#i did have a haunting thought when i was half awake this morning of what if he makes a cameo

[vaperarmand]

What will we do if Eric joins tumblr? He's posted a forth screenshot from tik tok and I already saw several comments on his posts mention tumblr.

me personally i’m entering the witness protection program. y’all stay safe

[mphoenix-7]

Bitter Allies [Soap x Reader]

Chapter 11: The Cabin: Day 5 (pt. 2)

Summary: You hoped things would be better in the morning, but they aren’t. Your nightmares continue to haunt you, and Soap suggests a way for you to get over them.

Word Count: 5,258

Warnings: NSFW, 18+, swearing, strong language, PTSD like symptoms, kinda fluff?

A/N: Sorry again for the delay! Hopefully it’ll have been worth the wait! I’m hoping to get back to weekly updates, but I work 9 hour days and sometimes just don’t have time to write. Thanks for reading, reblogging, and all your comments!! 🫶🏻🫶🏻

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Bitter Allies • Part 11

You're horribly groggy as you begin to wake up. Getting short bursts of rest throughout the night, coupled with lots of stress, did not make for good sleep. Even now you can hardly stand to open your eyes, and your body feels so heavy.

The dream you'd just had still lingers in the back of your mind, but you're currently too tired to really think about it too much. You're more focused on trying to figure out your surroundings.

The harsh morning sunlight is pouring through the cabin windows, bathing the room in a soft orangish color. Your space against the wall on the opposite side of the room, where your cot normally sits, is empty. Though you do remember Soap having moved your cot over to sit next to his last night. What was odd though was that you were lying next to your cot. You can see that your pillow, the mattress, and borrowed liner all sit vacant in the space before you.

You blink a few times in confusion, your tired mind trying to piece together why you can see your bed and all of your bedding. Then it hits you. You feel a presence behind you, the soft rustling of someone shifting slightly in their sleep. There's only one person it could be.

A warm arm drapes heavily across your hip, holding you against him but not too tightly. His head is nestled directly behind yours, his lips close to your ear. Slow, steady breaths of warm air brush against your skin with each exhale. To top it all off, you're fairly certain you can feel the firm press of something right against your backside.

In a half-asleep, half-panicked state, you jolt to look behind you, needing to confirm that what you thought was happening actually was. Sure enough, there behind you is Soap. He's sleeping with one arm under his pillow, propping his head slightly higher than yours, and the other slung around you. He's fast asleep, his lips parted just slightly, but he doesn't stay asleep for long due to your movement.

As you jolt, Soap's arm, loosely draped over your hip, tightens instantly. The sudden movement startles him awake; you feel his entire body tense up behind you. There's a sharp inhale of breath, and his eyes snap open, wide and full of surprise. His sleepy gaze struggles to fully focus on yours.

You don't give him enough time to really process what's happening, though. When you shifted to look back at him, it pressed his erection into you more, confirming what you'd been feeling. You try to struggle out of his grip, pushing at his shoulder.

"The hell?! Get off!" You shout at him, unsuccessful with your escape attempt. He was still holding your hip tightly, making it almost impossible to get away. All it really did was making you wriggle right against his erection.

Soap, still groggy and trying to wrap his head around everything after being rudely awakened, feels you wiggling right against his crotch. The friction pulls a moan from him, his hips instinctively snapping up firmly against your ass to seek out that feeling. As soon as Soap recognizes what's happening, he releases your hip and tries to push you away. All your rapid and random movements make it hard for him to actually move you, and his pushing just makes it harder for you to move.

"Fucking hell! Stop wiggling!" he shouts, letting out another strangled moan as he tries to back away. His back is already pressed against the wall, leaving him with nowhere to go. The beds you have are small for one person, and having two on them makes for a very tight fit.

"Oh my God! Don't moan!" you shout back, turning over in an attempt to slap his hands away. That movement just drags your ass against him, pulling yet another groan from him.

"Stop rubbing against it!" he shouts. "You're just making it worse!"

He finally manages to shove you away, but you don't make it to your bed. The cots are close enough to almost form one bed, but there's still a crack between them. When he shoves you, you fall into that space, pushing your cot away and landing hard on the wooden floor.

On the way down, you let out a yelp before you thump onto the floor. Your legs are still up on his cot as you stare up at the ceiling. Soap scrambles to the edge, looking down at you.

"Ah, fuck. You alright?" He asks, gently pushing your legs to the side so they fall off.

You glare up at him as he continues to stare down at you. "No, I'm not fucking alright! I just woke up to you spooning me and your cock pressing against my ass!" You huff. "And then to top it all off, you pushed me onto the floor!"

"Glad to see you're feeling more like yourself this morning," Soap comments, making you pout at him. He continues, "I thought we were starting fresh. No more arguing. Throwing in the towel already on that?"

"No! But how would you feel waking up to someone's dick on your ass?" You push yourself to sit upright as Soap leans back more onto his bed.

"Hey, I didn't consent to you joining me on my bed either! And if it makes you feel any better, it's just morning wood."

"That does not make me feel better!"

"You've had the damn thing inside you! You're gonna get all huffy now when it presses against you?" Soap argues further.

You groan. Fighting with him again is not something you really want to do. Things were supposed to be different now. "Considering the fact you keep saying we can't be fucking around with each other? Yeah, I'm gonna be huffy if it's touching me."

You fold your arms over your chest, watching Soap try to come up with something smart to say back. You can practically see the wheels turning in his brain, his eyes narrowed just slightly as he thinks. His answer is one that completely surprises you.

"Eh, fair point." He shrugs, throwing back his covers and getting up.

Your jaw drops slightly. You're so taken aback by him just giving in, admitting you were right, that you don't even react to his movement for a long moment. That never, ever, happened. Soap was never one to deescalate an argument. He normally instigated it and did everything in his power to push your buttons. This was very uncharacteristic of him.

His leg brushes past your shoulder as you remain frozen on the ground. He goes about getting ready for the morning, heading to the suitcase he has yet to unpack to find some relatively clean clothes to wear for the day. You were both officially out of fresh ones now. Slowly, you turn to look at him as he sniffs one of his shirts, trying to find one that doesn't smell as bad as the others.

"Wait, what did you say?" you inquire, still not fully believing your ears. "Did you just say I made a fair point?"

Soap rolls his eyes, readjusting the shirt in his hands to find the head hole before slipping it on. "Don't let it go to your head. Only letting you off easy since you had a rough night last night."

"I made a fair point?" You say again, ignoring him as you start to grin. "Soap MacTavish just said I made a fair point."

"Haud yer wheesht..." He grumbles, shaking his head as he moves out into the kitchen. "I'm not gonna do that ever again if you're gonna make such a big deal out of it."

You follow him out, not quite ready to change out of your pajamas yet. You'd do that after breakfast. "Alright, alright. I just wish I had my phone. I could have recorded that or something. Ghost is never gonna believe me."

"Yeah, you're not telling Ghost." Soap comments as he begins to rummage around for something to eat for breakfast. You were limited to pretty much just bread at this point or your MREs. Lots of food had been either dropped, smashed, or burnt within the four previous days.

"Fuck, we have nothing." He grumbles, pulling out a few packets of MREs to shuffle through. "You want beef ravioli, jalapeño beef patty, hash browns with onions, or cheese tor- oh nope, I'm taking this one." He tucks what is arguably the best MRE under his armpit.

"Gee, thanks." You roll your eyes as he hands you the remaining three options, picking out the hash browns for yourself. At least your pick was closer to a breakfast option. Though if you'd been shuffling through them yourself, you probably would have grabbed the cheese tortellini too.

You sit down at the small table and open up your MRE. It contains hashbrowns with onions, pre-cooked bacon, some crackers with a cheese spread, an oatmeal cookie, a little bit of trail mix, and a drink mix for iced tea. It's a lot of food for breakfast and extremely high in calories, as MREs always are. You set aside a few of the items to eat later as a snack, then get to work on preparing what you plan to eat now.

First, you get the hashbrowns into the heating bag and add water, knowing it will take at least five minutes. As you do, Soap preps his cheese tortellini, though unlike you, he digs into some of the extra goodies his meal kit came with. You both prepare your breakfasts mostly in silence, the only sounds being heard are the crinkling of multiple wrappers being opened, and Soap eating his crackers and peanut spread.

"You have anymore nightmares last night?" Soap eventually asks. He'd run out of things to prep and open at that point and was now waiting for his food to heat up.

You pause at his question, your dream coming back to the forefront of your mind. You'd completely forgotten about it until now. Did you consider your steamy dream a nightmare? If not, then to answer Soap's question, technically no. Once your cot had been moved next to his, you didn't have anymore. Though that might have just been because your subconscious had been distracted.

"Yes and no." You answer slowly, poking at your still warming food. You didn't want to look at him, fearing that doing so would just make you remember the dream better. "Definitely not as bad as some of the others. But still... kinda there." You shrug. You're not totally lying. You still do remember the bear figure being present even during the steamy dream.

"I think I only heard you whimper a few times." Soap says. "Every time I nudged you, you just stopped. And obviously you didn't have any big episodes, otherwise I would have woken up."

You blush a little bit, chewing the inside of your cheek. You really hope that the whimpers hadn't been from the more erotic dream and were just from some nightmare you couldn't remember. "Hopefully that's the last of them..." You mutter, looking down at the table. This only seems to make Soap worry though.

"What was the last one about? You said it wasn't as bad as the others." He questions, and for a moment, you're worried that he already somehow knows. Maybe you had been moaning last night, and he heard you. Though Soap didn't look like he knew anything. His face was innocent. It didn't look like he was digging for information, just genuinely wanting to know what your "nightmare" had been about. But he was also a highly trained SAS soldier that could hide his emotions well if he really wants to.

"Uh you know..." you answer slowly. "Just like the others. The bear was there. I was back in the lake. It was stalking me..."

Then you were there and fucked me.

When you don't continue on further, Soap frowns at you. From his point of view, you looked like you were just retreating back into your own head. Reliving the experience over again. Your eyes were distant, unfocused, hazy.

"States? Hey, you ok?" He asks softly, making you look back at him. He looked worried.

"Yeah... yeah, I'm fine. I just don't really wanna talk about it." You mutter, and Soap gives you a slow nod, though his eyes stay focused on you for a long moment.

"Alright... uh hey, you wanna trade cookies? I have a chocolate chip one, but I really like oatmeal." He offers, holding up the package.

"Yeah, sure." You smile, sliding the oatmeal cookie across the table to him while he tosses you his. You really like chocolate chip cookies in general, and the MRE chocolate chip cookies weren't too bad.

The rest of your morning meal was eaten mostly in silence. Soap in his own thoughts, and you in yours. This was probably the most peaceful morning you'd had together, probably ever. You're mostly thinking about yesterday though. The bear, the nightmares, the dream you had of Soap. The only thing that interrupts that is the burn in your bladder. You'd sort of had to go before bed, but there was no way in hell you would have left the cabin last night. Now that it was daylight out though, you think you can manage.

Once you finish the last few bites of your MRE, you stand up. Your chair groans a bit as it slides across the floor. Gathering the wrappers, you head over to the trash bin and dispose of them. "I'm gonna go to the bathroom." You tell Soap.

"Alright. Don't fall in." He jokes, making you roll your eyes. He's used that same joke every time you've given him the heads up you're using the outhouse.

The outhouse itself was just a deep hole in the ground with three flimsy walls and a door to block it off. It's a fairly big hole though. You'd have to fall a certain way, but it's entirely possible for someone to fit down it.

"Ha. Ha. So funny." You deadpan, walking over and grabbing the doorknob to leave. You try to turn it, but you find that you can't. Suddenly you're just frozen. You're getting nervous again just looking down at it, your heart beating a little faster. Your grip tightens as you will yourself to just open the door, but you still don't budge.

Soap, still seated at the table, watches you the entire time. He can clearly see that you're hesitating to open the door up, and it makes him frown a little bit. "You good, States?" He asks softly.

"Yeah." You nod quickly. "Yeah, just... yep." You try a little harder, making yourself shake as your body just refuses to do what you want it to.

This was so stupid. You were a soldier in the military for fuck's sake. Did it really just take a wild animal to shake you this much? You didn't think something like that would scare you as much as it had.

"I promise you there's nothing out there." Soap tries to helpfully add, but it just adds more tension.

"I know! I just need a second." You snap, frustrated more with yourself than feeling mad at him. For once Soap was genuinely trying to be helpful, so you didn't want to snap at him, but it was hard not too. It makes you feel a little guilty when he's silent, giving you the space you asked for.

You take another deep breath and close your eyes, repeating over and over in your head that it's fine. This fear is irrational. The bear was gone, and you were a highly trained military operations expert that didn't get scared by stuff like this. Forcing your way past all the fear creeping up your spine, you turn the knob, throw the door open, push the screen door open, and rush outside.

You waste no time in quickly making your way down the steps and trying to rush to the outhouse. Shiver after shiver keeps going down your spine and fear prickles at the back of your neck. Your entire system is in high alert, eyes snapping from bush to bush along the tree line just in case there was some startling movement.

The short ten second walk to the toilet feels like it takes way more than that now. When you finally reach the door and step inside, you expected to feel safe. If anything at least safer. However, being in the small space just makes you feel cornered. There was only one exit, the main door. If there was something at the other side, you would be stuck. The only thing in the small shack to even remotely keep you safe would be if you shimmed your way down the hole. That wasn't really an option you were willing to do.

Trying to push all those thoughts aside, you try your best just to do what you came here to do. You're so tense it takes a moment to actually pee, but you manage to get it over with. Quickly freshening up best you can in the small space, you are now tasked with trying to leave. You thought this would be easy since you wanted to just be back in the cabin, but trying to make yourself open the door, go back outside into the open area, was proving to be hard to do too.

You wished so badly there was a window so you could peek outside and make sure everything was clear. All you can do is listen but that's causing more stress than it is easing it. You're overanalyzing every sound and probably making some up at this point too.

Groaning softly, you try to clear your head and just go for it. Right as you're about to just bite the bullet and go, you can hear the unmistakable sound of something walking outside. You hold your breath, listening as it gets closer and closer.

"States? You still in there?"

You breathe a sigh of relief. It was just Soap. Though of course it would be. You even knew in the back of your mind it was him. His footsteps sound way different than the soft steps a bear would take.

"Yeah, I am." You answer him.

"You alright? You've been in there for a little bit now. Didn't fall in did you?" He asks, his voice sounding like it was just on the other side of the door now.

You huff, rolling your eyes and pushing open the door now. It was easy to do now that you knew Soap was outside too. When you push the door open, Soap is right there, his arms crossed over his chest and a hint of worry in his eyes. It fades when he sees you though.

"Nope. Just finished actually." You tell him. "All yours."

"Yeah right," he chuckles. "I'm not going in there after you. That must have been some shit you just took. You were in there for a while. I'm gonna let that one clear up before I go in."

You scoff at him, but you can't help but wonder how long it'd been. It didn't feel like you were in there too long, but you know it had taken you a bit of time to work up the nerve to leave.

You open your mouth to reply to him, tell him off, but the reply dies on your tongue. A deer that had been hiding out in the bushes nearby decides to take off running. The sound of the deer's quick steps on the leafs and the frantic slapping of the branches makes you tense up. You whip around before your brain can even process what's happening, backing up to stand close to Soap.

Soap presses a hand into your lower back, preventing you from backing away any further or bolting. "Relax, States," he says gently, keeping his hand firmly against you. "It's just a deer."

You let out a shaky exhale, bringing your hand up to your chest and placing it over your heart. It's pounding harshly against your fingertips.

"Fuck..." you breath shakily, trying to force your tense shoulders to relax. "Yeah... yeah, just a deer." Despite your words, your eyes remain fixed on the spot where the deer had been. Your senses are on high alert, craving visual confirmation that it really was just a deer, though it's long gone by now.

"Hey..." Soap's voice softens, pulling your attention back to him. "States, look, I-I know you didn't sleep well last night, and I get that it was a scary experience and all that, but—"

"I'll be fine." You quickly cut him off. You know what he was going to say, but you don't want to hear him say it. That it's an irrational fear. That it would ruin you. That it makes you a liability. You didn't want to hear that right now. "Look, I just need to sleep. That's it. I'm just tired still. It was a long night, and I just need to process everything still." You add, hoping to convince him.

Soap doesn't look very convinced though. There is a heavy frown on his face, his brows pinched together in concern. He doesn't offer any further argument, but his eyes show you there is more he wants to say. Before he can think of something to say though, you make your exit.

"I'm.. I'm gonna head in." You tell him, turning quickly and retreating back to the cabin. You only manage to get a few paces away from him before Soap is turning and trying to catch up with you. He easily catches up to you in a few quick strides.

"States, wait up." He calls after you, grabbing your arm to make you turn back to look at him. "Look, I get it. I know this whole thing has really freaked you out, but you can't let that fear keep controlling you."

"Soap, please. I told you I'm fine, I'll-"

"No, lass, you're not fine. You had nightmare after nightmare last night. Now that's one thing, but the fact you're so jumpy this morning is not good. This isn't just nightmares, it's affecting you in the real world. How the fuck are you gonna handle any mission in the woods from now on if you're always gonna be panicking about if there's a bear, or God forbid, some other animal that makes noise?"

You feel yourself getting defensive. You know it's a problem, but it's hard for you to show weaknesses, especially ones affecting your performance. And showing any weakness to Soap is still not something you're used to either. Even though you've shown some vulnerability over the past few days, it was only when you were worn down. That wall has been up for a long time, and it wasn't going to come down easily.

"Give me a break! It happened yesterday. I can't just get over something like that in a few hours." You snap, your frustration boiling over.

Soap's face hardens the second your tone gets defensive. He was easily falling back into old habits. "I'm not saying you have to get over it right now, but you can't afford to be this jumpy. You have to start dealing with it."

"And I'm gonna deal with it by taking a nap."

"You're not gonna fix shite with a nap! All you're gonna do is have another nightmare and make it worse!"

You cross your arms and glare at him, feeling yourself getting more and more frustrated with him. Another fight just waiting to happen. You can just feel the tension bubbling under your skin, waiting for Soap to say something that was going to set you off.

"So what's your brilliant plan, then? Send me out into the wilderness, find a bear, and fight it?"

Soap scoffs at you and rolls his eyes, clearly just as frustrated and upset as you are. You can see the tension building in him too, both of you on the verge of an argument, ready to be set off like a chain reaction. He's about to snap when suddenly, he pauses, his expression shifting as an idea strikes him. "Actually, that's not a bad idea."

You're taken aback, blinking in surprise. "I am not fighting a fucking bear, you dumbass!" You shout at him, not fulling understanding what he was thinking.

"No not the fighting the bear part!" He huffs. "Just the going on a hike part. Go get changed and pack a bag, we're gonna go on a hike." He walks past you, making for the cabin.

You stare at his retreating form, utterly shocked. "What? You can't be serious."

Soap stops and turns back to look at you. "I am very serious. You aren't going to get over your fear by hiding out in the cabin all day and napping. A long walk outside might help you get it through your head that there aren't just bears waiting at every turn to attack you."

You stare at him in disbelief. "And what if we run into another bear or the fucking same one?"

Soap crosses his arms, his stance unwavering. "Well then even better. You can practice all those things I showed you last night." He gives you a look that says he's completely serious about this plan.

"I don't-" You being to protest, your mind scrambling for any excuse to avoid this hike, but Soap stops you before you can say anything else.

"Lass, I'm going to be there with you. It'll be fine. Nothing is going to happen to you." His voice softens slightly, trying to reassure you. When you don't say anything else, he continues, his eyes steady on yours. "Look, I get it. I know this scares you. But I also have watched you try to take on four men by yourself, so I know you can handle it."

You scoff at him, folding your arms defensively over your chest. "Yeah, and according to you, I fucked that up." You mutter bitterly.

"Well, yeah. You did. You missed a guy." He says, and you give him a harsh glare, opening your mouth to argue, but he quickly continues. "But you still took them on! The only other person I know who would do that is Ghost. You're brave enough to take on four men but not brave enough to take on a bear?"

"Taking on those guys and a bear aren't the same thing."

"Oh yeah? Tell me the difference? Those men had guns and the bear didn't? The men are probably a lot more intelligent than a bear? The men would shoot you immediately if you shout at them, but a bear will run away?"

You glare at him. "No, that's not it."

"Oh, well then is the difference that facing men who were trained, armed, and coordinated is somehow easier than facing a simple minded bear? That knowing these men had the intent and means to kill you was less terrifying than an animal acting on instinct? You ask me, it sounds like someone who can take on that can certainly take on a wild animal."

The more comparisons he makes, the more you can feel the anger in you bubbling. He just didn't get it. You didn't fight those guys because you were overconfident or brave. You went after them to prove something.

"I wasn't brave, Soap!" You finally snap, your voice trembling with frustration. "The only reason I went after those men is because you said I couldn't land those shots, and I wanted to prove that I could. I was just desperate to prove myself to you! Show you that you were wrong about me."

Your shoulders sage a bit as you realize what you've just said. You sigh and hug yourself a little, looking anywhere but at Soap. You're mad at yourself for saying those things now. Not because they weren't true, you just didn't want to share those things with him.

Soap is silent for a moment. You're not sure what he's doing since you can't bring yourself to look over at him. You can hear his feet scuff on the ground though as he takes a few steps towards you.

"You know, it takes guts to do something you're told you can't do. Desperation or not, it still takes courage to push yourself like that. That's bravery, whether you see it or not." He says softly, and you finally glance over at him.

"I still missed my last shot. Could have ended badly. Hurt us both."

"But it didn't, and we were fine. Cause I was there and got the one you missed. I had your back then, and I'll have it now. And besides, you wouldn't have missed if we just taken those shots together."

You're left speechless for a moment, staring at Soap. This isn't the Soap you're used to dealing with. His usual harsh tone and tensed body language he normally adopted when around you are gone. Most unsettling is that his gaze has softened significantly. Instead of the deadly glare you'd become accustomed to, his eyes are soft, concerned, and caring. The way he looks at you is both comforting and disconcerting. This is a completely new side of him that you're not entirely sure how to handle.

You thought for sure a few minutes ago you were about to start up with your usual arguing, but somehow you'd gotten here. It didn't make sense and trying to make sense of it was giving you a headache.

Shaking your head to clear your thoughts, you try to focus the conversation back to the whole reason you'd were even talking about all of that. 

"Why are... why do you want to help me with this?" You ask slowly, watching his face closely. He is giving nothing away. He does sigh though, clearly having to think about what he wants to say.

"Well, if I don't do anything, I'm not gonna be able to sleep for the next three days, and I really don't want to have to babysit you because you're too scared to step outside." You huff, rolling your eyes at his answer, and he continues before you can reply. "That and... I'm not completely heartless, States. I don't enjoy seeing you like this. I'd much rather you be bitching at me than being scared of something like a bear."

You stare at him, your gaze softening now. He looks so genuine, his own eyes honest. It doesn't help that you know he's right. Both that this fear was a problem and that facing it was most likely the best way to get rid of it. Letting out a sigh, you give in. Mostly because you know he isn't going to drop it either way.

"Alright. I'll... I'll go pack a bag. Give me like ten minutes."

Soap gives you a little smile and nods. "Sure, go ahead. Just let me know when you're ready. I can pack food and water in the meantime."

You nod, walking alongside him to the cabin. Despite the fear gnawing at the pit of your stomach, you push it down. Things are going to be fine, and maybe, just maybe, this truly will help to ease some of your anxieties.

[nackrosor]

~Warm, Soft and Alive~

Captain John Price x sergeant fem!reader

8,5 k. - Your captain comes knocking at your door in the middle of the night after the umpteenth nightmare of you dying in his arms jolts him awake.

warnings: porn with plot & feelings, light angst, emotional hurt/comfort, soft dom, light power dynamics, praise kink, sleepy sex, multiple orgasms, mildly dubcon (just because you're very eepy), dry humping (except it's very wet), first time together, underlying romantic fluff, I'm not sure if this can be counted as somno but just in case I'm mentioning it.

John has seen many people die. He has witnessed a great deal of bloodshed, both among enemy's and friendly' line. He had his own soldiers fall on missions, fine men and women giving their own lives in order to save others. Some even took their last breaths in his arms. He remembers each one of them.

Everything was heightened during the early years. Every death devastated him, causing him nightmares and awful flashbacks... But as the years went by, his skin thickened and his mind grew used to the atrocities. Nothing could get through to him anymore.

Or so he thought.

He can't seem to shake off the image of you bloody and unconscious, laying in his arms as he puts pressure on the gnashing wound on your side, trying to reduce the blood loss. He can't forget the anguish he felt while looking at you in such a miserable state. How on edge he was on the frantic ride back to camp, with you falling in and back from consciousness the whole time. Those weak groans and cries of pain that left your lips still echo in his ears. He can't forget how lost he felt as the medics took your limp body from his arms and rushed to the operating room to get you under the knife. To save your life. You had lost so much blood on the way... There was a high possibility that you wouldn't... That you... He wouldn't have been able to forgive himself if you did. Thankfully, you’ve always been so strong. One of his best soldiers. You perdured. You lived. You healed. Still, he can't forget a second of it all. The sight of your limp battered body sagged against him haunts his dreams to this day. Months after the event. No matter how many times he sees you strolling about the HQ, chatting with your mates, smiling and nodding at him as you pass by. Every night he has the same nightmare of you dying in his arms, and his mind is pestered by fear and doubts. What if he truly lost you? What if you didn’t make it?

Another nightmare has woken him tonight, robbing him of sleep. And at this point, he knows there will be no peace for him until he sees you breathing and standing on your feet with his own two eyes. He can't wait for the morning, for you to wake up. He needs to see you right now, lest he loses his mind entirely. 

That's why he's marching to your quarters through the dark hallways of the HQ. Pace hurried, heart aching in his chest, head still whirling from the dreadful images of your life slipping away from those pretty eyes of yours. He can't take it one second longer. His fist hits the metal surface of your door a bit harder than he intended to, but he needs you to hear him and come open the door as quickly as possible. 

