#i was staring at him just finger gunning the entire time

[maskedbyghost]

Simon knew marriage came with adjustments, but nothing could have prepared him for life with a writer.

It wasn’t just the weird questions—though there were plenty of those—it was the way your mind never seemed to slow down. You’d be doing something completely normal, like folding laundry, and suddenly stop, eyes going distant.

He’d barely have time to ask what was wrong before you’d rush off to scribble something down, muttering about plot twists and character arcs.

Sometimes, he’d wake up in the middle of the night to find you sitting up in bed, phone screen lighting up your face as you frantically typed notes because “this idea can’t wait until morning.”

It meant half-finished coffee cups scattered around the house, abandoned when inspiration hit.

It meant narrating your own actions under your breath, like “she sighed, stretching her arms above her head” while actually doing it, which always made him raise an eyebrow.

And then there were the moments that made him question everything, like when you casually asked if he thought someone could realistically survive being shot twice in the chest or how long a body would take to decompose in a swamp. He used to answer with concern. Now, he barely looked up. “For a book?” “For a book.”

At first, he thought the strangest part was the research, but then he realized it was how easily you pulled him into it. You used him for everything—testing out fight scenes by making him grab your wrist so you could figure out how a character would escape, running your hands over his shoulders and down his arms as you mumbled about muscle structure and “what kind of build do you think my main guy should have?”

You studied him constantly, stealing phrases he said, describing his expressions in your notes, even admitting once that a few of your male characters had a bit of his attitude.

And then there was the way you used him for other inspiration. He figured it out one evening when he saw you sitting on the couch, staring at him with that look—one that usually meant you had something on your mind, but this time, you weren’t saying anything. Just watching.

He glanced over from where he was cleaning his gun. “What?”

You didn’t answer right away, just tilted your head slightly. “I think I want to write a new scene.”

He raised his brow, setting his things aside. “What kind of scene?”

A small smile played on your lips as you stood, walking toward him. “Something a bit messy.”

Simon leaned back, arms resting lazily on the couch as he looked you up and down. “You need details, then?”

“Mhm.” You straddled his lap, fingers toying with the hem of his shirt. “Need to get it just right.”

He smirked, his hands settling on your waist. “That why you’re lookin’ at me like I’m about to be put to work?”

“You don’t mind a little hard work, do you?” you teased, nails scraping lightly against his skin.

His grip tightened, voice low. “Not if you’re gonna make it worth my while.”

Much later, when you were tangled in the sheets, catching your breath, you rolled over and reached for your phone. Before you could even unlock it, a strong arm wrapped around your waist, pulling you back against Simon’s chest. “Nope,” he muttered against your shoulder.

You laughed. “I just had a thought—”

“Don’t care.” His voice was warm and heavy with sleep. “Whatever you’re about to write down, you can remember it in the morning.”

“But—”

A hand slid down your hip, fingers pressing into your skin in a way that made you shiver. “I said, in the morning,” he murmured, his lips brushing against your ear. Then, just to make sure you listened, he added, “Be a good girl and go to sleep.”

Your entire body heated at the words, your brain short-circuiting for a second before snapping into overdrive. Without a word, you bolted upright, nearly diving for your phone as you started typing furiously.

Simon groaned, dragging a hand down his face. “Are you serious?”

“Shhh,” you hushed him, fingers flying across the screen. “This is really good.”

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

@daydreamerwoah

[heliosunny]

LUCKY EGG

Yandere!Phainon x reader

The rumors were true.

You stood in front of the large, polished machine, its sleek metallic surface reflecting the soft neon glow of the surrounding marketplace. The “Lucky Egg Dispenser” as it was called, had become something of a sensation overnight. A single pull of the trigger, and you’d receive an egg—an unhatched mystery promising the perfect partner. Most people spoke of rare creatures, companion animals with unique abilities, and even a few who whispered about something… stranger.

“Lucky egg?” you mused aloud, shifting the weight of the gun-like trigger in your grip. You’d always been one to try new things. It didn’t hurt to take a chance.

With a decisive motion, you squeezed the trigger.

A soft whirring sound filled the air before a pristine white egg gently rolled out, stopping perfectly at your feet. You crouched down, picking it up. Warm. Alive.

A small smile tugged at your lips. Taking care of it would be simple, you were no stranger to nurturing things. Three days. That was all it would take for it to hatch.

You weren’t worried in the slightest.

What you didn’t expect, however, was for your “partner” to be a human.

The egg hatched in the dead of night. A soft crackling sound stirred you from your sleep, but by the time you were fully awake, the shell had already split apart.

And there, sitting on your bed, was a boy.

No, not a boy, a young man, probably around your age.

Pale skin, silver-white hair that shimmered in the moonlight, and brilliant, otherworldly eyes. His clothes were odd, somewhere between regal and alien, but the most alarming thing was the wide, almost manic grin stretching across his face.

Before you could react, he lunged at you, arms wrapping around your torso in a crushing embrace.

“My name is Phainon!” he chirped, his voice filled with unfiltered joy. “I’m your partner now!”

Oh no...Your stomach dropped as realization set in.

Baby duck syndrome.

You knew the term well. When a newborn creature imprints on the first living being they see and attaches to them completely. You were that first living being.

And judging by the way Phainon’s grip tightened, as if he’d never let go, you had a feeling this wasn’t going to be as simple as you thought.

Phainon clung to you like a vice, his grip almost bruising as he buried his face into your neck. His breath was warm, uneven with excitement, and his entire body trembled, not with fear, but something far more intense.

“You’re mine” he whispered, his voice filled with unshakable certainty. “I belong to you… and you belong to me.”

This was bad. You tried to gently pry him off, but the moment you moved, his arms locked around you tighter, his fingers digging into your back as if he were afraid you’d disappear. His blue eyes, impossibly bright and alight with something unsettling, gazed up at you with an overwhelming adoration.

“Don’t push me away” Phainon begged “I just hatched… I need you.”

You swallowed, carefully adjusting your expression. “I-I’m not pushing you away. You just surprised me, that’s all.”

His gaze flickered with doubt before softening, though his grip didn’t loosen.

“I won’t let you leave me” he promised, a ghost of a smile tugging at his lips. “I was born for you.”

You had really gotten yourself into trouble this time.

With Phainon practically glued to your side, you dragged him along to the dungeon. You needed supplies, and in this world, the only way to survive was by hunting monsters and trading points for food and goods. At the very least, you thought you could shake off some of his energy by keeping him occupied. What you didn’t expect was just how powerful he was.

The first monster barely had a chance to move before Phainon lunged, his bare hands tearing through it like paper. Blue eyes shimmered with an eerie thrill as he made quick work of the beasts around you. No hesitation. No struggle. Just raw, overwhelming strength. You stared, a mix of awe and unease settling in your gut.

“Phainon…” You hesitated as he turned to you, still grinning. “How do you know how to fight?”

He tilted his head, as if the question itself was strange. “I was born to protect you” he answered simply. “If anything dares to harm you, I’ll rip it apart.”

His words were spoken with such sincerity that it made your skin crawl. Still, you couldn’t deny the convenience. With him by your side, earning points was absurdly easy.

So you took him to the marketplace, trading in your earnings and buying him new clothes, something normal, something that would help him blend in.

But as you held up a shirt for him to try, he only stared at you with an unsettling softness.

“You take such good care of me…” He exhaled, stepping closer. “You really do love me.”

Your grip on the fabric tightened.

This was going to be a problem.

Even as you weaved through the marketplace, his fingers curled around your wrist, grip firm and unwavering. His blue eyes scanned the crowd with silent intensity, watching every passerby with something between wariness and irritation, as if anyone who so much as looked at you was a potential threat.

You sighed, trying to ignore it.

That was until someone called your name.

“Y/N!”

You turned, spotting an old friend making their way toward you, smiling. “I haven’t seen you in forever!”

Before you could respond, their gaze flickered to Phainon, eyes widening slightly in surprise.

“…Oh? Who’s this?” they asked, raising an eyebrow. “Your boyfriend?”

You couldn’t exactly say he came from an egg. That would sound insane. So, against your better judgment, you went along with it. “Uh, yeah. Something like that.”

Your friend chuckled. “I figured. He looks like he’d kill someone if they so much as breathed in your direction.”

You let out an awkward laugh, hoping they were joking.

Phainon, however, only smiled, resting his chin on your shoulder. “I would” he murmured, as if it were the most natural thing in the world.

Your friend’s laughter faltered.

Before the situation could get any worse, you quickly made your exit, dragging Phainon away.

When you finally got home, you sighed, rubbing your temples. “You can’t just say things like that, you know.”

Phainon tilted his head. “But it’s true.”

You didn’t have the energy to argue. Instead, you busied yourself in the kitchen, preparing a meal. The sound of chopping and sizzling filled the space, and for a moment, things felt… normal.

But you could still feel Phainon’s admiring gaze on you.

When you finally placed a plate in front of him, his eyes softened.

“You take such good care of me” he murmured.

You forced a small smile. “Yeah, yeah. Just eat.”

But as you turned away, his voice reached you again, quiet, almost innocent.

“You really do love me, don’t you?”

This was getting worse by the second.

The next morning, Phainon was already awake before you, sitting at the edge of your bed, watching you with silent fascination. You ignored the unsettling feeling that came with knowing he had likely been staring at you for a while.

“We’re going out!” you said, stretching. “I need to figure out what you’re actually capable of.”

His expression brightened. “You’re thinking about me first thing in the morning?” His voice was honeyed, pleased. “That makes me happy.”

You sighed. “Just get ready.”

Despite his odd behavior, you needed to assess his skills properly. Yesterday’s display of strength was impressive, but you weren’t sure if he had magic abilities as well. If he was going to fight alongside you, he needed the right weapon.

So, you took him to a well-known weapon shop in the city.

The place was stocked with everything—swords, spears, enchanted items, and magic-infused equipment. The shopkeeper raised an eyebrow at Phainon as he trailed closely behind you, practically glued to your side.

“A new recruit?” they asked.

You hesitated before nodding. “Something like that. I need to test his capabilities and get him a sword.”

Phainon didn’t seem too interested in the conversation. Instead, his attention remained locked onto you, his fingers subtly brushing against your arm as if to remind himself that you were still there.

The shopkeeper guided you both to the testing grounds in the back.

Phainon barely glanced at the weapons lined up for testing. Instead, he turned to you, expectant.

“Choose one for me” he said.

You blinked. “Why? You should pick what feels right.”

He smiled “I want your choice. Something that reminds you of me.”

You hesitated, but eventually, you picked a sword. When you handed it to him, he held it as if it were sacred, his fingers running over the hilt with reverence. Then, he turned toward the practice dummy and swung. The air itself seemed to hum as the blade sliced cleanly through, the force of his strike strong enough to split the dummy in two. You barely had time to react before the lingering energy from his swing crackled, a faint shimmer of magic lacing through the air.

So he did have magic.

The shopkeeper let out a low whistle. “That’s some terrifying raw talent.”

Phainon ignored them, stepping closer to you, lifting the sword slightly.

“Do you like it?” he asked softly.

You nodded. “It suits you.”

His eyes softened, a quiet sort of delight settling in his expression. “Then I’ll treasure it forever.”

It wasn’t about the sword. It was about the fact that you were the one who gave it to him.

Going into the dungeon with Phainon was like having a high-level DPS at your side. You barely had to lift a finger.

With every swing of his sword, monsters fell instantly, torn apart before they could even react. His raw strength was unmatched, his movements precise and brutal, and his magic crackled through the air with every strike. All you had to do was keep him healed.

Whenever he took a hit, rare as it was, you were there, casting healing spells or applying potions before he could even flinch. It was almost effortless, and the way he looked at you every time you healed him sent a strange chill down your spine.

“You always take care of me” he murmured, after you placed a hand on his arm to patch up a small wound. His blue eyes burned with something unreadable. “It makes me love you even more.”

You pretended not to hear him.

By the end of the run, you had racked up an absurd amount of points. It was more than you’d ever earned in a single trip. But as you left the dungeon, your path was blocked. A group of men stood in front of you, their expressions dark with anger.

“You!” one of them spat, eyes locked on you. “That was our dungeon route. You took our points.”

You stiffened. You had heard of people like this before, territorial dungeon crawlers who claimed certain areas as their own, even though the dungeons were free for all. Phainon, however, only tilted his head, his fingers tightening around the hilt of his sword.

“Move” he said simply.

The men sneered. “Or what?”

Phainon smiled. And then, in the blink of an eye, he moved.

You barely saw it happen. One second, the men were standing tall, and the next, they were on the ground, groaning, writhing, clutching broken limbs. Phainon hadn’t even drawn his sword. He had simply crushed them with his bare hands. You felt the blood drain from your face as he turned back to you, expression calm, as if nothing had happened.

“You don’t need to worry about them” he stepped close to you, his voice almost soothing. “I’ll always protect you.”

His hand cupped your cheek, thumb brushing against your skin.

“You’ll never need anyone else.”

You weren’t the only one who noticed Phainon’s strength.

Word spread fast in the city. A newcomer, practically fresh out of nowhere, tearing through dungeons with monstrous efficiency? It was bound to catch attention.

When you returned to the marketplace, a group of uniformed individuals was waiting for you. Their armor bore the insignia of the Adventurer’s Guild, the organization that oversaw dungeon crawlers and regulated combat prowess.

One of them, a woman with sharp eyes, stepped forward. “We’ve received reports about you” she said, looking Phainon up and down. “Your combat abilities are… unusual.”

Phainon didn’t respond. He didn’t even blink.

The woman continued, unfazed. “We’d like to evaluate your rank. If you’re as strong as people claim, you should be registered with the guild.”

You hesitated, then glanced at Phainon. “It’s up to you” you said casually. “You can decide for yourself.”

His reaction was immediate. His blue eyes snapped to yours, wide with something unreadable. His fingers twitched at his sides, as if suppressing an impulse.

For the first time since you met him, Phainon looked… lost.

“You’re letting me decide?” he murmured, almost as if the concept itself was foreign to him. His voice was quiet, but there was an undercurrent of something dangerous beneath it.

The guild members watched the exchange, waiting for an answer.

Then, without warning, Phainon grabbed your wrist. His grip was firm but not painful—more like an anchor, something grounding him.

“I don’t need them!” he said, his eyes darkening. “I don’t need a rank. I don’t need recognition. I only need you.”

You swallowed, trying to keep your expression neutral. “Phainon...”

But he wasn’t listening. His fingers tightened ever so slightly, as if reassuring himself that you were still there, still his.

“I’ll prove it” he murmured, almost to himself. “You’ll see… I don’t need anything else.”

The woman from the guild frowned. “Refusing to register might cause problems later. If you change your mind, come to the guild hall.” She gave you a lingering look before turning away, leading her team elsewhere.

Once they were gone, you exhaled, glancing down at your guild-issued device. You hadn’t checked Phainon’s stats since he hatched. Opening the interface, your breath caught in your throat. His level had skyrocketed. It wasn’t just growth, it was unnatural. No one leveled up this fast. Slowly, you looked up at him, finding him already staring at you.

His lips curled into a soft, knowing smile. “You’re looking at me differently” he murmured. “Are you finally realizing it?”

Realizing what?

Phainon wasn’t just strong. He was something else.

You couldn’t ignore it anymore.

Phainon’s level growth wasn’t just unnatural, it was impossible. Even the most elite adventurers took years to reach his current strength, yet he had done it in mere days. And his reaction when you let him decide for himself… the way he clung to you, as if the very idea of autonomy was foreign to him… Something wasn’t right.

That night, while Phainon sat contentedly by the fireplace, watching you with that ever-present devotion, you busied yourself with research.

You poured through old adventurer logs, ancient texts, and anything that might explain the anomaly that was him. But no record of a “lucky egg” spawning a human existed. Every instance of the machine had resulted in creatures—beasts, familiars, magical companions. Never a person. Then, deep within an old archive, you found something.

A passage detailing an experiment.

“In pursuit of the perfect companion, scholars once sought to craft an entity bound by absolute devotion. A being that would imprint upon the first soul it encountered, instinctively prioritizing their happiness and survival above all else. However, these creations proved unstable—obsessive, possessive, and far too powerful. The project was ultimately abandoned, all records sealed away.”

Your gaze flickered toward Phainon.

His blue eyes gleamed in the firelight, calm and unreadable as he met your stare.

“You’re looking at me like that again”

“Phainon…” You swallowed. “What are you?”

For a long moment, he didn’t answer.

Then, slowly, he rose from his seat, walking toward you with measured steps. When he reached you, he knelt—his head resting against your lap, his arms wrapping around you in a loose embrace.

“I don’t know” he admitted, his voice barely above a whisper. “But does it matter?”

He tilted his head, pressing closer, his warmth seeping into you.

“All I know is that I belong to you” he murmured, smiling softly. “And that’s the only truth I need.”

Your fingers trembled against the pages of the book.

This was worse than you thought.

Phainon wasn’t just obsessed.

He was made to be.

[therealidiotmcgee]

Kale Vandelay fans come get y’all soup

[greengoblinswifey]

Beneath Chaos II—Hwang In ho/Player 001 x Fem!Reader

summary— as the two of you become more intimate, you uncover Young-il is not who he claims to be. He’s revealed to be the Hwang In-ho, the mastermind behind the entire game. As he manipulates you with his affections, you begin to question everything you thought you knew about him with the line between love and manipulation becoming increasingly blurred

warnings— age gap(reader is in her 20s, he’s in his late 40s) the usual squid games violence mentions, manipulation and deceit, fingering, choking, nipple play, oral(f!receiving), praise kink, body worship, mirror sex, unprotected sex, creampie, aftercare.

a/n— requests are open but i take a while to get to them, patience <3 like and reblog <3

Part I

It was a war zone. Screams and shouts echoed through the space as players turned on each other, desperation driving them to violence. You’d managed to stay out of it for the most part, keeping close to the quieter players, but tonight, the group had decided it was time to go after the organizers of the game.

“Stick with me,” Young-il, the player who had stuck by your side since the start, urged.

You nodded, clutching your arm. “Where are we going?”

He tightened his grip on your wrist. “Trust me. I’ll get you out of here.”

The two of you weaved through the chaos, narrowly dodging bullets as guards closed in. One of them lunged at you after having their gun taken, and before you could react, Young-il used a gun to shoot them.

“Keep moving,” he barked, his voice unusually firm.

As the two of you made your way through what you called a maze, a steel door loomed and you couldn’t help but notice how methodical Young-il was. He fought with precision, taking down and guards and helping the group as you pressed forward.

“In here!” he said, dragging you through a hidden corridor behind the door.

Your heart pounded as the sounds of chaos grew fainter. “Where are we going? How do you know about this place?”

He didn’t answer, his jaw clenched as he led you through the dimly lit hallway. When two guards appeared, you froze, expecting them to attack, but Young-il stepped forward, raising his hands.

“It’s me,” he said coolly.

To your shock, they stepped aside, lowering their weapons.

“What the hell?” you whispered, staring at him in disbelief.

He turned to you, his expression unreadable. “I’ll explain everything. Just stay with me.”

You followed him through the hallway, each step filling you with dread. At the end of the corridor, he pushed open a heavy door, revealing a sleek, high-tech room filled with monitors.

You froze in the doorway. The screens displayed every corner of the facility, the dormitory, the games, the guards. It was the command center.

“What is this?” you demanded, turning to him.

He didn’t answer immediately. Instead, he reached to a table and picked up a black mask that had been hidden.

“You’re the organizer of the games?” you whispered, recognizing that he was what they were after.

“I wanted to tell you,” he said quietly, stepping closer. “But I couldn’t. Not yet.”

“You’re the Front Man?” Your voice trembled as the realization hit you like a freight train. “You’ve been running this whole thing?”

“It’s not that simple,” he said, his tone laced with guilt. “I didn’t want you here. I never wanted you to get hurt.”

Tears blurred your vision as you stepped back. “You lied to me. All this time, I thought—I thought you were one of us. I slept with you!”

“I did what I had to do to protect you and—forget that,” he said, taking your hand firmly.

You pulled your hand away, anger bubbling to the surface. “And this is your idea of protection? Letting people die?”

“I’ve kept you alive, haven’t I?” His voice softened, and for a moment, you saw the man you thought you knew. “I brought you here because it’s the only safe place left. Please, just trust me.”

The heavy doors to his quarters slid open, and he guided you inside with a hand on your back. The room was cold and sterile, lined with screens showing every corner of the games. You felt a shiver crawl up your spine as you realized how removed this place was from the chaos you’d just escaped.

He stood by the console, running a hand through his damp hair as his chest rose and fell with controlled breaths. He was fighting to keep his expression neutral, but you noticed the faintest flicker of something else, a strain, like he was holding back.

“I need to explain,” he said, his tone carefully measured.

You crossed your arms, your voice trembling. “Explain what? That you lied to everyone? To me?”

He exhaled sharply, his jaw tightening as he walked closer. “I had no choice. My name isn’t Young-il. It’s Hwang In-ho. I entered the game for a reason, to infiltrate and dismantle this from the inside.”

There it was again—that careful modulation of his voice, as if he was reading from a script. But the way he avoided your eyes gave him away.

The real truth you were unaware of was that he didn’t care about dismantling anything. The truth was, the deaths, the violence, it didn’t matter to him. The only thing he cared about was you. His sweet, pretty little thing.

“What about our friends?” you asked, cutting through the silence. Your voice cracked as you thought of the people you’d fought beside. “What happened to them?”

His lips pressed into a thin line. “Don’t worry about them,” he said coldly. “It’s just me and you now.”

“Don’t worry?” you repeated, your voice rising. “They were our allies, our—”

“They don’t matter,” he interrupted, his tone hard. “You matter. I’ve done everything to protect you. Every choice I’ve made, every lie—it was all for you.”

You stared at him, unsure whether to believe the man in front of you. His eyes softened as he stepped closer, his fingers brushing over your arm. “I know it’s hard to trust me right now. But you’re safe. That’s all that matters.”

You shook your head, your mind racing. “I don’t even know who you are right now.”

“You’ll see,” he murmured, his thumb grazing your knuckles as he took your hand. “You’ll see that everything I’ve done has been for you.”

He straightened, his voice firm again. “You can get cleaned up. There are clothes for you in the bathroom.”

You walked into the sleek bathroom, its stark white tiles almost blinding under the fluorescent lights. A stack of fresh clothes sat neatly on the counter, along with a towel. The sound of water running filled the room as you stepped under the stream, letting the heat wash away the violence of the night.

You hadn’t heard him enter until you felt his hands on your waist. “In-ho?” you gasped, turning to see him standing behind you, naked, water dripping down his hair.

“I told you,” he murmured, his lips quirking into a faint smirk. “I’m not leaving you alone.”

Before you could respond, his hand tilted your chin upward, and his lips were on yours. The kiss was slow, his fingers tangling in your wet hair as he deepened it. You felt his other hand slide to the small of your back, pulling you closer until there was no space between you.

“Is this your way of making me trust you?” you whispered against his lips, your breath hitching.

He chuckled softly, his forehead resting against yours. “Maybe.” His voice dropped to a near whisper. “Or maybe I just can’t stay away from you.”

For a moment, you let yourself get lost in it, the warmth of his lips, the weight of his arms on your naked body. But in the back of your mind, the doubts lingered, like a dark cloud that wouldn’t leave. As his lips trailed down your neck, you fought to push the thoughts away, telling yourself you could question him later. You really wanted to argue, to pull away, but the warmth of his hands against your wet skin, the way his breath fanned across your neck, made your protests dissolve before they even formed.

“I can feel how tense you are,” he continued, his fingers tracing slow circles along your hip. “Let me take care of you. You don’t have to do anything.”

You swallowed hard, the heat from the water mixing with the heat of his touch. “I don’t know,” you whispered, your voice shaky.

“Yes, you do,” he countered softly, his lips skimming your jaw. “You know I’ll make you feel good. I always do.”

His hand moved lower, his fingers slipping along your thigh and feeling a slick wetness completely different from the water, and you couldn’t suppress the shiver that ran through you. “See?” he said. “Your body knows. It always knows.”

His fingers teased higher, the pads of his fingertips grazing your clit with a deliberate slowness that made your breath hitch. You leaned against the tiled wall for support, your knees threatening to give out. Pleasure ran through your body and you opened your eyes to stare into his dark ones as they locked on you. They broke away from you, looking down at your breasts that were cascaded in warm water before leaning down and swirling his tongue over them, his fingers still rubbing your clit.

Soft whimpers left your lips even though you tried your hardest to suppress them. You bit your tongue as he took your nipple between his teeth and bit down gently, a finger now slipping inside your wet pussy.

“Look at you,” he whispered, his voice filled with quiet praise. “So beautiful. So perfect for me. Your body is a masterpiece.”

Your head tipped back, water running down your face as his fingers found your sweet spot, the pressure just enough to make you gasp. “In-ho,” you breathed, your voice trembling with equal parts of protest and need.

“I’ve got you,” he murmured, his free hand moving to cradle your face, tilting it toward him. “I won’t let you fall. Just trust me.”

He moved his hand back down to your breast, kneading it as you involuntarily arched into his touch. A small smirk played on his lips and he leaned down, placing a kiss on yours. Another finger found its way inside your pussy, as his thumb skillfully rubbed your clit, increasing your pleasure. His fingers curled, and he used his free fingers to gently pinch and pull on your nipples as you tried to stop the soft moans from leaving your lips.

The sensation was overwhelming, his touch unrelenting, and the praise spilling from his lips only heightened it. “That’s it my good little girl,” he coaxed, his lips brushing against yours before capturing them fully, swallowing the sounds that escaped you.

His kiss was possessive, almost desperate, as if he couldn’t bear the thought of anyone hearing you but him. His fingers thrusted faster inside you with an expert rhythm, sending sparks of pleasure through your body. “You’re such a good girl for me,” he whispered against your lips, his voice low and intoxicating. “So perfect, every part of you. All mine.”

You clung to him, your nails digging into his shoulders as an orgasm built inside you. “That’s my girl,” he murmured. “Let me see you cum, just for me.”

His fingers went faster and your body gave in, the release was swift and all consuming, leaving you trembling and moaning his name in his arms. He held you close, his hands steadying you as your breathing slowed.

“See how good that felt?” In-ho murmured, his lips curving into a small smile. “It can get even better.”

A flicker of shame passed through you, how could you let him do this, knowing what was happening just outside these quarters? The chaos, the danger, the people you had left behind. But the moment his hands trailed down your waist, firm and grounding, the doubt began to dissolve.

“In-ho,” you whispered, though your voice betrayed you, shaky and soft.

“I know angel,” he said gently, his forehead resting against yours for a moment. “But don’t think about anything else right now. It’s just you and me here. No one else matters.”

Before you could reply, he dropped to his knees. The sight of him kneeling before you, his dark hair dripping with water, made your breath catch.

His hands found your thighs, spreading them slightly as his lips pressed kisses on your pussy. “You’re so beautiful,” he murmured, his voice husky. “Let me show you.”

Your hands instinctively found their way to his hair, your fingers tangling in the damp strands as his lips engulfed your throbbing clit. He worked with slow, deliberate care, his mouth trailing heat over your pussy.

“You’re perfect,” he whispered between kisses, his breath warm against you. “So good for me. You always are.”

His tongue flicked over your clit fast, better than your fingers or anyone else could ever feel on you. He licked from your entrance back up to your clit, swirling his tongue and suckling like a starved man.

Your grip in his hair tightened as a low sound escaped you, and he let out a quiet chuckle, clearly pleased with your reaction. “That’s it,” he murmured. “Don’t hold back. Let me hear you.”

For a moment, all thoughts of the world outside were forgotten. The only thing that existed was the feel of his lips and the steady stream of praise falling from them.

“You’re mine,” he whispered, his voice reverent yet commanding. “I’m not letting you go anywhere.”

He ate you out like he had something to prove. Like he was showing you that no one else could care for you so much that it reflected in how they pleasured you. His tongue slipped inside your pussy, thrusting gently as you shivered and let out soft whimpers that made his dick hard. All that clouded your mind now was his tongue, exploring every inch of your needy, quivering pussy, licking up and down and slurping on your clit.

Your grip in his hair tightened again as your breaths turned shallow, your body trembling under his touch. He moved with such precision, as though he knew exactly what your pussy ached for. The sound of the water cascading around you only heightened your senses, every touch, every flicker of his tongue sending waves of pleasure through you.

“Come on sweetheart,” he murmured against your skin, his voice a low, rumbling praise that sent a shiver up your spine. “Just cum for me. Be good for me.”

Your fingers clenched in his wet hair, and your body obeyed, your orgasm spilling over as the pleasure became too much to contain and you squirted in his mouth.

“Good girl,” he whispered, his lips brushing against your clit one last time before he stood, his hands trailing up your sides to pull you against him. You could feel the strength of him, solid, grounding you as you tried to catch your breath.

He leaned in, his mouth capturing yours in a heated kiss, his hands sliding down to your hips. “See how good I can make you feel?” he murmured against your lips.

Before you could respond, he turned you gently, guiding your hands to brace against the tile as the warmth of the water poured over you. His lips found the curve of your shoulder, trailing kisses along your neck as his hands explored your wet, naked body.

“You feel so perfect,” he whispered, his voice filled with quiet reverence. “I won’t stay away from you, you know that?”

As his hands gently groped your ass, you could feel his hard cock pressing against you. His breath was warm against the back of your neck, his words soft but full of lust. “I need to fuck you,” he murmured, his voice thick with desire.

“Please- please do,” you whimpered.

You could feel the way he was responding to you, his cock against your ass telling you everything you needed to know. Your pulse raced as you gave in to the moment, not wanting to fight the pull between you. You both let out low moans as he entered your tight pussy from behind, halting for a second to give you time to adjust to his sheer size. He was so thick, stretching and filling you in ways you knew no one else could.

He began steadily rutting into you, the sound of skin slapping amplified by the water making him chuckle lightly. His lips pressed against your neck as your pussy gripped his cock like it never wanted to let him go.

His voice was a little hoarse as he whispered, “You feel so fucking good.”

His hands shifted, one sliding around your neck, the pressure just enough to make you gasp. You leaned into it, feeling the pleasure rise inside you. With every thrust, he took his time, drawing out each moan, each squelch of your pussy that sent your heart racing.

