#i didn’t know everyone loved heavy like that but damn y’all got me too

[multiheadcanons]

MERCS AND SNOW

scout: scout doesn’t mind the cold! he’s just skinny, so he starts shaking quick. wears the same sweater/coat combo. no scarf, no boots. please get this tall child some winter clothes. the first to go outside and start making and throwing snowballs, making snow angels and snowmen, he in general has a fun time in the snow. stares at the sky while the snow is pouring down, and remembers his days as a crazy kid in boston, making trouble and getting deliriously sick from being underdressed in the cold. goes back inside when the wind kicks up. it’s when he misses his friends back home. normally the team will join him outside for some winter fun, and it means a lot more to him than he’ll ever admit.

soldier: soldier is optimal in all conditions! a little sprinkle isn’t gonna take him down! until he gets horribly sick from the temperature being below fifty degrees fahrenheit and should be out of commission but instead he uses the opportunity to hawk loogies at his opponents to stun them. loves a good sledding opportunity. puts ice in his snowballs so they hurt more. crazy enough everyone actually enjoys it more. they all fight for a living, so it’s natural they find enjoyment in it. and frankly, a tiny bruise is nothing when you have experienced being blown to pieces. both teams will come together to make a big day of it. soldier compares it to the christmastime truces.

pyro: snow HATERRRRR. they barely tolerate the rain. they hate the cold. they hate the crunch. they hate how it sticks to their clothes and soaks them slowly. they hate the idea of hypothermia. but god dammit, if going outside to play with the team makes them happy then it’s their god diddly damn duty to do it. wears like ten layers on top of their suit. every year, as the snow begins to come in, pyro lies to themselves so hard and deludes themselves with the team’s eagerness in the snow. they listen to the winter carols. watch the cute winter movies. but the second they see those stupid fat ice crystals float from the sky the illusion is shattered. and they are over it the second it starts. winters is when pyro gets the most aggressive, in all senses of the term. they are not as willing to play nicely or fairly, on or off the field. they are easily aggravated, even their attempts to help their team are done in states of irritation. that’s also because normally, the second winter hits pyro is sick. with a cold, or the flu. it’s not normally something that is easily caught by the team until they hear a muffled sneeze.

engineer: engie can get down with about a week, maybe two weeks of snow. after that he’s also over it. engie’s job doesn’t stop because there’s snow on the ground. he’s got things to do, and places to go to grab what he needs. medic and heavy are the only people on the base who are confident snow drivers, who come from snowy, dreary countries, and have driven long enough to have the experience to back up the confidence. but engie would never step in a car with medic unless it was an imminent, world ending emergency; and he wouldn’t even know how to ask heavy to take him where he needs to go, let alone tell him how to get there. and hauling a wagon through inches of snow gets exhausting. and staying inside gets him stir crazy. he starts giving pyro, fellow snow hater, shit to do with him so he doesn’t lose his mind. the first time engie admitted to pyro he hated the snow, pyro let out a vindicated “THANK YOU, OH MY GOD”. he has one winter coat. it is that camel color that is always labeled like “desert sand” in men’s wear. that’s the only change for the snowy months. sometimes spy will join pyro and engie, and though he gets a little suspicious, he welcomes it. sometimes he’s got good ideas.

heavy: he is in his element in the snow. like those pictures of huskies and pyrenees sitting outside during blizzards. that’s literally where he’s supposed to be. it never gets cold enough to phase him, though his cheeks and nose get red. takes long walks when the snow is thick. enjoys the silence of snowfall. winter wardrobe EATS. ABSOLUTELY GOBBLES. he looks so good in his fur coat, hood up, gloves on, nose buried under a thick wool scarf, and all you can see are his pale blue eyes peering through, framed by snow on his lashes, scanning his surroundings. sometimes he won’t button the coat and you see a simple, neutral colored, well fitted sweater… mmMMM. the silhouette of this beast of a man walking through snow stops most people in their tracks. he looks likes he’s meant to be on a snowy backdrop. just looks real pretty as he stares out into a white abyss and thinks, keeping a steady pace as he walks through the snow. doesn’t do a lot of playing in it. just walks and relishes in the moments of familiarity as the snow begins to form a blanket on him. can sit outside for hours. well into the dark. before he gives a warm sigh and goes inside.

demo: demo, being from scotland, is used to dreary dogshit weather. he doesn’t love it, but he’s used to it. keeps a thick trench coat and long johns ON. easily swayed by scout’s eager calls for a snowball fight. the alcohol running through his blood at any time allows him to feel warmer than he actually is. s tier snowman maker. he’ll make small snowballs to put in his eye socket. it freaks everyone else out except snipes and medic. they eat it up. snipes finds it cool like a kid does with bugs. medic finds it hilarious. demo also personally assigns himself on drink duty when the temperatures dip. makes a killer homemade apple cider, and is effective at making a hot toddy. he heavy handed with the liquor, so the mercs will normally only take one (1), which is enough for all of them to have a good time. scout tried to push that and gave himself alcohol poisoning. another big sledder. kicks soldier down the hill whenever he’s asked. has once tipped pyro over in their mass of layered clothes and watched them roll down the hill. the only reason pyro didn’t get up and start fighting demo on the spot is because everyone else thought it was hilarious. demo did apologize quickly afterwards though, with the excuse of they were right on the edge and he couldn’t withstand the temptation, and made them some cider so they could warm up inside.

medic: while not as comfortable in the snowy wasteland as heavy, medic is also in his element in heavy winters. he’s a city boy, so to be out at the base staring at white sheets of snow with nothing breaking it up is a little outside where he is hit with nostalgia. has such a good time outside with his team in the snow. HARD HITTER with a snowball and DEADLY accuracy. once he found out soldier was putting ice in his snowballs he followed suit very quickly. he loves the snowball fights because he, unless he is wholly uninterested in doing his job as a field medic (which he is sometimes), does not get to do a lot of fighting on the battlefield. so to “fight” without it affecting his quota, or affecting his team is such a relief. it normally does devolve into wrestling, but it’s all in good fun. medic also enjoys a long walk through the snow. he goes out of his way to avoid crossing heavy’s path, he knows the man loves his winters, and the silence that comes with it. though, sometimes he’ll catch a glimpse of his form, walking through the snow, and he’s stunned at the specimen before him. it’s almost like a mirage. winter wardrobe consists of thick wool turtlenecks.

sniper: sniper is not a winter guy, for the most part. the cold keeps him out of his van, which is generally his favorite place to be, and in the base, which is generally not his favorite place to be. but the base is warmer more often than his van is, and he doesn’t have a lot of meat on his bones to be picking fights with mother nature like that. he also doesn’t have a very good winter wardrobe. he ends up just putting on as many layers as he can and calls it a day. the piss jars go unused in the winter. past that, though, the changes that come about his team are godsends to him. it’s the few times he and medic get along. one time, he, the doctor, and demo all got drunk and made bets to see who could land an eyeball sized snowball in demo’s eye socket. snipes beat medic by one toss, putting his total attempt tally at two fails and a success. snipes was kinda going through it mentally at the time, and something about having a normal, positive interaction with the doctor that didn’t devolve into him asking for a third of his lung lifted his spirits. he likes to cut loose with his team in the snow. also an enjoyer of The Sled. he forces whoever he can on one and sends them flying down the hill. most of the team really enjoy it, those who participate. pyro does not, at all. spy does not, at all.

spy: another snow haterrrr but not nearly to the extent that pyro is. you will not see spy outside rarely, if ever, during the wet and cold seasons. you’ve either gotta be something or be offering something really special to get him to even walk out the door. though, the last time he graced his team with his presence during a red/blu snowball fight, he came up with the idea for the spysicle, after seeing how much both pyros hated the cold, and got engie on board with making the theme work. will occasionally sit with pyro inside, so that pyro doesn’t feel peer pressured into going outside if they don’t want to. also likes to show pyro by example that “no” is a full sentence when pyro asks if he’ll go outside in the snow with them. every year, pyro refuses more and more often to go outside, and every year, spy considers saying yes to going out in the snow more and more. still says no, though. will find things for pyro and him to do inside. like bother engie. that’s both of their favorite things to do… as you go very far down their lists of favorite things to do.

[starkeyisthelastname]

okay y’all, we are jumping into this. pornstar!rafe makes a big decision. ⭐️ (thank you to my bae @oceandriveab for her request and being so patient! 💖 )

He had quite literally fucked you to sleep after storming off set all because he couldn’t get his dick up because he had you on his mind. He knew the decision he had to make and that was one he never thought he would ever do and that quit filming professionally. Even if he hadn’t opened up to you much at all, and he was terrified of confessing his feelings to someone he only had ever fucked, he couldn’t continue on with this career because his addiction was now you.

You should have known better than to answer the door because as you woke up the next morning with a sore body, an empty bed and no sign or explanation from Rafe. You should have expected this and him telling you he couldn’t work anymore because he couldn’t get you off his mind was a bunch of bullshit. He told you from the start he loved pussy too much to ever quit, and you should have stopped falling for him right there. You may been acting on high emotions, but you picked up your phone and began texting him.

Rafe’s phone had been on silent when he had met with his agent and manager. He flat out told them that he was done and they laughed, an amused look on both of their faces. The ‘pussy slayer’ was retiring at 30? There was no way. Everyone knew how much he loved pussy, I mean.. what else was he gonna do? Even if he hadn’t told you much about him, or knew much about you, he knew what he felt for you was enough for him to find a new purpose in life. He knew he said he needed to take baby steps because this was all new to him, but he was tired of the jealousy he constantly felt, the way he couldn’t get you off his fucking mind. He had to show you how he felt and then would let everything fall into place after, it could have been a reckless decision but he didn’t care.

‘I don’t expect a relationship with you, but when you come to my house and tell me that I’m yours just to dip off without any explanation is bullshit Rafe. I can’t do these games with you anymore. You wanna focus on work so bad. Fine. So will I.’

You had blocked him after you sent it, whether it was right or wrong. You didn’t want to, in fact it hurt you to think about Rafe not being in your life. What hurt worse though was how this man had ruined you to the point he never left your mind, that every time he shot a scene with someone else you were filled with nothing but jealousy, and that you couldn’t continue on knowing he would constantly feed you this shit so that he could get a nut in a few times a week. Your insecurities were becoming overshadowed by fear, because you had no idea what Rafe had just done.

You had a feeling you knew who it was by the heavy knocks on your door. You didn’t want to answer and you wanted to tell him to go away. Your own body betrayed you as you began walking over to the door to answer it. He better have a damn good reason on why he was here after his little Houdini act he pulled.

“You wanna block me now?” Rafe asked, stepping through the door without another thought.

You shrugged, arms crossed over your chest as you challenged him. “Why does it matter Rafe? I should have never got my feelings involved with someone who only cares about fucking on camera and getting money from it.” You told him, avoiding his gaze. Maybe it was your own fault because he didn’t know exactly how you felt, but he certainly didn’t make it easy for you. When he whispered sweet shit in your ear it made you feel like you could tell him that you were falling for him. It would then reel back to you being afraid of rejection because he would disappear, or talk about how he loved his career too much to ever quit.

“Do you even know what I was doing? I was firing my agent and my manager because I told them I was done fucking doing porn.” He said, causing your eyes to meet his.

You didn’t believe him. There was no way the man who was obsessed with sex and couldn’t even give you a real reason on why he became a pornstar in the first place had really quit. You laughed, did he really think you were that dumb? “You are lying. You’ve hit an all time low if you think that you can tell me something like that just to fuck me again.” You said with a scoff.

Rafe did a lot of punk shit to try and hide his feelings from you, but this wasn’t something he would joke about. He laughed, shaking his head. “You think I’m lying? I fuckin quit because I love you!” He said, blurting it out before he stopped himself. It was like once he said it, he couldn’t stop the rest from flowing as he continued on. “You don’t understand how hard this is for me! This career is the only thing I have had that has made me feel worth something because I fucked everything else up in my life. This is what made me feel invincible and that I could be somebody. I don’t have anyone else because everyone pushed me away due to my choices. Then I meet you and I don’t even fucking know you, but I feel this insane connection that absolutely terrifies me. It scares me the way I feel about you, and that I really should be taking baby steps. I.. I just can’t though. I don’t want to fuck this up like I did everything else, but… I am fucking in love with you and fucking random girls on camera just to get money isn’t worth losing you over.” He told you.

This was the first time Rafe had ever truly been honest with you and you could read it all over his face. You swallowed the lump in your throat as he stepped closer, taking you by the hands as he pulled you closer. “Let me show you.” He whispered in the softest voice you had ever heard him use. You didn’t know what he meant by that, but there was no way you were turning him away.

No matter how much you loved the brutal sex the two of you shared and we’re sure there was more of that to come, this was an entirely new feeling you both were experiencing. He was being gentle with you for the first time, pouring every ounce of confusing emotions and feelings he had into you. He had you in a deep missionary position, his toned hips grinding into yours as he buried his head in your neck. “You are so goddamn beautiful.” He whispered in a breathy groan.

His cock somehow felt 10 times bigger when he went slow and it was throwing you off at how good this fucking felt. Tears streamed down your face much like the first time he had ever fucked you, but for an entirely different reason. You overwhelmed by love, clinging onto him life a lifeline as you were afraid to let him go. He had ruined you for any other man and right now you were perfectly fine with that. “Rafe… you feel so fucking good..” You whimpered, your eyes rolling back at a little as his tip kept brushing over your g-spot.

Rafe groaned into your smooth skin, his lips traveling across your collarbone and across your jaw line until he met your eyes. He knew he must have really been in love with you because he had never made love and didn’t know he was capable of such a thing. He knew his nasty side was inevitable but he really was determined to show you that he was serious about this.

“Yeah baby, say my fuckin name. That’s yours to say. All yours… my sweet angel.” His words firm but genuine as his lips ghosted over yours. The way you made him feel was better than any drug or any career, and he knew no matter how scary this was for him, you were his girl without a doubt.

The tears flowed even more as he said that, your eyes falling into his ocean ones as his cock explored every inch of you. Your lower tummy fluttered and head spun as you felt an insane orgasm approaching. “Rafe… you’re gonna make me cum. Please don’t stop.. please.” You nearly begged him, manicured nails digging into the skin of his back.

Rafe had always prided himself for being able to go many rounds before cumming. He was so overwhelmed with love, that he knew he was wasn’t going to last long. “I’m not baby, I fuckin got you. Yeah? Cum all over my cock.” He whispered against your lips before pulling you in for a deep kiss.

You couldn’t help but sob at his words, trying your best to focus on the kiss as your orgasm started to take over. You screamed his name, not caring who heard, as this moment was way too important. You shuddered against him, wrapping your legs around his waist to trap him in as his thrusts started to get sloppy. He didn’t know what you had done to him, but he found himself going back to whisper in your ear as he started slowly coming undone. “I’m gonna fuckin fill you up baby, this is all for you..” He breathed out, voice rugged as his nuts tightened and eyes rolled back at your cunt still squeezing him in.

Rafe’s groans were sweet music to your ears as his seed warmed your insides, this time followed by a gentle raspy voice whispering against your skin. “I love you..” He told you, the butterflies hitting your belly and your face breaking out into a beautiful smile.

“I love you.” You whispered back.

Rafe hadn’t said that to someone or heard it back since before he had lost his family. This was the first girl he had ever felt this way about and while the two of you may have been jumping into something that was unclear and had a lot of questions that needed to be answered, he knew this was all worth it.

[sitkainsnow]

Desperately need a fic from a police officer’s pov and they watch SuperBat interactions bc like all the cops either hate or love Bats, but are still kinda terrified of him, but ofc Supes is all sunshine and smiles and “He’s my best friend y’all!” And they KNOW bats probably totally has kryptonite and an attitude worse than the devil.

So they end up in a situation where they’re working together and Batman in taking with the police and Superman’s standing behind him waving and smiling at everyone while Batman is giving single-word or just huffs for answers. And then Superman freezes and cocks his head and to everyone’s surprise grabs Batman by the shoulder and whispers something in his ear and then what’s more surprising is Batman doesn’t even mind as he wraps his own arm around Supes and then they’re gone in a blur of blue and Black. All the cops are just left standing there like 🧍‍♂️shocked bc Bats didn’t mind Supes touching him.

Or another instance where it’s after this big battle in Gotham and it’s with whatever villain but Superman is there too and the villain had kryptonite. Anyways so after the battle Bats is talking to the police and handing over the villain and Superman comes over after talking to the civilians, picks Bats up by the scruff mid sentence politely nods to the officers he was talking too, and moves him a couple feet away and just starts yelling at Bats abt how stupid it is for him to run around jumping in the way of heavy blows EVEN if they have kryptonite and Bats just scoffs and turns his head away and all the police on the area watch as Superman and Batman argue about how stupid it is to risk your life to save the other (they both did it) completely oblivious to their audience and the police whose POV it’s in just thinks “god they sound like a married couple. Wouldn’t it be crazy if the two of the worlds greatest hero’s were actually a couple lmao. But that’s crazy they’re just really good friends”

Gordon watched all this trying not to blow his fuse bc yes, Batman does need to be yelled at, and yes, he does need to prioritize his safety more, but NO, you don’t need to be having your lovers quarrel in front of the whole damn GCPD.

Or in another instance Batman racks up a bunch of charges on him for whatever reason and the GCPD by luck manages to arrest him and so here comes Superman trying to bail his partner(in more ways than one) out of prison and the police are like “we’re really sorry Mr. Superman sir but we can’t legally do that” and Supes goes “what the hell did he even do” and so the officer goes “Property Damage, unlawful violence, arson, punched a cop in the face and broke his nose, caught carrying weed which is illegal in the state of New Jersey, multiple -and I mean multiple- unpaid speeding tickets. Oh, and the DMV wanted us to talk to him about his unregistered Batmobile and Batbike.”and Supes is about to cry as he quietly asks “Okay, so how much is bail” And the officer looks away and mumbled “sixteen grand” and Supes gasps and cries out “I don’t get paid enough for sixteen grand!!”

However thirty minutes later Supes is back at the GCPD station shakily counting out bills bc he can’t use a check or card (obvi) sweating heavily and looking extremely pained. The cops don’t even ask where he got all those bills so quickly and just watch him and another 30minutes later Bats is out and Supes is shaking him by his shoulder shouting “so who’s gonna lag me back!! Who’s gonna reimburse me for for 16k?? Whose gonna apologize for the heart palpitations you gave me?? Whose gonna apologize for all the gray hairs this is going to give me?? You’re giving me gray hairs all the time B!! I can’t do this!!” And Batman just sighs and pats Superman on the back as they walk out of the station and Superman is mumbling about bank credit and loans and how bad he looks with wrinkle lines and gray hair sounding like he’s about to cry.

Meanwhile the police try not to loose their minds throughout this whole interaction and Gordon’s just staring at the door blankly smoking a cigar and the police whose POV it’s in looks at the cigar a little bit closer and goes “That smells like weed” and Gordon looks at her and just says “I feel for Superman a bit more than I want to”

[luvrrgirl444]

chapter 21: would u rather ft eren

IRL, INSTAGRAM!

“yo, wassup guys!” connie screamed into the camera. he was sitting in the passenger seat of jean’s car, as usual.

“today we’re back in the car-”

“-my car” jean interrupted.

you, connie and sasha all rolled your eyes.

“anyway, we’re back in jean’s car for would you rather part two, and we’ve got a not so special guest”

“you fucking cunt!” eren shouted from the backseat. he was sat behind connie, with his arm around you. you were sat in between him and sasha. connie mocked eren and flipped him off.

you rolled your eyes. “as this dumbass was saying, today we’re here with eren. aka photography guy. aka that one hot drummer. aka-.”

“bro can you thirst for him on twitter and not in the car.” connie said, gagging.

“not even thirsting, just being real.” you shrugged, making eren chuckle.

“someone spay this motherfucker.”

“shut the fuck up, we didn’t even mention what we’re eating today.” jean interrupted, once again. “sash?”

“today, we’re eating chick-fil-a! because eren’s never had it. allegedly.”

“allegedly?” he questioned.

“yes. anyway, we’ll see you when we get the goods.” sasha said, smiling.

🫧

“WE GOT THE FUCKING GOODS” sasha screamed. “now, we’re gonna get the questions and get this shit started.”

jean pulled out his phone and went into instagram to find the questions.

“alright. would you rather be hot and stupid or ugly and intelligent?”

“hot and stupid” connie responded. “i already am.” he smiled.

“delusional ass” jean replied.

“y’all, please stop gassing connie’s ugly ass up.” you said.

“y’all not funny.” he rolled his eyes.

“ugly and intelligent is obviously the right choice.”eren said.

“definitely.”

“DICKRIDER” connie shouted.

“bitch shut up. as i was saying, those scientist paychecks are heavy. if i’m getting paid millions, i wouldn’t give a fuck about how i looked.” you agreed.

“bitch think she mariah the scientist.”

you rolled your eyes and pulled connie’s ear. “you want me to beat your ass so bad.”

“hot and stupid. i could literally get a modeling job and i’d be rich too.” sasha argued, before taking a sip of her milkshake.

“okay, thats valid.” jean said. “nobody wants to be fucking stupid tho.”

“id rather be stupid than ugly.” connie piped in.

“you’re already both tho?” you said, making everyone giggle, except for connie.

“imma need you to choke on that chicken.”

“moving on.”

“would you rather be bald or have no teeth.” jean read out. “bald. no hesitation.”

“definitely bald, i could literally just wear wigs and nobody would know. those human hair wigs go crazy.” you said.

“being bald is crazy. i’m having no teeth and getting dentures.”

“connie, you’re literally one shave away from being bald” sasha told him. “i’m going bald too, i need my teeth.”

“my hair is my best feature. i’m getting dentures with connie.” eren said.

“my motherfucking man!” connie shouted and dapped eren up.

“you two are fucking insane.” jean grimaced.

🫧

you guys did about 5 more would you rathers before ending the video.

“thats all for today guys, hope you enjoyed us screaming like children! see you in the next video!”

the recording ended there. a black screen then followed, with the question “would you rather choke and die or subscribe to bigcheese4000?” on it.

liked by lifearlert, mikasackerman & 456,777 others

👤 jaegerbomb

bigcheese4000 new video ft eren out now run it up 🔥🔥🔥🔥

comments

jaegerbomb CONNIE WTF IS THIS

⤷ user220 the way he instantly knew it was connie ECVEEVHWHW

jaegerbomb ugly picture n i still look better than you @conman69

⤷ conman69 WOAH???????

⤷ planetyn CLOCK HIS TEA BAE

⤷ bigcheeseluvr4 STOP I LOVE THEM

sashluvsfood chick fil a 🤤

⤷ horseface fatass

user111 eren’s arm around y/n??? IM SCREAMING

user2020 i need jean

⤷ jeansbbygirl333 so bad

hotgirlsloveyn WE BEEN WAITING FOR THIS ONE

planetyn the tattoos im screaming

⤷ user20 “someone spay this mf”

user500 new bigcheese video with EREN???? ABOUT DAMN TIME

view 43.2k others..

🫧

- the way i’ve been neglecting my og series omg..

taglist <3 : @greeniegreengreen @bakuhoes-bxtch @itzgabz22 @princess-jaeger @marsandsaturn @violenthots @roses-arerosies @conniesbbymama @llovergirlll @iheartamajiki @clipperlighter @liliorsstuff-blog @hoohoohope @akvrae @rinslutz @miniaturelunar @sheluvzeren @shigamiryuk @chamomilespetal @booistoleyou @asp7n @heartz444anna @thatartistshar0n @vintagexparker @tsukkisukkii @venusinx @seeingivy @cyberkitty1 @anitatvd @blamemef0rit @crvzy-fujoshi

[atrwriting]

chapter eleven: the wolf and the dragon (modern!gangleader!aemond x barowner!you)

as always, warnings: no smut, violence/murder towards a minor, domestic violence, aemond's a dickhead and aegon is hungry and annoying

...chapter eleven:

jace’s band wasn’t the only band that advertised that they wanted a few gigs at your bar.

‘iron clad’ was a five piece band of thirty-something-year-old men that needed to blow some steam off after their 9-5. their age meant they played a fewer older songs, but songs everyone knew and wanted to sing along to. your booths were filled, your bar counter was packed, and there were times where you had a line out the door just because of this band.

and one of the band members was elias strong.

the son of your main distributor and cousin of the late harwin strong. elias strong had dark, curly hair that reached the tips of his ears. his smile was bright and fun, and always put you at ease when the crowd matched his energy. he was the frontman because of his charisma, and it was well deserved. he demanded a crowd not like he was entitled to it, but because he earned every interested and entertained listener.

it was a night like any other… ‘iron clad’ was approaching the end of their set, and you were about to announce last call. the band had done a blues theme for the evening, and there was nothing like anything by robert johnson that didn’t put you in a good, focused mood.

you brought waters up to the band, and handed elias his drink last.

“great show, man,” you began. “crowd’s loving it.”

“thanks.” he smiled. “i want you to sing this next one with me.”

you were taken aback by his request, slapping a playful hand on his shoulder. “i supply the drinks, you keep this crowd entertained.”

he shook his head with a laugh. “i know you’ve got a good voice.”

you shook your head shyly. “you’re sweet, but…”

“come on,” he urged. “what about ‘that’s all right’?”

your eyes widened at his song choice, catching you off guard. “that’s one of my favorite songs.”

he laughed. “i knew you had good taste, darlin’.”

he immediately began strumming on his guitar, and suddenly everyone in the room stopped and turned towards the beginning set. every eye was on the band… and now also you.

“she’s been taking care of y’all all night, and now i need y’all to take care of her,” elias spoke into the mic, restrumming the introduction. “who wants to hear this little lady sing?”

your cheeks went red when the crowd roared. you sent a polite wave and tried to step down from the raised platform, but the people below you wouldn’t budge.

“give the people what they want, darlin’,” elias spoke into the microphone once more.

anger was burning in your veins, but your smile was playful. you stared at elias with a heavy, and weary gaze, but there was only encouragement in his eyes. he looked so perfect and happy you would’ve joked and said his teeth actually twinkled. you grabbed the microphone.

elias started the song over, and you tapped along to the beat. it was an easy tune, meant for voices of all kind. elias started singing, and you joined.

well, that’s all right mama

that’s all right with you

that’s all right mama, just any way you do

well, that’s all right

that’s all right

that’s all right now, mama, any way you do

the music behind you was infectious. it was so difficult to not give into the magic that was blues music and let it course through your veins and play off your tongue. your muscles didn’t feel tight or scared, but free because blues music made everyone feel free from their troubles. it was what you needed, and damn anyone that thought you weren’t going to revel in the sound of something so freeing.

well, mama she done told me

papa done told me too

son, that girl you foolin’ with just ain’t no good for you

well, that’s all right

that’s all right

that’s all right now, mama, any way you do

when the song ended, you shyly placed the microphone back in its stand and thanked elias. you were smiling from ear to ear, and as was he. as the other band mates continued to play their instruments to finish the song, elias reached out to grab you by the belt loop and playfully yank you closer to him. he wrapped one hand around your waist, and planted the biggest, most grateful kiss on the cheek you had ever experienced. you laughed against his warm, strong, and most of all — safe feeling embrace, intoxicated by the passion of it all. you playfully batted his hands away, and the crowd parted for you as you walked off stage.

damn flirt.

“give it up for the best mixologist around!”

the crowd roared, and soon they were into their next song. you walked back behind the bar smiling, and for once felt like life could be bleak, but there were moments like that that would always keep you on your toes.

* * *

after the show, the band left and you let your staff go home early. you needed the quiet of closing alone, especially after your show you had put on. you were still buzzing from the adrenaline, and rode that high like a fucking dragon. you hummed along to more blues tunes as you washed dishes in the back and let most of your worries settle in the back of your mind.

there was always tomorrow to worry.

unless they show up at your back door. literally.

you heard your back door unlatch, and immediately thought it was one of your employees coming back in to retrieve one of their belongings. that was until you realized who it was — or, more like who they were.

lucerys velaryon stumbled into your back door and fell into one of your preparation counters. you were stunned to see him, immediately flipping around in place to ask him what he was doing here after hours and only being a year away from being able to legally drink.

“luke, what—“

that’s when you saw aemond.

he came crashing through the back door and immediately went straight for the younger boy. his large hands grasped the fabric of the younger boy’s coat, and threw him back into the metal counter. the boy’s back was smashed into the metal, causing a groan to release from his lips.

“what would your mother say, if she caught you here, nephew?” aemond seethed, his teeth grit. “huh? her precious boy?”

luke was struggling against his uncle’s hold, trying to break free. strangled gasps left his lips as every muscle in his face scrunched together. that only seemed to fuel the pleasure and anger on aemond’s face.

“i won’t fight you,” luke grit out.

“your eye,” aemond barked. “as payment for mine. i’m sure my mother would like that as a gift.”

you darted for aemond and pushed him off of luke with all of your might. aemond was thrown back in surprise, searching for the person who he didn’t see before.

“get the fuck off of him!” you forced yourself in front of luke, standing between the two men.

the element of surprise may have been on your side, but you knew you had no plan at hand for what could happen next. you had never seen aemond like this. anger leaked from every pore, vein, and fucking nerve ending in his body as he glared at you with bared teeth. you sucked in a sharp breath at the sight, but you stood your ground.

“luke, you need to go,” you snapped. “now!”

the boy immediately ducked behind you and went for the door leading into the bar. aemond lunged for his path, but you stood in the way like a barricade. you tried to throw aemond back with all of your might, but he was much stronger and much for angry than you thought and planned for.

he struggled to get around you, but you grabbed him by the waist and let your body fall dead to the floor. you took aemond with you, as his emotions caused him to be so unbalanced that he couldn’t subdue you. both of your limbs were flailing as you struggled to hold him to the ground — fuck, you were trying to do anything to give luke a head start or to call his mom. anything to keep this kid away from his beast of an uncle.

“stop it, aemond!” you screeched. “not in my fucking bar! he’s a fucking kid!”

you tried to climb on top of him, struggling to pin him down with your knees to keep his body cemented under your weight. your attempt was futile, though — because aemond easily threw you off of him and into the wall behind you.

your head smacked off of the cement like it was nothing. your vision immediately went hazy, and it became so hard to concentrate. pitiful breaths left your lips, and you tried to get up, but you couldn’t. you needed to save luke… you… needed to…

and that’s when you felt a large hand wrap around your throat and push you back against the wall. a strangled gasp left your mouth once more before you forced your eyes open.

“if you ever get in my way again, i will burn you and this bar to the fucking ground,” he growled.

you tried to hold him to you — anything to keep him from going after the kid — but he cast you aside like you were nothing. you fell to the cement floor in a heap and let your eyes drift closed.

* * *

you woke up in your apartment on your couch with an excruciating headache. the lights were dim in your apartment, but even those were too bright. you immediately covered your eyes with your hand, but the sudden movement caused nausea to rise within your stomach. you groaned.

“you’re concussed.”

that voice. that fucking voice.

“die slow,” you mumbled.

“don’t get smart with me,” aemond warned, somewhere in the corner of the room. “you intruded on family business.”

“actually, i think you intruded in on my business.”

“our agreement was that i am free to use your facilities as i please after business hours. do you wish to annul the agreement?”

“the agreement was also contingent on the verbal clause that you respected me,” you seethed. “a concussion definitely voids it, dumbass.”

he was silent, but you heard him swallow thickly. when he didn’t have a response, it was just as worrisome as when you didn’t have a response because he always had a response.

“you hurt a kid, aemond,” you spat. “you targaryens have your own messed up shit that i refuse to get involved in, but when you touch a kid in front of me, i will get in your face.”

“he’s not a kid,” aemond retorted. “he’s barely four years my junior.”

you sighed angrily, dismissing him. “it doesn’t negate the fact that he looks like a kid while you’re a fucking animal. i can’t even fucking see straight.”

“i need your help.”

you laughed, even though it hurt. “die, aemond. die.”

he swallowed once more. “you don’t mean that.”

you were in so much pain and consumed by frustration you almost began to cry. “no, but i do want you to get the fuck out of here.”

“unfortunately, he can’t,” a voice from the kitchen called, rummaging through your fridge. “aemond has to add another clause to the contract.”

“aegon?” you called softly. “come here.”

the blonde sighed and walked over from the kitchen. your own hand was laid across your eyes, and the other reached out to him. you don’t know why you did it, but you were so in desperate need of comfort that you just needed to know someone was there. he was hesitant, but he took his fingers in your own and held you gently.

“aemond needs to stay here for a few days,” aegon stated.

