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hotheadedhero · 6 months ago

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Like 'em Big

AN: I have so many stories to write but I had to do this. Blaming being sick, m'kay? Fever has got me bad and these meds got me loopy. Thinking we need some good, silly fun in our lives, right? Plus, now that I've watched Rise, I'm hungry for some big Raph appreciation. I know I ain't the only one

Part 2

All characters are aged up

Raphael x Reader

Warnings: near peril, easily smitten, possible errors due to fever (what kind of fever is up for deliberation🥴)

Cutting right to the chase. You like big dudes. That doesn't necessarily mean muscles, either. You just love you a big man - someone with a bit of something-something to them. More to love, you know? Given your track record with the greater world, it shouldn't be all that much of a mystery. Cats? Get yourself a tiger that you can cuddle into. Jumpers? Comfort central, baby. Beds? If you can't spread eagle then you see no point. The old-age saying does declare that the bigger the better, so who are you to disagree? How true that is may be up for debate but it’s merely as simple as understanding what your preferences are.

However, this makes dating a difficult ballpark to play in. No matter how tall, jacked, or voluptuous someone is, it never feels like enough. Human biology and genetics can only go so far in the conceivably possible sense. You just want to be absolutely engulfed when you get a hug. Is that such a crime? Apparently, it is. Unfortunately, you also seem to come across the worst jerks when you attempt to date within this set of criteria. One might argue it's your karmic justice for being so superficial and picky but a woman has needs. Not those kinds of needs, either. Get your head out of the gutter.

All hope seems lost and after yet again, another failed date, you decide to call it in for the evening and make your way home. A fresh failure and another wonderful outfit gone to waste. By no means is it anything flashy but you put a lot of work into it: pencil skirt, turtle neck sweater, and a nice pair of boots to compliment the look. The whole shebang! All of that effort for nothing. This is the last time you spend three hours doing your hair and makeup. Block after block, your feet grow heavier with every step. What you would give to come across a mountain-like man you can climb who is also a kindred spirit. Perhaps this dream guy will forever be that - a dream. Men like that don't just fall out of the sky.

"Look out!!"

The sudden shout almost scares you into tripping over and you look behind yourself, wishing you hadn’t. Two very large, very dangerous-looking figures entangled in battle, those of which are approaching your helpless little self. You quickly duck as the giants hurdle over you. One falls on its side whilst the other claws and skids against the ground, regaining its balance. It shakes its head and locks onto you, a guttural snarl rumbling past its jowls. Such a creature is surely from the stuff of nightmares. An indescribable nightmare whose sights are set on you. The smart option would be running away but it's as though your shoes have melted into the pavement. Pawing into the tarmac, the beastly thing growls and lunges for you. Great. This is how you die: torn limb from limb by a demon dog. Well, assuming your clothes join you, at least you’ll look like a total babe in the afterlife.

"Oh no ya’ don't," the other one yells from behind the predator, grabbing it by its tail. “Pretty ladies are not food!”

With a mighty tug, he pulls it back and swings it as far away from you as possible. You release a shaky breath, legs trembling beneath you. That was far too close for comfort. The fight isn’t quite over, however. Just as it approaches him, the green goliath swivels on his feet, full 180, and whacks the creature's jaw with a closed fist. His speed alone has you in awe but the force is astounding, practically earth-shattering. It completely knocks the air around you and pushes you onto your backside.

When the dust clears, the first thing you see is your saviour panting, his spiky shell(?) pointed towards you. Just past him in the distance, you notice three more figures in blue, purple, and orange taking a closer look at the unconscious tyrant. You swear one of them pokes at it with a stick. Witnessing strange beings such as this isn't entirely new. Anyone who's watched Chateau Pretenche knows about the celebrity chef turning into a grotesque pigman. To describe it in one word? Horrifying. It's just whether people choose to believe it genuinely happened or if these bizarre entities exist. Being up close and personally observing it now puts your scepticism in check.

As the humanoid turtle calms, he turns to face you, recapturing your attention. A red mask sits over his eyes and there’s a noticeable snaggle tooth poking past his upper lip. Typically, the prerogative is keeping out of sight but it’s much too late for that. He gradually advances towards you. You watch him warily and he keeps his movements slow for that very reason. It wouldn’t be a shock if you were to try and make an escape. He wouldn’t blame you. Currently, all he wants to do is make sure you weren’t hurt during that fiasco provided you don’t suddenly come out of your bewilderment and run off. You have good reason to but he just saved you. Either that or he’s as ravenous as that beast and wants you all to himself. The irrational conclusion remains as such - irrational - when he descends to one knee and outstretches a hand. There’s an irrefutable kindness in his eyes; a caring nature that can’t be replicated in the face of savage brutes.

"You okay?" he asks.

You continue to gawk without a word but, bit by bit, you reach out for his offer. Your fingers lightly trace the centre of his palm before comfortably trusting the proposal. His hand engulfs yours completely and Raph hopes to mercy that you don’t realise how sweaty he’s getting. He can feel his heart beating like crazy. He wonders how much of that is the adrenaline from the fight and how much of it is being in the presence of such a beautiful gal. As he helps you to your feet, he rises to his own. Someone of his stature shouldn’t be capable of being this delicate but he is. It has you running through a loop and you unintentionally stare at the remarkable behemoth.

Quite pathetically, you nod, unable to verbally respond to his question. How can you? You are effectively starstruck. Once you gloss over the turtle-y features, all you see is the sheer size of him as he towers over you. Height, width, the magnitude of those arms! All of it is glorious. You can hear the universe asking, “You want a big man, huh? How about one who isn’t human?” to which you answer, “Who gives a damn?”. If the only way a man can be this big is not to be human, so be it.

Amidst a whisper, your mouth moves on its own, "You're beautiful."

"What?"

"Huh?" Blinking out of your trance, you realise what you’ve said and giggle sheepishly, "I mean, you're be... ba... booming! Totally awesome with the whole- uh... saving thing." Nailed it.

He blinks right back down at you. This is certainly a first. He can feel his face heating up and he withdraws his hand lest you endure the wrath of his bashfulness, opting to hold the back of his head. At this moment, he seems to look anywhere but you.

"Heh. Gee, thanks." His humility is adorable and you’re glad he doesn’t question your initial statement. He turns to you once more, regaining some composure. "You sure you're okay, though? That thing was pretty scary looking."

It’s clear that you haven’t sustained any physical injuries but even bearing witness to something so unsightly can have lasting effects on one's mind. His brows furrow gently in concern down at you and it occurs to you that there’s a soft heart under all of that shell and muscle. Bonus points. This makes you smile for the first time in front of him and Raphael is sure that the streetlights got brighter.

You laugh fondly, “Yeah, I’m okay. Thank you.” Twiddling your fingers, your lips purse up in his direction. “Is there any way I can repay you?”

He places his hands on his hips and chuckles cutely, “Just doing my duty, ma’am.”

He may be indulging in his alter ego - the Red Angel of Preventing Harm - but it’s not every day he gets paid thanks when he saves someone. It’s also not every day he gets to save such a pretty woman, either. You, however, can’t just leave it at that. There must be some way in which you can properly thank him. Ulterior motives include getting to know this already loveable lug better but shh. It feels like the odds are finally turning in your favour and you won’t let this slip away from your grasp. That’s when it hits you.

Muttering under your breath, you erratically search through the confines of your little handbag. You are certain that you had one in here somewhere. In the spare pocket maybe? Ah! Found it. Fumbling to take the lid off of your pen, you hold out your hand, gesturing for his. He slowly complies, to which you jot down a series of digits on his palm accompanied by your name and a tiny 'x'.

"Gimme a text sometime," is the last thing he hears before you disappear around a corner.

Oh? Oh. Ohhh. Wow. Getting your number is the last thing he expected. Did he get hit on the head during that scuffle or something? Was everything from the last few minutes a dream? He bores holes into the writing on his skin, scanning it over and over, scared that it’ll disappear if he so much as blinks. A dumb, wobbly smile not so gracefully decorates his lips as he trudges back to the turtle tank. He takes his seat but it’s obvious that he isn’t all there. Being so caught up in his rose-tinted bubble, he doesn’t register his brothers' voices. In an effort to gain his attention, Michelangelo jumps onto his shoulder, partly intrigued by what their leader is so absorbed by.

"Oh me gosh!” the young brother screams in shrill excitement, “Raph's in love!"

Careful not to smudge the neat ink, he’s quick to hide his hand against his chest. "That's crazy talk!”

Donatello sniffs the air and mockingly covers his nose. "The overwhelming manifestation of your nervous stink indicates otherwise, dear brother."

"I got a girl’s number!” he continues to defend, feeling his face go all kinds of red. “'Course, I'm nervous but that don’t mean I’m in love."

Lies and slander. It was practically love at first sight. He just doesn’t like the idea of his brothers knowing that. It’s easy pickings to be made fun of.

"Don't worry, Big Red. Lucky for you, you got a guy who knows all about the charm." Leonardo points both thumbs at himself as he falls back into his seat and props his legs up on the dashboard. "First, you just need to..."

The "helpful" advice drowns out as the large snapper opens and gazes at his palm again. He just can't comprehend how a gorgeous individual such as yourself could take one look at him and give him your number. It's puzzling but he supposes there’s a first for everything? That also doesn't mean he won't text you. The only thing getting in the way of that is fear. Raphael thinks he’d rather go toe-to-toe with that mutant dog again than have to face the risk of embarrassing himself. To anyone who knows him, it’s no surprise that he caves under pressure. No. He will do it! A chance like this is one in a million.

Oh boy. What could possibly go wrong?

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eiightysixbaby · 8 months ago

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begging for some more older! eddie maybe us out late at a bar let’s have him be jealous and mean😈😈

ohhhhh bestie I can do that 👀

18+ only!!! allusions to smut, mean eddie but he’s just worried about you, jealous eddie, mentions of reader drinking alcohol

Eddie spots you the second he enters the bar. The whole place is sleazy, shitty music blaring in his ears as he pushes through the inebriated crowds. He can feel his boots sticking to the floor as he walks and the air feels thick with the heat radiating off of these strangers’ bodies.

You’re leaning against the bar, your elbows propped up on the probably-filthy countertop as you chat with the bartender. You flip your hair slightly, shifting your weight where you stand and wobbling slightly in your high heels. Definitely tipsy.

Your skirt is obscenely short, and the problem Eddie has with this is that you’re wearing it now, in front of these other men, when you blew him off.

Unable to get ahold of you, he’d been an anxious mess at home. He knew you were going out with friends but you’d promised you’d be at his place by 10. It’s 12:15.

His jaw clenches when he doesn’t see a single one of your friends around, and the way the bartender keeps smiling at you makes him want to punch the guy’s teeth in. He stomps up behind you, a firm hand gripping your arm and turning you to face him. Your eyes widen in surprise when you see him, the anger in his face. You’d fucked up, letting your phone die and not getting in touch with him. Staying out later than you’d said you would.

“I think you’re done here,” he says, and it’s not a question or a request or a joke. It’s a command, an order. You are done here, and we’re going the fuck home.

“Eddie-ee,” you hiccup, trying to keep some composure but failing with the alcohol in your system.

“You’re fucking wasted. Are you fucking kidding me, honey? It’s nearly half past midnight and I haven’t heard a thing from you.” His voice is firm, gruff as he tightens his grip on your arm.

“Is there a problem here?” the bartender asks, and Eddie seriously contemplates the consequences of beating this guy’s ass.

“Yeah, you. She’s not interested, pal. And she’s certainly not going home with you tonight,” he barks, yanking you away before the nuisance can respond.

“I’m sorry, Ed, my phone—”

“It died, right? Because you didn’t charge it even though I asked you to fucking charge it before you left,” he grits, and you look down at the floor in shame. He asked you one simple thing, and you neglected to do it. You won’t say it, but he has every right to be upset.

“I’m sorry,” you squeak, barely loud enough for him to hear.

“Do you have any idea how worried I was!? When I couldn’t get ahold of you? Knowing you were out drinking?” Eddie asks, guilt clawing at your insides.

He shoves open the door to the bar, ushering you out into the parking lot. You shiver at the chill in the air, far colder out than it had been when you’d arrived.

“Nothing bad happened, Ed, I’m fine,” you stress, but he’s having none of it.

“But it could have!” he barks, his voice stern and louder than he usually ever speaks to you. “Sure looked like you were having fun entertaining that bartender,” he scoffs.

You grimace, suddenly sobering up rapidly. You hadn’t been flirting with the guy, but it couldn’t have looked good from Eddie’s perspective. You do tend to get overly friendly when you drink, talkative and chipper.

“We were just talking, I had ordered a drink!” is what comes out of your mouth, for reasons unbeknownst to you. You’d meant to quell his suspicions, but instead you sound petulant and defensive.

“Just fucking talking,” he chuckles, albeit humorlessly. “Don’t think he thought you were just talking, sweets.”

He opens the passenger door of his vehicle, slamming it behind you after you get in. The way he forces the key into the ignition and peels out of the parking lot makes your stomach churn. You make it to his place in record timing, the entire ride silent. He doesn’t open the door this time, or help you out of the car. Your feet ache in your heels and your hands wring together as you walk to his front door.

“I’m sorry, Eddie,” you say meekly, standing helplessly in his living room as he regards you out of his peripheral.

You see the way his jaw clenches and unclenches, and he brings one hand up to rub at his chin, the gray and brown scruff that litters the skin.

“You had me worried fucking sick,” he says, emphasizing this. He walks toward you until the backs of your thighs are hitting the arm of the couch. “I need you to follow rules, baby. All I asked was that you charge your phone,” his eyes don’t look away from yours for even a second, making sure you’re listening.

You nod, feeling the heat that radiates off of his body. He smells like his cologne and a hint of tobacco, a scent so familiar and comforting to you. You wonder why you’d wanted to go out tonight at all, when he’s been here all along.

He steps even closer, resting a hand on your hip possessively. “And don’t even think about chatting up anymore bartenders,” he warns, his mouth hovering beside your ear. “Got it?” His voice is gruff, sending a shiver down your spine.

“I won’t,” you agree, knees nearly buckling when an index finger reaches out to stroke your cheek.

“That’s a good girl,” he says. “Now why don’t you take these clothes off and go get on the bed for me, pretty girl. Gotta remind you who you belong to.”

#eddie munson #eddie munson x reader #eddie munson x fem!reader #eddie munson smut #eddie munson blurb #older!eddie munson #older!eddie munson x reader #leah’s got mail 💌

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sytoran · 1 year ago

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𝐃𝐀𝐘 𝟎𝟎𝟓 — 𝐌𝐄𝐑𝐌𝐀𝐏𝐇𝐈𝐋𝐈𝐀

kinktober day 005 | mermaid!wanda x pirate!reader

as captain of a notorious gang of pirates, you've got a reputation of steel, but when there's a pretty little mermaid presenting herself for you, there's no chance in hell you're not saying yes.

cont. sweet talk, begging, humiliation, overstimulation word count. 2178

kinktober masterlist || main masterlist

“Righto, fellas, so we got sixty ducats – twenty doubloons, is it?” Bucky asks lackadaisically, tossing gold coins up and down with his good hand.

A loud guffaw surrounds the group of you huddled around the campfire. You shake your head with a toothy grin at your right-hand man’s idiocy. Even the least educated pirates in your gang knew what sixty divided by two was.

You reach over and knock the side of Bucky’s head with your bloodied knuckles. “That brain cavity wouldn’t make a drinkin’ cup for a canary, buddy.”

“Aw, kiss my boot, ya fuckin’ cunt-licker,” the dark-haired man grumbles in response, still playing with his shiny gold coins. He playfully punches your arm his prosthetic one.

In record timing, you whip out your dagger from your cow-skin belt and pierce the hole in Bucky’s coin midair, pinning the coin to the nearest tree with a deadly aim.

“Cunt-licker is right,” you say smugly, going to ruffle Bucky’s already shaggy hair. The impressed hoots and jeering taunts at your dagger-throwing skills are all good-hearted, as is the general atmosphere within your gang.

The lot of you were specialists in your craft, the most formidable and deadly in the piracy industry. Five years ago, you had claimed the largest plot of land that was the very island you lived on with your mates. Tu’Au was surrounded by the freshest of ocean water and the most gorgeous of views.

There was also a legend of the mystical mermaids that lived beneath Tu’Au, but you didn’t believe any of that bosh and bullshit about supernatural creatures. You’d believe it when you saw one with your very own eyes.

“Yall’ finish up counting our loot for the day, I’m gonna take a walk by the shore,” you say, adjusting the piece of tobacco between your lips and then dusting off your pants. “Don’t let Buck do the counting.”

“Got it, boss,” Steve answers promptly, ever the loyal one. Bucky rolls his eyes.

Loveable idiots, you think, tossing your hat to the side. Strolling away from the main camp, you finally take a deep inhale of that tobacco, smoke trailing off into the orange sunset.

As you walk along the shore, bare feet on the wet sand, you look up and close your eyes. It was times like these that were simple, times like these that you never wanted to end—

“I said, get away from me! Please, just leave me alone!”

A feminine, desperate cry from the distant ocean has you blinking open your eyes in sudden alertness, darting to the source of the sound.

