#and when I say long I mean LONG but i will not put it under a readmore because :) that’s silly :)

[mariasont]

A Puddle in Running Shoes A.H.

summary: your boyfriend finds out you have a praise kink and is having way too much fun with that information

masterlist

pairings: aaron hotchner x fem!reader

warnings: some suggestive content, hotch being a menace, reader having a praise kink, end suggests something may happen but nothing explicit in this one folks im getting my libido under control swear, also count how many times r refers to hotch's face as stupid im crying

wc: 1.9k

You hated running. No—loathed it. Detested it. Despised it with every fiber of your being. If there was a stronger word, one that captured the burning, irrational rage you felt whenever someone suggested going for a jog, Spencer might have known it, but you couldn't bring yourself to care enough to ask. Simply put, running was not your thing.

But when Aaron—your boyfriend and somehow the most persistent man alive—asked you to join you on a run, you couldn't exactly say no. He didn't beg—Aaron Hotchner did not beg—but his version of asking, that soft it'd mean a lot to me paired with an encouraging smile, was close enough to begging in your book. Besides, you figured there'd be some sort of reward when you got back home. Aaron was good at those.

So here you were, contributing absolutely nothing to your marathon-obsessed, fitness-loving FBI boyfriend's training. Sweat coated every inch of your body, your legs felt like lead, and your lungs burned with every ragged breath you managed to suck in. The sun blazed overhead, making you feel more like a roasting chicken than a willing participant in this so-called fun activity.

Aaron, on the other hand, looked like he'd stepped out of a fitness ad—shirt clinging to him in ways that felt outright scandalous. Even the sweat on his face somehow made him look even more attractive.

He was at least ten paces ahead of you and every few steps, he'd glance over his shoulder, probably checking to make sure you hadn't spontaneously combusted or snuck off to find an air-conditioned cafe. Honestly, both were real possibilities.

Aaron's pace slowed until he was running beside you, throwing you a smile so unfairly handsome it made your legs feel weaker than they already did.

"How are you feeling?" The question felt retorical—anyone, profiler or not, was sure to be able to read you like an open book right now. "Still alive, or do I need to start figuring out the best way to carry you home without breaking any traffic laws?"

"I think I'm alive," you managed between gasps, wiping sweat from your brow. "But if carrying me is on the table, I'm not above playing dead to make that happen."

"Not necessary—I'd carry you anyway, if only to reward you for keeping up this long. You're doing great."

You foot caught a crack in the pavement, nearly hurling yourself into it, but Aaron's hand was there quicker keeping you upright as you tried to ignore the terrifying way your body had reacted to his compliment.

"Okay you can't just say stuff like that while I'm trying to run," you blurted out, avoiding his gaze. "You're trying to kill me, I swear."

You planted your hands on your hips, still trying to catch your breath, secretly relieved to have a break���even if it almost involved a face-first meeting with the sidewalk.

"Stuff like what?" He tugged at your ponytail and you swatted his hand.

"Nothing," you said way too quickly, shaking your head like you could physically toss what you said aside. "Forget I said anything. Let's just... keep running."

You quickly realized your mistake as soon as you started jogging again. You would never willingly suggest to keep running. Unfortunately, Aaron was actively aware of this, moving to come up beside you. You didn't need to look at him to know he had the stupidest smirk on his face.

He didn't say anything at first, to your immediate relief, just kept jogging beside you. The silence stretched on, his calm breathing only seeming to make your wheezing sound worse.

"You're breathing too shallow," he said after a moment, his tone completely casual like he wasn't even winded. "Try to take deeper breaths—match them to your strides. It'll make it easier."

You glanced towards him out of the corner of your eye before attempting his suggestion. You had no intention of letting him know that it worked. His ego was far too substantial for that.

"See? You're a natural," he said, shooting you a sidelong glance. "Atta girl."

Your brain flatlined and you almost tripped over your feet again, every rational thought replaced by static. What was wrong with you? You vaguely remembered reading somewhere that people with unresolved daddy issues were prone to developing praise kinks. Was that what this was? Whatever the reason, hearing Aaron talk like that shouldn't make you feel all gooey inside, but here you were, a puddle in running shoes.

"You okay?"

"Yeah, yup, fine!"

You stared at the ground so intensely, it was a miracle you didn't bore a hole into the pavement. Your voice had betrayed you, far too shaky and way too rushed, and you knew Aaron was probably filing away every bit of your reaction.

"Hey," he said softly, his hand brushing against the back of your neck as he spoke. "Stop staring at the ground. You'll run better if you keep your head up—it'll open your chest so you can breathe easier."

His hand lingered for a second too long than what your body could handle, leaving you completely flustered and fighting every urge to do exactly the opposite of what he said.

"There you go," he murmured, a small, approving smile tugging at his lips. "That's good, honey. Just like that."

His voice—his god forsaken voice—was like a jolt to your system, and not in a good way. Or maybe it was a good way, which was the problem. It was bad enough to hearing it out here, on the jogging trail, but your brain decided to replay it in an entirely different inappropriate context: one that involved you, him, and a bed.

Your face burned, and you couldn't tell if it was from the exertion, or the very real possibility that your body was too receptive to those words. And now, not only were you fighting for every breath, but you were trying to figure out if the dampness between your legs was entirely from sweat. Surely it was sweat. Right? Gods, you hoped it was sweat.

You stopped so suddenly that Aaron jogged a few steps ahead before he realized you were not longer beside him.

"Okay, I'm calling it. I'm done. Can we please go home now?"

He jogged back to you, an easy smile on his face, and placed his hands on your shoulders as he reached you.

"Alright, we can be done," he teased, thumbs brushing lightly over your collarbones. "You survived, and you did great. I'm proud of you."

He leaned down then, pressing a soft, lingering kiss to your lips that made the ache in your body a little easier to ignore.

When he pulled away, you barely managed to keep standing.

Aaron let out a low laugh, his hands squeezing your shoulders. "Alright. What's going on? What's wrong with you?"

"I don't know what you're talking about," you said over your shoulder, practically power walking towards the car.

Aaron's laugh deepened and you ignored the funny feeling curling in your chest.

"Sweetheart," he said, gently tugging your elbow to slow you down. "Come on, talk to me."

"There's nothing to talk about, I'm fine!" You avoided his eyes as you tugged your elbow free. "I'm just tired, and, uh, need a shower."

A cold shower, your brain screamed, but you shoved the thought down.

"I know, I know you're tired," he said, lips curving into a smile, "but that's because you actually pushed yourself. I'm proud of you for sticking with it."

You were pretty convinced you were you were about to go up in flames. Your obituary would read death by too many unnecessary compliments. When your heart inevitably gave out, Aaron would have to explain to Rossi and the others how his dumb smile and sweet words had resulted in second degree manslaughter.

But then you saw it—the smirk. The one that said he absolutely knew what he was doing.

"Oh my gosh, you know!" You groaned and threw your hands in the air. "You know, and you're enjoying this!"

Spinning away from him, you stormed to the car, and slammed the door like it might shield you from his stupidly smug face.

You barely had time to exhale before the passenger door swung open, revealing Aaron, casually leaning against the car.

"You know," he said lightly, his tone far too casual for your liking, "slamming car doors isn't a great habit. You could hurt yourself."

"And you know," you snapped back, pointing at him, "torturing your girlfriend isn't a great habit either!"

He leaned in slowly, his fingers brushing against your shoulder as he grabbed your seatbelt. As he clicked it into place, his face lingered close to yours.

"I wasn't trying to torture you, baby. Just wanted to give you the chance to admit it—that you liked it."

Before you could muster a reply, Aaron's hand slid up to cradle your face, his thumb moving along your cheek. He leaned in, capturing your lips in a kiss that was so deep, leaving you no choice but to sink into it, even as the faint remnants of your annoyance tried to surface.

By the time he pulled back, you felt like you were under his spell. Then, without another word, he shut your door and headed to the driver's side.

"That's not fair," you muttered, crossing your arms and pouting as you stared out the window.

Aaron's hand found the back of your neck as he backed out of the parking spot, rubbing gently into smooth circles.

"I don't mean to be unfair," he said with a small smile. "I just needed to hear it, because sometimes people don't even realize what they need until they say it out loud. And I wanted to make sure I didn't misread anything—though I'm rarely wrong, as you know."

"Trust me, you remind me every chance you get." Your tone was dry, but you were well aware that the twitch in your lip was giving you away.

"Alright, smartass," he said, chuckling as his fingers pressed a little firmer into your neck. "Now tell me—how does it make you feel when I say those things to you?"

You groaned, burying your face in your hands. "I don't know, okay? I just... like it! Do I have to explain it?"

"You don't have to explain it if you don't want to," he said, "but I'd like to know what it is you like so much."

Aaron's hand moved from your neck to your hand, his fingers sliding between each of yours while his eyes stayed glued to the road, a thing that only came from months of familiar motions.

You let out a long breath. "I don't know. I just like hearing it. It makes me feel good. Special, I guess."

"You are special, sweetheart." His eyes flicked to you before returning to the road. "You're my best girl."

Your stomach flipped violently. You shifted again, trying to disguise the way your thighs pressed together tightly as your face burned hotter than ever. The debate earlier in your head was officially over—absolutely not just sweat, you thought miserably.

Aaron let out a soft chuckle, fingers brushing over your knuckles. "Something I said?"

You swatted his shoulder, your glare losing all its bite thanks to the flush all over your body. "You're enjoying this way too much."

"I can't help it," he murmured, voice dipping just enough to get you on edge. "But don't worry—I'll take care of my best girl once we're home."

You slumped in your seat, muttering something unintelligible that made Aaron chuckle again. And even though you wouldn't admit it, you found yourself smiling, already dreading and anticipating whatever he had planned when you got home.

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[digitaldaydreamm]

unspoken claim

rafe cameron x childhood friend!reader

| summary | he doesn't find your little joke funny...

warnings: none

masterlist

⋆｡𖦹 °.🐚⋆❀˖°

Kelce’s house was alive with noise: music softly playing from a speaker in the corner, laughter echoing through the living room, and the clinking of bottles as someone handed out drinks. You hadn’t planned to come tonight, but Rafe had insisted, picking you up before you could think of an excuse.

Now you were perched on the armrest of the couch, hovering near him like you always did. Rafe lounged beside you, beer in hand, his other arm stretched lazily across the back of the couch, just shy of touching your waist. You didn’t think much of it—it was just Rafe. You’d been around him like this a thousand times before.

Kelce, Topper, and a few others crowded around, swapping stories and cracking jokes. You were halfway through laughing at something stupid Topper said when Kelce leaned back, a smug grin spreading across his face.

“You two ever spend a second apart?” he asked, nodding between you and Rafe. “Seriously, you’re like a married couple. I mean, look at her sitting right there, practically on his lap.”

Your face flushed, but you brushed it off with a quick laugh. “Please. Like I’d ever put up with him long enough to marry him.”

The group erupted into laughter, and you didn’t notice the shift in Rafe’s expression until it was too late. His jaw ticked, his fingers gripping the neck of his beer bottle a little tighter than necessary.

Without a word, Rafe’s arm dropped from the back of the couch to hook around your waist. Before you could react, he tugged you off the armrest and straight into his lap.

“Yeah?” he murmured, his voice low and just for you. His breath tickled your ear, sending an involuntary shiver down your spine. “Try saying that again, kid. Let's see how far you get.”

You blinked, caught off guard by the sudden change in proximity. “Rafe, what are you—”

“What?” he interrupted, smirking as he leaned back, his grip firm on your waist. “You looked uncomfortable sitting up there. Now you’ve got the best seat in the house. You’re welcome.”

The others barely glanced at you, too distracted by Kelce’s next wild story. But you could feel every inch of Rafe’s attention, the way his fingers pressed just a little too firmly into your hip, keeping you anchored to him.

“Rafe,” you hissed under your breath, turning your head slightly to glare at him. “I can’t sit here.”

“Why not?” He tilted his head, his lips brushing your temple in what felt more like a taunt than an accident. “You’ve done it before.”

“That’s not the point—”

“Relax,” he cut you off, his voice a little quieter, a little sharper. “You were falling off the couch anyway. I’m just keeping you steady.”

You bit the inside of your cheek, unsure how to respond without drawing more attention. From the outside, it probably looked like you two were just being your usual selves—close and comfortable, like always. But something about the way Rafe’s hand slid from your hip to rest on your thigh, possessive and unmoving, made your heart race.

Someone across the room called your name, and you instinctively leaned forward, trying to get a better view. Rafe’s grip tightened instantly, pulling you back against his chest.

“Where you going?” he asked, his tone light but his actions firm.

“I was just—”

“You’re fine right here,” he said, cutting you off again. He leaned back further, one hand casually draped across your thigh as if to make a point.

You sighed, shooting him a look. “Are you serious right now?”

He grinned, his eyes flashing with something you couldn’t quite place. “Dead serious, sweetheart.”

The group around you continued chatting, oblivious to the silent exchange happening between you and Rafe. To them, it was just another night, another example of how inseparable you two always were. But you couldn’t shake the feeling that something had shifted, that Rafe wasn’t just playing around this time.

You didn’t say anything else, unsure of how to handle the way his thumb absentmindedly brushed over your knee, or how his smirk only grew when you stopped trying to move.

“Good girl,” he murmured, so quietly you almost didn’t hear it.

And just like that, the conversation moved on, leaving you sitting there, unsure if you should be annoyed, flustered, or both. Meanwhile, Rafe leaned back, looking completely at ease, as if you weren’t a storm of emotions in his lap.

He’d won this round, and the worst part? You weren’t even sure he’d been playing.

[orikixx]

Wrong Number, Right Recipe (8/?)

Pt. 8

<<pervious part

Featuring: Satoru Gojo

Warnings: smutty, reader is afab, wc- 1.5k

Summary: strangers to friends to lovers! An accidental text from the wrong number leads to the meeting of you and satoru gojo, a baker from the pastry shop down the street of your office.

Author’s note: hi guys! I hope this is alright, I haven’t actually written anything down in so long so I kinda struggled with this😓 next part will be a smau, and hopefully part 11 will finish the series as another written down version. Hope you guys like it nonetheless! ���

Saturday, 10:23

You’re currently seated atop of satoru’s kitchen counter, patiently waiting for him to finish cutting up some fresh fruits to go with the breakfast you’ve brought. He insisted that you stay with him all day, selling it off as a way to help you get back on your feet, and you aren’t complaining.

The memories of the previous night were flooding satoru’s mind. That must be the reason he’s got his torso pressed up again the kitchen counter, trying to calm down his raging boner as you sit there, looking at him all wide eyed and sweet. He can’t stop thinking about you, the way your supple ass brushed against him as you cuddled while watching some movie, making him almost combust right on the spot.

He’s gripping that poor kiwi way too tightly for his own liking, the fruit almost exploding under his hold.

“Is there something wrong satoru?” Your voice brings him out of his daze, and he looks at you like a deer caught in headlights. Satoru shakes his head, trying to play it off cool as he gives you a casual smile. He finishes plating up the fruits, and you two sit down and eat the warm pastries and his wobbly-looking cut up kiwis and strawberries.

“I had this thought, you know?” You say teasingly, taking a bite of your croissant as satoru looks at you patiently. “What if.. I got a matching sonic onesie? I mean, a matching one, like knuckles or shadow..” the words spill out of your mouth, nervously rambling on and on. There’s very visible blush creeping up your cheeks, surprisingly embarrassed over such a simple interaction with your friend.

Satoru bursts out laughing, almost spitting out everything that’s in his mouth. “You’re so ridiculous” is what you expected him to say, only he didn’t. He pulled out his phone, and told you to order it using his card. You stared at him, shock written all over your face.

“Wait, are you serious?” “Yeah, why not? It’ll be hilarious,” satoru said with a grin, pushing his phone toward you. “Just pick one. It’s no big deal.” You sigh, eventually giving in and taking his phone. You lean over the table to show satoru the various options, yet all he’s capable of noticing is how perfectly your tits are squeezed against the wooden surface, and how close your face is to his as your fingers excitedly tap his phone.

His stare must’ve been too obvious, since you put his phone down, yet your face remain close to his as you examine him. Satoru almost gasps when your finger comes up to his cheek, gently wiping off a lingering chocolate smear. He thinks he might pass out, his face must be so red as he’s eye to eye with you, and you give him a soft smile when you’re satisfied with the way you’ve cleaned him up.

Satoru currently stares at you like some idiot, open mouthed and not a single thought behind his eyes as you gently clean him. Your mind however, is buzzing with excitement. He smells so good up close, although just getting out of bed. He smells like cedar wood and vanilla, making you stall for a moment longer than necessary.

In that second, satoru feels his resolve melting away, and he can’t help himself but kiss you. It’s sudden and uncomfortable, leaning over the table, but it’s also so warm and comforting, his lips fitting perfectly against yours. You gasp, and he realizes what he’s done. Leaning back, satoru feels his ears burning in embarrassment, blush creeping up his neck. “I’m so sorry oh my gosh, I shouldn’t have done that, I don’t know what came ov-“ and your lips are smashing against his again.

This time, he’s the one to gasp into the kiss, but he quickly leans into it. Satoru brings his hand to cup your cheek, and he breaks the kiss when you lean into his touch. “fuck YEAH”, he yells out, his heart almost exploding out of his chest. You’re panting, cheeks dusted pink, and the only sound you can hear is the thrumming of your heart in your chest.

Satoru stands up and quickly circles the table, easily picking you up in his arms as you squeal. “I’ve been wanting to do this for so long, you have no idea y/n,” “let me down!” “Not until I get another kiss”. You pout, and oh so reluctantly wrap your arms around his neck and kiss him again. Once he’s satisfied, he gently lets you back down onto the floor.

“Now that we’ve established that, are you finally going to order your onesie? My wallet is aching for you,” satoru says teasingly as he starts washing the dishes the both of you have used. You sigh and pick his phone back up, ordering yourself a matching shadow onesie.

It’s noon now, and you’re back in your pjs sprawled out on satoru’s couch. He sits beside you, gently stroking your hair as your head rests at his lap. “Satoru,” you mumble, eyes closed as you feel tiredness washing over you. “Yes sweets?” He answers, and you feel your lips curling up in a small smile at the nickname. “Can I get a kiss?” You almost whisper, too embarrassed to even look up at him. “Can’t hear you, pretty girl.” “I said, can I get a kiss?” You ask louder now, desperate, almost whining.

