#and the part that really bugs me about this is that i’m not allowed to ask them to relocate unless a patron has made a complaint to me

[gonzocoded]

if you bring your loud child to the library please FOR THE LOVE OF GOD take them to the youth department!!!! PLEASE I AM BEGGING YOU ON MY HANDS AND KNEES

[ellecdc]

I have been summoned by the Poly!Wolfstar notification!!!!

I’m always a goner for brother’s best friend trope and this time it’s best friends so literally double the fun ☺️ This is just so soft and adorable pls you’re spoiling us, queen!

Part 2 where they tell Jamie and he actually already knew? Cause the joke is always James can be oblivious most of the time, but they don’t know it doesn’t apply to his sister so he already knew, most likely even before she knew herself cause he’s a sweet brother like that.

*sigh* I want a big brother

Love you queen! 💕

hahaha awe you're so right babes. it's really funny because I have this request and then the exact opposite version of this request - so it will be fun to write the other one too! it'll take me a lot longer though, angst always does.

part one here - but can be read as a stand alone

poly!wolfstar x potter!reader - you & the boys tell James

“You’re going to wear a hole in the rug there, dolly.” Sirius drawled in faux nonchalance as the two of you waited in the boys’ dorm room for Remus to return with James.

You were going to do it. Today. You were going to tell your brother you were dating his two best friends.

No big deal, right?

Except it was a big deal and you were absolutely losing your bloody mind.

And then your boyfriend had the audacity to be sitting on his bed, leaning against the headboard, casually telling you to relax like he wasn’t also shaking in his boots Doc Marten’s. 

Remus had volunteered to be the one to retrieve James for the lot of you. Mostly because you would have likely broken down in a mental state if it had been you, and Sirius likely would have blurted it out on his way up the stairs.

The door clicked and you could hear the quiet mumbling of your boyfriend and the much louder mumbling of your brother as the two entered the room. Based on the smiles on their faces, particularly James’ who eyes crinkled in delight, they were talking about something funny.

“Oh! Hey bug.” James called to you, seeming surprised you were here but not perturbed. “Hey Pads; Moony said you guys wanted to talk?”

Remus stayed standing near the door and you paused in your nervous pacing whilst Sirius scooted to the end of his bed, elbows on his knees and feet resting on his school trunk.

James didn’t look at all disturbed or uncomfortable. In fact, he looked completely at ease, here in the room with three of his favourite people in the whole world. Remus, the person who he goes to when he needs to feel grounded. Sirius, his best friend and partner in crime. And you, his twin sister and other half.

What were you doing here?

Maybe this was a mistake. Maybe you shouldn’t tell him. This could ruin him; this had the potential to ruin three of James’ most precious relationships. How could you have been so selfish? He didn’t need to know, the least the three of you could do is keep this to yourself. Abort, abort, abort.

“So?” James asked, looking around at everyone with a raised eyebrow. “Are you finally going to tell me the three of you are dating?”

You were sure your heart stopped. Remus blew out an exasperated laugh and Sirius choked on air. 

“You knew!?” Sirius screeched.

James smirked and shrugged his shoulders. “Yeah?”

“How?” You whispered.

James’ face softened significantly when he took in your face that was drained of all colour. “Well, Pads here is about as subtle as an erumpent. Moony has been mooning over you since like third year. And I’d have to be blind – do not joke about my eyesight – not to notice the way you look at them.” He offered simply.

“So, you’ve known all this time and just let us tiptoe around?” Sirius asked, sounding a little miffed – at his friend for allowing him to make a fool of himself, or at his apparent lack of discrepancy, you weren’t sure.

“I figured you guys would tell me when you were ready.” James said simply again.

“Are you mad?” Remus asked quietly, pointedly looking at you ask he asked. He knew this was your biggest fear, the potential fallout. You weren’t sure what you’d do if James refused to accept your relationship with Remus and Sirius. You couldn’t bear the thought of breaking up their friend group; three people would lose if that was the case, but it would only hurt you if you were the one to step away. 

“No.” James said as he moved his head back and forth slightly. “I guess I was hurt you didn't tell me, but I could also understand why you didn’t. But no, I’m not mad.”

You blew out a breath at that, but it came out incredibly shaky. Unfortunately for you, no one in the room missed it.

“Awe bug. I’m sorry.” James said as he stood and offered his open arms to you. You took him up on his offer and accepted his hug, leaning your head onto his shoulder.

“I’m sorry, Jamie.”

“Don’t be, yeah? I’m happy for you, really.” He assured, rubbing roughly on your back. 

“Yeah?” You asked as you pulled back to look at him. You couldn’t see any contradictions on his face, only love.

“’Course. You’re the best, and I want the best for you.” He shook your shoulders a little, smiling like ‘did you seriously think otherwise?’

“Are they good to you?” He whispered, and though you knew your werewolf boyfriend and your canine animagus boyfriend could both likely hear the conversation, they allowed this moment to be yours and James’ alone.

“So good, Jamie. Promise.” You said, feeling tears prick at your eyes. 

“You’ll tell me if they’re not?”

You scoffed and rolled your eyes, but James wouldn’t let you pull away as you wont to do. “I wouldn’t involve you in it, James. They were your friends first; I’m not going to come between you.”

James’ brows furrowed a little as he seemed to ponder your words. “Perhaps...but you were my sister first. If anything, they’d be coming between us.”

You opted to smile at your brother and pinch his side like you knew he hated. “Never. That’s impossible.”

At that he finally let you go, returning your smile ten-fold. “That’s what I’ve been trying to say! So? Are we good?” He asked, turning to the rest of the room.

Remus had a proud and slightly emotional smile on his face while Sirius just stared between the two of you, eyes narrowed and eyebrows furrowed. 

“I’m sorry. What just happened?” He finally spat.

Remus groaned and rubbed a hand over his face. “Sirius, please. This went about as well as we could have hoped.”

James’ head popped up at that. “Oh! Sorry, did I make that too easy on you all?”

Sirius let out a scoff that sounded like “uhm, duh?”

“I could make it harder on you?” James offered.

“Please do.” Sirius said eagerly, causing you and Remus to groan in sync. 

James offered a quick ‘okay’ and cleared his throat, allowing silence to settle throughout the room as he picked up a stray book off his school trunk. 

Suddenly, he threw the book onto the ground, creating a booming thump. “MY SISTER!? ARE YOU KIDDING? YOU’RE DATING MY SISTER!?”

“JAMES PLEASE, JUST HEAR US OUT!” Sirius shouted back just as passionately. 

James scoffed in derision. “HEAR YOU OUT? HEAR YOU OUT. I THINK I’VE HEARD ENOUGH!”

“YOU CAN’T KEEP US APART!” 

“I CAN AND I WILL. HOW COULD YOU DO THIS TO ME!? I THOUGHT THIS FRIENDSHIP MEANT SOMETHING TO YOU.”

“IT MEANS EVERYTHING TO ME!” Sirius called back, dropping to his knees on the floor in front of James. 

You shared a look with Remus as the theatrics continued, knowing this could go on for hours.

“Should we leave them to their drama?” Remus asked you.

“Please.” You nearly begged, taking his hand and exiting the dorm, catching one last sentence before the door clicked shut behind you.

“I’M IN LOVE WITH HER, JAMES!”

“I DON’T CA- wait are you really? That's so cute!”

[be4chywritez]

sickness and health | quinn hughes

quinn hughes x fem!reader

quinn catches a stomach bug and you take care of him.

request: Pls do prompt 15 with Quinn!

prompt: "Don't touch me I'm sick.” “That's okay."

beachy’s masterlist🐚

part two

The gray light of a rainy afternoon filtered through the windows. The lake house was oddly quiet—Luke was staying with friends, and Jack was at his girlfriend’s place. The reason? The walking bacteria cell that was their brother.

You sighed, hearing Quinn gag for what felt like the hundredth time. You raced upstairs, grabbing a bucket that you and Quinn had splayed out around the house. As you entered Quinn’s room, you found him curled up in bed, looking utterly miserable.

“Hey,” you said softly, placing the bucket beside him. “How are you holding up?”

“Like death,” he muttered, pulling the blanket tighter around himself. “You shouldn’t be here. I don’t want you to get sick.”

You walked over and sat down beside him, ignoring his protests. “I don’t care, we agreed in sickness and in health,” you murmured, placing a kiss on his forehead.

Your brow furrowed. “Q, you’re burning up.” He sat up in bed, watching as you rushed into the bathroom. He could hear the water starting. He groaned slightly, his joints hurting as he padded to the restroom.

“What are you doing?” he asked, crossing his arms and leaning up against the door.

“Running you a bath,” you replied, checking the water temperature. “It’ll help with the fever.”

He sighed but didn’t protest further. Allowing himself to relax in the warm water seemed to soothe his aching body, and he leaned back with a contented sigh. You reached over to brush a strand of hair out of his face, and he caught your hand gently.

“Don’t touch me, I’m sick.”

“That’s okay,” you said softly, your eyes filled with concern. “I’m here to take care of you.” His eyes closed in content with your cool touch.

After his bath, you helped him back to bed, making sure he was comfortable before heading downstairs to start cleaning up. Just as you were getting into the groove of disinfecting everything, the door opened, and Luke and Jack walked in, wearing gloves and masks.

“You guys look like Martians,” you said, eyeing them.

“We’re here to help,” Luke said, looking around the place and taking in the dirty dishes in the sink. His UMich blanket was in a ball on the floor. He crouched down, taking a whiff of it, then groaned, holding it away from him.

“Yeah, you might want to put that down, Lukey.” He obliged, dropping the blanket back on the floor.

“This place is a war zone,” Jack muttered, wrinkling his nose.

Luke nodded in agreement. “Seriously, how are you not grossed out by this?” he asked, watching you pick up the blanket off the floor, folding it, and throwing it into a hamper.

You shrugged, smiling slightly. “I’ve got it under control. Quinn’s the one who needs the care right now.”

You heard a groan from upstairs, followed by Quinn regurgitating his lunch. Jack and Luke both groaned.

“Can you go get that bucket?” you asked, not looking up from the dishes. Both Luke and Jack pinched their noses.

“You were late,” Jack said, making Luke groan as he walked toward the bedroom.

Luke found Quinn, pale and exhausted, slumped against the bed. He steeled himself, trying not to gag as he picked up the vomit bucket.

Quinn managed a weak smile. “Thanks, Luke. I know it’s gross.”

Luke shook his head head, genuinely concerned. “Don’t worry about it. I just… I hope I find someone as amazing as y/n someday. She’s a beast for handling all this.”

Quinn’s eyes softened, a hint of a smile playing on his lips despite his discomfort. “Yeah, she really is. You’ll find someone, Luke. Just wait.”

Luke nodded, feeling a bit more at ease as he carefully carried the bucket out. “Get some rest, okay? We’ve got this.”

Quinn closed his eyes, the reassurance from his brother making him feel just a bit better. “Thanks, Luke.”

Back downstairs, you continued cleaning with ease, handling the buckets and cloths, making sure everything was spotless. Meanwhile, Luke and Jack worked with exaggerated caution, making sure to avoid any potential contamination.

Quinn had woken up feeling way better than he did a few hours ago, he padded downstairs both Luke and Jack jumping away from him.

“Hey Quinner, how you doing bud,” Jack asked from the other side of the kitchen. You rolled your eyes playfully.

“Much better, thanks,” Quinn replied, though he still looked a bit pale.

Luke glanced at Quinn, then back at you. “Y/n’s been great. I don’t know how she does it.”

“Yeah, she’s pretty incredible,” Quinn said, his voice filled with admiration.

Jack nodded, agreeing. “You’d be a mess without her.”

You smiled at their words, feeling a warmth spread through your chest. “Thanks, guys. But I couldn’t do it without you helping out too.”

Luke grinned. “Just don’t get too close to us until you’re sure you’re not sick.”

Quinn chuckled weakly. “You’re gonna come take care of her when she gets sick.”

You rolled your eyes playfully. “Alright, I think we’re done here. Y’all are free to go guys.”

Luke and Jack bid their goodbyes both of them not waiting another second to get out of the house.

Let’s go to bed, Quinn.”

As you laid down Quinn leaned on you slightly, his eyes drooping.

He was already half-asleep, but he opened his eyes when talking to you. “Hey,” he whispered. “Thanks for everything.”

“Of course,” you whispered back, brushing a hand through his hair. “In sickness and in health, right?”

He smiled weakly, his eyes filled with love. “Right.”

You leaned down and kissed his forehead gently. “Get some rest, Quinn. I’ll be right here if you need anything.”

He nodded, closing his eyes again as he drifted off to sleep. You watched him for a moment, feeling contentment.

You eventually closed your eyes letting Quinn’s steady breathing lull you to sleep.

[earlysunshines]

asap baby

kim minji x fem!reader ; fluff

synopsis: hanni and danielle spent months getting you and minji together only to find out you haven't kissed once

warnings: sixth member reader ; they makeout i GUESS muahaha very small tho very short ; if you have a sweet tooth you'll love this one I hope ; loser gf minji I fear (my type) ; not proofread

a/n: LOSER GF!!! muahahahaha also i wrote this in one sitting what

not many things make kim minji weak in the knees, she’s very good at keeping her composure. however, as soon as you were put into her life, all of that was thrown out the window.

you’ve been minji’s member for over a year. you’ve also been dating kim minji, the prettiest most gorgeous girl you’ve ever met for nearly two months now–all thanks to hanni and danielle, your other fellow members.

as happy as they were to get you two together, it was almost dreadful to witness the two of you together. it wasn’t necessarily awkward, but time alone with minji was limited, and you two were stupidly shy and giddy when the girls were around you. the two of you still act like how you did while you were crushing on each other – before the confession – and it’s not entertaining.

you’re much more outgoing and open about your feelings, however, but you’re willing to be patient for minj–even if that means her taking forever to initiate things and show you just how in love she is other than using acts of service and gift giving.

it isn’t until hanni and danielle bug you to death on your whole relationship, itching for more out of the two of you.

–

hanni and danielle sit in front of you, petrified.

“you’re telling me, the most you’ve done is held hands with her and kiss her on the cheek?” danielle gasps, her brows creasing.

you shake your head, blushing. “okay, well, i’ve kissed her hand and forehead too–”

“bro, you haven’t kissed her? you’ve been dating for like, almost two months are you fucking kidding me?”

putting up your hands in defense, you begin, “hey! she’s… shy… i think about kissing her and shit like that all the time but… i just… you know.”

“oh y/n, you haven’t even tried to initiate it? i know her, she definitely wants to kiss you too.”

“well,” you start, crossing your arms. “kissing isn’t the most important part of a relationship. she makes sure i’m healthy and we sleep in the same bed and i like her and care for her and–”

“well yeah you’re right but we didn’t spend five months listening and watching you two drool over each other just for you to end up together and act like an awkward couple in the 90s!”

“hey! we’re not! stop that!” you roll your eyes, then flop onto your bed from where you sit. picking up your phone, you gaze at the picture of your girlfriend on your screen. “i just– we kind of agreed to take it slow.”

“take it slow my ass man.” 

“well, everytime i’ve tried to initiate things more… you know, couple like… we always get interrupted! i mean i’ve tried to kiss her but i swear hyein and haerin have some superpower that lets them know when one of us tries to and they end up walking in and ugh!”

you weren’t lying, really. most attempts at trying to be affectionate and bolder were often interrupted.

after two weeks of going out with minji, spending nights together and cuddling as you talked about who knows what, you finally had the chance to be home alone. with everyone's schedules piled up, this rare moment of solitude was perfect.

minji had her arm around you as you both watched a movie, deciding to spend your last hour together curled up beside each other. your thumb gently grazed her hand repeatedly, making her smile and lean her head into you a bit more. it was calming, just being there beside her. the warmth of her presence was comforting, filling you with a sense of peace.

halfway into the movie, you turn to kiss her jawline. she tilts her head slightly, allowing you better access, her smile widening. the simple act feels intimate and precious, a quiet affirmation of the more romantic bond that took months of (mostly danielle and hanni’s) work to happen. 

her skin is warm and soft against your lips, sending a flutter through your chest. you savor the moment, wishing it could last forever.

“that tickles, you know.”

“mm, but you’re so cute.”

“you’re so corny,” she says, blushing. she looks at you more closely, tilting her head. “is that my t-shirt?”

“too early to do that?”

minji shakes her head. “nah, you look cute.”

her lips turn up in a smile, and you mirror her. “now look who’s corny.”

“oh, shut up, you’re literally blushing.”

“that’s only because the girl in front of me looks so good right now.” you gently push her glasses up so they sit on the crown of her head. the movie in the background dissolves into white noise, and minji’s breath hitches. your eyes dart down to her lips, making you subtly bite the inside of your own. “so good, kim minji.” 

she leans in closer, the warmth of her breath mingling with yours. the moment feels suspended in time, the anticipation building. you can see the sparkle in her eyes, feel the rapid beating of her heart through the closeness of your bodies. everything about her draws you in, making you smirk as your head tilts.

just as your lips are about to touch, you hear the door swing open and a pair of voices fill the air. you and minji quickly part, hearts racing. minji chokes on nothing, coughing as hyein walks into the living room and plops down on the couch between the two of you.

"hey, what's up?" hyein asks, oblivious to the moment she just interrupted. “what movie? no way you’re watching the mario movie without me!”

you exchange a quick, knowing glance with minji, both of you struggling to suppress smiles and calm your racing hearts. 

“sorry…” you mumble, turning to hyein and giving her an apologetic smile. “you’ve already watched this movie like three times!”

“still! i can’t believe you left me out…”

minji scoffs playfully, smiling at the two of you. she raises her brows at the youngest member. “you literally had a shoot, it’s not like we can facetime you in the middle of it.”

if that were even possible, hyein would’ve had to witness everything that had happened before. you and minji preferred things to be less… out there. besides, hyein didn’t even know the two of you were more than just members that had gotten super close. 

“hey, let’s watch it the next time we’re both free then!” you offer.

“yes for sure! anyway, i’m going to go change”

hyein walks off, leaving you and minji a space away from each other. minji stands up and puts her hand out, you grab it with a teasing smile. your girlfriend rolls her eyes at you and starts to lead you to the room you two share.

the two of you don’t really speak on the incident.

–

it takes a bit of time, a few weeks after the first incident to be exact, before you get the confidence to try again.

the rest of the members and your performance manager have gathered outside to recharge and grab water, leaving the two of you alone. minji sits next to you on the floor of the practice room against the mirror, both of you sweaty from practice.

minji is on her phone, her breath still a bit heavy from the past thirty minutes of repeating and repeating several moves until they were perfect. your eyes soften at the sight of her, knowing how hard-working and passionate she is about being an idol. she's been your main motivation ever since you both were trainees, and the way she caught your eye was also a factor.

you admire her dedication, the way she pours her heart into every dance move and every note she sings. the sweat on her forehead and the tired yet determined look in her eyes only make her more endearing to you. the room is quiet except for your breathing, the air thick with the lingering energy of your intense practice.

gathering your courage, you inch a little closer to her. your heart races, but the desire to share a tender moment with her pushes you forward. you reach out and push away some of the hair framing her face, which makes her turn over to look at you. her eyes smile before her lips do, making you fold.

“tired?” you ask.

“very.” minji admits, putting her phone down and giving you all of her attention. “you’re sweating a lot, you must be too?”

“it’s whatever.” you sigh, leaning against the mirror. you stare at your girlfriend, her eyes drill right back into yours before a smirk plays on her lips.

“you like what you see?”

“my sweaty girlfriend?” you chuckle and push her arm, then bite your lip not-so-subtly. “for sure.”

minji smiles, gums showing a bit. she places her hand on your knee, letting her fingers run up and down your skin. “you’re a tease.”

“kim minji, you look so kissable right now.” the words flow out of your mouth, pausing minji in her place. 

she clenches her jaw before scooting closer to you, her hand moving from your knee to your arm and under the short sleeve covering your bicep. her touch is warm, sending a shiver up your spine.

without saying a word, she leans in, her eyes locking onto yours. the moment hangs in the air, charged with anticipation. 

“yeah? what are you going to do about it l/n y/n?”

you scoff lightheartedly before leaning closer, time seems to slow down as you move your hand to caress her jawline softly. “wouldn’t you like to know.” you whisper just centimeters away from her lips.

both of your eyes close and just as you begin to close the distance, a group of girls bursts into the room. 

you and minji part suddenly, pushing each other away as your cheeks turn crimson. the interruption is jarring, and you can feel the heat rising to your face, matching the flush on minji’s cheeks. the lively chatter and laughter of the group fill the room, making it impossible to continue the moment. you exchange a quick, embarrassed glance with minji, both of you silently lamenting the lost opportunity.

haerin stares at the two of you on the floor as if a meteor had just landed between you, causing both of you to jump apart. there’s now three feet of awkward space between the two of you, and haerin simply tilts her head.

“minji, y/n, you didn’t get water?” haerin asks, her voice tinged with curiosity.

“not... um, thirsty,” you manage to say, feeling the heat of embarrassment still lingering. minji nods in agreement, her gaze darting away briefly.

haerin’s expression remains unreadable as she continues to observe the two of you, her silence adding to the awkwardness that hangs in the air.

your girlfriend jumps up with energy, clapping her hands and beaming, “alright! let’s continue!” which makes you chuckle. minji looks back at you and you mouth, good save, before sticking your tongue out at her.

–

“i told you we almost kissed! we just... every time i want to and we get close, it gets ruined.”

danielle frowns sympathetically, feeling bad after hearing your frustration. hanni shakes her head, then crosses her arms and nudges danielle closer to her.

“dude, just kiss her,” hanni sighs, then turns to danielle, who looks utterly confused. “like this.”

“woah, wait–”

hanni smiles mischievously at you, then fixes danielle with a serious gaze. “just put your hand on her shoulder like this—” she squeezes danielle's deltoid, making her gasp in surprise. “—then look her in the eye.” they lock eyes, and danielle can’t help but smirk at the absurdity of the situation, struggling to keep a straight face. you chuckle, thoroughly amused by their impromptu demonstration.

“then say whatever lovey-dovey shit and lean in, mmm~” hanni hums playfully, puckering her lips for effect.

danielle smirks back, leaning in slightly and catching hanni off guard. hanni jumps back dramatically, looking at danielle with mock horror as danielle bursts into laughter. you join in, unable to contain your amusement at the whole scene unfolding before you.

“oh, come on, hanni pham~ we have to give her a demonstration!”

“gross!” hanni sticks her tongue out at dani, who’s laughing louder now. “i didn’t think you’d actually play along!”

“don’t be shy!”

