#i’ve never drawn them before and had so much fun with this :)

[bublines]

utena/anthy :)

hi! tysm for sending this in! beloveds:

[sea-jello]

what not being able to sleep will get you. new designs in a new style and all drawn traditionally for some reason

also me n my brother i did on the bus a while ago because i like them

[gay-dorito-dust]

okay so y/n is secretly a god of keeping an eye on this gravity falls universe and is trying to protect the kids because she's seen how they died so many times and full on just breaks down in front of Stan and ford telling them

Ngl this was kinda shit

You don’t know how much more you could take of having beer witnessed to so many timelines where the twins died far too young.

You didn’t know how much more of their suffering you were forced to watch on the sidelines while being reminded by beings of a power far greater than yours that there was to be no divine intervention. None whatsoever as it was a taboo amongst gods and was punishable by having the elder gods remove your immortality and take away any and all divine powers from you.

You didn’t care about the consequences of your own actions when you fled from your home in hopes of helping Dipper and Mabel survive one timeline, to grow older and live long happy lives unlike their alternate selves that you couldn’t save. You were sick and tired of seeing the same end result for the Pine twins timeline after timeline after timeline. This time it was going to be different, and you were going to make sure of it as you watched through the bark of trees as they ventured off on their next monster of the week, always coming back to the shack unscathed.

‘Hey great aunt/ grunkle y/n!’ They’d both greet you with wide smiles despite their messy appearances.

‘You two looked like you had some fun today. Find anything investing to share?’ You’d ask them but you already knew the answer. You had used your power to ward off the sneaky pack of Direwolves from mauling the kids and grant them a quick escape, a victory unfortunately not shared by their alternate selves, who never came back from the encounter. You still remembered the pained screams as they were deeply etched into your subconscious, keeping you awake at night.

The twins shared a look as thought debating whether or not to tell you, only to mentally agree on the later as they both looked back at you and said in unison; ‘nope! Just some scrapes and cuts, nothing interesting at all!’ Before they left to go to their room. As soon as they left the smile of your face faltered as you let out an uneven sigh, your hands covering your eyes as you softly wept into them, not understanding how cruel life must be to condemn the sweetest and bravest children you knew to countless deaths with each one being worse then the last.

You didn’t care that you’d be punished for your actions, you didn’t care that you’d be ridiculed and berated by the elder gods for being too human for a god, but you would much rather risk it all if it meant that all your effort and energy would bring forth a timeline where the twins emerged victorious; They deserved as much.

‘I can’t let it happen again.’ You whispered to yourself.

You must’ve been too occupied by the turmoil inside your own head that you didn’t hear the sound of footsteps came towards you, nor noticed that whoever was walking towards you had now sat themselves on either side of you until a hand was placed on your shoulder were you finally drawn back to reality.

‘Are you okay? Dipper and Mabel said they could hear you sobbing.’ Ford said and you saw that both he and Stan had come to check on you.

‘I can’t.’ You muttered.

‘Can’t what?’ Stan asked, crossing his arms over his chest.

‘I can’t watch them die again, not this time.’ You said as you wiped your eyes clean of tears. ‘I’ve watched enough of the same story come to violent and unfair endings and got told that’s just how the way things are.’

Ford and Stan shared a look, not knowing the best course of action to take in order to comfort you when you were talking in vague and ominous riddles. So Ford gently moved you so that you were looking at him directly, ‘what do you mean by that? Who’s them?’ You breathed in deeply as you mustered up the strength to tell Ford and Stan a truth you’ve been keeping to yourself in order to keep them all safe, but the Pines Family were a curious bunch and couldn’t help but be drawn to things they shouldn’t, while also having strange things be drawn to them in vice versa.

‘I haven’t been all that truthful about who I am and I only did so for a good reason, to keep you all safe.’ You said as you held onto Ford’s arms while looking between him and Stan, ‘I’m a deity who came here to Gravity Falls after bearing witness to multiple timelines where Dipper and Mabel don’t make it out alive from their encounters with the anomalies of this very town. I’ve risked everything to be here, even my own powers and immortality to keeping these kids safe in hopes of seeing the fruits of my labour be proven fruitful.’ You continued your admittance as you saw the conflicting emotions cut across their faces the more you spoke of your true origin.

‘What do you mean that dipper and Mabel die in each timeline you’ve seen?’ Stan then asked, his face set in agitation, ‘you’re a god aren’t you? Couldn’t you just have intervened and save them regardless? I thought you gods were meant to be omnipotent or whatever?’

‘That’s not how it works, is it.’ Ford said as he was slowly putting the pieces together while his thumbs caressed your shoulders reassuringly.

‘No.’ You said softly as a new wave of tears started to cascade down your cheeks. ‘The elder gods decreed long ago to forbid divine intervention of all kinds. They claim that there was nothing that can be done to change what has already been foreseen, but I couldn’t do it.’ You whimpered as you looked at Stan. ‘I just couldn’t when I knew that I could at least change one timeline, just one. Im sorry.’ You finished as Stan and Ford felt their hearts hurt for you, a god who was going against their entire way of life to keeping their grand niece and nephew safe, all the while feeling immense guilt consumed you from the inside out over the other realities.

Stan then moved so that he was just as in your line of sight as Ford was and began to wipe away some of your tears with his thumb. ‘I guess that explains all those times I’ve seen you silently stare out into the woods.’ He began jokingly as everything leading up to now started to make sense, how you’d always put yourself between the children and any potential danger or how you’d watch over them like a hawk and making sure they were in your line of sight no matter what as though afraid that something terrible would happen if they weren’t. ‘Thank you for everything you’ve done for them sweetheart, but it’s time you took care of yourself just as well.’ Stan then adds as he and Ford escorted you back into the shack, much to your confusion as you looked between them.

‘I cant! I have to make sure-‘

‘The twins are fast asleep in their beds y/n. They’re safe, you have done enough for today. Now if it time for you to rest.’ Ford gently reprimanded you as you suddenly began to feel the weight of fatigue that you had been putting off for several days now.

‘Yeah don’t go worrying yourself so much, or else you’ll get grey hairs like me and point Dexter over here. Let us take over once in a while okay honey?’ Stan says as he and Ford tried to get your mind off of your mission when they both saw just how much you’ve run yourself into the ground, how reluctant you were to relinquishing control and allowing yourself to rest up from the countless days of no sleep nor sustenance. They were pretty sure you hadn’t looked at yourself in a mirror to know just how badly you looked, nor the haunted you seem to get in your eyes now and then as though you were recalling traumatic events.

‘But-‘

‘Nope.’ Stan interrupted.

‘Can’t I just-‘

‘I’m afraid we can’t let you do that. God or not, you need rest. We’ll keep the kids safe in your stead.’ Ford cuts you off this time as he and Stan managed to wrangle you into bed after a brief struggle where you realised just how badly your limbs ached snd screamed with a desire to rest or how your eyelids felt heavier then lead.

‘Promise?’ You asked them sleepily.

Stan pressed a soft kiss to your forehead while Ford squeezed your hand reassuringly. ‘We promise, you’ve done your part so please, let us do ours.’

[cherry-leclerc]

purely platonic ☆ ln4

genre: fluff, maybe a bit of angst??, secret crushes, just two idiots who can't read the room of what we call 'feeeelingsss', they friendzone each other without knowing they're friendzoning each other BAHA

word count: 3.8k

It goes without saying that you and Lando are like two peas in a pod; always finding something to do. But when things suddenly shift after the summer break, it leaves you two to settle with the idea of one another with a rather doubtful mind.

req!...got this one a long time ago and the request was kind of confusing?? but i tried to make something out of it hahaha enjoyyy??

“Does this top make my boobs look big?”

Lando’s watercolor eyes quirk up, squint, then shakes his head full of curls. “You don’t have much to worry about.”

You muster a dirty glare before prancing over to the mirror, picking up a tube of gloss, laying it onto your plump lips. When you first started working at McLaren, you never truly thought you would end up here, on holidays with a witty British driver, but your friendship had blossomed rather quickly.

Don’t bother—they taste like absolute rubber.

Looking up to face the mysterious voice, you awkwardly choke, dainty hand dropping the last chocolate wafer. 

Have you tried them?

Lando grins widely before reaching out to pick it up and popping it into his mouth. He winks.

Mmm. New recipe or something like that.

“Are you sure you’re going to be alright?” you call out, pulling the baby voice he hates with a strong passion. Rolling his eyes, he kicks his feet against the bed frame, twisting like a pretzel. As long as I don’t get a ransom call, then yes. Go. You’re giddy with excitement; pick up your purse, spray some perfume—probably the entire bottle—and finally peck his cheek, to which he grimaces, instantly pulling away. 

“Make sure to wake me up once you’re back.”

You do. Patting him, you eagerly bounce up and down against the fluffy mattress. “Brazil was a mistake.” His lashes flutter tiredly, skin slightly pink from rubbing his eyelids. Why? Folding your legs beneath your butt, you huff, tangled hair flying towards him. He can almost smell the sea salt that lingers onto your clothes, the scent of aperol spritz. It makes him wonder how many you’ve taken as he props up against his elbows, dark brows drawn together with attentiveness. 

“First of all, I paid for the entire thing.” No, he gasps. You nod, pursing your lips tightly. “I’ve never seen someone so tan turn paper white in a matter of seconds. It was quite fascinating, actually. Sucks,” you ponder, shoulders dropping drastically. “He was stupidly gorgeous too.” 

I hate it when they do that. You laugh, eyes crinkling with true emotions for the first time that night. “He did dance like a pro though, oh God, I could barely keep up.” A lazy arm flies up to massage your neck, wincing as if you’ve just stubbed your toe against a brick wall. “I might have to see a chiro.” Tapping your finger against your chin, you close your eyes. “After all that, he invited me back to his place.”

The Brit sits up straight away, turns on the lamp that sits besides him. “Why are you here then?” he screeches. You curl a brow. The fuck is that supposed to mean? Lando sighs heavily and rubs his temples before flashing you with a pair of stern eyes. “We’re here to have fun, remember? Sex, sex, sex. That’s our priority.” The twenty-four year old relaxes against the comfy pillows. “We made a pact.”

“But I just—” You become visibly green, too grossed out with the idea. “He was handsome—don't get me wrong—a fucking hunk.” He gags. “Probably had a massive dick.” You’re disgusting! A giggle erupts while you wiggle your way underneath the covers. “But I think I need to form an actual connection with someone in order to actually…yeah. A connection.”

It was about five months ago that you got dumped. Constant travels, not enough quality time. Too much work, not enough fucking. Far too lovey dovey eyes batted towards a certain brunette—that’s where you drew the line. You stood up for yourself; for Lando. It had taken you years to gain his trust and now that you had an unbreakable bond, you weren’t going to let the first insecure man make you feel like shit for it. But he didn’t like it, leaving you to cry on someone else’s shoulder. 

For some factor, the Brit felt bad. Perhaps it was his fault—perhaps he did intervene—but he was pissed too. For the way your ex had treated you, for him even considering the twenty-four year old would hit on somebody’s girlfriend. He knew the difference between flirting and a platonic relationship. Yeah. You were better off.

Brazil was great. Summer break was great. One night stands were great. At least he thought so.

Placing his hands over his broad chest, he releases a breath. “That’s actually pretty cute.” A sudden growl slides up your throat as you kick his shin. He scoots further away. “I only suggested because I thought it’d help…”

“Now you know.” A beat. “I can’t keep up with the Sex God.” Loopy eyes flicker over at him. “I’m talking about you, Sex Machine. Sex enthusiast. Can’t keep it in his pants— ”

He gruffs. “Understood.” He steals the blanket away as you squeal, hands flying out to tug it back towards your body. “Loud and clear.”

-

He had a plan to visit as many places as possible, and while that was fun for a while, you reasonably started to miss home. I’m tapping out, you would declare when you got to Bali, enjoying the view with an exhausted state. Last one. But he would somehow, always, convince you. There’d be too much to see. Too much to experience. And you would stay.

It’s only up until Australia where you find yourself taking an actual break. Maybe it was because you were staying at Daniel’s, but you were grateful nonetheless. Days consisted of hikes, rodeos, undercooked steak, wine, and dirt biking. Quite fun—definitely better than being back home feeding your pet fish. Ms. Lockwood has it all taken care of, thank you very much. 

“This is nice,” the Australian murmurs as he bites down on a slice of pizza. “I’m glad you guys made a pitstop.”

Wandering eyes roam the open field, dusty boots kicked up against his car. “Us too.”

Lando clicks his tongue knowingly, tilting his head at you as you hush him. For once in his life, he was glad to have someone around. Oftentimes, there’d be moments where people would assume you two were dating—possibly even married—but it was simply an unhinged friendship. Exactly what he was looking for. Thank God all of that is over now.

“How long have you two been together?” Heidi asks sweetly, leaning against her boyfriend. Mid-sip, you spit, red wine painting Lando’s white tee. Bloody hell, he moans, drying his face with the back of his hand. “Sorry,” you gurgle. “We’re not…” When you gag, the Brit scoffs.

“She’s too immature. You think I would willingly sign up for that?” The couple share a skeptical glance, eyebrows raised to where he hands you a napkin. “Come on, mate, who do you take me for?”

As you both make your way over to the house, Daniel and Heidi settle into a deep conversation. There was not a single doubt within them that you two weren’t meant for one another. It made perfect sense—but why were you both so blinded to the idea? 

“Hmm,” the blond says. “Two months of traveling together? That just doesn’t happen.” Heidi spins on her heel, facing the Australian. “There’s obviously a connection between them.”

-

Men like you are the reason I left Finland. Men like you are the reason I left Finland. A sip of water. Men like you are the reason I left Finla—

“What are you even talking about?” Lando groans from his seat. Peeking over at him, you shrug, and continue mumbling. “For the love of God, must you keep repeating yourself? You’re making a simple twenty minute drive feel like four hours—stop it already.” 

Coldly glaring at him, you pinch your face like a clam and point a narrow finger at him. “Men like you are the reason I left Finland.”

The Brit lets out a scream and jumps towards you, slapping a large hand over your mouth. You squirm for a good minute before biting down, forcing him to pull away with a sudden hiss. “Rascal.”

The view was breathtaking; the white snow, the green trees, the sunlight beaming from afar. His agenda continued and you kept tagging along. You’ve never visited, so everything was a pleasing journey. Staring out the foggy window of the van, you pout, pondering. “You’ve seriously never watched Confessions of a Shopaholic?”

“A Cock-A-Who?”

You laugh. “Not even close. I’m not doing this again.”

You’re sure you get frostbite by the end of the day, but the Northern Lights make up for it. After snapping a couple thousand pictures, you finally settle down on the snow next to him. “Hey.” A white puff exits his mouth, chapped lips. 

“Hey.”

The silence prolongs, then you let out a sore cough, taking a sip of hot chocolate. You can’t help but roll your eyes when you barely get a drop, realizing he had finished it all while you weren't looking. “Out of all the places we’ve been to, this has to be my favorite.” You direct your attention over to him. “Thank you for bringing me along. It means a lot.”

“Ah. Don’t mention it.”

You hum. “I never get bored of you.” You can hear his snowsuit scratch as he shifts to face you, wide eyes admiring the colorful lights. “I keep thinking I might—even just a little bit—but I don’t. It’s weird.”

He chuckles, relaxing. “I’m glad you haven’t. We’ve been traveling for a while now, so if that were the case, then I’d be worried.”

Pursing your lips, you let out a sheepish grin. “You’re like…the Suze to my Rebecca.”

“Is that supposed to be a good thing?”

Finally, you turn to him, taking in his puppy lost state. Specks of snowflakes cling onto his long lashes, the bridge of his nose is beet red, a hint of dried blood coats his overly frozen lips. Patting his shoulder, you let out a light whistle.

“Let’s just say, I never want to leave Finland.”

-

The season picks up once again, and so do the travels. But they’re not the same. Maybe it has to do with the fact that it’s not only you two anymore. Sure, you have your friends, but…it’s not the same. The thought alone is confusing, but you don’t let yourself think about it too long. Running after Oscar, you hand him a black binder. “What's this?”