“Toru!” you yelp out, your heart skipping a bit as he easily repositions you, so now you’re straddling his lap. You bury your face in the crook of his neck, your ears burning in embarrassment at how easily he can handle you. “Wanted a kiss, didn’t you?” He asks rather rhetorically, his hands resting at your hips, grounding you down onto his torso. “Don’t be so shy around me y/n, I know you must’ve been dreaming about this just as much as I did”, he says teasingly, one of his fingers slipping under the hem of your shirt to stroke the bare skin. You scoff, yet finally kiss him. Your hands are cupping his cheeks, trying to pull him impossibly closer as his tongue enters your mouth.

You gasp, hands immediately finding purchase in his hair, tugging on the soft locks. Satoru moans into the kiss, his hands moving to squeeze your ass while he desperately grinds his growing erection into you. You quickly break the kiss, gasping for air, yet satoru won’t stop slowly grinding his hips against yours. His forehead is resting against your shoulder, and you let out a soft mewl when his erection rubs against your clit, the thin fabric of your shorts doing absolutely nothing to stop the friction.

“You’re driving me crazy y/n, you- fuck, you look so heavenly like this, just begging for me to worship you” satoru whimpers into your shoulder, his lips kissing a trail up to your neck. “T-toru!” You moan softly, fingers tugging on the white strands as he sucks that sweet spot on your neck, simultaneously thrusting up against you. You can feel the wetness soaking through your flimsy shorts, probably leaving a stain on his gray sweats. Suddenly his lips aren’t at your neck anymore, his head leaning back, resting against the couch as he breathes heavily.

“Are you sure you want to do this right now? You haven’t even slept all night”, satoru says worriedly. You can spot the genuine care in his eyes, yet his tone is so whiny, he’s actually so desperate for you and he can’t even hide it. You simply sit there for a moment, dumbfounded, until finally the adrenaline wears off, and the earlier wave of tiredness washes over you again. You groan and wiggle in his grip, until his stubborn hands finally let go of your ass. You stand up and reach out to him, offering him your hand so he can join you in bed.

He groans as well, taking your hand in his as he gets up. Satoru quickly rushes you to bed, pulling the covers on top of both of you. His long limbs wrap around you, not leaving you any space, but you’re okay with that, smiling and humming happily as he buries his face in your hair and sighs. Finally, the both of you can rest comfortably, or at least until your onesie arrives.

Divider credit: @animatedglittergraphics-n-more

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[worlds-worst-ships]

Do you seriously, actually ship it?

Okay. Lets talk. Because apparently some of you are defending... well... "that" (under the cut)

"He's autistic! It was a stim!"

If you genuinely think that this has ANYTHING to do with autism, you are an objectively stupid person. Like, your brain is so fucking smooth, it puts the surface of freshly tempered glass to shame. You're a barely functional reprobate with subhuman intelligence who has no idea how to form thoughts so you let a 50 year old billionaire who spends too much time on his phone decide your thought process for you.

"He was throwing his heart out to the crowd!"

Now, I don't really play baseball, basketball, netball, or any sport where you throw anything other than sometimes darts, but... is that how you throw? You perfectly extend your arm at that angle? Twice? After spending years posting tweets that very much align with Nazi viewpoints? Do you throw a pitch in baseball and scream SIEG HEIL as the ball hurtles towards your opponent? No. Stop being a fucking idiot. This was deliberate. He did it twice.

"He's autistic! He doesn't know better!"

Please comment if you actually think this so I can personally call you a stupid cunt and block you. We absolutely do know better. Autism and Nazism aren't mutually exclusive.

"You're inhibiting his free speech!"

1st amendment only applies to censorship from government positions of power, which I am not, as should be obvious from the fact that I have no power to censor him. Though I shouldn't have to explain that.

"Well, he's gonna get away with it so stop being so sensitive!"

Yes. He is. But that's not a flex, that's A FUCKING MASSIVE PROBLEM. Call me sensitive if you want, but absolutely every single one of you should be offended by this. Did you pay attention in history class, or were you too tired after a long night of being fucking railed raw and bone dry by propaganda on Twitter? Moron.

"Well, he's rich and you're not, so there!"

Yep. Got me there. He's rich, and I'm not. Yknow, Hitler and a lot of Nazi officers were pretty minted too. So was Epstein, King Leopold, Stalin, Jimmy Saville, every MP currently serving in parliament... but sure, they're great people because they're rich, right?

"You're just a stupid offended libtard!"

Google "The Holocaust".

"Well, you're still using his app!"

His app? You mean the one he bought, then fucking ruined because he has no idea how to run it, right? And you because its basically impossible to find mutuals as a vtuber without it, you knew that, right? "His" app, please, you probably think Ronald McDonald makes your burger when you order McDonalds, you moron.

"If we punish Elon for this, then that's a violation of the first amendment!"

You mean like banning tiktok, removing any and all talk of election rigging, then putting it back up the next day? Or maybe like deleting any criticisms of you and your nazi salutes under your recent tweets despite it blowing up everywhere else? Or does that not count because its something you agree with? Yeah. You've been cucked harder than Sneako and you don't even realize it. Elon and his government buddies are leaving your free speech rights looking like this

Aaaaanyway

I find it well and truly laughable that so many people like Elon will say all this insane shit and do all these fucking heinous things and people will defend them. Like how that gun woman who shit herself says stuff like "I'm not homophobic, I just think gay people are disgusting and that they should die" or that comedian nobody finds funny anymore spends hours whining about trans people but says he's not transphobic.

Lets all be on the same page for once and have the balls to say what we actually think. Elon got so close, but being a spineless edgelord who doesn't have the balls to just say what he thinks out loud is quite the weakness.

[kawhh]

dark!jack taking videos of you when you don’t notice. whether under your skirt that he always suggests you wear or when he’s buried inside of you and you’re out of it (bc he may have slipped something to help you sleep), he watches them whenever he can’t be home with you.

maybe one day he puts cameras in to watch you when he’s on roadies, just to take care of you

I will kiss you through the screen. This is a threat. Sorry nonnie, this is long.

He's been so frustrated with having to be separated from you so often even though he loves his job. The fact that he can't see how your eyes roll back as he fucks you? Can't see how you cry? Can't see how well you take him? Can't see how big he is compared to you? The stretch of your cute little pussy as he forces his way in? The curve of your perfect ass under his favourite skirt? Criminal.

You're so innocent, you won't even facetime with him and talk dirty. You get all squirmy and red the minute he says something suggestive. What he'd give for you to be confident enough to at least touch yourself for him so he can see slightly.

It does give him an idea though... Just because you aren't confident enough, doesn't mean he can't make his own content. He finds it adorable, but he's getting manic. He's researching cameras on his roadies - taking advantage of the fact that you can't possibly find out.

He doesn't want some shit, blurry video footage. He wants 4k. He wants to see the cum leak out of you around his dick. He wants to see how soaked your thighs are. He wants to hold you open so he can get footage of how stretched you are from him. He wants footage of how your underwear barely covers your ass under your skirt. Needs to see his release paint your throat.

He needs you out of it for this plan to work. You'll ask him what the camera is for, you'll freak out, you'll protest, you'll whine and complain. He can't have that - he needs this footage.

You'd never suspect that he's added something special to your tea - you're so thankful that he's made it for you while you're in bed. You don't even notice the tiredness kicking in. Why would you? You've been stressed from work, it's perfectly natural. You don't see him crawling over you with a manic smirk, reaching for his zipper. You're barely concicious when he lifts your legs over his hips.

He's being so gentle, not wanting your body to fight the drug too hard. Taking his time getting the right angles, forcing your tight little body to slowly stretch around him. He's practically drooling as he eventually loses it. Running his fingers through the leaking cum, stuffing it back into you to get more footage of how it seeps through the small gap between his dick and your walls.

He gets addicted to watching the footage of you on his trips. He just needs more. More of everything. More of you existing. Putting makeup on? He wants to see it. Sleeping? He wants to check. Touching yourself? He needs to watch. He's got the money to install a whole camera setup in the apartment and he's sure as fuck gonna do it. You'll never have to know..

[sheepispink]

A TICKING TIME BOMB

pairings: simon ghost riley/sergeant!reader

tags: platonic/romantic (up to u), angst, hurt/comfort, dissociation, scars (his and yours), injuries, temporary blindness, cuddling, fluff

Summary: Assigned on your first proper mission with the task force, things go wrong leaving you a.. little bit injured. Well, maybe a bit. It's bad enough the task force have to take turns looking after you like you're the team's hamster or something. It makes you uncomfortable somewhat, and you’re exhausted already, so when it gets around to Ghost’s turn, you break.

WC: 6.8k

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As always, the simplest of missions always ended up going haywire, though that seemed to follow you wherever you went. This time, you were tasked with a simple job: get in under Ghost and Soap’s cover, plant the bomb and get out again. Straightforward, plenty of preparation beforehand and no room for mistakes— after all, the team consisted of only the most specialised operatives. Well, you liked to describe it that way, but the rest of the team were far more experienced than you. It’s not like you were one to typically put yourself down or the like, but it was your first time working without your usual team. Usually, you had them right beside you whenever you helped the taskforce, always backup and nothing more. That was until you were spending your Friday night with Gaz in his task force common room, chilling out before Price suddenly walks in and addresses Kyle about the next mission. You took the moment to let your mind wander a bit, already feeling the tiredness seeping in. An absent-minded yawn led you to unintentionally make yourself known, Price’s eyes suddenly narrowing at you.

“S-sorry.. Didn't mean to interrupt..” You say sheepishly, sitting up straight from your slouched position against the arm rest. Surprisingly, Price just shakes his head and rubs his beard curiously. “Didn’t you take the same year-long course Soap did?” He asks, and you slowly nod, remembering the hell you went through, but it was damn worth it for the skills you earned.

“Perfect, Gaz, bring them to the meeting tomorrow.”

Okay, so maybe there was a lot more to it than that, but you really had been half awake and, before you knew it, you were in that meeting with room layouts being thrown at you like bricks. You were slightly terrified to say the least; though, you were a sergeant now, so you had already expected that your usual work would change more than you had thought.

Now here you were, clearing the next corridor with ease as adrenaline pumped through your veins. Most are outside trying to take out the others, but there were always going to be a few strays that passed under the radar. Ducking into the next hall, you finally find where you were supposed to set down the bomb. If everything had gone right, Price and Gaz would be in the hallways not too far ahead of you and Soap and Ghost a bit behind. That meant all hallways had successfully been cleared from strays, allowing you to easily crouch down and begin to set up the explosives by the pillar. You’ve done this a million times, both in training and missions, and yet your heart is racing all the same. Something just feels wrong, even if the Captain had just radioed in and confirmed success in clearing the path ahead. You stick the last wire in, watching the timer begin to slowly tick.

“This is Bravo 7-2 speaking, the explosives are secured at the pillar and timer has begun.” Forcing the tremble out of your voice is near impossible especially when your stomach churns with uncertainty; that’s not the point though, you need to get out–right now. The clack of your boots against the tiling is loud and heavy, picking up with each second that passes. “I repeat, this is Bravo 7-2, the explosives have been set. Get out of range now.”

Before you can turn the corridor, your heart stops in your chest, and you feel yourself slamming to a stop. Footsteps drawing closer. More than one, maybe even three sets. With gritted teeth, you steady your gun and peek around the hall.

Thirty seconds

Another falls down, crumpling to the floor whilst his friend curses in Russian, now running towards you. Where the hell had he come from? His hands drop his gun, the empty barrel evident in the lighter noise it makes as it clatters to the floor, before landing them on your shoulders.

Twenty seconds.

You shoot at him quickly, throwing his slumped body off of you with a heavy thump. There's no time to catch your breath— you need to be out of here.

Ten seconds.

Your feet are moving and yet it seems like you’re not getting anywhere.

Five seconds.

“Bravo 7-2? This is Bravo 0-6, everyone is out.”

The soldiers had only taken up ten seconds of your time which would be nothing to anyone else in life—unfortunately, those seconds mattered the most in this line of work. Your thumb can barely even touch the cold metal of the radio before the bright light goes off behind you, debris showering over you as the building echoes the loud noise between its walls. The ringing in your ears is practically deafening, not to mention the flames that lick at your uniform as you’re thrown forward into the wall. The ceiling above makes a sickening crunch before promptly falling down and giving you mere seconds to roll out the way. It’s still for a minute as you sit there slumped against the rickety foundations that once held the building, every thought of yours at a standstill in your head.

“This is Bravo 6-2 to Bravo 7-2, what is your status?” The crackle of the walkie-talkie could easily be mistaken for the relentless ringing in your ears, only serving to make you groan and slump your head a little more. “I repeat, this is Bravo 6-2 to Bravo 7-2. Sergeant..? Are you alright?”

Gaz’s voice is still jingling through your head long before his concerns pass through your ears; the explosion had rewired your brain and changed the connections of your nerves, jumbling everything inside you into a giant heap that could be comparable to the disorganised look of Frankenstein’s creation.

“Gaz.. I’m alright, I think.” You mumble out, slowly pushing the rubble off of you, well you think it’s rubble— who knows. There's smoke all throughout the air, toxic fumes reaping through the hallways you roamed moments before. One arm reaches up to cover your mouth and face, coughing harshly into your sooted uniform. “I’m comin’, give me a sec..” Why did your chest feel so tight? Something was definitely wrong, but then again everything has seemed to go wrong in the last thirty seconds. You could sit here and complain about the burns on your leg, the clench of your lungs or the sting that forces your eyes closed. But that wouldn't be quite useful, would it?

You manage to stumble your way into fresh air, allowing you to finally deeply inhale the cold air that seems to shiver every nerve you thought you lost. It’s not long before Soap has rushed up beside you, giving you a small pat on your back as he lifts your arm over his shoulder. “C’mon, there’s no way you’re out cold by a little boom, eh?” You force a dry chuckle out as his words, even more so at his scouse accent, allowing him to aid you into the back of the exfil truck where you suppose the others are sitting— your visor is completely covered in dust right now, you can barely make out Soap’s stupid haircut as he sits you down.

“What the hell happened back there?” The rough voice fills your ears, clearer than Ghost’s and holds far more authority as well. That's only how you can tell them apart right now since squinting isn't helping much. You suppose Gaz is on his left, and maybe Ghost is beside you? Soap is patting you down for injuries whilst you cower under Price’s harsh tone. “Some slipped through, tried to stop me when I left.” You fumble to explain yourself, coughing harshly from the fumes you had accidentally inhaled back there. “Didn’t you clear all the hallways first? You shouldn't have acted without being sure.”

“I’m not badly hurt, I swear.” Those feelings from earlier fill your head, the doubt whilst you were wiring the explosives— you shouldn’t have ignored that gut feeling, but how would you have known?

With a soft sigh, you look up to meet his gaze properly. “I didn't mean to rush; you were all in position. I just didn't want to cause an unnecessary delay, sorry..”

He lets out a low scoff and Soap snorts beside you, still holding your arm over his shoulders and the truck starts to rumble and move over the unsteady ground. “Hey— w-what's so funny?” Now you’re confused, wondering if you’re about to get the death sentence or the like. “You could at least look at yer captain when yer apologising, you idiot.”

Now you’re very confused, turning your head to face your captain again or well face what you assume to be him considering your visor was still blurry. You were sure Price was right there, you could just make out his signature hat atop his head but then again this visor was really blurry. Now that the adrenaline has finally settled down, you lift your sleeve to rub the dirt on your visor away. What you hadn't realised is that you didn't have one, well anymore; it must’ve fallen off during the explosion. You don't think much and just rub at your eyes instead, trying to rid the blurriness.

Until it doesn't go.

You’ve opened your eyes wide, rubbed at every crevice in them and blinked multiple times to no avail. The three of them watched your flailing about, curious as to why you were so intent on rubbing your eyes like a fly was buzzing in them.

“I am looking at my captain—” You continue to argue, sure that some dirt must’ve gotten into your eye, but they know something’s wrong the minute you point straight ahead at Gaz, convinced it’s him as you ramble on about his hat. You’re silenced quickly by Ghost who firmly, but not harshly, grabs your chin to allow him and Soap to stare at the hazy look in your eyes. “What can you see Sergeant?”

He says, rough voice rumbling out right beside your ear which you most certainly would’ve jumped at if not for his touch that reminded you of his presence.

“Well it’s a bit blurry but-” A curse escaped from Price and you assume he’s the one who stands in front of you now, holding his arm up though you can't really make out anything but the blur of the colours of his uniform. “How many fingers am I holdin’ up, kid?”

The truck goes silent when you guess five, only his fist remaining in the air.

Your foot taps the floor anxiously as you sit in the infirmary, waiting for a medic to attend to you. Soap had escorted you here, trying to cheer you up with empty hopes, but he had left you whilst he attended the debriefing. In truth, you were even more terrified than before. You’d been shot at, had bones broken multiple times, but now you were visually impaired for who knows how long— if it was even temporary that is. Soon enough you’re speaking to the medic, failing to hide the shake in your breath as they examine your eyes one by one before eventually concluding that it’ll take two weeks to fully recover from. Somehow you had forgotten about the bullet that sliced into your leg which they were now preparing to stitch, having been too disoriented earlier to even notice Soap wrapping up the blood around your shin. The pain had been excruciating everywhere when you first stumbled out, especially those burns you hadn't yet showed them.

This sucks, not only had you made a fool of yourself earlier by absolutely not looking at Price when apologising, but you’re also about a nerve away from crying on this infirmary bed. You never realised how terrifying it’d be to live totally unaware of your surroundings, considering you managed to always be alert for everything, so this is practically hell for you. You can only hear the recruits on the bed beside you, chattering non-stop, and it’s only more overwhelming when you can’t even see directly where they are. Not to mention you can't even fend for yourself anymore— hell you’d describe yourself as useless and you are. The pain still ripples up your legs, burns from the explosion, and your head aches from the override of thoughts running through it. It just hurts so much.

A tear begins to well in your eyes before you suddenly hear the door open, familiar footsteps approaching. “7-2.” It calls out gruffly, the blurred figure crouching before your bed to look up at your dazed face as you sit there pitifully. There’s no one else that voice can belong to, so you just pitifully reply with your small voice.

“Ghost.” It’s hard not to miss the long sigh he lets out, likely looking over your current pathetic display.

Of course, you had heard the news already—since the holidays were coming around, most soldiers would be off base including any medics that usually would’ve looked after you whilst you were out of action. Somehow, a unanimous decision had been chosen that the task force members would take shifts looking after you for the duration of your recovery. Price would take the earliest days, Soap for two days, same with Gaz and then a week and a bit with Ghost, considering he never celebrated the holidays anyway. Ghost already had a feeling you weren't up to that mission, even if you often excelled with everything else— new people weren't exactly your forte. Especially working under Price like that— he could be quite the intimidating man when he wanted to be. So to say the least, you were feeling terrible about this new arrangement, even if you were friends with Soap and Gaz quite closely— you couldn't just make them look after you.