He looked down at your ass bouncing against him, and you swore his cock throbbed inside you. With his hand still around your neck, the other reached in front, rubbing rough circles on your clit as his cock hit your g spot repeatedly.

“Relax,” he whispered softly. “I’ve got you. Cum on my cock.”

His words, his touch, it was all part of this undeniable force pulling you closer, and you gave in, your pussy soaking his cock buried inside you, surrendering to the moment, feeling more alive than you’d ever thought possible these last few days.

After drying off, the steam from the shower clung to your skin. The mirror fogged up just a bit from the warmth, but it only added to the intimacy of the moment. His hands gently cupped your waist as he stood close behind you. You could see his reflection in the mirror, his gaze intense as he met your eyes through the glass.

“You’re breathtaking,” he whispered, his breath warm on the back of your neck. His hands traced your sides slowly, memorizing every curve, every inch of you. “From the moment I saw you, I knew I had to protect you.”

The words made your chest tighten, a mix of emotions swirling within you. You’d never felt so seen, so cared for, as if everything about you mattered to him. He continued, his voice low, full of reverence, “You’re my priority. I would do anything for you. No one else matters but you.”

He stared at you in the mirror as his hard length entered you again. He moaned into your ear, the deep sound going to your pussy and making it throb as he began fucking you again. Your mouth fell open, the intimacy of the moment sending ripples of need through you. His large hands cupped your breasts, groping and tweaking your nipples as you met the roll of his hips, fucking him back as he pounded your pussy.

The mirror reflected the way his eyes softened as they traced your brown skin, his admiration for you evident in the way he held you. He kissed your shoulder, your neck and then your temple, the feel of his lips on you making you shiver.

“No one else matters. They don’t fucking matter, only my pretty little angel,” he murmured

With every thrust, he showed you just how much you meant to him, his actions speaking louder than words ever could. You could feel the care, the devotion, and the unwavering desire to be close to you, to cherish you in some lowkey sick and twisted way. It was a rare and overwhelming feeling, one that made your heart race and your pulse quicken.

“Every.part.of.you,” he murmured, thrusting with word, his lips brushing against your ear, “is.perfect.to.me.”

You couldn’t hold on much longer. He was right at the edge waiting too. Your hand reached behind him, bringing his head down to suck on your neck, his eyes still locked onto yours in the mirror as you squirted on his cock. Your pussy drenched him, your juices trailing down your thighs and his as you convulsed with him still inside you.

“That’s my good girl, fuck, I’m gonna cum too, deep inside this tight pussy. Take it for me sweetheart,” he groaned.

He let out a deep, guttural moan and you hummed in content, feeling his hot load fill you to the brim.

As your highs passed, you could feel the air between you slowly easing. His lips brushed against your temple, soft and tender, grounding you. His voice was gentle but firm, “I’m here. It’s just us now. That’s all that matters.”

His words were soothing you in a way that only he could. With delicate care, he cleaned you up, his touch surprisingly gentle despite everything that had just happened. Then, he led you to the bed, helping you lie down as he dressed you slowly, making sure you were comfortable.

“You’ll get all the answers you need,” he said quietly, his hand brushing a strand of your curls away from your face, “in due time. Just trust me. Be patient.”

You let out a soft breath, not fully understanding everything, but something in his words made you want to believe him. Trust. What a word. It was so simple yet so heavy. Could you really place it in his hands, when everything else felt so uncertain?

You looked up at him. “Trust,” you echoed, “you’re really good at making that sound easy.”

He returned your smile, though it was tinged with something darker, something unreadable. “I don’t need you to trust me now. Just know I’ll never let you go.”

[msgexymunson]

The Ink Shop

Description: Desperate for a job, you answer an advertisement not knowing it's a tattoo shop. It's not particularly difficult work, except for one thing: having to deal with Eddie Munson. 

Warnings: NSFW, minors DNI or I'll tell your parents, fem reader, thick sexual tension, angst and smut. Fingering. 

A/N: I finally wrote it! The teach me fic I've been day dreaming about forever. This will be part one of three, and honestly this is one of the hottest things I've written. If you enjoy it, please comment and reblog, it means the world to me. 

8k words

Masterlist Part 2

Screwing your nose up in confusion, you look at the meticulously cut snippet of newspaper neatly attached to your resume with a paperclip. Sure enough, receptionist and administrator wanted for a place called ‘The Ink Shop’. 

The outside of the building looks a little bleak, all decked out in black with frosted windows, but the fading lettering above does indeed spell out ‘The Ink Shop’. 

Weird. This does not look like a printers. 

You smooth down a minor wrinkle in your white shirt and open the door with unsure hands, the bell above ringing out loudly. 

Oh. 

This is not a printers. This is a tattoo shop. 

The thought hadn't even crossed your mind. The noise is a cacophony of buzzing, rock music and loud conversation. Art hangs on every available wall, the wallpaper underneath a royal purple, faded over time. There's frames upon frames of predesigned pieces for people to choose from, and an enormous wooden counter, black and gouged with use, directly in front of the doors. 

Taking a confidence boosting breath you march forward, pencil skirt stretching and heels clicking on the black and white linoleum, and stand by the counter. No one seems to have noticed your arrival, and a polite cough is not going to cut it. 

“Hello?” Calling out to the shop, a devilishly handsome tattooed man in a ripped band shirt, black jeans and scuffed army boots turns his head. Loose dark curls escape a low bun and swivel with him, framing his animated face. He saunters over to the counter and towers over you, giving you an appraising look. 

“You old enough to be in here sweetheart?” He asks, amused, as he points to the sign on the wall that states ‘Strictly Over 21s, no exceptions’. 

“Yes?” You're trying to be confident but it comes out as a question, entirely taken aback by the strength of his stare. 

“Oh, well then I'm Eddie,” he holds out a hand and you're forced to reach up to shake it, but to your surprise he doesn't let go. The skin is rougher than you thought it would be, and absolutely covered in small tattoos. “What is it today? Let me guess, cover up an ex boyfriend's name? I can help you forget all about him.” 

The grin he shoots back is nothing short of predatory. All you can think of is that old childhood song, never smile at a crocodile…

“No, no, I'm here about the job?” 

He looks genuinely surprised, taking in your outfit in another flagrant stare. 

“Really? You?” 

“Yes, me.” You respond, cheeks flushing in annoyance. 

“Hey, Mac!” He calls over his shoulder and a big guy with a shaved head lowers his tattoo gun, glancing over at you both. “This girl's after a job?” 

Mac stands up slowly and begins to walk over. 

“You can let go now princess.” 

Staring at Eddie dumbfoundedly, you realise his grip on your hand has softened completely. Whipping your hand away, you flash him a defiant eye. It's ineffective; he merely grins wider and winks at you, poking his tongue out playfully. You see a hint of silver, a tongue piercing. 

“Hey there, I'm Mac, the owner.” another handshake, but gentler and brief. You introduce yourself and go to hand him your resume. 

A phone rings on the counter and Mac shouts “no!” just as Eddie picks it up. 

“Mac’s Roadkill Café, from your grill to ours.” Eddie delivers the line as smooth as silk, never taking his eyes off you. “Yeah, it's Eddie, of course. Oh, I'll tell him. Thanks.” 

As Eddie turns to Mac he's given a small but effective slap to the back of the head by Mac. 

“What did I tell you, stop answering like that!” 

Eddie just grins wider and looks at you again, a fake pout on his full lips. 

“You see that? Harassment in the workplace. Wanna kiss it better?” 

Mac shuts his eyes, pinching the bridge of his nose, then turns to face you again. 

“Are you immediate start?” 

“Er, yeah. I've got my resume, and references here-” 

“Listen Miss, if you can read and write, answer a phone, and put up with that-” he says, gesturing a thumb at Eddie, “then you've got the job.” 

Thank God, two of those references were your best friend with different names. Stunned, you just nod fast.

“Great. Tomorrow morning. We open at 10am.” 

Saying goodbye, you turn to exit, and risk one final glance over your shoulder. Eddie's still at the counter. A disarming wink, and then the door shuts behind you. 

********************

So, not exactly what you expected, but a job's a job. After getting a degree, you'd assumed doors would open, but a string of coffee houses later and here you are. You'll take it. 

It's 9:30 am, and you stand outside, wondering whether or not to try the door. Keen, but not too keen. It's a line you're trying to toe without much experience, especially with an establishment like this. 

A pretty woman with an undercut and a butterfly neck tattoo stirs you out of your calculations. 

“Hey, I'm Chloe. You're the new girl, right? Eddie bet you'd be early.” 

Blushing at the entirely accurate first impression, you try to stop your nose scrunching in distaste. As if reading your mind, Chloe chuckles.

“Ah, don't worry about him, he's an idiot. Come on, I'll show you the ropes.” 

Chloe is the piercer that basically rents a place in the shop, where she's been for around three years, she explains. There's also Julio, who does more realistic tattoo work, and Miranda who works part time. 

Chloe turns out to be warm and welcoming, showing you how they book clients in, how to take payments, and the phone note system. It's straightforward work, stuff you'll master in no time. In fact, you feel comfortable enough by 10 am to sit at the counter on your own.

Mac arrives on time, giving you a quick check in and taking down all your information on a yellow legal pad. 

“Do you not have a computer in here?” you ask, genuinely puzzled. 

“Oh no, not yet. I don't know how to work those things, Miss.” Mac chuckles, and gets to his station to prepare for his first client.

At 10:45 am Eddie walks through the door as if he owns the place. 

Your eyes widen at his brazen lateness, but no one seems to bat an eyelid. It boils your blood; to be that disrespectful and clearly not care. How could someone act like that? 

“Hey princess, didn't think you'd come back,” he smiles, reaching for your hand. 

Oh I'm not falling for that again. 

You pull your hand into your lap, expecting trickery from him. A smug grin smears across his face at the gesture, as if he knew you'd do that. It makes you even more annoyed. 

“Eddie, the book says you start,” you say, flicking through the tome in front of you, “ah, at 10 am today.” 

“It's walk-in Wednesday sweetheart. There's no one here.” 

He's got a point. Chloe had explained the tattoo artists work a shift of Wednesdays, someone is always available for walk-ins for small and pre designed pieces. Today is Eddie's turn, and he's right, no one is here. 

“Well, there could have been,” you snark back, folding your arms. 

He crosses into the shop, pushing the little gate open and stands next to you, arms crossed. The height you had is now lost, forcing you to look up at him. 

“As far as I know, you ain't the boss of me. I suggest taking the stick out of your ass before you come here.” 

Mouth falling open in outrage, you move to reply but he's already turned away. 

“Oh, and princess, there ain't a dress code.” 

He's gone, disappearing upstairs. Blushing crimson, you cross your arms as if you can hide the conservative outfit you're wearing. 

You're beginning to see why Mac asked if you could put up with Eddie. 

********************

Halfway through the day, you realise just why Mac puts up with Eddie. 

“Hey! Seeing if I can book with Eddie?” 

“Any appointments with Eddie?” 

“Just checking to see if Eddie had any cancellations?” 

It seems most calls are about him. As you check his schedule, it's not only fully booked for the next 6 months, they've even started a waiting list at the back. 

“Any walk-ins?”

The words next to your ear make you jump bodily, almost losing your place on your chair in alarm. 

“You scared me! No, I would have said,” turning to him, you're sucked into those deep brown eyes once again. “Why do you do walk-in Wednesdays if you're so… so popular?” 

Eddie flashes a smile at you, full of self importance. “I don't know sweetheart, Van Gogh wasn't made to doodle!” Shouting the last part at the back of Mac's head, he turns to you. “We just divided the shifts, so it was fair, that's all. Why, want a tattoo?” 

You roll your eyes. “No, I was just wondering.”

“Do you have any, princess?” 

“Not that it's any of your business, but no, I don't.” 

The laugh that rips from Eddie's chest is hearty and full of amusement. 

“You work in a tattoo shop and you don't have any? That's practically blasphemy!” 

The little bell above the door rings, and a nervous guy looks around before walking in. Before you see what he wants, you shout to Eddie's retreating back. 

“Van Gogh was only famous after he died, you know!” 

It's a little later on in the day; you've done a stock take, ordered more ink, and neatened up the consent sheets three times. The phone hasn't rung in a while, and you're bored out of your mind. 

Chloe walks over, coat in her hand. 

“Hey, how you getting on?” 

“I'm good, just bored.” 

She laughs, “it's not always this quiet, mid week and all. Mac's done for the day, and I'm heading off. You gonna be OK?” 

You glance over to Eddie, who to your surprise is tattooing his own fingers. 

“What, with the untrained monkey? I'll live.” 

She laughs harder at that, “he's not so bad, once you get to know him.” Lowering her voice, she whispers, “he's good at some things, you know.” The conspiratorial wink fills in what she isn't saying. Cheeks flushed, you gawp at Eddie and back at Chloe. 

“Huh? W-what, are you like, an item?” You ask, entirely thrown. 

“Oh no, he's not exactly boyfriend material. It was just one night, but bloody hell. Anyway, it's not like that anymore, we're just friends now. Maybe you two should just, you know.” 

A blush floods your face, almost reaching the roots of your hair. “I don't- I don't, do that.” 

“I'm just saying, it's an option. It'd stop the bickering at least. I can sense the tension from all the way over there.” 

Without a further word, she leaves you sitting on your stool, trying to remember how to breathe. 

Right, let's just play nice. 

Walking over to his station, you try to glimpse what he's tattooing. 

“I thought Van Gogh wasn't made to doodle” you quip, trying to keep it light. 

“This is different” he responds, not looking up at you.

“You know, that's a waste of a needle.” 

Eddie turns the machine off and rolls his eyes at you. 

“Who made you Princess of the Needles, hmmm?” 

“Mac did actually, when he asked me to check the stock,” you reply hotly, folding your arms. Stopping for a second, you take a breath. Play nice, you're supposed to be playing nice. 

“Sorry, I didn't mean to-” 

Eddie turns the machine back on and continues with his impromptu tattoo. 

“Can't you just be… professional?” You ask over the buzzing. 

“Can't you just relax for a second? No ones here. Fuck, you need to get laid.” 

Mouth dropping open in shock, you grab your bag and stomp out of the store, anger fuelling every step. 

********************

Right, be calm, put together. You've dealt with worse people. 

It's true. At the coffee shop you had on edge caffeine addicts shout in your face almost on a daily basis, but none of them got under your skin like Eddie did. Then again, none of them had spat truths like venom in your face.

Breathe. Just breathe. 

Taking the leap, you walk into the shop, coffees and a tray of donuts in hand; a small peace offering. To your surprise, he is already at his station, sorting through ink pots. 

You make quick work of handing out coffee and donuts to everyone, until you reach his side. There's plastic wrap around one of his fingers, you assume from his little tattoo session yesterday. It only serves to remind you of how tetchy you were. 

“Morning Eddie.” 

“So you came back. Tough little princess ain't ya? Remove the stick from your ass yet?” The grin he flashes you is wide but there's a bite to his words. 

He's trying to rile you up, but you ignore it, thrusting a coffee at him. 

“I'll be nice if you will.” 

Tension laces the air as he stares at your outstretched hand, but he takes the coffee. 

“I'm sorry Eddie.” 

Opening the box of donuts, you gesture for him to take one. He does, stuffing half of it into his mouth. 

“What about you?” you ask.

“Huh?” He mumbles through a mouthful of crumbs. 

“Are you sorry…?” 

“What for?” 

Setting your jaw, your hand is about two seconds from slapping the shit out of him, but you need the money. So, you huff and walk away. 

“What did I do?” He huffs, shouting it to the shop. 

“You should just say sorry, you've clearly upset her.” Chloe calls over to him, a slight smile on her face. 

“Yeah, how do you know?” 

“You upset everyone Eddie.” She laughs, and stands to greet her first client. 

It's a tense kind of day, with neither you nor Eddie backing down, only speaking to each other if absolutely necessary. By the time everyone's left it's just you and him again. 

He's finishing up with a client, telling them about aftercare as they gush about their new ink. It's difficult to deny, the guy is talented. This phoenix tattoo looks like it's popping right off of the skin, the flames so bright and detailed you could swear you saw them move. 

Once they've left, there's an awkward pause. Eddie breaks the silence first. 

“Listen, I'm sorry sweetheart. I shouldn't have been rude to you. So I'll make you a deal. I'll give you a tattoo, for free, and we ask each other questions, get to know each other. What do you say?” 

Smiling in spite of yourself, you turn to face him. “And why would I want a tattoo?” 

He visibly relaxes at your grin, and flashes one of his own. “Come on, I'm the best. I promise I'll be gentle.” 

“We close at six, so it'll have to wait.” 

Eddie looks at the clock, and bobs his head with each tick. Twenty seconds later he turns to you, eyebrows raised.

“Fine, I suppose it is a bit silly to work in a tattoo shop with no ink.” 

He punches the air with glee, forcing you to smile despite your better judgement. 

“Well then, what are you thinking, got any ideas in mind?” 

“I want a heart on my hip” he groans, putting his face in his hands, “hang on, before you judge, I want one like this.” 

Pulling a book from your bag, you turn to the page neatly bookmarked. It's an anatomical heart from a textbook you own, a line and dot drawing.

“Oh.” Eddie's eyes light up, “that's pretty metal, actually. So, you just happen to have this on you?” 

“No, I've been thinking about it for a while. It's… not what people would expect. And when I got the job here, I was working up the courage to get it. Carrying around the book was a promise to myself, I think.” 

He busies himself with getting a stencil ready, the drawing supplied speeding up the process. 

“Right, climb on up princess, show me where you want it.”

Blushing, you unzip your skirt at the back and roll it down slightly, shifting your blouse up high. The smile Eddie gives you is salacious, but he doesn't say a word. 

“Right here?” Softly his fingertips graze you, making you jump. That simple act crackles over your skin in an electricity unknown to you. 

“Y-yes,” you practically whisper it, face crimson. 

“So, questions. Can I go first?” 

“Sure” you nod, feeling vulnerable flashing this much skin. 

“OK,” he starts, pressing the stencil down, “I'll start with an easy one. How old are you?” 

“23.” 

He nods, prepping the needle, “your turn princess.” 

“How old are you?” 

“Ah, copycat,” he grins, testing the gun, the sudden noise making you jump, “I'm 30 sweetheart. I know, I look younger.” 

Act younger is more like it. 

“I'm gonna start, you still alright?” 

“Uh huh.” 

“Atta girl. It'll feel like a scratch.” 

He leans forward as his words burn your insides. Atta girl? Part of you wanted to tell him you're not a fucking horse, but another, deeper, part keens at the praise, kicking it's feet and twirling its hair like some dizzy schoolgirl.

The needle touches and you jump, but it's fine. It's easy. If anything, it's rather nice? You gasp at the feeling, your feet wiggling. 

“Right, next question. Why here, why this job?” 

The gun is moving across your skin, consuming all rational thought. You could lie, but a part of you feels like he'd know somehow. 

“I thought it was a printers shop, or a copy place.” 

He laughs briefly, but continues to focus on your new ink. 

“I knew it. Pretty, innocent thing like you, wandering into this den of depravity? Too good to be true.” 

Glazing over his comment, you think of a question to ask. 

“How did you start working here?” 

Eddie scoffs and turns off his machine for a moment, “you need to get creative, stop using my questions.” 

“I really want to know!” You say, meeting his derisory look. 

“Fine, quid pro quo and all that shit. Been here seven years. I begged. I begged Mac for an apprenticeship everyday for a week. He gave in, and here I am. Ask something else, that was boring.” 

You wrack your brains, trying to think of something original, far too aware of the steadying hand that he's pushing onto your abdomen. 

“What band is that?” 

It's the only thing that pops into your mind. He follows your eye line to his t-shirt. 

“Oh this? This is my band, Corroded Coffin. You should come see us sometime.” 

“Oh, what do you play?” 

His face lights up, “I sing, and play guitar. That's why my fingers are so rough-” he holds one up, covered in black latex, “-oh yeah, gloves.” 

After you both share a chuckle, there's a breath of quiet between you, except for the sound of the tattoo gun.

“My turn,” he says, smiling at your hip, “I gotta know, are you a virgin?” 

It's a miracle that he's as responsive as he is, since the question knocks you sideways. You sit up in shock, but he's already moved the needle off and away. 

“You can't just ask that, it's… it's rude!” you splutter, face glowing red. 

There's no trace of apology on his face. In fact, his grin only widens with your reply. 

“I thought so. Don't worry, I'm not gonna tease you about it.” 

Laying back down, you try to think of something to say, but it just doesn't arrive. He can read you like an open book and it's deeply unsettling, not to mention embarrassing. 

“Your turn princess.” 

“I don't want to play anymore.” 

“Oh come on, I'm being nice! Ask me something.” 

“Fine. What was your last wet dream about?” 

To your dismay, he smiles yet again.

“You, sweetheart.” 

Huffing, you cross your arms in annoyance. “Fine, don't answer.” 

He's focusing on your tattoo, tongue poking out in concentration, “I'm nearly done, then you can go back to hating me.” 

“I don't hate you. I've never hated anyone,” you respond in truth. Eddie's eyebrows raise, but he remains focused. 

“Really? You must have had a much better childhood than mine.”

It's quiet for a bit. You're not sure how to respond to that, feeling the cloud of his memory hanging thickly in the air between you. 

“All done.” 

“Huh?” 

He chuckles and points at your new ink, “take a look.” 

It's beautiful. All line and dot work, like it was pulled from the book itself and glued to your hip. 

“It's amazing Eddie. Thank you.” 

The grin he shoots you is warm as he wraps your new ink and then removes his gloves. “No problem. I'll lock up, the sheets on aftercare are right there. But you knew that.” 

Smiling affectionately, you take one and stand up, hovering for a second. 

“Eddie what do I owe-” 

“-not a damn thing. See you in the morning, princess.”

********************

The next few days were much more pleasant. Eddie was flirty, yes, but he seemed to understand when to stop. You had been nicer to him, biting back on the comments when you could. There was a rhythm to it, a constant dance of him flustering you and you annoying him. 

Things really felt like they were falling into place. Until Eddie decided to cross the line. 

Walk in Wednesday again, and the shop was dead. Julio was on shift, sitting in the back having a nap. 

“Hey Mac, can I ask you something?” 

“Sure, what is it Miss?” 

“Well, how do people know about our Wednesdays?” 

“Mostly word of mouth. We handed out flyers before, but it didn't really pick up. Honestly, I'm thinking of scrapping it.” He shrugs, taking a sip of coffee. 

“Before you do, I have an idea. I can design some flyers, get them out to the coffee shop I used to work at. It's by campus, I'm sure a few students would jump at the chance. You could offer a student discount, get them in the door?” You stare at him wide eyed, hoping he likes the idea. The little speech was one you'd practised about fourteen times before actually saying it to him. 

He stares at you for a moment, then smiles. “You know, that's a good idea. I like it. Tell you what, you make it a success and I'll give you a raise.” 

“Oh, thank you! I'll get on it.” You beam, and start planning the flyer. 

Ten minutes later you have your head down, your attention entirely on the paper in front of you. The noisy shop was purely a background soundtrack, including the approaching footsteps. Then, there's a whisper, directly in your ear. 

“What you up to, princess?” 

“Fuck!” 

You scream it out and jump so high you fall off your stool. Eddie's in bits, laughing so hard he's clutching his stomach. 

“I'm sorry I didn't mean to,” he says, looking the least sorry you've ever seen a person look. 

Clambering off the floor to berate him, your mouth flops open when you hear a rip. As you desperately turn your head to look down, you see where your pencil skirt has torn right next to the seam nearly up to your ass. 

“Fuck's sake Eddie! What the hell am I gonna do!” 

Hands shaking, you clench your jaw in panic, trying to frantically come up with a way to rectify it. Eddie holds his hands up to you as if he were approaching a wild animal. 

“Just calm down princess, it's only a skirt.” 

Pouting, you hit him on the arm. 

“It's not just a skirt! I can't work like this, how can I go home and change, I won't be able to fix it and-” 

Eddie smiles and holds one of your hands. 

“It's gonna be OK, we can sort something out. You seriously need to chill, have a big O or something.” He chuckles, clearly meaning for it to be a joke, but it's hitting too close to home. 

It's never happened for you. You've kissed guys, sure, but whenever they reach into your pants, it's either uncomfortable or downright painful. Even your own desperate fumblings haven't got you there. Most of the time you just feel stupid and awkward trying to touch yourself. So, you'd given up, thinking you're broken. That it'll never happen for you. 

Tears well immediately in your eyes. He knows he fucked up, it's written all over his face. As he opens his mouth to speak you rip your hand from his grasp and run to the restroom sobbing. 

It's stupid, it's so stupid. You know that, but the tears won't stop falling, face hot and scrunched as you sit on the closed toilet seat with your head in your hands. Your breath is heavy, gulping and wet; you dimly wonder if you can just stay here until the shop closes.

There's a gentle knock on the door. 

“Sweetheart, can I come in?” It's Eddie, voice softer than you've ever heard it. 

“Go away” you manage. It's shaky and pathetic sounding, but it's out there. 

“I'm not going anywhere. Talk to me, you'll feel better, I promise.” 

He tries the door, turning the handle before you get a chance to lock it. Jumping upright, you go to push him away but he grabs your wrist and pulls you into him. His embrace takes away that edge and pretty soon you're just sobbing into his chest. 

As he strokes the back of your head, he makes shushing noises, his other arm wrapped tight around your shoulders. You're not sure how long you stay like that, in the warmth of his hold, his body pressed against yours. The tenderness calms you down until your tears stop, but he doesn't pull away. 

After a while, he whispers, “feel a little better?” 

“Y-yeah,” you say, voice returning to itself. 

Only then does he release you, rubbing a thumb under your eye to wipe moisture away. 

“I didn't mean to hurt you. You wanna go somewhere and talk about it?” 

“I- I've never- I don't talk about- I-” you shake your head as if to clear it. A part of you wants to hit him, to shout at him, but his gaze is so concerned that you agree. Your shoulders slump, losing a bit of tension. “OK.” 

Smiling at you, he whips his flannel shirt off, leaving him in a white vest, and ties it around your waist. 

“For your modesty. Come with me.” 

Puzzled, you follow him out of the bathroom and back into the shop where Mac is sitting looking worried. 

“What's going-” 

Eddie interrupts, “emergency late lunch needed, alright? Can you cancel my 3 o clock?” 

Mac seems confused, but looks at Eddie's earnest face, and your emotional one, and nods. 

“Not a problem.” 

“Thanks, man.” 

Before you can ask where you're going, he pulls you from the shop by the arm and across the street into a dimly lit bar, depositing you in the nearest booth. 

“I'll be right back.” 

If he's uncomfortable by his appearance, he doesn't show it. The way he strides up to the bar, it's as if he owns the place. It's remarkable, the sheer confidence he embodies like a second skin. 

“Hey, John!” He hollers, knuckles knocking on the wood of the bar. 

John appears, a gruff, stocky guy with a buzz cut and a sour face. 

“What the fuck are you doing here.” 

“Oh come on, you know you missed me.” 

John's face screws into something akin to a smile. “What do you want, you little shit.” 

“I love it when you talk dirty,” Eddie grins and winks, “two beers please.” 

A grunt and a nod, and John puts the beers down on the bar. As Eddie reaches for his wallet John waves a hand in dismissal. 

“Put that away boy, your money ain't good here. Besides, your lady friend looks like she needs it.” 

You flush and tear your eyes away, embarrassed. Eddie walks back over and puts a beer in front of you. 

“Eddie, we're still working I-” 

“It's one beer. It's alright.” 

You shrug and take a sip, nodding at the bartender, “he knows I'm upset, do I look a mess?” 

Shaking his head so hard it releases some of his wayward waves from their confines, he tips his beer at you, before he takes a long chug. 

“No,” he says enthusiastically, “you look just as pretty as you always do.” 

Scoffing, you turn your eyes downward. Eddie ignores your response, instead pressing on what happened earlier. 

“Sorry again,” he says, sounding genuinely distressed, "I don't want to see anyone hurt from something I said, least of all you.” 

Meeting his gaze, you smile incredulously. “Oh? And why me?” 

“Come on, don't make me say it.” 

Staring at him, you fold your arms in an act of defiance. He rolls his eyes and looks at you. 

“I like you. You're uptight, and mean to me, and a little conceited, but I like you. I don't want you to hurt. Can we just be friends? I'm a pretty good listener, you know? I can help.” 

Heat floods your insides. Eyes scanning him for any sign of a joke, you come up empty. 

‘I'm not conceited,” you counter weakly, clinging on to the familiar push and pull. 

“And I'm the Easter bunny.” 

Giggling, you take another sip of beer. 

“Come on, friends? Talk to me.” 

Sighing deeply, you fix your gaze at the table, forefinger tracing patterns in the condensation from your drink. “Promise not to laugh?” 

“I promise.” 

You can't tell how genuine he's being, as you don't dare look at his face, nerves controlling your every limb. His voice seems honest enough. 

“I- I have a problem, something I can't physically do. You reminded me of it. It's not your fault.” Shrugging in an attempt to make this look less serious than it is for you, you take a pull out of your beer bottle once more.

“Wait, are you saying…” he chuckles a little in disbelief, “have you never… had an orgasm before?” 

“Eddie, be quiet!” You urgently whisper, looking around the bar. 

“No one's listening sweetheart, no spies in here,” he says in a low tone, hand reaching out to grasp yours. Your first instinct is to shake his hand away but he holds firm, rough fingertips rubbing against your knuckles. 

“Eddie, I'm broken,” you whimper, voice breaking, “I can't do it.” 

“Oh sweetheart,” he responds, chock full of emotion, “you're not broken. You are perfect.” 

Pulling your hand away, you keep your eyes away from his, unwilling to meet that burning gaze of his. Unwilling to lose yourself in those sultry dark eyes. 

“I can't do it. Anytime some guy tries, it hurts. I've given up to be honest. I just wasn't made for it.” 

He laughs again, dragging his hand over his face. 

“Fuck, sweetheart, the problem ain't you. Have you- have you tried, fixing it, on your own?” The last part is a whisper, you assume to protect your feelings. 

“Yeah, but I just feel stupid and awkward. I don't know.” 