From a short distance to shore, there is chaos occurring within the waters. What seems to be a muscular, bare-chested man is swimming inhumanly fast towards a significantly smaller-sized woman with long, cascading hair.

Though both of them certainly spoke like regular humans, there was a certain way about their moving in the waters and tremendous presence that had you second-guessing yourself.

“Get back here, you good for nothin’! You’ll make up your mind when I fuckin’ want you to!”

He’s yelling foul words at her, catching up to her already, clearly incredibly unpleased. Suddenly, the man dives down, and you catch sight of a shimmering blue tail above the waters before it disappears.

Hang on a damn moment. Merfolk are real?

But before your brain can process what you truly just saw, the merman reemerges much closer to the mermaid, massive gold spear in a vice grip.

As if a gear was kicked into motion, you sprint towards the water. Kicking up water as you run through the shallow part of the ocean, you stumble but never slow down, eyes set on the target. It’s prey-or-predator right now, either conquer the enemy or die trying.

The said target has got the mermaid in his massive arms, wrapping around her torso and forcefully dragging her back into the deep waters. Her strangled cries get muffled by the water, cries and pleas ringing in your ears.

Just before you dive into the water, your hand flies to that trusty weapon holster, and a sharp dagger flies at the merman with an air-cutting, brutal force. “Y/N bullseye L/N,” you remember Bucky saying with a stupid grin on his face. “Never misses a shot.”

A millisecond before your plunge into the ocean, the stunning blue eyes of the mermaid meet yours, and you lose all the air in your lungs.

You’ve never seen anything like it, never laid your eyes upon such a breathtaking beauty before. Blue eyes deeper than the depths of the ocean, sparkling more than the brightest of glimmering stars,

An agonized cry from the merman hauls you out of your trance. The dagger struck him directly in the right eye, just as expected, just as you had calculated. Opaque red blood comes out in spurts, and his hands release the mermaid and go to clutch at his eye.

Your arms glide in the water, smooth and cutting, bringing you closer to the struggling pair.

Seizing the moment of the merman’s distractedness, you wrap your arms around the mermaid. You immediately notice the way she sinks into your embrace, head drooping to lean against your chest as you struggle to move through the water.

You really try to not think too hard about the lithe body in your arms. It was proving to be an incredibly difficult task.

After your hell of an escapade, you have the mermaid girl propped up against the wet rocks. It takes a while for you to notice that you’re on all fours above her, panting heavily with wide eyes and a drenched white shirt.

When you do realise it, though, you get off her immediately, clearing your throat awkwardly. So much for being a scary pirate.

“You alright?” you ask instead, fiddling with the collar of your white shirt. It had gotten drenched while you were in the water, along with all your clothes and your hair.

You were having a hard time trying to avoid looking at her chest since it was literally in front of you.

“You saved me,” the mermaid finally speaks, eyelashes wet with drops of water, her voice softer and sweeter than you could ever have imagined. You get a bit lost in the delicacy of her red lips as she stares back at you.

“Right,” you answer, your throat suddenly dry.

“What is your name, human?” the mermaid asks, hand going to stroke at the curvature of your jawline that was dotted with droplets of water. The touch was honey-like.

“Y/N. How ‘bout you?”

“Wanda.”

“That’s a pretty name.”

“Prettier than me?”

“No,” you answer a little too quickly, voice a little hoarser than before. Your eyes dart around to focus on anything but the ethereal mermaid before you, but soon they land on a wound at her tail.

“Oh, shucks, you’re bleeding. I’ll go get bandages an’ stuff from base,” you say, looking at the nasty wound on the tip of Wanda’s tail, incarnadine blood leaking out of it.

“Don’t go,” the mermaid suddenly says, and there’s this little begging lilt to her voice that messes up your brain chemistry. “I mean, mermaids have healing properties, so you don’t have to go,” she mumbles, looking away with her cheeks flushed. Cute.

“That’s cool,” you answer, leaning back to let your hands run over the tip of her tail. Just like she said, the wound heals itself, slowly stitching back that scaly-smooth skin with a magical touch.

You give her tail a long stroke, running your fingers through the little scales that decorate this new thing you’d like to explore.

“Hng,” a little whimper suddenly escapes from the mermaid, and the both of you freeze. It’s a fine line between comedy and erotica.

You rub at her tail again, harder this time, and Wanda lets out a louder moan.

You start massaging her tail, hands spreading out over the sensitive area, kneading gently. Wanda’s face is absolutely flushed, eyes screwed shut in pleasure, the prettiest thing you’d ever seen.

“Kiss me?” she asks, breathlessly, and you don’t have to be told twice.

Warm mouths meet in an inferno of lust, Wanda’s head tilting up to meet yours, your head tilting down to chase hers. The moment you taste the sweetness of her lips, a trigger is flicked inside of your brain, and your body kicks it into overdrive.

Your hands tug off the seashell bra with unbridled haste, flinging it behind you without a care in the world. Wanda squeaks against your lips at your sudden boldness, hands going to encircle the back of your neck.

But that’s before you’re grabbing both her wrists with one hand and pinning it above her head against the wet rock. She moans as your lips make their way down the column of her porcelain, leaving red hickeys into the pale canvas like it was a work of art.

It was true, to a certain extent, because this mermaid before you was a work of art: brown hair splayed onto the wet rock like something out of a Renaissance painting, water droplets across her eyelids, breathing and panting your name, hips moving helplessly under your stronger body, trying to chase a fraction of the pleasure that you’re dangling out of reach.

Your mouth latches on to her supple breasts with eagerness, lips wrapping around her hardened bud. Wanda lets out a shriek when you suck on it, hard. As a mermaid, the sensations and emotions that they felt were many times that of a human, and you were making it no easier for her.

“N-Need you,” Wanda pleads, when you flick at her other pretty pink nipple, admiring how her body arches along with the sensation.

“Need me where?” you ask, a lust-coated rasp in your voice, edged with a tone of teasing that has Wanda’s head spinning.

You finally release her hands, and Wanda grabs your right hand with certainty, sliding it down her shuddering body and scaled tail to where a pussy would be.

Instead, your fingertips find a hot, wet, slit.

“Fuck,” you growl into Wanda’s skin, lost in the sheer thoughts of how much you could ruin her.

“Please?” Wanda begs again, giving you the biggest doe eyes she could. You didn’t need any convincing, anyway.

“All this for me?” You ask, ruthlessly plunging two fingers into her dripping slit. It’s warm and wet, and so tight. Your fingers explore, straightening out then curling in, going in big circles then in smaller ones.

All through your unabashed exploration of Wanda’s cunt, the pretty little mermaid is left completely at your mercy. She’s writhing, never been touched like this before.

“S’ too, too much,” she babbles incoherently when you slide a third finger in, thrusting in and out of her gorgeous little cunt like it’d be the last time you’d get to do this. Because in all honesty, it might be.

That thought alone spurs you on to go even faster, playing with Wanda’s body like a fiddle, making all the right noises with the right fingerings.

“Y/N,” she cries, long fingernails ripping the back of your vest to shreds. You don’t give a damn about it.

Turns out, mermaids have several sweet spots, because you’re finding all of them and breaking her with it.

“Gonna cum already?” you ask, “Needy little thing, hm? Couldn’t even wait five minutes?” Wanda tries to shake her head, but your other hand is stroking the length of her tail.

“Come f’me, sweet thing.”

Those words send her over the edge, snapping the knot that had been building in her belly.

“Y/N!” Wanda screams, a melodious tune, hands clawing at the edges of the rocks, then the back of your neck, all while her head is thrown back. Her tail is flapping in a state of no control, lost in the pleasure you’re feeding her.

Acknowledging the delicious tightening of Wanda’s mermaid slit around your three fingers, you opt to instead go at an even faster pace, fingers thrusting deeper into her body, because you wanted every inch of it.

“Y/N,” Wanda sobs, because she sees stars. Those brilliant blue eyes getting teary with your relentless pace. The tears escape the corners of her eyes and cascade down her cheeks like a waterfall.

It’s a sight you’d imprint into your memory forever, when Wanda’s ocean blue eyes roll into the back of her head and her little mermaid body goes limp in your arms.

You admire her for many moments, at how she had made you fuck her silly, at how she was yours now.

—

“Why’re you smilin’ like a baked possum?” Bucky asks you once you head back to camp. It’s early the next day, still dark out in the wide seas. He’s sprawled out on a wide hammock, sharpening a knife. Steve is cuddled into his chest.

Your lips curve into a stupidly smug smirk. “Not that you would know a dime about pussy, but remember what you said about cunt-lickers?”

kinktober masterlist || main masterlist

#sytoran's kinktober 2023 #kinktober #kinktober 2023 #wanda maximoff x reader #wanda maximoff x reader smut #wanda maximoff #wanda maximoff smut #wanda maximoff x you #wanda maximoff x y/n #wanda x reader #gxg smut #wlw smut #sub wanda maximoff #bottom wanda maximoff #top reader #dom reader

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chaosandmarigolds · 6 months ago

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(Slowly sets down my Dr Pepper) alright, alright- lemme just

I will die on this hill. What hill you may ask?

Simon Riley and dancing.

Simon, who is big and scary, who regularly goes to the senior living facilities to learn the waltz because you random mentioned how you wanted to learn while watching a period drama

Simon, who is so so so so careful when he learns because he doesn’t want to hurt anyone

Simon, who had two left feet when he tried to learn any barn dance

Simon, who once he got the hang of it was pretty okay at barn dancing- swing dancing to be exact

Simon, who comes out of the bathroom in a ‘cowboy’ get up for your date night, all with a hat and boots

“You know I could make a really sexual joke-“

“No.”

Simon, who wasn’t going to lie, barn dances were fun- and you seemed to have a blast,

Simon, who was a little taken back by your utter shock when he asked if he could dance with you

Simon, who had been practicing with Johnny of all people so he had to recalibrate how hard he needed to lead you in the dance (aka: he had to shove that man along)

Simon, who doesn’t even notice when you step on his feet

Simon, who wished he could freeze time right when he dipped you for the first time- that smile being to die for

Simon, who is currently working on aerials with Johnny during their lunch hour (yes Kyle is recording, this is prime blackmail material) (you may or may not be accidentally launched)

Feedback comments and anything else like that means the world to me! Annnnyway, that’s all!! <33

#simon ghost riley x reader #simon ghost x reader #simon riley imagine #simon ghost riley #simon riley fanfic #simon riley x you #cod x you #simon riley x reader #cod fluff #coco's chaos <3 #ghost imagine #cod ghost #ghost call of duty #call of duty fluff #cod imagine

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bloodibambiidoll · 1 year ago

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Beer and Bunny’s

(Eddie Munson x Fem!Reader)

Summary: Eddie can’t seem to get himself to make a move on the new bartender at the hideout he has a crush on, but one night you decide to take matters into your own hands and he sees something that he just can’t resist. Wk:4.5K

Warnings: 18+MINDI Smut (unprotected P in V), Oral (M & F), Eddie being a lil pervy but reader is into it, kind of inexperienced!Eddie (he’s really nervous and has a lot of self doubt. My head canon for this Eddie is that he’s been with a few girls but none of them were interested in more than a one night stand), no use of Y/N so pet names, and I think that’s it? The smut is kinda soft n sweet, nothing too crazy. Lmk if I missed any!!

A/N: So I was running errands wearing my black mini skirt and my pink bunny panties the other day and this idea came to me. It’s super self indulgent tbh, but in my mind Eddie would lose his shit over something like this and I’ll die on that hill. 🫡 Also I usually read through my shit obsessively but I only read through this once so if you see mistakes, no you didn’t. (Not really tho pls tell me so I can fix them bc typos make me crazy) My Masterlist

Eddie was in a trance, playing his guitar on autopilot as he watched you bus tables, make drinks, and occasionally indulge a customer’s flirting for extra tips. Not that you needed to, that dress and your sweet smile was enough to have any man dumping his wallet out and emptying his bank account for you. Or maybe that was just him.

He knew it wasn’t though, because even though his band was up there putting their hearts into playing for 15 people tops, most of their eyes followed you. Granted it was mostly drunk middle aged men besides Ruth, a 60 something year old woman who was always sitting in the same stool at the bar, drinking the same cheap vodka, with her red lipstick smudged on her teeth. But still, he’s convinced even if the room was filled with a hundred women you’d still be the prettiest one there.

You started working at the hideout a few months ago when you moved to town and ever since then it was like Eddie was possessed by you. He thought about you constantly, the way those cut up band tees always fit so perfectly and how your ass always looked in those tight little skirts has him fisting his cock sometimes twice a night. He wanted to record the way your voice sounded saying his name when you’d bring him his favorite beer after a show without him even asking and play it on a loop over and over again.

But that wasn’t all, he thought about little things like holding your hand, or going to the drive-in and watching horror movies with you. Or just kissing you, god, he wanted to kiss your pretty glossed lips.

The only issue was every time you talked to him it was like his brain turned to mush and everything he had practiced to say disappeared from his mind.

Tonight was different though. After their last song when you came to bring him his beer, you gave him that sweet smile and told him how awesome they did like you always do. But then it happened. You accidentally walked backwards into one of the small amps, tipping it backwards.

“Oh my god! I'm so sorry, shit!” You apologized before turning around to pick it up and when you did Eddie felt like he was about to cum in his pants.

You were wearing this tight little faux leather mini dress with a zipper that went all the way down the middle and these sexy calf high combat boots. But when you bent over he saw you were wearing the cutest pink panties that had little bunnies printed all over them and something about that combination made him absolutely feral.

He heard a whistle behind him and when he snapped his head around to see where it came from he saw one of the guys sitting at the table closest to the stage practically licking his lips while he ogled you. He instantly felt possessive and moved closer so he was standing a few inches behind you, blocking you from everyone else.

You pulled the amp up with a huff before turning around and nearly jumping out of your skin when you realized how close he was.

“Holy shit! You scared me!” You brought your hand to your chest and laughed. “I didn’t know you were so close.”

“Y-yeah I’m sorry, when you bent over, you could uh- see your panties and um… people were looking.” He turned beet red and scratched the back of his neck awkwardly.

“Oh, you’re so sweet Eddie, protecting my modesty.” You placed a hand on his forearm and caressed it with your thumb a few times before you stepped close enough to him to whisper in his ear. “Were you looking too?” You pulled away just enough to look up into his eyes through your lashes.

“I- I mean- fuck.” He sighed and looked down at his feet. “I’m sorry… I know I shouldn’t have you were just standing right in front of me and then that guy whistled and-“

“Eddie!!” You squeezed his arm gently to get him to look at you and when he did you just wanted to kiss him. Those big brown eyes all filled with a mixture of lust and guilt were driving you crazy. “It’s okay… I want you to look.”

He’s pretty sure his brain just short circuited, you want him to look? What does that mean?

“I- you want me to- really?”

“Yeah.” You nodded. “You think I dress like this every time I work? Nope. Only on Tuesdays… just for you, Eds.”

“Shit. Really?” He looked at you in disbelief, he couldn’t believe the girl he’s been dreaming about is really standing here in a sexy little dress telling him that she wore it for him.

“Yeah.” You nodded and bit your lip. “I like how you look at me, it makes me… So. Wet.”

He threw his head back and groaned, he never thought you’d be so forward like this.

But he didn’t know that you had been waiting for him to make a move on you for weeks. You were tired of dancing around your obvious attraction to one another so you decided tonight you were going to take matters into your own hands.

“Shit sweetheart. You can’t just say things like that to me in public. You’re seriously going to make me bust in my pants. ”

“Well… don’t do that.” You giggled. “I know somewhere better that you can cum though…” You ran your hand down his arm and linked your hands together causing him to shiver. God, he was so responsive, you knew he liked you but apparently you didn’t know just how much.

“Fuck. Are you serious?”

“Deadly. You have a van, right? What’s the back like? Maybe you can show me.” You winked at him.

“Shit, yeah, I’d love to. But I have to put all this shit in the back and take it back to Gareth’s garage.” He looked so disappointed you just wanted to kiss his pouty pink lips.

“Hmmm… well, I live down the street. What if you drop off your stuff and meet me at my place after?” You suggested.

“GARETH! Take my van to your house, I’ll come get it later.” He turned to his drummer and threw him his keys.

“Dude. Seriously? You’re just going to leave us to pack up all this shit?”

His other band mate, who you think is named Jeff, looked between you and Eddie and put two and two together pretty quickly.

“We’ve got it man, have fun!” He wiggled his eyebrows at him before going back to packing up their equipment.

“Well, it looks like I’m all yours.” Eddie smiled at you nervously. God, he was just too cute.

“Looks like it, cutie. I’m off now, just gotta clock out. I usually walk so if you just wanna wait outside I’ll be right there.” You got on your tiptoes to kiss his cheek before jumping off the stage and walking toward the back of the bar, making sure to swing your hips extra for him.

•

The walk back to your apartment was filled with easy conversation and stolen glances, hands grazing but not quite grasping onto each other. The air heavy with the tension of what was to come.

“This is me!” You gesture towards the front door of your apartment before unlocking it and letting him inside.

Eddie looked around as you turned on some lights, he saw some cool posters on the walls and a large bookshelf in the corner. But before he could take in too much of your world you walked over to him and put your arms around his neck.

“Hi.” You smiled at him with a glint in your eye.