“Don’t make me drag you now. You need to rest, in your room. Johnny will bring you food later.” You soon manage to find a steady pace, hand holding his sleeve tightly, but it’s not as worrisome considering it’s only the pair of you walking through the corridors. You had guessed so by the lack of footsteps and the fact it was supposedly very late. It’s weird how you two always manage to be brought together in these early hours, only for him to disappear again when the light comes. Like a Ghost you suppose. “What's that stupid smirk on your face for?” He scoffs, and you’re positive he barely gave you a glance as he spoke. Instead of answering, you shrug, deciding not to tell him about the sudden nostalgia you had just felt.

“D’ya think the Captain is actually mad at me?” You say, switching the topic entirely to the topic you’ve been mulling over for a while now. It nags at the back of your head, like an annoying fly buzzing around your ears. Thankfully not a hornet.

“No.”

You stare blankly at him, trying not to snicker at his blunt answer as you attempt to press him for more. “Just no?” When you receive a silent nod, a low sigh escapes you and your free hand absentmindedly starts to fiddle with the ends of your uniform as you navigate the halls with his help. “I knew I shouldn't have joined that mission; it’s not the same as working with my team as I originally thought.” You ramble, spilling your thoughts into the silence that he left between you too. He lets out a grunt, urging you on and so you continue. “I really did do as best as I could though. I still don't quite understand how those two soldiers slipped through my radar.”

“Are you sure you weren’t blind before then?”

At his insult, your eyes widen, and you go through a series of annoyed expressions before grumbling some insult beneath your breath.

He’s left you at your bedroom soon enough, making sure you’re settled in bed before he switches the light off and leaves you alone for the night. Despite the exhaustion wracking through your body, you can't quite manage to fall asleep straight away, still tossing and turning with worries. The main one seemed to be the fact they’d be looking after you for the remainder of your state– you were half considering calling your parents in London to come and pick you up. But… you suppose that would be a burden on them, especially since this is so far, and they were never quite supportive of the whole army thing. You really didn't want to deal with yet another lecture and an ‘I told you so’. It’s not like you want to laze around for the entirety of your recovery period, but there's not much you can do whilst temporarily blind, and you really don’t want the others hanging around your every move. Either way it seemed like you were stuck in this situation for now.

Thankfully, your bags had already been packed considering that the mission had been done right before holidays began so you had preparations ahead. You wake up lazily the next morning, a throb in your head as you hear heavy footsteps enter. For a moment, you panic and try to clear the blur in your eyes before your exhausted mind catches up with the current situation, and you sigh, turning your head in hopes of hearing the footsteps’ owner’s voice.

“We’re leaving in ten, kid.” Price’s voice rings out as the sound of rummaging in drawers rings out. “Second draw down.” You mumble, and he gives you a mumbled thanks before handing you your army shirt and trousers. “Leave the door open when you’re finished, alright?” You give him a nod in response, the heavy thumps of his boots disappearing as the door creaks shut.

Being looked after by Price initially served to be pretty uncomfortable on your part, always feeling that you had to be acting right since he was your captain and all. You still felt guilty of what happened in the mission, and you couldn’t quite tell if he was annoyed at you or not, unable to see his body language which would’ve given it all away. Too stubborn to actually ask him for help like anyone would do, you decided to persevere and try to figure it out on your own. That meant whenever he’d leave you alone in favour of going grocery shopping or the like, you’d walk laps around this new room in an attempt to learn the layout so you could do things by yourself. He only found out when he heard a short cry of pain in the early morning, coming to check on you in bed only to find you had somehow fallen into the bathtub in search of the sink.

This led you to be passed over to Soap with new instructions to be supervised at all times. It wasn't like you’d make it much easier for him though, considering you could persuade him pretty quickly to let you off, but before you know it Soap has dropped you off at Gaz’s door. You weren't particularly good at keeping him happy and soon enough he has dropped you off at Ghost’s flat. Oops.

“I heard you’ve been causing trouble with the others?” You can almost hear a gruff amusement in his tone, his hand on the small of your back as he helps you inside. You hear the soft thump of your small duffel bag on the floor along with the shuffle of him taking off his shoes. “I didn’t cause trouble, they just want to coddle me too much.” You can almost feel the raised eyebrow he gives you at that, and he gives you a rough pat on the shoulder as if to confirm it.

“So they just gave me a list for nothing, huh?”

Before you can respond, he’s listing off all the instructions the others had come up with, a sheepish look on your face as he calls you out.

“Don’t let her walk around unsupervised.”

“I was stretching my legs!”

“Hide any electrical appliances in the kitchen.”

“I wanted some water; I didn't know he had something on the stove!”

“You almost fell out a window?”

“I wanted fresh air!”

He lets out a sigh, gently pushing you to sit on a stool as he helps you undo your shoes despite the protests you’re currently giving. “Seems like you’re quite the handful even with no eyesight. Lucky for you, I’ll be watching you at all times.” That makes you blink in surprise, despite the fact you can't even see. “That's not possible, you’d have to go out once a while.” You push yourself up to a stand when he’s done, fuzzy socks still on from when you dressed yourself this morning. “Trust me, you won't get a chance.”

Over the next few days, Ghost doesn't leave you alone for a second. When he’s cooking, he’s in the kitchen barely a few steps away and the rare chance he goes out to grab something from the shops, he locks you in the car with the radio low. You even tried to pretend to sleep once only for him to pat your cheek until you swatted at his hand, dragging you to the car to wait for him.

You’re sitting in the car, bored out of your mind when you hear the door handle get pulled at. For a second you flinch, unsure why he hasn't opened the door yet if it was really him who was opening it. What if it was still locked and someone was trying to get into the car? What if— “Dammit, got too many things in my hands.” He mumbles as he finally opens the door, reaching behind the seats to place the shopping bags there. You look over to him, slightly tired from being woken up early but curious as to what he has in his hand, after all you can only make out a faint shape of what seems to be a bottle.. Maybe?

“Here, got you something.” It’s far more cream than your typical coffee, but it tastes good anyway as he gently holds the cup for you, helping you hold it with your hands before letting go. “Thanks Lt..” You sip it down, enjoying the sweetness that comes with it, though somehow makes you feel even sleeper than what it’s supposed to do, keep you awake. He chuckled when your eyes only grow droopier, resting the weight of his palm on your head for a moment before letting go. “Alright, let’s get you back to sleep then.” He hums, kicking the car into drive before he’s making his way through the streets once again. It’s not like you do much but sleep anymore, especially since your eyes are a little sensitive at the moment due to some eye drops the doctors gave you. He only really wakes you for meals or something he has to really tell you.

This also means you and Ghost don't actually talk all that much. He’s always up to something, and you’re passed out on your air mattress to even notice, snoring quietly with your lips parted. To an outsider, it’d seem like you’re actively avoiding him from the silence in your relationship, however, for Ghost it’s quite the opposite.

Every time you drift off, he’s grateful, knowing you’ve missed out on at least a month's worth of sleep because of all the back to back missions. The higher the rank you grew, the less sleep you seemed to get, especially as people started to demand more out of you— that’s just how the military worked. Hell, the whole team was lacking sleep, though he knew something about you the others didn't. The reason you were kicking up so much trouble when you stayed with them is because you were restless— you couldn't quite feel comfortable around them. No, it wasn't because you didn't feel safe around them, he’s seen you collapse against Gaz’s shoulder in the heli far too many times to count. It wasn't because of Price’s status as a Captain either, no, it was something else entirely. Ghost was elusive compared to the others, seemingly not paying attention to anyone that wasn't of the mission’s interest, and thus made him a silent creature than the worry warts the others turned into. This is exactly how you always passed out in his presence; finally letting down your constant worries about being perceived by others, you figured he wouldn't glance at you for a second. And so, he’d watch from behind his mask as your shoulders quietly slumped, giving into the rest you had craved for weeks. You had received quite the scolding after the mission, and he had seen the way your eyebrows furrowed each time you were around the others, afraid of being some kind of burden.

He walks over to you as you doze off early, only eight pm, and you have drool spilling past your lips and staining your cheek. It’s a cute sight, really, especially since he’s completely aware that you think he doesn't know about all these little parts of you. He figured you’ll be okay now, the tissue in his hand wiping your mouth carefully before he grips the blankets a little too tightly, yet slowly pulls them up to your neck. He’d barely even needed to keep you entertained like the others, not when your body has subconsciously accepted his presence, constantly calm and quiet as you recover. A little part of him wishes you don't recover so soon, quite enjoying your confusion when you try to figure out where his voice is coming from in your sleep induced haze. Eventually he leaves you be, the little alarm clock flashing the late time on his desk, his past office now your make do bedroom.

Your head’s been swirling for a while now, thoughts muddling together from your half awake state and the small nightmare that had jolted you awake. It’s hard to stay calm when all you see when you wake is another blur, the room around you pitch black and full of terror. You haven't felt this since you were at Soap's place, but thankfully he had stayed up late binging some series he missed, the faint chuckles able to snap you out of the fear creeping into your throat. Though now, it was quiet, all the sleep you had caught up on making it nearly impossible for you to force yourself back to sleep if you tried. You were too awake, too aware, and alert as you carried on frantically looking around, each slam of wind against the windows making your head snap. British weather never helped you, always raining instead of the pure white you hoped to see when you opened the curtains, and always too hot yet too cold, a medium you could never seem to find.

With your heart thumping in your ears, you push yourself up to a stand, hands grasping his desk and accidentally splaying his papers across the floor. Your breath chokes, realising what you had just done, the loud rustle of the fall echoing in your ears as a pit of shame surrounds the current fear—the ball growing larger by the second. Panicked, you support yourself on any item you can, each soft knock of your hands against an object tugging at your heart muscle even more. Eventually you find the bathroom light, grasping at the air until you find the dangling string, and you pull, the blinding spotlights making you wince. The bathroom was slightly clearer, and you quickly closed the door behind you, not bothering to turn the lock in case for some weird reason you had to run out again. You could never trust your brain anyway.

Stepping forward, your hands grasp around the porcelain of the sink, your body shaking as you slump slightly, breathing heavier. It’s so silent, the fan the only sound echoing off of the surrounding tiles—the lack of noise driving you to the brink of despair. The way your hands grabbed the tap was nothing short of brutal, lifting the metal upwards as water gushed out, drowning the contaminating paranoia out of your brain through the little crevices. Your breathing slows a little, but it feels like a weight off your chest from how hard your heart had thumped against your ribcage, and you find your head wanting to tilt back, breathing in the cold air. However, this causes you to make a brutal mistake.

Your eyes open again, the mirror right in front of you. It’s been weeks since you’ve looked directly into one, and you can't help but be stilled into shock from what you see. As expected, your hair is a mess, falling over your shoulders in a way that’s never happened before, always in a tight bun for training. Not to mention, your eyebrows are furrowed together so tightly, instinctively forcing you to relax them, and your lips are cracked all over, chapped and broken. It’s not like you can see all of that, no, only faint blurs of what’s before you, a hovering blend of colours that make up your face, smoothing out into a strange shape—you don't even remember your chin looking like that.

The longer you stare, the more you lose track of yourself, blinking in confusion as you suddenly become aware of all your little nicks of your skin, not by sight but feel. Your hands trace over the bumps on your face, up the side of your cheek and just up to your eye. A fresh burn scar, not the worst definitely— but clearly noticeable. You hadn't known you had been burnt on your face too, perhaps refusing to acknowledge that. Instead, your other hand moves to graze your eyebrow, feeling the hairs out of place, and the rough texture of dry skin.

This isn't you�� but it is, and yet it isn't altogether.

You know it’s you because when you widen your eyes you can faintly see the whites of your eyes become more visible. You know it’s you because when you lick your lips you feel the stab of the cracks, see the paled colour in the mirror. Likewise, you know it’s you because you feel connected to it yet so far away at the same time.

“Why’re you up?”

You don't hear his gruff voice behind you, even as his unmasked face approaches in the mirror behind your own. He’s tired, that’s obvious by his voice but no matter how hard you squinted you could barely make out a feature of his. His eyes roam over your form in confusion, wondering what had caused you to be up at this time, and he reaches around you to finally close the tap. It was quiet in the flat, and he’s sure he would’ve woken if there was a storm or any other loud noise. Besides, he doubts you’d brave the darkness without seeking him out if the nightmare was that bad.

He follows where your eyes are stuck on, the mirror and the scars that now litter your face. He knew that feeling, the detachment that came with a new scar, especially on something you see so often. After all, he wore a mask for a reason, to hide identity from others, and from himself. For him, it was less to do with the gruesome shapes of the marks, more struggling to place himself with that. He didn't feel as if he was that face, even if he remembers where everything came from like the back of his hand. Sometimes, he still remembers when his face was smoother, rounder, and his eyes were a little wider.

Your hands have a death grip on that porcelain, and he can tell now that you’re experiencing that similar emptiness he feels too. Gently, he places his large hand over your eyes, the warmth seeping your skin as his voice grows a little quieter yet no less thick. “That’s enough. You don't need to suffer any longer like this.” He tugs you away from the sink, gently turning you around to face him instead, calloused fingertips scratching your eyelids as he lowers his hand. “Look at me.” You do, seeing nothing but a blur of blonde on his head, a fuzz of his carved jaw and crooked nose. He holds your hand, fingers rubbing little circles into your palm. “Who is it?”

“I.. It’s you.” He nods at you, rolls up his sleeve, and brings it up to your line of vision, marks littering the skin in angry reds and pale pinks. “Who is it?”

“T-those marks—”

“Who is it?” He insists and you comply quickly.

“You..”

Gently he pulls up his shirt, even in the fuzziness you can make out the shape of the scarred tissue, spanning across the side of his waist. “Whose is it?”

“Y-yours..” You’re starting to understand now, as your breaths grow slower and your mind begins to focus on deciphering the meaning behind his words. He wants to show you something that reflects onto you yet comforts you because he shares that pain too. He pulls your hand to touch the scarred tissue, letting your fingers dance over the ridges and bumps and the uneasy feeling that comes with it. “I hide behind a mask,” He murmurs, pulling his shirt gently down again as your fingers retract. “Yet I’m still Simon. No matter how hard I try.”

He lets the silence hang in the air, allowing the reassurance behind his words to envelop you. His hands rest on your shoulders now, before slipping behind you into the cabinet above the sink, pulling out the first aid kit and medical plasters. You can see the white in his hands, how he places the soft material into yours. It’s an option, a chance, to hide away the bad and deal with it later. No, it’s not a trick question nor will he judge your answer. You had heard the bandage he had peeled back just to show you the scar tissue. He had said himself about his mask. If you want, he’ll help you cover them up, so you can feel comfortable in yourself again. But the choice is up to you.

You nod quietly, and he takes the plaster, holding your chin with one hand whilst he presses it along the burn scar that reaches up the curve of your cheek. “There, all gone.” It’s nothing, and yet you let out a sigh of relief, to be rid of that finally was a burden off your chest. You can feel his gaze roaming you, or maybe that’s just his hands lingering down your arms, across your sides and patting down your legs. “Did you hurt yourself when you got up?” You shake your head quickly, and he tucks a hand behind your back, leading you out the bathroom before he clicks the light off.

You’re just about to murmur a thanks, or something quiet when sound breaches the air down the entire street. It’s threatening and so damn loud, shaking your brain chemistry back to the bombs you hear on the daily.. It makes your entire body prickle, the shattering sizzle something you only hear in warfare, but to cross over into real life is like a fever dream you never wanted to become true. Your legs scramble on the cold tiles, trying to get out and see what’s happening as quickly as possible. The sound in the air grows heavier as Ghost follows, likely trying to see the commotion too. You’ll need your gear, your boots, and your belt and your helmet and vest and weapons and his too, he’ll need his mask if you’re going to go help.

“Hey-”

You’re still scrambling, unable to make it to the door until a strong arm forces you back against a warm chest. “It’s fireworks. Almost the new year.”You pause, instantly going silent, and he sighs, just giving your hair a small ruffle before he smooths down the mess of it. “You don't even know what day it is—Do you?” You shake your head again, and he’s half tempted to chuckle at how tired he is and how wild this night is going. He walks you into his room, burying himself under the covers after you tentatively sit on the bed, unsure if he expects you to follow even after the countless times you’ve slept this close before. That is until greedy hands plant on your waist, pulling you down onto the bed as you let out a small gasp. Both arms wrap around your middle, pressing your chest to his as he slowly rubs up and down. “Go to sleep. I’ll wake if you have a nightmare.”

It’s a firm promise that he’ll help you, even as one of his large legs tuck between yours, keeping you impossibly close. Your breathing is still quiet, voice still silent, and he peeks an eye open at you before scanning your struck face up and down. “What’s wrong?” He’s caught a little off guard when you tuck your face into his neck; you’re just pleasantly surprised when no smell of burning copper goes to your brain this time. A sniffle is heard as your arms wrap around him too, and it just feels so, so strange.

For once, you are not grasping at cold fabric, desperately begging for an ounce of soft comfort. No, his neck is bare, and his skin is warm against you, an actual living breathing person existing beside you. It’s not rotting flesh, nor a lifeless form you’ve dreamt about clutching as you cried, mourning a lost teammate.

Still, what baffles you more is that never in your life have you felt him near you, never like this, never so bare like your minds are telepathically linked. Usually it’s his arm around your shoulders, simple yet not too touchy. Or perhaps a soft pat on the shoulder, a guiding palm on the lower back or even you taking advantage of the few times he swaps his balaclava for a surgical mask, opting to ruffle his hair while it’s present.

“Why’re you up Ghost? I wasn't the one who woke you.” . His chest sinks as you continue to sniffle, knowing he can't even be mad at you for seeing past him, and he sighs, the stubble of an unshaved jaw momentarily brushing against your forehead. “The fireworks.. set me off.” You stay quiet, sink into him a little longer as you both lay there, hearts beating against one another. There’s no point lying to you anymore, especially when he sees everything about himself in the way you act. Dealt entirely different hands in life and yet somehow led to the same conclusion, until you were here now, seeking comfort in one another. Slowly, your hand rubs up and down his back, making the stiff flesh slowly release the tension built between each cell. His body straights out a little, a shaky breath exhaling warmth onto the pillows.

“Thanks..love.” He murmurs quietly, and your nose nudges his neck, a silent response to his words in which he assumes is likely a ‘you’re welcome’ . His own nose buries into a few tufts of your hair, inhaling the clean scent of your shampoo. The both of you are here, still alive, still well. There are no explosions outside, no demands being asked of you and certainly no expectations to live up to. And you’d be damned if anyone even tried to ask you for anything right now, knowing well you weren't letting go of him until he did of you— which you both knew would never be anytime soon.