There's a little silence between you as you both dwell in the suffocating fog of your confession, neither of you willing to clear it. 

“Listen, this may be way out of your comfort zone, but I'm saying it anyway. If you don't like it, we'll forget it, and I won't mention it again.” 

Finally looking at him, at the vulnerability on his face, you nod, not trusting your voice. 

“I can… maybe I can help you. Show you you're not broken? As a favour between friends.” 

You laugh mirthlessly and finish your beer. “That's a little more than a favour, Eddie.” 

“We can keep it professional.” 

You stare at him wide eyed. His messy hair and dark glittering eyes. At the way he slumps in his seat like a king or a delinquent, you can't decide which. At his taunt frame, the tattoos spackling every available inch of his skin. Your eyebrows raise of their own accord. 

“Professional? You?” 

“Yeah, me! I can do it, you know. I could make you come.” 

A shiver forces its merry way down your spine at his words. 

“You're really confident.” 

“You haven't seen what I can do.” 

Blushing hard, you attempt to control yourself. “Look, if we're going to do this, I need you to promise some things.” 

“Ah, of course, you would have rules,” he grins, as he leans back and spreads in his seat, “continue.” 

Searching your mind for a moment, you try to glean what you need. 

“First of all, we need to be discreet, and professional at all times, clear?” 

“As crystal,” he grins wolfishly, “anything else?” 

“Yeah- I think,” you wrack your brains, trying to come up with something that would make this less intimate. Anything. But the roguish nature of his presence makes it hard to even think of a thing. Finally, your eyes widen at the idea that suddenly crosses your mind. 

“Final rule. No kissing.” 

He pouts, looking at your chest and back up, “no kissing anywhere?” 

“N-no, no kissing on the mouth.” 

Grin returning, he winks at you, a gesture that flips your stomach inside out. 

“Kinky. Alright, deal,” he leans forward to give his hand to yours. A hand covered in ink and calluses. Roughness and tenderness. 

You shake it.

********************

For the next couple of days, your little arrangement isn't brought up. A wild thought hammers itself into your mind; either he wasn't serious, or you imagined it. 

Those theories are put to bed on day three. 

After you let Mac know about the flyers and the bonus poster you designed, you sit back and enjoy the praise given to you. It's funny, the feeling of being told a job has been well done makes you happier than you care to admit.

Eddie turns up at the counter, whistling through his teeth. “Sweet looking flyers, how'd you swing those?” 

“I designed them. I've got a degree in design and marketing, if you didn't know,” you sniff, rearranging the stationary on the counter to avoid his eyes. 

“Maybe you could help me design some for my band. These look pretty metal.” He says, picking one up and looking at it closely. 

“Maybe.” 

Eddie leans in close, so close you feel the warmth of his breath on your cheek. 

“If you're still up for our arrangement, I'm free tonight.” 

Heat immediately flushes your face. Ignoring him entirely, you write your address and a time on a notepad, and thrust the paper into his hands. 

“Covert, I like it. See you then princess.” 

By the time 9pm rolls around you're a jittery mass of nerves, having changed clothes no less than four times, tidied your apartment, changed the bedsheets and paced so much you're surprised there's not a groove in the floorboards. 

In the end you'd decided on a baggy band t-shirt and your sleep shorts. It was a rational calculation to make Eddie think you're just wearing what you usually would at home and therefore show you're not nervous. I mean, you are wearing what you'd usually wear at home. He didn't need to know about how long it took you to reach that decision. 

The sound of the intercom buzzing sends your pulse into overdrive. Pressing the button, you let out a strangled “Hello?” 

“Hey princess.” 

“Come on up.” 

Fuckfuckfuckfuckfuck…

A soft knock at the door and you count to five, trying to remember how to breathe. When you open the door, you're stunned. He's leaning on the doorframe in a fucking button up shirt. It's black, and clings to him deliciously. His hair looks a little damp, loose around his shoulders, and his aftershave is making you feel dizzy. 

“Oh, you didn't need- I mean-” you point at his shirt, and he looks down and chuckles. 

“Just came from band practice. Took a shower, and this was clean,” he shrugs and shoulders into your apartment. “Nice place. Where's all your stuff?” 

You look around at your sparse apartment. Everything in order, down to the fresh flowers on your tiny dining table. 

“This is all my stuff,” you say, confused, “I don't like clutter.” 

He chuckles, walking over to you. “No wonder I annoy you. I am clutter.” 

He's close now, close enough so that you have to look up to see his face. His rough fingers ghost your arm, sending a wave of goosebumps over your skin. 

“Nice seeing you in something casual. L7, right?” He asks, pointing at the t-shirt. 

“Yeah, you know who they are?” 

“I'm surprised you do. Thought you'd be a Mariah Carey kinda girl.” 

You scrunch your face in distaste. “No, not at all. You don't know everything about me.” 

He leans in, warm breath a whisper in your ear. “I know some things about you.” 

Squirming hotly, you lead him to your room before you lose your nerve. 

“So, the princess's bedchamber. It's nice,” he remarks, flopping down on the bed as if it were his own. 

“Take your boots off,” you snip, folding your arms. 

“Ah, there she is.” He smiles, but does as instructed. Once more he's laying back into your scattered pillows looking perfectly at ease. You, on the other hand, stand there, spine a vertical rod as you stare back at him. 

 “Come on then, sit down.” 

Nervously you sit at the foot of the bed with your legs crossed. 

“Now princess, what do you do when you touch yourself?” 

Blushing furiously, you stammer out, “what, do you expect me to like, show you?” 

He chuckles, diffusing some of the tension. “As much as I'd like that, I don't think you're ready for that kinda shit. Just tell me, what's your thought process?” 

Staring at him for a little too long, you open your mouth and close it again. He rolls his eyes. 

“Look, if you want me to help I'll help, but you gotta give me something here.” He looks as if he's about to get up and leave; your arm shoots out on its own accord, grabbing his leg to stop him. 

“Sorry, sorry. I just, I've never spoken about this kinda stuff. I don't know about any process, I just… reach down and fiddle around?” You blush even more. 

“So you don't like, watch anything? Or read anything?” He looks a little amused.

“What on earth are you talking about?” 

“Porn, sweetheart.” 

It's so blunt that you jump a little. “Oh no, I've never, oh no no.” 

“Christ,” he whispers, “right, you can like, set the mood. Look at something to turn you on? It'd probably help you feel less awkward.” 

“Oh. Right.” 

“And do you ever just like, slouch? I feel like I'm back at school looking at ya.” 

“Huh?” 

“Just, come here.” He pats the little space between his spread legs and you hesitate for a second before you crawl over to him. 

“How do you want me to sit, like cross legged or-” 

He grabs your hips and spins you, forcing your back into his crotch.

“Stop trying to control every little thing,” he says in a hard tone, one you're too embarrassed to admit makes your insides tingle. Softer, he continues. “Look, if you're ever gonna get there you need to relax, stop trying to control it, and stop overthinking.” 

“Great, all of the things I'm shit at.” 

His laugh is loud, it vibrates into your spine. “I'll help you, OK? You trust me?” 

“In a very limited sense of the word, yeah.” 

“Lemme rephrase. You still OK to do this?” 

“Yeah.”

“Good. Just relax.” 

You're not sure what you are expecting, but it certainly isn't his hands winding into your hair, fingertips rubbing softly at your scalp. It shoots tingles down your spine, your entire head feeling fuzzy and warm. 

You stifle a whimper, biting your lip. His fingers stop. 

“If you want to make noises, you can. Tells me I'm doing a good job. That goes for everything else too, alright?” 

“Alright.” You whisper. 

“You comfortable?” 

“Yeah it's just- well-”

“Tell me.” 

“I think it's your shirt buttons, they're digging into my back a bit,” you admit, feeling the sharp points down your spine. 

“Easily fixed.” He taps your arm and you lean forward. Some rustling, and he throws his shirt to the foot of your bed. 

“Now just chill sweetheart.” 

His fingers begin rubbing at you again, thumbs sinking low to pop at the bubbles in your neck. 

“Fuck, that's really nice.” 

He hums appreciatively, working his hands lower and dropping them to your shoulders. The massaging continues, and you feel yourself melting, your body moulding into his. Your legs, once ramrod straight, have bent a little and parted of their own accord, the muscles loosening. Even your breathing has slowed. 

“That's better, atta girl,” he says and you whine at the words, a little pathetic mewling sound that tumbles past your lips.

“Oh, you like that, don't you?” The smile is evident in his voice, a smug tone smeared liberally across each word. 

“You, you're so-” you begin, but his hand drags across the front of your shirt, just over the tops of your breasts.

“I'm so what?” He whispers in your ear.

“So, so arrogant,” you huff. He laughs, a husky chuckle, and dances the tips of his fingers over your clothed nipple. Gasping, you grasp at his thighs either side of you.

“Yeah? What else am I?” He says, nibbling at your earlobe. 

“You- you're cocky, and- and self assured- Oh God!” 

Rudely interrupted by him tweaking your nipple between his thumb and forefinger, you swear, back arching off of him for a moment. 

“You know,” he says in a gravelly tone directly in your ear, “those are pretty much the same thing.” 

“You drive me crazy,” you huff, squirming a little against him as his hands explore your chest over your shirt.

“Good crazy or bad crazy?” He smiles, then bites softly at your neck. 

“I- I haven't decided yet.” 

“Good. I can say the same about you,” he admits, his hands trailing lower, pulling your shirt up so he can stroke at your bare sides. The touch of fingertips on your skin sends a river of sensations through you that run deep into your core. 

“Are you going to- what are you doing, exactly?” You breathe, starting to move against him. 

“I'm warming you up sweetheart. Why, don't you like it?” 

Genuinely curious, you try to ask what you want to know without using the words. 

 “N- no, I do. Do you have to, erm, get warmed up? When you, you know.” 

He lets out a little huff of a laugh. “Guys are a little less… complicated, than girls. For the most part.” 

“Oh. OK, so you can just. I mean, you just, get excited?” Your breathing becomes more ragged when the tip of his thumb grazes the underside of your breast. 

“Sweetheart, I got hard seeing you in these little shorts.” Running a finger down your stomach, he lightly pings the elastic of your sleep shorts as if to accentuate his point. 

“Really?” 

There's no denying it when he moves his hips up and you feel his solid bulge press into the small of your back. 

“Really. Can I take this off?” He asks, twisting the hem of your shirt in one hand. 

“Yeah.” It's a whisper. You're a little scared of being bare chested, but not having to see his face helps. Plus, he's wound you up so much you're on the verge of begging for his touches, pleading for more. 

He guides your top up, up, up, revealing you slowly. Coaxing it over your head, you move your arms up so he can remove it. It ends up in a heap on top of his shirt. One tattooed arm wraps around your waist, pulling you toward him more, his hardness pushing against your ass. 

His breathing is unsteady as he grinds his hips, pushing onto you further. Gasping, your fingers are vices, firmly attached to his thighs in a vain attempt to anchor you. 

Suddenly his hand is winding into your hair, tugging your head aside so he can run a fat tongue across your neck. You shudder at the sensation, feeling the hard ball of his tongue piercing against your throat When he takes his pillowy lips and sucks at the spot between your neck and shoulder a moan slips out. Grunting in approval, his hands are on your bare tits, fingers pinching at your hardened nipples. 

“Holy hell!” 

He laughs, running rough fingers down your body, circling your new ink, then dipping down past your waistband. Those tattooed fingers barely brush your pubic hair, teasing you, then glide back up to your stomach. 

“Eddie, please.” 

Your voice is small, not your own. Eddie groans low in your ear, rubbing his length into the fat of your ass.

“Fuck, princess, I like you saying my name like that. You want me to touch you right here?” he says, pressing down hard over your clothed clit. 

The sheer relief of having his touch where you need it gets you close to tears; a gulping shudder of a sob rips from deep in your chest. 

“See, you're not broken, sweetheart. Can I take these off?” 

Shaking, you hook your fingers into your sleep shorts and pull them down your legs, air hitting your most intimate area. Eddie huffs in your ear, his inked hands rubbing up the insides of your thighs. 

“You're so fuckin’ sexy.”

Before you can retort, his fingers dip down to your entrance, gathering your slick. You can hear how wet you are, but it's not in you to think about it. You can't think, only feel. 

When his fingers run up and start rubbing circles into your clit, your response is visceral. Bucking up, you chase the feeling, searching for even more. 

“I'm gonna slip a finger in, alright princess?” 

You nod, waiting for the pain, wincing before it even starts.

“It's OK, you're fine, you gotta relax baby.” He strokes your stomach with his free hand, pressing kisses to your temple. 

The tip of his finger breaches you, and the pain doesn't come. Your soaking wet cunt invites him in, warm and pulsing with arousal. He slips it into the hilt, his palm pressing into your clit, and your moan is long and loud. It's never felt like this. Never has it stoked a fire in your gut, bubbled your insides like pop rocks and Coke, turned you into a writhing mess. 

He fucks his finger into you, slipping a second in to join the first, and you move your hips, chasing the building tightness in your belly. Each thrust of his hand has you bucking, and in turn rubbing against his member trapped within its denim prison. 

“That's it, good fuckin’ girl.” His voice is strained, as if he's trying hard not to lose control. 

“Eddie, oh fuck, f-feels so- good, yes, please, please-” 

You're not sure what you're begging for, and Eddie doesn't seem to be in any state to ask, but it doesn't matter. His fingers fuck into you in earnest, stroking hard against some spot inside that has you babbling and quivering around him. 

“God, you're so tight, this little cunts gonna drive me crazy. So wet and perfect, Jesus Christ.”

The feeling seems too much and not enough, and it grows higher and higher, flooding your body with a pleasure so intense you're sure you black out. The only thing you're aware of is your voice screaming out his name as your body thrusts wildly into his grip. Finally, it dissipates, your body melting against his form, sweating and spent. 

You take a breath, and another, trying to gather your wits enough to speak. Eddie speaks first.

“So sweetheart, everything you dreamed it would be?” He asks as he strokes your hair. 

“Better. Fuck, Eddie. Thank you.” 

“Anytime. Seriously. Any. Time. Day, night, weekends, holidays-” 

You giggle, slapping his thigh, and sit up, grabbing your discarded shirt to cover up. 

“Sorry, that was probably a little er, frustrating for you.” You say as you glance at his bare torso, drinking in the sight with your eyes for the first time. He's lean, but ripped, a faint sheen of sweating making his tattoos glisten in the low light. 

“What do you mean sweetheart?” 

“Well, doing that, not getting anything in return...” 

He chuckles lightly, “Oh I wouldn't say that,” he glances down, gesturing to his jeans, “full disclosure, I came in my pants.” 

“Really?” your eyes widen, staring at him with disbelief. 

“I ain't lying. Wanna check?” He waggles his eyebrows at you, making you laugh again. 

“You seem better already. Right, I better go.” 

Shoulders deflating, you pout, “I suppose you better.” 

“Hey don't look at me like that. I hoped that helped. Sleep tight, drink some water. I'll see you tomorrow princess.” 

And just like that, he leaves. Of course he leaves, it was just a deal you struck, nothing more. A favour. you wipe stray tears from your eyes and try not to focus on the sound of the front door shutting. 

As you collapse on the bed, exhausted, you think about his hands, his words. There's something screaming inside, telling you you're playing with fire, but as you drift off you can't find it in you to mind.

Taglist

@liminalpebble @eddies-puppet @rip-quizilla @micheledawn1975 @vanilla-demon @millercontracting @roanniom @josephquinnsfreckles @leelei1980 @mrsjellymunson @usedtobecooler @eddiesprincess86 @ali-r3n @choke-me-eddie @littlebebebunny @big-ope-vibes

[yanderedrabbles]

Yandere Survivor - Zombie Apocalypse Au

Yandere! Survivor who's at ground zero when the infected start attacking. Who watches the world turn to chaos in the blink of an eye.

Yandere! Survivor who's willing to face off against hordes of infected because he wants to live. Even if the grisly horror of it turns his stomach.

Yandere! Survivor who knows there isn't hope for anything. The army is scattered and helpless. The cities are overrun. The people don't have a chance in hell.

Yandere! Survivor who knows but fights anyway.

Yandere! Survivor who saves you from a whole pack of infected. Who can't belive his eyes when he sees you. The city is overrun with freaks and you're still wearing a pretty little sundress, not a single weapon in sight.

Yandere! Survivor who stands frozen when you hug him. Who can feel the way you're trembling, your fingers knotted into his shirt. Who finds his voice and promises to keep you safe. Somehow.

Yandere! Survivor who fights tooth and nail to get you out of the city. Who scavenges guns and ammo off dead soldiers and tries not to look into their milky, rotting eyes.

Yandere! Survivor who finally has someone to look out for and it makes the loneliness much more bearable.

Yandere! Survivor who gets stronger each day. Who can feel his muscles literally straining against his shirt.

Yandere! Survivor who tries to teach you self defence and fails miserably, because every time he has you pinned under him he can't help but get turned on.

Yandere! Survivor who inspects the hem of your sundress and let's his knuckles brush against your thighs. Who scoffs and tells you its way too flimsy to keep you safe, that a zombie could bite straight through it.

"Hell, I could rip it off without even trying."

Yandere! Survivor who loves how helpless and scared you are. Who feels a rush of pride every time a zombie shrieks and you immediately grab onto him.

Yandere! Survivor who quickly learns to trade with other survivors but to never let his guard down.

Yandere! Survivor who notices the way men stare at you. Like they're dying for a taste of you even worse than the zombies are. Who notices the way people talk about you like you belong to him.

'Your girl.'

Like you're his property or something.

Yandere! Survivor who feels a rush of pride every time it happens. And soon he starts thinking that way too. You're his responsibility therefore you are his.

Yandere! Survivor who never settles down or allies himself with other people. He doesn't trust them. But more than that, he doesn't trust them around you.

Yandere! Survivor who finds it easier and easier to kill the infected. And from there, it's just a small step to start killing the living.

Yandere! Survivor who slits the throats of an entire trading party because he heard them talking about you. In the morning, he tells you they just left early and that it's nothing to worry about.

Yandere! Survivor who doesn't let your disappointment linger when you have to leave camp and move on. Who constantly reminds you he's doing what's best for you.

Yandere! Survivor who insists on being with you when you bath in the rivers and lakes that dot the countryside. He'll keep his back turned for most of it, but inevitably he'll find an excuse to turn around and watch you. Your clothes always cling to you afterwards and he's throat always goes dry when they do.

Yandere! Survivor who takes any chance he can to share a bunk or sleeping bag with you. Who tosses his arm around your waist and tells you it's just to conserve heat.

Yandere! Survivor who knows there isn't a future for the world, but he'll be damned if he can't see one with you.

[rafey-baby]

hidden

outlaw!rafe holding pogue!reader hostage in her own house after banging his fist on her door in the middle of a stormy night, demanding to be let in with a gun in hand and wild waves in the sea of his eyes…

c/w: rafe being manipulative, mentions of murder & violence, he’s also weirdly soft in the end? 18+ mdni!

wc: 2k

he’s been stuck in my head for a while so hope u enjoy xx

series masterlist

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

There’s still sleep dust lingering in her lashes when she hesitantly cracks open the door at 3 am—revealing a tall, scary man with scarlet stains on his hands, white button up saturated in maroon and a scowl painted over his unsettling countenance.  

She stands there like a deer in headlights, unmoving while he looks down at her with arctic eyes as chilling as the frigid waters surrounding an iceberg. And at first, she thinks she’s still asleep, tired brain conjuring up some creepy murderer scenario where she’s the idiot who does everything the audience in the movie theater is screaming at her not to.

But as she properly blinks her sleepy eyes open, she comes to the realization that this is not a horror film and this intimidating stranger (with oddly appealing features) who’s definitely just killed someone is very much real.  

She’s about to open her mouth— unsure whether to scream for help or simply stare with her mouth hung open in shock, but she doesn’t get the chance to find out before he’s pasting his massive palm over her lips.  

“Don’t make a sound,” his low mutter makes a shiver run down her spine. And she doesn’t, instead she just blinks, too out of it to move a muscle— the reek of the dried blood on his hand hitting her nose and making her face scrunch up.

She doesn’t know why she’s not putting up any sort of a fight, blames it on the fact that half her brain is still swimming in the lake of her dreamland— soaking up the glittering sunbeams that never dull and dipping its toes in the grass that consists of misty nebula and twinkling stars. 

And he’s just so mean, manhandling her to his liking and ordering her around with a gun to her head; grumbling about needing a hiding place from the cops after dumping a body somewhere in the ocean and getting caught since apparently, his temper really just got the best of him at times.  

“Didn’t mean to kill the guy, alright? He jus’ kept bein’ a bitch ‘n pissin’ me off— I mean, I was, uh, I was provoked, what was I supposed to do?”

However, his explanation seems to do very little to soothe her overstrung heart that’s thudding in her ribcage; loud enough for him to hear and earning her an exasperated roll of his eyes.

“M’takin’ a shower now ‘n you’re not gonna move an inch, you understand? Cause if you do…m’gonna have to— m’gonna hurt you ‘n I don’t wanna do that, okay?” 

She merely nods her head, unable to string together a coherent sentence, and he takes note of the way her inhale gets caught in her throat when he takes a step closer. “You, uh, you live alone?”

She offers another nod of her head.  

“Dumb girl”, he tuts, shaking his head in disapproval. “When someone’s knockin’ on your door in the middle of the night you don’t— you don’t fuckin’ open, alright?”  

She’s making it entirely too easy for him.  

However, the second he’s in the bathroom, she forces her exhausted brain to think— hurriedly coming up with a rickety plan while she listens to the water streaming behind the door. She waits for only a a few seconds to make sure the coast is clear before she’s bolting towards her bedroom; trembling fingers grabbing her phone from her nightstand and trying to dial 911.  

Unfortunately, her shaky hands aren’t of any help when they clumsily drop the phone— the clattering sound of it hitting the floor echoing in the quietness of the room. And suddenly she can’t breathe.

Her brain short-circuits as she bends down in an attempt to reach for the wretched device that has somehow tumbled under her bed. However, when she finally catches it in an unsteady grip, she hears the shower turn off— an eerie stillness following. In her state of panic, she attempts to turn the phone back on and call for help, but it’s proving to be rather difficult since her lungs aren’t working and her heartbeat is ringing in her ears.  

“Boo,” a low whisper right behind her makes her flinch; a faint gasp leaving her while a shiver travels down her spine.

“Why’d you jus’ do that, huh? Told you I didn’t wanna— didn’t wanna fuckin’ hurt you ‘n then you go ‘n pull this shit,” a strong hand grips her by her throat when he turns her around to face him.  

“M’sorry, I— I don’t—” she’s paralyzed, respiration shallow while her blood runs cold.

“You don’t what, hm?” he stares into her horror-stricken eyes with an almost bored look, seeming to be entirely indifferent to her torment. 

“Can’t…can’t breathe,” her voice is nearly inaudible.

A grim chuckle bubbles from his chest in response. “Can’t breathe? Maybe you should’ve thought about that before, yeah?” he scoffs, cruel words mocking her.  

“You’re so fuckin’ stupid— want me to kill you? That what you want?” he grits out, squeezing her neck harder; making her feel dizzy.

“No! No, please. M’sorry…m’sorry, won’t— won’t do it again, promise, I’ll do anything—” she manages out, desperately gasping for air because he’s nearly crushing her windpipe in his unrelenting grip.  

“Anythin’ huh? That’s, uh, tha’s real temptin’ ‘n all but what I need you to do is not pull stupid shit like this, you get that?”  

“I won’t, I promise. You can, um, stay here for as long as you want and I’ll help, okay?” she thinks she’s going to pass out soon— little stars already peppering behind her fluttering lids and her weakened limbs beginning to feel heavy.

His coarse panting fills the room while he seems to contemplate her offer. “If you even think about runnin’ to the cops tonight, m’gonna fuckin’ find you, you understand?” 

She frantically nods and at last, his hold begins to loosen around her trachea, allowing for her greedy lungs to finally suck in air as she takes a step back in an attempt to even out her respiration.  

He doesn’t say anything for a moment— silently observing her while she clears her throat and swallows a few times, trying to pacify her racing heart and the thoughts running around her brain.

Then, she blinks up at him, noticing how he smells like her honey-scented body wash and orange blossom shampoo— nothing but a towel hanging low on his hips, leaving very little to her imagination as the room grows quiet.  

Once she feels the flat floorboards under her wobbly feet again, she tries a different approach; a nervous hesitation overlaying her creaky question. “What’s, um…what’s your name?”

“Don’t worry about it,” he dismisses her. However, when a small pout begins to mold her mouth the longer she stares at him, he lets out a discontented huff.  

“Rafe,” he finally responds, not bothering to ask for hers, seemingly not caring enough for it. She tells him, nonetheless, and he can’t help but laugh at her priorities— a literal criminal has broken into her home and she cares about fucking introductions.  

“So…have you— have you killed anyone else?”

She doesn’t know why she’s trying to make small talk with him but she figures that if she gets him to talk about something else, choking her to death won’t be at the forefront of his mind anymore.  

“You seriously wanna know?” he raises his brows. 

She thinks about it for a moment and then settles on a shake of her head, followed by a harsh chuckle rumbling from his chest.  

“So, uh— what do you do? Like besides…killing people and stuff?” she tries once more.  

“Listen, the less you know, the better, alright?” he states, causing her to let out a soft sigh in defeat when all of a sudden, thunder crackles behind her windows, an ablaze lightning illuminating her dimly lit bedroom soon after.  

She flinches at the sound and the nearly sinister way it momentarily lights up his face.  

“You scared of a little storm?” he feigns concern as he peers down at her. “Don’t worry, I’ll keep you safe, yeah?” the mocking grin plastered on his face causes a shudder to travel through her as she swallows—wishing this was all just a really bad nightmare.  

- - - - - - - - - - - - 

After the little incident, Rafe thinks she’s just as sweet as sugar, offering to make him tea and asking if he wants a blanket or an extra pillow so he’d be more comfortable sleeping on the couch. 

And he can tell that she’s merely doing it because she’s terrified of him, which she should be. Nonetheless, he thinks it feels nice to be pampered and doted on— to have a pretty girl following his orders like a trained puppy. It makes him figure he’s gonna enjoy his stay just fine.  

The following morning though, he’s woken up by her shaky figure standing next to him— pointing his gun at him. 

He lets out a sigh, softened bones mellow from sleep while he rubs at his eyes and shifts to a seated position on the couch— teasingly lifting his hands up in surrender. “Puppy’s got a gun, huh? Tryin’ to be all tough now, are we?”

“I— I want you to leave,” she says, voice rickety and words unsure.  

And he’s trying to take her seriously, he really is, but it’s proving to be rather difficult when she resembles a scared little kitten more than someone who knows what they’re doing.  

“You want me to leave? Maybe you should, uh, work on your pitch a little more? M’not very convinced,” the lazy smile tugging at his mouth makes her brows crease.  

“Rafe, this is not a joke,” a scowl shades her face.

He thinks she looks rather adorable. “Come on, pup, you’re not gonna shoot me. You don’t even know how to use that thing, do you?” his voice is even, and it makes her hesitate.

“Well…it can’t be that complicated?” it’s more of a question than a statement and he lets out a humored chuckle in response. Her frown deepens.  

“Why don’t you give that to me, yeah? You don’t want death on your conscience, would break ya, you’re too soft for that shit.”  

“You don’t know me.” 

“Know you enough,” he says, finally standing on his feet, taking a slow step towards her, making her squeeze the weapon tighter in her trembling fingers.  

“If— if I give it to you…you’re gonna— you’re gonna kill me and I don’t wanna die,” her words are rushed, hysterical. 

His brows furrow. “Who said anythin’ about killin’ you? Listen, if you give me the gun right now, m’not gonna do anythin’. You have my word, okay?” he towers over her, solid chest grazing the barrel.  

“I don’t trust you,” her voice is a whisper.  

“I know, pup…but I also know that you’re not gonna use that,” his steady hands are a stark contrast to her own when he grabs for the firearm, slipping it from her weak fingers with ease.  

“There we go, no need to be so, uh, so fuckin’ theatrical, yeah?” he lowers his face in order to lock eyes with her. “See? Not hurtin’ you, am I?”  

She manages out a hum of agreement, and then her waterline is brimming with salty droplets as she chokes out a sob. “M’sorry. I don’t—”  

“Hey, hey s’all good. Mistakes happen, yeah?” he says before his strong arms are wrapping around her trembling form because he’s not a complete monster, and for some reason it only makes her weep harder. 

Her crocodile tears wet his shirt while his big paws rub against her back, but he doesn’t seem to mind. And she thinks it’s almost…comforting when he starts to sway her from side to side, like he’s trying to calm down a crying child. 

“There you go, just, uh, let it all out ‘n maybe you can chill out a bit, yeah? You pogues can be so fuckin’ dramatic sometimes,” he pats at her back, rolling his eyes as she takes in shaky inhale after shaky inhale until she’s feeling slightly more placid.  

“Shit, if I’d known you were such a fuckin’ crybaby I would’ve picked another house,” he grumbles, pulling away from her weakened form before pushing her back to stumble on her feet— setting the gun back onto the coffee table with a clank.

[caffeinewitchcraft]

The Mayor's Daughter and the Outlaw

Summary: After ten years, you've finally got your shot at your revenge. You've found the Hero. You have him in your sights.

-----

Pull the trigger.

You’ve worked too hard not to pull the trigger. The sweat, blood and tears you’ve shed have been the least you’ve given to be here. The air is crisp and clean nearly a hundred feet up in a pine tree overlooking a remote forest. You’re probably the only person in the world capable of spotting the brown, camouflaged building spanning the length of the small river running through the valley. There’s a hologram of the river it’s covering playing over the building’s walls. Hell, there are even birds flicking occasionally across the illusion, not often enough to draw attention, but just often enough their movement sends your eyes darting to other trees, trying to find where they went.

You breathe in the scent of sun-heated sap so slowly that it takes a solid minute for your lungs to expand. Your pupils flex and adjust whenever the wind rocks your tree. The window you’ve been staring at for the past hour remains in your focus.

