#bring back smoking on planes PLEASE

[milo-is-rambling]

Me when I’m not anxious at all about anything especially not traveling or not being home or being around strangers or going to a new airport or not being in control of the schedule or not having immediate access to my safe foods or not seeing funk and I’m definitely not anxious about being in new places and meeting new people and animals and having to be a person while trying to balance my emotions out enough that I don’t bring every conversation down while simultaneously only thinking about saying the wrong thing and bringing the conversation down

[ratatatastic]

Vanha Kauppahalli date: en full, a 2 minute 50 second masterpiece...

Primetime Panthers | 11.6.24 (x)

[whereisthedamndaddymanual]

The boy reading with Halo font

I expect him to vanish behind closed doors with "someone" and we'll see him if he's hungry....

Or wandering.

[fkinavocado]

Daddy issues- Masterlist, Author’s Note & Warnings

extra / alternatively, read on wattpad

*timeline: somewhere after the main story

Piccolo amore (word count: 8k) -updated 8th of April 2024

You don’t know how this ever escaped you before, but as it turned out, Harry had quite the thing for travelling. As a divorced, smoking hot, young DILF (well, he was a father after all), Harry had eventually embraced his freedom after enough years had passed for him to actually start enjoying life again. He had limited visitation rights for his small daughter, Emily, so what was a divorced, smoking hot, young DILF to do other than to travel, namely through Europe, although some of his other favourite destinations had been as far away as Japan.

He was 27 when he first stepped foot in Italy, and, according to Harry, it was love at first sight. Had it not been for Emily, he’d have moved indefinitely, that’s how much he loved it there. He took extended trips though, and had even started to learn some Italian, practising everytime he stayed for as long as 2 months at a time. 

As time went on though, his interior design business really took off back in the US and his growing daughter needed his presence in her life more and more, despite her mother’s interference and efforts to alienate them. Time had flown, and here he was, 43 now and no longer single this time around as he returned after countless years. 

But very much still a smoking hot DILF.

…Tuscany, Italy. Literal heaven on earth. You hadn’t bought the plane tickets back yet, but you were in no hurry to leave. 

It’d been a journey, getting here. And you didn’t just mean Tuscany.

It hadn’t been easy.

Days had trickled by seamlessly. You’d lost track of how long you’d been here for. It was a haze of sleeping in, sunbathing, afternoon naps, decadent food and sweaty, delicious sex.

Looking at him on the wheel of the convertible he’d rented for your stay there, your heart felt like it could inflate enough to break out of your chest. His curls were a delicious mess, he was all tanned and bright eyes as he glanced at you from time to time to flash one of those trademark smiles of his your way. The sun was setting so you’d taken his sunnies off, making him chuckle. “Just wanna look at you properly.”

“Look at the scenery! You can always ogle me but you’re not gonna have this view every day.”

“All I want is you every day.” Yes, Tuscany was breathtaking but whenever you tried to remind yourself to take it all in you inadvertently found yourself settling your eyes back on Harry. How could you, when there was a time, not long ago, when you thought you’d never lay eyes on him ever again?

He squeezed your thigh, his hand in your lap as always and you kept caressing his knuckles, probably doing a great job at polishing his rings as a result. He had to keep his eyes on the road, since these were unfamiliar places you were exploring almost on the daily and almost every road was as narrow as the last.

He flipped his palm over yours, interlacing your fingers, bringing your hand up to his lips and kissing it gently. He then placed it over his heart and you giggled as he pulled you almost completely over to his side in doing so. He let go then, chuckling in return but you kept your arm extended, and ran the back of your hand along the side of his face, caressing his cheekbone, then his ear, running your fingers through his hair a bit, then down his sharp jawline,admiring his perfect profile. 

“I love you, you know,” you nearly murmured, and with the loud sportscar engine you weren’t sure he’d even heard you. 

But he did. Had he still been wearing his sunglasses you probably would’ve missed the way his eyes glazed over, slowly growing sparkly in the sunset light. “Baby… none of that. Come on, let me see that handsome smile again.”

“I am smiling. I’m always smiling nowadays. Always. No matter what happens, my default state is happy, because you’re here. I just get emotional sometimes… never tire of you saying that. Never stop, please.”

It was your turn to get teary eyed. “Baby… never. I’ll never stop saying it, feeling it, showing you how much I love you. All the times I wished I could tell you and couldn’t… never taking a day for granted ever again.”

Harry was pulling over, having entered the town you were passing through to get to the small quaint village where you’d rented out a villa for your stay, and before you could ask why, he leaned over and kissed you senseless. This was another thing you’d never tire of. Harry never kissed just for the hell of it. He put his all into every single kiss, be it small, chaste peck or full on make-out session. “My little love. Let’s have gelato for dessert and then I’m taking you home to love on you, how’s that sound?”

“Can we skip the gelato?”

Harry chuckled. “Darling, are you really passing up ice cream so that I could fuck you sooner?”

“Duh. Feel like licking something else. And creampies are better than icecreams. Come onnn….”

Harry laughed out loud at that. “You’re a menace. Up you get before you talk me into this.”

You rolled your eyes playfully but he was already at the passenger door opening it for you then reaching over to the backseat to grab your jacket. It could get chilly even in the warm summer evenings sometimes. He kept it in his one hand and held yours in his other as you began your slow stroll through the nice little town, but Harry seemed to know where you were headed.

“You got a specific place in mind?”

“Mhm. Used to come here often back in the day. Hope it’s still running, they had the best gelato. A… uhm, local brought me there, so you know it’s the real deal.”

“A local, huh?” You teased. Of course you knew what Harry must have been up to on his trips here when he was younger. Nothing wrong about it, of course, and you felt silly for being ever so slightly jealous over it. Part of you wished you could’ve been together much earlier on, but of course, the age difference would’ve made it impossible anyway. You two had met at exactly the right time. Even so, sometimes you felt nostalgic over the lost time you could’ve had together had things been different. Some of which was just life… and some of it, your own doing.

“Signor Harry!”

Your eyes widened at the interaction between the two men, snapping out of your train of thought, the guilt ebbing away but never really going away, ever. 

You couldn’t understand Italian, but Harry was still pretty fluent, at least conversationally. He understood it more than he could speak it, at least that’s what he claimed, but ever since you’d arrived in Tuscany he only spoke Italian to everyone he interacted with. You just sat back and admired him, Italian sounded hot as fuck coming out of his mouth. You could tell there was always some sort of talk about you going on with the way the people he was speaking to kept looking at you; and the little you did understand- “bellissima”, “ragazza”, “amante”- you knew that was in reference to you. 

This instance was no different, the old man he’d encountered behind the gelato stand seemingly very interested in knowing more about you. Lord knows what Harry was telling them, they all had the same excited reaction, shaking his hand and patting him on the back, sometimes they’d wink at you and it’d make you all flustered. 

“Piccolo amore, what flavors would you like, hm?” He pulled you closer into his side.

“Har, they’re all in Italian…”

He pointed at each, translating for you. “Bourbon vanilla, but I guess you got that, Belgian chocolate too, ummm, rum and raisins, strawberries, mint chocolate chip, lemon, meringue,...” he clarified with the older man and then continued “figs, pistachio, dark chocolate, crème brûlée–”

“Oh gosh, stop, I can’t even keep track of so many… just get me what you think I’ll like, alright? What are you getting? Mint chocolate chip?”

“Duh,” he mimicked you from earlier and smothered a kiss on the top of your head, then gave the old man your order. He’d gotten a cone with two scoops for you, which he handed over promptly. “There you go, lovie. I got you dark chocolate and pistachio.”

“Perfect,” you beamed. 

“Sorry, they didn’t have creampie.”

You nearly choked on your first taste of the icecream but promptly remembered the older man probably didn’t know what that was. Hopefully. Or if it sounded familiar he’d probably think of an apple pie with extra whipped cream, or something. Hopefully.

“It’s ok, that’s what you would’ve wanted anyway,” you teased and gave him a pointed look. He’d slurped you clean from behind as recently as that morning. He pinched your hip he was resting his hand on then diverted his attention to his double scoop of mint chocolate chip, on a cone just like yours. Harry exchanged some more pleasantries with the old man, as well as paid for the gelato, then after you waved at him politely you resumed your stroll through the old historical town.

Harry loved throwing his arm over your shoulders, or better yet, keeping a firm hold of the back of your neck as you walked. He’d always been possessive of you, and, if anything, he was even more so in Italy where men had a distinct way of ogling women, even catcalling- something they’d never dream of doing with Harry by your side, of course, but their eyes roamed freely scanning you head to toe, and you could feel it everywhere you went. Harry must’ve been hyper aware of it too, maybe more so than you were, because he would snake his hand into your hair and angle your head sufficiently to kiss you- the minty, cold feel of his tongue against yours novel and refreshing.  Or even slide his large palm in the back pocket of your jeans, giving your bum a firm squeeze every now and then. “Love this plump arse.”

You puffed through your nostrils, “you better, it’s your fault it’s getting so big. First that fancy pasta and wine for dinner, not gelato, and it’s been like this ever since we got here. I barely buttoned up these jeans today. Gonna have to resort to just wearing my sundresses.”

“You’ll hear no complaints here. Besides, I did say I’d feed you and plump you up, didn’t I? You’re about the same as you were when we first met. Perfect.”

He was right. You’d lost a significant amount of weight in an unhealthy way during your time apart. And he was looking so much healthier too. Happier. 

“You’re beautiful either way, Y/N. I just want you healthy and happy. And I know for a fact pasta makes you happy, so…” he shrugged playfully and you kissed his dimple. You knew he was thinking about the same things you were.

It was hard letting go of the past. You couldn’t erase the time apart and the damage it’d done to both of you and your relationship. But for the past 5 months you’d been rebuilding it, day after day, brick by brick. Some days were tough. Especially at the beginning. It’d taken a lot of love, patience and understanding on both sides to get where you were now. 

But it was always in the back of your mind. 

You still woke up in the middle of the night, startled, somehow back in those crappy places you used to rent out while you’d been on the run. Only for Harry to tighten his hold around your middle, kiss your shoulder gently and reassure you he was there and he wasn’t going anywhere. Ever. 

Harry battled insomnia for a long while, something he’d suffered with while you’d been apart and couldn’t seem to shake off. It reached a point where he now was struggling not to doze off while softening, still inside of you, cuddling in your post orgasmic bliss, before he could clean both of you up. Took a lot of night-long marathons to get there, but it did the trick. The flipside was you calling him an old man. But what else was new?

It still felt weird drinking wine by yourself at dinner, since Harry was now completely sober. Had been since he’d found you waiting on his doorstep. He’d struggled with it at first. It’s hard giving up alcohol cold turkey especially considering it’d gotten to the point where he got into the habit of getting wasted and getting himself into trouble while you’d been apart. Just to… feel something. 

You didn’t know how he’d done it, but he hadn’t had a sip since you’d been back into his eyes. You knew it must’ve been really difficult, but he kept the struggle to himself. Focused on you and your fragile relationship.

It’d been particularly hard that one time when you went out with his extended group of friends for Halloween and he found himself in a social setting where everyone was drinking around him, for the first time in a long while. And that would’ve been manageable had he not had to watch a new addition to the group give you a hickey, in a game of truth or dare. You still remember how hard it’d been for Harry to reign it in that night- not just the need for alcohol but also keeping himself in check, doing his best to calm down in the bathroom and then leave the party inconspicuously before anyone got hurt. He tried to hide it from you but you found him in time to help him as best you could. You never wanted him to feel like he had to tackle all his demons alone. 

That had been the biggest hurdle so far, but he’d made it through sans incident and you were so proud of him. You didn’t care giving up drinking for his sake if it meant it wouldn’t be a trigger for him, but he assured you that you could indulge whenever you felt like it and that it wasn’t your fault he had to give it up completely. 

You could argue that it was, in fact, your fault. You had argued. You two didn’t see eye to eye on this at all, Harry insisting he wasn’t going to let you take the responsibility for it all: after all, his daughter had caused it all to spiral out of control- he should’ve told her off, been more assertive, taken control of the situation; hell, he should’ve raised her better!

But you tried your best not to go there, the two of you. Not anymore. You’d talked things out for a long while, and just decided it was better not to keep bringing up the hurtful past. There was no use anymore. You’d both learned your lessons from it and it was time to live in the moment. Create new, happy memories, that someday, maybe soon, would completely make up for those 17 months in which you’d both just… existed, at most.

And even when you got teary eyed, like earlier in the car, you didn’t have to speak the words to know what the other was trying to convey and how it all still hurt so much sometimes that it felt like the present was a sweet dream, a bubble ready to burst anytime, only for the two of you to wake up each in their own miserable existence, apart and alone.

It still hurt. You both still hurt, but you couldn’t change the past. So instead of pretending it never happened, you acknowledged it, and acted on it the best way you could, doting on eachother with as much love as you could.

Therapy helped a lot. Gave you the tools to work through it and turn it into a valuable lesson, if anything. 

“You make me happy.”

He kissed the top of your head in response, “think it’s time to head back home. You’re getting needier by the minute.”

You squinted your eyes at him. “Well, excuse me for being a loving girlfriend I guess.”

“Oh, I know you are, baby. And I love it. But whenever you get like this I just know you’re gonna get all whiny and bratty if I don’t fill you up soon. Hm? Am I wrong? You’re gonna tell me you don’t feel all achy already?”

You huffed. Darnit. He knew you all too well. 

“And then if I don’t act on it quick enough you turn bratty. So c’mon.” He placed your jacket he’d been carrying for you over your shoulders, “it’s getting a bit chilly, too.”

Harry was right, as always. You found yourself squirming on the ride back to the villa, rubbing your thighs together. Sure, the wine always got you a bit needy. But you’d acted pretty needy the whole trip. You were just so content and he looked so good and tan and radiant whenever he smiled, he spoke Italian in that low timbre, he fed you goodies and took you to see beautiful places, and then on top if it all he fucked you good and made you feel so loved and appreciated. 

You just couldn’t help it. Your dynamic had shifted slightly ever since you’d gotten back together. He’d always been dominant but now you just naturally stepped wholly into your feminine energy in his presence, letting him take over completely- and not just in bed. You were his and handed yourself over to him fully. And it was palpable. You knew he could feel it too. 

However, he was right about you getting bratty if he didn’t shower you in affection the moment you craved it. Be it because you were in a public setting or what, sometimes you wished you could just hop in his lap and forget about everything and everyone around. He made you crazy with want and need and you were still growing to learn this side of yourself, as he was learning to manage it. You trusted him to lead the way.

You just got impatient sometimes. Maybe a bit bratty even, as he put it.

You scooted closer to him, as far as your seatbelt allowed, and reached to kiss his jaw. You didn’t just stop after a loud smooch though, no, you started mouthing and nibbling at his jawline, licking your way up to his ear and making him shiver. He was cleanshaven, and you took full advantage.

“Just a gentle reminder that I’m driving a motorised vehicle, sweetheart.”

“I know. You always focus and prioritise our safety, driving so aptly down these narrow roads. And then when we’re on longer strips ahead you really hit the gas, so that my hair can fly all wild the way I like and I can throw my hands up and almost feel like I’m flying, and the car is all horsepower and you look like sex personified.” You brought your hand to his lap and began rubbing dangerously closer and closer to his crotch.

“Y/N,...” he warned.

“What? I can’t help it. Whenever you rev the engine it tickles me, daddy… can feel it in my pussy. Now I’m all drippy.”

“Told you you’d turn into a whiny brat. Scoot back in your seat and be a good girl for daddy. Go on, don’t make me ask you twice.”

You huffed irritatedly and did as instructed, crossing your arms over your chest and looking out the window at the scenery trying to distract yourself. It was dark out now and Harry had pulled the top on the convertible, so you really didn’t understand what the big deal was. You could’ve at least given him a handjob…

But finally, finally you got to the villa and as soon as Harry shut the door behind you, you literally jumped his bones, making him chuckle between the kisses you were peppering his whole face with.

“Uff, needy puppy. What’s gotten into you, hm? You’re extra lovesick today. Didn’t I fuck you good and proper this morning? I’m certain you remember it since you had to mention it in front of poor Luciano. He’s 79 you know. What if he’d had a heart attack?”

You gasped in mock offence, “excuse me?! You’re the one who brought it up!”

“I sure did, wanna see?”

You pushed at his shoulder at his stupid pun as he brought you to the bedroom. He was unfazed of course, you couldn’t budge him if you wanted to, and instead threw you onto the bed with a bounce as if you were a throw pillow he’d been carrying, not his “plumped-up” girlfriend.

He began unbuttoning his shirt, a sight you’d never tire of and you squirmed gawking at him before he pulled you by the ankles to the edge of the bed and peeled your jeans off. “Ufff, look at this weepy little pussy. You made a mess of these panties, Y/N,” he tsked and it only made you grow wetter. You loved it when he teased and even humiliated you a bit. “So, are you gonna answer me or not? What got you so cockdumb, darling, hm? Was it the wine?”

“No,” you whined, “you know I only had two glasses… it’s not that. Plus I ate enough carbs to make up for it, anyway.”

“Then what is it, hm?” He rubbed his hands up and down your legs, kneeling at the foot of the bed, and then pushed your knees to your chest, running his large palms over the back of your thighs.

You threw your head back against the mattress in anticipation and whined pathetically. He was right. You really were extra sensitive tonight. “I’m�� I guess I’m ovulating. That must be it.”

Harry groaned deep in his chest and plunged nose first into the fabric of your panties, inhaling deeply. “You smell so heady whenever you ovulate, you know that? Pussy so fragrant, makes my mouth water.”

You’d not gotten back on birth control after so long off it. After a long while of relying on condoms you decided to ditch those, too. Harry pulled out most times, but, since creampies were obviously a hot topic in this relationship, you did ask him to finish inside you occasionally.

Lately it had been more often than not.

You both knew the implications of it, had discussed it. Hell, Harry definitely had a breeding kink to start off with, had had it even while you’d been on birth control since having this kink didn’t necessarily imply actually wanting to get you pregnant. 

He’d expressed it was definitely more than just a kink though, and that he’d only ever felt this way about you. But it was up to you. He already had a kid, all grown up now ( even though Emily was still a delicate topic between the two of you). But you were young and he wasn’t too old to be a father by any means, you had time along the line for this, there was no rush, and there were no expectations either way. That being said, he did express his desire to have children with you if you deemed him worthy of it and if you even saw yourself as a mother someday.

You’d not made up your mind about it, however. You were open to the possibility, but definitely not actively trying for a baby, not yet at least. You still felt like you needed more time together just the two of you.

But the way he spoke to you whenever he talked about fantasising knocking you up really got to you. And he felt so good fucking you raw, felt so good filling you up. It felt so natural and your body craved it, craved all of it. It was primal, and you knew it, but it felt so good to just listen to what your bodies dictated instinctually.

You mewled and felt him pull your panties to the side, “fuck, Y/N. You’re drenched, baby. Why didn’t you tell daddy it was this bad, hm? Would’ve eaten you out in the restaurant’s bathroom or something.”

It wouldn’t have been the first time, either. No better than a couple of horny teenagers, really. 

His mouth on you was divine, as always. You often wondered if other men even knew how to eat pussy the way Harry did. Seemed like some sort of special talent you were either born with or doomed to live without. He knew what you liked and needed better than you did. How else would anyone explain that you could never dream of getting yourself off the way Harry did? 

He pushed your knees further back and really dug in after he promptly peeled your panties off of you. You wanted to beg for him to sink into you but you knew Harry never left a job unfinished, and whenever he ate you out he never left from between your legs until they were shaking and you came on his tongue at least twice, out of which at least once using his fingers also to open you up for him properly. Because, still, after all this time, you couldn’t really take Harry without some sort of warm-up, no matter how drippy you were for him. It was a struggle fitting him in whenever you tended to forgo foreplay, and that was something you fully enjoyed too. Loved the pain that came with him slowly feeding that massive cock of his into you, trying to make it fit inch by delicious inch. But that was for when you were either in a hurry of some sort and desperately needed to squeeze in a quickie, or for when he was feeling particularly mean dom-ish. You rarely got to experience Harry in that mindspace though, and even then he was never hurting you really. It was just a lot rougher and because it was such a rare treat, it was secretly your favourite.

This time, however, you’d seemingly forgotten how Harry had warned you not to get bratty. “Not in a hurry, baby. Gonna feast on this pussy for as long as I damn well please. After all, you know how much I love edging you, and you do need to be punished, hm? Brats don’t get to come. At least not until daddy says so. You’ve been warned, Y/N.”

“But daddy….” you whined pathetically, “I’ve been on edge all day, you can’t do this, not now… please!”

“Should’ve been patient, baby. Told you I’d take care of you when we got back. And I did take care of you this morning, you’re acting like a spoiled brat. Can’t have that can we?”

You kicked your legs a bit and Harry delivered a harsh slap to your bum followed by another swifter one to your pussy, making you keen and pant heavily. “Don’t test me, Y/N. You wanna come? Then be a good girl and take it. Begging doesn’t hurt either.”

You did take it, as best you could. And you did beg. You needed to come desperately but Harry kept edging you for what must’ve been at least over half an hour, although it felt like hours on end.

Then, you decided to switch tactics. Try and play on his own desires. 