“Not sure. Zak just wants you to read over it before the meeting.”

Frantically, he skims the white pages, flipping eagerly. You giggle. “I know it looks bad, but it’s not!” The Australian barely has a chance to protest before you skip away, shooting a quick thumbs up. “Take notes!”

Reaching the familiar dressing room, you find yourself gently knocking, foot tapping against the tiles. He swings open with a loopy grin. “Hey.”

“Hey.” A beat. “Meeting in ten minutes. Don’t be late.”

He nods. “Is there anything I should go over?”

You shake your head, extending a singular piece of paper towards the British driver. “As long as you go over these notes, then you’ll do just fine.” You take a step back. “Ten, Lando, ten.”

“Got it.”

You’re the last one entering the crowded conference room, teasing snickers spilling from McLaren colleagues. Zak claps loudly. “Great! Let’s get started.”

You’re bored halfway through, zoned out, doodling onto your notebook. You were aware of everything, so you suppose it didn’t really matter. Gray led slides coolly. A sharp sound rips you away from your daydreaming as you look up, eyes flickering between the three main men.

“I wasn’t aware there was any special treatment.” His accent is laced with humor, brown eyes drifting over to you. You curl a brow at Oscar. 

Zak chuckles. “I wasn’t either.” 

Once the meeting is adjourned, Lando strolls over to where you sprawl onto a row of chairs, blanked out. He swallows a chuckle down. “You alright?”

“What have I done?” You sit up, maniatic eyes dancing . “I’ve never done that before—not intentionally.”

The Brit closes an eye teasingly before releasing. “The notes?”

Leaping up, you march over to him. “Yes, the notes! Since when do I sum up things for your benefit? God, I didn’t even think about Oscar…”

“I’m sure you weren’t thinking straight. We all know you like to help both of us out.”

A queasy feeling flips inside of you as you tilt your head. He was right. You got caught up, made one set of bullet points, and coincidentally gave it to Lando. No further meaning.

“I need coffee.”

-

As soon as you bolted out of McLaren Hospitality, Lando made his way through the paddock. “Norris,” a deep voice calls out. Alex grins widely, jogging closer. 

“Done for the day?”

Alex nods. “What about you?”

“I think so. Had my last meeting. Reckon I should be good.”

The Williams drivers shimmies with a low chuckle. “Why are you still here then?”

The Brit freezes. “I actually don’t know…”

Huh, Alex hums. 

“You’re looking for someone?”

He unfreezes, chest tightening. “I don’t know.”

-

“Hey, hey, watch out.”

“Daniel!” you shriek. He lets out a toothy smile, extending his arm out as a silent greeting, cup of coffee in hand. You rip it away, taking a large chug. “Thank you—gotta to go.”

“Wait.” He reaches for the hem of your shirt, stopping you from slipping away. “Are you okay? You look a bit…” He motions a crazy sign. You glare back at him. 

“I need air, I need air,” you gasp, zigzagging past him. Running after you, he hauls you into the nearest restroom. You screech, panicking. “Air, Daniel, air.”

“What happened?”

Something in his voice tells you he knows. You don’t want him to know. How could anyone know what you don’t even know? No one can know. 

“You’re right—I’m losing my mind.” You step out of his embrace. “Let me out before I kill you.”

Brown eyes stare back in amusement. “You can be honest with me.”

“I’ll scream, Daniel.”

“Be honest with yourself.”

“I’m a black belt. My limits are endless.”

“Just say it.”

“Say what?”

“Say it.”

You close your eyes, groan, and kick the wall. “Shit, I like Lando.”

Heavy pants, desperate huffs. Anticipating eyes, nervous fiddling with your hair. His lack of response makes it all worse. 

Daniel clicks his tongue. “I knew it.”

-

“Want anything?” he asks, gazing up at the wall of foreign treats. Singapore knew what they were doing. Your voice catches, releases, then wave him off. Weird, he thinks to himself, but continues to pay for his own sweets. The way you prance around the small convenient store makes him smile, occasionally making sure you were still there.

“I won’t be going to the next race. Thought you should know.”

It obviously catches him off guard as he spins to face you with a neutral expression. He’s good at hiding things—feelings. 

“I…um…” He coughs. “Can I ask why?”

“It’s my Nana’s birthday.” A beat. “She only has so many left, dude.”

The Brit would love to relax and laugh at your dark humor, but one simple word makes him deflate, nodding along with a sheepish look. He hands you a bag of penguin gummies. “From me, to her.”

The colorful bag crunches against your touch, awkwardly beaming at it, then looking up into his soft stare. “She has diabetes, but thanks.”

-

He realizes just how much he misses you once you jump onto the plane back home. He had been kind enough to offer to drive you to the airport, and you had been rude enough to decline. A weak exchange of words ensued between you two before reluctantly coming to an agreement.

Here is fine!

Blue eyes wander the busy drop off zone; humming with concern. 

Let me help you with your bags, then.

No! Drive safe, Lando. Oh—and make sure to take your vitamins! 

The British driver wonders why he feels different; pacing the room back and forth. Vitamin C is important. He eyes his watch. That’s probably why—he forgot to take them. Or maybe it was his biotin. 

“Mate! You have my charger!” The twenty-four year old gazes at his taking door and makes his way over. Daniel stands with loopy eyes, half shaved mustache. “Bon Iver died mid-For Emma, so you better hurry and give it to me.”

“I have it right here, chill.” The Australian invited himself in, brown orbs flickering carefully through the dark room. He chuckles. 

“Can’t find your birth control?”

Lando cocks his head to the side, recognizing his mess that lies on the floor. The orange bottles make him stutter, briskly pushing the white charger towards his friend. “B6, I’m looking for my—” A nervous hand runs through his messy hair. “Got what you need? Great. Off you go.”

“Ah, ah—hold on a second; is that my girl, Isla Fisher?”

The Brit cackles, remembering about his open computer. “How do you know?”

Daniel plops down. “Confessions of a Shopaholic? Classic. Heidi loves it.”

The brunette hums, finding a spot next to the Aussie. “Who’s Suze?”

“Have you not been paying attention?”

“I’ve been looking for my calcium!”

The thirty-four year old pouts. “I thought it was your R2-D2?”

“Clever.” 

A Tim Burton looking girl comes on-screen, perfect bangs hanging just above her brows. The redhead and black haired duo exchange a small phone back and forth, panic evident. “That’s Suze. She’s Becky’s best friend. They go through a bit of a rough patch, but they come back together, don’t worry.”

“Suze? Rebe…” He pales. “Friends?”

“You thought they were lesbos?”

Lando shakes his head, harshly. “What about Finland?”

“A fantasy land, sort of.” Daniel props up against his elbows. “It’s her getaway from all her debt. It’s real, but it’s not real.” The blue eyed boy’ shoulders droop furthermore as he watches the scene play out.

“Friends…”

Chomping down on a mysterious pill, Daniel shrugs. “Mhm. Just friends.”

-

It’s safe to say that you’re refreshed. You thought things through—you could never speak about your sudden realization. This probably happens all the time, all around the world, nothing to see here. Your feelings were there, but they wouldn’t be your downfall. Not when he mattered this much to you. 

“Read over this. Pay close attention to three and seven—Zak is going to ask you about it.” Lando hums slowly, eyes tracing your beauty. You’re a shade tanner due to your small vacation, if you can call it that, and that somehow tugs at his heart. If he pays close enough attention, then he could point out a few new freckles. “Any questions?”

He blinks. “Zero. Thank you.”

“Just doing my job.”

Something has shifted inside of him, something…new? Every chance he gets, he would peek and admire the way you laugh with a couple of the engineers, with Zak. Then, he would have to pinch and remind himself that he was your friend; nothing more, nothing less.

“Any additional notes? Oscar? Lando?”

Raising your hand timidly, you beam. “If I could suggest one thing, maybe we can keep the floor the same? I know we spoke on how a drastic change can possibly lengthen our kph, but if we actually think about it, then we would be able to see that it’ll only worsen things. It’s perfect, really, where it’s at. What we should be focusing on instead are other areas. Find ways to lighten the car, mark our attention to the aerodynamics.” Red creeps carefully onto your cheeks, brushing a strand of hair behind your ear as you shrug. “Just a…thought.”

Zak hums, crossing his arms in deep thought. “We could do that…we could definitely do that.” He grins. “Boys?”

“Anything to make us faster, count me in,” Oscar agrees, voice steady.

“We should change it.”

Everyone turns to face the twenty-four year old. Pens glide faster, keys click harder, and you stumble clumsily. “Sorry?”

Lando tsks. “I like what you were saying, but we need to change it in order to stand a chance against the Red Bulls. They’ve cracked the code, and we’re so close. We need to adapt.”

You burn up. “I’m sorry, but I disagree, Lando. Things should stay the same. Same is safe. Change is…” You lick your lips, biting down momentarily. “Not necessary. Not when things are already good where they’re at.”

The British driver hisses. Oscar jumps at the cold sound. “Safe is a pussy move. How will you ever know what could have happened? One thing can flip everything around.” His eyes soften. “A-and put us in front of the grid for good. Good, good.”

Caught in the flame, you grit your teeth together. Who were you to have a say after all? Your attention circles the quiet room before nodding stiffly. “Alrighty then.”

-

“You embarrassed me in front of everyone!”

Lando frantically chases after you, shoes squeaking with every drastic turn. “I was just being honest!”

The sudden speed you turn back to face him with makes him flinch, forced to come to a halt. He can practically see the fumes exiting your body. “But did you have to say it in that tone?”

“What tone? I didn’t have a tone.”

“Yes! Yes, you did!” You continue your march. “Oh, hi! I’m Lando Norris, professional Formula One driver, who knows everything you don’t.”

“I do not sound like that.”

“You’re right. You sound worse.” A huff. “Listen, I’m not actually mad, but I do need time to myself, so can you please…” You motion him away and he scoffs. Are you being serious right now? “I am! Leave!”

He sort of replicates a zombie, the way he drags his feet back to hospitality. Was he really ready for any of this? He liked you, a lot, but things like this would eventually stir up in any relationship, and maybe he didn’t have the strength in him to fix things yet. But if you stayed friends, then…yeah. Things would stubbornly fix themselves.

You, on the other hand, have a sudden bounce in your step. A stride. This is what you needed. Suddenly, your stupid little crush wasn’t as important as you had imagined. Fights would bubble between you two if you ever dared cross the invisible line, and you weren’t the biggest fan in facing them. Friends. That’s all this was.

Daniel crosses Lando first, intrigued by his dead-like state. “What’s up with you now?”

The Brit blinks. “I’m no Luke, Danny.” He kicks a rock. “I’m fine, however, being a Suze.”

Son of a bitch, the Australian thinks as he watches his friend stroll away. He actually paid attention. 

Placing his headphones back onto his head, he continues his walk down the paddock, confused. When you make your way with a bright smile, he, too, reciprocates. Your lips move fast, hand gestures flying theatrically, and he can’t hear a single thing. The Alpha Tauri driver snakes his hand to slip them off once again. “Having a g’day?”

“Best,” you beam. “Connection lost.”

taglist: @blueflorals @starmanv @coolio2195 @lovrsm @weekendlusting@chanshintien @brune77e @myownwritings @timmychalametsstuff @milasexutoire@alesainz @c-losur3 @darleneslane @togazzo @urfavnoirette @namgification @lpab @d3kstar @anniee-mr @nebarious

[happyyyandcrazyyy]

matching bracelets (kaz brekker x reader)

summary: when (y/n) buys kaz a bracelet she does so as a joke, she knows he’ll never actually wear it. imagine her surprise when she sees it dangling around his wrist.

based on the prompt: person A gets person B a friendship bracelet, expecting person B to never wear it, but when it’s given to them person B puts it on and is rarely seen with it off.

warnings: mentions of blood and torture (not explicit, briefly mentioned)

kaz taglist: @the-tpd-bau @ellievickstar @thestudiouswanderer | soc taglist: @ancientbeing10 (if you want to be added or removed from the taglist just dm me!)

a/n: guess who's back after a year of being mia!! i've been working on a lot of fics, but inspiration just hasn't been there, so i'm going slow, i don't like to force myself to write if i don't feel like it. anywaysss, i hope you enjoy this one! it was such a fun ride to write :)

Jesper opens the door with a loud bang, strutting into the Slat with his head held high and a slight jump in his step. He’s whistling good-naturedly, his left hand twirling a pistol and his right hand holding a rumpled piece of paper.

(Y/N)’s right hand— which had immediately reached for the pocket knife in her boot at the tumultuous noise— retreats back to her side. She relaxes, letting her shoulders sag and briefly looking down to make the final correction on a contract Kaz had her look over, left hand holding the pen and swiftly moving over the paper.

Jesper makes his way towards her, still whistling. She follows him from the corner of her eye, a slight smirk taking over her features. He’s in a good mood, the kind of mood he’s only ever in when the Gods are in his favor and he manages to miraculously not gamble away all his money. It’s not something that happens often.

“Did you win some?” she asks, already knowing the answer but enjoying the way the Sharpshooter preens under the attention. Jesper, very much in character and to (Y/N)’s delight, twirls around and does a ridiculous dance before taking a small bow.

“Baby, I won a whole lot.”

She huffs out a laugh, leaning back as she watches him place the pistol in its respective holster before plopping down on the chair by her right side and tossing her a small bag.

(Y/N) catches it smoothly, reflexes as sharp as always.

She doesn’t need to open the sack to know there’s kruge in there; the sound of coins jiggling against each other is a dead giveaway.

Jesper winks, a teasing smile on his lips. He tips his chair back, feet on top of the table, “Because you’re my favorite.”

It’s really because he owes her more kruge than he’ll ever be able to repay, but (Y/N) plays along. She’s never cared much about money, anyways.

“You sure do know how to charm a lady,” she smirks.

“I’m good at charming gents, too.”

“Versatile.”

“You know me.”

(Y/N) smiles, softer around the edges this time, something reserved only for her closest friends. She’s about to being correcting another contact— she has twelve to go through, all because she’d been bored and had decided annoying Kaz would be a great way to spend her time, he obviously hadn’t agreed —when Jesper slides over the piece of paper he’d been holding in his right hand. In the time he’d made his way towards her he’d somehow managed to crumple it completely.

She takes it, half curious, half willing to do anything to procrastinate revising and correcting those stupid documents.

“Brought this for you, too. I’ve got the feeling you’re going to enjoy this much more than the money.”

Her eyebrows furrow with curiosity as she slowly opens up the paper.

Ink contrasts the yellowish hue of the paper. Her own face greets her, drawn by hand, but fairly accurate.

(Y/N) (Y/L/N)

Wanted dead or alive.

1,000 kruge.

She can’t help the snicker that falls from her lips

Jesper is right. This is better, much better.

“Can’t believe it’s only a thousand this time,” she huffs, a small pout on her lips. “I must be losing my touch.”

Jesper snorts at that.

(Because she hasn’t lost her touch, not even a little, and they both know it. Just yesterday she’d managed to get vital information out of a Black Tip member with a single touch and a minimal amount of bloodshed. Three days before that she’d disposed of a rival gang member who’d been speaking too freely and she’d made sure his body would never be found. Two weeks prior to that Kaz had sent her to steal a miniature stature and she’d done it without a hitch, forging an identical copy in less than five days. No, she still very much has it.)

“I might have to go overboard next time,” she muses quietly to herself, “do something that will raise the bounty to at least two thousand five hundred.”

She traces the outline of her name, biting down a smile when Jesper snorts.

“You’re insane,” the Sharpshooter deadpans, the fondness in his tone almost tangible.

(Y/N) smiles wickedly at him, “So they say.”

