castle without the fire you need.

Wait!

“Y/n!” Bakugou bursts over the ridge and back onto marble pavement, what the fuck is he gonna do– your name won’t work twice, he’s wasted too much time. “Captain!”

You pay him no mind drifting away with your back still turned and with even less coordination than when you were dragged from the sea. You are deteriorating– fuck, fuck it. Bakugou, brimming with something to the left of anger, charges. If you hear him coming you do nothing to stop him. Not as he closes the distance with eight good strides and slings you over his shoulder.

"I–!" you jerk to strike instinctively, “Put me down!”

Good, you can shout. He still has time, you’re still alive. He’ll apologize for touching you later, for hesitating and staring, he will say everything he set aside in anger when you are not trying to kill yourself.

“Put me down,” you hiss like you know you’re one of three people that can make his skin prickle with threat.

“Not a chance.”

You grip the back of his tunic, clinging so wet to his body that you grab equal parts flesh and he turns away from your path to the glowing front gates all those hundreds of meters away, to kick in a door on an insignificant corner of an insignificant annex in the shadows of the castle that is only unlocked because it’s the same one he flew from, instead of his window, when he was trying not to startle you with his magic and into the sea.

You will spend summers in rainstorms and autumns in his orchards because you are Alderan and he will kill Takoban gods to get you there. Your nails on his back begin to burn with your silence and it’s haunting not only because you weigh less to him than a phantom, but because the smell of the sea follows you inside when there is no one else left to close the door.

Immediately it is warmer without the wind but he will not slow until he finds fire, because you are gripping him instead of screaming again– because you are freezing to death and he will not let you win under new circumstances after he worked so hard to save you from the first.

This part of the castle is his, below the kitchens, the deep white underbelly in the cliff over the sea where no one will find him except cooks and staff who keep his secret and the queen who kindly ordered these quarters be built before she lost her mind. There is no difference of weight or warmth when he sets you down in front of the only red door in the hallway. You aren’t a ghost. Even if you aren’t convincing. He throws the door open.

You would win in a contest but Bakugou too can make a steady fire. It’s still chirping bright in his fireplace when he crowds you inside of his quarters. Wood and furs. The smell of bread, everything so unlike Takoba. Hard surfaces cushioned or covered in anticipation of winter with red and gold and wool, forest tapestries from home– and it is a small victory that you take another step, then another, deeper inside without hint or suggestion.

“where are we?”

“You need to change,” Bakugou dismisses when you’re far enough inside to close the door, and pulls open a cherry chest of drawers at the foot of his bed. It’s draped in pelts and pillows. Faded herbs hang in bundles above you.

“have clothes in my room.”

“Didn’t ask.” When he looks over his shoulder, you are wobbling towards the fire like a starving woman, with two hands reaching subtly from your side. Good, shut up and warm up. Bakugou rifles through his options one more time and grimaces, raising his own black Alderan riding tunic aloft; it’s the only thing that’s going to be long enough to cover all of you.

He’ll sort out this shitshow step by step– dry you off, shout scream scold, get you warm, shout some more– a good Alderan lecture, and then tie you to him if he must since you obviously can’t be trusted alone. Walking into the sea when you thought everyone was sleeping. And for what? He grinds his teeth and grips the sids of his dresser with the realization that he’s probably not going to sleep again tonight. He’d kill you if that wasn’t what you so obviously wanted.

“Alright asshole, get ch–” Bakugou chokes when he turns back to you, sitting politely fireside with a dagger materialized in your good hand, blade pressed flat to your collar. He jumps, black tunic flying and shouts indiscernibly in a lunge for the weapon.

Not fast enough because by the time he makes one step, you’ve driven the blade down your chest and clear through your shirt. It falls open and your bare ribs seize in goosebumps this close to the fire, “told you I’m not trying to kill myself.”

“Drop it!” He wails, as if to a dog.

Oh how you will haunt him until the end of time. Less than a month with you, just some soldier from his castle– a prodigal apprentice in a kingdom of geniuses– an impersonable, silent, invisible guard, who should cause harm only when necessary and appear only in danger– a woman who does this job to a tee, and still somehow steals his attention to any corner of the room she conceals herself in– just a month and you have beguiled him. Reaping grim satisfaction from watching you wreak havoc in this place he loathes.

You sit in front of his fire in his secret room, half bare now that you’ve decided to cut your clothes off of yourself, and entirely bare when you run the lip of the dagger across your shoulder to catch the fabric and then rough straight down the other side. You are pink from heat and staring through him entirely unfocused, all chaotic braids and parted lips. There’s a dry track of blood smeared under your nose and he shudders to think what part of his back it was wiped on while he was carrying you away. The fingertips of your scar peek into free air. Bakugou can’t spin around fast enough, howling in anger.

You sound like you’re smiling again mournfully like last time, “following orders, sir.”

“Don’t call me that!” He roars and shoves the black tunic behind his back towards you. This room is small, maybe five paces wide, and so he sits as far as he can from you on the floor beside his bed, still within arms reach. Back turned.

What the fuck is so funny? This isn’t a headache this is sustained torture. Bakugou’s own wet clothes cling to him in dry patches of salt and stick and grit that he’s desperate to bathe away just as soon as you are tethered to another magician. In another kingdom. You breathe heavily behind him in a mismatch between effort and task and then a sopping thud reminds Bakugou that you are stripping to nothing behind him and piling your rags onto his fine rugs.

“You’re a fucking nightmare.”

“you’ll be free of me in a moment.”

And it dawns on him, seasick irony, that there isn’t a person alive in this kingdom but him who could stop you from doing a single thing.

“If you think I’m letting you out of my sight you’re concussed.”

You pause your fiddling behind him for a second before resuming and you’re close enough that he can still hear your less than methodic pulling and ripping. A huff here and there. In the seconds it takes you to speak again your voice is still laced with the amusement that makes his skin crawl, “third time I’ve told you I’m not trying to kill myself.”

“Just hurry up.”

“was just saying a prayer.”

“Save. It. An excuse that fulla holes wouldn’t even work on Ei the naif.”

“right, because nothing gets past the champion.”

Bakugou erupts, out of unwounded fists to clench, and jerks around with every intention of barking at you. He’s not sure what he pictured before turning and he’s not sure where his voice went, but you are sat beside his fire draped in his black tunic with an expression he can hardly find the words for.

What is it in the way your shoulders hang? Exhaustion? The way your chin tips or your eyes flutter? Hunger? You watch him like you’ll eat him alive, like your life is the least of his concerns. The laces at your collar drape limp over your fingers from where you gave up their tying and so the shirt hangs loose and open, and much much too big. Bakugou has never thought of the shape your sternum makes between your breasts or what color the fine hair on your thighs might be. He knows the answers now because you’ve given up on posture like a selkie out of water and everything so unlike his captain– because something inside of you is slipping.

“don’t bother the champion with this,” your voice is still draconian. Even as your body fails, your eyes are still dark and infinite and possessive beside the glow of his fireplace and under a window that looks out over black water, “or Lady Mina, or your Lords. Don’t worry them with me.”

Bakugou mirrors you unconsciously in the way he sits close enough to touch. Why do you say that? You keep saying it, ‘Lady Mina,’ all month the same thing. Sir Sero, like he’s not a soldier in Jeanist’s rear guard. Like Mina and Denki didn’t grow up in the castle with you all to learn magic fifteen years ago.

“They’re not,” he admits because something about you unraveling by the sea sucks the malice like marrow from his bones. Maybe something inside of him is slipping too.

The pair of you slouch on the soft rugs from home and sticky with foreign salt, looking. Your next smile seems to take every ounce of strength, “what?”

“They’re not lords.”

And in a rush, horror ignites in the eaves of this tiny room like an Alderan dollhouse. It is a grease fire film of oil on water. He is the match. You drop your head to your shoulder and start to laugh like Bakugou isn’t watching the life evaporate from the top of your head and out his window in the heat that pinks your cheeks and blotches your chest. You laugh like you have life to spare, “course they’re not.”

You manage enough coordination to hold the chest of his tunic closed with one hand as you rise, still giggling bitter, nothing like the bells you rang for Todoroki.

“Stop–” Bakugou reaches for you as you walk past him towards the door but stops short of touching even the air.

“dream something sweet Highness, I won’t interrupt again.”

“Oi, wait–” He gathers himself awkwardly barefoot and still dripping seawater, to catch the door before you pull it open. You bow your head and reach for the knob at the same time as he manages to slam his palm and weight against it in case you decide you have enough life left to fight.

