#and to have a reason to take his shirt off around people

[biting-miguel-ohara]

Shower - Logan Howlett x ftm!Reader

A/N: I cried so much while writing this. I think that means it’s good? Either way, I hope you all like it. Lmk if any of the warnings are missing or labeled incorrectly

Written for this request

CW: dysphoria; chest dysphoria; descriptions of dysphoria triggers; descriptions of dysphoria; anxiety attack (or panic attack. I’m not sure which one counts for this); crying; mentioned emotional exhaustion/numbness; Logan is soft in this; hurt/comfort; Reader and Logan bathe together; bathing while partially dressed; Reader is called handsome; mentions of panic; fluffy ending; talk of love; mild kissing

669 words

It really was the mirror’s fault.

One of your least favorite tasks to do was to shower. Not because you didn’t like being clean or because it was too overwhelming. No, you didn’t like it for an entirely different reason.

Taking a shower meant being naked. And that was the one thing you hated more than anything else. Well, sort of. Being partially naked was fine. The real problem came when your chest was bare.

And your bathroom had a mirror. A large one, so no matter where you were, you could always catch a glimpse of your reflection.

It made you feel physically ill. Like you could see all the people around you, laughing and mocking you for not being as flat as you needed. It made you want to rip off your very skin.

But you have to take a shower.

Everything is fine until you get into the bathroom. Your back is to the mirror, you’re focusing on something else… and then you drop something and have to turn around to pick it up.

You catch a glimpse of your reflection in the mirror, and it all spirals from there.

Logan finds you in the corner, crying and numb. He crouches in front of you. “Hey.”

You don’t answer.

He drapes one of his shirts over you, careful not to touch your chest as he buttons it up a bit. Once your chest is hidden, he steps back, starting to shed his clothes.

You lift your head a little to watch, but don’t say anything. You just sniffle and wipe at your eyes.

He turns on the water to the bath, waiting a moment to make sure it’s the right temperature. Then he gently scoops you up and steps into the bath.

He sits down, settling you on his lap. The bottom of the shirt gets wet, but he makes no move to take it off.

You lean back against him, resting your head against his shoulder.

“You alright, handsome?” Logan asks, hands gently rubbing your thighs.

“No.” You shake your head. If you weren’t all out of tears by now, you’d probably be crying again.

He nods and presses a kiss to your temple. “I’m here now. I’ve got you.”

You take a deep breath in and let it go. You do feel better now than before. The shirt you’re wearing clings to your body as the bathtub water rises, but your chest is still covered. You don’t feel so gross anymore.

Logan doesn’t leave for the rest of your bath. He helps you wash, doing it for you when your hands shake too much and bile rises in your throat. His hands are rough but gentle. They ground you, keeping you from falling into panic.

The shirt is soaking wet by the time you’re done. Wet and clingy and gross. But you feel so much better.

You get out of the tub on your own, shying away from the mirror. Logan drapes you in a towel before undoing the buttons of the shirt. When you pass by your reflection, there’s nothing visible but fluffy towel. You take another deep breath.

There are no mirrors in your bedroom, so you drop the towel to get dressed. Logan sits on the edge of your bed, watching. It makes you feel the tiniest bit insecure about yourself before you catch the look in his eyes.

Absolute adoration.

It makes you blush, hasty to finish dressing. You’ve always known Logan loves you. He’s made it abundantly clear since the two of you started dating. You just forget sometimes how much he loves you.

Once you’re done you sit on the bed next to him and lean against him. Entwining your fingers with his. “How did you know?”

Logan looks down at you. “I had a feeling. You’re always fast on shower days. Figured something was wrong after you took a while.”

You lean up to kiss him. “Thank you.”

He leans into the kiss. “Anything for my man.”

[evereverest2]

Broken — Terzomega

~part eight of the Little Monster series~

3.7k words — smut

Omega feels off tonight.

[parts]: one | prev

an: i am sorry this took awhile guys. i truly am. i hope it was worth the wait...

—

Hours later Omega stood in the throes of the ascension party, still his mind roiling tumultuously with thoughts of Alpha.

There were no ghouls to be seen, though they were invited to attend. All except the Special, who loyally stood by Imperator’s side as she mingled around the guests.

In the throes of Siblings was, of course, Terzo. Papa Emeritus III. Freshly ascended, and always the life of the party. Omega stood against the wall, watching as they danced and talked. He was not obliged to be ‘on duty’ as it were, but he neither wanted to participate in such an event. Rather, he was thinking of leaving altogether, though one thought kept him lingering.

His kiss with Alpha made him think of Terzo, and whether Terzo too was kissing other people. The idea enraged him, though he refused to acknowledge any reasoning behind it, only letting fire mindlessly consume his veins.

He stood against the wall watching him. Surveying him. Everytime his face approached a sibling too closely, his fists clenched. The longer he idled, the more restless he became. Terzo was drinking wine. Wine made him horny. It stood to reason Terzo would take on a Sibling tonight. There was no reason not to. Now that he was Papa, he had to protect his position, and Omega could not interfere with that.

But he could not leave either, because if he left, then he would never know. Not knowing was worse. Imagining the grotesque scene of Terzo buried deep within a sinning Sister was worse.

A server passed him by with a tray full of champagne. Omega swiped one and drank it in a single gulp. His mind was eating him alive. It should not irritate him so, but it did. His eyes were glued to the new Papa. Watching intensely. Unable to let go.

Oh, and he was radiant. He swayed his hips, harnessing the energy of the room with just his body. He had long changed out of his Papal robes, down to the breezy, half buttoned dress shirt he usually wore for such occasions. Yet he still had his new paints, that unique skull face, and with it he further radiated a contagious charisma. His skin was slick with sweat, his hair a mess falling around his face. In one hand was a glass of wine, in the other was any Sibling within grasp, dancing closely, brushing against one another. Omega watched him finish his glass, swiftly replaced by a new one, watched him slip his fingers down a Sister’s side, holding her by the hip as she began to grind against him, watched him smile and smack her ass.

Omega surged forward, possessed. His legs carried him from the wall to the dance floor, a force unswayed by the throes of drunk humans, an unstoppable force before his destination. He stood as a pillar in the center, directly next to Terzo who looked up at him in confusion.

“Omega ghoul?” Terzo cocked his head. “You are at this party?”

Omega just stared, uncertain. He clenched his fists.

“I need to speak with you.”

“Ah, si. Un momento, bella. Sei lascivo…”

Omega bit down on his tongue, forcing himself to not react. Terzo left the center of the group, and Omega followed him, out the doors, into the empty hallways.

“Si?”

Without a word on his tongue Omega stood there awkwardly. There was no reason to drag Terzo out except for the ugly feeling twisting around his heart.

Terzo raised his brows, his hands on his hips. “What is it, ghoul?”

Out of options, Omega surged forward, kissing him with the sudden spontaneity that Alpha with him had only hours before. But this time, it was not the stilted, harrowing kiss the ghouls shared. No, this was passion. The same heat they had been building up for weeks. The new, terrifying excitement that Omega hated to acknowledge but loved to feel.

“Mostriciatto,” Terzo giggled, throwing his arms around Omega’s neck. “You should have just said so.”

The sickeningly sweet smell of roses flooded his senses. Nowadays, Omega smelled it everywhere. In Terzo’s room, wisps of it in the halls, on his skin, on his clothes. Roses. Always roses, that smell that came to mean Terzo was nearby, and he was thinking of Omega.

Roses made him sick.

“You want to go back to my quarters, si?”

Omega second guessed himself. “No. They saw us leaving together.”

Terzo pouted. “You are a real cockblock, Omega ghoul.” Then, his face lit up with an idea. “Ah, you go to my quarters! I will go back inside, and sneak to you, eh? None the more wise!”

Omega thought to protest, but it was short lived. He would rather Terzo end the night with him than any of the sluts on the dance floor.

So he nodded. And his feet carried him away, down the empty corridors, past the staircase leading to the ghoul den, all the way into Terzo’s room. He sat there, on his couch, feeling like a dog waiting for his master to come home. Humiliated.

It took thirty minutes for Terzo to appear, stumbling through the doorway with a glass of wine in hand. Omega had the urge to jump up and pin him to the door, to have his way with him like he always did, but he stayed on the couch. Staring at a smudge on his black lips. It could have been anything. He had been talking and drinking all night. But the way it swept upwards, blending grey at the edges, a matching smear beneath his bottom lip. Omega hesitated.

“Hello, mostriciatto,” Terzo sang, locking the door behind himself. He walked to the couch and slipped into Omega’s lap, much to his surprise. He was seated facing towards him, balancing by holding on to his shoulder, trying not to spill his wine with the other hand. He leaned forward, his head falling against his shoulder inhaling deeply. “Mm, you smell good, ghoul.”

Terzo on the other hand flooded the room with the rosey scent he always did. His free hand slid up the back of Omega’s neck, fingers running through his hair, peppering his neck with kisses. Omega rolled his head to the side, shutting his eyes, trying to welcome the sensation.

But he struggled to let his thoughts go, sinking into his consciousness like barbed wire. Terzo making out with someone else. Alpha’s torn, devastated expression. Those quintessence ghouls, his to mourn, his to remember. Things that distracted him. Things that should fill him with rage, things that should make him angry enough to fuck the lights out of Terzo, but things that were only weighing his mind down like anchors in the ocean, drowning him in a melancholic sea.

Terzo sat back, brows furrowed. “What?”

“What?”

“You are not touching me.”

Omega’s arms lay next to him, unmoving. He quickly moved to hold his waist. “Sorry.”

Terzo narrowed his eyes. “Sorry? You pull me away from my party and you are not even fucking me yet.”

“I’m sorry, I’m just distracted.”

“Asshole mostriciatto, you asked me here, si? Do I have wrong idea?”

“No, I—“ Omega looked away. “I don’t know.”

“You don’t know,” Terzo mimicked. “What is deal, eh?”

“Nothing.”

“Bullshit!” Terzo erupted. It took Omega by surprise. Too angry for something as simple as not reciprocating immediately.

His brows furrowed in confusion. “Terzo…?”

“What?” Terzo snarled, then took a swig of his wine. “Now that I am no longer a cardinal, you don’t want to fuck me, eh? You don’t think I am a good enough Papa to fuck, si?”

Omega noticed an extra shine in his eyes, filling with tears around the bloodshot veins. Before he could say anything, whether he had the words or not, Terzo spiraled.

“I understand, mostriciatto. You are missing Secondo. Why don’t you go to his quarters and fuck him, eh?!”

He hit his chest angrily, moving to get off him. But Omega caught his arms. Terzo refused to meet his eye.

“Terzo,” he said gently. “What’s wrong?”

The tears filling his eyes finally burst, dripping quietly from cheek to chin. He shook his head,

“What is wrong? I am. You do not want me because you know I will be a terrible Papa.”

Omega held his hand to Terzo’s face, which he instantly leaned into. He carefully wiped a tear away with his thumb. “That’s not true.”

“I was hardly even a cardinal. I was not expecting Secondo to leave so suddenly. I thought I had time to…” He trailed off, touching his wine glass to his lips.

Omega took the glass, drank it, and set it on the ground. Terzo glared at him.

“What is that, mostriciatto?”

Omega shook his head. “Listen. I know that you were ascended suddenly and that you’re scared. But I know you, Terzo. I’ve heard you talk about your plans when you’re Papa. You’re ambitious and imaginative, much more than Secondo. You’re going to do fine.”

Terzo searched his eyes silently, stunned. “Who is this? You do not say the things my Omega ghoul says.”

Omega flushed in embarrassment. “I’m being honest,” he mumbled indignantly.

Terzo chuckled quietly, wiping his face. “Why are you being nice?”

“You’re a good leader. I know you’re going to succeed. You just need to be reminded.”

Terzo was silent for a moment before he sighed, moving off his lap and sitting next to him. Omega watched, curious. Terzo stared in front of him, his jaw tensing.

“I can not take this anymore, mostriciatto.”

“I told you, you’re going to be fine—“

“No. I mean you.”

Omega felt his heart stop. “…Me?”

“I know I am drunk, and that makes me brave— no, it makes me stupid. I am being stupid, si? Quintessence ghoul, you know what I want to say.”

Omega was cycling through his thoughts, overwhelmed by a sickly sweet rotting flower scent, reeling at this sudden topic change. He shook his head.

“Ah, that makes this hard.” Terzo clenched his fist, shaking his head with a sad smile. “I cannot keep fucking you. Not when you treat me so nice. It hurts me too much.”

“What?”

He sighed again. “When you are mean, when you are rough, it is okay. I can pretend you do not care about me. That, I can handle. But when you are kind, it hurts more. Mostriciatto, I am an idiot. I know I am. But I cannot do this anymore. I have fallen in love with you.”

Omega knew. The roses told him. Terzo had already implied it to him, over a month ago, when they silently agreed that they would not work out.

And yet hearing those words out loud, unspoken for so long, broke him.

Omega began to cry.

Tears sprang to his eyes, suddenly, like a broken fountain coming to life after years of neglect. He leaned forward hiding his face in his hands, a deep sob cracking through his voice.

Love was something he had denied himself for a long time. Locking it out of his soul, tossing the key, because love was the worst pain a ghoul could feel. He managed to rid it from his mind, rid himself of his ghouls, of Alpha’s devotion, of everything that could hurt him.

And most of all, he refused to give any to Terzo.

Because he knew if he did, that there would be no more hiding his emotions. That someday, undoubtedly, Terzo would shatter his heart into thousands of irreparable shards, and all the work he had put into protecting himself from the pain of love would vanish.

That no longer mattered, though. Omega was feeling that pain now.

He loved Terzo.

“Mostri—“ Terzo gasped, springing up to touch his shoulder hesitantly, uncertain, confused. Eventually he moved his arm around him, rubbing his back.

Omega growled weakly, angry at himself. He sucked in deep breaths, pulling himself together enough to speak. He turned his head to look at Terzo, who was looking back at him with tepid compassion.

“I can’t do this either,” Omega said quietly.

Terzo’s eyes filled with a stormy anguish. Omega buried his head in his hands.

“Fuck, don’t look at me like that. It’s not your fault.”

“What do you mean it is not my fault?”

“It’s…” Nothing. He wanted to say nothing. He wanted to get up and leave, end things as they were, before it became too hard. Take all his love and care and fill it in a jar, tighten the lid, and store it deep within himself to never be opened again. This was a moment where he could end his pain, once and for all. Lie to him and leave. Never be vulnerable again.

“…I’m scared.”

He felt Terzo put a hand on his thigh, tenderly stroking it with his thumb. “What are you scared of, mostriciatto?”

The dam was broken.

His eyes filled with tears again. “I have feelings for you, too. But I don’t want it to hurt.”

A hand on his. Coaxing his face out of his hands, bring his head lower to meet his. Terzo leaned up and kissed him.

“Did that hurt, amore?”

Omega frowned, flicking his eyes away. “Of course not.”

They kissed again. “Did that?”

“No.” Omega fought the smile rising in him.

Another kiss, this one longer, more intimate, loving. Omega hummed contentedly, squeezing his hand. When they pulled away, he was softly smiling.

Terzo chuckled lightly. “Why does it scare you, Omega?”

“You know we can’t be together. Not with the Clergy over our shoulders. You’re a Papa now.”

Terzo nodded. “Yes, I am Papa now. I will change the rules.”

“Humans have been banned from romantic relationships with ghouls for centuries.”

“All the more reason for a, eh, refresh,” he smiled.

Omega shook his head. Terzo grabbed his face, locked in one another’s gaze.

“Then what would you say if there was no Clergy to stop us?”

Omega thought for a long moment. Still his heart held that fear of breaking, hesitation spreading through his blood. He wanted to say no. Still his legs longed to walk out of his quarters, down to the ghoul den, into his bedroom to be locked away forever.

Omega could not change.

“I’m an asshole.”

Terzo tilted his head. “So?”

Omega’s brows furrowed. “I treat you like shit.”

“That is okay. It is sexy.”

“No, it’s—“

“Shut up for a moment,” Terzo interrupted. “I understand you are a bastard, ghoul. This, I accept. You are only giving me reasons so that I will not want you.”

“Is it not true?”

“It is. Yet, you are acknowledging of your faults. This is a good thing, eh?”

Omega rubbed his face with his hands.

“Terzo…” he began. Terzo pressed his finger to his lips, pulling closer to him.

“Come here, ghoul. I want you to kiss me. If you do not accept my feelings, then go. Let me alone. If you do, then, you will stay and make love to me.”

Chills shuddered through Omega. Terzo tilted up his chin expectantly. As if born to do so, Omega leaned forward and kissed him.

Instantly they were moving, shifting positions, Terzo falling back on the couch while Omega hovered over him. Lips clashing, tongues brushing against one another, hands exploring quickly yet thoughtfully.

No, Omega would not be leaving tonight. That much was clear.

Terzo reached up to cup his face, ever so sweetly gracing his features. He tastes like red wine, cigarettes, and sweat.

And if he did not smell like roses, well, of course he did. The aromatic scent was love in the air, and suddenly, Omega did not feel so sick.

No more distractions. All Omega wanted at that moment was Terzo’s body. It belonged to him now. His mind urged it.

Button by button Terzo was stripped to nothing, a meal laid out for his diner. But before Omega could begin to devour, Terzo pressed a hand against his chest.

“I want to see you naked, mostriciatto.”

The request was more intimate than he was used to. Omega left his clothes on often to make a quick escape. Not all the time, of course, and certainly not as of recent when he continued to spend the night with him. But to be asked, as if Terzo simply wanted to admire his body, made his gut stir.

Omega stood, stripped, took his time with it. Terzo’s cock jumped excitedly when he took off his pants. Finally exposed, he crossed the room to grab the lubricant he knew was in Terzo’s nightstand, because there was no need to rush this night. Omega returned above him, reuniting with a kiss. Terzo idly touched his chest, tangling his fingers in the hair, his other exploring his face once more.

Omega trailed kisses down his neck, his chest. No bites. Kitten licks and gentle lips. His hand slid down to fondle his balls. Terzo hummed lightly.

“I am surprised at myself…” Terzo sighed. Omega continued to lower himself down Terzo’s body, kneading his thighs. “I do not mind the kindness tonight.”

