#closed the trap for the night though will try again in the morning

[barklikeagod]

just had to release a raccoon from the live trap that i set up for the strays. the raccoons here are really docile so thank god for that.

[nohoney]

inspired by a text i sent

“we should call out of work together one day, just spend a day fucking.” you suggest to bakugou one day when he returns from work as you’re setting food down at his place on the table. “what do you say?”

bakugou grunts and points out that you and him have sex on the regular, that there’s no need to take time off just to fuck for a whole day. he doesn’t pay your suggestion much mind at first. he works, comes home, spends time with you, and then he rests.

however there comes a stressful period from his agency. things are slightly fucked with an underground villain organization that his team is trying to keep tabs on so his schedule gets rearranged as he helps lead the case on the activity. suddenly he’s not seeing you as often, coming in unreasonably late at night when you’re already asleep, or you’re coming home just as he’s leaving. you’re only able to have a few minutes with each other before he has to go. maybe even a quickie if the two of you are really lucky but even those leave the both of you slightly unsatisfied.

it’s just not enough time together.

it’s a whole month of this fucked up routine, and it’s when he sees your engagement ring sitting in your little jewelry tray in the bathroom when bakugou recalls your words and decides that he needs it.

he trudges into his home again at four in the morning, dropping his work bag by the couch and running his hands down his face that’s coupled with an exhausted sigh. his eyes are tired, his back aches a little, and he’s a little hungry but can’t be bothered with eating a meal at this time. all he wants to do is rest next to you.

bakugou wants his old schedule back.

after he’s showered, bakugou is careful to not jostle you too much as he joins you in bed. his heart clenches a little as he sees you curled up on his side of the bed, your face smushed into his pillow and even wearing one of his shirts are your pajamas. fuck—he misses you.

so he picks up his phone, using the last of his energy to send a text to kirishima and a sidekick in a small groupchat.

[04:47] calling out for two days. keep it together until i get back or else.

kirishima will be unquestioning to his request seeing as bakugou had done a similar favor for him when he was getting burnt out from the agency too.

his phone is put on do not disturb and is set with the screen facing down on the bedside table. bakugou is careful to move you back to your side of the bed, pressing a kiss to your temple to soothe you when you groan unpleasantly. he’s happy to sink into the warmth of the bed and he pulls you in close, falling asleep quicker than he could have anticipated.

you normally wake up at seven and you’re pretty good at hopping out of bed to start your day. this morning is not as easy, not when you wake up to bakugou having practically trapped you against him. it’s nice though, so so nice considering the schedule he’s had lately. he has to rest though from his late night and you have to be ready for work, so you try to peel his arms off you.

oh his arms… so fucking strong and built, they feel so good to be wrapped around your waist but you have to go.

when you attempt a second time to get out of his hold, you let out a small yelp when your fiancé tightens his hold and grunts, “stay.”

“katsuki, i can’t,” your voice rasps with sleepiness, trying to shake it off along with your hulking hero soon-to-be-husband off you, “gotta get ready for work.”

“stay.” bakugou repeats himself a little more firmly.

you sigh out loud and attempt a third time to get out of his hold. you’re surprised when he pushes you to lie back on the bed and he cages you with his body, looking down at you with dark bags under his eyes. almost fed up, you’re about to yell at him but he speaks first, “call out, i miss you and i’m gonna fuck you all day.”

his words are familiar but in the moment, you can’t recall from when you heard them. it has a reaction on you, has you aching and clenching your legs together as you look up at him. “you need rest, you got home late.”

“i’ll sleep when i feel like it. i just fucking miss you.” he croons, leaning down to nose at your cheek and then inhale the scent of your lotion that he can still smell faintly on your skin, “call out.”

oh god, you are tempted but you want him to sleep and you have a scheduled call with all the other managers for your work today. “katsuki, get some sleep baby. i can make dinner tonight when i get home and-“ you try to convince him to get rest but he speaks over you.

“c’mon, fuck on my cock and show me how much you miss me.”

you’re finally convinced.

it only takes thirty seconds to send a text with a reasonable excuse to your lead manager that you won’t be in for the next two days. you know that they’ll say no problem to you since you’ve hardly called out of work since you earned your promotion within the last year. and besides, there’s always other people calling out anyway so now it’s your fucking turn.

plus you know… you’re dynamight’s fiancée so you should get to flex that occasionally.

everything is frenzied now that the two of you know you have the next 48 hours with one another. no work, no meetings, no emails—just the two of you finally together.

the kisses are desperate, clothes are flung off and thrown somewhere on the bedroom floor, and bakugou is lying on his back as he grabs your hips to have you sit on his face. to have him hold you like this again has you excited, moaning loudly in relief as your fiancé eagerly eats you out. your hips roll to glide his tongue along your pussy, his big hands sliding up from your hips and cupping just right underneath your tits, one of his thumbs leisurely petting just right underneath your breast.

“oh god, oh god! fuck, s’good!” your breath is low, speaking more to yourself and lewdly moaning when bakugou roughly grabs your tits.

“missed this pussy on my face,” bakugou groans from beneath in between licks, “missed my fucking girls right here.”

ugh it’s so corny how he refers to your breasts but in the moment you find it grossly endearing. sometimes when you were cooking, bakugou would come up behind you and put his hands under your shirt just to grope at you. sometimes you would get genuinely annoyed at him for intruding in your space but with him being so busy in the last month, you had missed it more than you thought you would have.

it’s almost embarrassing how easily you cum on his tongue but bakugou has no complaints, practically drinking it up as he continues to eat away at you. as much as you relieved to get eaten out again, you were aching even more for his cock in your mouth. hopping off his face, you feel your mouth drool upon seeing your fiancé’s hard cock flushed a rosy red at the tip as it twitches against his lower stomach.

“pumpkin, hold on i want to you to—fuck!” bakugou wanted your cunt right away but he throws his head back against the pillows when you immediately deepthroat his cock. just as he had eagerly eaten you out to show how much he missed you, you were enthusiastically taking him into your throat. bakugou almost feels like a virgin with the way he’s reacting, finding himself a little sensitive that he hadn’t gotten properly sucked off in a while thanks to those shitty villains that showed on the radar for some real serious shit.

bakugou swears he’s gonna rip them apart with his own hands once they’re located for keeping him and his fiancée apart this long.

his chest rises and falls quickly, one of his hands clenching a fist as we he wills himself to not cum. but god, your mouth feels so good on his cock and he hasn’t had a proper nut in a while. the quickies he had with you along with the secret hurried fisting on his dick while on the job just weren’t cutting it. finding some semblance of control, bakugou grabs you by the back of your head and pulls you off.

“katsukiiii!” you whine out his name in a small drawl, letting out a petulant little noise that makes him coo over you, “i want more!”

bakugou hushes you gently, guiding you back over to him until he’s got you hovering over his cock. “sit on it baby, give that fucking pussy to me.” he urges you with a tone of desperation in his voice, “c’mon, fuck!”

slowly you ease onto his cock, your eyes fluttering as the tip breaches you and the stretch of your fiancé has you excited. a month isn’t necessarily a long time but when neither of you hadn’t been able to not even spend at least fifteen minutes together in the entirety since his fucked up schedule, it ends up feeling like a lifetime has passed.

your hands rest on bakugou’s pecs, needing the leverage as you sit back fully onto his cock, gasping in surprise when you already cum on him.

“oh fuck, ya missed me that much sweetheart? you only put it in and you’re already cumming again?” bakugou breathlessly laughs, using his strong hands to lift you up slightly and slamming you down. he relishes in your gasp and how your cunt is already soaking wet—it’s dripping right where’s got you plugged and onto his balls. one would think that it’s a little cruel that he repeats the motion a few times, still getting the same result as you start to lose your mind from becoming sensitive already, but he’s been missing this and missing you.

you manage to get some semblance of your brain back, pushing off bakugou’s hands and put in the work of riding him yourself. there’s no work that you need to get to later on—nothing that’s going to get in the way between you and him!

“missed you, katsuki! missed you, missed you!” your words are desperate and your cunt is eager to milk your fiancé’s cock. you ride him hard, even as your legs start to tire and you can feel a thin sheen of sweat start to form on your body, you don’t want to stop. you take him in, watching bakugou become equally overwhelmed. his eyes shut and his mouth drops open to groan, but when he attempts to open his eyes it seems that he doesn’t know where to look.

he loves watching your cunt swallow his dick, he loves how your tits bounce in his face when you fuck him like this, and he loves looking at your face as you—

smack!

“ah shit, the fuck was that for babe?” bakugou curses but he was actually exhilarated from you slapping him. normally he’s the one slapping your cheeks, but it’s not unheard of for you to give him the same treatment occasionally.

“you-you missed tasting wedding cakes with me! it was scheduled this month and you couldn’t make it!” you huff out, sitting back again onto his dick and this time shaking your hips. the little motion makes his eyes roll back but he manages to hiss out ‘m sorry baby…

oh fuck, you’re right. he had it marked off in his calendar three months prior but this stupid schedule wrecked everything! and who knows if you’ve had to reschedule or postpone certain things that are needed for the wedding all because of him.

once bakugou is back to work, he is definitely going to kill those stupid villain fuckers.

he stutters apologies, canting his hips up to meet yours and fucking you from the bottom. “sorry, fucking sorry baby… tell me everything that i missed. everything.”

“r-right now?” you shudder and then yelp when bakugou seizes control, putting you on your back and leaning over you, “tell you now?”

“no stupid, tell me when we’re not fucking.” bakugou tuts, deciding that you’re way too coherent with his dick in you. so he rams himself into you, deep into cunt and hearing another wet squelch that drips onto his cock and is gonna make a wet spot on the bed. he’s got plans to make you cum more, to make you squirt, to make you lose your voice from screaming for him but only after he listens to all the updates he’s missed for the last month.

he is going to fuck you as much as he can for the next two days.

bakugou misses your tight walls clinging onto him, sometimes clenching so hard that he has to wait for you to relax a little so that he can keep on moving. soft and wet and warm, he’s been obsessed with your pussy since the first date he had with you. he’s been in love with you for the last three years and he’s going to keep on loving you forever.

right now though, he just really really wants to fuck you for himself.

the frenzied fucking is everything that he’s been missing, watching as your head digs into the pillow and your body starts to shake. you were babbling a little earlier but now you’re so fucked out that you can only make sounds, no discernible words can be formed in your head or out loud. he’s got you suspended in ecstasy, drowning in a sea of rapture, and just absolutely stupid from his cock.

“missed this sloppy lil, pussy. fucking love this pussy, all fucking mine.”

bakugou reaches in between your bodies, knowing that he’s about to make you undone. he rubs the pad of his thumb against your clit in tandem with his thrusts. it’s like you’re renewed, your eyes widening in a brief moment of clarity at the new stimulation, taking in the onslaught of pleasure that’s surging up and down your body.

you wail for him, your toes curling and your back arching high off the bed. your cunt spasms around his cock, hugging him tightly before your orgasm crashes hard onto you. one of your arms manages to clutch onto bakugou and pulls him in close, your nails dragging down hard against his back.

that makes him come undone, fucking hard into you still as thick ropes of cum fill you. even as he cums, his fingers still work on your clit but you can barely manage to take anymore before slapping his hand away instinctively to stop overstimulating you.

your fiancé’s body is a pleasant weight that drops on you, the both of you catching your breath after some mind blowing sex. bakugou feels your hands soothe over his back. your touch is relaxing and what he’s been needing this entire time. he decides to stay like this until his cock finally softens inside you.

bakugou pulls out and rolls over to his side of the bed, pulling up the blankets to help cover you up while you still try to get yourself in order. he basks in the glow that he’s sure is radiating off of him, like a knot that’s finally massaged out of his neck, like a joint that finally cracks and gives you some relief when you stretch.

yeah… he’s been needing this.

the two of you are up on your feet and hour later, barely clothed in your own home as you walk around in an oversized sweatshirt and he leaves the bedroom only wearing his favorite sweats. bakugou is at the stove as he cooks breakfast and you’re catching him up on some of the things he’s missed on your side while you make a dirty chai for him.

“i can order a wedding cake sampler and have it delivered here, how does that sound? seeing as you missed the actual tasting.” you offer to your fiancé, stirring up his chai for him before setting it to the side, “comes with twelve flavors for us to try.”

“yeah, why not? i don’t think we’ve ever sat around just eating cake before.” bakugou agrees as he plates the second omelette that’s meant for you.

“it’s not just cake we’re eating, katsuki! it’s for the wedding! we need to choose what we think everyone will enjoy.” you chide him playfully as you set up the table for the two you. bakugou likes the setup of the little breakfast nook, but he leaves for the bathroom to fetch one thing that will make everything complete.

he picks up your engagement ring from your jewelry tray.

although bakugou is the one who decided to call off work suddenly, he can’t help but glance at his phone anyway for any updates. and he gets a single text from kirishima-

[9:01] good news! we’re off the hook for now with the case—managed to get todoroki’s agency to help rotate the watch too. enjoy your days off bro!

bakugou is grateful but he only sends it in the form of a thumbs up reaction to the text. he knows that kirishima appreciates it anyway and is probably just as relieved.

so he walks back to have breakfast with you, deciding to withhold the news from you for now as he tells you to put your ring on. and it feels right again to sit down and eat with you, drink from his favorite mug, and to be actually relaxed for the first time in a month.

“mmkay, the cakes are gonna be delivered by one! and i know it’s us choosing together, but i really liked the strawberry mousse with white cake as an option.”

he’s still got the next 40-something hours with you to fuck you as much as he wants and to make up all the time he’s missed.

[0x-cinder]

GN!Reader gets lost for a night. Law isn't very happy when they find their way back to the Polar Tang the next morning....

Content Warnings: mentions of alcohol, angst, a bit suggestive if you look hard enough.

"I would have torn that town to pieces"

You strolled through the town on your way back to Polar Tang, your head throbbing, an after-effect of the night before. You couldn't remember much after Ikkaku handed you your 6th shot of the night. I thought you remembered dancing with her? Or at least…Dancing with someone? The next thing you knew, you awoke hidden inside a hay wagon with no clue how you got there. You chuckled to yourself and vowed never to drink again…At least for the rest of the week. 

As you approached the rocks that served as the hiding place for the yellow submarine, you sighed in relief to see that it was still there. You'd half expected them to have left you there. Law preferred everyone to be present and accounted for on the Tang by nightfall. That said, you were undoubtedly in for a stern talking-to from the Heart Pirates' captain once you boarded. 

Weaving your way around the rocky shore, you spotted Bepo standing on the deck of the Tang and waved. 

The Bear's paws rushed to his mouth in a gasp, and he scrambled to lower the ramp, "They're back!" He called behind him before rushing towards you, trapping you in a tight, fuzzy hug. 

"Bepo…I can't breathe…" You wheezed, squirming to free yourself from his arms.

"Oh!" Bepo gasped, releasing you, "Sorry." 

You stepped back, brushing yourself off. Then you noticed the anxious look painted on the Bear's face as he looked you up and down.

 "What? Is something wrong?" You asked. Had something happened while you were gone?

"You- are you okay?" The bear questioned, still scanning your body for any sign of harm.

"Yeah? I think so? You're making me nervous, Bepo." You replied with a chuckle.

"You were really drunk last night. I turned my back on you for one second to get you some water and you disappeared! No one saw you leave the tavern. The Captain-" Bepo started to ramble. 

Guilt began to creep its way into your consciousness.

"Look who finally showed up." A rough voice resonated from the Tang. 

You peered over Bepo's shoulder to see a very pissed-off Trafalgar Law descending the ramp toward you. Shit. You thought. You'd wanted to at least take a nap before facing the captain's wrath.

"My office. Now." He ordered.

Bepo gave you a sympathetic look as you strode past him to follow Law. "I'm glad you're okay." 

You nodded with a sheepish smile before following your fuming captain onto his ship and into his office, passing multiple crew members who watched you with relieved looks on their faces.

Law opened the door for you. Once you were inside, he followed and closed the door behind him. He then walked to his desk, still completely silent, his back turned to you. You felt the anxiety start to rise in your chest at the uncomfortable silence. 

"Law I'm-" you started to apologize.

"Are you hurt?" He interrupted, clenching and unclenching his inked hands, as though he was trying to release some of his pent-up anger. You'd seen Law angry before, but never this angry. 

You were in some serious trouble. 

"No. I mean, I have a crazy hangover, but-" you began to explain before he cut you off again. 

"Where the hell were you?" 

"Well, I woke up in a hay wagon…I think I may have blacked out. Oops."

Law tensed, balling his hands into tight fists. "You're telling me you were wandering around. Alone. After dark. Drunk out of your mind. Are you insane?" His calm demeanor was starting to scare you. 

"I didn't mean to wander off…At least I don't think I did? I don't remember much from last night." You chuckled nervously, fidgeting with the tips of your fingers.

He spun around to face you, and the pained expression he wore on his face startled you, somewhere between intense worry and seething anger. You stepped backward, but your back hit the wall, preventing you from putting any more space between you and the furious man in front of you.  

"You think this is funny?" Law asked, still maintaining that eerily calm tone, "What if something happened to you? What if someone tried to hurt you or-" he cut off, his voice cracking slightly. He was slowly losing it.

Guilt shot through your body once again and you looked away, beginning to crumble under the pressure of the captain's intense gaze. 

"I guess you'd have to patch me up again then, huh, doc?" You joked, rubbing your arm awkwardly in an attempt to ease the tension that engulfed the room.

Law exploded. In seconds, he moved from the center of the room to hover over you. "This isn't a fucking joke." He seethed, his jaw clenched tight.

You squeezed your eyes shut and pressed yourself against the wall as if you could fall through it and escape this situation. You didn't. He was so close you could feel his rapid breathing on your hair.

"I-" you stumbled over your words. Taking a deep breath before continuing, "I didn't think anyone would-"

Law cut you off by slamming his hand into the wall behind you, making you jump. "Fucking look at me, god damn it!" 

You winced and opened your eyes, slowly bringing your gaze to meet his. His brows were creased with anger, but the vulnerability in his eyes shot a dagger through your heart. 

"You didn't think anyone would what?" he continued after a moment, "That anyone would care? Ikkaku didn't sleep last night. Neither did Bepo. Penguin and Sachi were out until 1AM looking for you, and I-"

He choked.

The doctor's anger softened ever so slightly as he brought his hand up to cup your cheek gently, "I would have torn that town to pieces until I found you if Penguin hadn't-" He paused, taking a deep breath.

Your eyes widened at his words. "Law.." You breathed, "I'm fine- you didn't have to-"

The man cut you off by running his thumb across your lips, his eyes darkened. Your heart pounded as they flickered down to your lips and then back up to meet yours, calculating. Questioning. 

He swallowed. "I'm just.." he trailed off. You could feel his shaky breath against your lips. He leaned closer, bringing his face centimeters away from yours, "terrified of losing you.." he finished.

Then his lips brushed against yours hesitantly. As if he was testing you. Making sure this was okay. 

You closed your eyes and pushed your lips to his, giving him your approval.

That was all Law needed.

Releasing the breath he was holding, he moved his lips against yours desperately, bringing his other hand to the other side of your face, caging you between his calloused hands.

He tilted his head to the side, deepening the kiss as you melted into him, running your hands up his chest to rest around his neck.

The doctor let out a muffled groaned as one of his tattooed hands wove its way into your hair while the other slid down to your hips, his thumb slipped under the hem of your shirt igniting a fire that spread throughout your whole body. 

The captain flinched as if something had shocked him. Hesitating for a moment. You bit down on his lip softly, wanting more. He recovered instantly, pulling your hips against his while his other hand grabbed a fistful of your hair. You felt your knees grow weak beneath you, stumbling as they gave out entirely.

Law caught you, sliding his whole hand underneath your shirt to settle on your back, holding you tight against him as his mouth devoured yours; slowly, full of desire and self-indulgence. 

Everything other than him melted away and you moved your hands to rest on his jawline, holding his face, his lips, exactly where they were as you responded with a passion that almost rivaled his.

Eventually, you both remembered you needed to breathe and reluctantly pulled away, your bodies heaving together as you waited for your lungs to catch up. 

The reality of what just happened dawned on you in an instant. You'd just kissed the captain. Heat rushed to your face as your widened eyes met Law's. His cheeks were flushed, and his hair was a mess. The sight made your stomach flutter.

He touched his forehead to yours. "Now do you understand?" he asked breathlessly, his inked thumb drawing small circles over your cheek.

"I think so.." You gave him a nervous smile. "Are you still angry with me?"

"Yes. But I'll get over it." He sighed. "Just don't ever disappear like that again."

[emilys-bangs]

sweet nothing | e.p

Tags: established relationship, fluff, use of scissors, hair cutting, use of pet names, no use of yn

Summary: It’s the weekend, and Emily’s bangs are overgrown. You offer to cut them.

Word count: 1.5k

You wake to Emily wrapped around you like a vine. 

Her nose is buried in your neck, her even breaths steadily hitting your skin in warm puffs. One of her still-chilly hands has slipped under your shirt and is lying on your stomach, and her leg is hitched over your hip, the baggy tee she’s wearing rising and exposing the skin of her thigh so that it directly touches yours. The fuzzy material of her socks brushes against your bare legs. For lack of a better word, you’re trapped.

And you never want to move.