“gods no,” you spat.

“there’s been an accident,” aegon barely whispered.

“what kind?” you asked, rolling into the couch.

“luke… he’s…. he’s dead.”

before you could really swallow the information, you gasped out a meek, “h-how?”

“it wasn’t aemond’s fault,” aegon began. “luke took off in his car, aemond might’ve followed on his bike but… luke’s a bad driver. he tried to run aemond off the road and swerved into the other lane while aemond skidded across the road. luke had a head on collision with another car.”

"that's... that's.... that's horrible." you swallowed. “but i’m missing the point where it’s necessary for him to stay here.”

“it’s not necessarily safer, because daemon will definitely come looking for him at some point…” he trailed off. “but the bar is closed on mondays and tuesdays. daemon thinks he’s basically an employee, so hopefully he doesn’t think he’ll come around. it’ll buy us some time.”

“they know it was aemond?”

“yes… tire marks suggested a motorcycle was near the accident.”

“seven hells,” you sighed, almost crying. "aemond -- how could you be -- so fucking --"

aegon let go of your hand and placed a hesitant hand on your head, combing your hair slightly. you froze at the gesture, but soon succumbed to the warm touch of the brother. it was nice to feel cared for, especially when your body and mind felt so broken.

that fucking kid. that poor, fucking kid.

you could’ve cried for him if your head didn’t feel like it was swimming.

“i’ll be back soon,” he stated softly. “you both need to rest.”

and you fell asleep.

[crdteezv]

Privacy - Haechan

Paring:  !childhood friends/best friend’s brother/roommates to lovers !! haechan x afab! reader

Genre: non-idol! au, smut

Synopsis: You've been struggling with money ever since you lost your job. You even got kicked out of your apartment, so you asked your best friend if you could stay with her for a bit. However, with her being out of town, she insists that you stay with her older brother, Haechan. The two of you were inseparable as kids, but it's been years since you last saw him. Now, living under the same roof, you can’t help but wonder if you’ll ever be able to resist the perverted fantasies you’ve slowly begun to develop about him…

 Warnings: smut. !teasing/hard dom! haechan, perv reader, he is slightly a perv too but it’s mainly the reader, reader loves the smell of his cologne for some reason…, the reader humps his what???, reader takes videos/pictures of him, invasion of privacy, dirty talk, HEAVY HUMILIATION, teasing, praise/degradation, voyeurism, light nipple play, mirror sex, use of sex toys, kissing,  fingering, oral (giving), facefucking, manhandling, lots of hair pulling, masochism, light spanking, edging, overstimulation, cockwarming, unprotected sex

Word Count: 6.6k words

A/N: Y’all just have to hear me out on this one… I’ve had this idea for over a year now and just didn’t know who I wanted to write it for, but now inspiration struck and I finally wrote it!! I have rarely seen any fics like this before with the reader being a perv, so I wanted to try it out. I did get a little carried away with this, so understand that this isn’t for everyone. So, If you don’t like it, don’t read it. I hope you guys enjoy!

You lost your job and now can't afford your apartment's rent. You used to have a steady office position that covered your expenses, but the company went bankrupt and had to lay off all its employees. You've been trying to find a new one for weeks, but with bills piling up, you had no choice but to move out of your place.

“Aw, I’m sorry they’re kicking you out of your apartment. That’s so unfair. Can’t you ask them to extend the lease and promise to pay them back next month?” your best friend asked you over the phone.

“I already did, but it’s been two months, and they can’t extend it any longer.”

“Damn, well, I’d say you could stay with me, but I’m going to be out of town for the whole month. Hey, maybe you can stay with Haechan!”

At first, you didn’t know what to say. You’ve always had a secret crush on her older brother, Haechan, but you never told her, for obvious reasons. You basically grew up with both of them, and you didn’t want to risk ruining the friendship the three of you shared. Haechan used to tease you all the time, and you used to hate him for it. As you got older, you got used to it. You can’t even remember when you started developing feelings for him, but you knew you were head over heels.

“I don’t know… I haven’t seen him since college, and now you want me to just live with him?”

“Oh, please, you’ll be fine! Besides, he’ll be more than happy to help you out since you’re going through a rough time right now.”

She had a point. He’s always been a good guy, and he wouldn’t say no, especially since you don’t have a place to live at the moment.

“You’re right. I just didn’t want to be a burden, you know?”

“You worry too much! I’m going to let him know you’ll be staying with him. He’ll probably call you after I talk to him, so heads up!”

“Okay, and thank you so much for this. I really appreciate it!”

She was pleased and hung up to call Haechan. You hadn’t spoken to him in years, and you started to realize what was about to happen. You were about to live with your best friend's brother, who also happened to be your childhood crush.

Your stomach churned with instant stress and nervousness. You started to panic, wondering what to say when he called and whether you might come off as annoying. You always overthink things when it comes to him. You began pacing back and forth in your now-empty apartment, waiting for his call. You had already put all your important belongings and furniture in a storage unit until you could find a new place.

Your phone rang, and you saw it was Haechan. You answered nervously.

“H-Hello?”

“Hey you, it’s been a while, huh?”

His voice sounded just like you remembered—soft-spoken and gentle.

“Yeah, it has! How have you—”

“We haven’t seen each other in years, and all of a sudden, you want to live with me. Don’t you think we’re moving a little too fast?”

You rolled your eyes at his comment, knowing that he was only saying that to tease you.

"Oh, shut up. You know I wouldn’t do this if I didn’t have to. I would’ve stayed with your sister, but you know what happened with that."

You heard him let out a sigh and stretch his body in the process.

"Yeah, every year she goes on these exotic trips with her boyfriend and goes MIA for a month. I was shocked that she even called me."

"Damn, she still calls me whenever she goes on her trips."

"Whatever. Anyway, I’m sorry to hear what happened with your job. You’re more than welcome to stay with me until you can get back on your feet and support yourself again."

"Oh, thank goodness. I thought you were going to leave me hanging for a second."

He let out a laugh and said, "What? No, I would never do that. What makes you think I would?"

"I don’t know. It’s just... we haven’t spoken or seen each other since college, and now here I am, begging you to let me stay with you."

He laughed again. You always loved the way he laughed—so carefree and happy. It gave you so much comfort.

"Ah, you’re killing me here. I’ve always loved how funny you are. Now, I’m on my way to you. Send me your address and I’ll pick you up."

"Dude, it’s almost midnight. Aren’t you tired?"

"Yeah, but your lease technically ends today, right? They’re going to be knocking at your door to leave anyway, so you might as well move in tonight."

He made a fair point. It would be best if you left now. You already had all your clothes and personal items with you, so you could just leave tonight if you wanted.

"Alright, come pick me up. I’m basically packed already!"

"Great! I’ll leave my place now. See you soon!"

You said your goodbyes and hung up the phone. You started to feel nervous about seeing Haechan after all this time. You realized all you were wearing was a loose tank top and some joggers, but you were too tired to even bother changing into something else.

20 minutes later...

You heard a knock at the door, and lo and behold, it was Haechan. He still looked the same, except he was a little taller than the last time you saw him. He wore a black hoodie with a baseball cap and sweatpants.

He looked so attractive.

Even now, in something as simple as a hoodie, you instantly felt yourself go insane seeing him like this. You noticed the sleepiness in his eyes—he had definitely lied earlier about not being tired. He just didn’t want you to feel bad for him.

You greeted each other with a simple hug, and as you did, you caught a whiff of his cologne. It had a warm, sweet, and woody scent with hints of spice and musk that lingered in the air. You wanted to hold onto him longer, but of course, you couldn’t.

As you let go, he asked what he could do to help. You told him to grab the box of miscellaneous items while you carried your clothes. You both made your way to his car, packed everything in, and after bringing down the last of your things, you climbed into the passenger seat. Every now and then, you glanced over at him, watching him drive. He looked so attractive doing something as simple as that.

You found everything he did attractive—even something as mundane as driving. The way he kept one hand on the steering wheel while leaning back in his seat made you press your thighs together. You wished, at this moment, that you could—

“Do you plan on staring at me the whole drive or what?”

You snapped out of your thoughts, realizing you'd been staring at him for a while.

“Oh, I’m sorry, just daydreaming is all.”

“Uh-huh... Anyways, we’re here now. I’m too tired to carry all your stuff up, so just grab what you need for tonight.”

You agreed, feeling sleepy yourself. You grabbed your night essentials and followed him up to his apartment. The space was sleek and minimal, with little to no decoration. He liked to keep things simple. He led you to the room where you'd be staying for the time being.

“This is where you’ll be staying. My best friend used to live here, but he moved in with his girlfriend, so it’s been empty since. Make yourself comfortable. I’ll be in my room if you need anything.”

You nodded, watching him leave before you got settled and began getting ready for bed. You left your tank top on and changed into pajama pants. After brushing your teeth, you returned to bed, only to realize how cold the room was. The one blanket he gave you wasn’t nearly enough.

You knew you couldn’t sleep through the night—it was just too cold. So, you knocked at his door. Haechan was sitting at his desktop, playing videos, but paused to look at you.

“What’s up?”

“Sorry to bother you, but the room is really cold, and the blanket you gave me isn’t enough. I was wondering if you had something else. I thought I brought my sweatshirt, but I couldn't find it.”

“Ah, I don’t think so... here, just take my hoodie for now—”

“No, I can’t. You’ll be cold for the night—”

“Nah, I’ll be fine. I’m used to it. My heater doesn’t work, and I was supposed to get it fixed this week, so I apologize for that.”

“You don’t have to apologize. I guess I’ll take your hoodie, but I’ll give it back as soon as I find mine.”

He agreed, standing up from his gaming chair to take off his hoodie. As he pulled it over his head, his shirt underneath rode up slightly, revealing a glimpse of his waist—and a newly grown happy trail.

It took everything in you not to lose your mind at that moment, but you managed to keep your fantasies in check. He handed you the hoodie, and you left his room, putting it on as you walked back to your temporary space.

As you lay down, the smell of his cologne clung to the fabric, distracting you. You couldn’t stop thinking about when he first picked you up—how you hugged, your bodies pressed together, and how you didn’t want to let go.

Feeling lightheaded from the thought, you pushed it aside. That was a worry for another day. For now, it was time to sleep. And tonight, you slept peacefully...

As time passed, you and Haechan grew even closer. You noticed he had become more comfortable around you. At first, when you both sat in the living room, he kept his distance out of respect, but now, you were always near each other.

He had grown so comfortable that sometimes he’d walk around the house without a shirt on. It drove you mad when he did that—you could barely look him in the eye anymore because of it.

He walked out of his room wearing only black professional slacks and dress shoes, completely shirtless. He held two different dress shirts in his hand and asked for your opinion.

“Hey, I have that big interview today and I can’t decide whether to wear the black or white shirt. Which one do you think would be better?”

You were so captivated by his features that you couldn't even focus on what he was saying to you.

“Um, hello? Is there anyone in that pretty head of yours?”

You jumped at his compliment, feeling heated with embarrassment. He let out a slight chuckle, clearly amused by your reaction.

“S-sorry, I wasn’t paying attention. What was the question?” you asked, your voice tinged with nervousness.

“God, what am I going to do with you? I asked which shirt looks better for the interview.”

“I think the black one looks nice.”

He nodded and went back to his room to get dressed and prepare to leave. You felt flustered by the affection he’d been showing you lately. He had started using various nicknames for you like "love," "darling," and "pretty," and it was becoming overwhelming.

Being in a confined space with him all the time has made it worse. It’s so bad to the point where now whenever you masturbate you can only get off to the thought of him touching you. It’s a recurring thought that crosses your mind. This all started one day when you came home early from job hunting and wanted to hang out with Haechan. As you were approaching his room, you heard some noises coming from it.

Curious, you realized the sounds were his moans. The door was slightly ajar, and you could see him through the crack. His head was thrown back against the pillow, eyes closed, lost in pleasure. You were stunned and felt a wave of arousal.  You couldn’t bring yourself to stop watching him. You told yourself to walk away, reminding yourself that watching him like this was a serious invasion of his privacy.

 But this whole situation made you even more wet. 

You wanted to touch yourself while he did, but you knew you wouldn’t be able to keep yourself together. So you know what you do instead?

You recorded him on your phone to have this to look back on later. You felt so gross and guilty for even doing this, but everything happened too quickly, and you couldn't resist. He looked so good, and you didn’t want to forget any of it.  As he neared climax, you weren’t sure how much time you had before he noticed you, but fortunately, he didn't. He finished, spilling over his hands and sheets. 

You quickly stopped recording and quietly made your way back to your room, trying to act as if nothing had happened. You stayed hidden until you saw him leave for his evening walk. As soon as he was out of the apartment, you immediately went to touch yourself with the video you had just taken of him.

Ever since then, you could only get off by thinking of Haechan. No one else could come to mind. You couldn’t explain this insatiable desire you had for him, and it just kept getting worse. Sometimes, when he wasn’t looking, you’d sneak a picture or two of him while he was changing. You used those to get yourself off, too.

You had started to become such a pervert for him, and you hadn’t even realized it.

Fast forward to now. As he leaves the apartment for his interview, you finally have some much-needed alone time. He recently had to quit his old job to find a new one, and he’s been home all the time. It’s nice and all, but you haven’t been able to masturbate in forever. It’s the first time in a while that you’ve been able to cum. You knew today was going to be the day.

You do what you usually do: go into your room and use your vibrator. Before you lay down on your bed, you notice you left Haechan’s hoodie, which he lent you when you moved here. You place your sex toys on the bed and go to grab his hoodie. You don’t know what possessed you, but you begin to press it against your face and realize you can still smell his cologne.

You start to think back to how he would walk around the house with that cologne. You couldn’t stop smelling it and thinking about him being with you right now. You wished he would wrap his arms around you and pull you close. You lay back down on your bed and start to touch yourself, pulling your panties to the side and rubbing against your clit while keeping his hoodie pressed against your face.

You don’t know why you lose all self-control when it comes to him. You felt like you wanted more, and just his hoodie wouldn’t be enough. Then you came up with one of the most perverted ideas yet.

To go jerk off in his bed instead.

His room would be the perfect place, as it would automatically smell like him. You felt disgusted for even thinking about it, but you did it anyway. It wouldn’t take long for you to finish at the rate you were going. You grabbed all your stuff and headed straight to his room. You immediately started to feel light-headed from the strong cologne in his room. It made sense since he had been there not too long ago.

You jumped into his bed, and even the sheets smelled like him. You placed your vibrator on his bedside table, waiting to use it when the moment was right. You went back to touching yourself, throwing your head back in pleasure. You felt a sense of bliss just being in his room. You knew you shouldn’t be there, and he would probably kick you out if he found you touching yourself in his bed. But you were at the point where you didn’t care; you were just chasing your orgasm. You started thinking about that one time you caught him touching himself in this exact bed that you were now using for yourself.

You came up with another idea.

You quickly grabbed your phone and started playing the video you recorded of him jerking off. You only use it for yourself on special occasions, and this was one of them. Lost in your own pleasure, you closed your eyes and listened to his moans. You imagined him right next to you, touching himself with you. You grabbed your vibrator from his bedside table and turned it on. Pulling your panties to the side, you pressed it against your clit. 

You moaned out loud, the sound almost like a scream. Tears started to form in your eyes as you threw your head back with pleasure. You felt so alive and didn’t even care about the consequences. You even moaned his name, unable to stop yourself.

You had come to accept that you were indeed a pervert for him…

So deep in your sinful endeavors, you failed to notice that Haechan was watching you with his arms crossed as he leaned against the doorframe.

“It was only a matter of time before I caught you doing something like this,” he said.

You immediately stopped what you were doing and were too stunned to move. All you could do was turn off your vibrator and look at him. Words couldn’t even describe how humiliating this was for you.

Being seen in his room made everything so much worse.

“Oh, don’t stop on my account, love. You seem to be really enjoying yourself in my bed of all places.”

You wanted to die in that moment. You had never felt so ashamed in your life.

“It’s not what it looks like—”

“Oh, don’t start with that shit.”

He walked over to you, and you tried to close your legs. But he stopped you with his knee and grasped your chin, tilting your face up to meet his gaze.

“These walls aren’t that thick, darling, and I can hear you every time you touch that pretty cunt of yours.”

He started to slowly place his fingertips against your clit. You instantly began to melt and whimper at his touch.

“Every time you do it, I always hear you moan and beg for me to touch you.”

He inserts a finger into your squelching pussy and rubs his thumb against your clit, maintaining a slow but steady pace. The look on his face sends shivers down your spine. You can’t even bring yourself to look at him, especially with the state he has you in right now.

“Don’t even get me started on the night you watched me jerk off. God, sweetheart, have you ever heard of the word “privacy”?”

You didn’t realize your phone was still beside you, with the video paused on the screen. Hoping he doesn’t notice, you try to slide your hand towards it and push it under the pillow beside you. However, he beats you to it. With his other hand, he grabs your wrist to stop you from reaching for your phone. He then grabs your phone and sees that you recorded him.

“You even fucking recorded me. God, you’re so pathetic.”

You feel yourself tighten at his degrading words, and he notices.

“Aww, you like the way I’m talking to you. Did you use this video of me to jerk off just now?”

You’re too embarrassed to admit it out loud, so all you can do is nod your head. He kneels to face you and makes direct eye contact. With a low, sultry tone, he says:

“You really are such a little pervert for me, huh?”

You don’t know why, but when he calls you that, you instantly want to cum right then and there. You’re shocked that he’s even giving in to your perversion. You let out a moan and instantly regret it because he starts to laugh at you.

“Wow, you must really like it when I call you that. I won’t give you what you want, though, so you’re going to have to earn it.”

You hate how much he’s enjoying this right now. You decide enough is enough and speak up.

“W-why are you doing this? Aren’t you going to kick me out?”

He lets out a smirk, grabs your chin once more, and says:

“Why would I do that when I’m just starting to have so much fun with you?”

The way he says it is genuine, and he doesn’t want to stop any of this. You can’t believe that this is real and not one of the fantasies you dream about.

You bite your lip at his comment and can’t even think of a response.

“Now it’s time for you to pay for all the things you did behind my back. I want you to get on your knees for me.”

You were a little taken aback by his forwardness and didn’t know how to react. He positioned himself at the edge of the bed with his back facing you.

“I won’t repeat myself again. Get on your knees in front of me now.”

You quickly obeyed his demands, got onto the floor, and made your way towards him. You knelt in front of him, feeling intimidated. He was still wearing the dress shirt and pants from his interview, looking so attractive. He had left a few buttons undone at the top of his shirt, revealing a hint of his chest. You pressed your thighs together to try to compose yourself, but he was only turning you on. Unable to meet his gaze, you looked down at the floor. He then grabbed your jaw with his hand aggressively and forced you to look at him.

“You better keep your eyes on me the whole time if you know what’s good for you.”

His tone was scary and harsh. You kept your eyes locked on him as he released his grip on your jaw.

“I want you to take off your shirt.”

You felt a little flustered by his sudden demand, but the way he was looking at you sent goosebumps all over your body, and you didn’t want to upset him. You lifted your shirt, standing there half-naked in front of him, with nothing on but your panties.

“Of course, you're not wearing a bra.”

With one hand, he groped your tits, twisting the nipple of the other. You let out a loud whimper in response.

“Who would’ve known I’ve been living with such a slut this whole time?”

You threw your head back in bliss, loving the way he was touching you.

“You think I haven’t noticed you walking around the house with no bra, your nipples showing through those tight tank tops you always wear?  If you ask me, it’s like you’re begging for this to happen, love.”

He squeezed your boob harder, and all you could do was moan. You had to admit, you stopped wearing a bra at home, hoping he’d notice you. 

“It’s embarrassing to see you trying so hard to get my attention.” His cold, harsh words only heightened your arousal.

He eventually stopped, then unbuckled his belt and unzipped his pants. You could see the bulge in his boxers. When he took out his cock, it slapped directly onto your face, making you flinch.

“Oh, sorry about that, sweetie. I guess I got a bit carried away.”

You told him it was fine and that you didn’t mind. You started to lick your lips and were about to use your hands to wrap around his dick, but he stopped you.

“Did I say that you could touch me? Remember, you have to earn it.”

He shoved his cock back into his boxers. You didn’t like how much he was teasing you, and you started to get irritated, but you were still glad that any of this was happening.

“So what do you want me to do for you then?”

“I want you to hump my shoe.”

There he goes, trying to humiliate you again. You were surprised by his request. You were already feeling embarrassed, and now he seemed to enjoy seeing you like this.

“I-I don’t think I can do—”

“Don’t get all shy on me now, darling. Just a second ago, you were spread open on my bed, ready to get off to me, and now here I am giving you what you want, and you want to back out. Maybe you’re not as much of a pervert as I thought you were.” 

There goes that trigger word of yours.

You instantly felt your body heat up all over, and you decided to sit on his dress shoe. You began to hump against him back and forth, and Haechan couldn’t believe that you were actually doing this. At first, he was just teasing you to see how far you’d go for him, but he never expected to see you act like this because of him.

This was really stroking his ego, knowing that you were this obsessed with him. He started to rub the bulge forming in his boxers and kept eye contact with you the whole time.

You were humping yourself at a steady pace and didn’t want to get too carried away. The friction of your clit against him was driving you crazy. You couldn’t believe that you had fallen this hard for him. Just a month ago, you had an innocent little crush on him that had now turned into an unhealthy, perverted obsession. 

You were enjoying every second of this.

You started to moan from how good you felt. He would lift his foot every once in a while just to mess with you, adding more to your stimulation. He had the biggest smirk on his face and enjoyed every second of this. You wrapped your arms around his leg for support. As your boobs pressed against him, he felt an intense urge to cum right then and there. It was getting harder for you to hold back, so you rested your head on his thigh as he gently patted your head.

“Mhm, you’re so pretty like this, love. Please don’t stop for me.”

This all felt like a dream to you.

You whimpered at his praise and continued to keep up the pace without stopping.

You saw him notice the mirror facing his bed and could tell he had an idea. He proceeded to grab his phone from his pocket and started to record you and your backside, which was facing the mirror.

He began to bounce his leg up and down, adding more to your stimulation. You threw your head back in pleasure and let out a sinful scream. You started to breathe heavily, and your vision was becoming blurry.

“Mhm, look at the camera for me, love. Show me how much of a slut you are.”

All this humiliation was really affecting you. The fact that he was recording you meant he would surely bring it up and tease you about it forever. You avoided looking at the camera and looked down.

Haechan didn’t like that.

With his free hand, he grabbed your jaw and forced you to look directly at his phone.

“Don’t act like you don’t like this. You were so eager just a second ago to do this, and now you can’t even look at me. It’s pathetic, really.”

You let out a low moan at his degrading words. He knows how much you love being treated like this. He pointed the camera at the mirror, revealing just how much you were enjoying this.

“God, I can’t wait to get off with this later.”

You start to tense up at his words, feeling yourself getting closer to the edge. You don’t know how long you could last if he keeps talking about you in such a vulgar manner.

“Mhm, you’d love that, huh sweetheart? Me getting off just from the thought of you. You love all this attention I’m giving you. I bet you’ve been waiting for this for a long time.”

All you could do was nod in response. Sensing that you were getting close, he didn’t want you to cum just yet. He stopped recording and said,

“Okay, I want you to stop now.”

You were so into it that you didn’t even realize he was talking to you. He was starting to get annoyed by how many times he had to call your name for you to stop what you were doing. Eventually, he had enough and yanked your hair, making you look up at him.

“Don’t you hear me telling you to stop?”

You snapped back into reality and realized that he was talking to you.

“Oh, I-I’m so sorry, I didn’t—”

Still gripping your hair, he dragged you across the room and pressed you up against the wall, standing in front of you while you knelt on the floor. As you looked up at him, you began to feel even more intimidated than before. The angry and disgusted look on his face sent shivers down your spine.

“Don’t give me that excuse. You’re such a little slut and couldn’t help yourself. But remember, I’m the one allowing all of this and giving you permission.”

He released your hair and began to unzip his pants, letting his cock fall onto your face. He patronized you by lightly slapping your face with it.

“I could stop all this right now and leave you here—”

“P-please d-don’t do that… I need you so bad.”

He likes how desperate you were becoming for him, a huge smirk spreading across his face.

“Mhm, I love it when you beg for me. Now be a good girl and stay still.”

Confused about why he wanted you to stay still, you were suddenly surprised when he began to slowly push his pulsing cock down your throat. You tried to protest, but he simply said, 

“You shouldn’t talk with your mouth full—”

He immediately shoved his entire length down your throat and threw his head back. 

“It’s rude, love.”

He began to face-fuck you against the wall. Tears streamed down your face as you closed your eyes. He aggressively fucked your mouth, relishing the sensation of your throat wrapping around him so tightly.

You were about to reach down and touch yourself, but he quickly stopped you and pinned both of your hands above you. You felt trapped underneath him with nowhere to run or hide, though you didn’t want to escape anyway.

“This isn’t for your pleasure anymore. I’m doing this for my own.”

You moaned around him at his words, and he noticed.

“You love that I’m just using you now? You really are such a pervert.”

Your eyes began to roll back, reaching your breaking point. With so much happening, you felt yourself gasping for air, feeling like you were fading. As he neared climax, you tasted his pre-cum. Just before he came, he pulled out of your mouth. You coughed and heavily breathed, feeling even more lightheaded than before.

“Haechan, I don’t think I can do this—”

“Oh, I’m not done with you, pretty girl.”

He grabbed you by the hair and threw you onto his bed. Removing his shirt and the rest of his clothes, he made sure that both of you were facing the mirror. He pushed your face down and angled your ass into the air. Without hesitation, he shoved his dick into your aching pussy. You let out a moan that was practically a scream.

You looked directly into the mirror, seeing how rough he was being with you. He was starting to lose himself in you. He didn’t know what possessed him to fuck you like this, but he began to enjoy how amazing your pussy felt. You started to grip the sheets on his bed and said,

“P-please don’t stop, Hyuck.”

It was rare for you to call him that, but whenever you did, he absolutely loved it.

“Aww my little pervert starting to become more desperate for me-“

He let out a loud smack against your ass and you shriek in pleasure. He pulled on your hair and whispered into your ear

“You’re absolutely fucking gross for being turned on by this.”

You loved how all your fantasies about him were coming to life. You had always imagined him fucking you hard and deep into his mattress. In this blissful state, your eyes rolled back as your moans became more breathless and ragged. Driven by desire, you aggressively fucked yourself back onto his cock, moving so passionately that he fell back onto the bed, and you rode him.

You were in such a horny state that you couldn’t stop yourself. He wasn’t complaining about how needy you were; in fact, seeing you so desperate turned him on even more. The fact that he was witnessing this raw side of you made him want to come even harder.

“God, baby, you can slow down, you know… I’m going to cum if you keep going like this.”

“F-fuck, I can’t. I wanted this… I’ve wanted you for so long, and I-I can’t hold back anymore.”

His dick twitched in response, and you felt it. You let out a loud whimper and threw your head back. You leaned your back against his bare chest and grabbed your legs, pumping his cock vigorously inside your core. You were practically screaming, not caring if his neighbors heard your moans.

By the end of the night, everyone would know who you belonged to.

“Hyuck, I’m getting close—”

“Mhmm, is that so, baby?”

He swiftly changed positions, now pressing your back against the bed with him on top. He pulled out, and you whined in agony from the emptiness. He laughed, enjoying how needy you were for him.

“God, you’re so cute. I almost don’t want to go back inside.”

“P-please, Hyuck… I want to cum so bad.”

He glanced at the other side of the bed and noticed your vibrator still there. An idea struck him. As he slowly inserted his cock back inside you, he turned on the vibrator and placed it against your clit. You arched your back in pleasure, begging him to bury himself deeper inside you.

He complied, thrusting his cock back into your squelching pussy with relentless force. His strokes were hard and sloppy. He set the vibrator to a faster setting and you wrapped your legs around his waist. Your cunt was so wet from the overstimulation that you began to make a mess all over him and the bedsheets. You wrapped your arms around his neck and buried your face in the scent of his cologne. It reminded you of all the times you hugged him, and you didn’t want to let go.

He kissed and bit all over your neck, and you moaned out in sheer pleasure.

“F-fuck, keep doing that.”

You felt him smirk against your neck as he continued. He moved away from your neck and began to kiss you on the lips. Both of you closed your eyes, lost in the gratification you were giving each other. He realized he was hitting your sweet spot, and you started to yell out in ecstasy. He set the vibrator to the highest setting. Tears welled up in your eyes from the overwhelming pleasure he was giving you. Both of you were on the edge, unable to last much longer.

“Are you close, darling?”

You nodded in response.

He leaned down to your ear and whispered in a deep, husky tone, “Then come for me like the dirty little pervert you are.”

That was the breaking point for you. You moaned louder than ever that night and came incredibly hard on his cock. He followed suit, filling you up with ropes of his cum. He turned off your vibrator and, without pulling out, placed you on top of him once again and let you rest on his chest.

Both of you were breathing heavily, trying to calm down after everything that had happened. You were practically seeing stars, still in disbelief that this was real. He gently stroked your back and asked, “Are you okay? How are you feeling?”

“To be honest, this was the hardest I’ve ever come. This is the best sex I’ve had in a very long time.”

You immediately regretted saying that, realizing it gave him a huge boost to his ego. He had the biggest smirk on his face.

“Oh really? I will admit I am pretty good, aren’t I? Especially the part when—”

“On second thought, I take it back. It was terrible.”

You both laughed, and he pretended to be offended. Even now, you could lighten up after everything that had transpired between you.

“You weren’t saying that when you were riding my dick.”

There he goes again, making you feel all embarrassed. You hated how much of a chokehold he had on you.

“Whatever.”

He lowered both of his hands to your hips and gripped them tightly.

“A thank you would be nice, you know?”

You rolled your eyes and said, “Fine, thank you. I’m surprised you still want to be my friend after this—”

“Friend?” He said with a distasteful tone, almost as if he were annoyed.

“Honey, after all that happened, I think we're past just being friends.”

Your face started to heat up as you wondered what he meant by that.

“So what are we then?”

“That, I don’t know. But I’m willing to explore and find out with you.”

“So you have feelings for me?”

“I mean, duh. My dick is deep inside you right now, and I don’t do that for just anybody, you know?”

Even in a heartfelt moment, he had to make everything so sexual. You started to wonder if you were the only pervert here.

“But in all seriousness, I’ve always liked you. I just didn’t want to tell you. Plus, my sister would freak out knowing I made a move on you.”

You completely forgot about your best friend.

“Eh, I’ll just tell her I confessed to you and you liked me back. What can she do then?”

You had a point. Besides, your best friend would trust Haechan to be a good boyfriend to you.

“You’re so right. Also, who would’ve known that you were secretly a little pervert for me this whole time,”  he said with a condescending look on his face.

You shuddered at the word.

“Please don’t call me that… it’s embarrassing.”

He laughed at how flustered you were. He noticed he was still inside you and slowly pulled out. Both of your mixed fluids began to seep into his sheets, and he loved it. You rested your head on his chest again, and he patted your head like before.

“Aww, but I love calling you that. You look so adorable.”

“You’re evil, you know?”

“And you love it.”

You hated that he was right. You both spent the night cuddling and enjoying each other's comfort. Eventually, you got a job and decided to live with Haechan since you were now dating. You told his sister about the relationship, and she obviously supported it. You still couldn’t believe that he felt the same way about you after all this time. 

Even after everything that has happened, you would always be a pervert when it came to him…

[yeyinde]

riptide | Simon "Ghost" Riley x f!Reader

"Thought we lost you." His voice is a crackle; sap popping as it burns in the fire. The log charring in the kindling. There was a battle in his head; artillery fire in the gaps of his eyes. "Thought we— fuck, pet. Thought you were gone, and we couldn't do a damn thing about it." His knuckles graze the mark in your temple, gentle around the tight, irritated flesh—it's proof that you lived, that despite the tragedy of the betrayal from the man you counted on the most, you survived. You made it. You won His touch is featherlight. But his eyes– His eyes are heavy with the promise of nothing but ruin.

(it's like holding a lit cigarette to your pulse.)

part ii of in undertow

tw: gratuitous smut; unfettered filth; gendered reader; f!reader; female anatomy; near death experiences, MAJOR spoilers for the game (seriously, if you haven’t played it are saving it for later, or you haven’t finished, maybe don’t read this yet); PINING; cigarettes after sex was listened to on repreat during the making of this; also, i had “THAT’LL DO!” and “AHUEVO” on a loop, y’all. blame that.

notes: whenever someone asks what “doing the most” means, feel free to point them to this. it’s 16K. fullstop. it was only supposed to be smut. this ended up more plot than porn. but i so wanted the pining; the ambiguity, the danger, the drama. (i mean, this has none of that, but i wanted it.)

i told my very Welsh dad i was in love with an English man, and he said how could you do this to me? and that is pretty much all you need to know about Welsh culture. 

