#green address bar

[moondirti]

jigsaws

— surgeon! simon riley x resident! reader

angst. anxiety. panic attacks. neurosurgical procedures. medical setting. mean simon. d/s undertones. 3.3k wc

There's a reason no one likes working with him.

Tough. Censorious, or hard to please – whispered wearily by nurses with permanent distaste etched into their crow's feet. He scathes anyone not accustomed to his abrasive exterior; a talus pile of whetted rocks, poised to flay you open should you take the plunge so confidently. Rubs your skin raw, brutally worms his way into your flesh, infamously bars rescue, allowing only saltwater to cradle your open wounds in the aftermath. Nothing about his criticism is comforting, not in the way an attending's support should be.

It sounds inflated. Excessive. Your intern year, you let the horror stories float you by as though they were nothing more than dust motes in an old room. To be expected, no? Hospital's are brutal for even the briefest of visitors, let alone a man who's worked here twenty years. In hindsight, you see that it's a type of discredit only the very fortunate can claim; inaugural residents and medical directors, those who do not have to deal with the virulent terror himself. You know better, now. Really.

Still, it feels as though you're being punished.

The air in the operating room is heavy. Clotted by a thick sense of unease. It's never like this, usually. Though the smell of burnt bone, blood, and remnant antiseptic is always a force to be reckoned with, you've gotten very good at shunning your nose for favour of your other senses. To tune into the vital monitor's beep, or the distinctions between this lump of amorphous tissue versus that lump of amorphous tissue. Reinterpreting them based on the plans you revised while scrubbing up, focused fingers around delicate tools prodding. Cutting.

Reliable perception is fine work. You've honed your personal ability the best you could.

The first lesson Dr. Riley teaches you, and rather gratuitously at that, is it takes just one person to throw it off kilter.

There's an impossible itch right where your mask hooks over your ears, latched nastily onto your scalp. Nothing you can address physically (sterility before comfort), though you're aware that its source isn't so easy as to scratch away. Figurative, then. An unwavering neg, pointed by a pair of cold eyes in your periphery. You're tempted to look up, throw off his stare with one of your own, but you think he wants you distracted.

So, you shift your weight and centre the electrocautery to another portion of abnormal growth. It comes apart like stale bread.

You haven't felt this micromanaged since medical school, when professors would loom over your shoulder and mark the clumsy way you sutured incisions shut. But where your grade had been on the line then, it's a person's life now. You seem to be the only one privy to that fact, or perhaps the one surgeon who cares.

Because Dr. Riley watches you over his wire-rimmed specs, grunting ambiguously under his breath like you can't hear him standing just a foot away. Maddening in that it's quiet, idle. To question it would be putting the burden of critique on yourself. To let it continue–

Sweat pools beneath your collar. The spotlights don't help, either, heat lamps on your roasting nerves, highlighting the wet sheen of your temple to whoever cares enough to notice (just him). Focus feels a vain pursuit, attention zeroing in and out of control. You're caught in the violent dance, swept away, water beneath your feet, between the operation and everything else. Everything else, like the ground that suddenly pushes too hard beneath you. The walls, stretching further and further away. There'd be nothing to catch you should you fall – a possibility that gains traction by the second, your vision spotting with exhaustion.

You almost lose it before a flash of green reels you back in.

It's instinctual. Entrenched response to a colour that only ever means one thing. Looking up at the neuronavigation, you watch as the silhouette of your apparatus veers dangerously close to the patient's motor cortex, highlighted in nausea-inducing neon for maximum visibility. Dr. Riley's presence darkens the space next to the screen, a point of singularity that consumes anything within its event horizon. Though it's the last thing you want to do, you coast a hesitant look over to him.

A surgical gown is meant to be ill-fitting. You find he fills the fabric in a manner antithetical to that design, shoulders stretching it tight across his neck, tree-trunk arms drawing tense pleats around his joints. Even his cap, wrapped smoothly around his forehead, ripples with every shift of his brow. Doubled-up gloves warped to the contours of his hands, thick fingers and knuckles. You watch the way they twitch, distorting the latex like a swift fish underwater, and swallow the stone lodged in your throat.

"I can't read your mind, Doctor." Your attending snaps when you take too long to elaborate. His voice is rough, a sucking chest wound in the sterile air of the OR – too raw, natural in a way these halls don't see. You squirm uncomfortably in the force majeure. "What's the hold up?"

"Um-" You pull away from the glioblastoma, your patient's head remaining tightly in place by a positioning frame. "I'm concerned about resecting this part. It's all wound up in healthy tissue, right up against the motor cortex. A wrong move could cause permanent damage."

Dr. Riley doesn't move. Instead, his blank stare flicks down to the surgical site, digesting the truth for himself. The anesthesiologist beside you holds her breath. You wish you had it in you to do the same, but your lungs already wheeze for oxygen as it is.

Somewhere, dim and timid in the recesses of your mind, it occurs to you that this isn't normal. No attending should actively foster an environment where help is punished, especially not while being paid a hefty salary to do exactly that. A dour attitude is one thing – everyone has their days – but you know nurses with greater burdens that boast smiles and little stickers on their ID badges, running on three hours sleep while dealing with bedpans and lewd comments all day. Your search for guidance, then, is certainly not the worst thing in the world.

(No matter how stern the look he gives you is.)

"You need to make a decision. Hesitation in the OR can be just as fatal."

Great load of good that does.

But it was to be expected. Pre-op, you sat down with him to discuss the acceptable margins, and got as much out of that conversation as you did this one. Review the imaging. You've been given the functional mapping for a reason. Never mind that it was standard procedure to check-in regardless; he handles you like you're a child playing dress-up, waving around tools too complex for your grubby hands to operate. Asking him anything is validating what he believes, like kindling wood into a roaring fire. Your mouth smacks to the taste of ash.

The discoloured mass growing off your patient's brain seems to glare back at you. Ugly, yellow, and stained in a coating of blood, severed from its sisters that now lay dead on an adjacent table. It kills you to let it stick, to progress to hemostasis with an increased risk of recurrence. Should this individual ever come in again, their pain would be on your hands – a real possibility you cannot reckon with, for all you know how devastating a toll it would have. The last time it happened, you promised yourself you would never allow it again.

(A mistake that even the greenest of medical students know not to make. Promises are null in this field. They'll blow out like bad tattoos, ink smudged under skin. Patients die, families grieve, doctor's bear the guilt – to fool anyone about it would be doing a greater disservice. Conciliation is not your job. It is not a duty you owe.

Not even to yourself.)

"I… I think we should stop here to avoid any potential issues." You resolve, lips pursed painfully tight. Your hands shake, bullet of emotion ricocheting within your ribs. Your nerves are shot, you tell yourself. It'll take time to compose them, time you don't have. Better to shelf this, then. You're doing the right thing by wrapping it neatly for another day, if that day should ever come.

Dr. Riley huffs.

Or, not.

"CUSA," He clips to the scrub nurse, who shakes as they place the tool into his impatient hand. It's all you can do to watch in horror as your attending commandeers your case, addressing the portion of concern with offensive expertise. The activity on the neuronavigation doesn't so much as blink as he emulsifies the target tissue, tumored cells dissociating from the surrounding matter like butter.

And it isn't a learning opportunity – hardly anything at all when he washes the area in saline solution, manoeuvre over as quickly as it started. Instead, your attention sticks to the casual disrespect he felt was necessary. Snubbing your insight like it was dirt beneath his shoes, too competent to even address your error with words. Humiliation rips like a wave up your neck, washing your ears and cheeks in balmy warmth. Underneath it all, settled like wet sand on the shore, you find that it is not your bruised ego that's left, but rather a wilder, darker thing.

Shame at having failed him.

(How obnoxiously redundant.)

"Think you can manage the duraplasty, Doctor?" Derision distorts his expression into something crueller than his usual indifference. You hate to think it suits him.

"Yes."

It's only an hour later that you're granted the chance to break down.

After wound closure, scrubbing out and postoperative discussions with the patient's family, you think you'd have moved on. Things like this happen – it's what necessitates post-graduate training in the first place – and you're certainly not irredeemable for having faltered on the line. At least, that's what the logic delineates. It mutters its assurances like dogma in your head, insisting that because it is rational, it is right. Any other day, you would be inclined to listen to it.

But that's the thing about being strung out beyond measure. The only sentiment with teeth, sharp and stubborn, is anguish. Indignity. Self-turned anger. You replay the scene like something new will come of it, a silver lining or a divot to pin the blame in anything but yourself. The scalp staples back into place, the dressings wrapped tight. The hibiclens soap lathers up to your elbows, your skin itchy as it dries. The family is thankful, little tears dotting their eyes. The storm passes, waters rippling into quiet calm. And still–

In the wake of it all, you're irrevocably changed. Raw.

There's a little closet for occasions like these. You're relieved to find it empty, void of anything but rusted buckets and mildewed mops. It's a welcome crowd, certainly, borderline claustrophobic compared to the wide floors of the OR, and you sink to the floors within the tight, comforting embrace. Immediately, hot tears spring to your eyes, rabbit heart racing along hollowed ribs. Emotion rushes your throat, tumultuous and messy, piling half-formed grievances on top of one another until they form an intricate, prodigious beast.

Impossible to tackle, worse to tame.

Could you have done anything different?

Is there a reason why he hates you?

Are you cut out for this?

Is this worth never getting a good night's rest?

Do you deserve any of the opportunities you've been given?

Would they be better off in the hands of someone more competent?

No answer claims any. Unresolved, they wriggle underneath your flesh, feeding on the muscle keeping you intact. Tunnelling through your marrow, soft matter fattening them up. You feel as though you're shifting to accommodate them, anatomy morphing into an ugly sack of dermis and maggots. True reflection of a degraded conceit.

The dark, at least, remains omnipresent. Clean against your skin, or purifying, in some odd way. If there is no witness to your misery, then perhaps you can pretend it doesn't exist. That it doesn't affect you as much as it does, or how you won't be thinking of it during every case to come–

A knock rattles you out of your reasoning.

"Hey." Kyle's voice is soft on the other side of the door.

You make your best effort to wipe the wetness from your cheeks, warbling a quiet come in to your chief resident. Fluorescent light intercedes on your little sanctum, spotlighting your crumpled frame. The pitying grimace that twists his face is enough indication that you did not do a good job at hiding your affliction. You must look pathetic.

"We missed you at lunch."

"Wasn't hungry." You sniff, taking his hand to pull yourself up.

"That bad, huh?"

"Worse than you could've prepared me for."

He snickers. It alleviates some of the weight off your chest, this. Conversation to remind yourself that there is more to the world than your angst.

(Only some.)

"It'll get easier, I promise. He's harsher on the juniors."

"I think that's not for you to say. Tell me, has there ever been a superior who didn't absolutely adore you?" Your voice sobers to a close resemblance of Laswell's. "Good work on the diagnosis, Dr. Garrick. I'll admit, I wouldn't have caught that myself."

The man in question lightly shoves your arm, wrinkling his nose in distaste. "Okay, hush. I get it. Still–"

"You don't have to do this, you know." You smile until it gets too much to sustain, then turn to gather your white coat from behind the front desk. The note of positivity his companionship brings is fickle. Appreciated, but not enough to balm the sore blisters of Dr. Riley's rebuff. That'll take the weekend, likely, holed up in your room with nothing but a cuppa and old How I Met Your Mother reruns. "I'm fine, really. I'd rather just continue about my rounds and forget he exists."

But Kyle sighs. Sighs, and bites his cheek in that same way he does when he has to deliver bad news to intakes.

You blanch. "Don't–"

"He came looking for you in the mess hall. Something about the report." The unsteady composure you've built within yourself immediately dissipates, as though it were nothing more than an absorbable stitch. "You know better than to skip out on post-op briefs."

Your voice is weak when you speak again. Breathless. "I'm sorry."

"I don't blame you, darl. But he wants to see you in his office, now." Kyle's face is sympathetic. It doesn't do you much good. "I'll cover your rounds in the meantime."

"Thanks."

And despite your true gratitude, the words ring as empty.

"Sit."

Like a marionette suspended on string, you do as you're told.

Dr. Riley's office is barren of any personal adornment, cast in the same austere template initially given to him. There's a leather couch tucked prim under the window, throw pillow flat on one end. A wire file organiser sits atop his desk, papers fighting for space between the flimsy bookmarks. Pens in a cup, a stapler by his keyboard. All ordinary, inconclusive belongings, that which you sift through like a ravenous creature, slobbering for clues at the life your attending leads.

Ironically, the one thing that offers any inference is an empty photo frame, faced towards the rest of the room, away from him.

You don't like the uncomfortable feeling it inflicts.

"The family." He levels a bored look to you, that which hardens the longer you take to address his ambiguous question. In the harsh lights of the operating room, his eyes looked nearly black. Now, sunlight paints a clearer picture. Taupe and sepia, flecks of various browns brightened by the pale blue underline of his mask. "Doctor."

Floundering, you search for the clouded memory of your discussion with the patient's relatives. It ripples, faintly, between your revels in self-pity. If you needed any censure of your disordered priorities, that is surely enough.

(Funny how he continues to criticise you, even unintentionally.)

"Good. Hopeful. I told them you managed to resect the entire thing, and detailed the plan going forward." It's as though your hands are compelled to move by electric shock, charged full of destructive energy. You rub your face, twiddle your thumbs, scratch the armrests of your chair; trying any measure to defuse the bomb you feel ticking beneath your chest. "They give their thanks."

All the while, he remains steady before you.

A moment of tense silence clears. "I just submitted the operation report." He says, derailing the conversation to what you suspect has always been its purpose. "I mentioned your inability to close the surgery."

You damn near choke on your spit. He notices, of course, and raises a challenging brow.

"I- I'm sorry, but that isn't what... I was perfectly able to complete it." Your protest carries none of the strength you will it to. As is always the case around him, you're made to sound like a defiant student, instead. Pouting and stomping your foot, inflating your strict sense of justice to an occasion that does not call for it.

"Oh?" You know you're not crazy for thinking that way, either. He speaks in faux conciliatory tones, brows knitting together as his argument waters down to one he thinks you can digest. "Would you rather I have said you refused, then?"

You shake your head, staring down at your lap. You really, really don't want to be here. Is it worth it, then? To stand your ground when the worst that will come of his misstatement is an inquiry from above? The strength has long since left you. Now, it is a matter of bloodletting. Leeching the struggle before it festers into something greater, a malady you cannot control.

"No."

"Make up your mind, Doctor." He hums, grabbing a protein bar from his drawer before standing. He doesn't have to round his desk to tower over you, but he does. Heat radiates off him in waves, blushing your neck so that when you look up at him, owlish, your face flares with stockpiled fervor.

You wonder if it could be read as desire.

"You know best." Shutting down has never been so disencumbering. Acquiescence, upending an ivory flag with the knowledge that you don't have to bleed any longer.

His lashes flutter. When you blink, they seem closer than they were before.

"That's right." Dr. Riley practically fucking purrs, chest rumbling thoughtfully at your chosen response. A pressure settles between your legs, bloating desperately into that bundle of nerves that inhibits all reason. "So next time, if you have a problem with the way I do things, you'll address it to me directly instead of snivelling like a bloody prat. That way, maybe I'll explain it to you, too."

A nod is not enough.

"Yes, Dr. Riley."

He cocks his head, fiddling with the wrapping in his hands. His fingers are scarred, brutish, though they tear the foil with all the precision in the world. Your acceptance does not feel nearly as final, expectation thickening the space between you. The title startles to your tongue, then. Novel. Unsure. You haven't called anyone it since secondary. You do not know whether he'll take to it kindly at all.

"Yes, sir."

But his eyes crinkle at the corners, pleased, and it more than fills the hole he harrowed out from you earlier. Your reaction to the approval should be documented, given a name and listed somewhere on the DSM-5.

(Nothing about it feels healthy.)

"Good." He pushes off the edge of his desk, tapping a knuckle to your chin. Instinctively, you open your mouth. The protein bar fits between your teeth, pasty and dry, but his pulse vibrates near your lips and–

You bite down anyway.

(But oh, does it feel good.)

[masterlist]

[gloomwitchwrites]

Easy Access

Task Force 141 x Female Reader

Content & Warnings: explicit sexual content, canon-typical swearing, oral sex (female & male receiving), F/M/M/M/M, unprotected piv (wrap it up irl), multiple creampie, multiple orgasms, group sex, praise, restraints/restraining

Word Count: 3.7k

A short dress is your idea of an invitation for a bit of fun.

ao3 // taglist // main masterlist // spring 2024 masterlist

Under the shade of a tree, you inhale deeply, savoring the fresh spring air.

This is a party. A gathering. A break. A reward for a job well done.

But it’s not like you’re the one in the line of fire. That isn’t your job. Your one and only endeavor at work is making sure Kate Laswell has everything she needs while at the office. Field work is not your specialty, and you’re thankful for that.

You make phone calls. You bring Laswell her coffee. You keep her appointments and meetings. It’s office work. Clerical. But it keeps you safe, fed, and paid.

Amongst the crowd are familiar and unfamiliar faces. There has to be at least sixty people here in total, and yet the space doesn’t feel cramped. You were given an address, and this has to be someone’s backyard, but you couldn’t say who. And if anyone knows, they aren’t saying.

To your left is a large wood patio. It expands across almost the entirety of the back of the house. Most of it is covered by two connecting pergolas. Underneath the pergolas is a massive buffet and open bar. People loiter there, talking and laughing. The patio opens up to a large green space with a small pond and garden near the back fence. The majority of the space is open but there are a few tables and chairs set up. Music comes from speakers you can’t see, and lights line the fence.

It’s all very pleasant, but crowds are not your thing.

You scan the crowd but no one is looking in your direction. Bringing your plastic cup up to your lips, you scan the crowd one more time. Your gaze falls on Captain John Price. He’s having a conversation with someone you don’t recognize, and out of uniform, he’s even more handsome.

There is no silly, floppy hat or beanie. No windbreaker or boots. Price wears a button up shirt, the top two undone and slightly open with the sleeves rolled up to his elbows. He appears so casual and calm, a cool sexiness that instantly sparks heat low in your belly.

Your cup is almost to your lips, pausing as you gaze at him. In this moment—this fleeting second—Price’s gaze finds you. He winks. Smirks. Returns to the conversation.

Your heart drops into your stomach, and you nearly drench the front of your linen dress with red punch.

Glancing away, you only find the rest of Price’s team. Kyle Garrick, John MacTavish, and Simon Riley loiter near the deck. Kyle and Johnny talk, their faces animated and engaged. Simon stands with his arms crossed, but he’s not listening.

He’s staring at you, those dark eyes of his piercing you down to your marrow.

It’s silly, really, how all four of them make your stomach flip. How they each in turn seem to awaken something dark and primal in your blood.

While it doesn’t shame you in the least, you have flirted with all of them. It’s hard not to. Price is the one you see the most, and always makes an effort to stop by to see you if he has business with Laswell. Kyle, Johnny, and Simon all have to go out of their way to see you, but they do it. Often.

And it’s not just the flirting or sultry glances. You’ve allowed them each a touch or two. Of the four, you gave Johnny permission to kiss you. It was chaste. Quick. Nothing that curls the toes. But it turned his face beet-red.

But being with any of them is just a fantasy. It’s unprofessional. And you don’t need to know what Laswell might think of you for taking any further action with them.

Sighing, you turn away from Simon’s penetrating stare. You knock back the red punch, the alcohol in it hardly registering on your tongue. Removing yourself is the best solution. Perhaps you could hide in the bathroom for a bit. Splash some cold water on your face.

Depositing the empty plastic cup in the nearest trashcan, you head for the patio, passing the buffet and open bar, striding inside through the open kitchen doors. You nod in acknowledgement to a few people there, and they match it, but they immediately return to their conversations, not all that interested in your presence.

The nearest bathroom is just off the kitchen, but you want to hide. You aim for the hallway with the intent of entering the bathroom at the very end. No one is really using it, and it’s the perfect place to catch your breath.

As you reach out for the golden bathroom handle, a large hand shoots out, encasing your wrist, haling all movement. You turn sharply, ready to bite back at the man who decided it’s okay to touch you without your permission, only to freeze.

Your eyes widen as you realize who the hand belongs to.

“John,” you whisper. You didn’t even hear him approach. He completely snuck up on you.

“Where you off to?” he asks softly. He looks a little concerned, but there is something else under all of that.

While you want to answer his question, to give in a bit, you don’t enjoy being grabbed.

“Is that your business?” you reply, arching one eyebrow, chest heaving slightly as your heartrate quickens.

John’s head tilts slightly, his gaze assessing for a moment. The two of you are locked in, and you’re not sure if you’ve completely fumbled the exchange. John releases you from his stare but he doesn’t release your wrist.