“Told you, you’re not leaving my sight.”

Maybe staring isn’t so much a habit as it is a system to keep you from collapsing under the weight of Alderan sun. You who watch the world carefully so that when you attack it is silent and succinct. As long as you’re only looking, just watching carefully, the world will never be in danger of you spilling the secrets obvious only to you, and your kingdom won’t have to acknowledge the war crimes it takes to teach a kid how to kill.

Bakugou looms above you and rests against his door on a forearm. You raise your head like it’s lead to look at him. Your mouth even opens to speak but then something like fire punches to life in the blacks of your eyes.

It’s not a blink this time, it’s a stutter at first– and your face is so flushed that it almost looks like you’re glowing– before something you see feeds the kindling to roaring. For a blessed second you aren’t smiling. You stare so deeply into your prince he can’t look away for long enough to realize that you’re reaching for him.

Why? Why are you leaning closer?

The first heat pools at the hinge of his jaw and then scalding follows. Why are your hands so hot? You pinch his earlobe between thumb and pinky and let your fingers graze over the ridges of ear just so gently that sparks itch where sweat prickles at his neck.

It’s still for a second before chills, agonizing, erupt up his spine, bone by bone as he realizes– as your prince’s face drops and his own hand jumps to reach his ears and what’s no longer there. His right hand grasps at Alderan gold, a tiny sun. His left only cups yours, so much smaller– and the ghost of your earring lost somewhere deep at sea. Six and bleeding in his hands, all grown up and at his mercy.

You smile in anguish, “I hate you.”

You don’t bother pulling your hand from his, only rest your head against the door and let your heavy eyes finally close. Nothing to hold back the freshwater tears now.

Bakugou almost isn’t fast enough in his shock to catch you when you begin to slide down the wall in collapse, “Y– shit– Y/n!” One hand pulls up on your own and the other reaches around your back to try and bring you into him instead of hard against the wooden floor like he’s still a prince and not just a man whose heart won’t stop racing.

“Y/n? Y/n,” he shuffles you in his lap where you landed, and breathes the shapes he hopes make the sound of your name as he searches, distracted. You are limp in his arms and entirely too warm to have been freezing to death a few minutes ago. Lips parted and rolling like you’re trying to speak. Running to safety with you on his shoulder, the seachill must have hidden your fever from him. He cradles your head to check for blood and holds your cheek when his fingers come out dry from your hair.

“majesty..”

Your heartbreaking laughter still bubbles up in quiet sobs and incoherence murmured, murmured, “..m sorry,” when you manage to see through the tears for a moment before falling unconscious again. Every apology laced always with “mitsuki.” You must have been holding it back. You must have been keeping the fever at bay by sheer force of will because now on the floor against him, your body is so hot it’s making his chest clammy. Sweat has soaked into the nooks of your black tunic and pools in salt licks between your breasts. Fuck Alderan fire.

Your prince gathers your shoulders and chest, your waist hips and exhaustion, into a bundle in his arms and pulls himself up with his doorknob because he will not let you drown, he will not let you freeze, and you will not win by setting yourself on fire. As he rises, blood leaks again from your nose. Tears fall aimlessly against his heart split to six like a pomegranate. When Bakugou is king there will be no child soldiers.

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Summary: When all the plans you'd made for today go down the drain, the last person you expected shows up at your door to try turning the night around

Pairing: James Conrad x Reader

Word Count: 2.1k

Warnings: angst; language; craptastic friends [let me know if i missed anything!]

Things to be aware of: simp Conrad, that is all 🫠

"Fucking dammit!"

You gripped your phone tightly in your hand, resisting the urge to chuck it into the sea right where the ship's rotor blade was located. Tears burned behind your eyes as every message you'd missed in the last week while you were on this research trip with Monarch trickled in at a steady pace now that you and the rest of the crew had signal again.

Where your fellow scientists were calling up loved ones on FaceTime with bright smiles on their faces and assurances that they were on their way back home, you had an influx of messages from your friends telling you that no, they wouldn't be making your birthday dinner tonight after all.

"Doctor Y/L/N?"

Oh fuck not him, doesn't he have a pool bar to get to so he can snap his fingers and get tonight's lay? you snidely thought to yourself, steeling your stance at the sound of former Captain James Conrad's voice. Taking a deep breath, you turned to face him. "What's up, Conrad? Looking to split an Uber and Brooks doesn't wanna--"

"Are you alright?"

His question felt like a shock to your system, making you blink your eyes repeatedly as if you were trying to get your bearings back. "Of course," you lied through your teeth. "Why wouldn't I be?"

"Well…" he trailed off, motioning toward your hand. "You're gripping your mobile so hard your knuckles are turning white, for one."

You glanced at your hand, sighing when you saw your skin stretched taut over bone and trying to relax your grip somewhat. "Fine," you gritted out. "If you really wanna know, it's my birthday today. I had plans to spend tonight with my friends once I'd unpacked and washed that goddamned island off of my skin. But some people in that group can't seem to let petty high school shit go, and today when we finally got signal again I got a metric fuckton of messages from one of said friends calling me either a bad friend or a dumbass for extending an invitation to my friends because it's inconvenient for her, which then led to a domino effect of if she's not going then I'm not going and now…" you trailed off, chuckling sardonically to yourself. "Now no one's going."

Something akin to pity crossed the tracker's eyes, making you look away. The last thing you needed right now was the most jaw-droppingly unfairly handsome man on the face of God's green earth to look at you like a sad wet little puppy left out on the side of the road.

"Anyways I'm off," you said a little too chipper it even made you cringe a little inside. "Got a date with a pizza box, fridge full of wine, and my Netflix account. 'Till the next one, Conrad."

Before he could say anything else, you were already walking to your Uber that just pulled up, finally letting yourself let go of all the hot air you were running on and quite aptly feeling deflated. When you were finally far enough from the port that Conrad wasn't even a speck in your line of sight, you felt the tears start to roll down your cheeks.

You felt exponentially worse when you got home, most of the food that you'd placed an order for before you left on the trip to be delivered today already waiting on your porch.

"Fucking dammit," you repeated, albeit this time with a whimper rather than a roar. You propped your door open and started bringing the food in, deciding to set aside a couple of days worth of meals for yourself and then giving the rest to a nearby food bank so that it would at least do some good.

It took a few hours but you were finally perched on your couch, wearing a comfy pajama short set, Kate & Leopold playing on your TV, and tucking straight into a tub of mudslide ice cream just letting the night pass. This definitely wasn't how you pictured spending your 30th birthday, but you strived to remember that there could have been worse ways to spend tonight.

You could've been mediating between spatting friends because they couldn't manage to keep civil for one night, or you could've been on the receiving end of Deena's tirade about "how duplicitous you were to drag her into a gathering with Shana". The island would've been a better alternative than dealing with that all night.

About 30 minutes into the movie you heard a knock on your door, causing you jump in your seat. "I didn't order anything!" you hollered toward your front door, wincing at the pins and needles starting to prickle at your feet and lower legs from the motion.

Whoever was outside knocked again, this time a bit more persistent with the sound booming across the living room. Your visitor, whoever it may be, wasn't here by mistake, and they weren't about to be waved off with a simple 'go away I'm pissy'.

"I told you, buddy, I didn't order any--" Your words stopped short on the tip of your tongue as you saw nothing but broad shoulders clad in a familiar tight and worn blue t-shirt stretched tight over well-defined pectorals, only this time with an off-the-rack casual blazer draped over it. Your eyes slowly traveled upward to meet the oceanic blue eyes that quite frankly you constantly tried and failed not to dream about whenever you drifted off to sleep at night. "Conrad…" you said his name slowly, as if every part of your brain was fighting against accepting the reality that he was here now, looking like the human embodiment of Lust on ridiculously long legs. "What're you doing here?"

There were quite a few thoughts that crossed your mind in the last few hours, scenarios that you'd conjured up on how the rest of the night would go, each of them dwindling in their respective probability as the hours ticked on. Former SAS Tracker James Conrad being at your door, however, was definitively not among those scenarios.

"Erm…I thought I would come over to check on you. You were visibly…understandably…upset when we parted ways at the pier," he answered, shifting his weight to one leg as if trying to make it all sound so casual. He looked over at how you were dressed, from the haphazard ponytail down to the fuzzy monster slippers covering your feet, and resumed his stance that you'd grown accustomed to with the squared shoulders and the ramrod straight back as if he was back on training grounds. "Get dressed, Y/L/N."