The Sun, hair just as fake-gold as it was ten years ago, sleeps on. He’s definitely older now that you can see him in real life instead of on magazine covers or under studio lights. The skin of his neck is loose and folded under the weight of his chin drooping towards his chest. His eyes flicker under his eyelids. The bastard still has the audacity to dream. His arms are crossed over the sun motif emblazoned across his breastplate, his dust-covered boots kicked up on his desk so you can see how worn the soles are. Judging by the way his lips tremble, he’s snoring.

Pull the trigger.

You exhale. This is when you should do it. When your shoulders drop and the wind dies so that, for a moment, the world stands still. There are no whispers across the canopy. Every bough is frozen. The reflection of the sun in the river is overcome by a well-timed cloud and the Sun’s head tilts back to expose the long line of his throat.

The trigger presses back against your finger like an eager puppy. There’s nothing special about the bullets, nothing special about this gun. It’s not the right weapon for what you’re asking it to do, but you’ve had longer and harder shots. You know that you’ll shoot true and the confidence steadies your hand even more. You smoothly pull--

If you kill a Hero, there’s no going back.

Your pupils dilate at the memory. For a moment you don’t see the Sun; you see her with her face burned as red as her prom dress. You try to dispel the image, try to remember that she didn’t die in her prom dress, but it’s too late.

I want you to live, Elian.

You’re suddenly aware of how your lungs ache and your legs burn from the way they’re wrapped around the tree and the bark is digging into your cheek and your fingers are like ice on the trigger. You’re out in the middle of nowhere. This is the Sun’s private residence. The security must be insane even if there doesn’t seem to be anyone else around. What’s your exit strategy again? Your thoughts scatter as her voice rings through your head again.

More than anything, I want you to live.

-------Ten years ago----

You’re what the heroes tactfully call a nuisance. A juvenile delinquent with powers, aka a kid that the police aren’t equipped to handle and the local Hero chapter is too overqualified and too understaffed to address often.

 Your moral compass has never had a true north and it only gets worse the more your powers develop. Soon you aren’t just stealing your mom’s car – you’re stealing the neighbor’s and then the neighbor’s neighbor’s and then the neighbor’s neighbor’s neighbor’s until you’re breaking into houses at the top of the hill and joyriding in a car worth more than your entire neighborhood together.

You find out pretty quickly that the heroes care a lot more when money is involved.

You spend your first night in jail after getting chased for three hours in a neon green lambo by the four heroes packed like sardines in a standard issue SUV. It’s laughably easy to out-drive them, choking around corners and careening down alleys that you scouted in the afternoon. Honestly, it would have been easy to get away, but your mom called just as the tank hit empty, asking when you were coming home.  You decided to give the heroes a break before they decided to play too rough with a minor.

Mom isn’t thrilled when you tell her you won’t be home in time for school tomorrow.

You kind of expect to be sent to prison the next day when you find out just whose car you stole. The Mayor’s daughter’s car, bought new for her seventeenth birthday a month ago. There are two open secrets about the mayor. One, he’s probably one of the heroes that protect the city judging from how much he praises them every time there’s a mic nearby. Two, he loves his daughter more than anything else.

So when you’re released the next day with a slap on the wrist? Yeah, you’re surprised.

When you’re released the next day to find the golden-haired, blue-eyed Mayor’s daughter waiting outside? Having just bailed you out?

You feel fear for the first time.

“You could have at least crashed it,” she says when she notices you gaping at her from the end of the parking lot. She’s leaning against the hood of a black SUV that looks a lot like the one the heroes chased you in last night. She waves a hand in the air. “Dad says the dents you put in the side will be out by tomorrow.”

Fear, apparently, makes you snarky. “What, you wanted to spend another week getting chauffeured by a hero?”

Her brows jerk up towards her hairline. She throws a glance over her shoulder. “You seeing ghosts? Nobody’s in there. I drove myself.”

“Good for you,” you say. You think you smell. They didn’t give you access to a shower last night. You’re upwind from her and damnit why are you embarrassed if you smell or not? Your chin jerks forward in a challenge. “You gonna give me a ride back home?”

You’re joking, but she nods like it was the plan all along. “Let’s go.”

Is that an answering challenge in her words? Your teeth grind as you force yourself forward. “Very kind of you,” you chirp, swinging up into the passenger seat. The car smells like leather and justice. “Just drop me off on the other side of the train tracks. I can find my way home from there.”

She snorts. “Is that a Footloose reference? Very dated.”

You stare at her profile. “…No. I literally live on the other side of the tracks.”

She flushes. “Right. Well…I’m not dropping you off yet. I want to talk first.”

The doors are locked. You swallow as she carefully pulls out of the parking lot and then guns it into the road without looking. Luckily, no one’s there. “Talk? About what?”

“About how you’re going to steal my car again,” she says. “And this time you’re going to crash it right.”

“You hate the color that much?” you joke.

Her tone is not joking. “You have no idea.”

You don’t find out her name until dinner when your mom’s managed to entice her into a third slice of homemade pizza. She stares down at the slice while your mom waves for you not to stay up too late before going to bed early. Gamely, you’re already on your fifth helping. Criminal activity takes a lot of energy.

“Does your mom know who I am?” she asks.

“Like, in theory,” you say. You’re full and warm as you lean into the hard wooden back of your chair. Mom added olives to your side of the pizza. “She probably doesn’t know you’re the Mayor’s daughter though. Just that he has one.”

“The Mayor…right,” she says. Her jaw firms. She flicks some olives off her pizza and then eats half the slice in one bite. “I’m Gina.”

“Elian,” you say instead of No, you’re the Mayor’s Daughter. You refill her soda cup before your own, just to show her you can be fancy and have manners too. She’s so out of place in your family’s one bedroom apartment. Her shirt is crisp and white, her gold necklace so shiny, that it’s like there’s a sepia filter over the eggshell walls and oak cabinets. “Sprite. Only the finest for the lady who bailed me out.”

“I’m thinking you can take my car next weekend,” Gina says so abruptly you nearly spit out your soda. There’s a hard light in her eyes. “Dad’s out of town for…business. He won’t notice for a few days. You take it, you get out of the city, you drive it off a cliff once you’ve wrecked it doing donuts or whatever.”

“A cliff?” You know exactly where she’s talking about. There’s an abandoned quarry about an hour outside of town. You shake your head. “That’s where people dump bodies. No way am I going out there.”

“They find bodies there because it’s outside of Hero Force’s patrol,” Gina says. She waves her hands in the air so the yellow light from the inset ceiling lights catches on her golden manicure. “If you think about it, it’s the best place to dump a car. Especially when the heroes are going to be out of town.”

You stare at her. “Did you just admit your dad is part of Hero Force?”

Her eyes skitter away from yours. “No.”

“Your dad is out of town next weekend.”

“Yes.”

“And the heroes?”

“Maybe they’re traveling together.”

“I don’t think anyone is supposed to know when the heroes are going to be out of town. Isn’t that like a national secret, or something?”

“We’re not a big enough chapter for it to be a national secret,” she denies. She bites her lip. “Probably a state secret though.”

You stand and your chair chatters against the linoleum. “No. Absolutely not.” It’s time for Ms. Mayor’s Daughter to leave.

She scrambles up after you, following you into the living room. “Why not?! You already mess with the heroes. Weren’t you the one who kept breaking into the mall on a motorcycle? You hijacked one of their delivery trucks a month ago—”

“A food delivery truck,” you say. “Which was more of a commentary about the city’s investment in Hero Force luxury rather than after school programs—” You bite your tongue. You spin so that the couch stays between you. You glance at your mom’s closed door and consciously lower your voice. “How do you even know that?”

“I’ve been watching you,” she says. She laughs without humor, dragging one hand through her golden hair. “Sometimes living in this town is like being in a simulation. We have four A-class heroes for a population of 30,000 and everybody loves them. Nobody thinks it’s strange to have walking nukes in a small town. They love my dad. Did you know no one’s even run against him for the past two elections? It doesn’t matter what he does. He owns this place and these people. He has – could commit murder and it would be justified. People would think it would be justice.”

“He loves you,” you say weakly. Isn’t four heroes a pretty normal number? Sure, the ones in your town are big names, but that’s not weird.

Is it?

“He loves me so he gets to be a tyrant?” Gina scoffs. “If he’s even capable of love.”

“I’m not going to mess around with heroes’ civilian identities just because you’ve got daddy issues,” you say. When hurt flashes across her face, you wince. “Sorry. But it’s one thing to mess with heroes in masks, okay? Messing with a hero’s family—”

“You didn’t seem to have a problem when you were stealing my car the other night.”

“That was before I knew your dad was Mr. Solve or whatever—”

“The Sun,” Gina says.

“What?”

“My dad’s the Sun.”

“That,” you say, “is so much worse. Didn’t he burn some minor villain’s eyes out last week?”

“Yes,” Gina says. Her mouth twists. “The guy got off easy compared to some others.”

You stare at her, momentarily speechless. “And you wonder why I’m not going to antagonize the guy?”

“But you already do,” Gina says. Her eyes are glinting. She looks so out of place against the dim interior of your home, a radiant girl dressed all in white and gold. She rounds the couch and snatches up one of your hands between two of her own. “Everyone else loves my dad. Except you. My entire life, and you’re the only one who dares to make—make statements about Hero Force consumption by stealing their deliveries or make the heroes chase you around an abandoned mall on foot like regular people. You challenge them, Elian. All I’m asking is that you do it again.”

“That sounds like a lot more than just crashing your car,” you say. Your voice sounds very far away. You never thought of your actions as so noble. There’s a tingling in your stomach that you’ve never felt before and your hand is so warm. She sees you. You shake the fantasy out of your head. “I—look. I’m flattered, but I’m not your guy. The heroes know my face. It’s only a matter of time before I get sent to whatever detention super-powered kids get sent to. I have to graduate high school.”

Rather than discourage her, Gina presses closer. “What if I told you there’s a way to do both?”

Her closeness fogs your brain. “Both?”

“Take the heroes down a notch and maintain your identity,” she says. She releases you and whirls to get her purse off the couch. “I can help you. We can train so that the heroes never recognize the new you. You can use your powers in new ways. And you can wear this.”

She thrusts a piece of chewed leather into your hands. A mask.

“I’m thinking,” she says, “we call you Outlaw.”

------ Now ----

You can’t shoot. Night is falling by the time you admit it to yourself. You press your back against the rough bark of the tree and stare up at the first stars. You cradle your gun in your hands.

The bloodlust is still there. You aren’t a fair lily incapable of staining your petals red (as red as her). So why can’t you pull the trigger? Because of her ghost? Her last message to you?

If you kill a Hero, there’s no going back. More than anything, I want you to live, Elian.

You grind your teeth. Easy for her to say. The dying never have to feel the weight of consequence. They can just say whatever the fuck they want.

You aren’t thinking when you climb down the tree. Your powers give you a lot of things – speed and healing, an instinct for the outdoors, and excellent eyesight. You don’t need to look to find one branch and another, dropping to the forest floor in ten-foot increments. By the time your boots hit the ground, you know what the problem is.

Unlike your other kills, this one is personal. It was never going to be enough just to see him dead. You need him to know why you’ve got him in your sights.

The Sun is an old school hero. The traps you were so afraid of are predictable, turns out. You pick your way around bear traps and landmines, sharp eyes easily picking out silver trip wire when it glints in the moonlight. There are cameras, but there’s likely only one person with access. In the past ten years of following the Sun, you’ve learned two things about him.

One, he’ll kill the things he loves before he loses them.

Two, he doesn’t trust anyone but himself.

You get to the building inside of an hour. The first floor is hidden by steel shutters and there’s no light peeking out from behind them. The second floor window where he’d been sleeping for most of the day shines with the faint blue glow of a television.

The front door looks like a bank’s with how thick it is. There’s a keypad and a biometric scanner you don’t have a prayer of hacking.

That’s okay. You’ve already seen your way in.

You climb up the nearest pine tree. The Sun likes to think of himself as a competent hero, but too many mayoral kickbacks over the years made him soft. He surrounded himself with powerful heroes and never once struggled to win. Because of that, he’s missing some caution and common sense. The building’s first floor is locked up tight, but the windows on the second are regular glass.

And he hasn’t trimmed the tree line back far enough.

You fire your first shot of the night into his empty desk chair, exactly where his chest had been hours earlier. Immediately a siren sounds, and the TV glow coming through the office’s open door is consumed by bright light. You run two steps and then leap, neatly flipping through the empty window frame. Your boots slide for a moment on the broken glass and you catch yourself on the edge of his desk. There are medical papers scattered across it, prescriptions and diagrams of the face and eyes and heart.

You chew your cheek at the sight of a pill bottle. There had been rumors that the Sun is sick with his own radiation poisoning. It’s good you’re here before nature runs its course.

The siren wails for another beat before dying. The silence rings. Your heartbeat picks up as your ears strain to hear if anyone’s coming to meet you. Strange. The Sun had to have been the one who shut off the alarm.

So where is he?

You hold your gun out in front of you and check your mask. The Sun knows who you are by now, but you want him to see the mask she gave you. The handsewn leather, patched more times than you can count, is recycled from one of his old leather jackets. It feels oddly poetic to be dressed in the first iteration of your costume, cowboy hat tipped back and a biker vest embroidered with the name she gave you.

Is the Sun hiding? You creep out of the office, eyes darting from the quaint landscapes hanging on the wall to the tasteful wooden floors. The Sun’s safe house feels more cabin-y than you expected. The property deed has been in his name for the past fifteen years. Did Gina ever visit? Her ghost runs ahead of you, golden nails dragging along the peach wallpaper to the first open door on the left. She looks over her shoulder and smiles.

There are times when you’re glad for the afterimages your brain conjures. This is not one of those times. You don’t think she’d be happy to see what you’re about to do.

You swing around the doorway gun first, a snarl on your lips. “You old bastard, drop what—”

The smell of antiseptic hits your nose first, dashing away the red haze filling your vision in an instant. A TV murmurs against the wall, some rerun of an old western, but it’s not what holds your attention.

There’s a bed in the center of the room. The Sun sits at bedside, his attention wholly invested on the hand he’s holding up. Carefully, he applies gold paint to the nails without once looking up at you.

The woman in the bed is obscured with white gauze and beige compression bandages. Her breathing is soft and even. The one eye you can see is closed and still. No dreaming, no awareness.

“Outlaw,” the Sun says. He gently sets Gina’s left hand down on her stomach and picks up her right. He squints at her pinky nail. “Close the office door, would you? I don’t want the heat to escape.”

“What,” you breathe, “the fuck.”

-----Ten years ago ----

It’s a good year with Gina. You never realized how friend-starved you were until she was there, over at your house every day after school. She always makes it sound like she’s coming over to talk about the Outlaw thing, but there’s other stuff too. Movies and cooking and tutoring.

“Life is about balance,” Gina says sagely during one such tutoring session. “Besides, even heroes don’t go on more than two missions a month. We’re doing just fine.”

There’s always a pressing need to do more though. Whenever you pull off a particularly daring heist, she smiles this secret and pleased smile that makes your stomach flip. Sometimes, when the two of you watch news coverage of your getaways, she murmurs how impressed she is, how smart you are, how cool your powers are.

It makes you want to do anything for Gina.

You’re watching the news one day, waiting for a recap of how you stole the Sun’s favorite shield from the armory, when a rare story comes on. A Hero is dead, some guy named Ibis from Atlanta. There aren’t any leads to the culprit except for eyewitness accounts of a mysterious, winged super-powered individual flying low over the city, hiding in storm clouds.

“I’d kill a Hero,” you blurt out.

Gina jerks so hard that the popcorn bowl goes flying out of her hands. She doesn’t seem to notice. “What?”

“N-not your dad or anything,” you say quickly although yes, if you had to kill anyone, you’d start with the man who makes Gina cry like that. “Just…in general. The news anchor said Ibis was connected to a civilian’s death, right? I could kill a Hero like that.”

“No,” Gina says. She drops off the couch to kneel by you. “No, Elian.”

You flush like you’ve done something wrong. You sink into your hoodie. “I’m not going to, I’m just saying—”

“If you kill a Hero, there’s no going back,” Gina says. She’s too close, so close that you can see the flecks of gold hidden in her eyes. “Your life—it’s not like what we’ve been doing. Dad’s got rules when it comes to stealing. But if you kill a hero?” She shudders. “I want you to live, Elian.”

“I got it—”

“Please,” she blurts out. The plea in her voice makes you really look at her despite the pounding of your heart. Her eyes are wild and her mouth is pressed into a thin line. “No matter what. Promise me.”

“I—” No matter what? You slowly shake your head, trying to get away from the instinctive desire to agree with her. “I-if someone is really bad, I’d—”

“Elian—”

The tension makes you truthful.

“If your dad hurt you, I’d kill him,” you say. When she rears back, this time you follow. You brace your arm against the couch so you can lean into her space. With your other hand, you trace the fading burn on her cheek that could pass for an old sunburn if you didn’t know the truth. “I know you don’t think he will, but he’s been erratic lately. And I know about his temper. If he hurts you, I’d kill him.”

The air thickens between you. It’s rare that you don’t back down, but you’re not backing down now, staring into her eyes. Competing wills. For a moment you let everything you feel come to the surface. Your frustration when she visits with that fucking shadow in her smile, the helplessness when there’s another burn on her arm, the adoration when she’s just there.

Gina shudders and looks away first. She licks her lips. “I—I…appreciate what you’re saying, but I’m fine. You agreed I got to make the rules for Outlaw. I’m telling you one. Don’t kill heroes.”

She’s pulling away. You do too, falling to her side and sitting next to her rather than hovering over her. You try for a careless shrug but fall short. How can she make you feel so powerful one second and so powerless the next? You avert your eyes. “I won’t kill heroes,” you promise.

You hear her suck in a breath. “Good. Because I need you alive.”

“I do like being alive,” you say and don’t finish the sentence with with you.

“We’re done studying,” she decides. She darts up towards the kitchen. “I’m getting another bowl of popcorn before we start the movie. You want some?”

You stare at your reflection in the dark TV. Your jaw works. Finally, you say, “Nah. I’m good. I’ll just eat it off the floor.”

“Don’t be gross, Elian!”

------Now.----

“I will regret that day for the rest of my life,” the Sun says. He hasn’t looked at you once. His eyes are glued to the steady rise and fall of Gina’s chest. He times his breathing to hers and then sighs. “What a fool I was. Drunk on power.”

You’re standing on the opposite side of the bed. Your gaze flicks from Gina to him and back again. “Is she ever conscious?”

“It’s a medically-induced coma,” the Sun says. “The doctors say she should wake up any day now that most of her injuries have healed. Her last surgery was the final one. Now it’s up to her.”

This might be the first time in ten years that you’ve breathed. You suck in air greedily and imagine you can taste her scent under the layers of sickness and medicine. “They told me she died.”

“I told Hero Force you did it,” the Sun says. There’s no remorse in his voice. “They always tell villains they were successful, so they don’t try again.”

A decade of rage slides around your ribs. “You fucking bastard.”

“I did think it was your fault ten years ago.” He carefully picks up Gina’s left hand again to apply a second coat. It takes all your willpower not to slap him away from her. “If you hadn’t stolen Hero Force data, I wouldn’t have had to come after you with my full power. She would never have been in the line of fire.”

You’re fists shake at your sides. “I didn’t steal Hero Force data, I stole your fucking car. Don’t rewrite history.”

“There was Hero Force data in that car.”

“It was your Porsche, your civilian Porsche!”

“My fault to have left sensitive data out,” the Sun says. His confession surprises you into silence. “But I had to get it back no matter what. Then I blamed you by thinking how if you’d only asked me to take my daughter to Prom, I would’ve known she was in the car.”

“She’s not your property and it’s not the 1800s, of course I didn’t ask if I could take your daughter to—”

“I’m telling you what I thought,” the Sun interrupts. He finally looks at you. He looks worse than he did earlier, the years cutting deep lines into his face. There are black bags of exhaustion under his watering eyes. He breathes out shakily. “I had to tell myself it was your fault. It was the only way I could survive, Elian.”

Your real name shocks you. You stumble back. “How do you know that name?”

“She calls for you sometimes,” the Sun says. He drags a hand over his face before grimly returning to his daughter’s nails. “She’s never been really conscious for long. The d-damage took a long time to heal. But when she’s awake, she calls for you and she calls for Outlaw. Wasn’t hard to put the pieces together.”

Your chest throbs. “I should have been here. You should have—I could have—”

“Blaming you let me keep her by my side,” the Sun says. “I don’t expect you to forgive me or even understand me. But I…I regret more than anything what I’ve done to my daughter.”

“You’re going to regret it even more,” you say. The rage you feel is like a tidal wave. Ten years. Ten years. You could have held her hand through her recovery. You could have been there for her. And this selfish asshole who never even loved her like a father should took that away from you. You remember your gun. “You never deserved to be her father.”

“I didn’t, did I?” the Sun asks. He sets her hand down and swallows hard. He looks down the barrel of your gun without flinching. “She says one other thing, you know. When she asks for you.”

The curiosity stills your trigger finger. “What?”

“She says, Don’t kill heroes.”

Your face contorts. There’s the memory of popcorn in your mouth and the heat of her eyes on you. “Yeah, she said that to me before too. Back when I offered to kill you the first time.”

The Sun hangs his head. If he’s surprised to hear that, he doesn’t show it. “I wasn’t a good father.”

“No. But she didn’t want you dead.”

Understanding dawns. “Don’t kill heroes.”

“Exactly.” You tilt your head. “Do you feel like a hero?”

His lips tremble. His gaze drifts back to his daughter. Her eyes are flickering under eyelids. “I—I—”

The trigger presses back against your finger, eager and ready. “Do you?”

He licks his lips. “N-no,” he whispers. He closes his eyes. “No, I don’t suppose I do.”

This time, it’s easy to take aim. Steady your breath. And—

Fuck.

“Leave,” you say. You drop your gun back to your side and scowl when the Sun’s eyes fly open in surprise. “If you do what I say, you’ll live long enough for Gina to decide what to do with you. Leave and don’t tell anyone about this.”

The Sun shakes his head. “No, no I can’t leave her—”

“Then die here,” you snap. You bare your teeth at him. “Leave. We’ll be gone in a week. Maybe she wakes up and calls you. Maybe she—” You take a deep breath. “Well. Maybe she doesn’t. Either way, your part is done here.”

“I need to be there when she wakes up. Please, I’m her dad—”

“You’re her murderer,” you say. More than anything, you want to pick Gina up and run out of here before the Sun can stop you. You eye the monitors and know three people you need to call for advice before you even attempt to move her. A week should be just enough time to disappear. “You think you deserve to stay by her side?”

The Sun opens his mouth twice before he finds words. “I just—let me stay until she wakes up. That way I’ll know.”

“I spent ten years thinking she was dead,” you say. “You can last a month in limbo. If I have to ask you again, we’ll finally see who’s stronger now that I’m all grown up.”

The Sun picks himself up slowly. You think he cries. You’re not sure. He may even plead with you again. You’re deaf to it. Your brain has given up on splitting your attention and every atom of your being is homed in on Gina.

She’s alive. She’s alive.

You kneel at her bedside and wait for her to wake up.

----

Thanks for reading! If you want to read more of work or get access to stories like this a week (or more!) early, please consider checking out my Patreon (X)! This week's short story for my Triple Shot and above tiers is about a world where being loved adds years to your lifespan!

Based off this prompt (X): Love determines how long you live, some people are in their hundreds, but some don’t even live to be 20.

[demonic0angel]

“Excuse me! Ms. hero!”

Cass held her finger from pulling the recoil trigger on the grappling gun. She casted her gaze around the few pedestrians still meandering about searching for the owner of the voice. A woman at the end of Crime Alley ran towards her.

“Please wait!” the woman said.

Cass put away her grappling gun. The girl stopped in front of her, bending over to catch her breath.

“Do you,” she gasped, tucking a red lock behind her ear as she straightened, “Do you know RedHood?”

Jason?

Cass nodded slowly.

"Will you pass him a message? Please, it's important.”

Cass nodded again.

“Tell him,” She paused her nose crinkling as she thought of what she wanted to say, “Tell him that Jazz is in Gotham and is looking for him.”

“I'll tell him.”

The girl thanked her and turned to leave when Cass quickly blurted out. “He's not here.”

“Wha- where is he then?”

“On mission.”

“When will he be back?” a pregant moment of silence passed before the girl got it, “Ah, that's probably classified.”

Cass stared at her.

The girl coughed nervously and then said, “Uhm. Sorry for bothering you. You can— uhhh, please go back to what you were doing before.”

Cass gave her a curt nod and then shot her grappling hook, flying away in an instant. She narrowed her eyes as she silently kept her gaze trained on the tall girl still standing there on the ground, looking distracted.

How did she know Jason?

Well, Cass would only find out when she asked Jason.

Hours later, when Jason came back from his mission, Cass ambushed him in the cave. He looked tired and his entire frame radiated ‘LEAVE ME ALONE’ like he was nuclear waste, but she ignored his sharp glare and approached him.

“Someone asked for you.”

“Oh goody,” Jason snarled. “Can people leave me alone for one fucking second?”

She ignored his sneer and repeated her requested message dutifully, “She said, ‘Tell him that Jazz is in Gotham and is looking for him.’”

Jason froze and stiffened. His eyes widened and Cass stared at him in wonder as his closed off, aggressive body language fell and bloomed into one of hope and awe.

“A-Are you serious? Jazz? Red haired, doe eyed, beautiful? Did she look like that?” Jason asked hurriedly, a look of wonder entering his eyes.

There was love in his eyes.

Cass stared at him very intensely, trying to print the image of her little brother in love into her irises. She nodded after a moment when Jason glared at her and then said, “Yes. And very tall. Taller than you.”

Jason paused, lifting his eyes upward as if to imagine it. Then he smiled and shook his head, seeming to mentally shake off his thoughts. Cass almost wanted to tell him that he looked crazy, but decided not to say anything.

Jason then smiled at her. “Thanks for telling me. She only said she’d be looking for me?”

Cass nodded. Jason beamed and just as he was about to frolic off, she grabbed him by the wrist and yanked him back. Immediately, he groaned, already knowing the questions she would ask.

“Who is she? When did you meet? How did you meet? You like her?”

“She’s a friend, we met a long time ago in a place you wouldn’t know, and nunya.”

Cass squinted at him. Then she said, “Fine. But I won’t hide this. Tim and Bruce will know.”

Jason groaned, long and deep for a moment before he sighed. “Whatever. Thanks for being the messenger. Can I go now?”

Cass continued staring at him. Jason kept a good attempt of a poker face from her, but it was useless. After making him squirm for a few more minutes, Cass gave a single nod and he left promptly without another word, almost on the verge of running to get away from her. Cass remained standing there, staring at his retreating back.

She’d get to the bottom of this…

After all, she didn’t get many opportunities to tease her brothers….

[harmonyrae]

Merging Territories

Synopsis: You just need a little more time with him, you don’t want him to go. Sylus once said actions are more sincere. It’s time to act, no more games.

AN: This is my interpretation of Sylus’s Night of Secrecy memory.

Content Warnings: Fingering, oral (f receiving), handjob, praise kink, implied unprotected sex, PiV, squirting, cream pie, 18+ MDNI

Word Count: 4.6k

“I won.”

You couldn’t hide your smirk as you slid the final part into place on the gun. You shift on the carpet and turn to face Sylus, pressing the muzzle under Sylus’s chin. His eyes narrow and raises his hands in defeat. He lets out a breathy chuckle, tilting his chin to look at you.

“And I lost. Go ahead. Ask your question.”

You’re suddenly aware of how warm the room is. The fireplace crackles and pops, providing the only light in the large sitting room. Sylus’s features are shrouded in shadow, his skin looks warm and soft. You weren’t exactly sure what you wanted to do, you just wanted to spend more time with him. You weren’t ready for him to go. Just a little more time. 

As you stare into Sylus’s eyes, you feel your stomach tighten. You decided to trust your instincts, not entirely sure if it was a good idea or not. You lower the gun, check the safety is on and place it on the floor before locking eyes with him again.

“I’m sleepy.”

“Uh…”

His confusion mirrors your own. You felt your cheeks burn and you hope he can’t tell in the low lighting. The past few months have flown by, you remember meeting Sylus and how much you initially hated him. But over time, you’d seen a side of him that made your heart pound and butterflies flutter in your stomach. You knew what you wanted. Sylus’s words echo in your mind.

I believe sincerity is not having to beat around the bush or play any games.

You had played your game and now, you felt guilty. You swallow your anxiety and square your shoulders.

“Can you… tuck me in?”

Sylus raises a brow and leans forward. His eyes scan your face, like he’s trying to figure something out.

“I thought a certain relentless hunter would ask about my destination.”

You cross your arms and pout dramatically.

“I care more about the present than an answer I can’t get. So… Are you doing it or not?”

“Of course, kitten.”

That damn smirk is back and you can’t stop staring at his mouth. He stands before leaning down to pick you up. You wrap your arms around his neck as he tucks an arm under your legs. He swiftly picks up your heels, which were discarded next to the couch. He looks down at you as he makes his way out of the sitting room and towards the stairs.

“This request is way more powerful than that little gun.”

You feel your heart pounding in your chest, your brain feels fuzzy. You try to keep your hands still and not give in to the temptation to drag your hand down his exposed chest. He had undone his tie and unbuttoned his shirt shortly after getting home, intending to change but you challenged him to your little game. It was like you were being punished for messing with him. He had just sat there, his torso on display for you. 

You kept your eyes on his face, trying to ignore the delicious firmness of his abdomen against your hip. He looks down at you, his eyes look… gentle? The smirk from downstairs was gone, replaced with a soft smile. You hear a clatter and glance over his shoulder to see your shoes discarded on the floor. His arm circling around your waist, his hand resting on your hip.

He enters the bedroom and strides to the couch next to the window. The snow was building up rather quickly, a thin sheet of white covering the lawn outside. He stops at the couch and waits for you to let go so he can set you down. But that all too familiar twinge of panic settles over you, keep him close.  “If you don’t want to lie down, I can keep holding you until I leave.”

Another memory flashes in your mind. The small yurt in the grasslands, the bed you shared with him, his strong arms wrapped around you keeping you warm.

Sincerity really is the best.