Omega glanced up, just before he grabbed his dick and kissed the tip. “Neither do I.”

He sank his mouth down the length of it. Terzo moaned, rolled his shoulders, head tilting up, his words silenced by the pleasure. Omega lightly stroked his thighs, bobbing his head, servicing Terzo just for the sake of pleasure. Something he had never done before.

Terzo sat up and ran his fingers through Omega’s hair. Omega’s eyes fell shut at the sensation, but after slowing down for only a moment, he continued his effort.

“Omega…” Terzo huffed. “I do not… Want to cum yet…”

Omega ground to a halt, slowly pulling himself off him with a long lick, sucking on the tip for a second just to make him flinch.

“Hm?” Omega rumbled.

Terzo smiled sheepishly, his smeared makeup revealing hints of warm red across his cheeks. “I want you to fuck me.”

Omega sat up, eager for it just as much as Terzo. He poured lube on his fingers, sliding his fingers around Terzo’s asshole, making him squirm and raise his hips in the air. He wiped the excess on his dick, stroking himself a few times.

He lifted Terzo, angling his body up to align with him, pressing his cock against him. He carefully slipped inside, slowly, though it was easy with the lube.

Terzo sucked in a breath at the entrance, looking up at him with wide, lustful eyes. Omega looked down, watching Terzo greedily suck him in, his asshole pulsing around him as he slipped in completely.

“Haah…” Terzo breathed, shutting his eyes. “Can we stay like this for a moment?”

Omega leaned forward, resting his hands on either side of his face. He looked at him softly, nodding.

There was something special about the way Terzo stared up at him for the eternity they stayed like that. Eyes glistening with warmth. Hands reaching up to touch his face, both hands, holding him like he was the most precious jewel in the world. For once, Omega let it happen. Let the romance of the moment sway him, touch him. Allowed himself to gaze back at Terzo with all the emotion he had been hiding for so long.

He shut his eyes to Terzo’s touch. Leaned down and kissed him tenderly. Tasted his lips, sweet, inhaled the roses, fell into the deep well that was Terzo Emeritus.

But his cock was not as patient as his mind, and he slowly began thrusting. It was only when Terzo began moaning that he even noticed.

He pulled away, a line of spit still connecting their lips as if neither knew how to let go. Terzo’s eyebrows pinched upwards, lips parted, and he was smiling. Omega had never seen him smile like this. Not while they were having sex, anyway.

It aroused him.

Omega thrusted harder, excited by his expression. Now he wanted to eat up every little twitch of his face, study his reaction, feast on his joy.

He reached into his mind with his quintessence, building a bridge between them. One of pleasure, where they could both simultaneously feel one another’s pleasure. Terzo looked confused, then melted into a loud moan. Omega could feel Terzo’s prostate being punished by his own cock, and Terzo could feel what it was like to fuck himself. It was intense, lightning energy, overwhelming them both into ecstasy.

And they both came at the same time.

They each gasped their moans, breathing harshly, falling into one another as the strong quintessence pleasure slowly left their minds. Terzo gripped his shoulders, his nails digging into the flesh as he rode out his high. Omega buried his head in the crook of his neck.

“Mostriciatto…” Terzo murmured.

“Terzo…”

He chuckled. “That was good.”

Omega kissed his neck a few times. “Mhm.”

“I have never been this satisfied.”

Neither had Omega.

He pulled out, moving to sit next to the couch near Terzo’s head. He rested his arms on the edge, his chin sat on his arms, close to him. His face fell to the side, grinning.

“Did that tire you out, my ghoul?”

Omega sighed like a sleepy lion. “Yeah.”

“Who knew vanilla was more tiring than kinky?”

Omega shook his head. “It was the quintessence.”

Terzo reached up to run his fingers through his hair, fingers lingering to scratch just behind his horn. Omega’s tail thumped on the floor a few times before he quickly stilled it in embarrassment.

“So… Have we changed?” Terzo asked, having not noticed.

Omega nodded.

“What is different?”

He hesitated. “Can we talk about it later? I’m tired.”

“Of course, mostriciatto.”

Omega stood, busying himself by retrieving something to clean up Terzo. He found paper towels, which worked well enough to contain the mess.

“You are so kind,” Terzo chuckled as he stepped away to toss the mess.

Omega scooped him up in his arms, taking him to his bed, where he curled up next to him the moment he was situated. He held Terzo, in his arms, allowing himself to not think, to try and sink into sleep. It was coming easy. A reprieve, a relief.

“Mostriciatto?”

The word brought him out of his half asleep state. Terzo paused. Omega waited, saying nothing.

“I love you,” he whispered.

Omega pretended to be asleep.

[parts]: one | prev

[bigtreefest]

Chapter 8: Never Be Sorry

From: The Rainmaker Series

Pairing: Mob! Steve x Forensic Scientist! Reader

Summary: There’s a lot to apologize for, but some things happen for a reason

Word count: 6,323

Content/warnings: mob themes, gun mentions, swears, yelling, tough love, interrogation, punching, slapping, convincing-ish arguments?, fires, lots of time switching between the past and present, angst, sass

Author’s Note: I hope you enjoy this next chapter! It takes place at the same time as chapter 4 of Handiwork and Chapter 11 of YCMBWH.

Your feedback is appreciated in all forms! Comments, reblogs, and asks are golden💗

Dividers by @firefly-graphics

< Prev | Series Masterlist | Next >

“Everything’s Fucked.” You spoke through gritted teeth, arms crossed, looking out the window. The open fields were whizzing by in the early morning light as Number Five drove you home in Bucky’s car, leaving him and Steve at the farm to clean up after the events of the previous night.

It was per your insistence that you stay until Curtis was found, despite having to get called in to the office for this Sunday afternoon. As much as you wished to stay back and ensure Curtis and Cherry were alright, you had a job to do. Sure, Steve and his goons could’ve called off for you like they did the last time, but you couldn’t risk the association with them, not anymore. Not when so much else in your life was at stake. And honestly, you weren’t sure how much more time you could stand to be around people. Your last straw was on the verge of snapping.

Late last night (aka early morning)

You sat in the hay loft of one of the small barns on the farm, feet swinging from the rafters as you watched the scene below. You observed the two men who crossed you, crossed Curtis as they sat in metal chairs, tied with fresh rope, one of them squirming, the other calmly watching the scene with a mischievous smirk on his face.

There was no way it was genuine, though. You knew they were going to lose. You had heard all about the the abilities of Bucky in the city from Five when you cornered him upon your return from the bar. You knew men were tearing down Lloyd’s organization as this entire scene was occurring, and you knew Bucky would get what he wanted. Apparently he had a reputation for that. How it flew under your nose for so many years, you weren’t sure, but it meant he was really good. Which might’ve also meant you weren’t as good as you thought, but that was a thought you tried to push from your mind, despite the way it kept creeping in.

Bucky was circling the two men, akin to a shark, crisp suit adorned, taking the place of the jeans and flannel shirt he borrowed for the bar. Steve was wearing the same, and your previous disdain for that formalwear was growing back and burning your throat. Sure, the farm clothes were comfortable, but you knew that would’ve made them too vulnerable, which wasn’t gonna fly in a mob interrogation like this. So suits it was. Gone was the simple pleasure associated with the old, worn clothing. This was all business.

The same went for you, except in your case, business meant comfort. The second you got back from the bar and entered the farmhouse, you shucked the dress off your body and weant straight for the laundry room, borrowing a pair of Bee’s jeans and an old flannel of Curtis’s that was sitting on top of the pile, the extra material tucked into your waistband as it bloused over your body. It was perfect for a crisp night like this, and you were sure he wouldn’t mind. Plus, who knew how dirty you were going to get at this point? You were literally in a barn.

This interrogation was going nowhere, though. Lloyd was fucking smug as ever and Cole was being a whiny bitch. And worse even, after rolling Lloyd’s name around in your head for an hour, it all made sense. Hansen. As in Lillian Hansen, criminal defense attorney that you abhorred, despite the fact you luckily never really had to deal with her. But you knew how much Scott couldn’t stand the lady, and you imagined Andy felt the same. Ugh, Andy, or should you go back to calling him DA Barber now, who was probably on Steve’s payroll. And probably Scott, too! Was there anyone left that you could trust to tell you the truth!? It looked like you were the only one who you could have faith in anymore. And maybe Cherry? But now, you were gonna use that rage and that self-reliance to get some results.

You swung down from the rafters and landed on strong legs in your boots on the dirt floor. Bucky had just gone over to greet Cherry who had walked into the barn. This was your open opportunity to get what you needed out of these pricks.

You stalked towards the men in the metal chairs, your face showing the vengeance these two were sure to face soon, if not by your hand, then by the mob’s. Your eyes narrowed and shoulders squared as you looked between the two men. You hated them more than you hated even Walker for what they had a part in. More than spoiled milk, more than being left out of the loop. More than Steve.

You were grateful for the way the corner of your eye caught Bucky’s arm barring Steve from approaching you. He had already messed up enough and taken choices from you. This wasn’t another thing you needed taken away. You would deal with it your own way as you stepped in front of Cole.

“I’ll give you one more shot. I’m sick of watching this dance. Where. Is. Curtis?”

A stuttering voice came out of Cole. “I-I don’t know.”

You rolled your eyes. Of course he didn’t. What a dipshit. The kind who doesn’t know basic science or who to trust. But you guessed, at this point, you didn’t either. You raised your arm.

Smack. In a flash, his head was tossed to the side.

“Wrong answer.”

If Cole wasn’t going to give what you needed, maybe Lloyd could, or maybe he and his tight lips could be the vessel to get the Turner heir to squeal.

You took a step to your left, putting yourself directly in front of Lloyd.

“Where?”

Your voice was even and low. Calm, yet rage-lined. You were so sick of all this shit. You had no room to feel sad or worried anymore. All that was left was anger. At the situation, at yourself. It filled you, but it fueled you. Lloyd shook his head, paired with his shoulders that jumped up and down with laughter. Your fists tightened at the way you could tell he wasn’t taking you seriously.

“Oh, come on, Pumpkin. You’re a smartie. Bet you’re a sweet peach just like your friend, too, but I’m not giving up whe-“

Punch. Right to the jaw. It was almost in slow motion as Lloyd fell to the hay floor in a heap with a dull thump and a rustle. You had pinpointed the right spot and knocked him out cold. Your eyes quickly fixed on Cole again, seeing a new wave of fear had swept across his face.

“Is that motivation enough for you to help us now?”

He furiously nodded, but then looked back over his shoulder at Cherry. “I’ll talk to her.”

You could see the surprise on her face, but he was in no place to make demands. Just as you were about to speak up, Steve’s voice filled the barn.

“No way. You lost your right to negotiate when you let Lloyd cross that line. You talk to me or you don’t have a tongue to talk anymore. Got it?”

You watched Cole gulp in fear. That was on him for refusing to deal directly with you, and now he got Steve, who you didn’t even know the capabilities of, never having witnessed him in this environment before. All of the unknowns hitting you at once were too much. You had to get out of there, so you turned on your heel and swiftly exited the barn, fast walking away. Anywhere else.

You grumbled and shook your head as your boots brushed through the tall grass. “Fucking dumbass mobsters.”

Present

The mid-morning sun was high and bright in your eyes as you continued on the highway back home. You were exhausted, but things would get better once you got back to work. Right? They had to.

You turned in your seat, cracking your back and doing your best to stretch in the confined space. You took the opportunity to reach around, too, opening the glove compartment, shifting items around.

Peter was attempting to keep his eyes on the road, but his gaze kept flashing to you. “Everything alright, Miss Decks?”

You groaned in frustration, rifling through the drinks in the center console. Of course it was a cooler.

“Where does Bucky keep the sunglasses? He’s gotta have an extra pair somewhere. Rich bastard is rarely unprepared, I know it.”

Peter reached up near the rear view mirror and popped open a sunglasses holder where you saw a pair of dark frames.

“Ah, thank you, Five.”

You grabbed them and closed the holder, before sliding them on your face, crossing your arms, and scooting back down in the passenger seat. There was still a ways to go, and this was a little better so you didn’t go blind.

Just as you started nodding off for a nap, you felt a buzzing in your pocket. You let out a big sigh and pulled out your phone, rolling your eyes when you saw who it was: Bee. You groaned as you hit the button to answer the call, putting it on speaker in case there was something she had to say to Peter.

“What?”

There was a deep breath taken on the other side of the line. “Well good morning to you, too, Sunshine. How’s the drive going? You kind of left abruptly.”

You continued to stare out at the road, more cars having joined alongside you as the day continued.

“Yeah. Couldn’t waste anymore time. Had to get back for the shift they need me for this afternoon.”

You heard her hum, knowing exactly what her face was from that noise. Most definitely tight-lipped and skeptical.

“Yeah, okay. And this isn’t you running away from your problems, right?”

You were silent for a second. She didn’t need to call you out like that. You were fine. It was all…fine. Maybe if you could convince her of that, you could convince yourself, too.

“What problems? We got Curtis back. Bucky is gonna help you figure out everything to keep your farm and then some I bet. No issues here except me having to go to work.”

It was Bee’s turn to stay silent now. It’s not like she was ever an excessive talker, but both of you knew that if she wasn’t gracing you with a response, she could see right through you and was waiting for you to state the conclusion on your own. Her silence drove you crazy.

“Okay, fine! I’m going back to my job to drown myself in test analysis reports and probably straining my eyes at the microscope again. Is that what you wanna hear?”

She let out a dry laugh from the other end of the line.

“While I admire the hustle, partner, you know it’s not. I wanna hear you talk about exactly what’s going on with a certain blonde puppy that’s pouting in my living room right now. But…since I love you I can give you good news first.”

Good news didn’t sound like something that could exist right now. But before you could catch more of those thoughts, you were interrupted by the clearing of a throat next to you. Oh right, Five was driving this car.

“Ugh. Before you speak more, hold on. Because this is between me and you, and I don’t need someone reporting this information to his boss.”

You looked over at Peter and the way his brow furrowed.

“Five, can I count on you to keep whatever you hear in this conversation a secret?”

He simply gave a curt nod.

“Discretion is my entire job description, Miss Decks.”

You sighed. It was exactly what you wanted to hear, but was it just that?

“Yeah, but do you have to report everything I say to your superiors?”

Peter shrugged. “I have to follow their orders…so if they tell me to…yes.”

“But isn’t your primary order right now to protect me? So protect me by not saying anything to Steve. What’s he gonna do? Hold a gun to your head?”

Peter was silent.

“Oh my god, he’s not gonna put a gun to your head, is he!?”

Peter spared a quick glance at you. “Um, I’d hope not. Probably not? No, no, he knows I’d never cross him. Mr. Rogers doesn’t like to get rid of people for no good reason. So definitely not if he knew the order of my silence came from you.”

From the phone in your hand, you heard Bee hum. “Ooooo, Decky, your reputation among the ranks precedes you.”

You rolled your eyes. “I’d tell you to shut up, but I’m actually trying to give you the opportunity to speak right now, and I have no desire to hear more about this hierarchy, so talk before I change my mind.”

Humor reached her voice at the way you were beginning to open up to her again. “Oh I love how you love me. You might regret giving that free rein, but I’ll get on with it. This weekend went to… excuse my language…shit, but I didn’t even get to show you your surprise.”

Your ears perked up. “Bee, you what? When on Earth did you have time for that?”

She made an unsure, drawn out sound. “Well…I didn’t. I’ve had my hands pretty full..it’s um, technically from Cole, but you’re gonna like it.”

You scoffed. “How am I going to like something regifted from that fucking weirdo.”

The annoyance she’d been holding back with your bitter mood was starting to show in her voice now. Something very rare. You couldn’t believe you were actually wearing her patience down. “Decks, can you just be nice for one second!? Don’t make me call you by your birth name, because I swear I will. I’ll use the middle one, too! God. It’s a cow. It’s that cow you always asked for. She’s yours and she needs a name. Please be nice to me. I’m trying so hard right now to help you. Try and shed some light on this terrible situation.”

“Okay, okay, fine.” You shrunk in on yourself in your seat and your voice was almost a squeak. As much as you wanted to be annoyed at everything and how it did truly go to shit, you couldn’t blame it on her. It really wasn’t her fault. And this subject change was kind of nice.

Your voice was still small. “So tell me more about this cow. Mini highland?”

Back was her bright tone. “Yep! That’s the one. Light brown and adorable. You wanna rif on it?”

You sighed. “Um…maybe not right now? But I really do appreciate it. Give that girl a nice spa day for me, will you?”

You couldn’t see it, but you were sure she was nodding on the other side of the phone.

“Yeah, yeah. I will.”

Earlier last night (right after returning from the bar)

Steve and Bucky had converted one of the barns on the property into a makeshift interrogation room while Cole and Lloyd were still out cold, Bucky having knocked them out as a result of the fight in the bar. He knew you had driven Cherry home, but had no idea where you were now as he walked around the barn entrance, kicking stray rocks and looking up at the clear sky, littered with stars. All he could think about was sharing that view with you.

Over his shoulder, he could hear the grass rustling from footsteps and suddenly next to him stood Bucky. Steve looked at his best friend with a halfhearted smile, the pain evidently seeping through. It wasn’t going to be an easy night by any means, but Bucky knew it was much harder for Steve than him. Steve sighed, comfortable enough to speak his mind. He had to get this out, voicing something would keep him from combusting.

“It’s so beautiful. All the times I’ve been out here, I haven’t gotten the chance to look up at the sky at night without all the light pollution. Decks would love this. I bet she knows all the constellations.”

Bucky let out a small chuckle at the obsessive thoughts of his friend. He had a point, though, and he felt it a little more as he heard Bee walk up behind him, slotting her fingers between his own and setting her head on his shoulder. Steve continued to stare upward with a small, wistful sigh as Bee spoke over the light chirp of the crickets.

“She does. She took an astronomy elective in college. The stars are no use enjoying alone. You should be staring up at them together, but she needs to come to that conclusion on her own now that she knows everything.”

Steve nodded, huffed, then wiped his tired eyes with the heels of his palms, finally dropping his head.

“Yeah, you’re right. But I’m going to keep trying. I have to.”

Bee clicked her tongue and looked over at Bucky, responding to Steve. “As you should. Sometimes the best things are the ones someone teaches you to work a little extra for.”