“i hate you.”

you smile at the two, rolling your eyes playfully before leaning back and hugging your pillow again.

the thought of minji, right before she’s about to kiss you, fills your mind with warmth. memories of those moments flash before you, making you smile. her lips look soft, and you've imagined how they would feel against yours countless times. they must be heaven, and you can't wait to experience it for real. you don’t want this to just be a daydream you have everyday anymore.

kissing minji is something special, something that has to be perfect. you want it to be a moment you both cherish, not hurried or awkward like hanni's demonstration. you want to approach her with tenderness and sincerity, making sure every detail is just right. it's a moment you've been waiting for, and you want to make it unforgettable for both of you.

“ugh, this is so frustrating.” you sigh, collapsing onto hanni’s thigh.”

danielle thinks to herself, then lights up. “wait, you’ve always been the one to start it, right?”

“i guess?”

“just find a way for minji to do it instead then.”

“and how will i do that?”

"just use your ways, i don't want to think about how i'd get minji to kiss me. that's gross…" hanni interjects, prompting you to push her head lightly.

"okay, minji is not gross, and she’s my lovely girlfriend that i want to kiss very much, thank you." you defend minji with a playful smile, while hanni pretends to gag, earning chuckles from you and danielle.

you start to ponder danielle’s suggestion seriously. how could you make a move on minji? she’s confident on camera when it comes to variety shows, livestreams, or anything of that sort, even playing along with fangirls’ comments. but she’s completely different when it comes to you, her girlfriend, and always reserved when it comes to initiating intimacy. she's comfortable with cuddles and the occasional kiss on the cheek, but you want more.

as you think about it, a plan starts to form in your mind. you recall how she responds to your touch, the way her eyes soften when you compliment her, and how she leans into your affection–but this is all behind closed doors

every nuance of minji's personality and her vulnerabilities flood your mind, and they all seem to revolve around your relationship. you muse over the idea of teasing her playfully to elicit a more spontaneous reaction—like kissing you.

as you think about the dynamics between you, a plan starts to take shape in your mind. 

–

the notification on your phone alerts you that minji is live, and since you're done with everything you need to do and nearby, you might as well surprise her.

you stare at the screen for a moment, admiring your girlfriend. she's wearing the leather jacket you bought her before you started dating, a white t-shirt underneath, a cap perched on her head, and the glasses that always make her look even cuter.

"ugh, you're going to be the death of me," you mutter quietly to yourself as you gaze at her image. gathering your courage, you knock on the door to the room she's in. you watch as she jumps in her seat, clearly startled by the sudden interruption.

"hello? who is it?" minji calls out, her voice tinged with curiosity. "hanni, is that you?"

you chuckle softly, turning off your phone and deciding to play along. slowly, you open the door just a crack, peering in with only the top half of your head visible. minji's eyes widen in surprise, and a bright smile instantly lights up her face, showing her gums and top teeth.

“y/n!” minji rolls her chair to the door and opens it fully, grabbing your hand as you step inside. “what are you doing here?”

“i got a notification from phoning and wanted to see you.” you grin, knowing her cheeks are warming up since the live is still going. “i have squid crackers.”

minji pulls a chair beside the two of you and pats it down so you can sit. “yum, let’s eat!”

“okay, okay.”

the live continues on with the two of you bickering over small things, arguing over vegetables and you trying to convince her that they won’t kill her. the comments roll quickly, something tells you that most of the live will be clipped and shared online, not that you mind.

nearing the end of the livestream, you and minji sit close together, your arms brushing against each other as you read through the comments. the phone sits on the desk in front of you, capturing your interactions with your fans.

underneath the desk, where the phone is positioned, minji taps your knee. you subtly glance down and see her hand open, silently motioning for you to hold it. a smile spreads across your face as you turn towards her, interlocking your fingers with hers. you exchange a brief, affectionate look before turning back to the camera, continuing to hold hands as you engage with the comments and wrap up the livestream.

you move your head closer to the screen to glimpse at a few comments, most of them complimenting minji with her glasses on and tousled hair. your lips turn up and you agree, “yeah, the comments are right.”

“what do they say?”

“that you look…” you read a certain comment that makes your nose scrunch as you laugh. “they're saying you look… scrumptious?”

minji chuckles, shaking her head. “strange.”

you lean back in your chair and keep your eyes focused on minji, the whole time as she reads through more comments, eyeing her like a meal. yeah, the comments have a point.

your girlfriend tries to maintain composure as she notices you eyeing her up and down, your tongue poking the inside of your cheek in a playful manner. she turns to meet your gaze, and all you do is smirk at her, glancing down at her lips for a fleeting moment before locking eyes with her again.

kim minji can stay sane for the cameras, she has to. 

even when you look at her like that, and in her hoodie. 

“minji please be my girlfriend…” minji reads out quietly, making you sit up and move to look at the screen yourself.

“absolutely not.” you retort, bringing minji in closer by the arm. “she’s off limits.”

minji looks at you, trying her absolute best to keep her cool and playing off her nerves with a laugh. “says who?”

“me.” you mumble, turning to face her. 

the livestream captures the entire scene: you grinning mischievously at minji, playfully holding onto her arm, clearly enjoying teasing her. she visibly folds a bit internally, swallowing lightly as she glances over at the rapidly scrolling chat. sensing the attention, minji gently unlinks your arms and ruffles your hair, pushing your chair back with a playful eye-roll as a blush spreads across her cheeks.

"okay, that's enough from you, y/n," minji sighs, feigning exasperation but unable to hide her smile. she addresses the screen, her voice warm despite her playful annoyance. "bye bye everyone, stay safe and see you next time!" with that, she ends the livestream as fast as she can, placing the phone down on the table.

as the screen goes dark, you exchange a knowing look with minji, both of you aware of how bold you were.

minji pulls your chair toward her, stopping you in your place right when your faces are a hand’s length apart.

“what was that y/n?” she questions you, narrowing her eyes. 

you giggle. “what do you mean?”

“you know what i– ugh, we’re going to be clipped and posted and–”

“and you’ll be watching over it all?”

minji gazes at you in disbelief, her breath catching slightly as she meets your gaze. you return her look, peering at her through lowered eyelashes, a subtle smile playing on your lips. the air between you two is thick with tension, the intensity of the moment palpable.

you begin to stand up, stretching your arms out as you make your way towards the door. however, before you can take another step, your wrist is gently but firmly pulled back. you turn around, surprised, to see minji still seated in her chair, her eyes fixed you, her pupils dilated.

her cap and glasses are taken off before she stands up and meets your level, her hand travels to your waist.

“was this on purpose?”

“what was?”

"don't make me work for it," minji warns softly, her head tilting ever so slightly to the side. her eyes linger on yours for a moment before trailing down to your lips. you feel a rush of anticipation as you lick them, waiting eagerly to see what she’s planning to do next.

“someone is eager, huh?”

“shut up.” is the last thing minji says before her lips meet yours, finally.

her other hand is on the base of your neck, lightly adding pressure as she kisses you. her lips are as soft as they look, and they feel even better against your lips than anywhere else. 

both of you pull away, then minji looks at you hesitantly. “is this okay?”

“fucking finally,” you sigh right before cupping both her cheeks and kissing her again.

minji's grip on you tightens, her touch indicating the need to hold onto you as the intensity of the moment deepens. the scent of peach and jasmine surrounds you, adding to the dreamlike atmosphere. your lips feel like a wish that no genie could ever grant, so hazy and perfect in this moment. as you slide your hands into her hair, the moment feels surreal, as if you're both caught up in a beautiful dream.

she shifts the two of you over towards the small couch in the corner, settling you down and hovering over you. she catches you smiling at her as your thumbs rub her cheeks lightly.

“you’re so cute minji.” 

“stop that.”

“are you flustered? aw look at you–” she cuts your teasing off with a kiss, both of you smiling into it. you want this to last forever, just you and minji together, kissing, her lips on yours, hand in your hair and the other trailing down your torso – just the two of you in the moment and nothing else.

your desire is rejected when you hear a squeal, making minji fumble and fall on top of you, her face meeting the base of your neck.

“minji? y/n? what–”

hyein.

your girlfriend gets up, crawling away from you, her face beet red and visibly flustered. she meets the youngest member with a complete lack of composure, while you sit up and watch everything unfold.

“w-why didn’t you knock?” minji scolds her, immediately looking away from hyein because she cannot look her in the eye after she had walked in on both of you. 

“are you two together? how long has this been going on? oh my god… why did no one tell me?”

“hyein, listen.”

“i knew something was up.” she facepalms, then looks at you. “sleeping in the same room… being alone together so much– i just though you guys were really close until i caught minji kissing your hand.”

your eyes widen. “what? when?”

“you guys were in the kitchen together cooking and ugh it all adds up…”

minji looks at you and silently pleads for help, prompting you to get up and stand next to your lover. hyein looks at the two of you expectantly, raising her brows as you two shrink under her.

“can we please talk about this with everyone else? they can help sort this out.” you suggest, which only feeds the flame (lee hyein).

“everyone else but me knew this?” she says in shock, then pouts at the two of you. “c’mon! why did you keep the juiciest stuff away from me!”

“because! you’re young! and besides, haerin doesn’t know either.” you desperately try to defend yourself, but none of your words get through her head – or maybe they do and she’s too shaken up to process it.

you and minji look at each other, blushes taking over your faces like a tsunami. 

a small breath leaves your lips; hyein had caught you making out with your girlfriend and now you both have to sit her down and give her a little talk as if you were two parents.

but at least you got to kiss your girlfriend after what had felt like forever, so maybe it was worth it in the end.

(plus, that look on minji’s face – yeah, maybe it was slightly worth it even if the kisses got cut short.)

[nadvs]

out of bounds (part six)

pairing zach maclaren and soccerplayer! female reader

rating mature 18+ for smut

summary zach has never been the type to rebel, but when he meets you at a soccer camp where you’re both working as counselors, which has a strict policy against dating between staff, he’s tempted to break the rules for the first time.

» part one | two | three | four | five

» masterlist

Every made-up explanation you can think of won’t cut it. Nothing you say will be believable. You’ve been found out.

“They’re bug bites?” you say weakly, pulling up your shirt so the hickeys aren’t in clear view anymore. Ami laughs, shaking her head.

“I knew you and Zach were a thing,” she says. “Why didn’t you just tell me? I wouldn’t judge. You know that I’m breaking the rules, too.”

You sigh, dropping back into your bed.

“We really don’t want it getting around,” you say.

“Then you should be more careful about where you let bugs bite you,” she laughs.

“Ami,” you groan, half-chuckling. “Please don’t tell anyone.”

“I won’t. You can trust me,” she says. “When did this start?”

You sit back up and give her surface details, recapping when you two kissed by the lake, then tried and failed to wait until after the season to pursue anything.

“Have you guys…” she asks with raised brows. Your cheeks burn.

“Last night,” you admit. Your stomach goes numb at the memory. “But seriously, you can’t mention it to anyone. If people find out and he gets fired, it’d crush him.”

The amusement in Ami’s eyes fades, replaced with compassion.

“Wow. You’re really worried, huh?” she says.

“He’s the sweetest guy I’ve ever met. I don’t want him to get in trouble,” you reply. “We decided today that we’ll keep things on hold. For real this time.”

“Can you keep it on hold?” she asks. “I don’t know about you, but it being forbidden makes it ten times hotter.”

You shrug. You’re unsure if you’d be doing this much this fast with Zach if you met outside of work, and he did tell you last night that he never moves this quickly with a girl.

“I’m going to have to try,” you say. Zach’s hard to resist, but for his sake, you don’t want to give in.

“Fair,” Ami sighs. “I knew it, though. Malcolm called me crazy.”

“You talked about it with him?”

“Yeah, the night you went shopping,” she says. “I said that I think there’s something there and Malcolm was like, I can tell he likes her, but there’s no way he’d break the rules. I wish I could rub it in his face.”

You shoot her a look.

“But I won’t,” she promises. You nod gratefully.

“He can tell he likes me?” you ask.

“He said when you’re around, Zach smiles way more than usual,” she recalls, “which is already a lot to begin with, apparently.”

Your heart flutters. Zach is already such a cheerful person, so to think you make him even happier, and very obviously at that, is flattering.

“I guess Malcolm would know since they’ve been best friends for so long,” you say.

“Yeah,” Ami agrees. “He actually…”

She chuckles.

“What?”

“He was randomly talking about Zach the other day,” Ami continues, “and he said that he treats every girlfriend like he’s gonna marry her. I guess he’s a hopeless romantic, so I hope you’re prepared for that.”

You chuckle, wholeheartedly believing it. Zach is sweet and sensitive and while you didn’t doubt his sincerity for a second, hearing that he’s not one for flings is a relief. Because you want so much more with him.

“Good to know,” you reply. “And you and Malcolm are still keeping things casual or…?”

“I don’t know,” she says with a hopeful smile. “But if it gets more serious, I wouldn’t be mad about it or anything.”

You laugh together and finally, you allow yourself to gush about the man who’s thrown you for such an unexpected loop. It feels nice to not have to keep it in anymore.

You’re relieved when Saturday rolls around. Even though fun days at camp are just as busy, you welcome a break from running training drills.

After breakfast in the dining hall, Ruby announces to the campers to prepare for a morning of hiking, an afternoon of swimming, and a camp-wide relay race before dinner.

The sky is cloudy, but the chance of rain is low, so you stay optimistic that you won’t be forced to spend the day inside.

You quickly realize it’s not going to be as easy to keep your distance from Zach today, because you’re put in a hiking group with him.

As you set out on the trail with your cohorts of campers, their chatter loud over the sounds of shoes crunching over the dirt and birds chirping in the sky, Zach leads the crowd under towering trees that line the perimeter of the campground.

It’s only been a couple of days since you spoke with him about cooling things down, but not talking how you used to has been disheartening. Neither of you have been scheming to find ways to be alone like you used to, settling for friendly conversations whenever your paths cross.

“We’ll get a pretty cool view at the midpoint,” Zach says loudly to the campers, turning back. He meets your eyes for a second, a small smile flashing on his face, before he looks ahead again.

You wonder if he took your words as you suggesting you two shouldn’t talk at all, when that’s far from the truth.

You make conversation with your campers while you hike, and when you reach the height of a steep trail, you approach Zach as he looks out at the view of lush forestland.

“Hi,” you say quietly. His eyebrows raise when he sees you, like he’s surprised you’re speaking to him. It’s your first moment out of earshot from others in too long.

“Hey,” he says.

“You know, I didn’t mean we can’t talk at all,” you say with a soft laugh.

The pang of rejection has been burrowed in Zach’s chest since your last private conversation. He’s hardly ever one for overthinking, but since you came into his life, all he does is mull over everything you do and say to him, anxious that you don’t like him as much as he likes you.

But now, as he gets lost in the softness in your gaze, he realizes what an idiot he is for worrying that you don’t also think that what you have is special.

And although he wants you to say he wants to hear that you’ll keep trying to hide your relationship, he needs to remind himself that you’re just being careful. He shoves down the prickly feeling and smiles at you.

“I thought I wasn’t even allowed to look at you,” he jokes to dismiss his uneasiness.

“Stop,” you chuckle. “How’ve you been?”

Zach’s blue eyes dart over his shoulder, his lips flattening.

“I miss you,” he half-whispers.

You tilt your head as you gaze up at him, your lips in an endeared frown. You’ve gotten used to there always being a sense of a playful smirk on his face, a look of mischief in his eyes, but right now, he’s completely doleful.

“I miss you, too,” you say. “Forcing each other into the friend-zone sucks.”

Zach laughs, his heart warming.

“No kidding,” he says. At this point, he just needs to get through a few more weeks as just your friend. It feels like forever, but he’ll get through it.

After lunch, counselors work together to set up for an afternoon by the lake, handing campers life jackets and inflating water toys.

After set-up, you stand on the dock, shades shielding your eyes now that the sun has peeked out from behind fluffy clouds.

You look out at the beautiful water, surrounded by campers talking and laughing, feeling that calming sense of being where you’re meant to be. Even though the days are tiring and the kids can be difficult, you’re so glad you came here.

You hear Zach’s familiar voice as he chats and walks past you, followed by two boys. He leans down to grip the edge of the empty canoe bobbing in the water on the dockside, gently reminding them to enter the boat slowly.

You can tell he’s been running around tirelessly, his lips parted as he pants, sweat sheening his skin.

When he stands to collect the ore, he quickly lifts the bottom of his shirt up to wipe his forehead, giving you a glimpse of his chiseled body. You’re glad you’re wearing shades because you can’t take your eyes off of him.

You clasp your hands together, your body rushing with heat as you remember what happened a few nights ago. How taut his body looked when you were on top of him. The way he breathed and moaned when you slowly sank onto him.

You force yourself to look away. Seeing him like that and knowing you can’t have him is only making things harder.

A couple of hours later, the relay race is underway on the north soccer field. You’re standing at the touchline on your own, stationed to hand out water and snacks to any campers or staff who need it.

Your stomach goes wild with butterflies when Zach makes his way towards you, offering you a charming grin as he pushes his sunglasses up to rest on his head.

“No way,” he says when he approaches, squinting, his voice low. “You got the easy job.“

“Rude. It’s actually way harder than it looks,” you reply.

“Standing there looking pretty is hard?”

“Very,” you say, his compliment making you a little lightheaded. You mirror him, perching your sunglasses up.

“I don’t believe it.”

Zach opens the cooler, not giving you a chance to get a drink for him. He collects a water bottle and unscrews the cap.

“You remember when you told me I can’t look at you a certain way when we’re at work?” you say, pushing the lid of the cooler shut.

He smirks, tipping his head back as he gulps down water. You’re gazing at him like that now, your stare hard on him. It’s addictive being on the receiving end of that look. It makes him feel like he’s floating.

“Yeah, and it still stands,” he nods. “So, stop it.”

“I’m not even…” you scoff, crossing your arms. “I have a rule for you, too. You can’t lift up your shirt when I’m around.”

“What? When did I do that?”

“By the lake. And I don’t appreciate it.”

“Why not?” he chuckles.

“Just stop,” you flirt with a roll of your eyes.

“I need a reason.” By the smug smirk on his face, you can tell he already knows. Because he’s so cute, you give in.

“It’s hard not to stare,” you say. “And we’re not supposed to stare at each other.”

The flattered look you’ve quickly grown to love flashes on his face.

“Oh, you mean when I get hot?” he teases. “I can’t control the sun.”

“Zach,” you warn. He says your name with the same teasing tone.

“I’m serious,” you say.

“So am I,” he laughs.

You shake your head at him when he lifts up the bottom of his shirt to wipe the water off his lips. His eyes stay locked on your expression as yours drift down the cut of his abs.

Zach’s entire body buzzes when you look at him like that. He so deeply loves feeling wanted by you.

“You just don’t listen,” you mumble, taking your eyes off of him. He chuckles, letting his shirt fall back down.

“Come on, baby, it’s my fault it’s hot out?” he murmurs.

You can’t stifle your grin. Maybe he technically shouldn’t call you that if you’re pretending to be friends, but nobody can hear, and you love when he’s sweet like that.

“Everything’s your fault,” you say.

Zach winks at you before he turns to rush back to the game. It’s the type of silly banter that made you develop a crush on him so fast, and you’re glad you can at least flirt if you’re not going to sneak around anymore.

After the relay race, Tom reminds the campers that in a week and a half, you’ll be hitting the midpoint of the camp season, and as tradition goes, a staff soccer game will be held.

Even though it’s just a no-stakes match at camp to give the kids a fun chance to cheer on their counselors, you feel nerves twist in your stomach at the reminder.

Despite the fact that your love for soccer has slowly been finding its way back to you, your confidence still isn’t quite where you want it. And your instinct is to talk to Zach about it, to be comforted by the one person you’re trying to stay away from.

As you settle at your table for dinner that evening, you look for him in the crowd. He’s sitting at the head of his usual table, laughing in conversation. When he meets your eyes, you give him a smile. He returns it.

That evening after lights out, you’re lying in bed scrolling on your phone while Ami watches something on her laptop when you realize the nagging desire to see Zach is only getting harder to ignore.

You’ve also been considering telling him that your cabin-mate knows about him. It may just serve to worry him, but it feels wrong keeping something from him.

The way he looked on the hike when he said he missed you is stuck in your head. You miss him, too. As if you haven’t seen him in weeks.

It feels silly to keep your distance. You’re being too careful. You’re sure you can manage to hang out and keep your hands off of each other.

You hung out platonically before. Why can’t you do it again? There’s no rules against that. In fact, being friends is encouraged. You open your text conversation with Zach.

When Zach steps out of his cabin into the brisk air that night, he looks up at the sky to see he can hardly spot any stars. The air is thick with the threat of rain, but it’s stubborn, refusing to fall.

He heads out to the dock, sitting on the cool surface, his phone in his hand. Malcolm already fell asleep, so he decided to take his call outside to not wake him.

It’s never easy for him to be away from his family for very long. He appreciates checking in every so often, making sure his parents are doing okay, hearing how his sister’s summer is going.

As he catches up with them during the video call, at one point, his dad asks his mom where his glasses are and when she points off screen and his dad thanks her with a kiss to her temple, the simple, passing moment is a reminder to Zach of how loving his parents’ marriage is.

He grew up knowing that his mom and dad adore each other, that they believe they’re meant to be together. It’s fun to act grossed out by their affection, but in reality, he admires them. He’s never wanted to settle for less in a relationship.

Zach has always desired to be surrounded by love and approval. He’s sure his heart will never fully heal after his childhood, but when he knows he’s around people who like him, that wound feels much smaller.

And the way you accept him for everything that he is, never once looking at him with judgement, unconditionally offering compassion, gives him a sense of being complete, of that wound actually being gone. He hasn’t ever felt that before.

He looks out at the dark water, breathing slowly. He’s always thought of himself as an optimistic person, so it’s uncomfortable to be wallowing over his circumstances with you this much.

He forces himself to see the bright side. He may be facing weeks of not being able to be with you the way he wants to, but when the camp season wraps up and he goes back to his normal life, you won’t be living under any of these rules.

He’ll take you out on dates. He’ll hold your hand in public. And hopefully, you’ll still like him enough that he can introduce you to his family and officially be your boyfriend.

At that moment, his phone buzzes with a text. It’s you. havent worked on my defense in a while... do you have time to help a friend practice?

He grins, feeling the tension in his body dissipate.

You agree to meet on the field farthest from the staff cabins, positioned at the far edge of the campground. When you approach the pitch, Zach’s practicing kick-ups by the net under the bright moon.

“Show-off,” you say once you’re close enough. He looks up to see you, letting the ball roll away. His smile fades once he sees your bare arms under your t-shirt.

“Aren’t you cold?” he asks.