“What if I don’t want you to leave…?”

Sylus holds your gaze. You move your hand slowly and rest your palm against the side of his neck. His heart beat is rapid and his skin feels warmer than before.

“Then.. we better make the most of our time before dawn.”

He leans down, forcing you to set your feet on the floor. He stands before you, you barely realize your hand is still resting on his chest. God, you want this. You don’t want to lose your nerve.

You push him down onto the couch, he grunts, a brief expression of surprise gracing his face. You settle your knee between his legs. You press your hand against his chest again, your fingers itching to explore. He tilts his head forward and looks at you, his eyes urging you to continue. 

Actions do speak louder than words. And more sincere.

He’s right. You’ve tried to find the right words for the past three days and they always get lost between your brain and your mouth. It’s time to stop thinking so damn much. 

You caress his face, slipping your hand behind his neck. His reaction to your touch tells you everything you need to know. His shaky breath and the corner of his mouth curling upwards - his excitement palpable. You pull him to you and the moment your lips touch, your mind clears. His kiss is exactly like you imagined it to be. The kiss is needy and rapid, he moves like he is intoxicated. You wrap your arm around his neck, feeling his chest graze yours sets your skin ablaze again.

You bring your other knee down and straddle his leg, inching yourself closer to him. He places a hand on the back of your thigh and pulls you to him. Your bodies collide, your knee finally presses against his groin and your breath catches. He was so fucking hard. His hand trails up to your ass and he holds you close.

He pulls back for only a moment, his breathing unsteady and his eyes hazy. 

“You really don’t want me to leave?”

He leans forward once again to capture your lips. His hands start to explore your back, his fingers sending chills over your exposed skin. You roll your hips, desperate for more. He moans into your mouth, his tongue finally tracing your lips requesting entrance - you immediately oblige. His hands drift down to your waist and he lifts you, allowing you to shift and properly straddle him. 

You hold his shoulders in an attempt to steady yourself, but your thighs are already burning and you just want to sit down. But if you do that, he will undoubtedly feel how wet you are. Your panties soaked and your lace shorts wouldn’t serve as much of a barrier. You needed to change positions, you wanted to feel his body on top of you. You mumble into his mouth, your words lost amongst the messy kisses. Sylus opens his eyes and meets yours.

“Sylus, over there…”

Your head tilts towards the bed. He tucks his hands under your ass and lifts you up, your legs wrapping around him in an instant. His leg hits the bed and he sinks his knee into the mattress, slowly lowering you down onto your back, his lips never leaving yours.

As you settle on the bed, he pulls back to look at you. His cheeks flushed and his lips puffy. You reach up to lock your fingers behind his neck to pull him down. He holds back and that smug smile returns. His fingers caress your cheek and for a moment it’s like you are meeting him for the first time. But instead of cowering, you are holding on for dear life, never wanting to let go.

“Looks like we’re on the same page when it comes to not wanting to waste time.”

You try to control your breathing, but staring at him doesn’t help. You try to look away, but his hand catches your chin. He takes hold of your face, keeping you in place. 

“Stay focused, kitten.”

He covers your eyes with his other hand. 

“Don’t look.”

With your eyes covered, your other senses buzz to life. He starts kissing you again, his open mouth kisses leaving you even more breathless. He lets his tongue dip out and trace your lips before placing a kiss to the corner of your mouth. You finally allow yourself to moan, softly at first to test the waters. You feel his hips lower and he grinds against you. His response was more than you could have hoped for. Just the thought of him being so turned on by the sounds you make is almost enough to send you over the edge. 

All you can hear are your combined breathy moans and the pounding of your heart in your ears. He glides his hand down your arm and threads his fingers with yours. His thumb gently rubbing your palm.

When he finally removes his hand from over your eyes, you want to giggle at his love drunk expression. You’re not even sure he can still see you through the haze. You reach up and touch his cheek, his warmth seeping into your fingertips.

“Am I being too greedy… if I ask you to keep your eyes only on me?”

As you pull away, he grabs your hand. 

“You always had that right.”

He places a chaste kiss on your wrist.

“Which means…”

He leans down and places kisses along your neck and collarbone. You feel his lips drag across your skin and you clench your fists, grabbing a fistful of the comforter beneath you. Your moans are much louder now. His lips are so soft, and every time they make contact you feel your clit throb.

“You can be even greedier.”

He hovers just over your breast, he lets his lips press down gently, kissing your nipple through your top. You feel a burst of pleasure. You wanted nothing more than for his lips to explore every inch of your body.

He rises, reaching down to lift your leg beside him. His hand strokes your thigh before he bends to place a kiss on your knee. When his eyes meet yours again, the intensity behind his gaze overwhelms your senses.

“Do you want it, kitten?”

You take a moment and let your eyes roam. His silver necklace dangles from his neck, sweat has started to drip down his chest, his abs look tight - like he is tensing, awaiting your answer. And then you see how his pants have become much too tight, his erection threatening to break through the confines at any moment. There was only one answer to his question and you didn’t have to think.

“Yes.”

His smile vanishes as he leans in, hungry for more. The answer is yes, but you didn’t want him to think you could be tossed around like a ragdoll. Well, you wouldn’t mind that, but you didn’t want to feel powerless. You know what you like and what you want him to do to you. And what you want to do to him. 

You reach your hand up and place it firmly against his chest stopping him in his tracks. He grunts, his brows knit together and his eyes light up with panic. He regains his composure and  slowly lowers his hand under your knee, pulling you downwards. You feel your tits bounce at the sudden movement. 

“You haven’t changed your mind, have you?” 

He bends your knee once more, bringing your thigh up to his mouth. He kisses your inner thigh right by your knee. The thought of his kisses trailing down your thigh until he sinks his face into your soaked pussy…

“You just said ‘yes’?” 

His voice is needy and broken with his gasps for air.

“I’m hoping yes is still your answer because…”

He releases your thigh and slowly lowers himself on top of you. Your thighs spread open and he presses his erection against your center. He lowers to his elbows, tucks a hand under your waist and holds your face with the other.

“I just can’t hold back anymore.”

He traces your lips with his thumb before diving back in. His kisses seem more desperate now, he doesn’t wait for either of you to catch your breath. He nips at your lower lip and his intensity grows with every shift of your hips or moan echoing from your throat.

You start to feel dizzy. And not the fun kind of dizzy, the “I might pass out” kind.

“Sylus… I can’t breathe…”

You finally push Sylus away and try to catch your breath. You feel a strand of hair fall against your forehead, you try to blow it away, but it stays put. Sylus brushes it aside, tucking it behind your ear. 

He holds your chin, forcing you to look at him. He looks down at you and, while you’re completely clothed, you feel exposed. He can feel your body shiver, your nipples hard and needy beneath your blouse. He’s reading you like a book. He nuzzles his face into your neck. He sinks his teeth into the tender flesh above your collarbone. He’s fucking biting you. And god, it felt incredible. You can’t suppress a moan, but quickly clear your throat and try to be angry. 

“Hey, no biting here.”

He sighs.

“First you want it rough, now you want it soft… You’re a tough one to please tonight, kitten.”

He slides a hand behind your neck and soothes the sensitive skin with tender kisses. He pulls back, lifting his chest away from yours and looks down at you, his eyes glowing in the dim light.

“What do you really want? Won’t you be honest and tell me like you just did?”

You let your hands glide down his chest, digging your nails in as you pass over his nipples and down to his abs. You feel him shudder, here’s your chance.

“... I’m not falling for your tricks.”

You push his shoulder hard, he tips and you hook your leg, rolling him over. The change in positions allows you to finally take a deep breath. You plant your hands on his chest as you take in his shocked expression. You rarely catch him off guard, it’s a treat really. 

“I told you that a hunter doesn’t like being passive.”

His eyes narrow and he nods slowly. His hands wrap around your waist and he traces the zipper of your top. He tugs gently at the zipper tab, just enough to send the message.

“So, you want control.” His voice was raspy and so damn sexy.

Your new position was supposed to help you get more air, but with Sylus fiddling with your top, your chest heaves. You close your eyes and run your hands down his chest again, feeling the goosebumps rise across his skin under your fingertips.  

“Unfortunately, I can’t give it to you. Not yet, at least.”

He finally pulls the tab further down, the buzz of the teeth separating fills the room. Your top loosens and you feel his hand press against your newly exposed skin. He hesitates, giving you a moment to stop him. Instead, you pull the straps down and pull your top away, tossing it to the floor behind you. 

His hands slide up your back unhindered before gliding his hand around to cup your breast. The feeling of his palm on the underside of your tit makes you shiver. His thumb flicks over your nipple and you moan, throwing your head back. 

Your body is on fire as his hands explore your breasts, squeezing and tugging until you grab his wrists. He tucks his hands under your ass and lifts you, he sits up against the headboard. He wraps an arm around your waist while his other hand squeezes your breast, lifting it to his mouth. He rolls his tongue over the hardened peak before closing his lips around it. He holds your nipple between his teeth, not biting, but the pressure is enough to make you rock your hips against him. 

He releases your breast, his mouth moving to the other as he sinks his hand down the back of your shorts. He squeezes your ass while he suckles your breast, he’s painfully slow in his movements.

You try to lean back, the teasing becoming torturous. 

“... Don’t run.”

“You’re… so annoying…” Your voice barely above a whisper.

“I won’t deny it. I guess you can say I lied. Tonight, you’re not the only one feeling greedy…”

He picks you up, his hands under your thighs and you reach around his neck instinctively. He leans forward quickly and your back meets the bed again. His head dips down and he places kisses down your chest, kissing each nipple before continuing down your stomach.

“And I won’t be leaving until this greed is completely satisfied.” 

He reaches the waistband of your shorts and traces it with his finger. He hesitates. “Ah, I misspoke.”

You look down at him and watch him crawl over you until you’re face-to-face. 

“What…?”

He stares into your eyes, lifting a hand to gently hold your cheek.

“Greed can never be satisfied…”

He picks up your hand and places it against his chest. You feel his rapid heart beat. 

“But you can temporarily soothe it.”

His voice is calm, but the storm behind his eyes tugs at your heartstrings. He needs to know that you want him as much as he wants you.

“Say it again. Do you want it?”

You run your fingers through his damp hair. He closes his eyes and leans into your touch. You reach up and lock your fingers behind his neck, pulling him to you. You kiss him sweetly. He lets out a breath, as if he’d been holding it this whole time. You press your forehead to his.

“This is my answer.”

Sylus doesn’t hesitate to capture your lips once more. His hands move urgently to knead your breasts. You grab hold of his shirt and push it over his shoulders, he tugs the shirt loose and tosses it aside. Your hands explore his body, the definition of his abs, the curve of his chest, the deep V leading to the waistband of his pants.

He hooks his fingers and tugs your shorts and underwear down in one motion. The sudden burst of air against your core makes you moan loudly. You felt his fingers slide across your pussy, stopping at your clit to pinch and tug. You arch your back off the bed and cry out.

“Sy…!”

You hear a deep chuckle as the bed dips and you feel your legs being pushed apart. You look down in time to see his face dig into you. His nose rubs against your clit while his tongue presses into your entrance. He works slowly, reveling in your body reacting to every flick of his tongue. 

He shifts his mouth and sucks in your clit. You feel your hips twitch and you grind against his face. A deep moan of approval vibrates against your clit and your hands fly down to grip Sylus’s hair. Your tugs only earn you more groans and vibrations leaving you shaking. His finger circles your entrance and you buck your hips again.

“Sylus fuck…!”

You can feel him smile against your pussy. He wastes no time and presses in two fingers until his palm is flat against you. He curls them slowly and he strokes a spot that makes you see stars almost immediately. 

You’re shamelessly riding his hand now, your hips bucking every time he hits that spot. You feel tears pool and spill over. Your orgasm builds rapidly. You tug on Sylus’s hair once more, harder this time. He groans and pulls back just enough, his words muffled.

“Come for me, beautiful.” 

You hold your breath, calling on your remaining willpower to make this request.

“No, Sylus… I want… I need –”

His movements slow and he lifts his head to look at you, his fingers still pumping in and out slowly. You wiggle your hips away from his agile fingers, but Sylus grabs your hip, pressing you into the mattress to keep you still. 

“Tell me what you desire.” His voice is smooth as silk.

“I want you… inside me... Please Sylus...”

Sylus smiles, your arousal coats his chin and he licks his lips savoring your taste. He leans down to kiss you, slowly and purposefully. You taste yourself and whimper. He removes his fingers and runs his hands up your thighs.

“So direct.”

He reaches down to pull at his belt. You reach down to help him and he chuckles, placing his hand back on the bed to let you handle it. He rests his forehead against yours.

“I’ll give you anything you want, sweetie. Everything I have is yours.”

You unbutton his pants and slide down the zipper, your hands shaking as your mind reels from his words. You meet his gaze as your hand slides down the front of his boxers. You wrap your hand around the base of his cock and firmly drift your hand up and down. His mouth falls open and he gasps quietly.

“All I want is you.”

You feel lighter, like this secret you’d been keeping was weighing you down. And for what? You had finally let your guard down, you didn’t need it when you were with him. Not anymore. He was what you wanted, he made you feel safe, seen, beautiful, happy. 

Hearing your words stirred something in him. He looks down at you, his eyes glistening. The smile on his face is radiant and you trace it with your thumb, wanting to always remember this moment. 

He pulls your hand from his boxers before standing briefly to remove his pants and boxers completely. How he felt didn’t do him justice, he was going to fill you and then some. He chuckles, he must have seen your eyes widen. He crawls back onto the bed and hovers over you, leaning down to kiss your forehead.

“Don’t be afraid, kitten. I have you. I won’t hurt you.”

You wrap your arms around his neck and pull him down, his chest presses against you and you sigh at how perfect his skin feels against yours. One of his hands dips down and starts tracing languid circles around your clit. You kiss him hard, feeling his presence everywhere. 

He rolls you over to your side and guides your leg over his hip. His arm under you wrapping around your shoulder to keep you close. You hold his cheek before raking your fingers through his hair. 

You finally feel the head of his cock press against your entrance and you shudder. He reaches down, angles himself and then tucks his hand under your knee, lifting your leg higher. He starts to press into you and you have to break the kiss to groan in response. He takes his time, letting you adjust and stretch. He waits for you to push your hips forward, begging for more of him, before he continues. You grab a fistful of his hair and dig your nails into his back. 

“Are you ready? Tell me…”

His muffled words bring you back. You let out a breathy laugh and bury your face in his neck.

“Yes, Sy… all of you.”

He bucks his hips one last time and buries himself fully. You scream his name, completely overwhelmed. He strokes your hip and cradles your head. He kisses you slowly as he pulls out and rams back into you. You moan into his mouth, incoherent words tumble from your lips.

“You’re so… perfect, so… so beautiful…” 

His words are broken, his pace quickening with every syllable. You start to match his movements, feeling him deeper and deeper with every thrust. He rolls you on your back once more and you wrap your legs around his waist, locking your heels. His lips trail down your neck to your chest, his pace never faltering. 

“Feels so – ngh – you feel so good Sy… oh god…”

His moans start to sound like whimpers as he takes in your praises. You want to hear him and feel him and hold him, always. Your muscles clench and you feel the pressure building, Sylus can feel it too, your walls fluttering around him bringing him close to the brink as well. He starts to thrust faster, his hands finding your breasts again to pinch and tug at your swollen nipples. 

Your thighs burn from how tightly you’re holding onto him and pulling yourself upwards. Every nerve is on fire and your lungs burn with how hard you are breathing. His pace starts to become erratic, his hips stuttering. 

“Come for me, Sy. Come in me…”

He holds his breath, trying to slow down and hold off, but you’re not letting him. You realize he wanted control, but really he never had it. Not completely. His pleasure is directly linked to your own. And he wants to give you everything you desire. Right now, all you desire is feeling his release deep inside you. He’s already made his way into your heart and now… 

That’s when it hits you. You place kisses along his jaw and down his neck. You sink your teeth into his skin and the way he moans your name sends you right over the edge. You release his neck and throw your head back, chanting his name louder and louder. Your climax gushes across his abdomen and thighs, soaking the sheets beneath you. 

“Fuck fuck fuck…”

Sylus tries to continue his movements, but once he sees the intensity of your release he can’t hold back. You feel the warmth of his cum and nearly cry out with how full you feel. His cock buried deep inside you, his cum filling you to the brim, his voice singing your name, his lips peppering your face and neck with open mouth kisses. 

He slowly pulls out and you unhook your legs, you fall to the bed and your legs tremble. Sylus rubs your hips, massaging them carefully. Your breathing steadies and you force your eyes open. Sylus hovers above you, he looks at you with so much admiration and joy, his hair slicked back with sweat, his neck bearing the mark you left. You reach up to hold his face, stroking his cheeks softly. 

“My beloved…” You whisper.

Sylus collapses on top of you, burying his face in your neck, smothering you with a thousand kisses. You wrap your arms around him and hold him close. You’ve never felt so at peace. 

You desperately want more, but your mind is drifting. Sylus senses your exhaustion, he rolls off of you, sits up to grab the blanket from the bottom of the bed, covers you both and drapes an arm over your waist. You roll on your side and lean back, letting him pull you to him until your back is flat against his chest. You lift your head and Sylus slips his arm under, letting you use his arm as a pillow. You let out a deep contented sigh. 

With Sylus holding you close, his steady breaths fanning your ear, his heart beat putting you at ease, it doesn’t take long for you to fall into a dreamless sleep. You wonder if you’ll ever dream again? What’s left to dream of? You have everything you could possibly dream of right here.

AN (part 2): I want to note a few things real quick. Even with their dialogue about control, I feel like it was less about who dominates and more about love making. I also FIRMLY believe MC has a TON of control. In my opinion, Sylus enjoys dominance in the act, but not necessarily in the relationship. He will do anything she desires. Thank you for reading!! :)

Tag List (comment if you wanna be added!): @trishiepo0 @not-so-quite-human @kitsunetori @babyx91 @libriomancer @lilyadora @crowskitten22

[reidology13]

imgonnagetyouback

Spencer Reid x fem!reader - Undercover with your ex boyfriend

cw: suggestive, age gap, a gun is shot, a lil angst?

wc: 2.9k

a/n: this took sooo long and idk what to think of it, but it's something!!

As you stood outside the club, arms linked with Spencer Reid – your coworker and ex boyfriend – you wondered how exactly you ended up here. None of this would have happened if Prentiss knew about your history. Keeping your relationship, and the end of it, a secret had seemed like a good idea at the time, and had been going well until earlier that day. Prentiss calling you and Spencer into her office had already been unexpected, but being assigned with an undercover mission, as a couple, was enough to shock you into silence for a moment. Still, no amount of shock could have kept you from fighting Spencer when he argued against you being undercover with him. You were perfectly capable of doing your job, Prentiss knew that, Spencer knew that, and he would pay.

“We watch him from the bar, put on a show until he notices us, then we walk out and hope he takes the bait. Okay?” You were so caught up in your thoughts that it took a second for the sound of his voice register. What didn’t need time to sink in was the feeling of his breath, hot on your skin.

“I know the plan.” You rolled your eyes, tensing as he slipped his arm out of yours, wrapping it around your waist, fingers toying with the hem of your shirt, “Dick.”

“Time to head inside. Remember, this unsub needs more from a couple than just a younger woman, he needs you to be physically affectionate.” The disembodied voice of your Unit Chief filled your ears, and Spencer gave you a look that had to be designed entirely to piss you off. It was working.

“We can do that, Prentiss.” Spencer said, the smile barely hidden in his voice, his thumb rubbing over one of your ribs.

“Let’s go.” You stepped out of his reach, grabbing his hand and dragging him with you into the club. The moment you were inside he pulled you closer to him, keeping you glued to his side as he steered you towards the bar. The way he took charge of the situation shouldn’t have been nearly as attractive as it was, a cruel reminder of what you had been. The awkward, nerdy Spencer Reid was gone, replaced by a version that even you had only seen a few times. It was a side of him that only came out on days – well, nights – when he needed to take control after a bad day.

Or, apparently, whenever he wanted it to.

As you sat at the bar, he seemed to decide the small gap the stools put between you was too much, shuffling to the edge of his and leaning in as far as he could. It was a precarious position, and if you hadn’t been undercover, you would have given him a shove and watched him scramble for the seat. That was what you would have done a few months ago, and he would have scowled, and you would have laughed until his pride gave up and he joined in. Instead, you mirrored him, leaning in until you could hear his hushed words in your ear.

“Can you see him?” You pulled back a bit, giving yourself a wider view of the crowded room as you searched for the suspect. Not that he was really a ‘suspect’ anymore, the profile and every single piece of evidence pointed to him. All that was left for you to do was get him out of the club and into a location where he would be of no danger to the public when your team apprehended him.

And you would, because there he was, near the wall at the back of the room, concealed in the crowd. Your eyes flashed back to Spencer’s immediately, you couldn’t risk blowing your cover because the unsub caught you staring.

“In the corner of the room, to your left.”

“Well then,” The momentary professionalism was gone from his voice, replaced by that infuriating, seductive, punchable smugness, “I guess all we have left to do is wait.”

Waiting was the last thing either of you would be doing. An unsub like this needed to be constantly entertained, like a cat distracted by the nearest movement. The job was to draw and keep his attention, and to be honest, that was the last thing you wanted to do with Spencer. It was also the only thing you had ever wanted in your entire life, which was why you were not giving your hormones an ounce of attention.

“Okay, but right now he hasn’t looked our way once, so either we get moving, or we might as well pack up and leave.” You hissed under your breath, the tone of your voice harsher than you had intended.

“He's not going to take the bait if you keep glaring at me like that, we're supposed to be a couple, remember?” He might have been the most infuriating person whose presence you had ever been subjected to, but he was right. You contorted your face into a smile, waving the bartender over and ordering the first non alcoholic drink that came to mind. 

“I really don't like you, you know that right?” You ran your hand over his chest, fingers toying with the collar of his shirt. 

“I know.”

You didn’t respond, opting instead to take a small sip from your glass, carefully ignoring the man beside you. Everything these days had to be careful. Answering the team's questions as to why you two had gone from best friends to barely talking, avoiding all of your old haunts, prying the remnants of him out of your life. You were tired of it.

“So, how are we supposed to draw his attention?” You sighed, placing your drink down as you glanced at the unsub, not at all surprised to see him looking in the opposite direction to the two of you.

“Come here.” He wasn’t even looking at you as he tapped his thigh, barely sparing you an ounce of his attention as he looked around the room.

“Fuck you.” 

“That was my plan B.” If you weren’t already rolling your eyes, you would have then. Still, there was something about hearing the immature, juvenile jabs from Spencer Reid, the man who was known for his grasp of language that was almost – almost – endearing.

“You’re disgusting.”

“You’re still sitting on your stool.”

“I’m not going to sit anywhere else.” You flinched when you felt his hands make contact with your waist.

“And how do you expect the unsub to target us when you won’t let me touch you?”

“Fine.” You slid off the seat, allowing his hands on your waist to help pull you up the extra distance, bringing you to perch on his lap. It made it worse that you had to face him to keep eyes on the unsub, meaning that your lips were only a few inches apart.

“How easy was that?”

“I don’t care about this,” you gestured to the space—or lack thereof—between you, “I care about how smug you’re being.”

“Why?”

“Because you didn't want me here in the first place, and now you're trying to punish me in some weird, sick game of yours.”

“I'm not trying to punish you, and the only reason I didn’t want you here was how dangerous this is.” You tried to focus on the anger you felt at him thinking you couldn’t handle yourself, rather than the part of you that revelled in how protective he could be.

“Then why have you been like this all night? All annoying and flirty?”

“I'm not sure about the annoying part, but do you expect me not to flirt with the beautiful woman on my arm?” He took a glance at where you were perched on his knee before correcting himself, “In my lap?”

You weren't sure how you were planning on responding to him, but luckily you didn't have to, catching the unsub’s gaze on the two of you out of the corner of your eye. He seemed mildly interested, not overly intrigued by the display, but enough to have marked you down as a possibility. 

“He's looking at us.” You murmured to Spencer, resting your head on his shoulder, the position designed to force you to keep your eyes off the unsub, no matter how tempting it was to steal a glance.

“When you’re sure you have his attention, walk out and go to the alley behind the building.” Emily’s voice in your ear felt like a slap to the face, a nice reminder that you and Spencer were under constant surveillance, and that you were at risk of a stern conversation after this was over. Inappropriate workplace conduct, probably. You mentally thanked Garcia and Morgan for greasing the wheels.

“Yes, ma’am.” 

A jolt ran through you when Spencer’s fingers dug into the flesh of your thigh, the sensation so deeply entwined with good memories that it was almost nostalgic. You ran a hand down his arm slowly, almost sensually, a romantic gesture to anyone that saw, unaware of the subtle pinch you gave his wrist. You held back a snicker when he hissed under his breath and loosened his harsh grip, but refused to move his hand from its new resting place.

“What was that for?” His voice went all high pitched and whiny, the cute annoying way that it always did when he complained.

“Don’t act dumb, Spence, it doesn’t suit you.” The nickname slipped out absentmindedly, it didn’t cross your mind that you hadn’t even called him by anything but his last name in months. His breath hitched, and you lifted your head from his shoulder to see what was going on, to make sure that he was okay. 

Your heart skipped a beat when you saw him, slack jawed and gazing at you like you were the only being in the universe. It was the way he used to look at you when you were curled up on his couch, when you were writhing underneath him, when he whispered ‘good morning’ with a soft kiss to your shoulder. When you were his. It might as well have been another one of his miraculous magic tricks, the way it made every sane thought in your head disappear.

Which was probably why you made no move to stop him when his lips crashed into yours, hands cupping your cheeks with a familiar intensity. You melted into his touch, almost forgetting why you were there in the first place. Your hands roamed all over him, frustrated at the inability to be everywhere at once, eventually settling for tangling in his hair. A small cough from the bartender separated you, Spencer holding your bottom lip for a moment too long as he pulled back. It was hard to tell how long the kiss lasted, only that you were so oxygen deprived by the end of it that your head spun. Or that was just a side effect of him. Probably. 

Reality sunk in, and you couldn’t bring yourself to meet Spencer’s eyes again, keeping your focus on his messier-than-usual hair. That you had caused. 

Fuck.

“That was…” His breathless voice was almost too much, like he had just come up for air after being underwater. 

“Nothing, Reid.” If he had been holding his breath, you had been drowning.

“Say it again,” He tilted your head with the hands that were still holding your face like it was made of porcelain, forcing you to meet his gaze. Dark eyes bore into your own as you let go of his hair, hands falling numbly to your sides, “my name.”

“We’re at work.” 

Although the reminder had been intended for him, saying the words prompted you to direct your focus back to the case. You glanced subtly in the direction of the unsub, hoping to find him fixated on your display, only to discover that he wasn’t there. Panic rose in your chest at the thought your momentary distraction had allowed him to get away, follow some other couple out. If new victims popped up the next day it would be your fault.

And then you saw him, significantly closer with his eyes locked on you both, and you were sure that you had never been so relieved to be the target of a serial killer. Unfortunately, he wasn’t caught yet, and it was still up to you and Spencer to lure him out of there. Which meant more touching, more talking, more him. 

“Baby, let’s get out of here.” You made sure to speak loud enough for the unsub to hear, and gave the bartender a look of annoyance, as if he was being an imposition by asking you to not rip the clothes off of each other in public. You might have felt a bit guilty if lives weren’t at stake.

Spencer nodded, keeping his hands firmly on your waist even after he had helped you get down from his lap. He leant down to press another kiss to your lips, and you forced yourself to keep your head on straight, giggling as he pulled back, chasing his lips playfully. Up on your tiptoes, you kissed his jaw lightly. The whole walk out of the club was spent all over each other, like you couldn’t get enough, one of you was always touching the other.

As you meandered onto the street, you spotted a statue of a little cherub angel, saying something cheesy and romantic. Spencer leaned down, breath hot on your ear as he whispered in an exaggerated sensual tone, “Don’t even blink. Blink and you’re dead. They’re fast, faster than you could believe.”

That time, you couldn’t tell yourself the laugh that fell from your lips wasn’t real, it was so Spencer to make a joke about Doctor Who while you were actively being stalked by a serial killer. You took advantage of his proximity to pull him into another kiss, stumbling into the alley where the ambush was to take place. He pushed you against the wall, peppering your face and neck with kisses, his hands gripping your hips tight enough to bruise. You heard a shuffle in the alley, the cock of a gun, and the rest was a blur as the two of you were knocked to the ground, just as a gunshot rang out.

.*☆¸•

When everything was over, when the unsub had been apprehended and the team was back at the local police station, you couldn’t help but feel slightly disappointed. Not that the unsub had been caught, of course, but at the fact that was most definitely the last time you would get to touch Spencer like that.

You hadn’t expected him to show up at the door of your hotel room at two in the morning, about an hour after you had made it back from the police station.

“What are you doing here.” It wasn’t a question, it was a polite way of telling him to go away before you did something stupid, like slap him. Or kiss him. Or both.

“I can’t stop thinking about you.” He ran a hand through his already dishevelled hair as he stepped forwards, the fire with which he looked at you bordering on a glare. Every second he spent in the room with you was clouding your thoughts, at least the sensible ones that were reminding you of every reason why you shouldn’t just drag him over to the ran through hotel bed.

“Get out.”

“Tell me that it wasn’t real.” In a few short steps he was standing right before you—fuck, his legs were long, which shouldn’t have been as hot as it was—with those brown eyes staring into your soul.

“You know I can’t.” You wished you had more control over what you said, and you wished that he had more self restraint when it came to his actions.

Neither of you did, however, and you had always been weak when it came to him, too weak to care when he leant down and pressed his lips to yours. It wasn’t soft, it was restrained, as if it was taking everything in him to hold back. You didn’t want him to hold back, even if it was out of respect for you, impatience was your vice. Grabbing the collar of his stupidly sexy sleep shirt, you pulled him in deeper, hoping the sensation of his tongue could lick away the bitter taste in your mouth. 

This time, when you separated, he was the one to pull back, his breathing heavy and a feral glint in his eyes that were otherwise filled with sorrow.

“I’m sorry.” Neither of you needed to clarify what he was referring to, and neither of you wanted to. The few months after he was released from prison were Hell for both of you, for entirely different reasons.