“Hey.” He returned your smile with a crooked smirk, bringing his hands to rest on your hips.

You brought one of your hands to his jaw, cupping it and running your thumb along his cheek. “I really really want to kiss you right now.”

He didn’t respond, instead he pulled you closer by the hips and smashed his lips against yours. His lips felt just as you imagined, pillowy soft and just the tiniest bit chapped. He tasted like the beer you gave him, the cigarette he smoked on the walk, and something that was just him. You moaned into the kiss, shoving your hands into his hair, tugging slightly. He groaned when you licked along his bottom lip, allowing you access. He kissed you until your knees were weak and you were both breathless.

“You are so beautiful. Fuck. I can’t believe I’m here right now. This feels like a dream.” He ran his hands up your sides over your dress. “Also this fucking dress… Jesus Christ.”

“Yeah? You like it? It’s new.” You took a step back so you could do a twirl for him. “I thought about you when I bought it, you know…” you brought your finger to the o-ring at the top of the zipper and tugged on it a little.

“I thought about you dragging me to the dingy bar bathroom, shoving me up against the wall and ripping it off me.”

“Holy. Fuck. You’re naughty, huh?” He chuckled.

“Maybe, wanna find out?” You grab his hand and start walking backwards toward your bedroom, dragging him with you.

You plop down on your bed to take your boots off but before you can reach for the laces Eddie walks forward and takes your foot in his hand, unlacing your shoes for you. Once they’re loose enough he pulls them both off your feet and he’s pretty sure you aren’t real at this point.

Your socks are the same pink as your panties with cute little bunny ears at the top of the ankles. Your socks match your panties.

“Yeah, you like these too?” You wiggled your toes in front of his face and giggled while he looked at you and froze, his face turning bright red.

“Shit. Did I say that out loud?”

“Yes, you did. Wanna know if my bra matches too?” You sit back on your hands and stick your chest out.

“Hell yeah I do.” He nodded dumbly.

“Why don’t you take my dress off and find out then, pretty boy.”

He didn’t hesitate to lean down and slip his finger into the o-ring zipper of your dress, slowly beginning to slide it down. When the tops of your breasts were exposed it became more and more clear that your bra didn’t match your panties because you weren’t fucking wearing one. He pulled the zipper down until it was just under the bottom of your tits and just as he thought, no bra. Your chest was on full display, slightly glistening with sweat from the material of your dress and he wanted to lick it off.

“Fuck, look at you… prettiest tits I’ve ever seen.” Not that he’d seen many but he’s pretty sure these are the best tits in the world regardless.

“You can touch them Eddie, I want you to.” You brought your hands up to squeeze them a few times before grabbing onto your nipples and twisting.

“Hold on, I’m appreciating the art before I destroy it.” He grabbed back onto your zipper and pulled it the rest of the way down so your dress was hanging open. You let the straps fall down your arms, leaving you in just those little panties and socks and he had never seen anything sexier. Your hair was a bit disheveled but still in the style you had done it in before you left for work earlier that night and your slightly smudged dark eye make-up contrasted with the soft pink of your garments. You stand up in front of him and play with the hem of his t-shirt.

“Take this off? I wanna see you too.”

He reaches behind his back to pull his shirt over his head and god damn. He has a few tattoos littered across his pale chest, his skin mostly smooth aside from his happy trail that you wanted to nuzzle your nose into on your way down to his cock.

“Wow. You are so sexy Eds.” You run your nails down his chest and torso, hooking your fingers in his belt loops and pulling his chest against yours. The feeling of your bare nipples pressed up against his warm skin sent shivers down your spine.

“Yeah? You think so? I think you’re the sexiest girl in the world.” He blushed.

“Thank you baby, can I take these off?” You pull on his belt loops with your fingers, running your thumbs along his soft waist.

“Please”

That’s all you needed to hear before you were on your knees in front of him, undoing his pants and pulling them down with his boxers.

“Holy shit Eddie…” Your eyes widen and your mouth waters at the sight of him fully bare in front of you. “You have the prettiest cock I’ve ever seen. I can’t wait to taste it.” And you meant it, his cock was fucking huge, the hard tip leaking just for you.

He was speechless, looking down at you on your knees in front of him with wide eyes.

You lean forward and run your tongue along his slit, holding eye contact with him while you take his tip in your mouth, suckling on it a few times before taking him deep in your throat.

“Oh fuuuuckkk holy shit.” He brought his hand to the back of your head and rested it there gently, letting you set your own pace.

But it was too gentle. You didn’t want him to hold back.

“Eddie.” You pulled your mouth off him with a pop and a string of saliva. “Use me, pull my hair, fuck my mouth, don’t be shy.”

“Holy shit. Are you- are you sure?” He was panting, looking down at you like you just told him he won the lottery.

“I’m so fucking sure, so so sure. If I don’t like something I’ll tell you baby. I promise, I like it rough.”

You spit in your hand, grabbing onto his cock and tugging it a few times before looking up at him with your tongue out.

He was still looking down at you with those big shiny doe eyes and you were about to lose it if he didn’t do something. Your other hand grabs onto his, guiding it to your hair and signaling for him to grab onto it. It took his mind a second to catch up but when he did it was like something snapped in him.

He grabbed onto your hair hard and slid his cock along the length of your tongue, hitting the back of your throat.

“Close your mouth- yeah, like that.” Once your lips were wrapped around him he started to slowly rock back and forth in your mouth, testing you by going deeper with each thrust.

After a few times of him hitting the back of your throat and causing you to gag he realized you liked it. Your eyes were watery, mascara starting to run down your cheeks, drool was dripping down your chin and you were fucking moaning around him like you were getting as much pleasure out of this as he was.

He was fully fucking your mouth now, pumping his cock down your throat while he cursed and moaned, using you just like you wanted. You reach your hand up to grab onto his drool slick balls and take them in your palm causing him to jerk forward and let out the sexiest moan yet.

“FUCKING SHIT!” He used your hair to pull you off of him and you look up at him with hooded eyes, a mixture of his precum and your drool dripping down your chin and he has to physically will himself not to cum at the sight. “ If you keep that up I’m going to cum in the next thirty seconds and I was really hoping I’d get to fuck you.”

“What? You don’t wanna cum twice? We have all night, unless you’re busy then I guess you can stop.” You said dramatically, in a way that he would’ve stopped to find really cute if he wasn’t so fucking turned on right now.

He practically growled as he grabbed back onto your hair and resumed his assault on your throat. One of your hands finds its way back to his balls while the other snakes around him to grab a handful of his ass for leverage.

“F-fuck this mouth is so fuckin- You’re such a good girl fuckin droolin all over, grabbin my balls while I use your little mouth. Wearing those little fuckin panties and socks. Fuck!” His grip on your hair tightened and his hips sputtered as you felt him explode in your mouth. You swallowed around him, moaning at his taste and taking all that he gave you.

He released his hold on your hair and you pulled your mouth off of him, bringing your pointer finger to the corner of your mouth to swipe the cum that dripped there into your mouth.

“Mmmm, you taste so good Eddie.” You smiled up at him, still on your knees.

“Yeah? I bet you taste even better.”

“Wanna find out?” You smirked at him, getting to your feet and laying back on the bed.

“Fuuuuuck” Eddie groaned at the sight of you laying there for him with your legs spread, a very prominent wet patch in those fucking panties, your hands grabbing on to your tits while your fingers pinch your nipples. You looked like the only meal he wanted to eat for the rest of his life. He got on the bed on his knees between your legs, smashing his lips to yours and kissing you like his life depended on it. He slid his tongue along your bottom lip and you immediately granted him access. He tasted himself on your tongue and it caused him to moan into the kiss.

He kissed down your jaw to your neck, running his tongue along the column of your throat, stopping just behind your ear at your pulse point to suck a mark there. He kissed and licked and sucked all the way down your body, stopping to pay your nipples extra attention.

When he reached the band of your panties he licked across your waist and nipped at your hips causing you to let out breathy little moans. He placed a kiss on each of your hip bones before placing one right on the top of your mound, looking up at you with those fucking eyes.

“Mmm baby, I can smell you.” He groaned as he breathed in your scent, flicking his tongue out to run it along your cloth covered slit, adding extra pressure to your clit. He wraps his lips around your bud, swirling his tongue, and even with the small barrier between you it still makes you see stars. He licks all around your cunt, soaking your already wet underwear as he laps at it. Finally he brings his finger to your panties to move them to the side and you barely even have time to process before he’s shoving his tongue as deep as it can go inside of you. Your back arches off the bed as you cry out.

“Oh f-fuck! Yes Eddie fuck!” Your hands come down and tangle into his hair, tugging it and causing him to groan into your pussy, the vibrations going through you like a shockwave.

His tongue came back up your bud, rotating between rough and soft flicks. His pointer and ring finger circle your hole before he inserts them both fully without resistance. He pumps them in and out of you, the room filled with the sounds of your moans and wetness as he laps at you. He sucks harder on your clit just as he curls his fingers just right and you see stars. Your grip on his hair tightened as your hips rocked against his face, his name on your lips like a prayer, riding out your high until it becomes too much and you’re pushing his head off of you.

He looks up at you with your jucies still running down his chin and fucking smiles.

“Sweetest pussy I’ve ever tasted.”

“Yeah? And have you tasted a lot of pussys, Mr. Munson?” You tease.

“I mean-“ Suddenly his face flushes red and that shy nervous boy from earlier was back “Not… that many, a few. I’m no lady killer or anything I mean you know this town is I-“

You grab his face in both of your hands and place a soft kiss on his lips.

“Honey, I was just teasing, I don’t care how many girls you’ve been with, I wouldn't even care if you hadn’t been with any.”

You smiled at him sweetly, pushing his bangs off his forehead and he smiled back, kissing you deeply. There was something so comforting about you to him, he felt like he could truly be himself with you and he’s not sure he’s felt that when he was with a woman ever.

You sit up and push him down by his shoulders, swinging your leg over to straddle him. Your underwear were still pushed to the side, your slick pussy lips were nestled on either side of his shaft as you slid back and forth on him with ease.

“I can’t wait to feel this pretty cock splitting me open.” You leaned forward and slid your fingers in the band of your underwear to take them off but Eddie’s hands came down on yours, stopping you.

“Can you keep them on?” His eyes were pleading, his lips pouty.

“Anything for you, sweet boy. You really like these huh?” You giggled.

“The whole cute pink panties and socks underneath the black leather thing is really doing it for me, if you couldn’t tell.” He bit his lip, running his hands down your sides before bringing them to your tits to squeeze them roughly.

You giggled as you rose up to your knees, taking him in your hand so you could line him up with your entrance and sink down on him slowly. Once your hips were flush against his you both moaned loudly.

“Fuck, so big, filling me up so good Eds.” You rocked back and forth slightly, just adjusting to the feeling of him so deep inside you. Once you felt adjusted you rose almost all the way off his cock before slamming back down on it causing him to jerk forward and moan out your name.

“Holy fuckin shit, your pussy is suckin me in so good holy fu-fuck, ridin me s-so good baby.” And you were, you were riding him like your life depended on it. “Bouncin on my cock just like those little bunnies on your panties, is that what you are? A lil bunny?”

That snapped something inside you, it was like he said the magic words and nothing else mattered in that moment besides riding his cock, being his little bunny.

You were on your heels now, using his shoulders for leverage as you bounced on his cock. Rotating and rolling your hips, the patch of curly brown hair at his base rubbing against your clit just right.

Eddie was in Heaven, he wanted to throw his head back and shut his eyes but he couldn’t tear them off of you. You were bouncing on his cock like a rabbit in heat. A layer of sweat glistened on your body, your hair a mess, there was a bit of drool dripping down your chin and your pussy was swallowing him hole over and over again, you were so wet he could see a milky white ring of your cum on his cock. He was going to cum soon but he absolutely needed you to before he did.

His grip on your hips tightened causing your movements to halt, but before you could even protest he was fucking up into you hard and fast.

“Oh fuuuuck yes, just like that baby, right fuckin there don’t fuckin stop I’m so close.” That’s all Eddie needed to hear, he brought one of his thumbs down to your slick clit and started rubbing fast circles on it while he continued to fuck up into you at a brutal pace.

“Shit, me too bunny, I’m gonna cum. Where do you want it?”

“Inside! Inside please Eddie I want you to fill me up.”

“Oh godddd” He let out a guttural groan, throwing his head back while he pumped his cum deep inside of you. The feeling sent you over the edge, coming undone on his cock while he continued to sloppily fuck you both through your highs.

You sighed, and exhaustedly let your body slump over Eddie’s while you both tried to catch your breath.

“Holy. Shit. That was… wow” he chuckled, running his hands up and down your back.

“Yeah, it really was.” You giggled as you rolled off of him, laying on your side next to him and resting your chin on his chest to look up at him. He was so pretty, his hair disheveled, his skin flushed and decorated in your nail marks, his lips swollen with your kisses. He smiled at you sweetly, shifting around so he could hold you better, he finally got a glimpse of your room.

He didn’t even really look at it when you walked it, he obviously noticed that you had a black open canopy on your four post bed but what he didn’t notice was the cute stuffed animals that were sitting by your black silk pillows, or the cool ass horror movie posters on the walls that contrasted that completely. You noticed him looking around, his eyes filled with awe, like he was genuinely interested in your world and it warmed your heart.

“I like your room, you really have this whole creepy cute thing down to a science don’t you?” He smiled at you, cradling your jaw in his hand and you leaned into it.

“Mhm, I guess I do.” You returned his smile with your own sleepy one, yawning. “You wanna stay the night? You don’t have to if you don’t want to but-“

“I want to.” Eddie cut you off, it was his turn to reassure you. You had seemed so sure of yourself all night but when it came down to if he was going to leave or not he could tell it made you nervous, like maybe people didn’t usually want to stay with you after and that broke him a little. Who wouldn’t want to stay with you? You’re perfect. To him at least. “I want to stay, and I want to take you to breakfast in the morning. I also would really like to take you on a proper date, if that’s something you’d want to do.”

Your heart swelled, because you did want that, more than he knew.

“I’d love that actually.”

“Good.”

You both giggled and kissed each other sweetly, whispering jokes and sweet nothings into each others ears until sleep peacefully took over.

#eddie munson x reader #eddie munson smut #eddie munson stranger things #eddie munson x fem!reader #Eddie munson x reader smut #Eddie munson x fem!reader smut #Eddie munson one shot #eddie munson fanfiction

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sweet-as-an-angel · 2 years ago

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Yandere Simon "Ghost" Riley Headcanons

Summary: You were just a civilian caught in the crossfire, kidnapped by a cartel and held prisoner. And now, after being rescued by Ghost, you may wonder if you are any safer with him than you were out there.

Warnings: Kidnapping, mentions of physical abuse, memory loss/amnesia, loss of ability to walk (temporary), yandere behaviour, toxic behaviour, possessive behaviour, kind of slow burn, romantic tension, Ghost gets jealous, somewhat angsty in some parts, very fluffy in others (a good balance), mentions of interrogation, Reader showcases anxiety, no use of pronouns for Reader except ‘you’, mentions of games,

Wordcount: 7,581 words

You were a tourist who was in the wrong place at the wrong time - seen things you weren’t meant to see.

And that’s how you ended up here, chained up in a warehouse for what you could only have guessed to have been a couple of months.

You were barely kept alive by restricted rations of food and water the cartel members gave you, needing you alive but just weak enough to not be able to fight back.

They kept you around for their own amusement, hitting you, beating you, humiliating you.

You missed your family, your friends, your old life. You truly believed, with a heavy heart, that you’d die here without ever getting the chance to see them again.

Until…

It had all happened so fast that you couldn’t keep up with it all.

One minute there was a group of men playing poker at a table nearby, the next they’d all been blown away by some nigh-silent, unseen force.

As soon as it had began, it was all over, though gunfire resonated from deeper within the warehouse.

Your heart thudded, your mind hazy and heavy yet just about conscious enough to acknowledge a set of heavy, booted footsteps nearing you.

A walkie-talkie crackled, followed by a deep, gravelly voice.

“One potential hostage found. Commencing collection now.”

The chains keeping you tethered to the metal post were cut and your hands fell.

You barely had the strength to lift them, nevermind your head, which lolled forward, gaze fixed in your lap.

The person who you presumed to have released you knelt down before you. A gloved hand pushed against your forehead, forcing you to look at them.

He was ghastly.

His flesh face was covered by a second, the insignia of his endoskeleton splayed across a dark mask. His eyes were dark and seemed to swallow all light that tried to glimmer within them.

“Can you talk?” he said. His voice was calm yet lacked patience, as if he knew time was short.

You could barely move, barely think.

You said nothing.

The man took your non-answer and moved to lift you, keeping an arm under yours and the other firmly holding his gun.

Now, stood at full height, walking on legs you hadn’t used in months, your body couldn’t handle it.

Your blood pressure dropped and so did you.

The man grunted as your weight collapsed into him, almost taking him with you.

You fell unconscious, and the man rearranged you, slinging his gun over his shoulder and carrying you in his arms.

The next time you awoke, the setting was drastically different.

The dust-filled, sweltering warehouse you had grown accustomed to had given was to a blindingly white facility, the scent of streilisers and medicine filling your nostrils.