Marbles is what they’ve nicknamed her around the Barrel. They say she’s lost them all. And it must be true, she must be out of her mind, because having a bounty on your head in Ketterdam is nothing less than a death sentence. It means having the most ruthless assassins coming after you, all looking for a way to make fast money. It’s living with the constant fear of someone sneaking up on you and slicing your throat, of having your food poisoned, of being choked to death in your sleep, of having your closest friends betray you as a means to survive. But to (Y/N), who has been part of the city’s underworld since before being able to formulate words, who has had any sort of ability to feel fear beaten out of her, this is nothing but one of the most amazing sources of entertainment. It keeps her on her toes, brings an adrenaline rush that does not compare to anything else. She must be crazy because any sane person would be paralyzed in fear, running for their lives, and yet all she can feel is the comforting thrill of being in mortal danger. (And, yes, it is comforting. She was raised to be a weapon, trained to withstand any form of torture; having Death peering over her shoulder is something she’s comfortable with, something she’s used to, something that soothes her). Besides, even if she wasn’t deadly confident in her own abilities (which she very much is), and even if she was able to feel terror overtaking her limbs (which she doesn’t think she’ll ever feel again), the title she holds would be enough to keep her relatively safe; she is Kaz’s right hand, and no one dares touch something that belongs to Dirtyhands.

(Y/N) stares at the poster for a little while longer— they got her nose wrong, made it too pointy —before smirking to herself. She knows how this will all go down, has seen it played out a few dozen times before (this is a regular occurrence, after all, a bounty is placed on her head every couple of months, whenever she loses her temper and murders someone who was deemed untouchable, or steals something much too valuable for her blood-stained hands). So, yes, she knows how this will go; the bounty will stay up for a couple of weeks, long enough for a few to dare try to kill her, and then it’ll be removed by whoever placed it once they realize it’s futile, once they see how everyone who even dares breathe too close to her winds up dead. She hopes the assassination attempts are entertaining, she hopes whoever dares come after her head gives her a good fight, if only to keep things interesting. It’s been a while since she’s had some unrestrained fun.

(Kaz keeps her on a tight rein, knows better than to let her run around freely. To say things can get out of hand when she’s left to her own devices would be an understatement.)

“Again?”

The voice comes from behind her, and (Y/N) doesn’t need to turn around to know who it is, she heard his steps since before he even walked into the room. (It’s easy to know when it’s Kaz, he subconsciously places more weight on his left leg to keep the right one from aching, it makes his footsteps distinctive.) Still, she angles her head to meet his eyes. He’s leaning over her chair, cold eyes watching the bounty poster with disdain.

He’s never said it but (Y/N) knows that he doesn’t appreciate her life being imperiled. She is, in a way, an extension of him, and therefore any threats to her he sees as direct threats to him. Dirtyhands doesn’t take it well to being threatened.

“It’s okay, boss,” Jesper calls out. He’s still tipping his chair back, now playing with his guns. (Y/N) is kind of tempted to lean forward and kick one of the chair’s wooden legs, just to watch him struggle, possibly even fall. But Jesper’s known her long enough to realize when she’s on the verge of becoming a nuisance because his eyes narrow playfully and he lets the chair’s weight drop forward, “I wouldn’t worry too much.”

From the corner of her eye, (Y/N) can see the way Kaz’s face morphs. It’s almost indistinguishable, but she notices it. She thinks she would be able to spot the most minimal change in Kaz, she’s known him long enough for that. (Y/N) watches in amusement as he opens his mouth, no doubt to argue that he isn’t worrying at all, because Gods forbid he ever outwardly cared about anyone, but Jesper beats him to the punch and keeps going, “Heard some of Pekka’s Lions talking ‘bout how they’re not even going to try to come after her this time.”

“How boring,” she mutters to herself in disappointment, reaching for her glass of whisky. She’d meant for the comment to go unheard but Jesper’s snicker tells her that she wasn’t successful.

She takes a chug as Jesper points an accusatory finger at her and smirks, “That’s all on you, Marbles.”

At her bewildered look, he elaborates, “Two of them said something about not wanting to meet the same fate as the Razorgull guy from a couple of months ago—” (Y/N) smirks at that. The guy had deserved it. He hadn’t just tried to kill her, but also grope her. Murder she could understand, respect even, but touching someone else without their consent? No, she drew the line there. She’d had him swallow his own testicles; it’d seemed fitting enough. “—and the other one said that even if you hadn’t done that, he wouldn’t come close, not with you being Kaz’s right hand,” Jesper pauses for a second, a smug smile appearing on his lips, “and his best friend.”

Their reaction is instantaneous; Kaz goes rigid at the words and a smirk takes over (Y/N)’s features.

Oh, if the night didn’t just suddenly get better.

She glances up at her best friend, only to find him already glaring daggers at Jesper, who shrugs helplessly and innocently says, “Just telling it like I heard it, boss.” The flicker of amusement in his eyes reveals that he’s very much aware of just how much ammunition he’s provided (Y/N) with.

(Y/N)’s smirk becomes wider and gains a teasing edge when Kaz looks down to meet her eyes. His eyes harden, explicitly telling her to not utter a single word. Sadly for him, she has never been one to follow the rules, and Kaz must notice she’s not about to obey because his face morphs slightly, just enough to show the most minimum amount of discomfort. He cringes just the tiniest bit, bracing himself.

He knows her too well.

“You hear that?” she asks him, tone light and filled with amusement, “We’re best friends!”

“We are not,” Kaz tenses his jaw as he replies. He backs away from her, as if creating physical space between them will somehow stop the words from leaving her mouth and making their way towards him. As if distance could make her less of an bother.

(Y/N) fake gasps, clutching the skin over her heart in the most dramatic manner, “You wound me deeply, Kazzy.”

Jesper snorts, coughing to try to drown the laughter. She might be the only one who doesn’t get a knife to the jugular when calling him that.

Kaz’s eyes snap toward the Sharpshooter and the look must be deadly because Jesper quiets down immediately and tries his best to evade the boss’s glare. Kaz’s gaze then shifts towards (Y/N) and she perks up at the way his eyes harden even further in annoyance. He’s told her a million times to drop that ‘ridiculously stupid’ nickname and she’s decided she never will, not when it drives him to this point of exasperation.

(She’s a thrill chaser, you see. That’s what happens when you’ve seen just about everything and lived twice as much; few things get your heart pumping. And getting on Kaz’s nerves? That’s always exciting. (Y/N) never knows what to expect of him. The Bastard of the Barrel is unpredictable in a way that’s just delightful.)

“If you call me that one more time—”

“What are you gonna do? You can’t possibly try to hurt me. Best friends don’t do that to each other,” she mocks.

His eyebrow twitches, her grin stretches.

Oh, she’s going to have a field day with this one.

It’s obvious that Kaz knows he’s not winning this discussion because he walks forward, snatches the revised contracts and makes his way back to where he came from.

“Get those done before tomorrow afternoon.”

Boring. She was expecting more banter.

(Y/N) turns around to watch him leave, unable to stop herself from throwing a sarcastic, “Sure thing, bestie.” She does her best to sweeten the last word in a way that she knows will infuriate Kaz.

He freezes.

Bingo.

Even from afar, (Y/N) can see the way he tightens the grip on his cane. She’s thoroughly disappointed when he doesn’t throw a dagger her way. That would’ve been exciting. He takes another route, one she should’ve seen coming.

“I’ve got seven more files that need to be corrected. Collect them when you’re done with those.”

The corner of her lips tugs upwards slightly. There’s something thrilling about playing this game with Kaz, of seeing how much one of them can push before the other yields. He’s skilled and she enjoys the competition.

She ignores his order, “Goodnight, Kazzy.”

He slams the door on his way out, the only visible sign that she managed to get on his nerves. That’s mildly entertaining. Causing even the slightest slip of Kaz’s control over his temper is a success in her books.

“You’re out of your mind,” Jesper informs her.

She raises her glass of whisky at him and winks.

And that’s how it begins, as a joke. (Y/N) refers to Kaz as her best friend on every given chance. His reactions never disappoint.

There’s a lot of death threats;

(“Don’t mind him, bestie here is always grumpy.”

Clenched jaw, an exasperated sigh. “I will murder you.”

“Don’t tempt me with a good time, Kazzy.”

There’s a knife thrown her way. (Y/N) catches it with ease, whistling good-naturedly. She smirks when she catches the look of annoyance in Kaz’s face.)

and a lot of not so kind words thrown her way.

(“I get special best friend privileges, right?”

“You get tolerated,” Kaz mutters, “barely.”

“That might be the sweetest thing you’ve ever said to me. Now tell me you love me.”

There’s that Brekker glare, one that would send anyone to an early grave. (Y/N) just smiles sweetly.

“Get out.”

“Whatever makes you happy, best friend.”

She cackles as she closes the door behind her, the curses Kaz is sending her way loud enough for her to hear.)

All in all, (Y/N) is as happy as can be. Having the time of her life, really. It’s not often that she finds something that makes Kaz fume. He plays the game too, of course. He has her going over financial documents and legal contracts on her free time, knowing just how much she hates the bureaucracy, and he gives her the household chores she despises the most. Still, (Y/N) doesn’t complain. She does everything with a smug smile on her face. The annoyance that flashes through Kaz’s face makes it all worth it.

The bracelet isn’t something she plans for, it really isn’t, but the Saints place the opportunity right in front of her and who is she but a mere mortal that must obey the signs evidently laid by otherworldly deities (or whatever bullshit those religious fanatics preach).

(Y/N) inspects the wristlets in her hand. They’re black and rough, made of broken-down nets that fishermen dispose of near the pier when the material has worn down beyond repair and is no longer useful. The little girl who had sold it to her couldn’t have been older than seven, and yet the design was more than decent. (Y/N) had offered three kruge for it, much more than it was worth. The child had looked delighted, had thanked her profusely as she’d placed the coins inside her worn-down shoes.

Oh, (Y/N) cannot wait to see Kaz’s face.

“What’s that?” Jesper asks as she meets up with him, eying the bracelets with a gleam of interest. He twirls his guns absentmindedly, missing the way some of the fishermen glance at him with distrust.

“Oh, you know, just some matching bracelets for me and my best friend.”

Jesper snickers, shaking his head and proceeding to let out a low whistle.

“This might be his breaking point.”

“Wouldn’t that be delightful.”

“You’re insane, Marbles.”

She gives him a wicked smile accompanied by a wink. She’s about to retort when she catches sight of a shadow on the corner of her eye. She recognizes it immediately as her target. Shopping, as fun as it had been, wasn’t the reason she and Jesper were waiting by the pier. They’ve got orders. She has people to torture and interrogate and dispose of— preferably in a quiet manner —and Jesper is Kaz’s way of making sure she’s got her back covered. (Not that she needs backup, but whatever, she has tried arguing with Kaz about it and it’s the one thing he won’t relent on, the one matter she’s accepted she won't ever win. Kaz doesn't play when it comes to her safety.).

“If you’re kind enough to hold these for me,” she places the bracelets on Jesper’s unoccupied hand, “I’ll be back before you know it.”

They make it back to the Slat before sunrise. (Y/N) had been quick and efficient, as she always was, and Jesper had been a quiet and solid shadow, as he always was.

“I assume it all went according to plan,” the Bastard asks when he hears their steps coming into his office. It’s late, or rather extremely early in the morning, and yet (Y/N) isn’t surprised by Kaz’s presence. He rarely sleeps.

“It went without a hitch, boss,” Jesper responds, resting against the doorframe.

(Y/N) hesitates for a split second, her memory providing a brief flashback to the interrogation she’d done, to three little words the man had let slip out: they’re coming for you.

A warning or maybe a promise.

Thrilling, either way. It wasn’t often that she was verbally threatened.

At the time, she’d dismissed the words, too filled with bloodlust to pay them any mind, but now, with a clear mind and a steady heartbeat, she suddenly remembers her face plastered on paper all over Ketterdam and wonders if the words might be related to the bounty on her head.

Oh, she hopes so. That would prove to be fun.

They’re coming for you. Good. Let them try.

She nods her head in agreement with Jesper’s words. Kaz nods in approval and then jerks his chin Jesper’s way, a clear sign of dismissal. The Sharpshooter never walks into Kaz’s office after missions like this. He’s an escort, a babysitter of sorts, merely Kaz’s way of making sure she heads his way instead of making a beeline for her bed.

(Y/N) sticks her tongue out at him and Jesper blows her a kiss in response.

Lucky bastard. It’s always her that has to stay up to report. And she hates to admit it, but she’s tired, she can feel the exhaustion begin to creep on her bones and settle in. She has been up for more than thirty-seven hours at this point, and she can feel it catching up to her. Still, she knows that Kaz prefers to hear details when the information is fresh on her mind, when she can provide as much detail as possible, so she pushes through for him. She just has to wait a little while longer before crawling into her bed and passing out for the next twelve hours.

“Marbles comes bearing gifts by the way,” is the last thing the Sharpshooters says before exiting.

A smirk takes over her features, sleep, exhaustion and the new information briefly forgotten.

Kaz is going to hate it.

Lovely.

Kaz seems to sense, probably by the wicked amusement on her face, that whatever it is it’s not something he’s going to enjoy. His face twists into a scowl.

“Out with it, then.”

She pulls out the dark bracelet from her pocket as she walks towards Kaz, dangling it in front of his face when she’s close enough.

Jesper had handed them back on the way home, tossing them over as soon as she’d wiped the blood off her hands. He hadn’t said a word, but (Y/N) knew that the action had meant to snap her out of the weird haze that clouded her mind after every mission, where adrenaline still coursed through her body and all she could think about was bloodshed, fingers itching to kill and maim and fight.

(It was a thing, the haze. When taking lives there was nothing but calmness and bloodthirst, the restlessness that always lingered beneath her skin subsiding as soon as a weapon was placed in her hand and orders were given. And as soon as the mission was done, as soon as the target was neutralized and she’d efficiently fulfilled her orders, fogginess followed. Her mind became clouded, as if somewhat trapped in a loop of violence, every nerve on edge and ready for any threat to emerge.

She was brought up as a killing machine, a child soldier, the best out of all the assassins produced by the Silent Blades, her father’s pride. She was ruthless, wretched, or at least those had been the words used to describe her when she’d been a child. She supposed the dissociative state she slipped into was normal when considering her upbringing, some sort of psychological shield that kept her from going insane.

She never spoke about it, but the Crows somehow knew. They often eased her out of it, knowing full well that when trapped in that state she had not ounce of thought and only muscle memory to rely on, which made her infinitely more lethal.)

Jesper’s actions had worked like a charm. With something else to do with her hands, the fogginess had ruptured. She’d absentmindedly tied one of the bracelets on her own wrist, fingers playing with the edges of the other.

It’s that bracelet, the one on her arm, that Kaz glances at now. It’s brief, but for a split second the scowl etched on his face softens and something that she can’t quite catch passes through his eyes. It’s gone before (Y/N) can even begin to process it.

“Best friends have to have matching bracelets, don’t they?” And if she wonders about it later, she’ll blame it on the exhaustion, but the words come out softer than she intends them to. A jest, but not any less truthful.

Kaz’s face morphs and she gets a fleeting glimpse at that flicker in his eyes again. His scowl melts into something a tad bit gentler, the look contrasted by the aggressiveness with which he snatches the bracelet from her hand, “You’re the most annoying person I’ve ever met.” He means that and his tone has enough bite to make her cackle.

Amusing.

Placing her hands on her back pockets and shrugging, she responds, “That might be the nicest thing you’ve ever said to me.”

Kaz snorts, “Go take a bath.” He dismisses her, turning around and making his way to his desk, “Reports can wait until you don’t look half dead.”

That’s unexpected.

(Y/N) raises her eyebrows, “You’re being nice.” It isn’t often that Kaz forgoes a report after a mission. He might’ve been more touched by the gift than he’s letting on.

“It’s for my own sake,” he retorts, not turning around, “you just stink and it’s making me nauseous.”

She does have a lingering smell of blood and sea water.

“Everything in this damned place stinks,” she responds. I know you’re lying, she’s saying, I know you’re being kind.

“Get out.”

“Sir, yes, sir,” (Y/N) mocks, walking out of his office.

She sleeps a full day after that, everyone knowing better than to bother her unless they want to lose to their head, and when she reports to Kaz the next morning the three words she’d heard from the man slip her mind. (Y/N) doesn’t remember them until a few weeks later when she’s tied to the ceiling by her wrists, face bleeding.