It’s the weekend and the room is warm with golden sunlight, the slant of it through the windows telling you it’s still much too early to be awake. You don’t mind, really, but the dozing brunette in your arms never gets out of bed strictly before she has to. And you hadn’t made any plans, so you let her sleep. 

You try to wait her out, but some traces of exhaustion still linger, so you close your eyes again. You sink into a light doze until Emily begins to stir.

As always, this part takes forever.

You’re already back awake as she stretches slowly, unlatches her thigh from your hip and straightens her legs. Her hand leaves your stomach and she bends it until her elbow cracks, then wraps both her arms around your neck with a yawn.

“Hey, sweetheart,” you murmur, unable to stop yourself from being soft with her in times like these. “Finally ready to wake up?”

Emily’s responding hum vibrates through your skin. Even that is low and lazy as she sighs, rubs her eye with her knuckles.

“You’re comfy.” She says, her voice smoky and clouded with sleep. A small shiver runs down your spine at the rasp in the back of her throat, the way her tongue languidly wraps around those two words.

“And you’re lazy,” you run your hand over the curves of her waist. Your fingers find exposed skin above her hip and you poke it lightly, softening your words with the tender touch, “I’ve been awake for ages.”

It’s technically true.

Emily tilts your face toward hers. You smile when you meet sleepy, dark eyes, her lashes long and sweeping, her lips a little swollen from being tucked into your neck almost all night. Hi, you want to say, because sometimes she makes you want to say unnecessary shit like that, but she cradles your face before you can, bringing you closer.

“Sue me.” Emily murmurs, and leans in to kiss you. 

Time slows. It must, because she slips her hand in your hair and you slip it under her shirt and though the two of you spend decades in this moment, saying hello in the early morning light, only ten minutes pass by the time Emily’s eyes have lost their drowsiness.

Emily doesn’t say it, but you can tell she’s missed this. She clings to you, wraps arms and legs around your body and presses her cheek to yours, then kisses, then trails her hands and lips under your jaw. You sigh and soak up her attention, savoring the feel of her for when she’s later gone.

It’s hard when her job takes her away for too long. In brief stretches like these, days that she tries to twist and warp into weeks are when she recharges. Spending time with you, idly doing nothing, content with sitting around all day in your pajamas is how life is breathed into her again, after the BAU takes her and gives her back a hollowed shell.

Which is why both of you are always extra clingy when she’s home. Skin always pressed together, bodies always intertwined, no more than a few feet between you at any given time.

Her head is on your pillow now, the tips of your noses touching as you lightly trace the swollen outline of her lips. She has far, far encroached into your space, and what wouldn’t you give for her to do that every day.

Gently, you smooth her overgrown bangs behind her ear. They almost reach her lobes now, not much shorter than the rest of her hair, and you like the way the difference in length chips away at her polished, perfect exterior.

She doesn’t, though.

“I need to cut them,” Emily murmurs, a small furrow to her brows because she’d been saying she will for the past three months.

“Then you’ll go through the whole process again.” You point out needlessly, reaching out to play with a strand that hangs over her right eye.

Emily hums. “I’m liking the bangs right now. I think I want them for a little while longer.” 

You grab the bangs between your fingers, tuck the spiky ends out, and bring them up to brush her lip. Emily flinches away and you laugh, soft and low. “I’m liking them too.” Tucking those behind her ear, too, you cup her jaw and bring her down so her lips can meet yours in a soft kiss; an apology.

“Hm,” Emily grumbles against your lips. The strands behind her left ear loosen and fall across your face. You screw your eyes shut as Emily tucks them back behind her ear; she kisses your closed lids, signaling for you to open them again.

Your gaze is blissfully hair-free when you open your eyes again. “Y’know, I can cut ’em for you.” You offer.

Her gaze turns suspicious. “Can you?”

“I can.” Indignation drips from your tone as you cross your arms, feigning offense at her insinuation; you’ve had plenty of practice with your mom.

Emily’s eyes light up as she smiles. She bites her lip to try to hold it, but then it turns into a laugh, one that’s soft and so full of love you briefly flush with warmth all over.

“Okay, dolcezza.” She kisses your forehead. “I trust you.”

Her bangs fall across your face again.

You sigh and tap her hip. “Bathroom. Right now.”

Emily laughs as she gets off of you.

——

Even with her hair clipped back and her bangs hanging in wet threads across her face, she looks beautiful.

“Can’t you do it on my lap?” Emily teases, half joking, but her hands are intent as they wrap around the backs of your knees.

An amused huff leaves your lips. “Not unless you want to look like you got styled by Edward Scissorhands. Now,” you take her hands off your legs and grab the scissors, “keep those hands to yourself, Prentiss. You can’t keep distracting me.”

“You’re easily distracted.” She complains softly.

You bend down to be more level with her head, her seat on the closed toilet lid shortening her a considerable amount. “Sorry, my girlfriend has a magic touch.” You quip, taking the comb from her lap and quickly running it through the bangs over her eyes.

Emily begins to say something and you shush her as you gather the hair in your hands. “Quiet, love,” you murmur, brows scrunched in concentration as you snip off the edges of her bangs. Emily sucks in a breath and goes quiet, but the abrupt movement tilts her head.

A small smile tugs at your lips. “Stay still,” you chide lovingly. She obeys, not moving as you slowly trim off length, shortening the bangs from mid-cheek to slightly above her brows. Your back hurts from the angle but you ignore it, steadily cutting until you feel the weight of coffee-brown eyes stare right into your soul. 

“Why hello there,” you grin, winking at Emily as her face finally comes into view, “whose pretty eyes are these?” Twisting the bangs into a rope, you cut away from her face.

Her cheeks tint red. “So you can talk and I can’t?” She grumbles, her mouth barely moving. Heat sears your skin as her eyes travel up, up, roving over your face with unashamed abandon.

Humming, you carefully slide the scissors between Emily’s hair and her forehead. “You get a kiss for each minute you stay still.” A few strands still hang over her eyes, so you lift them and trim a bit.

Those eyes of hers flutter shut, and the heat of her gaze disappears. A small smile plays at her lips, and a smile of your own appears when you see her dimples. A few more snips and you’re satisfied, placing the scissors on the sink and gently tilting Emily’s chin up, kissing her with her eyes still closed.

She responds with a sigh, one of her hands finding its way to the back of your knee again. “Think that was ten minutes, wasn’t it?” She mumbles against your lips.

The angle is hurting your back, so you crouch down in front of her. “Five, at the most,” you roll your eyes, brushing the damp bangs off her forehead to properly see her eyes. They shine, beautifully dark, and your heart stumbles. “But I don’t need an excuse to give you ten kisses, do I?”

“No,” Emily sighs, fisting her hand in your hair and bringing you up to her. For all her hurry, when she kisses you it’s sweet, reverent, and you smile against her lips. 

When she leans back, you press a finger to her dimple. 

9 more to go.

taglist: @suckerforcate

Reblogs and comments are highly appreciated! Support your authors and lmk what you think <3

[temis-de-leon]

10 signs a cow is happy

Characters: Belphie x gn!MC

Main Masterlist

CW: developing and established relationship. A tiny bit suggestive at one point and there's a mention of rumination (regurgitation) in another one. Otherwise, nothing

A/N: a little different from what I'm used to, but I figured trying something new could help with the writer's block. Hope you enjoy it!

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Inspired by this video and this one <3

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He reacts to his name.

Except it isn’t just his name; at least when the one looking for him is MC.

Most of the time it’s Belphie, although Belphegor comes out occasionally, like those mornings when they’re both running late for class and he won’t wake up. There are also the late nights when MC is too tired to speak and only hums the melody of his name, but the demon still opens an arm and offers the spot beside him.

He frowns when Lucifer yells and continues sleeping when Beel carries him without a care in the world, but, conscious or not, he always smiles when MC is the one calling for him.

He spends time socialising and grooming others.

It’s more noticeable once he’s freed from the attic and he feels the need to spend as much time with them as his brothers had had while he was trapped, although his hate towards humans dissipating might’ve also had something to do with it.

One moment MC finds themselves relaxing in their room and the next, after answering an ominous text message, they are lying down next to him in the planetarium, first admiring the stars and then letting him play with their hair as he unknots it with his fingers.

His touch only grows more intimate as their friendship deepens and eventually evolves into something much less platonic, but the love and care within remain the same.

He likes to play with toys, like balls.

Which is something no one expects; a welcomed surprise.

They’re all sitting in a couple of booths inside a cheap diner in the middle of nowhere, one more time victims of their own misadventures. The smell of meaty grease surrounds them and sticks to their clothes, leaving both Asmo and Beel in tears for completely different reasons, and the mean-looking waitress has enough kindness in her heart to give them an old kid’s toy to entertain themselves.

It goes first to MC, the favourite in the family, and then to Belphie, who never gets to give it to anyone else. He throws it, catches it and bounces it against any surface available until Lucifer gives him a warning look and threatens to confiscate it, to which he pouts.

A couple of minutes later, he throws it in MC’s direction, so they throw it back to him with a smile.

Five minutes later, the ball is neatly kept in Lucifer’s pocket.

He has zoomies.

Another surprise, although not as sweet as the last one.

There’s a primal fear in the depths of their mind, the one that yearns for survival, that begs MC to run and hide the very few times Belphie looks at them with those dilated pupils. They suppose it makes sense, even if they’re not afraid of him anymore.

He doesn’t look dangerous or aggressive, just unsettlingly alert and active for a demon who’s supposed to be always tired; shockingly fast and agile each time the sudden bursts of energy make him run through the house jumping in unfiltered glee, going past MC close enough to almost tackle them to the ground.

Satan suspects it’s a consequence of his long periods of rest and, while MC finds it fascinating, they can’t wait for Belphie to go back to normal.

He’s enthusiastic about treats.

A feature he shares with his brother, no doubt, is their twin telepathy proving its existence yet again; and even though they’re strikingly different, they still share some mannerisms as well, like the way they smile or look up at MC whenever they enter their room.

And that brightness in their face only increases if there are goodies involved.

MC sometimes jokes about Beel being more like a goat, trying to eat anything and everything whether or not is edible. Fortunately, Belphie’s stomach is not that demanding, so a simple sushi platter is enough to leave him happy.

However, MC can’t help but wonder if being the one who brings the treats is part of the reason for his enthusiasm because if so, every market near them will have a sushi shortage very soon.

He chews cud.

Which serves to remind MC of his non-human, half-ruminant nature.

With the middle of March approaching, the twins’ birthday is celebrated as much as possible. The amount of food at the table is tremendous and it even reaches Diavolo’s height; a perfect example of the word variety. There are dishes, appetizers, snacks and desserts for everyone’s taste, fruits and meats and vegetables and whatnot. Fortunately, Beel eats half of it in the blink of an eye before it can get overwhelming.

But for some reason, there’s also a medium-sized bowl full of what looks like grass. It’s hidden amongst other things, probably because of the oddity of its presence, but Belphie finds it quickly enough.

The sight that follows is morbidly captivating and equally disgusting, especially when the chewed food comes back to his mouth for more chewing.

At the end of the day, the important thing is that he’s happy.

…right?

He initiates hugs.

Usually when he wants cuddles and, bratty as he is, his requests often sound more like demands.

He opens his arms, brings MC to his chest and breathes in. There’s a hand wrapped around their waist and another cradling their head, softly scratching their scalp, and their body is already relaxing against his before they can even think about what they’re doing.

Sometimes, when he looks too grumpy to be taken seriously, they like to tease him, laughing at the shocked and offended expression he wears when they playfully ignore his attempted embrace.

They suppose it’s sweet, the idea of always being close as a given fact.

He exposes his tummy for belly rubs.

While lying in that position might be seen as vulnerable for some, it doesn’t seem to be a problem for Belphie; although being a powerful demon probably gave him a good sense of security.

MC would never complain about it, anyway. Seeing him so at peace around them and not only letting, but asking to be pet? A perfect evening if they’ve ever seen one. They let themselves enjoy the feeling of his stomach trembling under the tip of their nails and the small puffs of air that come out when their fingers threaten to travel lower.

It’s a type of intimacy that he wouldn’t mind bragging about in front of his brothers, but he still stays quiet to keep it private and uninterrupted.

He licks his lips when you hit the right scratch spot.

The boredom is hefty enough to kill the whole classroom. Some are painting their skin, others are painting their seatmate’s skin and MC is wondering how soft Belphie’s hair is. He is sitting in front of them during the last period of the day and the temptation is too strong to avoid.

For once, he isn’t carelessly dropped on the table, but rather leaning back and letting his head rest on the back of the chair; he is conscious enough to pay attention to their professor in his sleep but not to his surroundings, so MC takes their shot.

At first they think it’s a coincidence and pay no mind to the subtle movement of his tongue wetting his lips when they scratch his nape, but then it happens again and again and they find themselves unable to stop and forget their little discovery.

Thankfully, when the bell rings and Belphie wakes up to go home with them, MC has the perfect excuse.

He drools! Such things happen!

He purrs.

It takes MC some time to figure out what is the deep rumbling that follows them for months, mainly because it sounds like a creaking door and, while the House of Lamentation is old, the structure and the furniture are kept mostly intact.

Just like white noise, once they turn it down, it’s impossible not to miss it and the realisation is enough to turn the sadness of returning to the human realm into a full crying meltdown.

It was there the whole time: when they woke up Belphie and they were the first person he saw; or when they laid together and played and simply enjoyed each other’s presence and existence.

It’s there again when MC can’t deal with the loneliness anymore and calls him.

The rumbling, a purr, peeking under his low voice.

If that isn’t enough reason to keep loving him, then what is?

.

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Taglist: @ilovecandys2010 @ollieoven @kingofspadesdelusion @whimsybloom

[daenysx]

3:23am sirius? With reader waking up from a nightmare? Mayhaps mayhaps ...

3.23 AM I SIRIUS BLACK

you can almost feel the hand on your shoulder that connects you to reality.

it's like slipping from unconsciousness, you're being pulled back, you're desperate to lift your body from bed. there's something wrong but you can't focus on it, trapped in your sleep.

"it's okay." someone says. you feel too warm. "you're okay, baby, wake up."

the slightly scratchy voice tickles your ears deliciously, you open your eyes. it's not like you flinch or anything, but the first thing you see is sirius's worried eyes. his thumb draws circles on your shoulder, does he even know he's been doing that?

"what-" you try to lift yourself on your elbows. the words get stuck.

"i think you were having a nightmare, lovely girl." sirius murmurs with a kiss on your head. "you looked so uncomfortable, i was worried."

"i don't remember." you tell him, and it's true. the feeling of discomfort is remaining, but you don't know what you dreamed of. your face aches from frowning.

"that's okay, and we don't have to talk about it if you don't want to." he says. "do you need me to turn on the lights?"

it's the middle of the night, and he's losing sleep because of you. you know sirius doesn't care about that, but still you want to take your time with processing the negative emotions you felt unconsciously, you don't even know what you saw.

"no, thank you." you say softly, and settle down in bed again. "um- did i make any sound?"

sirius fixes his hair briefly before bringing his hand to your cheek. "only a few of them. you didn't say anything, but you were feeling nervous, i think."

"maybe i'll remember later." you say.

it's mostly okay, sirius hugs you the way he was doing before he woke up. you put your head on his shoulder, safe in his embrace.

"will you be able to fall asleep again?" he asks silently. he'd stay awake with you until the morning if you can't.

"i feel exhausted." you confess. "i want to sleep, i hope i can."

sleep doesn't come easy. sirius spends the next thirty minutes by rubbing your back with slow circles, kissing your head many times, and speaking in soft encouragements to your ear. you feel like a mush in his arms, desperate for some good rest and unable to find it.

he doesn't let this become insufferable, though. you know he's there with you, you won't sit alone in bed in the middle of the night if you can't find sleep.

sirius pushes his luck a bit harder by adjusting your positions under the covers. he helps you put your head on his heart, you don't protest. it beats steadily, and so beautiful in a way that makes you want to listen to it forever. a nice rhythm in the dark, you follow it. you don't even know when your mind gives up, but at some point it does, leaves you into sleep again.

sirius is proud of himself, and happy with the way you take easier breaths. the night turns into a peaceful one, now that he knows you're feeling better and getting some sleep. you squeeze his fingers. a pretty smile forms on your lips, he can see it this close. he hopes you're having a nice dream this time. he hopes you dream of him.

[finelinevogue]

an absolute nuisance

summary - harry is a nuisance in the morning

pairing - boyfriend!harry x reader

word count - -1k

♾️🩶♾️🩶♾️🩶♾️🩶♾️🩶♾️🩶♾️🩶♾️🩶♾️

“What’s this for?” Harry sat up in bed against the headboard.

The duvet was pushed down onto his lap so his bare torso was showing. There was a little roll or two where his stomach was tucked over from where he was sitting.

“Happy first day of spring!” You smiled cheerily.

You felt happy this morning.

The sun was shining into your bedroom, the sky was cerulean blue and the birds were chirping away.

You handed Harry his mug of peppermint tea, which he religiously had every morning, whilst you enjoyed the classic english breakfast tea. Milk, no sugar.

“Thank you, m’love.” Harry smiled, giving you a moment to kiss him softly before you situated yourself beside him crossed legged.

“Sleep okay?”

You took a sip of your drink even though you knew it would be too hot.

Harry kept his hands around his mug as if it was the middle of winter, more out of habit than necessity.

“Mm, yeah. You?”

“Yeah.”

“I’m going ‘round to Noel’s this afternoon to drop off some tech gear.” Harry told you.

“Okay.” You nodded, “I’ve got work at 2.”

“When do you get off?”

“Should be about 6, but you know what they’re like.” You rolled your eyes.

“If Katherine keeps you for extra hours again, love.. I’m going down there myself to kidnap you.”

You chuckled, “Kidnap me?”

“Yeah. I’ll stage the whole thing. I’m an actor now, you know?” He winked at you, carefully taking a sip of his drink.

“Okay, Mr Hollywood.”

You stayed chatting about everything and nothing whilst you enjoyed your morning teas, before you decided to start getting ready for the day.

“Where you going?” Harry asked, his hand softly stroking small circles into the exposed skin of your thigh.

“Need to get ready.”

You reached over to draw the loose hairs away from his eyes, allowing your hand to brush over his cheek as it moved due his face.

Harry warmed at the feeling, his cheeks glowing in colour as your skin moved across his.

“Don’t go.” He pouted.

You moved from your cross legged position to sitting on your legs in a kneeling position. You leant closer to Harry and cupped both of his cheeks with your hands.

“I’m only going to get ready.” You kissed him. He kissed you.

“Wanna stay in this moment with you forever.” You kissed again.

“And make me late for a shift with Katherine? I don’t think so. If I had a dick, she’d cut it off.”

Your words sent a laugh through Harry, him complaining how sometimes you really did know how to ruin a moment. You took it as a compliment, because sometimes it would a good tactic to have.

“She’ll cut off my tits instead.”

“No!” Harry pretended to be horrified, which sent you into a fit of laughter. You sank you face down into the crook of his neck to hide yourself.

He smelt so good. And how? It was first thing in the morning and he smelt so homely and perfect.

Harry took the moment to his advantage, pushing himself over you and trapping you underneath him. The manoeuvre was too quick for you to even understand the logistics of it.

“Harry!” You sighed with a giggle.

“You have four hours before you need to leave.” He whined. “Stay with meeee.” He buried his face against your neck and left a trail of kisses there, getting close to the spot behind your ear that made you melt.

“But I need to do stuff.”

“Yeah? Like what? Maybe love on your boyfriend?”

“Gonna be just my friend in a moment if you don’t let me go.” You huffed.

Harry’s head perked up at that. “There’s nothing friendly about what you did to me last night.”

“You make it sound like you were helpless…” You giggled.

“I was!”

“Oh give over.”

“You had me completely surrendered.”

“You’re such a nuisance.” You groaned, trying to lift up but he was too heavy for you.

“And yet you love me. Sounds like you’ve got the issues, babe.” He teased you.

“I hate you.”

“I love you too.” He kissed you. Reluctantly, you kissed him too - which only ended up with you staying in bed for another four hours…

[pickingupmymercedes]

Bed Chem - Lewis Hamilton (NSFW)

Part of 1K Jukebox Event

song: Bed Chem - Sabrina Carpenter - anon

pairing: Lewis Hamilton x Reader!

genre: smut

wordcount: +3k (got carried aways, ops)

As always, I'm open for feedback, come say hi!

EXPLICIT CONTENT UNDER, -18 DO NOT INTERACT

______________________________________________________________

My mind’s been trying to talk me out of this for days.

It’s just another Thursday night. Nothing special about it except the fact that, yet again, I’ve found myself driving to Lewis’s place, the city lights blurring into streaks as I try to remember why I agreed to this.

Because it’s supposed to be a one-time thing.

Hell, it was supposed to be over after that first night. But here I am, again.

A weekly occurrence. I can’t even remember how it happened—how the "no strings attached" turned into this. This pull.

He texted me this morning, just like he does every week. A simple, “Pasta night at mine?” Like it’s a casual thing.

Like we didn’t have our clothes half off before the water even started boiling last time.

God, I’m such a fool.

I pull into his driveway, trying to convince myself to turn around, go home, and pretend I have some semblance of self-control.

But the second I see the soft glow of lights through his window, the thought evaporates. And I can almost feel his hands on me already.

