#and my office and cold and bland

[skinreflectsthesun]

Had to hit ‘em with the variation in head tilt ✨💖

[funkytoesart]

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[halcyone-of-the-sea]

Hiya! I’m so happy your requests are open omg your writing is impeccable. So I’ve been with this concept in my head for so long since I read this prompt somewhere: what is with your weird fascination with me?

And just immediately my head started creating a story about reader having the nickname ‘Death’ because she has the highest body count known, skilled as no other and, also, imposible to know on a deeper level because she is like a wall, not letting anyone in. Until John Price needs her for a mission and is, as the prompt says, fascinated by her (and feeling other things he doesn’t want to admit), and is able to break her a little when he gets hurt in a mission after months of working together.

Glory to the Reaper

PAIRING: John Price x F!Reader

SYNOPSIS: He was strange, you admitted to yourself. Always around even when you didn't want him to be. But perhaps the Brit just might surprise you.

WORDCOUNT: 5.8k

WARNINGS: Angst, blood, death, gore, canon typical violence, avoidance tactics, fluff, pining, hurt/comfort, etc.

A/N: I switched around the codename but it's still the same plot! Enjoy, Anon!

*I do not give others permission to translate and/or re-publish my works on this or any other platform*

Your eyes slip over the file on the table, slowly caressing the parchment with easy and careful consideration of every word and comma—searching. Focusing. You hum under your breath and slide the page away to spy on the one behind it, the room quiet and the air cold. Outside the window the entire compound is asleep, only the light of the street lamps illuminating the land; inside this office, your feet barely shuffle over the tuft of the rug.

Clicking your tongue, you go to the next document in the pile. 

The still-warm body flinches and jerks below you, but you barely notice—he hadn’t put up much of a fight; wasn’t memorable. Sighing and itching over the mask along the bottom of your face, you snatch the last six papers from the desk and fold them four times, stuffing them into your vest pocket. 

Stalking with sure steps, you press into the radio on your gear as you step over the body and head to the door. Bloody bootprints follow behind you like a crimson shadow of surefire death.

“Actual, intel secured. Heading to Evac now.” Laswell was listening intently on the other end, your Op of the highest priority. 

You wouldn’t be here if it wasn’t, surely. The small click from the other end greets you as you shove open the office’s door and saunter down the hallway paved with glints of marble and pools of viscera like a Roman horror story. Eyes numbly slide past the scores of bodies; necks slit and stomachs burst from bullets fired through silencers. 

“Good job, Tomb,” Laswell utters, voice fast and serious as always. “What’s the clean-up status?”

Your lips flinch upward, “I suggest fire and a prayer, Actual. But no one knows I’m here. Main house is neutralized.” 

A small pause later and a huff of dull amusement. 

“Copy, Tomb. Your ride is waiting—best not to miss it, we need you back sooner than later.” The structure of your lungs rearranges in a small chuckle that echoes off the ceiling; molten silver from the moon slips over your darkened form. The patch upon your right shoulder is illuminated in steady intervals, the familiar image of a mausoleum and a guarding Sphinx. 

Alone, that patch is, with no other dark affiliations beyond that demonic cause. Many see it right before they meet their end, but the insignia was entirely left to ruin—no one sees it and lives besides other soldiers.

“Copy.” Your voice is easy and bland as the curtains from the single open window shake in the breeze. “Tell the boys I’m on my way.” You pass the window and slap a gloved hand to it, hearing the squeak of the frame as it hits back down before you turn the corner, slinking away to reform into a figure that evokes grim glances and sliced sentences. 

—

You stare into blue eyes with a sheen of disinterest coating your own, hands stuffed into your pockets and gear heavy on your chest. From your shoulder, the strap of your rifle sits as you speak, tilting your head, “Captain Jonathan Price of Task Force 141.” 

The man was tall, you admit, fit and formed to harsh military life. Undoublity he’d been in the service for decades. You’d seen his face before—the brunette beard and the strong jaw; small eyes with wrinkles, it’s how you had ID’d him. Plus the bucket hat. Laswell had told you he’d been inquiring about your file and you’d done your own digging off the books. 

John grunts a greeting before nodding.

“Pleasure. Tomb, was it?” On the tarmac, you glance around with stiff shoulders as the blades of the helicopter slow down behind you. Morning was just on the horizon, and you hadn’t gotten a wink of sleep on the flight back.

Lips thin, before your vision slides back into place. John’s hands are crossed casually, but his blue holds glints of intrigue. You don’t like that. “...The one and only. Excuse me.” 

Walking past, you move like a crane, legs taking long, steady, strides. A hand comes up to scratch at your cheek through your face covering. Laswell was expecting you immediately. 

And those feet at your side were not supposed to be there. Your eyes shimmer lowly at the shadow of John as he follows.

“Should tell you that Laswell’s in building two, then.” Pace halting, the Captain continues off on his own as your sharp gaze burns into his neck. He spares a glance over his expansive shoulder before adjusting his course to the East. “Told me to bring you to her. We need to have a little chat, yeah?”

You stay silent, watching John travel to the larger building where Laswell was apparently now waiting for you. After a still minute where you listen to the birds waking up and the scent of dew is in your hidden nostrils, you sigh deeply and roll your shoulders before beginning to walk behind. 

“Hm,” Garbled grunts are only heard by you as you stay well enough back from the man. Cautious as you stare at his head. 

He holds the door open for you when you finally make it, and you stand blankly from the opening as John’s calloused hand clenches over the door. When you don’t enter, the Captain shakes his head and releases a deep chuckle. 

“Alright, then,” he mutters, shuffling through the door first. You follow the strain of his back until you look away and reach for the barrier, pushing it back from you. Making your way inside, you sigh and wonder what you’re getting into. 

“Laswell said you don’t like strangers,” eyes peek back at you as the buzzing from the overhead lights echoes in your ears. Your throat releases a hum; shoulders showing a picture of wound ease. “Can’t say she’s wrong, now can you?”

Watching another soldier pass the two of you, you tilt your head to make sure the stranger’s footsteps turn the corner before you answer John’s question with a raised brow to mirror his own. 

“Did she also tell you that I don’t plan on joining One-Four-One, Captain?” His bearded smirk catches you slightly off-guard, perplexed by not even the hint of shock in his gaze. He’d done his research.

John grunts as his eyelids narrow, amused. Your muscles tense.

“Affirmative.” The meeting room door is opened and this time he allows you to ease your paranoia by slinking in first. 

In the room sits an occupied Laswell, a long table, a projector, and black-out windows. Confused but used to last-minute changes, you simply enter silently and pick a chair with your back to the wall and a good view of the room. 

“Laswell,” you utter in greeting as the woman hums a hello, shifting through numerous files. In your breast pocket, you pull out the files you’d stolen and toss them onto the wood. John stands near the entrance with crossed arms, hips shifting every so often as his feet re-situate themselves. 

He blinks down at the papers and then back to you with a careful glance at Kate.

Your Station Chief chuckles when she looks at you, tilting her head before she snatches the prize. 

“Good work as always, Tomb.” 

“Why is he here?” You get to the point, one hand going up to brush over your hair as the other sits limply on the seat’s arm. Your gear sits heavy on you, but that brutal tic of curiosity blooms. 

John’s lips twitch before he answers, “An offer. Knew I wouldn’t be able to meet if Laswell wasn’t the mediator, eh? You’re bloody difficult to track down.”

“Offer?” Small talk never mattered to you, hadn’t since you’d signed up, and probably never would. You didn’t understand why people beat around the bush—just say what you need to say and get it over with. There was only so much time in a day. 

It seemed John Price carried part of that opinion as well. 

Blunt, you admit to your opinion of the man, and sure of his strengths.

“I need your skill set.” Kate looks back and forth between you two before she focuses on her work, multitasking. John continues, pointing a hand at you in demonstration from their hold on his chest. “Mission in three days. Turkey…” He watches you closely as if gauging your abilities. “You in or out?” 

You wait in a dim silence for a minute or two before you tilt your body to Laswell, eyes still stuck in stormy blue and pale wrinkles inlaid with dirt. 

“Kate?” 

“Totally off the books,” the woman says confidently, pen sliding over paper. “Two targets in Bursa. There’s a file in your office.” Raising a brow, John hides his cheeky smile behind a bored mask.

“Take your Lieutenant,” you glare, “Ghost, was it?”

Price shakes his head, hat flinching along with it. “On assignment. I’ll need an answer today, Tomb. Time’s ticking.”

Your jaw clenches in annoyance, “Capture or kill?” 

John shrugs nonchalantly, “Either. Is this a yes or a no?”

In this game of cat and mouse, you find yourself slipping. Your obligations as a soldier call to you to take the mission immediately, but for the simple fact that this Captain was unknown to you—and apparently, you weren’t unknown to him. 

John was checking all of the boxes of people you didn’t like to be around.

Your voice grits out, eyes burning in their glare, “...When?” 

His smirk makes you want to storm out.

“Tomorrow. 1300.” The air in the room is thick, tense like a thick layer of molasses was overtop everything. Under the table, your foot taps to the steady beat of your heart, your face tensed, and the layers of your facemask suddenly too formed to your neck and chin. 

Twitching your nose you dig your eyes into John, peeling down his expansive shoulders and chest to take in the layers of packs and other miscellaneous items. His thigh holders and the way they hug his legs. You end with one last dead-on look into his eyes, trying to pinpoint intentions and flay the lines of his brain. 

Most people glance away, but John returns the look with a casual tilt of his head and a raised brow. Not at all off-put. 

Your hand steadily clenches over the chair. 

All you give him is a firm nod—nothing more than a mere jerk of your chin. Kate sighs from where she’d been watching. 

“Perfect. John,” she points her pen at the Captain as you both stare off. John grunts before his eyes flicker to the side, leisurely roving back moments later. You blink and rub your forehead. “You have your answer. Now would the both of you get the fuck out of here?”

“Copy, Kate.” John sighs, and you huff; standing as you plan out the amount of time you have to clean up and sleep before you have to leave. With an easy brush of your shoulders, your form shimmies past the Captain with dull enthusiasm. 

You weren’t happy about this, but fine. You’ve been through worse. 

As you shuffle down the hallway to the armory, your ears quirk when the footsteps ring in the drums of your ears like a hiking beacon. Already you’d memorized the walking pattern. 

The thump-bump, bump-thump, of boots and the clink-clank of metal on metal. Shoving down a growl you hiss out into the air, not turning around. 

“Problem, Price?” A gruff humph bounces. 

“Negative, Tomb.” His shadow comes to conjoin with yours, large body standing side-by-side. Eyes flash to the side of your face, hidden from all by the cloth—like a bored cat, you continue to pave your way to silence; hoping whatever thought this man had in his head would disappear. “Just curious, see.” 

“Curious?” your brow raises, the make of your muscles showing your unease. “Can’t help you with that.” 

“No, probably not, eh?” John grunts and reiterates as strange emotion spikes in the lines of his face as he glances along you. “Tomorrow. 1300. Don’t be late.” With nothing more, he halts and pivots, peeling back to leave your side as his sudden absence leaves you devoid of heat. 

Confusion breeds in your chest, but your steady legs carry you on until your tension leaves. Under your breath you utter a question as you enter the armory, shuffling your rifle off of your chest. “What the hell was that about?”

—

Price and you stand inside the safehouse with fast hearts and narrowed eyes. Blood was dripping down your hands, the black gloves flooded with gore that sure as hell doesn’t belong to you. 

“Fuck,” John growls, guttural reverberations echoing off the walls. With stiff ribs, you go and lightly peel back the fabric of the nearest window to study the street below; looking for any suspicious figures. Frowning, you see nothing and let the curtain fall, eyes wafting to the Captain. 

“We either lost them or they have surveillance on the building. Best for you to not leave either way.” The mission had gone sideways—apparently one of the targets had an ID on John as a member of One-Four-One. One thing led to another and resulted in you sticking a knife into some man’s gut to get away when he’d been spotted. You blink at his agitated expression, the black beanie on his head ruffled as he runs a hand over it.

But you don’t say anything else. Peeling off your gloves, you listen to him as a rain of blood splatters the carpet. 

“This sets us back—since when does bloody fuckin’ Metin Baydar know who I am?” John’s hands are clenched, jaw so tight you wonder if his molars will crack under the pressure. A smirk twitches your lips at the thought. “Tomb,” you slowly tilt your eyes to him. The man sets his lips and crosses his arms, the brown casual wear in his chest bunching. “I’ll need you to be my eyes on this, yeah? If I leave this position I jeopardize your safety.”

“My safety?” you huff a laugh and push your gloves into your loose pants. “Captain, I don’t need you to worry about my safety.” 

He seems to pause for a moment, and with a shake of his head his blue eyes shutter closed. A deep, tight, breath is taken and those tiny lids are forced back as you lock gazes. You send a blank look his way and he nods firmly.

“Keep low.” Is all he grunts, feet standing apart and his stare intense. “Copy?” 

A swirl of amusement dances in your gut—you tap the earpiece in your shell with a stained streak of blood on your fingers. John stares, unreadable.

“I’ll leave when the streets cool. Just keep on the line so I can relay my intel, Price.” After a moment of silence, your eyes tighten with intrigue. “How do you wonder Baydar knew your face?” Standing by the window again, you peek out and keep John in view. His form shuffles, and he scoffs before walking beside you. Over your shoulder, he also views the buildings and businesses below. You still at the sensation of his breath on the back of your head, hand twitching over the curtain. It ruffles your hair for a moment before you snap out of it, eyes blinking rapidly. “Your Task Force isn’t exactly known,” you finish your sentence, voice strained. 

Clearing his throat, as if realizing how close he’d gotten with only the intention of gazing outside, the man’s form jerks back; taking a step or two away to give you distance. Your far-gone eyes blankly continue to look outside but your chest gains some tension to it. You don’t know why.

This Brit is strange. You frown, watching a cat traverse the concrete far below. Not that I really have much to go off of. 

“Haven’t a clue.” John sighs again, one hand going to itch at his chin. “Your guess is as good as mine. One thing I do know is that we have to fix this. Now.” 

“You should tell Laswell,” you mutter, turning around and walking past him to stand around your packs—all of which hold your gear. Your knife was set into a small sheath inside your shirt, leather wrapped around your waist as you stopped near the coffee table. You pull the lip of your clothes up and grasp at it before peeling the metal out with an inquisitive eye. 

If there was any breakage to the tip, you’d be furious. 

John watches from across the room, catching glances at your bare skin riddled with scars and burns; unmarred flesh foreign. He feels his breath hitch before you drop your shirt back down and bring the blade into the light. 

Holding it parallel, you gaze along the edge and tilt your head, eyelids half-closed. 

“Kate?” Price answers you, clearing his throat. “No, it’s better not to create any more shite. She’ll be good off not knowing, yeah?” The brunette’s brow raises in question.

You hum and don’t reply. 

The rest of the mission was spent with the two of you conversing over the open line of your comms as you scoured the streets for any sign of the target, feet carrying you over the city as the chill of the late afternoon set in. Presently, you didn’t know how to feel about your situation. Working with others was a strain on your focus—on the walls you’ve built up; John had obviously noticed that you didn’t exactly play well with others. It was plainly stated in your file, after all. 

“—attitude, or lack thereof, is a detriment to the structure of any team/unit/platoon that she is placed into under all circumstances. Recommended reserved operations to limit drawbacks.” 

Having a pleasant attitude wasn’t your job. 

Stalking around the corner, your ears twitch to John’s voice. “Sitrep, Tomb. What’s it looking like out there?” 

It was strange, then, that the man over the line was so eager to speak to you. Your sigh hits on deaf ears, and you respond as you carefully walk past civilians making their way home.

“Quiet. No sign.” The silence re-settles and you gradually loosen again. Like a cat, your ears twitch to hear the muttering from the commuters; eyes sliding with watery film across faces. 

Baydar owns a restaurant as a front for funding terrorists. Anyone exiting from this direction could be part of it—

“You said you’d never join One-Four-One,” John’s voice makes you shove down a flinch, ripped out of your focus. In your pockets, your hands close into fists, and a deeply annoyed mask fits itself over your expression. “Why’s that, then?” 

“What is this?” Your voice goes cold, “interrogation time?”

“With a record like yours, you’d get pick of any Task Force or SOF in country.” The Captain seems to ignore your hiss and jab as his deep voice continues; accent low. You hear the drag of a cigar and the puff of smoke. Internally, you’re thankful for the casual yet attentive acknowledgment of your skills—how the man doesn’t seem in the slightest worried about you. “Why is it that you’re always alone out ‘ere? Couldn’t wrap my head ‘round it, truthfully.” A tobacco-slick chuckle, “Bloody hell, people would kill to get you on a mission like I did, eh? No doubt.” 

For a long time, you don’t answer, leaning against the wall across from your target’s restaurant doing recon. Frown tight and face stiff. John’s voice fizzles. 

“Ah, fuckin’ forget it Love, just a man’s curiosity speaking for ‘im. I’ll leave you to focus.” Before the line can click, you open your lips—as if the things have a mind of their own.

“People are unpredictable.” The Captain’s breath is gently puffing over the line. He listens and you know he hangs on every word; it was a strange feeling to know that. From under you, your feet shuffle. “They do things that don’t make sense. I don’t like dealing with it.”

A grunt. “Well, can get behind that…” John had a smirk on his lips, you can hear it. “You’d lose your head if you met MacTavish.” 

Your focus waning, you blink, getting sucked into this strange interaction with an even stranger man. 

“Yeah?” You wonder, head tilting to the side. “One of yours?”

“Hm,” he affirms and the chill of the night caresses your skin. John chuckles. “Sergeant. Bloody good shot, but can get into trouble faster than his fucking gun can fire.” 

Your mouth quirks. “Sounds horrible.”

“Makes my job a living hell,” John admits and you shock yourself by listening. “But no one better to keep by my six…You’d ease up to him.” 

“I’m not joining, Price,” Your voice mutters out like how a dragonfly snaps its translucent wings on still air. “This is it.”

In the safehouse, John hums under his breath, staring out the window at the blinking lights of the city as you watch the restaurant with far-off thoughts. A smile twitches his lips. For some reason there was something about you he wanted to figure out—something to unravel. You were like Ghost sometimes, but more… fascinating. Darker.

And you knew how to get the job done better than anyone.

John wanted you on his Task Force, your expertise, and the only way to get that was to take you apart like a puzzle of razor blades. Study you. Learn you as the edges cut up his flesh. The Captain had no idea what picture you’d make when everything was in its proper place, but he’d be willing to try with the very tenacity that had gotten him this far. 

But there was something else there, too. Some kind of tightness in his chest when you looked at him; he'd gotten it when he’d seen you on the tarmac back not so long ago like some schoolboy. Those blank eyes of yours…why did he want them to light up? 

Why did he want to see your laugh? 

John wasn’t immature enough to not know his own feelings or attractions, but this was an entire section of its own. Blinking, the man grunts to himself and smirks. “Well, better make it last, then.” 

You feel your eyelids carefully pull in surprise. 

“I…” Your voice starts but dies off, swallowing saliva down as your mouth clacks shut with a connection of teeth. Closing your eyes, you steady your heart, which had suddenly created a concerning skip in its beats. 

John places the cigar back to his lips and takes a long drag, leaning out of the window to watch the smoke disappear into the twinkling lights. Lips peeling his beard hairs back.

—

As it turned out, the mission in Turkey wasn’t the only time you’d have to deal with John Price, and it certainly wasn’t the last time you’d see his face in front of yours. One mission turned into two—two into three and so on. You hadn’t exactly wanted it, but you found you couldn’t turn him down either. 

At whichever base you were stationed at, all of a sudden he’d just show up; standing on the tarmac with his arms crossed and that casual set to his shoulders. The first time you’d seen him after Turkey, you had half convinced yourself he was a mirage. And then he’d smirk at you and tilt his head and you’d have no control over your words. 

It was pathetic…disgusting…it was…it was…

You shake yourself back to the present when a bullet whizzes past your head, a sharp call from across the utter warzone you’d found yourself in the middle of.

“Tomb, what in the hell’s wrong with you?!” John’s voice is harsh, and you lock onto it. “Get your gun up!” 

You sigh, unperturbed. Peaking past the large crate you use as cover, your eyes glare at the enemy soldiers across the dock, fixing your finger’s position over your M4A1. The small unit you’d been dragged into by John was mostly dead—only four of you remaining from the ten.

It wasn’t supposed to go down like this. 

Jerking back, a splintering of wood explodes in front of you as the next fast piece of metal nearly takes your nose off. With a grit of your teeth, you flick your safety off and swivel your shoulders. 

Popping from the top of the crate, your sharp eyes lock onto the first visible body before you press your finger to the trigger with practiced ease as the word shrieks all around you. Recoil is eaten into the padded kevlar of the junction of your shoulder and arm. 