The week’s schedule shifts after that night, the interactions between you seem to have been planned according to a mutual understanding. Now you follow him everywhere, willingly too. Whether it was a grocery run in the early morning, the store was just empty enough to let you walk around with him without bumping into any customers. Or perhaps he’d drag you down to the park, let you sit on the benches and hear the soft sounds of nature. Your eyesight was becoming clearer much to your own relief, and you almost wanted to cry when you could read the time on the clock again. Still, he kept you close, letting you sit on the stool outside the shower or sit on the bed when he changed outfits. He felt comfortable, not entirely because you were still visually impaired but also because you made him feel comfortable, the shared vulnerability easing away at his hard walls. But the lack of sight really did help, and you knew because you felt his cheek brush against your ear when he shifted at movie nights. The way his bare nose would nudge your forehead to keep you awake whilst you indulged in a random crossword was nothing short of comfort either. It was most obvious when the sun began to set though, after he cooked you a hot dinner, and you’re allowed to let sleep come quickly with your head lolled lazily on his shoulder or if you’re extra lucky, even on his legs.

Like a loyal soldier, you followed his orders with glee. Like a good Lieutenant, he looked after you well, making sure that by the end of the night you were tucked safely beneath his blankets and shielded from the horrors of your own mind.

hope u enjoyed :)

[imujings]

hoshi + work song by hozier? :)

when i was kissing on my baby and she put her love down soft and sweet in the low lamp light i was free

wc <1k. warnings FLUFF!!!, suggestive (they make out at the end. sorry. i’m normal), lots of kissing, hella praise (someone needs to tell soonyoung he’s doing good RIGHT NOW!!). jay’s musings i am so weak for soft sy + this song makes me go ABSOLUTELY FERAL .°(ಗдಗ。)°. you are so right anon. speak ur truth

The lighting in the room is dim, cozy. It’s well into the morning, sunlight streaming faintly through the curtained windows and finding home atop your bedsheets.

You press a long, soft kiss to Soonyoung’s bare shoulder. He’s been murmuring in his sleep for quite awhile now, shifting around like he’s trying to escape some paranormal entity unbeknownst to you. Your fingers inch under the covers and find his.

“Love,” you hum into his skin.

The man shivers at your touch, jolting awake with a gasp. His hair sticks up in all kinds of directions, unkempt from sleep, and you smooth a hand through it. Soonyoung leans into your fingers with an achingly gentle sigh.

“Nightmare again?” you tilt your head in a question.

He nods, eyes fluttering shut when you run a thumb across his cheek. You trace the knot in his eyebrows with your gaze, all the way down to the slope of his collarbone, exposed and vulnerable.

“I can’t remember much of it now,” Soonyoung confesses. “But it felt like I had this big weight on my shoulders—metaphorically, that is. There was so much guilt it was overwhelming. Like I couldn’t breathe, almost. I was in front of you, and you were looking at me, waiting for me to speak, and… I remember feeling terrified. Of what you would think of me if I told you about what I did.”

While you’re listening, your thumb on his cheek never pauses in its soft, methodical swipes along his skin. The barren sunlight leaves him dappled in a honeying glow.

Your heartbeat pounds loud in your ears, your mind taking action to bring his attention to just how much you yearn for him through a steady rhythm of love—if for nothing else but to soothe his worries.

To reiterate your thoughts, you pull him in, letting your arms lay loose around his neck. Your foreheads rest against the other’s.

“Soonyoung,” you whisper, lips brushing his.

His eyes flicker between your soft, melting gaze and the way your mouth curls to enunciate his name. His own lips are parted, waiting, and you’re eager to give, dipping in to steal a kiss.

“You could never,” you kiss him again and he chases your lips. “Never, ever ever, even try to get me to hate you.”

“You don’t know what I’ve done,” Soonyoung says brokenly. “How could you say that?”

Another kiss—one that’s unhurried, searing with want. Your lips travel to the corner of his mouth and down to his jawline. He whimpers at your nibbling.

“You act as if we are made to be perfect,” is your hushed reply, pressing an open-mouth kiss to underside of his jaw. “You’re talking as if being loved and being perfect are synonyms. As if they mean the same thing.”

“In reality, they simply coexist together. Their relationship is more of a simultaneous thing; you are loved, and at the same time, you are perfect just the way you are. Did you know, I love you? I love you, in your entirety—all your sins, all your fears. I love you because they make you, you. Your hatred, your pain, your burdens—are they not just feelings that coexist with the love inside of you? I love you because you are whole and filled with emotions. I love you because you are love.”

There’s a pause, and you draw your face back up to his level again. Soonyoung is staring at you, eyes glassy and lips wobbling.

You’re wondering if you’ve gone too far with your nonsensical ramblings when he kisses you, and all air is knocked out of your lungs.

“Thank you,” he sobs, and you taste the saltiness of his tears as his lips press against yours, frantic, needy.

His hands are in a frenzy, gripping your bare skin like you’ll disappear at any moment. You whine at his touch, passion overtaking you as your fingers wrap themselves in his locks of hair. The man moans when you tug, and the noise sounds so melodic it has you tearing up yourself.

“Thank you, thank you, thank you,” Soonyoung murmurs; you can’t tell what tears belong to who anymore, but you don’t think it matters when you’re this tangled up in each other.

“You are love, too. My love. You are my freedom—my life, my eternity. Thank you.”

wanna queue a song?

[vampiricstoryteller]

(Isn’t it) Obvious

Hello everyone 👋🏾 this is my first fanfic in a long long time but I love Richter and Annette so much I just had to write something for them. I’m hella rusty but I hope a few of you find some enjoyment with this one.

You can read it on A03 here

All mistakes are my own

Warning: smut, cursing

Annette could admit to herself that she’d thought about kissing Richter more than once. He was a lot of things but unattractive wasn’t one of them. The stupid Belmont boy was gorgeous, with his sapphire eyes and soft brown hair; of course the idea of putting her lips to his has often come to the front of her mind.

There’d been nights when she couldn’t sleep and the snores of everyone around her weren’t their usual soothing noises of companionship; they echoed in her eardrums and reminded her of how unsettled she still felt here. How lonely she was despite being a part of a vampire hunting group. It was maddening.

Until her thoughts inevitably drifted to Richter, as they usually did. Whether he was laying next to her on the cold ground in a bedroll or an entire room away, the mere knowledge that he was close by brought a small bit of peace to her clouded mind.

She would think about laughing at his dumb jokes, fetching water with him from the closest river, sparring with him because he wasn’t afraid to actually throw a punch towards her. He was exciting to her, he made the tips of her fingers and toes tingle. And the space between her thighs ache.

Annette is less willing to admit that she’s been touching herself to thoughts of Richter lately. For the last three nights in a row, her hand has slipped under the fabric of her night clothes and sought out the hidden nub that sends spikes of pleasure crawling up her spine.

It’s embarrassing.

But it’s also one of the best feelings she’s been able to give herself in a long time.

The implications of what that means, however, are always waiting for her when her chest has stopped heaving and there aren’t stars bursting in her eyes anymore. Subconsciously she agonized over the possibility that her growing fondness for Richter Belmont would expose a part of her she never let anyone see before.

It’s why she invites him to come back to Haiti with her, and it’s why she’s currently sat on a bed too small for the two of them, kissing him and doing her best to crawl into his lap.

The kisses started out innocent. At least on Richter’s end. They were a declaration of their feelings for each other. A confirmation that he actually liked her and wasn’t just all talk. But innocent wasn’t what Annette was looking for.

They survived that final fight. She was on her way home with him, he agreed to follow her anywhere. And now she wants to do everything with him.

Richter’s hands on her waist pull her from her thoughts, their lips are still moving together and his tongue seeks permission into her mouth. She grants it to him happily, a small whimper escaping her throat when he squeezes her side and shifts her onto her back.

She likes kissing Richter, a lot. But she likes the pressure of his body weight on top of her even more. Her legs come up, thighs encasing him tightly and her ankles hooking together at the small of his back.

He grunts in surprise, breaking their kiss to stare down her with wide eyes and a new blush on his cheeks.

Distantly, Edouard’s angelic voice echoes off the walls of the small cabin. She sets a reminder on her mental day to day list to do something nice for her friend in the coming days.

“Annette.”

His breath fans across her face, reminding her how close they are. She smiles up at him, twisting her fingers in his hair at the nape of his neck.

“Yes Richter?”

His lips twitch up when she says his name, a blush blossoming across his collarbone and neck; but he’s serious when he asks.

“You’re sure about this?” And then after a moment’s hesitation, “You’ve done this before, haven’t you?”

She has.

Once.

Back when she’d been enslaved. She’d done it because she’d been curious to know what all the fuss was about and why her friends would risk punishment to for it. Not to mention it was one less thing she’d have to worry about being taken from her.

At the time, it hadn’t been impressive enough for her to put effort into making it happen again. Escaping, revenge and vampire hunting took up too much of her time to worry about shared kisses and affection between bodies.

“Annette?”

She blinks back into focus, meeting Richter’s gaze which has become concerned.

“I have once,” she says with a soft nod. “When I was enslaved.”

Richter frowns and shifts most of his weight to his left hand, the right one cupping her face. His thumb strokes her cheek, the rough pad somehow soothing to her. His skin still feels too warm, but she knows if she brings it up he’ll just insist he’s fine so she leaves it for now.

“That…..wasn’t against your will was it?” Richter asks.

“No!” Annette exclaims, wanting to quell any rising qualms Richter might be having that he could, by proximity, be doing something she doesn’t like or want.

Her hands leave his hair in favor of his shoulders, the muscles are thick underneath her palms and Annette bites back a moan of appreciation.

“It wasn’t by force,” She says firmly looking up onto his blazing blue eyes. “I was lucky. It was with a boy I worked in the fields with, I wanted to get it out of the way so my first time wouldn’t be taken from me.”

Richter’s brow un-furrows a bit, he lowers down enough to kiss her again. This one soft and sweet.

“I’m sorry,” he murmurs against her lips.

Annette smiles, kissing him harder and squeezing his hips with her thighs.

“Do not ruin the mood, Belmont.” She teases, satisfied when he laughs and doesn’t press farther about what things had been like for her before they’d met.

“Yes ma’am.” He grins and uses the hand holding her face to tilt her head back, exposing her neck to him.

His lips on her sensitive skin are like heaven, the sharp spike of his teeth nipping after every kiss makes Annette’s hips rock.

She runs a hand down his right arm, to join the one still holding her face. Slowly and purposefully Annette drags the large palm to her shoulder then collarbone, arching her back and sighing when he finally, finally, cups her breast through her top.

Richter squeezes, whether out of instinct or shock that he’s actually touching her Annette can’t be sure but she’s barely able to muffle the shout that tumbles from her mouth. She can feel him smirk against her neck, clearly pleased with the sounds he’s drawing from her.

Annette doesn’t care, each sharp wave of pleasure his hands are giving her is worth putting up with his growing ego.

“Richter.” She moans.

He crowds her against the bed, hand alternating between her breasts while his mouth suckles a bruise into the column of her neck and his hips ground into hers. Sweat gathers at the small of Annette’s back, her abdominal muscles burning as she holds the arch to keep as much of her body pressed against him as she can.

Her skirt is bunched at her hips, wrinkled between her and the bed from her insistent need to be moving with Richter. Despite the clothing between them, she can feel him growing harder every time they come in contact.

Richter’s nimble fingers pluck at the hem of her top questioningly, prompting Annette to nod and let her arms fall back onto the mattress above her head.

An open invitation.

His smile is practically blinding as he sits up just enough to hold his weight on his knees and place both hands on her waist. She stares at him while his thumbs stroke the smooth plains of her stomach, tilting her head curiously when suddenly a blush appears across his cheeks and chest.

“What are you thinking about?” She asks softly.

“How good I’m going to make you feel.” He rumbles, voice serious and low as he flexed his fingers, the tips digging slightly into her ribs.

Before she can think of a witty reply Richter slides his hands up, catching her top on the way and pushing it up over her head. He tugs it free of her arms, dropping the fabric to the floor; the soft thump of it hitting the ground is lost on Annette who can only focus on the sudden intensity of Richter’s gaze.

Heat burns at her cheeks and twists in her lower belly. She’s never been looked at like this before, the lustful adoration in his eyes makes her head spin.

“C-Can I touch you, Annette?”

She huffs, amused by him trying to remain respectful despite her bare breasts being on display and his hard dick straining his pants between her legs.

He’s adorable, but Annette needs more. She’s starting to crave it.

“I hope that’s the plan.” She snickers, hands finding his hair again. Scratching his scalp, she bites her lip. “Otherwise I’ve terribly misread the whole situation.”

Richter rolls his eyes, letting her pull him down into another kiss. His teeth meet her bottom lip and he nips at it playfully; two fingers finding one of her dark pebbled nipples and pinching.

Her eyes flutter shut, a breathless “yes!” racing from her mouth as she tugs on his hair.

It’s all the encouragement Richter needs.

Suddenly his hands are everywhere; kneading her beasts fully, gripping her chin to keep bring her in for sloppy kisses, squeezing her hips and petting her thighs. He bites at her neck, flicks his tongue along her collarbone, working his way down until he can suckle at her tawny brown nipples; lavishing them both with his tongue.

The sensation leaves Annette writhing and panting, she wants to wiggle away from the unrelenting pleasure but she also never wants Richter to stop what he’s doing.

He laps at the skin between her breasts, slicking it to the point it shines in the moonlight illuminating their cabin. At her hips, one of his hands pulls on the waistband of her skirt and Annette immediately lifts up to help him get the garment away from her body.

The oceanic breeze of the night air tickles her exposed flesh, cooling a bit of the humid haze she’d been drifting in. Annette blinks her eyes open, looking down to find Richter’s already staring at her; his pupils blown wide and near black with only a slim blue outer ring around his irises.

She traces his jaw line with her fingers, feeling his teeth clench together with restraint.

He looks hungry.

For nourishment she’s certain only she can provide.

Annette bites her lip hard at the thought, her legs falling open a bit to give him more room. They hold each other’s gaze while his fingers dance at her hip, dragging along the creased apex of her thigh.

He pauses, just before his searching fingers can make contact with the place she wants him most. She thinks he’s about to ask her if she’s okay or if he’s allowed to touch her but the Belmont boy surprises her once again. He simply grins at her, kisses her sternum and slips a finger between her soaking folds.

Annette chokes out a moan, her chest heaving as she sucks in a hard breath and her heels dig into the small of Richter’s back. She’s already embarrassingly wet, his long finger stroking from the bundle of nerves at the top down to her aching core over and over until she’s thrashing against him.

“R-Richter—please!”

She’s too far gone to care that she’s whining nor does she care that above her the object of her obvious distress only chuckles and presses a kiss to her clammy forehead.

“Please what?” He asks, watching her face intently. “Tell me what you want, Annette.”

This time her whine is unintelligible, a garbled mess of pleading that she can’t control. But it’s enough for him to grant her reprieve, the tip of his finger taps her opening—once—twice—and then he pushes the obscenely long digit inside of her and Annette shouts.

Her head falls back onto the mattress, her nails scratching at his sides and she tightens around him, already needing more. Richter growls, his finger stroking with the pace of her rocking hips,

“You’re sucking me right in, baby.” He whispers to her, a secret between them that is theirs only.

She whimpers, the sharpest spike of pleasure yet streaks down her spine and settles in her hips. No one has ever called her that before, there’s never been anyone she wanted to think they could have the privilege.

Though Richter is not like anyone else she’s ever met.

He pushes a second finger into her, a much tighter fit but an even better feeling. Annette grinds her hips into his hand without shame, shivering each time the heel of his palm bumps her slippery clit.

Impatience edges into Annette’s mind, her hands reaching down and pushes at the sleep pants he’d just changed into.

“Ta-Take these off,” she whimpers, one hand managing to shove the left side of his pants down his narrow hips.

Richter huffs out a laugh, slowly pulling his fingers from her and sitting up onto his knees. The movement forces her legs to fall open on either side of him, leaving her feeling exposed in a whole new way. Annette’s face burns and instinctively she tries to draw her knees together.

“Well now, that won’t do.” Richter says casually as he shoves his pants down his thighs before kicking them off onto the floor.

He hooks a hand under the crook of her left knee and tugs it out to the side, opening her back up to him.

“You’re beautiful, Annette.” He says sincerely, licking his lips as he settles back between her thighs. “Don’t ever hide from me.”

This time without his pants to keep him trapped against his own leg, his dick is hot and heavy dragging against her inner thigh. Annette slips one hand between them, her slender fingers wrapping around his shaft experimentally.

It’s Richter’s turn to shout, hips jerking when her thumb swipes at the pre cum leaking from his tip and smears it all over the head. Stroking him and twisting her hand at the same time, Annette works him until he’s painfully hard and throbbing in her hand.

She lifts her hips, hoping to guide him to the place she needs him to fill.

“Annette, baby, wait—.”

She smirks up at him, though her hand does go still.

“You have done this before right?” She teases, chuckling at the affronted look he gives her.

“I’m a Belmont, of course I have.” He grins for a moment then says a bit breathlessly. “It’s just never been with someone I cared this much about.”

One of his hands grips her side, the thumb stretching out to her belly button.

“I want this to be good for you, you deserve to feel good.” He tilts his head, eyes looking her entire body over. “You’re so small, I don’t want to hurt you.”

Annette isn’t expecting him to be that honest, especially not now when they’re moments away from their first becoming one. Another emotion spreads through her, not lust and not impatience but a new one that she’s not sure she’s ever felt before.

It’s in this moment that Annette realizes, she loves him.

She loved Richter Belmont, so much that her soul feels ablaze. She wants to scream from the bow of the ship up to the heavens that she has finally fallen in love. And it feels exactly the way her mother told her it would.

Safe.

Exciting.

Like home.

He is her home and she never wants to leave or be without him.

“Richter.” Her voice is soft and lightly. “I know you’d never hurt me, I trust you.”

She releases the grip she has on his, from what she can see, very pretty dick and plants that hand on his chest while the other cards through his soft hair.

“I want to do this with you, I want to feel good with you.” She says firmly. “Do you want to feel good with me?”

Richter nods, desperation filling the lines of his face as he kisses her cheeks, her nose, her chin and then finally slanted his lips over hers.

This kiss is different. His lips devour hers, nipping at her bottom one in a way that twists her hips and curls her toes. The passion he’s pouring into her feels different, it’s a promise, a dedication. To her. To them. To whatever they’re about to build together.

