#i barely tolerate STEAM.

[exculis]

absolutely fucking NOTHING is allowed to start on my pc at startup... if i want you i will call you. the audacity to just invite yourself in...

[hard-core-super-star]

push me on the counter, call me princess [W.Maximoff; N.Romanoff]

pairing: dom!wanda maximoff x sub!reader x dom!natasha romanoff

summary: you and wanda develop a connection you definitely shouldn't have with someone in a relationship. unbeknowst to you, it's all part of their plan.

warnings: PURE SMUT, MINORS DO NO INTERACT -> mentions of cheating! [no actual cheating, though! wandanat have an agreement, R doesn't know about it until things get spicy]; mommy + daddy kink; nipple play; impact play; wanda using her powers to hold R down; fingering [R receiving]; oral [Nat receiving]; twinges of humiliation; degradation + praise; nat's a little mean but we love her for it; use of the term 'slut'; probably more but i forgot

wordcount: 3.3k

a/n: so...i'm technically not doing anything official for kinktober this year because school is kicking my butt already BUT i have a few ideas for some very filthy smut fics so i'll be posting them this month. i haven't written for wandanat in a minute so i hope i did them justice. please let me know your thoughts, i hope you enjoy <3

* * * * * * *

It was supposed to be a one time thing.

That's what you told Wanda when she pushed you against the farthest wall in some dingy, badly-lit, New York bar.

The two of you had come back from a long, draining, mission and, instead of staying at the Compound and actually resting, you decided to go out and get drunk to let off some steam. The mission had technically been a success, but it had also been a pain in the ass...and in the shoulder, thanks to the knife wound you'd received.

So, yeah, maybe going out wasn't the best idea in the first place.

In your defense, it was borderline impossible to say no to the witch. Mainly because she was very convincing when she wanted to be, but also because of your massive, and borderline ridiculous, crush on her.

To make matters worse, Wanda was pissed off at Natasha for...something and you ended up taking the place of a supportive partner.

It would have been fine had the drinks in your system not made your inhibitions lower significantly, which rendered you helpless against the green-eyed woman of your dreams. Then again, it's not like you were particularly against that idea in the first place.

Maybe that made you a horrible person.

Maybe that made Wanda a monster.

But how could she be one when she whispered the sweetest words in your ear while taking you over the edge and destroying you in the most pleasurable of ways? How could there be anything wrong about her soft caresses and gentle smiles?

A part of you knows the answer. It's wrong because the witch's heart isn't yours. Or worse, because someone else's heart belongs to the witch.

Because for all their problems and arguments, Wanda and Natasha love each other. At the very least, they tolerate each other enough to stay together.

And you don't fit into their relationship.

You shouldn't.

But Wanda isn't a person you can just ignore.

She makes that perfectly clear no less than a week after your little "mistake".

You're in the kitchen at the Compound, eating some leftovers and scrolling through your phone to keep yourself occupied, when Wanda walks in. You don't need to look at her to know she's pissed off. Her energy is way too heavy to mean anything else.

"Hey, Wands," you say, barely looking up from your phone out of fear of falling under her spell once more.

She walks over to you, leaning against the counter and silently watching you for a second. Her silence honestly scares you, but you don't question her yet. You know better than that.

"You've been avoiding me," she says, her voice soft yet not gentle. "Why is that?"

A shiver runs down your spine at the question. 

You know you can't lie to her, she's a freaking mind reader, but you can't exactly tell her the truth. You've both been trying to ignore it since the morning you woke up tangled together in her bed.

A bed she shares with someone who isn't you.

"I've been busy," you reply with a shrug. "Kate's been forcing me to train every day."

Clearly, that's the wrong answer, considering the tilt of her head.

Yup. You're fucked now.

"Is that so? I didn't realize you two were such good...friends."

Wanda pushes herself off the counter, taking slow, calculated, steps until she's standing behind you. If you weren't so focused on keeping your voice steady, you might have been able to guess what her plan in.

"Well, we both love annoying Clint and making Yelena mad."

She hums in response as her arms wrap themselves around you, pulling you back until you're firmly pressed against her. 

The action almost makes you fall off your stool. You somehow stay put, though, even as every fiber of your being tells you to leave. The harsh truth is that you don't want to leave.

You want her so badly that the consequences don't seem to matter.

Nothing matters but her.

Which is exactly what she wants.

"You should be careful with the little archer," she says, her hands not so subtly caressing your sides. "You know she's just going to use you then throw you away when she's bored."

The irony in her words isn't lost on you.

You open your mouth to let her know that when her hands move up and brush against your chest. It takes all your willpower to stop yourself from gasping.

"Wanda," you hiss. "We're in the middle of the kitchen."

"Relax, detka," she whispers into your ear, your body instantly obeying her words. "You know I won't let anyone see."

"Do I?" you reply. "Because it seems exactly like something you'd enjoy."

The witch chuckles despite herself. "That's true but you're not the only trying to keep things a secret."

You know her words should make you feel worse about this whole thing but right now, they only serve to turn you on. As messed up as it is, there's something exciting about the situation. 

About how much Wanda wants you.

So, even though you know you should push her away, you lean back against her, allowing her hands to explore your body however she wishes.

Your obedience (if you can even call it that) is instantly rewarded by the other woman. Her hands sneak their way under your shirt, her fingers drawing teasing shapes on your warm skin as she makes the journey upward.

"You're such a good girl for me, baby," she mumbles almost absent-mindedly. "Letting me use you like this. Letting me play with you whenever I want."

A part of you wants to put up a fight. To show her you have a bigger backbone than she realizes. That you're able to switch the tables on her whenever you want.

Unfortunately, that part of you goes quiet the second her fingers find your nipples. "Look at you, all ready for me, huh?"

"Shut up," you mumble as your cheeks heat up.

Your words of defiance earn you a sharp pinch to your already sensitive nipples. "Watch your mouth, sweetheart."

It's impossible to stop your back from arching as the leftover sting rushes through your system. You'd learned the hard way that Wanda could either be the sweetest or the most unforgivable lover. In a way, it made being with her all the more exciting...and unpredictable.

Then again, you can't pretend you don't like it. If you didn't, you would have never gotten mixed up with her in the first place.

"Sorry," you whisper, not sounding particularly sincere.

If Wanda notices, she doesn't point it out and instead goes right back to playing with your chest, squeezing and pinching your nipples as she pleases.

Her actions only serve to make you more and more desperate for her. It's almost embarrassing how good she is at reading you. At knowing exactly what buttons to push to turn you into a shaking, pleading mess.

A part of you knows it's thanks to her powers that she can read your desires so well, but you ignore the thought for now. You could beat yourself up over all this later, right now, you had a very important task ahead of you.

"You're eager today," she teases, her eyes zeroing in on the slight movement of your hips. "Did you miss me that much?"

You're not sure why you're in such a defiant mood today but your mouth moves way faster than your thoughts. "Yeah, Kate was too busy today."

You don't see the scarlet that begins to overtake her eyes since you have your back to her. You miss the warning signs until she uses her magic to bend you over the counter, keeping your hands behind your back.

"You're going to regret talking to me like that," she says, holding you down easily thanks to her magic.

It's obvious you should apologize and yet you remain as composed as you possibly can given the situation. As stupid as it is, you're still mad at her for putting you in this situation.

Out of the two of you, she was the one who was in the wrong. She was the one fucking up her relationship just because she was upset with her girlfriend. And she had the audacity to pull you down with her.

To make you like it.

You couldn't place all the blame on her and yet you did it anyway. As if that would somehow fix the entire situation.

Her hand comes down on your ass before you can make your predicament worse. The sudden sensation makes you jump, the leftover sting taking over your mind.

"Wanda." Your attempt to sound mad falls completely flat since your voice is far too breathless for it to be convincing.

She spanks you again. Once. Twice. Each time striking both harder and faster.

"Try again, detka," she tells you, her voice unforgiving. "And then maybe, I'll go easy on you."

She won't.

You know she won't. But the idea that she could is more than tantalizing enough.

Although, then again, it wasn't like you didn't enjoy calling her by her beloved title.

"Mommy," you whisper, your voice sounding way too loud in the empty kitchen.

You don't need to be looking at her to see the proud grin that takes over her features.

This is the real reason why she wants you. Why she likes being with you. Because she doesn't need to fight you to get you to submit to her every whim.

"Good girl." Wanda's hands toy with the waistband of your pants. "Tell me what you want."

You allow the silence to drag on for a second longer than necessary. You both know you won't deny her, you can't, but that doesn't mean you can't keep her guessing. 

Maybe then she'll grow tired of you and stop using you so carelessly.

"Want you to touch me...please, mommy."

You half expect her to drag the moment out until you can't hold yourself back from begging for more. For her.

She doesn't, though, because unbeknownst to you, she's playing a different kind of game with you today.

Wanda uses her powers to undress you, barely giving you a second to register just how vulnerable she's leaving you. You know no one will walk in on you two, she promised you that much, but that doesn't make it any less scary...and thrilling.

"Look at you," she coos, her fingers spreading your slick folds. "So wet and I've barely even touched you. Such a needy thing, aren't you, sweetheart?"

It's embarrassing how hard your walls clench around pure air from the mere tone of her voice. It's that intoxicating mix between degrading and sweet that you want everything she's willing to give you.

"Yes, mommy," you whimper.

"Oh, I know," she says, pushing the tip of her index finger into your tight cunt. "She's such a good girl, isn't she?"

Your eyebrows furrow in confusion but her powers hold you down and stop you from turning to look at her. Your question is answered before you can even ask it, though, as a certain pair of black boots make their way into your field of vision.

"I'm not sure." The sound of Natasha's voice sends a shiver down her spine. "She looks like a desperate slut to me."

Wanda stops you from answering, thanks to her powers. "Oh, come on, Nat, don't be mean. Look how eager she is to be played with."

The redhead rolls her eyes. "That just proves my point."

The witch laughs, taking the moment to sink her finger deeper into your pussy, relishing the wet sounds that fill the kitchen. You're more than a little humiliated, but there's nothing you can do to stop it. Worse, there's nothing you can do to deny how wet the situation is making you.

How desperate you are for more.

Wanda knows. Of course, she knows. It's partly because of her powers and partly because she knows your body far too well. And because she knows you so well, she gives you a chance to call the whole thing off before it even truly starts.

"What's your color, y/n?"

It would be so easy to say "red" and stop everything. You know there would be zero judgement. That despite whatever agreement they've come to, they'd both take a step back and make sure you were okay.

And yet...you can't seem to form the word.

Because, as much as you don't want to admit it...you want this.

"Green..." you whisper.

Wanda leans in, taking your mind off of Natasha's eyes on you, and peppers soft kisses across your back. The softness of her lips is a stark contrast to her previous demeanor and it helps calm down your speeding nerves.

The Russian steps forward, her hand cupping your face and gently tilting it backward until your eyes meet. "You want this, don't you, darling?"

You don't want to admit it but you can't bring yourself to lie to her. "Yes...I want this."

The sharpness in her eyes fades away slightly. There's still an edge of annoyance in her features but she looks almost as turned on as you feel. "Good girl."

Your walls clench around Wanda's finger and she chuckles before starting to move in and out of your tight heat. "I think she likes you, Nat."

"Shut up."

Wanda adds another finger into the mix, expertly stretching you out and drawing out a long moan from your parted lips. "That's it, just give in, sweetheart. Doesn't it feel better when you stop thinking so much?"

It's startling how right she is.

She doesn't wait for an answer this time, though, she simply speeds up her movements, curling her fingers in the way that drives you crazy. The pleasure slowly overwhelms your mind, removing all other thoughts until all you can focus on is how good it all feels. How much you like submitting to them like this.

"Mommy..." You whine, watching the way Natasha's eyes darken in response to your sounds. "Please...need more."

"Aw, are two fingers not enough for you, baby?" The fake pity in her tone turns you on more than it should. "Does your greedy pussy need more?"

You nod desperately, ignoring the humiliation that lingers in your every move.

All that earns you is another laugh from Wanda and an eye roll from Natasha.

The redhead steps back from you, causing you to whimper, before her hands move to her belt. Her eyes remain on yours as she starts removing her garments, slowly revealing the red strap-on resting between her legs.

Your lips part almost instantly once you catch sight of the full size of it and just how incredibly dominant it makes Natasha look. You shouldn't be surprised considering what everyone, including Wanda, always say about her. Then again, seeing is believing.

"So fucking eager, aren't you?" You know the Russian is technically making fun of you, but you can't help feeling a bit proud of yourself for the grin on her face.

She steps forward, her hands coming up to tangle in your hair and guide you forward. There's something weirdly soft about her movements, about the way she takes her time with you. Maybe, just maybe, she likes you more than she's let on.

You wrap your lips around the head of the dildo, your eyes glued to Natasha's face. You can see the flecks of pleasure spreading across her features, the way she clenches her jaw to stop herself from vocalizing it. It's like you're stuck in a far too arousing competition with her. Each of you trying your damn harderst to break the other.

Unfortunately for you, you also have Wanda working behind you, her fingers restlessly pumping in and out of your soaked entrance. She knows exactly how to wind you up. 

Exactly how to keep you on your toes yet wanting more.

Natasha guides you further down her cock, working the length deeper into your mouth. "You look so much better like this, malyshka."

"I told you," Wanda pipes up, choosing that exact moment to work another finger into your tight heat. "You just wanted to be a party pooper."

"Keep talking like that and you'll be next, Maximoff."

"You're no fun."

You've never heard Wanda like this. So pouty and borderline bratty. It's a stark contrast to the dominant woman you've grown so attached to. To the one that turns your brain to putty with just a few words.

"Don't get any ideas, sweetheart. Mommy's still in charge here."

You moan in response, the sound muffled by the dildo currently stuffing your mouth.

"If you're Mommy," Natasha says, starting to thrust into your mouth. "Does that make me Daddy?"

You try to voice your approval for the title but neither of the women pay attention to you. They just keep talking like you're not even there, like all you are is a toy for them to play with.

"I thought you didn't like being called that."

The redhead shrugs in response. "I don't but now I'm curious."

"I think our good girl would like it."

You wait for Natasha to complain and say something about how you aren't theirs. Maybe make fun of you again for even thinking they'd ever entertain that idea.

She doesn't, though.

All she does is double her efforts as she keeps thrusting into your mouth. 

The kitchen fills with the sounds of your pleasure as they both play with your needy holes.

You feel yourself growing closer and closer to the edge, the coil in your stomach getting tighter with each one of their well-timed thrusts. You're completely at their mercy and you love every second of their never-ending show of dominance.

Of control over you.

Wanda's movements speed up and you do your best to ask for permission to cum, knowing all too well the consequences that would await you if you forgot. It's practically impossible to speak, though, considering the way Natasha is still thrusting into your mouth, her hips grinding against the base of the dildo each time she slips the length back inside.

"I know, baby," the witch reassures you. "You want to cum so bad, don't you?"

All she gets is a muffled whine in response, your body jerking forward when her thumb teases your swollen clit.

"Go ahead, darling," Natasha speaks up, her voice practically a low growl. "Cum all over Mommy's fingers for me."

You're not used to receiving such a command from the redhead and yet your body reacts immediatly to her tone. Your whole body seems to come alive as you fall over the edge, Wanda's fingers never ceasing in their movements. She expertly draws out your pleasure until you're left shaking and panting. 

The ringing in your ears doesn't allow you to hear the string of moans that leave Natasha's mouth as she watches the scene. The sight of you coming undone so violently causes her to fall apart, her fingers tightening in your hair until you're sputtering for air.

Thankfully, Wanda knows your limits well.

No words are exchanged as she uses her magic on you again. You're barely coherent, your mind still too muddled by pure pleasure and the cotton-filled haze of submission.

She gently sets you down on the couch, wiping down your soaked skin with a wet cloth, making sure to look you over in case their rough movements bruised you up.

"You okay, darling?" The witch asks as she settles down next to you.

You nod in response, shifting a little until your head rests in her lap. "Yeah...just tired."

"You should get some rest, detka. We have a lot to talk about."

Her words make you laugh. "That's an understament, Wands."

"Whatever." She moves her hand down to run her fingers through your hair, gently scratching your scalp as sleep overcomes you.

There's a lot you don't understand, a lot you really figure out, but you feel safe with the knowledge that you haven't ruined anything. That you're not an intruder in their relationship. If anything, you're a welcome addition.

[targaryenluvs]

— ALL GROWN UP

pairings: coriolanus snow x fem!reader

summary: you were always tigris's annoying rich friend to coriolanus, but once he returns from 12 you seem to be irresistible, not only to him.

warnings: normal coryo in all honesty, jealousy, flirting, p in v, oral (m), choking, kinda subby coryo - for a bit, time gap he spent a year in 12 (i got lazy this is short and basically just porn with slight plot)

a/n: hehehehe first fic of 2024 kiddos besides the klaus one!

your laughter was the last thing coriolanus wanted to hear, ever. it was still annoying when he was here, and it was still once he returned.

"there's no way!" tigris giggled a loud as you joined in.

"tigris?" he called out to her, waiting. "coryo!" tigris yelled as she ran to him, his arms open for her. "it's so good to see you, you’ve been so busy." you laughed, "your hair, it's worse in person." would you shut up? who were you to interrupt a family-

your night dress was black, short, barely below your crotch. lace details, messy hair, you were nothing short a of a dream, and it was messing with his head. he was so use to hating you, your stupid gorgeous face and here he was, dumbstruck. “y/n?” you nodded with a sweet smile, “how are you coriolanus?”

he sighed, “exhausted, between the university and dr gaul, it seems i’m stretched thin these days.” you nodded along, “it seems you’re well on your way to success.” he inhaled, not use to your kind words, “thank you.”

apparently you were staying with the snow’s for a week or so, much to coriolanus’s elation. surprisingly, in the time he’d been away you’d become, tolerable. it sure as hell had nothing to do with the sway in your walk, your sweet eyes looking up at him and your new found confidence, no he just felt nice.

he was itching to get a taste.

he’d seen you out and about, talking with almost all the people around. a kind smile aimed at quite literally everyone. almost every guy in the restaurant seemed to know you, and he couldn’t help but feel annoyed.

didn’t they know you came for lunch with him?

shouldn’t they know better?

you weren’t his, yet.

it was late at night, you needed something to drink.

grandma’ams tea isn’t exactly the most refreshing. you were in the midst of scouring the kitchen for a teabag of actual flavour when you’d heard him behind you.

“looking for this?” he held the jar in his hands, “actually, yes.” you walked over to grab it and he only held it higher, “coryo, please.” he grinned, “coryo huh?” you placed your hands on your hips, annoyed, “yes, now if you don’t mind.” the jar clattered on the counter and you quickly swiped it away. “would you like some?”

in the reflection of the glass cabinet, you saw him shake his head, “i’m in the mood for something else.” you giggled at his vagueness, “oh? and what might that be mr snow?” his smirk was all you needed to know what he was hinting at. “you’re playing a dangerous game here coryo,” he feigned confusion, “am i now?” you smiled, “yes you are.” he was behind you now, breath heavy and hot on your shoulder, “i might be, question is, are you willing to play?”

his lips were on your neck, light as ever, open mouthed kisses all the way up to your cheek. “cory” he gathered your hair, swinging it over your shoulder, “cory? that’s new.” you smiled, “i know. i’m going to take a shower, wanna join? to conserve water of course.” as if they need to, they had more than enough money now.

“to conserve, of course.”

the hot water rose steam, surrounding you as coryo watched from outside. the fog covered up all the parts he wanted to see, and his night pants seemed smaller. soap running all over you, soft hands trailing down. “i think you’ll get a much better view from in here.”

he ripped his clothes off, practically stumbling around in the soft glow of the guest room lamp. he’d been waiting for so long. ten minutes. his hands massaged your scalp, washing it off remaining shampoo and conditioner. ridding your body of any soap, your shoulders, your stomach, your thighs.

and soon enough he pressed you against the wall, imprints of hands staining the glass. you were both unbearably needy, messy kisses and desperate touches. you revelled in his grasp, you felt as if your skin was on fire. “y/n, please.” he whined. you giggled at his begging, “please what coryo?” you stroked his dick as he groaned out, “suck me off. now.” you laughed at his words, “pretty bossy for someone who was whining like a little bitch two seconds ago.” he was about to protest but your warm mouth on him seemed to shut up all forms of protest.

“oh god.” he leaned his head back on the wall as you dug your nails into the back of his thighs. the water pouring down on the two of you made coryo glisten, his abs looking especially sweet. droplets of water fell down from his hair onto you.

as if you weren’t enough the view of you on your knees, your tuts on display was more than enough for him to explode down your throat. “fuck, when did you learn to do this slut? you been practicing f’me?” his attempt at regaining control had you suppressing your laughter.

but his hand in your hair tugging you to your feet, crazy eyes and a very attractive smirk? “only for you cory.” you wrapped your arms around his neck and gently kissed him, “all for me.”

“please, cory. i need you.” you leaned your head against his as he directed his cock to entrance, teasing you. “you want it?” you nodded your head vehemently, “god just please, fuck me.” he kissed your cheek before pushing in, “anything you say baby.” you moaned out at the feeling of him in you, filling you to the brim. you felt unbearably hot, between the running water and coryo rutting into you it felt like heaven.

you can feel the wetness dripping down your thigh, mixing in with the water, “messy girl, aren’t you?” your hands dug into his shoulders almost painfully, “jump up.” wrapping your legs around of his waist, his hands cupped your ass. his pace is unbelievably brutal, “such a bitch to me, making me look weak.”

you shook your head, “didn’t mean to, didn’t mean to i swear.” you mewl, hot tears streaming down your cheeks, as coryo lets out throaty groans.

“stop crying.”

“i can’t, you feel so good!”

“stop crying or i’m not gonna let you cum.” his hand tightened around your throat, cutting off your airway. the dizziness paired with his thrusts inside of you was absolutely delicious. he let up only to mark you before returning to it.

“not yet," his grip around your throat tightened as coryo continued thrusted into you, obviously chasing his own high. "you'll cum when i do.” please cum. you thought, please please please.

his hips slowed down as he groaned, “fuck, all for me yeah? all grown up, aren’t you baby?” your nails marked up his back as he grunted, the hot water seemed to make the fresh marks hurt all the more. coriolanus loved the stinging, almost as much as he loved your cunt.

“cum, cum for me.” you weren’t sure if your release came before or after, but all you felt was unwavering pleasure and relief. you rested your head in the crook of his neck, you were so exhausted. “you did good, so good y/n.” coryo praised you as he pressed kisses to your forehead.

“let’s get you cleaned up yeah?”

[shomatoriashi]

10/19/24; 06:53pm

{ drabbles / headcanons }

[ they comfort you while you’re feeling insecure ]

featuring: sylus, zayne, xavier, rafayel

warnings: dieting is mentioned in sylus’s story. if this is a major trigger for any of you readers, then you don’t need to read this story ♡

it was such a mystery why sylus chose to be with you, of all people.

deep down, you knew he could pick any woman in the entire universe-

so why did he have to settle down with someone as plain as you?

why did you feel like a sack of potatoes while standing next to sylus?

why did the haughty laughter that came from the usual women sylus made business deals with affect you so much?

a particularly bad memory resurfaces, and you bite down harshly at your bottom lip, recalling a time where sylus had invited you to a business dinner with him. while he spoke about plans of expanding onychinus, the mafia boss’ daughter sneered at you, her slender yet curvaceous body made you feel worse about your own self image. you barely picked at your plate of food, knowing that you were far from being slender, and you became increasingly aware of how the curve of your abdomen could be seen from your tight dress.

needless to say, you didn’t have much of an appetite after that meeting.

with the memory of that woman’s sneer still fresh in your mind, you decided to diet a bit while cutting down the amount of foods you ate. you no longer snacked on your favorite sweets and tried to eat more steamed vegetables, avoiding carbs and proteins altogether. you figured since vegetables were like a superfood, then you’d be able to drop down some pounds and obtain a much better figure-

one that was more suited to remain by sylus’s side.

a week into your new diet, you did feel a bit lighter, and as you watched the pounds decrease, you had plans of further decreasing your calorie count-

however, sylus manages to put a hard stop to it. while you were making a simple dinner that consisted of a plain salad, sylus was felt sneaking up from behind you, trapping your form from behind him. you gasp and look up at him, feeling the way his large hand encircles around your wrist.

“s-sylus? what are you doing?” your eyes were wide, watching as he remains silent all while holding your wrist within the palm of his hand.

“you’ve lost some weight.” sylus tells you with his eyebrows furrowed. he takes a hold of your chin and forces you to look at him, “and don’t think for a minute that i haven’t noticed the change in your diet. although steamed vegetables and salads are good for you, they’re not enough to sustain you.”

hearing the concern in his voice makes you break down immediately. the hunger pangs came back to you at full force, making you wince as you land against sylus. “s-sorry, it’s just… i always feel so bad when i stand next to you.”

tears were streaming down your face, and sylus merely hums in response, taking you in his arms while allowing you to vent about your feelings.

“i-i’ve never really been too skinny… because of my appetite. and i guess… it’s just, being next to you and seeing all the women that’s part of your world- it bothers me how i’m not like them, and-“

sylus then silences the rest of your words with a searing kiss. he would not listen or tolerate you speaking down to yourself ever again, and as your lover, it was his responsibility to make sure you felt beautiful every single minute.

once he was certain you had calmed down, he pulls away from the kiss first, resting his forehead against yours while saying your name in an almost exasperated manner.