When you dart back, the body has yet to hit the ground. 

“There she is!” John calls, and you look forward with a steady stare as the brunette laughs from behind his own crate a few feet away. “Keep your head in the game, Tomb.”

You frown, normal facemask back over your chin hiding it. While you loathe to admit it, John had grown on you in these…what was it…? Months? Yes, that seemed about right.

Months of joint missions. You could hardly believe that he’d dragged you out like this.

“Tell the others to flank,” Your voice whisps over the line like smoke, “Left side—there’s a gap in the crates.”

John looks you in the eyes and blinks, eyelids twitching. With his beard covered in gunpowder, the man looks across the open space between the gunbattle to the left. Sure enough, right before he’s forced to snap back down to cover, the Captain spies a very well-hidden gap in the defenses.

He smiles viciously like a dog, and barks a laugh to you, nodding, “Good eye! Boys,” the two don’t pause their assault but call their questioning voices over the line. You don’t listen, occupied with giving off bursts of gunfire and trying to avoid the eyes of your fellow dead soldiers. Your lungs are compressed inside of your ribcage like prisoners. “Flank left. We’ll cover you!” 

“Sir!” Steadying your breath, you avoid John’s confused glances and scoff to yourself, resituating your clammy hands. 

When all’s said and done the four of you are the only ones left. Letting your gun sit on your chest you use the body as an armrest, allowing it to hang off the side from the trigger-guard. Your fingers twitch, and as John speaks to the two men, you stare silently at the gushing bodies of your fellows like phantoms spring from their chests.

John’s voice slows when he sees you apart from them, glancing at the soldiers at your feet before ordering the remaining men to get to the evac point. They try to argue everyone should be going together, and on all accounts, they’re completely right, but John won’t hear it. 

“Go—that’s an order.” Reluctantly, the two glance at each other and speed off. 

You jolt at a call of your name, head turning to face stormy blue as they gaze at you with concern. Stopping a few feet away, John stands still and folds his arms, face going rigid with concern as he glances you over for wounds.

His head slightly leans in, chin down.

“...You alright?” Hand flinching, you clear your throat. 

“Why wouldn’t I be?” You ask, fixing the position of your feet and forcing away the images of dead bodies and blank eyes. 

You’d seen scores of men dead before—friend and foe—but you had thought you’d never have to see more of your own fall. It had been a long time since you’d felt the distant lull of numb horror in the back of your brain; like some ocean wave that drowns you under every time it comes back. It always comes back. 

John narrows his eyes and frowns deeply, glancing around and hiding the slight way his right arm sags. 

“Tomb?” He says it so lowly that you really have to focus, ears straining. That gravel was back, and you found yourself latching onto it. “Eh, you just focus on me, yeah? I’m right ‘ere.” 

“I know,” you snap, eyes shuttering away only to find more vacant stares. You flinch back and look up into the sky; a sudden burn in your brain that you need to quell.

The man grows even more concerned with you, taking a step forward and clenching his jaw. He studies you, your shaking tension and the clench and loosening of your fists—attention always on you but roving to the dead men all around. Something clicks with a violent inhale.

John moves to you without a word and grasps you around the shoulders quickly. You gasp at that, immediate reaction to shove away, but only gape at the warmth that he brings you instead—the steady presence and chest to lean on. As the Brit drags you, you focus instead on calming your breathing. 

The Captain lightly shimmies down your facemask and you suck down tight air as you go limp into his side. 

“C’mon, Tomb. It’s alright. I’m here. I’m right here.” He’s muttering to you, disguising his pained grunts in favor of taking care of you. 

That strange affection for you had grown in your time together…not that he’d said anything. It was more proper of him to watch out from a distance, not sure of your own feelings or the probability of you gazing back at him with the same amount of concealed longing. Many a night he’d sat on his bed and wondered. Wondered how an animal so extraordinary and remarkable took the form of a woman with a black sphinx patch and sharp eyes. 

John had heard you laugh once through your expeditions together—sniping in Greenland. Once had been enough; if he never heard it again, he could still recall the pitch and frequency to the yawning of his soul. He didn’t need to hear it again. 

It was locked into the fabric that made up your skin and speech, and every time he stared at you he could find it in your eyes. 

The Captain puts you down near a crate around the corner, letting you lean into it as he turns and captures your neck from either side. You shake under him, blurry vision stuck to his dog tags as they wink against his chest. 

“Tomb,” John says again, and with a lick of your chapped lips, you carefully turn your head up. Blue eyes crease worriedly. The thumbs on the sides of your neck caress up and down your rapid pulse steadily; calluses creating stimuli. A small smile meets you. “There we are, atta girl. Focus.”

Tears dribble down your cheeks, and you flatten your lips, whispering out brokenly, “I said I don’t like teams.”

John’s heart breaks. 

“Oh, Sweetheart,” his hand captures the back of your head and you’re brought into a deep and firm embrace—gear pinching and prodding but neither of you care. 

When was the last time you’d been held like this? The feeling makes your mouth quiver, your face stuck into the junction of the Brit’s neck and shoulder.

“John…” You whimper out and his arms around you only tighten—his tense nose shoved into your scalp as his eyes closed tightly. 

“I’m so sorry,” he whispers, heart racing, “I’m so, so, sorry.” 

You don’t know long he holds you there, the air filled with blood and death but just so soundly resting atop his vest and limp to his gentle swaying. The tears dry at some point, they always have to. Sniffling, your burning face takes in the scent of beard oil and gunpowder and you find yourself calmed by it.

Calmed by John. 

The man holding you waits a moment more before he slightly leans back, staring down at you intently; nervously. You lick at the tears drying into the line of your mouth to taste the saltiness on your tongue as fingers grasp at your chin. 

Angled up, your face is on full display. 

John sighs and the drowned keratin of your lashes flutters, embarrassment flooding you. His eyes crease before his hands come up to take away your sorrows with a soft brush of his digits. The man clears his throat tinily, voice deep with emotion.

“Better?” Your eyes dip away from his, knowing you’d been staring. 

“I…” Glancing over his right shoulder absentmindedly, you only get a word off before you see a fountain of red. Blinking away the last of your tears, John’s finger on your cheek stops moving as you freeze—stiff to the touch. 

His panic spikes again. 

“What’s going on—”

“When did you get hit?” Your voice is hard and laced with something you can’t name. Shaving back from John you frantically grab at his arm. In an instant, the Captain is whirled around and shoved back into the crate; he grunts loudly, eyes snapping wide.

“Fuckin’ hell.” He grumbles, but flinches when you peel at the bloodied layers of his compression shirt. John smirks, letting your touch rove him as your nose scrunches. He represses a shiver at the bite of your nails, whispering out, “If you wanted to throw me ‘round, Love…all you had to do was ask.” 

You blink rapidly and turn your fast gaze to his eyes as you stutter, fingers covered in blood and holding apart the fabric of his outfit to show a bullet graze to his pale upper bicep. John’s cheeky smirk grows and against all the pain and the dark corners, you feel a bubbling in your gut. 

A small chuckle snakes out, like twinkling bells. 

“Shut up,” your smile leaves him breathless, smirk falling to a small open-mouthed screen of obvious admiration. A hum marks the back of his throat, eyebrows loosely curving upon his forehead. 

You look over and find him like this—his gaze trapping you like his arms had. Like music, it takes you into its melody. Staring, your smile, gradually too, leaks out. 

“What are you doing?” Your question is breathy. "What is your fascination with me?" John’s eyes stick with you, the shining, shimmering, blue. There are tempests held there and if this man was anything, he was a storm of intentions and promises. 

“Looking,” John answers lowly. "Just looking." 

You take down a breath, “At what, John?”

He chuckles at you, face close and pleasant, “Y’know, I haven’t quite figured that one out yet, Love.” 

Blindly you wonder how the world can still turn while you both stand here—was it, even? How can life go on when such things are uttered to light? When they’re buried deep into your marrow like the dirt on top of a grave? 

How can the Reaper knock at your doorways when love exists in such quantity…in the fractures of his eyes? Only when his lips brush yours do you understand. 

It’s all here, and then it’s gone. Nothing can truly be as it was in the past, and therein lies the small, glorious, deaths. Both a blessing and a curse.

Your lips press deeply into one another and the blood of old wounds dries. 

TAGS:

@luuvbuzz, @emerald-valkyrie, @anna-banana27, @blueoorchid, @cryingnotcrying, @writeforfandoms, @homicidal-slvt, @jade-jax, @frazie99, @elmoees, @littlemisstrouble, @alpineswinter, @phoenixhalliwell, @idocarealot, @lavalleon, @facelessmemories, @h-leigh, @20forty9, @glitter-anon-asks, @emily-who-killed-a-man, @neelehksttr, @aeneanc, @escapefromrealitysm, @i-d-1-0-t, @pparcxysm, @hawkscanendme, @caramlizedtomatos, @konigsleftkidney, @sanfransolomitatm, @maelstrom007, @jemandderkeinenusernamenfindet, @pheobees, @glitterypirateduck, @uselsshuman, @fan-of-encouragement, @halfmoth-halfman, @ghostlythunderbird, @I-inkage, @pukbadger, @kopatych11, @0nceinabluem00n, @cocrorapop, @knightofsexyness, @abnormalgeil, @smallseastone, @jacegons, @330bpm-whiplash, @simon-rileys-housewife, @4-atsu, @tiredmetalenthusiast

[darkficsyouneveraskedfor]

Long Snake Moan 8

My warnings are not exhaustive but be aware this is a dark fic and may include potentially triggering topics. Please use your common sense when consuming content. I am not responsible for your decisions.

Character: Loki

Summary: your boss gives you a task you’re not prepared for.

As usual, I would appreciate any and all feedback. I’m happy to once more go on this adventure with all of you! Thank you in advance for your comments and for reblogging ❤️

Your clothes hang off of your body, a slake of sweat running down your thighs and stomach. You’re not sure how you’ve ended up this way, legs curled around Loki as he pins you to the wall.

The office lights blaring outside your eyelids. His breath plumes into your scalp as he presses his nose into your hair. You tilt your hips as your overwrought nerves cluster and ping off each other.

Another orgasm swells in the ebb and flow of pleasure. Minutes, hours, days, you don’t know how long you’ve been at it. 

It’s another of his tricks. The way he uses your body against your mind. How he can twist your desire like a cage around your reticence. 

“Mm, darling,” he slithers, “shall we go home?” 

He doesn’t stop his steady thrust as he speaks, a hand under your ass and the other on the back of your neck. He dips his head down to nib at your ear lobe. 

“Home?” You murmur dumbly. What does he mean? 

“As man and wife...” he puffs along your throat, “yes, darling, I think it’s time.” 

You push your head back as his lips tease your skin. You hate how he makes your insides rend. You clutch his shoulder and whine. You squeeze him tighter with your legs, hooking your feet together to keep him locked in. 

“A little more,” you rasp to your own horror. 

He snickers, “I never said we’d stop.” 

Confounded by his words, you flick your eyes open and a sudden flash of green paints your world. You feel a lurch around you. It’s as if you’re plummeting for that split second, then the world still again.  

Loki falls onto you. A silky sheet tickles your back beneath the crumpled fabric of your loose blouse, hanging at your elbows. Your shorn skirt fans out under your legs as Loki carries his motion, not missing a beat as the walls around you appear anew. 

Your head lolls as you take in your new surroundings. Behind the green tint, there’s something family. You can’t think. You don’t care where you are, you just care about that spiralling coil inside of you. You clasp onto Loki’s neck and sink your nails in, pushing your pelvis up to take him in. 

You cum again. Shaking violently as you’re battered in the eruption of hot and cold. Your arm splays limp and dangles over the edge of the sofa. Loki persists as you tremble helplessly.  

As you wade in the afterglow, fighting the tiding of yet another orgasm, your eyes flit around. This... this is your apartment. How-- 

You slap his shoulder and cough, “Loki, stop--” 

“Darling, I’m nearly--” 

“I don’t care, get--” 

He rams into you and your voice shrivels up. You drop your head down and gnash your teeth. He ruts into you furiously as he snakes his hand up to cover your mouth. He pumps into you as he pants against your cheek, muttering a flow of sultry delight. 

“Mmm, darling, just you try to get away,” he snarls, “I feel you clinging to me. You want me, hmm?” His taunts peter out into thick grunts and groans and he sinks his head down to growl against the cushions. 

A warmth blooms in you as he spasms and pushes himself into his limit. You twitch at the fullness and claw at his back. Fuck. As much as you hate that he’s right, he is. You don’t think you could make him get off. 

He finally stills but that urgent need does not. It’s a low buzz in your pelvis but you feel it pulsing, waiting to thrum again. You blink and take in what you can of your apartment.

Your plain white curtains are now green satin, around a nightscape that assure you of hours of torture. The walls, usually just as bland, are painted with gold and green trim and your eyes narrow on the snake ornament mounted on the wall with-- 

Huh! 

You tap Loki’s shoulder frantically, “get off, get off.” 

“Darling?” He mutters. 

“I mean it, off.” You try to push him and groan at the effort as your walls squeeze him. “Ayeee.” 

“Mmm, as you wish, dear wife.” 

He slides out of you and a full-body shudder constricts your muscles. You grit through the emptiness and sit up. You nearly tumble off the edge of the couch at the dizziness. You look down at your ruined clothes, barely hanging onto your figure. Fuck. 

You stand and squeak at the tenderness between your legs. You cup your pelvis and limp, your other hand on your forehead. You squint at the metal plate on the wall with the snake curved in an infinity sign. Between each loop, are a set of initials; his and yours. 

You pause and glance around again. You look at Loki as he works at untangling his dark hair. He is entirely too comfortable right now. 

“What did you to my place?” You accuse. 

“Our place,” he insists and sends you a smirk. 

You stare back at him. Your eyes threaten to stray down. His shoulders and chest are forged in muscle and as much as you didn’t ask for any of this, you can’t deny his boasting is mostly true. It makes you hate him more that he was honest in that sense after being so deceitful. 

You press your hands to your temples and his own eyes drift down. A cold wash flows through you as he purrs and you drop your arms. You pull your blouse up your shoulders and do up the only remaining button. Then you wrap your torn skirt and wrap it around yourself.. 

“I need a shower,” you hobble across the floor. 

“A wonderful idea, I shall join you.” He stands, shamelessly naked. You can’t pick out in the chaos of the afternoon when he stripped off every piece. Given how he can throw you through time and space, it probably isn’t much effort for him. 

“That wasn’t an invitation,” you stay far from him as you walk faster. “I need space. I need to think.” 

You hurry down the hall and shut the door before he can catch up. You growl at the sight of the bathroom. Green tile, green towels. He’s taken over more than your body but your entire life. You huff and shuffle forward to the shower and pull open the curtain. As you do, you shriek in horror. 

He reaches up to grip the metal bar and smirks down at you, “dirty mortal,” he tuts. “Time to get washed up.” 

[tenderleavesbob]

Warriors moved before anyone else even realized what was happening. He grabbed the guard's wrist in mid-strike, grip bruising and unyielding. His other hand settled deliberately on the hilt of his sword. To his right, Wind stilled and watched the pair with wide eyes. Around them, the laughing and chattering quieted.

The guard stared at Warriors with such disbelief that it might have been funny in different circumstances. He tried to yank his arm back, but Warriors only tightened his grip. The guard yelped in pain. "How dare you? I am a --"

"Cowardly fool," Warriors interrupted. Ice dripped from his words. Fury burned cold inside him. The guard blanched and tried to pull his hand free again. Warriors didn't budge. "Pray tell, why would a soldier feel it necessary to raise a hand to a child?"

For once, Wind didn't protest being called a child. He pressed back against Hyrule, who wrapped his arms protectively around him. They had been laughing and joking, perhaps a little loudly, at a fruit stall. Simply playing. The guard took offense.

Unfortunately for the guard, Warriors took offense at his offense. He tightened his grip. The guard whimpered and shrank away. Coward. "Answer me, soldier."

The soldier looked around for support, but the other shoppers only looked back at him. Perhaps this was a trend. No more. The soldier turned to Warriors and proudly raised his head. "Whatever I do is no concern of yours --"

"Captain," Warriors interrupted. He used his free hand to shift his scarf, revealed the rank on his tunic. The soldier paled more. "Were you trying to figure out something to call me? Captain will do, soldier. Now I will know your name, rank, and commanding officer."

The soldier hesitated. He looked around again. The villagers formed a tight circle around them. Wind and Hyrule remained quiet, but Warriors saw several familiar figures approaching out of the corner of his eye.

"Speak, soldier," Warriors commanded.

There was no support coming. The soldier's voice trembled as he rattled out the information Warriors demanded. Warriors nodded, unimpressed.

"I will let you go," Warriors said coldly, "and you will report to your commanding officer for punishment for breaking your vows as a soldier and forsaking your duty by attempting to harm one under your sworn protection. If I discover you ever raising a hand to another child or another innocent again, I will claim that hand for my own. Am I clear, soldier?"

The soldier flinched and didn't answer. Warriors shook his arm once. "Am I clear, soldier?"

The soldier looked like he was going to faint. Shameful. No wonder the others detested soldiers and Knights. "Clear, Captain," the soldier rasped.

Without further ado, Warriors released the man. He watched with open scorn as the soldier stumbled backwards. At last, the crowd moved, providing him a clear exit toward the castle and nothing else. After the soldier ran away, the townspeople closed rank again. Voices rose in chatter with a careful deliberateness, like nothing had happened.

Wind pulled away from Hyrule to press against Warriors's side. Warriors smiled at him and squeezed Hyrule's shoulder in quiet thanks. Hyrule looked too solemn when he nodded back, leaving Warriors to wonder how many similar instances he observed in his era.

"Everything all right, Captain?" Time asked, stepping beside him. His expression was bland, but Warriors saw how his own hand rested on his weapon.

Warriors smiled brightly at him. "Of course. Just a small conversation with a local soldier." He wrapped his arm around Wind's shoulders and squeezed. "You were getting some fruit, right? What would you two like?"

The answer proved to be one of everything, and no one said anything about the unexpectedly cheap price of the fruit. No one said anything about the unexpectedly cheap price of everything else that day, as well.

No one said anything about how Warriors kept one arm around Wind for the rest of the market trip and one hand on his sword, either. Warriors made clear that there were far more cheerful topics to talk about instead.

[mehidktbh]

Between You And Me (P.t 1)

Pairing: Simon Riley x Nurse!Fem!Reader

Summary: You're in a secret relationship with Ghost, no one knows but with that comes problems. When one guy starts to get the hint that you're single. He finds out the only way to get you all by himself is to slowly hide in the shadows waiting for the perfect time.

Warning: War, unwanted/nonconsensual , secret relationship, touching, ANGST, grinding, reader is groped, TW SH (SEXUAL HARASSMENT), swearing, injuries and bloody wounds

A/N: 11 Days since my last post. Sorry for my in and out absents, idk why I'm not as committed as I use to be. But here's the Simon Riley fic everyone voted on!! (Part 2) Taglist: @lauraliisa, @mxtokko, @jemandderkeinenusernamenfindet, @ghostshotwife420, @snortangeldust, @thychuvaluswife, @quesowakanda, @goodsoup03, @cielobgers, @andy-unu-03, @sididakra-jo, @nocti1s, @luvfromkat, @lily-ilo, @iwmtfm, @elentiyaiswriting, @berryjuicyy, @crazyfandomist, @aqxz, @yaaamadaa-blog, @itsquinoa, @tomhollandisabae, @wivwer, @old-red-owl, theverycelestialgemini, leopardfang15, @iwmtfm

The smell of foul metal floated around the room, and the suddenly rich, thick blood decorated your hands. The metal dish dinged sharply as you dropped the final piece of glass down. Finally, straightening your back upwards to now look out the closed wound. Which was a horrific scene before. Only know it's been wiped down with alcohol and sown up with a neat row of stitches.

"All done." You happily said, relieved that you could now open a window when this guy left. The blood smell was getting to you. So gradually and carefully you began picking up your equipment, putting all the soaked bloody cotton balls on the metal dish. But you suddenly stoped when the sensation of a cold hand came out to grab you.

"Sorry, sweets. Just need a bit of help getting to the door" He smiled 'innocently' but you nodded in return. Ignoring and swallowing the sudden gut rench feeling you got as you let him grab hold of your whole arm. His fingers traced up and down your skin, as he gripped on tight, you kept silent as much as you wanted to scream and you quickly lead him to the door.

The sound of the door creaking open echoed through the barracks, mixing in with the sound of talking from down the hallway. You quickly smiled before beginning to turn away, only to be grabbed again. Fucking hell- "Thanks toots for the patch up" Smiling you said nothing in return, only trying to avert your gaze from his lustful eyes. His mouth practically breathed down your neck as you slowly pulled out of his reach. Finally shutting the door.

