#getting up and going to work in winter can literally kill you | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

urdepressedslut · 1 year ago

Note

Hello lovely,

I saw your post that your requests are open, so I will give it a try =)

Imagine Bucky and reader are best friends but they have a huge argument and now they don't talk to each other for days. She's feeling really bad, missing him. He is her most important person and now without interacting with him for days, she's feeling lost and lonely and heartbroken. Maybe she has not a super power and is only a normal human, helping the Avengers with IT or something. Due to the argument with her best friend and not talking to Bucky (Bucky ignores her completely) she begins to feel it not only mental but also physically. She can't eat probably and at the end falls deathly sick.... With a fluffy happy ending and a worried and protective Bucky

Please. That would be nice.

Take care honey

oh my goodness— my heart 😭❤️ the angst is gonna hurt, but i’m such a sucker for it. i had so much fun writing this one, thank you for requesting and i hope you like it🥰

Love Hurts

♡ Pairing: Beefy!Bucky Barnes x Fem!Reader

♡ Summary: You and Bucky get into a heated argument, things are said and done and now he won’t speak to you. You don’t think you can handle him ignoring your existence.

♡ Warnings: language, mentions of bucky’s trauma, heavy angst, malnourishment, depression, anxiety/panic attacks, minor injuries, hospitalization, suicidal ideation, self hate, literally hurt just writing this

main masterlist

MINORS DO NOT INTERACT | MATURE CONTENT 18+

Your nails bit into your palm, denting the flesh— threatening to pierce the delicate skin. It was all to hold yourself back, distract you from the words that wanted to burst out.

It was becoming a sickening routine, Bucky was reckless and had yet another near death experience on his recent mission. The anxiety and the nerves stopping your body from functioning— the dreaded wait for his jet to arrive back at the compound. You shouldn’t have to be used of receiving the call that he had yet again made a reckless move— but you were starting to discover a pattern.

It did nothing to ease the panic that swirled in your chest every time he left for missions. You’d sob, throwing up everything you had eaten that day— unable to stomach anything with the idea that Bucky was on a mission. You never found your anxiety to be so severe— but when Bucky was even mentioned about going on a mission… it spiked.

That’s where you found yourself in his room, watching him pace the space— avoiding your frustrated stare. You weren’t angry at him per say— you were angry that he didn’t value his life.

“Seriously (Y/n)— you get so worked up over nothing. I’m here and alive— isn’t that enough?” He exclaimed, throwing his hands up in frustration.

You pressed your nails tighter to your palm, yet the pain couldn’t stop your thundering thoughts.

“You’re here and alive now, until you do some stupid shit like this again and are dead!” You hissed, trying to keep your voice low but you didn’t know how much longer you could control yourself.

He glared at you, squinting his eyes in anger and then rolling his eyes.

“Oh for fucks sake— can you stop fucking babying me? I can handle myself!” He raised his voice, his metal arm whirring.

“I’m not babying you— I’m just scared you’re gonna get yourself killed. Do you care about your life at all?” You asked him aggressively, your voice raising just a tad.

He took a long pause, staring at you with his face void of emotion— only annoyance.

“Not really.” He admitted.

You were taken back, although you had these conversations with him a time or twenty. It was an ongoing process to get him to slowly love himself— his past as The Winter Soldier torturing his soul. He was so convinced he wasn’t deserving of anything, not even a roof over his head. It was a struggle to help him, but you weren’t going to give up on him.

“You realize if anything ever happened to you I—” Your voice broke, needing a breath, “Buck I wouldn’t know what to do with myself.”

You thought you saw his eyes flash with guilt, but before you could linger on the look for too long— his face was hardening again.

“That doesn’t sound like my problem.” He mumbled out, making your eyes widen.

You were extremely taken back from those words, your chest aching painfully— him not knowing what effect those words had on you.

“Are you fucking serious?” You asked him, your face morphing into a hurt expression, mixed with anger. “Can you just do your job without trying to kill yourself?”

His face grew red with rage and he was stomping up towards you— his face inches from yours.

“I am doing my job— very well in fact. Unlike you who just fucking sits here doing nothing!” He defended himself, his breath hitting your face in warm pants.

“Doing nothing? Buck— why are you like this?” You puffed your chest, not backing down from his towering form.

But your words seemed to have hit a nerve, as he shrunk back slightly, narrowing his gaze at you.

“Like what?”

You furrowed your brows, slowing your racing heart from the shouting— you weren’t sure you had said anything bad. Did you?

“What?” You squeaked out, nervous now.

“You said, why am I like this… like what?” He pushed, stepping closer to you now, his face still red with anger but you could see the hurt in his eyes.

You swallowed and wondered how to convince him you didn’t mean anything bad by what you said. But you were almost positive it would be an impossible task to get Bucky to listen.

“Buck, I didn’t mean anythin—”

“What— you think I’m not capable of doing my job? You think I’m still the monster hydra made me?” He spat, his chest rising and falling quicker.

“No, no Buck listen—”

That was definitely not what you meant, you could tell he was spiraling and you were still confused as to why. You would never make him think that.

“After 70 fucking years I finally have a job that I like— that I enjoy doing— I fucking help people! I’m finally doing some good and now you’re telling me I’m not capable of doing it?” He boomed, his chest puffing into yours and your stumbled back slightly. “You think I’m only capable of being a monster? Huh? Is that what you fucking think?”

You were growing scared now, the look in his eyes wild with something and you didn’t like how close he was to you— you knew he’d never hurt you but your fear overwhelmed your senses.

“Friday— call Steve and Sam in here now!” You shouted into the room, and Bucky’s eyes squinted painfully— his metal arm whirring again.

Bucky only saw one thing— you didn’t reassure him that he was thinking irrationally. You didn’t correct him that he wasn’t the monster. Instead you called for help, that you were clearly scared— because you thought he was a monster.

He was at a loss for words and just stared at you, almost through you— as his breathing was only getting heavier at the sight of your fearful eyes.

Not even minutes later, Steve and Sam were busting through the door, taking in the scene and separated you and Bucky.

“Hey— what’s going on?” Steve asked in between the two of you. “Buck, what’s wrong man?”

You couldn’t seem to find the words and just stood speechless as well— the fight startling you. This was one of the worst ones, and it was also one that still left you confused. You cursed yourself for not being careful enough with your words— but it was almost impossible to get through to him when he was on the brink of having an episode.

Sam walked closer to you, his facing morphing into concern as he took in your shocked expression.

“(Y/n)? You okay? Did he hurt you?” Sam whispered, keeping his words only between you two.

You slowly shook your head but still didn’t respond verbally.

“Okay, okay that’s good. You wanna go get a drink from downstairs? Why don’t we take a breather okay?” Sam suggested softly, big brother mode kicking in at the sight of your frazzled state.

Without another word, you left the room with Sam— missing the devastated look from Bucky.

Steve waited until the door shut, then his attention was back on Bucky.

“Buck, you gotta talk to me man— what happened?” He asked softly, watching his friend slowly relax, but it wasn’t from being in a relaxing mood— his body and mind were just exhausted from the argument.

“I fucked everything up. That’s what happened.” He mumbled, turning away from Steve to sit on the edge of his bed.

Steve followed behind but stood in front of him, shaking his head— ready to argue.

“You didn’t mess anything up, arguments happen. You guys will work it out. I know how much you mean to each other.” Steve pointed out, watching Bucky’s face unchanging.

“You didn’t see the way she looked at me— she’s scared of me I—” He shuttered, his breath shaky as he remembered your look, “I fucking scared her.”

Steve’s chest ached, the state of his friend breaking his heart. He knew Bucky meant no harm, and he almost for a fact knew that you knew that too. But Bucky for sure didn’t believe that himself.

“I didn’t see what you saw, but I can guarantee you that she’s not afraid of you. This is (Y/n) we are talking about. You are her world Buck.” Steve tried to convince him.

Bucky shook his head, running his flesh hand through his hair.

“I think I just need to stay away from her for awhile.” Bucky came up with instead.

Steve immediately started shaking his head, knowing that was the last thing he needed.

“Bucky I—”

“Please Steve… I just need some space.” Bucky pleaded, his body sagging in exhaustion.

Steve couldn’t find it in himself to argue with him anymore about this. Maybe he did need some time to himself, to cool down and gather his thoughts. Also Steve wasn’t going to force him to anything ever. After the years his pal went through— he would never make him do anything. He had enough things decided for him, and Steve wasn’t about to stoop to hydra’s level.

Meanwhile down in the kitchen, Sam was getting you a glass of water— standing across from your seated form at the island. He slid the cup across, sending a worried glance at you.

“(Y/n)?” Sam snapped his fingers getting your attention.

You were shaken from your state of staring, but even snapped out of the trance— the anxieties still swirled within you.

“Yeah sorry… I’m here.” You whispered, grabbing the glass and taking a tiny sip.

Sam gave you a quizzical expression, watching you start to slip back into a mindless stare— so he spoke up.

“You wanna tell me what happened?” He asked, genuinely curious what had went down.

He knew— hell everyone knew you and Bucky were extremely close. Best of friends, always there for one another— dancing on the line of strictly friends to lovers. Truthfully, Sam found it completely obnoxious and just wanted you two together already.

“I don’t really know… I think I said the wrong thing— I didn’t mean to make him upset.” You confessed, keeping your eyes on the countertop, not risking a glance to Sam.

“Hey, don’t beat yourself up— mistakes happen. I’m sure he’ll forgive you.” Sam told you.

You shook your head, gripping the cup tighter.

“God I hope so… I don’t know what I’d do without him.” You whispered pathetically, tears welling in your eyes.

Sam reached out to rub your arm comfortingly, trying to relax you so you didn’t start crying. He hated to see you cry— made his heart hurt.

“It’s been a long day for everyone, why don’t you go head upstairs and get some sleep. I’m sure things will have blown over by tomorrow.” He suggested and you finally met his gaze, smiling weakly and nodding.

Without saying goodbye, you stood up and headed to your room. Taking Sam’s words and playing them on repeat in your head.

Tomorrow is another day, tomorrow would be better.

God had you hoped that was the case— it only was the beginning on the torment.

You had slept in longer than usual, but overall felt refreshed. The first thing that came to mind when fully waking up was Bucky. Immediately you headed downstairs to find him— needing to talk with him— apologize.

Making it down to the kitchen, you let out a breath you didn't know you were holding in at the sight of him sitting at the island— sipping at his coffee. You furrowed your brows, thinking he'd be done with his coffee by now, since you had slept in. Your chest ached with guilt with the possibility that he didn't sleep well.

You took a deep breath before making yourself known, although you were sure be could sense you in the room— considering he was a super soldier.

"Morning Buck." You announced, walking around the island so you could face him.

He kept his gaze down at his coffee, finding the cup more interesting than you.

Okay, that’s fair. You thought, you most probably deserved that reaction.

“You sleep okay?” You asked again, picking at the skin on your nails nervously.

Again— he didn’t even lift his head. In fact, he wasn’t even acknowledging you. You waited several minutes for a response, the silence becoming thick with tension and you couldn’t stand it.

“Bucky?” You tried, and this time he lifted his head.

Your heart twinged in your chest at his bloodshot eyes, clear evidence that he hadn’t gotten good sleep. You hated yourself for causing him the stress, especially knowing he was just starting to actually get hours of sleep. It was huge progress compared to his nights either screaming awake or just staring at the walls. But now you had to go and ruin all that progress. You felt sick to your stomach— disgusted with yourself.

“I’m really sorry about last night… I didn’t like how ugly it got and I’m sorry if I said something to upset you— you know I’d never intentionally hurt you.” You told him, picking more aggressively at your nails, causing to nail beds to bleed.

You swallowed nervously when he didn’t answer right away, instead staring at you with… what was that? Disgust? You didn’t know, but you hated the look altogether.

“Bucky, please say something.” You pleaded.

Bucky lowered his gaze to his coffee again, taking a minute before he stood up and looked your way.

“I just need some space.” He told you quietly.

You were relived to have him finally talk to you, but to hear him suggest space between you two— you could almost feel the knife digging into your chest. You tried to keep a neutral expression but otherwise felt your bottom lip quiver.

Without giving you time to respond, Bucky was walking out of the room— leaving you standing there speechless, lungs begging for air. You didn’t want your mind to go immediately to that thought, but you couldn’t ignore it either— he hated you.

“Hey babe, I need you to help me out in the lab tod—” Tony came busting into the room, but immediately shut up once he saw your broken expression. “Honey, what’s wrong? You alright?”

You nodded your head, lying to him and yourself and started waving him off with the fakest smile.

“Yeah— yeah I’m good. Just need to uh— need to get some things done.” You told him, your eyes darting all around the room, the familiar feeling of panic seeping into your being.

Tony gave you a ‘really?’ look and stepped closer to you.

“(Y/n) I’m not blind— I can see you’re upset. Talk to m—”

“Seriously Tony— I’m fine! Just leave it alone!” You told him a little too aggressively.

His face was taken back and you felt guilty immediately, cursing yourself for hurting everyone.

Why are you such a fucking issue? Your mind screamed at you.

You didn’t waste another second and sped walked out of the room, needing to calm yourself down before you ran into any one else. You were spiraling and you needed to just relax— take a deep breath. Maybe you just needed one more day and things would be back to normal.

Yeah… just one more day.

You had hoped that was the case as well… but as always— things only got worse.

Bucky refused to talk to you or even look at you. He’d given you the cold shoulder for almost two weeks now. He would get up and leave the second you entered the room. He couldn’t stand you it seemed.

You couldn’t keep hiding your hurt. At first, you had done a good job at hiding how you were really feeling. Saving the sobbing and attacks for when you were alone in your room. As the days lingered on, you found yourself weak and drained— you didn’t have enough energy to put up a charade anymore.

The whole team were sending you worried looks, and attempted to talk with you. But the second they’d try— you’d bolt. The subject was too sensitive, too raw. You didn’t want to talk to anyone but Bucky— and he hated you.

You had missed so many meals, forgetting to eat with your mental struggles throughout the days. You had been getting no more than two hours of sleep. You were so stressed, so stuck in your own mind that you couldn’t function. Even when you had managed to remember to eat, your stomach would knot up to the point that you were throwing everything up. You were gaunt, basically a real life zombie. You needed help— but you needed Bucky more.

You were laying in bed staring unknowingly into space, it had been hard to focus with no food or sleep in your system— so you had only managed to lay here. Even that was exhausting, no matter how much you laid around— your mind wouldn’t stop the assault. Your anxiety had never been this bad, you were a prisoner to it.

Knocking at your door had you jumping, your heart racing— and for a moment you forgot where you were.

You’re in the compound… yeah that’s right.

You slowed your breathing and swung your legs sluggishly over the edge of the bed to answer it. You weren’t prepared for the sudden dizzy spell, your vision spotting with black and white specks. You tried to blink it off, but suddenly you were toppling to the ground.

You fell to the floor with a loud thump, luckily landing on your front, your hands somehow catching most of your fall— you could already feel the throbbing in your palms.

You didn’t hear the persistent knocking, or the door open. You didn’t even hear the voice speaking from the doorway. It was when a hand landed on your shoulder that you were gasping, forgetting your surroundings once again.

Your eyes met Steve’s and you swore your heart was about to beat out of your chest.

“(Y/n) are you alright?” He asked you, hovering his hands over you— not sure what you had hurt.

You furrowed your brows, looking him over.

“Steve what are… what are you doing here?” You asked genuinely confused.

You watched Steve’s eyes widen and he swallowed nervously— his expression growing more concerned.

“(Y/n) it’s okay… I’ve got you.” Steve hushed, and he was pulling you into his chest, hugging you protectively.

You were still confused but then you tasted one of your stray tears, and you immediately came to your senses. You were crying in Steve’s arms… but why? You were having gaps of time missing from you, this wasn’t the first time this had happened— you just didn’t seem to care.

“Steve… my head hurts.” You slurred into his chest, sagging against him.

You were grateful that he was here, you desperately needed someone around. You were just hoping that someone would’ve been Bucky.

“Okay, let’s get you to Helen. She’s gonna take care of you, okay?” Steve asked you, and you could only give a weak nod.

He knew there was no way you were walking there, so he hoisted you up into his arms, and cradled your head as he started to the med bay.

You just stared blankly at his chest, not really caring if Steve were to throw you off the roof of the building. You just didn’t care.

Steve had gotten you down to her, and she checked you out. Alerting Steve that you were extremely malnourished, dehydrated— an insomniac. She kept listing off all the things Steve was afraid to hear. The whole time he was sure you didn’t hear a thing, although you were in the room— you were just checked out.

Helen eventually left, and Steve took his opportunity to speak with you. He pulled up a chair next to the hospital bed and grabbed your hand.

“(Y/n), what’s going on? You can talk to me— you can’t keep doing this to yourself. Please… just talk to me.” Steve whispered, pleading with you that you would stop torturing yourself.

“He hates me.” You mumbled.

Steve’s eyes widened and he frowned, knowing what you meant. He knew he let this go on for too long.

“(Y/n) he doesn’t hate you. He just needed time to himself, so he co—”

“I didn’t mean to hurt his feelings, I don’t even know what I said to hurt him but I—” You rushed out, the heart monitor beeping frantically, “I’m a horrible person, I didn’t mean to— I didn’t mean to!”

You wheezed out, clutching your chest as you couldn’t catch your breath. Your cheeks glistened with a steady stream of tears, your wheezing only growing by the second.

“Okay, okay (Y/n)— I need you to slow your breathing. You’re okay, he doesn’t hate you. Just take deep breaths okay— even if you can’t just try. I’m here.” He tried to coach you, but this wasn’t his thing.

Now he was starting to get mad at his friend, Bucky shouldn’t of let this go on for this long.

You followed his chest rising and falling, staring at him as he tried to calm you down. Your breaths were heavy and painful sounding. Steve was about to say something but stopped himself when he saw your eyes look behind him.

He turned and saw Bucky standing in the doorway— his face paled. Truthfully, he looked like he was going to be sick.

“(Y/n)?” He whispered, his heart breaking at your state.

He had ran into Helen in the kitchen and was informed of your condition— he didn’t believe it and had to see for himself. He was shocked to find you like this.

Your tears only edged on from his appearance and you shook your head in shame.

“I’m sorry Bucky! Whatever I did, I’m sorry!” You sobbed and Bucky ran to the bed, kneeling down and taking your hands into his.

“Doll it’s okay, you’re okay. I’m here— I’m here. I’m not gonna leave you… I’m sorry.” He rushed out, shushing your cries, watching you slow your breathing at his words. “There we go, just keep breathing with me. I’m here, you’re okay.”

He kept repeating himself, making sure you knew he wasn’t going anywhere.

Steve knew you were in good hands and slowly snuck out of the room— knowing you two needed to talk.

Bucky tucked a stray piece of hair behind your ear, letting his fingers trail down your cheek to your jaw. You couldn’t help the way your face leaned into his touch, it felt like it had been forever since the last one.

Your breathing had slowed down, and now you just stared up at him— eyes glossy with more tears. You felt so many emotions. You felt relived, but also angry and hurt. Above all— you needed to know what you did to upset him. The guilt still ate away at your heart, and even just the memory of the argument had your chest aching.

“What did I do?” You whispered, making his eyes shoot up to yours, concern painting his face.

“You didn’t do anything.” He told you, and you furrowed your brows.

You were still anxious— he hadn’t answered your question. Even more so— if you didn’t do anything then why did he ignore you?

“Then why?”

“Why what (Y/n)?” He dared to ask, and you scoffed— ripping your hands out of his.

The anger was approaching.

“Why did you shut me out?” You wondered, and he only let his eyes cast down to the bed— making you angrier. “You ignored me for two weeks! Two fucking weeks you just acted as if I didn’t exist! Do you know how much that fucking hurts?”

You were breathing heavy again, but this time it wasn’t from panic— it was the full force of all your anger bursting out.

He lifted his eyes to you, and you saw how broken he looked. How your state had affected him.

“I could never do that to you Buck— I would never do that to you! You’re my everything! I don’t trust anyone as much as I trust you!” You raised your voice, while he stayed silent. “If I didn’t do anything then why would you— why—”

You broke out into a sob, covering your face with your hands. You felt good getting all the built up anger out— but now you felt extremely guilty. The pitiful face of Bucky staring at you, causing your heart to hurt all over again. It didn’t matter what happened, you always ended up hurting others.

“(Y/n) I’m so sorry I— god I fucked up. I didn’t ever mean to hurt you, please know that. You’re my other half, and no one has ever been there for me like you have.” He spoke through a tight throat, swelling with emotion.

You uncovered your face and just stared at him a little longer, still incredibly hurt from his actions— but you knew you couldn’t stay mad at him. You so badly wanted to forgive and forget— and just wrap him in your arms like you both needed.

“It’s hard to explain what’s wrong with me to someone when I don’t even understand what’s wrong with me— I just know I’m fucked up. I’m broken beyond repair.” His voice broke, his own eyes welling with tears.

You didn’t have it in you to keep up an angry facade, and so you reached out and took his hand in yours. His face almost immediately lit up, his breathing slowing at your touch.

“Try me.” You whispered, watching Bucky take a deep breath before he spoke again.

“The night of our fight…” He started, and you swallowed in having to remember that night. “I had never seen you look at me like that.”

You stayed silent, afraid to open your mouth and have a sob escape. You could feel it bubbling up— the memory playing back through your mind.

“You looked at me like you were scared. You looked at me like I was a monster.” He confessed and it all made sense to you now.

It wasn’t about what you said, it was your reaction that disturbed him to no ends. Even if you couldn’t control your reaction in the moment— you still felt guilty for causing him pain of remembering the hydra days.

“Oh Buck…” You whimpered, trying to pull him close— but he pulled away before he could reach your embrace.

“No— you don’t get to be nice to me after what I did. I promised I would never hurt you and I did— you’re in here because of me! I don’t deserve your forgiveness!” He raised his voice, and you weren’t scared of him— just concerned.

“I wasn’t scared of you Bucky, you just caught me off guard. Things were heated— I’m not afraid of you and I most definitely don’t think you’re a monster.” You tried to convince him.

“I really hope you’re not lying because if you were afraid of me… god I don’t know what I’d do. If you never wanted to see me again— that’s fine. Whatever you want, but I can’t live knowing you’re afraid of me.” He whimpered out.

“I wouldn’t lie to you.”

He nodded his head, knowing damn well you’d never lie. That was one thing he loved about you— you were so honest. Keeping it real with him, even if he didn’t wanna hear it. He could count on you for the truth.

“I still don’t deserve your forgiveness.” He argued.

“Well too bad, I’m forgiving you anyway.” You finally told him and he felt his chest expand.

Like he could finally breath.

“Why?” He wondered.

You knew it was the line you two had been dancing on forever— but you knew if there was ever a time to say it. It was now.

“Because I love you.” You admitted quietly.

His eyes widened just slightly, and his breath stuttered. He had always had a feeling what you two had was more than friends, he just never spoke up about it. Of course he loves you too— god he loves you so much. That’s why the thought of you being scared of him was enough to pull him away. He couldn’t bear being around you if you were frightened by him. He couldn’t live with himself. More importantly he now discovered, he really couldn’t live without you.

“I love you so much.” He confessed back as your tears leaked down your cheeks.

You pulled his arm, and he let you pull him to the bed— close enough where you could cup both his cheeks.

“Don’t ever do that to me again, please. I need you Bucky— life is not livable without you.” You cried, kissing his forehead to which he leaned into your lips.

“Never again— I promise.”

This time, he wouldn’t break it.

to be added to a taglist

TAGLIST: @engie115 @kmc1989 @ghostofwinter @silverfire13 @goldylions @potatothots @billy-reads @hanihoney88 @skittle479 @hereticdance @mentalidrainedfangirl @natashassandwich @marvelogic @soul-system @alinasmcu @almosttoopizza @lilbabygirll @sebastiansstanswhore @yujyujj @jasminocano

3K notes · View notes

planetpiastri · 8 months ago

Text

pairing: logan sargeant x fem!reader [no faceclaim, reader is faceless] summary: when alex's childhood friend makes an appearance on his instagram, logan is instantly smitten, but the universe insists on keeping them only as a missed connection, and alex isn't helping matters. notes: the long awaited part three! i'm currently giving all my fics a facelift, but the guilt about this update has been eating away at me, so here you guys go<3 i've decided to stop living in denial and just admit this is a full series now so here comes the (brief) angst era! [series masterlist]

liked by lilymhe, georgerussell63, and 154,329 others

alex_albon winter break, you were fun 🫡 see you next year!

view all 2,876 comments

username1 try not to say parents challenge level impossible (failed)

lilymhe he stole that car

alex_albon you promised you wouldn't tell anyone!!

username2 looking good albono! excited to see you scoring points soon!

williamsracing Nice hat! :D

username3 guys can i confess something.... i miss yn :(

username4 you guys say this under all of his posts. obviously something happened and they don't post each other anymore for a reason, respect their space and stop bringing this up.

liked by alex_albon, logansargeant, and 71,823 others

williamsracing the boys are back and so are we 👀

view all 3,012 comments

username5 RRRAAHHH I SMELL DOUBLE POINTS

username6 the new suits are AWESOME, the boys are gonna kill it this season!!!!!

alex_albon who approved that corny ass caption

logansargeant Me alex_albon i'm gonna steal your tires

username7 even if yn has vanished off the face of the earth at least we can thank her for bringing the williams boys closer together so that we get to see them goofing off in the comments 😔

username8 yeah but it's all for show like they don't hang out off track anymore... landonorris oh are we just saying things in the comments? i wanna join!! george sleeps with a teddy bear georgerussell63 Don't drag me into this wtf alex_albon it's true, he does

liked by oscarpiastri, alex_albon, and 71,013 others

logansargeant Some bits and bobs from the break

view all 2,789 comments

username9 what kind of whack british caption is that

username10 maybe the rumors about him and alex not hanging out were wrong, maybe they're hanging out TOO MUCH actually...

alex_albon i have taught you well, young padawan

username11 omg logan and oscar content we're soooo back

williamsracing Looking energized, Sarge!

username12 the fact that we never got a hard launch for logan and yn so we'll never know if they actually got together is my roman empire

username13 no fr!! they were flirting and bantering all over the place and then suddenly BOOM! she just disappears like wtf happenedddd username14 you guys talking abt a possible situationship not happening vs twenty years of friendship between alex and yn that's gone... have some priorities username15 hi just popping in to say you guys are weird af for speculating like this under his winter break dump 💀 move tf on

logansargeant

liked by georgerussell63, oscarpiastri, and 68,578 others

logansargeant Quick trip back over the pond before locking in 👊 bring it on season ✌️

view all 2,549 comments

username16 wait did we miss a step

alex_albon that does not look like sim work

logansargeant Are you my dad or something? Get a life alex_albon DAMN

username17 um? um?? the last picture??? um??????

georgerussell63 What

logansargeant Who? georgerussell63 ?? logansargeant Asked

username18 please be a soft launch with that girl from the afterparty please please please please please

oscarpiastri Interesting.

username19 OSCAR WHAT DO YOU KNOW

williamsracing

liked by ynusername, logansargeant, and 78,321 others

williamsracing Good times in Bahrain! See you next year, Sakhir 😉

view all 3,253 comments

username20 WHAT was that strategy guys

alex_albon "good times" literally where that was nothing but pain

williamsracing ☹️👉👈 we're sowwy awex alex_albon ew wtf don't say that to me

username21 guys? yn liked? she's alive?

username22 JUSTICE FOR LOGAN'S STEERING WHEEL

tagging: @sticksdoesart @hiireadstuff @minkyungseokie @thatoneembarrasingmoment @croissantbakerylws @dear-fifi @imjustme-n @kn1n3 @captainfrisbee @ssrcsm @rhythmstars @urfavnoirette

if you want to be tagged in future parts, fill out this form

#logan sargeant #logan sargeant x reader #logan sargeant imagine #logan sargeant au #f1 #f1 social media au #f1 smau #f1 x reader #instagram au #f1 imagine #social media au #alex albon #saturn writes

889 notes · View notes

lunatic-pudge · 10 months ago

Text

TF2 Mercs Green Flags (except it's very biased)

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

I love my boys. Yes, this is biased and questionable. But this is meant to be cute and fun.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Scout:

-Silly little goober, great person to be around when you need cheering up

-Golden retreiver boyfriend

-Can easily make you laugh without even trying

-Artsy fartsy

Pyro

-Cutie patootie who makes the cutest drawings of you two together

-Owns an Easy Bake Oven

-Master at baking, never-ending supply of sweets for you to indulge in

-Your biggest supporter. Would literally cheer for you if you rob a bank

Soldier

-Also your biggest supporter, will demand that other adore you as well

-Will let you own any pet you want no matter what the animal is

-Speeches of why you're the best thing to ever exist and how America is blessed to have such a beauty like you live there

-Will give you anything and everything you could ever want, like human ears. Definitely a good person to be if you like collecting weird stuff

Demo

-Precious baby boy is a major cuddle bug

-Def knows how to knit/crochet, will make you whatever you want

-Baby man likes learning about folklore/mythology

-He's essentially a big walking teddy bear. Perfect for cuddles, especially on a cold or rainy day

Heavy

-GIANT WALKING TEDDY BEAR

-Protective baby boy, big scary dog privleges

-Bookworm, can recommend a good book if you don't know what to read

-Perfect person to lay around and cuddle with, he can smother me any day. Dates at home are TOP TIER

Engie

-THE BEST PERSON TO GO TO WHEN YOU'RE HAVING AN OFF DAY HANDS DOWN

-Smart boy, can make you stuff that helps with day to day activities which is helpful if you can't do certain things to having a disability or something

-Dad bod, dad bod, dad bod, dad bod, dad bod, can't get enough of it

-Voice of an angel, will sing for you if you'd like. Can def sing you to sleep

Medic

-NERD, he's an adorable nerd! Let him ramble about his hyperfixations!