The door swings open before I even knock, and there he is—Lewis, wearing that same damn smile that has me fighting against myself every time.

“You made it,” he says, like he ever doubted I would.

“Yeah, well, here I am.” I give him a look, my last-ditch attempt to act like I’ve got this under control.

He steps aside to let me in, the smell of tomatoes wafting through the air. He’s actually cooking tonight; I notice with a smirk. It’s endearing, really.

“You’re actually serious about the pasta?” I tease, shrugging out of my jacket.

His eyes flick down to my outfit—something casual, but I know he’s still taking it in, lingering just a second longer than necessary.

That’s how it starts. Always.

He smiles, raising an eyebrow. “I can multitask, you know.”

God, his voice. Smooth, effortless. Every word has this undercurrent to it, like he’s saying something else entirely.

And I know exactly what he’s thinking because I’m thinking the same thing.

“We’ll see,” I reply, folding my arms over my chest, trying to act like I’m here for the food and not ... you know. “Where’s the wine?”

He chuckles, already moving towards the kitchen. I follow, keeping my distance, because proximity is dangerous with him.

Every time we’re close, my mind scrambles. I forget how to be rational, how to keep this detached and casual.

He hands me a glass, his fingers brushing mine for a second too long. I try not to react, but the heat between us is instant. Of course, it is.

I take a sip, trying to ground myself in the taste, trying to ignore how he’s leaning against the counter, looking at me like he’s already undressing me in his mind.

“So, how was your week?” he asks, voice casual, but there’s that hint of something—like he knows where this is headed.

“It was fine,” I say, shrugging, though the tension in the air says otherwise.

We make small talk while he finishes the pasta, but it’s like the words don’t even matter. There’s a rhythm between us, in the stupid attempt at making this a real date.

But it’s useless.

He plates the pasta, setting the dishes on the counter, and I can feel him beside me. Too close. Far too close.

“Hungry?” he asks, his voice low, too damn tempting.

“For food? Not really,” I blurt out before I can stop myself, my eyes darting to his lips for a split second.

I curse myself internally because I’ve lost the game. He saw it.

His smile widens, that knowing smirk creeping onto his face, and I know I’ve given him all the signal he needs.

He steps closer, and I’m trapped between him and the counter. My logical side is screaming at me to back off, but my body… well I’m already leaning into him, craving his touch.

“You know” he murmurs, leaning in, his breath warm against my ear, “we could skip the pasta” His hand brushes my hip, and it’s all I can do to keep breathing.

I bite my lip, trying to play it cool, trying not to let him see how much I want this. Want him. “Skipping dinner, again? We’re really getting lazy, aren’t we?”

“Who needs pasta when we’ve got... other plans?” His hands slide up my waist, fingers tracing the outline of my shirt, and my resolve is already out the window.

Damn him.

I grab the collar of his shirt, pulling him into me, our lips crashing together with the kind of urgency that says we’ve been holding back for too long. Except we did exactly that, a week ago.

His hands are everywhere—my waist, my back, pulling me closer, like he can’t get enough.

I don’t know who moves first, but suddenly we’re stumbling towards the living room, the sofa the inevitable destination.

It’s a blur of hands, lips, clothes hitting the floor in a mess of fabric and desire.

My mind is still protesting somewhere in the background, telling me this is a bad idea, that I’m setting myself up for failure.

But every time his hands skim across my skin, the voice gets quieter and quieter until all I can focus on is him. The way he knows exactly where to touch, how to pull me into him, how to make me forget anything else exists.

We collapse onto the sofa, him pinning me beneath him, and I gasp as his mouth finds the sensitive spot on my neck. It’s always like this with him—fast, intense, like we can’t get enough of each other.

There’s a chemistry here that neither of us can deny.

His hands slide under my shirt, pulling it up and over my head, and I arch into him, letting out a soft moan as his lips move lower, tracing the curve of my collarbone. My logical side is completely gone now, replaced by a hunger that only he can satisfy.

His fingers fumble with my bra, and I can’t help but laugh, the sound breathless and amused “You’d think you’d be better at that.”

He grins against my skin, finally unclasping it. “Practice makes perfect.”

The bra hits the floor, and his hands are on me again, his touch firm but gentle, like he knows exactly what I need. And he does. He always does.

I tug at his shirt, desperate to feel more of him, and he obliges, pulling it off in one swift motion. My hands roam his chest, tracing the lines of muscle, the tattoos that decorate his skin.

He’s beautiful, and for a moment, I allow myself to just... appreciate it.

But then his mouth is on mine again, and any coherent thought I had is gone. All that’s left is the feel of him, the way he presses into me, the heat between us building until it’s almost unbearable.

He pulls back for a second, his forehead resting against mine as we catch our breath. “You good?” he asks, his voice low and rough.

I nod, not trusting myself to speak. Because if I do, I’ll say something I can’t take back. Something like, “I’m falling for you,” or “This isn’t just casual anymore,” or any number of other things I’ve been trying to deny since this whole thing started.

Instead, I pull him back to me, kissing him hard, my hands in his neck, pulling him down on top of me.

And I know I swore I’d keep it light, casual, like I didn’t feel this magnetic pull every time I was near him. But the second I see him, smell him, feel the warmth of his body against mine, every boundary I have shatters.

It’s maddening, really, how easily he unravels me.

I try to keep it together, to play it off like I’m here for the pasta, the wine, the company, like I’m not craving him with every fiber of my being.

But who am I kidding? I was gone the moment I step through his door.

The thought that this is supposed to be a “no strings attached” situation seems laughable. We’re fooling ourselves. This is anything but simple.

“Tell me to stop” he murmurs, his voice rough against my ear, but we both know I won’t. I can’t.

My body responds before my mind can catch up, my hands gripping his shoulders, pulling him closer, needing more of him. I press my hips against his, my breath catching as I feel how much he wants this, wants me.

“I can’t” I whisper, and it’s not just about the sex. It’s everything—the way he looks at me, the way he touches me, the way he makes me feel like I’m the only thing that matters in this moment.

Kind the problem, isn’t it? I know deep down this can’t stay casual, no matter how much we pretend. Each time I come back to him, each time we fall into this rhythm, it gets harder to keep my distance.

Harder to keep my heart out of it.

But I don’t say any of that. I just kiss him again, my lips moving against his with a desperation I can’t hide. Because I don’t want to think about what this all means. I just want to feel.

His hands find the small of my back, pulling me flush against him, and I let out a soft gasp, the sound slipping from my throat before I can stop it. God, he knows exactly what he’s doing to me.

“Still thinking about the pasta?” he teases although I can tell he’s trying to bring me out of my own head, and I can’t help but laugh, the sound low and breathless.

“Screw the pasta,” I whisper, my hands tangling in neck, pulling him closer, deeper, until there’s nothing left between us but skin and heat and the overwhelming need to be as close as possible.

Because with him, there’s no room for logic. No room for second thoughts or regrets. There’s only this—the way his body feels against mine, the way his hands know exactly where to touch, the way we fit together like we were made for each other.

And then his hands move lower, firm but careful as they grip my hips. He pauses for a moment, his gaze dark and unreadable as he looks me over, then—swiftly—he buckles my hips upwards, hands sliding to hook into the waistband of my sweats.

I lift my hips, barely giving him any resistance, and in one smooth motion, he pulls the soft fabric down, taking my panties with them. His breath catches for a split second when he sees the matching set.

"Knew there was something under those sweats," he teases, a smug grin forming on his lips as he tosses the fabric to the floor.

His fingers trace the edge of my thighs, skimming over the sensitive skin, the warmth of his touch unraveling me.

"Shut up," I mutter, trying to keep my voice steady, but the way his hands move it does something to my resolve. He knows it.

"I will" he says, his voice lowering with an edge of promise.

And the bastard keeps his word as his fingers slip between my folds, not muttering a word as his eyes never leave mine. My breath hitches in response, and his grin widens, knowing exactly what he's doing to me.

His thumb grazes my clit in one teasing stroke, and my back arches involuntarily, the sound of my breathy gasp filling the space between us. I bite down on my lip, trying to stifle any sound, but when his mouth joins his fingers, blowing a soft breath over my swollen bud, all hope of control is lost.

"Oh... God."

It’s all I can manage as his mouth works me over. He knows exactly what he’s doing, alternating between gentle kisses and deep sucks that make my head spin.

My legs tremble, and I grab the cushion beneath me, trying to ground myself as my body responds to every precise move he makes.

His tongue flicks against me, skillful, intentional, and when he adds just enough pressure with his fingers, sliding two finger inside me with ease, my mind goes blank.

Every coherent thought evaporates, replaced by the building pressure, the pure pleasure that courses through me with each flick, each movement, each stroke.

My breath quickens, my thighs tense around his head, and I can’t help but let out a moan, the sound embarrassingly thick with need.

“Lewis...” I manage, barely, as his mouth and fingers push me to the edge, that overwhelming sense of release hovering just out of reach.

He hums in response, the vibration sending a wave of pleasure through me that has me arching into him, desperate for more.

And then his fingers curl just right inside me and I’m done.

My body shudders, thighs clamping around him as the orgasm rips through me, every muscle tightening and releasing in waves. The sensation is overwhelming, like I’m seeing white, and all I can do is gasp for breath as he carries me through it, his mouth never stopping, not until I’m trembling in his arms.

When I can finally hear my surroundings, I collapse back into the sofa, chest heaving, limbs heavy. He pulls away slowly, his lips grazing the inside of my thigh as if to say, ‘I’m not done with you yet’ but for now, he gives me a moment to catch my breath.

His hands trail lazily up my body, stopping just below my ribs as he looks up at me, that damn smirk still playing on his lips.

“Menace” I say again, breathless, trying to regain some sense of control.

He chuckles, leaning in to kiss me, and I taste myself on his lips—soft, tender, and entirely too addicting.

"You seemed pretty pleased it with just seconds ago" he murmurs against my mouth, and even though I’m still recovering, I can’t help but smile.

Lewis pulls away, his weight shifting off me as he rises from the sofa. I can already see the glint in his eye, that familiar focus taking over as he fishes out a stack of condoms from the nearest drawer in the living room.

He’s quick, flipping it open and grabbing the condom like it’s second nature. And considering his stash he probably is.

Before he can tear it open, I sit up, my body still tingling. I reach out, taking the foil packet from his hand with a smirk and a teasing wink.

He raises an eyebrow, clearly amused by the sudden boldness. "You sure about this?" he asks, though his voice betrays the concern that’s written all over his face.

I don’t bother answering. I slide down from the sofa just enough to grab the waistband of his shorts, my fingers hooking underneath and tugging them down along with his briefs.

His member springs free, not fully hard yet, but close. I meet his eyes and smirk, noticing how quickly his breathing has picked up.

"Someone seems eager," I tease, running my fingers lightly along his length, watching as he grows harder beneath my touch. His body responds instantly, his breath catching as I give him a few slow pumps, feeling him swell fully in my hand.

His head tilts back slightly, eyes fluttering shut for a second as he lets out a low groan and I can tell he’s barely holding it together.

I tear the condom wrapper with my teeth, slowly rolling it down over him, my fingers moving with deliberate care. Once I’ve got him fully sheathed, I rise back up, straddling him on the sofa, my lips finding his in a deep kiss.

It’s heated, urgent, but I take my time, letting the tension build even more between us.

In the midst of our kiss, he pulls back just slightly, his voice low and rough, barely more than a whisper. "I mean it, tell me to stop" he says again, his forehead resting against mine, his breath warm against my skin.

I shush him softly, pressing a finger to his lips, then replacing it with my mouth, kissing him again.

My hand slides down between us, wrapping around his length again, and I can feel how tense he is, how much he’s holding back.

"Shut up" I murmur, smiling against his lips, pushing him gently back so that his back rests against the couch. He leans back, his hands gripping my hips as I position myself over him.

I take my time, teasing him with the moment before I finally lower myself onto him.

 Slowly, so slowly, I ease down, feeling him stretch and fill me inch by inch until he’s buried completely inside me. We both let out a sharp gasp, the feeling overwhelming for a second, his grip on my hips tightening as I settle onto him.

I stay still for a moment, our eyes locked, the tension between us thick and electrifying. My hands rest on his chest, fingers splayed over the hard muscles, feeling his heartbeat under my palms. For a second, we’re completely in sync, breathing as one.

"God..." he breathes, his eyes dark with need as he looks up at me, his hands sliding up my sides, possessive and steady.

I smile, shifting just slightly, already feeling the pressure build again between us."I didn’t tell you to stop, did I?” I tease, rolling my hips slowly to drive him even crazier.

His eyes darken further, his hands gripping me tighter as I start to move, a slow, deliberate rhythm that has both of us teetering on the edge from the start.

There’s something primal in the way we fit together, and as I pick up the pace, our bodies collide in a seamless rhythm, like we’ve done this a hundred times before—because we have.

Lewis’s grip tightens on my hips as I move, his eyes never leaving mine. He starts to guide me, lifting his hips in time with my rhythm, his hands firm but steady, helping me set the pace.

I bite my lip, fighting to stay in control of my breathing as the sensation builds. It’s so intense, the way we move together—every thrust, every roll of my hips sending shockwaves of pleasure through my body.

But then, just as I find my rhythm, he takes over.

His hands tighten around my waist, pulling me down harder as he starts thrusting up into me with slow, deliberate movements. Each upward motion hits deeper, sending sparks of pleasure through me that make it impossible to hold back the soft moans escaping my lips.

I let him have his moment, feeling the way he takes control, the raw power behind each thrust.

But I narrow my eyes at him, already planning my next move. I let him keep the reins, let him revel in his control as he pushes me closer and closer to the edge. His pace is maddening—just slow enough to tease, to keep me wanting more.

And he knows it.

But I can feel it when he starts to slow down, the strain in his muscles telling me he’s getting close. That’s when I take over again.

With a wicked grin, I shift my weight, changing the angle as I start to move again, but this time adding a slow, rocking motion as I go up and down on him. And he tenses beneath me, his breath catching as his hands move from my waist to my thighs, trying to slow me down.

"Babe..." he gasps, his voice strained, but I just chuckle softly, my pace quickening, refusing to give him any relief.

“What’s wrong?” I quip, my tone playful but laced with challenge. I can feel the tremor in his muscles, the way his body is straining to hold on, but I don’t let up, riding him faster now, the intensity building until it’s almost unbearable.

"Love... Y/n..." His words come out broken, barely a breath as his head falls back against the sofa, his hands tightening on my thighs as if that’ll slow me down.

But it doesn’t. I lean into him, pressing my chest against his, feeling the way his body shudders beneath mine.

And then he’s coming undone.

I feel it—the way his body jerks, the tension snapping as he lets out a guttural groan, his hands desperately gripping me as I continue to rock against him.

His eyes squeeze shut, and he tries to tell me to slow down, but the words never fully form. He’s lost, completely undone beneath me, and I savor every second of it.

I don’t stop until he hisses, his hands shooting up to still my hips, his breathing ragged and uneven. "Fuck..." he mutters, his voice hoarse, his eyes heavy-lidded as he looks up at me, still catching his breath.

I smirk, leaning down to press a soft kiss to his lips, savoring the way his body still trembles. His hands loosen their grip on my hips, and I feel him exhale deeply, the tension draining from him.

“It’s always so much better than in my head” he says, his voice low and raw, and there’s something in the way he says it that makes my heart skip a beat.

I bite back a laugh, pulling away just enough to look down at him, my fingers brushing at his beard.

Better, huh?

But there’s something more to it, something neither of us is ready to admit, not out loud anyway.

And for now, we don’t have to.

For now, we can pretend this is just about that type of chemistry.

______________________________________________________________

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[silv3rswirls]

soft moments with seventeen

Note: Happy Valentine's day everyone <3

♡Seungcheol♡

When you’re running late for work in the morning, darting around the apartment frantically trying to get yourself together. Seungcheol watches, holding your lunch and waiting by the door so you don’t forget it. You finally get to the door, stuffing your shoes on in a hurry, your coat hanging off one shoulder and your bag’s strap twisted and bunched up. He stops you, very calmly telling you to take a moment and breath before leaving. You do, and he takes your bag from you. He straightens up your coat, buttons it up for you, and loops your scarf around your neck. It’s freezing out, part of the reason you’re late as you couldn’t drag yourself out of bed. Carefully he puts your bag back on and pauses to sweep your hair wispies from your face. Seungcheol presses a quick kiss on your forehead, and the two of you share a smile before you leave.

♡Jeonghan♡

It's early, way too early for you to even consider dragging yourself out of bed, but Jeonghan was wide awake and in the process of getting ready to leave for an early schedule. You’re still cuddled in bed, having wrapped all the blankets tight around your body now that Jeonghan is gone. You can hear him walking around, the water in the bathroom running, his alarm going off for a third time and him rushing to silence it for you. You were dead tired, hardly able to open your eyes but for some reason, you could never fall asleep until Jeonghan left. The bed dips beside you, and his arms trap you in place despite knowing you are too sleepy to try and playfully getaway. You hear him softly saying his goodbyes, turning your head and pinching your cheeks until you open your eyes and smile. He kisses your forehead, then your cheek, and leaves a few rushed ones against your face before leaving.

♡Joshua♡

You’re pressed against him in the back of the car. Your head resting on his shoulder and your bottom lip trembling as you try to hold your tears in until you get home. But you still had fifteen minutes and traffic was getting worse; your throat was burning and your eyes overflowing with warm tears. You feel Joshua press his fingers into your hair, brushing through it, down to rub your back and press you closer. He was silently encouraging you to cry after the long, hard day you had gone through. You didn’t want to, but couldn’t help it as you sniffled and let the tears fall. He stays quiet, not wanting to draw the driver's attention anymore to you. He doesn’t need to say anything though, you feel comforted as he rubs your back and drags his thumb over your cheek to wipe the tears away.

♡Jun♡

You were so tired, so worn out from working that day. Your boyfriend had greeted you with your favorite takeout when you got home and afterward had drawn a bath for you. You were enjoying the hot water, your tense muscles trying to relax as you recounted all the things that went wrong at work to Jun, who listened quietly. He hums in response, his fingers working in your shampoo as he washed your hair for you. He had offered, quick to attend to your hair the moment you let him. His hands scratch and massage your scalp, dropping down to massage your shoulders now and again. You lean into his touch, smiling and thanking him for being extra sweet. He grins and tells you he’d do it every night if you wanted.

♡Hoshi♡

If there’s one thing Soonyoung does on a daily basis; it's cling to you. He can’t help it, he just wants to be close to you, touching you in some way. He isn’t even aware of it most times. Grabbing your hand absentmindedly while shopping, resting against you while in the car or at home relaxing. Wrapping his arms around your waist and following you around the kitchen. He comes home one evening, tired and a bit blue over how busy he had been this week. He hardly got to see you. You were lounging on the sofa, tapping and scrolling away on your phone when he came in, he kicked his shoes off and came trudging in. He greets you tiredly, immediately crawling onto the sofa, laying on top of you, and resting his head on your chest. Neither of you says much, he closes his eyes and listens to you breathe, and ask about his day. His arms lock around you and his nestles closer, neither of you will be getting up anytime soon.

♡Wonwoo♡

Wonwoo huffs and turns the tv off, finally dragging himself out of his gaming session for the night. He looks around, the room almost eerily quiet now that he logged off. He looks around, spotting you on the sofa behind him, hair wet and wrapped in a blanket as you absentmindedly brushed it, your mind wandering. He moves to sit next to you, tilting his head and reaching to brush the hair from your face. It draws you out of your daydream, leaving a smile on your face as he runs his fingers through your wet locks. “Let me” he gently takes the brush, adjusting his sitting position to be more comfortable as he focuses on the cluster of tangles in your hair. He apologizes quietly every time he pulls too hard, but you don’t mind. You lean into him, enjoying the feeling as he tenderly brushes your hair; leaving you with a kiss on top of your head when he’s finished.

♡Woozi♡

It had been a rough few weeks for the both of you. He’d been busier than usual at the studio; if that was even possible. While you both understood the demands of his job, it seemed lately it was taking a heavier toll on you. But today, by some delightful little miracle, you had gotten to take the day off at the last minute and Jihoon had just finished the biggest chunk of his work. You come by the studio, lunch made just for him in hand as you enter. You squeeze him in a hug and share the food. You laugh, sitting with him on the sofa and picking at your lunch; more interested in listening and watching Jihoon than eating. He has a little something for you, something he had caught you eyeing at the mall about a month ago but wouldn’t buy for yourself. He had saved a note of it in his phone and thought now would be a good time to surprise you with it. He's all smiles watching you open it, the food forgotten as you once again dive back into lighthearted conversation.

♡Dokyeom♡

You both have a day off, and Seokmin plans to make the most of it. He spends extra time in bed that morning, trapping you in his arms and taking his time waking up and cuddling you. You make breakfast together, he sits next to you and feeds you little bites of his food as you eat. He can’t help it, he wants to be by your side all day. Do everything together, even the mundane chores and running errands. At the end of the night, he’s a bit sad at the thought of having to go back to work tomorrow. He’s in bed with you, sulking but still wasting no time in pulling you in for some affection. Your voices mesh together as you giggle and promise you’ll still have plenty of time for each other despite your schedules. He nods, still pouty and really hamming it for more affection from you, you oblige of course, until his lulling to sleep under your touch.