You jolt awake at the sudden knock on your door. Your heavy eyes flicker to the alarm clock on the nightstand, a groan leaving your lips upon noticing the green light signaling 2:40 am.

With much effort, you turn on the lamp then drag your feet off the bed and towards the entrance, groggily swaying the door open.

"Who the fuck-" You're ready to protest and tell off whoever dares to interrupt your sleep, but the words die on your tongue when your half-closed eyes land on your captain.

One glance at your half-asleep, messy look and all the tension washes off of his body like soothing water. 

“Can I come in?” John’s voice sounds shaky, the relief of seeing you battling with the effects of the nightmare still lingering in his mind.

"Uhhh-" you look up at him, momentarily taken aback by his request, your mind still clouded by sleep. Why is your captain at your door, at such a late hour, asking to come inside your room? Perhaps you're still lost in your dreamworld. 

With a sluggish shrug, you eventually move aside and let him step inside. 

John shuts the door behind him, quietly. It is darker inside your room than out, but he can make you out in the darkness thanks to the faint yellow light coming from the abajour on your nightstand. 

His eyes trail down your body, checking you over as discreetly as possible for any signs of injury; a habit he’s taken on since that day. There’s an urge to grab your arms and hold you still so he can run his hands over you, check that you’re real and solid in front of him.

You don't notice his scrutinizing gaze as you rub your hands over your face, trying to wipe the sleepiness out of your features.

"Hm, cap?" you call out for him, your voice raspy and drowsy. One of your hands lazily tug at your thin top, adjusting the straps on your shoulders. "What happened?"

The way you pull at your clothes has John quickly sweep his gaze over the exposed skin. He’s seen you in a similar attire countless times before, but for some reason tonight this sight of you has his stomach flipping.

“Nothin’ happened. I just-“ he breaks off. John can’t admit that he’s here because he woke up from yet another nightmare of you bloody and broken, dying in his arms.

“I needed to see you.”

The words take a moment to register in your hazy mind, and when they do, you blink at him in confusion.

"Hm. Me... ? Why?" you ask him hesitantly, a slight frown taking form on your face. You shift awkwardly on your feet, your head tilting to the side as you look up at him with your doe eyes. Your fingers scratch mindlessly at an old scar on your bicep.

His eyes flicker to your arm. The sigh has his heart twisting in his chest. He knows all of your scars, old and new. And he remembers that one clearly, even more than the others. Perhaps because he wasn’t the one to patch you up that time.

John takes a step forward, closing the space between you two. It’s suddenly stifling in your room, and he’s hyper aware of how thin your top is and how much he wants to touch you. 

Your head cranes upward as he steps closer, your eyes unwavering from his face.

"...Cap?" you whisper softly, your frown deepening at his silence. You hold onto your arm with undisguised unease, warming up your bare skin with your palm.

John reaches to brush some of your messy hair away from your face. Your skin is warm beneath his palm, soothing the coldness in his chest. All those moments of seeing your lifeless body flicker in and out of his mind, and here you are. Warm and soft and very much alive.

He can’t stop himself. John brings his other hand up to lightly touch your shoulder, his fingers tracing the slope of your bare collarbone.

Your flinch of surprise to his touch is delayed, your tired eyes widening imperceptibly as they dart to his hand on your collarbone before moving back to his face.

You're not sure what's happening. Sleep still lingers in your mind, muffling your thoughts, slowing your instincts.

"John...?"

The way you say his name, all soft and quiet and surprised, has his heart giving a thump against his chest. John is aware he’s being too forward. He’s your Captain, he shouldn’t be here, this close to you. Touching your bare skin, in your room. It’s not right, it’s not proper. But after waking from those nightmares for the umpteenth time, all he wants to do is touch you. Reassure himself that you’re safe, that you’re real and here standing in front of him.

John can’t look away. In the low light of your room, your eyes still manage to stand out, full of life even when clouded by fatigue. His fingers trail from your collarbone to your jaw, the rough pad of his thumb brushing along the underside of your chin. The contact has you shivering and your eyelids fluttering. You lean into his touch on instinct, heart stuttering in your chest.

He’s suddenly reminded of many a night spent together on a cold ground, of times when you’d curl up beside him and he wrapped his arm around you and kept you warm and safe and alive. He doesn't know if you remember, if you've ever noticed, but he does remember. He craves that feeling again. 

John lets his touch wander down the side of your neck, feeling the quick beat of your pulse. Alive. Alive. Alive.

"What's the matter…?" you whisper drowsily, heavy eyes locking onto his again, your hand reaching up to wrap around his wrist.

He can see the tiredness in your eyes, hear it in the groggy whisper of your words. You don’t seem to register what’s going on, not like he does. The way your hand gently wraps around his wrist causes his heart to miss a beat, a pang of possessive need filling his chest.

“Just-“ he swallows roughly, trying to control the sudden urge to push you down on the bed and cover your body with his own. “Need to make sure you’re okay.”

Your brows furrow at his words, head tilting again in confusion, your doe eyes staring deeply into his.

"Why wouldn't I be?" 

That pout you make when you're confused? He finds it adorable. And you’re pouting now, staring up at him through heavy eyes, not a clue in the world about the memories or the nightmares that have been tormenting him.

John’s fingers grip your chin, holding your face steady so he can look at you. To really look at you. Your soft face, your slightly chapped lips, the dopey eyes that don’t seem to understand.

“I need to make sure,” he repeats. His voice gravelly and deep, rough in a way that even surprises himself.

You blink slowly, sluggishly, keeping your eyes on him despite the urge to close them.

"Cap, I'm all in one piece." you say softly, a hint of protest in your voice. Lazily raising your arms as if to point out that you are in fact all intact, you add, "see?"

The innocent gesture has his stomach twisting. Your top rides up, baring more skin, a slice of your stomach exposed in the dark. When you drop your arms again, the movement causes the fabric to ride up even more, the top shifting along your shoulder and causing the strap to dip down, just enough to show the upper edge of your breast.

John’s eyes fix on the sight, on that sliver of smooth, naked skin. The need to run his hands all over you, feel everything and confirm you’re here, is so strong that he releases your chin and grabs at your forearms instead, fingers curling around your soft flesh.

He pulls you a little closer, until he can look down at you easier. A rough sigh leaves his lips as he gives you a slow glance over. One hand pulls your top back into place. His fingers linger on your bare skin, brushing along the strap.

"I can see that.” 

Your stomach flips at the way he grabs onto your forearms, at the way he stares down at you with such intensity. You still can't wrap your head around what's happening; it all feels like a dream, both so vivid and dazed.

With your arms restrained by his grasp, you bend your head to one side and rub the corner of your eye with your shoulder, causing the strap to drop again. This time, he does not slide it back on. 

"Then... Can I go back to sleep?" you ask him softly, quietly, a hint of plea in your voice. A yawn escapes you right after.

John’s grip on your flesh tightens at the sight of your yawn, but it’s the sound of your slight plea in your quiet voice that makes his stomach do a flip.

“Not yet,” he mutters, not sure if he’s doing it to make himself feel better or because he’s enjoying the rush of power it gives him, holding you. “Gotta ask you somethin’ first.”

A breathy groan leaves your lips at his words. Your eyes, heavy and droopy, blink lazily at him.

"What... is... it?"

John’s fingers wander down, tracing along your collarbone again and lingering at your pulse point. You’re so tired and half out of it, that you don’t even seem to realize what he’s doing. He’s having a hard time controlling the urge to pull you against him, wrap himself around you and let the feeling of you pressed against him ease the flashbacks in his mind. You’re so soft and warm beneath his hand. The fact that he’s touching you like this, that he’s touching your bare skin and you’re letting him, is making him feel drunk on power.

“Do somethin’ f’me?”

You simply nod, slowly and mindlessly, bleary eyes drooping and resting for just a moment before you return your gaze to him.

"Whatever you need, sir..." you murmur under your breath, your words garbled from weariness.

Sir.

He nearly winces at the sound of his title coming out of your sleepy mouth. It does something to him, hearing you call him that when you’re like this. Soft and malleable and so compliant in your groggy state.

John is a strong man, but that? That makes him weak. So weak that he almost pulls you flush against him right there and then, to just hold you and feel you, really feel you. His mind immediately conjures up the many things he needs from you, some of which have nothing to do with his nightmares. You’re barely even fully aware of what you’re agreeing to, how vulnerable you are right now... But he takes a deep breath in, keeping his thoughts under control, focusing on the matter at hand.

“Need you to not be so reckless in the future.”

The words are gruff, but there’s an underlying hint of worry in them. He hates how much the sight of you lying limp and wounded in his arms messed with him, screwed with his mind. So much so that he hasn't been able to get some shuteye in months. 

"Reckless?" you parrot, looking lost. Your face lazily scrunches up in a puzzled frown, your eyes dropping to slits. Your mind is too muddled to connect the dots, to realize what he's referring to. The incident that almost took your life is so far off in your thoughts, so far off in time too, that you barely remember it happening at all. The only poignant memory you're left of the event is the large but healed scar on your side.

"Reckless." John repeats, his fingers leaving your collarbone to trace along that one little faint scar on your bicep, his mind instantly reeling with images of that nasty gash on your side he tried so desperately to clog with his hands. “You could have died.”

The rough tone of his voice seems to lift some of the fog from your mind, the words 'you could have died' resonating within you. Your hand twitches, yearning to move to your face and rub your eyes again, but his hold keeps your arms still.

"But I didn't." you whisper, your voice raspy. "And it's been months since."

John's fingers tighten almost imperceptibly around your arms. It's been months since it happened, and he still gets nightmares about cradling your bleeding body in his arms. Even months later, the sight of you being so close to death causes him to jolt awake with his heart hammering in his ribcage. Yes, it has been months, but for him, it happens again and again every fucking night. That moment is ever present in his mind.

“And I don’t want a repeat of it.” He says darkly. John glances down at you again, trying not to get caught up in the sight of you. “I don’t want that to ever happen again.”

You blink at him, his voice making your stomach churn. When he adopts that imposing tone of his, all you can do is nod and whisper, "Yes, sir."

John lets out a low huff out of his nose at the immediate obedience. That sense of power he’d felt earlier spikes, burning hot in his chest. 

He should back away. Let you go back to bed and get some sleep. You’re tired, you’re vulnerable and sleepy… and wearing that goddamn skimpy excuse for a top.

But instead, he hears himself saying: "Lie down... and let me see the wound." 

His order has your fuzzy mind spin. Your tired eyes widen in disbelief and confusion, seemingly regaining some focus.

"T-The scar's perfectly healed, cap. Why would you need to-"

The words stumble from your lips, groggy and tired, as you try to make sense of his demand. He can see the surprise flash in your weary eyes at his request, can feel the way you go to protest against his order. John’s grip on your upper arms tightens, his fingers pressing down into your soft flesh, shutting you up before you can finish your sentence.

“I'm not asking.” he says gruffly, his voice that low, authoritative tone that you’d usually instantly comply with. He moves even closer, making you have to crane your neck to keep looking at him.

“Lie down and show it to me.”

Your breath hitches at the way his grip tightens on your arms, at the way his voice drops gravely as he reaffirms his command.

You only stall for a moment, gulping, doe eyes boring into his, before you gently pull back from his hold and pad to the bed, tiredly easing yourself down onto the mattress. Your fingers roll up the hem of your top to the underside of your breasts, exposing your left side to him.

You’re disoriented and confused, mind fuzzy from sleep, but you still listen to him. You listen to his order. John’s mind is reeling as he takes in the sight of you lying on the bed. You’re obeying him so easily. So readily. And goddamnit, it’s making him feel insane. You’re following his every word like a good little soldier…

John lets his eyes rake down your form on the bed. You look so vulnerable, so soft and tired. It sparks a possessive urge in his chest. His eyes track the way your messy hair splays out on the pillow and the way your top slides up as you bare your skin to him. He follows you to the edge of the bed. His eyes keep flickering down to your stomach, to the bare skin that looks so very soft and warm and inviting.

The mattress dips beneath his weight as he sits down beside you with one knee settled on the bed and the other leg hanging from the edge.

He knows he’s being pushy, taking advantage of you like this, he knows it. You’re half out of it and clearly confused and he’s using it to his advantage. But the nightmares are too fresh on his mind, still replaying in flashes, and you looking so damn vulnerable and soft beneath him right now has all his instincts on edge.

John's eyes hungrily devour the sight of your exposed side, his eyes falling on the soft curves and the pale, fading scar; the wound reduced to a light puckered line, but nonetheless a stark reminder of how close you came to dying. How close he came to losing you.

You lie there, silently, heavy-lidded eyes gazing up at him. Your breathing is slightly altered just like the pace of your heart. Even through the drowsiness, you seem to realize how odd the situation is... The effects John's presence in your room, on your bed, so close to you, have on your tired body are evident. What you can't seem to pick up on is that strange flicker passing across his gaze as he examines your scar.

You keep silent though, simply staring up at him and keeping the fabric of your top rolled up, slightly pulling up your braless breasts with your hand as well, to push them out of the way.

John's eyes follow the way your chest slightly rises and falls with your breath. He notices the way it seems to stutter as his eyes drift over you. He doesn't know what to focus on. Your messy hair sprawled over the pillow, the soft curve of your breasts just barely exposed as you lift up the fabric of your top, your bare stomach and the faded scar. His eyes keep flickering from one part of you to the other, his mind going haywire at the sight of you, vulnerable and lying in front of him like this.

His mind begins to fill up with all kinds of thoughts. Thoughts of taking your top off entirely. Seeing all of you bared to him. Feeling your soft skin against his and running his hands all over you. Feeling your warm body under his own.

No matter how much he tries to resist, he can't refrain from reaching out with his hand and let his calloused fingers graze the bare skin of your scar.

The jolt of your body and the sound of you drawing in a sharp breath has his instincts flare in warning. But you don't recoil, you just look at him with wide, hazy eyes. Your body so close and warm and tense beneath his hand. So responsive to the touch, reacting without you even meaning to.

John's hand continues to graze over the skin of your scar, his thumb rubbing over the skin slowly, gently, feeling the way your stomach flexes beneath his touch. His eyes flicker up from the pale scar to look at your face.

"Does it still hurt?”

"It-" you try to answer, but your voice comes out raspy. That forces you to take a moment to clear your throat and wet your dry lips before trying again. "It itches or tingles from time to time... but it's nothing, really." you admit in a whisper, voice still raw as if reluctant to come out. Your fingers tighten a little on the fabric of the top, keeping it still on your chest.

"I see."

John's fingers keep moving over the scar tissue. Feeling the bumps and ridges of the skin, his eyes fixated on your stomach, on how you respond to his touch. Every breath and twitch and soft gasp makes his entire body flare up. It's a struggle to keep his mind somewhat coherent.

His eyes slowly move to your hands balled into the fabric of the top, the way you're holding on just a little bit tighter. He can tell that you're conscious of the fact that you're not fully clothed and that you're feeling vulnerable. Yet, he can't keep his hand away.

"Does it hurt now?" He reiterates. His hands continue to glide across the scar, fingers slowly tracing along the soft curve of your stomach.

You meekly shake your head in response. Your neck cocked slightly to the side, allowing your gaze to drift to his hand and watch as his fingers travel over your skin, so carefully, tenderly, yet... possessive.

"It... tingles a little." you whisper, muscles flexing again under his touch.

He's intoxicated by the sight of you underneath him, and you're responding so sweetly to his touch. Vulnerable, exhausted, but oh, so soft, warm, and sensitive. It's making him lose his mind, seeing you like this. Feeling your heat against his fingers. Seeing you in that damn top barely cresting just under your breasts.

Without thinking, he shifts on the mattress, leaning down to press his lips on your scar.

You gasp sharply, body arching at the sudden contact. Your tired eyes widen and the fabric of your top falls from your hold as you plant your palms on either side of you on the mattress, slightly lifting your torso from the bed.

John is getting addicted to your noises. To the way you gasp and arch beneath his touch. It's like a sick taste of what it would be like to really have you like this. To have you writhing beneath him, moaning and gasping because of him.

His hand tightens on your stomach. He can feel the muscles flex beneath his touch, the way your body reacts on instinct to his lips on the scar. He doesn't think. He just acts. He kisses the scar again, feeling a sense of possession wash over him at the feeling of your soft skin against his lips.

You flinch again at each kiss, soft gasps falling from your lips as you stare down at him, confused, dazed...

"C-Cap...?" you hesitantly call for him, your voice barely audible, breathless. "W-what are you-"

"Shh."

His free hand comes up to rest on your side, fingers splaying across the skin and holding you in place. Holding you down. He doesn't know what the hell he's doing. He's losing control, feeling drunk just from having you below him, reacting to his touch. Letting him do all these things... letting him take all these liberties without even fighting back.

He shouldn't be doing this. Taking advantage of you like this. But your skin is just so soft, and you're so responsive to him, and he can't stop himself. This is his medicine. His medicine against the nightmares, against the horrible memories plaguing his mind. 

Soft gasp after gasp is falling from your lips, sweet in John's ears. The sound and the sight of your body arching below him, writhing at his every touch, is driving him insane. Your fingers digging into the sheets, your body trembling and shaking in his hold, the way your chest rises and falls with your labored breaths. It's all just so damn good. A stark contrast to the sight that wakes him up every damn night. He needs to see you like this. To have you arching and writhing and gasping under him. To see you alive.

He sucks a hot, slow kiss into the sensitive skin of your abdomen, tasting the salty sweat on your skin. His fingers dig into the flesh at your side, holding you down against the bed and keeping you completely in place. His other hand drifts up slowly, tracing over the soft curve of your ribs, his fingers brushing against the bottom curve of your breast, slipping under the top.

"Oh~!"

The unexpected sensation of his rough fingers touching the delicate flesh of your breast sends your fuzzy thoughts spinning. Is this really happening? You can't think straight. And you're convinced that even without the lethargy of weariness inhibiting your judgment, you wouldn't be able to think clearly. Not with your captain kissing your tummy, cradling your breasts, and keeping you pinned to the bed. Your handsome captain… whom you secretly adore...

Your mewling gasp makes a bolt of heat shoot up his spine and all the blood in his body head straight south. The noise that escapes from your lips has his hand reflexively closing over your breast, his fingers squeezing on the warm, supple flesh. A dark, possessive part of his mind revels in the noises you're making, in the way your body shivers at his touch. In having you pinned down with his hand and mouth on your skin. No fight back, no pushing him away, no words of complaint fall from your lips as he kisses and touches and holds you down with little effort. He would pull away from you if you asked him to, he believes that strongly. He would never hurt you, even with the promise of making you feel better. But you aren't pushing him away. You are not protesting. You're not showing him any signs of objections. And it isn't only because you are worn out. He can see it in your eyes and hear it in the way you respond to his touch. You like it, you enjoy his attention. And that's enough to spur him further.

His fingers delicately caress the smooth curve of your breast, feeling the pillowy and tender flesh just beneath his fingertips. He has lost all sense of control at this point. All sense of reason. All he can think about is how soft you are, how warm and malleable beneath him, how deeply he craves to touch more of you…

He lifts his hands, tugging at the fabric of your top, revealing your chest to his gaze. He can't resist a second longer, and he pounces on your breast, attaching his lips on your hard nipple. His eyes flicker up to your face, taking in your expression, your glazed eyes, the way your back arches up, and your lips part to let those delicious moans escape.

A shiver of pleasure strikes your tired form. One of your hands moves spontaneously to his head, fingers threading in his hair, not to push him away, but to hold him there, against your chest. That provokes a pleased hum to rumble in his throat. It only serves as confirmation that you’re not trying to stop him but rather holding him against you. Encouraging him, even. And he's more than inclined to indulge you.

He's lost every ounce of his restraint at this point. He can't recall why he came to your room in the first place. What was he seeking for? Just to look at you. Or perhaps he subconsciously hoped for more. Now... There is no going back from this. And all he knows is that he's going to make you feel good, make you feel alive and to engrave the sight of you, high on pleasure, into his tortured mind so that it may take the place of any other horrible memories he has of you.

"John..." you whine softly, breathlessly, your half-closed eyes peering down at him, watching as he cradles your breasts and sucks on your nipple, scratching and tickling your sensitive skin with his beard. Your entire body is ablaze, tightening from both fatigue and yearning.

Hearing the sweet quivering sound of your voice uttering his name in the quiet night has his heart thunder in his chest. He keeps his focus on your face, watching how the mist in your eyes seems to intensify. 

He pulls away from your tits with a wet sound just long enough to speak, his voice deep and rough. "Say my name again."

John's mind is slowly slipping into a haze of lust and possessiveness. He's never heard his name sound like that ever before. It's like a drug, something that hooks over his core and keeps him there, wanting to make you utter his name again and again in that pleading tone as if you were begging for more.

He can't take it any longer. Without any warning, he's pulling back from your chest and peeling his shirt off, discarding it as if it was scorching his skin. He doesn’t give you time to register one action, before he rushes onto another. Rough hands grabbing onto the waistband of your shorts and tugging them down in one firm and swift motion.

Your muffled mind struggles to keep up. Droopy, glazed eyes try to follow his movements, your hands idly resting on the mattress, your bare chest raising and falling heavily, mouth open and drawing each breath in quick, quivering gasps. Your newly exposed thighs press together out of instinct, attempting to give you relief from the ache in your core. You can feel the dampness of your panties as they brush against the inner flesh of your thighs. You can feel how aroused you are for him.

John's eyes immediately catch the subtle movement of your legs bending at the knee and rubbing together. And his hands don't take long to follow. He's now hunched over you, his large build dwarfing your smaller, supple body. His hand travels along the inner surface of your trembling thigh, gliding over the smooth skin till his fingers reach the edge of your underwear, then slide across the thin fabric. He can feel the heat and the wetness through the material and that’s enough to trigger a deep groan from the back of his throat, a sound that's somewhere between an exhale and a growl.

This night has gone so far off course he doubts either of you will be able to look at each other the same way after this. But he doesn't care. All he cares about is being with you, and making you feel good. He's not thinking anymore. Thinking has fled his mind. 

He pushes your legs apart, letting his hands run up your thighs towards your center, feeling your muscles tense at his touch.

“Oh, my sweet girl…” he coos, gliding his palm over the expanse of your panties, making you whimper in response, trembling in delight at the contact and his words.

His voice is low, deep, and full of praise as he looks down at you, watching intently the way your body reacts to his touch.

“My pretty girl…”

He repeats the motion, this time with a little more pressure, rubbing the flat of his palm against your clothed heat, watching with a deep, possessive pride the way your thighs shiver and twitch at his touch. He can feel the dampness leaking through the fabric, the heat and the moisture soaking into his skin.

"My reckless, pretty, pretty girl…." he says, his tone firm and territorial, with a tinge of frustration edging it.

He sweeps his hand over the small patch of fabric that covers you, pressing the heel of his palm to your swelling bundle of nerves, drawing a tight circular pattern over it while relishing the way your thighs spasm and your eyelids flutter.

"Giving me such a fright…"

The firm, unyielding pressure of the palm against you sends waves and waves of ecstasy shooting straight to your core. You attempt to speak, to ask him what he means, but only whimpers leave your lips.

He drinks in the sight of you, flushed and breathless, thighs twitching and clenching, chest rising and falling with you heavy breaths, trying to speak but unable to form coherent words. You're so desperate for him, so responsive to his touch, it's making his head spin. He wants to see more of you, he needs it to forget the nightmares. He needs you. 

He moves closer, his hand still firmly rubbing against your heat, fingers curling on the drenched fabric, as he nuzzles your neck and presses scorching, wet kisses all over your skin. His mustaches and beard tease your skin, amplifying the tingling feeling that spreads throughout your body. 

His gaze burns into yours, holding you captive as he moves his palm over your heat in slow, languid circles, watching every expression and twitch of your face from up close, taking every noise that escapes your lips as a hint, making him adjust his touches until he gets the prettiest, loudest moan from you.

"Getting yourself hurt…"

He rubs his hand even more firmly, his palm moving faster and faster, applying more and more pressure on your sensitive nub, as if to emphasize every word he is saying, but it only causes you to lose more focus on his voice.

“Do you have any idea what it does to me… to see you in danger?” he whispers, his voice deep and rough. His free hand slides under your head, to hold onto the nape of your neck. “To see you in pain?”

If you were out of your mind before, you're being totally pushed out of your body now as he takes you closer and closer to the edge. You hear him, you understand what he is saying, but you are unable to form a single thought; you lack the energy to answer or apologize.

Your whole body is buzzing like a live wire, every nerve on fire, your mind blank with primal urges. 

He's watching your face, watching your eyelids flutter with each stroke of his hand, watching your lips part and your tongue slip to moisten them, watching you shiver and writhe under him, whimpering and desperate for release.

"You give me too many damn heart attacks, you know that? Keepin’ me up every night…"

“M’sorry-” you manage to cry out, gazing up at him but battling to keep your eyes open. Your hands find his tensed arm, and cling onto it for support as you feel the knot in your belly tightening, your body arching in anticipation.

Your apology is hardly coherent. He can hear the slur in your jumbled words, feel the tremors in your frame, see your eyes struggling to stay focused, your body arching and bucking and quivering under his touch, your fingers digging into his arm as if you're trying to hold on for dear life.

“I know, doll…” he croons, lips grazing the side of your jaw, close to your ear. You can feel his warm breath fanning your skin, rising goosebumps all over it.

“You’ll be the death of me… but you’re so damn beautiful-”

You look so helpless, so lovely like this. He just wants to give you what you want. His hand grinds against you, harder but steadier, increasing the pressure in a demanding and relentless motion. His eyes keen on watching the way you wriggle and arch, the way your eyes squeeze shut and your jaw falls slack as he ultimately pushes you over the edge.

