#and then i can't quite recall if you need to wait for like a week or if they can print it for you whilst you wait. it's been a long time.

[racke7]

Fun things today, I called a repairshop about a replacement key and it was valued at around 4k SEK. Talked to my insurance-company and they said that I had "full cover, but not for that".

Complained to my dad about my key-remote requiring me to use the keyblade as an antenna when turning the ignition (metal-to-metal contact is the only thing that seems to work). My dad responded with "if my car-key is low on battery, my car-alarm goes off when I try to turn the ignition".

The wonders of technology folks.

Came home, sat down to pay my bills. Bank said that my bank-ID was getting old, and suggested to update it. Alright. Fair enough.

"We require a specific ID-card that nobody ever requires, or a literal fucking passport".

What.

Do you fuckers know how expensive those things are? Do you? What the fuck do you think you're doing? I don't remember having to do all of that shit last time, so why the fuck do I have to do that now? What the fuck?

[muniimyg]

♡ 04: how you're lookin' at me, yeah, i know what that means and i'm obsessed

series m.list // taglist

note: a wild ride…. good luck y’all ,, THANKS FOR 1K 😻 my kitty is happy !!! hauwhahahahaa this part is lengthy so pls take a mfking SEAT. pls lmk what y’all think ,, send in asks 🫵 we’re headed towards the finale 💛 much wuv !!

warnings: tension/tampo vibes (whats that in english? lol) ,, male masturbation (jk gets himself off as he recalls oc slapping him) ,, jealousy (lots of it. like 90% of this part is filled with it) ,, oc has a hickey ,, angst ,, and a little mwaamwaaaa moment :')

//

life sucks. 

for jungkook, at least. 

it’s been almost a month since the incident, and you’ve done everything in your power to avoid him.

the memory of the fight—the words exchanged, the way he said your name—still lingers in the air between you like smoke, suffocating and inescapable.

at first, jungkook tried.

he texted you the next day and every day after that. his messages were hesitant and apologetic... and each one was left unanswered.

nerd [11:11PM]: ___, can we talk? sent nerd [11:28PM]: please? sent nerd [12:01AM]: i’m sorry. i mean it. sent nerd [12:03AM]: it wasn’t even like that. not with her.  sent nerd [1:09AM]: ik i’m gonna sound like a total douche no matter what so let me do it please sent nerd [1:15AM]: let me say sorry, let me fuck up, let me make it up to u sent nerd [2:01AM]: i really hate begging  sent nerd [2:01AM]: but i really hate u not wanting me even more seen

he did try to call though.

just once.

the ringtone barely lasted before he hung up, realizing how futile it was.

at one point, he showed up at your favorite coffee shop one afternoon. he sat alone by the window with an untouched drink, waiting. 

his eyes flicked to the door every time it opened, a glimmer of hope lighting his expression for a split second before fading when it wasn’t you.

after two hours, he left.

but now, almost four weeks later, jungkook has stopped trying (so hard).

it wasn’t a sudden decision, more of a gradual acceptance that whatever connection you’d shared—whatever you’d been to each other—was slipping through his fingers.

he told himself you needed time, that maybe this space was what you wanted, what you deserved. and so, he gave it to you.

he told himself it wasn’t the end. 

it couldn’t be.

he refuses for it to be. 

this is just… complicated. 

he gets that.

he's a smart guy after all!

but late at night, when the world was quiet and he was left alone with his thoughts, the weight of your absence pressed against his chest like an ache he couldn’t soothe. it... burns? it throbs in this aching rhythm that he can't quite figure the melody to.

jungkook thinks about the way you banter with him and how much it makes his day. how closely you sit next to him. how effortlessly you mesmerize him… 

how you flirted with him for a few days and now he's malfunctioning. how he spent the last month memorizing every detail of those days and can't get over it. he has convinced himself you're into him...  

like, remember how your fingers would brush his when you handed him something? that meant something, right? or how about the way you looked at him and tilted your head? shit, yeah.

that meant something.

fuck, the way you laugh and throw your head back and he gets a glance at your perfect neck—how he wants to leave kisses on it. how he… 

how he had you. 

for a moment, he really had you. 

under him, tangled, and messy. 

how he was so close to your lips. 

he should’ve kissed you. 

he should’ve locked the fucking door. 

he should’ve ran after you even more. 

but he didn’t…

and now? 

now you aren’t even around. 

he recalls what taehyung said to him night at the arcade. taehyung's words rub into his wound like salt. it stings. it makes him feel sick to his stomach and he just... get can't stomach it.

“she isn't gonna stick around forever... especially with all the shit you pull…”

there are no words to describe how incredibly helpless he feels.

if anything, he goes through circles in his mind; completely in disbelief he could fuck up this bad with you.

he hates that he can't think straight. he hates that he can't study properly. he hates that he stopped tutoring and even got in trouble with his profs for letting them down (they really counted on jungkook to help other students out).

he hates that he can't fucking breathe lately.

he can't sleep.

he can't eat.

jungkook hates the growing distance, but more than that, he hates how much it hurts.

he hates how much he wants to fix things even when he doesn’t know how. he just knows he wants to. god, fuck it—

fine. 

he hates how much he misses you.

but most of all, he hates that he was wrong. 

it was entirely his fault. 

jungkook hates it all.

by chance, you and jungkook run into each other. 

the scene is perfect.

it's the perfect set up to cry over when you get home—that is.

the rain starts just as you’re leaving the library, soft at first but quickly turning heavier. you don’t expect to see him—not here, not now—but there he is, standing under the awning of the café across the street, shaking out his umbrella. the door chimes as you step outside, and he looks up.

for a moment, neither of you move, caught in the heavy stillness of the moment.

jungkook freezes when he sees you. 

his eyes widen briefly, then soften into something cautious, hesitant. he tucks his hands into the pockets of his hoodie, fingers flexing nervously against the fabric as he steps forward.

“hey,” he says, his voice careful, like he’s offering a truce.

the sound of him makes your heart clench, the warmth in his tone threatening to undo you. but you don’t let it show. you nod once, lips pressed into a thin line, and move to step around him.

“wait—” his hand shoots out, not to grab you, just to stop you. his fingers hover midair, unsure if he even has the right to reach for you anymore. “___, please?”

the rain is falling harder now, pooling on the sidewalk and soaking into the edges of your shoes. you glance at him, taking in the way his hair clings to his forehead, the way his hoodie looks just a little too big on him, like he hasn’t been sleeping well or eating much.

“can you not pretend like this is a coincidence?” you ask quietly, refusing to meet his gaze. 

he stays silent. 

it wasn’t. 

truth be told, he’s been waiting outside for almost 45 minutes. he didn’t even know if you were at the library today… he just had to wait and find out for himself. 

"do you have an umbrella?" he asks, breaking the silence. 

"what���"

"here." 

he cuts you off, pushing the umbrella toward you.

you blink, startled, as he places the handle firmly in your hand. your fingers wrap around it instinctively, the metal cool against your palm.

"jungkook—" you start, your voice faltering.

he shakes his head, stepping back into the rain without a word. the downpour hits him almost instantly, soaking through his hoodie as he shoves his hands into his pockets and starts walking away.

you stand there, the umbrella trembling in your grip, watching him go. the rain comes down harder, cascading off the awning above you, but you barely notice. your gaze stays locked on him—on the way his shoulders hunch against the storm, on the slow but steady steps that carry him farther and farther away.

something tightens in your chest. 

maybe it’s regret or maybe longing… but as his figure grows smaller and the storm swallows him—you feel it.

the warmth of his lingering presence and the chill of it all—

—of your favourite almost.

a few days later, jungkook finds his umbrella in his bedroom. 

he takes out his phone to send you a text, prepared to humiliate himself and to beg for a second of your attention. he’d trade all tonight’s focus for a moment of you.

just as he picks the umbrella up, he finds a note. 

___ told me to give it back to you. she says thanks (whore). ps: she said don’t text her. — taehyung

jungkook sighs. 

does he listen? 

obviously not. 

nerd [6:19PM]: don’t tell me what to do  nerd [6:20PM]: i hate this nerd [6:21PM]: u should’ve jus kept the umbrella. giving it back to taehyung and telling him to tell me not to text u is sick.  seen. nerd [6:22PM]: reply pls seen.  nerd [6:26PM]: fine. i’ll jus talk to myself  nerd [6:31PM]: i miss u sm i jerked off the other night thinking abt the way u slapped me  seen nerd [6:33PM]: come on, kitty  nerd [6:34PM]: promise to think abt me tn :(  nerd [6:35PM]: cos i’m gonna think abt u tn nerd [6:36PM]: ignore me if u want proof  typing…  nerd [6:37PM]: kitty? seen nerd [6:40PM]: fuck. nerd [6:41PM]: how do u get me so fucking hard thru text? maybe i jus miss u too much  nerd [6:42PM]: excited for my proof?  seen nerd [6:45PM]: ft?  seen nerd [6:46PM]: keep seenzoning me and i’ll cum typing... seen ___ has notifications silenced

but it's too late.

jungkook meant it.

he's sat on his gaming chair, cock heavy.

his phone is out with that group picture from the arcade (zoomed into you) as lewd thoughts of you fill his mind. jungkook runs his thumb across his tip, hissing at the way it feels over his slit. 

he flicks his wrists, gripping his dick with just enough pressure to grow the hardness. it’s already stiff and he can feel the need to cum—but he just can’t.

he can’t without thinking of you. 

so, his eyes flutter shut as his memories of you replay in his mind. 

from the way your lips winced when he ate you out—to the way that mini skirt looked on you that day. he thinks about the way you say his name; in any and every way. angry, teasingly, and desperately… he thinks about how pretty it sounds rolling off your tongue. 

how pretty you looked under him.

how good you smelt when he kissed your neck. 

how close you sat next to him—fingertips lingering... god, what he would do to be close to you again. 

jungkook thinks about the slap. 

how hard your palms hit his cheek and how angry you looked at him. despite the negativity surrounding the situation—he can’t help it. 

you looked so hot. 

it just… gets to him. 

before he knows it, his hand is covered in his sticky cum. 

he’s a loser—a nerd in your words. 

he always has been… and here he is; jerking himself off to the pretty girl he lost his chance with.

the night is supposed to be nothing special. 

for jungkook, it’s just another event for his precious marine conservation club—a fundraiser, a schmooze-fest for potential investors, and a chance to hand out awards to appease the donors. sure, he’s getting an award, but it doesn’t feel like much.

the room buzzes with polite conversation and clinking glasses. jungkook adjusts his tie for the hundredth time, barely paying attention to the speeches and presentations. he stands off to the side with the other club members, blending into the background until his name is called.

“jeon jungkook, for outstanding contributions to marine conservation and innovation. mr. jeon has been working towards innovative chemical solutions for marine conservation, focusing on sustainable practices to protect endangered species like dolphins, and developing eco-friendly alternatives to reduce their environmental impact.”

the applause is polite but hearty.

jungkook steps onto the stage, the spotlight hitting him square in the face. as he accepts the plaque, his gaze instinctively sweeps over the audience—and then it stops.

you’re here.

sitting with the guys, casually chatting like you belong there, like you haven’t been avoiding him for a month and a half (at this point).

his heart trips over itself. 

he’s not even sure if it’s relief or panic or something else entirely, but it rattles him. he forces his attention back to the microphone, holding the plaque in his slightly sweaty hands.

“uh, thank you,” he begins, his voice steady enough, though his pulse is anything but. “our club’s mission has always been to protect and preserve marine life through education, community projects, and outreach. with this award…”

his eyes flick back to you. 

you’re laughing at something taehyung just said, your smile bright, your whole demeanor light and carefree.

“…we want to focus on…”

he falters, the words slipping from his mind as his gaze lingers on you.

“…we want to focus on… f-focus…”

a ripple of laughter spreads through the audience. someone whistles playfully. he blinks, startled back into the moment.

“…focus on sustainable practices and expanding our projects,” he finishes, clearing his throat as heat rises to his cheeks.

you’re laughing too, your head tilted slightly as you join the others. it should make him feel worse, but somehow, seeing you like that—smiling, present—grounds him.

he powers through the rest of the speech, keeping his gaze firmly away from where you’re sitting. when it’s over, he accepts the handshake from the host and makes his way offstage, barely registering the applause.

as soon as the ceremony ends, jungkook doesn’t even think. 

he weaves through the crowd, ignoring congratulatory pats on the back and comments from investors, his eyes scanning for you.

how did you know about tonight?

wait. 

shit.

he’s been texting you every day with random ass updates. of course you know. he’s yapped about it… but why? why did you come? don’t you hate his guts?

you're here so... maybe you don't hate him as much as he has convinced himself you do.

jungkook finds you near the back with the friend group, holding a glass of champagne and listening to hoseok animatedly retell a story.

“congratulations,” you say lightly, lifting your glass in a mock toast. your words are casual, but there's an edge to them, a distance you've kept between the two of you for far too long.

his chest tightens at the awkwardness of your tone, but he nods, his hands slipping into his pockets. the space between you feels impossibly wide now, though only a few feet separate you.

“thanks,” he says, his voice quieter than he intended. “... thanks for coming.”

his gaze flickers to yours for a second before dropping to the floor, and he shifts, a little uncertain, taking a half-step closer.

hesitantly, you inch back. 

his presence is suddenly overwhelming, more than you’re ready for.

“yeah… of course,” you murmur, unsure how to navigate the new dynamic between you two. the tension is thick, but there's something else there too. an unspoken history. “what are friends for, you know?”

he hates that. 

friends. 

yeah fucking right.

jungkook tries to break the tension.

he takes a risk.

he takes a small step forward, hoping you don’t move. this is the closest he’s gotten to you in over a month—he needs this. it’s like euphoria in his veins—being with you again.

he needs this.

“how have you been?” he asks, the question coming out softer than he anticipated. jungkook scratches the back of his neck and continues. “a-are you coming to the afterparty?”

your lips part, a pause hanging between you.

you don’t want to admit how much you’ve missed this. how much you’ve missed him.

but the words slip out, more natural than you expect.

“yeah,” you say, giving him a brief but warm look. “i’ll be there.”

for a moment, your eyes lock, and something shifts. 

it’s like you’ve both forgotten all the walls, the space between you collapsing. he can feel his heart rate quicken, like his knees might give out, but he forces himself to stay grounded, to act nonchalant.

“cool,” he says, trying to brush off the sudden rush of emotions. “i’ll.. i’ll be there too.” he smiles, but it’s the kind of smile that doesn’t quite reach his eyes—not yet, anyway.

“i sure hope so,” you laugh. “it’s your party, nerd.”

nerd. 

holy shit. 

never has he ever felt so relieved to hear you call him that. 

as he’s about to say more, taehyung appears out of nowhere, slapping his arm and giving him a congratulatory squeeze. 

“hey, man, nice speech. well deserved,” taehyung says, grinning like an idiot. “what did you want to focus on, again?”

you laugh while jungkook rolls his eyes. he shoves taehyung playfully. 

suddenly, you can’t help but feel the awkwardness settle back in, like something’s shifted again. you feel a pang in your chest as you turn toward the other people nearby, the ones you've been socializing with before jungkook showed up. the buzz of the conversation pulls you away, and you focus on the group, hoping to escape the overwhelming emotions that jungkook’s presence stirs.

jungkook watches you go, his eyes lingering as you slip away from the conversation. 

he can’t help it. 

you’re in his head again.

he looks over at taehyung, catching his eye. 

“hyung, is she coming to the dinner before the afterparty?” he asks, trying to sound casual. his voice betrays him, cracking with just the faintest hint of hope.

taehyung raises an eyebrow, taking a sip of his drink. 

“yeah. excited?”

“no.”

taehyung scoffs. “say that again but take away the lying.”

“fuck off.”

“___’s a good friend, man,” taehyung chuckles, redirecting the conversation. “you’re lucky. you just might be back in her good graces.”

jungkook’s heart skips a beat. 

“really?” he asks, trying not to sound too eager.

taehyung grins, leaning in a little. 

“yeah, but... she’s bringing her little boyfriend with her.”

you’re doing what?

jungkook feels the need to rub his eyes or something.

was taehyung shitting on him? boyfriend? when did this happen? no fucking way. 

jungkook refuses to believe it. 

… yet, the words hit jungkook like a punch to the gut. his breath catches, and his stomach tightens. 

"what?" his voice is barely a whisper, the weight of it settling in. 

"she didn't tell you?"

"we haven't been talking."

"rightfully so."

fuck. 

no. 

he doesn’t want to believe it, but the hurt is already seeping through.

taehyung shrugs, oblivious to the internal storm brewing in jungkook. 

“shit, well... yeah, she’s been seeing him for a while. dunno if they’re officially together, but… guess she’s really moving on. good for her, right? i mean, now you can really focus on just being her friend.”

the air stills. 

the reality of it all comes crashing down. jungkook’s heart sinks, his chest tightening in that all-too-familiar ache. 

that's why you’ve been busy... 

you’ve been moving on.

his fingers curl into fists, the anger bubbling up before he can suppress it. but he doesn’t say anything, doesn’t let his emotions spill out in front of taehyung, even though every part of him is screaming. 

“yeah,” he forces a smile. “i guess.”

as the night goes on, jungkook can’t shake the feeling that he’s lost something he can’t get back. something that’s slipping further away with every step you take, every laugh you share with someone else. and no matter how much he wants to fight for it, he’s afraid it’s already too late.

jungkook doesn’t want to go to dinner anymore.

he has no appetite.

jungkook is already at the dinner when you arrive. 

his mood is off, grumpy but with an undercurrent of sadness that he can’t quite shake. he’s forcing a smile when people congratulate him for the award, but it’s clear it’s not reaching his eyes. the night’s just been a blur of congratulations and polite smiles, but all he can think about who will walk in with you. 

does he know him?

is he gonna be some super cool prince charming?

does he know that jungkook was eating you out just a month ago? 

all valid questions…

however, you arrive a little late, and immediately his gaze searches for you in the crowd. when he sees you, his heart lurches. he spots you talking to someone, and the knot in his stomach tightens.

you make your way to the table, your eyes scanning it before you stop. for a moment, you aren’t sure where to sit. usually, you sit next to jungkook… but the spot is occupied by jimin. 

not by choice.

jungkook had saved the spot for you… you just came too late and he didn’t have it in him to tell jimin to move. but, jimin catches the milli-second exchanged look you have with jungkook and immediately shifts. 

“oh,” jimin begins. “shit, i forgot… didn’t know you were gonna show up so late—”

you chuckle, shaking your head. “it’s fine we’re gonna sit on the other side! by the way,” you pause and push the guy you came with forward. “this is do-hwan. he’s a biochem major and we have a few electives together… um, what else?” 

biochem?

serisouly?

do you have a thing for nerds or something? bro doesn't even look the part. he should be majoring in physics or something even more lame.

jungkook's thoughts cut short when he hears you giggling.

“hi,” do-hwan says with a grins at everyone. then, he turns and extends his hand to jungkook. “jungkook? shit, man. congrats on the award.”

he chuckles, giving jungkook a playful look. “organic chem, huh? i guess someone has to study the pretty side of chemistry.” 

what the fuck does that mean?

jungkook’s ears turn red. 

“yeah,” he grumbles under his breath. “nice to meet you too.”

with that, you and do-hwan make your way to the other side of the table. jungkook watches, his gaze hardening as you take a seat beside him.

he’s trying his best to stay calm and to not show it—not show how absolutely fucking mad this entire thing is.

this is ridiculous! 

his chest tightens painfully at the sight of you sitting with him. his fingers curl into his glass as he watches you laugh and chat with others, inserting do-hwan like you’re some proud girlfriend. 

you've probably known do-hwan like 10 seconds.

and jungkook can’t help it! every word you exchange with do-hwan makes him feel like he’s being crushed from the inside out. 

he’s trying to focus on the conversation happening around him, but his mind keeps wandering, drifting to you.

he watches as you lean in to talk to do-hwan, the way your eyes light up when you laugh at something he says. it’s the same laugh, the same warmth in your smile, but somehow it feels so much farther away from him now—like a memory that he’s trying to hold onto but can’t quite grasp.

he forces himself to look at the group again, but his gaze keeps slipping back to you. every word you exchange with do-hwan makes his chest tighten.

it's like he’s suffocating, and he can’t tear his eyes away. the way he moves so casually, his hand brushing against yours as he reaches for his drink. 

it’s too much.

it’s too familiar.

and then, as you turn your head to respond to someone else, he sees it.

just a flash of it—right there on your neck. 

a small hickey, barely visible, but it might as well be a brand. his heart stops for a beat. the sight burns in his chest, and before he can stop himself, his breath catches in his throat.

his stomach churns violently, a rush of heat flooding his veins. everything feels like it’s collapsing inward. the noise around him fades, and all he can hear is the pounding of his own heartbeat. the world shrinks, and the weight of the jealousy hits him like a truck.

he can’t stay here. 

not like this. 

not with this tightness in his chest, not with the ache in his stomach. the room feels like it’s closing in on him, and he knows—he knows he has to get out.

without a word, he stands abruptly, pushing his chair back. his heart races as he excuses himself from the table, slipping away into the hallway outside the main dining area.

the rest of the table doesn’t seem to notice his sudden departure, but your friends quickly start murmuring, and one of them nudges you. 

"you should probably go check on him," taehyung says, giving you an almost knowing look. “i told you not to bring him.”

you hesitate for a second, then stand, glancing at do-hwan.

“it’s not do-hwan's fault.”

taehyung rolls his eyes at you. 

“you’re playing it kinda mean tonight though,” he tells you. “jungkook’s been miserable. sure he deserves to be dragged through mud for whatever happened and for whatever he said, but this? on his night? i don’t know ___…”

you gulp.

maybe taehyung is right.

but you didn’t intend for it to be like this. you genuinely brought a friend you’ve been spending time with! and, sure… yeah. you’ve been kissing him for a few weeks now, but so what? jungkook has probably been fucking every student he’s been tutoring so why the fuck does this matter?

“___…” taehyung urges you. 

“yeah, yeah… i’m going.” 

you wave taehyung off as you get up from your seat. you excuse yourself and let do-hwan know you’ll be right back.

you find jungkook outside. 

he stands with his back pressed against the cool metal of his car, arms crossed loosely over his chest. you notice that his posture is stiff... like he’s trying to keep himself grounded, but his shoulders still carry the weight of what he’s just seen.

his jaw clenches every so often, like he’s holding something back, but when his muscles tense, it’s almost as if the anger or hurt inside him is too much to contain.

as you walk towards him and he notices you. he runs a hand through his hair, tugging at the ends, clearly agitated. he lets out a slow, shaky breath, his eyes cast down toward the ground as if trying to collect his thoughts. he shakes his head slightly, as if to shake off the frustration that has settled in his chest, but it doesn’t seem to help. 

then, he looks up at the sky, his gaze distant, unfocused, lost in the swirl of thoughts that seem to chase him in circles. his arms drop to his sides for a moment, his fingers flexing and unflexing like he’s trying to release the tension that has built up in his body.

after a long pause, he lets out a frustrated sigh, raking his hand through his hair again, this time pushing it back as he exhales sharply.

his whole stance is restless.

it’s like he can’t quite settle his thoughts or his body, caught between what he feels and the reality of what’s happening. 

he’s trapped in his own head, unable to escape the weight of the situation.

by now, you’re next to him.

are you here to set him free?

“so… have the dolphins ever thanked you for your hard work?” you ask, trying to break both the silence and tension with your light tone. “you do so much for them… ungrateful little brats—you know they’re psychos right? they bully—”

he doesn’t turn around. 

