#apologies for how bad this gif is i really could not be bothered to make more effort for this joke

[pinbitch]

out of context doctor who spoiler

[bvbydriver]

silent treatment

pairing go hyuntak x f!reader

summary you and hyuntak argue over his lack of communication, leading to you giving him the silent treatment.

warnings angst, fluff, smut (mdni!), oral m!receiving, riding, unprotected sex

word count 2k

“Why can’t you ever communicate properly?” you asked. “I mean, it’s always this. You never ever communicate with me, and it always ends up with us arguing. I’m sick of it.”

“What do you want me to do?” Hyuntak replied.

The two of you stood in the kitchen, arguing back and forth about Hyuntak’s lack of communication and tardiness. 

“I want you to at least communicate with me. You’re always coming home late, you barely ever answer my texts anymore, and I hate it,” you said, trying not to raise your voice.

“I’m sorry, I know I’ve been slipping up. I’ve just been hanging out playing basketball with Baku, and spending time with Sieun and Juntae. I lose track of time so fast. You know I don’t mean it.”

“Actions speak louder than words, and you clearly prioritize hanging out with your friends more than your girlfriend.”

“Y/n…” 

“I have no issue with you wanting to hang out with your friends, but when it gets to the point where you can’t even communicate properly with me, then it bothers me.”

Hyuntak reached out to grab your hands, trying his best to console and reassure you. You could feel the tears forming in your eyes, ready to pour out. 

“Don’t touch me,” you spoke harshly, letting go of his hands in an even harsher manner. “Don’t even talk to me.”

Before you could let the tears make their way out of your eyes, you rushed to your bedroom, slamming the door behind you. You could hear Hyuntak sighing and calling out your name again. And before you knew it, the tears streamed down your face, wetting the sleeves of your shirt, leaving tear stains. In your 6 months of dating, you hadn’t argued with Hyuntak like this. Not to the point where you were crying and pushing Hyuntak away when you needed him the most. When he needed you the most. Were you being too harsh?

—

Hyuntak had planned to sleep over at your house tonight, and you two had been planning this sleepover for a while. You anticipated it for quite a while, as it was your first sleepover in a long time. But you didn’t think you’d end up here. Raising your voice at Hyuntak and pushing him away. 

It had been about an hour since you last talked to Hyuntak. Deciding to get ready for bed, you left your room to wash up in the bathroom, where you saw Hyuntak sitting at the dining table. You could tell he was overthinking and nervous by his body language. 

“Y/n, I’m sorry,” he said while standing up immediately. 

You didn’t respond. Instead, you went to the bathroom to brush your teeth and wash your face. Your silent treatment towards him wasn’t intentional, but you couldn’t bear to even say a word out of fear that you would only break down in front of him. And when you came out, he was still there, nervously thinking about what he should say.

“Are you really not going to talk to me?” 

Your back was turned to him. No response.

“Can I at least still stay over?”

You stopped in your tracks. Of course, you wanted him to stay over. You wanted to lie with him, arms around each other, laughing and eventually falling asleep together. You wanted to feel his touch so bad. But you couldn’t bring yourself to form a response, no matter how badly you wanted to say yes. No matter how badly you wanted to turn around and hug him, apologizing for your jarring words that stabbed him like a knife to his heart. You nodded slightly, hoping he would notice, but not making it obvious before returning back to your room. You left the door slightly ajar as an invitation for him, that maybe, just maybe, he’d come climbing next to you. And he did. 

—

The lights were off, and it was dark. You had been lying in bed for what felt like an eternity, in hopes of Hyuntak coming to sleep next to you. That was when you heard the sound of Hyuntak shuffling, opening the door ever so slightly, setting his bag down. You didn’t dare to look in his direction. You could hear him changing and going to wash up before coming back and closing the door. He stood on his side of the bed, hesitating whether he should sleep next to you or leave like he had originally planned. He climbed under the covers, next to you, leaving a gap. And for the next half hour, you were as still as a rock, and so was he. You didn’t dare to move a muscle, pretending to be asleep. You wanted to reach over, to feel him, to make sure that he was okay.

But you couldn’t handle this uncomfortable tension anymore. You turned around, closing the gap between the two of you, and hugged him gently from behind, wrapping your arm around him. You stayed like this for a minute, afraid he had fallen asleep due to his lack of movement. But eventually, you felt him grab your hand, rubbing his thumb along yours. 

“I’m sorry, I shouldn’t’ve lashed out earlier,” you whispered into his neck, feeling the tears form once again. 

“It’s okay, baby,” he replied. “I’m sorry for not communicating and leaving you worried all the time. It won’t happen anymore, I promise.”

Your tears started wetting the back of his shirt, a wave of guilt washing over you. Hyuntak turned around to face you.

“Don’t cry,” he said, wiping your tears.

“I didn’t mean to say that earlier. Of course, I want you to talk to me. Of course, I want you to touch me and hold me,” you said between tears.

“I know, and it was so hard leaving you alone. But I know you didn’t mean it.”

He held your face, brushing the strands of hair behind your ear, smiling at you. He leaned in to kiss you, your lips melting into his. He was your missing puzzle piece. What would you ever do without him? 

Pulling away, you smiled at him, “I love you.”

“I love you, too.”

—

It was morning, and you always slept better with Hyuntak by your side. 

“Hi,” you whispered, peeking one eye open at him.

“Hello, my wonderful girlfriend,” he said, smiling at you. “Did you sleep okay?”

“I sleep like a baby with you.”

“That’s good. Maybe I should sleep over more.”

“Please do.”

The two of you laid in bed for a while, laughing and talking, before you had an idea. An idea you always knew you’d lose to. Tickling him, knowing he wasn’t ticklish at all. 

“Hyuntak…” you said.

“Hmmm?”

Your hands trailed up to his, your hands prodding the typical tickle spots. He didn’t move a single bit.

“How many times are you gonna try and tickle me? It never works.”

“But it’s so fun!”

You continued with your fun, sitting up right this time, continuing to tickle him. 

“Thanks for the massage, it feels nice.”

“Hey!” you said, this time trying to tickle him more aggressively.

“It’s not working,” he says, crossing his arms behind his head.

Continuing to tickle him, you straddled his hips, holding a better position.

“Whatever,” you said jokingly, stopping your teasing.

His hands were on your waist now, hands inching their way under the hem of your tank top. 

“Hyuntak…” you said lowly, looking down at him.

You placed your hands on his, guiding his hands under your top, sitting right under your breasts. You let his hands trail up even more, letting his hands grab them. He started playing with your breasts, squeezing them under his palms, moving to your nipples. You threw your head back and let out a soft moan. Letting go of his hands, you took off your shirt, exposing your chest completely.

“Fuck,” he whispered, continuing to play with your nipples. “You’re so beautiful.”

“D-Don’t stop,” you moaned. 

“Yeah? Does it feel good?”

You only nodded, unable to form words under his touch. You could feel him getting hard under you, and slowly you moved your hips, grinding against him. 

“Fuck, you feel so good,” he breathed out, admiring you.

You continued to move yourself on top of him, feeling yourself getting wet, your panties soaked. It was only then when Hyuntak got up to sit upright, back against the headboard with you in his lap still. Helping him take off his shirt, you got off his lap to help him take off his pants, his hard cock springing out from under. He guided your hands to his member, stroking in the familiar up and down motion. You continued pleasing him, Hyuntak letting out low groans from your movement. 

Still jerking him, you lowered your head to his cock, licking the tip, before taking him all in your mouth. 

“You’re so good,” he groaned out, grabbing your hair and pushing your head down further. 

You continued to take all of him in, the tip of his cock hitting the back of your throat.

“You’re gonna make me come if you keep doing this, y/n.” 

Pushing yourself off his cock, you leaned in to kiss him, your lips trailing down to his jaw, leaving kisses down to his neck.

“I want you to fuck me, please,” you practically whined in his ear.

Pulling away, you took off your shorts and underwear, the both of you now completely naked. Hyuntak praised and worshipped your body like a temple. He couldn’t take his eyes off of you. Your core was burning with heat and you needed him inside of you. You straddled him once again, this time, skin to skin and not a single sheet of fabric separating the two of you. You lined yourself up with his cock, sinking down, whimpering in pleasure. 

“You’re so tight,” he moaned against your ear. 

You moved your hips in a circular motion against him, grabbing his shoulders for support and arching your back out of pleasure. You started moving up and down, bouncing on his cock, Hyuntak grabbing a mouthful of your breasts, sucking and licking your nipples. He continued playing with the other one in his hand, while you still bounced up and down on his cock. 

“I-I’m gonna come,” he moaned against your chest.

“Come for me, baby,” you replied, grabbing his biceps. 

You felt him loosen up under you, body twitching as he released himself into you, groaning and whimpering against your skin. You could feel your orgasm coming soon and your body turned to jelly as you reached your high. 

“I’m close,” you said.

Hyuntak moved his hands to your hips, helping you reach your orgasm by moving your hips with him. You threw your head back, moaning with gratification as you reached your peak. 

“There you go, baby,” he said, talking you through your high. 

Dropping next to him on the bed, you shyly covered yourself with the comforter, feeling your face creep up with heat. Even though Hyuntak had seen you like this multiple times prior, you still felt shy and vulnerable in front of him even after all these months. 

“Are you being shy?” he asked, propping himself up on his elbow next to you.

You responded by pulling the covers up over your face, pulling them down only slightly to take a peek at Hyuntak’s face.

“Oh, so now you’re giving me the silent treatment. Again.”

“No!” you giggled, pulling the comforter off your face and cuddling against him. 

“That’s what I thought.”

a/n Omg this was my First time writing smut LMAOLKDJHdb

[butyoudidthis4what]

Congratulations on the 1k milestone!!! Could you write something with a female reader and Abbot where he’s says "Let's get you in the shower and we'll take it from there." to her? 💜

Hi friend, thank you so much for sending this in! I hope you enjoy this little drabble and thank you so much for your support!! ♥️

Tepid

Jack Abbot x F!Reader

1.5k || All my content is 18+ MDNI || CW: None, really. General cold/flu discussion. The slightest bit of angst if you squint in the form of Jack being worried about you for thirty seconds. Fluff.

Summary: Jack arrives home from work to you sick in bed.

AN: Fluffy sick fic! That's about it, really! I hope it's okay!

Even wrapped in the cocoon of blankets you’ve brought to bed with you, you’re still shivering. And miserable. Very, very miserable. 

“Honey?” Jack’s caught off guard when your purse is still on the console table just inside the door. It makes his pulse rise just a little. He hates it, but he always goes to the worst case scenario, it’s what he’s trained for. He knows you must’ve overslept or fell back asleep on accident, but his brain runs through every possibility of you being injured or dead somewhere in the apartment you share.

He walks back to your bedroom and is glad to see you’re in bed. You look so fucking adorable wrapped in all the blankets you’ve brought in, but he knows it means you must be sick and that hurts his heart. He doesn’t want to disturb you but he does want to know what’s wrong, if you’ve taken meds, how long you’ve been like this. Why you didn’t call him the second you weren’t feeling well. 

“Jackie?” Your small and raw voice resolves his conflict for him. You don’t open your eyes yet.

“Hi sweet girl, what’s going on?” He sits on the edge of the bed next to you and puts the back of his hand to your forehead. “Definitely have yourself a pretty good fever.”

“You should go,” you whisper. He’s not sure if it’s really a whisper or just as loud as you have the strength to speak right now. “You shouldn’t be close to me, you’ll catch it.”

“That’s a risk I’m willing to take,” he murmurs. “You taken anything?” 

“No, I just woke up enough to tell work, pee and get more blankets.” You finally blink open your eyes to look at him. “You need to sleep and I got the sheets all gross with my sweating before I got cold. I’m sorry.”

“I don’t care, don’t apologize. You’re sick, you can’t help it. And sweat doesn’t bother me. Especially not yours.” He runs his hand up and down your side, though he’s not sure you can feel it under all the blankets. But it soothes him just as much so he continues. “Feel like a bad cold? For how long?”

“I guess, yeah. My throat is killing me. I can feel congestion coming in and some settling in my lungs. Nauseous too.” You cough a little to clear your throat, wincing at the jolt of pain it causes. “Went to sleep with a vaguely sore throat. Didn’t think much of it. Woke up at my alarm and was like this but I was so hot and sweaty the sheets were almost soaked, I swear. My whole body hurts, it feels like I’ve been hit by a semi.” 

“I’m sorry, Baby, I wish I could take it on for you or kiss it away.” Jack leans down and presses a couple of kisses to your forehead and one to the tip of your nose and both of your cheeks. He smiles brightly when the kisses pull a smile from you, even if it’s smaller than usual. It reaches your eyes. “You could’ve called. You know that, right? I would’ve left,” he murmurs. He’s not chastising or chiding you, just reminding you. 

You nod, roll a little so you’re not quite on your back but not totally on your side. “I know.” 

“Good.” Jack kisses your forehead again. “I’m going to get you some meds, okay?”

“Okay,” you whisper, eyes fluttering closed again. 

Jack walks into the bathroom and looks through the medicine cabinet. You sound a bit more flu-like than cold. He could ask Robby to drop by a test. Maybe an IV if he can’t get you to drink enough fluids. It’s almost certainly viral so it’s not really a matter of treatment but of controlling symptoms. He decides on some meds, makes sure there’s a pain reliever and fever reducer in there somewhere. He also grabs the thermometer. He wants to know exactly how hot you are. 

He goes and grabs you some water before heading back into the bedroom. “Alright sweet girl, can you sit up for me?” He takes his place on the edge of the bed next to you again. You whine at the request as you open your eyes. “Please?” Jack gives you a little pout. 

You let out a halfhearted sigh and let Jack help you as you force yourself up and your blankets open enough for you to get your arms and hands out. You hold your hand out for him. 

“Thank you for sitting up. Under your tongue,” he instructs softly as he puts a single pill in your hand. “Zofran. For the nausea.” You do as he asks and once it’s dissolved he hands you the other pills and you swallow them. 

“Thank you.” You give him an exhausted smile. 

“You’re welcome.” The smile Jack gives you in return is a little sad. You know he hates seeing you sick, just like you hate seeing him sick. “I’m going to get your temperature really quick, okay?” You nod and Jack takes it, gives a kind of noncommittal frown at it. “102.5. Too hot, but not get you to the ED hot. And we need to keep it that way. So I think we should get you a shower and I’ll change the sheets okay?”

You groan. “I don’t want to shower. I don’t want to leave the bed. And I’m cold, Jackie. I don’t want a cold shower.”

“I know, Baby, I know.” He grabs one of your hands and brings it to his lips, presses a few kisses to it. “It won’t be a cold shower. But it won’t be hot, either. We need to keep it tepid.” 

“I’ll be fine,” you whine a little. Showering sounds exhausting. Getting out of your blankets sounds freezing. Making Jack do work and change the sheets sounds unfair. “Just give me a minute or so and I can change these sheets for you and then go in the guest room so I don’t get you and your sheets gross.”

“Yeah, because I’m ever going to let that happen.” He gives you a knowing look with a soft smile so you know he’s not mad or upset or anything. “Showering will help. Feeling cleaner will make you feel at least a little better.”

You shrug. Your brain isn’t firing on all cylinders and you feel too tired to keep yourself upright for any extended period of time. “Well, I don’t think I can stand.”

Jack blinks at you for a few seconds to see if it registers. It doesn’t.

“Well, it’s a good job there’s a bench in there.” He gives you a little smirk and winks at you. You cringe and grimace a little for a second. How could you forget that? It’s just become so normal you don’t even notice it.  

“Don’t smirk and wink at me you cruel man.” You pout overdramatically at him. 

“Cruel?” he laughs. “How am I being cruel taking care of you?”

“You know how hot you look winking and smirking and doing the two together. Teasing your poor sick woman.” Before you can say anything else you start coughing and are quick to bring your blankets up to cover your face. It hurts. All of it. The sudden movement of your arms, your throat, your chest muscles.

“It’s okay,” Jack soothes you, slips his arm behind you to help hold you up and rub your back. Eventually you’re able to catch your breath again. “I’ll make it up to you once you’re feeling better, I promise.” 

“Yeah, if I haven’t passed my misery on to you,” you huff a little, a decision you regret immediately when the fire that is your throat flares again.

“I think I’ll be just fine. I come into contact with this type of thing almost daily.” He leans in and kisses your forehead again. He’ll stay away from your lips, in part because he knows you’ll just push him away if he even tries to keep him from getting sick. “And if I do get sick then I get sick.”

“Well if you do then I’m taking care of you and I don’t want any pushback.” You give him the sternest look you can muster which is clearly not very stern judging by the way he bites his lip to hold back a laugh at how adorable you are. 

“Okay, Baby.” Jack stands up, holds his hands out for you. “I’m going to help you to the shower and then once I’m done changing the sheets I’ll help you shower and get clean, okay?” 

You don’t move. “I’ll just make the next set gross. There’s no point.”

“You might not. Not if we can get your temperature under control here a little.” Jack nods in encouragement. “And it’ll be nice to feel clean after sweating that much.”

“But what if I do just get them all sweaty again? It’s not fair to you.” You start to worry your bottom lip between your teeth.

“Then I’ll change them again.” He shakes his head as you go to argue further. “Hey, let’s get you in the shower and we’ll take it from there, okay?” 

I hope it was alright and you enjoyed! Thank you for reading and your support and your interactions mean the world to me! ♥️

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[inkedinshadows]

Nights and Days

Pairing: Azriel × reader

Summary: Azriel and Y/N are on a mission in Illyria, but as they move from one camp to another, they’re caught in a blizzard and are forced to find shelter in the nearest inn. Thanks to the shadowsinger, there's only one bed.

Warnings: 18+, smut, oral (f receiving), fingering, p in v, just a sprinkle of shadow play, language, lots of witty banter

Word count: 6.3k

A/N: this is my first time writing smut, so I'd really appreciate it if you let me know what you think 🥺

Groups of rebels had begun to appear all over Illyria, claiming that Rhys was not a good High Lord, that a low-born bastard was not suited to be their general, and that training their women was nothing more than a waste of time.

After two weeks of diplomacy that led to absolutely nothing, Rhys had dispatched the Inner Circle to deal with the rebels. Mor and Amren had stayed in Velaris to make sure nothing happened, but the others had been sent out to Illyria. And Y/N had been paired up with Azriel.

They were flying from one war camp to the next—Y/N trying to focus on anything other than Azriel holding her close as he flew—when it started to snow.

“Is it safe to keep going?” she asked him, glancing at his beautiful wings flapping behind him.

“Would you rather I land now? In the middle of nowhere?” Azriel looked down at her with a little smirk on his face. “Give me some credit, Y/N. I can handle a little snow.”

She rolled her eyes at him. “Oh, I'm sorry. I forgot you’re a big, tough Illyrian warrior. My bad.”

He didn't answer, but she didn't need to look at him to know he was still smirking. That annoyingly attractive smirk always made her want to kiss him. She focused on the forest below, on anything other than his lips and how close they’d be if she would just turn her head his way.

They flew in silence for just a few more minutes before the snow began to fall more heavily. Y/N simply looked at Azriel with a raised eyebrow, not bothering to use words.

“You’re insufferable, you know that?” he said when he noticed her expression, but there was a hint of amusement in his voice. “Camp is not that far. We can still make it.”

“Azriel, did you wake up this morning and just decided to be stupid?” She pointed at the grey sky above them, where more clouds were gathering with the promise of more snow to come. “You see that, right? It’s already late and we both know it’ll only get worse. We won’t reach the next camp before it turns into a blizzard. Besides, I’m freezing my ass off out here.”

His only answer was a low chuckle. “Oh, yeah? The poor princess is freezing her little ass off?”

She smacked him on the shoulder. “My ass is anything but little, shadowsinger. Shouldn’t you find us a shelter or something, instead of making fun of me?”

“Said the one who just called me stupid,” he pointed out. He lifted a brow, flashing her another one of those smirks. “Maybe you should apologize for that, and I might think about landing somewhere.”

She cocked her head, unsure if he was messing around or not. “I refuse to apologize for telling the truth. And you’d better land soon, or I’ll kick your ass when you do.”

Azriel’s laugh echoed in her ears, and it took all her focus not to smile just at that sound she so rarely got to hear. “As if you could actually kick my ass.”

If her arms hadn’t been wrapped around his neck, she would have crossed them over her chest. Or maybe she would have used them to strangle him, if only it wouldn't mean they'd fall out of the sky. Eventually, she settled to roll her eyes again. “Azriel, I’m being serious.”

Though she enjoyed their usual banter and she knew as well as everyone that she could never kick his ass, she hadn’t lied. Even with her Illyrian leathers, she was starting to freeze out there in the snow, and there was no way they would reach their destination without being caught in a full-blown blizzard.

“Relax. Despite what you think, Y/N, I’m not stupid.” He gestured to something below them just as she opened her mouth to protest. “It’s an inn. You would have noticed it already, if only you hadn’t been so busy complaining.”

“Shut up,” she grumbled, squinting to see through the trees and the snow. But as Azriel glided down, she finally saw it. It was a rather large building for an inn in the middle of the woods—many Illyrians probably passed through it—so there was a high chance of finding a couple of rooms to spend the night in.

Azriel landed and gently set her on the ground. Together, they headed for the door and were welcomed inside by the warmth of a fire in the corner of the room. She shook the snow off her hair as she took in their surroundings—a few tables full of Illyrian warriors, most of them drinking and laughing quite loudly.

“We ran out of double rooms.” The innkeeper looked at them as they approached, apparently too bored to even bother with greetings. “But we’ve still got a few single ones.”

Before she could tell him that two rooms were perfect, Azriel was already answering. “We need only one, actually.”

Next thing she knew, he had grabbed her hand and was leading her up the stairs, a key now clutched in his fingers. She waited for the door to close behind them before she turned to him with a frown. “What the hell was that? Why only one room?”

Azriel tossed his pack on the floor and replied as if the answer was obvious. “The hall was packed with drunk Illyrians.”

“So?”

He looked at her then, and she couldn’t quite understand what she saw in his eyes. Was it concern? Or frustration because she still didn’t realize something he thought was so simple?

“I’m not letting you sleep in another room alone, when a bunch of drunk Illyrians have just seen you, probably the only female here, walk in.”

Well, that was not what she expected. But as she thought it over, she couldn’t deny he had a point. She was able to hold her own in a fight, just not against fully trained warriors, and she didn't want to take any risk, especially when it was just one night.

Not knowing what to answer, she looked around the room, which consisted of only one bed and a small dresser—lame and boring, but it would do. Except for the one single bed.

She watched as Azriel sat on an old rug, the only decoration there was. “And what are you doing now, exactly?”

He shrugged, with that same expression that seemed to tell her the answer was obvious. “I'll take the floor, you take the bed.”

She almost laughed at that. “You can't sleep on the floor, not with your wings. I'll do it.”