-Def a good pet owner, would kill someone if they don't take proper care of their pets

-Would make sure you take care of yourself, he's kinda like a dad that cares

-He's such a maniac. I can see him just secretly being up to no good all the time. And he's also very girlypop

-Putting an extra for him cause I can: Medic boobs. Thank you for coming to my Ted Talk

Sniper

-Sweet, precious baby boy who can do no wrong. He strikes me as someone who listens to EVERYTHING when it comes to music. He ain't genrephobic

-Also a collector of weird things. Likes making bone jewlery. Bone boy

-I just love the concept of him being feral? This is probably the weirdest thing on the list. Like there's the golden retreiver boyfriend (Scout), and then there's the feral boyfriend (Sniper). Literally acts like a cat, hiding away from people, hissing when people that aren't you tries to touch him, will demand attention/affection from you, ect. I need to make a more detailed idea of a feral boyfriend so work with me plz

-He would absolutely let you wear his clothes, thinking about how adorable you look. He'd do the same with your clothes if they're big enough for his lanky body. You two swap jackets in the winter time so you guys always have a piece of each other when you two are busy and aren't able to see each other

Spy

-I know a running joke is that Spy is a smelly French asshole, but I really do think that he wears some of the nicest smelling cologne out there. Expensive af colonge, but damn, it's addicting

-Smarty pants. Not just anyone can be a spy, it takes quite a bit of intellect for it. And not to mentions he knows multiple languages? Love it, even if I hate the French language with a burning passion

-Him having a good taste in fashion? He's gotta know what he's doing by wearing suits all the time. Not only does he look fresh af, but people always look so good in a suit, especially when it fits them. But please also picture him dressed in a more romantic goth aesthetic plz, okay I'll stop now

-Is good at paying attention to even the littlest of details about his partners. Even if you're trying to be cryptic or subtle about things, he'll always find out. He's def a protective type too

506 notes · View notes

gallusrostromegalus · 6 months ago

Note

AEIWAM ask: if my Kenpachi Count is correct, Gosuke Kiganjo might have been the previous captain of the 11th that Zaraki killed to get his job. Is that the case? How many problems did losing that co-conspirator cause for Aizen? And how much of a grudge did he hold for the big unkillable brute?

(With Reference to This Post and This One) It started with a pair of oranges.

---

It was Monday, November 11th, and like every November 11th, there was a ruckus coming from the 11th division. It was a faint noise largely obscured by distance and the windows that had been closed against the early winter cold, but it was still present as Now-Captain Sosuke Aizen reorganized Former Captain Hirako's office into his own.

He was luxuriating in the task. It was something he'd looked forward to for a long time- getting rid of the complex musical speakers that droned the worst assemblage of noises that apparently qualified as music, and finally installing a proper filing system in it's place was filling Aizen with a profound satisfaction that he assumed was an overture to his inevitable victory.

The way everyone was pointedly referring to him as Captain Aizen because they were trying to memorize the title tickled him a bit too. Perhaps it was vain of him to enjoy it so much but... well, the little theatrical dance of pretending to pretend he wasn't grimacing and playing up the act of Putting On A Brave Face, only for whoever was speaking to try to reassure him that everything would work out, that he was being so brave, and you don't have to do this yourself-

"Oh no, I don't think I could stand leaving it to anyone else!" He'd respond, and the whispers of how Brave and Dutiful and Humble he was slithered through the division...

...An actor can hardly be faulted for enjoying the adulation of the crowd.

"Hey Bos- uh, Captain!" A boy's voice called behind him.

Of course, it helped that Aizen had been blessed with such a stellar supporting actor.

"Can you help me?" now-Lieutenant Gin Ichimaru asked, tugging on Aizen's Haori for his attention like a normal child, something the boy had learned was enormously charming of him. "-I can't get this thing to stay on my arm." he explained, holding up Aizen's old Lieutenant's badge, the slightly oversized sleeves of his Kosode falling back to reveal his toothpick-thin arms.

"Oh dear. That' won't fit you for a few years yet, will it Gin?" Aizen smiled, patting the boys head and kneeling down, tying it one way, failing, trying another, failing again, giving an enormously defeated sigh, going over to Hira- No, HIS desk now! his desk and rifling through the drawers, and came back with a Safety Pin to hold the badge in place.

"...There!" he beamed, patting Gin's shoulder when the badge didn't slide off his scrawny arm. "-Just don't tell Yamamoto-sama!"

Aizen then turned to look over his shoulder down the hall, where no fewer than a dozen faces peeking out of doors and around corners to watch the scene, and held a finger up to his lips with a small wink. The heads vanished with small gasps, charmed chuckles and a few high-pitched teakettle-like outbursts Gin had once aptly described as "Squeeing".

Scene over and Audience satisfied, Aizen closed the figurative curtains and literal door. Suigetsu pinged softly, Illusion activating- anyone listening in wouldn't quite be able to make out the words, but walk away confident that they were only discussing Division Business.

"You're in a good mood!" Gin grinned up at him, noting Suigetsu's call and the invitation to speak freely. "Though I guess it's not a surprise. It's been a very successful week for you!"

Aizen shrugged, just a little bit smug. "I am allowed to enjoy my laurels once in a while, I think."

Gin laughed, and hopped up to sit on the desk, kicking his feet over the footwell as he fished some oranges he'd taken from the commisary out of his pockets. "Speaking of people who have had very... intense weeks, where's old blind bones?"

"Captain Tousen actually insisted on attending the 11th Division Tryouts, even though both Ukitake and Kyorako offered to go in his place so he could rest!" Aizen said, taking one orange for now and another for later- he'd like to have to work through lunch, he was now so burdened with responsibility, a fun little scene he was workshopping in the back of his head. "...I suppose the poor bastard still regards Kiganjo as his responsibility."

"Hm." Gin nodded, mouth full of orange, spiral peel on the desk beside him. Aizen nodded at the peel and pointed at the trash can behind the boy.

"Sorry, Lord Aizen. That might be-' he swallowed, and tossed the peel over his shoulder and into the bin. '-but it could also be tactical. Unohana-taicho attends every year and within arm's reach of her might be the safest place for him right now. Be a shame if he had a turn, you know?"

"It's a damn shame that Kiganjo hasn't had one." Aizen grumbled.

"Yeah I was sure the Menos invasion would be enough to do him and the Loud Idiot from the tenth in." Gin sulked. "Oh well, I suppose it's good we had a trial run- now we know we gotta really ramp up production of Menos."

"Fortune was on our side in that respect." Aizen agreed, examining his first orange for the best place to begin peeling. There was an art to it, and the practice helped maintain his skills. "Maybe fortune will smile upon us again and Kiganjo will fall to some idiot at the tryouts."

He had just found the perfect place to begin when the ambient reiatsu of the Seireitei suddenly shuddered and bowed, like he was standing inside a rubber balloon and could make out the silhouette of someone approaching with a hatpin. Aizen reflexively jammed the orange in his pocket with it's companion as his head swiveled north like an owl. The incoming sharp point of reiatsu approached at an alarming speed-

BANG!

Whatever it was met the outer wall of the Seireitei. To Aizen's Horror, did not slow down. It was however now accompanied by successive crashes that seemed to be getting closer-

BANG!

THUNK!

Aizen ran out the door, and slid a bit on the wood floors as whatever it was suddenly flew over the 5th division and made impact deep into the relatively soft earth of the training grounds.

"What the-?" He asked glasses askew not with practiced effort but genuine bewilderment. It took a moment to recognize the massive object now embedded upside-down in the middle of the courtyard, because Aizen had only ever seen it rightside up, and firmly bolted in place. "-Is. Is that the North Gate?" he sputtered, the feeling of surprise now turning into something bordering on Genuine alarm.

"I think that's Fortune's idea of a smile." Gin winced. "We uh... We should probably hoof it to the 11th."

"What?" Aizen repeated, genuinely surprised. "Why?"

Gin pointed in the direction of the 11th, and Aizen sluggishly followed his gesture-

CRACK!!

The outburst of reiatsu was so explosive it generated it's own superbolt of lightning- though whether it was the result of ionization down from the clouds, or worse- came up from the ground, he wasn't sure.

"...Oh." He paled, then steeled himself, clenching fists and inhaling. "LISTEN UP!" he barked to be heard over the growing din of alarm. "Our first priority is to keep the city from falling to chaos until we're told otherwise! Seated officers! Each of you take a dozen men and head to the Emergency rally points! Keep civilians calm, and direct them away from the 11th! Gin, you're with me!"

"SIR! YES SIR!" the assembled Shinigami shouted, and quickly fell in as he and Gin took off with Shun-po towards the scene of the catastrophe.

"You've got speed on me Gin, go scout ahead!" He called and the boy vanished in a silver flash of light ahead of him. He could make out other approaching officers- Kuchiki, his lieutenant with the fancy sunglasses and his grandson from the sixth and Lieutenant Yamada and an emergency troop from the fourth.

Another flash- bright red-orange for the instant it was visible- and he realized Yamamoto himself had deployed to the scene.

"Why does every woman turn into a huge bitch when you ask her to smile?" Aizen groaned.

Even with Shun-po it still took him a few minutes to actually arrive, just ahead of the Kuchiki detachment, and landed beside Gin where he was standing on the roof of the 11th. "How is it?" he panted.

"You want the good news or the bad news first?" Gin grimaced as more people arrived behind them-

"Holy FUCK!" Yelped Captain Ukitake, a man who was so careful with his language he kept a division swear jar.

"What the hell made that?" Echoed Captain Kyoraku, voice trembling.

Below them, the Dueling arena in the courtyard of the 11th had been cleft in twain. As had the rest of the Courtyard. And the ground below. And the Sewers below that- even from up here he couldn't see how deep the cut went- it had to be at least a hundred feet deep, which made it... deeper than it was wide, a terrifying thought.

"Just give me the news, Gin." He said, trying to sound like a Captain in control of the situation, but his voice cracked for the first time since puberty. Aizen shuddered as he realized that all was left of Kiganjo were the splashes of red on either side of The Hole's median.

"Well uh, the good news is that the thing that made that hole was only mad at Kiganjo specifically, and has peacefully accepted the commission as Captain of the 11th." Gin explained.

"Oh thank god!" Ukitake exhaled with relief.

"...What's the Bad news?" Kyoraku asked.

"...The bad news is the The Thing That Made That Hole is now captain of the 11th." Gin winced, pointing him out in the surprisingly calm crowd. "...Also, I think he already knows Captain Unohana because he was awful polite without her threatening him at all, and unless I'm mistaken, I think he knows Tousen too."

Aizen followed Gin's lead with great alarm for the second time in under ten minutes, and barely managed to pick out Tousen's garish orange scarf in the crowd. Mostly because of the Giant man in about half of a ratty Yukata and mostly bandages was standing next to Tousen, hand on the captain's shoulder and grin so broad it was visible even from up here. The man had long, unkempt black hair that came down to the middle of his back and some kind of bundle on his shoulder.

"...I guess we go make our introductions?" Ukitake mumbled, and the other two captains shrugged, then jumped down.

Tousen's expressions were hard to read on a good day, and right now he looked so stunned he might have been hit by that lighting bolt.

"-See, I never forget a face!" The giant was saying cheerfully. "Even if it's in a pho- whatsit. The paintings that come out of a box." The giant was an ugly beast of a man, at least seven feet tall, standing barefoot, and had a strangely long and angular face, with dark, sunken eyes.

"A Photograph Ken-Chan?" the bundle asked, and Aizen realized that the thing draped over his shoulder was the little pink-haired girl Tousen had smuggled in and out of the Captain's meeting yesterday.

Uh-oh.

"Thems." The giant nodded. "You alright Kaname? You look like yer about to keel over."

"I- I'm-" he started to speak and Aizen snapped Suigetsu open to flash the assembled crowd and hopefully catch the giant in the illusion before Kaname could speak and blow the whole operation-

"-PUT THAT THING AWAY!" The Giant roared, glaring at Aizen over his shoulder ...Through an eyepatch? Aizen paused, startled.

"You look like sheep when you run up on 'em at the road at night." The Giant chuckled at him. "Keep yer panties on, it's all done and dusted."

"Really Sosuke!" Ukitake huffed, chopping him on the shoulder to make him sheathe Suigetsu again.

"My apologies for my friend, it's literally his first day on the job." Kyoraku waved apologetically. "I'm 8th Division Captain Shunsui Kyoraku, the silver fox is 13th Division Captain Jushiro Ukitake, and that's appointed-yesterday 5th Division Captain Sosuke Aizen."

"You certainly know how to make an entrance, Captain-?" Ukitake asked brightly, attempting to distract the giant from Aizen.

"Kenpachi Zaraki." The Giant leered down at them. The other eye was sunken and gaunt and an unpleasant shade of yellow as Zaraki studied them in a way that made Aizen's skin crawl, like without suigetsu's Illusion, Zaraki could somehow see him naked. Yep. That's an eyepatch... But why do I have the feeling he can see right through it? Right through me?

"My apologies, Captain Zaraki-" Aizen sputtered, closing the distance and putting his hand on Kaname's other shoulder. "-Kaname is a very dear friend of mine and it's alarming to see a stranger touching him." he explained, digging the heel of his palm into the Silence character carved into Tousen's shoulder.

Tousen made a faint clicking noise in his throat as he involuntarily swallowed the shriek of pain under the Curse's command, and nodded in agreement. There- if I can't conceal Tousen from this brute, I can at least force him to remain silent. The illusion is safe.

"...That so?" Zaraki asked, the yellow eye fixed on Aizen's hand, and Aizen let go before he realized what he was doing. What? Why am I flinching? Who is this guy?

"You've taken to your title quickly!" Aizen smiled up at him, feigning cheerful interest.

"Title Schmitle, it's been my Name since before you were a wiggle in yer Da's nutsack." Zaraki grunted.

Aizen felt his glasses slipping off his face without his permission again. I didn't think there was an expression worse than Hirako's 'since you were kickin' in your momma'...

"Ah, here's trouble- WHAT TOOK YOU ASSHOLES SO LONG?" Zaraki roared cheerfully at two men who appeared on the 11th's roof, panting and enraged.

"HI YUYU! HI BALDY!" Yachiru waved cheerfully!

"Yachiru darling! I'm so glad you're safe!" the lithe, effeminate one waved back before jumping down to meet them.

"FUCK YOU!" howled the bald, muscular one.

"FUCK ME YOURSELF YOU COWARD!" Zaraki called back, grinning as they approached. "Come look who I found-!

Fuck! Aizen suddenly realized that when he'd let go of Tousen, Zaraki had not, and was now herding him away from Aizen, his huge and terrible body between them.

"OH MY GOD! IS THAT KAKIYO'S BROTHER?" the fop shrieked with excitement, sprinting over and grabbing Kaname's hand. "Yumichika Aseyagawa- oh this is DELIGHTFUL! I've heard so much about you!"

"Holy shit! You're the guy that burned down that shitass Daimyo's compound down, right?" the bald, clownish one grinned, shaking Kaname's whole arm. "Ikkaku Maderame, it's such an honor to meet you!"

THEY KNEW KAKIYO!? FUCK!! Aizen paled.

"-Burned what down?" Kyoraku asked.

"Shut up cueball, they acquitted him." Zaraki grunted, flicking Madarame's forehead. "Speaking of- I haven't heard form Kakiyo in Donkey's years, how is she? Running one of these divisions, right?"

"Gin!" Aizen hissed, searching the crowd for his Lieutenant. "Do something!"

"...She's dead." Kaname said flatly, still dazed with the... the everything probably.

Zaraki's shock rippled through the ambient reiatsu like being dunked in cold water. There's no sign of Gin, and no way to silence Tousen-

"What? How?" Aseyagawa demanded, the other two equally horrified.

"She was murdered." Kaname's voice was small, weak and he was starting to sway- the effort of resisting the curse was about to make him collapse.

Zaraki slowly crouched down, perched on his toes so he could pull Kaname close, face to face

"Who." It wasn't a request.

With a shaking arm, Tousen pointed to the remains of the Arena.

SHIT SHIT SHIT FUCK!! Aizen felt his heart racing.

"I- I'm sorry. I tried to, but- I can't- I can't I'm not strong enough-" Tousen stammered, trying to speak through the pain.

"It's alright. I am." Zaraki said, voice suddenly strangely gentle, touching his forehead to Kaname's. He sat down, pulling Kaname down with him, half in Zaraki's lap so he couldn't be easily pulled away. "Tell me the details later, ya look like yer about to drop dead. Y'all got anything he can eat?" He glared at the other captains.

Ukitake immediately produced a large bag of candy and Kyoraku a flask that smelled like you could use it's contents for eye surgery. Aizen made a show of patting his coat, and suddenly remembered the two oranges Gin had handed him earlier.

"Uh, I have these..?" Aizen offered the fruits, mentally preparing to skin Gin.

"Good to see one of you is an adult." Zaraki chuffed, taking one of the oranges and handing it to Kaname, who pointed his face at it blankly. "You don't mind if I take the other? I sprinted here from North 69 on an empty stomach."

Tousen shook his head, still silent.

"Good man, you'll be alright. Ta." Zaraki said, taking the second orange from Aizen with a nod of gratitude.

... and then casually bit halfway into it like an apple and chewed, rind and all.

Aizen stood there, dial tone echoing between his ears. Gradually he became aware his left eye was twitching.

"Did. Did you just bite straight into that orange?" Kaname frowned.

Zaraki, to Aizen's horror, swallowed. "Yeh, what's wrong with that?"

"...Nothing at all." Aizen smiled, checking out of this scene. "Excuse me, I seem to have misplaced my lieutenant..." he mumbled, turning on his heel and wandering away from them.

---

Kaname felt Zaraki arch his back slightly, watching Aizen go.

"...Uh-huh." he said, smirk audible. "Alright lads, you got marchin' orders."

The other two men snapped to attention.

"Yumichika- There's a woman, beautiful and terrible as the dawn, with a coat like this 'cept it's got a four on the back. Go tell her Kaname's had a turn and whatever she says you say 'Yes Sir' and do it." he said, tugging on Kaname's haori.

"Sure, that's definitely a description I can follo- oh. Nevermind, I see what you mean!" Yumichika said, catching sight of Unohana. "On it, Boss."

"Er, It might help if I'm there to make Introductions..." Kyoraku offered, jogging after Yumichika.

"Ikkaku." he spoke as soon as Yumichika was out of earshot. "There's a man who's older than dirt who looks like he could set you on fire just lookin' at you, 'cos he can. He's got the Employee Handbook, can you go grab that?"

"...What Employee Handbook?" Ikkaku frowned. "Don't tell me you're quittin' the house? Madame won't like that."

"Madame sent me here today on purpose." Zaraki waved. "-But seein' as I just did a homicide right in front of everybody, the old man offered me a choice. Take Kiganjo's old job runnin' the 11th, or get burnt to ash right there, and I can't take care'a Yachiru if I'm charcoal."

"So... you're a shinigami Captain now?" Ikkaku asked, sounding more intrigued than anything.

"Seems so." Zaraki shrugged. "Funny thing- the Lieutenant and Third-in-command's seats are up for grabs too."

Ikkaku cackled. "Be right back, Captain!" he grinned and took off towards the center of the city.

"Oh, shit-!" Ukitake muttered, looking up from where he had been transfixed by the sight of Yachiru devouring the bag of candy. "Er- Yama-Ji can be a bit tetchy with strangers, I should probably go with him..." he winced, sprinting after apparently-Lieutenant Madarame.

Zaraki chuckled, weight shifting and turning his attention back to Kaname. "...You want some help with that, Little bat?"

Kaname nodded, too dazed to protest as Zaraki took the orange from him.

"That Aizen's a creep, ain't he?" he asked.

"Yeah! Kaname-kun told me to stay away from him, even more than I needed to stay away from Kiganjo!" Yachiru nodded, mouth still full of candy.

"Thought so." Zaraki hummed, fiddling with the orange. "You know what's great about first Impressions?"

Kaname shook his head, just relieved Zaraki was here to keep him from collapsing straight onto the pavement.

"They Stick." Zaraki said voice low and conspiratorial. "-No matter what Aizen sees me do from now on, no matter what anyone tells him, he will believe, at his core, that I'm an idiot."

-And with that, he pressed a perfectly peeled and clean segment of orange into Kaname's hand.

Kaname blinked a few times, turning the fruit over in his hands as he sluggishly connected the dots and, despite everything, slowly broke into a genuine smile.

"Kakiyo always said you were a clever bastard." Zaraki grinned, "Eat yer orange."

---

Aizen finally located Gin, hiding under the narrow gap under one of the stone storehouses in the less-used section of the 11th.

"What the HELL are you doing?" Aizen hissed at him.

"That thing ain't human." Gin whimpered. "I dunno what it is, but it ain't right."

"I agree he looks like a carcass that's too stupid to know it's dead but that's because he's a MORON." Aizen groaned, reaching under the porch and pulling the boy out by the scruff of his neck. "You should see how he eats oranges."

"I'm not kidding!" Gin pleaded, grabbing Aizen's sleeve. "He's got- I don't know, but when he looked at us? It was like he could see right through me!"

"Yes, yes-" Aizen waved. "-but even if he could, I promise, he hasn't got the brains to understand what he's seeing."

"He's gonna eat me." Gin muttered, hiding behind Aizen, peering out behind him in the general direction of courtyard.

"What's gotten into you?" Aizen huffed. "You've never been spooked before-?"

"I'm telling you!" Gin pleaded up at him, eyes very nearly open with alarm. "There's something deeply fucked up about that guy! He's dangerous! He's gonna find me and grab me and eat me!"

Aizen sighed, put his hand on Gin's shoulder, glanced around for witnesses, and finding them alone, backhanded Gin as hard as he could.

"Get ahold of yourself!" he snarled, and Gin flinched. He softened his voice, fingertips under Gin's chin, tipping his head up. "I'm sorry- it's easy to forget you're just a boy sometimes- but we can't lose our heads now, not when we've come so far. I'll deal with Zaraki, alright? I need you to keep Tousen in line- I've gotten him to shut up for now, but it's VITAL that he not speak to that brute until I've gotten him and his two clowns under The Illusion, got it?"

Gin nodded, sniffling, cheekbone turning slightly pink.

"Good boy." Aizen smirked. "I'll leave it to you then."

Gin vanished with a flash to carry out his orders, and Aizen sighed, taking off his glasses to clean them.

"-How do these things constantly get filthy?" he muttered.

"Most of the filth on glasses is the grease from the skin of the wearer. If they're constantly filthy, it may be that you're just slime." someone spoke up behind him and Aizen yelped, nearly dropping his glasses as he fumbled them onto his face.

"-Good heavens! How DO you do that?" He laughed nervously to suddenly be in close proximity to the massive frame of Yamamoto's pet third seat that he'd just assigned to the Seventh Division. No saftey pins needed to keep the Lieutenant's badge on the tree-trunk arms of Sajin Komamura.

The narrow gap in the helmet stared impassively down at him, and for the second time that morning, Aizen was struck by the feeling he was nearly being seen through.

"I didn't quite catch all that, but I did hear the sound of someone being slapped before I see you, holding your lieutenant like that, and he sprints away with a fresh bruise on his face." Komamura rumbled ominously.

"I'm quite sure I don't know what you mean." Aizen glared back.

"I'm glad to hear that. I should hope that I merely misunderstood what I saw, and that there's no cause for alarm." Komamura leaned forward, and Aizen thought there was the briefest flash of the same yellow as Zaraki's working eye in there. "-There are very few deviances the captain-general won't tolerate, but the lines in the sand do very much exist."

"Sajin-" Aizen scoffed, turning away from the menacing hulk of a shinigami. "You may be Yamamoto's Golden Boy, but you ought to mind what you go sticking your nose into, lest somebody cut it off."

There was no reply.

"Glad you underst- really?" Aizen groaned at the empty corner of the 11th Division. "How the HELL does he do that? It's like being stalked by an animal... Whatever, it's fine- Sajin still has his uses, and he'll forget it by tomorrow morning, won't he?" Aizen smirked, affectionately rubbing Suigetsu's hilt, the Zanpakuto purring at the attention.

"Now, let's go deal with that orange-mangling moron." he smiled as he stalked back into the remains of the 11th's courtyard.