“what’s on your neck?” he asks. “did your boyfriend do that?”

your chest hurts at his words. “he’s not... he’s not my boyfriend.” you swallow, trying to keep your voice steady. “he’s just a friend.”

there’s a long pause, and when he finally turns to face you, his eyes are a mixture of frustration and hurt. 

“the same kind of friend i am to you?”

he’s trying to sound nonchalant, but there’s a tremor in his voice.

you shake your head, not knowing how to explain, not knowing how to make him understand.

“you know what? i didn’t come here to make you feel like this…” your voice cracks slightly. “i didn’t... i don’t want to hurt you. i didn’t want to come.”

he scoffs bitterly.

“maybe you shouldn’t have.”

his words sting, but you can’t back down. 

“what do you want me to do?” you ask, frustrated. “if i didn’t show up, you’d be upset and blow up my phone. now that i’m here, you’re still upset—”

“and this is how you chose to show up?” jungkook raises his voice, turning to you. he steps forward, towering over you. he brings his hands to your hair, pushing it back and leaning in to look at your hickey properly. 

he squints. 

“are you proud of this?” he hisses. “fucking bug bite bullshit.”

“stop—” you snap, cutting him off now. “don’t—”

“okay. sorry, fuck..."

a beat.

"___, i miss you,” he breathes. “i just… shit. can you stay still for a second?”

there’s a long silence between you two, the air thick with things unsaid. jungkook looks like he’s about to say something, but his mouth closes, his frustration evident in the way he grits his teeth. 

instead, he just breathes you in. 

for the first time in a month and a half; jungkook can breathe.

then, he steps away and sighs. 

“think i’m gonna head home first. i… i need some space or something,” jungkook tells you. “let them know for me?”

“y-yeah. sure.”

“okay,” jungkook nods. “i’ll see you later.”

“see you.”

for the first time in a while, jungkook offers you a smile and you return it. 

short and sweet—he takes it. 

he leaves and thinks about it the entire drive home.

when you arrive at the party, you’re still reeling from the brief exchange with jungkook. 

your thoughts are completely a tangled mess. 

from the words he didn’t say to the way his eyes held that edge of something unspoken—it all lingers in your mind like an unsolved puzzle. you thought you had it all figured out…

that you could be fine.

that you could move on—but now, after that moment, you’re not so sure anymore. 

your heart races in a way that you can’t explain. why does it feel like you’re standing on the edge of something—something big, something scary—and yet, you're not sure if you want to fall or pull back?

your mind keeps returning to the way he looked at you, like he was caught between wanting to say everything and nothing at all. it’s not a feeling you can shake off easily.

it’s heavier than you thought it would be.

at the party, you try your best to focus on the people around you. do-hwan is by your side, chatting casually with a few people, most of them strangers to you. some faces are familiar—people from jungkook’s marine conservation club, and others... just people. 

you make your rounds, greeting them politely, exchanging pleasantries, but your thoughts are still drifting back to him. to jungkook. the air is thick with anticipation, and no matter how much you try to focus on the conversations happening around you, your mind keeps wandering.

and then, there he is.

jungkook is standing by the drink table, his posture relaxed but not at ease. 

his gaze flicks to you for a moment, a brief flicker of something—maybe surprise, maybe something more—before he meets your eyes. there’s a tense, palpable moment of silence.

he’s holding a red cup in one hand, his fingers wrapped loosely around it. his other hand rests in his pocket, but his stance is still too rigid... too guarded.

it’s like he’s waiting for something to happen, for you to do something.

he doesn’t smile. 

he just nods at you. 

a small, deliberate movement that somehow feels too formal, too distant.

no words.

just acknowledgment.

you feel the knot tighten in your stomach, the nervous energy in your chest quickening. it’s the simplest thing, but it feels loaded with so much more.

you can’t look away. 

something inside you is aching to go over, to close the space between you, to ask if everything’s okay, to say something—but you're frozen. the tension in the air between you is thick enough to suffocate.

you swallow hard, trying to calm the unease building in your chest, but it's no use.

the silence stretches out, heavy and thick, as you stand there, caught between the desire to run or to take a step closer, not sure if you're brave enough for either.

you take a step back, trying to break eye contact, when suddenly, someone bumps into you from behind. you stumble forward, your feet catching on the edge of a rug, and you let out a startled breath as you lose your balance.

before you can fully fall, a strong hand grips your wrist, pulling you back against something solid. your breath catches as you feel the warmth of someone’s body close to you.

it’s jungkook.

without a word, his other hand slides around your waist, steadying you, his fingers briefly pressing against the fabric of your shirt. the contact is brief but grounding, like the world, slows for a moment, just the two of you, suspended in time.

he doesn’t say anything, doesn’t offer the usual reassuring words. 

his grip is firm, and steady, but he doesn’t linger. as quickly as it happens, he pulls away, his hand leaving your waist just as the tension between you starts to build.

you open your mouth to say something, maybe a thank you, but before the words leave your lips, he’s already moving away, stepping back with that familiar, unreadable expression.

you stand there. 

you’re frozen for a beat longer than necessary. your chest tight as you try to catch your breath… his sudden departure stings more than you care to admit. there’s no time for you to process what just happened, what that touch meant—or didn't mean—before he vanishes back into the crowd.

fuck.

the night only gets louder as more people flood into the house. 

the music thrums through the walls, bass-heavy and relentless, blending with the clatter of cups and the hum of overlapping conversations.

you weave through the crowd, the heat of so many bodies pressed together almost suffocating. your heart races—not from the chaos around you but from the weight of the unspoken tension that’s followed you since you walked in.

you couldn’t bring yourself to drink, though do-hwan had handed you a cup earlier. 

it’s long forgotten somewhere, left behind on a table. you’re too afraid of what a single drink might loosen in you—afraid of saying or doing something you’re not ready for.

you don’t want to make worse what already feels so broken.

“hey.” do-hwan’s voice cuts through the noise, his hand resting lightly on your arm. he pulls you aside to a quieter corner of the room, away from the crush of people. “you okay?”

you nod, a small, uncertain smile tugging at your lips. “yeah. just... a little overwhelmed, i guess.”

he watches you closely, his expression softening as if he’s trying to read between the lines. “you sure? you’ve been kind of quiet tonight.”

“i’m fine, really.”

“you don’t have to be,” he says, and it’s the way he says it—gentle, almost understanding—that makes you crack a real smile. “pretty sure jungkook hates me. pretty sure he’s killed me 10 times in his head in the past hour or so… and he knows all the organic chem shit to make it a really clean murder, you know? “

you let out a weak laugh, but it doesn’t quite reach your eyes. 

he grins at the sight, his confidence blooming as he leans in closer, his shoulder brushing against yours. 

“there it is,” he says playfully. “i was starting to think you didn’t know how to smile anymore.”

you laugh softly despite yourself, and his grin widens. 

do-hwan then dips his head lower as he talks, his voice dropping slightly, as if the two of you are sharing a secret. it’s intimate in a way that makes your cheeks flush, his proximity unnerving. his eyes flick to yours, and he leans in just a little more.

across the room, jungkook sees everything. 

is it hot in here?

because fuck, he’s burning up.

actually, the entire house is on fire in his mind. 

he’s been watching you for most of the night, though he pretends not to be.

the way do-hwan hovers near you, the way you laugh at something he says—it feels like a punch to the chest. every small interaction between you two is a reminder of what he’s lost, of what he could’ve had if he’d been braver, better.

his grip on his cup tightens, his knuckles white against the red plastic. he can’t hear what you’re saying, but he doesn’t need to. the way do-hwan leans closer, the way his hand brushes your arm—it’s enough to make jealousy coil hot and bitter in jungkook’s stomach. it burns through him, unbearable, as he watches do-hwan dip his head lower, his lips so close to yours.

and then something inside him snaps.

fuck it. 

before he knows it, he’s moving through the crowd, his feet carrying him faster than his mind can keep up. his hand reaches out, fingers wrapping firmly around your wrist just as do-hwan’s face nears yours. you barely have time to process the sudden motion before you’re being yanked back, stumbling slightly into jungkook’s chest.

“what the hell?” do-hwan says, his tone sharp, but jungkook doesn’t even look at him. his focus is entirely on you, his jaw tight and eyes dark with something unreadable.

your breath catches, your heart hammering in your chest as you look up at him, startled. 

“jungkook—”

he doesn’t let you finish. 

his hand wraps firmly around your wrist, and before you can process what’s happening, he’s pulling you away. his grip is steady but not rough, a silent insistence that leaves no room for argument.

“jungkook, wait—” you try again, glancing back at do-hwan, whose confused expression barely registers in the rush of your heartbeat.

jungkook doesn’t look back, his jaw tight and his steps purposeful as he weaves through the crowd, his hand never leaving yours. the air around you feels heavy, the muffled music and chatter blurring into white noise as he leads you up the stairs.

your pulse thrums in your ears as he pushes open a door and pulls you inside, closing it behind you with a quiet but final click. the sudden silence of the room contrasts sharply with the chaos outside, and for a moment, you can only stare at him, your chest rising and falling as you catch your breath.

he finally lets go of your wrist, his hand lingering for a split second longer than necessary before he steps back. his gaze is dark, unreadable, but the tension radiating off him is palpable. the weight of the moment presses down on you, thick and suffocating, as you wait for him to speak.

a moment passes.

then, another.

and another.

and another.

and then—

“dump him.” 

you clearly your throat.

“can’t dump him. he’s not my boyfriend—“

“you and your fucking situationships.”

you gulp.

you hate the way he says it.

situationship… fuck him.

the room feels smaller than it is, the air thick with the weight of the moment. jungkook’s jaw ticks as he stares at you, the sharpness in his voice cutting through the silence.

“you’re… fucking with me, right?” he spits out, his tone teetering between disbelief and frustration. “you can’t be fucking real right now. you were just—”

“i was just what?” you snap, your glare matching his. “no fair, jungkook. i got to hear you fuck some girl, but you don’t want to watch me kiss—”

“did i ask you to?” he cuts in, his voice rising.

“no,” you huff, crossing your arms. “but what are you asking from me right now? huh? jungkook… i don’t understand you—”

“what do you think i’m asking?” his voice lowers, but the intensity behind it doesn’t waver. he steps closer, his presence almost suffocating. “you’re always trying to act like this doesn’t matter. like i don’t matter.”

“maybe it doesn’t,” you challenge, even though the words taste bitter on your tongue.

jungkook laughs, but it’s humorless, sharp. 

“yeah, sure. that’s why you still give a fuck about me fucking—”

you snap. “don’t tell me her name.”

“what?” jungkook grumbles. “is that it? you get to parade around, yelling his fucking name and announcing it to the entire fucking world but i don’t get to tell you about the girl that came onto me for months? do-hwan biochem this, do-hwan that—do-hwan kiss me! is that it?"

"jungkook—"

"fuck, ___... listen to me, okay? let me tell you what i've been rehearsing for the past month and a half.... the girl i declined over and over again and fucked a total of 3 times because i was thinking with my dick is done. okay? if you’re trying to tell me that i fucked up—fine. yeah. i fucked up. but i meant it when i said it’s not what it looked like. ___, it wasn't like that. she spread shit about me being a good tutor and twisted it. how the fuck do you think i feel about myself? how the fuck do you think i feel about you seeing it differently—seeing me differently?”

your throat tightens, and you look away, desperate for a moment to compose yourself. 

“jungkook—”

“tell me how to fix it,” he cries, his frustration spilling over. “tell me what you want, because i’ll do it. i’ll stop tutoring if that’s what you want. fuck, i already did to be honest with you.”

you glance up at him, startled.

“why? that’s not going to change anything.”

“but i have to try…” his voice cracks, and he runs a hand through his hair, his exasperation evident. “i’ll give up anything—whatever it takes. just tell me what you need, and i’ll do it. want me to stop wearing ugly ass shirts? fine. want me to stop saving the dolphins you hate so much—”

“i don’t hate dolphins—”

“you’re scared of them.”

your eyes soften. 

“how’d you know—”

“it’s obvious,” jungkook breathes. “the same way it’s obvious you’re scared of this.”

this...

what even is this?

the silence that follows is deafening. you don’t say anything, and the tension between you stretches taut, threatening to snap. his chest rises and falls heavily, his eyes searching yours, desperate for something you’re not sure you can give him.

he takes another step closer, his proximity making it impossible to think straight.

“say something,” he pleads, his voice barely above a whisper now.

but you can’t.

you don’t trust your voice, don’t trust yourself not to break under the weight of it all. so you stay quiet, the space between you charged with everything unsaid.

the weight of unsaid words and unresolved feelings pressing down on both of you. you take a step back, trying to create some space to breathe, but jungkook mirrors you, closing the distance effortlessly.

then, you look around his room for some kind of break… but it backfires as your eyes meet a plushie, laying on his bed.

hello kitty.

“what’s that?” you ask a little shyly.

jungkook turns his head, feeling a little embarrassed at what you’ve seen.

“what do you think it is?” jungkook asks gently. "___... i... i can't do it. i'm sorry, i can't..."

"can't what?"

"i can't want you," he confesses. "i can't want you when i need you that bad."

he points at the plushie and sighs. "fuck, do you know how stupid that fucking claw machine made me feel? i spent like 1 or 2—"

"hours?" your eyes widen.

he shakes his head. "hundred."

hundred.

you stay silent.

"i'm sorry, ___... for everything. i'm a shithead. i'm mean and inconsiderate. i'm a waste of time—i know... but i want you to know that... everything about my life feels so weird without you in it. the past month and half has been absolute hell. it's like... if you're not around, all i do is think about you and it fucks with me. i wonder what you're eating, who you're with, and what you're going to do next... i get excited when you seenzone me. i feel like i can finally breathe when you're near. i don't know what you did and what fucking pavlov doggy shit experiment you did on me—but fuck. woof woof. whatever you want, ___. seriously."

then, you do what you fear.

you give in.

“how am i supposed to trust you,” you start, your voice shaky but firm, “when you’re not even a good friend? you’re always so mean to me, jungkook. think about it… when have we ever been good friends?”

he scoffs, the corner of his mouth twisting into a bitter smile. 

“maybe it’s because i don’t want to be your friend.”

the words hit you like a slap, your breath catching in your throat. 

“what if i want you to be?” 

his eyes search yours, as if trying to figure out if you’re serious. 

“really?” he asks, his voice dropping lower, softer.

“really.”

his gaze flickers down to your lips, then back to your eyes, and his voice drops even lower, a dangerous edge creeping into it. 

you can feel it… you can feel it about to happen. 

“even when i’m about to do this?”

before you can process his words, his hand moves to your waist, fingers curling around you in a way that sends a shiver down your spine. he pulls you closer, the heat of his touch searing through the fabric of your clothes.

his lips find yours in a kiss that’s as sudden as it is inevitable. 

it’s not gentle—it’s firm, deliberate, and entirely consuming. his other hand comes up to cradle your jaw, tilting your head just enough to deepen the kiss. your hands instinctively reach for his shoulders, gripping him as if to steady yourself against the storm he’s unleashing.

when he finally pulls back, his forehead rests against yours, both of you breathing hard. the air between you feels different now—heavier, laden with something you can’t quite name but can’t deny.

his hand slides up, brushing a loose strand of hair from your face, and he looks at you softly, his dark eyes searching yours. the tender gesture sends a fresh wave of confusion—and longing—coursing through you.

“bad friend,” you scold him in a whisper.

his lips twitch, a soft laugh escaping him as his thumb grazes your cheek.

“don’t do that,” he says, his voice low, almost pleading. 

you raise a brow at him. "do what?"

"don’t friendzone me.”

“why not?” 

“i just kissed you.”

“so?”

“so?” he mimics, his tone teasing, but there’s a sharpness in his voice that makes you squirm. his arms tighten around your waist, pulling you impossibly closer. 

“kitty,” he murmurs, his voice dropping to a rough whisper, “i’m gonna be impossible to get rid of now."

[soldiersgirl]

— 𝐭𝐡𝐚𝐭 𝐛𝐨𝐲 𝐢𝐬 𝐚 𝐦𝐨𝐧𝐬𝐭𝐞𝐫 .ᐟ

summary — the work week was harder than expected, but it was nothing a little clubbing and some casual fun couldn't fix. but nothing about soldier boy is casual and you look delicious enough to eat.

cw — 18+, smut, p in v (wrap it), mentions of drinking and smoking, clubbing, oral (f & m receiving), fingering, teasing, nicknames (good girl, princess, sweetheart, slut), biting, cold/sweet ben. (lmk if i forgot any!)

word count — 2,241 words

the lights flashed, the drinks flowed, hips were swung and cigarettes were smoked without a care in the world. the work week at vought had been brutal; you had thought that working marketing for vought was your biggest dream, but turned out to be a nightmare in disguise.

all you needed was a way to get your frustrations out and somebody already had their sight on you; watching you like a predator stalks its prey. waiting to strike. to devour. consume.

the beat overtook your body as you danced with your girlfriends at the bar, wildly rocking your hips and laughing loudly as you held onto each other for support. your balance like a newborn fawn after the countless tequila shots and free drinks from sleazy vought business men.

1 shot, 2 shot, 3 shot, 4. one shot for each time ashley had either berated or shouted at you in the past week in front of the whole team, reducing you to nothing but a mess.

"do you really think homelander would write some fucking shit like this?" "you need to cover a-trains fucking live right now, he goes off the rails without a shitting script!" "how far is your head up your own asshole that you can't see the mistakes?"

all you wanted to do was quit, but your best friend had really stuck her neck out and gotten you the position and quitting would only fuck it up for both of you. you swallowed your pride like you swallowed the bitter alcohol and plastered on a fake smile. you couldn't work out if you were trying to convince your friends or yourself of your happiness anymore.

your eyes couldn't help but scan the crowd, it felt like something was calling out to you. craving your attention. all you could see was the heaving, starved movements of the dancers. bodies grinding against each other in desperation, sweet nothings and dirty promises whispered in ears. skin pulled, kisses shared, drinks drunk and spilt. until you noticed him.

a smirk on his face, a cigarette dangling from his plush lips framed by soft stubble, and an intimidating gaze. his stance frozen and domineering as the crowd ebbed and flowed around him like a lonesome island in a vast ocean. frozen, like the unstable fawn caught in the headlights, you are captured by his harsh gaze as he follows your every move. he notices how your breath hitches, how your heartbeat quickens, how your brain tries to make sense of where you'd seen him before.

you tug on your friends arm, tearing her attention away from some old businessman who is too eager for his own good. you hold her hands tight as your eyes frantically dart over to him, not daring to look away for too long. she catches the hint and her eyes drift to the dominating figure in the crowd and a small smirk spreads across her face.

"you want to be careful of that one." she laughs, her shoulders shaking as she glances you over.

"have you seen him before? he looks so familiar..." you shout over the bass and drum as you hesitantly follow her lead to the dance floor, your heels click-clacking in sync.

"we fucked once, i think. can't really recall. you don't recognise him?" she shouts in your ear as you reach the epicenter of the crowd and let the music flow through you. you give him one last look and shake your head. "it's......" she tries to shout, but the thrum of the bass muffles her voice. you struggle to concentrate, to listen to her warnings but your mind has fogged over. all control has been relinquished to the beat that flows over you like rain during a thunderstorm.

your body hums and tingles as you sway and swing your hips to the techno music that blasts, but all the while you feel his glare burn a hole into the nape of your neck. before you even know it you feel hands grab your hips, almost carefully, before you feel his stubble scratching against your neck. his hands travel wildly as you lean your head back to rest it on his wide shoulders and melt into the sensation of him. he grabs and spins you around. you're confronted with his infamous sage green eyes that you could drown in surrounded by a mask of intimidation and power.

soldier boy. with a big bald wolf-ish grin plastered on his face, ready to swallow you whole.

a blur. tongues and teeth clashing. hips grinding. promises whispered. dragged to a back door exit and thrown into a waiting car. all leading up to now in a dingy motel, still fully clothed and on your knees in front of him. your heart beating through your chest as you gaze up at him through your heavy lashes as he admires you, so willing to be good for him. he groans as he fully takes you in; your baited breath and your wanting eyes. "shit, sweetheart. those eyes could melt any man's heart." soldier boy sighs as he reaches forward and runs his calloused finger over your lower lip, tugging on it and eliciting a whine from you. "too bad, i lost mine years ago." he comments nonchalantly as he drags his hand away from you and rests it on his belt. "now, are you going to be a good girl? or are we going to have some fuckin' problems?" his voice is rough and cold as he watches you shake your head. "i asked you a question, i expect an answer." he sighs, louder. "i'll be good, so good." you whisper, unaware of what you've unleashed upon yourself. with a smirk, he nods as if to say "go ahead" and you waste no time reaching up, undoing his belt and tugging down his moss green supe-trousers. you marvelled at the sight of him. the veins that curled around it, the pinkish hue of the tip, the girth that could break you. instinctively, you wrap your hand around it and slowly tug on it, earning a long exhale from him as he throws his head, urging you to grip harder and go faster. you lick a stripe from the base to the tip of his hard cock and twirl your tongue around his reddened tip, the taste of salt lingering in your mouth.

before you know it, soldier boy has threaded his fingers through your soft hair and tugs on it as your lips glide up and down his length, fully taking him and relishing in his soft moans. his hips start to rock, burying himself in your throat as your nails dig into his strong thighs. the pain barely registering to him as he loses himself in the way your skilled lips and tongue work against him.

"you look so fucking good like this, sweetheart. my dick.." he grunts and pulls out, letting you breathe for a second. "down your slutty throat." he gently strokes your cheek as you catch your breath, the tears and spit glistening before guiding himself back into the comforting warmth of your mouth around him. he watches, almost adoringly, as you stroke and suck on his thick cock, your eyes never leaving his as you give into your urges.

"does it make you feel good? sucking on soldier's boy cock like this? so fuckin' desperate for me, aren't you?" he mutters with a devilish smile. "i don't even know your name and yet, you're so ready for me, baby. fuck..." his eyes roll into the back of his head as you once again deep-throat him. "fuck this." he grunts before pulling himself out of your mouth with a wet 'pop!'. he roughly grabs you by the hair on the nape of your neck, tugs you up and push you down onto his cluttered bed. he positions you how he wants and you follow willingly like his little doll as lays you on your back, with your knees bent and your pink panties on full display.

he lets out a loud groan as he notices the wet patch that had only gotten bigger and bigger since he first laid his strong hands on you in the club. you whimper as his rough fingers trace the outline of your panties, grazing against your soft thighs. the difference between his tentative touches and harsh words that make your heart soar before making it almost beat out of your chest.

"all this for me, baby? so wet just for me?" he mocks with a fake pout as his fingers finally drag over your clothed clit, pressing down on it and watching you squirm.

"soldier bo-" you start but he cuts you off with a light slap to your thigh.

"ben." he interjects, a silent warning.

"ben." you mutter. "please, please.. just touch me, fuck me. anything.." your breath quickens as you finally give in and plead; god, it was like music to his ears. he pulls off the last of his supe-suit, leaving him completely exposed as you lay still in your heels and dress, not daring to move without his permission. he nudges your legs further apart with his chin before delicately kissing the inside of your legs, his scruff scratching you as he torturously slowly makes his way to where you both want him to be. he inhales your sweet scent; the fear, uncertainty and desire rolling off of you.

finally. he hooks his fingers and yanks your panties down, exposing your slick and needy folds to him. you can hear him lowly hum as he admires the mess he's made of you. he can't hold himself back anymore. his hunger is overwhelming and you're being served on a plate to him. he tenderly kisses your clit before completely drowning himself in you and letting his tongue explore you.

his tongue prods and glides expertly into every divot and crevice as your fingers thread through his soft, chestnut brown hair and cry out from the pleasure.