“I'll be fine,” he replied, and extended his wings behind him as if to prove it. “Why would you want to sleep on the floor anyway?”

“Because I don't want you to do it,” she answered matter-of-factly. “Now get your ass off that floor, shadowsinger.”

Azriel did no such thing and instead leaned back against the wall and extended his legs in front of him. Her gaze dropped to his thighs, the muscles shifting with the movement.

“Why would I do that? It's comfortable here.”

She looked up again, her arms crossed over her chest. “It's not and you know it.”

Both of them too stubborn to give in, they glared at each other. She made no move to sit on the bed, and he made no move to get up. They probably could have spent hours like this, but she couldn't stand the idea of Azriel sleeping on a half-consumed rug, even if it meant she'd do it.

“You wouldn't want to face the rebels with a sore body tomorrow, would you?” she tried, hoping it'd make him think straight.

“I've slept on the ground before, I'll be fine. Big, tough Illyrian warrior, remember?” His lips twitched up, and amusement glinted in his hazel eyes. “Just take the bed, Y/N. We have a long day ahead of us.”

“Which is exactly why you should sleep on the bed, Az,” she snapped before taking a deep breath and speaking more calmly. “I'm just the backup. It doesn't matter if I'm sore.”

“It matters to me.”

His words hung heavily in the air, and she swallowed, not sure how to react to them or to the fervor in his voice. There was an intensity in his eyes that she’d never seen before and, unable to his gaze any longer, she blinked.

“You’re not going to budge, are you?” she asked with a sigh, her arms falling back to her sides.

“No.” And there it was again, that teasing grin she usually wanted to kiss. Right now, though, she felt more like punching him for his stubbornness. It outmatched even her own. “So I suggest you listen and take the bed. You need some rest.”

She raised an eyebrow. “Oh, and you don't?”

This time, it was his turn to sigh and roll his eyes at her. “Y/N, I’ll be fine. I’ve slept in worse conditions, and it’s only just one night anyway.”

And yet, the thought of him sleeping on that rug while she was all comfortable on the bed didn’t sit right with her. Just like her well-being mattered to him, his mattered to her. Maybe it was because he’d admitted it, or because he’d rather sleep on the floor than let her stay in another room when the place was full of Illyrians. Or maybe she was just trying to find some kind of excuse, but the words were out before she could think better of them.

“Sleep on the bed. With me.”

Azriel’s eyes widened, and she immediately regretted even thinking about it. “I beg your pardon?”

“I mean… it’s just…” she stuttered, her cheeks heating up as she looked away. What a huge mistake she’d just made. Just because he cared about her didn’t mean he’d want to share a bed with her. What was she even thinking? “I know it’s small and there’s not much space, but I just… I thought it’d still be more comfortable than the floor… you know?” Her voice trailed off, and she stared down at her feet.

Deafening silence filled the room, and then Azriel finally spoke, his tone cautious. “And that’s all you were asking?”

She frowned, not sure what else she might have been asking. But she quickly realized what words she had used and how that could potentially sound like something more than an offer to share the bed. Sleep on the bed. With me. Cauldron, she was so stupid. Her face turned an even deeper shade of red. When was the last time she had blushed?

“No, I wasn’t— that’s not what I—” She couldn’t get the words out, and it didn’t help that her mind was now wandering toward certain scenarios that involved the two of them, a bed, and very little clothing. She turned away from him and mumbled, “Whatever.”

“I think this is the first time I've ever seen you speechless.” There was amusement in his voice, and she knew the asshole was smirking once more. “You should watch your word choice if that’s not what you intended to ask.”

“Yeah, I know. Sorry,” she murmured as she reached for her pack, but when she took her nightgown out, she realized there was no place to go to get changed. How was she supposed to change in front of him after such an embarrassing mistake? So instead, she delayed the moment she’d have to do it by trying to explain again. “It wasn’t my intention to imply anything. It came out wrong.”

She could feel his eyes on her as he answered. “I noticed. What was your intention, then?”

The look she gave him was one of annoyance. He knew exactly what her intention was, and he just liked to mess with her. She glared at him for a moment before she replied, “I meant what I said. I don’t want you to sleep on that rug, and you don’t want me to do it either. So, the only other option is that we share the bed.”

“Mh, I see.” His lips tugged up in a self-satisfied grin that just made her want to hit him to see it disappear. Not that she could hit him even if she really wanted to. Azriel would block her blow with little effort. But how could she have ever wanted to kiss him?

“So sleeping next to me is the only option?” he added.

“You know what?” she snapped, gesturing to the rug where he was still sitting like it was the most comfortable place he’d ever been. “I changed my mind. Sleep on the floor. I don’t care.”

He chuckled. Chuckled. Cauldron boil her.

She turned her back on him and, without giving it any second thought, she began undressing. She hadn’t realized how warm the Illyrian leathers were until she shivered as soon as she took them off.

“It seems like you’re cold,” Azriel drawled from behind her.

“I’m not,” she replied. She put on her nightgown and sought refuge under the covers. “Not for long, anyway.”

How was Azriel going to spend the night on a rug, without a blanket? When he didn’t answer, she considered maybe asking him one last time to share the bed. Out of the goodness of her heart, she supposed.

But then Azriel spoke again, amusement clear in his voice. And the goodness of her heart be damned.

“You're cold, aren't you?”

She sighed, wrapping the blanket tighter around her body. “No.”

“Liar.”

“Prick.”

“I'm the prick? You're the one who suggested we should share the bed.”

Y/N resisted the urge to turn on her side and face him. Maybe it was stupid and childish of her, but she kept lying with her back to him. “I don't see how that makes me a prick, Az. Besides, you're the one who made fun of me because of it, which means you're the prick here.”

His voice still carried a sense of playfulness as he answered. “I made fun of you because you stumbled over your words like a fool. It was quite amusing, to be honest.”

Instead of replying, she slid a hand out from under the blanket and flipped him off over her shoulder. As she hid it again and curled up in the bedsheets, Azriel’s soft laugh made her smile despite herself.

She heard some noise and, assuming he was getting changed and ready for the night, she closed her eyes. But her mind was running wild.

Images of his hands on her. Of her hands on him. Their lips touching, first tenderly, then passionately. Their bodies pressed together as pleasure overcame them. All scenarios she had never let herself fully consider before, now evoked by Azriel's misunderstanding of her words. Scenarios she now knew for sure would never happen if the way he'd teased her for even suggesting sharing the bed was any indication.

“Make room for me?”

His voice was so close to her that she started, her head snapping around to find him standing next to the bed. He had taken off his leathers and was now wearing loose pants and a shirt. His wings were tucked in tight behind him—those beautiful wings that she knew were bigger than Cassian's and Rhysand's. She still wasn't sure she should believe Mor about the correlation between an Illyrian's wingspan and other body parts.

“Sorry, I didn't mean to startle you,” he added with a small smile.

“You and your absurdly silent steps,” she grumbled, but she was already moving to the other side of the bed.

Only that there wasn’t exactly an ‘other side’, not when the bed was barely big enough for both of them. As Azriel slipped under the sheets, she found herself with her back pressed against his chest. His familiar scent of night-chilled mist and cedar filled her senses, and his warmth seeped through her, chasing away the remnants of the cold that even the blanket hadn’t yet managed to rid her of.

“Tell me you don’t move a lot when you sleep,” she said as he settled behind her. “Because if you push me off, I’ll make you regret not staying on that rug.”

His laugh skittered down her back. “You always have something to say, don't you?”

“I promise you, the moment there will be nothing to say, I will shut up,” she replied with a chuckle.

Silence fell and Y/N nestled more against his side. She just couldn't help it. Feeling him so close, their bodies pressing together... it was intoxicating, and she wanted to stay like that forever. She hesitated a moment, and then she decided that she might as well do it: grabbing his arm, she wrapped it around her waist and laced their fingers together, their intertwined hands resting against her stomach. Azriel tensed behind her, and she thought he might pull away, but he didn’t. Instead, he released a deep breath that tickled the back of her neck.

“I would never let you fall off the bed,” he murmured. His voice was so close to her ear that it almost made her shiver. And as if to show he really meant what he said, Azriel draped his wings around her.

Y/N suddenly had a lump in her throat. Being enveloped in his wings was somehow more intimate than lying so close to each other. “Glad to hear it,” was all she could think about. After a second, she added in a whisper, “And thank you for not letting me sleep alone.”

Azriel’s arm tightened around her waist, his breath warm against her neck. When he spoke, she could tell by his tone alone that he wanted to say more than just, “You're welcome.” She didn't push him though. He'd tell her when and if he decided to.

She closed her eyes and tried to fall asleep, letting the sound of the blizzard outside lull her, but with Azriel holding her it was nearly impossible. Wrapped in his arms and wings, she felt safe and protected. Everything else seemed to disappear until it was just the two of them in their small cocoon.

“Can you turn over?”

Her eyes opened at his question, but she didn't move. To face him would mean being only inches away from him. She didn't trust herself to be that close to him. To his lips.

“Why?”

“Just turn over, Y/N,” he whispered. “Please.”

It was the vulnerability in his voice—the barely audible ‘please’—that had her giving in. She had never heard him say it before, not like that.

But as she complied, her face was even closer to his than she'd anticipated. Their noses were almost touching, and she made a point not to let her gaze drop to his lips.

Azriel didn't say anything. They stared into each other's eyes for a few moments or maybe an hour—Y/N didn't know. The one thing she knew was that her heart was beating faster in her chest, and it only got worse when he brushed her cheek, his touch gentle and soft. She smiled, and the movement caused his gaze to dip to her mouth. She waited for him to look up again, but he didn't.

Her smile turned into a little smirk. “Are you just going to stare at my lips all night, or do you plan to actually do something about it?”

Azriel looked at her again, and though he tried to look annoyed, she could see a hint of amusement in his eyes. “Why do you always have to make such quick-witted comments?”

“Shut up and kiss me,” she replied before she even knew what she was saying. She didn't regret it though, because he did it.

And the world shrank till there was just Azriel.

His lips were soft against hers, warm and inviting. His hand moved from her cheek to the back of her head, his fingers tangling in her hair as he pulled her closer. She melted against him, opening up for his tongue to slip inside, tasting her slowly, almost reverently. Her heart was beating so fast it might have jumped out of her chest.

She'd wanted this to happen for the longest time, and now that it was real, the leash she'd kept on herself vanished. Every feeling, every emotion she'd stifled for so long, now rushed to the surface like a tidal wave.

What had started as a tender kiss soon turned into something passionate and greedy. She whimpered softly against his lips, and her hands began to make their way down to the hem of his shirt.

“Y/N.” Azriel's whisper stopped her as she looked into his eyes. She could see her own need reflected there. “Are you sure about this?”

“I don't look sure enough to you?” She raised an eyebrow. “Maybe next time I should just send you a note and—”

Azriel silenced her with another kiss. “You and your sarcastic answers,” he murmured with a smile.

Y/N giggled and cupped his cheek, brushing her thumb against his lips. “I mean it, Az,” she said, her tone softer now. “I'm sure about it.”

“Good.” He pulled her flush against him as his hands roamed down her back. “Because if I start, I don't think I could stop.”

“Good,” she repeated before she kissed him again.

Y/N tugged on his shirt, and they parted long enough for her to take it off, though it took a bit of struggle to undo the clasps on his back and free his wings. She'd seen him shirtless before, mostly when he was training—he was a real feast for the eye—but now she got to touch him, to run her hands across his torso and feel him shudder. His mouth descended on her neck in response, leaving a trail of wet kisses while his hands gripped her backside.

“You were right, princess,” he murmured, his breath hot against her skin. “Your ass is definitely not little.”

She chuckled as he kneaded it. “Told you.”

Azriel hummed, planting one last kiss on her neck before he shifted position and Y/N found herself pressed down on the mattress, the shadowsinger now on top of her. As she pulled him closer for their lips to meet yet again, his hands caressed her legs, trailing up her thighs and slipping under her nightgown.

She held her breath as he brushed past her panties, lingering just long enough to make her shiver. He then moved up her body, causing the fabric to rise and reveal her soft flesh.

Y/N broke the kiss, a small sigh leaving her lips when Azriel’s hands reached her breasts. He smiled at the sound, and as their eyes met, his gaze was so full of desire that her core clenched.

She wanted him. She needed him.

Before she could reach between them to push down his pants, Azriel gently stopped her by grabbing her wrists, sensing what her intention was. “Not yet,” he murmured.

She frowned. A slight tug was all it took for him to release her hands, though she didn't try to undress him again. “Why not?”

And there it was again, that smirk. But now, with him on top of her, both of them half naked, she didn't simply want to kiss it. No, she wanted do all the things she'd never let herself consider.

“Because I want to see you first, princess.”

Azriel was already pushing her nightgown up, but as usual, she couldn't keep her mouth shut. “So it's official? You're calling me princess now? You've never done that before.”

He looked down at her with so much desire that it seemed to set her body on fire. “I've never been about to fuck you before,” he answered, his voice low and sultry.

Her thighs clenched together, but before she could come up with a response, Azriel removed her nightgown. Her skin was already so heated she barely felt the bite of the cool air, and it was completely forgotten when he ran his hands all over her body, leaving goosebumps in their wake.

“You're so beautiful,” he whispered as he leaned down to take one of her nipples in his warm mouth, a soft moan escaping her as she shivered.

Her fingers tangled in his hair to keep him close, and she arched against him when his tongue flicked out to tease her.

“And you're so responsive,” he murmured. Hooking a scarred finger into the waistband of her panties, he pulled them down her legs. The scent of her arousal wafted through the room as Azriel nudged her legs open and settled in between them.

Y/N was about to tell him to hurry, her need to feel him against and inside her now almost overwhelming. But she couldn’t form the words, not as Azriel pushed his hips against hers and she felt the evidence of his own arousal pressing hard against her wet core.

His hands caressed her sides, her ass, her thighs, and yet he never touched her where she needed it most.

“Azriel…” she complained, eyes locked on him. She moved her hips to grind against his erection, seeking some sort of friction, and she was rewarded by his sharp inhale. But it still wasn't enough.

“Be patient, Y/N.” His mouth descended on her neck again, biting the soft spot where it met her shoulder. “I want to taste you first. I want to worship every inch of you.”

Even though she closed her eyes at his little nips, she shook her head. “Azriel, I appreciate it. I really do. But you have no idea how long I've waited for this.” Her breath hitched when his tongue swirled around her nipple again. “We can leave the worshipping for later. I need you now.”

“You need me, uh?” He kissed her other breast, and she bucked her hips against him once more. “And you've waited a long time for this?”

Y/N looked at him again, her fingers still clutching his hair. She nodded and realized her mistake too late—a new mischievous gleam entered Azriel's hazel eyes.

His lips trailed down her stomach and toward her belly button. Each kiss sent a shiver right to her core. “Then you can wait a little longer.”

She groaned, her patience now at its limit. “Azriel, you—”

A gasp cut her off as he licked a stripe up her dripping folds. She couldn't tell who moaned first when Azriel tasted her once more, his tongue flicking over her clit.

Her fingers tightened in his black curls and her head fell back on the pillow. Azriel's lips closed around her clit and she clamped a hand on her mouth to keep quiet as he gently sucked on it.

His shadows began to slither up her body, their touch cool against her heated skin. Her breathing quickened and she had to hold back a moan when his tongue was replaced by a finger slowly sliding inside her folds.

But it didn't move. Azriel looked up at her and she wished she could somehow capture the picture: his head between her legs, those beautiful hazel eyes focused on her with an almost predatory intent.

“Don't go all quiet on me now, princess,” he murmured against her skin. “I want to hear all your pretty noises.”

A tendril of shadow brushed against her hand, and she removed it from her mouth. “Az, the other rooms—”

He curled his finger to hit that soft, spongy spot inside her that had her see stars, and she couldn't stop the moan that left her lips.

“I don't care if someone hears you.” His voice was a low, almost commanding growl. “Let them hear you. Let them know you're with me.”

She was about to answer, to tell him she wasn't sure she should, but Azriel added a second finger, and she lost all control, another small cry of pleasure slipping out.

Azriel seemed satisfied because his smirk reappeared. “If I had known this is all it took to put a stop on the witty comments, I would have done it a long time ago.”

Y/N wanted to make one of those very witty comments to prove him wrong, to show him she hadn't become helpless just because of how good he made her feel, but his tongue circled her clit again and Mother above, she was helpless.

“Do you want to come, princess?”

Unable to form even a coherent thought, all she could do was nod, her body on the brink of release as his fingers curled once more, drawing a moan from deep in her throat.

“Use your words, Y/N.”

“Yes… yes, please,” she panted.

But instead of keeping going, of driving her over that sweet, craved edge, Azriel placed a kiss to her inner thigh and slowly removed his fingers from her folds. He even moved away from her, standing up at the foot of the bed.

She groaned, pushing herself up on her elbows to glower at him. “Azriel, you get back here right now.”

He only grinned. “Ah, there she is.”

“If you're doing this just because you missed my comments, you should know that I—”

The words died on her tongue as soon as his hands swiftly undid the buttons of his pants. Her eyes followed his every movement as he pushed them down his legs, watching his muscles shift and his wings unfold ever so slightly to keep him balanced.

He wasn't wearing any underwear.

The realization caused her brain to stop working, and the sight of his naked body took her breath away. Maybe the rumors about Illyrian wingspans were true after all.

Her mouth dry, she swallowed before finally speaking again. “Azriel,” she repeated, her voice quivering with barely restrained desire. “Get back here right now.”

For once, he obliged without questioning, his grin wide.

Climbing onto the bed, he crawled up her body until his cock pressed against her entrance, her need for him now through the roof.

Their eyes met, and slowly—too slowly—Azriel pushed in, stretching her inch by delicious inch, both of them releasing a moan when he bottomed out, his hips flush against her.

“Fuck,” he groaned, the sound shooting straight down to her core. “Fuck, Y/N... you feel incredible.”

She had no words to describe how he felt inside her. ‘Incredible’ was an understatement, but her mind was too foggy to think of something else. The only thing she was sure of was that she needed him to move.

“Azriel,” she breathed as she wrapped her legs around him. He shuddered when she accidentally brushed his wings with her toes. “Please, move. Now.”

With his elbows on either side of her head, he leaned down to kiss her, pulling out almost all the way. “I love hearing you beg for it,” he whispered against her lips, and rocked back into her with a quick roll of his hips before she could even think of a response.

He didn’t even try to go slow, instead immediately setting a relentless pace that left her panting, but she didn’t mind. Every choked sound and breathless moan were swallowed by his kiss, their tongues swirling together. Her hands found their way into his hair, around his neck, down his back, and her nails scraped along his warm and slightly sweaty skin while he thrust into her, her hips rising to meet his.

Azriel’s own groans and whimpers were music to the ears, each of them bringing her closer to release. As if he knew her body well enough already, he seemed to sense it too, because his lips left hers to trail down her neck.

“That’s it, princess,” he praised. His clipped voice let her know he was probably trying to hold back his own impending orgasm. “Come for me.”

His shadows flew in the little space between their bodies to tease her clit, drawing a guttural groan from her. It was like nothing she’d ever felt before—cool against her hot skin, a barely-there touch that yet was enough to make her shudder and whine. But it was the uniqueness of it all that sent her toppling over the edge.

A loud cry broke from her as her vision blurred and her body tensed, her nails slightly digging into Azriel’s back while he slowed his thrusts to draw out her pleasure. But he soon resumed his punishing pace, his hips slamming into hers almost frantically, the sound of skin on skin filling the small room as he chased his own release.

She choked out his name right as he stilled, hot spurts of cum filling her, his last few moans muffled when she pulled him in for another desperate kiss.

They were both panting by the time they broke apart, but neither of them tried to move. Azriel still lay buried deep inside her, and simply rested his forehead against hers, a smile on his lips that mirrored her own.

Despite his heavy breaths, his brows raised as he asked playfully, “So was the wait worth it?”

“It was,” she answered with a chuckle. Her hands came up to cup his face, her thumbs brushing over his cheekbones. “You certainly know what you’re doing, shadowsinger.”

Wrong words.

“Is that so?” His grin only widened, and he gave another roll of his hips that dragged a groan from the back of her throat.

She slapped him on the shoulder, but her smile matched his. “Smug ass.”

Azriel's soft laugh tickled her cheek as he kissed it. Slowly, he pulled out of her, leaving her with a feeling of emptiness.

Not ready to let him go just yet, she curled up in his arms as soon as he lay down next to her. Azriel immediately embraced her, holding her close to his chest, their legs tangled.

A comfortable silence settled over them as they bathed in the afterglow of sex, interrupted only by their soft breathing and the blizzard still raging outside.

As the minutes passed, Y/N struggled to keep her eyes open, but she had always wanted to trace the swirling lines of Azriel's tattoos, and now she had her chance. Her fingers danced along the Illyrian design, following the pattern from his neck to his arm, then lingering a bit longer on his sculpted pecs and feeling the muscle beneath her fingertips. His heart was beating fast, pounding in his chest.

“Can you promise me something?”

She glanced up at him, his eyes already fixed on her. The corner of her lips twitched upwards. “Depends on what it is.”

Azriel was silent for a long moment before he spoke again with a new seriousness in his tone. “Promise me that we’ll give this a chance. That we’ll give… us a chance.”

Her fingers halted their roaming, her heart skipped a bit, and a part of her whispered that she had heard that wrong, that she had misunderstood. No way he was actually asking her what she thought he was asking her, despite just having had sex.

She had to swallow the lump in her throat to be able to murmur, “Do you mean that?”

Azriel's eyes softened, like he knew she was even more vulnerable now than while they were fucking, and that whether her heart broke or not depended entirely on his answer.

“I’ve waited for this for a long time too, Y/N,” he said gently, cupping her cheeks to look right into her eyes. “I don’t want just this one night with you. I want all the nights you’ll give me.”

Y/N smiled then, so bright it could have lit up the whole room. She wanted to kiss him senseless, to hold him tight and never let go. And nothing was stopping her anymore, she realized, so she did just that.

She showered his face with tiny kisses. Every beautiful inch, from his nose to his jawline, from his eyebrow to his chin. Azriel's arms wrapped around her middle to pull her closer, and she relented her assault only when he chuckled.

Their eyes met again, and she knew there was no turning back now. But she would never turn back now.

“I’ll give you all the nights in the world, Az,” she finally said once the burst of joy subsided. “And the days, too. I'll give you anything you want.”

His smile was the most beautiful thing she had ever seen. It was wider than ever before and the urge to touch his small dimples rushed through her—dimples she'd never known he had, but that she'd do anything to see again.

When he kissed her, it was slow yet passionate, gentle yet desperate, their breaths mingling, their hands caressing cheeks and running through hair.

“You're the only thing I want,” Azriel murmured once their lips parted. “Every night and every day. I want only you.”