You jerked your head backwards, surprise and confusion flooding your system at the soft spoken order. "Why?"

"I'm taking you out for dinner," he stated plainly. "I know you had plans for tonight and they didn't pan out the way you intended. No one should such an important day alone unless they really want to."

"Conrad, please. I'm fine, everything's fine. You don't have to check in on me or take me out to dinner or keep me company out of--I don't even know, pity? You have your own thing and I don't wanna keep you from it or the hordes of women who would probably abandon all common human decency and trample over each other to get that blazer off of you." You finished your little lament with a wave toward the garment, already stepping back like you were about to send him off to better and more interesting company.

When he sensed what you were about to do, he reached out, putting your hand in a delicate hold. "The night has barely begun, and you're in pajamas, eating ice cream, and one of your comfort movies is playing on the screen." He motioned his head towards your TV, where Hugh Jackman and Meg Ryan were currently paused mid-waltz on a New York rooftop. He brought his hand up to cup your face, swiping his thumb over the corner of your mouth before softly saying, "This isn't fine. And I know that I'm not the company you expected or perhaps even prefer. I just--I wanted to come here tonight and just let you know…that I'm here. So…you could join me for dinner or alternatively I could join you here and you can talk my ear off with your movie commentary. The point is that you won't be spending your birthday alone."

His words left you stunned to near silence. "I uhm--I'll go get dressed then." You stepped back from his hold, an irrational part of you already missing his touch, awkwardly waving toward the sitting area. "I'll be out in a few minutes."

Once you'd started to make your way up the stairs, Conrad made his way to the living area of your house, a smile making its way to his face as he looked at the framed pictures you had on your shelves, your dimpled toothy grin on full display. "Oh, Y/N," he breathed your name almost reverently in the silence. "How the hell am I going to move on from you now?"

Earlier today when you'd all disembarked off the ship, he had plans to wash up and head off to a bar to look for someone to keep him company for the night, perhaps until Monday when you were all expected to return to Monarch for briefing on your next mission. All he wanted was to find someone who held even the faintest resemblance to you and lose himself in the chimera that you were the one he was with, that he held you in his arms as he woke up that next morning, and with that indulgence to tide him over for some time, perhaps he could maintain the professional, nearly friendly, relationship that he had with you without running the risk of putting that in jeopardy all because he couldn't keep his affections in check.

Those plans all went down the drain when he saw how you were fighting back tears explaining how your plans for tonight had gone off the rails. When his choices for how to spend the night were spending a few empty hours with someone he would meticulously compare to you or making sure that your birthday wasn't going to be spent alone and licking wounds that should never have been dealt to you in the first place, there was no choice to make.

Tonight's objective was simply to wipe the frown away from your perfectly enchanting face, perhaps even get you to smile. And maybe somewhere along the way finally get you to see him as someone more than just your colleague. Someone that cared. A friend, if he was really going to push it.

And maybe if he was going to entertain the moon shot that played in his most self-indulgent daydreams…a lover.

The sound of you clearing your throat brought him out of his thoughts, the sight of you in your simple pale blue dress with a slight teasing cutout by your waist stealing every bit of his breath away. "Too much?" you asked him, your tone shaky.

"Not at all," he croaked out, clearing his throat before speaking again. "You uhm…you look--You're beautiful." The tiniest smile played at your lips as you motioned for him to follow you to the door. "You always are," he murmured under his breath.

"What was that?" you called out absentmindedly, still steadily making your way to the front door.

"N-Nothing," he stammered. "I was just…admiring your home. It's lovely."

"It's too damn big is what it is," you scoffed as he passed you at the threshold before locking the door. "That's what I get for being perpetually alone, I guess. Just my luck that every guy I ever even tried to date fully expects me to hang up my coat and give up my research so I can play housewife." Your eyes misted over again as the next words came out. "Not a single soul on God's green earth that could deal with that." You turned the key with a little more force than necessary, the lock clicking into place with a resounding knock.

When the two of you made your way to his car, he opened the door for you, your disbelief at the gesture evident in your eyes. And when he was sure that you wouldn't be able to hear him through the car's closed door, he whispered to himself, "I could deal with that. If it meant that you were mine, I could deal with anything."

A/N: Happy happy birthday @liminalpebble!! I hope this puts a smile on your face today and that you have a spectacular year ahead of you, bestie 🥹🥹 Many many hugs from me and Grassy the Mango (even though the bub hasn't arrived yet but it will…today. I think…)

everything taglist: @simplyholl @loopsisloops @unlucky-number-13 @imalovernotahater @coldnique @loz-3 @huntress-artemiss @salempoe @vickie5446 @athalialaufeyson @lokiprompts @kats72 @kikster606 @evelyn-kingsley @lokixryss @thomase1 @mischief2sarawr @peaches1958 @lovingchoices14 @lunarnights95 @goblingirlsarah @iamlokisgloriouspurpose @creationsbyme @maple-seed @mjsthrillernp @ladyofthestayingpower @mygfloki @sititran @glitterylokislut @ozymdias @fictive-sl0th @lovelysizzlingbluebird @lokidbadguy @mochie85 @silverfire475 @joyful-enchantress @elizabethmidnight2017 @holdmytesseract @lokidokieokie @lunarnights95 @superficialdomina @gigglingtiggerv2

[radiojamming]

PLEASE tell us more about mummy types, i know ice is your fave so feel free to go ham on that but all of them are so interesting to me

drives up in my cozy coupe that has MUMMY MOBILE written in sharpie on the side (ALSO PLEASE EXERCISE CAUTION WHEN LOOKING THESE UP; SOME OF THEM LOOK VERY GNARLY)

ICE/PERMAFROST - If you've followed me for a little while, you probably know more about these than the average fella! These are your Beechey Island Trio, your Ötzi the Iceman. Ice keeps bacteria from turning the body into a smorgabord, thus keeping these people fresh (and fluid-filled) for hundreds to thousands of years. And maybe some day down the line, some nerd finds you and thinks you're beautiful and never shuts up about you.

THE BOG - It's Tumblr. You all know about The Bog. Bog bodies are essentially turned into leather purses by the tannins and the anaerobic qualities of The Bog, sometimes effectively snapshotting their causes of death (usually something violent). Special shoutouts to fan favorites like Tollund Man, Lindow Man/Pete Marsh, Yde Girl, Grauballe Man, and Windeby I. And Hozier, probably.

HOT, DRY DESERT AIR - Think the Atacama Desert, the Mummies of Guanajuato, or your pre-embalming times Egyptians. In fact, it was the natural qualities of desert air that probably tipped the Ancient Egyptians off to the fun and fabulousness of preservation. You dry out to potato chip crispness but lose all the wet bits. Also Anubis is probably repping you.

ARID, COLD MOUNTAIN AIR - Same idea as the desert as far as lack of humidity, but better for your skin. Mountaintop mummies are some of the best preserved in the whole world. La Doncella is a fantastic example, as are the rest of the Children of Llullaillaco or the Cherchen Man and Siberian Ice Maiden. Sometimes this was done on purpose (hi bog bodies), but sometimes people just go up to high altitudes, die, and stay there forever.

HONEY/MELLIFICATION - This one doesn't fit the bill of spontaneous mummification, which is what I study. Honey mummies are made on purpose, allegedly by feeding someone honey until they're dead, and then dunking them in a coffin full of honey for them to steep like tea for the next century or so, then digging them up and making medicine/snacks out of them. Lots of alleged's, but still pretty cool if you're into idk becoming one with the slime.

SALT - Human jerky! Salt does to you what it does to all the other edible meats, of which you're just another brand. Salt sucks all the moisture out and keeps you nice, fresh, and flavorful forever and ever. The Saltmen of Iran are Thee Pinnacle of this type of preservation. Bonus is that you get weirdly sparkly when you're salted like a slug.

SAPONIFICATION - You become soap. Actually, if you want to get technical, you turn into what's called corpse wax (which is a surprisingly badass name for turning into a human candle) or adipocere. Mrs. Ellenbogen of the Mütter Museum is probably the best example of this, but it also happens to, uh, cave divers. Which is another great reason not to go cave diving.