“No.” His concern remains etched on his face, quickly unzipping his hoodie and stepping closer.

“I’m fine,” you laugh, unsuccessfully protesting as he drapes his hoodie over your shoulders.

“Now you are,” he says, looking down at you with a relieved smile. He leans down to leave a chaste kiss on your cheek, then quickly pulls back.

“Sorry,” he says. “Not allowed.”

You chuckle, looking around into the silent darkness surrounding you.

“I think we can get away with it here,” you tell him. “But I figured if anyone sees us, we’re just two coworkers innocently practicing for the game.”

“I ever tell you you’re a genius?” he asks, cocking his head, his eyes trailing down your face.

“Don’t think so,” you reply.

“Well, you are,” he says.

“Thanks, baby.”

“Okay, you can’t call me that and not expect to be kissed,” he murmurs, cupping your jaw with his cool palm. He leans down to kiss you, slow, his lips just barely parting.

“We still have to be careful,” you sigh amusedly when he pulls away. “Let’s practice.“

“Right,” he says. “As friends.”

“As friends.”

Zach smirks, rushing to get the ball as you stand in front of the net, stretching to warm up your legs.

“How was your day?” he asks once he stands a few feet across from you, gently kicking the ball to you. “Barely broke a sweat, huh?”

You trap the ball below your foot with a gasp.

“What’s that mean?”

“You’re still gonna pretend standing next to a cooler is hard?” he asks.

You laugh and kick the ball with unexpected force, watching him dramatically dodge it as it whirls past him.

“Whoa, you mad or something?” he laughs.

“I don’t need your attitude or your hoodie,” you tease, pulling the sleeves off.

“Okay, okay, I’m sorry,” he relents, laughing harder. “Please put it back on.”

You roll your eyes and comply, loving how soft his sweater feels on your skin, loving how much it smells like him.

“Just go get the ball,” you say in resignation, a smile pulling at your lips.

“Yes, ma’am,” Zach replies.

You watch him jog towards the center line, expertly dribbling the ball when he reaches it. He comes forward and stops a few feet away from you.

“Hey, I have something to tell you,” you say. The guilt weighs even heavier on you when you see the worry in his gaze.

“What?”

“Ami knows about us,” you confess. “She saw my hickeys the other day and I couldn’t think of a lie fast enough. She promised she wouldn’t tell anyone. I’m sorry.”

His heart aches when he hears the distress in your voice.

“You’re sorry?” he says. “I’m the one who left them.”

You breathe out a chuckle, tugging at the sleeves of his sweater over your knuckles.

“You can be upset with me,” you mumble. “I know you didn’t want anyone knowing.”

“I’m not upset,” he replies. “It’s okay.”

“Really?” you ask.

Truthfully, hearing that someone else knows about you two makes him tense. It increases the risk of being found out, of disappointing his family, of ruining his reputation. But he can’t bear to make you feel any worse.

“Yeah. Don’t worry about it,” Zach says, keen to push past the topic. He kicks the ball to you. “So, your day?”

“It was good,” you say. “The hike was nice. But thinking about the staff game made me nervous. I guess I’m still not all that confident yet.”

“And you came to the best for help,” he says. You kick the ball back, laughing softly.

“I did.”

“You’ll get into your stride again,” Zach tells you. “I wasn’t just trying to flatter you the first night. You’re a really good defender. Honest.”

“Thank you,” you say, stopping the ball when he kicks it to you again. This is exactly why you wanted to come to him. He consoles you so effortlessly, already making the nerves unravel. “How was your day?”

“Good,” he says. “I actually just got off the phone with my family when you texted.”

“How are they?”

“Falling apart without me,” he answers sarcastically. “My sister was saying my dad doesn’t do monster checks right.”

“I’m sorry, what’s a monster check?” you laugh.

“A check for monsters, obviously,” he replies. “I’m usually the one that scouts out Avery’s room before bed, but since I’m not home, my dad’s in charge. And his heart’s just not in it.”

“That is not something to slack on,” you play along.

“Right?” he says. “I couldn’t live with myself knowing a monster might’ve flown under the radar.”

You laugh again, touched by how sweet of a big brother he is. You kick the ball to him and start training together.

It’s been just under ten minutes of practice when you feel a cool raindrop on your cheek. Zach’s towering over you, your legs brushing as he tries to gain possession of the ball, when you freeze and look up.

“I just felt rain,” you say, gently panting. He takes the opportunity to gaze at you as you stare up at the night sky, the moonlight washing your pretty face in its glow.

You lower your gaze to meet his eyes, revelling in the feeling of him looking at you like that, like you’re the only girl that exists. It reminds you of the way he stared at you when you met, needing you to repeat yourself because he was too out of it to pay attention to your words.

“Zach,” you giggle. “It’s raining. We should go.”

In that moment, he feels a raindrop on his head.

“Oh. Yeah,” he says. He bends to pick up the soccer ball, dreading how long the walk back to the staff cabins is.

You rush off the field, letting him grab your hand, enveloped in the darkness of the night. Drops of rain start to hammer down within seconds, cold moisture covering your clothes.

“Shit,” Zach chuckles, running faster, pulling you forward. “We won’t make it.”

You’re both laughing breathlessly when you run into the closest storage shed, shutting the door behind you, clothes sticking to you.

When Zach stumbles over something in the dark with a grunt, you laugh even harder, asking him if he’s okay between your cackles.

“I could have broken something,” he says, pretending he’s insulted, “and you’re laughing.”

You feel for him in the dark, cupping his bare forearms as he stumbles over the disorganized supplies scattered on the floor.

“Are you okay?” you repeat, facing him, trying to make out his features in the dark.

“Why don’t people ever clean up?” Zach complains. “It’s a safety hazard.”

“For the third time, are you okay?” you say amusedly. Your hands feel up his arms, cupping his face as the rain loudly drums on the roof.

“Yes,” he finally murmurs. He wishes it wasn’t so dark so that he could see you, but if he turned on the light, it’d be too easy for someone to notice.

“Good,” you whisper. You gently stroke his cheeks with your thumbs, feeling a bit of stubble over his jaw, his skin cool from the night air as he leans into your touch.

“That feels nice.” His voice is low and rough beneath the sound of pouring rain. You smile to yourself, adjusting to the dark, seeing that he shut his eyes.

“Then I’ll keep doing it,” you respond.

“You looked good out there,” he murmurs. “I mean, you’re skilled. You don’t have anything to worry about. You’re a solid soccer player.”

“So, to clarify, my playing looked good, but I didn’t?”

Zach lets out a tsk, finding your waist.

“Cut it out,” he scoffs. “You know how pretty you are.”

“I do?”

“Come on,” he mumbles. “Don’t even pretend to say bad things about yourself.”

“Or what?” you ask.

“I’ll cry. Is that what you want?”

You giggle, loving how easily he makes you laugh, feeling like you’ll be falling victim to your own impulses. And fast.

Cool down. You said you’d cool down. But there’s nothing cool about his lips pressing against yours when you pull him closer.

It’s only been a few days since you had a moment totally alone together, but when he kisses you with abandon, it’s like your body is getting its first drop of water after being parched.

As your kisses grow hungrier, Zach’s body melts into pure contentment. It’s perfect how you fit into each other, how his mind goes completely blank when he holds you, letting him ease into the bliss of your touch.

Your lips brush and your tongues graze and your breaths catch as you kiss, his grip on your waist tightening as your palms press on his cheeks.

“We’re bad at this,” you whisper when your lips part. “We’re bad at staying away from each other.”

“I’m okay with that,” Zach rasps, pulling you in tight, his body curving into yours.

You’re in a fog as you continue to make out, surrounded by him, listening to your shallow breaths and the heavy rain.

Your knees are weak by the time you pull away from each other, the roar of rain now reduced to calm droplets.

“What now?” Zach breathes. He needs to know if he’s going to go through the agony of not sneaking around with you anymore.

Every inch of his skin tingles with warmth. He wishes he could just lie down with you, not because he needs anything sexual, but because he hates the thought of saying goodnight and parting ways.

“I don’t know,” you reply. “I don’t like not kissing you. But I don’t like getting fired, either.”

Despite himself, he smirks, dipping his head to pull you into a hug and bury his face in the crook of your neck. You drape your arms around his broad shoulders, shutting your eyes as he squeezes you.

Zach breathes you in, feeling safer than he ever has in his life.

“I’m really glad you texted me,” he mumbles.

“Me, too,” you say.

When you sneak back into your cabin, still wearing his sweater, the fear you felt of getting caught the whole walk over reminds you of why you suggested you cool things down in the first place.

If you’re found out, it’s over. You’re still not sure what to do, if you should keep trying to stay away from him or just continue meeting in secret. But you do know that whatever you decide, Zach will respect it.

The next morning, you wake up with a sore throat. You realize you caught a mild cold from last night. And being sick in the middle of the summer while working an exhausting job is not ideal.

You barely make it through the day, then have an overnight shift in one of the campers’ cabins. By the next day, you’re a bit better, mainly dealing with muscle soreness.

After dinner, Zach notices the faraway look in your eyes as you sit across the fire and talk with campers. You were together just two nights ago, kissing and laughing, but you haven’t had a chance to speak privately since. And something seems wrong.

He discreetly pulls out his phone to text you: Are you ok?

You feel the buzz in your pocket and when you read his text, you meet his eyes, melting at the concern in his gaze. In an effort to ease his worry, you speak a little louder to the kids around you.

“Nobody caught my cold, right?” you ask. They shake their heads no.

“You’re sick?” Zach asks from the other side of the pit, over the chatter.

“A little,” you reply, your nose scrunching. “But the worst of it is over.”

Zach’s heart aches, upset that you’re in pain and that he didn’t notice sooner. It’s from the night you got caught in the rain together. He’s sure of it.

When he knocks on your door after lights out, even though he’s still uneasy about your cabin-mate knowing about you two, at least he doesn’t have to worry about how to look like a concerned friend and nothing more.

You’re sitting in bed when Ami swings open the door. Zach is standing on your front step, cupping something in his hands, his eyes darting between her and you.

“Hey,” he says, looking at you. “Thought I’d drop off some tea.”

Ami looks back at you, a grin on her face.

“You brought her tea?” she says. “That’s so sweet.”

“It is sweet,” you say with a shy smile. “Thank you.”

“Come in,” Ami says, stepping back. “You can hang out. I was about to go see what Malcolm’s up to anyway.”

“Really?” you ask, not buying it.

“He’s on an overnight,” Zach says.

“Is he? That’s crazy,” she says with a coy smile. She looks at you. “Text me.”

You know what she means; you need to let her know when she can come back since you and Zach might be in doing more than just hanging out.

Ami pulls a sweater over her pajama top and rushes out, leaving you and Zach alone in the cabin.

“Where’d you get tea?” you ask once the door shuts.

“From the office,” he says, crossing the room and setting the mug on your nightstand. He settles on the edge of your bed, inches away from you, gazing at you worryingly.

“I can get more if you need it,” he says. “Why didn’t you tell me you’re sick?”

“It’s really not that bad,” you tell him. “It’s just a headache now.“

He purses his lips, reaching forward to put the back of his hand on your forehead.

“I don’t think I have a fever,” you laugh.

“No other symptoms?”

“Just a sore throat yesterday, but it passed.”

“From being in the rain the other night?”

“That, and the stress of being scared we’ll get caught,” you laugh. He knows you’re joking, but his chest twists in pain. “Should I have told you?“

The question sets him aback for a moment, uncertainty rushing through him. You’ve been acting like you want a relationship, too, but maybe he’s being unrealistically hopeful.

Even though he’s been afraid to come on too strong, he needs to know, so he speaks before he can talk himself out of it.

“If I’m going to be your boyfriend, I need to know when you’re not feeling well,” Zach says.

You gaze at him for a silent few seconds. He’s unbelievably grateful when you lean forward and press your forehead into his chest, hugging him as best you can while you sit across from each other.

“It was just a little cold,” you mumble. “But I bet it would’ve been worse if my boyfriend didn’t make me wear his sweater.”

He cracks a smile, relieved, loving the way it sounds coming from you.

“Which you stole, by the way,” he says, making you laugh. He kisses the top of your head, then leans over to hand you the mug, steam curling from the top.

“Thank you,” you say. “How are you?”

You talk to each other about your days, swapping stories as you lean against the wall, taking slow sips.

“I’m cured,” you say once you’re done, setting the empty mug on the nightstand.

“Can I get you anything else?” he asks.

“Hugs,” you say, feeling desperate for his touch.

Zach grins, standing to let you comfortably lie down before he settles next to you. Your cheek is on his shoulder as he holds you in his arms, and when he lifts your chin to guide you into a kiss, you shake your head.

“You’ll get sick,” you warn.

“What? You said I cured you.” He pecks your lips gently, then shifts to kiss your forehead. “Where’s it hurt? Here?”

“Mhm,” you mumble.

“I don’t think it’s the cold,” he says. “Your head hurts because you think about me too much.”

You giggle, your hand trailing up and down his firm stomach.

“Oh, that must be it,” you say.

“I think about you too much, too.”

“You do?” You close your eyes as he continues to plant gentle kisses on your forehead. “What do you think about?”

“I mostly wonder when the next time I can be with you is,” he murmurs, “and how it can’t come fast enough.”

You stroke his chest, stopping to feel his heartbeat over the fabric of his shirt.

“Me, too,” you say. You trail back down his stomach and up again, arousal twisting in your core the more you feel him.

He sighs quietly. It’s unreal how just a minute of your touch does this to him. He’s already hard.

When you gently tug at his hip so he’ll turn on his side to face you, you feel him stiffen once his erection presses against your stomach, letting out a heavy exhale.

“I swear I didn’t come over to do this,” Zach murmurs, worried you’ll think he’d try to come by under false pretences just to hook up.

“I believe you,” you whisper against his neck, kissing softly, breathing in his scent.

Zach kisses the top of your head, cradling your jaw, revelling in the feeling of your affection, sure you can feel him growing even harder against you.

“I don’t know if – I mean, are we back to seeing each other?”

You shuffle back to meet his eyes, sympathy in your gaze.

“I’m sorry if I’ve been confusing,” you say. “I know I told you we should cool down just to make out with you like, two days later.”

“I’m not complaining,” Zach says with a soft chuckle. Maybe someone else would be frustrated, but everything about this summer has been unpredictable and he’s always been quick to adapt.

“I can’t decide what to do. I feel like you,” you tease.

“Hurtful,” he jokes, squinting.

“Remind me of how much time we have left before the season ends,” you say sadly.

“A month and three days.”

“It’s cute that you know the exact number.” The compliment makes his cheeks flush pink.

“Yeah, I’m pretty cute,” he replies. You laugh, your fingers dipping beneath the hem of his t-shirt. He bites his lip when he feels your skin against his, eyelids low.

“You’re very cute,” you say. “And very kind for coming to check on me.”

His heart is racing. You’re looking at him in that way he said you can’t look at him at work. It gets him all flustered, making him feel like you want him as bad as he wants you.

“And so sweet and so handsome,” you continue, your hand sliding up his back under his shirt. “And so good for me.”

“Baby,” he sighs happily, the praise making his head swim. “You know what that does to me.”

“That’s why I’m doing it,” you breathe. “One more night? Then, we cool down, for real?”

“But your head hurts.”

You shrug, admittedly still feeling tension in your temples.

“You made it better,” you say. He shifts lower to kiss you, gently sucking on your bottom lip, breathing heavily.

His thoughts are rushing like a current, the desire to make you feel good, to relax you in the best possible way burning deep inside him.

When he pulls back a bit, his lips brush against yours when he asks, “Can I kiss lower? Make you feel even better?”

You catch the weight of his words, the coil in you tightening even more.

“Yes,” you breathe. “Please.”

“You never have to say please to me,” Zach says. “Not for that.”

You groan when he lowers to kiss your neck, down to your collarbones, over the swells of your breasts. He’s on his knees as he pulls up your shirt, trailing kisses up your stomach as he hungrily pulls down your pants.

You lift your hips to help him push them off, left in your panties in seconds.

Zach settles on his elbows, his eyes meeting yours as he rests with his head between your bent legs. He doesn’t take your eyes off of you as he puckers his lips against your inner thigh.

“You want this?” he murmurs.

“Yes,” you sigh happily.

“Me, too,” he says. “So bad.”

He kisses harder, surely going to leave a mark. His big hand drags over your knee, down your other thigh, resting at your pelvis.

His gaze refuses to leave yours, his lips still on your skin, when he lowers his hand to stroke his thumb over your middle. You moan softly, blinking slowly.

Like every other time he touches you, it feels like a dream. He can’t believe he gets to do this. The anticipation of knowing he’ll be tasting you soon makes his skin tingle.

Zach is agonizingly slow with his kisses, planting them all up one thigh, then moving to the other, then dipping to kiss right above where you need him most, over your underwear.

You lace your fingers in his messy hair, not pushing or pulling, just feeling his head move with every kiss, trying to be patient.

Finally, he puts his mouth over your core, kissing over the fabric, pulling a shudder out of you.

He can feel how wet you are, earning a taste of you, and it makes him ache with need. He looks up at you again as he gently pulls at the band of your panties.

Once you kick them off, his lips part in awe when you readjust to slightly spread your legs.

“Fuck,” he breathes. It’s almost nerve-racking, the way he’s staring at you. You’ve never been looked at like this. He gently pushes your knee down so he can see more of you.

“Fuck,” he says again, groaning through the word this time. He can’t wait any longer, lowering to press his lips against you. Your body rolls with pleasure when he makes contact, his lips warm and wet and soft, puckering against you.

Zach leaves countless kisses on you, angling his head so that he can give every part of you equal attention, licking his lips in between so that he can savor you.

You arch your back as he starts to languidly tongue you, letting out low moans and warm breaths. His nose presses against your groin, the sound of his wet kisses filling the room.

You run the heel of your palm over his head, caressing him, and he starts to suck your clit, his lips locked tightly.

“That feels so good,” you whisper. The way his mouth is working you sends waves of easy, soft satisfaction through you.

He threshes his tongue, gazing up at you as your face pinches in pleasure. You meet his eyes again, seeing how utterly intoxicated he looks to be doing something so intimate with you.

Zach pulls back, lips smacking off of you, panting now. He runs his hand up to your hip to find your hand and lace his fingers in yours.

“You taste so sweet,” he says, his tone thick with ecstasy, before leaning down again. It’s even better than he even imagined. You’re so slick and hot against his tongue. He could do this for hours.

You continue to run your fingers through his hair with one hand as you squeeze his fingers with the other, soft sighs spilling from your mouth. When you feel his tongue dip into you, you have to bite your bottom lip to quiet your moan.

His groans vibrate against you, guiding you into a state of pure solace. He pulls his hand away from yours to stroke his thumb in gentle circles over your clit as he tongues you. Every inch of your body tingles.

“Don’t stop,” you breathe. “That’s perfect.”

The praise spurs him on. His jaw is sore from how much his tongue is writhing inside you, but your pleasure is worth it.

The orgasm reaches you quickly, a million fireworks of ecstasy bursting through you, pushing you to quiver beneath him.

Zach kisses you as you come down from your high, shifting up to kiss your thigh, then your sternum, then finally your lips.

You meet his lips lazily and tenderly, tasting yourself on him. When you slowly trail your hand down his stomach to palm him over his sweats, he pulls back.

“No, baby,” he murmurs. “I don’t want you doing any work. Just rest tonight.”

He’s rock hard. You can tell how bad he needs the release. You want to do this for him, no matter how dazed you are. But you know he’ll feel guilty if he feels like you’re straining yourself.

“Then you do the work,” you whisper. “The condoms are in the bottom drawer.”

Zach sighs, kissing between your eyebrows, breaths shallow.

“I made you sore last time.”

“A good sore,” you breathily laugh.

“You’re sure?” he asks.

“I want you,” you say.

Your lids are low as Zach shifts to find a condom, pulling down his sweats and boxers, rolling it on carefully. His large frame leans over you, a flush coloring his cheeks as he looks down at you.

“I’m going slow,” he tells you.

“Whatever you want,” you say, and you mean it.

He holds himself at his base, slowly dipping himself into where his tongue was just minutes ago. His breath is strained as he sinks into you, wrapped in your soft heat.

He’s close to bottoming out, and stops, stroking your cheek.

“Still good?” he rasps.

“Yes,” you say. “Keep going.”

Zach sinks into you completely, taking a moment to savor how nice it is to be deep inside you again. His mouth is at the crook of your neck as he slowly starts to thrust back and forth, your bodies meeting with soft smacks.

The pressure of him is hard and perfect as your body rocks with his movements. You shut your eyes, swimming in bliss, breathing out short sighs into his ear as he rocks in and out.

He can’t believe how nicely you’re squeezing him, how perfect you feel, how lucky he is to be here right now. Your bed squeaks when he starts to move faster, his muscles tensing as you wrap your arms around him.

“Still okay?” Zach whispers.

“Yes,” you say. “Come for me.”

Your words are everything to him, the tender dominance he so deeply loves spinning him into a euphoric high. The way you make him feel makes the world stand still, makes him feel like perfection can exist.

He kisses you deeply, his stomach tautening as he comes. He continues to thrust slowly as he rides out the pleasure.

When he collapses, you kiss his cheek over and over, running your hand over the back of his head.

“Thank you,” he whispers. You smile weakly.

“Thank you,” you say.

Zach doesn’t let you stand up. After he gets dressed, he grabs a towel to help clean you up, gentle and slow. You’re still lying on your back when he sits at the end of your bed to pull your panties up over your ankles.

“You always gonna do that?” you tease quietly. “Put my clothes back on after?”

“Yes,” he says. He pulls them all the way up, then drags your pants up, too, before lying down next to you. You shuffle into the position you were in before, your cheek on his shoulder, his arms around you.

“My headache’s gone,” you tell him, “and I’m not just saying that.”

Zach’s chest gently bounces as he laughs.

“Good,” he says. He rubs up and down your arm. “Just tell me when I should go.”

“How’s never?” you ask. He smiles. His heart has never felt warmer.

“Doable,” he chuckles, kissing your forehead. “And… I’m with you. We’ll wait until the end of the season. I don’t want you stressed out, baby.”

“Okay,” you agree. It’s bittersweet and a month and three days have never felt so long, but you agree.

Eventually, you pull yourselves apart. You kiss Zach goodbye and text Ami that the coast is clear.

The next few days are a busy haze, full of stolen glances between you and Zach, and before you know it, it’s the midpoint of the season, the day of staff game.

It’s a scorching afternoon as you warm up on the pitch, eyes flitting to Zach as he jogs on the other side of the field.

