#because I don't feel safe having no one awake

[ghostsinthecellar]

I've only been up for twelve hours and I am so tired

[inkskinned]

what is with men being mad any time a woman raises her voice where did that even come from. someone posted a video of a small electrical explosion, and the top comment was of course the woman screams. the second comment is women try not to scream challenge, level impossible. i had to go back and watch the video again. there is, somewhat fainty, a little gasp emitted off-camera, more of a yelp than a scream. it is mostly lost in the crack of the explosion. afterwards, you hear her voice, shaken, say, are you okay?

i am helping one of my friends train her voice pitch lower, because she wants to be taken seriously at work. she and i do each other's nails and talk about gender roles; and how - due to our appearance - neither of us have ever been able to be "hysterical" in public. we both appear young and sweet and feminine. she is cisgender, and cannot use her natural voice in her profession because people keep saying she appears to be "vapid". we both try to figure out if our purposeful voice lowering is technically sexist. is it promoting something when you are a victim to it?

a storm almost sends a pole through a car window. in the dashcam, you can hear the woman passenger say her partner's name twice, crying out in alarm. she sounds terrified. in the comments, she is lambasted for her lack of calm. how is that even fucking helping?

in high school, i taught myself to have a lower voice. i had been recorded when i was genuinely (and righteously) upset; and i hated how my voice sounded on the phone speakers when it was played back. i was defending my mom, and my voice cracked with emotion. it meant i was no longer winning the argument: i was just shrieking about it.

girls meet each other after a long summer and let out a little joyful scream. this usually stops around 12-14, because people will not tolerate this display of affection (as it has the effect of being passingly annoying). something about the fact that little girls can't ever even be annoying. we are trained to examine each part of our lives (even joy) for anything that could make us upsetting and disgusting. they act like teenage girls are breaking into houses and shrieking you awake at 3 in the morning. speaking as a public school educator: trust me, it's not that bad, you can just roll your eyes and move on. it does not compare to the ways boys end up being annoying: slurs in graffiti, purposefully mocking your body, following you after you said no. you know, just boy things.

there's another video of a man who is not allowed to yell in the house, so he snaps his fingers when he's excited about soccer. the comments are full of angry men, talking about how their brother is unfairly caged. let him express himself and this is terrible to do to someone. eventually the couple has to address it in a second video: they are married with a newborn baby. he was trying not to wake the infant up. there is no comment on the fact women are not allowed to yell indoors. or the fact that it could have been really alarming or triggering for his wife. sometimes i wonder if straight men even like women, if they even enjoy being in relationships with them.

for the longest time, i hated roller coasters because it always felt inappropriate and uncomfortable for me to scream. one of my friends called me on it, said it was unusual i'm so unwilling. i had to go to my therapist about it. i don't like to scream because i was not raised in a safe situation, and raising my voice would have brought unsafe attention towards me. even when i am supposed to scream, it feels shameful, guilty. i was not treated kindly, so i lack a basic form of self-protection. this is not a natural response. it is not good that in a situation of high adrenaline - i shut up about it.

something very bad is happening, i think. in between all the beauty standards and the stuff i've already discussed - this one feels new and cruel in a way i can't quite express. yes, it's scary and silencing. but there's something about how direct it is - that so many men agree with the sentiment that women should never yell, even in an emergency - it feels different.

is the word shriek gendered automatically? how about shrill or screech? in self defense class, one of the first things they tell you is to yell, as loud and as shrilly as you can. they say it will feel rude. most women will not do this. you need to practice overcoming the social pressure and just scream.

most women do not cry out, even when it's bad. we do not report it. we walk faster. we do not make a scene. what would be the point of doing anything else? no matter what we do, we don't get taken seriously. it is a joke to them. an instagram caption punchline. we have to present ourselves as silent, beautiful, captivating - "valuable."

a woman is outside watching her kids when someone throws a firecracker at them. she screams and runs towards her children. in the comments, grown men flock together in the thousands: god. women are so annoying.

[charliemwrites]

Squeeze Me, I Squeak!

While your interactions with Lieutenant Riley started out cold and tense, he's been warming up to your secondary specialty. Apparently, you make for a great stress-toy. (In which Ghost is a brat with authority, but you don't mind. You're a bit of a brat too.)

Original AO3 Link (I posted this a million years ago to AO3 and it was my first ever COD fic, inspired by a Discord chat and Badjhur audios. I figured it's about time I added it to the Tumblr masterlist for ease.)

Content: Dom/Sub Dynamics, Fraternization (therefore power imbalance), Medical Care (non-descriptive), Body Piercings, Safe/Sane/Consensual Intimacy

It starts with one simple catalyst: your cheeks.

You’ve been with the 141 for over half a dozen missions now. Three bullet grazes, two concussions, four sprains, and one nasty cold into your assignment under Captain Price, and quite pleased to be there. He’s a good leader, trustworthy and steadfast, a bastion of experience and skill shielding your unconventional squad from red tape and repercussion.

Time is a little more fluid for you as the combat medic. You’re awake about twice as long as you’re ever asleep. Anxiety tugs you from fitful rest to check on your patients – your boys – if any of them are laid up with more than a dislocation. It makes the days long, nights longer, and you’ve lost track of how many calendar months since you’ve officially been with the task force.

Long enough, though, that you feel like you’ve got a handle on your squad and their personalities.

Captain Price is a grump about medical care. He understands the necessity, but resents the paperwork, time, materials, energy that goes into it. He’s gracious to let you fuss (within reason) and you’re gracious to ignore his old man grumbling. And the cigars.

Gaz is an absolute peach. Sits still, asks for painkillers when he needs them, follows care instructions. The worst he does is whine, but that’s only for the silly little injuries and the occasional flu shot. He’s respectful, sometimes a little bashful, and friendly. He makes you feel welcome, bought you your first drink with the squad after a mission, and generally is a sweetheart.

Soap is fun. A bit rambunctious and fidgety on your table, but he tries, at least. Not as careful as you’d like him to be. He’ll give you a sheepish smile whenever you fuss that he’s pulling his stitches or straining a healing joint. He whines like a banshee over everything except the serious wounds, but paradoxically has to be strong-armed into painkillers for anything. He reminds you a bit of a husky.

His brand of friendliness comes with jokes and teasing, flirtations that he’s careful to never take too far. You’ll indulge him in return sometimes, especially if he’s having a rough go of it, but it’s all in good fun. A lot of your downtime is spent in his and Gaz’s company, chatting about anything and everything, playing video games, or trying (the operative word here) to read. He’s also, unfortunately, the one who came up with your nickname.

Then there’s the lieutenant. You call him “the lieutenant” because you get the impression that he’d toss you out a window if you dared even utter his call sign.

The 141 isn’t your first assignment; you’ve been a combat medic for long enough that you’ve seen the full range of patients in the military. You’re no stranger to the puffed-up hyper-masculine men that practically resent your specialization.

“Like they think I’ll take their Man Card just for getting a plaster,” you’d once commiserated with a fellow medic.

The lieutenant goes a step beyond that. The best you can get out of him on a good day are one-word answers. A good day is if he’s hauling someone else to you. When it’s him that needs the care, well… you two often don’t meet eye to eye. And not just because he’s roughly the size (and build) of a tank.

On your third mission with him, he suffered a knife wound to the hip. You hadn’t been able to judge how deep it was between his gear and his evasiveness and you’d lost your temper.

“Lieutenant Riley, stand fucking still,” you snapped.

“The fuck did you just say to me?” he snarled.

And oh, you regretted every word you’d ever spoken in that moment. Had felt, with some certainty, that enemy combatants were not going to be what did you in. Cursed Price a little too, blaming him for this somehow.

But you were tired and a little pissed and had about a million other things to do that weren’t chase after your lieutenant.

“I said standing fucking still,” you dared repeat, raising your voice.

“I’ll have you booked with insubordination so fast, your fucking head will spin,” he growled.

“Medical treatment outranks everyone, sir,” you snapped back, just as fast. You were already snapping gloves on; he was finally still, after all, even if it was to yell at you. “So if anyone can be written up, it’s you.”

“Lass—” Soap tried, but you were already ducking down, eyes narrowed and gauze in hand.

You were relieved to see that it wasn’t too bad. Slathered it with antibiotic and pinched it closed with butterflies, then straightened. It was done in under a minute and you were even more annoyed than before.

“All that for fucking what,” you grumbled to yourself. Not quietly enough, apparently.

“That’ll do,” the lieutenant barked.

The unholy burning in his eyes informed you that you’d pushed your luck far, far enough.

You shut up and skittered off, had not been written up for insubordination, but received a well-meant ‘cool it’ from Price afterwards.

And Lieutenant Riley was… well, he was himself.

He doesn’t make you bitch at him anymore, though – and you would be lying if you weren’t a bit proud of that. By no means is he jumping to get treated, but he comes to you for the serious injuries and obliges if you manage to catch the non-fatal stuff.

It’s not that you hold it against him. Medics are a sore spot for a lot of people, and Lieutenant Riley is more private than the average soldier. He’s never actively rude, at least, apart from that one spat. Gruff and short maybe, but not mean. And you’re quite happy to have that, at least.

Besides, he watches out for you in the field, where it matters. Has literally hauled you to safety by your straps more than once. Ensures you get into exfil before him. You’ve even caught him giving you a quick, assessing check that all your gear was secure and ready.

You and he bicker at each other still, and you don’t always come out victorious. There have been plenty of instances that he’s just marched away from you, long legs carrying him to some dark corner when he won’t entertain your nagging. Still, there’s growing respect between you two, you sense. He’s a solid CO, if much different from Price, confident and competent without being arrogant. And, well, he can be a bit rude (“abrupt” you demur to Soap, who cackles) but not disrespectful.

On his end, you think things change when he gets injured. Again. You don’t know exactly what’s happened, only that he was a little too close to an explosion. The edges of his balaclava are burnt, one damning edge melted to the skin of his neck. The real issue is the deep laceration that’s sliced through the fabric. From what you can see, it starts behind his ear and slashes around his temple to take a sizable chip from the edge of his hard mask.

His bell has been rung enough that he’s silent when Soap drops him on your cot.

You do a concussion test – thank whatever higher powers there might be that he passes – and reassess the situation. He’s bleeding, he’s burnt, his mask is a hindrance. Most other medics would pry the thing off and treat him regardless of his feelings on the matter.

But you’re not any other medic, you’re the 141’s medic. You have candy for Gaz and fidget toys for Soap and carry nicotine patches or gum for Price. Lieutenant Riley hardly even pulls his mask up to drink in front of you still. He doesn’t trust easily (maybe not at all) but you’ve managed not to fuck up this far and you won’t start now.

“Need to take the skull off,” you inform him, “the balaclava can stay.”

His shoulders drop just the smallest micro-fraction. You’ve made the right choice.

He lets you pull the hard mask away, eyes flickering to yours when you set it within his reach. You blink at him, just once, trying to convey that for all your differences and squabbles before, you’re his squad-mate, his medic, and you’re on his side.

Then you turn to the bleeding.

“Going to cut a bigger hole,” you warn.

You don’t know if he’s listening, if he cares, if he’d prefer you to be quiet. You do this for Gaz and Soap, and you’ll do it for him until he tells you otherwise.

The surgical scissors make a perfect, neat line through the fabric. Blood stains dirty blond hair beneath your gloves, flattening the curls. It’s a nasty wound, deep enough that it’ll need stitches. You tell him as much as you clean it, efficient without being rough. You don’t coddle your boys; they don’t need it. The kindest thing you can do is always to just get it over with.

As you numb his skin and prep the sutures, you begin explaining the care instructions. It’ll cut down the amount of time he’ll have to hang around after you’ve finished treatment.

You fall quiet as you start stitching him up, bottom lip between your teeth to focus on speed and accuracy. On your little rolling stool, you’re trying not to loom over his prone form. Plenty of soldiers have bad reactions to being leaned over like this, and you’d expect it from any of the 141.

Your hand is starting to cramp by the time you get to the sharp cheekbone where the injury ends, but it’s done – possibly in record time. As you sit back to check your work, you catch his eye. His gaze is so heavy that you’re shocked you didn’t feel its weight this whole time. There’s an odd glint to it, the calmest you’ve ever seen from him. Especially on your medical cot.

“All good, sir?” you ask.

��Affirmative.”

“The burn now.”

You don’t touch him, just direct his head at a good angle to treat his neck. You have to numb that too, see more of the tension drain from him when it takes effect. Christ, you hadn’t even noticed. He’s like a statue sometimes, bearing wounds that would have most other people in shambles.

“Burns are the worst,” you agree. “I hate getting them, hate treating them.”

“There anything you like treating?” he grumbles.

You hum. “Common cold. All you big boys get sleepy and nasally and pathetic.”

There’s a little puff of air that you recognize from comm banter with Soap – he’s amused. You’ve managed to get something like a laugh out of him. Buoyed by this, you proceed with the delicate process of treating melted fabric.

“Pathetic, eh? Tell Johnny you said that.”

“I already told him when he got sick,” you gloat. “He pouted. Might have a picture of it somewhere.”

When you chance to look away from your work, you catch his eye again, peering at you from his peripheral. You flash a grin – a little goofy from the high of a positive reaction – and then turn back.

“That legal?” he asks. “Pictures of patients.”

You arch an eyebrow, knowing he’ll see it. “Are you going to lecture me about GDPR, Lieutenant Riley?”

“Not if it doesn’t become my problem.”

You chuckle a little – heartened by your progress and by his unusual talkativeness. “Hasn’t yet,” you point out.

More likely to be Price’s problem, anyway. Probably.

He lets you fall silent again to concentrate. Despite the severity, the affected area is smaller than you initially thought. It’ll be painful and scar like hell, but no skin grafts are necessary. You report this with obvious relief – good news all around as far as you’re concerned.

When you’re finally done, you scoot your chair back and turn to his (heavily redacted) chart, scribbling out the diagnosis and treatment. As you’re signing your initials, he calls for you by last name, tugging your gaze up.

“Was there something else, Lieutenant?” you ask, already scanning him for other injuries.

“Need one more thing from you.”

You hum in question, folding his chart over. His hand comes up, still gloved.

And then he takes your cheek between thumb and forefinger. And pinches.

Your brain spits static, eyes going wide in shock and confusion. It takes you a beat to respond, and then only because his fingers tighten to the point it starts to ache.

“Ow, Lieutenant—” you complain, still too surprised to really snap, one eye closing to express discomfort.

He releases you, staring at the spot he just grabbed. It’s probably already turning red.

“Anyone ever tell you,” he drawls, slow and measuring, “how round your cheeks are?”

Now you’re red for a different reason. You rub at the skin and scrunch your nose, unsuccessfully telling yourself that you’re not pouting like you joked Soap did.

“No,” you huff, “because most people aren’t dumb enough to say that to their medic.”

Your brain still isn’t working right because there’s no way you’d be implying that Lieutenant Riley is dumb if it was. The most personable you two have gotten before now was him buying you a drink after a mission, but he’d been buying everyone else a drink at the time.

“Not afraid of you, Squeaks.”

“I’m aware, Lieutenant.”

You’re hoping he’ll drop it, a little confused but also a little… flattered? It’s difficult to parse what you’re feeling when he’s still staring at you with those dark, glittering eyes. Not that you’re looking. No, definitely not. In fact, you are doing your damnedest not to look at his eyes. Or his face.

Which is why you notice him tugging his glove off. And then reaching for you – for your face – again.

“Hey—” you start, but he’s already squeezing, just before the point you’d fussed last time.

“Want me to stop?” he asks.

… No.

“Want to know what you’re doin’,” you deflect, brows furrowing.

Why are you letting him do this? You shouldn’t let him do this. It’s not that it hurts. It’s just… principle. Military isn’t an especially touchy-feely cuddly career field. Soap and Gaz are fairly tactile, true, but not… like this. But, well, maybe you’ve missed it. This. Touches like this. Haven’t seen friends you’re close to in a long time, don’t have this kind of relationship with your family. Haven’t had a partner in… a depressingly long time, and even then, it always took a while to get to this level of casual intimacy – if you got there at all.

“Thought that was obvious,” the lieutenant replies.

The other hand, still gloved, finds your opposite cheek and pinches that one too. Your eyes are forced narrow as the skin is manipulated, bunched up. You make a noise in the back of your throat, tilting your head to accommodate.

“’S not,” you mumble. “Who are you, my auntie?”

“’M scarier than your auntie.”

You snort, edges of your mouth tugging up despite how he’s pulling your cheeks.

“Never met my auntie, then,” you giggle.

Noticing your grin, he lets one go, only to gently crush both in his ungloved hand. And god, it’s so big that he could span your jaw from middle finger to thumb. Instead, he smooshes your face until your mouth puckers. You must look like a fish – a dumbstruck, awkward fish.

“Sir,” you slur out. He squeezes a little tighter, cutting off your ability to speak. Good thing, probably; you’re not sure what you would have said next.

“Like a little stress ball you are,” he muses, almost to himself.

That does prompt a laugh from you, the absurdity of the entire situation making you a little light- headed. Here is your huge, terrifying lieutenant, practically more legend than man, squishing your cheeks like a particularly long-suffering but beloved pet. You, the team medic, the person who pokes and prods at them more often than not. The one person in the 141 that you always thought he barely tolerated.

“Next time I’m on the edge of tearin’ my hair out, I’ll just come to you for a squeeze.”

He emphasizes this with one last, extra scrunch that makes you humph in mild discomfort. But when he finally lets you go, you grin and shake your head, somehow more amused than annoyed or offended. It seems like you finally might be growing on your lieutenant. That’s nothing to sneeze at.

“Try it and you’ll lose a finger, sir,” you tease.

“Like to see you try it, Squeaks.”

Your mistake was thinking that Simon “Ghost” Riley makes idle threats. (Not that you think that he was threatening you; if he was you know you’d know it.)

He’s been out training recruits by himself – Gaz and Price on a mission, Soap laid up with a twisted knee – a task that already tends to irritate him. Add to that, the weather is fucking miserable. Hot as hell but also a little rainy, meaning that it’s humid as a swamp. Probably has been making his stitches and burn itch beneath the mask.

When he storms into the common room at the end of the day, you and Soap exchange looks. A lot of assassin-soldier to be barreling into a small room – and making a beeline straight for you.

“Uh, sir?” you yelp. Consider a tactical retreat, but even that brief deliberation is too long. He crowds you against the counter you were making tea at and grabs your face.

He still has his gloves on, rough and uncomfortable on your skin. You wrinkle your nose, try to pull back, but his grip is too tight, so you just submit yourself to whatever is happening.

Apparently, “de-stress” is happening.

His smooshes your face just like he had in the infirmary, and some of the tension in his shoulders drops. You blink as his grip relaxes, then tenses. And then again. And again. Again, again, again. It dawns on you that he’s literally treating your cheeks like his own personal stress ball.

You should be insulted. Outraged. You’re not a toy.

“All good, LT?” Soap ventures. Sounds like he’s defusing a bomb.

“Fine, Johnny,” Ghost replies, almost absently. “Long day.”

“Recruits bein’ idjets, then?”

“Fuckin’ muppets,” he agrees, less heated than he’d normally be.

Huh, you think. Is this… actually working?

You make eye contact with Johnny. He looks more blindsided than you, a bit like he’s witnessing your murder instead of being accosted by your strained lieutenant.

“Couldn’t find their way out of a paper bag with a map.”

He squeezes a little tighter as he says it, prompting a noise of protest from you. It doesn’t hurt yet, but your teeth are rubbing against soft tissue. He eases up again and meets your eyes, half-lidded and a touch warmer than you’re used to. The skin around his eyes eases bit by bit, and the line of his jaw beneath the balaclava looks relaxed.

You settle then, resting your weight back against the counter. Nothing untoward is happening, just Ghost being… honestly, a little weird. It’s a nice thought actually, that your big scary LT is a weirdo. The kind of weirdo that would rather squish his medic than a stress ball.

Makes sense in a way, with how he’s always covered up and keeping a safe distance (physically and emotionally) between himself and others. Probably touch starved. Not sure why he’s picked you, but you’re happy that he did.

After a few minutes you pat his wrist, a gentle double tap. Like sparring. He lets you go.

“I’m making tea if you’d like a cup?” you offer.

“Yeah, Sergeant. Earl Grey, left side of the cabinet.”

“Yessir.”

You can feel Soap squinting.

“Since when are you two so chummy, eh?” he asks.

“Since always,” Ghost replies as if Soap is an idiot.

With your back turned, he can’t see the grin that would surely give you away. “Yeah, Soap, where’ve you been?”

“Och, now you’re taking the piss.”

You hand Ghost his tea and sit down to let Soap rant.

It has become a habit. Ghost gets annoyed at recruits, paperwork, bad intel – your cheeks get squished like it’s a family reunion. He starts removing his gloves at least. Warm, calloused hands are much more comfortable than textured gloves. You’re starting to look forward to it, even.

It’s not a long process. He’ll come find you, smoosh up your face until you wrinkle your nose, and then continues with his day, shoulders looser than when he appeared. You usually complain, whine that you’re in the middle of something, that he didn’t even warn you, that his grip is too tight. But you never push him away or pull back. And he always honors your little tap-taps if you need to be freed before he’s ready to let go.

By this point, everyone on the team has seen it. Soap no longer brings it up, but sometimes informs you when Ghost appears with that Look about him. Gaz floundered the first time he saw it, stuttering and stumbling until Ghost told him to spit it out or shut up. Once after that, he asked if he could squeeze you for stress relief. You had to make Ghost let go from how tight his hand went. Gaz didn’t ask again.

Price, shockingly enough, takes in the situation, then settles you with a nonjudgmental look.

“Solid, Sergeant?”

“Yessir,” you manage around your pressed cheeks, adding a thumbs up.

“As you were, then.”

And that was that.

Of course, with jobs like yours, some days are more stressful than others. Some days are hell on Earth. This mission wasn’t quite that, but it did go to shit in a handbasket, and you’re ragged by the end of it. Gaz dislocated a shoulder, Soap is concussed. Price has a nasty road rash across one arm that he was a bit of an ass about tending – not that you’d say as much.

Even you are scuffed up. A hostile split your lip with a nasty jab that caught you off guard. (Ghost, right behind you at the time, stabbed the guy with vicious prejudice. You’re trying not to be flattered and trying not to think about what it means that you’re failing.) Besides that, you’re exhausted, dehydrated, and you’re pretty sure you hurt your back trying to stabilize Soap at some point.

Ghost is the only one that made it out unscathed as far as you can tell. You also know that that’s more likely to put him in a mood than if he’d suffered alongside you all. Cold and detached as he might seem, he doesn’t like seeing anyone in the 141 hurt on his watch.

You’re beside Soap, making sure he doesn’t fall asleep on the transport back to base, but you can feel Ghost’s eyes on you. You make eye contact across the aisle. His shoulders are tight, arms crossed, hands clenching and unclenching. He’s too disciplined to tap his foot or bounce his leg, but you know he would be if he was anyone else.

When you land, you send Soap to the infirmary for observation. Price decides on debrief after breakfast the next morning and slinks off to his office. Gaz follows after Soap to get painkillers and a sling. You shoot Ghost a long, tired look.

“Can’t be a stress ball today,” you tell him, “my mouth hurts.”

“I know.”

But still, he’s standing too close to you at the armory where you’ve returned your weapons. His shoulders are bent slightly towards you, hands twitching at his sides. In all honesty, you wish that you could do your usual destress routine – because as much as he seems to enjoy having something/someone to squeeze, you enjoy having to sit still for a few moments of physical contact just as much.

And after thinking Soap cracked his skull, Gaz lost his arm, your captain got skinned, you need to decompress. And you need to do it with Ghost, who saved each and every one of you today.

“C’mon,” you say and, taking a chance, grab his hand.

He hums in question, but allows you to lead, careful not to grip too tight. The bones there are too delicate, and you need them in working order as their medic. He can’t be so rough with them.

You practically drag him to the common room and put on the kettle. Understanding, Ghost preps the mugs and sachets of preferred tea. When the water is hot enough, you each make your tea, then tug him to the couch. You direct him into the corner – and it’s only then that you hesitate.

Instinct is to climb into his lap. He’s a big man and you want to be cradled, but you also suspect the weight and warmth of another body would be soothing to him too. Instead, you clamber up as close to him as you can get, wedging your shoulder against his rubs and encouraging his arm around you.

It seems like he hesitates for a moment too. This is the most contact you two have ever had, regardless of how close he usually stands when he’s squeezing your face. Right now, you’re pressed together all down one side, your thigh overlapping his a little. After a moment, though, he releases a long breath and curls his arm around you. His hand settles naturally on your hip. 

It’s not long after that that the squeezing starts.

He's still got his gloves on and the skin on your hip is sensitive, usually hidden under layers of clothes, but you’re too snuggled in to disturb the arrangement now. Between the heat he radiates like a furnace, and your steaming tea, you’re quickly cozy and spaced out. The rhythm of his hand kneading plush flesh is soothing, something to drift back to while your mind goes blissfully blank of anything but safe, warm, comfy, quiet.

At some point, your mostly empty cup is plucked from your hand. You mumble a thank you and curl in closer, both legs over his lap now. His other hand rests on your lower thigh, just above your knee, and begins squeezing there too. Almost a massage, if not for the near-rough way he grips you.