Instead, he glances over his shoulder, and you follow the movement. Right there, in the hall, are three familiar people.

Kyle and Johnny casually lean against the wall while Ghost stands in the middle, watching the opening of the hallway.

You’re not frightened. Not afraid. If anything, you’re becoming slick between the thighs. There is a reason they’re here, and you want to explore what it is.

Price’s gaze returns to you and his gaze is soft. “Do you want it to be my business?”

You press in a bit, and Price’s mouth forms into a self-satisfied grin. “Does it include all four of you?” you counter.

“It can.”

His grip tightens slightly. The hold is almost desperately possessive.

What the hell. You should just do it. Have some fucking fun for once. If anything, this will be the one and only time. Get this ridiculous need out of your system all at once and be done with them.

“Then make it your business,” you murmur.

Price’s grip remains firm as he pulls you away from the bathroom door. He spins you around, his free hand reaching out to open the door that’s across the hall from the bathroom. You hear the creak of the hinges as it swings inward, and then you’re walking backward into the room, Price herding you along.

Behind him follows Kyle. And behind Kyle, Johnny. Then, finally, Simon. He’s the last to enter the room and the one that shuts the door, locking it without even glancing at it. He leans against it, crossing his arms over his chest.

Once the door is shut, you expect Price to release you. But he doesn’t. He keeps hold of your wrist, drawing you against him, pinning your arm to your chest. With his other hand, Price clasps your chin between thumb and forefinger, keeping your face pointed in his direction.

“You want to back out?” he asks. “Just say the word. We’ll stop.”

Do you want to stop? No. Your blood is buzzing, nearly burning beneath your skin. You want to see where this goes, and how much you can take before you’re unable to understand reality.

“Nervous, Captain?”

He laughs, throaty and low before his lips come dangerously close to yours. “No, love. I like that you’re willing to share.”

Someone shifts behind Price’s shoulder. Your gaze starts to drift but he jerks you back to attention.

“You’ve been teasing us with that dress,” murmurs Price.

Releasing your wrist, Price drops his hand to lightly tug on the skirt of the linen dress you wear.

It’s incredibly comfortable. The color an off-white. It stops at about mid-lower thigh, a bit above the knee. The top of the dress is solid fabric back and front except for the straps which are crisscrossed, leaving your shoulders and arms mostly bare.

“Didn’t do it on purpose,” you reply just as softly.

Price makes a sound in his throat that goes straight to your pussy. “Somehow I believe that,” he chuckles, fisting your dress even tighter. It only pulls you closer, and even like this, you feel his hardness.

You’re so focused on Price that when another pair of hands join his, you almost jump. Price eases his hold on you a bit, and your body twists in the direction of these new hands. It’s Johnny. He has one hand on the back of your neck while the other plays with the hem of your dress. It’s just a gentle toying, one you don’t entirely notice until his fingers are slipping under it, brushing against your bare thigh.

“You want this? All of us?” Johnny sounds skeptical.

Your lips part at his question, the very image of them taking you one after the other only making you slicker.

You nod, chest heaving. “Yes.”

Price’s thumb brushes over your bottom lip, drawing your attention back to him. There is a pause—a second of breathing—and then he releases you. He walks backward toward the door as Simon moves away from it and Kyle closes in.

Johnny sidesteps, placing himself directly behind you. His hands slide over you, finding new homes. He wraps one around your waist, hand splaying wide over your pelvis. His other reaches down to dip beneath the hem of your dress just shy of your left leg.

You believe that Johnny is going to slide his hand between your clenched thighs. But he doesn’t. His arm hooks under your thigh, pressing up, lifting your foot from the floor. You’re forced to balance on your right foot. You instinctually reach up, grasping the back of Johnny’s neck.

But with Johnny’s support, you don’t topple over. His strength keeps you grounded.

With his hand on your pelvis, Johnny begins to bunch the fabric in his fist, lifting it away from your body. It is slow, almost agonizing in how all of their gazes are fixed on that one point.

You don’t need to see to know when you’re bare. You feel the air against you.

You are open for their inspection, and they do not appear disappointed. If anything, they’re fucking hungry.

“She’s wearing fucking nothing under there,” growls Simon, almost like he’s upset but doesn’t want to be.

“Teasing us on purpose,” says Price not to anyone in particular but to reiterate what he said early, that the dress is a tease, and this is just one more thing to add to it.

Simon moves, striding toward you like a predator. Slowly, his hand clasps the front of your neck, and you instinctually arch into Johnny. Kyle sinks to his knees before you.

“Gaz is gonna eat that pretty pussy,” murmurs Johnny in your ear. His breath is a whisper, sending a shiver down your spine. “And then we’re all going to fuck you. One after the other. Fill you with our cum. You want that, love?”

You crave them like a nourishing meal. Accepting won’t hurt. It’ll only fill the gap, satiating the thirst that boils in your blood.

“Yes,” you affirm, putting all the control in their hands now.

“Good girl,” growls Simon, gently squeezing, those dark eyes of his locking in on your parted lips.

Kyle’s hands are on your thighs. They rotate. Squeeze. Slide toward your hip bone.

“Look at that,” he says, absently. Kyle’s fingers lightly brush over your sex. Then, he is parting you with two fingers, and in that glide, you can hear just how wet you are.

“Hardly touched you,” croons Kyle, his mouth dangerously close to what’s aching for him.

He leans in, and goes in for a taste. It’s tentative. Testing. Just a little touch of his tongue against flesh. But it’s enough for your pussy to clench, for you to whimper as if he’s completely pressed his mouth to you.

“Fucking hell,” mutters Johnny. He nuzzles your neck, gaze downward.

You’re watching too. Everyone is. There is no point in hiding anything. You are spread open.

Kyle’s tongue dips again, this time tracing a line between his two fingers. He starts at your entrance, teasing it before moving upward to circle your clit slowly. He is languid about it. Taking his time like there isn’t a party happening just outside the door.

“Oh, you’re sweet, love,” he murmurs before going in fully.

There is no tracing of his tongue. It is only steady strokes and gentle flicks against your clit. Kyle knows what he’s doing. He knows to stick to a specific pace. To not change course. He feasts until your legs shake and it is only Johnny’s strength keeping you aloft.

The clench comes, shuddering outward. Your breathing intensifies, becoming desperate gasps as Kyle continues to work your clit. Simon still holds onto the front of your throat, and he does not let go.

“Look at me,” croons Simon, tilting your head in his direction. “At me. My eyes.”

Johnny murmurs sweet nothings against your throat as he watches Kyle lick and then suck your clit into his mouth.

Your hips buck against Kyle’s mouth as your orgasm consumes, absorbing all your strength, turning your muscles into sticky goo.

There are lips pressing against your inner thigh, and then Kyle’s voice drifts up from between your legs. “She’s ready.”

“But we aren’t,” replies Simon.

Johnny guides your leg down until your foot is flat again. From there, he presses on your shoulders, and you automatically sink to your knees.

“Be good and suck Gaz’s cock,” commands Simon as his hand slides from the front to the back of your neck.

Johnny steps back, his presence evaporating as Kyle undoes the front of his jeans. You are hungry. Feral. Desperate. The moment Kyle’s cock his free from his jeans, you’re reaching for him, sucking him down.

Kyle groans loudly, head tilting back as you throat him to the root.

“Fucking beautiful,” comes Johnny’s voice somewhere behind and to the right of you.

Simon grunts in agreement, his hand still firmly planted on your neck. His fingers dig into your hair, and even though you have some control, Simon has the rest.

He keeps you on your knees and your head still as Kyle thrusts shallowly into your mouth. You are wet between your thighs, the skin there rubbing against itself. Your hands rise to grab the front of Kyle’s jeans, but Johnny tuts, grasping both arms and holding them behind you.

“Breathe through your nose. Good girl. Like that.” These praises are all Simon, and you desperately want to please him.

You’re nearly still as Kyle claims your throat. But he’s careful. Thoughtful. He’s fucking your mouth yet he knows your limit. When your throat contracts, wanting to gag, he retreats until you’ve caught your breath, only to return to his pace from before.

“Fuck,” he mutters, abruptly pulling out of your mouth. You cough, saliva and cum coating your lips and chin. “Bend her over the edge of the bed.”

Johnny releases your arms and Simon is the one that helps you to your feet.

“Look at me,” says Simon, drawing you attention to his face. “You good?”

This can all end if you want it to, but you don’t. You’re not full. Not whimpering. You want them inside.

“I’m good,” and your answer is a bit raspy.

Simon nods and then he’s turning you around, his hands pressing on your back until you’re completely bent.

The bed is a bit high, and you have to go up on your toes. Your hands dig into the comforter, but you don’t feel stable. Not really.

There are hands on your thighs. They drive upward, flipping your dress up to expose your ass to the room. One of those hands comes down on the right cheek. It isn’t hard, just enough to bounce it.

“Open for us,” says Simon. You wiggle your hips, sliding your feet outward slightly. “More, love. Yes. Perfect.”

Simon shifts partially into view, and then he’s grabbing your forearms, holding you down to the bed itself. You have no idea who is behind you, but you feel the head of their cock at your entrance.

There is no condom, and you do not give a fuck. You want to feel each of them in turn, to feel them fill you up, to fuck each other’s cum deeper into you.

The head presses in. Enters. And then you’re being filled, being fed more and more until you’re stuffed. You moan loudly.

“Taking me so well,” groans Johnny as you clamp around him. “Bloody hell you’re tight.”

Johnny squeezes your ass, guiding your hips up slightly as he starts to drive in. The angle is deep, and your feet slide against the floor. He isn’t soft, but he’s not rough either. Johnny is steady, rolling his hips deep enough to hit that sweet spot.

You are soft. Pliant. Smiling against the comforter as Johnny fucks you. His soft grunts become gentle groans. Then his hips stutter, thrust forward, creating a seal. You feel his release flood your pussy, and you purposefully tighten those muscles, encouraging him to stay inside.

And Johnny does, for a moment.

He lightly pats your ass before withdrawing. The loss of him is immediate, and yet there is another ready to take his place. Simon does not move from his spot. You turn your head and find Price still leaning against the door. There is an apparent bulge in the front of his pants.

It is Kyle that settles behind you, and like Johnny, he finds the same rhythm. While Johnny felt girthy, Kyle is absolute perfection. The stretch is good but not too tight, and even though every stroke is pointedly deep, there is nothing but pleasure.

Kyle’s hand slips between the bed and your body. He finds your clit. Toys with it. Plays. You’re still a bit sensitive from your last orgasm, and the next one comes up suddenly. You cry out, squeezing on him as he finishes.

In that blissful state, you don’t notice Simon removing his hands from your forearms. It isn’t until he’s driving inside that you realize it, and you nearly come off the bed. Simon is absurdly large, and your back arches, fingers digging into the comforter as your groan into it.

Simon is not as gentle as them. He fucks their cum into you like he’s made to do so.

And Price is still off to the side. Still watching. Almost indifferent except for that outline in his pants.

Simon’s only tell is a low grunt before he too is finishing inside you.

You are overly stuffed. Full. Simon removes his cock from your pussy as their mixed cum begins to drip out onto your thighs.

You think Price will come. That he will take Simon’s place. Instead, you’re being moved, flipped onto your back. Your legs are brought up, and then Johnny is back, sliding home again. Simon stands to the right of him. He reaches out, runs his hand over your stomach before delving down to find your clit.

Simon circles it as Johnny’s cock pistons in and out of you, his hips smacking against yours sharply with each thrust. It isn’t long before the muscles in your body seize and then relax. Johnny doesn’t find his end until Simon has you clenching a second time.

Johnny steps back, a pleased grin on his face as he stuffs himself back into his pants. Your legs are weak noodles and you’re thankful for the bed beneath you.

Price pushes off from the door. He walks casually, his hands slowly undoing and then removing his belt. You push up onto your elbows, adjusting. Price observes you. His gaze is on your face and then it drops to your pussy.

Reaching out, Price runs his fingers through the mess between your legs.

���Mind if I add to that?” he asks, gaze returning to your face.

You smile and spread your legs wider.

“Good fucking girl,” he croons.

Price grasps your thighs and drags you to the edge of the bed. Shoving his pants down enough to free his cock, he rubs the head over the mess, coating himself in it.

He lines himself up, and then buries himself to the hilt. Your fingers dig into the bed and then reach for him. Price adjusts his grip on your thighs, pressing them up a bit and toward your chest.

You are at his mercy as he drives into you. The only sounds in the room are your breathy moans and the obscene wetness that is your pussy.

All those flirty invitations and teasing smiles has led to this. And you don’t entirely mind if this is all it is. That the five of you are just working it all out of your systems. You’re completely satisfied.

As Price’s thrusts becoming erratic, he lets go of your thigh only to grasp your throat. He leans forward as he brings you up off the bed. You are scrunched, and when his lips meet yours, you come undone just as he does.

You hang. Suspended. And then you’re melting into the soft comforter.

Someone is cleaning you up, wiping away the excess mess. And then you’re brought to your feet. Everything is unsteady as you focus on who it is holding you.

“Good? Or you need a minute?” Price’s palm runs over your hair, smoothing it.

“I need a minute,” you murmur, because it’s true.

Kyle, Johnny, and Simon all start to file out. With the balaclava you can’t discern Simon’s expression. But Kyle is smug. Content. Johnny is almost sheepish, his cheeks slightly flushed as they leave.

It is over. Done.

Price runs his thumb over your bottom lip. “If you ever want this again, you know where to find me.”

He leans forward as if to kiss you but instead brushes his lips against the curve of your cheek. He gives your hand a squeeze. A silent goodbye.

Then he too is gone. The door shut.

You place your hand over your chest and laugh as a trail of cum slips down the inside of your thigh.

taglist:

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[alluringnectar]

my baby

pairings; loser!ellie williams x cheerleader! reader

cw; interalized homophobia, angst, tribbing, fingering (r! recieving), fluff, bullying (kinda), making out, slur, petnames like “baby & princess” , not proof read yet!

wc; 17k

life has never been better, you were handed the world at the age of 6. you never had to worry about having no friends, or not having the latest designer bag, and certainly not having everybody wrapped around your finger. you were a cheerleader & from that only, everyone respected you. you dedicated yourself into looks: always on diets, hitting the gyms, getting your nails done, having the most expensive makeup and so much more. you were the most outgoing girl known to mankind, never missing a rager or party. your friend groups were mainly other cheerleaders, and the jocks on the football team. they were assholes, but you didn’t care because so were you.

you never once paid attention in class, especially english. clicking your pen and having your eyes everywhere but the board. you snap out of your daze when your teacher announces that there will be a partner project, and she would assign the groups. you hear your name, and you pray that you get one of your friends but instead you hear the name ellie williams.

“you cannot be fucking serious” you mutter under your breath, looking at ellie whose a row infront of you.

“what was that?” the teacher asked you. “nothing.” you mock her tone, earning a laugh from your classmates.

“alright then everybody get to your partners we don’t have all day!” she claps her hands, urging everyone to switch their seats.

you stay in your seat, motioning ellie to

come where you are. why would you have to move? ellie rolled her eyes, not having the best impression of you either. “look,” ellie says “i wouldn’t have picked you either.” you scoff, “great to know we’re on the same page!” you look at her green eyes, and the way she flutters her eyelash. you were about to say something until you felt a tap on your shoulder.

it was a jock, and you end up talking to him for the rest of the period, not caring to look back at ellie, who was doing all the work. “another prissy bitch.” ellie thinks to herself.

as soon as the bell rings, ellie packs her stuff and leaves as soon as she could. she sees her friends, dina and jesse, and she sighs in relief. “you would not believe who i got paired up with.” dina and jesse both furrow their brows in unison. “a CHEERLEADER! i swear this world is against me, i already know im gonna have to do this project with myself.” dina replies, “yikes , you have it unlucky. i would NOT wanna be you.” jesse laughs and that makes ellie roll her eyes & reply “thanks dina that makes me feel a million times better.” “well jesse and I have to get going, good luck with her!” dina yells while grabbing jesse by the hand and dragging him through the hallways. ellie sighs and puts her back against the locker.

you put your bag down, and flop down on your bed chewing on some protein bars after practice. you grab your laptop and check your grade book. and thats when you see it. you’re gonna fail english class. “shit shit shit!” you tell yourself, pacing around your room in circles. you couldn’t give to shits if you were failing english, but what you did care about is being on academic probation. if you’re put on academic probation, you won’t be able to cheer. you can’t let that happen. so you grabbed your phone, and started texting everyone for ellie’s number. when you finally receive a message with her number, you smile and immediately text her.

“heyyy”

“who is this?”

“your partner in english.”

“why are you texting me?”

“do you wanna come over tomorrow to work on it?”

“is this a joke?”

“ why would i be? i have practice, so is 7:30 good?”

“yeah, ill be there just give me the address.”

it’s the next day and you come from practice drenched in sweat. you go into the shower, making sure its cold so you can relax. as you get out, you put on a robe and some uggs slipper and you hear the bell ring.

you walk over to answer, the fact ellie was supposed to come over completely slipped your mind. you open the door, and you see ellie.

“shit! is it 7:30 already?”

ellie takes full notice you’re in nothing but a robe and she blushes.

“yeah.”

“fuck im so sorry- practice had me exhausted-“

ellie reassures you, telling you it was okay because she found it kinda cute that your hair was wet and your lips were plump.

“here ellie, you can come inside, just stay in my room, i’ll get changed and i’ll be there in a sec.

ellie nods, and sinks down into your bed. she takes a moment to take in everything in your room. she took note of the way your walls were stripped pink and white to the little ballerina jewelry box that looked antique.

you walk into your room handing her some snacks. “do you want some?” “sure.”

ellie says. & now shes starting to think you’re not a total bitch.

this time, you ended up getting no work done but for a different reason. you spent your time gossiping to ellie, about who slept with who, or who did what. you never realized how pretty ellie truly was. her freckles decorated her face like how constellations decorate the sky. you look down into her lips, and ellie stops talking about whatever she was. ellie and you spend a brief moment just gazing into each other’s eyes.

you both get flustered and she breaks the silence by saying “um- do you have a hair tie?” “yeah of course here” and you hand her one.

you look at the time and gasp, it’s almost 11:30. were you guys really talking for that long? “ellie, do you wanna sleep over? or i can walk yo-“ “no, ill sleep over it’s fine.” you nod. grabbing blankets for her, “you can sleep on my bed i’ll sleep on my couch.” ellie scoffs “no fucking way, i’m not taking your bed, i can have the couch.”

and due to both of your guys’ stubbornness, you are laying next to eachother, in the same bed staring at the ceiling. you look over and you see ellie has fallen asleep. she looked so beautiful and her front hair pieces fell on her face, capturing her beautiful. you move your hand to tuck it but then you get this wave of disgust. not to her, but to yourself.

what the fuck am i doing? I can’t like girls. am i stupid? i’m not gonna be seen as some dyke on the cheerleader team. my reputation would be ruined.

you ended up falling asleep teary eyed, scared to accept if these feelings are really true and maybe they’ll go away.

it’s almost summer, and the feelings are still lingering and infact they are stronger than before. after acing the project, you still

continued to hang out with ellie. you and her hung out every friday, and it became a ritual. you were starting to fall in love with her, and you knew there was no way out. everytime your asshole friends said anything about her that was negative, you jumped to defend her name like a knight. “you know the project deadline was months ago, while do you still hangout with her.” slightly irritated you snap, “she isn’t even bad once you get to know her, she’s funny and sweet.”

it wasn’t any different for ellie either, expect she was 100% convinced you were straight. you never once spoke of your sexuality to her, and for any matter guys in general but why would you like her? she grew up playing with worms, while you grew up going on constant vacations. but even though she thought it would never happen, she asked the universe for this one thing. she prayed to a lord she didn’t even believe in, hoping he will for once listen to her.

God works in mysterious ways because you’re sitting in ellie’s room drinking vodka blasting music. it’s odd how vodka can make somebody so honest. ellie was rambling about a story with an ex she had named cat, and drama between the two. she developed a habit of gossiping, probably from you. to make sure you’re still listening, she asks you. “how about you, any boy trouble?” its silent, and you look at her and start sobbing. ellie’s heart drops down to her stomach and instantly grabs you, pulling you close to her. “hey was it something i said? im sorry-“ “no!” you manage to yell out between your broken sobs. “i don’t think i like guys.” “what?” ellie says, shocked from what she heard.