#AEIWAM #An Elephant Is Warm And Mushy #Bleach #Bleach Fanfic #4K under the cut #sosuke aizen #kenpachi zaraki #kaname tosen #gin ichimaru #sajin komamura #Zaraki Is much better if he is impulsive and manic and a bit of a dunce but also CUNNING as hell

265 notes · View notes

jsprnt · 5 months ago

Text

Americano PT. 13 | Jude Bellingham x Reader

What happens if two individuals who absolutely despise each other are forced to interact after unforeseen events occur?

A/N: took me so so long, but I think the wait was worth it. 😭 let me know what you think, love u!😉

W/C: 4.072

part twelve

"Okay, is there anything left for me to do?"

I raise my head, looking up at my dad from my phone. The stack of papers on the dining table immediately giving me a headache.

"Are you asking me, dad? Or are you talking to yourself?" I ask, getting up from my position on the couch to see what his mid-life crisis is about.

"Myself.." He replies, bringing the ugly ceramic mug I’d decorated at the age of five up to his mouth.

The blue cursed-looking unicorn, with the biggest red eyes staring back at me, makes me clear my throat.

I mean, even I would have thrown that thing away after my child forgot about it.

"What are you doing?" I ask, leaning forward to flip through the stacks of paper.

Poor trees...

"Stop messing with them, y/n. They are important documents for work.."

I hum in understanding, holding my hands up in surrender.

"You're really killing off nature with these.." I add, scratching my itchy nose.

"Will you please go and do something useful, sweetheart?"

I sigh, instead of walking away, I sit down next to him. Turning to him with a smile on my face.

"Give me something useful I can do.." I ask, giving him a sickly sweet smile.

I hear him chuckle, his hand coming to rub my shoulder, before he points to the stack of papers on his left.

"The other documents I’d rather not have you go through.."

He reaches for the papers, placing them in front of me.

"Can you sort these in chronological order? It's images of camera footage, date and time are on the top right."

"Sure, dad.." I agree, flipping through the black-and-white printed images. Curiosity raised at what I'm seeing.

An individual, with more of a masculine frame standing outside of a huge, luxurious house.

Dressed in- from what I can make out to be, a black t-shirt, along with the ugliest pair of jorts I have ever seen.

"Where is this from? New case?"

"Bellingham's case." He replies curtly, writing something down on his notepad.

It was astonishing how anyone could read his handwriting.

Were lawyers second in 'the most unreadable handwriting' competition, next to doctors?

I raise my brows at his answer, interest peaked suddenly. I look around the house, as if Jude would pop up like some ‘Bloody Mary’ game if called out for three times- but I remember he is out tonight, enjoying his break from training at fuck-knows-where.

"Footage from the break-in?"

"Yes, honey- any more questions?" He glances at me for a moment, raising a single brow in question.

"No, not really..." I say, eyes flying to the date and time.

I only recognize the date as the first match we played in the Champions League this season, back in September at Bernabéu.

The dates do match up, and when I continue flipping through the images. Seeing more and more images of different dates, with more damage done to the home, makes me gasp.

How did Jude and his mom even live here for many more months after the first incident?

I feel goosebumps rise up on my skin at the thought of feeling unsafe in my own home. Had I known how terrifying the things that happened to Jude were, I wouldn’t have been such an asshole when he first arrived.

My stupid mouth and I...

I shake my head as if to remove my thoughts, taking a deep breath before quickly sorting and stacking the images correctly.

If I had known sooner, maybe I could have been more civil towards my unwanted roommate..

"Girl, turn the lights on. I literally cannot see a single thing." Amira complains, smacking her bubblegum in the loudest way possible.

"I hate winter. Seriously, why does it get dark so early?.." I complain, hurrying over to switch the light on in my bedroom.

"Stop complaining and do a twirl for me.." She says, placing her phone against something stable, so she can see me properly.

"Oh, sure your majesty.." I mock, chuckling at her, before doing a 360.

"You look so damn good. I swear, if you don't take a man home-"

"It's a party- or event , full of my colleagues. I can't be a hoe tomorrow night.."

"If you wanted, you would.." I watch her smirk, before she runs a hand down her dark locs.

"We can do that when you're visiting next time.."

"Can't- I have a man." I hear her chuckle, and definitely don't miss the sound of another, deeper laugh in the background.

"Oh, great thanks for reminding me. Hey Trent, stop listening in on us.." I say sternly, leaning in towards the screen.

"He's not listening in. He is on the phone with Jude.."

Oh, fuck, great.

I turn towards my door, praying Jude or Trent wouldn't be too loud on the phone.

At this point, I was surprised that the jig wasn't up yet.

Amira already knew about it, of course. I just hoped Trent didn't.

I mean, it would be foolish to think that Jude and I could keep our secret to ourselves. But for once, I trusted he would keep his mouth shut about us living together.

Everyone knows that men gossip more than women. They could know the most intricate details of the juiciest drama you'll ever come across, and never utter a single word about it until you ask about it directly.

"Trent's gone, now speak. Why do you look like you're sweating buckets?"

"I feel sick, like- my stomach hurts.." I begin, struggling to take my dress off.

"Maybe you got your period?" She suggests, using the screen to watch herself dot the pinkest liquid blush on her cheekbones.

"No, my Clue app says I'm getting my period in six days.." I reply, hanging my dress back into the closet. Then, I grab my pajama set, pulling the comfy clothes on quickly.

"You're probably nervous about tomorrow.." She mumbles, fidgeting with the lamp next to her, before blending the blush seamlessly into her foundation.

"What could I possibly be nervous about? I've been going for like two years, since I became eighteen.." I flop onto my bed, cuddling my soft pillow against my body.

My thoughts wander for a moment, something close to déjà vu washing over me.

"It's the butterflies.."

I snap my head back towards my phone, pulling a confused face.

"For?.."

"For Jude- You have butterflies in your stomach for Jude!" She screams unnecessarily loudly, making me drop my phone onto my bed.

I gasp, retrieving my phone from the mattress, looking back at her with wide eyes.

"Are you crazy?! Dude, he's literally across the hallway!" I exclaim, burying my head into my pillows.

"He probably heard you!" I cry out, giving her a middle finger.

"Exactly my intentions! I swear, everybody in the fucking world knows he wants you at this point. I've never seen two people in this much denial before."

"I literally don't know what to do with myself, thanks for emphasizing that.."

"How long is it going to take for you to be honest with yourself? Another six months, yeah? You like him, come on. You like him.."

"I haven't liked anyone since high school.."

"Let's not bring high school love into this. You were sixteen, should’ve been worried about GCSE's instead..."

"Okay, let me do a little magazine quiz for you.." I watch her spray her fixing spray onto her face.

She dries her face with a small fan, before leaning in and looking at me with a serious expression.

"Go ahead.." I groan, sitting up properly.

"What do you think of when you see him?"

"I don't know? 'There he is again'?" I answer stupidly, looking at her. I watch her cover her mouth, probably disappointed with my reply.

"Okay- let's try this. Imagine, tomorrow, you see him in a suit, tie all of that- dresssed up nicely, with his hair freshly cut. He smells like the sexiest cologne you have ever smelled. No 'Doir, Sauvage' shit- think 'Tom Ford, Oud Wood'.."

The rest of whatever the fuck she says doesn't register in my brain, but the heat slowly pooling into my body, down my stomach and thighs, tells me enough.

It tells me too much.

I’m fucked, done for.

A lost cause.

I need an exorcism..

"I'm ready!" I shout, taking one quick look in the mirror, before grabbing my handbag off my bed.

I stuff a powderpuff, some lip products, and my phone into my bag and rush down the stairs.

"Come on, honey. It's one thing to be late- another thing for me to be late to the event I'm co-hosting.." My dad says, already standing at the front door, navy blue suit making him look handsome.

"Ready! What do you think?" I ask him, pointing to my dress and heels.

"You look very beautiful. I did not think you'd wear such a daring colour.."

I know what he wants to say. ‘You look just like your mother’, but ignore those thoughts.

I shrug at him, glancing in the mirror again. The scarlet-red dress clinging to my skin is just the right amount of sexy and chic.

Of course, I had to go for a mini dress, ignoring my dad's wishes, because I could and I'm an adult.

I adjust my silver necklace, watching it glisten in the overhead light.

"Come on, y/n. Enough admiring.."

I nod, quickly walking behind him into the car.

I buckle my seatbelt, the mix of my dad's cologne and my perfume overwhelming me for a second.

"Wait? Where's Jude? Is he not attending?" I look at my dad, watching him pull out of the driveway.

"He will attend, but he said he would arrive with his teammates. He didn’t want to inconvenience us."

Inconvenience?

What did he mean with that?

I mean, we had not spoken properly for days- but inconvenience?

Am I overthinking things?

"Come and grab a drink with me.." Lina says, grabbing my wirst to pull me towards the cocktail- or in this case, mocktail bar.

Due to the discouragement of the players drinking alcohol, mid-season- it was the upmost important for this party to only offer non-alcoholic drinks.

And considering what had happened last time I was drunk- I wasn't complaining, at all..

The party had started two hours ago, though a little formal. We made the most out of it, while dancing along with the beautiful live music. The clock would strike twelve in a little, indicating the beginning of a new year.

Something about New Year’s Eve made me incredibly emotional at times. Maybe, it was the realization of life going faster than I thought- or maybe, it was some resentment I held against the negative things that happened in the year.

Even so, I tried to make the most of this party every year. Dancing wholeheartedly, tasting the food the chefs had worked so hard on, drinking the delicious drinks made by the bartenders.

"I'm going to get a Negroni- How about you?" Lina asks, wrapping her arm around mine as we walk towards the bar.

"I don't know- maybe I’ll just ask for a recommendation.." I speak, looking over at her. Her black dress hugging her figure as our high heels click against the floor.

"Oh, look who's here too.." She says, motioning ahead with her eyes and chin.

I follow her gaze, furrowing my brows in confusion. My eyes land on a couple of the football team players, all looking happy as they order their drinks one by one.

"Oh.." I mouth, lips pulling back into a straight line as I spot Jude next to them.

And of course, just like my dear best friend had described last night. He is dressed in a sleek, black suit matched with a crispy white shirt.

I watch him interact with his teammates, unconsciously staring at him as we near the bar.

His pearly white teeth show as the corners of his eyes crinkle, probably laughing at something funny one of the guys said.

I almost gasp out loud when he turns around, my eyes moving down to see the deep red handkerchief, placed neatly in the pocket of his suit.

Why in heaven's name- did we match?

I lean against the bar by instinct, drawing my attention back to the bartender who's standing in front of me. Eyes darting to the menu, of course- to only see non-alcoholic options.

Maybe, I did need a different type of drink.

'I'll have a Negroni, please.." I hear Lina say, and look at her for a moment before turning back to the bartender. Trying to ignore the fact that I can feel a pair of eyes burning holes into the back of my head.

What was that called again?

Scopaesthesia?

Whatever it's called, there should be a name for someone's warmth too- because Jude probably could feel the heat radiating off my body at this point, even if he isn’t standing that close to me..

"And what would this beauty like?”

I stand up straight at the words, looking at the smiling bartender.

I give him a soft, appreciative smile back, enjoying his non-creepy way of delivering a compliment, and quickly ask for a recommendation.

As y/n speaks to the bartender, he laughs back, leaning in to whisper something into her ear. It earns a chuckle from her, making her lean against the bar again.

Unaware of his own body language, Jude tightens his grip on his glass. His jaw twitches, and he turns away from the scene, scoffing to himself before taking a gulp of his drink.

His body tensing up does not go unnoticed by his friends slash teammates. He gets a pat on the shoulder from Dani, making him relax for a moment.

"Loosen up, brother. Have some fun.." Eduardo speaks, giving him his signature smile while clinking his full glass with Jude's.

Jude nods, walking closer towards the crowd of his teammates, trying his absolute best to remove his brown eyes from the girl.

The girl his brain has not stopped thinking about, ever since that drunken night..

From the way she looked, spoke, dressed- he was infatuated with her.

And tonight?

The sexy red dress, hugging her body- showing skin-

He is fucked, absolutely fucked, especially when he realizes how clammy his hands are.

The normally confident and playful Jude vanishes for a moment. He's acting like a lovesick teenage boy, too nervous to ask his crush out for prom.

The hour passes painfully slow, with the both of them sneaking glances at each other every other minute. Their friends notice, of course, smirks on their faces as they realize how clueless they are.

Young love shouldn't be this complicated, they think, wanting to push them towards each other already. Tired of the back and forth they were a part of these past months. The patience they had was running low, even though it wasn't anything harming or hurting them.

"Ladies and gentlemen, your attention, please!" A sharp, ear-piercing sound echos from the microphone, booming out of the speakers.

The speaker is none other than a Real Madrid executive, standing next to the chic, wealthy woman, is y/n’s father.

The entire venue’s attention turns to the two individuals, conversations and laughter cut off immediately.

"Just like every year since our successful partnership with Mr. l/n. We thank you for being here at our annual New Year's event!"

The room answers with happy and loud cheers, some clapping along in agreement. An interesting mix of almost all the athletes signed to Real Madrid, their hardworking staff, and not to forget, esteemed lawyers from the law firm.

"We will enter the new year in ten minutes! Please enjoy the rest of your night!"

As if on cue, the room goes back to their own conversation. And the restless, nervous wreck y/n immediately turns around to visit the bar again, asking the bartender for another one of the drinks he'd made for her earlier.

She didn't even remember what it was called. All she tasted and saw were strawberries- which meant that the bright pink, iced drink was good enough.

She grabs the drink off the counter, thanking the bartender, before turning around to return to her friends.

She looks down to watch her step, high heels starting to hurt her feet, as she tries to walk without tripping, making her forget to watch where she’s going.

Before the girl is aware of it, her body collides with a harder one. Glass in her han, tipping over, the pink drink splashing all over a white, crispy shirt.

y/n gasps, eyes widening in horror. Looking up from the disaster, she makes eye contact with a shell-shocked Jude. His own, brown eyes widening impossibly wider than hers.

Covering her mouth, she places the glass on a small, round bar table next to her, turning to him wordlessly.

"Oh- I, umh.." She stutters, sweat practically visible on her temples at this point.

"Fuck, fuck, fuck!" She thinks, multiple thoughts running through her head like Usain-fucking-Bolt..

With only one brain-cell working in between them, and their hearts beating like crazy. She grabs his hand, pulling him off the dance floor- into a small closet, behind the stage. Away from the peering eyes and cameras at the event.

She turns away from him, closing the door, before locking it. Ensuring no one would walk into this disaster of a sight.

"Take it off.." She begins, speaking without thought. Reaching for a roll of paper towels, ripping off a stack of them before starting to dab away the moisture from his now pink-stained-shirt.

Her eyes dart up, lips parting slightly as Jude shrugs off his jacket, throwing it to the side.

The dim light flickers in the small, suffocating room. She halts the hurried dabbing, making eye contact with an equally entranced Jude.

"Sorry.." y/n whispers, breath hitting his plump lips. Her hand moves up again, rolling some more of the paper towel around her hand, before wiping off the excess moisture again.

Jude's body stiffens, particularly his abdomen. He takes a sharp breath, looking down at the flustered girl.

For some reason, a sudden switch flips inside of him. He sighs, eyes roaming up and down her form, a warm, but burning feeling settling in his stomach.

He decides to move for a moment, unbuttoning the cuffs of his shirt, and rolling his sleeves up to his elbows. It causes y/n to freeze up this time, her body going rigid as she watches him expose his arms.

Even in the dim light, his muscles protrude, along with the bulging veins running down his forearms.

"Fucking hell.." He says in a low voice, unbuttoning the top buttons of his ruined shirt, making the girl’s eyes widen again.

"What- What are you doing?" She asks, heart almost exploding due to the pace it’s beating at.

"I'm burning up in this room.." He replies, making direct eye contact with her, as he fidgets with the white buttons.

Revealing more, and more skin..

It's like he's dropped the nervousness within seconds. Looking into her eyes while fixing the collar of his shirt.

Even though it takes him approximately ten seconds, to the girl in front of him- the moment is dragged out horribly long and in slow motion.

Her breath hitches at the delicious sight, and she gulps while looking up at him.

Deeply entranced in the tension filled- sensual moment, she drops the wet, used paper towels mindlessly onto the floor.

The lights flicker once again, making her eyes squint as she takes him in.

No doubt, the image will be burned into her infatuated mind from now on. Gnawing at her sanity and logical thinking.

Of course, he smells good. So damn good, the perfect mix of musk and powdery cologne.

Not only is the sight delicious, but the smell is too.

The loud music outside of the small enclosed space continues, the crowd singing along to the chorus of a well-known song.

She looks down for a second, trying to collect her thoughts before she says something completely unhinged.

"Jude.." She whispers, heart beating erratically in his chest. y/n can feel her hands shake, her legs trembling in her high heels.

Their breaths mingle as they look into each other's eyes. A silence settling in between them after she says his name.

Jude's veins practically burst at the sound of his name leaving her lips. His eyes dart to the perfectly glossed lips that say his name so sweetly, so softly..

His mind goes dizzy at the sound. Wanting to hear it over, and over again. Loving the sound most ardently..

A soft groan leaves his mouth, and he traces her beautiful features with his eyes, until he makes eye contact with her, again.

"We should leave this place. The countdown is about to begin.." She whispers the only words she can think of saying, breath shaky and faint.

Jude does not answer with words, but his eyes do dart towards the door. Ears perking up as he hears the familiar countdown begin.

"Twenty!" The crowd exclaims, happiness and excitement buzzing throughout the venue- except in the small room they are in.

"Jude!" She says again, voice a little more stable than before. She raises her left hand, pulling on the hem of his now- untucked shirt.

He snaps his head back at her, watching the soft skin in between her brows pinch together in frustration.

"y/n.." He whispers back, head leaning closer against hers. Making her grip on his shirt grow tighter. Skin on her knuckles tightening from the strength she's using.

"What?" She asks, voice fiery sharp, and impatient. Emotions making her eyes glisten, along with the jewelry adorning her neck and ears in the light.

Though, the tension is high and suffocating- Jude grins suddenly, plump lips stretching as he leans in closer. His own eyes, now with a hint of playfulness in them, roaming around her face.

"Ten!" They hear the crowd exclaim, continuing to cheer and laugh together.

"What?" She says again, lifting her chin up to look him in the eyes. Her breath hitches at the playful expression on his face, like he's an imminent danger to her heart and lungs.

"You're the most annoying fucking person I have ever met.." He speaks, with no real malice in his tone. A chuckle leaves his mouth, soft breaths hitting her lips.

y/n's heart stutters at his words, and the change of emotion in her eyes makes him go absolutely crazy.

"Fuck, and I love that. I love you, y/n.." He breathes, his hand cupping her jaw.

He watches her face intently, watching her blink multiple times, before her hand travels from the hem of his shirt to his unbuttoned collar.

She wraps her hand around the fabric, pulling him closer with a small jank. Wetting her lips with her tongue, she speaks again.

"Then fucking kiss me, you annoying douche bag.."

The words leave her mouth in a fluid, rehearsed way, and she loses herself in his deep eyes.

"Three!"

"Fucking gladly.." He mutters, both of their eyes fluttering shut as his hand moves over to the small of her back impatiently.

"Happy New Year!"

Their lips brush against each other, her hands gripping onto his shirt with a vice-like grip.

Her breath hitches at first, making him chuckle cockily against her lips. His hand supporting her jaw in the most tender way possible, as his thumb rubs against the softness of her cheek.

The soft press of their lips touching make their hearts flutter.

Realizing there is no point of return from this, the feathery touches turn into heated, greedy ones.

The rush of adrenaline makes them lose their self-control, an unstoppable, alluring feeling injected into their veins as they continue soaking in the moment, until they part for air.

Their ragged pants brush against each other's faces, a small smile pulling at her lips. Eyes finding each other again, as their hearts beat in unison.

Jude stares into her eyes, thumb running down her jaw, as he smiles back at her.

"Beautiful. You're beautiful.."

#jude bellingham #jude bellingham fanfic #jude bellingham imagine #jude x reader #jude #jude bellingham x reader #bellingham x reader #bellingham #football fanfic #football imagines #football #footballer x reader #real madrid fc #real madrid #england #england nt #football blurb #football imagine

267 notes · View notes

dumplingsfordays · 1 year ago

Note

Reading 30 Strales and omg Blade smelling like citrus sounds amazing. I've been playing for about 3 weeks and after fulling catching up on the trailblazer quests I was like dang blade kills people a lot right, he probably smells like blood 24/7 that's so gross. All this to say... reject logic, I agree that blade smells like citrus. Do you have thoughts on what any of the others would smell like?

what the hsr men smell like

ft. blade, gepard, jing yuan, dan heng, luocha, and welt

cw!: mentions of blood, no pronouns for reader mentioned, implied relationship, cuddling, swearing, super fluffy :)

note - thank you so much for reaching out to me omg 🥺 i reject logic too so that's how the whole citrus thing came to be ajsjdk. also i know absolutely nothing about colognes/fragrances so i'm sorry if i mess some of these up ;-; hope you're having a great day/night though pookie <3

and as always, thank you for reading :)

˗ˏˋ ★ ˊˎ˗

blade

~ as mentioned above, def smells like citrus and bergamot.

~ sometimes you can catch a little metallic-y whiff of (cough cough) def not blood (cough cough), but it never lasts for long - when he hugs you, the smell of oranges invades your senses like a light summer breeze~

~ and don't get me started on how obsessed he is w this scent. if he stays somewhere for even 1-2 days, you know he's bringing along his 3 freakin citrus-scented candles!!

~ please run your fingers thru his hair when you're hanging out or cuddling. please. he will melt from headpats and your fingers will smell like his shampoo for the rest of the day, and since you love the scent of gentle lime, why not?

˗ˏˋ ★ ˊˎ˗

gepard

~ omg this man!! he's totally giving cashmere + hot cocoa for some reason??? he doesn't really use cologne/fragrances and prefers his natural scent, but does use cashmere and vanilla body wash + shampoo.

~ like sure, after a busy day at work or training he'll kinda smell like sweat but will immediately take a shower when he gets home. he hates being sweaty and thinks it's icky if he does for too long-

~ and when you snuggle up to him for cuddle time on a day off, you just wanna stay there forever bc his scent envelops you like a blanket on freezing winter nights <3

~ overall very comforting and warm, just like Gepard himself!! (cries in human heater vibes)

˗ˏˋ ★ ˊˎ˗

jing yuan

~ musk + cinnamon + a little bit of spice, and def uses cologne.

~ actually wants to smell nice and puts in the effort!! changes his sheets, washes his clothes, showers every day (but washes his hair every 3 days or so bc haircare)

~ speaking of haircare, this man's big on it. most of his haircare products smell like the aforementioned musk and cinnamon, but he uses this one cream that smells like cloves and you freakin adore it. sometimes you borrow it so that whenever you're going out and he's busy with his big boy general duties, it feels like he's with u <3

~ and ughhhh his bedroom smells like him so whenever you guys have le cuddle time you fall asleep almost immediately. ofc he eventually does too (bc he loves how u smell too pookie, don't tell him i said that though he would kill me aksjskd) and you're so warm and soft and how could he not fall asleep??

˗ˏˋ ★ ˊˎ˗

dan heng

~ very ocean-y (salty?), small hints of eucalyptus and cypress as well. when he uses cologne he uses very, very little, but he actually has 2 separate colognes, one for the ocean-y cypress, and the other for the eucalyptus

~ i feel like this is kinda a bold statement but he uses bath bombs. like he gets a bath bomb that smells like mint, gets in the bathtub w it, and glides his thumbs over its surface bc he likes the texture-

~ he might not be the cleanest man in the universe, but he sure does smell like it!! something about eucalyptus and cypress and mint and a hint of ocean breeze is chillingly refreshing and tbh you kinda dig it :D

~ mornings w dan heng. omfg they are ethereal bc he literally smells angelic??? like a gentle freshness yk and the pillows smell like him too so lazy mornings are def a thing that you guys love sharing <3

˗ˏˋ ★ ˊˎ˗

luocha

~ oooo he's kinda a wild card imo, but personally, i think that he smells like jasmine + honey (not just bc of his idle + technique!! pinky promise)

~ he lowkey smells a little like freshly-cut grass, very light n refreshing. however, jasmine takes center stage, and if you really bury your face in his long-ass hair, you can catch a whiff of chamomile :))

~ super big on herbal teas and honey as well - i hc that he brings a water bottle w him that's just green tea n honey so when you're close to his face (cuddling, hugging, etc) the honey adds this sweetness that blends super well w the aforementioned chamomile + jasmine <3

~ like jing yuan, super involved in haircare!! he does use less products, but you still freakin adore this chamomile shampoo that he uses. avid believer in aromatherapy, prob uses essential oils (not for curing cancer ofc)

˗ˏˋ ★ ˊˎ˗

welt

~ coffee and amberwood!! both are deep and rich scents and he probably uses cologne in very small amounts aksjdks

~ coffee addict and the scent faintly lingers, so the amberwood is really more prominent, but overall i promise he doesn't smell like dust or smth, he's not that old he takes good care of himself :))

~ burns incense in his room bc it helps him relax and concentrate on his drawings, so he does have a little resin smell to him, but you don't mind bc it's actually quite comforting. he once almost caused a fire bc he dropped a lit match onto the carpet but we don't talk about that-

~ loves to hug you so whenever he does, you always feel so cozy and loved and aaaaa ya'll are so cute i can't <3 and since he's pretty tall he sometimes rests his head on top of yours and hugs you from behind like that and you melt immediately bc it's like a blanket!! but smells super nice!!