“Ugh, daddy, please, please fill me up. My pussy needs it, I need to be full. Need it so much. Need your big fat cock to ram into my cervix over and over again. Need to feel you in my tummy. And my tits feel so heavy and tender, at least show them some love, daddy. Please… ovulating is making me feel crazy… My body needs you to mark it every way you can, daddy. Please…”

Harry chuckled sardonically against your pussy, making you tremble but you knew better than to get lost in the feeling and let yourself come without permission. “I know what you’re doing, sweetheart. What a desperate, filthy little thing, playing with me this way. You really must want it bad to taunt daddy like this.”

“I do, daddy, I do, I swear I do… I’d do anything. Just tell me and I’ll do it. All I want is for you to fill me up to the brim and then keep going. Cause I know you can, I’ve seen you do it… I love how you stay hard for me even after you finish, pumping your come back into me again and again and then going all night long until you have me choke on you so that you could unload down my throat this time… please, want it again daddy, I know you can… don’t you want to? Doesn’t have to be my mouth the second time around, you can come inside me again, make it catch. Knock me up. Tie me down.”

Harry groaned loudly this time around and pushed your thighs apart, hovering over you whilst his hand went directly around your neck, squeezing enough for you to roll your eyes to the back of your head. He eased up a little for you to focus your gaze back on him before he licked his lips, your juices all over his face that he’d shaved clean that very afternoon before you’d left for dinner. You loved how he did that sometimes, just as much as you loved his stubble. It was a nice switch and he looked just as handsome either way, you couldn’t make up your mind which you preferred more. However, you did feel grateful he’d shaved before edging you like this for so long, otherwise you’d have been sure to chafe a bit from all the friction his stubble would’ve inflicted.

“Careful, sweetheart. You’re playing with fire. You know all too well I’d love nothing more than to fuck a baby into you. I already creampied you this morning, we’re on dangerous territory as it is.”

He was right. You knew he was. But in that moment, fuck it if you cared. If anything, you two had learned how to just be, live in the moment. Tomorrow wasn’t guaranteed.

“All I know is that I want you, all of you. Forever. Whatever that means. Let’s just… be.”

Harry pressed his lips against you and kissed you thoroughly. He’d long since undressed as well, stroking himself languidly every now and then as he ate you out. He didn’t edge himself, you’re the one who needed to be punished, but he just couldn’t help himself. He wanted to be inside of you just as much as you did. But Harry had one thing you lacked which was self control and that’s one of the things that made him such an apt dom in the bedroom.

So, it was easy to slip right inside of you, your pussy swallowing him up hungrily and squeezing him tightly, lest he pulled away. It was such a heady feeling finally being full after craving it for what felt like ages that he’d been edging you, and it only took a few minutes and his permission for you to come hard all over him, making a mess of both of you and the bedding. Luckily the villa had another bedroom you’d not used yet so you didn’t have to worry about changing the bedsheets before you went to sleep.

“That’s it, baby, fucking drench me. Fuck, you were ready to burst weren’t you? My poor darling. Daddy really did a number on you tonight. Gonna keep on coming for me, really open you up for me. How’s that sound? We’re gonna go from edging to overstimulating this poor, sopping pussy.”

You cried out real tears of pleasure as he was dirty talking all throughout your orgasm, never slowing down, no reprieve. He was hellbent on going from one extreme to the other. “Gonna open you up real good, push myself in so deep you’ll feel it for days. You wanted all night? I’ll give you all night.”

Harry didn’t let up. Had you coming on his cock over and over again, your orgasms closer and closer together the longer he went. Flipped you around on your hands and knees, then your stomach, then onto your side, and when you were ready to pass out… the sadistic bastard made you ride him. 

You did your best for a good two minutes, until he huffed mockingly. “What’s the matter, sweetheart, thought you wanted to go all night long. You’re barely moving. That’s not very nice, after you begged me to give you my cock for so long.”

You got whiny and frustrated at his teasing tone and really did your best but your thighs were already shaky from all those orgasms, you simply couldn’t muster up the strength. Harry kept mocking you, sitting back, hands behind his head “no better than a pillow princess, look at you. You shouldn’t talk the talk if you can’t walk the walk, baby.”

“Daddy… please… I can’t…”

“I know you can’t. What, you want daddy to do all the work, hm? Nothing but a hole to come into, that’s what you wanna be? Do you think this is what all those Italian women Luciano saw me with year after year did once I brought them back with me for the night? Pfff…”

“Daddy!!!” You cried out. “You’re being cruel…”

“Am I? I haven’t even finished once and you want me to keep going after that, meanwhile you can’t even ride me properly. Silly girl… claimed you wanted me to breed you. Want to be a mother? Gotta be a woman first, learn how to satisfy your man.” He reached over and smacked your bum, which propelled you further, almost dismounting him.

However, the tears that immediately flooded your eyes took you by surprise. This was not the first time Harry had degraded you in bed. You loved it and he knew you did. It was a rare treat, just like him getting rougher with you, which he hadn’t tonight. You usually got off embarrassingly quickly to it, and you knew he’d never say anything with the intention of hurting you. 

Harry laughed sardonically but when you pulled back up whatever he’d been gearing up to say got lodged in his throat when he saw the tears gleaming in your eyes, your hands crossing and going to your throat protectively as you straightened up. He immediately pulled out and sat you on his lap, scrambling to cradle you to his chest. “Fuck, baby, you know I meant none of that– you know that! We were playing. You usually love it when I degrade you a bit… I’m such a silly man. Should’ve known better than to go there.” 

He spoke softly, caressing and petting you all over, rocking the both of you back and forth and shushing you as you still hiccuped your tears against his chest. “I know… I know you didn’t mean it, but… I just… I was already wondering about them since we got here, I’ve been meaning to ask about what yo– what you used to do when you’d come down here, but I was too much of a coward. I– I got really upset just thinking about it. I know it’s silly… and it’s probably what’s been making me so needy, even before I began ovulating… I just can’t stand the thought. And knowing what… I mean– when we were apart… ughh. I just can’t stomach it, Harry. You were entitled to… You were single after all… in all of those instances… but… but, you’re mine, and…”

“I am yours. I’m yours, Y/N. I pushed it too far… I know your legs are all shaky, I made you ride me on purpose just to mess with you a bit,… but I took it too far.” Feeling you calm down ever so slightly, he pulled away and made you look at him, pushing your hair behind your ears and smudging your tears away. “No one, and I mean no one can ever dream of coming close to you. You hear me? Nobody’s made me feel better, ever. You’re all I could ever dream of, you need to know this Y/N. I’ve never been as compatible sexually with anyone the way I am with you. You think anyone else’s made me finish and then keep on going the whole damn night? Not even when I was younger, let alone now. If I’m any good it’s your own merit, you make me want to push myself and do better, be better for you, every damn time. You make me hard just glancing at you. You’re the best I’ve ever had. And I’m not just saying it to undo the silly stuff I said earlier, none of which was true. I know how jealous you get, I love it a bit too much when you get like that… and I love mocking you and seeing you get all squirmy and embarrassed– but that’s not how I should’ve done it, I went too far. I didn’t mean any of it, please believe me Y/N. I swear it. You’re all I want. I’m the luckiest bastard. Please believe me, sweetheart.”

“I know… I know it, rationally. But it just… rubbed me the wrong way, even though we were playing and I knew better. I’m sorry.”

“No need to be sorry. I’m sorry. I’m a fucking idiot. Please forgive me.”

“I do. It’s alright. Let’s forget about it, alright?”

Harry looked heartbroken. You’d not really seen him like this for a while and it pained you, so much so that you wish you could’ve just kept your mouth shut and went with it, since you sincerely did believe none of it was really true.

But you swore you’d be truthful to one another, and especially in the bedroom Harry had insisted so much on you voicing any sort of discomfort regarding anything, no matter how small. You never safe worded, hell, you didn’t have one, because you never needed to; he knew how to read your queues and you’d never had to stop anything before.

This was the first time you’d stopped sex.

Eventually, you took a shower together where Harry doted on you and handled you with utmost care and tenderness. Then took you into the other bedroom where a fresh bed awaited and held you tight into his arms. “I love you so much, Y/N. You mean everything to me. I hate that I made you cry, hate that I made you feel even for a second like what I was saying was true at all. It makes me sick to my stomach…”

“Would you… want to tell me about them? The women you met here?”

Harry sighed profusely. “Darling, there’s nothing to say. Meaningless people that I can’t even recall the name of, if I even knew them to begin with. I remember nothing about any of them. I was trying to heal after the divorce, trying to let loose a bit… tried to have a bit of fun, lord knows I needed to get out of my head. Looking back, it’s almost laughable. I really thought I’d hit rock bottom back them… little did I know, it could be so, so much worse than that. 

“But… at the time, I felt miserable. I began travelling like I told you a few years after the divorce and I quickly became enamoured with Italy specifically. I don’t know… I just love this country. The women… were a means to an end, I was never looking for anything serious, and they knew it. I wasn’t leading anyone on. Never met someone I connected with. I told you, I’d never been with anyone serious after my divorce until you. I’d never known sex could be this way til I met you. Sure, I’d discovered my more dominant side a while back, not gonna try and lie and say I’ve not had plenty of experience in that regard. But, sex is just sex, at the end of the day. Some partners were better than others, and when I was here back when I was younger I hadn’t even indulged in most of my kinks and fantasies yet. It was later on that I embraced all of that. 

“But trust me when I say, I’ve never clicked with someone sexually like this. I don’t know if it’s because I’d fallen in love with you, at least in the beginning I wasn’t looking for this to get serious, as you know. But we did click from the start, you just… you just fucking do it for me, Y/N. Our bodies just call out to one another. You’re so responsive and you always know just what to do or say to me to make me lose my fucking mind. We’ve been together for so long… or should I say- I’ve been in love with you for so long, you’d say my desire would’ve dampened with time, or that sex would start to become monotonous eventually. I don’t think it’s that way at all. I feel like it just keeps growing somehow. I never get my fill with you. Feel like a fucking teenager with a loveboner dancing around your skirt all day long. You make me feel like that, no one else. Do you believe me, Y/N? Madly in love doesn’t even cut it. I worship you.”

You were lost for words. You’d been looking into eachother’s eyes this whole time and you couldn’t explain how this man had just made you go from crying, jealous, frustrated and feeling less than, to feeling like the luckiest woman to walk the earth. “I do believe you, Harry. You don’t have to keep explaining yourself. We’ve played like that before and I always took it well, in fact I love it when you get all condescending and mean and it gets me off embarrassingly quickly usually. I don’t know what it was… maybe you’re right, maybe it hit a little too close to home, but I do know you didn’t mean to. I wish I hadn’t had this reaction, but–”

“No, baby, don’t say that. Don’t try to take the blame in any way. I take full responsibility. I’m just glad you know it wasn’t true… I hope you do, hope you’re not just saying that.”

“I’m not, I swear I’m not. I do believe you. And I love you, too, and needless to say no one has ever compared to you, ever. Maybe I’m not as experienced as you… but I don’t have to be to know I’d have never found a better match than you.”

It was Harry’s turn to get teary eyed as he whispered, “you don’t know how much it means to me… that you didn’t– while we were apart; and I wish… I wish I could take it all back. Had I known I’d ever find you… or that you’d ever want anything to do to me ever again… I’d have never–”

“Shhh. It’s alright, baby. I don’t hold it against you. All of it is my fault– no, don’t interrupt me. It’s the one thing we can’t seem to agree upon. I just want it to be clear, once and for all. Us separating and all the heartache and misery we both went through was my own fault. Not yours. Not Emily’s. No one else’s but mine. I should’ve never left the way I did. That was… an inexcusable betrayal… I did it for what I considered to be the right reasons, lord knows I did it with the best intentions. Never meant to hurt you for one second. I really thought I was doing the right thing, I knew you’d never choose between us.

“So I took the decision for you. Which was a gross overstep. I crossed such a huge line, taking that decision for you, not even discussing it with you, abandoning you. I hurt both of us so much. I was so stupid. So… don’t talk to me about feeling guilty. I know what guilt feels like and it’s something I have to live with for the rest of my life. You did nothing wrong. Nothing. You did what you could to keep pushing, to give you at least a semblance of normalcy. I’d never hold it against you, I truly don’t, Harry. So please… don’t paint me into this hero for not having slept with anyone else while we were apart. It would have been torture for me had I done it. As I’m sure it was for you, and that’s why you did it, so you could punish yourself some more. Don’t think I don’t know that. I don’t pretend to understand what you went through fully… but just know I went through hell as well, at my own doing. 

“I’m not even asking for your forgiveness. I could never dream of it. I’m so incredibly happy you gave us another chance… No one else would’ve. I still don’t know how you could do it. Still don’t know what I deserved to have you back in my life. So, all of this nonsense about people you’ve fucked in the past and what they were like? That’s so insignificant in the grand scheme of things. You love me, and god knows I love you, and that’s all there is to it. Nothing else matters.”

“It fucking tears me apart to hear you speak like that, Y/N. I’d go through it all again if it meant I could take away your own pain. I do forgive you, no matter how unworthy you may feel, you’re worth it to me. So worth it. Fucking love of my life. I’d go through hell and back for you. I’d have never stopped searching for you. Never. My life is barren without you. Nothing matters. Children or no children, married or not- all these things I try and contain myself about and not overwhelm you with… are just me being greedy and wanting more and more of you. I never want you to feel pressured in any way. I’m content just being here with you in my arms and looking into your beautiful eyes. It’s all I ever wanted. And it’s more than enough.”

“I know, baby. You’re not pressuring me. I want to make you happy. It’s all I want. That makes me the happiest. I’ll give you everything you want. And not from some place of feeling indebted to you… to make up for all the hurt and suffering I caused. I just want to make it clear, because I know you, and I know you might suspect that of me. No. I meant what I said earlier… I’m not exactly saying we should try for a baby… but maybe we shouldn’t be avoiding it at all costs, either. Let’s see where life takes us. We can handle it, right? We’ve proven as much. Just imagining you with a baby in your arms is getting my ovaries in a knot. Maybe we should listen to what our bodies are trying to tell us.”

Harry rested on his elbow, leaning over you. “You really mean it, baby? You’d want that, truly?”

You nodded slowly and Harry grinned the biggest smile you’d seen on his gorgeous face yet. It dawned on you then and there that he’d been really holding back on how much he truly wanted this. It was enough to erase any shred of doubt from your mind. 

He proceeded to pepper your whole entire face in enthusiastic kisses, down your throat and all the way to the insides of your palms. He then pulled your back to his chest and cocooned you in the warmest embrace telling you over and over again how much he loved you and how happy you made him. 

And just when you were on the verge of falling asleep, you heard him whisper in your ear, “I can’t wait to wife you up… my little love.”

Daddy issues- Masterlist

A/N: it's taken me a long time to get here ❤️ this is the truest version of my babies, good and bad, they're definitely not perfect but their love is ❤️ thank you for being so patient with me and for sticking with me along this beautiful journey. i'll keep writing check-ins for them, promise! any prompts are welcomed!

P.S.: 🍭 anon, this was supposed to be your much awaited balcony scene but i got... distracted. don't worry. it's gonna happen... eventually 😅

💕 like & reblog if you enjoyed this, lovelies, and most importantly, please come share your thoughts on it here 💌

🦋follow me on wattpad to get notified whenever i post something new/update!🦋

[xothatnerdykid]

Aizawa x Reader Established Relationship Headcanons

(Cannot, for the life of me, get over my writer's block but I've still got Aizawa brainrot thanks to s7 so here.)

I might be in the minority here but I don't think Aizawa would smoke. He eats healthy and works out to keep his body in shape. Why would he compromise his health by smoking?

His only vices are chronic snacking (he loves those jelly pouch things) and caffeine.

He's usually up 'til dawn most days because duh, he works two jobs (hence the 5-7 shots of espresso in his coffee). 

Despite his sleep deprivation most days, he is soooo sexy when he wakes up in the morning. Messy hair. Baggy shirt and boxers. Or sometimes a body hugging tank top and sweatpants. And his voice — his raspy, sleep-addled voice. The feeling of his stubble against the smooth planes of your face waking you up. 

He doesn’t usually cook breakfast but he does always brew a fresh pot of coffee for you. And he never leaves without a kiss goodbye, even when you’re still snuggled up in bed, asleep.

When you first start dating, Shouta talks to you pretty much the same way he talks to everyone else. So curt and succinct, you sometimes used to wonder if he was upset with you. He’d usually get confused as to what made you ask that, and then explained that he’s just a man of a few words, that’s all. 

As your relationship becomes more established, you notice subtle shifts in the way he communicates. It's not a sudden change, but your conversations start to feel more like a secret code over time, filled with inside jokes that never fail to make him smirk.

Shouta’s love language is definitely acts of service. He’s a pragmatic, action-oriented person who values efficiency. So of course he’d think that actions speak louder than words when it comes to letting someone know your true feelings. 

That’s why he loves it when he comes home to your cooking, especially when you surprise him with his favorite dish. Because after 16-hours or so of working two jobs, he usually just passes out on the couch the moment he gets home and you’re not around.

He feels so bad when he comes home too late sometimes and finds you already asleep and his dinner sitting cold on the stovetop or in the fridge. He always makes sure to make it up to you by preparing breakfast the next day or…other…pleasing ways…

Seeing you take care of Sushi, the cat his very-well-and-alive friend Nemuri sometimes asks him to babysit, makes him feel all warm inside, too (although he doesn’t actually admit it, you just catch him smiling softly at you sometimes and quickly looking away when you notice).

As for how he expresses his love for you, it mostly comes in the form of acts of service, too, as well as gifts and physical touch.

Shouta’s romantic gestures are like rare collectibles. They often come as a surprise, but when they happen, you cherish them dearly. He'll surprise you with a thoughtful gift and leave it on your desk with a simple, "Saw this and thought of you."

He won't serenade you under the moonlight or anything, but he'll make you a warm cup of tea when you're tired, or wrap a scarf around you when it's cold.

You don't really have time to go out on dates most weeks, but when you do, you're either at a quiet restaurant or taking a walk through nature in the parks. 

His favorite thing to do is sit with you by the window sill on rainy days and just have you snuggle up to him, bundled in his arms, while you read or do your own thing in comfortable silence.

Fighting with Shouta was like having a verbal sparring match. He’s always strategic, although his patience wears thin sometimes, even with you. Still, he knew when to bring something up and when to back down. 

He won't shy away from a disagreement, but he's not one to let it linger. He’ll tackle the issue head-on, find a compromise, and move on.

One of your favorite things about him was that he never held a grudge or took conflicts personally.  

Shouta’s life is a constant juggle between being a pro hero, a UA teacher, a single dad, and being your boyfriend. But oh, does he master it.

At first you thought maybe he was just a really efficient and organized planner, but one look at him, his apartment, his phone, and his non-existent planner told you otherwise.

“How do you plan on getting all of this done?” You often ask him about his mountain of papers to grade and reports to submit, to which he just shrugs.

“I don’t know, the usual? Coffee. Eye drops.” He sucks on his second jelly pouch of the day and goes back to his cluttered desk, papers strewn about like fallen leaves. "Duct taping my eyelids," he grumbles the last part under his breath.

You laugh, watching him from the couch with a fond look in your eyes. “You’re incredible, you know that?”

He looks up, one eyebrow raised. “For what? Managing to stay awake?”

“For…everything,” you shrug, walking over to perch yourself atop the edge of his desk. “For being you.”

He hums appreciatively as he pulls you closer by the waist.

“I don’t know how you do it, but I’m grateful.”

He glances up at you, smiling a little. You scratch at the stubble on his chin. 

“Ready to call it a night?”

“Not quite,” he smirks before leaning up to kiss you fervently, tangling his hands in your hair.

Both of you slept better than you have all week. Afterwards.

You occasionally surprise him by finding him when he’s out on patrol and checking up on him. You love seeing him like this, in his element. He’s so kind to all the people he helps…

(A lot of the time, you end up making out against an alleyway or with him hanging upside down from a fire escape, but that’s neither here nor there.) 

[gullemec]

Lion's Den

Golden Cage - Chapter Three

ao3

Pairing: Billy Butcher x f!reader

Summary: A late-night stake out with Butcher turns into something unexpected. You and Hughie embark on your highest-stakes mission yet.

Warnings: mentions of death, depictions of grief, language, alcohol use, smoking, Homelander is his own trigger warning, needle injection, body horror/gore, blood, murder, explosions

Please let me know if I missed any TWs <3

WC: 7k

A/N: This chapter contains one of the first scenes I ever came up with for this fic and I'm super proud of how it turned out. Thanks for reading <3

Your chest heaves in fits of laughter, the sound escaping in gleeful bursts that ripple through the warm summer air. Hair floating behind you like the tail of a comet, catching the light as it swirls and dances. The soft fabric of your dress billows around you, its folds fluttering with every swing. Your toes stretch forward, daring to brush against the edge of the sky. For a fleeting moment, a hint of fear creeps into your belly. 

Too high, too fast. 

But then there are hands at your back, firm and steady, guiding you. A gentle push, a quiet assurance. The embrace that follows is warm and full, carrying the familiar floral scent of comfort, safety, and love.

Nothing can hurt you now, not while I’m around.