Present

“Now it’s your turn, Decks. What’s really got you twisted?” Bee’s bright voice was louder than you’d like on the phone speaker.

You grumbled your response under your breath.

“What? I couldn’t quite catch that?”

You sighed and took a sip of water from the bottle you pulled out of the cooler, preparing yourself to finally voice the feelings you’d had cooped up inside.

“God, Bee this is so fucking embarrassing. I was stupid and blind. That’s what I’m so mad about, Curtis aside. It was all right in front of me the entire time. I should’ve seen it coming. I mean, Bucky, Steve, Lillian, Lloyd. They were all right there! And I missed them! I’m a terrible civic servant. I should just rescind that application I sent to the FBI.”

You huffed after having said your peace, but were glad the phone wasn’t up by your ear when her voices busted through the speaker again.

“WAIT, you applied to the FBI!? Decks, why didn’t you tell me?!”

You shrugged. “I don’t know, didn’t feel right at the time when I was at your house. And I didn’t want it over call or text in case the NSA or someone else was listening, but what does it matter now? I’m a terrible investigator.”

You thought for a second before speaking up again. “I shouldn’t have tried to make all this for myself. Maybe my mom was right and I should’ve looked for a husband a long time ago. Settled down or something and stopped pushing to have more. The world’s been trying to tell me that’s all I’m good for, but obviously even that’s something I mess up.”

“Ugh, Decks. You’ve gotta stop with that malarkey your mom fed you. Sure, she’s great and she stayed home once she found a husband, but that doesn’t have to be you. You’ve told me several times you don’t want that to be you. If that’s what you want now, great, but I know you and I know it’s not. I think you should keep going for your goals. You’d be great in the FBI.”

You wanted to smile at the compliment, but you felt like a fool. “Would I, though? For the several reasons I just told you? Plus, even if I were to get in, they do background checks. And interviews of family and friends. How’s it gonna look if my best friend is involved with the mob? And so is that guy that I kissed, like twice, but wanted to do way more than kiss with? And oh yeah, his best friend, which also happens to be the aforementioned best friend’s boyfriend? Also mob. And let’s add another friend getting kidnapped by a dirty lawyer, once again, mob, to the list. Can’t hide that.”

Bee sighed in contemplation. “Well, uh, actually, you can. Technically on paper I’m a produce contractor for Bucky’s restaurants. That’s why they’ve got all the businesses, bestie.”

“But even if that does work for the interview process, my luck won’t roll on forever. So maybe cut ties are for the best. But also, do they really even matter? Like, not really at this point. Nothing matters. I’ll just stay in the city, do my little science experiments like a monkey for those fuckwads like Walker, and maybe get a cat. It’ll be grand.”

Bee almost growled. You were sure it was terrifying in person. “Can you just stop feeling sorry for yourself!? I didn’t want to have to pull out the tough love but you leave me no choice. Yeah, this whole thing is fucked up. You got lied to, and I’m sorry for that. But honestly, nothing was fake. I’ll tell you that for a fact. And I know you know it, too. You can join the FBI if you want. You can keep your digital footprint and paper trail clean, and you can find happiness on your own terms. I’m this close to saying I’m sick of this sour behavior, Decks. If anyone can find their way out of a tangled mess like the one you think you’re caught up in, it’s you. So like you always do, put your head down and stop complainin’!”

You didn’t want to dignify this all with a response, so she kept going, but something on the other end of the line was trying to get her attention. “Listen, I’ve gotta go. But you know where I stand. On all of this. On you, on Steve, on your job. You can call me whenever, just think about it and stop selling yourself short. I know you’ve got this whole hard, tough exterior going for you, and it’s great. I love it, because I know the softness underneath. But don’t let that all harden, too. I can see you want it to because yeah, this all hurts, but that’s not gonna help your pain. It’s just gonna trap it there.”

What the fuck was this wise sage advice? She was turning into her uncle slowly. You were sure of it. Unfortunately, that didn’t mean she was wrong, though, but you didn’t want to hear it. So you simply put your hood up and pulled the strings tight. Her voice held a tone of disappointment, but also empathy at your continued silence; it was softer now.

“I love you, and I care for you, and I want you to know, I never would have let Steve get that close to you if I didn’t think it could bloom into something amazing. For both of you. It’s beyond just having someone else there. I know you’re mad, but maybe give him a chance. Okay? I’ve really gotta go now. Bye.”

The dial tone signaling the end of the call filled the car. You watched as Peter’s hands adjusted on the wheel and the city skyline came into view.

The thing was, after getting all of that out to Bee and listening to her, you realized you weren’t really mad, but it all just hurt. It was a pain that came from heartbreak. Someone you trusted let you down; multiple people. But you weren’t sorry about how you acted because of it. And to your surprise, you weren’t sorry about much that had happened at all, but for now, you needed to focus on you.

Late last night (after the interrogation)

Steve stayed light on his feet as he ducked and made his way through the tall grass of the farm field. After your…. convincing argument… as to why Cole should speak up, he spilled everything to Bucky and Steve. And it was everything. The extent of his deals with Lloyd, his original plans to overtake Bee’s farm, the true financial state of his own empire, and the fact that he and Lillian were seeing each other. Which was…frankly, more than Steve was willing to hear.

All of that information, though, led him to one of the newer locations of the Turner farms. One that specialized in cattle feed and storage, so no live animals on the property, just fallow and crop fields, and several barns and silos.

Steve rushed through the tall grass, flanked by Bucky and his men, giving silent hand signals as orders. They were to make as little of a scene as possible, which would’ve been successful if Lillian’s men hadn’t made a mess of everything. Shooting without silencers, screaming, making the entire scene evident to any onlookers. They were lucky they were in the middle of nowhere. Someone might just mistake it all as a farmer’s altercation with a coyote.

After having taken care of the two guards outside one of the barns while Bucky and his men handled the rest of the area, Steve was on alert as he slid the barn door open on the largest of the several buildings. The early morning light lit up the dim barn, illuminating Curtis’s face. Steve wanted to feel relief but he had to make sure Curtis was alright first. He surveyed the area as he approached.

Out in front of him, Curtis squinted and spoke with a raspy voice. “Steve?”

Steve gave him a small smile, surprised when Curtis’s face fell a little flat, not giving much emotion.

“Hey there, partner. I’m here for retrieval service.”

He walked around behind Curtis and crouched down, pulling the knife out of his breast pocket, flicking it open, and cutting the wrist restraints. Curtis immediately brought his hands to his front, rubbing the tender area.

“Did you get Lillian? She was outside. And all the guards? Is everyone else okay? How’s Cherry? Decks? Bee?”

Steve walked around to Curtis’s front, crouching once again to begin sawing at the ropes that held his ankles.

“The girls are good. Safe on the farm being guarded, but I think they can handle themselves. Your girl has taken this quite well all things considered.”

Steve broke through the ropes and looked up at Curtis’s face. There was a cut on his cheek that appeared to be bruising slowly.

“Lillian got you pretty good, huh? Don’t worry, we’ve got her now. And Lloyd and Cole. They’re getting delivered back to an old friend in the city as we speak. Probably won’t have to see their faces ever again. That’s a blessing.”

Steve thought back to Lillian meeting him and Bucky at the edge of the property when they first arrived, gun and singular henchman at the ready, easily overpowered by the two of them. Backup must have been lagging. They were easily set in the back of one of the SUVs in the brigade to be sent away. Good riddance, she was terrible and Curtis didn’t even know the half of it.

Curtis nodded in assent. “You could say that again.”

Steve looked Curtis once over, checking for any more injuries, satisfied to not see anything too bad. She must’ve been planning something terribly drawn out and he was lucky she never got there. “Can you walk?”

Curtis nodded and groaned as he threw his hands to his knees and pressed out of the uncomfortable metal chair.

“Yeah…you never really answered all of my questions, though, city boy, at least not fully….”

Steve internally winced, hoping that would squeak past, but it didn’t. He walked with Curtis up to the edge of the barn, peeking out to check if the coast was clear and speaking into an ear piece, indicating Curtis had been picked up and was ready for transport. He nodded with confirmation and his shoulders relaxed a little, although Steve grabbed the gun from the holster on his hip just in case, keeping it low as they shuffled out into the open field. One could never be too cautious of Lillian, but this didn’t seem like a plan that was thought out very well.

Steve and Curtis stepped out onto the land of one of the Turners farms. It was a newer one, a shame, yet somewhat satisfying by how much of it was on fire right now. The barn behind them was already up in flames, per the boss’s orders.

Steve led Curtis back to his black SUV parked on the gravel road, but looked at the farmer with confusion as Curtis took it upon himself to go towards the driver’s seat, despite the way Steve was very evidently guiding him towards the passenger side. Curtis held his hand out for the keys expectantly. Steve was nervous, he didn’t like the look on his face one bit. It was stern, demanding, and…protective? And it perfectly matched his vocal tone.

“Come on. While I drive home, you’re gonna walk me through your plan to get Decks back. If the next time I see her, she’s as mopey as she’s been this weekend, or worse yet, this hardens her, you’ll have hell to pay.”

Steve sighed as he settled into his seat. “Okay, okay. But I think I’m gonna need a lot of your input. Just be nice about it.”

Curtis raised a skeptical brow at Steve as he pulled out onto the country road. Steve wished he could crawl out of his skin. He might have just risked his life to save Curtis, but now he was on edge, faced with having to confront not only what he did wrong, but how he planned to fix it, and the fact that it may never be good with you again.

In Steve’s extended silence, Curtis decided to speak up, one hand on the wheel to slightly turn his body.

“You know, Steve, I’ve always been a little skeptical of you.”

Steve’s heart was beating fast. He wasn’t blind. Something about the two of them just never clicked.

“But that doesn’t mean I don’t like you. I think you and I just don’t understand the way each other ticks. I don’t know why you do the things you do.”

Steve cleared his throat, turning towards Curtis to hear more.

“Way back when, Decks dated a friend of mine. It didn’t really go anywhere, but I knew I didn’t like it and I wasn’t sure why.”

Steve nodded in anticipation to where this was going.

“I came to realize it was because I was protective, because I know her. And I know she’s tough, but there’s a lot more vulnerability under that surface. And from that moment, I saw, too, that anyone who dated her without taking special consideration for that wasn’t my friend. Anyone who didn’t bare their own intentions and thoughts like I knew she was bound to do, wasn’t a friend.”

Steve shifted in discomfort. “So you don’t think I care? You don’t think I’m honest?”

Curtis blew out a breath. “I can tell you care, but I think you were a little too comfortable withholding the truth from someone who put their inner self on display for you.”

Steve nodded in understanding. He knew what he did was wrong, but he had no idea what the true gravity of it was.

“So, you got anything more to say about it, buddy? How are you going to apologize? How will you say you’re sorry and deserving of her?”

Steve wiped a hand down over his face.

“I-I don’t know. Maybe send her something? Some food, whatever she might want? Do you know what she might want? A car? A-“

Curtis stopped him right there. “I don’t think so. You can’t buy her forgiveness. How are you showing it to her? Plus, you can’t give her a car. The FBI will flag your connection to her real quick and I won’t let your feelings and lack of knowledge make a smudge on her background check when she just sent in that application.”

Steve sighed. He had no idea you applied to the FBI. Heck, he just learned only a week ago how you got your nickname. It seemed like he was so taken aback with your chemistry, and with hiding his identity, that the two of you skipped over each other as people.

“Okay, I-I didn’t know that. What do I do to show her, then, though?”

Curtis laughed dryly. “That’s for you to figure out. And sure, it could come in the form of gifts, but more so, it should come in the form of you. Do something that shows you’re willing to go by her pace, to learn the way she works and lives her life, not that you’re trying to fit her into yours, or worse yet, have her be an accessory to everything else you have going on. Decks is someone worth prioritizing.”

“Yeah, I know. Fuck. Well then it seems like I’ve got some work to do.”

“Big time. Now, my turn, because I wanna know the extent of hell you and I may have gone through together in another sense. Tell me what Lillian was like growing up.”

Steve smiled a little in the corner of his mouth. Maybe once he fixed it all with you, he and Curtis could get along after all. “Well, I’ll tell you what. I’m a saint compared to her.”

Curtis snickered. “I figured, golden boy.”

Earlier this morning, just before your departure

You shuffled around upstairs in the farmhouse, gathering the few items you came with in preparation to head back home. You knew the boys were out getting Curtis with cautious optimism they’d be back any minute. Bee and Cherry were downstairs, cleaning up the dishes from breakfast as you packed.

As you looked out the window, you saw an SUV turn off the dirt road and onto the driveway. You finished shoving everything else in your bag, slung it over your shoulder and went down the steps. When you got there, you saw Cherry walking out the front door as Bee was digging a broom and dustpan out of the closet.

You dropped your bag on the bench to scope the area, morning light glowing through the curtains. Your survey was cut short, though.

“Decks, be a dear and hold this dustpan for me, won’t you?”

You silently nodded, squatting down and looking at the shattered coffee mug. Bee didn’t seem on alert, though. She seemed relieved, and that’s when you heard Curtis’s voice on the other side of the door. You perked up before going to throw away the ceramic shards.

Just as you were dusting off your hands, the front door creaked open revealing Curtis a little battered and bruised, but walking just fine. As Bee put away the broom, you ran up to him and threw your arms around his neck. Your voice was muffled by the fabric of his shirt.

“I never thought I’d have to say a statement like this twice in a couple months, but I’m so happy you’re alive.”

Curtis laughed and rubbed your back. “Sure am. And I agree. That’s enough mob business for now.”

You let out a watery laugh, pulling away and letting Bee in to see her cousin. The door remained open and your eyes went straight to your bag again. As you grabbed it and put it over your shoulder, you quickly shuffled out the door, past the two large and suited men, running towards the third one who had agreed to drive you home.

Steve had walked in the house, ready to talk to you, but was caught by surprise when you zipped past him. As Bucky joined the group in the living room, ready to debrief everyone, all Steve could focus on was you. He lurched forward on his feet, shoved by Curtis, and used the momentum to jog down to Bucky’s car where you had already gotten in the passenger seat.

Peter was still standing outside the driver’s side as you looked straight ahead, arms crossed and ready to leave now that Curtis was alright. You had no intention of speaking with Steve, even though he was knocking on your window with a concerned look on his face.

“Decks. Hey, can I talk to you for a second?”

You shook your head just barely enough for him to see.

“Please? I want to apologize. I’m sorry.”

You reached a hand out to lower the window just a crack, still not granting him eye contact.

“Sorry for what, Steven?”

He took a deep breath, leaning forward so his one hand sat on the roof of the car, the other bracing the side mirror.

“Sorry for lying. Betraying your trust. Keeping the truth from you.”

You nodded, your lips pursed in slight anger and consideration. You finally whipped your head to face him.

“Did you ever think that maybe I wanted the choice, Steve? To know the truth. Decide whether or not what I felt for you was real by knowing all of you? You took that away from me.”

He nodded, staring down at the rocks in front of his feet. “I know, I know. That’s…..that was bad decision-making on my part-“

“See, but you got to make a decision. I didn’t. There’s a difference there. All that time spent together was a lie and a borderline waste.”

Steve shook his head, the watery blue of his eyes finally rising to meet yours again. “I don’t think it was. All those times with me, they were the real me, and I know they were the real you, too. That’s something I’ll never be sorry for: our time together. But I am sorry for taking the choice of you knowing what I might be getting you into.”

“You should be.” You faced forward in your seat again and rolled your window up, hearing Steve’s demands to Peter through the glass.

Next >

Bonus A/N: ooooooh! What does it all mean!? Hehehe🫣 was Curtis too nice to Steve? Be honest. Was bee too nice to Decks? Should she have pushed her back towards Steve a little harder?

Taglist: @evie-119 @hawkeyes-queen @ronearoundblindly @thedonswife13 @mercurial-chuckles @thezombieprostitute

[diazheartsbuckley]

🎓🎓🎓

❤️‍🔥❤️‍🔥❤️‍🔥

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Hello dear 💗

Make me write ✍🏻

NSFW under cut

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“I could get fired if anyone found out about this” Eddie breathes out against the soft curve of Buck’s neck, slipping his hands underneath the hem of Buck’s shirt. A wave of heat connects with his fingertips, almost luring him in and at that moment, he knows that he’s lost. Lost in the feeling and taste and smell of one Evan Buckley. And he knows that he wants to stay there for as long as he possibly can.

Firm hands connect with his hips, pulling him closer and then make their way into Eddie’s hair, slightly tugging at it and Eddie hates how easily that sends all the blood rushing from his head to his already aching cock.

“Better make it worth your while then” Buck murmurs, opening his eyes to look at the man in front of him and their lips connect in a sloppy, passionate and almost dirty kiss as Buck yanks at Eddie’s shirt, sending buttons flying everywhere around them.

“Mhm… I really liked that shirt” Eddie breathes out against Buck’s lips, then glances down at his naked chest and Buck just smiles, looking immensely pleased with himself.

“Liked being the keyword here, professor. Semantics are important, you taught me that” Buck whispers before his lips graze against Eddie’s bare nipple.

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“Why the hell do you never know when to shut up?” Eddie hisses through gritted teeth and Buck’s smile just grows bigger, knowing whatever Eddie is going to do to him is going to be the best thing that ever happens to him.

“Guess you haven’t given me reason to shut up yet, lieutenant” Buck tilts his head as he slowly unties his sweatpants, letting his fingertips slip beneath the waistband as he never loses eye contact with the older man.

It sends Eddie’s blood pressure rocketing to see Buck touching himself and he’s barely even doing anything - until he is. Eddie sees Buck’s hand grabbing around his own cock and he slowly begins to jerk himself off without ever breaking eye contact.

“Enough!” Eddie raises his voice but Buck doesn’t stop, it only seems to egg him on and soon he begins to moan too, panting Eddie’s name as he touches himself. It only takes Eddie four long strides before he makes it across the room, grabs Buck by the wrists and pins him up against the wall, ass pressed against his cock and he can tell that it’s giving Buck exactly what he wants.

He backs away and to his surprise, Buck stays in place but reacts to the sound of Eddie opening his belt buckle, pink lip tugged in between his teeth as he watches Eddie getting fully undressed. “Instead of mouthing off, I think we should put that mouth to good use” Eddie spins Buck around and Buck almost instinctively drops to his knees in front of him and all of the dirty fantasies that Eddie has ever had about this moment could never do the real thing justice.