Both teams were randomly assigned, and when you noticed that Zach was wearing a red vest over his t-shirt, not matching your blue one, you internally sighed.

You miss him. And if you were on the same team, at least you’d have a perfectly valid reason to talk with him right now.

The campers are seated under canopies on the touchline, already in a spirited cheer-off, rooting for the team their counselors are on.

Ruby blows the whistle to signal the start of the game. Your team keeps the ball on the other side of the field for the first little while, but remain goalless, until eventually, the red team starts to move in.

You’re focused, feeling more confident about your playing than you have in a while. You know you have Zach to thank. You hope you have the opportunity to tell him soon.

You’re quick on your feet as you watch the red team retain possession, the ball quickly spinning back and forth over the grass.

Finally, they make their move, with Zach leading. With slightly bent knees, you watch as he approaches the goal. You’re the only person left between him and your goalie.

He fakes left, but you call his bluff, stepping right to successfully kick it away. A chorus of groans sounds from the campers and some of his teammates.

“Oh, come on, Zach!” Malcolm shouts from the halfway line. “Obviously you want to go easy on your girl, but have some pride.”

“Chill, Malcolm,” Ami shouts back, laughing uneasily. You look back at your teammate, wondering if she broke her promise and told him about you. Or maybe Zach let him know at some point.

Or maybe Malcolm doesn’t know anything and you’re just reading into it. Your eyes dart to Zach as he jogs away. He looks back, his expression tense.

The game ends in a 0-0 draw, and Ruby decides it should come down to a penalty shootout just to end it with a bang. To your surprise, Zach misses, hitting the post. He looks rattled. Your team wins.

After lights out, you replay the moment on the field in your head, wondering how many people heard Malcolm. You want to question Ami about it, but you don’t get a chance to before she leaves for her overnight shift.

You step out into the humid night, figuring a walk will be a good way to clear your head. The anxiety eventually is too big to avoid, so you text Zach: everything alright? does Malcolm know?

As you pace past the camper cabins on your loop around the campground, you see that he replied. I asked him after the game. He knows. Ami told him.

You send a sigh up to the starry sky. She promised. Now not only is the secret out to two people, but considering that Malcolm is Zach’s best friend, maybe he was offended that Zach didn’t tell him, causing even more issues.

You text him: crap. sorry. do you want to talk about it?

You’re surprised and a little slighted to see him text back: It’s all good.

When you reach the staff area, you see Zach’s tall figure heading down the steps of his cabin.

Zach never thought he wouldn’t be glad to see you. But after the tense conversation he just had with Malcolm, he knows that the worry he’s harboring over the very real possibility that his aunt heard Malcolm’s words on the field today won’t make him good company.

He knows it’s not your fault. He willingly went into this with you. He pursued it. He left the marks on your body that exposed you. He should be mad at Malcolm for what he shouted today, and Malcolm only.

But he has a voice in the back of his mind pestering him, frustrated that you didn’t just hide it better and not tell Ami. And he feels like shit for being a little mad at you.

You already saw him. He’s not going to be a dick and ignore you. He’s going to pretend he’s fine.

“Hi,” you say softly, stopping in front of your cabin.

“Hey,” he says. “Out for a walk?”

“Are you mad at me?” you ask.

“What? No,” he says. “Why do you think that?”

“It feels like…” You hold up your phone. “I don’t know, this is the type of thing you’d want to talk about. But you just brushed me off.”

“I’m sorry,” he says. “We’re keeping our distance, right?”

You cross your arms, unable to shake the feeling that he’s not being totally honest. You know him well enough by now. Maybe he’s good at putting on a show for other people. But it’s not working on you.

“Zach, is this… is this what you talked about before?” you ask over the crickets chirping loudly around you. “When you said you don’t like to admit it when something’s bothering you?“

He looks down, his tongue jutting from under his cheek.

“Are you mad at me?” you ask again.

He’s silent. His mind is totally blank. He’s never been good at this. He hates that he can’t control how he feels. He feels like a bad person for being upset with someone so sweet who didn’t mean any harm.

“This just… it sucks,” Zach mumbles.

You nod slowly. It’s not a clear answer, but it’s enough. Your heart feels too heavy to force a conversation.

“Yeah,” you say. “It does.”

You turn to go up to your cabin. It hurts when he doesn’t stop you.

(part seven)

if you want notifications on when i post my fics, follow @xorafe-library and turn on notifications 💘

[fallingsatellive]

“It’s obviously valid to be bugkin but you also can’t just expect people to get over it when they have a genuine fear!”

I’m afraid of dogs.

Dogs put me extremely on edge. I avoid them while outside and if one’s in a room with me I’ll try to leave or else start to panic. Especially medium-sized and larger breeds. Mere images of dogs may not give me a panic attack, I will admit that, it's not a phobia. But if you want to talk hypocrisy, if you're opening up that discussion:

Hey dog therians, dog otherhearted folks and clinical cynanthropes, what if everywhere you went, the unspoken attitude of the alterhuman community was—

Don’t post dog photos or talk about being a dog in the main alterhuman tags. Don’t talk about your shifts, your instincts, or your kind in the main tags. If you’re a CZ, don’t talk so openly about your biological reality. It’s extremely triggering for people with cynophobia. The idea of physically being or becoming a dog grosses them out to briefly think about, so try not to discuss your literal existence. If you must, at least trigger tag yourself with #tw dogs or #tw dog mention so people can stay safe by censoring things that will hurt their mental health. It’s okay if you’re dogkin but in my DNI I'm going to write something like, don’t follow me if your blog hosts too many graphic close-up images of dogs doing dog things, even if you censor them. Don’t add dog photos to open posts in the alterhuman tags, you have no idea who might be sent into a panic attack by images of yourself so you should play it safe and only put them on your own posts. And stop being so offended by people who comment on posts about pet dogs or dog facts saying they want to bleach their eyes or kill it with fire, they can’t help having a phobia.

Not great, is it? Fortunately, and I do genuinely mean that, this is a sentiment you will only see once, on this post, completely satirically. Except it’s just a real sentiment for bug therians/hearted and other invertebrate alterhumans. Of course what I said was satire. But if it pissed you off when you thought it might not be, please, contemplate on that reaction, really spend some time on it.

Also, if you're wondering what I mean by "other invertebrate alterhumans", (and I'm sorry for how heated I got when I was writing this part last night even after editing it down)

You know I’m a bug zoanthrope too, not just a bird? And see above if you're wondering why I never said shit about it, just said I was a centipede therian and even then said I was just questioning and didn't really talk much about it. Am I allowed to talk about it without tagging it #tw body horror, even though I obviously don’t fucking find my own body to be horror? Can I talk about it without tagging it #tw bugs like just the very thing that I am needs to be censored for people's well-being? I'm sorry if I come across judgmental. Offline I constantly interact with people saying they’re a nature lover but centipedes are the only thing on Earth that they still hate. And I have to come online knowing that any of those people could be bloggers in the alterhuman tags and it’s my responsibility to tiptoe around them. “Because centipedes are scary and disgusting.” Because I’m scary and disgusting. My brain is not capable of hearing a difference and I can’t change that. It is so much my reality that it's the same emotional mix of anger and anxiety and hurt that would be (has been, lol) triggered by someone ranting about how much they hate Jews or trans people to me.

[livwritesstuff]

Today was a bittersweet day – the last day of the three-month parental leave Steve had taken when their daughter Robbie was born before he headed back to his counseling job.

Eddie knows that Steve is feeling torn a few different ways about going back to work.

On the one hand, Steve loves his job, and he’d worked his ass off earning his doctorate so he could be a trauma therapist just like he’d planned. Kids had also been a part of his plan, obviously, but as more of an in addition to type of way, rather than instead of when it came to his career. Eddie knows this, and he knows that Steve is excited to go back, to reconnect with his patients after three months apart.

Eddie also knows that their kids are everything to Steve in a way his job will never be (duh), and Eddie had seen the way Steve refused to ignore the gravity of today – the last day he doesn’t have to share his time with anything other than their daughters.

Steve had been emotional about going back to work in a similar way the first time around with Moe, and he’d called home about eight or nine times during his first day back in the office, asking how things were going and if he’d missed anything. Now, Moe is two-and-a-half (and some change, if they’re being technical), and Robbie just hit the three-month mark a few days ago. This time, Steve had done his best to split his time between their two daughters, and it’s not all that different from their normal day-to-day, honestly, just…something heavier in the air, maybe.

Now, Moe’s all fresh and clean from her bath, her bangs slicked back with the rest of her damp hair (Steve had put on a whole show of planting kisses all over her forehead and saying, “is this where you’ve been hiding your brilliant brain from us?” which always sends Moe into giggling hysterics), and Steve’s got her all bundled up in a big fluffy towel, snuggling her close with one arm as he balances Robbie on his chest with the other, all of them piled into a rocking chair while Eddie sits stretched out on Robbie’s rug.

“I’m probably not gonna be home when you wake up tomorrow morning,” Steve tells Moe, and it’s not the first time he’s brought up this particular subject today, but, y’know…toddlers. Really gotta nail in the point sometimes with toddlers, “‘Cause I’m going back to work, so I have to leave early to drive into Boston.”

“Why do you hafta drive to Boston?” Moe asked.

“Because that’s where my office is. Remember a few weeks ago when we visited my office?”

“Yeah and they met Robbie.”

“That’s right,” Steve nodded, “Everyone I work with met Robbie. I got to take a break from work when Robbie was born, and now it’s time for me to go back.”

Moe’s eyebrows are furrowed.

“But…I don’t want you to go.”

“I know, bug,” he tells her, “I miss you and Robbie and Daddy like crazy when I’m not home with you.”

“So why don’t you take more break?”

“I sorta took all the break I’m allowed to, sweet pea. It’s time for me to go back to work.”

Eddie looks at Moe, sees the cogs turning in her little brain as she tries to figure out a way to convince her dad to stay home with her.

“But what if you just don’t work anymore?”

It’s a good question, Eddie knows, and she’s not the only one asking it.

Not too long after Robbie’s arrival, when Max and El had come to visit and meet the new baby, Max had privately asked Eddie if he thought Steve might throw in the towel on the whole career thing this time around. Again, it’s a fair question for anybody who really knows Steve, anybody who sees how much he loves their kids and how much he loves being a dad, even if Eddie knows the answer is no. Still, it’s a close no.

Steve hums sympathetically, “Maybe someday, but I like my job. I get to help people, and I worked hard in school to be able to do that. Someday you might decide you want to have a job where you do more school and get special degrees.”

“Like what kinds of jobs?”

“Like a doctor or a lawyer, or maybe you want to work in a lab and do research on something. It’s a big world, Moe, and you can do whatever you set your mind to."

"I want to be an astronaut," Moe tells them.

"Well, there you go."

"Or I wanna be a cookie."

"Oh-" Steve's eyebrows furrow as Eddie starts to laugh. "Alright..."

"That's my girl," Eddie says, "Astronaut or pastry. I like it."

[halcyone-of-the-sea]

How To Adapt To Fire (II)

AU MASTERLIST || PART III

PAIRING: Fireman!John 'Soap' MacTavish x F!Journalist!Reader

WORDCOUNT: 5.6k

WARNINGS: Fire(s), intended harm, death/gore, murder, crime, corruption, arsonist mystery plot, pining, protective!Johnny, flirting, intense banter, fade-to-black, nudity, suggestive descriptions, dirty jokes, etc.

A/N: Taglist is full.

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

Johnny watches you slap another news clipping to the board he’d bought you for thirty-two dollars and twenty-three cents, tired eyes blinking slowly. Standing in his apartment’s living room in his boxers and an oversized shirt, he’d woken up to the sound of muttering, and it had been just that for the last week. 

When he’d allowed you to live in his spare room until you could find a new apartment building to call your own, he didn’t expect you there to be so much grumbling. Like a little bug in his ear—not that he minded all that much. At least, if you were that bug.

“I feel like I’m losing my mind,” you groan, running a hand down your face. “How did he find me? How did he know I already knew so much about the case?”

He, the arsonist.

Your entire building had been a total loss—and, sure enough, the lock had been busted off of your apartment door just like the scene of the fires that resulted in casualties. You had been targeted, and it wasn’t just an accident. There was intent there; a threat. 

Stay away from me, or else. 

Johnny had sighed long when he read that in the report he’d gotten his hands on—there was no way in hell anything was stopping you except…well, except yourself.

While he had envisioned one day potentially asking you to move in with him, he hadn’t expected that to happen so soon. Certainly not before the first fucking date. He hadn’t even gained the courage to ask you out yet, and here you were—pajama pants polling at your ankles and Johnny’s baggy sweatshirt loose around your shoulders. The Scot stands with the heat of sleep and attraction on his skin. 

He tried not to stare, really he did, but the way you looked in his clothes was too much of a distraction for his own good. 

The man clears his throat, face burning. 

“I’m beggin’ you to give it a rest, Dearie. At least five minutes.” Johnny sighs. “It’s not healthy.”

He doesn’t think he’s seen you shed a tear over your apartment—about your belongings. In reality, he was taken aback by it. Soap wouldn’t have blamed you at all…but you just seemed angry. It worried him, but the emotion was well within your right to hold. Just as it was within his right to try and keep you from rushing into danger.

“Not now,” you grumble. “Not until I know how he found out my room number.” 

“You aren’t exactly unknown.” The fireman walks closer to your standing form, hand moving up to scratch at his back as he gunts. “Mostly everyone who would care to look into your career knows about you. It wouldn’t be hard.” 

Johnny moves his vision over the board, pausing before he licks his lips.

“...They’ll be needing me in today, Hen,” he breathes. 

Your lips tighten, and you glance over quickly to find blue eyes already looking. Snapping your attention back to the board, you push back against the burn of your face.

“It’s your job, I’m not going to tell you not to go in.”

“If you need me here, then I can—”

“John,” you interrupt, shaking your head with a heavy frown and turning his way. “No way. Go in.”

Johnny’s serious face doesn’t lessen, and you’re struck with how often those lines on his face are becoming commonplace.

You wouldn’t say that you were taking this well. 

Forcing yourself to work; making your mind push back at the deep pit that seemed to be growing. Everything you’d worked for—everything you’d had. Gone. Up in smoke.

Two people had died in that inferno, and you can’t help but put that on yourself. 

Fingers going up to tap at your chin, your attention goes back to the board, the heavy weight of bags under your eyes from lack of sleep. You’d tried to re-write what you had in your notes as well as you were able, but there had been a reason for making a physical board in the first place. 

Johnny watches you, his brows tight and his fingers twitching. Sighing, he fixes his feet and lightly places a hand on the back of your spine, blinking quickly your eyes dart over before the tension begins to bleed from your muscles. 

Your gaze begins to soften, but your voice is still a light firmness. “Stop that.”

The man blinks. “Stop what?”

“Stop being all…” You huff, sagging into his hand. “You.” 

Johnny pushes a chuckle, shifting to stare at you fully and letting the smirk move over his lips. His fingers move along your back, rubbing tiny circles as the room goes airy—how quick it was that you could fall into this sense of attachment. To anyone outside of the apartment, it would seem the two of you were in a strange relationship, and that would be true to some extent. 

Your face heats up, and Johnny’s large palm flattens. He moves and presses his nose into your hair.  

“Now what’s that supposed to mean, then?” He grunts, and you can feel his flickering smirk as clear as day. 

Leaning over into him, you sigh, glaring at the board as your heart patters. 

“It means you’re distracting me.”

Johnny hums, thumb moving up and down over the knob of your spine.  “Talk to me,” he mutters. “Let me help, aye?” He blinks slowly, face hot and his lungs palpitating in his chest. The man cared about you so much—his heart ached for what you’d been put through. Losing a home like that. 

Your lashes flutter, a near purr emitting from your throat at the hypnotic movements of Johnny’s grip. Like a damn harpy, he was digging his claws into you; it had been happening for months. Of course, you’d let him touch you—how could you not? Even his sense of courage and justice was something that let you know his character, his honor. 

This case was just as important to him as it was to you. 

“Go,” you mutter, shifting your head so that you can stare at him. Johnny’s visage pulls back, his stubble moving with the worried angle of his lips; his skull tilts, almost like a dog cocking its snout. “We can figure something out later—if I get you fired I’d finally gain a conscious.” 

Johnny sighs, looking you up and down. “...I’ll be making dinner tonight. Just,” he breathes, and as his hand leaves you, your body fights the instinct to shiver. “Wait for me, Bonnie.” 

You take in the closeness between the two of you—how your bodies melt into one another as if on instinct. Something was startling about how easy it was to live in the same apartment as Johnny. It had almost been too easy. Sharing food, blankets, and looks.

Your eyes follow after Soap as he brushes your cheek with the back of his hand before turning and walking back to his room, bare feet padding over the floor. His legs move, small burns and scars all over before your vision travels up the broadness of his back; the stretch of his arms as he brings them up with a groan to itch at his head.

Licking your lips, the sight is enough to quiet your mind. Seeing how, like water, his clothes morph into the swell of his thighs and the…your face bursts into fire, and your head snaps away. 

Clearing your throat, you blink quickly and try to re-focus on your board of suspects.

—

Johnny tightens the belt over his waist, huffing softly as he walks into the fire department’s bay door—passing the red trucks and patting the dogs as they come up to mob him. 

“Yeah, yeah,” he chuckles, the clicking of little claws tapping over the concrete floors and the panting of hot breath. “Good to see you too, little rascals.” 

The fireman looks around the area, seeing some of the boys mulling about doing repairs or fixing up the slight mess. Johnny motions a hand when he’s greeted, and before long he’s entering the main hub of where he wants to go—the kitchen. 

Grabbing a cup, the Scot’s intention is to get some water before settling into his desk and diving into something that can take his mind off the woman living in his apartment. Licking his lips, Johnny gets momentarily lost in the remembrance of your skin—your determination. 

He’s angry. Angry that someone’s done this to you; had disrupted your life so violently. A question was stuck swirling in his head as he began hearing the murmuring from the walk-in pantry. 

What would have happened if you hadn’t been with him that morning? 

“What do you mean ‘that was you?’” Johnny’s fingers freeze around the rim of a glass, blinking into his own smaller reflection. Brows furrowing, the Scot’s head swivels to the kitchen pantry and the barely cracked open door and the voice that emanates from it.

For some reason, the stagnant air after that sentence makes Johnny’s spine straighten. Blue eyes stare blankly, and fingers twitch as the same voice starts again.

“I thought you said it was over?! That the last one was,” a strangled word, a fast inhale. “We had a fucking deal.” 

Heart slow in his chest, Soap stares the longer this seemingly one-sided conversation goes on. There was something off—the words seemed hurried; panicked, even. It wasn’t the usual emotions you had when having a talk with someone. 

Taking a steady step back, the Scot remembered how fast your pulse had run when he had you at his chest a week ago—the fast slam and the whites of your eyes on full display. Even if you didn’t confess it to him, Johnny knew you’d been afraid of the fire. Fearful. He knew you weren’t sleeping. 

Maybe the fireman was being paranoid, but anything that he didn’t understand made his hackles rise like a feral dog—certainly with you, technically, under his watch now. Everyone was a potential threat. Face stiff, Johnny begins walking over to the pantry with nearly silent feet, boots softly flattening to the tile floor.

Stopping outside of the door, his ears hone in. 

“This isn’t right! There’s a difference between what you do and what I do! We stuck together, but this is it. I’ve covered for you—I’ve tried to smooth everything out, but this isn’t something that I can look past anymore. She wasn’t even involved yet!”

Johnny’s lips tighten, his eyes burning through the barrier until he lifts his hand and settles it loosely on the doorknob, not pushing even as the thin material shifts minutely. The alarms in his head were going off, and he didn’t like that. 

Muscles tight, the Scot moves a bit closer, shoulder just beginning to touch the wood before—

Kurt Matthews, one of the rookie firefighters, shoves himself through. 

Johnny strangles a gasp as the two men nearly collide with one another, only shoving out, what he hopes to be, a casual call of, “Hell’s bells. Careful there, Kid.”

The man’s wild eyes lock on him, stumbling back before Soap’s hands move to grasp his arm, a dark phone held lightly in Kurt’s hand. Johnny looks at it silently before he forces a blank chuckle. “Sorry, then. Was going to get some bread—you know how it is, eh?” Kurt looks frazzled, a sheen of sweat over his face; eyes tiny. “The boys never fill up the bread box after they finish a loaf.”

“What?” Matthews quickly mutters, before shaking his head and waving a hand. “Yeah, right, whatever.”

He swiftly moves past the Scot, brushing shoulders. The mohawked man’s nose pulls in, and blue eyes watch the disappearing individual. 

Johnny’s throat swallows down saliva. 

Kurt Matthews smells like gasoline.

—

You hear the sound of the TV and sniffle, pushing the heels of your hands into your stinging eyes. 

It wasn’t a question as to why you had waited until Johnny left to let yourself feel the hopelessness that was sinking into your chest—you were surprised you lasted that long, though. Tiny tears dribble out over your cheeks, but you fight them with a growl. 

“Keep it together,” you sigh harshly. “C’mon, keep it together.” 

Your heart jerks when the front door of the apartment opens, and you’re quick to stand up from the couch where you had been sitting, clearing your throat as Johnny’s call echoes. 

“Just me!” 

You divulge immediately into your hurried sentences, waving a hand. The shake in your voice is obvious. “I have some of the names I remember writing down—it isn’t much but I—”

“What happened?” Johnny’s hands capture your face in a swift second; he isn’t even out of his work clothes before he’s over and touching you. It’s like he teleported over at the slightest hint of distress, not even a moment of hesitation. “Whoa, hey, hey,” he breathes a bit slower, softer. “What’s this then, Bonnie?” 

Delicate movements of his fingers scrape your flesh, thumb running as blue eyes come into focus. Your lungs tighten up again at the sight of tense worry—Johnny’s face all hard with the lines of his forehead and the narrowing of his eyelids.

“Let me see,” he utters, tilting your head up so the brightness of your eyes is visible to him; the wetness of your flesh. “Hey, now.” 

The man’s attention goes up and down on the off chance this is physical pain instead of the internal kind. But he knows better than that. So, Johnny stuffs down the hunch he had about the man in his own ranks and places all of his concern on you and your bitter tears. 

Even when you try to grumble his worry away.

“It’s just stupid tears, MacTavish,” your voice cracks as he drags you to him, curling his arm behind the stretch of your shoulder blades in an addictive display that leaves your nose sniffling again. “It doesn’t mean anything.”

“Quit it,” the Scot pleads. “Jesus, Pencils,” he sighs, arms trapping you in just like before. “Just let me hold you, yeah? I swear, you’ll make my heart burst ‘fore I get you to admit you’re feeling something.”