˗ˏˋ ★ ˊˎ˗

#honkai star rail #hsr #honkai #fluff #gepard fluff #blade fluff #jing yuan fluff #dan heng fluff #luocha fluff #welt fluff #blade x reader #gepard x reader #jing yuan x reader #dan heng x reader #luocha x reader #welt x reader #tysm for the idea though!!! i actually love it sm-

433 notes · View notes

kevindavidday · 23 days ago

Text

i love that neil considers jean as part of the family he wants to protect. i will elaborate this time because

if you think about it, neil spent book 1 trying his best not to build a connection, book 2 trying to break down the walls ending with confirming from nicky if they were friends, and every second after that deliberately doing whatever was in his goddamn power to keep these people safe and happy. going to edens for andrew, keeping the truth from them, getting the letter back for kevin, reminding kevin that he owes jean a conversation after all that's happened, fixing the twins' relationship, spending time with them even though he knew he would leave. in his mind, what he was doing was selfish because he was going to die soon and they didn't even know it.

he doesn't die, though and he comes back with even MORE fight in him than before. he meets his uncle once and although his mother hadn't wanted him to be involved in one gang after another, he doesn't give a single flying fuck. the hatford's existence is just another resource for him, a way to hurt those who have hurt his family. stuart already killed his father, so what's it matter if there's a few more - protecting him means protecting his family. if the fbi had any clue about the power neil actually holds over the hatford's they would all willingly eat their hats tbh.

so the first thing he does when he sees his uncle again? despite knowing that ichirou is close-by? he tells him to kill proust.

hell, even the moriyama's are nothing to this man if i'm being honest. he isn't afraid of them, he knew the rarity of ichirou's visits which made him wary when he got into the car to talk about bargaining their lives and i truly do believe ichirou moriyama was fucking relieved neil didn't ask for more than that. there is that strange, dead look in his eyes that he's inherited from his father which unnerves the fuck out of everyone who doesn't know him. and when he bargained for his life and kevin's, he remembered jean too.

which is fucking insane. he spent only winter break with jean moreau, ONLY. i know there's extra days at the nest, but i'd kill to know what happened between jean and neil during that time for neil to have such unflinching loyalty towards his 'forever partner'. i want to know their conversations, i want to know what they suffered through together.

and the casual way in which jean dropped the news about grayson to neil, after hiding it away from everyone for so long. he admitted the truth to neil straight up, like of course neil should know, it's neil. jean's mind is still haywired to remember him too even though they were only together for a few weeks!!!

what is it about them?

and then the entire time otw to the diner, neil's plotting again. he's scheming. he's thinking. and he knows what to do. and its asking for local work because fuck anyone who has ever hurt his family. he literally only ever needs a fucking name, bro. 'my first memories are of people dying.' i think we can tell...

wymack saw that leadership potential and made him vice captain. god bless neil only cares about playing exy because if he had even a second more interest in crime he would've floored everyone. i can see it so clearly.

anyway, hope he takes a hit out on tetsuji moriyama next 🙏

#although for infighting reasons that might not be the best thing to do so mr strategy josten would disagree on this note #i still want tetsuji to die #aftg #neil josten #jean moreau #jeaneil #jeanneil #lowkey a little bit of a character study #liz yaps

103 notes · View notes

maleyanderecafe · 11 days ago

Text

Than Winter Came (Visual Novel)

Created by: Yanagami

Genre: Comedy/Dark

Than Winter Came kind of makes no sense at all, but it is also really hilarious and scary at the same time. You also get to play as a bird, which should tell you exactly the type of tone that this game is really going for. The entire time, I thought our main boy MJ was our yandere, but he is in fact actually the darling in this.

The story starts out with you as the player reincarnating as a crow, only to be hired by an abino crow into the Scare Crow Crow Inc. Their job is to essentially be guardian angels for different people, with the clumsy crow (that's you) being guardian angel to someone known as Mavi Sky Jazz (or just, MJ). Before the crow can even do anything or even just barely realizes that their memory has been wiped, they're sent into the real world to find them. They eventually do, with MJ being a bit unsettled that a talking crow is following them around. MJ ends up taking a bus to a snowy area with the crow following him. He talks to the crow about how this is a special place for him, as it's where him and his friend Than became friends. They end up hanging out in a secret place on the mountain, promising that they would always have each other's backs. However, in an unfortunate turn of events, Than got into an accident and died. MJ gets emotional as he thinks about it, wishing Than would come back so that they could hang out again. As it gets late, the two of them get a bit lost, and have to find their way back to the bus.

Going onto the ice will lead the two into a strange creature as they get lost. If they run across the ice, they'll be able to escape and make it back to the bus stop. MJ thanks the crow for going with them as they were able to be with them when they were emotional. If they instead try to tread more carefully, they will end up being caught by the same creature.

A similar fate happens when going to the forest, where they see a trail of blood. Following this will not only lead to a body but also have them caught by the creature.

Finally going down the road will have them arrive in the forest. Continuing down this path, they end up going into a cabin to take shelter in the snow. They end up knocking and a man comes in to accept them in. The man introduces himself as Peter and the two end up retiring for the night. When MJ wakes up, he is tied up, with Peter watching over him. It seems Peter was jealous that MJ always talked about Than so he (likely)killed him, and planned it so that they would end up in his cabin. MJ can then ask about either him or Crow. In certain endings, the game will abruptly end with Peter forcing MJ to stay. He can also attempt to flirt with Peter to loosen the ropes and attack Peter, taking him down once and for all.

Did you understand what this game was about? No? Good, me neither, but I think that's what's great about it. The entire thing is pretty absurdist and surreal considering we're literally a bird the entire time (and the pictures used of said crow is pretty funny), though it does have some more emotional moments surprisingly especially when it comes to MJ's relationship with Than. The music and artwork work together to make a surprisingly atmospheric game, especially when contrasted with the more colder setting that they're in, and the horrifying creatures in some of the bad endings were also something that I feel were genuinely really scary at times.

The yandere himself basically kind of seems to come out of nowhere, and that's when the two eventually venture to the log cabin after they can't find the bus stop. I will say that the assets he did have for sprites were very cool, seeing that Peter gets more deranged as the story goes on. From what I can tell, Peter was the reason (or at least involved with) Than's death and has an obsession with MJ for quite a long time. He also ended up planning everything from the beginning to get MJ and to an extent, the crow into his cabin. Doesn't really explain the really creepy monster at all though, but maybe that's part of his plan as well? The monster really doesn't get explained at all. Peter is pretty obsessive though and kind of easy to trick of MJ shows any interest in him, but I still feel like he was kind of shoehorned in there. Hard to tell with this game because there's just a lot of randomness going on.

Overall, i think while it was a fun game, with the humor and scary moments, it was pretty confusing considering it's pretty surreal. It's a quick game jam game so of course there's no need to make it the best thing ever, but I think there could still be some clarifying points. (I also just noticed that "Than" is in the title name too lol).

#Than winter came #male yandere #yandere #yandere boy #recommendations #completed #visual novel

73 notes · View notes

fogwitchoftheevermore · 1 year ago

Text

ok so. forgive me for a second but i've been abnormal about skizz and ren since the hiatus between third life and last life and holy shit this season is already not helping.

let's talk about skizz, ren, undying loyalty, and golden apples, shall we?

so the thing that you need to understand about skizz is that he is loyal to a fault. impulse literally says this exact thing about him in limited life, and skizz himself says himself: "you know me and my factions, i never turn." the second thing is that the first person their loyalty manifests for in third life is ren. he and ren run into each other on the second night when ren is getting accosted by mobs outside skizz's door and skizz gives him a place to stay the night. ren decides to trade skizz for his leather, for the upcoming enchanting buisness, and gives skizz a golden apple in exchange. skizz thinks this is wildly more than he deserves but is very thankful. skizz doesn't say it here, but this is the moment he swears his loyalty to ren.

throughout third life, he is willing to do or get basically anything for ren. the two of them literally die together to the tnt trap. when ren dies on the alter and everyone thinks martyn betrayed him, skizz is the first person to get there in the morning. he's in half broken gold armor and borrowed tools from bigb and he still tells ren "get behind me", still tries to protect him from martyn. when skizz is on red, he goes a bit crazy, but he channels that bloodlust into protecting ren. he kills jimmy in the red desert, he kills cleo when she tries to attack ren, he chases down impulse when he betrays dogwarts and dies trying to kill him.

when skizz dies in third life, he's got an unused golden apple in his hotbar. after he dies, he remembers the first time he met ren, etho, and martyn, and he spends quite a bit of time on his memory of ren and ren appears in his first memory of etho. after he dies, ren wields a blade named in his honor.

skizz spends third life loyal to ren- he dies for him and he dies with him.

in last life, ren and skizz end up on completely different sides, and it very quickly gets bad because when ren becomes boogey, he kills skizz. he lures him into a trap. he tells skizz he loves him. skizz literally says "i am broken hearted" when ren kills him. ren holds no regard for the relationship they used to have and yet skizz cannot help but compliment ren's skill with the trap, outright says he can't be mad at ren.

and then it only gets worse because skizz tries to storm ren's tower with impulse after they've gone red. and that! doesn't go well! and while skizz is retreating, while he is eating the golden apple in his hot bar, ren shoots him dead.

and that is the last time they've spoken. two years ago.

because skizz isn't in doublt life. and ren isn't in limited life.

and when skizz's time comes in limited life, he ensures he doesn't have a golden apple in his inventory this time. this time, he hands the apples off to his teammates, where he knows they will go to good use. and then he hands etho a diamond fucking axe (red winter is coming) and asks him to execute him for the sake of their alliance. ok! sure! fill ren's role more explicitly, why don't you!

and that first session of secret life genuinely only made it worse. when skizz is talking to tango and cleo about their alliance, skizz says he wants to give leadership over to someone else: "i want to be more of a soldier than a leader this time." cleo says she'll fill the roll of leader- she doesn't take orders well - and then seals their alliance by giving tango and skizz a golden apple each. because of course she does.

and well, we all know that didn't really work out, so that's one person off the list that skizz can fill the dogwarts shaped hole in him with, so then he goes to bdubs. he says he'll lay his sword at bdubs' feet. he says he'll win bdubs with his loyalty. he calls bdubs "my leige", jesus christ dude, you couldn't be less subtle unless you straight up called him ren's name.

skizz has been (whether accidentally or on purpose is up to you) trying to recreate the experience he had with dogwarts, and particularly what he had with ren, since the moment dogwarts fell. he can't have it with ren because he missed his only chance in last life, so he'll fill the void with whoever he can. his fellow soldier. ren's successor. ren's new kingmaker. anyone. and it's never gonna work. i need ren to come back for like, 900 reasons, but i especially need him to come back so skizz can have a shot at making it to spring.

#secret life spoilers #life series spoilers #skizzleman #rendog #secret life #my writing #analysis post #(not really. ill be real this very much veers more into summary territory than i would like for an analysis post.)#(but i like it enough to put it in that tag anyways)#renskizz #(is that their ship tag???)#(you dont have to read this through a shipping lens it should just be known that that *does* color how i think about them)#anyways. training montage by the mountain goats skizzleman song of all time.#“i'm doing this for revenge/i'm doing this to try and stay true/i'm doing this for the ones we had to leave behind/i'm doing this for you”

518 notes · View notes

capslocked · 2 years ago

Text

WINTER WEATHER ADVISORY

male reader x jeon heejin

part 1 of journalistic integrity

16k words

It’s not even twelve hours apart - the first time you exchange pleasantries, all careless and untroubled, to the moment you’ve got Heejin in the back of a taxi and your hand so far up her skirt that it has you emptying your wallet at the end of the ride and slapping the biggest tip you’ve ever left into the cabbie’s open palm, silence full of disapproval.

It isn’t planned or anything.

Heejin doesn’t simply wake up one morning with a craving for your cock. It just sorta happens.

And then It happens again a week later. The third time just a few days after that.

The fourth time, the two of you barely spend a night apart before Heejin’s back in your apartment, thighs shaking violently as you fuck her into the springs of your mattress.

“I’m trying to figure it out,” you puzzle, holding a coffee mug to your cheek while taking note of how Heejin slips her arms back beneath the black straps of her bra at the foot of your bed. “Why a rabbit?”

She laughs first. Looking back over her shoulder when she responds, “why not? It’s cute.”

“Yeah. Sure. And incredibly provocative.”

“You’re really hung up on it, aren’t you?”

“Um. I just think it’s interesting.”

“Does that mean it’s going to end up in one of your articles?” She asks, tossing her hair back over her shoulders. “Something about it on the front page?”

“Why would you think I’m going to write about rabbits?”

Heejin smiles, bright and cheery and increasingly full of mischief. “About this breeding kink of ours.”

“Ah.”

Her hands reach to her hips like she’s ruminating through all these possibilities, the things she could do to you, the things she has done to you. And as she crawls back onto the bed, your eyes follow hers - all brilliant and huge, self-aware of just how pretty they are.

She lets out this pinchy little laugh, and leans in to kiss your jawline. Bites it for good measure. “Ah, he says, pensively.”

“We went over this,” you start, leaning back into the headboard. “It’s just not a kink. Wanting to cum inside a pretty girl is, literally, basic biology. Like, it’s so foundational, it’s in my DNA.”

“And I get sooo turned on thinking about your DNA,” Heejin snaps back, and she’s got that edge in her voice again: playful, mildly threatening. “Besides, there’s more to it than that.”

“Isn’t there always.”

“It’s the ownership,” she breathes into your neck, “the intimacy, the risk–”

“Risk?” you say, laughing as you jump into the middle of Heejin’s explanation. “What risk? There’s literally no risk when you’re on the pill.”

“Ugh. You’re the worst, you know that? Who’d thought I’d have to explain what fantasy means to a writer.”

Before you can do anything about it, she kisses you three times. Twice on the cheek, once on the lips. And it’s as close as you’ll get to anything like retaliation - you flip her underneath you, drag her panties down her thighs, and fuck her again.

That’s how it goes. Like it's some sort of cosmic law. It’s been this whole thing.

So again, you write - when it all starts, you’re writing.

There’s this story.

Your editor’s the one demanding it from you. Find it, embellish it, fucking outright fabricate it - whatever it takes so long as the article arrives on her desk before she finishes her coffee on Monday morning.

Between you, there’s always this dynamic: work comes in, you’ll point your finger to the ceiling, saying, "trust in the creative process," and then she threatens to kill you. Hence it’s her drumbeat; you’re marching to it.

"You know, I think I might know a guy," you shout over the top of your glass and down the bar, when the topic of LOONA comes up over drinks. You end up phoning a friend of a friend, pulling a string, making a promise you never intend to make good on, and it has you sitting in an unremarkable conference room on the fourth floor of your office a little after lunch the following day.

So, as it starts, there’s this girl sitting across the table from you - Heejin, she says, and it rolls so nicely off her tongue as she does, like the name was simply hers. You notice it immediately, and if you were any younger, the kind of age where you could fall in love with a girl just off the end of a smile, your heart would be rocketing out of your chest.

Now, honest to god–

(Not that you’re god-fearing or honest or virtuous, it’s just a turn of phrase, and that’s how you earn your keep.)

–it kicks off innocently enough between you, as most things do.

Just to put it in perspective, there’s never before been a celebrity profile you’ve written that hasn’t fallen neatly into one of three categories: (1) astonishingly talented, (2) breathtakingly gorgeous, or (3) certifiably insane. So, as you puzzle about that track record now, there should be absolutely no reason at all for you, a professional, to let this girl, another twenty-something-year-old idol who’s too pretty for her own good - with a voice that runs just a little deeper, raspier, perhaps more sultry than you’re used to hearing - ever get the better of you.

"I don’t know, I guess I was expecting someone… different," Heejin says, somewhere in the middle of things, folding her fingers neatly beneath her chin.

Your eyes flick up from the notepad in your hands and find this look in the deep browns of her eyes, like she’s studying you from across the conference room table, gazing into the contents of a test tube. You lift an eyebrow, and she does the same; there’s a bit more suggestion to it than there probably should be, but you’ve been stoking it, fanning it, from the moment you’d both sat down.

"Expecting?" you ask, if only to point out what had thrown you off-kilter, and you can feel your weight shift in your seat.

After all, it had been just that morning when you met Heejin for the first time. She was standing perhaps a little out of place beside the door to her dressing room, kicking snow off the bottoms of her boots. You told her you liked the color of her dress, a welcome departure from the grays and browns that usually filled your office. Her hair was curtaining her face and after pulling it back, tucking it neatly behind her ears, she smiled brightly back at you - thanks, it’s vermillion.

You weren't aware of it then, and it won’t become clear to you until much later, but you do fall for her there, if at least just a little.

"Well, see, it’s my publicist," Heejin starts to explain. From that alone you’re certain you’ve got the rest puzzled out. She steeples her fingertips together, continuing, "the way she talked you up, she made you out to be, like, totally despicable. Said you were no better than those creeps that sit in the bushes outside my apartment."

Okay, so unfortunately, part of that’s not entirely unwarranted. To a girl like her - to the scrupulous companies that stand to gain, to lose - all that concerning secrets to hide and hell to pay, you could be absolutely despicable. Afterall, if there’s a labor that goes into making someone like Heejin come across as the kind of perfect that everyone believes her to be, you’d be the first person looking to undo it.

It’s nothing personal, you reason, and you’re smiling back across the table. "Hey. Low blow. I haven’t sat in a bush in years."

A quiet smile shadows in the corner of her lip and she fires back at you, "so you’re saying you’re just a little despicable."

"Oh, ya know," you reassure her, gesturing your hands to the side, one palm up and the pages on your notepad splaying out in the other. "More or less comes with the mileage."

"All joking aside, I’ve seen guys…"

Heejin dips her eyes a moment to laugh out loud. And you’re becoming familiar with the sound, sweet and throaty and genuine. Harmonic.

"You know, I’ve seen guys climb trees. Really, I’m serious. This was just last summer, around the time Haseul broke up with her boyfriend and moved into our apartment. Don’t write that down. I’m standing at the sink, washing dishes, and I see this guy. He’s just balancing there with his feet hooked around some of the branches, a camera against his face with this massive lens. I bet you he could probably see the bacteria on the window."

“You wash dishes?” A handbag that costs more than a month’s salary, these dainty fingers that look like they’ve never seen so much as a scratch, and you’re picturing her, or struggling anyway - washing dishes.

“Ugh, it’s been this whole thing,” Heejin says, floating her fingertips to her collarbone. “There was a rumor that the housekeeper had been talking to the press. So our management fired them - and then the dishwasher broke. Company was supposed to buy us a new one, but they haven’t yet - because they’re cheap as shit. Don’t write that down either.”

“Never rains but then it pours, huh?”

“Right. You get it,” she says before letting this simple tight-lipped smile fill out on her face. "To be honest though, I’m curious about something."

Heejin’s raking her fingers through her hair, and you watch the silver band of her watch fall just a few inches from the sharp edge of her wrist as she holds a messy handful of blonde locks just above her face - the way they bounce against her cheek and spill back onto her shoulder when she lets go.

"How did you - and I’m not saying you’re the same as one of those people - but how does someone even get into entertainment journalism in the first place?"

"Slowly at first," you answer, eyes returning to your lap to pen out the rest of some scribbled note, "and then all at once."

When you look back up, Heejin is frowning, brows furrowed, as though she were trying to remember something.

"Slowly at first," she repeats, "and then all at once." She blinks a few times as your attempt to avoid the question registers. Thoroughly unimpressed when it does. "No, I’m serious, there had to be something that drew you to all this."

You finish out the end of a note, lined into the pad, while you land on a chuckle, dry and humorless. "What is all this now?"

"It’s a question."

Nevermind that it’s in the wrong direction, is your first thought. Careful now, your second. Because maybe you knew that beneath the surface were those stray thoughts that kept you up at night, lurking:

What kind of journalism career is this?

You graduated from a good program. With classmates who were now reporting on national legislature, getting shot at to cover a war in Ukraine for The Associated Press - and then here you are, sifting through the transient thoughts of yet another pop star, grasping at straws, struggling to spin them into gold.

"Is this one of those things?" you ask, heeding first to the click of your pen, once in, once out. "What was the word for it… postmodern? Where you turn the tables and you’re the one interviewing me?"

"I don’t think I’d go that far," she says, lips slanted slightly, "you’re still the one holding the notepad after all."

“What, the appeal of meeting fascinating people isn’t enough of a sell for you?” Oh, you’ve had your fair share of boring, mundane, or even offensive too, but you’ve not gotten to where you are without learning a little flattery goes a long way.

Heejin scoffs. “Oh, don’t lie. I’ve read your magazine. The profiles? I’ve met those guys and gals—fascinating is being rather generous, wouldn't you think?”

“Careful,” you say, punctuated by the end of your pen again. Click.

See, it’s the way her eyebrows twist over that coquettish smile. That's how she gets you - one out of twelve, you’re realizing why the cameras are stuck on her. And everything that comes out of her mouth just brushes effortlessly on the innocent side of frustration, of challenge. It’s hard not to indulge, even if just a little–

“I mean if I’m wrong, go ahead, feel free to correct me.”

“I was real sick of freelance work,” you answer, feeling the conversation start to de-rail. “Was tired of worrying about making rent. And it was just less of a total pain in the ass.”

There was a method. It was delicate, and usually you were quite good at it: you were supposed to be just funny enough to make her laugh, captivating enough to coax out something more than a monosyllable answer where you needed it, get her to like you, and then have her forget about you the moment she walked out the door. Hell might freeze before you could get her publicist to schedule a follow up, all because Heejin had chewed up the clock - had gotten herself interested.

It’s probably wishful thinking to hope the sigh rolling through your chest doesn’t give too much of all that up. “And just why might you ask?”

Heejin reaches across the table and turns off your tape recorder. It’s here probably: where you should’ve been clued into the pieces, the board, the game in front of you. “Because you don’t seem like most of the others.”

“The others?” you answer, making careful sure not to sneer. “Are you suggesting that I’m–”

“Charming?” Heejin rises from her seat, and her hair swings behind her shoulders as she meanders about the room. “Oh, I’m declaring it. It’s not a subject for debate.”

When she finds a spot to lean against the table beside you, her skirt hikes itself just a few noticeable inches. You’re not trying to stare, but she is right there.

Okay, so you’re fucking staring. When it’s clear that you are, you drop your eyes immediately, starting over at the floor - you’re unsure what to make of it. Her boots jump out immediately, these black knee-high things with just enough of a heel to let her stand a little taller than your shoulders. Beyond them is the dress that’s tinier than she is: vermillion - not red - and hung tight around her frame, gaping perfectly to present her thighs and chest like they ever needed introduction. Follow her collarbones, the delicate skin on her neck, the bold red lipstick she decided would compliment the bow in hair like she’s some present waiting to be unwrapped, and yeah, okay, she’s cute.

You’d have perhaps made a mental note of how unconventional it was for her now to be looking down at you, arms crossed and smile slanting, but, she also just manages to plainly ask if you’re seeing anyone, so there’s little time to dwell on that transgression - and all with the casualness someone might ask how much snow that approaching storm was supposed to bring tonight. In nearly the same breath, she asks if you were holding onto any of those numbers girls handed you when you went out drinking. It’s confounding and it’s your head space and it’s rapidly becoming preoccupied and littered and busy.

"That surprises me," Heejin tells you upon hearing that it’s complicated. "I figured it’d be rather straightforward. What all with a smile like yours. And an ass like that—"

"You’re flirting with me."

Doesn’t matter that it’s so obvious you could’ve seen it from space - everything comes to a screeching halt after the words fall out of your mouth.

You tilt your head, quizzical.

Heejin’s chin cocks, ready to fire. "And what? Is that some sort of crime?"

It’s honestly hard to believe. She tosses you the question, recklessly unaware that doing that thing she does where she simply exists is almost criminal. Thoroughly disinterested in the fact you were having plenty enough trouble keeping your focus from sinking into the neckline of her dress. You watch her blink slowly while you struggle to get out ahead of this, and it has her discovering that smile again. “Oh. And I wouldn’t write any of this down either. You know, if I were you.”

Your hand must know how deceitful it sounds because it’s covering your mouth, trying to mask the words curling off your tongue:

“Look, I - Here’s the thing… you know it’s completely unprofessional.”

Heejin smirks, pointedly, like she’s recognizing something on your face that confirms each and every one of her suspicions.

Okay, you were trying to act nonchalant, but all the mistakes keep adding up - have added up - gazing at her gentle, focused features long enough that you might inscribe them in your mind as something to hold onto when you walk out of this meeting.

“Hand me your notepad.” Heejin pushes her hand in front of you, expectantly. “The pen.”

You watch her lashes nearly fall onto her cheeks as her eyes dip into the lined paper, and then it’s just the sound of the pen. Scribbling.

If you're going to consider that the bare minimum requirements of your job probably forbids undressing in a random meeting room in the middle of a workday, it shouldn’t come as a surprise that the rest of the interview unfolds without incident.

(Albeit woefully precarious.)

Here’s what you learn:

Heejin’s life isn’t terribly interesting, at least the parts you can write about without fear of starting fires in the streets. The backstory has all these parallels you’ve come to expect. She’s the youngest of three girls, and you figure that’s where all the confidence comes from, if it isn’t the fact that she’s the kind of beautiful that inspires all this admiration and reverence and adoration to the point where it has people tripping over her.

Her flatmates are apparently storied in their own sort of fucked up ways, and as she described them, you quickly realized that none of it would be able to fit into a publication like yours. Not that you’d stop the train of thought: Yeojin - a hopeless romantic - and Haseul - a total fucking golddigger - who were well on their way to fuck half the city at their current pace (you’re paraphrasing here).

So with that, you’re writing. The doc is completely blank, and you’ve deleted the first sentence god knows how many times, but you’re writing.

Heejin had mentioned she was taking piano lessons and music theory classes, but had piqued more of your interest when she opened up about a novel she was working on: “It’s fiction, and it’s about two lovers slowly growing apart.” She shrugged her shoulders when you asked if it had a happy ending and refused to go any further into it when you brought it up again (twice), but that’s more or less how these things usually go.

You double back to your notes where Heejin’s phone number is written neatly at the top with little hearts trailing off the last digit. Only it does little if any to help inspire the kind of creativity you need to do your job - inspire any thoughts beyond the way her dress tapered in at her tiny waist, how you’re pretty sure you could reach both hands around it and how light she’d be in your arms.

You should call her, springs immediately to the front of your thoughts.

And that’s how you know it’s bad. Something worth some sort of concern.

Oh sure, you’ve had a crush before - when you were the age where hormones were reeling through your body and had you, like a good portion of the world, needing someone to hump like a dog in heat. Fast forward to when you lost your V-card to the girl you’d been pining over for years and it failed to give you superpowers, you figured it was best to put your time and effort into anything else. You can relax, take it slow, get your work done, stop thinking about it.

Monday, you decide.

She probably has plans this weekend anyway, and that is the rule isn’t it? Three days ought to give you enough suspense and pretense to illustrate that you’re not hopelessly fixed on the idea of pulling Heejin’s dress up around that fucking waist and hoisting her onto your kitchen counter where you could really just give it to her.

You tap your pen against your desk.

Monday.

5:00 p.m. rolls around.

You call.

The phone rings one too many times, and you’re within inches from just simply hanging up before you hear her speak. You actually jump a little in your seat and your knees smack into the bottom of your desk when you do.

“I thought it was completely unprofessional. You said that.”

“Yeah, well the clock hits 5:00 and maybe I’m having second thoughts.”

There's some idle chit-chat, nothing special while you both circle around the obvious.

“Know any good Thai places? I’ve been pretty in the mood lately,” Heejin’s voice comes through as the pieces begin falling way too easily into place.

“I mean there’s plenty to choose from downtown,” you say as you pinch the neck of the lamp on your desk, still bobbing in place after you’d knocked it out of balance, “or one of those pretentious places that keep popping up in the old public market.”

“No, I mean, the editorial shoot ran a little late so I’m still here.”

“At the office?”

“Yeah. Hey - you know the photographer that goes around calling everyone boss? He’s, like, a total flirt by the way.”

“Trust me.” You laugh out loud. “That’s not the first I've heard of that. Pretty sure he’s even tried to hit on me a couple times.”

“Ugh,” she says, feigning all this disappointment, and it has you picturing how you’d seen her earlier pull in her shoulders so tightly as if to shrug with maximum effort, “You really know how to make a girl feel special.”

Your phone is cradled between your neck and shoulder as you scour the internet for something in walking distance - someplace that you don’t expect to see half your coworkers drinking away their Friday evenings - when you ask, “You give him your number too?”

There’s a brief silence on Heejin’s end of the line, only slightly unceasing. “I thought about it.”

“Sounds like you’re done thinking about it.”

“Guess I figured you might benefit from the head start.”

“Generous.” It earns something like a chuckle out of both of you, and you're shaking your head, answering, “I’ll be sure to pay it forward.”