And you thought that was it... but you were wrong.

It started out as little there to their moments where he'd pop out of nowhere right as you were alone. When you were on break, signing off papers in your office, watching TV or simply going to the bathroom. You'd leave the room to smell his thick foul and unpleasant cologne reeking into your nose, his slipped-back hair as he lazily leaned on the wall. Complimenting you from your skin to your body.

And not to mention that one time he 'accidentally' touched your butt...

♡ ♡ ♡

You quietly hummed out a quiet tune, your eyes watching in awe every time as the coffee machine worked like magic. The particularly strong and good coffee slipped out from the machine nozzle, filling up the two cups only reserved for you and Simon.

His cup was white and plain, nothing that would tell anyone else that it could be their cup only the white insides of the cup were stained with the brown liquid. The stains that told everyone whoever was drinking from this cup liked it strong and black, no sugar or milk.

Only your cup was always lined up against the cabinet, side to side they weren't separated. Even in the dishwasher, they never threatened to separate. The seemingly bland white cup was always next to the paw-printed ceramic mug, dots of dog paws was something that showed everyone it was yours.

"For me?" You turned around suddenly, expecting to see Ghost already waiting to grab his cup even though you told him you'd get it for him. Only it was the same guy who'd been bugging you since day one. "No, it's for Ghost." You stood your ground, turning around as you showed no interest in him being there.

The sound of his footsteps crept closer behind you, the deliberately terrifying thumps of his boots made every hair on your body stand up. He reached higher to swing open the mug cabinet above you, purposely grinding the front of his pants against your butt.

The sudden movement shook you to your core as you quickly pulled away from the machine. Stopping the waterfall of coffee pouring earlier as you quickly took both mugs in your hands. Ignoring the burning sensation and forgetting to put your milk and sugar in.

♡ ♡ ♡

Ghost caught onto fast to your sudden nervousness fast. When you returned with his coffee in a rush, nearly tripping over as you made it to his desk. He was surprised to see how red beating your hands were, the imprint of your mistake lead him to wonder what made you run so fast. Though the whole time you said nothing, lying about how you forgot you had a meeting soon. Excusing yourself before leaving early too, Ghost stood there with a mug that only grew cold.

Not only that but after dark, he'd secretly sneak into your office to get close and hold hands under the only light you flicked on as he whispered sweet praises into your ear. Before you were constantly complaining about happening to leave early (it was midnight) as Simon ushered you out.

Now you hold onto his warm figure, his huge arms cage you into his embrace harder as you struggle to say goodbye. By the end of the night, he'd be the one to escort you back to your room, all the way until he made sure you were locked and safe. No matter how many times his rough accent softly demanded you tell him what was bothering you, you didn't say anything.

♡ ♡ ♡

"I'll be fine" You shush him, your finger coming up to sew his lips shut as he quietly chuckled. He stood tall and relaxed, the only time today when he can truly let go of his tense muscles. Your soft touch brings him back to the present as you press a quick final goodnight kiss to his cheek. Giggling when the heat instantly rose to his face, his lovesick eyes never wanted to leave you but sadly he watched you turn away.

You seemed to quicken your paste when you shut the door, as much as you reassured Simon you were okay you weren't. Feeling like you were being watched it was past midnight and the barracks fell deathly silent. Not a whisper of someone talking or the sound of someone snoring on the couch as an ad played. Only your footsteps quickened down the hall, twisting around every corner the sound of swift heavy boots followed quickly behind.

[0xstarzx0]

DARK RED PT2

Rafe Cameron S3x Reader

{OPEN COMMAND}

[English is not my native language❗️❗️]

synopsis: 2 months after her abduction, the life Y/N had hoped for is not at all what she wanted.

tw: mention of murder, blame for the victim, domestic violence, violence, rejection, insult.

______________________________________________

[PT1]

You and your family had been living in Guadeloupe for two months.

Everything had gone back to the way it was, Bland and sad.

despite the fact that you and Rafe lived under the same roof, he was always busy. He only saw you very rarely, in the evening when you are waiting for him to brush your teeth and sleep, when he wakes you up because he is in you or when he decides to eat with you and his family.

Anyway, Rafe had to take care of his family again, and you hated Ward for it.

Rafe was a boy who always needs to prove that he can do better than others. If he has to kill himself at work, of course he will.

And because of that you and Rafe were arguing several times. Rafe didn’t want to take time for you and you, you didn’t want Rafe to stay all day until 11:00pm in his office.

You would often end up crying or Rafe would fuck you for hours and hours. Forcing you to apologize in his place because of the overstimulation.

________________________________________

Tonight was no exception, you and Rafe had argued the night before, you cried all night in silence, Rafe had been asleep for a long time when you were asleep.

You were sitting on the bed when you waited for him to finish his job. He came into my room and went straight to the bathroom to brush his teeth, you followed him. Starting only your skin care for the night.

He brushed his teeth and didn’t tell you, he didn’t even look at you. You wanted to cry but you held back.

You started taking out your skincare products when a hygienic protection package appeared in your field of vision.

Your blood is cold and you haven’t moved for a few seconds, the package was closed.

Normally a closed protection package was nothing. The only problem was the fact that since you arrived, you only bought one package.

It means that since you’ve been here, you haven’t had your period. You’ve come out of the bathroom in the direction of bed.

You climb on your side and crawl to Rafe. "Rafe..?" you ask hesitantly. Rafe doesn’t move, he seems to be asleep. You give him a little pat "Rafe..?". He doesn’t move.

you repeat your gestures until he starts moving. He turns around and slowly opens his eyes.

"What, what is it?" He says half asleep with a slight hint of annoyance. "I-I.." You look for your words. Rafe gets angry. He talks aggressively "I want to sleep. Don’t bother me."

"Rafe.. I have..". you look for words not to disturb him. He remains angry "What? What do you want? Go say it fast!"

"When’s the last time we fucked without protecting us?". You start shaking when her eyes pierce you. You weren’t afraid of him until you understood that the pogues didn’t lie, he really killed Peterkin.

Rafe’s eyes darken. He gets angry. "What do you mean, when we’ve been fucking without protecting ourselves? You’re not pregnant, are you?" he asks you not to scream.

You lower your head, avoiding his gaze. "I haven’t had my period since we got here"

Rafe puts his hands in front of his eyes, he always does that when he’s stressed or about to explode. And you didn’t think it could be stress? Maybe that’s why you’re late. You want to yell at him, you want to insult him.

You’re still not looking at him.

"If you hadn’t kidnapped me at the same time, I wouldn’t be stressed…"You whisper so he can’t hear you. You don’t want him to yell at you.

He approaches you. He gets angry. He speaks just below the scream. "I made the right decisions. I saved you from trouble. I gave you the freedom you want." You look up and look him straight in the eyes, "You gave me the good life? Rafe? Are you serious? You no longer speak to me, no longer look at me and you come to see me only when you are lacking!" You start to raise the tone

He grabs the back of your head and puts his hand on your mouth to silence you "I swear to God, if Wheezie or Rose gets up to see what’s going on, I’ll kill you." He says eyes filled with hate.

You are afraid and begin to tremble even more, panic takes you, and that he understands quickly. Your eyes are flooded with water making your vision blurred.

He lets go and goes back to sleep. You lie next to him and keep crying in silence, you miss your family and if you had gone with the pogues, would you be happy?

______________________________________________

You didn’t sleep all night. When Rafe got up, you pretended to sleep. 

He brought you closer to him and hugged you before kissing you on top of your head. One of the rare times you felt like he still loved you.

When he left, you started crying again.

When you got up, you stayed until 10 am in bed, you had traces in the corners of your eyes and you had no desire to get up.

You did it anyway, you washed up, made up and came down, Wheez is with Ward, Rose has to drink and Rafe had to be in his office.

You went into the lobby where Rafe’s things are. You started looking for $30 in his wallet. "What are you doing?" You jump and freeze instantly.

Rafe had his arms crossed, he was standing behind you. You got up fast and he looked at you all the way up with a suspicious face.

"It’s none of your business." You say with a hint of annoyance. He frowns and grimaces. "So you’re stealing money from me and it’s none of my business?" " I wasn’t stealing from you-" He cuts you off and walks away from you. " It’s normal because I made sure I didn’t have any cash." He says it made sense.

You open your mouth in amazement, he thinks you’re a thief. "But maybe you’re looking for this?" He pulls out his credit card. You try to take it from him, but he put it in the air. "Tell me why you need it and I might give it to you?" he shrugs.

You lower your head and start playing with your hands. "I need it to buy a pregnancy test." You say to a barely audible voice. Rafe leans over you, he pulls your face up so it’s in front of yours. "Sorry I didn’t hear, you need it for?" his eyes shrinking.

"Rafe I need it to buy a pregnancy test." You say loud enough. Rafe freezes and gives you a bad look." I told you it was just stress, don’t get paranoid about it." He gets straight, turns his back on you and starts leaving.

You start following him, begging him to give you his card. "Rafe I just want to be sure! You understand that?" You say half crying. "I understand you love, just realize how miserable you look?" He says disgusted.

You stop talking and he goes on. "You tried to steal money from me, and then you tried to trick me into saying you want to take a pregnancy test but you really just want to steal me and then go find another guy, right?"

"You know it’s miserable what you’re doing, right?" He approaches you and you start crying, "it’s not that Ra-" "shhht" he gently puts his hand on your neck, he forces you to put you on tiptoe.

"If you try to betray me or even lie to me, I will not be as forgiving as before." He kisses you and you feel the tears running down your cheeks. He lets go and leaves.

Your crying is so intense that your breathing becomes unstable. Rose arrives in the living room and sees you, she puts her glass and runs towards you. She takes you directly in a hug. She tries to calm your breath and little by little she gets there.

Rose asks you what happened and you explain the situation to her. When you’re done, she leaves without telling you anything, she comes back with two $20 bills. "Buy yourself the best tests." That’s all she tells you.

You take them and take her one last time in your arms before leaving.

______________________________________________

You found a small grocery store, there were different types of tests. To be sure of the result, you took three and paid them.

At night when you came home, no one was expecting you. You went upstairs to the bathroom you share with Rafe and did a first test.

You waited 15 minutes, once it was over the result was ready. You took a deep breath and watched the test.

You thought your world was going to collapse under your feet, you were barely 18 years old and you were already expecting a child.

You threw the test in the trash and rushed to do another one. You waited another 15 minutes and again, it was positive.

How are you going to deal with a baby? You’re not sure if you survive here so how do you deal with a child?

You thought about trying to stay calm, for you one thing was certain, you had to tell Rafe. You took the test and with a little confidence you went to Rafe’s office.

You came in and Rafe was there, head in piles of paper with his computer next to him.

You put the test on the piles and he stopped writing. He raised his head and you tried to keep calm.

He looked at the test again and went into his chair. He looked at you and said nothing. "Where did you get the money?" He asked you looking into your eyes. "Rose." He shrugged his shoulders. Is that his reaction?

"That’s your reaction, don’t you have anything to say?" you ask, you start getting angry.

He looked at you with disdain. "I should have another one when you’re not going to keep it?" You frown. Who said you weren’t going to keep it. "I never said that," you say. "So you’re going to keep it?" he asks with irritation.

You start staring at the point, yes you want to keep it, but on the one hand you’re scared, and if you were a bad mother. You can’t think any more because Rafe is waiting for your answer, the longer it takes you to make him understand something you don’t want.

"Yes" Rafe seemed shocked. "No." He said.

You open your eyes wide. "I beg your pardon?"

"You’re not going to babysit this kid." He says like he’s the one who’s pregnant.

"I wouldn’t have an abortion." You say clearly, Rafe’s laughing. "You know you don’t have to, getting him adopted is a good option." He says it makes sense.

"There is no question of strangers taking my baby!" You scream, Rafe gets up from his chair. " Oh well? So who will do it, You? You don’t even have the means to do it? You don’t have a job and you live on the hook of your boyfriend who also owns the child."

You put your hands on your face. "So I live on your hooks?" You look at it before eyes full of hate. "What do you call that?" He asks you.

You shake your head and walk out of his office, slamming the door. You head to your room. Once inside you take the suitcase under the bed, open your wardrobe and start throwing your stuff in.

Rafe shows up in the room when you’re closing the suitcase. "What are you doing?" He says angry holding back not to scream. 

"I decide not to live on your hook anymore, so I’m out of here." You say then that tears flow at a crazy speed on your cheeks.

Rafe laughs nervously. "No." He says. You grab the suitcase and start walking out of the room. What you didn’t expect was for Rafe to grab you violently by your waist making you scream.

"Fucking let go of me!" you’re screaming." Shut the fuck up, you really think after everything I’ve done you’re gonna break down like that with my kid?" Rafe goes crazy.

He pushes you violently away from the door and you fall to the ground. I’ve been busting my ass giving you a dream life all this so you decide to fuck everyone up " he bends over and grabs your jaw firmly . " Go away" you scream, both hands start scratching his arm. He yells at you and throws all the worst insults in the world, and you cry and insult him.

You get cut off when someone knocks on the door asking to come in, Rafe lets go and you run into the bathroom. Rose talks to Rafe and gets even more upset.

Rose leaves and Rafe starts knocking at the door asking you to open it, the only thing he hears are your uncontrollable crying.

Rafe stayed at the door for more than an hour, you did not open to him because you knew two things, first, if you went out you would probably have forgiven him what he just did to you because you love him despite what he makes you live and secondly, You were paralyzed by the fear he gave you.

That night, you slept on the cold tile in the bathroom.

______________________________________________

Despite your love for Rafe, you had no desire to end up like Peterkin, so you waited.

You waited a few weeks for Rafe to forget everything that happened. Rafe had to leave a few days to see a potential buyer for the cross.

And thanks to that, you were able to run away. Rose of course helped you, she gave you money and paid you a boat ticket and a plane ticket. You couldn’t go back to the Outer Banks. Illinois seemed perfect. You never told Rafe, so how could He suspect anything?

______________________________________________

[PT3]

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[cumikering]

Neighbour Ghost x reader 7

2.3k | angst, drinking irresponsibly If Simon could do it all again (part 1) (part 8/end)

“You don’t look good, sir.” The sergeant stood at attention, looking straight into his lieutenant’s eyes.

Simon had to commend the balls of Kevlar required to walk right up to him to point the fact out unprompted, but that was why he liked Sgt. Eric Jefferies the most. You had no time to waste when you raced with death on the regular - he would tell anyone they didn’t look good.

He knew he didn’t - it was the same bland face he had the pleasure to look at in the mirror each day. Annoyed, but not surprised by the darkening circles under his eyes, stark against his pale complexion. It didn’t help that he nicked himself in the jaw shaving that morning.

“Dining hall, sergeant,” he grunted.

“You’re barely eating, Riley,” Lt. Ramsay said, the same bloke who’d catch him sneaking back to his room. “You know you’re contributing to the food waste when you don’t ask for seconds, yeah?”

It was true, and the table chuckled, but Simon continued to shove whatever was on his plate into his mouth. It was enough to not starve.

“He never leaves his room anymore, not even on the weekends,” another lieutenant quipped, but was promptly elbowed by the officer next to him.

That, too, was true.

Simon had nowhere else to be, like how it always was before his mum came to Hereford. These days his flat was too empty and cold with the hole in his chest. He never came back after that night.

It wasn’t like he was thriving in his quarters either, but it was still a little better – at least it was untouched by you. Though his nights were dreamless at first, he kept waking, and waking until the dreams started.

It was a glitch in the universe, wasn’t it? That the memory that played in his mind to insanity was the last time he saw you, about crawling back to your door with limbs that didn’t feel like his, vision swaying with the lights, coming on and off, his heartbeat ringing in his head.

It’s not supposed to end this way… I want to try…

He sighed at another disturbed night. Tea would slow his mind. Instead, he found the box of Darjeeling you gifted him to take back to base. ‘So we can have the same tea over the phone,’ you’d said.

Was there a way to escape you, make you stop haunting? He needed an exorcism.

He put it back in his drawer. One day, it wouldn’t have to hurt anymore.

And the nightmares came back. It was once, then twice, and thrice a week of waking up in cold sweat in the dark.

Simon’s performance slipped. There was a reason sleep deprivation was a popular torture method. He requested sleeping medications - his career was the last thing he had and he wasn���t about to let it go. Any unrestful sleep interrupted by the vivid images his sickly mind conjured up was still better than no sleep at all.

Quitting you was impossible when the thoughts still followed. If pushing you away didn’t work, maybe basking in the memories would, even if it hurt more. Aching for your warmth, the scraps of it, he’d go anywhere you’d been to see your ghost. The pain was better than the void.

“You lads are volunteering at the soup kitchen this Saturday,” he announced to Sgt. Jefferies after hours.

“Saturday, sir?”

“It’s good for you. Reminds you why you’re doing all this.”

“Can’t tell me what to do,” he teased. “You’re not my L.T. on the weekends.”

Simon’s stare didn’t waver and the other bloke’s smile dropped.

“Copy, sir. I’ll tell the others.”

When the four burly SAS soldiers entered the kitchen, chatter and clanks stalled as all eyes turned to them.

“May… May I help you young lads?” one of the middle-aged ladies said.

Simon recognised her from his last visit, but he quickly realised this was a silly idea. He was out of place, knowing no one there.

He flashed half a smile. “Just wanted to give a hand. Got any lifting to do?”

The lieutenant and his sergeants hauled the food items to the kitchen, including the bread which he taught his sergeants to half and butter. They were offered to peel potatoes, but Simon decided it was wise to leave it to the pros instead.

People still avoided his gaze while his boys exchanged pleasantries with the other volunteers; Eric even got called handsome by the group of older ladies he impressed with his strength as he hefted the sack of potatoes. While the night was as pleasant, it wasn’t the same if you weren’t there to hold his hand and laugh at his jokes.

When the boys invited Simon to the pub at the end of the night, he said no. He thought he was ready, but even after weeks, coming back to his flat was just as sickening.

The silence pierced. Despite all the lights flicked on, the place made his skin crawl, the space too vast and empty. But he didn’t become a lieutenant from succumbing to his emotions.

As he lay in bed, he recalled that you too slept there once. That the mattress once dipped with the gentle weight of you, but unlike the bed that bounced back, you’d left a lasting imprint that disfigured his soul.

Simon wondered what you were up to, if you knew he was there drowning, miserable in his cold room. He couldn’t decide if he preferred your door to be closer or further: closer so he could catch a glimpse of you without meaning to, or further so he wouldn’t be so tempted to go over and get on his knees.

You said begging only reduced you to nothing, but for you, he’d beg and beg. There wasn’t much to lose when he wasn’t much to begin with. He was a stray for a reason.

He tossed and turned, and was granted a wink of sleep before the same bloody dream flashed in his mind.

I don’t care how hard it gets…

He sat up, feet thudding on the floor as he rubbed his face with a heavy sigh. It was always that one moment, like a broken record. Why couldn’t it be you on a night out, or kissing you on the kitchen counter, or simply, you smiling? It was a curse. If only the heart could follow where one’s feet went.

With no plans on coming here, his sleeping pills lay on his desk at base. He looked through the cabinets to distract himself, finding various bottles of dusty, unopened spirits he was gifted. They weren’t his cup of tea.

So he packed, to get his mind off you, from spiralling and digging a deeper grave for itself.

It was time for a change. With the accommodation he was provided, he never needed to rent, but he did anyway in case his mum ever needed the place. It was a good call he did, but with the divorce on the way, keeping it was pointless. He’d rather spend the extra money on his mum and nephew.

Yes, he came to remember- not to forget, but you wouldn’t leave, would you? In the dead of night, when he pulled the hoodie he’d forgotten about out of his wardrobe, he decided he’d had enough of his bloody flat and drove back to base.

He still had another weekend to before his next deployment, a two-month mission. He’d finish packing then.

“You’re right, sir, it feels good volunteering.” Eric grinned at his lieutenant. “We’re going again tomorrow. Also one of the ladies is introducing her daughter to Sam. See you there then?”

Never again. “Dining hall, sergeant.”

Simon was a fool for not finishing his lunch sooner and bolting, instead lingering for the announcement. With how atrocious he did on his tests, he must have been beyond high to still hope for a miracle, that despite everything, he still had a chance at a promotion.

He didn’t make to the top 3.

Amidst the wishes from the table, Lt. Ramsay’s turned to him. His grateful smile faltered.

Simon’s fists clenched. It was supposed to be him, his. But who was he to be mad. It was the fruit of his incompetence. He knew this was coming. Things were going to shit. The unforgiving truth was staring right at him mercilessly: he had nothing else.

He left for his office.

“Sir, sir!” Sgt. Jefferies called. “We’re heading to the pub tonight. Come with us.”

He gritted his teeth. Word travelled too fast.