Your glossy eyes flinch into a weak glare. “I’m not that emotionally constipated, jackass.” 

Johnny’s breath moves over your scalp.

“You sure about that?” Your face goes to an annoyed sheen, and from the soft rest of Johnny’s chest, you look over at him. He’s trying a light smirk, but his eyes are still serious. 

Letting yourself melt into him, you take in his scent and the heat he offers you, surrounded by the remnants of his life and future—this apartment that offers you a reprieve. 

You close your eyes and let your hands shift up to grab at Johnny’s shirt slowly, your heart gradually easing. Unaware of the soft gaze watching every second; his own grip tightening.

“...You’re like a dog,” you whisper, tears drying. “Always running over.” Your pause lays out a beautiful scene. “I like it.”

Johnny’s cheeks flare to a bright red. He clears his throat, glancing away from your face. “I don’t know if I should be offended or not.”

“Hm,” you hum, shrugging and nuzzling your nose into his pulse. You hear it racing. “Up to you, I suppose.” 

The man laughs, chest jerking. 

The silence that falls after is like a blanket—settling thickly over the space as the last of your sniffles finally halt. You didn’t like crying; not in front of others. It was easier to just push through it, but Johnny’s presence made you soft, at the same time you can’t tell if that’s good or bad. But it did make your fear lessen, and maybe that was something you couldn’t overlook. 

You tighten your hold on his waist, and he grunts, glancing down at you as his gut swirls. The man’s half-lidded eyes flutter, fingers flinching along your clothes. The room gets warmer, or maybe it’s just him. 

“I guess,” you begin under your breath, voice muffled by his skin. “I could use your help. Officially.”  

“Ooo,” the Scot whispers. “‘Officially’—look at that.”

You huff, lips pulling up. 

“Well,” the man mutters, chin resting on top of your head as the sun outside begins to dip lower. “‘Officially’ I have some information that my Bonnie little boss might like to hear.”

Your smirk grows wider, your heart hammering faster as your pulse moves with fire. 

“Oh?” Your nails drag his sides, and you feel Johnny’s breath hitch, a low purr emanating from his chest. 

“Oh, aye,” a hand grips your chin, dragging you back until you’re once more blinking into his gaze head-on. His finger pets your flesh, your breath puffing out as he stares down at you. He swallows down the nervousness in the back of his throat, the urgency that instinct pushes away in this moment of anticipation as he watches your face. “But I’m having a moment, it seems—can’t think straight.”

“Why’s that?” You lick your lips and see cobalt blue follow them.

“Because this Hen in front of me has been a damn tease since I’ve met ‘er.” 

Any snappy reply is cut short before it even can fully register in your head, and all thoughts halt the second his firm mouth is on your own. 

You gasp, but there isn’t an ounce of yourself that pulls back, not when Johnny’s fingers play at your shirt-hem, or even when your own slide under his clothes. You don’t pull back when they hit the floor—don’t pull back when your bodies follow suit. 

A dance of fire and ice moves with the writhing of flesh and the passing of heavy kisses; panting breath. Grunts and groans as if every pass of lips and teeth is a knife into supple skin. Tense legs and flexing arms—dragging fingertips digging into every latchable dip even as the dead of night grows longer. 

It’s only after every desire has been satiated that you finally utter about the finer details of this mess. 

Johnny’s hands move down your bare back, slipping to grip your waist and drag you into him as you sigh. Your thigh lifts to rest over his hip, leg hanging uselessly over as it brushes the ruffled sheets as lips find your neck, tiny nips and passes of skin mixing as your eyes flutter. 

The fireman makes a noise of satisfaction in the back of his throat, hand sliding to hook under your kneecap, caressing. 

“So attentive,” you murmur, and your fingers run through his hair, itching at his mohawk as the longer strands slip through. Johnny burrows closer, nose pushing your head upwards as he kisses the space where your neck connects to the underside of your chin. 

He chuckles smoothly, stubble scraping along as you shiver at the sensation. The hard press of his pecs shove into you, and you lightly breathe; fingers twitching.

“How are we feeling?” Johnny grunts in between his worship.

“Energized,” you grin, half-closed eyes shimmering. 

The man smiles widely, grip sliding downward slowly as he chuckles. “Yeah?”

“Not like that,” you groan, shoving his hand away as he laughs, rolling onto his back and folding his arm over his eyes. 

“Ah,” Johnny’s chest jumps with his amusement, itching at his bare abdomen for a moment. “Worth a try, then.”

“Dog,” you roll your eyes. “You’ve had enough of a fill.”

“That’s all up to opinion, Dearie.” He smirks, peeking at you as your face heats up.

Shoving at his shoulder, he laughs again and pushes up, hands melting into the mattress beside your head as he looms above you as a large wall. 

“I’ll never have enough of a fill when it comes to you and your wet c-”

You snap a hand to his mouth, covering it as you glare openly, sneering. “Finish that sentence and you’ll never have me in this bed again.”

Johnny’s glinting eyes stare from above your hand, and you feel his smile as clear as day as his face stays stuck close to yours. 

A teasing kiss is leveled on your palm and you roll your eyes, pulling away to lightly push at his forehead. The Scot lets you shove at him, and you sit up fully as he grunts and rests his back on the headboard. 

Shifting your body, you straddle his lap and grasp his chin.

“A few hours ago,” Johnny’s eyes are blown, and you feel his touch on your hips. He hums in question, barely listening above the squeeze of your legs. “You were going to tell me something—a lead.”

“Was I?” The fireman breathes, licking at your finger as it goes to rest on his bottom lip. 

You cock your head with seriousness and a level of amusement in your gaze. “You were. Tell me.”

“You need to work on your pillow talk, Pencils.” Johnny sets a sloppy kiss on your collarbone and sighs. 

There’s a moment where you both stare into one another, and the gravity of this begins to set in once more. Carnal desire and feelings aside, there was always an edge to the both of you—this need to be seen through whether for some sense of justice or care. 

“Kurt Matthews—rookie fireman,” Johnny grunts, looking away for a quick moment. “Heard him speaking on the phone, got a bad feeling ‘bout it that I can’t place. Might be nothing, but I wouldn’t be me if I didn’t tell you.” 

“Kurt,” you breathe, brows pulling in. There’s a long pause. “Kurt Matthews…that sounds familiar.” 

Hopping off Johnny, the man groans softly, a slightly needy look following after as your bare body slips away. He knocks his skull against the headboard, side-eyeing your backside as you hurry off to your board. A light smirk makes itself known before your voice snaps him out of his memories. “Stop looking at my ass, MacTavish!”

His face goes beet red as he grunts, quickly snapping his eyes away. 

You wrap yourself into one of the blankets that was on the couch, letting it hang off of your shoulders as you snatch one of the papers on your mess of information. 

“A fireman,” you mutter to yourself, finger running down names and brief descriptions. “An inside job? No, that would be…” Your eyes spark to life as Soap shuffles in, running through his hair. “That would be one hell of a story.” 

Attention locked in, your eyes instantly stop on your own chicken scratch—the name at the bottom of the page. 

Kurt Matthews. Witness to fire on the fifth; one dead. 

“Off duty? Or not hired yet?” You ask, lips tightening. “Why was he at the scene? Johnny,” your curious voice calls to him, and he slips up behind you, flattening his front to your back. You lean into him, showing him the paper. “When did he get taken on into the department?”

“Month ago,” Johnny’s face pulls, frowning. A name catches his attention, and he tilts his head. “Why’s Duncan on there?”

Your attention moves to the scribbled title. Johnny continues as you read, your stomach sinking. 

Duncan Ballard. Employee of Warren Electrical. No involvement.

You wave a hand. “He has nothing to do with this case. That was back when I was looking into the money laundering—”

“They’re cousins.” 

Your body twists, face confused. “What…?”

Johnny blinks, glancing at you and then back to the paper, he vaguely gestures to the two names. “Duncan and Kurt—they’re cousins. Met him at one of the department cookouts. Strange bloke, but I never thought much about it. Just thought he liked the profession a bit because Kurt was getting involved.” 

You stare at him, a million thoughts dashing from behind your eyes. “Duncan was the man I interviewed about the Warren Electrical case. He was cleared by the police,” you stutter, looking to the side. “He was the only employee of the company that didn’t confess or implicate someone else. There was no evidence to…”

You trail off before your spine tightens. Your body pushes itself out of Johnny’s hold, rushing to his computer and opening it like a bat out of hell. 

“Give me the name of one of the fire victims.”

The Scot watches after, hurriedly forcing out, “Mike Lane.”

An article pops up—one that you hadn’t written but that another journalist had. Warren Electrical Employee Exposes All. 

“Another,” you breathe, eyes stuck on the screen.

“Kit Cannon.”

Warren Electrical Employee—

“Johnny, one more.”

“Hadden Taylor.”

Warren Electrical Employee—

Your throat closes for a moment before you force out in the middle of Soap easing out another name, still not sure where you’re going with this. “He’s trying to kill off anyone who snitched.”

Johnny pauses, coming over to look as he thinks—as he looks over the articles you show him with a grim face, he tilts his head.

“Even then, why were you a target? All you did was interview him. And why now?” 

“He knows I have all of the resources,” you begin. “If anyone can catch him, it would be me—I interviewed him when he was in temporary custody. It would have seemed like he didn’t have a choice unless he wanted to keep his appearance of innocence.” 

Your mind struggles through the potential answers. “But you’re right—why now? Is it because of the trial coming up? And how does this connect with Kurt?”

“He smelled like Gasoline when he walked past me,” Johnny adds, rubbing at his chin; itching at his scar. He spares you a look, mulling over the words that he’d heard in the pantry. “...I think he’s trying to cover his cousin’s crimes with his own. Make it seem like they’re all a part of one damn scheme.” 

“He’s the one going for the abandoned buildings,” you agree, nodding a few times, looking over into Johnny’s eyes. “Kurt Matthews and Duncan Ballard. Okay. We have our leads.”

Before the Scot can speak on it, you’re rushing past, grabbing clothes from the floor and shoving them on. His face moves in, confusion overtaking his building shock. 

“What are you doing?” You shove into your pants, not sparing a look before you button them. 

“Get dressed, we’re going out.”

Johnny’s left in the middle of the room, naked, watching after you with a slack-jawed expression of disbelief. 

“...What?”

—

You hang up your phone with one of the many people you know in the city, dropping it to your side as you and the fireman stand in front of your car. You have an address for Kurt’s home—not one for Duncan, but that can happen later. With what Johnny had said not moments before, Matthews was expressing hesitation. Go for the weaker link first. 

The streets are lit up. It’s still night out but the long hours are beginning to thin into morning; it can’t be later than three AM. Vehicles rush past, and, occasionally, people walk to wherever they are off to. The city never sleeps, just as you don’t. 

“Woah,” Johnny grabs onto you before your hand can latch onto the driver’s seat door. He waves his other hand and stares at you heavily. “We can’t just go into this with our dicks in our hands, Bonnie.”

“Thankfully, I don’t have one of those,” you huff. “That’s why I keep you around.”

“That isn’t,” Johnny sighs aggressively, shaking his head. “I’ll not have you in danger. We need to pass this along the chain.”

“The chain,” you grumble, “hates me. We’re the best bet right now.” Raising a brow you point a finger under his nose. “If I recall, you asked to be involved.”

Johnny frowns heavily, looking unimpressed until he takes a deep breath. He rasps out, “You’re lucky you’re damn near a goddess—”

His phone goes off in his pocket, and not a second later, he’s answering as you mess with your satchel. Taking out a piece of paper, you try not to show how much his little comment made you want to float into the air, giddy, nearly, as you write down Kurt’s address sloppily. 

“MacTavish,” Johnny grunts out, turning slightly away. 

You open your car door, but a hand moves out and keeps it closed enough to a point where you can’t slip inside, you pout and Johnny raises a brow as he listens. Your eyes notice how his jaw clenches, and he lets off an aggressive sigh like a boar when he registers the words being said from over the line. 

Your heart drops when you watch his shoulders sag, hips moving as they situate themselves.

“Right. I’ll be over.” Cobalt eyes snap to yours when the call ends, deathly serious. “One of the boys had to run out tonight during his twenty-four-hour—family emergency. I was on call for him.” 

You open your mouth to speak. 

“No,” Johnny points at you, digging out his own keys from his pants as he backs up. He shakes his head. “No—you’re not going alone. Don’t even ask it, Pencils.”

Your loud scoff echoes. “I didn’t even mention it!”

“You fucking thought it,” he grunts, glaring. “Get your pretty arse back inside the apartment and we do this together tomorrow.”

“Oh, yes,” you wave a hand, stepping back onto the sidewalk as the Scot moves to his vehicle only two cars down, sarcastically monologuing. “All naked and waiting to be ravished by your brutish body. Whatever will I do without you, my brave firefighter?”

“Don’t tempt me,” Soap mutters to himself, and just as he unlocks his car and opens the door, you’re there at his side. A light kiss is pressed into his flesh, and he freezes. 

“Be safe,” you mutter, and he melts—tension loosening. He smirks and glances over, carefully grabbing your face before connecting his lips to yours with a low groan.

“Maybe you should be naked and waiting for me—”

“Go!”

Johnny chuckles against your lips. “Keep your head on for me, Pencils. I’ll be back soon, and we can find the fucker that did this, eh?”

As he gets into his car and drives away, you watch after him and bite at your lips. And then as he turns the street corner, you jog over to your car and slip inside.

—

The home was run down.

It wasn’t a place where you would want to raise a family, and neither was the neighborhood. In fact, barely anyone seemed to live on this street, and even if there were entire rows of houses, there weren’t even any lights on—nothing illuminated the streets except the lamps, and you were parked under one with your satchel in your lap. 

Experience didn’t mean you never get nervous.

You feel the clamminess of your palms as you flex them, replaying Johnny’s words in your head over and over. You knew the house was here, so, you could always just…come back later. There was no harm in it. 

Yet, your eyes narrow, and your rage builds. 

This fucker was related to the man that burned down your apartment building—was potentially covering for him so you wouldn’t break the case on Duncan killing off the snitches for Warren Electrical’s schemes. But all because of an interview with him? All you’d done was sit down with the guy; why did he feel the need to track you down? Breaking into someone's house and lighting it up with matches was personal—incredibly personal. 

Duncan had given you a warning to keep away, and you hated warnings with a fiery passion. If anything, it had just set you on his ass more. 

“Okay,” you huff, and reach inside of your satchel, flicking on the recorder you stuffed inside and stating your name, age, and important information. 

And then you open the car door and exit. 

Speed walking to the door, you look down the dark streets and hunch into yourself, the calls of crows and the wind moving the overgrown grass. Cracked concrete hits the ground as you kick pieces away, and at the two steps leading to the front door, you think that perhaps this might be a bad idea.

Bad ideas are what make good articles.

You hum, face innocent. “Johnny’s gonna fucking kill me.”

Knuckles raising, you send three firm knocks into the paint-speckled wood, and wait. And wait.

And wait. 

Your face tightens, your legs shifting minutely as the seconds draw long. A part of you is somewhat relieved until you hear a small creak just when you’re about to walk away. You freeze, and your eyes move slowly to the glass of the side window in a gradual glance. 

Your eyes lock onto a face staring back. 

Gasping, your foot takes a rapid step backward, but before you can rush away, Kurt rips open the door and pleads in a tiny voice as he grabs your arm. You flinch, raising up a heavy fist. But his words stop you from sending it forward.

“No! No, you can’t be here!” Your eyes blink rapidly, stuttering through your initial panic.

“What?”

“Leave!” Kurt snaps, eyes wild. “While he’s still asleep—he can’t see you here or he’ll—” There’s a splash of liquid and you shout. Kurt lets go of you quickly as he looks down at himself as his clothes get flooded from behind. 

The sharp smell hits you before your ears twitch to the sound of a lighting match. 

Kurt screams, snapping around as you fall backward off the steps, slamming into the ground with a panicked flinching in your lungs. A large shadow stands in the doorway. “I didn’t say anything—I didn’t—!”

Kurt Matthews goes up in flames, and in the fire and the rabid screams of sizzling flesh, you’re left shouting in pure fear. Duncan’s familiar face was illuminated by an orange and red inferno and he watches you blankly with a box of matches in his right hand.

You run off so fast, your heels get kicked off in a flurry of a chase.

TAGS:

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[doctorsiren]

Moth Psycho 100 AU

Something that I latched onto for mp100 is the moth imagery for Mogami. More than once is a moth shown as symbolism, but it’s also associated with Mogami more than once, whereas with the other bugs he’s shown associated as, it’s just once i’m pretty sure (even if not, moths show up as symbolism the most so uhhh yeah)

So @cupofchemicalchatter and I cooked up an AU idea :)

Mogami Arc happens as normal except for the very end. Instead of Matsuo catching Mogami’s spirit and trapping him, Mogami is able to go and watch Mob from afar like he said he would: “You made your choice, kid. I’ll keep watching from afar to see if you made the right one.”

At the end of the Mogami Arc, Reigen says: “Anyway, history has shown that no good ever comes from drowning in wealth, fame, or power. Think about it: Mogami let his own powers swallow him up too.” Remember this, as this is important for the AU I’m about to explain. 

And this will go into the next arc, the Separation Arc. The part where Reigen is in the alleyway under the streetlight with those moths above him always felt deeper to a level that it probably wasn’t supposed to be and by that I mean I was connecting it to Mogami’s moth thing.

What am I talking about? Okay well, just imagine the Separation Arc happening as usual UNTIL that moment. The moment where Reigen is in the alleyway:

Mogami had been keeping an eye on both Mob and Reigen, figuring that a way to break Mob was to use someone he cared about, that person being his mentor. So in that moment, Mogami had been possessing / using that moth as his vessel to watch Reigen. The moment that the moth drops dead and Reigen looks up is the moment that Mogami transferred his possession from the moth to Reigen, causing his sudden change. Now he is determined to “become somebody”. Of course, just like in canon and like Mogami did, he starts out by helping people out with their problems. He stated in the Mogami arc: “Mogami? Yeah, I modeled part of my work off him when I started this job.” Mogami stated that “at first, I used my abilities for good, giving advice and solving various problems.” Mogami was the “Psychic Star of the 20th Century”, with Reigen being the “Greatest Psychic of the 21st Century”. Mogami basically told Mob the classic villain thing of “we’re not so different, you and I”, but Mogami now sees that with Reigen as well. Despite the man not having powers, he would prove useful.

Reigen began “developing” psychic abilities. He thought at first that it might have been something residual still left over from when Mob gave him his powers while fighting the Scars, but he soon began to believe that he had dormant abilities that became awoken once he set out on “becoming somebody”. However, it’s actually just the possession from Mogami. He begins to realize that he doesn’t need Mob anymore. He can do exorcisms on his own now! So, he starts pushing everyone away…the people who would be able to actually help him out of this.

Reigen starts to hear a voice in his head. It’s Mogami speaking to him like he did with Mob, but he disguises it as Reigen’s own voice, allowing the conman to think that it’s his own thoughts. Reigen begins to separate himself from this “new” version of himself (which is just Mogami), but not in a way of “oh, these are bad thoughts” but in the way of “this version of me is my only true friend.” Since he’s being possessed, he’s not really thinking rationally. 

His reflection becomes a way that Mogami can communicate visually, while disguised as Reigen, of course. He speaks to Reigen, convincing him further that he doesn’t need anybody. Only himself.

His shadow also becomes a visual way for “Reigen” to communicate (because I thought that would be cool, kind of like Morgana in Ducktales 2017, or in The Princess and the Frog). 

The turning point for where things actually go south is the Supernatural Detective TV spot. When Jodo suggests that Reigen be the one to do the exorcism, instead of letting Jodo trick him, Reigen insists that Jodo go ahead with how the program was planned. In this world, the event is reversed. Jodo actually does the fake exorcism, since it was scripted, but then Reigen steps in and explains there was no evil spirit to exorcise, hence making Jodo the fool rather than Reigen. The host praises Reigen and the child reveals that he was acting the whole time. 

And then begins his true metamorphosis. 

Usually, butterflies are used to represent change, however moths go through that same transformation, but to most, they are held typically in a lesser regard than their daytime counterparts. Not really important, but I just thought it was interesting.

Reigen starts to spiral, becoming more and more of a corrupted conman. He isn’t assassinating people for money like Mogami had done, but he is lying more and more and more. The more he becomes corrupted with power, the more his psychic abilities grow (think Ritsu with Dimple and the student council stuff)/ The idea actually started out by me suggesting that as he gets more corrupted, he starts to cough out moths (sorta like an odd moth-based hanahaki, but having literally nothing to do with unrequited love and he won’t die from the moths. He just coughs them out because we thought that went kinda hard), but of course, he keeps telling himself (as well as Mogami telling him) that he’s fine. 

His powers (Mogami’s powers) are getting stronger and he’s taking out bigger spirits, taking on bigger clients, and becoming a bigger star. He finds himself losing consciousness / disassociating at times, only to wake up and find that he is stronger. It has become a little of a Jekyll and Hyde situation, but while Mogami has control of Reigen’s body, he uses it to consume evil spirits to try and regain the power he lost from fighting Mob. How we’re visually showing the possession is through a scar (like how Dimple has the red cheek spots). He got the scar under his right eye when Mogami exploded that one-way mirror in the Mogami Arc, and since Reigen’s technically being possessed during the duration of the AU (once that moth dies), the scar is visible the whole time.

In the end (we haven’t figured out when but we just know), Mob has to confront Mogami inside Reigen’s head, like he did with Minori. Inside Reigen’s head, it becomes blatant that Reigen isn’t psychic, although Mob’s sorta known that for a while (as it is alluded to at the end of the Separation Arc). But, Mob himself doesn’t want to acknowledge that fact. Reigen always said he had powers! Why would he lie? So although Shigeo knows the truth, Mob doesn’t see it. He pretends that it’s not true. He believes in Reigen’s lies. The student has become the master, in it that Mob is now lying to himself because he can’t bring himself to believe that Reigen lied to him.

After everything, Mob is able to separate Mogami from Reigen (but of course, not without everyone getting their fair share of trauma). The scar goes away, as he is no longer possessed. He’s back to being powerless, and now he knows that it was Mogami the whole time. However, Mob says that line. He says how he’s known that his master is genuinely a good guy, because it wasn’t on his own that he did all that conning and evil spirit stuff. It was because of Mogami’s corruption and influence. I think Matsuo would still somehow come across Mogami’s spirit and capture him, just so that it can come in handy later when he’s used in the World Domination Arc bc I don’t wanna mess that up lmao

Anyways yeah that was my attempt at compiling some frantic and excited discord DMs about this AU into something somewhat cohesive! Now here’s art for the AU, because I wanted to share them, but I needed to explain what was going on first!