“there’s a reason why i never wish to be with those women, and that’s because they can never be you. i wish you could see yourself through my eyes and realize just how beautiful you are to me.”

tears began filling your vision, making sylus smile sweetly at you as he gently caresses at your hair, “you don’t need to do anything- to change anything about yourself. what i feel for you is, and always will be, something unconditional. so please, don’t starve yourself and cut out the nutrients you need. you need to eat a thick steak to build your muscles and maintain your energy. pasta and bread can help with filling you up, and i know how much you love sharing ice cream sundaes with me as well.”

feeling so grateful at having such a wonderful boyfriend like sylus, you lean up to press another lingering kiss against his lips, all while telling him, “ah, a steak with some buttered rolls and a salad sounds so good right now.”

sylus lets out a rich chuckle, pressing a kiss against your hair before heading towards the stove all while rolling up his sleeves, “you got it, sweetheart.”

when you woke up this morning, you felt distracted by your reflection, feeling a shudder run down your spine at seeing the various acne that littered your face.

never one to have clear skin, you found yourself pouting at your reflection. as you looked at the new patches of acne settled against your cheek, you frown. it wasn’t like you didn’t take care of your skin. every night, after you showered, you always made sure to wash your face while keeping it moisturized while doing your usual routine-

yet that didn’t seem to be enough, as you always seemed to breakout at the most inopportune times. perhaps today was a bit more meaningful since zayne’s parents were going to stop by the house and have dinner with the both of you.

you had never met zayne’s parents before, and the fact that he invited them over just to finally meet you was both endearing and overwhelming for you. deep down, you were afraid that his parents would reject you, labeling you as beneath their son while harshly telling him that he could do so much better than you.

those self deprecating thoughts kept repeating themselves within your mind, causing you to panic. leaning closer to the mirror, you focused on the patch of acne and tried to pop each and every one of them. it felt like your hands kept clawing at your face, making your eyes water as you tried to get rid of the acne the best way that you knew how to.

you jump slightly upon hearing a knock at the door, hearing zayne’s voice calling out your name before entering the bathroom. he sees the tears in your eyes and how your fingertips were placed against the bumps seen on your cheek.

he frowns, shutting the door from behind him while taking quick strides towards you. “what are you doing?”

your lips began to tremble, giving zayne a defeated expression as you angrily wiped away at your tears. “s-sorry, i just… i feel so mad right now, with my face breaking out like this. and i’m going to see your parents soon, and i look like a mess. i’m terrified that they’re going to compare me to you and say that you deserve so much better-!”

zayne suddenly cuts you off by bringing you into his arms, wrapping you in a tight embrace while drawing comforting circles behind your back. you cling to him like a lifeline, allowing the tears to stain at the front of his shirt.

“don’t ever speak that way about yourself ever again.” zayne tells you in a whisper, pressing a kiss against your temple before framing at your face. he takes a moment to admire your features all while running the pad of his thumb against the patch of acne seen against your skin.

“these… don’t bother me at all. to me, you have always been achingly beautiful in my eyes. and that is never going to change. the whole reason i wanted to invite my parents over was so that they could meet you and know that i am serious about you- about us.”

he smiles down at you, taking in your cute pout before leaning closer to press a chaste kiss against your lips, “now, don’t pick at them anymore. give them some time to heal, and just make sure you wash your face every day to help.”

feeling immensely better now, you throw your arms around zayne, pulling him close as you giggled, allowing him to pick you up as he headed towards the walk in shower, “did you wish to shower together? perhaps then, i could show you just how beautiful you are to me.”

and truly, who were you to deny the love of your life?

to say you were amazed at managing to capture xavier’s heart would be the understatement of the century. in fact, how you both met was under some unorthodox conditions.

you had simply been running errands when an outbreak of wanderers were seen just a few blocks away from you. you had unknowingly stepped into danger, and when you were close to get attacked by one of the monsters-

xavier had appeared before you, slashing away at the wanderer with his weapon. he keeps himself in front of you, not daring to move away from you until the threat has been eliminated. throughout it all, you were in a daze, simply admiring how swift and deadly xavier’s movements were as he dealt with the rest of the wanderers.

only when the coast was clear did he finally meet your gaze. “are you okay?”

you could only manage to give him a nod, ready to thank him when a stern voice breaks through, “xavier, is everything alright on your end?”

you look back to see a stern, but beautiful woman taking quick strides the hunter you assumed was known as xavier. he sheathed his weapon and gives the woman a slight bow. “yes, i’ve dealt with the wanderers here on the eastern part of the city.”

“good. i’ll go ahead and assess the damage with the others.” she runs a hand across her sandy brown hair, leaving you alone with xavier. trying to ignore your own features and how plain you felt in comparison to the woman, you thank xavier for protecting you before telling him you would head home.

the young hunter prevents you from leaving him, gently encircling his hand around your wrist. “wait, let me escort you home, just to be safe.”

seeing the way his sapphire eyes were shining brightly against the sunlight made your knees feel weak for him. giving him a stiff nod, you allow xavier to walk with you back to your apartment complex, convincing yourself that this would be the first and last time you would see him.

so imagine your surprise when he walks with you up to your apartment all while sweetly asking you if you’d like to go out on a date with him sometime. of course, you were filled with shock, remaining flabbergasted as you struggled to find the right words to say.

yet at the end of it all, you accepted his offer for a date. and one date turns into two dates, then three-

and you found yourself remaining together with xavier for close to a year now.

you couldn’t understand what xavier saw in you, since each time you would see xavier work at the association, you became achingly aware of how gorgeous his female coworkers were. this left you feeling a little more than inadequate, wondering why you agreed to be with xavier when he was surrounded by so many girls that were prettier than you.

and such thoughts were enough to render you useless, making you lay in bed for the entirety of the day. as you wallow in your thoughts, you heard your phone go off with your usual text tone. curious as to who was texting you, you look at your screen and freeze, reading xavier’s text:

hey, i got off early. u wanna hang out together? i’m free.

pursing your lips, you leave his text on read, tossing your phone aside before wrapping your blankets tightly around your form. a few seconds later, your phone goes off at least 5 more times, and you were certain it was xavier trying to reach you once more.

you remain in bed, dozing off here and there while wrapped up in your cocoon. you lost track of time, and stiffen when you heard the sound of your front door opening. feeling panicked now, you quickly sit up in bed, hearing footsteps walk into your apartment, revealing xavier just a few moments later with a bag of takeout in his hand.

“hey, i got worried when you didn’t text or call me back, so i figured i’d stop by and check on you.” xavier was frowning slightly, settling the bag of food on top of your desk before sitting on the bed with you.

you run a hand across your tangled locks of hair, “uhm, how did you get in here?”

xavier hums, reaching into the confines of his sweater to pull out your spare key settled on a lanyard. “you gave this to me during our four month anniversary, remember?”

you felt your cheeks heat up in response, leaning forward to gently trace at it. “y-you kept this on you all this time?”

xavier nods, all while gently gripping at your hand, “what’s bothering you.”

“nothing’s bothering me.” you tell xavier a little too quickly, making his frown deepen in response. he ends up tightening his grip on your hand. “that’s not true, and i want you to be honest with me.”

meeting his gaze, you could see the determination shining in them before sighing. “i…i feel really plain in comparison to the women you surround yourself with at the hunters association.”

you watch as xavier’s eyes go wide at your admission, yet still, you continue to explain to him, “i just… i feel like im not pretty enough compared to them. and it- it really is such a mystery why you’re here with me.”

xavier shakes his head for a brief moment before surging forward, giving you a searing kiss as his lips were perfectly slotted against yours. you moan into his kiss, allowing your fingers to delve into his hair as he deepens it.

once he was satisfied with the kiss, xavier pulls away from you, all while flashing you a gentle smile. he frames at your face once more and rests his forehead against yours, “the reason for me being here with you is simple, really, and it’s solely because i love you. you make me so happy, and i love being able to protect you while keeping you in my arms.”

“to me, no other woman can compare to you… and i like you best when you have no makeup on and are in comfortable clothes.” xavier smiles and nuzzles the tip of his nose against yours, “to me, you’re beautiful at all times of the day.”

feeling your heart soar thanks to his honest words alone, you fling your arms around your beloved, holding him close while basking in his kisses. and when he moves his kisses away from your lips and towards your features, you allow xavier to kiss away every insecurity that you felt.

the whole world knew of how beautiful rafayel was-

and that was what sent your thoughts down into a spiral, with you wondering what he even saw in you to begin with.

your first meeting started out as nothing short of romantic. by some twist of fate, you and rafayel happened to frequent at the same café, and as you were scrolling through your phone while taking sips of your coffee, you became aware of a cute boy heading towards you from your periphery.

he smiles at you, amethyst eyes shining with amusement and mirth as he slides a torn piece of sketch paper toward you. on the paper was by far the prettiest rendition of your likeness that you had ever seen. you were honestly impressed by this young man’s talent and asked him if this was how he truly saw you.

he ends up nodding his head in answer to your question. “absolutely. you’re utterly gorgeous, and i knew i had to try and capture your features into my memories somehow. the name’s rafayel, by the way.”

despite your best efforts, you end up grinning widely at him while telling rafayel your own name. the young artist repeats it, as if tasting the syllables on his lips while leaning closer to you. “say, would you like to keep this sketch i made of you?”

“y-yes! i’d love to keep this!” you end up holding the piece of paper close to your chest, earning a rich chuckle from rafayel.

“if that’s the case, then you’ll have to pay for it; and the only payment i’ll accept is if you agree to go on a date with me.”

oh, this guy was a smooth one, and he had caught you-

hook, line, and sinker.

of course, you agreed to go on a date with him-

yet that one date was enough for rafayel to claim you as his girlfriend.

and you’ve been with him ever since.

rafayel was by far the sweetest, and most gorgeous man you had ever dated. sure, you had your bumpy moments-

but the love and happiness you felt with him was something that couldn’t be ignored. he was worth every ounce of your time, (even if he had a tendency to be moody and spoiled).

however, with your growing happiness when it came to being in a relationship with rafayel, there was a lingering sense of doubt as well. for starters, you didn’t look quite as perfect as rafayel did, with you having acne scars scattered throughout your body (mainly on your face and your back).

these lingering scars was what made you shy away from more loose fitting clothes, with you often wearing long sleeved shirts or sweaters to keep your lingering acne and scars hidden.

in fact, you hated them so much that you couldn’t stand to look in the mirror at times.

feeling anxious and unable to keep still, you decide to stop pacing around your shared bedroom, not wishing to distract rafayel as he painted his latest piece. grabbing a plush towel, you head into the bathroom and turn on the faucet of the walk in shower all while shrugging off your clothes in the process.

settling the towel off to the side, once you were bare, you get into the shower and remain beneath the shower spray, basking in the heat. you continue to remain motionless, all while resting your head against the slick shower wall.

you had no idea how long time had passed, and only jumped when you heard rafayel’s voice calling out to you.

“i heard you were in the shower for roughly half an hour now and got concerned, so i’m coming in.”

protests were heard coming from your parted lips, yet rafayel ignored every single one of them, tossing his clothes in a pile before entering the shower with you. his bright eyes remained filled with love for you when he grabs the bottle of body wash and places a significant portion on the sponge. with a hum of your name, rafayel slowly begins lathering the soap all across your form.

“what’s on your mind, princess?” you shiver, feeling your entire body relax as rafayel worked on cleaning your body. taking in a deep breath, you gather your thoughts for a moment before finally admitting to him, “i’m just… feeling really insecure. i keep thinking as to why you’re with me.”

rafayel stops washing your body to let out a scoff. “i’m insulted you feel this way. what do you even mean?”

“i-i mean, look at me, rafayel. i have lingering acne scars on my back, and i don’t have a face that would make people turn their heads to get a better look at me. i’m no ravishing beauty-“

rafayel then presses a lingering kiss at the back of your naked shoulder, making your breath hitch in response. he continues kissing you, trailing his lips softly against your skin as you felt his every touch on your back. as evident from his movements, it was clear that he was kissing at the acne scars that marred your back.

“do you remember the day we first met, and i had given you that sketch?”

you shiver in response, managing to nod in reply to his question. of course you remembered that day, how could you possibly forget what had to have been the happiest day of your life?

“that day, when i first saw you and how you casually sipped at your coffee, i was drawn to the soft and natural beauty you had. i don’t care about models or any other beauty standard that girls tend to follow. what drew me to you was how you seemed to exude a hidden kindness… and just… knew then that i had to capture your features and forever immortalize it in that drawing.”

he places one last kiss against your back before turning you around so that you could face him. tears were seen welling up in your eyes, and you couldn’t stop them from cascading down your face when rafayel frames at them. he caresses at your cheek while telling you, “you have always been the light of my life… and that’s never going to change, because in my eyes, no one would ever be able to compare to you.”

you clench your eyes shut and give him a nod, unable to speak to him due to how much your throat was felt clenching up in response. giving you one last smile, rafayel leans in to quickly give your lips a chaste kiss.

“now, how about we finish this shower, then later on, we’ll order your favorite takeout while watching a movie together.”

more than ready to experience such a fun and relaxing night with him, you give your beloved lemurian a nod before leaning even closer to his touch, allowing him to spoil you as his reverent caresses against your skin makes every insecurity you felt disappear in an instant.

end notes: don’t mind me, i was feeling pretty low about myself and how i looked, and wrote a little something to help with comforting me 🥹 if any of you readers have similar insecurities, then i hope this fic comforted you as well ♡

all stories are written by rei; please do not repost, plagiarize, or translate my works!!

[wannaeatramyeon]

DG x Reader: Bodyguard

G/N. Cracky. You, the bodyguard. DG, the 'helpless' idol. Masterlists

When the rest of DG's senior team insisted he get a bodyguard, he thought it was a joke.

What sort of idiot would attack James Lee.

Then he remembered he's not James Lee, at least not to the general public. He's Diego Kang, CEO of PTJ Entertainment, an idol with amazing moves and an ass that won't quit but no fighting experience.

Right. Right. 

He supposes that makes sense. It would've been suspicious to say no, especially with his legions of stans and stalker, and his prior history.

.

.

You're not exactly who he would have picked.

Bodyguards are usually monstrous, huge, intimidating men. You're not really any of the above.

In fact, you're kinda cute. And apparently your resume is also impressive enough too.

"Perfect candidate." 

"Extensive training." 

"Unmatched awareness." 

-were chirped into his ear before he gave you his nod of approval.

Besides, DG thinks it might work to his advantage to employ someone so unassuming.

.

.

"No upskirt pictures!" You yell at the paparazzi, parting them to make way for the pink-haired idol, and pointing accusingly.

DG, in a moment of complete confusion, peers down to his own legs in case he really did wear a skirt.

No. He's in his pants, of course he is. His clothing is supplied as part of his sponsorship deal. Why would he be wearing a skirt?

"What was that?" He asks, when you're piled into his minivan. Brows knitted together instead of his usual cold, impassive expression.

You give him a shrug, "Just in case."

"In case of?"

"Just in case," you repeat, tapping your nose and nodding knowingly at him.

.

.

Now, he remembers.

During one of his many many boring meetings, when you were officially under his employment and before you started, he had been warned you might be like this.

.

.

“No pictures today!” you holler and the paparazzi groan.

Someone brave enough shouts back why.

“DG lost all five MAMA noms and he’s in a terrible mood. He might ask me to kill you if you take any pictures,” you say back solemnly and without humour.

DG feels bitter but not that bitter. Upon hearing your words, he stifles a laugh into his sleeve and disguises it as a cough.

.

. 

To sum it up, you're an oddball. 

Still, DG tolerates you because of your flashes of brilliance and your brutal honesty.

"Here, sir." You offer up a steaming hot drink and DG raises an eyebrow. "Honey and lemon. For your throat."

When DG doesn't take it, you finally explain. "Your singing sounded awful, sir. Thought you might need it."

Ah.

He did think he sounded off but the yes-men at the studio told him otherwise. He should have trusted his own instincts and makes a mental note to replace them.

DG chuckles to himself before taking the first sip.

.

.

"No touching please," you jump in just as a fan is starting to get handsy.

"Excuse me?!"

You turn away from them, letting their indignant outrage slide off you and usher DG on to the next group to interact with.

DG gives you a nod of thanks and you give him a subtle wink back.

.

.

"You best not be zooming in on his tits," you snarl at another paparazzi. "No under boob, side boobs, any boobs!"

DG glances down at his chest. Fully concealed in a mock neck jumper. There's no bare skin on show at all.

"Can you explain?" He asks, once you climb in the minivan after him and slide the door close.

"You know." You say, handing over another honey and lemon drink.

"I don't, actually."

"You know," you repeat, eyes signalling towards his chest area and hand gesticulating at your own. "And, y'know." 

You nod at his hot drink and pull a face, indicating that he was pitchy as hell in the last rehearsal.

DG shakes his head at your antics but takes a sip regardless.

.

.

"For you, sir." You hold out a brand new baseball cap with both hands and head bowed respectfully.

"I don't want this."

"Yes but you need it."

"..."

"For your bad hair day."

"What?"

"Trust me, sir."

DG narrows his eyes at you. You're rude as hell, no tact at all. He’s not sure if you even have a filter, or you just say whatever thought pops into your mind. 

However.

Somewhere along the way, he finds that you're the only person that tells him the truth.

He takes the cap and thrusts it on his head.

"Much better!" You pipe up with an oblivious grin, adding insult to injury.

.

.

"What are you doing?" DG pulls a face as you wrap your arm around his waist and hurry him on.

"There's someone tailing you," you murmur, "I've been watching them for the last five minutes."

There is? How on earth did this person get past his radar?

As if answering his thoughts, you tell him, "They look like a normal ajumma. No-one would have suspected her if I wasn't watching."

You pick up the pace and DG matches you stride for stride.

"Your manager is waiting just up ahead with the car. I'll take care of them." You give DG a salute and a toothy smile as he looks at you in alarm.

In all honesty, you look a bit helpless. Yes, your resume looks great and yes, your recommendations are glowing but DG hasn't actually seen you in action yet. He can't help the way his stomach lurches thinking about you in danger.

And what if this isn’t an untrained, rabid stan, but someone who knows about his other life and is after James Lee?

"I'll be fine, sir!" You turn quickly and sprint off in the opposite direction at breakneck speed.

.

.

A couple hours later, after DG has paced endlessly back and forth, you show up at his office.

Your hair is a little out of place, and your regulation suit is a little dusty but you're otherwise untouched.

"Are you ok?" his eyes snap to yours.

"Of course, sir!" Your beam is as bright as ever.

DG exhales deeply, pinching the bridge of his nose, relief overwhelming him and he desperately wills his pulse to return to normal.

"Call me James," he sighs when he realises it's not working and his heart seems to beat quicker and louder now you're in sight.

You don't ask any questions like why James, why not Diego. You accept it at face value, no doubt having some secrets of your own.

Your smile is unfaltering as you respond, "Sure thing, James, sir!"

[heartsandhischier]

definitely the annoying little brother

luke hughes x female!reader, jack hughes x platonic!reader

summary - 5.2k words. living in an apartment with your best friend is great, but living in an apartment with your best friend and his brother... not so great

author's note - so... got a little carried away with this one, might write a part 2 idk yet but I love cocky Luke

warnings - mentions of alcohol, swearing, smut (first time writing so hopefully it isn't total shit)

When you first moved to New Jersey, you felt completely lost. Don’t take it the wrong way, it was great—a prestigious college, a change of scenery, and the promise of a fresh start. But your journey took an unexpected turn when you bumber into someone, quite literally crashed into someone, drenching him in your freshly bought coffee.

That someone was Jack, who had also just moved to New Jersey after being drafted by the New Jersey Devils. Like you, he was lost, navigating the unfamiliar terrain of a new beginning. Quickly, you became best friends, each other’s anchor in this new and unfamiliar state. You were each other’s confidants and biggest supporters, always there to lift one another up, no matter the challenge—cheering him on from the stands during his rookie year while he helped you with your schoolwork, or at least tried to…

You supported each other through thick and thin.

When you suddenly found yourself without an apartment, Jack didn’t hesitate to offer you his guest room. What started as a temporary arrangement soon turned into something more permanent, as both of you realized that living together just felt right. What was meant to be a short-term solution naturally evolved into a lasting living situation.

When Luke was drafted, you were perched on the edge of your seat in the apartment, eyes glued to the screen in anticipation as the New Jersey Devils prepared to announce their pick. The moment Luke’s name was called, you jumped up from the couch, overwhelmed with joy. You were thrilled, not just for Luke, but because you knew how much this meant to Jack—being able to play alongside his brother, to grow and improve together on the ice. You watched the screen as Jack sprung from the couch, shaking with excitement. He had told you before, that if Luke was drafted by the Devils, he would move into the apartment. Rather than feeling any apprehension, your strong friendship with Jack made you excited to live with the two brothers.

But here you were, pounding angrily on the shared bathrrom door, “LUKE! Are you fucking kidding me? I’m gonna be late!” The reality of living with Luke was far from pleasant or fun as you had imagined.

Luke was definetely the annoying brother of the three.

Unlike Jack, who was always kidn and considerate, Luke seemed to barely tolerate your presence. He often made snide, witty comments, as if he took some kind of pleasure in getting under your skin.

The apartment had turned into a warzone, filled with incessant arguing, shouting, and tension so thick you could cut it with a knife. In jack’s absence, there was no one to play the peacemaker, no one stopping the two of you from getting at each others throats. Luke was leaving the bathroom a mess, his toiletries scattered everywhere, piling dirty dishes in the sink, not even bothering to put them in the dishwasher, and even taking your clothes out of the dryer and dumping them on the floor so he could use the machine. He even went as far as throwing a party the night before your midterm.You couldn’t hep but feel like he was doing all of this on purpose. You knew he was raised well, with proper manners and common decency—Jack was living proof of that. You knew, you knew he was doing it on purpose. Luke was intentionally firing you up, pushing your buttons. And what bothered you the most, was that it was working.

Luke finally unlocked the bathroom door, and as he swung the it open, a cloud of steam escaped into the hallway. His hair damp, a towel casually wrapped around his waist, showing off his toned muscles. “You don’t need to spend that much time in the bathroom, especially when you end up looking like that,” you snapped, arms crossed in frustration.

“Like what? Incredibly handsome?” Luke shot back, a smug smirk spreading across his face.

“No, like shit,” you fired back, not missing a beat.

“Well, you’re not exactly a sight for sore eyes yourself. So you don’t really need the bathroom before school anyways,” he chuckled, clearly satisfied with his comeback. Annoyed, you rolled your eyes and pushed past him, eager to get on with your day.

-

“Come on Y/N,” Jack whined, his voice dragging, practically on his knees, begging. His team was heading out to celebrate their victory from the night before, and with your schedule finally clear after endless stress, Jack insisted that you’d join them, arguing that you deserved a break. However, his team included a certain someone—Luke. The thought of spending hours into the night, subjected to Luke’s endless barbs and comments, now potentially amplified by alcohol, spelled nothing but trouble in your mind.

“I’ll put you on my tab, if you come,” he offered wiggling his eyebrows, trying to sweeten the deal with the promise of a free night out. You couldn’t help but laugh at his desperation, “Come on, we both know you’d do that anyways,” you teased, narrowing your eyes playfully at him.

“Please, I’ll clean the bathroom for the next three weeks,” he proposed.

“Four weeks.”

“Fine, four weeks. And I’ll make you lunch for those weeks too,” he said, extending his hand in a peace offering.

“Deal. But I’ll skip on the lunch since you barely know how to cook brocolli.”

-

“Aren’t we going to wait for Luke?” you asked, slipping into your boots, a hint of curiousity in your voice. Jack chuckled at your questiong, catching your eyes in the mirror as he straigthened his jacket. “What, have you suddenly become best friend with your ‘enemy’?” he teased. “Absolutely not,” you snorted, “Just wanted to know if I needed to prepare for a battle to get us in the back seat.”

The Uber sped through the bustling streets of New York, skyscrapers flashing by in a blur. Luke had headed out erly with Holtz and Mercer, granting you a rare moment of peace on the drive to the club, free from the usual bickering.

The elevator chimed, announding your arrival at the club’s level. As the doors slid open, you were greeted by a breathtaking panoramic view of New York City—the virbant lights and endless stretched out before you, leaving you momentarily speechless. “Pretty sick, right?” Jack playfully nudged you, his smile infectious, clearly proud of the evening’s choice. The club’s interior buzzed with energy, packed with people moving rhythmically beneath the glow of shimmering lights. The music enveloped the space, so loud and deep that the bass seemed to vibrate through the very floor. With a reassuring grip, jack took your hand and guided you through the crowd, weaving towards the table where his teammates were gathered.

They all excitedly greeted the two of you, ushering you both to join them at the table. You loved Jack’s teammates—they were just as kind and welcoming as him, making everyone feel included and part of the fun. They had a way of making you feel like you belonged, as if you were a part of the team.

And then there was Luke.

He didn’t even glance in your direction when you approached the table, too invested in his conversation with Timo to care—yeah sure.

As soon as you sat down, the drinks were served—Jack with his usual beer, and for you, a Tom Collins, your all-time favourite. You couldn’t help but chuckle, Jack had even gone out of his way to make sure you got your favourite drink.

After a few more drinks and plenty of hearty laughs, Jack pulled you out of your seat and onto the dance floor. The music immediately took over as you started moving, and you found yourself actually enjoying the moment. Dancing with Jack, you felt genuinely happy, grateful that you’d agreed to go out. In that moment, you forgot all about his annoying little brother.