“Like a cat,” you mumble, head lolling onto his shoulder.

“Hm?”

“Cat making biscuits.”

There’s a huff of air. You smile faintly and tilt your head away from the suddenly too-bright lights of the common room. Don’t even realize you’ve tucked into his neck until he rubs his jaw over the top of your head.

“’S nice,” you whisper.

He hums. You think it might be agreement. Must be, Ghost wouldn’t be entertaining this if he didn’t. It’s a reassuring thought to drift off with, knowing that no matter what you want, he’ll never do something just to be nice.

You wake the next morning horizontal, something too firm to be a pillow under your head. When you sit up a little, Ghost’s dark eyes are peering at you, heavy as usual, but not as sharp. His chest rumbles beneath your chin in greeting.

“Mine or yours?” you mumble.

“Mine.”

You hum, too sleepy to let the implications of such a big gesture make you anxious right now.

“You’re a bad pillow,” you say instead.

It’s a lie. He’s a wonderful pillow. Jacked as he is, all that muscle is so plush and cushiony when it’s relaxed like this. Helps, also, that he’s still so warm.

“Slept on me just fine,” he grunts. “Drooled a little, too.”

“Did not.”

“Explain the wet spot on my tits then.”

You say the first thing that comes to mind. “Lactating.”

“You’re a freak.”

“Stones in glass houses, sir.”

You close your eyes again for a moment, enjoying the dark room and heat beneath you. The best night of sleep you’ve gotten in a long while, honestly. Especially with so much of the team injured.

There’s a tug at your hair, gentler than you usually get from Ghost.

“Get the fuck up, Squeaks,” he gruffs without any heat. In fact, he sounds like he’d rather you didn’t. “Need to piss and eat.”

“At the same time?” you tease. You’d sound more scandalized if you weren’t still half asleep.

“You’re fucking disgusting.”

 He rolls you onto the mattress and pushes himself up.

“Meet back here in fifteen. Fresh clothes, fresh face.”

“Gonna squish it?” you ask.

“Maybe later, see how the day goes.” He pinches one of your cheeks anyway. Still rougher than most people would be, but for him it’s downright tender. You try not to lean into it, not sure if you succeed. Don’t think either of you cares, really.

You lay there for another moment, listening to him bustle around his quarters, getting new clothes it sounds like.

“How copy, sergeant?”

“Solid, sir.”

“Fifteen.”

“Yessir.”

You haul yourself up and trudge out of his room for a shower. Gonna need all fifteen of those minutes.

Breakfast is a quiet but pleasant affair. Gaz is using his sling and sore as all hell, but in high spirits. Soap is exhausted from two-hour wakeups and the sensitivity the concussion has left him with. The painkillers are helping, and despite all that, he’s in a decent (if slightly subdued) mood.

You snatch up a couple of dry muffins and an orange juice for Price before heading to debrief, plopping it all on his desk when you enter his office. Your efforts are rewarded with a fond smile.

Gaz and Soap take the two single chairs, probably afraid of falling asleep on the couch. That’s where you and Ghost end up, you pressed up against the arm and him… right next to you.

Not that you’re complaining. His thigh pressed against yours is a nice comfort. Reminiscent of how he made you feel the night before. A reminder that he’s here, that he’s solid and safe while you all recount the mission from the day before. If Price is shocked by you two practically nested up together, he doesn’t show it.

Somewhere along the way, your hand reaches for something to fiddle with. You’re not as restless as Soap, but you like something to keep busy while you’re thinking or anxious. Usually you tear up the inside of your mouth biting your lips, but you don’t want to aggravate the healing split. Your fingers land on the pocket of Ghost’s cargos. The material is thick, the stitching an interesting texture, and the pockets have snaps that are quiet enough to play with during debrief.

Ghost lets you fidget in peace, only giving you a slight nod when you glance at him to check. His arm is resting along the couch behind you, and you can feel his fingers twisting into your loose hair. Fair exchange, you figure, and settle in.

There’s a brief call with Laswell to discuss next steps. You listen, but not closely. You’re just a medical sergeant after all. Your opinion is considered when offered, but you’re not much of a strategist or tactician. Mostly, you go where you're directed, do as you're told, and keep everyone in one piece as best you can.

When it’s over, Soap helps haul you off the couch while Ghost stands, clipping his thigh pocket closed again.

“Good to see you two getting along,” Price calls as you’re leaving.

You glance over your shoulder, catch the smirk on his face, and stick out your tongue. And then promptly bolt, lest you be reprimanded for insubordination. It’s a common threat in the 141; you’re not sure if anyone has actually been written up for it outside of a mission. You don’t want to be the one to find out, though.

Soap cackles at you, Gaz calls you chicken shit. Ghost ruffles your hair and steers you towards his office.

“Oi, where are you two off to?” Gaz asks.

“Paperwork,” Ghost replies shortly.

News to you, but sure. Some company would be nice while you fill out forms. That becomes mildly more difficult when he plops you into his lap, but you make do. Ghost keeps his office cold – all those layers, you figure – and the chair across from his desk is purposefully uncomfortable to discourage lingering. His broad thighs make a much better, warmer seat. The fact that he circles an arm around your waist, hugging you like a kid with a teddy bear is just a bonus. For all that, you’d figure out how to do reports on water.

You two should probably talk about this, or something. There are regulations or codes of conduct prohibiting this sort of behavior. Never mind that the interpersonal lines (the ones you actually care about) are starting to blur. But well, you don’t have a problem with all this, and you wouldn’t be breathing if he did. So, well, there’s not much to talk about, is there?

“Hey, LT?”

“Mm.”

You watch him sign the bottom of a report, his signature an efficient and jagged thing, somehow still elegant. Like watching him practice with his knives. He flexes his hand when it’s done. You two have been at it for a while now. He hasn’t said a word, but you know Ghost despises paperwork. You could both use a break.

“You ever seen Halloween?”

“The horror movie?” He pauses, thinks about it. “Yeah.”

“The next one is going to take place in the summer. Guess he’ll be Michael Perspires.”

He goes still behind you. “What.”

“He’s gotten a job as an electrician. Michael Wires.”

You keep your face forward and down, pretending to work, trying to swallow back hysterical giggles.

“Squeaks…”

“He’s into arson now as well. Michael Fires.”

His arm tightens around your waist. You wish you could see his face, but you know you’ll break if you look. “Shut the fuck up.”

“He didn’t tell the truth on his resume. Michael Liars.”

“If you make another shitty Michael Myers pun, I swear to god—”

“You don’t like them?” you ask, grin so wide it hurts. “I’m going to Michael Cry-ers.”

“God fucking dammit, Squeaks.”

You burst into laughter that is quickly cut short by his arm constricting like a snake. Even with your air supply diminished, wheezing a bit, you kick your feet in delight.

“G-Guess… guess you’re…” you struggle to get it out between the lack of oxygen and your giggles. “Guess you’re M-Michael Tires of this joke.”

“I’m going to make you regret breathing at our next sparring session.”

And oh, you believe him. Your LT doesn’t make idle threats. But you’re telling yourself that it’s so worth it this time. Soap is going to give you a fucking medal for this. You know, assuming Ghost doesn’t snipe you when you try to tell the story.

You’re still cackling, but it turns to squeals when you feel sharp pressure on your shoulder.

He’s biting you.

“L-LT!” you gasp, scrabbling to push at his forehead without dislodging his mask. “Fine, fine, I’ll stop!”

He growls, the sound burning through you, straight to the pit of your stomach. You choose to ignore that in exchange for the oddly ticklish sensation of him gnawing through your shirt.

Knowing by now that you won’t be free until he’s ready, you just try to sit still and not spur him on further. After a moment, he unlocks his jaw and speaks in your ear, voice low but unmistakably amused.

“Medic, stress ball, comedian, chew toy – anything you can’t do, Sergeant?” he snarks.

You scrunch your nose at this new designation. “I am not a chew toy.”

“Seem pretty chewy to me,” he muses, sinking his teeth in again. You bark out reactive laughter and squirm, but his hold hasn’t loosened a bit and you’re trapped against him.

“LT,” you complain like usual. “You’re going to leave a mark.”

He doesn’t respond verbally, but you feel his teeth dig in a little harder. Well, that’s new. You still don’t push him away, a not-so-small or secret part of you pleased by the idea of him leaving a bruise. It wouldn’t even be visible. Just something to remind you of the trust your lieutenant has in you, in the bond you two have formed, unorthodox as it is.

You hand him a bottle of water when he finally releases you, to sooth his undoubtedly dry mouth. There’s a wet patch on your shirt (and probably your underwear) but you ignore it to return to your reports. He seems a little less reluctant to join you now, pleasingly.

You’re not so sure about the “chew toy” thing, but you definitely seem to be an effective stress relief.

You’re having a great day. No one is injured, you’re caught up on paperwork. You pinned both Soap and Gaz during sparring earlier, earning a proud nod from Ghost and Price. There were pudding cups at lunch, and you’ve made plans with the rest of the team to watch a movie in the common room tonight. Even your antisocial LT agreed to come.

In fact, he’s the first one there when you arrive in the early evening. You chirp a hello, heading for the pantry for popcorn. Soap and Gaz can’t be trusted to make it without setting off the fire alarms.

Ghost hums in return, but he seems content to scroll on his phone, saving his energy for socializing. You don’t mind his silence, never do. Not like he can chat when he’s biting you like a teething puppy. And he has been. A lot. His new favorite form of stress relief, apparently, apart from squishing your cheeks like usual.

If there’s privacy for it, his teeth have been imprinting your arms, shoulders, even your hands in perfect pinpricked circles. He’s not any gentler about it than he is smooshing up your face, and a couple times now you’ve discovered bruises later on. You suspect that’s his aim, especially when he’s more aggravated than stressed. A way to release aggression without wasting bullets at the range or beating the stuffing out of someone in the ring.

You don’t mind, no matter how you complain aloud. It was a sudden step up in intimacy, but you like the feeling of his teeth on you. A way to get that soothing moment of forced stillness without losing the ability to speak, eat, or look around. And you’d be lying if you said you didn’t like the mark either. Feels like a claim, one you’re not sure is actually being made – but you’re allowed to dream.

That said, Ghost is a bastard about it. If you thought he was pushy before, pinching your cheeks at inopportune times, the biting could almost be classified as a nuisance. Several times now, someone has walked into the common room to your forearm between Ghost’s jaws. You’ve lost count of how many conversations with Soap or Gaz have been interrupted by your lieutenant’s canines sinking into your shoulder or the meat of your thumb, tongue swiping excess saliva from bare skin.

You’re ruminating on this as your fellow sergeants filter in, joking and laughing about something stupid the recruits did earlier.

Ghost has hardly looked up from his phone, only jerks his head in acknowledgement when they greet him. His shoulders are loose; he’s relaxed. You know better than to mistake it for being unaware of the environment, but… well, if there were ever a time for payback…

You leave the popcorn to finish in the microwave and stroll over to the couch. To your delight, Ghost shuffles a little to make room for you, an obvious invitation to cuddle up. It’s almost enough to distract you from your mission. Almost.

You perch on the edge of the cushion, hook a thumb under the edge of his shirt. The break in routine draws his attention but doesn’t seem to raise any alarms. He flicks his gaze up from the screen to catch your eyes. You lock gazes, tug the fabric up just the tiniest sliver. Then dart down and blow a deafening raspberry into the toned skin of his stomach.

There’s a moment of dead silence. Then you scramble up and bolt, yelping when you hear the heavy thump of boots behind you.

“Squeaks, you little shit!” he snarls, Manchester accent thicker than usual. And he gives Soap shit.

“I’m sorry, I’m sorry!” you lie, revealed by your breathless giggles.

“I’ll make you sorry!”

You believe him.

You skitter around Price, calling a frantic “hi, sir” as you stumble to keep your footing. Ghost doesn’t even bother with pleasantries, solely focused on getting ahold of you. Your only saving grace is being able to take corners faster than him, but his long legs eat distance like nothing and it’s only two hallways later that you’re snatched right off your feet.

You squeal, not sure if it’s in terror or delight, as he hauls you up and over one broad shoulder.

“Ghost, wait no, I didn’t mean it!”

“Sure fucking seemed to,” he growls, manhandling a better grip on you.

You put up a bit of a struggle, but there's no question who would win even if you really did fight him. Instead, you press against his chest and arms, laughing as his fingertips dig roughly into your hips and thighs and waist.

“Earning your nickname today,” he mocks as he lugs you back to the common room.

When you arrive, Soap groans in dismay at your failure, Gaz taunts you for thinking you could get away with your stunt. Price just shakes his head, playing at exasperated but unable to hide his fondness. Ghost all but tosses you onto the couch and before you can scramble up, flops on top of you. All the breath is forced from your lungs with a little oof, feeling a bit like those animals that can flatten themselves to squeeze into small crevices.

“LT, I can’t breathe,” you whine. “You’re heavy.”

The cushions on the couch aren’t luxurious by any means, but they’re forgiving enough that you can, in fact, breathe. It’s just a little more difficult than usual. Not difficult enough to tap out, though. You like the weight of him on you.

“Should have thought about that before being a little shit.”

You grumble; don’t really have an argument for that but unwilling to cede the point.

“Oi, you two done?” Gaz calls. “I wanna watch the movie.”

Price snorts. Soap, angel that he is, offers you the bowl of popcorn.

“No one told you to wait, sergeant,” Ghost replies, bland.

“Yeah,” you second, muffled and admittedly pathetic sounding. “Takes you five minutes to figure out the sound anyway.”

“We all know you’re going to put the subtitles on, don’t know why the volume matters,” Soap chimes in.

“It’s only for the Captain’s sake,” Gaz defends.

“Now what are you implying, Garrick?” Price asks, silky and dangerous.

You snuggle in happily, enjoying the moment of peace and companionship. No shooting, no bleeding, no nightmares. Just the five of you, alive and healthy, enjoying this little family they’ve built and brought you into.

You don’t even realize you’ve fallen asleep until the pressure is gone, Ghost wedging his arms between your lax body and the couch. It’s cold without him as a personal blanket, and you curl into his arms with a discontent noise.

“Atta girl, Squeaks. I got you,” he rumbles.

You crack an eye open to check on everyone else by instinct. Gaz and Soap are leaning on each other, lightly snoring. It looks like Price is about to rouse them as well, but he shoots you and Ghost an especially soft look.

“Taking this one to bed, sir.”

“Be good to our girl, Lieutenant,” Price nods.

“As good as she is to us,” Ghost agrees.

You’re half-sure that you’re dreaming, but you smile at them both before tucking in and falling asleep again.

The next morning starts in Ghost’s bed, a place you find yourself often enough now that you recognize it as quickly as your own. You’re all tangled up in each other, more than usual. There are fingers in your hair, scraping across your scalp. You could purr it feels so good, pressing your face into Ghost’s chest to let him get a new spot.

“Didn’t even make it halfway through the movie,” he teases.

“Seen it before.”

“Gaz is going to be cross.”

“He’ll understand – getting chased takes a lot of you.”

“Don’t make me chase you down, then.”

You snort. If you have any say in it, you’ll be instigating games like that much more. Something about the big scary Ghost dashing after you over a stupid little prank – and knowing that the worst you’ll get out of it is a forceful cuddle – is not the deterrent it should be.

Still, there’s a pattern to this little game of yours. You can’t admit that you enjoy the play.

“Not my fault you can’t take what you dish,” you reply, twisting to nip his chest through his shirt, as if to prove your point.

It’s sharper than you would be with anyone else. Ghost, though, hums low and rough in his throat.

“I’ve never done that bullshit you pulled last night,” he grumbles.

“Lack of imagination on your part.”

He huffs, pinches your cheek and chuckles when you whine in complaint, muttering that it’s too early for his shit.

“C’mon, Squeaks, up and at ‘em. Before Soap takes all the blueberry.”

“Yessir…” you groan.

Ghost has been away. Price sent him and Gaz off on a stealth assignment, something that Soap is less suited to. Not that he couldn’t do it if needed, but it’s more Gaz’s specialty, so Price sent him. Soap isn’t too bummed about it, though. He’s been wreaking havoc around base with you casually egging him on from the sidelines, feeding into his chaos without being directly involved.

Not that Price would see it that way if he caught wind. But he hasn’t, so you’re not in trouble yet.

You might be after this though.

One drink too many, Soap complaining that you always play it safe. And, to his credit, you do. He and Gaz are the troublemakers, you just like to watch and occasionally add your two cents to the explosive mix. Price has joked before that you’re the best behaved amongst the group, even over Ghost.

Not only are you the least experienced with combat, but you’re also the team medic. It often leaves you feeling like you have to maintain a certain level of decorum and responsibility alongside your officers. It’s no wonder that you try to stay on the straight and narrow – the occasional snippy comment aside.

But this is beyond anything you’ve dared.

Soap has had enough to point out the parlor down the street and dare you. You’ve had enough to be goaded into spitefully proving a point. If Gaz were here, he might be clever enough to dare Soap into something else to get him to back down. If Ghost were here, he’d scruff you both like unruly kittens and haul you back to base. If Price were here, you’d be running laps until you puke.

Instead, it’s just you and Soap. Ghost and Gaz aren’t due back for a week and half, Price is probably buried waist deep in paperwork as usual. And there’s no one to tell you not to.

And so Soap gets his nipples pierced and you get your tongue re-pierced, and you both wake up the next day a little hungover and a lot sore.

You consider taking it out but… well.

You kinda missed having it.

And you want to see how long it’ll take Ghost to notice if you use your discreet jewelry.

You give Soap painkillers for his nipples and promise to hook him up with a good jewelry store recommendation. Then you spend the rest of the day trying not to talk. The rest of the week, really. If anyone notices, they don’t mention it. Soap is always happy to talk for the both of you.

By the time Gaz and Ghost return, it hardly hurts anymore. Still healing, yes, but it only aches in the mornings now. You fit the flat-topped, clear ring into the piercing and go to meet the boys on the tarmac.

They exit the aircraft together, Gaz chatting about something and Ghost humoring him in characteristic silence. When the latter sees you, though, he makes a beeline. You let out a surprised but pleased noise as you’re scooped up, mask wedging into the space beneath your jaw to press against your neck.

“Welcome back, sir,” you manage, squeezing his shoulders.

He grunts in reply. You shoot Gaz a questioning look.

“It was slow going,” he explains, “And the guys on the transport back were, uh, chatty.”

Ah. Set on your feet again, his gloved hands rise to squish your face like usual.

“Do the thing,” he gruffs.

You wrinkle your nose. Partially out of embarrassment, and partially because he’ll see the piercing if you’re not careful.

“That captain is—”

“That’s an order, sergeant.”

You sigh. Then poke your tongue out as he smooshes your face further. He exhales like the first hit of nicotine for the day. You keep the jewelry hidden behind your teeth and are released a few seconds later.

“That’s the stuff,” he says.

“Christ, LT, don’t say it like that,” you complain.

Unsurprisingly, he ignores you, turning to Price.

“Debrief now?”

“If you and Gaz don’t need medical.”

They both shake their heads, and you make no secret that you’re pleased by this news.

As you head into the building, you find Ghost’s finger hooked into your belt loop, tugging you along to Price’s office. You don’t mention it, only arch an eyebrow when you catch his eye.

At the door, Price pauses, giving Ghost a long, exasperated look.

“You know she’s not actually a service animal, son?”

“The intel isn’t confidential.”

Price sighs, drags a hand down his face. “Suppose not. Get the fuck in, then, Squeaks.”

You get the fuck in.

As usual, Ghost stands, and you’re obliged to stand with him. In front of him, actually, his chin settling on top of your head while his hands settle on your shoulders, squeezing and kneading at the muscle. You tune out most of the conversation, only here for Ghost’s sake, apparently.

Not that you mind. There’s a large, loud part of you that is glowing with the knowledge that he missed you so much.

When it’s over, he doesn’t even bother to stop at the mess hall. He picks you straight up and strides off to his quarters. You complain that he needs to eat, or at least drink water, but he doesn’t even deign your fussing with a response.

He closes and locks the door when you’re both inside, then tosses you on the bed. It smells overwhelmingly of him: metal, gunpowder, standard issue detergent, and something spicy. It’s a scent you’ve become intimately familiar with – could get addicted to, if you let yourself.

You settle in amongst the crisp sheets and thin pillows, Ghost sheds his tac gear like a second skin. When he’s down to his undershirt and boxers, barefoot on the cold ground, you open your arms.

He climbs over you as you giggle, then unapologetically drops all his weight. You make your usual little oof sound, suspecting that he likes it, and tilt your head so he can press his face (without the skull mask) into your shoulder.

“So how was it actually?” you ask.

“Gaz was antsy the whole time. Said he sensed you and Soap up to something without him.”

You snort, relieved that he can’t see the damning expression on your face right now.

 “There isn’t anything to get up to when he’s not here causing it,” you lie.

“Don’t put anything past Soap, the crafty cunt.”

You grin, patting your hands lightly over his shoulder blades. “Nice alliteration.”

He hums, slowly going boneless beneath your rhythmless tapping.

“Mask,” he mutters.

It takes you a second to realize what he wants.

“You’re asking me to pull it up so you can bite me?” you scoff.

“Telling, not asking,” he grumbles.

“Oh for the love of…”

You do it anyway. It’s not long before you feel his teeth, always sharper than you expect, latch onto the base of your neck. You tilt your chin back to give him comfortable access, staring up at the ceiling. How often does he sit here after nightmares, staring at it? Does he do it even when you sleepover, clinging onto him like a koala?

You lay like that for a while, fingers finding the fine blond hair peeking out from his rolled balaclava and scritching. One of his hands wedges beneath himself to find your hip, squeezing you tight enough that his nails scrape across your pants.

“So what did you two get up to?” he asks, detaching eventually.

Your neck is aching pleasantly, mind drifting in peace, and you don’t realize what he’s asking at first.

“What?” you ask.

You try to suppress a shiver as his tongue drags over the saliva he left on your neck. This is a normal part of the process, but that doesn’t mean you’re immune to the pleasure it sends down your spine.

“You and Soap,” he clarifies. “What did you do?”

“It was mostly Soap,” you deflect, forgoing any attempt at innocence.

He snorts. “My problem?”

You consider, humming. “Probably not.”

“Probably?”

You shrug. “Don’t leave me unattended if you don’t want paperwork.”

He nips sharply at the hinge of your jaw. “Didn’t want to. Price said you don’t have enough experience if things went to shit.”

You don’t know how to feel that Ghost would have preferred you on a mission with him. Even over Soap? You know he’s fond of you, but you didn’t realize it was enough to have you partnered with him on missions. It makes your chest warm and fluttery. The bastard.

“He’s right,” you say instead of something unforgivably sentimental.

“Imagine he’ll overlook that when he finds out about your body candy.”

You squeak, eyes closing in regret. Well, it was a nice life while it lasted.

“That fast?” you ask.

“Saw it as soon as you opened that pretty mouth,” he answers.

“It’s clear!”

“Thought I wouldn’t see a piece of plastic in your mouth, sergeant?”

You sigh, barely even noticing the bite he leaves on your collarbone. When he pushes his chest up to look at you, he’s half-lidded, almost lazy looking. But the corner of his mouth quirks up, just that slightest bit you’ve become hypervigilant of. Your hands slide from his shoulders and curl into the front of his shirt.

“How much trouble am I in?” you venture.

“A world of it,” he replies, voice pitching low and rough in a way that’s just not fair.

“Soap did worse,” you complain, not above throwing him under the bus. This is his fault anyway.

“Don’t care what Soap did. Care that you tried to hide it from me.”

He catches your chin between thumb and forefinger, gives it a little shake like a reprimand.

“Wasn’t hiding it,” you argue. “At least not from you. Would have told you by the end of the week if you hadn’t noticed.”

And you really would have. If Price hadn’t been present on the tarmac, you had half a mind to show it off immediately, excited to be breaking the rules.

Ghost hums, eyes roving your face – apparently to determine the truth of your confession.

“Doesn’t mean you’re off the hook,” he warns.

But you know that tone of voice by now. You’re not off the hook yet.

“…Want me to take it out?” you try.

His eyes go from dark to pitch black. “No.”

Oh?

Oh.

“Want… to see it?”

He hums. Not quite confirmation, but close enough. You don’t even think before dropping your jaw, tongue rolling out over your bottom lip. He let out a short, hard breath. You see his jaw twitch.

Then he shifts.

His thumb lands on your tongue, much farther back than you expect but you don’t flinch. He draws a line down the center to the flat top of your piercing and then presses down. You make a protesting noise, a warning because it’s still new and still sore. He doesn’t let up but doesn’t push any harder.

“Squeaks.”

You flutter your eyes open (when did they close?) and meet his eyes. They nearly absorb all the light in the room, twin blackholes drawing you in, inescapable and immutable. There’s a hunger lurking within, one you realize with a jolt you’ve been seeing for a long time now.

Whatever he sees on your face, it makes him run his tongue along his own teeth – pearly white and perfectly straight. Then he ducks down and licks over your piercing, first in neat sweeps, and then in tight little circles around its circumference.