PRISTINE AIR OF A SACRED BUILDING - Catacomb mummies! Incorruptible saints! Sokushinbutsu! If you're stuck in a religious house of worship and it just so happens to have its own little ecosystem (usually pretty dry, probably full of resinous incense), there's a non-zero chance that you'll get preserved very similarly to the mountain mummies. Getting stuck in a crystal casket doesn't hurt either. (Disclaimer: this is semi-anthropogenic for those keeping score at home. Some of these mummies are preserved this way on purpose.)

TAR PITS - Like the bog, but hotter, stickier, and smellier. Go in the tar, have no oxygen causing you to fall apart, turn into another leather bag time capsule. This more often happens to animals like those in the La Brea Tar Pits than people. At least that we know of.

WEIRD, AS OF YET UNKNOWN MEANS - Can we say for sure that there was only one reason why Lady Dai/Xin Zhui's stayed so preserved for so long? What about the other wet mummies? What about ones people find in trees? Or whatever the hell was going on with Elmer McCurdy? Maybe it's not unknown, but it doesn't fit the bill of typical mummies, or there are so many factors at play leading to preservation that we can't just call it by one category.

[bekolxeram]

S8 opening disaster predictions

I was patiently waiting for more bts material before making my predictions, but due to recent events, it seems like we're not going to get much more before the premiere, so here goes nothing, I'm making wild guesses out of what we've got so far. (No, we're not going to Oz.)

Bees

We've all seen the constant reference to bees in promos, the latest official teaser seems to indicate a bee-nado as well. I don't think it's an actual tornado with bees in it, or even a The Swarm style large scale bee disaster. In that film the bees crash 2 military helicopters, derail a train and contribute to a nuclear meltdown. I don't think ABC would greenlight The Swarm parody or an actual bee-tornado, especially after how widely mocked Lone Star was for that frozen man CPR scene.

I can see it being a severe bee infestation with multiple bee sting emergencies. Whenever a swamp of bees is reported by media, it's often described as... you've guessed it, a bee tornado. I can totally see the 118 dealing with bee attacks in 8x01.

I can't think of how the bees alone would be a major disaster though. A couple unfortunate people might get stung by a swamp, some more unlucky firefighters might have to fight through the bees to get to the patient, but it's hardly a city-wide catastrophe. I highly doubt the opening disaster is just about the bees.

Plane

I've already written why I think S8's big disaster would be aviation related, judging by the few photos and clips uploaded by the crew.

Every international airport in the US is required to have enough resources to deal with regular aviation incidents like bird strikes, hot brakes, engine failures, minor runway excursions, etc. There must be a very real possibility of a catastrophic mass casualty event for the fire department to send in engines from outside the airport for support.

The emergency vehicles we see in the hangar seem to be parked neatly in rows, so I don't think it's the case of a plane rapidly dropping out of the sky, looking for a place to land as soon as possible, or a sudden accident happening within the vicinity of the airfield. Emergency services have already been notified before the aircraft's arrival, so the trucks are just waiting on the side.

One real life example I can think of that matches these 2 conditions would be JetBlue Flight 292 in 2005. The A320 was flying from Burbank to New York when the pilots realized they couldn't retract the landing gear after takeoff. The crew tried troubleshooting while hand-flying the plane in a holding pattern (the stuck gear prevented the autopilot and the auto-throttle from engaging) to no avail, so they decided to divert to Long Beach and suggested doing a low fly-by for airport officials to assess the damage to the landing gear before attempting to land. It was reported back that the nose gear of the A320 was rotated 90° to the left, meaning it was completely perpendicular to the direction of the fuselage.

In the case of unsafe landing gear, pilots would usually attempt a gear up belly landing instead, as most modern airliners are designed to handle that. Since the nose gear was sideways in this case, retracting it was not possible, so the pilots decided to hold over the city for more than 2 hours in order to burn fuel (A320s can't dump fuel), then attempt to land at LAX, since its runways are longer and wider.

The LAFD mobilized over 100 firefighters all across the city to the airport and positioned them at different locations along the runway on standby. On the other hand, news stations sent out flocks of helicopters to broadcast the whole incident live on TV. Not only their loved ones at home, but the passengers themselves could utilize the in-flight entertainment system to tune in and witness the very plane they were on circling over LA, with aviation experts on air discussing the potential disastrous scenarios they might encounter.

At around 18:00, the flight crew turned off the in-flight entertainment system and gave the passengers a few minutes to call their loved ones. After that, the plane successfully landed at LAX with 1000 feet of runway to spare. No one was injured.

This is what's left of the nose gear wheels.

I'm not saying it will be exactly like this incident, but a major mechanical failure that hinders an aircraft's ability to land safely would fit the most.

Prisoner

Apparently Athena will be on a flight escorting a prisoner in 8x02, at least according to that person working at ONT who posted the photo with Angela on reddit. Naturally, some theorized that the prison would have something to do with the plane going down. I've seen nothing to disprove this theory so far, so it's absolutely a possibility. Although, that would make it the second time in a row a sort of transport vessel with Athena in it runs into a disaster caused by criminal sabotage. It's predictable and repetitive. I also haven't seen in bts stuff the amount of cops required for a hijacking scenario.

What I've noticed from crew photos is that the plane outside of the hangar during filming is a Boeing aircraft, while the cockpit we see earlier at the studio is an Airbus. If there are indeed two different airplanes involved in 8x02, then I can see maybe an impending emergency landing shutting down the airport, the prisoner being stuck inside of a plane on the ground decides to open an emergency exit and makes a run for it. Athena tracking down the prisoner would be the B-plot or something I don't know. I have 0 evidence to back it up, it's just a wild guess.

Sankes Bees on a plane?

Bees swarm airplanes all the time, but getting inside is a different story.

It's kind of hard to miss a swarm of buzzing bees inside an airplane. After pre-flight inspections by technicians and the flight crew, security checks by the cabin crew, the time it takes for the passengers to embark and the baggage to be loaded. then pushing back and taxiing, if a swarm of bees somehow still goes unnoticed, I guess everyone has to be blind and deaf.

Also, if the nature of the disaster is merely a bunch of angry bees attacking people on a plane, it would be quite boring? It would just be a lot of first responders triaging people and applying first aid.

What if the the bees are in the cockpit and the pilots are stung? Well, do both of them just happen to be allergic to bees at the same time? If so, I can maybe see a passenger onboard having to land the plane listening to instructions from the ground. I say 80% chance it'll end badly, thus needing fire rescue. But still, it's a very improbable scenario that requires way to many coincidences.

Bee strike

Airplanes accidentally hit wildlife in the air all the time, the most common one is bird strike, but there have also been locust strike, bat strike, even fish strike.

A swarm of bees is not like a flock of geese, bees don't have bones and are much lighter in mass, so while they can still cause some minor damages to the engine(s), it's usually not a big deal. The leftover bee goo on the windshield might affect visibility, but modern airliners have so many automated systems and navigational aid in place that they can pretty much land in 0 visibility.

So the bees have nothing to do with the plane?

Not exactly, bees and wasps are actually a serious hazard to aviation safety, but not in the way you would think.

Some species of bees and wasps like to build their nests in small, exposed cavities belonging to an aircraft, especially the pitot tubes.

A pitot tube is a crucial instrument on the fuselage of an aircraft that measures its airspeed. If it becomes clogged by foreign objects, in this bees, wasps and/or their nest, the pilots would be left with unreliable airspeed indications. If they unknowingly fly too slow, the plane risks stalling and crashing, like Birgenair Flight 301 in 1996. Air France Flight 447 also stalled and crashed into the Atlantic Ocean due to blocked pitot tubes, but this time not caused by insects, they were blocked by icing.

Brisbane Airport in Australia struggles with wasps infestation particularly badly. In 2013, some mud daubers managed to clog the pitot tubes on an Etihad A330 in under 2 hours, resulting in an overweight emergency landing. For that, airport authority recommended the use of pitot tube covers for aircrafts on the ground, but that causes a whole new problem.

Although the pitot tube covers are big red things with "REMOVE BEFORE FLIGHT" written on them, ground crews forgot to remove them before pushing back... twice! The 2022 incident was luckily caught just in time by a refueller nearby, but in 2018, the Malaysian Airlines A330 actually took off with all 3 pitot tube covers still on and the flight crew had to circle back to the airport with no airspeed indications.

While pitot tubes seem to be the most popular among bees and wasps, there have been cases of other openings on an aircraft being blocked by wasps. This Gulfstream business jet had its cabin pressurization relief valve clogged by dried dirt from a mud dauber, leading to a cabin over-pressurization event.