Now, she must admit, she’s impressed. No one had ever tried kidnapping before. There’d been more attempts on her life than she could even count; stabs resulting in blood being shed, never one drop of hers, poison that she had either swallowed down like a champ or identified before a single lick of it touched her tongue, because being raised an assassin meant she’d been trained in the art of toxins and she’d built up tolerance to pretty much every substance in existence, and that one time they’d tried to shot at her, which only resulted in (Y/N) stealing Jesper’s gun and placing a bullet right between the perpetrator’s eyebrows. All in good fun. Kidnapping was new, but only because those who had attempted on her life had never tried joining forces, all of them wishing to keep the financial reward for themselves.

Torturing, that was new, too.

She could endure, of course she could, she’d been trained for this. That did not mean she’d missed it.

The poster had stated she was wanted dead or alive and it was clear that the man in front of her wanted to take his time. It was personal, she could tell by the brunt of his hits and the delicate precision of his cuts. Had she been anyone else, she would’ve been begging for it to stop, but (Y/N) was a Silent Blade, even if she’d left the organization and that life behind, and she would never break.

The only reason she was in this situation was because the assailants had gotten the upper hand. They’d used one of (Y/N)’s street urchins— a little girl with piggy tails and two missing teeth, one of the ones who gathered information for (Y/N) and traded it for food and shelter —as leverage. And time had apparently made her soft because she’d hesitated. The brief second of doubt had been everything they’d needed.

Them subduing her didn’t mean she’d gone down without a fight. There’s been five of them in the beginning. Only three remained. She’d plucked one guy’s eye out, going deep sever the optic nerve and cause brain damage, and she’d ripped the other’s ear with her teeth before slitting his throat. She’d managed to stab one of the three men remaining with a dagger before being injected with some unknown serum. It hadn’t knocked her out, not the way it was supposed to if the incredulous look on her kidnapper’s face was any indication, but it had drugged her enough to allow them to overpower her.

And now here she was, slowly bleeding out.

“I intent on handing your corpse to them and claiming the reward.” He’s been quiet for so long that (Y/N) had almost forgotten his presence. She doesn’t raise her head, only looks up. It’s hard to do so when her right eye is swollen shut. “But they never specified the conditions it had to be in.”

The man has his back towards her, fingers running through a box of tools. He’s used almost all of them on her by this point. Amateur. A skilled torturer knows to go slow, to drag it out, to choose a weapon and stick to it until the person is weeping and screaming.

“It was my brother that you killed.”

That sparks her interest, a smirk taking over her bloodied lips. She looks at him, dead in the eye.

“Which one?” she taunts.

The sound of her voice, still strong despite the blood loss, startles him. He freezes for a split second, hand over a wooden baseball bat.

“What?”

She snickers, blood dripping into the floor. “I’ve killed a lot of men, darling.” The way he seethes, fury filling his features, amuses her. “So which one was your brother?”

“You had him swallow his own testicles.”

“Oh, him,” she nods her head in appreciation. “Can’t say I regret it.”

Now he’s fuming, hand shaking so badly he almost loses the grip on the bat. If (Y/N) looks close enough she can see the resemblance. Same brown hair, same nose, same crazy look in their eyes.

“I’ll make you regret it.”

“You can certainly try,” she concedes mockingly. Because, honestly, there’s nothing he can do to her that she hasn’t already withstood.

There’s a raging roar and then a burst of pain. A hit to her abdomen, which no doubt bruised a rib, and then two to her back. But it’s okay, she thinks to herself as she wheezes and coughs, trying to regain air in her lungs, she knows how to play this game and how to win it. Keep him talking, keep him angry, let him think he has the upper hand, keep him from noticing how she’s preparing to break free.

“I wonder…” he murmurs, bat dragging behind him. “You’re not particularly remarkable.” She scoffs as he begins circling her, a tactic supposed to drive the prisoner into panic at the lack of vision of their assailant. Her heart doesn’t stutter. She’s trained to identify people and objects by sound not sight. She knows precisely where he is, even if she can’t see him. “So, what makes you interesting enough for the Bastard to keep so close?”

She grins, feral and with bloodstained teeth.

“Why don’t you come closer and I’ll show you?”

His face does not change but his step falters. “You cannot believe me stupid enough to fall for that.”

“You were stupid enough to tie my wrists with handcuffs,” is all she replies before dislocating her own thumbs and releasing herself from the shackles.

She hits the floor hard, body swaying for a second. Her hands are numb, nerve endings frayed. It hits her, now that she has to keep herself outfight, just how much blood she’s lost. The edges of her vision blur.

There’s a cut on her thigh, it bleeds heavily. Her back is all flayed skin. Breathing is hard.

It doesn’t matter. She only needs four fingers and half a mind to hold and use a dagger. She shakes the dizziness off.

He comes at her, but she’s expecting that. Sidestepping him is easy, kicking him in the back as he passes by even more so.

“You’re not much without your friends and a syringe full of drugs, are you?” she stumbles a little as she taunts him. Time is not on her side, she knows this. He’s cut deep in her arms and legs, no major artery touched, but with precision to give her a slow and prolonged death. She’s been steadily bleeding for hours.

(Y/N) has to end this. Soon.

He comes for her again, and she dodges, punching him right in the gut. He feigns left and she moves away, noticing too late the fist that impacts with the right side of her face. Despite the pain, she manages to stomp his toes and slam her knee against his balls.

That does it.

A high whimper leaves his mouth and as he struggles for air, she backs up. Keeping her eyes on him, her right arm reaches back to the toolbox. She knows what she’s grasped as soon as her fingers graze it.

“Say hi to your brother for me.”

The scalpel lodges itself right on his carotid artery.

“Nice,” she mumbles in delirium as she hears him choke to death. It’d been a majestic throw.

The adrenaline is gone in a second. (Y/N) stumbles backwards, barely aware of all the tools scattering around in the floor. She lets herself rest against the wall, slowly sitting down on the floor.

She’s going to die.

It doesn’t matter that she’s managed to get rid of that poor excuse of a man. She’s too injured. She knows.

(Y/N) isn’t scared. She’s tangled with Death for a long time, and as cold begins to creep in and the edges of her vision blacken, it feels like welcoming an old friend. It feels like getting what she has always had coming for her.

The tips of her fingers begin to tingle, her body’s desperate effort at keeping her heart pumping. Her ears are ringing, hard enough that when shouts begin all that she can hear are muffled sounds.

Then someone’s touching her face. She greets the warmth.

“Fuck,” she hears as she tumbles forward, her forehead landing on a collarbone. Jesper grasps the back of her head, fingers tangling in her hair. At least, she thinks it’s him. Her brain feels mushy, but her nose has never failed her, and it smells like gunpowder and mint.

She’s laid down on the ground gently, probably to inspect her injuries before moving her.

“You’re going to be okay,” the Sharpshooter reassures her, but his voice is trembling. He’s scared. She must look worse than she feels, and she feels like she’s been attacked by a group of Heartrenders.

She wants to speak, to tell him it’s okay, but opening her mouth feels like an impossible task.

“Save your energy.” That’s Kaz. His voice is steady, but she can feel the underlying tension, the worry in his words. “You are not dying tonight.” And he says it with so much conviction, like he would hold her soul with his own hands to keep it anchored to her body, like he would keep her heart beating with pure willpower.

Her eyes look for him, but she catches sight of something else entirely.

“You’re wearing it.”

She must make no sense, words slurred, but Kaz understands. His whispered words are the last thing she hears before slipping out of consciousness.

“How couldn’t I?”

Then there’s nothing. She loses track of time. She comes back to her body from time to time, able to hear words but incapable of pinpointing the speaker. She’s floating, but there’s pain and aching.

“…too much blood, I don’t know…”

“…keep her alive.”

“I am trying!”

“Don’t try, do it.”

“…punctured lung, broken ribs…”

“…don’t know how she’s still alive.”

When she comes to the first thing that she feels is blinding pain. Everything hurts. Her muscles complain as she sits up. She clenches her jaw to keep the tears at bay. The worst is already over, she will not cry.

“Don’t move,” (Y/N) freezes at the command, her head snapping towards the voice. “Nina stitched you back together, I doubt she would be very happy to see all her hard work ruined.”

She gently eases herself back on the bed, fingertips running over her bandaged stomach. She can feel the edges of the stitches poking through it. It must’ve been bad, then, if she required stitches to keep the wound together. Usually, she’s a fast healer, a result of all the training she’d gone through.

“How long?” Her voice is raspy after not being used. Her throat hurts, which might be related to the way she was choked to the verge of unconsciousness several times while held hostage.

“Four nights.”

Bad then.

(Y/N) can feel Kaz’s eyes on her, assessing. She meets his stare, and it’s when she’s looking at him that a vague memory comes back.

Her eyes drift down to his wrist.

The twin bracelet to her own, the one she keeps tightly wrapped around her wrist, as if part of her own skin, greets her.

“You are wearing it.”

Kaz frowns in confusion, until he follows her line of sight. He looks away, hand clenching and unclenching over the head of his cane.

“Even after almost dying you’re still insufferable,” he responds.

But when he looks back at her, (Y/N) can see everything in his eyes.

How could I not, he’d said, and he’d meant it. If friendship was something that could bloom in a wretched place like Ketterdam, Kaz was her best friend and she was his, even if they’d never discussed it, even if they would never admit it. You’re the steady order to my unrelenting chaos, she thought to herself, someone I would follow to the end of the world.

He nods, as if reading her mind and agreeing with her.

“Rest.” That’s an order, one she has no intention of disobeying.

“Sure thing,” she responds as Kaz makes his way towards the door, “bestie.”

(Y/N) can feel the amusement in his words, “Absolutely insufferable.”

She smirks, toying with the ends of the bracelet’s strings.

(Y/N) never takes it off. Neither does Kaz.

[mrchiipchrome]

Work

W.C. - 1.2 k

a/n: I’ve been having so much fun dealing with migraines, a break up, exams and getting an eye infection that I’ve totally forgot to write, so take this as a sort of apology:)

———————

It wasn’t hard to be the best footballer in the world’s girlfriend. All things considered, life with Aitana was pretty good, amazing even, if it weren’t for Aitana’s incessant need to ask people if they were employed.

It started small, when Aitana first met your family in Sweden, she had asked your brother whether he worked or not, happy when he started raving about his work, happy to find someone as passionate about their work as her.

Since that interaction it seemed like she searched that passion out in every interaction she had, going as far as to climb over rows of seats in order to speak to people.

She was nothing short of a social butterfly, and you were her anti-social caterpillar. The Swede in you was drawn to the Spanish affectionate nature even if it was vastly different from your own.

Your tiny girlfriend was as much of a magician on the pitch as she was off it, her ability to simply vanish the second you took your eyes off her was quite impressive, but not very enjoyable on your part. You almost had to invest in a private investigator to figure out how she did it, the way she always fooled you simply driving you crazy to the point of oblivion.

Still, you loved her strange habits simply for the fortune of having her, having her in every way imaginable.

You loved getting to hold her even as she squirmed to get away, kisses raining down on her face after a long game, using your substantially taller frame to put some space between her feet and the ground so that she wouldn’t be able to get away.

———————

Your muscles ache as your feet thump against the ground, the last game before a small break one of great performances, you yourself slipping 4 goals past the keeper, all of them assisted by your wonderful girlfriend.

Still, despite your obviously tired appearance, you were still ushered away to the corner of the pitch for an interview, being handed a man of the match award for your efforts during the game. This meant that your girlfriend was left unsupervised, your tired mind mixed with needing to seem professional before the camera completely taking up all your attention, meaning you didn’t immediately notice your girlfriend beelining for the stands.

“So, how does it feel to be back in the squad after the hamstring injury?” The reporter looks at you intently, trying her hardest to stare into your soul, or that’s at least what it seems like.

“Yeah, I mean it’s always special to be part of this squad, I’m not even going to lie and say that it’s been easy sitting on the bench when all I wanted was to jump on the field and score again but ultimately I got through it. I’m really happy with the performance as well, my beautiful girlfriend assisted all my goals so that makes it even better.” You smile widely when you mention your girlfriend, seeing through half-lidded eyes as the reporter's smile drops before she plasters it back on.

‘No need to be unprofessional now’ you think to yourself, looking away from her in search of that girlfriend to see if she could save you from the creepy situation.

But in your attempt to catch your girlfriend’s attention, you see her about to climb over the railings to talk to fans. You know that it’s dangerous, not only because of the altitude, but also because you never knew the intentions of some fans.

Somewhere in the background you can hear the reporter speaking to you, but you don’t pay her any mind, simply getting more anxious the longer you are standing there.

“It has to be special to be back with your teammates-”

“Perdón!” Is all you’re able to get out before you take off in Aitana’s direction, your legs no longer aching thankfully enough.

Your hands latch around her hips, tugging her softly away from the railing like you would a cat that had burrowed its claws into the couch. Aitana yelps as she looks back at you suspiciously, her hands coming down to rest on your shoulders when she realized that she didn’t have any plan of escape, seemingly just accepting her fate.

There are multiple cameras pointed at you, including the social media manager’s, so you just know that the interaction would find itself on the internet by the time you would be sitting in the bus.

Strangely enough, you didn’t mind that fact all that much, liking that the world would see how much you loved your girlfriend, maybe it would discourage reporters from trying to shoot their shot with you.

“Hey there pretty lady, whatchu’ doin’?” Aitana smiles at you innocently, acting like she totally didn’t try to climb over the railings. She presses a quick kiss to your cold cheek, enjoying the way your face darkens a few shades, the red spreading up your cheeks like food coloring in water.

It leads her to continue, kisses soon being placed on every single space on your face, with you soon blending in with the tomatoes you were growing in your garden.

“You are very cute.” She whispers lowly, her eyes flitting over your face as she smiles, keeping the words between the two of you like it was a secret only meant for your ears. Perhaps it was, you never knew with Aitana.

“And you are trying to distract me from the fact that you were totally trying to climb up into the stands. You’re lucky to be adorable, because Jona is one more abandoned interview away from benching me.” You boop her nose, shifting her body around so that your left arm was the only thing holding her body up, her arms still around your shoulders.

Walking back towards the interviewer, her professional smile drops from her face the second she sees Aitana perched on your arm, but nonetheless you approach her civilly. Aitana smiles brightly at the camera soon pointed at her again, media training mixed with the attention she’s getting from you being the perfect situation for the camera.

“Hola, lo siento, this one was getting herself into trouble. Had to get her out, don’t want the gaffer to bench the superstar now do we?” You motion towards Aitana with your head, the girl still sitting perched atop your arm slapping the back of your head lightly. Switching her around again, you quickly put her down back on her own feet, Aitana’s arms coming down to wrap around your waist tightly, almost possessive in a way.

“Thank you for today, that was all we needed. Here’s your man of the match trophy.” You get handed the trophy, turning to your girlfriend to brag, only to find her gone once more, her small body shooting across the pitch to get as much space between you two as she could.

It was almost as if you could see into the future as she jumps up and throws herself over the railings, giggling madly along the way.

You start to laugh too, the high speed chase the biggest highlight of the day, because not even scoring 4 goals could overshadow spending even a second laughing with your girl.

And even though Mapi would be teasing you for weeks about the absolute lovesick actions that day, you wouldn’t have it any different, besides you had more than enough ammunition to be able to blackmail her for eternity, so it didn’t really matter anyways.

[tteokdoroki]

𑊡˚+₊🍼✦ — rizz + bkg.

૮ ͈>◡< ͈ა warnings — fluff + sfw, fem!reader, bakugou does nawt know what rizz means and his students make fun of him, pro hero!bkg is a teacher at UA, mentions of pregnancy scars, girl dad!bkg.

rizz — (slang) one’s ability to seduce a potential love interest. synonymous with game, charm.

“baby?”

“katsuki.”

“what the fuck is ‘rizz’?”

now he has your attention. setting aside your book for the night, you glance at your husband with an amused smile, he’s fresh out of the shower— golden skin shimmering with pearly droplets of water and hair matted wetly to his forehead. “who’s askin’, kats?” you coo, shifting to your knees as bakugou takes a seat on the edge of your shared bed, his lips drawn into a long frown— almost as if he’s pouting.