Trapped beneath him and mouth open, you can’t swallow back the whine that peels from your throat. You’d be embarrassed about it; except the noise you make when he stops is so much worse.

“Taste good,” he rumbles.

“This another stress thing?” you ask, dizzy and flushed.

He smirks, chuckles deep in his chest. “If it is, will you let me do it whenever I want?”

You nod, thoughts blurring at the edges. His smirk widens, but he obliges when you tug at his shirt, wanting him close, wanting him to do it again.

It takes a long time for it to evolve into an actual kiss. He spends what feels like a small eternity flicking his tongue over your piercing, around it. It’s an unusual sensation, not quite ticklish, but decadent and erotic. At some point, quiet little noises start spilling from your throat and don’t stop. He doesn’t seem to mind, pressing down when the pitch goes higher – or maybe you pitch higher because he’s closer?

Eventually your jaw tires from hanging open, tongue aching at the stretch. You retract back into your own mouth, but Ghost chases after. It’s like he forgot about actual kissing until that moment. And then he has something new to amuse himself with. His tongue explores your lips, the roof of your mouth, the back of your throat. He drags his sharp teeth over your bottom lip, growls when you return the favor in retaliation for the sting.

“That’s my girl,” he rasps, “my medic.”

You hum, reciprocate the thorough exploration he just gave you. He tastes a little metallic, but mostly he tastes like Ghost, like Simon, and it’s addicting.

“Think it’s a stress thing for me too,” you murmur when you pull away for air.

“Yeah?” He trails his mouth down your jaw, teeth scraping. “Anxious while I was gone?”

You nod. You always worry about the boys when they’re away, when you’re not there for a worst-case scenario. But you thought about your lieutenant especially, wondering at his mood, at his feelings, without your usual daily interactions. His absence left you feeling twitchy, a little unmoored. You wonder – hope – if he felt the same.

“Take what you need, then,” he whispers. “Don’t mind returning the favor.”

You sink your nails into his shoulders, rake them down his back and sides, treating him like a scratching post. He shivers, puffs out a hot breath by your ear. Your mouth finds that strong, sharp jaw and latches on, sucking and biting, worrying the skin until you pull away to a dark bruise.

“Go on,” he urges.

You do, making a trail down his neck, then across. Tug at his shirt when it gets in the way. He leans back to pull it over his head. You nearly tackle him, mapping out the swell of hard muscles, licking over the angry lines you clawed into him.

“Easy now, precious,” he purrs. “No rush.”

You make a disagreeing noise, lips never leaving his skin. One hand tangles in your hair, petting and holding, not guiding. His other drifts down to your ass and grips like a vice. It hurts a little; it feels so fucking good. There will be bruises for days.

When your nails scratch across his hip, he bucks, fingers spasming against your scalp.

“Careful,” he growls. “Asking for something you might not be ready for.”

You hum. “Maybe,” you agree honestly. “I’ve never…”

He goes rigid. Worried, you glance up. His bare chest (marked up by your hands and mouth) is heaving. His jaw is slack, lips wet. You can’t distinguish between pupil and iris anymore.

“You swear?” he asks, rough. “You’ve never fucked anyone before?”

“No,” you say, not embarrassed, not with him. “Got close, but never managed it. Things always got in the way. Used to be a joke with my friends, that I was cursed.”

A fire alarm, an oblivious roommate, police knocking on the door, the roof falling in, once.

“You have experience,” he asserts.

“Definitely.” You quirk a wicked smile his way. “Plenty of practice with my mouth…”

He shudders, tilting your head to a vulnerable angle, neck exposed.

“And my hands,” you add, gasping.

“You keep pushing, pet…” he rumbles.

You whine. “Want to, with you. Want it to be you, Simon.”

His lips crash into yours, messy and filthy, licking all the needy sounds from your mouth.

“Strip, sergeant. Now.”

You scramble to obey, wiggling out of your clothes as quickly as you can while still half under him.

“Always so good for me,” he hums. “Always follow my orders, my good little sergeant.”

“Yours,” you breathe against his mouth.

The last scrap of clothing is barely off when he pounces, hand flattening on your stomach and pressing you down into the mattress. It nearly knocks the wind out of you, the force of it, pinning you. His eyes hungrily lock on your chest, on the smooth and unmarked skin of your breasts.

If you wanted to protest, you don’t get the chance to. He descends on you like a starving man, all teeth and tongue, practically mauling you. You squirm, not sure where you want to go, just that it’s a lot of sensation all at once. He captures a perked nipple between his lips and sucks until you keen, knee bumping his flank like you want to kick him off.

He slots his hips between yours, presses up tight to trap you further. His free hand grasps at your other breast. Kneading roughly, then twisting and plucking at the rosy nipple until you’re crying out, nearly thrashing. When he’s satisfied, he switches his hand and mouth, spinning you up and up until your breasts are aching and the best kind of sore. He finally pulls off with a lewd pop, mouth slick, rosettes left all over you in his wake.

“Trying to kill me,” you pant.

He smirks, drops one last soothing kiss on your sternum. Then extricates himself to remove the last of his own clothing. His dick springs free from his waistband, slapping obscenely against his stomach. You freeze when the dim light glints off bits of metal.

“Is that…?”

“Come find out.”

You scoot to the edge of the bed and brush your fingertips over the hypnotizing ladder of studs along the shaft. Which, now that you’re closer and your hand is there for scale, is huge. Like, almost pornographic. You didn’t know that existed outside of raunchy media. That’s been under you, snuggled up to you, beneath your ass – for months now.

“Oh my god, Simon,” you gulp. “Is that going to…?”

“It will if you can be patient for me.”

“Okay,” you say, eyes never leaving the glittering silver row. You trust him. As rough as he can be, he’s never hurt you. Not in any way you didn’t crave.

His hand catches your chin again, tips your gaze back to his. “Another time, lovely. Give your tongue a break.”

You whine but sit back on your haunches, hands planted between your knees. “Then hurry up.”

His thumb caresses your jaw, presses in warning. “Patient, I said.”

“I’ve been patient,” you argue. “Gimme.”

That coaxes a chuckle out of him. He plants a hand on your shoulder and shoves. You land on your back again, stretch your legs to hang over the side of the bed. He lowers to his knees between them, thick thighs flexing. His hands slide under your hips and drag until your thighs are over his shoulders.

“Fuck,” you breathe, “Simon.”

“That’s it, lovely,” he coos, teeth grazing your hip. “Just lay there saying my name. Let me play with my toy.”

You’re so wet that you can feel it all over your inner thighs, would be embarrassed if not for the absolutely feral noise he makes at the sight.

“Made a mess.” He draws his tongue up your thigh, sucks at the junction where it meets your hip, loud in the quiet room. “You always like this for me?”

“Mhmm,” you whimper out, squeezing your eyes shut. It’s true. You can’t count the number of times you’ve gone back to your room just to change panties.

“That’s my girl.”

He spends an agonizing amount of time licking, biting, and sucking your thighs. Your pleading and whining is met with indifference or absent chuckles. The need has long since tipped over into desperation, muscles twitching with little sparks of pleasure at every graze of teeth and sharp suck.

You’re already both understimulated and overstimulated when he clamps down especially hard, think he’s broken skin for a moment. Frustrated tears have been dancing at the edges of your vision for a while now and they spill over at the blissful burn that shoots through your leg.

“Simon, Simon, please,” you sob, “please, want it. Please, just—”

He shushes you, soothing the hurt with his tongue until your babbling trails off into little sniffles.

“How copy?” he hushes.

“S-Solid,” you answer. “Just a lot.”

“Tactical retreat?”

“No.” You take a shuddering breath. “No, please. Want to keep going, sir.”

His breath is also unsteady as it brushes over your sensitive skin. “Alright, precious. Tap out if you need.”

You snake a hand down the bed and find his wrist, digging your nails in as you squeeze. A promise to honor his command.

He groans low in his throat, eyes smoldering as he looks up your heaving body.

“Pretty when you cry,” he rasps. “Will you do it more if I play with your needy clit?”

“N-no,” you lie.

He calls your bluff, pressing his mouth to your pussy and making a long, slow pass up your slit. You shake and whimper high-pitched, almost hurt sounding. He swirls the tip over your throbbing clit, sucks gently every few passes. You press your eyes shut, too gone to try to stop the reactionary tears any other way.

It’s a quirk of sex you’ve always had. Not prone to crying emotionally or from pain, but when the arousal or pleasure gets too intense, your eyes water like rivers. Some partners have found it off-putting, but the louder you wail and hiccup and cry, the more eager Simon gets. Like he’s got a direct line to heaven’s choir with his tongue.

You’re gripping his wrist so tight that you must be close to drawing blood, but he doesn’t do more than flex his fingers on your ass. Keeps you right there against his mouth, so that all you can do is take exactly what he gives you.

He seals his lips over your clit again, rubbing his tongue against the swollen bundle of nerves as he sucks. It gets you to the edge so fast that you’re seeing stars, nearly kicking him.

“Close,” you pant.

He eases up just that little bit to keep you from tipping into orgasm. You’re devastated. Afresh wave of tears drip down your temples to the sound of pathetic, helpless moans. Blessedly, he doesn’t stop. Just keeps you right there as he slides a hand from your ass to your cunt.

Just one of his fingers is thicker than any of yours; sliding two into your dripping hole almost hurdles you into ecstasy. He pulls his mouth away as you clench around them, trickling down his wrist.

“So tight. Didn’t you ever get off to the thought of me?”

“All the f-fucking time,” you admit.

“Yeah?”

You nod, tongue laving over your bottom lip. “My hands just… yours are bigger.”

He chuckles. “No cute little toys to help you out?”

“Like to imagine it’s you,” you ramble, shame long gone. “Easier without a vibe.”

“Fuck.”

He dives down to your clit again, tongue almost cruel as it tortures you with quick, rough strokes. You might scream; you don’t care if you do. His fingers curl to pet your walls, find that spot as if he had his sniper scope on it. You thrash as he strokes you, steady and unrelenting. He sucks one last time and you’re gone, coming so hard that your fingertips go numb.

You’re definitely screaming now; his name, specifically. He growls against your pussy, the vibration only prolonging that pleasure, writhing on his hand. You swallow air like you’re suffocating, Simon filling every part of you, drenching your senses. He’s all you know right now, your heart beating to his name.

And he doesn’t stop.

“S-Simon, what are – t-too much. It’s too much, it’s too—” His pins your hips down as he fits a third finger inside you, finger-fucking you so hard that the slick sounds almost drown out your sobs. You’re overstimulated, riding the edge of pain in your pleasure, lower back tight and hot.

But you don’t tap out, just fist the sheets hard enough to pop the seams.

Simon is single-minded, insistent, demanding. It’s a quality you’ve always admired in the field, and right now it’s pulling you apart piece by shivering piece.

“Simon, I-I’m gonna – I can’t…” You shake your head, crying freely and loudly, whimpering as much as you’re moaning.

He presses one of your thighs towards your chest, fingertips digging harsh into muscle. The shift gives him better access to that thrumming knot of nerves inside you. He presses against it hard and incessant as his tongue flicks repeatedly over your abused clit. Your second orgasm drowns you in waves, hips rolling, not sure if you want to get away or get more.

Simon strokes you through it until you subside into pathetic, shuddering noises, pushing weakly at him, pleading for mercy. When he pulls away, slick is dripping down his chin to his neck. The bottom edge of his balaclava is dark where it’s bunched over his nose. He surges up to kiss you, letting you taste yourself on his tongue.

You stay that way for a while, letting him coax your breathing into something like normal again. A task made more difficult whenever his fingers tease your tender nipples, preoccupied with how your lungs hitch and your body jolts.

Eventually, your mouth strays to clean him up, licking yourself from his jaw and chin, messy but earnest. He captures your mouth again when you’re done, sucking your tongue like he wants to get every last drop. You shake at the thought, almost horrified to realize you’re still ridiculously horny.

He must see something in your face because he smirks a little. “Playtime’s not over, don’t worry.”

His fingertips trace over your pussy, not dipping in far, but the threat of it triggers a new batch of whimpers and tears. He cocks his head at the sight, almost curious, then leans down and follows their paths with his tongue.

A hum, low and pleased, thunders in the heady sliver of air between you. Against your hip, you feel his cock twitch, hot enough to brand.

“Taste good everywhere,” he muses, tongue still lapping at your tears.

“God, Simon,” you keen, squeezing your glassy eyes shut.

“Want you to do it again,” he murmurs. “Cry for me so I can taste how good I make you feel.”

You moan, pussy clenching, feeling horribly empty. The teeth in your neck are an almost welcome reprieve from the overwhelming pleasure, grounding as they bruise delicate skin.

“Want to see you crying on my cock, lovely. Will you do that for me?”

You nod, reaching for him. Curl your arms around his shoulders, wrap your legs around his waist. He shushes you again, cooing when you hide your wet face against his neck. He supports your unsteady body with unfaltering strength; lets you cling as he rearranges you in his lap.

You can feel his cock beneath you, rock hard, the Jacob’s ladder teasing against your pussy. It distracts you a bit, foggy mind obsessing over how it’ll feel inside you, especially now that you’ve come twice.

His hand pats your ass. “Eyes up, doll.”

You emerge from your hiding spot only to stare, wide-eyed and awed, at his bare face. There are scars everywhere, just like the rest of his body, of varying color and size and healing histories. One on his temple, just clipping his cheek, catches your attention. It’s one of the better-healed scars.

You press a gentle kiss, flick your tongue along it. His hands spasm on your hips, but don’t tug you away.

“Handsome,” you sigh, then nip the same spot you just kissed.

You can feel his smile, a small but precious thing, against your cheek. “Can’t even fucking see straight right now.”

“Not that far gone,” you scoff, scritching your nails along his stubbled jaw. You could purr at the way he leans into it.

“Have to fix that, then.”

You prop yourself up with your other hand on his chest. His heart is beating beneath your palm, a little fast, but steady and strong. You adore it instantly.

You make eye contact, the hand on his face drifting to his cheek. Then you stretch to get the other… and squish. Just like he’s done to you countless times.

“Yes,” you agree.

That finally coaxes a proper chuckle out of him, bass deep and a little rough with disuse, but music to your ears. You let his cheeks go, nipping the little red marks your grip leaves behind.

“C’mon, Si,” you whisper. “Want your dick in me.”

And finally, it seems he’s run out of interest in teasing.

You lean your shoulders against him, letting him take most of your weight between his chest and the arm angling your hips. His other hand steadies his cock, drags the flushed, leaking head against your sopping entrance.

He lowers you slowly, encouraging you to dig your nails into his shoulders, draw them down his arms. Even stretched and two orgasms in, he’s big. It’s testing your limits, not quite pain, stinging in a way that makes your mouth water.

And your eyes.

The tears are back and streaming down your hot cheeks. When Simon notices, you feel his cock throb. You choke on a noise, mouth falling slack as he licks at them like a thirsting man in the desert.

“Didn’t take long,” he teases, a little mean. You love it.

“S-sensitive,” you whine, pressing your forehead to his.

“I know, pet,” he croons. “The head’s almost in.”

Just the head. Christ.

The pleasure keeps racking you and so do quiet little cries, your walls clutching every raw centimeter of his cock like he was built just for you. (Or the other way around, a depraved part of you whispers.)

He’s steady and patient as he fills you, keeping your mouth busy with claiming kisses when he’s not drinking up your tears. At the first rung of the Jacob’s ladder, you squeak and have to be held down, gone on how it stretches your poor entrance and grinds against your abused walls.

Each one after that garners a similar reaction, driving you insane as they press against you.

“Can feel your fucking heartbeat,” he groans at one point.

You moan, raking your fingers through his sweat-damp hair. The blond strands are dark and messy, getting messier as you play with them. He grunts and his eyelids flutter every time you tug.

By the time he’s fully inside you, your ass resting on his tense thighs, you’re panting and trembling. He sweeps a hand up your arched spine and curls his fingers around the back of your neck. You lean into his hold, go lax as he guides you through a decadent, devouring kiss.

“There we are, lovely,” he soothes while you whimper. “Hurt?”

“A little…” you gasp, clenching helplessly around the base of him.

“Good,” he growls, teeth on your shoulder.

You moan, falling limp in his arms. He rumbles a pleased hum, squeezing at your hips and ass and thighs in that way you recognize.

“Stressed?” you ask, confused.

He snorts. “I don’t need a reason to play with what’s mine.”

You suck in a breath, the casual (and true) claim making your head spin.

“Relax, pet,” he murmurs. “Just get used to me inside you.”

You mewl, high and soft in your throat. He tilts his head to speak in your ear.

“Your pussy is going to remember the shape of me by the end of this.”

And your lieutenant doesn’t make idle threats.

He guides your head down to his shoulder, his other arm wrapping around your waist. The lewdest hug you’ve ever received. If not for the fat cock stretching you, it would be calming.

“Good girl, that’s it,” he hums, drawing idle patterns along your spine. “Just drift. It’ll be a bit before you can handle a proper fucking.”

He’s so deep and big inside you that you believe it, but a nagging part reminds you of the uneven score.

“What about you?”

He presses an unusually gentle kiss to your temple, though it’s balanced by the tight squeeze to the back of your neck.

“Don’t you worry about me, precious,” he chuckles. “You’ll keep me nice and warm until you’re ready.”

You swallow thickly, can’t help how you flutter around him. It’s a delicious thought, just sitting here with him filling you up for an indefinite period of time, until he decides you can handle how he’s going to fuck you.

“Like that do you?” he muses, too dark to be truly amused. “Like being my personal cocksleeve?”

“’M not,” you mumble, feeling a new sting of tears.

He tuts. “You’re my toy every other way. No point pretending now.”

You whimper into his neck, bite in retaliation but don’t deny it. Well past the point of anything like plausible deniability.

“No more fussing, pet. Be good for me now.”

And you are, settling in with your mouth brushing absent kisses to his marked collarbones. His hands never stop stroking your skin, lulling you into empty-headed bliss. The full feeling of his cock never dissipates, but you become less aware of it, internal muscles accommodating the stretch. You don’t even realize you’ve slipped into a doze, breaths going deep and even, safely cradled in your lieutenant’s arms.

When you wake, watery early-morning light is leaking past the blackout curtains. One of your hips is stiff from sleeping bunched up, but that’s not what calls your immediate attention. No, it’s the absolute puddle that Simon is coaxing from your stuffed hole with his thumb on your clit. He’s hard inside of you again – or maybe he never got soft in the first place.

“Mornin’,” he rasps when he sees you peeking your head up. Calm as you please. Like his cockhead isn’t kissing your cervix right now.

“You bastard,” you wheeze, sinking a mean bite into his shoulder.

“Grumpy thing,” he teases. “Forgot how sulky you are before coffee.”

You grumble incomprehensibly for a moment. Can’t believe he put you to sleep on his cock. More than a little miffed that you didn’t receive the proper fucking you earned yesterday. That you’ve woken up raring to go already, want his cum in your stomach more than breakfast.

“You actually plan on doing anything?” you demand. “Or we going to the mess like this? Risky to have hot tea that close to your balls.”

His laugh is like honey, rich and syrupy. Liquid sunshine when you kiss it from his mouth.

“Remember who’s in charge here, pet,” he warns.

You tilt your head in question, arching an eyebrow.

“You,” he continues, surprising you. Then he keeps talking. “So if you keep acting like a brat, I’ll have to treat you like one.”

You shiver. It should be illegal to be so salacious this early in the morning. To your delight, he allows you to wiggle a little, testing the feeling of his cock inside you. It’s absolutely divine.

“Or, counterpoint,” you say, daring to be cheeky when he’s looking at you like that. Like he’d burn the world just to keep you warm for a night. “I was very good yesterday and deserve a reward.”

“That so, sergeant?” he asks.

“Mhmm,” you chirp. Duck down to bribe him with kisses and nips along his jaw and neck, stubble prickling your bruised tongue. “I’ll even ask nicely.”

He groans, low and rough in his chest. “Yeah?”

You yelp as he tangles his fingers in the hair at the base of your neck, dragging your head back. His teeth scrape over the stuttering pulse in your throat, where there’s a sensitive spot that makes you squirm. His other hand sneaks to your breasts, tweaking a nipple still sore from his treatment the night before.

“Show me how nice you can ask then.”

And, well, not backing down from a challenge is what got you here in the first place.

You straighten up as best you can – have to take a moment when his cock grinds just right inside you – and arch your back. Your nails score lines down his chest, just this side of rough, knowing it’ll work better than any soft petting. Paired with nibbling kisses to the spot beneath his ear, you can already feel the rumble building in his chest.

“Simon, please,” you breathe, “I need you. Need it to be you.”

“Need what, lovely?” he husks.

“Need it to be you that fucks me.” You dare to rock your hips, pleased and distracted that he lets you. His fingers spread your ass wider over his lap. “Need you to break me in. Please?”

Sniper he may be, but his patience must already be gossamer thin from holding back last night and crammed inside your pussy until morning. He snaps at your crooning pleas, rolling you onto your back and grinding into you as deep as he can get.

There have been times in the field that you’ve stared as Simon operates his rifle. It’s his piece, modified and maintained in pristine condition. You’ve watched his clever fingers put it together, dismantle it, clean it, handle it with a deadly competence and precision that you envied. Not him, but the rifle. Probably something wrong with you, that you want to be an instrument, a tool, in your lieutenant’s capable hands, built up and broken apart at his whim.

Now, though… now you know. You’ve got confirmation that it’s everything you imagined and better, his scarred hands on you like he owns you, like you’re his to figure out. You want to be, you are, and you babble as much when he draws his hips back and snaps them forward.

There’s nothing testing or careful about it. Simon knows you’re not fragile, spent all night making sure you could take him exactly the way he wants you. You’ve never wanted him to hold back, don’t want him to now. Crave the way his control seems to slip when it’s you, your body, your voice egging him on.

He rolls his hips every time he bottoms out; his piercings grind deliciously against your twitching entrance with every thrust. You bury your fingers in his hair, tug when he pulls out as if he’s going to leave you empty and wanting. He grunts against your neck, teeth ravenous over skin that already bears their imprint.

It feels like freefall with no parachute, like getting caught in a perfect white-hot explosion. The force of him makes the bed creak, would shove you up the mattress if not for the tight grip on your thighs. His arm loops under the small of your back and angles your hips up.

“Mine,” he growls into your shoulder. “All fucking mine. My sergeant. My medic. My pretty toy.”

You can’t string together more than broken syllables, little noises forced out every time he drives home. He’s not looking for a verbal response though; your body is already singing its agreement, clamping down on his cock like you can’t stand any millimeter not inside you. You’re rocking with him as best you can, knee hitched up by his ribs, pulling him closer, closer, closer.

“I’m right here, doll. Not going anywhere,” he murmurs. Then, almost to himself. “No, not letting you out of my sight ever fucking again. Going to keep you right by my side, within reach.”

You cry out, ridiculously turned on by promises he can’t possibly keep. It’s not the nature of the job, but the fact that that’s what he wants…

“Go fucking crazy when I can’t see you,” he pants, “touch you. Was goin’ fuckin’ batshit all week. Gaz wouldn’t shut the fuck up. Just wanted to get my hands on you. My teeth in you.”

There’s an earnest, desperate edge to his words. Sounds like a sinner praying for salvation, like he’s begging some cruel god for relief. Or, more likely for your lieutenant, threatening to take that god’s place.

You’d worship Simon if he did. Practically do already. Would spread yourself out on his altar and let him devour you mind, body, and soul just to appease his appetite.

“Simon, please,” you cry, head tilting back, bearing your throat. “I’m yours. Your medic, your sergeant, your toy.”

“Fuck,” he hisses. “That’s right, love. All mine.”

He pushes himself up, pressing his hand to the wall over your head. It’s gorgeous, the play of muscle and sinew in his arm. A fucking masterpiece of a man, beautiful and dangerous and right now, all fucking yours too.

The new leverage lets him slam into you faster and harder, frantic now. You have to brace your arms above your head to keep from knocking into the wall, pushing back to meet him thrust for brutal thrust. Could swear you feel him in your guts.

“C’mon, love, let me see those pretty tears.”

His hand slides over your thigh to your clit, thumb rubbing vicious little circles over the nerves. It gives him what he wants instantly, you’re near screaming as you cry. It’s rough and ruthless and has you so close to the edge that you’re almost jolting away.

“Lemme cum,” you beg, “Please, please, Simon, want to cum on your cock. So close…”

His grin is more just a bearing of teeth, eyes glittering in the shadows above you. “Cum for me, precious.”

It doesn’t take much more than that, always eager to please your lieutenant. His hips and finger sync up at just the right moment, just the right way, and you’re gushing over his cock, voice breaking. Your nails scrape the wall as you curl our hands into fists, bucking as he fucks you through it.

You’re not surprised when he doesn’t even slow down, though you reach to push his hand off your screaming clit. His hand darts from the wall to capture your wrists, pinning them over your head. The punishing rhythm of his hips doesn’t even falter, bullying that spot inside you relentlessly.

“I didn’t say you could fucking stop,” he snarls.

You whine and struggle, but that just makes you tighter, makes him rougher, makes it better. You’re not even sure if the cresting sensation is pleasure anymore, if it’s another orgasm or your body reaching max capacity. It’s just whiteout intense and you can do nothing but lay there writhing.