"fuck, ben! oh my go-" you softly moan before his fingers slide into you with ease, your walls inviting and immediately moulding to his thick fingers. like a man starved, he swallows all you have to offer him. each moan and plea that rolls off your tongue only fuels his desire for more. more.

he struggles to pull himself back from your warm, wet cunt and your addicting taste but he can't wait anymore and neither can you. your breath hitches and your legs shake with anticipation as you realise his next move. his slick-covered mouth curls into a smirk as he towers over you, forcefully pushing your dress up and roughly lifting your hips to meet his leaking, wanting tip. a unified, grumbled moan escape you both as he effortlessly pushes himself past your slippery folds and nestles himself deeply against your mound. his cock expertly kisses your cervix before he lazily pulls back and slams into you with a force unlike any other.

pornographic moans and the squelch of your wetness fills the seedy motel room. he can't tear his eyes away from you for a second, afraid he'll miss a twitch of your lips, a deep heaving of your chest or your eyes rolling into the back of your head. both his hands curl around your throat, enjoying the feeling of your quickened heartbeat under the pad of his thumb.

"you look good enough to eat, princess." he pants. "you're so fucking tight, god.. look at it." he looks adoringly down. "just keeps suckin' me in so deep." he swears under his breath as he hitches your legs around his waist, your heels clicking together with each harsh thrust. he leans down and grazes his teeth over your chest, spilling out of your little black dress. he sighs and bites down on your breast, hard, earning a yelp from you as you try to push him away. he licks and sucks on the marked skin, right above your fluttering heart. he sucked and nibbled at the sensitive area, as if he could delve right in and eat your heart right out. you whimper his name as your orgasm builds and threatens to explode.

"ben, please- fuck, please. let me cum. i-" your words come out a jumbled mess as his pace quickens, enjoying how you fall apart so easily beneath him.

"fucking cum for me. cum on my fucking cock. let them know how good soldier boy fucks your pussy, slut." he whispers into your neck as he, somehow, manages to shove himself even deeper and your walls clamp down around him. your body jerks and a series of mewls escape you before he follows swiftly behind and fills you up. he harshly grabs your face and kisses you deeply as his thrusts turn lazy and eventually stop.

he pulls back an inch or two to brush away the hair from your face and places a soft, unexpected kiss on your forehead. but like before, his demeanour quickly shifts, and he pushes himself off of the bed, gathers your underwear and carelessly throws it to you. but you catch the way his eyes linger on you, noticing something innocent behind his hardened eyes. you knew this wouldn't be the last time you'd see him.

that boy is a monster; a beast. and you're the beauty, willing to let yourself fall prey to him and his wicked ways.

authors note — AAAHHH MY FIRST FIC EVER. what the fuck??!! please be sweet, this was a terrifying process to go through and i hope no one is disappointed 😞 — based on the banger by lady gaga that i've been listening to on repeat for 2 months straight.

[cherryredlove]

☆ summer in sunspear ☆

Modern! au Gwayne Hightower x reader SMUT

• • • • • • • • • • • • ✦ • • • • • • • • • • • •

• • • • • • • • • • • • ✦ • • • • • • • • • • • •

Your flatmate and best friend Rhaenyra invites you along with her group of friends on a summer holiday to Dorne. In the group is the gorgeous Gwayne. Is it the heat or is he checking you out?

Word Count: 2.2k

Themes: SMUT, very indulgent smut, rough p in v, praise, semi-public sex, creampie, content warning of alcohol, lots of fluffy love too

• • • • • • • • • • • • ✦ • • • • • • • • • • • •

You've been looking forward to this trip for weeks, but now that it's finally here, you can't help but feel a twinge of anxiety. After all, you're flying to Sunspear in Dorne with a group of people who are practically strangers to you. Sure, your best friend and flatmate Rhaenyra Targaryen will be there, but her friends are a mix of old schoolmates, some of whom you've only met in passing. You know that, just like Rhaenyra, they're all unfairly cool and chic.

You’re sitting on the edge of your bed, stuffing the last of your essentials into your suitcase, when Rhaenyra bursts into the room with a vibrant energy only she possesses. Her long silver hair is tied up in a messy bun, sunglasses perched on her nose, and a grin spreads across her face.

"Are you ready for the best holiday ever?" she asks, practically bouncing on her toes. She flops onto your bed, grabbing your hot pink bikini from the bed and wiggling her eyebrows.

"As ready as I'll ever be," you reply with a giggle. "I'm just hoping I won't be the odd one out."

"Nonsense! Everyone's going to love you. Just wait until you meet them. Criston is a riot, Alicent is a sweetie, the siblings Laena and Laenor are the life of any party. Oh, and Gwayne is coming too—Alicent's brother. You remember him, right?"

Vaguely, you think. You've seen him at a couple of Rhaenyra's gatherings. Tall, handsome, with a laid-back charming demeanour that contrasts with his sister's quieter and more reserved nature. You recall his wry smile and the way he watches the room as though he's in on a joke no one else knows. There’s something about him, something you can’t quite put your finger on.

As you make your way to the airport, Rhaenyra rambles on about her plans for the week. She’s planned for days on the beach lounging in the Dornish sun and nights out on the town drinking. Your worries slowly dissolve in the anticipation of the warmth and adventure awaiting in Dorne.

• • • • • • • • • • • • ✦ • • • • • • • • • • • •

You step out of the airport into the sultry Dornish air, feeling the sun's heat embrace you like an old friend. The group has already assembled—Criston Cole, tall and charismatic, with a smirk and brash humour; Alicent Hightower, elegant and serene, her presence calming like the ocean breeze you can already feel; Laena Velaryon, with hair as wild as the ocean, whose laughter is contagious; and her brother Laenor, who immediately makes you feel at ease with a light hug and smile.

And then there's Gwayne.

You notice him standing off to the side, leaning against the huge rental car (thank the Gods Rhaenyra is rich), a lazy smile spreading across his lips as he catches sight of you. He has an air of effortless charm, like someone who doesn't need to try too hard to make an impression—and from the way his eyes linger on you and your heart races, it's clear that he's made one on you.

“Welcome to Dorne,” he says, extending a hand to help you with your luggage. His touch is firm yet gentle, and you feel an unexpected thrill at the contact.

“Thanks,” you manage, smiling back. “It’s good to be here.”

Rhaenyra claps her hands, pulling everyone’s attention back to her. “Alright, folks! Let’s get this party started!” Criston whoops loudly, winding his arms around yours and Alicent's shoulders, walking towards the car.

• • • • • • • • • • • • ✦ • • • • • • • • • • • •

The massive beach house you’re staying in is a dream come true. Nestled on the coast with a panoramic view of the glittering sea, it has enough room for everyone, plus some. The ocean breeze filters through the open windows, carrying with it the scent of salt and orange blossoms.

Your days quickly fall into a blissful rhythm. Each morning begins with a lazy breakfast on the terrace, the laughter and chatter of your friends setting the tone for the rest of the day. Rhaenyra is the queen of leisure, leading the group in a daily swim as soon as the sun reaches its peak.

One afternoon, as you laze under the sun, you find yourself alongside Gwayne. He's reclined on a deck chair next to you, sunglasses shielding his eyes from the sun’s glare. The two of you have drifted into a companionable silence, occasionally exchanging thoughts about the holiday.

“Do you ever feel like you belong in a place you’ve never been to before?” he asks suddenly, turning to you. The sincerity in his voice surprises you.

You nod, considering his words. “Yeah, I do. There’s something about Dorne—it's different from anywhere else.”

Gwayne smiles, his gaze thoughtful. “I think you fit here. With us.”

The words make your heart skip a beat. You hold his gaze, the air between you charged with an unspoken understanding.

• • • • • • • • • • • • ✦ • • • • • • • • • • • •

Nighttime in Dorne is a different beast altogether. The group descends upon the local beach bars, eager to get as drunk as possible on zesty cocktails.

Criston, ever the instigator, orders round after round of drinks for the group, insisting on trying every concoction on the menu. The Valyrian Blaze cocktail is bright red, spicy, and strong enough to burn as it goes down, while the Winterfell Chill is a stark contrast, with its cool minty freshness. You yourself favour the delicious Dornish wines, the Stormlands sangria taking the cake.

You find yourself next to Gwayne again, both of you leaning against the bar, both trying a drink that seems to be some unholy blend of dragonfruit and tequila. The laughter from your friends fills the air, mixing with the sound of the waves crashing in the distance and tropical music playing in the bar.

"These are dangerous," you comment, swirling the colourful drink in your glass.

Gwayne chuckles, taking a sip from his own glass. "That's the point, isn’t it? To let loose and forget about everything for a while."

His eyes lock onto yours, and the intensity of his gaze sends a shiver down your spine.

"I suppose you're right," you reply, your voice barely above a whisper.

As the night wears on, the drinks take effect. Everyone is dancing now, the rhythmic beats of the music vibrating through the air. You join in, feeling the weight of your worries lift as you move to the rhythm, hips swaying, and sandals gliding across the floor.

At some point, Gwayne finds you on the dance floor, his movements in sync with yours. There's a magnetism between you, an undeniable pull that keeps drawing you closer. The music slows, and without missing a beat, he slips an arm around your waist, guiding you in a gentle sway.

The sun is setting as you and the group make your way back to the beach house. The day has been long, but the energy is still buzzing among your friends. As you approach the entrance, you hear Rhaenyra’s voice rise above the chatter.

"Right, everyone, it's surfing and a seafood meal out tomorrow!"

Everyone sounds out their approval, and plans are quickly made for an early morning departure. But for now, the night is still young, and you find yourself wandering the grounds outside of the beach house, needing a moment to yourself whilst the others head to bed.

Or at least you think you're alone until you hear footsteps on the sand behind you.

"Couldn't sleep?" Gwayne's voice cuts through the darkening sky, smooth and inviting. He steps into view, and even in the low light, you can see the amusement dancing in his eyes.

"Just needed some air," you admit, sighing lightly. "It's been a long day."

He nods, falling into step beside you. Wordlessly, his hand slips into yours and guides you towards the Water Gardens that lie adjacent to the beach house. Together, you walk through the gardens, the scent of jasmine and sea salt heavy in the air. There’s a tranquillity here that contrasts with the vibrant chaos of earlier, and it offers a quiet intimacy between you and Gwayne.

"These gardens are beautiful," you muse, your voice barely above a whisper.

Gwayne stops walking, turning to face you fully. "They are," he agrees, his gaze steady on yours. "But not as beautiful as you." His hand comes up to gently brush some hair from your face and rests on your blushing cheek.

The words hang between you, heavy with meaning. In the next breath, he closes the distance between you, his lips capturing yours in a kiss that is both gentle and insistent. It’s a moment that feels like it’s been building from the instant you laid eyes on each other, a culmination of unspoken desire fuelled by the Dornish summer.

Gwayne pulls you closer, deepening the kiss, and you can feel the heat radiating from him like the sun you’ve spent all day under. His hands are firm on your back, anchoring you against him in a way that feels both possessive and tender.

Before you realize it, you're backing up toward the edge of the garden where a small, secluded pool lies hidden among the lush foliage. The water shimmers under the sunset, inviting and cool.

Gwayne breaks the kiss first, his breathing uneven, eyes searching yours for permission. There’s a question in his gaze, an unspoken invitation to take this moment further.

You answer with a nod, slipping off your purple sun dress as he unclothes, and with a shared smile, the two of you slip into the water. It’s cool against your sun-warmed skin, a welcome reprieve. The coolness tingles against the building fire between your legs.

Gwayne pulls you into him again, his lips tracing a path down your neck as you wrap your arms around him. The water laps around you, creating a rhythm that matches the steady pulse of your heart. His hands explore your body with a reverence that makes you feel cherished, desired in a way that’s almost intoxicating.

Gasping lightly, you reach beneath the water to feel his cock, hard and thick in your hands. He moans against your neck, standing on the floor of the pool, pushing you up against the pool wall. You instinctively wrap your legs around him, moaning as his hardness presses against your aching pussy.

He looks at you, asking if he can continue. You nod slightly, feeling a shiver of lust as his hands grip your ass tight and his cock nudges against your slickness. He pushes inside smoothly, holding you tightly for what feels like an age as your pussy flutters around him. He murmers sweet words into your hair, caressing you, cherishing you.

"You feel divine, you look divine, my angel, let me make you feel good." Gwayne rumbles against your lips. You nod desperately, feeling so full and loved.

He thrusts against your wetness, sending the cool shimmering water rippling. Your head lolls back, lips parted, as Gwayne bestows kiss after kiss on your tender neck and collarbone as his cock pounds your pussy hard in a measured pace.

His fingers sneak between your legs to touch your clit reverently. Gwayne circles your clit delicately, and whilst you enjoy his worship, you want more.

You kiss him, hard, and bite his lip, not hard but enough to make his eyes widen.

"Gwayne," you beg. "Fuck me, please. I need you to show me how much you want me." Your pussy weeps as his hips slam harder. He leans over you, eyes ablaze and a smirk curling across his lips. You mewl helplessly.

"My angel, I'd love nothing more." He snaps his hips, rubbing your clit more urgently now. You feel the warmth of an orgasm licking inside as his teeth brand marks across your neck. Your fingernails scratch against his muscled back as Gwayne moans.

The water ripples quicker now as he fucks you hard and fast, kissing across your cheeks and nose.

"My pretty baby," he rasps. "So good for me, pussy so good for my cock. Gonna cum, gotta make you cum my angel."

You cry out in agreement, hips bucking wildly as his fingers and cock draw out a searing orgasm from you. His head falls to your shoulders as he cums, thick white cum filling up inside you.

You both stay there for a while, kissing each other softly and stroking hands through each others hair. Gwayne's eyes are shining in the moonlight as you seal your lips under the stars.

• • • • • • • • • • • • ✦ • • • • • • • • • • • •

The next morning, the pair of you are greeted with whoops and hollers from the rest of the group as you walk into the kitchen hand in hand. You bashfully smile as Gwayne proudly kisses your cheek. Criston pats him on the back in congratulations.

"I'll make you an iced coffee." Gwayne says, pecking your lips. Laena pretends to gag but throws a cheeky smile at you.

Rhaenyra sidles up next to you, offering you a brioche, looking far too smug. You roll your eyes.

"Glad you came now?" She asks, hip bumping you. You glance over at Gwayne, who is chatting with Laenor but looking at you reverently.

"Yes I am."

• • • • • • • • • • • • ✦ • • • • • • • • • • • •

AN: the way i was kicking my own damn feet writing this. it has been a scorcher in england today (at least for me lol) so got inspired to write a summery sexy fic for darling gwayne. check out my masterlist for more modern aus and sexy fun! send requests and feedback plz love u xx 🍒

[thesilmarillionblog]

𓏲 𓂃 L o s i n g Y o u

Part:𝟷𝟸

Click here to read the first part.

Summary: Everything was good as a member of Payback and Soldier Boy's secret girlfriend until the team and your relationship with him began to fall apart due to a new member and her developing relationship with Ben right in front of your eyes.

Pairing: Soldier Boy / Reader

Warnings: Language

Word Count: 4624

A/N: English is not my first language.

* This story is inspired by the song "Losing You" by Dream Evil.

It was quite the struggle to train with Ben for a week, especially when he took it extremely seriously and pushed you to the very limit. It was not that he hurt you; it was that in the lab you either lost your will to fight or you just got really weak.

There were moments when you stated to Ben that things might get serious about your power, but he chose to ignore you and aggravated the training, which left you worn out. But you were relieved that he could, in his own irritating way, encourage you that your strength was still there.

Ben answered, “No,” right away when you wanted to stop the exercise.

Right now, the entire home was a mess, and the hole you had made in the wall remained.

“I'm tired here, Ben,” you complained as you fell to the ground, gasping for air. You had been there exercising together since the morning, and it was nearly the sun going down. Except when you needed to eat or pee, he rarely gave you a moment's peace of mind. “I mean it. I'm done.” 

You opened your hands wide on the ground, and he looked at your body while saying, “You're a supe; you can't just feel exhausted that easily.”

You blushed as you noticed him staring at your soaked entire body and replied, “Give me some break.” There's a good chance that you were both thinking the same thing. “How on earth can you find that much energy? Even for a supe, it's too much.”

Ben stared at you and then took off the shirt he had taken off hours earlier, wiping the sweat from his muscular chest. You grimaced, knowing you probably smelled like trash. 

“It's because I am the strongest; I am not just any average Supe.” With the most arrogant way possible, he threw his t-shirt back to the ground and said, “Simply better and more powerful than anyone. But don't worry; we'll return you to the way things were, sweetie. You have my word.”

He gave you a sneaky smirk when he saw you staring at his broad, sweat-damp chest. Ben was waiting for you, literally, from above, all the time you tried to get some rest. His eyes narrowed, and you suspected his head was full of filthy stuff. 

You just muttered, “I hope so,” and avoided giving him a glance as you closed your eyes.

He sighed and went down on the floor next to you, crossing his big arms over his head. 

“Don't think about it that much. You're going to do even better than you are now. Maybe we should just do those trainings more frequently. What do you say?”

“It’s fine. I don’t have another choice anyway,” you replied, cutting it short while keeping your eyes closed. Even if you felt his intense stare on your face, you didn’t react. “What did the doctor tell you, by the way? The one who supervised Compound V's improvement for decades?”

You remembered that there was a lot of discussion following the news that Ben had killed him at his home. You kind of hoped you could have dealt with that cruel piece of shit on your own, though. He was just a monster with a white robe. He had always made an aggressive attempt to cause damage to you and showed no sympathy or compassion for anyone. You got scared and insecure when you opened your eyes, recalling the physical harm he had inflicted. 

“Fucking piece of shit!” Ben angrily exclaimed, his fists clenched over his head. “I should have killed him properly.” 

“What did he say, so you blew up?” 

“Isn't it obvious? That pussy told me how little supes are in the big picture of science, the future of the supremes, humanity, and some other bullshit. It's certain that Vough paid that cocksucker generously during all those years. He lived in luxury, torturing us, and he didn’t even regret it.”

“Did he tell you what kind of research he did on my body?” You asked as you moved your body to face him. 

Ben fell silent for a minute, enraged by what he remembered the doctor had said about you. Nevertheless, his eyes softened as he saw your expression and saw that you were excited to hear what he was about to say and that you were feeling at ease and comfortable next to him. That was all he needed. Ben recognized that if he made a determined attempt to be by your side and touch you in the way he desired, you would push him even further away and that you weren't

ready for physical contact at this time. He therefore forced himself to keep his distance from you and let you do whatever you wanted.

He just turned to face you and stated, “I didn't give him enough time to talk,” straightening his posture and sitting straight up on the floor. “He's just an animal, and he sees supes as rats for research in order to make profit. That's all.”

“When we agreed to live this life as supers, Ben, we already knew that.” You said bitterly, “People in charge always wanted to play with us like we were toys. They used us as they pleased and needed us for their own good. I wanted to leave the company for a number of reasons, one of which was that I was unaware of how serious that whole picture was. What I need to learn is what they succeeded in doing during the decades we were unconscious and at their mercy.”

Ben sighed and got up to get some weed from the nearest table, just after helping you off the floor.

“I was told by that son of a bitch that he examined you to make the future supers flawless. Though I'm not really sure what he meant, it seems to me that Queen Maeve—the woman from Seven—is their new you.”

“Do you think they might have found a way to weaken me? Don't say 'no' right away,” you said in a hurry when he opened his lips to object. “It just doesn't feel right about what's going on and everything.”

Your concerns, which were constantly lurking beneath the surface, took over when you realized that Ben had remained silent. Something was off with you, you two sensed that. Although after your first training day you felt a little stronger, your weakness remained under your skin.

You pulled open a window to let some fresh air in and muttered, “If you hadn't just killed the doctor, we could have learned about it.”

Ben offered you one of the glasses and sighed as if he regretted what he had done, filling the other one with wine. “I didn't intentionally kill him. It simply happened beyond my control. But I would still murder him anyway.”

You raised an eyebrow and sat down, realizing that your tiredness was taking over. “You need to find a way to control it since your nerves are always on edge,” you said. “And also, I need to find someone who can understand all of this.”

Ben sat beside you, stretching his muscles and leaning back into the coach while he listened to you attentively. As you spoke, you noticed that your gaze lingered a little too long on his sweating body, almost making you flush. 

He studied your expression to see how you would react to his suggestion. He said, “I guess the best option is to kidnap or torture a doctor who is in charge or fuckever who's doing supe studies for Vought right now. We can use Mindstorm to look at your memories and thoughts to see whether they have hurt you in any way.”

His suggestion caused your eyes to widen with excitement, and you exclaimed, “That's actually a smart idea. But how are we supposed to find him?”

“Remember the new technology, sweetheart. Anything is possible with these phones, Bluetooth, and GPS technology. Remember how I found you very easily?”

You gave a nod to him, knowing that what he stated was right and that you would be able to reach Mindstorm with ease thanks to modern technology.

After you had your shower, you saw Ben watching the TV with a dead serious face, and you sat beside him.

As you used the towel in your hand to dry your damp hair, you inquired, “Is there any news about us? Almost a week has passed.”

“Not much,” he replied as he continued to listen to Homelander talk about the two of you.

‘They pose no threat to the United States,’ Homelander confidently stated, grinning, as he extended his arms and turned to face the screen. 'As Seven, we've been trying to find them for a week, but it looks like they are hiding pretty well,' he continued. I, Homelander, the Seven's leader, swear to you that they shall answer for their actions. It has been proven that Soldier Boy rescued Y/N, and it's very likely that the two of them murdered the hapless doctors as well as every lab employee in cold blood and without hesitation.'

You and Ben exchanged a look as Homelander continued his speech. ‘Their families and children are in agony even though our government gives them the best care they can. These two criminals are responsible for the deaths of the orphans whose parents they killed. It breaks our hearts to see them weeping and grieving the loss of their families. There are even toddlers among them. Soldier Boy and Y/N will be held liable and made to pay for the harm they caused to the United States and its citizens. They have little time to conceal; they cannot get away.’

As the audience gave him a loud applause and he flew opening his arms out like.

Ben angrily said, “Fuck that. Son of a bitch,” and threw the remote control onto the table in front of him. “They were just another piece of shits who enjoyed torturing supes, nothing else.”

“But I didn't kill anyone,” you mumbled. “We are past the point of self-justification. Homelander is basically controlling the crowds. They would never pay to listen to us, Ben.”

Ben stared at the TV and said, “I'll teach them how to listen,” in a menacing manner. “You see? It's no longer about Butcher and his useless group. It has to do with our future.”

You could have argued with him about the future, but all you wanted was to avoid getting into another fight with Ben. 

“I think such a guy wouldn't be innocent at all. We might be able to defeat the company if we can figure out how to properly express ourselves, explain to them how Vought tricked us, and show the real Homelander to the rest of the world. There isn't another way.”

 “I know, I know,” he muttered.

As you could tell Ben was becoming enraged and feeling overwhelmed, you touched his bare chest, which had a little glow to it. “Hey, are you okay?”

He responded with, “I am,” placing his hand on yours and giving you a gentle squeeze. 