Those were probably the most beautiful words she'd ever heard. Not even in her dreams did she imagine he would say them. Dwelling on what it would be like to share moments of passion was one thing, but this…

She moved to straddle him, mindful of his wings splayed out beneath him. She wanted to run her fingers down their length, and hopefully, sooner rather than later, she might get to do just that.

“Then I hope you're not too tired, shadowsinger.” She leaned down to trail kisses along his tattoo, but her eyes never left his. “Because you can't say something like that without expecting me to fuck you again.”

His hands tightened their grip on her thighs, her words enough to ignite the fire in him once more. “I'm yours, princess. We have all night.”

“All the nights,” she corrected him with a grin, already grinding on him. “And all the days.”

Maybe they would be facing the rebels with sore bodies, after all.

Tags: @mrsjna @navyblue-eternity @paintedbyshadows @highladyandromeda @starswholistenanddreamsanswered @azrielsmate3 @mollygetssherlockcoffee @mirandasidefics @tinystarfishgalaxy @cynthiesjmxazrielslover

(If I accidentally added someone who wanted to be tagged only in part 3 of A Helping Hand and not the general tag list, please let me know and I'll fix it)

[punkkture]

Hiii! I love your fics so much, it’s genuinely the best💗💗💗

I was wondering if you could do angst with puppy hybrid reader, if you do write about hybrids💗💗💗

ouuuu this sounds so fun, i’ve never done anything exactly like this SO DONT JUDGE, but i will try my best. also im sorry this took so long to get out, it was hard coming up with a concept i knew would work !!

part one - part two

word count - 2.6k

dead dove warning: hybrid!reader, owner!simon, lil bit of breeding, ddlg kinda bcus i eat that up for breakfast, lunch, and dinner, simon who really does treat you like a dog

— simon was enamored with his little plaything. you were an expensive accessory. a commodity that he was lucky to have. you were his sweet pretty girl.

of course he has a nice and expensive leather collar for you. little clinks of the tags so he can always make sure where you're at. it was almost melodic to his ears. hearing you rustle awake from your nap and the soft jingle of the metal.

but sometimes, just sometimes . . simon has a bad day. everyone does. everyone besides a sweet spoiled puppy that gets everything she wants just because she’s pretty and mostly obedient.

normally it never bothers him, he understands it’s what you’re used to and it’s how he’s trained you to be. no ones fault besides his own, really. tonight though, he's just trying to enjoy a few drinks with john and abandon the responsibilities he always harbors.

that was until his little puppy was acting out.

and it wasn't like you meant to, you just wanted some extra affection - simon knew you were due for a heat soon but jesus, a man could only handle so much.

your sweet and delicate form crawling up to his lap. the clanking of your collar was echoing in between the words he was trying to speak to john. that puffed up tail of yours knocking into his drink a little bit.

"christ, baby, stop." he nearly growls out of frustration, the quiet tone of it held little threat however. his shoulders were holding a lot of weight this week and he really is trying his damndest to not get upset.

a gruff sigh parting his lips when you muttered a meek apology. just wanting to be close to your doting owner. nuzzling up against his strong chest and cozying down against his lap. your face tucked sweetly into his neck. sniffling softly at his scent, the cedar and smoke in it was making your head dizzy.

his teammate seated on the other side of the coffee table, eyes almost starting to glass over the slightest bit. the conversation dragged on in your head. burdened by the words you didn't really understand.

and when the conversation continued to drone on, you just got more and more restless. at the end of the day you really were just a puppy. a young thing simon was happy he managed to pluck up before anyone else. still lots of training to get you through.

the worst of your habits he was trying to break was your biting problem. it wasn't ever out of aggression, you hadn't even snarled at him before. but even a dog that gets excited and bites, is not a good dog. it was a bigger issue to simon than it was to most. it wasn't that soft attitude he always liked you to have, it was you misbehaving.

if he wanted to keep you from biting, he might as well try to keep you entertained. this was a result of his lack of attention.

your teeth starting to nip and bite at the skin of his neck, mixing that with your already far too clingy attitude had only earned you a firm pat on the rear. he was giving you a chance to quit. and it worked for the time being.

it was just so hard to deny the innate and instinctual need to bite at your owner, your mate. just sweet little kisses is how you classified it.

a little bit more time passed, your skin gently starting to heat up. the warmth originating in your gut and spreading to your chest, just now beginning to crawl up into your throat.

both men in the room acknowledged the slightest change in scent. a silent conclusion from both of them was drawn at the mention of a much needed cigarette break.

simon was expecting you to follow, which he didnt really mind. just the incessant nuzzling and biting was getting too much. so on his way out to the back patio door with john, he picked up a chew toy from the bin. maybe just a little bit of compassion was getting to him.

letting you crawl onto his lap while he lit his newport. one hand holding the cigarette while the other held the chew toy for you to play with. giving his own skin a break.

his voice gentle, "keep gnawing on that, no biting."

john just watched in slight amusement. it was all common behavior for men like this to be around. the captain was a little more understanding of these natural instincts you had. of course it was a little humorous to observe the way simon treated your biting habits.

unfortunately, the rubber chew bone did help. though did not compare to the warm skin you would rather nip at, but it worked well enough.

price went ahead and cocked his head a little as he asked simon, "she always bite?" taking puffs of his own cigarette. the clouds of smoke billowing out into the late evening night.

simon nodded, "all the time." showing off his arm, little scratches and bite marks were everywhere on his skin. showing his captain that not a heat went by without you biting and scratching him.

you were oblivious to the conversation now. their previous talk inside had bored you to the point of just toning out their voices. you were happy enough mindlessly gnawing on the toy simon held for you in hopes of getting that certain itch scratched.

"hm . . only an issue when she's in heat?" john asked.

your owner just nodded, too occupied with the cigarette in his mouth to answer. and the captain was a very well educated man. he knew how to handle a woman, and not saying that simon didnt . . . but maybe a different solution was what each of you needed to get over this biting issue.

"you could just knock her up already . . it'll get rid of that heat for a while. could probably serve a girl like her good, too." he answered simon's silent response, his hand reaching out to brush against your tail hanging off of his lap.

now that got your ears to flick in tune with their voices. gnawing on the toy a little less intently. it was making a warm and sweet heat simmer in your tummy. now that idea sounded good. cute little puppies with your owner who you just loved.

and you felt the chuckle come from simons chest as you pressed against it. that was playful to him. he just shook his head no, almost like price's suggestion was absurd. "no . . that's not something in the playbook."

oh.

"well why not? you don't want pups?"

his answer was clear. shaking his head no, again.

at this point price was just teasing. being cheeky because he couldn't believe this man didnt want to get his little puppy girl pregnant. that's what they were made for. that's why their pricing was always so high. known for big litters and good genes.

"not even a little bit?" . . . . "not even a little bit."

simons rejection to your natural instincts hurt. especially right now since you were close to heat. you couldn't help it. its how you were genetically designed. and to hear the man you spent every day doting over, deny you of that, it stung. and there was a weird stab of guilt that came with it. right in the back of your throat and if it got any stronger you could've gagged.

both of the men could tell. the words that left his throat were settling in the air between everyone. and price just found it absolutely incredulous. giving him a taste of his own medicine, he shot him right back with an idea that sounded just as equally stupid.

"could just get her sterilized, if you really don't want to deal with those heats or any pups."

he felt bad once he saw the way your tail puffed up and the ears on your head perked up. clearly disturbed by what he said. it worked how he needed it to though.

"you're insane, john." simon muttered, taking another puff of his cigarette. he couldn't imagine getting his little puppy girl spayed. it would completely throw your instincts out the window. there wouldn't be anything left of the girl he adored.

his friend just chuckled and nodded his head a little bit. "that's how you sound talkin' about not using a hybrid for what they're made for."

and price really did feel guilty when he saw the way you were digesting this whole conversation. just needing a little comfort and compassion simon just wasn't in the mood for right now.

a little tug on your tail got your attention over to the man.

"come sit with me?" his cockney accent different from the one you were used to. but some hugs sounded nice right now.

simon was more than happy to get a little break, sliding you over to his friends lap. you could've melted against the pudgy form you now rest on. your fleecy tail wrapping around yourself while prodding your nose against his neck. just getting a good sniff. but a short whistle got your ears to flick back over to simon. a gentle way of him telling you to knock it off a little, he knew what that always lead to.

it got another chuckle out of the captain though. how could simon not let a sweet little thing like this just do whatever she wanted? he was far more understanding than your owner in certain cases. in a weird way of describing it - simon was an alpha that went against other alphas, and price was an alpha that was there for omegas.

he was warm and inviting and always game for a couple kisses.

with that blossomed a little bit more confidence in starting what always got you put in a cage. snuggling up to the captain while his big arms kept you secure on his lap. sniffing at the spot on his neck and just ever so slightly nipping at the skin there. not hard, but noticeable enough for you to normally get disciplined.

price didnt mind one bit. smoothing over your tail while continuing the conversation with simon.

it just felt so good to get that itch scratched. the sensation of your nose pressed against warm skin and taking in all of their comforting scent, rubbing your fangs and teeth against something you couldn't get from a pet store for three dollars.

a firm smack on your ass dissipated that feeling real quick.

"no biting. don't let her do that, you're encouraging her." simon grumbled, not happy with the captains lack of discipline.

price held on to you a little snugger. rubbing the spot he smacked.

"she can't help it, mate. jus' let her get it out on me." trying to convince. but it wasn't that easy with simon. he was irritated. visibly. lighting his second cigarette. it was just force of habit anytime he sat down outside on the porch. muttering under his breath, "you're not helping."

if a smack on the butt was all you were getting right now, that's not the worst. what did feel like the worst was not getting your teeth on something. a little addict for it is what it made you look like.

you pressed closer to price's shoulder, biting the skin there. no one could deny that there was encouragement from the captain. he wanted you to be able to get it out while you can. always such a sweet and gentle man. letting your teeth softly gnaw on the muscle there.

but you started to get a bit too into it. misjudging the force you were using and biting down to hard. breaking the skin and drawing blood.

the captain let out a sharp hiss. he knew you didnt mean it, but it didnt make it hurt any less. especially with those sharp canines of yours.

simon was quick to give you a real hard slap on the ass, ripping you off of price's lap. "bad. you don't do that." he growled to you. it was clear you had completely snapped the last tether that was tying him together. he was fuming.

you had embarrassed him to a different extent when that bite mark pierced through his captains skin. he didn’t care if it was an accident, you shouldn’t even been opening your mouth.

a pounding heart and that ache of guilt came swallowing you whole. the ears on your head pinned back and the tail instinctively tucking between your legs. you hadn't seen him so irritated before. he dragged you inside, price could hear him screaming at you through the closed sliding door.

"what is wrong with you?!"

that one made your heart sting.

"how many times do i have to tell you to stop?!"

that one got a choked whimper part your lips.

"these heats are too much! im sick of you! maybe i should just get you sterilized, hm? you want that?!" he was just laying down every harsh and critical phrase he could.

he was holding a tight grip into your hair, making sure you were following him all the way upstairs. your chest felt beyond heavy - n incessant hole forming right in the pit of your throat.

"i didnt mean to!" you defended quickly, it was clear you were panicked.

"don't care right now, just shut up." he spit.

your feet struggled to keep up with his large strides into the bedroom. he hauled you to rest on your knees in front of a large dog crate. his hand grabbing your face in a vehement grip. rough fingers just digging into your cheeks and jaw. your eyes were wide, full of pure trepidation and held an ungodly amount of indiscretions.

simon got down to your level. his gaze on you was scary. and he knew it. but it just felt like there was nothing he could do to fix his attitude. he had given you countless amounts of chances, and you refused to listen. and this is what happens to bad dogs that don't know any obedience.

his palm gave one more good smack to the side of your face, shoving you into the crate and locking it.

"you are bad. youre going to be beyond lucky if i decide to not get you fixed. stay in here until i say you can come out." he barked, making sure to look into your eyes, so you really knew he meant it.

the bedroom door slammed shut. leaving you to wallow in the guilt of what you just did. you had never bit anyone like that before. mostly gentle nips or a few mild scratches, but a full on bite? it was unheard of for you. the sensation of getting the slightest bit of encouragement from price had completely done you in.

curling into yourself as you tried to let the soft blankets comfort your aching heart. tail wrapping around your form as little whimpers and cries could now be heard escaping through the gaps in the cage. you felt awful.

when simon made it back outside his annoyance was still glaringly clear. price wasn't nearly as bothered as he was. he had endured much worse in the field, but he understood simons anger and embarrassment.

"im so sorry about her, shes just - shes been bad lately." simon tried to explain and apologize for your actions.

the captain just held a hand up, he was a little amused to be honest, and he was more than happy to help ease whatever simon was going through.

"you want me to take her for the weekend? give ya a little break at least." he offered.

and for the first time all day, simon heard a good idea.

"yeah . . . yeah id appreciate that."

ೃ࿔* tag list: @vanillarosekiss @simonskitty @cu456 @silverwoodlynx @mlthree @vint4geroses @ktmjoslin @darlingchanse @xangelbnnyx @tslmvn @jgissle12 @asherscove @bunty-girl @diorpar @sky-robin @ldrtypeofgirl @mentalhorror @teranya @chawitea @all-by-myself98 @jinx53 @alfiestreacle @frazzledfawn @iamtoriasworld @annierosesposts @dude1634 @happysmappy @itgetsdarksometimes35 @s-a-v-a-n-a-34 @slut-lmao @theyluvlaur @figthoughts @pinkthxt @hobiebrownenthusiast @h0lydrag0ns

[vividly-vermillion]

✴︎ KNEE DEEP IN THE PASSENGER SEAT

જ⁀➴ Toji took a silly joke to heart which caused a fight to break out between the two of you. However, Toji would never apologize with words, he still uses his mouth to make sure that you know he's sorry though.

ﾉ including: Toji

ﾉ cw: fem!reader, couple fight, accusing Toji of cheating, oral (reader receiving), fingering, make up sex/oral, reader jokingly getting called "bunny" once

ﾉ wordcount: 1.7k

ﾉ info: request by the lovely @pricesprincess thank you again so much for this. I had a blast daydreaming about and writing this ♥️ | requests are open

REBLOGS AND COMMENTS ARE APPRECIATED (share your thoughts!)

At this point you deeply regretted making a petty joke while getting ready for your date with Toji, since it turned into a huge, unnecessary fight between the two of you. It really was a joke, all you said was that he should keep his eyes off of other women while he's out with you - not that he ever entertained any of them, but the both of you did look if a beautiful person walked past, simply because they were pretty, nothing more. Toji however, got defensive, as if you doubted his loyalty. At first you thought he meant it jokingly too, but the lack of a smirk or chuckle led you to believe otherwise. 

"I can stare at them all I want as long as I keep my hands to myself, what more do you want?" Those were the exact words he used while angrily pulling a fresh shirt over his head. 

Now you were sitting at the restaurant with him and you both were fed up with the other, while Toji made sure to look obnoxiously at every woman walking past the two of you in hopes of pissing you off to confirm your statement to live up to being the bad guy that was ruining it all.

If he wasn't busy ogling other women, you both simply glared at one another with anger and unspoken words. His jaw was tense and his teeth almost shattered under the pressure, while your gaze would explode him if it could. Neither of you wanted to admit you were in the wrong and Toji was old enough to see that he was sabotaging himself by trying to prove that he wasn't a good partner - which you didn't want to imply, simply because it was far from the truth. A harmless joke, that's all it was, but it must have struck a nerve.

The moment both your plates were empty, Toji called over the waiter to pay the bills, not bothering to ask if you wanted something to drink or a dessert perhaps - He was done with this dinner and by the looks of it, you wanted to leave too.

"What the fuck is your problem, Fushiguro?" You ask in a whispered hiss once the cool evening air hit you. 

"What the fuck my problem is?" Toji whipped around to look at you, full of anger, his sudden movement almost knocking you over. "I hate how fucking little you trust me," he continued and the way you used his last name to build some sort of distance struck yet another nerve.

"I don't even know what you want from me. I'm loyal. Fuck- I never even thought of another ever since you’re mine. Do you expect me to go through life with blinders? What is your deal?" He didn't mean to raise his voice, especially not in public, but he just couldn't hold it in anymore. 

A sigh escaped his lips when he turned around to walk towards the car, the last thing he wanted was to make a scene now in front of your favorite restaurant. It took you a few seconds to follow after him, fast and angry steps hunting his quick strut. 

"It was meant as a simple joke... Since when are you that fragile?" Your question sounded more accusatory than you meant it to and Toji laughed bitterly at your words. 

Yes, he was sleeping around  - fuck, you were also just a one night stand at some point, but one night turned into two and suddenly you had things in his apartment and eventually he couldn't imagine sleeping a single night without you in his arms. He knew that he wasn't necessarily loyal at the beginning of your... escapades, but you weren't a couple, never talked about going exclusive. That you were using this against him just hurt something deep down, because you made him the happiest he's been in quite some years. 

Silence fell between you both once again and the radio was playing softly in the back, occasionally interrupted by a commercial or the talking of the host. Your gaze fell out of the window, not looking at anything in particular as trees passed in a blur, your mind was racing with thoughts until the world outside came to a halt, slow at first and suddenly nothing moved anymore.

"Why are we stopping?" Your voice sounded meek when you were ripped out of your thoughts by the stop, surely he wouldn't kick you out of the car to let you walk home, right? Your foolish fear deepened however when he walked around the car to open your door.

"Stop it! I'm not getting out in the middle of nowhere! Toji-" You protested when Toji leaned into the car to unbuckle your seatbelt.

"You're ridiculous! You're a fucking-" Your sentence got interrupted when you bit yourself on the tongue by the sudden movement of the seat getting pushed all the way back, immediately followed by the backrest of the passenger seat dropping onto the backseat. Toji didn't care much about your protests, his expression staying cold and no explanation came from his mouth.

"TOJI...WHAT ARE YOU-" You raised your voice when he pushed you back onto the seat as he climbed into the front as well, the smallest smirk slowly forming on his lips before he leaned down to kiss you - gently at first, to test the waters. The kiss grew passionate the moment you kissed back, out of resignation or because you wanted to - he didn't care. 

"Making up. Apologizing, if you will," he mumbled against your lips when his huge frame slowly settled into the cramped foot space of the passenger seat.

His big hands slowly inched their way up on your exposed thighs, screw your past self for wearing a dress, you thought and stopped both of his hands once they traveled too far. You knew very well that Toji wasn't a guy for big apologies, rarely ever verbally apologizing, and you didn't want him to believe that this would do - at least not this fast. 

"No! You can't just... Toji, no!" You protested and you could feel how he immediately stopped pushing his hands further, respecting your protest, but the smirk on his face told you that he was far from done with this. 

His hands gently squeezed the flesh of your inner thighs, chuckling when he felt your muscles clench and tighten. He had you right where he wanted you - wrapped around his finger. 

"So you're telling me that I can't eat out my pretty little bunny?" You internally cringe at the nickname he had given you a long time ago solely because you two were fucking like bunnies, unable to keep your hands to yourself. 

"No. I mean, yes... fuck," you groan at the wetness that has formed between your thighs from just thinking about his talented mouth latched to your cunt. 

"Okay, yes... but I'm still mad at you." You give him the green light and Toji wastes no time pushing your legs up onto the passenger seat before running his fingers over your panties until he could feel a wet patch forming.

"Guess I'll have to fuck that anger out of you then, hm?" He muses and doesn't even bother to take off your underwear, simply pushing them to the side to gain access to your sweet cunt. 

The man between your thighs was appreciating the view for a moment before his fingers gently spread your folds so his tongue could flick your clit ever so gently. The small contact had you spreading your legs wider for him, a silent invitation to devour you in a way you so carnally craved. Toji ran his flat tongue through your folds before licking up from your entrance to your clit in a zigzag motion. Once he reached your clit, he gently suckled on it while his tongue flicked over it relentlessly, at first in circles, but soon he was spelling his full name onto your cunt - a desperate attempt to remind you just who exactly can make you feel this good, whose name you should be moaning, who you should forgive for being a grade A asshole. 

Toji ate you out so messily, the lewd sounds drowning out the radio that was still playing in the back and his groans grew louder each time he fucked his tongue into your cunt to have more of your essence melt on his tongue, tasting all of you. The louder your moans grew, the messier he got until he latched onto your clit while two of his fingers plunged knuckle deep inside your heat, the pads curling against your sweet spot over and over again.

Toji's free hand wrapped around your left thigh to keep you close to him, pulling your cunt against his face so you couldn't get away from the pleasure he provided. Your clit started to twitch and your walls clamped down on his fingers - a telltale sign that your orgasm was close, but Toji didn't let up, wanting you to come undone on his fingers and his tongue, needing you to make a mess for him. Just as you wanted to warn him, it was too late. Your hips rolled against his face in a wave of ecstasy as your orgasm washed over you like a tidal wave and wrecked you in its wake.

"Toji... don't stop," You managed to whine out between the sinful moans of his name, but you didn't need to beg. Toji wanted you to forget how angry you were with him, even if he had to spend hours between your thighs to fuck you stupid to the point you forgot your own name.

When your orgasm subsided, he looked up at you with a wolfish grin, his entire chin glistening with your juices and you knew exactly that he was far from done with you. The moment his tongue started to circle your bundle of nerves again, you grabbed a fistful of his hair and pushed him closer to your sopping wet cunt, not letting him go any time soon - perhaps if he made you cum enough times, you'd allow him to blow off some steam too. But for now you were perfectly content with him knee deep in the passenger seat, just eating you out until you were seeing stars.

[livinginshambles]

No, you listen to me | James Potter

Pairing: James Potter x Slytherin!Fem!Reader

Word Count: 3.6k

Summary: Aftermath of when you ran away from the Yule ball, cinderella style. after the Christmas holidays, both of you return to hogwarts with different objectives. James tries to find out who you are. You try to make sure he never will.

Notes: Not proofread. Mistakes. Once again because people keep forgetting, english is my third language, be kind. Themes of bullying, discrimination, very bad sister relationships. Regulus is like a BROTHER. James tries?

Masterlist Part one. Part three

_________________________

Your eyes scanned across the parchment, rereading James’ apology, but all you could really feel was disappointment and anger. What was even the point of trying to prove anyone wrong? You leaned back against the cushions of the armchair and pulled your knees up, wrapping your arms around them to steadily lock them in place. Then you let your head drop.

You pressed your watering eyes into your knee, effectively letting your pajama pants soak up any tears that threatened to fall. You gently rocked yourself back and forth while you tried to clear your mind. You wouldn’t let any of this get to you.

A hand pressed itself to your back, right between your shoulder blades. “Let’s get you out of here,” Regulus spoke up. His tone was hard, but only because of his clenched jaw when he thought back to how you had run off with a betrayed look. The second he realized it was James who was the mystery guy, he had kept a close eye. He knew things wouldn’t end well with those prejudiced twats, and he was right.