“Gonna cum in you,” he moans, head dropping. “Gonna leave my mark inside you too.”

You contract around him helplessly, his thrusts getting messier, plunging into you at a dizzying speed. Not even sure if you’re making noise anymore, or just sucking in air when you can get it. His fingers flex around your wrists, tight and unforgiving.

And then there's a burst of heat as he moans, sounding gutting. He fucks you through his own orgasm before finally slowing, and then stopping buried deep inside you. His thumb eases off your abused clit, hand landing on the bed beside your hip. Your leg flops down to the mattress, stretched out and still twitchy.

“How copy, sergeant?” he rasps.

“Solid, LT,” you wheeze. “You?”

“Fucking fantastic.”

That startles a little giggle out of you, grinning up at him fucked-out and high on afterglow. His returning smile, small and disused as it is, is better than all the orgasms you’ve had in the last twelve hours.

“Gonna pull out now,” he warns. “Brace.”

Even prepared, you still yelp, beyond sensitive and cored without him inside you. The feeling is only exacerbated by the warm cum you can feel dripping down your ass from your used hole.

“Look at that…” he drawls appreciatively, tilting his head for a good look. “There any part of you that ain’t pretty?”

You groan and cover your overheated face, knock your shin into his hip. But you leave your legs open.

“Shut up, Simon.”

“Insubordinate.”

“Fraternizer.”

“Mm. Gonna report me to Price?”

“Only if you report me.”

“Mutually assured destruction then.”

Your mouth is still hidden under your hands, but you know he can see your body shaking with suppressed laughter.

“Or you could help me clean up, take a nap, and we’ll negotiate terms for a ceasefire.”

He chuckles. “Should have you on a diplomatic envoy, Squeaks. Have the rest of us out of a job. No wars, no soldiers.”

You shake your head, dropping your arms to card through his hair. He lowers himself onto you – not his usual full-force flop, but still by no means delicate about it. You like the weight of him on your tingling body. Feels like he’s keeping you from floating away.

“Only way they’re getting me on protection detail for politicians is if you’re there with me.”

He grimaces. It’s stupidly charming how it makes a scar on his nose scrunch up. “The point is to stop incidents, not start them.”

“Shame, then,” you hum. “Guess we’re stuck here then.”

“Guess so.”

He pats your thigh, then pushes himself up. You protest immediately, but he shushes you with a wry smirk.

“Part of the terms, wasn’t it? To clean you up?”

You grumble but subside, thankful that officer quarters come with an ensuite. It doesn’t take him long to return with a damp cloth and a cup of water. He sets the latter on the side table and kneels between your thighs, wiping you down as gently as he’s ever been.

When he’s done, you make grabby hands until he scoffs and climbs in with you again.

“Nap?” you ask hopefully.

“Yeah. Got you up early. Still an hour ‘til breakfast.”

Not for the first (or likely last) time, you are grateful for Simon’s brilliant tactics.

“You’re my hero.”

He snorts, but when you peek up at him, there’s a fetching pink tint to his cheeks. “Go the fuck to sleep, Squeaks.”

“Yessir.”

[k2ntoss]

doing a part of the request my fave jason simp, 🦊 anon, made some time ago AND THAT I FEEL BAD FOR REPLYING UNTIL NOW

so writer's block who? i just needed a sex and the city episode to pull out this so here we fucking GO

it's been quite a while since sleeping on jason's place is a regular thing, not only sleeping but spending time there on his free time watching him cook or just sit together to read a book. it's by far the best feeling ever because even if he isn't fucking you into oblivion during the night being by his side feels just right.

despite everything being so perfect and nice there are some boundaries he isn't letting you cross yet and the reason? explained properly and understood by you, he was trying to make sure you'd be safe without anyone finding a way to get to you and hurt you wanting to hurt him with it. that meant not leaving personal stuff on his place, it was risky to let you spend so much time around but he couldn't resist it, jason loved being able to have his arm wrapped around your shoulder as he read on the couch, leaning in every now and then to kiss your cheek.

the room was still dark, it was early when you had started to wake up from your slumber to squirm under jason's arm that was holding you tight against his chest as he nuzzled his face against your back, the feeling of you wanting to escape his grip makes him drag you more into his embrace and a soft grunt leaves his throat when he finds himself unable to bury his face into your hair "where are you going, ma?" he asks, still more asleep than anything as jason still has his eyes closed.

"i need to get ready, love" the reply reaches him and even with that information jason refuses to let go of off you, his arms now wrapped around your hips as you try to get out of his bed, dragging with you the sheets for a whole second before you almost fall from the bed "jay, i really, really need to leave the bed..."

"but it's still dark, you can't leave yet... i want to sleep a little more and i want you here with me" the smile that reply steals goes missing for him, poor guy is still almost fully asleep but he clings onto you for dear life even knowing you probably have something to do during the day before he's able to hold you again "just one more hour. then you're free to go, angel"

"i need that hour to get ready, jaybird" you chuckle, shifting a little under his arm as you try to push it away from you and when you finally escape the death grip jason has on your body the lazy walk to the bathroom is filled with the guilt of leaving him all alone to get ready for something that wouldn't be as nice and warm as your lover's embrace. picking up your clothes and stuff to get ready you rethink and the final choice is clear as water, that much you don't even realize when you started to lift the comfy sheet to push jason a bit "you win... i'll stay here"

the fact that jason isn't fully awake makes his pretty smile even prettier because he scoots a little with his arms ready to hold you again and once you lay back on his bed he leans in to kiss your lips and almost as if sleepiness was contagious you found yourself kissing him back and ready to drift back into your dreams where just like in the waking, you'd stay into jason's arms. hiding your face against his neck, arms wrapped around his torso and one leg drapped over his hips it's nice and warm to feel his big hand caressing your thigh softly as his lips kiss tenderly your neck making you smile widely.

there's a sweet sense of intimacy on his touch and even if the tiredness washes over both of you, jason's hands are now holding your hips to press you against his body and between soft and tender kisses, his hands and yours start to pull off the little amount of clothes you used to sleep. his practiced hands run sweetly over your skin, undoing the clasp of your bra and taking it off while your hands pull up his shirt, fingers gently caressing his scars as he kissed a trail across your jaw.

"you're just so pretty..." jason's gruffy voice makes you shiver and under the sheets his body is pressed flush against you, his hands holding your waist as he rolls his hips against yours as if testing waters and there's nothing that would make you leave his side. not now, not ever.

"i love you so much, red..." you mutter against his chin, letting out a breathless moan when he's able to push into you, his movement is anything but hard. he takes his sweet time to settle between your inner walls, letting out a soft groan accompanied by a content smile when you wrap your arms around his neck to snuggle against him.

"love you too, ma" he whispers against your temple, he has his eyes closed as he enjoys the warmth you provide and he knows that even in the dark place his life is you're everything he will ever need. with a soft sigh he starts moving, slow strokes as he holds onto your hips while muttering sweet nothings into your ear.

the whole room is filled with the tenderness of the moment, silent gasps and soft moans as he held you as if you could break if he got too rough. your lips peppering his jaw and cheeks in soft kisses as he rolls his hips into you making your breath hitch everytime he hits that sweet spot and the chill of the morning feels like something so strange because your morning is sweet and warm while jason is by your side.

time seems to go by slower, lips swollen from the kissing to drown the soft grunts and to delay everything a little more until you feel jason's slow strokes faltering before he spills himself inside you, drawing a soft moan from your lips as your own release washed over you making your body clench around his in a delicious grip. the room is now filled with nothing besides the soft pants of your breathing, his hands caressing soothingly your waist as you nuzzled your face against his neck.

"can't you stay here today? i don't feel like letting go of my pretty princess" jason asks quietly, his voice is still a bit gruffy and he looks sleepy despite what you just did. it's impossible to leave him like this, shiny eyes and messy hair, looking happy finally because he had his little world into his arms.

[dark-moonlust]

Getting Pounded by Nagas PART 3: Contractions

Pairing: Two nagas x human reader

Summary: You wake up feeling pains in your belly, getting ready for the egg birth. The doctor checks on you there is an issue… one that can be resolved only with your mates’ touch and seed.

Warnings: minors don't interact, 18+!!!!, monster smut, inaccurate pregnancy stuff (this is naga egg preg smut, let me have fun), naga smut, double 🍆🍆, double penetr, lots of come. Don’t like, don’t read please.

This is part of a series. Find all the parts here.

It was early in the morning when the contractions jolted you awake. The bedroom was still and dimly lit only the weak rays of the sun filtering through the curtains. You winced and disentangled yourself from between your mates, clutching your swollen belly and taking shallow breaths. The eggs shifted inside you, the pressure too much. Your groaned and the soft sound stirred your mates from their sleep. They woke with gasps of concern.

“What’s wrong, little one?” Ragnor asked, his fingers cradling your belly. You were 12 months along, so close to birth, your stomach round with the two eggs inside you.

“Contractions,” you breathed as another pain rolled through you.

At your words, both of your mates exchanged a look of worry. You were not supposed to have contractions. A Naga pregnancy didn’t have sudden contractions. It was completely different to a human pregnancy. The birth, too. It was the reason you’d arranged everything with the doctor and planned an induction of labor a week from now. But clearly, that plan would change.

“I can feel the eggs moving,” you muttered. “It’s starting to hurt.”

That’s was all you needed to say before your mates sprang into action.

Ragnor prepared everything you would need, packing you bags and a light meal. Meanwhile Thorne helped you take a shower and put on a soft, comfortable dress. In just twenty minutes, you found yourself lying at the padded chair in the Superhuman Maternity and Birthing Center. The room was bright and serene, the smell of disinfectant in the air. Your mates stood on each side of you, their tails wrapping around the chair.

Dr. Elise, a human woman in her fifties entered the private room, dressed in pristine white robes. She was a very kind and experienced doctor who monitored your superhuman pregnancy. Unlike you and your mates, Dr. Elise was calm upon hearing that you had contractions. She reminded you to keep taking deep breaths and trust in her ability to keep you safe.

“Good, very good,” the doctor said once you had calmed down a little. “Let’s take a look at you and the eggs. ”

The doctor used various advanced technological devises to scan your belly, take some blood samples and check the position of the eggs. You waited patiently as she analyzed your samples, winching only slightly when another contraction hit. Thorne and Ragnor stood at your sides, concealing their concern, each of them holding one of your hands tightly.

When Dr. Elise finally completed her calculations, she looked at you and your mates with a reassuring smile. “Everything appears perfect apart from the contractions. Naga pregnancies don’t cause traditional human contractions. That is because the eggs do not implant in the uterine wall like typical mammalian embryos. Instead, they remain free-floating within a specialized sac that develops to accommodate their growth. What you are experiencing now are false contractions.”

“Are my babies okay?” you asked her, tears pricking at your eyes.

Thorne kissed your sweaty forehead while Ragnor your lips. “We’re right here, love,” each of them murmured to you. “We won’t leave your side, relax for us.”

The doctor placed a strange cylindrical LED device over your vagina and ass, “I see that you’re not filled enough with your mates’ seed. It’s why you’re experiencing contractions and pain. We need to make sure you’re completely suffused in seed, and after that, it’s imminent that they be delivered. When was the last time you’ve had intimate relations with your mates?” The doctor asked you.

“Last night,” you answered in one breath.

“We fucked only once because she was sleepy,” Ragnor said, brows furrowing. “Wasn’t that enough?”

Dr. Elise shook her head. “Not in the least. The eggs consume the seed incredibly fast, especially at their current growth,” she explained. “You’ll need to fill your mate again, thoroughly and immediately.”

“Right now?” You asked, your voice pitching without meaning to.

“Yes,” Dr. Elise said. “I want you to be suffused with seed and after that I’ll induce the birth. We can’t risk waiting and risking both your health.”

“We’ll fill her. In both holes, just to be sure,” Ragnor said, his face completely serious.

Dr. Elise nodded. “Yes, and if you can give her seed through the mouth as well, that would be ideal.”

You flushed furiously as your mates and the doctor discussed the details, their faces dead-serious as if talking about filling your holes with seed was the most casual thing in the world.

Dr. Elise noticed your discomfort and smiled gently. “I want you to trust in me and my abilities to bring your babies to the world. Naga birth requires the assistance of the partners even more so in your case because you’re human.”

“Will it hurt as much as a human birth?” you asked, heart palpitating.

The doctor smiled. “No, it will be pleasurable and just mildly uncomfortable.”

You flushed at the word “pleasurable”. You’d discussed the birth plan a long time ago and you remembered the doctor telling you that your mates would need to make you climax during the birth for each egg to be delivered.

“Let me remind you how this will go,” Dr. Elise began, her voice calm. “Once you’re properly suffused with seed, I will give you a medicine that will induce the eggs to come out. Naga eggs have a tendency to like it in the womb and at some cases, they refuse to come out. The eggs will naturally leave your system, do not doubt that. I have specific instructions for that. Trust me, we will go through with it after you’ve been suffused with enough seed.”

“Thank you, doctor,” you said, your cheeks blushing a little.

“It’s my pleasure. Naga birth is completely different from that of a human so I want you to be as comfortable as possible and talk to me and your mates.”

“I understand,” you said. You trusted Dr. Elise and knew she was right. “Where can I and my mates… uhmm… do what we need to do?”

Dr. Elise stood up. “This room is reserved for your birth so you can stay here. I’ll step out to give you privacy and return roughly in two hours. Call me for whatever you need; I will be on standby.” The doctor headed to the door and glanced at your mates, “Remember, you need to fill her completely otherwise her health and the eggs will be at risk. I’ll come back to check, and if it’s not enough, you’ll have to keep going until the eggs have consumed enough seed.”

Once the doctor was out, you slumped back in the chair. “I can’t believe this. My health is dependent on your seed.”

“Lots of it”, Thorne added, looking smug.

“I’m going to be super cocky about that in the future,” Ragnor said, a smug grin on his face.

Two throaty chuckles made you look at your scaled mates. Horny bastards, they had already dragged off their shirts and their cocks had emerged from their protective slits, thick and massive, the cockheads glistening with arousal. You licked your lips and swallowed thickly. This was real. You were about to be fucked right there, in the examination room.

Ragnor wasted no time and slid up your dress, the only piece of clothing you wore. He left you completely naked on the chair, his hungry amber eyes devouring your form. Thorne was gazing at you just as intensely, both your nagas marveling at your swollen breasts, your round stomach and between your legs. You tried to close them, suddenly a little shy, but their tails wrapped around your ankles, keeping them spread wide for them.

“Will you trust us to fill your pretty little holes, little mate?” Thorne asked, his voice a whisper as he claimed your lips.

“Hnnn… fuck, yes,” you said, arching your back, offering yourself to them. The more they touched you, the more the contractions eased, pleasure taking over.

“Damn, what a pretty sight our mate is.”Ragnor lowered his head to your stomach, rubbed the swell, and spoke, "We’ll meet you soon, little ones. Stay safe and warm in there."

“Daddies will take care of mommy,” Thorne drawled, his mouth finding its way to one of your nipples, drawing it into his mouth. It leaked milk and with a groan he lapped it up.

Ragnor lavished attention on your other breast, his fingers teasing and rolling the tip that was beaded with milk. A whimper came tumbling from your lips then a drawn-out moan as they took turns worshipping your leaking breasts.

"Ahh— hnng... need your seed," you rasped, carding your fingers through their silky long hair.

"We need to prepare you mate,” Thorne said while kissing one lush rosy nipple and wetting the other with his tongue.

"I’m ready... ahh... I need your load."

Ragnor hummed. “Our mate is right. We need to fill her tight little holes. Hm?”

Thorne agreed, a smug grin playing on the lips.

Gently, you were lifted and placed onto Ragnor’s embrace. He carried you to the bed nearby and sat with you against his chest, your sensitive breasts leaking. His massive cock throbbed against your belly, slick with precum as you reached out and wrapped your hands around it. With sensual strokes, you pumped him up and down, the intimacy between you and your mates heightening.

You sensed Thorne presence behind you, his sinuous tail reaching for the bottle of lube in one of the drawers. You heard the slurp of lube then felt him take his place behind you, his cock wet against your back. With your free hand, you reached back to stroke his cock while his lubed fingers deftly parted your asscheeks, spread them wide, fingering your tight entrance and rubbing the swollen nub of your clit.

Thorne thrust a finger into your ass while stroking your clit with the other hand. Your thoughts turned into mush and you buckled your hips, the sensations electric. Another finger slid up your tight hole, the hand at your pussy moving with deliberate movements. You gasped and came with the most ridiculous moans, soaking wet and aching for more.

Sensing your need, your mates lifted you, their cocks poised beneath each quivering hole. Ragnor’s double cocks parted the folds of your pussy, his massive veined dicks thrusting upwards. Thorn’s shafts pressed insistently against the tight bud of your asshole. They guided you down until you were doubly impaled by their dicks.

Breath hitching, you squeezed your eyes shut.

You saw stars.

Pleasure and bliss.

They began their rhythmic thrusts and you whimpered, clutching onto their shoulders for dear life as they bounced you up and down on their naga dicks. Your body hummed with pleasure, the contractions barely catching your attention. Your nipples were hard and leaking, your holes clenching and unchecking around the invasions.

Your mates kissed your lips, your neck, your sensitive nipples. Their fingers roamed protectively over your belly, teasing and claiming you as you rode higher and higher. You rocked against them and rode them wildly, your juices leaking down your thighs and all over the cotton sheets.

Two more thrusts and you came crashing around their cocks, relief surging through you. Your naga mates groaned and followed the very next moment, their frames shaking violently as they spurted their seed inside you. The warmth filled you up, bringing immediate relief as the eggs seemed to settle within you.

“That’s it, such a good mate for us,” Ragnor murmured, kissing you softly. “How are you feeling, mama?”

“Better. Much better,” you said, your eyes and voice pleasure-hazed.

“It'll be okay," Thorne whispered into your ear. "Now we’re going to change positions and fill you up again, alright, love?”

You nodded, whining. You’d do anything to keep your eggs safe and you loved and needed your mates just as much.

“Let us take care of everything, love,” Ragnor said, kissing you softly once more.

A wet squelch echoed as the cocks exited your depths. Your mates held you in a way that kept most of their seed inside you, and quickly plugged you up. This time, Ragnor laid down, thrusting his dicks up your ass, while Thorne slid between your splayed legs, draped them over his green-scaled tail and filled your tight pussy. Their tails coiled around your breasts, squeezing them delightfully and making your nipples leak out milk. Thorne lapped it up greedily, while Ragnor reached down to play with your swollen clit.

“Haah, yessss, ahnnn, feels so good,” you moaned as you were worshiped and claimed in every way possible. “Hng-go…go…nna—”

You cried out at the dizzying explosion of yet another climax. Your toes, high in the air, curled tightly, and your hands clung frantically to Thorne, fingers digging into his bare back. Their movements grew frantic, desperate until they buried themselves to the hilt and exploded within you, pumping rope after rope of cum, groaning harshly in masculine satisfaction.

Their strong hands rubbed your belly possessively, feeling the gentle movements of the eggs inside you. They kissed you deeply, tongues intertwining, then rearranged your positions again. This time, you lay on your side between your mates. Thorne spooned you from behind, his tail wrapping around your knees and opening your legs. Growling, he thrusts his fat cocks into your pussy and ass. You were drenched, naga seed all over your mound and thighs.

“I say we fill her pretty mouth, too,” Thorne said, his voice thick with arousal. “I want to see her swallow your seed Ragnor, let it fill her stomach.”

Ragnor groaned and kneeled at your face, his cocks jutting proudly up to his bellybutton. “Open up, love,” he cooed. “We need to make sure you’re completely filled.

Ragnor guided his cockhead to your lips and you opened up, taking one of his dicks as deep as you could in your throat. You suckled his shaft with fervor, your tongue tracing the veiny ridges and swirling over the flared head. Your hands pumped his second cock and you alternated between the two while Thorne pounded into you, causing your tits to bounce.

“Fuck, you have no idea how beautiful you look, mate,” Ragnor muttered, watching your mouth, now filled with both his cocks, while Thorne’s dicks pistoned inside you.

“Mffgh— love—hffuh you,” you gurgled around the shafts in your mouth, wet slurping sounds filling the room.

“We love you, too, precious mate,” Throne said, hips snapping repeatedly, driving his shafts deep in your depths. “You’re doing great. We’re almost there. Just a little more, love.”

They settled into a sensual rhythm, Ragnor’s cock filling your mouth while Thorne thrust inside your pussy and ass, his hands gripping your hips to keep you steady. They whispered sweet nothings, their voices thick with praise and adoration: ”you’re doing so well”, “our brave, beautiful mate”. They caressed your tummy, pinched your breasts while their tails flicked your poor clit.

Little sparks of fire sizzled through your body and burned you up in a blissful climax. You trembled and writhed, and Ragnor withdrew his cock allowing you to cry out with ease. Thorne’s magnificent serpent body bucked and he came with a bellow, nipping at your shoulder while pumping his seed inside you. Once he was done, Ragnor slid back in your mouth, his fingers grasping your hair. He thrust once, twice and came, cocks pulsing with his release. You swallowed every single drop, and felt his hot load fill your belly.

“Damn, mate, you took all we had to give,” Thorne said affectionately, his cocks still nestled within you, plugging up the seed.

“Our mate is the strongest,” Ragnor said, kissing you passionately, his tongue tasting his seed in your mouth. “How are you feeling? The eggs?”

“I’m feeling… perfect,” you said with a soft smile. “The contractions are almost gone. When will the eggs come?”

Just in time, a knock echoed through the room. The doctor had returned and you would soon give birth to your eggs.

Any kind of support will make me smile so big! Feel free to share your thoughts and reblog! Next part will be the birth.

[seungkw1]

white t-shirt — csc

💿🎧 white t-shirt - jonghyun 🎶🤍

♡ pairing: bf!seungcheol x afab!reader ♡ theme: smut [18+ mdni], pwp ♡ wc: 2.3k ♡ warnings: dom!cheol, sub!reader, size kink, oral (f. receiving), fingering (f. receiving), unprotected piv sex (stay safe y’all), nipple play, creampie, dacryphilia, sexting, brief wrist pinning (f. receiving), gendered petnames (good girl, babygirl) ♡ a/n: i went insane no fewer than 15 times while writing this. hope u enjoy <3

1:32am

You didn't mean to rile up your boyfriend when you sent him that picture. 

It was late at night. You should've been asleep already, but the bed felt empty without him. Seungcheol had only been gone for a few days, off on a trip with the boys, but you missed him. Normally, you spend your nights trying to escape from his immense body heat - an impossible task, as he insists on clinging onto you, wrapping his strong arms around you, holding you tight against him as he drifts off to sleep. But you're having a hard time sleeping without his touch. 

It's only one more night, you remind yourself. He'll be back tomorrow. But it isn't helping. 

So in his absence, you do the next best thing you can: put on one of his t-shirts. 

The shirt is thin, a simple plain white tee, buttery soft, and most importantly - it feels like him. You plop back into bed, cozying up under the sheets, ready to sleep. However, his scent against your skin is arousing, and you find yourself longing for him even more. Your hand leisurely slips downward, resting between your inner thighs. The coolness of your skin contrasts with the heat radiating from between your legs. You try to resist, but your fingertips drift toward your core. They arrive at the delicate fabric of your underwear, just barely grazing over your clothed slit. You inhale sharply - you knew you were wet, but the sticky spot that has formed reveals just how fucking much you need him right now. Your middle finger ever so slightly presses against your clit, your other hand moving to your breasts, lightly pinching your hardening nipples through your borrowed shirt. You let out a quiet whimper. As turned on as you are, you'd love to get yourself off, but you don't want to do it yourself. You want Seungcheol here, touching you, worshiping your body with his fingers, his mouth, his tongue. You feel your cunt throb at the mere thought of him. 

You sigh. Rolling over, you reach to grab your phone. You didn't want to bother him too much while he was with his friends, but your neediness is winning right now. 

You open up your messages. You click the top thread, labeled “Cheollie ❤️”, and open up the selfie camera. It's dark, but the moonlight seeping through the curtains illuminates you just enough. You position the phone above you, placing your body in full view. Your nipples poke through the thin, sheer fabric, showing off your tits nicely. You lift the shirt up slightly, revealing your tummy, but also displaying the visible wet spot spreading on your panties. Perfect. 

The screen flashes as you hit the shutter button. You type out a quick message.

missing you babe 😘

You hit send. You don't even know if he's even awake at this point, but almost immediately the typing bubble pops up. He types for a good minute, then the typing stops. But no message. You wait, staring at the screen, another minute passing before he starts typing again. Finally, a response. 

you can't just send me a picture like that out of nowhere. look what you've done.

His message is followed by a slightly blurry photo: him, in the bathroom mirror, pants hastily unbuttoned and boxers shoved aside, his thick cock fully erect. 

Another message follows. 

we were in the middle of a game. i had to run off and hide because of you. 

You grin, pleased with yourself. You wanted to tease your boyfriend, make him excited to come home to you. Instead, you've made him incredibly horny - and you want to see just how far you can push him. 

i take it you like the pic then? ;)

brat. i saw how wet you are. you need me that bad babygirl? so desperate for my cock that you can't even wait til i'm home tomorrow?

i need you babe, i wanna cum so bad 

don’t you dare, love. wait for me. 

i’ll be waiting ❤️

good. no touching yourself. only i’m allowed to make you cum.