“when i look at you, it’s not the same for any guy. sure i’ve made out with guys, but not even that gives me the same feeling of when im talking to you. i want it to be you so bad, ellie.” you hiccup, tears staining your eyes. “but this is all new for me, and i hate myself for being this way, i had everything anyone could ask for and it feels like im throwing it all away.”

ellie’s mind is going in all directions, the fact you like her. the fact shes finally getting her prayers answered. she pushes it to the side, because what you need is comfort. ellie holds you tight. so tight, you cannot wiggle out of her grasp. “hey baby, it all works out at the end, your existence isn’t a sin, people who truly love you, will accept you for who you are. and you don’t have to figure things out right now, take your time.” ellie replies, hovering her hand over your face to wipe your tears.

you’re looking up at her, inching your face closer to hers. she leans in, capturing your lips in a kiss. you’re eager for more, so you grab her hair from behind and sloppily slid your mouth inside. ellie pulls away from the kiss, to get air, saliva connecting you guys to each other.

“hey els?” you say softly, having your knees tucked in.

“yeah?”

“since school is ending, there’s gonna be a rager. do you wanna come?”

ellie smiles at you, accepting your offer.

“i’ll be there.”

it’s the day of the rager, and ellie’s at her house with dina and jesse on her bed. “are you sure you really wannq go?” dina asks. ellie’s throwing her clothes everywhere, looking for an outfit to wear. “yeah,” jesse adds on “she doesn’t look like somebody who would hang out with you, what if this is all a prank?” ellie stops to look at them. “guys, i know you’re concerned but trust me on this, okay?” they nod their heads. “whatever happens, you can always tell us okay? whatever you choose to do , we’re with you.” ellie smiles and pulls them into a group hug. she’s wearing a wife pleaser, red flannel, and some jeans. shes tying her converse, she walks out the door, saying “wish me luck!”

she arrives at the house, and the music is so loud she can hear it from where she’s at. nervously she turns to twist the door knob and instantly she goes looking for you. she’s happy today after what happen yesterday, and she’s thinking to herself nothing can change her mood. until she saw you. you had a red solo cup in your hand. you were with a jock, who made it pretty clear he wanted you. was ellie a joke? was everything you said to her nothing after all? her friends were right. clenched fists, she turns to head out of the party, rushing to her car trying not to cry.

the jock wouldn’t take no for an answer, you’ve made it clear you’re not interested in him. “don’t be like that, i see the way you look at me.” you scrunch up your nose in disgust. “well you must be fucking blind.” and thats when you see in the corner of your eye, ellie. “fuck!” you murmur to yourself. ellie is already going towards the exist. as she’s walking down the steps of the porch. you scream, “wait! it’s not what it looks like, i swear-“

“do you think im a fucking joke? you made me feel like a fool.”

“ellie i swear nothing happened i was-“

“were you telling him your pranked worked? were you laughing about me? it’s done. i hope you had your fun.”

ellie is about to turn your back on you.

“ellie im in love with you!” you yell. loud enough

that people from the outside were looking at what was happening.

ellie looks around, “you’re drunk.”

“yes im drunk but that doesn’t change the fact im in love with you. the man that was talking to me. i was telling him to leave me alone. i only have eyes for you ellie! anybody who knows me has to get to know you first!” you breath starts to hitch, knowing you’re about to cry and how people are listening but you no longer care.

“i use to cry, praying that God took these feelings away. now im praying to God for letting me meet you. God knew I needed you Ellie.”

ellie stands there in disbelief, she doesn’t know what to say but her heart is about to explode. she runs to you, takes your hand and takes sits you in the passenger seat. closing the door, she starts the car and starts driving. she looks over at you, and you’re already staring at her. she places a hand on your thigh, and caresses it. “you’re perfect in every way, ways im not. i couldn’t believe somebody as amazing as you would want me, and im sorry.”

you smile, and place your hand on top of hers, “it’s okay, we were both pretty caught up” you giggle.

she would fight the world to hear that giggle again.

she pulls up to your driveway, and shes about to drive off but you ask her to stay the night. and how could she say no to that pretty face of yours?

it’s all dark, but you hold her hand and she follows you into your room. you play some music on your record player.

“do you like mazzy star els?”

“i dont listen to her much, but her voice is pretty.”

you walk up to her, and hold her by the waist. ellie looks down at you and pressed her lips onto yours. you close your eyes, melting into the kiss. you start getting hungrier for more, and you open your mouth to let her tongue slip into yours. the kisses start getting needier, and she walks you until your laying back on your bed. you straddle her waist, and she puts a hand up your dress causing you to whine.

“you’re okay with this right?”

��of course els, please hurry.”

“please what?”

you look away from her gaze, shyly, you fiddle with the seams of ellies wife pleaser and whisper to her , “please touch me, it can only be you.” and with that, ellie is slipping your dress off. kissing your collarbone all the way down to the welts of your breast. she takes off your matching set of panties and bra. and her cold hands on pinching your nipples make your back arch into her touch. she sucks on your nipples, flicking her tongue on it back and forth earning whimpers from you each and every time.

“n-need you els..” you stutter. “im not going anywhere baby.” she chuckles, her breath on your beast making you close your eyes in pleasure. “im gonna touch you now okay? tell me when to stop.” she slides her fingers between your folds.

“already so wet for me princess” and as she hovers to your face to kiss you, her front pieces of her hair are touching your own face. you’re sloppily making out with her, moaning into her mouth.

then she puts two of her fingers in, feeling you instantly clench around them. you start moaning louder and louder “ellie! ellie faster!” and she listens to you, curling her fingers even faster before hitting you in the g spot. your thighs start shaking. and your grabbing onto ellie’s fore arm, clawing it for any way to feel relief.

your moans reach an all time high and you know you’re almost there. im- im about to cum els!” and she starts sucking on your neck, “let it out for me baby, you deserve it come on.” and you reach your climax, sweating and panting. she takes her fingers out of you and sucks them. “you taste so good, everything about you is so sweet.”

still fucked out, you murmured incoherent sentences. “i wanna feel you against me els, please, please.” and ellie looks at you, grabbing your waist to pull you up. you looked at her in this love dovey expression and her heart skips a beat. “can i take this off?” you ask and she gulps and nods. you take off her flannel. then wife pleaser. then her jeans. leaving her in underwear and her sports bra, which now you’re taking off her underwear.

as for the most part both of you are naked, you place your cunt onto hers. you grind against her lightly. both of you whimpering sweet nothings. “i love you els i love you i love you” as you both of you are sweating, holding onto eachother, kissing as you slide on her and feel both of your holes clenching around nothing. “you’re doing so good f’ me” ellie blabbers. both of you are starting to reach your orgasms as you both moan in a higher octave, clawing at each others back, and feeling yourself twitch.

“i think im gonna cum i think-“ “come with me, be a good girl for me please.” she tells you needly, but you can’t even tease her because you want this just as much, if not more. both of you reach your climax, beads of sweat running down each of your fore heads. you disconnect yourself from her cunt. both of your arousals sticking to each other in a way your bodies seem like they’re made to mold into each other’s.

you collapse onto the back of your bed. ellie crawls to lay on your chest. kissing you over and over again, as a way to praise you. you giggle and run your hands through her hair, massaging her scalp.

“shouldn’t we clean up ellie?” you inquire, and you feel her breath on you again as she says “i wanna stay like this.” you nod and you bring blankets over you guys.

“im in love with you too.” ellie tells you.

“i think you showed me already.” you laughed.

“so are we girlfriends?” ellie asks you, looking up at you.

you kiss ellie, and tell her “if you go to every one of my practices.”

safe to say there was never a practice ellie didn’t go to.

[aventurineswife]

‘Cause I'm a jealous, jealous, jealous girl/boy | Part 2

Synopsis: How do they react when someone flirts with their significant other?

Tags: Jealousy, Possessive Behavior, Protective, Flirting, Dark Undertones, Romantic Tension

Warnings: Mild possessiveness, subtle manipulation, slight intimidation, jealousy, dark themes(not that much), possible emotional manipulation

A/N: Y'ALL WENT CRAZY WITH THE FIRST PART!! 😭 But I appreciate it, thank you so much for enjoying! And my part of the deal/promise, here's a part 2. Enjoy! :)

(Part 1)

Robin

Robin’s graceful poise and calm demeanor usually shield her from the chaos of the world, but when she notices a stranger flirting with you, her heart races with an unfamiliar mix of emotions. As the admiring words spill forth from the stranger’s lips, Robin’s gentle smile falters just slightly. Her green eyes narrow, and an undercurrent of jealousy flickers within her.

She approaches with a serene elegance, wrapping her arms around you from behind. “Oh, darling,” she says, her voice a melodic whisper that conceals the sharpness of her thoughts. “How charming of you to attract such attention.” The stranger is taken aback by her sudden presence, their flirtation faltering under her watchful gaze.

Robin’s possessiveness surfaces subtly. She holds you a little closer, her touch lingering longer than necessary. The air grows heavy with unspoken words, and as the stranger stumbles over their own words, Robin seizes the moment. “You mustn’t waste your charms on someone already taken...” she coos, her smile now returning, but there’s an intensity behind it that sends a clear message.

Once the stranger retreats, Robin turns to you, her expression softening. “You’re far too precious for those frivolous affections,” she murmurs, brushing a stray lock of your hair behind your ear. “But if you ever want to hear my true feelings, just listen to my songs.”

Boothill

Boothill’s eyes are sharp as he scans the crowded bar, his protective instincts on high alert. When he spots someone flirting with you, his body tenses, and an unmistakable flash of jealousy crosses his features. The cowboy, known for his brash attitude, strides over to you with confidence, the dim light catching the gleam of his sharp teeth.

“Hey there, partner,” he drawls, wrapping an arm possessively around your shoulders as he addresses the stranger. “Looks like you’re a little lost, ain’t ya? This one here’s got no time for drifters.” His tone is casual, but there’s an underlying menace that hints at the storm brewing beneath the surface.

The stranger stammers a response, their bravado wilting under Boothill's intimidating presence. “I was just... uh, chatting.” they manage to say, but Boothill’s piercing gaze shuts them down. “Why don’t you take your wandering eyes somewhere else before they get lost for good?”

Once the stranger leaves, Boothill turns his full attention to you, his expression softening. “Didn’t like the way they looked at ya,” he admits, his voice low and sincere. “You’re too good for those types. I won’t let anyone take what’s mine.” His possessiveness isn’t just a threat; it’s a vow, echoing the pain of his past and the fierce love he holds for you.

Topaz

Topaz rarely shows vulnerability, but when she sees someone flirting with you during a corporate gala, a flicker of possessiveness flashes in her eyes. As a senior manager at the IPC, she’s used to being in control, but the sight of you laughing with another person awakens a dark sense of jealousy within her.

With a calculated stride, she approaches, her silver-white hair glimmering under the lights, and a charming smile plastered on her face. “Oh, I didn’t realize we were entertaining guests tonight,” she states, her voice dripping with feigned sweetness. “But I think it’s time you come back to someone who appreciates your worth.”

The stranger blinks, momentarily stunned by Topaz's presence. She leans closer, her demeanor shifting from playful to intense as she whispers, “You wouldn’t want to get on my bad side. I have a way of making things... uncomfortable for those who disrespect what’s mine.”

Once the stranger retreats, Topaz turns to you, her expression softening just slightly. “I can’t have anyone thinking they have a chance with you,” she confesses, brushing her fingers against yours. “You’re a treasure, and I protect what’s valuable. Numby and I would go to great lengths to keep you safe.”

At that moment, Numby appears, a small Warp Trotter with sparkling purple ears, hovering beside her. Numby chirps, lightening the mood. Topaz chuckles, glancing at you, her eyes glimmering with affection. “You’re my most precious investment.”

can someone please make me aesthetic headers for these characters?! 😭

[lulunothulu]

“Phone neighbor”

Jake “Hangman” Seresin x Reader

Summary: You’re bored one night and decide to text your phone neighbor…who happens to be a very hot (and cocky) aviator.

Content: drinking, fluff

Friday nights are so boring. Especially when you have nothing to do for the night.

Your friend, Natasha, invited you to go to the bar she and her aviator buddies frequent. Hard Deck, was that the name? Who knows. Either way, you didn’t think hitting a bar right now would do you much good.

You’d been in a reclusive and lonely mood all week but right now, you were feeling adventurous.

You pull your phone out of your pocket and dial the first nine digits of your number but changed the last number to the following one that came after yours.

Let’s play a game of phone number neighbor.

You: Hi, so this is random, but you’re my number neighbor.

Them: Oh really?

You: Yes… so you’re from Texas too?

Them: Born and raised in Austin.

You: That’s so cool, I was raised in El Paso and Houston.

Them: Nice! Are you still there?

You: Nah, I’m in California. How about you?

Them: Funny enough, I’m in California too. I’m in the Navy, a pilot 🤠

You: Oh shit! You might know my friend, Natasha Trace.

———

Jake smiled down at his phone. “Hey Phoenix!”

Nat turns around, rolling her eyes at him. “What?”

“I think I just met your friend.”

“What?” She looks around. “Where? And who?”

“I don’t know their name, let me ask,” he says. He looks down at his phone, sending a quick text before smiling and telling her your name.

“Holy shit!” She laughs.

“Is she single?” Jake asks.

“She is actually…give me a second.”

———

“Hello?” You say, answering your phone.

“What the hell are you doing?” Nat asks.

You can hear the noise and chatter coming from the bar you knew she’d be at.

“I’m at home doing a face mask,” you tell her.

“No I mean, with Hangman,” she tells you.

“Who’s Hangman?”

“The person you’re texting?” She laughs.

Hangman: So you know Phoenix? How?

You: We grew up together. She’s practically my sister.

“Hey, he’s texting me right now,” you tell her.

“I have an idea.”

Hangman: What do you look like?

You: I’ll send you a picture of you send me one too.

Hangman: What? You want proof?

You: Sure, let’s call it that.

Hangman: [Picture]

Hangman: I’m on the left, that’s Bob in the middle, and Fanboy on the end.

Hangman: Your turn.

You smile, sending him a picture of you with your green face mask, hand up in a peace sign and lips in a duck face position.

Hangman: That’s not what I expected but still hot.

Hangman: Wait a second… did Nat call you?

You: Maybe…

[Incoming call from ‘Hangman’]

“Hello?”

“Hey, mask lady. Nat!” You hear him say. His voice is deep and southern drawl thick. “Tell your friend to send me a real picture of her.”

“Y/N?” You hear her say.

“Hey, Nat.”

“Send this pretty boy your face. He’s desperate and threatening to make me drive him to your house.”

You laugh. “Fine. Should I send the one with my tits pushed up?”

“Jesus Christ, tell her yes.” You hear Hangman say in the background.

“Tell him that I’ll send him a normal one and to stop listening to our conversation,” you tell Nat. “Actually, pass him back.”

“Hi,” you hear Hangman say.

“Hi back, cowboy,” you reply.

“I like that nickname, makes me sound a lot cooler than I am,” he tells you.

You laugh. “I’d like to know your real name, and not your callsign.”

“I’m Jake. Jake Seresin,” he tells you. “You don’t have to tell me your name. I already know.”

“Yeah I figured that much,” you mutter.

“When can I see you in person?” He asks.

“When are you free?” You smile and bite your lip.

“How about now? Come to Hard Deck.”

“I don’t really do bars…”

“Then I’ll come to you. What’s your address?”

You laugh. “I don’t even know you like that. What if you’re a psycho?”

“I wouldn’t be a top pilot in the navy sweetheart.” You chuckle, making him wait before he asks, “Soooo can I come over?”

“Have you been drinking?”

“Not really,” he tells you.

“Okay.”

“Okay?”

“You can come over. But bring food, I’m starving.” You tell him.

“Same,” he tells you. “And it’ll give you enough time to get ready and wash that face mask off.”

Fuck I forgot about that.

“I’ll see you soon.”

———

A face wash, makeup application, and teeth brushing later, you hear Hangman—Jake—ring the doorbell.

After changing into some cute sweats, you run downstairs and answer the door.

“Hey,” you say.

“Hey yourself,” he says. He’s a lot taller than you thought he’d be. And a lot hotter than you thought too. He holds up a bag of takeout and a gym bag. “I brought food and a change of clothes.”

He’s wearing his khaki Aviation uniform still.

“Yeah, come on in.” You step to the side, allowing him to come in. “Bathroom’s down the hall and to the left.”

“Thank you, ma’am,” he smiles.

God his smile made him so much hotter.

When he comes back from the bathroom changed and in gray sweatpants and a Texas Longhorns shirt, you smile and wave him over to your couch.

“What’re you watching?” He asks.

“Nothing that the moment,” you tell him. “I was waiting for you.”

“How sweet.” He smiles. “This has to be the best first date I’ve a been on in a long time.”

“Who said this was a date?” You ask, raising your eyebrows.

“Oh, did I assume?” He cockily smirks at you which makes your cheeks turn red. “And from the way you’re blushing, I’d say you’d like this to be a date.”

“Shut up,” you mutter, a smile playing on your lips.

Two hours later, Jake is still at your place and your head is resting on his shoulder.

“That was a cute movie,” he tells you. “Why did I cry so much?”

“Because Toy Story 3 is ruthless,” you sigh, wiping your eyes.

“Either way, I don’t think I can sleep if we don’t watch something else.”

You sit up and face him. “Why? You too sad to leave?”

“No, I don’t want to leave yet,” he says truthfully. “Plus, it’s my turn to choose a movie.”

“Which is?”

“Legally Blonde.”

You smile, scoffing before laughing and shaking your head. “You surprise me.”

“In a good way, I hope.”

“Definitely,” you nod.

“Can I surprise you one more time?” He asks, voice barely over a whisper.

You shrug and smirk. “Depends on what it is.”

He places a hand on your cheek, snaking his fingers to the back of your neck.

“Can I ask you one more thing?”

“That counts as a question,” you whisper.

He chuckles. “That one doesn’t count.”

“Go ahead.”

He takes a deep breath, leaning in close to the point his nose touches your own. Your heart is pounding, excitement and anticipation flowing through your body.

“Can I kiss you?”

“Please do.”

So he does, soft and sweet at first. That is, until you pull his head in, deepening the kiss. Your mouths race, devouring and exploring every inch of your mouths. You shift your body, straddling Jake’s lap and wrapping your arms around his neck, something you notice feels so normal, you don’t want it to end.

“Take me upstairs.” You order.

“Yes ma’am.”

[lanadelreyscokewhor3]

NATIONAL ANTHEM- P.B PARKER

Pairing- Rich! Peter x Country Club! Fem! Reader

Word Count: 4.2k

Summary: You work at the local country club as a barcart girl and you run into your crush, aka the son of the richest man in town-Peter Parker. Simple flirting becomes something... more.

Warnings: Making out, suggestive sexual content, dry humping, teasing, swearing, drinking :)

i'm your national anthem, god, you're so handsome- take me to the hamptons, bugatti veyron... he loves to romance 'em, reckless abandon, holding me for ransom, upper echelon -national anthem, lana del rey

Money is the anthem, of success- so before we go out- what’s your address? You hummed along to the sweet melody as it trickled out of the old stereo from your cart, speakers crackling slightly.

It was a hot summers day, you felt a little bead of sweat drip down the back of your neck as you breathed in the fresh air, smelling of fresh cut grass and fancy colone. It was days like this when you were most busy on the golf course, barley able to squeeze in a lunch break before someone came up to you, begging for a whisky sour.

But today you had tucked yourself away in a little hidden spot, a perfect view of scenery, the green hills stretching on for miles.

Sipping on a sweet ice tea from your straw you fiddled with, you watched as Peter Parker braced himself before swinging, club hitting the ball with a clean wack! before thudding down near the hole.

The wind rustled the flag and the fabric of his polo shirt, hair ruffled under his baseball cap.

You tried not to stare but it was impossible.

The way he smiled was intoxicating, and the way he laughed at his friends jokes… god you hoped to make him laugh like that someday.

Though he was almost four years older, the two of you had met during your freshman year of university. You weren’t close, but you werent strangers either. The odd hello was said, a smile and a passing glance in the library from his books.

Now you were practically about to graduate and he was working on his masters, his school out of state. He was home for the summer though, which was nice.

It just meant you could possibly serve him, which also made you anxious beyond belief because that meant you had to talk to him again. You took a bigger sip until you heard the straw suck up the bottom of the glass and the melting ice to ease your butterflies.

Wind in my hair, hand on the back of my neck- I said can we party later on he said yes, yes, yes!

Another deep breath.

He walked in your general direction, but you doubted he could see you. You prayed the low hanging branches covered you, or at least your face. You tried to look out at the rolling hills in the distance, admiring the scenery.

It was very out of your element, but you couldn’t deny the fact it was beautiful here. The ever so fancy country club estate glimmered in the sun, tall hedges trimmed to perfection with roses blooming in the gardens.