Oh, it’s a terrible date.

Neither of you are anywhere so brash to explicitly say that, but look, it just so happens to be your job - splitting out truth from reality. You’ll call it how you see it.

Honestly, it’s a comedy of errors, but the real kicker is that the kitchen forgot to put in your order.

So, you’re trying, failing, to flag down your waiter, and you begin to notice the wine doubling its punches on an empty stomach when Heejin leans in across the table - one finger beside her temple and her other hand drawing circles around the rim of her empty glass.

“You know we could just… get out of here.”

It’s suggestive, but it’s hardly anything like a suggestion, because you’re right there with her.

Outside on the sidewalk you find the kind of snow that lands wet and heavy and threatens to soak through your clothes. And aside from a recent tire track or two, there’s a fresh blanket of it now on the asphalt. Every now and then, Heejin will flash her eyes over her shoulder as if to check and see if you’re still there, a footstep behind her. Like the sound of snow squeaking under your boots isn’t proof enough.

“Okay,” says Heejin, in her unfailingly charming way, and trounces around in the snow in front of you, “so that was, like, the worst thing ever, right?”

“Nonsense. I’ve seen plenty worse. Trust me.”

She spins on her heel and you come close to knocking her over. “Sounds like you’ve got war stories.” “A few,” you start, laughing to yourself, “Here's one. This girl goes on and on telling me about the guy she just got out of a relationship with - and i’m sitting there thinking wow, this guy sounds a lot like a good buddy of mine.”

“And it was?”

You gesture slowly with your arms, something defeated and existential.

“Oof. That’s gold.” Heejin’s eyes flick to your lips, lingering however long it takes you to notice. She smiles, beaming. “But you know, with a little luck, I think someday you might just get it right.”

Heejin finds you somewhere in the harsh light of a streetlamp, fisting a hand into your collar.

You’re watching snowflakes melt, like they were tears streaming down her cheeks, colliding against the warmth in her pale face - the vibrantly rosy hue now glowing across it.

Her lips aren’t dry or cracked or wind-bitten like you might expect in the middle of December. Your eyes trace them closely, these soft, featherlight things, and you don’t even realize how long you’ve been staring until she passes her tongue through them with an experimental lick.

“Oh,” she says, shockingly casual, “you’re into me.”

You’re laughing as your eyes return to hers. “You sound pretty confident about that.”

“Yeah. Guess I am.”

Heejin’s breath lands warm against your face. You’re simply suspended there for however many moments, the wool of your coats pressed together, watching lights glimmer and fade in her eyes. From this close you can count the odd freckle on her nose, her cheek. It’s probably the most intimate thing you’ve done in months, just standing there, breathing the same air.

Maybe ever.

Heejin doesn’t even say anything else, just looks, her eyes searching for something they might only find in yours.

“Hey,” finally says Heejin, in this choked, rasping voice, “you should kiss me.”

And you do.

Where are you two headed? The driver’s voice strains as if he’s been smoking religiously for twenty years. And from the way the cab smells - the stains in the upholstery on the ceiling - it’s as good a guess as any.

Once the door closes behind you and it shuts out all that wintery air, you lean in to where Heejiin is delicately removing the scarf around her shoulders. It’s yours and she’d wrapped it around herself twice, three times, and it made her look tiny. “Where do you want to go? Back to Hapjeong?” Her flat is in Hapjeong.

Heejin shakes her head. “How about we go find somewhere to grab a drink?” you ask.

She looks down, tracing her finger along her lower lip, and then lets her cheek collapse into her shoulder, eyes drifting back to you where you can see that myriad palette of golds and browns in her irises. “We can just keep drinking at your place, no?”

While you square away the details with the driver, Heejin folds her arms and closes her eyes, sinking into the back corner of the seat. Her silver earrings catch the light as the cabbie hits the meter and the taxi pulls away from the curb. Then it’s her dress, all that barely-there vermillion fabric, as if it had been tailor made to match the warmth in the back of the cab. Watching her, you come to a realization: there’s the story you’re writing, then there’s this story you’re living - all in want of a little inspiration.

And you think maybe you’ve found it.

The taxi sways. Heejin talks. She talks about her life growing up. She talks about one of her sisters who is now in medical school and vomits at the sight of blood, how she was jealous that her siblings had turned out to be such brainy academic types - the kind of thing she imagined her parents were really secretly far prouder of - how she’d grown up fighting her dad tooth and nail to get where she is now - all these intimate details you doubt she’d shared often with anyone. Let alone someone she just met.

You listen - an occasional question every now and again woven into the soothe of Heejin’s lowered voice. And for the first time, you’re not scribbling out notes, building sentences as you do. Simply listen.

“You know,” Heejin starts, lidding her eyes and smirking in your direction. She could send a tremor through your heart, but she’s far less forceful than that. “I think it would be really rude.”

“What would?” you ask, confused. “If you spent the whole ride,” she pauses, and the elegant lines of her face scrunch ever so slightly while she fiddles with one of the featureless rings that rests on her middle finger. “–sitting over there.”

There’s a list of excuses, something to make it logical, but it’s never been quite this simple either.

You drift across the backseat, until you feel yourself press up against Heejin’s lithe frame, and the rest of the world might as well melt away to nothing beyond than the blur of passing street lights, the hum of ‘Winter Wonderland’ coming out of the radio in crackling bits and pieces, the pink blush still staining Heejin’s cheeks.

Holding her, you kiss her again.

Near effortless as before. Your lips stuck on hers when you pull yourself away.

"So, remind me to set the record straight with my publicist," Heejin murmurs in the same hushed voice she'd been speaking for the entire ride, thumb rubbing the back of your knuckles in a manner that could lead you to believe she wasn’t aware she was doing it. Her lips curl at the corners of your mouth where these short, hot breaths fill your proximity. "Just a little despicable."

With a hand finding purchase in her hair - bundling between your fingers as smooth and satiny as it looked - you pull Heejin into you, seize her lips. Hard. If there had been any restraint, to this point, about the shy touches on your arm when you made her laugh, to the light hand you’d place on the small of her back guiding her through a door - since the moment she sat down across you in that interview - this kiss now threatens to become near tidal in intensity.

Together, those soft lips sliding against yours, it’s irreverent, it’s reckless, it’s cashing in on that chasteness a thousand times over.

Still, you notice this departure from everything about Heejin. Because there’s nothing elegant about the way you have her, your bodies rucking desperately in the backseat - unable to give two fucks about smashed knees or hunched backs. It builds up. It falls apart. A mass of wool struggles to fall to the side, hung and stuck around your shoulders, and effortlessly sliding down hers. As your tongues slip and rub, this tantalizing push-pull that makes even the heat-dry air of the cab feel heavy like you’re wading through the humidity of summer, you doubt the efficacy of it all. But it’s the hand that arrives at the nape of your neck, kneading as though to say good enough so that you might start pressing more of your weight into her; simply sink into her embrace.

Heejin’s voice sneaks out between long, shivery, bone-deep kisses - the sound of your name lilting off her tongue, she whispers, “Hey. I want you to–”

“Yeah,” you pant, knowing exactly what she means. Your fingers twitch at your sides, all this anticipation currenting through your body that makes you feel like an exposed live wire, the electricity forcing your heart beat into something erratic. “Yes. Fuck. Of course.”

It has Heejin guiding you by the wrist. Down her side. The absolute concave flatness of her stomach. To the hem of her dress. And when she finally relinquishes your hand - your fingers - she kisses you harder, claiming the swell of your lip firmly in her possession.

It takes hardly any effort to find her - up that skirt and between her legs, growing hot and wet and needy. When your fingers collide with fabric, fingerprints teasing across her entrance, she lets everything start to slip - a hiccup into your mouth, and shifting her weight gently in your hands.

This intense shudder travels through her entire body when your fingers dip down beneath the elastic hugging her waist. The kiss breaks. From those needy, watery eyes, there is little to lament - the way Heejin strains for air, holding her lip between her teeth as she lets a wet breath billow from her chest. Her lashes flutter, close tight, open again, and she looks at you, concealing the mirth in her smile. “Do you have any idea what I want to do with you?”

“I haven't the slightest clue,” you answer, flat and unamused, and you’re swirling your fingers against the wet heat between her legs as you continue to play a fool. “Tell me.”

“First I–” Heejin takes a deep breath and steadies herself when you fit the first knuckle of a finger inside her. “I want - fuck - I want you to sweep me off my feet. Literally, pick me up and carry me.”

“Okay, sure,” you say, like you haven’t been entertaining the thought all afternoon - like grabbing her and bending her over the first piece of furniture closest to your front door isn’t now the foremost thought racing through your head, “I’m sure we can make that happen.”

“Then you can take me and put me so tenderly into this big, cozy bed, all comfy and a little tipsy and there’s none of this - fuck. That, that feels really good–”

“Mhmm.” You’re half listening to the curses out of her mouth, how her voice hitches and sputters the moment you tent her underwear with your knuckles - the air she sucks in when you tease the sensitive nub between her lips. Between kisses that drag your lips all along her delicate jaw, the bruisable skin on her neck, you whisper, “I’m listening.”

The look of need and want in Heejin’s irises is a mirror of your own. And, just once, it’s a gentle touch that makes her keen. It’s debauched, it’s something glorious, the sound sneaking past her lips. You hear it. The driver definitely hears it; he’s turning up the radio.

“Fucking–” She laughs into the dark, voice strained and breaking at the pressure against her clit. Her mouth slants at the rhythm now in your fingers - motions that make her optimistic, and her lips part again, continuing:

“I’m not knee deep in snow and it’s warm and you’re there, just cuddled next me–”

Heejin squirms again, interrupted; you’ve got her pussy creaming and tensing all over your finger.

Windows fogged, bodies digging deeper into the dark corner of the taxi, you study Heejin closely. Think about getting her off right there, about getting your fingers deep inside her and thumbing her clit until she’s shaking against you, about her cumming like that, back arching off the seat and ankles hooking around you.

It’s nearly tangible, the thought; her eyes flare and her chest heaves the more you fuck her slicked cunt with your fingers.

Heejin swallows. “And then - you start to undress me.”

It's been something akin to a virtue, and oft to your benefit, you’ve always been a good listener, so your fingers make course to slow, consider remorse, and continue on with only those gentle motions that keep Heejin’s eyes half-lidded and breath short. Nothing more.

“I do?”

“Yeah.” Heejin nods - even your vanishing touches driving her crazy, putting all this stress into the simple and composed features on her face. “Little by little. So delicate, like you - fuck.” You drag your finger back, grown wet and sticky. Let her finish the thought. “Like you’re unwrapping a present.”

Chin shooting up, you quip, “What if I’m the kind of person that tears wrapping paper to shreds?”

“Yeah,” Heejin chokes out, “that’ll work too. But either way, then I’m laying there, kinda spacing out, practically naked and feeling really hot and soft and then I realize what you’re doing, dragging my panties down my thighs. I yell out ‘Wait don’t! I just met you and I’m very sincere about these things, so please stop!’”

“Oh.”

“But here’s the thing: you don’t stop.”

“I would stop though.”

“I mean sure. Never mind that. It’s just how I’m imagining it.”

“I see.”

“So then you don’t even hesitate. Just slide your pants down, pull out your cock” - the cabbie clears his throat from the front seat like he’s trying to start a lawnmower, but Heejin powers right through the thought - “and it’s just hanging there, bouncing. And it’s huge. So then I start telling you ‘No, you can’t, I’ve never done anything like this before.’”

“But you have.”

“Look, I just… this is just my fantasy. So then you end up–”

Okay, so it’s not virtue that got you here; your fingers are toying in her cunt. You can’t help it.

“Mnph, yeah - Jesus, okay, that feels good,” she whines, sneaking her hips toward you when you start to slide your slicked thumb all over her clit.

There’s a moment where her lips part, where she doesn’t speak anything at all, before she can steel herself and labor on with her point.

“Y-you end up wearing this really put out face, and I start to feel sorry for you and I’m - stroking your hair - while your head… while your head is in my lap, saying, ‘it’s okay, it’s okay.’”

“And that’s what you want to do with me.”

Heejin shudders as your fingers seek refuge deeper in her cunt. “Right.”

“This is what you want to do right now?”

“Yeah. Well, sorta.” She twists her lip before letting this wide, giggling grin fill out her pretty face. “Right now, what I really want” - you watch her gulp down another heavy swallow - “I really just want to cum on your fingers.”

It’s simple. You’re not far from your apartment, though the car gets stopped at every light, and even when it isn’t, it’s slow going on the fresh layer of sleet now troubling the roads - but it’s not like it at all has you taking your time. Heejin mewls slightly, and then she simply comes undone, gasping. Your whole hand is buried in her underwear, your fingers fucking fast and slick into her cunt, thumb mercilessly brushing around her clit.

“Oh my god,” Heejin whines into the palm of your hand, shutting her eyes tight as she sinks against you, sinks into the corner of the seat.

You’re hitting her basest desires with fingers that are all but destined to make her fall apart; straightforward, effortless, a perfect balance of touches light and heavy and destructive, you bottle lightning.

“Mmmph,” Heejin whimpers.

Her back arches when she cums. With all these ragged whimpers leaking out from the spaces between your fingers. They’re inaudible, sort of. The radio is blasting. The same damn song even. Stars align, and while Heejin gazes into them - into the blackness that can only be found behind clenched eyelids - it’s simple: you kiss her hard again.

The two of you don’t fall into bed immediately. Not in the literal sense.

Heejin first gets her hands on you when you’re both standing in the elevator, quietly and mostly still, boots leaving gray puddling footprints on the floor. She looks like she’d been through a windstorm, and to some extent she had, but it’s mostly a direct result of your hands in her hair, your tongue in her mouth, the fact that you had her panting and sweating in the back of that taxi.

You’d had the quiet pleasure of watching Heejin’s legs wobble from the moment you spilled out onto the curb. Where she rested her face on your shoulder, pulled tight at the lapels of her coat like it might ever keep these gusts of snow-laden wind from freezing the skin around her eyes, and without saying anything at all, managed to demand your arm around her waist.

So, once the elevator doors close, and you’re feeling that temporary frost in your bones begin to thaw the further Heejin melts her weight into your side, it’s only natural: pull her into you, bury her nose into your collar.

You kiss her forehead.

In something close to reciprocity, she reaches a hand over your pants and grabs your cock.

“You’re, like, super hard,” her voice hushes into your chest, really leaning on that low, smoky tone. “You know that?”

“And what? I suppose that’s such a crime?”

“Maybe.” Heejin turns up to meet you, eyes glinting atop this expression - innocence feigned doesn’t even begin to do it justice - and balling up the collar of your shirt in her fingers. Bright eyed, knowing, she nudges into your side. “Just tell me what it is you’re thinking about.”

“Take a guess,” you say, running your hand through your hair. Like the nonchalance might make it less obvious you have this mental image, photographically vivid, of fucking Heejin’s tight body right into the wall of your foyer.

“Oooh.” Her eyebrows arched high, she looks you up and down, nodding while mischief skitters across her angelic features. “How many guesses do I get?”

“Three,” you answer. Then start grinning. “No. Two.”

“Two?” Heejin slides closer, her eyes hot. “That’s hardly anything charitable.”

“I have faith in you,” you say, and you’re reaching into her coat, finding the divot that runs down her back, where you can trace a finger up this zipper that you’re not entirely sure you can refrain from unfastening the moment you feel it’s metal shape between your fingertips.

Against your face, Heejin gives this small puff of amused laughter. “Okay, you’re thinking about…”

While her voice lilts and trails, she taps a finger to her chin like she’s trying to solve some intricate physics problem or ponder the secrets of the universe. Though by this time, the elevator’s doors have stuttered open in the haphazard way they always manage and you’re both surging towards the deserted hallway, laughing quietly and brushing elbows.

“I don’t mean to pressure you or anything, but you’re going to run out of time to guess,” you say, a hand dug into the inside of your coat pocket and searching for your keys. Heejin’s leaning her shoulder into the doorframe when you catch her looking, staring - you only manage to slip out from under that gaze when you come up with your key at last. “Found it.”

Heejin tilts her head, hair falling halfway over her face, and then pulls it back again. “You’re thinking about kissing me.”

“Surprisingly tame,” you say, scoffing as you turn the key in the lock and shoulder into your front door. “But no. Not quite. Oh, and leave your boots in the hall.”

It’s that second guess, neither incorrect nor entirely the truth. When it does arrive off her tongue, you have Heejin pressed against the inside of your door, now shut and finally private, and her tiny body in your hands where it feels soft and slender and unfathomably hot - oh, do you have ideas. Her breath mixes with yours, concocting something that tastes entirely sinful before she leans forward and traces kisses up your throat.

“Still. You are thinking about my lips,” she whispers into your ear, and it’s dripping with confidence, with suggestion, with another humid breath that hits you square on your cheek, “how good they’re going to feel wrapped around your cock.”

She studies the knot that forms in your throat as you swallow, eyes flicking back up to yours, and burning hot when you tell her she’s right. Lying, all on account of you not having the heart to let her know that you’d been harboring this errant thought, that for a greater part of the day, you’d been thinking of how she might fold over the kitchen sink, the living room couch - wherever - and fucking her six ways to sunday. She runs her tongue across her lips, like it might keep back these small bits of breathless laughter. And it has her unzipping your pants, coaxing them clear off your waist.

Right, proper intentions, and she’s smiling like she knows it: you’re both paving a road straight to hell.

“Jesus. You’re so hard,” she says finally, and it’s so blatantly sexual that a foundational shiver in your bones takes hold of you. What are you to do? Her fingers are deep in your underwear, fighting elastic, pulling at the skin of your cock when she gives you a final kiss that sticks to your lips, smacking. And then without any words to accompany her, she pulls the fabric around your thighs and sinks to her knees.

If this were a different kind of story, maybe you would sweep her into your arms, and ride off into the sunset and find a cottage in the hills that overlooks the ocean and live happily ever after and raise a half dozen kids. Because surely, a girl like her - perfect and flawless and near regal in the way she carries herself, like something out of the pages of a fairytale - belongs anywhere but planted into the floor of your foyer, dragging your underwear down to your ankles.

If Heejin was anywhere but her knees, perhaps you two would fall into bed, where you’d leave her with all these sweet kisses that make her skin swelter and her voice choke at the way you’d press your lips to the hollow of her neck, her shoulders, her collarbones, and you wouldn’t even think of leaving marks or bruises. No, instead she’d whimper softly for you and the two of you could roll over to meet that simple conclusion.

Sure, you can always pretend like you don’t know what’s happening.

But that would make it a different kind of story, one painfully absent of Heejin’s tongue, placing a slow, measured lick right up the slit of your cock. Or fingers claiming your shaft, your balls, and pumping delicately toward your waist. Rising action unlike this pair of soft lips that purse and leave kisses down your length. A climax beyond releasing a load right into the back of that throat - which is only speculative in your thoughts for a second, because Heejin’s tightening her fingers around the base of your cock and dragging a smirk across her pretty face, “you should, like, totally cum in my mouth.”

“Right,” you answer, mouth drying; it’s a labor to even swallow.

Heejin runs a semicircle over her lower lip with her tongue, flattens it, presses it up against the belly of your cock, and looks up at you - eyes round like the angel she is, pupils dark as three am and every bit as impious. Oh, you’ll struggle enough with this story as it is.

“Fuck,” she says, one time, nearly breathless, and it almost sounds reverent, “I want it.”

Before you can get even a half decent reply forming on your lips, you watch Heejin’s jaw go slack, and sucking in a chestful of air, she seizes you deep in the warmth of her mouth.

There’s then a moment - excruciatingly drawn out - where Heejin sits near motionless, sinking further into the floorboards. Her lips are pressed tight into this seal around you as she takes it slow, a silent effort to become familiar with your taste, your shape.

A flutter of muscle between her cheeks, and the moment passes. Her lips relax, tighten, relax again before you feel her tongue. Sliding. Curling.

“I–” You sink forward against the door, abandoning whatever thought and allowing it to curdle into laughter, into this seedy moan that Heejin rips right out of your chest. Somewhere along the way, you’d figured that since you were more senior, more seasoned, more veteran in an industry full of girls whose looks might leave you for dead - girls who, with a little praise, and just the right amount of attention, would look up at you like you’d hung the stars, the moon and the sky - you figured Heejin would be in your hands, melting.

And then there it is, eager to point out your mistake: Heejin’s tongue, again. It slides delicately over your head, and when she sinks her lips further down your shaft, you can feel it narrow and tease at the base of your cock. Her eyes are closed, but you can see how they crescent, smiling undoubtedly in something like victory as she hums against you, delighted.

“Heejin,” you start, wanton, and you’ve got a fist in her hair, gentle in how you bundle it all between your fingers, experimental the way you push her mouth further into your hips. There are two delicate hands coiled around your slobber-covered cock in response - and then she starts to twist. You nearly fold and collapse and crumple under your own weight, gasping, “you’re killing me.”

Heejin raises her head from where she’s been hollowing her cheeks and covering you in her spit, vicious stick of precum staining her lips. Grins, because she knows.

“I am?”

You’re tipping your head back, sucking in your next breath. Bucking your hips into her fingers - all ten of them lathering spit and gingerly pumping your cock. Impossible to ignore, they brush and tease all the spots that send you reeling as though they were returning to something familiar, had done it a thousand times. You swallow, and Heejin’s eyes trace that quiver through your throat.

When it becomes clear that you’re not really in a state conducive to banter or ribbing any longer - the clever words out of your mouth now amounting to nothing more than a few four letter ones - Heejin just smiles, sloppy sounds of her fingers twisting around your cock, and she falls back into that deep tone, “you look so hot like that, by the way.”

You sigh, defeated, bunch more of her hair into your fist. And after Heejin pushes a fingertip to your slit, pulling the skin of your cock tight around it, your breath hitches, shuddering at the sight of Heejin playing with your precum between her fingers.

“Can you imagine?” she asks, pressing you to her cheek, “how good this is going to feel inside me?”

“Heejin,” you groan, worrying a lip between your teeth at how her light hands pump up and down your length, the precum weeping from your tip providing her fingers with that much more hazard in their touch. Your voice is stuck to your throat for a moment, grasping, “I want your mouth - on me.”

“Mmm.” She again has her tongue on the underside of your cock, velvety and slippery around your head. “Yeah?”

“Yeah.” You can feel it. Just the hot breath tumbled from her lips onto you alone reduces you to a bundle of nerves and coiled muscle. “I want more.”

“More what?” she asks, mulish, and a smile sneaks into the shadowy corner of her mouth.

“More - you.” It’s hardly even half a whisper.

Heejin has this quirk in her lips that stretches slowly against the tip of your cock, and her hands trace up your thighs, grabbing tight to the back of your ass. She nuzzles against you, and looks up, “then go ahead. Take me.”

Oh, you’ve had a crush before. The kind of thing that had your heart and mind racing; the kind of thing that would swallow up your time for weeks if you let it. So when you’re looking, gazing, watching this masterclass in showmanship: Heejin’s lips parting around you, her eyes smoldering into yours - that’s when the realization hits.

This is so much worse. You’re truly fucked.

Fingers thread tight into her hair, and you’re guiding Heejin’s mouth - hot and wet and perfect - onto your cock. Slow, measured, her lips slurp and seal. Near five-foot-nothing of pure sinful delight, and tossed locks of hair resting across her face where they shimmer in the darkness of your foyer, you slip your cock inside her. Press between those soft lips. It’s a voyage, enroute to heaven; then with your hips selfish and stealing more of that tight heat, it’ll be straight to hell. Inches, sliding and sinking, Heejin shuts her eyes and relaxes her muscles, jaw gone slack - grabs onto your thighs like you had any intention of being anywhere but the bottom of her throat.

“Fuck,” you hiss, and the next sound that comes out of you is practically a living thing, wild and animal and nothing close to voluntary.

Heejin’s mouth hangs wide and laxed for you to use, lips paradoxically tight, as you fuck your length over her tongue and deep into her mouth.The very prospect of asking for more is gluttonous, wicked and immoral, but here you are: thrusting your hips into her pretty face, pulling firm on her hair to keep the heat of her throat wrapped up around you.

“Mngh,” Heejin’s throat chokes the further you feed your cock into her - drag it back and bury into her again - strangled and straining, you can see the flush that floods her cheeks, the teardrops on the end of her long dark lashes, the unbelievable smile still in her lips.

All bets are off.

The pretense, the coy teasing, all that skirting about this clear predisposition toward fucking eachother senseless is further pummeled and ground to dust every time the tip of your cockhead punches the back of Heejin’s throat. And even beyond all that, Heejin holds firm to this composure, almost this plussed look of gratitude as you bruise soft muscle and steal the air from her lungs.

“Oh my god, Heejin,” you say, back arching into the space over the top of Heejin’s face, holding her head tight and fucking yourself on her lips. “Your fucking mouth.”

Triumphant, gloating, smugly humming into the spit-drenched skin of your cock, Heejin must realize she has you exactly where she wants you, trapped, fated: that under no circumstance are you going to unsheathe yourself from her throat until you’ve exploded and glazed it proper. She traces her fingertips down your thighs and hovers them about the hem of her dress, this bunched and furled mess of fabric at her thighs, pulls her panties to the side, and you can hear it - her fingers finding purchase in the mess between her legs.

You slide deep into her throat; she pushes two digits deep into her cunt; you’re both reduced to the basics, chests heaving out these small noises of frustration. It’s a behemoth struggle to even think, let alone coordinate said thoughts into anything resembling coherence - but the first thing that falls out of your mouth is born of sincerity.

“Fuck, Heejin, I… I’m going to cum.”

She nods, as best as she can, the length of your cock slotted deep into her throat. Any kind of concerns you may have harbored - all from fucking her face, and drawing small tears at the corners of her eyes - they evaporate the instant Heejin’s tongue reaches forward past her lips.

Just one lick, between your balls while she has your cock entirely inhaled, and it sends you careening off course, destination hardly unknown.

“I–” your voice fades. Because the tip of her nose is against your waist, her tongue is doing fucking everything - she’s killing you. It’s all coming down, you’re falling apart, breathing in fits and starts, fucking Heejin’s mouth hard enough that if you weren’t holding tight to her hair, you’d have thrown her off you.

“Heejin,” you growl, voice sliced to ribbons.

When you finish between her lips, every burst of cum that spills from your cock sends a tremor, twitching and quivering through Heejin’s lithe body, and then you can feel it in her throat, tightening around you.

“Mmph.”

“Fuck,” you gasp, uncontrollable.

“Mmmmph.”

Heejin makes this impressive, maybe futile effort to swallow it all down. Laudable, admirable, you’ve got it correct about her: anything less than perfection is tantamount to abject failure. With that, she struggles, her eyelashes flutter, and a strangled sound escapes her throat - choking and sputtering as you keep cumming, more than she can ever hope to take. It floods her mouth and spills from her lips to unveil this shiny streak that rolls down onto her chin.

Even though you’re still gasping and shaking and reeling from your orgasm, you recognize those taps against your hips immediately, how they beg for breath.