Porthmadog hasn't changed much at all since you last washed up on the sandy shores, one hand gripping the strap of your off-duty duffle bag, and the other clenched around your passport. Wound tight. Ready to flee. A constant state of fight or flight. 

The air is heady with the scent of the sea. Algae. Seaweed. Salt. Your lungs burn with the thickness of it. The sulphur sits in your throat, sticking to your larynx. It clicks when you swallow, refusing to budge. It curls behind your teeth when you suck the air in through parted, salt-chapped lips; the taste lingers in that strange microcosm of being both achingly nostalgic, and woefully foreign in the same breath. 

The streets, too, live there: a realm of vague memories flashing by as your feet tap against the cobblestone. Boots heavy with exhaustion, and jet lag. 

You're not ready to face it. Not yet. 

Head bowed, you stare at the quasi-familiar cracks on the sandstone, and wonder how everyone else is fairing right now. An hour after takeoff. Soap would have been dropped off, wouldn't he? Safe and sound in Edinburgh. 

You're both luckier than your American counterparts—the ones who have a full nine hours left to go. 

Bouncing from the Middle East to Europe is a blink. 

Europe to America is a whole ocean. 

You and Soap played rock, paper, scissors for who got to depart first. In the end, you won. Wales was closer, anyway. 

You left them behind with a heaviness that settled in your pericardium, compunction dipping in the valley of your pinched brow. 

A strange feeling leaks from the fissures. 

Ghost didn't depart. 

They didn't stop in England at all. Right to Wales, right to Scotland. America. Mexico. 

You try not to think about your prickly Lieutenant, but he flashes behind your eyelids, anyway. A bonfire in the dead of night. Tendrils of smoke drifting into the midnight blue aether. You're too close to the crackling flame. The heat scorches your skin. 

He, too, sits heavy in your chest. A spooled cluster of questions bereft of answers. An unknown chasm gaping below. What it all means–

You woke up when the interior lights of the jet flickered on a few rows ahead, the jaundiced glow rousing you from your slumber. Your temple rested on something warm. Firm, sturdy. You blinked into existence, the ghost of a breath on your lips; a passing dream now left behind to rot. A world, forever unattainable, dissolving into nothing. Sand on your fingertips.

The world knits back into the cold clutch of reality: you're on a plane, and–

And you find yourself staring at tightly woven black thread. A balaclava. 

Your eyes dart up. 

The pad in his hands bathes him in iridescent light. It casts shadows on his face, in the pocks of his mask, and illuminates the white of the artificial bones. The paint used is tinged blue, brushed with cyan where it meets the black. 

His lidded eyes crest low as he stares at the screen—a profile open on a man named Zyani stares back. Your eyes don't linger too long, pulled, instead, to the man you're leaning against. The coal under his eyes is smudged, nearly eroded away in the inner corners. You wonder if he rubbed them earlier, eyes gritty and heavy, but refusing to close. He won't sleep on the plane. He never does. 

You don't usually, either. 

Why didn't he wake you? Why did he let you stay? 

There is no time for discussion—not on a jet that reeks of testosterone with ears everywhere. It will have to wait; shelved for another time when Gaz isn't snoring a few pews away, and Soap hasn't been glancing at you in intervals since you sat down. 

Bonnie… you can almost hear him say. What are you doin'? 

You can hear the steady breaths he takes, the sound swells through you. 

It's the first time you've seen him so relaxed since–

Where are you going? Loose-limbed, one hand still wrapped around his softening cock, the other settles on the bend where your thigh meets the crease of your hip, fingers ghosting over the knob of your bone. His eyes are half moons. I didn't say I was finished with you yet, pet.

You shudder, a quiet breath leaving your lips. It draws his attention. His shoulder tenses under you. His head tilts just enough for him to slide his gaze from the screen balanced on his thick thighs to your open stare. 

His eyes are liquid. Honeyed words over smouldering charcoal. "Alright?"

Your lungs quiver with your inhale. Outside of the acrid smell of ammunition, ozone, and gunfire, he carries something musky in his scent. Driftwood. Salt—sweat, blood, the sea. It's potent. You breathe him in again, lids lowering. You hold his scent there, nestled in the gummy webbing of your lungs, dripping down your throat. 

Your eyes feel gritty when they slip shut. Anchors pull them down. You nod your head, slow and languid, murmuring your assent in a barely coherent mumble. The drag of his rough fatigues under your cheek, the straps of his tactical vest grinding into your cheekbone. And then—awareness. It startles you back into reality. Your eyes pop open, meeting the black pools above. 

You wish you could chisel open his head, and read whatever it is that might be lingering in those unfathomable depths. His expression is shuddered, hidden by the thick of his mask. Eyes lidded and heavy and narrowed right on you. 

Intense focus. 

Sometimes, the others talk about Ghost like he's a berserker. A wild, untamed beast let loose in the shadows. Even the vilest people pale when they see him—his larger-than-life frame lingering in the background—and it's fear that dances in the cut of their brow, in their shaking glare.

You heard stories, of course. 

Those always paled in comparison to seeing him on the field. 

You got it, then, why no one mocked him. Why even the worst of the worst never bothered with leading him around by the nose. 

He asked a question, and they answered. 

For a long while, you thought it was his heigh. His size. Immense power. Expert precision. 

But no. It's just him. Those eyes. His presence. 

He doesn't just receive attention, he commands it.  

You should move. You're awake, now. There is no reason for such intimacy with your Lieutenant, for a man more distant and unreachable than the sea. 

You should. 

But you don't. 

He's warm milk under your chin. Heat bleeds into your skin from the firm bracket of his body. Ghost smells good—sweat and timbre—and feels even better. You could sleep again like this. Lashes fan down, sleep digs into the back of your eyes. You force them open. 

Your fingers are tucked into the crook of his arm, pressed tight to his chest; there's a note of domesticity in the way he breathes with you, a palpable weight that falls on you like a thick quilt. His muscles jump. Body tense. 

Eyes on you. Always. 

But then they're gone. A flutter. They cut out to the pews, and you follow his gaze. Price wades closer. 

The bubble pops. You're clinging to your Lieutenant like it's a luxury you're allowed. 

Like it's something commonplace. 

There is distance in his eyes when they flicker to you. The molasses hardened into something once again unreachable. A wall now sits between you. 

(Maybe, that conversation will never come, after all.)

You should have known better than to let yourself want.

The air is crisp when you draw it in. The chill hurts your teeth. 

You slip your fingers out from the wedge of his arm and ribs, already mourning the loss of him under your flesh—ticking muscles coiled tight; velvet draped iron. Ghost says nothing when you move, but his gaze is heavy on you when you fold yourself back into your seat. Proper, now. Lieutenant and soldier. You press yourself as far away from him as you can until your arms dig into the plastic around the window, and sit straight—as if you weren't sleeping on his shoulder. 

As if he didn't let you. 

He looks away when Price takes the bench on the opposite side, offers a nod. 

Price echoes it. Flashes a tight smile your way. 

Then his eyes linger. Not on you. Not on Ghost. He rests his pensive gaze on the sliver of space between the two of you. Where Ghost's bulky arm takes several inches of space up on your own seat, flesh glued together, parting only at the elbows. He's too big to get away from. Takes up all the space—

(—in your lungs, in your head, in your—)

Price, mercifully, isn't the type of man to pry. His brows buoy on his head, a fleeting glance sent in Ghost's direction, and then he's all business. Astute leader. Battle-ready even on a sleepy jet.

He clears his throat. "Where are you headed?" 

It's for you. 

Gaz is going to America with the men you'd picked up for this mission. His offer for you to join was swiftly rejected. The invitations from the Mexican operatives, notably Alverez, to come and enjoy the coast were also rejected. 

"Is Soap going home?" You ask, hands fisting into balls on your lap. 

Price's smile is wan. "He is. Not joining Gaz on his American adventure."

"Misadventure, more like." Ghost's dry tone makes your toes curl. 

You can still hear the way he growled out pet.

You huff. "I'm…" 

There is nowhere for you to go. 

—Well. Nowhere else. 

(Your knees ache, chafed and raw. Pebbles dig into your skin.)

"Wales," you murmur. You hear the ruffle of fabric when Ghost dips his head to look at you. "Whatever is easier. I'll take a taxi."

"Right," Price nods. "Get some rest while you're home." 

It sounds like a dismissal. 

Baleen lines fill your periphery when you turn your head. Your gaze sticks to the crease where his chin meets his neck. You can't bring yourself to look up. 

"Better go fight it out with Soap." 

He doesn't stop you when you stand, when you squeeze past him, thighs brushing his knees. 

He says nothing at all when you depart. 

(Don't think about it. Don't get your hopes up—)

The town is silent save your heavy steps on the cobblestone. In the distance, the roar of the ocean crashes along the beige shore. 

Something inside of you begins to crumble. 

(Too late.)

    The woman by the apartment block greets you warmly, but the words are a strange amalgam of vowels and consonants that do not belong together. Her accent sounds English. The words make no sense to you. 

Your bewilderment must show on your face. Her smile dips, a touch of laughter paints her words when she says, in English: 

Sorry, dove. I thought you were Welsh.

It feels a little bit like a slap to the wrist. Naughty child… mind your manners, and speak your tongue. 

"I'm not…," you murmur, chastised despite having done nothing wrong. 

Wales isn't where you came from. Here is not the place of your birth. It's a paradoxical realm: a land where you were taken to as a child, and told welcome home; all memories erased of the other times they said the exact same thing. A taboo, now. Faux pas. A fresh start (for the nth time). Welcome home. 

It's the place you stayed the longest, though. Your developing years from a child to a teenager, to a spiteful preadolescent with too much to prove, and an ocean to live up to. 

(You wonder if the pavement is still stained red.) 

You know Welsh. Have spoken it for years. You came, fresh-faced and chubby-cheeked, and the ladies cooed while they taught you the words. 

But it's buried. They are covered in dust; a forgotten relic. You remember pieces of the greeting, but your lips are no longer used to forming them. Your tongue is too heavy, too foreign. 

You say nothing at all, trailing off into a stifling silence. 

"Right," her brows knot, rheumy eyes regard you warily. "Do you need a hotel—?"

"I live here." 

You bend down, peeling the pristine welcome mat back, and fish out the key you keep tucked away. Years of training echo in the background; a firm voice rings out, one that sounds suspiciously like Ghost's, barking out how that's trouble. You'll come home to a world of hurt if you keep doin' that, soldier.

(You already do.)

You pull your duffle bag up when it slips, and nod at the bemused woman. 

It's not much of a homecoming. 

It never is. 

The flat you own is barren. A bed that feels too comfortable at night for you to ever truly relax on is shoved into the bedroom, a wardrobe with civilian clothes, a shoe rack in the foyer. A kitchen that's always empty. 

You mostly sleep on the worn, old couch where the springs dig into your shoulder blades, and remind you of that night you spent in Sierra Leone, belly full of yabeh. Ghost a hair's length away from you. His gloved hand brushing yours. 

The duffle bag falls to the tiles with a heavy thud. Your passport will go in the safe along with all of your other belongings—clearance badge, certificates, your guns—until the call comes in for your next mission. 

You hope it's soon. That Shepherd and Laswell trudge up some calamity that will take you far away from this place. A long-haul mission. The kind where you go deep into the trenches, and when you surface, it feels like an aeon has passed. 

It's too quiet at night. 

Your home reeks of dust. Disuse. 

You settle on the couch, eyes fixed on the popcorn ceiling, and pretend you can't feel his shoulder under your head even now. 

A world away, and you still think of him. 

(Always, always.)

    Shepherd calls you weeks later. A secret mission with the Shadow Company, he tells you. When you ask about the others, his voice is tight. 

Just you, soldier. Just you. 

Breaking up the Task Force isn't unheard of. Ghost does so many secretive missions on his own that meeting people he worked with in the past on a group venture isn't at all a rarity anymore. Price is the same. Soap, sometimes, too. 

There isn't much else to do. 

(You held your phone in your hand each night for those weeks, finger hovering over the CALL button. Two letters— Lt— on the contact screen. His profile picture is a dune of sand.

It never rang. You never called.)

You give your affirmative, and go to the coordinates where his operatives will be waiting for you. 

"Show me what you got," he says, a challenge in his voice. 

Your grin is sharp. "Always, Actual." 

    Phillip Graves meets you with a wide grin on his face. The American flag on his fatigues sticks out against the green. So used to the British flag, you can't stop your eyes from sliding down to it, drawn like a beacon. 

(Maybe, in a bygone era, it, too, might have been home.)

"Welcome aboard, soldier." His eyes flash in the setting sun. Eager. Heavy. You echo it in your own smile. "Let's get these son'of'a'bitches."

    You're back at the bottom. 

The Shadow Operatives stare at you when they think you aren't looking. Low murmurs fill the jet— princess, chick, girl— and you gazed, pointedly, out the window. 

Your hands itch; the phantom scabs prickle. 

It makes you miss 141 more than you thought possible. Gaz, Price, Soap, Ghost. They flicker in your mind, and you wonder what they'd do in this situation. 

How would they prove themselves to everyone around them?

(Answer: they wouldn't.) 

The only one who isn't pushing you in a box is Graves. 

"Heard great things about you," his smile crests over his lips. Eyes hungry. Ready for battle. "Can't wait to see what you can do." 

He worked with Ghost a month ago. You find this out when he mentions it offhand. Secret mission with your Lieutenant. Is he always that much of an asshole—?

Actual is in your ear, stay alert. Keep your eyes out, always. Never know what you might miss.

But it's Ghost you think of. 

(Always, always.)

"He's not an asshole," you say, shrugging. "Just a man who cares too much." 

Almost immediately, you want to swallow the words back down. Stupid. Stupid. You force yourself to remain still, nonchalant. 

(How presumptuous of you to think you know him.)

Military likes to gossip. It'll come back to him somehow. The little rookie who stuck up for him. Who said he cared.

Graves' eyes flicker. "That right?"

You blush. English is gone. The only language in your throat is Welsh. 

(Graves' guffaw echoes in the jet.)

    Graves purses his lips, rolling them from side to side, as you sift through the documents in front of you. He's been pacing the room for the last ten minutes while you meticulously translate each paper in your grasp. Agitation bleeds through the usual warmth in his countenance. 

It's tense. A slaughter. 

His compatriots flank all of the exits; sounds of gunfire resound through the compound. 

The infiltration was easy. 

This—

This is not. 

"So…," he drawls, the thick accent is warm, but his voice is constricted; pinched. "Heard you were the best at sniffing things out. What do you think?"

"It's not—," you pause, eyes skimming the page, squinting at it. 

"What?"

His tone is sharp. Icy. The usual warmth dissipates into a palpable tension; a tight unease. 

The shift is strange. Focus on the mission.

"It's not just Konni in this. They're being backed." 

"That so?" 

You suck in a deep breath. "We should leave. Tell Actual what's going on–"

"Yeah," he intones, crouching down in front of you. His eyes are placid. "We'll do just that."

    It all happens so fast. A clichè, really, but a fitting one. 

Head turned out the window of the cargo van, deadly missiles being dragged behind. Your mind is full, racing. Nothing makes sense. 

You wish Ghost was here. Price. Soap. They're the ones you use to bounce ideas off of: this is what is happening, this is the missing equation, and this is what I think. 

Good, bonnie. Now, tell us something we don't know. 

And what if the equation is wrong?

Crafty, soldier. How do we prove it? 

And then the world shatters. 

Konni Operates. A gun to your head. Graves yelling in the distance; spitting curses, threats. Actual in your ear— you'll die here, soldier. 

Chaos. Death presses cold metal to your forehead, snapped words in rapid-fire Russian, too fast for you to pick up. 

The only ones that leak through are oozing glee. I'm going to blow your head off.

A dead-end. You think of Gaz—the closest to you in age, passing jokes back and forth; playing Never Have I Ever when the missions lull, the others looking on with amusement. 

Kids these days, they scoff.

Have you seen this video? He asks, dropping into the vacant seat beside you. Ghost looks up. It's a club in London. 

Soap huffing when you ask if he wants to come. Too old for that, bonnie.

You kids have fun, Price says, lips twitching. A rare show of amusement from the man. But I'll have to pass.

What if we went to a pub instead, you geezer? You chuckle. 

Geezer? He nudges Ghost to his left, eyes dry. You've been rubbing off on the kids. 

You meet his stare over the plastic table. Smile turns shy. Wanna come with us, Lt?

He holds it. Halfmoon. Eclipse. Liquid black. Negative, soldier. 

You try not to let the sting of rejection show. It's stupid. Stupid—

Nice one, kid.

Y'did good, bonnie.

Let's show these old boys what us kids can do, yeah?

Their voices echo in your mind. One rings louder than the others. A sharp bark. Gravel shattering. Move, soldier!

You're a dutiful soldier. You never disobey a command from your superior officer. From him.

White-hot pain splits across your temple. The world turns static. You're falling down, down, down—

Waves lap at your body, tugging you out to sea. The briny water fills your throat. 

Stay alert, soldier. The General. Voices. 

"Well, shit." Graves. He sounds distant. Far away. 

You think of Sierra Leone. Your first mission. 

Hiding in a concrete house with no windows, no doors, no cover. Gunfire booming across the landscape, cloaked in the pitch black darkness of night. Flickers of yellow-red light pop in the distance. 

You don't breathe. Don't make a sound. Your hands tremble around your rifle. Eyes wavering. 

Warmth against your back. You startle. A gloved hand over your mouth. The brush of a balaclava against your neck. 

"Easy, soldier. They'll see you if you jump." 

They'll see you—

"They dead?" A boot knocks against your calf. 

You go limp. 

"Yeah," Graves. Companion. Comrade. Be careful who you trust, soldier. All you have right now is yourself. Trust your gut; you're on your own. 

Copper on your tongue. You let it pool between your teeth, keeping it held in the space between your lips. It tastes of pennies. You try not to choke.

Sir… you whisper the words against his tactical vest. Feel the shift of his body when he looks at you from over his shoulder. Let's get yabeh after this. 

We're not on holiday, soldier. 

Really? Feels like one. 

You need to get out more. 

Yeah… maybe…

C'mon, now. Stay with me, pet. 

Always… sir. Always…

    You drag him to someplace you'd heard of through your new friends–best yabeh in all of Salone; gotta try the Jollof, too, Sesay insists–and he fits in like a sore thumb. 

You both stand out, really. Foreigners in the middle of a place visited only by locals. Him in his denim trousers, and short-sleeved shirt, tactical vest fixed on his chest; his mask stays on. A ball cap low over his brow. He exudes danger. The rippling musculature of a tiger. The stealth of a panther. 

You—nondescript and tiny beside him. 

There is something to be said about seeing your new Lieutenant in denim. In the custom facemask instead of the full balaclava. 

With the baleen lines missing over his chin and neck, he almost feels too exposed to you. Too vulnerable. Too open. 

You can't stop fixing your gaze on the scant flesh, uncovered, above the collar of his shirt. His arms, bulky, and big, fold over his massive chest. 

He barely fits inside the small booth. 

Your eyes dance. Amusement. A roseate veil shudders over you—a novice, a rookie—and high off of the success of a mission. 

"Sesay says this is the best place in town."

"Sesay says a lot of things, don't he?" 

You blink, fingers tapping against the worn wood of the table. It's hot in Sierra Leone. A wet swelter that brands your skin with white-hot intensity. It's different from the dryness of the Sahara. 

Somehow, his tone is drier than the arid desert you crawled out of. Drier than the burning heat of the massive sun. 

"That he does…," you agree, floundering. 

Was this a mistake? Maybe you shouldn't have come here. What were you thinking? Dragging your superior out for dinner. You flush. It's barely discernable from the blistering sunburn over the bridge of your nose. Unfamiliar with the intense sun that scorches the land. 

You're drowning, now. Wallowing in this limbo of uncertainty. Maybe you should have just come later with Sesay and Abdul. They asked you when you pestered for directions, but you met Ghost's stare from over their shoulders, and hadn't heard a thing of what they were saying once you met him in the middle.

He's a whole head taller than everyone he meets. Massive. The locals' baulk at him: this huge, terrifying being with a skull on his face, cutting through the throng of people like a tank. 

There was so much going on once you started the mission. After the Intel was gathered, and the forces were ready, those long nights spent inside a tent that was barely big enough for yourself let alone the behemoth bulk of your Lieutenant came to an end. It was abrupt. Sudden.

It was just you and him. 

And then it was a sea of people. 

You'd spent the better part of a year pouring over documents in the middle of nowhere, surrounded by Scorpions and sand, and him. 

The tent was deadly during the day; balmy with a humidity fit for the Amazon. At night, any complaints you might have had about the heat turned into regrets. It was freezing. You could see white clouds of condensation when you breathed out. 

You'd lie next to each other. Grains of sand is the only thing keeping you apart. He was warm—bonfire hot. 

You'll be frustrated, mad. That's normal when you spend so much time with a stranger. You might argue, bicker. But just focus on the mission. This is a test of camaraderie as much as it is endurance. 

It wasn't like that at all. It was—

Seamless. 

His ebb and flow were easy to adjust to. Maybe, it was the fact that you were a neophyte that made it so. Too afraid to let the bundle of frustration rear when this was your first mission. Your first test. 

But—

It wasn't quite like that. You found that you enjoyed his company. His barbed insults spoken in a flat, serious tone often flew over the heads of the men you had to work with, but you grew accustomed to them. Enjoyed them, even. He was—

An enigma. A year later, and you know nothing about Simon Riley, and as much as he'll allow about Ghost. There is distance still, but; 

It wanes. It cracks. Fills with the sharpness of his sarcasm, the stoic dedication to his mission; the grains of sand that stick to his sweat-slicked forehead. The deep hue of red from the mask he refuses to take off. 

You'll suffocate, you quip, eyes glued to the paper in front of you. 

Don't worry about me.

That's a silly thing to say… 

It ain't. You shouldn't. 

Mindless, stupid: well, I do. 

Silence. Brutal and stifling. Then: focus on the mission, Rookie. Not on me. 

You'd hummed noncommittally. It slipped into the back of your head, eyes fixed on the numbers in front of you. 

But it wells, now. When Sesay asks if you want to go with him for dinner, when he tells you how to get there, and what to order. 

Not on me.

Your eyes haven't left his. He holds your stare. 

The chossy wobbles, cracks. Your hand on his arm. C'mon, boss, let's eat. It stays there while you lead him through winding valleys. The heat of his arm—bare, veins ticking under your palm, too burly for you to wrap your whole hand around the thick of him—bleeds into you. You, cold-blooded, leach the warmth from his flesh.

And now—

He doesn't eat when dinner is brought out. Doesn't take his mask off. 

You watch him through the steam that wafts off the Jollof rice, his eyes roaming around the room like clockwork, looking for something that might strike. Hyper-vigilant. Wary. Cold. Distant. 

A puzzle not meant to be put together, but your fingers itch with the urge to try. 

Why did he come, you wonder. Why didn't he say no? 

As if hearing your thoughts, his eyes are on yours. Tendrils of translucent white fog the air between you. His brow pinches. Lids crest. 

It punches the air from your lungs. There is a phantom heat in your palm. Your hands shake around the fufu in your grasp, tightening around the tacky food until it bulges between your fingers. 

The syphoned heat begins to simmer in your belly. 

It bubbles over, blustering through your insides when his head pulls close, chin over the table, and says:

You did good, rookie. Might make a soldier of you, yet. 

You bow your head. "Cachu hwch."

"English, soldier." 

You shake your head. "N-nothing, sir… burnt my tongue."

    You wake up in an empty hospital room. It was early August when you left for Al Mazrah. The calendar on your wall says it's now late September. 

The space in between is a blur. Left in the mud. Graves was taken. Was he okay–

You don't remember anything after the point of passing out in the mud, and waking up—sick from infection, burning from a fever—and finding yourself strapped down on a jet. Medics surround you. 

You'll be okay, you'll be fine–

You'd passed out again. The world slipping away until you felt the heat on your shoulder blades. The scent of yabeh thick in your nose. 

You move, sluggish and heavy, on the rough hospital bed, fingers gripping the sheets below. 

You still feel the grit of sand against your arm. 

Heat in your belly. 

(Cachu hwch, indeed.)

    Shepherd calls you a day later on the phone in your private room. Your prison. The men outside say you're not allowed to leave. It's dangerous. 

"Did good out there, rookie."

"Thanks, Actual," you murmur, hands clenched around the receiver. "Couldn't have done it without your help. Without you." 

You want to ask about Graves. About your team. 

You remember the rapid Russian spat in your ear. And this one? You bite your tongue, body pickling with unease. 

"Rest up, now. My boys will be keeping an eye on you. They'll keep you safe."

      You are discharged at the end of October. 

Hands pressed against the still-healing scar on your temple. They peeled the bandage off yesterday. 

The infection made it worse. It wasn't healing with the sickness you had. You're lucky some local boys found you in the mud when they did. You would have died. 

Laswell finds you outside. Hand against her throat, eyes wide.

She looks like she's seen a ghost. 

You certainly feel like one. 

    The ride to your safehouse is punctuated by a game of catch-up. She tells you about the mission they went on, the one you were exempt from. 

The phone calls from Soap, Gaz make sense now. Straight to voicemail. 

Hey, you skimpin' out on us, yeah? Skippin' duty? Not like you at all. Kinda worried, y'know? Text me somethin'. You know I don't like callin'. Anyway… we're keepin' it together, yeah? But kinda freakin' out. Uhh… anyway—

Not like you to miss one, bonnie. Call me when you can, aye? Want to make sure you're okay. 

Price calls nine times. Leaves no voicemail. 

A single text from Ghost. Wheels up at 16:00. Expect to see you there. 

You didn't get your phone back until today. These were sent at the end of October. 

The clock on your screen reads 2nd November.

"No one knew…," you murmur, hands clenched around the metal. "Why didn't Shepherd—"

"Shepherd said you were sent on recon. Said something happened. He didn't tell the others—just me and Price. Didn't want to distract them from the job." 

"When did you find out?"

"That you were alive?" Her lips thinned, skin paling. "Yesterday." 

"Where are they now?"

"That's confidential." 

A scoff. "Sure. Now, off the record…"

"Mexico." 

Something doesn't feel right at all. It sits like an anvil in your stomach. 

"Laswell…" 

"Get some rest," she says, even. Her eyes are glossy when she stares at you. "We'll keep you updated. I'm sure everyone will be relieved to know you're alive."

    Your phone rings two days later. 

The screen flashes. Lt.

Your hands tremble when you answer it. 

    "It was Shepherd," he admits. 

Your head swims with the admission. Shepherd. Did good out there, rookie. Now, stay good. Stay alert. Keep your eyes out, always. Never know what you might miss.

"Is he–?"

"No," he grouses, the word a sliver short of being a growl. "He's alive. Graves is dead."

It hits you in the sternum—a punch unlike any other you'd received. Air knocked from your lungs, chest throbbing in agony, you sink down into your bed, fingers gripping the sheets until your knuckles bleach white. 

This shouldn't have happened. 

This is what you do. It's your purpose. It's your job. Your role. You were selected by Shepherd, by Laswell, Price for that, for your ability to gather information, to weed out the moles, the rats. To sniff them out, and puncture holes in their ship until they sank to the bottom, secrets leaking out. 

The words roll out of your mouth before you stop them. 

"I should have been there." 

The tremulous quiver makes you wince. Weakness. You're not weak. You're not—

Ghost won't see it as such, you know this; he doesn't really react to the harsh emotions of others. He carries an unwavering focus, rapt attention to the overarching mission, the end goal; pragmatic, astute on the battlefield, he doesn't flinch. 

It's a toss-up if he'll ever respond. If he does, it's usually with a dry, biting dismissal. Sarcasm with him often rides the line of being too sincere, and too flat. It's not just murky, but opaque. He'll say something—equal parts scathing and wise: it's already done, no sense dwelling on what you can't change. Do better next time. 

The bite in his words hurt; it was enough to make even the most impassive man irritated by the blunt, almost cruel tinge to his tone. 

But it's later when the message will unravel itself. When you're lying alone in your cot, picking over the things he said, and why he said them, and then—

Oh.

Do better next time. 

Right. 

A soft sound. The rush of air being inhaled through clenched teeth.

Then: "I'm glad you weren't." 

Silence. Your heart thunders. I'm glad you weren't.

It could mean a lot of things. A lot of bad things, but:

He thought you were either dead, or missing, or just—gone. You get it:

The last job didn't kill you—the evidence stacks in your head; one conclusion drawn: 

It should have. It was meant to. 

Your brush with death was a footnote. Nothing at all in the grand scheme of things. 

They wanted you dead. They failed. 

Soap called you last night, voice tight. You good, bonnie?

Getting there, you joked. Actual had my back. Graves, too. I'm alive because of them.

You choke. 

"You alright?"

It's on the tip of your tongue to say yeah. The usual response. Practised. Easy. Distant. But you think of his words, and your ears ring with the deep husk of his voice. He was honest with you. Open. And that's—

Your words are a rush, dipped in vulnerability. "I don't want to be alone right now." 

Too much. Too honest. 

Too open. 

You flinch. Heart thudding in your throat. 

Ghost makes you feel like an exposed wire. Dangerous. Unpredictable. Raw. 

He says your name—a low, brassy rasp that tickles the back of your neck. It's rare for him to call you by your given name. It's much too intimate. Too—

Well. It's just too much. You want to lean into it, to drape yourself in the rich utterance. Have it whispered into your ear late at night, while he fucks into you the same way he bucked into his hand. 

And in the morning when he first wakes. When he rolls over, body folding over your own. Lips against the shell of your ear. A husky rasp; the word dragged over gravel. 

You want it, want him, in ways that are unattainable. 

Domestic. 

You gasp. "I–um. Thanks," you fumble over your words, head roaring with the realisation that there is more than just attraction in the way your heart flutters in your chest; the downy soft wings of a small bird ruffling its fresh plumage. "I'll… talk later." 

Your name is barked through the phone when you pull it away. It's cut off before he can finish. 

    They video call you from some pub. 

The sight of them together—Gaz, Soap, Price, Laswell, Ghost—makes you smile. 

"Christ, bonnie." Soap's eyes are fixed on the line near your temple. Scabbed. Plum colour. Healing, but not yet there. An inch over, and you'd have been—

You flinch, shrugging. "Could be worse–"

"What happened?" It's a command. You try not to tremble at the bark in Ghost's tone. Perhaps Laswell didn't tell them everything. 

His eyes are wide, the whites cresting over the puddles of black. You can't match his stare. You drop, darting to the clock in the corner. 

It's Laswell who tells them about the mission with the Shadow Company. Graves. Shepherd. 

"...Fuckin', aye." Gaz murmurs. He echoes Ghost's question. "What happened? No one told us anything. We thought— and then Shepherd said you were out for the mission. Not that—that you'd been— " 

It falls silent. They don't know about the mission's end aside from Shepherd's lies. Laswell knows. She was the first face you saw in the hospital. 

Let's talk… 

"We were ambushed," you start, shrugging again. Blasé. Nonchalant. You pretend you can't feel the intensity of Ghost's stare through the screen. "I… they were going to shoot me. I got away. Got a scratch—," a scoff from Soap, a murmur of more than a scratch, aye; you ignore it. "They thought I was dead, so they left me there…"

There is more to it. Graves. The whispers in your head. Them, in your final moments. Agents outside your hospital door. Two inches from death. A day away from rotting. 

You swallow it down. It doesn't matter. It happened and now it's over. 

"Bonnie…," there is something raw in Soap's voice. It pricks your pericardium. 

Left for dead. Abandoned by everyone around you. The ones you trusted the most. Your own team didn't even look. Had no time to mourn, no time to worry. 

You know what they must see; the lines they must be drawing. How they, themselves, currently feel, and what they would do if it were them instead of you. It—

It hurts. 

"I'd have joined you at the pub," you murmur, voice a shaky worble, before he can say anything else. "But–," you lift your head, eyes downcast. A facsimile of a smile flickers. You wonder if it hits the mark. "Maybe next time." 

Price nods in your periphery. "Listen—"

"I'll be ready for Makarov," you interrupt. "I'm… I gotta go, though. Am I — can I be dismissed?" 