“Let’s get out of the base for a bit,” he continued when he caught up to his long strides. “It’s the last weekend before we ship out.”

Simon eyed the display of vibrant bottles behind the bar as he listened to his sergeants’ orders, the names foreign to him. Above, the telly showed a rugby match rerun no one paid attention to.

“Jefferies, how much you reckon it takes me to get pissed?”

He chuckled. “You, sir? At least 10,” he said before taking a swig of his beer.

“Nah, 15 sounds more like it.” Richie, the designated driver for the evening piped up.

Sam downed his first two shots, hissing as he slammed the glasses on the bar. “Agreed. Do you know how much he lifts?” He nodded at Simon’s biceps, bulging under his loose black shirt.

It was a genuine question. Simon didn’t want to get pissed, he only wanted to forget. He didn’t mean to go over his limit he had no idea was at seven.

Drunk Simon was a weeping, blabbering mess. It didn’t help that he was massive, because his sergeants had trouble getting him to the car before Richie drove him to the address of his flat he barely managed to gurgle out before passing out.

“Sir, you’re paying for the bloody cleaning if you get sick in my car!”

Why did he think this was a good idea? He was never a drinker, barely even touched alcohol socially. It was the poison that turned his dad into a demon, and it too became his downfall. The only thing he thought he would always have – his resolve, let him down too. He’d lost you, his mum whom he was supposed to protect, his future, and now his dignity.

Desperation was a lethal sentiment.

And that dream came again, that he stumbled to your door. Legs wobbly, his vision in and out as the world spun in slow motion.

“Luv… Luv, it’s not supposed to end like this,” he slurred, the same line he always opened with.

A marionette, a prisoner in his own head, it was a loop he couldn’t escape. The awful show had to commence to end the same way each time.

“I’m sick of losing and I wouldn’t know what to do when you leave, after how much you’ve given. Instead, I left when you needed me. I should have been there for you, gone through all this with you, no matter how hard it got.

“If you would give me a chance, I’ll quit the SAS. I’d start all over again. I’ll butcher the carrots and apples with the bloody peeler, I’ll let the steakhouse mess up our reservation and eat a dozen soapy tacos… If you ever show up at my door with your pie again, I swear I’d kiss you, not scare you. And I’ll never let go. If it has to hurt, I want it to be you.”

The door clicked open, and like how it always went, it meant the dream was coming to an end.

“You make it worth it,” he muttered as his vision faded.

…

Simon gasped for air, this time staring up at blinding lights. He shielded his wet eyes, chuckling to himself.

“Bloody hell, I think I’m sick on the inside.”

“Only your past, but you are not your past.” Your voice echoed in the distance.

His body was too heavy to move. “Could you forgive me, for all of this?”

“Could you? You need to forgive more than you need to be forgiven.”

He laughed as another tear slipped.

Simon woke on his couch, still in his clothes from the night before. Dreaming of you always drained him, leaving him hollow and out of touch with his body.

He sat up with a groan, rubbing his face as the dizziness settled. He didn’t remember much after getting dragged to Richie’s car. Judging by the gnarly bruise on his arm, he probably fell last night, but he was glad he found his way back to his flat in one piece.

Stumbling to the shower, he hissed when his toe stubbed one of the boxes on the floor. It was a horrendous decision to drink so much, still having to pack the rest of his stuff. He leaned over the sink, staring at his bloodshot eyes.

His sergeant was right. He didn’t look good. He never did. What the fuck are you doing to yourself, Riley?

With his hair damp, he made his way to the kitchen. As he realised he’d packed all his tea stash in one of the bloody boxes, a series of knocks echoed in his flat.

He grumbled. It better be important for someone to disturb his peace, especially with the pounding of his head. He couldn’t be bothered putting a shirt on before he swung the door open.

It was you, a pie in hand like the first time he met you all those months ago.

“Hi, is Simon in?”

His heart lurched as he crushed you in a hug.

“Thought you said you were going to kiss me.”

@tiredmetalenthusiast @shadofireshinobi @keegansshark @two-gh0sts @eve-lie @lyenera @luvecarson @jaguarthecat @knight4xmas @unwrittenletter @mxtokko @reaperxxxxzz @footyandformula @opalesquegirl @audisive @sparrowgalaxy @fanficreblogs @strawberrystargal @damalseer @onlineoutcast @alright-i-guesss @maresoleil @mehjustalasshere @rrtxcmt

[fatuismooches]

HIII!! First of all I wanted to say that i love your blog and your writing! it brings me so much comfort :(( ANYWAY I WANTED TO REQUEST SOME CUDDLING HEADCANONS AND MAYBE A SMALL SCENARIO WITH DOTTORE?? fluff!! yknow just sleepy cuddles <3

It wasn't often that you woke up to your husband in the same bed as you. Of course, at this point, you were used to Dottore's absence, but nothing could quite fill the void that you felt when you rose from a cold bed. And although you did bother the other segments for affection to your heart's content, even they found themselves many times too busy to entertain sleeping in with you. Still, you were just happy to be with them and cherish the soft moments that happened whenever they did.

However, a habit of yours that had developed whenever you were feeling the lack of attention, was slipping into your husband's (or a segment's) room and snuggling on his (not very comfortable) bed. If you were being honest, Dottore's bed, much to your dismay, didn't really smell like him very much, for a simple reason - he rarely ever lays on it. An easy remedy to this, however, was just to steal one of his shirts. The scent was very... Dottore-like, something that oddly brought comfort to you.

On this particular day, you easily made your way into his office - empty, unfortunately, but not too surprising. He was probably in that lab of his as usual. Regardless, as you entered into the connecting (very bland) bedroom, you immediately made yourself at home on his bed. In fact, it was exactly how you left it a few days ago, messy and tussled, meaning that Dottore certainly hadn't slept on it again. Perhaps he didn't even enter his own room for that long. Your urgent words for him to rest only got through his thick skull once in a blue moon. Regardless, you pulled the blankets up and curled into them, eager to preserve the warmth, and too tired to fluff the pillows a bit more before you fell asleep.

When you woke up, the first thing you noticed was that you were a lot more warmer than usual. And then, when you tried stretching to pull off a bit of the blanket, your body's movement was strangely constricted by something else. Plus, it felt like it was a lot earlier than when you usually get up. Your sleepy mind had just barely begun processing the situation when a sudden voice abruptly woke you up a lot more.

"Go back to sleep." The voice was a bit deeper and gruff than usual, but undoubtedly, it could only belong to one person, which made your heart start racing with excitement.

"Dottore!" You immediately began wiggling in his arms, trying to turn around and see him, sleepiness still holding your body hostage, not to mention how tight his arms were. "Let me see you," you complained.

"Stop moving around," he grumbled some more. "Now is not the time I wish to entertain you." And yet he languidly began to nip at the nape of your neck. But that reminded you - for him to be in bed was already a rare occurrence, and from his voice, it sounded like he was genuinely sleeping. This was... excellent news, so you probably shouldn't push your luck.

"Fine," you complied, relaxing your body once more. A wave of sleepiness hit you despite your energy from a few moments ago, but you ignored it. "What are you doing here?"

"What am I doing here?" Dottore parroted, as his sharp teeth continued to dig into your skin. "I come back to my room and find my bed occupied by someone who wasn't invited. The question should be, what are you doing here?" You could only sheepishly laugh as you remembered everything.

"Well... you should know your room is mine too, you know! Besides, to make it even, you're welcome in my room anytime too!~" Dottore clicked his tongue, but it was obvious to you he didn't mind your intrusion in the slightest.

"Regardless, go back to sleep. You are tired." Despite your attempts to stifle your yawns and hide your drooping eyes, your husband had noticed it all too well.

"Don't wanna," you quickly protested. Before he could open his mouth again (and perhaps teasingly threaten to help you sleep) you spoke again.

"If I go to sleep again now, when I wake up, you won't be here anymore, will you?" You didn't need to see his expression or wait for a response to know the answer to that.

"So let me do as I please, Zandik. Let me be with you." Let you bask in this moment, fully conscious of what is going on, being able to feel and process his skin against yours and more, for you would hate to be unable to remember this gentle encounter.

"... Do what you wish, but don't bother me when you're too tired to do anything." His seemingly annoyed statement was betrayed by his arms tightening around you.

"I will." Your response ended the line of conversation, a comfortable silence now taking over. Needless to say, you wallowed in his strong back pressed against yours, his callused hands against your own, a long lock of blue hair tickling your neck. You made sure to take note of even the most minuscule details before it was time for life to resume.

What existed at this moment was merely two human beings, so similar yet so different, with their troubles and masks discarded to savor the presence of each other.

[upsidedownwithsteve]

Bad For Business: Level One

Steve Harrington x fem!reader [1.3K] An enemies to lovers au. Arcade coworkers, who love to hate each other, get too competitive about Dig Dug and share a mutal annoyance for the kids that like to pester them. Choose your own adventure by picking an option at the end of the chapter.

“You’re late.”

“No I’m not.”

You were. Twenty five minutes, in fact, and your stomach was still swirling from the night before, remnants of cheap beer and cheaper vodka mixing unhappily with the cold, strawberry pop-tart you’d force fed yourself on the way to work. 

Steve Harrington leant against the wall with a grin as he watched you struggle to clock in, the old machine chewing up your employee card before it finally stamped it. You pushed past him, shoulder into his in a way that was awfully familiar now. The blunt words, the eye rolls, the semi serious acts of violence all part of your work day and they had been since last summer. He didn’t give in to you, arms colliding, the smell of his cologne now on your T-shirt too. 

“Hungover?” Steve asked, enjoying the way you squinted against the harsh, fluorescent strip lights. 

The office was much quieter than the arcade outside of the staff doors and you were trying your best to stay away from the sounds of Super Mario and Pac-Man for as long as you could. Except Steve wasn’t making it easy. 

“No,” you lied again. You were so hungover, stupidly hungover. And tired. You’d barely managed to crawl back through your bedroom window when the sun was beginning to rise, the summer outside starting back up as the sky turned apricot and the birds sang. Eddie had walked you home, both of you sharing the last dregs from a lukewarm beer before he bent at the waist and let you use his back as a footstool, groaning and swearing at you as you took too long to grab the end of the broken trellis. “What’s with the fucking interrogation, Harrington? Did Murray die and leave you in charge?”

Outside the office, the arcade machines jingled, beeping and ringing with each win and loss, the constant clinkclinkclink of quarters being dropped into the coin slots, the yells of sugared up kids making your head pound. 

“Nah,” Steve’s grin only widened, an almost smirk that made you grit your teeth together. You busied yourself at your locker, shoving your bag into the too small space, the rattle of the metal hurting your very being. “Seeing you each morning is just the best part of my day.” 

You rolled your eyes at Steve’s blatant lie, snorting at the possibility you could both be anything close to friends. Steve Harrington lived to annoy you, and had done since middle school. He spent the first couple of grades annoying you at recess, pulling your hair and snickering with his friends when you yelled, all pink cheeked and shocked looking when you stomped towards him, indignant, shoving the heel of your buttercup yellow shoe into his toes. 

It went on like that, spitballs launched from each end of the classroom, backs of chairs kicked and faces pulled at the other during presentations. Then you both got older and the words got colder, scathing remarks made in the hallway, lockers defaced with semi serious insults and potential dates ruined by mocking comments said in front of crushes. 

Then high school was over, Hawkins seemed to get smaller and the only job available to get you enough cash to leave the tiny, backwater town was a position beside Steve at Upside Down Arcade. Run by someone who everyone only knew as Murray - a man who had absolutely no time for anyone under the age of twenty five and was utterly inept with technology - the arcade was a staple in Hawkins. As permanent a feature as the community pool, the town hall and the library; the brown brick building looked bland from the street outside, but stepping in the doors led kids into a maze of gaming machines, air hockey tables and neon lights. 

The carpets had seen better days, the Space Invaders themed pattern a headache of dulled yellows, purples reds and greens, the painted black walls barely seen behind the rows and rows of games, all brightly light and beeping, illuminations flashing pink and blue, leaderboard charts mocking on the screens. 

It smelled like burnt sugar and stale popcorn, despite the machine not having worked for over a decade. A heavy mix of all things bad for you: sour candy, old hotdogs, cherry slush stains and pre-teen hormones. 

“If I’m somehow even bringing you the slightest bit of joy with my presence, Harrington,” you deadpanned, “then I’m doing it wrong.” You slammed the locker door shut and smirked when Steve had to yank his hand back, fingers narrowly avoided. 

He narrowed his eyes at you, moving only to grab his name badge from the board, making sure he knocked yours onto the floor when he shoved the bundle of keys into his pocket that opened up all the coin slots. 

“Murray’s not in until later, Donkey Kong is fried and oh,” he clicked his fingers and pointed a digit at you, all faux sympathy making his face soften. “I knocked you off the top spot on Dig Dug. Again.”

You glared. Steve grinned. 

 You wanted to say something sharp, something witty and mean, but your head was still pounding and your throat felt like the Sahara Desert. “Bite me, Steven,” you muttered instead, shoving past the boy so you could get out the door first, for no other reason than simply to feel like you’d won something. 

Steve was too close behind you when he answered, all charm and flirt, the cadence of his voice dropped to the level he used when he flirted with the older girls that brought in their baby siblings. 

“Bend over then, Princess Peach,” he cooed, “at least lemme see what I’m working with.” His voice was at your ear, his stupid hair tickling at your cheek. 

The stupid nickname made your nostrils flare, but the suggestive comment before it had your toes curling. You scoffed, shocked, because as the summer crawled by and the heat got higher, you and Steve’s snipes were getting more and more below the belt.

But that was his bravest yet. 

You didn’t bother turning round, you didn’t want to give him the satisfaction, and Jesus, you were sure your cheeks were flushed - but if he dared comment on it, you would’ve blamed it on the hangover you told him you didn’t have. 

“You’re a pig,” you bit out, ignoring how he kept close behind you as you finally braved opening the door. 

The arcade was already full to the brim, bursting with kids, a line of them at the desk, ticket stubs clutched in sticky hands, dollar bills ready to be exchanged for bags full of coins. The door almost hit Steve when you let it go behind you, his hands barely catching it as he scowled at your retreating figure. You planned to lurk in the darkest corner of the arcade for your entire shift, maybe sipping on a stolen slurpee, biding your time and waiting for your headache to soften enough in order to conjure a formulated attack on the Dig Dug machine. 

You turned around just before Steve served the first customer, narrowing your eyes at him in suspicion. He was already behind the cash register, Erica Sinclairs bundle of tickets in his hands as the girl pointed at a toy sword in the cabinet. 

“And don’t even try and pretend you haven’t looked before,” you called back to him, smug and referring to his lewd comment before. “Oh, ‘lemme see what I’m working with’,” you mimicked. “You’re not sly, asshole.”

A few kids tittered at the insult, Dustin Henderson snorting especially loud, but some gasped at how you cursed in front of them, a sure fire way to know there’d be a hand written complaint about on Murray’s desk tomorrow. You’d hoped your jab would make Steve shrink, maybe blush like he used to when you got all brave and bold with him. Shit, maybe he’d even had the right to look ashamed. 

But he simply shrugged, tongue pushed to the inside of his cheek to stop himself from smirking at you but his expression was still the same. 

Pleased. Too cocky. Challenging. 

You went straight to Dig Dug. 

[holykratos]

Professor’s Dilemma

Leon Kennedy/Reader

Summary: Based off an AI audio on TikTok ;) reader’s phone is going off during class, taking pictures of Professor Kennedy without his permission. The ringing is incessant, and Kennedy’s patience can only last so long. (ib: @/xkeiira on tt!)

Warnings: Smut, Rough, 18+ (I know none of yall abide by that but think abt it <3), deepthroating, penetration, degradation, slight humiliation, slight (but not really) unconsensual touching, slight hate sex (but also not really)

(Y/N)’s first day of university was supposed to be all glimmer and shines—almost Elle Wood’s esque, at least in her imagination. The campus dazzled passerby’s like a shiny ring, and students could only marvel at the very buildings they were able to step into everyday. Her expectations were extremely high, and she set her expectations on her professors even higher.

Her eyes scanned across her bland schedule sheet, skimming every class with disinterested. ‘Thompson on English 101, Ford on Communications 113, Kennedy on Criminology 111…’ She thought to herself, head tilting in slight amusement and boredom. College was incredibly important to her, yes, but her schedule for today wasn’t interesting. She lamented over English for days, dreading to her roommates about her professor from hell whom had already assigned essay’s on the first week. Communications was okay—besides the communicating part, she couldn’t complain. Criminology was slightly new: she was aware that another professor had switched in recently, hence making the start of the class later. Originally, she was to start a week ago, but it was offset by the large—and apparently sudden—change.

She groaned haughtily, staring at her watch with disdain. It was 11:00–15 minutes from Kennedy’s first class. She stood up slowly, stretching her bones and shining a small smile to the science building ahead. “Alright, criminology, let’s give this a go…” She whispered, smirking mischievously at the students flooding into the building.

As everyone sat down, (Y/N) grew incredibly anxious. Her Professor was to arrive 5 minutes ago—the lecture was 2 hours long, and she’d immensely prefer to not be late for her daily nap session. Just as she was about to grab her books and ditch the first day, the two wooden doors of the classroom slowly bleared. The creaked and groaned with the weight of a push, a muscular arm protruding from the doorwar. A man slowly sauntered in, large duffel bag in hand and a plain baby blue button-up shirt on. His dirty blonde locks swayed in the wind, tussling along his slightly glistening forehead. (Y/N) was no less than mesmerized, staring into his cold blue eyes that held nothing but discomfort but determination. She could tell he was nervous, but ready to educate nontheless. ‘What a sweet man,’ She thought offhandedly, smiling softly as she watched his arms flex under his bag.

He reached his post, setting his bag down and clearing his throat. “Good morning everyone, my name is Leon Kennedy. I am a previous police officer, as well as a retired DSO agent. I’ve been active in the force generally for more than 20 years-“

A hand raised.

Leon stared perplexed, wondering how a student could already have a question. He pointed towards the girl, dressed in plaid and cheap hairpins, he noted cruelly. “How old are you, sir?”

He grimaced at the title, smiling slightly in discomfort. “I’m 40, and Professor Kennedy is fine. Anyways, I-“

Another hand.

He sighed, pointing to a man in the back, an excited smile on the latter’s face. “Are you married, Professor Kennedy?!”

He groaned, slapping a palm on the side of his face in annoyance. He’d only been speaking for 30 seconds, how could they fire these now? “No, I’m not—but this isn’t exactly an appropriate question now, is it?”

The student shook his head, a small smirk on his face regardless. Kennedy cleared his throat once more, serving a restrained smile to the students. “Now, as I was saying-“

Ping.

Kennedy was about to snap.

He turned over angrily to the recipient of the message, staring at a woman with beautiful, silky hair, textured and defined in it’s own way. He stopped for a moment, staring into the girl’s eyes—she was nervous, understanding that she’d been caught with her phone out. His breath hitched slightly at her parted lips, and he turned away quickly, grasping his jaw in shame. ‘Am I still in puberty or somethin’?’ He thought, grimacing at the thought. He turned back around, a small glare on his face. “Turn the phone off—I better not see it again.” He ordered, staring at her as she embarrassingly shut off her phone, slowly shoving it into her bag.

Kennedy was able to get 15 more minutes into the lecture before he heard a small snap, and a phone ping once more. He froze, turning to the girl from earlier. (Y/N), he noted from his attendance sheet, a small frown forming on his face. “Hey, phone off. What did I say earlier?” He said in a disappointed tone, almost like an unapproving father.

“Sorry, Professor Kennedy…” She apologized softly, tucking her phone into her bag once more. He shivered at her words, unexpectedly reacting to the mention of his title quite well. It sounded different coming from her—more alluring, more telling. He shook his head, turning back to the board and furrowing his brows. ‘Ignore her, she’s a student…’ His brows furrowed harder, the chalk in his hand smashing into bits from his built up annoyance—not only at the girl, but at himself. He sighed, grabbing another piece of chalk and writing messily on the board.

Another 20 minutes passed of peace and lecture, before one last ring was caught. And this time, she was caught mid message, a hand slamming down onto her text almost seconds after the initial ring. He glared at her deeply, veins protruding on his forehead from anger. “Everyone’s dismissed—out, now.” He called angrily, scanning the room as students stood in bewilderment, slowly flooding out of the room. (Y/N) slowly rose from her own seat, slowly gripping her bag before a hand placed itself on her shoulder, a small growl leaving the professor’s throat. “Not you, you stay.”

She gulped nervously, sitting down silently in her seat. When all of the students slowly left, Kennedy beconned her over to his desk, motioning to the seat in front of it. She took a seat, fiddling with the straps on her bag in anxiety. “I-I’m really sorry, Professor Kennedy, it was an emergency and—“

“Shut it.”