When Richter breaks for air, Annette lets her eyes flutter open and sucks in a sharp breath at the look of pure adoration in his eyes. If she didn’t know better, she would think she created the moon, the stars and the sky.

“I only want you,” he whispers into her mouth, lips tickling hers with the movement of each word. “In this life and the next and the one after. I want to be with you forever Annette.”

She smiles, “Good, because I really need you inside of me right now.”

Richter nods, kissing her again and adjusting their bodies so he can reach down between them. Supporting most of his weight on his forearm near Annette’s head, his fingers glide through her slick for a moment, collecting some of it to spread around the fat mushroom head before he takes hold of himself and lines the tip up, nestling it at her sopping wet opening.

Annette’s eyes slam shut and she pulls back to choke out a moan at the feeling just the tip has ignited inside of her. Above her, Richter stills and she thinks she might sob if he starts to move away.

Her hands fly up to the space where his shoulders and neck meet, the column thick between her hands.

“No Richter, don’t stop.” She wiggles her hips in an attempt to take him deeper, but his hand comes to rest over her lower stomach; effectively holding her in place with ease.

“Annette,” his breathing is labored, her name sounding rough in his throat. “Open your eyes.”

Above her head, his fingers twirl some of her individual locs and stroke at her scalp; Annette can’t help but to push her head up into his touch as she blinks up at him.

She’s never seen Richter look at anyone or anything the way he’s staring down at her now. His sapphire eyes are burning into her very soul, she is the sun and he is ready to pray to her for the rest of his life.

Annette licks her lips, pleased that his eyes tick down and follow the movement of her tongue, then says.

“If you stop now, Belmont, I will never forgive you.”

He laughs breathlessly, nodding. “I wouldn’t forgive me if I stopped right now either.” His finger tips massage her scalp, finding space in the new growth to really put pressure down and ground her.

Annette keens up into the feeling, a pretty groan of appreciation on her tongue.

His hand holding her still at the hips smoothes back around to the outer side of her thigh, gripping the flesh. Richter ducks his head, kissing her and holding her gaze as he murmurs into her mouth,

“Take a deep breath, baby.”

She does as he says without a second thought, gulping for air that he’s breathing into her. Richter smiles, rocking his hips forward and in the same motion, tugs her down onto his shaft slowly.

The feeling is delicious.

The stretch of his dick sliding into her cunt is exquisite, curling her toes and exploding stars in her vision. She’s barely aware of how her nails take down his neck and over his chest, leaving trails of red lines on his pale skin.

“R-Richter.”

He groans in response, his eyes closed and the tip of his tongue pressing into his top lip in concentration. Annette’s sure he’s never looked more beautiful than he does now. She clenches around him when he finally bottoms out, his hips meeting the back of her thighs.

“Fu—Fuck.”

Richter’s thrust start out tentative, his hips rolling experimentally and Annette finds herself lifting her own hips to meet him. Her arms wrap around his neck, holding him down so their chests are pressed together tightly. She rests her cheek against his and Annette darts her tongue out to lick at his ear.

“Please go faster, Richter.” She whines, digging her heels into his ass. “Please!”

Now confident, his hips pick up speed and the hand on her meaty thigh squeezes even tighter. Annette’s spine tingles at the thought of there being finger shaped bruises under her clothing tomorrow.

She clings to Richter as if he is her only life force, right now it feels like he is. The steady drag and pull of him inside her threatens to drive her insane, but Annette is happy to go there if it means keeping this feeling with him alive.

Richter sits back suddenly, onto his knees and the hand that was buried in her hair finds new purchase on her unattended thigh. He holds her open, his thrusts deep, hard and powerful; jerking her body back and forth along the bed.

“Annette,” he growls out, grunting in effort to not lose his rhythm. “You feel, so—so fucking good, squeezing me so tight.”

She nearly arched completely off the bed, his words stroking a very specific part of her brain. Digging her nails into the well carved muscles of his stomach, Annette closes her eyes and loses herself in the sensations.

“Richter!” She pants, eyes rolling in her head. “Don’t stop, please!”

“I won’t, baby.” He promises. “I’ll never stop.”

One hand leaves her thigh, his thumb finding her now puffy clit and strums it with intent, his hips keeping pace as he pounds into Annette.

She chants his name like a pray, one for every time his cock rams so deep inside of her she would swear she could feel him in her stomach. There’s a coil there, curling tighter towards her spine and Annette clamps around Richter in the hopes he can tap the right button that’ll give her what she wants.

He twists his hips down on the next few thrusts and Annette bites into his neck to muffle her scream as she explodes. She goes momentarily deaf, her body and cunt spasming while Richter works her through the life changing pleasure thats rippling through her entire body.

Every muscle she has is taunt and for a split moment Annette thinks his thrusts are going to snap her in half. And she would welcome that sensation with open arms.

Richter’s lips on hers brings her hearing back, the bed beneath them creaks steadily and their skin clapping together bounces off the walls. He licks inside of her mouth, his breath hot and ragged as he chases after the completion she just reached.

Annette holds him tighter, whimpering and mewling at a pitch she knows will root in his brain. Richter moans, losing the rhythm and his thrusts becoming erratic.

“Richter—“

He nudges her head to the side, sweat from his brow smearing against her temple.

“You’re so fucking beautiful, baby.” He hisses, teeth clenched and his jaw strained, “I love you, Annette, I love you.”

Their hips meet hard three more times, the force jarring hiccup like moans out of her throat but Annette only care about riding out the spikes of unmeasurable pleasure that zip up and down her body.

Richter shudders above her, a roar erupting from his throat as he grinds into her with every last bit of strength he has. Annette whimpers, her face heating at the feeling of Richter’s cum flooding her with warm from the inside.

She watched him with half lidded eyes and massaging at the bite mark shes left in his skin. He slowly lowers down to rest on his elbows and hover over her, his blue eyes blinking open to look hazily down at her.

“A-Are you o-okay?” He asks panting.

She nods, offering him a smile as they both let their chests heave together;

“I’m great.” Annette confirms, lifting her head and kissing him sweetly. “Are you?”

Richter laughs, his eyes scanning her face a few times. “I think I had just had the best sex of my life.”

She bites her lip to keep her laughter contained. “Thats high praise indeed coming from you, Belmont.”

“It is, isn’t it?” He teases, kissing her cheek before he gently tilts her head by her chin and connects their lips again.

They only pull apart when Richter’s weight begins to numb Annette’s hips and torso, both of them shivering when he shuffles back and slips out of her completely.

Using the edge of the blanket hanging off the bed, Richter gently wipes away the mess he’s made between her thighs; the movement gently and caring.

They settle in the bed facing each other. The steady rock of the ocean and the waves crashing together lulls the two lovers into a comfortable silence.

Her fingers thread together at the nape of his neck, arms bent so he’s pulled close. His massive hands holding her waist, the weight of them on her more comforting to Annette than she ever thought possible.

Richter kisses her, exhaustion starting to sag his body into the mattress but his eyes remain open. She strokes his head with her thumbs, smiling at him when it’s clear he intends to fall asleep staring at her.

“So,” she whispers, seconds before they drifts off completely. “You love me, do you?”

His lips twitch up into a smile. Squeezing her sides, he nods sleepily. “Wasn’t it obvious?” He mumbles, kissing the tip of her nose. “I’m all yours.”

The End

🫣 hope y’all liked it, pls like and reblog if you did ❤️

[cha-melodius]

6. The “I forgive you” hug (for rwrb, if you haven’t gotten this one yet)

(Ooh, an unusual request! There are so many ways this could have gone; I hope you enjoy what I came up with. read all the hug ficlets)

6: The “I forgive you” hug

“Are you going to tell me what’s going on with you?” Henry asks, having finally managed to corner Alex alone by the cake, midway through their friends’ wedding reception.

Alex rolls his eyes, not in that teasing way he used to but decidedly exasperated, which is as much a sign that something’s wrong as all the rest of his behaviour. “Nothing’s going on,” he huffs, pretending like he’s suddenly fascinated by sugar flowers.

“You’ve been acting like a right arsehole all night. To Jeff, and to me,” Henry says bluntly. He’s never seen Alex be as rude as he’s been to Henry’s date. Maybe he and Alex haven’t stayed in touch as much lately, but they were close friends once. Honest with each other. Ok, perhaps Henry had kept one secret, but that’s beside the point. “Something’s clearly wrong, and I think you should just say it.”

“It’s nothing,” Alex grunts.

He starts trying to walk away, but Henry’s not done with this discussion; he reaches out to grab Alex’s arm, only to for his grip to get shaken off. The movement causes Alex to lurch to the side and he bumps into the cake table, which wobbles once, precariously, before stabilising.

Alex lets out a heavy sigh of relief, and Henry takes advantage of his distraction to grab his arm, more firmly this time, and haul him out into the corridor.

“Stop saying it’s nothing,” Henry snaps. They’re standing closer now, their noses no more than a handful of centimetres apart, and Alex glares up at him. “I know you, and this isn’t who you are.”

“Maybe it is now,” Alex retorts defiantly, but there are cracks forming in his façade. His lower lip, stuck out along with his set jaw, wobbles.

“Please, Alex,” Henry says, his voice softening before he means to let it. He’s never been able to stay mad at Alex for that long. “You know you can tell me anything.”

Alex’s expression crumples, and he drops his eyes to the ground. “I’m sorry, H. I was frustrated at myself, and I took it out on you guys. You didn’t deserve that.”

Henry doesn’t hesitate before he pulls Alex into a hug, wrapping his arms tightly around Alex’s shoulders as Alex tucks his head partly under Henry’s chin. “It’s forgiven,” he says, half into Alex’s curls. “It’s just… I missed you, and it hurt when you pushed me away like that.”

“I missed you too,” Alex sniffles into Henry’s shoulder. After another breath, he carefully extracts himself and smooths the front of his jacket down. “I saw you after all this time, and I think I was so fucking overwhelmed by regret that I temporarily lost my mind.”

“What do you mean, regret?” Henry asks, though he assumes Alex means not keeping in touch as much as they should have—Henry certainly has plenty of regrets about that.

But Alex just smiles a little ruefully and shakes his head. “Mostly regret that I didn’t figure out I was bisexual until after college.”

Henry blinks at him. “What?”

“I mean, I had such a big, fat crush on you, and I didn’t even realise what it was until literal years later. How embarrassing is that?”

He says it with a laugh and an alluring dusty pink tinge on his cheeks, like he hasn’t just turned Henry’s entire life upside down.

“But—” Henry starts, only to falter. “But you’ve got a partner now, too.”

“Who, Nora?” Alex frowns at him. “I could have sworn I told you she’s my sister’s wife. She’s just here because I didn’t want to come alone. That, and the free cake.”

“So… you’re not seeing anyone?”

Alex’s mouth tips wryly. “Nope. Sadly single.”

Henry doesn’t think—he crosses the few steps between them, puts both of his hands on Alex’s face, and pulls him into a kiss. Alex responds almost instantaneously, like he can’t help it, and their lips slide together for a few blissful moments before he tears himself out of it, his eyes wide.

“Wait— what about Jeff?”

“We’ve been on three dates and I don’t even like him that much,” Henry confesses. “I didn’t want to come alone either.”

“So you—”

“Have been in love with you since our first year? Yes,” Henry finishes, unwilling to waste any more time.

Alex’s smile is impossibly brilliant when Henry pulls him into another kiss.

[mon-chef]

Scarves and Scrunchies.

~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~

Sydney liked to think she kept her emotions secured tightly behind a steel trap, only letting them free when she had fully processed them. That wasn’t the case. Carmy, observant as he was, especially of Sydney, realized she had a very revealing tell. Her hair.

Sometimes she’d fly into work with her braids swishing quickly around her shoulders and no scarf yet to tamp them down. She’d be kind as she always was, clear-headed and even voiced, but he knew that she’d been zooming frantically around her corner of Chicago all morning. Her usual hairstyle; a ponytail pulled tight with a colorful scrunchie and, an equally colorful and matching, head scarf meant she’d picked out her clothes the night before, she’d gotten “enough” sleep, and she was ready to be a rockstar in their kitchen.

To be honest Carmy liked all of the ways she styled her hair but his favorite was when she piled her braids into a bun at the top of her head with two braids hanging in front of her eyes. He didn’t know what she was silently revealing when she wore this because he was too busy stealing glances at her exposed neck and trying not to get caught staring into her brown eyes. He was rarely successful.

That morning she’d strode into his apartment muttering a quick hello before making her way straight into his kitchen to place the grocery bags down with a heavy sigh. Her hair was in a low, and slightly messy bun. He figured she’d been fidgeting with it anxiously on the train and in one final burst of annoyance she hastily twirled it into a loose ball at the base of her neck so she wouldn’t be tempted to grab at it anymore.

The scrunchie she’d chosen was black, the same color as the long sleeve, she had on under her oversized ‘Earth Wind and Fire’ t-shirt. He noted that she was wearing leggings today instead of her usual baggy pants. He tried his best not to note how her bending down slightly to put the grocery bags on the counter caused her t-shirt to ride up and that he could see the outline of her backside. “Rough morning?”

Sydney crossed her arms indignantly over her chest and fixed him with a hard glare. “What is that supposed to mean?”

“What? Nothing. You just look—“

“Like shit? Got it. Cool. Thanks.” He took a step away from her, surprised. “How are we already fighting, you just walked in.”

“No, hello. No, how are you—“

“You didn’t give me a chance!”

“Just straight to you look terrible.” Confused he ran a hand through his blonde curls. After which he silently cursed himself for messing up the work he’d done that morning in preparation for her arrival “I didn’t say that.”

“You didn’t need to. I read between the lines.” Carmen could feel heat rising up his neck.“Syd I would never say-I- I-I like- I think you’re-” Sydney’s frown faltered, she was trying not laugh. “You’re an asshole.”

“You’re so easy Carm, I had to.”

“No, you’re just really convincing. If you ever get sick of working at the Bear, you should definitely go into acting.”

She scoffed. “Oh shut the fuck up.”

“No, really.”

She rolled her eyes dramatically. “Even if that were true, you don’t have to worry about that. I’ll never get sick of the Bear…again.”

“Promise?” His sincerity froze them both in place. He wracked his brain trying to find more words to abate his embarrassment. “I just meant— .”

“I already tried that, remember?” The confusion melted off of her face and that familiar teasing glint came back into her eye. “And look where that got me.” Her loose bun deflated and instead of putting it back up she let her braids free and rolled the scrunchie onto her wrist.

Carmy didn’t know what he was more surprised at. The way she’d immediately thwarted the intimate moment he’d accidentally put them in or the way his breath hitched when her braids fell down to frame her face.

“Lucky us .” he sighed. Sydney grabbed a jar from the table and and handed it to him to put in his refrigerator, he did thankfully to get at least a few paces from the charged atmosphere.

“ You never look like shit by the way. ” He clarified leaning his back against the fridge. He liked having a sort of short hand with his CDC, so there was no way that he was going to give it away and tell her the real reason he’d made his comment but he did want to clarify. “You just seem stressed.”

“I am, a little.” She bit her lip, contemplating. He could see the exact moment she decided against sharing her thoughts with him. Instead she pivoted to a safer topic. “I’m more nervous about this dish though.”

“Nothing to be nervous about, if we fuck it up we can just start again.” She nodded in agreement but still had her teeth pressed into her bottom lip as she surveyed the groceries she’d just lugged up the stairs.

“I think this is everything.”

“Looks like it.”

Carmen placed a quick hand on her shoulder before turning to the vegetables. “Don’t be anxious, it’ll be fine.”

“Yeah,” she nodded. “Yeah. We got this.”

~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•

They did not ‘have this’. After burning, over salting, and undercooking the two had smartly decided to save their subsequent efforts for another day. Carmy had suggested they chill on his couch while they waited for take-out.

“Oh shit, my scarf. You found it!”

“Oh yeah.” Carmy said sort of glumly watching her yank it from the spot he’d thoughtfully placed it.

“I’ve been looking for this, I thought it flew off when I went to the pier.”

“No, it’s been here.”

“It’s my favorite.” Sydney flashed him one of her big toothy grins, his favorite.

“I know.” You wear it the most, and usually on bun days.

She gave him a look “What do you like keep track of all of my scarves?”

Yeah, actually. Carmy couldn’t think of a quip to whip back fast enough, so he stayed silent. Syd was stifling a laugh when he summoned the courage to look at her. Fuck, had he said that out loud? No. Clearly he wasn’t the only person who could read their business partner’s secret tells. Suddenly he felt transparent, and crimson-discomfort creeped slowly up his body. “Mind if I leave it here? Never know when a hair scarf related emergency might come up. I’d feel safer with you looking after it, since you clearly care so much.”

He rolled his eyes at her attempt to razz him. He should be embarrassed, he was, but not enough to insist she take it back. It was weird how much he wanted it, a piece of her in his apartment, but Sydney didn’t seem to mind, so neither did he.

[dreamer1084]

Spoilers of Natsuyuu Sp.23

Only 8 pages special chapter for this month, so it's almost a summary...

I am not a native English speaker, and I used Google Translation mostly (from Chinese to English), I hope the translation is not difficult to read.

Spoilers under cut.

At first, Sensei was drinking juice and waiting for Tanuma with Natsume, complaining about waiting for so long (Natsume: It's only three minutes late, Sensei) Sensei said that three minutes was also fatal. What if the new dumplings are gone? When Natsume was wondering why Tanuma was late, Tanuma finally arrived (it felt like the scene in Ch.117)

Tanuma was late because of a cold snap, so his father forced him to wear more clothes.

When they were finally ready to leave, Tanuma said that he wanted to take a detour to find a mailbox because he wanted to mail a postcard. Suddenly a strong wind blew the postcard away. Natsume immediately chased after it and saw some pattern on the postcard.

When the post card flew up, what Natsume saw was: beautiful seasonal flowers carefully painted with watercolors, and densely written words that did not contrast with them. Why he thought this way, he himself didn't know. "Is it a hand-painted postcard? Sorry, I saw it by accident..." But it looked like a love letter.. "Oh, this is a letter my father wrote to my mother."

Natsume could only look at Tanuma, think that his friends didn't usually ask about his family, and he didn't often talk about them. The same was true for Tanuma.