⛪️⛪️⛪️⛪️

“Los Diablos Rojos? Eddie, those guys are bad news” Buck says, frowning a little. He hears how it sounds, coming from him, as if he hasn’t done regrettable things in his life and as if he hasn’t made people hurt and suffer.

But Eddie is out of that life now. At least he’s supposed to be. And Buck feels an instant wave of anger and guilt washing over him, because he has a feeling that this has something to do with him. They’re using Eddie as leverage to make him back out of a deal with another gang.

“Yeah, you don’t have to tell me that” Eddie mumbles, a bitter taste in his mouth forming in his mouth as he gets a moment to think about his past.

This is why he doesn’t let anybody in. This is why he doesn’t trust anyone. Because people get hurt. Because he gets hurt. And the last thing he wants is for Buck to get hurt.

A tag for the wifey @tizniz 💗

[tcfactory]

I know we technically have a canon look for Balduran as a combination of people peeling the hood off him in the flashback, the mural and the statues (and it was one of the things people gave me shit about when I initially tried to be more involved in the fandom), but I have a very 'it's boring so I'm ignoring it' reaction to it. Because come on, the man was a sailor and adventurer, are you really telling me he sat still long enough for people to get that good a likeness of him for his statues? Go wild, I say!

So here's the thought process behind my take on Balduran:

Probably looked quite ordinary as a baseline, like any other local guy. A little darker to begin with, he's going to spend his entire life at sea, let the guy have some melanin so he won't burn like a sad piece of toast. Has an uneven tan whenever he returns from a voyage, you know how that goes, no time to laze around and sunbathe for the sake of aesthetics when there's sailing to be done. His skin is windbitten and freckled, with the odd scar here and there. He can probably tell you where each scrape came from and he's remarkably consistent about it for someone who's making up at least half of these anecdotes, because "I slipped on a puddle when I tried to sneak up on Ansur for a kiss and headbutted him instead" is much too embarrassing to share in public.

A little older, at least forties, and has all the little signs to show for it - wrinkles (laugh lines!!) and white hairs, a lifetime of adventures tattooed all over his skin - maybe only in places where he can cover them up when making a public appearance, but this is a man who got tempted away on adventures over and over even when he already had a very good thing going on in Baldur's Gate, you can't tell me he wouldn't have the sea etched into every available inch of his skin.

His hair would be a very nice dark brown, if only he would stay out of the harsh sun for a few months. As it is, his hair is usually sun bleached and the texture leaves something to be desired too except for the times when he's grounded for an extended period of time for some reason or another. Probably wears it in a style popular around port, too, because he might be a high-charisma liar (rip Emperor, ceremorphosis tanked his charisma into the single digits), but he isn't ashamed of being a sailor. Has his ears pierced, but probably only puts in his earrings when he's on shore. I like the thought of him being like quarter-elf, with his ears just slightly pointy.

In general, he's the sort of man you could lose at the dock because he wouldn't look out of place at all. Especially if he takes his shirt off. Just one sailor among all the others, nothing to see here. You wouldn't clock him as The Balduran unless you knew or you saw him on the Wandering Eye.

Not how the city wanted to depict their founder, honestly. So there was some uuuuuh creative license employed when they made the statues. Because while it's all fun and games to have a local hero whose modus operandi is, at least part of the time, "I roll to seduce the sea monster and sneak away with the treasure while it's too busy making a fool of itself", it's a little awkward when he 100% looks that way too. That, sir, is a scoundrel, a trickster, an adventurer. A man who can say "my lady, I can't marry you because I have a dragon husband back in port and he's terribly jealous" and people don't doubt for a moment that he's telling the truth, because he looks the part. Of course Balduran kisses dragons, have you heard what other kinds of crazy nonsense he gets up to? Anyway...

[casually-eat-my-soul]

Stiles should get a spine tattoo, especially one that lead directly around the neck area; for several reasons. 1. It would actually drive Derek insane.

The tattoo should also be in red ink

[idiopathicsmile]

a horror movie about making a horror movie. wait, don't walk away. a horror movie about one of those grueling seventies productions that broke every OSHA rule—long, exhausting shoots in the middle of the woods, presided over by one of those directors convinced of his own genius and certain the only way to get the performances he needs is to relentlessly isolate and gaslight his female lead. the crew are terrified of the director's outbursts and so are going along with it. there's one other woman in the cast but she plays the one who takes her shirt off earlier in the film and then dies, and the director has done everything in his power to turn these two people against each other, the better to keep his female lead unbalanced and unsure, and when the deeply disquieting scary stuff starts happening for real, the female lead has nobody to confide in and assumes it is the director very characteristically going out of his way to fuck with her. one of the camera operators gets possessed and is being flung around the trees, head spinning as he oozes an acidic black liquid and the female lead is like, "i can't let fucking jerry think he's getting to me." and then—this may be too much, idk—the only way the two actresses can figure out what's really going on is to acknowledge that they've been pitted against each other and that they really don't have any reason beyond this not to trust each other, so they compare notes and that's how they discover that hey, this production actually is cursed.

[roanofarcc]

WORTH YOUR WHILE

pairing. Tyler Owens x fem!reader

summary. as the local weather woman, you shared an interesting rivalry with your hometown storm-chaser. while you always reported on the dangerous weather from a safe distance, tyler barreled into it head-first. but things change the night of the county fair when you find yourself in the middle of a storm rather than in the safely of a newsroom. 

warnings. dramatic fluff, hurt/comfort, description of tornados, a curse word or two, description of injury, slightly inaccurate meteorological info.

word count. 2.9k || masterlist

a/n. hopping on the glen powell bandwagon bc he and daisy absolutely killed it in twisters!! feel free to send me requests for tyler, kate, and javi!

“If you keep looking at him like that your face will get stuck in a scowl, which is really bad for television,” your friend said, leaning into your side. With a roll of your eyes, you managed to pull your attention away from the self-titled ‘tornado wrangler’ who had stirred up a fuss in the line for funnel cakes. People buzzed all around him as he signed shirts and took photos, never dropping his smile that you often dreamed about smacking right off of his face. 

You had grown up alongside Tyler Owens, never as friends but as friends of friends. After you both split off for school to study meteorology, you returned to your hometown for very different reasons. Tyler started in the business of storm chasing, live streaming his adventures to people all across the internet who sensationalized the dangerous weather, and you scored a job as your hometown’s Weather Woman. Your job was to warn people about the threat of tornados while his was to drive head-on into them. 

That was where you two drew your lines in the sand when it came to each other. He thought you were scared of taking risks while you thought his thrill-seeking was stupid and would eventually get him or one of his team members hurt. Those opinions on each other's job led to you two butting heads every time you encountered one another. His mere presence was enough to annoy you, especially at your favorite event of the summer, the fair. 

“Look who it is,” Tyler’s voice sounded near you and your friend nudged your arm in the direction of it. You looked away from her just as he approached you, tipping his hat and flashing his teeth in a smile. “Didn’t know they still let you out of the newsroom these days.” 

You crossed your arms over your chest, as the air of arrogance surrounding him nearly choked you out. “Don’t you have a tornado to chase?” you asked, wanting to end the conversation before it fully started. Unfortunately, he never seemed put off by your jabs, but he was assumed by them. 

“I took the night off,” he replied. “I wanted to see if there was anything worth my while here tonight.” 

You raised your brows. “Oh really?” He nodded, smiling brightly at you. “Find anything yet?” 

“Maybe,” he shrugged. “It’d be easier if she answered my phone calls.” 

Tyler disliked you a whole lot less than you disliked him. After you graduated and he started storm chasing, he tried at every given opportunity to get you to join his team. Even years later he still tried to, no matter how many times you told him the risk he was putting himself and his team in every time they barreled into a storm cell. He was relentless but you were happy where you were at. You wanted to help people when it came to severe weather, not make the storm look enticing for internet audiences. 

“I already told you, I’m not interested.” Storm chasing was a dangerous game that you had no intention of playing. Being from the Midwest, you had lived through your share of tornados. Chasing them was not in apart of your career path.

His smile faded slightly before he seemed to snap back to himself. “All I’m saying is, we could use a mind like yours out in the field.” The compliment was nice, you could admit that to yourself, but it wouldn’t win you over. He knew that too. “But suit yourself.” And with that he walked off, meeting up with the rest of his team that joined him at the fair that night. 

Your friend whistled lowly. “I don’t know how you do it,” she said. 

“Do what?” 

“Say no to a man like that.” You rolled your eyes once more as the line you were in moved. As she stepped forward to order, you threw a quick glance over your shoulder in the direction Tyler had walked off in. You saw him happily chatting with his team before glancing back at you for just a moment before you returned your gaze forward.

The rest of the evening passed in a blur of colorful lights, sticky heat, and enough fried food to make your stomach ache in the best possible way. Your friend left after a couple hours of roaming the prize barns and laughing at the kids screaming their heads off on the carnival rides, but you stuck around for a little longer, relishing in the sweet nostalgia the fair brought you. 

Before you had taken a couple of well-deserved days of work, you and your team had predicted a storm front moving. Later that night was supposed to bring rainfall and a thunderstorm or two popping up around the county and neighboring areas. You thought you’d have plenty of time to roam the fair for a little longer until it hit, but you noticed the shift in the weather almost immediately. The sudden uptick in wind pricked the back of your neck as the distant rumble of thunder echoed above the fair chaos. 

It was difficult to predict everything, that you had learned early on in your career. It also was hard to predict how quickly weather could change from bad to deadly. One moment you’re gazing up through the lights into the night sky, trying to gauge the incoming storm, and the next, the sirens are blaring across the fairgrounds. 

The crowd of people running in every direction made the walkways hazardous. You were knocked into and jostled around as you tried to run toward the restrooms that doubled as storm shelters. They were clear at the opposite end of the walkway, but they were your closest option. You dodged and weaved through the swarms of people, trying to stay on your feet. 

You only made it halfway to the shelter when you were stopped by the awful cries of a little girl who sat under the counter of one of the carnival games. She hugged her knees to her chest and called out for her mom, but no one who rushed by stopped. You didn’t think twice before you sidestepped the fleeing crowd and crouched down in front of the little girl. The wind picked up significantly, blowing the cheap prizes right out of the booths and sending everything flying around and knocking into people. 

“Hey, sweetheart,” you raised your voice above the howl of wind and frantic people. 

“My mom!” she cried harder. “I lost her. I don’t know where she is!” 

You glanced back up at the sky. The lightning strikes illuminated the massive, dark mass moving in quickly. “Come with me, and I’ll help you find her, okay?” 

The noise all around grew louder, frightening the little girl, along with yourself, but as you outstretched your hand, she took it, and you quickly pulled her to her feet before you both took off running. The speakers urged everyone to seek shelter immediately, but you watched as people raced in the opposite direction of the shelters, probably bee-lining to cars in an awful call. They’d never out race it. 

“Charlotte!” Someone screamed and the little girl whipped her head around before she tugged hard on your hand. From behind you, the little girl’s mother appeared, immediately scooping up her daughter in her arms. “Oh my, God. Thank you!” she said, looking at you with teary eyes. 

“We have to take cover,” you told her, gently pushing her forward. “The shelter’s just up that way.” She thanked you again before she took off with her daughter in her arms. You wanted to follow, it was stupid not to when the wind gusts became more powerful, rattling everything dangerously and making it hard to think. But there were more people unsure of where to go and what to do. Groups of kids who had been dropped off for the evening stumbling frantically out of the rides and still dizzy. You stepped from the path and tried to direct people as best you could, shouting in tune with the speaker and the sirens for them to hurry into the shelter. 

It wasn’t until larger objects were plucked from the ground and tossed into the air like paper did you abandoned your aiding. The tornado screeched to life, ripping apart pieces of the show barns and rides with ease. You tried to close the distance between yourself and the shelter once more, but it wasn’t people in need that stopped you, it was a sheet of metal pried from the side of one of the food trucks. You tried to dodge the hurling objects, but the sheet came at you hard and fast. 

It sliced your shin, sending a wave of pain up through the rest of your leg. You stumbled, determined to stay upright, but the wind was too strong for your limping figure, and you toppled against the concrete, slamming your knees against the ground before you rolled over into the lousy shelter of a game’s tent somehow still standing. 

Panic started to set in as the storm raged around you, loud and monstrous. You covered your wound with your hands, unsure of where the blaring of the tornado ended and the fast-paced beat of your heart started, drumming in your ears and beating against your skull. You knew you couldn’t stay there, but leaving was just as dangerous as every attraction of the fair swirled around in the air. The cut from your leg painted your hands red and throbbed; it would only slow you down if you tried to run, creating even more of a risk. 

You didn’t know what to do. All of your life, the storms you had faced you’d always been lucky enough to find shelter in plenty of time, from the cellar in your backyard to your high school’s basement created just for such an occasion. 

Through the freight train sounding winds and your thundering heart, you heard a couple of voices that had to be close. Tearing your eyes away from the cut on your leg, you watched as another group of people sprinted down the walkway as someone yelled behind them to run. 

In all of your life, you’d never been so relieved to see Tyler Owens’s face standing just a few feet away; he hadn’t spotted you, and for a terrifying moment you thought he’d be unable to hear you yell out above the screaming storm. But somehow, he did. His head snapped in your direction, rain-coated and windblown, looking both out of sorts and in his element. 

“What the hell are you doing?” he yelled as he ran over to you, dodging flying debris that grew larger by the minute. The second he crouched down in front of you, his eyes flickered onto your legs, and the blood seeping out between your fingers as you tried to keep pressure on the wound. 

“I thought I’d just hang out here,” you said, your sarcasm watered down by the fear clear in your teary eyes.

His brows furrowed, deep in thought for a moment as he looked between you and the distance there was still to cross to the only close shelter. Without saying a word, he peeled off his wet flannel, leaving himself in a shirt that was already nearly soaked through as the sideways rain beat down against the both of you. “I’m gonna tie this around your leg and then we’re gonna run, okay?” 

You shook your head frantically. The ache in your legs was intense and you had already lost a good amount of blood, not enough to make you woozy but you were well on your way. It felt like your heart had crawled up your throat, making it hard to breathe as panic soaked you to the bone along with the rain. Everything around you seemed to be ripped from the ground, even the anchored tent you were under was seconds away from being picked up. 

“Hey,” he said, grabbing a hold of your shoulders, shaking you slightly. “It’ll be alright. You gotta trust me, though.” The sincerity shined in his eyes, bright as the rest of the power around you flickered wickedly. With a nod of your head, you dropped your hands from your leg and let him tie the flannel around your cut. As he pulled it tight, you cried out in pain. “I’m sorry,” he kept repeating until it was knotted. Quickly, he jumped to his feet and helped you up, looping an arm around your waist as you slung an arm around his shoulders. 

“Ready?” You didn’t get a chance to respond as the tent you were under was plucked from the ground, anchors and all, and flung backward into the tornado as it tore through the front entrance of the fairgrounds. Tyler took off, giving you no choice but to follow. 

You two stayed low, trying desperately to avoid the flying objects. With each step your leg burned, but Tyler’s hold on you was strong, not giving any room for you to lag behind or slip away. It felt like hours of running, but it was no more than a minute or two before you reached the shelter. The only major injury between the two of you was your leg, otherwise, you both collected a series of little cuts and bruises from your journey. 

Stumbling into the restroom, you were met with a hoard of scared fairgoers. You two managed to find a spot to slot yourself in with everyone else. He helped you lower yourself to the floor back in the corner just as the tornado was fully on top of you. You brought your knees up to your chest and covered your head. Tyler sat flushed against your side; you felt his hands rest over the top of yours as the building rattled violently. Squeezing your eyes shut, you refused to see the damage until the howl of wind subsided and people started to stir. 

Once it was over, everyone stumbled out of the shelter, getting jumbled together as police and ambulances rushed to the scene. Amongst people pushing and shoving to find their loved ones and get the hell home, you and Tyler were separated and before you could look for him, an EMT caught sight of your bloodied leg and ushered you to one of the ambulances. 

You sat on the back after the EMT stitched up your leg, looking over the torn-apart fairgrounds. Debris was littered everywhere, food trucks and carts overturned and some demolished, and rides were dislocated and strewn about in pieces. 

You clutched the bloodied flannel to your chest, shivering in the loss of adrenaline and temperature drop, and watched the sea of people until a familiar face popped into view, looking a little frantic as he stumbled through the crowd looking like he was in search of something. His eyes finally settled on you before he quickly pushed his way through the crowd until he reached you. 

“Hi,” you greeted, smiling tiredly. 

“I was looking for you everywhere,” he said, sounding slightly out of breath. “I looked away for a second and you were gone and-” You continued to smile, and he stopped himself. “What? Why are you looking at me like that?” 

“Nothing,” you replied quietly before clearing your throat. “I, um, I just wanted to thank you. And I’m sorry for ruining your flannel.” You gestured to the ruined piece of clothing resting in your lap. 

Tyler was quiet for a moment, looking at the large bandage around your shin. “Don’t mention it,” he said, brushing off your thanks like he hadn’t just pretty much saved your life. “What were you doing out there anyway?” 

You sighed, feeling a creep of embarrassment up your spine. You should’ve known better but at the moment you just wanted to help people and had little regard for your own safety, until your leg was sliced open, that was. “There were people still out there, trying to figure out where to go. I was trying to help.” 

“That was stupid,” he said. “But brave. Stupidly brave, maybe.” 

“Funny. I think I’ve said the same thing about you a time for two.” 

His signature smirk slowly fell onto his lips. “Not to my face.”

“Oh, no. Never.” 

Tyler laughed, gently patting your knee, lingering for a moment before he dropped his hand back at his side. Someone called out your name, and you spotted your friend running back through the crowd. She had called you as soon as you had made it to the ambulance and told you she’d come back to take you home. 

“You should get some rest,” he said. “I’ll see you around.” As he turned around to walk away, you called out to him. 

“Tyler, wait.” He paused. “You should try calling me again. Maybe I’ll answer this time.” Breaking out in a grin, he tipped his hat in another goodbye, leaving you with a new feeling stirring inside your chest. 