Your high school prom. A shimmering haze of hairspray and perfume, your gown a vibrant turquoise that catches the light like sunlit waves. Awkward poses frozen in the flash of cameras. Corsages pinned with trembling hands. Laughter and whispers shared between girlfriends as music thrums faintly in the distance.

And then her voice, soft yet full of pride, as she peers at you from behind the lens. Her eyes crinkle with warmth, her smile radiating maternal joy.

So beautiful. So special. I love you so much. 

Later, a university acceptance. The email you read over and over, half in disbelief, and the student visa that followed. A one-way plane ticket tucked carefully into your carry-on. At the airport, the crowd swirls around you in a blur of movement and sound, but all you feel is her arms wrapping tightly around you, her lips pressing a kiss to your temple. You promise to call every weekend, visit every holiday.

You're so smart. I'm so proud of you. You can do anything you set your mind to. 

And you believed her. You always believed her.

The fatherly absence always stung. The missed recitals, forgotten birthdays, the empty chairs at family dinners. He was a phantom presence, his love expressed through impersonal checks and extravagant gifts, always with a neatly written card promising: Next time. When things aren't so crazy at work.

But she was enough. More than enough. Her laughter, her warmth, her unwavering belief in you filled every void he left behind.

Until the night it didn’t.

A phone call at 1AM, shattering the quiet of your dorm room. Your heart lurching as you fumble for the phone, squinting against the harsh glow of the screen. The voice on the other end is jumbled, nonsensical, the words bleeding together.

There's been an accident. I'm so sorry. 

Mourners clad in black gather under a colorless sky, their umbrellas dotting the cemetery like wilted flowers. The rain is steady but light, just enough to soak through the fabric of your dress and chill your skin. A closed casket sits before you, a hollow, unyielding box you can’t bring yourself to approach. You really shouldn’t see her like this. It’s for the best, the funeral director told you. The six foot deep trench yawning before you, her new home. Your father stands beside you, his hand resting awkwardly on your shoulder. His touch feels foreign, unwelcome, but you don’t shrug him off. You don’t have the energy.

It's okay. You'll be alright. Don't cry. 

But how can you not? How can you not cry when the one person who made the world feel safe, who saw the best in you even when you couldn’t, is gone?

You stare at the grave, your vision blurring as raindrops mingle with tears, and you wonder if you’ll ever feel whole again.

~~~

The sticky heat of the laundromat clings to your skin like a second layer, oppressive and inescapable. The hard plastic of the school chair you’re perched on digs into your thighs, leaving faint indentations every time you shift your weight. You adjust your tank top, its damp fabric sticking stubbornly to your back, and glance at the clock for what feels like the hundredth time.

The rhythmic hum and occasional clang of the washers and dryers should be soothing, but it only grates on your nerves. Across the aisle, an elderly woman works on a crossword puzzle, her lips moving soundlessly as she taps her pen against her chin. She’s utterly oblivious to the undercurrent of anxiety rolling off of you.

You’ve been here nearly half an hour.

Where the fuck are the Boys?

Your mind begins to spiral. Had they changed their minds about bringing you into the fold? Decided it was too risky to work with someone so closely tied to CytoGenix and Vought? It wouldn’t make sense—Starlight works with them, after all. Starlight, who comforted you when you were on the verge of breaking, who fought on your behalf, who insisted you call her Annie.

No, they hadn’t forgotten about you. They were just being cautious, you reason. But the nagging thought lingers. Maybe they’ve written you off after all.

You’re startled out of your reverie by movement behind the abandoned front desk. A familiar head pops up. It’s Frenchie, grinning and offering a quick wave to follow.

You jump to your feet, abandoning the chair with such urgency that the crossword woman glances up, giving you a sidelong look. You don’t care. You follow Frenchie through the hidden doorway and down the creaking staircase to the basement.

The Boys are gathered in their usual disorganized fashion. MM leans back in a chair with his arms crossed, Hughie paces idly, and Kimiko sits cross-legged on the floor, her sharp eyes scanning the room with quiet intensity. Butcher, as always, is the picture of brooding discontent, his trench coat draped over the back of the couch.

Annie is the first to notice you, her face lighting up as she waves you over. “Hey, you made it! Just in time for the riveting sixth hour of our surveillance party. So far, the highlights include... absolutely nothing. But hey, fingers crossed for the next six.” Her words are drenched in sarcasm, but her grin is infectious, and you find yourself laughing despite yourself.

“Ah, don’t listen to her,” Frenchie says, gesturing grandly as he flops into a chair. “It is not nothing. We are detectives, uncovering the truths of the universe!”

“Yeah, well, the truths of the universe are boring as hell,” Hughie mutters.

Butcher throws him a sharp look. “You’d think babysitting a couple of blinking dots was rocket science, the way you’re whining about it.”

Your attention shifts to the screen dominating the far wall, where two red dots move steadily across a digital map of Manhattan.

“Who are we watching?” you ask, curiosity overtaking your nerves.

“Your dear ol’ dad and his ball and chain,” Butcher says without looking at you, nodding toward the screen. “Been swannin’ around the city all bloody day. No idea where they’re off to next.”

You squint at the map, noting the dots’ meandering paths through Manhattan. “Yeah, they’re networking,” you say, rolling your eyes. “That’s what they call it when they spend hours sipping $500 bottles of wine with their friend and patting each other on the back for being obscenely rich. My dad swears it’s ‘essential for business,’ but it’s just an excuse to indulge.”

Butcher huffs out a low chuckle. “Sounds about right. It’s all bollocks, anyway. Rich pricks just finding new ways to circle jerk each other.”

You snort, caught off guard by the crude but accurate assessment. “Yeah, that pretty much sums it up.”

Butcher starts filling you in on the day’s surveillance. You sit beside him on the couch, leaning in as he explains the patterns of movement they’ve been tracking, the occasional stops your father and Monica have made, and how they’ve been prioritizing intercepting conversations with the bugs. His voice is low and steady, and for a moment, you forget everything else, your nerves, your exhaustion, even the slight embarrassment of sitting so close to him.

For the rest of the evening, the group takes turns monitoring the screen, scribbling down notes about the movements of the little red dots. The mundane nature of the task feels a little silly considering the high-stakes world you’ve stepped into, but you don’t mind. You feel like you’re contributing, even if only in a small way.

At one point, Hughie grumbles, “You know, we don’t have to watch this in real time. Everything’s being recorded. We could just check back later.”

Butcher doesn’t even look at him. “And if they do somethin’ worth jumpin’ on? You wanna miss it, do ya?”

Hughie mutters something under his breath, and Annie shoots you a knowing grin. “He’s been like this all day. Hyper-focused and grumpy as hell. Don’t take it personally.”

You glance at Butcher, his jaw tight as he studies the screen, and feel a pang of understanding. It’s not just determination driving him; it’s something deeper. Something raw and unresolved. You’ve seen that look before—in the mirror.

The grief radiating from him is palpable, even if he hides it well. You don’t know the details, but you can sense it. Loss has a way of marking people, leaving a shadow that never fully fades.

It draws you to him.

Misery loves company, you suppose. 

~~~

The clock reads just past midnight, and the room hums with the kind of stillness that makes every creak of the old laundromat basement feel loud. The dim light casts long shadows over the haphazard mess of wires, surveillance monitors, and makeshift furniture. It’s just you and Butcher now. The others have drifted off to sleep or left for the night.

MM had slipped out hours ago, muttering something about tucking Janine into bed. Hughie and Annie left together not long after, their quiet farewells fading into the night. Frenchie and Kimiko are sprawled together on a cot in the next room, limbs entangled in quiet comfort.

The audio transmitters have been silent for hours. The dots on the tracker map haven’t moved, signifying the cars have both come to rest at the CytoGenix office. Your father and Monica must be asleep in the office quarters. You glance at the dormant monitors, feeling the weight of the lull settle in your bones.

“Think you’ll stay awake much longer?” you ask, stretching to ease the stiffness in your back.

Butcher, leaning against the armrest of the couch, shrugs. “Suppose so. Don’t usually sleep ‘til mornin’.” He watches you with a detached air, like he’s trying to gauge why you’re still here. “You can head home if you like.”

You nod absently but don’t make a move to leave.

The truth is, you don’t want to go. The long hours of surveillance have been uneventful, sure, but there’s something about the waiting, the anticipation, that grips you. Every crackle of static, every blip on the tracker, feels like it could be the moment everything changes.

And the alternative? Returning to your empty loft, with its hollow silence and the weight of your own thoughts? No contest.

You hedge your bets with William Butcher. 

“Mind if I stay?” you ask, careful to keep your tone light.

He gives you a sideways look, one brow quirking upward. It’s a look that says, Why the hell would you want to do that?

You respond by flopping back down on the couch next to him,  pretending the blank computer monitor is the most fascinating thing in the room. You can feel his stare lingering on you, his skepticism practically radiating.

“So,” you say, assuming an air of casualty about you, aloof and haughty. “How many people have you kidnapped?”

Butcher snorts, leaning back with his arms crossed. “That’s usually a second date kinda question.”

You smirk, meeting his dry humor with your own. “So you make a habit of kidnapping young women, then?”

He rolls his eyes. “No.”

Feigning shock, you gasp and place a hand on your chest. “I’m your first? I’m flattered.”

For a moment, his face contorts into genuine bemusement. “Hardly,” he mutters, shaking his head.

Your laughter bubbles up, filling the room with a warmth you hadn’t expected. There’s something oddly satisfying about getting under Butcher’s skin, peeling back layers of his gruff exterior.

When your laughter subsides, he shifts the conversation. “How long you been workin’ for your dad?”

“Six months. Six long months.” You inhale deeply. “I moved home after graduating university. Cambridge, actually. Started interning at his company pretty much right away. It wasn't really my choice, you know? But I do it because…” 

Shit. What do you say? Because having your father's approval means regaining some small shred of self-confidence? Because Monica's preoccupation with your wardrobe, despite her infuriating mannerisms and less than ten-year age gap with you, feels just enough like motherly love that you're willing to entertain it? Because you're so goddamn desperate for love and belonging that you'd lick it off a knife at this point?

“Because it's the right thing to do,” you say finally. And really, is there a better answer than that? 

He nods, his expression softening slightly, though his eyes remain sharp. “And how’s that workin’ out for you?”

You hesitate, tempted to spill everything—the suffocating expectations, the desperate need for approval, the resentment simmering beneath it all. But you settle for a noncommittal shrug.

“What about you?” you counter. “How long have you been in the Supe-killing business?”

His grin is slow and wolfish, the kind that sends a ripple of unease down your spine even as it intrigues you. “Too damn long.”

 Shit, he's charming. 

The two of you fall into an easy rhythm, swapping stories that seem to stretch the hours until they blur. You tell him about your time at Cambridge, the interns at CytoGenix who annoy you, the monotonous ways you fill your free time. He lets you in on how the Boys were first formed, telling you all about a remarkable sounding woman named Grace Mallory. He offers you an abridged version of what happened to his late wife, Becca. The conversation, which began light and easy, takes a quieter, heavier turn as the night stretches on.

Butcher leans back, his gaze fixed somewhere far beyond the walls of the room. He swirls whiskey in a glass, the sharp lines of his face softened by the dim light. “You ever love someone so much it felt like they were the center of your whole bloody world?”

The question catches you off guard. You pause, searching his face. “Yeah. My mom.”

He nods faintly, the corner of his mouth pulling into a bittersweet smile. “Becca was that for me. She was my whole world. Smart, stubborn as hell… too good for the likes of me, if I’m being honest. But she had this way of makin’ you believe in yourself, y’know? Like you were worth somethin’, even when you knew you weren’t.”

There’s a softness in his voice, a vulnerability that makes your chest tighten. You don’t interrupt, sensing how rare these moments are for him.

“I thought I’d done it, beaten the odds,” he continues, his voice quieter now. “Found somethin’ good, somethin’ real. And for a while, I had it. We had it. Then one day, it’s just... gone.”

You don’t know what to say, how to respond to this sudden vulnerability in the stoic man.

“What happened after she was gone… it weren’t just grief. It was like someone ripped my bloody soul out and left me with nothing but rage. I didn’t know how to function without her. I still don’t, most days.”

His jaw tightens, and he looks away, as if the memories are too much to face. You see his fist clench, knuckles turning white.

“I couldn’t save her,” he says, his voice barely above a whisper. “She needed me, and I failed her. And after that, I had nothin’ left to lose. So I made it my mission to take down the bastards who took her from me. All of ‘em. Vought. Homelander. Every Supe who thinks they can play god.”

You reach out hesitantly, your hand brushing against his arm. “Butcher… none of that was your fault. What happened to Becca… it wasn’t on you.”

He lets out a bitter laugh, shaking his head. “Maybe not directly, but I didn’t exactly make it easy for her, did I? I put her in the crosshairs just by bein’ me. She deserved better. Better than me, better than this whole bloody mess.”

You sit in silence for a moment, letting his words settle between you. “She loved you, though,” you say softly. “It sounds like she really loved you.”

He exhales sharply, his expression hardening as if trying to shake off the vulnerability. “Yeah. And look where it got her.”

You don’t know what to say to that, the weight of his pain pressing down on you. For all his bravado, for all his rage and resilience, there’s a part of him that’s still broken, still carrying the ghost of Becca with him everywhere he goes.

“You’re not just fighting for revenge, Butcher,” you say finally. “You’re fighting because you want to make sure no one else has to go through what you did. That’s worth something.”

He looks at you then, his gaze softening for a fleeting moment. “Maybe,” he murmurs. “But it don’t bring her back, does it?”

You shake your head, your throat tightening. “No. But it means her loss wasn’t meaningless. You’re doing something with it. And that matters.”

For a while, neither of you speaks. The silence feels heavy but not uncomfortable, as if the words that needed to be said are enough to fill the space between you. Butcher just sits there, his expression unreadable, and you wonder if there’s anything more you can say.

So you offer him stories of your mother, warm pockets of safety and love tucked away in the otherwise chaotic mess of your childhood. You tell him about the way she’d hum old jazz standards as she folded laundry, the soft, lilting tunes filling the house with a strange kind of peace. You remember how Sunday mornings smelled of pancakes and maple syrup, her insistence on cooking breakfast herself rather than letting the kitchen staff take over. Those moments were hers, small rebellions in a life that otherwise wasn’t her own.

“She wasn’t perfect,” you admit, picking lint from the couch. “But she tried. She did her best to give me... something good. Something that wasn’t him.”

Butcher leans back, watching you with a quiet intensity. “Your dad?”

You nod, your lips twisting into a bitter smile. “Mom stayed with him for years, not because she wanted to, God knows she didn’t, but because she was terrified of what would happen if she left. He would’ve dragged her through every court in the state if she tried to take me. And with his money? His connections? She didn’t stand a chance. So she stayed. For me.”

Butcher nods, his expression guarded but attentive. “Sounds like she had some steel in her.”

“She did,” you admit, a small, bittersweet smile tugging at your lips. “But steel can break, too. He wore her down, little by little. Made her feel small, worthless, like she was lucky to even be in his orbit. And then…” You hesitate, swallowing hard. “Then there was Monica.”

Butcher curses under his breath at the mention of her name and you can’t help but laugh.

“My dad didn’t even wait six months after my mom died before marrying her,” you say, your voice laced with bitterness and resentment. “She’s this perfect little trophy wife. Perfect hair, perfect nails, perfect clothes. She treats me like I’m some stray dog she’s graciously let into her perfect little world. Every look, every word, it’s like she’s reminding me I don’t belong. God, I can’t fucking stand her.”

“She sounds like a right piece of work,” Butcher says, his tone laced with disdain. “For the record, I’d never confuse you for her. Frenchie and Hughie are just idiots.”

You laugh, shaking your head. “Thanks, I guess?”

It's comfortable, this dialogue between the two of you. He's sarcastic, sure, and rough around the edges, but he listens to you when you speak, never cutting you off or zoning out mid-sentence. But above all, you realize, you feel safe with the man. 

The two of you are engrossed in a heated discussion about just how deep the Vought rabbit hole goes when the crackle of the audio transmitter cuts through your banter like a blade, and you both snap to attention. Your father's voice hums through. You glance at the computer clock: 4AM. It's not unusual for him to get up this early to start his work day; his associates know to remain on standby to accommodate his erratic working hours. 

“Henry, it's Stanley.”

Your ears perk up at the name. You know Henry, having worked alongside him throughout your internship. 

Your stomach knots. You mouth quality control to Butcher, who nods, his expression sharpening.

“Listen, my wife wants to bring her friends down for a presentation on what you’ve been working on. I told her she could bring them Monday at ten.”

There’s a pause, then a heavy sigh from your father, the kind you’ve come to dread. A sigh that meant dissatisfaction, and god help the man who dissatisfied Stanley Morgan. You ground yourself, remembering that you are here in this laundromat basement with Butcher, safe.

“Look, Henry, I'm tired of you complaining about cutting corners. You're already way behind schedule, so just do whatever you have to do, and give my wife and her friends a good show, alright?”

You hear the phone receiver land in its cradle with a satisfying click. 

You turn to look at Butcher, finding a devious smile on his face. You return it, beaming at him. Finally, a lead. 

“Monday at ten,” he repeats, his voice practically dripping with glee. “How’s that work for you, sweetheart?”

You can’t help it. You beam back at him, the thrill of finally having a lead coursing through you. For the first time in a long time you no longer feel like you’re treading water. You’re moving forward.

~~~

Sunlight filters through your eyelids, prying you from a restful sleep. You squirm against the intrusion, desperate for a few more minutes of oblivion. Your hand reaches instinctively for your alarm clock, searching for the familiar plastic edge atop your side table. Instead, your fingers meet only air.

Your eyes flutter open, and the world comes into focus. You’re not in your room. The chipped paint on the walls and the musty smell of the basement remind you of where you are—the couch, the monitors, the remnants of last night’s vigil. And then it hits you.

You freeze, gaze snapping to the far end of the faded floral couch. Butcher.

He’s sprawled out awkwardly, face mashed into the armrest, one arm hanging limply over the side. The other, to your horror, is resting on your leg, his large hand curled protectively around your calf.

Shit. 

The memories flood back. You’d celebrated the breakthrough, the first solid lead since you joined. There was laughter, more than you’d ever expected to share with Butcher, and a quiet, companionable silence as the adrenaline faded. Somewhere in between, exhaustion had claimed you.

You’d promised him you’d stay awake. Promised you’d call a taxi as soon as the sky started to lighten. But here you are, wrapped in a scratchy blanket you don’t remember asking for, with Butcher asleep next to you like you’d both done this a hundred times before.

Heat floods your face, embarrassment unfurling in your chest. Embarrassment that you'd fallen asleep on the job, despite your protests that you were fine. Embarrassment that you'd let Butcher see you so vulnerable. But more than that, you feel embarrassed at how deeply and comfortably you’d slept, nestled on a decrepit couch with a man already too large for the shabby piece of furniture, more comfortably than you'd ever slept in your King-size memory foam bed at home.

But you're clearly not that embarrassed, because you give yourself several long, lingering moments to let the warmth soak into your bones. 

With great effort, you shift, slowly extracting your leg from beneath his hand. The warmth lingers as you pull yourself upright, and you let out a soft sigh of relief. The motion is enough to wake Butcher.

He jerks upright with a sharp inhale, eyes wild for a split second before they focus on you. His hair is a tousled mess, and his expression shifts from alertness to something resembling guilt.

“What’s all this?” he mumbles, his voice gravelly with sleep. His gaze flicks to the abandoned blanket, then to you hastily shoving your things into your bag. “Where you off to in such a rush?”

“I, uh…” You avoid his eyes, too flustered to form a coherent excuse. “I just—I need to get going.”

Realization dawns on his face. He glances back at the couch, then down at himself. “Ah, shit,” he mutters, rubbing a hand over his face. “I didn’t mean to... y’know.” He gestures vaguely, his expression unusually sheepish. “Thought you might be cold, that’s all.”

You freeze mid-step, one hand gripping the doorframe. His tone is softer than you expect, less of the brash bravado you’ve grown used to.

“It’s fine,” you say quickly, your voice tight. “Really, it’s not a big deal.”

“Doesn’t seem that way,” he counters, leaning forward now, elbows on his knees. His dark eyes are sharper, scrutinizing you even in his groggy state. “You sure you’re okay?”

“I just… I wasn’t supposed to fall asleep,” you say, a bit too fast. “I should’ve gone home last night.”

He snorts softly, leaning back against the couch. “You and me both, then. Not like I planned to kip here either.”

You glance at him, your rush to leave faltering at the casual way he shrugs it off.

“Don’t worry about it, love,” he continues, voice dropping into something softer, almost teasing. “Not like you drooled on me or anythin’. Far as disasters go, I reckon this one’s survivable.”

A small laugh escapes you before you can stop it. He smirks, pleased with himself, and the tension in your shoulders eases.

“Thanks for the blanket,” you murmur, glancing down at it again.

“Don’t mention it,” he replies, waving a hand dismissively. “You looked knackered. Figured it was the least I could do after you went an’ pulled a late one with me.”

You nod, unsure of what to say, the warmth from his small gesture still lingering. You glance toward the stairs, bag in hand, ready to leave but no longer feeling the need to escape.

“Monday,” you say, breaking the silence. “We’ll need everyone ready. Let Hughie know?”

He nods, the faintest smirk tugging at his lips. “Got it. You take care, yeah?”

With one last look at him, still sprawled on the couch, already reaching for his phone, you head up the stairs. The door creaks as you push it open, sunlight spilling into the hallway.

As you push the door open and head up the stairs, you hear him mutter something under his breath, probably a jab at your dramatics. You don’t turn back. The slam of the door echoes behind you, but his gravelly voice lingers, like the warmth of the blanket you left behind.