“i’m askin’, i swear t’god. these fuckin’ brats,” the blonde goes on to rant, the shower he’d just come from clearly not doing much to soothe the stresses of the day. circling an arm around his slender and unfortunately towelled waist from behind, you press burning kisses up and down the pro hero’s back and shoulders— hoping to calm katsuki just enough for him to get his thoughts into order. “one of my kids in class said i had no fuckin’ ‘rizz’ because ‘m ‘touchin’ thirty and haven’t got a damn ring in my finger yet. whatever that fuckin’ means.”

“rizz is like charisma, baby. like… how good you are at flirting or charming people,” keeping your words tender, you watch the clogs turn in katsuki’s head.

“that’s fuckin’ stupid.”

“awh but baby, you know what they said isn’t true…you’re the rizziest man i’ve ever met,” you can’t hide how hilarious you find the situation, still pressing tender kisses up katsuki’s neck until you reach just behind his ear— tugging on that spot with your teeth the way he likes. scratching at his wet scalp too. the bulking explosive man, with the roughest exterior and softest heart you’ve ever seen leans back into you, exhaling slowly through his nose. “where’s your wedding ring katsuki?”

he tilts his head back to look at you, love laced into his smoke screen and scarred eyes as pulls on a chain that sits comfortably against his neck, the golden band attached to it with his dog tags. “didn’t wanna lose it while trainin’ up the kids, today.” katsuki mumbles shyly. he’d done so once before almost in tears, only to find out you’d taken it to get cleaned of all the ash from his quirk.

brushing a thumb over his slightly chapped bottom lip, you smile at him again— taking in how beautiful katsuki looks under the warm glow of the lamp on your nightstand. “so what did you do? did’ya tell them you were married, with your baby keepin’ me up all night?” you say it like you’re exasperated, but while rolling his eyes katsuki knows you’re just kidding— happy to be stuck at home with your mini bakugou in the form of a precious little girl, blowing through his wallet to appease your cravings and soothe the boredom maternity leave brings with online shopping.

“of course i fuckin’ did,” he responds, failing to use his words as he tilts his head up for a kiss. a smile spreads slow on his lips, sexy and adorable all at once— a pleased look etched into bakugou’s features when you give into him and give him exactly what he wants. “showed them a picture of you.” he breathes into the lip lock, cheekily licking the words into your mouth.

“yeah?” you hum, pulling away from your husband with a glint in your eyes. “and how’d that work out for you, sweetpea?”

bakugou practically purrs at the pet name. he’ll never admit how much he loves to be babied — especially by you. “they believed me. said i had ‘infinite rizz’ whatever the hell that means too.” he lets you pull him into bed with you, let’s you crawl into his lap to get closer— his callous hands immediately settling on your hips, thumbs slipping under your (his) shirt to brush over the evidence of your pregnancy. stretch marks from your bump, the small scar from your c-section. “called you a milf as well, fuckin’ brats.”

“just means they think i’m hot and they’re surprised you that you managed to bag me. consider yourself lucky, mister dynamight.” you laugh again, sighing in content as bakugou massages the aches and pains— adoration pulsing through him because what you say is true. he is lucky. lucky that you stick around, that you’ve dealt with him for this long, that you love him the way you do and want him for the rest of your life. lucky to have his family, to have you.

and in the low light of your shared bedroom, it hits him all at once. the life that katsuki bakugou leads now, is a blessed one. he has a stable job teaching an amazing set of kids, his wife loves him more than anything and his little girl? well, she’ll be the death of him. but bakugou knows for a second he won’t take it all for granted, appreciating the quiet moments— like this, with his wife making a love-sick fool out of him, a smile of your lips so bright katsuki can see his future.

one that he never in a million years thought that he’d deserve.

“well then for once, they wouldn’t be too fuckin’ far off.” the blonde grins, pinching your hips lovingly— as if to get you back.

[theyhavetakenovermylife]

Do you write for 2012? If so I wanted to know if you write Donnie but if not this can be for Mikey (aged up if you want to put it)

Date night for reader and the turtle (2012/of your choice) , reader teasing the turtle under the table as the waiter/waitress is trying to talk to them to hear their order but some words coming from their turtle boyfriend is slightly slurred (reader can be female bodies but overall gn 🤷‍♀️). After date night (turtle of choice) drags reader to their shared bedroom and then the fun starts 👍

If requests aren't open ignore me 🙌 byeee ✨

Table Tease (18+)

2012!Donatello x reader

A/N: I do write for 2012, I just haven’t done a lot for them yet😅 I’ve changed it from a date night to a family dinner setting, but otherwise it’s the same. Hope you like it💜

---------

All characters are aged up.

Warnings: Spelling, public foreplay, turtley anatomy.

---------

What do you do when you’re in the mood, but your boyfriend is in a deep discussion with his oldest brother? You know what, double that. What do you do when you’re in the mood, but you and your boyfriend are sitting at the dinner table with all of his family and closest friends, eating pizza? Well, your first instinct was to push it away. You were an adult after all. You were perfectly capable of pushing any needs away for a more appropriate time. And that was what you decided to do, turning towards Donatello, so you could follow along in the conversation he was having with Leonardo. But you quickly found that your attention wandered, turning their conversation to background noise as you took in your boyfriend's appearance next to you.

You had been with Donnie for so long, yet his face, body and personality never seized to amaze you. His brilliant mind inside of his beautiful head. The way he saw the world and his intricate thoughts had always fascinated you. Almost just as much as his body did. You had always found yourself drawn to Donnie. His tall standing stature and his strong muscles. Even the small details, such as the vein on his neck that would stand out on his neck when he was concentrated, or the veins that ran down his forearms and over his hands.

His hands… If there was one thing that could send you into a dream zone, it was Donnie’s hands. The amount of times you had caught yourself staring at his hands, thinking about all the things they had done to you in the past was too many to count. And now, at the table with Donnie’s family, that was exactly what you did. Watching his hands move as he talked, remembering what they did to you last night. How they had held your legs open for him, giving him all the space he needed before devouring you with his mouth, while using his skilled fingers to bring you closer to the edge. You rubbed your legs together at the thought. Suddenly it seemed very hard to push those before mentioned needs away. And with that, an idea came to the forefront of your thoughts, bringing a smug smile to your face.

Unable to contain yourself any longer, you slowly let a hand slide under the table, before it made its way to Donnie’s knee. For you to place your hand on your boyfriend’s knee was nothing new. It was just yet another way for the two of you to show affection, just like a couple normally would. It was therefore that Donnie’s reaction to your hand was so stubble, with a sweet smile shut in your direction, before he continued his talk with Leo. He even moved his knee closer to you, enjoying the feeling of your warm hand against his skin. But you had no intention of just letting your hand rest there.

A few moments later, while you acted like you were listening to a conversation between Raph, Mikey and Casey, you moved your hand further up Donnie’s leg, letting it rest on his thigh. His leg jumped a bit at this, as a reaction to a surprise. But Donnie did not move his leg away. Instead he gave you a look out of the corner of his eye. He knew what you were doing, but he had no intention of stopping you. So therefore you let your hand slide up even further, just to the point where Donnie’s thigh met the rest of his body, your pinky finger grazing softly against his plastron. Donnie shuffled slightly in his seat at this, a small sigh flowing through his nose as he strained his concentration on Leo’s words. You bit back a smile, nodding at something Mikey said.

Your hand slowly moved across the lower area of Donnie’s plastron, until you found the slit of his already sensitive cloaca. As your pointy and middle finger slowly traced his slit, you felt him tense up slightly, his breath becoming ever so slightly heavier. You could feel the effect you had through his cloaca, the feeling it retract and twitch under your touch. You noticed how Donnie had stopped talking, and was now nodding at whatever Leo had to say, before answering with one or two words. That was when an idea made its way into your head.

Your fingers played around on the outside of Donnie’s cloaca, teasing him ever so slightly with each touch, just waiting for their moment to paunch. That came when Donnie calmed down ever so slightly, getting a little used to the feeling of your fingers against him. Then, finally, Leo ceased to talk, giving Donnie the que to talk. And as he opened his mouth, your fingers did their move. Your two fingers moved through his slit, smoothly sliding through his slice.

“I agree, that move is too slow. It should be more like-”. Donnie stopped mid sentence, his last word being stretched out and slurred. Leo looked at his brother in concern.

“Donnie? Are you okay?”, Leo asked.

“Yes!”, Donnie quickly answered, holding up his pizza slice for his big brother to see, his speech continuing to be slurred ever so slightly. “It’s just, you know, when that bit of pizza hits the right spot”. He punctuated the last word with his knee nudging against yours. In turn you asked Casey about the thing he was talking about, before thrusting your fingers into Donnie’s slit once more, threatening to make the poor guy drop on the spot. This made Donnie hide a moan with another bit of his pizza slice.

You continued your torture on Donnie, until you felt the familiar hardness against your fingers. Donnie took in a big breath, bracing himself for the drop. But then, just before he could allow himself to slip out, you removed your fingers, wiping his slick off on his thigh. Donnie snapped his head towards you, his eyes boring into you and your smug smile. Leo once again asked his brother in concern if he was okay, forcing Donnie to turn his attention back to their conversation. How Donnie was gonna make you and your smugness pay for that.

As people finished their food and got ready to leave the table, you knew you had to act fast.

“Well, that was fun”, you smiled as you stood from the chair. “Thank you so much for dinner, but I should probably get home now-”.

“Oh no, you don’t!”, Donnie exclaimed, jumping from his chair, grabbing on to you before you could walk too far. The shocked expression on everyone's faces brought him back to reality, remembering that the two of you weren’t alone. Flustered and unsure of what to do, he picked you up and threw you over his shoulder, before running to his bedroom, leaving them staring after you in confusion.

Once inside Donnie’s bedroom, he slammed the door shut with a loud bang, using his foot. He wasted no time before throwing you onto the bed with a yelp. He climbed on top of you, holding your arms down by your head, and forcing your legs apart using the knee you had felt on a few moments ago. You giggled up at him, already knowing what danger you were in.

“What do you have to say for your defense?”, Donnie smiled mischievously, his face mere centimeters from yours, his thumbs stroking your wrists, and using his other leg to spread your other leg open for him.

“Upsi?”, you smiled innocently, giving your shoulders a small shrug.

“You just fingered me while I was talking to my brother, until I almost dropped right under the table, in front of my whole family, and all you have to say is; ‘upsi’?”, Donnie asked, giving you one last chance to redeem yourself.

“Yup!”, you nodded with a big smile, almost eager to see what your boyfriend was going to do about it.

Donnie tsked and shook his head from side to side, bringing your wrists to one hand, allowing his other hand to move down your body, feeling your sides as he moved his hand down to the button and zipper of your pants. “That was not the answer I was looking for, (Y/N)”.

“It wasn’t?”, you said, acting oblivious, fighting a satisfied smile as Donnie’s hand ran down past your pants and into your underwear. “I had no idea”.

Donnie’s hand grazed your sensitive folds, just like you had done to his cloaca just a few moments ago. At the feeling of your slick against his finger, Donnie smiled down at you. “Already wet?” He smoothed his finger against your wet folds, enjoying the way you curled your legs up around him. “Is that from teasing me during dinner?”

“Maybe”, you sighed, slightly grinding yourself against his finger to gain some friction.

Donnie removed his finger from your pants, causing you to whine, until he moved his attention back onto your pants, letting go off your wrists to use both hands to pull them down along with your underwear.

“Luckily for you”, Donnie said as he threw them onto the floor, before moving to pull your shirt off of you. “I feel like we’ve been through enough foreplay already”. He threw your top and bra onto the floor. “So lay back and let me fuck that tease out of you”.

Fair to say, your idea worked on Donnie like a charm.

[hotdaemondtargaryen]

TOM GLYNN-CARNEY INTERVIEWED FOR DEADLINE MAGAZINE.

IS THAT YOU LYING IN BED IN EPISODE 5, GETTING THE BURNT VALYRIAN STEEL PEELED OFF OF YOUR BODY?

"It certainly is me."

I THOUGHT YOU WERE DEAD. SO YOU'RE NOT DEAD YET?

"I say a word … unless dead people can speak."

SO YOU ARE SURE AS YOU'RE SITTING HERE, YOU ARE NOT DEAD.

"I’m not dead yet."

LET'S BACK UP TO THE DAY WHEN YOU SHOT THAT EPIC DRAGON FIGHT.

"Well, that day was, in fact, probably about three weeks work, trying to get all these certain angles and these set pieces together."

"It takes a while to coordinate something like that."

"And it was great fun."

"It was a little different."

"The stuff I had to do previously with the big dialogue, the heavy council scenes and the moments in the pub … that felt more theatrical."

"And by theatrical, I don’t mean hammy and stuff, I mean being in theater and doing a play."

"But this [dragon fight] felt very filmic, being strapped into this crane and having this big camera on a long hydraulic arm thrown in your face."

"There were lots of green screens and gray screens and tennis balls on sticks and wind machines."

"It was great."

"It was a big learning curve for me as well, because I’ve never done anything quite as elaborate as that before in terms of CGI work."

DO YOU THINK CRISTON SAW WHAT AEMOND DID TO AEGON'S DRAGON IN THAT FIGHT? THAG AEMOND IS TO BLAME?

"Criston definitely sees Aegon on the ground and Aemond near him with his sword drawn."

"So he can make his own mind up about Aemond’s intentions, which is still unclear even to me."

"I’m not sure the story was there."

"There could be various outcomes."

WHAT HAS IT BEEN LIKE TO PLAY SOMEBODY WHO'S SO BLOODY UNLIKABLE?

"So you’re not team Aegon, then?"

"Who wants to be liked?"

"Where’s the fun in that?"

"I think it’s great playing someone like Aegon because he’s so unpredictable."

"He’s so volatile."

"He’s not just someone who people don’t like."

"He’s a tragic case."

"He’s a complete and utter tragedy of a person, and I feel deeply, deeply sorry for him."

"And I guess that’s kind of why I’ve wanted to investigate his vulnerabilities, his fragilities and his boyishness, all the things that he lacks in his life that kind of inform his decisions, that have given him a certain reputation."

"There’s a lot to unpack in him."

"He’s way more layered and complex than just an unlikable character."

IT'S BEEN AN INTERESTING JOURNEY WATCHING AEGON AND AEMOND BECAUSE THEY'RE OBVIOUSLY BAD KIDS, WHICH DOESN'T MAKE SENSE BECAUSE IT'S NOT LIKE THEIR DAD WAS AN AWFUL GUY. SO WHERE DOES THAT BADNESS COME FROM?

"I dunno."

"I mean, they’ve got Targaryen blood running through them, so there’s going to be an element of madness somewhere."

"I think if they had a different upbringing and a different experience of childhood, things may have been different."

"If they had the treatment that Rhaenyra got, for example, their lives could be different."

"She was very much the golden child."

"She came first."

"She was the one whose picture was on the fridge."

"So yeah, I think that in many ways they’re a product of their history and their upbringing."

"But then again, they’re spoiled as well."

"They’ve never had to work for anything and that can have its effects."

"That’s probably a question for a psychologist, not for me."

WHY DOES HE DISLIKE HIS BROTHER SO MUCH?

"I don’t think he does."

BUT HE WAS SUCH A SHIT TO HIM IN THAT BROTHEL SCENE.

"That’s brothers."

"Aegon was pissed off that for weeks that Aemond has been in the small council and he’d been conniving and plotting with Criston behind his back."

"That kind of clique-ness and keeping Aegon out of the situation for Aemond’s own self-gain, knowing that Aegon would take over the position of King should he get the opportunity, Aegon needed to bring him down a peg."

"I don’t think it come from a place of disliking him."

It comes from a place of being like, ‘you are my little brother, know your place.’

"It’s dismissiveness and also, I’m from Manchester."

"From where I’m from, there are so many sibling relationships that are completely flawed and fractured."

"It’s very normal for me."