"That's it, doll... that's it... come for me... my sweet girl…”

Your release is a sight to behold. Your body tenses like a bowstring before you climax, your moans and gasps turning into mewls of his name with the last shred of breath in your lungs, your eyes flying wide open and rolling back in your head, your nails sinking into his arm… then your entire body goes limp. Your legs tremble and spasm beneath him as he guides you through the aftershocks. John doesn't let up, doesn't stop moving his palm, prolonging your peak until you're left spent and boneless, breathing heavily. Only then does his hand slowly come to a halt, brushing one final time over your soaked panties as he lowers his forehead on yours. His breath comes out in ragged gasps, his gaze glued to your pretty face, his fingers leisurely rubbing the back of your head. When he moves slightly to pull back and take you in, he becomes acutely aware of the strain in his bulge, struggling against the confinement of his jeans. He quickly unzips them and lets his stiff length breathe, with him drawing in a shuddering breath as well.

He chances a look at your panties, the possessive pride in him flares up at the sight; the fabric is so drenched it’s become see-through. His fingers gently move over it, his eyes instantly flashing to your face as you protest weakly at the contact. You're still lost in the high, eyes closed, lips parted, and chest heaving heavily. He’s never seen anything more beautiful; the image is going to be forever burnt to the inside of his eyelids. Well, he hopes so. He’d gladly wake up every fucking night at the memory of this, instead.

John watches you for a moment, letting you regain your bearings. If he could, he would keep you in this state, breathless and blissed-out… but he needs more. He’s only had a taste and he’s already addicted.

“You with me, doll…?”

He murmurs the words against your lips, a small, amused smile tugging at his mouth at the way you don’t even pretend to be coherent. You were barely conscious before, he doubts you’ll be able to keep your eyes open for the rest of the night… but he needs you to be present for what comes next.

He dips in and draws your nipple into his mouth, sucking on it before gently nipping it between his teeth, like he’s coaxing you back to consciousness.

You whine softly, eyes fluttering and slowly managing to open up. Your hand instinctively reaches out for his hair. 

Your fingers pull on his short strands just the way he likes it, making his eyes grow dark. And he can’t help but chuckle as he notices your half-lidded attempt at a smile, watching your tired self struggle to lift the corner of your mouth as if it took all your strength to do so.

He reaches down, fingers curling around your jaw and gently shaking it to make sure you focus on him. “There you are…” He coos, his voice deep and gravelly. “Did I wear you out already, sweetdoll?”

You groan, eyes dropping closed again and slowly opening up a few seconds later.

“Hmm… ‘was already worn out-” you slur, voice hoarse and quiet, almost as if it's coming from someplace distant. 

You’re barely lucid, half-conscious, and yet you’re still trying to sass him. That’s his girl.

He chuckles again, shaking his head as he leans in to nuzzle his face into the crook of your neck. He’s smiling widely as he presses open-mouthed kisses to your skin, traveling up your jaw, the corner of your mouth, your cheek.

"I know, sweetheart. I know..." He murmurs the words against your temple, his fingers gently stroking the side of your face, caressing over your cheekbones, your eyelashes, your mouth.

"But you're about to sleep on me. Can't have that…"

He wraps his fingers around your jaw and gives it another gentle squeeze. “You’ll have to stay awake a little longer, sweetheart. Can you do that for me?”

He keeps his firm grip on your jaw, waiting patiently for your hazy eyes to focus back on him. The expression you wear, dazed and exhausted, is like something out of his most depraved, shameful dreams.

“I don’t know if I can, John…” 

His expression softens at the sound of your weak voice. He can’t deny that you look downright adorable right now, your eyes droopy and half closed, your jaw slack in his hand, every inch of you vulnerable and malleable in his grasp. 

He lets go of your jaw and gently runs a hand through your hair, smoothing the loose strands away from your face. “Try for me, doll. Can you at least try?”

Your head lolls tiredly against the pillow, following the movement of his hand, a quiet hum leaving your lips. "M'so tired..." Your slurred whisper is barely audible, your voice growing ever distant. Your eyes cross as your eyelids droop again. 

John sighs. He can see the exhaustion in your face, the way your eyes keep wanting to slip close against your will, how much you desperately want to give into the fatigue. You look like you’re about to pass out at any moment now.

His hand keeps on caressing your hair as he weighs his options in his mind, trying to figure out what he should do. He can’t deny that he wants to do so many things to you… One above all, peeling those ruined panties off your legs and burying his face in your wetness, devouring your cunt and every drop of your juices like a man starved and feeling your soft thighs twitch and tremble and clamp against his head. Then he would sink his cock inside your still fluttering walls and watch your spent body come alive again an again and again as he fucks you all night long.

His eyes drop to your thighs, his jaw clenching tight. He can feel his stomach twisting and his erection throb painfully in longing even only at the thought of doing all of that to you. But you’re too exhausted. Too out of it. He wants you to enjoy every second of what he plans to do to you, but in your state you wouldn’t be able to.

His eyes flicker to your face again and he leans in to gently kiss your lips. He feels you respond, even if meekly. He pulls back to look down at you again, your eyes reduced to slits but fixed on him. Your hand lazily reaches up to cradle his cheek. He smiles at the gesture, his heart fluttering in his chest.

Maybe he can do one last thing before you doze off to sleep. 

Carefully, he eases himself down next to you, lying on the mattress on his side and gently moving your body so he’s spooning you.

“Stay awake for me just a couple more moments, hm? Just a couple more, doll.” he croons in your ear as he wraps one strong arm around your middle and moves his other hand to his pants to hurriedly tug them further down, together with his boxers. 

You mumble sluggishly in response, but relax into his warmth, head lolling back, forehead brushing the rough skin of his cheek. He places a firm kiss on your temple while digging his fingers into the soft flesh of your belly and pulling your panties to the side with his other hand. He shifts, bringing his hips closer to yours and letting his hard length rub along the crevice of your ass.

“Mmh… John-?”

He squeezes you harder as he presses his cock against you, moving it up and down a few times before guiding it between your thighs and through your soaked folds. A low groan rumbles through his throat, blending with your weak whimper. His breath fans the side of your face as he gently pushes his groin into your ass, coating his length in your juices, his tip hitting the moist fabric of your panties, eliciting one more exhale from him. He pulls you flush against him until your body is molded into his. Only then does he begin to buck his hips back and forth, letting your drenched folds stroke his cock and your panties tease its head. He won't fuck you, not properly, not while you're not fully present, but he is going to steal one more orgasm from your exhausted body - and pleasure himself in the process - before allowing you to drift off completely.

“It’s alright, sweet girl… It's alright…”

He buries his face in the crook of your neck, nuzzling your skin and planting lazy kisses all over it. John keeps his arm wrapped around your middle and his hand splayed over your soft stomach, holding you in place against his body as he moves leisurely against you. His pace is so slow and steady that it feels like it's lulling you to sleep. That's what he wishes to do; he wants to ease you back to sleep by numbing your nerves with pure bliss. He wants you to collapse with his cock grinding against your cunt, stimulating your swollen nub with each slow, deliberate push.

You’re boneless against him. Moaning ever softly, body too tired to wriggle but tensing up in ecstasy all over again. He can feel the flutter of your stomach under his palm, the quick steady puffs of air leaving your nostrils. John moves his free hand to your hip, letting it glide over your smooth skin until it closes around the underside of your thigh and gently lifts it and places it over his leg. Both of you moan at the new position which lets you both feel more of each other. 

He feels your hips shake and hears your shallow breaths getting louder. He knows you’re already close. That’s good. You’re still awake for it. That's all he wanted. The hand resting on your belly glides down your mound, slipping under the fabric of your panties and touching your heat. He groans at the contact. You’re so fucking wet and hot… The pads of his fingers find your clitoris and start to rub tight circles over it. His lips press into the side of your neck, feeling your pulse, while you squirm faintly at the added stimuli. You make such pretty sounds for him. Soft mewls and moans, whimpers and gasps. Even weak and tired as you are, your body’s still so reactive to him. 

“That’s it, doll… you’re such a good girl…” he praises in a breathless whisper upon your flushed skin. “Stay with me… just a bit longer…”

When his hot breath brushes against your neck, he can feel a shudder go down your spine. He can hear your breathing getting heavier, your body twitching and trembling against him, and the whole feel of you is driving him insane.

It just takes a few more thrusts of his hips and flicks of his fingers for you to come undone again, spasming weakly in his arms - arms that hold you snugly to soothe your tremors. You cum all over his length, letting out a feeble cry so deliciously filthy that it makes his hips stutter. He halts altogether before he can over stimulate you.

“There you go, my sweet girl… There you go…” he coos in your ear, lips brushing against your cheek, before he buries his nose in your hair and drinks in your scent. 

John squeezes you tightly in his embrace until your shakes and ragged breaths subside. He watches your eyelids flutter one more time before they drop and remain closed.

He feels your body sag against his, your muscles going entirely limp in his arms. He keeps you nestled into him, his hand resting on your stomach and softly kneading soothing circles over your scar, while your other leg lies boneless over his. He can hear your breathing even out, slowly falling deep and regular, the warm puffs of air hitting his arm with each exhale. For a few moments, he remains still, listening to the sound of your breathing, feeling the rise and fall of your chest… trying to figure out if you’re still conscious, but your soft even breaths confirm to him you’ve finally fallen asleep.

He glances down at your serene expression, eyes closed and lips parted. Even in the shadows, he can see the light drool trickling from the corner of your lips. You’re completely knocked out.

John takes a few deep shaky breaths, his fingers digging into your hip. He allows himself a few more thrusts, taking care not to disturb your sleep. It’s not long before he falls apart, dumping his load inside your undies and muffling his moan with your hair.

He takes a few moments to regain his bearings, breathing deeply, getting drunk on the scent of you and him mixing together. Then, with great care, he fixes your clothes on your unconscious body, as well as his own pants, and wraps your form in his muscular arms, pressing every inch of you against him, until you're completely enveloped in his embrace.

He can’t help but notice how right it feels to hold you like this, to have you nestled against his chest, protected and secure in his arms.

A content sigh escapes his lips.

Closing his eyes, he knows this time no nightmare will jolt him awake. Not with you, warm, soft, and alive, sleeping soundly in his arms. Not with the steady drumming beat of your heart drowning out the demons in his mind.

With one more kiss brushed upon your bare shoulder, he whispers, "Sleep tight, sweetheart." before succumbing to his own exhaustion.

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[hedoublehell]

BITE

Damien Haas x f!reader

You wake up from a dream about Damien, only to find out reality may be better than anything your imagination could come up with.

SMUT -- 18+ ONLY!!!

Warnings: p in v, oral (both male + female receiving), degradation kink (slut + whore is used a lot), praise kink, spanking, dom/sub, dom!Damien, sir/master kink

Note: this is my first fic in about 5 years, so it may be a little rusty. but i hope you all enjoy!!

Tags: @agnewbones, @pedropascallme

“You’re this wet for me already?” 

Cold sweat dripped down the middle of your back outlining the edges of your spine. Reality came back as the pitch black darkness engulfed your vision, replacing the blurs of skin, purple hair, and that one smile that seemingly haunts your every moment whether you’re asleep or awake.

Fuck. Another dream about Damien.

You shifted from underneath your duvet, cold air freezing the damp spot between your legs that was not there when you originally settled in for the night. While you loved living with Damien, your body could not handle the consistent proximity of your bodies. Whenever you wanted food, he was already in the kitchen preparing something that he was going to surprise you and your fellow roommates with. If you needed to shower first thing in the morning, you would come out of your room only to hear Damien’s singing over the monotonous rain of the water pressure. Even at work, you could not shake him, often going out for coffee runs together in between shoots. The only aspect of your life that he was void from was the one that your subconscious craved him in the most. 

A sigh escaped your lips as you slid up your silk sheets into a sitting position. A subtle blink of baby blue light emitted from the digital clock that rested just off to the right of your bed. 3:47 am. 

The ache of need still pulsed in your core, even as real-life came creeping back in. It pounded against the inside of your thighs as the slickness of your excitement dribbled down your panties. Whatever Dream Damien did,  your body wanted more, and knowing that Real Damien was only two doors away made it even worse. Thankfully the room just before his was the bathroom. A cold shower was desperately needed, no matter the time.

You stumbled out of bed, your ragged graphic tee hitting just above your waist leaving your baby pink boy shorts exposed. Considering it was 4 am, you didn’t see a reason to bring a change of clothes, or even a pair of pants, to the bathroom. It was literally the next door down the hall, and no one else should be up.

The house was eerily still, something that you weren’t used to while living with half of the Smosh cast. That, along with the fact that you were always the first one asleep, quiet was never something that you were able to fully experience. The only thing that interrupted it was the soft padding of your bare feet against the wooden floor, the coldness of it sent shivers up your shins. This silence continued until you got closer to Damien’s room.

A faint mumble of voices emitted from the other side of the door. You tiptoed closer, trying to decipher which anime he had decided to throw on as background noise. However, as quickly as you heard it, it stopped. The stillness returned.

Damien’s door swung open. His purple hair was illuminated by the fluorescents behind him, which created a lavender halo around his head. All he had on was a ratty grey undershirt and a pair of thin black and white plaid pyjama bottoms. Your eyes immediately darted to his biceps, admiring the way they flexed as he held the frame. The muscle rippled against the taut skin that encased it. Hair trailed down to his armpit, leaving speckles of black on the underside. A moan threatened to spill out of your lips at the sight, but you held it in. 

“What are you doing up?” His 4 am voice was rasper than you anticipated. Genuine concern spread across his face, knotting his eyebrows. 

“I- I couldn’t sleep, so I thought I might have a shower to try to relax.” Which wasn’t a lie, but it sure as hell wasn’t the full truth. Dream Damien’s doing ghosted your memory, the stickiness of your desire still glued between the crook of your thighs.

His eyes wandered down your frame, stopping a second longer at the heam of your shirt before continuing onto your naked thighs. Shit. Heat spread across your bare skin as his eyes fluttered across the nudeness that defined your lower half. A similar warming sensation welcomed itself across your cheeks as he returned to your face. 

“I didn’t think anyone else would be up…” You trail off.

“I’m surprised you’re up,” he whispered, not daring to look away from you. “I was just watching Demon Slayer, I only got up ‘cause I had to pee. Do you want to join me before you go back to bed? Totally cool if not. I get how hard insomnia can be, though.” 

Before you could stop yourself you were nodding. You knew it was a terrible idea, going into his room right after waking up gasping for him, but you didn’t care. Damien slid out from the doorway, allowing you to tiptoe into his space. Behind you he shut the door, followed by the patter of his feet descending down the hall.

Alone in Damien’s room, you were able to notice more than you ever had. The muted light of his lamp in the far corner illuminated the grey walls which were littered with posters from various projects he had worked on over the years. A television was mounted directly across from you; it was still on Netflix, but it had resorted to playing a slideshow of upcoming titles while it waited for the show to be resumed. His sheets were softer than you remember, the fabric of his duvet caressed the back of your legs as you pushed yourself up against his headboard. His Snorlax plush leaned against your torso as it reacted to the new weight on the mattress. Everything smelt like him. Everything was him. 

Moments later a creak echoed throughout the space as Damien returned. Silently, he walked to his bed and let himself flop beside you. As soon as he hit the mattress, a visceral craving for skin contact twisted your gut. Whether it was from lingering lust or exhaustion, you didn’t know. However, you remained composed, your fingers interlacing with themselves in an attempt to prevent yourself from reaching out and running the tips of them along his exposed skin. As if he could hear your inner dilemma, he cleared his throat.

“Are you okay? Did you have a bad day, or a rough dream?”

Dream? Your cheeks flushed with warmth as the word came out of his mouth just above a whisper. Did he know? Your heart pounded at the thought of him hearing you moan his name in your sleep moments earlier. Flashes of Dream Damien created a mosaic of colour inside your mind as your pulse began to creep its way down to your core. Your eyes remain glued to the ceiling, afraid that if you looked at Damien it would undo you right then and there. He couldn’t know. 

“Yeah, you could say that.” You manage to choke out. 

Weight shifted on the mattress, Damien’s dip coming closer to yours. His hand ghosted the inside of your arm, goosebumps erecting in its wake. His fingertips stilled in the crook of your elbow, lingering for a second before Damien retracted them back and shoved them underneath his head, interlocking them with the other set. As the coldness returned to the skin, a subconscious exhale escaped your lips. 

You glanced over at the purple-haired man beside you. The dull light softened his features, blurring them with the wall behind him. A 5 o’clock shadow speckled across his jawline and his chin, which emphasized the natural pout in his lips. Both the top and the bottom were baby pink and seemed extra kissable with the rest of the world asleep. A piece of dead skin hung from the top, slightly sticking beyond the rest of the pink surface. Your hands found their way to your knees and gripped them tightly, knuckles turning white. No one would have to know, right? 

“Hey Damien?” You whispered.

“Yeah?” 

“Why are you awake?”

Silence spread across the room once again. You could hear his breathing- somehow deep, yet ragged. Hesitation lingered in the air as Damien shifted in his spot, readjusting the position of his arms behind his head.

“It’s stupid, but I can’t stop thinking about how many takes it took me to do the intro to the new video properly. I tried so hard to be funny, but it felt like it kept on falling flat. I don’t know, maybe I had an off-day.” Damien sighs, keeping his eyes on the roof. You could feel his body tense up in fear of what your next words might be. 

“If it’s any consolation, I think you’re the funniest person on Smosh. In fact, you’re probably the funniest person I know. It’s so fucking hard to not ruin takes when you’re around, but I wouldn’t want it any other way. I promise you your humour lands. It at least does with me.” You shift down his headboard to lie down, turning onto your right to fully face Damien. A wave of his cologne hits your nose while you do so, leaving traces of pine, cherry blossom, and something spicy that you can’t quite place. The whiff of the scent subconsciously causes you to lean closer into him, in search of more. Notes of aftershave joined the mix while wetness began to dampen your panties once again, but you fought to ignore it.

His face brightened at the creation of eye contact. A smile erupted on his lips as he let himself take you in for a second. You could feel the movement of his eyes across your bare face while he attempted to memorize every detail of you, from the way sleepiness smoothed your features to the pimple patch that covered an outbreak on your cheek. Very rarely did he get to see you like this, in your most authentic form, and the sparkle that flickered in his eye let you know that he wanted to absorb every moment.

“Thank you, it means a lot to hear you say that.” He chuckled, a blush settling onto his cheeks. You reached out your hand subconsciously, letting it rest on his bare forearm. The heat of his skin seeped into yours.

“Sounds like we’re just two overthinkers tonight. I was so worried that you would’ve somehow known that I woke up because I had a dream about you.” 

Panic sets in as soon as it slipped out of your lips, the hand that was resting on Damien’s arm immediately flying to cover your mouth. Fuck. Damien automatically pulled himself closer to you, his eyes darkening with an unfamiliar cloud. Fuck fuck fuck fuck fuck. 

“What kind of dream?” He growled into your ear. 

Need shot to your cunt as Damien moved himself on top of you, one arm on each side of your frame. His knee inched between your legs, the fabric of his pyjama pants rubbing against the thin layer of cotton that covered your core. A groan fell out of your mouth. 

“I think you already know the answer to that, Damien.” You purred needily. Your pulse erupted at the thought of what was about to happen— whatever it was. 

“Are you okay with this?” He murmured. 

For the second time within 20 minutes, you were nodding before you could give it a second thought. Desire dizzied around your thoughts and coated the space between your thighs. All you knew was that Real Damien was here and that he wanted you. That’s all you could ever need.

However, he didn’t move. You were pinned between his two arms, his biceps brushing against yours, sending electricity down your spine. His eyes seemed to consume you as he took you in, letting himself fully linger on the tightness of the grey shirt around your breasts before lowering his gaze to your baby pink boy shorts. 

“Tell me about your dream. Please.” He whined, want dripping in each syllable of his ask. 

“Y-you and I were fucking, Damien,” you groaned, “you had me on a table, legs open and I was dripping. So wet. So wet for you. I needed- no- need, you. Please.”

Your legs wrapped around the knee that rested between them, attempting to gain any form of friction, any form of relief. Damien sat up, shooting his hands around your thighs to prevent you from getting any satisfaction. He shook his head, eyes darkening even further. 

“Not yet, needy girl. I need to know more. I want to know exactly how you imagined it. Don’t you want your dreams to come true?” He cooed, his mouth curled into a smirk. Your eyes widened as you became delirious with excitement at the fact that Damien was in front of you- that he wanted you just as bad as you’ve been craving him.

”I don’t remember a lot, but- but you were fingering me. God, they were so filling. I was naked, marks everywhere on my chest from your lips. I woke up needing you more than I have ever needed anything, please. Please, Damien.” You whined, jutting your lower lip out. Damien’s eyes remained locked with yours as he leaned in closer, his hands dragging up your thighs.

“Don’t you want to see a man up close?” He whispered, his breath dancing along the nape of your neck. 

All you managed to get out was a “please ki-,” before Damien’s lips were against yours, devouring every inch of your mouth. Hints of toothpaste and mouthwash lingered on your tastebuds with every swipe of his tongue. His hands moved from your thighs to your shoulders, gently pushing you to lay down while he remained on top of you. He shifted around, moving his knees on either side of your legs. The hardness of his growing cock grazed against your inner thigh, causing wetness to begin to re-dampen the spot that Dream Damien left. 

The new position allowed him to let his lips explore, a trail of kisses left along your neck in his wake. Once he hit your collarbone, he began to suck ever so slightly. His teeth nipped at your skin, leaving a light purple mark in the middle of the skin stretched around the bone. A breathy moan escaped your lips as he sucked a new spot at the crook of your neck. Your fingers laced into his purple locks, gently tugging at them. In response, he looked up, concern painted across his face.

“Are you okay, am I being too rough?” He said, frozen in place. You shook your head.

“I promise I’m fine,” you breathed, “I just- please. Please use me, Damien. I need you to fuck me, use me like a toy. Let me make you feel good.” 

Darkness returned to his eyes immediately at the sound of your begging. His hands shot to the hem of your shirt while you arched your back, helping him take it off of you. 

“Oh my poor little thing,” he cooed while bending down to lick a stripe between your tits. “You need my cock more than you want to admit, don’t you?” 

Want surged through your core at the sound of his raspy voice mentioning the thing you’ve been wanting. You nodded, shivering at the thought. Gently he raised your ass, letting you shimmy out of your underwear. Wetness coated the inside of your thighs, droplets hitting the mattress underneath you as the cold air hit your cunt. Damien’s fingers tiptoed down your stomach, landing right above the dip towards your pussy. His other hand grabbed hold of your chin, jerking it toward him. 

“Say please,” Damien barked. 

“Please. Pl—”

His middle and ring finger plunged into your cunt. You let out a yelp at the sudden fullness. Slowly, he rocked them back and forth, letting the tips of his fingers brush against the spongy spot at your core. Moans spilled out of you as your fingers dug into his shoulders. As fast as it had started, he pulled his digits out of you, leaving you stretched and wanting more. A frown knotted your eyebrows in frustration while Damien was on the other side of the emotional spectrum, excitement lighting his features as he inspected his two fingers. 

“You’re this wet for me already?” He groaned, bringing his ring finger into his mouth and twirling his tongue around it, attempting to get every speck of your sweetness onto his taste buds. 

You squirmed in response, your eyes stuck to his digits in his mouth. Hearing Real Damien say the only words you remember from your dream overwhelmed your senses– this was a dream coming true.

He hollowed his cheeks against them, moaning as the tanginess of your desire flooded his tongue. After thoroughly sucking on them, he slipped them out of his mouth, creating a V shape with them. Bringing them back to his lips, his tongue darted out, tasting the last bits of you between his fingers. A hum of satisfaction escaped his lips as he looked up mid-swipe, catching you stare, mouth agape. 

“You like what you see, baby? You like watching me suck your juices off of my fingers?” He smiled, a mischievous glint sparkling in his eyes. 

“Yes sir,” you whispered, unable to look away from the man in front of you. 

Nothing else seemed to matter but the way his every motion affected your heart rate. All you wanted was him, any and all of him that he gave to you. Damien leaned down again, pressing kisses to your mound. 

“You’re not the only one who dreamed of this,” he muttered between nibbles, “I’ve been dreaming about having you since you moved in. Finding you not only outside of my room at 4am, but half-naked outside of my room at 4am almost made me to cum on the spot, baby.” He pushed your thighs apart before he dropped to kiss the inside of each, gently sucking up the stickiness that lined them. “I’ll worship this pussy as long as you let me. God knows how badly I’ve been needing it.”

His words shot straight to your cunt right as he dove in, parting your lips to connect his tongue with your clit. He slowly began swirling it around the spot, sending shockwaves down your spine. Curses spilled from your lips as he picked up the pace, your hands resuming their grip on his purple hair. Two fingers nudged at your entrance, still damp from the combination of your want and Damien’s saliva. He easily slid them in before starting to pump them in and out, matching the pace of his mouth. His digits hit the spot that you desperately craved, destroying the last bit of self-preservation that you had within you. Your walls tightened around them, desperately trying to get every inch of satisfaction possible from his mouth and hands. Nonsensical strings of words tumbled out of the slight part of your lips as the familiar swirl of pleasure circled around your core. Tiny sparks began to electrocute your clit with each flick of Damien’s tongue, pushing you closer and closer to the edge. However, as soon as your orgasm was about to spill, his fingers and lips were gone.

“You don’t think I’m really going to let you cum this fast, do you baby?” He smirked. “I’m not even undressed yet, and here you are, whimpering for my touch like the whore you are.” 

Your hands moved from his hair, letting him stretch straight up from between your legs. Your fingers reached for the hem of his tanktop at once, trying to get the fabric off of his torso. Damien took the hint and tugged each strap of the shirt before yanking it over his head and throwing it behind him onto the wooden floor. Without thinking, a gasp exited you. You’d seen Damien shirtless many times, whether in the dressing room or while grabbing your morning coffee from the kitchen, but this was different. Specks of black hair sprinkled his chest, concentrating in the middle of his two pecs. Lust surged through your veins as you devoured the sight in front of you, taking in every inch of Damien. Never had you seen a man be so easily beautiful, and it nauseated you how badly your body ached for him. 

Without breaking eye contact, Damien shuffled to the end of the bed. His thumbs dipped underneath the waistband of his pyjama pants and pushed them down to the floor, taking his boxers with them. 