~~~

It's Monday. 

The air outside the laundromat is brisk, carrying with it the faint metallic tang of the city morning. You lean against the brick wall, one hand stuffed into the pocket of your coat while the other holds a cigarette between your fingers. The cherry glows faintly as you inhale, the smoke curling into the cold air like a soft exhale.

You really don’t try to make a habit of smoking, but your nerves are buzzing under your skin like live wires and the cigarette between your fingers feels like the only thing tethering you to reality right now.

The faint squeak of boots on pavement announces Butcher before you see him. He rounds the corner, a thermos in one hand, his coat hanging open like he couldn’t be bothered to button it up against the chill. His eyes land on you, and his brows jump just slightly, surprise flashing across his face like a flickering bulb.

“Didn’t peg you for a smoker,” he says, voice thick with that familiar edge of mockery. “What is it? Bit of rebellion against Daddy’s company policy?”

You exhale a stream of smoke, turning your head so it doesn’t blow in his direction. “Something like that,” you reply dryly. “Don’t tell HR.”

He snorts, stepping closer. “Secret’s safe with me.” He gives you a once-over, the faintest smirk tugging at the corner of his mouth. “Though I’ve gotta say, not exactly the picture I had of you. Thought you were more the yoga-and-juice-cleanse type.”

“I contain multitudes,” you say simply, flicking ash from the end of the cigarette.

“That you do,” he murmurs, his tone quieter now, less biting. He digs into his coat pocket and pulls out a crumpled pack of smokes, shaking it slightly to reveal one lone cigarette. “Want another for the road?”

You glance at the cigarette, then back at him, arching a brow. “Didn’t think you were the sharing type.”

“Don’t let it go to your head,” he says with a crooked grin, lighting it with a battered silver lighter. He takes a long drag and lets the smoke curl out of his mouth slowly. “Just figured it might take the edge off before you head in.”

You hesitate, then shrug. “Alright.” You take the offered cigarette, lighting it with your own lighter. The shared silence that follows is strangely companionable, the kind you wouldn’t have expected when you first met him.

“You nervous?” he asks after a beat, his voice softer than usual.

“Would it matter if I was?”

He studies you for a moment, his gaze sharper than you’re comfortable with. “It’s good to be nervous,” he finally says. “Means you’re payin’ attention. It’s when you stop that you get sloppy. Or worse, dead.”

“Comforting,” you say wryly, taking another drag.

He smirks, tilting his head toward the laundromat. “Come on. Hughie’ll start wringin’ his hands if we’re out here much longer.”

You stub out the cigarette on the brick wall, tucking the butt into a pocket so it doesn’t litter the street. Butcher watches this with a faintly amused expression but says nothing.

As the two of you head inside, the air between you feels lighter, the tension from earlier diffused into the cold morning. Hughie looks up from the monitors, his face a mix of relief and nervous energy.

“Ready?” he asks, glancing between you and Butcher.

Butcher claps him on the shoulder, all mock bravado. “’Course we are. Let’s get on with it, then.”