You say goodnight, then and roll over - but you're certainly not sleepy now. Your mind wanders, thinking of your boyfriend, fantasizing about how good he's going to fuck you tomorrow. 

You pull up your phone one last time to check the time, calculating the hours until he’ll be back - far too many. 

It's going to be a long night. 

—

3:34pm

Your eyes are glued to the little gray circle with a C on it as it gets closer and closer to your apartment on the map. Cheol is almost home. 

Thank fuck. If you have to wait any longer, you’re simply going to explode. 

You reread the text he sent you earlier in the day:

omw home baby, i'll be there in a couple hours. wait in bed for me, wear the same thing as last night.

So here you are, laying on the bed, in nothing but his t-shirt and your underwear, which you can already feel getting wet again. You've been obedient, ignoring every urge in your body to touch yourself - but that's only made you even hornier. 

Finally, you hear the jingle of keys as the front door unlocks. You hear your boyfriend enter, taking off his shoes and setting down his things. Then - footsteps, growing louder as he approaches the bedroom. He slowly pushes the slightly-ajar door, standing in the doorway and taking in the sight of you, nearly naked, waiting for him in bed - just like he told you to. He gazes down at you, practically licking his lips, his eyes brimming with desire. You give him your best doe eyes as he saunters toward the bed. 

“Such a good girl for me, doing exactly as I told you,” he praises as he takes your face in one hand, rubbing your cheek gently. You say nothing, but tug at his arms, trying to pull him onto the bed - but he resists, standing tall as he stares lustfully into your eyes.  

“Oh, but you're still in trouble for what you did to me last night.”

You bite your lip as you grin, beaming at how much you managed to provoke him with only a single suggestive photo. Before he can stop you, you slip your hand onto the thick bulge in his sweatpants. He groans as you stroke his cock through his clothes; he lets you do so a few more times, savoring the sensation, before grabbing you by the wrist - pinning you to the bed as he climbs on top of you. He interlaces his fingers with yours as he holds you down, locking lips with you as he kisses you with aching necessity. His soft, plush lips tug at yours as he places his weight on you, pressing his hardened cock into your core. You cry out as his erection rubs gently against your clit, giving you the stimulation you've been craving. 

“Cheol,” you moan under your breath. “Missed you so much.”

He kisses your neck, humming in your ear. “I know, baby.”

His lips trail down your neck, sucking tenderly at your skin, until he reaches your breasts. He takes one in each hand, squeezing them as his thumbs repeatedly brush against your perked nipples. He positions his mouth right above one of them - you feel the warmth of his breath before he latches on, sucking gently on the bud through the thin t-shirt. You moan softly as his tongue creates a wet spot upon the fabric, making your nipple even more visible. He rubs the first nipple again as his mouth moves to your other boob, sucking more intensely as you begin to wriggle underneath him. He takes his time, going back and forth between each bud. 

“Cheollie,” you whine, “gonna cum already if you keep doing that.”

His mouth pops as he unlatches, glancing up at you amorously and giving you a sly grin. You are putty in his hands at the slightest touch - and it turns him on so badly. 

He tugs at the shirt - you lift your body off the bed, allowing him to pull it off of you. Throwing it aside hastily, he returns to your now-bare tits, kissing and licking them some more before his lips continue down your body, planting deep kisses on your stomach. He arrives at your cunt, situating himself comfortably between your legs, ready to devour you. His tongue licks a fat stripe over the growing wet spot on your underwear, the lightest of touch causing your back to arch slightly. He sucks on your clit through the fabric a few times before he grabs your underwear, pulling them off of you hastily, your soaked cunt now exposed and ready for him to eat.

He wraps his arms around your thighs as his tongue meets your pussy, licking up and down your folds. You whimper as he swirls around your clit, kissing and softly sucking on the sensitive bud. He slips his tongue into your cunt, pushing its way into your hole - his nose pressing deliciously against your clit as he tastes all of you, the vibrations from his moans making you see stars. You place your hand on his head, running your fingers through his hair as he goes down on you, your grasp growing stronger the more intensely his tongue works against your cunt. As you pull his hair he begins to grind into the mattress, needing relief from how painfully hard he’s become. He worships your pussy, eating you out as if it was his last meal on earth, savoring every drop of your juices as you writhe under him, overwhelming pleasure pulsing through your entire body. 

“Cheollie, ‘m gonna cum.”

He removes his face from your cunt, taunting you with his lips hovering just above your clit. You lift your hips, trying to put your pussy back in his mouth, but instead he slips two fingers into you. You cry out as he curls his fingertips upward, reaching your g-spot with ease. He keeps pressing the sweet spot as he slides in and out of you, his thick fingers stretching you out as he fucks you.

Not as much as his cock is going to stretch you out, your subconscious reminds you. 

“Please,” you whine, looking down at him, “need your mouth on me.”

He glances up at you, his big brown eyes meeting yours, drunk with lust. 

“Beg for it.”

“Please baby.”

“Please what?”

“Please make me cum.”

He smirks at the sight of you, tears welling in your eyes as you plead desperately for his touch. 

“My baby’s so pretty like this,” he coos, his bottom lip brushing lightly against your pulsating bud. 

You yelp as he dives back into you, his mouth latching onto your clit as his hand increases its pace, his other hand pressing against your tummy. Any remaining thoughts in your head vanish - your mind overtaken by pleasure, overtaken by him. You scream his name out as the white-hot sensation in your stomach builds, your body starting to tremble as your orgasm takes over. Seungcheol continues sucking your throbbing bud as you cum on his fingers, shaking from the powerful rush of dopamine exploding through your body. You’ve never cum this fucking hard in your life. 

You haven’t even caught your breath by the time he crawls up on top of you, his cock lined up with your entrance. You moan as he slides the head inside, your drenched walls stretching around his size. He slowly begins to thrust into you, filling you up, your pussy taking his entire length with each stroke. His body presses against yours as he buries his head into your neck, his cock pumping into you, fucking you deeper with each stroke. He groans as you tighten around him, his voice low and gravelly in your ear as his orgasm draws nearer.

“Fuck, you feel so good,” he growls, “pussy so perfect for me, fuuuck…”

Tears stream down the side of your face as you take his cock. Your nails dig into his back as you cling to him - sending him over the edge.

“Please,” you beg, “cum inside me."

“Oh god,” he moans, his body beginning to tremble as he bucks his hips into you. “I’m cumming baby…”

His cock throbs in your cunt as he releases. You whimper as he fills your pussy up, his hot ropes shooting up into you. He slows his pace, coming to a stop as he comes down, his still-twitching cock resting inside you. His lips tenderly suck at the delicate skin on your neck as you wrap your arms around his broad torso, squeezing his body into yours as tightly as you can. Eventually, he lifts his head, his face meeting yours with a kiss on the lips. He gazes at you, enamored. You lay there, breathing deeply together as you recover from your highs.

Seungcheol strokes your hair softly. “God I missed you.”

“Don't leave me ever again,” you pout playfully. 

“I can’t,” he replies, shaking his head. “Not if you’re gonna send me pictures like that. I nearly came in my pants.”

You grin lazily at him, head still spinning from your orgasm. “I’m taking that as a compliment.”

Cheol kisses you again, cradling your face in his hand. He grabs onto you as he rolls over, pulling you on top of him. You feel his cum dripping out of you, spilling onto his still-erect cock. He grabs you by the hips, pulling you toward his face. 

“C’mere,” he instructs, licking his lips at the sight of you about to straddle his face. “I'm not done with you yet.”

—

[lemonlover1110]

𝐓𝐖𝐎 𝐁𝐀𝐁𝐈𝐄𝐒 𝐔𝐍𝐃𝐄𝐑 𝐓𝐖𝐎

Satoru Gojo

Summary: Satoru struggles with his two babies.

Warnings: Pure Fluff

Discord +18 - Twitter - Ko-Fi

*I used the two babies from baby steps for this, but you don't have to read to enjoy the fluffy oneshot🥹

“C’mon, Seiji. Vegetables are so good. yummy.” Satoru is trying to bribe his almost-two-year-old into eating the rest of his food, alas, he doesn’t sound too convincing. He tasted the vegetables, they aren’t too good but you cooked them so he isn’t going to bash them. Seiji really doesn’t care about not hurting anybody’s feelings at this stage of his life, so even though his dearest mother made them, he refuses to eat them.

Satoru sighs defeatedly, putting the fork down. He guesses Seiji doesn’t have to eat vegetables every day to grow strong. He picks Seiji up from the high chair, putting him down on the ground to allow him to walk around and do whatever he likes to do. Lately Seiji loves to play with any piece of trash he finds, making Satoru realize that he’s wasted thousands of dollars on toys.

“Don’t be too loud! Don’t wake your sister up.” Satoru yells, knowing that Seiji really doesn’t care about that. The baby only has one thought in his mind and that’s to play with whatever he gets his hands on. 

Satoru really thought that handling two babies under two would be a breeze, he’s the strongest, he can accomplish just about anything… But his two kids tire him out. Saori cries so much that he anticipates in horror the moment that she wakes up. Seiji never stops moving, it’s nearly impossible to get him to stand still for a moment. He loves his babies more than anything, but he’s rightfully tired.

Satoru is being the best husband that he can be by taking care of his babies while you study and finish up your degree. But two tiny humans are slowly ending his life. Satoru follows Seiji around, deciding to just let him wander around the house because Seiji hates to be put in his playpen lately.

“Dada.” Seiji points up when he gets to the stairs, looking back at his father. Satoru shakes his head, picking up Seiji and taking him back to the living room so he can find something there that he can engross himself with. Seiji makes sure to let out a dramatic cry because he hates being carried and contradicted. He doesn’t want to go to the living room, he wants to go upstairs.

“Crying isn’t going to do anything, baby. You’re staying down here.” Satoru says as he carries Seiji away. Seiji makes sure to yell,

“Down! Down!” Which actually works on Satoru today because he doesn’t want Seiji to wake up the sleeping baby. When his tiny feet hit the ground, Seiji begins to run around which isn’t really an issue for Satoru since he only has to take two steps to catch up to Seiji.

It’s boring, really, but he prefers walking after his toddler better than trying to entertain both babies while they’re awake. Seiji doesn’t care for his parents' attention until Saori is awake; when she’s awake he wants to become the center of attention.

Satoru really thinks he’s safe, until he hears her cries from upstairs, and the loudest sigh leaves his lips. He picks Seiji up, making him kick his feet and cry, demanding that he’s put down. Luckily for him, his father listens to his wishes and puts him down. Unluckily for him, he’s put down in the playpen that lately feels like a prison. 

“No! Out!” Seiji demands, but Satoru doesn’t listen. He leaves Seiji there while he goes upstairs to pick up Saori from her crib.

When he gets there, he notices his baby girl is sitting up, waiting for him to finally pick her up. He coos, approaching the crib and picking her up, “Hi my sunshine. Did you sleep well?”

She doesn’t stop crying so easily though. He changes her diaper, and the crying gets worse. He tickles her tummy, laughing to himself, “Aren’t you a hungry girl? You ate one hour ago too.”

He guesses he can’t blame her, a bottle of milk wouldn’t be enough to hold him over either… But he guesses he’s four times her size and two decades older than her. He exits the room, getting more irritated by the second with the crying baby that’s in his arms. 

He begins to walk down the stairs, and that’s when he sees a little rascal holding to the railing and trying to walk upstairs. His eyes widen, his first thought being: how the hell did Seiji escape his playpen? Seiji finally looks up, seeing his father at the top of the stairs. He lets go of the railing, his hands going over his tiny mouth, his signature move for when he gets caught.

Satoru watches it happen in slow motion. Seiji’s tiny feet on the edge of the stair, he tips over and falls back from the stairs until he’s back on the first floor again. At least Seiji was only on the third stair up so it wasn’t a long fall– However, he cries his heart out as if he was at the very top.

“Seiji, how the hell did you even get out of the playpen?” Satoru is reasonably angry because he has two crying kids to soothe on his own. He doesn’t want to bother you while you study so it’s his problem, and only his. He doesn’t know which problem to tend to first. 

Satoru just knows one thing, and he hates thinking about it, but he wouldn’t be dealing with any of this if he had used a condom.

[caramelkoo]

warm as you

pairing : Jungkook x reader

genre : established relationship, boyfriend jungkook yayyy.

summary : Jungkook gives you a little surprise which causes you to fall more in love with him.

warnings : Jungkook is nervous as hell, he's so in love with the oc, oc can't help but baby him, slight smut, fluff, lots of kissing <3, act of service and quality time as love languages.

a/n : hey angels, I saw the latest episode of "are you sure?!" and couldn't help but write this little piece. Jungkook is such a roundie. I hope you enjoy and let me know how you like it. xoxo.

⋆｡ﾟ☁︎｡⋆｡ ﾟ☾ ﾟ｡⋆

To be very honest, you've never been a morning person but when you're with the love of your life, your boyfriend, you can't help but eagerly wait to sleep next to him and wakeup next to him. He has a way of waking you up with kisses on your smooth skin and fingers through your brown locks.

Your eyes want to flutter open but you know once you're awake, he will stop and that's something you don't want. Jungkook's lips graze yours lightly causing you to break into a slight smile. His lips peck your forehead gently following with your cheekbones, your closed eyes, your nose, your chin and lastly the hollow of your neck.

"I love you, sweetie. Good morning, i know you're awake." he whispers and much to your surprise, he knows you've been pretending to sleep.

you chuckle and open your eyes, looking at him with so much love. His eyes sparkle like stars above you. No one has loved you like this and honestly, you don't want anybody else to do so. The bond that you share with your boyfriend is different and special.

"Morning"

He caresses your left cheekbone, a lazy smile on his face. It's soft and everything pure.

"What do you wanna do today?" you ask him.

"Is wanting to be in your arms an option?" he nuzzles his face in your boobs. Purring like a cat.

"I don't think that's a bad idea" your hands rub his back up and down, up and down.

"God, I love hugging you. You're so warm, so cozy. It's my own personal heaven" Jungkook puts his whole weight on you, being careful now to crush you in the process.

He makes you feel safe, protected whenever he wraps his arms around you. Being physically affectionate has not been hard for you when it came to him. Physical touch, as much as you hate to admit, is hard for you to receive. You've been uncomfortable with people touching you plenty of times but with Jungkook, it has never been the case. You don't know why but he's had a certain warmth to him ever since you met him. It radiates and lights you up.

"I know, baby. I love hugging you too."

You both stay like this for a while before he grunts and lifts his face from your neck.

"Want me to make you some coffee?" he asks because he knows you can't function throughout your whole day without starting it off with a cup of coffee.

One thing about Jungkook is he's going to notice. He notices the tiniest of things and he's made a mental note of making you coffee every morning just the way you like it.

"Yes, please. I want something sweet to go with it too."

"Pancakes?"

"Perfect. You're the best" you kiss his cheek twice before he gets himself up and walk outside towards the kitchen. Before he opens the door, you call him out.

"Yeah, sweetie?" he looks back, shirtless and you try not to say something entirely different and nasty.

"I love you, too" his lips turn upwards before he leaves the room.

⋆｡ﾟ☁︎｡⋆｡ ﾟ☾ ﾟ｡⋆

After you and Jungkook finish your breakfast, he suggests reading together in the hall. Since it's a slow Sunday morning and you both have nothing else to do, you agree. Quality time with him is another thing you cherish the most. He knows that when it comes to receiving, it's one of your preferred love languages.

Since the day you let him know this tiny piece of information, he has tried his best to make it happen for you. Reading, baking, pottery classes, trying out new recipes, even letting you do his makeup, he has done it all.

"What are you reading?" Jungkook asks after picking up a book for himself and sitting beside you on the couch.

"I have been wanting to read this romance book for a while. You're reading thriller again?"

"You know it's my favorite" indeed it is. The thriller section on the bookshelf gives it away.

For the next twenty minutes or so, you both read quietly. Jungkook eventually puts his head on your lap demanding your hands in his hair. You chuckle lightly before giving in and run your fingers through it.

"Your hairs are so soft"

When you look down upon him, he has closed his eyes and gotten rid of the book.

"It's your shampoo"

"My shampoo? You've been using my shampoo?" you're a little surprised but not offended. On the contrary, you find it a little cute.

"Sweetie, it smells like vanilla and I was planning on using it just once but then I got a little obsessed. Couldn't help it." he whines.

"You're adorable, you know that?"

the hall gets filled with your laughter. You continue running your fingers through his hair while also reading your book and just when you think he has gone into a deep slumber, he gets up walking towards the washroom.

"Wh- WHERE ARE YOU GOING?" you yell behind him.

"GIVE ME A MINUTE" he yells back. He didn't go in there to jerk off, did he? you decide to leave him be and resume your reading.

Fifteen minutes later though when he comes outside and stands before you, you let out the biggest scream ever. It startles him.

"Is it that bad?"

"Jungkoo-", "what-", "I'm-"

He stands there with his long hair no more on his head, instead he has cut his hair in more of like a bowl cut. Yes, you screamed but not because you don't like his hair, it was because he looks cuter than ever like this. You were just a little surprised, that's about it.

"Seriously, is it that bad?" the nervous look on his face causes you to take few steps forward and hug him so tightly you're not sure if he can even breathe. His arms wrap around you in return. Hugging you has always calmed him.

"I love it"

"What was that, sweetie?"

"I said, I love it" you tell him again. You break the hug and look at him.

"Really?" his expression has turned into a an excited one now.

"Yes, baby. It makes you look so cute but can I ask why? why did you suddenly decide to cut your hair?" you can't help but touch his new hair.

"To be honest, I have been thinking about chopping them off for a while. I know you love my long hair so it was holding me back." he places a kiss on your temple. "I wasn't sure if you would like it."

"Jungkook, I loved your long hair but I wouldn't ever stop you from doing what you want. I love everything you love and you can always grow them back, right?" you smile up at him.

You loved his long hair a little too much. You had asked him to let his hair grow further and he had happily agreed to but you would rather poke your eyeballs out before you refrain him from doing something he has wanted to for a long time. You're just a little upset due to the fact that he even had to be nervous before doing so.

Jungkook nods, "Right. So you like them?"

"Absolutely" you kiss his nose.

"God, I could eat you right now." He hides his face in the crook of your neck and groans.

"Hmm, maybe later".

Later that night when you lay next to him he doesn't let you sleep before he buries his tongue inside you and asks you to grab his hair. When you do, you get reminded of his long hair but his tongue moving in a circular motion inside you makes you forget about it all. You moan, you scream and when he takes your nipples in his mouth while pushing two fingers inside you, you come so hard you're sure you see stars. You hear him whisper "You're mine" before you pass out hoping he'll wake you up the next morning again with his kisses and touches.

[ddejavvu]

Tyler Owens x Shy!Reader giving each other a good luck kiss before a tornado chase🩵🌪️

Spotlight - Tyler Owens x Reader

come participate in tyler owens night !

You're relieved that Tyler won't be gone for days, crossing state lines to chase this twister, but that comes with a downside: it's local. That means that, though the tornado's path isn't projected near your home, you're still on high-alert as anxiety convinces you that something will change and your house will be torn down plank by plank and blown away into oblivion.

"I'll be back for dinner," Tyler vows, grinning at you with the thrill of the chase already gleaming in his eyes and smile, "You just sit pretty 'til I'm back, darlin', and we can go out tonight. Get somethin' real nice, then we can go dancin' afterwards. In our own little corner, I promise." He tugs you close, miming how things will go only hours from now, knowing your tendency to be shy in large crowds.

The roaring of tires on gravel lets you know that Tyler's crew has arrived, and you've mostly conquered your nerves surrounding them. They're lovely people, if only a little intense, but you still feel sometimes like a complete outsider. Still, you wave sweetly to them, and a chorus of greetings floats your way over the open Arkansas air.

"Alright," Tyler pats once, twice against your hip, "That's my cue. If I don't get goin' soon, Boone's gonna start throwing shit at me."

"I'll protect you," You shrug, drinking in the last of his embrace- logically, the last of it for only a few hours. Irrationally- the last of it you might ever get. You shake away a shuddery feeling in your chest as Tyler laughs at your joke, squeezing you tighter around the waist.

"That's right, you're my little protector, aren't you? 'Gonna get those big ol' muscles out and show 'em all who's boss?"

Flexing your biceps does absolutely nothing to show them off like it does when Tyler does it, and you can feel the fondness in his ear-to-ear grin.

"Alright, darlin'." He lets go of your waist and suddenly the handprints on your sides are cold, terribly so, as a mild wind blows through your front yard, "Stay safe in here, m'kay? The storm's projected to go east but you know the drill; keep weather alerts on and hole up in the cellar if anything changes. Love you," He squeezes your hand in lieu of a kiss, something you're decidedly uncomfortable with in public, but when he turns to walk away, you act on impulse and grab his wrist.

"Ty-" You gasp, almost as shocked at your actions as he is when he turns to raise a questioning brow at you.

"Hm?"

"Uh- I," You stammer, his eyes like spotlights showcasing your awkward stance before you realize that words are failing, and the only thing you can do is kiss him.

You surge forwards, tugging him along to meet you in the middle as you lean up to press your lips to his. He's surprised if the way that his eyes go wide is any indication, and you feel like you're stealing his breath when his chest tightens up. It takes him barely a second to melt into it, but it's a second that feels like an eternity as your brain and heart race in tandem.

There's cheering, whooping, shouting, and a slew of other reactions from his crew that you'll lay awake embarrassed about later tonight, but for now you kiss Tyler Owens like it's the last time you'll see him- because it might be.

The words, 'Good luck,' are whispered softly against his lips when you part from them, and his eyes are hazy before he blinks away the cloudy daze he's trapped in. He stares down at you, equal parts bewildered and head-over-heels, and his grin is less cocky, more sappy now as he watches you.

"That was one hell of a kiss," He remarks, smoothing his tongue between the seam of his lips and catching your chapstick, "I don't even think I wanna go out now. Tornado be damned, the real fun's right here."

"Go," You push against his chest, and your laughter comes easy despite having just stepped so far out of your comfort zone, "Go and be back for dinner and dancing!"

"Yes ma'am!" Tyler calls, walking backwards towards his own truck as his crew splits in half to fill both vehicles equally, "I love you!"

He says it like it's an inside joke, like it's something he's informing you of for the first time instead of something you'd just pressed against his mouth.

You grin back, lazy and sure even amongst the watchful eyes of his crew, "I love you too, Ty."

[cressidagrey]

Stars all aligned - Chapter 6

Summary:

If there was one thing that both Azriel and Zahra Archeron had in common, it was that they were both very good at blending into the background.

They just never thought that their family were going to be the ones who never saw them at all.

Warning:

I'll keep the warnings, even though there is no outright mention in this part: Bashing of like...every IC member? Especially the Archeron Sisters, discussion of chronic pain, discussion of Infertility, Implied/Referenced Child Abuse, Implied/Referenced Underage Prostitution, Underage Rape/Non-con, Implied/Referenced Sexual Assault

If any of this triggers you or makes you uncomfortable, please, take care of your own mental health and don't read it.

(Lovely dividers thanks to @sweetmelodygraphics)

It took Zahra a few minutes to realise she wasn't dreaming.

She could smell the scent of cedar and mist...so familiar, yet so new. It was so nice, so comforting, that she wanted to wrap herself up in it.

Slowly, her aching body and tired mind came back into focus, and she felt an arm wrapped around her, holding her against a broad, scarred chest.

Azriel .

Azriel was here. Holding her. She was cuddled up against his side, tucked into him with her head resting on his chest.

She could feel the thrum of his heart beating against her ear, steady and strong.

And she could also…she could also feel the leathery skin of his wing wrapped around her. 

His hand was trailing over her hair, stroking lightly, and she found herself melting into his touch. Pressing further into his chest.

His skin was so warm…safe. She could have stayed there forever.

“You're awake,” Azriel’s voice murmured lazily, and for a second, she thought she must be dreaming again. His voice was so gentle, his touch so comforting….it had to be a dream, right? That this was somehow all just wishful thinking and her mind playing tricks on her?

He deserved better than her. He deserved somebody that could be with him fully and not somebody who wanted to throw up at the thought of sex.

He deserved somebody that could give him a child.

She felt her heart clench a little at that thought. 

He deserved somebody who could return this bond the way it was supposed to be returned...not someone broken and scarred and wrong like she was. He deserved someone kind and loving and everything that she wasn’t.

And yet he was there, even now. Holding her close like she was something precious, as though she mattered. Treating her as though she was something important .

She didn’t deserve him. She didn’t deserve his kindness or his care or whatever this feeling in her chest was.

“Are you in pain?” He asked her softly.  “If you are,  Madja left some vials of pain potion….and if you are hungry, there is Porridge on the stove. I even found honey for it,” Azriel told her softly, brushing a kiss against her forehead.

She could feel her heart skip at the kiss against her forehead. It was...intimate. So warm and soft...

She could have cried at the thought that this felt so safe. So good. That it made warmth spread through her stomach, that it made her feel so comfortable and loved….