♡Mingyu♡

Mingyu’s arms are locked around your waist, his head pressed into the crook of your neck. You're stuck sitting on the edge of the bed, he’s hugging you and about to fall asleep against your shoulder again. He doesn’t want you to leave, he’s begging you to call off work and just stay in bed with him all day. You try to wiggle free, but he hangs on tight and pulls you back onto the bed with him. You topple over, a mess of limbs as he rolls over with you and traps you once again. You have to leave soon, but he’s so convincing with how he nuzzles into your neck and murmurs for you to stay with him. 

♡Minghao♡

You weren’t even sure how Minghao and you had gotten here. He was holding your hand, massaging lotion into your skin gently. The hair dryer he had been using was left forgotten on the counter. He’s focused on you, rubbing up your arm before moving to the other hand. You bite back little laughs, his fingers tickling your palm as he gets back to massaging. He’s about to keep pampering you, but you stop him to finish drying his hair. He plots how he’s going to get back to focusing on you as you comb through his hair and dry it, carefully brushing and parting it the way he wants as he closes his eyes and takes in the sensations. When you finish he lets his head drop against your chest, leaning into you as you wrap your arms around his shoulders and press kisses against his cheek. 

♡Seungkwan♡

It's early, and your bedroom is a bit chilly as you whine for Seungkwan to get up and turn the heat up. He’s been awake longer already, relaxing in bed as you toss and turn, snuggling into him and snoozing the morning away. He complains and tells you to do it yourself a few times before giving in and turning it up for you. He comes back with another blanket, tucking you back in and letting you sleep in as he starts to get ready for the day. It's his day off, neither of you has anything to do. Normally he’d be pushing you out of bed by now, but your night had been long and emotional. You’d been up late crying, letting emotions spill over after bottling them up for so long. After he was done, Seungkawn came back to sit beside you. He watches you sleep, brushes your hair away, and makes sure you're nice and warm.

♡Vernon♡

He’s dead asleep despite it being midday. The curtains are open, the sun beaming in as you get home. You smile at the sight, he’s dead asleep, unaware of the world around him as he only shifts slightly when you hop onto the bed next to him. You decided to join him, pressed into his side and throwing an arm over his stomach. Later that evening, as he wakes up he finds you twisted uncomfortably in the covers, shifting with him as he sits up and tries to fix the blankets for you. He’s quiet, focused on you as he settles back down to go back to bed, opening his arms and letting you cuddle up to him this time. Neither of you had spoken a word to each other the rest of the night, simply content to lazy around and waste the night away cuddling and sleeping.

♡Dino♡

His nose scrunches when you drop the terrible news on him; at least, hearing that you haven’t eaten all day is among some of the worst news he could hear. He’s scolding you, pulling you towards the kitchen, and making you sit at the counter and wait for him to prepare something for you. He sits with you, not eating as he’s already had dinner with the boys before leaving the company. He’s taking the chopsticks from you every chance he gets, feeding you himself until he’s satisfied. All evening he’s coming back with snacks for you to share, always checking on you to make sure you’re feeling okay, want something else or some water. 

[a-small-writer-in-a-big-world]

Bury Me in Your Kiss

Pairing: Simon "Ghost" Riley x f!reader

Warnings: implied smut/fade to black mdni (18+), angst, mentions of panic attack, some fluff, mentions of murder

Words: 6.5k

Synopsis: In the aftermath, you and Ghost figure out what happens next…

You are currently reading chapter 14 of The Roommate Series

The early morning light came through the window when you opened your eyes, casting the soft blue hue from the closed curtains drawn over it. You blinked into the darkness as the sudden ache in your body came back to you and you were all too aware of the hard mattress you laid on. There was a dull, throbbing pain from your head and pain from your splint wrist, so you took a deep breath as you prepared yourself to get up to get medicine.

“I’ll get it.” Ghost stopped you with a gentle hand on your arm, his groggy voice making you flinch.

“You don’t have to.” You told him but he was already sliding out of bed.

“It’s alright.”

You sighed and shut your eyes. You were exhausted from two nights of restless sleep, a combination of the shitty mattress and what happened to you. You desperately wanted to fall back asleep, your mood today already irritable despite it having barely even started.

You heard the bathroom sink running and when you opened your eyes again, Ghost sat on the edge of the bed beside you, a glass of water in one hand and medicine in the other.

Silently you sat up and took the medicine, your eyes not meeting Ghost’s while you drank most of the water.

“You can shower first.” Ghost offered but you shook your head, wincing from the pain.

“It’s too early for me.” You told him and he took the glass from you. “You have work.”

He nodded without another word and went to the bathroom. As soon as the shower turned on, your throat tightened and your vision blurred. 

It had been this way for two days. After the relief of being saved by Ghost had worn off your emotions were quick to overwhelm you. You had barely eaten and your appetite had disappeared any time you thought about eating. The lack of sleep made everything worse; you had been irritable lately, to the point where you lashed out at Ghost before you could stop yourself, leaving you with immense guilt afterwards.

You tried to make yourself numb to them, to push them down and just forget about what happened in hopes that maybe you would soon be able to go back to being normal but it rarely worked. Your nerves were still frayed even though you were safe.

Your body still felt like it was trapped in that dark room, your mind just waiting for the moment when he would come in and end your life-

Ghost said your name and that was when you realized you were crying.

You looked up at him and he didn’t hesitate to bring you into an embrace. You held onto him tightly, trying your hardest to not sob loud as he rubbed comforting circles into your back. You buried your face in his shoulder while you clutched his damp skin.

“I’m sorry.” You cried as you did your best to control your breathing. 

You weren’t sure what you were apologizing for; for crying for the hundredth time since you had come to the base, for snapping at him when he was trying to help, for being stupid enough to get kidnapped even though it wasn’t your fault…you didn’t know but it was the only thing you could say.

“It’s okay.” Ghost assured you softly. 

You’re not sure how long you spent crying into his shoulder, but when you were done there was more light coming inside the room and you were even more exhausted. Even when the tears stopped you still felt like you were on edge, like one thing would make it start all over again which only made you feel worse.

Ghost managed to get you in the shower, helping even when you told him he needed to work and that he had already taken a shower. He just shushed you and continued to help you without any complaint.

He offered to dry you off and help you get dressed, but you refused, feeling even more pathetic than before.

“I’m not helpless.” Your voice was weak as he wrapped a towel around you, but didn’t dry you off.

“I know.” He sighed and he stared at you with sad eyes. “I’m sorry.”

Despite your feelings you shook your head, knowing deep down that he was only doing it because he cared about you, because he wanted to take care of you like he always did. 

It was who he was…

You stared in shock as you watched him, Ghost, slam his fist repeatedly against your captor. The viciousness at which he maimed him, the way he pinned him down and beat him until he was nearly dead. You were terrified until he revealed it was him, until you realized that you were safe.

There was a knock on Ghost’s bedroom door and you jumped, pulling the towel over your body to conceal yourself before he left the bathroom. 

You stayed there, drying yourself off as you heard him and someone else talk in hushed voices. You didn’t want to listen to what they were saying but you caught on to a few of his words.

“...bad day…needs sleep…don’t overwhelm her…”

You tried to make yourself look presentable the best you could without looking in the mirror, too afraid to see what you looked like, before Ghost came back in the bathroom. You tried to give him a quick smile but he had a more serious look on his face that made you chew on your bottom lip.

“Laswell’s taking you to the doctor.” He said and you fidgeted with the towel. “It shouldn’t take long.”

“You’re not coming…?” 

You didn’t want to make it seem like you couldn’t go anywhere without him, but you weren’t sure if you could hold yourself together without him, especially when you were going to be with a stranger. You didn’t like it but it was unrealistic to think he’d always be with you, especially because of his job.

You could see that Ghost didn’t like it either, in fact you could see the poorly hidden annoyance on his face as he shook his head, giving you an apologetic look.

“There’s a few things I need to take care of.” He explained and you took a shaky breath. “I’ll be done before you get back.”

“I need to get dressed…”

You tried not to look unhappy when you met Laswell in the hall. You gave her a polite smile that she returned and she gave Ghost a nod. 

“We won’t be long.” She assured you both and when you looked back at him, he had the skull mask on. 

“I’ll be here when you get back.” He told you but didn’t move from his spot as he waited for you to be the one to leave.

You tensed up. Your mind began telling you that the moment you were out of his sight you were going to be taken again, that this time he wasn’t going to get to you in time and this was going to be the last time you ever saw him. 

Laswell said your name and you looked at her, hoping that you didn’t look as scared as you felt. She had a calm look on her face as she rested a gentle hand on your upper back, an attempt giving you comfort as well as the strength to walk away. 

And despite your fear you did without looking back, because if you saw Ghost you were sure you wouldn’t be able to leave. 

~

Ghost could barely hold himself back as he watched you leave. The past forty-eight hours he had been fighting between being so beyond rage that he wanted to storm the building that your captor was being detained in and finish the job, and wanting nothing more than to stay glued to your side.

His anxiety about being more than a couple feet away from you had gotten significantly worse. Before he didn’t like watching you leave to go to classes because he just wanted to be with you, but now he didn’t want you out of his sight in fear of your being taken again. 

He couldn’t live with himself if he let it happen again, if you got hurt because of him again…

All of this was his fault.

Information about how this happened hadn’t been revealed yet but Ghost didn’t care about the how, just that it happened. He was the one who had enemies, he was the one who dealt with deplorable people who would use civilians as bargaining chips, he was the one who had the bad life that you got caught up in because he stupidly believed he could fall in love with you without any consequences, not you.

This is why he had been alone for years before you came along, this is why he should’ve stayed alone. 

He walked towards the mess hall, his demeanor much like how he used to be, angry and cold with a glare that he hadn't worn since he was a sergeant. He tried not to fall back into the darkness, into the old anger that had gripped him tightly when he got back from Mexico.

But every time he saw you cry, every time he saw you in pain, he remembered how he should’ve killed the man. At least that way he would never get the chance to break out, never think of you, never do anything to hurt you again.

Exhaustion weighed heavily on Ghost’s shoulders but he barely paid attention to it. He didn’t sleep, nearly forced himself not to because the nightmares got worse but also because you could barely sleep yourself. 

You tossed and turned all night, shook and tried not to cry because you thought he was asleep but he couldn’t sleep knowing you might need him. You didn’t ask for his help once since you got here but that didn’t stop him from being ready to give you anything you needed. 

All of the pain you suffered…you didn’t deserve it. 

He’d take it away if he could, he’d let it become his if it meant you didn’t have to suffer anymore.

“Hey, Lt.” Soap greeted him as he sat down at their breakfast table. “Where’s yer girl?”

“Doctors with Laswell. Hopefully they can get her a therapist and medication.” He didn’t bother getting breakfast, he wasn’t hungry.

“Cap wants you to take it easy, he’s taking you off the rest of the mission.” Gaz spoke up and Ghost scoffed but didn’t argue.

There wasn’t much of a mission left. He doubted they would go back out in the field for anything other than more intel but they didn’t need anymore, now they needed to get through what they got.

But if he was officially off the mission that meant he could be with you, make sure that you were okay until you didn’t need him anymore. 

“Found a new place yet?” Soap wondered but Ghost shook his head.

“Haven’t even thought about it.” He huffed.

It was just another stresser, another thing piled on top of everything else.

They got you at your home, your shared home. They ruined your safe place, they could’ve killed you right there and left you there for him to find when he got back. He ruined it for you.

He’d find a new one, a better one just for you. He’d make sure everything would be up to your standards in case he didn’t stay.

Could he really leave you? He wasn’t sure if he was strong enough for it but he wasn’t sure if he could stay, he wasn’t sure if he could risk your life again because he selfishly wanted to be with you. He didn’t want to cause you more pain leaving but he didn’t want to potentially end your life by staying.

And on top of it all he’d never stop loving you, he’d never stop being in love with you, so being away from you would be like hell. His own personal, self-imposed hell. 

“She’s pretty badass.” Gaz said and Ghost couldn't help but smile.

“Yeah, you teach her any of that?” Soaped added on but he shook his head.

“That was all her.”

Underneath all the anger and guilt he did feel a sense of pride for you. You fought as best you could and it saved your life, made it easier for him to find you so he could save you too. 

You were a fighter. You fought his demons when they got too much for him and fought your own when they got too much for you, now you were fighting everyday because of this.

He hoped things would eventually get better sooner rather than later but he knew all too well how hard it was to come back from something like this. He knew how dark and awful it got some days, how scary it was to deal with it alone, how some days felt like it would never get better.

“...haven’t found out much from him.” He heard the tailend of what Gaz said but he didn’t need the full context to know who he was talking about.

“I could get it out of him today.” He stated confidently but he shook his head.

“Higher ups said no.”

Ghost tried not to let it get to him but it made him furious. They were only keeping an asset alive, someone they needed to get information from because he had kidnapped a special forces loved one, but he didn’t care. Keeping him alive was a risk not only for everyone else but especially for you too.

If he got out and hurt you again there would be hell to pay. Just thinking about it made him shake and he wished Price would just let him do it.

He knew Price would. He never let loose ends go but this was a game of patience, one that Ghost was losing easily.

The only thing stopping him from going on a warpath was you. You needed him and that trumped all of his anger because you were so much more important than that prick of a black market intelligence dealer.

“Ye just gotta wait.” Soap gave him a knowing look.

“I know.” He sighed and got up.

Ghost made his way to his office. He didn’t mind the paperwork, especially if it meant he had the option to do it in his room with you. He wasn’t supposed to, considering everything he worked with was confidential even if it was you, but he didn’t care. The only person who would say anything about it to him would be Price, and he didn’t exactly have a track record for doing things by the book.

His phone buzzed and he looked down to see a text from Price, saying he was needed for training instead.

He wanted to decline because training would take too long and you’d be back before he’d be done. He wasn’t sure if you’d be comfortable sitting and watching a bunch of recruits train while he barked orders at them. 

But he still had a job to do, despite everything. 

Ghost went to training but told himself that he’d leave as soon as you got back. Soap would take over for him and then he’d spend the rest of his day doing paperwork by your side.

He tried his hardest to keep his eyes on the recruits and not on his phone. He had to rely on Price of Laswell to tell him when you got back because you still hadn’t gotten a new phone.

Everything of yours had to be replaced and he was grateful all of your pictures were backed up.

A new phone, a new flat, possibly a new university all because of him. He was surprised you weren’t angrier at him, that you hadn’t outright shut him out and told him to piss off. He ruined your life and the most you’ve done is snap at him because you were exhausted. 

He expected screaming, he expected you to tell him it was over, yet you clung to him more than ever.

Part of him was relieved. Part of him felt so much shame.

How could you still love him after this? He selfishly hoped that your feelings for him were still there even though realistically when you finally had the rest you needed and recovered enough, you would leave him.

It would be easier if you left him, if you proved to him that Simon was the only part of him that you loved so he could at least know he made a mistake.

One he wouldn’t make again because you were the only one he’d ever love.

An hour went by, then two. By the third hour he texted Laswell to update him on the situation and not even thirty minutes after that he tried to call her. 

He tried not to let his anxiety get the best of him but he couldn’t stand the fact that he wasn’t with you right now. He should be with you, he had to be with you in order to keep you safe.

What was taking so long? Was something wrong? Were the both of you in trouble and had no way of communicating it? 

Laswell didn’t answer and he was close to stealing someone’s car to find you when Price approached him.

“She’s back.” He told him and he felt immense relief. “I’ll take you to her.”

Ghost’s eyebrows knitted together but he followed Price without a single word. You were most likely back in his room so there was no need for him to be shown where you were unless there was something important that Price needed to tell him.

It wasn’t until the two of them made it into the empty hall that he spoke.

“Asset kept the information about her within his own group,” he began and Ghost clenched his jaw. “Laswell was up all night checking to see if he was telling the truth and he was. Rest of his men have been taken care of. She can stay at the university, but you both need a new place to live.”

“That’s all he said?” He scoffed and Price sighed.

“For now. It’s enough to give her a chance to put this behind her without further issues.”

Ghost’s eyes narrowed. He didn’t believe that. He knew all too well how badly things like this could come back to bite ten times harder than the first. He wasn’t about to let that happen again, especially when he had to be deployed and wouldn’t be readily available to you.

If he stayed he could protect you but he still put you at risk.

“Preventing further issues would be getting rid of him.” He stopped in the hall and gave his captain a sharp look. “It lowers the risk of him trying to get revenge himself or by telling someone else.”

Price stared at him for a moment, his eyes cold and knowing. There was a certain edge to them that would send others turning the opposite direction with a quick apology. However, the look wasn’t necessarily directed at Ghost but more so at the situation in front of them.

He had a plan but Ghost needed verbal confirmation.

“Give it a few days.” That was the only thing Price said before he began to walk down the hall again.

Ghost caught up to him and noticed that while he still had his regular seriousness about him, Price gave him a soft smile.

“She got lost coming back.” He teased lightly and Ghost frowned. “Refused help from Laswell but then couldn’t find her way around. Recruits avoided her like the plague because of her shadow.”

“Is she okay?” He worried but Price assured him quickly.

“She’s fine. I brought her back to your room and then got you.”

He sighed and they made it to his room. The door was shut and he didn’t hear you on the other side, which was a good sign that you weren’t crying but a bad sign if you were having a panic attack.

“We’ll talk more later.” Price gave him a pat on the shoulder before he left.

Ghost entered his room without a second thought. 

He readied himself to help you, to dry your tears and hold you if you needed it, but instead you were lying motionless on the bed. He stood in the doorway for a moment, waiting to see if you were just resting your eyes or if you had truly fallen asleep. 

When he noticed your steady breathing, he couldn’t help but feel deep relief knowing that you finally managed to get some rest. 

He stepped inside as quietly as he could, careful to not make any noise as he walked over to the bed and grabbed the blanket. He was careful as he laid it over you, trying his best not to touch or disturb you as he tucked you in.

He stared at your temple where the man had hit you and studied the wound that was steri-stripped together. He had watched the medics clean and patch you up, put a splint on your wrist and tell the both of you that you had a pretty severe concussion. He remembered how held his hand with a death grip, how you couldn’t stop crying, begging for him to stay.

You didn’t sleep at all that night.

Ghost texted Gaz to bring him his laptop and he settled at his desk, his eyes never leaving you.

His chest was heavy with conflict but he was grateful you were still here.

~

You woke up slowly. 

After you got back from the doctors and embarrassingly got lost, you decided to wait for him. You were beyond exhausted, having gone through an hour of therapy and two hours of speaking with doctors about medication and your recovery. You didn’t expect yourself to fall asleep but you were grateful for it because you weren’t sure if you’d get the chance to go to sleep later tonight.

You heard clicks from a keyboard and opened your eyes to see Ghost working at his desk right beside you. You watched him type away at a fast pace, his attention on the screen, which gave you the perfect opportunity to study the mask.

You saw it once before, when he came home bleeding it out, but you hadn’t got a good look at it. 

A skull plate sewn into a cloth mask you’d seen him wear before, expertly crafted so you knew he had made it. The purpose for it didn’t make sense to you until you thought about how it didn't work for you because you already knew him. It was meant to conceal his identity, keep it separate from his life and work, to avoid what happened to you, and it worked up until now.

It separated you from him however. He treated you all the same he would without it, but here he wasn’t your Simon, he was Ghost. 

He was a lot more serious, had a reputation with those he worked with, one that you assumed held a lot of respect considering none of the recruits stuck around you when you entered a room. They knew him as the man who nearly beat your captor to death, you knew him as the man who stubbornly washed the dishes for you.

He didn’t want you to see that side of him and yet knowing more about it, it didn’t seem to matter.

Perhaps it was because you were more relaxed and numb now. Your emotions slowly started to level to the point where you didn’t have to worry about imploding on yourself, especially now that a therapist told you ways to cope better, and having rested helped out more too.

To you Ghost and Simon were the same. It only made sense that he was quick to act and violent in certain situations, especially in the name to protect you. 

He never hurt you and loved you all the same.

You shifted on the bed and he stopped what he was doing. He turned to you and you both stared at each other for a moment, drinking in each other after the chaos of the past two days before you outstretched your good hand to him.

Ghost took it immediately, holding it gently as he turned all of his attention towards you. He rubbed his thumb across your knuckles and threaded his fingers with yours as he looked at you with concern.

“How are you feeling?” He asked softly and you shrugged.

“Not much.” You mumbled and noticed the way his eyes fell, giving his hand a gentle squeeze. “I think it’s for the best right now.”

“Are you hungry? Dinner’s soon.”

You were hungry but anytime you thought about eating anything you felt sick. You knew you had to eat something and you didn’t want to make him feel worse, having noticed the guilt in his eyes ever since he rescued you.

You didn’t know the extent of how hard this was for him too, how much guilt he had for what happened but you knew it was there. You could see it in the way he 

You didn’t want to cause him any more grief.

“I can try to eat something.” You said, trying to hide your disgust for but it was like he saw through you.

“I can get something easy for you, yeah?” He offered hopefully and you tried to give him a smile. 

“Don’t trouble yourself over it.”

Ghost looked as if he wanted to say something but he didn’t. Instead he directed some of his attention to the laptop that sat on his desk, nodding towards it so you would look at it as well.

“Found a few new flats.” He began and you slowly sat up, keeping your hand in his. “You should look at them to see if you like ‘em.”

“Do you like any of them?” You wondered.