This ceased all conversation for a moment as Kennedy tacked at his keyboard, pulling up her file and information. “(Y/N) (L/N), 20, science major…” He read out slowly, scanning his eyes down the entirety of the file. She quirked a brow at him, unsure of why he would be searching her so fervently—and in front of her. “Okay, show me your phone. Let’s see this emergency, shall we?”

(Y/N) froze, a heavy blush forming on her face. “W-What? My phone? I-I can’t show you, it’s personal!” She nervously stuttered, looking away from the man and his domineering aura.

“No, look at me. Let me see your phone, or I’ll fail you for your first day.” He said strictly, reaching a hand out and grabbing her chin, pulling it towards him. “Now, give it to me.”

She frowned, eyes downturned towards her phone. She sighed, unlocking it and pulling up the messages. ‘This might be the most embarrassing of thing I’ve done,’ She thought anxiously, foot tapping against the floor.

He sighed, an accomplished smile forming on his face as he scanned through the messages. This face slowly morphed into one of embarrassment, shame, and heavy—heavy lust. In her messages contained multiple pictures of his backside and front, with replies such as “I’d hit that”, “You think he’d pull my hair?” and “I want him to leave me unable to walk” with various emojis. His face glowed a bright red, clearing his throat in shame as he set his phone down. His pants were becoming incredibly tight, and he couldn’t bear the restriction any longer, an evil thought brewing in his mind. He smirked at her, slowly handing her the phone, brushing his fingers over hers purposefully. “Y’know, I should report you for this—this behavior isn’t normal, and to take pictures of me without my consent is almost abhorrent.”

She frowned, small tears forming at the corners of her eyes. ‘What a baby…’ He thought with a malicious smirk, eyes glinting as he watched droplets fall from her beautiful eyes. ‘She’d look better crying on my cock.’ “I’m so sorry, Professor—I swear, I’ll take any punishment you give, I really am sorry.” She turned her head towards her lap, tears still dripping from her eyes.

The chair ruffled, and Leon sat up properly, patting his thigh. “C’mere—since you wanna take picture so bad.”

She slowly stood, perplexed but body warming as she approached. He grabbed her hands, softly rubbing his thumb along her knuckles almost lovingly. He smirked up at her confused eyes, standing for a moment to push her down to her knees. He grabbed her phone, sliding open the camera app and setting it down as he unbuckled his belt, much to her surprise.

“W-Wait, professor-“

“Shut up. Unless you want to be on academic probation your first year, you’re gonna sit pretty, understand?”

She gulped, face flaming in embarrassment and arousal. Though she was incredibly nervous, she couldn’t deny she didn’t want this. It was her end goal, truly, but she didn’t expect it to happen so quickly. She inched her own hands forward, fiddling with his button and zipper. She released them slowly—teasingly—as she stared at him with a sultry expression, eyes twinkling in mischief. “Alright, professor—let’s make a movie then.” She teased, sliding her tongue along the outside of his boxers. He groaned, fingers maneuvering into her hair, gripping as she pressed light kisses against his covered shaft.

“Stop teasing, you slut,” He growled, pressing her face against his bulge. “Suck it—after all, you wanted my punishments so badly. Do it properly, or else.” He stated strictly, eyes lidded and face red as he kept grinding her face against his bulge. She pulled back slowly, hands still kept on her scalp, pulling his boxers down. His cock sprang free, bouncing slightly against his covered chest. Pre-cum stained his baby blue button-up, soaking through the fabric almost immediately. He hissed at the sudden cold air, a smirk forming. “Cmon now, baby, suck.”

She nodded, almost mesmerized, slowly wrapping her lips around the tip of his cock. She suckled the head, lips and tongue wrapping around the start of the shaft as she slowly worked her way down. Kennedy groaned, hands gripping her hair tightly as he resisted the urge to fully face throttle her. He wanted to enjoy her little licks and teases so he could pay her back tenfold, but he couldn’t bring himself to—not when he’d already been teased for so long (5 minutes). He chuckled, hands gripping her hair tightly and shoving her head down, moaning loudly as she gagged and choked against his cock. Her arms flailed, finding purchase on his thighs and squeezing harshly on his bare skin. He moaned louder as he quickly rocked her head, tears almost filling his eyes at the intensity.

“Fuck, baby, your mouth’s so good—shit.” He cursed, pushing her head down closer to his shaft. She reached the bottom, gagging and choking as her hands slowly lifted to touch his balls. She sucked desperately—whatever she could reach—and moaned as he continuously shoved her head down. She adored the rough treatment, and could only wait patiently as she prepared mentally for the main event. Her core throbbed and her pussy grew incredibly wet, soaking through her underwear. She groaned as she felt a shoe lift underneath her, the tip of a brown martin rubbing against her lips. She squealed against his cock, feeling his shoe rub back and forth, a deep chuckle leaving his lips in response. “Yeah? You like that? Like my dirty shoe rubbing against your pussy?” He laughed, shoving her head down harder onto his cock. He bobbed her head harder, loud moans leaving his mouth as he came closer to cumming. “Fuck, you’re such a dirty whore—my dirty whore.” He moaned out, saliva dripping down the corner of his mouth. He thrusted a few more times before thrusting into her throat hard, holding her head flat against his pelvis. She choked and sputtered, smacking at his thighs as his cum flooded her throat.

She pulled back immediately as he let go, coughing and hacking. The cum in her mouth saturated on her tongue, and she grimaced, ready to spit it out when a strong hand gripped her jaw. She whined, turning towards Leon with her mouth wide open. He gazed at her cum soaked tongue, smiling devilishly. “Swallow it, now. Don’t waste a drop.” He chided, eyes lidded in enjoyment. He spit onto her tongue in addition, tapping her cheek, signaling for her to close and swallow.

She shamefully closed her mouth, swallowing the various liquids in her mouth. She groaned as the salty tastes cascaded against her taste buds, eyes crinkling in disgust. “Salty…” She whispered, rubbing her mouth of the sweat and extra cum. Kennedy only laughed, pulling her to her feet and slowly pulling off her shirt.

“Lift your arms baby, let me see you.” He whispered softly, smiling as she relented and allowed him to remove her shirt. He immediately moved to her bra, embracing her momentarily to reach around. She almost moaned as she felt his bare and slowly hardening cock press against her, and she swore to herself she couldn’t handle waiting any longer. But, it wasn’t worth pissing him off and not getting dicked down at all.

Once her bra was removed, he repositioned them, slowly laying her down onto his desk. He frivolously swiped his arm across the desk, moving a lamp and stacks of papers. She laid down, back aching as she tried positioning herself correctly. Leon wasted no time in undressing her fully, pulling down her pants as soon as she was laid down. He trailed his fingers along her neck, moving to her chest and circling her pebbled nipples. She moaned as he prodded and pinched, a smirk plastered on his face the entire time. “Smug bastard…” She mumbled, moaning as he pinched incredibly hard. “Fuck!”

“Say that again, slut.” He squeezed again, leaning down and taking the other one into his mouth with a harsh suck. “Insult me again—I dare you.”

She kept quiet, moaning as he placed kisses and suckled on her chest and sensitive parts of her neck, slowly trailing down to her panties which he hadn’t removed. His fingers delicately danced around her pelvis, drawing circles on her inner thighs and slowly onto her lips. She gasped, feeling the cold panties press against her. Her core throbbed harder, muscles spasming as immense pleasure filled her. “Sensitive from just a few touches—you’re so cute, baby.” He mocked, pressing kisses to her panties. She moaned loudly as his lips made contact with her covered pussy, eyes shooting open in pleasure.

“F-Fuck… more, please, Professor,” She pleaded, wrapping a hand into his hair and tugging softly. He chuckled, teeth grabbing onto her panties and slowly pulling down. He tugged all the way to her knees, using his hands to finish the rest.

“I want you to be good for me baby—I’m not gonna let you off easy, so just be good and there will be no punishment after, okay?” He smiled softly, stroking her cheek gently. ‘After…?’ She thought excitedly, nodding almost too eagerly.

“Yes, Professor,” She whispered in a sultry tone, leaning up to match the height to his face. She placed small kisses at the corner of his mouth, reaching them towards his neck and ear. He moaned softly, breathing heavily in her ear as she continued her ministrations. He grew tired, resistance faltering, and he couldn’t bear not being inside of her any longer. Preparation be damned—she’d be made to take him. She felt the tip prod at her entrance, and she squealed, slightly drawing back in surprise. “W-Wait, won’t fit—“ She tried to plead, but her cries fell on deaf ears, and he slowly hammered his way into her pussy.

“Fuck, so god damn tight, baby,” He groaned loudly, pulling her into an embrace as he bullied his way in. She almost howled in pain and immense pleasure, a stinging sensation bullying her cunt. She groaned as he finally settled in, practically sitting in his arms. She breathed heavily, trying to regain her strength and sanity as he slowly pulled out. She worriedly looked down, wondering why he had left, before she launched back, head hanging off the desk with her mouth agape. He shoved himself back into her quickly, wildly rocking himself back in forth in her tight entrance.

“God, you’re such a good whore—all mine, baby, I can’t let you go after this.” He laughed sorely, hands gripping her waist so tight it’d have left bruises. She whined loudly, grabbing into his shoulders with haste.

“Fuck, fuck! So big, professor-“ She choked out, moaning as he continued thrusting, balls slapping harshly against her ass. “Too much, fuck!”

Kennedy laughed cruelly, hand wrapping around her throat and squeezing tightly. “Take it baby, take it—you can do it, you will do it.” He remarked, a crazed grin playing onto his lips. His eyes showed nothing but pure lust and admiration, hearts almost forming in his eyes. One lick of pussy had him drawn in, and he wasn’t willing to let go of a gold mine like this. He thrusted harder, loud moans escaping his lips as he gripped her throat hard, watching the breath leave her form. He released her, laughing as she frantically gulped down air before grabbing hold again, thrusting frantically into her.

He could almost cry from how good he felt—both the blowjob and now, he was truly addicted. One taste of an elixir and he was hooked, unable to think of anything else besides the beauty he was inside. He was purely pussy drunk. “God you’re so tight, fuck, this hole’s all mine. You’re gonna be my fucktoy—stick you under this desk and make you suck my dick as I teach the class.” He stuttered slightly, words wavering as he came closer to cumming. He felt her constrict around her, and he almost burst out laughing, a cruel smile appearing. “You like the sound of it? Like the risk of getting caught by your classmates? Naughty bitch.” He hissed, thrusting into her sore body even harder. She cried out, eyes closing tightly as tears streamed down her face.

“M’ gonna cum, please, please, please,” She pleaded, hand reaching down to rub her clit. It was harshly smacked away only moments later, a rougher hand replacing it with slow circles.

“Think you deserve to cum, baby? You’ve been so bad all day—distracting the class with your horny mind. Do bad girls really deserve to cum, huh?” He questioned, slowly his thrusts but still deepening them. He grinned as tears fell down her face quicker, small whines leaving her lips.

“Please, oh god, please Professor,” She cried, hands gripping his shoulders tightly. “I’ll be a good girl, I promise, please make me cum!”

He shook his head, gently rocking into her body. “Mm mm, not good enough baby. Give me more.”

“Fuck, Leon, please fuck me! I need your cock to make me cum, please, only you could have me like this,” She pleaded, watery eyes staring into his.

His eyes widened for a fraction of a moment before he smirked, pulling back and slamming into her. He pistoned wildly against her hips, moans leaving the pair as they both approached rapidly to their climax. “Gonna fucking cum inside, shit—gonna breed this naughty pussy.”

She almost screamed at his words, walls contracting around his as she came all over his cock. “Fuck, inside, please,” She whined loudly, lower half shaking in aftershocks. He grinned, thrusting harder until he eventually slammed against her, a loud moan ripping from his throat. Cum flooded into her sensitive pussy, dripping down her thighs and onto his pelvis. He groaned, pulling out of her slowly and smacking her ass.

“Best pussy I’ve had in forever. Hope you know you won’t be leaving anytime soon, sweetheart.” He smirked, pulling her hair behind her ears as she blinked in and out of sleep. She only smiled softly back, whispering, “Wasn’t planning on it, professor.”

This is my first thing I’ve posted on heree ;) Would anyone like to see anything else? Might also cross post to AO3!

[ghostofthesoul]

Relax for me

Captain Price x fem.reader

Warnings: soft NSFW(mentions of grinding, kisses, touching)

English isn’t my first language so please keep that in mind> there might be grammar errors> corrections are appreciated just don’t be rude♡︎

Sorry for the wait..life happened

᯽᯽᯽᯽᯽᯽᯽᯽᯽᯽᯽᯽᯽᯽᯽᯽᯽᯽᯽᯽᯽᯽᯽

You walked to his office with a whiskey in hand. Concentrating on the brownish liquid in the short glass, making sure not to spill it on your way. It became a routine at this point, whenever a mission gone south or someone got hurt, John was mad and closed himself between the four walls of his bland office, not wanting to hear a word from anyone. Today was one of those days, the minute 141 stepped back in the base, Price stormed off in the direction off his office not even letting you check him for wounds, but at that moment you had bigger problems than running after your captain, even if that was what you wanted to do, you needed to sort out the rest of the members. Starting with Ghost who had a bullet buried deep in his shoulder from jumping in front of you on the field risking his own life, you took a mental note to thank him and scold him for being reckless after you stitched him up.

Now hours later you stood in front of the mean looking, tall door that separated you and Price. Lifting your hands, knocking and waiting for some kind of response to see if he was still there. After a few seconds came his booming voice, raspy from all the cigars he must have had in the span of the last hours. “Who is that?” his rather bored question sounded through the thick wood of the door.

“It’s me..” you started, founding your voice after not talking for some time, before coming here. When you heard no sign of him coming to open the door, you continued “and i have a drink for you” you waited patiently for a few minutes then, heard him shuffling, getting out of his office chair and coming closer to where you were. He let out a long, deep sigh before unlocking the door and letting it swing open. Before you could even look at him, to take in the damage that he might have had, he turned around letting you only get a view of his board back as he made his way back to his chair. You looked at him as he slumped back into the chair, making it creak under his weight. John put his elbows on the surface of the desk, shoulders coming forward making it look like they would fall off of him any minute. His big hands holding his head, trying to relive it from the ache he got from thinking back of the events that happened today, trying to come up with something he could have done differently, any small detail that could have prevented what happened to his men, something, so he didn’t have to feel like a failure of a captain. You were still standing in the doorway just looking at him, taking in his usually happy form, now sad and broken. You knew him enough to know he blamed himself for everything, all the cuts and bullet holes, thinking he needed to protect all of you. He moved his head up from his palms and stared at the glass in your hand and said

“You know, you don’t have to do this every time” than looked at you with his beautiful eyes that held all the emotions he was feeling right now. Tearing away your eyes from his piercing gaze, feeling your hand tremble around the cold cup of alcohol.

“Yeah I know, but i want to” was what you responded, with a sad smile on your lips. You went closer to the desk, placing the glass in front of him, nodding at him to take a sip.

You noticed he was still wearing his gear, it must be really uncomfortable, you know how heavy it can be and judging from all his equipment, it must weigh a lot. He sipped on his drink, not saying a word, which was quite odd coming from him, he usually would have cracked some bad dad jokes trying to lift the mood, taking your and his mind off the day’s events. But today was different, it was worse than other days, Ghost and Gaz got shot, they were thankful you could stitched them up after coming back, but Soap wasn’t this lucky, his leg was broken due to him being cornered into jumping off of a rooftop. He was fine now after you gave him some strong painkillers and put him into his bed, ordering him to rest until the doctor from the base comes and puts a cast on his leg, but that didn’t matter to Price, in this moment his mind was constantly telling him, he fucked up.

You stalked towards to him, one step at a time, slowly, like you were trying not to anger a wild animal. You went behind his back, placing your hands on Price’s firm shoulders, you felt him tensing under your touch, even though you two were close this was something that never happened. You never touched him other than fixing up his wounds from time to time, this was something else. He always watched when you gave Mactavish a massage, after he whined about the hard day he had, he seen how you two joked, laughed during this and he felt something tightening his chest, but he was proud to say it was jealously. He found himself fantasizing about how the touch of your soft fingers would feel on his hard skin, but too strict on himself to actually ask for a back rub.

His shoulders dropped after a minute, finally getting used to your hands invading his space. “Your west is in the way.” you announced casually as you dragged your fingers from his neck to the start of his biceps.

“Can i take it off of you?” your question was quiet, Price would have missed it, if he wasn’t focusing on you only. John gave you a firm nod as an answer, making your hands travel to the buckles that sit on the sides of his bulletproof west, undoing them and lifting it off from around his head made you realize you were right and his gear was uncomfortably heavy. The loss of weight made him aware of the pain in his whole body, he managed to not get shot, but all his muscles were on fire, screaming at him for being careless. Your hands found there way back to his shoulders, now making the massage easier with only his tank top in the way.

“You know they are going to be okay”

“I know they are though guys..I’m just disappointed in myself, thats all” he said, his form visibly relaxing after he got to say that out loud. Your hands felt like they were on auto drive as they started to explore more than just the area you were supposed to massage, sliding down, feeling the hardness of his chest, feeling his hearth beat starting to pick up, hearing his breath hitch, it made an idea come to your mind, something you always longed for when you looked at Price, the need to relive him from his stress. You spun his chair around making him face you, his blue eyes holding a puzzled look as if trying to figure out your next move. While you held the eye contact you made your way into his lap, straddling his big thighs, eyes looking out for any signs of uneasiness.

“I couldn’t reach here” you said as you started touching his bicep, massaging them too. Price saw through your little lie but he just hummed in response clearly not unwelcoming the idea, of you on his lap.

“Thank you for looking out for me kitten”the praise went straight to your core, this was the first time he used a pet name for you.

“Never knew I was this important to you” he said as his hand cupped your sides, pulling you closer to his front. This made you pull your hands away from his bicep, now more interested in what he had to say. Price leaned lower, putting his plump lips next to your ear, making his baritone voice even deeper to whisper

“Making me feel special, i like it”

With that you hung your arms around his neck, looking at his lips than at his eyes, challenging him to make the first move. And he did, his lips crashed on yours, the rough texture of them meeting yours soft, pillowy ones in a desperate attempt to ease the build up tension in the room. The kiss became sloppier by the minute, his tongue asking for entrance at your lower lip, which you happily gave him, just as desperate as him, wanting to give him anything he asks for. You felt his excitement growing under you, you smiled into the kiss enjoying the effect you had on him, the cockiness encouraging you to grind your hips on him, making his breath stuck in his throat at the contact, he stopped the kiss to take a deep breath in to compose himself.

“Bloody hell what are you doing to me” he asked, more himself than you. The question hung in the air as you made your hips swing back and fort, back and fort to feel him become harder. But to Prices dismay you abdurtly stopped, admiring the thick veins running up from his shirt to his thrown back head. His head come forward as he asked

“Why’d you stop darling? You were making me feel good” he looked at you with hooded eyes, almost desperate for you to continue.

“Can i try something, Sir?” the name you called him stirred something deep inside him, a name so simple but so effective. His eyes flickering into a darker shade of blue that reminded you of the midnight sky you always enjoyed, the way your voice sounded so innocent and velvety made his right mind cloudy and his answer was clear to him.

“Do whatever you want with me Doll”

᯽᯽᯽᯽᯽᯽᯽᯽᯽᯽᯽᯽᯽᯽᯽᯽᯽᯽᯽᯽᯽᯽᯽

If you would like this to have a pt.2 (most likely NSFW) please tell me

[willsperotruther]

i have visions for when i get back to my sims game

mainly for making a bunch of tiny houses on the same lot for the nevermore characters (minus montresor, who will live in isolation bc i hate him and annabel + lenore bc i want them to have kids)

housing arrangements:

will

morella and ada

duke and pluto

berenice and eulalie

prospero

for will:

smth this but with a bathroom and kinda bland (hell eventually move in with prospero)

for duke and pluto:

something with this layout but with darker colors, more clutter and such, and the second bedroom would be an office (probably smaller too)

morella and ada:

something like this but more of the stereotypical girly stuff (definitely a lot of the pastel pop kit)

for berenice and eulalie:

this minus the outdoor stuff, the kids room is changed to a small office space ish thing for eulalies weird things

for prospero:

i can't find a picture that represents what i want for him but something modern and cold (when will moves in with him it slowly becomes more homey)

different lots:

for montresor:

this but 10 x less cute, bare minimum on the inside

for lennabel:

something like this with a more dark and vintage look and the second bedroom is for their two kids (starting with one kid and one teen)

[fatgumsurpremacy-remastered]

It Takes Time to Sew a Doll Yan. Vox x CIS. FEM Reader

It Takes Time to Sew a Doll Yan. Vox x CIS. FEM Reader Pt 1.5 [Lunch Hour]

Warnings; Confinement, chasing, obsessive thoughts, yandere tendencies, Vox yelling at his employees, possible descriptions of body horror, foul language, misogyny, yelling, verbal threats, violent urges, electric shock.