“Can you please stop getting angry for a second? I can sense the heat building in your chest.” You muttered, “You're stressing me out here,” but you didn't remove your hand from his upper body. You could feel him cooling down beneath your touch once again. It was fine as long as it worked; you simply didn't know why. 

“Well,” he said, arching an eyebrow, licking his lips, allowing you to touch him, and gently tracing his fingers over yours. His powerful, slow beats were calming in a way. “It's not too bad. Is it?” 

You withdrew your hand from his sweating chest while rolling your eyes at him and making sure he was okay. 

Ben had just showered when Butcher and Hughie showed up at the house. 

Butcher remarked in a sly manner, “Glad, I delayed for an hour coming here to pick up you two,” as you and Ben got into the back of the car. “We could have interrupted something funny, judging by the all-wet hairs and all.”

“We were just finished training there!” you exclaimed, your face heated. 

“It must be very good training, indeed. The entire fucking house was damaged like hell. You two spent a whole week all showering and training while we were dealing with the shit Soldier Boy caused.”

“Sorry for that, but it's not what you think, really.”

“I thought Soldier Boy and Crimson were having a relationship. Yet life goes on, don't they? There are always new, fine chickens and dolls all around.” Butcher smirked at Ben.

You were ready to add something about Ben and you having nothing to do, but Ben became enraged right away when Butcher brought up the Crimson Countess. 

“Don't you fucking know how to stay silent and shut your useless mouth?” Butcher was obviously enjoying himself when he suddenly made Ben mad. 

“What made you so furious now? Have I said anything untrue?” 

Hughie leaned back in his seat and said, “Butcher, stop that,” sounding distressed as Ben continued to swear at them both and told Hughie to make Buther to suck him soon, so his mouth would be filled enough not to talk stupid.

“Why even do you become irate out of nowhere? After all, you murdered the poor woman.”

You looked up at Ben, asking with disbelief, “What? Why did you even kill Countess?”

The fact that Ben never brought it up startled you even more than Butcher's statement, as though it were nothing important. You were stunned and shocked beyond belief. At that point, you were at a loss for what to think. You were not sympathetic to her, though. After all, Vought used her as a cunning evil to harm both you and Ben. She was the one who paid you a visit in order to deceive you that day. 

He tried to convince you immediately, giving you a gentle look as if he wanted you to understand what he had done. “She deserved whatever I've done,” he defended himself. 

You acknowledged, “I know she did. But why?”

He looked at Butcher and then turned to face you, almost whispering, “Let's discuss this at a later time. All right?”

You found Annie nowhere to be found when you got to Butcher's home, where only Kimiko and Frenchie were inside. Kimiko watched Frenchie play with his phone, seeming bored.

“Why did it take so long for you to come here?” Frenchie inquired in an irritated manner to Butcher. “You give me too much to deal with, though you know I have things to do. Kimiko is also exhausted.”

Butcher sarcastically remarked, “Hello to you too, baby,” as he removed his coat. “I have not even once heard a complaint from her; she is an incredible Supe. She can't possibly be exhausted, right, doll?”

Ben moved you over to the edge of the coach and sat by you, resting his legs on the table, just as you were about to strike up a conversation with Kimiko. You were fine with him being close, though, so you said nothing at all. In fact, if you were honest with yourself enough, you would admit that his behavior around you somewhat comforted you. 

“Kimiko and I have spent days looking for Black Noir and Queen Maeve, but we haven't made any progress so far. It's strange that they were absent from everything for so long. You see, something isn't quite right. According to Starlight, they have vanished.”

“The fuck you mean they are missing?” Butcher asked in disbelief.

“Why would Noir would go missing? It's not his thing to disappear,” you said. You thought you were thinking to yourself, but you had said it loud.

“He must have ran away when he saw us back together,” Ben said in am amused tone. “He fucking knows I'm going to kill him too. He’s a fucking dead man.”

You told Ben, “There must be a reason,” ignoring the way he talked about taking Earving's life. Right now, you don't need to see Ben being enraged over Noir and losing his temper again. 

“How the fuck doesn't Starlight know where Queen Maeve is?” Butcher questioned Hughie. 

Hughie took his head in his hands and responded, “She thinks Homelander did something to her. Maybe he killed Maeve.”

“How about Ninja Cunt, though? He is known as Homelander's right wing. Suppose he murdered Maeve. What about Noir?”

Frenchie remarked, “That's what I'm trying to understand,” and Kimiko communicated with him using sign language swiftly. 

“All right, we'll watch out for this and see if he shows up again.” Butcher ended it quickly and continued. “Tomorrow, Soldier Boy and I are heading to New York.”

You eyed Butcher with suspicion, asking, “Why and why not me?” 

“You two stayed at a lovely house for a week, for God’s sake. Aren't all of the showers enough? Is it not possible for you to separate for even a single day? Would you really miss this cunt that much?”

As Butcher continued to make assumptions about you and Ben, your face heated. Kimiko and Frenchie turned to face you in harmony, taken aback. 

“You're just making the wrong assumptions.” You distanced yourself from Ben and explained, “It's not like that,” acting as though you had been proven guilty. Ben didn't appear to be supportive when you stared at him, yet it seemed as though he was okay with Butcher's comments. “What I want to know is what you're going to be doing here and why I have to stay here.”

“Yes, doll. To catch up with your old friend TNT Twins, we are going to join Herogasm. It's almost like we have to clear your names first. Maybe they know anything about the specifics of those events from decades ago, and they could say something that we could use against Vought. Though things might get messy soon, don't you worry, I'm going to keep an eye on your soldier so that he won't be pouding into any supe cunt there,” he said with a wicked smile.

Ben said, “Maybe we can also find a thing about Mindstorm there,” giving you a meaningful glance and a small touch on the arm before you could respond. You nodded to him. 

“However, why must I stay here?”

“Kimiko needs to get some work done, and we need more muscle to help Frenchie and Hughie here. Let's don't take too much attention.”

“Okay,” you said, acknowledging the situation and giving up on further arguments. Herogasm was something you've always detested and loathed. Ben, the founder of it, was making it even worse. Yet the one thing about Ben's inconsistent anger—the energy in his chest—that scared you was his unpredictable temper. You weren't sure if he could find a way to control it soon enough. 

You questioned Hughie, “By the way, where is Annie?” As a member of Vought and Seven, you were aware of how difficult it must be to handle the entire company's evil by yourself. 

“I don't think she'll find Maeve anytime soon, but she's doing some research in order to locate her. She seemed to have disappeared in a heartbeat.”

You figured she was kind of involved in this too, based on the way they talked about her. 

Ben abruptly stood up and stated, “I guess all the rooms are full. So, which room are Y/N and I staying in tonight?”

“Not full,” Hughie smiled in response. “I suppose there are now two available rooms since I will be seeing Annie tonight.” 

Kimiko nodded quickly as she gave a smile to you.

Ben's expression darkened as Hughie continued to tell him and Annie that they would not be staying in this house any longer, while Ben quietly cursed. He glanced at you for a moment, but you ignored him and asked Kimiko to show you the room where you would be sleeping. 

After an hour of inspecting the room and all of the furniture within, you heard a light knock on the door and knew it was Ben.

After a minute, you said, “Come in,” startled that Ben was holding back, opening the door this time without your permission. 

He whispered, “As you wish, baby,” and carefully shut the door behind him. 

In the dim light, his hair fell over his forehead, and his white t-shirt made your heart melt just a bit. Under his large arms, his t-shirt was too tight. Perhaps you weren't used to seeing him in his regular clothes, which is why you were still excited when you were around him. 

“What now?” you muttered as you sat on the bed and observed him approach you. 

He joked, “Don't get excited; I'm just here to make some conversation,” and sat down next to you right away. 

You said, almost in a whisper, “Which is about?” while he briefly studied your body.

His darkened eyes lingered on your revealing nightgown, but you remained silent, intensifying the tension in the moment. 

Ben's desire to force your body to the covers, get on top of you, take off your sweatpants, and get you ready for some post-breakup fucking was unbearable. He was well aware that you never touched yourself when you were by yourself in the house, and that really disturbed him because he knew that he was the reason for it. Ben could tell by the way you looked at him and by the beating in your heart that your body still yearned for him, but he also understood that he had to rebuild your trust in every way. He had to take care of his meat by hand up until that point. 

After sighing and searching for the right words, Ben uttered, “About the thing I told you that we can discuss later.” He made an effort not to speak about Crimson bitch right away. She was the reason your nerves were already fragile. He had no reason to blame you for it. 

As he attempted to read how you were feeling, you questioned in a cold voice, “Why did you kill her? Was it unintentional?” 

You were curious as to whether he truly intended to murder her or if this was just another unintentional incident similar to the others. You needed to comprehend it, even though you didn't know why it mattered. 

After a while, he said, “I blew up,” and when you realized he hadn't done it on purpose to exact vengeance for you, your posture straightened. 

Ben said, “I was just trying to get information about you and your location before killing her,” as soon as he saw the look on your face. “I was cautious to do anything until she had spoken about you. But I was unable to control myself when she touched my nerves.”

“Did you kill her just because she was unfaithful?” You questioned him suspiciously, attempting to make sense of his motivations. Ben might tell you the truth or a lie, but you would still listen to him even if you weren't sure he would be completely honest with you. “In the end, it's her who deceived you. Whether Vought commanded her or not is important. She was the one who brought you there so they could capture you and then transport you to Russia.”

After pausing to comprehend what you were asking, Ben responded, “I would kill her anyway because of what she had done to both of us,” as if he had no idea how to answer properly. “Especially to you.” 

You said, your eyes softening with sorrow, “I wonder what you would do to me if I were the one to trick you, Ben,” knowing that, after all these years, loyalty was what mattered most to him. “Even if I had every right to do so.” 

“I would never hurt you,” he abruptly rejected, emphasizing each word in a hard voice. “I knew I would deserve it anyway.”

“I'm not so sure of that, Ben,” you said. “You're even more dangerous considering I'm getting weaker and you're ready to blow up anytime.” 

His smile expanding, he added, “Hey, don't say such things,” took one of your hands, placed it on his warm chest, and whispered, “You have every power over me.”

Under his focused gaze, your face flushed, and after a moment, you reluctantly withdrew your hand. 

“So, you're going to Herogasm tomorrow?” you said, attempting to change the topic. “Given how difficult it was to persuade you not to join decades earlier, you must have missed it quite a lot.” 

“Are you feeling jeaolus?” he asked with a mischievous smile, and you grimaced. 

“Why should I be? I'm just saying you might have missed the chance to join the party that you organized after all this time.”

“I'm not going there to fuck, baby; I'm not interested anymore,” he murmured, retaining an arrogant chuckle. “I'm going to call you when I get there.”

“I'm not sure.” You said to quit talking about Herogasm anymore. “I might be busy to pick up when you call.” Herogasm was the world's dumbest thing, especially since Ben founded it. 

“Why may be you even busy, anyway?” This time Ben uttered serious words: “I'll call you nonstop, so keep your phone with you every moment.”

You responded with the same heedlessness, “I might.” 

Ben smiled playfully and narrowed his eyes. “Since you too need to take care of yourself, it will actually be good for us to be apart for just a small amount of time.”

You naively asked, “About what?” as though he would make a crucial point. 

“You might as well relax on this bed while I'm away because I’m pretty aware of you're not touching yourself, knowing I'd hear you in a second, huh?”

You became the deepest shade of scarlet in your cheeks and murmured, “I can't believe you.”

“I'm not making fun,” he declared with seriousness. “It is also a bodily necessity. You don't have to reject playing with yourself a bit. Being the reason is something that irritates me a lot.”

“I don't feel ashamed of taking care of myself because of you or anything else,” you immediately argued, ignoring the heat on your cheeks. “I have no problem touching myself while you're here. It's not all that important.” 

Ben arched an eyebrow at your quick, brave, “If you say so,” followed by a sigh. 

“I'm serious here, Ben,” you continued, growing agitated by his haughty demeanor and enormous ego. “I'll prove it.”

He studied your figure and growled in a low voice, “I won't promise that I won't focus on you or listen to the way you sound.”

“Then don't.”

Next Chapter

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A/N: Comments and reblogs are appreciated very much.  They keep me going. ♡˚.

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[keilanana]

𝑻𝒐 𝑫𝒆𝒇𝒚 𝑭𝒂𝒕𝒆

ɪɪɪ. sɪʙʟɪɴɢ ᴀᴄǫᴜɪʀᴇᴅ

You get a new addition to your family, and all is right with the world.

(Hopefully nothing from the next chapter ruins this for you haha.)

Watching Mum trip over herself to follow Mother around and tend to her every, little need was pretty funny at first.

But now you (unfortunately) have no right to laugh anymore, because as it turns out, learning that you're going to be an older sibling in just a few months really puts certain things into perspective, and now you're basically doing the same thing (although you at least had the dignity to be a lot more subtle about it, Mum.)

You don't know why, as you can't recall ever acting like this when your siblings from your first life came along, but everything just suddenly seems like a threat. For every sharp corner Mother passes by, you're quick to reach your hand over to cover it in case she gets close enough for contact. When you catch her going up or down the stairs, you're already rushing to her side to offer out a hand in support.

Yes, Mother of course laughs at all of this, and makes sure to tease you for doing the very things you laughed at your Mum for, but you can tell from the fondness in her smile and the bright twinkle in her eyes that she genuinely does appreciate all of the effort you and Mum were putting in to ensure her and the baby's comfort and safety—even if the measures Mum took could be pretty ... excessive.

("I can understand sanding down the corners of our dining table, but there is absolutely no way I'm letting you put carpets over the walls. I think Mother would actually kill me if I let you."

"You weren't there when it happened, [Y/n]! What if the next time she bumps into a wall, she pushes her baby bump back in?!"

"Mum of mine, I do not believe that is physically possible."

"HOW WOULD YOU KNOW?!"

"MAYBE BECAUSE ONE OF US WAS LUCKY ENOUGH TO INHERIT THE INTELLIGENCE I CLEARLY DIDN'T GET FROM YOU!")

Yeah, just thinking of all the times you've had to be the voice of reason between you and your Mum despite being the actual child between the two of you was enough to give you a headache. And the more Mother's stomach grows, the worse it gets.

At this point, I'm starting to believe that someone's gonna have to hold Mum's hand when the baby comes.

The thought makes you pause, ponder for a bit, and then cringe.

Poor nurse.

Other than Mum's (and admittedly, yours) overprotective tendencies, though, you're happy to report that Mother's pregnancy is going fairly well. From the visits your little family makes to the hospital every now and then, your younger sibling seems to be developing fine, and has been repeatedly reported as quite healthy, to your family's relief, pride, and joy.

What gets you all feeling really joyful, however, is the doctor revealing that the baby's gender can finally be determined.

"Wait!" Mother stops him before he can say anything else. "Don't tell us just yet! I want it to be a surprise!" she insists.

"Wha—a surprise?" Mum repeats, clearly confused. "You didn't want it to be a surprise last time!" she complains.

Penelope rolls her eyes at the childish tone in her wife's voice and takes her hand. "I know, which is why I want it to be a surprise this time," she explains. "Besides, you wouldn't want to turn down a cake, would you?"

When Mum only answers with silence, it's pretty easy for you and the doctor to guess who won.

━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━

Three weeks of anticipation later, the gender reveal cake is delivered on your doorstep in a white box by a teenage girl with short, curly brown locks.

"Hope you folks like it," she says with a wink once the package is placed into your arms. "It took a whole lotta effort keeping it in tact, driving it all the way out here."

Her words cause a semi-guilty smile to grace your features. "Right. Sorry about that," you say, and you really do mean it; you couldn't imagine having to deliver a cake somewhere so far out in the country, especially with only a rusty old vespa as your noble steed.

The girl only laughs good-naturedly and ruffles your hair. "No need to apologize, kiddo. Hope ya'll enjoy the cake!" she says.

With that, she turns around to leave, but not before throwing back a quick, "Congratulations!" over her shoulder in reference of who exactly the cake was made for.

Thus, with the cake now in your possession, you bring it into the dining room, where Mother and Mum are already waiting in their designated seats at the table.

"She seemed nice," Mother comments, obviously referring to the delivery girl you'd just spoken to.

You hum, telling her, "She was," before setting the box down and opening it.

The cake is, as the delivery girl said, indeed in tact, and covered in frosting and all sorts of fruits to keep whatever flavor the cake itself was hidden.

"Oh, this is so exciting!" Mother says, clapping her hands with a giddy smile on her face. "Anyone already have any guesses?" she asks, looking over to her wife.

Mum hums and holds her chin in thought for a moment before eventually settling on: "Strawberry."

Nodding, Mother then turns to you and lifts her brows expectantly.

With an amused huff, you sit down in your own chair just as Mum rises out of her own to grab three plates and a knife. "You know what? I'm thinking strawberry, too," you decide.

Tilting her head curiously, Mother leans back in her seat and begins to caress her stomach. "May I ask why?" she inquires.

You shrug. "Just a feeling, I guess," you answer.

The conversation ends after that, as Mum is finally prepared to cut the cake.

"Alrighty, then," she begins once yours and Mother's attention is fully on her. "Here we go."

Setting the knife down for only a moment, Mum pulls the box's walls all the way down—not just to make cutting the cake easier, but to also give you and Mother a clear view of it from your positions, as well.

With that said and done, Mum picks the knife back up and inhales deeply, obviously hyping herself up for what's about to come. It feels a little silly, getting this anxious over a cake, but there's still this sort of tightness in your chest that makes it only a little hard to breathe. Is it anticipation? Dread of the inevitable? A mix of both?

In the end, it doesn't matter, because then a knife is slicing right through frosting and—

"Strawberry," Mum breathes, a triumphant grin slowly beginning to overtake her face. "Looks like we're gonna be welcoming a little girl into our family next."

You and Mother throw your hands into the air and cheer.

(Later that night, the bakery your cake had come from gets a call from you to let your delivery girl know that you folks did, indeed, enjoy the cake.)

━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━

It is midnight when Mother's water breaks and Mum practically throws you into the car to drive you all off to the hospital.

It is about three in the morning when you get to leave the waiting room at last and see the labor (pun intended) of your Mother's work.

The baby is small—probably the smallest person you've ever seen—and, unlike you, takes a lot after Mum with her dark skin and soft tufts of platinum blonde hair.

"Oh," you say out loud without meaning to, eyes wide as you take in the infant held in Mother's arms. I'm an older sibling.

You knew you would be one for a while now, of course, and actually were one in your previous life, too. But ... there was just something about this moment: about seeing the little person that's been growing in Mother's stomach finally out and about in the real world, her eyes closed and her face all scrunched up, that had your chest exploding with an overwhelming warmth and your eyes threatening to flood with tears that you were desperately trying to keep in.

(Spoiler alert: you fail. Badly.)

"Hello, little love," Mother says, sounding so exhausted but still so happy at the same time. "Would you like to hold your baby sister?" she asks.

Still in shock at the sight of her, you can only manage a nod and then stare dumbly as the baby's handed over to rest in your arms.

"Um." You blink, mouth slightly agape. "Oh, wow."

(Across from you, Willow snorts.)

You watch, absolutely captivated, as the infant's chest rises and falls with each breath she takes. But then her face twitches, and your eyes automatically lift to watch as it scrunches up. It awes you, almost, the way she seems to struggle simply opening her eyes, but then her stare meets yours and it's like a puzzle clicks into place.

"Hey there, little sister," you greet, voice barely above a whisper. "I'm so happy to meet you."

Your sister babbles, unable to properly respond, obviously, and reaches up. Almost instinctually, you lift her higher, allowing her to reach your face and pat her small palms wherever she can, still babbling like you can understand every noise and gurgle.

You laugh and nod along anyway and pretend not to notice the tears you'd failed to hide.

━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━

"You're gonna rule the world someday."

Your newly acquired sister, Odette (named after one of Mother's favorite stories, Swan Lake) looks up at the sound of your voice and tilts her head. It's been two months since her birth, and in those short months, you've learned that although Ody (the nickname you proudly bestowed her with the moment you thought of it) takes a lot after Mum, she is most definitely every bit of Penelope's daughter just as you are without a doubt Willow's child.

While you had inherited most of Mum's, er ... impulsiveness, Odette had the good fortune of inheriting Mother's patented Stare of Judgement™, which you had the honor of seeing it in action yourself ... because Odette had focused it on you and Mum when you both attempted to do something stupid that was very safe, creative, and fun.

(That's what you tried telling Mother, at least.

She didn't fall for it for even a second and the two of you got sent to timeout in the living room again.)

Odette babbles, snapping you out of your train of thought, and you smile down at her as you start running your hand through the platinum cloud that's been growing atop her head.

"Man, look at all this," you say, curling a strand of Odette's already curly hair around your finger. "At this point, your hair's gonna end up bigger than your head," you joke.

Odette babbles again in response and takes your free hand in between her smaller ones to play with your fingers, making your smile grow into a grin.

"Oh yeah; definitely queen of the world material." You nod. "Don't worry, I'll make sure to be there with you every step of the way. Who else's hands are you supposed to play with?" you ask.

"Ababa?" Odette blinks up at you.

You nod once again. "Exactly!"

She stares at you for a moment, as if processing your words, and then looks away to return her full attention to your hand. You chuckle, amused by just how much personality Odette could convey despite not knowing how to properly speak yet.

"Man ..." Turning your head to gaze out the window, you smile as you watch the trees dance to the wind outside. "I didn't think it'd be possible, Ody, but I ... think I'm more than a little used to this life now, y'know?"

The infant blows a raspberry.

You laugh. "A wise queen, too!"

(Outside, the wind howls, and as it does, a single orange leaf falls to the forest floor.

So it appears, the seasons have finally begun to change.)

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[mj-iza-writer]

This story is inspired by the song "I'll Leave a Light On (Talk Away The Dark)" by Papa Roach and Carrie Underwood. This song is so pretty, and I've wanted to write a story based on it for a while now.

Whumpee sighed sadly as they tossed their last few coins into the bus collections.

They sat down and cuddled a canvas bag close. A few tears splashed to the fabric.

Most patrons sat away from Whumpee. Understandably, but Whumpee wished more than anything that someone would hug them.

They pulled out a picture. The only picture they had.

"I miss you", Whumpee felt tears well up in their eyes.

Their friend had just passed, the picture was of them both in the hospital together. Their friend had gotten severally sick and had to go in.... They never left.

A nurse took the picture of them together a few days prior. Whumpee received the picture after their friend died.

Whumpee had one more job to attend to. Whumpee acquired the ashes of their friend. They needed to return them to their home.

They and their friend were homeless. Not much else could be done for the remains.

Whumpee looked inside of the canvas bag. A black bag stared up at them.

It was dark by the time Whumpee got to the street they needed to be at.

The bus ride took them as far as they could get, but it was still a few miles to walk.

"You're almost home", Whumpee sighed, "then I'll be truly alone again."

Whumpee felt another tear.

"This is where they belong, I can't carry my friends ashes everywhere. They belong with their family", Whumpee sighed.

They trudged down the street. Their friend had brought them here once a while ago.

"Find the home with the light in the window", Whumpee recalled their friend telling them, "Caretaker hopes it will help bring me home if he leaves the light on or something like that."

"At least, Caretaker will be able to turn the light off", Whumpee saw the house finally. They sighed, "thankyou for staying with me all this time. You could have easily gone home, but you stayed with me, and you got sick because of that."

Whumpee quietly climbed the stairs.

They took a deep breath before knocking.

A few moments passed before the door was pulled open.

"Oh, hello", Caretaker smiled weakly.