You could just see the tall fountain spilling water down, next to the tennis court. Sometimes you worked the bar there, or handed out water and towels, but you preferred being a cart girl.

It made your life much more interesting, to drive around and to see more people. Today you got to see your favourite person.

And apparently he got to see you.

The branches rustled and got pulled to the side, a buff, 6’4 man staring down at you. “Hey sorry, am I bothering you?”

You almost choked on your straw as you bite down on it. “No, no sorry I was just on my break. But how can I help you?”

“Oh shit my bad, I’ll leave you to it-“ He went to turn away, then stopped. Whipped back around.

“Wait- Y/N? Is that you?” Your heart skipped a beat.

“Yeah hey Peter.” you smiled.

“Jeez it’s been a while! I missed seeing you around. How’s life been?”

He missed you?! No, he missed seeing you. That’s different. Get a fucking grip woman.

“I missed you too! Or- wait erm… It’s been good! How’s life at Warner?”

His eyes brightened as you stumbled over your words, pleased you remembered where he was.

“It’s good. Super good. Lots of sunshine, and I’ve made some friends.”

“Not failing anything I hope?” you teased and he laughed.

“No, no I would never. But it’s good to be home for the summer. How’s your program going?” he asked, taking off his hat to run a hand through his messy hair, slicking it back from falling back into his eyes.

You tried not to stare at his arms but it was deemed impossible. His shirt fit him so well, his biceps strained in the fabric as they curled, and you could see whispers of a tattoo on his one arm. Jesus Christ.

“Super good. Almost finished, actually. Not sure what’s next, but working here has helped pay for most of it.”

“That’s awesome, you should be so proud. You’re a hard worker Y/N, seriously. You’ve always been.”

You almost melted at his praise, sinking deep into your seat as your tennis skirt fanned out across your thighs. There was no way he didn’t know about the effect he had on you. He had to know he drove you crazy.

“Thank you so much Peter. It means a lot coming from you.” You beamed.

“Awh shucks. Well anyways, I just came because I saw a cart over here and was going to snag a drink, but if you’re on break I won’t bother you.”

“No, no don’t be silly. What can I get you?” you scrambled up, popping open your cooler filled with ice and drinks. “You’re sure?” he asked, standing closer to you, to see what you had.

You squirmed, shivering even though there was no breeze. “Of course. I’m practically done it anyways. Happy to help.” you smiled, trying your very best to be professional and not look at him like you wanted to rip his clothes off at this very second.

“Just a Heineken please doll.” The pet name was going to make you spirial. Jesus. “That’s all?”

“That’s all. I’m easy like that.” You grabbed a cup, scooping ice before pouring the chilled beer. “Here. It’s on the house.” you handed it to him, setting down the empty glass. He shook his head, fishing into his pocket.

“Don’t be silly. Here-“ he handed you a hundred and your eyes widened in surprise and shock.

“For your troubles.” he smirked. “Peter- I can’t, I can’t take this.”

“Then take this too.” He pulled out a tiny slip of paper, crumped as if it had been in his pocket for some time. You opened it, revealing his phone number in fancy writing- the cursive that reminded you of your grandmothers. A little smiley face was printed next to it, which you mirrored back.

“Have you just had this in your pocket in case you bump into a girl?” you asked, laughing.

“I found out you worked here and I wrote it down, waiting until I had an excuse to bump into you. Now I have one.” he winked, lifted his glass in a cheers motion before turning around, emerging from the forest to jog up to his friends.

You watched him in disbelief, jaw slack on the ground. You fought to pick it back up, trying to not crumple the paper anymore as you held onto it for dear life. A wave of giddiness washed over you, your body hot to the touch, head spinning. Clutching the paper to your chest, you sighed.

Simply hoping something would actually come out of this.

For once in your life.

----------------------------------------------------------------------

Something was coming out of this. Key word, was. Lines were blurred, and you weren’t sure if it was currently happening, could’ve happened, or had happened.

It had been a week since the original occurrence, when he had you nearly swooning and begging at his feet. Each day was a little game the two of you played, who could spy on each other first.

It had you picking up extra shifts, just to possibly see him that day, or for longer. The past few days you had worked at the bar by the tennis court, watching the ball bounce back and forth until a familiar face found his way to your bar, despite the fact he was on the opposite side of the property, and had bar carts at his disposal.

It made you feel like a teenage girl again, kicking your feet at the slightest interaction. If he wasn’t at your bar, he had found time to walk past your station (which was always very much out of his way), just to give a little wave, or to check up on you.

A few little texts had been exchanged, nothing more then simple, harmless flirting. That’s what you were telling yourself, and that was the story you were sticking to. Nothing more then that. So whenever he came over to fiddle with the straws, or suck the lemon wedge dry without making a face just to prove he could, you smooshed the feelings of need deep down, as much as you could.

Today was no different.

It was hot, one of the hottest days of the summer. You fanned yourself with a clipboard, thankful for the first time you were working in the bar by the tennis court, where it was air conditioned.

You didn’t understand how people could continue to play as if their life depended on it in the hot, beating sun. It was torturous to watch. You were extremely busy, barley getting a moment to sit down and rest your poor, aching feet- dozens of people swarming the bar for a cool drink.

Ice had to be refilled two times already, and you presumed it would be another two times before your shift was over.

“Busy there eh?” a familiar voice called from across the counter, and for the first time all day you were genuinely happy to serve someone.

“You again! It’s almost like you’re stalking me, or something.” you teased, quickly dropping everything you were doing to go over to see him.

“Something like that. Hey listen, I have a question to ask you.”

“It wasn’t me. I didn’t do it, I swear. The cops have nothing on me.” His eyes widened in mock surpise and his hands went up in surrender.

“Woah. Jeez, I’ll let them know. I have no idea how you found out I was working for them but I guess my disguise is shit.”

“It is shit. I’ve been keeping tabs on you to give you tips on how to be more discreet.” He laughed, swatting you with a straw he grabbed.

“No seriously, my parents are out of town and I was going to throw a party, but I won’t unless you come to it.”

“Well shit, that’s a lot of pressure. You’re basing this whole thing on me going, so if I don’t go everyone will be disappointed at me for cancelling it?” you teased, grabbing the ingredients to make his usual.

“Ha ha. Very funny. You know I don’t mean it like that. But I’d like you to come, it wouldn’t be the same without you there.”

“I don’t really socialize, so I’m sure no one would miss me. Plus, no one knows me.”

“I know you. And I would miss you, and you’re the only person I care about in terms of showing up.”

You smiled softly as his confession, trying to play it cool despite the fact your stomach was currently doing cartwheels. You didn’t even know if you were making his drink right, you prayed muscle memory would save you this time.

“You’d miss me? You just wanna talk to me more, do you like me or something?”

“Or something.” he smirked, smacking a twenty on the table, and you didn’t even bother to give him back his change. He refused to accept it back, you had already tried.

“Thanks for the drink sweetcheeks. It’s on Friday, and if you don’t show I’m gonna call the whole thing off, mid party and then everyone’s gonna be pissed at you.”

“Or at you for making up that stupid rule.” you snarked, sliding him over his glass, and grabbing a clean towel to wipe down your space. You could already feel two peoples eyes on you, waiting for a drink. They could wait a little longer.

“Show up then.” he shrugged. “But wait, I don’t even have your address-“ you called after him as he walked towards the exit, back towards to the heat and blinding sun. He waved his phone, without even looking back.

“Good thing we have these then eh sweets?”

“Smartass.” you grumbled under your breath as his laughed, and you watched the door swing behind him as you were stuck behind the bar.

“What can I get you?” you asked the stranger sitting near you, wishing more then anything it was Peter still there instead.

--------------------------------------------------------------------

He was massive. Wait no- sorry, his house was massive. (Did you seriously think you’d jump the gun that quickly? Get over yourself).

You stared up at it as you emerged from your car, so out of place in this fancy establishment. He lived not only in a gated community but his property was privately gated as well.

Didn’t shock you.

You knew his family was rich, but jesus you didn’t know this rich. Dozens of cars were parked, all range rovers and catialcs as you locked your simple looking black civic.

Oh well. He invited me after all.

You belonged here. You were allowed to be here, no matter how many second thoughts you had looking at the fancy fountain, the perfectly manicured lawn and ferns, a perfect cone shape as they lead up to the massive pillars and white staircase.

You had dealt with snobby rich people before at your job, and you could do it again. Not that Peter was snobby in any way. If anything, he was one of the only ones you knew who was humble and down to earth. Hopefully his friends would be the same.

You smoothed out your mini dress, attempting to get rid of the wrinkles. Nervous, you figited with the pearls on your neck, listening to your heels clack on the pavement before you found yourself up the stairs.

You heard music, but it wasn’t as loud as you expected. No thumping floors or shaking walls, and you couldn’t see any flashing lights. You weren’t even sure what you expected. But it certainly wasn’t this. This seemed oddly calm. You could still clearly hear the cicadas as they chirped outside under the stars.

You lifted your hand to knock, and the double doors swung open as your hand was mid air, mouth opening in confusion.

“You’re not Peter.”

“So you’re observant too. You’re prettier then he described you. He’s been watching out the window for you like he’s on guard duty.”

“Bucky stop flirting with my girl!” a voice called from the other room, and you watched as Peter emerged from the other room, jogging over to you with a smile.

My girl? You fought a smile, trying to pretend his words meant nothing but you lost. Bad.

“Hi. Sorry I was just-“

“Waiting for me. I heard from your friend here. It’s nice to meet you Bucky.” you nodded, laughing as Peter’s cheeks turned a lighter of light pink.

“Likewise. Go into greater detail next time Parker.”

“No, because then you dicks will try to steal her.”

Bucky laughed, walking back in the direction Peter came from, which you assumed was where the main party was. You looked around, surveying the massive foyer- tall pillars also inside, bright chandeliers glistening over the towering staircase.

It was beautiful. You couldn’t help but admire the mural on the ceiling, mimicking a Renaissance style piece.

“Thank you for inviting me.”

“Thank you for coming. You look beautiful, by the way. I mean you always do- but you look amazing now. Sorry I’m not sure why I’m rambling, I just smoked a joint and I’m nervous.” he trailed on and you laughed, reaching up to touch his bicep in reassurance.

You weren’t sure where the confidence came from, but you were happy about it. His skin was soft and warm, and he leaned into your touch.

“Don’t be nervous. If anything, I’m nervous. This is your party! And it’s so- wow.” you breathed, looking up again at the fresco.

“Everyone’s so excited to meet you. You’ve already met Bucky, I see.”

You giggled. “Hopefully they all like me. Are they friends from school?”

“Some from school, some from home, some from the country club.”

“Ah I see. So a wide variety.”

“Something like that.” he smirked, placing a hand on your lower back as he guided you towards a mysterious hallway. The hand placement. Oh my god the hand placement. You savoured his touch as he guided you, looking up at him despite wearing heels.

Somehow he still towered over you. It made you feel things.

You heard bustle from the room he was guiding you towards, the sound of music leading you onwards. Dozens of people mingled around what looked like a game room. Some lounged on leather couches with drinks in their hands, others playing a round of pool.

You saw Bucky and some others with a deck of cards, others at the bar top. It was spacious, detailed wood panels across the ceiling, with soft lights mounted on the walls, creating a glow. You admired the dozens of paintings perched on the walls, staring at Peter in amazement.

“It’s beautiful here.”

“Thanks.” he smiled, taking it in with you, as if he didn’t see this every day. It made you like him even more somehow, if that was possible.

“Hey everyone this is Y/N. Party is no longer threatened to get cancelled. You’re welcome.” he called out, and everyone cheered.

“To Y/N” Bucky called out in toast, raising his glass. They didn’t even use solo cups. This shit was fancy as fuck.

You laughed, waving to everyone before Peter pulled you aside, the music picking up its tempo as the chatter resumed. “Can I get you a drink? For once?” he asked, and you nodded- following him over to the bar.

“It’s nice to see you behind the counter for once.” you smirked, giggling as he whipped a towel over his shoulder like a real bartender. “What do you mean for once? I will let you know that I am the most prestigious bartender in France. They don’t even call me a bartender, the call me “tender of the bar” " he drawled.

“Just a cider please. I’m easy like that.”

He sighed in relief. “Thank god. I don’t know how to make anything but a whisky sour.”

“Hey, that's a start!” you smiled, watching as he grabbed a chilled glass and slid ice in it, before pouring your drink from the can. “Madame.”

“Thank you, monsior. Mmmm fantastic. You should work with me!” He snorted, throwing the towel down. “They would fire me before I could pick up a glass. You’re too talented, you'd outshine me. You already do.”

“Do not.”

“Do too.”

“You’re being silly.”

“Silly is my middle name.”

“I thought handsome was your middle name?”

“Alright woah now-“

----------------------------------------------------------------- A few hours had passed, and the night was still young. You were drunk, a little- and your shoes had come off. You didn’t know where they went, or where your phone was, or why you were outside with Peter.

But you were outside with Peter. And it was nice.

The air was chill against your skin, but not cold enough you had goosebumps. It was soft against your flushed skin from the alcohol, and you savoured the breeze as it fluttered your dress. Everyone was still inside, but you needed a breather.

You could see the lights shinning brightly from here, where you were on the pool deck. Because of course he had a pool. He also had a tennis court, a golf course, and an indoor pool. No surprises there.

You heard the sliding glass door open and shut, Peter emerging with glasses of water in hand. “I figured you’d want this.” he said, walking over to you with a grin, and a fluster on his cheeks.

“Thank you so much.” you sighed, the water trickling down your hand as you grabbed the ice cold glass, taking a long chug. It cleared your head as it slithered down your throat, relieving your thirst.

“So, is it okay?”

“Is what okay?”

“Here. This. Me.”

You stared at him, cocking your head in interest, attempting to study him. “It’s more than okay. It’s wonderful. You’re wonderful.”

“You think so?” he asked, a glimmer in his eyes as he stepped closer to you, your chests practically touching as he grabbed your empty glass, setting it down beside you.

Your breath caught in your throat as his hand slid up, cupping your cheek- thumb brushing your skin making you shiver. Your nipples hardened under his touch- or the chill, you didn’t know.

All you knew was that his eyes were burning holes into yours with the utmost lust you thought you’d simply combust.

“Is it okay if I touch you here doll?”

You nodded.

“What do you want Y/N? Do you want this?” he asked, voice practically begging. The music from the party thudded off the windows, lyrics slipping through the cracks under the doors to echo into your ears.

I sing the national anthem while I am standing over your body hold you like a python, and you can’t keep your hands off me or your pants on, see whatcha done to me, King of Chevron…

“I want this. I want it all.” you murmured, leaning into his touch.

“Can you swim?” he whispered, inching closer and closer to your lips.

Wait- what?

“Ye-” you let out a scream as you felt the world tilt under your feet, tumbling backwards into the hands of a strong man holding your waist. A splash erupted, the world turning a murky dark blue as the music muffled. The water was surprisingly warm as you gasped for air, frantically reaching out for Peter to hold.

He was even warmer than the water despite the cool air, and he laughed as you clung to him, wrapping your legs around his torso, dress hunched up as it stuck to your body like a second skin.

You became very much aware of how his shirt did the same, except it was white, and you could see the perfect outline of his abs and his arm tats.

“Peter what the fuck?!” you shrieked, cut off as his lips crashed to yours, engulfing you with heat and a tenderness you’ve never felt before.

His lips were like pillows as they caressed yours, hands squeezing your thighs, your ass, your waist as he tugged you closer and closer, until your breaths had merged and you had practically become one.

Hands flew up to his hair, tugging on the wet strands as he begged for more, and more- teeth clashing, tongues begging for entrance before they slipped in.

You couldn’t help but moan, breathing harder as his squeezed your ass hard enough to bruise, unleashing whatever restraint he had been holding. You moaned again and he had to pull away, resting his forehead against yours, breathing hard as he watched your mascara smudge and trickle down your cheeks.

“Y/N fuck- if you keep moaning like that… I’ll-”

“You’ll what?” you asked innocently, shivering.

“I’m trying so hard to be a gentleman and not go past this, but if you keep doing that I don’t know if I’ll be able to control myself.” he murmured, bringing a hand up to stroke a stray strand of water from your cheek, kissing each one.

“That’s okay.” you smiled, grinding your hips against his, rubbing against him as he moaned.

“Jesus christ baby. Fuck.”

You giggled, feeling his very prominent bulge through his pants. You grabbed his chin, lips melting against his once more, just to get a taste of him. You were addicted- heart thudding in your chest, blood turning to molten lava in your veins.

It was like his lips were coated in honey, so sweet you practically licked them. “You’re just so sweet.” you sighed into his lips, kissing him harder. It wasn’t long before you were interrupted, the sound of a sliding glass door opening.

“You guys almost done out here?” Bucky called out, Peter's head whipping to him in annoyance.

“ What do you want?!” he called out, exasperated. “Steve and I wanna swim. Unless you guys want us to join you, I’m sure there wouldn’t be too many complaints on this end.” Bucky smirked, winking at you.

What a goddamn flirt. You couldn’t help but smile back, even if he had just interrupted the best experience of your entire life.

“We’ll be out in a minute Bucky- calm down.”

“No need!” a voice called from the house, to which Steve ran and cannonballed into the pool, splashing you.

Peter sighed, leaning his forehead back against yours. “I am so sorry about them. This is not as romantic as I had hoped in the slightest.”

“What are you talking about? This is totally romantic. The drenched rat look I’m wearing is what the movies had envisioned.”

He laughed, kissing your forehead with a quick peck, before Bucky jumped in right after. “The most beautiful drenched rat I’ve ever seen. I promise you, we’ll have time for this again.”

“Many times?” you asked flirtatiously, and he nodded.

”Many times.”

“Good. Now, I suppose we should all play mermaids now. What powers do you wanna have?”

[emilybeemartin]

Just to tie in my two themes this month----

Additional notes, because poll options apparently limit their characters:

Frodo finds great peace in watching the tides rise and fall throughout each day. He attends all the ranger programs on birds and seashells and fills pages with sketches and poetry.

Sam meticulously selects postcards in the gift shop for each of his friends and spends a whole morning writing and addressing them. He also buys Junior Ranger hats for his kids and a variety of Appalachian jams for Rosie.

Park rangers launch a Missing Person search for Aragorn when they realize his car's been parked at Avalanche Creek for three days. The search runs for almost a week before he comes strolling out the opposite side of the park, supporting one of the SAR techs who twisted an ankle during the search.

Legolas is first drawn to Olympic for the towering, mossy temperate rainforests, but the ground goes out from under him when he steps onto Second Beach for the first time. He spends an entire day watching the light and tides shift on the sea stacks, and he leaves feeling both full and hollow, like a bell that's just been rung.

Mammoth is only Gimli's first stop on a cavern tour, followed by Jewel and Wind Caves and Carlsbad Caverns. Wind Cave is his favorite for the unusual formations. He makes an obnoxious tween boy cry in Carlsbad for breaking off a speleothem.

Boromir is on a tour of military parks. He asks so many questions to the intern working the info station at Fort Sumter the kid has to go find the park historian. His favorite site is Vicksburg because that place was buckwild, though he silently judges one of the reenactors for his clumsy handling of a black powder rifle.

Merry also makes stops in Jurassic and Dinosaur National Monuments. He watches every park video, takes selfies in front of all the fossil exhibits, and earns his Junior Ranger badge at each one. He buys a keychain for Pippin.

Pippin actually gets four citations, mostly for trying to stick his hands in mud pots. He doesn't mean anything by it---he's just so delighted and curious about the bizarre landscape. He winds up with several thermal burns and dumps a king's ransom in the donation box on his last day.

Gandalf gets dinged by rangers for not paying the $5 fee for Trunk Bay, but he acts senile until they eventually decide to drop it. He gets postcards from everyone and responds to none of them.

Faramir and Eowyn are traveling together and do many of the same hikes and rides, but they do have some different preferences off-trail. Eowyn drags Faramir to a rodeo and the Million Dollar Cowboy Bar in Jackson Hole, and he goads her into Ranger Shelton Johnson's living history programs on the Buffalo Soldiers in Yosemite.

Eomer is bike-packing on his sport cruiser motorcycle. He goes to Roosevelt south unit for the wild horse herds but ends up spending half a day watching a prairie dog town. He takes 400 photos of them, mostly blurry, and texts them to Eowyn.