Dancing, completely lost in the ruthm and music, you noticed your glass was empty. Sldiding through the crowd, you made your way to the bar, skillfully navigating the sea of people, all moving to the same infectious beat. The bartenders were a blur of activity, moving with swift precision as they tried to keep up with the endless stream of orders shouted by eager club-goers.

While waiting to be served, you suddenly felt a hand wrap around your waist. Startled, you turned around, meeting the drunken gaze of a stranger. “What are you getting beautiful?” he slurred. He was undeniably handsome, but the whole encounted made you feel uncomfortable. You tried to respond, but only managed to stumble out an incoherent answer.

He leaned in closed, his breath hot against your ear, “Why don’t I buy you a drink, and then we can continue the party at my place?” a shiver ran down your spine, and not the good kind. All you could muster was a sheepish smile, your mind racing for a way out. In a sudden, unwelcome move, he leaned in, clearly aiming for a kiss. You froze, unable to move, instinctively shutting your eyes, bracing for impact.

But the kiss never came. Eyes still closed, you heard commotion.

“Back off. She’s not going anywhere with you.”

Opening your eyes, you found Luke standing between you and the stranger, his body tense as he had pushed the man away, shielding you from his advances.

“You okay?” Luke asked, his voice softening as he lightly brushed your arm, his towering presence offering an unexpected sense of security. You looked up at him, slowly giving a small nod, your mind still racing. What the fuck just happened?

Without missing a beat, Luke turned to signal the bartender, “Two Tom Collins’ please.” The bartender nodded in acknowledgement and swiftly got to work on the drinks.

As he handed you one of the glasses, Luke’s hand gently found its way to the small of your back, guiding you with a suprising tenderness toward the dance floor. The music, once again, enveloped you, its rhythm quickly helping you forget the uncomfortable encounter at the bar.

You found yourself dancing close to Luke, closer than you had ever been before. You felt weirdly comfortable in Luke’s presence, and it seemed he noticed, his hand resting gently on your hips, his voice teasing. “For someone who complains so much about me, you seem pretty okay with standing this close to me.”

His comment took you by surprise, a rush of warmth flooding your cheeks. You quickly retorded, trying to mask your fluster, “Trust me, if the club wasn’t this packed, I’d be standing lightyears away from you.”

Luke smirked, leaning in closer, his breath tickling your ear as he whispered, “Or maybe you’ve just realised how much you actually enjoy my company. All those complaints might just be your way of getting my attention.”

You sturggled to maintain your composure, caught off guard by the unexpected closeness. “Dream on Luke. If I wanted your attention I’d just lock myself in the bathroom with you,” you shot back, trying to sound unfazed.

“Yeah, you’d like that wouldn’t you,” he replied with that damn smirk—you wished you could just slap it off his face.

What. Was. Happening?

Confused and a bit flustered, you mustered up an excuse and rushed through the lively crowd toward Jack at the table.

“Enjoying youself?” Jack’s voice pulled you back to reality, his tone playful as he nudged you.

“Fine!” You responed, rolling our eyes at him. “I’m having fun. But you didn’t have to make them get my favourite drink,” you laughed, giving into his bright smile.

Jack joined the laughter, but there was in his response that made it seem like he was laughing at you, not with you. He tilted his head, genuinely puzzled as he looked at you. “I didn’t tell anyone to order your favourite drink.”

“Well, who’s in charge of the tab tonight?”

“Luke.”

-

The next few weeks, you did everything you could to avoid Luke. The whole situation at the club… it left you confused. It was so unexpected, yet for some reason, you didn’t mind the closeness that you felt that night. But you couldn’t face him. You started waking up hours earlier than necessary just to avoid the usual bathroom fight, lingering around for extrahours before class or work. It was ruining your sleep schedule, but you convinced yourself it was for the best.

Your eyes were glued to the bright screen of your phone—3 AM. You let out a frustrated sigh. You couldn’t sleep. The room felt like an oven, the early arrival of summer in New Jersey wrapping your bedroom in an unbearable warmth. The stress of upcoming exams weighed heavily on your mind. And the thought of having to get up in just two hours to avoid Luke didn’t help much either.

Defeated, you pushed yourself out of bed, sliding into your fluffy slippers. Glancing at your reflection in the mirror, you sighed—you looked a mess. Hair tied up in a messy bun, and Jack’s New Jersey Devils t-shirt hung loosely around you.

Whatever.

At this ungodly hour, no one would see you anyway.

Carefully, you pushed the door open, trying to minimise the telltale creak. With light steps, you tiptoed down the hallway, heading for the kitchen. The gentle glow from the counter lights greeted you, casting a soft, inviting glow over the room—Jack must’ve left it on. However, the comfort quickly turned into dismay when you spotted the very person you’d been trying to hard to avoid for weeks on end—Luke. His back was turned, his curly messy, and a pair of pajama pants hung loosely around his waist. His back muscles, his shoulders—everything was on display.

The sight of him triggered an immediate fight-or-flight response—you needed to get out of there before he noticed you. You turned your heel, but your slippers betrayed you with a sharp squeak against the floor.

“Going somewhere?”

You cleared your throat, gathering the courage to face him as you slowly turned around. There he was, casually leaning against the kitchen counter, a bowl of cereal cradled in his hands—his midnight snack. “Just needed some water. Didn’t realise I had company,” you managed to say, trying your best to sound nonchalant.

He let out a soft chuckle, the spoon in his bowl making lazy circles. “Can’t sleep either, huh? The kitchen’s open for all, y’know.” He wasn’t wrong. Despite your efforts to keep your distance, you did in fact live together, and spaces like the kitchen were neutral ground, even at 3 AM.

“Yeah, I… I guess I’ll just grab that water then,” you replied, navigating the awkward silence that filled the room. You reached for a glass and made your way to the sink—coincidentally right next to where Luke was enjoying his cereal. His presence towering over you as you filled your glass with water.

“You know, for two people who claim to hate each other, we do end up in the same place a lot,” Luke observed with a smirk that you could feel rather than see.

You scoffed, trying to maintain a façade of indifference. “We live in the same apartment, Luke, and your brother is my best friend. Don’t get it twisted.”

“Well, you’re wearing my t-shirt, so don’t blame me for getting the ‘wrong idea’,” he countered.

“This is Jack’s.”

He chuckled lightly. “I’ve been looking for it for weeks, thought I lost it. But now I know you just wanted to feel like you were sleeping next tome.”

You scoffed, annoyed. “In your dreams, asshole.”

He stepped closer, closing the distance between you to mere inches. “Y’know, you could’ve just asked. I’d gladly let you sleep in bed with me,” he said, the smirk evident in his voice as he towered over you.

Heart racing, your voice caught in your throat at the sudden proximity. In a moment of panic, you retreated, mumbling an incoherent “I have to go,” as you hastily made your escape.

-

The usual calm and comfortable space of your apartment was transformed tonight into lively space buzzing with energy, laughter, and booze. It was Jack’s birthday, and as his best friend, you were determined to throw him the best celebration possible—a surprise party. You pulled all the strings, inviting friends and teammates, and with the off-season granting a rare break, Trevor, Cole, and Alex were able to join the festivities. As you navigated the cluster of people, a glass nestled gently in your grasp, your gaze inadvertently landed on Luke. By his side stood a girl whose laughter harmonised so seamlessly with his, it almost seemed choreographed.

A strange unease began to coil within you at the sight. There was Luke, entiraly absorbed in conversation with whoever this girl was, and something about it unsettled you deeply.

“Seems like Luke’s really hitting it off, huh?” Trevor’s voice cut through the hum of the party, his tone playful yet pointed as he caught your fixed gaze and gave a teasing nudge.

“Yeah, looks like it,” you responded, striving for indifference even as you couldn’t tear your eyes away. You weren’t sure why, but the sight of Luke and that girl, felt like it lodged itself in your chest.

Jack’s laughter soon joined in, bright and unaware of the subtle tension you were feeling. He slapped your shoulder playfully, “Luke’s always been a charmer. Who’s the lucky lady this time?”

You attempted a nonchalant shrug, trying to shake off the knot forming in your stomach. “No idea.”

-

“This is nice isn’t it?”

The sun was shining, pouring its warmth over Jersey City, a gentle breeze complementing the heat perfectly.

As you wandered through the city with Jack, it felt like old times, just the two of you. His excitement was contagious, sparking a lightness that had been missing for too long.

“I feel like I haven’t seen you in forever. And we live together!” he joked, playfully nudging you, but you could sense the underlying truth in his words—he genuinely missed these moments together.

And he was right, it had been a while. The efforts you’d put into avoiding Luke had eventually affected Jack as well, since the two of the basically shared the same schedule. You didn’t want to tell him the truth—that you were avoiding Luke and then possibly having to explain why.

“Yeah, I’ve missed this, it’s just that I’ve been drowning in schoolwork lately.” It was a bad excuse, but it was the best and most realistic you could come up with.

Deciding to take advantage of the beautiful day, you suggested heading to one of your favourite cafes. The idea of soaking up some sun while catching up seemed perfect. Once you found a spot in the outdoor seating area, you offered to go in and order for the two of you. By the time you returned with to coffees, the dynamic at your table had unexpectedly changed. Two additional figures were now seated beside Jack, their curls a dead giveawat—you recognised those curls anywhere. A sigh escaped your lips as Jack, beaming with enthusiasm, gestured towards them. “Hey, Y/N! Look who I found!” the two curlyheads turned to face you, John and Luke greeting you with smiles, with Luke’s carrying his signature, teasing smirk.

Reluctantly, you put on a fake smile and settled into the chair next to Jack, doing your best to remain composed, polite, and NOT awkward. The conversation flowed effortlessly around you, but you remained quiet, occasionally offering a nod or a brief reply. Your eyes shifted between John and Jack, deliberately avoiding Luke, as if by ignoring him, you could somehow make the situation less complicated.

Eventually , John and Luke made their casual exit. You managed a tight smile and a polite wave, holding on to your façade of composure until they were out of sight. The moment they were gone, jack’s attention snapped back to you, his brows furrowed in confusion and curiosity. “Why were you acting so weird?”

Suddenly, the café’s cosy outdoor setting felt more like an interrogation room, and you were in the hot seat.

“Wha-what do you mean?” your voice wavered despite the smile you plastered on. “I was not!” you countered, hoping the denial sounded more convincing to his ears than it did to yours.

Jack’s eyes widened in shock, as if he had just cracked the code. The revelation seemed to knock him off balance, almost sending him tumbling off his chair. “Oh my god,” he whispered, a mix of genuine shock and amusement in his voice as a chuckle escaped.

“You’re sleeping with John, aren’t you?”

A wave of relief washed over you at his misinterpretation. It was better than telling him about Luke, right? After all, jack was still Luke’s older brother, and you couldn’t risk jeopardising your friendship with Jack, even if whatever was going on with Luke meant something.

Caught between the fear of losing your best friend and the chaos of the moment, you found yourself nodding along before the word “yes” tumbled out. And now, you possibly just made your situation even messier.

-

Once again, you found yourself at a bar with Jack and his teammates, the night serving as a farewell toast before everyone dispered for the off-season. The bar buzzed with a contagious mix of laughter and the clinking of glasses, everyone savouring each other’s company before the inevitable goodbyes. Throughout the evening, you’d successfully avoided both Luke and john, skillfully navigating the minefield of awkward encounters. You also… may have indulged in a few too many drinks to steady your nerves.

As you found yourself back at the bar for yet another round of liquid courage, you sensed someone approaching. Turning around, it wasn’t Luke’s familiar curls, but John’s. you managed a somewhat forced smile as he settled beside you. “Hey, Y/N, having fun?” he asked with a smile.

You nervously accepted your drink as it arrived, taking a sip that was perhaps a bit too eager. “Yeah, it’s great hanging out with you guys!”

An awkward silence fell between you, filled only by the sound of your silent sipping. John’s laughter suddenly cut through the tension, breaking the ice with ease as he chuckled at the obvious awkwardsness of the situation. “Y’know, Jack’s been chirping me relentlessly tonight. Mentioning something… interesting… about us.” You groaned, mentally facepalming yourself.

With a playful gesture, he pointed his finger between the both of you, his expression a mix of confusion and amusement. “Did… did we sleep together one night and I just forgot?”

“No no no!” you rushed to clarify, flailing your hands around, desperate to clear up the situation. John, is of course, handsome, and after a few too many drinks on a night out, it could’ve happened under different circumstances. The absurdity of it all hit both of you at once, and you burst out laughing, dissolving any lingering awkwardness between the two of you.

John theaterically placed a hand over his heart. “Phew, good. Wouldn’t want Luke getting all jealous on me.” Your laughter echoed his, agreeing wholeheartedly—until his words fully registered. You never mentioned Luke. “What did you say?”

John merely winked and offered you a pat on the shoulder before making his exit, leaving you at the bar, more puzzled than ever.

As the evening unfolded, the flow of drinks seemed never-ending, each one blurring into the next. Suddenly, you found yourself seated in the passengerseat of a car, the lights of New Jersey streaking past you in a dizzyin display. Barely able to keep your eyes open in your drunken state, you looked over to the driver’s seat—Luke. “What are you doing? You shouldn’t be driving,” you slurred.

“I was sober tonight, Y/N. and you… you were way too drunk. We’re going home,” Luke responded, his tone lacking its usual lightness, replaced by a firm, blunt edge. The drive was engulfed in silence, a tensions hanging in the air that even your drunken haze couldn’t miss.

“So, cosying up with John?” Luke remarked, a hint of something indefinable in his tone.

Luke had seen you at the bar. His voice carried a weight, one that echoed the same unease you felt when you saw him with that girl at Jack’s birthday.

Words failed you as you tried to respond, a string of incoherent mumbles and half-formed words spilling out of your mouth. You felt like you were burning up, put on the spot, panicking. “Trying to make me jealous?” You blinked in shock at his question. There was no hint of anger in Luke’s voice; instead, he sounded amused. You could feel his smirk.

As you finally mustered up the courage to face him, there it was—that infuriating, captivating smirk. Part of you wanted to punch it off his face, yet another part for inexplicably drawn to it. “I… I wasn’t…” you stuttered, struggling to articulate your thoughts. Luke let out a soft chuckle, one hand leaving the steering wheel, landing comfortably on your thigh.

“I’ll admit it, I got a bit jealous. But I know John wouldn’t do that to me,” he said, giving you thigh a gentle squeeze. You were totally lost. Luke was jealous? Why? You weren’t trying to make him jealous. Your intentions had been the polar opposite—you were trying to avoid him.

And here you were, alone, in the car, with Luke.

“And I know you wouldn’t do that either. You’re too charmed by me, aren’t you?” The car came to a stop; you were outside the apartment. Luke finally turned to meet your gaze. His question hung in the air, leaving you speechless. You weren’t interested in Luke, at all. You were just confused.

Right?

“Is that the reason why you’ve been avoiding me?” His words struck a nerve—he knew. He knew that you had, in fact, been avoiding him. You found yourself locked in his gaze, unable to pry your eyes away. Luke didn’t look away either; it was as if he was uncovering every secret, exploring every inch of you with his eyes.

In a swift, almost breathless moment, he leaned over, his lips finding yours. The kiss caught you by surprise, yet the thought of pulling away never crossed your mind. Instead, you found yourself surrendering—melting into the warmth of his lips. Your hand instinctively found its way to his curls, fingers weaving through them, pulling him closer,deepening the kiss.

You were moving in perfect sync.

His hand reached out, unlatching your seatbelt, freeing your from its restraint. With an ease of urgency, you climbed over the midconsole, never losing the precious contact between the two of you.

His hands found their way to your hips, finger pressing into the soft fabric of your clothes, pulling you even closer. Arching your back at the contact, your clothed core merely inches away from him, only your clothes separating you. Intoxication swept over you, but it wasn’t the alcohol swirling through your veins that left you dizzy – it was Luke. it was the touch of his hands roaming around your body, the feeling of his lips on yours, it was him. And you needed more. Your hands seemed to take on a life of their own, grasping at his shoulders, tugging at his curls, wrapping around his neck – anything to be closer to Luke.

Lost in the moment, straddling Luke in the drivers seat as you deepened the kiss. His hands on your hips, pulling you closer as you grind against him, feeling him harden beneath you. The friction was maddening, and you could feel yourself growing wetter by the second.

You simply couldn’t help yourself.

With a groan, Luke pulls away, leaving you both gasping for air. But the respite is short-lived as you felt Luke’s fingers grazing your inner thigh, sending shivers up your spine. He hooked his fingers under the edge of your panties, pulling them to the side. You bit down on your lip, trying to stifle the moan that threatened to escape as he slips inside, his fingers finding your clit with ease.

But you can’t, you’d been wanting this, needing this, needing him. Needing Luke.

You let out a soft moan, giving yourself over to the feeling of his fingers exploring your most sensitive area. At first, Luke’s fingers moved in small, teasing circles, bareuly brushing against the sensitive bundle of nerves, just watching you fall apart on top of him.

In the haze of pleasure, you found yourself drawn to Luke’s eyes. They were dark, intense, however, there was a hint of care, and maybe even love, taking in every moment of your reaction to his touch.

You couldn’t look away if you tried. Trapped in his gaze, the car filled with the sounds of your heavy breathing and whimpers – you didn’t want to escape.

Luke’s eyes never left yours, watching with rapt attention as your breath hitched in your throat. Your face flushed, eyes closed tight, feeling the pressure building inside you. Luke’s fingers sped up, pressing harder against your clit.

Suddenly, your vision faded, the orgasm tearing through you like a wildfire, your body shaking with the force of your release.

Collapsing on top of him, your breath coming in short, sharp, gasp as you tried to catch your breath. Luke pushed away the mess of your hair, gently caressing your chin, tilting your face so you could meet his gaze. He was smiling, not the usual shit eating smirk, but smiling with genuine care and affection.

What just happened?

[angstywaifu]

Black Dahlia - 22. Somewhere I Belong

Summary: Dain and Dahlia have a talk, but Dain might have pushed his twin sisters buttons one last time. Garrick Tavis x OC (Dahlia Aetos)

Black Dahlia Masterlist | Masterlist | Support Me

I can feel them. Everyone staring at my back as I grab my breakfast. Well an attempt at breakfast. I couldn’t deny I was still shaken by yesterday, my appetite barely there despite not eating since lunch time yesterday. I should have come down and gotten food, but I didn’t want to deal with the stares and whispers that had followed me the rest of the day till classes had ended. Part of me had hoped they would have died off by now, but the hushed whispers of my name, the eyes following me and the wide birth everyone was giving me let me know this was my new normal for a while. Fantastic.

I abandon the plate I’d had clutched in my hands, reaching out and grabbing an apple before walking over to my squad. I doubt I could stomach much else right now, and I had been put on temporary ban on training or challenges till I could control my signet.

As I walk through the tables I can’t help but hear what everyone was saying.

*”She must have the same signet as that second year. Did you hear what happened last year?”

”No, she’s got the classified signet patch now and he doesn’t. Can’t be the same.”*

I glance down at the patch I’d been given after classes. The compass patch. A patch reserved for those with a signet so classified only leadership were allowed to know. A patch no one had seen in a very long time. And now the Quadrant had two of them. And of course the other one belonged to him. My brother Dain.

I slot into my usual spot next to Bodhi, the squad to my right quickly shuffling away. I roll my eyes at them before taking a bite of my apple.

“You’d think you have the plague with how everyone is acting.” Bodhi mutters, keeping his voice low.

”You do remember what happened yesterday right?” I almost snap at him.

Bodhi just smiles at me, knowing there’s nothing personal behind the tone in my voice. “And this is why you don’t skip breakfast or your morning coffee.”

I roll my eyes at him. “I’m fine. I’m not hungry anyway.”

He opens his mouth to respond, but a plate and steaming cup of coffee being placed in front of me has us both turning to face the new addition to our group.

”You’re not leaving till you eat that food.” Garrick says sternly as he sits in front of me, digging into his own plate heaped with a stupid amount of food.

Bodhi just sits there in shock looking between us as I narrow my eyes at him, not even glancing at what he’s placed in front of me.

”I already said I’m not hungry.” I grumble at him.

Garrick raises his eyes to me and points his fork at me. “Trust me, you’ll feel better if you eat. Even if you don’t eat it all, at least drink the coffee. You’re more tolerable when you’ve had coffee.”

I narrow my eyes at him as he returns to his food. He wasn’t wrong though. I was definitely more moody without my morning coffee. I lower my eyes to the plate in front of me, and am shocked to see it filled with what I would normally eat for breakfast. Even down to the sauce I like with my sausages. And as I raise my eyes to the cup of coffee, something tells me it’s going to be made exactly how I like it. I look to Bodhi, raising an eyebrow as if he had something to do with this. He just shakes his head and shrugs at me, almost looking more in shock than I am. To my knowledge, Garrick has never sat with us or near us for breakfast. But as I raise the coffee to my lips, I almost doubt that thought. It’s as if I had made it. Hell it might even be better. I look back up at Garrick, but he’s not paying me any attention as he continues to dig into his food. Most of his plate already empty.

I clear my throat, Garrick looking up to meet my gaze. “Thanks.”

He merely nods before returning to his food, acting as if this was completely normal behaviour. Which it wasn’t. Not for us. How on earth had he gotten my breakfast so spot on? And clearly without the help from Bodhi who looks like he’s seen a damn ghost as he looks at Garrick. Clearly Garrick was already taking my words from yesterday on board.

We eat in silence for the rest of the meal, mainly due to how quiet everyone else around us is. Myself still being the focus of everyone in the hall. I’m glad Bodhi or Garrick don’t try to talk to me, content to leave me eat in peace. And despite not feeling hungry before, I finish off my entire plate of food. I never thought I’d say it, but Garrick was right. I did feel better after eating the food.

I feel a shift in the air, and watch as Garrick raises his eyes, narrowing them at something behind me. Bodhi doing the same as he turns in his seat. I look over my shoulder to see Dain stop behind me.

”To what do I owe this pleasure.” I say sarcastically as I turn my attention back to my coffee.

”Professor Carr sent me to tell you to go see him.” He says gruffly from behind me.

I roll my eyes. I’d been dreading being sent to go see him, but was surprised it hadn’t happened sooner. Especially with what happened at challenges. “Noted. I’ll add it to my list of things to do.”

Dain clears his throat, trying to get my attention back to him. I turn my head to look back at him, his eyes shifting to Garrick who leans forward on the table. “He wants to see you now and I’m to take you there.”

”I highly doubt that. I’m capable of walking myself there. You’re dismissed.” I say dismissively as I turn away from him.

I feel him place his hand on my shoulder, Garrick quick to react as he stands up. Despite the table separating him and Dain, I hear Dain take a step back, his hand leaving my shoulder.

Dain scoffs from behind me. “Fine, I need to talk to you then.” He admits.

I know if I don’t oblige he’s just going to try corner me later. And I’d honestly rather deal with Dain at the start of the day than wondering when he’s going to grab me. I sigh before downing the last of my coffee, standing up to face my brother.

I give him a tight lipped smile before waving my hand towards the door. “Lead the way then.”

Dain barges past me, leading the way towards the door as everyone watches us. Once we’re outside Dain continues to lead the way, clearly not wanting anyone to overhear us. Meaning he was probably about to scold me, or attempt to at least. We round the corner into an empty hallway, Dain clearly happy as he turns and faces me.

”I see you finally wish to acknowledge my existence.” Watching as Dain narrows his eyes at me, it was too easy to rile him up.

He scoffs, shaking his head as he folds his arms across his chest. “Please, if anything I should be saying that to you. Especially now you’ve fallen in what that lot.”

His words cause my gaze to harden as I focus on him. “What’s that’s suppose to mean?”

”You know exactly what I mean. Hanging around those marked ones. Eating your meals with them now. Especially the ones close to Riorson. Even your dragon knows it with that relic it’s given you. Branding you like the rest of them.” Nodding towards the arm that adorns the relic.

It was one of the reasons I had kept it hidden, knowing it would start drama between us. “Maybe my dragon knows where I really belong.” I throw back at him, watching has he grimaces at my words.

”How can you utter those words when you know what they’ve done. When you know how reckless they are. It’s doesn’t look good for us.” A warning clear in his tone. Of course he was just worried about our reputation. What it would do for our name. It was all he cared about.

”And as I told you at the start of the year, me being able to put that behind me just shows I can work with anyone under any circumstances which is more than I can say for you.” I snap at him. “You can’t look behind the lies our father tells you about me or about them.”

His eyes darken at my words. “Our father has never lied about anything.”

”You sure? You’ve always just blindly believed everything he’s said without a second thought.” Watching as some cogs in his head turn before he averts his gaze from mine, focusing on the wall behind me.

”You need to learn to live with your actions Dahlia. Need to accept what you’ve done. But you can make things right now by making better choices.” His tone slightly venomous as he addresses me without meeting my gaze.

His words hurt me more than I care to admit. He’s never fully addressed what happened to our mother, but I know his words are directed at the incident. Almost as if he wants me to confess it was all my fault, and I now desperately wanted the approval of him and my father. Which a younger version of me had. I had tried for years to get the approval of my father and brother back. But my efforts were useless. If anything it made it worse. It felt like any choice I had made just made them look down at me more. And now after being here for a few months, I had come to see I did not need their approval. I had come here wanting to prove to them they were wrong about me. That I could do all the things I was told I couldn’t, and would never succeed at due to what had happened all those years ago. To try make them proud. But even after passing the parapet, bonding a dragon and being one of the best in my year, it still wasn’t enough for them. But it was enough for others I had slowly started to let in. Bodhi, Austin and Liz cheering me on with every victory, even with how standoffish I had been at the start. I didn’t need their approval because they liked me for who I was, could see past the lies even though they didn’t know. But they could see past me being an Aetos, and see I was nothing like my brother who stood before me.