You couldn’t move much, body heavy yet soul willing, and your eyes shifted beneath hooded lids.

A machine beeped closeby, one you recognised to be mimicking your heartbeat. The rest of the room was quiet, save for the turning of paper somewhere.

The surface beneath you was plush, encompassing you, unlike the warehouse floor.

Putting the pieces together, your heart began to pound. The heart monitor copied.

A nearby nurse rushed to your side, turning your head this way and that and shining a light in your eyes, talking at you rather than to you.

The rest became a blur.

Doctors visited, recorded your condition. You didn’t know where you were but you knew you were safe. For now, at least.

Some officers came and tried speaking to you, only to find you unable (or unwilling) to talk.

This came as a discovery to you, too.

Soon after waking up, you found that your mind, your memories, were blank. Nothing of your prior self remained save for an overview of your torturous time in captivity, and…

That mask.

The man who’d saved you.

You found it hard to speak, not having done so properly in months save for begging for your life and crying whenever you were alone.

When one of the officers asked you if there was anything you needed, your body acted on instinct, by reflex, and came out with only one word.

“Skull.”

Ghost was stationed by you shortly after that, having been known to be the one who brought you back to Base and the only one to resemble the ‘skull’ you’d spoken of.

The task was…mind numbing, to say the least.

After your singular request for the man who saved you, you went silent again.

No words, no noises, just you sat in the hospital bed, dead to the world.

Nobody could coax a word from you, not even Ghost, as you heard him introduce himself.

The events of the last couple months had forced you into a state of “Dissociative amnesia,” as the doctor had put it. “Rare, but real.”

The doctor said it could take a while for you to regain your memories, and until then, you would have to be kept under supervision.

No permanent thoughts crossed your mind during your period of blankness. They flitted in and out of your consciousness as a phantom would.

Ghost had only tried interacting with you two or three times, the first being his introduction, the others being an attempt at getting any sort of response from you.

Nothing worked, and you were both resigned to sitting in silence with one another.

Days passed, you weren’t sure how many.

Ghost was getting impatient.

He knew you could be a key witness to the cartel’s deeper activities, but he knew he couldn’t force your cooperation. Not while you were practically vegetative, at least.

Ghost sat on a chair by your bedside, all but resembling a mannequin.

He stared into the distance.

“Oh,” came your small, croaking voice. “It’s you.”

Ghost almost didn’t turn to look at you, believing the voice to be a hallucination.

He hazarded a glance and almost considered jumping.

You looked at him, dead into his eyes, conscious, talking.

Another blur of activity surrounded you immediately after, Ghost alerting the doctors to you becoming vocal again and leaving them to do their job not long after.

Tests were run, your memory was tested (of which there was still little), and the better part of a day was spent observing you, trying to determine whether you were ready for interrogation or not.

Luckily, the higher-ups seemed to feel lenient, giving you longer to recover until you were expected to produce answers to their copious questions.

In the meantime, Ghost was assigned to you day and night, both as your protector and observer.

He was…quiet, to say the least.

Rarely spoke unless spoken to, meaning he was of little entertainment to you in your bed-bound state.

This led to you trying to make small talk, regardless of whether Ghost would respond or not.

Little did you know that, despite his lack of participation, Ghost was listening to every single word you said.

During a one-sided conversation, you mentioned colouring, an activity you liked when you were younger.

“Yeah!” you said, face lighting up as you slowly recalled a memory of your younger self, colouring book in tow. “I remember that my grandma had this old, really old colouring book that she gave me. It was vintage, smelled like antique book pages, sweet,”

Ghost watched you, listened. He saw your face light up. You looked at him, eyes smiling.

“It was nearly as old as her when she gave it to me; I was terrified of ruining it so I never coloured in it. Just kept it safely on my bookshelf, looked at the pictures before bed…”

The day after, Ghost came to you with a colouring book and a box of pencils.

“Not exactly vintage, but it’ll do,” he said, laying the book and the utensils on your bedside.

You smiled up at him as he settled into his seat.

“Thank you, Ghost,” you said, smiling. “I mean it.”

Ghost offered minimal input whenever you spoke to him, which you still did while you coloured the pictures.

It wasn’t much, but it was a start.

After that, over the course of a week, more memories came back to you.

They were small, inconsequential at best, but they were evidence that you were making a fast recovery.

And Ghost was there to hear every single one of them.

Whenever you came out with something new, he’d write it down in a Base-issued notebook, telling you to slow down whenever words failed you, your mind wrapped up in splinters of who you were - who you are.

And you would glance at his notes every now and then.

“Wow,” you said, suppressing a smile. “Your handwriting’s worse than mine.”

“I’d like to see you do better,” Ghost replied, barely casting you a glance.

You reached for the pen, which Ghost withheld from you until he realised what you were trying to do.

Now, equipped, you turned to a new page in the notebook and tried writing something.

It came out like a doctor’s signature, merely cursive scribbles that meant nothing to the untrained eye.

Ghost eyed your work.

“What you tryna write?” he said, accent rough.

You bit your lip, trying to focus all your efforts on making what was in your head come out onto the paper.

“My name,” you said.

Ghost seemed to straighten up at that.

The memory was weak, a fawn stumbling on its wiry legs, trying to find purchase.

But it was there, behind frosted glass. You could vaguely make out the letters which would be the key to your existence.

You kept scrawling, muscle memory having weakened significantly, until you hit upon a familiar pattern.

The ‘letters’ were indecipherable, even to yourself. The memory of your name began to fade, and, though you grasped at it, you were left with nothing as it was consumed by darkness.

You stopped writing, defeat overtaking you.

“Why’d you stop?” Ghost asked, looking up from the notebook to you.

You felt tears fill your eyes, tried to keep them in.

“I forgot again,” you said, voice cracking.

The pen lay limp in your hand, and Ghost removed it, putting it down.

The fabric of his glove against your skin sent a jolt through you, unexpected but strangely comforting.

“Well,” Ghost said, a temporary solution coming to him. “How ‘bout we give you a new name, just ‘til you find your real one.”

You sniffed, tried smiling at the gesture, and nodded.

You went back and forth for a while, trying to think of a name that would suit you based on the limited information you had about yourself so far.

“It needs to be nice,” you said. Ghost gave a slight inclination of a nod. You kept thinking.

“Fawn,” Ghost said.

His eyes bore into you, though you suspected that was just his disposition rather than him intentionally trying to spook you.

“How’s that sound?”

You tried the name on your tongue, then, you beamed.

“I like it,” you said, giving Ghost a grateful smile.

From that day on, Ghost referred to you as Fawn, a name that the rest of the Base staff called you, too, having nothing else to call you.

Ghost never told you why he picked that name. Perhaps he saw something in you that resembled your namesake. Your newborn optimism, perhaps.

At your bedside night and day, Ghost became the first and only witness of your memories as they slowly revealed themselves to you.

Some were light-hearted, some were filled with the natural sorrow found in human life, and some were downright embarrassing; all of which gave Ghost gradual insights into who you are.

He eventually seemed comfortable enough to make fun of your more embarrassing ones, such as the time you went to a store your crush worked at, only to find that you had toilet paper stuck to the heel of your shoe the entire time.

This became somewhat of a joke between you and Ghost. One that the staff seemed to find confusing.

Whenever staff escorted you to and from the bathroom, Ghost would look down at your feet.

“No toilet paper to worry about this time,” he’d say.

Your face would burn at the memory, but you’d laugh regardless.

You also forced him to listen to music that came to you as visions from another time, tunes which you’d hum to Ghost, who recorded them, took them to whoever, and would come back with the song it originated from.

Soon, you had three or four CDs which contained music you’d enjoyed before your amnesia.

They all felt and sounded familiar. Comforting.

You’d implore (guilt trip) Ghost to listen to them, too.

His face - his eyes, really, the rest of it was covered - were blank as you passed him the headphones, preparing himself to listen to whatever you’d found that day.

He gave no indication of whether he enjoyed it or not.

“I can see why you like it,” is all he would say, passing the headphones back to you.

“Oh?” you said once, laying the headphones on the bed. “And what’s that supposed to mean?”

Ghost leaned forward onto his knees, elbows propped upon them.

“It means,” he began, “that I’m not surprised this is the type of music you listen to.”

You feigned hurt, having slowly regained your ability to utilise humour after your diagnosis, the days getting easier.

“Well, I bet I can guess what type of music you like to listen to.” You held a smile on your face, just bordering on smug.

Ghost gave you a look. “Oh yeah?” he said, leaning back in his chair and crossing his arms over his chest. “Go on, then.”

You pretended to think for a moment, already having thought this question through many times before. Ghost was elusive, that much was plain to see, yet you imagined him in ways that made him familiar - human - to you.

“I bet you like metal,” you said. “Heavy.”

Ghost gave a sound that may have been a laugh.

“Am I that easy to read?” he said, a smirk vague in his tone.

“No,” you replied, innocently. “I’m just not surprised that’s the type of music you listen to.”

Ghost gave a slow, sarcastic, demeaning clap, muffled by his gloves.

“All right, well done,” he said, the smirk in his voice growing.

The two of you played board games together, too.

Initially, he let you win, claiming that life in the military had left him “No time for leisure.”

Translation: “I haven’t played board games in an age.”

You picked up early on he was letting you win and insisted on having him play fairly.

There was something deeply enigmatic about watching a trained soldier try and mask his frustration when he lands on Mayfair for the third time in Monopoly.

Whenever you’d lose you’d challenge him to another game, thus continuing the cycle of celebration and condemnation, with you claiming he was “cheating” when he won.

“You told me to play fair,” Ghost would say, a smugness in his voice.

Not all times with Ghost were light-hearted, however.

Even if his presence reassured you, there was the overwhelming feeling that you were missing out on something.

You knew you had family, if they were still alive, but you didn’t know them.

Friends, too. You wondered how many you had.

If you had a crush, that meant you interacted with people on some scale, right?

And it was in times like these, times when you just wanted to go home, wherever that was, that Ghost was there for you.

More often than not you’d end up in tears, trying to stifle them.

Ghost said nothing as you wept, chiming in only when he deemed the onslaught over.

“Why don’t blind guys skydive?” he said once.

You sniffed, wiping your nose, and looked at him.

“What?” you said.

“I said, why don’t blind guys skydive?”

You looked down, as if the answer lay in your hands. You shrugged.

“Scares the shit outta their dogs.”

Silence for a second. And then, a laugh.

You gave a laugh, airy at first but firmer the longer it went on.

You put a hand over your mouth, as if to hide your growing smile from Ghost.

Wiping the streaks of tears from your cheeks, you looked at him.

“Thank you,” you said. “I feel a little better.”

“S’what I’m here for.”

About two weeks into your rescue, your physical training began.

Having fully recovered from malnutrition, Base wanted you to start learning how to walk again, both for your convenience and theirs.

Ghost attended each meeting you had to go to, watching from the sidelines as a nurse guided you between two wooden poles.

The sessions were tough. Very tough.

You felt useless, responsible for your own suffering.

“If I’d done more, if I’d fought harder-”

“Then you’d be dead,” Ghost would insist whenever you questioned your choices.

“Types like the ones who kidnapped you don’t enjoy people who can easily fight them off. Trust me, you did the right thing.”

After sessions, you were usually tired, opting to try and push for an extra hour or so to get back your ability to walk quicker.

The nurse would insist you rest immediately afterwards.

One evening, you wanted to push yourself.

“I need to do this,” you told Ghost, pulling your legs over the side of the bed. He stood by your bedside, waiting to catch you if you fell.

“I need to-” you slid off the bed, lost your balance, and fell into Ghost’s arms.

His chest was rock solid, and he held you by your arms, close to him, helping you back up.

“You need to rest,” he said, trying to guide you back to bed.

“No!” You yelled, immediately regretting it.

Still in Ghost’s arms, you looked away, shame overtaking you.

“I’m sorry, Ghost, but I- I really, really need to…”

You didn’t finish your sentence. Ghost remained silent for a minute, then nodded.

“Alright,” he said, pulling you away from the bed.

“I’ll help you.”

In your room, Ghost walked a few laps with you, his hold emigrating from your underarms to your elbows, and then to your hands.

You took uneven, shaking steps, but they were steps in the right direction.

You smiled back at Ghost as he stood behind you, helping you.

Another couple of weeks passed. Ghost would give you secret after-session sessions, helping you walk wherever you pleased (within the confines of the room).

You were still shaky, very weak in certain areas, but you were getting stronger, more reliable.

You got to know Ghost more whenever you were resting in your room.

“My favourite colour,” you began one day, “is…[f/c].”

Ghost gave a brief noise of acknowledgement.

“What’s yours?” you asked, continuing to colour.

Ghost spoke plainly. “A secret,” he said.

You blinked, wondering if you’d misheard him.

“Huh?” you said, looking up at him.

There was no humour in his eyes. He was dead serious.

“Aww, come on!” you said, oddly hurt by his lack of willing. “You don’t trust me?”

Ghost’s eyes said everything and nothing at the same time.

“Depends,” he said, diplomatically. “D’you trust me?”

“Yes,” you said, without hesitation and with all the certainty of someone who felt nothing but trust and blind faith.

Ghost’s eyes widened for a second, as if he wasn’t expecting your answer, or maybe the light was playing tricks with your eyes.

Sensing he wasn’t going to say anything, you tried to cover for his absence.

“I mean, it’d be hard not to.” You looked down at your colouring book. You became warm, as if confessing something personal.

“You saved my life, you protect me, you’re always there when I need you,”

“Because it’s my job.” Ghost’s declaration came out as if it were an attack, a deterrent for you to not pursue this line of thinking any further.

You swallowed and continued on.

“Yeah, you could say that,” you said. “But you took this job.”

“I was assigned-”

“No, no, not this one,” you said gesturing to the room, looking squarely at him. “I mean as a soldier.”

Ghost said nothing, only watching you.

“Why would you take a job protecting people if you didn’t see yourself as trustworthy enough for them to rely on you?”

Your question was simple yet revealed a lot. Too much for Ghost’s liking.

Ghost gave no response, his gaze travelling elsewhere.

You dropped the conversation.

The room returned to silence.

“Green.” Ghost’s voice came out of nowhere, low, making you jump.

You looked at him. He said nothing else.

You swallowed, looked down at your box of pencils, and withdrew a green pencil. You passed it to Ghost, who took it reluctantly, and turned the colouring book so he could reach it.

You coloured the rest of the page together.

Then, the interrogations began.

What memories and names Base didn’t gather from your notes, they tried extracting from you in ‘interviews’.

They were simple enough at first: what did you see during your time with the cartel; what were the names of the people you encountered (ones which you hadn’t already alerted them to); how long were you in the cartel’s captivity, etc.

The interviewers were firm yet didn’t push too hard in areas which were still hazy to you.

You gave every detail you could remember and passed on every memory, no matter how small, about your time in captivity.

It brought back unwelcome feelings, the fear, the hunger, the shame…

You were offered psychological aid, which you found to be of some help, though there was an itch the psychiatrist couldn’t quite scratch.

One that you spoke to Ghost about.

“It’s like…it’s like they’re going by a script,” you said, walking with Ghost around your room, leaning against him as you navigated the circuit.

“Like they’re trying to help, they want to help, but…”

“But?” Ghost’s voice was heavy behind you, like a wall. You stopped shambling and Ghost came to a stand-still behind you.

“But…they don’t know how. They don’t know how to help me because they’ve never-”

“Been in your situation.” Ghost finished your sentence.

You turned to look at him, mouth agape as you heaved laboured breaths, your exercise having taken it out of you.

You felt a shiver crawl up your spine. Recognition.

“Yeah,” you said, exasperated. Finally, someone understood!

Ghost nodded. “I know how it feels.”

You both sat down, you on the bed and Ghost in his seat. You shifted, watching him. He searched for something to say.

“I know how your situation’s affected you,” he said. His gaze flitted from your eyes to anywhere else. “And I wish I could say it gets better. But…”

His eyes looked hard, dark. His gaze finally settled on you, penetrating your soul.

“Look, the only way you can start to rebuild your life is to talk to someone.”

“You mean…” You dared not let your gaze slip.

Ghost gave a fractional nod.

“I know these shrinks ain’t much good when it comes to our kind of trauma, but talkin’ to someone who’s been through what you have might make you feel like you’ve not lost the plot.”

You felt like a breakthrough had been made. Something, maybe excitement, crawled up your throat.

“Our?” you said, quiet, as if sharing a secret. A small smile tweaked at the corners of your lips.

Ghost gave no confirmation. But the silence was enough.

Over the course of the next couple of weeks, alongside recovering more menial memories of your past, the interrogations became harsher.

You told and retold the interrogators everything you knew, any new developments which had occurred to you, forced to relive everything which had reduced you to your current condition.

But they weren’t satisfied.

They thought you had something to hide. That you were covering for the cartel by withholding names and knowledge.

The second you were back in your room, you broke down.

You ranted and raved to Ghost, who listened intently, his attention solely on you.

In one hand you squeezed your fist, looking for your stress ball; the one that, ironically, was given to you by the same people who had caused you to need it now.

You couldn’t find it. You turned to Ghost.

Hyperventilating, in your panicked, angered state, you reached out to him.

“Can I squeeze your hand?” you said, words spewing out faster than you could think about them.