"Mom is far away. Oh, far away really means far away, they live separately. But they don't have a bad relationship. ──How should I put it? My mother never seem to be in good health. After she was with my father and gave birth to me, her health deteriorated rapidly... Her health improved slightly after she was admitted to the hospital. But when my father happily visited her, her health deteriorated again. Because the cause was unknown, the doctors said that maybe meeting dad caused her some stress. And there was a period of time when we had a bad relationship with my mother's relatives... Dad decided to live separately because of mom. However, mom was quite against it and made a fuss about it. Although my mother is recuperating now, she sometimes comes to visit me as long as she feels better. "

Natsume remembered that Sensei once mentioned that Tanuma's father was possessed by a youkai with divine power, and that the youkai was very powerful. But it may be jealous of the people around him. (Vol.16 Ch.66, this part was deleted from the anime) (The Youkai I see can sometimes be very unreasonable...) "So my father writes letters occasionally." (It's just like a love letter.) Because she is important, they cannot meet. Because they cannot meet, he put his heart into it──

Natsume could only say Tanuma's name helplessly, and then Sensei asked: "Hum, did you write a letter then?" Tanuma put his hat on Sensei's head. "Eh? Me?... I did write to her, but it's hard to make a reply lately..." When Natsume asked why, Tanuma said his mother had wanted him to send photos because he unintentionally mentioned something in the letter. "Photos...? What did you mention by accident?" Tanuma thought awkwardly for a long time, and finally said:

"...I made a best friend here."

+

We finally know about the situation of Tanuma's mother. I am glad that he did not grow up in a single-parent family... But maybe Tanuma's mother is also sensitive to youkai? That's why she met her husband? I believe how these two people met and interacted can be a good story LOL

Also, for Natsume's first "like a love letter"... did he actually think that it was written by Tanuma (Huh? Natsume's second "like a love letter" might be referring to the feelings of those unreasonable youkai who want to monopolize the people they value...

[arias-diaryy]

Soft Underbelly

Nobunaga Hazama x Reader

Synopsis: The samurai has pride in keeping his prize safe (despite how terribly he’s doing it).

Warnings: yandere, fem reader, mentioned physical abuse.

3.4k words ... my first fic in a long while, big big big thank you to my beta reader who also came up with the synopsis lmfao

 Under normal circumstances, there would be a back and forth before bath time. 

Nobunaga’s working the third round of shampoo into your hair, grumbling under his breath when he still finds debris in your locks. Considerably less, given all the work he’s put in, but he still finds a stray leaf in your hair. He flicks it out of your head, brows furrowing. There isn’t any water in the tub, he’s just been rinsing you off over and over with the handheld showerhead.

It’s cold, and normally you’d be afforded the luxury of warm water. This time, Nobunaga was more interested in getting you clean rather than waiting for the water to heat up. You’ve been without clothes too many times in his presence to still feel overly embarrassed about it, though that doesn’t mean you’re comfortable about it. Nobunaga is crouched on the ground outside of the bathtub, washing you as if you were a labrador covered in mud. His sleeves still got water on them despite being rolled up to his elbows, and his hair is pulled back into a low ponytail to keep it out of the way. If he’s leered at you, you haven’t noticed. You’ve been desperate to avoid eye contact.

When he holds the showerhead up and over your body, the water runs down clearer than it did the last few times. There was dirt before, being washed away by the soap and pressure of the water. You and Nobunaga both internally cringed when the water ran red the first few times; you even moreso when the soap got into the cuts and scrapes littering your skin. He fussed over them, still does, you don’t expect anything less. Every cut he sees, he clicks his tongue and asks where it came from. “I don’t know” quickly becomes your default answer.

You wonder if he feels any bit vindicated, seeing you with blood and dirt under your nails, and twigs in your hair. All those “the outside world is too much for you” talks replay in your head, and your nails begin to dig into your palms out of frustration.

“Don’t do that.” Nobunaga says sternly, having caught the motion in his peripheral. You’re shaken out of your frustration, uncurling your hands. He’s perceptive enough to catch that, but not enough to realize that you want nothing to do with him? He furrows his brows a little more, his hands still in your hair and lathering it up with the shampoo. It smells like fruit, it smells girly. Juvenile, almost. 

“I’m not doing anything.” Nobunaga doesn’t say anything to you, removing his hands from your hair and grabbing the showerhead again. He makes a point of angling it more towards your face, and you flinch when the cold water hits you like a hard smack. You shut your eyes as the shampoo suds roll off your head and your face. One of his hands returns to your head, tousling up your hair and rinsing the shampoo out of it. The near icy water doesn’t help with your shivering, and you don’t think you’re in any position to be asking for hot water.

“I’m not a dog, I can bathe myself.” You say, halfway under your breath. Nobunaga might have rolled his eyes, but to do that, he’d have to momentarily stop looking at you, something he isn’t keen on doing.  “I didn’t say you were one.” He doesn't address your stewing emotions, no matter how clearly they’re scrawled across your face. You have half the mind not to respond with a snarky comment. 

There’s a pit in your stomach. There’s been one for quite a while. You assumed it was anxiety, but now you think it could also be an ulcer. Sometimes it gets so great that you think there’s really something wrong with you. Sizzling, contorting, creeping its way up into your chest. You felt it most in the first two weeks, and it’s waxed and waned since then. It’s spiked considerably from the moment Nobunaga found you again to now. It isn’t helped by the fact that you were expecting some sort of punishment; a sick retribution from him for trying to leave, and it has yet to come. 

…The fact that your escape lasted less than 6 hours probably has something to do with how he’s behaving. Oh, he’s annoyed, you didn’t need to be told. Though, you suppose he didn’t expend enough effort in finding you to truly be outraged. Nobunaga had found you in the woods behind the house, having yanked you out of the hollowed log you squirmed into. In the moment, it seemed like a good enough hiding spot, once you had the horrifying realization that he wasn’t that far behind you. For all the metaphorical and literal slaps on the wrist you got from him, you can’t be faulted for thinking he’d have more of a reaction to you trying to leave him.

In retrospect, it would have been smarter to travel alongside the road by the house and hitch hike. But wasn’t that too obvious? Nobunaga had been out of the house at the time of your escape, you didn’t know when he would come back. What would you say if the car he stole came driving down the road, and he saw you with your thumb out like a dumbass on the side of the asphalt? Plus, you thought you would’ve had a few days to make some distance. If you knew he’d be coming back tonight, you would’ve waited.

You’re pretty sure your previous comment wasn’t an invitation to conversation, yet Nobunaga begins talking anyway. “I can’t believe you, the one thing I told you not to do,” he chides. “and you didn’t even make it that far.” Nobunaga says it with a bit of humor, as if underneath his irritation, he finds this a little funny. Of course he does. Your hair feels like rubber with how much shampoo has been in it, and you despair internally when Nobunaga goes to put another dollop of it into your hair. “You’re lucky I found you before you got seriously hurt.” He scolds, roughy lathering the shampoo into your scalp one last time for good measure.

Despite it all, he’s still acting too flippant for your liking, you had expected him to… well, you aren’t sure. You’ve been on edge since before you even ran away, waiting for the eventual blow. Sure, he’s raised his voice at you and dragged you the whole way home, but you were still waiting for the worst of it. You thought he’d show his anger more, you did escape after all. The one thing he specifically forbade you to do.

(He also forbade you from locking doors and going near the stove without his supervision, but actually getting out of the house and making a break for it seemed more serious than any of the others). 

You shut your eyes to keep shampoo from entering them, but it’s too late. They sting almost immediately and you let out a small hiss of pain. So much for tear free. Nobunaga leans closer, pausing in his lecturing. “Are you crying?” He asks in a less stern tone of voice. “No!” You say, but you doubt he believes you. After all, you are tearing up. You blink a few times, and there’s tears in your eyes, which are now red and irritated. Nobunaga brings his hand closer to wipe your tears away, and you flinch. He grabs your upper arm to keep you in place, and you tense up more than you knew possible.

“Are you sure?” He asks again, and you don’t like the way he’s saying it. He’s talking to you like you’re a kid who got caught in a lie. “You got shampoo in my eyes!” “Uh huh.” Nobunaga hums, disregarding your declaration and wiping your tears away with his free hand. Your eyes are really red, he thinks. Maybe a drop of shampoo did get in them, though he remains unconvinced that you aren’t at least a little regretful for trying to run away from him. You aren’t that heartless. You go to rub at your eyes, and Nobunaga grabs your wrist to stop you. You flinch again, and he clicks his tongue in irritation.

“Would you stop being difficult?” Nobunaga says, taking a firmer grasp of your wrist to emphasize his point. “I’m not being difficult.” “You are, you’re acting like I’m going to hit you.” “Are you?” You ask, and Nobunaga only looks at you like you’re challenging him. “Should I?” 

You take a moment to respond. You can’t think of a smart answer, and although none of them feel outright wrong, none of them exactly feel right, either. “If I were you, I’d hit me.” It’s not a lie, if you were just half as deranged as Nobunaga, you probably would hit yourself. Nobunaga pauses for a moment, then laughs. As if it was some punchline to a joke. You aren’t as unsettled as you are relieved that he didn’t actually put his hands on you. At least he found it funny?

If you were him, you wouldn’t have deemed yourself worth the trouble. You would have gotten rid of yourself a long time ago, replaced yourself with another woman. One that looks similar enough to you, if appearances mattered. Yet everytime you would correct him, insist that you weren’t his girlfriend or anything of the sort, he’d wave you off and go on with whatever he was doing. You aren’t sure what he sees in you, it’s never stuck, no matter how many times he’s said it.

“You shouldn’t say things like that.” Nobunaga finally says. “I already said before, I don’t want to hurt you.” You want to roll your eyes. He’s the one who brought the topic up. Sure, it’s not like he ever punched you in the jaw or anything, but he has a knack for manhandling you every now and then. Nobunaga keeps on talking, not that you had a reply or anything further to add to the conversation. He’s back to being stern with you. “Don’t think you’re off the hook yet. I’m still mad at you. What you did was stupid.” “I know.” You mumble, avoiding his harsh glare.

“You’re not going to do it again.” He says, more firmly this time. With the same lack of energy, you reply “I won’t”. Nobunaga looks like he has more to say, but stays quiet. A distinct smell of smoke and burning food wafts through the hallway and into the bathroom. The food Nobunaga tossed into the oven an hour ago… 

He curses under his breath, his eyes going from the hallway to you. “Stay here.” He says, rising to his feet and leaving you in the bathtub alone, still with shampoo in your hair. You take it that it’ll take him a while to salvage dinner, so you take it upon yourself to finish your bath. You make sure to twist the shower handle to warmer water before taking the showerhead to get the shampoo out of your hair and eyes. The pit in your stomach hasn’t gone away, and the prospect of charred food for dinner isn’t easening your pain. You hadn’t spent long enough outside to be that hungry for Nobunaga’s culinary prowess, or lack thereof. 

-

There was zero chance of Nobunaga scrapping dinner to just order takeout. In fact, that chance most likely plummeted to the negatives given the stunt you pulled earlier in the day. Still, dinner wasn’t a total waste. You could eat around the burnt pieces of chicken, which were few and far between. The rice was stickier than you would’ve liked. You doubt Nobunaga would be letting you handle the cooking for a while, it’s practically a given that certain privileges would be rescinded. Temporarily, you hope, but rescinded nontheless. 

At least the vegetables came out fine.

Nobunaga sits down at the foot of the bed, the mattress dipping slightly under his weight. He looks over at you, laying flat on your back in bed with the blanket covering you. Your feet poke out from under the covers. Soft and warm, scratches on your soles. There’s a cut on the bottom of your left foot; it looks more like a thin slice of flesh was scraped clean off. Nobunaga can’t take his eyes off of it. He knows it’ll heal, but he can only run through all the different ways you garnered that injury.

He stares at your foot in his hand, brows furrowed. A sliver of him was impressed, perhaps a little endeared, that you were still clinging to this idea of not needing him. It was almost laughable, even more so given the state you were in when Nobunaga found you. Cold, exhausted, and hungry, you had somehow gotten two of your fingernails ripped off in the short time you were away from him. All that, and you had the gall to look at him as if he was somehow inconveniencing you by bringing you back home. You’d even tried to bite and scratch at him like some animal.

You really could be an ungrateful brat, sometimes. Maybe you were onto something about him hitting you. 

If anything, he’s only more convinced of how pathetic you are. Endearingly so, but pathetic nonetheless. You deserve an achievement for managing to scratch yourself up so much in a few short hours without him, truth be told. Not that he enjoys seeing the cuts on your body, but he does consider himself a little bit smart for not letting you have shoes of any kind, even ones for inside the house. You probably would have gotten much farther if you weren’t out there with just some thin socks.

Nobunaga shifts a little closer, gingerly taking your left ankle and foot in his hands. The foot with the nasty cut on the bottom. He didn’t want you picking at it or even looking at it, so he’d made sure to bandage it properly. If you were awake, you’d jolt like a spooked animal and try to kick at him. Though he’d always known you as a light sleeper, you don’t even stir when Nobunaga touches you. That’s good, he thinks. You need the rest. All that scrambling in the forest probably took out all of your energy.

Even looking at your sleeping face now, it’s hard for the samurai to imagine that just hours ago you were shrieking at him to let you go, to not bring you back home. He’d spent almost an hour painstakingly removing every splinter of wood caught in your feet and hands; all while you were squirming and trying not to kick at him reflexively. Another hour was spent getting the rest of you cleaned up. It’s almost like you’d prefer being out in the cold than being kept warm and safe with him. It’s so preposterous, he could almost laugh at the thought.

…Though, he can’t pinpoint any other reason for you acting out. Unless that’s just what it was, misbehavior for the sake of it. Maybe you wanted more attention? That seemed plausible to Nobunaga. He can’t imagine that you’re thrilled when he leaves your side to go on Troupe missions. When he returned, it was always to you looking miserable, only cheering up now that he returned to you.

(It was because he had a tendency to lock up the television remote in his absence to keep you from watching something he didn’t want you seeing, and the fridge almost never seemed to be stocked with actual food before he left you in your lonesome. He still hadn’t connected the dots).

(...Though the prolonged lack of human interaction did do a number on you, as well).

He knows that to some degree, this is his fault. He’s been too lenient with you, too soft. Uvo had made a passing comment once that it’d do him some good to instill some fear into you. Just a little, to keep you from misbehaving. Nobunaga let you talk back and maintain some independence, and you turn around and try to run away from him.

He gave you an inch and you tried to take a mile. If your ploy was really to get more of his attention, then you’d succeeded. Nobunaga can’t imagine not keeping a closer eye on you for the coming months. That, and he’d finally get around to putting some bars on the windows. His gaze lingers on you, on your foot resting in his lap. He wonders if you know how lucky you are, that it’s him who’s keeping you safe and not any other Troupe member. Someone like Feitan surely would’ve killed you, or at least made you wish you were dead. 

Nobunaga isn’t keen on taking a page out of Feitan’s book, though. He was generally averse to the idea of making you upset. He didn’t consider himself to be a bad man, one who hurts his woman. Sure, he’s killed more people than he can count and took great joy in it. He’s maimed women and children, and robbed people of all they had, all for the Spider. But that was different. It’s impersonal, and half of those people more or less deserved it anyway. Probably. Regardless, you escaping and making a run for it isn’t something he can brush under the rug, even if you totally failed.

A hot-head like Phinks, or even Uvo, would’ve broken your leg. Perhaps a bit excessive, you hadn’t made it far enough to warrant that in Nobunaga’s eyes. It’s like a part of you subconsciously didn’t want to go so far away. Like you wanted to be found. If you really hated him so much that you’d try to run away, surely you would’ve put some more effort into it. 

He could always just break your ankle, maybe both. Crude, brutish, almost, but that would get the point across. It wouldn’t be hard by any means. A flick of the wrist and it’d be done. Maybe he could wake you up before he does it, make you squirm a little. Perhaps you’d feel a fraction of the panic Nobunaga felt when he couldn’t find you anywhere; when he realized you’d ran away from him. 

The aftermath might be a little messy, but at least you wouldn’t be running away again. He could keep you like that for a few days, maybe you’d learn some appreciation then. It’d take Machi a while to get to his house anyway to fix you up properly. Maybe he wouldn’t even need her. You’d cry a lot, he’s sure. 

“What are you doing?”

Your voice, tired and having lost it’s previous bite, draws Nobunaga out of his thoughts. You’re still laying flat in bed, looking at him with your foot in his lap. You tense up, and he doesn’t miss the brief change in expression. You’re uncomfortable, and the man chalks it up to you being ticklish or something along those likes. Not that you ever claimed to be, but you always shyed away from his touch, always bit the inside of your cheek when he got close. Tensed up when his fingers brushed up against your neck or shoulders. It was cute.

Nobunaga doesn’t answer you right away, his thumb idly rubbing the skin of your ankle. It’s almost a soothing gesture. “Nothing, go back to sleep.” You retract your foot, and he lets you. He circles the bed, coming to the other side and getting in with you. You tense up, feeling Nobunaga slide in right next to you. You don’t move away, not that you had a chance to. Nobunaga presses himself against you, his arms wrapping around you.

You wince, being overwhelmed with his scent. In your brief time away from him, you’d enjoyed the smell of dirt and grass, and the wind hitting your skin. All things you never thought about too much, now feeling like luxuries. Your head is pushed into the crook of his neck, and the rest of you is too sore to do much about it. You suppose, if anything, that being in a warm bed is better than crawling into a log and trying to pretend the ants don’t bother you.

“You know I love you, right?” It’s something you’ve heard from him more times than you care to admit. You don’t say anything, only humming in acknowledgment. That isn’t enough, you know by now that he always wants an answer when he says he loves you. It sounds all too sincere, which ironically is the reason you hate hearing it. When he doesn’t hear a response, Nobunaga pinches your upper arm. So, to soften the blow of whatever’s in store for you tomorrow, you tell him what he wants to hear.

“I love you too.”

[bronx-bomber87]

Hello amazing fandom and happy Wednesday :) Episode 3 off we go! So grateful to have my happy place back. To be able to do these first impressions. I love not knowing a single thing about this season really. Rachel being in the recap blew my mind. Like what?! Love the shock. Had zero clue she would be here this season. Let us get started.

7x03 Out of Pocket

We hit the ground running in this ep. Grey yelling at them to come to his office in front of the entire bullpen.... Lucy calling him the troublemaker we all know he is this year. heh Also he is one perpetually now thanks to you my dear. Brought out his playful side long ago. It’s been here to stay ever since. Love Tim replying it’s a fair assumption. Not fighting her on this even a little bit. It's fantastic.

Will say I love how Tim naturally jumps on the grenade for her. Old habits die hard. Or never die at all…Lucy isn’t here for it though. Still a little bristly (rightfully so.) Also I'm sure she thinks it isn't a good look that he does. Commenting she doesn’t need him to protect her. Grey is bemused by them and their flirty fight, but does have to rein them in because of course he does. LOL You can tell he’s happy they’re acting this way even if it's driving him nuts.