I smirk at him, chuckling lightly as his gaze turns back to me. “You’re wrong. I don’t need to make better choices, because I already am. And the best choice I’ve made is taking control of my own life, not trying to get the approval of a family who I will never be good enough for. Because when everything goes to hell, the people who stand by you, they are your family. And I think I might have finally found that after all these years.”

He scoffs at me. “You trying to say those friends of yours are your real family?”

I shake my head. “Sadly I don’t think I will ever know what a proper family is like thanks to you and dad. But at least I feel like I belong for the first time in a long time.”

”Once they find out what happened, what you did, they wont want anything to do with you.” He says almost proudly, as if so sure it would happen.

I know he’s trying to put me down, but I won’t let him. I square my shoulders as I step towards him, causing him to take a step back. “Maybe, maybe not. But I have faith. They aren’t as gullible as you.”

I turn away from him to head over to Carr’s classroom, stopping in my tracks as I take in the sight of Bodhi and Garrick watching us. I can easily tell they haven’t just arrived. They’d heard Dain and I talking. Had heard what he’d said. And now Dain looking past me as he talked to me made sense. He’d seen them. Had said those things to try place doubt in their head. I look over my shoulder back at Dain, watching as he smiles at me as if he’s won. I’d never wanted to wipe a smile off his face more in my life.

After two weeks of countless lessons with Carr, pushing myself to the limit, I’d finally been cleared to participate in training and challenges if Emmetiro was willing to let me. Two weeks of shielding, learning to block out the signet of anyone I touched. Which so far I’d only had Carr to practice on, so I had no idea if I was only adept at blocking him out. I’d wanted to practice on Bodhi but he’d been absent from most of the evening training sessions I had managed to pop my head into. I could have asked Austin and Liz, but I at least knew Bodhi’s signet was safe and I couldn’t cause any harm if it didn’t work. But I couldn’t let doubt get in my way. Not today.

I’d been grateful neither Bodhi or Garrick had mentioned or asked about my conversation with Dain that day. Either they were biding their time to ask me, or were waiting for me to approach them about it. And maybe one day I would. But I was barely scratching the surface of my friendship with them, and I wasn’t even sure I could classify Garrick as a friend. At least not yet. And even then, I doubt I would say anything. Outside of my family, some leadership and the other kids who were there that day, nobody else knew. And I’d honestly hoped I could keep it that way. Was probably the one thing I agreed on with my father. And it had honestly surprised me Dain had referenced it that day. He had technically given nothing away, just placed the seeds of doubt. And for that, I was going to make him pay. And the only place I could do that without getting in trouble was this very room.

The crowd parts easily for me, most cadets still scared to be near me after what happened. Especially after this morning. At formation they had announced the cadet I’d fought in challenges would not be returning to the Quadrant. I’d felt every eye on my as the words loomed in the rotunda. Just what I’d needed after things had somewhat gone back to normal.

Emmetiro looks up as I approach him, raising his eyebrow as he takes in my determined face. “Yes Dahlia?”

”I want to request a challenge now Carr has cleared me for challenges again.” I tell him.

He sighs. “You sure you’re ready though? What happened wa-”

”I’m ready.” I say, cutting him off.

He looks me over for a few seconds before sighing and nodding. “Alright. Who do you want to challenge?”

”Dain Aetos.”

His eyes go wide as he looks down at me. He looks like he wants to question me. But something in the look on my face must tell him all that he needs to know. There was nothing against me challenging my brother. The only people in this room I couldn’t challenge were my own squad. And Dain was not on my squad, or even in the same wing as me. The only thing standing in my way was Emmetiro. But after a few moments of silence he nods at me as the mat next to us opens up. He turns his head scanning the crowd of cadets as his eyes land on Dain.

“Next challenge. Aetos and Aetos.”

@imtoanonymousforyou @simplyme-fornow @omalmal @lalaluch @wolfbc97 @leptitlu @fullmoon-94 @the-fandom-ness @fan-of-many-bands @awkardnerd @heeseungthel0ml @acourtofsmutandstarlight @fairchild06 @freyagallileaevans @pit-and-the-pen @hannraumari @elliot-rain @thestarseternaal @stupid-and-contagious01

[cod-thoughts]

Did I mistake you for a sign from God?

Word count: 10.3k

Relationships: GhostPrice, PriceGhost

Tags: PricGhostweek2024, getting together, hand job, Ghost has dick piercings again hehe, 5+1 (5+2 really but shh)

This is for day 3 of PriceGhost week!! Tea and Blushing. My second attempt at smut, kind of different, i struggled so much more with this one so i hope its good 0_0 And of course, titles are what i was listening to while editing: "The Summoning" - Sleep Token

Ghost sat back in his chair, the mug still warm in his hand. The tea was awful—objectively terrible—but somehow, the sharp edge of Price’s smirk left a different kind of heat lingering in the pit of his stomach. He took another sip, the bitterness oddly grounding, though it wasn’t the tea he found himself thinking about. It was Price. Always Price. OR Five times someone tries to make Ghost tea and gets it wrong and the two times Price gets it right. So right in fact that they fuck about it. Including a morning after scene! Keep reading on here or on AO3 where again, there are chapters lol

The air was thick with the stale scent of brewed coffee and cheap tea, a familiar morning cocktail Ghost had long since learned to tolerate. The barracks were alive with muted voices, the shuffle of boots, and the occasional clink of mugs against metal tables. Ghost moved through the room with his usual quiet efficiency, the soft creak of his tactical gear the only sound he carried with him.

A rookie, barely out of basic judging by the nervous glance he shot Ghost’s way, stepped into his path. “Tea, sir?” the lad stammered, holding out a steaming mug.

Ghost gave a slight nod, taking the mug with a quick glance at the murky liquid inside. “Thanks,” he muttered, his voice a low rumble that seemed to startle the kid, who scurried away without waiting for a response.

Sliding into an empty seat at the far end of the room, Ghost cradled the mug in gloved hands. The steam wafted up, faintly masking the sharp tang of disinfectant that lingered in the air. As he raised the cup to his lips and took the first sip, his body stiffened involuntarily.

The bitterness hit like a gut punch, sharp and unrelenting, the taste bordering on burnt. He swallowed reflexively, fighting the instinct to spit it back into the mug. His gloved hand tightened slightly around the handle as he set the cup down, his expression as neutral as ever.

Out of the corner of his eye, he noticed movement—a subtle shift of weight against the wall. Price stood there, one boot crossed over the other, his arms folded casually across his chest. His mug, no doubt filled with a brew infinitely better than the swill Ghost had just endured, rested comfortably in one hand.

Price’s eyes flicked to the mug in Ghost’s hand, then back up to his face. One eyebrow quirked ever so slightly; a silent question framed by a flicker of amusement. Ghost didn’t move at first, the weight of that damnable tea still burning on his tongue. Finally, he gave a small shrug, lifting the mug as though to toast before taking another sip.

The bitter liquid slid down like nails on a chalkboard, but Ghost refused to give Price the satisfaction of a reaction. If the Captain wanted a show, he wasn’t getting one today.

Price’s lips twitched, the barest hint of a smirk ghosting across his face. He took a slow, deliberate sip of his own drink, blue eyes crinkling slightly at the corners as though savouring the unspoken joke. For a man as disciplined as Price, there was a certain casualness to his demeanour that Ghost couldn’t help but find disarming—and, in moments like this, vaguely irritating.

Or maybe it wasn’t irritation. Maybe it was the way Price’s gaze lingered, cutting through the layers Ghost wrapped himself in, leaving him exposed in a way he couldn’t ignore. Price wasn’t just his Captain; he was a force—steady, commanding, utterly impossible to look away from. And lately, Ghost had found himself looking more than he should. Far more.

The murmur of voices began to fade as the briefing started, the room settling into a focused hush. Price straightened, stepping forward to command the team’s attention, but not before giving Ghost one last look—a fleeting, knowing glance that carried an air of private humour.

Ghost sat back in his chair, the mug still warm in his hand. The tea was awful—objectively terrible—but somehow, the sharp edge of Price’s smirk left a different kind of heat lingering in the pit of his stomach. He took another sip, the bitterness oddly grounding, though it wasn’t the tea he found himself thinking about.

It was Price. Always Price.

---

The night was cold and damp, the kind of chill that seeped through layers and settled deep in the bones. Ghost crouched low on the rooftop, his rifle balanced beside him as his eyes scanned the empty street below. The mission had been a long slog, and now they were in the final stretch—watching, waiting, listening for any sign of movement.

The soft sound of boots on concrete pulled his attention momentarily. One of the lads on rotation appeared, carrying a steaming mug. “Tea, Lieutenant?” the soldier offered, his voice low enough not to carry.

Ghost nodded once, accepting the cup with a gloved hand. “Cheers,” he muttered, though his focus had already returned to the streets below.

The mug was warm in his hands, a small comfort against the icy wind that whipped across the rooftop. Ghost raised it to his lips, taking a cautious sip. His shoulders stiffened almost imperceptibly. It was watery—practically clear, with only the faintest hint of tea to justify its existence. He swallowed, the lukewarm liquid doing little to drive away the cold.

A low chuckle sounded behind him. “Not to your liking, then?” Price’s voice was quiet, carrying just enough amusement to set Ghost’s teeth on edge.

Ghost glanced over his shoulder, catching sight of the Captain leaning against a ventilation shaft a few metres away. His silhouette was dark against the overcast sky, the faint glow of the nearby town illuminating the sharp line of his jaw. He cradled his own mug in one hand, the other tucked into his coat pocket.

“It’s fine,” Ghost said gruffly, turning back to the horizon. The deadpan delivery was marred only by the slight twitch of his jaw as he took another sip.

Price stepped closer, his boots silent against the rooftop. He perched on the edge a short distance away, his attention shifting between Ghost and the street below. “Fine,” he repeated, his tone laced with mock disbelief. He took a sip of his own drink, hiding a smirk behind the rim of his mug.

Ghost didn’t respond immediately, focusing instead on the rhythmic sweep of his gaze across the street below. The tea might’ve been an insult to his senses, but Price’s presence was something else entirely—a weight Ghost felt keenly, warming the cold air between them in a way no mug ever could.

He didn’t just notice Price; he felt him, in the smallest shifts of sound, the brief brush of movement in his peripheral vision. Ghost wasn’t used to being so aware of someone, and it was beginning to feel less like a coincidence and more like a slow, insidious inevitability. He was drawn to the man—had been for a while now—but there were parts of that truth Ghost wasn’t quite ready to face.

Price turned his head, blue eyes catching Ghost’s profile. “That good, eh?” he teased, the amusement in his voice clear.

“It’s tea,” Ghost said flatly, though the subtle roll of his shoulders betrayed his irritation. His gaze didn’t waver from the horizon, but the tension coiling in his chest was harder to ignore.

Price chuckled softly, the sound rich and warm in the frigid air. “Patience, Lieutenant,” he murmured, his tone lighter now, almost affectionate. “You’ll get the good stuff eventually.”

Ghost’s gloved fingers tightened slightly around the mug, the bitterness of the tea a faint backdrop to the sharp awareness of Price beside him. The Captain was close enough that Ghost could feel the faint heat radiating from him, and something in Ghost ached for more of it—more of him. It was a thought he immediately shoved to the back of his mind, burying it under years of discipline and deflection.

He side-eyed Price briefly, the faintest twitch of his mouth betraying a reluctant humour. “That a promise, Captain?”

Price’s smile deepened, the teeth flashing briefly in the faint light. “Maybe,” he said, leaning back on his heels. His gaze flicked down to the cup in Ghost’s hand, then back up to his eyes. “Though I reckon you’ve built up a tolerance by now.”

Ghost huffed quietly, the closest he’d come to a laugh. He raised the mug in a mock toast before taking another sip. “You could say that” he muttered, his voice wry.

They sat in companionable silence for a moment, the tension of the mission momentarily forgotten. Ghost sipped the last of his tea with grim determination, the bitterness of the first time replaced by an absence of flavour altogether. Still, he couldn’t help but notice the faint smile on Price’s face, the quiet amusement in his gaze every time their eyes met.

It shouldn’t have meant anything, Ghost thought. But somehow, it did.

And though he wouldn’t admit it, the tea somehow didn’t taste quite so bad when paired with that

---

The post-mission debrief room was always the same—dim lighting, uncomfortable chairs, and the faint, lingering smell of sweat and adrenaline. Ghost sat heavily in his chair, the weight of the mission clinging to him like the grime still streaked across his gear. The team filtered in slowly, murmurs of exhaustion and relief blending with the clink of mugs and the rustle of paperwork.

Someone placed a mug of tea in front of him, the gesture perfunctory but well-meaning. Ghost glanced at the dark liquid with a practised eye, immediately noting the absence of milk and the unopened sugar packet sitting accusingly beside the cup. He let out a slow, quiet breath, bracing himself as he picked it up.

The first sip was exactly as he’d expected: strong, bitter, and utterly unbalanced. He swallowed with a grimace hidden by his mask, setting the mug down with a soft clunk. It wasn’t the worst he’d had—no, that dubious honour belonged to the swill from the stakeout—but it was hardly drinkable.

As he reached for the sugar packet, a low, familiar voice broke through the quiet.

“What? Don’t like your tea black?” Price’s tone was casual, but Ghost could hear the teasing undercurrent. He looked up, finding the Captain leaning against the edge of the table, his arms folded loosely across his chest. There was a glint in his eye that Ghost had come to recognise—a mix of amusement and something sharper, more observant.

Ghost huffed quietly, tearing open the sugar packet with one hand. “Not exactly my preference,” he muttered, tipping the grains into the cup with deliberate care. He stirred it with the spoon that had been left haphazardly on the saucer, the metallic scrape faint but satisfying.

Price smirked, his gaze unwavering. “One day someone’ll get it right,” he said, his voice low and knowing.

Ghost paused, his gloved fingers resting on the spoon. His eyes flicked up to meet Price’s, and for a moment, the room seemed quieter, the distant murmur of voices fading into the background. “Doubt it,” he replied simply, his tone dry as ever, but the corner of his mouth twitched beneath the mask.

Price let out a soft chuckle, his lips curling into a smile that seemed almost too warm for the stark, clinical room. “Maybe you should start leaving instructions,” he quipped, straightening up and stepping back towards the centre of the room.

Ghost shook his head slightly, returning his attention to the tea. He took another sip, now faintly sweetened, and allowed himself a small hum of approval. It wasn’t perfect, but it was tolerable—and that was enough.

The debrief began, Price taking command with his usual steadiness, but Ghost found his gaze wandering more than once. It wasn’t deliberate—at least, that’s what he told himself—but something about the Captain’s presence drew his attention like a compass needle to true north.

Price had an uncanny ability to hold a room, his quiet authority a steadying force amidst the chaos of post-mission debriefs. But it wasn’t just his command that had Ghost’s focus—it was the subtle shifts in his expression, the way his voice softened when he addressed the team’s concerns, the faint quirk of his brow when someone muttered an excuse. It was the details, Ghost realised. The care. Price didn’t just see the team—he noticed them, in ways that made Ghost feel almost uncomfortably exposed whenever those blue eyes landed on him.

He shouldn’t have been thinking about it. The tea, the mission, the exhaustion—any of those should’ve been enough to occupy his mind. But as Price moved across the room, Ghost found himself tracking the easy confidence in his steps, the way his sleeves rolled up just enough to show the corded strength of his forearms. It wasn’t the first time Ghost had noticed things like that. It wasn’t even the tenth. But tonight, it felt harder to ignore, like the want was something physical, thrumming under his skin.

By the time the meeting wrapped up, the bitterness of the tea had faded, leaving only a faint sweetness—and the weight of Price’s smile—on his mind.

Price caught his eye as the room began to empty, his gaze lingering for just a second longer than necessary. Ghost nodded, a subtle gesture of acknowledgment, but his chest felt tighter for it, his heart beating just a fraction faster. It wasn’t much—just a look—but it felt like Price had seen right through him, had caught the thread of something Ghost wasn’t ready to admit even to himself.

The mug was empty by the time Ghost left the room, but the warmth it left behind—no, the warmth Price left behind—stayed with him.

---

The base was unusually quiet, the kind of rare lull that made Ghost feel almost out of place. The hum of generators was the only sound as he walked into the small kitchen tucked away near the barracks. It wasn’t much—a kettle, a few mismatched mugs, and a shelf half-stocked with odds and ends—but it was enough for what he needed.

The kettle had just finished boiling, its faint hiss dissipating into the still air. Ghost poured the water into his mug, watching the tea bag swirl lazily as the liquid darkened. He reached for the sugar, hesitating for a moment before tearing open a second packet and tipping it in. Stirring quickly, he raised the mug to his lips and took a sip.

It was… decent. Not perfect, but far closer to what he preferred. The extra sugar was a welcome indulgence after weeks of putting up with other people’s attempts to make his tea.

Ghost leaned against the counter, letting himself relax for just a moment. The warmth of the mug seeped through his gloves, grounding him in the otherwise empty room. He took another sip, savouring the sweetness, and allowed himself a faint hum of satisfaction.

“Couldn’t resist, could you?”

The voice startled him, soft and low but laced with amusement. Ghost turned sharply, his body instinctively tense, only to see Price leaning casually against the doorframe. Arms crossed, the Captain was watching him with an expression that hovered between smug and fond.

“Caught me,” Ghost muttered, his voice gruff as he set the mug down on the counter. He straightened slightly, as if the simple act of being caught enjoying something sweet required a more defensive posture.

Price stepped into the room, his boots barely making a sound on the scuffed floor. “Didn’t take you for a man with a sweet tooth,” he said, his tone teasing but not unkind.

Ghost shrugged, lifting the mug again as though to shield himself from further scrutiny. “Can’t help it if I like a bit of sweetness,” he said, his words muffled slightly by the rim of the cup.

Price’s smile widened, his blue eyes glinting with something unspoken. He leaned against the counter next to Ghost, close enough that their shoulders nearly brushed. “Noted,” he murmured, his voice quieter now, almost thoughtful.

For a moment, neither of them spoke. The quiet hum of the base filled the space between them, the shared silence comfortable in a way Ghost wasn’t used to. He found himself glancing at Price, catching the faint curve of his smile, the relaxed set of his shoulders.

It shouldn’t have been anything. Just two men sharing a quiet moment in an empty kitchen, nothing more. But Ghost felt it—the heat under his skin, the restless pull in his chest. It was the closeness, the way Price’s presence seemed to fill the room without effort. It was the way their shoulders nearly touched, a distance so small it felt deliberate.

“Bit late to be sneaking extra sugar, isn’t it?” Price said eventually, breaking the silence with a teasing lilt.

Ghost huffed, the sound more amused than annoyed. “Better than that piss-weak tea I’ve been getting,” he retorted, taking another sip for emphasis.

Price chuckled, a low, warm sound that seemed to linger in the small room. “Fair point,” he said, his voice steady and rich. He tilted his head slightly, his gaze flicking to Ghost’s mug and then back to his eyes. “Maybe I’ll make you a proper cup one of these days.”

Ghost raised an eyebrow, though the expression was lost behind his mask. “I’ll believe it when I taste it,” he said dryly, his tone betraying just the faintest hint of humour.

Price smiled, pushing off the counter and heading for the door. “You’ll see,” he said over his shoulder, his voice carrying a promise that felt heavier than it should have.

Ghost watched him go, his gaze lingering longer than it should. The tea was warm on his tongue, but it wasn’t just the drink that had him feeling unsteady. It was Price—the way he looked at Ghost, the way he made simple words carry weight, the way he made Ghost want something he couldn’t put a name to.

He finished the mug in silence, his thoughts circling back to Price’s words.

“You’ll see.”

Ghost wasn’t sure what, exactly, Price meant. But he knew he wanted to find out

---

The sun was setting, casting long shadows across the rugged landscape. The mission had dragged on longer than planned, the team stuck in a tense waiting game as they monitored the area for enemy movement. The air was dry and still, the kind of oppressive quiet that made every sound—every rustle of fabric, every crunch of gravel—feel amplified.

Ghost knelt near a rocky outcrop, his rifle resting across his knees as his sharp eyes scanned the horizon. His body was a coiled spring, tension radiating from every fibre, though his posture remained outwardly calm.

Footsteps approached from behind, measured and steady. Ghost didn’t turn; there was only one person on the team who moved like that. Price appeared a moment later, stepping into his periphery. He carried two mugs, the steam curling lazily into the cool evening air.

“Was given this to deliver,” Price said, holding one out.

Ghost hesitated briefly before taking the mug, his gloved fingers brushing against Price’s hand in the exchange. The warmth of the mug seeped into his palms as he brought it to his lips, taking a cautious sip. He stiffened immediately, his throat protesting at the over-stewed bitterness. It wasn’t the worst he’d had, but it wasn’t far off.

Price crouched down beside him, balancing his own mug on one knee as he settled. “No good?” he asked, though there was no teasing in his tone this time. It was genuine, casual—like he’d caught Ghost mid-thought and was waiting for him to speak.

“It’s drinkable,” Ghost replied, voice low and even. He took another sip, more out of habit than desire, and set the mug down carefully beside him.

“Drinkable.” Price hummed, taking a long sip from his own mug. “Could be worse.”

“Been worse,” Ghost muttered, his focus snapping back to the horizon. But the bitterness of the tea wasn’t what had his jaw tight or his senses heightened. It was Price—too close and too steady, his quiet presence a weight Ghost didn’t know what to do with.

Price let out a soft breath, leaning back on his hands. “You always this agreeable when someone makes you a brew?” he asked, his voice carrying a warmth that made the cold air feel distant.

Ghost huffed, his mouth twitching faintly beneath the mask. “Reckon most wouldn’t bother trying again.”

“Hmm,” Price murmured, tilting his head as he looked at Ghost. “Well, maybe I need to try my hand at it, think I’ll get it right?”

The words weren’t loud, but they settled heavily between them, lingering like the last rays of sunlight stretching across the rocky landscape. Ghost felt the weight of Price’s gaze, the easy way he spoke like he wasn’t asking for anything but was offering something all the same. It wasn’t just about the tea, Ghost realised. It never was.

He picked up the mug again, taking another sip despite the lingering bitterness. “Reckon you’re stubborn enough to keep at it until you do,” he said quietly, his tone lighter than before.

Price smirked, the edge of his lips curling around his next sip of tea. “Stubborn’s one word for it,” he said, blue eyes flicking to Ghost’s before sliding back to the horizon.

Ghost let the silence stretch between them, the mission’s tension fading under the weight of their shared stillness. Price wasn’t looking at him anymore, but his presence filled every inch of space Ghost had tried to carve out for himself. And for once, Ghost didn’t want to push it away.

“I’ll remember this,” Ghost said suddenly, his voice low but steady. He gestured vaguely toward the mug. “Next time you’re cursing my name.”

Price glanced at him, his smirk softening into something almost unreadable. “You’re assuming I’d waste the breath,” he said, but there was no edge in his words. If anything, there was something warmer beneath them—something Ghost wasn’t sure he could touch without burning.

The light dimmed further as the sun dipped below the horizon. Ghost let the mug rest on his knee, the last sip untouched but still warm. He didn’t know what he was holding onto more—the tea, or the way Price stayed beside him like he belonged there.

When Price finally stood, brushing dust off his trousers, Ghost glanced up at him. The Captain looked down, his gaze lingering for a moment longer than necessary. “Stay sharp,” Price said quietly, his voice low and grounding, before turning to leave.

Ghost watched him go, the warmth of the tea fading but something else settling in its place. Whatever it was, it wasn’t going away.

---

The base was quiet, save for the distant hum of a generator and the occasional creak of the building settling. Ghost leaned against the counter in the small kitchen, the faint light from the overhead bulb casting long shadows. The air felt heavier at this hour, like the weight of the day had finally caught up with the walls.

He didn’t often linger in places like this—too exposed, too empty—but tonight, he hadn’t been able to bring himself to go back to his quarters. Sleep wouldn’t come, and the quiet had a way of pulling at thoughts he’d rather leave buried.

The kettle on the counter hissed, steam rising in lazy curls as it came to a boil. Ghost reached for it, the motion automatic, and poured the hot water over a tea bag in his mug. He stirred in a packet of sugar, watching the grains dissolve before taking a cautious sip. It was decent—better than most—but still far from what he wanted. Or maybe it wasn’t the tea he wanted at all.

The sound of boots on tile made him glance up. Price stepped into the kitchen, his silhouette framed by the doorway. He looked as tired as Ghost felt, his sleeves rolled up and his hands tucked into his pockets.

“Bit late for tea, isn’t it?” Price said, his voice low but carrying the faintest edge of humour. He moved further into the room, leaning a hip against the counter a few feet away.

“Could say the same to you,” Ghost replied, his tone even but not unkind. He raised the mug to his lips, the heat of the tea doing little to warm the restless ache in his chest.

Price huffed a soft laugh, the sound grounding in the quiet. “Fair point.” He reached for one of the mismatched mugs on the shelf, his movements unhurried. “Couldn’t sleep?”

“Something like that,” Ghost muttered. He watched as Price filled his own mug, his focus drifting to the way the man’s hands moved—steady, deliberate. It was a small thing, but it held Ghost’s attention in a way he didn’t quite understand. Or maybe he did, and that was the problem.

Price leaned back against the counter, his mug cradled in both hands. The light above them cast soft shadows across his face, highlighting the lines at the corners of his eyes and the faint stubble on his jaw. Ghost looked away before his gaze could linger too long.