There shouldn't be a catastrophic crash because of unreliable airspeed if the pilots are well trained, but I can imagine a TV show finding some even more crucial flight instruments to be clogged by bees.

Bees as indirect contributors

Of course it can also be the case of bees just happen to sting the one person keeping the aircraft safe. Maybe bees distracted a small aircraft or drone pilot, causing a midair collision.

Or it could be an important airplane mechanic missing work to recover from bee stings. Just last week, an article was published on the Seattle Times detailing the timeline leading up to the Alaska Airlines 737 Max 9 door plug blowout incident. It was revealed that there was basically only one single mechanic who would work on door plugs. On the 2 days when the door plug in question had to be opened and closed back up to replace damaged rivets, the mechanic happened to be on vacation. His replacement, a young trainee, had no idea what they were doing, and the 737 with a ticking time bomb of a door plug rolled straight out of the shop.

Aviation experts have commented that if the door plug exited the aircraft at a higher altitude, the result would be much more catastrophic: some parts in the cabin could be ripped off, objects would fly out of the plane and possibly ingested into the engine, and if the plane hit cruising altitude, unbuckled passengers and flight attendants up and walking around the cabin would be sucked right out.

Tommy's role in this disaster

The 217 truck is right there next to the 118 one, so Tommy's house is definitely involved. It probably happens at the airport where the 217 is located as well. We've already seen Tommy working on the ground in 7x06, he'll be needed in this kind of all hands on deck situation at his station's airport too.

He could also be airlifting seriously injured patients to the hospital. One service Air Ops provide that is often overlooked, is VIP transport. Tommy may be asked to fly higher ups of the fire department around the airport to assess the situation. LAFD helicopters were deployed for the JetBlue 292 incident in fact.

*Whisper*

There’s also a chance that Tommy’s helicopter will crash. One crashed in New York back in July because its fuel vent was clogged by a wasp nest.🫣

But I hope not, not so soon. Let me see them be cute and sweet for a while first, that’ll make the angst more delicious.

Conclusion

My predictions are probably super wrong, I don't have a lot to work with, so take them with a grain of salt, maybe think of this as simply a fun read about planes. These all are about as accurate as the Wizard of Oz theory, only I didn't grow up watching classic fantasy musical like a normal person, I watched all 24 seasons of Mayday.

I guess we'll find out in a month.

[dangantums]

I KNOW I HAVEN’T GOTTEN TO REQUESTS YET BUT… i was soooo inspired by this post here that i had to write out a fic… @tum-bakery you never fail to inspire me with ur a.ce a.ttorney or stuffedronpa content

forgive me for any grammatical mistakes or anything of the sort, i wrote this really quick on mobile

Fly On The Wall

ship: w.rightworth

this fic contains: bloated belly, burps, belly rubs, button popping

TLDR: m.iles accidentally spies on p.hoenix stuffing himself after court one day.

In Miles and Phoenix’s shared cozy apartment, the aroma of fast food filled the air as Phoenix Wright sat at the kitchen table, surrounded by empty wrappers and containers that littered their kitchen counter. The attorney was working his way through his final half-eaten burger: work made him absolutely starving, so he decided to indulge and grab extra food on the way home from work. Grease stained his fingers as he took another bite, his movements once quick and efficient were now slow and labored, like he was chewing molasses. His eyelids drooped, tiredness hitting him like a truck. He was so tired that, in fact, he failed to notice his boyfriend Miles Edgeworth staring at him from the other room.

Miles sat at the dining room table, head turned to stare at Phoenix’s form. Legal documents remained bare, his laptop dimmed from the lack of usage to save battery. The attorney hadn’t even said as much as a ‘hello’ to Miles before he shoved the food onto the kitchen counter and began eating. And Miles has been watching him. Silently observing him this whole time. Like a fly on the wall, it’s like he wasn’t even there.

Phoenix’s once trim abdomen now bulged outward, straining against the fabric of his shirt as though pleading for mercy. The buttons threatened to pop open under the pressure. Labored breaths filled the room as he finally polished off the burger he held in his hand. Phoenix leaned back in the chair to close his eyes for a moment, a soft sigh escaping him as one hand now rubbed the side of his taut belly. His bloated belly protruded prominently, dominating his lap.

That was nearly the end of Miles. He felt his face grow red, cheeks hot to the touch as he quickly looked away. He stared at his dim laptop screen, the words in the email he was writing becoming jumbled in his head. All he could think about was Phoenix. How devourable and amazing he looked at that very moment. The prosecutor attempted to force himself back to work, leaning forward in the chair to look down at a sheet of paper he had next to the computer. As Miles attempted to meticulously review the legal intricacies of the case, noises started coming from the kitchen and he couldn't help but be distracted. Phoenix belched several times — and with each burp, Miles’ attention wavered, his thoughts drifting from his work to the scene playing out before him.

He had to look at Phoenix again. His gaze darted over to look at the man sitting at the kitchen counter. Phoenix was now gently rubbing his overfilled belly, hoping to alleviate some of the discomfort. His hand moved in slow circles, tracing the contours of his swollen abdomen as he tried to soothe the ache within. Miles watched with a mixture of amusement, bewilderment and affection, his eyes never leaving Phoenix's bloated form.

As Phoenix let out a long sigh, his bloated belly expanding prominently, a sudden *pop* echoed through the kitchen. His eyes widened in surprise as he felt the unmistakable sensation of a button giving way beneath the strain of his overfilled stomach. With a mixture of disbelief and amusement, Phoenix glanced down to see a button from his shirt lying innocently on the table, severed from its thread like a casualty of war. His mouth gaped open in surprise, like a fish out of water.

So did Miles’.

Miles swore his face couldn’t turn any more red. Couldn’t burn any hotter. But it did, like a blazing inferno, scalding to the touch. His hands tightened into a fist, desperate to grab something, but could only paw at the sheer tablecloth. His heart pounded in his chest, the thumping rang through his ears and echoed in his skull. Phoenix looked so devourable at this moment.

"Oops," Phoenix had muttered sheepishly, hands feathering gentle touches into his skin. The attorney chewed on the bottom of his lip before an expression that displayed a mixture of discomfort and determination appeared on his face. Phoenix pushed himself up from his chair, his bloated belly protesting with every movement. As he stood, he felt the full weight of his meal pressing heavily against him, causing him to wince slightly at the strain. With a steadying breath, Phoenix squared his shoulders and attempted to walk, his movements slow and deliberate as he tried to navigate the kitchen with his swollen abdomen. Each step was a struggle, his distended belly impeding his progress as he waddled awkwardly across the room.

Miles tried to speak, but words failed him. He could only watch as Phoenix waddled out of sight, presumably to their shared bedroom to sleep off that damn food coma. Miles blinked quickly, eyes fixated on the now empty chair and the empty wrappers that littered their kitchen counter. All Miles wanted to do at that moment was chase Phoenix down and tell him that he liked what he saw, but… he couldn’t.

Miles was just a fly on the wall.

[mrs-kodzuken]

Forgive me if I jump too? ♡

Pairing: K��tarō Bokuto x fem!reader x Keiji Akaashi

WC: 2.3k

Genre: angst to slight fluff (comfort)

CW: 3rd pov omniscient, fem!reader, switches to 1st fem!pov nearing end, poly relationship, suicide, suicidal thoughts, death, blood (kinda descriptive) angst to semi fluff (comfort) at the end

˖⁺‧₊˚♡˚₊‧⁺˖ ˖⁺‧₊˚♡˚₊‧⁺˖ ˖⁺‧₊˚♡˚₊‧⁺˖ ˖⁺‧₊˚♡˚₊‧⁺˖ ˖⁺‧₊˚♡˚₊‧⁺˖ ˖⁺‧₊˚♡˚₊‧⁺˖

The day felt as if it wasn't ever going to end for (Y/n). She trudged her way home, feeling more numb than usual.

She promised herself that it wasn't going to be today, that she could continue being 'happy'.

But hell, she didn't even know what being happy felt like anymore. Her two special boys came to mind, and no matter how much she tried, she couldn't shake the feeling.

Regret.

(Y/n) tried so hard to be strong, to live, and to actually be happy. However, it seems as if the world didn't care.

She looked up at the moon from her bedroom window. The stars shone so brightly, as if they knew what she was going to do that night.

A small, horrific smile graced her lips as she thought of the peace she'd feel when she was gone.

Opening her window, she could feel the breeze dancing through her hair. She wanted to feel that again, and even though it was late—practically almost three in the morning—she climbed out of her window.