"...Yeah, yeah you can."

You hang up without another word. 

In the silence of your flat—in a land more foreign to you than the Sahara—you break. 

    Your night dissolves into a series of firsts in quick succession:

A knock on your door. No one knows that you live here. No one but Laswell when she dropped you off. The rheumy-eyed lady with knobby knuckles who mutters at you in warm Welsh. Words you pretend you can't understand. 

Shepherd, too, because he needed a location to put down on paper. A place to find you if they couldn't get a hold of you.

You think it might be him—back for vengeance—and you hold your pistol in your hands, back pressed flat against the wall. One hand drops the brass doorknob. 

"Who is it?" 

A beat. 

"It's me." A thick baritone—enough, you think, pulse racing, to rattle the door with his voice alone. "It's Simon." 

Simon. Not Ghost—

Right. Off-duty, now. Until you get a lead on Makarov. 

Your Lieutenant knocking on your door at—gritty eyes flicker to the stovetop in the kitchen—quarter to five in the evening is another first. Almost paradoxical, really. 

Gun shoved into the holster, you turn to face the wood. Through the little window above, covered by a paper-thin curtain, you can see the dark shape of him, unmoving, as he stands on your porch. 

There are a number of reasons why he'd be here, but only one makes you yearn. 

You pull the door open, and the sight of him makes you dizzy. Hypoxia. Seasickness. Homesick. 

He's dressed as casually as Simon is capable of. Black hoodie, wet on the hood from the snow that falls in clumps outside. A black beanie on his head. Skull mask flat against the bridge of his nose. Denim. Black boots. 

The coal around his eyes is smudged. A nebula of pale skin through a black oasis. 

"What—?"

"Shepherd." Right. He could have called. Got the Intel from Laswell. His words leave no room for argument when he lets out an amalgam of a snarl, a growl; it's ground to dust when he says: "we need to talk."

"Not—," you don't want him to see the emptiness inside. The vacancy. Militaristically barren. Lonely. "Not here…" 

Shepherd was here, too. Not him, specifically—maybe. You don't know for certain. But his agents, definitely. Polluting the inside.

It's a flimsy excuse. You hear the threadbare conviction in your tone. 

"Shepherd was here," you say, and then wince. "Not now, I mean—"

The words die on your tongue. Ghost— Simon —is smart. Of course he wouldn't think Shepherd was here now. He'd fled. Went into hiding. You shift on your feet. 

He can read you like no one else. 

(You wonder if anyone at all can read him.)

You flounder. "I don't want…not here…"

"Where do you want to go?"

Somewhere stiflingly hot. "Anywhere." 

Simon doesn't press. He never does. His head rolls, tips toward the street. "C'mon, then. Get your stuff."

He reads it on your face, in the things you don't say. It reminds you of Sierra Leone— eat, rookie, you haven't all day; get some sleep, you're dead on your feet; I'll take the first watch— and the memory clots behind your ribs. 

"Okay," you murmur. 

You feel his gaze on your back when you turn around. The door is left open. He doesn't follow. 

    There is a chill in the air when you step outside, bundled up in a knit sweater that does little to stem the frigid sea breeze from cutting through the cracks in the threaded cable. 

It's a cold night in Porthmadog. 

Snow falls in clumps from the indigo-smeared sky, sticking to the cobblestone under your feet. 

Simon says nothing as you walk out of the apartment block. He stays close to you, so close you could inch your elbow out and touch him. The heat from his body is a beacon. You're at war with yourself, struggling not to get pulled into his current, and swept out to sea. 

Despite the closeness, there is a distance in the way he paces. Eyes roaming under the hood, taking in the lights strewn overhead, lingering on the alcoves where someone might hide. 

Having him here feels a little surreal. Porthmadog is off-limits to everyone—it's a place where you come to rot. 

His presence shatters the sense that it doesn't really exist outside of those long nights when you stare up at the ceiling, and want. A metaphysical realm that laps at the cracks inside of you, eroding the thick veneer you cobbled together over the years until it withers away, and you have to patch it up when you get called in for another assignment. 

Intact soldier. Whole. Nile. 

It's a place, now. Real. Tangible. 

Seeing Simon—Ghost, Lt—walk beside you down Lombard Street, footfalls echoing through the winding road, makes something churn in your guts. It sits inside, and feels a little like finality. 

How could you possibly come back to a place you pretend doesn't exist? A place that is just en-route to wherever else you have to go? 

A place you come to because you have nowhere else. 

You can't come back here now that the streets are tainted with the nitroglycerin scent of Simon. A bonfire on the beach. The burning logs doused in kerosene. The miasma will suffocate you. 

It clots inside of your lungs, sticking to the gummy lining when you breathe him in. 

He smells of bourbon. Cigarettes. Carries the scent of everyone else with him—Gaz's cologne: thick vetiver; the sickly sweet tang of Price's cigars; thick metallic: ozone and gasoline that Soap wears after a mission—and you greedily take it in. 

You let it sit, red-hot barbed wire, against your chest. 

Your eyes slip. Illegal. Wrong. They find him, always. Bathed in the streetlight above; flushed yellow. It casts shadows on him, and makes his eyes look lighter. 

A peaking shoal in the middle of the midnight blue ocean. 

He's dangerous. Makes your fingers prickle with want; with the urge to touch.

Makes you greedy. 

Stupid. 

Despite not knowing the area, Simon cuts through the supine street like he's familiar with it already. Maybe, he is. He must have looked at the map on his phone before he got here, eyes locked on the space, the landscape. Mentally cataloguing each hiding spot. 

You follow him—a stranger in your own home—and cross your arms over your chest when the thick chatter carries from inside the shops along the street. Heavy Welsh. Warm milk and honey. 

Salt in your wounds. 

You don't belong here.

The familiar green of the carpet and flooring shop nearly makes you trip, but you steady yourself. Ball your hands into fists by your side, and drop your gaze to the cracked ground below. 

You can feel the moment his gaze shifts, sliding over to you. It bores into your temple; abrasive, and grating. 

Goosebumps erupt over your flesh. You blame it all on the cold—the stutter in your chest, the ache in your lungs, the shiver dancing down your spine. The frigid weather. The icy breeze. 

Another shiver rolls through you, different this time, when you catch sight of the park. 

Your chin hits the pavement. Palms sliding through jagged gravel. Knees splitting. 

Your blood puddles on the grey rocks. 

They crack you open. Nothing spills from the gaping hole. 

"You with me?" 

You blink. The reverie shakes, shudders. The little girl with her chin on the ground warbles. 

Simon stands there, his back to the streetlights. His presence makes the image distort, and bend to fit him inside. It doesn't belong. 

"What's a'matter with you?" 

You flinch at his voice, and peer up at him from under clumpy, wet lashes, heavy with melting snow. 

The words are harsh, but his tone is—

He steps forward, a few paces ahead. You didn't realise you stopped. 

He doesn't come to a halt until there is barely an arm's length of space between you, and seeing him this close to you, his face concealed, blank and empty, has that strange feeling pooling in the pit of your stomach again. 

His lashes are blond. It surprises you. You'd always imagined he had black hair. Black hair, black eyes. 

It's blonde. 

You don't know why it matters, why you can't stop staring at the soft wisps around his lids. They flutter shut, fanning across the smudged ink skin under his eyes. The tips are blond. The bottoms are ash. They're nice, you note, a flavour of that same something blistering through you. 

His lids slide open, the corner tightening as his gaze sharpens, focusing on you. "Y'alright?" He asks again, waiting for an answer. 

You swallow, and it tastes of sand. Gritty, and painful when it slips down your throat. Your voice is a rasp, a shiver above a whisper, when you say, "yeah. "

His eyes tighten again, deeper this time. Something flashes in those polychrome depths. Under the hat, his brow pulls taut together. 

The indent makes your fingers itch, the urge to reach out, to soothe it, is nearly overwhelming. 

"You lyin' to me?" He grumbles, an edge to his voice you can't place. 

"No," you mutter, the words dragged out of you by force. "Just a —a headache." 

He has a look in his eyes that makes you think he knows, somehow. That he can chisel inside your head, and rummage through all the secrets you try to keep. 

Your neck aches from having to tip your chin back so much to even look at him, the 90-degree angle making you feel dizzy. The opposite of vertigo where you sometimes look up at the unending sky yawning overhead and feel that tendril of fear curling around you, admixing the awe, until you feel the urge to dig your fingers into the ground, and hold on. You can't fall up, but in those moments, it almost feels like you might. 

Ghost gives you that same feeling. 

His chin dips low, eyes lidded and heavy. You could almost mistake it for bland disinterest had his jaws not been working, gnashing together in a wordless tick. He says nothing. You watch the bones move. The fabric teeth snap. 

All his focus is centred on the blood-red gash near your temple. The black sutures keeping the split skin together. 

Ghost makes a sound, and you almost mistake it for a growl. Inhumane. Animal. It's pulled from his throat, but bitten off by his teeth before it can take shape. 

You blink up at him, wide and owlish, when he reaches for you. 

His hand is warm even through the glove. The rough fabric grazes your skin when he brushes your hair away with his knuckle. His eyes are fixed on your forehead, hardened, all militaristic concentration as he looks you over. 

"It's—it's fine…" 

"It ain't." 

Gritty sandpaper. Harsh, abrading. 

It's hushed, though. 

Speaking above a whisper feels taboo. This whole thing does, honestly. Illicit, wrong. Ghost shouldn't be lasering his glare on your forehead, searching for a reason to do something about the anger that now brims in those dark depths. His knuckles on your skin feel sacrilegious. Touching you is exempt. Illegal. Off-limits. 

But he does it, anyway. Strips the barriers pitched in front of you both like tissue paper, and holds his four knuckles to your temple, his thumb brushing a hair beneath the irritated skin. Gentle. Soft. 

You didn't think these hands knew how to do something so delicate. That they were made, instead, to break. To crush. To ruin. 

He might, yet: the pad of his finger feels like a brand when it ghosts over the soft curve of your forehead, soothing the phantom hurt, and you think you might just shatter if he doesn't stop touching you like this. Gingerly. Calming. A balm over your aching flesh. 

You'd gotten so used to the pain, the constant throb in your head, that this respite from it feels like bliss. Nirvana wrapped in leather. 

His touch is magnetic. It pulls a sound from deep within your chest, something desperate and wanting, and you can't snap your jaws shut quick enough before it's loose in the atmosphere, and cresting over him. 

Ghost's gentle prods go still. With his thumb pressed into a place that makes liquid heat spume in your vein, you can feel it tremble when your tongue snakes out, gliding over your lower lip. 

Your head swims. Phosphenes dance across the back of your lids, and you struggle to remember when you shut your eyes in the first place. 

They flutter open. 

His stare is fixed on your lips in a total eclipse, honed in on the slow roll of your blood-red tongue as it peeks out from the warm cavern of your mouth. The wet trail left behind is swallowed by his gaze. It flickers up, catching the bloom of heat under your cheeks. The darkened flush makes him rumble; the soft rattle of an engine purring. A frisson passes over his expression, lashes fluttering. 

He's close. Closer than he was before. You can feel the molten heat bleeding into your skin with his proximity. Taste the gunpowder, the ash, and the ichor that clings to him; he smells of war when you breathe him in. Gasoline. Copper. A livewire scent that makes your lungs itch. 

Dangerous. Powerful. Deadly. 

Every synapse in your head misfires, sending off warning signs and sirens to run from the man that reeks of gun oil, and fire; napalm-scented demise with blood-soaked hands meant to ruin. But it only makes you lean in closer until the acrid burn of him corrodes your throat. 

His body is warm, and the heat is stifling. 

You're drunk off the fumes he exudes; reckless and wanting, and in the slurried molasses of your mind, you wonder if this is what it feels like for a gazelle to stand so close to a lion. 

Something cold pools at the base of your spine, making you shiver. A warning—distant, ancient—but the calls of your ancestors are dimmed under the bulk of his shadow. The heavy iron in his gaze rests over you, and you imagine that his body pressed into yours would carry the same heft. 

He's somehow bigger up close, you think. Wide shoulders, thick arms, a broad chest and waist; muscular thighs, firm calves. 

He's not Adonis, but you imagine he feels just like marble all the same. 

"Thought we lost you." His voice is a crackle; sap popping as it burns in the fire. The log charring in the kindling. "Thought we— fuck, pet. Thought you were gone, and we couldn't do a damn thing about it."

We. He says we, now. It's new. You shudder in his hold. 

"I'm here," you whisper the words, afraid of breaking this strange spell between you. It feels like everything else around you has melted away until only you and he exists on this lonely street that makes you ache. 

"You are…" he rasps; a low hush. Maybe he, too, is afraid of shattering it. "You did good, soldier."

His knuckles graze the mark in your temple, gentle around the tight, irritated flesh—it's proof that you lived, that despite the tragedy of the betrayal from the man you counted on the most, you survived. You made it. You won. 

His touch is featherlight. But his eyes–

His eyes are heavy with the promise of nothing but ruin.

A million thoughts run through your head, ones that taste like kerosene, and cauterise inside you like a cigarette to your skin. The heat blooms again, but it's not enough—all you can think of is how you wished you had more of him. 

(You wonder if you run your tongue along his skin, kiss that acrid mouth, if he'd taste of napalm.)

Chiselled open, exposed to the air. Ghost takes a deep breath, holding the fumes of your burning need in his lungs. When he exhales, you can taste the smoke in the air. 

His hand drops, fingers sliding down the curve of your face until he meets the plush softness where your chin and cheek meet. The hand he keeps on you is firm. 

His eyes bore into yours. He wants your attention. Demands it. Then, he holds it steady until your mouth drops in a series of short, gasping breaths. 

Your voice is featherlight when you say his name. His real one. Simon. It simmers in the air between you, and the scent of it almost makes his eyes snap shut, shoulders coiling. Tensed. Wanting. His muscles flex, bunching together in tight knots. Clench. Release. Clench. 

It's only when you hear his haggard breath through the nylon, do you realise he's holding himself back from you.

Your belly flutters at the rumble roiling out of his throat. 

Another command falls, deeper, darker, and your spine nearly snaps with how quickly you straighten up when he utters two words. 

"Later, pet." 

It's a promise. A demand. An out. 

His mind made up, decisive and sure, he's now shoving the choice in your hands. Leaving the decision with you for safekeeping.  

Like before, there is only ever one choice. As if you had any other answer for him. 

When you nod, firm and eager, his chest shudders. "Fuckin' Christ–" it's a snarl, full of tension. Excitement.

His hand slides away from your face, and presses into the base of your spine, settling heavily over the curve of your ass. There is pressure, an urgency. 

"C'mon," he rasps, jerking his chin to the end of the park. "Parked over here."

He keeps his hand on you, heavy and hot. A possessive branding as he leads you away from this place. 

When you pass, your eyes drop to the pavement. 

The gravel is clean. Your blood is nowhere to be found. 

Your muscles go lax. You get pulled into his current, shoulder brushing over his chest. 

Simon tightens his hold, and pulls you closer. 

(Dragging you out to open water until you can't see the shoreline anymore.)

    He leads you to a black jeep with tinted windows, and grounds out that it's rental when you press the heel of your palm into your mouth, futilely trying to hide a smile. 

"It's nice," you quip, light and airy. "Very you."

"Just get your ass inside already," he says, pulling the door open for you. "Got a drive ahead of us." 

His hand settles on your waist when you step up on the first rung, heavy. Firm. You want to lean into him. Have him pressed up against you like this for an eternity. 

"Where are we going?" You breathe, shivering from the molten look in his eye. The heat in his chest. 

He tugs you back into him, chin grazing the space between your neck and shoulder. His voice is white-hot in your ear. "My safe house." 

Your eyes flutter. Heat blooms. "Simon—" his name is a whimper on your lips. 

His fingers dig into your hips. "Fuckin' hell, pretty thing. You keep saying my name like that, and we won't make it to Southport." 

There is no lie in the words that are forced out of his throat; inhumane, a growl. You don't want him here —in this town where you moulder. 

Your fingers trail over his wrist. The coarse hair on his arms tickles your skin. 

"Get me out of here."

His eyes sharpen. "Gladly." 

    Two hours and a half hours from Porthmadog to Southport. 

A lot of time for him to reconsider. For that coldness he wears like a shield, that unbreakable distance, to pitch itself in front of him once more, locking you out. Perhaps, it'll be for good. Maybe—

Your hands ball into fists. Knuckles dig into the plush seat. 

You know what you want. Know what you've wanted since before you stupidly opened your mouth— keeping my seat warm— and he saw it through. 

But what about him? There was no time on the jet for a grand discussion, not when everyone was on top of each other already; not when Soap kept glancing at you, brow drawn tight, as if to ask really, bonnie?  

Memories of Sierra Leone have you in a chokehold. Your purgatory, your limbo, your afterlife; when you were dying, it was all of him. Of the desert. Of the town that felt so warm, so inviting. The people baulked at his size but still ushered you over, offering snacks, and treats. 

So tiny beside him, a woman laughs. You need to eat more. Your man should make you fat and happy. 

You blushed. He's not—

Yes, yes… A wink. A coy grin. He watches from the dirt path as she presses bundled cassava into your hands. He says nothing at all. Your man. You like the sound of it more than you should. 

You know what you want. What you've wanted. 

It puddles inside of you. Droplets leaking through the fissures that have been splintering for years, now. 

A man stands in front of you. Promise me, you'll get him. 

You: young, naïve, nodded. I promise. 

Ghost pulled you aside. He yells—quite often, in fact—but he's ice cold when he says, we don't make promises, rookie. Deadly. Your heart is in your throat when you apologise.

And then the scent of fire. A mission in Mesaieed left you and Gaz trapped. Helpless. Smoke clogging your lungs. Gaz wheezing under the intense blase; the noxious fumes billowing from the smoulder. 

His voice in your ear. We'll get you out of there, rookie. Hang tight. 

That a promise? You gasp, gagging from the black cloud drenching your lungs. Close to death, and cracking jokes. Confident. Assured. Nile crocodile lurking below the surface. 

He isn't there to see your hands shake. You're thankful for it. Stupid, stupid—you want nothing more to impress your Lieutenant. Match him wit-for-wit. Vile joke for vile joke.

It surprises you when his voice filters through the line, one word slurred into your ear: yes. 

Are you a man who keeps his promises? 

Always. That's why I never make them. Close to a fiery death, and his voice crackles again. Why wasn't Jesus born in Liverpool? 

Gaz coughed. Fuck's sake… Lemme die in peace. 

Why, Lt? 

There are no wise men or virgins. 

Funny. I like that one. 

Knew you would. Cover your heads. 

The window above shattered. They saved you—just like they said they would. 

(You realised then that Ghost cared for you, for all his subordinates, more than he let on.)

And now—

There is no turning back. Later, he said. He promised. A man who keeps his promises. 

You think, then, of the look on his face under the streetlamp. Snowfall trickles between you. There was a battle in his head; artillery fire in the gaps of his eyes when he said:

"Thought we—fuck, pet. Thought you were gone, and we couldn't do a damn thing about it."

The words get lodged in his throat. They're ripped out with a harshness that bludgeons through you. 

You turn to him, taking in his profile as he leans back in the seat, looking out the windshield. 

As if he feels your stare, his eyes cut from the window, and find yours. He holds it until you taste smoke in your throat, until your lip trembles. Then it sinks low to your lap. One hand peels off of the steering wheel.

It feels like an anvil when it rests on your thigh. 

"Almost there," it's a strangled rasp. A promise. 

You nod. Your smile feels flushed when it pulls on your lips. Sunkissed. Warm. Expectant.

Your hand unfurls, fingers aching from the strain of your grip, and you curl them over his wrist. His pulse thuds under your thumb. You stroke it, and wonder what he would say if he knew yours beat the same. 

    The safehouse in Southport is not at all what you were expecting. 

The winding road he drives on leads to a small, modest cabin on the outskirts of the town. Perched away from the rest of civilisation, it sits on its own island. Cut-off from the mainland. 

The distance is something that makes a smile pull on your lips. So fittingly him —your lone wolf leader who only just learned the word we —but the sight of the house makes something gnarl inside of your chest. It's quaint. 

Somehow, you'd expected a flat in the heart of the city. London, perhaps. Somewhere close to the airport, to the UK base used when you needed the closest weapons cache or jet. 

The little abode in the middle of a farm doesn't mesh with the image you'd drawn of your prickly Lieutenant. It's too—

Wholesome. 

"It's temporary," he grouses when he catches your teeth sink into your palm, a wide grin splitting across your face. "I haven't been back here in a long time."

"Is it yours?" You ask, turning to him. The jeep hums, idling. Neither of you makes any move to get out. 

His fingers drum on the wheel. "Grew up here."

"I thought you were from East London."

"No. Moved there, then back here." He offers. 

You nod. You get it. 

"It's nice." You say instead, and it really is. A sprawling farmland with rolling hills in the distance where you know the sun hits in the morning. Where it'll bathe the boscage in ochre. "Peaceful."

"I'd have taken you to London," he grinds the words out from between his molars. "But it's too far." 

Too far. Roughly four hours. 

You've been sitting for nearly three. You shudder, eyes lidded when you turn to him. 

A slow roll of your tongue has his arms flexing, hands gripping the steering wheel until his knuckles are stained white. Bleached. 

"Maybe next time." 

A promise. A question. 

The vein in his forearm throbs. "C'mon, let's go." 

    You barely have enough time to pace a few feet into the foyer before it starts. You turn to look at him from over your shoulder—taking in the chimney, the chaise, the distinct lack of anything personal outside of a safe, a lighter on top of the fireplace—and he's suddenly there. Boots off. Hands curled into fists by his side. Head dipped down, and eyes more dangerous than you'd ever seen them. 

That thrill pools—a warning. Run, run.  

He stalks toward you, eyes burning coal. "Are you hungry?"

"No," you shake your head, swallowing thickly. 

A step back. A step forward. They spark when you run. 

"Thirsty?"

"N—no…"

Two steps bring him closer to you. Your back presses flush to the wall next to the fireplace, and he moulds over you like a liquid shadow. Dark, imposing. He's massive. You can't see anything but him. 

Simon rests his forearm against the wall over your head, bending it at the elbow to bring him closer to you. The rough graze of his mask over your cheek has you panting. 

His hand is a brand on your thigh. It slips down, fingers crooking in the fold of your knee, wrenching it up his hip. You gasp, hands grasping the bulk of his biceps when he drags your centre flush over the growing bulge in his pants. 

Your head swims when he growls in your ear. "Is there anything you need to do before I drag you to my bed?" You shake your head slightly, pulse humming in your chest. "Because once I'm inside this pretty cunt, nothing at all will get me out. Understood?" 

Your brain short circuits. A complete whiteout. 

"A—affirmative." You choke, somehow coherent despite the absolute mess in your head. "Sir."

He rumbles. His chest pushes into yours; the sound reverberating through your bones. "Good girl."

    He turned his back to you after he let you inside a modest bedroom, pulling the black sweater over his head. His back exposed—rippling muscles, etches of black from the tattoos—all pale skin wrapped in thick sinew. The sound you make has his shoulders coiling tight. 

"Fuck, pet… I haven't even touched you, yet." 

He turns, the mask slightly lopsided, and his beanie missing. His hair without the full balaclava sends a shock to your system. The newness of discovering something; elation bleeds in. His hair is ashen brown. Lighter than chocolate, darker than caramel. 

You want to sink your fingers into the thick of it. 

Thighs pressed tight together, your greedy eyes take him in. The way his hair—moussed from the hat—falls over his forehead; not cropped to the grain like Soap, and barely centimetres longer than Price. 

He gazes at you. Waiting, maybe. 

Your hands fall to your pants, eager to rid yourself of every barrier between your skin and his. You want him on you— in you. It itches like a sickness. Burns like a fever. 

Your trousers fall. Fingers looped into the hem of your panties. He stops you, then, with his words. 

"I took the mask off for the team."

You falter, bent down to push the panties the rest of the way off, and blink up at him. 

The first thought, of course, is that Gaz saw his face before you. Gaz. The rookie rivalry (playful, carrying the flavour of siblings vying for their approval) makes you burn. 

You swallow the jealousy on your tongue. "Oh…" 

He waits, still. 

"You don't have to…" you want to see him. He's a mosaic; an incomplete piece. You have two halves but the middle is murky. You try to fit them in your head, but the image doesn't line up. 

"Lay back," he ordered, hands dropping to his belt buckle. 

The image of him tugging the leather, veins rippling under the black ink of his burly forearms, feels unholy. It douses you with a want so palpable, your belly quivers with need. 

You don't need foreplay, you think. Not when the sight of him pulling off a belt already has you melting. Has your pussy throbbing, your thighs slick.  

"Damn, Lieutenant…" you mewl, dropping down on the bed, knees pressed taut together to stem the ache. "How are you so—" 

"Simon," he rasps. The belt hangs in his hands. You wonder if he'd tie you up one day with it. Leave you quivering below him, completely at his mercy. 

Or, would he let you use it on him? Let you bind this behemoth to the bed for your pleasure. 

Your toes curl. The thoughts alone are enough to get you off, you think. 

But it's the sight of him, then, standing over you, trousers hanging low on his hips, kept in place only by the thick thigh he slots between your knees, that really makes you shudder. 

"Lay back," he orders again, hand dropping—white-hot, rough—to your shaking knee. His chin lowers, eyes staring at your pussy. "I want to taste you again, pet." 

Fuck. Fuck —

He lowers to his knees, still somehow taller than you, and gazes at you between your bent legs. Dark eyes flashing. Goosebumps prickle along your flesh as he trails his gaze down the length of your body, settling, once again, on your cunt. 

He looks as if he's going to devour you. Eyes wide, whites full, when he pries your legs apart, spreading your cunt for him once more. He hadn't seen you bare like this—beneath him for his own pleasure—and you feel the ghost of his breath on your sex when he leans in close, breathing in deeply. 

"Bloody- fuckin' -hell, pet—" it sounds like a curse when he says it. A choked snarl. "So wet for me, and I haven't even touched you."

His hands are on the outside of your thighs, rough skin grazing the sensitive flesh as he trails them down to the soft flesh beneath your knee. With his thumbs hooked in the bend, pressing sharply into the cartilage, he wrenches them apart, opening you wider for him until your pussy is bared to him completely. 

The groan he makes edges on the equinox of being absolutely filthy and wrecked when he drinks you in. 

"Missed this pretty little cunt." His masked cheek rests on your knee, head cocked as he stares down at you. When he tips his chin, gazing at you, his eyes are blacker than midnight. A pool of ink. Desire brims. 

He hooks your thighs over his broad shoulders, finger looping in the gap between his mask and the skin beside his nose. 

You don't have a chance to see it. Fucking tease —

He dips his head before he tugs it down, and you feel the molten heat of his tongue slipping between your folds. 

Your head falls back on the pillow, toes curling as that greedy mouth devours you once more. The stubble around his chin prickles the skin of your thighs. His grip is so tight, you already see blooms of blue pooling beneath the tips of his fingers. 

The first time wasn't a flute. Simon presses his mouth to your cunt like he can't get enough; lips sealing over your throbbing clit, tongue lapping at you in even, thick strokes that make you see white behind your eyelids. It's good, so good —

He's going to ruin you. 

"Simon—"

You remember those filthy groans rumbling against your slit, and your hand lifts, reaching down to tangle in his locks. A tug—sharp, pointed—makes him pant into your pussy, makes his fingers tighten until you can feel capillaries bursting under his firm hold. Until his short nails make indents in your flesh. 

"Yeah, pet," his voice is molten rock; you throb, aching, from the sound alone. "Just like that…" 

His mouth is on you again, devouring you whole. 

You lift your head, staring down at the black eyes that bore into you, the thick locks of hair spilling out between your fingers, and you break. 

You fall back with a groan, arching your cunt into his eager mouth, desperate for more. More of that liquid bliss that spools in your core, that has you leaking a puddle under his chin. 

His hands shift, sliding down the meat of your thighs until they wriggle under your ass. Your flesh spills between his fingers when he grips you tight, lifting your hips, your cunt, to him. 

Simon helps you buck against him, lets you cant your hips into his face, nearly smothering him with the sopping heat of your centre. When you're mewling, panting, with your head tossed back, and rapture in a quiver of his name spilling from your lips, he shifts. 

His hold changes, and one hand falls back. His lips seal around your aching clit as a finger—long, thick—presses against your entrance. His tongue laves over you when he slowly presses it inside, crooking it to stroke against your fluttering walls. 

The choked sob that leaves your throat is a mangled wreck of pleasure, of want. 

"More," you mewl, but the plea barely has a chance to pass your lips before he's dragging his finger out until only the tip keeps you open. "Please, sir—"

He thrusts it into the last knuckle, groaning against you at the slick, wet sound that it makes. "Fuck, pet. Always so wet for me, aren't you?" 

"Always," you gasp, fingers gripping his hair tight. "Simon, I need more—"

He pulls his finger out; another joins it when you whimper. The stretch feels good. Heat blooms in your belly. You won't last long. Your thighs quiver with each roll of his fingers pushing in as deep as they will go; with each stroke of his tongue over your clit. 

You're going to cum— 

"Simon—"

The coil snaps, pussy clenching on the thick fingers wedged inside of you, hips canting into his eager mouth as he rides you through the spasming pleasuring that ripples through your abdomen. 

"That's it… that's a good girl," he slurs against you. 

It's almost too much when he forces another finger into your throbbing cunt. You keen at the stretch, at the too-full feeling of him splitting your walls. 

"Simon, I can't—"

"Yes, you can. You're taking me so well already." 

His voice is liquid sex; the wrecked sound of him makes your toes curl, and your spine arch. You want him inside of you. You want to know if he'd make those same grunts of pleasure with your pussy wrapped around him. 

High of the sudden burst of endorphins, you look down at him—sloppy with your wetness, his face hidden by your cunt—and you tug his hair until he meets your blown-out gaze. 

"Fuck me," you try to demand, but the word comes out as a shaky plea.

"Too tight, pet," he rumbles. "Gotta get you ready for me."

Three fingers buried to the last knuckle, and he says it still isn't enough. 

You'd think him cocky had you not the pleasure of seeing him hard and aching already. Big, fat cock leaking between the seal of his palm. You shiver, head dropping to the pillow. 

It's all you can do but take whatever he gives you—long, thick fingers stretching you out, brushing the gummy walls inside that flutter when his mouth seals over your clit. It feels like an eternity since he pulled you inside the room. 

A tug of your hand makes him groan. You meet his stare, pleading. Breathless. It's too much—

And not enough. 

"I don't care," you slur, drunk and stupid on the way his hot mouth glues to your cunt. "I wanna feel you inside of me for days, sir—"

"Fuck!" 

It's a harsh snarl that makes you whimper. The sound ripped from his chest, and rubbed raw as it was scraped out. His forehead is pressed to your mound, breathing you in once more. 

His head lifts. 

It's dark in the room. You can't really make out the entirety of his features—the familiar long nose, the cut of his jaw. His lips. It's bathed in black, in shadows, but through the glimmer of the washed-out moon that spills inside, you can see the distinct wetness gleaming on his mouth, his chin. 

You whimper, eyes burning with tears of desperation. When he speaks, it's shredded rocks. Gravel. Low and dark.

"You're gonna feel me for weeks, pet." 

It's a dangerous precipice. His voice alone shatters your resolve, and seeing those full, pink lips form the words that will ruin you, it's overwhelming. Your cunt throbs, walls shuddering in pleasure ripped through your being. 

He feels it against his fingers; it makes his eyes flutter. His tongue sweeps out. Eye hooded, half-mast as they take you in. 

He sits back, hands slipping to the crease of your knees. His chin dips. 

"Hold 'em open for me, pet." 

You gasp, belly knotting tight from the command that drips from his drenched, wicked, mouth. Your hand reluctantly falls from the soft locks to do as you're told. The warmth of his skin brushes over your fingers when you take his place, keeping your legs bent, spread, for him. You're on display. Open, wanting. 

His hand, now free, reaches for the bundle of fabric pooled at the base of his neck. The mask is fixed into place again—a needless action, you think, pouting. Gaz saw his face in better lighting. 

(You hope he had the wherewithal to take a picture for you.)

But there is something to be said about how illicit he looks, mouth now concealed from your view until just his eyes are visible. The coal is rubbed off, shadows along the crease, the corner of his nose, under his eyes, but it feels dangerous like this. 

With the mask on, he's Ghost. Deadly. Dangerous. Fearsome. Men cower from him. His name alone scorches the earth, and makes the underbelly tremble. 