You pathetically looked up at him, and Regulus didn’t bother to hide his grimace at the sight of your face.

“Don’t exaggerate you arse,” you mumbled and shoved him light-heartedly.

“Back at you,” Regulus shot back. Then he sighed and motioned for you to scootch over so he could squeeze himself to fit in the armchair with you. “I know you. And I know you know what my brother and his friends are like. Why are you so disappointed?”

You stared at the lit fireplace, lost in thoughts, and eventually shrugged when Regulus nudged you out of your train of thoughts.

“I guess- I really liked the guy on the other side of the paper. And I really hoped that maybe he’d be in there somewhere. And I suppose that for a moment I actually thought James Potter was alright, you know?”

Regulus scrunched his nose in distaste. “Not at all, but go on.”

You shook your head in amusement at him, but let your eyes soften. “I’m sorry Reg,” you whispered.

“What for?”

“Making you listen to me whining about a guy that I know you have personal issues with.” You decided not to mention out loud the fact that those personal issues included the way Sirius had left Regulus behind in that household, escaping to live with the Potters and going as far as publicly calling James his true brother. Found family, he had proudly said.

Regulus knew what you were referring to. He smiled bitterly. “Well, brothers are overrated anyways. I’d much rather have a sister,” he said while nudging you again.

You hummed in contemplation. “I don’t know Reg; I’ll have to disagree with you on this one. I’d much rather have a brother than any number of sisters.”

“How convenient for us.”

“Very convenient indeed,” you smiled happily.

Regulus got up suddenly and turned to you with a stretched out hand. You raised an eyebrow at him.

“I meant what I said, you know. Let’s get you out of here. I do recall you promising me tea at your new apartment.” He looked at his pocket watch. “Well, it’s 5 o’clock in the morning, and the first train leaves at 6. What’s the difference between leaving in the evening or right now.”

“You absolute champ.”

“I don’t even know what that means.”

You laugh whole-heartedly and stuff the parchment in your transfigurations book. You and Regulus took the first train and left Hogwarts behind for the Christmas holidays. A break would do you good. Godric knows you needed to get James off your mind.

James carefully placed the glass slippers in his suitcase and covered them with a few sweaters just in case. He had caught the elves recklessly throwing suitcases into the storage compartment of the Hogwarts express before. You’d think that the use of magic would come in handy for tasks like this, but no.

“Prongs, I got you this?” Sirius pushed a sheet of bubble wrap into James’ arms. James offered Sirius an appreciative look.

After thoroughly explaining everything, from the moment when he found the parchment, to who you were and why he decided that he wanted to become someone you would approve of, Sirius had pieced the rest together and apologized to James for leaving such a shit impression on his mystery date.

James sheepishly pointed at his own solution. “Should I change it?”

“Well, I mean did you see how the elves throw around with our luggage?”

James mirrored Sirius' grin. This break truly came at a perfect time. After all, James would let you occupy his mind as much as he needed to find out who you were.

Two weeks flew by in a blur. You and Regulus had set up a Christmas tree inside your small apartment and had made a competition out of finding the most impressive gift for each other, with only 10 galleons.

You had found the most gorgeous black quill and enchanted ink set for him and were rather confident until Regulus had somehow shown up with what looked like emerald, antique and gorgeously over the top earrings. You had shot him a look and he had immediately provided a receipt to prove he had played fair.

“I just have great negotiating skills,” he’d said.

You had hummed skeptically in reply but had happily tried them on.

All in all, the holidays were a very welcome break for you. Which is why you were so very reluctant to pack your bags. The door to your room opened and Regulus stood in the entrance, leaning against the door frame.

“Get out,” you groaned in dismay at the interruption. Regulus shot you an unimpressed look.

“Not until I see you pack; we leave in less than an hour.”

You huffed in annoyance and threw a pillow at his head. “I’m not asking you again, Black.” You flopped back down on your bed dramatically in dismay at the prospect of going back to Hogwarts. Regulus elegantly tilted his head and let the pillow fly past him.

“One hour,” he enunciated, before walking off.

You threw another pillow his way and yelled, “Close the door when you leave, you twat!”

With a flick of his wand, your door closed.

Regulus waited for you with a bag in his hand.

“Where’s the rest of it,” you teased as you motioned to the small amount of luggage he held.

Regulus turned red but stuck his chin up. “Left them here for the summer,” he off-handedly replied. You laughed. “Great, so you can help carry this bag then,” you grinned and pushed your smaller bag into his hands while you marched out the door with your heavy luggage, dragged behind you.

When you entered the platform, and were handed the Hogwarts newspaper, you did not expect to find a picture of you and James at the Yule ball on the front page. ‘Who are you, Willow?’

You immediately folded the paper together and looked up in panic at Regulus. He looked around and found different students excitedly chittering to each other, all while pointing at the newspaper.

“That is so romantic,”

“I thought James was with Lily?”

“No, they’re just friends now.”

“I was wondering who he was dancing with.”

“She looks so pretty.”

“If I found out that my date was James Potter, I’d take off that mask immediately.”

“Well, she could just be shy.”

“So true, probably Hufflepuff, don’t you think?

“I really hope he finds her.”

You grimaced at everyone and all you wanted to do was disappear. “Relax, Y/N,” Regulus smoothly pulled you on board the Hogwarts Express. “No one will know it’s you.”

Despite knowing that he was absolutely right, you still faced the floor as you looked for an empty compartment. You didn’t realize that you were passing James, who had just come back from a train meeting with the other prefects. He had picked up on Regulus’ words and frowned. But before he could really stop to consider Regulus’ statement, Peter happily waved at him from the marauders’ compartment. “We’re over here!” he called out. James forgot about what he heard.

Remus held the newspaper up in the air when James finally took a seat. “Really?”

“It was Pad’s idea,” James immediately said.

Peter curiously grabbed the newspaper. “Any results?”

James shrugged. “It’s only the first day,” he tries to convince himself, but he was not very sure about this approach to find you.

“It’s going to work out, trust me,” Sirius said. “When she sees that you’re going to this extent to find her, you’ll definitely woo her for sure,” he claimed.

Remus pulled a face. “I mean, if she ran off cause you two were being pricks, again,” he gave both Sirius and James a sharp look. “And hasn’t answered any of your messages, I don’t think starting a witch-hunt of sorts is the way to find her,” he voiced out his opinion. ”She clearly doesn’t want to be found.”

“What are you calling my methods bad?” Sirius squinted his eyes at Remus in mock offense.

“I’m just saying they wouldn’t exactly woo me,” Remus dryly remarked.

“And yet-“

“Guys,” James interrupted. “I just want to find her and apologize. And ask her for another chance to prove that I’m more than what she saw.”

“Well,” Peter started. He turned red when all eyes were suddenly on him. “She will probably not reveal herself. But she’s still a student here. And she knows who you are. So maybe if you publicly show off kind acts, she’ll see how you can be?”

There was a beat of silence and for a moment, Peter wanted to change into a rat and crawl into a hole to hide. But suddenly he was patted on the back by James. “Peter, you absolute champ!”

James Potter was acting weird, and you knew exactly what he was trying to do. You huffed to yourself as you marched right past him while he held the door open for his friends and you, who trailed in right behind them.

Previously, James would have definitely let the door fall in your face, and you had anticipated so, thus smoothly switching your books to your left arm, putting your right hand in front of you in a bracing manner. And so it happened that you stood there frozen, hand flat against James' chest, because he had turned around fully to hold the door open for you.

You embarrassedly dropped your hand that still lingered against him, and a deep frown settled on your face.

“I’d take ten points from Slytherin for touching a student without their consent, but I suppose I’ll let it slide for today,” he arrogantly said. You wanted to beat him up. But you supposed you could let it slide for today. You scowled at him and fled past him towards your designated seat.

Something tugged inside James’ chest as he watched you turn your back towards him and hurry away. He walked to join the rest of the marauders, a ghost feeling of your palm against his chest.

It hadn’t just been you that he was more civilized with. You noticed when you found him volunteering in the library, putting away books back on the shelves manually. This bothered you, because he tended to specifically linger around the particular section in the back about Egyptian rites, your favorite. You knew he was there to hopefully spot any often-returning students.

You also noticed that less and less students were coming back to the common room, hexed. Aside from snide remarks, you hadn’t encountered much animosity from him anymore either.

Instead, you found yourself on assigned patrol with him, despite the fact that Regulus had kindly offered to jinx his broom during Quidditch practice so you wouldn’t have to.

“So,” James broke the silence. “How was your holiday?”

“Why do you want to know,” you immediately shot back before you could stop yourself. James raised his hands in surrender. “Woah, sorry, L/N, just making conversation here.”

You sighed and forced your shoulders to lose their tension. “It was fine.”

“Fine.” James repeated.

“Fine,” you confirmed.

That was the end of your conversation, in your opinion. James however, seemed to think differently.

“So did you get any nice presents?”

You shot him an annoyed look but ended up answering anyway. “Yes actually, Regulus got me these earrings,” you said, and you tilted your head to show him. James’ eyes lingered on your earrings. They looked good on you. The exaggerated gem made you stand out despite your sober attire.

“What else?”

“What do you mean, what else?”

“Why, did your parents not buy you anything or what?”

You halted mid-step and stared up at James. He noticed that he had said something wrong, and when your sisters came to mind, he hurriedly tried to take his words back. You didn’t let him.

“I don’t go home for the holidays,” you settled on. “I’m not particularly welcome there. My parents are as big of a fan of me, as Alyssa and Marla are.” You laughed bitterly and continued walking. James followed behind you, he didn’t say a word, instead waited for you to continue.

“Well, I’m in Slytherin after all. Which obviously equals being an evil blood supremacist. They wouldn’t want to associate themselves with that, of course,” you sarcastically remarked.

James felt guilt slowly seep in. Your words resonated in his mind and his hands grasped the folded parchment in the pocket of his robes tightly. Those were his exact same words of that night at the Yule ball, and he bit his lip. “I’m sorry.”

You looked up at him, surprise evident in your eyes. “You’re sorry?” You asked him in disbelief.

James nodded. If he couldn’t say it to his mystery girl, at least he could say it to you, he figured.

James watched your eyes light up slightly and for a moment, he was lost in a trance. He snapped out of it when you returned the question. “So how was your holiday?”

He grinned at the olive branch that you were reaching out. “Mine was fine.”

“Fine?”

“Fine,” he teased. You fought the smile that threatened to tug on your lips.

Patrol ended without any incidents to report and when you wrote that down, James peered over your shoulder to catch your circled dot on the ‘i’ of “nothing to report.” A sense of déjà vu dawned on him, but the sheer unconscious refusal to even consider you a possibility kept your secret safe.

When you were in bed that night, you couldn’t help but think about how at ease you had felt for the remainder of the night with James, basking in the familiarity of the person behind the paper.

With every patrol, you two put another step forward in the direction of a friendship of some sorts.

James couldn't deny the fact that with each time, he started to look forward to the next time, almost the same giddy feeling fluttering in his stomach as each time he would unfold his parchment to find new kind words written there.

You and Willow would be friends, James thought, as he looked at you while you were casually explaining Transfiguration to him while you two strolled through the corridors, not without the occasional insult at his 'lack of competence'.

But for now, James enjoyed the privilege of calling you by your first name. A friend of some sorts, he liked to think.

Perhaps he was wrong about Slytherins. Sure, there were some rotten apples, but he supposed there were rotten apples in each house. And you weren't so bad after all.

For the first time in a long time, you enjoyed your days at Hogwarts. Truly enjoyed them. You would send Regulus to the library to get you your favourite books, and would patrol every Thursday with James unless he had Quidditch practice. Then you would patrol with Abrams. You’d come across James, who would nod with a kind smile at you as you two have come to be cautious friends and patrol-partners. You hadn’t really heard anything from your sisters either, which was absolute bliss as well.

But then one day, you were studying Transfiguration by yourself in the library, and you just so happened to need to go to the bathroom. When you returned, you noticed your book was missing and you pulled a sour face before requesting a new one from Professor McGonagall who had looked over her glasses at you.

But that hadn’t been the bad part. No, the bad part was that you had completely forgotten that you had put your enchanted parchment that connected yours to James’ inside that book.

Sirius had victoriously grinned at his funny prank idea. He would change some spells in your book so that you would mess up and become a toad in class. He tossed the book on a table in the common room and a piece of paper slid out.

Sirius had seen the piece of paper before, and his eyes grew as wide as saucers. He jumped up, ran towards his room, and rummaged through James’ nightstand before finding James' parchment under his pillow and wrote something on it. He walked back down the stairs with James’ paper, and he watched in disbelief as a messy ‘hello’ appeared on the paper that your sisters now held. “Merlin,” he breathed out, but your sisters had already stormed out of the room.

You entered the Great Hall and felt everyone staring at you and whispering. Even fellow Slytherin students looked at you in contempt. You gave Regulus a confused look when you walked to the free seat next to him. He quietly slid over the Hogwarts newspaper.

Front page again. ‘Mystery girl uncovered. Not a Willow, but a Hanging Tree.”

You didn’t need to read the rest; you tore your eyes away from the paper. Tears threatened to spill, but you tried to keep a cool front. You turned around to look for James and found him and his friends sitting right behind you.

Whoever thought that putting The Gryffindor table and Slytherin table next to each other should rot in the dungeons, you bitterly thought.

It was your sister who spoke up first. “I can’t believe someone like you would make themselves out to be a victim. ‘Oh no, my sisters bully me,’” she mocked you.

You felt heat rise to your cheeks and got up. She got up as well and you stood eye to eye with each other. “You’re pathetic,” She sneered. “You’re the real mistake here. So go do what you do best- run away.”

You wanted to say something. Anything. But you felt weak and small again. So you turned around and walked away. Whispers continued to fill the room as everyone seemed to have something to say about you.

“How embarrassing.”

“She should be ashamed”

“A Slytherin like her?”

“She definitely wasted James’ time.”

With every comment you heard, you bit harder on the inside of your cheek, and when that last comment dropped, you balled your fists. Why should you be the one to walk away?

You turned around furiously and marched back towards James, who had gotten up to follow you and reached out his hand. You recoiled.

“Y/N, listen-“

“No, you listen to me,” you spat at him. You looked him up and down with a pained look, holding back tears of frustration and while trying to convey as much disgust as you could.

“If you didn’t like what you found out, you could’ve kept it to yourself and thrown the damn paper away. You had no right to publicly try to humiliate me like this. All of your kindness in an attempt to be a good person only shows how wretched you really are when you stop pretending and act cruelly true to yourself.”

James' eyes flashed with hurt and he shook his head, words were stuck in his throat. He wanted to cover his ears; he didn’t want to hear you say this to him. This isn’t what he wanted at all. You were wrong. He didn’t even know it was you until he saw the newspaper this morning.

But you weren’t finished talking yet.

“Has it ever even occurred to any of you,” you looked at the people behind him. You stared your sisters dead in the eye. “That maybe your prejudice and thoughtless assumptions and insults about how awful or evil we Slytherins are, is the very thing that pushes us down that path?”

You turned your attention back to James, who had an unreadable expression on his face now. “Your cruel comments are part of the reason and you, James Potter, are especially cruel.”

Your tone was sharp, face hardened and the entire Great Hall had fallen silent. Not even the professors spoke up. James felt like you had hit him in the face, and you might as well have. He looked down in shame at your words.

You shakily let out your breath and lowered your voice again. This time, you sounded tired. Reality seemed to dawn upon you that everyone in the great hall was listening to you, and you shook your head to yourself, taking a step back. You scoffed softly.

“I suppose you are truly worthy of the Gryffindor name; overly proud and arrogant in the name of bravery with a tendency to prove yourself, disregarding others and their feelings.” Your venomous words cut through James' heart.

James watched you walk away again and everything around him seemed to fade. He was losing you again. How had he not seen this?

Your situation with your sisters. The way you ran away at the Yule ball when he made a crude remark about Slytherins. The sense of déjà vu every time you walked past him, back turned towards him. Your handwriting. The feeling of your hand pressed to his chest just as when you two danced. The way you were great at transfiguration and could have easily transfigured those glass slippers. The way Regulus was the only student to frequently visit your favourite book section in the library. The chills you had sent down his back when you had allowed him to call you by your first name, and in return had called him James.

‘I’m in Slytherin after all. Which obviously equals being an evil blood supremacist.’

‘No one will know it’s you.’

Everyone knows.

Preview if interested

Part three

Taglist:

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[thevanillerose]

REGAL | CIEL x SHY!READER | BLACK BUTLER

~ WRITING COMMISSIONS ~ ~ PATREON ~ ~ KO-FI ~ ~ NOVELS ~

Disclaimer: This is a work of fiction. I do not own anything except my own writing. All properties belong to their respective creators.

“I'm nervous...” “Don't be.”

Sebastian smiled at you charmingly, hoping to calm your nerves even by a little. The two of you were standing outside the door that led into Ciel's quarters. This infamous boy, the 'Queen's Watchdog' as they called him.

Believe it or not, you were a marriage candidate for him. It was crazy to even consider, but there was a chance that he would say 'yes' to you, and just like that you'd be married to such an iconic person.

On the flipside, there was also the chance that he might say 'no'. That was always a possibility, unfortunately, and not one that you especially looked forward to.

Nobody wanted to be rejected, did they?

“Any last minute advice?” you looked up at the tall, black haired butler. He simply continued smiling down at you. “Just don't act too rashly, that is what I would advise.”

Don't act too rashly. Okay...that should be simple enough, right?

 Gulping, you readied yourself just as he pushed the door open and let you go inside. You truly had no idea what you were expecting, as he closed the door again and left you standing there in the glass walled conservatory.  

 The place where you had been tasked with meeting the young master Phantomhive was a pleasant one. Delicate rays of sunlight shone in between pastel rose petals, which surrounded a seating area of wooden furniture painted in flawless white. Upon the table there was a rack with an array of pastries, and two cups sat ready and waiting by the teapot.

 Upon the bench, there he sat.

 Ciel wasn't particularly tall, but you were instantly intimidated. Uneasily, you tried to approach with grace nonetheless, and caught his attention as soon as you were close enough to the side of the bench. Ciel slowly turned his head, and simply looked at you.

 “...”  For a brief moment, his eyes almost seemed to widen, and your hopes raised. Yet just as quickly he was wearing that placid mask again, one which didn't tell you even a little of what he was truly feeling. It felt so tense, knowing that you were being silently judged by him, worrying about what you should do or say.

 “...Aren't you going to sit down?” Ciel suddenly prompted, and gestured to the bench opposite from him. In an instant you were flustered, hurrying to take the spot.  “Ah yes! Of course, I apologize...I'm already wasting your time...”  He quirked a brow. First impressions...  ...You were very pretty. That much could certainly be said. You also seemed to be very shy though, to the point where it appeared to be hindering you somewhat, making you excessively anxious when you really didn't need to be.  

 As you sat yourself down, Ciel clasped his hands calmly in his lap and observed you thoughtfully.  “I'll admit that I did not expect you to be so...meekly mannered.”  “That's my fault, I'm afraid.” you admitted, going a little red in the cheeks as you shifted to get more comfortable. “I...I'm a bit of a shy person, you see...”

 “Hmm.”  Ciel pondered that. Well, you did come across that way. Was it necessarily a bad thing? That he wasn't sure of. It didn't actually bother him too much.

 So many of the potential candidates who had been sent to him had been too loud, too arrogant, or too annoying for his tastes. You were different from the lot of them...and though it made for a slightly awkward scenario, he was actually pretty relieved that you were.

 “...[Y/N], that's your name?” he prompted, to which you nodded and looked up into the one azure blue eye that he had to show. The other was shielded by a black patch, partially obscured further by his soft blueish hair. You could certainly see why so many wanted to be his wife. He was like a porcelain doll.

 But this only made you worry more about how worthy you actually were. Could you possibly be a good spouse for someone like him? You didn't know that you could...

 “Yes...that's my name...” you uttered, and Ciel sighed softly before pouring you some tea.  “Well tell me then, [Y/N]. What is it that drew you to me?”  Actually, that was something you could answer.  “Well it wasn't just recommendations from my family that made me decide I'd try my luck. I...I've heard so much about you, I've become so curious. And in person, you're a little...”

 It was just going to all come out now, wasn't it?  “...Stunning.”

…

 Funny how a single word could claim you that chance.

 A few days passed after the meeting before a finely written letter arrived at your parents' mansion, notifying you all of your success as a bridal candidate. Actually realizing that Ciel wanted to be with you...it was a dream come true.

 Of course, you were still nervous about it. Yet the more times you met him, and the more pieces that were put into place for your eventual wedding, the more you started to relax and fill that role.

 It was on your shoulders to put forth a good image, after all. To represent the Phantomhive name as best as you possibly could. This would mean standing tall and graceful before others, proving that you were a worthy wife. You couldn't allow your inherent nervousness to change that. To put it in jeopardy.  

 So...you asked him, one day:  “Ciel I...I would very much like it if you could teach me...”

 “Teach you?”  He turned away from the array of blue and violet roses he had been admiring, and faced you fully. “What are you seeking to learn?”  You clasped your hands before yourself. Over the past few meetings you'd had together, you'd yearned to ask for some sort of guidance. You would have asked Sebastian but he wasn't your butler, and he only seemed to answer to one...

 “...I see. You don't need to say it, I think I already know...” Ciel walked up to you, already smelling like the flowers around this place, “You wish for me to teach you how to be more regal? To be like a true lady of the house?”  “Mm.” you nodded, and looked up at him sheepishly. Call it old fashioned, but that was what you wanted.  “Alright. Sit down with me.”

 He gestured to the very same bench where you had sat together during that first meeting. As you joined him there, Ciel brought over the teapot and fine china cups, one of which he set down before you. He then handed you the teapot.

 “Pour me a cup of tea the right way.”

The 'right way'? What 'right way' is there, exactly?

 That was the question, wasn't it? Regardless, you obliged of course, nodding and proceeding to gently tilt the teapot. Immediately the lid almost fell off, but Ciel's pale hand quickly shot out and grabbed it before it could drop completely.

 “Careful.”  “S-sorry!”  “Why are you so nervous?”  “I-I don't know I just...”

 Your heart was pounding after that. You looked up at him, almost a little tearfully. “-I just worry about...humiliating myself, and then it ends up happening.”  “Perhaps if you stopped overthinking things so much then it wouldn't?” Ciel suggested, and you nodded. You knew he was right.

 “Here, let me demonstrate. You need to hold it by the top too. That way it won't spill out.” he explained, and positioned himself close beside you. As he did so, you only became more red faced. You couldn't help yourself. He only amplified the hindrance that you so typically had to deal with.

 “...Like this.”  If you hadn't already felt like you were blushing enough, he only worsened things as he laid his hands over yours and guided them gently. It was a simple task, pouring a cup of tea, but in this case you needed to learn to do it properly.

 “I think I know how to do it now.” you said, and then Ciel gestured for you to demonstrate. You did so, with poise and grace, and he looked satisfied.