Bonus! 

Hours later, after you had cleaned yourself up, you were tucked into bed, reading by the lamp light knowing sleep was probably far off after the events of the night. You didn’t expect your phone to ring that late into the night, and when you glanced at it, you couldn’t help but roll your eyes at the caller ID, but that time it was something besides annoyance that you felt. 

You answered, discarding your book on your nightstand. “You don’t waste any time do you,” you teased. 

“What I can say,” Tyler said on the other line. “I know when I find something worth my while.” 

[dilemmaontwolegs]

You Came, You Called || LN4

Summary: when strangers follow you from the nightclub there’s only one person you want to call.

Warnings: angst, threatening behaviour, fluff

WC: 2.4K

Lando stirred at the sound of his phone ringing on the bedside table. There were few people who could get past the ‘do not disturb’ setting that came into effect after midnight. With bleary eyes he reached for the phone and cringed at the bright light in his face but the sight of your name chased away his exhaustion.

It had been 162 days since you last spoke to him. It had been 162 days since he had ruined everything. He regretted his foolishness for every single one of those days and his stomach flipped at the thought of hearing your voice.

“Hey,” he answered, a flinch following as his voice cracked from lack of use while he slept. He quickly cleared it before trying again. “Hey.”

“Hey, baby.”

Alarm bells rang in his head and he sat up straight. Had you called the wrong man? That thought soured in his mouth.

“I’m on my way home.”

It wasn’t your unsteady voice he was focused on but the male voices that sounded far too close for his liking. “Aw, don’t call your boyfriend. We only want to talk.”

“Where are you?” Lando was already pulling on a pair of sweatpants and grabbing the first shirt he came across. “Are you okay?”

“No,” you whispered with a tremble in your tone. “I miss you.”

“Tell me where you are, sweetheart. I’m on my way.”

“Come on, gorgeous, it’s just a bit of fun,” a man called out and Lando saw red when he heard you choke back a sob. He knew the sound because he had been the reason for it before, and it had haunted him ever since. “He doesn’t have to know.”

“I’m heading towards Chocolat Boutique, please hurry.”

“I’m coming, sweetheart. I’m on my way.” Lando was already racing down to the garage and jumping in his McLaren. The engine roared loudly in the underground space before he tore out onto the street. “Keep talking to me, okay?”

The small store would have closed hours ago, but it was down the street from Jimmyz nightclub which was where you probably had been. He didn’t even know you were in town, and he didn’t have a right to know your whereabouts anymore.

“I’m scared, Lan.” The pain echoed around him as his phone connected to the car and played in surround sound.

“I know you are, but it’s going to be okay. I’m almost there, I promise.” He didn’t care about speeding tickets or running red lights. He flew through the narrow streets as he was forced to listen to the cat calls.

“I didn’t know who to call,” you admitted as you tried to walk faster but your heels hindered any escape. The three men were getting closer but they were in no hurry as they prowled both sides of the street to herd you along.

“You can always call me, love,” Lando swore, taking the last turn fast enough for the tires to squeal in protest. “And I’ll always answer.”

He found you on the footpath clutching your phone to your ear, hand cupped over the microphone as you spoke to him. Fear had widened your eyes and your normal stature cowered under the gaze of the men behind you.

Twisting the steering wheel, Lando skidded to a halt beside you and threw the door open. You had seen him angry before, when races don’t go his way, but this was beyond anger. Waves of rage rolled off him as you leapt into his arms, your trembling form finding itself molding perfectly back into his body. Two puzzle pieces slotting back together.

“I got you, sweetheart,” he soothed as he cradled the back of your head and glared over your shoulder. “You’re safe now.”

He might not have been the most imposing figure but you knew Lando was strong and regularly had boxing lessons for training. You had no doubt that if anything escalated he would use every lesson to protect you, but the cowards shrank back into the shadows of the shops.

“Let’s get you home.”

You were in such a state of shock that you didn’t see Lando wince at his mistake. You hadn’t called his apartment home for 162 days, not since you packed your bags and left. But right now you longed for that place where you had felt so safe and secure, tangled in his sheets and he curled his body around yours.

He opened the passenger door and reluctantly stepped out of your embrace to guide you into the seat. The doors locked as he started the engine and you exhaled a heavy breath of relief when the street was left behind.

Tearing your eyes away from the tinted window, you looked at Lando properly and saw his disheveled appearance. “I’m sorry for waking you.”

“I’m not.” He took his eyes off the road for a second before reaching over to take your hand. “You’re freezing.”

He couldn’t tell if you were shaking because you were cold or if it was the adrenaline leading to shock. Dropping your hand he reached behind your seat to grab a hoodie that was always left in the car. The material was soft and smelled like him as you pulled on, inhaling deeply at the familiarity of the scent.

“I miss stealing these,” you whispered as you buried your cold hands into the front pocket.

Lando chuckled at the admission. He missed seeing his hoodies on you and asking if you knew where his favourite ones were. You would lie and he would smile at how terrible the attempt was.

“You can steal that one, if you want. I have too many now that they don’t mysteriously disappear.”

The car pulled into the garage and you found the space where your car used to park now filled with a pretty Lamborghini. A new sense of sadness hit that of course everything could be upgraded and replaced. “You can take me to my hotel. I wasn’t thinking clearly, you probably have company.”

His lips turned down at the thought and he shook his head. Lando understood why you would assume that, after all it was the reason you had left. What he had thought was harmless flirting had wrought destruction on his relationship with you. He knew he should’ve deleted the messages as soon as they were received but a moment of weakness when he was away from you led him to reply.

He betrayed your trust and he had regretted it ever since.

“There isn’t anyone,” he said as he parked. “There isn’t anyone ever, just to be clear.”

You mulled over his words as you stepped out of the car and accepted his hand, trading the warmth of the pocket for his palm. You kept hearing the insinuation echo with each step in the empty garage.

“Did you go out alone tonight?”

You shook your head. “Ana felt sick so she left. I should have gone with her.”

“So why did you stay?”

You weren’t ready to admit there was a slight hope you would see him so you just shrugged. It was Saturday night in Monaco and Jimmyz was the place to be - especially for a handsome, single man like Lando. You hadn’t wanted it to be this way though.

“I stopped going there after…a couple of months ago,” he said as he unlocked his door.

“Why? You loved that place.”

“I loved going with you,” he corrected. “I got to hold you and dance, show you off to everyone. When I went back, everyone just wanted to use me.”

You could imagine the women fawning over him and the men trying to be his next best friend. Sex or money, it was all they wanted from him.

“I’m sorry, Lan.”

“Lan,” he chuckled, following the light down the hall to his bedroom. The blanket was tossed aside and his charging cord was half hanging from the wall, a testament to how quickly he had left his bed to rescue you. “No one else calls me that anymore. It’s always Lando Norris, full name, so fucking weird. It’s Lando Norris getting out of his car. Oh, look, it’s Lando Norris scratching his nose.”

You laughed at his impersonation and sat at the edge of the bed. It was such an innocent thing but it brought back a million memories made in this room and he was seeing them all too as he stood frozen.

“Are you going to stand there all night, Lando Norris?”

His eyes traced your lips that mocked him before he shook his head of the thought that entered his head. Going to his wardrobe, he grabbed a loose shirt and tossed it to you before turning his back. “That’ll be more comfortable to sleep in than your dress.”

You laughed to yourself as he turned away, despite intimately knowing every inch of your body, until you found his eyes in the reflection of the mirror. His tortured eyes dared you to tell him to look away, but they begged you all the same. Maybe you were feeling grateful for the rescue, or maybe it was just an old habit that you held his gaze as you rose to your feet and let your dress fall to the floor with his hoodie.

His eyes darkened and he groaned, but the sound woke him up from his stupor. “I’ll go sleep on the couch.”

“Wait.” You took a step towards him as he stepped towards the door. “Please stay.”

He heard the fragility in your tone and the residual fear from the evening creeping back. He knew it was a bad idea but he couldn’t find the words to voice them as he gripped the door handle.

You watched his fingers release their tight hold before he nodded. “But please put the shirt on,” he pleaded as you tested his self restraint.

It was summer and the air still held warmth despite the early hour, but you dutifully pulled it over your head and climbed into the sheets. Lando waited until you were completely covered before he walked around to his side of the bed and curled up at the edge.

You both lay in silence, back to back, watching the shadows on the wall as the minutes ticked away. Lando was like a heat seeking missile and he was fighting an internal battle to keep from rolling over and curling his body around yours. You had always loved physical contact, it was comforting to be wrapped in his arms.

You knew he was awake and uncomfortable.

He knew you were awake and uncomfortable.

A few more minutes passed and you could no longer pretend he didn’t exist, or that you didn’t want the comfort he could give. “Lan?”

“Yeah?” His response was instant and you felt the bed shift as he rolled onto his back.

“Stop being weird and just cuddle me so we can get some sleep.”

“I don’t want to make you uncomfortable.”

You giggled and reached blindly for him. “I am already.”

Your hand found his arm and he shimmied across the space until it curled around your waist. His knees tucked behind yours and his breath warmed your neck as he whispered, “I’m sorry. For everything. I know you hate me, but-”

“I don’t,” you interjected, twisting your neck to look at him in the dim light. “I did, I really did. But I don’t anymore.”

“You should. I hurt you so bad. I deserve your hate.”

You swallowed down the lump in your throat and looked away as you admitted aloud what you had known for a while. “I can’t hate you, Lan, not when I still love you.”

Lando froze still behind you and you weren’t sure if he was even breathing. “You still love me?” Disbelief, wonder, hope - it was so saturated in that question.

“I thought something terrible was going to happen to me tonight so I called you in case it was the last time I could. I didn’t want ‘I hate you’ to be my last words to you.”

Lando’s gut clenched at the thought and his arms tightened around you, crushing your back to his chest. “I wish you called sooner, I would come day or night to get you.”

“I know.”

“I don’t think you do,” he said sadly. “Every weekend for the past five months I wonder if you are out drinking and clubbing. I know it’s not my place, and I lost all right to know where you are, but I need to know you safe, sweetheart. It kills me to think that there might be someone else looking out for you, because that was my job. It should still be my job, to protect you, because I love you too. I never stopped loving you.”

You squirmed in his arms but they were too tight to move. “Lan, I need you to let go of me,” you murmured.

“I’ve tried, but I can’t. I can’t give up on us.”

“Lan.”

His breath was shaky but he released his tight grip on you, despite his desire to keep you close. “I’m sorry, I shouldn’t have said any of that.”

He started to pull away but you finally had room to move and followed. “Lando! Come back, you muppet. I just wanted to see your face without breaking my neck,” you laughed.

He paused, a little from appearing between his brows. “Let go…oh…” His eyes lit up even in the dark room and he bundled you back into his arms. “Muppet is my word.”

You nuzzled your face into the crook of his neck and inhaled his scent. “I stole it too, like your hoodies.”

“I was a muppet so you can have it this time.” He pulled back so he could find your eyes. “Where does this leave us?”

“You broke my trust.” You felt him deflate at the words. “But when I needed you, you came.”

“You called.”

Your chest felt light with emotion those two words brought and you combed your fingers into his dark curls. “I don’t know where this leaves us but what I do know is that I really want you to kiss me.”

His eyes widened in surprise. “Now? Are you sure? It might just be the adrena-”

“Shut up and kiss me, Lan.”

He didn’t need to be told a third time.

[deconstructthesoup]

One thing I absolutely adore about Dead Boy Detectives is the immaculate costume design. Specifically, how it perfectly encapsulates who the characters are, both as a whole and who they are in the moment.

From the very first scene of the show, we know immediately that Edwin is a bookish, somewhat stuffy guy from the Edwardian era who attended a boarding school, and Charles is a punk from the 1980's who's most likely the wildcard between the two of them, just going off of the way that they're dressed. Both of them have distinct color schemes and different styles, but the general shape of their outfits is actually relatively similar---both of them have collared shirts (Edwin's dress shirt, Charles's polo), something over those shirts (Edwin's vest, Charles's suspenders), a jacket of some kind (Edwin's suit jacket, Charles's flannel thing), a longer overcoat (Edwin's traveling coat, Charles's peacoat), something around the neck (Edwin's bowtie, Charles's necklace), slacks, and nice shoes. They're distinct, yet matching, two clearly defined separate characters yet part of a set.

Edwin's prim, proper, buttoned-up personality lends itself to the way he dresses throughout the season---in the first episode, he only dresses down when he's in the office with Charles, aka his safe place and his safe person, and he doesn't really dress down like that again for a good long while after getting stuck in Port Townsend (though, if my memory serves me correctly, he does take off the suit jacket while watching TV with Niko). But in episode six, he's changed up his usual look for a cozier, casual-looking sweater and a little bit of collarbone, and in episode seven... well, he's in his nightclothes, and he's about as open, raw, and vulnerable as you can get. Edwin's color scheme is also predominately blue, which lines up nicely with his logical and practical, yet deeply sad and closed off personality, and the only time he really wears anything other than his normal blue-and-brown outfit (willingly, that is) is when he's in that green sweater in episode six. And, uh... all I can say is that it's quite telling how blue and green---or, well, teal---are the main colors of the gay/mlm flag.

Charles, by contrast, dresses down a lot, and that makes a lot of sense when you consider the fact that unlike Edwin, he feels comfortable pretty much anywhere. On any given episode, he goes from wearing his peacoat to just wearing his flannel to ditching the flannel to not even wearing the freaking polo---though, again, the latter is something that only happens when he's in the office with Edwin. Safe space, safe person. And, well, plenty of people have analyzed Charles's polo shirt going from red to burgundy to black over the course of the series, and there being a little bit of red under the collar of his coat that's only visible when Edwin fixes it, and then it goes back to burgundy, and then it's red again when Edwin's out of Hell... for good reason! It's color symbolism at its finest! Not to mention, the red and black not only perfectly contrasts Edwin's color scheme, but it also lines up with Charles's personality---he's a rebel, he's hotheaded, he's bold and brash and loud... and yes, he's angry, but he's also so, so loving.

When we first meet Crystal after she loses her memories, her outfit choices feel very deliberate. They're stylish and vaguely trendy, they're arty and a little bit witchy---pretty fitting for a psychic who's also a showbiz kid, even if she doesn't know that last part. But all of her clothes appear thrifted, or at the very least vintage, and the patterns and the general vibe all feel natural and comforting. Her makeup's always fairly simple, her hair's either down or up in a couple of cute space buns... overall, this Crystal looks like the kind of person who'd make you tea when you're in a bad mood, who'll listen when you just need to vent, and who may not always know the right thing to say but will understand what you're going through. But when we see her in the flashbacks, her clothing's flashy and prioritizes high-end trends over comfort, she's either got her hair up or has it straightened, and she not only has dramatic makeup, but acrylics. This is a girl who talks shit about you behind your back, who's bitter and cynical and wants everyone to feel the same way, who makes up for the lack of love and stability in her life via material things. It's also worth noting that Crystal's color scheme has a lot of purple, which is a color that connects to wealth and luxury, but also creativity and magic---which, yeah, fits her two conflicting sides pretty damn well.

You cannot talk about Niko Sasaki without talking about her outfits, and the meaning behind each of them has already been talked about at length. However, one thing that really stands out to me is that the reason they're so iconic isn't just because of the monochrome color schemes, but because they're out there. They're weird, they're eclectic, they're a little mismatched in style sometimes, and they're so unapologetically her. Niko wears heart-shaped sunglasses, unironically. Everything about the way she dresses speaks to how, even though she's a recovering shut-in who initially doesn't want to be perceived, she's still very sure of who she is.

Jenny's design, like Charles and Edwin's, is a design that gives you the key information you need the minute she first appears onscreen. The dark makeup, the silver jewelry, the leather apron, and the hairstyle all point to a person who's tough, doesn't take anyone's shit, and has long since given up on caring what other people think---in other words, she's a badass. But the butterfly tattoo hints at a softer side, a side that we see time and time again throughout the series as she shows that she cares about Crystal and Niko, and even the boys... eventually. Also, Jenny's design is perhaps one of the most clearly queer-coded in the series, to the point where her being a confirmed lesbian is pretty much a no-brainer.

Esther's design oozes camp, from top to bottom. The fluffy coat, the bustier, the boots and the cane and the everything, speak to a woman who's kept with the times and yet has seen it all. There's really not a lot I can fully say about her design, other than what Charles has already said: "She looks like a witch... like, kind of a sexy witch, who smokes a lot." (Or maybe I'm just tired and running out of steam at this point, idk, I love Esther's design and I can't really put it into words.) It's also pretty fitting that her color scheme has a lot of yellow in it---after all, she's always striving for more, so what better color for her than the color of gold?

Everything about the Night Nurse's design speaks to a woman who follows rules and discipline above all else, from the pantsuit to the pinned-up hairstyles to the tie to the heels. She's also the most muted out of the main cast in terms of color, dressing mostly in browns, dull greens, and duller browns---and while I don't have a lot to go into detail about there, I feel like that's kind of a symbol of her narrow-minded and bureaucratic worldview.

And the animal characters... Jesus Christ, I fully forget that they're all being played by human actors. Tragic Mick dresses like a man who's always spent his life by the sea, layered denim and all, and it's never a stretch to see this sad, bushy-bearded, baggy-clothed fisherman and imagine him as a walrus lounging on a beach. Monty, at first glance, seems to only wear black, which would be perfectly fitting for a crow, but when he's in better lighting, you see that he dresses in layers of red and blue, calling to how he envies Charles and Edwin and clearly longs for something more---and this might just be me, but I think that even though his outfits seem fairly normal at first glance, they feel kind of like a costume for Monty more than anything else, like he's trying to emulate a teenager that he's seen on TV more than someone in real life.

The Cat King fits this just as well, with all of his outfits aligning perfectly with whatever his cat form is at the time---when he's a fluffy ginger, it's always sequins and fur coats and clothing pieces that are specifically designed to take up space and call attention, and when he's a black shorthair, it's sleek styles and shiny leather and pieces that are designed to cut an intimidating yet more subtle figure. And while I could go into detail about all of those, what really stands out to me is how clearly queer everything is---more than Jenny's alt lesbian attire, more than Esther's campy coat and corset. From the very first scene he's in, he's wearing a skirt, and it looks natural. Nothing about the way the Cat King presents himself is exaggerated, nothing about the way he dresses is played for laughs---he's flamboyant and feminine and flirty, and he looks so fucking hot while he does it. It's gorgeous.