When she took her bike, the one she used to ride so much, memories filled her head as she peddled down the road.

She knew exactly where she wanted—no, needed—to go.

(Y/n)'s heavy breathing filled the cold air around her, pinching her lungs. She calmly walked up the staircase of the abandoned building.

With each step she took, she felt more and more at peace. It was as if she could just float up them.

When she reached the top, she pulled out her phone.

The electronic light lit up, giving her a view of her wallpaper. It was between her lovers and her; they had gotten ice cream on that hot summer day.

Kōtarō had accidentally dropped his, making Keiji share, only because he wanted to.

She immediately started a call with the two of them. wanting to hear their voices once more. Just once.

Keiji had heard the noisy mobile device wake him from his slumber. The caller ID showing 'my owls', he instantly picked it up.

"Hello? (Y/n), Kō, what are you two doing up?" Keiji's groggy voice filled the air.

"I wasn't up," Kōtarō finally said sluggishly, not wanting to be scolded this late.

"Sorry, I couldn't sleep." (Y/n) lied straight through her teeth to her boyfriends.

"Do you need us to come over? Is something wrong?" Bokuto's voice perked up.

"No, no, I just wanted to hear your voices one last time."

Those words grabbed Akaashi's attention, making him get a hold of his senses.

"(Y/n), what do you mean by that? Where are you?" He got up in a rush, grabbing a hoodie and shoes shoving them on quickly.

"Our roof top, ours, but it doesn't matter. Not anymore. Just know that I love you both so much." She could feel the tears welling in her eyes and the lump in her throat growing making her voice sound funny.

Bokuto had already woken his parents up to try and get to (Y/n) before it was too late.

"(Y/n), baby, please stay on the line, please." The desperation and begging in Bokuto's voice grew with every word.

"I'm so sorry, but you know that I will cherish everything we have." She sniffed, her voice breaking in the most saddening way.

"What about always and forever?" Akaashi had already stormed out of the house, running frantically to where she was. He needed to stall her.

His throat was burning, but he refused to cry; he wanted to believe they could save her.

"Sadly, always and forever, I will not be in this life. but I hope to meet you both in our next one." She moved her feet closer to the edge.

Looking up, she saw the night sky twinkling so brightly.

"I love you so much, Keiji, Kōtarō. Take care of one another, would you please?"

Bokuto had been yelling for her to stop her movements and for the car to go faster.

Akaashi slowed his steps, breathless. He begged her to stay over the phone.

A small 'I love you' escaped her lips before she backed away, getting a running head start.

She flew off of the building like an angel, her phone still with her. The air surrounding her sounded like whispers, giving her chills on her way down.

Her body hit the pavement and a loud, sickening sound erupted from the phone. Blood almost immediately seeping out of her delicate skull.

The grotesque sound was the last noise from the other end of the phone call before it was ended when it landed.

The pain radiated through Keiji as he was on his knees, tears flowing down his cheeks as he painfully let out a scream.

Bokuto refused to believe that she was dead; he wanted to marry her, and Keiji said that it would happen one day. She had to be alive. She had to.

His eyes filled with tears as his heart felt like it was ripped out of his chest.

'This isn't fair.' Both of the boys thought heartbreakingly. It was unfair.

As the late car neared the building, the headlights shone on her body. It was now lifeless and covered in blood, her neck bent in a weird shape.

Gasps were heard from Kō's parents.

Bokuto ran out of the car, almost instantly taking her dead, mis-shaped body into his arms.

"Please come back, please come back," he whispered over and over, cradling her bloody, lifeless body to his.

Bokuto's mother gasped again, sharply, at the state of his girlfriend. She immediately called an ambulance; however, it was too late.

Her blood had seeped into his clothes, making the crime scene look even worse.

Keiji finally had the strength to continue his saddened walk, pushing himself off the ground.

His sniffling came about in the cold air. He neared the building, seeing Bokuto cradling her body.

As he walked closer, the harsh pain in his throat grew, and the empty pit in his abdomen was increasing.

Keiji crouched down once again, his head in his hands.

He started blaming himself, thinking he should have kept a better eye on her. She would still be here if he had.

"Kōtarō, sweetie, please let go.." His mother hiccuped, not wanting to finish the sentence.

Meanwhile, his father had been on the phone with Akaashi's parents, (Y/n)'s parents, and the hospital.

"No, I can't," his voice, now rough, cried out, clenching her body to his.

The remembrance of her last words had been running through both of their minds.

A loud siren sounded, flashing lights of blue and red coming closer to the horrific scene.

It's been a week since (Y/n) (L/n) committed suicide. The skies have been covered in a dreary rain since then, and the mood was damper too.

The walls of the Fukurodani Academy were almost silent. However, no one had been affected the most by her death except for two people: Keiji Akaashi and Kōtarō Bokuto.

A week full of despair was what it was.

Once again, the sky clouded over, preparing itself for the heavy amount of rain it was going to release once again.

The boys had hardly shown up to school that week, much less practice. Being in each other's embrace without (Y/n) was too much. Too heartbreaking. Too sickening.

While it was the end of the school day, Akaashi had sat on the steps of the school when everyone left.

An empty feeling inside of him became impossibly stronger—numbness.

He was overwhelmed by his anxiety and fear most of the time. Due to his life without (Y/n) he didn't care about his future nor his grades.

She was his future, and now she was gone.

He just couldn't take it anymore. Keiji had unknowingly walked to the building where she once stood.

Letting the cold, shivering rain wash over him, trying to soothe him.

He finally let it out a long, painful scream sounded through the air and the harsh rain. He started releasing his tears, sobbing loudly, it being covered by the rain.

Pulling out his phone, he texted his last living lover. It was simple: I love you. It would do the job.

Unknowingly, Bokuto had been visiting the building every day because it was the last place you were.

He needed you like he needed air.

While he walked up the stairs, he got a ping from his messages. Not seeing the double meaning behind Keiji's text, he replied.

A horrible, sinking feeling filled him.

He opened the door to see Akaashi fall from the edge of the building. His eyes widened, reaching out to him, but he was too far away.

Kōtarō held his hand near his chest, putting his head down. It was as if electricity had struck him.

It wasn't fair.

He had lost both of his love ones in a span of two weeks. It wasn't fair; he put his hand in his hands.

"Will you forgive me if I jump too?" He said this to them, hoping that they'd heard him from wherever they were.

The sudden realization sparked in his brain: if he goes, he'll see them.

He yearned for them—their life, their touch, their happiness. For them.

Kōtarō walked and looked down at his lovers body. the rain flooding his body making the blood it stream downward. It was a mess, a horrible mess.

Flashbacks of the same thing happening to (Y/n) surfaced his mind. He swallowed harshly, letting his tears mix in with the rain.

Hair flat against his forehead, he decided not to think about it anymore.

He slowly turned around, putting his arms up. Bokuto wasn't thinking of anyone else; there wasn't anyone in the world he would want more than them.

"See you soon."

Kōtarō fell backwards from the building, his heart racing. It all seemed surreal; peacefulness wrapped around him as he plummeted downward.

His body lay close to one of his lovers on the black pavement. A loss of three lives.

An entire new feeling took over his senses. He opened his eyes to see no rain but two people.

They had watery eyes, holding each other's hands, one out for him to take.

Koutarou rushed into their arms, the embrace of his partners relaxing him.

No words were spoken except "Always and forever, right?"

I felt peace surround me, as if all my worries were taken away.

Accessing the situation in front of me, my body lying in a disgusting manner. I mentally gagged; I did look horrible when I fell.

I watched my lovers arrive at the scene, but when I saw them, a dreadful feeling came about.

One week.

Their deaths are in one week; I'm not sure how or why, but I knew. It was more than a feeling, and I hated it.

I had been watching them this entire time; I even went to my own funeral, which was kind of a power move in my opinion.

My partner's tears weren't something I liked to see, though. The days of school that they skipped, the lack of practice.

I didn't mean to cause them any pain; I just wanted to be selfish for once in my life.

I hoped that they'd be strong together, so they wouldn't die yet. However, every time they did see each other, they would burst into tears almost immediately.

Sighing, I sat beside Akaashi, his head in his hands, while he sat on the school steps.

I watched the tears roll down his pretty face, looking away because I knew I couldn't do anything to help him.

He picked himself up, leaving his school bag on the steps. I followed him to the building where I had committed suicide a week ago.