They stood in silence for a while, the space between them filled with the quiet hum of the base. It wasn’t uncomfortable, but it was charged in a way Ghost couldn’t ignore. He was too aware of Price—of his presence, the way his body seemed to fill the room without effort. It made the kitchen feel smaller, like there wasn’t enough air to go around.

“You’ve got that look again,” Price said suddenly, breaking the quiet.

Ghost turned his head slightly, meeting Price’s gaze. “What look?”

“The one that says you’re thinking too hard,” Price replied, his tone teasing but not unkind. He took a sip of his tea, watching Ghost over the rim of his mug. “Never a good sign.”

Ghost huffed softly, the sound more amused than annoyed. “You’re imagining things, Captain.”

“Maybe.” Price shrugged, his lips quirking in a faint smile. “Or maybe I’m right.”

The warmth in Price’s eyes was disarming, cutting through the walls Ghost kept so carefully in place. It wasn’t fair, Ghost thought, the way Price could do that—see through him without even trying, like he’d always known where to look.

“Even if you are,” Ghost said quietly, his voice low and rough, “I doubt you’d want to hear it.”

Price tilted his head, his gaze steady. “Try me.”

The words settled heavily between them, the weight of them making Ghost’s chest tighten. He looked down at his mug, the tea untouched and cooling in his hands. “You don’t let things go, do you?” he muttered.

“Not when it comes to you,” Price said simply, the honesty in his voice startling. There was no teasing now, no humour—just the quiet, steady care that always seemed to anchor him.

Ghost’s fingers tightened around the mug, his throat working as he swallowed. There were words on the tip of his tongue, things he wanted to say but couldn’t. Not here, not now. But Price’s gaze didn’t waver, and for a moment, Ghost thought he might break under it.

“Stubborn bastard,” Ghost said finally, his tone softer than intended.

Price smiled, the warmth in his expression cutting through the tension. “You’d know.”

They fell into silence again, but this time, it felt different. Lighter, somehow. Ghost took a sip of his tea, the bitterness almost comforting now. When he looked up, Price was still watching him, his blue eyes softer than Ghost had ever seen them.

“You’ll figure it out,” Price said quietly, his voice low but steady. “Whatever it is you’re thinking about.”

Ghost didn’t respond immediately, his gaze lingering on the Captain’s face. “Maybe,” he said eventually, his voice barely above a murmur. “Or maybe I’ll just keep drinking bad tea until I do.”

Price chuckled softly, the sound rich and warm. “We’ll get you sorted,” he said, a promise in his tone. “One way or another.”

Ghost nodded, the weight in his chest easing slightly. He didn’t know what Price meant by that, but he knew enough to believe him. And for now, that was enough.

---

The base was still and quiet in the early morning, the kind of calm that settled just before the day’s chaos began. Ghost shuffled into the mess, his steps heavy and deliberate. He’d had barely an hour of sleep, and it showed in the slow drag of his movements and the way he dropped into the nearest chair without bothering to check his surroundings.

He leaned forward, elbows braced on the table, his gloved hands cradling his head. A dull ache thrummed behind his eyes, and he knew it would take more than the usual swill masquerading as tea to pull him out of the fog.

The sound of a mug being placed on the table in front of him drew his attention. Ghost blinked up, his eyes meeting Price’s as the Captain slid into the seat opposite him, a steaming cup in hand.

“Figured you could use this,” Price said, his tone casual but laced with something softer—something bordering on care.

Ghost grunted in response, his gaze dropping to the mug. He reached for it without much thought, lifting it to his lips for the first sip.

He froze.

The tea was perfect. Not just decent, not tolerable—perfect. Smooth, sweet, with just enough milk to soften the edges and the distinct, familiar notes of Earl Grey lingering on his tongue. It was the exact balance he’d given up expecting long ago.

Ghost blinked down at the mug as though it were a puzzle he couldn’t quite solve. His gaze flicked back to Price, whose lips were quirked in a faint, knowing smile.

“Something wrong?” Price asked, though the smug tilt of his tone suggested he knew exactly what was going through Ghost’s mind.

“Where’d you get this?” Ghost asked, his voice low but edged with genuine surprise. He took another sip, his gloved fingers tightening around the mug as though afraid it might vanish if he let go.

Price leaned back slightly, his hands wrapped around his own mug. “Made it myself,” he said simply, his eyes never leaving Ghost’s.

Ghost raised an eyebrow, though the gesture was hidden by his mask. “What, got tired of watching me suffer?”

Price’s laugh was soft, warm, and unhurried. “Something like that,” he admitted, his gaze steady. “Thought you deserved a proper cup for once.”

Ghost shook his head, taking another sip as he processed the Captain’s words. The tea was warm and grounding, but it was the thought behind it that left him momentarily unsteady.

“Careful, Captain,” Ghost murmured, his tone low and dry but laced with something softer. “Keep this up and I’ll think you’re trying to spoil me.”

Price chuckled again, his shoulders lifting in a slight shrug. “Maybe I am,” he said, his voice quiet but firm. “Someone’s got to make sure you’re taken care of.”

The words hung in the air, simple but weighted, the kind of statement that carried far more meaning than either of them was ready to acknowledge. Ghost studied him for a long moment, his own mask of composure slipping just enough for the warmth in Price’s eyes to reach him.

He leaned back in his chair, cradling the mug as though it were something fragile. “Got my tea,” he said softly, his voice quieter now. “Got you here. Think I’ve got everything I need.”

Price’s gaze softened, and a faint flush crept across his cheeks. He looked down, his smile widening before he took a deliberate sip of his own tea.

The silence between them was comfortable, filled with the kind of understanding that didn’t need to be spoken aloud. Ghost hid his own faint smile behind the rim of the mug, savouring both the tea and the moment.

For the first time in longer than he could remember, everything felt… right.

Ghost leaned back in his chair, his fingers wrapped around the warm mug, his gaze fixed on the steam curling lazily upward. Across the table, Price took another sip of his tea, his eyes lingering on Ghost a moment too long before he glanced down at his own drink.

The silence between them stretched, comfortable yet charged. Price’s earlier words—“Someone’s got to make sure you’re taken care of”—echoed in Ghost’s mind, the weight of them settling into a space he wasn’t sure he wanted to examine. But he couldn’t deny the warmth they brought, the unspoken care that had quietly crept into their dynamic.

Ghost’s voice broke the quiet. “You didn’t have to.”

Price looked up, his brow furrowing slightly. “Didn’t have to what?”

“Go through the trouble,” Ghost said, nodding toward the mug. His tone was low, but there was a rough edge of sincerity beneath it.

Price smiled, small but genuine. “Hardly trouble,” he said, his voice steady. “You deserve a decent cup for once.”

Ghost huffed softly, the sound more amused than dismissive. “Thought you’d be more of a ‘make-do’ type.”

Price chuckled, setting his mug down with a quiet clink. “Maybe I am. But you?” He shook his head slightly, his gaze steady. “No. You shouldn’t have to settle.”

Ghost’s grip on the mug tightened fractionally, the words hitting deeper than he expected. He leaned forward slightly, setting the cup down on the table. “Seems like you always know what people need, don’t you?”

Price tilted his head, his eyes narrowing slightly in thought. “It’s my job,” he said simply, though the faint blush creeping up his neck betrayed something more.

Ghost’s gaze lingered on him, studying the faint colour rising in Price’s cheeks. His own realisation from earlier solidified—this wasn’t just about tea. It was about Price. About the way he always seemed to notice, always seemed to care in ways Ghost wasn’t used to.

“You keep this up, and I’ll start thinking you’re bribing me,” Ghost said, his tone lighter, but there was an undercurrent of something deeper. A pull he was trying desperately to ignore.

Price smirked, his gaze steady. “Who’s to say I’m not?”

Ghost huffed, his head dipping slightly as he shook it. The mug was warm in his hand, but it was nothing compared to the heat that lingered in Price’s gaze. He couldn’t act on it—not here, not now. Not when he wasn’t sure what Price really meant.

“Wouldn’t work anyway,” Ghost muttered, taking another sip. “I’m not that easy.”

Price didn’t answer immediately. His lips curled faintly, the warmth in his eyes deepening. “Good thing I’m patient.”

Ghost’s hand tightened slightly around the mug, the words lodging themselves somewhere deep in his chest. The moment stretched between them, the pull unmistakable, but he forced himself to look away.

If Price noticed the tension coiling under Ghost’s composure, he didn’t push it. Instead, he rose from the table, his movements unhurried but purposeful. “Finish that up,” he said, his voice quieter now, almost soft.

Ghost nodded, watching him go, the warmth Price left behind far stronger than the tea in his hands.

The day passed in a haze, the usual routine of drills and debriefs doing little to distract Ghost from the morning’s encounter. Price’s words echoed in his mind, looping in ways that made him want to shake them loose: “Someone’s got to make sure you’re taken care of.”

He replayed it more times than he’d admit. The way Price had said it—steady, genuine, with just the faintest hint of something Ghost couldn’t name—had stuck with him. Price’s face lingered, too, the soft flush on his cheeks as he’d smiled over his mug. Ghost didn’t know what to do with the memory, didn’t know how to unpack the way it made his chest feel tight and his stomach twist.

By the time midday rolled around, Ghost had given up pretending it wasn’t bothering him. The man had made him tea, for Christ’s sake. That shouldn’t have meant anything. It shouldn’t have settled so heavily in his mind, shouldn’t have made him feel… wanted. Seen.

He shook the thought away, burying himself in the day, but even then, it was impossible not to think about Price. The man was everywhere—giving orders on the training field, reviewing intel in the conference room, laughing quietly at some joke Soap cracked over lunch. Ghost’s eyes found him more often than he liked, lingering on the curve of his smile, the easy strength in his posture.

It wasn’t just admiration or some small crush, Ghost realised. He wanted Price. Wanted the warmth of his presence, the weight of his gaze, the quiet steadiness he brought to every damn thing he touched. And that realisation was almost worse than ignoring it.

Ghost shoved the thought down hard, locking it away where it couldn’t touch him. But it was there, simmering beneath the surface as the hours crawled by. Every glance, every word from Price felt sharper, more significant, until Ghost was ready to crawl out of his own skin.

He knew it wouldn’t go away, not unless he found a way to address it. Or, at the very least, bury it better.

---

The knock at Ghost’s office door was unexpected but soft, more a suggestion than a demand. Ghost frowned, glancing at the clock on his desk. It was late—too late for anyone to bother him without reason.

He rose, his chair creaking faintly as he pushed it back. The day had been a slow burn of tension, hours of reports and drills leaving him restless and frayed. The memory of the morning lingered, Price’s voice and the weight of his gaze looping in his mind no matter how hard he tried to shove it aside.

When he opened the door, Price stood there, framed by the dim light of the hallway. His hat was gone, his sleeves rolled up, and his hair slightly tousled in a way that made Ghost’s chest tighten uncomfortably.

“Evening,” Price said, his voice low, warm. He held out a steaming mug, the scent of tea curling lazily into the space between them. “Thought you might want this.”

Ghost stared at him for a moment longer than he meant to, his gaze flicking from the mug to Price’s face. The man didn’t wait for an answer, stepping inside as though he belonged there. The soft click of the door closing behind them sent a flicker of heat through Ghost’s chest.

Price placed the mug on the desk, his movements deliberate, measured. “Evening tea,” he said simply, turning to lean against the desk. “Figured it’d help settle the day.”

Ghost stepped closer, drawn forward by the scent and by the man standing far too close to his papers. The mug felt warm in his hands, grounding, as he took the first sip.

The taste hit him like a wave—smooth, comforting, too perfect to be coincidence. He froze, his eyes narrowing as he stared down into the tea.

“How’d you know about this?” Ghost asked, his voice rough, quieter now.

Price shrugged, his arms crossing over his chest. The movement brought him closer, and Ghost had to tilt his head to meet his gaze. “Noticed you liked it. Figured it might do you some good.”

Ghost’s grip on the mug tightened. The warmth of the tea didn’t stop the sudden prick of vulnerability in his chest. “You’ve been paying attention to me?” The question slipped out before he could stop it.

Price blinked, his lips curling faintly. “You make it easy,” he said, the honesty in his tone disarming.

Ghost’s breath hitched, his chest tightening further. He set the mug down carefully on the desk, his hand lingering on the rim before he turned his full attention to Price. “You’re not making this easy, John,” he murmured, the name slipping out unbidden.

Price tilted his head slightly, his brow furrowing as his arms uncrossed. “Making what easy?” His voice was steady, but there was an uncertainty to the way he shifted, his weight pressing into the desk behind him.

“Stopping myself,” Ghost said, his voice barely above a whisper.

The air between them stilled, growing thicker with each passing second. Price’s lips parted, a soft breath escaping as a faint blush rose to his cheeks. He looked down briefly, his hand brushing over the desk as though searching for something to anchor himself.

Ghost’s restraint faltered. It wasn’t the tea, or even the blush—it was the way Price’s eyes flicked back to him, wide and unguarded, as if waiting for something. It was the way his chest rose and fell, steady but deliberate, like he was preparing for whatever might come next.

Ghost reached out, his gloved hand curling into the front of Price’s shirt. He hesitated for a fraction of a second, his breath catching as Price’s hand came up to brush against his arm.

That was it. The dam broke.

Ghost pulled him forward, their mouths meeting in a clash of heat and desperation. Price’s soft gasp was swallowed by the kiss, his hands flying up to grip Ghost’s shoulders as the tension between them finally snapped.

The kiss was frantic from the start, their mouths clashing with a heat that neither could control. Price’s hands instinctively grabbed at Ghost’s hips, his fingers curling into the material there like he needed to hold on to something. Ghost groaned low in his throat, the sound vibrating between them as he pressed closer, his body crowding Price against the desk.

Price’s breath hitched sharply, his grip tightening. The blush on his face deepened, spreading to the tips of his ears, and Ghost couldn’t stop himself from leaning back just enough to take it in.

“You’ve no idea,” Ghost rasped, his voice rough and uneven, “how good you look right now.”

Price blinked up at him, his chest heaving as his lips parted slightly. The flicker of surprise in his eyes was enough to stoke the fire already roaring in Ghost’s chest. Price’s hand twitched against his vest, his flush growing impossibly darker under Ghost’s gaze.

“You’re going to be the death of me,” Ghost muttered, his tone edged with something raw, something that trembled with the weight of restraint finally breaking. He moved before he could think, his hand sliding up to cradle Price’s jaw, the rough material of his glove stark against the heat of Price’s skin.

Price exhaled shakily, his gaze flicking between Ghost’s eyes and his mouth. “Simon…” he started, but whatever he was going to say vanished into a sharp gasp as Ghost kissed him again, harder this time, the desk creaking faintly under their combined weight.

Ghost couldn’t think past the warmth of Price’s mouth, the way he tilted his head up to meet him, the quiet, desperate noises he made as their lips and tongues moved together. It was messy, unrestrained, but every second of it felt like an anchor, like gravity itself had been pulling them here all along.

Price’s hands slid higher, gripping the back of Ghost’s neck under his mask as if to pull him even closer. Ghost obliged, his body pressing against Price’s with a force that sent another faint creak through the desk.

The blush on Price’s face was still there, Ghost could feel it in the heat under his glove, could picture it spreading further down his neck. He wanted more—needed more—and the thought burned through him like a fuse finally meeting its flame.

Ghost pulled back for a second to take his mask off before making his way down Price’s jaw to his neck. He could feel the flush under his lips, skin warm to the touch. Ghost knew that from now on he’d never be able to settle for anyone else. Already addicted to the feeling of warm, flushed skin against his, to the sight of that pink skin dipping under Price’s shirt collar.

He started tugging at Price’s shirt, his movements frantic and uncoordinated. “Off, off, off, fuck,” Ghost gasped, his breath hitching as he finally yanked the fabric free and tossed it aside. The sight that greeted him knocked the air clean out of his chest.

The flush that had settled on Price’s cheeks wasn’t just contained there—it swept down his neck, spreading across his chest in uneven patches that made Ghost’s fingers twitch with the urge to touch. Every scar, every line of muscle, every imperfection painted a picture Ghost couldn’t stop staring at.

He didn’t just want Price. No, that wasn’t it.

He loved him.

The thought hit Ghost like a hammer to the chest, leaving him reeling. Every memory, every shared mission, every quiet moment where they’d sat side by side—it all clicked into place. The bloody tea was just the last crack in the dam. Price had always been more to him than he’d let himself admit.

And the way Price was looking at him now… did he feel the same?

Ghost’s hands froze against Price’s bare skin, his mind racing with everything he wanted to say but couldn’t find the words for. His hesitation didn’t go unnoticed.

“Simon?” Price’s voice was quieter now, tinged with uncertainty. The way Ghost’s gaze lingered on him, sharp and unyielding, made heat climb up Price’s neck again. He shifted under the weight of those analytical brown eyes, suddenly acutely aware of himself in a way he hadn’t been in years.

Price cleared his throat, forcing himself to break the silence. “You alright there?” he asked, trying to keep his tone even, though embarrassment threatened to creep in.

Ghost didn’t respond immediately, and the longer he stayed silent, the harder it was for Price to push back the growing doubt. He dropped his gaze, his hands twitching at his sides as he muttered, “Look, I know I’m not much of a looker anymore. Not like I used ti be at least. I get it if this isn’t what you thought it’d be.”

He shifted, the thought catching in his throat. “If you want to stop, it’s okay. I’ll leave, and we don’t have to talk about this again.”

Price started to pull away, but Ghost’s reaction was immediate, unrelenting.

“No!” Ghost’s voice cracked, startling them both with its sharpness. His hands gripped Price’s shoulders, holding him firmly in place. “That—it’s not—God, John.”

Price stilled, his wide eyes flicking up to meet Ghost’s.

“You’re…” Ghost exhaled, the words catching in his throat before he forced them out, “Fuck, you’re…you’re beautiful.”

The sincerity in his tone was palpable, cutting through the tension like a knife. Price’s lips parted slightly, his breath hitching as his flush deepened even further. For a moment, neither of them moved, the air between them charged and electric.

Then Ghost surged forward again, unable to hold back. His lips found Price’s with a desperate intensity, his hands sliding up to cradle Price’s jaw as he poured every ounce of feeling he couldn’t put into words into the kiss. Price responded in kind, his hands gripping Ghost’s waist as he pulled him closer, their bodies colliding with renewed fervour.

Whatever walls had been left standing between them crumbled entirely, and the air in the room burned hotter as they lost themselves in each other once again.

Price untucked Ghost’s shirt with deliberate care, his fingers brushing over warm skin as he eased the fabric up. He let his palms roam across the smooth expanse of Ghost’s back, his touch slow, reverent, as if mapping the lines of a territory he’d only dared to imagine. The ridges of scars, the subtle shifts of muscle, the heat beneath his fingertips—it all grounded him in the reality of what was finally his.

Sliding his hand higher, he gathered the crumpled shirt, pulling it over Ghost’s head and tossing it aside without a second thought. He let himself linger, his hands exploring the bare skin of Ghost’s shoulders, his thumbs brushing the sharp lines of his collarbones. For a moment, Price lost himself in the simple act of touching, of finally being allowed to do what he’d only dreamed about.

But it wasn’t enough.

His hands drifted upward, finding the one Ghost had cradling his jaw—gloved, a barrier Price couldn’t stand. He let his fingers curl around Ghost’s wrist, tugging lightly at the material. “Let me feel you properly,” he murmured, his voice low and rough against Ghost’s lips. “Please.”

Ghost stilled, his breath catching as Price tugged again, more insistent now. Slowly, Ghost let his hand fall, allowing Price to strip the glove away with steady, deliberate movements. The bare skin beneath was warm, roughened with calluses and scars, and Price’s thumb instinctively brushed over Ghost’s knuckles, as if testing the texture, memorising the feel of it.

The second glove followed, Price’s movements careful but firm. He didn’t break eye contact, didn’t let Ghost retreat, even as the intimacy of the gesture seemed to weigh heavy between them. When both gloves were gone, Price took Ghost’s hand in his, pressing their palms together, his fingers threading between Ghost’s in a slow, deliberate motion.

“Better,” Price murmured, his voice barely audible now, his gaze fixed on Ghost’s face. The heat in his eyes burned, unguarded and open, as his free hand slid Ghost’s back to his jaw, letting the taller man cradle it with bare fingers this time. “Much better.”

Ghost was slack jawed watching Price do this, who let a small smirk peak through before he moved forward and kissed Ghost with his desperation evident, Price bit Ghost’s bottom lip gently, pulling it away slightly and nibbling on it, He could feel Ghost’s cock twitch against his from where they were pressed together. He rolled his hips in a sinful grind against Ghost’s, feeling the teeth in their zippers catch making them both let out groans at the feeling.

Ghost decided enough was enough, he started unbuckling Price’s trousers yanking them and his pants down just enough to get his hand around Price, feeling him tense against his body and let out a muffled moan.

“Already driving me crazy, John,” He whispered into the space between them, gripping Price’s cock harder, he starts moving his fist up and down, uncaring for the dry tug as Price jerks his hips forward into Ghosts grip. “Don’t hold back, love. Take what you need.” He encourages.

Price decides that what he actually needs is to feel Ghost against him, to feel the man’s cock against his own. He slides his hands from where they rested around Ghosts neck to his chest, thumbing at his nipples for a moment, making note of the whine he heard for later, he was getting too worked up to linger there for long.

Continuing their path down, his hands trailed over the soft hair right above the waistband of Ghost’s trousers, fumbling with his belt before finally managing to unbuckle it and open up Ghosts trousers. Pulling his pants down, Price wrapped his fingers around Ghost’s cock and gasped in surprise. Ghost had piercings and Price was hit with the image of them inside of him, stretching him open, of them in his mouth, catching on his lips.

He thumbed at the frenulum piercing then brought his fingers down to the Jacob’s ladder, fingers catching on each one as he mentally counted to five, fuck.

“Can’ believe you’ve been hiding these from me,”

Ghost chuckled against Price, “Didn’t realise you wanted to know what my cock looks like so badly, Captain,” The reminder of Price’s rank sending a shiver down both of their spines, adding it to the growing list of things they’re going to have to explore later.

Price shut Ghost up with his lips, bringing his mouth down to Ghost’s neck, mouthing around the base of his throat before sucking a mark that could be barely hidden by the man’s balaclava. Trailing his tongue to the other side of Ghost’s neck to leave another dark mark, he started moving his hand against Ghost’s cock with more purpose.

They let out twin moans at the feeling and started to move their hips and hands with more urgency. Their kiss was just as desperate, if not more so now, Ghost started to kiss down Price’s jaw and neck until he reached his collarbones, biting and sucking at the skin there. Price was running his fingers through Ghost’s hair encouraging him and silently hoping that the mark would peak out from under his shirt collar.

Ghost’s hips started moving more erratically so he wrapped a hand around both of them, encasing Price’s hand as well as both of their cocks in his large palm, squeezing around them eliciting a gasp from Price.

The feeling of the metal barbells against his cock had Price leaking, the dry tug slowly becoming wetter and wetter.

“Fuck, John, you’re so wet. Shi-Ah!” He gasped out against Price’s neck, trailing his tongue up towards Price’s ear, tugging gently on his earlobe with his teeth, feeling Price twitch against him. It was addicting, Price was so responsive and with that gorgeous flush all over his body Ghost knew he wouldn’t last long at this rate.

“Feels so good, love,” Price gritted out. “I’m so close, please.”

“Me too,” Ghost panted out covered in a thin sheen of sweat “So close, don’t stop. Ah! Fuck! I’m gonna come!”

“Yeah? Gonna come all over me, Simon? Make a mess out of both of us?”

Ghost nodded fervently against Price’s neck, mouthing at it, trying not to leave a visible mark but wanting to feel that pink skin against his lips.

“Look at me, I want to see you fall apart,” Price whispered against Ghost’s ear, pulling him up by the grip he had on his hair, dragging him into a kiss, feeling the muffled whines and moans against his lips before deciding he’d much rather hear them and detaching his lips from Ghost’s.

“Come for me, Simon. Let me feel you, love,” The words weren’t what pushed Ghost over the edge, no, it was the way Price was looking at him, his eyes full of affection and awe, like Ghost was the only thing he’d ever wanted, and he finally got it.

That look has Ghost arching his back and twitching his hips into their fists squeezing his eyes shut and throwing his head back as his breathing stuttered and he gasped out Price’s name.

Price was in awe of what he was witnessing, Ghost lost in his own pleasure, uncaring of anything else in the room was a sight he’d only been dreaming of, and now that it’s a reality he held off on his own orgasm, wanting to really look at Ghost.

The feeling of Ghost twitching against him made it really hard to do so, as Ghost’s pleasure was coming to an end Price tried to slow his hand down, but Ghost shook his head, whispering against Price’s lips “Don’t stop, please, need to feel you come, please sir, need to feel you,”

“Ah! Fuck! Simon, love, that’s-fu-Ah!” That was his undoing, hearing Ghost whining from the stimulation on his sensitive cock, feeling him twitch and softening in his hand yet still going for Price’s sake had him let out his own gasps, hips stilling at the intense feeling.

He came back to himself when it got too much, twitching away from their hands, Ghost was mostly soft against him by now breath hitching as he slowed his hand and unwrapped it from around their cocks.

Smirking, Price grabbed Ghost’s hand around the wrist and brought it to his mouth, licking a stripe from his palm to the tip of his index finger, wrapping his lips around the tip and bringing it into his mouth, the taste and smell of them together had him groaning around Ghost’s finger.