"I know you have been waiting for someone else to come home", Whumpee felt their lips quiver, "I'm sorry I'm not them, but...", Whumpee looked down and started to sob.

"Oh... uh... would you come in. I'm sure it's cold out there", Caretaker looked them over.

"Oh, I don't want to be a bother, I just felt I needed to do this last thing", Whumpee looked down at the ground.

"It's not a problem, please come in", Caretaker offered again.

Whumpee nodded weakly.

Caretaker sat down across from Whumpee.

"Are you sure you want me on your furniture", Whumpee looked around, "I can stand, I don't mind. I don't want to make a mess of your home."

"It's alright", Caretaker smiled, "you can have some water if you like. You seem quite parched, and if you're hungry I can make you something."

"They said you were always so kind to strangers", Whumpee smiled weakly, "thankyou though."

"When have you last eaten?", Caretaker frowned.

"Uhm, a little bit ago", Whumpee sighed, "but that's not why I'm here. I wanted to return... uhm, return Preston to who he belongs to."

Caretaker frowned and looked at the bag Whumpee had. Now realizing their greatest fear had happened.

"Preston always talked about your home, and how you left the light on for him. I know in my heart he would have come back to you so long ago", Whumpee admitted and wiped a tear away, "I am at fault. He didn't want to leave me, so he stayed out there. He always said he would miss his cuddle buddy, but he missed you more. Uhm, he got sick about a week ago. I talked him into the hospital. Unfortunately it was to late."

Whumpee reached down into the bag, "I'm sorry to bring him to you like this, but I can't carry him around on the streets with me, and he deserves to be taken care of properly."

Caretaker felt a tear fall as Whumpee stood and handed the bag of remains to them.

"I also have his belongings, and uhm this", Whumpee pulled out the picture of them together, "Preston helped me so much this last year. I'm only sorry that I was the reason he felt like he couldn't come home to his real family."

Caretaker looked at the picture, "he... he left here a while ago. I guess I understand now. You should keep this though. You can have the memories."

Caretaker looked at the bag sadly.

"I think in all honesty, it would dishonor Preston if I didn't offer you a place to rest tonight. I can feed you and let you get a bath as well", Caretaker looked up at Whumpee, "would you like that?"

"You don't have to do that", Whumpee whispered, "I appreciate that, but I only came to return Preston to you. I'll be alright."

"Nonsense", Caretaker smiled, "has Preston ever talked about my cooking?"

"Everyday", Whumpee smiled.

"Please let me do this", Caretaker sat up, "I know exactly what I can make for you. One of Preston's favorite meals."

Whumpee looked down at the bag for a moment to think, "alright, I really appreciate you wanting to help me."

Whumpee followed Caretaker up a few stairs.

"The bathroom is right here. I'll get you some towels from here", Caretaker opened a closet, "there is soap and shampoo already in the shower. You can use what you like. I will get busy on your dinner and it should be ready for you when you get out."

Whumpee lay in bed that night. Caretaker said that it was Preston's bed before they had left. Whumpee wore some of Preston's old clothes now. For the first time, they felt clean, full, and safe."

"Preston, why would you leave this?", Whumpee blinked tiredly, "it almost feels like you.... are.... watching... over..me still", their eyes closed sleepily.

Caretaker also lay in bed. Thoughts raced through their mind until their eyes finally closed.

Preston met Caretaker in their dreams.

"Caretaker, I'm sorry", Preston sighed, "I couldn't leave them, but I didn't know how you would feel if I brought them home."

"You both could have come home. I would have rather that then this", Caretaker embraced Preston.

"I'm sorry", Preston sobbed, "please will you take care of them. Whumpee has such a sweet heart, they are not defiant like me. They will love the care you give them."

"It's not that easy Preston", Caretaker frowned, "they are a complete stranger."

"At least try, please. I was not supposed to leave them like this", Preston frowned, "they don't deserve this."

"I-I will try my hardest", Caretaker sighed, "please stay just a little longer."

"I can't", Preston sighed, "I am not here anymore, but Whumpee has a piece of my heart, I love them so much. Please take care of them."

Whumpee's eyes opened the moment the sun shined into the room.

They looked around in confusion until it clicked.

"It's been a while since I woke up inside", Whumpee grinned sheepishly, "something smells amazing."

They slid from the bed, and cautiously opened the door.

Caretaker turned when they heard Whumpee peak into the kitchen

"Breakfast normally got Preston out of bed too", Caretaker chuckled.

"Preston always said you made the best food. We would always cuddle together when we were hungry. He would talk about your cooking until we both fell asleep", Whumpee sighed, "it made the hunger go away for a little while."

"How did you meet Preston. Please sit and relax", Caretaker turned to cook some more.

"Uhm, I was being bullied by some older homeless people. They would steal my gear and food", Whumpee thought back and smiled, "Preston was the new kid on the block, but a lot if people were too afraid to mess with him. Even I was scared of him; to be fair I'm afraid of pretty much everything though. Preston had been watching them pick on me. He rushed over and kicked their feet out from under them. They were warned to never mess with me again. Preston invited me to be nearer to his tent, then we ended up sharing tents."

"That definitely sounds like my Preston, always so defiant. But, still ready to help out", Caretaker's lip quivered, "I'm proud of him. Though he wouldn't believe that for a moment."

"He always talked about how amazing you were", Whumpee smiled, "my favorite story was the light in the window. I always wished I had someone waiting for me like that."

"I'm curious, and you don't have to answer, but how did you end up on the streets. You just seem so timid to be out their", Caretaker pulled out two plates. Not even bothering to ask if their guest wanted breakfast.

"Mistakes were made. My family didn't trust the person I was dating, but I, of course, knew better. I wanted to prove them wrong. They said if I left the house, I would never be allowed to come back. The relationship became abusive. I tried to run to my family for help, but true to their word, they wouldn't help me. I hid on the streets and have been hiding for over a year now. I know your light wasn't meant for me, but I found it a comfort to imagine that it was when Preston talked about it. I made a big mistake, and I regret that ever since. I know I deserve my lot in life. I'll leave now if you want. I feel like I'm bothering you."

"Not without breakfast", Caretaker quickly set a plate in front of Whumpee.

Whumpee looked at the plate, "a-are you sure? I-it looks delicious, but..."

"Of course I'm sure", Caretaker nodded, "and actually I have a question for you, but let's get some food into your stomach first."

Whumpee sat nervously on Caretaker's couch, they felt like they needed to run, but they were too afraid to get up.

Caretaker came in carrying the remains of Preston.

"So I had a dream last night", Caretaker set the bag down and then sat next to it, "honestly though, I don't fully believe it was a dream. Maybe visitor is a better way to explain. Preston had a message for me. He asked for me to take care of you now. He wants you to stay here. How would you feel about that."

"Oh uhm, y-you don't have to do that. We can just say you had a wild dream after the shock of losing Preston, and maybe a little guilt. You don't have to feel the need to help me", Whumpee panicked, "I can leave now, and you can completely forget about me."

"Preston loved you... so much. Last night, he said that you carried a piece of his heart with you. That is exactly what I told them before they left, that he carried a piece of my heart, and that they needed to keep it safe until they came home. Then, as they walked out on me, I told them I would leave the light on until they came back home", Caretaker smiled weakly, "I don't think it was my imagination. I can't imagine allowing you to go back to the streets... alone. You have a piece of his heart with you, and so you also have a piece of mine. I want to protect that."

"I've made mistakes, and I want to learn from those", Whumpee wiped a tear away, "it's not... you don't have to help me."

"You made some mistakes. That's a human thing to do. It seems to me that you've learned your lesson and then some", Caretaker leaned up, "I can do something your family couldn't do. I can forgive you for being human. Last night, that lantern was for you. I appreciate you bringing Preston home, but that lantern also led you here."

Whumpee's lip quivered as more tears fell.

"Preston wouldn't have wanted you to go back to the streets alone. He wants you to be kept safe", Caretaker smiled, "let me honor his last wish. Let's try this. I would like to try. You can leave whenever you like if you don't like this."

"Ar-are you certain that you want this though?", Whumpee looked up, "why would you even want to do this?"

"I spent this last year waiting... hoping for someone very important to come home. This wasn't exactly what I had in mind, but Preston wanted to keep you safe. So I can honor that wish", Caretaker smiled, "he would have stayed out there forever if he could. Let me continue his want to take care of you."

Whumpee took a shaky breath, "I-I would love to stay here, but I'll leave whenever you ask."

"That's fine", Caretaker nodded in agreement, "how about today you take some time and relax. Maybe you can think of some things you may want or need. Or, if you have some questions. I'll be happy to answer any questions you may have."

Whumpee nodded, "I-I can't believe this. I never imagined that this was going to be the outcome of bringing Preston home. I thought maybe you would let me sleep on your porch for the night. I was going to ask at least, then I would leave by dawn."

"I would have never let you sleep out there like that, it was to cold", Caretaker stood, "you can look around the house if you like."

Caretaker came in later and found Whumpee sitting on the floor and looking at several pictures on a shelf. Most of Preston.

"He hated his picture getting taken", Caretaker smiled, "I always stole pictures when he wasn't looking."

Whumpee looked up and nodded, "the only picture I got with him was at the hospital. I think he knew he was about to go, so he posed with me. I know he didn't want to leave me. I felt him cuddling me last night while I laid in his bed. It became a comfort having him around. I only wish I could have done more for him. He was always working so hard to take care of us both."

Caretaker nodded, "I don't think he would have wanted it any other way."

Whumpee nodded, "I appreciate that."

Caretaker watched as Whumpee stood.

"Are you ready for dinner?", Caretaker smiled.

"Yes, but I'm not used to eating so much. I've eaten more food today then I have in the last week, maybe month", Whumpee smiled, "I feel bad that Preston missed all of this cooking though."

"Like you said earlier, mistakes were made. Preston made his decisions, though I would say I am proud of him for taking care of you", Caretaker smiled, "I would definitely not call that a mistake."

Whumpee smiled, "thankyou again for helping me."

"You're welcome Whumpee", Caretaker smiled, "come on, let's eat."

Taglist. As always please let me know if you want to be added or taken off of the list. It's not a problem at all.

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[kneelingshadowsalome]

Immortal (Ghost x Medic!Reader Pt. 3)

"The path to paradise begins in hell."

— Dante Alighieri

Word count: 5.5 k

Summary: He knows now why he always returns to her. It's because he was injured. Badly, severely, life-threateningly injured – no, he was already deceased. What kind of a medic has the power to resurrect the dead? (Last part of Ghost stories.)

Tags/warnings: 18+ only. Angst, fluff, smut. Protective!Simon Ghost Riley. Graphic depictions of PTSD, suicidal thoughts and depression, mild violence. Emotional sex, love confessions, happy ending. Ghost POV.

"You can't come here, lieutenant. Not unless you're injured."

No one has ever scolded him.

He's the one who whips people into shape, who makes them recall who and where they are, that Task Force 141 is no place for fuckery. Now he's the one being reminded of his place. 

Somehow it's ok to bring her flowers before dinner, but ever since he started to bring her coffee to get an excuse to see her at work, she began to shut down. He can fuck her doggy style at her place, but if he so much as lifts his mask to kiss the back of her neck at her office, she bats him away like an annoying fly.

And he's fucking confused.

He thought he was doing the right thing. He thought that women like to be courted. Now he's standing in the middle of her apartment, waiting for… he doesn't even know what. Pardon, perhaps.

"Why do you always call me lieutenant?"

"Well I can't call you Simon at work, can I?"

She's chaste and decent. Has been like that for a while now, retreating back to her role of a distant professional. 

Something's troubling her, and he tries to get to the bottom of it. Tries his best to cheer her up, even if it's absurd that someone like him attempts to do that.

"Y'could use the alias."

"I'm not going to call you that."

She reads Virgil while making it clear that he's quite ridiculous. A ghost. It must remind her of a children's book rather than something stealthy and fatal; to her, it's a grown man's sad attempt to play a superhero.

"Did you come up with the name yourself?" Her voice has a whiff of irony as she finally spares him a glance from her hard-cover poetry.

"...No," he lies, too soon. Far too soon. She catches him on it, pants down.

"You're a silly, silly man." She shakes her head slowly and returns to her book. Last week, it was Dante who had better things to offer, far better things compared to him – such as a more poetic depiction of hell.

But even with the distant aura he can't quite pierce, she gives him a concept of what it would be like to have a home. A real home where you don't have to dread the evening and everything it brings out in people. Even when he was doing the SAS Fan Dance and lying on the cold ground to have a compulsory 2-hour shut-eye, he never missed home. The weather-beaten trail and a flapping tarp were still a cosier place than the one he'd left behind. 

The closest thing to an actual home was always solitude. A few days without routine. A cold shower in the morning to wake him, but not frigid enough to kill the erection. A good, unhurried fap and some stale spit circling down the drain. No one giving him a pitiful eye for tossing old takeaway in the bin and opening the cupboard only to be met with some canned food and table salt.

Now, the first thing in the morning is the sensation of her. Fingertips sneaking their way under his arm and ghosting his stomach, stirring him so softly he doesn't quite know if he's gone to heaven. Home is a sleepy nest and slow kisses followed by the sounds of brewing coffee. Home has become a place of mundane tasks: helping her water the plants and tasting whether the vanilla pudding she made has enough sugar. Changing sheets together, listening to the fitful sea as it breaks upon the shore. Watching how she reads of the Trojan War.

When he just stands there, admiring how her manicured nails glide over the pages, she talks to him again without raising her lashes from the book. 

"Did you need something?"

…You. All of you. 

Now and forever.

"Ya wanna go out to eat tonight?"

Finally, he grabs her attention. The distance between them is sewn up so fast even a jerk like him can understand he finally made the right fucking move.

"What about your… The mask?"

He shrugs.

"I thought you liked my cooking," she gives him a smile. Sly… Foxy.

"I do. But let me feed you for a change."

He sees in that stare and the way she purses her lips that she's trying to prevent a dirty joke from coming out of her pretty little mouth. As much as he appreciates that little cunning look, as much as he loves when that mouth gets a little dirty, he's more than serious now.

"Come on. Let me take you out."

"Well. If you insist," she smiles, shuts the book, and flies to her closet to pull out a stunner of a dress.

…..…..…..

Her fingertips always make his cock stir. They were supposed to go to sleep – a rare thing, to not slip inside her after a nice lil evening. To his surprise she starts to trace the few hairs on his stomach, threading through them as they thicken below. 

He can feel how she gets tense upon seeing that he's hard and heavy before she even reaches there. But she's not tense from anticipation.

"I overheard some of the guys talking about us. Or, well, me."

His cock gives a tug, and she still doesn't touch it.

"How I'm your luxury whore."

The curtain shifts as the wind plays with it: softly, while he's ripped out of the dark safety of the womb.

"Luxury…" She laughs, but it's bitter and thick. "Isn't it funny?"

He's hard now mainly because of the fury that rises. It ripples through his chest and pulls his stomach taut.

"Was it the rookie?"

He hears his voice from far away, from under the sea, but luckily, her hand brings him back. It's placed on him again, this time further up. She likes to trace the cavity between his pecs, pet the hair she finds there, too. Sometimes, she buries her face there and inhales his sweat, then uses that spot as her pillow. It's that very moment when he finds peace if he already hasn't by then.

"You don't have to defend my honour," the night speaks softly.

So, it was the rookie.

Nothing but a boy, younger than Soap and cockier than he was when he left Manchester with nothing but a duffel bag on his shoulder. Nothing but a boy, and she knows how boys are. She knows how boys talk. She wouldn't be in the Force if she took filthy quips seriously. 

But this is fucking different. The fantasies of what he'll do to the fucker when he gets back get sicker and more beautiful by the second.

"Just… don't come there anymore unless you're injured. Ok?"

He can't hear her because the vile word overrides even the gorgeous visions of torture. It gathers up his throat as bile, and he barely has time to take a deep breath to force it down before it's too late.

"I'm gonna go take a shower." 

"At this hour…?"

"Can't sleep anyway."

He reaches the bathroom just in time before the vomit flies. The power of it forces him on his knees, forces him to take hold of the door frame. Everything he fed to her shoots up, like it was only a dream that he could make her happy.

…Are you just here for sex?

Her shy question echoes from the tiles as another retch pulls the rest of his love out. 

He's sweating worse than the time they had to operate him in the field, back when a bullet had worked its way through the naked spot between the straps of his plate carrier. The shower washes some of it away, but the stench stays, the foul word and the insolence, all the shallow things he has given her coat the insides of his mouth no matter how many times he tries to spit it away. The water only does so much, and she's still not asleep by the time he returns to her. 

The luxury is waiting for him, silky and sweet. 

Wet, even, if he wants.

"Baby… Honey?"

Baby.

Baby.

He feels his guts in his throat again but swallows them down. She's beautiful, even when sad and sorry. Sorry, and for what? For him, instead of herself and what she's been called, the spite she has had to suffer simply for lying down in the filth with him. 

"Are you okay...?"

"Yeah."

He goes to her, pulls her in his arms, and hopes he doesn't smell of puke.

"They're just words. Right?"

I'm more than just your whore, right?

Her hand doesn't shy away from the sweat that breaks through his back. She's not afraid of him, even when he's the monster she never asked for. He can respect that kind of fearlessness. 

"You're awfully quiet," she tries. 

Baby, please don't go berserk, is what he hears.

"Go to sleep, pet," he calls forth his softest voice, relieved to notice it sounds more like a lullaby than a command. He allows her to kiss him, wondering if she can taste the grave. 

"Yes, sir," she breathes a soft smile in his mouth. Then she turns and coats herself with his arm. It must feel heavy around her, but she only gives a happy sigh. "I always sleep better with you. You feel so good… Safe."

He wonders how strange it is that love sometimes feels like pain. Her words come close to a knife slowly being pushed to his insides. They're still burning when she mutters the last essential thing, already half-asleep in his arms.

"They're just words, Simon…"

…..…..…..

He doesn't know much about poetry, but perhaps Dante was right. 

The heart of hell is not a fiery lake of torment but an icy, cold, stagnant place. There's nothing there. Everything is frozen: screams, thoughts, even dreams. 

He's walked through grey rubble and drenched asphalt, through alleyways of havoc and debris, he's trekked through desolate woodland and marsh. He's run through life like it's a day-to-day race to not get killed, but the worst of it isn't the bullets or the cold or the wind or the rain. It's the sleepless nights, the inertia. His soul in chains. On those nights, he wanted to get killed. 

And yet, he's not the only one who has suffered the unfortunate event of being dragged through every plane of hell. He's not the first man to go through the funnel, nor is he the last. It only looks bad in a society where he's supposed to own a credit card and a house. It only tastes like shit when someone asks "How does it make you feel?" 

People like him shouldn't go to therapy at all. His solution was to quit playing a modern man the minute he realized he's no longer fit for that role. He's simply a dead body, reanimated to serve a purpose. He's a sharp tool, a weapon. (A zombie.)

He serves the greater good, but everyone knows the greater good is propaganda too. There's no grand fight between light and darkness. Good and evil only conduct people's choices: even his old man must've thought he was making the world a better place by playing the rebel. He told him he served the Queen just to piss that sodded bastard off, but the truth is he never served anyone. Not even himself.

Now, there's an odd purpose to his task. Now, every cell in his body is full of animus. 

He's an animated corpse, perhaps, but they forgot to bury the wrath.

"Where's the rookie?"

"Getting stapled."

"Where?"

Which room? 

Which fucking room?

He doesn't stay to heed directions. He doesn't need them; his instinct tells him enough. He doesn't even bother to knock, simply barges in, only to see that the boy sits on the bed he used to sit on, in the exact same position as him. And he knows it's not just the blood loss that makes the fucker look so drowsy and smug. 

The fury is pierced with an ice-tinged sword as he sees her gentle touch – she's tending to the wounds of an ungrateful kid with the same compassion she gives to all her patients, and the first thing on his mind is that she would make a good mother.

"What're you doing here?" 

His voice is soaked in ash, but the boy only looks up from the bed with pure, trouble-seeking gall.

"What are you doing here…? Sir."

She's looking at him too. She's pleading with those eyes. Silently, desperately. 

"You can't come here, lieutenant. Not unless you're injured."

Her request only now makes sense as he sees how the boy looks him up and down and sees there's not a scratch on him. There's no reason for him to be here other than to relieve the pain in his loins.

"Well… Have fun," the rookie jumps from the table, and the rage threatens to pull him underwater like a tide. He never needed anything but his voice to stop a man in his tracks. Not size, not rank, not even his reputation, just voice. 

"My office. Five minutes."

The boy dares to give him another foul look.

"Is that all you need? Just five minutes?"

He even detects admiration in that stare – like he's some stallion, a prized old stud who receives fine mares to rut. Like the celestial woman standing behind this… boy is just some slag thrown to him like they threw to gladiators of old. His luxury whore.

The rookie finally catches the impending wrath that must swell and roil like sea inside the sockets of the skull. 

Yes, boy.

Death is coming.

"Sir," the boy swallows with an arduous blob, then walks out of the goddess's domain, finally with some humility upon those shoulders. 

The torture has already begun, and it shoots him full of sweet adrenaline. He tries to mask the rising war from her, but she sees enough just before he leaves her as well. Her words follow him but cannot penetrate the cloak of fury that shrouds him as he goes to prepare for carnage.

"Simon. I just stitched him together..."

…..…..…..

He doesn't solve the problem with a gun or a cock this time. 

He uses his fists and a knife.

It should disgust him; how much he enjoys it. It's one of those rare occasions when he almost loses himself in the riptide of blood. The things he imagines are far worse than what he finally allows himself to do. When the boy has a split lip and half his face swollen so bad he can't even see from the bruise, when the wetness dampens the crotch area and threatens to stain the carpet, he lets him go.

"Get out."

He's a different man when he rises from beside that broken boy; from next to the knife he plunged to the floor an inch away from his face to make his intentions clear. The boy is stripped of all arrogance and probably regrets the day he got the splendid idea to insult a woman. 

He doesn't have to get his hands deep into paperwork to have the rookie transferred; the boy does it for him. He leaves the base quietly as a shadow and with a face that looks like it has been forced through a waffle maker.

After that, everyone salutes him feet away.

His orders are obeyed without question, without a second's delay on missions. He has never pursued to be loved, but neither has he worked on making people fear him. Now he's not only a source of mystery and intrigue but also fear and wonder.

Soap isn't scared quite as shitless as the rest of them, but neither is he as friendly as he used to be. Price says nothing but he gets a few looks that tell him he has gone too far.

"You shouldn't have," she whispers when they're alone, stopping him in the quiet hallway. She's the only one who doesn't have fear and avoidance in her stare. If anything, the adoration in her eyes has deepened.

He has avoided her strictly, this time obeying her request not to go to her unless he has business there. He doesn't defend himself; he doesn't have the luxury to decide what should or shouldn't be done. He's not a saint nor a judge. He is territorial, though.

"You must be the craziest man I've ever met." 

She talks to his shadow as he's standing only a few feet away, unable to touch her.

"Good."

"...and the most incredible."

His sharp intake of air hisses between them as the artificial light casts shadows in electric blue. She tries to thank him for bashing a face in, all her noble Hippocratic Oaths forgotten.

She takes a step – just one, to make it perfectly clear she wants to touch him too.

"You're a brute, Simon."

The woman's eyes are a deep sea of gratitude. He wonders if she's equally as wet between those legs. Her voice says it all: she likes brutes.