There was a slight hesitation from Ghost that made you pause. You looked at him carefully but because of the mask you had no clue what his face looked like, making it nearly impossible to read him. 

You didn’t like that, didn’t like the fact that he was hidden from you now, that you could no longer study his face to see her true expression because now all you had to go off was a mask that was the literal symbol of death. You couldn’t even look into his eyes to get some sort of idea as he turned away from you.

“One or two.” He grabbed the laptop and set it next to you. “You can look at them while I get dinner.”

“We can find better ones.” You were a little more serious as you stared at him. “I want us both to be happy since we’re moving together.”

He hummed, not in agreement but with acknowledgement, as he stood up to leave. He didn’t look at you, maybe because he couldn’t stand to look at you or maybe he felt too guilty.

A quick surge of panic went through you and you fought against it, breathing deeply as your therapist told you, before you shot up from the bed. You rushed up to him and grabbed the fabric of his shirt with a firm tug to stop him.

Ghost tensed up but stopped. He looked back at you with unreadable eyes but that didn’t stop the desperation in your chest. 

“We are moving together…right?” You hated how your voice shook but you didn’t want to believe he’d leave you.

Were you being too much? Were you too much of a burden, too broken and upset for him? You didn’t want to be the reason why he left, the reason why you would lose him forever.

“I-I’m trying to get better, I promise I will-”

“No.” 

Ghost took your face into his hands, making you look into his eyes. He had the most serious look in them that you had ever seen directed at you and if it weren’t for the fact that he caressed his thumbs across your cheeks you would’ve thought he was angry at you. 

Instead you saw a flash of fear, just like the day he had tried to teach you how to shoot a gun, before he took a deep breath.

“Don’t ever think that you’re too much for me.” He said without hesitation and you swallowed hard, trying to get rid of the lump in your throat. “I’d do this everyday if you let me.”

“Then why do you want to leave?” You could barely ask it above as whisper as a few tears escaped your eyes.

He wiped them away, his hands shaking slightly before he pulled you into a hug you immediately melted into. Unlike the other times he held you, this was also for him and you were determined to give him as much comfort as you could manage while you tried your hardest to calm down.

You could hear his heart racing and you rubbed circles into his back. You leaned into him when he tightened his hold on you and for a moment neither of you said anything.

It was easier to calm down this time. Part of it was the help you received but most of it was from Ghost. All the other times he held you it was for your sake, making him close a part of himself away from you in order to put you first.

Now it was like he was truly coming to terms with what happened. What happened hurt him too even if he didn’t want to admit it to anyone, even you.

After the both of you composed yourselves he spoke.

“I don’t want to.” His voice was quiet. “But I’m…afraid.”

You pulled back slightly to look into his eyes. Dark brown met yours and in them you could see a mix of fear and sadness, something that made your heart hurt for him. You kept your hands on him, giving him some kind of touch to ground him.

“This never should’ve happened. You weren’t supposed to see or be a part of this.” He struggled to hold eye contact with you as he spoke. “I put you in danger…and I’m afraid it’ll happen again if I stay.”

He had a point and you understood that. You didn’t blame him for what happened but you weren’t dumb to say that he hadn’t been an indirect cause of it. If you had never met him, had never gotten involved with him then your captor never would’ve tried to use you to get what he wanted.

It was what Ghost had warned you about before and you hadn’t really understood until it happened to you.

Ghost worked with dangerous people, his life was dangerous even when he took off the mask and became Simon again. He was always going to be a target in one way or another, which meant you were going to be too. 

But none of that mattered to you, not when it was him, not when it was your Simon, your Ghost.

“I can’t say it won’t because I don’t know.” You said, the uncertainty made you feel anxious but you pushed it down. “But I do know that I can’t see my future without you.”

“The risk is too high.” He shook his head but you stopped him.

“There's a risk whether you stay or go. I’m willing to take it if you’re with me.”

He looked conflicted

“You didn’t want me to know about Ghost but this is you. This life, your job is a part of you and I’m in love with all of you. I’ll take the chance of getting kidnapped or dying to stay with you because at least I got to live my life with you in it.”

“Love.” 

He rested his forehead against yours again and shut his eyes.

The thought of you dying hurt him too much just as the thought of him dying hurt you, but that was the reality of your relationship. There was a possibility one of you might die and leave the other, so why would you spend it apart when you could live together instead?

“I want us to have a good life.” He said. “I can’t see myself without you which is why if I’m the reason you’re gone…I couldn’t live with myself.”

“It’ll be okay.” You caressed his face through the mask. “We’ve made it work before, we can do it again.”

For three years you were safe. The likelihood of this happening again would still be small especially after this, the two of you and the rest of his teammates would take as many precautions as you possibly could before letting it happen again. 

“I hurt people.” He warned softly, that sense of doubt within him coming out as he looked deep into your eyes. He wasn’t trying to scare you or push you away, but he wanted to give you one last chance to leave him if you wanted. “I have enemies, I’ve done worse than what you saw.”

But you were so far deep in love with him that it didn’t matter.

“I want you, Ghost.” You said. “I love you.”

Ghost shut his eyes for a moment, seemingly resolving the last of the conflict inside him before he pulled away. He went to pull his mask off but you stopped him, causing him to give you a confused look. 

You leaned forward and pressed a soft kiss on his lips through the mask. Then, as if you were unwrapping something delicate, you pulled up the mask just high enough to where you had access to his lips, the ones you had kissed so many times before, and kissed him again.

It was like Ghost was trying to devour you. He stole your breath as he placed his hands on your hips and pulled you into his chest. His hands gripped you as if you’d disappear, careful to not hurt you in any places that were bruised, and kissed you with every bit of emotion inside his chest. Desperation, relief, love.

You kissed him back just as fervently, holding onto him to keep his lips on you as if either of you would think to pull away. Your chest felt warm and like your heart was going to burst out of it, like you were reconnecting with him after a lifelong time apart.

It was only a day. The both of you had been away from each other for only a day and yet it felt like this was the first time you’d kissed him in months.

Ghost pulled away when the two of you needed air but instead of looking at you, he began to trail kisses from your mouth to your jaw. His lips were warm as he pressed a kiss underneath your jaw, then your ear before he stopped.

“I love you.”

Barely above a whisper but only for you.

You grinned. Giddiness filled up inside your chest and you couldn’t help but let out a giggle, and then a laugh. You pulled Ghost back so you could look at him and he smiled, wide and unabashed as you felt true happiness for the first time in days.

You both went to kiss each other again, bumping noses with how quick you were but only laughed about it before you locked him into another kiss. You were careful leading him back to the bed where he gently laid you down and hovered above you. 

His hands slid up your shirt and palmed your breast as you leaned into him. He whispered sweet nothings into your ears, running his hands across your skin as you sighed deeply into his mouth.

You helped him throw your shirt on the floor, pulling at his own while his hand slipped under the waistband of your shorts.

Your eyes fluttered shut and all that was left was him.

You both missed dinner, however neither of you cared all that much especially when Ghost, Simon, offered to just get take out if you wanted. After eating a little of the food he had gotten, the two of you spent the rest of the evening in his room searching through new flats together or trying hard to keep yourselves quiet so as not to bring any attention to the two of you in your private moments.

When the two of you had settled in for bed, you found yourself staring at the door unable to fall asleep. 

You were safe, you knew you were especially in the arms of Simon, but in the back of your mind you couldn’t get rid of the irrational fear that had taken hold. Someone, the man, could come back while you were asleep and kill you before you could fight back. He could have someone else do it, have connections or do something to get you.

You took a deep breath to calm your racing heart and Simon gave you a quick squeeze.

“Simon?” You asked softly and he hummed. “Can we put something in front of the door?”

“Is the chair okay?” He wondered and you nodded.

Simon got up without another word and put his desk chair underneath the doorknob. He made sure it was secure and let you watch him put it there before he crawled back in bed with you, pulling you into his chest.

You felt a little pathetic for having to put something in front of the door to make you feel safe in a top level security military base just to ease the anxiety inside you. You also felt bad that he had to do it.

“I’m sorry.” You breathed out but he grunted.

“I used to do the same thing when I got back from Mexico.” He assured you and while that eased some of the shame you frowned at his pain. “Before we shared a bed, sometimes I did it at the flat.”

You teared up. Simon was still healing and yet he had to do the same things you did to ease his mind. You weren’t alone in your pain, even if it was different, but when you looked at the road ahead of you, the way that it took so long for you to feel less pain and knowing that it would come back made you believe that this was it.

You were always going to be afraid, you were always going to be stuck.

“Will I get better?” You felt childish for asking but you needed that reassurance.

“Yes.” He said firmly, as if there was no doubt that you would. “But I’ll be here when you aren’t.”

A few tears rolled down your face but you quickly wiped them away. You let out a shaky breath and rolled over, hiding your face in his chest as he held you. You listened to his steady heart and smiled when he pressed a soft kiss to your temple, the place where the man had hit you. 

It would be long and hard, but having him by your side made it no so scary.

link to part 15

A/n: this is like the one chapter that i had truly planned out from the beginning lol

Tags: @kat-nee @alexwashere82 @suicidal-marshmellow @shuttlelauncher81 @poohkie90 @reiya-djarin @k4marina @mionacaped @igotmajordaddyissues @xxghostyx @pasta-m1lk @imstargazingx @jacksonpleasestopkillingme @kgive @konig-is-bbygrl @lialacleaf @frazie99 @gremlin-ghuleh @spencerreidisbae123 @writingmysanity @lillianastuff @alastorhazbin @reid490 @lockleywife @sheepselecric @dead-noodles @marshmallowtraver @sinclairbrosbathmat @sofasoap @crazyfandomist @iwmtfm @oiiviagrande @genesis1363 @revyjerry @guttabutta00 @greenkiki @d4z01 @quietlyignoringyou @mysticalgalaxysalad @almightywdm @mavieemav @lycheedr3ams @multitargaryen @fruitymoonbeams-blog @lilpothoscuttings @eatingtheworldsoffanfiction @adriennepoison

[mrs-hatake]

JJK Men Crying

genre: hurt/comfort. warning: mentions of injuries, grief & loss, and self harm. relationship: m x afab reader. a.n: i love it when pretty men cry. also i didn't put sukuna cause i don't think he'd cry. he'd make you cry lmao

Toji:

Disinfected clinging heavily in the air has Toji’s nose scrunching at the foul odor. Though it is a scent of cleanliness, to Toji, it smells like death. 

Patients, doctors and nurses blur into faceless silhouettes as Toji hurries down the hallway, a sickening wave of terror welling up from his stomach with each steps. 

He stops in front of the room the nurse has directed him to earlier. Toji’s chest grows tight, making it hard to breathe, at the sight of the room number; gold faded around the edges. 

Toji’s hand slips when he grabs the door handle, his palm too clammy to grip anything. Trying again, he pushes the door with so much force that it nearly bangs against the wall. 

The rhythmic beeping reaches his ears yet Toji doesn’t move an inch. There’s a haunted look in his eyes as they stare at the unmoving form on the hospital bed. His tensed muscles only relax when he catches sight of a chest rising and falling. He moves to the bed. 

“Toji?” A voice calls his name, sounding rough from disuse. “Hey.” It continues. 

Toji stares at the woman in a catatonic stupor. Though the woman is smiling weakly at him, vibrant blues and purples steals her beauty. 

“I was worried.” That one simple statement, loaded with so much care and love, has Toji closing his eyes, going silent as he tries to drag emotion back under where he doesn’t need to feel it. 

“What’s wrong?” The woman asks, so scared, her tone voicing the fear Toji is feeling. 

A cold hand cradles his cheek, shocking Toji, forcing him to open his eyes. Her usually soft thumb is dry, riddled with tiny cuts, as it caresses his skin.

“Don’t cry.” The woman sounds distressed now, the heart monitor showcasing her heart palpitation. 

Toji doesn’t know when he started crying but it is at that moment that he cries harder, his legs giving out, forcing him on his knees as he desperately holds onto his lover’s hand, “I thought I lost you.” His fear is hidden by his lover’s palm, as if ashamed to show the world his bleeding heart.

“Oh, angel,” the woman breathes, “I’m right here. I’ll never leave you.” Though her words are quiet, small, the warmth burns bright, like the early morning sun Toji sees every day at the construction site.

Toji doesn’t stop crying but his heart does feel lighter at the promise. 

Satoru

Opening his eyes, Gojo Satoru is greeted by the concerned stare of his lover.

“Were you crying?”

Satoru blinks slowly, processing her question. A hand tentatively reaches out to him, brushing a stray tear. Satoru’s blue color is the teardrop on his fingertip. 

In a blur, his lap is occupied by a small frame. His lover’s arms wrap around him tightly like a warm blanket protecting him from whatever nightmare that has been haunting him the past several nights. 

Gojo Satoru doesn’t usually dream when he sleeps, let alone have any nightmares. But every year, every summer, for the entire season, Satoru’s concerningly short hours of sleep are haunted by the ghosts of his past, making his sleep even shorter. Yet, he never lets them affect him. 

Until today.

“I’m fine.” Satoru mutters but his body betrays him as he presses his lover closer, burying his nose into her hair. Coconut and vanilla replacing the stench of his fears as Satoru inhales the intoxicating aroma. 

“You sure, baby?” Comes the woman’s muffled question. She tries to push herself off of his chest but Satoru has her trapped. Eventually, she gives up.

They don’t know how long they remained sitting in that expensive leather chair Satoru insisted on getting despite having any free time. Though the room is silent, Satoru’s lover’s reassurances are loud. They remind Satoru that he is not alone, everyone, including herself, is here for him. That whatever has happened in the past is not his fault.

Though the words don’t breach through his thick skull, Satoru appreciates the effort nonetheless. 

Kento:

Spring, the season of love and pretty flowers.

When the cold retreats into the void and warmth slowly starts spreading its way across the air.

The trees gaining their leaves, the floors showing off their pretty petals. 

Spring, the season that symbolizes rebirth but, to Nanami Kento, reminds him of death.

Which is why he finds it incredibly ironic for the living to gift the dead flowers. Regardless of the language they spoke, the message they tried to convey, the dead cannot hear the living and Nanami Kento hates this tradition. 

A soft hand sliding into his larger one does not startle Kento. The gentle squeeze to his hand doesn’t blow away the dark cloud hanging over Kento’s head. His world is painted gray despite the colorful palette next to him.

“Ten years…”

Her voice is distant and near, whispered yet screamed. It’s all that it takes to have Kento choking on a sob. 

Kento’s head is heavy on her shoulder but she continues to support him. Kento’s gasps between cries is a haunting melody that she cannot bear to listen to yet she continues being the rock Nanami Kento leans on. 

Haibara Yuu’s gravestone is decorated with Kento’s tears and flowers from his parents. It’s a pretty sight but to her, it is disgusting. Oh, if she can only remove it and hide it somewhere far, far away where Kento cannot find it. 

Suguru:

The banging on the wooden door is a translation of her heart beating erratically. They speak of fear and dread, leaving a bitter taste on her tongue. 

She tries the door knob again and again but the door still won’t open. 

She shouts Geto Suguru’s name repeatedly like a mantra asking for salvation but her prayer is lost in a song she doesn’t recognize sung in a foreign language.

It is only when the landlord of the apartment complex that her boyfriend is residing in that she is able to rush into his home, screaming his name as she frantically searches for him.

She finally finds Suguru in the bathroom, sitting on the cold tile floor by the bathtub. Crimson liquid is dripping down his arms, falling like tear drops on the same shirt she has seen him in a week ago. His often shiny hair is matted and greasy. The shine in his beautiful purple eyes have diminished, they look empty.

Swallowing the thick bile that threatened to spill over, she takes cautious steps to where Suguru is staring into space. 

“Baby,” she kneels in front of him, gently prying the razor blade from his hand, “Suguru?”

The shell of a man turns to face her but his eyes are unseeing. They don’t even notice how her dainty hands are now painted with his blood. 

“Let me see.” The woman speaks in a calm and controlled voice, masking the turmoil roiling within her as she fights back tears at the sight of her lover harming himself. 

Suguru’s wrists are marred by a disturbing array of cuts, lines slicing across the milky skin. Though the wounds aren't deep, the sight of them is enough to plunge her heart into despair. 

With a steady breath, she kneels over Suguru to open the cabinet under the sink and retrieves soft hand towels. Her hands move quickly but with deliberate care as she wraps them around Suguru's wrists, staunching the flow of blood, transfixed over the white fabric instantly turning red.

“Why would you do this to yourself, Suguru?” Though her voice is steady, a faint whisper of heartache lingers beneath the surface.

When Suguru doesn’t respond, she continues, “My sweet baby boy, why?” she chokes on a sob as she pulls her lover into her warm embrace.

“I hate it.” 

Quickly but with gentleness, she pulls back to stare into Suguru’s eyes that are rapidly filling with tears, “I want it to stop.” he continues.

“What…” The woman still refuses to cry. She needs to be strong to help Suguru. “What do you want to stop?”

That one simple question has the words cascading from Suguru’s lips like a rushing waterfall, each one tumbling forth with an overwhelming force and vivid clarity.

“My thoughts…too loud…I can’t take it anymore.”

Suguru’s desperation feels like a fist is slowly closing over heart. Her heart cries for him and she can’t help but to pull him back in her arms, lovingly kissing his forehead. 

“Suguru,” she chokes on his name, but she continues, “give it to me.” She pulls away to cup his face, staring deep into his eyes. “Okay?”

It is hard to see her past the tears clouding Suguru’s eyes but her words reached his ears, his soul. 

“Your pain, your suffering, give it all to me.” Her thumbs wipe away his tears. “I can handle it.”

Suguru’s breath hitches, his heart fluttering at the fierce determination radiating from his lover. It’s bright, so bright that he looks away. 

A small nod but it is enough to give her hope.

[charliemwrites]

Chapter 1

Content: Violence, Murder, Horror Elements, Masturbation, Kidnapping, Threats, Mild Pet Play, the One (1) use of an ableist slur

It’s the middle of October when Soap convinces you to go camping.

Autumn has sunk its teeth deep into the countryside, bleeding green from the trees and leeching warmth from the days. Deep shadows and lengthening nights are cold enough to condense breaths into pillows of steam. All of the little critters are fattening up and bedding down for a frigid winter, prepared to be snowed into burrows and dens until spring pries away the ice.

Your hip already aches through the first half of your morning exercises. The ghosts of splintered shrapnel prick beneath tender scar tissue until the rust of sleep flakes away. Lying on hard, cold ground sounds like a one-way ticket to agony. You’d much rather be one of those fluffy bastards curling up to hibernate. You tell Soap this on Monday when he initially proposes the idea.

Besides, you add, trying not to chug your coffee, Soap’s in no condition to be fucking about in half-frozen woods either. Not with his finicky nerve pain.

On Wednesday, when you meet up again, he takes a different route. It’s been too long since you two last dipped into a civilian-appropriate but military-adjacent activity. Paintball, knife-throwing, base-jumping…

Your bed is starting to feel too soft and too big again. The city is loud but not the right way. The tedium of self-imposed routines is starting to grate on nerves still tuned for combat. If you don’t get out before the trap of winter snaps closed, you might go mad. You can see it in Soap’s eyes too, a manic glint behind glass blue.

But still. Camping feels too much like what you’ve just left – the shrinks probably wouldn’t approve. Not that you’d ask them.

On Friday, Soap offers a compromise. His grandfather (“Seanair”) left him an old hunting cabin out in the countryside. Nothing luxurious, but it’s got a fireplace, cots, kitchenette, bathroom. It’ll be more like holing up in a safehouse than roughing it for a mission. More importantly, it’ll be gentler on your battle-worn bodies.

That next Monday, you meet him at the café with supplies packed and an honest anticipation for a week off the grid.

*

“Yoohoo! Any murderers about?” Soap calls. “Any armed psychos? An angry raccoon, perhaps?”

You scowl, caught behind him in the doorway. “I thought you checked it out already?”

“Aye, but ye ne’er ken,” he reasons, shrugging. He shuffles in as you nudge him. “We’ve the luck o’ the devil, you an’ I.”

You snort as you start kicking off your shoes. “True enough, I s’pose.”

“Course, I like our odds against any weirdo wi’ a knife, don’ you?”

You shrug. “Maybe. Not so sure about a raccoon though. Think we’d be fucked.”

“Och, tha’s right. I remember your lectures about rabies.”

“Good.”

You snicker at his grimace, likely feeling the phantom sting of vaccines.

The cabin is cute, honestly. There are only three rooms – the living room/kitchenette, the bedroom, and the bathroom. The bathroom is small enough that you could stretch your arms across the width of it and touch both walls, but it’s got a working shower so you’ve no complaints. The bedroom has a dresser and a nightstand, plenty for you and Soap.

While you set to work putting the groceries away, Soap putters about opening windows and making up the beds. The two of you don’t immediately have much to talk about, considering how often you see each other and the long drive out. It’s alright, though, you’ve long grown comfortable in stretches of silence together.

Once settled in, you suggest a walk to explore the area. Part of it is genuine interest in appreciating nature before the sun sets early. But there’s also a large, paranoid part of you (sounding like your old captain) that demands you get your bearings. Just in case.

There’s a loch about a mile from the cabin, a beautiful sheet of dark glass big enough for decent fishing. You’re able to see the row of holiday homes on the other side but wouldn’t be able to see any people on their docks out there. You and Soap follow a deer trail for a way, exchanging stories of your respective childhoods.