Pt [1]

To my besties: @bloodypeachblog @omniuravity

Vox’s offices were the usual, sterile white one would expect from most office buildings- with a splash of black, blue, and red here and there. Modern art strung along the walls; some flecks of colour in the carpet here and there. But most of the time it was just the glaring white of each and every thing.

It felt like an asylum. But his main rooms were a cool black, with Cyan strip lighting.

Vox knew that if he kept her in the main waiting areas she might just run away- he might not ever be able to get to her again. She could run off with someone else and get in trouble or die-

No. He wouldn’t allow that.

He instead smiled politely and apolozed has he wheeled her around- everywhere.

They were the talk of the office as those murmurs from the morning turned to gasps of awe when they passed.

“Now this is conference room 2-b where we do star cast interviews and little company debreifs-“ he shook his head, “Well- I say WE I mean my employees. We as a company.” He knelt down, shaking the chair and looking at the disinterested face of his captive audience. “As a unit.”

She turned her face up in complete dissatisfaction, the gaze of a migrane clear in her eyes and the way she refused to speak. Vox cringed a bit at that. Laughing and clapping his hands he decided to wheel the chair further down the hall, paying no attention to the looks he was receiving from his employees. Kicking open a door his own little waiting area was on display. 4th office B, for potential client interviews. It was possibly the coziest- well insulated- and protected rooms.

The air was cold and the only light came from the blue of an idle computer and a small fish tank. Vox picked the woman up from her chair to a more comfortable couch, smiling as she instantly nestled in. There was a pause when he opened his mouth, and nothing came out. He just shut it again and nodded, rocking on his feet before swaying a bit.

“I hope you enjoy the room, I designed it myself.” Suddenly his bow tie was in desperate need of attention as he pulled on it, looking to every inch of the room but the one she sat in.

“It’s bland.” Shot through the heart. “You’d think if you had the money you’d at least get a bookshelf with books and not just a fish tank with a broken fm radio.”

“Listen-“ he said sharply- voice nearly peeking but calmed by the static on his tone, “you’re a guest but that doesn’t mean I don’t have limits.”

“You could let me go.” She snapped right back before getting a quilt from Vox’s office chair thrown over her face.

He pointed at her. Menace in his gaze locked onto her eyes as she glared back into his own. “Don’t speak to me like that.” The panels at the top of the room shook menacingly as electricity popped somehweee else. “You’re allowed to be mad, you’re not allowed to act out of line. Capiche?” Tilting his head he hoped he wouldn’t have to strain this situation more, and sighed when she didn’t back down in the slightest.

“Look-“ blue tipped fingers pressed flat against his face as he tried to pinch his temple, the other hand came up to run a hand through his no- hair. “I want to run through some legal stuff, make sure this is covered and you get compensated fairly because I don’t think we want to go to court now do we?”

Shaking no-

“Good! See- we’re on the same side here. Neither of us want messy little lawyers getting in our way, it’s the whole reason they’re down here- Off topic- I don’t have time enough in the day to deal with that. Sooo until then I need you to stay-'' his hands pointy the ground as she slowly backs away. “Here. Alright? Don’t make me get security.” With about a half a step forward he got on one knee, placing his hands on her shoulders and looking her in the eyes.

“I will be back.”

The door shut as he tried to rally the thoughts in his head. There was too much to do to think about a coincidence. And that was ALL that this was. A coincidence.

A small, menial event in the breadth of his long long afterlife. He could get through it! He’d done it in the past he’d do it again.

Or so he thought.

Meeting after interview, after press conference later he found himself spacey- monitor occasionally actively disengaging back to his idle motion picture.

He forced himself to stay awake. Plugged himself into every outlet he could, but something gnawed at him even as he sat on charge- gaining energy. Was she ok? Did she eat? He didn’t give her anything it’s stupid to think she ate anything, but he couldn’t leave her with nothing—

He ripped himself from the wall and clung to the sides of his head for dear life, huffing angrily as he attempted to recollect himself.

***

“You don’t need to resort to that sir!” Elliot yelled, bounding down the hallway after his boss as he clung to the tablet in his off arm. “I can see if maintenance will run a reboot on your main mon-!” Vox cut him off- pinching the fish sinners lips to keep them shut.

“Just— keep everyone calm until I can get transferred over, ok? And cancel my three o clock I have a special guest who I’ve got to cater to.” A quick zap sent Vox into his office, where he trudged over to that trusty spare. His old cathode head. Many memories, much better thought processing given there wasn’t 50 thousand plus apps inside of his brain at any given time.

Today he’d go classy, if only to grant him some sanity amongst the chaos of the morning.

When he slipped his head off his neck he grunted- not accustomed to doing it himself- but he pushed through, taking the box head and slamming it down on the stump of his neck with a click. In an instant the current from his monitor traveled up his claws, through his veins and back into the old tubing of his old head. He groaned in relief when the old screen buzzed- black and white back into life. Sound hazy around him as static played faintly at the top of his mind.

“Much better-“

Running his hand along the wall he attempted to transport himself but ended up ramming his head into the wall. He cursed and rubbed the side, hoping the plastic didn’t crack. But of course it didn’t. It was covered by a hard wood panel. The smirk on his face was small but satisfied as he pushed the heavy doors open instead, earning a shocked gasp from the cleaning lady outside the door.

“Scuzi!” He said with a laugh, putting a hand on her side to get past her as she gawked. Half of the staff had never even seen his old face, but that wasn’t a shock to him. He’d laid off a good portion of his old staff due to their censorship policies back in the 70’s. All for a partnership.

He scoffed at the thought, tapping his foot the moment he pressed the button for the elevator. When it opened he stepped in quick, looking in a circle for the right button, tatting a tune in search.

“A tut tut tut tuuu ah floor two!” Quickly he pressed it, and the doors shut silently. Pleased he whistled out a faint tune to keep himself company, enjoying the serenity of quiet. He didn’t really enjoy the buzz that came with his screen but he could deal so long as it didn’t make him sound like HIM. Vox shivered a bit, expelling the thoughts from his head. There was barely a recollection as to why he came down to the second floor before he realized the entire floor was quiet, stock still and hunched over their computers. He entered slowly and frowned a bit, before standing up taller on the center and putting his hands on his hips.

“Hey fellas.”

The office greeted him in scattered ways, each tone displaying a bit of hesitancy in doing so, heads still kept shoved into their screens.

“What’s goin’ on… what’s happening?” His tone was cheerful but his face was speculative as he scanned the area.

“Everything cool?”

No employee spoke and chills ran down his spine. He shook his head to the side and ran a hand down his face.

“Come on guys! Was NO ONE watching the fucking door? Did no one seem to think- hey- this woman seems important, maybe Ill look up from my computer- FOR THREE SECONDS- to- '' in his rage he watched all the faces pop up like meerkats from their desks and he rapidly waved his hands down. “No no! By all means- keep working. Not like what I did fucking mattered when I was taking EXPLICIT MEASURES to keep someone here!” They all turned their heads down. And he stormed away, backing up at the end of the room, he swept a point across the room.

“All your pay is getting cut-” groans rung out from every corner of the room, some people slamming their fists on their desks or putting their head in their hands. “Fucking, lazy-ass millenials. STUPID-” He muttered, wildly gesturing as he paced the halls, turning around and flipping shit over when he couldn't find her.

“FUCK-” another trashcan went whizzing down the hallway and three armed guards appeared with a whistle. “Spread out and find the bitch. I want her BACK here by 2:45. If you dont Im having your asses expedited to Val.” The guards turned to one another, grimaces across their faces as they stood still. Vox grabbed one by the collar, standing tip-toe to get in his face. “GOOO already get out- are you listening???”

***

“Let me the fuck go! Your boss already said he didn't need me… here..” Vox stood with a stone cold expression on his face, arms crossed in annoyance, desperately trying not to just take his hand and-

“I was worried sick!” Vox squeaked out, rushing over and taking her from the guards arms, holding her limply in his grasp. He brushed hair from her face, looking over her with horrified arms. “You left even though I said not to– what if you would have gotten killed, or picked up or or- I don't know.” A gasp, he took a breath and tried to recollect himself. “Im glad youre ok-”

“Let me go you sick bastard!” She pushed against his face, wriggling around in his arms as he watched in a feigned look of surprise. He cooed fakely, shushing her and pushing her other hand away when she tried to reach up again. Her final attempt ended with him grabbing her forearm and staring her straight in the face.

“Stop, stop it, stop- look at me. Look-” He pressed his head against her forehead as she tried to pull back. “You're being belligerent, you need to stop.” The guards left them to do what they needed to as Vox ushered her by the arm over her head and into a smaller meeting room nearby.

When they entered and he locked the door he allowed her to break away, growling in fury (rightfully so). Disinterested, he watched her pull at her head before turning to him. He didn’t do anything but raise an eyebrow as she shook a finger at him, body tense. Admittedly when she shoved him he was surprised but he shoved her right back.

She seemed shocked before he stood above her.

“Do not act that way with me. I could’ve let those men do away with you instead. Would you have liked that? To be thrown out and abused at the hands of jack offs who don’t understand you?”

“You’re crazy!”

“Maybe!” He asserted, pulling her up by the shoulder and shaking her so she’d face him. “But maybe that keeps you safe, because any other person who would DARE, to push me would be strung and shot with a smile.”

A bell rung elsewhere and he turned his head in its direction.

“Sit down-“ he said, shoving her in a seat and pointing. “I’m calling lunch in, you’re going to eat and we’re going to have a lovely little meal together. Are. We. clear?”

In a snap the walls around the room transformed, changing into a cushy upper class living room pulled from the 1950s. She looked around, holding onto the plush red seat beneath her.

“This is sick.”

“Manners.” A zap was sent through the floor and up into the chair, causing her to pull her arms back and gasp in shock. “If you want lunch you’re going to have to behave. If not I’ll have to eat alone.” He tilted his head to the side. “Neither of us want that, and my faculty definitely doesn’t want that so, don’t paint a bigger red mark on your back.”

“I thought you didn’t want me.”

“Legalities remember”

“What’s with the setup then?” She retorted, gesturing to the room now.

“It’s more comfortable.” He lied, crossing one leg over another before pulling a newspaper out from his suit jacket and opening it flippantly.

She sat restlessly.

“So you’re going to pull me in and not talk to me?”

“Hmm? Im sorry doll I cant hear you from over here, you’re going to have to get closer.”

[thespiritssaidso]

To Feel the Tilt of the Earth (It’s a Bit Wobbly, No?)

Summary: Shawn’s had one too many energy drinks, and now he’s paying the price.

Notes: Based on my own experience with caffeinated energy drinks, mainly Monster. That was a scary night, hoo boy. I’m glad I wasn’t alone (unlike Shawn).

I for real been putting Shawn through the mill with all these whump fics, haven’t I?

Day three of the Whumperless Whump Event

—————

Shawn never got the hype around energy drinks. The caffiene people always said would get them going never lifted him up. It just kind of sat there. And they always tasted… off. Somehow it would manage to taste sugary yet bland at the same time, no matter the flavor.

That is, until he tried the Aussie Lemonade Monster.

He didn’t know how, but it tasted just like lemonade from his childhood. It still had that slightly bland taste to it. But nothing could be perfect, right? Besides, it tasted pretty good.

After he finished the first one, he waited. He waited for about two and a half hours in the psych office with Gus. Nothing happened. So he cracked open the second one he’d bought — the one he’d originally been saving for the next day if it didn’t taste horrible. He drank this one a little more slowly than the first.

He had drained the can of the last drop as he walked into his apartment. He crumbled the can in a fist as he opened the door, chucking it into the overflowing garbage can.

And still nothing had happened… yet…

It was during the middle of a level of Mario Bros that he started feeling off. As in, the world felt just a bit too floaty. His whole body was shaky, and he could feel his face going pale, lips tingling in the way they did when he felt nauseated.

Shawn stood up, and the world bent slightly to the left. This did not feel good, oh he did not like this. He grabbed hold of the nearest solid object — his bed — and steadied himself. Blood roared in his ears as he leaned forward, holding his head in his hands.

As soon as it died down enough, he stumbling over to the kitchen. ‘My iron level is just low, I just need something to eat.’ It made sense, in his head. The first time this had happened, he’d been in high school and forgotten to eat anything all day. The nurse had told him eating some cheese would be the best idea for him at the moment.

Even though right now the mere idea of putting food in his mouth made him want to gag.

He grabbed a bag of shredded cheese from his fridge, and sprinkled a handful of it in his mouth. His vision slowly went back to normal, but the feeling of cotton being stuffed in his ears wasn’t going away.

At this point Shawn wasn’t even thinking clearly. He was just going by some kind of made up routine, and currently that routine was telling him to go take a shower and head to bed.

It was a great idea. In fact, every idea he had seemed like a great idea. Now, if only his body would just stop weighing a thousand pounds. It was making it very difficult to walk.

Numbly, he turned on the shower and began to strip.

‘Oh hey wait. Maybe cold water will make me feel better. It’ll like, shock me back to normal. Yeah, yeah that sounds right.’

He stepped in, the frigid water making his already shaky body shudder harder. But the cottony feeling in his head never left, only being joined by the sound of what he assumed was what a dog whistle would sound like.

And then the worst happened.

Shawn felt the world spin under his feet, as if he’d been placed on a record player. And soon enough, he began to feel himself getting metaphorically closer and closer to the tone arm. His body swayed, threatening to topple over.

There was no way — no way — he was passing out in his shower, not tonight.

Of course, that’s what he proceeded to do.

Shawn’s vision clouded over in darkness, and all his strength left him. Desperately, his arm reached to grab something, anything. His hands were met with air.

Somehow, luck was on his side (for once tonight). As he fell, he missed the sink by a hair. Literally. He felt the porcelain brush by on his way down.

Instead, he crumpled onto the ground in a heap, softening the blow somewhat by landing on his hands and rolling onto his shoulders.

Unfortunately, he managed to twist his wrist in a strange way, a wet snap permeating the air.

If he could, he would’ve screamed. But he only managed to muster up enough energy to let out a weak groan. The black faded somewhat, replaced by the laundry basket and toilet that spun around erratically.

So Shawn lay there, halfway inside the shower and halfway on the cold tile floor, waiting for the room to stop spinning. Eventually, it did, and he sat up.

He dried himself off one handed, his probably-broken wrist throbbing. Still being careful of his hand, he put his clothes back on. He grabbed the phone, and dialed Gus’ number.

Shawn tried acting casual, but his voice came out a little slurred. “Heyyy, Gus! Buddy! So listen, funny story. Remember those Monsters I got earlier?…”

—————

Notes: I’m not as proud of this one as the other ones, but i couldn’t think of anything else to write for this prompt.

Also: yes, this all happened to me (like, 2 years ago while I was still in high school). Yes, I was fine. No, I did not break my wrist like Shawn did.

ao3 link

[hwaightme]

The Chemistry of Christmas

❄️ pairing: hongjoong x fem!reader (+implied woosan) ❄️ genre: fluff, christmas, opposites attract, mutual pining ❄️ summary: How could two people with such different views hope for the same thing? You, a logical and ambitious professional hiding a torrent of emotion within just to pave your future. Kim Hongjoong, your kindhearted and gentle friend and co-worker, who wants nothing more than to live in the moment. In this battle against time counting down to Christmas, will you be able to find your forever and make your wish come true? ❄️ wordcount: 10.6k ❄️ warnings/tags: language, explicit mention of alcohol, some get drunk, suggestive (very much so at times so minors please be mindful), ateez is a research group, christmas getaway, reader is ambitious and got that powerful energy, shy hongjoong, opposites attract, tension, back and forth, woo tormenting hwa like no tomorrow, hj and reader are nanoscientists, a bit of a work au, lmk if anything else ❄️ a/n: hello everyone! I'd like to wish you all a very merry Christmas and thank you from the bottom of my heart for the love and support you give. I am wishing for this celebration to bring you joy and adoration! I hope you enjoy this piece, and stay tuned for more to come! Reblogs, likes and follows always welcome <3

Magic in the air.

As though by a mysterious force, the city transformed in unison to a festive wonderland, much to the delight of its dwellers and visitors alike.

From the gorgeous trees to the intricate storefront decorations, to the aroma of sugar and spice travelling in the air from the cosy markets, the season was truly the one that kept on giving.

If that was not enough this year took things up a notch, with impressive snowfall for the majority of December. The quaint suburban neighbourhoods had come to look like miniatures from beloved fairy tale stories, while the high streets and city centre had taken on an astonishing glow. The temperatures kept on dropping, while the hearts of those around kept on getting warmer.

For you, Christmastime was most probably the best time of the year. You adored wishing merriness to the assistants at your favourite shops. Walking past the myriad of houses with wreaths, spotting Christmas trees glowing within and seeing people simply living in the miracle put a pep in your step. The exclusive beverages that were released just this time of year instantly were on your list to try, and never failed to cheer you up, ready for the day ahead.

And that was the secret behind how you came into work, beaming, in the depths of the ‘gloomy winter’, cheeks and nose flushed from the biting cold. The institute, where you were proud to be a fulltime researcher in the nanoscience department, could not escape from the cheer either and as you traversed the many corridors of your second home, the offices and laboratories bore hints of the season, be it in a stray bauble or bell on a door handle, or a bow pinned to a wall.

As you turned the corner, you did your research group’s usual routine of saluting the skeleton you permanently borrowed from the medicine department, now dressed up as Santa Claus. You were careful to not spill the tray of hot drinks you had picked up on the way as you completed the gesture. Noticing a couple more holiday cards set down on the floor under it, you hummed in approval. This was what academia was all about, folks. Slow and steady, you swiped your card on the scanner right above your office’s handle and followed with a practiced push down and shouldering of the door. This space was shared between you, and eight other fantastic researchers – all of you recent graduates, brought together by

The office was fairly large albeit bland, with space for nine desks – all in threes, with one to the far left against the wall, and two rows facing each other in the centre of the room. Each sported an ancient monitor and computer that were left unchanged because they still worked and were the only system that could be trusted with running the expensive and time-consuming simulations.  A dramatic irony for any budding scientists-to-be who were all about innovation and equated research to being on a spaceship straight out of a science fiction movie. To the right was the ‘recreation station’ – a line of furniture collected from yard sales and second-hand shops, namely a duo of flimsy terrace chairs under the far window, a couch that had to undergo extensive treatment to get the stench of cigarettes out of it, and one of the better investments: a movable cupboard that housed kitchen paraphernalia and a microwave.

This was where you set down the tray, out of fear that if you were to tempt fate any longer, you were going to bring less than welcome floor decorations to the shared space. Besides, you did not want to be scolded by the resident cleanroom aesthetics activist, who was already giving you concerned glances from across the room. It was still surprisingly empty, given the time. You glanced at the clock on the wall, barely making out a 8:30AM on the dot behind the snowman face that someone taped on. You sure knew how to time your commutes down to a t. Right, time to get started.

“Good morning how is everyone doing?” you called out to the four men who had already arrived and were sleepily checking through their emails.

The chorus of greetings and friendly waves as they got out of what was a near trance was enough to remind you why you were grateful to be working here. Even on days when all of you were busy, or when life was continuously throwing stress tests, all you had to do was call out, and they would be there.

The youngest of the crew, Jongho, was quick to get up and saunter over to you. He looked expectantly at the drinks, while you took off your hat and ruffled your hair.

“Good morn’, Y/N, I see you are starting off early with the celebrations huh?”

“Never too early to pre-game, man, never too early. Here is your americano, by the way.” You turned to pick out the coffee, still piping, and passed it over to your colleague.

“Life saver, thanks.”

You watched in awe as he took a sip with a completely straight face, your own mouth feeling the ghosts of a burn. Fighting the shudder that was about to run down your body, you decided to unpack the carrier tray fully, and leave the rest of the drinks at their respective target desks. While doing so, two of your other close colleagues, Seonghwa and Yunho, approached you, pretending as though they were not about to snatch their beverages and run into hiding. You raised an eyebrow as Yunho did a little crab-like sidestep around you, having spotted his requested latte and wanting to reach for it.

“Go ahead, be my guest.”

“Thanks, and guess what, the Christmas crackers that had been delayed have arrived this morning!” he fist pumped the air as you thanked him for agreeing to sacrifice his apartment for any extra deliveries.

Once more, you turned to Seonghwa, who gave you an appreciative grin once you informed him that he was to receive a hot chocolate. Afterwards, you were quick to position the drinks on the respective four desks closest to you, saving your order and that of the man who was now standing before you, for last.

“Good morning, Y/N, thank you so much for this. Exactly what I needed.” He expressed, his musical voice washing over you.