“Holy shit.” You mumbled, your eyes surging down to the new part of him exposed.

His cock stuck out from between his legs, the tip of it glistening with excitement. All you could think about was how to get it between your legs as fast as possible, and how its girth would fill you so perfectly. 

“Damien, I need it. Pl-please sir.” You whined, glancing back up at his face. 

He stumbled back onto the bed, reclaiming his spot between your thighs. However, this time he remained sitting. His shaft rested on your lower stomach, causing your mind to short circuit with how close it was to where you had dreamed of it being for months. Heart pounding, you reached out, letting the tip of your index finger brush against the head. He visibly shivered in response, goosebumps spreading down his arms as a tinge of pleasure shot down his shaft. 

“I know you can touch my cock better than that, baby girl. Don’t be afraid.” Damien grunted, his eyes slightly closed in anticipation. Without a second thought, you sat up and spit in your hands. Greedily you grabbed his cock, fisting it. Your hands glided over the smooth, taut skin in a steady motion, occasionally flicking the tip with your thumb. A melody of grunts dripped from Damien’s lips as his hips matched your rhythm. 

Slowly you leaned forward, lining up your mouth with his shaft. You darted your tongue out between your lips, gingerly flattening it against the tip. 

“Is this okay?” You whispered, pulling back.

“God, yes.” Damien interlaced his fingers in your hair, encouraging you to continue what you had started.

Eagerly you wrapped your mouth around his shaft, hollowing your cheeks around it after it hit the back of your throat. You pushed it back out with a pop, a strand of drool attaching his head to your bottom lip. A smile crept onto your lips momentarily. This was not a dream, this was real. Damien’s cock was twitching with desire for you, nobody else. He was muttering your name under his breath as you licked a line from the base of his shaft to the very tip. Paying extra attention to the sensitive strip of skin at the connection point between the base and the head, you traced every inch of his cock with your tongue before returning it to the inside of your mouth. 

“You’re doing so good, baby. What a good little whore you are.” He sighed, grinding his hips into your face. 

Lightheaded with happiness, you gulped up the salty pre-cum that was dripping out of Damien’s cock. Momentarily forgetting about your own pleasure, all you could fathom was the feeling of his erection in your mouth and how pornographic the slurps were as you took as much of him as you could with each of his thrusts. Your cunt leaked with heat while you glanced up at Damien to see him slack-jawed, his eyes stuck on how your tits bounced in sync with his pushes. If you could frame moments, this would be your first choice.

Damien pulled his cock out of your reach, rotating his hips away from your mouth. 

“I think your pussy deserves to be used properly now, do you?” He asked, putting his hands under your armpits and shoving you back onto the bed behind you. 

“Yes, sir! I promise I-I’ve been so good,” You begged, subconsciously spreading your legs as you settled into the far side of the bed. 

Damien reached out with his right hand, letting it caress your cheek. Tears welled up in your eyes while excitement, desire, and anticipation danced through your mind. Damien leaned over to your left, fidgeting through his nightstand to find a tinfoil packet. He held the corner with his teeth and used his index and thumb to rip it open. Returning to the bed, Damien kneeled directly in front of you, lining up the condom with his cock. Slowly, he began to roll it on, letting the latex surround his stiffened shaft.

“L-lemme help, sir. I can help.” Your hand reached out, brushing his knuckles with the tip of your middle finger. With his free hand, he swatted your attempt at help away. 

“I don’t think so, baby. Master can handle it himself,” he chuckled, finishing the job. 

Leisurely, he thrust the tip of his cock into your cunt. With every centimetre of him, your brain flooded with fog, nothing else seemed to matter but the way his cock fit so perfectly inside, as if you were made to please him. Each muscle in your abdomen adjusted to the welcomed fullness that came with Damien, the pressure of satisfaction immediately building as he situated himself in you. 

A deep groan erupted from Damien as he flicked his hips back, fully taking his shaft out. As soon as the tip exited, he slammed his cock back in, letting himself bottom out in your pussy. 

“Fuck- Damien!” You cried. A pleasurable pain rippled through your cervix, sending shockwaves to your clit. Damien’s right-hand shot to your mouth, cupping it over your lips.

“You have to be quiet, whore. We can’t wake up the whole house with the noises you make while I fuck you.” 

His words shot right to your core, your whimpers muffled by the palm of his hand. Saltiness flowed down your cheeks as Damien continued to push and pull himself fully in and out of your heat. His presence was simply overstimulating, and all you wanted was more. The way his chest heaved as he plowed you was memorizing, its rhythm matched his thrusts inside you. Your fingers found their way to his ass, squeezing it tightly as he plummeted into your pussy. His shaft pushed deeper in response to your movements, causing both of you to hiss in satisfaction. 

“Oh fuck, you feel so good, baby. Fit me so perfectly.” Damien growled, throwing his head back, eyes glazing over. 

The vibrations of his voice darted to your clit, increasing the speed of your demise. The stubble of his pubes rubbed against your sweet spot, hitting it at a perfect angle. Damien’s hands wandered to your tits, giving your nipples gentle squeezes with his middle and thumb before rolling them. Mumbles of his title repeatedly spilled from your lips as you arched your back, letting his cock reach the soft spot inside. Sparks flashed in your vision while you came crashing down. Your cunt pulsed around Damien’s cock, extracting every ounce of pleasure from his force. Simultaneously, nothingness spread throughout your mind as you rode out your orgasm– the only thing that grounded you were the whines of pleasure escaping the man fucking you into oblivion. 

As you came back to reality, the only thing that you managed to get out was “more.” 

Without letting his cock leave your dripping pussy Damien immediately grabbed your waist, flipping you onto your stomach. With one hand he shoved your face into his mattress, the other looping around your hips to arch your back. 

“Good girl, knowing we’ve only just started.” His breath tickled your cheek, causing you to tremble. “I’m just getting warmed up.”

Without warning, his cock nestled deeper into your aching heat before fucking you with fervour. The mattress underneath squeaked with each rapid thrust, harmonizing with the slapping of skin against skin. Loudness no longer seemed to be an issue as Damien slapped your ass, the noise echoing throughout his bedroom. He continued to rub the reddened spot, circling the rough skin with the pad of his thumb. Your brain shortcircuited with each jolt of his cock, the way it was still managing to stretch you was all you could focus on. 

“S-so good, sir. Know how to fuck me so good. Love your cock.” 

With another smack on your behind he bowed down, his head now behind yours. 

“I know, ” he kissed your hair before tangling his fingers in it, pulling your head to become parallel with his. “Needed it so bad you couldn’t go a night without dreaming about how well I’d feel, huh? You’re that much of a greedy slut?” 

A whine fell from your lips as you brought your eyes to his. Through your lashes, you could see a wild smile painted across his lips, happiness radiating from his dilated pupils. Never had you seen a man look so beautiful while doing something so inherently filthy, and your cunt throbbed at the realization of it all. 

“I can’t be-believe this is real. I’ve been wanting this so bad, Damien.” More tears dampened your cheeks, the familiar tightness in your core forming once again.

In response, Damien leaned down, sloppily pressing his lips to yours. A mixture of saliva, spit, and tears smeared across your chin as he deepened the kiss, his tongue rushing out to collect traces of the salty combination. Damien’s free hand wandered down to the front of you, pressing his index finger to your sweet spot. 

Sobs fell out of you between each breath while a woozy wave of lust swept over you. The rewarding drop of the pit in your stomach broke through the dizziness. Deepening the arch in your back, the swirling sensation in your clit hit its breaking point. Your hands gripped the sheets in front of you in a frenzy as gratification washed over you. The walls of your pussy clenched around Damien’s shaft, the pulse of his cock hitting your g-spot as your body convulsed. 

“You’re such a good slut for your master, baby. G-gonna make me cum.” 

As your orgasm fizzled out, Damien continued to haphazardly rock himself in and out of your aching heat. Overstimulation stung your core, but you pushed it aside. The only thing that would stop you from riding this out would be if the world ended. All that existed at this moment was Damien, who was behind you, smacking his hips into yours as he chased his high. His grunts filled the empty air between you. With one last nudge, a rush of warmth spread through your cunt as Damien cried out in relief. His head hit the middle of your back as he crumpled, letting his orgasm take over. 

“Jesus, that was amazing.” He whispered, pulling out of you. Your pussy ached with both fulfillment and emptiness as you adjusted to the lack of him. 

You rotated onto your back, craving the view of Damien’s post-O face. He looked hazy, a dopey grin plastered to his face as he gently pulled the condom off before tying it and placing it on his nightstand. Immediately he reached down to you, enveloping you in his arms as he lay beside you. His scent had slightly altered from when you first entered his room, the smell of sex and sweat now intertwining with the notes of his cologne. If you could bottle that, you would without hesitation. 

“Thank you so much, really,” you smiled. “It wasn’t my intention to have this happen when I walked by your room, but I’m glad it did.” 

Damien placed a soft kiss on your lips. Unlike the previous ones you had shared, this one had a pureness to it. Your heart jumped a beat at the romantic undertones as the moment overtook you completely. Your head buzzed with contentment as the past 45 minutes settled in your brain.

“Me too, baby,” he mumbled against your lips. “I hope I made your dreams come true.” 

“You did, I promise,” you giggled, “but now I definitely need to shower.”

[peggyao3]

Relic - Pt. 11 "Palms of my Hands"

PAIRING: Feyd-Rautha Harkonnen x Unnamed Ambiguous FMC

SUMMARY: ✧ Dreams are messages from the deep ✧ A woman from the unknown comes to Feyd in his dreams and his nights become his days as he flees to the dreamscape to escape the nightmares that haunt his waking hours.

TAGS: 18+, smut, she/her AFAB FMC, vaginal sex, vaginal fingering, oral sex, Porn with Plot, Feyd-Rautha's black cum and big cock, Praise Kink, Body Worship, angst/hurt and comfort, drama, fluff, Frank Herbert would frown, some politics, implied/referenced (child) abuse❗, Trauma, mentions of suicidal thoughts❗, Healing, Strangers to Lovers, falling in love, Vulnerable/Emotional/Possessive Feyd, Feyd is a sweet baby who did nothing wrong and I WILL pamper him, nurture not nature, Stockholm Syndrome but in a consensual way, lucid dreaming, implied/referenced cannibalism❗, Murder, Female rage, Teaching the Universe about Feminism, Angst with a Happy Ending

WORD COUNT: 5k

A/N: Introducing: An unexpected friend, or two <3

CW: A bit of strangulation during sexy time 🥰

Reposted from my Ao3 💕| Masterlist | Relic Masterlist

Dividers by @saradika-graphics

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Day 9

A quiet resolve has settled over the engineer and she finds herself sleeping more peacefully at night and anticipating Feyd-Rautha's company with pangs of curious butterflies whenever he occupies her manifold thoughts. Like the crowns of thorns crane their heads towards the rising black sun in the mornings, she cranes her head towards the door each evening, waiting for her beloved's return.

She knew his pain, but never what it does to him, how it charges his hands with violence. Now that she knows, and without the rose-colored glasses on, she finds every soft and hard edge of him all the more beautiful. With a curious flutter of butterflies in her belly she has noticed, she is falling in love anew.

Is it immoral? For once it is she who has bigger concerns.

Earth wasn't pretty. People killed, people died. Yet people loved and so she will love him and heal what no one else can heal.

She feels oddly at peace, like she has finally arrived.

Tonight, her arms are wrapped around her blanket where Feyd had laid with her until she fell asleep. They sleep together now, since the day when she saw him paint his hands with blood, but Feyd has duties that force him out of bed when the black sun is still far from throwing its first infrared rays over the horizon. Decimating half of the palace staff at a whim is all fun and games until the time comes to fill up the empty spots and teach the new slaves how the na-Baron likes his meals seasoned and how the Baron prefers the blend for his hookah.

Feyd-Rautha has been assigned with the humiliating task to fill in the new staff about his uncle's preferences. A fair punishment, the Baron thinks, as entertaining as Feyd's temper tantrum may have been. And it gives him an excuse to dwell in his lovely nephew's company.

The relic's fingers grip sleep-drunkenly at the comforter, a sigh on her lips. A presence is disturbing her slumber, not an absence, and a sound like a broken siphon seeps into her dreamless sleep. 

Glug glug glug. 

Her brows scrunch up, fingers screwing themselves tighter around the comforter, struggling against a force that seems to be pulling against her efforts. The soft material begins to slip out of her fingers with careful slowness, but her head rolls off the pillow and so she casts her eyes open with a tired grumble.

In the dark, there are two nebulous disks staring back at her, blinking in a way that no human eyelids should move - sideways.

The only other times she was wide awake so quickly was during the bomb alerts at the ISCO vault.

She bolts upright, gripping onto the headboard as she balances on her bare feet, staring at the creature who has eight of them. Hand-feet, four of them raised on her bed and two twisted into the soft comforter.

Glug glug glug, the spider's throat oscillates.

31% human, the scanning tool offers and roiling nausea churns her belly.

"Back off!" She hisses and doesn't dare to blink. The stuffed animal is pressed to her ribs in the crook of her arm. Her gun is still safely tucked away in the sarcophagus when she would have needed it under her pillow. If she survives the night, she will put it in her nightstand, even if that means Lilia can find it.

She was an idiot for considering herself safe enough to sleep soundly just because of the tender, cautious peace between her and Feyd. Her room is still treated like a museum where everyone and everything can go as they please, gawking at her like she's an ancient thing from a curiosity cabinet to be hurt, eaten and killed.

"Have you come to kill me? I have a weapon. I'll shoot you if you try!" The creature seems neither fazed by the threat, nor does it attack. Its bulbous, dichotomous body quivers lightly and it pulls its soft treasure an inch closer towards itself, slow eyes falling to the blanket and back to her. Its features are just dimly illuminated by the nocturnal ambient glow, a round face, a compressed mouth and nose, eyes bigger than its cheeks. The skin is shiny like oil.

"Can you understand me?"

The creature's eyes lower themselves once more, milky silver scanning the soft material. It seems fascinated, testing the quality with four of its eight foot-hands, scrunching, releasing, finger-toes waddling.

"You want that? You can have it." Alertly, she balances herself on the mattress, still poised to defend herself but the first rush of adrenaline has passed through her. 

Inch by inch, the blanket slips off the mattress while she's fixed by milky-way eyes, as if to see if she'll change her mind. The final few inches are whisked away in a flash and a telltale splat splat of bare hand-feet on the tiles gives away the spider's excited advance towards the corner. The relic cranes her neck to see.

Many limbs busily handle the new treasure and drape it lopsidedly over its bulbous shape. Its front is covered but a third of its rear peeks out and when it adjusts the placement with a hearty tug, an even larger patch of its front comes out bare and the spider sings out a series of indignant glugs.

Now would be the time to dart for the cryo pod and arm herself, but the relic finds her guard down and her attention snared by the helpless attempts to build a little burrow for itself.

The being makes a ruckus of shaking the comforter, tossing it out in front of it. But what its limbs boast in number they lack in strength, and so it moans with frustration, peeking out of its unfinished nest building business fearfully. The big one doesn't like it when it makes so much noise, but the one on the bed seems gentle so far, which makes sense. The soft treasure smells faintly of Feyd-Rautha.

Glug glug glug. 

The spider accepts that this is as good as it's going to get and it folds its arm-legs  against its body, loafing on the soft but crumpled heap. 

As it lies calmly, the woman spots movement on each side of its face, two tiny extra arms with tiny hands, twiddling a loose thread on the comforter. She cocks her head to the side and the creature blinks up, fingers freezing for a second before resuming their twiddling.

Carefully, the relic lowers herself back into a sitting position. Bereft of her blanket, her legs are cold. Should she call for the new guard? Was it him who let the Baron's pet inside? A pity, he had seemed so likable so far. She would defend him against Feyd's blades regardless. Anxious fingers squeeze the plushie in her arms.

Splat splat.

The creature pads around the bed and gingerly offers the comforter back to her, lifting it with three foot-hands.

"Oh, thank you?" The woman half-expects it to yank her to the ground as soon as she comes within an arm-leg's reach, bury her under its arachnid body and devour her, but none of the like happens. Slender finger-toes release her comforter and she cautiously spreads it across her lap, leaning against the headboard, pillows propped up.

Nothing happens for a while. The spider sits poised next to the bed, or at least she assumes it does. Eventually, a single hand-foot slips silently over the edge, fingering the blanket again. It is frightening how humanoid those finger-toes look, shiny black skin, slim bones that look too slight for its voluminous body.

"I told you you could have it." Immediately, the hand retreats and a tentative glug glug glug chimes from below. "So, you do understand me." Or perhaps it only reacts to the sound of her voice.

Over the bed's soft edge, the spider's big eyes peek at her like pretty moons and she dares to look right into them without flinching. With its compressed proportions, its face reminds her of a pug's, with the roundness of a toddler's.

Innocence paints these unsightly features. It doesn't know it was born a monster or why everyone shivers when it approaches, but it knows the bed is soft and the woman hasn't kicked it in the belly yet for simply being near her.

"You like soft things, yeah? Me too." She extends her hand in a hesitant invitation, patting the blanket. The slender arm-leg sneaks across the surface, patting a spot not far away in mimicry before retreating swiftly. 

"That means come up." She curls the fingers of her hand and smiles. The spider recognizes that expression. Feyd does it sometimes when it is with him and she's the only other person it has ever seen do that.

"What the fuck is that?" Feyd glares at the man who has been guarding his beloved's door for the past few days. He is of average height, shorter than the na-Baron, his frame wiry and poised.

"My new chair, Lord na-Baron!" He jumps up from the white, glossy plastic, saluting.

"Who gave you a fucking chair?" Feyd-Rautha is tired from the dreary work, a demeaning punishment by his uncle who's been sitting nearby and praising him with oily voice for teaching the new slaves so well.

"Yer Lady, Lord na-Baron. She insisted I have it and I wouldn't dare slight her by refusing, eh?"

What's that accent? The new Guard sounds like he's from further West, across the svart valta, Giedi Prime's biggest ocean which floods about 45% of the planet's groaning surface with toxic slop. The water body sustains no organisms bigger than microbes. Where other oceans bristle with life, Giedi Prime's becomes a sizzling graveyard for the flesh.

"What's your name?"

"Mikhail, Lord na-Baron!" The guard salutes, lips squeezed into a resolute line. Feyd notices a scar running across the dorsum of his nose. He doesn't usually take the time to cast a second glance at any of the staff. They're faceless meat dolls to him who serve him beautifully as squishy sheaths for his blades when he needs it, but he finds himself lingering, putting off the encounter with his woman - no longer betrothed. She looks at him differently. He doesn't know what to make of it, how she can love him still.

"Where did you get that?" Feyd draws his blade and taps the air in front of Mikhail's scarred nose. The man doesn't flinch, only his brows twitch lightly and he fights not to go cross-eyed from the gleaming metal. "Defeating the enemies of our House?"

"Bar fight, my Lord." A twinkle in Mikhail's eyes betrays that he's more proud than ashamed.

"Hmm. And did you win?"

"Of course, my Lord!" The guard's expression slips and for a second he bares white, unpainted teeth in a lopsided smirk. No one ever smiles around Feyd-Rautha, so the na-Baron finds his eyes blinking wide open. He's never been in a bar fight, or in a bar for that matter, and wonders momentarily what it must be like to grow up with the rest of the lowborn scum in the lower cities, to be beaten up by strangers and throw himself at men who fight back. A spark of heat has him drawing out the conversation.

"Do you think you could take me on in a bar fight?" Usually, a question like this is a set up for certain death, but Feyd is genuinely curious.

"With fists, yeah," Mikhail replies confidently. "With knives, no."

"Hmm." Feyd lowers his head, twiddling his blade handle to hide his intrigue. So, this is the man he is not supposed to kill.

Despite his confidence, a light sheen of sweat dampens Mikhail's forehead. "I can give the chair back to the Lady, my Lord na-Baron. I apologize. I stepped out of line."

Feyd-Rautha's blue gaze sweeps up to the guard's face and he fears a fleeting moment of camaraderie has just slipped out of his fingers. Mikhail also has blue eyes, only his are inset by a golden-brown ring around the pupils.

"If I found you had stepped out of line, you would know it," the na-Baron barks, whereupon Mikhail arms snap up like whips to salute him fiercely.

"Yes, my Lord! Thank ya, my Lord. I wish ya glory and blood, my Lord!" Mikhail's gaze is bolted into the opposite wall when Feyd-Rautha's eyes linger quizzically.

There is something unbecoming and untamed about the new guard who owes his quick climb up the ranks to the na-Baron's recent killing spree. Feyd finds him refreshing. He wants to beat him. He wants to know what it's like to take Mikhail's fist directly to the nose.

"Are you up, my darling? Why is your new guard sitting on a- Oh!" Feyd freezes, spotting the quivering heap of shiny, black limbs in the lower corner of the bed, round head rising up for a gleeful tune.

Glug glug glug!

The spider's tiny face-hand is stretched out as far as it can reach and wrapped gingerly around the sleeping woman's big toe. She grumbles into her pillow. It's too early for her still, even though Feyd has been up for many hours.

"You're not allowed in here!" Feyd hisses, hoping to remove the spider before his beloved awakes. "Get out, get out! Kush!" 

Glugluglug~

It untangles its limbs with haste, swaying as it waddles to the edge of the bed. Feyd already sees it falling down in front of his inner eye and prepares himself to lunge, but his woman is quicker, halting the spider's retreat with a tired: "Nooo…"

"Morning, my darling," Feyd rasps out. He must be more fatigued than he thought because his woman shows no signs of fear of the poor Tleilaxu freak. "I apologize for my uncle's pet. I promise you, it wouldn't harm a fly." It's the opposite of Feyd-Rautha, one could say.

"Morning," she rubs her eyes and banishes the interface's morning pop-up which tells her she's been sleeping deep and well for the past few hours. "I know. It stole my blanket and then we decided to share."

"S'that right?" The spider can hardly contain its excited glugging now when Feyd addresses it and breaks into a little smile. "So you just snuck in here, huh?"

Glug glug! 

"Mikhail?" Feyd slides the door open. "Did you let a visitor inside the chambers last night?"

"A vis-visitor? Fuck, my Lord!" The man's gaze sweeps across the room and he has Feyd pushed aside quicker than the staggering na-Baron can look, sword whipped out of the sheathe with a hissing ching and his wife's insistent warning in mind: 'I'll be forever angry with you if you get yourself killed, so whatever you so, don't let anyone into the Lady's room!'

The spider squeals a high-pitched note and barges off the bed and up the wall with quick, scuttling hand-feet, seemingly defying gravity while it bolts in fear. Deftly, it shoves the latch to the ventilation shaft aside and plunges inside. Loose screws clatter to the ground.

"No need!" Feyd snaps, palm pushing against the overzealous guard's chest. "Back to your chair, soldier. That's a friend, not a foe."

"A-Ah, yes, m'lord!" Mikhail retreats, cheeks and ears visibly darkened with a fierce blush. No doubt his limbs are rattling in his armor.

"Oh my." The relic heaves herself up into a sitting position. "The poor thing. Is it okay? Is Mikhail in trouble?!" 

"It's fine." Feyd-Rautha still smirks to himself and cranes his head to the ventilation shaft, plush lips popping open a few millimeters. "Clever. Real clever. But we need to have that welded shut. If Glugo can pass through, a hunter-seeker can too."

"Glugo?"

"Yeah…" Feyd meets her warmly twinkling gaze, squaring his shoulders in defense.

"The Baron named his pet Glugo?"

"Not the Baron," he snaps back and clenches his fists.

"Aaaahh… I would like to hear that story." The look she gives him is so ridiculously soft, Feyd's belly erupts with a jittery warmth that tingles even in his fingertips - and in his cock.

"That story involves a six year old boy and his second murder," he warns her quickly. She still has time to reconsider, that he's nothing more than a pretty, pitiful monster, not the man she wants to be with. But the look of gentle interest on her face persists and the warmth in Feyd's belly throbs and expands. Her gaze flits to his jaws when he releases the mad clench he's been holding.

"You don't have to tell me right now…" She offers. "Won't you come back into bed with me?" His woman regards him with doe eyes and he catches how they slip from his angular jaws to the thick tendons of his neck that sweep under his collar.

"I'm eager to catch some more sleep," he confirms coyly and pulls the suit jacket over his head without unclasping the asymmetrical straps that keep it snug around his frame. Grunting, he frees his firm shoulders and finds his woman's eyes plastered on his abdomen, following the sharp cuts of the tapered muscles that flee from his hip bones.

"Sleep is not what I meant." Her voice hitches and Feyd's ego swells and glows from her cute flusteredness.

"I know," he purrs and prowls closer, black teeth sinking into his full bottom lip. "Will you share your blanket with me too? I'm not as peaceful a sleeper as Glugo though."

"You were quite the peaceful sleeper when I held your head on my breasts last night."

Feyd hides his eyes under long lashes, head rolling forward as he unstraps his pants, pushing them down low so that only his hip bones stop the pull of gravity. "Your bosom makes for a comfortable pillow," he purrs, rubbing his heel against his shin to rid himself of the first shoe. His trousers slip, baring an inch of smooth, milky pubic mound, not a trace of pigmentation where other breeds of humans might sport a happy trail.

"Why are you still dressed, my darling?" Feyd refers to her nightwear and she is quick to slide off her garments, hiding herself under the covers like a little present for him to unwrap and sink his cock into.

Hurriedly, she flips around to the night stand and empties a glittering vial of contraceptive, followed by a big gulp of water from the plastic bottle that has a strange mouthpiece which looks just like Mikhail's chair. Feyd loiters until she looks back to him. When removing his other shoe, his trousers finally slide down his hairless mound and give way to the base of his smooth, thick cock adorned by a swelling vein, black blood turned purple by the layers of skin.

His darling woman seems to have lost her voice, the way her pretty eyes are sizing up the tease of his cock which he intends to feed her inch by thick inch. The pants can't go down any further by themselves, halted by his stiff groin and his ass cheeks, so he shoves them down and slinks under the covers with swift grace, wrapping himself around her like a snake around soft, pretty prey.