No surprise that John MacTavish was a wild child with a rebellious streak that got him in trouble more often than not. He gets you laughing bright and easy before long, and for once it doesn’t feel like playacting as a Normal Functioning Person.

When the sun starts to skim the evergreens, you return to the cabin. You start up a pot of cheesy mac while Soap gets the fire going, pyromaniac that he is. Once it’s burning nicely, he starts closing up the windows. Not too soon either – the temperature is starting to dip and twinging at your hip, unhappy from sitting in the car so long.

The two of you hum over empty carbs and excess dairy by the fire, a glass of scotch for each of you. When you’ve had your fill, he washes the dishes, you pour another round, and the two of you settle together on the old sofa.

“Almost been a year,” Soap says after a while.

You sigh through your nose, stare into the dwindling pool of amber in your hand. “Three more weeks.”

“You miss it too.”

Against your will, your eyes slide sideways, to the hand he’s clenching and unclenching on his thigh. There’s a wicked line of scar tissue beneath the sleeve of his shirt where the surgeons salvaged what they could. Mostly successful too, apart from the damaged radial nerve that ruined his career.

“So much, Soap, fuck.”

You didn’t mean to say that. You’re supposed to be the healthy one here, encouraging this necessary and healthful change to your lives.

As if reading your mind, Soap hums, bumps his elbow into your ribs. “No shame in it.”

You shake your head. “I don’t even know what I miss.”

“Feeling useful, I reckon. Feeling… necessary,” he muses, subdued.

It’s insightful but too accurate. Too selfish. You rub your thumb over the lip of your glass.

“I hate that I can’t keep an eye on Price and Gaz,” you say. “Feels like I’m always waiting to hear the worst, ya know?”

“Yeah,” he whispers roughly. “I ken.”

*

The two of you end up falling asleep on the couch. Soap, sitting up with his sketchbook, and you folded into the corner against the arm, book pages fluttering between lax fingers. At some point, the cramped position aches enough to wake you. Your eyes flutter open, low fire throwing long, deep shadows across the wooden wall.

Something is watching from the window.

You jolt up, hand reaching for the gun you no longer carry on your thigh. The movement jostles Soap awake as well. It involuntarily draws your eye, just a fraction of a second. But the haunting shadow is gone by the time you turn back.

That’s not enough for you. You roll to your feet, hiss as your knee threatens to give. But you manage to get your balance and snatch your combat knife from your boot as you storm towards the door.

“Kit? Kit! The fuck is going on?!” Soap calls.

“Saw something!” you reply.

There’s a flashlight hanging by a hook next to the door. You grab it as you burst out into the chilly air, tensed for a fight. A quick sweep of the front yard and immediate tree line reveals nothing. Steps soft and careful, you approach the side of the house, expertly gripping your knife.

“On your six,” Soap breathes behind you.

“Copy.”

You round the corner, eyes scanning the trees, the brush. There’s no movement, no suspiciously rustling branches. You tilt your head, listening for anything past the normal sounds of the night. But there isn’t even an unusual silence in the dark world around you.

“Just a dream, then,” you sigh.

It wouldn’t be the first time. Unusual, though. Your nightmare-induced hallucinations usually conjure guns in your face or teammates bleeding out on the floor. Not strange figures at the windows. Still, you can hear the explanation of your shrink trying to soothe you. Middle of the night after drinking, in a new and atmospheric environment. Plus, there’s been all that fuss on the news about a serial killer; nowhere near you and Soap, mind, but still. Subconscious or some shite.

“Let’s do a sweep anyway,” Soap says.

Your chest warms. “Alright.”

Naturally, there’s nothing. Soap only gives you a one-armed hug as you return to the cabin. One final check of the interior – since you did leave the door open when you rushed out – and then the two of you turn in for bed.

*

The next day starts lazy and slow. A strange reprieve from your body’s military-trained urge to wake early. It’s nice, though, to snuggle beneath the covers with Soap’s soft snores only a few meters away. You play pre-downloaded games on your phone while you wait for him to wake, enjoying the lie in.

Breakfast is enjoyed on the little porch out front; you bundled up in a woolen throw while you sip coffee. It’s shaping up to be an unusually sunny day, and you agree to a longer hike around the loch before lunch. When you return, you settle on the porch again to read while Soap chops wood.

Which, well.

You don’t mind a bit of entertainment between pages… or paragraphs… or…

Soap hasn’t neglected his physique at all since the discharge. All corded muscles, broad shoulders, and tapered waist. Watching the bunch and release of his arms has always been a guilty pleasure of yours, and so blessedly indulged during training sessions in the 141.

You try not to sigh and drool over it (him) like a repressed Victorian.

“Ach, fer fucks…”

You snap to attention, book set aside. “Is your arm acting up?”

He’s set the hatchet down, grabbing at his elbow with a pinched expression.

“Aye,” he grumbles.

You trot to his side, pleased that he still instantly submits to your care. He lets you manipulate his arm, prod along the nerve pathways and bunched muscles that are spasming in pain. His groan has no business being that low or rough or close to your ear. But you ignore it like you always have, focus on getting him right. Barely even register when he sets his jaw on top of your head.

A few minutes pass in silence while you try to massage away the worst of the flare up. When he finally sighs, slumping into you a little, you gently squeeze his forearm.

“Bampot,” you huff.

“Aye, I ken,” he mumbles.  “’S why I have you.”

You click your tongue. “Someone’s gotta keep you alive. Next time let me help.”

“Not on yer life.”

You pinch his side, grinning wickedly when he yelps and jerks away. Little shit. Your favorite little shit, damn him.

He allows you to help carry the firewood to the rack next to the tiny shed. It’s round back of the cabin, covered by an old blue tarp. Soap is in the lead and sees it first.

“Oh, well isn’t that pure dead brilliant,” he huffs.

“Hm?”

You peak around him and blink at the rust-colored splatters decorating the side of the shed. There’s a dark patch in the scraggly grass as well and drag marks into the trees. Clearly, some prey fell victim to the circle of life here. Recently, too, from the color of the blood.

“What do you think it was?” you ask. “There aren’t wolves here.”

“Nah, but coulda been a fox.”

You scrunch up your nose. “This close to us? Usually foxes steer clear of humans.”

“Feral dog, then, maybe.”

Maybe.

It’s a lot of blood for anything a dog or fox would risk taking down, though. Even a feral one.

“C’mon, let’s get inside. Need a coupla pills ‘fore mah arm starts taking the piss again.”

You help him stack the firewood and then follow him back to the cabin. And if you linger on the blood, your random dream, and the lingering sensation of eyes on you… well, nothing new for you.

*

It pours all of the next day. Soap says it’s good timing, that he won’t have to wash the shed himself. Both of your injuries are acting up, though, and you spend the day trying to find different positions to appease the ache in your hip. At one point, he has to help you to the shower, your leg feeling too weak to support your weight. It’s frustrating, but you’ve had nearly a year to learn to cope.

Soap lifts your spirits, though, like always. Convinces you to play Scrabble and keeps insisting that he’s just using Scottish words. It ends the way it usually does – you and him wrestling like children, trying to trap the other to determine the winner. You only just manage to get a hold of him, though he puts up a good fight. He eventually admits that “daylich” isn’t actually a word and he didn’t deserve the triple word score.

Then he breaks out a pack of biscuits as a peace offering and all is forgiven. The two of you nibble on those while watching a movie on your laptop and then shuffle off to bed.

Long after Soap has fallen asleep, you’re awake. The memory of his body against yours always leaves you feeling branded. Like the heat of him burns right through your clothes. It’s been… probably too long since you last got off. Way too long since someone else got you off. And yeah, you had a couple of shameful secret wanks around teammates back in the day, but things are different now. You’re not high on adrenaline in the military anymore. No excuse for shoving a hand down your pants.

Still, your thoughts spiral as you finally start to doze. Rough hands on your hips, your thighs, your throat. Gentle but teasing at the true strength they possess. A hot tongue along your cheek, treating you like something to savor… or to devour. A shadow looming over you, dwarfing you. Phantom sensations that you crave as much as you shy away, wanting it but knowing you shouldn’t.

The throbbing between your thighs rouses you. Sleep-addled, you give in. You’d be embarrassed of how wet you are if anyone else were to know. And of the soft, needy noise you make when your brush your fingertips between your thighs. But Soap is still snoring steadily, and the pounding of the ongoing rain makes you brave.

You stroke slowly and gently over the bundle of nerves at first, mimicking those dreamt touches. It’s almost as maddening even when it’s your own hand. Sleep is half-dragging at you, though, and you speed up, drawing tight little circles at the top, teasing lower to stoke the heat burning in your gut. Your breathing picks up, little breaths past an open mouth.

It’s really not going to take much. Not with how long it’s been, how much you want it, vague thoughts of your darkest fantasies flickering through your hazy mind. You tilt your hips down, get the pressure of your heel against your empty, aching hole. You rock a couple times, high-pitched noises caught at the top of your throat.

You come imagining a big hand around your neck choking off those sounds. Have to slap your free hand over your mouth as you shake and writhe through it. Drag your nails up your bare thigh just to balance out the unbearable pleasure. And then you go limp against the pillows, panting and shuddering through aftershocks.

When you extract your hand from beneath the blankets, you blink at the wetness coating your fingertips for a moment. If someone asked, the excuse you’d give is not touching anything with your wet hand. But truthfully, you’re just indulging in impulsive hedonism as you suck your own fingers.

“Fuck,” you whisper to the shadows.

Then you climb out of bed for a proper cleanup, ready to finally fall asleep and definitely not think about how much quicker you came knowing that Soap was right there the entire time.

*

It’s raining on and off the next day. You and Soap take a little walk during one of the dry patches, though it’s cut short with how sore your hip still is. Soap collects more firewood from the shed, keeps the flames well fed while you putter about. Nap for an hour, start rereading one of your favorite books, watch a scary movie with him, make American flapjacks just for the sake of it.

Even though you should be feeling stir crazy, Soap has always made for good company. The day passes pleasantly into an early night, the sun standing little chance against the thick cloud cover.

You and Soap are settling in with scotch when frantic knocking interrupts the peaceful quiet.

“Help!” a ragged voice screams. “Someone please help me!”

You hardly exchange glances before the two of you are up. Soap goes for the door, gun in hand. You scramble for the ever-present medical kit that earned your call-sign, left out on the counter.

Soap yanks the door open; a man tumbles in. Middle aged, lanky build, bleeding from a long cut on his forehead. His ankle is twisted at a damning angle. You scan him for obvious weapons, but his t-shirt and muddy boxers reveal nothing but bruising and scraped skin. His hands are empty as they scrabble at the floor, trying to drag himself inside. Soap slams the door closed and locks it.

“Please!” the man cries again. “You have to help me!”

You drop to your knees beside him, already popping your kit open.

“We’re going to help you, sir,” you say evenly, “but you need to calm down.”

“You don’t understand,” the man gasps as you help him sit up. “H-He… he’s out there.”

“Who?” Soap asks, grip shifting on the gun.

“S-some psycho,” the man answers. You work easily past his shaking, getting a look at his swelling ankle. Definitely broken… with force. “In a mask.”

You blink, shoot Soap a look. Have the two of you fallen into some weird horror movie by accident?

“What did he do?” Soap asks.

“H-he attacked us with a big bloody knife.”

“Who’s ‘us’?” you ask. “Who else was with you?”

“The lads – my friends – my brother. Oh, god…” He pales further. You brace him, eyeing the packaged shock blanket peeking from your kit. “Danny is dead. There was so much blood.”

“How many?” Soap asks, voice hard. “How many of you are still alive?”

“I-I don’t know. I barely got-got away. Oh, god—”

He dissolves into tears and whimpers. You rip open the blanket and drape it around the man, then scoot down to his ruined ankle. Over his head, you frown at Soap. Something is missing here. This man was with at least three other people, but one man attacked them? There’s something to be said for shock and surprise and fear, but still…

“Soap?”

“Gonnae see if I can find survivors,” he says. “I’ll send ‘em your way if I find any. You stay here, take care of this ‘un.”

“That’s stupid,” you argue. “You can’t go by yourself!”

“No different than recon, aye? Not gonnae engage, but we cannae leave anyone bleedin’ out there.”

Your mouth twists. No, no you can’t leave civilians potentially wounded with a killer out for blood. Discharged or not (war criminals or not… and you both are, technically) you’re both too dutybound for that.

“RV here in ten and I’ll have the car ready for exfil.”

“Affirmative.”

He crosses to you, knocks your foreheads together – a pre-mission gesture you never thought you’d receive again. You close your eyes for a second, squeeze the back of his neck. Then send him off with a firm nod.

You lock the door after him, then return to the man.

“Are you two military or something?” he asks.

“We were,” you answer, “medical discharge.”

“Oh brilliant! You’re telling me that my only hope is a couple cripples?!”

You level him a flat, unimpressed look. “I’m a medic with more kills than you’ve got chest hairs, understand? Shut up and brace. I need to wrap your ankle.”

He whimpers and whines and curses while you set and compress it. Nothing you haven’t heard before, vehement as it may be. Ungrateful, though, you think vaguely. Save a guy’s life and he’s calling you all sorts of derogatory names while you try to salvage his ability to walk.

“You done?” you ask, interrupting his latest stream of expletives. “I need to hear if someone is coming.”

That only shuts him up for a moment before he’s piping up again. “Do you have a weapon?”

You tug your pant leg up to show the knife strapped to your calf.

“Do you even know how to use that?!”

“Look, I know this is a lot for you, so maybe you should stop talking for a while.”

His face twists, brain turning to anger as he tries to cope with his own fear and new trauma. You don’t pay him any heed, wiping off his head and closing the still-weeping cut with butterflies. All you can hear over his wheezing is the rain outside. No footsteps or screams or, most importantly, gunshots.

With the worst two of the man’s wounds seen to, you take stock. You’re not dressed for any sort of confrontation in lounge pants and socks.

“Here. Start treating your legs and arms,” you say, pressing gauze and wound wash into the man’s hands.

“Where are you going?!” he protests.

“Need to prep to leave,” you explain. “Shout if you hear anything.”

He doesn’t look thrilled, but you’re already up and hurrying to the bedroom. You climb into a thick pair of cargos – relieved that your fashion sense hasn’t improved since the army – and a thermal shirt. Your pistol is waiting in the side pocket of your duffel, loaded and holstered. The weight of it is comforting against your thigh; you’ve missed it.

You grab the bags and carry them back to the door, check your watch. It’s only been four minutes. If Soap isn’t back in another six, you’re going out to get him yourself, injured civilian be damned. Everything you’ve gone through together; you’re not going to lose your best friend to some overdramatic wanker with a knife.

“What are you doing now?!” the man asks.

You give him another once over. He’s done a decent job prioritizing the worst scrapes and cuts, they look clean enough. Most importantly, he seems less faint than when you left. Giving him something to focus on must have helped.

“Checking the car. We’re leaving as soon as Soap gets back,” you answer.

“A-at least give me something to protect myself with!”

You try not to sigh in annoyance. What good would he even be, unable to walk and shaky on adrenaline? Still, you take pity and tug the knife from your boot, offer it to him handle first.

“Not the gun?” he complains.

“No.”

You jog out to the car, gun in one hand and duffels in the other. It’s raining again, getting harder by the moment. There’s a steady, sharp pain radiating throughout your leg, threatening to knock it out from under you. You grit your teeth as you toss the bags in the backseat and move to the ignition.

And the car doesn’t start.

“Shit.”

You don’t waste time trying it again. It should be in perfect condition; it must have been tampered with.

When you approach the house again, you hear shouting from inside. You pick up the pace, nearly skid across the wooden floor when you get there. The man is huddling up by the couch, white knuckling the knife.

“I-I heard something!”

“Where?” you demand, scanning the immediate area. Thank fuck that Soap’s seanair believed in minimalism.

“In the back.”

You frown. “The only way in is through windows back there, and those are locked.”

Right?

“I know what I heard!”

“Stay here, then.”

You click the safety off and pad the short hallway to the bedroom. Don’t bother announcing yourself, or any idiotic “who’s there”. You kick the unlatched door open and sweep through the room just like you would for a raid. The tiny lamp on the nightstand is still on, illuminating the sparse space.

You check under the first bed, then sidestep and tilt your head to check the other. Nothing.

“There isn’t—”

The window is open. The window is fucking open. How?!

You spin on your heel, just in time to see a hauntingly familiar mask bent over the gurgling body of the man. There’s no hesitation as you raise the gun and fire twice, but the killer has already rolled out of the way. Well fuck that.

You rush from the bedroom, fire another two into the couch as you round the corner. He’s a fast fucker, waiting by the wall adjacent to the hall as you exit. And he’s fucking big. Slams into your side – your bad side – like a tank. It fucks your balance, and you go down with a snarled curse, winded as all his weight lands on your much smaller frame.

On training and instinct, you slam your elbow back. There’s a crunch, a grunt of pain. But damn him, he doesn’t let up. A big hand finds yours on the gun. You yelp as he squeezes hard enough to feel the bones bend. The gun fires – bang, bang, bang. His head is right by yours, the hard edge of his mask pressing into your temple, panting in your ear.

You lash out with your other arm, though your aim is off. Instead of hitting his throat, you get his jaw instead. You plant your boot on the floor and push, trying to get out from under him. Instead, he rolls with your back against his chest. The gun clatters as he snakes a thick arm around your throat. You grab at his forearm, but you know you have no hope of matching him in strength.

You scrabble for the knife in your boot, but it’s gone.

Fuck, you gave it to—

The cabin ceiling is getting spotty.

Your fingers brush the killer’s leg, find a familiar shape tucked at the side of his boot. You snatch up the knife and drive it into his calf. He growls, but the arm on your throat blessedly disappears. You suck air, blinking past dark edges. Twist onto your front and blindly fumble for your gun.

Manage two shots right to his chest. He falls limp. You wait a beat, two. He doesn’t move again.

You click the safety on and holster the gun. And then, out of morbid curiosity, crawl closer to the body.

“Holy hell,” you breathe as you get a good look at the mask.

He’s wearing a skull over a black balaclava. Not just a prop either you realize when you tap at it. It’s real. Human. Thin cracks spiderweb along the front orbital bone, the corner of the eye socket – from where you elbowed him, you think. Beyond them, his eyes are closed and still, the skin painted black.

“Big scary fucker,” you murmur. And if you’re a bit admiring… well, it between you and a dead body. A couple dead bodies. Can’t forget about the other guy. “That was almost fun.”

“Kit!”

You jolt, barely able to hear Soap’s voice over the pounding rain, but relieved to hear it. A hiss escapes between your teeth as you get to your feet, hip protesting. You have to grab at the couch to catch your balance. Then brace yourself and walk carefully towards the door.

Your fingers are just centimeters from the doorknob when an arm wraps around your neck again. You flail, try to kick off the door, but it hardly even makes him stumble. Then there’s a sharp pinch in your arm, sibilant shushing by your ear, and the world goes dark.

*

The world comes to you in bits and pieces.

Something soft under you. A slight ache in your hip. Fabric around your bare legs. Voices? You think you recognize the rumble of Soap’s brogue, but not whoever he’s speaking to.

Soft golden light creeps past your fluttering eyelashes. Soap is sitting across the room on… a big floor cushion? You blink a couple times, adjusting your slightly blurred vision. But yep, that’s him, sitting on a gigantic pillow. And… is that his throat mic?

“Mm… John?” you call, rubbing at your eyes.

“Aye, Kit. Nice ‘n slow now. We’re alright.”

You hum and push yourself up, limbs heavy. Once you’re sitting, Soap speaks again. Gentle and calm.

“You remember what happened?”

You pause, frown. It comes to you in a slow trickle. The trip, the forest, the cabin… and then it floods back. The injured man at the door, the killer, the struggle. The ambush as you were going to meet Soap at the door.

“Fuck,” you whisper.

“Aye.”

You give him another once over. That’s not a throat mic; it’s a collar. A thick black leather thing, complete with a silver chain that trails off somewhere behind him. You stare for a second, bewildered.

“Don’t be jealous. You match.”

Your head whips around to the hulking figure in a doorway to your right. He’s just as imposing as you remember, tall and fucking built, dressed in all black and mask still on. The soft lighting casts spooky shadows across the eye sockets.

The words process a moment later and your hand darts up to your neck. Sure enough, there’s a wide leather band around your neck. You’ll give it this, though – you didn’t even notice it until he said something. Not too tight, comfortable even. Clearly made with long-term wear against skin in mind. There’s a chain attached to yours too and you follow it to an anchor in the wall.

“If it’s any consolation, ye look right bonnie,” Soap calls.

You snort. “’Course I do.”

The killer shrugs off the wall. You watch as he saunters closer in long, heavy strides. No point in scrambling away or trying to run – you’d have a limited radius of escape if he didn’t grab you first. Besides, you’re not about to cower to some spooky bastard with a couple dirty tricks up his sleeve.

He crouches down well within your reach, clearly not concerned about you lashing out. You tilt your head in defiance, meeting his eyes for a moment before he flicks his gaze down. He reaches out, gloved fingers catching your chin. Not hard, but firm enough that there’s no arguing when he tilts your chin up.

Fabric brushes the sensitive skin of your neck, above and below the collar.