And he's going to be inside of you. Claiming you, taking you. It's a cigarette thrown on a sea of gasoline. Your skin, fervid, begins to blister. 

When you look up, it's ink-blot eyes in a sea of white. Red tendrils in the corners; rivers of ichor.

If he keeps looking at you like that, like you're a feast for him, you might go a little crazy, a little delirious. 

Simon stares for a moment longer, hand dipping below the bed to grasp himself in his hand. A grunt at the touch, a flutter of his lashes, and then he moves. Coiled muscle; rippling flesh. He looms above you like a Cimmerian god—drenched in tenebrose, mask soaked from your slick—his haunting eyes gazing at you like you're an offering meant to be savoured. 

His thighs—thicker than the tree trunks in the distance—slot beneath yours, and the sheer width of them makes you dizzy. The bulk is bigger than your head. Simon must notice the way you're drooling over them, knuckles white as you stare, open and hungry, wanting, as he takes a small amount of mercy on you. He shifts until the bulk of it is pressed taut to your core. 

Your back arches, legs trembling. Fuck—

You want to ride his thighs. Want him to perch you on his massive lap, and have those molten eyes fixed on you as you use him to get yourself off. 

You could do it, you think, mind blanking out; that soporific pleasure slurring all logic from taking root until a gossamer spools inside, filled with want. With greed. 

"Wanna ride you…" you slur, wrecked on the notion alone. "Your thighs. They're so big, Simon, fuck— you're so big—"

"I like that idea, pet," he rasps, thigh notching closer to your throbbing cunt, smearing slick all over the coarse hair that covers his flesh. "Wanna see you desperate for it." 

"I am…" you whine, breathless. "I want you so bad, I can't stand it…"

His hands fall, bracketing his burly arms beside your head until the absurd heft of him fills your vision. The muscles in his core pull taut; veins in his arms pulse. 

He told you to keep your legs spread, but your fingers itch with the need to touch him. To feel him against your palm. 

His cock hangs, daunting and thick, between his legs, head brushing your belly. Prespend smears over your skin; warm, tacky. You want a taste—

When you tell him as much, chin tipped backwards to whisper the words into his neck, he shudders above you. His cock twitches, spits more prespend on you. You want him to cum on your face, you gasp, words liquid, slurred. You're not entirely sure they're in English. You don't think you have the capacity to think beyond want, want, want—

"Yeah?" He rasps, elbow bending as he drops to his forearm. It brings his chest flush to yours. The dark smattering of hair rubs against your nipples. His face is a constellation: white jowls, black eyes. The look alone makes you smoulder. "Don't worry about me, pet." 

You're shaking your head, but the protests die on your tongue when his hips slip between your thighs, prying you further apart. Completely spread beneath the bulk of his body, you crumble.

He knocks your hands away, a low murmur of his approval slipping past those sinful lips for listening to him, as if there was ever a choice, and he notches your knees against his hips, pressing himself closer to your core. 

Finally free, your hands spring down to grab him, gripping his bicep in a vice just to feel the way it jumps under your fingers, and the other flat against his heated chest. His pulse thunders against your palm. 

"Gonna give it to you, now." 

You wanted it— ached for it—but as he feeds his thick cock into your pussy, you wonder if maybe you'd been a little overconfident before. That, perhaps, he was right. 

It's swallowed down, smothered with a whimper. His stupidly fat cock will not break you. 

"That's it, pet," he slurs, mask pressed tight to your ear. "Take it… C'mon, now." 

He pulls back, widening your thighs, and then pushing them up until you're nearly folding in half beneath him. The movement jostles his cock, and it nudges something inside of you that makes you spasm around him. 

"Fuckin' hell…" he groans, sinking in deeper. His eyes are fixed on the spot where he stretches you taut. Skin raw; cunt pushed to the mettle. "Almost there… look'it your pretty cunt take my cock…"

The air is punched from your lungs when he pushes in deeper, when the blunt head batters up behind your belly button. He knocks against your cervix, and the deep ache has tears leaking from the corners of your eyes. 

"Go on, pretty thing," he husks in your ear, words drenched in pleasure. Your fingers dig into the bulk of his body, crescent moons embedded into his skin.

He bludgeons into something inside of you that has you see stars—galaxies burst behind your eyelids, and heat, supernova hot, burns low in your belly. It burns at the place where his cocks ruts into you so deeply that you can feel him in your sternum, almost taste him in your throat. It liquefies your body. You melt into a conduit under him; a receptacle that leaches pleasure from the stretch of his cock inside you. 

Your body slackens. There is a give; something breaks. And he's suddenly deeper than you knew existed, than you ever thought possible. You feel him almost knocking against the cap of your womb. Each persistent jerk has your pussy clenching around him, milking him, trying to get him deeper. 

As if that was possible. As if there was any room left inside of you for him to claim. 

You're stuffed to the brim; overflowing with him. You can't take anymore. 

You sob brokenly when his hips pull back until only the mushroom head of his cock splits your aching, raw cunt open. The seam of you flutters around him, as if begging to be filled again. 

He grunts, a hoarse, low noise dredged from the depths of his chest when he shifts, his cock spearing back into you.

It nearly makes you scream. Your nails rake over his flesh, desperate to find purchase amid a crumbly chossy that threatens to send you plummeting down a precipice, hurtling you toward an unknown abyss. 

"Easy, now," he commands, the bark of his voice bitten between clenched teeth. "You're gonna make me cum before I've gotten my fill of this cunt, pet."

"Want it," you slur, babbling on the liquid bliss roaring through your veins. "Want you to fill me up, Simon."

A snarl of your name is the only warning you get before his cock is battering against your gummy walls, blunt head jarring into that little place inside of you that has phosphenes filling your vision, has your lungs aching with hypoxia. Head dizzy, chest shuddering with each breath. You can't get enough of it. Of the heady scent of him, the sun-drenched heat. 

Simon is normally so controlled, constrained, and you find yourself fracturing into pieces as his ironclad resolve seems to shatter with each squeeze of your cunt. It's a dizzying feeling to reduce your cold-hearted Lieutenant into a rutting beast, spoiling himself with each tight clench of your soft insides against his thick, hard cock. 

Your eyes open, wet lashes flutter and stick to the crease of your eyelid, and you find the way his brow is pinched tight together as he burrows himself deep within you, until the taste of salt is heavy on your tongue, absolutely breathtaking. It's enough to get you hooked. Enough to make such an utter mess of you, that you don't know how you'll recover from this. 

It's an intense feeling having him seated so deeply within you. Edging deliriously along that equinox of unfathomable bliss, and the sharp, distinct too much—too full quiver of pain. It's a pinch within your guts, a deep throb that follows the unending plume of pleasure so blistering as it batters into you, that you almost find yourself getting swept away by the sheer thrill of it all. Mindless, driven stupid by the way he takes, the way he ruins. 

(You don't ever want him to stop.)

It's one thing to have his mouth on you, but another thing entirely to see how he breaks when he's inside of you. It's addicting. A powerful high that renders everything else static. 

Pleasure, red-hot and dizzily intense, lacerates through your core, spooling at the base of your spine. It fills your limbs with molten bliss until nothing remains except the way he pounds inside of you, filling you over and over again with every inch he has to offer. You think you might just go insane if you don't have him. If you don't get to feel the delicious drag of his cockhead rubbing against your pulsating walls. 

Your hands slide over his skin. The muscles clenching under the pads of your fingers as you drag them up, over his arm, his biceps, his broad shoulders. 

The bulk of his back makes your fingers itch. You sink them into the corded muscles, clinging to him as Simon drags you to that hazy place where euphoria clots inside of your veins, and the heat you syphoned from him bubbles, frothing over. 

It's pulled taut—an elastic band that stretches well past the breaking point, and makes your fingers sting when it snaps. You convulse beneath him, sobbing out barely coherent words that sound like a quivering war cry of his name, of how good he feels, and how you're mad with the taste of him nestled so deeply within you. 

Your nails digging into his skin, his name on your lips like a gospel, the molten clench of you around—it all congeals together until he's snarling in your ear, a raspy grunt that makes your toes curl, that has you seeing nirvana once more. It's your name—somewhere in the mess of his growl, his groan—that is pulled out from him, and pierces you deep, makes your core tremble at the ragged sound of it, broken and hoarse. 

He throbs like a heartbeat, cock pulsing as he sputters out a thick pool of cum. It's almost too much; your pussy is overstuffed, forced to take both the heaviness of his cock, and molten spume that fills you to the brim. It leaks out from around the plug of him, pushed to the base until not even an inch remains, and you feel it gathering under you. 

You want a taste of it. It swells inside, fills you deep, and you wonder if he'd let you lick it off of him. 

You murmur it into his drenched chest, more slurred words that only vaguely sound English. Maybe it's the tone of your voice—ruined and raw, and drunk of the taste of him—that punctures through, but it hits the mark. Simon buries his head into your neck with another gravelled rasp of your name that sticks to his throat, breaking over the vowels. His softening cock twitches within you. 

Words, or sentiment, whispered into the crackling atmosphere that smells of sex and kerosene, and goes straight to his groin. 

"Cheeky little—," he starts, a husking grumble, but you squeeze your sore, aching sex around him, fluttering like a soft heartbeat, and it dies with a groan. 

The victory doesn't last long. Your raw, abused cunt aches from overstimulation, a throbbing sting from your tender flesh making you wince. You're too keyed up. A ragdoll against the shoreline, caught in the current that batters your body until you feel like one massive contusion. 

Fucking Simon feels like surviving a war. It feels like clawing your way out of the trenches, tasting the heavy, gunmetal tang of acrid artillery fire in the air, and standing victorious. Brutalised, dazed, and numb from the beating, but full of the banquet of victory. 

He keeps you under him, still buried to the hilt, and pants into your neck. Flushed with exertion, his chest red and drenched in sweat, you slip your hands through the mess of him, and find purchase where the knob of his spine protrudes from his flesh. 

Simon's head rises. His eyes—quivering, glossy ink—lidded and sleepy with pleasure, and that tangible post-sex haze that permeates the air, find yours. 

Sweat drips down his forehead, over his brow, his temple. It's swallowed by the fabric of his mask, lopsided on his cheeks. Red peaks over the black horizon. A deep flush the same bloodied hue as his chest.

(You wonder if it tastes like ichor.)

His eyes shudder, body trembling from the ripple of it. 

"Fuck me, pet…" 

You tip your heavy, mushy head back, and grin. Big, and wide. The smile of elation. Of success. "I already did."

He huffs, heavy and full, through his nose. "Bloody hell—" in response to your tease, he grinds his cock against your aching walls. 

Your breath is sucked in through clenched teeth; a breathy, high-pitched whimper. 

"Mae hi wedi cachi arna i…"

"English, pet."

Your ankles try to link at the base of his spine, body drawn like a bow. "Your cock ruined me." 

His eyes are rapacious, tainted with the fervour of conquest. 

"It was meant to." The smoke in his timbre makes your toes curl. Your lungs smoulder with the heat of it. 

    Simon has you seeing nirvana again, and again before the light outside crests through the thin curtains.

He rolls you under him, ankles hooked on his shoulders, and makes you watch as his cock spears deep inside of your well-fucked cunt. 

Eyes on us, soldier. Don't you dare look away. 

On your knees, head nearly smothered by the pillow, he covers you with the entirety of his bulk until everything around you is pitch black with the shadow he casts. He looms over you, chest pressed against your back, and fucks you slow, and deep. The position almost has you blacking out from the depths he reaches like this, and the burn of the stretch as your pussy pulls taut against his cock. 

You can take it. This pretty cunt was made for my cock, pet. 

Your favourite is being lowered onto him. Chests pressed together. You bury your hand in his damp hair, your face in his neck, and sink your teeth into the column of his throat until the salt of his skin nearly drowns you. 

Fuckin' hell…

(In response, his hand brands the cheeks of your ass with the perfect impression of his massive palms.)

He lays back with you barely lucid, aching, sprawled on top of him, and runs his hands down your spine, husking in your ear about how good you've been for him, how pretty you look blissed out from his cock. 

His words are mercury in your head. 

"...wanna be good for you, Simon," you murmur into his collarbones. 

He shudders under you. 

    His chest is slick with sweat when you rest your head on it, pulse thudding under your palm. His arm around your waist is an anchor, locking you tight to his side. 

You'd woken up to the sun bleeding through the window, the room thick with the balmy swelter of sex. Ashes in your throat, salt on your tongue. Simon's heat burrows into your marrow. 

There is a lot to be said, you think. Words that you were too cowardly to admit when in the soft, dazed atmosphere of the plane. 

Only one thing buoys to the forefront. The only things you'd been clutching at this whole time. Life on the line, and all you could think of was the dunes outside of your tent. The searing heat on your back. 

(Not on me.)

(Always, always.)

"...Since Sierra Leone," you confess into his flesh, mouth pressed against the side of his pectoral. His ashen chest hair tickles your nose. 

Simon tenses under you. The soft strokes of his fingers–bare, warm–on your hip still. 

You wonder if you misread things. If you made a mistake. Your mouth parts on his flesh. The briny taste of his skin is sharp on your tongue. 

You won't apologise. The words are there, the confession lingering in the air like opaque tendrils of smoke. It's in his hands now. This little thing that flutters within your chest, tucked away for safekeeping since he turned to you, eyes dark and narrow, and said you did good, rookie. 

His fingers coil over you, tightening against your flesh. 

"Everything…" he rasps. Everything. It's pulled out of him; rolled over barbed wire. 

Confused, you raise your head, brows knitting together. Everything—

A total eclipse. The ocean in the dead of night. Endless, unfathomable pools of black. The current threatens to drag you under to those depths that shudder in front of you. 

The words die on your tongue, ashes in the back of your throat. 

What good is a man if he has nothing to lose? So, what do you have to lose, soldier? 

A smile splits across your face; a sun dawning over the beige spalls that seem to never end. 

It tastes of the sea when you press your lips to his. You feel sand under your fingers, his pulse on your palm. 

—Price calls it, has known since Mesaieed. He'd bet on Gaz, maybe even Soap. It never crosses his mind to think of Simon. 

—But thinking about it now, it was obvious from the start. 

("Sierra Leone. Wanna take Gaz with you–"

"No. I'll take the rookie.")

[i4lixie]

☠ hotter than ur ex, better than ur next [02]

after a recent encounter with your fuckbuddy, you start to turn back on the one rule you gave him before this relationship even started. you wouldn’t fall in love, and neither would be. too bad you can’t keep your own damn word.

contents: same as part one, fluff & smut at the end, weed and alcohol at a party, car sex, emo!hyunjin😍, i’m thinking of maybe turning this into a smau(social media au) would y’all read that? tell me in my inbox! i think it’d be fun

things have been a little… different, lately, between you and hyunjin. or you’ve been feeling a little different.

hyunjin knew your emotions were stagnant right now, and he respected that. you told him many times you didn’t want a relationship with him; you didn’t want to grow a crush on him, you didn’t want to fall in love. all you wanted was a little fun to ease your heavy mind and your heavier heart. being the type of person he was, he obliged.

but after that night at your house, things start to change.

your heartbeat picks up whenever you see him in class or in your halls. and not in the way it would beat when you knew you would see him later, in a much different setting with fewer clothes on. it was comparable to how it would thud harshly against your chest when you were partnered up with your ex before the two of you were dating. when you just had a hopeless crush that you thought would go nowhere.

you never felt anything special when he tugged you over to his group of edgy friends, a heavy arm over your shoulders, his pierced lip meeting your cheek in a kiss. you’d usually playfully push him off. now, you felt a sense of… pride, that he was practically showing you off to everyone. it felt amazing.

you didn’t understand your feelings. you had only been broken up for three months, and now you felt yourself falling deep for a fuck buddy you swore to never fall for.

you felt lost. wandering hopelessly through this web that was hyunjin and your scattered emotions.

as gloomy as he may have seemed, hyunjin was an empathetic person. he felt for people deeply and could sense your emotions even if you tried your best to hide them.

this is exactly what happened the night of some random party thrown at one of hyunjin’s house. you didn’t even know why you accepted his request to go—you had too much schoolwork and too many unanswered questions about how you felt towards him still lodged in your head.

you think you went just to be close to him. just to spend a little more time with him.

boy, do you regret that now.

the entire house stinks of weed and some booze you don’t know the name of. the red-haired is long gone from you, parting after half an hour when he got you acquainted with some mutual friends. you longed for him to come back—he was like a shield between you and all the mess you were seeing right.

“excuse me, excuse me—damn bitch, move!” you whisper shouted to a few dancing girls who nearly toppled over at your pushing. you were stomping through the house to find one of hyunjin’s trusted friends—a sense of relief washing over you when you spotted the blonde male with a red cup in his hand.

“felix!” you shouted, trying your best to rush over. he snapped his head towards you, and his smile was enough to comfort you after such a long night. “felix! do you know where hyunjin is?”

“hyunjinnie?” the australian croaks out, blinking harshly as he looks around the house before pointing you towards a hallway. “oh, i think he’s playing spin the bottle in one of those rooms with randoms. want me to get him for ya?”

spin the bottle? your heart instantly dropped. that game never had anything good come from it, ever.

“n-no need, just tell him i’m going home. not feeling well,” you offered a weak smile. but just like hyunjin, felix was also empathetic, and even with his drunken state—he saw right through you.

his brows furrowed. “y/nie.. he just got dragged away by jisung. don’t worry, hyunjin wouldn’t do anything like that to you.”

would he? did you know that? did you believe that?

seeing your turmoil, felix scoffed, fishing his phone out of his pocket. he clicked his screen a few times and then held his phone up to his ear.

“hey, hyunjin? yeah, y/n’s looking for you. we’re out by the speakers and shit. okay, yeah, bye.”

your jaw dropped. “felix, what the fuck?!”

he smirked. “and in three… two…”

“princess,” you heard the familiar purr of hyunjin behind you, wrapping his arms around your waist, his chin on your shoulder. he pulled you back against his chest, and just like that, warmth spread throughout your entire body. how could such a simple action make you feel so fucking good, so fucking whole?

“hyunjin..” you whispered, unable to move.

“i thought jisung would never let me out that fucking party,” he chuckled, spinning you around to face him. once again, you’re mute at just how beautiful he is, even when drunk. his hair is pulled back into a half pony, perhaps to keep it out of his sweaty face. “wanted to be with you all night, but his mouth never stops unless you give him what he wants. i-“

“hyunjin,” you state again, and he stares down at you. “i think i’m gonna go. i don’t feel well-“

“i’ll take you.” he cuts you off, aiming to grab your hand. your chest squeezes at his fast action.

“you don’t need to,” you tell him, your face getting hot. “i know you’re having fun, go ahead and stay-“

“y/n..” he starts, his eyebrow raising at you. you swallow. “are you okay?”

maybe it’s cliche, to want to burst out in tears at such a question, but you can’t help the way your lip wobbles, words caught in your throat. hyunjin notices immediately as he always does, bidding goodbye to felix before gently dragging you out of the house.

the smell of fresh air and the feel of the gentle night breeze feels so much better than the air inside. you feel less constricted, so the tears start flowing without regard. hyunjin hugs you close to his body, and you can smell the expensive cologne he uses underneath all the weed.

“what’s wrong, princess?” he asks you in genuine worry. “did someone say something to you? who do i need to beat up and sacrifice to satan?”

“no one,” you sniffle after a while, wiping your tears with your sleeve. “…do you remember what i said to you when we first started doing—this?”

“of course,” he tells you. “no emotions involved, right? except for like, arousal i guess-“ he giggles when you slap his arm. “told me not to fall in love with you and vice versa. enjoy the present.”

“what if…” you close your eyes, exhaling. “what if… i went back on that rule?”

he’s quiet, thinking about what you just said to him. when you stared close enough, you could see a vein in his temple sticking out.

“what are you trying to say, princess?”

“goddammit, hyunjin, i like you!” you shout out, stomping to emphasize your point. “like, love, i don’t know what the fuck it is—but i’ve gained some sort of feelings towards you. and i know i told you this wouldn’t happen and i’m so sorry if you feel just as confused as i am right now, but-“

warm fingers underneath your chin and wet lips meeting yours shuts you up. you relax your body, giving into the soft kiss. you pull away momentarily, just for a breath, then dive right back into each other—his pierced tongue pushing past your lips to swirl around your own, and your fingers find his red hair.

it’s far from a perfect kiss. you both smell like weed, he’s sweating a bit too much, and you maybe tug at his lip ring three too many times—but it’s enough to you.

“when?” he asks you, pulling away to trail kisses down your jaw.

“w-what?”

“when did you realize… that you liked me?” he asks you, digging his teeth into your neck while his hands slid down your back to grope your ass through your dress. you moan, the heat from his rings seeping into your skin.

“two weeks ago,” you whisper, breathlessly. “when you came over.”

“wanna know when i realized?” he tuts, grinding hard against your thigh. “months ago. just a few weeks after our little arrangements and i was obsessed. thought you would’ve realized that when i pierced your nose for you… that’s a sign of a crush in my world.”

“sorry i’m not emo,” you tease, making hyunjin roll his eyes as he starts to drag you back to his car.

“that’s okay, princess. just make it up to me.”

his lips are steadfast on yours as he unlocks the front door of his car—some deep red sportscar he got after driving around that bike for the longest time. he sinks into the seat first, pushing it back; then pulls you on top of him.

“you look so fucking beautiful,” he groans, his head falling back once you started to roll your hips on top of him, his hands never leaving your plush hips and thighs. “part of the reason why i went with jisung is because i got horny every time i fuckin looked at you…”

your heart swells and your pussy throbs at the confession. he’s just so open with everything that you can’t help but fall deeper in love with him.

“this could’ve happened an hour ago then,” you huff at him, unbuttoning his tight leather pants, coaxing his cock out of his boxers. he hisses, and you can feel his thighs trembling underneath you.

he’s just as affected as you are.

“fuck me,” he whines to you, looking up to meet your eyes. his are dark and glazed over, but you can still see the massive amount of adoration he has for you in them.

and you’re happy to give him just what he wants.

with the new revelations of your relationship, the stretch of his cock inside you felt so wonderful, your mind was descending into an abyss of him. your breath had left you by the time he was inside of you entirely, rolling your hips in little circles.

“fuck,” he cried out, his painted nails digging into your hips. “fuck, if i bust fast, i’m so sorry-“

you giggled quietly as you started to lift your hips, dropping them back down at a steady pace. he always knew how to bring you back to earth. “why? the alcohol really affecting you that much?”

“it’s not the alcohol,” he licked his lips, jerking inside of you. “it’s you. always been you.”

you clench around him, letting out a whimper of your own as you start to ride him in earnest now. you both howl in the confines of the car, hands never leaving each other, not even when you hear a few voices outside of the vehicle. goosebumps arise on your skin when he sits up, starting to lift you himself when he notices your slightly distracted state, and it brings you back to him all the same.

“i—i love you, y/n,” he pants in your neck, his thrusts growing sloppy.

“i love you too, hyunjin,” you tell him, squeezing him close as he groans before emptying himself inside of you with another moan of your name. you’re close behind, feeling like you were wrapped in the feeling of pure ecstasy as he fills you to the brim. you’re shaking and so is he, though neither of you wants to move much.

“so..” he starts, smiling at the sound of your pulsing heart. “was that our first love session as a couple?”

you smile warmly at him. “fuck yeah it was, emo boy.”

[xoxo-teddybear]

You Did This To Us - Bakugou Katsuki

Bakugou x f!reader

Warnings: ANGST, cursing, gore, implied sexual activity, infidelity, alcohol abuse, marijuana use, I’m just here to rip y’all hearts out, MDNI

Summary: It was a horrible battle against raging villains and he watched you, his loving wife of 6 years, get pierced right in front of him. It was traumatizing. Your days in the hospital sent him into depression, causing him to make the worst decisions of his life. Decisions he’s regretted the second he’s made them and decisions he’ll forever regret because of what it cost him.

BAKUGOU’S MASTERLIST

He warned you not to come. No that’s not the right word. He begged you to sit your ass down at home where you would be safe. But of course, you were never that kind of hero. You could never sit on the sidelines and watch others fight a battle you knew you could at least try to help in. So with a heavy heart, he reluctantly allowed you to come. His first regret.

Because as the battle died down and victory was in sight, his world was thrown into chaos once more. The villains were down. The wind was settling. The dust was clearing. Katsuki could see you struggling to stand due to exhaustion but saw your smile nonetheless. He gave a breath of relief as he still saw you and jogged over to you. As he did, you noticed him coming your way and your smile only grew. Until it suddenly dropped, along with his own. Out of nowhere, a sharp, metal staff flew threw the air and pierced you right in the stomach. The sight was nauseating as Katsuki covered his mouth, truly shocked. He watched you in horror as you trembled before falling to the ground.

Katsuki looked behind him to find the attacker and saw some stupid, weak ass, good for nothing villain use the last of his power just to cause you harm. Then the world began to shake. No, that wasn’t it. Katsuki was violently trembling as he looked towards the bastard on the ground. Despite him being knocked out cold, that didn’t stop Dynamight from rushing over to him, grabbing him by the neck and blasting him. No one was around. No one would see. His job was safe. He could do this and have no repercussions whatsoever, so why not?

After the petty villain’s death, Katsuk used every ounce of strength in him to run to your body that had blood trickling down the side of your lips. “Y/N!”

You turned your head the best you could to find your husband sobbing his eyes out as he picked you up into his lap. He cradled your head and gently tapped your face, trying to keep you conscious. “Hey! Hey, you’re gonna be okay, alright?! You’re gonna be okay baby I promise.”

“Suki..I’m tired.” You whispered out in a weak voice. Hearing your words stabbed him through the chest.

“I-..I know baby. I know you’re tired. But- but you can’t go to sleep okay? Don’t go to sleep. You have to stay awake- stay alive! Okay?” He pleaded with you. He called out for a medic once he saw the flashing red and blue lights near the scene and held onto your body. He looked to you and saw your eyes becoming null and dense before firing back up again. You were falling in and out of consciousness. You were a fighter and you were trying to stay alive. It made him choke out a sad laugh. “You’re gonna make it, Teddy Bear, I swear.”

“….if I don’t make it-“

“You will, you idiot, don’t say shit like that!”

“But if I don’t…just- Ah-….just know I love you, Suki.”

Katsuki kissed your forehead before hugging you close. “I know, Y/N. I love you too. More than anyone, and more than you’ll ever fucking know.”

He noticed a small smile reach your lips before the medics came. Katsuki was quick to stand with you in his arms, careful and aware of the metal still pierced within you. He handed you off to the professionals who handled you with extra care. They brought you into the ambulance with Katsuki trying to follow in before being stopped.

“The fuck-“

“Dynamight, we can’t allow you to go in.” One said.

“And why the fuck not?! That’s my wife in there!” Katsuki shouted as he pointed to you.

“I understand, but her condition is severe. We can’t have anyone taking up space as we take care of her on her way to the hospital.” He explained.

“Taking up space?! Do you even know who you’re-“

“Sir, please. Let me do my job, let me save your wife’s life.” With that, Katsuki finally nodded in silence as he allowed the medic’s words to echo in his head. “Can you meet us at the hospital?”

Once again, a silent nod. With that, the medic was off and back to your seemingly lifeless body. Katsuki watched as he lead the team and perfectly directed them. He was sure that until you got to the hospital, you were in good hands. That was one guy he could surprisingly trust. He didn’t know him very well or at all for that matter, but he has Dynamight’s trust. Now Katsuki just had to head home and clean himself up before finding you again. Screw getting checked up. He knew his body. He knew he was damn well fucking fine.

—

As Katsuki opened the door to his house in a rush, he was quick to take a shower just to wash off the dirt and blood. He quickly hopped out and changed into some clothes before looking for his car keys. He found them at his nightstand along with the framed pictures of you and him. One on your wedding night and one celebrating your 3rd anniversary as a married couple. As Katsuki quickly looked through he pictures he smiled with a tear falling down his cheek. He looked around the room and took in all the pictures of you both that decorated your walls and tables.

You both were together since junior high. You were together for 10 years and despite being at the young ages of 23 and 22, he still decided to pop the big questions and propose. You said yes. It was one of the happiest days of his life, next to getting you to be his girlfriend, and meeting you in general. Forget the hero work, he’d trade it all if it meant he got to stay with you. You were always involved when it came to his happiest points in life. And now you were fighting for your life at the hospital. So with that, Bakugou wiped his tears and ran to his car, urgently trying to meet you at the building.

As he pulled up and parked, he pushed passed all the paparazzi and fans that surrounded the entrance due to news of you being there. You can assume how bad it got when everyone took notice of another pro-hero, and that pro being Dynamight no less, showing up. Despite all that, Bakugou forced his way in and made it to the front desk, demanding to know where you were. The poor lady at the desk had to deal with this explosive bomb, only to anger him even more by asking for his ID.

“Are you a fucking idiot?! Look at me! I’m Bakugou fucking Katsuki?! The number one pro fucking hero?!” He screamed at the poor girl.

“I’m- I’m sorry sir! It’s just protocol. H/N is a pro-hero, this is just what has to be done.” She shakily let out. Bakugou grunted before slamming his ID and Hero license onto the table. The lady nodded before handing him a piece of paper that had directions to your room.

Bakugou snatched it and gave her a scowl before running to look for you. Finally making it to one of the highest floors and down the longest hallways, he finally reached your door with 2 doctors already standing out in front of it. Bakugou tried to get through but they stopped him from entering.

“What?! What fucking now?!” He shouted as he stepped back to keep their hands off of him.

“Sir, they’re taking care of your wife just fine, but you have to wait here.” One of the docs demanded. With that, an argument bursted out between the pro and the doctors. The booming voices shook the building until a familiar voice was heard from behind the blonde.

“Dynamight, your wife’s in good care. I made sure my own wife was to be her head doctor.” Bakugou turned around to find the medic that stopped him from going into your ambulance there.

“It’s you.” He spoke aloud. The medic smiled before bowing.

“Daisuke Ena,” the medic said before standing back up straight. “Please trust me when I say your wife will be fine.”

“…and why should I?” Bakugou said after thinking for a minute.

“My wife is the one taking care of her. She is one of the best, if not the best, doctor in the prefecture. That’s not a biased opinion by the way, you can look her up. Daisuke Ami. I ensured it was her who was to see to your wife.” Daisuke said with a calm smile. After looking towards your hospital room, Katsuki turned back to the medic and nodded silently like he did before. But this time, he added a small ‘thank you.’

—

6 hours. Katsuki sat in one of the seats in front of your hospital room for 6 fucking hours only for them to tell him they cannot allow you visitors. You were in an unstable condition and so they sent Katsuki home. The news was heart wrenching. You always ran through Katsuki’s mind 24/7. He couldn’t stop it. But now, these thoughts were no longer happy and innocent, consisting of ‘damn, I miss her,’ and ‘I wonder what my girl’s doing right now.’ Instead they consisted of ‘Is she gonna be okay,’ and ‘she’s gonna come home, right?’ but most of all ‘I can’t lose her.’

Luckily for Katsuki, he became familiar with medical staff, Daisuke Ena, and was lucky enough to get his number. Daisuke gave him updates on Y/N. Usually, they weren’t so great but the hero appreciated the messages. The text didn’t help in uplifting Katsuki’s spirits though. If anything, they made them worse. In the beginning, Katsuki had hope that you would turn out okay.

But then a week passed.

And then another.

And then two more and before he knew it, you had already been in there for a month. This was the longest month of Katsuki’s life. It sucks to say but in the 13 years that you both have been together, he’s hasn’t done much alone outside of hero work. And even then, he would be lucky enough to work with you. It was always you and him together. Dates? Duh. Grocery shopping? Always you and him. Going for a walk? Why not? He loves spending as much time as he could with you. He loves you. But he hadn’t realize how dependent he became on your presence. In a way, you being gone drove him mad. He knew where you were. You were in the hospital. He could drive her there and see you right now!

No he can’t.

Because he would go and you would be stuck in bed, unconscious and hooked to machines, in a room, behind a door that Katsuki can’t get by. Seeing you isn’t the same as holding you. Speaking to you isn’t the same as conversing with you. There’s no reciprocation from your end. Being around your near lifeless body could only do so much. And so after two more weeks without you went by, Katsuki fell into a depression.