The mumbling of “Filthy fucking bastard, should’ve known” did nothing to deter Price, sucking and licking around the base of Ghost’s finger, “Fuck me, Price,”

Pulling off and making a show of licking his lips, Price just grins. “Maybe next time,”

“Next time, eh?”

“Yeah, Simon, next time,” He said as he brought them closer to each other, their kiss this time wasn’t laced with the heat of earlier, it was softer, sweeter. Intimate in a way neither of them thought possible for men like them.

Price could feel Ghost smiling against his lips and couldn’t help but let his own smile come through too. The kiss slowed down to a gentle press of lips, kissing just to be near each other now. As they stopped, Price brought their foreheads together, not wanting to pull away yet despite wanting to clean up desperately.

For a moment, they just stood there, the world outside the door forgotten. Ghost’s fingers trailed down to Price’s chest, brushing over the faint flush still lingering on his skin. “Still blushing,” he murmured, his voice laced with quiet amusement.

“Noticed, did you?” Price replied, his smirk returning as he caught Ghost’s hand in his own. “Reckon you’re the one to blame.”

Ghost huffed softly, the sound more amused than dismissive. “Good.”

Price rolled his eyes but didn’t pull away. “Cocky bastard.” Price tilted his head back towards the desk, “Your tea’s gone cold.”

“Well, lucky for me, I seem to have my own personal tea maker now,” Ghost quipped, his voice low and laced with playful warmth. His eyes glinted with amusement as he added, “Doesn’t get much better than a Captain on brew duty.”

Price let out a short laugh, pulling back just enough to look Ghost in the eye. “Careful, Simon, or I’ll start charging you for the privilege.”

Ghost smirked, his clean hand brushing lightly over the back of Price’s neck. “Worth every penny,” he said smoothly. “You know I’ve got high standards.”

Price huffed, shaking his head as he kissed Ghost again, softer this time. “You’re lucky I like you.”

“Yeah,” Ghost murmured, his voice dropping as his fingers tightened slightly at Price’s nape. “I am.”

You've got my body, flesh and bone

The morning was quiet, sunlight filtering through the small kitchen window and pooling across the counter. Ghost stood by the shelf, his gloved hand brushing idly over the tins and packets until one caught his eye. He froze, his fingers curling around the worn edges of a familiar tin tucked into the corner.

It was his tea. The evening blend Price had somehow handed him the night before without explanation, the one Ghost hadn’t even realised was still stocked on base. He turned it over in his hands, the scuffed label soft under his thumb. The thought of Price hiding it, keeping it safe for him, struck something deep in his chest.

Ghost hadn’t been sure what to call what they were now—what last night meant—but this? This told him everything he needed to know.

“Didn’t peg you for an early riser.”

Ghost didn’t need to turn to recognise Price’s voice. He felt the shift in the air, the grounding weight of the man before the words even reached him. He glanced over his shoulder to find Price leaning in the doorway, his sleeves rolled up, his hair still mussed from sleep.

“Didn’t peg you for a hoarder,” Ghost said dryly, holding up the tin in quiet accusation.

Price chuckled as he stepped into the room, his boots soft against the tile. “Not hoarding,” he said, slipping his hands into his pockets. “Just…making sure it ended up in the right hands.”

“For me, then?” Ghost asked, his tone low, though his eyes stayed fixed on Price, measuring.

“For you,” Price confirmed, stopping just short of closing the distance between them. He tilted his head toward the tin, his smirk softening.

Ghost turned fully now, setting the tin on the counter with deliberate care. He studied Price for a moment, taking in the easy confidence in his posture, the faint flush creeping along his collar, the edges of the mark he left there last night barely visible. And then the words slipped out, quiet but certain.

“Hope you know that makes you mine.”

Price stilled, his smirk faltering for the briefest moment before something warmer overtook it. “Yours?” he repeated, his voice steady but edged with something deeper. He stepped closer, his hand brushing Ghost’s forearm before curling lightly around his elbow.

Ghost tilted his head, leaning just slightly into the touch. “What else would I call you?” he asked, his voice low, roughened by the admission. His free hand rose, brushing against Price’s arm as he added, “Not just anyone would keep track of my bloody tea.”

“Not just anyone would put up with you,” Price shot back, his tone teasing but his grip tightening slightly.

Ghost huffed a quiet laugh, his eyes crinkling faintly at the corners. “You saying you’re special, then?”

“Reckon I am.” Price grinned, that elusive flush creeping up his neck again as his hand slid from Ghost’s elbow to rest lightly against his waist. “Not that you’re making it easy for me.”

“Never said I would,” Ghost murmured, his voice softening as he let his hand settle against Price’s shoulder. His fingers curled slightly, the fabric of Price’s shirt warm under his gloves. “But you’re still here.”

“Wouldn’t want to be anywhere else,” Price said simply, the sincerity in his voice cutting through the teasing.

Ghost’s throat tightened, his hand slipping from Price’s shoulder to press lightly against the back of his neck. “You’re mine, John,” he said quietly, his voice barely above a whisper. “Not just today. Not just last night.”

Price’s breath hitched slightly, his hand tightening at Ghost’s waist. “I’m yours, Simon,” he replied, his voice low but unwavering. “And you’re mine.”

The silence that followed wasn’t heavy, wasn’t charged—it was steady, like the kind of quiet they’d spent years earning. Ghost exhaled slowly, his grip on Price softening as his forehead dipped briefly to rest against Price’s.

“I’ve got to admit,” Ghost said after a moment, his voice quiet but laced with warmth, “I’m grateful for a man who pays attention.”

Price chuckled softly, his other hand brushing against Ghost’s side before resting there. “Always.”

[breezybangtanbebe]

💭❤️‍🔥Boyfriend Hoseok❤️‍🔥💭

The Gentle Giant Boyfriend

Emotionally💕:

Hoseok is no stranger to attention. Everything about him, from his handsome face and healthy physique to his fashion sense and warm personality, he attracts just about anyone with eyes and a pulse. But everything was different with you.

You werent one of the typical cases fan girling over his persona or obsessing over his body parts. (something I honestly think is a big ick for him but he just tolerates it because of how much of a people pleaser he tends to be.) 

On your first date, you barely even looked at anything below his chin and held him in your eyes for most of the conversation..

"You have really pretty eyes.." you remarked, stirring your drink mindlessly with your cheek resting in the palm of your other hand.

Hoseok's mouth twitched in a tiny reluctant smile of confusion. He too toyed with the straw of his drink, mashing the ice cubes about before taking a sip.

"Um..thank you." he swallows, blinking as if he were on the brink of choking. It wasn't hard to fluster him, you picked up on that early on when you met him at that pottery class you took up as soon as the pandemic was over. Any reason to get out of that apartment that felt even smaller when you had no where else to go.

It was his eyes that caught your attention first, mainly because it was all you could see of his face since the mask mandate was still enforced. Apart from his hulking frame under his oversized hoodie and the way his massive legs made the stool he was perched on look like it was designed for a child, there was a soft innocence there when he focused his fingers on the sepia ball of clay.

When he wasn't focused, those eyes had a way of finding you on the other side of the room, looking away bashfully when you felt his stare..

Crinkling cutely when the teacher made a joke.

Widening comically when the perfectly shaped bowl he was working on collapsed into a squishy warped ball of disaster.

This went on for a few weeks before he finally worked up the nerve to sit beside you at the beginning of the next class, introducing himself. Up close, you got an even better gauge of his size.

"Good lord he must work out every day.." you thought, but its only on your mind for a second after resuming eye contact when he asked you a question.

The most gorgeous combination of browns melded in the ridges of his irises. From afar you couldn't notice but this close, you couldn't see anything but those eyes. Eyes that told so much about a man you hardly knew.

Honesty.

Joy.

Sadness.

Pain.

Soul.

It was you who asked him for his number despite him being the one to ask if he could see you again outside of class. So you did, grabbing tea and coffee at the bakery near the pottery studio.

"Youre blushing again." you smirk triumphantly and Hoseok immediately resents himself for being such an easy read. Without his mask to hide behind, you were given a full view of his face that was as equally charming as his eyes.

The colored apples of Hoseok's cheeks lift slightly as he shook his head in pure denial.

"No Im not." 

"Im looking right at you. What do you mean?" You tease and Hoseok tucks his lips against each other to fight his bodies natural response to flattery.

"Its the steam from the tea or something, I don't know.." he shakes his head again, turning his head at the bakery's door chime as a few customers walked in and you couldn't help but think it was to hide the way his blush worsened. There was no steam. He wasn’t even drinking tea so the excuse was as ridiculous as it was adorable.

It made you smile knowing he was this affected and you vaguely wondered what else your attention to detail could do.

"If you say so.."

You were different to him because you saw him in ways others didn’t. No one compliments a man’s eyes when all attention is on his body. The amount of times he caught women and men alike struggling to keep eye contact when he wore a fitted shirt that accentuated his upper body. And while he did work diligently to achieve such a body, it felt good to be seen and not just something to look at. Which in his profession,was often a feeling he faced.

Water signs tend to be very emotionally connected and Hoseok will know what youre feeling before you say anything because he's just that observant. That's just him. He can walk into a room and get a gauge of everyone's energy and while he may not show it, he's affected by it.

He appreciates a person thats similar. Someone who can tell when he's bothered or uncomfortable but too polite to express it. He appreciates someone who can anticipate his needs the way he will anticipate yours. And he absolutely would. If you like coffee in the morning and he's up before you, he puts on a pot because he knows you hate waiting for it. He'll put things within your reach without thinking about it. He’ll cover sharp corners with his hand if you bend down suddenly too near them. Just a quiet caretaker.

He's very emotionally intelligent (it took him going through ALOT to get this way) , and he too has very little patience for games or things that don't make sense. So talk to him about your feelings vs acting impulsively. Don't push him away when you're upset. He may chase you for a little while but if you're not reciprocating his energy , he'll lose interest.

Physically💋:

Very reserved in front of others because he's just polite but will hold your hand and kiss you proudly in public. He keeps it cute though, nothing outlandish.

He is the jealous type so if someone is looking at you a bit too hard, expect him to mark his territory with one of those little kisses. Or a few.

In private, He's big and warm and soft and hard all at the same damn time. Hoseok loves cuddling,prefers to be the big spoon most of the time because he feels like he's protecting you but occasionally enjoys curling his big ass into you while your massage his scalp until he falls asleep.

He's much more touchy feely. Lots of stolen kisses and booty grabs. Although I predict that you'd be most inclined to want to touch him all day because...well. Look at him🌚

It was a day worth shutting the world out for. Raining and relentless. Plans were cancelled ,alarms were snoozed and clothes were optional at Hoseok's apartment.

Its been several months since that day in the bakery and those routine meet ups next door to the pottery class evolved into evenings spent at his place. He'd been to yours plenty but you preferred being with him at his because his felt more comfortable. 

Plus he had all the snacks.

The morning light creeped its way despite the sun being hidden and the bed felt much too big when he wasn't in it. So after pulling on one of his t-shirts and slipping into his bathroom to freshen up, you were relieved to find the object of your desire in the kitchen.

He's shirtless with his magnificent back on display for you as you watched him busy with something on the counter. His hair was wild, sticking up in all directions and his pajama pants hung just low enough on his hips for those two delicious dimples to be visible.

You stepped silently over the warm wood floors, one bare foot after the other until you were creeping up behind him.

Hoseok flinched a little when you snaked your arms around his waist but he soon relaxes at the feel of your lips pressing against the middle of his back.

"Hi.." you grumble against his warmth, skimming the tip of your nose over his skin. Hoseok chuckles softly as one of his hands covers your two that clasp below his naval.

"Morning. Did I wake you?" He looks over his shoulder and you shake your head, pressing your cheek against his shoulder blade.

"Just missed you." You respond sleepily and the sound of it has him chuckling softly.

"Ive been up for less than ten minutes.." he chides and you shrug.

"10 minutes too long. I got cold. What are you doing anyway? I thought you had nothing to do today." You mumble, peaking around his body to spot him organizing several different types of capsules into little baggies.

"Im putting my supplements together for when I go out of town next week."

"Oh yeah.." you say. You return to nuzzling his muscular back, settling in the dip of his spine between his shoulder blades with a solemn sigh.

Detecting you sulking, Hoseok takes one of your hands and pries it from his tummy to lift towards his face.

"Its just a few days. Don't pout, big baby.."

A gentle kiss to your knuckles was all it took to send a tingle through your body, making you tighten the back hug you had him in . Your affection evolves due to an intrusive thought and you accentuate the embrace with an unexpected bite of his flesh. Your teeth pinch a healthy bit of skin between them and you pull back on the release.

His yelp makes you snicker evilly and you soothed the faint toothmarks with a few kisses before pulling away from him.

"Look who's talking.." you tease.

He didn't appreciate the way the temperature changed the moment you weren't touching him and he turns around, spotting you leaning against the kitchen island. This had to have been the moment he realized you were wearing nothing but his t-shirt, noting the stiffness of your nipples poking through the fabric.

His gaze drops from your breasts to your shapely thighs that were unsubtly pressing against each other.

With a sultry look in your eye, you smirked up at him as you hopped up on the marble countertop and spread your legs just enough to hint at your lack of panties. Not that any hint was needed.

If you had any on, it wouldn't be for long.

Sexually💦:

Hoseok seems like a massive giver. So he's not at all a selfish lover. Whatever your satisfaction requires, he's pretty open to it if its not uncomfortable. If any kinks, I could see some bondage or food play. Maybe some sensory deprivation. Hes not afraid of toys at all. I actually imagine him owning some of his own for his solo sessions.🌚

Not super dommy. If anything, he's a switch (both dom and sub depending on the mood). When he's the dom, he teases your body alot with whatever he has at his disposal.

He praises you heavily and rewards you. Would much rather do that than punish you, but if he has to, he confirms that all of those muscles aren't just for show. He'll never hurt you though, thats actually one of his worst fears so don't expect him to get TOO TOO rough. Some hard slaps on the ass and a hand around the throat might be aa far as he'll go with you. Even then, hes very careful.

As a sub, he's very bratty and mischievous. He wants the punishment 100%. He wants you to talk shit, scold him, pull his hair a little. He wants you to make him feel small even though hes literally a hulk. Some orgasm denial would drive him crazy. But once you finally let him cum, put as much into the aftercare as he would for you. Talk to him nice and touch him alot. Slow Kisses with lots of tongue.

He's an ass man. Touching your booty actually brings him some sort of comfort, like a human stress ball. In the morning, its customary for him to rub yours for at least a minute when he greets you. He probably enjoys eating you out from the back so he doesn't have to waste time bending you over after. I also think he's most attracted to thick women🌚. He just gives me that vibe.

Large hands grip your ass underneath the tshirt,holding you up with your legs wrapped around him as he walked you back to the bedroom.

Your lips suckle his bottom lip, making him groan and squeeze you when you lips finally part to invite him in. Hoseok wasn't a sloppy kisser by far, always intentional with each stroke of his tongue and little nibble of your lips. He's passionate and most dominant when his tongue needled its way in and massaged yours.

You let him in gladly, earning a grateful sigh from him as you sucked his tongue greedily.

That always turned him on and you simulated the way you planned to suck him off by bobbing your head slowly, slurping his tongue loudly and shamelessly until it's too much for him.

You giggled when he tossed you on the bed, bouncing against the fluffy white comforter as he climbed on top of you. He cages you under the canopy of his huge body and doesn't hesitate to snatch his t-shirt from your body.

Now that he had you naked again, his lips found every place begging to be kissed.

Your neck.

Your nipples.

That spot just below your breast.

With both of your hands trapped under his above your head, Hoseok teased your body with his tongue until your back was arching from the bed.

He was kissing a trail down from your naval to the mound of stubbly skin of your pelvis. You felt you needed to shave but Hoseok didn't give a damn about some hair. In some ways he preferred it because he could smell you so much better that way.

His chin grazes your clit and making you twitch, making him smile against your skin.

"That sensitive huh? What am I gonna do with you?" He teases, moving down to hold you at your hips. You lift up just in time to watch his tongue extend and flick a few times over the throbbing nub before sucking on it obscenely hard.

You called his name again but he ignores you, simply combining flicking and sucking on your clit in favor of paying you any mind.

Seems as though he had his mouth set on your pussy for breakfast from how he alternated between sucking your clit and tonguing at your hole.

He knew what he was doing and you could keep your composure anymore. Damn his neighbors, they would just have to hear you.

Your hand found its way to his messy bed head, tugging at the strands from the scalp. He moans with his lips wrapped around you, the vibration of his tone making your legs shake.

Without warning, Hoseok pulls away from your heat and pulls you up by your arm. He grabs you by the neck gently to kiss you as he was before. But instead of him tasting like mouth wash and strawberry yogurt, he tasted like you.

With your legs spread wide enough to fit his huge frame, you hooked them over his hips to lock him in place. He chuckles at the desperation he felt on your lips, guiding you down to lay on your back one more.

"What baby...what it is it?" He asks, eyes black as night on yours. Long gone were those innocent eyes you'd fallen for at first.

Hoseok reached between your bodies to pick up where he left off, strumming over you back and forth.

Back and forth.

Your mouth gaped in a gasp when he upped the pace, rubbing you so good that you were sure you'd cum any second.

"Baby..please yess yess yess.." you cry and Hoseok kissed your trembling lips casually.

"Feels good?" He asks and you hum in response.

"More?" He lifts his brow.

"More..more.."you pant, now gripping the hair at his nape. With that, his fingers slipped inside of you, fucking you slowly as his tongue found yours. You moaned senselessly amidst kissing and Hoseok only took that as you begging for his fingers to go deeper.

"Is this what you want, baby? Hmm? Want me to suck on this pretty pussy some more? Wanna cum on my tongue like you did last night?" He mumbles, planting another wet pussy flavored kiss on your lips as he awaited your response.

"Please.." you shudder, too lost in the way his fingers went back to toying with your clit to kiss him back properly.

But this was how he wanted you anyway and he was only getting started.

Love Language:

I believe our big boy is a Gift giver/receiver and Physical touch. The gifts don't have to be expensive (even though he will for sure spend his monies on his gifts he gives you), it just matters to him that you know what he likes and that you're thinking of him. And touch on that man. Big boys need love too.

Quality time is big for him as well. He just wants you around. It doesn't have to be for any specific reason. Just be there and exist with him.

Pet names/Terms of endearment:

Calls you his baby or his world. Not much in between. He's very playful and light hearted so you might be his brat or headache from time to time, but takes his relationships very seriously. You don't have worry about any fear of commitment with him. Once he's locked in, you've got him.

So dont hurt him please🥹 He's very soft hearted.

<The other Boyfriends >

[jolalibrary]

you're a storm

simon ghost riley x f!reader (call of duty)

summary: because we're friends. are we? don't see a queue of other people putting up with your shit, ghost.

warnings: brief mentions of smut, p in v. friends to something close to a relationship (this is ghost). somewhat moody ghost. wordcount: 2.1k dedicated to @theashfallx who deserves a slab of softness and tattoos.

It’s raining. 

Just like the day you'd first appeared. 

You’d been drenched in it all, baptised for the introduction—droplets falling from your sleeve as you said your name, Price hanging back. 

Your credentials had been told to them all a month ago. Not really asking if any of them minded, more telling them all. More him, than the others.

He supposed he’d do the same if he were in Price’s position. 

Now, pellets hammered against everything they could, including the single-glazed window of his room. It sounded like it was hitting tin than glass, oddly reminding him of you—your talks of caravaning with your family or thin sheets and watching storms out across a sea. 

You’d shared it with him once. Your eyes all transfixed on the lightning in the distance. Hands cupped around a mug that was no longer steaming in the centre of the place they were bunkered down in.

When’s the last time you slept? When was the last time you did, Lieut?

Lieut.

Not L.t. Not lieutenant. Some shorthand version you called him, simply because. 

You who was now avoiding him because of his chosen silence. Because words had caught on the back of his teeth. His fingers not quite quick enough before you’d left him alone. 

He used to like being alone, but somewhere between your rambling and lying next to him, you changed it. Changed him.

It’s the sole reason he’d stepped out. Tired of the four walls of his room, seeking a new space rather than any sort of conversation.

After all, he despised words. He preferred orders. Something concrete, not argued against. Enjoyed the unspoken ones shared between nods and occasional glares. 

Ghost somewhat tolerated (liked) Johnny, sometimes even Gaz. 

But you were the anomaly—the difference. He didn't tolerate you, he secretly wanted you. Wanted a smile, a laugh. Happy and content with just that.

No one knew—not even you—that sometimes you managed to tug a smile behind his mask. That your words from that day began painting themselves in his mind when he should be sleeping.

You share a lot for someone with a redacted file. Well, I like to keep those poking around, guessing.  I’m not guessin’.  No. Guessing means you could be wrong, and you like to be right too much for that, don’t you, Ghost?

You had a habit of pulling things from him. Words. A snigger.

It was all as though your smaller hands had found some rope, pulling on it until he began giving them to you more easily than he did the rest. You didn’t know everything, but he assumed what you didn’t, you’d guessed. 

He’s seen firsthand how you fill in gaps. The way you assess and ascertain. It’s there when you stare at maps, hearing briefings—practically spots the marker in your mind circling things to question. 

It's why he's not sure how you didn't guess you mattered to him.

How that you couldn't see.

He hears a clap of thunder, somewhere in the distance. Thankful it's a short walk to the canteen, the air thick with the scents of mossy earth and dirt before he’s met with the aroma of food and too many bodies trying to stuff themselves before lights out.

Not you, though. 

Ghost watches you slip out through the opposite doors. Across tables and too many bent heads for him to get to with any sort of quickness.

He smirks, if only to himself.

Watching as barely a head lifts from the rest of your comrades and table at your exit.

But then, if they’d been paying too much attention, the gig would have been up a while ago. The secret out. There would have been opinions poked in the holes of their tryst—questions hurtled that had no answers either of you wished to confront. 

He didn’t have friends, but he did have you.

Some scrappy thing which didn’t like to sleep, didn’t like to lose—and had the most stunning eyes. They seared into him even when surrounded by paint, cheeks smothered in mud and lashes clotted with sand. Burned a hole right through him that no amount of time would heal. 

It didn’t help they found him often. Practically sought him, landing on him as though there weren’t others who deserved it. 

Then he gained your sarcasm. Your whispered thoughts and soft smirk. 

At some point between annoyance and admiration, you stepped over the line into friendship. He kept his eye on you outside of being your lieutenant; you checked on him for reasons he didn’t understand. 

If you get lonely at home, my address is in your phone. I don’t have a phone.  Ah yes, the very secret thing at the back of your second drawer isn’t a phone, Ghost. 

He’d considered it: texting. 

Why? Because we're friends. Are we? Don't see a queue of other people putting up with your shit, Ghost.

He'd almost called, merely to check in. Not wanting to visit or any real company, just the sound of your voice to convince him that you’re alive—that you hadn’t slipped in the shower or fallen into a sleep you’d never wake from. That you weren't hurt.

Ghost never called, didn't send a thing. Because it meant something if he did. Meant he cared, meant he’d latched—two things he tried desperately not to do. 

And then, a new line was crossed. One jumped over because of circumstances the two of you hadn’t prepared for. 

Your stubbornness and foolishness caused a blade to lodge in your thigh in a takedown—maroon flowing from around it, beginning to spread. Your radio message made something drip down his spine, his blood cold before Ghost managed to hack up gruff orders that fell from his tongue like lava. 

The metal was still sticking out when he found you, all unmoved from your leg, a half-smile plastered across your cheeks.

He's knocked out, not dead. Don't care, le— I didn't take it out, Ghost. It's better I don't, right? Let me see.

You almost don't let him. And while you’d seen his face, his hands had still shook as he slipped the gloves from his fingers, touching the edges of ripped fabric and hating the sounds of your whimpers.

It's only as he lifted his eyes, his chin, did you kiss him. Right over the mask. Before he can question, before he can surrender, your head rips back, eyes brimming with tears you refuse to let fall. 

Had to, just in case.  None of that, alright? 

Those three words don’t come out easily, almost clotting in his throat like scarlet does around your wound. 

Lift it up. Your mask. 

He’s not sure why he did. 

Why he bent to such a request—an order, but he did. No sooner is it over his nose does he feel chapped lips against his, softly moving, desperately seeking something. A moment, a chance. He isn’t sure and never asks. He just tastes you, the happiness that lives within, mixed with the desert, iron and somehow, even bleeding profusely, hope. 

You kiss better than I thought, Lieut. 

It was a month later before you brought it up. Dangled it in front of him, the chance to do it again—to kiss you, to do more than kiss. 

He’s human. And only a fool would say no to someone as gorgeous as you. Someone good, talented, full of fire and light that could, if you tried, bring him to his fucking knees. 

Which he supposes you did, ironically. 

Your leg hooked over his shoulder, tongue lapping up your want as your hand grabbed fistfuls of his hair. He was praying to you, and you were whimpering a hymn compiled of his name.

SimonSimonSimon. 

You both cross a new line together moments later, the final one. The one harder to come back from and pretend never happened.

Because then he knew how it felt to have your thighs on either side of his hips. To brush his fingers against your cheek and wipe the tears from coming on his tongue all away as he eases himself into you. 

Ghost knows how your hand feels clasped around his forearm as his cock sinks into you. How your nails dig into the ink on his skin, secretly hoping it leaves a similar mark.

So big. Too— You can take it.  I can—I will. I know. Know you will, sweetheart. 

Then it became a habit. 

You became a habit.