Tim jumps into apology mode. Not wanting to ruffle her feathers. It truly is a hair trigger response from him to shield her. He can't help it. Like breathing for him. Grey basically calling them out for their work flirt. ‘A weird itch they need to scratch’ heh I mean it is. Their version of foreplay let's be honest. Lucy seems quite embarrassed he has pointed this out.

Tim on the other hand....He is cheeky af in this dressing down of their's. ‘We didn’t put any money on it.’ With a big ole smirk on his face haha Oh my lord. No shame in the game for him. Who are you and what have you done with Tim Bradford?

Lucy is taking it seriously af. Where this goob to her left is cracking jokes and what not. Her face kills me. Like what are you doing? Do love seeing him be lighter and not so serious about everything. It’s delightful. Therapy is doing him wonders truly. Now Lucy isn’t as airy as he is but that’s ok ha

Tim you so cute apologizing and saying why he tried to protect her. Needing to defend why he did as such. That, if they were going to go down, should be him, since it was his idea after all. Lucy is much kinder outside of Grey’s office though. Saying she said yes to the whole thing. So it's just as much on her as it is him.

Do adore her jumping right back into it with wanting to finish this out. That they still have time. This way they can check each others methods. Lucy continuing the work flirt of their's. I am down. The smiles on these goobers I cannot. Lucy’s face when he walks away. My goodness you still love that man. *happy sigh * I love these idiots.

Rachel out of nowhere. Oh my lord. Do love these recalls to previous season's we're getting this year I have to say. Characters and all. Seems like they’ve kept in touch. First thing I thought was wondering about that. I had questions running through my head at her return. Like she must know Lucy dated Tim? Does she know how madly in love she was with him? (and still is...)

Sucks N.Y. chewed her up and spit her back out. Man it’s a trip to see her. From another life. Truly. S2 feels like it was eons ago. They were much different people back then. When Rachel said she hadn't contacted Lucy in 6 months....Knew that meant she didn't know of the emotional horror our girl went through.

Thus begins the digging up of wounds that have yet to heal. Detective exam and Tim..... Oooh boy. The two pillars that nearly broke her. Kinda glad for her asking about it in a way. I wanna see where Lucy truly is emotionally right now. Been having a feeling it's not great under the surface.

The fact Lucy is now trauma dumping shows she isn’t ok. Which of course she isn’t. She had a trio of trauma last season. Between detective, Tim and Tamara. The way Lucy says Tim broke up with her…. Ugh my heart. A wound that hasn’t healed for this fandom either. It's not going till until this is hashed out and reconciled.

‘Screw him. He’s an idiot right?’ *sigh* I mean a good response for Rachel though. It's what you say to a friend going through that. ‘It’s all for the best…’ Is it though? Oh my girl still wanna hug you and make you better. That has not gone away since 6x07.

Tim comes up not expecting his past to be standing there. He pulls out the Sanford Smile we haven't seen in awhile lol The one where he's clearly uncomfortable and his smile isn't reaching his eyes. You can tell he is confused and slightly unsettled. I mean they didn't end on the best terms after she started her life in N.Y. Now here she is in the station next to his girl. What a trip for him.

‘She ghosted me.' 'Yeah that’s her thing…’ We never did see what happened there. She was all in for long distance then she was gone just like that. Tim did a good job pretending he was happy to see her. The Oscar goes to you my love.

Poor Ridley is shaking in his boots. On edge waiting for a 'Tim test.' But he was prepped by Lucy in a way Tim wasn't expecting. Seth has his 'I’ve been shot answer.' right away. Too quickly really. Tim is sus af. Grilling him if Lucy warned him? It does explain why he was looking out the windshield as they were driving LOL Tim asking what else she told him?

Oh my word she recited chunks of her trauma training to Seth. Majority of her s1 ones at that. Except for the flour bomb. I’m dying. These call backs to s1-s2 are making me giddy to no end I have to say. She really dug in their archive to tell him about Wrigley. I'm laughing so hard. Tim is shaking his head so hard and I’m cackling. Playing dirty Lucy….’Ok I just have to get more inventive.’ He is not pleased LMAO Legit undermined him.

Texas instantly putting his foot in his mouth with Lucy. I was wondering if he thought be easier with Lucy. Or he thought he could charm his way into her being lenient. But he has never met Lucy Chen....Learns quickly how much that was not going to fly with her. I love Lucy putting him in his place immediately about 'darlin.’ That isn't going to stand for even a second with her. She makes sure he knows that.

The banter is PRIMO when Tim arrives. We get to see protective Tim arrive on scene again with Miles. I love it. Lucy doesn’t stop him this time. Knowing Texas needs it from both barrels if it's going to stick with him. But mainly I just love Tim immediately not having it with that shit for her. Any bravado remaining is squashed by Tim calling Penn 'Darlin' hehe

This is a mini moment that made very happy. You defend her Tim! Immediately protected his girl from Grey’s clutches about the rookies not listening. Gimme. I'll take this all damn day. That innate reaction to protect her is deeply ingrained in this man. I love it so much I could cry. Lucy once again not stopping him. Appreciative he has her back in this moment. The little things is how we inch our way back.

Poor Lucy so worried this will be another black mark against her career. Regardless of who won this is a loss for them. Adore Tim being positive with her. Saying as long as they don’t fire them, they have a chance to turn them around. Make them into good cops if given that chance. Love this. Look at Tim being the positive one. Only for his girl. Lucy looking to him for answers makes me happy. Asking what their chances really are? ‘Slim to none….’ Heh helpful babe real helpful.

It is nice to see Lucy catch up with Rachel. This is an ally we forgot she had. One that was far away in N.Y. So it's nice they get to reconnect. Not only that but be very mature about it. Especially about Tim. Celina getting a history lesson on the side is a hilarious bonus. lmao Frigging adored Rachel's 'Well yeah.' Like of course we would be friends still. Emotional maturity. Love to see it.

I love love love Rachel seeing Tim and Lucy were the better match. Rather than her and Tim. Doesn't even hesitate to bring that up in their convo. I said it many times in my s2 reviews. Forever grateful for the path she set Tim on. She was his first post divorce relationship. A Lucy 2.0 to get him ready for his soulmate.

Rachel is the fandom when she makes her comment about their break up. Trust me Rachel none of us expected the emotional devastation that was last year….it’s been 9 months and I’m still not over it tbh. Idk I'll be over it until they have reconciled. It's the gut punch none of us have really recovered from.

Lucy just breaking my heart all over again. Saying she made all these moves for them to be together. Only for it to blow up in her face. *sad sigh* You sure did.... Our boy has A LOT to make up for. That it taught her to just focus on her career. I mean I truly hoping that is the case this season for her. That we can some true clarity for her career. Nothing I want more (other than a reunion.) ‘No more messy station romances.' Sure sure mmhmm....

Those boys are LUCKY. They are trending online in a positive way or their asses would be grass. The defiance cannot be overlooked. I love Tim/Lucy standing next to each other as they back Grey. The little things I love so much. Forever in awe of insane amount of physical chemistry they have just standing next to one another.

The lack of personal space never a thing with them. It makes me happy to see it. Post 6x06 the physical distance could be FELT between them in every scene till 6x09. Felt like the Grand Canyon for awhile. So this is so nice to behold. Once again the little things that make me so happy. We're on the slow road to healing.

I wanna get into this scene and what it represents to me. I did always wonder what happened between them. After 2x20 she just fell off never to be heard from again. So this was nice to get. Tim can claim he didn't need closure but he did. This scene is an olive branch from Rachel to Tim. Just like when Isabel came back in 5x20. The return meant to be a healing one. Nothing more. Took guts for her to do this. If she wants back in Lucy's life Tim comes with that. Breakup or not. She knows this. Best to smooth this over before she can rebuild her life.

Do I find Rachel a threat? No. No I don't. Why you ask? Because this isn't 13th grade. These are grown ass adults. This isn't a H.S. or Teen drama. Just because she came back doesn't mean trouble for Chenford. Hell the woman even said Lucy was the better fit for him. One of the biggest complaints I saw last season was Lucy's support system. Someone who was in it has returned. This is a wonderful thing for Lucy. A win she so deserves. I just wanted to be the voice of reason in case anyone the fandom was worried with this scene.

That man could not be more in love with Lucy Chen if he tried. And vice versa. He is kind and courteous with Rachel. To me, mainly because post-therapy, Tim can see when someone is trying to make amends. Hell it's what he's trying to achieve everyday with Lucy. Also like to note it's not his mega watt Lucy smile. That is reserved only for his girl. But it is a 'second chance' smile. Like Lucy stated earlier in the ep. A second chance is a clean slate. This is just that if she is going to be in Lucy's life again. I'll be intrigued if she makes another appearance or not. We shall see. Every ep we are one step closer to them healing some more. I cannot wait to see what 7x04 brings.