Manhandling her into the position he likes is as easy as drawing a blade. Big hand on her ass, he pulls her pelvis flush against his and she obediently curls her leg around his narrow hip, soft flesh cushioning the bones beneath his taut muscles. With both of them lying on their sides, the blunt head of his cock pokes her belly, trapped. It kisses her navel and it is obscene to think that she can fit him. Already, her pussy weeps for him, cloying slick against his balls.

"Feyd," she mewls, arms locking around the nape or his neck.

"My darling," he responds, a low purr that brings her hips to buck, squashing his cock between their bellies. Feyd grunts.

This is how he wants to have her - every inch of him touching every inch of her, now that she finally really knows him.

"Come here," he grates out, shoving her up higher. Her tits bounce against his face and he frees his cock from between their bellies, snapping it down so it bobs against the cleft of her ass. Hotly, his thick shaft throbs against her plush cunt and slick oozes over him like honey. "Ready already?" 

"Try it out." Her pupils are blown wide and hungry.

"And if it hurts?" He purrs, hands kneading her ass, dipping low so each tug works her open, labia hugging his shaft.

"Then I know you'll kiss it better."

The stretch is decadent. It has her gripping at Feyd's thick shoulders and hissing through her teeth when he makes room for himself in her slick cunt that hasn't taken a single finger in preparation this time. A strong arm under her waist hoists her against his chest and the hand on her ass forces her to meet his pistoning pelvis.

Feyd groans. She is tight, wet, warm, greedily baring her pussy with one leg thrown over his hip. Brave girl, brave darling, he will fuck her tired, so she can sleep on, cradled in her bed when he is forced to return to his duties. And when he comes to see her again, he will wake her up with his cock.

"Does it hurt?" He moans, fingers gliding between her slick cheeks, fingering the stretched flesh where his cock plunges into her. Everything is slippery, messy and delightful.

"Yes," she admits, digging her raised knee into his taut side. The drag of his cock is slow, forcing himself to grant her the time her poor pussy needs to adjust but she doesn't want him to. She bites his shoulder and his hips snap with ferocity, pale fingers screwing themselves tight around her squishy cheek. Flesh jiggles around his tight grip.

He is marble clad in velvet, every undulating motion of his chest and pelvis a comfort, his flesh soft but hard. The mounds of his pectorals become pillows for her breasts and her lips slide against his collar bones. There used to be a crescent scar there in their dreams, mysteriously absent still. Maybe she should make a substitute instead. Her lips close around his bone, teeth catching on the thin skin. He tastes like sweat. He tastes like Feyd.

The temporary bruise she bites into existence is no crescent, but it is purple like blackberries and Feyd moans for it, sinking into her with quivering ferocity that has his sac smacking against her ass.

What this position lacks in leverage, Feyd makes up for with muscles that coil like snakes in his back, thick thighs and glutes, heels digging into the mattress. 

For the first time she fully realizes it is not just pure vanity that has his shoulders and abdomen rippling with muscles. Every corded vein is a weapon trained and whetted to kill and the realization has her limbs turning into jelly.

Is it immoral that part of her thinks of him as a wild beast now, one that has been gnashing its teeth all its life? Only she gets to soothe it, only she gets to see the boy inside the cage of brutal flesh. It makes her feel privileged.

It shouldn't excite her that the hands who had been so ruthlessly screwed around a blade handle are now handling her with abandon. He could kill with his bare hands or his vicious knife or even his teeth that sink so decadently into her soft neck. But he had chosen to love her instead and no danger comes from the drag of his incisors against her jugular.

"Feyd," she moans again, nails digging into the faded marks on his neck from a few nights ago. "Can you go harder, please?" She wants to feel all of his violence, knowing that he would never kill her. She wants to feel cherished.

The sound he lets out is feral, a grunt of released air through clenched teeth. His skull rises from the plushness of her neck, forehead pressing against hers. Hot breath rolls over her face and the perspiration from his smooth brow transfers to hers.

"Does it excite you?" He drawls, eyes simmering with some obtained forbidden knowledge. "I didn't think it would. I thought you'd run away frightened and I'd have to catch you and beg you to look at me again. But here you are, begging me because you want it hard."

"It excites me to know you."

"You still don't know everything, but you're so sweet, I never wanted to scare you."

"More secrets?" She mewls and her voice comes in choppy puffs, battered out of her lungs by his cock.

"They're not as scary in comparison. Maybe you'll like them. Maybe they'll excite you too. There are ways to make it hurt more..."

She realizes he's talking about things of leather and metal, things that steal your breath and your blood.

"You could have told me that sooner. Do you think me that prude? I'm not scared of, ahhh, a few toys."

"I didn't want to tell you." His mouth gleams with a row of black teeth when she pouts. "Aahhh, my love. Stop this. I have another secret for you." Feyd-Rautha rolls her on her back, granting the clenching muscles in his lithe flank a reprieve. His arms however remain screwed around her waist and ass and now it's up to his knees to create leverage while his weight bears down on her chest.

Feyd purrs against her mouth: "Before you, I've never had anyone without a chain wrapped around their neck or mine. I never cared about making love, I only cared about getting my cock wet and making it hurt. It was the only thing that made me forget—" He pauses, probing her eyes with a shadow washed over his own.

To forget all the ways he never wanted to be touched. 

The relic can see why. To banish memories so ghastly, one resorts to ghastly tools and extreme measures.

Maybe he can let toys be toys for the thrill and fun of it with her and not armor to prevent his vulnerability from spilling out.

"Maybe you'd like to make love to me and wrap a chain around my neck." A delicious ache flutters in her cunt and her pelvis arches against the battering, short thrusts.

Nothing beats the feeling of his woman's sweet pussy clenching around him from root to tip. Feyd moans low in his throat, stares at her with darkened eyes. The hunger below his half-lidded lashes is pure decadence and her belly reacts with blooming heat, telling her she wants everything he offers. No chain but the long, thick-knuckled fingers of his dominant hand slide home around her neck with feline grace, tendons bulging across the hard curve of his forearm.

The sharp image of blood-stained cuticles invades her mind, his graceful digits dripping with ichor, the cold-eyed stare when he had pulled viscera from a man's gut. 

He could kill me, she thinks and her lips pop open, crying for release. He won't, but he could. He loves me.

I could kill her, he thinks, but I won't. She's so sweet like this, trusting me. She loves me.

Pleasure crests and her walls bear down on his long cock, squeezing him so good that he could weep. His veined hand keeps her pretty neck in a vice, squeezing the cries of pleasure out of her in ribbons while her cunt squeezes him in return like she wants to milk him for his cum.

"Yes, my darling, yes, yeeees," Feyd moans with gravelled voice, heart in the clouds because his sweet darling can still cum around his cock like she used to.

She writhes, spine slackening. Aftershocks prickle across her frazzled nerves and she grasps at Feyd's wrist. The tiny spark of fear in her glossy eyes when he doesn't let go is enough to churn the seed in Feyd's balls. He grins, clenching his fist around her jugular, and pumps her so full of cum that it sputters past the base of his cock and drips like ink down his balls.

He holds himself there, rejoicing at how nicely her little cunt milks him dry and how his seed is nestling itself inside her womb this very second. No offspring will grow from this invasion, but the baser thought entices him no less.

She gives a meek whimper. Feyd-Rautha throttles her for another second, basking in the wild glow in her eyes. Just a bit longer, little darling. He nudges her chin up with the back of his hand, holding her gaze. Feyd's pretty face swims away in her blurry sight and that's when he releases her.

"My girl," he praises, pressing kisses to her cheek and jaw when she gasps for breath, chest heaving against the comforting weight of his hand which has trailed down to her sternum. At first he thinks she's crying, but laughter picks at her tongue.

Oh, he's fucked her senseless, he's fucked her silly.

By the time he pulls out, his cock is flushed a dark purple and even going flaccid, the length and girth of him are still delectable enough to fill one's fist thickly.

"Are you all mine now?" He repeats his question from several days prior and brushes his nose against the tip of hers. This time, the question is uttered without haste, murmured gently into the afterglow of their true homecoming. 

"More than ever, Feyd-Rautha," his woman acknowledges him by his full given name and it makes him want to sink his teeth into the collar of bruises around her neck, lest the wild butterflies gust out of his belly.

I used to be the one I used to be your place to land Under the shadows Into the palm of my hand - Running in the Night by FM-84

A/N: GLUGO, MY BELOVED!! (I blame ClockworkSiren <3) Should we have her 3d-printing a cock cage out of plastic for him? 😩😂 Seriously debating right now. Also - fists or knives, did anyone catch the Bikeriders reference? HEEHEE 🥹

TAG LIST:

@nostalgichoya, @forgedfromthestars, @sweetiee-o, @missbingu, @minedofmoria

@sebastianswallows, @charmingballoon, @flower-frog, @welliah, @aoi-targaryen

@coastalcowgirl35, @esolean, @szapizzapanda, @tatertooted, @sunny747

[ashintheairlikesnow]

Call Mom

CW: PTSD/flashbacks, BBU in general, haunted, ghosts, reference to a murder, severe chronic panic

Jameson's Masterlist (scroll down)

-

Aw, crap. Hey, Johnny, do you remember where I put that girl's number? Like, Katie, or Caitlyn, or... do you remember? Hey! Johnny! Put down the fucking xbox controller for two fucking minutes and give me a hand, won't you?

Fingers snap right in front of his face.

Johnny!

Jameson jerks in a breath that sounds like a whine, sitting straight up. The fan blows cool air over his sweat-soaked skin and he shivers, cold inside and out. The air in his room is freezing, suddenly. Outside it's so dark you can't even see the trees - the power outage must still be going, there aren't any streetlights. Thanks to the clouds, no stars or moon, either.

Just darkness.

Wait, if the electricity's out...

He looks up. The ceiling fan is perfectly still above his head, even while ice-cold air keeps goosebumps rising on his arms, the hair standing up at the back of his neck.

See, was that so hard? It'll take like five minutes if we work together, I swear.

"Nat?" He mumbles. "S'at... you?"

Checked there already, actually. Checked the fridge, too, so where the hell did I put it?

He's the only person in this room.

Jameson goes from still half-asleep to fully, painfully awake and aware in a single breath.

The voice comes as clear as if it was right next to him, a voice as familiar as his own - but he has no idea whose it is. There's no one here but him - even Trash Cat isn't here any longer, probably hunting a tiny piece of plastic downstairs that he'll end up stepping on in the morning. So far she hasn't eaten any of them. He doesn't even know where she's finding them.

Johnny, come on. Let's, like, retrace our steps.

His head starts to ache more with every single word, the pain working like tendrils behind his eyes, a pressure trying to crush his skull from the inside. Something flashes, bright and almost like a spectrum of rainbow colors, in the corner of his right eye, but it won't resolve when he turns his head.

I got home from work, I told you we had a hot customer who gave me her number, and then... then what?

Jameson stares into darkness so complete it feels like it has weight. Like it's sitting on the bed next to him, like the mattress dips underneath it. A body made of memory, slowly pulling together the pieces of what's been hidden. Clawing them out but leaving deep weals across the inside of his mind, like a corpse's fingers digging into loose dirt to climb out of his grave.

"Caitlyn," He whispers, as the thought crystallizes. A memory, pure and perfect. Some sliver of whatever they broke the person he was into. Some small piece of the man who signed up. "Her name was Caitlyn, not Katie. She... wrote it on the fucking paper."

Right! Okay, so, clearly I told you her name, and then what?

Jameson turns his head, and there he is.

Hank.

His breath catches in his throat.

Hank is younger than he is, even though he was older then. The older brother, trapped in time, while Jameson - Jonathan - keeps aging. The rakish smile is still there and, Christ, Jameson had forgotten that he'd done that stupid thing to his hair - you forgot everything about him, you begged them to take him away from you so that it wouldn't hurt anymore. He's still got that one crooked tooth he'd refused to get braces to fix. That crooked tooth had been in his dental records. It was how they identified his body.

The fucking crooked tooth, the silver-colored fillings, then the DNA tests...

"No," He whispers, going for a vicious hiss, but what comes out is far too close to a whimper. "No. This is-... this is a flashback. This isn't real, this isn't-"

Maybe I left it in yesterday's pants?

"This isn't real, fuck off." Jameson shoves himself off the bed, forgetting his stupid fucking legs don't work. His knees buckle as soon as they have to take his weight.

He lands wrong on one arm and the pain spikes up through his shoulder, making him cry out in the hoarse, rasping voice that his life has left him with. "Fuck!"

He rolls onto his side, but he can't stop himself.

He looks up again. He doesn't want to remember Hank but he's desperate for one more look at his face. Just the one more time.

Just once more.

Hank sighs, raking a hand back through his hair, leaving it mussed-up and sticking out, looking ridiculous. He did that all the time. Bit his nails, too, and tried everything to stop but he never did. He wore those jeans with the ripped knee all the time, their mother had hated it. Hank, wearing the t-shirt for the band they'd gotten concert tickets for but never got the chance to see. Hank, dead for years, smiles to one side at a brother who isn't there.

The brother who erased him.

"Hank," He whispers. "Hank, you gotta-... you gotta go. You're hurting me-"

Damn. Man, it wasn't in my jeans either. Well, I'll find it sooner or later, I guess. Hank shrugs. His eyes are in shadow, not quite defined. Jameson wonders if it's because he's forgotten what color his brother's eyes were, forgotten it deeply enough that even this can't pull it back.

It'll be okay, Johnny. It really will. Hank looks right at him. Jameson's breath catches in his throat. The room is so cold the air burns as he breathes. It never gets this cold in California. It can't be this cold in California. I mean it. Don't cry yourself to sleep over this.

"I cried myself to sleep... all the time, but I don't now. I'm not-... that guy." He can barely speak. He sees his breath puff out when his lips move, and Jameson slumps back. His voice cracks, it creaks like old floors. He didn't stop crying for weeks. He didn't leave his bed. He did any drug he could find trying to not think about Hank, until he realized there was only one way to make sure he never had to think about what he'd done, by letting Hank walk home alone that one night, again. He didn't want to think about that pain anymore.

They had promised him he wouldn't ever have to hurt like this again.

They lied about that, too.

Jameson makes a sound he refuses to admit is a choked-off sob. "I'm not him, Hank. I'm not Johnny... not anymore."

Hank stands, and it's impossible. He's not here. But he holds out his hand anyway, and Jameson takes it without thinking. Hank's grip is so cold it burns, but Jameson lets his dead brother pull him to his feet anyway.

He smells like earth and ice.

"I'm not him," He whispers.

Right, like that argument ever works. Hank just grins, shaking his head. The man Jameson was - the one he had begged to leave behind - is the reason Hank will look like this in his memories forever. He's the reason there isn't another Hank, only this one, locked in the memories he wanted to boil and burn out of his own head. They're still there, though. They break through.

They never stop breaking through.

He would crawl back into Robert's cage himself if it only meant he didn't have to remember that it's his fault Hank is dead.

Tears run hot down his cheeks - the only thing in him that isn't frozen is his grief, wildfire in his chest leaving nothing but ash behind. Forests after wildfires are ghosts, Hank said once, when they were both high and everything sounded fucking important.

Jameson had called him an idiot - he remembers that now. But... he also thinks Hank was right. He closes his eyes as tightly as he can, focusing. He isn't here. Hank cannot be here. "I don't remember... remember you-... I don't want to remember you! It was my choice to forget!"

Hank claps him on the shoulder. His smile goes briefly gentle and soft. Jameson can see it with his eyes closed. Whatever you say, man. Just promise me you'll call Mom sometime soon, okay?

The pain is too much. If he can't pass out soon, he might die just from having to experience it, unending, never stopping, rising higher and higher. "Mom...?"

Yeah, dumbass. Mom. Our mother? Who gave birth to us and never lets us fucking forget it? I keep trying to talk to her, but I guess my signal's bad. Hank laughs, and Jameson's whole body breaks with the sound of that familiar laughter. The way Hank could throw his head back without the slightest bit of self-consciousness, how he'd hear that laugh across a crowded room and know it was his brother's, know right where he was.

Until he didn't.

Until nobody did.

Until the cops found what was left.

Until-

Jameson jolts again, and finds himself still lying on the floor next to his bed. He's burning up, boiling hot, pouring sweat until his sleep shirt sticks to his back and his arms feel slick with it, his hair sticking to skin. A droplet trickles down the back of his neck like a fingertip, barely touching. He rips his shirt off, then his pants, throwing them as far away from himself as he can, until he's naked on the floor but it isn't enough.

He's still sweating, still breathing in harsh gasps, fighting around the strength of his racing heart to get enough air to fill his lungs. He looks frantically around, but no one's here.

The ceiling fan circles lazily overhead.

He takes in a breath, his heart pounding. It feels like it's going to grow wings and fly away, up his throat and out of his mouth. He's still crying, he realizes only now. He closes his eyes as tightly as he can and fights tears back through sheer willpower and rage, curling his hands into fists. Just like they used to be, his fingers know - muscle memory of mittens that had kept him powerless, once. Now, he does it on purpose, and he forces them to curl through the pain.

Forces down the dream.

Wills himself to forget he ever had it.

"Four... f-four things you can see," he whispers to himself, slumping back down. His voice keeps trembling, catching, and it's everything he has to open his eyes again around the pounding headache in his skull and look. "The-... moon. Out the... window. The, my dresser... for my clothes... M-My, uh, the picture Nat p-printed of me and Allyn... fuck, the... the doorknob."

Every time he thinks he knows how much of his body can hurt at once, some nerves he didn't know existed decide to join the party. He has to breathe in and out, slow and controlled, trying to will his body to cooperate. He won't walk tomorrow, he can tell already. It'll be a day to spend in bed, or using his wheelchair. It might be a week until his body lets him walk again.

He fights back a new well of rage and despair at how well he knows the next way his body will fail him. He can't think about that right now, or the pain and the panic will spiral out of control. He might hurt someone. He can't hurt anyone, not ever again.

He won't.

"Three... things I can touch," He murmurs. "My, my... my shirt, fuck, gross, sweaty... my... my hair... the floor, feels... cold, feels good... the corner of my bed..."

It helps. He makes himself focus on this, on real things, not the nightmare of his brother.

He won't remember his brother.

He won't.

"Two things I can hear. Uh, the, there's... crickets or something outside, and-... and I can hear-"

Hank's voice whispers right next to his ear.

Call Mom.

His breath hitches.

"Not real," he whispers. "One... one thing I can taste..."

All he tastes is blood, and for one horrified half a second he's sure it's Hank's blood, until he realizes he bit his tongue in his sleep.

The blood is his own.

Call Mom.

-

[rottenpumpkin13]

what would it be like if the firsts lived together?

They did live together. Once. Right after Angeal and Genesis made First Class, SOLDIER grew in numbers, and the living quarters were still under planning and construction. They shared a spacious three bed, three bathroom apartment later reserved for Thirds to share. Angeal still dubs it "the worst 14 months of his life"

• Genesis had his own cereal, but thought theft tasted better, so he used to steal Sephiroth's cereal and the two would have a physical altercation over rainbow loops.

• Angeal thought Genesis was a neat freak until he met Sephiroth, who made a color-coded spreadsheet to track the frequency of dusting different areas of the house. Sephiroth liked to passive-aggresively wipe down counters after someone had been in the kitchen, and took pictures of Angeal and Genesis as they were actively making messes to hold them accountable later. Apparently Sephiroth still has a scrapbook of photos to this day, which he labeled "Why I live alone."

• Angeal was the type to leave out a dirty mug Genesis used and never washed for days on end, refusing to let Sephiroth wash it, all to prove a point. Sephiroth would cave and wash the dirty mug when she wasn't looking. Genesis knew this, which is why he would continue to use the mug and leave it out. The same mug remained in the sink for all 14 months they lived together.

• Sephiroth is an insomniac and liked to fix himself meals at 3AM, which would give Genesis a green light to practice the fucking flute, also at 3AM. Angeal had never experienced true rage until he heard a half-assed flute version of O Fortuna while Sephiroth was actively beating a stake with a meat hammer.

• Angeal would refuse to cook for them as a protest if he found half-eaten food in the garbage.

• Angeal was also no saint, and his alarm used to be a loud guitar riff meant to get him motivated and out of bed in the morning. The first time Sephiroth was startled awake by loud rock music at 5AM, he thought it was Genesis. So he threw open Genesis' door and attacked him.

• Sephiroth had the tendency to leave all the lights on, even in rooms he wasn't in. This drove Genesis and Angeal insane, and they berated him so much for it that Sephiroth started to walk around the apartment with a jumbo flashlight. He would flash it directly in their faces when talking to them because he's petty.

• Angeal had a tendency to bring over any strange item or piece of furniture he found at yard sales or on the side of the road. Angeal couldn't understand how Sephiroth thought the giant, stained beanbag chair shaped like an eye he got at a yard sale for 3 gil was junk. He also couldn't comprehend why Genesis didn't want the antique vanity Angeal got for free at the flea market because the owner thought it was haunted.

• Everyone had different scent preferences and refused to compromise. This is why the apartment smelled like Banora White Apple candles, Ocean Mist, and Tropical Berry simultaneously. It smelled like ass.

• Sephiroth enjoys his peace, but couldn't meditate when Angeal was screaming at the baseball game on TV while Genesis was using a karaoke machine to recite Loveless. His Root Chakra is still damaged to this day.

• Sephiroth had to find out the hard way what a tie on a closed door meant, and that not all screams mean someone is in danger.

• Genesis had a phase where he would bring over random people from his nights out. The amount of breakfasts Sephiroth had with half-dressed women and men singlehandedly developed his conversational skills.

• Angeal used to have this mentality of "I'm the responsible one, which means I can take things without asking." He took Sephiroth's hair brush without asking once and forgot to put it back. Sephiroth retaliated by bending Angeal's favorite stainless steel pan. Genesis had to separate them, an exhilarating experience he never wants to go through again because the pan and the hairbrush were used as weapons.

• Genesis couldn't understand why Sephiroth and Angeal didn't want his "artistic french films" playing while they were in the room. Angeal's argument was "If I wanted to see balls while I'm cooking dinner, I would make this lasagna in the locker room at SOLDIER."

[thlayli-ra]

Whump Prompt - Shock Collars, Gunther/Cody with references to Randy and background Cody/Randy, please? ❤

I'll give you some puppy eyes of my very own!

(Also I'd definitely owe you another fic in return 👀)

How could I resist (and YES! I'll definitely send another fic prompt your way at some point!) Enjoy! 😙❤️

I'm also tagging @paladinofmoonlight as this will tie in slightly with your request fic.

Trick - 'Shock Collar'

Characters - Cody Rhodes, Randy Orton, Gunther, CM Punk (cameo), Drew McIntyre (cameo), Ludwig Kaiser (mentioned), Giovanni Vinci (mentioned)

Rating - Mature

Warnings - Winner's Room, non-con/extremely dub-con (implied), shock collar, pet play, trauma

(This fic is based in my Winner's Room AU)

     The only man that Cody Rhodes avoided in the back was Gunther. And that was because Randy himself told him to. 

     He could still remember the night after Crown Jewel had wrapped when he'd sat up waiting for Randy, growing more worried with each passing hour until at long last his husband returned. Cody knew something wasn't right the moment Randy shuffled onto the bus, noting how his hoodie was zipped right up to the neck, his head bowed and feet heavy, like they were dragging great iron chains behind him. 

     'Randy?'

     His husband stumbled back with fright, suddenly realising that he was not alone. 'You're here?' he gasped, meaning to say 'awake' - he'd been hoping Cody would be asleep. The blonde rushed to his husband and cupped his face in both hands. Randy flinched at the touch and Cody's alarm spiked when he saw his husband's eyes. He looked... haunted. 

     'Where have you been?'

     Randy turned his face away with shame. 'With Gunther,' he replied. 

     A stone sank into the pit of Cody's stomach. He knew, of course he knew. It was a PLE night and Randy had lost, of course Gunther would come to collect his winner's rights. Yet even so, hearing it drip like acid from his husband's mouth made it sting all the more. 

     But something didn't sit right. Usually it wouldn't take this long for a quick fuck or a blow job. A winner would only need maybe half an hour, an hour tops with their prize to reap their rewards. Why had Randy been gone for close to six? 'Tell me what happened?' He was answered with silence, not even a flicker of eye contact. 'Randy? What did he do to you?'

     'I'm worn out, he'd replied and Cody's shoulders slumped with defeat. 'I need some rest. We can talk in the morning.'

     But they didn't.

     Cody thought it best not to pry. Until Bash at Berlin. He'd been as surprised as anybody when Randy had challenged Gunther for another match for the World Heavyweight Championship. In the weeks leading up to the event, he brought up his concerns with his husband.

     'What if it ends up like last time?'

     'It won't be like last time,' Randy protested as he knotted up the laces of his boots. 'I know what I'm doing.'

     'I don't doubt that,' Cody sighed. 'It's just... when you got back, you were so... traumatised and I just can't stand to-'

     Randy cut Cody off by slamming the heel of his boot against the bench, the wood colliding with the metal locker door with a great clang. Cody glared up at his husband, who refused to meet his eye. 'It won't be like last time,' Randy said again, except his voice was weaker than before. Fragile, like a whisper on the wind.

     To his credit, Randy was right; the match was nothing like the last time. Cody watched it on the monitors in gorilla, cradling the aches and pains in his own body from his match with Kevin Owens, as his husband fought bravely against the Austrian behemoth. Two bulls battering one another in the arena, each taking turns to gore the other, their skin turning red and breaking from the brutal onslaught. Randy managed to disable Gunther's hand, his greatest weapon, then, when he dumped the Champion through the announce desk, a spark of hope shone bright. Cody watched his majestic husband pose to the crowd and began to imagine the gold belt glistening around his waist. The pride and glory of his victory.

     But then, back in the ring, right when Randy was poised to deliver an RKO that would end it all, Gunther locked on a sleeper hold, and no matter how the Viper tried to snake his way out of his opponent's clutches, it was not enough. The blood drained from Cody's face as Randy's arm went slack, stopped breathing as the ref lifted up the lifeless limb and let it drop to the mat. 