Hearing him break down broke my heart. I'm sure no one wants to see their significant other painfully cry like this.

Knowing what was about to come, I headed down the steps. I wanted to meet him there.

I froze when I saw Kōtarō; he was on his phone, which lit up his face. His eyes were a bit red, and I could see the flushed aftermarks from his tears.

Peeking over his shoulder as I heard his phone ping; it was a text from Akaashi. It stated a simple, 'I love you.'

My eyes widened as I booked it around the building.

When I came around, I saw Keiji's body fall off the building. It almost looked as if he was smiling.

I quickly tore my eyes away from him as his body cracked on the ground.

Looking around, I was met by a frantic-looking Keiji.

Running up to him, I embraced him in a longing hug. Tears pricking my eyes because I was met with him once again, but he had died. He died because of me.

"Keiji," I said, burying my head into his chest as he squeezed my body close to his.

"I missed you so much." He cupped my face, salty tears running down his face.

"I missed you more." I paused, hearing Bokuto say something from the top of the building.

"What's wrong?"

"It's Kō; he's coming." I buried my head in his chest once again, not wanting to see his death either.

When I was sure he had fallen, after I got over the horrible noise his body made when colliding with the ground, I peeked my eyes open, seeing him.

He engulfed us both in a hug as I felt our bodies trembling at each other's.

"Always and forever, right?" I heard Bokuto say, his voice muffled.

"Always and forever," Akaashi and I whispered back.

Now I knew why I hadn't moved on when I died. I was waiting for them. But now that they're here, we could all finally start a better life together in the afterlife.

Cherishing each other's boundless souls.

˖⁺‧₊˚♡˚₊‧⁺˖ ˖⁺‧₊˚♡˚₊‧⁺˖ ˖⁺‧₊˚♡˚₊‧⁺˖ ˖⁺‧₊˚♡˚₊‧⁺˖ ˖⁺‧₊˚♡˚₊‧⁺˖ ˖⁺‧₊˚♡˚₊‧⁺˖

a/n: this is from my book “Haikyuu x Reader One Shots” on Wattpad! I hope you enjoyed it you angsty readers and let me know if you have any requests!!

the header is made by me, please like/reblog if used <3

[madhattervanessa]

Sitting Doing Nothing

Summary: A new neighbor joins the trailer park.

Warnings: None for this chapter except maybe drug consumption and awkward young adults.

Words: 2519

Masterlist - Mobile Masterlist

-

The sun is glaring, beating down without any mercy onto the hot gravel around the trailer park. Eddie swears he can feel tendrils of heat emanating from the dusty paths as he lays on his back behind the trailer. He keeps staring at the clouds dotted into the sky as he exhales from his joint again. He stretches his arms out to feel the cooling sensation of the patch of grass he had lain down on. 

Loud voices cut through the quiet afternoon air, angry curses and swears, announcing the collective melting of everyone’s brains in Hawkins.

The faint rumble of an engine cuts through the air. Curious, Eddie pushes himself up on his elbows in hopes of catching a glimpse of what sounds like a new addition to the trailer park. 

Sure enough, he sees a black car turn the corner to his side of the trailer park. Gravel skitters as the driver takes the turn to the trailer Eddie is looking towards a little too sharp. He winces at the view of the back tires briefly losing traction before the car steadies itself. 

It pulls into the little spot in front of the small trailer next to the Munson’s.

It’s the same trailer that had had him wondering for a while now- it had been empty before a bunch of people came and pushed stuff inside before leaving. No sign of life left.

He’s kicked out of his reverie when the door opens, the air polluted with Yazoo’s Bring Your Love Down (Didn’t It), almost drowning out the crunch of gravel as the driver steps out.

Eddie leans up on his elbows and scrunches his face to try and stave off the sun's glare.

His eyes travel over the strappy black sandals to the distressed black jean shorts… up up up, moving past a white, oversized band tee before he arrives at the crooked teeth behind crimson-painted lips and thick-framed sunglasses.

Eddie winces at the sharp twist of pain from his hand and looks down before pushing the joint further up in his hand before risking another glance at his new neighbor.

She rounds the car and pops the trunk. 

It’s a black sedan, Dodge Dart, from what he can tell. She gets a box out of the trunk and balances it on her hip as she crams around in the pocket of her cardigan. She all but kicks down the trailer door and heaves the box inside as Eddie watches.

He lies back down and over the course of the last third of his joint, he hears the repetitive crunch of gravel, her steps into the trailer and back. 

“Hey there. You home, neighbor, or do I need to knock on someone else’s door?”

He blinks his eyes open, unaware he had dozed off and meets hers.

His new neighbor is… a girl. 

Well, she looks about his age and he notices that her teeth are crooked, but cute crooked, as she smiles- wait fuck.

He looks up, into her eyes, staring at him from over the thick rim of her wide sunglasses she must have pushed down her nose.

“Hey, new neighbor. What can I help ya with?”

She smiles and he notices there’s a bit of her lipstick smeared against the edge of her front teeth. She tells him her name and he mutters his own back before she continues speaking.

“I need some help with the gas, I can’t really see where the whole utility thing is. I’ll trade you if you help me.”

“What’s the offer?”

She frowns and thinks it over as she looks up at the sky. He takes a deep breath, the waft of sweat and a citrusy scent hitting his nostrils as she ponders the question. When she looks back down, he catches the edges of a few tattoos peeking out from underneath her cardigan.  She moves her sunglasses to dangle from the middle of her shirt while leaning over him.

“I can make some pancakes if you like. I even have some whipped cream.”

He grins.

“You have yourself a deal, miss.”

“You know my name, don’t call me that.”

He huffs and leans up on his elbows before clambering up to his feet.

“Alright then, let’s go see.”

You gulp as he stands, revealing his arms sticking out of his shirt with cut-off sleeves, some metal band’s name scrawled over the black fabric with a deep maroon. He’s far less scrawny than you had expected him to be and … taller.

“You know you could start a fire, being careless like that and smoking on the dead grass.”

The sentence leaves you before you can stop it and the boy in front of you seems surprised before he scratches the back of his head and levels a lopsided smile at you.

“Well, there’s not a lot to burn down around here”, he retorts and you open your mouth to defend your new home but ultimately close it when you can’t think of anything.

You stare at each other for a long moment, the heat of the sun beating down on you both.

He tilts his head at you and you clear your throat before stomping off towards your trailer.

“I uh, I really haven’t done this before so I just need you to show me where the connectors are”, you babble as he follows you to your car. He takes the lead from there and you both come to an abrupt halt underneath the kitchen window of the small trailer.

He steps closer and the scent of warm gravel and weed wafts over to you. You swallow and tilt your head at him.

“And Joe didn’t tell you how to get anything going?”

“No, he didn't, he just— gave me the keys”, you murmur. “Was he supposed to tell me?”

Eddie just raises his brows, briefly scratching at his jaw before looking you up and down.

Then, all of a sudden, he falls down to his knees. You take a step back out of reflex and watch as he extends one long arm underneath the edge of the trailer.

He mutters something under his breath and looks away as he reaches further, bending his long body at an angle that makes you cringe.

“Are you- uh… can I help? What are you doing?”

You crouch down next to him, wincing at the cool grass touching your skin through the rips in your jeans.

“I just need to find the right hose-” he stretches his shoulder further and you grimace at the smear of dirt on his shoulder as he grunts. He yanks a few tangled hoses out. “There we go.”

He is quiet as he pops them onto the corresponding pipes. He secures them on the pipes you hadn’t seen underneath a little metal flap before turning the faucets open.

He turns back with a smile, wiping off the dust off of his hands.

“And that’s it.”

“And here I thought I had to go out and buy a gas tank”, you sigh and get up. He follows you with his eyes and you offer him a hand.

“EDDIE!”

You jump and whip your head back to his trailer as the booming voice makes Eddie jump to his feet.

“Yeah?!”

A man steps around the trailer and barely even looks at you before leveling his gaze at Eddie.

“Don’t forget to eat, I’m off to work.” 

He looks back at you as he sticks a cigarette between his lips. You wave back at him with a smile. He knits his brows together and just nods back at you, the gruff look supported by his beard and the frown he wears underneath it.

“Yeah, alright!” Eddie nods and pushes his hands into his hips. After another moment, the man leaves, disappearing around the corner of the trailer again.

The faint sound of a car door slamming shut echoes through the trailer park. You smack your lips, before turning to Eddie.

“Your dad seems nice.”