“Heejin, oh my god, I’m sorry. I’m so so sorry,” you say, horrified as it all starts to return to you, and when it does, you jump backward, unsheathing your cock from Heejin’s mouth. Gaze drawn to that profane mixture of spit and cum that follows lazily in its wake.

She waves her hand at you wildly, realizes the gesture is probably not the most reassuring thing she could’ve done, and instead holds up a finger as if to say give me a second as she catches her breath.

Coughing a handful times and wiping her mouth with the edge of her wrist, she slumps backward. Hits the door, face flush and eyes sharpened like daggers, pointed, ready to kill. And the moment she’s certain you’re lucid, present in the image in front of you - that you belong to her again - it becomes performative: the way she presents you her tongue, the space beneath it filled and drowned with your cum - how she swallows it, that dry knot traveling dramatically down her throat.

“Jesus, fuck,” she stammers out, the loss of composure only transient and fleeting, “not bad for two guesses.”

The first time you fuck your cum into Heejin’s cunt, you don’t anticipate it. If you’d been perhaps a kernel less distracted, a trifle less overwhelmed by the scorching slick between Heeijin’s legs, you might have had the pleasure of calling the shots.

But this is where you’re at, melting beneath it: all her porcelain skin spilling onto you and her hands firmly on your chest, nails like claws, claiming you as her own.

She’d dragged you toward the sofa in your living room, made a one-off comment about how bad she needed you inside her and then kissed you hard. Of course, when you tumbled down into the cushions - still muddled in a half daze and caught off guard by the sheer pluckiness of it - Heejin had controlled the fall, making sure she was the one who landed on top.

“Look at you,” her voice is low, rasping, pitching when she crashes herself down onto you. Feels her pussy all full and creamed as she fucks herself with your cock. “Just relax, let me fuck you. You don’t have to do a thing.”

She has her ankles locked over your thighs, knees sinking into the cushions, and ardently rolls her hips, fucking your shaft - exceptionally sheened from her slick and every bit as hard - deep into her pussy. Hot, wet, unbelievably tight, it’s near immaculate. And it only grows unrighteous at the end of every frantic bounce from Heejin’s thighs. Because she’s tiny, legs muscled, abs chiseled to perfection - vivacious to the point of peril - and she’s riding you hard and fast and bringing you so near the proverbial edge that your fingerprints threaten to sear into her waist if not for the fabric of her dress twisted and stressing, surrogate in its place.

“Oh my fucking–slow down,” you breathe, fully enveloped by her heat. It has your nerves on fire, something wicked ablaze, begging for release, and with your teeth gnawing your lip, you throw your head back.

“Are you sure?” she says, and runs her hands through her hair. Hoists it off her shoulders, bundling it over head - the visual not particularly favorable to your condition. Her eyes dip across her cheeks and into yours when she decides to salt the wound. “This is slow.”

“Heejin, I’m serious. You're going to make me..." you start, a final warning, and at the sight of you disappearing between her legs, you’re struggling, pleading, “I swear… fucking cum inside you.”

Ruinous, pushing a callous boundary, she lifts herself up and seals your fate.

“Fuck.”

This is how she gets you. Seats herself on you again, pussy slicked all over your cock and the tip of her tongue flirting in the shell of your ear, “I know.”

To what extent god will believe your account of these events - how much you believe, in relating the story, hot with lust and adrenaline and the hapless self-doubting confusion of a psychotic who knows what they saw and is still able to dismiss it - is not clear.

Because look, it’s not as though you were unaware that the power had gone out.

There was a noticeably loud crack of electrical disaster, and in an instant, the lights of your apartment, the delicate details of Heejin’s naked body in front of you, and even the incessant buzzing of the refrigerator motor - the very thing on which you could always rely to ruin the sanctity of silence - it all vanished.

It’d be pretty difficult to miss.

Only, as it happened - mid stroke, thrusting deep into Heejin’s cunt and her tight body fucked flat into the cushions of the couch - finding the effort to care was simply a bridge too far.

It’s selfish, metastasizing into something wayward, playing the cards you’re dealt. Hands pushing Heejin’s tiny waist deeper into your furniture, and railing her reckless and abandoning all that teasing, the dirty talk - having finally managed to steal back control. It would take more than a force of nature to wrestle it away from you.

“Harder, please, harder,” Heejin rasps, seconds before you fuck her through her first orgasm. Her face sinks, voice flooded by the reality of your cock owning her tight cunt and vibrating through the cushion. “Yours, tell me - I’m yours.”

Without even thinking you do. Twice, punctuated each time by a sharp thrust of your hips into the perfect round of her ass.

Mine, you say. And it has her absolutely keening.

Pressing yourself into her, your voice in her ear makes her quiver and whimper, like it was the one thing she needed most to help her cum. Heejin just nods, mouth stuck agape, when you call her a total cumslut - near imperceptible when she does, bathed only in the pale moonlight reflecting off all the snow and into your apartment. It’s not necessarily the limits of what you’ve done, what you’ve seen, what you’ve said, but you can see it from here.

“Is this what you want?” you ask, and you can taste all this pleasure coating each word off your tongue as you rail Heejin harder into the sofa, your cock sweltering in the fucked wet mess between her legs. Each time you bore into her, push her higher and higher, it fills her with ecstasy fit to burst. She moans, this foreign sound of depravity, and raises her hips slightly, shifts the angle - has you stabbing deeper, teasing, “do you want me to fuck you like the little cumslut you are?”

She nods again.

“Do you want me to fucking fill you up over and over again? Do you want to feel my cum in your tummy? You��re crying, practically sobbing, darling. All because you’re finally getting fucked and it’s all for me. Can you cum like this? Is my cock pounding your cunt enough for you? Or do you need me to use my fingers too?”

Heejin whines. Knocked down a peg, the realization hits, and it’s clear as day, leaking out of her mouth all filthy and depraved:

“Daddy, please.”

It’s almost unbelievable that this is how it will come together; you deep in her cunt and the soft, milky skin of her ass stained red from the sheer delight Heejin finds only at the end of an open palm.

Biting ruthlessly into your cheek, you grip tighter to her waist, your other hand thread through her hair keeping her partially upright and ripping your name, curses, incoherence all from her mouth.

“Then just be good for me, princess.” Your words are pointed, serrated, seeking to maim, to kill - near as dangerous as the fingers you reach around her hips on onto her soaked cunt. “I’m going to fuck this cunt, you can cum whenever you like - I don’t care - I’m going to keep using it until I’m finished. Until you beg me to fill it again.”

(Okay, so maybe you’re not abandoning the dirty talk. But here’s how you see it: tables always have a way of turning. You’re not seeking revenge or anything like that, it’s just that when it comes to karma, she always arrives right on time and ever more the unexpected.)

It takes a substantial amount of shuffling around in the dark to clean yourselves up. Heejin’s dress is irreparably stained, totally fucked; sweat, saliva, your cum, hers - the kind of shit you’d be afraid to ever see under a blacklight - and you’re standing there, exerting just as considerable restraint to refrain from simply pinning Heejin against your closet door and having another go at her as she’s changing out of it.

So together, you’re settling into the darkness, finding a reprieve from fucking each other within an inch of your lives.

From a pitcher in the refrigerator, you filled two glasses with water, handed one to Heejin.

She gulps it down almost immediately, and when you trade yours for hers, she sips it slowly, watching the boisterous storm outside the window. The silence that follows is warm, comfortable, welcome, sits over you like a heavy blanket.

Every ten minutes or so, an emergency vehicle making slow progress through accumulated layers of ice and snow will illuminate the inside of your apartment with its bright hazard lights. And it’s only in that brief spill of yellow and orange through the window pane where you can see Heejin clearly.

Around her shoulders is a flannel shirt pulled off one of your hangers, buttons uneven and misaligned. When she had gotten her fingers to the final button and realized she was two short, she just shrugged and let the clothing drape skewed and diagonal over her tiny frame, sleeves hanging far off the end of her wrists. She managed to tie back this loose ponytail with a binder clip she found in your kitchen and it lets you study all the details of her face - without having to run your hand through her hair and hold it back: features elegant and simple, regal and composed, eyes brilliant and gorgeous. The kind of beauty that righteously demands a team of photographers poised for a perfect shot; she tilts her chin, puts a hint of suggestion in her lips, and they scramble to find the next one, all with the desperate intensity of a starving man gnawing at a bone.

“God. You’re really pretty,” you say, and only when it hits your ears do you realize it came out of your mouth.

Heejin just smiles, all genuine and natural. Points at the flashlight in your hand. “I think you’d get more light from a cigarette lighter.”

“Fuck, I know, I don’t have any more batteries.” You slap your flashlight against your palm, optimistic.

Not much more than a dull, pathetic glow escapes its lens.

“Maybe you can steal them from something else?”

“I was thinking the same thing,” you answer, “but everything just plugs into the wall these days, what all even still uses batteries?”

“If we were at my apartment, I’d just go take them out of Yeojin’s–”

She pauses, raises an eyebrow and twists her mouth cautiously, sinking into the sofa next to you. Finds your arm around her and folds her legs beneath her into something considerably more compact.

“Flashlight?” you ask, trying not to grin and sneer, “one of those flashlights with three speed settings?”

A single strand of hair falls in front of Heejin’s face. She blows it away and it stubbornly falls back into the exact same spot on her cheek.

“Promise me you won't write about this. It’s just… I have to tell someone.”

“My lips are sealed,” you tell her, with the unwavering confidence of someone she could trust - which pragmatically you aren’t, but you’re both looking past all that.

“So this box arrives in the mail one day, right,” Heejin starts, pulling a blanket over herself, “And Yeojin sprints from her room, to the door, back to her room again, so fast that Haseul’s barely finished flipping the page of her book when it all happens. She’s already so small that you blink and you miss her, and in a lot of ways that’s what happened.”

“So she’s back in her room, with the vibrator.”

“Hold on,” Heejin says, tucking her feet into the blanket. “So we’re sitting there in the living room; I’m texting someone, Haseul’s reading something - I can’t remember what, but probably some cheap parlor romance - and that’s when we start to hear it.”

“The vibrator.”

“No,” Heejin says, flicking her eyes back to yours again, “the moaning.”

“Of course.”

“Now, I’m not saying… Look, there’s nothing wrong with masturbation. What’s greater than having sex with the person you love most, right? That’s what I always say.”

“You always say that?”

“It’s a figure of speech, you smartass. Anyway, we’re both sitting there, trying our best to ignore it, but it’s hard because this city’s built on a fault line, and they build these places so cheap so that they can tear them down and start over again without thinking about it, so the walls are, like, paper thin, and then after a while, Yeojin just starts wailing. I’m not kidding, it sounded like someone was trying to kill her.”

“I mean, in a way.”

“Right.” Heejin nods, brows furrowed and letting the memory come back to her, “I look up at Haseul, and she just goes about her business reading on about the adventures of some lovable-probably-clumsy-pretty-but-not-too-pretty-girl meeting the billionaire of her dreams and having all this weird, freaky, earth-shattering sex or something - she doesn’t even say a word.”

“And what exactly is she supposed to say?” you ask, “hey, what’s that noise?”

“That would’ve been better than just sitting in there in silence! Ugh, honestly, the woman’s always got a chip on her shoulder about this kind of stuff. Like, she’ll show up on a Sunday morning, and her knees are bowed and still fucking wobbling (so you know she’s been getting it good. All that irreverent, mind-blowing sex), and she’ll still have the audacity to look at us all judgmental for not going to church or maybe because we’re coming home still wearing last night’s dresses and heels.”

By this point, you notice Heejin has committed fully - with neither shame nor remorse - to stealing your blanket.

“So, I swear to god, I’m going crazy. Haseul’s just sitting there, and I can’t stop listening to Yeojin sobbing and gasping like she’s getting the best fuck of her life, and it’s this thought that grows and grows and grows in my head. I’m getting dizzy just thinking about it. And then, every bit as sudden as it started, it just stops.”

“Good for Yeojin, I suppose.”

“Right,” Heejin says, gesturing with her hand, defeated. “When she finally comes out of her room, her face is so so so red. Like, it looks like the end of a girl’s night out - after we’ve cut her off for the night, and after she’s cried and cried about some cute boy at the bar missing all her patented mixed signals.” Heejin takes a brief look at you, then back out the window, and puffs a small breath out of her chest. “The only thing I can even think at that point is, Jesus, I need to get my hands on that thing.”

“Do you?”

Heejin holds her finger up like she’s scolding your impatience. “So fast forward a few days, I’m digging through Yeojin’s closet when nobody’s home - and let me tell you, it’s like deep space in there, things go in and disappear forever; the other day I heard Sandra Bullock hollering from inside - but eventually, by the grace of god, I find it.”

“The vibrator.”

“The vibrator,” Heejin finally repeats, “This toy is silver, and looks about what you’d expect: like Steve Jobs was tasked with designing a banana. Beyond that, it was so complicated I almost didn’t even use it. Oh, and it wasn’t anything discreet either; there was this light that flashed when you turned it on and it practically lit up the whole room, these O-shaped strobing signals you could use to direct incoming flights at an airport.”

“Maybe we wouldn’t need to steal the batteries,” you suggest, and it makes a smile grow into the corners of Heejin’s mouth. “How’d it go?”

“With the vibrator?” Heejin puts her finger to lip, tracing it in thought. “I mean incredible, game-changing.”

“Better than just now?”

“Different.”

“It’s okay, it’s the twenty-first century, I’m not going to try and compete with a machine here–”

“Different,” Heejin repeats sternly, and you’re willing to drop it. “Come on by sometime when no one’s home and I’ll show you.”

“It’s really coming down,” you say once as you gaze into the storm, somewhere in the hours of the night that belong to no one.

Heejin slips further into your shoulder, eyes off the darkness out the window, the snow whipping across its face, looking up at you like you were the most interesting thing in the world. “Wonder how long it’ll take for them to remove all this mess from the rails.”

“I’m no expert,” you answer, “could be days though.”

“Bummer,” Heejin says, lips forming a kiss onto your collarbone.

“Are you sure you’ve used this thing before?” Heejin asks, resting on her elbows at the kitchen counter and blinking pensively at the French press in your hands. She looked on skeptically while you’d dug it out from a cupboard beneath the sink.

“Yeah, of course I have,” you tell her, exuding your finest false confidence as you run it back; the thing has been sitting in that cabinet collecting dust since you took it home as a white elephant gift almost a year ago. Shameful too, when you start to consider how much money you’ve spent at the coffee shops near your office and your apartment.

Heejin stares into her mug, her face lit by broken sunlight and still wearing that same perfected look. Only now it’s slightly different: hair tousled - rogue locks falling across her face and into the corner of her mouth where she could chew on it if she wanted - skin pale, the beauty mark on her cheekbone dotting her expressions like punctuation, a lack of sleep just beginning to shyly reveal itself beneath her eyes.

“I can see the coffee grounds in this.”

“You asked if I’ve used it, not that I knew what I was doing.”

Her lips curl back, smile huge, holding down either a laugh or a smirk - there’s no way to know - and finally rest atop the rim of the mug. “It’ll have to do.”

Only it doesn’t. Neither of you manage to make it through an entire cup, burnt, acrid, running on undrinkable.

That taste of bitterness lingers long after you’ve swallowed, and fills your mouth again when you press your lips to Heejin’s. She should be taking a cab to the station, should be boarding a train, should be trying to hide how fucked the bottom of her dress had become, should be looking at her roommates smug and gloating when she walks through the door.

And you should be writing an article - about the girl you’ve seen wail and moan and sob on the end of your cock - who could just as easily turn it around, fuck you senseless like she has a knife at your throat. But this is borrowed time, an oddity, something like a glitch you figure, and you’re reaching under her thighs, pulling her into you like you’d simply hit an off switch on the responsibilities shadowed in your mind.

(You’re abandoning logic here because it’s the most natural thing in the world.)

There’s this reflexive quality to it, the way Heejin wraps her arms over your shoulders and legs around your waist as you lift her onto the counter. Sneaking into the space between long, soft kisses, she asks, grinning because she knows the answer, “If I'm stuck here, what are we going to do to pass the time?”

“I’m going to kiss you, probably.” Your answer comes before you find the shape of her impossibly narrow waist beneath an ocean of baggy fabric.

“Perfect,” Heejin says, voice carefree and charming and perfectly lilting, “and then what?”

“Then I’m going to get you all hot and wet and needy and you’re going to be begging for my cock.”

“You sound pretty confident about that.”

“Yeah. Guess I am,” you breathe into her neck, and it lands squarely on all this soft skin desperately in need of your lips.

She’s got a hand in your hair firm and grasping at you like she owns you - far less shy than the other at your waist, teasing the elastic of your shorts. “And then what?”

The wrong answer is anything that fails to mention ramming your cock in Heejin’s cunt or your face buried between her thighs and making her cum over and over. You laugh first, and then fail knowingly at the cross examination, “then I gotta get to work on that article, you know.”

Heejin lets out a sigh that could only ever be construed as disapproval. Palms the shape of your cock over your underwear. “Or.”

“Or,” you repeat. It’s her challenge. She can fill the space, continue the thought; you can’t get enough of hearing filth fall from her pretty lips while she looks at you all wide-eyed and perfect and like the princess you want to believe she is.

“You can take this cock of yours; the one I'm begging for right?” she says, fingers running down your underwear, rousing your length and finally cupping your balls. “You’re going to fuck me with it and fill me up with cum.”

“Cumslut.” It’s perplexingly endearing, and you brush your nose against hers, trace your thumb along her jaw, catch the swell of her lower lip on the tip of your finger.

Heejin smiles.

“Daddy,” she says almost cautiously, but immediately starts slipping these quiet little bits of laughter in the silence it creates. She’s yours, your hers, it’s all doomed and fated at this point, especially at this point - scribbled into cosmic law and her eyes holding you like they were made for the very purpose - you’re sure of it. “I’m not letting go of you until you fuck me.”

The heater has been off for hours, so the air in your apartment is frigid; simply getting out of bed was the kind of thing tibetan monks might do - walking across coals, self immolation, venturing out from beneath the warm covers in the morning, that kind of thing. And It has you perfectly content to take that bait in front of you, burying yourself deep in the scorching heat between her legs; turning her around, and doing it again. Making her cum like that and then letting your own orgasm drip out between her thighs.

“I’m not playing around,” Heejin says, having watched you laugh quietly to yourself about the absolute vice she has you in - and beyond the legs pulling you closer.

“One time,” you concede.

“Yeah.” Her hands pump your cock gingerly against your underwear, and Heejin agrees, “One time.”

It doesn't take long. You turn Heejin into this whimpering mess - her legs and hips suspended above the counter and ankles thrown over your shoulder. She falls apart, moaning still like it isn't slicing her voice to bits, all rasped and ruined, and you fuck her through her first orgasm. Her thighs shake and quiver while you fuck her through the second, railing into her cunt like it had insulted you.

“Fuck, that’s amazing,” Heejin pants, head rolling onto her shoulder, and her cheeks are so red you have to believe her. “Oh my god.”

She’d gotten only through half the buttons on her shirt before she became too cock-addled to figure out the rest, and it hangs ever so slightly off each of her dainty shoulders - agape enough for you to watch her small breasts jump every time you thrust into her.

Each long thrust into her heat has both your voices flooding, desperate. The way your thighs slap together all wet and raw only adds to the scene - this fucking filthy score of moans, curses, sex. It’s probably always been your instinct to pound like this: reckless, careless, selfish - and here Heejin is, begging for it.

“Go ahead,” she says, eyes lidded, still catching her breath, and it’s the most seductive thing you’ve ever heard, “I need you - fucking use me, fucking take me - need you to breed me.”

(It’s hot, you think. Maybe you’ll ask about it later. Maybe you won’t.)

So yeah, you cum.

It’s one of those eye-clenching, blood-boiling, ear-ringing, teeth-gnashing orgasms that has you making a groan so inhuman, so broken and unbecoming, that it has Heejin laughing in response. She’s patting your sides, lips planted on your neck, cooing while your cock continues to ache and pump cum into her wet, fucked hole.

“What was that?” you ask, breath hitching and your body sinking into those light arms wrapped around you.

“What was what?” She’s got it so casual, so carefree, still so utterly charming - it makes you feel as though you were the one who’d said something out of place.

“Um. Don’t worry about it.”

Oh, it’s probably written in the stars, this mess between you, orbiting, circling, bound and tied: not even a half hour later, she leans over the sofa where you’ve set up with your laptop, kisses you once, and you’re reduced to nearly nothing but the kind of desire that will curdle into lust and threaten to eat you from the inside out should you refuse to yield to it.

“Really. I can’t. Not now.” It’s bravery or something. You’re lionhearted and incredible and you deserve a pat on the back.

Eyebrows knitted, she pouts at you when you explain once again that you have work to do, those pretty pink lips downturned into obvious disappointment, and you almost, very nearly give in.

Heejin pulls a book from your bookshelf four times, flips through it and rejects it, before finally settling on an architectural survey of Frank Lloyd Wright’s greatest hits (you’d also received that in a white elephant exchange).

There’s a photograph of Fallingwater on the front, and Heejin licks her fingers each time she turns the page.

She lands on the sofa next to you, lying long ways with her head resting on the padding of its arm, the same one you’d buried her face into less than twelve hours ago, and the two of you do technically manage to fit, only her feet cram into you and stab sharply into your thigh.

“You, uh, a big architecture person?” you ask, sparing a glance from your laptop to the girl nesting into the cushions beside you.

“Not in the slightest,” she answers, “I’m just bored to tears because someone would rather play with their computer than play with me.”

You give her a more pointed look, probably more akin to the attention those beautiful eyes of hers deserve. “I’m telling you: my editor will hang me from the rooftop if I don’t get this thing in her hands by Monday.” “That seems extreme.”

“Hey, that’s why she gets her salary and I get mine. I’m not paid willing to commit a murder money.”

She holds back a laugh, and leans forward, pulling her knees to her chest. “So what you’re saying is you’re a procrastinator, and I’m the one who gets to suffer for it.”

“Yeah, and you’re blameless after all.” You rake your fingers through your hair, running the past twenty-four hours through your head. “It doesn’t help that we’ve been at it like rabbits.”

“Like what?”

“Like rabbits.”

“Like what?” she asks again, this huge toothy grin stretching across her soft lips.

“Keep it up, go ahead,” you answer, shaking your head, “and who knows, you might just get what you’re asking for.”

When the power flicks back to life in your apartment, Heejin stands in the doorway to your living room and flips the wall switch off and on a few times. She has her hand on her chin, as though she’s musing and considering what all the value of electricity might bring - near a hundred of years of civilization now at her fingertips - and you have no idea that she’s about to rip you away from your work with four simple words:

“Wanna take a shower?”

You tilt your chin over the screen of your laptop, and logically, you reek of sex and sweat. Every now and again, you’ll scratch your nose or hold your hand over your mouth and you can still smell Heejin’s slick on you, stuck to you, its indomitable linger.

Heejin simply stares at you like she knows you're hers.

And if you’re thinking logically, you’re making progress faster than you expected on this article, words hitting the page and flowing freely. Logically, it would be near criminal for Heejin to be in your shower, her petite body all soapy, slippery and glistening, and you not there to see it, touch it, fuck it until she’s cumming and moaning your name and the sound of it echoing off all that tile–

“Yeah,” you say, clam-shelling your laptop and tossing it aside, “sure.”

There’s a certain quality about the renewed coyness, this sense of competitive playfulness, perhaps something diffident brewing between you, Heejin, and the four walls of your shower.

Leisurely, you both wash as though you’re not dying to jump one another's bones, like you’re both not reliving each and every orgasm on some sort of highlight reel played back through your thoughts.

Water falls to the ground in heavy spurts, loudly splashing after it pools and rolls off your bodies. And inside that cloud of steam, wrapped around you both like a blanket, Heejin catches you staring at her perfect figure just one too many times.

“I’m just cleaning,” Heejin says, voice grasping at its highest register, and she wraps her fingers around your cock. “So, you know, don’t get too excited.”

You’ll spin it around, turn on it’s head, get your fingers gliding along her slippery pussy all the same, and you’re right there with her, saying, “Right, just cleaning.”

“Imagine that.” Heejin’s pumping your shaft, perfecting it with this twist at the end that has you roused and ready and aching for more. “You spend all day, playing hard to get, and I just had to touch you?”

“Who says I’m going to fuck you?” you ask, a little too breathless, a little too obvious of a lie. Heejin presses forward and presses her lips to your chest, little kisses trailing across it.

“Fuck it, me, I’ll say it.” She wraps tight around the head of your cock, squeezing tight and making the water between her fingers squelch. “You’re going to fuck me. You’re going to press me up against this glass, and you’re going to fuck me.”

Heejin’s eyes light up when you smile, laugh because it’s true, and pull her up into your lips.

It’s not particularly a great kiss. It’s maybe a little too wet, far too much tongue, a little mean, but it sets the stage: when you’re cock is finally lined up between Heejin’s lips, teasing - relentless you might add - and her tiny body is pressed so hard into the glass that your only lament is that you can’t see how it looks from the other side.

You slowly enter her cunt, so slow it makes Heejin whine and groan, and you flirt your lips against her ear, “ask for it.”

“Fuck. Give it to me,” she spits, and you can feel her open wider for you when she does. “I need you to fuck me, please, please, fuck me. Or I swear–”

You never hear what’s on the end of that threat, because she doesn’t get the chance to tell you that you fucking better, that she’ll kill you if you don’t fill her up and make her cum, that it’s the literal end of the world if your hard cock isn’t buried so deep in her cunt that she sees stars.

She doesn't get the chance because you’re pushing into her, fast and hard and all at once.

“Fuck, you feel so good,” her voice shakes, curses starting to flow like you’d ruptured a vein. She turns her head, cheek flush with the shower door so that you can see how her eyelashes flutter every time a stroke hits hard against her ass.

It’s intense. It’s calculated. Passionate and uncontrollable. You’ve become so full of contradictions that it has you ready to burst, explosion imminent. You don’t even need to hold onto her hips, because she’s fucking you, jerking her hips back and forth and fucking herself full of your cock - liberating your hands to reach up her sides, gather soap and water and sweat beneath your fingerprints, hold tight to her firm breasts while you bury your face in the soft skin of her neck.

When she collapses to her knees, legs wobbling and pussy quivering off your cock, she doesn’t even say anything. Simply turns and takes you into her mouth, stroking and sucking you until you can’t take it, that fucking tongue reaching all over and spelling out your end–

“Yeah,” you croak, the word some sort of lifeline, a warning, “Heejin, I–”

She pulls you out, lips smacking, and with three words does more damage than you thought she was ever capable:

“On my face.”

It only takes a few pumps from her hand, her tongue still harassing the belly of your cock, and when she flattens it, opens her mouth wide and ready for a mouthful of cum, she has you simply acting on instinct.

It’s certainly novel, what you’ve just done. It’s in her eyes, it’s on her cheeks, you fucking cum so hard there’s strands of it stuck in her hair and stained to the glass behind her.

“Jesus,” you say, rolling back into the stream of hot water, cleansing your soul of sweat, of cum, of sin, “I just came on your face.”

Heejin smiles, eyes shut like her life depends on it, and puts a hand out expectantly, “yeah, so give me a fucking washcloth.”