“Good morning, Hongjoong.” You could not help but drop your voice into a half-whisper, unable to retain the previously more friendly and confident composure upon seeing his glinting eyes. Gazing at you as though, in that moment, you were the only one to exist in this space.

He pointed at the coat that you were yet to take off, inquiring “need help with that?”. You happily obliged.

He had to be the closest thing there was to an embodiment of benevolence. Ever since you had met him in your second year of university, him being your senior and assistant in one of your classes, you noticed just how natural it was for him to connect with others, make them feel seen, understood, and appreciated. He was the type of man to sacrifice time even for the smallest of troubles, and you had seen him staying late again, and again, to help your peers with their work, their projects, and on the odd occasion, life troubles.

You had been amazed his having never treated the evident exploitation in an outwardly aggressive manner, instead independently choosing to sit and answer question after question, treating them all equally and repeating himself without a single inkling of doubt that he was merely doing his job. Initially you decided that this was not for you to inquire into, Hongjoong being fully capable of figuring things out for himself as a hardworking and high-achieving student. But that decision had not lasted even an hour, as in the class you had discovered obvious signs of fatigue. When you had heard your peer question him about his personal life and he fell into an awkward silence, you took it as a green light to steal him away, practically dragging him out of the door and wildly tapping in numbers on the coffee machine. Coincidentally, it was also winter then.

Since that exact moment, you and Hongjoong had become partners in crime. You would never admit it out loud, but he had been at the forefront of your mind when choosing what you were going to do with your life after university, even though you had told yourself time and time again that there was no chance, and that you should reduce your feelings to the nanoparticles that you studied.

As much as Hongjoong was there for you, his altruism and innate ability to bring people together, to lead, had unintentionally put some distance between you. Not that he could notice. He was oblivious to how you yearned for even a minute more of his time. He was likely unaware of how he was making you feel as he helped you take off your coat, hanging it on the rack with indescribable gentleness. How you melted like a snowman in the sunlight at his small gestures, how he took great care to let you walk to your workspace first and followed you with the early morning brews. If you had to describe what he was to you, to put it simply, he was your Christmas.

In a way, he was the opposite of you. You were that loud, heart on your sleeve type, bouncing off the walls if the energy in the room was right and sinking into the darkest brooding if you were to sense it. For the most part, you had figured out how to convert this energy into high octane work fuel, and no matter if you were going up or down on the roller coaster that was life, you found a way to use it. Be it by burning the midnight oil and letting cortisol guide you writing your thesis (which you had scolded Hongjoong for before, but he had graduated by the time the honour was bestowed upon you, so he did not have to know), or by repeating that everything was going to turn out okay like a mantra. You laboured away at bending the natural twists and turns of the ride, which was so unlike Hongjoong, that you could not help but be drawn to him and his inimitable openness.

You were one to feel hard and deeply, no matter how hard you tried to supress it. And this was both a curse and a blessing. To your advantage, you could enjoy the small moments, like you and four of the eight wonderful people who you had the honour of calling your friends after some time working together, sitting in the quietude of a cosy office that acted as your base of operations. Much to your disadvantage, you were very acute to Hongjoong’s presence immediately to your right, as he pushed his seated form closer to you. The rolling chairs hit one another with a soft thud as he leaned further forward to position his elbow securely on the desk and rest his head on the palm of his hand.

“Are you looking forward to the party tonight?” for a split second his voice sounded almost desperate, as though he was searching for something, or seeking confirmation. Any worry that you might have caught on his features quickly dispelled, however, as you mirrored his position and responded, studying him.

“Of course, I am. Getting to celebrate my favourite season with my favourite people, what more could I ask for?” you were not going to mention that you were looking forward to seeing Hongjoong sporting an ugly Christmas sweater, as commanded by the mutually agreed dress code, though you had no doubt that he would be able to pull anything off. On Halloween he managed to make a Despicable Me minion-inspired costume look a bit too good.

“Probably for your secret Santa to have actually taken their job seriously this year around, unlike-”

“Hey, Mingi was… considerate.” You interjected but failed to make a strong point as you recalled the hilarious combination of a nachos packet and a box of tissues, wrapped in paper that insinuated it was suddenly your birthday.

Whilst Hongjoong had been mortified, and Mingi was stock still, ears burning, the rest of the group had a blast breaking down into a laughing fit that had returned many times over the evening. This selection had obviously been made just after an event three days before the exchange, when you had knocked into Hongjoong full force, making him spill distilled water over much of your top.  

“If you say so, but I bet this year is going to be much more exciting,” he winked. Luckily, he did not spot you stiffen at the action, as he was momentarily distracted by a notification, alerting him of a meeting he had to attend soon.

“Do you know who my secret Santa is, by any chance?” you tried, fluttering your eyelashes in a playful manner. He hummed, and lightly shook his head in disapproval, though his lips were curling into an adorable smile.

“Ah, I cannot neither confirm nor deny that, besides why would I ruin the anticipation? Patience is a virtue, etcetera, etcetera.”

“Says the guy who literally tried to speed run the preparation of a colloidal solution.” Seonghwa chided, looking over from his seat at the two of you, causing Hongjoong to make a sharp turn in his chair and argue that ‘it was an experiment and that he wanted to see what would happen just once’.

This was the never-ending debate of your office, so intrinsic to its function that you all ended up agreeing to set aside parts of the official group budget and of any new funding for something you had deemed ‘chaos expenses’ or, as once kindly called by Yeosang when someone had tampered with the electron microscope, ‘dipshit insurance’. You laughed at the exchange between the oldest members of your group, an unbeknownst to you, sent a shimmering light into your brunette deskmate’s chest.

He would do anything to hear your melodic laugh, or to watch your features soften as you let go of any stress that had plagued you. Thus, he had taken great pains to work behind the scenes for you, be it intercepting some unnecessary paperwork or figuring out laboratory access times for the entire team so that you could have your favourite slots. Sure, these were acts that benefitted everyone, but only your ‘thank you Joongie’ remained with him. The first thing he had taken note about you was just how valuable time was for you. How you spent it, where you spent it, with whom. So, he did the best he could to try to give you time that, as of late, had become his worst enemy.

In a way, you were the opposite of him. Whilst Hongjoong was one to strive for attempting every single thing in the book that was to do with whatever his passion was at a given point in time, you were one to be highly selective and strategic in your decision-making. As soon as he had spotted you in that one class for which he tutored, you gave off the impression of someone who already had everything figured out, or at least carried themselves very well, head held high and prepared to fight for what you wanted.

On the days when he doubted himself, Hongjoong would refer to himself as a jack of all trades, but master of none. The jack who never quite got why you had asked for his help in tutoring you anyways, but oh how grateful he was. You had appeared beside him, a saving grace, when he was about to collapse after over twenty-four hours of no sleep, vision blurry, struggling to process a single phrase. He could put up a powerful front, sure, and when he had presented his research at conferences, or was a representative of the university, and then the institute at various exhibitions and open days he was commended for his eloquence and ability to draw a crowd in. But that was what it was – a front. As soon as he was back to his and Seonghwa’s shared apartment, he wanted nothing more than to curl up and enjoy a steaming cup of coffee and let his mind wander. Reassess his work, seek unique paths to innovation, imagine what discoveries lied out there, waiting for him. To him, ironically, science was an art.

In his eyes, you were what should be under the word ‘scientist’ or ‘researcher’ in the dictionary. Every bit a logistician, you were the goal setter, the ambitious future leader. Leaving the experimental work to your collaborators, you were one to seek rationality and clear-cut formulas, to describe phenomena once and for all. You were driven to find truth in mystery, and positioned yourself as someone who was patient, strong-willed and would not veer off a path you had your mind set on. He had observed that you were equally as selective with who you were to allow to be part of your closer social circle, and very clearly knew your likes and dislikes.

This was why Hongjoong was confident that his blooming feelings were one sided. It was a dreamer versus grounded realist situation, but the dreamer could not help but fall. And fall deep. If he had to describe you in the spirit of the season, you would be a winter night. Freshly fallen snow, illuminated by fairy lights strung on pines next to whimsical brick houses, from which peered the domesticated fashionistas, adorned by baubles and garlands. You were the silent night, calm and bright.

 When he had drawn your name out of the Santa hat that San was approaching everyone with a mere three weeks ago, dread filled him to the brim. It was the first time, since he had come to terms with his not so platonic feelings towards you, that he was being given the chance to give you something. And he was not going to let this slide as a silly tradition that was meant to be there for laughs and eventually, for the gift. No, he wanted something bigger, something that would be valuable to you, or at least make you reminisce.

After a bombardment of your respective inboxes by yet another email chain from one of the seniors, both of you settled down to get to work, pausing only to greet the late comers who had collectively groaned in discontent, comically lamenting the now lukewarm drinks. As you typed you took glances at Hongjoong out of the corner of your eye as he reviewed some notes he stored in a tattered manila folder, delicate ring-adorned hands flicking through the pages. It was easy to fall for the undivided attention he was capable of giving. It was especially easy for you, being someone who could not stop rushing, with a permanent tunnel vision. This was why you loved Christmas, and at this time of year, wanted to believe in miracles.

Hongjoong could sense your intermittent observation with his half-turned body and prayed you would not notice the light nervous tremor he was battling to hide. Albeit it was barely there, like snowflakes ending their dance on warm gloved hands, it was enough to envelop him and make him lose sense, anchoring only to your strong and sanguine being. As he began to gather his belongings and gave you and his friends a light wave to signify his departure to meet with his supervisor, his mind travelled to tonight.

During the year when the entire group had begun working together, and moved into the office, the door of which he had just propped open, by a shared initiative and the lack of desire to drift home to their families earlier than necessary, they had organised a new tradition for themselves. A break from the regular holiday routine in the form of a friendly get-together, with specially curated Christmas playlists, movies, mulled wine (perhaps a little bit too much mulled wine), and every other practice or interpretation that they could think of. So far, there had only been two such events, but not a single one of the large friend group could imagine celebrating in any other fashion.

This year, the festivities were bound to be different for Hongjoong. This year he was finally not foolish enough to deny that all of his wishes were dedicated to you, and that he wanted to be more than background music, more than someone on the side lines to you. Though you sat side by side, saw each other more often than the comfort of your own homes, this type of closeness was not enough for him. Hongjoong could imagine a barrier between you and him, a construction of whosever doing. He was sure you did not need him.

Much as you were sure he had never attributed anything aside from common courtesy and platonic affection to you.

Both you and Hongjoong, unbeknownst to one another, were wishing for the same thing this Christmas.

There was a major change of setting for the party from last year, when the nine of you had been crammed into the apartment that San and Wooyoung shared. By a stroke of pure luck, an uncle of Seonghwa’s had decided to travel abroad for the entire duration of the holidays, and upon hearing that his nephew was to be celebrating with what was presented to him as ‘highly professional company’, offered to give free reign of a cottage outside of the capital to the group. Under Seonghwa’s strict supervision, of course, but that went without mention.

After the clock had striked the mandatory early end to your workday, the group had scrambled to make it in time for the train, arriving at the station with only minutes to spare, and wading through swarms of travellers about to make similar journeys. The near miss had sent you reeling, but you bit back the string of curses and melted into bliss once you had taken in the shared optimistic mood of the crowd. Somehow, even the slow walkers with monstrous suitcases that were ready to burst did not phase you as you sank into your seat by the window.

You glossed over the platform and antique buildings that lined the tracks as the train departed. Previously polluted and unsightly, with soot caking the ventilators and any stone within immediate line of fire from the screeching train brakes, it was now laying under a blanket of glistening white, dormant until the winter chose to retire.

Hongjoong was equally mesmerised, peering over your form while unzipping his hefty bag to take out a camera. It was a vintage number, one he had stumbled across during a trip to an artisan market, and after tinkering with it for what had turned out to be a total of two months, selected it for this trip.

He was adamant, even being questioned repeatedly why he had an affinity for a camera that required film whilst he was working on nano electronics, that this camera was the best way to tell the story of the next couple of days the group was staying at the cottage. And he knew that you would be the first to understand.

As you pressed yourself into your seat to let Hongjoong snap a picture, took his concentration on the scenery behind the viewfinder as amble time to regard and commit the artist behind the camera to memory. How a stubborn lock of rich onyx locks hovered right over his soft brow, having made its escape out of the woolen hat he wore. How his glasses with a delicate golden frame suited his sculpted face perfectly, even tilted down to give way to the apparatus in his steady hands. He was one for keeping memories, snapshots to highlight the priceless instances that others plead for in times of need.

"Stay like that for a second." His dulcet tone took you out of your daze, and you shook your head in embarrassment, realising that he probably caught you ogling him.

"What?"

"Just do it for me, please?" He repeated himself, camera at the ready.

"Oh, come on, don't waste film."

"Who says waste? You'd be the best part." He whispered, unable to return your scrutiny and studying the leather detailing on the body of the camera.

"Cringe, but I'll let it slide." You finally uttered, laughing airily, and striking a pose.

Right when you were in motion, not a thought in mind except about the anticipation of the celebration ahead, Hongjoong snapped a segment of that joy, more satisfied than he let on.

Playful, you shifted in your seat and moved to place your hands over his. You were likely pushing it, but with the seasonal buzz fuelling you, your usual stoicism and preference to influence others with words only, could be stored. Despite the fact that you were of the opinion that you were not right for Hongjoong, and that you did not possess the delicate, nurturing aura he deserved, you were enticed by competition and challenge. Seeing him be friendly to others, going from meeting to meeting to appease even those who had much to learn from him, made you want to fight for his attention. You wanted him to be captivated by you, and you alone.

You took pleasure in his widening eyes and lips parting, as though in longing. It almost made you believe that he too, wanted something more than just the normal chatter about the superficial that you shared, and his avoidance of being in the same room for extended periods of time when it was just the two of you. As his orbs dashed from left to right, up and down, you scanned every part of his oh so irresistible face, and only shared with him a smirk to describe your intentions. In a blink you pried the prized possession out of his slackened grasp and in one swipe got the attached strap over his head. Simultaneously, all hints of the near sadistic taunting evaporated, and you were back to being an upbeat, jolly passenger on her way to indulge in festivities.

"Now you. Pose, Joongie!"

Your transition from an overwhelmingly intense stare down to now giggling and instructing him, singsong and almost childish, drove Hongjoong wild. It was as though under your outwardly collected and amiable demeanour there was a turbulent river, dangerously alluring and intoxicating. Much to his dismay, the moments you let this side of yourself shine through were few and far between, as rare as a blue moon.

It had not been the first time he had encountered this version of you, however. The first, one he did not need photographs of to burn into his retinas, was when he had completely forgotten about his promise to attend the institute-wide New Year's party last year, instead remaining in one of the laboratories, immersed in modelling the design of a nano robot that had been giving him much trouble.

When it was already approaching an hour before the monumental strike of midnight, you had appeared off to his side like a shadow, a lab coat loosely draped over your shoulders and, underneath it, revealing a breathtaking cerulean blue dress that highlighted all of your best features. He gulped. You were beautiful. So beautiful that it left him terrified.

Placing your manicured hands on his stiffened shoulders, you had purred in his ear, demanding he were to join you that instant at the party, adding that it was lonely without him, especially in a sea of tipsy researchers. He had not dared to even try saying anything in response, having become impossibly malleable putty under the challenging, unreadable once-over you gave him that he swore burned his skin.

And when during the party itself you had rapidly disappeared from his company, busying yourself with entertaining far too many of his colleagues for his liking, he came to the revelation that the one who he had considered to be his younger colleague, an ambitious professional who he had enjoyed working with and had a bond with all the way from his evolution through university, had control over his very being.

After that night, all he could envision when you approached him in the laboratories was that New Year’s. Hongjoong was afraid of just how much he yearned for your touch and for your command, directed at him, unintentionally sultry. So, he had made it a point to try use his friends as buffers between him and you, even though it was going against all that he wanted and needed and led to the others figuring out pretty quickly that he was not indifferent.

The first had been Seonghwa, who, admittedly, did well in maintaining his composure when Hongjoong grew undeniably shy around you, but then made the great mistake of mentioning the tension in the lab offhandedly to the resident chaos bringers. And once San and Wooyoung knew, everybody knew. Except you, because what would be the fun in that, right? A couple of times he had been threatened with being locked in a closet with you until he confessed, mainly by Jongho who sat on the other side of him in the office and was fed up with the dynamic that his recently single self did not want to deal with. Every time Hongjoong fought back with promises to confess later, and later, until now, nearing exactly a year since, he felt almost out of time. There was an urgency in his actions in the weeks approaching tonight, and your teasing wasn’t helping at all.

He swallowed his desire to close the space between you, and mimicked how you had posed for him, causing another chuckle. Soon enough, he too, was immortalised in that roll of film, your two photographs as mirror images of one another.

The rest of the journey outside the capital had passed as smoothly as it could, since you did not have to suffer the fate of being sat in front of or behind any of your rowdier friends, namely the discord duo and two of the tallest members of your group, who only needed a small catalyst to turn into hilarious menaces. They had occupied a four-seater with a table on the other side of the carriage and, after Yunho revealed a set of Cards Against Humanity that he had hidden in his mini suitcase, were now cackling uncontrollably at round after round. Eventually, Yeosang, who had previously been fully immersed in daydreaming with his noise-cancelling headphones on, decided to join them, and left the group dumbfounded at his beating San’s five-point lead.

Jongho was right behind you, typing without a minute’s pause on his laptop, and Seonghwa, who had occupied aisle seat behind Hongjoong, was in his own world, disconnected from the turmoil two metres away from him, probably zoning out to ASMR. The entire ride was dedicated to you and your seatmate, and after running out of things that you and him in your positively excited, but nervous states had deemed appropriate to discuss, agreed to share earphones and listen to some festive jams to set the mood. Soon enough, you were both quiet, with Mariah Carey’s hit taking on a slightly different meaning than last season.

“Wooyoung, please be careful and don’t fall down from the table. As much as I do enjoy cleaning I don’t want to clean a crime scene-” Seonghwa’s voice rang out across the house as preparations for the party were in full swing.

“I DO WHAT I WANT, MOM! And I am doing important work here, look at this beauty!” the younger retorted after putting finishing touches on the festive arrangement he decided to do on the living room chandelier, and hopping down from the piece of furniture, spiderman style.

You had to admit, it did not look terrible, though perhaps just a tad garish. At least he tried. You shrugged to yourself and turned back to place the final bauble on the Christmas tree that Jongho had been tasked to find and lug to the cottage as soon as you all had arrived.

The cottage was located on the outskirts of a small town, though even saying outskirts made the settlement appear much larger than it was in reality. It consisted of houses dotted around the wintery landscape and some clusters built up closer to the station and the high street - a single line dedicated to all forms of shopping and recreation now converted into a quaint Christmas market. The residents had not disappointed when it can to decoration either, with their porches and roofs made to look as though the walls were supposed to be made of gingerbread. When the group was making the trek to Seonghwa’s uncle’s vacant abode, you had also spotted a church a little further out, its gothic spires appearing to pierce the rapidly darkening sky and stained glass glowing from what had to be a myriad of candles within. This location looked to be a perfect holiday hallmark movie set.

As soon as you all dropped off your belongings in various rooms, with you being given the honour of having your own one, everyone got to work. The plan of operations, consisting of phases and checkpoints, was under administration of the two eldest, and yourself in the role of what Mingi had called ‘vibe control’, seeing as you were deemed the most festive of the lot considering how overjoyed you were to discover the utter beauty of the place where you were to stay the next few days. Phase one, which was performing a last minute venture to buy up drinks and food and, the crucial element - the tree, had been successful, and transitioned into Seonghwa and a snacking Yeosang cooking up a storm, Jongho and Yunho totally not trying to trip each other up into the deep snow while hanging decorations on the cottage’s façade, and the rest of you running around from room to room, leaving traces of glitter in random nooks and crannies as you tried to not totally ruin the otherwise tasteful interior design with festive visual noise.

For the most part, it ended up looking well put together, and you were proud of the Christmas tree that had been mostly your focus. Aside from the moment when Hongjoong approached you, beaming, a cardboard box in his hands.

“Is this a bomb?”

“Yes, totally, as if Christmas hasn’t already exploded in this house.” He countered, stretching his arms further out to hand the box to you.

“Good point. Then what-” you stopped mid-sentence as you revealed a set of what looked to be homemade tree décor. Test tubes and miniature conical flasks corked up and containing liquids and suspensions of various vivid hues. The creator of the set had to have been skilled, as the corks had very neatly attached metal eyelets, to which the much-needed strings were tied. You hooked one out of the box with your finger and admired how the shade of the contents changed with the flashing lights you had wrapped around the tree.

“Where did you find this?”

“I made it.”