 “That's it. You're doing well.” he noted, but you just looked at him with hesitation.  “I don't know...I feel like I could do so much better...like I'm not good enough...”

 Perhaps it was about time he made it clear to you. Without any reluctance on his own part, Ciel reached up with both hands and softly clasped your face between them. He held you gently, and leaned in closely before he spoke.

 “If you weren't good enough, I would never have chosen you.”

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[parfreitte]

⋆𐙚₊˚⊹♡ ᴡᴇᴀꜱʟᴇʏꜱ ᴊᴜᴍᴘᴇʀ

Boyfriend!Fred Weasley x Girlfriend!Reader ‪‪❤︎‬ /established relationship

‪‪❤︎‬ Hi lovies! this is my 2nd fic.ᐟ hope you liked reading :> 💗 also please send requests I do not have any imagination lefttttttt

જ⁀➴₊⊹ What would Fred Weasley do when he realizes his Christmas jumper has gone missing?

‪‪❤︎‬ 560+ words .ᐟ I haven't proofread this yet .ᐟ

-ˋˏ✄┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈

It was almost February, Hogwarts was still quite snowy, it would snow occasionally from time to time. That really wasn't a problem for most students, it was fun—it brought a smile to everyone's faces! After class most students would run outside, play, read and talk in the snow with their friends. Although, not everyone could stay warm—especially when your jumper couldn't be found anywhere!

-ˋˏ✄┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈

"George, have you seen my jumper mum made for us during Christmas?" Fred grumbled going through his things "Can't seem to find the bloody piece of yarn anywhere!" He said finally giving up and laying on the bed beside him. "Mum's going to kill me, when she finds out I've lost it!" Fred groaned.

"The bloody jumpers must've walked away by itself freddie," George said not being bothered enough, keeping an eye on one of the products he was making for the soon-to-be prank shop. After all it's just a jumper? "Just use the other jumpers you have there." George added pointing to the pile to clothes beside their beds

.Oh boy would it take Fred a long time before he could even at least one, clean, jumper. He had to be quick! His dear girlfriend was waiting for him at the library. He'd promise to study with her for the upcoming divinations test after all!

⋆𐙚₊˚⊹♡

‘I wonder what's taking Fred so long..’ You thought, as you sat in the library wearing Fred's jumper. To be honest you barely had time to prepare! You almost forgot you had to study for the test, and practically ran to the library when you realized you weren't even half way through the notes! You just wore whatever laying around at the time. All there was on your bed at the time was Fred's jumper he got for Christmas. He wouldn't mind would he? After all you're his dearest girlfriend.

You started studying to not waste time, thinking Fred probably took a nap or just forgot about it. You'll surely ask him why later during dinner, it's not likely for him to be so forgetful. You were deep into your notes when you felt movement beside you, there he was—your boyfriend—sitting beside you wearing a blue coloured jumper.

"So that's where mine went huh?" Fred said putting his things down, "You know love, I've been looking for that jumper since this morning" He said. You didn't know he actually needed the jumper! You didn't even know he thought it was lost. "sorry Freddie, just wore whatever I saw" you told him apologizing.

"It's fine darling, it does look better on you anyway." Fred said making you blush "I'll ask mum to send me another one later this week." He added "She won't mind at all, you can keep that one." He said

"Really? This is the nicest thing you've done! Thank you so much Freddie"you said hugging him. Honestly you did feel quite bad it was your fault he took that long to get ready, but at least you have yourself a new jumper!

"Of course love, you've got the best boyfriend ever honestly speaking. I'm kind, I'm lovely, I'm caring............blah blah blah" Fred started explaining, from how good of a boyfriend he was to how he had the best hair of all Hogwarts!

you honestly love the man, however you, now you can't study due to the redhead beside you.

"Oh and I love you too! Add that to the list" he said smirking at himself.

-ˋˏ✄┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈

જ⁀➴₊⊹ ©ᴘᴀʀꜰʀᴇɪᴛᴛᴇꜱ ᴏɴ ᴛᴜᴍʙʟʀ 2025. Reblogs are greatly appreciated ‪‪❤︎‬

[hyperesthesias]

Simon "Ghost" Riley x Female Character

summary: Simon "Ghost" Riley makes the mistake of intervening on the behalf of a woman stuck in an abusive relationship. The only reason it's a mistake -- he has six months of leave, and he's falling for her. When he ships out, he promises that if she's ever in danger again, to call him and he'll come running. Ten years later, he receives that call -- only to find it's her daughter who's asking for his help.

author's note: this idea came to me while i was falling asleep, and it bothered me all night until i could write it today. i apologize for the chicken scratch. it's really just three ideas in a trench coat. i love this idea so much i might turn it into a book at some point. if that happens, i will probably delete this. but for now -- enjoy!

content: unformatted & not proof-read; references to past sexual assault; references to torture; abusive relationship (not perpetuated by Ghost); graphic sex; kidnapping; canon-typical violence; PTSD.

words: 10,692.

if you'd like music while you read, these songs are what i wrote this to: whiskey sunrise by chris stapleton // just pretend by bad omens // vore by sleep token.

He is on leave. He is attempting to assimilate into the usual crowd of a parking lot, but no matter how aware he is of his gait, or how many times he looks over his shoulder, he can't shake the feeling that he is inherently out of place. He's been home three weeks, back on English land, where the sea and river air feel damp on his skin, and he realizes home is an idea, not a place. He'll never feel the way he did all those years ago, when he was once a person he no longer recognizes.

He is content to stock up on the regular supplies: alcohol and caffeine -- caught in the perpetual sedative-stimulant cycle. He can make do with whatever else he has at his flat; it's sparse and barely furnished, but he's certainly had worse. He doesn't want to think of worse right now. He wants to think about getting a couple of six packs, and sitting in that in the living room chair that's too soft, and that's too difficult to get out of, he wants to think about putting his feet up, and pretending to watch football. He wants to pretend to be normal, if only for a few hours, until night falls and sleep waits in the corner for him.

But he's too observant for his own good -- it's always saved his ass, but sometimes, like today, it's a curse.

He sees a man in the far end of the parking lot, with the distinctive glint of a blade in his hand. He's growling behind grit teeth something Simon can't hear clearly. The man has gotten out of his car, and is slashing the tires of another man, who's trying to stay as far away from the sharp end of the knife as possible; there's a woman seated in the passenger's side of the aggressor's car, she's still as stone, terrified to move.

Simon swears under his breath, knowing he's not obligated to do a damn thing while on leave -- and knowing he's more than obligated, despite. His appearance is still obscured, he's wearing a black surgical mask, with a black aviators, and a cap; he looks like someone pretending to be tougher than they are. But no one needs to know otherwise.

He intervenes in the situation, trying to deescalate as quickly and as quietly as possible. Using a light pole and the position of the two cars as cover from the security cameras in the parking lot, he places himself between the aggressor and the victim -- who is now taking photos of the tires for insurance. Simon has one eye on the girl inside the man's car, and the other on the shaking hands of the coward in front of him. After his attempts to talk him off the ledge fail, Simon easily disarms the man and sprains his wrist as he twists the hilt of the knife out of his palm. He lands a punch into the man's gut, and tells him to stay down as he doubles over onto the pavement. When he doesn't obey, Simon kicks him in the head to make sure he doesn't wake up for a while. He briefly glances at the man whose tires were slashed, but he only turns a blind eye, still preoccupying himself with his insurance photos.

Simon makes his way to the passenger side, still avoiding the cameras, where the woman remains paralyzed from the violence that has occurred in front of her. He leans one arm on the roof of the car as he peers into the window, and ushers her out.

"You could do a lot better than him, you know," he says.

She looks her behind her to the man on the ground, then to the one who is standing above her. She doesn't say anything, but follows the instruction to exit the car.

"My advice --" Simon says, without prompting, "take this as a win. Leave him behind. A man like that will only bring you down."

It takes her a moment to register what he's said, but ultimately she agrees. She half expects him to be gone by the time she looks back at him -- like a vanishing stranger clad in all black -- but to her surprise, he's still there. He's standing beside her, looking at his smartphone. "Th--Thank you," she says.

He gives her half a look as he continues to fiddle with his phone. "Don't mention it."

She takes it as a command, rather than a pleasantry.

"I can call you a ride," he tells her, and hands her his phone -- a burner. "Put your address in, and I'll make sure the bastard doesn't start coming to."

She shakes her head. "I live just down the block. I'll just...walk home."

"He know where you live?"

"Yes," she answers, a cling of shame to her voice -- for a reason she can't quite discern.

Simon deviates from his plan, and instead puts in an anonymous tip to the police about a man causing a disturbance at the grocery’s address. The victim with the slashed tires isn't going anywhere any time soon, and would still be there to give a statement. "He won't be bothering you for a few days, at least. Long enough for you to get somewhere he doesn't know about." He walks her home.

She introduces herself as Cecelia, and all he replies is: "Simon".

He never got that beer. The next day, he goes to a different store, hoping he doesn't run into another moment of conscience.

The next week, he makes the misguided attempt to check on her. He debates for a while on whether or not it would come across as predatory that he remembered where she lived. He never vacillates in the field, but every time he remembers he's not in the field, he questions whether his decisions are appropriate for 'normal' life. He's made peace with never being 'normal', but for a moment, he'd like to not feel so unfit for human society.

Cecelia answers the door, and a part of him is disappointed -- disappointed that she wasn't far away from her ex-boyfriend, and disappointed that now he has to actually speak to someone.

"Simon," she welcomes him, to his surprise.

At her bidding, he steps inside her flat; he checks the corners around the door and the foyer, a habit of which he's painfully aware. "You always invite masked strangers in?"

She chuckles at the oddity, and closes and locks the front door. "You would be the first. But I don't consider us strangers -- not after your help last week. I am grateful."

"You able to find somewhere safe?" he asks.

"They're keeping him for now. He can't afford bail."

He nods and looks around at her apartment, that prickly feeling of being out of place starting to get worse, and more intense at the forefront of his skin. She has houseplants, a warm, well-used couch, paintings hanging from the wall. There's an electric tea kettle on a breakfast bar, with a lipstick stained mug sitting next to it. Her home looks like something out of a dream he had on occasion as a child -- after watching too many sitcoms on television. Everything always looked happy, everyone always laughed and got along. It was just as well it was on television, nothing like that could be real. Until it is, and until he's standing in the middle of it -- ill-fitted.

"I didn't mean to interrupt," he says, hoping for a quick and quiet exit. "Just wanted to make sure he hadn't come back to give you trouble."

"Please -- can't I offer you tea?"

She had the good kind in a glass jar on that breakfast bar, and his well-engrained comforts gave him a moment of pause. It was just enough of a pause to let her move from him to the kettle, where she was already making him a cup. She tells him it's the least she can do for him. He waits until she takes a drink of hers first. It is damn good tea.

She tells him her ex's hearing will be in a couple of weeks. Simon tells her he'll check on her then.

Over the next few weeks, he keeps in regular contact with Cecelia. Every time he comes over, she makes him a cup of tea, updates him about the case against her ex, and then they sit in silence. It's become a routine. After two months, he starts coming to her house even without cause from her ex's case. He starts to feel like those feral cats she feeds on her patio. But the silence is nice. Sitting in the warmth of her living room, instead of his own -- cold and rigid -- it was a pleasant change. There's a subtle, subconscious thought that he's afraid to let come to the surface -- that in a way, she has saved him as much as he helped her that day.

"When do you go back?" she asks one afternoon, breaking the silence between them.

Immediate suspicion grows within him, and he doesn't answer for a while, he only stares at her.

"It's not a difficult assumption that you're military," she explains. "I had a brother in the Navy." She pulls out a gold pendant necklace from beneath her sweater and shows it to him, hoping the display of vulnerability might help him feel more comfortable to answer. "This was the last thing he gave me. He sent it to me while he was overseas. He never stopped worrying about me, even while he was in active duty," she smiles, but it's a sad smile.

The stiffness in his shoulders softens only mildly, and he breaks his gaze from her. "I ship out in four months."

She only nods. A part of her was hoping that it'd be longer, that they'd have more time to get to know one another. The mystique was enticing, but the comfort she felt sitting in his company was something she hadn't felt in a long time. She would miss it when he was gone.

"What happened to your brother?"

"He was killed," she answers. "In a training exercise. That never sat right with me, though. I always felt they weren't tell me the whole truth."

"Probably weren't," he says.

"I don't know whether or not that's a comfort or if it just makes it worse."

"Whatever the truth is, probably worse. Better to take what they give you."

"You always take what they give you?"

He looks at her again. This time, not with suspicion, but with guilt. Guilt of following orders, guilt of not. The weight of betrayal. The heaviness of killing the people who were meant to have his back -- the people he was meant to trust. The anger and despair that he keeps caged somewhere just below the surface of being double crossed by those meant to guide him. It's a long time before he answers: "No."

They don't speak again for the rest of the afternoon. He leaves, as he always does, but this time he washes the mugs before he goes.

Another week passes, and in the middle of the night, he's startled by his phone ringing. It doesn’t wake him, but it disrupts the cycle of blended thoughts and memories that blanket him at night. He has half the mind to let it go to voicemail; it's just his burner phone, no one important has that number -- besides Cecelia. The static of worry crawls beneath his skin, and he looks at the caller ID. It's her.

"You alright?" he answers.

"Simon --" panic is set into her voice. "I think someone's trying to break in."

"Lock yourself in the closet. I'm on my way."

He's armed to the teeth when he gets to her flat. The glass patio door has been jimmied open, and her apartment has been tossed. The paintings are broken and hanging crooked on the wall, the soil from the plants is spilled and pressed into the carpet by footprints. Simon stalks from room to room, until he hears Cecelia scream from her bedroom. He raises his weapon and pushes open her bedroom door -- the ex is pulling her out of her closet by her hair, with a baseball bat in his other hand.

"Drop it!" Simon demands. It surprises her attacker, that his grip lightly loosens from her -- she's trying to wriggle free from his hand beneath him. "Drop it, or I drop you."

"You! -- You bastard!" he yells back. "This is your fault! Look what you've done, huh! Look at it!"

Simon doesn't take his eyes off her attacker, but he can see Cecelia clawing at the man with every might of strength she has -- she's pulling blood from his arm. "Let her go. I'm not telling you again."

The man releases Cecelia's hair, and grips the bat with both of his hands. He lunges at Simon with full force. Simon deflects the bat with one arm, feeling the impact of the wood absent of any armor. He follows his hand around the bat and grabs its handle, flipping it out of the attacker's grasp. He holsters the gun -- wanting to draw as little attention to himself as possible; and in that same sentiment, he refrains from hitting the man in the head with his own bludgeon -- regardless of how much he wants to. With a powerful swing, Simon cracks the bat against the man's tibia. The bone snaps audibly and the man collapses to the floor, wailing in agony. Whether out of the assurance of safety, or out of the flame of revenge, Simon takes one more pass with the bat and breaks both of the man's kneecaps.

He once more calls the police, and her attacker is taken to the hospital for his injuries under police escort. Simon encourages Cecelia to be seen by the paramedics, even though she insists she's fine. But no matter how many times she refuses, Simon tells her she needs to. They take her to the hospital for a concussion. He makes himself scarce.

He debates visiting her the next day. Much to his chagrin, and no matter how much he tries to deny it, he's grown attached to her. He knows it's not inherently a negative thing, but it is a liability. Regardless of how much of an asshole her ex was, Simon couldn't help but feel there was some truth to what he said: that if he hadn't intervened that day, nearly three months ago, that none of this would've happened. He tries not to think about the long term consequences of his actions.

He visits her in the hospital anyway.

He brings her flowers in an awkward gesture -- though it’s no less heartfelt.

"You have someone you need me to call?" he asks.

She's lying in her hospital bed, scraped and bruised, still mildly concussed, but grateful her injuries weren't worse. "No. It's just me."

"No friends?"

She sighs. "Not anymore. He made sure of that."

He nods, knowingly. His own father isolated his mother, Margot, as much as he could, until she'd had no one left. "I heard the doc say he’s gonna release you later today."

"I wish I was happier to go home."

"You don't have to be happy," he says.

As cynical as it sounded, it relieves the pressure from her shoulders of having to put on a front. "I could use some clothes, though."

"I'll get 'em for you," he tells her.

He returns to her flat and packs her an overnight bag. Her flat is a wreck, and the doors are still compromised. When she is discharged, he brings her to his place instead.

"You take the bed," he tells her when they step through his door. "I'll have the couch. I'd offer you tea, but it isn't any good." Even when he's joking he never sounds like it.

She's gotten accustomed to this timbre, and looks at him with a smirk. "I guess I'll have to settle for a beer, then."

She can't see it, but he's returning the smirk. At his place -- which he doesn't call a 'home' -- he takes off the black surgical mask, and the cap; he takes off his gloves, and puts them all by the front door. It's one of the rare times she's seen him so bare.

He helps her get settled, and gets her the beer. She's seated on his couch and he joins her. "It's as cold as it's gonna get."

She stays with him for a week; the patio door is being repaired by the insurance and the landlord. She doesn't mind, she feels safer at his place anyway -- even if it is lacking warmth. He's always awake before her, and every morning, she's woken by the scent of coffee. When she comes out of the bedroom and into the living area, there's always a cup waiting for her on the table.

Simon adds reinforcement to her front and patio doors. "Don't tell anyone where you got this," he tells her as he installs the locks and alarms for her. He helps rehang her paintings, and scrub the carpet. It takes his mind off of other things that try to come to the surface. His mind is emptier of its evils than it has been in a long time, and he's acutely aware that this is temporary.

When Cecelia is settled in her place again, she asks him to stay. He doesn't want to say no.

So he doesn't.

It's a whirlwind romance -- one they both know will end in only a few months' time. Despite the fact that he's only known her for a brief period, he can't recall feeling so comfortable. He won't say safe. He'll never say safe. Because he never is. He won't say at peace. And he won't say happy. But he is comfortable. It's a foreign feeling, one that he distrusts if he thinks about it too long. But when he's lying next to her at night, the brutal images in his head are less vivid, the screaming voices are quieter, sometimes he even sleeps.

They haven't had sex. It's not a subject he's even broached, and neither has she. When she lies beside him, the most contact they have is her hand on his chest, and her face nestled into his side.

She kisses him on the cheek once, and it takes him a moment to process it. He's still and quiet, his eyes are downcast as he's contemplating it. She asks if she's done something wrong. He tells her no -- not at all.

One evening, when he's staying at her place — as he often does — they're on her couch after a couple of drinks. They were at one point watching television, but they've since been ignoring it -- talking, and in between whispered words, soft kisses. One thing leads to another, and she's sitting on his lap, his arms are around her, and he's kissing her deeply. He forgot how to kiss like this -- he didn't think it was still possible within him. That there was still some form of passion and intimacy that was in his spirit. He's hungry -- and with every kiss he's getting hungrier. She's laughing and enjoying herself. The way she feels on top of him feels good, it's just enough movement and pressure to turn him on. It feels good -- until suddenly it doesn't.

Simon immediately pulls away and stops. The passion in him is walled up, shut up, and where there was once heat beneath his skin, it's now cold, concrete.

Cecelia stops and looks for his eyes. "Are you alright? What happened?"

He tries to get himself to talk. But nothing comes out. He's not supposed to talk. He's not supposed to say anything. He's trying to squirm away from her now, and she takes the signal quickly. She gets off his lap, and sits beside him, still trying to figure out what happened. She gets them ice water instead of asking any more questions. He looks like he's still dissociating by the time she comes back, and she has to prompt him to take the water.

Simon goes back to his place that night. He lies in bed staring at the ceiling, until the nightmares come.

He's startled awake the next morning by a sound that doesn't exist. It takes several minutes for him to catch his breath -- his heart is in his throat, and he can't focus on anything in front of him. Eventually, he's able to discern his own sheets, he's able to tell he's in England, that he's nowhere near Mexico — his captors. He's still shaking by the time he finally reaches for his phone on the nightstand.

There's a text from Cecelia. He opens it, expecting the worst: that she never wants to talk to him again after what happened last night. That his rejection of her was insulting, and that he was less of a man for it. It was for the better, he thinks. It saves him a messy departure later.

But the text is very different than what he thought:

She apologizes. She thinks his reaction had something to do with her.

It couldn't be further from the truth.

Cecelia was indescribably incapable of the evil done to him. He just doesn't know how to explain that to her.

Well, how to explain it to her and still maintain some kind of dignity and confidence.

It would be easier if he doesn't reply, he thinks. Again, it would save him a messy ending with her. If he ghosts her -- no pun intended, he thinks to himself, but fitting regardless -- he never has to explain himself. He never has to tell the truth. Even to himself.

But that would be cowardly.

He's a lot of things. But a coward isn't one of them.

He doesn't reply.

Instead, he's on her doorstep later that evening. Just like one of those feral cats.

Cecelia answers the door, and he can't look her in the eye. "I come in?" he asks, his head still on a swivel, both out of instinct, and also to provide an excuse as to why he won't look at her.

She agrees, and closes and locks the door behind him. She doesn't say anything for a minute, waiting for him to make the first move, but instead he's standing in the middle of her living room, awkwardly -- like a video game character in the loading lobby.

"I didn't think I'd hear from you," she says. "I hope I didn't --"

"It's not you." He cuts her off. "You didn't do anything." He takes his hat off, and runs a gloved hand through his hair as he tries to figure out what to do with himself. He still won't remove the mask. He needs something -- some kind of barrier.

"I'll put the kettle on," she says. It's going to be a long night, she can feel it.

It's been years, it's been a lifetime ago. But some things don't stay dead. Like memories. All those weeks under Roba's influence of torment, retreating into ugly corners of his mind to escape the evil being done to him at the drug lord's hand, and all those under Roba's command -- viscerally having his body and mind being used and crushed in the attempt to break him. He hasn't talked about it, except in veiled mutters under his breath -- only once -- to Price. Even then, he wasn't entirely sure he understood, Simon made no effort to clarify.

He doesn't go into detail with Cecelia. She doesn't deserve to hear about the gore, the blood and violence. But he gives her clear implications, with bullet points of what transpired after he clawed his way out of Roba’s torture, out of Vernon's grave: the deaths of his mother, his brother and sister-in-law, his nephew.

Hours have passed since he showed up without warning, and yet their time together has been mostly silence. His words few and far between, he said most of what he meant without speaking. She didn't interrupt him.

At last she asks: "Did you get them?"

He looks at her, for the first time since he arrived. But he can't hold her eyes long, and he nods. "I got 'em."

"Good."

The next week, they're on her couch again -- two drinks in, with the television mindlessly on mute -- and this time, he lowers her onto the cushions, where he settles on top of her.

Foreplay last for several days. He gets to a point where he can be shirtless, or have his pants unzipped, until he backs down. He lies on her chest instead, and falls asleep as she runs her hands through his hair. She tells him more than once he doesn't have anything to prove. He knows, he tells her, it's something he wants to do; his mind and body need to do some catching up, is all. She waits.