The worship in her stare makes him understand why wars have been waged – this is the reason why crusaders sloshed through rivers of crimson blood, why whole civilizations were destroyed. This is why swords are forged and guns are fired. He draws another breath to swear his allegiance, an oath bound in blood.

"No one's gonna call you a–"

She crosses the final breadth of air between them and lifts his mask.

…..…..…..

The waves crash on the shore like clockwork. To him, it's the sound of limbo. 

The sea used to pull him in like a seductive pit, especially at night, during the sleepless shifts when he walked to the beach with nothing but the ghosts of all the people he had lost to keep him company. Watching all the futures and should have been's slowly drowning in the sea. 

Now he’s here with a living being, and the cold, dead sea has turned into blooming fireworks of crimson and coral. The amnesia has turned into bliss; all the treasures lost in the depths suddenly wash up on the shore like a sunken hoard.

She takes her shoes off the minute they reach the shore, then descends the sands with laughter. She could be from a movie or a magazine, gliding through bleached gold with sunbeams in her hair, sandals dangling from the crook of her fingers, heathers kissing her feet as she dives down the path. Her smile eclipses even the setting sun, and for the first time ever, he thinks it might've been a stupid idea to enlist. 

If there’s an opposite to ice and inertia, it's this. 

It's her. 

"You lied to me," she turns around but doesn't stop walking. "You have been to the beach."

She tilts her head as if reprimanding him, but he knows she's just laughing at his expense. She laughs at his name… She laughs at his broodings, she laughs at his shadows and his hubris. 

"Does anyone else know about this place?"

"No."

There's no soul out here but theirs; even the seagulls have withdrawn to rest. She stops to admire the sun, features turning soft as she takes in her counterpart. Apparently, she likes his humble tribute, the scarcity he has to offer. Some hollow bones, his opinion of a beach. Emptiness… A day coming to an end.

"I have no words for this."

"It's just a beach," he offers, and swallows when she turns. When the fuck has he ever felt embarrassed? His mask is gone, so she can see him swallow again as she approaches. It's the strangest thing how she can still cause his heart to hammer in his chest. He's used to stepping into a hail of bullets, driving a truck through a wall, waiting for that last unaware step to lunge forth and slit a man's throat. The organ never wailed then.

Her eyes take in his every flaw and scar, the rotten work on his skin before she wraps her hands around his neck. 

"No. No it's not. This is paradise."

She has to rise on her toes to kiss him, and he's glad he got rid of the mask. There's nothing between him and the taste of summer anymore – she reminds him of some bright tropical drink, something pure and sweet and innocent, pure fucking fun, something he has come to understand and define only through movies and tv. 

And he knows now why he always comes back to her. It's because he was injured. Badly, severely, life-threateningly injured – no, he was already deceased.  

She has introduced him back to the world: the sun, the birdsong, the simple, good life. How it feels like to have curtains, or bake just because it's Thursday, or walk barefoot on the beach in order to feel the burning sand on your skin. 

What kind of a medic has the power to resurrect the dead?

"Simon," she shivers into his mouth. "I'm sorry. I didn't want people to think that… That we're just…"

"Pet. I know."

"They said you didn't trouble yourself with relationships."

Years of instinct and training make his spine tingle. He's holding another future in his arms and hopes it's not possible for a sea to swallow a sun.

"They?"

"Well, John. Captain." 

Her lashes hide what's going through her mind, but he can tell she's feeling shy from the way she shifts in his embrace.

"I asked about you. In spring. If there's someone… waiting for you."

He wrestles down a bitter laugh. The only lover ever waiting for him was nothingness in that chair; the only wife he came home to was shades, shadows, and dust. 

But he's starting to understand what she's trying to say. How, without even thinking about it, he just made the strongest possible declaration of not being here just for sex. He couldn't have sent a louder message with that boy.

Because not only Jonathan Price know that she's his. Soap knows too. Gaz knows too. Everyone working in Task Force 141 knows, even the fucking scrubbers and accountants know what's going on. Everyone knows that Ghost is real, and alive, and troubles himself with a relationship.

"I dreamed of you, you know." Her lashes flutter open, and he's met with the perfect example of total surrender. She's more than happy with the outcome, and why the hell shouldn't she be? Actions speak louder than words. He of all people should know that.

"Love–"

"Do you remember the day I found out you were a smoker?"

"...Sure."

She laughs, taking him back to the odd meeting in the yard when she was prying her suffocating latex gloves off, and he was trying to find some solace in a cigarette because he couldn't have her. 

"I was so angry at you. Playing with death at every turn..." 

"Yeah. Not the perfect man."

"But you were. You are." 

"Pet. If someone's perfect, it's you."

"No… I'm a hypocrite. I wanted you to just–just take me against the wall. After your stupid smoke."

He always wondered if she was suffocating too. In her gloves, in her beauty, in her sterile, medical, professional chasteness.

But he had no fucking clue that she–

"Or during, I don't care…"

Even the thought of her wanting him to tear apart her facades shatters the last sane thought in his head. He has tried to be civil, tried to suffocate the longing, but apparently, he doesn't have to. The image of burying himself inside her cunt while taking a drag from the thing she despises even more than his name or his mask or his guns is too fucking much. The fact that she views a dog like him as a perfect man makes his cock answer her call like a good, stout soldier. 

"Is that so?"

She stops breathing for a moment as he takes a drag from her now. She's raw whiskey straight to an empty stomach, the way his mind goes blank from sliding his mouth over the column of her throat. She tastes of sea there, and it's not pulling him in; it's pulling him under. The open-mouthed kisses make her jolt, he even draws out a moan or two; they swell between his legs. 

"You like that…?"

She answers to him with a soft whine. A soft nib of her ear, and her hips reply with a roll. The woman tries to latch onto him by gripping his shirt, threatening to do permanent damage to the fabric.

"No walls here, pet. Gotta take you on the sand," he gruffs in her ear, cock hard and ready from her tight little breaths. He could bet half his money that she's wetter than November down there. He could drag his cockhead across her cunt and the sound would be divine. 

"Simon–"

"I'll light a cig first."

"Stop teasing," she laughs, voice thick with hunger.

"...Roger that."

His hand is on his belt before he knows it. It's pathetic how much patience he has if he needs to crouch in a downpour and wait for a kill, but at the sight and smell and taste of her, he can't stop himself from wrenching his belt and pants open like a starved dog. It's a rush born of fear - that any time could be the last time.

She seems to shiver from his stare only when she lays herself upon the warm sand, naked as can be. She's like a vision on that beach: leaning on her elbows, thighs slowly parting, revealing the glistening sex between her legs. And she's fucking dripping, like an overripe peach. He could've safely bet all his money on her.

"How do you want me?"

Fucking fuck… 

He's walking in a dream: the most beautiful woman in the world is lying naked before his feet, bathing in gold, asking how he would prefer to take her. He doesn't even bother to get out of his clothes; he merely tugs his pants down and crawls between her legs, relishing the tight gasp he gets from being so crude.

Her eyes grow wide at the sight of him there, so close to her core, cock hanging heavy just an inch away from that tight cunt. She tries so hard to look composed while lying under his shadow, to not make it obvious that she wants that ugly thing inside. And it does feel like sin not to spread those legs and plough right in, especially when his fingers meet her silk and find that she's already throbbing.

"Want you just like this, pet," he rasps while dragging the pad of his thumb around her clit. Her back arches on the sand, forcing his fingers deeper into the dripping fruit.

It's different, her wetness; not thick and halfway there, but flowing, leaking, soaking good. The pussy is so glazed that he slips at the first attempt to slide a finger in. Her walls grip him the second he's seated deep, making it known how much she appreciates it that he's not here just for sex. 

"Someone's greedy," he's breathing rough, and she whines – he only gets to two fingers before she demands him to fuck her already.

"Want your–I need your cock…" 

She's begging, poor thing, almost crying on the sand, and he has no fucking choice but to remove his fingers and grab his cock instead.

"Have to go slow, love."

"Riley–for god's sake, now."

"F' fuck's sake…" He stumbles forward, all but gracefully, forces the tip on her soaked cunt as delicately as he can before pushing right in. She cries from the spread, fingers curling in the sand: a futile attempt to take him in without fainting.

"Tried to warn ya–"

"Don't you dare stop," she gasps, eyes full of love. As always, her wish is his command, and the tightness makes it an endless journey to bliss. The basest parts of him think about dying – having a heart attack on the same beach he almost drowned in, about ceasing to exist just for the sake of knowing that nothing is as good as this. 

He's deep as can fucking be, and it's still not enough – it's never enough. He collects her in his arms with a frustrated grunt, cock giving a tight pull only when she's finally safe and snug in his embrace. It's a tight cuddle that leaves them both breathless.

"Hold me tighter..." 

It's a soft order, but he can't get any closer: chest plastered on her skin and balls pressed against her ass, the sand grinding against her back as he makes love to her. She’s not made of twigs, but he’s far bigger than her, already threatening to crush her with his weight.

"Tighter…" she begs on his lips, tries to pull him closer with her whole being.

"Pet, I don't want to hurt you."

"You won't," she sings, completely shieldless. Something warns him of danger, a reset far worse than drowning or being buried alive or shooting himself in a lonely apartment. He tries to calm her down with a kiss: he knows she loves kisses - but there are tears in her eyes, and his heart is hammering, hammering… 

"Simon, do you love me…?"

She asks that question right on his lips, and the first thing in his dog mind is that it's a stupid thing to ask when he's balls deep inside her and still trying to get closer.

"Yeah," he almost chokes on it, knowing it could be their wedding day and he would still choke on it because it doesn't taste like salt or metal or grave.

"I love you," she whispers. "Do you understand?"

No. No…

I fuckin' don't–

"And I'll always be here for you."

To his shock, there’s no sea water in his lungs, no dirt in his mouth. He’s not choking on anything, he's not in fact dying at all: he’s floating, somewhere between the sun and the sand and the sea. There's no more rush, no jaws of death snapping at his heels. He doesn't even long for heaven anymore. Not when there's a paradise on earth.

"Love, I need you to–need you to focus," he tries to stutter nonsense while she's pledging herself to him. Of course she only laughs at him: it hits him with the sweetest warmth.

"You're so silly…" 

"Yeah? I know." 

He's laughing too. It's just a few notes that get taken away by the sound of waves. It's just a breath from deep within, and still… Her gaze drops to his mouth, a flutter blinks back more tears.

"I love it when you laugh..." Her eyes shine brighter than the sun, riding the spine of the sea as one perfect tear rolls down her cheek. "Love it…"

The sun sets in tangerine, his new favourite colour. There's a whole bloom out there in the sky when she comes, fast and bright in his embrace. He comes right after, just from trying to stay inside her warmth, deep inside her, around her, and she says it, again and again and again… Until he breathes.

….….….

"Remember when I said I could've managed? Without you," she asks when they lie on the sand, skin on skin, watching the sun set beneath the onyx sea. The waves rise and break, but around them, the air is still. He's still inside her as she pulls his hand over her heart, entwining their fingers together: it's the softest little arrest, but her squeeze doesn't lack strength. 

"I lied too."

"I know."

She chuckles softly. "Is there something you don't know?"

"...Yeah. Why you're here out of all places."

She turns her head from the sunset into the falling darkness of him, and he wonders if that's why she's here... To be with his night. She said that people always get the dark wrong: that it's not supposed to be scary at all. That the purpose of darkness is safety, security, that there are tales where the day chases the night, and the night chases the day. She said it's because they're in love with each other.

"You really don't know…?" 

"You were smiling before we met and now you're crying all the time."

She looks up at him with trust and devotion, his daylight, his sun. There's none in the sky anymore, but it doesn't matter. It lives in her eyes.

"People cry from happiness too, Simon."

[honeyynymphh]

All This Sweet Work

|| Otto Hightower x Fem!Reader || Rating: E Words: 2k short ficlet 18+ MDNI ao3 link

As a lady-in-waiting to Queen Alicent, you strike up a friendship with the Hand of the King with whom you regularly meet under the pretence of relaying news about the Queen. Recently widowed, having only been married for a few months to a man who was quite unkind to her. you are eager to see Ser Otto for your meetings which then turn into regular dinners. You find yourself yearning for more than just his company, not knowing that he began the arrangement in order to see if you were suitable to marry his eldest son...but he has ended up wanting you for himself. Based on idea I had with @handofkings and @sucharide <3 There is no real lead up, this is as straight to the point as I've written before lmao tags: yearning, admittance of feelings, fingering, oral (f receiving), body worship, p in v, lots of smooching

The fire is warm, though the flames have grown small at such a late hour. You watch them as they dance slowly across the glowing embers within the grate and sigh, leaning back against the settee.

“The hour grows late, my lady,” comes the voice of Ser Otto. You turn your head to him, watching the firelight dance across his face, catching the remnants of red in his hair and making them shine. “You should return back to your rooms.”

You should return but you have no wish to do so. The wine in your belly has you warmed from within and you are too comfortable languishing in the Tower of the Hand to want to return to your empty room.

“If you wish me to leave, my lord hand, I shall retire.”

You stand carefully, smoothing down your dress as you do so. How many nights have you spent here? You could not recall. But they always ended the same—with an oddly awkward but polite farewell despite how easy and comfortable the conversation had been previously.

You knew more about this man than anyone else, even your queen. Though he was still somewhat of a mystery. A lady in waiting had no need to spend her hours with the Hand of the King yet here you were. You could barely recall how it had started all those weeks ago but you couldn't imagine your life without Ser Otto - which was a distressing thought. You would soon have to remarry and all of this would be gone. Again, you would belong to another and how you yearned for something like this…how you wanted to stay with him.

“I do not wish for that,” he says, stepping a little closer than is proper. “I would have you stay.”

His hand reaches toward you, slowly and a little unsure if his touch will be unwelcome. But it is not, and so you do not stop him from gently touching your cheek. His large hand is soft and warm, and it twists the awkward tension in your belly into pleasurable anticipation.

He comes closer, you can feel the weight of his cloak as it brushes against you. You can't help but lean into his touch, it had been so long since you had felt a touch as welcome as his. As you move, eyes briefly closing - just a mere moment as your body relishes in the touch - he sighs. He is so close that his breath ghosts against your skin and your eyes find his. They watch you carefully.

"Will you stay?" he asks. His voice is low, as if speaking any louder will destroy whatever spell is holding you both.

You nod. "Yes, my lord hand."

"Otto."

You smile softly. "Otto."

He moves quickly then, the hand on your cheek sliding into your hair as the other wraps around your middle to pull you into him. His mouth is against yours, insistent as he murmurs your own name against your lips like prayer.

The kiss deepens, there is no resistance when you’ve spent your days daydreaming about such an occurrence. You can taste the wine that lingers still on his lips and you’re lost to the sensation of his mouth devouring yours. It had been so long since you’d felt the touch of another, not that your late husband had ever kissed you in such a way before. Your skin itches with pleasure, desperate for more as you clutch at his doublet and press yourself against him. The responding growl that this elicits from Otto has you feverish with want.

“My lady…” His mouth leaves kisses against your jaw, neck until his nose is buried in your hair. “Forgive me.”

His actions betray his words as he makes no move to stop and you don’t either. A moan leaves you as his mouth tickles a spot behind your ear, his warm breath making your skin prickle deliciously in response.

“Ask me to stop and I will,” he says in that gravelly low voice you adore so much.

You can’t help but smile at his words, tilting your head towards him, his beard tickling your skin.

“I do not wish you to,” you say.

You manage to catch a glimpse of the expression on his face, a look of satisfaction at your words.

“Then who am I to deny you, sweet girl,” he replies, bringing you back against him.

His lips are on yours again, more insistent than before. Hands search and grip as you’re quickly steered towards his inner chambers. The room is bathed in the light from another fire, though its flames have died long ago leaving only the glowing embers. For a moment you wonder if you should be doing this, if this has suddenly escalated too fast. But there isn’t much room for thought nor reason as Otto’s long fingers quickly make work of the buttons on your dress before it pools to the floor at your feet. You shiver under his gaze, a look that nobody has ever given you before—it makes your skin tingle in anticipation. Your nerves creep back then, your past marriage had not been a pleasant one but it’s hard to remain unsure when Otto’s large and warm hands are against your skin as he peels away your small clothes. His touch is firm yet he doesn’t aim to dominate or bruise—the kind of touch you had sadly grown used to. As he caresses your skin you feel worshipped and a burning need of want grows stronger between your thighs as his hands skim across your skin. You suck in a sharp breath when they graze on the underside of your breasts and then drop low, leaving gooseflesh in their wake.

“Lie down,” he whispers and you do so quickly, moving back against the large bed behind you.

It’s covered in soft sheets and furs, it feels luxurious against your bare skin. As much as you wish to relax and sink into the bed, your body is strung too tight with delicious tension as he follows your movements. His gaze is intense through his half lidded eyes as he moves toward you. Hands continue to move across your skin and your breath hitches when he suddenly hooks his large hands behind your knees and pulls your body toward him so that your legs are hanging off his bed. You go to sit up, surprised at his actions and hating the way your chest constricts nervously—this isn’t something that has ever happened to you before. Never had your late husband deigned to even think of your pleasure. Those horrible memories instantly flee when Otto sinks between your legs and his head moves between your thighs. The tickles of his beard as he kisses the softness of your inner thigh has you sighing and trembling as his lips inch closer to the apex of your thighs. Your back arches and your hands desperately grip at the soft furs upon the bed when Otto’s mouth is upon your cunt.

His tongue is insistent and demanding, you moan loudly as his nose presses against the bundle of pleasure between your legs. He groans in response and the sound vibrates through you as keeps his mouth busy, the burning feeling growing fast. You know the pleasure is going to break soon, you can feel the tension building and you twist against the bed as he continues to devour you. When his mouth moves higher and you feel him sucking on your swollen bud you can’t help but moan out his name. He growls against you again, obviously enjoying the sounds he’s able to pull from you as your hands desperately grab at his hair and press him against you, not caring how wanton you’re behaving. 

He leans back then and you desperately try to move back toward him, eager for his mouth to return to your cunt. “Please—” Your words are cut short when long fingers are sliding through your slit and teasing at your core.

“You taste divine, sweetling,” he murmurs, amusement coating his words as you try to gain more friction from his fingers. “And you are more eager than I anticipated.” There are no words left as you linger in that aching space of desire, needing so much more and yearning for release. His mouth returns to your bud as two digits are finally sliding into you. It feels too good as he pumps them slowly, and you grind down against them as you beg for more. Finally his fingers move faster and you suddenly come quick and hard as he presses open mouth kisses against your cunt and thighs, beard tickling you as he does. The high of your pleasure is still washing over you and your body is slick with sweat as you pant. You manage to watch through heavy eyes as he stands—you can see your release on his face, his lips wet and shining with it. Your hands reach for the clasps on his doublet as you sit up on the bed, quickly trying to undo them. The buttons and claps are tricky and you fumble in your eagerness for him to be as bare as you.

Otto grabs your frantic hands and stills them so he can bring your mouth to his in a searing kiss, you taste yourself upon his tongue yet you don’t care. Desire builds anew within your belly and his hands drop yours so that he can divest himself of his clothes with practised ease. When he pulls back, you're both breathing hard and his chest is bared to you. Your eyes flick over his chest and your hands explore, threading through his greying chest hair. The years had softened what was once the body of a knight and your fingers trace the remnants of scars long healed with care. Your hands lower over his belly until you reach his breeches where you can clearly see the large bulge. Instinctively you reach and cup him through the cloth, making him shudder before you undo them.

“You will be my undoing, sweet girl,” he says as you take out his hardened length, pushing his breeches to the floor. “Lean back.”

You do as he says and he is upon you then, forcing you back onto the bed as he covers your body with his larger one. Your hand wraps around his cock, your movements a little unsure but the way he sighs your name has you guiding him between your legs. You need to have him within you and you can sense that he is reaching the limit of his own control.

When he slides into your warmth you cry out with relief, legs wrapping around him and pulling him in deeper. You feel split open and complete at the same time, your blood singing with want. The indescribable feeling of need crashes over you and your nails dig into his back, urging him to move. “I need—”

“I know, my darling girl.”

He moves slowly then, pulling back and sinking into you deeper. You cry out and tilt your hips before he does it again so he’s sinking even further. The fullness is overwhelming and when his mouth presses a gentle kiss upon your forehead you weep at the touch. Never had you felt so adored in that moment and he does it again, whispering against your cheek with soothing words. When he moves next, it’s fast and hard—and you cry out again. The tension within you is becoming tighter and you can feel another release upon you. Otto leans back, and one of his hands is between you so he can press against your swollen bud, making your words jumble as you babble for more.

The man relents, his fingers firmly teasing as his cock fills you. When you tilt your hips to meet him, your world goes bright as you come undone, tensions melting away as waves of pleasure crash over you. Your release continues and you cling to him when you feel him begin to move away from you, you can feel the way he is swelling within you and can’t bear to let him leave.

“Please, no,” you manage to say, finding his gaze. “Stay with me.”

There is a fleeting look in his eyes, you know later you will worry about this decision but in the moment you do not care. You know he is thinking the same, yet it is clear he also doesn’t care for whatever consequence there may be. The need to be joined is too strong for you both. Otto’s hands reach for yours and clasp them tightly, pinning them by your head against the bed. He thrusts into you with abandon then, chasing his pleasure and quickly building another flame within you. Your eyes close as you feel the peak come hurtling toward you as his release hits him, and you feel the warmth as he fills you, his unfiltered groans of pleasure only making your own pleasure crash again. When his movements are still, you untangle your hands from his and reach for his face, moving the hair that has fallen in his eyes. 

He presses another kiss to your forehead and you sigh in relief as he falls beside you, pulling you into his arms. The room is warm and your skin is coated in sweat as his seed coats your thighs. You know you should leave, that you should clean yourself up and remove yourself from his chambers. Yet you cannot make yourself leave his comforting embrace and tell yourself it shall be something to deal with when morning comes. After all, he had asked you to stay and who are you to deny the Hand of the King?

And the sunlight clasps the earth    And the moonbeams kiss the sea: What is all this sweet work worth    If thou kiss not me? - excerpt from Love's Philosophy by Percy Bysshe Shelley

thanks for reading :)

[nolita-fairytale]

did you ever end up writing the phone call blurb?? i am STRUGGLING to find it and im so desperate 😭😭😭

called you again (extended)

a/n: ok so i never got to writing the actual phone call that transpires between carmy and reader, that gets her to chicago in the first place. and if i recall correctly, @cool-girl-is-hot was also patiently awaiting this phone call. since i'm doing the follower celebration, what a perfect time for me to bring this back, @bunnywritesmarvel.

You answer the call before you can talk yourself out of it, immediately putting it on speaker. 

“Hi,” you say, your voice shaking a little. 

And it’s as if a fog clears, like you've been waiting to hear it for a long time.

“Hi,” he replies, his voice soft, yet hesitant.

You're met with a long silence on the end of the other line as the two of you dance around whatever it is Carmy called to say. There's a part of you that wants nothing more than to spill everything, lead the conversation like you always do, but after months of radio silence, you know you can't do that. If Carmy wants to reconnect, then he's got a whole of groveling to do considering he pretty much ghosted you since he moved back home.

"I uh. I heard," he finally says, in reference to your recent change of employment.

"Oh," you sound, your voice higher in pitch than you imagined it would be as you scramble to find a better word than 'oh.' "I... um. Yeah. My heart wasn't in it anymore."

What you want to say is, my heart moved to Chicago and forgot how his fucking phone works.