“WHAT?” you shrieked, instantly covering your mouth as you did not want anyone to join in on your conversation just yet. Thankfully, at the same time the front door was flung open and the duo who had been outside ambled in, arguing about something to do with phosphorescence versus fluorescence.

Hongjoong, cheerful, was more than pleased with your reaction. During one of the events hosted in early December by the department head, you had been impressed by an arrangement of clamps that were positioned in a tree-like formation, each one holding a colourful test tube. He had wanted to replicate that moment, that sensation, for you, and so spent a week sprawled on the floor of his bedroom, gluing things together and practically recreating Heisenberg’s lab in his kitchen to make the substances. He had striked exclusively under the cover of night, which had scared Seonghwa out of his wits when he was awoken by the rumble of the kitchen extractor fan and strolled in to discover Hongjoong fully decked out in a face mask, goggles, silicon gloves, and pyjamas with teddy bears on them.

“You are going to take a photo of this beauty after we are done right?” You were ready to give him countless pecks on his cheeks with how adorable he looked blushing.

“Sure.”

“Let’s make this a chemis-tree then. Help?” You passed the test tube you were holding to him and set the box down carefully on the ground between you. In comfortable silence, you two moved around the tree, occasionally handing items across, in a tranquil symbiosis.

Hongjoong savoured the moments you accidentally brushed your hands with his, and inadvertently took in the light scent of your perfume as you snaked around him to re-hang a bauble in the shape of an angel. He wouldn’t be able to guess what brand it was even if he tried, but what he was sure of was just how well it suited you. With white floral top notes giving way to something much deeper and darker, it was your daring magnetism in a bottle. A stark contrast to the sweater you were wearing – a red, grey, and white combination with a design depicting reindeers dashing through the snow, with some hearts and trees dotted around along with ornate bands at the cuffs, base, and collar. You truly embodied a variety of contrasts, an enigma that drew him in.

You hovered for a moment, deep in thought as you spun the angel with your fingers, letting a sigh escape you as you hung it on a not yet overloaded part of the tree.

“What’s up?” Hongjoong was curious, seeing that the little toy had evoked a new emotion in you.

“Just remembered how when I was a kid, I loved to make snow angels. Like, really loved it. Did not care how deep the snow was, just let me lie in it and I was happy.” You recounted fondly while Hongjoong turned his shoulders to completely face you. Standing closer than friends should be.

“Let’s do it, then.” He was feeling courageous, wanting to repay you for your flirtations on the train ride to the cottage. You laughed, lightly tapping his shoulder.

“I think I am too old to do that sober now, need a bit more Dutch courage to go hop in a snowdrift.”

“I’ll make sure to give you a big mug of mulled wine then, angel.” He informed; his expression rather coy. You liked this kind of Hongjoong. Not wanting to drop the tension, you took the tiniest step forward, and murmured, low and slow:

“You go down with me, darling.”

Before Hongjoong could respond to your concealed provocation, a yell from an incredibly vexed Seonghwa near deafened you.

“WHO THE FUCK TURNED ELF ON THE SHELF INTO A STRIPPER? I SWEAR WOO IF IT WAS YOU, I WILL REARRANGE YOU LIKE A LEGO SET-”

“YOU’LL NEVER CATCH ME ALIVE!”

Now that sounded about right for a domestic, festive scene. You and Hongjoong immediately began to search for the exhibit, finding it at the top of the stairs, where an innocent elf was made to be wrapped around one of the railings in a suggestive pose, and when a flash of bright red hair zoomed past you with an ashen blonde ball of anger following right behind, you guffawed, not stopping until your ribs began to hurt.

Poor Seonghwa had yet to find the other elves that were set out in unconventional poses and hidden in random places around the house. You personally had spotted one inside the bathroom cabinet and decided to let it be. Out of sight out of mind. An act commended by San who was tiptoeing out of one of the bedrooms, three more elves dangling from his clenched fist. He had simply given you a nod and placed his free index finger to his lips, which you did too in response, tapping a couple of times to show solidarity.

After the wave of life-or-death tag, and the gathering of the entire group in the living room, with Mingi having finally come down after napping through the majority of the prep, you breezed through setting the table, arranging Secret Santa gifts under the tree by transferring them from a grocery store bag that had been hanging on the office door for a week to avoid anyone having any clues, and then, finally, getting to sit down, take a deep breath, and simply enjoy.

Every bit of this was incredible. The food, the company, heck, even the stripper elf that Seonghwa ended up not having the heart to take down because ‘he did not want to be a Scrooge’. It was obvious that with every passing hour, the buzz was getting to you all, as the chatter was getting louder and louder, the jokes more and more ridiculous, and the questions more and more personal.

You were amidst an animated conversation with Yeosang about wanting to try snowboarding sometime and planning an imaginary trip to some mountain range far away when you were suddenly called for by Wooyoung, who was sitting at the far end of the table from you.

“Hey, Y/N,” he slurred a little, having been ‘taste-testing’ the spiced brew since before dinner, “are you dating anyone?” Yeosang grimaced, mouthing a ‘good luck’ to you, knowing that once Wooyoung entered his relationship talk state, he was near unstoppable unless some extreme topic change was made.

“Bro your boyfriend is sitting right next to you, and no thank you I don’t want a threesome.” You quipped, inducing a ripple of chuckles across the group. But Wooyoung would not let up, even though San was repeatedly nudging him under the table.

“Nooo… you know what I mean. Just generally. Like, do you have a designated mistletoe partner?” you did not like where this was going. Not one bit. Hongjoong, who was sitting on the other side of the table, right in front of you, visibly tensed, alarm bells ringing in his head.

“Uh, not at the moment.” You could not exactly lie, nor did you want to, seeing as the person you would not mind taking that role was right there, and for some reason looked oddly fearful.

“Great!” He exclaimed, and in a matter of seconds was standing on his chair, bending over the entire table, holding a mistletoe branch… over the table and not so discreetly changing its angle from you to Hongjoong, and back again.

You locked gazes. Panic rose in your throat. You did not enjoy this feeling; control being taken away from you, your friend toppling you over and shining a spotlight on you. And now a metaphorical knife was being wedged into your heart from having to witness what you perceived to be as total unwillingness in Hongjoong’s every fibre. Did you want this? Yes. Like this? Hell no.

Seconds passed like hours of torture, and each sound seemed to have amplified thousand-fold in volume. Lost, you were unable to decide your next course of action. Logic, your go-to for any situation, had failed. Emotions were a wreck. Oh, how you wanted this to stop. Anything you had hoped for until this moment shattered before you, scattering agonising pieces in all directions.

Was this his chance? It must be. Had he been sitting next to you, the space would have been no more in an instant. But the separation, once again that damn barrier, now also in physical form was preventing him from following through with what he wanted to express. This did not mean that he did not think Wooyoung had pulled a dick move, especially towards you, but Hongjoong had imagined what it would be like kissing you under the mistletoe. Wishful thinking, it seemed. All he could read across the table was discontent, and the recoil unlike that of a cat’s. He was running out of the time that he had wanted to give you.

Before either of you could do anything, Wooyoung gave out a yelp and almost toppled onto the remnants of dinner, saved only by a very quick to react San, who wrapped his arms around the slipping legs and weighed them down. Everyone was quick to turn their heads to the culprit – Jongho who was sitting unperturbed, arms crossed over his chest. Yeosang had been the saving grace, whispering for the youngest to figure something out in ‘Jongho style’. So, taking one of the apples from the fruit bowl, he took aim and hurled it with all his might where the sun did not shine.

“My bad bro, I hit the wrong head.”

Wooyoung was doubled over, and the mistletoe was lying all but forgotten among the randomly arranged side dishes. Seonghwa was failing to stifle a satisfied laugh, while Mingi was quite literally gasping for air, hiding his face in the tablecloth as Yunho was rubbing his back, a grin on his face. You let out a breath you did not know you were holding, and you absent-mindedly picked at your sweater.

“Right!” Hongjoong clapped to get everybody’s attention, wishing for nothing more than to move on from this ordeal. “How about before we get too drunk, we do the gift exchange, yeah? And DJ-Mingi, blast the tunes a little louder, it’s Christmas after all.” He pointed at the taller male, who was currently wiping tears from his eyes, still breathing heavy from the fit of giggles.

“Aye aye, captain!” he saluted and in a couple of strides was at the Bluetooth speakers, which now began blasting Rockin’ Around the Christmas Tree.

As everyone got up and headed to the huge u-shaped sofa, something stopped you. Mystified, you noticed that the mistletoe branch was gone.

The incident was brushed over soon enough, and the group was now losing their minds over each other’s gifts. This year, there was a very interesting mix of both humour gifts and genuinely meaningful statements, but that was to be expected from a Secret Santa where one of the rules was to ‘go ham’.

Yeosang wiped his forehead in mock relief as he was safe from torment: he received a giftcard to his favourite fried chicken delivery place and a t-shape tool for his skateboard – an ode to his most popular complaint being that the wheels did not feel right, or he swore he had to replace something. Yunho wasn’t quite so lucky, on the other hand, having received a tub of Vaseline with a printed note taped onto it that read ‘for the times that your supervisor fucks you over’ – it was a known fact that his supervisor, an elderly and angry man in his sixties, was notoriously hard to impress, and at this point probably made Yunho lose too many nerve cells.

You were Seonghwa’s Santa this year and tried your best not to show your delight at him basically bouncing on the sofa as he unwrapped the set of holiday-themed lint rollers that you had bought. Then, it was your turn and your friends followed your movements as you searched under the Christmas tree to pick out the gift with your name. Sitting back down on the couch, you spun it in your hands. The container was two centimetres thick and square in shape, leaving you perplexed as to what was behind the wrapping. You initially thought it could be an album by an artist you had been raving about recently but had to delete that from your mind considering it would be way over budget. You peeled away the washi tape that was holding the paper together to be met by a wooden box.

Turning it the right way around, you lifted the lid, and gasped. Inside was a necklace – a thin thread-like gold chain, and on it an intricate pendant – a tiny clock, its hands frozen on eight thirty. You were overwhelmed, but from your lips rolled out one word of gratitude after another. You ignored a now tipsy Mingi booing and calling out that it was probably over budget. Maybe you would have agreed seeing as that was technically a rule but shit, you were over the moon. You flipped the pendant around and spotted a message engraved into the back, so small that it was barely there – only for you to cherish and hold close to your heart.

Forever is composed of nows.

Emily Dickinson, you note. A poem you had quoted, time and time again. But not to just any audience. You look up, cautious. The gift unwrapping had moved on, with Jongho currently being the centre of attention, so you use the chance to seek out the one who you were sure was your Secret Santa. And sure enough, his attention was already on you. As you had wished so many times. Kim Hongjoong. Your Christmas.

He was praying that you would like the present. To the point of mumbling to himself and flittering his fingers over the throw on top of which he was seated. The idea had come to him when he had to stay late in the office, waiting for a response from his supervisor, who he had no idea had already left for the night. As minutes turned into an hour, and the only sound in the room was the ticking of the clock, with the outdoor noise having been absorbed by yet another snowfall, the pieces came together.

This quote encapsulated you both. On the one hand, you enjoyed it because the notion of ‘now’ being the way to shape the intangible future motivated you to remain organised, diligent, and focused on a specific path. On the other hand, he respected it for the interpretation that this forever had so many parts that it was crucial to not waste them on fixation and if they were to be captured, it was through the lenses of his beloved cameras. This collection of five words stuck a balance between Hongjoong and yourself, and explained that maybe, you were not quite so different after all.

The rest of the guys were tidying up the wrapping paper and some headed to the kitchen to carry the pot of mulled wine and the saucer, along with a champagne bottle Yeosang had produced out of the blue. You and Hongjoong let this particular ‘now’ continue for a little longer, knowing smiles on your faces, and the previous awkwardness over dinner erased. As you held onto the open box containing the invaluable message, you sauntered over to him.

“Thank you.”

He bit his lip as he lifted his head.

“May I?”

“Yes please.”

You turned and exposed your neck to him, moving your luscious hair to the side. Again, those black patchouli base notes that filled his head with only you. Hongjoong could finally pinpoint the rest of the bouquet, having recalled his housemate explaining the terminology after he had splurged on a luxury cologne and was trying to explain himself. He reached to take the necklace from the box, and not so accidentally caressed the sensitive skin as he clasped the lock. You explained that you wanted to see how it looked, so the two of you made a beeline for the full-length mirror at the entrance into the cottage.

You were inspecting the necklace in the mirror, still in shock at how it spoke volumes, nearing an inexplicable divinity. His body moving on its own accord, Hongjoong, who was standing behind you, gently placed his hands on your hips, and breath hot against your ear, complimented:

“I knew it would look brilliant on you.”

Your attention drifted back to Hongjoong, locking gazes with him through the mirror. He was all smiles, but for a split second you spotted something much more passionate. Intrigued, you wanted to test how far you could go before the man would snap. You were never one to back down from a game like this.

“Thank you, though I don’t think these clothes do it justice.”

“Hm?” you felt his grip tighten just a little, as his eyes shifted to your necklace once more.

“You know, maybe without them it would look even better, don’t you think?”

And there it was. The darkness only you could lure out from deep within him. A distant howl turned into a thunder, rolling across his body in waves. A man ready to do anything to drown in the turbulent river that had tantalised him for so long. A man lost in the silent night, at the beck and call of your voice that haunted him wherever he went. Hongjoong let out a shaky breath, his chest almost flush against your back as he held his head over your shoulder, level and mirroring yours.

“Do you know what you do to me?”

You smirked. He was still so heedful of you, navigating your ever-changing maze ever so slowly. But now, unlike before, you had a guarantee that the Hongjoong you had deemed to be attentive to everyone was, in fact, at your feet. You could finally read how he behaved around you. The adorable shyness, the inability to be alone with you for too long… it all made sense. Cute, precious Hongjoong. It was probably not the best conclusion to come to, but you felt powerful. Until the young man suddenly gripped your waist and spun you around, pulling you towards him until his face was so close you could count his beautiful lashes, study the intricate patterns of his irises, clouded over with emotion he had never revealed before, enticing you. He pressed his forehead against yours, eyes half-lidded and lips wet with his saliva.

“I’ll repeat myself, angel. Do you know what you do to me?” the pet name that had stuck with him since when you had decorated the Christmas tree slipped out, making you exhale sharply. You were enjoying this. Boy was getting braver.

You shifted the dynamic once more as you raised the hand that was not loosely holding the box and cupped Hongjoong’s chin, feeling him gulp at your boldness. You pulled away from him slightly, but only to observe as you traced his bottom lip with your thumb. It was so easy to make him melt once, after all these years, you appeared to have figured out the chemistry of Hongjoong. He shuddered under your touch, one hand drifting down back to your hip, attempting to press you against him, which you deny with a teasing poke of the box square in his chest.

“I can make an educated guess, darling.” Two could play the game as you enunciated the words so that each one fuelled his desire. Your index finger trailed under his chin, terminating the sensation with an instantaneous flick.

He groaned, desperate to end this push and pull once and for all, when you completely freed yourself while his mind was still enchanted. You had heard the others, still in the living room, getting louder, with someone loudly asking where you went. As if nothing at all had happened, you gave Hongjoong a lopsided grin and pointed at the doorway, informing him that everyone was waiting. Like hell they were, probably took notice of the absence at random and would have forgotten it then and there. As you ambled away, he bent over, stretching to try easing the unbearable tension under which he had been, thanks to you. Once more, he looked in the mirror, running a hand through his hair a couple of times, and yet the only thing he could see was your reflection.

Much of the rest of the night was dedicated to letting completely loose. Just like that night last year, you were purposefully oblivious to him tracking your every move. Paid no mind to just how attractive you looked, dancing to the pulsating beat of a song by The Weeknd that someone decided to put on. Evidently, champagne had started pouring. The night was turning into a blur for Hongjoong, as he struggled to process his actions. He had to plan something. And that something had to happen sooner rather than later.

He chose to slink away from the room right when now a very drunk San, Wooyoung and Seonghwa were recreating the infamous dance from Mean Girls to Jingle Bell Rock, laughter roaring in his ears and with his departure he finally managed to get you to turn and face him. He beckoned you to come to him with a wave of a hand, and turned to exit into the entrance.

When you followed and joined him, you found he was in the process of zipping up his winter jacket, having already tugged on all the woollen accessories.

“Where are you going? Stuff is wild in there.” You approached him to try and take his hat off, but he sidestepped towards the front door and silently motioned for you to dress up as well. Confused, but too interested to see the outcome of this bewildering proposal, you agreed.

When you signalled that you were ready by giving Hongjoong a double thumbs up, he grabbed the keys from a nearby counter and opened the door letting a chilly breeze hit you. You swore your mind was going through a thousand calculations a picosecond as you were trying to figure out the intentions of the man in front of you. This Christmas was definitely not like any other. As he walked further and further away from the cottage, until the lights emanating from the décor and from within did not hit the snow and you were hidden away from sight by a couple of evergreens, you repeated the quote that was now above your chest to yourself, letting go and trusting the man who was leading you into the landscape.

He stopped, waited until you caught up to him and were standing right next to him. And then, fell right on his back. You squealed in terror, assuming the worst. You peered at him, but were met with a very happy Hongjoong, who spread his limbs into a star shape, and began to wave them around. When you did not move, he stopped and shouted out, disappointment laced through his words.

“Y/N, didn’t you say you were a pro at making snow angels? Show me what you got.”

And just like that, you were also in the snow, giggling like the child you had been when you had done this last. Flailing around, kicking bits up in the air only for it to fall on you or him. You relished in the sensation, since it reminded you of something you had intentionally been repressing for the majority of your life – the ability to enjoy yourself freely, experience things that were not planned ahead and treating your existence as an ongoing work of art.

You were knocked out of your reveries with a snowball landing smack on your nose. You had not realised that Hongjoong had already gotten up and was aiming for another shot. It was on. You skillfully rolled away as he threw the winter weapon, picking up your own ammo as you did so. Once you were on your back again, the snowball was ready, and you got a clean headshot, having aimed for the sowed-on tag on his hat. As he was brushing snowflakes out of his eyes, you rose to your feet, hopping away and throwing two more roughly shaped ones. The game did not continue for long, though, because as you took some return hits you pounced on him, with the plan of attaining payback for the first snowball.

Both of you toppled on the ground and you laughed triumphantly, your body flat against his, nose to nose. While you were trying to push yourself up and get a grip on the ground to either side of Hongjoong, he pulled something out of the breast pocket of his winter jacket, raised it above the two of you, and pointed at it.

“Would you look at that? Guess we have to do something about it. Got any ideas?”

This man was unbelievable. That was one point on the endless list of why you were smitten.

“So that is where the mistletoe went!” you exclaimed, slowly leaning in.

“And this time I am not letting you go.” His promise sounding gruff, he pulled you in by the collar and finally, your lips collided.

The snow that had fallen from your clothing onto him rapidly melted as you sank deeper into the mutual craving. Starting slow, you got to know one another, keen to map out each sigh. You had fantasised about this for so long that it felt like you were in a feverish daydream. But nothing could compare to the real softness of his lush lips, the irresistible nips at yours and how he snaked under your coat and sweater, the coldness sending you into a frenzy.

As you repositioned yourself to gain more closeness, and as such grinded against him, you heard him hiss. He responded to your motion by pulling you closer and, his lips never leaving yours, tilting your head slightly to beg for entrance. You hummed in approval, mouth opening slightly to allow for his tongue to explore your further. Not letting him enjoy all the fun, you joined in the fight for dominance and savoured his addictive taste.

As you pulled away to catch your breath, Hongjoong looked completely at your mercy. Eyes still shut, panting, flushed and filled with want. He was beyond saving, left only as a vessel to be guided by you. There, illuminated by the moon and stars, you were ethereal. Your every angle and shapely curve was one he wanted to adore and worship. Your form, hovering above him, was nothing short of flawless. At the same time, within, you concealed a lethal sin, but one for which he would fall countless times, and willingly sacrifice himself for good. Your melodic laugh rang out over him.

“We are going to freeze out here-” You stated, unable to finish the thought as Hongjoong pulled you in again, growling against your lip and pushing himself against you. You sighed in pleasure as he dragged your scarf down to reveal your neck and planted rough kisses trailing from your jawline, stopping to claim you midway down. As you leaned over and peppered the side of his face with attention and nibbled his ear, sending a shiver through him, you stopped to purr:

“Though it seems you know a way to warm up.”

“You are a devil in disguise, Y/N.”

“Yours truly.”

“Mine?”

“And so are you.”

“Oh, come here.”

This was the kind of Christmas you were willing to enjoy every time of year. Together with the one who completed you in every way imaginable. From your ambition to his artistry, your tendency for timeliness to his tendency for timelessness.

Whilst you were opposites in some ways, you struck an unparalleled balance that made you stronger together. An enciphered, irreplicable chemistry that spelled ‘forever’.