Which was silly. A kiss on the forehead didn’t mean any of those things.

“How can you even stand to look at me?” She choked out. How could he…How could…

“Why wouldn't I like looking at you?” Azriel asked, his voice still so soft. So gentle.

His hand continued to stroke Zahra’s hair, as the other hand rubbed small circles on her lower back. Comforting, soothing motions that she felt herself leaning into, against her will.

His hand stopped stroking her hair, but only to cup her chin, to lift her head gently so that she would be looking up at him, if she opened her eyes. But she couldn’t

Zahra couldn’t. 

So instead she felt the tears bite in her eyes.  “Why would I not want to look at you?” he repeated.

“Because you deserve something better than damaged goods,” Zahra choked out, unable to open her eyes and look at him. Somebody that could be with him properly. Somebody that…

“You are not damaged goods,” Azriel said sharply, and his voice was so firm that it startled her.

His hand moved from her chin to cup her cheek, his thumb rubbing against her skin so gently that it sent a shiver over her.  “None of what has happened to you is your fault,” he continued, and his fingers were still stroking her cheek, as though he was trying to soothe her. His voice was gentle. “You are not damaged . You are not broken. You are not ‘goods’ . You’re a person . My mate .”

And still…

“I won’t be able to give you a child,” Zahra whispered.

He sighed. She expected him to pull back but he didn’t. 

“Fae children are rare anyway” he said softly. “And even if you would be able to become pregnant, what about the risk it poses to you?” Azriel said softly. “If the child inherited my wings, you would both die. We saw that with Feyre and Nyx. So even if you could…that wouldn’t be a risk I would be willing to take anyway.”

Her eyes opened and she couldn't do anything but stare at him. That...Azriel couldn't possibly mean that.

He was so casual about it, as though having a child wasn't something he really cared about. As though her ability to have his children wouldn't matter to him.

A part of her chest ached at the very idea. At the thought that he might give up something so precious for her.

“You are more important to me than some hypothetical child,” Azriel said firmly.

“And what if you want…a family down the line?” She asked him quietly. “We have eternity. And you want to tell me that you’ll never regret it?”

“Having a child isn’t the only way to have a family,” Azriel countered easily. He was still gently stroking her face, his hand moving across her cheek, over the arch of her eyebrow, across her jaw. As though he couldn't stop touching her, as though he didn’t want to stop touching. “There are plenty of other ways,” he continued, his thumb drawing soft lines across her cheek. “If that is something that we decide we want. Adopting, for a start. Or fostering. The Night Court is full of orphans...there are more ways to have a family than having a child, Sunshine.”

She found herself staring at him, her chest aching and her head swirling.

He was willing to do all of it for her. To give up having a child of his own, even if she could, just to keep her safe.

Azriel was willing to overlook every fault and flaw and broken part….willing to treat her gently, like she was something precious . He was willing to be with her, even though she wouldn’t be able to give him anything in return.

And it was too much. It broke her a little bit.

“What if I never want to have sex with you?” She whispered. What if she never could…what if…what if everytime they would try it would feel like it did then? 

“That is entirely up to you,” Azriel said firmly. “And if you never want to, that is also entirely alright. I would never push you for more than you are willing to give.”

He said it like it was the easiest thing in the world. Like it was the most natural thing to just…accept that she might never be able to do the absolute basics of a relationship with him. That she would never be able to even… That she might never be the type of mate he deserved. The idea made her heart ache.

“How can you say that?!” Zahra asked him.

He was still staring down at her with such softness in his eyes. “Because it’s true. You’re my mate. Nothing would make me happier than having you in my life. Even if that means never having sex again.” he said firmly. “I have two functioning hands. I can make do,” he said with a shrug. “I had enough meaningless flings to last a lifetime. They don’t really do anything for me,” Azriel admitted drily.

His words shocked her to the core. 

He was so…blase about it. So casual. As though giving up sex and children just for her was no big deal. Nothing important. Nothing he’d miss.

 Wasn’t sex what every male wanted? 

As though he was truly just as happy to be with her without ever once touching her.

“I don’t understand..” she whispered, her voice choked. “I don’t….how are you so willing to give up so much?”

“I’m giving up nothing,” Azriel said firmly. “I’m would be gaining something. I would gain you. That alone is more than I could ever ask for.”

His hand was still stroking her cheek, and it took all her willpower not to start to cry at the words.

Because he couldn’t mean it. Just as he couldn’t want to give up having children, he couldn’t mean that he was gaining something from being with her.

She was a broken, shattered person. Nothing about this was something he had to ‘gain’. It was something he should be running from. But his eyes were so open and sincere, and she knew he believed it. Knew that it would be useless to argue against his words.

“It’s the truth,” he said, and his voice was still so gentle. “Losing meaningless flings isn’t a loss, not when I gain you. Having a child doesn’t matter when I gained my mate,” he repeated, as though he was trying to make her believe. “Even if you never want to touch me…I’d prefer just sleeping in the same bed with you, being with you than having meaningless sex,” he said softly.

His thumb was trailing over her face in soft, smooth motions. As though he was trying to soothe her. Reassure her.

“And having a child would be great. A wonderful thing. But if there’s any risk of you getting hurt, I don’t want it. A family isn’t worth risking you,” he told her firmly.

His voice was so gentle. So firm. “You’re important. More important than any hypothetical child ever could be. And I will take care of you. I will always take care of you, even if you never want to touch me.”

A lump formed in her throat at his words.

The knowledge that he meant them. The knowledge that he really didn't mind not having sex and not having a child, if that meant he could keep her .

He was willing to give those things up for her. Without hesitation.

Her heart ached at how sincere he was. At the sheer, utter adoration she could see in his face.

So with a shaky hand she reached out for him.

HIt was almost like he hadn’t expected it. Hadn’t expected her to try to initiate physical contact with him. Even though she knew how stupid that notion was.

She found herself swallowing, as she rested her fingertips against the warmth of his chest. Felt the solid expanse of his muscles. His warmth. His heart beating strongly against her touch. He didn’t move away. Didn’t even hesitate.

And she felt his warm skin, stretched over solid muscles…the dark ink that decorated his chest in swirls and patterns…the scars that littered his chest like constellations of stars. 

“You’ve been the first friend I ever had,”  Zahra said softly.

Azriel’s hand, that had been slowly stroking her face, stilled at her words.His eyes widened slightly, and she could see the surprise in them.

Her words had clearly caught him off guard. A part of her heart ached at that look. At all of the implications behind it. She could see the flicker of shock in his eyes. The slight furrow between his eyebrows. His utter stillness.

“And if we are mates….I am so grateful it’s you.” She whispered. “I still think you could do better than me but if you want to try…us…I am willing to.”

There was a beat of silence after her words.

She could see Azriel staring at her. Taking in her words, as disbelief and surprise swirled through his eyes.

But slowly, his eyes softened. And that strange look of shock melted away. His expression became almost…hopeful.

“You would?” He asked her softly, and he was staring at her with a look in his eyes. A mixture of relief and hope and yearning that made her heart ache.

She had to force herself to not look away.

Had to force herself to nod. To face that hope, and that yearning and that desire.

Because he was staring at her as though he was barely able to believe it. As though he was just realising that she really was consenting this.

His expression softened as she nodded.

She could see the relief in his face, in the way the tension in his shoulders disappeared.

He exhaled slowly, as though he had been holding his breath. “Really?” he whispered, as though he couldn’t believe it.

“Yes,” she found herself whispering.

It felt like her heart was in her throat. Like her chest was so tight it would burst.

She still couldn’t fully believe what she was saying.

That they were really doing this. That they were really going to… try.

But she didn’t see any reason to not try.

She didn’t see a reason to not give him a chance.

“Yes,” she repeated, and her voice was firmer this time. “If you really think you can put up with me for that long…” she said, and she tried to make a joke, even though her voice was hoarse.

He huffed out a laugh. “I could easily put up with you for eternity,” Azriel told her, and he sounded so fond that her heart gave a strange little twist.

“Even if I’m broken and scarred and messed up?” She asked him, but it wasn’t a joke. She was genuinely asking. Could he keep putting up with her?

He stared down at her, a firm, determined look in his eyes. “I like you exactly as you are,” he told her firmly. “Everything you are. All your flaws and scars and broken parts.”

She could feel the tears welling up in her eyes at his words.

Her heart aching and twisting at the thought that Azriel was really, really telling the truth. That he didn’t mind the broken pieces, but wanted her. All of her.

"They are not going to like it," she whispered. Zahra didn't for one moment think that Nesta, who clearly counted Azriel as one of her friends, was going to be pleased by this.

She saw Azriel’s features tighten, as though he’d understood exactly what she’d meant.

“Maybe not,” he admitted, his hand now resting against her cheek. His touch was warm and gentle against her skin. “But they don’t matter. This is between us, not them.”“This is our relationship, not theirs,” Azriel continued, and he was staring down at her with such conviction in his eyes. “They might not like it, but I don’t care what they say. It’s not about them.”

She wished it was that easy. It must have been obvious on her face. 

"Who are you worried about the most?" Azriel asked her softly.

"Nesta," Zahra admitted weakly. She saw Azriel’s expression tighten.

"Let me deal with them," Azriel requested, his voice even.

She felt her heart skip a beat.

“No,” she protested immediately. “I won’t have you arguing with your family because of me.”

Azriel’s jaw clenched. “I don’t care what arguments it takes to make them understand,” he disagreed sharply. “I won’t have them disrespecting you.”

She found herself blinking. Staring up at him, at the firmness in his voice. At the determination in his eyes. He was really willing to deal with any argument. Any fight.

He was willing to stand against his family, against their family, for her.

His thumb smoothed over her cheek. "Let me deal with them," Azriel repeated fiercely. "I am over their constant disrespect to you. I am over you being ignored. I am fucking done, Zahra." Her chest ached as she saw the fierceness in his eyes.

The determination.

She was so tired. So exhausted of it all.

Zahra didn't want to deal with her sisters. She didn't want to even think about them. Not right now.... Maybe she could just...

"Okay," Zahra agreed, weakly, curling back against his chest.

She could practically feel the way Azriel’s heart thumped at her word.

“You promise?” he asked her softly. “You’ll let me deal with your sister for you?”  

“I promise,” she found herself whispering, and a small part of her heart was screaming at her that she was being weak. That she could deal with her own family.

But she simply did not want to.

Azriel exhaled softly, clearly relieved.

He pulled her closer to him, his hold on her tightening. “Good,” he whispered. “I don’t want you to worry about any of them. I’ll deal with it all.”

And she let him.

For once in her life she let somebody else shoulder all of it.

She let Azriel hold her close, let him brush a hand through her hair and press a kiss against her forehead.

She let him give her porridge to eat, let him hold her through the worst of her cramps and bleeding...let him hum her to sleep...When he needed to give her medication, he was gentle and careful. Made sure to hold her close, to soothe the pain with his touch.

A part of her insisted she was too broken. Too worthless. But Azriel treated her as though she was a treasure.

As though she was someone important. Someone worthy.

He held her through the worst of it, and his hands and his voice and his touch soothed her.

It was a few days into it, when there was a knock at the door that startled Zahra.

“It’s Violet,“ Azriel answered her unspoken question, the shadows dancing around the room. 

They had been even worse than their Master at doting on her. Zahra couldn’t move an inch, without one tendril of shadows jumping to be at her beg and call, fluffing her pillows and rightening her blankets… fetching her glass from the sidetable, holding a book for her and turning the pages…it was as ridiculous as it was endearing. 

They seemed nearly shy sometimes, when she reached out to touch them, twining themselves through her fingers near hesitantly. 

She took a deep breath, forcing herself to relax.

This was just Violet…Violet. The owner of the apothecary she did the accounts for.

The exact opposite of him in every way. From the tips of her purple hair to the majestic butterfly wings sprouting from her back.

Zahra found her lips cracking into a small smile despite herself. Violet was…unusual, to say the least. She was loud and boisterous and spoke her mind. But she was kind.

She had given Zahra a job without a second thought, handing over her…interesting bookkeeping system without a second thought. 

She was kind, and she was loud and she never once failed to brighten anybody’s day. It was hard not to feel cheered up with Violet, and Zahra had grown strangely fond of her…but that still didn’t explain from where Azriel knew her. 

“You know her?” Zahra asked a triel surprised as Azriel moved from the bed.

“She makes the salve for my hands,“ Azriel said simply.

It made more sense in hindsight. Violet was an herbalist. She specialised in salves and potions and medicines. Azriel moved to the front door and Zahra clenched her teeth as she levered herself off the bed and into her dressing gown, the shadows fluffed out for her. 

She felt weak, and her back protested as she moved. Her abdomen ached from the cramps and the pain, but she forced herself to get up and shuffle through to the living room. Azriel had answered the door, and she could hear Violet chattering away at him.

Zahra caught the tail end of the conversation as she shuffled through to the living room, finding Azriel holding the door open and Violet staring around the living room with an appraising eye.

“You look horrible .” Violet greeted her drily and Zahra could just snort.

“Thanks,” she gave back drily, but then Violet had already darted into the living room, her lips cracking into a wide smile, a small bottle held out for Zahra. 

“You look like you’ve been through the mill and back, sweetie. But here,” she said, holding out the bottle. “This’ll help with the pain. It should at least take the edge off. Alternatively, I made you a version so strong that it’s going to knock you out. Though I would prefer it if you would only take it when another person is in the house. It leaves you…defenseless,“ Violet said.

“Oh, that’s not-”

Zahra started to protest, but Violet’s smile had become firm. “No buts, sweetie. You have *nothing * to be ashamed about. Taking a potion isn’t going to make you weak or less than the others,” Violet protested firmly. “You do not have to hurt. Ever. And if anyone says otherwise they’ll get a kick to the balls.”

Zahra found herself cracking a smile, besides herself.

Of course Violet was saying that. After all, the woman had little regard for what people thought of her or the things they said. She was too busy doing what she thought was right to care.

“Come on, let’s get you back into bed. You look about ready to keel over,“ violet murmured softly, an arm coming around Zahra‘s shoulders.

“I’m fine,” she protested weakly, but Violet wasn’t having any of it. She was already getting shoved back towards the bedroom, and her attempts at protesting or stopping were futile.

“Just get your ass back in bed, sweetie.”

Zahra found herself getting herded back into bed, a blanket being draped over her as Violet fussed.

She wanted to protest, to complain that she wasn’t a child and she could handle herself. But Violet had no tolerance for her protests, and the woman had shoved her back into bed before she could argue.

“Madja…Madja didn’t tell me what exactly happened to you but…But i am old enough that I can read between the lines,“ Violet said softly, as she sat down on the edge of the mattress. 

A lump formed in Zahra’s throat at the woman’s words. Of course, Violet had been able to read between the lines. That woman had a habit of paying too much attention, and of reading the subtext.

Zahra averted her gaze. 

“I did it willingly,” she protested, the words tasting bitter on her tongue. 

“There is a myriad of shades between willing and wanting ,” Violet said drily. “You aren’t the only one something like that happened to, Zahra,“ she said, her voice softening. “We have…There is this group that meets a few time a months.”

A group?

She felt her eyes widen, and her mind was already reaching for every implication of those few words.

The thought that there were other people who…who had been through something like this…something similiar... Others who had gone through the same things.

Zahra found her breathing hitching, a lump forming in her throat.

“You would be welcome. If you wanted to,” Violet said softly, looking at her with wide dark eyes. “No pressure, But the door is always open.”

She could only nod at the woman’s words.

A strange mix of terror and relief swirling through her head.

That there was a…that there was a group.

That there were others. She wasn’t alone.

“Thank you.“

There was a beat of silence, and then Violet was cracking a reassuring smile.

“We take care of our own,” the woman said firmly. “And you’re one of us now, sweetie.”

“And…If you ever have a really bad day…If Azriel isn’t enough…come to me,“ Violet said fiercely. “I know how comforting a mate can be…but sometimes you’ll want an outside opinion.“

She could feel the tears welling up in her eyes at the woman’s words.

The understanding in her eyes. The acknowledgement that whilst Azriel was the one she was drawn to, sometimes she would want someone else.

She was too emotional right now. Too raw from everything to actually speak, so she simply nodded mutely.

“I had a friend that told me the exact same thing when I was in your place and the only thing she ever asked of me was to pay it forward if I ever had the opportunity. So this is my opportunity. If you have a bad day…come find me.”

A weak smile found its way onto Zahra’s mouth. “I will,” she whispered. “And…thank you.”

The words felt wholly inadequate.

She had never had anyone offer something like this to her, and the fact that Violet was doing so so easily was staggering.

***

“Where’s Az?” Cassian wondered aloud as he entered the Dining Room of the River House.

He had been nowhere to be seen for days…had even let Cassian deal with the Priestesses all on his own, which had resulted in sad sighs all around.

That bastard didn’t even seem to notice the wide eyed stares and dreamy sighs that followed him every training session.

A few centuries ago it would have annoyed Cassian to no end that Azriel didn’t even seem to do anything and still have females fall at his feet.

Maybe it were the shadows…

Still…Azriel was late. Which, Cassian had to admit, was unusual for him. 

And Azriel had also been oddly quiet for the last week or so. Even for the Shadowsinger, that was unusual. Azriel was never one for being social, but even he would come and spend time with the rest of them.

But in the past week? Nothing .

“He’s otherwise occupied,” Rhys said carefully.

A small frown creased Cassian’s features at his brother’s words.

“Occupied?” Cassian repeated. “That’s a vague answer, even by your standards.”

Mission? he asked Rhys mentally.

No, Rhys immediately replied, his voice quiet in Cassian’s mind. He’s not on a mission…he’s..he’s with someone.

Az got a girl? Cassian asked with a mental chortle. It wasn’t unusual exactly…though Azriel was very well known for keeping his…romantic pursuits private. 

Az found his mate, Rhys corrected him.

“No way!” Cassian blurted out. “Don’t fuck with me, Rhys!”

"You know, it's horrible impolite to have a conversation like that," Mor drawled drily.

"Maybe you should share with us," Feyre agreed with a smirk.

"Azriel apparently found his mate," Cassian brought out, still staring at Rhys.

Rhys could only raise his hands, a small smirk on his lips. "I'm not pulling your leg," he replied. "Azriel has found his Mate."

“He…he what?” he heard Mor blurt out.

"I won't believe it until I see it," Amren said with a snort.

"You’re not the only one," Nesta muttered, a look of disbelief on her face.

"Who is it?" Feyre asked immediately.

"Do we know her?" Elain chimed in.

All eyes seemed to turn towards Rhys, who just shook his head.

“For once I’m in the dark just as much as you are,” he said quietly. “He’s being very…very…careful with whoever it is.”

“Why?” Cassian couldn’t help asking.

It seemed odd that Azriel would be so…secretive about all of this. But then maybe he shouldn't be surprised. Azriel was notoriously private about the females he bedded. It probably shouldn't surprise Cassian that Azriel was so private and careful about his mate.

But he couldn't help the small prick of hurt. That Azriel didn't tell him about having found his mate, that he didn't bring her to dinner…

An awkward silence filled the room at Cassian’s question.

None of them had an answer for his question…other than Rhys, and it was clear he didn’t want to answer.

There was a tense silence, and Feyre was the one to eventually break it. "...How…how long has he known?" she wondered aloud, her head tilted slightly.

"Feyre Darling, the only thing I know is that Azriel woke me up with yanking at our mental tether and then he literally told me that, I met my mate. I figured you would like to know that. I’ll take the rest of the week off. You’ll have my reports on your desk come tomorrow." Rhys said drily. "Since then, there has only been silence."

Mor let out a snort at that. "That's Azriel for you," Mor said, a wry note in her voice. "He decides to announce he's found his mate…and just goes and runs off with the girl as if it's the most normal thing in the world."

"At least that explains why he hasn't been at training," Emerie said with a sigh. "He has been greatly missed by Roslin and Ilana."

A snort of laughter left Cassian at Emerie’s words.  A wide grin split his face at the memory of the Priestesses swooning all over the Shadowsinger.

"Those two are head over heels for him, aren't they?" he said, a smirk on his face.

"Head over heels doesn't even begin to cover it," Nesta said, an amused smile on her face. "He walks into the training ring and they can barely even keep themselves upright."

"Seems like his mate got some strong competition, whoever it is," Cassian said with a snort. "Who do you think she is?" he asked aloud.

What kind of female would the mother think would be a perfect match for Azriel?

"Probably someone quiet," Elain immediately interjected. "You know how Azriel is…He's all shadows and stealth."

Cassian nearly grimaced as he thought about Azriel's centuries-long crush on Mor. She was everything but quiet.

"He's never shown interest in the…shyly blushing, swooning, fainting type we all know he gets a lot from," Rhys agreed. A snort of laughter escaped Feyre at Rhys' words.

 "He may have changed his mind about the type of girl he likes, now that he's found his mate,” Feyre protested. 

"The mating bond is a funny sort of thing," Emerie said, a small smile on her lips. "Sometimes it's exactly the person you’d expect…sometimes it’s the exact opposite."

Cassian couldn’t help smiling at the words. He had never expected to find Nesta…but he couldn’t be happier about it. 

A feeling of warmth and anticipation filled his chest at the idea of Azriel finally finding someone to call his own. He knew his brother…he knew how much Azriel longed for a mate, a family, someone to call his own…

He knew how…how difficult it had been for Azriel to watch Rhys and Feyre, and then him and Nesta, mate. How the Shadowsinger had pushed down the longing, the want, the desire, and instead had focused on helping everyone else…

"That's all of us then, isn't it?" Elain asked questioningly. "We all found our mates."

“Zahra hasn’t,” Feyre piped up.

It took an embarrassingly long time for the name to register, and when it did, Cassian couldn’t help the surprised look that dawned on his face.

Right. Zahra hadn't found her mate.

Was he an asshole for forgetting that she actually existed? 

She was so…quiet. Happy in the background…never did anything that gave any of them any trouble. 

"Where is she by the way?" he wondered aloud, staring around the Dining Room. Zahra was nowhere to be seen.

Normally she always showed up for family dinner. Granted, she spent most of it quietly sitting next to Azriel, occasionally making the effort to try and join in on conversation with the rest of them…but she was…she was almost always here.

A beat of silence filled the room, and Cassian couldn’t help the feeling of unease that filled his stomach.

"She's probably just busy," Feyre waved him off.

"Good Riddance," Nesta muttered under her breath.

Cassian grimaced at that. While Nesta’s relationship with Feyre and Elain had gotten better…her and Zahra were still…at odds. 

"Would you stop that?" Feyre asked her with a sigh. "She hasn't done anything to you, Nesta"

"It's her existence that's enough," Nesta sniped back.

Cassian couldn't help the sharp trickle of something inside his chest.

"She didn't pick to be born," Cassian snapped at his mate. “She didn’t chose to be a bastard. You can give your father the fault for her existence."

Nesta’s silver eyes stared at him. "That's not my problem with her," Nesta said tightly. 

"Then what is?" Feyre demanded.

No response came from Nesta, but a heavy silence fell over the room.

“She had an affair with that apothecary,” Elain blurted out.

The words fell like stones in the quiet dining room.

A moment of stunned silence filled the room at Elain’s words, and Cassian couldn’t help the feeling of shock that filled his chest.

"Excuse me…she WHAT?!" Feyre demanded hotly, staring at Elain.

Elain flinched back in her chair, hunching her shoulders with the sudden onslaught of everyone’s gazes on her.

But she continued on, even as a look of disdain filled her face. "She had an affair with the apothecary," Elain said, a note of irritation in her voice. "When we were at the cottage…He had a wife and children…and she had an affair with him that went on for years ."

A feeling of shock filled his chest, and judging by the looks on the others' faces…they were just as shocked as he was.

He’d always thought that Zahra had a strange air about her…but he’d never expected her to have…to have done something like that. He couldn't...He couldn't see that. For the life of him, he couldn't see it.

She was so quiet. She was so…she had never seemed interested in any male whatsoever. Rather the exact opposite. Shy…nearly skittish. 

“There is no way she would have done that..” Feyre blurted. The words were almost desperate, and a look of disbelief filled her face.

“Why not?” a hard look on Nesta’s face. “There are plenty of women who have no issue being with married men.”

“Not her,” Feyre protested vehemently. “I know her. She wouldn’t… she wouldn't have taken that risk," Feyre said carefully, her face ashen. "She would have never taken the risk to...have a bastard-born child herself."

"Perhaps she thought the risks were worth the reward," Nesta said bluntly, a sneer on her face. "Maybe she liked the idea of being someone's dirty little secret."

"Or maybe, just maybe, she wasn't exactly willing," Emerie said tightly. "She wouldn't be the first female to have an affair with a well-off man for one reason or another.”

Silence met Emerie’s words.

A heavy, quiet, tense silence, that fell like stones in the dining room.

Silence, and a look of shock on the other females’ faces.

Cassian could only stare mutely.

He’d never even considered that…had never thought the idea that...that Zahra had…he couldn’t even form the words in his head, let alone say them aloud.

"I…" Feyre began, her voice faltering.