“I don’t care about that, we’re okay.” It was only half a lie, murmured against his neck as you pressed desperate, sloppy kisses to his skin. Of course you cared, but that care was being swiftly overridden by much more single-minded feelings. You weren’t okay, but maybe you could be.

He looked right through you in that way only Spencer Reid ever could, and he knew just as well as you did that you were lying. You both needed to talk, and you would, at least that’s what you told yourselves. 

Not that night, though.

── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ───── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ───── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ───── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ──

tysm for reading!!

Tags: @reidmoony-toast + a little dedicatory tag for @darkmatilda ty for being like the entire reason I finished this

[kurokawaia]

DAY ONE - GUNPLAY 彡 Dazai Osamu

WARNINGS :: Port Mafia Boss Dazai!, x fem!reader, afab, yandere? dazai, controlling, Forced confinement, psychological manipulation, power imbalance, dark themes, dubious consent, overstimulation, gunplay, getting fucked by a gun on a desk, mean!dazai, slight choking, sucking the gun + more

| WC :: 2k+ | MDNI | 18+ | kinkmas m.list

You are afraid.

You are anticipating Dazai's reaction to your plea, but you presume it will always be the same answer. You can hear his cold voice in your ear, but only just barely. His straightforward response was, "No, Belladonna."

You hesitate, then raise your fist to knock softly on his large office doors. One idea kept coming up in your mind: you wouldn't want to disturb Dazai if he was working on anything significant. You wouldn't want him to treat you badly again if you were interrupting him when he was busy.

You were unaware that papers were spread all over his desk in that room as Dazai wrote on them, making a faint tapping sound as he did so. He was not in the mood for any shenanigans today, which was bad for you. His eyes were as cold as ever as he moved between the piles of paper.

To avoid disturbing him, you enter cautiously, quietly, and slowly. You had to take a deep breath and pause before you could approach any closer since the room was so quiet. The air of Dazai made you question everything. 

He had been leaving early in the morning and coming home later at night, this has been happening for days. Ever since the workload had upped, Dazai wasn't even acknowledging your presence anymore. 

You can't stand how isolated you feel. You need a break from being alone, only if he would come back home earlier, or even stay just five minutes longer so you could see him before he left. You need Dazai, despite everything he has done and is doing to you.

"Osamu," you say gently as you go up to him.

His eyes briefly meet yours before returning to the papers because he doesn't want to be bothered.

You bite your lower lip as he gives you a quick look, but you can't tell if he was upset with you or his job, so you try again. "Since you've spent the entire day here, how about we spend some time outside? Just for a walk?" you ask again in a quieter, more tender voice.

His pen pauses in the middle of a stroke, and as you watch his tongue run over his teeth within his mouth, a soft breath escapes your lips.

He asks again, "You... want to go outside?" "Um...Yes," you respond, fiddling with your fingers all while staring at the floor. "J-Just for a short while. It's not easy being locked up here."

You recoil when Dazai drops his pen against the wooden desk. His eyes lift to meet yours as he relaxes in his chair, as the intensity causes your heart to leap. You hated that you couldn't read his eyes because you never knew if what you said would be well received by him.

However, you thought... at that very moment... that he-

"What did I tell you about asking such things?" he asks you, his voice so rasping that it sends chills through your body.

Your heart skips a beat as you blink. "Osamu, I only thought-"

"You thought?" Dazai responds with a wicked smirk that lacks any warmth. "You thought that it would be alright to rebel against me?"

In a single motion, he gets up from his chair, as you notice how he grabs his weapon that is lying on his desk. As you watch his thin fingers wrap effortlessly around the metal, your breath stops in your throat.

You're afraid.

You quickly revolt, your voice shaking, "I wasn't going against you," as you back off a step while he slowly walks around the desk towards you.  

"You are questioning my authority. You want to go outside while you are not allowed. That, Belladonna, is disobedience," he says, his brown eyes narrowing on you as he gets closer and his proximity becomes restrictive. "You know what happens when you disobey me, don't you?"

Your breath catches when he grabs your wrist and jerks you forward to where you are pushed against his chest. His fingers dig into your skin, firm but not painful... yet.

"I told you before, didn't I?" he breathes quietly into your ear. "You do not have to think. You only need to listen." His body clashes against yours, as your heartbeat accelerates rapidly. His grip is just strong enough to make you wince. "I-I'm sorry, Osamu..."

"Sorry isn't enough." He turns you around and sets your back against the edge of the desk. His hand reaches up to wrap around your neck; it’s not a tight grasp, but it’s enough to keep you from moving as his hot breath hits your ear. "You need to learn that you’re not allowed to leave. And I’ll make sure you remember this lesson." His presence is overwhelming, and it causes your heart to pound. "I do this to protect you, Bella," he murmurs quietly, pressing his lips against the shell of your ear. "So don't make me punish you again after this."

His fingertips brush your cheek, seductively light, as he pulls away to look at you. "Now, let's get one thing straight." His gaze burns into yours. "You will never question me again. If you want to be safe, you will do what I say. Okay?"

"Yes," you say softly.

"Good," he purrs. "So..."

When the gun's head presses against your chest, your breath shortens. "O-Osamu..." you moan, your body shivering with every breath.

"Shhhh," Dazai whispers, his free hand holding the back of your head as he buries his face into your hair, inhaling your sweet cherry shampoo. "I'm not going to hurt you, just going to teach you a lesson."

You stand there for a minute more, your pulse beating and your thoughts racing as the gun travels down your breasts, eventually ending at your lower belly. Immediately, your hands grab Dazai's shoulders and crush your head into his chest.

"I am sorry, Osamu. "P-Please, I am so sorry," you sob into his chest.

A giggle escapes his lips, as the hand caressing your head now combs your hair in an almost relaxed manner. "I'm not going to hurt you," Dazai says, drawing back and kissing the top of your head. "Trust me, Bella."

His hand travels down to your skirt, tugging the zip, causing the pencil skirt to tumble down your waist and to the floor. Dazai's fingers pull beneath your G-strong, his middle fingers moving up your folds, and you helplessly cry, burying your face in his chest once more.

"See, darling, I'm not hurting you," he coos, surprised at how submissive you were to him.

"Feels good," you say breathlessly. "M-more." 

Dazai shoved the gun deeper into your flesh, but it traveled lower, to your pelvis, but you couldn't think about it; the pleasure was too intense to bear. He tugs your G-string to the side, taking in the lust that glistened everywhere, practically flowing down your thigh. "Of course...Oh, Bella... you're soaked."

You bit down hard on your bottom lip; you were experiencing too many sensations at once, and your legs were about to give out. Then you feel him pull your underwear down your legs, the black fabric slapping your ankles as you slide out of them. 

"Take your shirt... off," Dazai says gently, his breath burning on your ear.

He raises his free hand to gently grab your throat, pressing lightly and feeling your heartbeat against his palm. Dazai swallows the knot in his throat. God, he loves to feel your heartbeat throb against any part of her body. You are so simple to manipulate, and he adores you. You're great for him.

You unbutton the simple white blouse as softly as possible, feeling Dazai's smile on your lips. Then he gently drags the gun up to your chest, between your breasts, pulling his hand away from your mouth and tracking the cold metal up your throat till it brushes against your lips.

Your breath catches in your throat. Dazai smirks.

"Suck, Darling," he adds, pleased by your reaction; he could tell you were scared of what he intended to do.  

Little did you know that the gun's safety was turned on, and even if it wasn't, he'd make sure not to pull the trigger. He needs you in his life more than he lets on.

You reluctantly open your lips, allowing Dazai to carefully put the metal inside it. "Good girl," he compliments, seeing the tears well up in your eyes once more. 

The praise causes your cunt to throb and your heart to swell. You swirl your tongue over the gun tip to ensure that the barrel is soaked. Surprisingly, it wasn't as unpleasant as you expected; instead, you noticed that it was quite cold and that the flavor was clearly metallic, something you were unfamiliar with.

Dazai experimentally puts the pistol farther into your mouth, causing you to choke, and you grasp his blazer tighter. He was proud of you for choosing him over the air, and you made him wild.  

He takes the gun out of your mouth, and you breath quickly, savoring the way the oxygen filled your lungs before you coughed slightly. Dazai admires the stream of saliva that leads to the gun from your lips, just as if you were sucking his dick.

You gasp as you feel the point of the pistol touch up against your swollen clit, your hands tightening on Dazai. He begins to gather the excitement flowing from your cunt around the pistol, the metal rubbing across your folds as you helplessly groan at the strange feeling.

"'Samu," you hiccup. "Please.."

"Hmm? "Please what?" he responds.

When the point of the pistol pushes into your entrance, your eyes widen and your walls tighten around the metal. "M-More," you whimpered. "Please."

Of course, he agrees to your request since it is only a matter of time before you realize there is a pistol going to be shoved in and out of your cunt. Dazai starts working the gun in and out of your moist cunt, watching your excitement flow down the pistol and onto the floor.   

"You're loving this, Bella, aren't you?" Dazai hums, angling the pistol to precisely strike your sweet spot. "My gun in your cunt," he says quietly, knowing what the reaction will be.

Tears puddle at your lash line; you'd be screwed if he pulled the trigger. You wouldn't put it beyond him; he'd let you to bleed out on the floor, and he'd probably enjoy it. But... he loves his gorgeous Belladonna so much that he couldn't let you go till you died. 

"Please, don't," you sob, both with pleasure and terror of being shot.

"Please what?"

"Please don't kill me," you begged.

"I would never, Bella," he says, slipping his tongue between your lips. "Just making you feel good." 

He accelerates the pace at which he is shoving the pistol, and you groan into his lips as he puts you on his desk. You were completely overwhelmed by all of your senses: his gun within you, his kissing you, and the way his hand was around your throat.

Dazai angles the pistol so he can toy with your clit while pumping the gun in and out of you, and you can't hold it for long. The coil in your gut was tightening, and you were not going to wait.

"Please, Osamu," you begged. "N-Need to come, please."

"Wait a little longer, or maybe I will just pull the trigger," he mutters into your mouth.

"N-No," you whimpered. "Please, I just' want to come, please, 'Samu."

"Alright," Dazai responds, thrusting the pistol farther into your cunt, which has tightened even more until you rip away from the kiss and fling your head back, a loud groan exiting your mouth. Your cum poured all over his palm and desk, soaking the paper underneath. 

"You know," he says quietly, "I push you because I need you to understand... no one else can keep you safe like I can." His thumb brushed against your lower lip. "This world is far too dangerous for you to be anything less than strong."

"I know I'm rough with you sometimes," he acknowledges. "But I can't afford to lose you. Not in a world like this. You are mine, and I do not share what is mine. And the gun's safety was turned on."

"The safety was on..." you mutter in surprise.

Do not steal, copy, modify, translate or use for ai Reblogs only!

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[lucid-loves]

simon slowly falling in love with reader after hating her for a long time⁉️

Sorry this took so long! I hope you enjoy it! ❤

Nuclear Date Night

Pairing: Ghost x 141!reader (fem!reader, weaponsengineer!reader, codename: Byte)

Word Count: 12.8k, One-Shot

CW: strong language, mention of violence, hate to love relationship, rivals, competitive, competence, realized feelings, smut, body praise, deep kissing, licking, fingering, biting, p in v

Let me know if I missed any CWs.

Story Synopsis: Ghost hates your guts. Even since you joined the team as their new weapons engineer two years ago, he’s hated you with his whole chest. With your high and mighty attitude, bewildering intellect, and unwavering confidence, he can’t stand you. You hate him too with his unreadable face, demeaning protection, and lack of grace. When an undercover mission requires the two of you to get closer, though, the both of you realize your hate for one another has turned into something else entirely. 

You ignored the icy cold glare the lieutenant kept on your figure as you explained how the new sniper-focus worked. Your comrades stared at your invention in wonderment, once again reminded just why you were part of the team. Thanks to your countless all-nighters and delicate hands, you managed to invent a focus that can attach to any sniper, calculate notches and wind speed, recommend the gun-adjust accordingly, and hit a target perfectly with over 98% accuracy. No matter the distance, no matter the weather, your focus powered with A.I. calculated assistance can kill any target. 

Everyone was impressed. Save for Ghost. 

“Aim at the target, give it a second to calculate, and then listen to the adjustment with the earpiece. After that, just adjust the aim and fire. Pretty simple stuff, really.” You demonstrated, large sniper in hand. 

The wind blew through your hair, dust coating your strands like moth to a flame. From a distance, a whipping dust devil was forming across the golden sands of the desert. It was dry, it was hot, and it was windy as hell. It was the perfect place to demonstrate your brilliance. 

When you joined the team two years ago, you knew that you had to put your heart and soul into this job in order to be taken seriously. You weren’t especially muscular or tall. As a soldier, you did train for instances of defense in case it was needed, but your true power relied on your smarts. A rather overlooked sign of an excellent soldier that often invited ridicule from the more traditional soldier. 

That’s exactly what Ghost did when he first met you. 

“You sure this shrimp can handle herself? Be one of us? She looks like she can barely lift a spoon without straining her wrist.”

You bit the inside of your cheek at the memory, muscles tensing as if you were in that moment once again. The memory of your response quickly took over. 

“Are you sure this meat-head can handle my science? He looks like he can barely use a blender without getting confused by all the buttons.”

You both left a bitter taste in each other’s mouths that day. The taste has lingered ever since, tainting nearly every interaction you had. It was a wonder how you haven’t killed each other yet. 

Setting up the sniper, you prepped for the real demonstration. While you did final adjustments to the focus, you called over your rival. “Ghost, test this for us.”

“Why do I have to be the guinea pig? I don’t need a fucking robot to focus my aim anyway.” He protested, every cold tone in his words deliberate. 

The team shifted uncomfortably, even after all this time still not used to the spats the two of you got into. Attempts to resolve the bad blood have always failed. It was easier to just let the two of you spit your fire until you ran out of fuel. 

“Alright then, tough guy, you can aim without it. Go ahead, hit the target.” You nonchalantly agreed, confident that things were going to go your way this round. Ghost noticed that easy acceptance you gave, his eyes narrowing at you as he tried to figure you out. What was your game this time?

Not one to back down, he approached the sniper and aimed it normally, your focus set to default. No robots, no artificial intelligence. Just plain-Jane markers for distance. Looking through the scope, Ghost looked for the little red flag that indicates the location of the fake target used for practice. After a while of looking at nothing but sand, he spotted the target just past the dust devil. 

He would have to account for that. You planned for this. No wonder you insisted on dragging them all out to this dry wasteland. He clenched his teeth, blood simmering as you tried to make him look like a fool in front of his team. Backing away, though, would make him lose this game. Shooting and missing would also give you the victory point. Either way, both scenarios made him look incompetent.

God, he fucking hated you. 

Suppressing a malicious smile, you antagonize him. The feeling of beating him made your heart race in excitement. “Any day now, Ghost.”

He hated the way you drew his name out like that. The way you so easily said it like it was nothing but air to you. Like bubblegum being blown and popped at your will. His name should’ve struck fear and intimidation. Instead, you chewed on it. Popped bubbles with it. 

Aiming the scope, he lined up his shot, and fired. Watching the bullet carefully, he saw it shoot forth with speed right on the dead center of the target, whip back from the dust devil, and hit sand with an explosion of grain. 

It took everything in him not to fucking leave right then and there. 

“Good shot if you planned on missing. Now, use my focus.” You continued to tease, twisting the knife further into his already wounded pride. There was little snickering coming from his men, Gaz and Soap not being able to contain themselves. They would admit that sometimes your fights were funny. It was a way to cope with the discomfort it brought. 

Silently, Ghost switched on your focus. Out of the side, a small earpiece ejected out. He took it and fitted it into his ear under the mask. Of course, you programmed the artificial instruction with your own voice. Serious, stoic, and purposeful. “Awaiting aim to calculate.”

He aimed once more at the metal target using the scope, the dust devil blowing the sand around violently to protect it at all costs. The scope projected its calculations as if he was staring at a screen. Within a few seconds, it completed its estimations. A green dot appeared way over to the left and bottom of the notches, marking the shooting point. Your voice rang in his ears. “Target confirmed. Aim and fire.”

This seemed way off. There was no way this could be right. Was he really meant to aim so far off? The green dot stayed perfectly in place as he adjusted the aim, his center notch in line with your tech’s mark. He hoped that it would miss.

He fired and watched the bullet sail through the air, ride with the dust devil like a wave, and hit the target with perfection. He became slack-jawed bewildered at the precision. The fact that it could calculate aim with even an extreme factor such as swirling winds was undoubtedly impressive. 

This was your clear victory. And he hated it. 

You relished in his fiery disdain of your genius. A small smirk played at your lips as you saw just how the rage froze his muscles. He looked like he wanted to punch something. 

“God damn, Byte! That was phenomenal!” Soap loudly praised, his eyes wide in true marvel. The others agreed, all wanted a turn to use that focus of yours like it was a new toy. Every invention that you gave them has felt like a new toy. It made those days feel like Christmas morning. You were great at your job and they couldn’t be happier to have you on the team. 

Of course, except for Ghost. Even if your engineering prowess was the best in the world. 

“Really great work, Byte! Are the blueprints all ready to copy?” Kate smiled appreciatively while tapping on her smartpad.

“All ready for production.” You simply answered, proud of the work that you had accomplished. Another one for the books. 

While the boys played with their new toy, Ghost stepped back and crossed his arms angrily. 

He hated everything about you. Your unmatched intellect, your confident plays, your arrogant personality. He hated that his team was wasting money on technology for weapons when a true soldier shouldn’t need the handicap. Real skill was earned by yourself. Not with the assistance of technology. It should be a tool, not a crutch. 

Ghost believed that people who couldn’t aim a sniper on their own and hit a target didn’t deserve to be snipers. And you just made him unworthy of being a sniper when against your tech. 

You looked up at him, taking note of how hard he threw daggers at you. You made him look stupid, and that was your goal. It felt like you had the world in your palm when you did. Someone as respectable as Ghost being bested by a brainiac was always the best. You proved that you didn’t need muscles or height or even intimidation to be better. You just needed your smarts. 

A huff of a laugh escaped you as you turned away from him, knowing that that would just make him even more angry at you. Good. 

You hated everything about him too. 

~

“What you do really is modern magic. Seriously, Byte, how does your brain come up with such things?” Gaz inquired, raising a bottle of beer to his lips. The team decided to celebrate your new invention at the usual bar. Of course, your drinks were on them as a reward. They knew that you put a lot of work into what you did. The least they could do was pay for your rum and cokes. 

You raised the cold glass to your lips, the sweet and spicy cocktail hitting your tastebuds. “The pros of being a genius. Thank you for the praise. It feels nice to be appreciated for my work around here.”

That last past was said a little louder, loud enough to make sure that Ghost could hear it on the other side of the bar. He bit his tongue and rolled his eyes at you, not willing to open himself to any more of your antagonizing today.

The victory was as sweet as the drink you were nursing. Addictive too. You couldn’t get enough of the feeling of success. When you finished an invention, when you helped your team complete a mission, or when you bested Ghost, they all gave you that sweet sense of accomplishment. 

Soap slung his arm around your shoulder, nearly causing you to spill. He was already a couple drinks in. “Yeah yeah yeah, good work! But all we ever talk about is work. Been two years, Byte. Tell us what that genius does outside of work, huh?”

You shifted in your seat, becoming a little uncomfortable with the sudden questions about your personal life. They knew tidbits here and there about you. Some failed relationships, favorite songs, distaste for certain foods. But your answer to all of that was usually straight-forward. “We broke up.” “I like this song.” “I’m not going to eat that.”

Something that the team noticed early on was that you were a workaholic. You hung out with them on rare occasions, you were usually confined working in your lab while they had offices, and you usually departed events early to be in said lab. Besides minor details, they really didn’t know much about you outside of your work personality. They have been trying to pull you more out of your shell over time, but it was a slow process. 

Gaz frowned at Soap’s bluntness. “Come on, Johnny, leave her alone tonight.”

“It’s fine, Gaz.” You put your glass down roughly, the clink of the glass on polished wood sobering Soap up pretty quick. It made Gaz look away in shame. That was at least one thing they knew about you most intimately. You hated being treated like you can’t take care of yourself. When they stepped in on your behalf, answering a question that was meant for you, it made you want to hit them. You knew they only did it to protect you. That you were one of them and this is how they treated one of them, but you could never let it be. 

You didn’t need anybody to stand up for you. You will make that a point for forever if you had to. 

The air grew thick with tension as you silently scolded them for hitting one of your pet peeves. With a sigh, you caved in, wanting to restore some of that fun from before. “What do you wanna know? Anything is on the table.”

Soap’s face lit up like a match to a gas station. “Seriously?! Anything?”

You gave a little nod and braced yourself for the worse. Soap’s lack of personal boundaries was quite well known. It was coming from a place of genuine curiosity and ease, never ill-intent. It was just one of the quirks of Soap that you were still coming to terms with even after all this time. 

“Well. . . what’s your sex life like?” 

Gaz began to choke, coughing on beer stuck in his throat. Price tapped his back to help him out, his sharp gaze falling on Soap for such a personal question. Yet, he didn’t say anything. He knew that if he did, you would get angry at him. He has been pretty good about avoiding your pet peeve and he didn’t want to break his streak.

Clearing your throat, you composed yourself. You weren’t expecting such a blatant question either, despite inviting this kind of open question. It didn’t mean that you weren’t going to be honest, though. That just wasn’t the kind of person you were. You never stepped away from a challenge. “You’re going to have to be more specific.”

Soap grinned widely, happy to talk with you finally like you were just like one of the guys. “Body count? Preferences? All of it. I wanna know what a genius views sex as.”

Slowly, you drank the rest of your rum and coke before signaling for another one. While you hailed the bartender, you noticed that Ghost was staring intensely at you. He hated you, but even he was curious on how anyone could tolerate you enough to sleep with you. 

Once you were halfway through your second drink for some liquid courage, you began to talk about one of the most personal details of your life. “Body count of five. All men. Most were one-night stands or sex-friends.”

You liked sex. There was no question about it. At least, you were interested in it. Despite the amount of people you’ve been with, they always left you wanting more. It was always a little unsatisfying when they were finished. It always felt like there was a black hole inside of you that needed the right meal to be satisfied. 

The exact reason why was no mystery either. Unless you were masturbating alone, you never came. No matter how much time and effort went into foreplay, none of your partners have ever made you orgasm. 

Just because your sex life was active didn’t mean it was great. 

“Wow, that’s a little surprising.” Gaz admitted, finally over his coughing fit. Price shook his head, a little embarrassed to hear about his men talking about sex so freely with you. As a captain to a group of mostly boys, he has shared details with them to bring the group together. It felt a little strange to have you participate in this. Even Kate wasn’t pressured into sharing such details. 

“Our little genius gets some then! How is it? Any experience noteworthy?” Soap persisted as he ordered another round.

“Not especially? Average, I suppose.” You shrugged, answering the questions becoming much easier the more you poured rum and coke into your system. Warmth crept along your cheeks, blossomed in your ribs. You felt yourself opening up like a dormant flower. 

You ordered another drink. Soap continued to pry. “Average? What does that even mean?”

“I never came before.” You suddenly blurted out, the blending of your naturally blunt personality and alcohol turning into a pretty dangerous combination. It seemed like the rum in you was getting to your brain faster than you thought. 

This time, it was Soap’s turn to choke. Gaz was torn between wanting to laugh and wanting to comfort your plight. Ghost just stared as if he was watching the news. However, his mind was thinking all sorts of things. He wanted to mock you. Say that that was what you deserved for being so arrogant about your intelligence. He felt the instinct to trash talk you to recover some of the pride he lost today. 

Yet, he couldn’t. In fact, he began to feel a foreign pity for you. If you knew that he was pitying you over something like this, you would absolutely rip him a new one. That didn’t stop his eyes from softening for just a moment, though. A moment that you noticed with those sharp eyes of yours. 

Finishing your drink, you slammed the glass on the counter, nearly shattering it. How dare Ghost look at you like some tragic whore! So what you never orgasmed from sex! You were doing just fine when it came to solo-sex escapades. You didn’t need anyone to satisfy you. You only needed yourself. “I do perfectly fine when I masturbate. Don’t get it twisted. Other people just don’t satisfy me. It’s whatever.”

In a simmering fire, you got up from your chair and left the bar for the night, leaving your teammates wondering what the hell got you so worked up all of a sudden. 

Only Ghost knew the answer to that. 

~

Arriving back on base on your motorcycle, you headed straight to your lab. It was quiet. The dead of night. Everyone else was either back home, sleeping in the barracks, or partying it up downtown. You had an apartment to go back to, but you always found yourself coming here instead. 

Settling your helmet and jacket on the coat-rack, you made yourself at home. Dim-emergency lights softly illuminated unfinished projects on tables. Pieces of wires, circuits, and bolts littered every corner of the room. The place looked small and cramped during the day, scientists and engineers squished together in a lab that was second priority compared to the more athletic-based facilities. In the night when no one was here, the place looked like a tech graveyard. Vast, dark, and cold. 

You headed towards your usual workstation, a large workshop desk that was overflowing with unfinished blueprints of inventions that haven’t panned out just yet. A lot of the struggle came from lack of funding. Some of it came from unrealistic expectations. Science was an investment, something that most military dogs failed to realize. It’s why you always pushed yourself to work constantly and prove what the proper time and resources could bring. 

You were essentially killing yourself in order to make them see the worth of your department. 

Looking through the blueprints, you settled on one that was worth revisiting. A Russian Doll bullet that would save ammunition and materials to build said ammunition. The idea was to invent a bullet that would be compatible with most firearms, shoot an outer layer of bullet without shooting out the inner layer, and repeat until the last of the bullet is gone only to be replaced by another Russian Doll bullet. 

It would effectively turn a six-shooter into a twenty-four. It would save so much ammo and save many soldiers the reload time. 

The only problem you haven’t solved yet was the instability of gunpowder. 

That’s what you decided to work on tonight. Taking a seat in your worn out swivel chair, you opened your drawers and pulled out your materials. Bringing a magnifying glass close to you, you began to disassemble a few bullets. It was always a good idea to build things by first taking things apart. 

As you worked, you heard the sound of the lab door open. It was still much too early for the morning crew to come in, so you wondered who it could’ve been. Maybe Price had come to lecture you about how you left things at the bar. It wouldn’t be the first time he had to talk to you about your temper. 

Turning around, you were surprised to meet your rival, peering over all of the electronic corpses on the tables. He didn’t come here very often. You were always here after all. He knew you were always here. He shivered, noticing just how chilly it was inside the lab. The air conditioning was running on full blast. “Feels like a meat-locker in here. How can you work like this?”

“What do you want?” You sharply retorted, nerves already on edge at his presence. The lab was supposed to be your refuge. Your paradise. And here came the snake. 

“Relax. I’m not here to fight. I just wanted to talk to you about the focus.” He treaded carefully, his own instincts waiting to fire off like they were used to when he was with you. A lightbulb in his head just went off just then. He realized just how bad the relationship between the two of you was since his first real instinct was to yell at you. Ghost knew you felt it too. 

He was supposed to be the 141’s Lieutenant. He was supposed to bring the team together for his captain. And here he has been for two years, trying to push you out. 

Ghost has never even approached you without the intention to fight or yell or demand since the first day he met you.

Christ, was there any recovery from this? Ghost took a deep breath, trying to choose his words carefully for once. “The focus is great. You did a good job.”

“Don’t fucking pity me.” You snapped, turning back to your desk and igniting sparks as you bonded metal with heat. A hurricane brewed in your chest. Did he seriously come all this way to pity you? The gaze in his eyes should have been enough. It made you leave the bar!

Ghost felt that fire rising in his throat, wanting to say something back that would hurt you. Old habits die hard. It was a tough pill to swallow. “I’m not trying to pity you. The focus is going to help a lot of soldiers. It’s going to save a lot of people.”

You paused, unsure if his words were genuine or misleading. You’ve fallen into that trap before, hearing what seemed like a compliment only for it to be backhanded. It was unfortunate that you didn’t trust a word that came out of his mouth. “Why did you look at me like that at the bar?”

He knew exactly what you were talking about, but he wished he didn’t. He didn’t really want to talk about your sex life when it was just the two of you. Especially not when the two of you haven’t even had one decent interaction with each other. Goosebumps prickled all of his skin, his teeth nearly chattering. How could you keep it so fucking cold in here?

“I felt sorry for you.” He admitted, finding himself unable to lie to you or change topics. At least from the beginning, he has always been honest with you. 

As you heard the words you loathed to hear, you put down your tools, hands becoming too shaky to handle them with all the rage storming inside you. “I-”

“I felt sorry that no one has liked you enough to satisfy you.” 

Well, that didn’t exactly sound right.

Your mouth opened in shock at his dig. His eyes widened as he heard the words coming out of his mouth, realizing that it sounded completely fucking wrong. He held his hands up in defense, scrambling to explain himself before it was too late. 

The hurricane was in full swing, though. But instead of bringing thunder, it only brought rain. The corners of your eyes prickled with tears before streaming down your flushed cheeks. A lump choked in your throat choked the air out of you. You thought you could say something hurtful back. You always did before. But this time, his words cut a little too deep.

None of your relationships have lasted long. Not even with people you agreed to just be sex-friends with. They always ended up leaving. Whenever you asked what went wrong, they always blamed it on your demeanor. Your personality was too particular. Your interests were too complex. Your high expectations were too much. 

It was one of the reasons you kept a distance from the 141. They loved your company as far as you knew. But only in small doses. Who knew what would happen if they really spent time with you? They would probably get sick of you over time too. Ghost hated you since day one after all. 

No one liked you. You thought that you were fine with that at this point, but clearly you weren’t.

Ghost stood frozen in time, completely taken aback by your sudden tears. He expected screaming. He expected hitting. He expected icy retorts. That’s all he has ever known you as. He never in a million years expected tears. 

It made him feel like he was the biggest piece of shit on the planet. And the worst part was that he didn’t even know what to do about it. 

All of his years of hatred for you melted away as he watched you crumble, your distrust for him putting up more walls between the two of you. Jesus, how does he fix this now?!