You're both heaven and a misdemeanour. Something he craved but knew he shouldn't let himself enjoy. Even if he did—whenever he could.

Ghost runs his teeth along your collarbone, and leaves welts under your uniform. He presses your cheek against cold walls, snaking his hand under the waistband of your trousers and standard-issue underwear, making you mew.

You’d do better with someone else—be far better suited to someone more open. Someone who’ll let you have more than scraps when night falls and will sit next to you on a canteen bench and nudge their knee against yours. 

Ghost won’t do that, but Simon might. 

That's what he clings to, that Simon could be enough.

Even if all of him have been falling for you, all unbeknownst to him until it's all he thinks. Having studied every curve of your body, taken note of each whip of your sharp tongue and marvelled secretly at how your brain thinks when challenged. 

It took him a while to see the brains behind the big eyes and the smirking lips. Now, it’s all he sees. 

He sees both a capable soldier and the person who has had their lips around his cock. The person who has laid in his sheets, staring up at him, mouth parted as you moan; the one who’s rolled their hips against his tongue, pleading for more as your fist clamps around a sheet. 

Friends don’t…. do what we do, though. Suppose they don’t.  What are we, then? 

He didn't answer, and so you didn't push. 

It stung the silence. It worsened when you dressed, when you said goodnight before the lights are even out.

You pulled away after that. And he felt it instantly. The draught of you not being beside him, your body not being curled around his before the sun rises—your laugh not peppering his ears.

Mostly, he found it torturous that your eyes don't land. Your snark swallowed, never meeting the air, never greeting him.

He tried to shake it, even if he beguns to feel the weight of the words he should have said. The ones he has thought for a while, the ones he feels. It not mattering, always coming back to the same thing: it’s easier to show than to tell. 

It’s why he’d let you map his past with the pads of your fingers rather than tell you the gruesome truth. That he lost so much, it’s hard to ever want again. He suspects you can tell, just from how your eyes land on him, when your hands feel the deeper ones—the ones who make him see flickers of how they were caused behind his eyelids. 

Ghost knew he’d fallen, having descended into want and affinity before you'd left that night. It consumed him in the time that followed.

Too many cold showers and anger-fuelled stares, before he truly acknowledges the ball is in his court. Before he lets the fact, he doesn’t want to rot away alone anymore but rather live for someone to fuel him to speak up. 

He considers ordering, demanding. 

Instead, he beckons. Fingers wrapping around your elbow, ignoring your eyes, flicking from the corridor ahead to him until the two of you are safely inside the four walls of his room. 

Then, he pours it out. Mask ripped from his face, lips burning words against yours. It’s different, fuelled by passion than relief—not soft, but not aiming to conquer the other. 

He buries himself in you differently, easing himself in—running his teeth along your jaw until he’s kissing whispered words to your ear. 

“I know…” you whisper fingers curled around his neck.

You say it as though you’ve heard his unspoken confession somewhere else. Like he’s left the script somewhere, and you know the act that's about to follow. 

“Show me,” you add. "Show me you want me, Simon."

And he does. 

Driving himself in and out in long, slow strides. He feels the feather-like touches over his back, the way your breath dances along his chin and neck. The lamp in the corner is the only light source, forcing your pupils to expand until they’ve almost swallowed the colour he admires and hopes to name. 

Ghost finds only his reflection in them—staring into wide and hopeful eyes. Seeing himself back in them, able to glimpse a person who isn’t a collection of shards, but someone almost whole. 

an: i was listening to some moody music.

[ghoulodont]

Growing Threadbare

Dewdrop helps Rain unpack something that’s been on his mind.

Relationship: Raindrop Characters: Dewdrop, Rain Words: 1.8k

Lingerie, Gender Identity, egg crack (? sort of)

Read below or on AO3

It’s still morning, just barely, when Rain wakes up. He and Dewdrop were out late yesterday, only making it back to Rain’s dorm room — in name, at least, as they may as well be interchangeable at this point — sometime past midnight, giggling as they bumped into each other in dim lamplight with echoes of alcohol still in their veins.

Dew isn’t here now, though. He can’t be far; despite consistently waking up first, he never leaves him for long unless there’s something else he needs to do — and there’s nothing that needs to be done today. Sunlight streams through the window and casts a layer of warmth over the bed, adding to the pile of blankets already there. Rain pulls them around himself and lets his eyelids slide closed again.

Sure enough, Dew walks through the door just a few minutes later with a steaming cup of coffee. “Morning,” he says. “If I knew you were awake I would have brought you one too.”

Rain gives him his biggest, saddest eyes.

“Say no more.” Dew pivots and heads back the way he came.

He sets his coffee down as he walks past the dresser. He pauses. Like a hawk, keen-eyed and always interested in something novel, he hones in the white-gray plastic shipping pouch there, where it’s been since Rain picked it up from the mail two days ago — he hasn’t worked up the courage to touch it since then.

Rain’s heart leaps to his throat as he scrambles out of bed. “Wait—” he squeaks out, chest tight.

“Is it something secret?” Dew coos with a lighthearted lilt.

Dew is never cruel. He loves to tease but hates to bully, a distinction that lends itself to a highly observant sort of dance in which he’s ready to surrender at any moment. He would stop this line of questioning in its tracks if Rain asked him to.

Rain struggles to find an answer that feels both tolerable and truthful. “Well, it was, sort of…”

Dew starts to tear the plastic, tunneling a little hole with his index fingers and stretching it wider, watching Rain’s face as he does it. Any real sign of hesitation from Rain would stop him — he would put the package down without another word.

Some primal instinct of self-preservation inside Rain’s core is screaming at him to react, to say something, to grab the package and run away, but he just stands and watches as Dew keeps tearing the plastic until the hole in it is wide enough to dump out the contents onto the surface of the dresser. What comes out is something deep blue and lacy.

They both stare at it in silence.

Dew speaks up first. “Is it for you, or…?”

Rain nods. His voice comes out quiet. “For me.”

Dew picks up one piece of folded fabric and holds it up, allowing it to assume its actual shape, that of a sheer bralette with a plunging neckline, two triangular cups, satin straps, and a wide band.

Rain searches for words, something to absolve himself of the churning judgments inside him. “Maybe it’s too… much,” he says.

Dew shakes his head. “I like it.”

Rain looks up at Dew, who tilts his head inquisitively.

He holds the bralette up in front of Rain, lining it up with his chest. “I think it’ll look good on you.”

Rain feels his face heat up, no doubt reddening with an intensity that rivals the blue of the garment in question.

Dew folds it neatly in half. He takes the other item from the package — still folded, but clearly a matching pair of panties, the distinctive arch of the leg opening visible — and offers them both to Rain.

Rain takes the bundle of fabric. He stares at it. His hand holding it feels like it doesn’t belong to him.

“Go on,” Dew says.

It takes a moment for Rain to understand what Dew is suggesting. “Oh.”

Dew raises an eyebrow.

“I’m going to…” Rain gestures toward the ensuite bathroom.

“I’ll be here,” Dew says.

The bathroom door shuts with a clunk, the faithful latching of antique hardware that may be as old as the abbey itself. Rain is alone with his purchase, clutched as a formless blob in one hand. This wasn’t how it was supposed to go, but really, could it have gone any other way? He was supposed to bring this up himself, to explain his intention. The courage to do so feels impossibly distant. This is the only way forward.

He starts with the panties — they feel like the easier of the two, somehow. He slides off his sweatpants and then his underwear, tossing them aside on the bathroom floor, moving quickly before he loses his nerve. He steps into the panties without allowing himself to think about it and pulls them on, then adjusts the hems here and there until the meager amount of fabric has everything covered comfortably.

He looks at himself in the mirror, brushing his hair away from his face. The new garment is peeking out between his oversized t-shirt and his bare thighs. He lifts the hem of his shirt, observing. The lace waistband arches along his hip bone and dips slightly into a gentle v-shape at the midline of his body. He turns a bit to the side, then forward again.

Without really thinking, he gathers the back of the shirt in a fist behind him, pulling it tight around his abdomen. The sight of this in the mirror, his tapered waist above an exposed stripe of his abdomen, and the lace panties below that, triggers a jolt of something like surprise, or shock, a white-hot bolt of adrenaline. He drops his shirt and brings his hands to his face, covering his mouth like he just said something he shouldn’t have in a silent conversation with himself.

But he can’t stop now. He turns away from the mirror before pulling his shirt over his head and discarding it in the same pile as his other clothes. It feels like letting go of a lifeline — he’s floating away, untethered.

The bralette is simple and elastic, without any clasps or fasteners. Rain pulls it over his head. It’s tight, which, while expected, makes it awkward to maneuver into, and makes him feel as if he’s suddenly forgotten the basics of dressing himself. Eventually, after much arranging, the band is around his chest and the straps are over his shoulders.

Not ready to see himself in the mirror yet, he looks down at on his torso. The bralette appears much more sheer than it did before he put it on, especially on the band, where the lace is hugging his ribcage snug enough to stretch. Even the cup, which is a little loose, fabric draping over itself slightly in the middle, is translucent enough for his nipples to show through, something he doesn’t remember seeing in the product photo online.

He runs his hand over the band, feeling the ridges of the lace, then over one cup, letting the fabric pull taut. He lets the details soak in, the clothing and his body underneath. The imperfections — yes, he sees them that way, but they’re also proof that this is real, without image manipulation or behind-the-scenes magic. What was once just a photo, words on a website, has come to life because he chose for it to. This is the payoff of indecision, fear, and taking a step forward. It’s a surreal joy, like something clicking into place, a key turning in a lock deep within his subconscious.

A gentle knock at the door feels like the loudest sound in the world. Rain freezes in place.

Dew’s voice filters through the gaps around the heavy wood of the door. “You okay?”

“I— yes,” Rain stammers.

“Sorry if I took it too far.”

Rain opens the door a sliver and peeks out. Dew is standing there with a sheepish look on his face, appearing genuinely apologetic about the whole situation.

“Hi,” Dew says, like they weren’t just talking to each other moments ago.

Rain grabs Dew by the arm and pulls him into the bathroom, opening the door just enough that he can get through. He closes the door behind him as soon as he’s inside.

They both stand facing the mirror, eyes connecting through the reflection.

“You look beautiful.”

Rain feels his face heat up even more. “You’re just saying that,” he deflects. Dew is giving him what he imagines he wants to hear, trying to play into what he thinks is just a fantasy — maybe it really is just a fantasy.

“Of course not.” Dew loops a firm hand around his waist and pulls him closer. Their hips bump together, lace against the slippery-smooth fabric of Dew’s track pants.

He circles around in front of him, between him and the sink. Rain can see himself in the mirror still, partially eclipsed by Dew’s smaller form. He looks away, off to the side, locking eyes with a hand towel on the wall. Even then, he can see his own body in his peripheral vision, haunting him like a mirage.

Dew places his hands on Rain’s hips. The heat of his palms sinks in as he drags them upward, slowly, over his ribs, over the band of the bralette, until he holds his chest in two cupped hands. He presses his fingers in, a gentle squeeze of the firm flesh there — more than Rain thought he had, until he saw it gathered this way, felt it, reframed his perception.

“Is this good?” Dew brushes one thumb over his nipple, then the opposite one. Rain suppresses a shiver.

“Yes,” Rain whispers.

“I want to know what you want.” He steps forward, pressing their bodies together. The fabric of his worn t-shirt is soft against Rain’s stomach.

Dew is looking up at him, but Rain can’t bring himself to meet his eyes. “I don’t really know what I want.”

Dew hums. He presses a gentle kiss to Rain’s jawline, skin placed in the foreground as his face is tipped away. “Do you like it when I tell you you’re pretty?”

Rain nods. The hot flush in his cheeks spreads down, past the point Dew’s lips touched, oozes into his neck.

“Is there anything else?”

Rain stills. There is, of course, something else, a larger concept. It’s something he’s been telling himself he doesn’t understand yet, but more and more it’s starting to seem like that’s not the real issue. Maybe it’s obvious what he wants, so obvious even Dew can see it. Maybe the bigger problem is that he’s refusing to look.

“When you bought this” — Dew drags his thumbs over Rain’s chest again, pressing the lace into his skin — “is this what you were envisioning?”

Rain’s mouth goes dry. “Well, I…”

“That’s okay. Some other time.”

The relief that washes over Rain’s body is tinged with something else — not quite disappointment, some small sadness in defiance of the way out he was desperately hoping for. He doesn’t have to look yet, but now more than ever he’s sure that he will.

[cambion-companion]

Frozen Contract

I had to deliver on the poll I recently made. This is a drabble, being forced to share body heat with a cambion as you're stranded in a frozen wasteland.

"You have the freedom to choose the only option you have left."

Raphael x reader | drabble

You curled in on yourself, the coldness of hard-packed snow beneath you seeping through your thin bedroll straight to your bones.

Your shivering was becoming so violent you could just about feel your brain rattling within your skull.

“Dear, dear, you are in quite a state.”  Raphael sat quite unbothered upon his own pristine bedroll, golden eyes of licking flame as they watched you. “A frozen mouse quite fit for a snake’s meal.”

“Do you ever get tired of your metaphors?”  You could barely speak through the chatter of your teeth.

Raphael tilted his horned head, his breath creating puffs of steam with each exhale. “Does a nightingale get tired of singing the sun to sleep?”

You rolled your eyes.

“It’s self-evident you have life left in you yet, little one.”  Raphael noticed your annoyed expression, raising his eyebrow in return and flipping a page in the book he lazily read. His tail swept idly around in front of him, clearing a bit of snow and shoving it onto your blankets. “While we yet travel together, desist irking me with your trifling mortal troubles.”

“Such as freezing to death?” You bit back, your patience long gone.

Raphael smirked, holding out a large hand and catching several of the large flakes of snow that had begun falling from the dark sky. “Indeed.  I can hear the rattling of your bones from here.”

You glared at him for a moment, then squeezed your eyes tight shut.  

Raphael returned his attention to you, then snapped his book shut with a sharpness that made you jump.  He regarded you with a familiar haughty air. “I would admire your stalwart nature were it not so mulish.”

“I am not asking you for help.”

Raphael didn’t respond for a moment, his expression calculating. “I am quite accustomed to biding my time.”

You turned away, pulling the blanket tighter around yourself and attempted to sleep once more.

It was the shivering that awoke you, your body trying desperately to warm itself.  You couldn’t feel your hands or feet for the numbness, could barely lift your eyelids to check for signs of the dawn.

A heavy hand pressed upon your hip; you could feel the warmth of Raphael’s skin through the fabric over you. His breath was as the breath of life, hot against your neck and cheek. “Say ‘yes’.”

“Yes.”  You gasped out and the cambion responded immediately.

Raphael curled his large fiendish body around your much smaller frame, his fingers undoing the clasps of your clothing. He took hold of your wrists as you moved weakly to protest. “The ice will melt and leave you soaking, and I will not tolerate such a mess.”

You let him shed you of your clothing, his wing quickly covering you and his arm wrapping around your bare torso to tug your body flush against his own.

With two long fingers, Raphael tilted your face to look at him. His eyes flitted between your own, then down to your mouth. “Your lips are a charming shade of blue.”

“I can’t feel them.”  You mumbled; your thoughts hazy from the warmth seeping from his body into yours.

Raphael bent his head to you, his free hand cupping the back of your head, sending a thrill of heat through you. You closed your eyes, feeling his tongue trace liquid fire across your lips, then the soft press of a kiss that deepened to something more primal.

You felt the thick coil of his long tail slide and wind its way up your leg, warming you in a much different way.

Raphael took your chin between thumb and forefinger, forcing you to focus on him. “Say my name, pet.”

You hesitated only a moment.  Giving into a brief defiance before accepting defeat. Your lips trembled, but no longer from the cold. “Raphael.”

[moonlitlatte2023]

Pairing:Jungkook x Reader (female)

Genre: Established relationship ,smut,fluff,angst(?),Romance

Rating:18+ minors DNI🚫

Warnings:unprotected vaginal sex (ALWAYS use protection) ,nipple play,tension,JK is quite girthy,overstemulation, Jungkook is really just a sweetheart.

This is my first ff so bare with me y'all and English is not my first language so please forgive me in advance for any grammatical or spelling errors .

Now this is gonna be featuring intercourse during (Y/N) 's period so if that concept makes uncomfortable please just scroll away,exit ,block,whatever, and if you think it's gross that's okay to each their own. I just DON'T wanna hear about it in the comments 😃 ♡.Hate will NOT be tolerated.

The images used in this post are not my own credits to the owners.However the idea is COMPLETELY mine please don't plagiarize my work.

ENJOY!

_______________◇◇◇◇_______________

The day had been miserable from the moment you woke up. The stabbing cramps in your abdomen consistent and painful ,you'd been in unbearable pain the entire day unable to keep anything down as your stomach punished you for each bite of food you took.

And now you were in the shower, letting the scalding water cascade over your form as you took shallow breaths with each painful cramp that attacked your abdomen ,the hot water not doing much to ease the pain.

Jungkook had noticed your unusual quiteness the entire day as normally your usual chatter filled the penthouse however today you'd barely managed to grunt out a response to all his questions .

Standing in the kitchen, he stared at the untouched soup he’d made you earlier. He'd brought you water ,juice ,your favorite snacks ,heating pads—anything he could think of but nothing helped .He didn't like seeing you like this,curled in on yourself and you usual chipper mood dimmed by the pain.

Jungkook debated whether to bother you again. He knew how bad your cramps could get, but you hadn’t eaten anything all day, and that worried him more. Grabbing his courage, he padded toward the bathroom and knocked softly on the door.

“Doll? What do you want to eat?” he called out gently, leaning against the frame. He waited a moment, but there was no answer except the faint sound of water running. He frowned, knocking again. “Y/N? You’ve got to eat something.”

“Mm,” you hummed, the noncommittal sound barely audible over the running water.

Jungkook huffed a quiet laugh, his worry softening into fond exasperation. “That’s not an answer, love ,” he teased. When you didn’t respond again, he cracked the door open, careful not to startle you. “I’m coming in, okay?”

You sighed to yourself to exhausted to argue.

Stepping inside, Jungkook was met with a wall of steam, the room thick with heat and the scent of your favorite body wash. Through the frosted glass of the shower door, he could make out your silhouette, standing under the stream of water with your head tilted downward hand still clutching your stomach his heart twisted seeing you like this—so tired, so defeated by the pain you always brushed off as “not a big deal.”

“You’ve been in there for a while,” he said, his voice softer now. “Is it helping?”

“Mm,” you replied again, the sound clipped.

Jungkook sighed again, his brows furrowing,"You're impossible you know that ?",his voice softening with concern,"Atleaste tell what you'd like to eat I'll make anything ".

"I'm not hungry just please leave ",you manage to murmur with a sigh and Jungkook throws his head back rubbing, his temples.The silence stretches and you almost think he's given up till his voice break the silence.

"Just let me come in ,I hate seeing you in pain and I'll do anything to help ,I just wanna hold you...please",he pleads his words softening something in you, and you find yourself exhaling slowly, the tension in your shoulders easing just a bit."Come in,"you mumble finally, your voice barely above a whisper.

Stripping out of his shirt and sweatpants Jungkook joins you in the shower in just his underwear .

Sliding the shower door open and stepping inside carefully to avoid startling you. The steam envelops him immediately, and his gaze lands on you—your back turned to him, water glistening on your skin.

His heart thudded in his chest as he reached out, his hands brushing your shoulders gently. “You’re tense,” he murmured, his voice low and soothing.

You nodded faintly, not trusting yourself to speak. His hands moved to your waist, his thumbs pressing into the small of your back in a way that made you sigh softly, the pain easing just slightly under his touch.

He soft lips graze your shoulder his hands rubbing circles against you abdomen from behind you ,"Does this help?",he questions gently and and you hum.

Encouraged Jungkook let's his hands slide lower stopping just below your navel thumbs moving in firm but slow rhythmic motions and you start to feel some relief."I read somewhere that this would ease some of the cramps is it working?", he asks.

"Yeah it feels a lot better ,thank you ",you murmur and it brings Jungkook much relief .He places light kisses on the back of your neck and goosebumps appear on your skin at the feeling",You know I also read somewhere that well....",he pauses and your brows furrow at his hesitation but you wait for him to continue anyway,his cheeks flush as the thought roots itself in his mind.

His hands slide up from your hips to your waist before turning you around to finally face him and as soon as you meet his gaze you a shiver runs down your spine.

"Well...",he starts somewhat shyly hands massaging your hips as he begins to press light kisses into your jaw then to your neck and you tilt your head allowing him more access,"Apparently sex can help with cramps...something about releasing endorphins and muscle relaxation ",he finally says pulling away from your neck to gauge your reaction and you break away from his gaze ,shoulders tensing at the idea,"I don't know...,"you start.

It wasn't that you didn't trust him but this was a really vulnerable moment for you ...you were bleeding and you felt like you were a mess ,what if he thought you were disgusting or if he stopped liking you after seeing you like that.

“Hey,” he said softly, stepping closer again. His hand came to rest on your hip, the touch gentle, grounding you as you look up at him. “If you don’t want to, we won’t. I just… I hate seeing you like this. I'll do anything and everything that I can to help ".

His sincerity caught you off guard, and you glanced up at him again guilty at the way you'd lashed out at him earlier when he'd just been trying to help , your resolve wavering under the intensity of his gaze. “And you’re okay with… that?...I mean I'm bleeding.... ” you ask hesitantly, your voice barely audible over the rush of the water.

Jungkook’s lips twitched into a small, reassuring smile, though his eyes remained serious. “If it helps you, of course I am,I wouldnt have said anything had i not been willing...just let me take care of you "he murmers quietly.

Your heart was racing now, the heat of the shower suddenly feeling stifling. You hesitated, your mind racing with a dozen objections, but the look in his eyes—the quiet determination, the care—made your walls crack just enough.

"Okay," you whispered, your voice so soft.

The kiss he presses to your lips is soft at first, tentative, as though giving you time to back out. But when you don't pull away, he deepens it, his lips moving against yours with a slow intensity that made your knees weak.

His hands find your hips grasping them firmly to keep you in place ,his lips becoming hot against yours as you finally start to ease up your hands finding they're way into Jungkooks wet hair.

"You're so beautiful",he mumbles breaking the kiss his lips moving to kiss your jaw before moving down your neck and chest ,you can't help but shudder violently as his lips take In a nipple his hand coming up to cup your other breast as his thumb massages the sensitive nipple ,you moan as he begins to suck on the other nipple hissing as his teeth graze the sensitive bud ,"Oh—Jungkook".

He pulled back just enough to look into your eyes, his lips curling into a teasing smile. "Tell me what you need, baby," he whispered, his voice low and intoxicating. "I want to hear you say it."

Your cheeks flushed deeper, but the hunger in his gaze gave you the courage to answer. "You,"you breathed, your voice trembling as your hands fisted in his hair. "I need you."

"You're so difficult ",he moans," but you feel so good—can't get enough".

His large hand moves to grip your thighs hooking it around his waist slowly rolling his hips into you and your knees buck at the feeling of his bulge against your core.

His searches your face for a moment before speaking ",Let me know if I'm going too fast or if you want me stop—".

"You're not",you assure him as you place a kiss on his neck,"You're perfect,and so gentle,do you even know how amazing you are?", you asked softly, your voice barely above a whisper as you place another kiss on his jaw.

Jungkook blinked, his brows knitting together. “What are you talking about?”

"You're so incredible and you don't even realise it,you're so funny,and kind and patient and so loving too and the crazy part is that you're so humble about it too",you mumble as you stare at him.

Jungkook’s ears turned pink at your words, but his gaze remained locked on yours, his grip on your hips tightening slightly.

“And then there’s the way you touch me…” Your voice dropped, your fingers curling into his hair as whisper in his ear “You’re so careful with, so deliberate, you're perfect . But you don’t just touch me—you make me feel alive. You make me feel… beautiful.”

Jungkook’s throat bobbed as he swallowed hard, his jaw clenching slightly. “You are beautiful,” he said, his voice thick with emotion. “Inside and out. You don’t even have to try, Y/N. You just… are.”

You smiled, leaning into his touch as his hand came up to cup your cheek. “You make me feel like I make you the luckiest man in the world,” you murmured. "But the truth is, I’m just lucky to have you."

His breath hitched, and for a moment, he stays silent ,eyes skimming over your face.Then, with a low chuckle, he pushed himself further into you . "You’re dangerous, you know that?,"he whispers against your lips. "Saying things like that… you’re gonna make it impossible for me to let you go."

You smiled, brushing your lips against his. "Good. Because I don’t want you to."

His response was immediate—a deep, lingering kiss that left no doubt about how much your words meant to him ,his tongue dancing with yours intimately as the water poured over both of you ,you have no idea where you ended and where he started all you knew was how much you needed him.

He hands come up behind you before gripping your ass as pushes himself into you and you feel his bulge press into your stomach and you gasp at how hard he is, he takes the opportunity to slide his hot tongue into your mouth,you sex clenching around nothing when you grind into him causing him to groan.

His thighs parts your knees as he situates himself between them ,you brace yourself against the wall as Jungkook removes his boxers and you bite your lip as his cock springs out of his boxers ,his tip an angry red as precum oozes out if his slit.

You don't get to say or do much before Jungkook' s firm but careful hands are pinning you further up against the the way his grip keeping you steady as he aligns himself against your entrance ,his tip grazes your throbbing entrance and you bite you bite your lip to muffle the gasp that nearly escapes you when his tip enters your hole and soon the rest of him inch by inch. You cry out at the way he stretches you out ,you walls clenching around him ever so slightly.