As always. Thank you to the amazing readers I have. Your likes, comments and reblogs mean everything to me. Truly comment away I love it. As long as its respectful I adore chatting about this season as we go along. Shall see you all next week :)

~~~~

Side notes

Tim being the cold open. And breaking through Nolan's security system. I cackled so hard. Then is a sexy beast leaning against his bookcase. Pops a soda. Never wanted to be a can so much before.... ‘That’ll owe you two more Lakers tickets.’ LOL I love this man.

Poor Wes is gonna implode. Every time he hears that detectives name he shudders. Losing it a little more each time.

With the ladies saying let nature take its course with Jason. HA I'm with them. But of course Nolan being a boring boy scout won’t do it that way.

Anyone else think it’s weird Nolan doesn’t wear his wedding ring? I would hate if Tim didn’t wear his after their wedding.

Also going without backup after this guy. Like this man hasn’t learned at all from his mistakes. Do you not remember s2 you dope? Balian's reunion was as lackluster as they are. Welcome back Bailey. I did not miss you madam sorry ha

[justanothermemestrider]

Nothing Ever Stays Dead - Part 3

Okay.

Is this part basically that one scene from Arcane with Jinx and the flare? Yes. Yes it is.

Did I listen to Guns for Hire by Woodkid nonstop while I was writing this? Yes. Yes I did.

Am I ashamed? Absolutely not XD

Thank you guys so so much for the support this fic has received so far. I've been having an absolute blast writing it, and that's largely because I know you guys have been enjoying it. So thank you :)

As usual, there is violence, angst and general 40kness under the cut, as well as hella lore inaccuracies both for the sake of the story and bc research is hard (I did try, though lol). Apologies for any spelling and grammar mistakes.

Thanks so much for reading and I sincerely hope you enjoy!

"Down there. You see them?"

Ellicent followed Gadriel's outstretched hand with the optical scope. She adjusted the knob on its top, focusing the lens on where his index finger was pointing.

Her eyes widened. "No way."

"Oh yes, " Gadriel chuckled. "I've been following them all day."

Ellicent lowered the scope to look at him. "The hell are a bunch of topsiders doing all the way down here?"

Gadriel shrugged. "Same reason people go to zoos, maybe?"

Ellicent rolled her eyes. "Har har." Crouching on the edge of the rooftop now, she put her eye to the scope once again. The tourists looked like Mid-hivers: merchants, maybe, other some other kind of artisan-type. No where near as wealthy as those who lived in the spires, but compared to what those in the Underhive had, they might as well have been. There are two groups of them- roughly three in each. They're walking on opposite sides of the street, as if pretending not to know each other. With their real-cotton clothing and long embroidered coats, however, they're more than conspicuous anyway.

"Seriously though," Ellicent said. "What are they doing down here?"

"If I had to guess? They want to hit the marketplace."

"You mean the black marketplace?"

"Guess there are still things topside doesn't have that we do."

"Yeah. It's nothing good, though"

"Who knows, then," Gadriel said. From his tone, Ellicent could tell that he had no interest in discussing the topic any further. She rose to her feet, folding the scope up and handing it back to him. "So. What's the plan?"

"Simple pickpocket, I think. Anything too loud, and we risk alerting the Arbites."

Ellicent nodded. "One group each?"

"Yeah. But we'll stagger it. Make it look random, lest they think we're working together."

"Gotcha."

Gadriel smiled. "One other thing." He stuffed the scope in his trouser pocket, then opened his jacket and reached into the pocket sewn into the lining. From it, he extracted two, metal objects. Ellicent thought they looked a little like pistols. She looked at him sharply. "What are those?"

Reading the expression on her face, Gadriel shook his head. "Don't worry. They're only flare guns."

"Flare guns?"

"Yeah. You know, the things soldiers use to signal each other with? They shoot a big bright light into the-"

"I know what a flare gun is, Gadriel," Ellicent said. "What I don't know is where the hell you got two of them from."

"Same place I got the scope from."

"Which was?"

Gadriel chewed the inside of his cheek- the way he always does when he's thinking. "Do you remember... uh... you remember that Arbites supply drop that landed the other day... "

Ellicent's mouth fell open. "You didn't."

He shrugged. The non chalance of the gesture absolutely infuriated her. "Gadriel!" she hissed.

"I know I know," he said. "And before you say it, yes, if the Ultramarines were to somehow hear about it, they'd never let me join."

Ellicent hadn't been about to say that. Now that she'd heard it, though, she couldn't resist. "If that's the case, maybe I should tell them," she muttered.

Anger flushed Gadriel's face. But after a second or two, it fades into resignation. "Ellie," he said. "Can we please not do this now?"

Ellicent clenched her jaw. On her tongue, a retort waited impatiently to be spoken. But in the end, she swallowed it. As grated as she was feeling, she also empathised with him: she didn't want to do this right now, either.

Gingerly, she reached towards him, plucking one of the flare guns from his hands. She held it up to her face, rotating it in her grip as she examined it "What have you got these for, anyway?" she asked. "If their not good for sticking up the top siders, why do we need them?"

A silent "Thank you" flashed across Gadriel's face. Then, holding up the remaining flare gun, he said. "I thought we could use them as warning signals. You know for when we're not together. If you were to find yourself alone anywhere and you needed me, you just fire it in the air, and I'll come find you. I'll do the same with mine."

Ellicent tested the device's grip in her hand. Felt just like holding a pistol, except lighter. "Are they loaded?"

"Yes. But I wasn't able to get any other shells for them. The only one they've got is the one in the chamber."

Ellicent smirked. "So it's only a one use thing?"

Gadriel's cheeks coloured slightly. "It's better than nothing," he replied.

Ellicent rolled her eyes again. But, nevertheless, she decided to humour him and pocketed the device anyway. "Was there anything else?" she asked him.

Gadriel shook his head. "No."

"Time we earn ourselves dinner, then. I'll hit my topsiders first?"

"As always."

Ellicent gave him a smile. Stepping in close, she wrapped her arms around his neck while he wrapped his around her waist. Craning her neck slightly, she kissed him hard on the lips. "Be careful," she whispered.

"You too," he said.

Without another word, they parted ways; Ellicent scampering down to the street while Gadriel followed from the rooftops.

* * * * ** * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * *

That little job had gone off without a hitch. Ellicent had chosen the mid-hiver in the middle of her group: a fat man in a three piece suit and a ridiculously large moustache. She'd pretended to be a beggar, stumbling out of an alleyway and shoulder checking the old man. As he struggled and swore, trying to shove her off him, Ellicent had swiped a purse from the inside of his coat. There'd been an entire handful of gold in there. Between that and what Gadriel had scored from his group, and they'd been fed for two whole weeks.

She hadn't need her flare that day. And for all the days that followed, she hadn't needed it either. But she'd kept it anyway. Even after Gadriel left and never came back. Even after her life became the hell scape that it is now, and the last of her hope had shrivelled and died, she'd kept it. Just in case. Just in case she needed it.

Just in case she needed him.

Just like the day he had given it to her, Ellicent stands on the edge of a rooftop. She doesn't know what sort of building this is: only that it's the tallest she could find in the time she had. Her gauss cannon was heavy on her shoulder- the alien gun was almost as big as her- but she couldn't not leave without it. Even if Gadriel didn't come, Severus almost certainly would. He knows about the flare. When he sees it, he'll know what it means, she's trying to do, and he'll want to kill her for it.

It's not worth it, her mind tries to reason. It wasn't even him. You know it wasn't.

That's the thing, though, she argues. I don't know. That's why I've gotta try.

Just in case.

Ellicent clasps the flare gun in both hands. Rests a finger on the trigger. Slowly, almost cautiously, she raises the device above her head.

If you were to ever find yourself alone... just fire it in the air, and I'll come find you.

Anxiety is a serpent in her gut, wet, heavy and slithering. Her throat is dry as sand and as she clutches the flare gun its metal clatters from how much she's trembling.

Just fire it...

... I'll come find you.

Before she has the chance to have a second thought, Ellicent squeezes the trigger.

* * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * *

The flare shines more brightly than any star or ship light. Its smoke is the colour of blood; its light, that of a bleeding heart. It hurts Ellicent's eyes to stare at it, but she can't being herself to look away. Half an hour, it burns for. Feels longer. Like an eternity. Like another fifty years. Hope and despair war within Ellicent's chest as she watches it. She doesn't know which is winning, they're both so evenly matched.

The smoke is the first to dissipate. Shedding layer upon layer until its colour is no longer discernable. The flare hangs on a little longer, spitting and spluttering like a soul clinging onto life. But, eventually, it too runs out of strength. Ellie watches it tumble from the sky, a shrivelled blackened husk of solid ash. The dark of night returns with a vengeance, and all Ellicent is left with is a hazy, silhouetted view of the city's jagged skyline. Tears prick her eyes. Seems the war in her chest finally has a winner.

"Stupid," she whispers. Dropping her arm, she looks at the empty flare gun. Her lip curls with contempt. With all the strength she has left, she hurls the thing off the rooftop. "Stupid!" she shouts after it. The only reply she receives is deafening, sickening silence.

Ellicent covers her face with her hands. Another self-reprimand is already poised on her lips, but when she opens her mouth to voice, the only thing that comes out is a sob.

Stupid girl, she thinks to herself. What were you thinking?

The plating of her necronian hand is freezing against her face. She presses it so hard into her brow, that she reopens the cut that Severus had given her just hours earlier.

It wasn't him. It was never him.

He's gone.

He left you.

He's never coming back.

So consuming is her anguish, that Ellicent doesn't hear the footsteps coming up behind her. Even if she did, though, she wouldn't have reacted. Only person it can be is Severus- if he's going to kill her, she'd rather his face not be the last thing she ever sees.

Then she hears his voice.

"Ellie?"

Ellicent's heart stops dead in her chest. She drops her hands from her face.

It's not him, her thoughts cry. It's not him. It's not him. It's not-

Ellicent turns around.

She has to look up to see his face. He'd always been a little taller than her, but whatever procedure the Astartes use to turn boys into Angels of Death has swollen his body to almost five times its original size. Dust and grime stain his blue armour. The aquillia on his chest is severed down the middle by the particle beam she'd fired at him earlier that same day. The right side of his head is a mottled mess of angry red skin and silver cybernetic studs.

But, just like his voice, his face is just as she remembers.

"Gadriel," she whispers.

His face is a riot of emotion. Shock, disbelief, sadness, joy, everything else in between.

Gadriel walks up to her with hulking steps, heavy enough to shake the roof. They bring Ellicent back to the night's on the roof of his mother's house; how it too, would rattle and shake under his weight. Dropping to one knee, he sets his hands on her shoulders. The ceramite gauntlets they're encased in are cold and heavy.

His expression, though, is anything but.

"Oh, Ellie."

Before Ellicent can speak, he embraces her. Careful not to bruise her on his armour, crouching low enough that her head can reach his neck.

At first, Ellicent doesn't react. She doesn't know how. Her mind is still playing catch up. Trying to process what's happening, what it means, whether or not it's even...

"Is this real?" Her voice is weak and frayed. It feels like her mouth is full of broken glass. "Are you really here?"

Gadriel draws away and slips his thumb under her chin. As gentle as if she were made of porcelain, he tilts her head up so he can look her in the eye.

"Yes," he says softly. "It's me. Gadriel. I'm here. I'm right here."

Ellicent's heart detonates. A fresh wave of sobs rises up in the back of her throat. The first one escapes as something crosses between a whimper and a cry. She throws her arms around his neck. Buries her face in its crook. Breathes in his scent and feels his skin against hers.

It's him. It's really him.

Her sobs return stronger than before; almost enough to knock her off her feet. This time, though, they are not of despair. They are of sheer, unadulterated joy.

* * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * *

Gadriel does not remember the last time he'd been embraced. He doesn't remember the last time he'd given one, either. Astartes do not partake in such displays of affection. Forearm grips and shoulder clasps were common enough, but anything more than that is just simply not done. Such things are for humans- for families, friends and lovers- and Astartes are not human.

That message has been drilled into Gadriel ever since he had joined the Ultramarines; ever since he was eighteen years old. And yet, when he sees Ellie standing on that rooftop- the tears in her eyes, the blood on her brow, the emotion on her face- he wasn't an Astartes anymore. He was a teenager. A boy. Back in the Underhive, on the roof of his mother's slum, staring up at the stars with the girl he loved curled up in his arms. Like his cheek-chewing habit, these are things that his re-education could not stamp out. It may have quietened them, covered them, forced them into the recesses of his thoughts. But they were always there. And while first seeing Ellie had awoken them, the sight of her flare and the sight of her standing before him now brings them to the very forefront of his mind.

Gadriel holds Ellie as tightly as he can without crushing her against his armour. Her tears are hot against his skin. Her arms, both human and robotic, squeeze his neck so tight it actually hurts. But Gadriel couldn't have been happier. He doesn't think he's ever been happier. Not since the last time he had held her; the last time he had been human.

That's it. That was the last time I was embraced.

It had been her...

Gadriel's eyes start to sting. Before the tears can fall, he buries his face into Ellie's hair. But the feel of it, the smell, the memories they both bring flooding back, only chokes him up more.

"I can't believe you're here," he breathes. "I... I thought you were dead."

A shudder runs through Ellie's body. It's difficult to tell, but Gadriel thinks it might be a laugh. "Yeah," she says meekly. "Yeah, I've thought that a few times myself, too."

The quip takes him completely off guard. Despite himself, he lets out a short choked laugh of his own. "I... Throne, Ellie. I can't even..."

"Things changed when you left," she said. The way her voice breaks across the words wrench Gadriel's hearts like nothing he's ever felt before. "I changed."

Drawing away from her slightly, Gadriel frames her cheek with one, enormous hand. Throne, she looks so small. Small and fragile. Nothing like the tough young woman he remembered. "I know, Ellie," he whispers. "I know. But it's not your fault. You did what you had to to survive. I know you did."

Ellie's arms unfurl from his neck and fall to her side. The leather tunic she wears is sleeveless, giving Gadriel a full, unimpeded view of her necronian left arm. The grafting is expert, but untidy. The edge where it attaches to her clavicle, shoulder and chest is ribbed with scar tissue. As her shoulders tremble in time with her sobs, that tissue stretches and flexes, as if they were wires buried underneath her skin.

"Where have you been, Gadriel?" she asks. "You mother and I, we waited for you. We waited and waited, but you never came back."

Gadriel can't bear to look at her. Dropping his gaze to the ground, he winces as a vice closes around his chest. "I'm so sorry, Ellie. I wanted to come back, I promise I did. But..."

His voice trails off. But what? How could he possibly explain it? That he'd been forced to forget her? That his duty had left no room for him to think about anything other than service? That, as part of his transformation, his heart had not only been duplicated, by reprogrammed to beat for the Imperium instead of her?

No. He couldn't say that. Couldn't say any of it. It's not an excuse. Even though they are the truth, they don't justify what he's done. What's happened to her.

Gadriel's tongue turns to sand in his mouth. Without anything to say, any answer to give her, all he can think to do is pull Ellie into his arms again.

She does not return his embrace, this time. It's the most excruciating thing Gadriel has ever felt.

"Sergeant!"

Gadriel freezes. Under his breath, he mutters a curse.

Ellie wrenches away from him with unnatural strength and speed. Her face twists with fear and her hands reach to grasp the gauss cannon hanging from her shoulder. The weapon is too large for her to hold like a rifle, so instead, she holds it like a heavy bolter; down low and aiming from the hip. She points the weapon past Gadriel's right side, at something to his back. But Gadriel already knows what- who- it is.

"Who's he?" Ellie asks.

Steeling himself, Gadriel turns. Titus stands on the other end of the rooftop with his helmet on and his bolter raised. His face is completely hidden behind his visor's permenant glare, but Gadriel knows that whatever expression he's wearing is even fiercer than that.

Eyes never leaving Titus, Gadriel extends a palm towards Ellie. "It's alright," he says gently. "He's a friend."

"He doesn't look like a friend."

"Sergeant!" Titus' voice booms over his vox speakers. "Step away from her now!"

"Titus," Gadriel pleads. "Listen. We can work this out. "

"There is no working with heretics." The lieutenant takes a step forwards. "Get away from her now! I will not ask you again."

"I knew it," Ellie says. "I knew it was too good to be true."

Gadriel whips around. "Ellie-"

"This is a set up!" She steps away from him, levelling her cannon so both he and Titus are now in her sights. Her fingers touch the trigger, and the gaping maw of the alien gun glows a sickly green. "You're not here for me," she hisses. "You're only here for Severus. You're trying to play me!"

"That's not true." Gadriel's voice is thin and desperate. "I couldn't care less about-"

"Watch what you say, Sergeant," Titus warns.

"Damn you, Titus!" Gadriel shouts, throwing the lieutenant a vicious snarl. "Just let me-"

Ellie's shriek cut both space marines off. "Both of you shut up!"

The look in her eye, Gadriel can only describe as wild. Terror, anger, grief, pain, they're all raging within her expression. Twisting her features so terribly that for a second, Gadriel struggles to recognise her.

But he doesn't give up. He won't.

"Ellie, listen to me," he says, striding up to her. Ellie points her weapon at him, but with his forearm Gadriel shoves it to the side. "I'm here for you," he says. "Only you. I don't care about Severus. If I'd known you were here, I'd have abandoned my mission sooner.`

Ellie stares at him with wide, watering eyes. She breathes hard through her mouth. "I..."

"Fire that thing at me if you want, but I'm not going anywhere." As the next words leave his mouth, Gadriel's breath hitches in his throat. "I will not abandon you again."

He reaches for her again, this time to touch her arm. Ellie flinches from him, glaring like she's anticipating an attack, but not before Gadriel's fingertip brushes her shoulder. Startled, she steps away, the grip on her gauss cannon visibly tightening.

Gadriel swallows a mouthful of tears. "Ellie-"

"Did you hear that?"

He blinks at her. "What?"

Ellie shifts her aim away from Gadriel and points her weapon towards the sky. "That noise," she whispers. "Like humming."

Gadriel pauses to listen. She's right. If the night hadn't been so still, he doubts anyone could have heard it; but just beneath the whisper of the moving air, there is, in fact, the a slight, energetic hum. Stranger still, it's a sound Gadriel recognises. From where he isn't sure, but he can't shake the feeling he's heard such a thing before.

"Gadriel!"

He turns at Titus' voice. The lieutenant's visage is unchanged, but his tone is suddenly laced with alarm. "Get out of there, now!"

It's then that Gadriel's mind finally clicks.

The humming... It's the sound of a cloaking device.

Without a second thought, he leaps for Ellie. Grabbing her around the middle and holding her to his chest, shielding her body with his own. The moment he does, hundreds of sharp, heavy projectiles start raining upon them.

The humming sound ceases as the cloaking field disappears. In its place rise the thunder of a spacecraft and the scream of firing weaponry. Gadriel recognises both; not from experience or even from training, but from the mission brief he and his brothers had received just this morning.

"Severus is a known xenos collaborator. Specifically, he has formed some twisted working relationship with a war band of Dark Eldar..."

The thunder is the engine of a combat skiff. The screaming, the sound of shredder weapons unleashing a hellfire of razor-sharp spikes.

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And part 3 is done babyyyyyyy

Hope you liked it ^^

Part 4 should be up in a couple of days

Till then, stay safe out there kids

Taglist: @solspina @beckyninja @egrets-not-regrets @wolf-feathers12 @jaghatai-khock @lemon-russ @moodymisty @hatsubara-8chan @nereidof40k @yanagikou @fyxestroll @yurihasurunbara @lylakoi @justfreakynothingelse

[starryjake]

What do you think are the top kinks for Andteam?~~~ (I'm new to your blog. I LOVE YOU FOR STUNNING ANDTEAM!~💕💕)

(a/n: this took me so long i could not think of any kinks for the life of me buttttt this is what i came up with!!)

k:

size - k is super tall and i think he would love being with someone a lot tinier than him. he likes someone he can make fun of for being short but when it comes to bed, he loves having someone that’s just easy to manhandle. he likes being able to lift you up or turn you around and just have his way with you with ease. feels a sense of pride about being so much bigger than you and likes to feel like he can protect you.

brat taming - likes to put you in your PLACE! secretly likes when you’re bratty but doesn’t show it at all, only shows how annoyed and frustrated he gets whenever you’re acting that way. he just loves to have an excuse to punish you: whether it’s edging you, overstimulating you, or if you’ve been really bad, then not letting you cum at all. he’s so cute and sweet most of the time but he can get pretty stern in bed!

begging - he’s so difficult i stg. i just know he’s gonna make you beg if you want something from him. you want him to finger you? you need to say please at least like three times. you want his cock? he basically expects you to be on your knees purely begging for him to give it to you. he just loves it so much, knowing you want him badly enough that you’re willing to beg like a pathetic little thing. and he will not hesitate to call you a pathetic little thing for needing him so bad.

more under the cut…

fuma:

breeding - like it just makes sense. he just loooooves having you in a mating press and fucking all his cum deep inside you, completely staining your insides. he’ll stay inside you for a few minutes just to ensure that his cum is doing it’s thing, and when he pulls out, he stuffs it all back inside with his fingers. he isn’t actually ready to knock you up yet, but just the idea makes him hard as a rock.

spanking - if his partner is being a brat, bro does not PLAY. he does not hold back. takes you to the nearest couch or bed and bends you ever his lap, spanking you and making you count until he feels like you’ve learned your lesson. it turns him on so fucking much feeling you writhe and shake in his lap, only to look up at him with teary eyes after and apologize for being a brat. almost always ends with him fucking the absolute shit out of you.

pet play - likes to put you in cute kitten ears or bunny ears, and collars too. likes to call you kitten and puppy and see you act all sweet and cute for him. LOVES it when you suck his dick while you’re wearing your ears, like i just know that’s the quickest way to make him bust. this way, he loves telling you what to do and you know you should do it if you want to avoid punishment (insert spanking kink).

nicholas:

• size - while k’s size kink is more in relation to the difference in height or body, nicho’s is more about his big dick lol. by that i mean he loves nothing more than to see you struggle to take his dick. it’s super hot to him the first time he’s having sex with someone and they can’t take it, but especially when he has sex with them again and they still can’t take it. like no amount of practice will ever get you accumulated to his big size.

• choking (giving) - he just looks like he likes it and like REALLY likes it. like he likes doing it hard too, wrapping his hand around your neck and actually squeezing it tight. obviously he’s not gonna squeeze it tight enough to like genuinely hurt you, but just enough to turn your face red and have you gasping for a breath. likes to do it when he’s fucking you real hard, when he just can’t control himself anymore and has to see you weak underneath him.

• marking (giving) - i just know he loves seeing you covered in hickeys. he’s careful when it comes to your neck, knowing it’s too obvious and too many people would be able to see it, which is why he opts for more private places that only he can see, like your thighs and hips and chest. you just look too perfect covered in purple bruises, each a little reminder of the sensual moment you had together.

ej:

• dirty talk - this may come as a surprise and i understand, but HEAR ME OUT! i just oddly see him as someone, when he gets in the right mood, just loves to tease you and get pretty nasty with you. just likes being a little mean to you during sex, always with a teasing grin on his face. teases you about how loud you’re moaning, about how you’re such a needy whore, how pathetic you are. i know this is a hot take but i know he has it in him!

marking (receiving) - likes marking you but LOVES when you mark him. nothing pleases him more than taking off his shirt, looking in the mirror, and seeing himself covered in purple hickeys all from you. he loves seeing the contrast of the old fading ones with the fresh ones, all scattered around his collar bones and chest. he likes when you bite him and scratch him too, anything that’s sure to leave a mark.

cum eating - he won’t force you, but he REALLY loves when you swallow his cum. if you’re sucking him off and he warns you that he’s about to finish and you keep your mouth on him, he gets SO EXCITED bc he knows you’re gonna let him cum down your throat. he has a habit of holding your head to his cock when he cums, ensuring that you get all his cum. then he’ll make you stick your tongue out once he’s done to make sure you swallowed every last drop!

yuma:

• quickies - i see him constantly having random spurts of energy that have him needing ways to get it out. as a result, he starts fucking you. these rounds only go for about five minutes but they’re just enough for him to release some of his pent up energy as well as make both you and him feel good. he also likes the slight risk factor in it because you never know when and where he’s gonna get the urge to fuck you.

• throat fucking - lives to see and hear you choke on his cock. when you give him the okay to fuck your throat, he goes for it and he goes hard. grabs you by the hair on the back of your head and just starts pounding your mouth. you’re gagging and drooling around him and practically crying, and he just loves it. especially loves it if you let him cum in your mouth and swallow it.

edging - he can lowkey be so mean during sex sometimes, and what i mean by that is he simply will not let you cum, at least not right away. he’ll get you so close, to the brink of your orgasm, and then rip it right away from you. he just loves to see how frustrated you get, sometimes to the point of tears, and how you beg with all your might to cum. normally, he eventually caves and lets you cum, but he likes to have his fun first.

jo:

• choking (receiving) - listen. he’s just so pretty and i can imagine my hand around his neck and him liking it. like the noises he would let out while you’re squeezing his pretty neck, soft little sighs and a deep moan here and there. i can see him shyly grabbing your hand and bringing it up to your neck to get you started.

• getting bossed around - idk what the actual kink name for this would be but hear me out! he just likes to let you do literally whatever you want with him and especially likes it when you’re a little mean about it. obviously don’t be TOO mean but you know…assert your dominance. likes when you declare what position you wanna be in and he just goes with it, letting you take the reigns.

• eye contact - i think at first when you initiated eye contact during sex, it made him super nervous and embarrassed, but he found that he kinda liked the way that being nervous and embarrassed felt. it just excited him more, and so whenever you grab him by the face and get him to look into your eyes, he just feels a certain way. he feels so shy and nervous, yet so close and connected to you at the same time.

[delulustateofmind]

hello, I'm currently going insane over the last part of "can my friend join". And i read your replies to asks related to that. And I'm going to ask something so crazy but I think it'd be soooo interesting, and something to ponder abt (for me at least)

Tw. Narcotics?

Say the reader gets their hands on edibles or something. Maybe weed to smoke or as brownies (because we know Suguru smokes/at least carries lighters. Maybe for this hypothetical scenario, let's assume he has it and that's how she got it). One of the effects can be that it makes you laugh uncontrollably about things that aren't THAT funny. And in general puts one in better mood.

Let's say satosugu see reader laughing her heart out at something random n silly and find out it's because she accidentally somehow consumed an edible.

(For the sake of this scenario, again, let's assume that the depression meds or some medical complications after so many pregnancies lead to reader being rendered infertile. So no question about any baby being harmed. )

In that case... how do they feel? Do they want her bubbly-ness back? Or are they now indifferent? Or do they hate her smiles and the sound of her laughter?

Will Suguru try to forcefully take away the edibles, (after a few times) if satoru is against the idea, coz satoru likes how you seem to have a bit of personality outside of being a cardboard cutout of the person you used to be? Will SATORU too put his foot down on letting you choose if or not you want to have access to these?

I am sorry in case i inadvertently offended you with this ask. I genuinely found it hilarious, imagining their confusion at first. It would be interesting to read about a scene where satoru and Suguru maybe cannot come to an agreement about a situation. And both are stubborn/ want control.

I understand if you won't want to answer this one, and i apologise in case you don't like stuff like this. I genuinely do not mean to make you uncomfortable.

Thank you for reading!

Anon, baby, it takes a whole lot to offend me. You're so freaking sweet, mwah.

TW: Narcotics, unedited, implied dubcon/noncon

I think I hinted at this in one of the previous asks, but yes, they definitely use narcotics. It’s kind of like a date night situation, because normally, you’re so numb. But when you’re high on that sweet little pill they give you? Oh my, you’re back to being the sweetest little thing.

Sure, you might be a little spaced out, and sure, you might not fully understand what’s going on. But Satoru loves the giggly mess you become. You let him hold you, nuzzle into you, and for once, you don’t resist. The sex is incredible for them because you actually seem like you’re enjoying it. You’re softer, more pliable, and sometimes, you even blurt out that you love them during it.

Those moments—hearing you say “I love you”—fuel both Satoru and Suguru’s belief that there’s still an ounce of the old you left inside. As much as they’d want to keep you drugged and loveable forever, Suguru worries about the long-term effects on your brain. So, he insists on keeping it as a weekly date night ritual.

On those nights, they send the kids out of the estate and have an absolute field day with you, indulging in every ounce of affection and compliance you offer under the influence of their little solution.