You follow Butcher and Hughie out, a small ember of calm glowing within you.

~~~

Exiting Butcher's discreetly parked van, you nudge Hughie down the narrow alley, leading the way toward your old smoking spot. It’s quiet here, and the less attention you draw, the better. You swipe your ID pass through the scanner, tossing a glance down the fluorescent-lit corridor. The hall stretches in that sterile, clinical way it always does, but today, it feels like a goddamn maze. It feels like you’re on the other side of a mirror, like you're not supposed to be here.

You bite back the urge to whisper “All clear!”  to Hughie, but you quickly swallow the words. It’s too risky; you know Butcher’s listening. One slip-up, and he’ll be all over you like a fucking rash, reminding you of your amateur status. You bite your tongue just in time to avoid the barrage of shit he’d throw at you later.

Inside the building, you inspect your new “intern.” You ditched your monogrammed designer lab coat in favor of a plain, CytoGenix-branded one, lifted from a storage closet. Nothing flashy. Hughie’s got one on too, also stolen, one of the last clean ones in the closet. You’ve opted for business casual today, trying to blend in as best you can.  In an effort to obscure yourself further, you'd styled your hair differently and worn fake glasses. You want to look like just another office drone. Like you belong.

“You good?” you ask Hughie, keeping your voice low. He nods, trying his best to look confident, but you catch that little tremor in his fingers as he adjusts the collar of his borrowed lab coat. Poor guy’s barely keeping it together, and you’re not doing much better yourself.

The mission, should everything go to plan, is simple. You and Hughie disguise yourselves as nameless interns puttering around in the lab, eavesdropping on Monica's tour. Once you figure out what it is they're working on in the lab, you quietly slip out and report back to Butcher in the van parked outside. Butcher who you've been avoiding since your makeshift sleepover. Butcher who, in turn, has seemingly rebuilt the cement walls of his gruff exterior that he let slip that night. Today feels just as much like a test as it does a reconnaissance mission. 

Here goes nothing. 

You guide Hughie to the Quality Control lab. Thankfully it's only three floors down into the basement, as Hughie blanches when you explain just how deep into the earth CytoGenix’s headquarters go. 

When you get to the lab, you spot the small group of VIPs that’s gathered for the tail end of the tour. Perfect timing. 

“So, as you can see, thanks to the cutting edge technologies at our fingertips, CytoGenix is leading the way in pharmaceutical breakthroughs,” says the chipper tour guide. Monica stands with the group, preening under Homelander and Ashley Barrett’s attention. The gooseflesh on your arms prickle at the sight of the evil Supe and corrupt CEO. 

The tour guide gestures toward a large window at the back of the lab. “Now, if everyone could follow me,” she chirps, her voice grating, “we’d like to give you all a demonstration of V2’s first human test subject!”

Your stomach twists. Human test subject. You weren't sure what you were expecting from this tour, but it wasn't this. The lab’s always been about gene splicing and advanced therapies, but this? This is something else. Something darker. Was your father’s company involved in testing on people, or was this just the tip of a very fucked up iceberg?

The crowd gathers around the window, tittering with excitement. You and Hughie hang back, miming preoccupation with the lab supplies laying around. 

A light flickers on, illuminating the dark window. A two-way mirror. Inside, the room is featureless and blindingly white, save for a young man curled up in the corner, his face drawn and terrified. As the light flickers on, he jerks upright, eyes wide with panic. You feel your gut twist.

A woman enters the room, clad in the same branded lab coat that you wear now. She carries a syringe filled with green liquid that seems to emit a glow from within. She murmurs something to the young man, who hesitantly rolls his sleeve up, offering his arm to her. She injects the liquid, taking a long step backward. 

Then the screaming starts.

Purple veins spread from the injection site, skin rippling unnaturally, his body contorting in ways that aren’t human. Suddenly the arm that had been injected begins to elongate, stretching into a grotesque tentacle. You can hear the faintest squelching sound as his body twists. The man stares at his arm in horror, mouth gaping, before his face suddenly goes slack, vacant eyes lolling toward the female lab technician. 

The woman is scrambling toward the door she came in through, but it's closed now, flush against the wall with no handle for her to grasp. She bangs and thrashes against the door, begging for someone to open the door and let her out. 

Then the tentacle shoots across the room, faster than you can react. It wraps around her head and jerks back. The sound of skin tearing from bone echoes in the sterile white room as her face is ripped off like peeling wallpaper. Her face hits the two-way mirror with a wet slap before her body collapses to the floor.

The tour guide quickly steps forward, flicking a switch on the wall. You hear a soft hiss as the room begins to fill with gas, the man's eyes rolling backward as he loses consciousness, slumping against the wall. The locked door is suddenly thrust open, and this time a man clad in biohazard gear enters. He makes a wide arc around the faceless lab tech, reaching down to grab the tentacle man around his armpits, dragging his limp body out of the room. The lights finally, blessedly, go out. 

The tour guide smiles like it’s all part of the show, like she’s done this a thousand times. The group is dead silent, some swaying with lightheadedness. Monica's eyes flit around the crowd, desperate for a reaction.

You can feel the tension in the air. Your hand clenches at your side, but you don’t dare look around. Not yet.

Then, slowly, the applause starts.

Clap. Clap. Clap. 

Homelander starts clapping slowly, grinning like a predator.

“Bravo!” he says, his voice rich with mock sincerity. “Truly remarkable.” He’s fucking giddy, practically glowing at what he just witnessed.

You, on the other hand, feel ill. There's no way that woman can't be dead. And the man… He seemed so afraid. There's no way he knew what would happen to him once he was injected. Was he dead now?

But then the crowd picks up, clapping, cheering. It’s all a fucking spectacle to them. Monica beams, her fake smile stretched to the limit.

“Everyone, V2!” she says, as if she’s introducing the next big thing at a tech expo.

More cheers.

“More potent than Compound V alone, V2 more reliably gives recipients powers in the A-tier or above,” she announces, spinning the whole thing like it's some kind of miracle drug. “It also inhibits the prefrontal cortex, meaning the Supes it produces will be more... suggestible. Easier to control.”

Homelander chuckles darkly. “So, a Supe lobotomy?” His voice is casual, but the tension in the air spikes.

Monica blinks, taken aback, but then her smile returns—brighter, more fixed. She can’t afford to offend him.

“Exactly what we need if we're going to make a Supe army,” Homelander agrees. “Excellent work, Monica.”

The crowd erupts in cheers again, and you feel like you're suffocating. The air is thick with their sick excitement, and you’re drowning in it.

 There was so much blood, so many little pieces of muscle and tissue painting the paper-white room, like a fucked up Rorschach. The man looked like he could have been younger than you. There's no way he knew what was going to happen to him, no one would ever agree to that. 

Monica's inhumanly white veneers are bared in a painful smile, beaming like a mother at what she'd help create. Was this how your mother died? Had she spent her last moments in fear and pain? It was a closed casket… Was that to hide the damage? Your heart starts to race. The air feels too thick, too hot. 

You catch yourself just as your vision darkens, hunching over a utility cart carrying empty test tubes. The tubes jostle, glass clinking, drawing the crowd's attention to you. Your hair, having fallen around your face, acts as a curtain separating you from the prying eyes. Still, you can feel the laser eyes on you, watching, only a moment away from thinking, Doesn't she look familiar? Is that Stanley's daughter? What's she doing here, with that guy? 

The woozy feeling in your body is immediately replaced with intense, soaring adrenaline. Before you can think, you make a break for it, keeping your head down to continue obscuring your face. Hughie follows, his steps frantic behind you.

The crowd hesitates before you hear quickening footsteps and yells. 

The frantic voice of a lab tech rings out “Homelander, no! No lasers in the lab!”

“Fuck!” You yank Hughie forward, forcing him to move faster.

The sound of lasers tearing through the air is unmistakable, the pops of small explosions echoing out. You dive into the stairwell, barely avoiding the beams as they scorch the air around you. The heat on your back makes your skin crawl.

You hear the security team yelling, but you don’t stop. You push forward, practically pulling Hughie up the stairs, praying like hell that the explosions Homelander triggered are buying you enough time. The sound of blood rushing in your ears deafens you to the metal clattering your steps make as you race to reach the ground floor. 

You burst out of the stairwell back into those fluorescent lights, not bothering to look upward on the chance that an errant glance might get caught on security cameras. You head straight down the hall, not breaking speed, not letting go of Hughie until you're both careening down the alleyway. Butcher's white van is waiting exactly where you left it. 

Only, the door you just exited out of slams open, a chorus of feet smacking the cement twenty paces behind you. They're close, too damn close. 

The van is so close you can see the flecks of rust around the wheel wells, can almost read the vulgar bumper sticker barely clinging to the back door. But they're too close. You'll barely be able to close the doors behind you before the posse at your backs clamor around the vehicle, blocking Butcher's escape. 

You make a split second decision and pray to whatever greater being might be listening that it's a good one. 

You're vaguely aware of the van in your periphery as you speed past it, unable to see Butcher in the driver's seat, but knowing he's there nonetheless. What you don't see is his panic, the frantic foot on the gas pedal, the mental math trying to determine what the fuck you two dimwits are doing as you descend into the New York subway system.

@bluemerakis

@mystic-writings

@imherefordeanandbones

[imaginesbymonika]

From the dining table | Part 8

Pairing: Damon Albarn × Gallagher! Reader

Plot: Everyone's favorite topic during the '90s and 'OOs; Y/N Gallagher. The mysterious and beautiful younger sister of the two loud brothers rarely spoke during interviews but played the guitar like no one else. And even though she never said a word about her dating-life, the list of her rumored boyfriends kept growing longer with each passing year. Yet, there was one name in particular that just kept on popping up...

Previous part | Masterlist

(1999)

Y/N stares at him from her spot at their table. The Marlboro cigarette between her fingers is burning down on its own. She lost interest in smoking a few minutes ago anyway. She couldn’t care less. Damon meanwhile is slowly swaying while singing into the microphone.

“Take me away from this big bad world and agree to marry me. So we can start over again.”, his smooth and delicate voice cracks while her upper lip twitches. He sings in a manner that’s almost identical to how he used to speak to her in their bedroom. Y/N hears how her two brothers are giggling at his mistake while she quickly licks her lips. Finally, she brings the nearly finished cigarette back up to her lips. She notices the ashes on the tablecloth and quickly wipes them away, leaving behind a black stain.

“Oh we can start over again.”

A pained sigh leaves her lips as she tries her best to clean up the mess she made, however, the more she moves her hand over the fabric the bigger the stain gets. This could be used as a metaphor in a song. She makes a mental note to talk to Noel about it later.

„Oh we can start over again.“

Damon has to be joking, right? There’s no fucking way in hell he’s meaning any of that shit. Maybe he didn’t even write it. A deep and hurt scoff leaves her lips. He never even picked up the phone when she made an effort to phone him. She wanted to make up. She didn’t want to fight. She wanted to tell him that she was more than okay to go public with him; screw her stupid brothers. They’re always out and cheating on their girlfriends anyway- what do they know about love? Nothing! That’s right. Nothing.

“Y/N?”, Liam asks and wrinkles his eyebrows. His eyes are observing her hand and he tilts his head in confusion. But the second he glances at her face and notices the tears in her eyes the smile on his lips fades away:” Shit, birdie. What’s wrong with ya?”

Y/N wants Damon. She wants him so bad, it physically crushes her. God, when she looks at him she can virtually see the claw marks she has left behind on his soul. But now, what difference would any declaration of truth make? His girlfriend is pregnant. You can’t turn back time.

(2024)

Y/N yawns while laying her head on her assistant's shoulder. It’s 4 am; their plane is leaving in 2 hours. As much as she adores London, she always misses the seaside the second she leaves it. “You want to grab breakfast on our way?”, Max asks and she looks up at the man with a smile on her face. “That’s why I pay you. God, you’re smart.” He only laughs at that.

“You can wait at the hall while I do the checkout.”, Max says while they both step out of the elevator. Y/N only nods while pulling her suitcase behind her.

“No, I am not leaving!” “Sir, please. You’ve been here since midnight. Don’t make us call the authorities!” “I don’t care, call ‘em. I am not leaving!”

Y/N wrinkles her forehead as she walks around the corner. Only to see Damon Albarn having a heated discussion with a staff member of the hotel. She stops dead in her tracks. What the fuck is he doing here?

Damon rolls his eyes and looks away. However, once he does he meets Y/N’s gaze. He instantly improves his posture “Sir?”, the woman in front of him asks but he merely shakes his head.

“I’ve found what I am looking for.”

[moonshynecybin]

you’ve talked about Laguna Secq being iconic but what about Valentino’s reaction to the first time Marc pulls one of his moves (Jerez, 3rd race of the season)

okay this was initially supposed to be BIGGER and include ASSEN 2015 and JEREZ 2013 but the beautiful sirens call of laguna seca 2013 is the only one i got to before i ran out of steam… small teeny weeny (1.5k) fic about marc using vale’s moves pun INTENDEDDDDD:

“You keep using my moves.” Vale says, coming up behind Marc on the balcony. His breath hits the back of Marc’s neck as he leans against the railing. Close.

They’re alone, shoulders brushing, outside the party— and Vale sounds happy, which Marc thinks is a good sign. He shrugs.

“I told you— I’ll pay the copyright.” Thumbing some hair behind his ear as Vale settles next to him, he lets a smile stretch over his face. They’re away from the party out here, alone, and Vale’s been— Vale’s been amazing, these last few months, as Marc’s rookie season has taken shape. The best, really. Exactly like Marc thought he’d be.

The lines of Vale’s body are impermeable— trending almost impressionistic in the dark— bright patches peaking through the window and painting streaks of light on his skin. He’s smoking as he talks, cigarette flaring orange in the dim light as he takes a drag, cheeks hollowing, and normally Marc can’t stand the smell of cigarette smoke, but right now it’s just good. Smells sexy. Adult.

“Ah, well that makes it okay, then.” His palm lands on Marc’s shoulder, shaking him around, a nod to the play-choking earlier in parc ferme. Just like then, Marc lets himself be moved, a laugh exploding out of him as Vale manhandles him. His fingers curve, covering Marc’s shoulder entirely, warm and heavy. He loves this, loves the way it feels— Vale putting him where he wants him, bringing him on the inside of a joke only the two of them get to enjoy.

“They’re good moves.” He protests, breathless when Vale lets him go. His narrow shoulder stays close, and Marc doesn’t think he’s stopped smiling once since the checkered flag was waved, cheeks starting to hurt.

Vale’s playing.

“I know they’re good moves, I made them! I never expected I would have to say fuck!” All the emphasis on lands on fuck, accent liquifying the word into a short, sharp sound. Marc thrills, absorbing it. A whole party full of people and Vale came to him. “—they are being used on me!”

Marc laughs again, tilting his head. He raises a bitchy little eyebrow, wry. “You know, you are taking it better than Jorge, I don’t think he liked your moves very much.” Marc copying his move again, from Jerez 2010 this time. After the race there this year, Marc had tried to shake Jorge’s hand three separate times, and had only managed it on the plane ride home, once things had cooled off a little bit. It’s not— Marc doesn’t exactly blame Jorge. He knows how he can get, sometimes, on the track, even if he doesn’t regret any of it. But he’s not unaware of the blinders he can have, when a win is in reach, and the problems other riders can have with it.

But he hopes —thinks— that Vale is different. Because he’s right: it’s Vale’s moves that Marc has been using.

“Allora, he will get over it, he’s just sad he lost.” Vale comes back with, immediately, shoulder still clamoring into Marc’s, clearly pleased with the vein of conversation, with ragging on Jorge just a little bit, and Marc beams. Vale understands, of course he does. It swoops through his stomach, better than a wheelie. Almost as good as an overtake, as a podium. Marc’s found another.

“And he’s never liked my moves, anyway.” Vale adds, dancing his eyebrows, innuendo happy on his tongue.

Marc cackles— Jorge wouldn’t—but still needs to be sure. He asks, clumsily, eagerly:

“You’re not mad, that I repeated your pass on Stoner? It wasn’t on purpose, or anything. I didn’t plan it.” It wasn’t really— he had already overtaken him coming in. Vale had made the mistake in the breaking and Marc had already been half a bike ahead. But it had happened like that anyways, thrilling. Fate. A passing of the baton.

Vale considers, takes a drag of his smoke. Waves a hand around once he starts talking.

“It’s different, yes? My pass in 2008 was one of the best— I want to say of all time?” Marc nods, Vale keeps going. “I mean, for the win. A lot of drama. And you know, coming up on Turn 8 I heard you behind me, but I expected you on the other side— so you were very smart. And it’s my move so I can’t say anything. But today, the Honda was—“ He makes a sound effect, blowing air out of his mouth to imitate the speed of Marc’s bike. “You would’ve passed me two turns later no matter what.”

Marc nods, biting his lip. He’s right— his bike was fast.

“So. You say it wasn’t on purpose?” Vale follows up, a sly bent coloring his expression, like he thinks Marc isn’t being 100% honest, but wouldn’t be mad if he told the truth.

“I mean, maybe a little bit.” He says sheepishly, head down in a shrug. It hits Vale, and Marc watches him blink and smile— charmed, Marc thinks, almost despite himself, shaking his head. He scuffs marc’s arm, and Marc feels like he must be glowing. The new model, he had said, earlier in the press conference. Just with more upgrades.

“But now if I do it to you, you can’t say anything.” Vale hits Marc’s chest with a lazy tap of his knuckles. “What is it they say? Rubbing is racing?” He adds, pulling another drag of his cigarette. There’s some scruff at the edge of his jaw, and his little finger is slightly crooked, won’t bend all the way. It makes Marc feel bold—

If he sees an opening, he’s going to take it.

“Well,” He lets intent carry into his voice, hand edging Vale’s on the railing. “Not just racing.”

Vale’s eyes pin him, a split second of surprise. He points at him with his cigarette, makes a face, it zings through Marc like an over-fast corner. “That’s a bad line.”

Marc plays coy— it’s worked so far. “To be fair, if I learned all my moves from you— I haven’t really seen you do this part yet.”

Vale’s shifts, considering, but Marc thinks he’s right there with him, on the line— high on endorphins and that huge, shivery feeling of finding someone who gets it, that same way only someone like them can get it. Vale’s got to be able to feel it too—

The mood thickens, sticky sweet, making Marc hyper aware of everything in the room, making him try and commit it all to memory— the first time they ever do this. He wants to savor it, preserve it like a picture in a frame, review it in the years to come. The quality of the light, the smell of Vale’s cologne, the grain of the railing. He digs his fingers in a little, rolls up on the balls of his feet. He wants to feel everything that he can, as much as he can.

Vale—like always— is still into the joke, skirting around the heart of the issue, performing for an audience of one. He nods, rubs at his chin, looks like he’s considering him.

Marc bites his lip.

Vale moves slowly, like he’s in no hurry at all. He stubs out his cigarette, stepping into Marc’s space, and Marc has to tilt his head back to meet his eyes. They’re half-lidded, lazy. Confident. His pupils are blown, huge in the dim light, and his gaze drops unerringly to the slash of Marc’s mouth. Marc grins. Got him.

“I think you have a lot to learn.”

A hand lands on his waist.

“Will you teach me?” Marc thinks his voice is higher than he wants it to be.

Another hand, low on his back.

“If you want.”

A nose traces the edge of his cheekbone. Teasing.

“I do.” Marc presses them together. “Want.” His breath hitches as Vale responds, leaning into Marc and bringing his thigh up, smooth and firm, so that it presses against Marc’s cock, a shock of sensation. His hand stays where it is, low and possessive on Marc’s back, hot as a brand under his shirt, five fingers against skin.

“Well fuck, Marc, I can see that.”

Marc laughs, hitching his hips forward, dragging against him. They haven’t even fucking kissed yet. “That one of your moves?”

Vale shrugs, eyes still caught on his mouth. Marc licks his lips. A hand drifts to grab his ass.

“Yes.”

“Don’t teach it to anyone else.” Marc asks. Really this should just— this should just be for the two of them.

“Okay.” Vale laughs, sounds surprised, delighted, turned on. It makes Marc rock up on his toes, makes him smile, makes him dig his fingers into the fabric of Vale’s shirt.

Got him, he thinks when Vale leans in, lips meeting Marc’s in a messy clash. He tastes like liquor and smoke.

Got him.

[yunaboveclouds]

Jotaro Kujo (Part 3) x Reader

Dating Jotaro Kujo would include:

- Boy I don’t even know how the hell you got him to fall for you. You probably didn’t bother him like his fangirls and just talked to him like a normal human being. I feel that’s all he wants

- It might take him a while to actually start liking you, he’ll slowly start falling though as he realizes you’re a pretty cool and chill person

- Chillin with him while he smokes whether you join him or not

- If you don’t like the smell of smoke (like me and my lungs fr) then he won’t smoke in front of you, though that doesn’t mean he might have the scent of cigarettes on him

- We established he’s a tsundere, he loves you a lot just doesn’t know how to show it straight up, especially in the beginning

- If you ask him out he’d accept, probably acting like he doesn’t care and pulls his hat down to hide his face and smile

- If he asks you out he’d keep it very straightforward, short, and simple. It’s just “Let’s go on a date.” And you BETTER accept, do not break this big guy’s heart :(

- The first date would also be simple, maybe a small picnic in the park or going out for food

- I feel a lot of the dates wouldn’t include a ton of talking, and if there is talking then you’d be doing a good amount of it. Jotaro comes off as the type of guy who enjoys just being in your presence

- So basically his love language is quality time

- He’ll give you small gifts like seashells and jewelry or have Star Platinum get things for you if you wanted

- As your relationship progresses his gifts will get bigger. Such as giant ocean animal plushies

- More dates like going to an arcade so he can win you prizes effortlessly and impress you

- There will be aquarium dates, might be the place where you first kiss. Picture it, standing under a tunnel of fish swimming all around you and he pulls you in for a kiss

- Will beat people up for you, no questions asked

- You got a girl from school picking on you? Don’t worry, his fists are rated E for everyone. Equal rights equal fights

- Will not let his fan girls bother you, like they will never even get close to you (don’t ask how)

- Listening to music together whether it’s blasting in his room, on the car while you guys watch the stars, or sharing ear buds

- Even though he holds up his bad boy personality around everyone including his mom, he has his moments where he just melts with you

- Please hold his face once in a while, he’ll love it

- Very minimal PDA, closest you get is you and him wrapping your pinky fingers (if his giant hands let him)

- His mom would love you so much oh my god, sweetest woman alive

- She’d invite you to come over so often and loves that someone got Jotaro to settle down with

- Jotaro’s friends would be so surprised if they found out he was dating someone, Kakyoin wouldn’t be as surprised but Polnareff? Polnareff would be so lost as to how Jotaro got a girlfriend before him

- Forehead kisses, he has to bend down all the time to kiss yours

- Probably has back problems because of you

- Despite his fists being brutally scarred and coarse, he’s so gentle whenever he touches you in any way. I feel his hugs are the best and he’ll try to be careful when you hold hands

- Will carry you

- Let’s you wear his hats and clothes (but not for too long cause he wants them back)

- If you ever go on any transport, plane, boat, train, you name it, he will let you rest on him. Just don’t bring Joseph, it’ll give Jotaro PTSD

- Carefully caresses your face and admires every part of it, even plays with your hair

- If you can see Star Platinum he would love you so much, they say that Stands are a reflection of one’s soul. So basically Star will be very excited to be out and to see you

- Jotaro will smile with you a lot more than others

- He’s not the best at communication but once you get to know him it’s very easy to tell how he’s feeling

There’s probably more stuff but that’s all I got for this one. I am currently going through a JJBA brain rot please let me know if you have any requests!

[jamneuromain]

Wild Child Chapter. 1

Series Summary:

As the granddaughter of the sole Duke in your country, you know that you were going to marry some douche prince, because it is the only way to solidify the grasp the future king has on the Upper House. On the flight home, you come up with a brilliant plan to defy your upcoming matrimony.

Bringing a random man to your grandfather's place, and say you have a boyfriend already.

"Is there anything else I should know about? Before I meet your family?" Ari cocks his head to the side, watching you adjusting your cerulean Valentino dress when you wave your hand dismissively.

"Just say we're in love and help me get out of marrying this D-bag."

Ari Levinson x You

#i didn't know he is my fiance-douchebag-prince

#when i did, it was too late

“Ladies and gentlemen, welcome on board Flight CM80072 from London to Ancetol. This is your Captain speaking. My name is…”

The broadcast started as you stuffed your ears with your earbuds. The screeching static along with the horrible noise whenever the captain chewed the mic in his lips and popped every consonant as if he couldn’t speak otherwise.

You should have brought your earplugs.

Or fly your private plane.

Correction: Fly your family’s private plane.

But you guessed they were still mad at you, which was probably the reason why the bodyguard they sent simply handed you an envelope with an airplane ticket inside.

“Would you like to see the menu?” The stewardess asked you with a kind smile, handing you the thick book of menu, “We have foie gras, smoked salmon, or veal rolls for the main course. Of course, you can also choose the vegan meal. All the ingredients are listed below the dishes.”

“I’ll have the veal roll.” You took a sip of the lemon-flavored soda she gave you earlier, “First course - the shrimp, and dessert would be the … ice cream, with extra berry toppings?”

“Excellent choice, Miss Y/L/N.” The stewardess nodded, taking notes of your demands, the impeccable smile still on her lips, “Any drinks?”

The bodyguard to your back coughed. Very loudly. Very spontaneously. As if he would be dead if someone didn’t hand him a glass of water or ship him off to the chemotherapy very soon.

“Cappu…” you changed your mind as soon as you were “reminded” that you were not allowed to drink alcohol, "Screw it, apple cider please.”

“Miss -” The bodyguard in the full black suit tried to warn you, “His Lordship won’t be pleased.”

“His Lordship,” you sniggered, “desperate measure to demonstrate his control over me, huh? Plus, I don’t think I recall our King has issued any announcement on the succession of the title. So, Lord him all you like. Pathetic man. I’m not respecting someone who participated perhaps even less than a minute in creating me.” You muttered the last few words under your breath.