[dmitriene]

cw: mentions of groping and attempts at harassment, reader stays her ground, simon falls in love and kind of a horny mutt, smut is not the main curse.

simon keeps his distance from relationships, he has enough problems of his own, he rarely stays in one place because of deployments, and very often risks his life.

until simon observes a situation in a bar that turns his world upside down, making him feel a prickly warmth in his lower stomach and a whirlwind of thoughts consisting only of the same words

— “she's gonna be mine„

it was so easy, you only had to go to the bar for the first time in a long time to unwind, only to get caught by an annoying, nasty guy who didn't want to stop trying to touch you and whisper nasty compliments to you like — “your tits looks so good in this shirt„ “wanna get out of here with me?„ “don't play hard to get„

until it all turned into screams and pig squeals, as soon as you poured the drink from your hands on his gross self, ruining not only his clothes, leaving them sticky, but also his image, attracting the attention of almost all the customers and also the bartender, a clever one who immediately called for help to get the man out before he did anything worse, not to mention his squeals about — “fucking bitch! that how you react to some attention?!„

it's really easy, responding with rudeness to rudeness and not tolerating humiliation just for the sake of saving face, not even yours, in public, instead keeping your nerve and addressing rude people in their own language, before wiping your hands with a napkin and going back to relaxing by ordering another drink.

and simon is not at all ashamed to admit to himself that the whole performance, carefully followed by his thawed chocolate eyes, not only made him aroused, which caused him to fidget in the seat, spreading his legs wider and squeezing the prominent bulge in his pants, tenting against the fabric of the black jeans —

but also allowed him to imagine how it would have been in different circumstances, yelling at him about completely different things — while being on top of him, riding his fat cock with rough rolls of your round hips and loud slaps of your plush ass against his relaxed, muscular thighs, the warm, gummy walls of your cunny clench around his meaty cock so good, making him go delirious with just one imagination how hot you would sound with his name and orders slipping past your soft, bitten from his hungry mouth, lips — “h — haa, yesyesyes, simon! stay just like that, s' good!„

it's all enough to make simon break out of his habitual image in which he tries to keep a low profile, he calls the waiter to ask him to extend your drink at his expense, and it's really more than enough for simon, because you don't hesitate to find his gaze among the numerous tables when you're told that another cocktail you didn't ask for is a compliment from another customer, and simon doesn't hide his communion either.

he catches your gaze back, feeling a thrilling shiver in his body, and raises his glass of bourbon to the thin line of pale lips that spread into a smile of their own, accord when he sees your biased squint, but even though his slightly intimidating balaclava and broad physique, you nod, thankfully, your lips moving in silent gratitude — “thank's, sir„

that was his green flag, to sit in the bar until you were about to leave, leaving the room and his line of sight, slipping out if only for a moment, because simon couldn't let you go home alone after all that, coming out after you and as gently as possible touching your shoulder to make you turn, your gaze falling onto his warm eyes before processing the hoarse words he said

— “le' me wolk you home, hm? nothing more, jus' a safe wolk, lovie?„

and will you refuse? after all, no matter how hard you try to think otherwise, something in his whole form inspires of unexpected safety, so maybe he's the one who will be your normal company tonight.

✎ 𝘮𝘢𝘪𝘯 𝘮𝘢𝘴𝘵𝘦𝘳𝘭𝘪𝘴𝘵. 𝘲𝘶𝘪𝘥𝘦𝘭𝘪𝘯𝘦𝘴. 𝘢𝘰3.

[loupy-mongoose]

Lil speech guide: Randy's speech Jamie's speech (Pokespeak will be in parentheses.)

It got pretty long, so under the Bar it goes!

PREVIOUS NEXT

~~~~~~

Jamie, the Gardevoir, and the three Lindens stood locked in tense silence. Randy fought to string together an explanation that wouldn't give away too much, while also trying to gauge Akoya's stance.

Jamie was the first to break the silence. Her expression hardened, her eyes displaying a sharp fury. Well? I'm not letting you a step further until I know it's not a threat.

The pointed stick in her hand lowered to point toward the family, and her authoritative tone chilled Randy. She meant business, which didn't help ease the man's racing mind.

Akoya answered before Randy could, her voice a bit too defensive in his opinion. It's none of your business what's in our bag. It's stuff for travel! What's wrong with that?!

Jamie clearly didn't believe her for a second. Her icy eyes bore into the white haired visitor. I won't tolerate a threat at my home. Tell me what's in there, or you WILL leave. Her eyes flashed ominously. Or worse.

Feeling a wave of protectiveness, Randy shuffled to stand in front of Akoya and Lavender. He hoped they couldn't feel the surge of utter dread that coursed through his body.

Listen, Jamie. He tried to keep his voice low, level, and non-threatening. What's in that bag is very precious to us, and we can't show you out here where others might see it. If we can go somewhere private, then maybe we can work something out.

He felt the sharp jab of Akoya's disapproval from behind him. Between her and the protesting red-head in front of them, he felt his resolve being wringed out of him.

Jamie stood still, her glare unwavering. After a moment, her head lifted slightly as she addressed their Pokemon company in an strong bark. (Darren, Sheila, Percy, please hide us with your wings.)

Percy and Darren gave startled, bewildered looks, while Sheila tilted her head and chuffed questioningly. But they did as she asked, reaching out to their widest wingspans, touching tip-to-tip with each other.

The Lindens hesitantly shuffled to adjust their positions as their space shrank.

There. Jamie eyed them all closely You wanted somewhere private; this is it. If you still won't show me, you'll have to leave.

Randy and Akoya glanced nervously at each other.

What could be done?

They came to a silent agreement.

Akoya turned back to Jamie, giving her a glare that verged on desperation. We're showing you because you forced our hand. NOT because we trust you. If you try anything...

To Randy's surprise, he caught a falter in Jamie's resolve, and something changed. A new expression slipped into her demeanor, if only barely.

Curiosity.

The look on Jamie's face turned from shock to determination.

Swiftly she addressed her three winged Pokemon. (Spread the word; we need to find a little pink Mew with blue accents. It is to be brought back to these three safely and secretly.)

The three beasts nodded in sincerity and took off.

Persim poked his head of of the bag, his face etched in horror, while Momo was shrieking. Stay in there for now, Perzi. Randy's voice was shaky, but reassuring. We'll handle it. Could you please try to calm Momo down?

The orange feline nodded uncertainly and ducked back into the bag. Randy saw a green bubble form in it as he zipped it shut. Momo's screams went quiet, but he knew it was just contained by the bubble. Poor Persim...

The red-headed girl looked solemnly at the devastated family, her expression softer than any of them had seen from her yet. I'm truly sorry about that... I promise you all, this is the best place for a Pokemon like them to be lost at. There will be lots of good Pokemon looking for them, and any humans will be curious at worst. It might scare them, but nobody will hurt them.

I would've done things differently if I'd known they were in there...

Akoya gave up looking nearby for her son and took a breath. She turned to Jamie, for once without venom. Listen, Jamie, with all due respect, we'll be able to find him easier than your little... network, or whatever you have here. He's gotta be terrified! He might just keep teleporting away if strangers find him, human or Pokemon...

Jamie folded her arms with a hesitant nod. You're free to search too, if you think so. Maybe you're right, and he'll only show for you guys. But if anyone spots him, I'll hear of it, so I'd best stick with you.

Akoya gave an uncertain look and opened her mouth to speak. But, feeling her about to protest, Randy interrupted her. We can talk later. Let's go find Midas.

~~~~~~

PREVIOUS NEXT

New skill acquired~

And just for the fun of it, I'm uh... gonna share some of the (very) rough sketches I did for this part, because I find them hilarious.

Luna (my cat) randomly decided to leave the comfort of her cat tower to come lay on my arm. The trouble was, it was my drawing arm. So I made due. XD

[neochan]

FAULT LINE (M) - TEASER

PAIRING. ex!haechan x reader

GENRE. exes to lovers, toxic relationship, smut, plot of sorts, street racer au (barely)

WARNINGS. toxicity, smut mentions

WC. teaser is 1.1k

A. NOTE. so i needed a break from the pick me chronicles and stumbled across this type of hyuck characterization!

"where the fuck are you at?"

blearily blinking, you take a look around. when did you step outside? you think as hard as you can, but nothings coming too. you're drunk. very drunk.

people littered the front of the club - some waiting on ubers, others making out. but you - why were you out here? where were your friends?

"y/n. tell me where the fuck you are."

oh shit.

the phone pressed to your ear brings you back into a sort of semi-focus. you faintly remember crying to a random stranger in the bathroom about your recent break up. the poor girl had reassured you that everything would be okay, but you barely recall pushing her aside and mumbling something about calling your ex to make up.

that was until you had caught the attention of a guy at the bar and ended up doing green tea shots with him.

oh.

oh shit.

okay yeah, every memory was bombarding you now.

if the the still sticky cum dribbling down your thighs didn't serve as a reminder, than the memory of him pressing your hips against the porcelain sink while he fucked into you should have.

"y/n?"

and then you stepped outside to call your ex because. . . you felt bad? yeah you felt bad.

his voice was becoming more impatient with each passing silent second.

"hy-uck?" you hiccup.

he sighs, "god, i thought you passed out or something."

he didn't sound mad. had you already told him what you did? you can't remember.

"hyuck." the whimper trembles from your lips, "i need you."

"i know, that's why you called me." he seems to be fumbling around with something on his end, the muffled strain of his voice giving it away. "baby, where are you? i called you earlier but you didn't hit me back."

tears start to well in your eyes as you press against the brick wall of the club.

"i went out dancing and i did something bad. i-i'm sorry." your words are slurring together and it's becoming harder to breathe. "i didn't mean to, he- he just. . ." your voice trails off in a whisper.

"he? who the fuck are you with?" the jangle of keys sounds on the other line, a few seconds later accompanied by the slam of haechans front door. his temper is rising. he knows he should calm down. shit, he's probably scaring you bad right now, but the thought of you with another guy? you broke up two days ago. why the fuck would you be with another guy.

"i fucked up, hyuck."

"this isn't a game. send me your fucking address." the purr of his car engine rumbles through the phone.

shakily, you take the phone from your ear and send him your location.

"i'll be there in five." another sigh on his end... "if i see whoever this guy is, i'm not sure i'd be able to stop myself from killing him."

you hiccup, "yeah, i know."

four minutes and thirty eight seconds later a black ford shelby GT500 screeches to a halt against the curb.

through blurry eyes, you watch as grey sweatpants and a white t-shirt approach your slouched figure. his jaw is set, eyebrows drawn up - yet you feel nothing but relief.

"jesus, how much did you fucking drink?" he scoops you up in his arms to help you stand despite your wobbly frame. the earth is swimming in your frame with each step you take, but being pressed against his lean body grounds you. so does the cologne doting his chest - so familiar and warm, you press your nose into his t-shirt.

"you smell good." you hum.

"thanks." he peers down at you with a curiosity you don't notice. maybe the breakup affected you way more than he thought because he's never seen you this fucked up. "theres a curb right here, be careful."

deep in your muddled brain, you want to kiss him and thank him for coming to get you - for actually being worried about you for once.

but you don't.

instead, you climb into the rich leather interior of his car and settle back. it stings, being back in a place you once felt so comfortable in. tears pinprick the corner of your eyes for a quick second, but you blink them away. you just let hyuck reach across your chest and buckle you in.

"hyuck i'm sorry."

his gaze fall to yours, millions of emotions lurking deep in those luminous doe eyes. you look nearly innocent and he felt bad.

he swears underneath his breath, "your guilty conscious is gonna be the death of me."

a shaky hand reaches out to touch his cheek. a familiar gesture you can't yet get rid of - not when he's three inches away from you. "hyuck-"

"fuck this." he pulls back and cards a hand through his hair. "what were you doing with another guy?"

"we- we were doing shots and -"

"how many." he breathes.

"a couple? i don't know, maybe. . . maybe three?"

a forced huff leaves his chest, "three shots with a fucking stranger?"

"hyuck, i said i'm sorry-" your hands twist regrettably in your lap.

"yeah yeah, and then what?" he's leaning against the passenger doorframe, leg bouncing right next to you.

"and then he took me into the bathroom and we fucked."

a few seconds of silence. you try to face him. you can't. why did everything have to be so complicated.

"you fucked another guy but called me to come get you?" he sneers. he has to have lost all respect for you. there's no way he hasn't.

"i'm sorr-"

"i get it. you're sorry." he pushes off the doorframe and starts to pace. "what's his name?"

the lump in your throat grows when you realize you never caught his name. "i don't know."

"you don't know? so you fucked a complete stranger?" a laugh rips from his throat, "this is unbelievable."

"can we just go? please."

he ignores your question and presses you further, "what does he look like?"

"hyuck no. please, can we go."

each word is punctuated by the grit in his teeth. "what does he fucking look like."

it was futile to argue with hyuck when he got this way. he was gonna find out who this guy was either way.

"pink hair, silver button down, black pants, expensive watch. probably drinking green tea shots." the details of the night might have been distorted, but you could have picked out this handsome stranger in a line up.

"stay right here. i'll be back."

"no! hyu-" your cry is cut off by the slam of your door. anxiously, you watch his lithe figure move past the bouncer and into the club. a sinking feeling falls in the pit of your stomach.

what the fuck did you do.

ANOTHER NOTE. is this worth continuing? let me know if it is :)

[mavrintarou]

[3:45PM] Suna Rintarou (prequel of DD) [2]

Happy birthday to Suna Rintarou! I know I've made him a clingy fox but I honestly think this man is a clingy fox when he's in love.

Warning: clingy man and smut (18+)

Prequel (part 1) Prequel (part 3)

.

“So, what’s going on with you and this woman?” Osamu inquired, his brow furrowed in curiosity.

The glass cup froze at Rin’s lips, and the whiff of yeast in the beer hit his senses. Gulping his beer, he set the cup down. “It’s going…”

When he woke up alone in his bed two days ago, he was slapped in the face with disappointment and anger.

“Haah…” a bitter laugh escapes his dry lips, lips that he could still taste her from hours ago.

Rin slams his fist into the pillow she was sleeping on out of anger and frustration.

He frowned when his fist came into contact with what seemed to be a piece of paper.

Hey sleepy head,

I tried to wake you up but you wouldn’t budge. I was called in for an overnight flight, there was no one else near that could do it so I had to go.

I’ll text you when I land in Istanbul.

Y/n

Rin waited for her text like an obedient puppy that entire day.

Looking back, he can’t remember the last time he was excited to receive a text message.

[**note: The green color text is dialogue text message exchanged in the past]

Hey.

After leaving him hanging for over 15 hours, he can’t say he was elastic to receive a Hey from her.

Hey you. He texted back.

She quickly responded As I promised, I’d text you when I landed. Were you upset when I wasn’t there when you woke up?

Yes. He texted back. Very upset.

A little taste of your own medicine? :P

Rin let out a scoff.

Don’t be mad, I left you a note though, right?

She did, unlike him.

You did, not mad at all, sad but not mad. When can I see you again? He sounded desperate and was desperate, but he didn’t care.

I thought you said one date.

He chewed his lip, and quickly typed I didn’t specify…

You mean you haven’t had your full fill of me yet?

“No,” Rin answered out loud, his fingers quickly typing his response. Fuck no. If I didn’t make it very clear, Y/l/n Y/f/n, I’m very interested in you and want to get to know you more. He doesn’t know where this confidence is coming from, but he is going to piggyback off of it before he loses it. I don’t mean it as in your body, that’s a bonus. I know we are very compatible in bed, you can’t deny that. But I want to get to know you on a mental and emotional level too. And other physical levels too.

When he didn’t see her respond quickly, he groaned. She had the power to put him on his toes, he was willing to admit he was wrapped around her fingers.

His phone finally dinged a notification.

I’ll be home on the 25th.

It’s the 25th and he hasn’t heard from her, the last time they spoke was more than 48 hours ago.

Boundaries, his conscience is always reminding him. As if the universe is watching him and shaking their heads, they have been sending all sorts of videos and posts about dating. He’s been seeing them all over his social media platforms. He began watching dating tips and it opened his eyes.

But today was his birthday, and she said she would be home on his birthday. She didn’t specifically say on his birthday but on the 25th, his birthday, so he was going to convince himself she was returning for his birthday.

His phone vibrated in his pocket.

Hey, are you free for a call?

Instead of replying, he called her.

“Hey,” he breathed. He hurried out of the bar and shuffled away from the loud noise coming from the entrance of the bar.

“Am I… catching you at a bad time?”

God, I missed her voice, Rin thought.  

“No,” his breath is visible against the cold January night air. “Are you home?”

“Yeah,” she sounded like she was shuffling around, “just ended my shift. Are you… still down to meet?”

Rin looked at his watch, it was already 10 PM, was she… implying…

“I’m out at the bar at the moment, do you want to come out?”

It was a moment of silence before she replied, “sure, text me the address.”

Twenty minutes later, Rin kept looking at the door, his eyes instantly at the door every time it opened but would look away disappointed when it wasn’t the person he was waiting for.

Atsumu followed his gaze, “are you waiting on your girl? Is she coming here?”

The corner of Rin’s mouth curved into a smirk, his girl. “Yeah, she’s coming.”

At last, the person he’d been waiting for walked through the door and glanced around the place. Standing up, Rin marches over towards her.

Y/n smiles the moment their eyes meet, “hey – “

The rest of her words are cut off as Rin pulls her into a hug. It was a full-on bear hug, his face nuzzling into the crook of her neck and shoulder. “Missed you…”

Y/n pulls back and frowns, “had a lot to drink already?”

He nodded his head, his bangs flapping.

Y/n reached to brush his bangs away, “where’s your table at?”

He shook his head, grabbing her hands and bringing them to his chest. “Let’s go…”

“Go where? Shouldn’t we at least say hang out for a little bit – “

“No, we can go, go anywhere… I’ve had enough drinks for the night.” It was true, he didn’t want to drink anymore now that Y/n was here right beside him. He just wants alone time with her.

He groaned when he heard his name being called by Miya twins. Looking over his shoulder, he cast a glare at them to shut up but that only taunts them to shout his name even more.

Before he could do something, Y/n dragged him towards the table.

“Oho! You’re Suna’s girl?” Atsumu’s loud voice rang throughout the bar. “I’m Atsumu, this is Osamu, we’re high school buddies of Suna’s.”

Y/n smiled at them returning the greeting and all Rin could think about was how he was not happy to share her smile with his friends. Her smile was his and his only.

“Okay, Suna, stop glaring at us, go.” Osamu waved his hand in a shooing manner. “Happy birthday by the way.”

Rin watched Y/n’s eyes widen before she looked at him, “that’s right, it’s your birthday!” She leaned over and waved at a waitress, “a round of beer and shots at table 3 please!”

.

“Rin…” Y/n shakes him by his chin, “put in your passcode…”He opened his tired eyes and stared at his door lock, his mouth opened but Y/n covered his mouth before he could speak. “Just press it, don’t say it.”

He moved her hand, mumbling, “how do you not know…”

Y/n frowned, “I don’t know and I shouldn’t know your passcode, we’re not that close yet.”

Rin stood on his own and held a finger, “watch,” he used that finger to press his passcode in. “Now, you know.”

Y/n looks away with a smile tugging at her lips, “get inside.” She pulls at the door and drags him inside.

.

His head was pounding. He stares at the ceiling contemplating his life choices from last night.

A sigh of relief comes from his left and his head turns immediately.

He was 99% sure it was Y/n with her back facing him but there was that 1% that left him feeling uneasy. He couldn’t remember how he made it home but he was sure that he remembered seeing Y/n come to the bar… it was everything after that that he had no recollection of.

It was most definitely Y/n, she fit perfectly beside him just as he remembered. Carefully, he leaned over to get a glimpse and silently sighed in relief when it was her.

His brows frowned when he noticed the fresh blue-purple bruise on her right cheekbone. Without thinking, he flipped her on her back, waking her up. “What happened to your face?” He carefully cupped her face, his breath hitching when she flinched. “Who hurt you? Who gave you this bruise?”

“You, you did,” Y/n murmured, closing her eyes. “I’m very tired, I haven’t slept in over 24 hours. So let me sleep please.” She shifts and wiggles until she can pull the covers over her.

That’s when Rin realized they had been sleeping on top of his comforters instead of under.

He rolled her on her back again, “I’ll let you sleep in a bit but tell me, how did I give you this bruise? Did – did I hit you?”

She opened her left eye and stared at him. Genuine concern was written on his face making her think twice before she teased him. She didn’t doubt at all that he would ever lay his hand on a woman in violent ways, she can only imagine all the things running in his head. “No, Rin, you did not hit me. You head-butt me instead, on accident of course.”

She explained how she brought him inside and was trying to get him in bed when he tripped and knocked the both of them on his bed. His head collided with her cheek painfully hard making her see stars for a few seconds. He knocked out, locking her beneath him. She had no choice but to just throw his comforters over them instead of getting under.

“I’m so sorry,” he whispered, eyes on her bruise. “Can I… sleep beside you?”

“Sure,” she smiled tiredly and closed her eyes, instantly falling asleep once again.