Cassian felt sick to the stomach at the idea. He knew…he knew that, objectively, it was possible. That it happened…that sometimes females had no choice but to…to do what they had to. And he knew that it wasn't…it wasn't Zahra's fault, if that was the case. If she’d been forced, coerced, manipulated into an affair…

"Or maybe she really just had an affair with a married male," Mor disagreed with her mate. "She definitely wouldn’t be the first female who did that either."

"Yeah, well, without actually talking to her, you probably won't find out," Emerie said drily.

[yan-randomfandom]

hi!!! omg i just discovered your blog and i’m in LOVE! could i request yandere stanford pines (platonic or romantic or some other type is up to you) with a reader who is a reincarnated euclidean/flatworlder/dream demon? (i don’t know if you’re familiar with same coin theory, but that’s my inspiration!) preferably with no/limited memories of their past life? i imagine ford would be pretty suspicious at first because of his experiences with bill, maybe even try to kill them… but who knows if those feelings will change… that, or maybe he would get obsessed with them as a replacement muse… lots of possibilities! feel free to change/add anything to the concept, or if it doesn’t interest you, i’d appreciate any yandere ford in general! thank you!!!

Yandere!Stanford Pines x Godling!Reader

this took me a while, but i finally got around to writing it! thank you for your kind words, anon! this one contains continuous stories— because this is so long, feel free to point out any mistakes

🌑

You have been summoned.

Even from your deep slumber, the presence of other ghastly beings roaming around the dimension was painfully obvious to you. How curious; they don't seem to belong here.

"You. You grant wishes right? No deals?"

The one who summoned you flinched when you made eye contact. With their chin lifted, they tried to seem intimidating, yet the tremble of their lips and the quaking of their legs gave them away.

"Indeed, but," you replied, smiling to the best of your ability. You hovered around them, critically observing their physical body, and, by extension, their soul.

They are nothing short of terrified. But intriguingly, their fear does not mainly stem from your presence.

"Pray tell," you mused, twirling their hair with your fingers, "what happened here, dear human? I've been asleep for some time, so I request a small favor: answer my question."

Because if you had to be honest, you have no fucking idea what's happening right now. The longer you stay awake, the more you realize that you have no memory of your past.

"Bill Cipher happened. This is the Weirdmaggedon," they answered, their body shaking more intensely. You paused. "I don't know what he wants. Please, all I ask is for you to transfer me and my family somewhere safe. The ones I care about have turned to stone. We just want to be happy. Please."

A giggle escaped you. "A noble wish. Very well, I shall send you and your family to the nearest safe place."

You placed your hand on the top of their head, and they vanished out of thin air.

Humming a tune, you made your way out of the cave where you had been trapped and finally saw the world outside.

...

Swirling colors and chaotic phenomena surrounded you. What a monstrosity. Someone else has taken over this area—Bill Cipher, was it?

Turning your head, you saw an enormous bubble wrapped in chains. A grin stretched across your face.

So that’s where you sent your summoner.

🌒

Weirdmaggedon is officially over.

Stanford knew that. Bill is gone. His brother is slowly but surely regaining his memories back. Everything was going to be... normal again.

As normal as it can be anyway. A sigh left Ford when he rolled over to his side, staring at practically nothing. The room is pitch black.

He closed his eyes.

...

It's bright. With a gasp, his eyes snapped open.

A familiar field. The gentle breeze doesn't calm him down in the slightest. He's back here. Again. Why? Did Bill somehow escape? Is he out for revenge? That stupid dream demon—!!

"Gree—"

Ford shouted, immediately swinging his fist at you. You dodged swiftly in time.

"—tings! Woah!" you huffed, taking extra care to ensure he didn’t land a finger on you. "Is this how you usually greet a higher being, Stanford Pines?"

The human’s heart races uncontrollably. This can’t be happening. "Bill, what twisted form have you taken now? Didn’t we destroy you already?!"

You blinked, then laughed. "I'm not Bill, silly! He's long gone, I'm pretty sure. How should I know?"

Not Bill? What kind of nonsense are you spewing out? Stanford's expression darkened. This might be a dream, but he really didn’t want to deal with you—especially not after everything that had just happened.

You immediately noticed his demeanor.

"...Oh. I'm sorry," you muttered, getting close enough to meet his eyes. They widened at your words. "I didn't mean to laugh at your misery. I've just been so confused lately."

"What?" was all Ford could manage to say.

"I heard all about you," you said carefully, making gestures with your hands. "Human with six fingers. The man who freed Bill Cipher. Who has traveled across dimensions."

"Who told you...?"

You smiled. "I asked many—don't worry about that part. I was wondering if you could tell me anything about myself. You seem to know a lot, Pines."

Ford woke up.

Was that just a dream? Were you even real? Bill is long gone, dead. Isn't he? He won't find the answers to his questions until he falls asleep again.

🌓

Ford doesn't do anything about you until he's sure of himself. You were definitely just a figment of his imagination, right? A dream.

That’s exactly why he couldn’t believe it when you showed up again. A stupid, curious expression on your face.

And this time, Ford took it upon himself to try and kill you.

"Urk! Don’t do this! I understand you're traumatized, but I really am just trying to find my home!" you stammered, flying and dodging every attack he threw your way.

This is weird. You’re saying things Bill would never say. Is he really trying the opposite approach just to manipulate Ford again?

A massive blast from a cannon struck you.

To both of your surprise, the attack did absolutely nothing to damage you.

"I'm alive!" you exclaimed with glee, up in the air, comically rotating from the impact. "Done yet, Pines? I simply want to talk, you know!"

... Of course. Both of you are untouchable in the dreamscape. While you can imagine anything within both the mind and the dream, a being like Bill isn't stupid enough to enter with his actual body. Guess it worked the same way for you, too. It was still worth a shot.

Ford woke up.

🌔

"Finally ready?"

You tittered at him up from above. Ford narrowed his eyes at you.

"What do you want?" he deadpanned. "You're not here to make a deal, are you?"

"Deals are not my forte," you said, showing him a negative gesture. "I do wishes. But if I have to admit, I wouldn't wish something from me either."

"So you trick people," he replied, gritting his teeth. "Why do you feel the need to do that? What benefits do you gain?"

You glanced at the side before looking back at him, shrugging. "I don't remember."

"Is that so? How many wishes?"

"One."

His eyebrows furrowed. "Bill—"

"I am not Bill," for the first time since you've met him, your voice finally sounded firm. "As far as we both know, he is gone."

"... What is your name, then?"

"I don't remember."

🌕

A frustrated huff left Ford as he rubbed between his eyebrows. You giggled, pushing your hand through his hair. It's soft.

"You're not being helpful at all," he said.

"Apologies," you replied, looking sheepish. "It's hard to answer your questions if I know nothing."

"There must be something you know," the man insisted, stepping away from your touch. He doesn't like how gentle it was.

You hummed, crossing your arms as you floated away. "Do you know how Bill looks like? Am I of similar physique, perhaps?"

Ford paused as his eyes glanced up and down at your form. You can't help but feel uneasy under his tenseful gaze.

"You don't know what Bill looks like?" he asked, his eyes narrowing.

This man sure is suspicious of you. Not that you blame him. "No. I believe I never met him."

"You believe?" he scoffed. "I hope you know it's hard to trust you."

"Well," you drawled, "would it convince you if I said you can wish for my memory to come back?"

His eyes widened.

You chuckled. Maybe this is too shocking for him. Take it slow, you thought.

"Before anything else, though, how about we enjoy a nice cup of dream tea?"

🌔

You stared at the chess board in between you and Ford, confusion filling your face. "Wait, how does the knight move again?"

"Think of this shape," Ford explained, forming a black marker with his thoughts and drawing the letter 'L' in mid-air. "The knight moves to the end of this point. Just try to visualize it on the board."

"Oh, I think I understand," you muttered, choosing to move your knight in the corner of the board.

Ford grinned. He placed his queen right next to your king. "Checkmate."

"What?!" you gasped, your eyes rambling around the whole chest board. "I mistook my king for the queen! I say rematch!"

A hearty laugh escaped Ford's lips. If this was in the physical world, he's sure that his cheeks would start hurting from smiling so much.

He still wasn’t sure if you were dangerous or not. Really, he should know better than to mess with otherworldly beings.

But maybe this time, you're different. Because, as far as he knows, you're currently powerless.

🌓

"Pines," you said as Ford roamed his hands across your body. He said this was his way of observing how different you were from Bill. "Aren’t you going to use your wish to help me regain my memory? Or do you want to use it for something else?"

He rubbed his thumb over the side of your body shape. Interesting. You're just as two-dimensional as Bill is. "I only have one chance of using my wish, don't I?"

"Indeed," you murmured, shifting slightly under his touch. "I won't stop you if you use it for yourself, but I'll have to find someone else who might use the wish for me."

Ford halted all his movements.

"What?"

You drifted away from his fingers. He stared at you, wide-eyed.

"I said I'll find another to grant my wish for me," you explained. "Anyway, how was your assessment? Am I anything like Bill?"

Ford continued to stare at you, looking as if he were lost in thought.

...

"Pines?"

"Sorry," he coughed, "But, yes, you're quite similar to Bill."

You beamed, floating over to him and ruffling his hair. "Another step closer to figuring out who I am! Thank you, Pines!"

Ford woke up.

He stared at the dark ceiling. The sun has barely risen.

You had no memories. If he helped you get them back, would you be indebted to him? Or would you turn out like Bill, who wanted to rule the world?

Ford can't let you meet up with another human.

There's only one way out of this.

🌒

"You're ready to use your wish?" you gasped, placing your hands on his shoulders. "That's excellent news! However—"

"Question. Do you have limits in your wishes?" Ford asked deliberately, careful with his every word.

You hesitated before replying. "I suppose not."

His large hands held yours over his shoulders. You glanced at his six fingers before meeting his gaze again.

"Then I wish to be your master."

You felt your soul fall to the deepest depths of the dreamscape.

"You'll do anything I ask for. Be under my will. There is no turning back, dream demon."

🌑

[gas-station-trackphone]

ftm trans Eddie Munson gets turned into a chew toy for hell bats and rescued in the 11th hour by his friends who don't know he's trans, who have to run some triage first aid and can hardly make sense of the blood and gore that used to be his body as they cut off his shirt and pants to get access to the worst of the wounds, who definitely aren't in their right minds well enough anyway to think of anything other than stopping the bleeding and getting him to a hospital, which they do, and miraculously Eddie finds himself blinking awake in a bright, fluorescent room feeling exactly like he imagines a chew toy for hell bats would feel in the aftermath which is to say: like shit. Even more miraculously, he finds hometown hero Steve Harrington posted up at his bedside with greasy hair (!!! Eddie never thought he'd see the day) and bags under his eyes.

The overwhelming relief on Steve's face when he sees Eddie is awake is touching, the misty eyes and cracking voice when he says god, i thought you were toast, man are downright flattering and, let's face it, giving Eddie all the wrong ideas that he figures he has an I-almost-died pass for at the moment so he rocks with it, let's himself indulge in the fantasy for a moment. Then, gradually, Steve's relief becomes more and more obviously some brand of deeply felt pity (or sympathy, but Eddie's never been good at distinguishing the two), which bursts his bubble enough to call him out.

"I know I look like what comes out the business end of a meat grinder, but I swear I'm good, dude. They definitely have me on the good shit, I hardly feel it. I'll be good as new in no time." Big fat fucking lie, by the way, but he'll say whatever if it gets that wounded puppy look out of Harrington's eyes.

"I...yeah, Eddie, I'm glad." And whatever it is he doesn't want to say, whatever is putting that you poor motherfucker look on his face, he's absolutely the opposite of subtle about it.

Eddie can hear the manifestation of his panic on the heart monitor.

"What? What is it? Is everyone- is Dustin-?" He can't say it, can't even think it, would rather be slowly torn to shreds all over again than know he failed at his one fucking task to keep the kid safe.

"No! I mean, yes, he's fine, they're all fine. Henderson's got a broken ankle and both of Max's arms are broken but the docs say they'll be fine in a few months with physical therapy."

The release of tension in Eddie's body hurts almost as much as the relief soothes him. "Okay then, what the fuck are you not telling me? It's fine, I'm a big boy, Harrington, I can take it."

He sighs, looking sick with it. "Eds...I don't know how to tell you this."

Oh god, what the fuck. Eddie's right back to freaking out because Steve looks inexplicably guilty, pained in the face like he's about to deliver the worst news he could imagine but if everyone's fine then-

"It's your dick, man. It's- it's gone. The bats-"

And Eddie laughs so hard he tears about a dozen stitches, immediately stops laughing, and throws up over the side of the bed and thankfully not all over his freshly reopened wounds as Steve shouts for help.

Eventually, when he's all stitched up again and barely hanging on to his hard earned lesson to not literally bust his gut laughing about the look on Steve's face (he has to force himself not to tell Wayne the specifics of how he ended up back in the OR, because he's absolutely gonna crack up and Eddie will definitely be unable to help himself from laughing with him), he realizes he's going to come out to all his friends in the very near future because holy shit, he has to tell everyone about Steve's utterly devastated expression at the news of Eddie's Ken doll-ification by way of demobat.

[idanceuntilidie]

Hii! Can i request yan cheater with male reader? I really like your writing, and I also love you sm! Have a nice day 💗💗💗💗

Thank you so much I'm gonna cry, I love you too!! Sorry if this is wonky, today was a very exhausting day for me mentally. I hope you enjoy anyway <3 come again :D i made the cheater male I hope you don't mind--

Yandere Cheater x M!Reader

Requests are open

TW: yandere behaviours, breaking and enetering, slightly digusting parts including human hair and organs.

Ciaran was quite special. Very handsome, always surrounded by people. You aren’t sure if being with him was a blessing or a curse.

He swore he was yours only, but you can’t help but feel hurt when he is flirting with someone right in front of you. There are also times where his phone blows with notifications from different people. It hurt, your heart felt like it was shattering just to be put back and destroyed again.

But the last straw was when you got a message from one of his lovers, they got a moment ofweakness, they felt bad and spilled everything out in a long message. The cherry on top were screenshots and photos of them kissing each other.

You were sure this time your heart just ceases to exist. You cried a lot that day, not ready to face Ciaran. You packed his things and left them outside of the door.

It baffled him how you would leave him just like that, it was just a small misunderstanding. It was, he thinks, just one time thing. You got just oh so boring he couldn’t take it anymore. He still loves you! He really does.

He missed your smile, your smell, how beautiful you looked in the rising sun when you just woke up. His heart squeezes in his chest. Another night spent waiting by your door, you won’t let him in of course, but he just likes to sit there, happily humming when he sees you through your windows. It became a routine, you never called the cops on him, which means you still must like him. Hope burned in his chest, and slowly the obsession for you began.

And he will get his little boyfriend back. You don’t feel safe in your house anymore, Ciarian gave up on sitting outside of your house yes, but now you can’t stop receiving messages and calls from random numbers.

Sometimes the caller breathes, silently stuttering your name, sometimes even moaning. Calling you his little pretty boy and shit. It made your stomach twist. You called the police many times, but at this point they just don’t believe you because of your lack of evidence. Lazy bastards. You also began receiving gifts, your favorite food, drinks, clothes that fit you perfectly. There was well, one time where your friend was over and one of these gifts appeared, with a card attached to it. A box of chocolates.

You were very tired that day, barely keeping yourself awake, you told your friend to take it. They accepted gladly, and began to eat while you went to the kitchen to make some coffee for you and them, that's when you heard a shriek and gagging sounds. You ran to your friend and saw them pulling hair out of their mouth, there was some skin attached to it. Your friend threw up soon after.

So, after that incident their gifts landed in trash. You feared what you might find out in them next. You don’t feel safe here, but you don’t have enough money to move. So like a rational person, you took another shift. The less you are home the better. It turns out you were wrong.

You came back in the middle of the night, you were practically falling asleep while standing up. You took off your shoes and headed to the kitchen for a sip of water so you can head to bed. When you turned on the light you froze in place. A beautifully wrapped heart shaped box sat on the counter waiting. You swallowed, body moving on your own. The gifts never appeared inside of your house. Hell, they are getting bolder with each gift. As you got closer to the box, a foul smell filled your senses. It was sweet, a little fruity.  Your shaking hands hovered over the opening of the box, carefully lifting up the lid.

Your scream echoed through the house, as you fell down to the floor. Inside of the box was a human heart, carefully placed and surrounded by your favourite flowers.

You felt a hand on your shoulder, and a warm breath on your cheek.

Ciaran.

Your breath hitched, you didn’t dare to move as his bloody hands wrapped around your shaking form.

“Did you like my gift? Only the best for my boyfriend, do you forgive me now? Look how much I have done for you.” He kissed your cheek.

“I forgive you for kicking me out, I’m a better man after all of this has ended you know? Now we can be together forever.”

[vivwritesfics]

Idk if this is what you meant by supernatural au but what about a demon/king of hell Lando manipulating innocent reader into falling in love with him?

I took out the manipulation because i don't vibe with that but demon lando hell yeah

warnings: hints of smut

She'd seen him twice before she had the courage to approach him. But he was beautiful, and she couldn't help herself.

She tried to say 'hey', but didn't get the chance. He held out his hand, captivating eyes staring into her own as he pulled her onto the dance floor. His hands were on her hips as he moved her body against his own.

They were kissing before she knew his name. There was something about him that was just so captivating. He held her until the club closed and then held her hand as he walked her out of the doors.

She didn't even know his name and she was leading him back to her apartment. She didn't even know his name and she had her legs wrapped around his own as he ploughed her into her mattress, fucked her eight ways from Wednesday.

To Lando, she was supposed to be a one night stand. But as he laid laid, eyes moving over her back. If she was like him, there would have been wings there, black feathers like his own. They would have been beautiful, but she was human.

Lando didn't think he'd be coming back to her again. Usually he spent the night with one girl and moved on. Why the hell was he at her door again, this time with food in his hands, food that he couldn't eat.

She welcomed him back into the apartment, welcomed him back again. And again. And again. Before she knew it, Lando was a regular in her life. And she didn't want that to change.

She didn't know what he was, and Lando preferred it in that way. She was so sweet, she didn't need to know what he was. Not knowing what he was was going to keep her safe.

The longer Lando spent with her, the harder he found it to keep control. I mean, you can't really fault the king of hell for being paranoid over the safety of his human girlfriend. He laid awake with her, holding her against his chest, thinking up a thousand scenarios of the way he could have lost her.

He was gonna do anything it could to keep her safe.

If you enjoyed this, please feel free to buy me a coffee

[vaultdwellerbarbie]

happiness is a butterfly

(gif credit to junkfoodcinemas on tumblr) :-)

cooper adams (trap)/f!reader (5.5k wc)

summary cooper keeps his promise to return your security clearance card after escaping police custody

content warnings smut, unsafe sex, morally dubious main character, mentions of murder and violence, guns, not really cheating but still kinda cheating i guess, dark i guess but everything is consensual

i know that this is like a twisters blog but i needed to get this off of my chest i don't have any other blogs sorry to everyone who has my post notifications on i'm in love with josh hartnett fun fact. i actually giggled out loud in the movie theater when he took his shirt off it was kind of humiliating. this is named after the lana del rey song, but has notes of velvet crowbar and dark but just a game too.

When you and everyone else you worked with were informed that Lady Raven’s show was going to be used as a rouse to catch The Butcher, a man who had been keeping everyone you knew awake well into the night for quite some time, you weren’t so sure that you were equipped to handle the responsibilities that you were being given.

Most people, when asked to picture a security guard, didn’t picture you. You weren’t intimidating, physically or in terms of your personality. You were rather disarming, but that unassumingness made you an asset because you were equipped to handle threats, you could fight back if need be, and you knew that most people would feel comfortable enough around you to not worry about doing something wrong like they would around a big, strong man.

That was the whole point of your role at the arena, you were undercover security. If you needed to take someone down, you were able to do so. If you needed to call something in, you were able to do so. It wasn’t exactly a unique position, plenty of security personnel worked in plain sight. Up until that meeting, you weren’t even so sure why so many people in your life were so concerned that you were putting yourself in danger. 

You’d claim that it’s ‘really not even more dangerous than being a secret shopper at Target’, and for the most part, you never really got put in super dangerous situations. You were allowed to escort people off the premises, and if someone did get a little aggressive, there was often a way for it to be handled without you getting hurt. There were so many procedures in place that you were never worried. 

It was difficult to not be worried when you were told that you were going to take part in taking down a serial killer, someone who you knew was killing people indiscriminately. Someone who you were being told was partially your responsibility, as security detail. When you were given your card, you felt as though it was going to play a part in your life in some way. You were just under the impression that way was something simple, though. It was important because it was going to be there during a day that you could tell your family about for years to come, surely?

Not so. 

He was tall, charming in an awkward way, devilishly handsome, and one of the best sexual encounters that you had ever had in your life. You couldn’t forget the way that he pressed you against the wall, the way that he touched you wherever he pleased but wouldn’t let you even get a taste of him beyond one fleeting kiss when you agreed to lend him your card for the day. He had promised that he would get it back when he was certain that he was safe, and at the time you were too charmed by him to actually process what you were doing - who exactly you deemed it appropriate to get finger-fucked by at your job in return for him taking your one-way ticket throughout the arena. 

The promise that he made you to return your card was never fulfilled, and when you saw on the television that The Butcher had been apprehended, you knew that it never would be. 

There was a sick feeling in your stomach. You knew that you had willingly helped The Butcher, Cooper. But it didn’t really matter, did it? He was apprehended, he wasn’t going to hurt anyone else, and the young man that he had kidnapped had survived the encounter. Lady Raven never made it to her second show, the one that had sold out to begin with, but even she had made it out alive.

Still, that sick feeling grew - because you were almost disappointed. 

Not disappointed that people had survived, it wasn’t that you thrived on chaos and wished to see more violence. You were disappointed because you wanted more from that encounter, you wanted to feel more than just his fingers, you wanted him to fulfill that promise that he had made to you to return his card. That promise had come with a lot more implications than just returning something that you weren’t going to need for work anymore now that he was caught. It made you feel sick because you knew who he was, what he was capable of, and you still found yourself wishing that you could feel his fingers digging into your hips again. You wished that you could touch him, at least once. It was so very wrong to wish something like that about him now that you knew who he was - but did you not know before? 

Glancing away from the glow of the television in your dark room, you raised the fabric of the tank top covering your upper torso. His fingers had dug into your skin harshly, it almost felt like the ghost of them still existed on your skin even though you knew that couldn’t be possible. 

A knock at the door shook you from your thoughts, but you were certain nobody should be knocking at this hour. Leaning forward, you opened the drawer of the coffee table and grabbed the small gun from inside of it, work-issued, something that you really weren’t supposed to fire when you weren’t on the clock. They should understand if you were about to be potentially murdered, right? 

Standing up, you peered through the peep-hole only to find the one person who you were certain couldn’t actually be there. But he knocked again, and you were almost sure that he had somehow made eye contact with you through the hole in the door.

“How did you figure out where I live?” You asked, opening the door and letting him in before anyone could see what was happening. “And how are you here? I saw on the news that you were in custody.” 

“Well, I was in custody.” He held up a small metal object, it looked like one of the spokes from a bike that he had bent. “I got out.”

“And my address, how’d you get my address?”

“You left your wallet sitting out, figured I’d return it to you.” 

You watched as he pulled a wallet out, and it was unmistakably yours. How had you not noticed that you didn’t have your wallet? It must have been the chaos of the day. When the concert ended, you were all briefed and asked to go home, but you knew that there was more that needed to be done once it was over. You were supposed to return for the second concert once they had done a sweep of the building to make sure that nobody was hiding out in there, but that had never happened. 

“I shouldn’t have let you into my house.” You acknowledged, taking the wallet from his hands and tossing it behind him onto the coffee table. “But I did.”

“You did. Why?” 

“You made a promise, I figure it would be the gentlemanly thing to do to keep your promise.” 

Cooper hummed in agreement, pulling the small white card out from his pocket and holding it out for you. Just as you went to grab it, he pulled it back. “I’ll give this back to you, but I want something in exchange.”

“What’s that?” 

“How much did the news actually tell you?”

“Just that you were apprehended, that you have a family.”

“It was my wife who turned me in, I can’t go back to that house. I can’t hide away with my children, I can’t even see them again.” He looked angry, you could see that, but his anger wasn’t with you. “I can’t run away because they’ll just look for me, but you…” 

“Cooper…”

“They won’t suspect that I’m with you, they don’t even know that I know you.” 

That much was true, he had pulled you into an area with no security cameras. You had already been there, and even if they questioned you, you doubted that they were actually going to be able to figure out that you’d been working with Cooper in any capacity. Still…

“That’s a terrible idea.”

“How so?”

“Well, I don’t have any clothes in your size, so I’d have to buy those. I don’t have enough food for two, or anything for you to shower with. It would look really weird if I all of a sudden had a bunch of ATM withdrawals or mens clothes on my bank statement since they have you entering a room I was in on camera.” 

“I’ll give you cash.” 

“Alright, fine. But what if they come here?”

“Why would they come here?”

“At home visit. This is the FBI, they’re thorough.” 

“They’re not going to come here, I walked into a lot of rooms with a lot of people. I doubt that they’re going to interview everyone, and there were no identifiers on the card you gave me.” 

Glancing back over at the card, you knew that he was right, but there were still flaws.