You both watch the car drive away, kicking up dust and gravel before turning onto the main road. Eddie turns back towards you and scratches the back of his neck.

“Uh, Wayne is actually my uncle.”

“Oh. I’m sorry-”

“You’re fine. Uhm. So about those pancakes?”

The trailer is in a state of disarray, the heat barely any better than outside when he follows her.

She nudges away a few boxes, quickly scurrying towards the kitchen. He closes the door and takes a quick look around: Though there isn’t a lot to see yet.

Except maybe for the big, green couch adorning the far side of the trailer just opposite the kitchen. There’s a rolled-up rug leaning against it, folding over in the middle. It keeps the coffee table next to it off balance. The box on top of it had already slid towards the floor and probably fallen had there not been the stack of boxes next to it. More boxes are neatly stacked against the opposite wall. When Eddie finally manages to avert his eyes from the neat handwriting on each of the boxes, he finds a record player, neatly placed on a media shelf made out of rattan.

“Oh sweet. You got a box with records around?”

“Yeah, uhh, it should be right next to the kitchen counter. Sorry, the place is still a mess.”

“You’re good. As long as you’re still making pancakes.”

She turns to look at him with a grin.

“Of course. Somebody has to make sure you eat, apparently. Though you look pretty damn grown to me.”

“Wayne fusses a lot.”

She hums and when he finally manages to stop fiddling with the beautiful record player, she points him toward the box labeled Vinyls. 

“Pick something good, yeah, Eddie?”

He staggers over to the box she had pointed to as she turns back towards the kitchen, ripping the fridge open to rummage around inside.

He opens the box, gently, before carefully flipping through the collection that greets him.

“So….”, he trails off, still flipping past the beautiful rainbow of vinyl covers. “You’re new in town?”

She hums in confirmation and he glances over at her again.

“Just pick anything”, she adds, getting a mixing bowl out of another box on the kitchen counter.

“Trying to find something I might like - though I doubt you have anything in that vein.”

“Well yeah, you’re going to have to pick something out of my very cultured collection, Van Halen.”

He stops dead in his tracks at the tease, dumbfounded.

“Van Halen?”

He stares at her over the room and she glances up with a smile before turning back to her mixing bowl.

“Yeah, you know, the guy from-”

“-the band with the same name, yeah, yeah of course, but- I didn’t expect you to know them, princess.”

“Well first of all, that’s offensive,” she starts, cracking some eggs into the bowl before she continues, “second of all, you kind of look like him, Eddie, with your hair and all.”

That silences him. He picks a random record and spins the disc in between his fingers.

When he drops the needle on it, Sweet Child o’ Mine reverberates through the trailer. His hand immediately shoots out to turn the volume down a bit but she just hums along, no angry look or sharp words directed at him as she whisks the contents of the bowl.

He manages to get another closer look around and sees a bundle of clothes sticking out of a grocery bag. Faded band shirts and a college sweater peek out of it and Eddie can’t help but touch the sweater. It feels ridiculously soft, even though it seems pretty worn already.

“So uh, what are you doing in Hawkins? Are you gonna be the new girl at school?”

She frowns into the pan as she pours the first pancake, a satisfying sizzle immediately following. Eddie feels his mouth watering at the smell filling the kitchen already.

“I go to college.” She flips the first pancake and Eddie feels himself being drawn to the kitchen counter. “What about you? You look like you’re my age, so are you going to college, or-?”, she trails off, waving the spatula in the air as she trails off and looks at him.

Eddie feels himself fumble for words, the brand of his repeated senior years searing into his skin. He kicks one of his feet against the counter before looking back up.

“I uh… I’m doing an extra lap.”

He only notices she has been swaying to the music when she suddenly stops.

“Oh good, so I can offer you some of the beer in my fridge, then?”

He drops the strand of hair he had been twirling, relief washing over him as the judgment he had expected doesn’t come.

“Yeah, definitely.”

She grabs a big plate and lets the first pancake slide onto it. After pouring another one into the pan, she turns towards the fridge and produces two cans of beer out of it. She bows slightly before extending one of the cans towards him.

“May I offer you a cold beer in this searing heat, then, Mister?”

He grins at her and as he takes the can out of her hands, their hands touch and they both share another look before she scurries back to the sizzling pan

An awkward silence sets in while she starts stacking the pancakes on a plate, slowly amassing a wobbly tower.

“How about you carry those over to the couch table? I’ll be there in a sec, just gonna put the mixing bowl in the sink.”

He carries the tower of pancakes over as she fills the bowl with water, dumping the utensils she had previously used into it as well. She follows with two forks and a glass of honey. After placing the things down, she produces a pack of cigarettes out of the pockets of her shorts. She offers him one but he just shakes his head. The pack is discarded on the table and after lighting the cigarette, she lets the lighter clatter onto the glass as well.

The couch cushions barely dip and she encourages him to dig in as she smokes.

After he has taken to picking at the first of the pancakes, she grabs one, too, pouring the honey into the middle straight out of the jar before she folds it up like an oversized taco and starts eating, too.

Eddie swallows, slowing down after the first two pancakes he has devoured, the questions about his new neighbor racking up as he tries to figure out just how to ask them.

“So. As far as I know, there’s no college anywhere near Hawkins so… why did you move here?”

She leans backward as she exhales, the cherry of the cigarette dangling dangerously close to the lush green upholstery. 

“I’m taking a semester off.”

She takes another deep drag of the cigarette before offering it to Eddie. He glances at the deep red lipstick smudged over the butt of it before putting his lips to it.

-

This is going to be an indulgent little series that might be a little disconnected throughout

Let me know if you want to be tagged or have any requests!

[teddybeartoji]

Mickey I’ll cry. I had a whole ass fic in your inbox about Satoru being tag teamed and it deleted I hate tumblr mobile… anyways as I was saying I WILL cry if fem satoru doesn’t get all that attention

She’s always soooo flirty with your friends when they’re over cause she’s knows you don’t care and it doesn’t really matter! She knows you love seeing her prance around all pretty working everyone up and teasing them cause you love how messy it makes her for you, and she knows you’ll always be there to finish the job <3! Loves showing off how pretty she is just to send them all home n giggle at the way she knows they’re all a little disappointed

So when you suggest going a little further she does get a little pouty :( how dare you let someone else handle your precious angel >:(! She’s all big eyes and wobbly lips n huffs until you start kissing in front of her, you’re rubbing from the outside of her panties while you’re kissing when you feel how she’s already starting to soak through <333 her pretty bush spreading onto her thighs and her cute clit all swollen and throbbing cause she never realized how hot you look kissing, and especially kissing someone else

It’s messy and you’ve got a little bit of spit glistening around your lips, and she whines loud when you push her panties to the side to just stare at her while you’re getting your neck kissed, and as if she wasn’t throwing a fit opposed to this entire idea just a few minutes ago she just shamelessly whines and bucks her hips into the air to get attention :((! Eyes are sooo pretty n heavy and glazed over while she spreads herself n mumbles a little “don’t you want to taste me too :(?”

ELLLLLEEEE YOU ARE FUCKING INSANE I'M GONNA BEND YOU OVERRRRR

FIRST OF ALL YOU'RE LITERALLY INSIDE MY HEAD LIKE WE THINK OF HER IN THE EXACT SAME WAY I HAD A VERY SIMILAR THOUGHT JUST YESTERDAYYYYY FUUUCKING CHRISTTTTT SECOND OF ALL JFLWJFKRJDJRJDJRBJSKXXJDJJWKDHFJKDBGBDKZHSHEJDJFJDBEKDBGSKBXKSBFKWVFKDJFKEBFKSJDKWBDKSJXKSBFKSBFKWBFKDBCJWJFIWJFJDBFBDKWJ THE NECK KISSING PLUS STARING AT HER PLUS RUBBING HER CLIT ELLLLLEEEEEEEE I WILL MARRRYY YOUUUU I NEED YOU SO FUCKING BAD YOU'RE ACTUALLY INSANE LIKE THIS IS SO FUCKNG HOT I'M GONNA HAVE A FUCKINGWET DREAM ABT HER FUUUUUCKKKKKK SHE'S SUCH AN ANGELLL:(((( SOOO POUTY AND WHINY AND PRETTY AND CUTE AND SEXY AND AAAAAHHHHH I JUST WANNA TASTE HER SO FUCKING BAD I JUST WANNA FEEL HER AGAINST ME I'M GOING TO FUCKING DIEEEEEE