     'No...' he shook his head at the screen, his bad knee almost buckling under him as he turned and hobbled towards the curtain. Just as he got there, it was tossed aside and the towering frame of Gunther walked through. He took one ice-cold look at his fellow champion and sniffed, walking past Cody towards the back. Shortly after, the curtain twitched again and this time, a ground down, exhausted Randy shuffled through.

     'Randy!' Cody wrapped his arms around his husband, never heeding the sweat and grime of the ring as he held his husband close. Their moment was cut all too short by a shrill whistle and they both turned to find Gunther waiting on his trophy.

     'I have to go, Codes,' Randy sighed, his voice breaking as he forcibly prised the blonde off of him. 

     'NO! No Randy, you can't!' Cody fought back, grabbing at any part of his husband's body and clinging on for dear life. 'Please! Don't go with him! I'm begging you!'

     'Cody,' Randy lifted his lover's chin. His fingers were trembling. Cody choked at the sight of his husband's face, the fear and terror in his grey-blue eyes. 'Don't wait up for me this time.'

     'Randy, please... no!'

     'I have to,' he uttered and softly placed a kiss on Cody's lips. 'I love you.'

     Then he left. Left with that monster, who leered at Cody when he wrapped his hand around the small of Randy's back and lead him away.  And Cody just had to accept it. Just had to shower and dress and head back to the bus like it was all ok but the dread gnawed at the pit of his stomach and he felt like throwing up and he couldn't eat and he couldn't sleep but Randy told him not to wait up for him so what could he do? He sat on the bed and he tried to read and tried to look at his phone and tried to watch tv but he couldn't focus at all. 

     At some point in the night, the exhaustion of waiting took over and his eyes fell shut, only to be woken up again some time later to a strange noise coming from the living area of his bus. Shuffling off the bed, Cody limped over to the bedroom door and opened it, hobbling past the bunks and the kitchen area until he found a figure hunched over in a chair, its face hidden behind his huge palms as it wept fitfully.

     He said nothing, just placed his arms around Randy's shoulders and held him tight. Once again, Randy flinched at the sudden contact but when he realised there was no danger, he coiled his own large arms around Cody's waist and cried into his chest like a scared little boy. 

     'I'm so s-sorry, Codes,' he hushed out between sobs. 'I'm s-supposed to be strong-'

     'You have nothing to be sorry about,' Cody told his husband sternly, a spark of flame lighting up in his blue eyes. 'It's Gunther who's going to pay for this.'

     'Cody!' The blonde was pushed back, Randy grabbing his upper arms in a vice grip. 'Don't you ever go near that bastard, you hear me? You stay the hell away from him. Promise me!'

     'Randy, I can't just let him get away with what he did to-?'

     'PROMISE ME!' 

     The once proud warrior's face was wet with tears, his eyes blood-shot and frayed by a thousand and one traumas. He suddenly looked so... small. So vulnerable. The snake had had his venom sapped from his body, his fangs yanked out with rusty pliers.

     Cody shook his head from side-to-side sorrowfully. 'Just tell me what he did to you.'

     The grey eyes shimmered with fresh tears, Randy's face scrunched up with despair. 'Please Cody,' his voice was hoarse, on the brink of falling apart again, 'please don't make me say it.'

     His heart broke in two at that and he couldn't bear to torture his cherished lover any more. 'Ok,' he said and pulled Randy into another bruising hug, one that he hoped chased away the demons. 'You don't have to tell me. And I'll stay away from Gunther. I promise.'

     

     He may not be able to ask The Ring General what had transpired, but there were other ways to skin a cat and one possible lead as to what had happened after Bash in Berlin was the very man that Cody found himself catching up with during Raw the following Monday. CM Punk should have been in high spirits after winning both his match and his bracelet back but he seemed a little on edge around the blonde. Cody's suspicions were confirmed when Punk, pretending to swipe through his phone, softly uttered, 'and how's Randy?'

     Cody narrowed his eyes at his friend. 'What do you mean, "how's Randy"?'

     Punk looked up, fidgeting in his chair. 'Well he lost his match on Saturday, right?'

     The two men eyed one another, Punk feeling the noose tighten around his neck, Cody the one pulling the rope. 'You know something, don't you?' 

     The veteran cast his eyes down. 'I dunno what you're talking-'

     'Punk,' Cody crouched down, not allowing the tattooed man to escape. 'If you know something then tell me. I need to know what happened, I have to know what Gunther did to him.'

     The mere sound of Gunther's name sent a visible shudder up Punk's spine and his hazel eyes lost focus, staring away into the middle distance. Just like Randy's had done. 'That's not for me to say,' he replied at last. 'You have to ask Randy about that.'

     'I tried but he won't talk to me,' Cody heaved a frustrated sigh, 'and he told me to stay away from Gunther.'

     'Good!' Punk shot back. 'He's right! You stay the fuck away from him, Cody, you hear?'

     The blonde scrunched up his face. He was getting real sick of hearing this. Like he was some withering flower, some princess in a tower who needed protected. 'You don't understand Punk, you didn't see the way Randy was afterwards. That rat bastard hurt the man I love! How am I meant to ignore that?'

     'You have to,' Punk ordered him. 'It's for the best. Anyway...' Punk got to his feet, 'I'm the one gunning for Gunther next. Now that Drew is in my rear-view mirror, I'm gonna go out there and lay down the challenge.'

     'And let me guess, did Randy put you up to that?' Cody caught the older man's eye, noting how Punk dragged his tongue along his bottom lip. 

     'We're only looking out for you, Cody,' he said before heading to gorilla.

     Punk was a dead-end but Cody had one more possible lead. If Punk had been hanging around the arena on Saturday night, it was likely with his own winner's trophy. Cody found Drew McIntyre leaving the men's locker room, looking nervous as if he was running late, which was odd because he wasn't dressed for a match. In fact, his attire was a bit strange in general for Drew - blue jeans, walking boots and a black zip hoodie. 

     Cody called his name and the large Scot paused for a moment, glancing up at him. 'Drew, you got a minute?'

     'Make it quick, Rhodes,' Drew warned, twitching impatiently. 

     'Why? You got somewhere you need to be?'

     The Scotsman didn't appreciate being interrogated. 'Spit. It. Out.'

     'Fine,' Cody didn't see any point in angering the already cantankerous Scot. 'I need to know what happened after Bash in Berlin.'

     The blue eyes flashed, growing large for a split-second, betraying the startle at the mention of the PLE's name. But as quickly as it came, it disappeared again and Drew pulled his lips back, baring his teeth. 

     'Out of my fucking way,' he snarled, shoving Cody aside, and that was that. He had exhausted all of his leads and was no further forward in finding out what had happened to Randy. Slumping back against the wall, Cody bumped the back of his head against the hard brick and tried to fight down the disappointment.

     There was one last witness he could try, one final lead. He knew for certain that Gunther would be there here tonight.

     But he couldn't do that to Randy, not after seeing the fear in his eyes. He couldn't add to his pain. He had made a promise and he was going to stick to it.

     However, in this business, promises are so frequently broken.

     With Punk on the shelf after Drew's ambush at Raw and their subsequent Hell in a Cell match, Gunther was in need of a new opponent so Hunter made the announcement at Bad Blood, that Cody would be facing him at Crown Jewel. Randy went ballistic, but no amount of yelling and debating would change the trajectory. With a heavy heart, Cody was forced to break his promise to his husband.

     And come the day of the PLE, he would discover the horrors that Randy had faced first-hand.

     The only thought that ran through the blonde's head as he lay on his back staring up at the bright lights above was of his husband kissing him before the match, holding him tight. 'Win, you hear me,' he'd said, unable to hide the croak in his voice. 'You must win!'

     Cody had fought hard. Had given the Austrian as good as he got. But Gunther was bigger, stronger and more sadistic. He had worn the blonde down to the ground and still kept on kicking. Cody was certain he had a cracked rib or two from the vicious chops, every breath he dragged in stung like a knife plunging into his chest. He was only vaguely aware of the ref's hand smacking the canvas for the one, two, three, hardly noticed the victor get to his feet to have his arm raised.

     It was only when the boards swayed beneath him as two chunky knees crashed down beside him and a fat finger tenderly trace a line of sweat down his brow and cheek that the implications of his loss hit him. 

     'You are mine now, welpe.'

     Gunther didn't wait for him to stand on his own. He hauled the dazed blonde onto his shoulder and carried him out of the ring, but instead of heading up the ramp to the back, Gunther marched towards the announce desk and left through the stunned crowd. Cody slumped like carrion on the hunter's back, trying to make sense of the pattern of strange hallways and doors. Through the lifting haze, he could hear something, a booming voice yelling his name over and over.

     'Randy...?' He tried to lift his thumping head, finally shaking the cotton wool in his brain loose. 'Randy, where-'

     He was dropped down from Gunther's shoulder and thrown into a dark room. The light was flicked on and he saw a couple of neatly packed bags on the benches realising that Gunther had not taken him to his designated locker room, but somewhere else instead. Bunching up his fists, Cody turned and found the Austrian locking the door tight behind him. 

     'Alone at last,' Gunther said, walking calmly across the room to lay the key to the door on a bench, easily within Cody's reach. A test, the blonde surmised, the games have begun already. 'No crowd. No officials. Just you and me.'

     'Good, I've been hoping for a chance to talk,' Cody puffed out his chest defiantly. He was not afraid of the Ring General. 

     'Well then,' Gunther gave a wry chuckle, clanking his brand new, diamond-encrusted belt down pride of place for his defeated opponent to see. 'As you say, "what do you want to talk about?"'

     Cody took in a steadying breath. 'Crown Jewel. Bash in Berlin. What did you do to Randy?'

     'Hmm.' Gunther ran a finger along the gold edge of the championship then straightened up, Cody stepping out of harm's way as the Austrian moved past him towards his possessions. 'You want answers.' Glancing back over his shoulder, Cody saw the key, sitting right there on the bench, a fingertip away. He could grab it, rush for the door, get out. 

     But the pull for answers was too strong, too important. He stayed put.

     Behind him, Gunther was rummaging through one of the bags. 'You see that beautiful belt, right there?' Cody's blue eyes moved from the key to the Crown Jewel Championship. 'That belongs to me, to prove that I am the better champion. A king of champions.'

     Suddenly, something wrapped around Cody's neck and jerked him backwards, choking him. His hands went to his throat, fingers grasping at a leather strap and he tried to pull it away but it tightened even more, almost lifting him off his feet. 

     Then he was let go, landing awkwardly on his bad knee and almost crumbling to the floor. Both hands grasped the garrotte around his neck, finding what felt like a dog's collar.

     'And as King of Champions,' Gunther went on, his voice booming directly behind him, 'you belong to me now too. You want answers? You want to know what I did to Randy?' Heavy footsteps thundered around him, Gunther walking into his line of sight. Cody spotted what looked like a remote in his large hand. 'I will show you, welpe.'

     'What does that mean?' Cody hissed at the Austrian, but Gunther didn't seem to hear. Or care.

     'Dogs don't talk,' he said, cryptically, confusing the blonde. 'Now, let's start with a simple command, shall we? Sitz.' He looked expectantly at Cody who glared right back, not understanding this bizarre situation at all. 'Sitz!' Again, Cody refused to move. 'I said sitz.'

     'I don't under- AAAGHHHH!!!!!' A bolt of electricity screamed across Cody's head and down his spine. Every one of his muscles were momentarily paralysed and his legs fell out from underneath him, sending him crashing to the tiled floor. He sat panting on the ground, gasping with shock.

     'That's it, braver hund.' 

     Cody's mind was whirring, trying to make sense of what the hell just happened. Shock collar, his mind cried out in panic. He put you in a shock collar!

     'Let's try another,' Gunther's frame seemed even larger now as it loomed over Cody like a great, terrible beast. 'How about-' 

     But before he could finish, the moment was interrupted by the shrill sound of a cell phone ringing. Gunther went searching for it, allowing Cody a moment to draw breath and assess his dire situation. He could stall no longer, he had to get the key, it was right there and-

     'Randy.'

     Randy?!

     'Yes, I have your bitch right here with me,' Gunther sneered down the phone, his cold eyes finding the fallen champion at his feet. 'A fine specimen he is too. A pure-bred pedigree, from a distinguished lineage, same as you, Randy.' The Austrian trailed his fingers up between Cody's shoulder blades, making the blonde shudder as his captor playfully ruffled the platinum bristles at the back of his neck. 'Such a beautiful creature.'

     For the first time that evening, the fear began to claw at him. He looked up at Gunther, reaching for the cell in his hand. 'Please, let me-'

     'Do you want to speak with him, Randy? Here.' Gunther held the phone close and the tears almost rushed in when he heard his husband's terror-laced voice. 

     'Cody? Are you there?'

     'I'm here, Randy,' he said, swallowing down his anguish. 'I'll be fine.'

     'I'm coming for you. Just hold on.'    

     'Randy...' Cody took in a quick breath, steeling himself. 'Don't wait up for me, ok?'

     'Tell me where you are!' Randy's panic cranked up several notches. 'I'll come find-'

     Gunther pulled the cell away, cutting the conversation off. The two men locked eyes as the Ring General took several steps back and placed the phone down on the floor. Cody could hear the small, tinny sound of Randy's voice calling his name frantically and it tore his hear to shreds.

     But then, Gunther walked away to the other side of the room, leaving the cell behind. Cody sensed another game, feeling his skin prick with nerves when his captor brandished the control in his hand. A threat. 'No more distractions,' he boomed, his thumb hovering over the large red button on the remote. 'Let's continue with our training. Next command; steh.'

     'You want me to stay?' Cody scoffed up at the huge gargoyle. 'Is that it?' Gunther said nothing, only stroked his calloused thumb around the edges of the red button. 'Well, I say, over my dead body!'

     Cody leapt forward, arm stretched for the cell when another bolt shot through him, fiercer and longer this time. He fell on his side, his whole body turning as stiff as a board, stretching out like a piece of taffy on the hook. 

     Then it released him.

     He was closer now, he just had to reach up and-

     Another bolt, even stronger than the last. It went on for close to ten seconds before it let him go. 

     The pain was unbearable, his body felt like was being roasted from the inside out. But he gritted his teeth, lowered his brow and heaved his trembling hand from the tiles to grab the-

     'AAAAAGGHHHHHHHHHH!'

     He was on fire! His blood boiling in his veins! The pain convulsed through him, making his helpless frame judder like a fish caught on dry land. He screamed until his lungs collapsed. 

     Gunther released his hold on the button. Cody's tattered breaths filled the air, trying to breath through the agony. 

     'I expected you to be difficult,' Gunther muttered. 'What else could I expect from Randy's bitch. But I broke him eventually, and I will break you too.'

     A pocket of bile threw up into Cody's mouth. He spat it out with contempt. 

     'I am nobody's bitch!' he declared, struggling up to one elbow, a feat which took every ounce of strength and spirit he possessed, 'and I am nothing like Randy.'

     Tilting his head slightly, Gunther chewed over Cody's brave words. 'We'll see.'

     He slammed his thumb over the button.

     'AAAAAAAAGGGGGGGGGGHHHHHHHHHHHH!'

     Droplets of tepid water broke Cody from his stupour. He found his face pressed down on the tiles and feared for a moment that the rivulets rushing down his face were piss but fortunately it didn't taste like it. It was only water.

     'Wake up, Cody,' Gunther's deep, menacing voice vibrated into his skull. 'I didn't give the order to rest.'

     His arms were numb, dead to any feeling. So were his legs. Only his neck creaked slowly up to allow him to turn his head and find his captor. He was settling back down onto the bench, taking a swig from the water bottle he had used to rouse Cody from unconsciousness. He looked tired. They had been at this for hours now.

     'You are one stubborn little scheiße, I'll admit that,' Gunther said, leaning back against the wall, dribbling the last dredges of water on his brow. 'I had Randy fully trained by now.'

     'M'said before,' Cody's clumsy lips tried to form words. 'M'nothing like... Randy...'

     'Yes, I see that now.' The Austrian paused for a moment, sitting as still as a grim sculpture. After a while, he leaned over and reached into a bag beside him, pulling from it something long and strange, with a tangle of leather tails dangling from one end. A flogger! 'You actually remind me more of someone else.' He inspected the item, holding in his hand like a precious bar of gold. 'Of Ludwig. Or, to be more precise... of Marcel.'

     Cody blinked at that. Trying to find the connection between himself and Gunther's snivelling lackey. Or why his previous name was so significant.

     'Marcel was a difficult dog to train too,' Gunther went on, teasing the thick strands of leather though his fingers. 'Stubborn, resilient, intelligent. Too intelligent. Just like you, he absorbed all the pain I inflicted on him and gave me nothing in return.' 

     Some feeling finally returned to Cody's body. Merely a flicker, but enough for him to draw his quivering arms underneath him and push himself up. He slumped against the wall behind him, keeping his chin up to observe his captor as he spun his tale.

     'But just like you, he had a weakness,' Gunther's cruel, evil eye found his and held on, like a locked jaw. 'He had Fabian.' Giovanni, Cody realised. Ludwig's long-time tag partner and another of Gunther's lackeys. Former tag-partner and lackey. Not anymore. Not after his teammates had turned on him and violently exiled him from Imperium.

     'I made a bargain with him,' Gunther went on, 'if he submitted to me, then no harm would come to Fabian. He didn't care about his own welfare but the man he loved... that was a different story. He finally gave himself over to me, unaware that his lover had already sold him out for his own worthless life.' 

     Cody's chest tightened, overwhelmed with empathy for his fellow victim. 

    'You see, there is a certain finesse with dog training. It's not always about getting quick results. Sometimes, it takes a little time, patience. All it needs is a single break-through, one moment for a bond of trust to be forged between a master and his pet. And over time that bond grows, link by link.'

     He had lost him. Cody couldn't follow the logic or why it related to him, but he could sense the danger growing closer every second. He flinched when Gunther stood up and took a step towards him, but he did not tread any closer. Instead, he placed the flogger on the ground between them then returned to his spot on the bench, his mammoth arms resting on his open thighs.

     'From this day on, I promise never to claim my winner's rights over Randy again.'

     Cody hitched a breath. Had he just heard him right? This couldn't be true. There had to be a catch!

     'If...?' He locked his blue eyes onto Gunther's.

     The Austrian smiled broadly, letting out a laugh like the rumble of thunder. 'You are a smart one,' he grinned, proudly. 'Letting Randy go means I have a space in my kennels that needs filling. Perhaps you know someone willing to take his place...?'

     There it was!

     Cody's gaze sank to the floor. He understood. The dog-catcher had the cunning stray cornered and had looped the leash slip around his throat. He looked at the flogger lying there, waiting.

     And he knew what to do.

     Letting out a wince of pain, he fell onto his hands and knees. His body was numb but he forced it to crawl on all fours across the tiles, grunting with each pain-filled, hard-fought inch, until he reached the flogger and bent his face down to it. Opening his mouth wide, he wrapped his tongue around it and pulled it in, his teeth crunching down into the worn leather of the handle to keep it secure as he lifted his head back up.

     That was the easy bit. 

     Cody hesitated, fighting that last piece of him that demanded he drop the flogger and grab the key still sitting there on the bench and make a dash for the door. But he remembered Randy, remembered that haunted look in his eyes and the tears on his cheeks and he couldn't bear a repeat of his husband's torment.

     So he crawled over to Gunther.

     'Braver hund,' his master smiled triumphantly, putting out his palm for Cody to drop the flogger in. He was rewarded with a gentle ruffle of his master's hand through his hair, trembling at the touch. Discovering that he hated Gunther's tenderness far more than he hated his brutality.

     'Now,' Gunther leered, stroking his hand all the way down Cody's bare back until it hit the waistband of his wrestling tights. Cody suppressed a gasp when the strange fingers slid right in. 'Let's see if you're ready for breeding.'

     Randy broke his promise. He was waiting for him.

     Cody jumped when he opened the door to his tour bus and found his husband there on the steps, on the brink of sleep. As soon as he saw Cody though, he jumped back to life and grabbed him up in a bruising hug.

     'Cody! Are you-? Did he hurt you? Talk to me.'

     But what could he say? How could he begin to explain?

     'I feel dirty,' he said at last.

     Randy understood. 'Let's run you a shower.'

     His husband took great care with him, letting Cody strip himself then helped him into the small shower unit on the bus, turning the water up good and hot. Cody didn't have enough energy in him to stand, instead sitting on the floor with his knees bunched up to his chest, his arms wrapped around them protectively while Randy gently scrubbed away the filth of Gunther's winner's room with soap and a sponge. He asked no questions, knew better than that. Knew better than anyone.

     Even now, Cody could see that trauma in his husband's grey-blue eyes and wondered if he now looked that way too. Now that he had endured the same torture. But he had only received it once, Randy had lost to that monster twice in a matter of mere months.

     Cody reached out and grabbed his husband tightly by the wrist. Randy gave a start and stared wide-eyed at his lover who used his other hand to cup the Viper's bristly cheek. 

     'He told you you were weak,' Cody said, his voice steady as a rock in stormy waters, bashed and buffeted yet standing firm. 'You're not, Randy. Don't believe him. You are the strongest man I know.'

     The Viper's jaw fell slack, hanging open as words tried and failed to come out. His brow furrowed and his eyes blinked, each time manifesting more spots of light which blurred out the grey-blue. He gave a wobbly nod and tried to look away.

     But Cody grabbed his chin with both hands and lifted his head back up proudly. Pulling him in under the hot spray, he brought their lips together and kissed him passionately. And when the kiss was over, he rested his forehead against Randy's, drinking in the warmth and love from his husband, filling his empty soul back up to the brim again.

     'We both are,' he said. 'We're both stronger. Together.'

[maskedemerald]

Weaving Webs CH4

Here is chapter four for Invisobang ! The wonderful @pricklenettle did some fantastic art that you'll see embedded through out the fic! We get some more creepy Danny art this chapter! And I love the little details on the fridge!

You can check out the fic here or on AO3!

If you like this consider dropping us both a follow!

Warnings: Body horror, manipulation, Spectra is her own content warning, Burns, Spider - for like 2 chapters then it goes away.

The Fenton parents were there when the accident happened, they saw Danny die in an act of sabotage. Now they’re just trying to go on with the strange ghost that is all that's left of Danny. While their old college friend is wondering where the subjects of his revenge are.

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Chapter Four

The lab was dim, an electric twilight. The lights blared overhead as they usually would but her eyes were too over compensated. Something bright, like looking at the sun burned in her vision. Her ears rang with screams. She couldn’t move. Shadowy, skeletal hands gripped her feet. Her face. His hand. Scraping her skin with rough burnt skin. Forcing her to watch. Unable to stop it. Those cold hands held her arms as she tried to fight free.

You don’t get to look away.

It’s your fault, you let him go in.

This is all because of you.

A sharp chill deeper than the cold hands drew a violent shiver. Like an ice bath. Colder.

Maddie jerked awake, that chilling feeling still in her spine despite being awake. She stared up at the ceiling trying not to think. The waking world wasn’t much better than that nightmare after all. She frowned, noticing that it was much lighter than she had thought. Later in the morning than she had thought. She sighed knowing that she wouldn’t get back to sleep now and started to push herself up.

There was a soft white glow at the foot of the bed. Its legs were gone, blended into a tail that twisted round itself to curl up. The tattered sleeve and skeletal arm exposed. The bony fingers stretched out towards her. She shifted just a bit too much of the blanket as she tried to escape the bed unnoticed. Danny’s ghost lifted a tilted head. She froze for a moment but it didn’t lunge.

It followed her throughout the house, keeping to shadows or perching on high locations. Like the top of the fridge where it had settled during breakfast. Jazz kept glancing in its direction and left quickly the moment she could. Her breakfast, only half finished.

It appeared to once again fall asleep there. She watched it. It didn’t make sense, ghosts didn’t need sleep. Or at least none of the research said they did. Maybe it was wrong. Maybe this was a feature of newer ghosts. Would it sleep less the longer it was… dead? Would anything else change over time? Was it only a matter of time before it became malevolent like the research said?

Research… research said that this shouldn’t have happened. The portal shouldn’t have turned on. They had worked hard to make sure there wouldn’t be another accident. Not after Vlad. She had to know why? Why did this happen? Why was Danny…? Was it their fault? Had they made this mistake?

She glanced to the lab door in the corner. She didn’t want to face it but she had to. Had to know why. Her hand hovered shakily over the handle. The ghost shuffled in its place on the fridge. A high pitched whine. A constant reminder of what happened. A reminder she couldn’t escape. A question that would quite literally haunt her forever if she didn’t find an answer. She took a deep breath and turned the handle.

The descent into the lab was a slow one. Each step felt massive and the bottom still shadowed in the darkness they had left it in on the day of the incident. The lights flickered on weakly, revealing the scattered chaos that had been them trying to save Danny.

She crossed to the console, that was where part of the problem was. The only part she could access. The only place she could get answers from. The portal frame itself was inaccessible behind the swirling green of their window into the ghost zone. The death trap that had killed Danny. The swirls played tricks on her tired mind, the silhouette of a mass of something beyond the portal. A shape close to the floor. Even if it was really there she didn’t want to see. The horror of a mangled, incinerated body that her mind supplied was bad enough. She couldn’t handle the real thing.

The console reported back that the portal was active. It understood that. It wasn’t a bool issue in the code. Something reporting false when it should have said true stopping her from turning off the machine it didn’t think was on. It knew it was on. That meant the emergency controls were the problem. She poured over the code trying to find the control error. A mistyped variable or something. Anything that would explain what happened.

What she found was worse. Or maybe better, if only because it meant it wasn’t them. They hadn’t caused this. There was an override coded into the emergency shutdown. An override that linked back to a start-up sequence they had never coded. It was set to initiate start-up while someone was inside. Specifically while the wiring was being worked on. Some of the wires had been bypassed to allow the machine to work even if they had been unplugged. Wires that had once been important to function were now just a trigger. Sabotage.