Ghost seemed rigid.

You swallowed thickly.

“Please.”

Ghost took a step towards you and, slowly, he raised his hand to you.

You took it, squeezing it, trying to stamp out the anxiety pulsing through you.

With your eyes closed and breathing evening out, you held Ghost’s hand close to you, your grip lessening with every minute that passed.

After your attack, as you got ready for bed, outside of your field of vision, standing just outside your room, you didn’t see Ghost.

Didn’t see him look down at the hand you’d so intimately held, squeezed, close to your chest.

He could feel your remnant, phantom warmth encompassing it.

He clenched his fist, as if trying to hold your hand, the memory of it which swam around his like fish in a pond.

A couple days later, you were set for another interrogation.

While you were holed up in that room, Ghost remained in yours.

He searched for your stress ball, the image of your tear-stained face in the forefront of his mind.

Somewhere within his psyche, as he scoured the space for that little yellow sphere of temporary distraction, your voice echoed.

It thanked him for finding it, held him in its grip, drove him.

The warm gratitude you’d express plagued him, encompassing him in a similar, diluted warmth he’d felt when you held his hand.

He glanced under your bed. And there it was.

He plucked it and turned it over in his hand.

The gratification of seeing your face light up when he presented it to you fizzed in his mind.

And then another, heavier thought crossed his mind.

The feeling of you close to him, holding, gripping him in your time of need…did something to him.

He’d be the last to admit that he hadn’t felt warmth like that in a long time. And to forfeit it just for a moment’s gratification seemed a waste.

Ghost glanced at the ball. He deposited it deep into his pocket.

He told himself he’d return it to you later.

Later. Later.

Later came as you hobbled down the corridor with the help of a frame.

You seemed stressed. In need of release.

Ghost slid his hand into his pocket. Squeezed the ball.

“Did you find it?” you asked, hopeful. Your optimism was difficult to ignore.

Ghost shook his head. “Negative,” he said, a habit he’d picked up. Slow and intentional. He knew what he was doing. “But I’m here if you need me.”

And need him, you did.

You ended up confiding in him how the interrogation went, how the interviewers had made you feel like you had something to hide.

All the while, you clutched Ghost’s hand.

No amount of pressure you could muster could possibly hurt him, yet Ghost could tell you were holding back what little strength you had - both physical and mental.

“Don’t be shy,” Ghost said, voice cutting through your anxious ramblings. He looked down at your conjoined hands. “Squeeze harder.”

Something in the way you looked at him, with a look that said ‘I don’t want to hurt you’, crossed your eyes.

A look Ghost had nearly forgotten in his line of work.

You eventually fell into a comfortable rhythm wherein you would squeeze Ghost as hard as you could, leading to him faking injury at one point.

You chided him, you both laughed (or, Ghost nearly laughed), and you rested against your pillow.

“You know,” you said, turning to Ghost, “one day, I hope we won’t need a military.”

You were exhausted. Ghost could tell. He humoured your sleep-deprived ramblings regardless.

“So that people like you don’t have to fight for us.”

“Oh?” Ghost said. He’d be lying if he said his curiosity wasn’t piqued.

You nodded, movements growing sluggish, lethargic.

Your hand still held Ghost’s, resting it upon your stomach.

“You’re people, just like us.” You said, yawning. “I don’t want you getting hurt.”

Ghost felt an unfamiliar warmth spark in his chest. He ignored it.

“Not gonna happen, I can assure you that.”

“Which part?” you asked, eyes shutting.

Ghost leaned to mutter in your ear: “I’ll always be here to protect you.”

He didn’t know if you’d heard him.

When he withdrew, you were asleep. Still holding him.

He pulled his seat closer to your bedside, unable to bring himself to dislodge his hand from yours.

And that’s how he found you the morning after, awaking from his rigid sleep, still conjoined.

And thus, a habit was born.

After each interrogation, or psychiatrist visit or physical rehabilitation session, you would return to your room with Ghost and squeeze his hand until your anxiety dissipated.

All the while, your memories had begun returning at a quickened pace.

Ghost was learning more about you day by day.

Your favourite food, your home country, the names of your family members.

Your real name.

When he’d heard you say it for the first time, he swore the room got brighter.

It was beautiful and personal in ways that ‘Fawn’ could not compare.

It gave him a place to start searching for traces of you elsewhere.

Social media accounts, certificates, places of work and education - he knew he could find it all.

To make sure you were better off at home than you were at the Base is how he’d justified this interest to himself.

He still called you Fawn when you were alone, the name an inside joke between the two of you.

Speaking of, Ghost exchanged many jokes with you.

Regardless of how illogical or downright plain they were, you laughed each time.

Genuinely laughed.

Ghost wondered if you’d have reacted the same had you not been in the situation you were in right now; practically tethered to him and needing him for everything.

Well, almost everything.

After a few months of physical rehabilitation, you could just about walk again.

Your balance was a little off and you still needed the frame, but it was a start!

Ghost was there with you to celebrate, which, despite their best efforts to make you feel like a caged bird, the Base celebrated, too.

You’d been incredibly useful to them, having turned up many new leads for them to investigate.

As a reward, Base let you do something which caused Ghost to wonder if this was really the best decision.

They let you go to a bar with the boys.

To clarify, they said you could leave your room, the news of which travelled around the Base until it reached the ears of Ghost’s team.

“When were you gonna tell us?” Soap said, Alejandro nearby.

Ghost’s face was blank.

“Didn’t deem it necessary,” he said. And left it at that.

Naturally, Ghost’s team came to visit you and asked if you wanted to go to a bar with them.

“All that alcohol might help you remember something,” said Gaz, looking between you and Ghost.

You looked to Ghost, who, under the silent scrutiny of the other Force members, knew he couldn’t deny you of this freedom.

“Sure,” he said on your behalf. His eyes found yours and, while yours were filled with hope, Ghost’s seemed to exhibit a darkness never before seen by you.

You squeezed his hand that night you were set to leave.

“What if they don’t like me?” you said. “What if I was a terrible person and I remember all the bad things I’ve don-”

“Doesn’t matter.” Ghost’s voice came as a welcome distraction. You looked at him, swallowing your nerves.

“So what if they don’t like you? S’not like you’ll ever see them again.”

Ghost realised what he’d said wasn’t what you wanted to hear when your eyes widened, at which point he cleared his throat and tried again.

“What I mean is that they’ll like you regardless. Hell, they’re excited to just meet you after you’ve been holed up in confinement for the last few months.”

“You think so?” you said. Ghost nodded. And squeezed your hand back.

“I promise.”

The bar was nothing spectacular, being dimly lit and made solely out of wood, it seemed. But it was a change.

Creaking into the room, Alejandro spotted you first, throwing a cheer your way, followed by the rest of the Task Force, turning to face you.

Ghost was your shadow, large and wall-like behind you.

You held onto his wrist, daring not to let go, your other hand on the frame.

“Welcome, (Y/N),” said Gaz, lifting his drink in your general direction before taking a swig.

You gave him a slight wave, a shy smile crossing your features.

“Come, take a seat with us!” Alejandro hollered, waving you over.

You cast Ghost a glance over your shoulder. He nodded stiffly and you made your way to the group.

Ghost came to your side, with you gripping onto his arm.

His hulking mass beside you relieved you somewhat.

And, though he wouldn’t admit it, having you cling to him brought back the same feeling he experienced whenever you squeezed his hand.

Was this perhaps…liking?

The cheers of the team cut his thoughts short.

He knew you’d be safe with his team if he just left. And, with your warmth radiating through him, he felt that he needed to take a step outside to rid himself of this growing affliction.

He made a move to detach himself from you, and, quick as lightning, your hand was atop his.

“Don’t leave,” you whispered to him, eyes pleading as you snapped to look at him.

His heart jumped. Something in him stirred.

“Alright,” he said. “I won’t.”

“Hey,” came Alejandro’s jovial tone. “I can see why Ghost’s been hiding you away and keeping you to himself all this time.”

You felt your face heat up at the implication, then feigned oblivion. Just in case you were misreading the situation.

“Oh?” you said, tone inquisitive.

Alejandro nodded. “You’re very attractive.” He gave you an eye smile.

Your face felt as if it were on fire.

“Ah, look what you’ve done,” came Soap, emerging from the group. “You’ve gone and embarrassed (Y/N)!”

All the while, Ghost was beside you.

He seemed…rigid.

“That’ll do.” Ghost’s stern voice came, cutting through the chatter of the bar.

You nuzzled further into his side, as if trying to cover yourself.

You and Ghost settled into a quiet section of the bar after that, Soap, Alejandro and Gaz coming to pay you a visit whenever they brought you a drink, chatting for a minute or two before feeling ghost’s icy stare on their backs.

That night, laying in bed, you cast Ghost a tired smile.

“M’sorry I’ve been so clingy recently,” you said, Ghost tucking you in beneath the covers.

“Don’t be stupid,” he said, trying not to make eye contact with you.

Leaning back into your pillows, you reached for Ghost.

“Nervous?” he said, placing his gloved hand in yours.

“No,” you said. “Just want you nearby.”

Ghost’s heart spiked. He ignored it.

You fell asleep with his hand on your chest, hands holding his.

Ghost couldn’t bring himself to fall asleep without taking you in.

Even in the darkness, your features struck him as ethereal, your temperament and trust enrapturing him in ways he’d never been before.

He sat beside you, your loyal guard, watching over you through the night.

At some point, perhaps lulled to sleep by your rhythmic breathing, he joined you in a world far from this one, in a house you’d never seen before yet had lived in for years. You were happy, with Ghost behind you, unmasked, holding you.

Whether you shared this dream or not was irrelevant to Ghost. The only thing that mattered was that this, for now, felt real.

And yet, dreams can only satisfy the human lust for that which they do not have for so long.

The next day, more confident in your physical ability, you asked Ghost something which held an implication you weren’t yet aware of.

“Play Twister with me,” you said. You had a small smile on your face, one which Ghost was finding more and more difficult to deny.

After much pleading and begging, he eventually relented, more fond of the idea than he’d let on.

However, there was a stoic hesitance about him.

“I might hurt you.” His voice was sincere, yet his tone felt blank, as if he were protecting himself from the thought of injuring you.

You just smiled. “Never,” you said. “I trust you.”

Ghost scarcely contained the warmth seeping through his chest, threatening to make him smile.

He suppressed it.

“Fine,” he said.

Half an hour later, you were tangled together, neither relenting as your competitive nature got the better of you.

You span the dial, then called to Ghost: “Right foot, yellow!”

You tried. You really, really tried. But being pinned under the weight of a 6’2 ½ man and only just getting your strength back didn’t exactly give you an advantage. And stretching yourself too far, spreading your strength too thin, caused you to crumble.

You yelped, falling onto your front, winding yourself.

Ghost remained stationery on top of you.

You turned over onto your back and looked up at him, laughing.

“You can let go now,” you said. “You’ve won.”

“I know,” he said. “I just wanted to make sure you knew that.”

You gave a breathless laugh, hands either side of your head.

Ghost lowered himself onto his knees, your legs caged between them.

He didn’t notice until he felt your thighs touch the inside of his legs, at which point he became aware of the position you were in.

His hands were on either side of your shoulders, trapping you beneath him.

You went quiet, the only noise being your laboured breathing as you regained your breath.

You were so close, you noticed, able to see Ghost’s dark eyes searching yours.

Neither of you spoke.

Slowly, cautiously, Ghost leaned down, drawing closer to your face.

You watched, frozen by your own indecision.

Sure, you liked Ghost, but did you like like him?

Your body decided the latter as you tried to meet him in the middle. Instinctual.

The material of his mask just grazed the tip of your nose when a hurried knock came at your door.

Your heart jumped and you gasped, both you and Ghost turning to look at the door.

You regained your breath, chest heaving. “We should…um…” you struggled to find the words to say, sliding out from beneath Ghost.

“Yeah,” he said, getting up. He offered a hand to you, which you took, and hoisted you up.

You landed on his chest, his hand still gripping yours.

You couldn’t bring yourself to let go, and neither could Ghost, by the looks of things.

But alas, the doctor was persistent, calling your name through the door.

You parted without another word, leaning onto your nearby frame. Ghost assumed his usual tall posture, shaking the situation off his shoulders as if it were snow.

A couple weeks later, the foundations upon which you and Ghost had built your friendship came tumbling down.

Base had announced that they were sending you home, having gotten in contact with your family.

More of your memory had resurfaced, as had your strength; enough to reduce the risk of you getting injured somehow during transit.

Upon hearing this, you and Ghost had very different reactions.

Your heart swelled and you cheered, the thought of reuniting with your family again making your body light up.

Ghost remained quiet, no different from usual. But something about his quietude felt…off.

Cold.

Base would discharge you within the next day or so.

You related your plans of what you would do when you returned home.

“I’m going to go to the beach, I’m gonna read more, I-”

Ghost tuned you out, watching you with a vacant stare.

He knew he should have respected that you were bound to leave eventually, as all good things do. But…something about you made this separation more difficult than it needed to be.

Perhaps it was his ego, so inflated with your reliance on him that he could scarcely see himself having any value outside of it.

That was his first and final line of defence against what the real issue was.

As he watched you get excitable to get away from here, from him (he told himself), his resolve began to crack.

It had been chipped and scathed by other occurrences, sure. But this pressure, this final obstacle, threatened to destroy it entirely.

“What do you think, Ghost?” your voice tuned in as if it were re-emerging from water.

“About what?” he said. He saw little purpose in feigning interest now.

“About me being able to go home.” You wore a smile, a genuine smile. Ghost had seen enough to be able to identify it.

“Good,” he said. “Finally be out of my hair.” There was a venom in his tone that made you double-take.

You tried to ignore it, tried to focus on what the future held for you, but something in Ghost’s demeanour had changed. You sighed, dropped your previous train of thought.

“Ghost…” you said as you slid off the edge of your bed. Your balance had improved, making the trip to Ghost easier than it used to be. He reached out to grab you on instinct.

Standing before him now, you gazed into his eyes, trying to find the root of the issue.

“I wish we got more time together. Under different circumstances, of course.”

Of course, Ghost wanted to say, but he remained mute.

You placed gentle, cautious hands upon his chest, smoothing them over the fabric.

“You’ve been so good to me, and I’ll never be able to thank you enough for that.”

Your hands inched their way up to hold the sides of his mask. He made no move to remove you. His eyes bore into yours, soft in a way you’d never seen them before.

He placed his hands upon your waist, pulling you closer to him, slowly, methodically.

Your mind flashed back to your game of Twister. How close you’d been then and how close you were now.

Without thinking, urged by some sorrowful desire, you pulled Ghost into a tight hug, burying your face into his shoulder.

You sniffed, feeling tears sting your eyes and throat.

Ghost’s arms gingerly encompassed your frame, sliding around your waist, securing you.

The aversion he had to physical touch seemed to dissipate from him as you felt his weight pile on top of you, no longer holding back.

Neither of you spoke.

In your mind flashed a future without Ghost, a very real possibility. In Ghost’s, a future of only you and him. A silent promise he made to the both of you.

It took some time but the two of you eventually separated, with you wiping your nose on your sleeve.

Ghost watched you, hesitant to leave. Hesitant for you to leave.

You went to sleep that night as you never had before; Ghost laying in bed beneath you as you rested on his chest.

In his pocket, Ghost squeezed the stress ball, having found more use for it than you had.

In his haze, overwhelmed by the scent and presence of you, came an idea.

Later that morning, as you prepared to leave the Base, Ghost returned your stress ball to you.

“You found it!” you exclaimed, taking the ball and holding it close to your chest. You beamed up at Ghost, though there was an evident sorrow within you. “Thank you.”

Ghost offered his hand to you as he had many times before. And, for what you believed to be the final time, you took it, squeezing it.

You didn’t want to let go.

And neither did Ghost.

You were escorted onto the aircraft, Base fearing that you may be a target for any remaining cartel members while in the country, thus issuing you with a more discreet method of air travel home; a small helicopter.

You watched as Ghost grew further and further away, waving to you as you did to him, until he was gone.

In your hand you clutched your stress ball. Looking down at it, you turned it over in your hand.

There was something on it.

Looking closely, you saw the unmistakable outline of a phone number written in black ink, along with the word ‘Ghost’ below it.

You smiled, the crushing dejection you’d experienced for many hours before evaporating, replaced with a feeling you had grown all too familiar with.

Hope.

Meanwhile, Ghost got straight to work on tracking your location.

He wanted to know where that aircraft was going, when it would land, and approximately how long it would take for you to get home (and call him).

You may not have been able to see him anymore, but Ghost was watching over you.

This would be far from the last time you’d see him, he’d make absolutely sure of that.

Reblog for more content like this! It helps creators like myself tremendously and it is greatly appreciated :-)

Masterlist Masterlist [Continued] Masterpost Modern Warfare AI Masterlist

AO3 Wattpad

A/N: Due to tumblr's 4,096 character limit per text box (paragraph), I've had to separate the whole post out like this to be able topost it. I've tried putting the breaks where there would be a time skip so that reader immersion doesn't suffer too much.