“I don’t know, I guess I don’t really have any,” you tell Heejin in the breath after she’d asked you what your kinks are.

She leans forward, wipes at the steam covered mirror until you can see her reflection raising an eyebrow at you. “Really,” skeptical.

“I mean, seriously, is that really so hard to believe? I get off to pretty girls. You got me. What a villain I am.”

“Anal,” she says, turning to you and leaning against the vanity counter. Her face is still flushed and you can see the faint outlines of your palms and fingers on her chest, but she seems sincere about it - whatever it is.

“Yeah?”

“What do you think about it?”

“About anal?” You set down your razor, towel off your face. “Sure, why not, but I’m not going to sit here and say it’s my kink.”

Heejin threads her fingers under your chin, along your jaw - admires the fleetingly smooth skin that she might only ever find at the end of a shave, and cocks her head. “Threesomes?”

You laugh at the question, the sheer absurdity of it. “Are you asking or inviting?”

She toys with her fingernail between her teeth before she answers, “asking.”

“Well it depends. Who’s in it?”

“Me,” Heejins says, and she’s got her brows quirked; settles this huge predatory grin into her expression.

She holds her lips next to yours - never quite kisses them - wraps her arms around your neck, shuffles a little and moves so that she’s straddled between the counter and your waist. She shimmies her hips and you almost groan, because now you recognize it: that’s Heejin’s shimmy. The silly little thing she does whenever she’s asking for sex without having to ever actually say the words.

“It’s a promising start. Who else?”

“You,” she says, flatly a matter of fact.

“Mhmm, okay, maybe I'm in.”

“Honestly, more than anything...” Heejin’s voice trails, and her lips pucker. “I just want to see you buried in Haseul’s ass.”

“Okay then, maybe I’m back out.”

“Sleep on it maybe. Do you wanna know mine?

You recognize the caution filling your throat, and then promptly being neglected when you ask, “Is it breeding?”

Heejin just smiles, laughs like it isn’t incriminating. Her lips come close to your earlobe, you think she’s going to lick it or bite it or god knows what, but somehow it’s worse:

“I just fucking love your cum.”

“Don’t you have somewhere to be–”

You’re not annoyed with her; it’s just that yesterday night was when the trains started moving again, and now it’s almost five o’clock on a Sunday and you’re wondering when this particular journey comes to an end, if it comes to an end. There should be a credit scroll, a fade to black, some sort of keystone to socket in place, you figure, and you’re asking what should be an obvious question.

“–or at least some place you can get yourself a proper pair of pants.”

Leaning over the back of the sofa, eyes scanning your laptop, Heejin ignores the question entirely.

Year of the Rabbit: Heejin, the girl next door, only farther away than next door.

Sometimes she’s blonde but dark at the roots, sometimes she’s tall but only with the help of certain shoes. She’s everything, anything she ever wants to be.

When she first sat down, she wandered into the interview like a second semester-senior, not only at ease with the system, but a little beyond it.

“Hold up, what the hell is this title?” she asks, pointing to the top of your document. “You’re so far up your own ass there’s even a colon right in the middle of it.”

“It’s a work in progress,” you say as you slouch into the sofa, “and besides, the beauty comes out in the edits.”

“I certainly hope so,” she says, worrying the corner of her lip between her teeth, and fixing her eyes back on you. “I was planning on staying for dinner.”

“Of course you were.”

You decide, possibly against your better judgment, to walk Heejin back to the train station.

Although the city had resurrected itself, like Lazarus after a party where the guests had run out of wine (you’re not totally sure about this one), and started to put all its miserable pieces back together, the sidewalks are still a total fucking mess. You’re both there trodding along, navigating through the absolute, dreadful shitslop of snow and dirt when Heejin asks, “You’ll call, yeah?”

“Sure,” you answer, like it was in your power to resist the very idea of it.

“Hey. After all, if you don’t, I know where you live.”

You point in the direction of the turnstiles. “Mildly threatening.”

“I could always wait in the bushes.”

You agree, tugging gently on a strand of hair that had come loose from her ponytail. “You absolutely could.”

#heejin smut #loona smut #male reader #loona heejin smut #kpop fanfic #kpop smut

2K notes · View notes

wambsgansshoelaces · 10 months ago

Note

Hi there! How are you doing? I just recently found your account and LOVE it! Thank you for sharing all your stories! I particularly loved the head cannons for clingy Roman and comforting Roman!

After reading the comforting Roman one, I had an idea for some more head cannons or a story (truly whichever you prefer if you want to write this idea). But maybe something along the lines of standing up to Logan somehow and defending Roman? Seeing him so hurt and vulnerable because of what his father said broke my heart and I definitely think he needs someone in his corner, privately and publicly!

Thank you so much if you do write something around this idea, but please don’t feel pressured to if it doesn’t spark any ideas. I hope you have a fabulous day/night! 💛

In My Corner

Roman Roy x Reader

Oneshot

this is literally the sweetest request I’ve ever gotten so it went to the top of my priority list. I’m doing okay, thank you so much for asking!! I hope you’re amazing <3 you don’t understand how much it means to me that you enjoy what I write and that you love it!!! it makes me so happy!!! any request or idea you have, I promise, will give me ideas. I’m so grateful I have people like you enjoying and reading my work!! It’s one in the morning for me, so I’m sorry I can’t make it longer… but enjoy! I love you rita, thank you for requesting xx

also just a general psa, if there’s never any specific pronoun/reader gender detail in the request, I’ll default to fem/female unless I can access your profile, to which then I’ll just use the requester’s pronouns/gender. enjoy!

Word Count: 2.181k

Married life was all you could’ve ever dreamed it would be. It was more.

Roman had surprised you with how quickly he’d committed to you and you solely. He’d told you, the night of your wedding, he knew you were it for him from your first official date. That even if you dumped him, hated him, threw him out, he’d be yours. He’d never remarry, he’d never even look at another woman.

You’re the only thing that brings light to his life. You radiate warmth into him. Being around you is being by a fire in the dead of winter up on Mount Everest. In quiet conversations in the middle of the night, the two of you tangled together in bed, he’d admitted he’d kill for you. Lie for you, commit crime for you, it was all the same to him. You are what brings meaning to his life. You’re an absolute in his world of probabilities. His anchor, his rock, the love of his fucking life.

Neither of you ever take off your rings. You’d both made sure to get metals that wouldn’t rust with water and had high durability just so you were never without them. If Roman was a shell of a man before he’d met you, he’s a god now.

Late nights at the office, he has a thing of chocolate for you clutched in his hands as an apology. Untoward women flirting with him despite his very obvious marriage (he endlessly speaks of you to anyone and everyone), his hand is on your hip, his lips on yours. You’re sick? He’s taken the day off to stay with you so you’re not suffering on your own.

On the off chance you both have days off and the energy, you’re out and about. Arcades, carnivals, anything so he can see you laughing and smiling and so fucking glowy. If you’re happy, he’s happy. You’re the most important thing in his life. In between your occasional excursions, he’s Googling how to beat carnival games, he’s practicing Flappy Bird, just so that when you do go out, and your eyes catch on a particularly cute plushie, he can get it for you and watch your face light up and feel the universe grace him with heaven.

If there was anything that came with being married that you didn’t like, it was his family. Maybe not Kendall, nor Shiv. Both were kind to you, and Connor didn’t come round anymore. You couldn’t blame him.

Roman’s your husband. You know him, you know what upsets him. And nine times out of ten, when he’s crying, it’s because of his father.

Usually so bubbly and relaxed, when he was upset, he was upset. He was unable to function. He ran to you like a moth drawn to light. He’d gone so long not knowing how to cope; you were only just now helping him learn how.

“Roman, where’s that cream sweater of yours?” you call out to him. He was washing his face in the bathroom, the two of you getting ready for dinner with his family. Waystar shenanigans, as he’d put it. But you knew that truthfully, it was deeper than that. More terse.

“Hell if I know,” he calls back.

“Then what’re you going to wear?”

“No clue.”

You tsk, instead crossing over to your side of the closet to pick out an outfit. “Just no weird color combinations, for fuck’s sake.”

“Whatever you want, baby,” he says, not bothered, strolling into the closet. He pinches the small of your back as he slides past you, going to look through his clothing. “What color are you wearing?”

“It’s going to be really cold, so I was thinking cable knit. Or should I just wear a turtleneck and slap a jacket over it?” You hold both options up, turning to face him. This was routine for you both. Strangely enough, he loved matching with you, and you both regularly help each other dress.

“You’re already shivering. Wear the sweater.” He comes to you, plants a kiss on your lips, then turns back and tugs his shirt off over his head. He manages to find another sweater, slipping it on. It’s the same color as yours, and even though he’s done this countless times before, your heart warms. Once you’re both ready, you’re in the car that was sent for you. You grip the bridge of your nose with your fingers, taking a deep breath as the car gently jostles you as you’re driven. Roman scoots over in the back seat, where you both are, so that your sides are pressed together. His hand slides over your thigh, rubbing gently. “What’s wrong?”

“Nothing,” you say truthfully, dropping your hand and looking over at him. You smile, meeting his eyes. You adore him. It’s evident in your gaze, and it’s mirrored in his. “Just bracing myself.”

He leans over, kissing your cheek.

Roman grips your hand tightly as you go up in the elevator.

You stick a fake smile on your face and step out into the light to greet Marcia. She air kisses both your cheeks, then Roman’s, greeting you both. You both make your rounds, hugging, kissing cheeks. You pretend to steal Iverson’s nose, to his delight, and he runs to his father, tattling on you with a massive grin on his face. Kendall just smiles at the both of you, the exhaustion slightly lifting from his features.

You go say hello to Greg, who’s happy to see you. Out of all the Roys, save for your husband, Greg’s the one you got on with the most. You were both in the same situation. You were both considered outsiders, yet still apart of the inner circle, still concerned with all the plotting and scheming and drama.

He gives you a hug, and you duly note that Roman’s being taken aside by his dad. You turn your attention back to Greg, making sure to keep an ear strained for anything that might go wrong. You chat idly for a bit, and you get the sense that everyone in the room is doing the same thing you are. You can feel the tension slowly spreading. Something’s wrong. And if it’s not, it will be very soon.

It doesn’t take very long.

Logan’s voice is booming through the townhouse, and everyone gathered quickly silences.

“What do you fucking want me to do, then, Roman? Roll over and let you fuck me?”

You and Greg wince in unison. “Are they still arguing over whether they should sell?” he asks you quietly. Frown starting on your face, you nod.

Waystar wasn’t the only company the Roys had control over. There were conglomerates on conglomerates of other companies, the most problematic of the bunch causing massive monetary issues- among others. It was an ethical disaster, and the lawsuits were beginning to pile up on top of each other.

While the general consensus was that the company should be sold, and quickly, Logan was stuck in his ways and took it as personal offence. Specifically with Roman. You couldn’t even begin to make up some lame reason as to why. They’d gotten into countless arguments over it, Roman doing his best to convince his father that if this one company went down, it was going to take a lot down with it.

You give Kendall a look, and he pushes himself up from his seat on the sofa and follows the direction of their voices. Shiv follows shortly after.

At dinner, everyone is white knuckling their silverware. Under the table, you let your leg press up against Roman’s. His entire body’s taut, and he’s staring down into his plate. You eat silently, the chatter around you awkward. You and Shiv murmur to each other about a new restaurant opening up down the street, making unofficial plans to go together when you could.

Of course, the moment you’re feeling at ease again, Logan decides to ruin it.

“Roman, you want to tell the table how willing you are to stab your own father in the back? We can’t just not talk about it.” He chews before speaking again, voice ringing. “Don’t you think your wife ought to keep her eyes open?”

You bite down a retort, Roman bristling. “Come on, Dad. Don’t bring her into this.”

You’re silently hoping that Shiv, Kendall, anyone steps in. Points out how wrong this is. How hypocritical, just how fucking ridiculous it all is.

“You know what, Romulus? I’ve let you do as you please for far too long.” You look up from your plate, on the brink of shock. You just can’t fathom the idiocy. “It’s time the world knew that you’re a cheat, you’re a liar, and you’re fucking rotten to the core. It’s time you stopped showing your face around here, like your brother.”

Your husband opens his mouth, then closes it, flabbergasted. You can see the tears rushing to his tear ducts, you can practically feel the tightening in his chest.

That’s it. You can’t. You can’t fucking handle this anymore. You get up abruptly, your chair making a garish, grating noise against the marble floor. “He’s right. We shouldn’t come here anymore,” you say, voice steady and clear. Your voice is raised, your tone firm. “It’s time we left, Roman."

Logan drops his utensils, the silver clattering against the table. “What’s the hurry? At least finish up with dinner.”

The heat immediately rushes to your face, and you can’t suppress the anger anymore. “Are you fucking senile?” you yell, Roman quietly getting up to stand beside you. “Enough is enough. Stupid fucking Pyros and it’s stupid fucking issues! You run it like a prison, your profit is nonexistent, and it’s being sued by every law firm under the sun. There’s a right decision you can make, but your head is too far up your ass for you to even see it. Go ahead, let shit hit the fan! Let the entire fucking family fortune get snatched away from you because of one measly company! And by all means, bully Roman over it, despite the fucking fact that every single person in this room agrees with what we’re saying.” You’re the one bristling now, the words spilling out of your mouth. “We’re not coming back. I’m going to the press first thing in the morning. You’ve been doing too much for too long. You’re nothing more than a piece of shit, Logan. You wouldn’t know a good son if he fucking punched you. Fuck off. You don’t deserve someone like Roman.”

Roman’s out the door before you are. Face still flushed and adrenaline still pumping through your veins, Roman helps you into your coat, you grab your purse, and you’re out in the chilly New York air, waving your arm for a taxi.

The ride home is silent, his head leaning on your shoulder.

Back at home, you kick off your shoes at the door, your stomach still in knots. “I’m sorry,” you manage, watching him shuck his jacket off and toss it into the coat closet. “I should’ve… I should’ve kept my temper in control.”

“Sorry? Sorry for what?” He comes over to you, his hands going to cup your hips and pull you close to him. “You’re the only one that’s been in my corner. Ever. My entire fucking life. You deserve a fucking medal.”

You kiss him gently, quickly. “It just made me angry.”

“I’m going to quit,” he tells you lowly, hand coming up to your jaw. He strokes your bottom lip as he gazes at you. “I’m going to quit and we’re going to run off to whatever place is the farthest from here.”

You steal another kiss from him before responding. “Let me ruin his fucking life first, okay? Pretty please?”

He laughs, pulling you into a hug. “Oh, only since you asked so nicely.”

You’re both giggling as you collapse on the couch together, the dinner already forgotten. That’s how you know he was meant for you. Nothing mattered but him. The world could be burning around you, and Roman Roy could be smiling, and everything’d be fine because he was happy. That meant all was right in the world.

You cuddle up to him, his arm coming to drape over your shoulders. You hook your arms around his waist, tucking your face into his chest.

“You know,” he begins, “with corners and stuff, that’d make you a boxer. Or a wrestler.”

“Wasn’t that your analogy?” you ask, laughing lightly.

“Well, yeah. Doesn’t stop you from being a fuckin’ champion.” His voice wavers, the way it does when he’s on the brink of sleep.

“Fucking cheese ball. Go to bed.”

You both share a long, loud, laugh. It’s far too late at night for this. Apparently, his father was fucking nocturnal and only had meals past ten.

“You know you love it. You love me,” he murmurs groggily, barely still clinging on to consciousness.

“Yeah. I do.”

#roman roy #roman roy x reader #roman roy x you #roman roy oneshot #succession #succession hbo #succession fic #succession x reader #wambsgansshoelaces #anon ask #requests open

201 notes · View notes

darkworkcourier · 2 years ago

Note

You’re doing Ghost!! Can I request an exercise in sharing body heat in cold conditions that turns into *other* forms of exercise? Preferably a non-military female reader if that tickles your fancy. So excited to see you back on tumblr, I loved your RDR2 and FC5 work back in the day 💕💕💕

Hi yes I’d like to apologize that this tiny prompt turned into EIGHT THOUSAND WORDS OF PORN OH GOD

(Also, try and find all the Far Cry 5 references. :3c As a thank you for hanging out with me all this time!)

Reader works for the National Park Service and gets pulled into a mission involving guiding Ghost to go after a (wink) paramilitary organization in (WINK WINK) Montana. Things go awry.

---

“Piss poor excuse for a shortcut, Ranger,” Ghost says to your back.

Your mid-back, actually, since you’re about two feet above him on the hillside which is way steeper than you remember. You could have sworn there was a trail cut through here, or maybe that was a half mile down the ridge, or maybe— Maybe it’s good to not second guess it when you think Ghost’s about a full thirty seconds from ditching you and going off on his own.

“You wanna get shot at?” you ask over your shoulder, voice slightly muffled in your scarf. “Because if you took the main road, that’s what you’d get.”

“I would do just fine,” he replies dryly.

Right, he’s got a tactical vest on. You have a down jacket that would just make for a really interesting display of flying feathers if you got shot. The best defense you have is the handgun he gave you for protection, and a Park Service badge that would elevate the threat of killing a federal employee. Not that Ghost’s targets would care, but it makes you feel better.

The two of you trudge through waist-deep snow, thick even on the incline. You’re practiced enough with winter weather hiking to approach it fairly spryly, but you’re also not lugging an incredible about of gear like he is.

“It’s not that far, anyway,” you tell him, just to make conversation. “It’s this ridge, then the Beaver Dam River, and then the lookout tower.”

“Real walk in the park,” he replies.

“Literally,” you say brightly.

His grunt isn’t very amused.

The biggest problem is the cold. It’s northern Montana in the depths of winter, and every shrieking sickle of wind that cuts through the mountains physically hurts. You’re prepared enough for the temperature drop, but you worry more about what happens after dark, when it goes from tolerable to goddamn polar. If it wasn’t vital for you to be out here, you would have stayed in.

For lack of anything better to do as you finish ascending the ridge, you think on the whole situation. A paramilitary extremist group hiding out in the mountains, some multinational task force you’d never heard of swooping into the park, and you getting swept up into it all and taken on as a guide. It sounds like something straight out of an action movie, but here you are and there Ghost is.

Hell, even his name and whole look makes the reality of all this seem that much out of pocket. He’s dressed in winter tactical gear, white and gray mottled camo, hood pulled down low over the skull-plated balaclava that you’re fairly sure he never takes off. He blends in with his surroundings, but at the same time, he really sticks out.

You get to the top of the ridge, pausing for a moment to take in your surroundings. Sure enough, by your reckoning, you’re about a quarter mile off from the actual trail. It’s easy to remedy, leading Ghost down the relatively level ridge to where the trail appears as a shallow divot in the snow.

Of course, he points it out.

“Got lost, did we?”

You roll your eyes. “Not lost,” you correct. “Just slightly askew on the directions. Everything looks the same in the snow.”

“Thought you knew this place like the back of your hand.”

“I do,” you say, stepping down onto the trail and grimacing when the snow goes up to your hips. Ghost is so damn huge that it probably barely goes over his knees, but you don’t turn around to look. “And I wasn’t too far off!”

“Slightly off is still off,” he retorts.

You really wish they would have sent the nice, happy Scottish guy with you instead.

Once you clear the ridge’s treeline, you see the lookout tower poking above the trees straight ahead of you. Grinning, you point it out to Ghost.

“Affirmative, Ranger. I see it.”

“You can just say ‘yes’.”

You can hear him sigh, and then, “Yes,” said like he’s punching the word out of the air.

The trail crosses over the river, cutting through at its shallowest section for this part of the park. The only problem is that the Beaver Dam River doesn’t freeze, so there’s a very real risk of soaking through your boots and defeating the purpose of having moisture-wicking socks. With any luck, you’ll have some downed trees or rocks to cross over, and the river won’t be too high.

That’s with any luck; the opposite being the luck you currently have, as the river’s clearer than you’ve ever seen it once you reach it. You hiss out a curse under your breath, glancing up and down the banks to see if there’s any easier way to cross.

Nada.

“Shit,” you mutter.

“What’s shit?”

“River’s clear, but it’s... well, it’s fuckin’ cold is what it is,” you say, watching the glacially-fed water happily rush by you.

He shrugs. “Looks shallow enough.”

“It is, except—” You look down at your boots, cringing at the thought of all the fun ways water can get in them.

Beside you, Ghost looks down at them as well. “They’re not waterproof?”

“They are, but probably not for walking through a river.”

“Jesus,” he murmurs, then steps right into the water. You see it course around his ankles, protected by his thick boots that probably cost more than a month of rent back home. Once he’s on the other side, he turns back to you, dark eyes peering out through his mask, making him look like a bizarre death motif hanging out on the banks of a very chilly River Styx.

“Damn it,” you hiss. You’ll have to be quick, not settling long enough for the water to leach into your boots and socks.

It’s probably comical to Ghost to watch you hopping across the river, up until your boot hits something—loose gravel, a slimy rock, or just a pocket of underwater bad luck. Whatever it is, it sends you right on your ass and into the water. The only good thing is that it’s not deep, but that does shit to negate the cold shock that knocks the wind right out of you. Cold pierces right through your clothes, hitting your skin like dozens of tiny knives. You gasp first, then yelp, and finally scramble out of the water and right into Ghost’s arms.

To be fair, in the shock, you didn’t see his sudden movement toward you, so you yelp again—right into his ear—when he scoops you up. His head jerks back, but he holds you steady regardless.

“Jesus fuck!” you gasp, already shivering hard. Parts of you are too numb to register on your brain’s running docket of limbs and appendages, but others hurt like shit.

“You okay?” Ghost asks, sounding a little breathless. His hands are on your shoulders, holding you in place.

Great question; you don’t have a good answer. You nod, but you’re pretty sure the uncontrollable shivering is telling another story.

“Let’s get you to that tower,” he says. His voice takes on the command form you only heard back when you sat in on the task force’s meeting. It’s solid, and strangely comforting to hear him take charge. “Sooner we’re inside, the better.”

“C-couldn’t agree m-m-more,” you manage, crossing your arms and digging your hands into your armpits.

Ghost takes the lead up the trail, which is good because your legs feel pretty damn numb. You don’t think it’s frostbite yet, but you know that’s a very real risk, especially as the clouds overhead start to darken with the oncoming evening. Because of the tower’s high perch, the trail snakes back and forth up the hill—a half hour’s walk in good weather and a steady pace, but longer in your state.

Ghost’s surprisingly patient, purposefully slowing his pace so you can keep up. He looks over his shoulder again and again, like he’s making sure you’re still there and not face-down in a snowbank. On your end, you keep your eyes fixed on his backpack, determined to keep it in your sight.

Halfway up the hill, Ghost decides to change tactics. He stops, shouldering off his backpack, then handing it to you. “Put it on,” he says. “Then get on my back.”

“What?”

“Just do as I say,” he says, brooking no argument in his tone. “It’ll be faster.”

You put on the backpack, not surprised that it weighs a metric ton. At the same time, your vision swims a little, dark shapes appearing in your vision before fizzling out like little firecrackers.

Oh, we’re in trouble, you think.

Ghost makes sure the backpack’s secure before turning around and going down on a knee to give you space to climb up. Non-hypothermic you would find this a great opportunity to make a down-on-one-knee joke, but you’re way too fucking cold to do much more than shiver and hang on to him for dear life. His hands go to the back of your thighs, supporting you while you cling to his neck, pressing your face into the back of his coat.

“You good?”

You nod.

“Need a verbal confirmation, Ranger,” he says, not without a hint of humor.

You manage a stifled, shuddering laugh and say, “Yep.”

“Good enough.”

He carries you up the hill, the incline steep enough to make the backpack feel heavier somehow. You don’t know how he’s managing it as well as he is, except for whatever freakish training they probably do in England. In your swimming, dizzy mind, you imagine Ghost hoisting crates of tea over his head, and that sends you into a giggling fit.

“What’s so funny back there?” he asks. However, you can’t miss the sliver of concern in his voice.

“H-how d’you train in Eng-g-gland?” you ask, the middle syllable briefly caught in the back of your throat.

“How do I what?”

“B-back where-e-ever you come f-from-m-m,” you say, shivering harder even though you can feel his body heat close to your core. “W-what do th-they make you d-d-do?”

He’s quiet for a long moment, and all you hear are his boots crunching in the snow and the wind snapping through the trees around you.

“Vigorous biscuit lifts,” he says.

You snort against his coat, and then cling tighter, feeling your limbs prickle in the cold.

You’re silent the rest of the way up the hill, shivering and sniffling as Ghost carries you. Finally, you reach the top, and you glance up to see the lookout tower’s staircase which until now has never looked so fucking tall.

“Sh-shit,” you say.

“Just hang on,” Ghost says. “You’ll be fine.”

“N-n-no, I th-thought I’d l-l-let go,” you joke, but your arms do feel like they’re going to fall off, and you’re starting to lose feeling in your fingertips.

He grunts and adjusts his hold on your thighs, then starts the ascent up the stairs. You really do have to wonder about his physical training regimen, because you’re pretty sure you’d be dead before you reached the top in your state. He’s only panting, breaths coming out in thin clouds in front of his balaclava.

“S’it locked?” he asks.

“No.”

“Good,” he says, letting you down onto your numb feet so he can open the door. He goes in first, hand close to his thigh holster, quickly scoping the single room before letting you in. "Clear.”

Your steps waver a little as you walk in, then quickly fall onto the bed without much ceremony. You’re a shivering mess, every part of you that you can still feel trembling with the cold. It’s not much warmer in the tower, but at least the wind’s blocked out. Ghost walks over and helps you shoulder off the pack, then leaves your line of site, his presence indicated by heavy footsteps, the sound of the backpack’s zipper being opened, and then soft clanking and thumping.

Your consciousness wavers on a very dangerous precipice, and you know you really need to get out of your wet clothes. You’re not at the paradoxical undressing stage of hypothermia, which is a good sign. But that also means you have no strong desire to strip, either.

Somewhere in your half-doze, you hear Ghost working on the potbelly stove, opening it on its whiny hinges, loading its gullet with wood left over from the last restock, then striking a match. It doesn’t take long to hear the throaty crackle of burning wood, and that’s a comfort in of itself.

Ghost is back at your side, gently shaking your shoulder. “Hey, Ranger,” he says. “Let’s get you out of those clothes.”

“Mmn,” is your best response, and not a particularly eloquent one.

“C’mon,” he presses, then manhandles you up into a sitting position. Your muscles give a pretty passionate protest, and you blink wearily up at him as he helps you take off your gloves, then unzips your jacket. His eyes flicker up to yours, assessing you. “You still with me?”

You nod, lifting your stiff arms for him to help you out of your sleeves.

“You know the signs of hypothermia, right?”

“Y-yeah,” you say, squeezing your eyes shut as a fresh rush of pins and needles goes down your right arm.

“Alright, let me know if any of ‘em get worse.” He drops your coat in front of the stove, then gestures to your half-soaked sweater. “Can you get that off by yourself?”

You nod again, then start the suddenly grueling work of getting out of it. It’s heavy wool, designed specifically to be as thick and warm as possible. That also means that it’s a bitch to get out of when your arms feel like cooked pasta. Still, Ghost’s already doing a lot for you, so the least you can do is prove that you’re better at a toddler than taking your clothes off.