This was the first one I did for the AU, when I knew I needed to draw something up for the concept of him getting corrupted and coughing moths 😄

And then the shadow and mirror thing (I LOVE the one of “Reigen” in the reflection oughhhh)

If you remember that post where I said I woke up and found I had written “twink controlling a twink” the night prior, this is what it was in relation to 😭 why did I call Mogami a twink very very late at night? Who knows. The important thing is that doing so altered everything and now he is one in my mind, so I can’t do anything about it. Don't ask why this page seems really fruity, it was like 3 AM and over a week ago so I don't know (/silly)

These were from when I was rewatching the Mogami Arc to pick up details for the AU

Moths have the patterns on their wings to mimic eyes, so there’s that inherent aspect of deception and lying. It makes the moths seem like a bigger threat than they actually are. (also I have him wearing Mogami's blazer and shirt)

And then just the moths and such with Mogami’s spirit

And me pulling a quote from when Dimple was explaining who Mogami was.

YEAH I just really love drawing stuff for this AU bc of the fun moth symbolism.If none of any of this makes sense, I’m so sorry. I just needed to finally post about this AU bc it’s given me brainmoths (like brainworms, but y’know)

We kinda came up with the AU backwards and filled in random spots here and there after the fact of our original conjuration of it, so I had to try and piece it together HAHA 

[monzabee]

lean on you – cl16

masterlist

Summary: The one where you learn to lean on Charles more than you thought you ever could.

Pairing: charles leclerc x medstudent!reader

Word Count: 3.9k

Warnings: it’s been a while since i went to an actual hospital, so that, and also worried charles, mentions of sickness and vomiting, also mentions of food poisoning

Request: “Hiiii! I don’t know if you still accept request😅 but I have something in my mind if you are open to it, like the reader is quite sick before Charles’ race, he wanted to stay to take care of her but she insisted that he go on with the race and that she’ll be fine. But during the race, Charles’ got a call that she have been taken to the hospital by Lorenzo since she almost passed out. Charles went straight to the hospital and bit mad and angry at her being so stubborn. I just think Charles can be over protective and can be so upset or angry when he get very worried. Like how Charles will emphasise that she have him instead of being so independent all the time. 🤍🤍🤍 thank you if you will do it, but if not, it’s alright too! I just love and enjoy reading all your works!🤩 ”+ “Can you write a fic where the reader is a med!student with Charles? (definitely not projecting🫣)”

Author’s Note: hi, hey, hello!! i loved both of these concepts and i though they’d go well together, because most of my friends who are also med students love diagnosing themselves?? i kind of wanted to based the reader off of bow from black-ish if you guys ever watched it, it’s my current watch and i love her so much!! it was very fun for me to write, and thank you to both of the anons for their requests! Feedback is always appreciated, and i hope you guys enjoy! good morning, noon or night wherever you are, xoxobee

Please also note that all of my works are protected under copyright, and not available for reposting on other platforms. 

“Are you sure you’re fine, mignon? You look worse than you did last night.” Charles lets his eyes look over your fatigued figure in your bed, worry etched into his eyebrows.

Giving him a weak smile, you do your best to reassure his worries by reaching for his hand resting on the side of his body. “I’m fine, love, I feel better than I did yesterday.” Charles sighs softly, his worry not entirely dissipating. He moves closer to the bed, his hand tightening around yours, and you squeeze his hand gently, relaying the message that you appreciate his concern. “I really am, you don’t have to worry about me, okay?”

“You say as if that’s an easy thing, love.” He emphasises, giving you a small smile that still allows you to see the dimples on his cheeks. “I just don’t want to leave you alone, you seem worse than you did last night.”

Your expression softens as you recall the way he doted on you the previous evening, no matter how much you told him that you were doing fine. “I promise I’m feeling much better, it’s nothing but a stomach bug – and I promise I’ll rest today, too.”

Charles leans down and places a gentle kiss on your forehead. “You better keep that promise and rest, it’s doctor’s orders," he says with a hint of playfulness in his voice. "I'll hold you to it.”

You chuckle weakly, appreciating his attempt to lighten the mood. “I promise, Charles. I'll stay in bed, take my medicine, and rest. I have some lecture stuff I have to go over, anyway." You pause, looking up at him with sincere eyes. "And you need to focus on your race. I don't want you to worry about me, be careful out there please.”

His lips form a mock pout, making your facial muscles to pull in an involuntary smile, “But my favourite part is the part where my doctor takes care of me,” his thumb draws a comforting circle on your hand, “your kisses help immensely.”

You blush at his playful comment, grateful for his affectionate nature even in times of worry. “I promise I’ll give you kisses when you come back, but only if you promise you’ll be careful.” You sigh deeply at the boyish grin he sends your way, “I’m serious, Charles.”

Charles's expression softens, and he reaches out to cup your face in his hands, his touch gentle yet firm. "I promise, my love. I'll be careful. Do you need me to bring you anything before I leave?”

Your nod is sluggish and doesn’t go unnoticed by Charles, but he chooses to remain silent as he gives you a moment to think about your answer. “Can you just give me my computer and anatomy book, please?” You watch as Charles nods in understanding. He leans down to give you a tender kiss on the lips before making his way to the desk where your belongings are kept. Retrieving the items you requested, he returns to your bedside, placing them gently on the bed beside you.

"Here you go, mignon," he says softly, his voice filled with genuine concern. He notices the way you keep fiddling with the collar of his your sweatshirt – a habit you usually display when you’re sick because the clothing usually causes overstimulation in your mind. “Do you want me to bring you some water? Or maybe order room service?”

You shake your head to the either side this time, giving him a sleepy smile as you start talking, “I’m good, but thank you, darling.” You let out a small giggle at the unapproving glance he sends your way, “I promise I’ll order some food when I get hungry, Charles.”

Charles chuckles softly, his eyes filled with a mix of amusement and concern at the way you emphasise the word. "Alright, love. Just make sure you take care of yourself and eat something nutritious. I don't want you skipping meals, even if you're not feeling well."

You nod, appreciating his reminder. "I promise, Charles. I'll make sure to eat when I need to. But for now, I think I'll focus on studying and getting some rest."

He leans in to press a gentle kiss to your temple, his warm breath brushing against your skin. "That sounds like a good plan. I'll leave you to it then, but remember to reach out if you need anything, okay?"

"I will," you reply softly, your eyes growing heavy with fatigue. "Thank you for taking care of me, Charles. I love you."

He smiles warmly, his eyes filled with affection. "I love you too, mignon. Rest well and take all the time you need. I'll see you soon." With that, Charles gives your hand a final squeeze and presses his lips to your forehead in a parting kiss before reluctantly pulling away and leaving the room. Taking a deep breath, you focus on the task at hand, determined to make the most of your day even if you’re feeling a bit down.

It’s not easy for Charles to focus on his driving that day, not easy at all. He can’t seem to focus on the track when you seem to occupy his mind and linger in his thoughts. The people around him notices the way he seems almost detached at the garage that day, and also noticing your absence, thankfully they accommodate him and his aloofness the best they can. He keeps an eye on his phone the entire time before he gets in the car – something he usually never does before a race just in case you call him in need of assistance. Charles takes a deep breath, trying to clear his mind as he prepares for the race. He knows he needs to focus, but his thoughts keep drifting back to you. Concern and worry gnaw at him, making it difficult to fully immerse himself in the adrenaline of the race.

Before climbing into his car, he approaches his brother, who is thankfully standing nearby. He looks into Lorenzo's eyes and speaks in a hushed tone, “Hey, can you do me a favour?”

Lorenzo, sensing the urgency in Charles' voice, gives him a nod, his own concern mirrored in his eyes. “Of course, Charles. What do you need? Is everything alright?”

Charles takes a moment to gather his thoughts before responding. “I need you to keep an eye on my phone, Y/N wasn’t feeling too good this morning, and i have a bad feeling about it.” He hands Lorenzo his phone, making sure to check one for one last time to see whether you’ve texted or called him, you haven’t.

Lorenzo's brows furrow with worry as he listens to Charles, but he understands the gravity of the situation and the significance of Charles' request. "Don't worry, Charles, I'll take care of it – and I'll let you know if anything happens. You focus on the race, and I'll make sure everything is handled."

With that assurance, Charles turns his attention back to the race ahead and quickly puts on his balaclava and helmet. He climbs into his car, adjusting his helmet and securing himself in the cockpit. The anticipation and excitement of the race surround him, but his mind remains consumed with worry for you as he tries to assure himself that you are fine and resting back at the hotel. The race begins, and Charles pushes the limits of his car, manoeuvring through the twists and turns of the track. But no matter how hard he tries, he can't fully immerse himself in the competitive spirit. Thoughts of you and your well-being linger, distracting him from the task at hand. His racing instincts seem dull, his reaction time slightly delayed, and he struggles to find his usual pace.

As the laps pass by, Charles notices that he's slipping further and further behind, unable to keep up with the leading pack. Frustration mounts within him, battling against his worry for you. The race that should have been a chance for him to shine becomes an arduous struggle to maintain his composure, as he struggles to keep up with the cars infront, the ones behind him seemingly passing him with ease and causing him to drop out of points. So despite his best efforts, Charles finishes the race with a disappointing result, far from his usual position on the podium. He steps out of the car, feeling a mix of exhaustion and disappointment washing over him. The familiar cheers from the crowd seem distant, overshadowed by his concern for you. His mind is occupied by imagining the worst as he gets out of his car, takes off his helmet and stumbles towards the team's garage. The once vibrant atmosphere now feels muted, as if the world around him has lost its importance. He can sense the curious glances and sympathetic looks from his fellow team members, but he can't bring himself to socialise with any of them.

His eyes hastily search for his brother, but Lorenzo is the one who finds him before he can spot him. Lorenzo's concerned gaze locks with Charles’, and he quickly makes his way toward him, his steps mirroring Charles’ urgency. Understanding the look in his brother’s eyes instantly, Charles asks, “What’s wrong? Is it Y/N? Is everything alright?”

Charles watches his brother expectantly as he places a comforting hand on his shoulder, making him want to slap his hand away, but the next words that come out of his mouth is enough to takes his breath away, “Carlos is on the phone with the hospital–”

“Hospital?” Charles interrupts Lorenzo, “Qu'est-ce que tu veux dire par l'hôpital qui t'a appelé?” What do you mean the hospital called you?

“Calm down, Charles, laisse-moi t'expliquer.” Lorenzo gives him a pointed look, and gently steer him towards his teammate’s cousin, “Y/N called me from the taxi, she said she was going to the hospital because she wasn’t feeling well,” he raises a hand to stop Charles from interrupting again, “she also told me that she’d call me once she got to the hospital but she didn’t, I’m guessing her phone died and the hospital called me instead. But my Spanish is non-existent and Carlos is talking to them, so for the love of God, calme-toi un peu.”

Charles's mind races with a mix of relief and anxiety upon hearing Lorenzo's explanation. He takes a deep breath, trying to regain his composure as he listens to his brother's words. The realization that Y/N is at the hospital sinks in, bringing a wave of concern to the forefront of his thoughts. Nodding in acknowledgment, Charles tries to calm his racing heartbeat and focus on the information at hand. “My girlfriend is at a hospital in a country she’s not familiar with, how do you expect me to calm down?”

“Just wait for a moment, we’ll have more information when Carlos is done talking to the hospital-people.” Lorenzo reassures him, and it helps Charles to focus on the current issue at hand – learning the name of the hospital and finding his way there as fast as possible.

Taking Lorenzo's advice to heart, Charles tries to steady his racing thoughts and focus on the present. He takes another deep breath, reminding himself to stay calm and composed. The minutes feel like an eternity as they wait for Carlos to conclude the call. Finally, Carlos hangs up the phone and approaches Charles and Lorenzo, his expression grave but determined. "The hospital confirmed that Y/N arrived safely," Carlos begins, his voice steady. "They're currently conducting some tests to determine the cause of her discomfort. The initial assessment suggests it may be a severe case of food poisoning."

A certain degree of understanding and relief washes over Charles as he lets Carlos’ words sink in. He offers his teammate’s cousin a grateful look, “Thank you for your help, Carlos,” he nods his head in appreciation, “do you have the name of the hospital?”

Carlos returns Charles's grateful look with a reassuring smile and a nod, “It’s the Hospital Quirónsalud Barcelona, she’s a smart girl, Charles, it’s an international hospital so she shouldn’t have any problems communicating with the doctors.” He pats Charles’ shoulder when the latter gives him a confused look, “You weren’t exactly quiet, mate.”

Charles lets out a small chuckle, realizing that his worries may have been more apparent than he thought. He appreciates Carlos' attempt to lighten the mood and offers a grateful smile. "You're right, I probably wasn't the most composed person just now," he admits, "but I'm glad Y/N is in good hands at hospital and thank you for your help, I appreciate it."

“No need to thank me, I hope she’s doing okay.” The older man smiles and gives him a final nod as he makes his way towards his cousin.

“Charles,” one of the PR people starts as they make their way towards the duo, “you still have media–”

The look Charles gives the poor intern in return can only be described as a mix of exhaustion and frustration. He interrupts the PR person before they can finish their sentence. “Bill me.” He, then, turns to his brother as he shoots him an expectant look, “Can we go?”

“Come on, I’ll drive,” Charles hears his brother’s voice, which causes him to raise his eyebrows and receive in return, “you’re obviously too high on adrenaline right now, let me drive.”

Charles, recognizing his own state of mind, doesn't argue. He nods in agreement and takes a seat in the passenger side, grateful for his brother's support, but because he is Charles, he mumbles, “You better drive fast,” under his breath as he follows his brother out of the garage.

As the car navigates through the busy streets of Barcelona, Charles finds himself lost in his thoughts – he glances out the window, his eyes darting from building to building, as if searching for answers that lie beyond the glass. The tension in the air is palpable, the silence between the brothers punctuated only by the hum of the engine and the occasional sound of horns from other impatient drivers. He tries contacting the hospital once again, but it seems like luck is not on his side as the operator speaks to him solely in Spanish, which makes him reconsider what Carlos told him earlier. Finally, after what feels like an eternity, the Hospital Quirónsalud Barcelona comes into view. Charles feels a surge of hope mixed with anxiety as Lorenzo skilfully manoeuvres the car into a parking spot. Charles is out of the car before Lorenzo even turns off the engine, which earns him a scolding from his brother, but he’s almost halfway through the walk to the entrance as he waves Lorenzo off.

As Charles approaches the entrance of the hospital, his pace quickens with a mix of urgency and concern. The automatic doors slide open, welcoming him into the bustling lobby. The sterile smell of disinfectant fills his nostrils, and the sound of footsteps echoes through the halls.

He makes his way to the reception desk, where a receptionist greets him with a warm smile, and (thankfully) speaks in English, “Good evening, how can I help you?”

Breathing heavily, Charles tries to gather his thoughts and speak clearly. “My girlfriend was admitted through ER earlier today, Y/N Y/LN. Can you please tell me her room number and how she’s doing?”

The receptionist nods sympathetically. “I understand your concern, let me check the system for you.” She begins typing on her computer, her fingers dancing across the keyboard. After a few moments, she looks up at Charles. “I do see her in our system, but I don't have access to that information. You'll need to speak with someone from the emergency department.”

Frustration wells up within Charles, but he takes a deep breath and reminds himself to stay calm. "Can you at least direct me to the emergency department?"

The receptionist offers an understanding smile. "Of course. Head down this corridor and take the first right. You'll find the emergency department entrance on your left."

Thanking the receptionist, Charles follows her directions, his heart pounding with a mix of anticipation and worry. He walks briskly, determined to reach Y/N's side as quickly as possible. As he enters the emergency department, the sense of urgency intensifies – he watches the hustle and bustle of the hospital; how the medical staff rush by, attending to patients in need and people who are waiting to see their loved ones just like him. His legs aimlessly takes him to the nearest a nurse station and approaches a nurse who seems available. “Excuse me, Miss” he calls out, trying to catch her attention. The nurse turns to him with a professional yet compassionate gaze. “I'm looking for my girlfriend, Y/N Y/LN. Can you please tell me where I can find her?”

“Let me check her records,” the nurse smiles at him, an attempt to calm him and goes through the papers on the chart in her hands. “Here she is, it seems that she was recently moved – she’s supposed be in room 376, it’s on the third level, at the end of the main hallway.”

Relief floods over Charles as he receives the information from the nurse. He manages a grateful smile and nods in appreciation. "Thank you so much. I'll head there right away."

After thanking the nurse, Charles makes his way towards the elevators, following the signs that lead him to the third level. As he steps into the elevator, he can feel his heart pounding in his chest, a mixture of nervousness and anticipation. He makes sure he sends Lorenzo a text message to let him know where’s he’s headed, the ride to the third floor feels agonizingly slow, each passing floor adding to his impatience. When the elevator doors finally open, Charles steps out and finds himself in a long, well-lit hallway. He scans the room numbers, his eyes quickly landing on the sign indicating the direction of room 376. With determined strides, he makes his way down the hallway, passing by other patients' rooms and medical staff going about their duties.

Finally, he reaches room 376, and his breath catches in his throat. Taking a moment to steady himself, he gently pushes the door open, revealing a small but comforting space. Inside, he finds you lying in the hospital bed, an IV connected to your arm and one of your textbooks open on the bed beside you. He realises you’re asleep, however, as he watches you from afar. Seeing you lying there, Charles feels a mix of emotions overwhelm him—relief that you’re safe and being cared for, concern for your well-being, and a deep longing to be by your side. He approaches the bed with cautious steps, taking in your pale complexion and the weary lines etched on your face.

Gently, Charles pulls up a chair beside your bed and sits down, not wanting to disturb your much-needed rest. He reaches out and lightly brushes a strand of hair away from your face, a tender smile gracing his lips as he watches you sleep. Gently, he reaches out and takes your hand in his, offering her a tender squeeze. "Hey," he whispers softly, not wanting to startle you. "I'm here. You're going to be okay."

You stir slightly, your eyes fluttering open. A weak smile graces your lips as you recognise Charles. "Charles," she murmurs, her voice hoarse but filled with warmth. "You came."

Charles feels a surge relief wash over him, he leans in closer, his voice filled with genuine concern. "Of course, I came, I'll always be here for you, chérie. What happened? How are you feeling?"

“I’m better now,” your voice comes off hoarse, and it makes Charles cringe inwardly, “I just wanted to come to the hospital because i kept throwing up and thought I had all the signs of food poisoning – but, honey, what are you wearing?”

Charles glances down at his attire, realizing he's still in his racing gear. “I didn’t have time to change,” he explains, his head tilted to the side as he gives you a strict look, “I should have just stayed with you.”

“You had a race, Charles,” your eyes widen in recognition as you remember the race. “Oh my god, how was it? Did you–”

“The race doesn’t matter, Y/N.” Charles interrupts, eyebrows furrowed in frustration. “I wish you wouldn’t try to be so independent all the time.”

He watches as your lips form a pout, your voice coming off more vulnerable than before as you ask, “What?”

"Y/N," he says softly, his voice filled with emotion. "What were you thinking? Why didn't you tell me you were feeling this sick? I could have been here for you."

You give him a guilty look, the pout on your lips becoming deeper. "I didn't want to worry you, Charles. I thought I could handle it on my own."

His frustration melts away as he takes in your weakened state. He moves closer, his hand gently cupping your cheek. "You don't have to handle everything on your own, love. I'm here for you, always. I would have been by your side if you had just let me. I should have been there with you today, not at some race when you were puking your guts out.” He pauses, his thumb caressing the back of your cheek soothingly. “I know you value your independence, and I admire that about you. But sometimes, it's okay to lean on others, especially when you're going through tough times. You don't have to carry everything on your own.”

You listen to Charles's words, and a mixture of emotions swirl within you. His concern and care touch your heart, but you also understand the frustration he expresses. With a soft sigh, you squeeze his hand gently. You shift slightly in the bed, wincing at the discomfort. "Being independent has been a part of me for so long, and it's hard to let go of that mindset completely. But I'm learning, slowly, to find a balance, and I'm learning to lean on you when I need to and to share my burdens with you." You give him the softest smile you can muster, “I promise I’ll try to be better, darling.”

His thumb brushes away a tear from your cheek, his touch gentle and comforting. "You don't have to apologize, mignon. I understand why you wanted me to race, but your health and well-being will always be my priority. I don't want you to ever feel like you have to face things alone. We're a team, remember?"

You nod, your voice barely above a whisper. "I know we are, and I’m sorry for worrying you, darling." You lean into his touch, feeling the warmth of his hand against your skin, and with a soft sigh, you begin speaking again. "I promise that I’ll lean on you more and remember that we’re a team.”

Charles leans down, pressing a tender kiss to your forehead. "That's all I ask, love. Just remember that you have me, and I'll always be here for you, okay? I love you."

As you feel his lips on your forehead, a sense of comfort and love washes over you. You gaze into his eyes, filled with gratitude and affection. "I love you too, Charles," you whisper, your voice filled with sincerity. "Thank you for always being there for me, even when I push you away. I'm so grateful to have you by my side."

[headkiss]

Hi!! could I request a story with Eddie where he goes to the drama room at school to set up for a Hellfire campaign, but finds a girl!reader in the drama room crying? And he gets all protective cause he recognizes her (the shy girl in his classes!), major fluff lol❤️

hi lovely!!! i hope u like it tysm for requesting :D | 0.6k fluff and a pinch of hurt/comfort

Eddie’s always buzzing to set up for Hellfire.

It’s funny, the only part of school he enjoys is the room that allows him to hold his campaigns, to be around the only people he feels somewhat normal around. His hands are full with his notebooks and supplies as he makes his way down the halls.

You were hiding in the first room you passed, your watery eyes blurring your vision. The last thing you wanted was for people to see you cry, to let them win. It was a stupid little comment after all, but it hit you the way they wanted; where it hurt.

The twist of the doorknob has you hastily wiping at your cheeks and eyes to try and lessen the traces of your tears. You shake your hands, breathe deep, and try to make it seem like you were okay.

Eddie’s shocked to see you when he walks in. He’s even more shocked to notice that you’ve been crying.

He doesn’t know you well, but he knows that you’re one of the only people outside of his friends who’s been kind to him, and that you’re quiet with most people. He sets his stuff down quickly.

“What’s wrong?” Is the first thing he says.

“Nothing,” you stand, ready to make your escape. “I’m fine, really.”

He catches you on your way out, blocking your path. Eddie has never really been one to get in people’s business, let alone care about it, but for some reason, he cares about this. He cares about whatever’s making someone as sweet as you cry.