And that sucks because a few days after Katsuki’s depression began, it was okay for him to see you. But you hadn’t woken up yet. He didn’t think he would be able to be near you and your practically dead body. The fact that you were alive didn’t stick to him. He can’t see your beautiful E/C eyes, he can’t hear your honey-like voice..there’s no way you’re alive. The back of his mind still had hope. He knew you were stable. He knew you were gonna be okay..hopefully..but, you weren’t waking up. You were basically dead. Dead, dead, dead. And the more he thought about it, the more realistic the idea came to be.

So he didn’t visit you anymore..something else he’ll come to regret, and because he didn’t visit, he grew mad. Throwing away his life and succumbing to the tempting taste of alcohol. Any he could get. From the cheapest beers in cans to the finest liquors sold from top shelf. In the beginning, it was..controlled, but then he showed up to hero work completely wasted. Kirishima saved his job and forced Katsuki to take a break until he becomes stable again. This only gave Katsuki free time to do whatever the hell he wanted. And what did he want to do? He wanted to become lost.

Lost in alcohol, lost in weed, lost in everything. Lost because he doesn’t have you. Everyday he would spend it drinking and smoking, constantly being cross faded and surprising all his friends when he remained alive after all the substance abuse. Wake up, drink, get ready, drink, sit in the living room, smoke, cry over you, smoke and drink, eat and drink, go to sleep after a smoke sesh, cry over you once more. Eventually, Katsuki had cried so much, the only thing keeping him together was the fact that he had all these pictures of the two of you. Pictures of your smiles, you giving him a kiss, your dates, your accomplishments..he has all these pictures..but none of them would ever be as good as the real you.

Seeing his friend going down this road, Kirishima couldn’t help but try to do everything he could to fix his friend. No matter how many times Katsuki pushed him away, the red head kept going back. And none of his attempts to help his friend worked. Until…

—

“What now, Shitty Hair?” Bakugou groaned as he opened his door and squinted at the bright day light. He doesn’t remember that last time he’s seen the sun.

“I know you’ve been in a slump-“

“Slump? That’s what you call this? I lost the love of my life, Kirishima. This isn’t a fucking slump.” Bakugou said a little louder this time.

“She’s not gone, Bakugou.” Kirishima said trying to reassure his friend.

“But she’s not here either,” the blonde said as he chewed on his lip. “…look, whatever it is you want from me, I can’t give you. Not until Y/N is back at home, here, with me, safe and alive.”

“I know you feel that way man, but you can’t keep living like this. It’s not good for you. You at least need to get out of your house.” Kirishima said with his hand on the door as Bakugou tried to shut it. The blonde narrowed his eyes at his best friend before Kirishima spoke up again. “We can go wherever you wanna go and do whatever you wanna do, you just gotta get out of this house. Please.”

As Katsuki thought about it, he took a deep sigh before speaking. “Tonight at Hiro’s?”

“Dude, you wanna go to a bar-“

“It’s a club. Better than a bar, better drinks.” Bakugou corrected.

“Are you sure you don’t wanna hit the gym or maybe go to an actual restaurant or something?” Kirishima said, trying to steer his friend clear of alcohol.

“If you want me out of my house, then we go where I wanna go. No exceptions.” Bakugou said with a stern voice. Kirishima thought about it and sighed before giving in.

“Fine. But first, you gotta clean yourself up.” The red head said. The blonde nodded before going to shut his door, only to be interrupted by his friend once again. “With a little help from your best buds.”

As Kiri pushed the door open even more, Kaminari and Sero showed their faces that held kind smiles that only made Katsuki seethe. “No fucking way. This isn’t some girl’s trip and we aren’t doing makeovers.”

“Nobody said anything about a makeover, we’re just gonna help clean ya’ up Kacchan!” Denki smiled.

“I’m a grown man, I don’t need help cleaning up.” Bakugou said with a growl.

“Tell that to your stubble, messy hair, eye bags, and stench.” Sero began. “Seriously man, you smell like liquor and weed. You’re lucky you got that caramel thing going on to save you…barely.”

Before he knew it, his friends had pushed him into his house and quickly directed him to the bathroom. They did a full treatment. Forced him into the shower and made him soak in a tub of scented soaps and bath additions as they cleaned his house. Once they were done they had picked out a clean outfit for him before working on his face. They shaved his stubble, cleaned up his cut, put some eye cream on his bags, gave him some breath spray and changed out a few of his piercings. The full treatment. And when they showed Bakugou the new old him, he couldn’t deny he felt a little better. At least, before they stepped into his room again and he saw a few pictures of you. That’s when the slump in his shoulder returned.

Seeing this, his friends were quick to take him out of the house and head to Hiro’s. Walking in, they sat at the bar, ordered some food and a few drinks, and did whatever they could to keep Bakugou’s mind off of you. And for most of the night, it worked! Bakugou was laughing again, smiling, being his old self. But that’s when Denki decided to risk it.

“We doing shots or what?” The electric blonde asked. Kirishima gave him a look as he spoke.

“Uh, let’s go light on the liquor tonight. We don’t need shots to have a good time, right?” Kirishima said. Bakugou looked at him and chuckled.

“It’s nice of you to look out for me, Shitty hair, but I got this. Trust me.” Bakugou said with a small smile.

“I don’t know, man.” Kirishima said with a pout.

“Don’t be a pussy, Kirishima.” Kaminari smirked. That’s when all of Kiri’s friends, even Bakugou, began to egg him on. Of course, he gave in. Why not? What’s the worst that could happen? Bakugou gets drunk? He’s already been drunk before, nothing too crazy could happen, right?

Wrong. Shots were being downed and the 4 friends were losing themselves. The music was blasting, the lights were blinding, and the friends were…everywhere! Kirishima was probably puking his guts out in the bathroom, Sero and Kaminari were drunk on the dance floor, leaving Bakugou drunk at the bar by himself. Bad idea. The poor blonde was looking at his phone going through pictures of you and him together. He already missed you like crazy when he was sober, now that he’s drunk, that missing has hit full throttle. And then he caught the eye of a snake.

She walked up to the pro-hero with full confidence as she took a seat next to him. “Dynamight.”

Bakugou looked up from his phone with a scowl and blush from the alcohol. “Do I fucking know you?”

“No but-“

“Then get lost.” He said and downed another sip of his whiskey. The woman smirked at his crude behavior.

“Feisty. I like that about you, you know. Always playing hard to get.” She said with a seductive tone.

“I’m not playing hard to get, I’m playing impossible to get because I’m married,” he said and showed his wedding ring. “Happily.”

“You don’t seem too happy right now mister hero. My name’s Leiko..and if you want..I could help take away your troubles.” She offered with a smile as she leaned forward, making sure to expose a little more cleavage than necessary.

“My wife is better than just some quick fuck, so no thanks.” Bakugou said, still not taking his eyes off her, trying to scare her away with a glare that unfortunately she only smirked at.

“Who said I was trying to fuck? Why don’t you talk to me? Vent. Rant. It won’t get your mind off of your wife but it will help clear your head.” She said.

“And why the hell do you think I’m having issues with my wife?!” He asked with a tense voice.

“I walked over here and you were staring down at pictures of her on your phone. Miss H/N is beautiful. You’re a very lucky man.” Leiko said, playing the role of a snake perfectly.

“…I am..” Bakugou agreed before swallowing a gulp. “I’m Uh…I’m not having issues with her or anything. And we’re not fighting either. She’s just..been in the hospital recovering from a battle..I just miss her…”

He didn’t know whether it was the alcohol or if Leiko was just that good at pretending to be nice or both, but for whatever reason she made it easy to clear his mind. She listened well, never putting any input in. She let him speak freely and only spoke up when he looked at her in expectance to. In the moment..she was being a good friend. She allowed him to vent all he wanted about you, about how much he missed you and loves you. And by the end of the night, Katsuki could feel his chest feel a little lighter.

They didn’t sleep together but Leiko left an impression on his drunk self for sure. Maybe even him as a person. He’d remember her as ‘that one nice lady from the club.’ But that was until a few days later when she reached out to him on social media. Leiko was a perfect snake. Knowing exactly what she wanted and exactly how to get it. They spoke for some time online, casual conversations. Most times, it was Leiko asking about you and if you were okay. This went on for some time until their conversations changed. Leiko casually threw in a little flirt every now and then, Katsuki saw and held no reply for it, but didn’t stop her from doing so. Leiko seemed like a good friend. A good way to air out his emotions and issues. So despite her pushy and flirtatious nature, he kept her around. Solely as a friend.

Soon enough, Leiko offered to meet in person once more. At the same club they first met in. ‘Why not?’ Katsuki thought. He had nothing else to do. And so he went. Then he went again. And again. And again. The two became ‘friends’ and Katsuki even brought her back into your shared home where they shared even more drinks. Eventually, the use of marijuana came into play and now the two were cross faded. At least one of them was. Leiko was smart and sneaky. She took less drinks, didn’t inhale the smoke, and basically remained sober. She was in complete control, unlike the blonde hero who sat on the couch beside her. He was now upset and hurt as he thought about you.

“I-..I just miss her so damn much..it fucking hurts at this point.” He said with a whimper in his voice. Being so vulnerable, Leiko took her chance and slid in.

“Well..there’s always one way to take your mind off of harsh things like this.” She softly said with a hand in his lap. She leaned in and Bakugou made no move to stop her and allowed her to continue. She pressed his lips against his and despite it not being reciprocated the first time, she still pushed with it. Katsuki didn’t enjoy it all that much or at all. It was different, it was new, it wasn’t you. It didn’t feel like home. Her lips weren’t soft, they weren’t as plump, they didn’t have the same sweet and addicting taste you did but in a way..Katsuki felt it was what he needed. Her kiss wasn’t like yours. In fact, it was the complete opposite and he hated it. But it didn’t resemble you. When Leiko kissed him, it didn’t remind him of you, and that’s what he thought he needed. So despite not liking the kiss, when she pulled away, he pulled her back. Eventually the kiss grew more intense until it was brought to the bedroom where their night continued in a more sinful manner.

That morning, Katsuki made Leiko leave, angered at what she tricked him into and ashamed of his betrayal. How could he do that to you?! His love of over a decade! When Leiko was gone, Katsuki allowed himself to break down his walls and cry. He cried so hard that morning, more than he’s ever cried before. That morning made him realize his third regret.

Leiko and Katsuki never spoke again..until some days later when Katsuki allowed himself to become extremely drunk once more. He fell into his obsessive thoughts of you and felt the pain come again. Wanting to erase the hurt, he reached out to Leiko and asked her to come over and distract him again. He needed to feel something that wasn’t you. And so Leiko happily went over that night. And a few more nights because Katsuki felt the pain again for a few more nights. As Leiko kept going, she noticed the house loss more and more touches of you. Katsuki flipped his pictures of you in his bedroom so that they wouldn’t see his nights of betrayal and he moved his clothes out of your shared closet so he wouldn’t be reminded and hit with your addicting scent that lingered on your clothes. Leiko smiled, feeling like a victor as Katsuki slept beside her in your bed on your side. The two would have quite a surprise in the morning.

—

Katsuki was awake and was still feeling the shame. He didn’t like sleeping around with Leiko but he liked the way it distracted him from his painful thoughts of you. Every morning after a night spent with her was the same. The two would wake up, she would put on one of his shirts despite his protests and get ready in his bathroom as he sat in the living room downstairs. But this morning had a little surprise twist.

As Katsuki sat in the living room with his head down, the doorbell rung. Growling in annoyance at one of his friends’ presence, he reluctantly went to open the door with a sour mood. “WHAT?!”

“Umm, excuse me. Who the fuck do you think you are talking to your wife like that?” You asked with attitude. As Katsuki adjusted his eyes to the light and his ears caught the sound of his favorite song, his eyes widened and his smile rose.

“Y-Y/N?” He asked in complete shock. He saw you alive, healthy, smiling, looking naturally beautiful right in front of him.

“Missed me, Suki?” You asked with a giggle. Bakugou pushed the door open to pull you in for the tightest hug as he lifted you off the ground.

“YOU’RE BACK!” He cried out. He held you tight and shut the door with his foot as he dropped onto the couch with you on top of him. He held you close to him as he cried into your neck. “You’re really back! Fuck- I missed you so much Y/N! I fucking love you- I’ve been a mess without you..shit!”

His tears were everlasting as they fell from his ruby eyes that you missed so much. You smiled as you wiped them away with your thumbs and the soft touch he’s craved and missed so much. You pecked his nose to calm him down as you allowed your hands to get lost in his blonde hair. “Hey, hey, it’s okay. I’m here, Suki. I’m back.”

Katsuki still held tears in his eyes and was shaking in happiness as you remained oh so close, giving him the warmth he needed after so many months. “Tell me you love me, Y/N.”

“I love you Bakugou Katsuki.” You happily said. Your husband teared up once more, so happy he was able to hear those words from you again, before pulling you in for a passionate kiss. A kiss that brought him back to life. He took in your scent and the way you tasted illegally sweet. He let his hands roam your body in a loving way until they found way into your soft H/C locks, trying to bring your head closer to his despite your lips already being in contact. You pulled away with him chasing after your lips, needing to push him back a little to allow yourself to breath. “Relax Suki.”

He scoffed at that. “Relax? I just got you back, you’re not calling the shots today princess, that’s all me.”

You both have a little laugh as you tucked in to cuddle for a small time. He missed this. This is what he needed. This is what he’s been dying for. To have you back in his arms, alive, healthy, and present. He needed this for so long and now that he has it, he feels whole again. After spending some cuddle minutes on the couch, you rose up in need for a glass of water. As you tried to walk away, Katsuki tugged on your arm to try and bring you back to him, only to have you calm him down. “I’m just getting some water, Suki.”

He reluctantly let you go, allowing himself to smile like an idiot, glad to be around you again. As you searched for a glass in the cabin, that’s when Bakugou detected the sound of someone turning the shower off. And that’s when his eyes popped. His betrayal to you. The multiple times he betrayed your love and literal proof of it standing in his shared home with you. That’s when he began to silently panic. You were gonna find out. You were gonna find out he had been acting like a sleeze behind your back and you were gonna be pissed. Heartbroken. Downright furious and you had every right to be, but Katsuki wouldn’t allow it. He knew once you found out, you would leave again. But you can’t leave! He just got you back! You’re not allowed to leave when you finally came back to him. He’s finally happy again because you’re back! You can’t leave now!

“Hey, Baby, don’t you wanna see your friends?” Katsuki asked as he walked over to you. You had finished your glass and placed it down on the island when your husband came over asking an absurd question.

“Suki, they were all there when I left the hospital. They were the ones who bought me these new clothes. Aren’t they cute?” You asked with the smile he loved oh so much.

“Uh- yeah, yeah they look amazing on you Teddy Bear. Umm..if they were all with you, why didn’t they tell me you were coming back home?” He asked as you wrapped your arms around his neck and his went right to home on your waist.

“I wanted to surprise you!” You giggled. “How’d I do?”

“Really fucking good, you little dumbass. But why don’t we get some fresh air? Yeah?” He said as he tried pulling you to the door.

“What why? I was just out there.” You said as you stopped in your tracks. “Besides, I heard you didn’t visit me much in the hospital ya’ big meanie. I wanna spend as much time with you as I can.”

“I was gone because I couldn’t stand to see you like that, baby.” He said with a whimper.

“Yeah I figured. Which is why I’m not too mad, but you still gotta make it up to me with cuddles, so let’s go!” You said and tried pulling him in the direction of your bedroom but he planted his feet into the ground.

“We can still spend time together outside the house, Teddy Bear,” Katsuki said enthusiastically, trying to keep you away from the room that for sure reeked of sex and held scattered clothes of his own and another woman’s.

“But I want to spend time at home with you,” you pouted. Bakugou felt his heart melt at the cute face you pulled and brought you closer to him.

“I know, I wanna spend time with you too but I’ve been in the house for so long, I think I need to get out of here.” The blonde said while being aware and on the lookout for Leiko.

“Well I’ve been out of the house for so long and I know I need to be in it. Besides, as your previously injured wife, what I say goes.” You said with sass and a smile. Katsuki laughed, loving your little attitude but still worried of what you may find out.

“Baby please, can we just go?” He begged as he held your soft hands in his.

“Why are you so adamant on leaving, Suki?” You asked

“That’s because he doesn’t want you to find out about me.”

Your body jumped at the sound of a new voice and you looked at Katsuki’s face, noticing it scrunching in fear, before you turned around to find another woman wearing nothing but Katsuki’s shirt. The same shirt you’ve worn a thousand times over. You could feel your heart clenching in pain but you stood your ground no less.

“Who are you?” You asked as you dropped your hands from your husband’s. You heard his little whine at the loss of your touch as he reached out to hold into your arm but you gently pushed him off.

“Y/N-“

“Oh come on, H/N. Don’t be in denial. I bet you already have an exact idea on who I am.” Leiko said with a smirk as she looked at you. You turned to your husband with raised brows and a face of anger as you glared at him. You looked back at her and bit your lip before smiling.

“Were you in it for the long haul?” You asked Leiko, wondering if she really wanted Katsuki or if she was just getting pleasure out of this.

“Definitely not. I just came for a quick fuck every now and then. Wanted to get a feel of what it was like getting dicked down by a big shot pro-hero.” She said casually.

“Did you know he was married?” You asked.

“Yeah but he didn’t seem to care so neither did I.” She said. This made your blood boil a bit and you wanted to cry so damn bad, but you refused to allow your whore of a husband and this stranger to see you break. You huffed before smiling again.

“You can take your leave now.” You kindly said. Leiko looked at you in confusion.

“You’re not mad?” She asked. Katsuki had the same thought running through his mind as his heart raced at this conversation happening right here right now.

“Oh I’m furious. But am I really supposed to be mad at some stranger who’s content with being a home wrecker? ‘Cuz I feel like most of my anger should be directed to the man-whore behind me.” You said, never looking Katsuki’s way.

“Y/N, please-“

“I’m not speaking to you yet.” You said calmly, still not looking at him. You didn’t have to turn around to know there were tears in your husband’s eyes. Leiko smiled before standing a little taller.

“Well then, I’ll be taking my leave,” she said and took off the big shirt and throwing it onto the couch, leaving herself in her underwear. “Am I expected to be back for another visit?”

“You can come back as many times as Katsuki asks. As far as I’m concerned, he’s a single man again.” You said with a laugh.

“What the hell are you talking about?” Katsuki asked with a break in his voice. Leiko laughed too before nodding and walking back to the bedroom and gathering her things. You walked silently to sit on the couch with Katsuki following you. “Y/N, what the fuck do you mean I’m single. I’m still your husband!”

You remained silent as you looked at him with a sarcastic smile. You said nothing as you waited for Leiko to return. “Say something!”

Finally, Leiko walked down the stairs, fully dressed, and looked to you before taking her leave. You smiled at her before speaking. “So..I don’t want him anymore. Do you?”

“No I’m good. Anybody’s good for a fuck but I don’t date cheaters.” Leiko said with her hand on the knob.

“I’m not a fucking cheater!” Katsuki shouted at her as he had tears dripping down his face. She gave him a dry laugh before opening the door.

“Take a look around Bakugou. You’re not a cheater?” She asked before walking out and shutting the door, leaving the two of you in the broken home. Silence passed and all that could be heard was Katsuki’s shaky breath. You then stood up, gaining his attention, and tried walking to your bedroom before Katsuki stopped you by holding onto your arm. Tight.

“Where the fuck are you going, Y/N?” He asked as he cried angrily. You tried to shake him off of you to no avail.

“I’m leaving you fucking idiot. If you haven’t noticed, you cheated. You were disloyal. You allowed some stranger into our home, into our bed, just to get your dick wet.” You said with an angry but calm tone.

“She wasn’t a stranger.” Bakugou said trying to defend himself. You laughed and stepped to face him.

“Oh really? Tell me one damn thing you know about her.” You asked. As Katsuki thought about it..he really didn’t know anything about her. Fuck- he didn’t even know her family name. All he knew was that her name was Leiko. They were speaking for a month and in that entire month, Katsuki only ever talked about himself. She never gave up any information about herself. All she wanted to do was get to know Katsuki and get in his pants. She really was a stranger and he just tossed away his entire relationship for some whore. His silence gave you your answer. “That’s what I thought.”

You tried walking away again before he ran to stand in front of you. “Y/N! Please! Just listen, okay? I was depressed because you were gone!”

“And that’s your excuse for cheating on me?!” You shouted.

“No! But- but it hurt me to even think about you in that hospital bed! I couldn’t even face you without feeling like I was dying! And then that fucking snake came and she distracted me and kept my thoughts away from you. She kept the pain away. I know that that’s not excuse for what I did but please try to understand why I did it!” He begged as he cried.

“I will never understand! Because I could never do what you did! If you were in the hospital, close to death, I would’ve been by your side every second of every day! Yes I would’ve felt all the pain and depression you did but I wouldn’t want to distract myself from it! Because at least then I would be thinking about you, and worrying about you, and caring about you, and loving you because you’re my husband Katsuki! I wouldn’t ever want to not think about you!” You shouted in anger and hurt as you allowed a few tears to fall. This urged Katsuki to cup your face in his hands and wipe away your tears.

“I’m so sorry, baby. Please, can we just move pass this? Please.” He said softly as he pressed his forehead to your own before you shoved him off.

“Get away from me!” You shouted, breaking his heart as he stumbled back. “After everything we’ve been through, you go and do this to me?! AFTER EVERYTHING?!”

“IM SORRY! PLEASE! I CAN’T TAKE BACK WHAT I DID BUT YOU HAVE TO FORGIVE ME!” He shouted back.

“WHO THE FUCK SAYS I HAVE TO FORGIVE YOU, BAKUGOU?!” You said, emphasizing the use of his family name. The name that you also held.

“Don’t call me that, baby, please.” He whimpered.

“DON’T FUCKING CALL ME THAT BAKUGOU! WE’RE DONE!” You shouted and walked away to your room with him following you. He kept spewing apologies up until you opened the bedroom door. It was a horrible mess and the stench of sex filled the air. You covered your mouth and nose as tears pricked your eyes before walking in to open your closet, disappointed as you noticed all the pictures of you two were flipped to be hidden. When you opened the doors, you didn’t find your clothes. “Where the fuck is my stuff, Bakugou.”

“I’m not telling you because you’re not leaving me, Y/N!” He said as he tried to hug you from behind before you pushed him off again.

“I’m not staying here! Tell me where my stuff is so I can leave!” You demanded.

“Like hell I will! We haven’t even had a full talk about this! You can’t just leave!” He said. You watched as tears fell down his face which only made you even more angry. He was crying? He did this! This is all his fault! How can he be the one upset?! “Y/N please, I’ll get on my fucking knees and beg you to stay if it’s what it takes but you can’t go! We’ve been together for 13 years! 13! Even before UA-“

“And you threw all that away when you decided to sleep with someone else.” You said calmly. You walked out of the room in search for your clothes as he followed and continued to speak with sobs breaking apart his sentences.

“Y/N please! I- I can fix this! You don’t have to go! You can stay and we can be happy, just like we’ve always been! Just like we were a few minutes ago before that bitch walked in and ruined everything!” He cried making you turn around in a snap.

“She didn’t ruin anything Katsuki. When you allowed her to come into your life and into our home, that’s when you fucked up. You did this to us. You ruined everything.” You said before continuing your search.

“T-Tell me what you want Y/N! I’ll make it happen! I’ll do anything- I’ll give you the fucking world! As long as you stay!” He begged. You approached the guest room in silence and Bakugou grew frantic as he blocked you from going in. “Please- don’t.”

“All my stuff is in there, isn’t it?” You asked, already knowing the answer and only having it confirmed when he remained silent. “Get out of my way.”

Bakugou shook his head as he kept the door block as you tried to pry your way through. Growing frustrated, you used a small amount of your quirk to blast him through the door, having him groan in pain as he hit the floor and watched you find your clothes in the guest room closet. You began packing your things and Bakugou was quick to stand and take everything you put in your bag out. “Stop it!”

“No! You’re staying with me! You’re not leaving me Y/N- I won’t lose you again!” He said as he tossed your bag across the room. You watched it go and stood in disbelief at his childish antics.

“Heh, you know what? Whatever, keep all the clothes. Maybe you’ll gift it to the next girl you decide to bring back here.” You said with attitude.

“I’m not bringing anybody else through those doors! I ONLY WANT YOU Y/N!” He shouted.

“Doubtful. Keep it, burn it, regift it, I don’t care. With my salary I can buy myself a new wardrobe and a new apartment. Far. Away. From you.” You said and walked out of the room. As you tried to exit the house, Katsuki pulled you back into his arms as you struggled in his grip with your face smushed against his chest.

“Please! Please tell me what you want! I’ll do anything! I’ll buy you anything! We’ll do whatever you want- Y/N I’ll even quit my job! Just please don’t go! Please forgive me!” He cried before you harshly pushed him off to reveal your sobbing face.

“I WANT TO LEAVE! BECAUSE I DONT WANT THIS ANYMORE KATSUKI!” You shouted before wiping your eyes and bringing your voice down. “I wanted my husband there with me at the hospital! I wanted him to be the first face that I saw when I woke up! But you couldn’t even give me that! Instead, you were in our home in our bed with some random person you found wherever having sex with her despite the fact that you’re a married man! …I was in a fucking hospital fighting for my life and my husband was too busy cheating on me, trying not to think about me…..I want to leave Katsuki.”

“….I can’t let you do that Y/N…I’m sorry. But I can’t do this without you.” He cried as you listed all his shortcomings. “I’ll give you whatever-“

“I don’t want material things!” You shouted in exhaustion. “I wanted your loyalty and love!”

“And you have that!”

“We wouldn’t be in this situation if I did!” You said. “I’m leaving, Katsuki. And not you or anybody else in this fucking world is going to stop me. If you try and trap me here I will break down these walls myself and get out. If you force me to stay I will do whatever it takes to get away from you. I’m not staying with you. So we’re done. And we’re getting a divorce, whether you like it or not.”

As you walked to the door you could hear his heart breaking cries as you opened the exit. “Y/N please. I don’t want this, I waited months for you to come home to me…I need you.”

“When are you gonna realize Katsuki? This is your fault. You did this to us.”

And with that, you shut the door on the house, the home, the relationship, and him. And it was all his fault.

A/N: Y’all ima be writing a part 2 for this so stay tuned

Tag list: @sxcker4you @aomi04 @tessabrown101 @ebiharachan @is-this-ash @iris-shihabi @sxturn-stars @isolight @lanantoine @whatdidshesayyy @kiranogareru

[wandaromanova]

Left Behind

Pairing: Natasha Romanoff x Fem!Reader

Warnings: cussing, death

A/N: hi! this was a request! hope you guys like this one! y’all can blame @midgardianweasley for this one. happy reading <3

anon requested: Natasha x fem! reader. Reader and Natasha were in a building on fire trying to get citizens out and a wooden beam lands on reader. It’s too heavy for Natasha to lift it but won’t give up. Reader is screaming for Natasha to go! Giving her a smile that everything will be okay! A fireman then pulls Natasha out of the building against her will seeing the whole building collapse in reader.

Summary: Natasha and Y/N go on a mission, but don’t make it back together.

Word Count: 1.6K

| masterlist | request rules/guidelines | wips |

please do not repost or try and take ownership of my work. reblogs, likes, and comments are always welcome. <3

You were an Avenger just like your girlfriend; Natasha. You had met the redhead when you first joined the team.

You were one of the highest-ranked S.H.I.E.L.D agents and Fury had decided to recruit you into the team of heroes. You had heard many stories about the Black Widow and to say you were a fan was an understatement.

You had an immense amount of respect for Natasha. Her past wasn’t a great one, but she turned her life around and made it beautiful. She didn’t let her mistakes define who she was and you admired that.

The assassin had taken a liking to you. You guys immediately hit it off. About six months after your arrival, you began dating Natasha.

Natasha’s room became yours too. You’d spend your nights laid on top of the redhead as she stroked your hair gently. You’d close your eyes and ask her to say anything because the sound of her voice was your favorite.

She’d sing Russian lullabies to you. You were the only person she’d ever let hear her sing. She said she was a terrible singer and not letting anyone hear her was a gift, but she was actually amazing at it.

Her husky voice sent chills down your spine whenever she would speak. So when she sang to you in Russian? You were speechless.

You felt blessed to know that Natasha was truly herself in your presence. No one had ever seen her true colors, until you.

ㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤ

You were the person that Natasha went to for everything.

ㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤ

Exhausted after a long mission? She’d run into your arms as soon as she’d land. Steve and Tony annoying the fuck out of her? She’d rant to you about how small their brains were.

Devastated after a mission had gone wrong? She’d find comfort in your presence and your words. You’d whisper soft reassurances against her ear as you’d rock your bodies side-to-side.

Receiving good news? You’d be the very first person she’d tell as the excitement took over her. You’d match her energy, feeling just as excited as her, if not more. Natasha would beam as you’d press a soft kiss to the crown of her head, mumbling an ‘i’m so proud of you’ against her scalp.

You were Natasha’s person and she was yours. You genuinely believed you were made for one another. From the way your hands fit like two pieces of a puzzle with one another, to the way your thoughts and ideas seemed to always align. You guys just got each other in a way no one else could.

So, naturally, you were always assigned partners on missions. You two had the best communication on the team which led to tons of successful missions. However, communication couldn’t prevent nor predict the surprises of enemies.

•❅──────────────── ‎⧗ ────────────────❅•

You and Natasha were sent undercover to a gala being held by one of the leaders of Hydra.

The goal was to capture him for questioning and keep him in custody. That should be easy, considering there was booze everywhere and everyone was either tipsy or black-out drunk.

ㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤ

Well yes, it would’ve been easy; if your cover hadn’t been blown.

ㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤ

You were currently sat on the target’s lap as he not so subtly stared at your cleavage. You were with him in a private area further into the party, while Natasha remained in the public area.

The drunk man looked up at you and you smiled down at him; trying your best to hide your disgust. However, he didn’t smile back at you.

You were caught off guard when he abruptly shoved you off of his lap, your body colliding with the marble floor.

“You’re an Avenger. You bitch!” You quickly stood up at his words and attacked him. You spoke into your earpiece while fighting off the man.

“Nat, our cover has been blown. I need backup.” You said as the man landed a heavy punch onto your abdomen. You stumbled back and he took the opportunity to rush out of the room.

“взорвать это место, сейчас! (blow the place up, now!)”

Your eyes widened at his words. Before you could rush out of the room yourself, an explosion pushed you back. Your body collided with a wall and you let out a scream of agony as a beam from the ceiling landed on top of you.

•❅──────────────── ‎⧗ ────────────────❅•

The sounds of screams and the fire alarms accompanied the ringing in your ears. Your only thoughts being; your pain and Natasha.

She had been on her way over here before the bomb went off. Was she okay? Did she get hit by the force of the bomb? Was she gone?

You tried your best to lift the beam off of your body, but to no avail. You realized that a piece of metal that had been sticking out of the beam had lodged itself into your chest.

Your eyes tore away from the beam on top of you and landed on red locks. Natasha stumbled into the room; or at least, what was left of it anyway. She paused in her tracks at your state.

Tears threatened to fall from her eyes as her hands shot up to cover her mouth, a muffled gasp escaping her throat. She quickly got it together and rushed over to help you.

Nat got down on her knees, not caring about how harsh the rubble was against her bare skin. She moved to lift the beam, but you stopped her.

“Natty, no. If you lift it, I’ll bleed out.” You sent her a small smile before you began to cough. Natasha’s heart sunk to her stomach at the sight of blood pouring out of your mouth.

“I have to get you out of here, babe. We have a movie night planned, I have to make sure that still happens.” Nat tried to joke in an attempt to console you, but it was more to control her own fear than anything.

Your conversation was interrupted by the sound of another explosion. The building quaked as flames began to invade the room. She needed to go; now.

You shook your hand that was sticking out from the beam slightly. Nat got the message and held your hand with both of hers tightly.

“You need to leave, honey. This place is going to collapse any minute now.” You croaked out, ignoring the metallic taste in your mouth.

“I’ll be damned if I leave you behind. If you’re going down, I’m going down with you.” You couldn’t help but smile as you took in every inch of Nat’s face.

She was absolutely beautiful. Even with the dust and dirt littering her face and her worried expression; she was still the most beautiful person you’ve ever seen.

The flames began to rage. The smoke was beginning to cloud your vision of the woman in front of you. You rubbed one of her hands with the back of your thumb, not minding the pain that accompanied the action.

“Go. Now. It’s okay. I love you so much and you aren’t leaving me behind; you never would and I- I know that.”

You stuttered towards the end of the sentence as you were overcome by an intense chill. You were losing so much blood and it wasn’t going to be long now before you were gone.