“Byte, I-”

“Don’t you think I already know that no one likes me? You think you’re the first person to hate my guts?!” You spat, some of the lightning finally coming out. The tears kept coming, but it was somehow better for Ghost. He felt more used to that dangerous spark you had. It made you easier to approach now. 

“I didn’t mean it like that. Poor choice of words. Honest. I just meant that. . . I . . . Everyone deserves to be loved enough to the point of satisfaction. You work hard and give us countless advancements to use. You deserved to be satisfied. You deserve to have someone that will put the work into you too.” He finally managed to find the right words, nearly running out of breath with all the effort he had to find them. He was never really good at heart-to-hearts. 

You looked at him in shock once more as he attempted to salvage the hurt he caused you. This was beyond confusing for you. Your brain that worked so hard everyday, that could think up a million things at any given time, was at a loss for words. 

In your uncertainty, you followed your instincts. And that was to turn back around to your desk, wipe your eyes, and get back to work. It was the only constant in your life that you could rely on. The best way to think. 

Ghost didn’t blame you for returning to work. He probably wouldn’t know what to say either if it was him. Instead of pushing it any further, he decided that it was probably best to leave. Before he headed out of the lab, he turned back and looked at you. 

You did the same, the moment of work gracing your senses. In the end, he did try to pay you a genuine compliment. You were always the type to reciprocate fairly. “Thanks, Ghost.”

There was a certain way you said your thanks that made Ghost’s heart skip a beat. A sense of gentleness that he’s never heard from you before. The way your eyes shone bright from leftover tears had him stunned. Were your eyes always that pretty?

He turned quickly and left, the back of his neck heating from the intrusive thought he just had. As he walked back to the barracks, he sighed. The air outside was much warmer than the environment of your lab. So much easier to breathe. It felt suffocating being in there. Out here, he could let his mind relax.

And yet, he couldn’t stop thinking of you. 

~

The two of you didn’t fight as much anymore. Sharp words slipped out every now and then, but neither of you kept feeding the fire once they were said. Most of the time, you two were just back to avoiding each other. Though, the both of you had your own reasons. 

You found yourself just at a loss of words when he was civil. It was that distrust that still lingered that made it hard for you to interact with him. It was especially difficult to be around him when he was actively being polite. Praises for your work, helping you carry heavy boxes across base, or prioritizing processing your submitted paperwork was always done either curtly or in silence. It was foreign to you.

And the energy you saved now that it wasn’t spent on fighting was now put to use by noticing him a little more. You always couldn’t help but stop and stare as he helped carry equipment with you from the lab to the armory. The way his biceps flexed with ease at the heavier load. The way his eyes remained stoic even as he embraced your inventions. Ghost was now more on your mind than ever, and you didn’t know how to feel about it. 

Ghost, on the other hand, was now always thinking about you. He felt the urge to get closer to you. To get to know you better. To help you out in a way that didn’t look down on you like he’s always done. He couldn’t stop thinking about your eyes too. How bright they were under the sun or moon. How they watched him under such careful supervision, trying to decipher if his good will was real or not. 

Even in moments where he didn’t want to think about you, he found his mind wandering anyway. Ever since that night in the lab, he felt his feelings change. Two years of anger and resentment for you have nearly melted all away only to be replaced by something else. And he didn’t know how to explain it. 

All he could do was try to keep cool. Remain civil. Avoid too close of interactions with you. 

It was working for the both of you for months until you were assigned to a mission together.

The team had noticed that the both of you were getting along in the loosest sense of the term. They wondered what caused such a shift, but they never asked out of fear of resetting the apparent progress. Instead, Price tried to push more progress by assigning the both of you to work an undercover mission. 

A wealthy investor of nuclear weaponry was suddenly pouring a lot more money than usual into a country with a rising dictator. The investments coincided with less threatening ideas such as climate change prevention and DNA study in order to balance out interest. The goal was to detain this investor, question him about his relationship with this dictator, and then hopefully stop a dangerous man from getting his hands on advanced nuclear power. 

The way in was at a formal event promoted by the science community. Conservationists, biologists, engineers, and more were going to be present to try to win over some other wealthy investors that would be there including celebrities, CEOs, and politicians. It was a high brow event which made the need for scientific knowledge apparent. 

And who knew more about such science than you?

Intimidation invitations in hand, Ghost waited in a hotel lobby, a crisp, black tuxedo hugging his form as if tailored to him. The skull balaclava was swapped with a simple black face mask, covering enough of his identity which made him feel better about all of this. Looking at a nearby mirror, he checked his blonde hair. He’s never dressed so formally in his life. 

He suddenly wondered if you would like it. 

You still need a moment to get ready, always one to check twice to make sure you had everything you need. Your heart raced in your chest, your nerves tingling with adrenaline as you prepared to see this mission through. You’ve been on the field a couple of times. Never under-cover. The fact that you would probably have to do most of the talking made you nervous. 

People didn’t like you. That weakness of yours was clouding your confidence. Being a woman in science was already a tough world. Would you be able to keep your personality in check if you faced such a conflict?

Nervously, you headed down to the lobby, adjusting every dress each step of the way down. When you spotted Ghost from a distance, you froze. You have never seen him so cleaned up before. When you were coming down, you half expected him to appear like he always has. Military uniform, skull mask, strapped with obvious weapons. 

You didn’t know that his hair was so. . . 

Finding yourself at a loss for words again, you steeled yourself. As you got closer, you realized that your heart was racing for an entirely new reason. Your lieutenant was much more attractive than you thought. 

And he was technically your date for tonight.

Ghost caught your figuring in the corner of the mirror, making him turn around. Time stood still for you once again as you appeared before him looking like someone straight out of a romance movie. Your dress hugged your curves in all the right places, every strand of hair was styled beautifully to frame your face, makeup only highlighted just how beautiful you naturally were. 

How could he never see just how beautiful you were before?

You walked closer and cleared your throat, that voice he thought was so annoying before now sounding like the sweetest violin. “Lieutenant, you look good this evening.”

This was the first compliment he’s ever received from you. It made his stomach do flips. What was happening to him? Pull it together!

“Thanks. You look great tonight. Ready?” He offered his arm, waiting for you to take it. 

Your heart could barely take it as you looped your arm around his, touching him so intimately for the first time. Heat radiated from his body. The biceps you found yourself staring at before felt solid under your touch. You looked up into his eyes, the glacier blues melting into a deep ocean. Looking away suddenly, you attempted to hide your blush. He was looking at you so intensely that it startled you.

“Do you have to stare?” You questioned a little too sharply than you intended. You braced yourself for him to say something equally sharp, something Ghost felt in your arm that was hooked around his. 

He averted his gaze, now conscious of the way his eyes naturally followed you. His mind searched for an explanation for his lack of discretion. The unexplainable pull that you had on him. Jesus, it was like he was. . . 

Oh. Oh no.

“Sorry.” He mumbled, trying to keep his feelings in check. How could he spend two years praying for your downfall to all of a sudden being-

He didn’t want to think about it. Didn’t even want to entertain the likely possibility. Even if he wanted to act on his feelings, did he really deserve to after all the fighting for two years? You would probably never truly accept him after all the things he’s said and done. You weren’t completely innocent either, but Ghost had to face the fact that he was the one that started it all. Before even knowing your name, he insulted you, unable to keep his opinion on tech in weapons in check. A matter that wasn’t even your fault to begin with. 

What the hell was wrong with him back then? What the hell is even wrong with him now?

“Hey, Earth to Ghost. You okay?” You asked, noticing how he seemed to be just staring into space as they waited for the car to pick them up. There was a brightness in the night, a rain having just finished its pour. Puddles on the ground reflected the city’s lampposts, cars flashed their lights, and much to Ghost’s dismay and pleasure, your eyes shined replaced the stars. 

His voice was deep and agitated, more so upset with himself than with you. “I’m fine. Just nerves.”

At that you smirked that devilish smile that he hasn’t seen in a while. It pissed him off to no end before, but now it made his heart flutter. “Wow. The great Lieutenant Ghost has nerves. Never thought I’d hear that. Makes me feel a lot better, though.”

“And why is that?” He inquired carefully, almost afraid to hear the answer. 

You shrugged, actually starting to feel at ease for the first time in his presence. The butterflies were still there. They were just much more manageable now. “I am nervous as well.”

Before he could question you further, the designated car pulled up in front of the hotel. Gaz, parading as the chauffeur for tonight, got out of the car and held open the passenger door for the both of you to get in. Soap wanted to do this job, but Price refused. He knew that he wouldn’t be able to shut his mouth if he saw the two of you together like this. Gaz at least had a filter.

He played the role to a tee, onlookers staring as he took off his hat and bowed. “Good evening. You both look dashing tonight. Especially our lady.”

The cover was working smoothly. Together, they really looked like A-list people. The civilians would have never guessed that they were all just soldiers. Drinking in their looks, you let it replenish your confidence. You got into the car followed by Ghost, Gaz shutting the door once everyone was settled. As he drove to the venue, he went over the mission details. 

“We’ll be keeping an eye on you the entire time. We have access to all the venue’s cameras and we have mics hidden throughout the building. Some security is our own too to keep an eye on things. This place will be packed full of civilians, so violence must be kept to a minimum. Non-existent preferably. If anything does go wrong that we don’t notice, use the codeword.”

You nodded at all of the information that will keep you safe, reading the mission file to brush up on before the big show started. Ghost looked over your shoulder, also reading the file once again. Mostly though, he noticed how intensely you studied. You didn’t want to be the reason why this mission failed. You couldn’t afford that. 

When the car slowed in front of the venue, you looked out. At least a hundred people were outside, dressed to the nines, ready to spend their money or ask for money. Your blood suddenly became cold as you looked at all the people. There must have been hundreds more inside.

Gaz parked the car and stepped out, getting ready to open the door for you. However, you were a statue. Unmoving. There was panic in your eyes. You looked the part for this. Could you talk the part too?

A warm, large hand landed on your shoulder, gaining your attention. Ghost looked at you with steady eyes, his tone slow and soft as honey. “You got this, Byte. You’re probably smarter than everyone here. I’m right by your side too.”

It was relieving hearing those words come from him. He was encouraging you like he was your lieutenant. Like you were part of his team. Your heart swelled as you looked into the eyes you’ve been trying to avoid. It looked like he was finally seeing you after all this time. 

With a deep breath and a new steely expression, you nodded to Gaz through the window. He opened the door and Ghost stepped out first. You took the hand he offered you and came out, the buzz of intellectual conversation in the air. 

Gaz drove off, leaving the mission to the two of you. Ghost led the way up, your arm in his like it was always meant to be there. Miraculously, the two of you looked like the ideal date. It made getting into the venue easy as Ghost handed over the invitations to the guard at the entrance. “Welcome, Mr. and Mrs. Riley. Have a fun night!”

The both of you couldn’t help but blush at the shared name. To be referred to as Mrs. Riley gave you ideas that you never thought you would think about. It strangely had a nice ring to it that made your senses prick up. 

Ghost thought the same thing as he guided you in. Tonight, you were Mrs. Riley, his beautiful and intelligent wife. 

The two years of hating each other seemed to feel farther away as the night stretched on. 

The marble floors were packed with esteemed guests. Large, crystal chandeliers reflected off gold jewelry and champagne glasses. A live orchestra played with precise rhythm. Everyone mingled, trying to see where the best place to put their money was. Likewise, scientists tried to advocate for their foundations. All of the talk made Ghost’s head swirl. He was used to undercover missions, however, this was truly out of his realm. 

You were better at picking up the jargon. They spoke a language you understood. The language that only the people in the lab on base understood. It was like hearing your native tongue after years of speaking foreignly. Military culture and science culture was so different, that you often missed this. 

A couple approached the two of you, led by a middle-aged woman with a large, diamond necklace and fake lilies in her hair. “Aren’t you two the most adorable couple! I must compliment you on your gown too!”

This was it. This was their test to look like a real couple out as each other’s dates. You put on a fake smile and held out your hand. “Thank you for the compliment. I’m Mrs. (Y/n) Riley. This is my husband.”

The name slid easily off your tongue, yet it sent electricity through you. There was no way you were going to get used to that name tonight. It made you feel lightheaded when you said it. How could you get so embarrassed by a fake name?

Ghost was having trouble getting used to it too, a part of him wishing that the name was real against his will. Clenching his jaw, he looked out at the crowd, trying to spot the target. His large height helped, but there were too many people around. They all crowded around each other. Talking, laughing, flaunting. A slight tug on his arm brought his attention back to you. You were just sending the lady on her way after a simple, pleasant conversation. Through that, you were able to figure out if the target has shown up yet. 

“Let’s go to the main ballroom. According to the recent intel, our target would be there if he’s shown up. Something about him not being able to resist a shrimp cocktail.” You directed, your confidence becoming stronger as you weaved through the crowd. Ghost couldn’t help but take in your courage, finding it hard to believe that you were once nervous. Then again, this was your crowd.

The ballroom floor was also filled with people, but also now with clear advertisements from scientists. Small signs indicated programs with their representatives, helping investors find the right place to put their money in. You read the signs carefully, recognizing a few of them along with who was supposed to be running it. At some of the names, you grimaced. 

“You alright?” Ghost asked, trying to keep his own expression solid as if he was playing poker. He found himself worrying about you now that you looked so pained. 

You shook your head, trying to clear unpleasant memories as best as you can. “I’m fine. I just. . . I hope I don’t run into any ex-colleagues.”

As if the devil was listening himself, you heard your name being called from afar, a surprised tone countering the determined piano filling the room. “Y/n? Is that really you?!”

Putting on your game face, you smiled and turned towards your former colleague and, unfortunately, ex-lover. Of course, this was going to happen. Almost always one thing goes wrong during a mission. A part of you wished you didn’t accept this mission now that you were face-to-face with someone you tried to leave in the past. 

“Dr. Emmanuel. It has been a long time.” You greeted politely, taking extra time to keep your tone in check. The last time you spoke to him was during the breakup. He dumped you after a quarrel about a missing blueprint. You were working on a project together when you were both interns at a scientific space-engineering facility. The blueprint was supposed to help the both of you land permanent positions, but it was made clear that there was only room for one. 

When you heard the news, you both agreed that neither of you would take credit until you talked to the head of the facility. That was, until the blueprint went missing. From there, you fought and accused him of taking the blueprint for himself to get the job. Your hunch was right when you saw the new employee ID card he hid in his wallet. 

You called him a traitor. He called you deplorable. You claimed that most of the blueprint was your design. He reasoned that if you had the job, you would neglect him anyways with your workaholic nature. He then dropped the bomb that he hated working with you, that you made him feel insecure in bed with your inability to orgasm with him, and that you were just becoming into someone he loathed with your particular personality. He accused you of not loving him enough.

So he took the credit and ran, leaving you to figure out what the hell you were going to do about a job. That’s when you decided to join the military as a weapons engineer. Some time after, you joined the 141. 

“It has been some time, hasn’t it? I’m surprised to see you here? Are you here as a scientist or an investor?” Your ex inquired, sizing you up as someone to take advantage of or as competition for investors. You knew his game and you knew it well. You only had to learn the hard way once before you learned your lesson. You never made the same mistake twice. 

Ghost noticed how your expression hardened, yet you maintained that fake, pearly smile. What was this man to you? How did you know each other? 

Why did he care so much?

“He is the investor and I am the scientist. This is my husband, Mr. Riley.” You announced, now saying the word “husband” with your full chest. Your ex’s eyes widened briefly before twisting into a smile that showed hints of disgust. 

Nonetheless, he held out his hand for a handshake. “Pleasure to meet you, Mr. Riley. It is an honor meeting a man that could tame such a work-driven woman.”

Before you could shoot back some venomous words that were bubbling up on your tongue, Ghost took his hand and gripped it tight with that soldier strength of his. Your ex seemed distraught as pain shot through his hand that was being crushed. Ghost didn’t let up. “I’d prefer it if you didn’t look down at my wife, doctor. I love her just the way she is. I’m sure she has accomplished much more than you as well.”

“Now, if you will excuse us, we have better things to talk about with other people.” Ghost finally let go, bruises already starting to form on the crushed hand of your ex. While you normally would pop off at him for standing up for you when you could’ve done so yourself, you were too busy thinking about his words. The L-bomb he dropped seemed to flow so naturally from him. It made you feel flustered. 

As Ghost led you away, he leaned down to whisper in your ear. He took your flustered expression as you being upset. He wouldn’t be surprised if you were upset with him or your ex-colleague. He knew he triggered your pet-peeve and he wanted to apologize. For now, though, he had to settle with a raincheck. “We’ll talk about that later. Do you see our target yet?”

You snapped back into action, being reminded that you have a mission to accomplish above all else. Looking around, you tried to spot the target. As predicted, there he was, gorging himself on shrimp and champagne. “10 o’clock.”

He looked over and confirmed. “Target spotted. Good eye. Ready?”

Taking a few deep breaths to reset your brain, you nodded. Swiftly, the both of you approach the target just as he was taking another flute from a silver tray. You changed your serious demeanor into a more graceful one. Someone worth giving money to. Someone that the target will like. “Mr. Marston. I was hoping to finally meet you tonight. I am Y/n Riley. This is my husband. You are such an inspiration to both scientists and investors.”

“Ha! A couple of fans with good taste! A pleasure to meet such a handsome couple! I’ve been in the business for a long time though, so I know you must want something. Can’t pull the wool over these eyes, even if they are old.” He laughed cheerfully as he raised more alcohol to his lips. 

It seemed that this would be easier than you thought. People like Mr. Marston made you sick. People with way too much time and money on their hands to shape the world as they saw fit, regardless of the good of the people. Nuclear war would be a disaster. And yet, this man treated it as lightly as the glass in his hand. Careless. Spilling over with each movement. Such a fragile thing away from one wrong move before shattering into a hundred pieces. 

“With age comes experience and wisdom. I am a scientist looking for an investor. Though my studies tend to be a little. . . unconventional.” You buttered him up before casting your line. All he had to do was take the bait.

And that he did. His eyebrows rose with interest at your choice of words. He felt his wallet burning a hole in his pocket. “Unconventional, you say? Well, I am all for out-of-the-box solutions to our world’s problems. Care to elaborate on your odd studies?”

You looked up at Ghost, awaiting some sort of signal that you may proceed with luring the target to where you needed him to be. He gave a single nod, disguising it as full support for his lovely wife. You were handling this much better than he expected. Or perhaps, this is how you always were under pressure. His judgment was always just too clouded with contempt to see it. 

“We would love to talk about our project, but such a thing is rather sensitive in nature. I would hate to upset some over-hearers. Perhaps we shall meet later once the formal is over?” You played cautiously, not yet reeling in such a loose bite. 

“Oh my, now you really have my interest! There are a few study spaces at this venue reserved for investors and scientist contract negotiations. I haven’t committed to any facility yet, so why don’t I start with reviewing you? What do you say?”

Hook, line, and sinker. “That would be most ideal, Mr. Marston. Just lead the way.”

Grabbing a few shrimps to go, the target led the way to a more private area of the venue. Everything was smooth, all according to plan. The crowd parted away for the richest investor here, making the exit quite swift. Once the three of you separated from the main event down to a much quieter room, Ghost detained him with cuffs. A button on his watch was pressed, signaling to the team that the target was in custody. 

“Wh-What?! What is all this now?!” Mr. Marston protested, hoping that someone would come to his rescue. 

“Lieutenant Ghost and Sargent Byte. You are being taken into military custody for involvement with nuclear investments. We just need to ask you some questions.” You explained carefully, trying to keep the target calm so you didn’t attract unwanted attention. Cool, calm, and collected. Ghost thought it was a good look on you. You weren’t normally involved like this, so he couldn’t help but think so. 

He had it worse than he thought. Seriously, what was with him?

While Ghost took his hands off the target for a moment to reach for his phone, feeling an incoming message, the target swirled around and tried to bolt. Not in the direction of an exit, though. Instead, he was running straight to you, binded fists raised to strike you. Thanks to your self-defense classes through the military, you acted on pure instinct. You dodged his fists and struck his jugular with a sharp strike of the side of your hand. He gasped for air and collapsed, tears streaming down his face as if he would die from the loss of oxygen. 

Ghost’s attraction to you increased tenfold as you nonchalantly fixed your dress like a meager wind just caused only slight agitation. He forgot just how capable you could be physically, not just intellectually.

Right on time, Price waltzed in wearing his common military uniform. He didn’t even bat an eye at the struggling target. “Transportation is outside. Well done, you two! It was about time you worked together on something. I hope to see more of this in the future!” 

You made some distance between you and Ghost, not wanting anyone to get the wrong idea. For some reason, it pained Ghost to see you put up that wall again so soon after the mission. Was this the first and last time you would get along so well with him?

No, he decided. He told you that he would speak to you later about the interaction with Emmanuel. Then, he would knock your walls down. Finally get to know the real you.

From there, we can really determine if his feelings were just a fluke or not. 

~

You were back at the hotel, wiping your makeup off and stripping yourself out of the formal dress. Your muscles ache at the new freedom, having been fed up with such a fitted dress and heels. After showering and putting on some pajamas, you got into bed and began to read. You were rewarded for your work with a one-night’s stay at the luxury hotel, and you were taking full advantage of it. 

After reading, you were going to order hotel service and then go to bed. The life of luxury that was more than enough for you. As you began reading the next chapter of your book, you heard a knock at the door. Sighing, you bookmarked your page, and answered it. You were surprised to see Ghost standing there, smelling like fresh maplewood and citrus soap. A plain shirt clung to his torso and pajama pants made him look like a new man altogether. He had his black facemask on still, but once he let himself in, he took it off. 

This was the first time you have ever seen his full face uncovered. You noticed the small scar on his upper lip that matched the one on his right brow. His jaw was strong as if chiseled from marble. You couldn’t deny it. Ghost was a very attractive man.

“Sorry to barge in like this. I said we were going to talk, so here I am.” He explained, taking a seat on the edge of your king bed. He was drinking you in too. The pajama shorts that showed off your thighs, the cami that exposed your delicate shoulders. Your hair was still damp and scented with lavender and vanilla. His heart picked up speed as he felt a pull of attraction to you. 

How could he have ever hated a beautiful thing like you?

You found it a little rude that he just barged in, but you let it slide for once. From his tone, he didn’t seem like he wanted to fight. Besides, those deep blues were starting to melt your icy heart little by little. Just for tonight.

You took a seat on the bed next to him and looked up. “What is there to talk about? He’s just a man from my past.”

At that, he felt his muscles tense. He knew that there was more to the story. Ghost detected your evasion of the subject as clear as day. It was something he experienced nearly every day before this. He knew your tell. “I know it wasn’t just that. What he said, how you looked. What happened?”

Out of all people, you least expected Ghost to hound you about this. He has never been interested in your personal life before. Then again, your relationship has changed dramatically since the night in the lab. Before you knew it, you started to feel yourself open up to him a little. 

You stared down into your lap. “He’s an ex. We were interns together, he took all the credit for a project we did, he got a job, and I didn’t. He insulted me, dumped me, and then left. I left to work in the military. That’s really all there is to it.”

While your tone tried to keep it casual, Ghost knew it was really a tragedy. No wonder you didn’t trust easily. Now he wished he broke that guy’s hand when he had the chance. 

Did he really have room to talk though? He made you distrust people even more easily when he first met you. It was about time he apologized for it all. “Listen, Y/n. I’m sorry. About everything. For the two years of fighting. All the insults, all the exclusion. Everything. I should have been a better teammate, lieutenant, and even friend to you. I’m sorry.”

You didn’t know what to say, a new trick of his that seemed to have worked time and time again. The tick of a classic clock filled the silence as you thought about his apology. The sound of him using your real name echoed in your ears. You blamed him for everything that transpired. And now he was sorry about it. Yet, the way he looked at you didn’t indicate the need for forgiveness. He wasn’t entitled to it, and he knew that. Instead, his gaze was filled with certainty. The certainty to do much better by you from now on. 

Two years to lead up to this moment. You never thought you would live to see the day. Just like him, you slowly found your rage for him melt down to almost nothing, instead to be replaced by something soft, warm, and electric. 

You gave an awkward laugh. “I’m sorry too. I know I can be pretty unlikable.”

“You’re not unlikable.” He reassured, his hand naturally taking your cheek like he’s been doing it all his life. Ghost didn’t even realize that he did it at first. And before he knew it, he was going in for a kiss, unable to resist those pretty lips of yours for a moment longer. 

Your cheeks began to burn as he kissed you so suddenly, yet you didn’t fight it. You couldn’t. Something was pulling you deeper into him. A passion that was always there from the beginning. Hate or love, you have always been passionate about Ghost. Maybe that was why you truly hated him in the first place. 

Ghost couldn’t stop himself, deepening the kiss with each second that passed, reveling in how sweet you tasted on his lips. He’s been obsessed with you since the beginning. A fire within him had always burned for you. He just wished he realized that it was actually love much sooner. Perhaps if he did, you really would’ve been Mrs. Riley tonight. 

All the things he hated about you before were things he loved about you now. Your soft lips, your silky hair, your amazing intellect. All of the things that he could never match. You were better than him. However, he didn’t care anymore. He actually appreciated it now. 

“I’m sorry, Y/n. I really am.” He whispered as he pulled you closer, wrapping you in his embrace. You felt his firm muscles against you so much better now than before, the shirt he was wearing leaving little to the imagination with how fitted it was. 

It honestly turned you on. 

You took the initiative to reconnect your lips, your mouth opening to invite his tongue. Nerves fired off in every inch of your skin as his slick tongue met yours. Your toes curled as he felt you up, groping your thighs and waist like they would disappear any moment. His hands felt so good on you that you shivered, yearning for more. 

Things were getting out of control, but Ghost didn’t care. Tonight, he wanted you more than he has ever wanted anything from you. To appreciate all the things he was too stupid to notice before. You were sexy beyond belief. Always have been. When you were working over your desk with such a focused look, when you were gloating about your new invention, when you demonstrated a new gun so naturally in perfect stance. 

His pants tightened as his erection grew strong with each taste of your tongue. His hands roamed into your hair, gripping slightly to pull you closer. The both of you moaned when you ended up grinding against his hard cock. Once you got a taste for that, you couldn’t stop. Your hips grinded into his, sending earthquakes of pleasure through you. You could feel your panties get damper each minute as the makeout became even hotter and heavier. It wasn’t helping that it has been a while since the last time you had sex. It made you feel more sensitive than usual.

Finally, Ghost flipped you around and settled you back on the bed. He has never been so turned on in his life and you were the one doing this to him. 

There was something he needed to make clear first, though.

“I’m going to make you cum.” He promised, flashing you a determined look that had you weak. 

You blushed and averted your gaze, your voice low. “You shouldn’t get your hopes up.”

“I’ll do it. No matter how long it takes. I’m going to be the first man to make you cum tonight.” He reassured, gladly ignoring your warnings as he leaned down to kiss your lips again. As he took control of your tongue, his hands began to explore your skin under the shirt. You were unbelievably soft under his fingertips, delicate from your lack of experience on a battlefield. He now loved that about you. You didn’t need to be in the throws of battle to be part of the team. 

“You’re so soft, you know that?” He praised, deep rumbles of his voice making your brain turn into mush as it entered your ears. His kisses traveled to them, making you shiver uncontrollably as he softly bit down. 

He chuckled, a sound that was once always reserved for his male teammates unless he was making fun of you. Now, they teased you so pleasantly that your breath hitched. “Someone’s ears are sensitive. You like having them played with?”

Just as you were about to answer, he slid his hand up to touch your breasts, pinching your nipples and making you jump. “Ahh~! Ghost!”

“Call me Simon.” He demanded, yearning for the sound of his real name coming from you. It would be the first time you would call him by his real name. 

You played with it in your head, noting how foreign it felt just sitting on your tongue. Nonetheless, you gave him what he wanted. “S-Simon. . .”

“Again.” He encouraged, suppressing a shiver that traveled down his spine. It was like getting a dose of the sweetest drug. Fireworks exploding in his chest. He loved how his name sounded on your lips. 

“Simon. . .” You sighed as he peppered kisses all over your neck. Your cami was now raised up to reveal your chest, kisses traveling further and further down to taste all of you. As much as Simon wanted to fuck you already right then and there, he had a promise to keep. He had to take it slow and let it build up. He had to make you cum first.

He took a stiff nipple into his mouth, his tongue swirling around before taking it between his teeth in a gentle bite. His other hand twisted your other nub between his fingers. The way he tweaked them hard sent waves of pleasure through you, all the way down to your cunt that was still soaking your panties. It felt so good to have him touch you like this. You wanted more. 

Arching your back, you took your top off completely. Simon followed suit, stripping off his shirt and trailing his kisses down your stomach. As he felt your stomach on his lips, he buried his face deep into it. To think that he could’ve had this so much sooner if he was just nice to you from the beginning. “So soft. . .”

You squirmed a little under his slow, deep kisses to your body. No one has ever taken this much time on you before. All foreplay was pretty exclusive to your breasts or cunt with your previous partners. Simon was taking the time to appreciate your whole body. It felt so intimate. “Simon. . ?”

God, he loved it when you said his name. “Y/n?”

You were starting to like the sound of your name coming from him too. A blush swept across your cheeks. “You can be a little rougher.”

He smirked, this time making you tremble in excitement rather than rage. “Is that what you like? You like it a little rough?”

“I like the firmer sensation. Nothing too crazy.” You elaborated, always one to speak your mind even in a moment like this. If you were going to have sex with Simon Riley, if he wanted to make you cum, information like this was important.

Simon hummed against your skin, his hands working to pull off your pants. The vibrations made you sigh. Once your shorts and panties were off, he settled himself between your legs. Your dripping cunt was such a pretty sight. Pink, wet, and sweet. He bit the inside of your thigh, making you gasp in pleasure. “Like that? Is this what your previous partners did to you?” 

“N-No. . .” You admitted. Your previous partners never really listened to what you liked even if you told them straight-forwardly. At least not enough to get you to tremble like Simon did. It seemed like the man you hated before was really the best so far in bed. 

“Good. Their loss.” He murmured, biting down on your thighs soon after and leaving a deep love-bite. You bit your lower lip and whimpered, the sensation sending shockwaves. Simon kept going further and further down on you, relishing each time you moaned and quivered. He wanted more. He wanted to make you scream.