It's the weekend, and she's invited him to stay over the next few days. She'll make them dinner. He comes by with a six pack and some fresh bread. There's a box of condoms in his back pocket, but he's not going to tell her that -- he doesn't want to promise anything and then not deliver.

But it happens. And it happens because they're not trying to make it happen.

They move to the bedroom; he has half his clothes off by the time she follows him. She's in her bra and panties as she gets on the bed -- she regrets it's not the matching pair, but it doesn't even look like he notices. At his request, she doesn't sit on top of him, she sits beside him as she rubs her palms into his chest, down his abdomen, trailing every outline of his body with a single finger.

She has a cute nose, he thinks -- it scrunches as she smiles, and she hasn't stopped smiling since they ran to the room like teenagers trying not to get caught. He cups a hand on her face, tracing her nose and the lines of her smile. He leans to put a kiss on her mouth, her hands taking his jaw gently. Every movement is gentle and deliberate. She moves her lips from his, down his neck, where they follow his sternum, his stomach, to the trail of soft hair that leads beneath his briefs. With his help, she removes them, and puts them with the pile of clothes on the floor.

He's already getting hard, and she wraps her hand around his cock, gently pumping him to help him along. She feels him twitch as he takes a deep breath, and when she looks at him to see if he's alright, he brushes a lock of her hair behind her ear. She dots gentle kisses along his tip and frenulum, and his hand moves from her hair to twist into the sheets beneath him. She laughs as she takes him into her mouth, and the vibration of her laughter onto his cock makes him swear.

Simon takes another breath and watches as she bobs up and down his length, now fully erect. As she feels his body tense, she stops and returns to putting kisses along his shaft.

"You're teasing me," he says.

"I'm warming you up," she laughs again.

He reaches for the box of condoms on the floor, and rips open the package to use one. He sits up and pulls her close, onto his lap. He buries his face into her the crook of her neck, breathing in her scent.

Cecelia takes him, inch by inch, as she sits on his lap, and the moan that escapes her sets his mind on fire. He pulls her closer to his chest, and grabs the pile of her hip as she starts to rock back and forth against him. She's whining as he tenderly bites into the soft skin of her neck -- leaving a pleasant mark behind in his wake.

He starts to feel unsure of himself, unsure of the position they're in, when Cecelia stops and nestles her nose into his hair. She puts another kiss on the top of his head, and they sit there for a moment -- barely moving, except for the rising and falling of their breathing.

Simon initiates the next movement, where he begins to thrust into her. One hand behind him among the pillows to balance him, the other holding her hip to keep her steady, he's looking into her face as she puts her hands on his shoulders. She begins to rock back and forth again, finding a rhythm with him, and as she does, she puts her hands behind her head, fanning out her hair as she seems to dance on top of him.

He has a brief moment of feeling foolish -- in believing she looks like some ethereal spirit, or a nymph. Like one of those paintings that he's seen on the walls of great leaders. But his doubts are drowned out by her leaning on him and putting her mouth on his.

They stay in this rhythm for some few moments, until he gently turns her on her back, and settles himself between her legs. He takes one of her feet and kisses it, before he wraps her legs around his waist.

He keeps a steady pace into her, the feeling of pleasure wafting through his body with unfamiliar electricity, his appetite suddenly whetted, and his thrusts become harder. Her moans and whimpers getting louder, more intense, as she touches herself. Simon reaches his hand to massage her sex, and her whole body tenses -- her core grips around him in soft waves. He comes -- intensely, and at the feeling of her, at the sight of her lost in the pleasure of him. A gasp sputters from him at the sensation of satisfaction that takes hold of his mind and body.

She reaches up to him and takes his face in her hands again as she puts her brow to his. His breathing is heavy, and it washes over her damp skin, sending a shiver of cold throughout her.

He lies beside her again that night, as she puts her hand on his chest, and her face into his side. Except this time, he turns to her, to see her -- face on. He usually tries to obscure himself as much as possible, but just for this moment -- just for the time he has left with her, he wants to be seen. Just for now.

Simon lives at her flat for the remaining weeks he has left of leave. He tries not to lean into the fantasy as hard as he wants to -- but when she invites him to the market to get ingredients for dinner, he can't refuse her. He's on edge the entire time -- searching the crowd for anyone who might become a threat, the sinking feeling of waiting for a detonation to occur when there isn't one keeps his eyes fixed on the periphery of the farmer's market. He briefly loses track of her, and he's ready to pry her from the arms of an enemy that isn't present -- he finds her picking fruit from a basket at a vendor's stall. It's the moment he knows he can't ever have a normal life. It's something he's always known, but the image of its reality is materialized as he watches her smell peaches from a distance.

His recall date is approaching faster than he wants it to. As strong as he is, he can't slow Time. Every night when he lies awake in bed, he watches her sleep. With the images of her bedroom, and of her living room, and the breakfast bar with the kettle and well-worn mugs upon it, with the image of her sleeping peacefully, cuddled beneath her blankets beside him, he builds a new place in the dark corners of his mind. Somewhere into which he can retreat when the night gets ugly. When the job gets uglier.

The night before he's recalled, they make love again. He adds the blissful memory to that place in his mind. He holds her tighter, fucks her with an intensity and a desperation he couldn't speak in words; he keeps her as close as he can until the moment he has to give her up.

Cecelia wakes up early the next morning, before dawn, to see him off. His bag is already packed, the coffee is already made, with her mug, full on the counter, just as it always is.

"Will I ever see you again?" she asks.

He stops. He heard her get up, heard her come out of the bedroom, but even still, he was hoping to leave unseen. He doesn't have an answer for her.

"No," he says. He still doesn't look at her.

She stays quiet, but sits at the breakfast bar, where her cup of coffee is waiting for her. He's still in the kitchen, washing the dishes he used to make her breakfast. She sees him put his head down, thoughts flooding themselves behind his brown eyes. But still, he says nothing.

After he finishes leaving no trace of himself in her home, as he readies himself to leave, his duffle bag in hand, his mask and gloves fitted against his skin, he stops before he opens her front door.

"Come here," he tells her.

A part of her hopes that he'll change his mind -- that he'll say he'll be back whenever he gets leave again. But she doubts they will let him go for a very, very long time.

"Look at me."

Her eyes are wet, but she tries to hide it. She does as he says nonetheless.

"If you are ever -- ever -- in trouble..." he pulls a piece of paper from his pocket, "...you send this to this address." On it is written a word: 'MAYFLOWER', along with an encrypted email address. "I will come running." He hands her the paper and she takes it with a trembling hand. "Memorize this. Then burn it. Do you understand?"

She nods as she studies the paper. She tries to hold back her crying, but the harder she tries, the louder she sniffles.

Cecelia wraps her arms around his waist and holds him, just for a moment. Her tears stain his jacket, but she can't bring herself to care. When she lets go, she kisses his mask. She feels him return it, despite the barrier between them.

She watches him leave, before the sun is up. He vanishes from her life as quickly as he entered it.

-----------------------------------------------------------------------

TEN YEARS LATER

Ghost is preparing to ship out on an assignment to Eastern Europe with the rest of the 141 in two weeks. He and MacTavish are paired together to arrive first before the rest of the crew. They are currently both in England, going over the plans for the next assignment.

He sold his flat a long time ago, he no longer has permanent residence in England. He rents out places in cash when he needs a temporary place to stay. Simon and Soap are staying together while they prepare, then they will fly out to the drop zone.

As Simon prepares for the next assignment, he receives a transmission on an encrypted email. It is reserved only for emergent scenarios, usually used by his other teammates or superiors when an assignment goes sideways. As he opens the encrypted message, he anticipates that he and Soap will have to ship out sooner than expected.

The message reads:

'MAYFLOWER'

He gave this specific code only to Cecelia. No others have it. He remembers his promise.

In the ten years since their separation, he has not heard from Cecelia, nor has he sought her out in the time he is on homeland. But he thinks about her in moments when the dark begins to suffocate him. He thinks about her during the springtime, and when the world comes alive again. He shares this with no one. Not even Soap. Now, he might have to.

MacTavish sees Simon gearing up, as if he were ready to leave for the hanger at any moment. "You goin' somewhere without me, Lt.?"

Simon stops, and deliberates. A gnawing feeling tells him not to confide in a teammate again -- to not make the same mistake he did with Sparks and Washington. But when he turns and looks Soap in the eye, he knows that honesty -- even obfuscated honesty -- is what will help Cecelia in that moment. "You trust me?"

He tells Soap to pack as they talk, and he debriefs his partner with as little information he can get away with: he promised a woman a decade ago that if she ever needed help, he'd come running. She was calling in the favor.

"What's so special about this woman, then?" Soap asks.

They're driving to the location from which the message was sent -- a house in Manchester, that was bought under her name. She moved, then, he thinks -- from a flat to a house, he hopes she's doing well enough for herself. And whatever family she might have. It would be foolish to think she wasn't married with kids by now. It was just statistics.

"Lt.?"

Ghost takes a breath, as silently as he can, before he answers: "She helped me out. Just returning the favor." It's as close to honesty as MacTavish was going to get for now -- if ever.

The house is visibly disturbed by the time they get there -- the front door is broken, there are signs of a struggle in the living room. There are no police on the scene, neighbors seem to mind their own business. Simon takes the front of the house, while Soap takes the rear. Every room he enters is clear, the house is empty.

"You seeing anything, Lt.?"

"Negative," Ghost answers. "The house is clear."

"I'm doing a perimeter sweep," Soap says.

"Report back."

"Copy."

Ghost tries to piece together what happened as he steps through the chaos that transpired -- they entered through the front door, and tossed the entire place. Desks and dressers tossed; a file cabinet thrown on its side and emptied. The nightstand in the master bedroom rifled through, the closets emptied. There's a child's room adjacent to the master bedroom -- also tossed and empty. A child’s bedroom…It was just the statistical probability that she'd moved on, he reminds himself.

A noise comes from the secondary bathroom in the hallway, and Ghost raises his weapon. He pushes the door to the bathroom open and sees nothing. He prods at the shower curtain — nothing.

There's a linen closet. He raises the rifle, stands to the side of the door, and opens it -- waiting to hear a barrage of gunfire. But there was nothing. He sees the interior of the linen closet in the bathroom mirror:

A child is hiding inside of it, huddled with her hands over her head.

"Perimeter check," he radios Soap.

"Clear, Lt.. Converging on you now."

He checks her for weapons before he continues. "What happened here?" Ghost asks the child.

She's shaking and looks up at him with terror.

"Your mother called me to help."

"She -- She told me to c-call you."

"You sent the message?"

She nods.

"Do you know who did this?"

She shakes her head.

Ghost lets a silent breath, as he looks around the bathroom again -- even the medicine cabinet was tossed. "Whoever they were, they were looking for something." He lets his rifle fall to his side, and he helps the girl out of the closet. "Are you hurt?"

She shakes her head.

"Was there anyone else in the house?"

"No. Just me and mum."

"Is anyone supposed to come home?"

"No. It's just us."

Soap arrives at Ghost's side, surprised to see the girl. "Casualty?"

"Just shellshocked. Get ‘er a blanket."

MacTavish does as he says, and pulls one from the girl's room. "We're the good guys," he tells her. "Give it a minute, an' when you've had a breath, tell us what you remember." He leads her from the bathroom, to somewhere warmer in the house, careful that she shouldn't step on anything broken on the floor. "D'ye have someone we can call, then? Gram? Da? A friend from school?"

"I -- I don't know."

"Alright, it’s alright. Let's start with somethin' easier, then." He adjusts her blanket and helps her put on a pair of shoes that was left by the doorway. "How 'bout we start with your name? How 'bout that? What's your name, love?"

"My name is Margot."

Simon stops. He looks at the girl, he studies her. She looks much like her mother, yet a part of him thinks he saw a resemblance of himself. But it’s just his mind playing tricks on him, he insists. It makes no difference anyway.

"Margot. Pretty name, lass, very classy," Soap tells her.

"Call child welfare," Simon says.

"No!" Margot turns and stops him.

"It's only temporary -- 'til we find your mother," Soap tells her.

"No --"

“This isn’t a discussion," Simon snaps.

Soap looks at the Lieutenant, knowing him well enough to hear something other than the weight of the mission beneath the surface of his voice. He looks back at the girl, who keeps trying to take off her blanket, and ties it around her. "Like a cape," he tells her. "We're very good at what we do, lass. You'll be back with your mother in no time."

"You're not listening!" the girl finally says, she stands, facing Simon. "I don't know who they were," she tells him, still trembling, "but I know what they were looking for."

The girl doesn't seem to be intimidated by either him or Soap, and he finds it unusual. That sinking suspicion settles itself at the forefront of his mind, and he keeps it in check. "What were they looking for?"

"They said -- they said they were looking for something my uncle gave my mum." Tears are coming back to her, and she cowers at the feeling of guilt.

"The necklace?" Simon asks.

"But she doesn't have it. She gave it to me." She pulls out the gold pendant from beneath her shirt.

"Sir, can we have a word?" It's more of a demand from Soap, rather than a request and he turns to Margot. "Don't take off the cape." He pulls Ghost to the side, and speaks as quietly as he can, hoping not to scare the girl: "They're gonna find her eventually. I don't think child welfare is the best option for her."

Simon still hasn't taken his eyes off of Margot, he's still studying her -- her features, her nose, her eyes. She has brown eyes, but so does her mother. Even if his suspicion is true, it still doesn't mean anything, he convinces himself. He wouldn’t be able to be there for her in any way that matters, he tells himself.

"We can offer her better protection. We track the bastards, neutralize the threat, and get her mother back. We send her into foster care, she's a sitting target once they realize her mother doesn't have what they want."

He hates it when Soap is right.

Finally, he looks at his partner, and they mobilize. Soap helps Margot pack a bag out of what remnants of clothes and necessities are strewn all over the house. Simon is standing in the master bedroom, he tells himself he's looking for any sign of what the attackers were after, but he knows it's a lie. He wants to see what has become of Cecelia. But he knows he shouldn't linger.

They regroup at the house Soap and Ghost are renting. Simon asks Margot to hand over the necklace; she does, although she hesitates for a moment, a thought crossing her mind that it might be the only thing of her mother's she'll have left when this is all over.

"I'll give it back," he tells her.

She looks up at him, into his eyes -- he's still wearing that balaclava and all his gear. The greasepaint obscures the depth of his eyes, but she can see their glint in the low light of the living room. She's trusting him as much as he's trusting her. She gives him the necklace.

Simon holds it in the center of his gloved hand -- it looks no different than any other pendant one might find at a jewellry store. It was a plain circle, with no ornamentation, except for an asymmetrical raised texture in the center. He turns it over, there's no stamp indicating the carat or quality.

"All that trouble o'er a necklace?" Soap asks, looking over Simon's shoulder at the small thing.

"She said it was the last thing she ever got from her brother," Simon tells him. "She tell you anything else about him?" he asks Margot.

She shrugs somewhat, still clinging to the blanket around her shoulders. "He was in the Navy. But he died, though. I never met him."

Simon shakes his head once. "No, you wouldn't've. He died overseas, she said. Training mission gone wrong. MacTavish, check records," he tells Soap. "We find out what he was doing when he died, we might find out who's after this little bugger."

The adrenaline finally wears off, and Margot crashes. She's asleep in the master bedroom, curled underneath the blankets, still terrified, even in her sleep. Simon can see it -- her shoulders are tense, her head is tucked, her breathing is rapid. He wonders if every Riley is cursed with poor sleep.

Soap isn't having any more of his bullshit. They're talking in the other bedroom, while combing through personnel records and calling in favors to find out more about the 'training exercise' Cecelia's brother was involved in.

They haven't spoken in a while, which is unusual for Soap -- the air almost feels absent without his gabbing. But Simon knows he isn't being silent for courtesy's sake, Soap is irritated with him.

"Is she yours?" he finally asks, without looking up.

But Simon looks at him, unsure how to reply. Unsure of the answer -- but certain all the same. He doesn't reply for a long time, and Soap doesn't push him; even no answer is an answer.

Simon looks back at his laptop. "She's the right age."

They don't say anything for a while more. Simon is finding it difficult to concentrate, but he compartmentalizes, until Soap interrupts his thoughts again.

"You know I've got your back."

His other teammates, Sparks and Washington, said the same thing. Until they were taken, and turned. Until his family was all murdered in cold blood during Christmastime. He tries to tell himself it's not the same -- the present isn't the past. Yet, the past has a funny way of repeating itself.

He wasn't turned by the torture inflicted upon him, he tells himself. He'd like to think MacTavish wouldn't be, either, whether or not it's true.

"I know, Johnny," he says.

"You need your rest," Soap tells him. "I'll take watch and keep looking. You get some shut eye." He leaves the bedroom and sets up in the living room.

He tries to sleep -- he falls into a restless slumber. It feels like he's closed his eyes for only a moment, when Soap comes back into the room to tell him his watch is over.

It's still dark outside. Simon gets up. He checks on Margot.

She's still lying in bed, curled into a ball. But her breathing has changed -- he thinks she might've fallen into a deeper sleep, but he realizes she's awake, she's crying. He's tempted to turn and leave, to give her space, or to absolve himself of vulnerability. But he knows it's not the right thing to do.

"You should be sleeping," he says.

He hears her sniffle. She doesn't move for a while, until she sits up and looks at him. "I tried. I can't."

He sighs and enters the room, closing the door halfway behind him. "What's keeping you awake?" He sits on the edge of her bed.

"I keep...thinking." She wipes her tears on her sleeve.

"About what?"

She's trying not to look weak in front of him, but she can't help it -- she starts crying again. "All I did was hide. Mum told me to hide. But I didn't want to -- But I was scared..."

He doesn't think less of her. He sees a lot of himself in her, from when he was a boy. "Sometimes the best strategy is to hide. You're no good to anyone dead. Especially not to your mother."

Margot settles, taking hiccupped breaths until she can breathe again. "She said you'd come."

"I told her I would."

The crying has passed for now, she doesn't feel like she can anymore. But she likes sitting beside him. She wonders what he looks like -- he's still wearing that balaclava. "Do you sleep with that on?"

"Sometimes."

"Why?"

"So people don't know what I look like. To protect myself."

"That must be annoying."

He scoffs. "Sometimes."

"Mum told me you wear a mask all the time. She told me a lot about you."

Immediate suspicion rises in Simon, and his mind interprets her words as a threat at first. But he proceeds with tempered rationality. "What'd she say?"

"You both loved each other, she said. You have a job that's really dangerous. She talks about you all the time."

It would've been better if Cecelia had forgotten all about him, it would've been easier for him. But to know that she kept him alive, in memory, somehow hurt worse than being forgotten. "She tell you anything else?" he's fishing, and he hopes Margot takes the bait.

She hesitates, she's thinking, debating -- unsure of herself, unsure of what he'll say. "She said...she tells me that you're my dad. Is that really true?"

He's never one to believe something without concrete proof, he's distrustful by nature. But he knows it's true. It's more than conscious, it's something visceral inside of him that knows something better than the doubt at the forefront of his mind. He only nods. "It's true."

Margot sits in silence, thinking.

"I'm going to find your mother," he promises her. "I’m going to make sure both of you are alright." He speaks to her, but also to the family he lost all those years ago: to his mother, to his brother. He has the chance to right the wrongs of the past. To change the future. "Get some sleep."

"What if I can't?"

He takes a deep breath, trying to find some kind of parental guidance to give her. "I don’t sleep good, either. A long time ago, I saw a shrink. He told me to relax your body -- from head to toe. And imagine you're floating in a canoe on a lake, with nothing else around. Don't think about anything else. Just you...in the lake, breathing deeply. Can you do that?"

She nods.

"I'll wake you when it's morning."

He leaves Margot to her rest and continues to search for reasons why Cecelia's brother may have been a target.

He wakes up Soap at dawn. "We've got a lead."

Simon explains that Cecelia's brother, Gabriel, was involved in a classified assignment to infiltrate a weapons dealer syndicate. He was supposed to eliminate the head of the syndicate, and destroy his compound. Gabriel completed his assignment, and eliminated the syndicate head, and burned the compound to the ground. However, the official report states that Gabriel was killed during the raid -- he was killed by his other teammates, for treason, and for turning on his superiors. Simon managed to find a buried statement from another teammate who had been on the mission, which said Gabriel was killed days after the raid, and his body was dumped at the compound after it was destroyed. Gabriel found that the officer in charge of his assignment was supplying a portion of the weapons being sold. The officer was using his team to clean up evidence of his involvement in the syndicate.

The officer buried anyone else who knew the truth. 

Simon and Soap conclude the necklace must have something else to it, that Gabriel had to have sent it to for a reason. Simon examines the ridge in the center; he finds that the circular pendant is made with two pendants flat pieces soldered together. He halves it with a knife, jimmying the pendant open like an oyster. Inside, is a micro-SD card.

"That's what they were after."

"Obair mhór, Gabriel," Soap mutters.

"Mum's necklace..." Margot stares at its pieces in Simon's hand as she comes out of the bedroom.

"It was for a good cause," Simon says.

"But why --" Soap asks. "Why after all this time? Why go after it now?"

"The good Admiral is up for a political promotion. He's trying to clean house."

"So the Admiral finds out that Gabriel had a contingency, and he knows that the last contact Gabriel had was with his sister. So he puts the pieces together, figuring she knows more than she's saying."

"We need to find her. Now."

They're holding Cecelia at an abandoned farmhouse. It takes them thirty-six hours to track her down, by nightfall Ghost and Soap are converging on the target. Margot is left behind, locked inside their safehouse, with the doors and windows fortified.

They're outnumbered, but they have the element of surprise. Quietly, they close in on the farmhouse from opposite directions, using blades to wound and eliminate the men in their way, utilizing the ignorance of their presence to its maximum capability. Until an enemy fires his rifle, and the secrecy is over.

Ghost breaches the front of the house, firing two shots into the guard at the other side of the door -- chest and throat. He pushes the body to the side, and crouches, hearing more men on their way. He takes cover against the corner of a hallway, and fires two shots into the face of the next assailant who charges him. He uses the bleeding body as a shield, and moves into the line of fire, feeling the impact of the bullets pierce the corpse in his arms. He fires around the body propped against him, and lands three bullets into the torso of the man in front of him.

He throws the corpse to the floor, and moves into the center of the house. There's a locked bedroom door, and he pushes his blade into the jamb to free the lock. He can hear Soap's bullets from the opposite side of the house.

The lock breaks, and Ghost stands to the side of the door as he opens it -- he enters with his rifle raised. There are no men inside the room.

Cecelia is tied to a chair in the center.

"I've got eyes on the target," he radios Soap.

"Copy, Lt.. Three more guards inbound on the east of the complex."