She must have been so tired and she still came out to the bar. He thought to himself. As gently as possible without waking her up, he pulled the comforters up to her chin. She was so deeply asleep she didn’t stir when he pressed a kiss to her temple and a faint one to the bruise.

.

Y/n was not used to having someone cuddle against her, let alone a 6’3 grown man.

But she didn’t have the heart to wake him up.

Looking at her watch, it was the late afternoon already. They had slept their entire day away.

That was something she was used to, whenever she would return from flying halfway around the world. She would need half a day to a whole day to readjust to the time zone.

Except this last flight. She left in a hurry as soon as she could and dropped off her luggage at home. She should have showered and would have but he had called her.

She quickly sprayed some perfume and left her place to meet him.

Y/n couldn’t count how many times she had reread his text message.

I don’t mean it as in your body, that’s a bonus. I know we are very compatible in bed, you can’t deny that. But I want to get to know you on a mental and emotional level too.

If she was honest with herself, she would say Rin was head over heels for her. It wasn’t that she wasn’t used to it, but she had never had someone younger than her show this much interest in her. She would admit that she did not realize how much younger he was to her. She thought he was her age if not older.

With her lifestyle revolving around her career, having a committed relationship was not a priority for her. If it wasn’t for his persistence and foolishness in kneeling in front of her in public, she would not have given him a second chance.

It’s an unspoken rule that you don’t have second times with the same person that was meant to be a one-night stand.

But Y/n herself… couldn’t help but give in to him.

Enjoy it while you can, she told herself.

A low groan rumbled from the body that was squishing her, “are you hungry?”

Y/n thought for a second before responding, “yes, now that you mentioned it.”

Rin lifts his head off her shoulder, his hair flopped upward messily. His eyes zeroed in on her bruise. “God, I’m so sorry.”

“Did it get uglier?” Her tone is teasing, she reaches to touch it but Rin catches her wrist.

“No, take this as a compliment but you can make a bruise look beautiful.” He kissed her knuckles. “Come, let’s go get something to eat.”

.

Rin didn’t want to part from her. He had a feeling they would go their way after this meal.

He had ordered food and had it delivered to his place to avoid having Y/n go out in public with the bruise on her cheek.

So he took his merry time eating his hangover Miso soup.

He turned a blind eye each time she would tilt her watch to check the time.

“Are you regretting your life choices with alcohol and beer?” Y/n teased watching him sigh and stare at his soup. Y/n frowned when he looked up at her like a child afraid to ask a question. “What?”

“Are you going to leave after this?” He finally asked the question that had been eating him up inside.

“Do you not have work tomorrow?”

He shook his head, “no, I have the rest of the week off.” He waited a heartbeat before asking, “what about you?”

It was Y/n’s longer time off. Once a month, she’ll get four to five days off before resuming her hectic schedule again. Usually with her time off, she spent the time relaxing and running any errands she needed to while home.

Without any set plans, she caught on to his clear obvious hint. Y/n, in a playful yet earnest manner, narrowed her eyes at him and inquired, “why do you ask?”

“Because I want to hang out with you.” He answered right away. “We could do anything you want…” He looked at her with waiting eyes, “I just want to be with you.”

Y/n couldn’t resist the delight of being desired by someone, particularly someone as captivating as Rintarou. His charm and voice had her completely enchanted, and the more time she spent with him, the more spellbound she became. Is he completely unaware that his words to her evoked sensations in her heart that she had only fantasized about?

Being the one to break the intense staring going on between them, she could feel her face warming up. “I have tomorrow off as well,” she stated, locking eyes with him once more, this time with more confidence. “So, what should we do?”

.

Rintarou did not peg Y/n as one to enjoy horror films. His intentions after she allowed him to choose a film, a horror film, was to have her cuddle against him so he could wrap his arms protectively around her.

Instead, he sat beside her, pouting as Y/n’s full undivided attention was set on the film.

It was like she forgot he was there. Like she forgot she was supposed to cuddle beside him and let him make her feel safe.

After they finished their meals, Y/n was going to go back to her place to change and shower and return but Rin held on to the end of her shirt like a lost puppy

“Just use my bathroom…” he begged, staring at her with puppy begging eyes.

“What about clothes?”

You don’t need clothes, he wanted to say. “Just use my clothes…” After those words left his lips, he realized he may not survive if he saw her wearing his clothes.

Y/n sighed, she did not like clingy behaviors but she couldn’t bring herself to say no or deny him.

“Fine…”

His invisible puppy ears perked up and his tails wagged excitedly. “Want to shower together?”

“Don’t push your luck,” she laughed.

After her quick shower, she came out wearing a baggy shirt of his with his sweatpants.

Rin looked away and tried to distract his mind with other thoughts to prevent a boner from happening.  

His fists had been clutching tightly to his sweatpants for almost the last hour, did she not realize what she was doing to him sitting next to him wearing his clothes?

He cleared his throat for the fourth time and slowly, her chin turned towards him but her eyes couldn’t leave the screen.

The plot of the film had finally reached the truth behind all the paranormal activities.

“Y/n,” Rin whispered.

Her chin was still tilted in his direction except her eyes. “Hmm?”

“Is this film that good?” He’d heard good reviews on this film, but all he could watch was her.

She hummed after a few seconds.

“Can we cuddle?”

At last, her eyes finally left the screen and looked at him. She scooted closer and curled against his side after fully comprehending his question. “Is that why you huffin’ and puffin’ over there?”

He hummed after a few seconds, a smile on his face, finally satisfied. He hooked an arm beneath her knees and threw her legs over his lap. “This is much better.”

Ten minutes into the film, she felt his head rest against the crook of her neck and shoulder. His warm breath was steadily fanning her neck and collarbone.

He had fallen asleep.

As soon as the film was over, Y/n reached for the remote without moving too much to wake him up.

“Is it finally over?”

“Yep,” she answered, “that was one hell of a plot twist that you missed out on.”

Rin’s arms tightened around her and he hummed against her neck, rubbing his nose against her pulse. “Tell me about it, please?”

Turning off the TV, Y/n saw their reflection on the TV screen. With their height difference, his neck was awkwardly angled so his head could rest on her shoulder.

“If you’re tired, go to bed.”

He shook his head, squeezing her waist. “I’m tired but I don’t want to go to bed.” When she lifted her hand and threaded her fingers through his hair, he nearly let out a moan when her nails began massaging his scalp.

His lips pressed against her pulse in a kiss before he nipped the skin there but was immediately stopped by Y/n who shifted away and gripped his chin, “don’t mark me.”

Rin didn’t mask his disappointment and muttered, “fine.”

Her lips curved as she squeezed his cheeks, making his lips pucker, “tell me,” her voice dropped an octave lower, “why are you hard?”

With his lips still puckered he responded, “blame it on your thighs.” He pulls away from her grip and squeezes her thigh which is pressed against his cock. Ever since he pulled her legs over his lap, he couldn’t get the thought of her riding him out of his head, which was why he had to force himself to sleep the rest of the film.

His little nap only worsened as he had enough time to dream about Y/n riding him.

“It’s so… squishy…” he squeezed harder, making her squirm in his lap. “And soft…” He leaned forward until their lips were closed, “and I want to bury my face between them…” He didn’t miss the hitch in her breath. “So what do you say, Y/n?”

“Less talking and more doing, Rin…”

In an instant, she’s flipped onto her back on the couch with Rin kneeling in between her legs. His fingers grip the waistband of his sweatpants on her and frowned, “no panties?” The smirk on her face answered his question. Tugging off his sweatpants, he confirmed his suspicion. “Can’t believe you sat on my lap practically with no panties.” Hooking both her legs over his shoulders, he grins happily at her before his face disappears in between her legs.

Y/n buckled against his lips, thighs crushing against his head. “Rin,” she choked out his name and moaned loudly when two fingers thrust knuckles deep. “Oh God…”

She looked down at the man, his eyes were already on her, staring straight at her as he feasted on her.  

With his other free hand, he slipped it inside his shirt she was wearing and groaned when his palm touched her tit. She was wearing no bra beneath his shirt. His cock twitched, nearly cumming from being excited.

“Rin… Rin please…”

He suckled her clit before letting it go with a pop. “Please?”

Widening her legs, and freeing his head, she begged, “you… I want you.”

Rin lets out a shaky laugh and straightens himself. Hearing her say she wanted him nearly undoes him in ways he has never realized. He pushed his waistband down and frees his cock.

He tugs Y/n until she is flat on her back and her ass is hanging off the couch before hiking her legs over his shoulders. Rin pulls the end of his shirt to his lips and bites down on the material before guiding his cock to the wet and glossy pussy.

“Argh,” he lets out a low growl and pushes until he is fully inside her.

He starts with slow and steady thrusts, savoring how her pussy is tightly hugging his cock.

Y/n’s lewd soft moans hypnotize him making him want to slow down or else he may just cum embarrassingly fast.

“Rin – Rin,” she reaches to rub her clit but he slapped her hand away.

His shirt drops as he growled, “I’ll do it…” he spread her legs apart and became thrilled at the sight of his cock moving in and out of her pussy. His thumb found the swollen clit and he began circling it. He felt her clench tighter around his cock. “Are you going to cum?”

Y/n’s hands clutched her chest, she nodded, teeth biting down on her lower lip.

“I can’t hear you?”

“Yes!” She shouted.

He flashed her a satisfied lopsided grin before quickening his pace. Leaning forward he wrapped his other hand behind her head, bringing her lips to his.

They were both near their orgasm and with a few more thrusts they both whimpered in sync.

“Ah,” he groaned against her lips. A sheer thin of sweat is visible across his face. He opened his eyes, staring at her closed one. At some point her hands have gripped the collar of his shirt in a tight fist, keeping close to her.

Where he only wants to be.

Pressing his lips to hers, he kissed her deeply and passionately.

Y/n moaned, pulling a way to gasp for a breath. His face flushed making him adorable in her eyes…

“You…” he breathed, “you make me feel things… do things… I’ve never done it before.” He pressed a kiss to the top of her nose, “now, can we shower together?”

.

Rin hated waking up early on his days off.

But it all changed now with this woman still in his arms, in his bed, sleeping soundlessly.

After their shower, they both got ready for bed.

The moment she settled into his bed, Rin initiated his attack.

“What the - !” She exclaimed when he threw half his body on her, locking her with his limbs.

“I can’t trust you not disappearing in the morning,” he murmured, burying his face into her chest. “Don’t leave me like last time… wake me up because I want to see you go if you have to go…”

At some point through the night, they shifted, she was now laying over him.

His hand pressed against the back of her head protectively as he pressed a kiss to the top of her head. “Morning…”  

.

.

.

E/n: This man. I would never be able to say no to this man, ever.

>>> @queenelleee @mfreedomstuff @erintaro @callmeraider @chaotic-fangirl-blog @wolffmaiden @cloud-lyy @krooes

[jesswritesthat]

Rody Soul: Crush

Fandom: BNHA // MHA — [ Masterlist ]

Summary: ~1.4k, fluff

• You knew Rody well enough to know he doesn't just disappear, but until he returns someone's gotta look out for his siblings.

Warnings: World Heroes Mission spoilers

>>>>——————————>

There was a reason besides job hunting that Rody frequented Stanleyk's Bar so often, and that reason was a part time bartender who surely had to be in today.

However, once more he was disappointed with your absence and apparently he hadn't hidden it well this time regardless of Pino.

"Your little crush is off working."

"I— I didn't even ask. Besides, I thought (Y/n) worked here."

"Only part time kid. (L/n) takes on jobs just like you." Both he and Pino fell into awed silence, they heard you lived in one of the nicer residences in Shanty Town with little threat due to your renowned fighting ability, but to know you were contracted too? Wow, no doubt higher ranked than him considering you were away for longer periods.

"Bonjour! I'm back~" Gladly you entered, greeted by a soft pelt nuzzling into your neck, cooing affectionately despite Rodys' chiding outburst.

"Oh hello Pino, aren't you beautiful today."

"Congratulations, the contact was very pleased with your work and have requested your services at a later date." Stanleyk bluntly interjected, usually he received only positive feedback on any job associated with you.

"You get requested?!"

"Yeah, more elite clientele tend to stick with trusted confederates. It's just how they work, casual clients don't mind who they get as long as they suit the requirements." Came your experience-infused reply to Rody, reaching into your bag with renewed brightness. "Here, souvenirs for your siblings."

Rody had only introduced you to them once over the years and he hated that you were so thoughtful. It was hard not to develop a stupid crush on you even if he'd deny it to his last breath. Luckily you both had a withholding deal that prevented the disclosure of quirks. It annoyed him that yours was a secret but it was a worthwhile sacrifice when he realised he was attracted to you early on - and Pino had no shame in expressing that. You'd connect the dots way too fast for his liking.

That was your last interaction and you'd never gone so long without an encounter together before this - so knowing his address, and noting his delayed return, you knew something was awry.

When you'd brought up the matter to Stanleyk, he'd relayed a call he'd received and immediately you'd raced over to Rodys' home. Roro and Lala were cautious when you'd knocked but recognised you upon mention of their eldest brother and were glad for the company. 

Days passed and you'd opted for short-term jobs which allowed time to cook for them, play with them, and tell any bedtime stories you could conjure all whilst dozing on their corner seating area once the pair fell asleep. Although, with the impending bomb detonations and inevitable death that followed, your babysitting gig got harder.

Soon enough, you found out Rody was in the hospital after apparently putting an end to said calamity.

When you'd taken the worried Soul duo to visit him, you found Pino flapping about Rodys' siblings with vibrant joy whilst they hugged their bandaged brother. You assumed the other patients were the heroes he'd fought alongside, the green haired one being the most gracious toward your presence. It was then Pino awkwardly fluttered around you, unsure of what to do with herself and blushing fiercely meanwhile Rody offered a charismatic smile.

"Hey (Y/n), thanks for looking after my family whilst I was away, Stanleyk told me you took quicker jobs to check on them."

Before you could respond, Roro and Lala excitedly chimed your praises.

"Yeah (Y/n) cooks way nicer food than you!"

"And tells the coolest bedtime stories!"

"You— you did all that?"

"Eh you know, I have to balance certain aspects of my life with good deeds." Immediately the little pink bird was in your arms embracing what she could - to which Rody rapidly pulled her away with an embarrassed mumble.

Once visiting time was over, you all bid him farewell, leaving Rody with a knowing Midoriya.

"Does (Y/n) know about your quirk?"

"Nope, we have a deal."

"I see... which means they don't know how you feel—"

"Not another word! I don't have the confidence to tell them alright, you've just seen how beautiful and amazing they are..." It was a friendly exchange, and though chuckling Izuku gave his support.

"I think you should be honest about your feelings, after all you just saved many lives worldwide Rody. This shouldn't scare you."

Meanwhile outside the hospital room, you were experiencing the same revelation in a different form.

"That's why you came to check on us, because you're big brothers' partner?" Roro hummed in thought, Lala way too giddy with the information even if you were thoroughly confused.

"Where did you get that idea?"

"Rody is in love you." Roro cemented, shocked you were apparently unaware.

"I don't think—"

"Yeah just look at Pino. She's always nuzzling and admiring you." There must be some miscommunication here.

"What's that got to do with Rody? If anyone loves me then surely it's Pino." You happily laughed, assuming this was just a child's' fantasy and thought you were playing along with it.

Their puzzled expressions had you second guessing though, then came their matter-of-fact enlightenment.

"Pino is Rodys' quirk. You know that right?"

No you did not, you thought she was a pet.

"She expresses exactly what Rody is feeling, making it impossible for him to lie!"

It suddenly all connected, why he came to visit on your shift days and how affectionate Pino had grown to be with you - warmly greeting you every time she saw you, fretting over any injury, tackling you, and flustering whenever you touched Rody. That was how he truly wished to communicate with you?

"Hey, I just need a minute, wait here." Obviously the pair did so with gleeful grins upon their faces as you dashed back into the room. The heroes seemed perplexed, especially when you pulled the curtain around Rodys' bed stating you wanted to see his injuries without children around.

He was equally as confounded, and this time you didn't miss the flourishing Pino despite the contrasting coolness her owner exhibited. You sat on his bed, staring him dead in the eye before you broke his very soul with your whispered question.

"Rody, are you in love with me?"

There was a flush of colour on his cheeks, but without another second to think he smirked casually and leaned closer to you.

"If you've fallen for me (Y/n), it's okay to confess, I won't judge."

Pino however, crash-landed in embarrassment with a white feather of submission waving above her demonstrating the answer you'd desired.

"I see, thanks Pino."

"Wait— you know, crap who told you?" The charade was up and the pure horror finally set in.

"Yeah, Pino shows your true emotions right? So what happens if I do this?"

You matched his previous false confidence, leaning closer with only centimetres between you that allowed you to feel his warm breath brush your lips. He didn't retract though, and so you closed the gap, Rody more than willing to kiss back when gentle fingers reached up to your jaw and a melodic chirping emitted from Pino as she soared though the air right over the curtain and around the room as if she was set aglow.

You pulled away slightly, amused by the display even if your opposite was heavily embarrassed - still, you moved in to kiss him again leaving Pino to enjoy the moment.

"Would ya get that damn bird to shut up already?!" It was the voice of the explosive blonde which fractured the fantasy, excusing yourself once opening the curtain with plausible cover.

"I'll stock some bandages for the wounds ready for when you get back. See you!"

———

Life seemed to resume to normal with both of you giving up the shady lifestyle, whilst you quit your position at Stanleyk's Bar to pursue your true passions, Rody in turn ended up getting employed there.

You spent nights over with the Soul family, even if it meant sleeping on the corner couch, Rody always ensured to cook you breakfast. He listened to your bedtime stories with a dreamy look on his face, and when his siblings fell asleep came to join you prior to heading to bed himself.

You'd gifted him pilot books, and you became a feature drawing upon their wall, all the while both of you saved to improve life for the better.

"Hey, if you need a flight attendant oh future pilot captain, may I apply early?"

Just then, Pino held a wing over her heart and promptly fainted whilst Rody ran a hand through his hair.

"Actually, I'd rather you be my copilot so we could always fly together..."

“Is that your idea of a proposal Rody?”

“Wha— not yet! I haven’t saved enough to buy you a—“

“I meant a job proposal, what were you thinking?” Your witty tone left him slumping begrudgingly in his chair and briskly swiping Pino before you could see the classic engagement proposal position she’d admiringly taken.

“Ah, of buying you a pilot manual too if you want to fly with me. That’s all.”

<——————————<<<<

[ Masterlist ]

[doc-who]

When Green Turns Red

Emily Prentiss/Reader

Summary: Emily faces the consequences of keeping your relationship a secret.

Rating: Mature (18+)

Chapters: 3/?

Words: 2203

Categories: Angst, Jealousy, Eventual Smut, Violence, Torture

When Emily gets back to the BAU, the team is already gathered around Garcia’s desk. They look at Emily with worry in their eyes when she walks in, which she ignores.

Garcia looks up, the screen in front of her a blur of footage from various security cameras around town. "I've got something," she says, her voice strained. The tension in the room thickens as she rewinds the footage to the right moment.

The monitor flickers with grainy footage from the bar's outdated security cameras. Emily’s heart races as a figure emerges from shadows. The man moves with a disturbing confidence as he hoists something into a nondescript van. It's too dark to make out details, but the shape is unmistakable—a human body.

Emily's eyes are glued to the screen, even though the footage makes her feel sick to her stomach. “It’s her,” she whispers.

Morgan puts his hand on her shoulder. “We don’t know that for sure.”

She shrugs his hand off her. “Don’t,” she snaps, “It is. It’s her.” Emily’s voice breaks then. She turns away from the team, knowing she can’t hide the despair on her face.

“Garcia,” Hotch orders, “Can you make out a plate?”

Penelope stammers, fingers darting over the keyboard. “Maybe, I- the footage is grainy, but-”

Emily spins around, “Find it,” she growls.

“Em,” JJ mollifies.

Emily ignores her and drags her hands through her hair in desperation. A few minutes pass that feel like a lifetime, before Garcia shouts, “I’ve got it!”

A mugshot fills the screen, and Emily’s stomach turns in disgust at the thought of you being in the clutches of the vile man in the photo.

“Last known address is an apartment complex that was abandoned last year,” Garcia informs.

Hotch’s voice is steady as he addresses the team, “Gear up. We move out now.”

As everyone makes their way out the door Emily is stopped by a firm voice.

“Emily,” Hotch says, “You will wait for backup. Am I clear?”

“Yes, sir.” She answers, and the look in Hotch’s eyes makes it clear he doesn’t believe her.

He sighs, nodding towards the door, “Let’s go.”