“Pretty kitty,” he purrs. “Glad I didn’t bruise this lovely neck.”

Two fingers press against one side a little harder, edging beneath the leather. You recognize the gesture as you swallow. He’s checking your pulse. You’re proud that it’s still steady and unhurried.

“Not scared?” He doesn’t say it like it’s a question.

You arch your eyebrows. “Should I be?”

His eyes flicker. “Not if you behave.”

You run your tongue over your teeth, resisting a sneer. Past his shoulder, Soap is watching with a smirk. Unharmed, you note again. He’s fine. You’re fine, despite slight soreness from the brief struggle. If there was something to be concerned about (apart from the obvious) he would have let you know right off the bat. So, you take a calculated risk.

“Yeah? And what do you consider behaving?” you ask.

The corners of the killer’s eyes crinkle. You knew enough masked men back in the military to recognize a hidden smile. He’s amused by your snarky question. Another good sign.

“Good pets obey their masters.”

You blink, breath leaving you in a soft rush. It… makes sense. Just not the answer you expected. Stupid, maybe, given the collars, leashes, and dog beds. You’ll have to blame the lingering drugs.

“There are so many shelters, you’ve got to be kidding me,” you blurt, bewildered.

The man snorts, hooks a finger under your collar and gives an almost playful tug. An entirely instinctive part of you catches its breath. You’re glad he’s not measuring your pulse anymore.

“Those can’t talk back,” he answers simply, shrugging.

Soap barks a laugh. “Well, you’ll get what you asked for with us then.”

You grin crookedly, showing all your teeth. “And then some,” you agree, reaching up to tug the hand from your collar.

He jerks harder this time, unbalancing you towards him. You catch yourself on both hands, feel a blaze of heat across your nose and glare up at him through your lashes.

“No touching, kitten,” he says. “You’ll have to earn that.”

You try not to roll your eyes, not quite willing to push your luck too far yet. But it’s a near thing.

“Sure, let me get right on that,” you scoff dryly anyway.

He clicks his tongue, but no further retribution comes save for one last warning tug. Then he’s standing, towering over you again.

“I need a shower. You two settle in.”

And he just walks off. Like he didn’t just take two former SAS operatives as human pets. You wait until you hear distant water before turning to Soap.

“What happened?”

“Ambushed me,” he grumbles, sitting back against the wall. “Snuck up as I was trying to get you untied. Bastard is trained.”

Soap’s pouting, even though there’s an entire police case of victims who weren’t as lucky as him.

“Trained like us, you mean?”

“Aye.” Soap pauses, looking at the floor pensively, brows furrowing. “Means he had every reason and way to hurt us.”

You nod. “He had me in a hold and his knife hand free. Could have done anything with it. Let me stab him instead.”

Soap hums. “And, well, there’s a basement. Could have brought us there too, I reckon.”

He glances at the doorway the killer was lingering in when you woke. You get what he’s saying – or not saying, as it were. The two of you are hale and whole only because the killer decided to make it so. Because, as all evidence seems to suggest, he wants pets.

“You figure he means it? About… us?” you wonder.

Soap shrugs. “He’s no reason ta lie.”

That’s what you’re worried about.

“News says he’s a sadist,” you point out. “His idea of a pet might be...”

“Aye, but then why do all this?” He gestures to the big soft beds, which you know must have been a bit expensive for their size and comfortability, and the well-made leather collars. You’ve even got a blanket at your feet for the cool air. “Nae, I think even sadists miss a bit ‘o companionship now n’ then.”

You hum. Makes sense, in the part of you that’s seen the worst humanity has to offer and risen up to greet it. You’ve seen plenty of shit, plenty of people, and the things they’re capable of. But even “monsters” go home to family, to hobbies, to entirely wholesome things that they enjoy just because.

That’s the hard part about war. Seeing the most depraved and evil examples of humanity and reconciling that they have qualities one can recognize in themselves.

“The plan, then?”

“Say we go along with it for now,” Soap says, shrugging. “Not like we could get free as we are anyway.”

You hum in agreement. The chain is clipped to the wall anchor by a thick padlock, and feeling at the collar earlier, you know it’s the same on the other side. The collar itself is too high-quality to come apart without something sharp. So you’re stuck. Even if you did will a lockpick into existence, you’ve no intel on the rest of the house or even where you’d go from the house.

“But listen, Kit, I’m no’ gonnae let anything happen to you. If this gets violent, I’ll tear the walls apart with my hands if I hafta.”

You smile, wish suddenly and fiercely that you could hug him. He looks like he could use it; god knows you could.

“I know, John,” you soothe. “I will too.”

He nods, jaw twitching, then sighs and sits back again. The two of you sit in silence for a few moments, digesting the plan. You take an actual look at the room you’re in – a den, it seems like. A fireplace in one corner, a decent sized couch to your left. Beyond it, you can see a clean and modern kitchen. There’s a coffee table, end tables, lamps, a goddamn rug. It’s downright cozy; like something out of a magazine.

“Nice voice, though, aye?” Soap chirps suddenly, snapping your gaze back to him.

“Soap.”

“Och, don’t ‘Soap’ me,” he grumbles. “You look me in the eye and tell me tha’s no’ a voice made fer sex.”

And damn him, you can’t.

“Can’t say I was thinking about his voice when he was waving a big knife at me.”

“He can wave his big knife at—”

“I’m gonna kill you myself—” You snarl, balling up your blanket and chucking at his stupid, wiggling eyebrows.

“Oi, you two,” aforementioned sexy voice chastises from the hallway.

You wrinkle your nose as Soap grins at you, a shadow in the corner of your vision as the killer comes into the room again. He brings a cloud of clean water and bergamot. He smells good.

“Oh, you’ve got to be kidding me,” you hiss, dismayed.

“Problem?” the killer asks.

He’s got the mask on again (or still? You hope he doesn’t shower with it on, that’s unsanitary) but you can hear him arching an eyebrow. Stubbornly, you turn away to glare at Soap some more. It’s obvious he realizes what you’re referring to from the way he smothers a snicker, though.

Shithead.

You don’t get away with it for long before a hand is pulling your jaw up. Rough only because you resist for the briefest fraction. Once he’s got your face where he wants it, though, your captor’s grip isn’t painfully tight.

“When I ask you a question, I expect an answer, kitten. Understood?”

Your hand twitches to grab at the hold but remember what he said about touching without permission. Stubborn as you may be, you’re not actively trying to incite violence against you or Soap. The plan is to go along with… whatever this is. So you swallow a bit of your pride.

“Understood.”

He hums like that’s not quite the answer he wanted, but it’s acceptable for now.

“Now, is there a problem?” he asks again.

“Apart from the kidnapping?” you snip. “Everything is right as rain.”

He snorts, smooths his thumb over your chin, slow and dangerous. You go still, refuse to falter but careful not to provoke further.

“You’re going to be trouble, aren’t you?” he muses almost to himself.

“Must have expected it,” you reason honestly, “know you watched us for a few days.”

He tilts his head, eyes eerily unblinking within the unholy shadows of the skull. “Longer’n that, pretty thing.”

You open your mouth but don’t know what to say. Longer than the days at the cabin? How long? And how did you and Soap not notice?

Your spiraling thoughts are interrupted by fabric gliding over your bottom lip. His thumb threatening to slip past. You snap your jaw closed, nearly catch the tip of his finger in your teeth. He chuckles and finally releases you, making for the nearby couch.

He settles in with sigh and flicks on the TV. There on the screen is a flashing headline:

Another Ghost Victim Found.

Next

Masterlist

[throneofsapphics]

I figured I should ask before requesting but here goes nothing, again, ‼️TW‼️;

Can I request more angst with Az? Like uhmm.... Maybe the reader has extreme trust issues and she finally has opened up to Az but now that Elaine is here, she finds Ax drifting (not much but they don't do their normal dinners together as much as they used to, they don't bathe together as much, etc, small things she needs to that stability) and it starts to eat away at her but she doesn't want to tell Az about her feelings because she feels like a burden but then maybe Mor or someone convinces her to talk to him but he's had a long day so he snaps at her and leaves and she ends up... Offing herself..... Uhm.. and then Az's finding her body the next morning and his reaction and everyone else's too...... 👁️👁️

It only takes three 

Azriel x Reader

Summary: “There were three words you came to say, three little syllables, and it only took three to shatter you.”

Warnings: suicide, pills & alcohol, suicidal ideation, angst

A/N: I appreciate you asking, thank you for the request! & what’s a little more trauma for the inner circle? know your triggers y'all, this is heavy

Azriel dedicated himself to gaining your trust. The one person who managed to knock those walls down, and it took decades before you’d opened up to him. Mor was a close second. Maybe it was a cliche, but he understood you, more than anyone else. He’d listened through everything, listened as you broke, and helped you put the pieces back together. 

All these years, you’d been waiting and hoping he’d see it, hoping he’d feel the same bond you did. You were somewhere between friends and lovers, nothing ever clear or defined. But, you knew he was the one person you could rely on. 

Resentment was ugly, and so was jealousy, but you couldn’t help those emotions as you watched his infatuation with the middle Archeron sister grow. It was nothing against her, she truly was a lovely person, and you could see why Azriel took an interest in her. The nasty little voice told you he’d grown tired of you, that you were too much, that he’d found someone less burdensome - as you’d always feared. 

At first, you wrote it off as him being busy. That’s what he said - and he’d never lied to you. After the war with Hybern, things hadn’t quite settled and his workload was high. You tried to be understanding, to be respectful of the boundaries he’d subtly set. But you craved your old routine. Wednesday morning breakfasts, him slipping into your bed when he couldn’t sleep, bringing him tea when you knew he was working a late night. He used to always leave his door cracked, but recently it had been locked. Any knocks went unanswered, even though you could hear him inside. Instead, you’d leave the cup outside of his door, only to find it there in the mornings - untouched. 

It really began to fall apart, to you, when you went to visit Feyre at the River House. Azriel said he had some kind of work mission, that he’d be out for the day, and as Feyre led you around, he was in the gardens, with Elain. You didn’t let him see you, instead you stuck out the rest of the tour with a smile, saving your tears for home. 

It was a different type of torture, watching the one person destined for you fall in love with someone else. You tortured yourself too, holding on to hope he’d realize and he’d come back to you. 

Finally, you built the courage to tell Mor. You needed a sounding board, someone to give some advice, someone outside of your head. 

“Tell him,” Mor encouraged you, “he’ll understand.”

“He’s been pulling away, I don’t want him to think I’m trying to … I don't know, trap him.” 

“Az,” she sighed, “he’s wanted to find his mate for … well maybe even for centuries. For a shadowsinger, he’s too stubborn to see what’s right in front of him,” her mouth curved up at one corner. “If you don’t tell him, he might never know. I imagine you’re tired of waiting.” 

“You have no idea,” you laughed, but stood. Brave. Three words; I’m your mate, and at least the weight would be off your chest. Whatever happened next, whatever his reaction was, you could figure that out as it came. Despite the growing distance, he was still the person you trusted above all, and you knew he wouldn’t hurt you. 

For once, his door was open. This felt like a good sign. 

“Az,” you called, peeking your head inside the room. “Can I talk to you about something?” 

“Tomorrow,” a clipped one word answer, not even bothering to look up from his desk. 

“It really is important.” 

“It can wait.” there was such a finality in his tone. Almost like he thought nothing regarding you could be important. But you wanted to give it one more shot. 

“Please-” 

“I don’t care, whatever it is, I. Don’t. Care.” 

Well, he’d finally looked up at you, like you were some obnoxious fly he was trying to get rid of. Swallowing your tears, you nodded and turned away. Part of you knew you couldn’t promise tomorrow. 

There were three words you came to say, three little syllables, and it only took three to shatter you. To shatter the fragile self he’d helped you build. 

-

Maybe it was intentional. You knew exactly what this cocktail could do to you, and you wanted that sweet release to drag you under. When every breath felt like a chore, every word like an ache tearing out of you, it felt like the only option. 

One hand clutched the bottle of pills, the other the bottle of wine. 

Pills from a friend, who warned you taking too many could kill you. That warning was a siren call now. 

You were already drunk when you poured the entire bottle into your hands, throwing them back without a second thought, wine washing them down. It would take you into sweet, sweet oblivion, and only the mother knew whether you’d wake up on this earth or not. 

Maybe your soul could become one of those pretty little spirits, migrating on starfall. Or maybe you’d end up in another universe, like the ones you studied in the library. You giggled to yourself. Anywhere else felt like a better option now. 

You were definitely hallucinating, because three little butterflies floated in front of you, reaching out you felt them touch your fingers. Was it welcoming? Or an omen? The butterflies faded, bursting into dust, and the tears began. A few minutes later, you knew nothing.

-

“Where’s y/n?” Mor asked Azriel as he stalked into the room. He was still in a piss-poor mood, and this was the last thing he wanted to do this morning. Going to a court meeting. 

“Do I look like her keeper?” 

Mor seemed a bit confused by his response. “Can you get her?” 

He wanted to ask; why not you, but it felt a bit too childish. Besides, he needed to talk about last night anyway. Too late, a shadow whispered in his ear. It’s never too late, he could fix this. Taking the stairs two at a time, he headed for your bedroom. Shadows swirled around him, in front of him, searching and … storming the room. They unlocked the door before he could, gone, gone, gone, they whispered to him. Had you left in the middle of the night? He couldn’t hear you in there, but your scent was still fresh. 

And alcohol. A pit settled in his stomach. Gone. Too late. 

Azriel pushed the door open. Not in your room. A small click and his shadows opened the door to your bathing room. There were sweet and tender memories from that room. Him washing your hair, delicately working through the strands that always seemed tangled, you washing his wings. 

He didn’t think this would be one of those memories. 

Pushing the door open, he fell to his knees. 

-

Mor heard the guttural scream, one of pain and sorrow. Something she’d never heard from Az. Mor didn’t bother taking the stairs, and winnowed to your door. Directly across from her, another door was swung open, offering her a clear view. Azriel on his knees in front of … your body. Lips blue, skin white. His hands pressed down on your chest, up and down, up and down. 

“You’re late,” Rhys said, echoing through her mind. She only cast the image to him. Within a minute, more voices and footsteps sounded inside the house. Mor had already crossed the room, kneeling next to Azriel, her magic searching desperately for a sign of life. 

Minutes later, Madja was there, crowding in behind her. Cassian pulled a thrashing Azriel away from your body. 

Mor could only stand by the door, mouth parted and body still in shock. 

An empty pill bottle, one blue pill laying next to your hand, as if it had fallen out. An empty bottle of wine on the floor, dregs of red liquid still gathering in the bottle. 

Today was supposed to be good. Last night, you’d told Azriel you were his mate. She was prepared for the two of you to miss today entirely. 

Something had gone terribly wrong. Whirling around, she took one step closer to the shadowsinger, each movement laced with fury, entire body trembling. 

“Did you reject her?” Mor had skipped the earthly and deadly quiet, and screamed at Az, power rumbling through the room. 

“What do you mean reject?” 

“She is - was - your mate.” 

-

Azriel felt like his world stopped. Each word sliced into his chest. Mate. 

That’s what you wanted to tell him, and he told you, unequivocally, that he didn’t care. He was the person you trusted above all others, at one point. The one who spent decades breaking down those walls, slowly and carefully gaining your trust. Decades working towards that goal, and a year to throw it away. 

This was his fault. 

He could imagine the hopeful look on your face as you peeked into his door. If he’d seen that … if he’d just looked. 

“Az, can I talk to you about something?” Fuck, he’d forgotten to lock his door. Papers obscured his entire vision. Today had been too damn much, and he didn’t want to talk to anyone. It wasn’t specifically you.

“Tomorrow,”

“It really is important.” Desperation, but he knew there wasn’t much going on in your life. A shadow swirled angrily at the callous thoughts. 

“It can wait.” 

“Please-” 

He looked at you, your face had fallen. The beginnings of tears gathering in the corners of your eyes. Listen, listen, listen, his shadows were nearly begging. Tomorrow, he told them. 

“I don’t care, whatever it is, I. Don’t. Care.” 

You finally left. A small tinge of guilt, but he’d make it up to you tomorrow, or maybe the next day - that would be Wednesday, and he’d get up early to bring you breakfast, the old tradition you’d fallen out of habit with. Something easily revived. 

Tomorrow, however, would be chock full of meetings. Meetings you’d be at too, and he’d make the time to hear you out, to apologize. 

Now, a shadow curled next to his ear, pleading. He ignored it. They’d always favored you, and now he’d even say they were fussing. You were strong enough. 

Azriel had ignored everything. Ignored each warning sign, ignored the desperate pleas of his shadows and the tears on your face. You cried, but it was never often. 

“It’s my fault,” he said - more to himself. “My fault.” 

He felt himself crumble, felt everything he used to keep himself in check slip away, his magic threatening to burst from him, to turn this house to rubble. He didn’t fight as Rhys grabbed him, as he winnowed him out to somewhere far out in the mountains. His brother released him as soon as they landed, but didn’t leave, he didn’t abandon him. Rhys should’ve, should’ve left him out here to bury himself. That’s what he deserved. 

The ground shook, parts of the mountains surrounding him faded into dust, snow flooded down the sides, birds squawked as they fled. He spent hours, hours and hours up there - until his siphons dulled, until he felt his magic start to protest, until Rhys had to knock him unconscious before he let it tear him apart.

[mouwrites]

hiiii i'm still obsessed with my matchup :)) could i request a head canon about the ninja + pixal cuddling their s/o / the reader pretty pls?

Yes ofc!! Good to see you again, friend! :D

Ninjago - Cuddling With The Ninjas (+ Pixal)

Jay

He’s a total cuddle bug

Whether you’re watching a movie or drifting off to sleep, he loves having you close

He actually sort of needs it too; it helps him relax, and lord knows this man needs to relax

It’s both the comfort of having you close and the sensation of physical contact that calms him down

He’ll usually be the one to come to you

If you’re just chilling, he likes to lean against you, his head on your chest or stomach while his arms wrap around your waist

He will melt if you play with his hair

He even requests you to do so sometimes

Sometimes he’ll vent while you cuddle, taking full advantage of the opportunity to unwind by blowing off some steam

He won’t get too riled up though

If you’re going to sleep, he prefers to be the little spoon

Or he’ll cling to your side like a koala, burying his face in your clothes

When that happens you’re trapped until morning, sorry

Maybe even a little longer, depending on how motivated he is to get up

You might hear him muttering things into your side

If you listen closely, you’ll hear your name and “I love you” / “you’re beautiful” / “I’m so lucky” / etc

Cole

He’s another major cuddler

It’s mostly when you’re relaxing that he likes to cuddle, though

He’s not too picky when it comes to positions

It kind of depends on who initiates the cuddles

If it’s him, he’ll grab you and pull you over to him effortlessly, trapping you in his lap or against his chest

If it’s you, he’s good with whatever you find comfortable :)

He likes to fiddle with your hair or hands while you cuddle

He presses chaste kisses on your knuckles and makes little braids in your hair (even if it’s super short)

He likes having you close when relaxing; it means he gets to share the moment with you as intimately as possible

Plus he likes holding you against him

It’s a little like a stress ball

On that note, he loves having you on top of him when he sleeps

Not just your head—no, your entire body

You’re like a human anxiety blanket

It’s certainly not unpleasant for you; Cole is as soft as a mattress when he relaxes, and much warmer

He’ll wrap his muscular arms around you, warming you up even more

He lays just like that, still as a rock until morning

Kai

He does like to cuddle, but not very often

He’ll be a little awkward if you try to initiate cuddles and he’s not feeling it, but he’ll indulge you anyway

He’ll just drape and arm around you and lean his head on yours

But if he actually wants cuddles, it’s usually late at night, in the privacy of your own room

He generally doesn’t mind PDA, but he reserves cuddles for private moments

It’s his chance to show you his softer side, not worrying about being tough or responsible or anything

Your bodies fit together like puzzle pieces as you melt into each other’s touch

He usually doesn’t go for a specific position, he just goes with whatever feels right

He prefers to just lay there, rubbing each other’s backs

He only likes his hair to be played with if it’s already been washed for the night

He’s very particular about his hair

He doesn’t have a problem playing with yours, though

And he’s very gentle about it; he is a bit of a hair expert

Eventually you’ll drift off to sleep

You’ll wake up in a completely new position, but rest assured you’ll still be tangled together

Zane

He doesn’t really feel the need to cuddle

But you introduce him to it, finding calm moments to curl up together

You have to guide his limbs the first few times, but he catches on quickly

And he finds himself enjoying these moments

After a while, it becomes a ritual for him

Whenever you’re alone, or just relaxing, he reaches over and takes your hand, looking at you pleadingly

That’s his way of asking for cuddles

You’ll smile and wrap your arms around him, allowing him to situate himself as he pleases

He usually just reclines a little and puts his hands on the small of your back or your hips

He’s pretty stiff, but he’s comfortable, trust me

And he can adjust his body temperature to whatever temperature you ask

So you guys can cuddle in the middle of the summer, no problem

If you look up you’ll see him smiling, and that smile will only grow when he meets your gaze

He doesn’t like to cuddle when sleeping though

Partly because he knows it’s not very comfortable for you

But if you insist hard enough, he’ll consent to holding hands or letting you rest your head against his shoulder

Lloyd

Cuddles are pretty common with him

He just sees it as a comfortable way to relax with someone he loves, so he’s almost always cuddling you

If you’re in a more “public” space like the couch, he prefers casual positions like tangling your legs together or leaning against each other

He likes to squeeze your hand while you do this

Or play with your fingers, depending on how he's feeling

When you’re alone, your cuddles get more intimate

He likes to bury his face in you, whether that be your belly, chest, side, back, etc

He doesn’t really have a preference between holding you and being held

His breathing slows and his grip will slowly relax around you

Eventually he falls asleep; he just gets so comfortable

Sometimes he won’t bury his face though, and he’ll talk to you instead

It’s an intimate moment, so he takes advantage of it to tell you things

Doubts, secrets, worries, it’s all on the table

When he’s finished he’ll listen to what you have to say in turn

Then he’ll smile and bury his face in you, drifting off to sleep like usual

Nya

She's pretty ambiguous when it comes to cuddling

She doesn't like to cuddle excessively, but she can still accommodate you if you're a big cuddler

Sometimes she likes to hold you, sometimes she likes to be held

It just depends on her mood

Cuddles are a display of affection for her, both in the giving and receiving sense

That's why she switches between holding/being held

She has no problem asking for cuddles when she's in the mood

She'll literally grab your arms and wrap them around herself while she cozies up to you

Or she'll wrap an arm around you, pulling you against her and letting you adjust yourself

Kind of like Kai, she's not a huge fan of getting her hair played with, but she'll gladly play with your hair

She'll do little styles then undo them, combing her fingers through your hair to smooth it out again

When you're sleeping, she likes to spoon

She'll swap between big and little spoon; though she's slightly more inclined to be the little spoon

When she is the little spoon, she'll wrap her hands around yours, holding them gently against herself

That way you can feel her heartbeat :)

Pixal

She's the least receptive to cuddling out of the bunch

Even when you show her how, she doesn't get it

What she does understand is that it seems to make you happy though

And she's more than willing to do anything that makes you happy

So sometimes she'll try to be the one to initiate it, particularly when she sees that you're unhappy

You'll have to do the initiating most of the time though

Her efforts are stiff and unnatural at first, but they improve with time

She learns what you like and adapts accordingly

She doesn't like the actual cuddles so much as she likes seeing you all relaxed, a languid smile curving your lips

She'll try to make idle conversation with you while you cuddle

She finds the silence awkward

(Yet another reason she doesn't understand cuddling)

But she'll understand if you're just tired and you want to relax/sleep

She takes it as a compliment that you can fall asleep with her, despite her not fully grasping the whole "cuddling" concept

So in a way it is pretty fulfilling for her, just not in the way you'd expect

Thank you for this request!! And thanks for reading, take care lovelies! <33

(divider by sardadika)

[ghostgirl-22]

Till Morning Comes

18+ !NSFW!