"Copy." Simon cuts her bonds, and helps her stand. "We need to move. Can you walk?"

"Yes," she says, panting.

Ghost has one arm around her, practically pulling her out of the house as he rendezvous with Soap.

Soap covers them as the two limp off the complex -- into the cover of a copse in the distance. Their vehicle is waiting for them there, and Ghost puts Cecelia in the back, pushing her head down beneath the seats. Bullets collide with the metal sides of the doors, and Ghost returns fire as Soap jumps into the driver's seat and finds cover in the trees.

"They won't follow us," Ghost says.

"You'd better be right."

"Margot -- Where's Margot?"

"I got her -- She's alright."

"I'm sorry --" Cecelia says, out of breath.

Simon shakes his head. "Don't be."

They get back to their safehouse, and Margot is holed up in the bedroom until she hears the door. Simon gave her a pocket knife, and she's ready to use it -- when she hears her mother's voice.

"Mum!" she runs out of the bedroom, into her mother's arms.

Cecelia holds her tight. Simon only watches, and glances to Johnny when he puts a hand on his shoulder. He feels that out-of-place sensation once more, seeing mother and daughter embrace. Cecelia is checking Margot over, holding her small face in her hands, wiping away her tears. Simon doesn't know what to do with himself. He leaves them to their reunion. He hides -- in the other bedroom.

Later, he's triaging Cecelia's wounds. She's scraped up, she's got a black eye. The sight of it sends a rage through him that he can't put into words.

"I wanted to tell you," she says.

"I know."

He's bandaging her wrist, but he can't look at her. It's the same dance between them as it was a decade ago. Somehow, it feels like home.

"I don't know what they wanted from me," she tells him.

"I do. Your brother was a smart man. He knew he couldn't trust anyone above him. So he sent the intel he gathered to the one person he could trust. You." He looks up at her.

"What are you going to do with it?"

He gently puts her hand in her lap. "I'm going to do...what I wish I could've done many years ago." He grinds his teeth, and swallows. "I'm going to expose the bloody bastard for what he is: a traitor."

Simon arrives at the Admiral's office the next day. The Admiral is not expecting him, but he is aware of Ghost's reputation, and it precedes him. The Admiral has no reason to suspect Ghost is behind the attack on his off-books operation the previous night. As far as he's concerned, Ghost is scheduled to ship out in less than a fortnight, and he believes his visit has something to do with the upcoming mission.

"What can I do for you, Lieutenant?"

Simon chooses his words carefully. Everything he wants to say -- everything he's endured at the hands of men without honor -- floods to the surface of his stomach, to the surface of his face, and he holds the man's eyesight with a sharp edge of hatred.

He's kneading his fists open and closed as he stands there, still trying to get himself to speak. "I want to know if it was worth it."

"I'm sorry?" the Admiral scoffs, bemused and insulted.

"You're not sorry now. But you will be. Before that -- I want to know if it was worth it. The money. The job. The commendations. How many lives was it worth to you?"

The Admiral now realizes it was him who attacked the farmhouse the night before. His face grows hard, and he narrows his eyes. "I'd tread carefully if I were you, Lieutenant. Your reputation can only protect you so far, before enemies in high places turn on you."

"Was it! Worth it!" Simon yells. "You pricks -- who decide who lives and dies, who decide who turns on who -- you pricks, who let the job lead you to believe that you're God," he points. His face burns, his throat hurts. Memories claw their way to the front of his mind, just like he clawed his way out of Vernon's grave.

"If you kill me, you will be hunted for the rest of your life."

Simon shakes his head. "I'm not gonna kill you. You're not worth my bullets. I'm going to watch...as the world tears you apart. As you lose...everything."

The Admiral scoffs again, and moves towards his desk, where his service weapon lies locked in a drawer. "I doubt that. Surely, you didn't think you could come here and threaten me, and get away unscathed." He loads the chamber, and aims the barrel at Ghost's chest.

Simon doesn't flinch.

"Where is the SD card?" the Admiral asks.

"I've already given it to the press."

Military police storm the office, and take the Admiral into custody.

Ghost and Soap are taken off their upcoming assignment, they're needed for debriefing on the scandal that is unfolding regarding the Admiral. Cecelia and Margot are also asked to give account of what happened. The doors of their home are repaired, and they're left to pick up the pieces -- figuratively and literally.

Three weeks have passed; the trial is still in preparation stages; Margot is back at school, and Cecelia has set up therapy for her. Simon encourages her to be seen by a shrink, herself. She refuses, and he pushes her, telling her he'll take her himself if he has to.

"This feels familiar," Simon says, as he helps rehang a painting in her living room.

"Let's hope it never feels familiar again."

He wants to laugh, but he can't. He just shakes his head, and straightens the frame. "I'll be back to check on you tomorrow."

"Wait -- can't I make you a cup of tea?"

It's the offer that got his heart into trouble in the first place. But he still can't say no -- the pause he gives, gives her enough time to head to the kitchen, where she boils some water, and hands him a well-worn mug of tea. The good kind.

He stays with them for several weeks. Weeks turn to months. He tries not to give into the fantasy. Cecelia knows as well as he does, that he can't stay. Even if he wants to.

He wants to.

He has too many enemies. If he retires, if he gives into the dream, it will only put targets on their backs. Cecelia knows. She doesn't fight him on it.

"Just...don't let another decade go by...before I see you again," she tells him.

"I won't." He has her hands in his, pressed to his mouth. He's getting ready to leave, a new assignment is waiting for him on the other side of the door, and for the first time -- ever -- he feels human enough to wish there was nothing waiting for him. No assignment. No dossier. He feels human enough to wish — for anything at all. Even a family.

He takes a deep breath, and lets go of her hands. He pulls from his pocket an envelope filled to the brim with money, an accumulation of many years' worth of combat pay. "Use this. For her. Anything she needs -- anything at all. You get it for her, with this. Get her into a good school, get her an education -- don't let her do what I do. Promise me."

"I promise."

He kisses her, and turns to Margot's bedroom to say goodbye. She's holed up there -- she doesn't understand why he has to leave. He doesn't think she ever will. He doesn't understand it fully, himself.

Simon sits on the edge of her bed. He doesn't know what else to say.

"Will we ever see you again?" she asks.

"You can't get rid of me that easy, love."

She crawls to him, and embraces him.

Something flips inside of him, feeling her arms around him. His own child -- the bone of his bone, the flesh of his flesh. A weight sinks into his heart, and he takes a deep breath, suddenly feeling like it's the first and only breath he's ever taken. He puts a kiss on the top of her head, and they linger there for a long while.

When he, at last, pulls away to leave, she follows him. "Goodbye, Dad."

It's a searing knife wound to the center of him. But he turns and touches her face. "Goodbye, love."

Simon leaves, seen off by the two at their doorstep.

It's a home he can return to. Over, and over again. A feeling, and a place -- people who welcome him. Where his bed is always warm, where arms wrap around him and the blood washes down the drain. And where December never hurts as much.

[bamfkeeper]

Anger.

RQ: 'Heard that ur taking requests ! Love your work and the writing is great ! I was wondering if you could do reader x Kurt where reader is opposite of Kurt. Anger issues less understanding etc and has a mutation where they have two sets of wings and eyes ? So like really arch angel type of stuff but a real sinner. Being the other half then Kurt <3 have a great day and remember to drink water !' - @toxic-chainsaw-666

Pairing: Kurt Wagner x GN!reader // Warnings: None

A/N: I was actually really happy to write this rq because I tend to have some anger problems irl. I've always imagined how he'd be with someone who's less understanding and more hostile than him, so this was really fun! Written as a collection of hcs.

Kurt is known as being the sweetheart of the group of X-Men, his heart of gold and aversion to violence, (unless absolutely necessary), makes him well liked by everyone. There isn't a single mutant who doesn't like to strike up conversation with him, he makes everyone feel welcome.

That's why when he began dating you...it rose a few eyebrows.

Your reputation was quite the opposite. Hot-headed, short tempered, aggressive...to name a few.

You were not very approachable, sometimes vulgar, and you had a habit of snapping at people before you spoke civilly.

Kurt tried his approach, your first instinct was to yell, but he just seemed so...sweet, so you found yourself holding back. His presence felt better than everyone else's, no judgement in his eyes.

He'd have a knack of calming you down too, or helping you cool off better than other people might. His presence helps your nerves a lot.

When you get angry, your appearance shows your extra features, which often makes others wary and scared. Kurt is never really bothered, he just does what he can to help soothe you.

He doesn't want you to be ashamed of yourself, he never makes you feel bad for being the way you are, he knows you can't help it. But he does try to guide you into reacting to things a bit better, just so you don't get yourself into trouble.

He would never try to change who you are though, he respects you enough to know that.

You both had very different ways of reacting to situations, your personalities were black and white, but somehow mixed together okay. You balanced one another out.

Sometimes you worry about religious differences too, since you feel like a sinner a lot, because you are, and Kurt's Catholicism is very important to him. He comforts you though, he offers support and guidance for you.

If someone is bad to him, he will forgive and forget. You will not. You will make sure that person apologizes, even if you have to hold them up by their collar and force them to.

Your first instinct is to fight or choose a physical way to solve a problem, Kurt tends to try to talk things out instead. You two vary that way, but it's a funny combination to see.

"Liebling, no need for such violence, they bumped into me by accident," Kurt says gently after you threaten to hurt someone quite graphically.

You scowl back and cross your arms, while Kurt worries about your impulsivity, he does find your passion quite endearing, even if he doesn't agree with your methods.

You're the one to ask a food worker for no pickles on Kurt's order while he stays behind you shyly.

He's the one who often apologizes for your attitude, but also uses you as a back up, he gains confidence because of you. He knows you always have his back no matter what. You are his 'scary dog privilege.'

You both love one another despite the obvious differences you have. You both bring out the best in one another, and you support the other's weakness.

Opposites certainly attract.

Thanks for reading.

*BAMF*

Dividers by @/adornedwithlight

[sanjisblackasswife]

Gojo is a virgin. part 1

Black Fem! Reader in Mind

Bad Summary: are you a virgin because you’re gojo satoru or are you gojo satoru and that’s why you’re a virgin?

CW: PWP, Mentions of Past Relationship with Toji, Trying so hard to make this as close to CANON Gojo as I can, Reader is not a virgin, making out, fingering

Not by choice either and he knows it.

Does it bother him?

It didn’t until you pointed it out to him one day.

“Why y’teasing me, huh? It’s not that big of a fucking deal.”

“It isn’t, I just assumed you were a man whore.”

He doesn’t know whether to be insulted by you calling him out on his sexless life or you assuming he’d fuck anything with a pulse.

It’s not like he WANTED to be 29 and a virgin he just never found anybody that peaked his interested and if he did he wouldn’t have time for her. He’s a busy man living a dangerous life, he doesn’t have much time anymore to go out and meet people to form a close enough bond because one night stands with a stranger is completely out the question.

You could almost feel his eyes burn a hole in your head as you watched a movie with him that evening, your smile crept into his field a vision with made his jaw clench.

“Looooook at the movie, big boy.” You direct his chin with your fingers to watch the TV, but he snaps his head back at you.

“You think you know everything huh…”

“Whatchu mean.” You shrug, popping another popcorn into your mouth, eyes still on the television.

“I’ll have you know if I wanted to have sex right now I can…WITH ANYBODY.”

“Like Suguru.”

“NO NOT HIM.”

“Good because he is so out your league.”

“You—-“

Without thought you straddle him, it’s not really anything you haven’t done before. As teens he always would grab your waist to make you sit on his lap and then tease you for getting shy about it, because you swore up and down he couldn’t hold your thick ass up so the contact wasn’t something necessarily new to him. Especially with how his hands automatically flew to your hips.

Gojo never was really the type to be flustered nor be at lost of words, but feeling your plush, soft body against his as you adjust your body on his lap to face him, deemed difficult to mask.

“Y’know if you stopped being so annoying and acting like you are the shit I’d probably would have taken your virginity myself.”

“Oh?” You raise one eyebrow, almost amused with his little smart mouth despite clearly having pink toned cheeks, “Well you didn’t.”

“I couldn’t since you let that piece of shit Toji take it.”

You can hear in his voice it was more than sarcasm, it was genuine animosity and maybe even jealously. When Gojo found out you slept with Toji a year ago he nearly didn’t talk to you for a week.

If only you DID let him take it. It wouldnt have been taken from just some guy you were going to dump 2 months later.

You wanted to thread lightly with him, seeing as you can feel Satoru’s hands around your waist about to lift you up, you sit firmly back on his lap.

Just as you were about to apologize Gojo instead looks away. Pouting like a child while crossing his arms, “You pissed me off again.”

“HELLO? Look Satoru—I am sorry. If I would’ve known you wanted me I—“

“Who said i WANTED you?”

He knew the second your face dropped he fucked up. That wasn’t even the truth he was just upset and was tired of being reminded of your past with Toji. Even though he brought it up.

“Alright.” You begin to rise up from his lap, a bit of pride he had left left his body, and he takes a breath and manages to ignore it for a moment to grab your arm.

“Wait…my bad.”

“Uh huh. Move, Satoru.” You wave him off trying to get up so you don’t bust your ass hopping off his lap. “Go ahead and have sex with anybody you want like you said—“

“Then let’s go.”

His eyes locked on yours, You never really felt as uncertain with Satoru as you do right now. One of his long strong arms still thrown across the couch, staring you down.

Satoru knew exactly what he meant and got dammit he will repeat it if needed be.

“What?”

Gojo huffed in annoyance, picking you up by the butt with one hand. You shrieked a little causing him to squeeze one cheek firmly.

“Your ass is so soft.” He mumbled against your ear, you could almost feel a smirk growing against your skin while he walked you both to your bedroom.

“SATORU?…what are you doing? Where are we going? You clearly said you don’t want me so obviously—oh!”

You sink into the soft mattress and Gojo comes in seconds later to fill the gap between your legs, he somehow looked even bigger when on top.

Gojo really had no initial plan, he did know he hurt your feelings about a clear lie so instead of apologizing with words he’d rather do it with action.

His lips were so soft on your neck, he peppered the entire area of it before finding a spot right below your ear to suckle, earning a choked out whimper from you.

“Sat….Satoru, but you said—“

“I lied.” Was all he could muster up, his voice was lower than usual, “I fucking want you is that so wrong?”

His tone was filled with sarcasm, but you could see it in his eyes he wasn’t joking. He always had a weird way of expressing his feelings to you.

“I mean…that’s only if you want me too. Which obviously you do I mean look at me. You are probably wet—“

“Wanna find out?”

You wanted to chuckle hearing the small choke in Gojo’s voice mid sentence, you give him no room to try and talk back, instead grabbing his left hand and guiding it to the tiny damp spot on your shorts you apply pressure on the tips of his fingers on your clothes clit.

“Shit..” He exhales gritting his teeth, looking down at the lewd sight below him you nip at your bottom lip in satisfaction. It was a new feeling to his finger tips even though he was only feeling the outline of your little clit.

“Well aren’t you a little pervert.” He punctuates his sentence with him taking control of his fingers and doing some temporary small tight circles against you. You hum against his ear trying to tighten your thighs closed, but obviously his hips were in the way of that.

The gap between you both began to slowly close with how much your best friend was leaning into you. Whatever space was left was filled with each others breath. You could almost taste the sweet candy that gojo was previously eating.

“You ganna kiss me now or what?”

Gojo’s fingers didn’t falter. Although you could tell this was his first time rubbing a clit the pressure and speed he had was so painfully good you felt your back arch unto him.

“Oh..” You held your strained moans to come up with a quick witted comeback by chuckling, “So ladies first huh?”

Your mouth softly pressed against his. Damn, he had soft lips. The kiss was timid at first, more on Gojo’s side than yours. You took charge, holding yourself up by the elbows and tilting your head a bit for more access as you spread your legs to give him more access.

Gojo’s fingers slowed down , too excited to finally touch more of you he furrowed him eyebrows while kissing, wanting to rid of the shorts and panties you wore from blocking him to what he really wanted to touch.

He felt impatient but he didn’t want to pull away, you smelled so good, your soft moans being swallowed by him made his SWEATS feel tight, for the first time his mind was all jumbled up and couldn’t figure out a solution.

But since you’re his best friend. A good one that can understand body language you caught on pretty quickly.

You push him back gently with one hand in his chest. A small smack noise pop from his lower lips, “You really want me to take your virginity…?”

You were absolutely prepared to hear him make a snarky line or even roll you over to take charge, but when you cupped his pink cheeks he looked up at you with a unreadable face, “Of course i do.”

It’s like Gojo read your mind, seeing that you almost went “AAWWWWEEE” and eloped him into a wet smooch on the cheek he scoffed to kiss you instead. This time his little experience improved, he held you by the back of the head and licked at your tongue.

His lips became hungrier, lapping you up, and even groaning in between breathes, he’s been waiting for a long time for this.

Gojo trusted you to take his virginity, you were the only one he could see taking it.

[itsthestutterforme]

Glad You Called 2/2

Summary: Reacher kept something hidden from you for those two years. And it was right under your nose the entire time.

Notes: GIF is not mine, all mistakes are my own, here’s the part 2 you guys asked for :) @cookiemonsterboss

Any tips for writers block anyone??

Part One

**

Blowing a long, satisfied breath, you descend down the stairs pressing your locs dry with your towel. You were about to watch an episode of Supernatural when someone sitting on the couch caught your attention.

“What are you still doing up, Reacher?” You said with an annoyed sigh.

“I was going to ask you the same question,” he said, looking up from the computer he borrowed from Neagley.

“I’m going to watch my show,” you sat down and the couch across from him and took the remote into your hands.

Signing onto Netflix, you scroll down and click on Supernatural, making sure to lower the volume.

You secured your locs tightly in your bonnet you had brought with you when you catch Reacher staring.

He pretends to scroll on the laptop as if you didn’t catch him staring at you seconds before.

It took you all of five minutes of him looking at you through your peripheral for you to speak up.

“Oh my God, just say what you want to say, Reacher.” You finally say, breaking the silence.

“I.. don’t have anything to say,”

“Your eyes are telling me something different.”

“I missed looking at you,” he confessed after a moment of silence.

“Should have thought about that before you ghosted me,” you state, not even bothering to look away from the TV screen.

“It was my choice and I have to live with the consequences. But I never meant to hurt you, Y/N.”

“Bullshit,”

“It’s not bullshit. I thought I was doing you a favor by leaving-“

“No, you took the easy way out. I’ve been in enough of these situations to know. But what really burns me to the core?” You finally look away from the TV to glare at Reacher.

“Is that I told you everything about my fear of people leaving. I told you how deep rooted the pain was, and you left anyway.”

“There’s nothing I can do to fix what I broke. I know that.”

“I’m done convincing people that I’m loveable. I’m at point in my life where I prefer to be alone than to have bad company.”

“I know,”

“Then why did you come back?”

“You know why,” he says.

“I know you won’t say it,” you say, standing from your place on the couch.

You crossed over to where Reacher was, barely towering over him even when he’s sitting down.

“I hate you,” you seethe. Hurt flashed across his face and for a moment, you felt guilt nipping at you.

“I could never hate you, Y/N.” He confesses softly, his hazel green eyes searching your Y/E/C ones.

Your face grew hot the longer he stared at you and you finally realize your proximity.

Damn it, why was your heart racing? Why was your body betraying you like this?

“When this is over, I never want to see you again.”

“I respect it,”

You didn’t know how to feel about this. A part of you wanted him to fight back like he did before.

Because at least you wouldn’t feel bad for treating him this way.

Especially since he more than deserved it. The air grew thick with tension and you held his gaze when he slowly stands from the couch, standing in front of you at full height.

You catch him bringing a hand up to caress the side of your face with his thumb.

“You don’t get to come over here talking all soft and think you’re somehow forgiven,” you whisper, your heart skipping a beat when he leans in closer.

“Would you forgive me if I gave you an apology?” He leans in an inch away from your face.

“No,” you body tenses under his touch and your eyes fluttered closed.

“If you tell me to stop, I will.” His breath fans against your lips. You could feel a heart racing pattering in your chest.

Everything stood still for a moment. The show playing in background was long forgotten.

Just as your lips were about to connect, you said, “I can’t do this.”

He lets you pull away from him, watching as your legs rushed you up the stairs and into your room.

The door creaks closed and you linked your hands above your head, consequently pacing in your bedroom.

What the hell was he thinking? What the hell were you thinking?

Deciding to give Reacher a piece of your mind, you pulled the door open to find him standing before you, raising a hand to knock on your door.

Turning your walk back inside your room, Reacher took that as an invitation to come in. He closes the door behind him and starts, “I want to confess something.”

Your ears perk at his words, that was a phrase you’ve never heard him say before.

“Okay,” “I’m tired. Tired of being the leader. Tired of needing to fix things all the time. Tired of being strong for everyone else. I haven’t met anyone who really understood that besides you.”

He comes around the bed to where you were, dragging a chair over and spun it around to sit down.

“Aren’t you tired, Y/N?”

“You want to know what I’m tired of?” “I’m tired of the influence you still have on me after all these years. I hate it. But at least it taught me one thing. Never let a man get too close.” You added before he had a chance to answer.

“You think you don’t have an influence over me?” He challenges. “Obviously not, Jack. You left me. That’s as crystal clear of an answer you can get.” You state, noticing the visible wince when you call him by his given name.

He presses his lips together as he contemplates something. You lift a brow, daring him to challenge what you had just said.

He stands up from the chair and took his pocket knife from his boot. Flicking the knife open, he knelt down to and popped out a piece from the wooden leg of your vanity.

He slid his hand into the opening, your heart sank when he took out a navy blue, velvet box.He drops the box into your hand and you brushed off the dust that had collected on the top.

You spared him a glance and he merely crossed his arms, waiting for you to open it. Opening the box, a periodt pear cut diamond ring winked at you under the dim lighting.

“Reacher, don’t tell me this is-“ “I planned an entire getaway trip to New York City where I would have asked you to marry me with that ring.” He interrupts and suddenly your mouth felt dry.

This was your dream ring. This was your dream man. So where did it all go wrong?

“What made you change your mind?” You asked after a brief silence.

“I watched my father deteriorate when my Mom died. I knew that.. one day that would be a possibility. Reacher men have terrible luck,”

“So.. let me get this straight. You left me because you’re worried I might die?” “Yes. And I know how it sounds, but-“

“That’s your first mistake right there, Reacher. You were too caught up in the what ifs that you missed what was right in front of you the whole time: a home- our home.”

“I know,” his your gaze fell back down to the ring in your hands. “You should try it on,” he suggests and you find yourself taking the ring out of the box, hesitantly sliding the band on your ring finger. It even fits perfectly.

“How did you know I wouldn’t throw the vanity away?”

Without a second thought, he closed the gap between you and captured your lips in a warm kiss. His massive hands covered your face as he continued to kiss you.