-

With a snap of the lock, you’re yanked to your feet. The cuffs slice into your wrists as you're dragged to the center of the room. Your arms are pulled above your head, and the chain is affixed to something on the ceiling. The man slowly circles around you as you dangle, your feet barely brushing the ground. You try to keep your head up but your throbbing head makes it difficult.

The first blow comes out of nowhere, a sharp slap across your left cheek that echoes through the space. You grit your teeth and refuse to give him the satisfaction of a reaction. He hits you again, this time with the back of his hand, the impact sending a spike of pain through your head. He grabs your face, forcing you to look at him. You can feel the hatred burning in your eyes as you meet his gaze. His grip tightens on around your jaw and a perverted smile spreads across his face when you wince. Your mouth pools with blood and you spit it at his arrogant face.

His eyes shut as it splatters across him, and he uses his free hand to smear it off his skin. “You’re going to regret that.”

-

Emily sits in the passenger seat, picking her fingernails raw. She looks out the window, trying not to think of the worst. It doesn’t work. She screws her eyes shut, bombarded with an onslaught of images from the worst cases they’ve had but with you in the victim’s place.

Morgan drives, his eyes going back and forth between the road and Emily. “We’re going to find her,” he reassures.

The guilt that’s been gnawing away at her since last night spills over. “Even if we get her back..” she refuses to think of the alternative, “she’s never going to forgive me.” The first tear she’s allowed to escape runs down her cheek, and she angrily swipes it away.

“Why wouldn’t she? You know she would never blame you for what’s happened.” Morgan’s voice is calm and steady, but it does nothing for the turmoil raging in Emily’s mind.

“She should,” she says, voice cracking.

Morgan pauses, confusion in his voice, “I feel like I’m missing something here.’

Emily debates whether to tell him or not, but the guilt is overwhelming and she can’t hold it in any longer. “Last night, when you all saw her follow me out of the bar,” she swallows back the tears in her voice, “I ended things.”

“Em…”

“I was stupid. I got jealous, and instead of just telling her how I felt, I told her that us being together was a mistake,” Emily chuckles darkly, hating herself more and more every second, “that was the last thing I said to her.”

“Emily, you can’t think like that. We are going to find her.”

Morgan’s words hang in the air. She tries to let the conviction in his voice reassure her, but she can’t shake the feeling that she’s already lost you.

-

The room spins in your periphery, your vision blurring in and out. You don’t know how long you’ve been here, or how long it has been since he started beating your body over and over. The pain is overwhelming, but you hang onto your last thread of consciousness, refusing to let it consume you.

Your bruised and bloody body jolts when a bucket of freezing water is poured over your head.

“Wakey, wakey,” a voice says, and your eyes focus on the leering face in front of you, “we don’t want you to miss all the fun.”

Something sharp drags up your side, and you gasp.

“Back with us?” He breathes, the air putrid against your face. You feel the coldness of the knife drag down your face. Threatening, but not hard enough to draw blood.

“Such a pretty face,” he pants, and you recoil as far away from him as you can, kicking your aching legs out.

He tuts at your defiance, “No you don’t. I’m not done with you yet.”

He takes a step back, surveying you like a piece of art, before he drives the knife into your thigh. The pain sears through you, white-hot and blinding. He keeps the blade lodged in your leg, studying your reaction.

“Is that all you’ve got?” you taunt, anger swirling inside you. You see rage flash in his eyes before he twists the knife even deeper.

You bite your tongue, refusing to give him the satisfaction of hearing your pain.

“Typical coward,” you sneer, “you do know what the use of a knife means, right?”

He strikes you across the face, and you feel blood pool in your mouth. “Fuck you.”

You laugh, red trailing down your chin. “You wish.”

A hand wraps around your throat, and your vision swims at the loss of oxygen.

“Don’t worry,” he says, loosening his grip on your windpipe, “I want you awake for this part.”

You see his arm pull back, and you brace yourself for what’s about to come next. In a flash he buries the knife in your stomach, and you can’t hold back the instinctual scream that rips from your throat. The pain is so intense that you can feel your body convulse around the cold metal.

Your body tenses, then goes limp. Darkness crawls at the edges of your vision and you start to feel yourself slipping away. The moment your vision goes black, Emily’s face fills your mind. Her smile, the way she looked at you. The memory of her brings you a brief moment of peace. You wish you could tell her that it’s okay, that it wasn’t her fault. That you love her.

In your last moments of lucidity, you choose to let the darkness take you, grateful that Emily would be the last thing that you see.

-

The SUV’s tires screech against the asphalt as they pull up to the abandoned building. Emily’s hand is already opening the door handle before the car’s even stopped. Gun drawn, she storms up to the entrance. The only thing she cares about is you.

“Emily, we need to wait for the rest of the team!” Morgan shouts from behind her.

The words go in one ear and out of the other, her heart pounding against her ribs. She kicks the door open, adrenalin-blown pupils scanning the building for any signs of you. Turning a corner, she sees flickering light bleeding out underneath a closed door. Hands tightening around the grip of her gun, she treads lightly, keeping her footsteps as quiet as possible.

She braces herself outside the door, listening intently, but all she hears is silence. Her mind tortures her with images of what she might find in that room, every one worse than the one before. Forcing the fear aside, she steels herself and kicks the door open.

You’re the first thing she sees. It’s an instinct, her eyes automatically being drawn to you. Unfortunately, her distraction is a mistake.

Suddenly, she’s thrown into the wall by something that comes barrelling from behind her. She struggles against the weight on top of her, reaching desperately for the gun that had fallen from her hands. Something presses against her throat, and she strains against the pressure, fingers blindly searching until they feel the edge of her pistol. The unsub is too focused on her to notice her success, until she gives him a victorious smile. His eyes dart to the side, but it’s too late. She fires, straight into this chest. His grip falls away from her neck, and she kicks his limp body off of her.

Pulling herself up to her knees, she raises her head and looks at you. For a second, she stops breathing. You hang lifeless from the ceiling, and she can barely make out your face under all the blood.

“No, no, no!” Emily stumbles to her feet, her legs threatening to give out under the weight of her terror. She rushes over to you, desperate hands cradling your face. Her voice repeats your name over and over, like a mantra that will bring you back to her if she says it enough.

Fingers slick with your blood, she places them on your neck, breathing a sigh of relief when she feels the faint beat of your pulse. Eyes tracing your body, she swallows down the horror she feels when she takes in your injuries. Wrapping her arms around your waist, she holds you against her in an effort to take the weight off your chained wrists. The feeling of your limp body against hers is like something out of a nightmare.

Distantly, she hears Morgan calling out her name, before he comes to a stop in the doorway. He freezes for a second, the shock of what he’s witnessing registering him immobile.

“Help me!” Emily begs.

Morgan rushes forward, futilely trying to free you from the cuffs. Noticing the man lying lifeless on the ground, he searches his pockets and finds the keys.

He pauses before unlocking the cuffs, noticing how Emily’s arms tremble around you. “Have you got her?”

“I’ve got her,” her voice is barely a whisper, and he tries not to flinch at the palpable pain in it.

The cuffs fall from your wrists, and Emily cradles your body, gently lowering you to the ground. Holding you in her arms, she wipes strands of blood soaked hair off of your forehead. Looking down at you, the damn breaks, and sobs your name.

“I’m sorry, I’m so sorry.” She presses her forehead against yours, willing you to wake up, as if she could trade her life for yours.

Morgan tries to place a hand on her shoulder, “Emily…”

“Don’t touch me!” She cries, “This is all my fault.”

She’s unaware of the team arriving, of their faces as they watch her cry over your body as it clings to life.

Hotch is the first one to step forward, waving to the medics they mercifully had the forethought to call. “Emily, they need to take her to the hospital.”

She shakes her head, drowning in the despair of having you in her arms like this.

A gentler voice speaks next. “Emily, you need to let go.” JJ pleads.

“I can’t,” Emily chokes, arms tightening around you.

JJ crouches, tears running down her face. She puts her hand on Emily’s arm. “If you love her, then you need to let her go.”

Emily looks up at JJ, and sees the painful truth in her words. Her arms loosen from the desperate hold they have around you, and JJ nods at the paramedics who gently take you from Emily’s arms.

One of her hands remains clutching yours, terrified that if she lets go she won’t ever get to touch you again.

“She’ll be okay,” JJ assures, gently encouraging Emily to let them load you onto the stretcher.

It takes everything in her willpower to break the connection, and the moment her touch falls away from you, she falls to her knees and cries.

ao3

[gloomwitchwrites]

Tattoo Artist Simon "Ghost" Riley x Female Reader

Chapter Specific Warnings (per the warnings MDNI): foul language, suggestive themes, brief non-consensual grab (non-graphic)

Word Count: 5.2k

A/N: Part One of Ink & Needle

Inside the club Riot Room, you meet a masked stranger.

Chapter Two

ao3 // taglist // main masterlist // ink & needle masterlist

The puddle in the caved pavement ripples as a raindrop shatters its silent surface. Small, but growing larger and wider until the water is still again. Another raindrop falls from the sky and the process is repeated.

A beginning. An end. A beginning. An end. A—

Fresh start.

New roots.

The brick that starts the riot.

All things have a beginning. This moment is no different, because it feels like the start of something, and for so many fucking reasons.

And it’s not just the water. It isn’t only the water. There is a neon sign, and its reflection is in that tiny pool. A bright pink that is at odds with the old London architecture surrounding it. Maybe the color is melting, or maybe it’s your imagination, and your brain has finally kicked off and this is its farewell salute.

Why, when you are here for someone else’s beginning, does it really feel like yours? It’s not sour or sweet or foul or sticky but heavy as if your boots are filled with liquid cement.

This is supposed to be Evie’s night. This is her bar crawl. This is her marriage. This is her bachelorette party. But now you’re at the last place of the evening, and everything is suddenly barring down like an avalanche.

Riot Room blares the pink neon sign. It’s loud, and the very edges of your consciousness ache from how bright it is. You’re not even standing that close.

Below the sign is an archway with an open gate. A tall man in all-black stands off to the side of it checking IDs and handing out wristbands. From the open gate comes a pounding, shredding beat that you’re not sure is heavy metal, electronic, or a combination of the two.

Riot Room is completely different from the other places you’ve visited tonight. The four places before this were all quaint pubs with odd names and a nostalgic sense of comfort. Riot Room is a club. There is nothing quaint or nostalgic about it.

Two scantily clad women in black leather wearing large coats trot by, their heads bent close as they talk to each other. Their lips are painted a dark purple that resembles bruising as if they’ve been kissed roughly.

To your right, Sam’s gaze drops to span the length of one of the women. She looks on in appreciation, her pink-painted lips pursing with interest. Her dark skin is speckled with gold dust and her tight curls are bundled up on the top of her head in two big buns.

Sam’s gaze draws away from the woman’s bare legs. Her gaze falls on you, and you grin widely, knowing she’s been caught. The corner of her mouth quirks with a hint of smile.

She leans in until your shoulders touch. “It’s not like you weren’t looking.”

You lean in a bit more until your noses are close to brushing. “But I wasn’t the one who got caught.”

Sam laughs and pulls away, the sound of it bright and airy. She waves her hand as if trying to ward off evil.

Once she’s caught her breath, Sam leans around you, addressing the two women standing to your left. “Ready, ladies?”

Jade tilts her head, her blue ponytail shifting to fall over her right shoulder. She crosses her arms and narrows her eyes. “Did you pick this place, Sam? Seems like a ‘you’ kind of place.”

Sam nods toward Evie with one of her buns. “The bride-to-be agreed to this.”

You and Jade turn in unison. Evie shrugs. “I did.”

Jade snorts and holds out an outstretched hand toward the club. “You hate these kinds of places.”

“Oh my god,” mutters Sam throwing her arms up in the air, her gold bangles clacking against each other.

Evie laughs softly, and the sound is sweet enough to rot your teeth. That’s the thing about Evelyn Green. She is the nicest, most kind-hearted, selfless person you’ll ever meet. Rarely does this woman do anything for herself, and putting this evening together for her was a struggle. Not because she’s difficult, but because she wanted tonight to be about everyone, not just herself.

Evie’s button-nose scrunches slightly. “I told Sam I wanted to come. When am I ever going to go to a place like this after I marry Archie?”

Jade’s lips form into a thin line and she shakes her head. “Archie is the most un-pretentious rich boy I’ve ever met in my life. He’d love you even if you were a plastic bag. And he hates all those events the two of you go to anyway.”

“Yes,” agrees Evie. “But he’s required to go, and once we’re married, I will have to attend as well.” Her face falls slightly, and it’s understandable.

Evie’s fiancée comes from wealth—the old money kind. Archie’s great grandfather is of British nobility, and while Archie isn’t titled, that doesn’t really seem to matter. He is well-educated, and many of his closest friends and colleagues all run in the same circles.

Evie is not from that life. She grew up a poor coal miner’s daughter in southern Missouri. She managed to scrounge up enough money to move to Columbia to attend Mizzou and met Archie during an exchange program. She was in a park, and Archie was playing soccer with friends. Knocked her in the side of the head with the ball. Archie sat with her in the ambulance and the two went on a date the next day.

They’re in love, and it’s a gorgeous, beautiful thing. But not all of Archie’s family is supportive of their marriage. Many look down on her for her background. Evie acts like it doesn’t bother her, but you know different. Those events they attend together cut deep, tear into her until there is nothing left but her forced smile.

Jade sighs loudly and then turns toward Sam, pointing at her. “If I find out you forced her—”

Sam groans and then grabs Jade’s outstretched forearm, tucking Jade against her side as the two of them walk arm-in-arm towards the club. “Oh shove it, Jade,” mutters Sam.

Evie giggles and holds out her hand to you, wiggling her fingers. Grinning, you entwine your fingers with Evie’s and follow the bickering duo.

They argue all the way to the door. IDs are checked. Wristbands are handed out. A cover is paid. And then you’re walking through the gate, under the archway, and into an open courtyard.

That heaviness returns, and your boots feel like lead. Something about this place is different from the rest, and you cannot put a finger on what you’re sensing. It’s a change in the direction of the wind. It’s a falling autumn leaf. There is a shift happening, and you’re not aware of where it might come from.

The night sky is directly above your head, and you can see every star in the sky. To your immediate right—just inside the gate—is a coat check. Next to it is a stage where a man in a Jason Voorhees mask stands behind a DJ booth. He is shirtless, well-muscled, and covered in fake blood. Though both feet are on the ground, the rest of his body shakes and writhes with the intensity of the music. The bass is the loudest aspect, rattling around in your body until you start to feel dizzy.

On stage with DJ Voorhees are several other masked men. They too wear hockey masks, but they are all painted a different color. They don’t wear shirts either and they jump around on the stage, pushing and shoving each other, occasionally dropping down into the crowd to do the same before running to the stage.

The crowd is thick but mostly near the front of the stage. Beyond them on the far side of the courtyard is the bar. It’s long, spanning nearly the entire wall, with several bartenders and barbacks working along it. Next to the bar near the stage is a set of stairs that leads up into a building. People enter and exit through the door. There are windows but they’re entirely blacked out and you have no idea what might be back there.

You scan the length of the bar and find another set of stairs on the other end. This one descends and next to it is another gate—this one much smaller than the entrance—guarded by security. The back wall of the courtyard—the one facing the stage—is lined with people, but there is walking space between them and the crowd near the stage.

Evie’s smile widens, and you suddenly don’t care anymore. This is for her, even if you feel uneasy. Her happiness is the most important thing right now.

“I’m grabbing us drinks,” yells Sam over the music. She gestures with her thumb over her shoulder before she heads that way.

Evie steps a bit closer to you. She’s nervous but eager as she squeezes your hand.

One of the masked men jumps off the stage and into the crowd. They all yell and then he pops up, throwing himself in people’s faces. You instinctually step forward to block Evie as he darts around a club-goer and appears directly in front of you.

“Fuck off,” you yell when he pushes himself into your face. All you see is the purple-painted hockey mask and he won’t fucking move. He just stands there like an ill omen that won’t allow you to look away.

You’re about to speak, your lips and tongue forming the shape of what you want to say. Then, he disappears, as if knowing your intention.

Jade snags your upper arm and leans in, her gaze fixed on the point the guy slipped away to. “I’ll stay with Evie. Go check on Sam. Make sure she isn’t just buying us tequila shots.”

Evie reluctantly gives up your hand as you navigate the congested dancefloor. You have to twist your upper body to avoid collisions. Just through the crowd, you can just make out Sam’s buns. A man steps into your path. He isn’t looking—likely too drunk to even notice that you’re right behind him—and you step out of the way to avoid is wayward swagger.

But there are too many goddamn people, and you can’t avoid them all. Instead of him, you bump into someone else.

“Shit. Sorry. I—” You glance up. “Oh fuck.”

A wraith stands before you, all cold shadow and violent foreboding. Dark eyes surrounded by pale eyelashes observe you from behind a black balaclava. Around the mouth are skeleton teeth but they’re a tad faded which only adds to the ominous presence of this strange man. He is tall, and you have to bend your neck to see directly into his face, and that doesn’t even take into account how broad his shoulders are.

Space is non-existent. The only thing you understand about your surroundings is him. This man is a being out of hell, a creature of fire and blood, and yet you’re drawn to him. You are a pale moth, a gentle creature, and he is the pyre in which you will burn.

He takes hold of your upper arm, and his grip is strong. His strength is both a threat and a comfort. He could snap you in two, but it’s placement and how firmly he holds on to you tells you otherwise. This man is dangerous, and yet through the hardness is a softness in the brow that you recognize as concern. His dark eyes narrow, and as he pulls you closer to him, he leans in before his gaze moves to a stop over your right shoulder.

“You okay?”

It isn’t the wraith gripping your upper arm who’s addressing you. You glance over your left shoulder and meet a softer expression. Black hair cut short, tanned skin, and kind eyes. This man is completely different from the one that still holds onto your arm.

“Fine,” you murmur but realize he can’t hear you over the music. “I’m fine.” This time you project, and he nods.

“Gaz!” He turns away, and a different man holds out a plastic cup full of beer to him.

Gaz takes it and then this newcomer turns in your direction. You want to leave, to walk away, but that’s difficult when your upper arm is still in a vice grip. You shake it, trying to throw the stranger’s grasp, and make no ground. His hand stays put.

“Who’s this?” asks the newcomer, and you recognize the accent as a Scottish one.

“Some wanker ran into her. Knocked her right into Ghost.”

“Fucking hell. You good, Lt?”

Ghost doesn’t say anything, or if he does, you don’t hear him over the music. Shaking your arm again, you attempt to free yourself for a second time. Ghost still doesn’t let go. Instead, he tugs you a little closer until you feel his body heat.

You hate being told what to do, and you especially hate men who cannot take a fucking hint. You try again, ready to smack the balaclava right off Ghost’s face if he doesn’t release you. But he does, and his grip is gone so suddenly that you nearly topple backward.

Acting bolder than you feel, you give Ghost your best scowl before turning toward Gaz, your mouth forming into a smile. “Thank you,” you say, excusing yourself quickly and heading toward the bar.

“What kind of a name is Ghost?” you mutter to yourself just as Sam turns around from the bar. She cradles six drinks in her arms like a newborn baby.

“Jesus fucking Christ.” You reach for them, grabbing one before it tips over to spill across the floor.

“Jade sent you, didn’t she?” laughs Sam, handing you another plastic cup. “Can’t trust me after that tequila incident.”

“No comment,” you answer, making sure the drinks you’re holding are secure and won’t slip out of your grasp.

When you return to Jade and Evie, the two women have their arms wrapped around each other, swaying in a little circle, giggling hysterically. The moment you and Sam appear, Evie is pulling away from Jade, reaching for the gin and tonic you hold out to her. When the drinks are distributed, Sam and Jade have one in each hand while you and Evie only hold one.

Before this, the four of you visited four different pubs, and had plenty of drinks at each establishment. While it’s nearing the end of the night, there isn’t any reason for you to go overboard. Slowing down might be best, especially if Sam and Jade are going to double-fist drinks the rest of the night. Tomorrow—technically today at this hour—is supposed to be a spa day with some of the women from Archie’s family. Hungover is the last think you want to be while dealing with them.

As your lips suction around the head of the straw, you feel a pull, a tug toward the back wall of the courtyard. You resist the urge, refuse to look because you know who you’ll find. Instead, you suck on the straw, focus on the bite of the gin, sway your hips until the pounding beat is all you know in your veins.

But the pull won’t release. It won’t slacken. And the more and more you resist, the more it aches to not look, because no matter how startling his appearance is, it intrigues you, makes you think about how long it’s been and how you wish to be touched.

Would he keep the balaclava on? Would he take it off? And why does that intrigue you?