“Woah, stop. I can tell you’re not,” he softens his voice for the next bit, “you’ve been crying.”

“It’s dumb.”

“It’s not if it’s making you upset. Come on, I’ve got time before Hellfire starts.”

“I really don’t want to bother you with it, Eddie.”

He leans on the table, making himself comfortable.

“You’re no bother, babe.”

You’ve never been inclined to talk to people, never wanted to share too much or speak for long, but Eddie makes you feel comfortable somehow. This boy, who you only know from a few classes, is easier to talk to than most people you know.

What’s up with that?

“Just some girls like to say stuff to me,” you shrug it off.

“That’s not dumb at all. You don’t deserve that, nobody does,” especially not you, he thinks. “Want me to go tell ‘em off?”

“Don’t do that.”

“I will, seriously,” he moves towards the door, but you stop him with two hands on his chest.

“I appreciate the thought, Eddie, but it’s fine, really. I’m used to it.”

“Nobody should be used to this stuff.”

“You are, too. I know how people treat you.”

“This isn’t about me, okay? Listen, you’re nice, and pretty, and the people that bug you are idiots. Complete idiots, because who picks on the shy people, huh? Only idiots, I think.”

You don’t know why his reassurance and comfort brings tears to your eyes all over again, but it does. He’s not at all what everyone says he is and it’s never been clearer.

He notices the shine of tears in your waterline, “aw, hey, I didn’t say all that to make you cry again. C’mere.”

He wraps you in a hug before you can even process it. His arms wrap around your shoulders, yours eventually go around his middle. He hugs you until you calm down again, and even then, you don’t feel ready to let go.

“Ever played D&D?” He asks.

You shake your head.

“Wanna stick around and learn?”

[exceptional-z]

zed necrodopolis x reader

this is an au where zombies were never allowed to go to human high school. so zed is aged up (though age is never mentioned so you can imagine whatever) but has never been on the other side of the barrier. i attempted not to use gendered language but i tend to write with fem!reader in mind.

also please ignore any inconsistent verb tenses. english is not my first language and verb tenses are literally the bane of my existence. + i wrote this in like an hour

your family didn’t have much money growing up, hence why you lived so close to the gate. real estate was cheap since no one wanted to live near the zombies. but it also meant you learnt how to save money in as many ways as you could.

seabrook was all about perfection. if a mattress was two years old, it was time to throw it out and buy a new one. if a bike had a single scratch, it was thrown into the dumpster. all of the old items deemed as ‘garbage’ were brought to a warehouse that was emptied around every two weeks. and this was your favourite place to be.

you sneak into the warehouse. it’s late at night and there’s never any security around. you’re immediately greeted with piles of furniture and clothing and trinkets that are too unique to fit into the seabrook aesthetic.

you start to rummage through with the plastic gloves you always wear just in case any bugs or mice decide that this is a perfect place to burrow. lost in thought, you don’t hear the creaky door open, but you do hear the sudden shout that erupted from behind you.

your heart nearly stops beating at the sudden noise and your head swivels around. the lighting isn’t great, and you can only make out the vague shape of the person blocking your only exit. he looks fairly lanky, and if you squint you could make out some of his features. he doesn’t look much older than you and he certainly doesn’t scream “imposing”. he’s taller than you, but maybe if you caught him off guard you could knock him out with one of the many heavy objects splayed around you.

“i was told no one ever came in here,” the boy says. fuck, his voice is attractive.

“they don’t. in the three years i’ve been doing this i’ve never run into anyone else.” you answer, obviously suspicious.

“i’m uh- i’m just looking for a gift for my little sister,” he explains, “it’s her birthday soon and she said she wanted a new bike but we can’t really afford it.”

you relax a little at his explanation, sharing that you’d gotten into the habit of coming here to rummage for things since your family also doesn’t have much money. “i could help you look if you’d like? and even if we can’t find a bike, there’s a ton of cool stuff you can find if you’re willing to dig.” you offer.

you can’t be sure, but you think he smiles as he answers. “i’ll take any help i can get. my friend eliza told me to try coming here to look, but honestly, i’m a bit overwhelmed.”

you talk and laugh together for what must be at least two hours. you don’t end up finding a bike, but you find an old cheerleader outfit that looks to be in perfect condition. you can’t imagine why anyone would throw it out unless it just didn’t fit anymore. the boy -who still doesn’t have a name- literally jumped up in joy when he saw you holding the skirt from the set, doing a little celebratory dance that should have been embarrassing but was somehow endearing. (that’s how you figured out his little sister was obsessed with cheer).

eventually you have to part ways; it’s getting into the early hours of the morning and you both need to be getting home. he’s halfway down the street when you realise you never shared names and you yell out, “wait!”

he stops and turns around, and you jog to catch up to him.

“what’s your name, stranger?” you ask, “just in case we run into each other again.”

he tells you his name is zed, and you tell him your name in return. for a few seconds the both of you just stand in the street, memorising each other’s faces until you look away, shaking off the thoughts of how attractive he is under the starlight.

(bonus: when zed gets home, all he can think about is you. he wonders if eliza would recognise your name, or if he would possibly run into you if he chose to go to school for once instead of always skipping. he wonders where you live in zombietown, since he doesn’t recognise you and is sure he would remember seeing someone as gorgeous are you. he spends the next few days wondering, and then is in for the shock of his life when he sees you through the fence that blocks off zombietown from seabrook and learns that you’re human.)

[star-girl-05]

Knight in Shining Armour

Stiles Stilinski x Reader

~★~❤︎~✦~

There were a hundred reasons why Stiles hates Theo Raeken. He’s a douche and on multiple occasions he has tried to kill his friends. Lately though his hatred for the man has grown, all because of you. More specifically the way Theo interacts with you. He’s always overly touchy with you, finding any excuse to touch you. Even going as far as whispering in your ear. The worst part is you let him do it. 

Stiles wants to be the only one allowed to be that close to you. To whisper sweet nothings in your ear. Instead you let Theo, and it takes everything in Stiles not to do something about it, scared you’d get mad at him. Tonight though that all changes…

Tonight is one of the few nights the pack is doing something normal teens do, Partying. Everyone’s just cutting loose, forgetting about all their responsibilities and just living in the moment. Of course just as they were having fun Theo has to show up souring everyone's mood. He only says a few words before disappearing into another room but his presence is enough to put everyone on guard, especially Stiles. 

While the others try to get back into a partying mood, Stiles is focused solely on Theo. Watching closely as he walks over to you, standing much too close for his liking. This time however instead of letting Theo stand close to you you're shoving him away earning a silent cheer from Stiles. However his smile quickly falls when he sees Theo roughly pull you back to him. 

Stiles moves on instinct making his way across the room to you. As he approaches Theo drops your arm rolling his eyes once Stiles is in front of him. 

“Are you okay?” Stiles asks immediately, concern evident in his voice. 

“Yeah I’m fine, Theo was just leaving” you set Theo with a glare making sure he got the message. Not that he ever does no matter how many times you tell him off he just comes back. 

“Oh come on Princess” he moves to reach you again but Stiles intervenes. Theo chuckles as Stiles stands in front of you, “Oh I see, you’re her knight in shining armour. Well when you get sick of this dumbass give me a call”, with a final smirk he walks away. 

You let out a breath of relief, before turning to Stiles. “Thank you, he just never listens” 

“This has happened before?” He looks so concerned, it warms your heart that he cares so much. 

“Yeah he’s always bugging me can never take no as an answer”  

“Well if he tries something again call me” you can’t help but chuckle a little, stepping closer to him. 

“Guess you really are my knight in shining armour”, Stiles blushes at your words, “Every hero deserves an award” he freezes as you lean in, placing a kiss on the corner of his mouth. 

“I- it was no problem” he stutters doing his best to try to seem like he wasn’t totally freaking out. 

“Come one my knight, let’s dance” you grab his hands leading him into the crowd of teens all dancing.

[rafeandonlyrafe]

taken

words: 3.1k

warnings: 18+ only!, smut, crime boss!rafe, (former) stripper!reader, drug dealing, prostitution/sex club, multiple murders, guns, shooting, kidnapping, unprotected p in v sex, tit slapping, male receiving handjob, kind of rough sex? its not that intense idk

taglist: @drewstarkeyslut @thelomlisrafecameron @f4ll-for-you @dilvcv @drudyslut @drewsbabygirll @jjmaybankswifes-blog @rafescokenostril @jjsmarijuana @jjmaybankisbae @seeingstarks @angelofcigs @cece45450 @babygorewhore @vanessa-rafesgirl @michelleisheres-blog

rafe stands on the upper balcony, his hands on the railing as he leans to look at the crowd moving below his feet, a mix of grinding and bumping bodies in various states of undress. his eyes search for you. he always searched for you in the crowd, making sure there is a smile on your face, and that there are no grabby hands touching parts of you that are well and solely his.

it wasn’t a crazy leap from what rafe did in his teenage years. moving from selling drugs to running a club. not just any club, of course. rafe called it a loose clothing policy club, but really it was constant sex parties behind the doors, doors that people pay a lot of money to get on the other side of. 

he, of course, kept up the lucrative drug business, but passed off the actual sale and deal to some underlings. it may not make him a completely legitimate businessman like his father, but it got him a hell of a lot closer to it, and the money got him a lot more respect as well. among the drug dealers and bartenders in his employ, he also has dancers. dancers who just happen to feel the urge to get on top of the bar and take their clothes off while the crowd cheers.

dancers don’t have to engage in any acts of sexual nature with the guests if they don't want to, but most choose to for the generous tips they give, on top of the wage rafe gives them. except for you. he hired you fresh out of college, with a bachelor's degree in arts that you had nothing you could do with, not while staying in north carolina at least. you were confident and beautiful, but you never went too far with any of the men or women who came into the bar, not until rafe approached you one night.

you’ve been his since. his girl, who he allows out on nights that he’s there to watch over you, not truly trusting even his security to keep you safe, just himself. he knows you like to drink and dance, and he’d never stop you from doing whatever you like to do, even if it means he’s internally seething with jealousy, glaring at every man who looks at you.

“sir.” the voice brings rafe out of his own head, looking over.

“what is it?” he questions, voice gruffer than he means for it to come out.

“one of the dealers wants to talk with you.” he replies. rafe would get upset, he hates being interrupted, but this is one of his best men. “he’s already in your office.”

“fine.” rafe sighs, eyes glancing back over the floor. “watch y/n.” he simply says before walking away, knowing he doesn’t need to get into the specifics of never looking away or letting anyone touch you.

“what do you want, martin?” rafe asks, slamming the door shut behind him, moving his hands to his hips, pushing his suit jacket out of the way, letting the gun that he keeps holstered on his hip be in plain sight, a warning and a reminder.

“i want to talk to you about the cut you’re taking.” martin responds, his eyes wild and crazy, and rafe has no doubt that he’s dipping into the drugs hes supposed to be selling. rafe knows the feeling well, but he got out of all of that once his mind started to lose focus too often, and the drugs got too irresistible.

“the cut i’m taking?” rafe questions. “of the drugs that i supply you?” “there wouldn’t be any money if it weren’t for me selling.” martin responds, his hands twitching on his knees, fingers grimy.

“you think i couldn’t have another seller lined up immediately? i can’t believe you’d bug me with this shit.” rafe groans. he wants to get his eyes back on you, immediately.

“wait!” martin says as rafe turns to the door. rafe has to take a deep breath to not deck him immediately, his hands clenching in a fist. “since you don’t want to give me a cut, i want $100k. for reimbursement.” rafe lets out a barking laugh, shaking his head. “and why would i do that?” “because if you don’t, i’m not gonna let your girl go.” martin says, a sick grin coming to his face. “my associate should be taking her out of the building right now, so it’s 100k or she-”

rafe doesn’t let martin finish his sentence. he doesn’t want to hear what is about to fall out of his gross mouth, he simply raises his gun and shoots him square between the eyes. martin falls to the ground, dead before he even realized that the gun was unholstered.

a group of rafes men rush into the office upon hearing the gunshot, but rafe doesn’t care about the body on the floor. “find y/n! immediately!” he shouts, pushing past all of them to rush down the stairs to the main level.

the club explodes into action, every crevice being searched for you. rafe rushes outside along with his men, eyes searching for anything suspicious, when he sees a black van speeding away. rafe doesn’t question his movements or the implications, raising his gun and shooting at the tire, causing the van to spin to a stop.

rafe runs over as quickly as his legs will carry him, throwing open the back doors of the van, his heart breaking when he sees you looking so small, hands tied together and gag shoved into your mouth, your eyes wide and clothing askew.

“shh, i’m here baby.” rafe says, grabbing you out of the van, undoing your hands carefully and taking the gag out of your mouth.

“rafe!” you sob, hiding your face in his shoulder as he picks you up, holding you against him, rubbing over your back even as his hands shake at the fact that he almost just lost you.

“it’s okay, i’m here.” rafe says, but you just continue to cry into his shirt.

“sir.” one of rafes men says. the one that he tasked to watch you, the one that let you out of his sight, let you get taken. “what do you want us to do with the driver?”

theres another dealer rafe recognizes, kneeling on the street, eyes flicking between rafe and the gun pointed at him. rafe doesn’t care if he could give more information, he hurt his girl, and that means only one fate is meant for him. rafe raises his gun and shoots the dealer himself, before turning it to his own man.

“no! sir, plea-” rafe doesn’t let him finish his sentence. you shudder and keep your face pressed against rafes shirt, knowing that you don’t want to see whatever just happened. 

“let this be a lesson on what happens if you ever cross me.” rafe says, addressing his men. “now clean this shit and my office up. i’m taking y/n home. i will get back in touch in the morning.”

rafe doesn’t bother going back inside. he walks straight to his car, setting you down in the passenger seat, sighing sadly when you curl up, rubbing at your wrists.

“i’m so sorry, baby.” rafe says, pressing a kiss to your hair before rounding the car, quickly turning it on and heading towards home.

he takes a deep breath once he’s passed the well secured gate, knowing that you’re more than safe in the walls of his mansion.

“do you want to talk about it?” rafe asks once he gets you inside, and onto the couch, a cup of water in our hand.

“it was just so scary.” you pout, eyes turning downward. “they grabbed me out of the crowd, and shoved that nasty rag in my mouth so i couldn’t scream.”

“i will kill everyone involved.” rafe says, and you know he’s serious. you press your hands to his cheeks, bringing him into a kiss. 

“it’s okay.” you whisper. your words won’t stop him, but you want to take some of the guilt away. “i knew you would save me.” “i should have protected you in the first pla-” 

“shh.” you interrupt rafe, pressing your lips together again. “can we get in the bath? together? please.” rafe nods, he’d do anything for you, he already had the bathroom ripped out and redone to fit a larger bathtub after he learned how much you love soaking in the warm water.

“let me carry you.” rafe stops you when you try to stand, scooping you into his arms. you look so little again, swallowed up against his big chest. it makes him think of you in that trunk, and he moves faster up the stairs, needing to be curled up against you in the tub, making you feel better.

“choose a bathbomb, honey.” rafe sets you down on the cool tile. “i restocked.” 

you hum a nod and look through the cabinet until you find a sparkly white bathbomb. you know rafe would usually complain about you usually using a glittery bathbomb when he was joining you, but today is the one day you can get away with it.

“this one.” you hand it to rafe, who drops it into the tub that he started filling with hot water.

“can i undress you?” rafe questions. you nod, knowing how much he likes to be the one to take your clothes off. he moves so slowly disrobing you, carefully putting your dress in the hamper, that when you’re nude, the bath is filled enough for you to get in.

you sigh happily as the warm water covers your body, watching rafe undress while the drama of the day washes away. it’s become a part of your reality, threats against you or rafe, but this is the most dangerous situation you’ve directly been in yet, and you know rafe needs to relax as much as you do.

rafe slides into the tub behind you, letting you rest against his chest. “you know i can only stand to be with you naked for so long before i’m going to need to take you out of this bath and fuck you.” “i know.” you say, swirling your hands through the sparkly water. “just at least 15 minutes just relaxing before.” “i can do that for you.” rafe says, and you both fall quiet, mind reeling from the day and just needing some rest. your eyes flutter closed, hands softly stroking over rafes thighs on either side of your hips. rafe leans his head against the back of the tub, allowing himself to take a breath.

the water starts to grow cold, and rafe is sure he must have reached the 15 minute mark by now, but you are leaning against him so peacefully he doesn’t want to move you, eyes checking over your wrists, noticing that they’re slightly red, even though you were only tied up for a few short minutes.

you begin to squirm, clearly noticing the cool water. 

“baby-” rafe gasps when your bum rubs against his crotch, and you feel him hardening.

you turn around in the tub to face him, placing your hands on his shoulders. “fuck me, rafe.” rafe stands quickly, grabbing the towel and drying himself off before helping you out of the tub, taking careful consideration to dry you as well, rubbing the soft towel over every inch of your body.

“we are all glittery.” you smile, admiring your shiny skin.

“you’re lucky i love you.” rafe says, making you blush. you know he didn’t take you in just to have sex with you, even if that was the main reason you became his girl at first, but because he had genuinely been interested in you.

“and i’m also lucky you’re going to fuck me.” you giggle, heading into the bedroom and letting yourself flop onto the bed, not caring that the dripping ends of your hair will wet the sheets, not with what you’re about to do on them.

 rafe walks slowly out of the bathroom, a feral look in his eyes, a shift happening inside of him, one from taking care of you, making you feel better, to one of needing you, needing to possess you and take you.

you watch as he approaches, climbing onto the bed and slotting his knees on either side of your hips, trapping you underneath him. rafes cock is now fully hardened, standing at attention as his heavy balls weigh down against your skin, clearly needing to be released, and you prefer that release to happen pumped inside of you.

his hands shoot forward to grip your tits, making you moan, his warm palms massaging your sensitive skin, letting your nipples rub against his hands. rafe is often quiet when fucking you, depending on how he is feeling. you can tell by the look in his eye that he’s got anger bubbling up inside of him, that needs a release, and you are here for using.

rafe leans forward, pushing his cock against the smooth skin of your stomach. rafe begins to rub his cock against your skin, letting it glide back and forth, the head of his cock smearing precum as his fingers pinch your nipple before rubbing over them.

he bends down to capture your mouth in a dominant kiss, and you let him take control, his tongue licking into yours, as you moan, arching your back as he grabs your tits hard, making you flinch amongst the pleasure.

rafe pulls away from the kiss, briefly bending to suck on your nipples into his mouth, just to add to the taste of you on his tongue. rafe picks up your hand, laying it over his cock, telling you without words what he wants you to do.

you press your hand down, letting him grind down between your palm and your stomach as his hand draws back and lays a slap across your tit, not hard enough to truly hurt, but enough to make you gasp. 

you move your free hand to the head of his cock, massaging it with your fingertips as rafe delivers another slap across your skin, before bringing his palm down to your other breast to even out the pain and pleasure.

rafe moans lowly when you swipe the pad of your finger over the slit at the tip of his cock, his hips starting to push faster, which just floods you with wetness, imagining him thrusting inside of you instead of against your stomach.

“please fuck me.” you whine. “make me yours rafe.”

rafe pulls away instantly, moving to kneel between your legs, grabbing your knees and pushing them up, bending you in half. “you’re mine.” rafe says, pushing his cock against your entrance, not even giving you a second to breathe before hes thrusting inside, filling you to the brim. “you’re mine.” he gasps again, beginning to thrust, your sloppy cunt producing wet noises. “no one is going to take you away from me.” you pout, knowing rafe is taking his aggression out right now, but he’s also working through his worry and anxiety about you being kidnapped again.

“i’m right here.” you tell rafe, placing your hands over his, helping him hold your legs up as his cock pushes in and out of your pussy at a rapid pace. “i’m right here.”

rafe lets out a half sob, half moan, wrapping his arms around your legs, needing to feel more of you against his body, even if it just is the back of your thighs and calves as he hugs your legs to him, continuing to push his dick into you, now touching at a new angle that has you crying out.

“rub your clit for me.” rafe grunts, throwing his head back, eyes making contact with the ceiling as he pants, trying to hold back from cumming until you’re ready as well. “need you to cum for me.” “yes, gonna cum for you rafey.” you push your hand between your tightly held together thighs, rubbing at your clit while his cock brutalizes your pussy.

your breath catches in your throat when your legs move slightly to the side, allowing to to see rafes face, chin still tilted slightly upward, his mouth ajar and his eyes glazed over with lust, looking like an angel despite all the devilish acts that he’s done, but everything he’s done today has been for you, and you certainly won’t forget the blood on his hands only there to protect you.

“i love you.” you cry out, tears streaming down your cheeks, your fingers moving faster on your clit, needing to cum for rafe and rafe alone, not caring about the pleasure you’re going to receive yourself, just getting yourself off so rafe can feel your cunt squeeze around him, so he can release inside of you.

“i love you more baby.” rafes voice is hoarse as his hips snap into you, a loud slap every time his hips touch your skin.

you let out a scream when your orgasm hits you suddenly, entire body tightening as rafe releases inside of you, your cunt pulsating as you slow your rub on your clit, milking everything out of rafe that he has to offer.

“fuck.” rafe sighs out, a coy look on his face as he lowers your legs down, rubbing over your thighs to make up for the position he put you in as he slowly slides his cock out of you.

rafe moves carefully to lay down next to you, not just wanting to flop down, considerate of his movements when you’re around anyways, but especially since you just went through something traumatic.

“come here.” rafe reaches out for you, and you slide into his embrace, your head coming to rest on his chest.

“you know you’re going to have to stay here in the house for a few days while i get this mess sorted out?” rafe asks, but it’s more of a statement.

“i know.” you say. it’s not like you’re happy about being locked up, but it’s for your safety. “i’m sorry.” rafe sighs. “when all of this is over, i’ll take you on a nice long vacation-”

“i’m not mad.” you say, picking your head up to look at rafe. “i knew exactly what i was getting into with you, with your business. i understand. you don’t have to apologize for keeping me safe.”

rafe smiles at you, his thumb rubbing over your cheek, wondering how he managed to get such a perfect girl before bringing you in for a kiss.

[gardenschedule]

Beatles defending each other ❤️

In 1965 [the Byrds] toured England and Paul invited us to his club, the Scotch of St James’s [sic]. He sent a limo to pick us up. He said he had been listening to our music. We were blown away. He took us for a ride through London in his Aston Martin, at great speed. He was really hip, he and John were so tight it was like one person at times. Unlike the Byrds, [where] Crosby would just leave you out to dry, the Beatles all defended each other to the hilt. If you criticised, say, George then they would all respond.