Jack was meant to be dealing with the wiring, it had only been passed to Danny since the paneling went on. Had someone been trying to kill Jack? No, that didn’t make sense. Why would… but then why would anyone target anyone else in the family. She couldn’t think of anyone who hated them like that. Even the Mansons didn’t disapprove of them that much. Even if she could think of someone this required a certain level of understanding of their work. Few had that privilege. Vlad from college but that would have been long outdated with how long it had been and their direct overseers from the GIW. Neither really had opportunity and reason. Had it not been about them at all? Was someone trying to halt their work and unintentionally caught Danny in the crossfire? Still she couldn’t think of who. The GIW were literally paying them, sabotage would just make it worthless. Vlad had nothing to gain, he wasn’t even in the field any more.

She frustratedly shook her head, there was no use speculating when she really had no clues. Maybe Jack would know something. If not at least he wouldn’t be blaming himself like she had been. She took a few moments to document the evidence and hide it away. Whoever it was had somehow gained access to their computers if not the lab itself, she couldn’t risk it being covered up. Maddie was not going to let this go unpunished. She was going to find who did this and she was going to make them pay.

Satisfied that the files were preserved she headed for the stairs. Jack was probably still sleeping. She’d wake him. He’d want to be told as soon as possible.

It was like a cold hand crawled up her spine. She froze, one foot on the next step, halfway up the stairs. Her heart beat faster and she couldn’t help but feel on edge. Each next step was tentative and cautious. Her eyes scanned the kitchen and fell on the sleeping ghost on the fridge top. She let out an uncomfortable awkward laugh. Of course it was the ghost. She should have realized that was what they were feeling. That natural human fear response to a ghost's aura. Of course they would be feeling that, made only worse by the very real grief.

She found Jack exactly where she expected him to be. He was sleeping but it hadn’t been peaceful. The covers around him were rumpled and his eyes bagged. He had probably been lying there awake for a good portion of the night. She knew she had been before the exhaustion took her into that nightmare.

“Jack?” she asked softly as she gently shook him. Thankfully he didn’t startle, his eyes opened awkwardly with a tired and confused groan.

“Mads? What is it?” he paused, wiping sleep out of his eyes, “did something happen?” concern drifted onto his face and was alleviated as she shook her head.

“I found something. The accident,” she stumbled over the memory of it, “it wasn’t. I was looking through the control panel files. They’d been changed.”

“Sabotage?”

She nodded, “someone bypassed the safety controls and the power. They rigged it to go off while you were working.”

“But I hadn’t… I passed it off to…” his face dropped, “if I hadn’t then… Mads this…”

“Jack, that doesn’t make it your fault. Danny wanted to help and we didn’t know. We couldn’t have,” if anyone was to know it would be her she’d noticed something had been changed, even if it wasn’t obviously malicious at the time.

“Who is then, who even had access?”

“I don’t know but now we know we can find out,” Maddie said firmly, a promise. Another promise unsaid but clear, that whoever was responsible was going to regret this.

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[reallypleasanttree]

I need a one shot of Obani x Misturi! I want to see the struggles of them as parents! Probably add Planned Pregnancy and Angst/Fluff!

Do you even do requests? I'm sorry if I'm disturbing you! I just really need it!😞

No worries! I’m open to hearing requests, but it depends on the individual prompt. I actually have a WIP related to this prompt I'll share. It's mostly modern domestic fluff. ☺️ Hopefully, it fits the vibe you want. Please enjoy!

The morning light cast shadows over his wife’s face. Her eyes were shut, lost in a dream. He ran his hand over her long hair, making her sigh. His eyes traveled from her face to her swollen stomach. He loved seeing her pregnant. It was the first dream she had told him when they became friends telling one another their hopes for the future. She wanted a large family with three kids at least. At the time, he had been under the impression they were only friends despite his growing feelings for her. She was someone who deserved the world and then more. 

He had little to offer her. His family was filthy. Full of criminals, murderers, thieves, and occult members, sacrificing their newborns for rituals. Their goddess was a snake woman. From paintings she was half snake with a human torso and face. Her golden eyes haunted his childhood dreams. Two golden eyes shimmering in the darkness, her tail dragging across the wood floor. 

He would have been a sacrifice if he didn’t have one golden eye just as their goddess was depicted. They revered him and decided to wait to sacrifice him to their deity. When he was seven years old the cult was discovered and his family was taken into custody. He on the other side was put into foster care. 

Mitsuri rolled over and bent her legs up. Obanai turned with her and wrapped one arm around her. His hand rested over her stomach. Her skin was smooth from all the creams and lotions she used to help prevent stretch marks. It still stunned him thinking they would be holding a baby in four months. The upcoming scan would reveal if they were having a boy or girl. He did not care what gender they were. He only wanted them to be healthy in body and mind. Their baby would have a loving mother and a father who would try his best. 

For whatever reason Mitsuri picked him. He held her a moment longer before sitting up. He went down to the kitchen with two cats trailing after him. A pair of red tabby brothers Mitsuri named Matcha and Chai. He still confused them despite living with them for three years now. Obanai grabbed their food and poured it into bowls. He set them down on the mat and cats raced over. 

He started breakfast. Pancakes were always in demand. The first time Mitsuri stayed over she started chanting pancakes when he asked her what she wanted for breakfast. He had no idea then that it would become a tradition. Every Saturday morning he would cut up fruit, mix the batter, and deliver them to her while she was still in bed. 

Once he had two plates piled high he set them on a serving tray. Syrup, fruit, butter, chocolate chips, and everything in between. Mitsuri’s appetite had always been large. He had been worried before they found out she was pregnant. Her appetite became nonexistent for a week. He thought it was the flu since he had it the week before. They took her to the doctor when she couldn’t hold anything down when she did eat. 

The doctor was the first to mention the possibility of pregnancy. He and Mitsuri looked at each other and he facepalmed. Why hadn’t they thought of it? A blood test confirmed it and she was given medication to help with her morning sickness. They had been trying for a month. He never expected it would happen so quickly. 

Obanai sighed and picked up the serving tray. He walked back into their bedroom and set the tray down on Mitsuri’s nightstand. Sitting down on the side of the bed, he gently rubbed her shoulder. 

“I know you’re awake, Mitsuri,” he said. Her sense of smell heightened with her pregnancy and there was no way she would miss the smell of vanilla and fresh pancakes. Mitsuri smiled and opened her eyes. He leaned down to kiss her forehead before grabbing the tray to place over her. She sat up with her back resting against three pillows to prop herself up. 

“It smells so good,” she said, picking up silverware and cutting into the pile of pancakes. Obanai grabbed a strawberry to eat. He glanced at the foot of the bed and saw her wiggling her feet under the blankets in her own version of a happy dance as she ate. 

“Hey, so I was thinking about baby names. What do you think about Sora?” she asked. 

“No, I knew a kid in high school named Sora and he was insufferable,” Obanai answered, shaking his head. Mitsuri pouted. 

“You’ve said that about every name I suggested, so what names have you come up with?” Mitsuri asked. 

“Hikari for a girl. Riku for a boy,” he answered immediately. Mitsuri took a second to register the information. 

“Those were my grandparents’ names,” she whispered. Her bottom lip trembled. They passed away in the past three years and Mitsuri felt their loss deeply. 

“They were the first ones to welcome me into your family. I want to honor them,” Obanai explained. Her green eyes blinked rapidly, trying to prevent herself from crying. “If you don’t like the idea-”

“No, I love it,” Mitsuri interrupted him. She tried to reach for a tissue, but if she turned then her belly would tip over the serving tray. Obanai grabbed a tissue and handed it to his wife. She dabbed her eyes. Obanai ate another strawberry and rubbed her leg in quiet comfort.

[holy-mothers-servant]

(Just a little fic(?) written for the current state Nahyuta is in :3 I cant believe an ask blog got so much lore but I'm LOVING IT

Anyway this might be a bit OOC, I dunno. I do my best to portray Nahyuta as well as I can. Inspired by the thing @ask-twisted-samurai wrote.)

Nahyuta Sahdmadhi was, in a word, stressed.

Each night, sleep felt more like a chore, with his mind churning out meaningless dreams. When he finally opened his eyes to the light of dawn, a sense of tranquility overtook him- only to be swiftly replaced by the dread of having to go through another day. He would stumble out of bed, half-awake and half-asleep, rushing through his morning routine. Nahyuta was always in a rush. Pacing around a room when plans got difficult to wrap his head around, shutting down any offers of help hastily.

As he splashed cold water on his face, he gazed into the mirror, feeling just a fleeting moment of blissful blankness in his mind. But that peace was temporary, fading as his thoughts returned and invaded his mind. The question that haunted him most was… why?

Why did Rayfa have to suffer for his mistakes? Why was she trapped in a cage, oblivious to the freedom that awaited her? Why were the people he encountered- Apollo, Simon especially- so stubborn, seemingly deaf to his pleas to stay AWAY from the web Queen Ga'ran had woven? He could cry out for help as much as he wanted, yet therein lies a paradox: as desperately as he needed help, he could not risk it. To seek his own freedom at the cost of Rayfa’s peaceful days felt… selfish.

But if his intentions were selfless, why did the Holy Mother seem angry with him? Had he strayed so far that his life had to crumble before him? His blood stained everything he sought to protect, yet was it so tainted that everyone he loved had to suffer? He had prayed, wept, smiled, and survived, fighting tooth and nail to get this far. Yet all his efforts felt destined to be destroyed, just as they had been so many years ago.

Tears pricked at the corners of his eyes. "Boys don’t cry," his father had told him long ago, and he clung to those words for any sense of comfort. This was what Dhurke would have wanted: to protect Rayfa with everything he had. It was the only thing Nahyuta could do… beyond that, he felt powerless against Her Eminence’s thirst for power.

But perhaps, just perhaps, he was not alone. Maybe Apollo sensed his anxiety and was researching at this very moment. Perhaps Rayfa would be taken somewhere safe. Perhaps that prosecutor, that warrior, that man- would come to his aid. It was hopeful thinking, Sahdmadhi knew, yet it provided a distraction that would do for now.

He washed his face once more, whispered a prayer to the Holy Mother, and hoped the cold water might wash away his sins, too.

[its-time-to-write]

i know now it’ll pass - ch. 5

I think these last two chapters are my favorite🥲 Lmk with you all think of the series bc I crave validation!!! No such thing as too many comments🥺🥺

still miss you

It’s the worst. You’re working in Manchester of all places, and you really wish that you were somewhere else. But they paid the most and offered housing and were able to hire you within two and a half weeks of your breakup. Higgins wrote a glowing letter of recommendation, and just like that, you were gone. 

You’re going to miss your flat, you realize. You don’t even know who bought it. Doesn’t matter. They were willing to pay twice what it was worth as long as they were the offer you accepted.

It’s good that Jamie won’t see you around. Won’t have any lingering reminders. It’s good that you’re the one who ended things, because he won’t be able to blame himself for it. (He probably still will, you think, but you put that thought in a tiny box and put it on a shelf far away.) 

Jamie doesn’t see you, but you see him. You see him in photos on the wall and hear him in the local voices and wish you could have just accepted his love for a little while longer.

You watch every single one of his games and cheer when he makes a goal. Or a pass. Or anything, really. He’s started running like Roy Kent did at Chelsea, like he’s angry at the grass. At least his anger is channeled into something productive.

Your new flat faces the sun, and you’re on the steps all the time. It’s not standard housing, it’s a real actual flat that Man City bought for you. It’s not big but it’s clean and yours and has a real, actual garden in the back. You think that you can manage this until you meet your neighbors and realize you’re really and truly fucked and the universe hates you.

You met the husband, Simon, on one of your sleepless nights. It was still relatively early, just 1:30, but you could tell that you weren’t going to get much sleep. Dr. Sharon transferred you to someone in Manchester, but now you were awake for different reasons. Jamie’s face kept haunting you so you kept your eyes wide open. Some mornings you’d wake up under the weighted blanket and think that it was him, in your groggy haze. Then you’d blink a couple times and remember that you’d broken up.

So you don’t sleep much. And now you’re on the porch with a cup of the tea Jamie’s mum recommended so long ago, the strong smell steaming into the air. As you sit down on your chair (you have a chair now) you hear a soft voice say, “Lovely night, isn’t it?” You nod and look over to see your neighbor sitting on his chair as well on the lawn. 

“Sometimes I like to come out here and look at the stars,” he continues. “Can’t always see very many of them, but the fresh air is nice. I’m Simon, by the way.”

You nod again, give him your name, and sip your tea.

“Is that Sleep Plus by Twinings?” he asks. “I only ask because my wife swears by it. Has a cuppa every single night, so I’m well-acquainted with the smell.”

You smile. “Yeah, it is. A friend gave it to me. Said his mum loved it too. I have trouble sleeping, so…”

Simon nods. “Georgie, that’s my wife, used to have the same problem. Too many things on her mind, she said. But she’s been alright ever since we’ve been married. She says that it wasn’t really a chemical problem in her brain, but more the fact that she was always worried. Took me years to show her I wasn’t someone she needed to be worried around. But, I proved myself and here we are.” He chuckles fondly. “She’s upstairs snoring loud as can be.”

You sit in silence a while longer before Simon gets up and says, “Lovely to meet you. I’ll have Georgie invite you ‘round for tea sometime.”

Tea with your neighbors sounds wonderful until you walk into their flat and see pictures of Georgie’s son on the walls and on tables and on the fridge and in basically every possible space she can find. Simon mentions how he researched creative things to do with photographs because it “helps Georgie when she misses him,” and you know for an absolute fact that the universe has a personal hatred for you.

It has to, because why else would you have unwittingly gotten a flat right next to Jamie’s parents?

You force yourself to behave as normally as possible and thank them for a lovely meal. Georgie grabs your arm on the way out and says you ought to come over again some time. She hugs you and tells you she didn’t have a sparkle in her eyes at your age, either. She knows what it’s like and maybe you can have tea together tomorrow night, just the two of you. Talk about it and maybe you don’t have to struggle as much as she did.

You don’t smile at her, but she doesn’t mind. Georgie reaches out a hand to wipe away a tear and says, “Oh love. It’ll be alright. You’re not alone all the way out here. I miss my son something terrible and I can see you’re missing someone too. You’ve already made me feel better and I hope I can help you the way you’ve helped me. Good to have someone young around here.”

She’s smiling, and you realize she and Jamie have the same soft eyes.

Georgie hugs you tight again before you can bolt out the door. “You’re not alone, sweetheart,” she whispers. “You’ll be alright.”

—

Simon and Georgie are a godsend. Sure, you have to suffer their son staring down at you from his various portraits in the house, but you can talk to them. They’re like parents with the way Georgie hugs you and Simon is always bringing over excess baked goods. They’re always available to talk and listen, to laugh and sometimes, to cry.

Georgie tells you about her ex-husband one nights and it’s enough to make you sob. You tell her about your ex-boyfriend (the bad one) through gasps while she rubs your back and murmurs, “I’m right here, love.”

“How were you able to be with Simon?” you ask once you’ve calmed down. “I just can’t understand that. I’ve tried, I really have, but I was just waiting for him to get tired of me. And I’m not positive he ever would have.”

Georgie thinks for a moment. “I think I finally realized that James was not the standard for all men. He and Simon were very different, and Simon always showed me he respected me as a person. It took years of that, but here we are.” She laughs. “He’s a very patient man. Not many would put up with me and my Jamie.”

Jamie was patient. And funny. And the exact opposite of your ex. He’s confident with a touch of arrogance, but it’s the kind of confidence that’s contagious as opposed to oppressive. He’s sweet and thoughtful, and does things without expecting something in return. He likes to make you smile just for the sake of it, and you like to do the same.

You’re shaken from your reverie by Georgie saying, “That reminds me, Jamie’s coming into town this weekend. You should come over to meet him.”

She and Simon share a not-so-subtle glance that means you should date our son and become our actual daughter-in-law because you’re basically already ours, and that’s when you decide you’re going to be horribly ill.

“I’d love to,” you say out loud. “I’ll check my calendar.”

Table of Contents

[kechiwrites]

Just read white flag and UUUUUUUGH my heart hurts and my head hurts and my nose is all stopped up. Ugly crying is the only way to go about this.

Then I started thinking, how torn up would ghost have been if Tommy knew nothing about him. And when he asks (as all kids do) reader let years of anger and hate guide her tongue when she tells their son she doesn't know the big scary man but she won't let him hurt them. I just can't rn. I hurt my own damn feelings and I just stopped crying from reading your last fic.

no because let's talk about it!

toxic baby daddy ghost x reader : angst of course, slightly suggestive content, hints at dubious consent, no proofreading, we die like reader's empathy, no gendered language, no use of y/n ever

imagine you swinging open the front door, tommy all knotted up in the legs of your pants, four years old and so insanely bright, smart for his age, all the preschool teachers say so. he's all sweet voice and chubby cheeks and little hands that cling to you just a bit tighter when the big man dressed in black fills your doorway.

the skull mask is firmly in place, like he couldn't be bothered to change into his civvies, and you would laugh if you weren't so sure it would end in heaving, desperate sobs. His eyes burn a hole into your face, hovering over your mouth, your eyes, your nose, your throat; cataloguing what's the same, studying what's different. you hope to god he's committed it all to memory, the disgust in your gaze, the anger that curls your lip, because you'll do your level best to ensure he never gets the chance to see it again.

"who're you?" tommy inquires, when it's clear that the two of you are just going to fucking stand there and immediately ghost's gaze slinks lower, until he's staring at your son, like he can't believe the little boy is right there. your boy, for all his vocal, youthful curiosity, hides under the scrutiny, and his fear spurs you into action. you scoop him up, a task that gets harder by the day, and heft him onto your hip.

"he's no one, sweetie." you slam the door closed with your free hand and thank god he doesn't think to wedge his foot in before it shuts completely. later, you think, vindictively, victoriously; 'i did that, that defeated look in his eye', after all, if he wanted tommy to know him, to love him, then maybe he should've let you take a picture of his face as is, given you something to show your kid at the very least when he inevitably asked where the fuck he came from. better yet, maybe he shouldn't have poured acid all over the relationship you'd once had. maybe he should've stuck around instead of leaving you to fend for your goddamn self. when you tuck tommy in, he asks after "the man" again, the ghoul newly haunting your neighbourhood. his voice is subdued, sleepy and yet somehow still shaky with fear.

"i would never let him hurt you, baby." you whisper, and his grateful, baby-toothed smile solidifies a whisper of a thought into a full blown plan. by the next morning, half of your bedroom is packed up, and when tommy stirs awake, you pitch a "road trip to grandma's". 14 hours away will just have to be far enough, for now anyway. this didn't actually happen, of course. you were too shellshocked to give ghost what he oh so rightly deserved. you'd gaped and gawked and stepped to the side when he inclined his head like he wanted to come in because even after four lonely years, the two of you still sustain a language of sounds and gestures and touches so soft the memory of them nearly ceased to exist after they were done. he stuck around for hours, introducing himself to tommy, shaking your baby's hand in a sterile show of his own discomfort, hunkering down in your living room while you guided tommy through your night time routine. once your son was snug in his bed, snoring softly, ghost used your shock to intrude on your personal space, used your hesitation to touch you, first gentle, then harder. until you cede to familiar sensation.

teehee!

baby blue masterlist

[deathcat7887]

Sucker for a Happy Ending

word count-1784 GenderNeutural reader

TW: mention of blood, war, death

Price has horrible nightmares and comes to you

Gunshots, blood, explosion. You’re on the ground, not moving and half blown to bits. He rushes over, repeatedly calling your name, hoping for a response but getting nothing as you continue to lay there. Lifeless. He shakes you, trying to get a response, begging you to respond and to hold on. The world around him is silent as tears fall down his face.

He jolts awake. Another nightmare. They have been haunting him for the past week and all he can see is your body on the ground, but you're not dead, no, you’re in your own room. Asleep. It all started when the Task Force 141 was under fire. Without warning you ran for a wall to use as cover when someone had just thrown a grenade and it landed next to you. You didn't see it until the last second and moved away in time, however in Price’s mind, he had seen you die and has from then on seen you die a million times over.

He glances at his clock, seeing its 3 in the morning. He sits up as he tries to clear his mind but no use. He gets dressed and walks down the hall to your room. Knocking on the door, waking you from your sleep. You’re confused to be woken up at 3, not remembering if there was anything scheduled this early. You get up and answer the door. The sight of you standing in the doorway, confused but awake makes an invisible weight slide off his shoulder. He exhaled a breath he didn't know he was holding.

“What the hell were you doing?” he demands as he shoves past you, entering your quarters. He stands in the middle of your room like a grumpy grizzly bear, his hands on his hips.

“Sleeping?” you said, confused on why he was here at 3am. “what  were you doing?” you asked.

“Don't get smart with me” he said with a glare that would melt most people in place. “You weren't paying attention to your surroundings.” he grunts, walking closer to you. He stops in front of you, mere inches away. A scolding father would best describe his current expression. You stand there, still half awake, trying to figure out what he meant. “You could’ve died, you daft moron” he growls, grabbing your chin firmly. His eyes bore into you, looking for any sign it’s actually getting through that thick skull of yours.

“I’m sorry. I-I don’t understand” you said quietly.

“The grenade” he said “you should have been paying attention”. You finally realize what he is talking about, everything coming together. The bags under his eyes, him constantly watching you throughout the week after the mission. It now all made sense.

“Captain, I was paying attention.” you said

“Obviously you weren’t, or you would have moved when it first landed next to you.” He said. “It wasn't a drill, it was a live situation”  he snarled. When you are in danger, his usual gentle fatherly demeanor flies out of the window. Fear makes him aggressive, and he is terrified of losing you. He grabs you by the arms and shakes you like a ragdoll, “You could’ve died. Your body could have been pulverized because you just decided to not pay attention.” he bellows. He stops shaking you, hands digging into your arms. “Do you even understand what you just did to me?” he demands a face close enough that your nose would have touched if he leant in.

“No sir?” you said quietly

“I saw you stand there, not moving until the very last second.” he practically spits out, “I thought you were going to die. Do you know what it was like for me to watch you just stand there?” he lets go of you, stepping back. He looks away for a moment, breathing heavily. It's a sign that he’s trying to reign in his anger, not scream at you. He looks back at you, searching your face. “What were you thinking? Standing there like an idiot?” he demands, stepping closer to you again. He lifts a finger and points it at you. “Explain to me what the hell possessed you to do something so goddamn stupid and reckless.”

“I just didn’t see it when it first landed” you said “ when I saw it, I had thought to use myself to cover it instead of moving away to protect the others”

His heart feels like it's in his throat at the thought of you getting near it, much less using yourself to cover it. “You idiot!” he snaps, grabbing you again. He grabs you by the biceps, giving you a shake. “Don't ever do that again, you hear me ?!”” he smells giving you a shake. You nod, agreeing. He gives you a pointed glare, searching your eyes. He wants to be sure that you know exactly What you did was stupid and dangerous. “I mean it, you daft prick. Next time, you get away from the grenade, no thinking.” he warns, not dropping the grip on your arms.

“Ok!” you agree. He tightens his hold on your arms, pulling you an inch closer. 

“You have no clue what it does to me to see you get that close to danger, do you?” he asked. He can’t stop thinking about cradling your dead body in his arms every time he goes to sleep.

“I’m sorry! I didn't mean to scare you!”

He lets out a scoff, rolling his eyes. “Scare me?” he repeats “don't you get it? I thought I was going to lose you, you stupid moron. I thought I watched you die” he hisses.

“But I didn’t! I’m still alive!” you argue. A frustrated sigh escapes his lips as he shakes his head at you. 

“You’re here and alive right now, but what happens next time? Or the next?!” he demands. He squeezes your arms, the thought of losing you, slowly driving him mad.

“It won’t happen again,” you promised.

He lets out another scoff. “How do you know it won’t? You weren’t even paying enough attention and barely made it out alive this time. You wont notice next time, how the hell am I supposed to trust you to pay attention?” he snaps. The grip on your arms is a bit painful at this point.

You wince a little, “I will be more careful” His expression darkens as he sees you wince from his grip. It wasn’t his intention to grab you so tightly he hurts you, he’s just trying to get his message through.

“You have to more than just careful” he says in a lower, slightly calmer tone. “You have to be more aware. You can't be on just instinct while in combat or you’ll end up dead”. He looks down at his hands, looking a little guilty that he squeezed your arms so tightly that it hurts. Slowly, his grip on them relaxed, shifting to gently rub the no doubt sore skin. “That was dangerous, you're lucky that you didn’t die. How can You promise that you won’t do something that stupid again?” he asks, looking back up at you. He isnt letting you go until he knows for certain  that your head isn't all the way up your arse.

“I’ll make sure to be more aware of my surroundings.” you said “more observant”

He signs, raking a hand through his hair. He looks tired, the stress of almost watching get blown to Hell was wearing him down. “Good God, you have no idea how stupid that was, do you?” he grumbles, walking past you and taking a seat in a chair. He drops his head in his hands, trying to ease the headache from his constant worry about you. “You got any idea how hard it was for me to watch you put yourself in danger like that?” he mutters, dropping his hands in his lap. You are sitting on your bed. “You don’t, do you” he asks, peering up at you from his seat in the chair.

You were quiet for a moment, looking at him. “..want a hug?” you asked quietly. His expression darkens as he looks at you. Does he want a hug? What hell of a question if that?

“Of course I do, you idiot” he snaps, standing up and stomping over to you, grabbing you and pulling you into a tight bear hug. He holds you against his chest for a while, arms wrapped firmly around you. He buries his face in your neck, he can smell the scent of your shampoo. “You better never do this to me again” he mumbled to you, the anger that drove him here melting into frustrated worry. He holds you as tightly as possible without hurting you, like you would disappear if he even dared to let you go. His breath is warm against your skin, the sound of it shaky with pent up worry of the last few days. “For a minute, all I could think about was cradling your dead body in my arms,” he mumbled.

“But you don’t have to think about that anymore,” I whispered. He tightens her grip on you, as if you were going to disappear any second.