You could practically imagine what “His Lordship” would do when he hears the report from the bodyguard, word for word.

He might throw some crystal ornaments to the wall, shouting at the top of his lungs, as if that would reinforce his authority.

A man to your right chuckled. Like you, he was just approached by the stewardess regarding his meal choice, now sipping scotch on the rocks. You glared at him. He looks like a man in his 30s. Terribly well dressed. The suit fitted his tailoring right up to his cufflinks. Golden cufflinks, you might add. White shirt without a tie. Long hair with a full-grown beard.

“Sorry, can’t help but overhear.” He raised his hands and folded them on his knees, “I’m Guy. Guy Thomas.”

“Mr. Thomas,” you shared your given name with him, but left out your family name, offering to shake his hand.

“Guy.” He stressed, “You’re from Ancetol?”

You were born in the outskirts of Ancetol, the capital of your home country, Ballenia, one of the few countries that are still ruled by a monarch. Your mother was relieved that you were blessed with a quick birth. But your father wanted nothing more than a boy. A boy that could take the family title and carry the family honor. Probably why he didn’t make an appearance until the second day of your birth. Reluctantly. You might add.

You spent the next couple of years of your life in a small town in Ballenia, growing up with your mother who thought innocently that your father would miraculously love you and accept you both as family.

You stopped believing in “a happy marriage” a long time ago. No. You stopped believing in “marriage”. And the fairy tales. And the lovely stories that told you one day, Prince Charming would come to rescue you riding his big white horse and ask you to be his wife, and some happily ever after bullshit.

No.

The reality was, fairly close to the story of your family, where the “Cinderella”, your mother, was abandoned by the prince, who is your father, and he had a couple of mistresses when Cinderella was only allowed to be presented during formal circumstances.

Ah yes, after all, a divorce would destroy the reputation of His Lordship. Making them look bad if they kick a civilian woman out of the door. The press would go frenzy about it, spreading the news that the “Cinderella” had been divorced by the cold-hearted heir of the Duke.

Luckily, or, unlucky for your father, it was your grandfather who carried the Duke title. Your grandfather who was equally displeased with you, a useless girl. Your grandfather, who passed away quite recently. Three days ago.

Hence, your urgent return. And some pretenses for the reputation of your family.

So, sunglasses it is then. During the funeral. With a white handkerchief. No one will see your dry eyes incapable of producing tears, not for that old bastard anyway. You thought to yourself, eyeing the huge bulk of a man next to you.

Did you forget to mention that the late Duke did the same trick as your father? Marrying a civilian woman and keeping a dozen mistresses in the same mansion they live in?

“You sound local.” You commented on the way he speaks English, “Are you from Ancetol as well?”

“Aww, what gave it away?” The man switched to fluent Ballenian, the language you haven’t heard of for years, and asked you, sounding sincere, “Is it the ‘r’? I always mess up the ‘r’.”

“Your name doesn’t sound local though,” you buckled your seatbelt as the stewardess stepped close to inform you the plane was ready to depart, lowering your eyes to fumble with the metal link, “Guy Thomas. Very American.”

Ari, no, Guy, pushed a little smile on his lips.

Of course, this name sounded American. You would freak out if he told you his true name.

“My mother is American and my father is Ballenian.” Which was 75% true because his mother was half American. The other half Danish.

He went by “Guy Thomas” when he was having fun among people and didn’t want to spoil everything by announcing he was Ari. The fucking prince of Ballenia.

Total mood killer.

“Are you here for business or pleasure?” You joked, “Or visiting your family?”

“Mostly business.” Ari fabricated a lie out of nowhere, “I work as a manager of my family business.” Technically that’s not a lie. He even slipped in some details for credibility.

Family business, the kingdom.

Manager, well sort of, since his dad owned the country.

“And I’m back in Ballenia to secure a deal.”

You lacked interest in business and all that, waving your hand as if dismissal, but allowing the stewardess to come and take away the food and drink in front of you, “hard to do business nowadays, especially when the Minister of Foreign Trade is a jackass.”

“You speak as if you know him.”

“Please, he’s been in that position for fifteen years.” You rolled your eyes.

The minister tried to get you to marry his hideous, lazy, pig-like son who knows nothing more than eating, smoking, and partying. Promising your father to “sweeten the deal” by favoring the company your mother owned but your father controlled.

Your father really would have said yes if it weren’t for the deal years ago, promising you to another man already. A man more powerful than the minister or his son will ever be.

“Of course, he is a jackass. If not now, then somewhere in his 15 years of gripping the foreign trade.” But you were not telling a total stranger about you being promised around like a Ming-Dynasty Vase. “Just look at the new announcement he made with the U.S. What deal did he make? None! Claiming that ‘further efforts are needed’. Further my ass. The Ambassador from the States could barely keep the smile on his face for Christ’s sake.”

Ari took a mental note to look into this “jackass” Minister.

“What about you?” He asked, “Visiting your family? Plan on staying here long?”

You pursed your lips on hearing the question.

Visit your family? How about dead family?

You were here to attend your grandfather, the late Duke’s funeral.

Staying long?

You wouldn’t curse yourself like that.

The longer you stay, the more probable your father and your mother will talk you into marriage.

You loved your mother, but for Christ’s sake, “I hope not.”

Ari didn’t respond to your reply. He simply hummed, making you confused about whether he agreed with you or not.

The plane did not wait for a minute more before departing into the air. A short while of gravity shift brought you 30,000 feet up in the sky. You pulled down the blind as the annoying sunlight burned your eyes, getting up for a bit more leg room and heading to the bathroom.

In the blink of an eye, a violent turbulence threw you off your own feet.

The soft ring of the safety belt sign turned the orange light on, while you slowly came to your senses that you weren’t embraced by the ground, but rather a firm body wrapping around you. One arm on your back, holding your upper body, another hung – rather awkwardly – in the air. You were sitting on his thick thighs sideways. Your ankle hurting. You were pretty much sure you twisted it with your damn heels.

“Miss Y/L/N!” The bodyguard hurried towards you, completely disregarding the tremble of the plane, rushing to your side. “Miss, I need you to try and stand up.” He held out an arm, leaning towards you to help you up.

Seeing him trying to assess how hurt your ankle was, you were very touched that he was concerned and reacted quickly. Maybe a small pay rise for him if you get back to your home?

Your bodyguard sighs, shaking his head with a disapproving look, “If this is your way of trying to escape the deal, his lordship won’t be pleased.”

Oh yes, the deal. The deal that simply packed you like a FedEx item and threw you to the palace door. The deal that promised you to the prince, right after you were born. The deal that you were told by your parents to honor for as long as you can remember. The deal lurking in the corner and bit you in the ass whenever you had done something to displease your father, reminding you over and over again that the only reason that you were alive was the fucking deal.

Apparently, your father had left out a most important piece of detail when instructing this bodyguard to “guard” you from running away.

You hardly ever do as you’re told.

“I think my ankle is broken.” You said dryly, pointing at your feet, not even trying to pretend that you can convince no one with your bland facial expression, “Can’t get up.”

Ari bit his lips so that he wouldn’t laugh.

You were sure as hell an interesting soul.

If he had any doubt or concerns regarding marrying you, a complete stranger in a matter of weeks, he now had none.

He thought you were the kind of girl who was a black sheep in the family, a wild child, with tattoos on your eyeballs or something. But you were nothing like his imagination.

Wild? Sure.

Black sheep? Compared to your father, the to-be-Duke, who seemed more like what the term was describing.

Ari raised his eyebrows, “Although I wouldn’t oppose you sitting on my thighs,” he nodded towards the stewardess who lurked behind the thin veil of curtain, “I’m afraid she would be unable to do her job properly if this continues.”

You clenched your jaw. Ignoring the extended hand from your bodyguard, you stood up, feeling instantly a sharp pain stinging your bones.

Bathroom was long forgotten, not that you have a chance to reach there on your own, you slumped down the seat and made sure you pushed the seat back until you could almost lie down like on a gurney. Lifting the hurting ankle on your other ankle, you closed your eyes.

Fuck his lordship.

The pain throbbing on your ankle. Your body dipped in both the coolness of the AC and the heat from your spine and the back of your head.

The few hours on the plane became more and more unbearable.

The veal roll didn’t lift your spirit in any way when it was brought to you.

The meat itself was fine. Only that it tasted like wax to you. You let out a long exhale as you outstretched your leg to ease the stress. Finishing the meal barely, you pushed the plate away, not even looking at the cider that you were thrilled to piss your father off with, and asked the stewardess for some paper. Empty sheets for writing.

She was clearly dumb-founded by your request, but hurried to carry your idea out.

You thanked her when she brought you some sheets, torn from some notepad as there were jigsaw razor edges on the side of the paper.

If the pain and the fact that every second you were closer to Ballenia was bothering you, you only needed something more bothering to take your mind off.

Ari narrowed his eyes when he cast a glimpse that you pulled out a pen from your bag from the overhead compartment and started writing on the empty sheets of paper.

Call him nosey but he wanted to know what you were writing.

Too inconvenient for him, your letters scribbled too small for his eyes to see. Occasional glimpses couldn’t help him read your writing. Nor that the content on your phone was clear enough for him to read either.

He did know that should be a text of some kind.

What text though? That was the real question.

…not some kind of text that could curse the royal family of the Ballenia, right?

Ari was almost amused by his own thoughts, before a shiver ran down his body and stuck an idea in his mind that this was totally and perfectly possible.

…you wouldn’t, would you?

Hard to tell. You weren’t exactly obeying the orders to marry him. Delaying it a couple of times in the past three years. And now, hearing that you had just called a minister “asshole” … or was it “butt ass” (?), anyway, something about ass, behind his back, and that you could mull a long face over your own bodyguard? Ari couldn’t figure out your temper and your actions all of a sudden.

The adjectives, that your father and his father used when they were talking about you, didn’t even come close to you.

“Kind” “Warm” “Considerate” “Perfect Princess”.

“Exceptional”. Maybe this was the right word.

Definitely different and strong-minded.

He could almost imagine the changes you would bring to his family and the kingdom.

He could discuss politics with you. You had your own thoughts and ideas, which was a good sign. Talk about foreign policies. Speaking of, he should really have someone fetch your dissertation from your university to understand where lies your interests. He’d allow gossip on the table too, if that’s what you like.

Ari hated gossip.

And there he was, imagining the future with you, before you were willing to marry him.

“If you want the book, I can lend it to you.” Your voice snapped him out of his fantasies. You had stopped scribing and rubbing your knuckles with your other hand. Pursing your lips together, you had, obviously, found out that he had his eyes glued to you.

“I’m sorry?”

“The History and Nature of International Relations.” You shrugged, twirling your wrist and your shoulder for writing too long, “I gotta warn you though, it’s pretty boring.”

Ari knew the correct answer to his question, but he asked either way, “You are studying it?”

“No. Yes. Hmpf,” You pouted at your change of words, “I did. I was. I was studying International Relations.” Something blipped in your mind, “Did you know this book?”

Ari smiled, “Took a course in International Relations years ago. I’m surprised they are still using it as an example of a textbook – where did you study?”

“NYU.” That’s a plain fat lie. You had a friend studying at NYU, but you were not planning on giving all your personal information away to a complete stranger, “You?”

Ari cocked his eyebrows. You were studying in Cambridge. He read that from your file.

“University of Ancetol.” Because studying there demonstrated the confidence of the Royal family in their country’s educational system. From there, the lies weaved themselves from his lips, “Got an undergrad degree and started to take over the family business. I visited New York last year,” along with his father, the King, but they travelled as quietly as they could, initiating a state visit without disturbing the press, “I miss school, now that I’m thinking of it.” Ari sighed deeply, “Wanted to get a grad degree but work’s too busy.”

“A manager in your family business?” You teased him light-heartedly, “Surely you can spare the time and study for a grad degree.”

Ari chose to evade this question. Reaching for his suit pocket, he fished out a business card with his name (Guy Thomas) and phone number on it, handing it to you, “Grad school doesn’t exactly tolerate me flying all over the world for … my family business.” He pushed his soft brown hair behind his ears, his eyes sparkling with a hint of joy that he had successfully fooled you, “Jewelry, my specialty. Diamonds, pearls, gemstones … call me if you need anything.”

“Oh, and she got her Master’s degree two months ago.” Ari casually dropped this to his parents in the middle of having dinner, he almost felt proud of his future wife, “Majoring in Political Science and International Relations. With a merit… no, distinction. The top 10% of her class.”

“We want a princess, not a college professor.” His father looked rather disappointed, “We were promised a princess.”

Ari didn’t understand.

If it were to be a marriage without love, he’d rather his spouse would be clever than bimbos who need help spelling “distinction”. Clever would mean he has a handful to deal with, yes, but what’s the fun in talking with someone who only cares about mani-pedi and the latest fashion magazines when he would be running the country?

Why wouldn’t they want someone smart as his wife?

“Your father is right, Ari,” his mother, Queen Olivia, reminded him with a softer tone, “we don’t need someone academically outstanding. We only want her to care for your home, you, and your future children.” She then turned to Ari’s father, King Victor, with blame framing her tone, “Told you should’ve just kept her with us when she was born. I knew Y/L/Ns were incompetent in raising our son’s future wife.”

Ari nearly spat out his food, “HOUSEWIFE?” Earning the “Shhh” from the Queen, he ignored the palace rules and the rules of being a prince altogether, “You want a HOUSEWIFE as the future queen?”

“For the moment.” Olivia waved her hand as if all this was not important, “Only temporal. After you get acquainted with the Upper House, you could divorce her and we’ll find you a proper wife.”

Taglist: @irishhappiness @patzammit

Find the Wild Child Masterlist here 👈

Questions? Comments? Requests? 👉Send them to my inbox 👂

[vanfleeter]

Black Smoke: Chapter 8 - Green With Envy

Characters: Jake Kiszka x Fem!reader Warnings: 18+ as always. Fluff. Mentions of pregnancy. Angst. Insecurities. Anger. Jealousy. Arguments. Crying. Hurt feelings. Apologies. Flirting. Smut. Sexual acts. Penetrative sex. Oral sex (f receiving). Fingering. Nude photography.

Black Smoke Masterlist

The wind was chilly in the early morning, nearing four weeks after arriving home from Michigan. You adjusted the cap on your head after closing the trunk door of Jake’s jeep. Your stomach growls and you pout and whine. Jake peers around the corner of the jeep with his eyebrows creased together. “What are you whining about?”

“I’m hungry..” Shaking his head, he walks away and goes to the driver door. “Can we please stop and get some food on the way to the airport?” You ask when you climb into the jeep and close the door.

“We can eat when we get to the airport.” He says as he starts the engine. “We’re already running behind schedule.” You huff, making him chuckle and he puts the vehicle in reverse and drives off to the airport.

Making it to the airport and getting through security, Jake leads you through the crowded terminal and to your gate before dropping his backpack and yours to the floor. You hold out your hand, pouting your lip and he sighs rolling his eyes. “You literally ate this morning, how are you hungry again?” He says as he hands you his credit card. You simply shrug your shoulders and take the card from his hand. “Bring me back a coffee!” He calls as you’re walking away.

The second you step into the nearest cafe, you can smell the food cooking and it makes your stomach churn, but the food on the menu board looks really good. Ordering yourself a couple breakfast sandwiches and extra one for Jake just in case, you also order his coffee before making your way back through the terminal and to the spot where you had left him at the gate.

“Geez,” Jake chuckles when he spots the food in your hand and the two coffees.

“I hope it tastes better than smells,” You say as you pull out one of the sandwiches and hand it to him.

He cautiously sniffs it and shrugs his shoulders before pulling apart the wrapper and taking a bite. The action alone makes your stomach church again and you grimace at your own sandwich. Luckily it does taste better than it smells.

An hour passed and you were finally boarding the plane to head off to New York before boarding an international flight to London. By the early morning, the flight landed in London. Jake quickly dropped your stuff off the airport before taking a rental car to the studio.

“Mr. Kiszka!” The studio manager exclaims as he greets Jake with an open armed hug. He smiles widely at you. “And you must be the future Mrs. Kiszka,” He says, pulling you into a hug as well. “It is such a pleasure to be working with you, Mr. Kiszka. I’ve seen your work and it is absolutely amazing. I definitely believe you are the right fit to take on this job.”

“Thank you,” Jake says with a slight chuckle. You’ve learned since being with him that he sometimes gets a little flustered when complimented. It was something you found endearing.

“Well, let’s head on back and meet your model for these next few days,” The manager says as he begins to lead you through the studio and towards the back dressing rooms. Knocking on a door, a woman’s voice calls, allowing you to enter and he pushes the door to reveal the most gorgeous woman sitting on a chair in front of a large mirror while the makeup artist is dabbing on a little powder.

“Angelica, I would love to introduce you to Jake Kiszka. He’s going to be our photographer for the next few days for this shoot.”

Angelica smiles and excuses herself from the artist and stands up from the chair. If you were already insecure over just seeing her face, you’re definitely even more insecure when you see just how perfect her body is too. Perfectly sculpted body and toned abs. Surely Jake would find her attractive and that sends a nervous vibe through your body.

“Jake!” She smiles and immediately pulls him in for a hug. “I am so happy to be working with you! Oh I’ve seen your work and I have to say that it is phenomenal. When they told me you'd be the photographer for this shoot, I was so excited. Still am!”

Instinctively your eyebrows crease when you see his cheeks flush red and he stammers over his next sentence that falls from his mouth, “Th-Thank you Angelica. I’ve been looking through your portfolio to gain some idea of what seems to work best for you and I have to extend the same compliment. You’re very beautiful and you’re definitely right for this shoot.”

“Well thank you, Jake.” She giggles. Angelica’s attention turns to you and you can just tell the smile is fake as soon as she looks at you. “Hi! Oh my gosh, I’m being so rude. You must be Jake’s assistant.”

“Oh uh, no–”

“She’s my fiancée,” Jake interjects. “Angelica, meet (Y/N).”

“Oh! Fiancée! How exciting! Congratulations!”

“Well, we’ll let you finish getting ready while Jake gets his gear set up.”

“Of course! I’ll see you there!” Angelica gives Jake a wink before going back over to the chair and sitting down to finish getting her makeup down. Jake reaches for your hand and tugs you from the room.

He had been putting his camera together and changing the settings to ones he would need for the indoor portion of the shoot. “Okay, I am ready!” Angelica announces as she walks into the room. She dressed in a very revealing top and a pair of tight skinny jeans. You notice Jake glance up and fumble with the camera in his hands, nearly dropping. He clears his throat and awkwardly rubs the back of his neck. You thought your scoff was quiet but Jake heard because he’s turning to look at you.

“What?”

You shrug your shoulders and shake your head. “Nothing..” You say as you lean back in the chair that was provided for you.

“Jakey, how do I look?” Angelica calls as he fluffs her hair.

Jakey?

Who the fuck does she think is that she can him that?

“Jakey?” You mutter.

Jake shoots you a look. A warning look. He’s warning you? She’s the one trying to flirt with him and you get the warning look? If you weren’t starting to boil from jealousy already, you definitely are now.

“You look great,” Jake responds with his eyes still focused on you. You roll your eyes and cross your arms over your chest. “Do you mind getting seated on the couch? Make yourself comfortable.”

“Anything for you, Jakey.”

You resist the urge to roll your eyes when Jake’s eyes look back at you to make sure you weren’t doing anything wrong. You give him an innocent smile and he scoffs with a small smile tugging at the corner of his lips.

The whole shoot had you on edge. She would constantly call him ‘Jakey’, occasionally calling him ‘Sir’ and giggling when his cheeks flushed red. When he’d go up to fix her hair in the way he wanted it to look, she’d take that as an opportunity to fidget with the pendants on his necklace and compliment him on how cool they are after he explains which one is.

Is he purposely doing this to get under your skin? To test how far he can let this go before you explode?

He did catch you a few times rolling your eyes and sending you the same warning look. “Would you stop it?” He says coming up to you after calling for a break.

“Stop what?”

“Stop rolling your eyes–”

“Well–”

“And stop scoffing–”

“But–”

“None of her flirting means anything.”

“Tell that to your red cheeks, Jake.”

“You’re embarrassing me, stop it.”

Woah. Pause. Did he.. You’re embarrassing him? “Wow..” You breathe as you slide out of the chair. “This has gone from a photoshoot to flat out flirting. She’s always calling you ‘Jakey’, gross. And ‘Sir’? I’m sorry but there’s one person who can call you that, and that person is me.”

“(Y/N), it means nothing to me.”

“Well tell that to your dick,” You whisper-yell to him. “You think it isn’t noticeable? Gosh, Jake, you fucking fumbled your camera when she came out dressed in that outfit.”

Jake takes a deep breath, closing his eyes, and exhaling. “Go back to the hotel.”

“What?”

“I said, go back to the hotel. You’ve been so rude all morning and I’m tired of it.”

“I’m being rude?” You shake your head and grab your coat and purse. “Have you seen the way she talks down to me? It’s so condescending and you haven’t even noticed. But whatever, I guess I’m the one being rude.”

“Just go and take a nap. You’ve been up for so long and it’s making you crabby.” He reaches into his pocket and pulls out the key for the rental car. “Here, take the car.”

“What about you?”

“I’ll get a taxi or something after we wrap up.” He gives you a kiss on the forehead and a light tap on your ass. “We’ll talk after I get back and after you’ve slept.”

Getting back to the hotel and up to the room, you toss your things onto the couch before going into the bedroom where you proceed to change into something more comfier. Standing in front of the mirror, you slowly lift up your shirt to look at your midsection. How can you compete with her? She has the perfect body and she’s fucking beautiful. Why wouldn’t he be attracted to her?

Of course he’s attracted to her, he got fucking hard just looking at her. He hasn’t felt that way towards you since the two of you got back to Nashville. He hasn’t even touched you since either. When was the last time you two were ever intimate? Was it really in his old bedroom at his parents’ house?

You didn’t realize you were crying until you looked up in the mirror. Your eyes grow red and your chin wobbles. Pulling your shirt back down, you turn away from the mirror and walk over to your suitcase to retrieve your earbuds. Music might be a good distraction and get your mind off of today.

It was nearly midnight in London by the time Jake finally came back to the hotel. And suddenly you are sent down the road of jealousy and anger when you see him as he walks into the bedroom. You give him a short glance before going back to scroll through social media on your phone.

“I figured your nap would have made you feel a little better.” He says as he sits on the edge of the bed and takes off his shoes.

“I’m not tired, if that’s what you mean..” You say, not taking your eyes away from your phone. “Did she flirt with you any more after I left?”

“(Y/N)..” Jake sighs.

“Well did she?”

His shoulders drop and he turns to face you. “Yes..” Your only response was a simple nod of your head. “It means nothing.. How many times do I have to tell you that?”

“Until your dick stops hardening for her.”

“Would you knock it off?!” He finally shouts as he stands to his feet.

“I’m sorry, Jake! But it hurts, you know.” You toss your phone down on the bed and stare at him. “You seem so attracted to her.”

“But I’m not!”

“Yes you are, Jake.” You sigh. “And it’s fine, I get it. I don’t look like her. She’s fucking beautiful and her body..”

“Baby,” Jake kneels onto the bed and crawls over to you, his face just centimeters from your face. “You are beautiful.”

“But I don’t have her body, Jake.”

“So?” He rested back on his knees with his hands laying on his thighs. “Why does it matter if you have her body or not? I love your body.” Your bottom lip quivers and you lower your chin. “Hey look at me.” He says as he reaches towards you and lifts your chin back up. “Why would you think such a thing?”

“Because..” Your voice is shaky. “The way you looked at her today.. You haven’t looked at me like that since we got back from Michigan.”

“Just because you don’t see me looking at you, doesn’t mean that I’m not ever looking at you.”

“We’ve not been intimate either..”

“I have no excuse, really..” He sighs. “But that doesn’t mean I’m not still attracted to you. So what if you don’t have a supermodel’s body. I still love you.” He reaches for your arms and pulls you onto his lap. “You’re still so beautiful to me.” He gives you kisses before leaving a trail of them down your neck.

“Jake..”

“Shh..”

“Jake, stop..” You push away from him, crawling off his lap and moving away from him. “I don’t want pity sex..”

“Pity sex?” He questions. “Is that what you think it was going to be?”

“Yes, because you feel sorry and I don’t want to feel like you have to have sex me because I said that. I want you to have sex with me because you want to and because I’m sexy.”

“But I do want to.”

“No, you don’t..”

“Baby, yes I do!” He crawls over to the edge of the bed and holds your face in his hands. “I always want to have sex with you!”

Tears escape down your cheeks and you push him away again. “Then why haven’t you for the last month, Jake?! But the second Angelica steps out in that top revealing her boobs and her jeans were so tight, you were totally into that! She turned you on, dammit! I haven’t done that to you in weeks!” More tears fell down your cheeks. “How can we get married when I don’t make you feel like that anymore?”

“(Y/N), I’m sorry that I ever made you feel this way..” He tries to reach for you again but you take a step back. “(Y/N)..”

“Just go find Angelica.. At least you won’t pity her..” You quickly go into the bathroom and close the door behind you and twist the lock.

Geez, why do you have to be so emotional? You’ve never cried this much. Leaning against the sink, you slowly rock back and forth as you breathe in deeply and exhaling at a slow pace. And your anger? Jealousy? You’ve never been jealous because you’ve never had a reason to be jealous.

A gentle knock sounds on the door before Jake speaks. “(Y/N).. I’m sorry.. I-I don’t know what I’m supposed to do, but I want to make you feel better. I want to fix this. Please open the door.” He went quiet for a minute or two before speaking again. “I want to make love to you, and not out of pity. I want to make love to you because I do love you. I really do. I want to kiss you in all the right places, I want to touch you until you’re squirming beneath me. Please let me prove to you that I love you.”