"I’m lucky I have a great relationship with my sibling, but it’s very normal and not out of the ordinary at all for you to see two siblings who actively want to hurt each other."

"It doesn’t come from hatred."

"That’s just the way people behave."

[fuumiku]

They’re really interesting foils in many ways. I’ve always thought that Marcille & Mithrun have underrated dynamic potential. Give me the cringefail dungeon lords. Give me the elves with ears-centric metaphorical self-image issues. Give me the academic elites whose deepest strongest desires will always remain unreachable and the only option is to turn to the corrupt forbidden fruit of a demon pact. I am so so normal about Mithrun and Marcille

I wonder if the resemblance between captain Mithrun and general Hagreus aka Marcille’s fave in Dalclan is intentional… They definitely look very alike. It could represent idealization vs reality? Something something the romanticization of elves and their societal drama in their fiction vs a very real and imperfect product of their military system. The canaries certainly aren’t glamorous next to whatever Hagreus is the general of. I feel like she never had the opportunity to notice the resemblance herself bc within seconds of meeting him he was wrestling her on the ground but. If she had… She would so think he should have been his actor in the tallman stage play of Daltian Clan in that new extra comic hehe. I love the little details like Hagreus’ lips being drawn with extra details because they’re full and pretty while Mithrun’s lips are drawn with extra details because they’re chapped lmao.

This art is all silly and surface level but in my head mithrille is like so dramatic and I make up daltian clan level big plots with them gbdgd. I made a spotify playlist for mithrun if y’all interested, rn it’s mostly centered around cravings that consume and losing yourself and illusions inspired from his time as dungeon lord but it’s branching out. Varied vibes, levels of intensity and degrees of confusion and await you ✨ I would emotionally rant about Chainsaw Man ost lyrics and how they tie in with Mithrun and the winged lion’s relationship but this post is already a monster

I want more of these two please please please pleaseee just one or two interactions in the new canon content coming up… All they ever did was debate philosophy on desires and human self-fulfillment and try to murder each other, please… I never get to gush about them and I can’t shut up so if you want more thoughts I talk about them more below

To get a girl to peacefully accept arrest follow these simple steps: in private, ominously stand above her and forcefully interrogate her, while in public, tell her you’ve met before (untrue and also not a pickup line) and interrogate her with a thin veneer of decorum. If all else fails, threaten and follow through on said threat. My guy needs more than just physical therapy I’m afraid

Sorry if most of these were Marcille-centric with Mithrun standing there looking cool, if I were doing these more from Mithrun’s pov things would be like "She’s a bit much but I guess I don’t mind hanging around her." or "Oh you’re a half-elf? -insert elven supremacist rethoric-" or "I have to keep her from becoming demon stew." immediately followed by "Did someone say demon? Kill kill kill kill kill" since these are set prior to like really knowing another. Then things would be more like "huh she has bad tastes in novels but her magic research is pretty interesting" and "I’m lonely and don’t understand myself— Oh she loves talking about feelings? Oh shi-" That last one is an aspect of why I like Marcille and Mithrun’s potential dynamic lol. She’s very… Emotionally intelligent alongside being impulsive. You think you have no feelings because the world has beaten them out of you? Think again!! Marcille be upon ye! -In a therapy sort of way but mostly in a connecting with people and your own self through interpersonal relationships and talking kinda way. I just think a lively, upbeat, annoying friend way too interested in your personal life would do him good, the canaries are nice but like if Marcille went to prison and was a sort of extra new bunkmate I think that’d be interesting and fun to read is what I’m saying

Unlike Kabru she wants all the useless messy filler of his backstory, eating chips while listening. Like two chibi sets side by side, "me and my fellow canaries, name name and name-" "Hold on that’s too much info we have to compact this" vs "Then we were to sleep on the third floor of the dungeon, which had the look of a mausoleum, and name and name got into a fight over the campfire placement." while Marcille is like uh-huh what next what next while kicking her feet. She thinks of pre-dungeon pompous Mithrun and is like omg you went through a character arc and became better as a person- and then he opens his mouth and she’s like nevermind let’s keep working on that. She would also go "ew ur hair is greasy" and give him a full hair care treatment. What I’m saying is I need them to be forced to spend time in a dungeon together and become besties through a life or death roadtrip

Marcille is insecure about her ears, long, like an elf’s pride should be, but rounder, inelegant. Seeing Mithrun though, the epitome of beauty, with his half-cut ears make it a sillier thought. Not sure if Mithrun is the best person to reconnect with ur elven culture with but it sure is an option Marcille would so appreciate being around someone both cool headed and kind, I genuinely think they’d get along, like not that Senshi isn’t that too most of the time but I think Mithrun would be in a way that’s more refreshing to her. I’d be so curious about them discussing Dalclan, I doubt he’d have read it but she could make him read it, maybe post-canon with the excuse that they’re trying to find him a new hobby hah. He’d tear into the writing and everything but it’d be a fun time, I like to think that it’d make him a bit less prejudiced. Marcille @ Mithrun "👉👈 Soo maybe you don’t know these books they’re pretty recent having come out 50 years ago but…"

I’ve been in a Mithrun phase I want to make and read Mithrun-centric fics and angst so baaad. I razz him a lot here but he’s literally a traumatized military man that became obsessed with revenge due to bad coping and neglects himself in the process idk not much for him going on and some of it is because he has to work on himself, but hey no one’s perfect it all comes from a place of love and relating though I prommy. He’s the one ungodly angsty squeaky toy blorbo with brain damage rep I have don’t take him from me

[placeinthemiddleofnowhere]

Princess

Pairing: Simon "Ghost" Riley x Female!Reader

Warnings: Angst, Smut (18+), spanking, fingering, PinV, choking, brat taming, slight bit of name calling (slightly dubious to have sex with someone after rescuing them from a kidnapping but we'll ignore that)

Summary: Reader is the daughter of a prolific genral who's been kidnapped while she was trying to party it up with her friends. Ghost and Soap are recruited to rescue her, and soon find out that reader's attitude might be more of a challenge than the gang they're trying to rescue her from.

(No use of y/n)

A/N: I can't get Ghost out of my head and tbh I kinda feel like he'd be so good at dealing with your bratty nonsense if he had to.

- 👑-

You were sure you were going to die. 

Not because your family didn’t have the money, not because there weren’t enough resources  to save you, or even because of your own natural pessimistic tendencies. No. You were sure you were going to die because your father had made it abundantly clear long ago that you didn’t matter to him. 

You weren’t a man. You couldn't carry his title on and you’d grown up learning that that was mostly all he cared for. His legacy. It was one of the few things that cold man spoke of fondly, always lighting up at the mention of your brothers but never you. And as a result you’d grown up living for even the smallest chance at spiting him for it. You partied and drank and slept around with boys that made even your friends curl their lips at you sometimes. 

So, you were pretty sure that once your kidnappers realised that, that could only mean one thing. One of those big guns they were carrying was going to end up pointed right in your face then…bang. 

It was enough to leave you disoriented, you weren't taking in much. Not that there was much to take note of. Your eyes were shoddily covered over with a scrap of harsh, scratchy cloth and you could only see little slivers of things here and there. Your hands were duct taped to the arms of an office chair and your mouth was similarly covered so as to prevent anymore screams and curses.

You watched sets of boots as they echoed around the frigid room, and saw gun barrels and machetes, men roving across a scuffed up concrete floor. You didn’t catch anything that made you want to see more. Especially when you heard the taunts they slung at you in their thick accents.

“Don’t worry precious, I’m sure a spoiled little rich girl like you will get a good ransom, you’ll be home soon.”

“Bet you’re used to guys with big guns like this, daddy’s men must love you.”

“She’s a cute little thing, we should have some fun with her before we send her back.”

“I’ve heard she likes to have lots of fun, bet we’d slip right into her, fucking american girls.”

If the blindfold came off then that would only mean one thing. They were going to make good on the salacious threats they were now casually slinging your way. The fantasies they were now trading back and forth as they returned to speaking their own language. That was a small mercy at least. Not having to hear about how the last few moments of your life would go. 

You could feel your body shaking like an addict in withdrawal and your poor heart was leaping around in your chest like a caught frog. It didn’t help that you were riling yourself up either, imagining what the newspapers would say. Flashing up in your mind like something out of an old batman episode with a blaring brass section accompanying them.

 Daughter of a notable general killed in shock kidnapping

Holiday in Cancun turned nightmare as General’s daughter taken in the night

You couldn't even be sure if you were still in Mexico. For all you knew you were in all those other countries that you’d been too busy crafting a reputation to learn about in school. What were they again? Guatemala, Cuba? You were sure those were somewhere close by. Funny the things the mind distracts itself with when you’re stuck tightly in a chair surrounded by leering wolves. 

If only you hadn’t been drawn in by that tattooed man with the big arms. If only you’d been a good girl and enjoyed your holiday and stuck close to your friends instead of going out on the hunt for attention from bad men covered in tattoos and cologne that smelt like bad decisions. You could practically hear your father’s growly voice echoing through your mind. 

Stupid little girl. 

He’d been saying that for as long as you had memories of him. He’d be satisfied now, you lamented. You’d proved him right in the end, he’d always said your lifestyle would catch up with you and you’d be wishing that you’d just behaved for once sooner or later.  

At the very least, you figured, you wouldn’t have to hear him say I told you so. 

- 👑-

You weren't sure how much time had passed. It could’ve been a few minutes, or it could’ve been hours, but as your breathing grew more ragged behind the tape you knew you were experiencing the last few precious moments you had left. 

The men were sounding more and more pissed off as they rattled off curses to each other, filling the room with sharp hisses. They weren’t getting the results they wanted. They’d even removed the tape at some point and had you screaming out for a video, but apparently that wasn’t getting them anywhere either. They got tired with your cries and slapped an even thicker strip back in place.

You were starting to cry, feeling the stiff cloth go damp against your skin and irritating it further. It was so thick and itchy over your eyes, you wanted nothing more than to pull it off. You needed to see, needed to breathe. You were panicking. You needed out, you needed air, you needed to feel safe again. 

What the fuck? What the fuck? What the fuck?

You were chanting it in your mind, it rang through your head like a death toll. It seemed like those would be your last thoughts. You’d die panicking and snotty and covered in dried salty tears that mixed into a sludge with your thick mascara.

What the fuck? What the fuck? What the-

Thiew.

Crack.

Thud.

Every muscle in your body froze as you heard an alien sound zip through the room. Then suddenly everything erupted.

The men’s shouts turned into screams and barked orders and suddenly you were being wheeled around in your chair in the dark like a shopping cart. You were whizzed past men that were running and crouching into your limited vision, aiming their guns and returning fire as more bullets wailed into the room. And finally you found yourself slamming into a corner somewhere, banging your knees against a rough drywall. 

You screamed behind your gag and listened out as more men hit the ground and the guns grew into a cacophony of bangs. Death’s orchestra played for a solid few minutes, ringing in your ears and distorting the sound of your thrumming heartbeat as it crawled up through your throat and into your head.

You were sure you were going to die. 

The battle raged on for a few moments more until suddenly the men’s shouts silenced and the bullets grew sparse. All you could hear was the echoes of gunfire and shrill ringing from your unprotected ears. 

What was that?

You swore you could hear voices coming toward you.

“It’s alright, lass.”

You jumped as you felt someone touch your shoulder and cursed behind the tape in your mouth as the unidentified man tried to soothe you. It wasn’t until he pulled your blindfold down and you were greeted with his bruised face and ruffled mohawk that you calmed down, focusing your gaze on his icy pale eyes. He wasn’t one of the men who took you.

“I’m gonna take this tape off, ye good wi’ that?”

You frowned at the man, unsure if he was speaking english. You weren’t used to that accent, what was that accent? Scottish? Irish? 

You only had a few seconds to look up at him blankly before he gave up on getting a response and ripped the tape from your mouth, drawing out a scream with it.

“You motherfucker!” you shrieked, feeling a layer of skin peel from your face.

“Easy! It’s ok! What's the sayin’ agian? Best to rip it off like a band-aid, yeah?” he chuckled.

“Not when it’s fucking duct tape over my face, you- you stupid- oh, oh no, my god, oh my god look out!”

You screamed as you caught a giant man emerging through the shadows and through the doorway into the dingy room you’d been wheeled into. A skull mask obscured his face and a massive gun was braced in his hands, he looked as if he could take on an entire army by himself. He was fuck off sized and ready to kill. 

Your rescuer whipped around and raised his gun at your shout, body bracing and ready to defend you. Though, as he faced the hulking behemoth behind him he relaxed and lowered his gun again, cursing you through gritted teeth. Though, he turned back around to you with a smirk.

“He might be a scary lookin’ bastard, but that ones on our side,” he explained, slinging his gun behind him and getting to work on the tape on your wrists. “Sit tight and I’ll get you out of this in a sec, ok?”

“Is she hurt?” the masked man asked, flicking his dark gaze over your slumped body.

“Nah, doesn’t look like it,” the first man replied.

“She is scarred for life actually,” you huffed out, clutching your one freed arm to your chest. “What the fuck happened? Who the fuck are you two?”

“Settle down, princess. For now we need to get you out of here and back to your father, quickly and quietly, yeah?”

His accent was different from the other man’s, though to you it was just as difficult to make out through that thick gravely timbre. That one was definitely english, you thought, it sounded like ones from TV shows you’d watched when you were younger. It made you wonder what the hell the two brits were doing rescuing you when your dad was an American general. 

Did he find them on Craigslist or something?

Typical of him to find a couple of brutish thugs to come fetch you rather than calling on one of the teams that he worked with, you thought sourly. 

Though, as both your arms were free and you stepped onto wobbly feet you grew to appreciate his choice in rescuers more as they both towered above you. Even if they weren’t American they clearly knew their way around a fight.

“We’re gonna need you to follow us and do exactly as we say, ok? There’s still a few men lurkin’ about and if you want to get back to your family in one piece, we’ll need to avoid them,” the first man said, putting his hand on your tensed shoulder.

“You haven’t even gotten them all?” you hissed, escaping from his hold and backing against the cracking wall behind you.

The room was unfinished, crumbling from bullet holes and exposure to bad weather from the open windows. It looked like something straight out of a movie set, Soderbergh eat your heart out.

“We’ve gotten most of them,” the Scottish/Irish man shrugged, reaching around to secure his gun in his arms once again. “Some probably ran off durin’ the fight, but we can’t assume they aren’t hiding somewhere waitin’ for us.”

“Just be a good girl and do as you’re told, ok princess?” the other man growled, turning away from you and walking back out of the room. 

Your mouth dropped open and just as you were about to fire off another retort, it died in your mouth when you heard a shot ring out from the hallway. 

“All good, LT?” the first man called out, ushering you behind him. 

“Solid, Soap,” the other man replied.

Soap?

That’s just great, you thought, you were stuck with a man named soap and his big ape of a friend wearing a spirit halloween special across his face. You could practically feel your chances of survival drop through the ground and into hell. You could feel the hot flames licking at your feet already, biting at your toes. Or perhaps that was the fact you’d been stuck in heels for an inappropriate length of time. Who knew?

“Alright, lets get movin’. Remember to stay close and stay quiet. We don’t know where these guys are hiding,” Soap reminded you. “Stick to my back and we won't let anythin’ happen to you, alright?”

You were out of sass for the time being. You could only nod your reply as you followed his orders, too afraid of him leaving you behind as he started advancing out of the room.

You might have felt annoyed at the fact they were treating you like a stupid little girl, but you were too wrapped up in the adrenaline of the situation to object anymore. You’d heard the gunfire, could still hear the echoes of it pelting through your ears. You knew you couldn't afford not to listen to the two incredibly patronising soldiers before you. 

“Try to keep your eyes up, lass,” Soap whispered, gazing back at you briefly before heading through the doorway. 

“Why do I have t- oh fuck!”

You could’ve thrown up as your eyes connected with the bloody corpses that littered the hallway like flies on a roll of catcher paper. There were so many of them. You could feel the bile fighting its way up your gullet as you stopped against the wall and closed your hazy eyes. Bodies. Actual dead bodies. 