“You’re going to get caught, and then we’re both going to be put in jail. Someone gave you a card, they know that much.”

“No, they knew that I had a card. I could have stolen that from anyone, I stole a clearance pass from someone - is he under investigation too?” He stepped forward, holding the card out for you. There were a lot of different ways he could have played this, and you weren’t foolish enough to think that he actually liked you as a person - this man just wanted to lay low and survive, even though you had been told that he wasn’t the type of person who really wanted to survive to begin with. You could only imagine that he was driven by pure spite, but by god were his manipulation tactics working. “I won’t hurt you, I promise. You can see that I’ve kept my promises to you.”

“Yeah, with conditions.” You replied, but you doubted that he was going to kill you. Unless something randomly snapped in him, you had done nothing to provoke him and he, technically, needed you. He couldn’t go out in public, and he really needed to lay low. Killing you would cut off any resource he has, and he would have to come up with some way for your neighbors to not get suspicious. Cooper wouldn’t be stupid enough to kill you even if he wanted to, since you were so willing to comply with him for some reason that you couldn’t quite figure out. “What do you gain from this?”

“I live, I fuck Rachel over just like she did to me.”

“The anonymous tip was her, wasn’t it?”

“It was.” 

“Right.” 

Sighing, you fought with yourself in your mind for a few moments. This was wrong, incredibly wrong. This man was a serial killer, he had done awful things. You had a gun and you could kill him, he couldn’t fight back in time when he had nothing to protect him. At the very least, you could incapacitate him and call police. It would be the right thing to do, the moral thing to do. Yet, when he looked at you, you couldn’t help but remember the feeling of his hand on your hips, of his fingers inside of you, of his brief and taunting kiss. You wanted to do the moral thing, but you couldn’t do it.

“I’ll help you.”

“Thank you, sweetheart. I knew you’d make the right choice.” Taking the card from his hand, you glanced it over before setting it down. 

“Do you want something to drink? I have water, lemonade, whatever. Make yourself at home, I guess.” Glancing toward the living room, you moved to turn the television off, figuring it probably wouldn’t be advisable to have the news on anymore. Flicking the light on, you pointed toward the hallway. “I’ve got a small house and I live alone, you can sleep on the couch. My room’s back there.” 

“I’ll take a water, and the couch will be just fine.” 

Nodding, you walked to the kitchen and grabbed him a bottled water, but the couch couldn’t be right, you wouldn’t be comfortable with it. “Couch isn’t fine, you can sleep with me.”

“What’s wrong with the couch?”

“I have a giant sliding glass door, I’m shocked you didn’t just break in.” He finally turned to look at it, it was very close to your couch. “I’ll work on covering it up, but you’re just going to have to sleep with me.” 

“My pleasure.”

Your heart beat sped up for a second, but you brushed it aside and handed him the water, your fingers brushing his for a second. You couldn’t have sex with him, not tonight anyway. You wanted to, desperately, but your mind was running a mile a minute and you were certain his was too, considering. Everything about this felt like a fever dream, you were harboring a serial killer fugitive in your home for what reason? Because he was hot and good with his fingers? It was shameful, sinful, but not enough that you could stop it from happening. 

“Promise me again that you’re not going to kill me.” You said, walking him to your room and opening up the drawer where you typically kept your gun at night. Though you lived in a relatively safe area, you were always rather cautious. Supposedly. Maybe it wasn’t very cautious to let a known serial killer lay low in your home. 

“I promise I’m not going to kill you.” He stepped closer to you, his thumb on your chin as he tilted your head so you were looking into his eyes. There was a coldness in them that contrasted the naturally warm brown color that his eyes had, it probably should have turned you off. You were pretty sure it was impossible for you to be turned off by him, though. “Do you believe me?”

“I believe that you kinda need me for at least a little while, so yes.”

“That hurts.” He replied, and for just a moment you wanted to smile - he was kind of funny, but you weren’t sure that he was trying to be funny. 

Cooper’s movements were swift, it was as though he was sealing his promise with a kiss just as he had the last one. But this one was deeper, much longer than the kiss that left you yearning for more in the supply closet where you had forgotten what you were even looking for. The feeling of his hand on the small of your back urged you to move closer to him, his taut frame pressed against yours in a way that made you forget every pesky worry about safety and morality. Cooper’s hand ventured lower, a gasp escaping your lips upon feeling him squeezing your backside. 

But he pulled away, and he actually had the nerve to laugh at you for pouting before sitting down on the edge of the bed.

“You’re gonna need to strip, you’re not sleeping in my clean sheets in your outside clothes.” 

“These aren’t even my clothes, I took them.”

“That’s even worse. I’ll get you new clothes tomorrow.” 

“Are you sure you don’t just want to see me strip?”

“I do want to see you strip, but no. Please?” 

The rest of the evening was… uneventful. You should know, since you were awake for most of it. 

Despite having the assurance of your gun being beside you, and knowing that logically there really was nothing this man could gain from killing you, you also knew that this was a terrible idea. He needed you for now, and probably for a little while, but were you just delaying the inevitable? People were going to assume he fled the country after a couple of months, and were you really even capable of laying that low for a couple of months just so he could kill you when he no longer needed you? But would he even want to kill you? He had the option to earlier in the arena, he had no idea at the time that it would have been shooting himself in the foot if he did. He knew that you would figure out who he was, and somehow he knew that you weren’t going to turn him in. 

Even with the belief that he, at the very least, wouldn’t kill you for a while - was this right? Surely, no. He was a serial killer, he was surviving predominantly so he could kill someone who had wronged him. This wasn’t someone who was at large for robbing a bank to feed his family, this was someone who was at large for murdering people and who was hoping to kill one member of his family. Still, it struck you as interesting that it was only one member. He seemed to care about his children in a genuine capacity, you had seen him with his daughter. At the very least, he had a capacity for human emotion, but did that simply make him more dangerous than he already was?

Sleep didn’t come easy for you. If it wasn’t a worry that the man beside you was going to turn on you on a dime and kill you two months down the road, it was your moral arguments about how you shouldn’t have even let this man into your house - how the right thing to do would be calling the police now that he was asleep beside you. If it wasn’t that, it was thoughts of how gruesome the murders had been, and a morbid curiosity about why he had done what he had done and what had driven him. You’d heard the profile, you knew that it had a lot to do with how he was raised and the issues that he had with his mother, but you wanted to know more - you wanted to hear from his own mouth what it was that drove him to do the things that he did in the manner that he did them. 

Eventually, you were able to fall asleep. Not that you slept for long, because just the slightest stir beside you caused you to wake up. But you did get a few hours of sleep, and those few hours translated into a sluggish day where you picked up men’s clothing and foods that you wouldn’t normally eat and hoped beyond all hope that someone you knew wasn’t going to be there. You were lucky that the arena was closed until further notice - with pay, thankfully - since it was still considered an active crime scene since Cooper was still at large. 

When you returned back, he was still right where you left him and seemingly relieved to change into something that didn’t belong to someone else. While he took care of himself, you took care of dinner. It was odd enough cooking for two people when you were used to just being alone, but it was even weirder knowing what the person who you were cooking for was capable of. Still, you couldn’t bring yourself to actually question if what you were doing was morally okay or not - it wasn’t. It was not morally okay, you had ample opportunity to turn him in without worry of being killed for doing it and you chose not to. And why not? Because he was hot? Because you wanted to have sex with him? What kind of reason was that? At some point, you really just got tired of arguing with yourself in your mind and focused instead on whether you were actually going to have sex with him.

Sure, he fingered you one time, but he did that so you’d do him a favor. Sure, he’d kissed you since then, but was that just a thank you for helping him? And, sure, he was driven to kill Rachel - but it wasn’t like he was technically divorced. Killing his wife was probably a lot more severe and permanent than divorcing her, but that didn’t necessarily mean that he was looking to have sex with someone who he had just meant. At some point, you had to consider your own morality in ensuring that - if that happened - it wasn’t solely because he wanted somewhere to stay. 

Once you had finished cooking, you took the opportunity to install the curtains that you had purchased while you were away. It was true that you had a fence in your backyard, but it was also true that you were still worried that - being that you were on camera in the same room as Cooper - you were being monitored, or at risk of being monitored. You’d intended on getting curtains for the glass door anyway, some sort of worry about people peeping through the glass. Of course, you hadn’t accounted for purposefully letting the danger inside of your home and deciding to look past the amorality of it. 

“Need some help with that?” 

“I’m good.” 

“Looks like you need some help with that.” Cooper moved with such ease, adjusting the curtains so they were installed in the right place. He was incredibly tall, and had no qualms with leaning so closely behind you that you could absolutely feel him pressed against your back. It sent a shiver up your spine, but that only made him lean just a little bit closer. 

When he was finished, you would expect that he’d move away. Instead, you felt his large hands move down to your hips, your breath hitching in your throat as you watched his reflection in the glass. He could see you, he was looking right at you, and you wanted to stop him and remind him that you made dinner, but the feeling of his lips against your neck had you forgetting anything else that was lingering in your mind. 

“You don’t have to have sex with me just so you have a place to stay, you know.”

“I had other ways of getting your help, I’m not looking for a favor.” He replied, his teeth grazing the sensitive skin on your neck. “Unless you don’t want to… but I feel like you do.” 

“I do want to,” You replied, but turned around to face him anyway. He left his hands on your hips, not bothering to move away from you. He was so close to you, you could smell the soap that he had just used in the shower on him when you looked at him. “After we eat, I spent extra money on food for two.”

“After we eat, then.”

Cooper leaned forward to press a chaste kiss to your mouth, your eyes fluttering shut as you had a difficult time controlling your body’s unavoidable attraction to the man. Wetness still lingered on your neck from his mouth, and all you could focus on was how badly you wanted to look down and confirm that he wanted this just as badly as you did. But he pulled away, giving you exactly what you had asked for and joining you for dinner. 

It was tense and somewhat awkward to sit down at eat with him, but it also seemed like something was was awkward for him, too. Not because he was thinking about you, or because he was even thinking about being on the run, but because he was used to eating meals with his children. Regardless of who he was, regardless of what he was capable of, it was inarguable that he cared about his children. You were certain that his mind was simply lingering on them, on what they were doing and what they were thinking of him at this very moment. Despite knowing that he was The Butcher, knowing that he really didn’t deserve much sympathy since he had made the decision to dow hat he had done, you still felt bad to see a man so desperately yearning to be with his children again. A yearning that you both knew was never going to be fulfilled because, even if he could find a way to get in contact with them again, it was unlikely that they were going to want to be in contact with him knowing what he had done, what he planned on doing to their other parent in an act of revenge. 

By the time you were finished eating, the only thing you could think about was how badly you wanted the man sitting in front of you - and how badly you were sure he wanted to distract himself from whatever thoughts were lingering in the back of his mind. Trying to wash the dishes lasted about two seconds before he was behind you again, and this time you couldn’t bring yourself to do anything other than give in.

“Finish cleaning.”

“But-”

“Finish cleaning or we won’t do anything.” He responded, but made no effort to make it easier on you as he pulled your hips against his, the rather apparent evidence that he wanted this as badly as you did pressing against your ass as you tried your best to continue washing the dishes that were in the sink. “Good girl.”

“You’re a tease.”

“Just organized.” 

You knew he was organized, you knew it bothered him if things weren’t clean and tidy. Each of those things were discussed during the breakdown of the profile of the man, so you doubted that he was going to be much different from that while living under the same roof as him even if it was only temporary. You had no qualms with washing your dishes and keeping your house clean, you simply took issue with it when you were trying to do a chore and had his mouth against your skin.

It took you all of two minutes - a personal record - to have everything cleaned and to have him turning you around and lifting you onto the dry part of the cupboard. You knew that he was strong, how else would he have been able to effortlessly lift the people that he was kidnapping? It wasn’t a shock to you that he would have no issue in placing you on your own cupboard, but you simply whined out a complaint along the lines of ‘I just cleaned in here the other day’. 

“You can clean again, I’m feeling impatient.”

“You really should help me clean since you’re not paying rent.” 

“Sounds fair.” 

Cooper seemingly was being honest about being impatient, wasting no time in pulling your shirt over your head and undoing the bra that was hooked at your back. He had a lot more ease with that than even you did sometimes, but you chose not to think too hard about it as you felt his lips against yours. He pressed himself in between your legs, spreading them a bit wider than was entirely comfortable for the muscles in your thighs, but that slight apprehension was entirely forgotten the moment you felt his hips grinding into yours.

A sigh left your throat, his hands complimenting the feeling nicely as he brought one to your chest, his thumb pressed against your nipple. He had quite large hands, but considering his overall stature, you weren’t very surprised by that. Your own hands got a bit adventurous, moving to undo his pants while he moved back slightly so you could do what it was that you wanted to do. Cooper helped you remove them, but you noted that he didn’t allow his pants to fall to the floor - that must be something that bothered him.

“Please take your shirt off.”

“Since you used your manners, I’d be happy to oblige you.” He responded, taking the shirt of but very neatly setting it down beside you. Your eyes locked on his, that familiar darkness still lingering in them as he looked at you. Bringing a hand up, he let you explore his torso, the warmth of his skin contrasting the coldness in his eyes - even when he seemed to be doing something intimate, there was never much warmth behind them. Not when he looked at you, anyway - you’d noticed that he looked very warmly at his daughter during the concert, it was something that made him stick out to you in the first place. 

“I really need you to fuck me.” 

Cooper huffed out a laugh at your bluntness, but wasted very little time in helping you get your pants undone and pulling them down your hips along with your panties. You watched him as he set them into a neat pile with his shirt, the coolness of the counter underneath you making you move a little bit closer to him. But any coldness that you still felt was gone soon thereafter. The head of his cock pushed against your clit first, a whimper leaving your lips as you felt him teasing you. 

“So fucking wet, have you been thinking about this all day?”

“I’ve been thinking about this since yesterday.” You admitted, but you were certain that he knew that. 

“I have too.” He responded, pushing inside of you a moment later and giving you very little time to process what he had said. Leaning forward fully, Cooper supported your body so you could press against him. He set a brutal pace, giving you very little time to adjust to the stretch of the size of a man of his stature. It was painful at first, but that pain was soothed by the feeling of his mouth against yours, by the sound of his moans filling your ears and reverberating against your lips. 

The pain melted away into pleasure rather quickly, fingers absentmindedly roaming his body before settling on his forearm. 

“You’re taking it so well, honey, you feel so fucking good wrapped around me.” Whatever thoughts were plaguing his mind were quickly forgotten as he pounded into you, and any remaining apprehensions in your own head were gone just as quickly as his were. “If I had time yesterday, I would have bent you over in that supply closet. You would have liked that, wouldn’t you?”

“Fuck- I would have-”

“You’re sick for fucking me, you know that.” He was taunting you now, and he seemed to be getting off on it - in a weird way, you were too. 

“I know.”

“But you love it anyway.”

“I do- feels so good.” 

“I know, I know it does baby.” His taunts faded into coos, but his tone was still teasing and his hips were still snapping against yours with reckless abandon. Everything felt overwhelming, him inside of you, filling you more than anyone else ever could. His hand squeezing that part of your hip again, his hot breath against your lips - your breaths and moans fading together, and the feeling of the friction against your nipples as your chest was pressed tightly against his. It was all too much, but somehow not enough; you really couldn’t get enough of him. “But now I can have you whenever I want, isn’t that right?”

“Yes-” You let out a squeal at a particularly harsh thrust, a coil building in your stomach as you felt one of his hands roaming down your skin before he pressed a finger against your clit. “Whenever you want.”

“Such a good girl, I think you deserve to cum. You’ve been so accommodating, so sweet.” 

“Please-”

Cooper’s finger sped up against your clit, your eyes shutting and your head falling against his chest as he brought you over the edge. He let you ride out your orgasm before pulling out to finish against your stomach, bringing his fingers down to collect the cum on your skin. Your eyes felt clouded over as you opened them, gazing into his that were also still blown out with lust. He watched as you took his fingers into your mouth, his own lips slightly ajar as he took in the sight of you taking the taste of him onto your tongue.

“Let’s get you into the bath.”

By the time that you had finished your shower - a shower that was riddled with mistakes as your legs were just a little bit shaky, he had placed all of your clothes into the washer and had seemingly dug through your drawers to find you some pajamas. It was definitely not the polite thing to do, but you weren’t sure what you expected from him.

This issue with him was, as you got back into bed with him and let him hold you - which, you weren’t sure if it was more for you or for him - was that he was so normal. You knew there were things wrong with him, but he appeared so normal and tame that you were almost able to forget them. But you knew about them, you knew what was wrong with him and you knew that you were just as bad for hiding him from the police, for allowing him a place in your life even though you were well-aware of the awful things that he did, the awful things that he was planning on doing in the future. 

Yet, as you felt his fingers brushing through your hair and the warmth of his body against your own, there was no part of you that wanted to change the decisions that you had made regardless of the risk and amorality of it all.

[unlicensed-queer]

Study Session

Summary: Donnie and the reader are childhood friends going to college together and feelings run hot one night working on a biology project

Warnings: Shmut (sub! Donnie and unprotected sex, wrap it up folks, unprotected is only fun in fiction and monogamous relationships!)

Pairing: Donnie Darko x Fem! Reader

Notes: so like the smut was fun but I loved writing the dialogue between reader and Donnie, it was so fun to imagine them being tired and frustrated with their assignment and blaming the flies. First smut post hope y'all enjoy! (I did not proofread this have mercy on me). Divider by @saradika-graphics

Donnie and you had been friends as long as you could remember. You had grown up next door neighbors, running around the neighborhood, poking salamanders and making mud castles. Then later as soon as you got your license, the two of you drove around looking for anything to do in your sleepy Iowa town. You'd been together forever, always had each other's backs and been there for each other through your darkest moments. You knew almost everything about Donnie, except one thing. What you didn't know was that he had been pining after you since he could recognize the difference between girls and boys. You didn't know that he had picked the college he did simply because you were going there and he couldn't stand the thought of not being able to see you. And you didn't know that every night Donnie lay awake with his hand in his pants and his eyes closed, thinking of the way your hair smelled and how the sun shone off your skin. He was addicted to you, obsessed. One time you left your hoodie at his dorm, he had cherished it. He kept it in a box in his closet, secluded and safe, taking it out to bury his face in your scent as he rutted helplessly into his bed. The poor boy wanted you so bad it hurt. Of course it wasn't just that he thought you were hot, a lot of girls were hot, no it was the fact that you never treated him like a bomb about to go off, never looked at him like he might snap and run at you with a broken glass. You treated him like a normal friend, even after the shit show with the flooded school and the inspirational speakers house. But the fact that you were everything he ever wanted in a girl, strong, confident and forceful, didn't hurt.

Now Donnie was smart and Donnie was brave but he was terrified to admit any of this to you. He was so scared of ruining what you had that he held it back, content with his fantasies and his right hand, left if he was feeling adventurous.

One night you were sitting together, chewing your pencils and scratching your head over a biology project. The results of your trials weren't lining up the way they were supposed to and you just couldnt figure out what was going wrong. Donnie sat back with a sigh and stretched his cramped back.

"I dunno man have you considered that maybe the flies are just fucking stupid or something?" He asked, to frustrated to think of any actual ideas "maybe tomorrow we can print off an instruction manual of what they're supposed to do and they can read it with their weird ass little eyes"

You huffed a distracted laugh as you looked over the spreadsheets for the millionth time

"Sure let's tell them that they're giving they're larvae the wrong birth defects and that they need to try harder" You let your head fall, thumping against the textbook on your mattress

"I don't know what's going wrong, maybe the dosages in the food is wrong?" You asked, voice muffled. Donnie looked down at you. Your were laying on your stomach and your shirt had rode up, exposing the dip of your back. He swallowed, funny how an inch of exposed skin and the curve of your ass in shorts could make his brain short circuit.

"Yeah uh, we could try that"

You looked back, frowning slightly.

"You good Donnie? You look all sweaty are you sick?" You asked, tilting your head to the side. Donnie gave a bright and only slightly forced smile and gave you a thumbs up. As soon as you turned away he hurriedly grabbed a throw pillow and held it on top of his lap. He groaned internally, why did he always feel like this in the most inconvenient times? He didn't want to be one of those gross guy best friends that only spend time with a girl because they want to fuck her, but he needed you so badly. He could have drooled over the sight of the how your clothes hugged your body, how your shoulder moved as you turned pages.

Donnie took a deep breath, he couldn't stand it anymore. Even if you rejected him it would still be better than this halfway hell of agonizing over you day and night

"Y/N, I..I wanna..I gotta say something" Donnie mumbled, twisting the tassels on your pillow. You sat up and looked at him.

"Is it why you been acting so weird for the last 20 minutes?" You asked, pushing your hair back "do I have something stuck in my teeth?" You lifted your hand to your mouth in worry.

"Nonono, your teeth look great, you look great , I-" Donnie flushed with nerves. He could string together a rant about smurfs or rabbits or why he hated fakey VHS messiahs but as soon as he wanted to just say he liked you it was all jumbled up. You were so close to him, he could see the faint freckles on your nose. He didn't think about doing it, he just knew that a moment later his lips were pressed to yours and it was everything he ever wanted. He didn't care if you slapped him and never wanted to speak again, it was worth it for a moment of feeling your plush lips and being enveloped in your scent. He broke away, lips parted and pupils blown wide.

“Sorry uh-" he didn't even get to finish his sentence before you had pushed him back onto the bed, kissing him hard. Donnie moaned and threaded his hands into your hair. You were both inexperienced and the kiss was all tongue and teeth but still the heat pooled in your core. You pulled away for a moment to breathe, looking down at Donnie. His lips were swollen and pink, his hair messy and his cheeks flushed.

“Y/N, fuck, need..need you" he whimpered, tugging at your waist band. He felt like his brain was melting, you were so pretty and he was so hard and he needed you so badly it hurt.

“Please-please I-” Donnie felt you wrap a hand around his cock and he gave a whimper that sounded like he was about to cry.

"Need what?” You teased. You knew full well what he wanted, your pussy warm and wet around him. But you weren't going to let him have it that easy, he'd get spoiled.

“Wanna fuck you, please Y/N, I'll make you feel so good I just need you, needa be inside you.." Donnie begged, pressing kisses to your neck and face. “Please" he whispered into your skin, drunk on the strawberry scent of your body wash.

“So polite aren't you?" You murmured to Donnie as you cradled his face in one hand. You shifted your legs to pull off your shorts. Donnie looked down with wide eyes and swallowed dryly.

“Cat got your tongue?" You laughed as you tugged down his pants and boxers to his knees. Donnie looked back at you. His eyes were huge, they always were but this time they seemed almost glassy with awe.

“You're so pretty" he whispered, lifting his hands to your hips. You smiled and kissed him slowly as you sank down onto him. Donnie groaned into the kiss, his hips bucking unconsciously. It felt so much better than he could have imagined, tight and hot and velvet soft, rippling around him. He bit his lip trying not to cum instantly. A shock of electric pleasure shot through him when you started to ride him. He couldn't control the sounds he made. He didn't know if he was talking or whimpering or what but his mouth was open, praise and pleasure dripping from his lips.

“Feel so good inside me" you panted, hips raising and falling, the obscene sound of your skin together filling the dorm. Your hips burned but the pleasure was enough you couldn't stop. You were lost in the pleasure when you felt Donnie grab your hips, halting your movement. You looked down in confusion, seeing Donnie with his eyes clenched closed.

“Donnie? Are..are you ok?" What if he wanted to stop? Had you done something wrong?

“Just..just gotta..hold on for a second" Donnie mumbled, face flushing red. His cock throbbing, desperate to cum. You looked down at him, a knowing grin spreading across your face

“Were you about to cum?" You asked, mirth in your voice. Donnie flushed even redder

“Not my fault you're..fucking good at this!" He protested, taking a few deep breaths to back himself away from the edge. You laughed, your head tipping back. Donnie couldn't believe how beautiful you were. He gripped your hips again, thrusting his hips up. The tight wet heat was intoxicating, he felt like he could drown in your scent and die a happy man. You were his goddess and his altar and he would worship any way he could. As you started to move again Donnie bit back a whimper as his cock throbbed.

“So pretty, so fucking pretty" he whispered, pressing his lips to your neck. Your lips pressed together in a messy and desperate kiss. Donnie fucked you like he wanted to be part of you, whimpering desperate pleas and praises as he thrust his hips up automatically. He could feel his climax building, rushing up on him and he gripped your hips tightly.

“Can’t-nnh-can’t stop-Y/N-” he grunted, he could feel your hot breath panting on his neck as you bounced above him. He reached down and pressed two fingers to your clit, rubbing in a circular motion, entranced by how wet you were. The additional stimulus made your brain short circuit and you gave a breathy moan, Donnie wanted to record that and play it on loop until he came dry.

"hh-fuck-hh” Donnie couldn't string together a sentence as he held himself back from cumming. He didn't want to cum before you, he wanted to serve you, to be good. Above him he felt you seize, your pussy rippling around him as you gasped. He felt a gush of slickness over his hand and he couldn't help himself, cumming hard with a whimpering moan of your name. As he lay, panting and sweaty with you laying on his chest one thought crossed his mind.

“Best fucking study sesh ever"