So... yeah, uh, all the awards for the Dead Boy Detectives costume designers!

[gloomwitchwrites]

First of all, I 100% know this is an overused trope... but still....

What If 141 2 people 1 bed trope

Who cares that it's an overused trope? It's a classic for a reason!

I will never tire of a one bed trope. It can be steamy and sexy. It can be angsty. It can be tense. It can literally be so many things at once. It's also a wonderful canvas to play around, and I had a lot of fun with this one. I know you've waited for this one for a while. I hope you enjoy it! :)

For the masterlist and how to submit your own request, click HERE

Task Force 141 x TF141 Female Reader

Content & Warnings: swearing, unprotected piv (wrap it up irl), creampie, multiple positions, rough kissing, vaginal fingering, oral sex (male & female receiving), admission of feelings, pretend sex, fake dating/married

Word Count: 6.3k

ao3 // taglist // main masterlist // imagines & what if masterlist

John Price

“Fuck,” mutters Price.

You glance over your shoulder. Captain Price stands near the hotel window, the gauzy blinds closed but the thicker ones bunched to the sides, allowing in natural light. He’s staring at something happening in the parking lot.

“What it is?” you ask, starting to walk over to him.

“They might have found us.”

Dread flares hot, clenching the muscles in your stomach until it hurts. “Are you sure?”

Price nods, and then backs away from the window. “There’s no way they saw our faces during the infiltration. We wore masks. Might have tracked the stolen car.”

“We need to leave,” you say, but Price shakes his head.

“There’s too many of them, and they’re likely watching all exits on the main floor.” He sighs. “We need to play this right.”

The two of you are freshly showered, and the clothes you wore for the infiltration have already been discarded. Burned—actually, somewhere in the deserts of Arizona. At the moment, the two of you look like civilians.

“They can’t search the building, John. Not without bloodshed.”

He runs a hand through his hair, his gaze darting across the room as his brain works something over. You fidget, picking at your nails. It’s a terrible habit. One you do when you’re nervous.

Price glances at you and your heart drops. “They look official, and that’s probably all that matters. The scrawny teenager at the front desk isn’t going to put up a fight if the credentials appear legitimate.”

“Fuck,” you whisper, striding toward the window to look for yourself.

Captain Price is right. They do look official. They also look fucking terrifying which would scare anyone into compliance if you don’t know what to look for.

“We’re on the bottom floor,” you say, stepping back.

“I know,” growls Price. He pivots, examining the entire room.

He goes for the car keys and shuts them inside the safe. The only other thing in the room is a duffle bag full of plain clothes and generic toiletries. Price pushes clothes aside and then draws out the pistol hiding beneath it all. He checks the clip and then preps the barrel.

“Take off your clothes.”

“What?” you ask, startled.

Price walks over to the singular bed in the room, tucking the gun beneath the pillows. “Do you trust me?”

“Absolutely,” you affirm.

“Then take off your clothes,” repeats Price, reaching behind his head with one hand to grab the collar of his shirt. He pulls it over and off, tossing it aside.

“Spread it around. Make a mess,” he instructs as he goes for the belt on his jeans.

For a moment, you’re stunned, staring at Captain Price’s bare chest. While he’s muscular, it isn’t from a life in the gym. He is thick in all the right places. A solid wall with a beautiful dusting of dark hair that travels downward.

The belt is gone, and that too is tossed aside.

Without removing your gaze, you tentatively discard your shirt, but keep your bra on. It’s a barrier. A safety net. Price isn’t even glancing at you, but you do notice some color at the tops of his cheeks. A soft pink that makes your thoughts spiral outward to imagine if this gentle blush is the same color as the head of his cock.

Price’s jeans go next, already discarded before you move on to the next article of clothing. He’s only in socks and black boxer briefs. There is so much of him on display that you’re starting to forget yourself.

He glances at you, and that color in his cheeks darken. “You’re still dressed.”

You open your mouth to answer but then you hear a shout from down the hall and sharp banging on a door. They’re far too close.

This urges you on, moving with faster intention, and once you’re down to just your bra and underwear, you finally glance at Price again.

Price—who is naked. Completely bare. And you have a full view of what he’s been packing underneath all that.

Fuck.

He approaches the bed, and tugs back the sheets. The muscles in his arms and back tense as he crumples the bedding to sexed perfection—as if the two of you have been going at it for hours.

Price sits down on the edge of the bed and slides underneath, his legs parting enough that you get a glimpse of everything. This man isn’t even fully hard but from what you can see, it would be a tight fit if you actually sat on him.

Lifting a pillow, Price checks for the pistol and then sets it back, settling into the sheets. He frowns slightly when his attention returns to you.

“All of that has to go.”

“Does it?” you counter, crossing your arms over your chest.

There’s another thunderous pounding on a nearby door followed by shouting.

“It does if we’re going to make it out of here alive.” Price shrugs, and then smirks. “Could help you.”

Sighing heavily and you reach behind your back, unclasping the bra. You hurl it at him and Price catches it out of the air. Crossing your arms over your chest, you hurry toward the bed. But you don’t make it beneath the sheets.

“Everything,” repeats Price.

Reaching out, Price snags the thin cotton fabric and pulls down, revealing you to him and the room. Instinct as you grasping for control, hands splayed over his large forearms as he gives the fabric another yank.

You cannot form a response. Words leave you as Price drags you into the bed with him.

“Sorry about this,” he grumbles, that color returning to his cheeks in full force. It’s cute actually—how sheepish he looks.

You swallow, and lick your lips. “It’s fine.”

Price leans back against the pillows, guiding you with him. “Get on top.”

Straddling his hips, you settle yourself over him. You try—and fail—to not notice the way the hard length of him nestles against your pussy. You keep one arm crossed over your breasts but all it does is hides your nipples from him. Your other hand is splayed wide and pressed against his chest.

“We’re married,” he says, staring into your eyes. “That’s the story. I’ll do the talking. You act like the scared wife when they come barging in.”

You nod, and Price releases a deep exhalation. His hands rest on your thighs. They’re a brand. Warm. All you can think about. They move upward to settle on your hips.

“Pretend you’re riding me,” he murmurs.

With a gentle hand, Price grasps your wrist, drawing your arm away from your breasts. You don’t resist, and he brings your other palm to rest against his chest.

“Pretend,” he reiterates, hands returning to your hips. Price creates the motion by dragging you back and forth, imitating a rocking motion. Though you’re stationary, your pussy still drags against the length of his cock.

You notice the tremor in his jaw as your bodies rub against each other. This is affecting him as much as it is you.

“Pretend,” you say back to him.

Price nods and then grabs for the television remote from the bedside table. He turns it on and then ups the volume. You imitate the motion he created, rocking back and forth, sliding yourself along his cock, pretending you don’t notice how wet you’ve become over the course of the last few minutes.

His hands return to your hips, and then Price sinks back completely into the pillows, his eyelids softening as he gazes up at you. It’s far too intimate of a stare, and it’s only compounded when one of his hands meander upward to slide over your stomach and then between your breasts. You gasp as his thumb traces the underside of your breast.

Head tilting back, you grind downward, finding yourself diving into the warmth that’s starting to pool low in your belly.

A sharp pounding at the door has you snapping to attention. Every muscle tenses. Seizes.

“You’re fine,” coos Price. “We’ll be fine.”

The pounding comes again and then a yell from behind it. The voice is muffled. Not only by the door but from the television.

Swallowing, you try to connect into it again, rolling your hips, imagining that Price is your husband—that you love him—and this is simply an exploration of that love.

When you roll your hips again, Price sits up slightly, his warm breath brushing against your breast. A tingle shudders through you, and Price groans before his tongue grazes over your nipple, bringing it to a point.

“Knew you’d taste sweet,” he says softly at the same moment the hotel door bursts open.

One second, you’re atop Price, and the next his arms are around you, turning you away from the door to hide you from sight. You’re not on your back but Price has shoved you toward the bed as he sits up, creating a barrier between you and the intruders.

The tactical-clad trio entering the room—with a hotel worker nervously trailing behind—

don’t even get a word in before Price starts going off on them.

“Get out! Get the fuck out!”

His accent is gone, replaced by an American one. It’s incredibly good, and his feigned anger even more so. The men entering faulter under Price’s tirade. They likely weren’t expecting this, and Price uses this opportunity to push the advance.

“We’re fucking busy in here. Fuck off!”

The man at the head of the trio clears his throat and holds up a hand, but Price chucks one of the water glasses at the man. The guy ducks and it shatters against the wall. The hotel worker at their back squeaks and pushes forward.

“We’re so sorry. Just a search for some prison escapees. We’re clearly in the wrong room.”

Prison escapees? You want to laugh but think better of it. Instead, you press your face against Price’s arm, feigning sheepishness.

Price’s lips turn into a snarl, and the hotel worker blanches.

“We’ll give you a complimentary stay for the inconvenience,” the man babbles before waving his arms to usher the other men out.

For a moment, you don’t think it’ll work, but they go.

You and Price don’t sigh with relief until the door shuts. His forehead presses against yours, chest heaving.

“Nice accent,” you whisper and this draws a smile from his lips.

“Like it more than this one?” he asks, his regular accent returning.

“Nope,” you say. “This one suits you fine.”

Price’s gaze draws over your exposed body and then lands on your face. It’s soft. Sensual. You’re frozen beneath it, breath catching as his fingers brush along the line of your jaw.

You’re not sure who moves first but his lips are on yours and then you’re moaning. Price rolls you onto your back, each kiss more demanding and fiercer than the last. He tastes of the mint toothpaste he used earlier and smells of soap.

Reaching between your bodies, you find him hard, and there is no other need within you but the one that craves for him to be inside. To fuck you ceaselessly.

You stroke him and Price groans into your mouth, his hand wrapping around your throat. Hooking your legs behind him, you guide him to your entrance. With a light press of your heels, Price takes your meaning.

There is no gentle pretense. No soft kisses or playful coaxing. Price goes all in, and you break the kiss to gasp aloud, nails digging into his back. Price is thick and having him inside you is a deliciously painful stretch.

It is all desperate the way he moves. Price isn’t gentle. It’s skin slapping against skin. It is sweat and groans. A savage hardness that borders on hysteria.

Your hand reaches behind you to press against the headboard as Price fucks you into the bed, but even that is shaking, banging loudly against the wall. It’s clear even over the drone from the television. The people next door will know exactly what the two of you are up to.

Price is relentless. A man starved. He nips at your bottom lip. Sucks it into his mouth. And when that isn’t enough, he goes for your neck and then your breasts, making your nipples smart and throb under his teeth and tongue.

The orgasm comes sharp and hot, bursting forth like a wave. And when you squeeze around him, Price is right there with you, his cum coating your insides as he too finds his end.

The two of you are all heavy breath. Sweaty limbs.

Price nuzzles the side of your neck, placing soft kisses there until he travels up to find your lips again. These are gentle. Not desperate like before.

When there’s a moment to speak, it is you that breaks the silence.

“So much for pretending.”

Kyle "Gaz" Garrick

It’s the middle of the day but you wouldn’t be able to tell.

A storm is raging—the rain thick and heavy. It falls from the sky in large drops that soak clothes and slick the skin. It’s a bit cold, too. A little chilly. The kind of wet chill that hardens the nipples and brings a shiver to your bones.

“Here. You’re soaked.”

Kyle presents a towel. It’s off-white and a bit frayed. But what can you expect from a motel in the middle of nowhere? Having a towel at all is nice. At least it isn’t threadbare.

“Thanks,” you reply softly, gently dapping the rough-textured material against your face.

Kyle strides over to the heating unit. It’s dirty and barely anchored to the wall. He hits a few buttons and then the thing turns on. It’s loud. Clunky. But heat starts to seep from the slats, warming the room.

After drying your face, you begin to remove outer pieces of clothing. Kyle might be your teammate, but there isn’t really anywhere to hide but the bathroom. Knowing the state of most motels, you don’t really want to find out either.

Kyle has the same idea. He dries off with his own towel, removing soaked articles of clothing as he goes. You try not to look—to be discreet—but it’s hard not to steal a peek. Kyle is all toned muscle and firmness. There’s a light dusting of hair on his chest. It’s a bit thicker around his navel. It trails downwards, and your mind wanders to a place it shouldn’t.

You glance away but not fast enough. His gaze roams upward, finding you, and there he pauses, observing you as you did him.

Pretending is best.

You attempt to act like you don’t notice him at all, turning your back like you’re incredibly interested with the wallpaper that likely hasn’t been replaced in years.

It’s his heat that draws your attention—that steals your breath, and makes every muscle in your body tense with anticipation.

“You’re shivering,” he murmurs.

Kyle is so close. Close enough that his breath brushes against your bare shoulder. You’re just in your bra and underwear, the only items that aren’t completely soaked from the rain.

He inhales, and that exhalation teases your flesh again. Giving in, you close your eyes, sinking into Kyle’s presence.

When you open them again, you notice a mirror hanging on the wall. It’s great if you were trying to plan an outfit, but that isn’t what you notice.

Instead, you see yourself. And Kyle.

The backs of his knuckles lightly caress the side of your arm. His head is tipped forward and turned inward like you’ll turn around any moment to kiss him.

The urge is there. Tugging. Wanting you to do just that.

The two of you are always walking around the other, seeking comfort and closeness but never seizing it. Maybe you should. Maybe—turning around is the best thing you can do for yourself.

“Kyle,” you breathe, and his little hum in answer tightens that string.

Without hesitation, you do turn.

Kyle’s lips are right there. They’re parted slightly. Inviting.

His arm drapes across your waist, hand splaying wide against your stomach, pressing until the two of you are sandwiched together.

It’s not like you don’t want this. You do. You want Kyle. Have since the moment he introduced himself to you. But the two of you have always remained professional in every space you occupy.

And now there is no one around.

No one to see.

No one to know.

Your head tips back in answer, and Kyle leans into it, pressing his lips to yours. It is sweet. Gentle. More of an ask than anything else.

And you reply, meeting him in equal measure. The pressure on your stomach increases just as Kyle’s other hand wraps around the front of your throat, holding you still. Each kiss is a claiming, one you freely submit to.

Kyle is all sugared-warmth, and you want to rot your teeth.

Draping your arm around the back of his neck, you pull him closer. Kyle nips. Bites. Sucks your bottom lip into his mouth before soothing the burn with a few tender kisses. Heat blossoms in your core before morphing into an aching slickness.

You’ve been putting him off—brushing him aside.

Why wait any longer when Kyle is all you crave?

“Fucking hell, love,” he groans against your mouth.

Your lips part, and Kyle slides his tongue inside. His taste is everything, but you want to know him everywhere.

Your hand seeks, brushing against his hardness through his boxer briefs. When you slip your hand beneath the elastic band, Kyle’s only response to kiss you harder.

Wrapping your fingers around him, you start to stroke what you can with the little room you have. Your thumb brushes over the head of his cock and Kyle draws back.

“I’ve wanted this since I met you,” he says, voice a bit rough.

Twisting in his grip, you turn to face him. “Can I show you how much I’ve wanted you, too?” you ask, pressing your breasts against his chest.

Kyle loosens his hold and you drop to your knees, taking his boxer briefs with you. His cock is gorgeous. It curves upward slightly, and a pearly bead of precum blooms in the slit.

He whispers your name, and then you have him in hand. Stroking once. Twice.

You lick off that bead. Savor his taste. Go back for more.

Kyle grabs the back of your head, drawing you to him. You open your mouth. Swallow him down. Throating him until you gag.

“Fuck,” he groans, elongating the vowel.

You work him with hand and mouth, keeping a steady rhythm that has him weak and wanton. You have all the control—until you don’t.

“Let me fuck your mouth, love. Please.”

The please is what does it. You release his cock, placing both hands on his thighs. With a pleased growl, Kyle keeps your head stationary. You anticipate the first thrust, and it is sinful. The movement goes straight to your pussy as you imagining him fucking you there like he fucks your mouth.

Fingers dig into muscled thigh. You want to touch yourself, to tease your clit while he does it. He is a god above you—Adonis.

“Can’t wait to taste your cunt, love,” rasps Kyle. “Can’t wait to make you drip for me.”

His desire fuels your own, and you urge him on, gently cupping him with one hand, thumb lightly rubbing the sensitive strip of flesh there.

Kyle’s hips stutter, and you relax your throat, humming around his cock as your lips meet the base. He holds you there, and you take it all, thighs chaffing from the friction of you rubbing them together in anticipation.

You blink up at him, and Kyle wipes away a tear with his thumb.

“My turn,” he murmurs.

You’re on your feet and then on your back in seconds. All the wind is knocked out of you, and then Kyle’s tongue is there, sliding through your slickness. Parting. Teasing the opening of your vagina before trailing upward to circle around your clit.

Gasping, your hands reach for him. Kyle grabs both wrists, keeps them planting on your stomach as he fucks you with his tongue. His shoulders dig into your thighs, keeping them wide. He’s stronger than you even as your thighs quiver, wanting to close, wanting to shut.

Kyle groans against your pussy, and then he’s on your clit, moving in such an easy, languid way that everything explodes outward. A shudder passes from the tips of your toes to the top of your head. Your pussy clenches. Unclenches. Clenches again.

Kyle doesn’t let up. He doesn’t cease. Every stroke strikes true and then your body betrays itself, overstimulation setting in, and the urge to wiggle away is paramount.

But just as you push at him—just as your body draws back. Kyle is releasing your wrists, pushing himself up and over you, spreading those legs even wider to slide inside.

The bed creaks beneath you, and then he’s thrusting.

Your moans of pleasure become one with the rain.

John "Soap" MacTavish

Single lamp. Lone bed.

Peeling paint. Dusty corners.

“Something’s on your mind.” Your voice is the only sound in the room other than the AC unit.

Soap’s sigh is soft and small as he takes a seat on the edge of the bed.

It’s the last night before the potential end. Before victory or failure. Just the two of you now with the plan to meet up with others later.

He nods, and you take a tentative step forward. “We attended the briefing. You know the details.”

“Aye.”

“Then what has you worried?” you ask, taking another step in Soap’s direction.