His lips latched onto your swollen clit, biting it between his teeth and flicking it with his tongue. He tasted your nectar on his tongue, a taste that instantly made him addicted to it. You arched your back and grabbed his hair suddenly, silky soft strands feeling nice between your fingers. 

Just like he wanted, you moaned his name over and over again. His tongue kept lathering your clit firmly and with even strokes. Fingers prodded at your opening, spreading your wetness all over you until he was able to put two of his fingers inside. God, you were tight. 

“Ahh~! Right there, Simon!” You encouraged, your ability to speak your mind unwavering. Simone found that insanely attractive as he pushed his fingers in further and curled right at that spongy spot that was driving you crazy. His teeth pulled at your folds before being soothed with his tongue. Your clit twitched as he pressed his tongue up against it once more, all the while pumping his fingers into your soaked pussy. 

Your grip on his hair got tighter as he kept pushing you to the edge. The sensation made his own cock twitch under his clothes, making him press it up against the mattress to grind into. He wished it was your pussy he was grinding into already, but you were so close. He could feel it. You could feel it. 

He didn’t stop his pace. Strong, even, and slow. You tightened around his fingers each second, feeling the wave approach closer and closer. You could already tell that this was going to be a big one. Your first orgasm with a partner ever. 

Tilting your head back, you moaned louder and louder. You begged for more and more, praying to a god that Simon wasn’t just going to leave you hanging. Now that would be pure evil. The worst thing he could ever do to you. But he didn’t. He just kept nipping, sucking, biting, and licking to the point that your head was spinning. 

Before you could warn him, your vision saw white and you screamed. Simon could feel you suck in his fingers so tight that he smiled as he still landed kisses on your clit. Your legs trembled, aching to close or kick out the electricity that coarse through you. Your cum was spilling everywhere. All over his fingers down to his wrist, coating your thighs in a sweet glaze. 

While you tried to catch your breath, Simon licked up every drop. “How was that? Everything you thought it would be?

You looked down to see his eyes ablaze with victory and a sexy smirk on his lips. You sighed and nodded. “Credit where credit is due. That was really good.”

“Good. Because you’re not done yet.” He decided, already stripping off his pajama pants to reveal his rock hard erection. He was bigger than you expected, all that shit talk for two years making you believe that he was making up for something. But he was blessed with the girth, the length, and the look that you knew would be amazing.

He positioned himself between your legs, coating his length with your slick. Shivers started again as the tip rubbed against your clit. The both of you sighed, enjoying each other’s bodies to the fullest extent.

Suddenly, Simon pushed all of his cock into you, bottoming out within a second. You gripped the sheets tight in your fist as you cried out. He stretched you out so pleasurably, so fully. You’ve never felt so full in your sex life. 

Simon hissed as you clenched around him. “Fucking hell, you’re so tight. . .”

Slowly, he began to move. Long even strokes that rubbed every inch of you and him. As he looked down at you, face twisting into such a pleasurable expression, eyes only on him, he heard his heart beat in his ears. God damn, you were gorgeous. 

Your eyes widened as he came down for a kiss, his tongue taking full control while his hips remained steady. The sudden rush of the kiss and his cock reaching deeper made you scratch at his shoulders. He was eating up all of your moans like candy. 

“F-Fuck~! Simon, wait!” You begged, the sensation getting overwhelming with each deep thrust. He could feel you getting tighter. Wetter. He knew that you were getting close to another orgasm, and he wasn’t going to stop for a second.

He sat up and pushed your legs down by your thighs, spreading you wide open and making you take all of him as deep as you can. You clawed his hands as your climax approached even faster, Simon ignoring all of your cries for him to wait. The sounds of your wet sex echoed in the room along with your sensual moans, causing you to get even more aroused. Christ, his cock was so good!

You were plunged into an orgasm, your whole body quaking as you arched and screamed it out. Simon felt your pussy wrap tightly around him, trying to take everything from him before he was ready. It was dizzying how good your insides felt coiling around him. He loved how you soaked his dick and crotch full with your hot cum. 

Simon grabbed your thighs tight, squeezing hard and clenching his teeth while he tried to stop himself from climaxing too soon. He wanted to stretch this night out for as long as he could.

While you settled down from your second orgasm, you gazed up at Simon who was struggling to keep himself together. You lifted your arms and touched his strong, muscular chest that was shimmering in sweat. You could feel how hard his heart was beating under your fingertips. You could feel him twitch hard inside you, aching to fuck you again. Your body was weak, though. You didn’t know if you could last for much longer. Every nerve in your body felt like it was melting. “Si-”

“I know. Your body won’t stop shaking. Just until I cum, yeah?” He observed, fingers tracing your trembling curves.

At the idea of Simon cumming, your body regained new energy that you didn’t know you had. You wanted to see it. Feel it. You wanted to see your lieutenant crumble from the power of your body. “Fuck me then, Simon.”

He didn’t have to be told twice. His hips went into overdrive, thrusting in and out of you with ease from all of your slick. You felt him hit that wonderful spot of yours that made you see stars over and over again, your body already on the edge once again. 

Simon picked you up off the bed and turned, settling you on his lap while he laid back. He didn’t relinquish any control, however. He just wanted to grope your delicious ass while he thrusted up inside you, hitting nice and deep. With the new view and new places to touch, he was losing his mind. 

You weren’t expecting this new position, but you didn’t reject it either. In fact, it felt heavenly. He hit that g-spot at just the right angle and you loved how he manhandled your butt so roughly. You liked how his eyes never looked away from your body, drinking it all in like the finest wine. From this position, you could feel his solid cock twitch inside of you.

Struggling yourself up, limbs feeling like jelly, you fell onto his chest, your tits pressing firmly into him. That sent him over the edge, his grip on your ass making his nails dig into your skin. Once you felt that first rope of cum enter you, you came for the last time.

Hot cum mixed together, making a mess out of the both of you. His chest fell and rose with heavy breaths, groans coming out with each rope he couldn’t hold back. Your tightening pussy wasn’t helping, milking him of everything to the point where he even felt tingles travel through him. Once he was finally done, he felt exhausted. 

You were exhausted too, your lungs struggling to regulate air flow. Your heart was beating so loud that it drained all other noises. Your body felt slightly numb from it all, your head getting fuzzy with each second. Simon wrapped his arms around you, holding you close to his chest as you both calmed yourselves. 

“That was. . .” He began, losing the right words to describe just how amazing that was. He’s had his fair share of sexual encounters, but never like this. No one could quite compare to you.

“Yeah. . .” You agreed, your eyes closing as you felt the afterglow take over. You felt the covers pull up over you, Simon still holding you on top of him, not willing to let go just yet. 

He could never imagine letting you go now. 

[always-just-red]

Please make a story that zayne is very clingy, sweet , romantic

For Mc

Pretty please

Make it long

Please

Please

Need a food 🥺

Food is served!! (One of these days you guys are gonna see an 'only accepting requests for Rafayel now' post and it'll be Raf hijacking my computer because WHY WAS I CATCHING FEELINGS FOR ZAYNE WHILE WRITING THIS??)

Doctor's Orders

Zayne x Reader ❄

Summary: Zayne has suggested you skip work today, which isn't suspicious at all...

Genre: Fluff (with a *pinch* of angst)

Warnings/Additional tags: gn!reader, established relationship, some kisses, some mentions of death (just a real mixed bag, you know?)

| Word count: 2k | Masterlist | Opt-in to my taglist here!

Disclaimer: Characters belong to Love and Deepspace. All work is my own, so please don't repost or plagiarise!

“Do you really have to go?”

Zayne was a lot of things: caring, even doting, but never normally this… clingy.

You pretend not to hear the question, feeling the weight of his eyes on your back as you get ready to leave. You will answer it— you’re not ignoring him— but you have so much to do, and you’ve answered it three times already. Yes, Zayne. It’s work. You finish lacing your boots. And no, Zayne, I can’t get out of it.

And since when was he an advocate for skipping a shift, anyway? Like blood from a stone, he’d calmly pleaded with you to come up with some sort of excuse and you’d stared back, eyes wide, because you didn’t know stones could bleed.

An excuse? You’d repeated in disbelief.

Yes. You could… tell them you’re sick? I could write you a note.

You’d thought it a joke until he drew out a pen and started scrawling something on the nearest scrap of paper. He’d pushed it into your hands, his gaze earnest, as though he were trusting a co-conspirator. Here, he’d said matter-of-factly, you can give it to your captain tomorrow.

The writing was barely legible.

It’s still crinkling in your pocket now: your little ‘get-out-of-your-Sunday-shift-free’ card, courtesy of Doctor Zayne, and yes, you are going to hold onto it, but it’s not for Jenna. It’s for your apartment wall, where you’ll be mounting it in a golden frame, because absolutely no-one is going to believe you when you tell this story.

You collect your guns from a nearby drawer, checking the sights and the safety on each before holstering them at your sides. “The sooner I leave, the sooner I’ll get back,” you shrug.

A nice sentiment— not entirely true. “Or you could stay.” Zayne is looking at your weapons, not you.

He’s sat at the kitchen table, watching you over an untouched breakfast. Yours also sits around him: plates upon plates of every food you could imagine, warm and cold, savoury and sweet. You’d suffered a brief heart attack when you’d first laid eyes on it, presuming you’d forgotten some occasion or another.

There’s even a vase of fresh flowers, flourishing at the centre of it all.

It’s one of the most romantic things you’ve ever seen, but you’re starting to think that’s the point. Like a hand on your heart, squeezing; it’s urging you to sit back down, to relax, to surrender and let him take care of you. Are you the worst person in the world? It feels like you are.

Ready to take on anything but more of his gaze, you return to the table, fully-armed, and pluck a strawberry from the edge of a plate. You pop it into your mouth, savouring its sweetness as you stroll behind Zayne’s chair. “Try not to worry,” you mumble, resting your hand on his shoulder while you lean in to kiss his cheek. “Ok?”

“Ok.”

You go to pull away, but his hand lands on your hand, anchoring you to him. His fingers wrap around your wrist, lifting, guiding your fingers in front of his mouth so he can press a few, brisk kisses to each. Your heart is in a vice again— tightening with every brush of his lips. You can’t take it. You can’t.

He knows, and he’s turning in the chair, slipping his free hand around your waist and tugging until you’re crushed up against him. “Stay. Please?” his voice entreats. You can barely hear it from where his face is nestled into you.

You have to remind yourself to breathe, and you sigh as your hands move to cradle his head and run your fingers through his hair. You want to enjoy this. Why can’t you enjoy this?

His breath is fanning against you and all you can think about is the fact that he’s making you late.

…

You’re marching to headquarters twice as quickly as usual, and you’ve crashed into three people already. Every time there’s been an impulse to scream “get out of the way!” but you’re wearing your uniform, so you have to apologise, smile sweetly, and pretend you’re not one incident away from turning in your badge and leaving them all to fend for themselves.

Someone steps out in front of you and you have to swerve to miss them, almost dropping your phone in the process. It had just started ringing, and the noise persists as you fumble with it.

“Hello?” you answer, putting it to one ear as you plug the other with a finger.

“Hi!” It’s Greyson, finally, and he’s surprisingly chipper for someone you know is just coming off of his graveyard shift. “I saw your texts. Is everything ok?”

“Yeah! Thanks for calling. It’s just…”  Everything’s too noisy for you to concentrate, and you’re still essentially running an obstacle course. You peel away from the crowd, ducking into the quiet of an alley. “I’m a little worried about Zayne. He’s been acting weird all weekend, ever since—”

“Friday?”

“Yeah.” That couldn’t mean anything good. Your brow furrows. “Did something happen?” 

A drawn-out sigh makes it through the phone, and you know Greyson well enough to know he’s pinching the bridge of his nose, wondering just how much he should tell you. “We had a patient transferred to us on Friday,” he caves, “a young woman— a hunter, injured— she was… not in a good way. Recovery odds next to zero, but Zayne? You know Zayne. He had to try.”

You nod, even though Greyson can’t see it. There’s dread in the pit of your stomach; you can tell where this is going.

“She didn’t make it,” he states with the rehearsed evenness of someone who’s spoken the words too many times before. There’s another sigh, then he hastens to add: “Zayne was incredible, though— he did everything he could, really. He was her best chance, he just… wasn’t enough. You can’t save everyone, you know?” He chuckles awkwardly. “Yeah, you know.”

And you do: you’re just as haunted by that truth and all of its ghosts. “Yeah,” you speak at last, seeing their faces. Your throat hurts. “Thanks, Greyson. Really.”

“That’s ok,” he yawns. “If Zayne asks, you didn’t hear it from me.”

“You think he’s gonna believe that?”

“No.” He’s smiling, now— you can tell. “But it’s worth a try! You take care of yourself, ok?”

“You too. Thanks again.”

“Any time.”

…

You’ve only been gone for half an hour, but Zayne is fast asleep. Though you’d practically burst through the front door, his head is still lowered— dipping over an open medical journal— and his dark hair has fallen over his eyes. You can’t help but smile. This wasn’t the nervous, pacing-the-apartment man you’d expected to find, but it eases the guilt in your chest for the first time all morning.

You sling your bag from your shoulder and set it gently down on the floor, all the while easing the door closed behind you. You unfasten your holsters. Shrug yourself free of all their straps. You don’t make a sound; you’re being very careful.

Slowly, you make your way over to where Zayne’s lying on the sofa. You lower yourself to his level, reaching to pry his book from his fingers. His glasses are next: you ease them from his face like you’re handling a volatile protocore. Your breath is baited. Your hands almost shake, but you’re an expert at this sort of extraction: you’ve done it a hundred times before.

With your mission accomplished, you allow yourself one small reward. You want to see his face— all of his face— so you card your fingers through his fallen hair, smoothing it back into place. He looks like a dream: the kind you’re glad to carry through daylight, long after you wake. The kind you write down for fear of forgetting a single detail.

You want this, this, this. Every morning. For the rest of your life.

And maybe even the next life. Is that possible?

(You hope it’s possible.)

Standing softly, you smile again— a smile between you and the universe, the gods, and the night sky, in all its infinity. There are things you cannot know and even more things you cannot have, but you are more than content with your consolation prize. This:

One minute of peace, for you and your doctor.

You have a funny feeling this is more than you were ever meant to have.

When your minute is through, you watch as Zayne’s face changes, and he is no longer at peace. He frowns, his whole body suddenly tense. There’s a murmur of… pain? It sounds like pain— he winces like it’s pain. He doesn’t tell you where he goes, but you wish you could hold his hand and make a breakfast big enough to keep him from going there.

“Zayne,” you whisper, resting a warm palm on his cheek. A little louder: “Zayne.”

He stirs in his sleep as your voice brings him back to reality. He’s yours— yours— and the inevitable can have him later. Sure enough, his eyes flutter open, lost for a moment, but then? Home. Safe. With you.

“Hey,” you grin.

He squints against the daylight. “Hmm? Oh. What are you doing back so soon?”

You scoff. “Some doctor you are! I’m at death’s door— can’t you tell?” Your hand leaves his cheek, indicating your not-pallid skin, not-flushed cheeks, and not-sunken eyes with a wave. Then you find his hand, pressing his fingers to your forehead.

There’s a second of hesitation. “Ah,” he says warily, “yes, you’re… burning up.”

“Right?!” 

Despite the severity of your condition, you find the strength to clamber on top of him. It’s anything but graceful, and he groans as you shift and fidget, taking your time getting comfortable. Eventually you settle, your head resting against his chest and his arms holding you close. You’re not tired, but you close your eyes, and this is so much better than patrolling for Wanderers.

He draws you higher so his chin can rest on the top of your head. “Greyson told you, didn’t he?” he ventures aloud, because he’s awake, now, so he’s connecting dots.

“Yeah,” you nod against him. “But if he asks, I said it was Yvonne, ok?”

There’s a hum of agreement, then he’s silent. Thinking again. “I’m sorry,” he finally speaks.

“There’s nothing to be sorry for. It’s sweet that you worry. You don’t need to—”

“No,” he stops you. “I care about you a lot, and I’ll never apologise for that. What I am sorry for, however, is that a romantic gesture from me is so unusual that you feel you have to call my colleagues. I know I’m not always outwardly affectionate, but—”

“No.” It’s your turn now, and you twist, angling yourself so you can look up into his eyes. “You always make me feel loved, Zayne. Everything you do, everything you say… it’s for me, and no-one has ever cared about me like that. No-one has ever showed me they care like that.”

“Then why—”

“Because you get it, Zayne— the importance of what I do, because it’s what you do, even if it’s different. We’re both saving the world a little, right?”

“Right.”

You draw out his doctor’s note and shimmy it in front of his eyes. “So what the hell is this?”

He admits guilt with a chuckle, his hand moving to catch the evidence, but you’re one step ahead, stashing it back into the sanctity of your pocket. He issues a short hmph, defeated.

“Come on,” you prompt, escaping his arms. “Let’s not let all that food go to waste. You kept it, yeah? I’ve been dreaming about those chocolate-chip pancakes since I left.”

Zayne had been helping you up, but he slumps back as you finish your sentence. “Oh.”

“Oh?”

“Oh,” he confirms with the trademark nod of a doctor, and it can only mean one thing:

You’re about to receive some very, very bad news.

[dontbesoweirdkira]

I propose an idea! Romantic Yandere Mark Grayson with batsib mc….oh I can feel the chaos that these two worlds would bring😂

A/N: "BIYVjhKDjshuguj" was my inital reaction to this requests because this is tew good. If you've seen my Mark Grayson post then you know exactly how insane this mf is.

Warnings: Pure crack to be honest? Like this is not even a serious post. I was laughing the entire time. Don’t even know where I was going with this but…I had fun

Requests? always open!

Masterlist

Two black haired, attention whore yanderes with the same last name, walk into a room with their darling in it...who's winning?

I mean technically their meeting is not too far fetched. Mortal Kombat and DC had a crossover..and Invincible is also apart of Mortal Kombat which means- nvm, you didn't ask for that.

Here's the thing, everyone in the family dislikes Mark but yan! Mark and Dick HATE each other the most but because they are low key so similar. Mark is obviously way more extreme but i digress. He brings out the absolutely worse out of Dick.

Like Dick has picked up a Knife and contemplated murder.

Mark and Dick's interactions are hilarious though?? Like they both have the exact same fake smile and passive (heavy on the aggressive) behaviors.

"Ahhh, Mark, we're always pleased to host you since y'know your parents obviously need some sort of break from an irritant, such as yourself."

"Thanks, Dick! But regardless of how much of an irritant i am to them, least i still have two biological parents to care for me. Maybe it's because they're not patrons of the circus....?"

*backhands him*

Jason isn't subtle and has whipped out his guns, ready to blast that mf. He's been the closet to causing Mark to blow up the mansion. It was a whole thing and you dumped Mark over it but of course he gaslighted you.

I think the family doesn't like the fact you're dating someone who can easily take advantage of you. (ironic) Mark is clearly dangerous, he's half viltrumite and they may not know everything his people are capable of but they know he can cause a lot of havoc. Mark is not only a threat to you but to them as well. He puts them in a state of constant high alert. They're always staring him down, searching for any signs of danger. I'm sure Batman has a fail safe plan all ready to go. They are eager for the moment they can take this mf down. Do you think they have the supers on speed dial just in case? Ugh even uncle Clark is disapproving of this too.

Your sisters try endlessly to have heart to hearts with you because WHAT THE HELL ARE YOU THINKING????? MARK?! They'd rather you date poke-a-dot man or something because why????

Mark isn't a dumbass, he knows they hate him. He also knows just how scared they are of him and it gives him some sort of sick pleasure knowing he could truly have you all to himself if he really wanted to. But there's really no point in that yet, you're wrapped around his fingers. He totally has thought about going back to his planet with you and keeping your pretty self locked up where your family won't ever find you. That'd really stick it to em'

The cocky, manipulation is just oozing off him every time he's around. The way he shoots threatening looks towards your siblings when they try to get your attention or "playfully" insulting them. There's never a moment where his head isn't held high, looking down at your siblings as if they were beneath him...He runs this place when he's over. Which is all the time because Bruce is like okay, if you won't leave him, you have to be supervised.

Can you imagine combined family dinners with Mark's family and yours??? First, there is definitely a fight of who is sitting next to who. I'll say your brothers win this and are sitting on either side while Mark is fuming as he's across from you. The tension is so freaking high. It's rather silent around the table but everyone is looking at each other either like "I'm ready to kill him when you are" or "i'm going to kill you, mark...". I headcanon that even Bruce has beef with Nolan. They clash rather constantly on their differences of how to handle villains. Nolan is a stone cold killer to Bruce, who is rather set in his ways. It's no wonder Mark is his son. You aren't going to be with this kid for long. "So, Bruce? How's things on your side of town? Still letting your boyfriend out of jail so you can keep playing tag?" "The Joker isn't my boyfriend, i'm just not into murder, unlike some "heros" are. I like to set an example for my kids." "Ah, is that why Jason threatened to kill my son at gun point last month?"

You and Debbie are the only ones who like are trying to be civil and are sort of ignorant to everything going on.

"Um, so i made brownies with Mark's mother for everyone! Anyone want a piece?"

"Of course, love. You know your brownies are my favorite, i've been waiting all day."

Your siblings act like savages and eat the entire pan, stuffing it in their mouths so Mark cannot get any. Bruce doesn't do anything to correct his children out of spite.

Bruce is also debating on just handling them right here. He could have Kal-el over in matters of minutes and this could all be over with.

(Okay but Mark and Damien beating each other’s asses???? Damien cannot bite his tongue and Mark is trying to be nice because he’s a kid but he then Damien call him a "little bitch boy" and it pushes him over the edge. Mark just jumps over the table lollllll???? Sad thing is, Damien gets in tons of cuts with the butterknife he was just using for his sweetroll heheh))) "I though you were invincible...guess i was right in calling you a little bi-" "OH YOU'RE DYING TONIGHT"

[locomoqo]

stuffed

ft. gun park & goo kim x f!reader [separate]

details: NSFW under the cut, fem bodied reader, p in v, creampie, breeding kink

A/N: hi to the 2 anons who made those requests, for the gun rq, i hope i did it right (literally could not think of any other way to have soft but nasty sex except for breeding) and for the goo rq, i hope i did urs justice too!! :DD (lolol call it lazy, i call it maximizing content)

extra++ GUNGOO SUPREMACY!!! BRING BACK MY DUO

ᯓ★—GUN

Gun wouldn’t consider himself a family man. Sure, when he was younger, he dreamed of having a normal family, but wanting it and actually having one are entirely different. He could never imagine himself as the type to be a father or a partner, given his rough childhood and the nature of his work.

And then there’s you.

The one person who managed to shake his resolve. Gun had always kept his walls up, and somehow, you found a way through them. Yet, even after that, he tried to keep you at a distance—not because he thought he didn’t deserve you, but because he loved you too much. He wanted to protect you from the dangers surrounding him. But you stood firm, seeing right through his defenses, refusing to back down.

He’s thankful. Thankful that you stayed with him, even after learning about all the dark things he’s done. You became one of the few people he could rely on when the weight of it all grew too heavy. The words "I love you" feel foreign to him, much more than any language he’s learned. He doesn’t say them, not because he doesn’t feel them, but because expressing emotions in that way is hard for him. Instead, he shows you through his actions.

Sometimes it’s by spoiling you with gifts, letting you splurge as much as you want. Other times, it’s through physical affection. Like now.

You’re tucked under the blankets, reading a book, the soft glow of the bedside lamp illuminating your face. Gun approaches quietly, slipping beneath the covers and pulling you close. “Trying to ruin your eyesight?” he mumbles into your hair.

“I wasn’t reading in the dark,” you reply defensively, “I just wanted to finish the last page.”

You close the book and set it back on the bedside table. “Did you eat dinner?” you ask, turning to glance at him.

“No,” he answers, nuzzling into your neck, his hands wandering across your body. “Hungry for something else.” His large hands begin massaging your breasts, and the deep rumble of his voice sends a shiver down your spine, heat pooling in your core. You let out a soft moan.

When your eyes meet his, there’s something in his gaze that tells you tomorrow’s going to be rough—you’ll be waking up with sore legs.

Your knees are nearly pressed to your chest, and Gun’s thrusting into you with a relentless rhythm. The pace is so intense that your nails scrape down his back, but he doesn’t seem to mind. He doesn’t even feel it—pain is something he’s long been accustomed to. You’ve lost track of how many rounds you’ve been through; your mind has been lost to the pleasure ever since the third, which was only with his fingers.

“Yuuu…” you whine, the overstimulation making every nerve in your body feel like it’s on fire. You’re torn between exhaustion and wanting more. “What’s wrong?” he asks, lifting his gaze from where your bodies are joined, his eyes drinking in the sight of you.

“I want you t’cum in me,” you murmur shyly, your cheeks flushing as you look up at him.

His movements stop abruptly, leaving you confused. “What did you say?” His voice is sharp, serious.

“Why’d you stop—”

“What did you say?” he repeats, more forceful this time, almost like an order. 

You swallow nervously. “I said…I want you to cum inside me.”

For a moment, Gun just stares at your stomach, and you can’t help but worry if you said something wrong. “Or just…forget I said that,” you mutter, trying to close your legs, but he pushes them further up against your chest.

“Forget that?” he echoes, suddenly thrusting into you again, his tip hitting that perfect spot inside you. The air in the room shifts. “You think you can make a request like that and expect me to just ignore it?” A small, dangerous smile plays on his lips. Your moans fill the room once more, mixing with the sound of skin slapping against skin.

“I’ll make you the prettiest mother around,” he whispers into your ear before capturing your lips in a deep kiss, one hand sliding down to rest on your stomach, his thumb brushing softly over it.

Let's rewind to what I said earlier, Gun had always thought he wasn’t cut out to be a father. But then, you came along. As he gazes at your stomach, the idea of filling you up with his seed suddenly doesn’t seem so unthinkable. In fact, the thought of seeing you swollen and pregnant with his child excites him, surprisingly.

Your arms drape loosely around his neck, and as your tongues dance in a gentle but passionate kiss, you realize only you have the privilege of seeing him like this—soft, vulnerable. And Gun intends to keep it that way. No one else will ever see this side of him.

Your fingers tangle in his hair, lightly scratching his scalp as moans slip from your lips into the kiss. The obscene, wet sounds of your bodies only spur him on. One of your hands moves to cup his cheek as you break the kiss to catch your breath.

Gun takes that moment to glance down at where your bodies are connected, watching as his cock disappears inside you. His movements become sloppy as his climax approaches. With gritted teeth, he finally releases inside you, ropes of hot cum filling you. One child would be nice—a son or a daughter, he doesn’t care. Either would make him happy.

But that’s not enough. You’re leaking, and if he’s trying to breed you, he can’t have that. Looks like he’ll just have to try again.

After all, his beautiful wife is waiting to be knocked up, and he can’t keep you waiting, can he?

ᯓ★—GOO

Originally, Goo hadn’t planned on attending his distant cousin’s wedding. After all, he barely knew the guy. His clearest memory of him was from when his cousin was still in middle school and had hired Goo to beat up some kids who were bullying him. That was years ago. But then, when Goo told you about the wedding, you looked so excited. How could he say no after that?

And now, here you are, having the time of your life. You’re bouncing a baby in your arms, laughing with the other women at the wedding. You glance over at Goo, say something to the baby, and wave its tiny hand at him. He gives you a small wave in return.

You’d make a cute mother.

That’s when it clicks.

Goo, much like Gun, has never imagined himself as a father. Given his line of work, it seems impossible, maybe even dangerous. He’s the last person anyone should want as the father of their children. But watching you hold his cousin’s baby stirs something inside him. He’s always been vocal about his love for you, showing it in various ways—gifts, words, and even through intimacy. But now, a new idea forms in his mind. What better way to express his love than by creating something lasting, something physical?

That thought consumes him for the rest of the wedding reception, and even more so during the drive home. He’s almost too lost in his fantasies, too focused on imagining you with a round, pregnant belly. You snap him out of it by waving your hand in front of his face.

“Goo?” you call his name, concerned.

He blinks at you.

“You okay? You’ve been so quiet,” you ask, your voice soft. “Seriously, I haven’t gotten anything from you but ‘mhms’ and grunts.”

Before you can say more, he interrupts you with a kiss, his lips crashing against yours, his tongue already pushing its way in. Whatever plan he’s been brewing, he’s ready to set it in motion right now.

It’s no surprise when, not much later, he’s pounding into you with fervor. The bed sheets are sliding off with every pull of your body toward him, and he’s standing at the foot of the bed, your legs spread wide. One of his hands presses down on your stomach while the other props him up on the bed for balance. “Gonna fill this pussy up nice and full,” he chuckles.

“Mhm! Please cum in me!” you sob, your mind too clouded with pleasure to realize just how much your words are fueling him.

“I hear you, sugar,” he leans down, voice soft in your ear. “Can’t say no to my sweet girl now, can I?” His thrusts quicken, your toes curl, and stars fill your vision.

“Just look at how greedy this fucking pussy is,” he teases, letting his hand trail down your stomach to the back of your legs. He spreads them a bit more to get a better view of how your pussy takes him in with every thrust. The lewd squelching sound of your arousal only makes him harder, his cock twitching inside you. All you can do is moan in response, too lost in the sensation to speak.

“Say,” he pants, “what do you think—mmh, shit—about having two kids? One boy, one girl?” His imagination runs wild as he talks, and it only makes him go harder. “Or—ngh—two girls, maybe?” He’s thinking out loud now, and all you can do is nod.

With a groan, Goo empties himself inside you, thick ropes of cum filling you up. But some of it begins to leak out, dripping down his length. Goo clicks his tongue in disapproval. “Don’t waste it,” he says, using his thumb to push the escaping liquid back into you.

“I’m not trying to—!” you gasp, only to be cut off by a sharp thrust of his hips. He’s already sliding back into you easily.

“I know, I know,” he murmurs, wiping away the tears that have formed at the corners of your eyes. “We’ll just have to make sure you’re stuffed until I can’t give you any more.” His voice is a low purr as he presses a kiss to your cheek.

He’s made up his mind: you’ll make an incredible mother, and he’s determined to make that happen.