Thank you for your patience :-)

Taglist: @yagipeach @deddoea @ghostsbrooklnbabe

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onsomenewsht · 5 months ago

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from the vault:

won't ask you to stay / but let me ask you one thing

》 Out of Love, Alessia Cara

》 Leah Williamson x Reader

》 fall out of love [idiom]: to no longer feel romantic love for someone

When Leah comes into your life, you don’t even notice at first. Her steps are light and her presence is comforting, never out of place or out of time.

It ends like it starts.

It starts with a jacket forgotten one late night, the summer air and your joined hands shielding her from the cold enough to leave it in your living room. You notice the piece of clothing the next morning, claiming it as your own.

It continues with vinyl records piling up in your library, some brought from her own apartment and others added just for you to listen to as you live around each other. You notice it after months, getting rid of some neglected plants to make more room for the growing collection.

It ends with her toothbrush next to yours, left behind after weeks of her not even coming to sleep at home anymore. You noticed it this morning, starting to gather her things for her to pick up.

It ends just like it starts, with light steps and a comforting absence.

“I think it’s all”

Leah emerges from the bedroom with a box full of what you assume are the last of her clothes.

Not even caring about what the blonde is putting in there, you leave her doing whatever she is here to do.

You already hid her jacket and she already has your heart, it’s not like she can take much more from you.

The truth is you wish to be anywhere else, not really in the right state of mind to watch the love of your life make disappear any sign this was once a shared heaven.

Your apartment turned into a crime scene and she’s getting rid of the evidence.

“Did you get the boots from outside?”

“Oh”, the English girl almost drops the box to turn as fast as she can.

You make no move to help her, so she has to open the door window without her hands.

She reappears after a minute, out of breath, “So, I–”

“The book on your bedside table?”

Leah looks embarrassed to have to go back into the bedroom, debating whether she should pretend to have already taken it.

The walk of shame is short and bittersweet, the box still secured in her arms.

You wish she’d hold you instead, her embrace always able to grant you and make you feel like a person can actually be the safest place on earth. The longing to ask her for a hug is too much to bear, you rise from the sofa to hide in the kitchen.

Busing yourself with the excuse of a coffee, you realise you’re crying when a couple of big tears mark the sleeve of your shirt – too used to a silent plea.

The athlete makes her way around you on tiptoes, like approaching a wounded and scared animal. The distance between the two of you is palpable, the box makes it physically evident too. It’s getting ridiculous.

“Can you put that shit down?”

“I– I’m not sure where”

Looking at Leah for the first time in weeks makes you immediately remember why you’ve been adamant about not finding yourself in her proximity.

She doesn’t seem as sleep deprived as you sure are, or drained of life as you feel. She’s hurt, you know.

You have not spent a stupid amount of time admiring her features to not know how she shows her feelings or tracing each new crease to not know what which ones mean. You know she’s hurt, but you know she’s hurt for you.

“Can I ask you one thing?”, you finally ask.

“I don’t think–”

“I’m not gonna ask you to stay”

She almost exhales in relief and you almost die right there.

“When did you fall out of love with me?”

#woso x reader #leah williamson x reader #leah williamson #woso fanfics #woso imagine #woso #from the vault

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admiral-mason · 1 month ago

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Ultra-Impact (SAGAU x Ultrakill)

Alright, let's try this multi-part chapter series yet again.

Idea based on @valeriele3's Live Stream post.

Reader is Gender Neutral (GN)

0-1 << YOU ARE HERE 0-2

PRELUDE /// FIRST INTO A NEW FIRE

SENTIENT MACHINES FROM HELL WARN YOU OF GRAVE DANGER.

"Ultrakill Violence Layer + Genshin stream"

Was the title of your stream on [streaming platform]. The chat was healthy, spitting out messages like every stream you recorded.

jonas9291: bro's gonna die LMFAO

Makitasbookshelf: This is it!

Brrrrrrtt donated $5.00: "BENJAMIN!!11!!!!!!!1!11!"

"Who the heck is Benjamin?" You said as you asked your chat before exiting the room that you were in,

And then staring up to see a huge titan of a machine.

1000-THR EARTHMOVER

"Ohhhhh holy crap that is one huge robot right there!"

That was what you said before you hooked onto the hookpoints at the beginning of the level and made your way up to the 1000-THR Earthmover's leg. The level title then popped up once you grappled all the hookpoints:

VIOLENCE /// CLIMAX ...LIKE ANTENNAS TO HEAVEN

The first two streetcleaners went down easy; you shot one while knocking off the other. Then, you ascended upwards to its side and killed a sentry.

And then right after said sentry was a Guttertank. These things sucked but you managed to get rid of him after a screwdriver railcannon to the torso.

Killing two more soldiers and a sentry after parkouring over some heated pipes, a Gutterman tried to kill you from behind at the last second. You broke his guard and finished him off with the rocket launcher.

Making your way to a circular platform, two more Guttertanks spawned.

"Are you screwing with me right now??" You said, as you bothered abusing the attractor sawblade launcher and yet another screwdriver railcannon shot to kill them, but not before one of their rockets hit you. Entering a building of sorts, you killed off two Mannequins and a Malicious face, with one ending up crushed by the face and granting you + MAURICED.

Right before the town, however, you noticed a terminal and you decided to check it out. However, instead of a tip of the day, it simply said:

"DO NOT TOUCH THE LANDS RULED BY THE SEVEN GODS."

benjaminfan: wtf

wjdhriww: what is this?

3929: Omg new Ultrakill update real???

NaviaLover291: Holy shot!

"...What the heck?" You quickly took a screenshot of the image for later. Then you defeated the 1000-THR Defence System after three deaths and made your way to the interior. Busting up the idols, you used the hookpoints in what you could infer as the neck area. Another terminal stood right at a checkpoint area, displaying different text too.

"THEY HAVE BECOME FERAL, LIKE THE WILD ANIMALS ROAMING ALONGSIDE THEM. THEIR RELIGION OF BELIEVING IN AN ALMIGHTY ONE, TWISTED AND CORRUPTED TO KILL ALL IMPERSONATORS."

Adm!ra1-M4son: Bro is this a spoiler for Fraud??

valeriele3: Hey this reminds me of SAGAU Impostor AU! ...That's not a good sign actually-

johnifer: sagau more like SAG ON DEEZ NUTS LOLOLOLOL GOTTEM

"Oh no Genshin better not freaking kill me after this," you jokingly said as you screenshotted this text too, wondering if this relates to any storyline purposes. Your chat once told you about SAGAU during one stream and you all had fun reading the Tumblr fanfictions about it.

Fighting the Earthmover's brain was simple enough: fire everything you owned at it. Screwdrivers, coins, cannonballs jumpstart sawblade launcher, basically literally every single heavy weapon you owned.

The final horde was a bit laggy for you, but aside from that it was more or less just abusing rocket launchers and sawblade launchers. You then finally completed the level, with an unfortunate C-rank.

"Oof," Was all you said before you went onto Reddit for a brief moment and posted your screenshot of the terminals before going to booting up Genshin.

"Okay chat let's do this!" You said as you were about to go do your daily commissions and everything was normal until you talked to an NPC.

"...You filthy impersonator! The Knights of Favonius will make sure you're properly disposed of!"

He said that before your game crashed on you with an error code simply labeled "You shall pay for your crime, impostor."

"What the heck chat??" But then your stream ended too, and before you knew it, your PC started rapidly heating up and your monitor glowing a flashbang-level white before you were ultimately engulfed by it.

0-1: INTO A NEW FIRE: COMPLETED

Taglist: @valeriele3, @bunniotomia (I think that's how tagging works? If you wish to be tagged, let me know in the comments below)

#sagau #genshin impact #genshin sagau #genshin x reader #ultrakill #ultrakill v1 #crossover #sagau x ultrakill #v1 ultrakill #v1 #sagau impostor au #impostor au #impostor sagau #sagau cult au

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hollyhomburg · 9 months ago

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Before I Leave You (Pt.66)

(Sneek peak)(Omegaverse au, Mafia au, Bts x Reader)

Summary: Your track record with trying to survive is a checkered one. This is a red spot among the black and white.

Tags: Blood, Guns, violence, near death experiences, everyone lives nobody dies...but someone does die this chapter, horror, non-lethal injury, talks of death and dying, a bit of body horror, forced murder? Trans! tae, Tae is briefly dead named in this, implied/referenced intimate partner violence, flashbacks, brief suicidality.

W/c: 8.0k

A/N: ahhhhhh <3 we're finally ready for this part of the story <3 i wonder what your guys reactions will be, i'm really glad i decided to split this chapter into two peices! it's much cleaner this way. don't be 🥲 too mad at me.

Previous part - Masterlist - First part

Chapter 66: Go for the Throat

You hold your breath. Still peering around the corner, watching and waiting for the man to spot you.

But he doesn't, after a breath where his soft footsteps echo, you wait, but nothing happens. You peak back around the corner.

You absorb and catalog the details as fast as you can; the black ski mask, covered by one of those traditional masks, wooden with red lacquer. This one is a little different than the one that Jimin had; this one is white with red splotch on the cheeks, not twisted with thick eyebrows in a snarl. Like a ghost sent down from above to rob you of your humanity.

The bulletproof vest stops at the collarbones. The gun itself is black and a generic model. The long end is extra bulbous with something that might be an attached silencer. Hands covered in black nitrile gloves, leathery at first glance. There is a knife at his waist along with a barrage of other small things. Rope and a knife, duct tape and handcuffs. His heavy boots look steel toed and reinforced.

The man (because it is a man you realize; tall, maybe taller than Namjoon) trains his gun at the landing on the top of the stairs. Pointing it in the direction of Hobi, Tae, and Jin’s hushed voices.

Hobi giggles and it sounds so bright. Echoing off the walls and filling the house.

There is a phone cord tangled in your hands, long and white. You grip it tight.

This man might be silent but you’re quieter as you slide your bare feet across the smooth floors. Your strides are so quiet, you take one step and then another until you're behind the man, mirroring him.

You remember when Yoongi redid the floors, it was one of the few things that he did right away- before the pack came to live here (to love here). It took him weeks and weeks of sanding before he got them to his liking. Days more of brown dark stain that colored his hands ruddy until the soft matte finish stuck. Every pass with the belt sander and dirty rag a movement of love, a meditation for it.

Yoongi made every inch of this house with the same loving intent; to make it a home for all of you. You won’t let it become a grave. You won’t let this person stay here and ruin it.

Most people get it wrong; In order to kill, it is not a matter of elegance or effort. There is no such thing as a perfect kill, emotionless and analytic. it being justified only gets you halfway. There is no way to do it perfectly or cleanly. People die just as they live, messy and hopeful and dirty.

Murder isn't a matter or wanting or wishing, It’s a matter of rage.

It’s always been this way. Rage has been chewing a hole through you from the moment that you pulled the trigger with Geumjae. From the moment you said ‘I do’. Rage that these violent things have been done to you, that they continue to happen, that you can’t just get away from all the hurt and trauma.

Rage has eaten you clean through to the bone. Only now you're the hungry one. Right now, only three words run through your head;

How dare she.

How dare she send this man into your house. How dare she point a gun at the upstairs, in the general direction of your nest and your packmates. The altar at which you so desperately cling to, for sweet dreams and sweet worship. How dare she even think about hurting the people you love.

There is no courage, no bravery, no thought in your head about how stupid it might be as you step closer behind the man. You are not a trained assassin. You’re just an omega.

The adrenaline rush is an old friend, you know how to use it. You grip the phone cord in your hands and take a quiet steadying breath. He doesn't see you, he doesn't hear you, he doesn't know that you're behind him.

Wolves always go for the throat, whether they’re cornered or hunting.

The assassin’s foot ascends the bottom step. You don’t let him get to the second before you’re moving, hurtling forward. Footsteps light as a butterfly’s wings. Your hands go over the man’s shoulders. The cord no more than a white flash across his vision before you draw it tight across his neck.

Coming Saturday February 3rd at 5pm EST (Time Zone Adjustments Below)

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swee7dream · 11 months ago

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slowly but surely zhong chenle x f!reader

genres agere content, angst, fluff warnings internalized anti-agere, mention of a panic attack but not in depth. lmk if i missed any ! wc 2.3k dni if you sexualize age regression

summary it's the end of the year but you are finding it very difficult to be in celebratory mood.

dni: if you sexualize age regression and/or have an 18+ blog.

You’re going to quit your job.

You are, you’re making a promise to yourself about it and you have already decided to honor the promises you make to yourself this coming year. You are going to quit your job and nothing is going to stand in your way this time.

Only your boss would talk about an end-of-year party as a ‘compulsory team meeting’. You were supposed to have a nice simple evening with Chenle at home, making dinner together and then watching the fireworks until one of you falls asleep. A nice simple evening that did not have you hyperventilating in the bathroom out of fear you would be let go.

The plan was to stop by the store as soon as you finished your shift to ensure you got the freshest ingredients for the pesto pasta recipe you found on Pinterest and get more than the advised portions because you know for a fact half of it will end up on your kitchen floor when the play-fighting gets out of hand.

It was meant to be a night of relaxing and reflecting and not any of what you are feeling right now: stressed, angry, and murderous.

You take a sniff of your clothes as you walk from the bus stop back home, wondering if you can still wear this jacket out tomorrow or if you’ll smell like you bathed in alcohol fully dressed. Moisture seeps through your boot and into your sock from a puddle you didn’t notice on the sidewalk a couple of minutes back and you feel your entire body rejecting the sensation.

You mumble to yourself while doing quick work of inputting the PIN code to your front door lock, squeezing your eyes tight in an attempt to bring moisture back to your dried-out eyes.

‘Bath, color, cuddle, sleep. Bath, color, cuddle, sleep. Bath, color, cuddle, sleep!’

The plan for the night repeats like a broken record in your mind, mentally pushing yourself to go on just a little longer. You let out a sigh of relief when the lock finally sings its tune of entrance after three failed attempts.

“There’s my girl. I thought someone was trying to break in or something.”

The mental image of you talking with your dolls and stuffed animals shatters like a priceless vase, the shards amounting to the grains of sand in the sea.

“Hi.” You drop your bag on the floor the second you have a foot inside. You were so excited about tonight, how could you forget so quickly? Your boyfriend is so excited to see you and all you can think about is how you want everyone to die, that’s rich.

“Hey.” Chenle’s smile drops at your lack of enthusiasm. “You okay?”

“Okay… Just tired. ‘m gonna take a bath, ‘kay?” Your lips barely part as you speak and your feet don’t lift an inch from the floor, shuffling down the hallway instead. Tongue trapped between your teeth, you stop yourself from saying something you’ll regret on the way to the bathroom.

—

Your own gasp wakes you and you find that you’ve fallen asleep in the tub. How long have you been asleep? The water’s not exactly warm anymore and you see your fingertips have pruned up like raisins. You poke at them while leaning over the edge before sighing. Chenle’s out there waiting for you, you remind yourself, you can’t just stay pruned up like this forever.

Only for a little bit longer. You hug your knees to your chest and rest your cheek on one of them as you watch all the water from your bath swirl down the drain like a whirlpool. You can’t help but blow your lips together, mimicking the sounds you think pirates caught in a whirlpool would make.

A knock at the door.

“Everything alright in there?”

“Uh, yeah. Sorry. I’m getting dressed now. I’ll be right there.” The sound of your voice surprises you, feeling it’s much deeper than it should be for some reason.

The heat coming up from the vents is still too cold for you and although you know you should keep moving to feel warm, you find it much more comfortable to just stand in place on the rug.

Water drips off you and onto the rug and the towel wrapped tight around you where you shiver. Your hair is wet and heavy and if looks could kill, the shirt you planned to change into would be on fire at the moment. The feeling of heavy, damp hair wetting your new shirt makes you roll your eyes a bit, but the knowledge of your boyfriend on the other side of the door pushes you to endure it.

You’re in your own home but you sure don’t act like it, shuffling shyly out of the bathroom with uncertain steps.

“Le?”

“Oh.” He looks up from the shelf he was carefully inspecting before. “Hey baby. Good bath?”

“…yeah. What are you holding?”

“This?” He lifts his hand. “It’s one of your crayons. I found it lying on the floor and was just looking where to put it back.”

“It’s not mine,” You state firmly with a swift snatch. “It’s my nephew’s. He came over recently.”

“…your nephew colors with glitter crayons?” Chenle tries not to eye the grip you have that crayon in.

“Yeah. He does. Is that a problem?” You tuck the crayon into the pocket of your pajama pants quickly and make your way over to the kitchen.

“It’s not a problem, I just didn’t know he moved on so fast from his ‘arts and crafts is boring’ stage.”

“He’s coming around to it.” You move around the kitchen quickly, filling and turning on the kettle.

“Good for him.” Chenle stands slowly, when did his back start hurting like this? Is he getting old? Well, he is already balding. But that’s because of the hair dye, right? It’ll grow back. Probably.

“Yeah.” You toss a tea bag into a mug. “That’s just how kids are. Thank you for finding it.”

“Mhm.”

He takes notice of how you haven’t made eye contact with him since you snatched the crayon from him, how you still don’t. You try cracking your knuckles and wrists again and again, ignoring the fact that you already did before and nothing will pop for the next while or so.

You’re lying.

Why are you lying?

“Well, now I’m jealous.” Chenle leans on the counter with his forearms, teasing smile gently nudging you to at least look his way. “How come that little kid gets to color with my girlfriend when even I haven’t done that before?”