"Yeah," Carmy replies, and you can practically hear him pacing back and forth as he searches for something to say.

You share another silence, this one much more tense than the last, like a hot pot of water about to blow its lid off in pressure, as you wait for him to ask you something -- anything. How hard could it be?

How are you? What's been going on? Sorry I haven't called.

But he doesn't say anything of these things. Instead, when he finally speaks again, all he says is:

"So listen. I uh-, I got this guy. He’s- he’s self taught but he’s got a lot of potential,” Carmy explains, his delivery becoming more and more confident as he hides behind the work.

“He just needs a good teacher – someone to inspire him – give him some of the foundations he would’ve gotten in culinary school. I think uh, I think you'd like him.

So after four months of no contact he... needs something from you? You can't help the feelings of anger and disappointment that grow inside of you.

Was he upset that you quit the restaurant -- here to talk you into going back -- now that he needed a favor? A stage?

“Just for a week, maybe?" Carmy suggests, his voice going up at the end, almost as if it's a question.

"I can’t pay you much but uh, well we’ve got a little money, which is a whole other story, and I can talk to my brother-in-law. He can put you up somewhere… you know… if you want to. If that helps.” 

Oh.

He's asking you to come to Chicago.

While it feels like it changes things, you're still ambivalent and you certainly don't want to get your hopes up.

"Carmy..." you trail off on an exhale. "I don't know."

"Sure," Carmy nods, chewing on his lip, suddenly feeling extremely self conscious about asking you in the first place.

He wants to take it all back, tell you it was a stupid idea, and apologize for even saying something in the first place. But he doesn't. He can't. Because after working himself up to call you for the last few hours, there's no way he's going to back out now.

Let it rip, Bear.

"I uh... well, I understand. If can't-. Don't want to. Maybe I shouldn't've uh..." Carmy stammers through, the heat rising to his cheeks.

"It's just uh. Tim told me... you might be looking for some inspiration."

Right.

You pause before asking:

"Can I... Can I think about it?"

"Yeah. Yeah, of course. Sure," Carmy is quick to answer, because he really wants to make this okay for you.

For the both of you.

And because hearing your voice for the first time in four months feels better than he ever could've imagined.

"Okay. I'll uh... I'll think about it," you drag out, because you know you'll need some time to process this.

"Listen, I uh. I'm late to meet Liz. But I'll let you know. Either way."

"Yeah, okay. Okay," he answers, nodding eagerly.

"Okay," you reply, listening to Carmy bid you a soft spoken goodbye before ending the call.

"Holy shit," you hiss, putting your phone down on the table, your hand folded over your heart as you can feel it race.

Well, you've got quite the decision to make.

[bonzos-number-1-fan]

TMAGP 36 Thoughts: Breaking the Fourth Wall

Another guest written episode today, but unlike the rest where Alex and Johnny get editing credits, Alex co-wrote this one. I'm assuming that means that Dylan Griggs, presumably best known for Woe.Begone, wrote the incident and that Alex wrote the office sections? Those are quite "technical" this time around and that is his baby. Unfortunately, I'm not really a fan of this one. The incident is just one of those ones that did basically nothing for me. I don't expect them all to be hits though so I'm not too displeased about it, and hopefully this is just me going against the grain and it resonates with the audience at large.

Spoilers for TMA , and TMAGP episode 36 below the cut.

CELIA (To herself) Okay so that would be… Flaying… subsection… Voluntary… cross referenced with Betrayal and-

Oh you know that's going in the doc. Shame we don't get to hear the fucked up flagellation case though, could've been a fun one. Not enough high P incidents either and this is a shoo-in for that but, alas, we are kept from yet more juicy incident. I'm still waiting for Dog, and the eventual incident that's Collector and has that dude from episode 4 in it.

While we can all agree that Celia's betrayal triggered panic attack is very karmic, I do sorta hope this isn't laying the groundwork for her to go save his ass. I like that one of the main cast is basically the villain and I think on the whole it's more interesting if she stays that way. Not that I think it will happen. She's fairly obvious guilt ridden and was seemingly about to, if not confess her sins, confess more than would be prudent to keep that secret. I do really like that Alice is all in on it being basically Hell though. While it's not exactly accurate it is at least in the right ball park. Especially in regards to how the Powers from the Primeline tend to manifest in physical space.

As mentioned in the intro I just really didn't love this one. I don't really have anything bad to say it just one of those ones I listened to but didn't really find anything exciting about. Hopefully I'm just missing a masterpiece though. IDK, something about this one felt disconnect to the rest of it somehow but I'm not really sure I could tell you why. It's not doing anything new or off-theme but something about it doesn't make me go "That's a TMAGP incident", y'know? There is a mention of an Elric Capital Ltd, which is presumably related to last week's Elric Rehabilitation Initiative. That's pretty interesting because I can't recall them name dropping something like that so often. Hopefully it's the start of a trend and we'll get more of the Institute's satellite companies soon enough. Assuming it's one of those, of course. The more exciting bit about this though is that this whole incident is very different than what you'd assume a "Rehabilitation Initiative" involves and so Elric Capital Ltd seems to have a lot going on, which does make me hope they'll end up a major player this season or the next.

It didn’t diminish all at once though, instead it disappeared into a pinpoint like an old CRT monitor.

This is very curious phrasing. We have another unknowable acronym but I think the implication is clear, just like the OIAR monitors DPHWs. Using my immense initialism cracking skills I think CRT is some sort of old DPHW system that didn't take off. Creepy, Revolting, and Terrifying just don't have the same sorta utility. Makes sense why they switched.

ALICE “Salt config manager” and found an “unmonitored orphan process” which-

While Salt/SaltStack is a config manager, and it would have a legitimate use case in the OIAR, this is most likely used to reference salt's importance in alchemy. It's one third of the tria prima and represent concepts like the body, and stability. It also means that Colin has now referenced all three with his dropping of sulphur and mercury in episode 19, Hard Reset.

GWEN Look, I don’t need to know every detail of the thing to be the manager I just need to know how to balance it. So, either tell me how I can increase “W” here or get out.

I don't think there is a lot to say on this other than it's a fairly obvious confirmation that the role of the OIAR, and the Externals as an extension of that, is about balancing the ways the supernatural manifest so no one force becomes too dominant. I believe I talked about this in my episode 13 thoughts, but if not it was somewhere. Probably.

ALICE Good. Now, unless I’m wrong, which, lets be honest, is pretty damn likely, when we cross reference this shortlist for common terms we’ll find out what Freddy thinks you need and that… is… more… The computer pings up a tone. ALICE (confused) Bonzo?

I've been telling people Mr. Bonzo is the answer to all their problems for a while and now it's not a meme. He really is the true main character of this show. When his spin-off happens just know I'll be a hipster about it.

------------------------------------------------------------------------------

Incident/CAT#R#DPHW Master Sheet and Terminology Sheet

DPHW Theory: 2153 is the first DPHW in a while that's made me go "huh". I was expecting more W than this by a fair bit. Like with Architecture (Liminal), but I also couldn't make a strong case for it so it can't be that far off.

CAT# Theory: It's a 3.

R# Theory: I'm getting better at judging these as they go on because it's very B to me. Which I'm taking as a sign I'm right on this whole thing.

Header talk: Entrapment (Virtual) -/- Isolation (Experimentation) is fairly uninteresting as these things go. That is what it is.

[sunni-writes]

𝐑𝐮𝐢𝐧𝐞𝐝

Sylus! x Fem Reader! Valentines Day With Sylus CW: PWP, Domestic/Softie Sylus, Cunnilingus, Overstimulation, Begging, Mention of MC Passing out, Breeding, Subby MC, Use of the word 'Kitten'

"Someone's excited." Sylus jokes as you practically drag him out of his home and push him into his car.

"I just want to make sure we get there on time!" you say, making your way into car and buckling yourself in.

It was Valentines Day, a day to celebrate a special connection to a special someone. So, who better to celebrate with than Sylus? Usually, he'd be the one to do all the planning and set up for your dates or you would both plan something together, but this year, you wanted to surprise him for a change. You had the entire day planned out. First a fancy new Jazz restaurant that just opened up in Linkon with a beautiful Skyview. Then the two of you would visit the fun laser tag place, where you would give him a proper butt-kicking. And then a walk through the park to play with the kitties that Sylus loved so much, and to end the day when you go back to his place...

Your face feels warm as you remember the attire you bought and stored away in your suitcase for your weekend rendezvous in the N109 Zone. A very special lingerie that you were certain he would like.

You could only hope Luke and Kieran would be done with the set up by the time you returned. It was all going to be perfect! At least you though so...before getting to the restaurant.

"Sorry madam but all our tables are full." the host tells you, with an apologetic look

"But...that can't be, I booked a table in advance." You say, confused as you press a button on you watch to pull up the holographic screen of your emails. You checked, and sure enough you had booked a table at the restaurant for this time.

"It appears that there may have been some sort of glitch with our website. The table you requested had already been booked by a different group. However, if you'd like we can reschedule for that table in let's say...a week from today?" He says as he scrolls to the next most recent availability.

You can't help but pout in disappointment, before you feel a gentle touch of a hand on your shoulder. "That'll be fine." you hear Sylus say, making you turn to him in confusion. "Why don't we go somewhere else instead? I know the perfect place, Sweetie." he suggests as a takes your hand in his own.

You feel a tad bit disappointed; you had worked so hard to find the perfect place, this restaurant had a lot of his favorite foods and the kind of music that you were sure he'd be humming all day after hearing it. The atmosphere was perfect.

But then he gives you a reassuring smile, and gently squeezes your hand, and you feel yourself relax a little.

He takes you to a quaint little 'hole in the wall' restaurant instead. There's only a handful of people inside, but the food is good and the little old lady who owns the restaurant tells you that you and your 'husband' make a beautiful couple.

"You're a lucky lady, miss. Your husband is quite handsome."

Sylus seems to smile at that, while your own face flushes at the thought of you two being married. Despite that, neither of you correct her.

"Thank you. However, I'm the lucky one..." he comments, his gaze never leaving your face as he places a chaste kiss on your knuckles.

The lady smiles endearingly. "Oh, to be young and in love again." she sighs, seemingly recalling her own past love as she makes her way to the kitchen.

When she comes back, she's carrying two large plates of food, "wait- miss? I think we got the wrong order..." you say, staring at the buffet stacked before you.

The lady waves off your words, "It's on the house." she starts to say as she glances between the two of you. "Afterall, you'll need to widen those hips a bit if you ever plan on having children."

You choke.

"Ha ha, I think it's a little too soon for that." you reply back to the nice lady. You can hear Sylus snickering at you, and just as you turn to shoot him a glare, he's already picking up a fork full of food and holding it in front of your mouth with a smirk.

"Eat up, kitten."

---

The next stop was laser tag. Dancing around in your seat as you pull up to the place, you practically rush out of the car and up the steps to the building.

However-

As you close in on the building you notice a small "Closed" sign on the door, and a note from the management that the place is temporarily closed due to "unforseen circumstances". Whatever that meant.

Instantly, you feel your heart sink.

"No..." you huff out in disappointment. Sylus eyes the sign from behind you in silence, his fingers fiddling with a coin he pulled from his pocket. "Don't worry..." he assures you, "We can do something else instead."

For the second time today, Sylus comes to the rescue. Instead of laser tag, he takes you to a private shooting range and instead of shooting at each other, instead the two of you aim at targets and compete for who gets the most headshots.

It wasn't what you had planned but it was still nice. Still, when it's over you can't help but wish things were different. You had wanted to surprise him; he was always gifting you such extravagant gifts and taking you to amazing places. You had hoped to do something nice for him for a change but instead, he was just taking care of you again.

Still, the least you could do now was try to remain positive. He still seemed to be having a good time. Plus, you still had the kitties to look forward to and there was no chance a park would be closed.

"I win!" you gloat, playfully, as you both calculate your points. "Guess the leader of Onychinus can't compete with a skilled hunter like myself when it comes to guns."

Lost in your joy of having kicked the leader of a crime syndicates but in a battle of target practice, you don't notice the way Sylus' eyes soften as he sees the way smile up at the scoreboard.

"Yeah...I guess not."

---

As the two you of you exit the gun range your greeting by the now dim light of outside. As you peer up into the sky, you notice grey clouds have taken form and blocked out the sun, dimming the expanse around you.

Then it hits you, the first drop of due from the clouds above. It was about to rain.

"I don't think there'll be any kitties in the park today..." Sylus says as he drapes his jacket over your head and guides you back to the car.

You had checked the forecasts...it wasn't supposed to rain today.

The sigh that leaves your lips is long and drawn out. Your lip trembles slightly and you drop your head to keep him from seeing the look on your face.

First the restaurant messed up your booking. Then the laser tag place was closed and now, no kitties?? Was Sylus even enjoying himself? He kept having to fix every little thing. Why was everything going wrong today?

You wanted to stay positive, for his sake, but you hated that you couldn't do this one thing, and on such a special day.

He guides you back to the car quickly, not wanting for you to get sick in this weather, and you silently follow.

Once you're in the car, he turns on the heater so the two of you can warm up, then begins the drive back to the N109 Zone. He doesn't say anything at first, the drive home fairly quiet for the most part but, at some point or another his hands find their way back to yours.

"Don't fret about today. We can do all the things you had planned some other time." he says, trying to make her feel better.

"I know, I'm just disappointed. I had planned everything so perfectly and nothing went as I planned. I really wanted to make you happy today...but everything got ruined" you reply, muttering the last part a bit.

There's a short pause between the two of you as you pull into his garage, and then he speaks up again. "Sweetie, with you around, I'm always happy. It doesn't matter what we do or where we are. You're what makes me smile. I love you."

A warm feeling washes over you as he speaks those three words out loud. He had never said them before...sure he had expressed it in more ways than one but hearing him say it set your entire body ablaze.

"I love you too." You say back, looking up at him with teary eyes.

---

When the two of you get inside, it's much earlier than planned. Yet despite that Luke and Kieran don't seem surprised in the slightest.

Instead, the surprised one is you, the two of them standing the living room in front of a giant dino plushie, several floral bouquets all over the room, and various heart shaped chocolate boxes all over the place.

Sylus pinches the bridge of his nose and shakes his head, "I knew I should've picked the plushie myself" he states as he looks at the oversized thing in his home. Your apartment was too small, he doubted something so big could fit inside, he barely could fit inside your apartment and this thing had to be at least a few feet taller than himself. Plus, he had told them to get the crow plushie.

"But boss...this one look like you." Keiran stated pointing to its face.

"Yeah, she'd definitely like this one more." Luke added.

Sylus was about to say something else, but the sound of your giggling turns his attention away from the two jesters. "Thank you, Sylus. I love it." is all you say, yet it's enough to steal his breath away.

"Today's been pretty hectic. Why don't we just relax and turn on a movie?" you suggest. Sylus smiles softly and nods, "Yeah...I'd like that."

The both of you shower in separate bathrooms and you take brief opportunity to slip the lingerie on underneath your robe.

As the sun sets, you and Sylus are snuggled up together on his bed as a cheesy romance movie plays on the tv in his bedroom -- a new addition to his room that was added in for occasions like this one.

You play with his soft hair while he lays in your lap. There was still one more gift you wanted to give him. "What're you thinking about?" he asks, noticing you lost in thought.

"Well...I still have one more gift for you." You admit shyly, averting your gaze. You weren't usually this shy with him, but you hadn't done something like this before with him, so you were a little nervous.

He raises his eyebrow, your sudden confession piquing his interest.

"Oh? What is it?" he asks, inquisitively.

"Well... It'd be better if I showed you instead." You answer, not wanting to ruin the surprise.

Sylus looks at you with playful suspicion. "Don't tell me, is it another bomb?" he asks with a playful smirk on his lips.

"Maybe..." You answer back, matching his playful tone.

You muster up what courage you have and make your way off the bed, standing over him as he props himself up to get a better look at you.

Right on cue, the lights in the room turn red, and the little flower canons hidden throughout the room go off, sending rose petals flying, floating down throughout the room.

And, as the petals flutter slowly onto the floor, with it drops your robe.

Revealing your outfit underneath

His eyes glow in the dark and yet upon seeing you they still darken instantly, but he makes no effort to move just yet.

"Will you...unwrap me?" you ask, teasingly.

He doesn't give you a verbal answer, instead your suddenly hoisted off your feet, your legs wrapping around his waist for support as he pulls you into a kiss.

Your heart rates sync up, beating quickly as he kneads the soft plush of your ass with his hands, while groaning into your mouth.

The kiss is desperate, full of yearning and desire. It's like he's trying to commit the feel of your lips to memory and imprint the taste of you on his tongue.

As you find yourself dropped onto the bed, he pulls away to rid himself of his own robe, letting the soft silk pool beneath his feet.

"I'm guessing you like your gift?" you taunt, though given how breathless you sound, it only gets a chuckle out of him.

" Oh I love it, Kitten." he answers back just as breathless, as he hovers on top of you, peppering your skin with kisses "But... you'll have to forgive me."

"What? Why?" You moan out as his kisses gradually get more and more intense as they make their way from your neck, to between your breasts, down your stomach, and between your thighs.

"Because" he places a kiss just a few centimeters from where you want him to be. "I'm about to ruin your last surprise..."

"Sylus...Wha-" RIIP.

The seat of your panties is torn off your body before you can even get a chance to speak.

He moves quick, giving you no time to think before his face is buried in between your thighs, his tongue circling around your clit before sucking on it softly. All the while, his eyes never leave yours - observing every reaction.

Your back arches up from the bed, and you can't help grind against his tongue as your hands bury themselves in his soft white hair.

"Oh fuck!" You whine, as he slides his tongue between the soft petals of your 'flower' fucking you with his tongue while his thumb continues to massage your clit.

"Does it feel good, kitten?" he asks, teasing you as two of his long fingers slowly sink inside of you. You can swear a growl erupts from his chest as he feels the way you pulse around his fingers.

His tongue swipes up and down your bundle of nerves and he slowly opens you up with his fingers. "Tell me you like it, beg me for more...."

he fucks into you faster, the veins in his arms protruding slightly as his hand picks up speed.

"I li..like it! Oh fuck...Sylus please!"

"More..." he practically commands, while picking up the pace.

You start to squirm, an orgasm fast approaching, but he's quick. His free hand presses your waist down into the mattress, keeping you in place as pure bliss washes over your body. Your thighs tremble, but he doesn't stop or slow down, kissing your thighs and whispering soft words of affirmation as he finger fucks you through your orgasm.

When it's over his tongue is back on you, lapping up the juices that spilled from you. You whimper from the sensation, sensitive still as he eats you like a man starved.

"S-Sylus..." you whine, trying to squirm away from his fervent tongue.

Theirs a glint in his eyes that makes him almost seem scary in the dim lighting of the room. Like part of him is lost in lust, it's such a primal stare that you would swear that he intends to devour you.

"Taste yourself." Is all he says, as he brings you into another heated kiss. You kiss back, meeting his desperation with twice as much passion. He licks the inside of your mouth, and you actually get a taste of yourself from his tongue.

You're so lost in the kiss that your mind blanks, and the soft shuffling of his underwear being slipped off and dropped on the floor goes unheard.

It's not until you feel the firm head of his dick pressing up against your that you come back into focus.

"Sylus wait..." you start to say as you press up against his shoulder. "Do you want to stop?" he asks, checking to make sure you were okay.

You flip over, making it so you were now on top. In part because you wanted control...but also because you had a feeling that if he had control most definitely lose it.

"I'll be the one in control tonight." you state matter-of-factly. He's shocked at first but lets you have your way -- for now.

"Go ahead."

He watches you as you take his cock into your hands, the size of it making you falter a bit. He wasn't just long but thick too, you could feel the veins that run alongside it. As you line it up with your entrance you can't help but wonder how you managed to fit it inside you the first time.

You push down a bit, earning a soft sigh from Sylus as you slowly sink down onto his tip. He's trying his best not to buck his hips up into you, but the way your face looks as you take him in inch by inch is too cute. He wants more, more reactions, more of your pretty sounds, more of you, all of you.

He holds your hips, guiding you down more until finally you're sat on top of him. You're shaking like a leaf, and he gives you just a moment to adjust before grinding his hips up into you. It's slow, but just quick enough to coax a few moans out of you.

You match his pace, bouncing up and down to match his thrusts. He places his hand at the nape of your neck, pulling your face down so he could kiss you while the sound of your bodies connecting fills the room.

You moan in his mouth, and he brings his hand down to grab and grip and the soft flash of your ass.

In seconds you're flipped over again, and you gasp as he pins your legs to your chest.

"Sylus?? What're you--I mean I'm supposed to--"

He slowly draws his hips back, leaving only the tip inside your heat, then thrusts back in fast, the sound of skin on skin echoing loudly in the room from its impact.

"Sorry Sweetie, but I'd much rather play with my new gift this way."

You're left with no time to think, as he does it again. and again. setting a new pace that has your mind blanking.

The sex feels nothing short of primal as he practically digs a space for himself inside you, burying himself inside your pussy.

This time, the two of you cum together, and your vision fuzzes from the jolts of pleasure that flow through you.

"Seems like your body prefers when I'm in control too..." he whispers in your ear just before nipping at it lightly.

You think that after he came, that would be the end. Yet despite his recent orgasm, the man hovering over you is still as hard as ever.

He must read your expression well, because the next words that leave his lips have you shaking with anticipation. "Did you think I would be done with just this? Valentines' day isn't over until the sun comes up, and I intend to enjoy my gift all night."

Flipping you over to your hands and knees, he starts again. Thrusting at an impossible pace to keep up with, pushing himself as deep as your body will allow, grinding against that sensitive spot inside you over and over again.

"I love you..." he whispers, kissing away a few tears that fall as another orgasm consumes you. Never had you felt this good before, it was amazing and too much all at the same time.

You tell him you love him too and he groans, while pressing into you deeper, harder.

'He's a beast' you think as he tells you he wants more. To hear his name from his lips more. To hear you tell him you love him more. More sounds. More.

---

Both your bodies drenched in sweat; his fluids mixed in with yours is dripping down your thighs, and bites and bruises litter your skin. You're not sure how much more of it you can handle. He's slowed down, thrusting more gently to accommodate for the fact that you're more sensitive, but shows no sign of exhaustion. Only desperation and yearning. He keeps at it like once he stops you'll disappear.

"No more..." you croak, voice hoarse from all the screaming you've done.

His face is buried in your chest, kissing any spots he thinks he's missed with his cock still buried inside you. He looks up at you with a look of longing, and for the first time ever you catch him pouting.

"Just...one more..." he asks, practically begs, while kissing each of your nipples, "The suns not up just yet..."

---

The sun is shining through the curtains when you wake up. Your entire body feeling both sore and heavy. Instead of the lingerie you wore last night, you're in one of Sylus' black buttons ups and a fresh pair of underwear, and your body is clean and so are the sheets.

The fresh smell of food catches your attention as Sylus makes his way in with painkillers and breakfast. "You're awake." he chirps, much to lively for someone who was up all night.

"Did you sleep at all?" you ask, concerned as you try to sit up.

"Don't move. Let me take care of you." He states as he sits down on the edge of the bed with tray in hand, "And yes, I slept just fine after making sure you were cleaned up." he answers, holding some food up to your lips.

"Are you some kinda beast? Why am I the only one tired and sore?" You frown but take a bite anyway.

"I didn't think you'd pass out. Next time, I'll be more careful." he says in a genuinely apologetic.