Wiping your hands across your face, you go over to the door and unlock it before pulling it open. He stands there with the most sorrowful look that you’d ever seen on his face. He doesn’t move as you wrap your arms around his torso and rest your head against his chest. Slowly he moves his arms around you and holds you close.

“I’m sorry..” You whimper. “I don’t know what’s wrong with me..”

“It’s okay..” Jake says as he rubs his hand up and down your back.

“Jake?”

“Hm?”

You lift your head to look at him. “I love you.”

He smiles and raises his hand to your face to brush your hair behind your ear. “I love you too.” He moves slightly closer, his lips just barely brushing against yours. “Can I kiss you?” He asks.

“Yes..”

He smiles before he presses his lips to yours. Wrapping your arms around his neck, you press your body closer to his as the kissing begins to heat up. His hands find their way back to your waist and he rests them on your hips before he’s pressing your body up against his. Bending slightly, he picks you up off the floor and sets you on his waist and carries you back to the bed where he lays you down.

He pulls away from you long enough to remove his shirt before kissing you again. You can feel him growing hard beneath the fabric of his jeans and he grinds himself against your core. With your permission, he slowly addresses you and kisses every inch of your body as he goes.

-

As much as he desires to bring you pleasure, he longs to make love to you even more. He settles himself between your legs and kisses you before pushing himself inside of you. You gasp from the sting, fully aware of how long the two of you have not been like this. He moves slowly, allowing you ample time to adjust to him again.

“Jake..”

“(Y/N)..”

“I think I might be pregnant..”

He slows his pace before coming to a stop and he props himself up just enough to really look at you. “What makes you think that?”

“Just a feeling..” You say. “I’ve never been this emotional before.. And the airport? The food made me so queasy. And then suddenly I'm a raging, jealous bitch only to burst into tears and feel so bad.. I’m supposed to get my period in a couple days but.. If I’m late..”

“Then let’s hope you are.”

“If I am, are you for sure okay with that?”

“Of course I am,” He leans to kiss you before gently thrusting his hips forward.

He starts to move again, still gentle but passionate. Soon he’s bringing the both of you to your climaxes. The warm feeling takes over your body as you feel the two of you melding together. He’s resting his head on your shoulder, him breathing heavily as you softly run your fingers through his hair. When the two of you relax, he carefully pulls out of you and goes off to the bathroom to retrieve a wet washcloth to clean you both off.

He can’t help but to kiss way down your leg when he finishes and tosses the cloth off the side, no doubt that he’ll probably be using it again here shortly. Making it to your inner thigh on your right leg, he sets it back down on the bed before starting on your left leg. He licks his tongue through your folds, earning a light gasp from you. He looks up to find you looking down at him with your teeth sunk into your bottom lip. He smiles and places a kiss to your still sensitive clit before he kisses his way up your body. Coming up your abdomen and to the valley your breasts, he pauses and pulls away slightly.

He puts on his thinking and rubs his chin with his index finger and thumb. “Hmmm..” He hums. “Which one do I want?” He shrugs shoulders and leans back down to envelope your right nipple in his mouth while he palms your left one in his hand and gently massages it.

He leaves your left breast and slides his hand down your body, first squeezing your hip and then dipping his hand between your legs. Though he probably could have done this first, he missed being intimate with you just as much as you had, so he couldn't help but dive straight into the fucking. Or love making, actually.

And he’ll do it again too. To hell with the foreplay. He loves being shoved so deep inside of you and nudging all the right places just so he can hear those little sounds you make when he does.

He pauses the circular motion of his fingers on your clit and releases your right breast from his mouth. Pulling away completely, he climbs off the bed and goes over to his things on the other side of the room and retrieves his personal camera.

“For my eyes only,” He says as he turns it on.

Instantly popping up, the last photo he took with his camera was one of you that he snapped without you noticing. You were fully naked and walking in the direction away from the camera. Your arms were raised as you were stretching and lifting your hair just slightly. He zoomed in on your ass, biting his bottom lip as he stared at the red hand print visible from when he smacked your ass as he pounded himself into you. That was the night before the two of you took off for Paris. After coming home late that night, he still felt a little twinge of remorse for missing the dinner date and he knew presenting you with the trip to Paris was not going to fully make up for it. So he fucked you, there was no love making it. He did everything to pleasure you, even when you begged him to be rough on you.

You missed him so much then as much as he missed you. He remembers having you on your hands and knees and he was railing himself into you, not worried about the pain you might be in the next day. He was fully prepared to have to carry you around if he needed to. The smack of his palm against your ass has the blood rushing to his cock.

But he’s being pulled from that memory when he hears you calling his name and the warmth of your hand enveloping his cock. “Are you looking at her photos?”

“If by her, you mean you? Then yes.” He turns the camera to face you showing the naked photo of you. He winks at you and kisses your forehead. “That night was amazing.” He pulls away from you, the warmth of your hand leaving his cock as he sinks down to the mattress and spreads his legs. “Pop a squat.” When you have yourself straddling his waist, he looks into the mirror and adjusts your legs around his body until he has them just the way he wants them. “Perfect.”

He lays your head on his shoulder and moves your hair to the right spot. When he is satisfied with how the two of you look in the mirror, he brings his camera up, blocking both of your faces with it, and snapping a few photos.

“We look so good together,” He says as he looks through the photos. He lowers the camera and looks at you. “You are stunning and I couldn’t be luckier.”

“You mean that?”

“Of course I do,” He pecks your lips and sets his camera off to the side as he deepens the kiss. “And if you are pregnant? I would definitely be the luckiest man in the world.” He topples you both over and reaches above you to flick off the lamp.

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[jai-lovely]

Withered Evelynn

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Warnings: Mentions of cigarette/ smoke, explosives, Merle, please tell me if I missed any

Father figure Daryl dixon x oc

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As she taps her fingers nervously against her thighs, Evelynn watches her brother rub his chin in frustration. "Gil?" her voice comes out quieter than she expected, but none of the less he turned his head to look at her.

"Hm?" He only looks at her for a second before quickly looking away back to the road, which is full of cars, of everyone that that's trying to leave the hectic city "what bout mama? Do ya think she got out?" Looking over to him only to see his face immediately fall, turning to a bitter look.

Gillian clenches the steering wheel before opening his mouth to speak only to cut himself off, "how bout you go play with those kids up there for a bit yeah? Let me think for a bit" he says his voice filled with stress. Evelynn looks at her older brother, before looking out the window to see the kids he was talking about.

With a sigh she opens the truck door and hops out making sure to grab her backpack. Closing the truck door she looks at her brother one more time, seeing him nod, and shrugging her backpack on before turning and walking over to the kids, with her bright Pink backpack shining from all the headlights.

There was two kids playing chess in the back of a vehicle, one was a girl, she looked a bit older than Evelynn, but that didn't matter to the younger girl, as long as she was nice. The older looking girl had short blonde hair to her ears, and was holding a fabric doll in her lap, she seemed to be a little nervous, can't blame her though. Across from her was a boy, he seemed to be the same age as Evelynn, just shorter. He had brown hair that was kinda overgrown onto his ears, and a bunch of freckles, he doesn't seem nervous though, more bored, can't blame him for that either.

Before Evelynn could realize she was staring, a woman with a buzz cut saw her and smiled, waving her over. The younger girls face flushed a light pink, realizing she had been caught , but put her head down a bit as she walked over.

The lady with a buzz cut was nice, Evelynn learned that her name was Carol, and the girl with the short blonde hair was her daughter, Sophia. While the younger boys name was Carl, and his mama is well, never asked about that so don't really know.

Carl was really talkative, known him for like five minutes and he already knows both of her favourite colours and her birthday. Sophia was quiet, it's nice actually, she just holds her doll in her arms, "do you like frogs?" The boy named Carl asked her, Evelynn screwed up her face a bit, 'what an odd question' she thought, "uhm, I guess but their real slimy, I don't like to touch'em" he frowns a bit at that but nods before letting out a quiet 'cool'.

Evelynn opens her mouth to ask if he likes frogs, but her voice suddenly gets cut off by really loud noises over head. Looking up to the sky Evelynn sees a bunch of planes flying just above the tress, heading towards the city. ' The city, ain't that where all the sick people are?' She asks herself, loud bangs bring her out of her thoughts. Evelynns eyes widen as the ground shakes a bit from the explosions "their bombing the city" a women with long brown hair says, as she jogs to where we are, a buff guy following right behind her.

The woman walks over to Carl bringing him into her arms, guessing that's his mama. The brown haired woman looks over to me, her eyes squinting in confusion.

Carol notices her expression "this is Evelynn" she gestures her hand to the young girl, "Evelynn this is Lori, Carls mom" with a quick nod towards the young girl, Lori turns to look at the man behind her, only for him to walk off, strange.

Evelynn feels someone's hand on her shoulder, and quickly whips her head around to see who was touching her. It turned out to be Gillian, his hand on her shoulder loosened a bit but still a firm grip.

"Yall the group that's going up to the quarry?" Gillian suddenly speaks, loud enough from just the group of people to hear. Lori looks at him, her brows furrowing, "how do ya know about that" she says sitting beside her son. Gillian looks back at his truck before looking at Lori, "your buddy, Shane? I think that's his name, but I guess he saw I was with Eve, and invited us" he shrugs.

Lori nods "there's a few others that are gonna be going, just follow the Rv, we're gonna be leaving in a minute". Gillian nods "Roger that", and before Evelynn could process what was happening, her and Gillian were walking back to the truck. On their way back, they pass another truck, with two guys with matching vests, 'kinda reminds me of friendship bracelets' she thought. Evelyn began to cough a little while walking past them, all cigarette smoke clouding around them. While she covers her nose with the collar of her shirt, she sees the older looking man chuckle, before putting the cancer stick back in between his lips.

The truck doors slam, as the pair gets into the vehicle. Evelynn takes off her backpack putting it on the floor of the truck, and before the young girl realized the truck was started, and the duo were trailing behind the big crème color Rv.

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Tell me if u would like to be added to a tag list!

AHHHHH first chapter!!! I hope you guys liked it, I've been procrastinating making a twd story lol

Feel free to give me feedback in the comments

Thank you for reading Withered Evelynn

[fwckriley]

Just a suggestion but how about a fic where Ghost is incredibly protective over the reader but doesn’t realise it’s because he’s actually in love with her

Simping for this man I swear 🧎‍♀️

The Trials and Tribulations of Being in Love Pt 1.

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Pairing: Simon “Ghost” Riley x Reader

Word Count: 4.098

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He shouldn't have come. This mission was hers, and hers alone. When they told her that Ghost had requested to accompany her on the mission, at first she felt angry, but after they embarked together, that feeling diminished. It was comforting to have someone familiar by her side, of course, she would never admit to him that she was grateful. She and Ghost had participated in previous missions together. However, as much as his presence pleased her, she was still angry that he had interfered in her mission. She refused to talk to him, but he didn't seem affected. Honestly, he even seemed to like it.

She was assigned to investigate an international arms trafficking led by a dealer whose identity was unknown. Her task was to find out who the dealer was, where he was, and to prevent the sale of weapons into the hands of Iranian military.

They had just landed at Tengah Air Base in Singapore. As she and Ghost got off the aircraft, the hot sun of Singapore hit their faces, indicating it was already late. The heat was strong, but there was a gentle breeze that made the weather pleasant. Tengah Air Base was bustling, with many people coming and going. Planes took off and landed, generating a deafening noise that seemed never to cease. There was a crowd of uniformed military personnel running back and forth, transporting equipment and luggage. Some were waiting in line to board one of the planes. Others chatted in groups, laughing and smoking. Some civilian workers in orange uniforms carried boxes and equipment into one of the hangars, while a supply truck entered the base, raising clouds of dust. Soon, a local-looking man greeted them with a polite gesture and signaled for her and Ghost to follow him. He led them to a discreet black car parked near the runway and opened the door for them to get in. The inside of the vehicle was cool and comfortable, a relief from the heat outside.

The agent seemed nervous, gripping the steering wheel tightly as he tried to maintain small talk, but his voice trembled with anxiety. Ghost remained silent, seeming lost in his own thoughts, his face expressionless. Meanwhile, she answered a question or two with disinterest, looking out at the urban landscape passing by. The tall buildings of Singapore rose majestically in the distance, forming an imposing silhouette against the sky. The streets were filled with hurried cars, blaring horns, and pedestrians rushing to escape the chaotic traffic.

Upon arriving at the hotel, which was half an hour away from the city, she and Ghost headed to their assigned room. The environment was simple, with rustic wooden furniture and white walls, without great luxuries or extravagant decorations. She observed the room, noticing details such as the two single beds with white sheets and a small built-in closet in the wall. Upon closing the door to the room, she sighed deeply, feeling the fatigue from the long flight and the confusion of time zones. Her eyes wandered around the room, noticing the open window and the fresh breeze that came in, bringing with it the scent of the forest. With a quick movement, she threw her bag on the bed and turned to Ghost, who was organizing the baggage in the room. He had taken most of her baggage. She didn't even argue against it.

"It's not the best room I've ever stayed in, but it's better than nothing," she commented with a smirk. Ghost simply nodded his head without saying a word.

She approached the window, admiring the vast green expanse of the forest that stretched out before her. The sun still shone brightly in the sky, giving a golden hue to the surroundings. With her hands resting on the windowsill, she felt the breeze hit her face, bringing a slight relief. Turning around, she walked towards her bed, pulling out the black folder she had brought with her. With agile fingers, she carefully opened it, revealing the detailed information about the arms trafficking operation that was inside. Her eyes quickly scanned the pages, absorbing every detail.

She looks at Ghost and asks, "So, what do you have in mind?"

"We need a contact in Singapore, someone who can give us information without raising suspicions."

She crosses her arms and retorts sarcastically, "Oh, is that all? That easy?"

Ghost turns around and faces her.

"No, it's not easy. That's why you're here."

"Oh, and here I was thinking I was on vacation," she says sarcastically. He rolls his eyes and moves away, going to the window.

After a few minutes of silence, she looks at Ghost and says, "There's a guy I worked with once. I met him in..."

"Is he trustworthy?"

She shrugs.

"I trust him as much as I trust you."

Ghost snorted and turns his face back to the window, saying nothing.

"I'll call him and see what I can do," she replied as she got up from the bed and went to a more private place.

❖

After a few failed attempts, she finally managed to arrange a meeting at a bar in the city. When she returned to the room, she found Ghost sitting on the edge of the bed tinkering with his equipment. She approached him and informed him about the scheduled meeting.

"I got it. He wants to meet me at eight in a bar at Marina Bay," she said with a satisfied smile.

“Okay, I'll get ready,” Ghost replied, already getting up from the bed.

“You were not invited, Ghost,” she said, crossing her arms in front of her chest.

He looked at her as if challenging her to stop him.

"Ghost, seriously. First, he's my contact and a really difficult guy to deal with. He's going to be suspicious if someone he doesn't know shows up, especially if that person is six feet three inches tall and looks like a damn refrigerator wearing a weird skeleton balaclava." As she spoke, her tone of voice increased, not quite yelling, but her previous bad mood was becoming more evident. She stopped herself before continuing. "Second, they might recognize you. And nobody can know we have a SAS lieutenant here, got it? It'll ruin the mission."

He stared at her for a long time. She could see him struggling with his thoughts. After a few seconds, he simply shook his head and went back to tinkering with his gear.

"As you wish," he said emotionlessly. "But you'll keep me updated."

"I'll keep you updated," she repeated.

"And you'll behave. And if anything goes wrong, you'll let me know immediately and find shelter," he continued.

"Whatever you say, goes," she assured him.

He nodded. "Get ready."

And as ordered, she promptly started to get ready for the meeting. She dressed carefully, wearing a discreet outfit and no flashy accessories, so as not to draw attention from the regular customers of the bar.

As she entered the bar, she felt a bit anxious. The loud music mixed with the sound of lively conversations and glasses being placed on tables. The dim lights made it difficult to see the surroundings. She walked towards the counter, where she ordered a drink and observed the environment carefully. Small tables and uncomfortable chairs were filled with a variety of people. Minutes later, her old contact arrived at the bar and he immediately recognized her. He looked older, but equally handsome, his dark skin contrasting with his elegant purple suit. Not at all flashy, she thought. They greeted each other with a nod and sat at a more secluded table, where they could talk more privately.

❖

After the meeting, she returned to the hotel. Ghost was checking his weapons and communication equipment again, a habit he learned over the years in the SAS. He did it a thousand times during missions, always trying to make sure everything was perfect. The only illumination came from a weak and yellow lamp, leaving the room with a dark tone. His bed was full of guns. She entered the room, closing the door softly. He turned around abruptly, holding his pistol firmly. Their eyes met, and he lowered the gun as soon as he recognized her.

"It’s me," she identified herself. Ghost sighed and turned his attention back to his equipment, without offering any response or greeting.

She approached and sat at the table, where there were documents and maps spread out.

"So, what do we have?" he asked, without looking up from the equipment.

"He said the guy we're looking for is known as The Merchant, but he doesn't know how to find him. However, if we want to find out more, we could start by looking for the port of Singapore. Apparently, it's an important trafficking point," she explained, pointing to the map.

“Which means it’s heavily guarded.”

“Wouldn't be fun if it wasn't.” She said with a smile “There’s more. He said he heard that in two days a group of Iranian military officials will arrive to make the weapons purchase.”

“Matches up with the info Laswell gave me,” Ghost said.

“I can try to infiltrate the operation and gather more intel on the flow of weapons and how they’re being transported.” She proposed, confidently.

Ghost nodded in agreement.

“Not going to be easy,” he replied.

She looked at the map attentively, searching for a point of entry.

“Where do you think we can get in?”

“Through the fish loading dock, it's less monitored and gives access to the restricted area of the port,” Ghost suggested.

“And what about the Iranians arriving in two days?” she asked.

"We have to act fast. If we infiltrate now, there will be fewer people present and the darkness will give us an advantage. In the meantime, I'll stay in a strategic position, providing cover and support in case something goes wrong."

She nodded her head, already thinking about the details of the operation. She grabbed her computer and began analyzing the port images, looking for possible weak spots. Ghost approached, getting so close that she could feel the heat of his body. She tried to ignore it as much as possible and continued.

"I don't like this," said Ghost, pointing to one of the surveillance cameras in the port. "They have eyes everywhere."

"If we know where the cameras are, we can avoid them and move more easily."

"It's risky," said Ghost, "You'll have to be very careful..."

"Understood," she said, getting up. She began checking her weapons and equipment, while Ghost prepared his sniper rifle.

"Is everything ready?" she asked.

"Yes, what about you?"

She nodded her head.

"Then let's go."

The two of them left the hotel room and headed for the port of Singapore.

❖

It was midnight and the streets were practically deserted, with few cars circulating that part of the city. The port of Singapore was a few kilometers away and they headed there on foot.

"There's an observation point over there," Ghost said, pointing to a small building near the port. "I'm heading there."

"Great," she said, giving a mischievous smile. "Let's have some fun."

"Stay focused, agent. Security here is tight. One mistake and everything could go downhill."

"Yes, I know," she replied, with a more serious tone.

"Wait for me to give you the signal before you enter," Ghost said.

“Understood.”

“Take care of yourself. I don't want to have to carry your dead body around.”

“Oh, you're so sweet. I'm touched. Really.” She placed her hand over her heart in a theatrical gesture. He ignored her.

They parted ways and went in opposite directions.

When she arrived at the port, she successfully infiltrated it with Ghost's help in avoiding the security cameras. She crept through the shadows, avoiding the most brightly lit and crowded areas. With every step, she looked around, searching for signs of surveillance or alarms. Ghost silently accompanied her on the other side of the radio, giving precise instructions and alerting her to potential dangers only when needed. Typical, she thought.

The night was dark, with no stars in the sky. There was a cool breeze blowing, carrying with it the salty smell of the sea. The stacked containers reached impressive heights, creating a kind of maze. The port lights only partially illuminated the area, creating deep and dark shadows that moved with the wind. She walked quietly, staying low and hidden among the cargo.

Meanwhile, Ghost was stationed in a nearby building overlooking the port. The building he was in was old and had dirty, dusty windows. He used his sniper rifle to keep an eye on the entire area and provide cover for her. There was an open laptop next to him, flashing with real-time images from various security cameras scattered throughout the port.

"You've reached the entry point," he said through the radio. "There are no guards in the area. Enter and proceed forward."

She followed the instructions, advancing towards the entrance. When she arrived, she hid in the shadows and looked around, checking for any more guards or cameras.

"No sign of activity," she said, without pausing. "I'm entering now."

"Be careful," said Ghost.

She let out a mocking laugh.

"Don't worry, Ghost. I won't screw everything up."

"I hope not," he said, clearly annoyed.

"Relax," she said, trying to ease the tension. "I have everything under control."

He didn't respond. She knew he wasn't happy with the situation, but she couldn't help but find it funny.

"You know, Ghost," she said, the malice in her voice, "I love it when you're mad. Gets my blood pumping."

"Don't start with that now," he replied, in a warning tone.

She laughed again. "I know you like it."

He sighed and turned off the radio. She laughed again, feeling victorious. She knew she had managed to irritate him, but she also knew he would never leave her in danger.

"There's a guard coming your way. Get behind those containers," he whispered through the earpiece.

As she approached the heart of the port, activity increased. She noticed an area with reinforced security and armed guards, likely where the weapons shipments were kept. She knew she needed to get closer to get a clearer view. Carefully, she went unnoticed by security guards and walked through dark alleys, alert to any sign of danger.

"You're getting close to the restricted area," Ghost warned. "Be cautious."

She approached slowly, observing the guards' activity and patrol routes. Still hidden in the shadows, she prepared to move when the right moment came.

"There's a guard coming your way," Ghost whispered again.

She quickly hid and waited patiently as the guard passed, unaware of her presence. When he moved away, she advanced again. Finally, she reached the restricted area and peered through a crack in the crates. Inside, she saw a row of reinforced containers, guarded by several armed men. She focused on her breathing, remaining calm and focused.

"Are you seeing anything?" Ghost asked through the radio.

"They're guarding the weapons containers, just as we suspected," she whispered back.

"Okay, I'll cover you from here," Ghost said. "But be careful."

With Ghost's words in mind, she carefully planned her next move. She needed to get closer to get a clear view of what was inside the containers. Cautiously, she approached the entrance of the restricted area, always hiding in the shadows and avoiding the lights.

"Ghost, I think I found something. I'm going to investigate," she said to him through the earpiece.

Ghost remained in his position, watching her every move, ready to intervene if anything went wrong. Meanwhile, she advanced cautiously, dodging the henchmen and hiding behind crates and containers. She observed two men talking in hushed tones near a large green container. She approached stealthily, trying to listen in on what they were saying, but before she could get close enough, one of the men spotted her. The man was about to shout an alert when Ghost took him out. She drew her pistol and fired, hitting the other man squarely. She approached the green container and opened it carefully, finding a large quantity of weapons and ammunition, all American-made and bearing the seals of a US arms industry.

"They're trafficking American weapons to the Iranians," she whispered.

"Copy that. Get out of there fast. There's a group nearby," Ghost replied.

She carefully closed the container and moved stealthily through the port, remaining alert to every movement. Despite the orders to leave, she decided to hide and wait for the group to pass by her. She advanced cautiously, following the group from a distance, hiding behind crates and containers.

Ghost tried to persuade her through the earpiece to turn back and wait for a more propitious moment, but she ignored him. She arrived at a warehouse, where men were loading boxes onto a truck. She watched as they loaded the boxes onto the truck. Unlike the boxes in the container, these bore the flag of Germany.

"These weapons are German," she said to Ghost through the earpiece. However, he didn't respond. She tried to communicate with him a few more times, but still no answer.

That was when Ghost appeared by her side, surprising her.

"You shouldn't have come alone," he said in a reproachful tone. "You're putting your life at risk."

"I thought we could find out more, and guess what? I was right," she nodded towards the boxes marked with the German flag.

He held her arm tightly and pulled her close to him.

"Let's get out of here before we're discovered," he said urgently. "Several cars arrived with guards. Were you listening to me? I told you to wait."