You don’t reply but his eyes follow how you swallow an invisible lump in your throat.

“It’s not like we have the ingredients to cook dinner tonight anyway, why don’t we just spend our home date tonight just coloring? You have more crayons, right?”

“No,” You reply immediately, turning away to get the kettle when it dings. “He just left this one. Why would I have any crayons? Do you think I’m a five-year-old?”

“I never said that.” He stands up, a frown of confusion painting his face.

“Right. Well, I don’t have any of those. And I don’t want to do a coloring date. I’m dating an adult, I would like to feel like I am.”

“Adults can color.”

“No they can’t.”

“Why not?”

“Because they can’t.”

The kitchen is quiet, the single noise of the spoon mixing the tea and honey in your mug. With each second of silence, the control you have on your breathing weakens.

You do want to color. You want to doodle and draw and give Chenle all your stickman drawings. You want him to show you his pictures and you want to hear him praise the color you chose for the sun’s sunglasses. You want him to color with you and play with you until you’re all tired out. When you’re asleep you want him to cradle you and cuddle you, kiss you on the forehead, and hum you lullabies in an undertone.

But it’s also so unreasonable to demand that.

He has a life just as stressful if not more than yours, to throw all your burdens on him to bear, even if just for a few hours, is wrong. You would feel too guilty. Chenle’s dating an adult, not babysitting a child. Dating you should be an option, not a burden.

“They can’t?”

“They can’t.” You shake your head, voice breaking.

Chenle takes you into arms before you fully break, leaving all your tears to stain his t-shirt. His fingers dig into your hair and your whole body shivers when you feel his nails gently scratch against your scalp.

“I’m going to be honest with you, Princess, I don’t really know what happened today. Or if it’s something you’ve been dealing with for a long time… Either way, I’m sorry. If I’m the reason you’re crying right now, I’m sorry. And I’m also sorry for not knowing what I’ve done wrong. I’m kind of slow on the uptake at times. If I’m not the reason you’re crying, I’m sorry you went through that, or, are going through that. I don’t really know…

“You don’t have to talk about it if you don’t want to. You looked like you were about to drop dead as soon as you walked in tonight so I wouldn’t blame you. I probably should have left earlier but I couldn’t help it. It’s the last day of the year and I really wanted to spend it with you. I’m kind of clingy like that, I guess. I was on my way here and… I was thinking how I would be ending this year and starting this next year with you and- and I wanted this to be how every year will be. Forever. Or, until you don’t it want to. Because I don’t feel like I will ever not want to be with you. I’m like… obsessed with you. But not to a point where I won’t leave if you tell me to leave. I definitely will leave if you ask me to leave. Do you want me to go? I can go. You look tired and I’m keeping you up-”

“No.” You interrupt, speaking into his chest. “Stay.”

“Okay. Yeah, I’ll stay.”

“But… I think I am gonna nap.”

“Yeah… Yeah, you should. I’ll just stay out here.”

“You’re an idiot.” You blurt. “A big dumb idiot. You’re dumb.”

“…yeah.”

“Want you to nap with me. Cuddle. Carry me.”

“Carry you…?” Chenle looks down at you, feeling whiplash at how quickly your moods change. He doesn’t question it though, melting at the sight of your big watery eyes. “Yeah, okay. Your wish is my command.”

You smile as you feel his arms wrap around you, his cologne entering your nose and giving you an incomparable high. His steps are slow and uncertain, careful to not hit your head on any doorframes. He begins lowering you onto the bed but your arms don’t loosen around his neck.

“Sorry too.” You whisper.

“For what?”

“Callin’ you dumb. You’re not dumb.”

“Thank you.” Chenle smiles, his eyes disappearing into thin little moons. “But, I am actually a little dumb.”

“No.” You frown as if the person offended was you. “Not dumb.”

“No?”

“No.” You insist. “’m the dummy.”

“What? No, Princess.” He sits on the side of the bed when his neck begins to hurt from the angle. “How could you think that?”

“’Cause,” Your eyes drop to his shirt, suddenly extremely interested in the wrinkles of his shirt. “Dunno. Thought you wouldn’t like me.”

“Wouldn’t like you? Baby, why would I not like you?”

“’Cause ‘m a dummy!” You whisper-yell at him as if he wasn’t listening. “Was bein’ mean earlier and takin’ stuff and… just wasn’t bein’ nice. And then I thought that you wouldn’t like me if I… I dunno.”

“If what?”

“If there was like… a side o’ me you didn’t really like. ‘n’ I scared you away… Don’t wanna be a bother, y’know?”

“You’re not a bother, Baby.” Chenle presses a kiss to your temple. “You’re my responsibility. I choose to do all these things. You’re never a bother. Never ever. Even if you get sick or get kicked out of your house or… I don’t know. No matter what, I choose to stay with you.”

“What if you choose to stop staying with me?”

“Did you kill someone?”

“No?”

“Then I think we can work through it.”

You giggle and lean back into him. He says such silly things with such confidence that he almost makes you believe it. Maybe one day you will.

“Oh shoot, your tea. I’ll be right back.”

The bed creaks under you as he gets up, the fireworks of overly-zealous celebrators with seemingly broken clocks lighting up his side profile pinks and purples through the window.

You stare at him and feel a warmth grow deep in your heart, an uncontrollable smile painted on your face. Chenle looks back at you with a confused smile, but you can see the same love in your heart in his eyes.

Yeah.

You also think that this is right. You don’t know if it’s for forever yet, but you sure hope it will be. That this year and the next and all the years until you’re both stars in the sky you two will be together. The fireworks will light up your faces when you’re both wrinkly and gray, wearing the same dorky grins you wear tonight.

You’re afraid, but you can feel that soon you’ll introduce a new side of yourself to Chenle. As he gets in the bed with you, looking out the window of your bedroom with his arm around your waist, the anxiety is the tiniest bit smaller than it was this morning. Slowly but surely, you know in your heart the day when you can show your heart bare to him will come and you’re not afraid

Maybe you’re afraid now but you know it’s only a matter of time before you free fall into his arms without a second thought. It's inevitable, you smile to yourself.

a/n: STRESSING to post this before the new year lolz. also, i hope y'all know that reader was toned down SO much over the drafts. when i get overstimulated i start wanting ppl to die and it's never that serious...... i rly had to get rid of that quality when writing for reader LOLOLOL OK ENJOY REBLOG GIVE KUDOS ALL THAT STUFF THAT TUMBLR LIKES LOVE U ALL HOPE U HAVE THE BESTEST 2024

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nomie-11 · 23 days ago

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Chapter 19 - Shadows of Secrets

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A knock on Liam’s door startled Violet from her sleep, with tired eyes and heavy limbs, she gently pushed herself out from under Liam’s protective arm and prodded her way to the door, grabbing a dagger on the way.

Gently opening it a crack, she was surprised to be met with a familiar face.

“Genevieve,” Violet groans, rubbing the sleep out of her eyes. “What in gods’ name are you doing? It’s two in the morning.”

It was three days after Montserrat. Violet had received news that Mira didn’t die yesterday, but there was still no news or sight of Xaden, and Genevieve couldn’t sleep.

“You owe me answers.” She said firmly, her eyes tired as she peered into Violet’s bedroom, Liam asleep softly on the bed, his boots haphazardly thrown against the foot of her bed. “How did Dain find out about my mission, better yet, how did you find out about my mission, because I never told you. And what’s the deal about Andarna and Astrape? I know you’re channeling something from that smaller dragon and you’re hiding it from me. And…” her voice drops, handing Violet her sister’s death record. “What’s a Venin?”

Violet’s eyes flickered back to the sleeping form of her loving boyfriend, then back to Genevieve, who stood in the doorway, dark blue eyebags overwhelming her features.

“I can’t tell you about Dain or Andarna.” she quickly says, shaking your head. “Dain’s signet is classified.”

“Classified or not, somehow he knows something I never told either of you, so spill.”

Violet’s face tightened, her hand resting against the doorframe as if it could support the weight of Genevieve’s demands. “I told you, I can’t.” She whispered, casting another glance to Liam, who stirred but didn’t wake. “It’s not that simple.”

Genevieve’s eyes narrowed.

“How my squad leader, who has never spoken directly to me, knows one of my deepest secrets, needs to be explained to me. How you know in the first place is beyond me!”

Violet's hesitation was palpable, her fingers twitching as if itching to leave the conversation entirely. For a moment, it looked as if she would deny again, but then her shoulders sagged in defeat.

“When you pushed yourself to burnout, when you were healing me after the fight with Barlowe, Dain must have touched you, and-” She starts, but Genevieve cuts her off almost immediately.

“He touched me. What does that have to do with him knowing what’s going on in my past?” She questions, pressing Violet further and further.

“Dain’s signet…” She began, her voice barely audible. “He can watch your memories with a touch of his hand. He sees what you’ve seen when he touches you.”

Genevieve’s blood turned cold at the revelation. He can see memories? The implications make her stomach churn. “And you didn’t think to warn me?” She hissed, her voice sharp despite her low volume. “You just let me walk around, vulnerable to that?”

Violet winced, guilt clear in the tightness of her expression. “I didn’t know he’d do that to you,” she whispered. “And I couldn’t tell you, it’s classified.”

Genevieve’s hands clenched into fists at her sides, the edges of her nails biting into her palms. “Classified,” she repeated bitterly, the word tasting like poison on her tongue. “My mission is classified, too! And I’m guessing Dain told you about my mission, too, because you didn’t look surprised at all when he exposed me in front of everyone! He didn’t care that it was classified. You’re supposed to be my best friend, Violet. What has Dain really done for you since you got to Basgiath?”

Violet flinched at the sharpness in Genevieve’s tone, guilt and frustration clouding her expression. Her fingers tightened around the doorframe as she watched dark and blooming vines creep up Genevieve’s legs. “Genevieve, it’s not like that—”

“Then what is it like?” Genevieve snapped, stepping further into the room, her body tense with anger. “He violated my trust, our trust, and you’re defending him?”

Genevieve watched as Violet’s face softened, her voice laced with exhaustion. “Dain thinks he’s helping me… he’s always been overprotective.” She let out a shaky breath. “I didn’t ask him to tell me or to read your memories. And I didn’t know about your mission until he told me, I wasn’t even curious. I swear, he said it was for your safety, that he needed to know.”

Genevieve’s heart pounded in her chest, a mixture of betrayal and anger threatening to choke her. “My safety?” She spat, incredulous. “You mean General Sorrengail’s idea of my safety. The same woman who locked me in a cell for over a year and made me her weapon?”

Violet looked away, the silence between them thick with unspoken truths. “I know, you’re right, I’m sorry. Dain was wrong for stealing your memories, but I didn’t know how to tell you about his signet. I was scared you’d shut me out and I didn’t want to add anything to your plate.”

Geneveive’s voice trembled with what Violet could only assume was controlled fury. “I’m not the one who’s shut anyone out, Violet. You knew I was being spied on, and you didn’t say a word.” Genevieve shook her head, disbelief settling in. “You already added to it.” She tossed the death record onto the small table beside the bed, the sound barely louder than a whisper in the stillness of the room. “And you still haven’t explained what a Venin is.”

At the mention of the word, Violet paled. She opened her mouth, then hesitated. “They aren’t real, Genevieve. Venin are just folklore, something from old riders’ tales. They’re not—”

“Not real?” Genevieve cut her off, eyes blazing. “Then why does Quinn’s death record list one as the cause of death?”

Violet froze. Her mouth opened, but no words came out as she stared at the documents Genevieve had just tossed onto the table. “What?”

“I stole them from General Sorrengail’s office. These official papers stamped with your family crest list Venin as the cause of death for my older sister, who—last time I checked—died in a petty combat situation, not in a fairy tail.”

Violet’s face drained of color as Genevieve’s words sank it, the pure and utter desperation in her eyes told Violet everything she needed to know. Genevieve wasn’t angry at her, she was desperate. She would be, too, if her sister died with a mythical creature being the cause of death.

“I… I didn’t know,” Violet stammered, taking a hesitant step closer to the papers, her fingers trembling as she reached for them. “Venin? That’s impossible. My mother would have—” She stopped short, her mind racing. “No, she wouldn’t lie about something like this, not to me, not about Venin.” But even as she said it, doubt crept into her voice.

Genevieve’s eyes were cold, fury bubbling beneath the surface. “Well, she did. You want to explain that?” She gestured to the death record. “Or are you going to tell me it’s just another ‘classified’ secret I’m not allowed to know about?”

Violet’s gaze lingered on the document, her heart pounding in her chest. Everything she had been taught, every story her father had told her, had been rooted in old, forgotten tales—stories meant to scare children, not kill real people. And now, the undeniable evidence was staring back at her in black and white.

“I don’t understand.” Violet’s voice was barely a whisper in the air. “They’re not real, they can’t be. We would’ve known—” Her words trialed off as she tried to make sense of it all, the doubt palpable.

Genevieve crossed her arms, her frustration barely contained. “Well, they’re real enough to have killed my sister. And apparently, your mother knew. So, are you going to help me figure this out, or are you just going to keep pretending like everything is fine? Like you’re not picking up on discrepancies between battle brief and actual war reports?”

The room was thick with the unpleasant taste of tension. “We’ll figure this out,” Violet said, her resolve strong and her hunger for knowledge dripping from her every word. “But please, understand that I didn’t know about any of this, and I’m so sorry about Dain.”

“I know,” Genevieve said, her words soft as the vines retreated beneath the floorboards. “I shouldn’t have expected you to have the answers to everything. But right now, I don’t trust anyone. Not after Dain, not after finding out this about my sister’s death. So forgive me if I’m being a bitch.”

Violet didn’t respond right away, guilt weighing heavily on her shoulders. “I know as well,” she said softly. “And I don’t blame you. We’ll figure this out the same way we figured out your signet.”

Genevieve remained silent, her expression hard. “I hope so,” she said finally, her voice the most detached than Violet had ever heard it.

As the silence settled between them, a distant rumble of thunder echoed through the night, the storm outside matching the turmoil swirling within the room. Neither of them noticed the shadow that flickered in the corner, just out of sight.

———————————————————

Xaden rubs his hands over his face as a knock resonates through the door to his dorm. He needed to get to Genevieve before curfew, she was waiting for him to go to sleep. What in gods’ name was so important that they needed to interrupt him right now.

Groaning, he rose from the chair at his desk, tossing his night clothes back into their drawers before opening the door.

And it's… Genevieve.

“We’re sleeping in my room tonight?” He asks, slightly taken aback but his words teasing.

“We’re playing 21 questions.” She said confidently looking him right in the eyes.

Xaden blinks, surprised by her directness, and then snorts. “Playing games now, are we? You sure you’re not just here to drag me into bed?”

“Not tonight,” Genevieve shrugs. “I had a revelation that I actually know nothing about anyone, so tonight, we’re talking.”

He studies her for a moment, trying to read whether or not she’s serious or not. She’s carrying herself with a confidence that only comes when she’s on a mission. “Alright,” he says, stepping aside to let her in, his curiosity piqued. “Shoot me with the first question.”

“What’s your favorite food?”

“Easy. Chocolate cake.”

Genevieve flops down on his bed, enveloping herself in his soft blankets and warm smell.

Xaden leans against the doorframe, arms crossed, a smirk playing at the corners of his mouth. He watches her settle into his bed, her hair fanning out like a halo of light against the sheets. The sight pulls out something inside him, an unfamiliar warmth that mingles with the teasing tone of their conversation.

“Chocolate cake, huh?” she muses, looking up at him with an amusing glint in her eyes. “Is that your secret weapon for winning my heart? A slice of cake?”

“Hey, it’s worked on others,” he quips, pretending to shrug nonchalantly. “What can I say? I have a lot of layers.”

“Clearly,” Genevieve replies, rolling her eyes playfully. “Alright, ask me a question now.”

Xaden pushes off from the doorframe, grabbing his chair and sitting facing Genevieve, propping up his feet on the bed right in front of her, causing her to laugh and grimace. “Okay, let’s see…” he says, his voice low and teasing. “What’s something you’re afraid to admit to anyone else?”

Genevieve’s playful expression falters for a moment, the question striking deeper than she’d expected. She glances away, fingers toying with the edge of the blanket as she considers her answer. “And all I asked you was your favorite food.” she mutters, her voice softer now.

“You wanted to talk,” Xaden reminds her, though his tone has shifted, too—gentler, aware of the weight behind his question.

She sighs, brushing her now grown out hair from her face, the jagged tips brushing her shoulders. “I’m afraid… of losing control,” she admits after a beat of silence. “Of what I’m capable of. That one day I’ll push too far and won’t be able to pull back.”

Xaden’s teasing smirk fades completely. He knows what she’s talking about—the weight of the power she holds, the constant tension of trying to keep it in check. It’s something they’ve never really talked about openly before.”Genevieve,” he says quietly, leaning forward a little, his dark eyes searching hers. “You don’t have to worry about that. As long as I’m here, I’d never let you fall that far.”

Her eyes flicker to him, something vulnerable, raw, and unspoken hanging in the space between them. For a second, she almost believes him—almost. But she quickly shakes it off, the mask slipping back into place as she gives a small, forced smile. “Your turn again. What’s your guilty pleasure?”