Oh. Yeah, there’s that. You’re taking your clothes off in front of Ghost. That’s a whole thing to parse through.

But you manage to get out of the sweater, and that’s a victory. You drop it next to the bed, then start undoing the laces on your boots, fingers fumbling the whole time.

“Need help?” Ghost asks.

You look up at him, and then feel a very welcome heat rush to your face.

He’s ditched his coat on a chair next to the stove, tactical vest laid aside on the lookout’s desk. He’s down to a skin-tight black long-sleeved shirt that does wonders in showing off his musculature, and his hand are— Holy shit, he’s undoing his belt.

“W-what are you d-doing?” you ask. Bonus points for you that you’re not shivering as hard. Lack of bonus points that you’re openly ogling the lieutenant like he’s a prime beef steak (and he is).

He gestures back to you, one boot off, the other half-undone. “Getting undressed,” he says very plainly. “Fastest way to warm you up. You know that.”

You do, is the problem. It’s in every survival manual you’ve read and every class you’ve taken for your job. At the same time, it’s in at least four romance novels you’ve perused. And you’ve spent nearly four full months without coming into contact with any human being for more than an hour at a time; getting naked with a gigantic, musclebound man nearly sends your addled brain into a tailspin.

You quickly undo the other boot, trying to will your hands to stop shaking.

This isn’t the time to get shy, especially as your limbs ache in new and profound ways and you feel like you’re never going to be warm again.

The boot comes off, then you peel your wet socks off and drop them on the floor with a very telling plap sound. Your feet prickle and ache as the chilled air hits them and your shivering renews in spades. The faster you get undressed and under any kind of cover, the better it is for both of you.

Snow pants go next, then your work pants, until you’re down to a t-shirt and long underwear.

And Ghost is—

Fuck.

If there was any blood left in your suffering arms and legs, it must redirect right up to your face, making your head swim in a whole new body of water. Ghost’s stripped down to his boxers and (of course) his balaclava. His back’s to you, but that means it’s on full display as he puts all of his clothing in a semi-neat pile. When he turns back to you, you see his eyes widen a little as he lifts his brows.

“Still wearing too much, Ranger,” he states.

You know that, but there’s a pretty firm disconnect somewhere in your synapses, body firmly resisting any higher command to do literally anything useful.

He seems to register that issue, because he’s at your side in an instant, tugging on the hem of your t-shirt to help you out of it. You squawk in surprise, almost falling back onto the bed.

If you could read masked expressions a bit better, you might think he’s amused.

“I— I can d-do it m-m-myself,” you stutter out. Fighting down any urge to be bashful in a survival situation, you get out of your t-shirt, then maneuver yourself enough to take off your long johns. At the end, you’re down to just a sports bra and panties. Pointedly, you don’t look up to see Ghost’s reaction.

“Take this side of the bed,” he says, gesturing to the edge you’re sitting on. “It’s closer to the stove.”

You do so, feeling him get on the bed and go over to the far side closest to the window. He pulls up the blanket and quilt, then slips underneath them before holding them up for you.

With your back to him, you lay on your side and shimmy under the cold blankets. Behind you, Ghost grunts in what sounds like irritation.

“Turn around,” he says.

You swallow hard, worrying that he’d say that. Reluctantly, you roll over to face him. Or, rather, face his chest, which is alarmingly close. And it’s a good chest, all muscle-y and firm, with a fine dusting of light blond hairs on his pectorals. When you look up, he’s still wearing that balaclava. You squint at him.

“H-how come y-y-you’re still wearing th-that?”

“Doesn’t come off, Ranger,” he states, although the corners of his eyes crinkle like he’s smiling.

“Ever?”

“Affirmative.”

You groan and lean your head forward until it touches one of his collarbones. “Just s-say yes-s,” you complain.

He actually laughs this time, a low, rumbling sound deep in his chest, before you feel his arm wrap around you, pulling him close to him. It’s startling, and damn embarrassing, but you definitely can’t argue with the results. Almost immediately, his body heat seeps into your skin, first warming your hands pressed in between your chests. One of his feet brushes over one of yours, causing you to jump, and then settle with your eyes squeezed shut in mortification.

But that mortification gives way to blissful comfort as everything warms up. The stove radiates heat as the wood crackles and shifts, and Ghost is a stove in himself. The little space beneath the blankets is a pocket of glorious heat, and you start to feel the ache in your limbs recede and your head clear of its chilly fog.

You don’t know how long it is before he speaks again, but his voice comes in close to your ear. “You doing alright, Ranger?”

You’re relaxed enough that you nod and smile with your eyes closed. “Yeah,” you say.

“You ever do this in survival training?”

You scrunch up your nose a little. “I read about it. We never actually practiced stripping down and cuddling.”

He snorts. “It’s not cuddling.”

You crack open an eye, looking up into his greasepaint-ringed gaze. Feeling emboldened by the fact you can feel your arms and legs and nothing hurts, you gently shove his chest. “What do you call this, lieutenant?”

“Hypothermia prevention.”

You roll your eyes. “Just say it’s cuddling. It’s easier. Less syllables.”

He doesn’t say a word.

Before long, the crackling of the fire and Ghost’s steady breathing lull you into a doze. You go in and out of sleep, deeper and deeper as the sky darkens outside and causes the fire to make strange shadows around the room. You wake once to find your arm around Ghost’s waist, your chest pressed against his, the crown of your head under his chin. You’re sleepy enough that this doesn’t strike you as odd or something you should remedy. It’s way too easy to fall asleep after that.

You wake again to Ghost moving against you, getting out from under the blankets and crawling across the bed until he steps down on the floor. You groan and roll over to watch him as he crouches in front of the stove, opening the door to add more wood to the fire.

He stands back up and looks down at you, shadows making his face look like an eyeless skull. You admire his body cast in the warm light, more than happy to openly stare at him when he walks back to the bed.

“You feelin’ alright, Ranger?” he asks.

“Mm. I’d be better if you got back in bed,” you say, heart outrunning your mind by leagues.

He lets out a soft laugh and shakes his head. “Things that sound better outside of a survival situation,” he says.

As he crawls over you and back under the covers, you do manage to parse that sentence out through the thick haze of sleep. You turn back to face him, looking up into the dark sockets of his mask.

“What does?” you ask.

“Hm?”

“What sounds better?”

He’s silent for a thoughtful moment before he breathes out through his nose. “Nothin’. Forget it.”

Nope. You’re not forgetting it, especially as you wake up a little more and take in the sight of him laying next to you.

Briefly, you think back to the meeting back at the ranger station, when Captain Price outlined the mission to gather intel on the extremist group. You stood across the table from Ghost, watching him as he stared down at the topography map, then at the dossier in front of him. But then he looked up at you, eyes striking in his mask. After that, you felt his eyes on you all afternoon, and again in the morning when you set to head out.

At the time, you thought he was just observant. He needed to know he could trust you to lead him through the wilderness, assessing you in depth and measuring you up against the other rangers at the station.

But now? Well, now you’re not so sure. You could test it, though. Now that you have all your faculties pretty well in check, you’re tempted to see how he would react to you.

Besides, it’s dark and the two of you are isolated in the Montana wilderness. The only bad thing that could come of this is a very awkward morning.

So, in line with Ghost’s whole vibe—go big or go home.

You pull yourself into a sitting position, tucking your fingers up and under the elastic hem of your sports bra. The second you pull your bra up, you hear Ghost’s breath hitch. He doesn’t make a sound as you take your bra off, sighing in relief and dropping it off the side of the bed.

Behind you, Ghost’s voice is a dry, hot rasp. “Feel better?”

Nervousness flutters around in your chest as you shimmy back under the covers, bare chest now just a suggestion in the fabric. You force a smile. “I hate wearing a bra to bed, and you’re not wearing anything.”

“Thought you’d be warmed up enough by now.”

Taking in a breath to steady your nerves, you don’t answer but raise one of your hands to brush over his chest. He doesn’t move back, or seize your wrist. Instead, he holds still, letting your fingers explore the textures of his skin—scarring and all. One particularly rough scar catches your attention, and you run your fingers around its circumference.

“What’s this one?”

You don’t look up, but you feel Ghost’s eyes burning on you. “Bullet wound from an insurgent. 2017. Laid up in hospital for three weeks.”

Your hand goes lower, finding a raised scar as long as a pencil above his navel. “And this one?”

His breathing is steady, but you’re more aware of it now, of the rise and fall of his chest, your shadow cast across his skin. “Hunting knife to the gut from a drug trafficker in London.”

“When?”

“2012.”

“How long were you in the hospital?”

“Two and a half weeks. Most of it was from surgery.”

You nod, getting bold enough to scoot closer until your breasts press against his chest. His breath hitches, which feels like some kind of success. Something you should report back to Captain Price.

Then, one of his hands brushes over your side, fingers tracing the curve of your waist, down to your hip. Goosebumps rise on your arms and a shiver runs up your spine, thrilling you. His hand goes back up, then follows a line downward over your stomach to a set of small scars on your right side.

“Appendectomy?” he guesses.

You smile. “2019,” you respond. “In the hospital for two whole days.”

“How did you ever survive?”

“Ibuprofen and HBO,” you reply.

You see his mask move with a smile, and then his hand goes up to your chest, following the divot of your sternum. Below his hand, your heart beats deceptively quick, threatening to upend your calmness. Ghost notices, of course, moving his hand to rest over your left breast, your heart threatening to break right out of there like an escaped prisoner.

His voice is like liquid heat in your ears when he says, “Do you want this?”

You could ask him to clarify—play dumb, like you have no idea what you’re insinuating. But the darkness is so all-encompassing, so protective. The world outside doesn’t know about the world in this room, in this bed. You feel safe here, and there’s an opportunity literally laying in front of you.

You smile, and say, “Affirmative.”

He doesn’t jump into action. Instead, his left hand moves down, massive palm covering your breast, pressing gently as he leans his head down close to yours, hard shell of his mask pressing against your forehead.

You look up at him, reaching to tug at the bottom of his balaclava. “Can you take this off?” you ask. “Or at least pull it up over your mouth?”

Another thoughtful silence, and then he does something a little more unexpected. He pulls you close to him, chest to chest, and bodily rolls you over until you’re on the far side of the bed and his back’s to the stove. This way, you can’t see his face, his mask disappearing in his silhouette. You see him reach up and pull the balaclava off, some of his short hair clinging to the fabric before falling away. He sets it down behind him, probably within arm’s reach.

“That better?” he asks, his voice clearer now, hotter, like he’s removed a physical and emotional barrier.

You grin. “Is there anything stronger than ‘affirmative’?” you ask.

“Hard copy,” he says, and you can hear the smile in his voice.

“Well, then, hard copy, sir.”

And you lean in, pressing your lips to his. In the dark, you miss a little, kissing somewhere closer to his chin; Ghost corrects the approach and kisses you in full. His kiss is like him—strong, solid, an undercurrent of ferocity as he catches your bottom lip with his teeth. Your left hand goes to the side of his face, reeling yourself into him and deepening the kiss. In a word, it’s exhilarating. Maybe it’s in part because of what you’ve gone through today, but you go at him like you crave him, and he returns the favor.

His right hand cups the back of your neck, a gentle but firm pressure. His other hand moves down to your chest, thumb brushing over right nipple, drawing a gasp out of you against his lips. You feel him smile against you, then tweak the nipple again. A small, hot shock of pleasure follows a current down your spine, relaying right into your core and sparking a small fire.

If that’s how he’s going to do it, you’ll do the same.

Pressing your hand to his chest, you bring up one of your knees in between his legs, pressing gently against his crotch and making him bite back a curse. You’re quick to kiss him harder, shutting him up before he can say anything about it. In retaliation, he drops the hand on your neck to palm your other breast, massaging both simultaneously as you moan into his mouth.

Where you were freezing before, it now feels like the room can’t get any hotter. That spark lit by Ghost’s first few touches fans into a fully-fledged flame, threatening to burn right through you. You begin rocking your knee in between his legs—alternating pressure, then no pressure—until his hips begin to move against you, his cock growing hard against your thigh.

You tilt your head back and grin. “Well, isn’t someone an eager beaver?” you tease.

He groans and presses his forehead against yours. “Your pillow talk needs work,” he replies.

Your response to his complaint is to reach down and stroke your fingers over his tented erection, earning a surprised grunt and a hissed, “Shit.”

“What’s shit?” you ask, echoing his words by the river.

His voice is all irritation and arousal in equal parts, “The fact we still have clothes on, that’s what’s shit.”

“Oh. Easy fix.”

Again bypassing ceremony, you curl in on yourself enough to pull your panties off, wiggling out of them before tossing them somewhere in the direction of the stove and hoping they don’t get burnt. Then you hook a leg over his still-clothed hip, grinding against his thigh.

“Jesus Christ,” he groans, reaching up to run his fingers through your hair, then forming a half-tight fist so you’re forced to look up at his silhouette. “Now who’s eager?”

“I think it’s a firm tie,” you say, feeling another thrill of victory as Ghost reaches down to shove your leg off and pull down his boxers. Once they’re gone, all the proverbial bets are off. Aside from the shadow he’s wearing like a second mask, he’s completely exposed to you, bare and vulnerable to every touch. It’s like a drug to you, intoxicating and really fucking addicting.

Apparently, Ghost thinks about the same of you. His hand is back on your hip, but trails down to your sex, palming your mons, fingers just brushing over your labia.

You feel him look at you. “Can I?”

No further question from you, especially when your arousal is threatening some serious whiteout conditions in your head. “Yeah. God, yeah.”

One large finger slides against your slit, and you hear yourself, the slick, wet sound audible above anything else in the room. Ghost curses again, drawing his finger back and forth, listening to that sound like he can’t get enough of it.

“Fuck, Ranger. You’re so fuckin’ wet.”

“You kinda have that effect,” you manage to say, before the pad of his finger brushes over your clit and draws out a moan that you bury in his chest.

But his other hand finds your shoulder, pushing you back, before he nudges up under your chin. “No. It’s just us two out here. I wanna hear you,” he says, his voice so hot, smoldering in your ears.

He rubs your clit again, and there’s nothing to hide behind, no muffler to conceal the gasp and moan that follow. Your pleasure is completely on display, and Ghost seems more than happy to draw it out further, admiring it from every angle. He draws circles around your clit, teasing you, adding more fuel to that particular fire—the irony of feeling this way in a tower meant to watch for fires isn’t lost on you.

His finger goes lower, trailing down to your opening, going back and forth several times. The friction is damn near unbearable, and it takes every iota of self control not to grind on his hand. But your hips roll outside your control, and he catches the movement with another low rumble of a laugh.

“There somethin’ you want?” he asks, index finger running a low, lazy circle around your entrance.

You nod, shuddering when he only just dips the tip of his finger in. “Ghost, please.”

“Please what?”

You hear yourself whine, a sound you never thought to hear coming out of your own damn mouth. This man makes you feel ridiculous. And he also probably gets off on hearing you say stuff like this. “Finger me,” you say, exasperated and aroused. “Please, for fuck’s sake.”

“That’s not very pretty,” he teases, and you’re very close to shoving him off the bed. But then he pushes his finger in, and any retort you were set to say or do dies immediately, consumed in the wildfire he’s ignited and fed. He presses his lips to your cheek as you moan, now very unapologetically rolling your hips against his hand as he fingers you, per request. You feel a second finger insinuating against you, and then hear Ghost whisper, “Okay?” against your ear.

“Yes. Oh my God, yes, please.”

“Much prettier,” he says, and the second finger joins the first.

The thought that he’s done this before only just brushes your thoughts as he hooks his fingers in a ‘come here’ gesture, sending hot sparks of pleasure running through your body, using your nervous system like an electrical conduit. You rock against his hand, moaning and gasping as Ghost kisses your neck, scraping his teeth over your tender skin.

“Good girl,” he says, breath hot over your shoulder, before he presses a kiss against your clavicle. How his kisses can feel so chaste while he relentlessly fingerfucks you is beyond your comprehension. The praise just makes it better, making that hot coil inside of you turn tighter, ready to be sprung on a hair trigger.

Ghost picks up on that, too. He suddenly doubles down on the effort, fingers thrusting into you at a much more rapid pace, the wet sound of his hand against your pussy practically deafening. Only his murmurs of praise against your ear register above that.

You’re reduced to a repetitive litany of ‘god’, ‘fuck, ‘please’, and Ghost’s name. All those months without seeing people and having only your hand to keep you company make this oncoming orgasm all the more vibrant and bright, a flare launched high into the air with a huge charge set to explode.

Your hips arch up, and Ghost hooks his fingers again, saying, “Come for me,” in a firm command tone.

And you are not one to ignore a command.

You come hard, crying out and arching off the bed, toes digging into the mattress, hands grasping for literally anything solid, including Ghost. He fucks you through it, coaxing your release out with the finesse of someone defusing an explosive. You come down in fits and starts, catching on little plateaus of pleasure along the way, moaning all the while. Finally, you go practically boneless on the bed, and only then does Ghost relent and pull his fingers away.

You hear him chuckle, a dry and throaty rasp of sound that makes you feel hot all over.

“What’s so funny?” you say, although your words are slurred as endorphins run relay races through your body.

He holds his hand up so that the firelight catches it, and you very plainly see how wet his whole hand is. To show it off, he presses his fingers together, then spreads them out, showing thin strings bridging between them.

“Oh, God,” you squeak, covering your face with your hands and fighting back a round of giggles. “I am so sorry.”

“Nothing to be sorry for, sweetheart,” he says, clearly pleased. He reaches somewhere behind him, presumably to wipe his hand off on the side of the bed.

And sweetheart. This man is going to kill you, and it has nothing to do with his occupation.

You tilt your head up to kiss him again, sighing against his lips and pressing yourself close. His right hand finds the side of your face, residual dampness from your orgasm still very present. Except he treats it like a trophy, dragging it down to your neck so you can feel it.

It’s also impossible to ignore his arousal prodding against your hip. Not that you intended to ignore it.

Before you can think and reason out an appropriate response, your primal brain takes hold. “Can I ride you?” you ask, and only after it’s said do you feel any kind of horror at outright asking. He purposefully arranged the two of you so you couldn’t see his face, like a Montana wilderness version of Eros and Psyche. Now you’re asking for him to lay on his back, exposed to you in every way.

He’s silent, and you’re about to apologize and suggest spooning or something when he says, “Sure.”

You blink, almost certain you misheard. “Say what?”

“You can, yeah.”

“What about the—”

It’s his turn to kiss you quiet, taking the opportunity to pull you close again and roll on his back. You meet the movement with your own, straddling his hips and feeling his erection press against your sex with insistence. You keep kissing Ghost with your eyes closed, finding his hand next to his head with your own and weaving your fingers together. His grip on your hand is firm—a solid, warm reassurance.

You turn your head, keeping your eyes closed. “I can keep my eyes shut if you want,” you tell him, only to feel his other hand come up and run over your back.

“You can look,” he says.

It feels like a point of no return now. Seeing his face, knowing that a person who this morning was still a stranger with a codename is now going to be very real—you’re almost breathless at the thought.

Slowly, you sit up while astride him, and open your eyes.

He’s— Well, handsome doesn’t seem like a well-rounded enough word. You were more on the mark with the Eros and Psyche metaphor. Firelight and shadow play across sharp features, making him look otherworldly. There’s still greasepaint around his eyes, which makes his gaze all the more intense. But the intensity is mitigated by a plush mouth, a distinctive nose, and a firm jaw. His light hair catches the warm ember-gold hue from the fire. All his features put together make for a face that you want burnt into your memory.

“Jesus, Ghost. You hide this on purpose?” you ask.

He smiles, and it’s only hearing him speak that connects the Ghost you know to the man underneath you. “Yes,” he says. “And it’s Simon.”

You must look owlish, eyes wide, blinking, damn sure you misheard again.

Ghost seems pleased by your reaction, reaching up with his free hand to brush hair out of your face. “That’s my name. My actual name.”

“Simon,” you repeat. A human name to a human face. There’s some poetry in there, but you’re too dazzled to work through it.

“Sounds good when you say it.”

You preen a little, then lean down and kiss him, savoring the sensation for everything it’s worth. And you know he read your name on the dossier, heard it from the other rangers—still, you whisper it into his ear like a secret, and he repeats it back to you in his low voice, accent curling around it perfectly.

Yeah, you’re absolutely going to ride this man until sunrise.

You reach down and take his cock into your hand, stroking it a few times and pressing your thumb up under the exposed head. Ghost—Simon moans and tilts his head back, watching you under half-lidded eyes. Carefully, you go up on your knees and align yourself with him, slowly lowering down and adjusting as needed. He’s big, which you expected from everything else about him. But it’s not a painful fit; if anything, it feels damn good.

“Fuck,” he breathes, hand stroking over your hip as he looks to where you’re joined. “You have no idea what you look like right now.”

“Neither do you,” you reply, very much enjoying the angle. He fills you up completely, the strain of him just a pleasurable ache. You moan at the sensation as you experimentally rock on top of him. “Ohhh, I am so glad you got me off first.”

“What can I say? I’m chivalrous,” he replies, although it sounds a little strained as you move your hips again.

“That’s what you call it?”

Another roll, and he looks like he’s seconds from thrusting up into you. But he’s being conscientious, letting you adjust and go at your own pace. His eyes flutter closed, and you almost want to ask him to keep them open so you can enjoy their expressiveness.

“Something, something about being a British gentleman,” he mutters, and you can’t help but laugh. Apparently, that sensation’s pretty good for him; he shudders beneath you and keeps his hand braced on your hip.

Without his mask, you want to put him through the paces of reaction, committing each expression to memory, cataloging them for future use. So you go up on your knees again and come off his cock, then bring yourself back down. You do it a few more times, watching Simon’s expression with enormous interest, the pleasure and arousal doing fabulous things to his face.

He moans your name, and you’re definitely going to use that as fantasy fodder in the future.

Your earlier orgasm gives you plenty of lubrication to work with, and so you start to fuck yourself on him in earnest. In return, you’re rewarded with a low moan and a quiet, “Fuuuuck.”

The friction feels way too goddamn good, setting up another explosive charge inside of you as Simon starts meeting the bounce of your hips with thrusts of his own. Two opposing forces working toward the same goal, and it feels incredible.

You start to rock back on his cock, using his upward thrust as momentum to hit you just right. It’s the perfect angle, apparently for both of you, as Simon’s now breathing heavily, sweat a fine sheen on his skin.

“Yes, Simon, fuck me,” you whisper, beyond turned on at the wet sound of him fucking into you. You can’t tell if it’s hearing his name like that, the command, or both that make him really lean into this, but he’s pushing up hard, groaning and pulling you down so you’re pressed to his chest.

You wonder how long it’s been for him, too—briefly thinking oh god what if he’s got someone back home and I’m a fucking homewrecker before one particular upward thrust makes you cry out, clenching down on him in a way that’s audibly very good for him. You turn your head enough to see your joined hands, and when you squeeze his hand, you don’t feel any rings on his fingers. He does squeeze back, though, and it just feels like another reassurance.

There’s no way to keep track of time, and you really wish this could go on forever. The heat generated between the two of you is scorching, all-encompassing, a forest fire caught on the cusp of the lookout tower and reported to no one but yourselves.

His pace stutters a moment, the first hint that he’s very close. He releases his grip on your hand to grab at your other hip, pushing you up and off of him before you resolutely sit down, taking his cock in full and drawing a sharp gasp out of both of you.

“No,” you pant. “No, I have an IUD. You can— Ah, fuck— You can come inside me, Simon.”

“Oh, bloody fucking Christ,” he breathes, eyes wide and beautiful. “You’re sure?”

In response, you rock back against him, squeezing hard around his cock. “Affirmative,” you say, then lean down and kiss him again. “Very hard copy.”

And that’s enough to tip him right off the edge. He thrusts once, twice, and then he moans against your mouth, one of his hands going up to card through your hair, pressing you so close to him that you can feel his heart beating against your chest. You feel him come inside you, a pulse of heat, a sense of fullness. The room seems to take on new, brighter colors, and when you look at Simon, he looks fucking euphoric. The firelight gives him a look that’s like a touch of divinity, a golden cast over his face and body.

You take your time getting off of him, enjoying the feeling of him inside you too much. That, and there’s no bathroom, no shower—the comedown also means that reality’s a little too close at hand.

Simon catches his breath, hand loosely stroking your hair, and he presses a kiss to your temple before letting his head fall back onto the pillow. “Holy fuck,” he says.

You grin and nod against his shoulder, then slowly pull yourself off his softening cock, causing both of you to groan, albeit far weaker than before. You collapse onto the narrow bed beside him, nuzzling up close to him, hand on his chest, as he pulls the blankets up over you and wraps an arm around your shoulder. Your foreheads touch, and you listen to his breaths even out, his heart rate firm and steady under your hand.

“Probably too late to ask if you have a partner, huh?” you say, smiling as you run your thumb over his skin.

“If it’s any consolation, I don’t, and I also feel stupid for not asking.”

You look up at him, the orange line of firelight tracing his features. “I don’t either. You’re good.”

He smiles, and you set that expression in your memory, drawing it in great detail. “My job kind of gets in the way.”

“Mine, too,” you reply, tracing spirals over his chest with your index finger. “It’s hard to get a date when you live out in the middle of nowhere.”

“Didn’t want to go check out the paramilitary extremists next door?”

You grimace and hide your face against his chest, shaking your head. “Gross. No.”

His chest shakes with laughter, and it’s wonderful.

---

Morning comes too quick, dawning cold and gray, reminding you that there’s a whole weird world outside the confines of the lookout tower. You and Simon get up, both aching very pleasantly, exchanging one too-brief kiss before his radio goes off.

“Ghost, how copy?” Price’s voice comes through in a crackle.

“Fuck,” Simon hisses, getting up and crossing the room to his radio. You at least can enjoy that he does so fully nude. He picks up the radio and keys it, scratching at his stubble as he responds, “At location 29-B and holding, Captain,” he says, his voice a dry scratch of sound. “The ranger had a medical issue.”

“Is she alright? Do you need a med evac?”

“Negative,” he replies. “We’re moving in about an hour.”

“Rog’. Keep me posted.”

“Will do, sir.”

An hour. You groan and fall back on the bed, staring up at the bare wood ceiling, decades worth of cobwebs in the corners. Simon falls back into bed beside you, cupping your face and drawing you into another firm kiss. Then, something dawns on you, and you lean back, looking over his handsome face in the morning light.

“When you say we’re moving in an hour, do you mean moving out, or just moving?”

His brows go up, slightly crooked smile on his face. “I think I didn’t specify, Ranger,” he says. “Do you have a preference?”

You laugh, leaning in close and pressing your forehead against his again. “Affirmative,” you say.

Simon laughs and shakes his head. “You could just say yes.”

#simon ghost riley #simon riley #modern warfare ii #simon riley x reader #simon ghost riley x reader #prompt fill #VERY big prompt fill oh god i'm so sorry #i've spent most of the day on this!!#and it's not edited yet because it's 10pm now and i'm very tired #did i have cody in mind as the model for the reader? yes. do i kinda ship her and ghost now? YEAH

2K notes · View notes