You sigh, giving a small "it's fine." to show you weren't really upset. You honestly kind of liked that side of him. "Next Valentines Day, I'll give you an even greater gift, and I'll be in control" you mutter, taking another bite of food that he offers.

He smiles, imagining another year with you at his side, "I'm looking forward to it."

------------

Authors Note: Hey Everyone! This is my first fic! I hope you enjoyed the read, it's a long one but I really wanted to give a full valentines day experience with the character! Ignore any spelling or grammar errors. English is my second language and any mistakes I will try to revise and fix! For any Love and Deep Space Players who want to Connect, you can find me on X and Ao3 (Check in BIO!) I also intend on making a Discord chat for anyone (21+) who would be open to making requests, making suggestions, or just yapping about Love and Deepspace Content so please be on the lookout for that soon! I hope you enjoy the story, and more for the other LI's will be coming soon!

[russellsppttemplates]

Promise (Lewis Hamilton)

The season has kept Lewis so busy he hasn't been paying attention to you in the way you needed

Note: english is not my first language. After a long time on hold (since april), I'm finally posting this one. The timeline is a bit bent to fit what I already had written for what was requested, so I hope you don't mind it too much! Hopefully the person who requested this is still around and reading this ✨️

Thank you so much to everyone who likes and reblogs, your feedback is appreciated 🤍 and I'm taking requests so if you have any ideas or concepts you want to share, feel free to do so as I'll try to get to them the best I can!

my masterlist

Tw: mentions loss of friendships, curse words

Tag list: @myloverjk-blog

"I'm sorry, but I'm not going to be able to make it. Lew already asked me to go see him race that weekend, I have booked the flights and managed to clear my work schedule too", you said to your friend after she practically ambushed you into have a coffee with her after work, "c'mon, I don't even feel like we've seen eachother recently. You're either at work or with Lewis. It's like you don't have time for me, or rather don't make it", she groaned and you frowned. You met up with her not even 10 days ago, and while you couldn't see her everyday, you managed to text her back with reasonable timing everytime she had any issues or needed some comfort, so hearing those words and accusations for what you recalled the third time over the last few weeks threw you off. Was it really something you deserved? You wondered, maybe you really weren't being the best of friends given everything happening in your life.

"It's been hard, my schedule has been all over the place. I've been quite tired and I honestly just want to relax at home when I get back from work, we've had a lot of clients, which has been good for the business, but there's also been a lot more effort in making everything work smoothly", you tried to offer her your point of view, knowing yourself that there were days you could barely answer your boyfriend back simple questions, both of happy and content to either just cuddle when he was home or have a quick videocall whenever he was away, letting you get your deserved rest.

.

"Do you have everything, darling?", Lewis said over the phone as you fastened the zip on your suitcase, "yes. Angela said that she could come and meet me with my passes. Apparently there was an issue with printing them, my name or something, I'm not sure, but she said they were good now", you recalled, looking back at your boyfriend on the screen while he smiled, "I can't wait to have you here with me", he admitted, making your heart soft, "it's been really difficult, the car and all, and I know having you here will be good".

The next day, like you had arranged, you met up with Angela at the entrance of the GP, greeting her with a smile before she noticed it, "was your flight that bad?", she wondered, "you look a bit off, dear", she explained herself better, "it was okay, just had trouble sleeping because of this crazy schedule", you tried your best to brush it off. You had looked at yourself in the mirror, and had noticed the eye bags, the veins around your eyes much stronger and, truly, you knew no one would believe you were okay, but you guessed trying wouldn't be hard, and despite feeling like Angela caught on, she decided to drop the subject, handing you your pass and grabbing your suitcase once you reached the hospitality so she could store it in a safe place.

"Hey, Y/N", George smiled, greeting you as you both walked down to the garage, "Lewis mentioned you'd be joining us today", he said, opening the door for you before following you by your side, "the flight was delayed a little, and there was traffic here, or at least my driver said it isn't usually that busy, so I got here to the sound of the engines already", you pouted, grabbing a headset for yourself from the wall.

"I'll be in there with Toto and Mick, we'll speak later, okay? Carmen is also travelling tomorrow night", George said as he walked up to sit with the rest of the team, sitting this session out as they had chosen to have Frederik drive this session on his place.

The free practice sessions did not go all that well, especially considering how you knew Lewis and the whole team would have wanted them to go, so when Lewis came out of the last session, the team allowed them a few hours so they could rest up a little and get re-energised before debriefing.

"Hey, gorgeous", Lewis said as he walked up to you, "I'm so happy you're here", he mumbled against the thin skin on your neck, taking in your scent and presence as your arms wrapped around his torso.

"Do you want to talk about it?", you asked, running your fingers on his back as the slight scratch from your nails soothed him as you walked to sit on the sofa, "I can't bring the car to the front, it's like I can't do it. We've worked so hard on it, the team has come up with so many improvements and yet it still isn't reaching the front, there's no comparison", he let it put, closing his eyes and taking a deep breath, "and I can't do it either, it's my fault too, I just want to make us a competitive team again, having fights every weekend for the P1, and yet, here we are".

Kissing his knuckles, you looked up at him through your lashes, "it will all add up, my love", you caressed his skin, "there's no way your efforts won't be rewarded, you just have to keep going, keep fighting, keep rising", you smiled, seeing the corner of his lips move upwards, "one day at a time, all will be well, you just have to keep going, we just have to keep going with those we love most", you muttered, joining your foreheads so they could touch.

.

Silverstone always had a big buzz around it, so you always took the week off, "remember last year? Your friends also joined us for the party", Lewis recalled as you sat in the hospitality. Media duties had long been taken care of and Lewis wanted to hang out in the meal area in case anyone needed him before you retired to his room.

"Yeah, it was a good time", you mumbled, reliving the memories in your head. You had had dinner and partied until early hours of the night with some of your friends, who were that at the time.

The previous week, your friend had been very assertive when she called you to show her displeasure of your lack of effort to meet up with her, telling you how much you had changed and how it wasn't fair that you could only meet up once or twice a month, "it's not fair to us or to our friendship, so unless this changes, I don't see how we can carry on". The accusations were not false, you recognised that you couldn't be as present as much as before, but the premise she was holding it on seemed wrong to you. And as much as it bothered you and pained you, calling it quits was the best decision in the long run. You had enough things on your plate, and having to reassure her that you were still there for her despite all the mean comments and accusations she would throw at you, wether they were about how much time you spent working or how Lewis wasn't the right person for you, was not something you wanted to endure for your own well-being.

"How is she, by the way?", Lewis questioned as he drank his water.

"We are not friends anymore, things just didn't work out", you offered quietly, not wanting to dwell much on the topic or have your boyfriend worry about one more thing.

"Y/N!", Lewis heard Carmen call, seeing his teammate's girlfriend approach you, warmly greeting him as well before he left you two alone for some catching up, "call me if you need anything", your boyfriend said, kissing the top of your head sweetly before leaving you two to speak and moving to the table where Angela was sitting.

"Is she feeling better?", Angela asked him, nodding over to you with her eyes and smiling as you spoke to the spanish women, the genuine easiness radiating from you.

"Y/N? She's been well, I think...", he said, unsure of his own answer. You hadn't talked much about how you were feeling, and he definitely wanted to follow up on what you had just been talking about when you were comfortable, but other than that, he had no clue. Work had been busier as you received more clients and you needed a little more time to rest that usual, and you had been tagging out of plans family and friends tried to make with you. Maybe Angela was right and there was something going on.

"You should talk to her, see how everything is, Lewis. I know she has a habit of bottling everything, and while I figured she'd talk to you and bring it up, and that it would help, I'm not sure it's enough", she patted his back as she allowed him to process the situation.

Later that night, back in your hotel bedroom, you had just come out of the shower, grabbing your toiletries' bag so you could moisturise your skin, propping your leg on the bed so you could rub the product into the skin as you heard Lewis walk around the room.

As you moved to adjust your towell while you put on your underwear, you felt Lewis' hands on your shoulders before his lips pressed kisses to your clean skin, his touch so soft and tender that it melted you inside.

"Can we talk about something, darling?", he asked, moving to sit in front of you, taking his place on the bed as Roscoe joined him.

"Sure, love. Are you okay? Is something wrong?", you promptly offered, ready to be all ears to his worries as Roscoe found his perfect spot on the comforter.

"It's about you, actually", he said as you pulled your top on, leaving the towell on the bathroom before coming back to sit on the bed, "what about me?", you asked, unsure of the topic was.

"How have you been? And I don't want to hear 'I'm okay' or 'just tired from work', because that's most definitely not the truth", Lewis began, holding your hand in his, "I've been so blind to all of this, and I only noticed now just how much you're being affected, and I want to know what it is and how I can help you", he gulped, "I've been so caught up in my own things and I've missed this, I'm so sorry, Y/N", he looked into your eyes.

You knew you had been unable to hide it. And now, you couldn't escape it.

Taking a deep breath, you traced the tattoos on his hand, the seamless way the ink flowed mesmerising as you allowed yourself to become vulnerable to him, opening up about your friendships and how everything at work was both the thing that has been keeping you sane and afloat, but also buried in doubt.

"Fuck, I'm so sorry I didn't notice this", Lewis apoligised, "I've been so absorbed in getting the results we need for the team, and-", you interrupted him, knowing the wasn't the one to blame.

"Lew, I didn't want to burden you with this, it's my own doing, too", you admitted, wanting to stop the whole blame spiral going on between both of you.

"Still, I should've noticed", he tsked at himself, holding you in his arms as you cuddled into his chest, "you shouldn't have to go through that alone, no one should. I want you to tell me anything that bothers you. My career is not above us, it will never be", he said as he looked into your eyes, "and, for all that matters, the decision to end the friendship was for the better. And I know you know this, and it still hurts, and that's okay. Roscoe, buddy", he called, "come give mummy a big, big cuddle", he smiled as the dog attended to his request.

"I'm sorry, too", you said as you petted Roscoe, his snores showing you he was enjoying them, "just wanted to be a happy and cheerful partner, and support you", you reiterated.

"From now on, promise you'll tell me anything that bothers you?", he assured as you smiled, kissing his lips as a seal of your promise, "I promise".

"I love you, Y/N, and it's me, you and Roscoe against the world", Lewis said.

"Agains the world and the rest of the paddock?", you joked, "just about, yes".

[johanna-swann]

I haven't been able to write much recently, but here's a little Bucktommy thingy for NYE. Have fun everybody, don't party too hard.

Eddie can pinpoint the exact moment he realises that maybe they all should've minded their own business and just let Buck call Tommy. Regardless of who dumped whom and whose fault it was and what went down exactly. It's New Year's Eve, the only winter holiday this year that the entire 118 family is off work. They're celebrating together at the Han house and Eddie tries to soak up the atmosphere. He's supposed to move to El Paso in only a few weeks and who knows how many 118 barbecues he'll get to attend after that.

Everyone's having a good time. Bobby seems almost relieved that he's not hosting for once and is animatedly chatting away with Karen and Mrs Lee. Athena and Hen are on their second glass of red and laughing loudly. Maddie is sitting with them too, her hand suspiciously not holding onto a wine glass. The kids are watching a movie in the living room, Mulan or maybe Merida? Eddie can't keep up with all the Disney Princesses. He, Chimney and Mr Lee are standing around the grill and Buck- Buck is technically there too. He seems distracted though, his thoughts a thousand miles away.

When Eddie met Buck and the guy was still so god damn hung up on Abby he thought it was an outlier that should not have been counted. Your first serious relationship will do that to you, it's difficult to let go of something so special. Eddie would know. But with every relationship afterwards it only took Buck a couple of weeks at most to bounce back after the break-up.

Eddie assumed it would be more of the same when Tommy plucked the cord. Sure, Buck was mopy and baked like a madman, but that wasn't going to last forever, right? Right. But then Thanksgiving came and went, November turned into December, the Christmas Holidays passed by, the new year was rapidly approaching and nothing changed. Sure, Buck toned down the baking spree a little bit, but they were still collectively waiting for the "bouncing back" part.

Buck had almost obsessively planned the New Year's Eve party instead. He had figured out a menu, made a playlist, offered his bartending skills, taken care of the shopping. Chimney was ready to hold an intervention when Buck whipped out a clipboard while they were discussing drinks. Only Hen's "be nice to him, he needs this" stopped him from hiding the offending object away in the ambulance.

Here and now though, standing in the middle of their get-together and everything going quite perfectly so far, Buck looks anything but happy or even content. He laughs weakly at Chimney's movie reference (Eddie is almost certain that Buck does not know what "we're gonna need a bigger grill" is even from) and nods along when Eddie recalls an anecdote from a few years ago. But then he's checking his phone again and frowning. A few seconds later his hands twitch like he wants to check again before he starts fidgeting with a napkin instead. He's restless and anxious and everything Eddie hoped he wouldn't be surrounded by the warmth and love of his family.

A few minutes before midnight they all gather in the garden to watch the fireworks. The kids have all fallen asleep in front of the movie, so they decide to skip lighting any themselves and just enjoy the show. With only 30 seconds left on the timer all the couples are holding each other close. Athena is tugged in closely under Bobby's shoulder, Hen and Karen are sitting so close on a bench that Karen is basically in her wife's lap, Chimney is hugging a giggling Maddie from behind and the Lees are holding hands while Anne rests here head on her husband's shoulder.

Eddie smiles sadly. He knows that being on his own, working through his issues is where he needs to be right now, but he still misses having a partner like this. Nonetheless, he couldn't be more happy for his friends. He looks over to Buck, expecting him to be in a similar bitter-sweet mood, but his best friend is once again on his phone. Tommy has been gone for almost two months, it's maybe the last time in a long while that they're all going to be together like this and normally Buck would be excited and relishing in this feeling of family and togetherness. But instead he's once again checking his texts.

That's when it really hits Eddie that something is wrong. A chorus of "HAPPY NEW YEAR"s erupts around him and thousands of fireworks are going off over LA, but Eddie is looking at his best friend who is staring at his phone and he thinks that maybe they were wrong to talk Buck out of contacting Tommy. Oh well. It's a new year. Time for a new tactic.

[crusty-chronicles]

hii! i really love your airhead s/o series!! especially that ging one, perhaps can you make a part 2 of airhead s/o x ging? i really love it😭😭

You know what, why the hell not. There simply isn't enough of this stinky man out there and I truly do love him. He's cute in the feral rat kinda way 🥺

BONUS AIRHEADED S/O HEADCANNONS: Ging part 2

Like a thorn in his side, you simply won't leave

He doesn't recall how exactly he met you, but he does remember what he said that started all this.

"Keep up with me if you can."

And keep up you did. A little too well. And now he was stuck with you.

Buys plastic plates and Styrofoam cups because you can't break them.

Seriously, every good dish he had is shattered in the trash somewhere.

No plastic spoons or forks though

He tried that once and you had broken them, unawares that the extra crunch to your cereal was plastic

Is amazed and a little curious to find out you set the sink on fire.

Like honsetly, what the fuck???? Should he be impressed or scared.

Ging is a lazy stinky man

He has you in one of those backpacks with leashes when you go out in crowded places.

Cannot be bothered to go looking for you, so the next best thing is to leash you so you don't wander far.

You'll see something you think is cool and rush off, only to be stopped by a small tug pulling you back.

"Can you focus for one second?"

And for the first time he actually looks the part of a parent as he tugs you back towards him.

"Quit running around, pup."

God forbid the leash is detachable and you find out how to get free

"Yes, I need some help. My idiot got loose and I can't find them."

"Sir this is a Mcdonalds."

The one thing he made sure to tell Gon atop the Great tree, was to make sure he found somebody who always kept him on his toes.

"Why?"

"Life is better when the person you're with makes it interesting." Completely unaware you were only a few branches down listening.

Panics when you leave for hunter business because of that one time.

"Pick up your phone, idiot!!!! Damnit! How many times have I told you not to go by yourself!"

Waits for you like an upset parent that just caught their kid sneaking back in

Arms crossed, sitting on your sofa style

Waiting impatiently as you bump into the vase by the door after breaking the lock to get in.

"Well, well, well. What do we have here?"

And you stare up at him with puppy eyes holding out a small box.

"I got you a souvenir." 🥺

And it's most likely broken but he appreciates it anyways.

All great hunters are liked by animals.

You get adopted by nearly all the apex predators you come across

And Ging is distressed because 'That is a fucking lion, Y/n. You can't just cuddle it.'

He tries to take you away from it, only for whatever creature had you hostage to growl at him.

Then it continues licking you and eventually whines when you get up to follow a very perplexed Ging.

(He secretly thinks it's cool)

Ging knows you're stupid, but that you're not an idiot

He knows you get lost on missions frequently and for the life of you can't not break something for five seconds.

But he also knows that you can tell when people are lying and being disingenuous

You hate Pariston for a reason

That and he lied to you once about something which resulted in you refusing to talk to him for weeks

He totally didn't care

Totally didn't try to send you a message only to see you'd blocked his number (how you accomplished that, he'd never know)

Totally didn't ask Kite to check up on you and make sure you hadn't died or something

What him? Never

And he also totally didn't swing by your apartment to leave a box of your favorite snacks on your doorstep

Couldn't be him 🙄🙄🙄

Yeah, he never tried to lie to you after that.

He refuses to baby you, but if someone makes fun of you for not being able to do something, he's kicking their ass

Makes you teach Gon some of your nen tricks

Just because he knows you're capable enough to do so

You're not a two star hunter for nothing.

Plus it means you two get to bond. Which is something he'd deny to his grave

Him, wanting his partner and son to be close???

You're delusional, he doesn't care 🙄🙄🙄

Yes he does and what he lied to you about was having a kid in the first place.

He just knew you'd spill the secret on his whereabouts is all

Gon thinks you are the coolest person he's met so far.

Alluka, who can grant wishes? She's cool

You, who took him fishing and caught an alligator by wrestling it????

You're his idol 🤩🤩🤩

And Ging is so damn proud because the next day his son brought home this huge sea monster he caught with your help.

"Why wouldn't I settle for a capable partner," is the biggest compliment he'll give.

He is a man child who fights for your attention with anybody. Not even poor little Gon is safe 😞

The barista's hand brushed against yours while handing you a drink?

Ging is dragging you out by your hand, glaring behind at the confused worker.

You're catching up with an old friend?

Okay, but they're clearly not that interesting if you ditched them for him. So quit wasting time and follow him to this cool thing he just found.

Gon wants you to teach him and his friend a new ability?

It's a family event now

Physically cannot say he loves you

He's just not used to it

And he can't even hint to it through romantic gestures because you don't understand subtlety

But, he's more physical with you than with most people

You get to jostle him around in your excitement and pull him everywhere you go

Doesn't mean he won't complain about it

He just won't push you off

"That's enough, pup. You'll make me dizzy."

"But I haven't seen you in a while, don't be all mean."

And he regrettably lets you keep your arms tight around him

You can't read maps and he's so surprised you accomplish anything that requires travel

Showers

He showers with you or he doesn't at all

He just wants to make sure you don't fall in there okay. 🙄You already trip on dry land, so imagine the wet tile.

It's because he likes the way you're so gentle when you wash his scalp. And because you always have the best scented soaps.

Kissed you one time and collapsed from embarrassment

Like a real kiss, not the little forehead ones he gives when you've been good.

Red in the face and unable to look at you properly

All because he said he stole your favorite sweet and taunted you for it.

You'd tackled him down and kissed him, swiping your tongue on his lips.

And he was 😳😳😳

And when you pulled away with a triumphant smile on your face, he actually did faint.

You were so confused because he didn't taste like your candy??? Did he lie to you again???

Gets flustered if Gon asks him when he's gonna marry you.

Like c'mon kid, don't say things like that!!! They're literally right there!

(Doesn't want to marry you because he couldn't take it if you decided you couldn't stand him after all. But he also really does because you keep his life interesting)

"I want what I can't have."

Didn't know he wanted an idiot until trying and failing so many times to get you to see he actually does care

MASTERLIST

[enigmatist17]

He had been asleep for a week.

Yellowed bones no longer flashed with golden glimmers trying to take him from the Land of the Dead, to where the Forgotten went. No, they had faded within minutes of sending a beloved descendant back to Living world where he belonged, and had not been seen since. The Rivera family had seen to that, keeping a constant vigil if they weren't fending off half of the entire city from wanting to lay eyes upon the real musician de la Cruz had murdered. It took Pepita throwing some particularly daring reporters halfway across the city to drive home that they needed to be left alone. Their wayward family member was finally home, he didn't need to be badgered in what was likely the first proper rest he'd had in so long.

They didn't know, he'd been alone for so long

Imelda is there when Héctor finally cracks open his eyes, amethyst eyes filled only with confusion as he stares up at nothing in particular.

"Héctor?" Imelda frowns when his gaze seems to go right through her, and his confusion turns into fear.

"It hurts...why does it hurt.." The whimper breaks a heart long gone, and before she can say anything else he's gone, face going lax as he sleeps once again. He doesn't feel a small hand he used to spend hours trailing calloused fingers over take hold of his, squeezing his hand as tight as she could manage.

"Oh mi amor."

The pattern continues; sometimes, Héctor would slur a response to a conversation lost to time, and other times, he'd cry out for his family as he curled up in pain to please stop why does it hurt?. The rage Imelda had held onto for so long, against a husband who had never truly abandoned her, turned white hot as she and the rest of the family pieced together his phantom pains one stormy night.

Ernesto I don't feel well, please can we rest a day longer?

Why can't I go home? I've missed another meeting.

I don't want to party, I'm so tired Ernesto.

This is the last day, I am going home tonight. You don't need a sick man dragging you down.

Imelda stood out in the rain and screamed, the shame and heartbreak needing to find its way out before she shattered. He had died in so much pain, and she hadn't been there to save him.

Slowly, so very slowly, he comes back to them, comes back to the world as his bones start to get a little bit brighter. Julio is woodcarving by his bedside when Héctor opens his eyes, confused to see a slightly familiar ceiling instead of...whatever happened to the Forgotten. Someone is there, a thud sounding out when Héctor tries to say something, only managing a raspy cough as an unfamiliar man hovers over him. No, wait, Héctor knows him, right?

"Easy there amigo." Water is held to his lips that the musician drinks eagerly, realizing his son-in-law is holding him up by the time the glass empties. "It's good to see you awake."

"Eh?" Héctor can't quite recall much past the fog in his brain, so he settles for watching Julio gently prop him up before hurrying out of the room. His son-in-law comes back before long, a woman following behind him pausing in the doorway with a hand over her mouth.

This person, he knew this person.

"Melda?" Héctor still doesn't know if he's dreaming, but the small hand that takes his when he tries to reach out makes him slump in relief.

"Ssh, you need your rest." Ah his Imelda, tone gentle yet firm as she gently squeezes his hand, her other hand running through his hair for the first time in over a century. "You're safe."

"Is this a dream?" Exhaustion is already tugging at his foggy mind, but Héctor pushes against it to soak in the gentle touches, ones he spent years dreaming of.

"No, you're home, and I'm never letting you go." Her response is a whisper as she leans close, kissing his forehead. "Duerme mi amor." As he always had both in life and death, Héctor obeyed his wife, face going lax as he slipped back into unconsciousness. Julio says nothing as Imelda's mask cracks, tears dripping down her face as she ran a hand through matted hair with whispered promises of a future that lay ahead. She lets Julio guide her down to the bed, where she cradles Héctor as close as she dared without jostling him too much, lighting a bedside candle before leaving the room with a slight nod.

When he wakes in his wife's arms, Héctor knows it's not a dream, and can only smile.