You start to turn, to surrender to the tug, and then snap back to reality, nearly knocking into Jade as you force yourself away from looking. The drink in your plastic cup sloshes harshly against the side but doesn’t spill over.

Evie leans in, her lips close to your ear, and she nods in the direction of the tug. “That guy won’t stop staring at you.”

“Who?” you ask innocently, knowing exactly who Evie is referring to.

“Mystery masked man.” Evie grins, her straw caught between her upper and lower teeth.

This time you look. There he is. Ghost, as his friends called him. He leans against the wall, the same small group of people surrounding him from earlier. They’re all talking, but Ghost is staring in your direction, and his gaze is locked in on you.

You quickly glance away and shrug even as a dull heat warms your limbs. “Looks like trouble.”

“Looks like a good time if you ask me.”

“Evie,” you gasp, bumping her shoulder.

“What?” she laughs, sucking up the last bit of her drink.

Jade goes up on her toes, her head swiveling back and forth. “Who are we looking at?”

Sam catches on and twists, glancing in the same direction. She’s successful first. “Oh my god.” Sam leans in until her cheek is pressed against your own. “That man is staring at you.”

“I know!” You pull back a bit, but Sam doesn’t let you go far.

She bumps your shoulder. “Go talk to him.”

“And say what?”

“Hello. Have anyone waiting on you? No? Great. Let’s get out of here. You can even keep the mask on.”

You roll your eyes. “No. I’m not doing that.” You reach out and snag Evie’s arm. “And it’s her night. Why would I leave y’all for a hook-up?”

Sam finishes one of her drinks. She removes the straw and pops it into the other cup, doubling it up by putting the full plastic cup into the empty one. “Listen, if you won’t. I will. The guy next to him with the dark hair is an absolute snack. Even the older guy with the weird mustache is making my daddy issues purr.”

Jade’s eyes widen slightly. She nods enthusiastically. “Oh he is quite nice.”

“Right? Girl. I could take him and not in a fight.”

“Fine!” you exclaim. “I’ll go talk to him.” You turn toward Evie. “If you’re okay with it?”

Evie grins around her straw. You know what it means. Evie wants you to go because she wants to see everyone happy, but you wouldn’t call yourself excited. That heavy feeling is back, the one that feels like a new beginning.

The issue is that fresh starts are a cleansing. They are often a renewal. You think of cold water, of a slate wiped clean, but there are other markers for such things. Fire destroys but it also creates the opportunity for new life. Controlled burnings are a thing, and this man—this Ghost—can only be fire.

“I need a refill anyway,” you mutter, turning toward the bar, some of your confidence slipping.

You take a deep breath, the alcohol in your blood singing, giving you a feeling of lightness that makes your feet move of their own accord even as they want to drag. It is confounding. You don’t know what you want.

Slowly, you navigate through the crowd, moving ever closer to your wraith. He watches you the entire time. As you draw nearer, and your gazes lock, he straightens. Ghost pushes off from the wall like he’s expecting you to come to him. You notice the rise and fall of his chest, and the way his right hand clenches and unclenches in anticipation.

The gesture is so surprising, you lose all your nerve, walking right past him and to the bar. You don’t have to see him to know that he’s watching. His gaze is a drill, and you sense the bite of it at your back. Your palms are sweaty, and you discard your empty drink in the nearest trash bin.

You order another gin and tonic, handing over a crumpled pound note to the bartender. As you turn around, you notice that Ghost is gone. He isn’t leaning against the wall or even lingering with his friends. They’re still there, chatting away, but Ghost is missing.

Your heartrate kicks up and it’s suddenly so loud you don’t hear the thunderous pulsing beat of the music. It’s like you’re standing in a dark train tunnel, and everything is narrowing down to a single point. The crowd near the bar has grown in the last few minutes. People walk up and down the stairs next to the bar, and now that you’re actually focused on the building, you can some of the interior lights.

Evie, Sam, and Jade are out of sight, but you know they’re probably rolling their eyes, ready to question you about why you didn’t approach him. Better to accept your defeat and move on. Yes, there is a tug, a tether attached to this stranger that you cannot seem to shed, but you don’t know this person. There is no harm in not pushing this further, in moving on, and pretending you never met him in the first place.

“Whatever,” you mutter to yourself, as the roar of the music comes rushing back.

As you squeeze between two people, one of the mask-wearing men from the stage appears from nowhere. It’s the same guy from earlier. The one with the purple hockey mask who threw himself at you and Evie. You step back and bump into someone. That momentum only pushes you closer to him.

Purple-mask cages you in, lunges repeatedly like he’s going to grab you or hit you. It’s intimidating. Awful. You want to tell him to leave you alone, but the music is so loud you’d have to scream.

You step to the left to try and move around him, but he only puts himself back in your path. This time, you form the shape of a bite, ready to sting with your words, but all conscious thought leaves you the moment his hand makes contact.

He does touch. And it is not gentle.

He tugs on your jacket, then your top, then your jacket again. You bat is hand away, try to move out of range, but he is so much faster. His arm goes around you, and then he drags you in like you asked to dance.

“Let go!” You yank your arm free, but the guy still holds firm, guiding you deeper into the crowd.

Everything is hot. Tight. Overwhelming. Stealing all breath.

You pull again. “Let go!”

This time he does. This time, he disappears.

Ghost looms like a dark shadow, his hand around the guy’s neck. His palm is large to the point that Ghost’s hand easily encases the man’s throat.

“Touching a woman without her consent isn’t polite. In fact, I’ve killed men over less. How about you apologize to her, yeah?”

It’s the first time you’ve heard Ghost speak. Even over the music, you easily hear the rough, gruff timbre of his voice. It’s harsh like liquor and yet entirely smooth when it washes over your body and floods your senses.

Ghost drops the guy and he immediately bolts, darting through the crowd and pushing people out of his way. Ghost does not run after him.

Instead, he turns toward you and lowers himself enough to get close. All you see are his eyes which at first seemed dark, but now look like how light shines through a whiskey bottle.

“Did he hurt you?” The concern in his voice is genuine, and somehow that pleases you. There is a small trace of anger, but it’s fleeting, and not worthy of attention. Ghost isn’t worried about your purple-masked assailant. He’s worried about you.

You shake your head. “No.” Lick your lips. Breathe deep. “No. I’m fine.”

His pale eyelashes look like little halos. Is the hair on his head the same? Is it darker?

“You sure?” he asks, this time starting to straighten a bit.

“Yes. I just—I need some air.”

Ghost nods. “Come with me.” His hand gently rests against your elbow, and you accept it. This touch is not a threat, and you surrender to him, allowing him to lead you away from the crowd. They part easily as if on instinct. Maybe Ghost is truly that intimidating.

Ghost leads you to the far edge of the bar near the secondary set of stairs. He does not escort you down the stairs but to the other archway you noticed earlier. The security guard nods at the two of you and then you step down onto damp pavement in a little alleyway.

Your rescuer immediately pulls out a pack of smokes from the inside of his leather jacket. He selects one and then holds the pack out to you. You reach for one. It’s a reflex. You tend to smoke when you drink because it prevents you from drinking more than you need, but sometimes all you do is chain smoke and then you can’t talk the next day. It’s a terrible habit but one you haven’t been able to kick.

“Thank you,” you murmur once your cigarette is lit. He simply nods and pushes up his balaclava to suck on his own.

You try not to stare but you catch the faint hint of a long scar along the edge of his jaw. Beneath that, his entire neck is a solid black tattoo. You’ve seen them before, where people blackout parts of their body in ink. His stretches across the muscles in his neck, and when he inhales, you take note of every ripple of muscle. The strength there is astounding.

Glancing away quickly, pretending you weren’t admiring him, you clear your throat. “I didn’t catch your name.”

Ghost cannot be his name. There’s no way.

He exhales, the smoke drifting up into the air. “That important to you?”

“Yes.”

He stares at you for a moment. “Ghost.”

Fuck. Why’d you think he’d say anything different from a man wearing a balaclava out in public. It’s not his real name. That’s obvious, but you’re not sure if you want to push the matter. Yet it does make you wonder why he didn’t give you his real name.

You decide not to push it, giving him your name instead. As he exhales, the smoke fans upward to crown his head like a pair of horns before twisting off into the night sky.

“Why’d you scowl at me?” he asks, ashing his cigarette.

You run your tongue over your front teeth before speaking the lie. “I didn’t scowl.”

“But you were angry,” says Ghost, pointing his cigarette in your direction before he takes a drag.

“You wouldn’t let me go,” you counter, growing annoyed with this line of questioning.

“Someone knocked you down. You didn’t speak or look at me. And I’m the one you ran into. I was concerned.”

“For a complete stranger?”

“I’m a compassionate person.”

You sigh and roll your eyes. “And yet you threatened to kill the man who touched me.”

Ghost points toward the gate, emphasizing each word with a light thrust of his hand. “The threat was deserved.”

I’ve killed men over less.

His words rattle around in your head. What normal person says something like that? The fact that he said it without fear makes you question what line of work he’s in.

Ghost drops his arm and takes another drag on his cigarette.

You should be afraid. You should walk back inside to your friends. That’s the safe thing to do. It’s the smart thing. But you’re feeling a bit bold—and a little annoyed. You want to know where this goes or if it’ll lead nowhere at all.

Straightening your shoulders, you drop your cigarette and put it out with the toe of your boot. “My friends think I should fuck you.”

It’s out of your mouth before you have the chance to think twice. Ghost’s hand pauses halfway to his mouth.

His head tilts slightly, and then turns in your direction. “What?”

You hate repeating yourself, but you’ve already said the words. You cannot take them back.

“My friends noticed you staring at me. Told me to talk to you. If I didn’t, one of them would have.”

Ghost fully shifts in your direction. He takes one step toward you. Another. There is a dark swagger there, and he’s trying desperately not to smile.

“You want to have it off?”

Yes.

“Thanks for the offer but I really should leave.” You start to step backward as if to return to the club.

Ghost must realize this because he moves like a bullet, blocking your path, planting one hand against the brick wall behind you. Your gaze falls on his hand and you notice all the tattoos. They cover his fingers and the back of his hand, disappearing under the sleeve of his black leather jacket.

“You’re taking the piss.” Ghost is smiling now but it’s not nefarious or cruel. He’s politely amused, and that is somehow worse. He leans in until you can smell the rich scent of his cologne. “You want to fuck or not?”

You swallow, desperately wanting to say yes. “I have to stay here. Can’t leave my friends.”

Ghost shakes his head and lowers his voice. “We don’t need to leave.”

The thick lust in his tone worms its way into your bones. From there, it oozes from the marrow, sinking into your blood and nerves, consuming every piece of you until your autonomy is nearly snatched from your control.

“You’re being awfully bold,” you murmur.

“You suggested it. I’m simply finishing it.”

“Don’t play games.”

“I’m not.” Ghost straightens a bit. “But I don’t want to unless you’re willing.”

He is sensing you hesitation, and it’s not that you don’t want to. It’s that you’re making excuses because that’s what you do. You step around things, shimmy by issues, and try to avoid as much as you can.

You cross your arms and pop a hip. “I am willing. But I don’t believe you when you say we don’t have to leave.”

He smirks. “So I can’t bend you over that box?” Ghost nods his head at a point behind you but you don’t even look.

“Very funny,” you deadpan.

Ghost straightens his back and his hand falls away from the wall. “This place has an underground area. Mostly employee only but there are a few back rooms where the…musical guests stay.”

“You know an awful lot about this place. Take women down there often?”

Ghost shakes his head. “Never. I like to scope a place out first.”

I’ve killed men over less.

What does he do for a living that he wears a fucking balaclava out in public and wants to “scope a place out” first? Every possibility flows in and then directly out of your head. Any of them could be possible.

“You’re not making a good case for yourself.”

He shrugs. “Up to you. Come with me or don’t.”

Ghost’s word and tone are casual, but you see the tension in every muscle and in the way he carries himself. There is a hesitation in him. A fear that you might say no. But the gin in your veins is strong, and it’s singing, convincing you to go with him.

When do you ever take risks?

“Okay,” you murmur. Then, more loudly. “Lead the way.”

Chapter Two

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@glassgulls @km-ffluv @glitterypirateduck @tiredmetalenthusiast @spicyspicyliving @childofyuggoth @coffeecaketornado

[biblomaniac]

Lena’s late.

In her defense, the conference call with Japan had been rescheduled twice and they were ready to pull out of the project if she didn’t speak with them directly.

So, Lena’s late to Al’s for the groups weekly hang out. She ended up coming straight from the office. She is definitely overdressed for the bar, clad in black red bottoms, a tight forrest green pencil skirt, a white silk blouse patterned with black triangles, and a matching green waistcoat. Her hair had been set loose from its tight bun two hours into the four hour conference call, leaving her inky black locks wavy.

Arriving at the bar, Lena thanks Frank as he opens the door for her.

“Thank you, Frank. You can have the rest of the night off, I will probably end up going to Kara’s after.”

“Thank you, Ms. Luthor. I will go home, but I’ll keep my cell on. I’d prefer for you to call me if you need a ride.”

Lena rolls her eyes good-naturedly, used to Franks protests of her finding other transportation.

“Good night, Frank.”

“Good night, Ms. Luthor. Have fun.” Frank tips his hat, waiting for his boss to enter the bar before returning to the drivers side and heading off.

**********

Lena enters the familiar building. It’s outside is rather unremarkable at first glance, which it should be for a business trying to keep a low profile.

Since the CEO has become a regular customer at Al’s, the general population has accepted her presence, or at least ignore it in favor of avoiding Kara’s wrath.

Lena navigates her way to the back, looking for any familiar faces on her way to their regular table. She doesn’t find any, but she does hears Kara’s characteristic voice calling her name.

“Lena! Over here,” she calls, waving her hand obnoxiously in the air. Kara is smiling profusely, perfect white teeth on display and cheeks a rosy hue.

“Stop that! You’re making a scene,” Alex scolds, trying and failing to pull Kara’s hand from the air. Kara ignores her sisters protesting, only ceasing her actions when Lena is near enough to grab.

Just as Lena starts to address the table, Kara pulls her in for a tight hug. One arm surrounds Lena’s back while the other pulls Lena in by the shoulders. The greeting is rather enthusiastic, even for the alien equivalent of a golden retriever.

“Lena! Hi! What took you so long?”

Lena is caught mildly off guard, but returns the hug anyway.

“Hi, darling. I got caught up in the office. Are you having fun?” Lena questions before releasing Kara.

“Yes! Nia got me shots of Aldebaran Rum to ‘loosen me up’, and she made Brainy try Xenorian beer. It tastes like smoked cotton candy!” Kara shares happily, entertwining her hand with Lena’s before the brunette can stray too far.

“Shots? How many have you had?”

“Three! Wait—maybe four. And a couple of those beers. They were really sweet!”

Interesting.

“Hey, Kara, why don’t you go get me a whiskey? Take my card and start a tab for the table.” Lena hands over her Platinum American Express card. She figures giving Kara and errand to run will allow her a few minutes to get to the bottom of what’s going on here.

“Okay! I’ll be right back,” Kara exclaims happily, pressing a kiss to Lena cheek before heading to the bar.

Read the rest on AO3 😉❤️

[baldurs-gape]

There's a tower in Waterdeep, it's old now, so very old. Stories say it belonged to a wizard once, powerful and a little less mad than most of his kind. His name was lost to the past, though when the wind blew harshly it was said it still wailed for him as it whistled past the tower. Nobody knows who owns the tower now, yet all its bills and taxes are paid on time. Not only that, it is also maintained, repaired and tended to in a style that befits its age. Alas there was no sign of who did all the upkeep, the tower wasn't occupied according to city records.

Children were warned away from the place. As splendid as the garden looked, meticulously cultivated, the lure of forbidden mystery was strong. Despite their attempts, the closest they got was into the garden. None of them ever came to harm but if flowers were maliciously picked or destroyed, the parents got a very sternly worded warning about vandalism delivered onto their pillow without a trace of origin. Aside from children not many people bothered to try and force entry into the tower. The few adventurers who tried to get creative with their entrance were all thwarted. Every ward and protective spell was carefully maintained, just like the rest of the tower.

Only once did the city make an attempts at brute force entry. Mages disarmed the traps, a rogue picked the lock while a couple of barbarians and rangers wore down the door enough for the rogue to reach through and lift the bar keeping the door closed from the inside. It then swung open on silent hinges and darkness greeted those gathered to take a peek. Shining a light in had been a mistake as too many pairs of eyes reflected back in greens, yellows and reds.

Braced for a fight, protective shields and wards were rapidly fired up as the city's law enforcement hurried to contain what was to come. Spells, bows and axes were readied, waiting for the first strike from within. A lone, small figure sauntered out of the tower in a leisurely stroll, a tressym. She was old, grey around the muzzle yet her fur was shiny and rich while her wings were regally held tucked in at her sides. Gaze slowly sweeping the gathered assault team, her tail flicked in displeasure and disdain before she turned to inspect the damage to the doors and the garden.

"The council will receive bills for the repairs," she announced, voice warped with age. With that, her tail flicked in the air as she turned and marched back into the darkness of the tower, dismissing her stunned audience. The remains of the doors pulled shut and nothing more was heard from within. It didn't matter who addressed the occupants of the tower, whether it was polite requests for communication or shouted threats. No reply came forth and the one time the rogue moved to open the doors again, a firebolt singed questing fingers in warning.

As the tressym had promised, the bills for repairing the damage to the door and the trampled garden was on the Lord of Waterdeep's desk the following morning. Everything was being to its original state by traditional methods, no expenses spared. Even the cost of reestablishing the wards was meticulously noted. Needless to say, it was an expensive mistake for the city and payment was only accepted in gold left by the front door.

Not all was lost though. Finally there was a clue to who lived in the tower. The tressym was a rarity enough for there to be records on who they associated with in the city. While archivists dove into that aspect of the mystery, the common folk of Waterdeep invented their own game: Tressym Watch. As the tower became known for housing a tressym, people began to keep an eye out for sightings. Conspiracy theories blossomed in taverns as notes were compared. Though sightings were rare, there were other signs of tressym activity. The streets around the tower were clear of vermin, stunningly so. Not only that but very few birds passed over the tower too and never courier pigeons. When someone finally had the bright idea to ask the pigeons, all they knew was that for generations they had been warned from passing any roof in reaching distance. Each squab was taught the simple rhyme as soon as they hatched.

Be quick on the wing, lest you feel the dekariosancunin sting. It's best to avoid the tower and be safe from clawed, toothed power.

Theories went wild after that. Arguments broke out in all circles of society over what 'dekariosancunin' meant. Some were a staunch believer of it being 'The Kariosancunin' and were quick to laugh at those who searched the 'Dekariosan cunin' like it was some variant of the common cumin. A third faction looked for 'The Kariosan Cunin' in old tomes and history books. In the end, they were all wrong as the city's records shed a glimmer of hope.

Some four hundred years ago a wizard by the name of Gale Dekarios died. He'd lived to a respectable age for a wizard, retired from a career at Blackstaff and enjoyed a long retirment. According to records he had never married, had no children and no living descendents. More importantly, he had a tressym as a companion. Records at Blackstaff Academy noted he was known to teach with a tressym in tow despite repeated warnings to not bring a familiar with him. Other than that, Dekarios seemed to have had no major achievements on record, he was remembered as no more than a tressym loving eccentric.

At least some of the mystery was solved. However, nobody knew what 'ancunin' meant. Alas, records were limited and Dekarios had retired roughly 200 years before his death. History had a knack for recording the deeds of the noisiest, not the most worthy.

By the time all this was unveiled, the tower had been dubbed Tressym Tower and the name stuck. It was home to a whole colony of tressym as sightings were tracked, cross-referenced and various members of the colony identified.

Trouble brewed when word spread about the tressym and people flocked to see them, a rarity as they were. So called scientists tried to capture them, study them, tag them for tracking. Others wanted to snag one as a pet or familiar. Illegal traders lurked in wait for an unwary tressym to land in their traps. Yet no matter how elaborate they were, every trap was meticulously disarmed and stripped for parts. Even the ones that required opposable thumbs to disassemble.

Whispers of the tressym vigilante went up. It had to be a group of people banding together to work against the traps yet nobody was ever seen anywhere near them. The odd mumbling from a drunkard here and there was laughed off but a story was forming all the same. The Tressym Vigilante was a handsome man, hair white as it glimmered in the moonlight and his eyes were as red as a tressym's reflecting in torchlight and teeth as sharp as the canines of a prime hunter.

Soon, new stories were added to the tales to warn children away from Tressym Tower. If they didn't behave or got too close then Ancunin the Tressym Vigilante would steal them away and lock them in the dungeons below the tower.