Xaden doesn’t press her, though he knows there’s more she’s not saying. He leans back on his elbows, letting the tension ease. “Guilty pleasure, huh?” Xaden taps his chin in mock thought, but the gleam in his eyes shows he already knows the answer. “Alright, but you can’t judge me for this.”

Genevieve raises an eyebrow, intrigued. “Oh, I definitely will, but go on.”

He grins, leaning in as if he’s about to share the world’s biggest secret. “I love terrible romance novels. The more cliche, the better. Bonus points for ridiculous plot twists and melodramatic declarations of love.”

Genevieve’s eyes widen in disbelief before she bursts out laughing, clutching the blankets to her chest. The sound is like music to his ears, and his heart swells with pride knowing his words brought her this joy. “No way! Xaden Riorson, Mr. Dark and Brooding, is secretly a hopeless romantic?”

“I am not a hopeless romantic!” He says, laughing with her. “I just appreciate a good love story.”

“I never would’ve guessed,” Genevieve says between giggles, wiping a tear from her eye. “But your secret’s safe with me… for now.”

“I’m trusting you with this one,” Xaden says, narrowing his eyes in a playful warning. “Now your turn—spill something embarrassing.”

Geneveive sits up, crossing her legs as she considers.

Xaden can’t help but think that she looks perfect right now. Tousled hair, an unfamiliar smile etched onto her face, night clothes, his sheets.

“If we’re sharing embarrassing secrets, I have one that haunts me to this day.” She pauses for dramatic effect. “When I was 13, I tried to write a love poem to this guy I had a crush on. I thought it was a masterpiece of literary genius—turns out it was so cringy, he showed it to everyone.”

Xaden winces sympathetically but can’t help the grin that spreads across his face. “Ouch. How bad was it?”

“I compared his eyes to a muddy river…” she groans, hiding her face in her hands.

Xaden snorts, trying to stifle his laughter. “A muddy river? That’s… poetic.”

Genevieve peeks through her fingers, glaring at him. “I was very serious about it at the time, thank you very much.”

“Clearly,” Xaden teases, poking her in the side. “I bet he thought it was secretly adorable.” I know I would.

She bats his hand away, smiling despite herself. “Alright, alright, enough of that. You get another question, that one was bad.”

“Another question, huh?” Xaden leans forward, resting his elbows on his knees, his gaze lingering on her face for just a beat longer than necessary. There’s a mischievous spark in his eyes as if he’s about to push the boundaries of their lighthearted game. “Alright, let’s make this interesting.”

Genevieve narrows her eyes at him, already suspicious of whatever he’s plotting. “Interesting, how?”

“You have to answer honestly—no dodging.” His voice lowers, his smirk deepening. “What was your first impression of me?”

Genevieve blinks, caught off guard by the sudden shift in their playful banter. Her first impression of him? She hesitates, the memory of their earlier encounters flooding her mind—how he seemed so infuriatingly aloof, always hiding behind that smoldering exterior.

“I thought you were annoying,” she admits with a grin, watching his expression darken in mock indignation. “You walked around like you knew everything, acted all high and mighty, like no one could touch you. It was infuriating. I wanted to fight you so badly.”

Xaden chuckles, shaking his head. “Infuriating, huh? And now?”

Genevieve can feel the tension between them grow, the air in the room thickening as the question hangs in the air. She knows exactly what he’s asking, but she’s nowhere near ready to admit how deeply her feelings for him have shifted. He knows just how physical her attraction is, but she’s never verbalized anything beyond that, she’s only ever shown it.

“And now,” she says slowly, her voice softening, “I still think you’re annoying. But I also think… there’s a lot more to you than you let on. You’re not as untouchable as you pretend to be.”

Xaden’s eyes darken slightly, something intense flickering behind his teasing expression. He’s silent for a moment, as if weighing her words, and then he leans closer, closer than she thought was possible, so close she can feel the heat radiating off of him. “You see right through me, do you?”

Genevieve swallows, feeling her pulse quicken. “Maybe.”

His gaze drops to her lips for just a second, the tension between them crackling like static in the air. He reaches out, his fingers brushing a loose strand of hair from her face, the touch sending shivers down her spine. “Your turn,” he murmurs, his voice like velvet. “But choose carefully. I’m starting to think you’re asking questions you already know the answers to.”

Genevieve’s breath catches in her throat, and for a moment, she forgets the game entirely. The heat between them is undeniable, the air thick with unspoken and spoken desire. But she’s never been one to back down from a challenge. “What do you really want from me, Xaden?”

The question comes out more serious than she intended, and she can see it takes him by surprise. His teasing demeanor falters, and for a brief second, his guard crumbles completely. His hand lingers near her face, his thumb grazing her cheek softly.

“What do I want?” He echoes, his voice barely above a whisper. His dark eyes bore into hers, as if trying to convey something he can’t quite say. “I want…” he pauses, searching for the right words. “I want you to trust me.”

Her heart skips a beat, the sincerity in his voice cutting through the tension like a blade. He isn’t playing anymore. Neither of them are.

Genevieve’s breath comes quicker now, her chest rising and falling in a rhythm that mirrors the thundering of her heart. She knows that she should pull away, that the last time they had sex it was a heat of the moment thing, and all of their other kisses have been fueled by external emotions. She knows that she’s walking a dangerous line with him, but the gravity between them feels impossible to resist.

“You already know I do,” she whispers, her voice trembling slightly. “But that’s not what you really want, is it?”

Xaden’s eyes darken further, and in a flash, he closes the small distance between them.

“Fuck it.” Her voice rings clear in his head as she snakes her arm up, grabbing the back of his neck, pulling him in before he can second-guess herself, his lips crash against hers with a hunger that takes her breath away.

The kiss is fire—raw, intense, and filled with all the tension that’s been brewing since December. Genevieve melts into it, her fingers tangling in his hair as she pulls him closer, needing more of him, needing all of him.

Xaden’s hands are everywhere—tracing the curve of her waist, sliding under the hem of her shirt, his touch igniting skin in a way that makes her dizzy. He pulls her onto his lap, their bodies pressed together in a way that leaves no room for hesitation, no room for doubt.

The playful banter, the teasing—it all dissolves in the heat of the moment. All that’s left is the raw, undeniable connection between them, a force that neither of them can control.

Genevieve pulls back for a breath, her lips swollen, heart racing. “This… this is what you really want, isn’t it?” She gasps, her eyes searching his.

Xaden’s gaze is molten, his hands still gripping her waist as if he’s afraid to let go. “I want you, Genevieve,” he says, his voice rough with truth and emotion. “All of you. No more games. No more pretending.”

Her heart clenches at his words, the vulnerability in his voice shaking her very idea of who he is. She’s wanted him for so long—fought against it, denied it, but now, there’s no denying what’s between them.

“No more games,” she whispers back, before her lips meet his again, with a fierce intensity, silencing any last traces of doubt between them. This time, the kiss isn’t just about desire—it is slow, passionate, filled with the lingering effects of discarded love. Every secret, every unspoken feeling, every moment of recent tension that’s built up between them crashes down in the heat of their embrace.

Xaden’s hands trail up her back, pulling her closer, and Genevieve can feel his heart pounding beneath her fingertips. There’s a desperation in the way they both cling to each other, like they’re both afraid of what will happen if they stop, if they let go. She presses against him, feeling the heat of his skin through the thin fabric of his shirt, her breath mingling with his as the kiss deepens, the world outside forgotten.

He breaks away first, his forehead resting against hers as they pull for air. His eyes are heavy, his hands cradling her face as if she’s something precious, something fragile.

“Gen,” he murmurs, voice thick with something she’s not sure she’s ready to name. “You have no idea what you do to me.”

She can see it in his eyes, his words sinking into her like a stone. For a brief moment, she wants to pull away—to protect herself from whatever this is, whatever they’ve just opened between them. But then she looks into his eyes, and she realizes that she doesn’t want to run anymore.

Instead, she brings a hand up to cup his face, her thumb tracing over the scar that runs through his left eyebrow. “You scare me,” she admits quietly, her voice barely above a whisper. “Because I think you see too much of me. More than I want anyone to see.”

Xaden’s expression softens, his fingers tracing a path along her jawline, soothing and tender. “I see all of you, Gen,” he says, his voice a low rumble that vibrates through her. “And I’m not afraid.”

Her heart stutters in her chest, the sincerity in his words cutting through her like a blade. She’s spent so long being afraid—afraid of her powers, of her feelings, of the risk that comes with letting someone in. But here, in Xaden’s arms, she feels something different.

For the first time, she feels safe.

Swallowing hard, she leans in closer, pressing a soft kiss to the corner of his mouth, a gesture filled with something quieter, something deeper. “I don’t want to be afraid anymore.”

Xade’s grip on her tightens slightly, as if in response to her vulnerability. “Then don’t be,” he whispers against her skin, his lips brushing her forehead in a tender, almost reverent gesture. “I’m not going anywhere.”

The truth of his words settles between them like a promise, solid and unshakable. Genevieve closes her eyes, and brings him to her again, tongues dancing as he moves to shift them to the bed, her legs hooked around his waist.

Xaden’s weight settles over her, and for a moment, all Genevieve can sense is him—his body aligned perfectly with hers, the warmth of his skin, the familiar scent of him filling the space between them. It’s a closeness she feels down to her bones, a pull that has been drawing them together since the start. She tries to remind herself of her own danger, the reasons she should pull away, but it feels impossible when he’s this close.

His lips hover near her neck, teasing her with the warmth of his breath, before he plants slow, deliberate kisses along her throat. Each one sends a ripple of heart down her spine, and she arches into him, her fingers tangling in his hair, her body reacting instinctively to every touch. His hands trace her sides with an agonizing slowness, and she’s caught between the fear of wanting to disappear and never wanting him to stop at all.

“Xaden…” His name slips from her lips, a soft, pleading sound, and he responds with a low groan, his teeth grazing her collarbone, setting her on fire. Every inch of her is aware of him—his weight pressing her into the mattress, his hands on the map of her body as if he were exploring familiar territory.

This feels different from the last time. There’s no hurried urgency, no frantic passion that threatens to consume them every moment they are apart. This time, it’s deliberate, measured, as if they both know what exactly is at stake. As if they’re not just giving in to a fleeting moment, but something far more significant.

Xaden moves with a certainty that leaves her breathless. His hand glides beneath her shirt, fingers tracing her line of her spine, drawing her closer as his free hand grabs the hem of her shirt and pulls it off over her head in one move. Genevieve lets herself get lost in his touch, arching into him, her breath catching when his lips trail down her neck.

“You’re beautiful,” he mutters against her skin, his voice thick with desire but laced with something softer, something that takes her by surprise.

She shifts beneath him, pulling herself up to him, her pulse racing. Her hand slides to the back of his neck, holding him closer until they’re practically touching. She presses a kiss to his jawline, before she gazes up at him, her heart hammer against her ribs.

Is this… Genevieve’s breath caught as he stared directly into her eyes as if he was looking into her very soul, seeing her very essence. Is this love?

His mouth moved down to another kiss, hesitating for half a heartbeat.

“Gen,” He whispered, and she could feel his mouth move as he spoke, he was so close, practically locked in a kiss. His hand tangles in her hair, “I’ve been smuggling weapons out of Basgiath. You were right.”

A moment passes, nauseating silence overwhelming her.

Her heart shatters.

The world seemed to tilt, the air sucked from Genevieve’s lungs as Xaden’s words echoed in the silence of the room. her pulse hammered in her ears, drowning out everything but the sound of her own racing heart.

He was smuggling weapons. And he admitted it.

Genevieve pushed herself back, her hands slipping from his neck as if they were burned. “What did you just say?” She whispered, her voice barely audible but sharp with disbelief.

Xaden’s eyes flashed with something unreadable—regret, fear, resolve. He didn’t move to close the distance this time, didn’t try to touch her. “I should’ve told you sooner,” he said quietly, his voice raw. “But I couldn’t risk it. Not until I knew where you stood.”

The betrayal slammed into her with the force of a crashing wave. After everything—after the tension, the desire, the promise of trust, of sincerity? It had all come crashing down with a single truth that she already suspected.

“You had to find out where my loyalties stood.” She repeated, her voice trembled with barely contained rage. “You’ve been lying to me this whole time finding out where my loyalties stood?” She shot up from the bed, putting distance between them, grabbing her shirt and tugging it on, covering her marks, her scars.

Xaden stood slowly, his movement cautious, as if approaching a wounded animal. “It’s not what you think,” he began, his tone pleading, though his eyes were hard with the weight of unspoken truths. “I wasn’t lying about how I feel. I wasn’t lying about us.”

Genevieve shook her head, taking another step back, vines and flowers sneaking through cracks in the stone walls, blooming around her as if they could protect her from the truth.

“You know where my loyalties stand!” She hissed, her voice guarded and hard, the same way it used to sound. “I’ve been lying to General Sorrengail every time she interrogates me about what you’re doing! And you have the audacity to question where my loyalties lie? Ever since I got here, my loyalties have been to myself!”

Genevieve’s voice cracked as the words left her, the weight of her confession hanging heavily in the air between them. The tension was palpable, almost suffocating. She could see the flash of surprise in Xaden’s eyes, quickly replaced by a dark understanding. He stepped toward her, but she held up a hand, dark vines stopping him in his tracks.

“I didn’t come here to be some pawn in another person's war,” she continued, her voice growing steadier, though her heart felt like it was breaking all over again. “I came here to survive. And you—“ she pointed at him, her voice laced with venom. “You used that. You used me.”

Xaden’s jaw tightened, his hands clenched at his sides. “You have no idea what’s at stake, Gen. This is bigger than us. Bigger than anything you could imagine.

“Don’t.” Her voice was sharp now, cutting through his excuses. “Don’t try to justify this. You could have told me. You should have told me.”

She could feel the familiar surge of her power bubbling just beneath the surface, the vines creeping further along the walls, the flowers blooming darker, sharper, as if reflecting the turmoil inside her. She had trusted him—maybe not fully, but enough to let him in. And now, he has shattered that fragile trust.

“I didn’t want to involve you,” Xaden said, his voice low, as if trying to contain the rising storm between them. “I was trying to protect you.”

Genevieve let out a bitter laugh, her eyes flashing with anger. “Protect me? By keeping me in the dark? By using me like everyone else? You think I need protecting, Xaden?” Her voice trembled as she took another step back, the distance between them growing, not just physically but emotionally, a chasm opening wide. “You don’t get to decide that for me.”

His expression faltered, but only for a second. “This isn’t just about you. There’s a war coming, and we’re on the edge of it whether you like it or not. I made choices I had to make to keep you safe—whether you agree with them or not.”

Geneveive shook her head, tears burning at the back of her eyes, but she refused to let them fall. She couldn’t let herself be vulnerable again—not now. “I can count the amount of people I truly trust on one hand. But I can’t trust you,” she whispered, her voice barely audible, but the truth of it rang loud and clear in the quiet room.

Xaden’s face hardened, his posture stiffening as if bracing himself for Genevieve to launch at him with the intent to kill. “I am trying to do the right thing, Gen. For you. For us.”

She let out a shaky breath, feeling the weight of the truth settle in her chest. “But you still lied, knowing fully well that I was completely and utterly loyal to you. I can forgive a lot, but I can’t forgive that.”

For a long moment, neither of them spoke. The air between them crackled with unspoken words, the weight of everything unsaid. Xaden’s gaze never left hers, but she could no longer read his eyes. She couldn’t see the pain or hurt, she could just see the lies swimming behind his onyx irises.

Finally, he broke the silence. “I didn’t want this to happen,” he said, his voice rough, almost pained. “But I won’t apologize for trying to protect the people I care about. Even if it means losing you.”

Genevieve’s breath caught at the finality in his tone. She felt her heart breaking all over again, but this time she knew there was no going back. There was no way to undo what had been said, no way to erase the betrayal that now hung between them.

“Don’t call me Gen anymore. My name is Genevieve.” She whispered, her voice hollow. And with that, she turned and walked out of the room, leaving Xaden standing alone amidst the wreckage of what they once had.

The moment the door closed behind her, the vines and flowers retreated, their vibrant bloom withering away. And Genevieve, for the first time in a long time, felt completely and utterly alone.

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hey everyone!!! so… xaden's finally revealed the truth… and Genevieve has planted the seeds of venin being real in violet's mind. The plot is progressing!!

anyways~ thats really it in the ntoes for this week. pretty interesting chapter tbh. It started off as an attempt at writing smut and then i was like oh! this is prime time for traumatizing gen! and it worked. she will literally never get over this (a blatant lie, btw)

thats it for now! see you all wednesday with chapter 20 (holy shit stuff actually goes down in chapter 20) and let me know your thoughts? will genevieve forgive xaden for ripping her heart to shreds? And who do you think are the five people Genevieve trusts? let me know! as always, please leave a like, comment, or kudo if you enjoyed!

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taglist: @awkardnerd , @hannraumari , @minjix , @glaciuswduo

#violet sorrengail #fourth wing #fourth wing imagine #fourth wing x reader #fourth wing xaden #liam mairi #xaden and sgaeyl #xaden riorson #xaden riorson x reader #garrick tavis x reader #the empyrean #the wounded healer #liam mairi x reader

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