Your eyes drifted towards a figure entering the room. A firefighter. His eyes widened as he noticed both of you. He rushed over to help you, but you stopped him.

“Hey buddy, I’m a goner regardless if you get this off of me or not. Get her out of here. You can’t save me, but you can save her.”

You managed to let out as another fit of coughs shook your body. More crimson liquid spilled out of your mouth and Natasha finally let her tears fall.

The man nodded solemnly before he grabbed Natasha by the waist. She struggled against his hold as she kicked and screamed; her arms reaching out for you.

“No! No! Please let me stay! I can’t leave you! You can’t leave me!” Natasha’s words paired with her tone of agony and desperation tore your heart apart.

All you could do was smile lovingly at her as you slowly felt the life leave your body. She was going to be okay eventually and that’s all you wanted for her.

“I love you, moya lyubov (my love). It’s okay. Take care of yourself.”

You spoke quietly, but it was loud enough for Natasha to hear. She watched as the bright light that once filled your irises turned to a blank stare.

Natasha fought even harder against the man’s firm grip as she sobbed out. He had finally managed to get the both of them out of the room and out of the building. This all happened in the span of a few minutes, but to Natasha, it felt like an eternity.

•❅──────────────── ‎⧗ ────────────────❅•

The firefighter placed Nat down once they were a good distance away from the building. As soon as her feet hit the floor, she ran towards the building, but before she could make it back in; the entire structure collapsed.

Natasha’s knees roughly hit the floor as she took in the sight. The building that you were in was nothing but broken concrete and rubble. You were buried beneath all of that carnage.

Natasha sobbed without care. She couldn’t give two fucks if people were staring at her with pity or sympathy. She had just lost the love of her life.

Natasha couldn’t help but blame herself. If she had gotten to the room sooner, she could’ve gotten the both of you out of there. You wouldn’t have been crushed by a beam.

She wouldn’t have had to watch as you bled out. She wouldn’t have had to witness firsthand; as the soul she had fallen in love with left the world.

Natasha cried out into the night. The chaos going on around her turned to white noise. Her surroundings were in slow motion as she mourned.

Each tear that fell from her eyes represented each obliterated possibility of a future with the woman she loved.

Each scream that left her mouth served as curses to every higher power there was, for so cruelly taking the love of her life; you.

ㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤ

ㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤ

───────── ･ ｡ﾟ☆: *.☽ .* :☆ﾟ. ──────────

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[bakugosbratx]

Hi hi! Congratulations!! 🎊

Could I please request a fic with Eren or Levi and could they have some yandere tendencies? Like they’re too protective, gets jealous easily, would absolutely fuck you until you’re screaming so that the guy who’s been checking you out heard?

NSFW 18+ Let them hear you — Yandere Eren Jeager x Reader

Warning: 18+ Content. Sexual content, bdsm, degrading, unprotected sex, oral, non-con, abuse, possessive, toxic relationship, gaslighting, Jean abuse, punishment, violence, etc.

Words: 1.9k

Check out my other works here

A/N: Hey love. Thank you so much for the request! I hope it meets what you are looking for. I am only on the third season so I apologize in advance for anything that seems uncanny. Enjoy.

P.S. I am still on break but I am trying to complete some request that have been sitting in my drafts. I miss y’all and will be back before y’all know it. Thank you for all the love and sweet messages.

“Eren, what are you—“

“Shut the hell up, Y/N.” Eren seethed through gritted teeth as he pulls you along. The death grip on your poor arm is making you cry out in pain. This only infuriated him more.

You did nothing wrong. You were eating your lunch with Mikasa when Jean strolled on over. It is not a secret that Jean likes you. Everyone knows that Jean likes anyone with a pulse. You have told the man multiple times that you are not interested — along with Eren — and you have a boyfriend, but it does not stop the man from trying. Especially when Eren is busy.

“Hello Y/N.” Jean greeted with a flirty smile. Your eyes couldn’t help but roll.

“Hello Jean.” You sigh as he sat across you two.

“What’s with the sad face, pretty thing? Eren got you down?” Jean chuckled before taking a bite of his sandwich.

You scoffed. “Me and Eren are doing just fine, thank you very much.”

“Well, your face says otherwise. If you ask me, I’d say you can do better than that douchebag anyways—“ Jean’s spill got interrupted with a hard punch to the side of the head then another one to the nose. Gasp filled the room as eyes landed on who did this to the man. No one was surprised to see it was Eren himself.

Eren grabs Jean by the collar of his shirt, lifting him up to meet his height. Eren’s natural blue eyes were filled with rage. “You son of a bitch. Why the fuck are you flirting with my girl, Jean? She told you more than once she’s not interested.”

Jean manages to release himself from Eren’s grip, stumbling to keep his balance. This is not the first time these two have had altercations with one another.

“Ha, you don’t see the way she looks at me. Besides,” he pauses to wipe the blood leaking from his nose, “she was totally flirting with me.”

“Bastard!” Eren bellows as he goes to attack again, but the higher ups stop him along with you and Mikasa.

“Eren, stop.” Mikasa and you demand, hanging onto his arms.

“Let go of me! I’m going to make that son of a bitch pay.”

“That’s enough, Jaeger.” Captain Levi scolds. Eren snaps out of his rage to meet the small man’s eyes. “In my office. Now.”

Though Eren is still angry, he still knows when to show respect. Especially when it comes to the higher ups. Everyone in the room knew this.

“Yes, sir.” Eren sighs, still breathing heavy.

“Eren,” You began with sorrow filled irises. Though this is in no way shape or form your fault, you cannot help but feel the guilt within your bones. If only you would have done more than maybe Eren would not be in this situation.

Eren just glared down at your small frame compared to his, clearly not happy with you. It was a look you know all too well and you know you will be in for it later. Your heart pounded against your ribs at the thought.

“We’ll talk later.” Eren hissed before following Captain Levi to his office.

Jean did not mess with you for the rest of the afternoon. Eren was sent to clean up the horse stables while the rest of the team did their chores. Eren made sure to have his eyes on you anytime you were in close proximity. His glare was one you always refused to meet with your own two eyes. It made you feel small. Just like how Eren wanted.

Your anxiety has been through the roof all day. No one can blame you, though. Eren is a loose cannon on a good day. So, your super barely being touched was noticed, but not discussed amongst your peers.

Strong hands touched your shoulders. You jumped out of reflex. Looking up, you see your boyfriend looking down at you.

“Eren!” You exclaimed with joy and fear. He noticed both emotions.

“Follow me.” Eren orders, patting your shoulder more rough than he should have. You did not even have time to comply as his hand snakes around your bicep and pulls you along.

“Eren, you’re hurting me.” You whine as he pulls you towards the closest bedroom available.

“Eren, what are you—“

“Shut the hell up, Y/N.” Eren seethed through gritted teeth as he pulls you along. The death grip on your poor arm is making you cry out in pain. This only infuriated him more.

Slamming the door open, he ushers you along inside and swiftly closed the door behind him. Your hand wraps around your now warm, pulsating arm. You can feel the heat from Eren’s glare down onto you. You start to tremble.

“Eren, I—“

“I said shut the hell up, Y/N.” Eren growls. He has taught you more than once to respect his orders, but you just cannot seem to listen. You will pay for that sooner than later.

Eren leans against the door, arms crossed as he heavily sighs. “What were you doing with Jean earlier today?” He finally asked. You turned to face him.

“N-Nothing!” You stammered. You know this made you sound guilty, but you are actually innocent. Just Eren knows how to intimidate you and when you’re in this position, your nerves take over.

Eren scornfully chuckled. “Please, do you really think I’m that dumb, Y/N?”

“I’m telling the truth, Eren! You know I don’t like Jean.” You spat. Your blood is boiling at this point. This accusation has been thrown at you more than once in your relationship and quite honestly, it’s getting tiring.

“Watch it.” Eren warned. You know you are not supposed to raise your voice towards him. He has corrected that behavior more than once and will do it again if necessary.

“Why was he sitting with you at lunch?” Eren interrogates after he notices you lose some confidence to yell at him.

You let out a deep sigh. “He just showed up. You know how Jean is.”

“And you didn’t stop him?”

“What was I supposed to do?” You questioned, raising an eyebrow.

“Tell him to fuck off!” Eren barks.

“And I did!” You argued back.

A small shriek escapes your lips as Eren charges towards you, wrapping his hand around your throat, and pushing you down onto the nearest bunk bed. You struggled to untangle his fingers as they squeeze your throat tightly.

“What did I say about talking back, slut?” Eren growls.

“I-I’m s-sorry, E-Eren.” You managed to get out as you lose circulation to your lungs.

“Oh, you will be. I’m going to make sure this filthy little mouth of yours will not be able to talk for weeks.”

Eren finally let’s go of your throat. You immediately cough. There is not enough oxygen in the room to get to your lungs fast enough it seems. Eren would argue and say you deserve it.

You hear a belt unbuckle along with his pants unzipping. His pants hang low on his hips as he watches you collect air. By the way his boxers are fitting quite snug, you know what is coming.

“On your knees.” Eren demands, pointing towards the creaky wooden floor below. You shook your head no, your eyes pleading. Eren did not respond to that well as he grabbed a hand full of hair and forced you to the ground.

“Do you ever fucking listen? I said on your damn knees.” Eren growls. You did not even have a chance to explain that you are not in the mood because Eren’s length is now being stuffed down your throat. You choked on Eren’s cock as every inch was entering your mouth.

Your nails clawed at Eren’s clothed abdomen. His hand never let up on your hair as he thrust in-and-out of you. You are choking, coughing for air, but Eren refused to show any ounce of mercy. In fact, he found it quite amusing. You should know better than to disrespect your boyfriend.

“Where is all that back talk now, princess? Don’t have shit to say with my cock down your disrespectful ass throat, do ya?” Eren mocks as takes another rapid thrust down your windpipe. Drool covered your chin and Eren’s dick. You can feel his girth stretch out your throat and he loves it. He loves seeing you struggle.

Pre-cum started to leak from his erected member. You are mentally thanking your maker. You needed a break and a gasp for air, but those prayers were answered quicker than expected. Eren pulls out his cock from your sore mouth. You let out pitiful coughs as he stroked himself to the sight of you.

“Strip then get in doggy.” He demands. Not wanting to make this worse for yourself, you do as your told. You are not even sure whose room this is. You just hope they do not walk into see the sinful things you and Eren are doing.

Each article of clothing fall to the floor and you get in the position Eren wants you in. All of your delicate tight holes are displayed for his taking. He walks over and spreads your ass out some more to get a better view. You yelp when a hard slap hits your ass.

Without warning, he brings you closer to him by latching his hands onto your hips and his cock slips into your tight cunt. Your walls do their best to expand to his girth, but no amount of sex with Eren can get you prepared for that. Your pussy takes in inch-by-inch. His stamina and merciless rhythm is forcing you to be accepting of his cock. Your knees shake under the pressure and your hands tightly grip onto the covers below.

A hard slap to your ass exploits the moan you have his behind your lips. “I kept your throat intact for a reason. Use it.” Eren scolds before hitting your ass again. You whimper.

“Eren.” You mewl.

“Yeah, who is making you feel this good?” He teases as he continues his venomous thrust.

“You do.” You sob. Your pussy is beginning to become accustomed to Eren’s erection and he is hitting all the right spots. He always does.

“Can Jean make you feel this good?” He groans, his knees slowly buckling beneath him.

“Never.” You wail. Your weeping cunt confirmed this as well.

“Damn,” he pants, “straight.”

Cum leaked from Eren’s cock deep into your cunt. You let out little moans as you became stuffed with Eren’s seed. Though you did not like he was not using protection, you have no say in the matter. This is for his pleasure and your punishment. You just have to take it like the good little submissive girl he taught you to be.

You milked every single drop of Eren before you were granted permission to put on clothes. Your hands intertwined as he lead you to the door. There stood Jean, Armin, and Conny. They all looked horrified as well as you. Eren’s smug smirk never left his features.

“What the hell are you doing in my room, Eren?” Jean exclaims in furry.

“Handling business,” he wraps his arm around Jean’s shoulder and let’s go of your hand to pat his chest, “By the way, thanks for letting me fuck my girlfriend on your bed.”

©bakugosbratx

All Rights Reserved

[ericspinkhair]

wedding fun

pairing: dom!eric, dom!sunwoo x sub! reader (no gender specified but has a vagina)

word count: 2.7k

synopsis: it’s Changmin’s sister’s wedding and his younger sibling gets super drunk and loses their virginity to Eric and Sunwoo

a/n: please send in requests!

y/s/n = your sister’s name

pt. 2

masterlist + requests

Tears were welling up as you saw your beautiful sister walk down the aisle, holding onto your dad’s arm. She looked absolutely stunning with her dark hair in a fancy updo and the silver makeup shimmering on her face. Her eyelids were painted a lovely purple and the exact same color could also be found on all the bridesmaids’ dresses. After all, it was her favorite color.

Y/s/n took the hands of her very-soon-to-be-husband and looked him deep in the eyes. Everyone in the room could see the love these two had for each other. You were wondering whether you would ever be able to find this kind of love in your life. This far you had been unsuccessful and being alone scared you. But being an idol also made having a significant other very difficult so you love would not be an option for a long time.

Immersed in your own thoughts, you were taken by surprise when you heard “I do’’ already coming out of your sisters mouth.

“And do you, Kim Hanseob, take y/s/n as your beloved wife and promise to stay by her side until death do you part?’’ The room was filled with anticipation as everyone waited for him to answer. You swore to god if he didn’t say yes you’d haunt him down and make sure to kick him there where it really - “I do,” he said and before the priest could continue he had already cupped your sister’s face and planted a passionate kiss on her lips.

You could feel tears running down your cheeks and tried to wipe them away. Your eyes met your brother's, Changmin, who also appeared to be crying and he flashed you a big smile. You grinned back.

Then your gaze fell onto your fellow members who were applauding loudly and cheering. Both your and Changmin's group were invited to sing later. That's why Changmin was sitting with his ten friends/co-workers/members in the audience and, on top of that, six girls were waiting for you there as well. You stood up there in your purple dress near your sister as you had the honor of being the bridesmaid (ever since you were little you had made it very clear that that position would be yours and threatened your sister with various horrifying scenarios in case she chose someone else).

After everyone gave heartbreaking speeches, it was time to dance and get wasted. At least that was what seemed to be planned for you. During your sister’s speech, she told everyone to get you drunk. Apparently that was her biggest wish for the night and only after that could she truly be happily married. You had turned twenty not even two months ago (Korean age) and are now a legal adult who could do adult things like drinking. The first glass was handed to you by Changmin who would not answer what kind of liquor it was and maybe half an hour later you felt quite tipsy.

Y/s/n had requested you to sing ‘Always By Your Side’ (her favorite b-side of your group) so that’s what your group performed. After that The Boyz sang ‘Break Your Rules’ and, surprisingly, Changmin’s friend Sunwoo seemed to be the most into it. Maybe it was the alcohol but you couldn’t stop staring at his luscious lips and pretty smile. His positive energy spread like a virus and the corners of your mouth wouldn’t go down.

Just as you had finished your seventh glass, another one was held right in your face.

“Having fun?” Eric teased you as you took a couple of big sips and smiled contentedly. You had never realized how beautiful this man was. His sharp jawline and divinely carved nose seemed to catch your attention. Gosh, has he always been this attractive? Noticing the slight blush on your cheeks, Eric smirked at you.

You danced a little bit together and just jammed out to the music. You tried not to look at him in fear you might not be able to take your eyes off of him. You had always sworn that Changmin’s friends were off limits. Especially his members. But it wasn’t your fault that he had decided to look so damn fine in his suit today.

Suddenly someone tapped you on your shoulder and when you turned around you saw a fine as hell looking Sunwoo smiling brightly at you two. He was holding a tray with shots and handed them to you. Y’all linked arms and downed the liquor. Since you've had multiple glasses already, you didn’t even really feel the burn in your throat anymore.

You did silly dances like the floss or copied the point dance of ‘Shine’ by Pentagon. Then the music took a different direction and suddenly ‘Whiplash’ by NCT127 was blasting through the speakers. Now you had to adjust your dancing accordingly. Eric and Sunwoo came a lot closer and you could feel their breaths on your face and neck. Not really caring anymore you gave in and moved your body to the rhythm. One of the boys was grinding from the front and one from the back and you could feel something hard poking you from both sides. You ground your body on the two boys and were enjoying how their breathing became heavier and heavier.

Only as Sunwoo started placing wet kisses on your neck did you become aware of your surroundings again. You quickly looked around to see if anyone was staring but the rest seemed to be equally as drunk and immersed in their own stuff. Changmin was having a dance contest with one of your members and Kevin was twerking on the side.

You let out a moan as Eric sucked a hickey on your collar bone. Not wanting them to stop but also being kind of embarrassed at being in a public space, it took you all of your restraint to groan out a “we shouldn’t be doing this here.”

“Wanna go somewhere more private?” wasn’t necessarily the response you had expected. The suggestion had come from Eric who was now caressing your sides while coming dangerously close to your chest. At this point Sunwoo was humping your butt from behind. Your panties were soaked and you were rubbing your legs. Your whole body was screaming to say yes and leave with these two sexy men.

“I know a perfect place here where we can take good care of you. Do you want us to spoil you, baby? We can make you feel so good. You’ll be screaming our names all night. Do you want that?” Sunwoo whispered into your ear. At this proposition you nodded eagerly and the alcohol in your system made your head spin. The triumph was visible in Eric’s face and he took you by your hand and led you away.

As soon as the door to the hall closed, Sunwoo spun you around and crashed his lips onto yours. Your inexperience was overpowered by your intoxicated state of mind. The alcohol seemed to take over and your mouth and tongue moved on their own.

“As much as I would like to join you, we need to go quickly before someone sees us,” Eric urged you and you parted in dismay. The venue your sister had rented for the wedding was huge and you found yourself locked in a room on the fourth floor, far far away from the rest (most importantly from Changmin).

The beautiful purple dress was now lying somewhere in a corner (but you made sure they took it off carefully) and your bra was nowhere in sight. Pressed against the wall both of your nipples were being taken care of by the two boys. Someone was biting, someone was licking and it all felt like heaven. Sunwoo’s thigh in between your legs prevented you from rubbing your legs together but you still got a good amount of friction and rubbed yourself on his muscle.

“Who knew that y/n could be so horny? My leg is completely wet from your pussy.”

“Then take your pants off,” you contered, not knowing what exactly came over you. Sunwoo, as well as Eric, wasted no time in discarding their pants and underwear and left you staring at the two most beautiful dicks you had ever seen. And also the first ones. You didn’t move, not really knowing what to do. They must have noticed too as they each took your hand and led it to their cocks. They slowly guided your hands up and down their shafts. After a while they let go and you rubbed a bit quicker, enjoying the effect you had on them.

The logical next step was to suck so you knelt down. First, you let your tongue taste Sunwoo’s tip and he let out a heavy sigh. Feeling more confident, you started by licking up his shaft before wrapping your mouth around the head. It was big and tasted a bit salty but it felt so good knowing that you were bringing pleasure to this pretty boy.

“Baby, do you want to taste me too?” asked Eric and you switched. Now you were sucking Eric’s length and stroking Sunwoo. Eric let out small moans and grabbed your hair tightly. You looked up at him and admired his physique (you hadn’t noticed that they had taken off their shirts).

They took turns using your mouth and even started gently thrusting and you were a bit overwhelmed with how thick they were. Eric’s pumps were getting quicker but suddenly pulled out. Did you do something wrong?

“Fuck, y/n! You’re going to make me come already. We haven’t even shown you the real thing.” Sunwoo helped you stand up and then pulled your panties down. He picked you up and lay you down on the bed. Before you could register anything happening, you suddenly felt something very wet connecting with your heat. Sunwoo had licked a strip up your pussy. Your body arched as he sucked on your clit, the sensation feeling overwhelming.

“Look how sensitive y/n is. I wonder how our baby will react when we put our dicks inside.”

“I’m a virgin!” you suddenly blurt out. You weren’t sure why you told them but it probably wasn’t wrong to let them know.

“That’s okay, baby,” Eric responded while Sunwoo began fucking you with his tongue, “We’ll take good care of you.”

Sunwoo moved to the side and Eric took his place in between your thighs. He then planted a big kiss on your lips as he pushed one finger inside. The sensation felt a bit foreign. Of course you had fingered yourself before but having someone else do it was very different. Instead of going super fast like you had expected, he took his time. It was easy to adjust and soon you felt another finger at your entrance.

Your pussy took the second digit in as well but this time the discomfort was more noticeable. Apparently it was also visible on your face because Sunwoo began exchanging wet kisses with you and massaged your nipples as a distraction. He mumbled soft praises against your mouth, telling you how good you were being.

“I think y/n is ready,” Eric said after a while. You had been approaching your climax and felt a bit disappointed.

“You do have condoms, right?” you asked a bit panicked, remembering that you were not on the pill. Sunwoo stood up and picked out condoms from their pants. He held them up while smirking at you. Seems like they came prepared.

Once you felt more comfortable, you gave him a nod and he started moving. Sunwoo began very slowly but as you started showing signs of pleasure he increased his speed. He was placing hickeys all over your collarbone and neck and you were tugging at his hair. Out of the corner of your eyes you could see Eric watching you while stroking himself, patiently waiting for his turn. Slowly Sunwoo’s breaths and thrusts started becoming sloppier and then, while moaning out your name, he came hard in his condom.

Sunwoo rolled the condom over his hard penis and aligned himself at your entrance. He stroked your face.

“You have nothing to worry about. Try to relax.” You tried to give him a reassuring smile as if to tell him that you were going to be just fine. He kissed you deeply as he pushed in. The sensation felt overwhelming so you grabbed onto Sunwoo’s arms. He held still while trying to distract you with kisses.

He was trying to catch his breath but Eric left him no time and pushed him aside. Without any hesitation, he shoved his dick right into you and began pumping. He started with an already high speed so you felt quite a strong sensation from the start. He held you by your hips and kept a fast pace. Your eyes were rolling back in pleasure as he was fucking you hard. It didn’t hurt, it was like waves of pleasure were running over you. Since he had already jerked off when Sunwoo had had his turn, he didn’t last as long as the other boy did.

“Can I come on you?” he asked you as he picked up the speed even more. Barely being able to respond you slightly nodded and he suddenly pulled out. He took off the condom, stroked his throbbing length a few times and then shot his load all over your body. Some landed on your belly, some on your tits and some even on your face. Eric let out stuttering groans as he unloaded his cum onto you. Thinking you were done, you tried to get up but was quickly pushed back down onto the mattress.

“You didn’t come yet,” Eric stated matter-of-factly. He lowered his face to your heat and started lapping. You felt very sensitive and gasped in surprise when you felt Sunwoo playing with your clit. Damn, these boys definitely knew what they were doing. Like this, you came closer and closer to your high. At this point you were sure that you were screaming a lot but didn’t know whether anyone could comprehend your words. Feeling that you were almost there, Sunwoo and Eric picked up their pace and, not long after, your eyes rolled back into your head and darkness took over.

Your orgasm was very intense and wet. After your body had finished, you felt very weak and exhausted but satisfied. Not really being able to open your eyes again you just lay there. You barely noticed the boys cleaning you up before sleep overtook you.

You woke up feeling extremely sore in between your legs. Opening your eyes was tough but when you did you wished you hadn’t. You couldn’t believe what you were seeing. First of all, you were completely naked and so were the two boys next to you. Even worse was that these were your brother’s members, the only people you had sworn to avoid any romantic (let alone sexual) contact with. Your head was also hurting and you felt like throwing up. So this is what alcohol did to you.

Sunwoo and Eric seemed to be still sleeping so you just quickly dressed yourself and ran out of the room. How do you even deal with this kind of situation? Now you had to avoid Sunwoo and Eric for the rest of your life and also had to keep a big secret from Changmin. If he ever found out you’d be dead but what would happen to the two guys who had fucked you seemed to be an even worse fate. You felt kind of dirty having been used by two men but at the same time it had felt so good. You even came and that amount of pleasure was something you had never felt before. Sadly, this kind of scenario could only ever happen again in your dreams.

[catxsnow]

BACK TO YOU W.W.

Request: Could I be so bold to request a Wally fic? Where he comes back after his "death" (lets be real we all know he is not dead) and Y/N reacts to it? Could it be fluff, angst, a little of both, that's up to you.

P.s. I love you 😊😊

Warning: angst, mentions of death (wallace), fluff

A/N: hello, good evening, I’m tired as fuck. 

I’ve been thinking about a taglist lately so if there’s interest I’ll start one. I always suffer when I make it for some reason but if the people are interested I will suffer for y’all. 

Word count: 2.3k 

Wally coming back from the dead seemed surreal.

The hope you had for his return never diminished, even if those around you gave up long ago. Wally wasn't dead, he was never dead - he was just stuck in a place that no one could save him. Not Barry, not Bart, Not even Jay. Wally was the only one that could save himself and he had done it.

Broken, battered, and barely breathing he had made it out of the Speed Force. He had made it back to you. It put everyone into shock to see him collapsed in the middle of the team's headquarters. His suit was barely hanging to his body, eyes sunken in with exhaustion. He barely looked alive.

It took weeks to get him nourished back to health. Weeks of him being in a coma, wondering how the hell he managed to get back home. Sleeping at his bedside every night because you were scared this wasn't real or that he would be taken from you again. Long nights of crying because even if he was back, was he even going to wake up?

By the time that he was back up on his feet and running around again, every single league member had come to see him. Those who gave up on him, those who never lost hope, even those who never knew him.

Wally West was back.

Unfortunately, it seemed that a lot of him was still missing. His smile that once never left his face hadn't resurfaced once. The laugh that you remembered so clearly that got you through so many hard days vanished. The light in his eyes when he was running or saving lives was dull. He wasn't the same man you knew.

He teetered around you like a stranger even though every night he told you how grand his love for you was. You noticed him bumping into furniture that had moved from his time away or looking at pictures of people he didn't know with tears in his eyes. He stood by the window, watching for nearly an hour, just staring into the void every other day.

Wally wasn't all back from the Speed Force. He had lost a part of himself in there that he could never get back. Dick tried to fill in the gap of time that he missed, catching him up on everything that he missed but the moment that he came back to you he seemed more zoned out than ever. M'gann excitedly told him about her engagement with Conner, Kaldur with his new position in the league.

Everyone tried to make him feel right back at home, but no matter how hard they tried it would never be the same. Wally lost that time, and he was never going to get it back. He could never make it up to his friends for missing so many important moments in their lives or the grief that he put them through.

No matter how fast he ran, how many hours he stayed up wondering if things would have been different that day, none of that would change the fact that he had been missing for five years. Guilt plagued him, fear of being stuck back in there, he was in a constant state of terror because it was so damn easy for him to be lost the first time.

Nightmares woke him up every night. Sometimes he would lay there staring at the ceiling for hours without you knowing, other times his screams would echo in your room and wake you. Tears streaming down his face, clinging to you like his lifeline. Horrible dreams filled his mind of being pulled back there - or seeing his friends taken instead.

Those moments were the only time that it seemed Wally was willing to open up to you. It was the only time that he treated you like a lover rather than a stranger. Only when he was most vulnerable did it feel like he was truly back home, safe and sound with you. Whatever was holding him back from being open to you, it broke your heart.

Wally was always the one that you could go to when you had your issues and now that you couldn't do the same for him... it was hard to accept. You didn't want to push him into relieving his memories where he was stuck or asking the wrong questions to get him upset. Saying nothing at all didn't seem to be working either.

Dick noticed it, Barry, Artemis, even Garfield was worried. No one knew what was going on inside that head of his and he refused to go to Dinah - or anyone - for help. Everyone was worried.

You told them of the times that you woke up to him vibrating the entire bed, still asleep and a pained look on his face. Or the time that he would be perfectly fine before suddenly speeding around the house like he had no control over his body. Wally had become unstable with his speed - and maybe his health too.

"Love you, baby," Wally mumbled out.

He had gotten back from his hangout with Dick to find you sprawled out on the couch. Whatever they had done must have put him in a good mood. The moment that he saw you, he sped over and practically dived into you. His arms kept him hovering over you so he could lean down and kiss you properly - something that he always seemed to avoid since being back.

He found himself cuddled into your chest, arms snaked around you. For the first time since his return, you saw a genuine smile on his face. It was a sleepy, half-smile, but nonetheless, you were excited to see it. His eyes drooped closed the second you started massaging his scalp. He hummed with content as you eased the tension that had been piling up.

Half asleep, shoulders loose after weeks of being tensed at every moment. His heavy breathing was audible and you could feel the warmth of it against your skin. It had been years since you had seen him relaxed like this and it quickly brought tears to your eyes. Wally had been through so much, he deserved happiness, he deserved to have peace in his life.

"I love you Wally, always," you whispered. Silent tears spilled down your eyes - you wanted him to find his joy again, no matter the cost. "I never gave up on you, my love. I knew you'd find your way back home. Fuck-" your voice cracked, "I was so lost without you. Having you back in my arms like this was the only thing keeping me going.

"You mean everything to me, Wally. I know that you did what you did to save the world but..." you sighed. It was impossible to say that you wished that he hadn't done it - or that someone else should have taken his place. "I'm so relieved that you're safe now. I know you've been going through a hard time, and I've been trying my best not to push you - but if you need anything you know I'm here."

You waited for him to say something - anything. Wally was struggling to open up to you but seeing him in a good mood like this may have been the best opportunity to get him to say what was on his mind. Unfortunately, his silence made you worried.

It wasn't until the sounds of a soft snore did you realize that he had fallen asleep on you. His body had become completely dead weight, arms no longer tense around you. The security he felt being with you had lulled him to deep sleep in a matter of minutes. Although you weren't in a comfortable position, seeing him at peace was well worth it.

><

"He's getting better."

It had been months since Wally had been home. The process of getting him back to his mental state before entering the Speed Force for years was going to take a long time - but he was well on his way. Being with friends, family - finally admitting that he needed to see someone to talk through all this - dramatically helped.

The original team decided to put together a little surprise birthday for Wally. He said he didn't want anything - but they had several year's worth of get-togethers to make up for. So, you and Dick plotted together to throw something, just with his closest friends. Nothing overwhelming.

Although he originally complained about the gesture, he quickly found himself appreciating the effort that had been put into that evening. The food, the people, he forgot how much these moments meant to him. Seeing the smiles on everyone's faces again, that was the best gift he could have asked for.

He stood on the other side of the room with Conner and Dick - all three of the men were laughing their heads off about something. Artemis stood by your side, watching the three of them just as you were. She handed over one of the drinks in her hand to you. Everyone in the room had been deep in conversation with someone - besides you. She noticed.

"He is," you agreed with her.

"Why're you by yourself?" She got straight to the point. Artemis didn't bother with the small talk or sugarcoating her question. She waited for your answer, watching as your gaze turned from Wally, to the now interesting cement beneath your feet. "(Y/N)."

"Everyone's helped Wally so much and I can't help but feel like... Like I haven't done enough. Wally was always the person that I could lean on and now that I'm the one that has to be strong for him, it just feels like there's more that I could have done to help him. I never had the same bond that you all had with him being on the team and risking your lives, I don't know what it's like enough to help him through this trauma.

"Wally deserves the world and a lot of the time I feel like I can't give it to him. I'm not a hero, I don't have powers, I'm just... normal. Maybe that's not enough for someone who can save the world before I even finish breakfast," Your fists tightened at your sides as the heavy realization that had been clouding your mind was revealed.

It was clear that you were the odd man out in the room. Everyone there had risked their lives to saved the world and what had you done? Wait anxiously at home for your friends to return? Grieve at the losses that you couldn't have changed? There was nothing that you could do in the hero-life besides sitting on the sidelines.

"You do a lot more than you make yourself believe, (Y/N)," Artemis placed her hand on your shoulder. She glanced over at your boyfriend, wondering how different it would have been if they ended up together instead. Wally would have been unhappy, he loved you from the beginning.

"Wally can't stop talking about the support you give him. He wouldn't be where he is today without you. Men are stubborn - especially speedster men - they won't always admit how much they need someone. He gets this look on his face when he's talking about you like you're the whole reason for his existence. Don't put yourself down for not being stuck in a hero life we are - your love for him is the only power he needs."

"Thank you, Artemis," you forced a smile at her.  Although you didn't believe her words at the moment she was right. Your love for Wally was the most important thing that you could ever give him, and that was going to have to be enough for now. Every ounce of your love went to making him happy.