You’d never seen one before. Yet here you were surrounded by them, queen bee of a dead hive. It was too much. Staying up felt like fighting gravity and you were reduced to a pile on the floor in no time, huddled on a relatively blood free patch and stuck still against the rough chalky grey wall to your side.

“Ghost, we’ve got a problem,” Soap muttered, staring down at you with a worried look. 

There were a few seconds of blessed silence where you closed your eyes and everything was ok for a second. You weren’t in a shithole crack den building in god knows where and instead you were back at the hotel, getting ready to go to bed with your girlfriends. Yes. You were going to put on pyjamas and take some painkillers and peace the fuck out till noon the day after.

“Fuckin hell.”

The growl brought you out of your daydream and soon you were looking up at the cold crocodilian eyes of the now named Ghost. Had he expected you to do better in the hallway of a thousand corpses? 

“Alright, princess, up you get.”

You whimpered and expected him to offer you his hand to get you to your feet again, but you were taken by surprise when he leaned over you and enveloped you in his huge arms. You weren’t sure what the hell he was doing at first, but all became clear as you were hoisted over his shoulder and sprawling down his back like a chef’s tea towel. 

“What the hell, dude! Put me down,” you growled out, thumping your fists against his thick layer of tactical gear. 

“Quiet down, sweetheart. It’s not like you’re much use in those heels anyway,” he growled out, tugging on one of your silvery strappy shoes for emphasis. 

“You can’t just pick me up like a sack of fucking potatoes!” you protested, continuing to feebly fail to fight your way out of his grasp.

“Apparently I fuckin’ can,” he chuckled, rumbling in that horrible patronising voice of his. “Now…Settle. Down.”

And with that he started moving again, taking you past the tour of bodies that you’d folded at moments before, stepping through them like you might do through a botanical garden. The men were poked full of bullet holes and some even had knives jutting out of their skulls, but it didn’t seem to phase your rescuers. They were in their element. You were decidedly not. 

You felt like you were going to be sick and wondered briefly what the terrifying man would say if you were to throw up on him. Would he drop you as revenge? You quivered in his arms as he moved through the halls, following his partner faithfully in the shadows, only seeing by the light of the moon in some sections of the house. 

Not soon enough, after being thoroughly traumatised for two lifetimes, you emerged out of the house you were in. Only hearing two more men be taken out before you were free to breathe fresh air again. You cleared out the disgusting smell of coppery blood and gulped in huge breathfuls of clear night air.

Air. Moonlight. Stars. You were in a barren front garden in the middle of nowhere. You could see out for miles toward that inky black sky on the horizon. 

It wasn’t like something out of a nightmare anymore, this was real. And it was a new kind of scary. It was night and it was cold and your shivering renewed again as the giant placed you back down on your feet and let you stand on your own. 

Why was it so fucking cold? 

“You see anyone else?” Ghost asked his partner, sticking faithfully by your side.

“Negative. Think we’re good to move out, LT,” Soap said, giving his surroundings one last careful scan.

“Thank fuckin’ god. Might even get back to the safehouse before mornin’ at this rate.”

Safehouse?

What?

“Um, what do you mean safehouse?” you prodded, feeling the cold start sinking into your clattering teeth.

“It’s a house that’s safe,” ghost ‘helpfully’ provided. 

“I fucking know that,” you said through gritted teeth, “what I mean is, why the fuck are we going to a safehouse? I need to go home. I need to get to an airport or something or like- like you should be calling me a helicopter or something! Why would we go to some safehouse and stay here any longer?”

“Your dad ordered us to take you there once we had you secured,” Soap said, staring over at you with a calculating gaze. “Now are you going to come get in the car yourself or does Ghost need to pick you up again?”

Fuck you.

You didn’t give either of them the satisfaction of answering. 

- 👑-

“He’s doing this to punish me isn’t he? It’s fucking typical you know! Only he would pull this shit, only my dad would find out I got kidnapped and send in two fucking random Englishmen and not even want to get me home-“

“Whoa! Watch it!” Soap shouted, interrupting you mid rant. “You can call me a lot of things, but don’t fuckin’ call me English, sweetheart.”

“English, Scottish, Irish- whatever the fuck you are! Point is he should be here! He shouldn’t be letting me stew in some random safe house with you two…two- two strangers,” you whined, throwing your arms up in the air. “For all he knows you could both be serial rapists!” 

“We’re two strangers that just saved your life, princess,” Ghost grumbled from the front seat. “And if your dad is punishing you, then I think I’m beginning to see why.”

Your mouth dropped like a lead weight and you stared daggers into the mirror, catching Ghost’s cold eyes in the reflection. He was still wearing the mask.

You were driving on country road that stretched almost  limitlessly into the horizon but for some reason he was still in disguise. Not that you cared to see his face! No, if anything, you hoped you’d be out of their company much sooner rather than later for him to reveal himself. Though, that wasn’t going to happen it seemed, so you resolved to make that everyone’s problem. Share the burden of being abandoned to Mexico. 

“In case you haven’t realised; I’m not exactly accustomed to dead bodies and I’ve just come from the midnight showing of night of the living fucking dead here! I should be getting wheeled into a therapists office right now, not getting bundled up into another strange house, spending the night with Micheal Myers and groundskeeper fucking Willie,” you growled out, penetrating your gaze into Ghosts very soul, hoping he’d feel a shred of pity for you. 

However, you weren’t doing a very good job of that. Instead of knocking sense into the big brute you only made him narrow his eyes at you. And to add even further insult, Soap choked back a laugh. Though, he composed himself quickly after casting a glance at the leuitenant and focused his eyes back on the road. 

“You’ve got a funny way of sayin’ thank you, princess.”

And that was the last thing he said to you before ignoring you completely. No matter how much you moaned and groused and demanded to be taken back home, neither of the men would answer your cries. Typical men! 

They left you to marinade in your own self pity - in a dish that was endlessly deep. Afterall, how could your father not appreciate how stressful your ordeal was? Sure, you both had your differences, but you’d have thought that even he would put his malice for you aside on account of an actual real life kidnapping! 

After a few more miles of barren road you found yourselves coming to a small village, and started to slowly roll toward a modest concrete house on the outskirts.

It was two floors high and painted a sandy cream colour, with a small sheltered space to park the car and protect it from the elements. It seemed as if it might just fit you and Soap through its tiny door, the ceilings didn’t look that high. And it was the thought of Ghost being stuck in its old wooden frame that made you finally crack a small smile for the first time since you’d been taken. 

“Any complaints about the exterior before we step in, sweetheart, or would you like to save your scathing words for when you’re inside?” Soap teased as he opened the car door for you. 

“Very funny,” you huffed, smile disappearing you made sure to knock into the door as you stepped out. “Maybe you can go make fun of some terrorist victims next.”

Soap raised his brows, but didn’t bother to dignify you with a reply. He closed the door behind you instead and walked up to house and unlocked it for you, ushering you inside. Not that there was much to walk into. 

There was some basic furniture, a ratty old couch, a table and chairs, a kitchen that hardly seemed stocked and an old orange cloth rug that looked like it had seen better days. The place smelt like old newspapers for some reason, and all in all, it didn’t inspire much hope in you for the rest of the house. And just as you caught yourself thinking that, you knew you’d already proved Soap right. You had many, many, many complaints. 

“Well, I drove. So I bagsy first shower,” Soap announced, trailing off toward the creaky wooden stairs at the end of the hall. “Try not to cause world war three while I’m gone.”

You balked as you felt Ghost brush past you, successfully getting through the door. Who had Soap directed that last order at? Jeuss. You were the kidnapping victim and somehow you didn’t qualify for washing up first? What was this?

Chivalry was truly dead. Though, it wasn’t like they’d rode up in white horses when they’d come to get you, no they emerged through a cloud of bullets and snatched you out of the house like a drug bust they could trade in for on the sly. 

“And what am I supposed to do now, hm?” You said, turning to the man now shedding his gear like a second skin onto the couch. 

He didn’t give you a response though, instead he just finished off pulling the various packs and armaments off of himself until he was left standing in his uniform and mask. He looked a few pounds lighter, but he was still massive compared to you. The equipment didn’t bulk him out quite as much as you’d suspected. 

“Is there a phone I can use?” You finally asked, exasperated with the silence. 

“No.”

He grunted as he took a seat on the couch and rolled up his sleeves, exposing his thick tattooed forearms. You couldn’t help but feel that that was some kind of threat. Though, your suspicions were eased as he shuffled around and crossed his arms around his head, lying down and closing his eyes. 

“So, what? We’re just waiting to see when my dad magically shows up?” You needled.

“You asked If there was a phone that you could use,” he reminded, glancing over at you with slitted eyes. “Why don’t you go get some rest princess, there’s rooms upstairs that you can whine in in peace.”

What!

You clenched your fists at your sides and growled out in frustration. How was it that you were stuck with one of the most insensitive men in the world right after you got kidnapped? In fact it felt like you were being held hostage all over again.

Well you weren’t going to sit there and take it this time!

Before you could think about how bad an idea it was, you marched straight over to the sofa and started digging through Ghosts things. You crouched and moved aside all the smaller pouches and sharp pointy things trying to find anything that might resemble a phone. Though you didn’t get much of an opportunity to look, you were swiftly dragged up to your feet by the masked man and knocked away from his stash. 

“What the fuck do you think you’re doing?” He barked, not sparing a single decibel from piercing your already abused ears. 

“I need to use a phone! I need to call someone!” You screamed back. “I need to tell people I’m alright. My friends must be worried sick and you’re treating me worse than a prisoner! E-Even prisoners get their phone calls!”

You tried desperately to fight against his hold, and screeched and hit against him like a banshee. However the man was solid, his hands were digging into your skin like a bear trap. And even as you tried to scratch at him, it didn’t deter him any. He just held you against him, making you smell the sweat off of him, the bullets, the smoke, you breathed him in as he pinned your hands flush to your body and screamed out as it became too much.

“In case you’ve forgotten, princess, we’re hiding out in a safe house right now because you’ve just been bloody kidnapped! You can’t call anyone because we need to keep the line clear and wait for word from back home. This isn’t fucking vacation, sweetheart, this is a fucking mission,” Ghost roared. 

You froze at his words. Your body felt like it had been hit by lightning and all of a sudden you could feel the storm in you shifting. All of the adrenaline was draining from you and just like that, you went from fighting like a rabid dog to blubbering like a baby. You broke down in his arms and felt the tears flowing freely back down your cheeks and fell back against him defeated. 

“Oh Jesus,” Ghost muttered to himself. 

Of course you hadn’t forgotten you’d been kidnapped. You were just dealing with it all in the only way you could. it just so happened, that when you fell back on instinct to get you through hard times it would result in you being, well as your dad put it, a massive pain in the ass. You were sure that Ghost would say the same. 

You didn’t even try to compose yourself, you were too upset to think. 

So, as Ghost came to that conclusion too, he decided to take matters into his own hands and picked you up again. Though, instead of putting you over his shoulder this time, he held you tightly against his chest and carried you off into one of the side rooms further into the house. 

The floor protested with every step the big man took and even over your shaky sobs, you could hear the wood below groaning like a zombie. He checked in the first door, and then the second on the wall to the right, coming to a stop when he found what he was looking for. Through blurry eyes you could see that you were in a small bathroom. A messily tiled room that contained an old wooden cabinet, a sink and a toilet. 

Ghost sat you down on the closed toilet seat and pulled some tissue from the roll, pressing it into your limp hands. You looked down at it like it was alien for a second, not sure what to do until you met Ghosts unwavering gaze. You needed to dry your eyes and get control of yourself. 

“Let’s get you cleaned up, princess,” he sighed, turning and reaching into the cabinet. 

You gulped down a fat sob that had been threatening to come and sniffled softly instead. As much as you begrudged him, you knew Ghost’s logic was sound. You needed to get a hold of yourself and stop crying in front of him. He was hardly the sympathetic audience for it.

In fact it almost made you laugh when he turned back again and his skull mask caught the light. The hard plastic only served to remind you that he wasn’t going to sit and rub your back and make you feel better about it all. It was like he said, this was a mission for him, and his only concern was getting you out of Mexico alive. 

“There you go, deep breaths,” he said in a hushed voice, putting his hand on your shoulder for a second. 

The warm contact was comforting for a fleeting moment, his hand was gentle yet firm on you before he took it away. He’d fetched a cloth from the cabinet and stepped over to the sink, running it under the water and stepping back to your side. You’d expected him to hand it to you just like he had done with the toilet paper, but instead he took you by surprise and crouched at your level, stepping down from his massive height. 

He smoothed the cloth over your cheeks and down your tear tracks, softly clearing up your sensitive skin. When he’d brought the cloth away and refolded it, you’d half expected it to be a muddied black from your makeup but there were only traces of grey. You’d cried most of your makeup off already. Then, after a few more goes at letting him clear up your face you almost jumped out of your skin when a piercing ring sounded out from the living room.

“Stay here,” the soldier softly ordered, handing you the stained cloth. 

Ghost ducked out of the room, and you lamely held the cloth in your hand, listening out to what he was doing. He silenced the ring, presumably answering the phone he’d secreted away, and for a second all there was was fuzzy silence and the low ringing that hadn’t left your ears. 

“Mhmm,” Ghost grunted, his rumble cutting clear through your tinnitus. “Yeah we’re clear I reckon. Didn’t pass anyone on the way in…no one awake, no curtains twitching…your daughter is-…mhmm…yeah…ok. Well just so you know, your daughter is…fine by the way.”

The gruff man said the last part quietly, and it was that that clued you into the fact your dad probably hung up before he could catch it. He didn’t care how you were, only cared that you hadn’t been killed by a foreign gang. That probably wouldn’t have done his image any favours, you thought to yourself. What man wasn’t able to protect his family? A high ranking general at that. All that mattered was that you were safe and he didn’t have a PR crisis on his hands. How you were doing was none of his concern.

You gulped thickly when Ghost reentered the room and did your best to put on a brave face. He didn’t say anything. He flicked his eyes over your grave expression and took the cloth back from your hands, wetting it under the tap again and handing it back to you. 

“Those must be killing you,” he murmured, gesturing to your feet. 

You startled when he spoke again, not used to having a conversation with someone who’s lips were hidden behind a skull facade. It was quite unnerving when his rasp broke through the cloth.

Eventually though you nodded, looking down at your feet and finally acknowledging all the blisters that had formed where the straps had dug into you. The shoes had been new, you’d been excited to wear them when you put them on earlier. Now, they were just another regret among many. 

“Let’s get them off, hm?”

You nodded again, caught by surprise by the tender way that he was dealing with you out of nowhere. Perhaps out of pity after speaking to the General. You had no way of knowing if he was sympathetic to that type of thing. He was a soldier afterall. They dealt with much worse than emotional neglect and were often oblivious to the cold way your dad treated you. At least in your previous experience of them...

Ghost got to his knees and softly took one of your feet in his hands, turning it slowly this way and that a couple times, until he caught sight of the tiny buckle. He dealt with it like he was diffusing a bomb. 

He carefully took the end of the strap in one hand and lifted the buckle with the other, gently letting the catch come loose. Then he slid the shoe from your foot and repeated the process with your other. You had to do a double take. Was this really the same man that had all but snapped at you like a vicious dog earlier? 

“Thanks,” you whispered, still uselessly holding the cloth in your hands. “Did the General say when we could leave?”

Ghost frowned as you addressed your dad by his title, but quickly fixed his eyes into that familiar cold stare. He thought to himself for a moment before he answered you. He was probably scared you’d kick off again, you realised. 

“He said he wouldn’t get here till evenin’ at least. Said he’d be bringing a chopper though.”

“Ok.”

You didn’t have anything else to say. You’d run out of words, and steam and any kind of fight and all the things that had kept you going before. 

You were going to be stuck with the two strangers until almost the next day. There was nothing you could do about it, no one you could complain to, no one that cared. You might as well just accept it. 