Day 21: Shower sex (skipping 20 for now…none of the prompts really fit for me. Might try again later.)

Pair: Artrick (post Challenger)

—————————————

It’s so surreal. The last time Patrick held him like this. It feels like yesterday and also a lifetime ago. And he’s shaking cause he doesn’t know what it means at all but his body is aware. They finish the game that way. Aware of each other in ways that are more intimate than just the standard opponents. There’s fury and passion and something else playing out on the court and when Art wins it he deserves it. It’s earned.

And Patrick is so satisfied with that, that he’s a little stunned when the press wants to interview him too. He hasn’t been media trained since he was 22 and he doesn’t really know what to say when people ask him about the time he and Art won doubles as Juniors in the US Open all those years ago.

His ears are buzzing, his skin is warm and he can still feel Art and Tashi’s presence more than anything or anyone else. He stumbles through answers and praise and the woman who was kind enough to share her sandwich with him on the first day of the tournament playfully asks if he’s glad he didn’t lose on the first day just for the prize money. To which he has to smile, the first genuine one.

They finally present Art with the prize and Tashi’s as happy as she was on the first night they met. The way Patrick knows her, her smile, her genuine excitement makes him feel like all of this time was almost fucking worth it. And then there’s pictures and finally he’s free to go clean up and the part of him that’s relieved is also filled with anxiety cause what now?

All this and what now? Does he go back to spending all his prize money in a month, then sleeping in his car, using Tinder as Airbnb? Or worse… go home.

Art makes it to the locker room before him. He’s half naked already when he spots Patrick. He smiles a little which is a relief so Patrick smiles back. “Congrats champ,” Patrick says idly as he approaches Art.

It’s been two minutes since they’d last seen each other and immediately Patrick’s filled with that same hyper aware energy again.

Art laughs a bit. “Yeah,” he says looking down at his bare feet. “You too.” He looks up at Patrick again. Patrick never stopped looking at him.

“You filled out,” Patrick tells him and he touches Art’s bare arm and there’s tension like when Patrick was holding him on the court. He doesn’t let go, instead he grips Art’s arm and pulls just to see if Art will move and he does. He steps forward. That’s all Patrick needs.

Before his brain knows what he’s doing they’re kissing. The last time they’d done this Art was smaller and his hair was longer and they’d pretended afterward that it was nothing but practice even though Patrick knew better. They both knew better.

And now he’s walking Art backwards up against the lockers, tongue jammed down his throat, needing to be closer. Needing this like oxygen. His whole body accelerates because of it. He didn’t even realize how much he’d missed this. Art’s gasping, mewling, moaning into his mouth, reminding Patrick that he was always so vocal and needy. It sends shivers all up and down his body as the memories flood back.

Patrick grips him tight, traps him against the lockers and they rattle with the force. Patrick thinks he'd crawl inside him if he could. Art’s gasping for air pushing back for a breath and Patrick finally lets him have a minute, but he doesn't step back cause he can feel Art, hard and pressed up against his thighs.

Art rests his head against the locker catching his breath, he huffs a laugh and closes his eyes and Patrick smiles watching him. He’s taking in every bit of him. The changes from when they were college students to now. He’s terrified of it all going away again.

“This is crazy,” Art whispers.

“Mmhm,” Patrick presses a kiss to his bare throat. He has such a biteable throat.

Art hums and Patrick feels the vibration on his tongue. He eases his hand down Arts pants. Art finds his lips again and Patrick licks his way into his mouth, tasting the whiny noises he makes, relishing every second. He’s so hard he almost forgets that for all the kissing and touching and heavy petting they did back in high school, they’d never actually fucked before.

His head is foggy, his body is so dizzy with need and other things…probably hunger. They’re both sweaty and messy and dirty. He wants to fuck Art but he doesn’t want to do anything to scare him away right now. Instead he just helps him get off. Right there up against the lockers he makes Art moan for his touch till he’s thrusting into his palm. Sloppy, needy, messy little thing. Come all over Patrick’s fingers. Breathing hot and heavy in his ear. Breathing in ways that make Patrick want to bend him in half against his stupid will.

Art’s such a repressed goody goody he’s probably never even had the balls to let Tashi fuck him. Much less been fucked by a man. Patrick hated him, actually hated him, for precisely 3 hours after they fought about Tashi all those years ago. And then he’d spent the next 13 years trying to get over him. Didn’t help when he’d watch Arts matches in the dark with his eyes closed and the volume up, one hand down his pants.

Patrick is suddenly spiraling because he didn’t expect the feelings that have been building all week to keep blindsiding him.

“I’m sorry,” Art says and Patrick wants to ask what for but he lets Art continue mumbling. “I shoulda…I should’ve…” he trails off.

Patrick smirks at him and because he’s a masochist and still horny he says. “You wanna shower?”

Art looks at him then down at Patrick’s erection and then back up again, tongue pressed against his cheek. He nods. “Sure.”

And that’s interesting. Maybe he’s not still as repressed as Patrick imagined.

Patrick doesn’t hide it in the shower. In fact he takes it in hand and starts to jerk himself off. Because of course he always makes sure Art comes first. He doesn’t expect it when Art, who's busy soaping up, starts grabbing him too. It’s the hottest thing.

“Art?” Patrick breathes in his ear as hot water sprays all over them.

“Huh?” Art asks.

“Has anyone ever… have you ever been fucked?”

Art slows his movement. Patrick kisses him again and he pulls back to stop him.

“What? It’s okay if you haven’t…” Patrick offers, recognizing the panic.

“I’m not…I wasn’t…” he licks the inside of his cheek again. Patrick can see his tongue because his mouth is open wide like a good little… Patrick squeezes the thought out of his head. But there’s a reason why it’s always been so difficult to get over Art Donaldson.

Art’s eyes are dilated and his skin is flushed from the heat of the water and Patrick knows him so fucking well because even though he’s changed he’s not changed in any of the ways that matter.

“Does it hurt?” Art finally asks, squinting. The way Patrick’s cock feels he wants to tell him yes. Yes, because I want to fuck for hours, till you have trouble sitting down. Till you’re moaning my name like a fucking whore.

But no this requires tact. Something he’s not a natural at but for Art…

“It does a little at first,” Patrick admits.

Arts eyes go wider.

“It feels really good after though. Sometimes I just— it feels so good I black out.”

The door to the locker room bangs open and Art jumps back quickly putting distance between them. Never mind the fact that Patrick is visibly erect. It’s just a janitor though. He apologizes saying he didn’t know people were in there and he leaves without another word.

Art sighs with relief. “Fuck Patrick.” He steps under the faucet and starts rinsing off.

Patrick takes a bit of soap from the dispenser and instead of washing his whole body he rubs his cock. Getting it slippery and soapy. It feels so fucking good to do while watching Art in the shower and having Art not so sneakily staring back at him, getting hard again.

Patrick approaches him and Art lets him kiss. “Touch me,” Patrick says against his lips.

Art doesn’t really hesitate. They jerk each other off while they make out and Patrick feels his tongue and tastes his moans and with that he’s done embarrassingly quickly.

And then the anxiety comes back. They finish up showering in mostly silence. And when they’re in towels getting dressed that’s when Patrick starts to ramble.

“What happened—“ Patrick starts. “All of it’s stupid man. Genuinely. Like I wanted to fuck her sure…but I don’t know… I mean part of me kinda wanted to fuck you too.”

Art rolls his eyes and his jaw tightens. “Yeah you fucked me, Patrick. I saw you both…in Atlanta.”

“Fuck man…I’m…” Patrick shrugs not sure what to say. Sorry isn’t the word. He wants to do it again.

“I saw you and I thought maybe we’d bury everything…and then suddenly you two were gone and I…” Art laughs but it’s mostly just to show his teeth. “Fuck you, actually.”

“Yeah,” Patrick says and he swallows. “I guess.”

“The really fucked up part…all I could think after was I hope she doesn’t fucking leave me for him.”

Patrick fidgets , picking up his phone for distraction. “I just…I mean I fucking…I wanted to. I wanted to bury everything. I still wanna bury it. I mean it’s making me crazy. I’m not allowed in your world. I’m… she… she only takes me when she needs me. You’re so cold now when we were so…so close before.”

“Yeah so close we’re together for five minutes after more than a decade and I was almost ready to let you…never mind…” Art mumbles.

Patrick perks up at that. He’s never heard Art talk like that. Like any of it was ever real or on purpose or even desired.

Art pulls a clean t-shirt over his head.

“I don’t get you,” Patrick says. “How could you—how can you close it all off like— like you never even fucking liked me?”

“It’s not that Patrick,” Art says, clipped, careful.

“Then what is it? Like I said before… it’s not fucking Tashi. Don’t pretend that it’s just that. You won…you’re playing house with her and you’re this tennis star and so what if I fucked her…you still won. But you’re so fucking miserable. Up all night miserable—“

“Patrick—“

“What? Come on. We owe each other this much. You say you’re happy and grown up and I know you’re full of shit. That’s why you can’t stand to be around me.”

Art looks up at the ceiling, eyes shiny. “It’s because you never shut the fuck up.”

Patrick shrugs. He’s silent for a moment before he mumbles. “Well you’ve beaten me now. Fair and fucking square.”

Art swallows and then takes a deep breath. “Do you want to come over?”

“Yes,” Patrick nods.

“Fine, get dressed.”

[starryytales]

More Manipulative Ragatha.

ACK-

This was meant to be ~500 words and one part of a short story that went into detail of Ragatha doing different things on different days to push Pomni's boundaries, get her closer, etc. And was inspired by yesterday's ask about Ragatha intentionally throwing herself into harm's way to get hurt and get Pomni's attention.

Instead it ballooned up into a little over 2000 words and will be something of a standalone.

I would like to give my thanks and dedicate this to @miguxadraws whose enthusiasm helped push me to hit the ground running with this one!

With that said: small TW for needles (the sewing kind), and I hope you all enjoy..!

“I’m never sure how to start these things…”

I muse to myself as I tap the colorful pencil’s eraser against the empty, waiting page of my journal. Being the second longest lasting person in The Digital Circus changes how you think about information. Unlike Kinger, for example, I’m doing my best to not go insane by holding on to every piece of information until my mind snaps and I become amnesic. That means writing things down. Journal writing and compartmentalizing things. Separating the bad from the good and keeping the good close and the bad locked away.

“I suppose starting with this morning wouldn’t be a bad idea.” I flip the pencil around and begin jotting down what all happened…

Pomni woke up on me today. I didn’t bother with sleeping. Instead I just enjoyed watching her quietly snore throughout the night. God, she’s so cute when she’s asleep. She’s even more cute when she’s startled. She woke up, adorably mumbling about whatever dream she was having (I heard my name!!!), and stared up at me for a few moments. I didn’t say anything because she was clearly still out of it and wouldn’t have understood me anyway. When she realized she was using me as a full body pillow she let out wildest little yipe I’ve ever heard. She nearly hit the ceiling from jumping off of me so hard! It took a hot moment and a re-heated, leftover salmon cake to calm her down after that. I let her get dressed in peace (thank you again, God, for giving me a button eye to stealth watch with) and she left with a sweet little smile on her face.

I pause writing for a moment when I hear someone trying to stay quiet while working on something outside my door. Probably Jax. Probably with a bucket of insects and some kind of mechanical trap setup. I shake my head irritably but stay quiet. Jax would have been a lovely boy toy to keep if not for the fact he can’t stop being a punk for more than ten seconds. My single regret with him is that he only had one heart to break. The sound of his trap construction jolts me back to writing by jogging my memory.

The adventure!

How could I have nearly forgotten that when it was a huge amount of progress with Pomni?

Caine rounded us all up just like he does basically every other day.

“HELLO MY MUTANT MASHED POTATOES TODAY’S ADVENTURE BLAH BLAH BLAH-”

It was some kind of movie-like, ancient temple we had to find the treasure room of. The important part was Pomni and I took the ‘medium’ difficulty route, and we did it by ourselves. I was just about to see how well she dealt with an unprompted hand on her shoulder when I realized I had seen the hallway we were in before on a different adventure. Caine doesn’t just re-use NPCs, he re-uses chunks of levels sometimes. And I knew we were about 15 steps away from a circular saw trap that would shoot out from the wall and try to leave us with a nasty cut, to put it lightly.

My first instinct was to let Pomni walk into it. I thought it’d probably go right through her leg, maybe even both of them. I’d have to carry her all the way to the end and she’d have no choice BUT let me hold her. My better judgment got a hold of me, though. That was an awful plan. She’d hate being useless and dependent on me (at the moment, anyway). But I could still use the trap to my advantage to make her touch me…

I suddenly remembered why I nearly forgot the whole thing. Ever feel so much pain your body and brain try to factory reset?

“Hey, I think I’ve seen this hallway before.” I told her as I switched the side of her I was walking on. I picked up my pace slightly to make sure I triggered the saw without catching her as collateral. I braced myself as hard as I could without letting on something was up. A small part of me was begging to just not do this, but the opportunity was too good to pass up.

“Really?”

“Yeah! From a different adventure!”

And I think she was going to ask if I remembered anything helpful about it. That’s about when a single stone beneath my foot pressed down and I let out probably the longest running censor-bleep in Digital Circus history. The saw was as quick as lightning. My left arm, right above my elbow, was effortlessly sliced off, and the blade tore through my side like I was made of paper. I screamed and fell away from the blade. I landed against the wall opposite of it and started sliding down to the floor. Good God it hurt so bad I was seeing stars. Pomni shrieked and rushed over to me, hovering over me like she’d found a murdered body in an alleyway. I was in too much pain to get her to stop screaming for a moment so I could tell her what to do, and then she said that she would go get help.

That lit quite the fire under me, because:

1. I needed to get her used to touching me by getting her to patch me up, and, perhaps more importantly-

2. I’M TIRED OF HER RUNNING OFF WHEN I AM IN INCREDIBLE PAIN.

I have to say, despite the pain I was in, I was pretty slick with my next words.

Any person scared and hurt might say ‘don’t leave me,’ but if I left it at that, she might have just offered me a platitude about being back as soon as she could be. I had to twist the knife. She managed a single step away before I lunged at her foot and seized her ankle. I didn’t need to pretend to cry, as there were plenty of real, agonized tears.

“Please don’t leave me again!”

The ‘again’ sold it like beer at a college ball game. Oh, it hurt to see so much remorse in her eyes but it’ll make her think twice before running off again in the future. She dropped to her knees next to me and sputtered a dozen apologies before going quiet when I placed my hand on her upper leg to get her attention.

I remember gritting my teeth and having to hiss through the pain to direct her to my dress pocket (conveniently on the same side I was missing an arm on, and oh my how those little hands wander in a pocket) where I had my emergency sewing kit. Ugh. I could have died from cute-overload while watching her fumble so shakily while trying to thread that needle. When she finally managed it she looked at me with huge, worried eyes for guidance on what to do next.

I pause again to enjoy the memory of her looking at me that way. It’s almost dreamy to picture her like that. So nervously hanging off my every word… I could REALLY get used to that. Where was I? Oh, right, my little jester doing doll surgery on my side.

Feeling her touching me gently was so, so nice. And she listens so well. I bet if I told her that the stitching would only hold if she barked like a puppy, she might have actually done it. I’m so used to sewing myself up that the little pricks of the needle barely registered to me, so I up-sold the pain they caused. Clenching my teeth and (remaining) fist, and scrunching my eyes while hiccuping every few seconds as if I were holding back a breakdown. She paused once and held my cheek, and told me if I needed a break she would stop. AGH. I could have eaten her alive on the spot for being so sweet! Instead I sighed, enjoyed the touch, and thanked her but said I was okay...

I love Pomni to bits but she sews like a blind grandmother with arthritis. No cut like that is ever good or easy to work with, but even Gangle manages a cleaner stitch on a bad day. Still, that meant we got to spend the rest of the adventure like that. Her pressed up against my side, trying her best to hold as steady as possible, while keeping my stuffing from falling out as she stitches me back shut. Definitely worth every ounce of pain. When she was done she even crawled over to my arm and offered to try putting it back on. Absolutely precious.

I told her not to worry about the arm. Caine could fix it when we get back, and about when I said that our AI Overlord’s voice rang clear throughout the structure. Caine congratulated Gangle and Kinger for reaching the treasure room first, and declared the adventure over. Pomni and I fell through a portal that suddenly opened beneath us, and just like that we were back in the tent.

Caine looked me over and quipped I had gotten “too adventurous for my own good,” before snapping his fingers and fixing my arm. He then said something about seashells and vanished. The others were already heading their separate ways when I walked over to Pomni and hugged her. She jumped slightly, but didn’t pull away. I thanked her as warmly as I could for staying with me, and I saw on her face that same guilt from earlier being soothed slightly. It wasn’t enough to put her at peace, but enough so she knows I will happily praise her for doing something good.

I let her go and I offered her another meal tonight – if she was feeling up to it, that is. I could see her putting real thought into it-

My writing is once again interrupted by a dainty knock at the door.

“Ragatha? I’m here for dinner, but-” I quickly slam my journal shut and hide it away again. The last thing Pomni needs to see is the contents of that book. I hop up from my chair with a spring in my step and grab the doorknob, only for Pomni to suddenly shout.

“D-don’t open the door yet! There’s a bucket full of something on the door frame. It’s attached to some kind of trigger. Kinger’s getting it down now.”

I hear Kinger scraping something metallic away from the door before the man himself speaks up.

“Oh! That’s where you’ve all been. How do my centipedes keep winding up in buckets..?”

I had clean forgotten Jax trapped the door. The thought of being stuck with a bucket on my head as all of Kinger’s little hellspawns crawl over my face is almost enough to make me throw up, pass out, and start writing a manifesto. All at the same time. Did I say earlier I only have one regret about Jax? I have two. And the second is that I can’t drown him in the cellar.

“Okay! It’s safe now!”

Cautiously I crack open the door. My eyes are drawn to the movement of Kinger walking down the hallway with a bucket full of nightmares in his arms, but I quickly focus back on to Pomni. I let out a low, tired sigh and smile at her.

“You saved me twice in one day.” I try not to swoon, but it still kind of comes out that way. The little blush she starts sporting on her face doesn’t help.

“Ah- don’t worry about it.”

God she’s so cute when she’s bashful. I open the door and step aside to welcome her in with a playful flourish.

“Well, come on in! A hero deserves her heroic feast! I’ll get on it right away.”

“A heroic feast of spaghetti and meatballs?” She laughs, the sound as sweet as wine, as she enters and steps passed me. I laugh back with her as I start to shut the door so we can start another night off right.

“And garlic bread, that’s the really heroic part!”