Before she could say anything else, a familiar breeze washed over you both. Wally was suddenly standing right in front of you - and as if Artemis wasn't even there, brought you in for a deep kiss. His lips molded to yours, hand pressed to the small of your back to keep you close.

"I love you, (Y/N)," Wally barely pulled his lips from you. Conner had heard everything that you were saying to Artemis, and although he felt as if it wasn't his place to tell, Wally needed to know. A need to be with you, to assure you that you had done more than enough to get him to where he was, filled him.

"Across every galaxy, every universe, the Speed Force, no matter where I will always find my way back to you. I'll love you through everything," Wally pecked you once more. "Thank you for never giving up on me, babe."

"I'll never give up on you, Wally West. Not even the Speed Force can keep us apart," you grinned.

"Get a room already," Artemis complained. You had forgotten that she was still standing with you. It wasn't just her - the entire room was staring at the both of you. Smiles on their face at how happy Wally was with you. His little move had caught the attention of everyone and he just adored it.

Wally laughed at her comment. He swooped you up in his arms and sent a wink your way. He was already gearing up to speed you both out of there before saying his last bit to Artemis - and everyone else in the room.

"Don't have to tell me twice."

[imaginesntingz]

Haikyuu Headcannons: When they’re obsessed with your 🍑 (Oikawa Tooru, Ukai Keishin, Kozume Kenma)

Warnings: Swearing, not super explicit/nsfw, but suggestive content so I’ll put it below the cut just in case

A/N: What’s good everyone? Here’s something that I’ve stayed up way too late working on. It’s 5 in the morning and I’ve forgotten my own name. Let me know if y’all want a continuation with other characters. They all ended up being setters in this one so I just went with it I guess. All characters are aged up and 18+. I hope you enjoy! Please don’t copy any of my writings. My content is originally written and I put a lot of time and effort into each piece. Ask me before reposting.

Oikawa Tooru:

Of course he’s respectful when you’re in public, but that doesn’t mean he hasn’t noticed the way that new skirt he bought you last week accentuates your ass in justtt the right way.

You’ve caught him staring a few times and he always plays innocent like the sly little shit that he is.

You called him out once, but you know your mans is dramatic

“You wound me, (y/n) chan! What kind of a man do you take me for? I’m a gentleman! Honestly it’s not all that impressive anyways”

“Sounds like someone’s projecting”

“(Y/N), YOU TAKE THAT BACK RIGHT NOW!”

“You blatantly asked for the smoke, so I kindly obliged~”

“I was just kidding, baby! Why’d you have to come for me like that? 😭😭😭😭”

You had one brattykawa on your hands after that one. Dats tough

Anywhooo

Once you two are alone OOF. This. Bitch. Is. SHAMELESS.

He can’t keep his hands off of you. Doesn’t matter the size or shape

Your ass = Tooru magnet

He could pick you out in a crowd of people based on that booty alone

You’ll be cuddling on the couch, you're on top with your head on his chest just watching a movie and enjoying each other’s presence. Then BAM he’s got both cheeks in each hand, squeezing and kneading firmly

“Neee, (y/n) chan~ You’re so soft, baby girl~ How is that even allowed? Damn you’re so gorgeous, princess”

You: Head Empty

You're bent over the kitchen island scrolling through your phone? This mans is playing patty cake on your buns. Those setter hands are dangerously powerful. Of course he knows how to restrain himself as to not hurt you but whew some of those spanks leave you deliciously breathless and your little gasps are like music to his ears… which usually leads to other tingzzzzz and Tooru teasing you for walking funny the next day

Could his ego get any bigger? I don’t know if we’d survive it

Wearing his favorite pair of leggings or those cute pajama shorts? It’s on sight. You’re trapped beneath this painfully beautiful brat of a man and you wouldn’t have it any other way

And lawwdd if you know how to twerk. He might just faint on the spot

RIP Oikawa it was for a good cause

Ukai Keishin:

Oh boy

Keishin gives me serious ass man vibes. Idk what it is

He worships you in every way possible, but that ass holds a special place in this cranky man’s heart

After a long day of working with crops, managing the store and volleyball practice, this man is tired and grumpy. Hinata somehow managed to almost meet his eternal rest when he was nearly hit by a TRUCK and a CAR and a BIKE and a STATIONARY POLE trying to outdo Kageyama while racing in the neighborhood. He swears those kids have taken at least ten years off his life span.

This man is v stressed

So when he comes home to find you reading in bed on your stomach in nothing but his t-shirt and those sexy panties that show off that beautiful bum… Honestly he could’ve cried he was so geeked.

He teared up a bit ngl (He’d never admit it tho)

This guy swan dived into bed, wrapping his arms around your waist, nuzzling his face into your glorious cakes

“Bad day, hon?”

“Mmmphh”

He took a fat nap right then and there

He was so bitchy and whiny when you woke him up to change sleeping positions (as long as you let him slip a hand on a cheek when you got comfortable, he’s a happy camper)

He just loves feeling the warmth and weight of it in his hands, it’s comforting to him and feels super grounding idk

But boy oh boy does this man love to give it a good smack or two or ten

Watch out bb 😈

He’ll spank you anywhere anytime, but he’s real sneaky about it in public….until he’s not LOL. It just depends on the environment and who is around

Like Oikawa, the strength in those setter hands will have you shOOk to the core especially a seasoned one like Kei

One time you were doing your morning stretches, slipping into downward dog and HO. NEY. Keishin was already pulling you flush against his pelvis and smacking that 🍑 like a djembe drum until tears pricked your eyes. Your whole body was vibrating with desire it was WILD

“Ohhhh, sweetheart. You are a work of fucking art, you know that? You’re not going anywhere today. That��s a promise.”

And that’s how you ended up with twins. Not sorry.

10/10 would recommend

Kozume Kenma:

Listen Linda

It took a while for you to notice

But Kenma is truly OBSESSED with the booty

It took him a while to even admit it to himself tbh

He would look away immediately when he caught himself staring

And he may have appeared chill on the surface but blondie was internally screaming as you literally sat on top of him while he was gaming

He was so hesitant poor bb was overthinking it so hard. He just didn’t want you to feel uncomfortable or think he was weird etc etc

It was confirmed to you when you started waking up in the middle of the night to a fully unconscious Kenma giving your ass subtle squeezes in his sleep

You’ll literally have to sit this man down and be super direct about it

Once you give him the go ahead chillle it’s on and poppin

Only when y’all are alone of course cuz as we know, Kenma is v shy and a very private person

He’s not the pda type in general

Again, he loves it when you sit on top of him when he’s playing video games. Especially when you straddle him. His hand does this smooth slide down your back that sends shivers down your spine before settling over the swell of your butt. He’ll give the occasional rub and caresses your thigh softly. Another muse of his. Kenma LIVES for your thighs. Would happily be suffocated by them. Whoops. Squeeze them around his waist or grind into his lap and you’ll be on your back faster than you can say yes please

When you’re cuddling, he’ll just start jiggling that cake in his hands. He finds it fascinating, soothing and unbelievably hot all at once. The perfect combination in his opinion.

“ . . . Kenma?”

“Hm?”

“Watcha doin back there?”

*continues in concentrated silence*

“Babe??”

“. . . You’re like a sexy human stress ball . . So soft . . So cute . . So squishy . .”

“Ummmkay?”

My mans is hypnotized. He would do that shit for hours if you let him let’s be real. That thang is thangin

He would buy you ALL of the jeans, leggings, shorts, dresses, hoodies, crops, shirts, skirts. Everything and anything that fits your body type in all the right places, Kenma is on it and good lord is he invested. He absolutely spoils you. Blondie bae is surprisingly good at keeping your style in mind while also pushing you to try new things that end up making you look stunning. Big ups

The only time Kenma has spanked you was in retaliation. You wanted to see his reaction to being spanked. So once when he was distracted by his switch, you slowly walked up behind him and SMACK

Kenma nearly dropped the damn switch 😤 You’ve never seen this boi whip his whole body around and bend you over so fast

Two swift yet heavy blows to your backside had you rethinking your whole life. Everything about that moment lives in your head rent free

[queenxxxsupreme]

A Soft Heart, A Sweet Soul

A/N: Honestly couldn’t tell you where this came from. It started off as an idea of Kieran coming to Arthur and reader for advice on how to talk to Mary-Beth because I absolutely adore Kieran and Mary-Beth but then it ended up turning into some camp shenanigans and well.... this happened??? This takes place at Horseshoe Overlook.

Warnings: none, this is pure fluff and camp shenanigans

Word Count: 2.3k

Summary: Kieran comes to you and Arthur for dating advice. 

**gif isnt mine**

“What’re ya workin’ on?” 

You tore your eyes away from the article of clothing in your hands to watch Arthur. He pulled up a chair just across from you and took out a cigarette.

“Just patching up some clothes. A fella I know likes to go around gettin’ into bar fights and scraps with a whole bunch of wild animals. He’s too hard on his clothes.”

He grunted as he lit the cigarette and leaned back in his seat. 

“I ain’t that hard on clothes.”

“I have to patch somethin’ of yours every other day.” You teased, a grin coming to your lips. 

He swatted a hand playfully at you, shaking his head. 

“I don’t believe it.”

“What’s this from, Arthur?” You held the shirt you were currently working on up to show him the hole in the front of the shirt. 

“That one wasn’t even my fault.” Arthur paused for a moment to look around camp, searching for someone. His eyes landed on Charles, who was brushing down Taima at the hitching posts. “That man over there started a fight in Valentine! Didn’t ya, Charles?”

“Charles would do no such thing.” You looked over at Charles, who wore a faint grin but didn’t look in your direction. “You didn’t start that fight, did you?”

“I didn’t start it, but I did finish it.”

“See, Arthur? He’s too nice.”

“Nice my ass.” Arthur muttered with the cigarette between his lips. “Anyways, the fella I was fightin’ tried to stab me but he wasn’t too good with a knife. Only caught the shirt.”

“Alright, alright. I’ll let that one pass since you did a terrible job at blaming Charles for causing it.” You nodded softly, biting your bottom lip to try to hide a grin. 

“Them pants that you have over your lap have a busted out knee.”

“Yeah, I noticed when I was tryin’ to wash them. What did you do?”

“I, uh, I tripped.” Arthur tried to cough to hide what he was saying but just as he spoke Javier was passing by behind him. 

“You what?”

“Shut up, Javier. This don’t involve you.” Arthur waved Javier off but Javier wasn’t giving up so easily. 

“No, no, it does now.” He put one hand on the back of Arthur’s chair. “What happened, Arthur?”

Arthur grunted and pinched the bridge of his nose. 

“I tripped goin’ down a hill when I was out.” He shook his head, holding the cigarette between his index and middle finger. “The hills over there in the Grizzlies East are steep. Hosea had me out huntin’ and didn’t warn me that it was so steep. And the rocks were loose under my boots and it all happened so fast-,”

“Poor baby.” You frowned, trying your best to not laugh. Javier didn’t shy away from laughing at him though as he moved away from you, throwing his head back and holding his stomach. The other few people around you, including Charles, Karen, and Hosea, also laughed. 

“Yeah, yeah.” Arthur took a drag from the cigarette. “Laugh at me and my clumsiness.”

You reached over to pat his knee

A comfortable silence seemed to fall over camp. It was rare and peaceful. It was one of those evenings where little was happening. The sun was going down behind the trees and many of the lamps around camp were starting to be turned on. 

Arthur was home before dark for once, which you were thankful for. You rarely got to spend time with him before it was time for bed. It was nice to be able to sit with him, even if you had little chores to do while you sat there. 

“Thank you for doin’ that for me, pumpkin.” Arthur spoke, keeping his voice low so only you could hear him. He leaned forward in his chair, flicking his cigarette down onto the ground and then stepping on to it. Then he moved his chair a little closer to you so that if he wanted to, he could lean forward and kiss you.

“You’re very welcome, darlin’. You know it’s my pleasure.” You flashed him a smile. “I always love hearin’ all these stories about how you tear up your clothes on your adventures. It’s very amusing knowin’ you’re just like a giant clumsy toddler.”

“Are you gonna give me a hard time all night?” He raised a brow at you, a teasing glint flashing in his brilliant blue eyes.

“Oh, you know that’s my favorite thing to do.” You looked down at the shirt to watch where you were pushing the needle through. “If I didn’t give you a hard time, who else would?”

“There’s plenty of people to give me a hard time ‘round here.”

Movement out of the corner of his eye caught Arthur’s attention. He turned his head to see Kieran making his way towards you two. Arthur let out a small sigh and leaned back in his chair, a little irritated that the peaceful moment between you and him had been interrupted. 

“M’sorry to-to bother you, Mr. Morgan, Ms. Y/L/N. I-I just wanna talk to you for-for a minute, Arthur.” Kieran stopped a few feet away from your chairs.

“Me?” Arthur raised his brows, eyes widening slightly. “Why? You got somethin’ planned, O’Driscoll?”

“Arthur!” You scolded him, reaching over and smacking his arm. 

“Ow!”

“I-I’m sorry to bother y’all.” Kieran turned to walk away, shaking his head.

“Kieran, don’t let Arthur’s bad manners scare you away.” You glared at Arthur before bringing your attention to Kieran. “Is it something I could help you with?” 

Arthur ran a hand over his face, knowing very well you’d get after him later for his behavior. 

Kieran didn’t say anything at first. He nervously messed with his hands and looked off to the side. 

You followed his gaze, eyes landing on Mary-Beth. 

“I-I just…. M’not too sure how to, uh, to talk to her, is all.” He spoke quietly. He looked back to you. “I thought maybe since y’all seem like such a nice couple that you might have some good advice you could give. I just don’t-don’t wanna mess nothin’ up.”

“Oh, that’s sweet of you, Kieran.” You smiled, then gestured to the empty chair sitting across the table from you. “Have a seat with us.”

Arthur opened his mouthed to object but decided at the last minute to not say anything about Kieran joining you both at the table. 

“Just ‘cause we seem like a nice couple, don’t mean we are.” Arthur shook his head, motioning to you with his thumb. “She’s meaner than hell.”

“I’m the one sewing the holes you leave behind in your clothes, Mr. Morgan.” You reminded him, a little smirk tugging at the corners of your lips. “Once they’re patched up, I’ll sell your clothes in Valentine. Make a decent penny, and buy myself something nice.” 

“That’s a damn good idea.” Arthur chuckled, rubbing his scruffy jaw.

“Now shut up and listen so we can help the kid out.” You put the clothes in your lap on to the table so you could give Kieran your full attention. “Have you tried talking to her at all yet, Kieran?”

Just as Kieran was about to answer, Sean came over to the table. 

“Why do you lot look so dead? Swear there’s more life in a cemetery.”

Your eyes met Arthur’s and he let out a sigh, knowing he’d have to be the one to make the sacrifice and draw Sean away.

“Hey, Sean?” He stood to his feet. “Come with me a second, buddy.” 

“Sure thing, Arthur!”

“Have you tried talking to her, Kieran?” You repeated your question.

“Yeah, a little.” He rubbed the back of his neck. “But it seems…. It-It just don’t feel like it’s goin’ nowhere. It feels like I-Ikeep messin’ up. I just don’t know what to say and-and it’s hard talkin’ to pretty girls. I-I get all nervous and stumble all over my words.”

“Just remember that she’s a person too. It’s okay to be nervous and to mess up with your words. She’s a really sweet girl, Kieran. She won’t think anything of it as long as you’re nice.”

“You think so?”

You nodded your head.

“You should’ve seen Arthur when he and I first started talking.” Your eyes found Arthur. He’d taken Sean across camp and distracted him with something. “He’s not the big brute he likes to make everyone think he is. He’s a sweet man with a big heart. The first time he ever took me out somewhere, he spilt whiskey all over me.”

“Did he really?” Kieran chuckled. “And-And you still talked to him after that?”

“Of course I did. It was an accident. He’s never done anything to hurt me.” You brought your attention back to Kieran. “You’re a good kid, Kieran. All of us here can see that. I’m positive Mary-Beth can see it too.”

“I hope so.” Kieran turned his head to look in her direction. “She’s really nice, Y/N.”

“She is a sweet girl.” You agreed.

“Thank you for talkin’ with me, Y/N.”

“Anytime, Kieran.” You gave him a smile and watched him leave. 

You went back to working on Arthur’s clothes. A little while later, Arthur returned to his seat. 

“That kid needs an off button.” He muttered, glancing over to Sean. “How did talkin’ with Kieran go?”

“Good.” You looked up at Arthur through your lashes. “I told him about how you spilt whiskey on me that time you took me to that dusty old saloon in Montana.”

Arthur groaned.

“Now why would you do that?”

“Because it made him feel better about being so nervous around Mary-Beth.”

Arthur fell silent for a few moments, his eyes finding Kieran and Mary-Beth. The two were sitting near each other chatting quietly. You looked over your shoulder to see what he was looking at. 

“You think they’d be good together? You don’t think he’d….?”

“You’ve got to stop calling him an O’Driscoll, Arthur.” You looked at Arthur then back down to his clothes. “He’s one of us. He saved your life, you know.”

“I know.” Arthur let out a heavy breath. “Just…. Just don’t like it.”

“He’s not like them.” You finished the last stitch on the shirt and tied it off. “You can see it in his eyes, and in the way he interacts with everyone around here. He’s sweet. He just didn’t have the right start at life. Didn’t have the right people around him.”

“Sounds like you’re gettin’ soft on him.”

You rolled your eyes and threw the shirt at Arthur, hitting him in the face with it. 

“You can be such a horse’s ass sometimes, Arthur Morgan.” You stood up and started to move away from the table but Arthur’s hand caught your wrist. 

“I’m just teasin’ you, Y/N.” He put the shirt on the table and then tugged you over to stand between his knees. “Just don’t understand why you’re so keen on helpin’ him. You’re never this nice.”

“I am a very nice person.” You looked down at him, bringing your hands up to cup either side of his face. Your thumb brushed along his cheekbones. 

On his right cheek, there was a faint white line that cut just an inch or so beneath his eye. You focused on that for a few moments. 

“I know a fella that a lot of people think is hard and mean.” You whispered. “Many people wouldn’t think that he likes it when I brush my fingers through his hair at night. Or that when he can’t sleep, he likes to put his head in my lap and listen to me read.”

You were thankful that the sun had finally gone down all the way and that most of the gang was gathered around two of the fires on the other side of camp. They wouldn’t be able to interrupt or witness your moment with Arthur, who very rarely liked any sort of public displays of affection. The ones who did witness it were Mrs. Grimshaw, who had been doing her mother hen rounds to check and make sure everything was in line, and John, who was keeping patrol just outside of camp. Grimshaw pretended to not see anything as she kept walking, humming to herself with a cigarette between her fingers. John smiled a little. It made him happy that someone made Arthur so soft. 

“Who is this fella?” Arthur asked, his voice low and a little raspy. His eyes shut for a moment as you leaned forward to kiss his brow. He settled his hands around your hips, just holding you where you stood between his legs. “Might have to fight him.”

“Silly man.” You giggled softly, running your fingers back through his hair. “I’m a good judge of character, Arthur. Have a little faith in me.”

You started to step away from him. As your touch left him, his hand found yours and he stood up so he could pull you into his arms. 

“I have faith in you. It’s the O’Driscoll I don’t trust.” 

“I’m gonna start keeping count of every time you call him that and there’s gonna be consequences.” You squeezed Arthur’s fingers. 

“What kinda consequences?” A grin tugged at the corner of his lips. 

“Ones you won’t like.” You pulled your hand from his and looked around camp. 

Mary-Beth was sitting on her bedroll reading by a lamp. Kieran was brushing down his horse just outside of camp. 

“I’m not saying you have to be friends with him, Arthur.” You turned your attention to him as he stood from his chair. “Just stop callin’ him an O’Driscoll.”

He let out a rather exaggerated sigh and ran a hand over his face.

“If it makes you happy-,”

“It would make me very happy.” 

Arthur narrowed his eyes at you. You innocently smiled. 

“You drive me crazy, woman.” He put his arm around you and started to guide you towards your shared tent. 

“You know you wouldn’t want it any other way.”

“Of course not.” He kissed your cheek. “I like the crazy.”

“Did Charles really start that fight in Valentine?”

Taglist: @winterwolf @doggone-cowgirl

If you’d like to be on my taglist, please go here! If your name is in italics, it wouldn’t let me tag you :(

[darkficsyouneveraskedfor]

Looking For A Place to Happen 6

Warnings: non-consent sex and rape (series), age gap, general stupidity, some violence and threats, drunkenness, some content not warned.

This is dark!biker!Sam Wilson x reader and explicit. 18+ only.  Your media consumption is your own responsibility. Warnings have been given. DO NOT PROCEED if these matters upset you.

Series Synopsis: There’s lots happening in Birch and you find it all too amusing.

Sister series to Smalltown Bringdown, When the Weight Comes Down, Little Bones, and Fully Completely

Note: The second last chapter of Sam for y’all! 

Thanks to everyone for their patience and feedback. :)

I really hope you enjoy. 💋

<3 Let me know what you think with a like or reblog or reply or an ask! Love ya!

Chapter 6: Making stops along the way

💀💀💀

You laid on your side and hugged the covers as the bed shifted beside you. Sweaty, sore, exhausted, and the sun was only just dimming beyond the window. Sam’s broad back tensed as he sat up and stretched his arms above him. You could still feel him inside you, not that any reprise lasted long.

He said nothing as you heard the knock again. You barely noticed before but the pounding got louder as Sam pulled on grey jogging pants and chuckled. You groaned and hid your face against the duvet. Every move sent a thrumming pain through you, and agonized emptiness you resented.

Your knee hit the toy as it rolled against you and you flinched. Sometimes you couldn’t tell if it was him or the silicone stretching you. How had it only been a few hours? It felt like you’d been there for days.

“Damn it,” the voice grumbled from the other room, low and muffled by the wall, “I told you I was coming by.”

You recognized it from that fateful night at The Asp; deep and sinister. As brief as your encounter with the man, you could guess he was rarely anything but irritable.

“Calm down,” Sam replied lightly, “I got other things to do…”

“You got business,” Bucky retorted.

“Money’s in the bag,” you heard a soft rustle and a harrumph.

“Should’ve brought it direct,” Bucky complained.

“I’ve been taking care of your other problem,” Sam countered smoothly as you heard heavy footsteps move around the front room.

“I see that,” Bucky mused, his voice clearer, closer.

You lifted your head and quickly hid your bare leg and ass under the blanket. He chuckled as Sam neared and crossed his arms over his thick chest.

“She knows the rules now,” Sam said, “got it all under control.”

“Mmm,” Bucky lifted his chin and turned to Sam, “yeah, yeah, well… my girl…”

“Nice woman… stubborn like you,” Sam remarked.

“Stubborn’s a word for it. She’s, uh, concerned,” he said carefully, “about the girl. Says she’s young--”

“Not deaf either,” you sat up as you clung to the duvet.

He squinted at you and you flinched. Sam glanced at you and tapped a finger against his lips for you to be quiet.

“You know Steve’s girl is having that little thing at the bar. Her birthday or some shit.”

“Steve won’t shut up about it,” Sam rolled his eyes.

“He’s sweet on her. Too sweet.” Bucky sniffed, “Anyway, bring the girl, need mine to stop worrying.”

“Ah, sure, when was it again?”

“Tomorrow,” Bucky jutted his jaw out, “actually…” he peeked over at you as he thought, “take her by my lady’s place. The girls will be there getting all dolled up.”

“I’m busy--” you began and Bucky snapped his fingers at you.

“You said she knew the rules,” he pointed at Sam, “maybe you should remind her before I have to see her again.”

He turned and you saw his leather jacket as he stomped away, seizing a leather bag from the coffee table as he passed. The door slammed in his stead and Sam leaned against the wooden frame to look at you. He shook his head and sighed.

“Don’t know what it is about that man and women,” he gave a smirk, “but y’all sure do like to take the piss out of him.”

💀

It was easy enough to find any house in Birch, there were only so many. As you were realising too late, this was detrimental, not just to you but many in the thrall of the club’s clutches. There was no place to hide from those men and their cruelty.

He handed you your phone back before he let you go. He warned that you better use it wisely. He would meet you at the bar later; you were to make your way over with the group of women you didn’t know.

You neared the front door of the yellow house and knocked. You waited nervously, the cold air slipping in under your long jacket. A woman opened the door and you wondered if you were at the wrong place. Typical. You could even get lost in Birch.

“Oh, you must be the last,” she chimed, “I’m Mel.”

You smiled and awkwardly gave your name. She beckoned you inside and you added your boots and coat to those already by the door. You dressed for the occasion, Sam approved of the outfit with a growl after advising you to wear something slutty. You hadn’t worn the tight leather leggings and the strappy crop top since your club days in your two years of community college.

Mel looked you over but made no remark on your attire as she pointed up the stairs, “to the left, you’ll hear them.”

You ascended and the low hum of 90s music and female voices reached you from the slightly open door just down the hall. You neared and knocked as you waited tentatively. You knew Bucky’s girl from the bar but never had the chance to talk to her. You never did well with strangers, always the weird one, the funny one.

“Hey,” Bucky’s girl swung open the door, “just in time.”

“Um, hi,” you stepped into the small bedroom, “I brought tequila.”

You held up the bottle as you peered around. The mechanic was on the bed, her brows arched sardonically as she watched the quiet baker girl that sat at the slim desk and checked her appearance in a hand mirror. She hovered a stick of eyeliner in front of her face but never made contact with her skin as she bared her teeth. You put the bottle down on the corner of the dresser.

“I don’t know how to do this,” she wisped but quieted at her name as Bucky’s girl introduced them, “oh, hi.”

You smiled and stared quietly. You chuckled nervously and rung your hands. “Did you need help? I’ve watched some, um, Youtube stuff on it--”

“Sure,” she lowered the mirror in defeat, “I just don’t wanna mess it up.”

“That’s a lame present,” the mechanic said, “make-up? When you don’t even use it? I always knew Steve was a bitch--”

“At least he got me something,” she handed over the stick of liner as you neared and Bucky’s girl pushed a cushioned chest up from the corner for you to sit, “my pa never did.”

“Just because he’s less of an ass than your pa doesn’t mean he’s not an ass,” the mechanic spat as she pulled at the front of her stiff dress, black with little gems set into the fabric.

“Oh, and look at you, wearing that clown suit,” Bucky’s girl intoned, “we’re all in the same boat.”

“What kinda look you going for?” you asked as you cleared your throat.

“I… don’t know, something pretty,” she smiled meekly.

You nodded and looked over your shoulder at the bottle of tequila. You peeked back at the girl as she squirmed nervously.

“We should do some shots,” you said, “it’s your birthday, right? You should have fun… try to relax.”

“Her, relax?” The mechanic scoffed.

“Shots sound good, I’ll get some glasses,” Bucky’s girl said from behind you.

She left and you asked the baker to close her eyes. You held her head carefully as you stretched her eyelid and traced it carefully. It was much easier to do on someone else. You added a little wing and balanced out her other eye before you sat back.

Bucky’s girl plunked four short amber shot glasses on the dresser and poured as you went over the gift bag full of make-up with Steve’s girl. She chose a rosy shade of pink that you gently applied to her lips.

Bucky’s girl handed out the glasses. The mechanic didn’t flinch or wait before she downed hers. Steve’s girl frowned as she took hers and you gave a thank you as you accepted a glass. 

“I can already feel the burn,” the baker girl bemoaned.

“Come on, loosen up,” you raised your shot and downed it, “jeez, how old are y’all?”

“Old enough to know better,” Bucky’s girl said, “you know, you really got yourself in the shit but I’m sure I don’t need to tell you.”

“Oh you mean the local den of assholes,” you snorted, “shot, shot, shot.”

You encouraged Steve’s girl until she reluctantly knocked back the tequila. You took her glass and your own and went to the dresser. You refilled them and offered her the second.

“You really don’t learn,” the mechanic blinked.

“No, I do but I’d rather be drunk and miserable than sober and miserable,” you raised your shot, “and you guys, this,” you pointed to them, “the look, sure you got some years but you’re still young enough. You needa show some skin.”

“It’s below zero,” Bucky’s girl narrowed her eyes.

“The tequila will keep you warm,” you nudged Steve’s girl and mirrored her as you drained your shot.

“She’s gonna get us all killed,” the mechanic muttered.

“No, I’m gonna get you lit,” you grabbed the bottle and turned up the little speaker in the corner before shimmying over to her. You filled her glass and took a swig directly from the bottle, “also, I can hardly feel anything anymore.”

💀

“I’m telling you,” you slurred, “you can’t wear that! We stop by my place and I’ll get you the look.”

“The look?” Bucky’s girl interjected, “you mean the hypothermic style?”

“My nan has more style than all of you,” you stumbled off the main road away from the bar, “come on!”

“We’re gonna be late,” Steve’s girl squeaked.

“For what? It’s your birthday,” you grabbed her hand and ran ahead.

The other two followed a few feet back as you led them down to your nan’s house. You dragged her up the steps and leaned heavily on the door as you burst through. The smell of cigarette smoke met your nostrils as your grandmother appeared in the door of the front room and puffed as she watched you sway.

“Nan!” you dropped the baker girl’s hand and outstretched your arms as you grandmother swiftly sidestepped you and sucked on her cigarette.

“I see you’ve made friends,” she tutted, “try not to make a mess of my house or you’ll be cleaning it up, drunk or not.”

“We won’t be here long, we just need clothes… you got any of that wine left?”

“No more for you, girly,” she chided.

“Girls, girls, girls,” you turned back, “this is my nan. She kills bikers.”

“Shut your mouth, girly,” your grandma snarled, “you might be three sheets to the wind but words carry.”

“Do you?” the mechanic spoke up, more and more quiet as she imbibed.

Your nan gave her a long look. There was a moment of silence, understanding, commiseration. The old lady shrugged and tilted her head.

“I haven’t messed with bikers since 1978 and I don’t plan on starting again,” she butted out the cigarette in the empty coin tray on the console table, “go on, get what you need and get out.”

“Ugh, fine,” you moped away and waved the girls up the stairs behind you. 

You leaned heavily on the railing as you ascended and they followed behind you in disorder, several times supporting each other in the climb. Inside your room, you pulled open your closet and looked at the impulse purchases you never had a chance to wear. You don’t know why you bought them, they were all cheap and generic, but you were always a sucker for a sale.

“Here,” you handed the mechanic as shiny silver top with straps, “I should have something to go with it.”

You handed out clothes like candy, some of the tags still attached so you ripped them off clumsily. The mechanic ended up in the silver top and black pleather leggings, Bucky’s girl in dark blue dress with cutouts that you ordered in the wrong size, and Steve’s girl in no more than bright red bra and some high rise jeans.

“We’re gonna freeze,” Bucky’s girl whined.

“Suck it up and put your coat on,” you snapped, “now, we’re ready for fun!”

“Steve’s not gonna like this,” the baker moaned.

“You need more alcohol! Who gives a shit what he thinks?” The mechanic nudged her, “he’s a prick.”

“They’re all pricks,” Bucky’s girl giggled, “what’s this?”

You turned as she pulled out the bottle of Smirnoff hidden in your top drawer. It was still sealed because you didn’t like the grape flavour but she quickly broke the plastic. She took a gulp and scrunched her face as she held it out to Steve’s girl.

“No more, it’s too much!”

“If only Thor hadn’t dragged his girl off,” Bucky’s girl pushed the bottle to Steve’s girl’s lips, “but we gotta make up for her, don’t we?”

“Shit, shit,” the mechanic chuckled and grabbed the bottle as the baker struggled to swallow, “we’re gonna get in some shit, girls.”

“Is that idiot ever happy? Loki? What a dumb name?” Bucky’s girl snarled.

“They all suck,” you added.

“Ugh, don’t get me started on Sam,” the mechanic wiped her glistening lips, “preying on a kid.”

“I’m not… not a kid,” you hiccuped.

“You didn’t know who Aaran Carter is,” Bucky’s girl said, “you’re a kid.”

You laughed and took a swig and cringed at the burn of the vodka, “I’m an adult.”

“Sure don’t act like it,” the mechanic said loudly.

“Who gives a fuck? Tonight, we don’t,” Bucky’s girl said, “come on, let’s go see those bastards and show ‘em we don’t fuckin’ care.”

You snickered as you found your coat where you left it on the bed and the lot of you staggered down the back steps and around the house. The winter air crawled over you and sent a shiver up your spine. You hardly felt it in the warm glow of the alcohol; not the cold, not the dread that had lingered for days, not even the regret. You were completely and pleasantly drunk out of your mind.