Your eyes fluttered closed as you get lost in the way his lips felt against yours. He pulls away just enough for the two of you to get air, resting your forehead against his.

“Because I know you,” he says, caressing the apple of your cheek with his thumb.

[dyns33]

Family's choices

When I feel bad, I write or read about Alfie. Weird really, since he's not my fav character, nor played by my fav actor, but I don't know, Hubby Alfie is like my safe place.

I hope he's the same to others here.

Even though his mind sometimes wandered, losing itself in memories of his childhood or France when he felt melancholic, or in happier days like his meeting with Y/N, it was rare that Alfie Solomons wondered how things would have turned out if he had made different choices.

His credo had always been to live without regret, without remorse, and therefore to take absolute responsibility for all his decisions, good or bad.

In any case, if he took stock when he woke up in the morning with Y/N ​​against him, he considered that he must have made some good choices overall.

And, if he decided to think about it a little more, his choices might have allowed many other good choices to be made.

Take the relationship between the Shelbys and the Italians as a concrete example.

It was known that the Shelbys had some bad blood with the Italians after the Sabini affair. Alfie couldn't blame them. He himself had some grudges with Darby, that racist, dishonest jerk. Granted, he'd betrayed Thomas and his brothers when they started getting too greedy. He'd wanted to trust his "old friend."

In the end, the Italians were definitely not trustworthy, and Tommy had been kind enough to accept his apology. It probably helped that he was madly in love with Y/N, and that this guaranteed almost unlimited trust.

"I don't like you using your sister, my dear love, as a bargaining chip, mate, I have to tell you. I really don't like it."

"Not at all, Mr. Solomons. Consider me the big brother who makes sure his little sister's future husband is a man of his word, who won't risk hurting her in the future. If I doubted that, I wouldn't be able to agree to this marriage."

"Hmm. Clever, yes. If it's to check her protection, I can accept it. No more business with the Italians for me. And neither with the Russians. Free throw-in from me, I hate those bastards anyway."

The only time he found himself in the same room with Russians was at Thomas's request, to appraise the most beautiful pieces he'd ever seen, including a Fabergé. A fucking Fabergé.

Luckily for everyone, Alfie didn't want to risk losing Y/N, so he played it safe, accepting his share and remaining in his role as a simple jeweler.

It was around this time that Blinders' secretary, Lizzie, started dating Angel Changretta.

The brothers didn't like this too much, partly because they really didn't like the Italians, partly because they were afraid she'd accidentally reveal important information, and partly because John had wanted to marry Lizzie at some point.

And Y/N wasn't too happy by her brothers' reaction.

"They shouldn't stop Lizzie and Angel from seeing each other. It's not right."

"It's none of our business, treacle."

"And it's none of theirs either ! Imagine if Arthur or Thomas had decided I wasn't allowed to be around you. Because you're the Wandering Jew, on top of being the King of Camden, and the reason they almost got destroyed by the Italians. Go ahead, imagine."

"I'll pass. I see what you mean, love. I get it. But this is different."

"No, it's not different. Lizzie's smart. She'll never talk about business with her lover. If she says they love each other, I believe her. They should leave them alone, just like they left us alone."

In all honesty, Alfie couldn't care less about his brothers-in-law's love affairs, but it bothered his wife, so with a sigh, he got in the car to talk to Tommy face-to-face about the problem, echoing Y/N's arguments and adding the risks of an altercation with the Changrettas. It would have been a real shame and absurd to risk a war over what sounded like Shakespeare.

He could see the scene perfectly. The Peaky Blinders, after burning down Angel's restaurant, were going to physically threaten him. This wouldn't please his father. The Italians were very 'family-oriented'. Very 'vendetta'.

In a rapid escalation of violence, there would be chaos. Innocents could be killed. He asked Thomas to think of his new wife, Grace, and the little Charlie. He already had enough problems with the Russians.

If a member of the Shelbys were hit, they would have to retaliate. A matter of honor, all that bullshit. But even if they killed all the Changrettas in London, there were some in Sicily and the USA. Close to the mafia. Dangerous.

"Listen, Tommy. Y/N's asking that you do this for love. I'm asking that you do it for common sense, eh ? Because if your bullshit puts my wife in danger, I'll be very unhappy. I want you to know that. Consider me a husband who makes sure she's happy and safe."

"Hmm. Well said, Alfie. Well said. I'll talk to John. And Lizzie."

The wedding was simple and small, which was odd for an Italian wedding, but no doubt the Changrettas would celebrate properly later, when their in-laws wouldn't be around and there would be a risk of conflict.

Perhaps that was why the older brother Luca, wasn't present, supposedly held in New York on urgent business but sending a congratulatory card, welcoming the Shelbys into the family.

Alfie had vaguely heard of Luca Changretta. It was a good thing they were all on the same side now, thanks to the sacred bonds of matrimony.

"Treacle, I'll admit it, maybe you were right to get involved in this."

"I'm always right," she said simply, continuing to check the Bakery's ledgers.

"Hmm. You sound like your aunt."

"Polly is often right."

"Often and always are two different things."

"And I'm not my aunt."

"True, love, very true. Hmm. Maybe you're always right. Who am I to disagree, after all ? I had the good sense to ask for your hand, but you had the strange, yet wonderful, decision to give it to me."

"I guess. I'm a bit busy right now, Alfie. Can we have this urgent discussion later, please ?"

"Of course, treacle. I'm just saying you've certainly saved a lot of heads, nothing too important. I sometimes wonder what would have happened if I hadn't met you. Terrible, terrible things, no doubt. Imagine me, crazy and married to a circus lady on an elephant."

"I get it, I'll finish the accounts later, you need a hug. Come here."

"I'm not Cyril, love," Alfie muttered, mock-indignant at being treated like their dog, even though he was being treated like a little prince.

"You're worse than him, come here."

Of course, he eventually complied, joining Y/N on the couch and letting her cuddle him, saying he was annoying, crazy, adorable, brilliant, and that if he ever mentioned marrying another woman again, he'd be in trouble.

Since Alfie didn't regret his marriage at all, he didn't think about the other options he would have had if he'd made a different choice, and he got into trouble for other reasons.

[suguae]

snow on the beach.

This was a short drabble, super sorry if it's bad. I've been sick and I wanted to write something!

+ angst

"It's snowing!" Utahime runs outside, her long hair jumping with every pounce. "Wait for me." Shoko walks with hands in her pockets making sure she follows closely behind Utahime.

You turn around to see Suguru walk out of the boys dorm. Haibara running out excitedly with Kento following behind. "Morning y/n!" Haibara waves before throwing himself in the snow. It was a morning to remember.

But all you could do was watch. Today was a morning to remember, but the night before was a nightmare. "He went on a run this morning." Suguru stood next to you interrupting yourself from thinking about last night. "...good for him." You look up at Suguru and awkwardly smile.

"Maybe it's best if we see other people?" Satoru says watching every muscle on your face soften as your eyes got watery. You loved him and he loved you, but never were you expecting him to say those words. But everything happens for a reason?

"If that's what you want..."

"Shoko told me that you think he has another chick?" You sigh and sit on the front step of the girls dorm, Suguru taking a seat right next to you. "A man only says that if he already has another women Sugu..." You fidget with your gloves, the cold wind caused the tip of your nose to get red. "You are both very important to me, but I have no clue of Satoru being with another-"

The nerve, Satoru Gojo had to break up with you the night after and bring the women he left you for back to the campus. His bright smile shining as he throws snowballs at the brunette. She was gorgeous, her laugh, her smile, her looks. Straight off the cover of vogue.

"Hey guys, this is my friend...Miyu." He introduces her to the group playing in the snow. Not bothering to come near you or Suguru. You scoffed looking over at Suguru who was just as shocked as you. "Y/n I'm sorry I really don't know why he'd-" Your eyes getting all watery again, God you hated being such a cry baby. "Don't apologize for him Sugu." You get up walking back to your room.

Satoru spots Suguru sitting, quickly making his way towards him. "Hey why aren't you playing in the snow with the rest?" Satoru takes a seat right next to Suguru. Did anyone think this would happen? Knowing Satoru it was a slim chance but he loved you. Everyone saw it? So why was he already introducing all his friends to another women. "What's the purpose of this...of her?" Suguru points at the brunette who was laughing with Haibara.

"She has a name...listen people move on and they-" Satoru starts giving some lame ass excuse. "Save it for someone more gullible." Suguru scoffed walking in to check on you. Not caring if he'd get punished for walking into the girls dorm.

Your blankets wrapping around your body, the tiny window cracked open letting the cold air enter the room, the vanilla scented candle burning. Lastly, the small sniffles coming out of you. "Y/n...?" It was Suguru, how could you not give in to Suguru. Engulfing him in a huge hug as soon as you feel his weight on the feet of your bed.

The painful cries get louder and each filled with hurt and betrayal. You really loved Satoru, if he'd hurt you this much. Then again it's only been a day since you two have officially ended. Your crying slowed down as you laid with Suguru in the bed. His hand softly petting your head as your arms tightly wrapped around him. "I told you." You mumbled, finally gathering the courage to speak again.

But Suguru didn't even know what to say. Still shocked as to why Satoru would even leave you. Suguru watched you softly drift back to sleep before leaving your room. Everyone was now sitting in the snow sipping on some hot chocolate. "Why hasn't y/n come out!" Utahime asked, watching Suguru leaving the girls dorm. "She doesn't feel good."

How pathetic. Not even bothering to check on you knowing how heartbroken you were and still are. What kind of friends were they? Watching them all sit and laugh as if you weren't hurting.

-

Hours passed, "Want to come get hotpot with us?"

No, Suguru didn't. He hated hotpot, only because you hated it. He loved hotpot. "I'm gonna pass." Satoru sighed before attempting to close the door to Suguru's room..."You got what you wanted, stop moping around."

"I wanted her happy." Suguru sighed looking up at his blue eyed friend. "...And she was the happiest with you." Suguru scrolls on his phone again waiting for Satoru to close the door. Which he thankfully did, not picking a fight.

The door slightly creaked to your room, not a word was said nor could you hear footsteps. Just a sigh and the door closing again. Maybe Sugu checking on you.

-

"Where did everyone go?" You asked walking into Suguru's room. Sitting on the rolling chair to his desk. "Hotpot." He turned his phone off taking all his attention to you. "You didn't go?" Why would he? Why would he leave you here all alone?

"No, wanna go grab something else to eat?" He suggested seeing the soft smile on your face, food never disappointed you. "Let me go bundle up." You rush back to your room.

"You look...warm." Suguru fought the urge to say beautiful. It felt wrong to go after you in the state you were in. He didn't want to feel like he was taking advantage of you. "I am." You smile.

-

"I would 10/10 go back." You give Suguru a thumbs up while rubbing your belly. Your eyes trail off to the side to see the beach. This was a new sight, Snow on the beach? "Can we go down?" You tap Suguru and point. "It's dangerous don't you thin-" before he could even finish his sentence you grabbed his hand and dragged him to the set of stairs. You knew he'd say something like that. So you wasted no time.

Reaching the bottom step, you slip. Your butt hitting the fluffy snow while Suguru fell right on top. You couldn't help but laugh. "What did I-" You threw a snowball at his face to escape from him. running along the snowy white shore. "I'm gonna get you for that!" Suguru giggled running toward you, which he failed due to tripping over his own foot.

You sigh taking a seat next to Suguru. Watching the steady water. "Sugu...Do you like me?" You look at him, waiting for an answer. Embarrassing if he'd say no....

"If I said yes?"

-

"Look how cute they look! I want to do that too, imagine me and you just sitting on the snowy beach?" The brunette clutched onto Satoru's arm. When all Satoru could think about Suguru's words..."She was the happiest with you."

The awful imagine in his head of you wrapped around in your blanket, the same candle Suguru saw was now dead when Satoru walked in. It was something Satoru never imagine. But Miyu made him happy, you made him happy too but he just had more stuff in common with Miyu.

"Miyu, Do you think when two people are too different, it would be hard to work the relationship?" Miyu looked away from the two on the beach. "No...I think if you truly love them, difference is what makes the bond stronger. You learn new stuff about them and they learn new stuff about you." Miyu smiled leaning her head into Satoru's chest.

ouch.

-

"If you said yes...I don't know actually." You lean your head onto Suguru's shoulder. "I love you Suguru don't get me wrong, and I appreciate everything you've been doing for me ever since...you know."

"But..." Suguru looked up at the stars getting ready for you reject him. He couldn't possibly hate you if you rejected him though. No matter what he'd still love you. Like always...."I'm not ready, but you know that."

"Give me a couple weeks, or months..." You grab his hand. "I'd wait for eternity for you y/n....I promise." He squeezes your hand, securing his promise.

-

You two are now making your way back to the dorms. It was darker and quieter. More peaceful. Satoru was sitting out in the front of the girls dorm as if he were waiting. "Clear things up with him..." Suguru whispers. How could you? He hurt you...

You walk towards the dorms, watching Satoru lift his head up at the sound of the snow crunching. "Y/n...." You stop and sat right next to him. "She's beautiful." You look up at the sky, the cold crispy wind hitting your face. "I'm just surprised that..."

"I still love you y/n...and you just won't leave my head. I think and you just keep coming in my head. Seeing you with Suguru drives me crazy and I can't see you just drift away so easily from me."

You look over to see the blue teary eyed, "You should've thought about that before you decided to end things with me Satoru." You were right. You were always right. That's what Satoru loved about you the most. The words you would mutter out would always have a strong righteous meaning.

"And you look happier with her." You wipe the tear from your face. It was true he looked happier, he felt happier too. But seeing you slip so easily ruined the happiness for him. "Maybe next time introduce me, I want to meet her." You smile getting up. Satoru also stood up hovering over you, swallowing you up in a big up. Which surprised you...by a lot.

"I'm so fucking sorry..."

-

"A wedding on the beach...not a fan of the beach but this is too cute." Shoko drops the dead cigarette on the sand, Utahime following her behind amazed at the decor. "They outdid it. I love it!" Utahime jumps up and grabs Shoko's arm.

"This was definitely all planned by y/n." Kento picks up the littered trash from Shoko and throws it in the nearest trash. "No, Suguru would never overbear her with all this work." Satoru sighed.

Much older now...Satoru understands how it felt to lose such a prized possession. The way you read your vows to Suguru and how much love and time you took with yours. He knew Suguru's had to be longer and just as beautifully written as yours. "So she was your ex?" Megumi whispered. That's the only label he had to you. "No wonder she left you for Suguru, you're so weird." Megumi disses the white haired man in the bind fold.

He sighed, "I left her...rookie mistake."

[constantmourning]

Silly

[Buggy x AFAB!Reader]

Summary: Not being allowed in Buggy's meetings was hard, especially when you craved his attention. So, you came up with a foolproof plan on how to get his attention back on you.

Warnings: 18+! MINORS DNI! Fingering, finger sucking, thigh riding, Buggy calling you baby, not beta read

Word Count: 1.6k

A/N: Buggy got me in a chokehold... He's plaguing my mind... I've only watched OPLA, and haven't finished it just yet, so I do apologize if this is OOC.... I just want him, carnally. My friend sent me two prompts so this was formed from that!

“Please,” You ran towards one of Buggy’s crew members. “I need you to give this to Buggy.” You held an envelope.

“Um, he’s in a meeting…” She gave you a concerned look. “He said to not bother him-”

You pouted at her, “It’s so important! It’s for his eyes only! There is no way Buggy is going to let me in the meeting, considering what happened last time…” You rubbed the back of your neck. “But, really, this is important. He needs to see it.” The crew member narrowed her eyes, about to protest, “I won’t let him do anything to you! I promise! He’ll know what it means!”

She agreed. You thanked her. You hightailed it back to Buggy’s quarters, a smile pulling at your lips the entire time. You waited, and waited. And waited. Then you finally heard it.

Buggy’s wrath.

His scream rang through the ship and you grew giddy. You threw your clothes off and jumped into his bed, covering yourself up with just a sheet. You bit your lip in anticipation and waited for the door to open.

Buggy’s foot slammed into the door and it came swinging open. You smiled at him as you lay waiting. His for the taking. Buggy slammed his door.

“You sent me pictures of you naked while I was in a work meeting!”

His voice was full of anger. His fists were balled and you noticed crumpled papers in one of them. You stared at him with an innocent expression. You sat up and let the cover fall slightly, exposing your cleavage.

“They’re nice, aren’t they?” You cocked a brow at him. “The pictures.”

Buggy growled and your stomach flipped. He held up the photos and let out a guttural noise, and you were sure you could not get anymore wet. He took a step closer and you saw the two photos in his hands. One was your wanted poster, but instead of your face it was your naked body, head out of the shot. And the other was you lying on Buggy’s bed, also completely naked.

Buggy tensed, the papers crumpling in his hands. He looked at you with a darkness in his eyes you had not seen before, and it was extremely hot. “Alvida saw one.” His teeth were gritted.

“Oh!” That wasn’t supposed to happen… “What’d she think? Does she still think I’m ‘just a cutie’? Or is her opinion different now?”

“Why does her opinion matter?!” Buggy was on you in a matter of seconds, caging you in. 

You swallowed hard. "I mean, it doesn't I guess-" Buggy was inches from you, "I'm just being-"

"Silly?" Buggy asked, head cocking to the side. "You know, I really think you have forgotten what silly means…"

"No, not really," You speak without thinking, "how can I forget when you're so silly!" You smiled widely at him. Buggy did not move, he watched you unblinking.

Finally he threw himself off of you and stood up, grumbling, "You're just as bad as the lion…"

You pouted. Buggy was not looking at you though, he was looking at the crumpled pictures of your naked form. You leaned forward, pulling your knees up and pressing your chest to them. "I can make it up to you… after all, I am all yours." When Buggy turned to you, you continued, "I was being silly sending those, but fuck, Buggy! I'm so tired of feeling like an afterthought. You're with Alvida or scheming to get that map-" Buggy dropped the photos to his side and looked at you. "I just want attention sometimes." You placed your chin on the top of your knees and played with the cover.

The papers dropped from Buggy's grasp and he crawled back onto his bed. His gloved hand moved to your chin and he forced you to look up at him. "All you have to do is ask," his eyes stared into yours, his voice low and full of lust. "But I'm afraid I can't stand for the stunt you pulled today…"

"That's what you said last-" You stopped yourself. You did not want to ruin whatever it was Buggy was about to do.

"Hm?" Buggy was not going to let you be quiet. "When did I say that?" He questioned you. "When you decided to act out during the last meeting I let you in? When you were grinding against my thigh and you thought no one would notice?"

Your face was on fire. You nodded.

"And then-" Buggy was inches from you, "-you moaned so loud I had to kick you out?"

"I get it…" You looked away from him. You were just horny and needed an outlet and when Buggy wasn't giving you attention, what were you supposed to do? “My fingers just aren’t cutting it…”

“I can fix that,” Buggy smirked, eyes crinkled. “But, first-” He sat on the edge of the bed and motioned to his thigh. You cocked your head. “You’re going to get yourself off. On my thigh.”

You blinked. “No spanking?”

“‘Cause that worked so well last time, didn’t it.” Buggy rolled his eyes. “Come on, don’t be shy now.”

Your face, going down to your neck, was on fire. You scooted towards the other side of the bed and stood up, making your way towards Buggy. He smiled at you; a knowing, shit eating grin. Your heart jumped into your throat. You settled on Buggy’s clothed thigh and inhaled sharply. Your fingers moved towards your clit and Buggy was quick to grab your hand.

“No.” His voice was stern. “Use my thigh. Just my thigh.”

Your hands moved to his shoulders and you gave him a shocked expression. You swallowed hard and began to grind down. Your arms wrapped around Buggy’s neck and you looked down, noticing his pants becoming wet from your pussy. Buggy grabbed your chin and forced you to look up at him. He was smug to say the least.

Buggy moved one of his hands to your hip and helped you. His leg bounced slightly and you let out a whine. Your grinding continued, you only grew wetter and hornier as you did so. You wanted nothing but to be fucked and Buggy had you using his damned thigh.

“Tell me,” Buggy drawled out, “what do you want?”

“I need you.” You whined, still rocking and grinding. A heat pooling in your stomach. You pushed forward slightly and your clit rubbed against his pants. Your brain malfunctioned briefly. “I need you to touch me-”

“Just cum for me, baby,” Buggy whispered. “I’ll give you everything you want if you can cum for me.”

You let out a whimper and moved your hips faster. Your hips rolled and bucked into his thigh, each time you felt pressure on your clit you whined. Finally you could feel it, your orgasm was getting close.

“Buggy-” You moaned his name, eyes shutting tight, “I’m gonna-”

Buggy’s hands moved to your hips and he stopped you from moving. You froze. You let out a low whine and looked up at him. He cocked his head. “What?”

“Buggy!” You wanted to scream, “I was about to- I was-” You stuttered and stumbled on your words.

“I know, that’s what happens when you pull silly stunts.” Buggy smiled. “But, now… Do you want my fingers?”

You were going to go mad. You could not answer fast enough. “Please! Please, just touch me Buggy. I want to feel you.”

“Anything for you, baby.” Buggy brought his hand up to his mouth and bit his glove, pulling it off in one swift motion. He pulled his other glove off and placed his hands back on your hips. He flipped you easily onto the bed and was looming over you. He watched you for a moment while his hand slowly slid down your side. Goosebumps rose on your skin. Once he reached your pussy, you were sure you were going to combust.

One of his fingers slid into you and and your hips bucked upwards. His fingers reached spots yours could not. He knew what he was doing. Not like you didn’t. But Buggy’s fingers were a lot better than your own, by a long shot.

You wrapped your arms around him once more and pulled him closer to you, close enough for you to kiss his neck. He slid in another finger as you kissed his neck and he was easily making quick work of you. You were puddy in his hands, and he couldn’t enjoy it more. His fingers pumped in and out of you, before he found your clit and rubbed over it. Electricity jolted through you.

“Buggy- Mph!” You mewled for him, “I’m so close. Please-’ Please let me-”

You couldn’t finish your sentence. Buggy decided to be generous at that moment. All he said was “Okay,” and you were coming undone by his fingers alone. Buggy You bucked and cried and pulled Buggy as close to you as possible. Buggy laughed in your ear, and you arched back. Another cry escaping you Buggy started to slow down. He pulled his fingers from you and immediately, without seemingly thinking, popped his fingers in his mouth, sucking.

You watched him with wide eyes. His fingers popped out of his mouth and he smiled down at you. He lowered himself to your face. “You taste delightful dear… It’s a good thing we have all night.”

“You don’t have any other obligations?”

Buggy chuckled, “Not tonight. I’m all yours.” Buggy pushed himself up and over you. “And you are all mine.”

“All yours,” You agreed, nuzzling into him.

“Now, where did you get those pictures taken, hm?” Buggy questioned.

“That’s a secret.” You laughed. “A silly little secret.”

Buggy did not like that answer. He was going to get it out of you one way or another…