He looked at her with anger. If she didn't know him, she could swear there was concern in his eyes.

"I was following a lead that I deemed important, and I was right. There are American and German weapons here," she replied, trying to justify her actions.

"You don't understand the gravity of the situation. Now we're surrounded," retorted Ghost, his voice growing louder. "Tell me, Y/N, how do you plan to get us out of here?"

He never called her by her first name. She opened her mouth to argue and closed it several times.

"I'll figure something out," she finally said.

"Oh, you'll figure something out. Are you going to teleport us?" he teased.

"You're being impossible, seriously."

"I'm only being impossible because you're being irresponsible," he countered.

The two continued arguing in a louder tone, until they caught the attention of the guards, who began to approach them. Ghost and her stepped back, but the guarda had already spotted them. They drew their guns and began shooting. One of them aimed in her direction, and Ghost quickly moved her aside. Quickly the guards went on alert.

He kept a firm stance and a serious expression as he moved with agility, trying to find cover between the boxes. She could feel her heart racing, adrenaline taking over her body. She tried to argue with Ghost, but he seemed to have taken the lead of the situation and didn't want to hear her suggestions.

"We don't have time for this now. We need to get out of here before they find us," said Ghost, trying to find a way out. "Let's go."

They moved quickly and managed to escape the location before the henchman reached them. As they ran through the port, shots echoed behind them.

"Damn the moment I decided to follow you!" Ghost shouted, still angry with her. "I told you it wasn't safe, but you never listen to me."

"I never asked you to come on this mission in the first place," she retorted, annoyed with him.

"If I hadn't come, you'd be dead by now."

"We won't get anything done if we keep blaming each other," she said.

"I'm not blaming us. I'm blaming you," he said before running towards a clear path to the left. Without hesitation, she followed him and both entered a maze of containers, using them as cover while exchanging shots with the henchmen.

One of the shots grazed her arm, making her groan in pain.

"Are you okay?" Ghost asked, concerned.

"I'm fine. Don't worry," she replied, trying to keep her voice steady as she reloaded her gun.

They kept moving, searching for an exit. The shots decreased, giving them a chance to catch their breath. They hid behind a container, regaining their breath and assessing the situation.

In a stroke of luck, she noticed an open gate and pointed it out to Ghost. He looked in the indicated direction and, without hesitation, started running towards it. She followed him, her quick steps echoing on the ground. The gate was huge. There was an armed guard standing in front of it, but for some reason, he seemed distracted. The open gate led to a wide road with many cars passing by. As they approached the gate, the guard finally noticed their presence and tried to close it, but it was too late. Ghost hit him with a knife, and he fell to the ground soon after.

They ran down the street trying to get rid of the guards who were chasing them. When they saw the entrance to the subway ahead, they approached it without hesitation and entered. People moved away, frightened, as they passed by. She couldn't help but think of the guards who were still chasing them, looking over her shoulder at all times to check if they were being followed. At one point, one of the guards managed to catch up to her and grab her, but she freed herself with an elbow strike to his rib and a kick to his stomach. In the midst of the confusion, she also managed to grab the cell phone of the guard who had grabbed her.

She looked at Ghost and spoke in a low and urgent tone:

"We need to find a way to get rid of them and get out of here."

"I agree," replied Ghost, watching the crowded platform of people coming and going.

They jumped the turnstile and ran to the train platform that was about to leave.

"Let's take the next train," she said to him. Ghost nodded in agreement.

They got on the subway car and concealed themselves amidst the crowd, blending in with the passengers. Glancing out the window, they saw the guards running towards them. The subway car was packed with people, all squeezing together for space. The air was permeated with a mix of sweat and metal. She and Ghost blended themselves in with the passengers. The guards showed up on the opposite end of the subway car, scanning around. Then, the gunfight erupted. Gunshots reverberated through the subway car, and the passengers shrunk in fear, trying to find a secure place to shield themselves. She and Ghost attempted to dodge the bullets and retaliate, but swiftly realized they were outnumbered. They spotted an emergency door close by and didn't think twice before trying their luck. With a shove from Ghost, the door swung open, and they hurled themselves into the dark tunnel, clueless of where they were headed.

Finally, they saw an entrance to a ventilation duct and crawled inside, trying to hide. Her hearts were still beating, and her breaths were tired as she and Ghost recovered from the escape.

The ventilation duct was dark and narrow, but it would do. She and Ghost squeezed into the tight space, trying to find a more comfortable position. The air was stuffy and dusty. She looked at Ghost and saw that he had a tense expression, probably still processing what had happened. They fell silent, listening to the sound of their own breaths and trying to detect any sounds that could indicate the presence of the guards. Time seemed to pass slowly, and she wondered how long it would be safe to stay there. After half an hour, Ghost spoke:

"You ruined everything. You could have gotten us killed."

"We're running against time, it seemed like a good idea to try and find out more intel. I didn't have a choice."

"You always have a choice," Ghost retorted. "You could have waited for more information, for a better plan. But no, you always have to do things your way and on your own time."

She sighed. She knew she had made a mistake, but she couldn't change what had already happened.

"I'm sorry," she said, looking down.

"I hope so," he said.

──────────── ❖ ────────────

if you've read this far, thank you so much for your patience!!! i know there are mistakes, both in typing and in english, but please keep in mind that english is not my native language. I hope you enjoyed it. ❥ ❥ ❥

[jalwyn21]

Hi! I have been a casual TS music enjoyer since forever and didn't care about her dating life

it wasn't until her acts irked me and how much she is trying to destroy Joe in her one sided feud that I started despising her 😭 (+ the whole TK circus is hilarious)

Swifties harrassed Alison cuz Joe allegedly moaned her name? I dont remember watcing this in Conversation w Friends?

Is this legit or did they make it all up? 😭 and he threw her a party?

If you know something about this please tell me :D

ps love ya for actually looking through he bs

Everything is BS. Let me explain:

It's a scene from episode 3 where Nick (Joe's character) moans "ah shit" and later "fu*ck Frances", but they cut that bit out. So, no, it's all BS.

Alison's birthday is June 3rd. Some pics from her BD were uploaded on the 10th of June, 2021 to Instagram. That party was in Belfast. TS was in Belfast till June 21st when she flew to Nashville. And Joe and the cast flew to Dublin. Swifties tracked her plane so this Joe threw Alison a party behind ts' back is BS.

This is a pic from the party, taken by Sasha Lane :

That man is Sasha Lane's partner. (You can see in the pic that ts is smoking 😹 )

More pics from that party :

And this pic is from the CWF wrap party in September when Joe was sweet enough to bring ts as his +1 to the party:

You can even see ts' hair behind Alison in the hug pic.

[dreamyinception-world]

𝔅𝔲𝔯𝔫𝔦𝔫𝔤 𝔇𝔢𝔰𝔦𝔯𝔢

pairing: Choi Jongho + Song Mingi

w/c: 3.1k

Genre: Firefighter!AU, Smut, Slight Angst

Summary: Once a week, Mingi comes to the Central City Fire Station to give gifts to head chief officer, Jongho, for saving his family home from a raging house fire. However, after being thanked for longer than expected, Jongho becomes suspicious of what’s really behind the tall boy’s desire to show his gratitude.

Tws: Swearing/Foul Language, Mentions of Poverty/Low Income, Snippet of the Disaster (includes short details from people that were involved in the house fire)

Sws: (Everything of course is consensual) Ass Rimming, Fingering, Blowjobs, Handjobs, Slight Begging, Unprotected Sex, Throat Fucking, Crying, Semi-Public Sex, Gagging, Splitting, Doggy Style (only for a sec), Cum Eating/Swallowing, Cum Swapping, Hair Pulling, Slight Dom/Sub Play, Gaping/Streched Rim

Rating: 18+

𝕒𝕦𝕥𝕙��𝕣'𝕤 𝕟𝕠𝕥𝕖:: Hello everyone! Thank you for all of the love and support that you have been giving to my work. I really appreciate it. This shot is for all of my lovely Jongho and Mingi stans. There needs to be more Jongho fics in the world, and this is my take on adding him into the pile. As always, if you would like to see another part of this fic in the future, please feel free to message me! Otherwise, enjoy the story and let me know what you think! Thank you!

𝕋𝕒𝕘𝕝𝕚𝕤𝕥 𝕚𝕤 𝕒𝕥 𝕥𝕙𝕖 𝕓𝕠𝕥𝕥𝕠𝕞. 𝕄𝕖𝕤𝕤𝕒𝕘𝕖 𝕚𝕗 𝕪𝕠𝕦 𝕨𝕒𝕟𝕥 𝕥𝕠 𝕓𝕖 𝕒𝕕𝕕𝕖𝕕!

As a reminder, my work is only for those who are eighteen years or older. Anyone who attempts to interact with my work or blog who is underage will be blocked immediately. You have been warned. 

©𝒅𝒓𝒆𝒂𝒎𝒚𝒊𝒏𝒄𝒆𝒑𝒕𝒊𝒐𝒏-𝒘𝒐𝒓𝒍𝒅 2024 || 𝒑𝒍𝒆𝒂𝒔𝒆 𝒅𝒐 𝒏𝒐𝒕 𝒓𝒆𝒑𝒐𝒔𝒕 𝒐𝒓 𝒖𝒔𝒆 𝒂𝒏𝒚 𝒐𝒇 𝒎𝒚 𝒘𝒐𝒓𝒌 𝒘𝒊𝒕𝒉𝒐𝒖𝒕 𝒎𝒚 𝒑𝒆𝒓𝒎𝒊𝒔𝒔𝒊𝒐𝒏. 𝑻𝒉𝒂𝒏𝒌 𝒚𝒐𝒖 ♡

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“So let me make sure I’m understanding this correctly. Your mother asked you to come here every Friday with a gift to show her appreciation towards myself and my team.” 

“Yes.”

“And she asked you to bring it directly to me as opposed to..simply handing it out to the team in the main office?”

“That is what I said isn’t it?”

Jongho couldn’t hold back the smug smile that was crossing his face, lightly scratching the back of his head. 

It was midday at the fire station that he called his home– being that he was the head of the entire province division. It had been his job every day to not only care for the lives of the people in his town, but also every single one of the individuals that crossed the plane between the outside world and the life of a firefighter. 

Every single one of them had been his responsibility. Almost as if they were his own family. 

In the fleeting months since his promotion, he had seen a lot of unfortunate incidents, but nothing came close to the one that involved the boy standing in front of him– Song Mingi– whose mother had been preparing dishes for their family get together when their gas stove burner raged a huge fire, sending all of them barreling out of the house.

Being that he lived not far from their neighborhood, he noticed the smoke whilst washing dishes in his kitchen during his day off, immediately calling the department and running full speed over to their house. 

Due to his swiftness, his boys were able to get to the scene quickly and douse the fire, saving what could have been tens of thousands of dollars in damage to their home– and given the area that they lived in, it would have been costly to fix. 

Since then, the eldest son had taken it upon himself to come every day presenting gifts of gratitude for his help on his day of rest, which Jongho wouldn’t have thought any more than just a kind gesture until now.

“Haha, yes it is. I was just clarifying so that my next question will be easier to answer.” Mingi raises a perfectly groomed brow at him, noticing a small tape recorder in the center of his desk. Without a word, the chief presses the play button.

“I’m sorry to disturb you, I just wanted to bring in some coffee, snacks and fresh kimchi that my sisters and I made yesterday.”

It was his mother’s voice.

“Well that sounds delicious! I’m surprised to be receiving anything so soon, since you asked your son to bring us something the other day.”

“My son? Song Mingi?”

Mingi’s eyebrow twitched.

“Yes! He brought us some desserts from the nearby cafe. They were delicious.”

“I could barely get him to take any leftovers of what we have cooked next door! But he’ll bring some food here no problem. That boy!”

“Oh! I’m sorry! Am I to understand that you didn’t ask for him to bring the cakes?”

“No no no. If he were to bring anything, it would be homemade! Not those fancy little pastries! I’ll have you know that—”

The recording abruptly ends with a press of Jongho’s finger, relaxing himself back on his chair. Noticing Mingi’s flickering eyes, the chief can’t help but let a small laugh pass his lips, immediately getting fixed with a hard stare.

“Do you have a thing for me?” The chief questioned.

“A thing for you?” Mingi’s eyes narrowed.

“The act of liking someone in an otherwise platonic manner? Having a crush on, feelings for, lusting after-“

“Lusting after?!”

“Whatever phrasing you want to use is fine with me. I’m just curious.”

Mingi let out a short laugh with a look of pure disbelief.

“Look, I don’t know what the hell you’ve got going on in your head that I’m thinking about sleeping with you or something. Are you crazy?”

With hands tucked into his pockets, Jongho rose from his chair to lean against the front side of his desk. His eyes trailed up and down Mingi’s frame, noticing a particular area with a languid head tilt that seemed to defy the boy’s faux anger. By the time their eyes met again, his face was almost completely pink, with an ounce of desperation in his eyes. 

Hm..interesting. He thought to himself. Fine then, I’ll play along.

“And what if I am? Are you going to do something about it?” 

Mingi’s hands trembled, palms slightly sweaty, one of them resting against the doorknob. 

His eyes fell between the door and back at the desk where Jongho watched him with a smoldering look, with a hint of challenge in them.

Are you going to stay or run home to your mother?

The sound of the door lock clicking in place brought a wide smile to Jongho’s face, beaconing Mingi closer to him with one finger. 

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“Y-You’re bold enough to– god fuck– do this in the office. You’re a g-goddamn whore.” Mingi bantered through strews of moans and curses, his face twisting with pleasure pressed against the desk. He clawed onto any edge that he could reach as Jongho tongue dipped in and out of hole with content hums in between. 

The way his tongue twisted and curled in and out of him, slinking his tongue out to watch his own spit dribble down the boy’s balls, only to follow the trail eagerly back to his quivering hole. Kneading his cheeks between his hands, a deep set growl lunged from his mouth at Mingi’s legs buckling.

Since when were firemen so skilled? 

Mingi was so sure that this type of ability was bordering inhumane. Mapping out every inch of him as if he knew exactly what was driving him completely off the rails. 

How on Earth could he know his body so well?

“The question isn’t how I know it so well,” Jongho mused, not seeing the way Mingi’s eyes widened at his tone and the fact that he actually said that shit out loud, slicking up three of his fingers without much thought and plunging two of them inside of Mingi without much resistance. A laugh bubbled up in his throat at the way his body shied cutely away from the intrusion, yet so eager swallowed with each dip in and out. 

“I think it’s more so of how your body responds to me. It’s almost like it was..made for me.” His tongue swiped against his bottom lip, toying with one of Mingi’s balls in his mouth and lightly jerking him off. 

The elder boy’s back arched against the desk, a hand coming down rather abruptly against the wood in an effort to ground himself. He made no effort to keep himself quiet, yet when he felt that familiar tension reach his hips, he gritted his teeth and tensed his muscles. 

There’s no goddamn way that he was going to cum this soon and let himself be embarrassed. Not after he was sure that the firefighter would be busting before him. He already reeked of desperation for far too long. He had to hold it for just a little longer. 

But unfortunately for him– Jongho, of course, was a bit quicker than him. 

By the thrust of his third finger, Mingi had been completely maneuvered around onto his back with an arm thrown over his eyes, not allowing Jongho to catch a glimpse of them rolling from every swallow around his length. 

Don’t fucking look down, Song Mingi. Don’t you dare.

Regardless, Jongho fixed him with a heated stare, enjoying every tense, trembling lift of Mingi’s hips when his tongue rolled in circles around the tip before heaving out a long, feverish moan, feeling the constricting heat travel all the way down to the base of his dick. He sharply sucked in a breath when the man held his head down, pushing and curling his fingers in and out of his hole. 

“Oh my–GOD, fuck! You’re such an–AH!” Mingi’s face burned red at the desperate choked whine that left his lips, gushing cum down Jongho’s throat. Without a missed beat, the chief immediately let out a muffled chuckle, slurping his way to the tip with small pulsed suckles. 

He yanked him off by his brown locks, hearing the man’s wicked chuckle at full force now. 

“Y-You f-fucking asshole..” Mingi tried to catch his breath, jaw tensing when Jongho easily overpowered the grip on his head, moving and kissing the dip between Mingi’s left hip.

“Aw, you don’t like me anymore? And here I was thinking that you were just starting to enjoy yourself.” He bared over the boy’s partially naked body, kissing his shoulder whilst rutting his very obvious boner on him. 

“You sure you don’t want him? He’s been waiting patiently for you to let him in.”

The taller one turned his head away to avoid the very obviously teasing look on the chief’s face. 

“F–Whatever. J-Just get on with it and stop teasing me.”

“Tsk, tsk.” Jongho wagged a single finger in front of him, holding himself up by both arms on either side of him. 

“If you’re to know anything about me, Song Mingi, is that I’m quite..meticulous. I like to savor every last little bit. Maybe you’re used to someone who will do what they want and then be done with you– and they are a coward.” In the heat of the moment, his tone became rather serious, punctuating the last part, as if to prove something to Mingi about his choice of words. Whether it be because he thinks Mingi deserves better or was speaking from personal experience, the boy couldn’t tell– as his expression couldn’t hit anything to him. 

Mingi gnawed lightly on the inside of his lips, averting him out of sheer embarrassment again. 

They were supposed to be fucking, not getting serious. Yet, maybe there was something right in what he was saying. 

God, I have to manage my expectations and priorities. 

Jongho didn’t give him too much time to think about it, tilting his chin to look at him straight on. For the first time, since they had started messing around, he bared a small smile though his eyes were still relatively heated. The gesture made Mingi’s body relax, guiding his arms comfortably around his midsection. The chief placed a lingering kiss to his lips, nibbling on his bottom before giving him a lazy smile.

“When we’re finished, won’t you tell me how good I did? Well..if you’re still with me by the end.” Mingi immediately knocked him with his heel in a feigned annoyance, Jongho chuckling at the pout on the boy’s face. Leaning back enough to put himself into Mingi’s complete line of sight, he tugged his belt free from the loops, snapping his pants open and letting the garments drop to the floor. 

Good fucking god..

Now, Mingi had been with quite a few men before ending up in the fire station, bent over the chief of the department's desk. But never, not fucking once, had he ever been with someone the size of this man– so much so that he didn’t realize his eyes were bugging out of his head until Jongho’s laugh cut through his thoughts. 

“Not to sound conceited, but I’ve seen that look before. But, don’t worry. He won’t hurt you.” He swiftly scooped up his legs, admiring the pulsed tension that his fingers left behind as they traveled down to his hips, giving them a sudden tug forward. Pulling open his side drawer with one hand, he fished out a small, clear plastic container, squeezing the contents onto himself and onto Mingi’s hole. 

“Take a deep breath in for me.” Jongho commanded, rather sweetly. 

Letting the air slowly fill puff up his chest, he felt them get caught the moment he began inching himself inside. The sheer girth and length of the man filling up, pulsing and stretching him wide open, barely had Mingi processing a damn thing– let alone hearing anything that was being said to him. 

“Breathe out~” Jongho groaned out, rolling his hips forward the moment a whorish moan ripped out of Mingi’s throat. His hole fluttered around him, gritting his teeth through every clench until he started to feel his muscles loosen. By then, sweat began to slick his hair to his face and drip down the sides of his body, keeping his leg held firmly in his grip and pressing light kisses to the areas he could reach. 

It felt like something was burning in between them as they kept their eyes locked on each other’s, admiring every chance in their facial expressions and desperation to make themselves feel blissfully good. Their bodies rolled in unison, meeting each other halfway without a second thought. 

Having his body nearly folded in half and being yanked down feverishly by his hips, Mingi struggled to keep his focus or his eyes open to see everything that Jongho was giving to him, especially when he angled himself slightly to the left, the head of his cock just brushing against where he wanted.

“Fuck, I wish you could see this.” Jongho breathed out with his eyebrows pulled up, watching every ripple of Mingi’s ass travel up to the top of his thigh to the way he continued to swallow more and more of him so eagerly. A peek of his tongue poked out from his mouth as he slung both legs onto his shoulders, pistoning himself faster. The moment Mingi’s moans reached a new pitch, he focused on that spot whilst chasing his own high. 

“Please don’t stop!! Please!” Mingi cried out, his blunt nails digging into Jongho’s knuckles when the boy reached around and jerked him off quickly in tune with him. Within a few seconds, Mingi’s arm slammed against the table with a sharp gasp. A shock ripped through his body down to his pelvis, jolting his hips upward and sputtering cum all over Jongho’s fist and abdomen. 

“YES~” The man heaved out and curled his fingers around Jongho’s, moving his hand faster to catch every last drop and snatching him up to his mouth. He kept his eyes on him, curling his finger around every digit once his pace had slowed down, not leaving any bits behind. 

“You take me so well, Mingi-ah. Maybe I’ll have to keep you.” Jongho ran his fingers along Mingi’s spine after pulling out of him, guiding him upright through sloppy kisses. His hands skillfully kneaded every tense, sore muscle by Mingi’s hips and sides, only stopping when they separated, a small string of spit connecting them together. 

“Then let me be your gift from now on.” Mingi purred, pressing him back onto his chair with one hand. 

Slinking down to the floor obscured from view of the door, Mingi wasted no time sliding Jongho half way in his mouth and mapping out every inch of him with his tongue. Their fingers ran up and down each other’s upper bodies from what they could reach, Jongho’s hands finally resting on either side of Mingi’s head, guiding him up and down with sharp inhales. Upon hearing the sound of his tip hitting the back of the man’s throat, his fingers instantly tightened around his head. 

Mingi looked up at him from between his lashes, spitting all that he had saved up down Jongho’s cock with a small smirk. “Don’t hold back.” 

Jongho let out a drawn out groan when he was enveloped in Mingi’s mouth again, practically bouncing the boy’s head up and down on his cock, feeling his balls slowly draw up from every brush of his tongue against the sensitive areas of his tip. With a shaky exhale, the chief sat up straighter with a booming moan, cupping Mingi’s neck and fucking his cum down his throat. 

“That’s it. Take it all.” His eyebrows pinched upward, a wicked smile crossing his face as tears brimmed at the corner of Mingi’s eyes, wiping them away with his thumbs. Once he was fully satisfied, Mingi slowly let go of him with a loud pop, making an effort out of wiping the corner of his lips and sucking lightly on his fingers before crawling back into Jongho’s lap. 

The two shared heated, yet fleeting kisses with Jongho’s hands resting comfortably on Mingi’s globes with a short hum. 

“So, how did I do?” Jongho spoke once separated, raising an eyebrow at the faux debating look on Mingi’s face, finding the ceiling more interesting than him for only but a second, humming before looking back at him. Dancing his fingers up his arms to hanging loosely around his neck, he leaned in close to his ear, smiling from ear to ear.

“Round two?”

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𝔗𝔞𝔤𝔩𝔦𝔰𝔱: @atiny-piratequeen @kimnamshiks @atiny-dazzlinglight @little-lazuli

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[sofasoap]

Thinking of you

Pairing :  John Price x f!reader. Mature theme. Under 18 DNI. 

Summary: After a hard mission, Price has some time alone. Thinking about you, and his son.

This is part of the “Mini” MacTavish universe, but the reader isn’t “ Mini”. Continuation of A quiet moment  – John Price . But you can read it as a standalone too.

“masterlist” for prequel to this Mini MacTavish expanded verse.

It’s been a near impossible mission. It was a damn miracle they made it out alive. Thanks to their newest member, Johnny MacTavish, the loud mouth, cocky “FNG”, who actually proves himself by saving everyone’s ass  with his expertise in explosives.  Even Ghost was impressed.

Shedding himself out of the tactical gears, throwing it down haphazardly on the tent floor, he slump against the cot, while lightening up a cigar. The mission really took a toll on him mentally this time round. Blowing out a puff of smoke,his thought wonders to you. He misses you. 

He misses the way you call out his name when he thrust into you, chasing for the high. 

That little smile every time he brings you coffee in the morning. The way your eye lingers on him, everytime he walks into the room. How you grips onto his shirt in your sleep, afraid he will disappear any moment. The stolen kisses in the dark of the corridor, when no one else is looking. The bright beaming smile you gave him, when he quietly suggested you two should get married. 

He misses how you will give him the look of disapproval everytime he lights up a cigar. “As your wife and medic,please cut it down.” Scrunching your nose up as you complain. 

Price always laughs and pulls you in for a gentle kiss after you voice your disdain. You didn’t mind him having occasional smoke here and there, knowing it’s his own way to relax. The doleful look you gave him when he was called in at the last minute for a mission. He wasn’t supposed to go. You were due to give birth any minute. But you didn’t complain. You knew this is part of the job, even though the higher up promised him he wouldn’t be called out again until afterwards, but Laswell begged him, they needed his expertise. “I am sorry, Price.” He was going to turn it down. You were the one that actually gave him the nudge to tell him to go on the mission. 

“I will be ok. Go.” You know him too well. If he stays, his mind will always be thinking about the mission instead. 

He ended up missing the birth of his son.

As soon as he got off the plane, he was dragged straight to the hospital. Didn’t even have time to take off his gears. Ghost nudges him straight into the jeep that was waiting, after quietly congratulating him. 

The look of exhaustion but happiness as he crashes through the hospital room, while you were feeding the little new bub.

Kyle Price was born a day after he left. A healthy boy, an exact replica of his father. Dark brown hair, beautiful blue eyes. “Just as handsome as his dad.” You tease. 

John remembered the first time holding his son in his arms. He let out a little yawn, slowly opened his eyes, still unfocused, squinting and trying to see who the new person holding him was. His little finger immediately grabs onto his dad’s big finger as Price gently poking his chubby little cheek. The sacrifices you both made. It’s never been easy. The milestones he kept missing. “Kyle started rolling around.”“Look! He is sitting up now!”“He misses you, he is looking at your photo and calling papa.”“Look at the cute little tooth that is popping out!” The guilt he feels every time you send him updates and pictures of his son, growing up fast, without his dad by his side most times. The beep on the phone and low burn of the cigar pulled him back into the present time.

Looking at the notification, it was a video message from you. A video of Kyle, propping himself up, unsteadily but with determination, wobbling towards the camera, while you cheer him on. There's the ache again. Light knocks on the pole of his tent, the voice of Ghost behind the flap calling out, reminding him of the debriefing meeting that is happening in five minutes' time.

Time to concentrate on work.

Putting out his cigar, he rubs his face, to clear his mind. That’s when he realised he had tears running down his face. He will be home soon. To you and his son. Where his heart belongs.

Sorry if it's a bit over the place. I am really drowsy after the booster shot. But my love for Price is pushing me on. Thank you for reading, any likes, comments and reblogs are always appreciated