A warm, orange glow emits from the singular lamp on the bedside table. It’s not enough light to illuminate the cheap peeling paint or the dirt in the corners of the room. It only gives life to the bed and the side of Soap’s face.

It’s not like you have an unlimited budget. A motel room is the best the two of you could manage for some rest before moving on. The man at the desk didn’t even glance up when he asked if they only wanted a room for an hour.

You had asked for two beds. The man at the desk replied that no one who stops here asks for that.

One bed it is.

One bed.

Somehow, you’ll have to sleep beside Soap while simultaneously shoving down the urge to reach out to him.

Sighing, Soap leans forward, forearms resting on his knees. His gaze drifts slightly as if he’s not focusing on anything in particular. Running his fingers through his short mohawk, he tugs on the ends, mussing the freshly washed strands, creating a wavy mess.

Just that one movement as you leaning forward, nostrils flaring to inhale that clean scent.

“Adaptability,” he answers. Finally.

Instead of sitting on the bed beside him, you sink to your knees, resting your arm on the bed, and your chin on your arm.

The two of you have been on missions before but never together like this.

Never alone.

Keeping your gaze downward, you notice just how close you are to him—and how Soap leans in your direction, the edge of his knee brushing against the side of your hand.

It’s a small contact, but he’s warm, and that warmth is transferring into yourself, unspooling outward. It’s a difficult thing—because all this time you’ve harbored feelings for him, and yet have never acted on them.

“You’re quick on your feet, Soap,” you murmur, one finger absently extended to brush over the curve of his knee.

The corner of his mouth twitches. “You can call me Johnny.”

Johnny. You’ve never called him that. Soap, sure. Sergeant MacTavish? All the time.

“I thought Ghost only had that right.”

Only Ghost calls Soap ‘Johnny.’ That’s understood by everyone.

Soap shrugs. “He did.” He glances at you, his smile widening. “But I’d like to hear you say it.”

Something swirls in your stomach, twisting like a knife.

“How would you like to hear it?” you reply.

Johnny’s smile, which is so wide and teasing, softens into a sultry smirk. “I have options?”

“You do.”

Johnny’s usual playfulness emerges. “Say it like you’re angry with me.”

“Johnny,” you say, deepening your voice to sound like Ghost.

He bursts out laughing, falling back onto the bed, clutching his stomach. “Oh, aye. I’ll give you that.”

“What else?” you tease. “I demand more.”

“Say it like you’re annoyed with me.”

You do just that, and Johnny sits up, turning on his side.

“Again,” you prompt.

The middle of Johnny’s brow creases and then his hand cradles the side of your face. He closes the distance, kissing you deeply—as if you are his lover and not a friend.

But you don’t pull away. You indulge yourself, kissing him back just as sweetly.

You’re not sure how much time passes, just that it does, and his small retreat after it’s done is all you have in acknowledging its passing.

The withdrawal is short. Johnny doesn’t move away. He keeps his hand on your cheek. The tip of his nose nearly brushing yours.

“Say it now,” he breathes, voice raspy.

“Johnny,” but it’s not what you intended to say.

He sighs. “Again.”

“Johnny.”

This time he groans, and then your lips are fusing, becoming one. You’re dragged off the floor and into his arms, tangling in his heat, forgetting yourself completely.

“Johnny,” you repeat, and then your shirt is gone, followed by your bra.

He nips at the curve of your breasts before sucking your nipple into his mouth. His teeth graze flesh and you say his name again until it becomes a strangled moan.

The front of your jeans is open, and his hand is there, cupping your sex, fingers dragging through your wetness.

“Johnny,” but it’s to stop him, to remind him that this cannot go on.

“Fucking hell. Love the way you say my name.”

This melts your resolve. Makes your legs spread wider. Makes you shove at your pants and create plenty of space.

Johnny knows. He understands.

He yanks them down even as he peppers your breasts with little nips and kisses. Your fingers drags through his hair as he sucks the other nipple into his mouth, bringing it to perky attention.

One finger slides inside, and you groan loudly, legs falling wide as Johnny settles himself between.

“Beautiful,” he murmurs, claiming your mouth and pumping his finger. You whimper as he inserts a second. “Wanted you so bad.”

Your pussy flutters, squeezing around him. It is Johnny that groans this time, and it is a primal sound.

“Can I fuck you?” he asks. “Please.”

“Johnny,” you breathe. “Johnny.”

“Need a yes or no. Tell me. Do you want me? I’ve wanted you.”

You answer by finding him—guiding him to the place you need him to.

With a low growl, Johnny pins your arms above your head, slotting his pelvis against yours, the head of his cock sinking in until you’re taking all of him.

“Johnny!”

“That’s what I want to hear,” he croons, starting to thrust.

Simon "Ghost" Riley

“I can’t tell what blood is yours and what isn’t.”

“Can fucking do it myself.”

“Ghost—”

“It’s not a problem.”

“Simon,” you snap, and he stops fidgeting.

Behind the plain balaclava, you see the fire in Lieutenant Riley’s eyes. This man is your superior. At least, right now he is. But the mission is done. It’s over. Yet the two of you are stranded, and making contact with Price is going to take time.

Not to mention that Simon is injured, and you have no fucking idea where at.

“Let me help you,” you say as soothingly as possible.

You don’t want to fight with him. All you want is to help Simon, to clean him up, and get him into bed. Rest and healing are what he needs right now. Contacting Price can wait. Base can stew for a while longer.

The two of you are in a motel room in the middle of fucking nowhere America. It’s shit overall, but it will have to do. There’s no way anyone is searching for the two of you out here. You drove until you nearly ran out of gas, and then you refilled and drove some more. Simon was in the back of the car, covered in blood.

But he was awake. Moving. Not a head injury, and not enough to get him immediate medical treatment. Not like he would have allowed you to take him to a hospital anyway. Lieutenant Riley is fucking stubborn. Sometimes infuriatingly so.

Simon stares, hard, his dark eyes intense behind the balaclava. He blinks, and then pushes up from the chair, keeping his gaze trained on you.

“Lieutenant,” you mutter, annoyed.

As Simon stands and attempts to take a step forward, his left leg wobbles, and he nearly topples forward. Your arms go out to catch him, holding him steady. He’s a big guy, and he seems to know this because he tries to prop himself up using the chair.

“I’m fine.”

“You’re not,” you snap.”

“Listen—”

“I’m not arguing with you Simon Riley.”

Using his full name shuts him up. It’ll likely earn you a reprimand later, but fuck it, you’re over this.

“Stay there.” You shove him back down into the chair and head into the bathroom.

There is a single overhead light. Flipping the switch turns it on and the fan. It’s a tight space, but thankfully the shower isn’t also a tub. That would be a nightmare getting him in. Instead, there is a sink, a toilet, and a dividing wall that cuts the room in half. It’s more like a locker shower but it’ll work.

Reaching in, you turn the handle. You jump back as cold water shoots out of the shower head. After waiting for a few seconds, steam starts to rise.

You take a deep breath, knowing what you have to do. “You got this,” you murmur, heading back into the room.

Simon leans forward in the chair, forearms resting on his knees.

You hold out your hand. “Let’s go.”

Lieutenant Riley’s head swivels in your direction. “Seriously?”

“Yes,” you reply, holding firm. “Come on.”

With a deep sigh, Simon reaches out and slides his hand into yours. It’s warm. Calloused. You squeeze it and step forward, extending your other arm to wrap around his torso. Simon stands. Wobbles. But you snake your arm around him, and then it’s a slow trek into the bathroom.

Simon is limping, but he’s showing no other signs that his injury hurts him. Might be minor, or he’s just good at covering up the pain.

Once the two of you are inside the bathroom, you realize just how small the space is. Maneuvering Simon to the shower is difficult, a weird dance to wiggle around the door and toilet to the opening of the shower.

You retreat slightly, and Simon leans against the wall, his eyelids closing as he takes a deep breath.

“You good?” you ask, concern creasing your brow.

Simon nods. “I’ll manage.” His eyelids open slowly and then he stares into the shower. “You want me in there?”

“You’ll need to remove a few things first,” you reply, gesturing toward his uniform.

Simon snorts. “Trying to get me naked?”

“You wish,” you retort, even as your cheeks heat with embarrassment. “Need help?”

At first, Simon doesn’t say anything. He just reaches for his belt, removing it slowly with one hand.

“I’ll leave you to it,” you mumble, starting to turn away.

“Wait.”

You freeze, and then glance over your shoulder. “What is it?”

Simon shrugs. “What if I slip? Might need you to catch me.”

This bastard.

“Then I’ll stay,” you reply cooly, pretending that this doesn’t affect you.

But it does. It’s reshaping you, and Simon’s slow undressing isn’t helping things. He keeps his gaze on you the entire time, and you purposefully keep your eyes averted, when really you want to look. You want to know what he’s like under all that.

The belt goes. So does his tactical gear and jacket. Next is his shirt followed by his balaclava. You sneak a peek then, and Simon grins at you like he knew you’d look eventually.

“I’ll need some help with these. Getting them down that is.” Simon gestures towards his pants and you feel your face grow so hot you fear it might explode.

“Sure.”

You reach for him, silently chastising your shaking fingers. This is too much, even though you like it, and want more from it. You undo the button and zipper. Sliding your hands beneath the band, you shimmy Simon’s pants to the floor. He kicks them away and all that’s left are his boxer briefs. They’re tight and you notice the massive bulge in front.

Fuck.

“You can do the rest,” you reply, glancing away.

Simon removes them, and then he starts forward, arms outstretched to balance himself as he enters the shower.

“Fucking hell,” moans Simon as the hot water hits his body.

The groan that comes after is deep, and so sultry you feel a bolt of pleasure spike from your pussy.

“Should join me.”

“No thanks,” you say, averting your gaze away from Simon’s muscled backside.

One moment you’re facing the wall, and the next you’re under the spray of water.

“What the fuck,” you shriek, stumbling backward as Simon chuckles. Muttering under your breath, you stare down at your soaked clothing. “Goddamn it.” You start removing articles of clothing, the wet fabric peeling away from your skin.

“Fucking fine, Simon.”

You shed everything and storm under the spray, only for Simon to wrap his arms around your waist and pull you against him. There is no pause between then and the moment his lips find yours. It is sweet, and warm. You instantly melt, enjoying every second.

But it’s fleeting.

You draw back, heart hammering in your chest.

“You’re covered in blood. Remember?”

Simon shrugs and then offers you the soap. “Clean me then.”

You do it, and when you’re done, he does the same for you. It’s far too intimate, and Simon’s gentleness is surprising. Once finished, you dry and bandage the wound on his leg. It’s not terrible—and will likely need stitches—but it’s not bleeding anymore.

The singular bed in the middle of the room is far too small. Not with Simon in at, spread out and naked under the sheets.

You slide in beside him, not knowing where you should settle. Simon is large, taking up most of the best. The only place is curled up next to his side.

Turning your resolve to steal, you settle in. You begin to turn away from Simon, but his arm shoots out, grasping your waist. You’re yanked across the bed, only to find yourself in Simon’s arms.

“What are you doing?” you ask.

“Stop pretending, love. We both know what’s going on. Don’t deny it.”

Fuck. Fuck fuck fuck.

“Simon—”

“We’ve been making eyes at each other for fucking months. And now we’re alone. You think I don’t see the opportunity?”

Simon’s hand slides over the curve of your ass, and then dips beneath your shirt. You’re not wearing underwear, and when his fingers brush over your pussy, you gasp, pressing into him.

“You’re already wet for me,” growls Simon as he drags a finger through your folds. “So fucking wet.” He presses in, and your pussy parts for him.

“We can’t, Simon. You’re injured.”

“Not so much,” he coos. “Especially since I can do this.” On this, Simon drags the tips of his finger along the inside your pussy, hitting that sweet spot.

You moan, fingers digging into his chest as your back arches to press you further down on him.

“It’s just my leg that’s injured.” Simon’s lips brush against your cheek and then the edge of your ear. His breath is warm against your skin. “I can still fuck you. Have you on top. Bounce you on my cock.” Simon gives the curve of your ear the faintest kiss. “Would you like that, love? Do you want me to fuck you?”

“We—we—”

With his other hand, Simon grasps the back of your neck, drawing you against him, silencing whatever it is you’re trying to say. He seizes your mouth in a fierce kiss. You open for him, and his tongue slides inside. He tastes nice, and you want to sink into the feeling. Have him devour you completely.

“Let me in,” he murmurs against your lips.

You push up, doing exactly as he wants you to do. You settle on his lap, his hard cock pressed up against your thigh.

With a low growl, Simon removes your shirt, leaving you completely bare to his gaze.

“Much better,” he says, cupping your breasts as you lean on his chest, lifting your hips.

His cock slides through your folds, and then you start the descent, moaning as he splits you in two. The stretch is intense—nearly sharp with pain, but laced with pleasure. Simon’s eyelids flutter slightly, and his groan is pure sin.

Simon lightly squeezes your breasts one more time before his hands find your hips. He lifts you up, and then back down, bouncing you on his cock. You cling to him, allowing him to use you, to fuck you in whatever way he wants.

Each grunt and growl from him only makes you wetter. Hungrier.

“I’m gonna come inside you.”

It’s not a question. There is no other option, and you wouldn’t take anything else even if there was.

“Please,” you whimper.

Simon’s hands tighten, his hips thrusting upward to meet every downward movement. He sits up, his mouth clamping around a nipple to nip and suck. Your orgasm roars up from nowhere, and then you’re clenching around him, milking Simon’s cock as his own end greets him.

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[nochepsicodelica]

NSFW

I think it would be so hard for Toji to deny you of anything when you're upset to the point of crying. You always act so passive about things that bother you, for him, because he rarely falls apart on you, so who are you to dump your emotions on him like that?

You come home from a really bad day at work that never allowed your headache to cease. Everybody was turning things in late, nobody was working to beat their deadlines—extended deadlines— and you were the one who took the hits for it all, as the leader of your group. You were one more mentioned member of your team away from snapping at your boss. Thankfully, you were allowed to go home after that talk.

Toji got home before you, so he had some time to wind down from his own stressful day, but the minute you walked in, he knew there was something wrong. You barely acknowledged him, a small smile being all you offered him, before you dragged yourself to your shared bedroom. No 'hi, baby' followed by you literally tossing yourself onto him, or even a 'wow, you're home before me?'

That didn't slide with him like you may have thought it would.

He got up after waiting two minutes for you to come back out. You never did, so he went after you, immediately spotting you face down on the bed. Your body was trembling, your shoulders jumping with your sobs. It was a strange sight, but it didn't make him feel any less concerned for you. He strode over to your side, resting a palm on your back. Your body was rigid with tension, your shoulders unable to drop because of it. He's sure you'll complain about the pain once you've calmed down a little more.

It was hard to get you to talk, but eventually you spilled every detail of what made you feel this way. Toji couldn't relate to your patience. If he were disciplined for other people's actions despite doing his job of trying to catch them up and reminding them to do things, he would be livid. You aren't like that, though. Things happen at work. Things that lure out frustration, anger, and overall feelings of wanting to implode and instead of leaving it there at work, where it belongs, you bring it home. You've clearly reached your breaking point.

"Want me to kill them?" He asks, feeling you shake your head against his chest in response. "Might just do it behind your back if you come home like this again, ma. Dead serious," he says, noting that you still haven't fully relaxed in his hold. "No reason you should ever be this stressed over people not doing their jobs. Fucking idiots, acting like children because they know it all weighs down on you."

You wanted to cry again at the way he tightened his hold on you while he defended you. You sucked it up and moved off of his chest, and when he looked down to see what you were doing, you kissed him. Your hand went beneath his shirt and felt up his warm, sculpted abdomen.

Clothes were removed and you now sat on his lap, his cock deep inside you. He knew you needed this despite how you were so distraught when he came into the room. He couldn't turn you down when you asked if he could be as close to you as he could. He knew you needed to release some steam, but he didn't expect it to be so calm. You laid your head on his shoulder, your arms draped around his neck while he held you close, his hands resting on your back.

Toji cooed at you, when you started sniffling, again. Slowly but surely, you were releasing all those bottled up emotions, your tears landing on the bare skin of his shoulder.

"Shh... it's alright. You don't have to think about anything, right now." He presses a kiss to your shoulder and then one to the side of your neck, before moving his hips a little, luring some quiet sighs from you. "Yeah, let me take care of you, mama. Just gotta breathe for me. That's all you gotta do, 'kay?"

You nod against his shoulder and allow him to bring both of you, soft, intimate, and unhurried pleasure. Your moans were light and airy, your whimpers soft and muffled by his skin.

Toji's orgasm rolled in before yours. His generous amount of release coated your walls, heavy and ragged breaths grazing your skin. In his head, he blames it on being able to become a safe space for you and his ability to provide protection. Your emotions were unconfined and you confided in him to soothe you. The mixture of physical intimacy and his comforting words was enough to calm you down. Your shoulders weren't tense anymore, and you were able to melt into his embrace.

Your orgasm had your body quivering against his. The sound of your rapid breathing was all you could release into his neck, your nails dragging across his shoulders through the intensity. He smiled softly, satisfied when you let out the smallest squeak.

"That's it, baby. Good girl. Just relax." He strokes your back, stilling his hips once the zenith of your pleasure passes.

Once the adrenaline dies down a little, you go back to rest your head on his shoulder, retightening your arms around him. Toji keeps stroking your back, his other hand resting on the back of your head.

"You're not going to work tomorrow. You have... let's see... food poisoning and you can't move without feeling like you're gonna blow chunks." He can feel your laughter against him, your shoulders jumping as a positive gesture compared to how he found you, luring a smile onto his face. "I'm not taking no for an answer either. We're both out tomorrow, 'cause I can't leave you here to die. Alright?"

"Okay," you mumble.

[solarmorrigan]

cw: implied sexual content, mentions of anxiety/PTSD responses

-

The first time Eddie lifts him off his feet, Steve is pretty sure he has an out of body experience.

He’s never dated anyone as strong as he is, is the thing. It isn’t that he hadn’t dated girls who were strong—cheerleading takes more muscle than many people seem to think, and there had been a couple of girls from the soccer team besides that—but none of them had been strong enough to just casually lift Steve up.