“Stop doing stupid stuff from now on, then I won’t have to” he mutters. His chest is pressed against yours, the beating of his heart rapid in its thumping. You leaned back a littling, pulling him into the bed.

“I think you need to sleep,” you whispered. He lets you drag him to the bed, letting you pull him on to it. He lays down with a tired huff, reaching and wrapping his arms around you more tightly.

“I can’t sleep” he mumbled, holding you to him like his most precious treasure.

“Wanna watch a movie then?” you asked. He lets out a small hum of agreement, one hand coming up to run fingers through your hair.

“Sure, " he said quietly, “as long as I don’t have to move.” he adds with a tired chuckle. You grab your laptop that was on your nightstand, it was a bit of a stretch, but you managed to grab it. You  logged into Netflix.

“Anything in mind?” you asked, browsing through everything. He shakes his head, continuing to lazily run his finger through your hair.

“I don’t care, pick something” he hums, closing his eyes. Looking through. You picked Five Feet Apart. He quirks a brow at your choice, opening his eyes to look at you. “Really?” he grunted “you picked a romance movie?”

“It's a good movie, or so I hear” 

“ I never pegged you for the type to enjoy romance movies,” he uttered.

“Im a sucker for a happy ending”

[echantedtoon]

Demonstober Day 15 Pixie

A supernatural being in folklore and children's stories, typically portrayed as small and humanlike in form, with pointed ears and a pointed hat.

Tagging: @lavenderdropp @six-eyed-samurai @trancylovecraft @shadyd3ar @cherrysuzaku

@nousija @mspurpl3

Remember if you want to be added to the spooktober taglist lemme know

The day was beautiful this morning.

With the sunlight sinking into the room through the window. The birds singing outside. Beautiful fresh smelling air. Beautiful visions of nature right outside of you looked. A bright blue sky. Fluffy white clouds. Yellow sun. Flowers of every color. Green plants everywhere. Trees providing shade as the wind rolled by. A little blue pond in the distance full of fish.

Yes.

An absolute picture perfect scene for what could very much be a good day. Nothing in the world to worry about. Nothing to do. Just peaceful quiet and nature.

"Hey! Wake up! Your breakfast is ready."

A chuckle was heard followed by a soft yawn. Your peaceful slumber had been disturbed by the sounds of a distant voice as it called out to you. Eyes slowly blinking awake from darkness allowing tired f/c orbs to see the green underside of your blanket thanks to having your head buried under the covers. Only to have your warmth disturbed by the calling of a distant voice.

"I can see you moving around! Come on, Y/n. Wake up already!"

A mixture of a groan and chuckle escaped your mouth quickly turning into a yawn. Arms and spine stretched over and out pushing the covers to the side as you turned on your side to face the person in the room.

"There you are!"

A pair of beautiful pink eyes blinked kindly at you as a smile sweetly encouraged you to get up. You stared at the woman before you before you yawned again before rubbing your eyes with a grumble.

"Good morning to you too."

"Aw. Don't be like that. My sisters will be coming by later today for a visit. You don't want to still be in bed when they're here do you?"

"Do I have the choice of just sleeping in and avoiding them?"

A chuckle ran out of your girlfriend's throat before shaking her head no. "Nope. Now get up! Breakfast is ready and I won't let it go cold."

Footsteps thudding in the house as you grumpily watched her leave before Groaning and plopping face first back into your pillow. You hated mornings...but knowing that your girlfriend would only come back to bug you again until you did get up, you reluctantly pulled yourself up off the bed throwing the blankets off of you and stood to your feet. Yawning and stretching out your back before heading off to get dressed and make your hair not look like an absolute rats next. 

It took ten minutes because you took your sweet time before trudging back into your kitchen and sitting at the table. Your girlfriend having her back towards you. 

"Hey. What's for breakfast?"

A double pair of dragonfly like wings twitched, but they were too large to belong to a small dragonfly as they fluttered from her back. Your girlfriend turned around to you with a smile and a second later holding up a pan. Eggs and bacon were displayed on the inside.

"Bacon and eggs!"

"Sounds delicious! Thank you!"

No one would ever believe you if you told them that a house pixie made you breakfast. Let alone that you were in a relationship with one. You met her when you moved into your home four years ago. At first you thought your house was haunted. Things would be moved around, sometimes if you needed to get a chore done you'd go do it only to discover it was already done, and sometimes you'd catch glimpses of someone out of the corner of your eye. It was only when she noticed you were getting freaked out that she revealed herself.

Now you were shocked that a house pixie was living with you..but you'd DEFINITELY take a pixie over a ghost. 

She was so pretty! And kind! And sweet! It wasn't a wonder you two became fast friends and a year and a half later partners. You smiled widely as she placed a plate in front of you and made a mental note to make her favorite dinner in return tonight.

[startrekfangirl2233-writes]

‘Cause You’re a Sky Full of Stars (I’m Gonna Give You My Heart)

Part Two of Sometimes All You Need (A Getaway Car)

Jake 'Hangman' Seresin x Reader

Description: After your whirlwind meeting at the bar, you and Jake finally go on your first date.

Disclaimer: Insecurities on the part of Gorgeous Girl,

Warnings: afab!reader

Word Count: 4460

A/N: Hi! I'm back! This concept took over my brain and I had to write Jake and Gorgeous Girl's first date. Like the last installment, I listened to a song to get the creative juices flowing. So without further ado, this part is sponsored by Coldplay's A Sky Full of Stars and this picture of Glen Powell. Thanks to @bradshawsbaby for their service and for bringing that sinful image to my dash! Also I have a billion thanks to @roosterbruiser for proofreading and feedback as well!

AO3: Cross-posted here! My Masterlist

Previous Part | Series Masterlist | Next Part

You wake up slowly, with your mouth fuzzy and eyes screwed shut. Your limbs feel heavy as you sit up, wrapped in a cocoon of your blankets. After detangling yourself, you shuffle into your bathroom and mechanically go about your morning routine. The sun is dipping through the slits in your blinds as you traipse downstairs and wait zombie-like, mug in hand, in front of your coffee maker as it finishes brewing your coffee. The first sip of the rich and dark brew reminds you of the whiskey you’d shared with Jake the night before. Flashes of the night before whirl through your mind as you contemplate whether 10 AM on a Saturday is too early to text him. To let him know that you’re thinking about him. At the very least, you can see if he’s texted you back after all, right?

“Text me, gorgeous girl!” His parting words from the night before sound even sweeter, ricocheting through your mind in the stark morning light as you stand barefoot, in your pajamas and bedhead, on your kitchen tile. Your toes curl unbidden as you think of the look in those green, green eyes as you said goodnight. The thought of those eyes has you unlocking your phone and navigating to your messages. His contact makes you grin. A tipsy, man-drunk you had picked the right choice, leaving 🤠💚 after his name. While the three messages you’d sent the night before are cringy, you’re half expecting there to be no response from Jake at all. But there they are, received at 6:30 in the morning.

You gawp unflatteringly at the screen in your hand. Did he say he dreamed? Of you? It’s official. Jake Seresin is terrible for your mental clarity and your sanity. His messages are giving you whiplash outright. You’re haunting his dreams in one second, and he’s bantering with you about Batman in the next.

You’re not expecting any more responses from him. Anyone awake at 6 AM on a Saturday is sure to have a busy day planned. You, yourself, have plans to meet your best friend for brunch in the city.  So you knock back the remains of your coffee and head back upstairs to get ready.

You see Jake’s response when you’re collecting your things with sunglasses perched on your face nearly an hour later. You’re fully dressed in a graphic t-shirt, cut-offs, and sneakers for brunch.

Butterflies run rampant in your stomach as you hook your phone up to your convertible’s sound system and blast music on the way to the restaurant you’d decided on with your friend for brunch. You meet her there promptly at 11:30, greeting her with hugs and laughter. It isn’t until you’re at the table and each holding a drink, fresh-squeezed orange juice and coffee for you and a mimosa for her, that the Spanish Inquisition begins. Callie, now back in San Diego permanently, broaches the topic of your date with James. She’d been the chief architect of your Tinder profile and your biggest cheerleader as you agonized over what to wear the night before.

“Sorry, Cal,” you grin at her, “James sucked!” At her glare, you spill the whole tale. Her glare softens into a wince as you mention all the things James said about his ex and his mother. It’s when you mention Jake that something changes. 

“Jake?” she asks.

“Yeah,” you’re smiling that giddy fond grin again, unable to make eye contact.

“And he's in the Navy?”

“Yeah.”

“A Naval Aviator?”

“That’s what he said, Cal.” There is a pause as you digest what she’s getting at. “Wait. Callie! You’re a Naval Aviator. Do you know him?”

You grasp your friend’s hands as you plead for more information. She carefully extricates herself from your grip, rotating her wrists, and primly pushes her sunglasses up her nose. She’s letting you stew in your realization, the bitch. If only she weren’t your best friend since you were twelve. As much as you hate her need for suspense at the moment, you also know you wouldn’t trade her for anyone else in the world. So you sip on your juice and wait. It isn’t until the food is on the table that she responds to your frantic questions.

“I know a Jake, who is a Naval Aviator. But a knight in shining armor, he is not. If I had to describe him, I’d describe him as a complete and total dick.” She lifts her hand at your falling face, gesturing at you to stop whatever your face is doing. “Do you remember a couple of months ago when I was back on North Island for that secret detachment mission?”

“Yeah, Cal, I do.”

“And do you remember that one night when we met for dinner at that place with the pitchers of spicy margaritas and the mouth-watering tacos? I was venting about this complete and utter asshole, callsign Hangman, who persisted in leaving everyone behind?”

You nod.

“That’s him. He’s changed over the past few months since the squadron was permanently assigned to North Island. But I’m still worried about what he’ll do to you. He goes through girls like he does those damned toothpicks he always has in his mouth. Sweet and gorgeous girls who want forever aren’t really his thing.”  She’s serious now. There isn’t a hint of the laughter usually on her face. “But, I also know you. He’s your type. He has been since we were giggling about boys for the first time. I’m not going to stop you from going out with him. You deserve to have someone who makes you smile like you were earlier. This is just a warning, and I want you to know I have your back. I will beat him up if he makes you cry. I also expect to be named your Maid of Honor if this relationship goes that far.”

You smile tremulously at your best friend and rock, grateful to have her support even if she isn’t happy about you seeing him again. The both of you begin to scarf down your meals in companionable silence.

When there’s barely any food left on the plates, you pick up the conversation again. “Cal, I should probably mention that he asked me out to dinner this morning. He’s picking me up at 6 at my place. Would you please, please, please help me pick out something to wear?” you beg, now, batting your best puppy dog eyes at your friend.

“Sure,” she grumbles, finishing the last of her mimosa. “What did he say was the dress code?”

You pull out your phone and check your messages.

You hand Callie your phone, letting her scroll through your messages with Jake. Her eyebrows climb as she scrolls through the messages.

“It looks like he’s trying to impress you by doing something on the beach. What do you think about heading to that boutique downtown? The one where I found that gorgeous sparkly blazer you love so much?” She asks as you split the bill. Both of you get into your car and drive into the city with the summer breeze ruffling through your hair and the sun shining brightly.

It had taken three hours for you and Callie to decide on an outfit for your date. You’d tried on what felt like hundreds of sundresses before ultimately picking out a green flowy dress and strappy sandals. Cute and casual but not sloppy. It felt like no time had passed between when you headed home and now as you looked at yourself in the mirror. You touch up your makeup and pursed your lips to apply lipstick in the same burgundy shade as the night before.

The doorbell rings, and the butterflies in your stomach decide to swarm up your esophagus. You open the front door to see Jake standing in front of you, wearing a pair of aviators and clutching a bouquet in his hand. He hands the bouquet to you with a heart-stopping grin. The arrangement is gorgeous, dark red carnations interspersed with sprigs of white baby’s breath.

“Hi Jake,” you grin, bringing the bouquet to your nose, inhaling deeply to get a whiff of the flowers’ delicate fragrance. “Please, come in. Let me put these in water, and then I’m ready to go.”

Jake steps in, and you close the door behind him. He’s wearing a soft sage-colored Henley t-shirt rolled up his forearms, a pair of worn jeans, and cowboy boots. You can hear him stomping behind you as you walk into the kitchen and grab a vase from a shelf. There is something different about seeing Jake Seresin in your house. He’s carefully examining everything, from the pictures on the walls to the books on your shelves. You finish up with the flowers and stand next to him in front of the bookshelf. He’s got your worn copy of Pride and Prejudice in his hands.

“Have you ever read it?” you ask, curious.

“I have. It’s my twin sister’s favorite book.” His eyes are fond as he flips to the bookmark you left the last time you’d picked the book up, right at Darcy’s first confession of love to Elizabeth.

“My feelings will not be repressed. You must allow me to tell you how ardently I admire and love you. In declaring myself thus I'm fully aware that I will be going expressly against the wishes of my family, my friends, and, I hardly need add, my own better judgement.” His voice is perfect. He manages to portray every emotion in Darcy’s voice while staring deep into your eyes. The moment stretches into something tender and heavy. You’re barely breathing, cataloging the flecks of gold and brown swimming in his eyes. You nearly kick yourself for breaking his gaze when you gently grab the book from his hands, close it, and set it on the shelf.

“Dinner?” you ask, grabbing the last of your things and putting them in your bag.

“Dinner,” Jake murmurs back, voice soft. He’s the perfect gentleman, pulling the front door open for you, waiting at the bottom of the stairs while you lock the door, and helping you into his behemoth of a truck.

The windows are down again, with the radio still tuned to the same country station. Instead of heading towards downtown San Diego, Jake points the truck north, driving up I-5.

“Where are we going?” you ask, enjoying the evening breeze as you cruise effortlessly on the roads.

“La Jolla. There is this amazing Italian restaurant on the beach. I thought we’d eat dinner there and then walk along the beach?” There’s a pause, and then, “But if you don’t like Italian, I’m sure we can find other restaurants in the area.” He sounds flustered.

You shouldn’t be feeling amused, yet you can’t keep the smile from your voice as you place your hand over his and say, “Italian is perfect.” You glance over at him, seeing that his aviators are once again snugly perched on his nose. You can see the light nervous blush coloring his golden cheeks. As much as you’d like to see how far his blush goes, you change the subject instead, asking, “How was your day?”

He seems too eager to respond, mentioning running in the morning, eating brunch, hanging out with some squadron members, and playing dogfight football on the beach. You’re not quite sure what dogfight football entails. Callie has mentioned it before too. When you ask Jake, his explanation, which involves two footballs and keeping score while defending your team from the opposing team's football, sets your head spinning. Keeping track of the rules for American Football is already too much. He’s scandalized, green eyes peering at you from over the rim of his aviators when you tell him as much. The rest of your trip to the restaurant is spent with him trying and failing to portray the football field verbally and describe plays to you. You’re smiling uncontrollably, regardless, when the truck pulls into a spot in front of the restaurant. As promised, the restaurant is on the beachfront. The sun is setting in blossoms of red and gold that transition to violet in front of your eyes.

“It’s a stunning view, isn’t it.” You startle at the sound of his voice, a little surprised to see the driver’s seat empty and Jake standing next to you in the open truck door. “Ready for dinner?”

“I’m famished,” you grin as you take his hand and hop out of the truck. You conclude that Jake draws attention everywhere you go, especially when you hear the giggling from the hostess and your waitress as she leads you to your table. Your waitress’ eyes goggle when Jake pulls out your chair for you before folding gracefully into his own across from you.

"What can I get you, sir?" she simpers, pressing her arms together to get Jake's eyes on her bosom.

"Darlin', do you know what you'd like to drink?" Jake asks you instead, ignoring the display from your waitress in its entirety.

"I'm not sure. I'd love to order a glass of wine." You waver, second-hand embarrassment for your waitress' peacocking melting into your tone.

"Can we have a couple of glasses of your house red, please?" Jake asks your waitress, once again keeping his tone polite and eyes on her face and not her over-exposed assets.

Her downcast face and Jake's smug, mischievous grin nearly have you laughing at the table as she walks away. Behind Jake, you can see a desperate powwow as your waitress, hostess, and other waitresses desperately try to get a game plan together to attract his attention.

"Sweets.”

“Doll.” 

“Gorgeous?!" You snap back to Jake and your table with a sheepish grin.

"Sorry," You’re grinning shyly as you respond, "our waitress, the hostess, and a few other waitresses all look like they're going to war behind you."

"War?" He drawls, eyes still looking right at you. "What exactly would they be going to war over?"

"You." You murmur, embarrassed to have brought it up. You continue at the sardonic tilt to his raised eyebrow, "They're going to wage war against me over you. I'm sure it's happened to you before. The waitstaff deciding that the girl you're having dinner with isn't as pretty as you deserve?"

There is an understanding look on his face now. You're unsure if you should say anything further, but save yourself the embarrassment and effort when your waitress returns with the wine. The next moments are full of Jake tasting the wine, deeming it acceptable, and your waitress pouring each of you a glass. You sip slowly at the rich, tart, sweet liquid and wait until your waitress has stepped away again.

This time, when Jake utters, "Gorgeous girl," in that Texan growl, your eyes are on him already. His hand is held upright, halfway across the table, fingers wiggling imperiously.

"Take my hand, beautiful?" You can't say no when asked like that and place your hand in his.

Satisfied, he continues, "I'm only going to say this once, so I hope you hear me and completely understand what I'm saying. Yes, it has happened before. But the waitstaff at a restaurant isn't who I'm having dinner with. When I'm out to dinner with a girl, all my attention is on her. I could care less if the sky is falling or elephants are roaming the restaurant and acting as the sommelier. My attention tonight is on you and only you." He punctuates that entire impassioned statement with a squeeze of your fingers.

You're flushed again, cheeks hot under his knowing gaze, and you evade his eyes by dipping your head to peer at your menu. Things are quiet as you order your entrée, something the menu says is lightly dressed in the house marinara sauce.

Once you're both alone at the table again, you murmur, “I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have assumed anything. Just chalk it up to my rampant insecurities. I really like you. And I’m trying not to sabotage this, but I guess I just did.”

“Hey, sweets. It’s alright. You’re only human. And gorgeous. If I have to tell you that every day, I will.” He’s smiling now, a tender sweet curl to his lips. 

"Jake? I realized today that our worlds intersect far more closely than I thought they did. And I need to tell you this before we go any further."

"What do you mean?" He murmurs back with his voice pitched low to accommodate the serene environment in the restaurant.

"I mean, that I had brunch with my best friend today. Her name is Callie, Callie Bassett. I've known her since I was twelve years old. As I'm sure you know, she's a Naval Aviator, too. Her callsign is Halo, and she's on your squadron." His shoulders tense, hunching towards his ears as you continue. "She told me that I should be careful with you, that you aren't the type to look for forever in a girl. And I like you. I really like you, more than I thought I would, and probably far too much for how long we've known one another. But I want to give you and me a shot. I just need to know you're looking for the same thing."

“Gorgeous girl,” his voice is husky and a bit scratchy as he responds to your plea, "I know it may not look like it to my squadron, but I am looking for forever. The Navy has kept me moving all over the country and the world for years. It never felt right to look for forever when I knew that at a drop of a hat I could be sent anywhere in the world. How could I leave somebody to go through a life we built, all alone with me a million miles away? So I stuck to girls who weren’t looking for anything serious. And as my career grew, so did my reputation as a womanizer. Now, no matter how I look, I keep finding girls looking for one night, not forever. At least, I hope, until I ran into you in that bar last night."

His eyes are unbearably soft and sad as he sips his wine. You tug his hand forward and press a kiss on his knuckles, nuzzling at his hand just a little.

“Jake, I can’t say I have any experience in moving around the world and not being able to put down roots. But for now, all I have to say is, I hope we can build something good between us,” you murmur back. His eyes shine at your words.

Your entrées come out in a cloud of sweet tomato, garlic, and basil. After the serious conversation you had just had, the rest of the night is light. You compliment the food, share bites of each other's entrees, and chat about work, your families, about everything you can think of, including the likelihood that Jake is Batman. He pays for your meals despite your protests, leading you out onto the beach hand in hand. You both take your shoes off and walk barefoot through the sand, continuing to chat lightly.

You're about a quarter of a mile from the restaurant when Jake pulls you to a halt, tugging on your hand and pulling you towards him. His hair is windswept, as is yours, and he's smiling. You're both smiling, honestly, and have been for much of the night.

"Can I kiss you?" He asks. He reels you further into his embrace at your nod until your hand is splayed over his heart. He slowly brushes your hair aside and tips your head up. He carefully brushes his nose against yours and waits, letting you feel the lightest brush of his lips. 

"Gonna kiss you now," he groans before capturing your mouth with his. You melt in his arms, eyes fluttering closed as his tongue presses insistently against the seam of your lips until you part them. Your head is wholly occupied with Jake; his hands on you, his mouth on yours, his tongue, the taste of the wine you’d shared, the heady scent of his cologne, and the feeling of his muscular body holding you impossibly close.

Your breathing is ragged when he finally pulls away. You're desperately sucking in deep breaths of air because you're sure you forgot to breathe mid-kiss, your mind chanting Jake, Jake, Jake in a worshiping manner. When you glance at him, his lips are spit slicked and bitten red. He looks fantastic, and you nearly haul him back down for another kiss. You hold yourself back, though. Public indecency charges wouldn't look good on either of your records. He seems to be deliberating the same thing if the look in his eyes as he subtly adjusts the front of his jeans says anything. 

But rather than act on your mutual desire, he grasps your hand securely in his and leads you back to the truck. He'd nursed a single glass of wine all night, so you let him drive. He helps you up into the passenger seat, though this time, you stop him before he can close the door and tug him into another kiss. This one is softer, more chaste than the one you'd shared on the beach. As he finally pulls away and takes his place in the driver’s seat, you feel it will be impossible to keep your hands off him. Clearly, he's just as affected when he curls his palm over your knee, fingers tracing circles over your kneecap unconsciously.

The I-5 is quiet, for once. The roads are busy but not congested as Jake takes the exits toward San Diego. Instead of taking you home, though, Jake drives you towards North Island. The guard at the base gates greets him cheerfully and lets the truck through. Rather than go onto the base proper, Jake pulls the truck onto a small gravel-lined inlet that lets out on a small, deserted beach. 

"In Texas," he starts, nostalgia deep in his tone, "when we're out in the land surrounding the ranch, you can see the stars for miles. Since I left, I've been searching for a spot to see them. So every time I'm at a new duty station, I search for the perfect star-gazing spot. This is the one I found on North Island. I was hoping you weren't tired of me yet and that you wanted to stargaze with me for a while before I took you home?" He’s smiling as he tucks a toothpick into his mouth.

You grin back at him, murmuring. "Do you know any constellations? I've always wanted to be able to look up at the night sky and point out something. I don't think I can even point out the North Star."

“I know a few. My older brothers taught us how to point out the big ones. Things look a little different here than when we were in Texas, but I can teach you a few. I will make sure you can identify the North Star.” His eyes shine as he peers up to the sky, “It’s the perfect night for stargazing, clear without a cloud in the sky.”

“Is this why you wanted me to wear something I wouldn’t worry about getting sand on?” you ask, grinning at the wonder in his eyes.

“Partially,” he hums, getting out of the truck, helping you out of your seat, and walking you to the tailgate. 

“This,” he’s grinning again, toothpick grasped between his teeth, “is what I wanted you to wear something comfortable for.” You wait as Jake unlatches the tailgate and hoists himself up into the bed of his truck. He pulls out a couple of blankets from a steel crate behind the cab, unfolding one for the two of you to sit on and the other to place over your laps. He then hops off the truck bed and holds his hand to you.

You’re smiling again, laughing at the child-like wonder on his face at the thought of seeing the stars. You step closer, by-passing his outstretched hand, pluck the toothpick out of his mouth, and curl a hand around the back of his neck. His eyes flutter close at the gentle caress. You pet the short, spiky hairs at the base of his neck before dragging your hand down his throat. His eyes stay closed until you work his dog tags out from where they’d been lying against his skin. The metal is smooth and skin-warm in your hand. His name, call sign, and blood type are embossed on them. But you hadn’t gone for his dog tags to examine them. Nope. You wrap the chain in your fingers and tug, pulling his mouth, now smirking, down to yours. You peck his smiling lips, smattering soft kisses across his face as he hefts you easily onto the tailgate, his biceps bulging as he lifts you with hardly any effort. His hands stay on your hips, thumbs rubbing slow circles over you as you gaze into each other’s eyes. 

“Stargazing, sweets.” At your confused moue, he continues, voice gravelly, “I brought you here to show you the stars, not kiss your lipstick off. Can I take your shoes off?” 

You nod, watching as he slides his hands down your legs, undoes the straps of each sandal, and pulls them off. He sets them on the tailgate and hauls himself into the truck bed beside you before toeing his boots off. Jake crawls into the truck bed, sitting with his back against the cab. You join him. He pulls you to sit between his legs, your back pressed against his chest. 

You tip your head and imperiously order him to show you some stars. His laugh vibrates through you from your position nestled against his chest. Looking at the stars with Jake is an enlightening experience. He knows where the constellations are, even in San Diego instead of Texas. He even tells you some of the various myths about the constellations. The highlight of star-gazing with Jake is when you see a shooting star streak across the sky. 

“Close your eyes, sweetheart.” He rumbles out, “Make a wish.”

Make a wish? That you can do. For more enchanting nights with Jake. For more days and nights to get to know Jake. For a chance to show your friends and family the sweet nerd you’d seen underneath the muscle, the boy with stars in his eyes. It’s a thought that sticks with you even as you fall asleep alone that night.

I DO NOT CONSENT TO HAVE MY WORK POSTED, TRANSLATED, OR PUBLISHED ON ANY SITES OTHER THAN HERE OR ON AO3 BY ME. IF YOU SEE MY WORKS ANYWHERE OTHER THAN HERE OR AO3, THEN THEY HAVE BEEN POSTED WITHOUT MY PERMISSION AND I WILL BE WORKING TO TAKE THEM DOWN.

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