Roger McGuinn, in Paul McCartney: Now & Then, Tony Barrow and Robin Bextor

“They’re four very different people who together form a unit that is virtually impregnable. If, for instance, someone should find fault with anything one of them has done, the others rush to his defence. They close their ranks. They’re very close indeed. A lot closer than people think.”

George Martin, Disc and Music Echo (1967)

And actually, we’ve got the image of him all these years about criticising Paul – yeah, he did, but it’s like [when] you criticise your wife. “I can criticise her, but you can’t.” I was there once when some guy was saying that he didn’t think ‘Let It Be’ was such a great record, and he thought John would agree, and he didn’t.

November 10th, 2009: Journalist Ray Connolly

Q: How did Paul react [to “How Do You Sleep”]?

John: I don’t know because I never saw him, but I think he made a comment last year which was pretty spot-on which was ‘whatever I’m saying about him is my problem, or vice versa.’ The only regret I have about it is that it should never have been about Paul because everybody’s so bothered with who’s it about that they missed the track. That’s what bugged me. I’m entitled to call him what I want to, and vice versa. It’s in our family, but if somebody else calls him names I won’t take it. It’s our own business. And anyway, it’s like Dylan said about his stuff when he looked back on it, it was all about him.

Patrick Synder-Scrumpy with Jack Breschard, “Sometime in L.A., Lennon Plays It as It Lays.” Crawdaddy [March 1974]

"When John did 'How Do You Sleep?' I didn't want to get into a slinging match. Part of it was cowardice. John was a great wit, and I didn't want to go fencing with the rapier champion of East Cheam-- But it meant that I had to take shit--It meant that I had to take lines like 'All you ever did was Yesterday.' I always find myself wanting to excuse John's behavior, just because I loved him. It's like a child, sure he was a naughty child, but don't you call my child naughty. Even if it's me he's shitting on, don't you call him naughty. That's how I felt about this and still do. I don't have a grudge whatsoever against John. I think he knew exactly what he was doing, and, because we had been so intimate, he knew what would hurt me and used it to great effect. I thought, 'Keep your head down and time will tell,' and it did because in the 'Imagine' film (Imagine John Lennon, documentary), he says it was really all about himself."

Barry Miles, Many Years From Now, 1997

“Well the deal was, he could say that, but if you said that, if anybody said anything bad about Paul, John’d take a swing at you. He’d say “you can’t talk about Paul like that”, Paul was his best buddy. If you were talking to Paul and you said something derogatory about John, he’d get up and leave. Paul was more of a peaceful guy, but John had that hot head, and he’d say “you wanna talk about Paul? Let’s go”. You weren’t allowed to say anything bad about John or Paul to each one of them because they would defend each other to the nth degree, which I liked, because you could tell they were attached at the hip.

Alice Cooper Live and Uncut on the Kim Mitchell Show

You know, John loved Paul. No doubt about it. I remember once he said to me, “I’m the only person who’s allowed to say things like that about Paul. I don’t like it when other people do.” He didn’t like if other people said nasty things about Paul. And he always referred to Paul as his estranged fiancé and things like that, like he did on that [live] record ‘I Saw Her Standing There’ with Elton in Madison Square Garden. And he knew that his relationship with Paul was very important to him. But you know, like all great friendships, they’d grown apart and married different people and had different lives. He knew what he didn’t like about Paul, but he also knew what he liked about Paul.

1990: Former Beatles publicist Tony King

George didn’t mind slagging Paul off. But he HATED other people doing it.

Tom Petty

When I talk about George, sometimes I feel like I’m making him sound too much like he was a saint. By no means was the man a saint! Over the years with him and John, they could both be really brutal with Paul. I learned very early on that I couldn’t join them. They both on different occasions said, “We can say that, but you shouldn’t.” They were truly brothers who loved taking the piss out of each other, but they didn’t want anybody else doing it.

Jim Keltner on George Harrison

[as-is-above-so-below]

The Captain - Simon Riley x Sniper!Reader, Wife!Reader

Knackered & Insatiable

summary: Ghost’s sniper wife (reader) joins Task Force 141 on an op, against his wishes warning: MDNI, mentions of violence and death (ofc), blood, SMUT Note: I cannot believe how much you guys LOVED Part 1!!! I've written three pieces in my life (check out my Ao3 for my other works lol) and none of them have ever gotten this much of a response. Thank you so much for your praise and overwhelming support, it really means a lot to me as a first-time writer :) Enjoy and blessed be! << Previous | Next >>

Ghost swirled the drink in his glass before lifting his mask up just enough to sip his whiskey. The team had insisted on getting to know his wife before they returned to England and Ghost “stole her away forever”, as they’d put it. He knew damn well, now that she’d met everyone, there wasn’t a chance in Hell she would let that happen. And while he may put on a good show of being a grump about it, secretly, he was glad. It was almost nice to see her mingling with his frie–team over a few drinks (hers being a bottle of water) and a football (she would call it a “soccer ball”, but he digressed). 

He watched Soap, Gaz, and Freyja bobbing around the open space, kicking the ball back and forth, occasionally playing keep away. Gaz slid at her in an attempt to knock the ball loose from her control, which she swiftly countered and danced around him, laughing maniacally as the man shouted at her in protest. His lips tugged at the corner in a grin, shaking his head lightly at her antics.

She’d dressed down into her standard t-shirt but kept her boots and uniform pants on, her hair tied back out of her face. Without her gear or outerwear, even her oversized shirt, her bump protruded slightly where the shirt tucked into her belt. He’d been told that every person carried differently; her bump was small, due in part to her exercise regimen. God, he’d missed her.

He’d even been gracious enough to allow her time to gossip with his teammates, spilling (some) details about their relationship. How they met (work), who made the first move (classified), how Simon proposed (he didn’t); so gracious that he let a few embarrassing remarks slip past his radar.

Just a few.

“Did you know he has stretch marks–”

He whistled through his teeth. “Oi, watch it,” he warned, jerking his hand in front of his neck as to say ‘cut it’.

“But the stretch marks, Si!”

Ghost’s eyes traced her movements, wild hands pointing at her thighs, hips, underarms, and knees. He chastised her with a warning sound, and the three huddled together in whispers, no doubt continuing to quietly discuss topics they shouldn’t. He had a feeling he would be seeing a lot more of his fellow soldiers outside of the base. They eventually continued their game again.

Price took a seat next to him on the bench. Ghost said nothing. “How far along are you now?”

He took a deep breath, calming himself. Bold of Price to ask about the child he willingly endangered. “Fourteen weeks.”

John’s head bobbed, and he leaned back against the building behind them with his arms crossed. “Still struggling with the morning sickness, I see?”

That much was obvious. “The doctor said it should clear up soon. Usually only lasts ‘til ‘bout now,” he explained, still not meeting his eyes, choosing to follow his wife.

Silence passed between the two, the chirps of native bugs and shenanigans from the team filling the air.

The weight of his upper body on his forearms became uncomfortable, and Ghost sat back too. He sighed through his nose, keeping his sight forward. “I didn’t ask you not to call her for this job as your Lieutenant. I asked as your friend.”

John hesitated, mulling over the fact as he carefully chose his next words. He didn’t come up with much. “I know. I’m sorry.” What else was there to say?

Nothing.

Ghost nodded once, satisfied, and threw back the remains of his drink. The most important thing was that she was okay now. He knew the Captain was desperate for another player on that mission, and he was confident Price wouldn’t do it again.

Price seemed to understand that he had been forgiven. “Want another?”

“Negative, sir. She’ll lose steam in a minute.”

Sure enough, as predicted, she gave up her game and relented the ball to Kyle. Soap cheered with his arms in the air, sloshing his beer a bit with the motion. Freyja looked over her shoulder at him and raised a brow, eyes shifting toward their building. He acknowledged her request as she wished the others a good night's rest, rising to follow her to bed. Ghost fell into step a few paces behind her when a sharp whistle caught his ear. He turned his shoulder to look, and saw Soap with his hand out, gripping an imaginary leash with his tongue out as Gaz walked ahead of him like a dog.

He flipped them off and continued behind her.

~*~

The minute they returned to his quarters, Freyja had thrown herself down onto the bed like a sack of potatoes, not even bothering to strip out of her uniform. Ghost took her idea and, in his uniform, carefully straddled her waist. He offered her each of his hands, and she immediately went to work removing his gloves, smiling warmly at him. She gingerly traced the outline of his lips through his mask, a questioning look in her eyes. He accepted and tilted his chin up, allowing her to slip under the edge of the mask, drawing it up and off his head, leaving him with just the black paint on his face. Freyja plopped it on the headboard above them with his gloves.

“There he is.” Her cheeks were warm and rosy from the dry heat of the area, and all of the jogging she did outside.

“Hi, sweethear’.”

She tugged him down by his blonde locks at the nape of his neck, capturing his lips in hers. He dropped his weight onto his forearms, keeping away from her belly while his lips moved slowly against hers. A month had passed since he saw her, let alone touched her. However, when she nipped fiercely at his bottom lip, pulling a soft moan from Simon–

“Love,” he groaned, forcing himself to break away, as much as it pained him. “I don’t have it in me right now. I’m absolutely knackered.”

Freyja turned up a brow at him. “Wow. I’ve never heard that one before. Are you okay?” she asked, rubbing her thumbs against his cheekbones.

His head leaned into her touch, melting in the palms of her hands. The effect she had on him was something he’d never experienced before and was what drew him to the soldier. Quick and cunning, skilled and strong, but also impossibly loving and soft and gentle. Nobody had ever shown him the kind of attention she did, and he found himself craving it when they would inevitably separate for deployment. 

He didn’t want to argue with his wife again after not seeing each other for so long, but the pit in Simon’s chest wasn’t budging either. Simon sighed and turned his head, pressing a kiss to her fingers. “I was serious when I said I’m pissed.”

“Simon, I know I shouldn’t have–”

“No, just– let me talk.” He brushed a loose hair from her forehead. “I…I don’t ask much of you. I asked – no, told you to do one thing. To stay home and protect our baby.”

Her brows pinched together, maintaining eye contact with him. “Simon, I can take care of myself,” she whispered, a bit confused.

“I know you can. I’ve seen you in the field, seen what you can do. You’re capable of slaughtering dozens of men at a time without breaking a sweat.” Simon rolled his shoulders to move off of her, laying on his back to stare at the ceiling. He rarely got so upset with her, if ever. Even rarer that he became a stuttering mess that couldn’t string a sentence together properly. He hated the feeling. “Why did you do tha’? What if you’d gotten hurt? What if someone comes after you when I’m not around? Wh–”

“Stop. You’re spiraling again.” Freyja turned onto her side, worried eyes studying his features. He’d picked up the habit since the pregnancy tests (seven of them to be exact) turned positive. “I–I know I messed up. I’m so, so sorry, Si. I didn’t…didn’t want to hurt you. I promise I won’t go out again. I just–” Her eyes watered, and she dragged the heel of her palm against the dampness on her cheek. “I’m h-having such a hard time. I love this baby, but I feel so–so useless just sitting at home.”

Oh, sweetheart… “Budge up,” Simon muttered, his voice gravelly as he tapped her thigh and scooched down a bit himself. His right arm slipped under her hip while the other tugged her shirt up to reveal their growing baby. Simon smiled softly at the sight and peppered kisses all over her bump. He eventually nuzzled into her chest and draped her leg over his hip before wrapping that arm around her waist. “I’m sorry I ‘aven’t been round. I know how much you miss work. But just look at this precious thing you’re making, Frey; you’re creating a whole person in there. My strong, drop-dead gorgeous wife and beautiful son–”

“Or daughter.”

Simon’s deep chuckle vibrated against her chest and belly, warmth blooming there. “Right. Or daughter,” he pressed another kiss to her chest. “You’re the strongest person I know. Just you watch. I’ll be home for a good long while now; we can work something out with Price, and get you some desk duty so you’re not sat at home twiddlin’ your thumbs all day. Keep you busy, yeah?”

Freyja nodded in agreement, smiling down at her husband. “Okay,” she croaked, sniffling a bit.

“Good. Now go to sleep, love. I really am knackered.”

“I love you, Simon.”

“I love you too, Frey.”

~*~

Soap rapped his knuckles against the door for his Lieutenant’s quarters after (again) failing to locate Captain Riley in hers. He waited for a breath and was about to knock again when he heard an affirming grunt from the other side of the door.

“Aye, if I see any naked bodies–” He poked his head into the room, finding the two tangled up in each other. Fully clothed, thankfully. He barely caught the bare strip of Simon’s cheek from his angle. He immediately piped down when he realized she was still sleeping. “Lieutenant?”

“Wot?” he grumbled, not moving from his comfortable position. Soft and warm.

John remained silent, eyes shifting between Simon and the sleeping body next to him.

“What do you need, Sergeant.”

“I don’t want to wake ‘er, sir,” he whispered in a hushed voice. He truly didn’t want to face the consequences of waking a pregnant Riley. He was, however, less worried about the wrath of his Lieutenant and more about his other half.

Simon turned his chin up slightly, focusing on her steady, soft breaths and even heartbeat. In the first weeks of her pregnancy, before leaving for deployment, she had taken to sleeping like a rock. Obviously, that fact was still true. He settled back into her t-shirt.

“She’s fine. Speak.”

Soap hesitated but took his word for it. “Ah, Captain said we’re good to go. Wheels up in thirty.”

He grunted again, still unmoving. ”Alright. We’ll be ready.”

He could sense the Scot still stuck in his doorway, continuing to disturb his peace, and his irritation grew. “Quit hoverin’, Johnny. I said we’ll be ready. Get out,” he all but growled.

“Sorry, sir.” Soap turned to leave but stopped himself. “Almost fo’got, wanted to give ya’s a warnin’, it’s pishin’ it doon out there.”

His patience had grown thin and irritability impossibly higher. “Speak. English.”

Soap’s mouth opened with a turned lip, just about to quip a snarky retort–

“It’s raining fuckin’ hard.”

His eyes blew wide, jaw dangled loosely, staring at the previously silent form the soft, sleepy voice came.

“Thank you, love.”

“I—How— Beg your pardon?” John stuttered, pointing between Freyja and Ghost in utter shock.

Her grip on her husband tightened with a groan, eyes fluttering as she tried to adjust to the morning light. “What? What did I do?” she mumbled, curving her back inward to stretch, her neck popping.

“But–I don’t– You know Scots?”

“Oh. I suppose. Cannae ge’ the accent righ’, though,” she said, exhibiting what was indeed her very poor attempt at a Scottish accent.

Still, he gawked at them, unmoving. He eventually snapped out of his reverie, a wicked smile creeping onto his face. “Jesus, I’m sorry Lt. but I think I’m gettin’ hard,” he teased, the tip of his tongue sticking out between his teeth.

Simon blindly reached for the mask above his head, scooting up a bit for a quick kiss before slipping it on. The black war paint around his eyes remained, but more worn and smudged with sleep. The Sergeant Oooh’d in the background. “Johnny, what did I tell you ‘bout flirting wit’ my wife?” He swung his legs over the side of the bed in a sitting position.

Freyja followed him, sitting up and pressing her chest against Simon’s back. She wrapped her arms around him, rubbing her palms across his sternum and abdomen, fingers dipping into the ridges of his muscles. “Simon, you really shouldn’t make threats you don’t intend to keep,” she pressed her lips against the warm skin at the back of his neck. He hummed softly, leaning back into her.

“Who said I won’t?”

“Alright, alright, I’m not tryna cock-block,” Soap threw his hands up in defense, backing out of the doorway. “I’m goin’. Tarmac in thirty.”

The door clicked shut behind him, leaving the couple alone again. Simon moved to stand but was immediately restricted by her arms and legs as she whined. “Can I help you?” he asked, settling back down and glancing at her over his shoulder.

Freyja rose to her knees and tugged at his shirt, untucking it from his waistband. “Maybe,” she said against the side of his throat. “Depends.”

“On?”

“Are you Simon,” her fingers pressed into his waist. She licked a stripe on his thrumming pulse before closing her mouth over the spot, sucking generously. Simon hissed through his teeth and dropped his head against her shoulder. “Or Ghost?”

“God, you are insatiable.”

“Only when you don’t give me what I want.”

“And wha’s that?”

“Been a while since you fucked me stupid, yeah?”

A deep growl tore from him, and he whipped around, pouncing on her. The balaclava and skull plate flew across the room. His lips crushed hers, teeth and tongues smashing together. Rough fingers wrapped around her throat, holding her down to the mattress as he leaned over her. “Your British is fuckin’ shit.”

“Mmm, what’re you gonna do about it?” she challenged, smirking against his mouth. She loved instigating him, even more so now that her hormones were through the roof. The last week at home had been almost unbearable. 

Freyja’s eyelids flickered at the sudden pressure, not enough to cut off oxygen but enough to effectively shut her up. She felt her walls flutter at the sensation, a puddle forming in her underwear.

“Good girl,” Simon practically purred, dragging his lips down to the underside of her chin, nipping at the skin, followed by a soothing lick at the affected spot. His free hand crawled down her body, rising and falling over the various curves before stopping at her pants. “Is this what you want?”

She nodded vigorously, so he swiftly unfastened the fatigues and dove his hand in. “Mmm, so needy for me. I’ve barely even started, sweetheart,” he slipped two fingers through her soaked lips, sucking a bruise at her throat. He ground his aching bulge against the edge of the bed, searching for some relief. Simon swirled tight but lazy circles around her clit with her collected juices, getting a muffled moan. “Like that?”

“Mhm…”

“Use your words, Frey.”

“F-Fuck– Need you, Si, n-now.”

He cocked his head to the side, releasing her throat to unbutton and unzip his pants. “Already? I’m feelin’ a bit, peckish love. Not gonna let me have a taste?” He slid down to his knees, nibbling down over her t-shirt and pulling the zipper of her pants.

“NO!” She shouted, and his eyes shot up to hers with a brow quirked. “N-No, I need you to fuck me. Please, Simon,” she begged, her voice desperate.

“Fast and hard, eh? A’right.” Simon stood, then hooked his hands behind her knees, yanked her to the edge of the bed, and flipped her over, her feet firmly planted on the floor. “Careful,” he pressed softly against her bump, keeping her stomach off the bed.

The sniper growled at him, starting to get frustrated. “Simon, I swear to fucking God– Ah!” she squeaked when a much firmer hand shoved her face into the mattress.

“Naughty girl… I’m getting there. Be patient,” he ordered. He waited until she showed her understanding with another sharp nod. Simon finally pulled her pants and panties down to her knees. “Fuckin’ Hell,” he moaned, admiring the view as he dropped his pants enough to pull himself out, giving himself a few strokes. “Who’s this cunt belong to?” he asked, dragging the tip through her folds.

“You, it's all yours!”

Eager to please, Simon rested one palm on the small of her back as the other slowly eased himself into her. His head dropped back, unable to help the soft moans and whimpers at her walls around him. “F-fuck, never get sick of this sweet cunt,” he stilled himself in her when he bottomed out. “Not even in you for a second ‘n I already wanna cum.”

She pulled her hips forward, desperate for him to move and, as promised, fuck her senseless. Bruising fingers gripped the extra flesh at her hip with a groan. “Naughty,” he repeated, drawing out of her to the tip before diving back in just as slowly. “Maybe if ya beg some more, I’ll give it to ya.”

Freyja whined as his cock dragged painstakingly slowly along her insides. “P-please, please fuck me, Simon. I need your cock so bad. I’m desperate,” she begged, her hands shaking as she gripped the scratchy blanket under her with white knuckles. “Been w-waiting so long for you to come home, please!”

Simon twitched inside her, his wife’s begging scratching just the right spot in his brain. “Ngh, fuck Frey.” He slammed into her, his eyes rolling into the back of his head while he started a steady pace.

“God, Simon, ‘s so good–”

“Look at me,” he said, turning her chin with his thumb and forefinger. “Say it again…My name.”

Her smirk almost immediately wiped off her face when he brushed her clit again, eliciting another breathy, gasped moan. “Simon!”

“Mmm, again.”

“S-Simon…fuck!”

“Cum for me, love, cum on my cock. Wanna feel you–”

She stared into his eyes, the sounds of his hips slapping her hips, the wet sounds of her sex thrumming between them, and her heavy pants thrumming between them until she finally pulsed around him, her pitch kicking up an octave. “Ah, Simon, I-I’m cumming, fuck!”

“Jesus fuck–! Y/N, Y/N,” he whined, choking on her name as the tight coil inside him snapped and spilled into her, his hips stuttering. Simon’s chest rested against her back when he dropped his hand next to her for support. He stilled, echoing her name over and over while he pumped her full of his cum. She was grinning back at him over her shoulder and dragging her nails up and down his forearm, humming at the warm pool inside her.

Simon slid his free hand under the back of her shirt, stroking between her shoulder blades. They stood unmoving, panting, staring at each other for what seemed like an eternity. His spend was starting to creep out around him, turning into milky drops threatening to break free and fall to the floor. He could stay like that forever, her gaze holding his as he warmed his cock in her–

“Hey Ghost–”

THUNK

The tip of a black combat knife sank into the soft wood of the door frame, a breath away from his nose. Kyle stopped short of passing through the threshold, the door only open a crack. “Bad time, got it,” he said, his voice cracking a bit before the door clicked shut again. “Sorry!” his voice muffled by the door between them before his footsteps scurried away.

Freyja giggled and pressed her face into the mattress, attempting to stifle her laughter.

“Not funny.”

“Really? I thought it was a little bit funny, Lieutenant,” she said, wiggling her hips against his. Simon’s breath hitched, and both hands shot back to stop the movement.

“Ey, none’a that. Be a good girl or you won’t be getting a thing out of me later,” he threatened, raising a blonde brow in challenge. She pouted up at him in return but nodded with a disgruntled Fine, slowly leaning forward until he popped out of her with a groan. The woman eased herself up until she stood fully and turned to face him, standing on her tiptoes to reward him with a sweet, lazy kiss. When Simon was least expecting, she swiped a finger along his dick, causing him to jerk at his sensitivity, collecting their mixed fluids before popping the digit into her mouth. “You’re a minx, y’know that?”

“Mhm.”

“Hn.” He pulled her panties and underwear back up for her, fingers lovingly caressing their growing baby when he went to button them again. He wasn’t proud to admit that he hadn’t reacted well to the initial news of his wife’s pregnancy. Simon had never wanted children or a family before her, given his experiences with his own as a child. The last thing he wanted was to turn out like his father, an abusive, mean drunk with a violent streak and an inclination for scaring the pants off little Simon. 

That all changed at their first ultrasound. The soft thrum of the baby’s heartbeat echoed off the walls of the small room and burned into his mind on a constant playback. His baby. Their baby.

Mine. 

He supposed the second-trimester hormones were a nice touch, too.

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