But Eddie does it. He does it mid-makeout session, doesn’t even break the kiss as he gets his hands under Steve’s thighs and lifts him up to sit on the counter he’d been pinned against. And maybe it doesn’t break Eddie’s concentration, but it shatters Steve’s.

He stops kissing back long enough to make Eddie pull away and ask, “What’s wrong?”

Wrong? Steve’s heart is racing, his face is flushed, his lips are kiss-bruised, and he’s sitting on top of his kitchen counter because Eddie had put him there – just grabbed his legs and hoisted him up, left his hands resting on Steve’s thighs, and Steve can feel them burning through his jeans, which are suddenly quite a bit tighter.

Nothing is wrong.

“That was hot,” Steve blurts, and Eddie blinks at him.

“What? Me lifting you up?”

Steve nods. “Yeah.”

A slow smirk spreads across Eddie’s face. “You like that?” he asks. “That I can throw you around a little?”

“Yeah,” Steve rasps, surprising even himself with the raw want in his voice. Given his history with people throwing him around, it shouldn’t be something he wants, but the more he thinks about it—the more he thinks about Eddie doing it—the more appealing it becomes.

“The information is noted and will be filed away for later consideration,” Eddie says, like the fucking nerd he is, and when he leans back in to kiss Steve, he digs his fingers into Steve’s thighs, holding him tight, like he might leave little bruises when he pulls away. (Steve hopes he does.)

Eddie doesn’t abuse the knowledge he’s been given, but he does put it to good use.

He pulls Steve across the couch and into his lap, holding him close with his arms looped around his waist, making Steve feel wanted and warm.

He manages to pick Steve up and spin him around, laughing as he does so, making Steve laugh, making him feel light and adored.

He carries Steve to the bedroom, his hands hooked firmly under Steve’s ass, Steve’s legs wrapped around his hips, arms around his shoulders, and tosses him onto the bed, making Steve feel very much like he wants Eddie to fuck him.

Then, reasonably assured that Steve is enjoying the treatment, Eddie ups his game. He pins Steve to the wall of the bedroom one evening, fisting a hand in his shirt and pushing him back, leaning heavily into his space, and Steve is for a moment viscerally reminded of another time and place. He thinks about the smell of lake water and dust, of the prick of sharp glass against his skin, of the frightened and desperate look in Eddie’s eyes.

But the memory is chased away by the feeling of Eddie’s lips on his. This is so much better – this is Eddie’s free hand running gently through Steve’s hair, this is the warm, familiar weight of Eddie’s body pressing into him, this is Eddie’s thigh shoved between Steve’s legs. This is good.

Eddie grips Steve’s hair close to his scalp and pulls. Steve moans and mindlessly grinds down.

It becomes a new and intimate normal, something they barely even have to think about, something that just feels right. Even when Steve starts out on top, the instigator, the one in control, it’s easy for Eddie to turn the tables.

As Steve straddles him on the bed now, both their shirts lost but the effort to rid themselves of their pants temporarily derailed, Steve is too eager in his pursuit of Eddie’s mouth to notice the coiling tension in the body below him.

He doesn’t notice until the tension springs, and Steve finds himself rolled onto his back with Eddie weighing him down. Quicker than Steve can keep up, Eddie is straddling his waist, taking his wrists and pulling his arms above his head, pinning them to the mattress.

Instinctively, Steve struggles against the hold, but he has no leverage, and Eddie’s grip remains firm. Steve can’t move – yet the expected wave of panic never comes.

He doesn’t feel trapped beneath Eddie, he feels secure, like Eddie is shielding him, keeping him safe. The hold on his wrists keeps him tethered to the Earth when the rest of him feels like floating away, and Steve tugs a little more so Eddie will grip him tighter. He hopes it leaves marks, wants to wear the bruises like bracelets in the shape of Eddie’s fingers.

Then Eddie pulls back, ends the kiss to ask, “This okay?”

He sounds serious, like he really wants to know, like he’ll let Steve go the moment he asks, which is precisely why Steve nods quickly and begs, “Please don’t stop.”

And Eddie grins and leans back in for another kiss, holding Steve tight.

[Prompt: Rolling over in bed, switching positions during a kiss]

[42angelgirl]

ok so imagine drew and younger!reader having their first real argument, and we know she’s always right!!! <3

pairing , drew starkey x angel!reader (younger reader) warnings , them arguing + drew being a meanie. notes, hope yall like this <3 i need dis man bad

ᡣ𐭩˙⋆.˚ 🏕️

"i just don't get why you need to be out till 1AM with your friends. like what are you guys even doing?" you questioned drew. he told you he would be home around 11, but two hours later there he was.

"i haven't seen these people in ages. we're catching up. ever heard of it?" drew snapped back, his attitude surprised you, he never got like this.

"okay. didn't need the attitude." you huffed under your breath.

"attitude?" drew furrowed his eyebrows and gave you a confused look, like you were the one asking stupid questions. "i walk in the house and you attack me with questions. and i have the attitude?" his voice was still calm, but for some reason it made you even more mad than him yelling would've. it was like he was trying to make you feel stupid.

but maybe that was where the age difference between you and drew stood out the most; arguments. he knew how to remain calm most of the time, he never yelled, even when he was really upset with you. whereas you immediately got defensive and mad. but looked like tonight he was taking a new approach.

"you're missing my point drew."

"and what point is that exactly?" drew looked at you like he was actually waiting for an answer, like his question wasn't rhetorical. you felt so stupid. drew had never gotten so blunt and snippy with you before. you didn't know how to handle it.

"whatever." you walked out of your shared bedroom, shutting the door behind you, feeling the waterworks already forming.

"seriously? you're gonna go run off and cry now?" drew yelled after you. he knew you too well.

after sighing and putting his feelings to the side for right now, drew followed right behind you. where he found you on the couch, crying in your own hands. he felt really bad. "baby, i'm sorry." he sat next to you, embracing you in a hug. "it's just been a long night."

you didn't respond, so drew took that as his opportunity to pick you up bridal style and carry you back to the bedroom.

your head nuzzled into his chest, tears leaving stains on his shirt. "you're so mean."

[kettlefire]

Prepare for the unexpected. (DPxDC)

Everyone knew about the reign of Pariah Dark. Even those who did not dabble in those realms have heard the tale of the tyrant. A power-hungry man who ruled over the dead with an iron fist.

Following the rise of Pariah Dark, his realm had been effectively cut off from communication. Many mystics and magic users knew better than to open the door of nightmares that could arise if Pariah Dark's reach went further than his own realm.

Except, the universe had plans to bring the realm of the dead back into the cards.

A new opponent, one that had all of Earth's heroes scrambling for options. A being with powers of a god over weather, destruction was on the horizon. A world ending threat.

It's the only reason the Justice League was doing this. In a deep bunker, far from close civilization as a precaution, the heroes looked on with grim expressions.

The world was already being threatened. It would be destroyed regardless of what the league did. So it only made sense to make the last ditch effort. To summon someone strong enough to defeat the threat.

No one wanted to do it. No one wanted to be the one to pull the realm of the dead back to the living. The consequences were untold if this succeeded. If Pariah Dark was freed and defeated the threat, whose to say he won't want control?

That was a problem for later. For the aftermath. For now, the league could only watch on with bated breath as Constantine completely the summon ritual.

They watched on as the shadows in the room seemed to darken and grow. As the sigil sputtered to life with a glow that was growing increasingly brighter. A sudden gust of wind rushed through the room, the temperature began to drop with eaching ticking second.

And then it was all gone.

The room stood perfectly still. Just as it had been moments before. Nothing changed. No giant king standing before them, no sign that the ritual worked.

The room stood deadly still for another beat before the murmurs started. The team trying to make sense of the situation, figure out what went wrong.

Constantine swore up and down that this was the correct ritual, taking offense that they would even think the problem was on his end. It only made it better when it finally happened.

A loud sound ripped through the room, pulling everyone's attention back to the summoning circle. Just in time to see a tear appear in the space above the circle.

A thin tear that ran the length of eight feet. The fabric of the dimension seems to curl at the edges, pulling back to reveal a deep glowing swirl of greens. A dark gloved hand reached through, fingers curling around the edge of the tear, stretching it even further.

A portal. The ritual had worked, but there had been a delay. A delay that had every hero nerves on edge. Each team member tensed, weapons at the ready as they watched the being stretch the portal to the right size.

Then, a foot stepped out with a heavy thud. A dark boot that looked otherworldly despite its similarity to mortal clothing. A deep black that seemed never-ending. A second foot quickly followed before a full body emerged from the portal.

Not many people in the room have ever seen Pariah Dark, let alone know what to expect. Based on what Constantine and Zatara had said, this wasn't Pariah Dark.

A man had stepped out of the portal, standing at almost seven feet tall, and built like a brick house. One glance at the glowing white hair, deadly red eyes, and shard teeth was enough to know this being was not to be messed with.

But there was no giant show of armor or royal garbs. There is no large crown at the top of his head or jewelry from the infinite realms laced around his neck.

Instead, the man stood before them in combat boots, worn-in ripped jeans, a graphic t-shirt, and a spiked leather jacket. Despite his almost normal clothing choice, the man's jacket seemed to be a never-ending depth of the dark night sky. If one was to look closely enough, the cosmos could almost be made out in the sea of darkness.

None of that would have prepared them for when the man spoke. His tone sounded more bored than anything as he took a step forward.

"Oh, so now you need the help of the dead." The man had spoken, running a hand through his hair. When Batman took a step forward to speak, the man raised a hand. Immediately commanding silence in the single gesture. "I'm on babysitting duty and have yet to have a cup of coffee. I'll be right back."

Just like that, both the man and portal vanished into thin air. Leaving behind a group of stunned heroes. Not only was the man not Pariah Dark, but he was also supposedly babysitting.

"Did that just-"

The Flash had been the first voice to speak up, his eyes trained on where the man had once stood. Except he had barely made it through the first few words before the man was suddenly back.

The man that now had a child hanging off his shoulders and another teen being held up by his scruff. Unlike the man, these kids looked human.

Too human for Bruce's liking. The dark black hair and bright blue eyes had every heroes eyes flickering to Batman for just the briefest moment.

"This isn't fair! I'm not even the king. Why do I have to be here!" The teenager had been complaining the moment the man had reappeared. Arms crossed tight over his chest and seemingly used to being held dangling. "Besides, who brings kids to a show down! Wait til I tell mom about this."

"Aw, come on, Danny. This is gonna be fun!!" The younger girl seemed in much better spirits than the teen, Danny. She had climbed up the large man, sitting on his shoulders and resting her arms on the mess of glowing hair. "It's like take your kids to work day! Ooo, Dan! Can we fight too!?"

Unlike the two kids, the man looked purely exhausted and annoyed. The man, Dan, dropped Danny like a sack of potatoes as he took a long drink from the travel cup in his hand.

It didn't take a genius to recognize the look of an exhausted parent in Dan's expression. A look many of the league members were well acquainted to. A look that even had Batman grimacing with sympathy.

"Can it, little shits. You two were grounded, remember." Dan had growled at the kids before shifting his focus back on the team of heroes before them. His glowing eyes set in a deadly glare. "Pariah Dark isn't coming, and he never will. He's been dethroned and banished. We're the best you've got."

A summoning that started with a group of on edge and scared heroes looking for the ghost king, ended in a way no one expected.

No one was even sure if it made any sense. They weren't sure if they should feel hopeful or in despair.

Because truly, what was a ghostly man with two seemingly human children against a godlike foe with the control over the weather?

The unspoken question of power and ability seemed to vanish following Dan downing the metal travel cup of coffee, and crushing it in his fist.

He tossed it to the side, straighting up his posture as he looked over the heroes. Dan might not be a hero, but he's been playing family for too long.

An almost feral, bloodhungry grin spread across the man's face, sharp fangs on full display. The look made the man suddenly look even less human. He looked closer to a demon from the pits of hell rather than the exhausted parent he looked just a few seconds ago.

"Point me in the direction of this bastard. It's been too long since I let loose and had some fun."

[bbokicidal]

"Are you serious...?" - Angst! [Hyung Line SKZ]

Notes : These are all obviously fictional situations, the red flags are just based off of habits we know they have (like Chan's need to be needed, Changbin being blunt/honest.) This post isn't me saying I think they have these red flags, it's just a fun angsty prompt I wrote down. If you don't like it, scroll and don't read.

If people like this - a maknae line will be written! If not, prolly not lol.

Warnings : Angst with no comfort, red flag behavior - some of these aren't even that bad or could be misunderstandings but still.

Maknae Line | "Good Luck, Babe." Part Two!! Here!

BangChan - Brushing off/Having the wrong priorities

One time, it was him forgetting a dinner date - the next, he was staying at the studio late when he was supposed to be meeting your parents for the first time. You let it slide because ultimately you understood that his job took up a lot of his time, and honestly? It wasn't easy to forget about but he had a tendency to take care of you and make up with it by quick gestures before he left the apartment or when he came home; Soft back hugs, quick cuddles before he fell asleep, or kisses in passing. Lately, however, he's been slacking. He'd begun to shrug you off any time you'd touched his arm or hand, nudging you away while he typed on his laptop. He'd tip his head away from yours while laying in bed together or he'd sit further away on the dressing room sofa.

The tipping point was when he was getting ready to go on stage and was standing in wait for the others to be ready. There was still five minutes and Chris looked a bit jittery, so you figured a quick hug or kiss would help ease his nerves. However as soon as you approach and reach to touch his arms, he steps back and keeps his eyes trained on his phone. You reach again, hesitant, and his brow furrows as he maneuvers to the side to get away. "Don't touch me."

Your lips pop apart in surprise. "...Are you serious?"

He looks over, eyes briefly wandering your face before he reaches to fix his in-ear and walks away to the door, disappearing around the corner and leaving you standing there alone. Even the soft touch of Felix's hand on your back as he passed by was warmer than anything you'd felt from Chris in the last two months.

Lee Know - Keeping secrets / Prioritizing Privacy within himself

Minho had a very, very bad habit of not telling you things. In this instance; That he was leaving for tour in two days.

A world. fucking. tour. The only reason you didn't know about it was because you hadn't been out of your home in the last few weeks unless it was for a quick coffee at the cafe or to grab lunch with a friend. Work was heavy during this time of year and as someone who worked remotely, you often spent grueling hours in your office on your computer - hunched, tired, head pounding and back sore.

So you would think that when you entered your bedroom one evening after just finishing up sorting files in your office, you'd be happy to see your boyfriend already there. And you were for a moment, until you realized he was packing three rather large suitcases full of his clothes and necessities. He looks to you, then away, wordless.

"Are.. you.. moving out, or something?" You breathe in a laugh, eyes wandering over Minho as he folds a t-shirt and tucks it into his suitcase with the others.

"No. I have to bring all of my luggage to the company building tomorrow so they can have it at the airport when we leave for Australia."

"Australia?" Your brows quirk. "When -- Why --"

"Tour." He stops his movements to stare over at you, a hint of irritation evident on his face. "We're going on tour for six months."

"Six--" You breathe out, eyes widening. "Six months. And you didn't think to tell me?"

Minho moves to drop a pair of pants in his suitcase. "I would've told you if you could handle the news, maybe. Every time I mention leaving all you do is whine and pout about how long I'll be gone."

"I get upset, yes, what girlfriend wouldn't be upset that her boyfriend is leaving for a week or two? But six months, Minho, I --"

"Don't start." He all but huffs out the words, shutting you up immediately. Minho turns away to continue folding items of clothing on the shared bed and as you watch him do so, you stand and have to wonder if you want to be there when he returns home from the tour.

Changbin - Not knowing the difference between being rude and being blunt

He didn't seem to understand when to stop. Changbin had a tendency to be honest, sometimes to a fault, though you never seemed to complain about it because most of the time it wasn't a big deal. He called Jeongin out for saying the wrong word when singing, or blatantly threw people under the bus when a joke was taken too far.

And he was like that with you, too. He would be honest with you when you asked his opinion of something - was the shirt unflattering? Were you being too loud? Was your makeup bad today?

He'd lay it on you point blank. Yes, the shirt fit a little weird. Yes, you were being a bit loud in his ear. And yes, your eyeliner was going in two different directions. Criticism that was asked for. But when it wasn't asked for? Oh.

"What is your problem?" He bites as he follows you down the hallway to your bedroom. "We have ten minutes, just wear the damn dress and put your shoes on. We have to go."

Your huffs mix with stifled sobs as you rip open your dresser drawer and dig for other options, hands shaking and eyes teary. "You just told me the dress looks ugly, Changbin. I'm not wearing it out if you don't like it--!"

"What does it matter if i don't like it? It's your body, wear what you want!"

"You're my boyfriend!" You retaliate, frustrated. "I want to look nice for you and -- for the group, and I want you to like what I wear, obviously!"

Changbin lets his eyes roll before he turns out of the bedroom doorway and down the hall. You pause to watch him go, listening as he bites about how he doesn't have time for this and needs to leave for the group dinner. You stand in front of your dresser in shock as the door to your apartment slams shut, leaving you in silence and all on your own.

Hyunjin - Being too cocky / Making you feel inferior

It hadn't happened before now, and you weren't sure why it happened at all. But it did.

You'd approached to gently hold onto your boyfriend's arm as he talked to an older idol - someone he looked up to and had just done a collaboration video with. You'd only come up to tell him that the food was delivered and he could have dinner before his stage, but the look he gave you when he finally turned his head was .... wild.

No words were needed. The way his eyes directed to the side you stood at before falling as if looking you over and then immediately looking away; The way the smirk on his lips only widened and his tongue pushed at his canines as he redirected his gaze elsewhere. The soft scoff that left his lips. The way his arm slipped away from your hold in clear nuance that he didn't want you touching him.

It made you feel like less. Like he was pretending he didn't know you - Like he wanted you to bug off and disappear from his line of sight.

Hyunjin had a tendency to put on a confident, bold persona when he was on stage and at first you thought maybe that was why he was acting this way. It was lingering in his body from the dance video he'd just filmed with the other idol and eventually, it would wear off.

But as he turned from you and lifted a hand to fix his hair, he talks to the other as if you're not even there at all. And you have to wonder if it's a persona for the video, or a side of him you had just experienced for the first time. Now you could only hope it wouldn't happen again.