He shudders as he lays his head on your shoulder his hot breath fanning your collarbone,"Fuck!—",his voice dropping a few octaves ,"You're so tight",he breaths and you clench around him with a breathy moan.

Jungkook still for a bit searching for any signs if discomfort in your face,"You okay?",he questions and you nod capturing his lips as you roll your hips into his giving the go ahead to start moving .

He started of slowly his hips wounding into you at a controlled pace ,Jungkook's lips move to your jaw placing soft kisses on it as his lips move down your neck and chest ,you hiss when he pinches your swollen nipple your body shuddering, as you grip in his hair tightens he let's out a groan his grip on your hips tightening as he begins to pick the pace his hips slamming into yours mercilessly ,each thrust eliciting lewd sounds from your lips ,your hand comes up to cup one of your breasts and you moan softly at how sensitive it feel as you squeeze it.

"Oh—",you cry out as Jungkook hits your G-spot repeatedly and your walls clenching around him shamelessly,"You feel so good baby—so ",he pauses pulling out before smashing himself back in ",fucking good".

That's all it takes before your orgasm rushes over your body legs squeezing around his waist as Jungkook fucks you through your orgasm ,it's not long before he starts chasing his high as well his grip around your thighs tightening before delivering his last final thrusts.

His body shudders violently as he cums his head resting on your shoulder as he catches his breath.Your massage his scalp with your nails as you wait for him to calm down which elicits a shiver from the man.

Jungkook picks up his head as he searches your face ",You okay,I didn't hurt you did I?",he asks his face contorting with worry.

You immediately shake your head sensing his worry",No, I'm okay ,you didn't hurt me at all ....infact",you murmur as you play with his hair,"I feel so good love,you're so good to me",you mutter as you connect your lips and Jungkook returns the kiss with a bruising force while adjusting his grip on your thighs as he brings you impossibly closer.

He kiss is like a man drowning —fingers digging into your thighs as he kisses you mouth greedily swallowing every sound you dared to make ,your teeth grazed his lower lip eliciting a groan from Jungkook and you can't help but cry out when you feel him twitch inside of you nor could you help the way your walls clench around him greedily.

You break the kiss breathless as you connect your foreheads ",As much as I wanna continue ",you say rolling your hips into him and he shivers with a moan,"We've been in here long enough,my hands are starting to prune",you finish and the man sighs large hands massaging your thighs.

"Do we have to ",he sighs and you giggle ",Yes—",you kiss his cheek ,"We—",you kiss his other cheek,"Do—",you say with a final peck on his lips before continuing,"Now put me down",you say tapping your fingers against his bicep.

The man sighs in resignation before carefully slipping out of your sex and you let out a mix between a gasp and a moan at the feeling suddenly feeling empty. He waits for a few more seconds before placing you down gently keeping his hands on your hips to stabilize you when your knees buckle.

"Well that was something ",you start and he let's out a breathy laugh,"Yeah",he agrees biting his lip",We should do that more often",he continues hand brushing through his hair and your breath stutters at how hot he looks,he catches you gaze and he sends you a smug smirk making you roll your eyes ,groaning when your eyes land on his hardened member,"You're Impossible ",you mutter hands coming up to cover your face in embarrassment ,he laughs",I'm sorry I can't help It,You're just so fucking hot",he husks walking you back into the shower wall .

"Jungkook",you breath wanting to protest but the words get stuck in your throat.

He cups your chin",Say it again ".

"Jungkook",you whisper once more as his hands roam your sides before he grips your thigh lifting it against his hip.

"You're going to be the end of me I swear ",you gasp as his length presses into your heat.

"Then let me finish what I started ".

____________◇The end◇_____________

Wordcount: ???😭😭

[shiyorin]

Do Dreadnoughts dream of taking a bath?

#Inspired by PowerWash x Warhammer 40K and Roco.

#I love Dreadnought.

"Do Dreadnoughts dream?"

That is a question with no certain answer. On one hand, a Dreadnought is more machine than man, neural implants fuse mind to machine in ways bizarre to comprehend. Their armored carapace shelters only remnants of flesh, sustained through bionic might alone. By all rights, their cerebral cortex should have decayed long ago.

By such logic, one could argue conscious thought ends where flesh yields to steel. Sleep and its dreamscapes are biological realities, are they not? With only trace humanity remaining, why expect mental functions of slumber? But integrated into their armored shells are enough enhanced organs and neural implants to sustain bioniorganic functions far beyond mere biological viability. Isn't the nature of dream itself stems from biological instincts overwritten.

The pain was a dull ache, easily ignored after centuries entombed. But a new irritation assailed him now, crawling itches across flesh long denied sensation. Confusion, this body felt change, though it had lain inert as worlds turned. Deeper still came the oppression, lungs seizing as if drowning once more in bloody. 

What trickery was this? Diagnostics reported stasis, all systems firing true. Yet the discomforts grew, phlegmy coughs racking the half-machine beast. Panic swelled, animal instincts long dormant rising within the eternal tomb. Then light, piercing the darkness behind closing lids. Sweet air rushed into ruined lungs, this labor easing at last. 

His eyes snapped open to an unfamiliar realm. No armored bulk rose before him but limbs scoured by shrapnel and burned by virus-bombs. His original form, given once more against all reason, a gift or curse, he knew not. Unfettered he stood, wounds healed to bare scars across taut flesh. This was a dream, or something. 

An uncertainty gripped him. What madness was this? To be returned to old flesh but feel no urge to battle, no call to crusade? A different impulse arose, foreign but ingrained, cleansing ritual performed eons past in youth. He walked uncertain, waters calling him to rites unseen by any in aeons untold. 

Ribs still bore flecks of ceramite and plasteel patched within living shell. He paused before the waters, studying form that had known only warfare. Scars told their own tales, each etched upon memories kept alive through aeons in stasis. With care he entered in that, waters lapping old wounds as if in benediction. 

There he lingered, letting cares and pains wash freely away. Muscles long locked in adamantium relaxed, tension fleeing in steam rising. For the first time in memory untold, no demands of duty or flesh assailed him. A feeling swelled within him, emotion locked beyond reach of mortal sensation. Peace, serenity swept over ancient minds as waters sloughed away cares of ages...

Pain pulsed through his battered form as consciousness returned. The fleeting peace of dreams melted away, centuries of enforced half-life onboard the Dreadnought crashing back upon ancient shoulders. Systems booted sluggishly, sensors recalibrating after solaris of monotony disturbed. 

A hum escaped grille as servos whirred back to their duties securing crumpled flesh deeper than mortal sight could pierce. Outside clangs and grinding announced the diligent ministrations of tech-priests ensuring their perpetual charge clung yet to shadow of function. One voice carried clearly through armored carapace:

"Vitals stabilize in sector C-12 Magos. Neural links firing within tolerances." The Tech-priest's voice rang through microphones.

"Understood. Continue maintenance protocols and monitor for anomalies. This relic has served faithfully many centuries. Pray for the Omnissiah." The Magos's bionics buzzed in compliance. They ensured history marched on, whatever hulls preserved that march.

With effort, aged vox-grille creaked open. "Brother, I was dreaming." Static laced speech imparted by cobbled augmetics mere palliates for ravaged throat too ruined for basic sounds. The Techmarine's etheric sensors detected words nonetheless.

A static pause preceded Techmarine's reply. "Dreaming? Impossible, your neural engrams show only baseline activity."

Mirthless chuckle issued from loudspeakers. "Impossible, yes, But I dream... I'm taking a bath." 

Silence answered as Techmarine puzzled over the incomprehensible scene. "The priests scrub your plating clean as monthly rite. Perhaps some synapse misfired."

Silence reigned for moments uncounted as ritual continued outside. Then, a final whisper from within. "Indeed. A... nice dream." 

With that, consciousness fell back into lowest-level rest as painkillers suffused systems. The Techmarine watched monitors return to quiescent patterns, then signaled to close the Dreadnought once more. Its machine spirit's notions were beyond his. The armored tomb closed, and darkness reigned once more.

[villainbun]

Masking fire

Dabi x Gn!reader and Mr.Compress x Gn!reader

Tw: yandere Dabi, yandere Mr.Compress, toxic relationship, eventual cheating, mask kink

ʚ₍ᐢ. .ᐢ₎ɞ ʚ₍ᐢ. .ᐢ₎ɞ ʚ₍ᐢ. .ᐢ₎ɞ

You were sitting on one of the bar stools in the LoV hideout while Toga raved on about wanting to see that green haired hero boy again. You barely registered anything as the alcohol seeped into your body. Not that you were usually like this with her, you did enjoy conversing with her on the daily basis. However, tonight was different, you were too busy worrying about seeing Dabi again after what happened a few days ago.

“I thought we’ve talked about this already” you sighed.

“Relax babe, they are all dust by now. It’s fine” he said as if he was proud of burning random men until they were unrecognizable.

“But, what if you get caught? I don’t want to lose you” you frustratedly responded.

“Look at me” “Hey! Look at me, nothing’s gonna happen” he grabbed your chin and leaned in for a kiss. You felt his hands grabbing your waist and his semi hard cock rubbing against you.

“But you should be careful, the police and heroes are out looking for us what if-” you said as you weren’t in the mood.

“Tsk” he tutted. “Listen, I’m tired of you yapping like a bitch all day long, why don’t you come here” he barked back.

“But I…” you muttered until you realized it was useless to say anything. He didn’t listen to you before what made you think this time would be different.

“That’s it, I’m done. I can’t even relax anymore. Fuck this” he grumbled as he stepped away probably to smoke another cigarette and blow some steam off. It was always the same whenever your antics got too much, he would just walk away like you were wrong for caring for him.

Somehow, the nervousness you felt went away as soon as you saw Dabi coming back safely with Spinner, Twice and Compress. Toga immediately jumped up on her feet and rushed towards Twice, finally her favourite person to chat with in the League was back. Mr.Compress along with Spinner were heading your way.

“You know a lady should not be drinking alone, want us to keep you company?” Compress offered. You blushed slightly at him and nodded happily. Compress sat next to you and next to him was Spinner who was trying to steal the bottle away from you.

Mr.Compress removed his black and white mask leaving just his eyes and mouth uncovered by the ski mask. His gentle eyes stared at you briefly and maybe it was the alcohol talking at that moment, but you couldn’t help noticing how attractive he was. The mask certainly did a good job accentuating his features. His chocolate eyes made you feel warm and his luscious lips parted as he spoke to you leaving his pearly white teeth to shine through. You had to excuse yourself and go to your room. What are these weird thoughts creeping into your mind? You shouldn’t have drank so much, but it just felt so good to temporarily forget you and Dabi’s rocky situation even if it was for bit.

After you got into your room still ignoring Dabi’s presence, he thought to himself that he needed to figure out a way to get you back into his arms. He went up groggily to Compress and asked him to borrow one of his many ski masks. Did you really think he wouldn’t notice you making googly eyes at Compress in that mask. He knew you and your dirty mind enough to realize that you were flustered by men in masks. He was tired of this bratty behaviour, now it was time for you to be put back in your place. He won’t be tolerating your bickering any longer…

Later that night, Shigaraki yelled out from the other room, telling you both to shut up as you giggled and leaned onto Dabi’s chest as he kissed the top your head. It always ended the same, but with his body against yours nothing mattered, not the fight, not his temper, not this cycle that you were in. Everything was okay again, at least until the next time you lose your mind over his safety.

Little did you know that, in Mr.Compress’ room, he was figuring out a way to make you all his. There was no doubt in his mind that he would treat you so much better than that arsonist maniac.

ʚ₍ᐢ. .ᐢ₎ɞ ʚ₍ᐢ. .ᐢ₎ɞ ʚ₍ᐢ. .ᐢ₎ɞ

I’ll be writing a part 2 eventually. It will lean more into Mr.Compress and reader

[inoreuct]

zosan caretaking fluff feat. hair washing, banter and very soft vibes. dinner is served.

Sanji sighed, sliding down until the back of his head pressed against the lip of the bathtub. The water was toeing the line between too hot and just right and he'd poured in enough lavender emulsion to coat it with dense, heady bubbles; they tickled his chin as he let his eyes slip shut.

It had been such a long day.

He'd been rudely woken up by the sound of a cannonball crashing through their hull, tossed out of his bunk a second later when the enemy ship rammed into their side; having to fight moments after being startled awake had already put him in a horrid mood, and then he'd realised that the galley had taken damage and he would have to restock more than half of everything he'd had in there. The fridge had lost power too so he'd had to cook all the meat that had thawed (which, to be fair, was never a problem with Luffy around) but then his whole crew had scattered during their supply run and he'd lugged a shit-ton of food back to the Sunny himself and now his brain was buzzing and his everything was aching and he was pretty sure he had gunpowder in his hair.

The steam filled his lungs when he breathed in, damp and dense and warm, settling heavy as he trailed his fingers through the milky water. His neck hurt from staring down at goods all day and he could feel the beginning of a tension headache behind his eyeballs. It was a small blessing that he had the bathroom to himself—

The door creaked open.

Goddammit. Sanji sucked down a fortifying breath before he looked up— and relaxed, because thankfully, the one possible person he might be able to tolerate at the moment was sliding inside with one arm behind his back.

Zoro pushed the door shut with his heel, loose pants wrapped low around his hips and hair already darkening from the humidity. "Hi."

"Hello, marimo," Sanji sighed, tilting his head to the side. He watched as Zoro trudged over and stuck his free hand into the water before yanking it back with a muffled hiss.

"That's hot."

"Nearly enough to boil a lobster," the cook agreed mildly, eyebrows flashing up as he turned his head to track Zoro pulling up a stool, lazy and languid. "Now did you need anything, or are you just here to kill off more of my brain cells?"

Zoro gave him a dry look.

A heavy exhale slipped from Sanji's nose before he reached behind him, fingers brushing Zoro's elbow and sliding down to take his hand. He spread the swordsman's fingers out, tracing over hard-earned callouses with featherlight swirls. "I'm sorry, mon chou," he sighed, letting his temple fall against Zoro's knuckles. "Just... tired, is all."

"I know." Zoro flipped his palm, rubbing a thumb over Sanji's cheekbone before pulling away. "Brought you something."

Sanji heard the sound of glass being picked up and nearly turned before he was presented with a dark, stout bottle, the labelling font reminiscent of chalk on a blackboard. "Pirate Blend," he read, huffing a chuckle. Fitting. "No glass?"

"As if you won't finish the whole thing."

He let out a faux-indignant gasp, reaching out to whack the back of his hand against Zoro's bare chest. "Ass."

"That was my tit, cook. Think the steam's getting to your head."

The laugh that peeled its way out of Sanji's throat was sticky with exhaustion, steeped through with lavender suds and underpinned by the ache in his muscles as he popped the cork with his teeth and took a swig. "...Where did you get this?"

"There was a tasting booth in the market. Thought you'd like this one."

"You thought right," Sanji admitted, lifting the bottle to his mouth again and letting the wine coat his tongue; a red by the taste of it, with a nearly savoury spiced vanilla and dark, syrupy cacao, a rich core of sweet berry, an almost silky hint of dry tannin. He held out the bottle, but Zoro shook his head with a soft quirk of his mouth.

"Got it for you, swirly."

The cook smirked. "Suit yourself. So that's where you ran off to while poor little me was stuck doing all the heavy lifting," he lamented, sighing and emphasising it with an exaggerated sip.

"Not just that."

He heard twine sliding across waxed paper, packaging rustling as it was unfolded—

The water sloshed as Sanji set his bottle down and turned around, holding onto the edge of the tub as Zoro pulled the last bit of paper away to reveal the set of soaps in his lap.

The cook's breath caught. Each of the five bars clearly had a different scent, and a design to match; the one with green and cream swirls was matcha, surely, and the translucent one with rose petals was obviously rose. One more was oat and honey, and the one with a herb sprig on top was definitely rosemary mint— But the last one was plain brown, mild enough that his nose couldn't pick out what it was supposed to be. "Marimo."

"Hm?"

"How much did these cost?"

Zoro shot him a smug grin. "Just a couple of logs that needed chopping... And some charm."

"You." The cook blinked, stretching out like a cat to rest his chin on his hands, lips twitching as he tried to hide his awed smile. "Charm."

"Oi! I can be charming when I want to be!" The swordsman scowled at Sanji's fond, disbelieving scoff. "I charmed you, didn't I?"

"Yes, well—" Sanji felt a little breathless, buoyant, like if he let go of the tub he'd float with no effort at all. "Yes, I suppose you did." He held still, heart fluttering in the hollow of his throat as Zoro's face softened, leaning forward to poke at something in his hair.

"You've got gunpowder in your bangs."

"I— Ugh, I know!" he complained, rolling over with a dramatic sigh.

"Well, hurry up and pick one, then!"

"Pick one?" Sanji lurched up again, bubbles sloshing everywhere, eyes flicking between Zoro and the soaps. "I can't just pick one, they all smell so good and they're too pretty to—"

"Oh, for the love of— Curly, can you just pick one and let me wash your hair?" Zoro deadpanned, crossing his arms over his chest and completely oblivious to the way he'd just made Sanji's entire system freeze, the inconsiderate moss-headed bastard.

If a cannonball crashed into their ship again, Sanji wouldn't have noticed. If the Sunny was sinking, he wouldn't have cared. He was much too preoccupied with staring at the man sitting in front of him, skin flushed with the warmth, green hair mussed as it always was, soaps that he'd bought for Sanji on a whim in his lap. The cook's fingers dug into the edge of the tub and gripped until ceramic squeaked. Zoro wanted to wash his hair.

Zoro's throat bobbed as he swallowed, clearly fighting the urge to look away. "Look, if you don't want—"

"No!" Sanji yelped, startling himself enough that he nearly clapped his hands over his own mouth. "No, I— This one," he breathed, reaching for the plain brown bar and pressing it into Zoro's palm. "This one." He knew that he probably looked nearly shocked, eyes so wide it must have been unsettling, but his chest ached something fierce when he breathed in deep down all the way to his gut and he couldn't help it. His water must have been getting cold by now but he didn't feel it at all.

Zoro's lashes fluttered as he shifted in his seat, carefully wrapping the rest of the soaps up and placing them aside. "Okay, then. Turn around."

Sanji flipped, sitting still as Zoro gently pulled the tie from his hair and slipped it around his own wrist, holding back a shiver when calloused hands cupped his face to guide him nearer the running tap. The water seemed warm, but not warmer than Zoro himself; the swordsman always seemed to run ridiculously hot and Sanji—

"Relax," Zoro murmured, his hand broad and steady against the back of Sanji's head. "I've got you, cook. Lean back."

And Sanji was slowly coming to realise that he was loathe to deny Zoro anything, so he did. He let his weight sink back against Zoro's hand, trusting the swordsman to hold him up, letting his eyes close as Zoro carefully poured water over his scalp until his curls were soaked. He didn't open them even as he was pushed back up, settling comfortably in the tub as Zoro lathered the soap in his hands. What remaining suds left in the tub lapped at his collarbones; the water was a soothing pressure all around his torso, and he didn't bother hiding his soft sigh when Zoro's fingers slid into his hair.

"S'getting long." Firm fingertips started scrubbing at his scalp, kneading into spots of tension Sanji didn't even know he had. "You gonna cut it?"

"Mm? No," he sighed, shuddering when Zoro dragged his thumbs up from his nape. "Think I w'na grow it out."

Zoro hummed at that, tipping the cook's head to the side. "You'll look pretty."

"I know I will. And you'll tell me every day."

"Oh, will I, now?"

"Mhm."

The swordsman scoffed without any bite, doing something with his fingers that made Sanji melt. "You're so cocky."

"Mhm," Sanji mumbled again, not even bothering to find out what he was agreeing to. He had better things to focus on. "Just... keep doing that."

He heard Zoro chuckle and then pretty much zoned out completely, tension bleeding from his muscles, letting Zoro move his head this way and that. His bathwater was tepid at this point; he didn't care. Zoro's hands were big and warm and as the bubbles drifted down to his shoulders, he finally realised what this bar was scented with.

Sandalwood suffused his senses, a deep creamy sweetness with an undercurrent of leather and earth. With what little wherewithal he had left, Sanji decided that it suited Zoro more than it did him. Maybe he'd try to convince the mosshead to take it for himself. A few kisses should be bribery enough. Fingertips dug beneath the bones just behind his ears, working until the ache dissipated, and Sanji felt his shoulders slump because God, that felt good.

He didn't know how long he sat there, drifting blissfully between sleep and Zoro's fingers scrubbing at his crown, gingerly detangling his hair, but if you had to ask him his answer would be not long enough. His eyes fluttered open when Zoro tapped his cheek, and he squinted at the light. "Wh—"

"Wake up, baby. Gotta rinse."

The pet name made something tucked inside his ribcage pull tight like a gasp, but Sanji just closed his eyes again. "Just a while longer..."

Zoro chuckled as Sanji's head lolled in his palm. "We should get you to bed."

"Noooooo." Was he whining? This was ridiculous. He really didn't care.

"You're a spoiled prince," Zoro said matter-of-factly.

"Your fault." Sanji discreetly cracked one eye open to gauge the swordsman's reaction and immediately closed it when he saw Zoro's expression, sucking in a hitched breath.

That was enough devotion in a glance to kill a man, and it tore through Sanji like a fucking bullet. Right through the ribs, in and out faster than he could stop it, so quick that he didn't even realise until his love was bleeding out of him, all over his hands, filling his mouth, colouring his teeth, honeyed at the back of his throat and finally he'd be able to see how much of it his heart held. He didn't mind. He didn't think he ever would, actually; he'd fill this bathtub with red if it meant that Zoro would see. If it meant that he would understand how every time he looked at Sanji like that it felt like he had Sanji's heart in his fist, his lungs in a vice, his goddamn life under his thumb.

Sanji had come to terms with it long ago. He put his soul in these battle-scarred hands every day and he trusted them to be gentle because he knew that they could, they would be, for him. Even now, Zoro took his weight easily, one palm at his nape and the other stopping suds from getting into his eyes and it meant far too much for something so simple, but that was just how it worked, wasn't it?

The cook swallowed hard, allowing himself one more moment before pushing up so Zoro wouldn't accidentally waterboard him. It would possibly be hilarious but he might also very possibly just die, considering how low his guard was. The thought made him laugh a little, strained with how his head was tipped back; he saw Zoro give him a weird look upside-down and decided that he was either more tired than he'd thought or he'd had more of the wine than he'd realised.

Zoro rinsed his hair quickly, but he was no less meticulous than he had been at the beginning. It was something that Sanji had refused to admit he admired at first, that single-minded intensity regarding the things Zoro cared about, and oh, wasn't that a thought? That he belonged within that distinction now. Sanji pulled his knees to his chest when the swordsman leaned over to grab the towel he had set out, scrunching the cook's hair dry as best he could and then dropping the fluffy white cloth over his head just to make him laugh.

The bottle of wine was relatively full when Sanji picked it up, holding it up to the light as Zoro dried his hair. "Guess I didn't finish it after all."

"Yeah, well." Zoro shrugged as he took it from him to put aside and tugged gently on a stray curl. "Nobody's gonna want it now that it has your spit in it."

Sanji scoffed. "You'd still drink it. You'd drink any booze."

"...Yeah, I would."

Zoro's eyes were a soft grey as he stood up. Sanji had a feeling that he could have left out the second part of that statement and the answer would still be the same.

He let Zoro pull him up out of the tub, wrap him in the towel and hold open the pair of briefs he'd left for him to step into. He held his arms up as Zoro pulled his soft sleep shirt over his head, brazen as if he didn't know full well the shirt was Zoro's to begin with. If it were any other time he might have protested against being helped to dress like a child— but for now he'd just refuse to admit that he enjoyed it, enjoyed being cared for, even in minute ways like this. Plausible deniability and all that.

Sanji didn't resist as the swordsman took his hand, leading him back to the men's quarters and tugging the covers up for him, patting them into place around his shoulders as he settled. The bed dipped by his hip where Zoro sat, and Sanji sighed as his damp bangs were brushed away from his face. Zoro liked seeing both his eyes, he'd noticed. Maybe he'd start wearing his hair back more often.

"Goodnight, cook," Zoro whispered, leaning down to press a soft kiss to Sanji's temple.

Sanji's brain was full of cotton and sandalwood suds. He squeezed over underneath the blankets, cupping Zoro's face in his palms. "Stay."

The swordsman laughed under his breath. "Haven't showered."

Sanji considered letting him in anyway, but yep, nope, guess his brain wasn't that full of cotton. "Make it quick," he ordered, the effect broken by the massive yawn that interrupted his last word. Pulling Zoro down for a proper kiss was easier than breathing, the press of their lips just enough to wrap warmth over his skin like a blanket. "And use the soap from just now."

Zoro huffed at the words murmured against his mouth. "Spoiled."

"Your fault," Sanji yawned again, jabbing a finger into Zoro's chest before waving him away.

He heard his boyfriend's rumble of a laugh, smiled into his pillow as Zoro's acquiescence was brushed over his cheek, before the lamp was turned down and the door opened and shut. He'd been serious about Zoro being quick; they both slept better when they shared a bunk, and today had been more than enough of a shitshow for them to have earned a good night's rest.

Sanji snuggled down, fully intent on waiting.

He was asleep between one breath and the next.

(And if he woke briefly to curl closer when Zoro slid half-asleep into bed behind him, clean and warm and smelling of sandalwood, well. Neither of them would remember it in the morning.)

thank you for reading! part 2 where sanji takes care of zoro is already in the works, so keep your eyes peeled if you're interested :)