- 👑-

You’d ended up taking Ghost’s advice afterall. You’d finished cleaning up in the bathroom yourself and painfully trudged upstairs with your swollen feet, searching out the first bedroom you could find along the gloom of the lonely hallway. The lightbulb flickered and danced as you’d made your selection, chasing you into the room as it mimicked the gunfire you’d seen flashes of not hours ago. 

It didn’t take long for you to fall asleep, not like you thought it would. 

You’d been convinced you’d be left sitting like a character in a movie. Painfully watching the walls in the cold silence and mourning the life you could have had if only you came from a loving home. However, as much as you loved dramatics, you weren’t fit to live up to the hurting girl stereotype.

You realised that when you woke up again and the sun was shining through your room like a big bright fuck you. You thought you were getting a moment's peace? Think again. You were going to be awake for the rest of your internment at the safehouse. 

You sighed and scanned the room with your eyes, taking note of the peeling paint and sparse bits of furniture, confirming what you already knew. This room was just as shitty as all the rest. It wasn’t like there was any reason to maintain safehouses beyond being structurally sound and stocked with essentials, but it would’ve been nice to provide some comfort. At the very least they could’ve made it smell better, less musty, less like a place people came to rot.

“You’re awake.”

You yelped when you heard the voice break through the calm and looked over to the door, spotting the looming spectre that stood in your entryway. Ghost. Had he been watching over you the whole time you slept? You didn’t know whether to feel creeped out or grateful for the fact he was so concerned about your safety. 

“I am,” you finally said.

“Good. I thought I’d bring you something to eat.”

Perhaps he hadn’t been watching over you after all. Maybe it had been Ghost’s footsteps that had woken you up. It wasn’t a stretch of the imagination, he sounded worse than a herd of cows when he creaked across the floors.

You sat up when he walked into the room and caught a glance at the bowl in his hands. Something to eat was a good description of what he’d brought you. It looked like he’d heated some spaghettios. Not exactly the most appetising thing that you could think of, but given you hadn’t eaten since the morning before, you realised that beggars couldn’t be choosers.

Not that you were often, if ever, a beggar. It was easier for your family to give you unlimited access to money and shut you up than it was for them to spend any time in your presence arguing that you should work for it. 

“Thanks,” you murmured, taking the bowl off of Ghost after staring at it for a few seconds. 

There was a spoon already shoved into the bowl, and when you picked it up, you found yourself wincing at the burning metal. Ouch. Ghost couldn’t have warned you they were hot? You glared up at him, but he was already retreating back out of the room, seemingly content that you had everything you needed.

But you didn’t feel like you had everything you needed at all.

You felt pathetic admitting it, but you didn’t want to be alone. Your ears were still ringing even hours after the firefight had ended and there was nothing to do in that bland room all alone. And now to top it all off it felt much too hot and sweaty. You felt like you might go mad. You softened your features again and called out to Ghost, praying against all odds that he’d indulge you. 

“C-can you stay?”

Ghost paused and turned his head, his skeletal mask caught the golden glow of the sun. It didn't look right. He looked out of place in the sunlight. Though, you knew better than to voice that thought, he wasn’t going to stay if you insulted him again. 

“If you really want me to,” he finally replied, tilting his head at you.

You nodded and watched as he looked around and found no alternative but to sit on the end of the double bed, and sighed as he plonked himself down. The bed rippled with his weight, and you almost let the bowl spill out of your hands, but thankfully caught it before it could drop.

That wouldn’t have been good, you thought. You’d already set yourself on eating it all when it had cooled. You couldn’t go without food any longer or your stomach would be gurgling like an alien. How embarassing.

“Did you manage to get some rest too?” you asked awkwardly, testing the spoon in your hands again.

“Some,” he answered, casting his eyes over you. “Soap traded places pretty quick.”

“What an asshole,” you snorted, lifting a spoonful of pasta to your lips and blowing on it.

“That arshole saved your life, princess,” Ghost reminded you, voice regaining its husky edge. “Show some respect.”

“I didn’t-I mean…I just figured you could’ve probably used the rest, I was just joking…Sorry,” you muttered, resigning yourself to eating instead of talking.

Ghost watched intently as you ate every last spoonful, but you ignored him, finding yourself greedily taking on more and more as you recognised your own hunger. You forgot about Ghost’s scolding for the moment as you felt your hunger pangs rattling from deep within you. Though, you felt a little better after finishing the bowl. You were going to eat so much when you got back home, you thought to yourself. 

You set the bowl down on the floor and looked back at your rescuer, staring awkwardly at him for a few moments. The silence was making your skin crawl. Why wasn’t he saying anything? 

“Do you ever take off that mask?” you blurted, feeling your cheeks heat up as you said it.

Ghosts eyes took on a glint as you’d said it and if you weren’t mistaken it felt like he was…smiling? You bit your lip and looked away from him, focusing instead on a particularly chipped patch of paint on the wall to his left side.

“Why? Do you want me to take it off?” he asked, amusement lacing his tone.

“I just- I don’t get why you still have it on. The bad guys don’t know we’re here, right?”

“Maybe I’m just shy,” he teased, leaning back on the bed, his forearms rippling as they supported his weight. 

You snorted at his answer, folding your arms across yourself. Suddenly you were all too aware of the fact that he was staring at you bare faced, messy haired and still in yesterday’s tiny dress. There was no way that he was shy, and it seemed unlikely that he was ugly under there. He walked and talked like a confident man, like a man that had never questioned himself. How exciting.

“Has Soap ever seen your face?” you asked, picking at the loose threads on the blanket you laid under. 

“Why the sudden fascination?” he grumbled. “I thought I was a big scary serial rapist or somethin’?”

You winced as he threw your words from earlier back to you, it felt like you’d been burned with acid. You realised how stupid you sounded now. He’d held onto that. 

“I didn’t say that you were one, I said that you could be one,” you corrected, sighing at your own stupidity. “I didn’t know who you both were, in fact I still don’t. I guess- I guess I just got freaked out, is all. Do other people not react a little crazy when you go on rescue missions?”

“Other people tend to be more gracious, at the very least,” he snorted.

You winced again.

You really were a princess sometimes. As much as the nickname had been annoying you all night, the soldier wasn’t wrong to call you it. They’d been good enough to put themselves in harms way and carry you through a sea of threats only for you to turn around and return fire, calling them names. 

You put your head in your hands and groaned. You always slung your arrows at the wrong people. Always got prickly with people that tried to help. And they’d helped you more than anyone ever had.

“Thank you for saving me. I know it's a little late, but all the same…thanks for getting me out of there alive,” you murmured, catching a glance at his widened eyes. “And for- um, dealing with me earlier. That was nice of you cleaning me up like that.”

Ghost took a second to recover from you actually thanking him, his eyes staying open and shocked before returning to their usual shadowy state. They looked almost black even even in the sunlight. Though, you supposed it didn’t help they were hidden behind cloth and plastic. 

“You’re welcome, darlin’” he rumbled.

Your heart skipped a beat.

“Darling?” you grinned, preening at the warmth in his tone. “Am I growing on you?”

“Like black mould,” he groused, “Can’t get rid of your questions, can I?”

“You did not just compare me to mould,” you growled, forgetting yourself - and who you were facing up against - and shooting toward him with a pillow in hand.

Ghost, cast his eyes from you to the pillow and turned, catching you before you could do anything stupid with it and held you against the wide expanse of his chest again. You were held solidly against him, packed in tight and before you could do anything else, you were disarmed and your pillow was plucked right out of your hands and thrown back to the head of the bed.

“What’d you think you were gonna do with that then, ay?” he growled, his mouth dangerously close to grazing your ear. 

His breath was warm on your neck and it raised a trail of goosebumps across your flesh. You shivered in his arms, feeling his words send a shock through your body, and felt yourself go limp in his bulging arms. Why was he suddenly so much more enticing when he had you pinned down like this?

“Ay?” he asked again, releasing a low chuckle. “You think you can attack me, princess? Think you can do a bit of damage with those little arms?”

“I think I could do a lot of damage if you let me,” you breathed, scraping your lip under your teeth. 

The lieutenant paused and held you very still for a moment, his arms stiffening over your body like he’d moulded to you. Oh no. Had he not liked that, you wondered. Had you just embarrassed yourself again?

“Are you flirting with me?” he asked, voice not losing his amusement.

Oh good. So he wasn’t disgusted with you.

“Maybe…depends on if you liked it or not.”

“And if I liked it?”

“Then, yes, I was.”

You both sat in silence for a second, you stayed trapped in his arms, holding stock still while he mulled over what you’d said. What now? You didn’t have to wonder very long, he released you and turned your body so that you faced him again, balancing precariously on your hands and knees, capturing your face in his hands so that you were forced to look at him. 

“You should be careful who you flirt with, princess. It’s like you said earlier, I’m a stranger in a mask, you have no idea who I am…No idea what I’m capable of,” he trailed, letting your own mind take over the implication he was getting at.

Not that you got the point that he was trying to make. If anything the whole thing was suddenly hotter to you. A rough fuck with the giant soldier that just rescued you from a gang of kidnappers and could pin you down like you were nothing? Hadn’t he sensed your issues from a mile off? Maybe he had, maybe that was why he said what he said. 

“Maybe I wanna find out,” you whispered.

You shot forward and kissed where you supposed his lips must be and, luckily, guessed correctly. You could feel him tense up in surprise before yanking you off of him and pinning you under him, holding your body down against the bed with his sculpted body, his legs caging yours in and his hands holding your wrists like manacles. 

“Give me one reason you want to, other than spiting your father,” he purred, eyes glowing with amusement and curiosity.

So he did know your game.

“You have a sexy voice,” you tried, fluttering your lashes in a way that you hoped would work on him. 

“Fuckin’ americans,” he grunted, laughing lowly to himself. “I want somethin’ better than that.”

“Didn’t think you’d be the type to go fishing for compliments,” you snarked.

With that little comment , you were rolled over quicker than you could comprehend and before you could turn to see what he was doing he slapped you on the ass. It was solid, no nonsense. Enough to sting even though he’d done it through the fabric of your little dress. He wouldn't have to do much to expose you and make it hurt more. He’d just have to flip up the fabric. 

“Answer my question,” he growled, still holding one of your hands captive.

“Because I want you to teach me a lesson…because you’re the first person in a long time that’s had me minding my manners,” you sighed, using your free hand to give your body leverage enough to rut against the soldier's bulging crotch.

“Fuck me,” Ghost grunted, voice losing its sharpness as you rutted against him. 

“That worked?” you grinned, half shocked that it clearly convinced him. 

“You could have any cunt from England, princess, and plenty of em’ would sound like me. You think that they could make you beg like I can?” he questioned.

You were tempted to give him a sassy reply, but already knowing you too well, he hit you with a couple more spanks, this time on your bare ass and finally slipped your skirt up so that he could admire the flesh he was abusing. You gasped as he ran his hands over your cheeks and whimpered when he ran a finger over your slit. You practically feel his eyes glowing like laser sights as he connected with your glistening flesh and paused so that he could dip his finger into you and confirm his suspicions.

“Please,” you whined, praying that he’d start moving it, praying for friction.

“Looks like I’ve got my answer,” he chuckled, removing his soaked finger and slapping your ass noncommittally. “Please what, hm?”

“Please,” you cried out, feeling awfully empty as he’d withdrawn. “Please, I want your fingers. Want you to finger me please.”

“Aw, so cute when you’re all needy, princess. Alright. If you ask me nicely, I’ll give you what you want.”

“I did ask nicely!” you whimpered, feeling your body burning with desire for him.

It felt like he was all you could think of now. The kidnappers and the whole resentment thing you had going for your family was a distant memory and all that remained was Ghost. All that remained was burning lust and a need to have him inside of you, possessing you wholly and taking you for his own.

“You’re such a little brat, princess. I just told you that you could have what you wanted and you just had to go spoil it for yourself,” Ghost said, his voice forging into a chilling point. “Looks like you need to be taught better manners.”

You groaned at his words, but you didn’t get much of a chance to work out what they meant. Instead, his hand rained down hard on your already stinging flesh and he spanked you like it was his next mission. You cried out as the smacks began to burn more and more and wriggled in his grasp, fruitlessly struggling against him and fighting his expert hands to no avail. 

“I’m sorry, I’m sorry, I’m sorry!” you chanted, giving him what you thought he wanted.

“Sorry, what?” he asked, accentuating each word with a slap. 

They were softer than the ones he’d been giving before at least. Like caresses against your screaming skin, fiery with his rough treatment.

“Sorry…for not asking nicely,” you said quietly, hoping to god he’d just give you what you wanted.

“Sorry, sir,” he grunted, running his hands over your hot skin.

“Sorry, sir,” you repeated quickly, sighing as his gentle touch soothed your prickling burns.

“That’s better.”

You hummed as his nails scratched down your cheeks and settled into the bed, feeling like the stiff blankets were transformed into egyptian cotton as your head grew fuzzy. His hands really were quite skilled, especially since he was so easily able to have you howling one second and then had you curling up like a cat the next.

“You wanna do this for the rest of the day or you wanna try asking for what you wanted again?” Ghost asked, his voice softening as he watched you relax.

“Mmm, would rather have your fingers inside me please, sir,” you moaned, smiling contentedly to yourself.

“That’s better…good girl.”

Your masked soldier grabbed your hips in his hands, making you feel tiny as he yanked you up like you were nothing. Yanked you into a half kneeling position as you kept your head pasted onto the bed, not having the strength to bring it up. Then finally, just as you were about to start begging again, spat on his hand and pierced his finger back inside you. 

You groaned at the intrusion and whined as he slowly pumped it in and out, getting you all worked up and turning you into a moaning mess. You were burning for more, your belly tightening as he worked his digit in and out and circled your clit with his other hand like it was an art. You whined and writhed and clutched at the sheets, crying out as he added another finger and increased his pace. You could feel the rumble that caught in his throat reverberate through your chest. ‘

“So pretty. Your cunt’s so wet and you’re clenching on me so hard. What would happen if I shoved my cock in there? Would you cum right away, princess?” he purred.

You whined out at that and felt your need light up anew, could feel it vibrate around your skull and through your gums. Yes. Stick your cock in me. That’s all you wanted, you wanted the big man on top of you, pinning you down and boxing you in like an animal, fucking into you like you were his own personal fleshlight. Fuck. 

“Ohmygod, please fuck me, Ghost!” you cried out, “Please, oh my god please, sir! Please fuck me.”

Ghost chuckled and slowed his pace, bringing his fingers to a near stop. It was like hell, the tingles dampening throughout your body, your high being torn from you. You growled out and tried to claw your way up, tried to face him and see the stupid glint that would no doubt be in his eyes, but before you could he shoved you back down and tapped your ass again.

“We don’t have condoms here, princess. It’s not exactly standard protocol,” he teased. “Doesn’t seem like such a good idea.”

“I don’t care! I’m on birth control and I get checked out by the doctor every month,” you whined, fighting against any argument he could make against giving you his cock. 

“Well…I suppose that changes things,” he grunted.

Thank fucking god! You were sure you were going to d-

“Fuck!”

Your strangled cry pierced the room as he replaced his fingers and thrusted into you, shattering you inch by inch with his massive cock. It seemed endless, it was torturous in all the right ways, the burn that licked through your body like a forest fire. He was huge, not that you doubted that of course.

“That what you wanted, hm? That feel good, princess?” Ghost said, coming to a stop as he filled you completely. “Tell me, how does that feel? I wanna know if anyone else has been able to make you as fuckin’ speechless as this.”

You whined out, scratching at the bed underneath you like a trapped animal and breathed in thickly, wondering if your lungs would ever recover from the events of the last few hours. Wondering how to answer Ghost. How did it feel? Did anyone else compare to him? What stupid fucking questions. 

Nothing compared.

“It feels so fucking good, feels like you’re gonna split me in half,” you gasped, rocking yourself against him. “Need you to move, need to feel you ruin me!”

“Oh yeah? You need me to move? What a slutty girl telling me such filthy things,” he growled, reaching around and grabbing your neck, not quite enough to choke but enough to let you know he was in control. “Tell me, slutty girl, who’s in charge?”

“You, sir!”

“Who gets to wreck this pussy?” he asked, slowly begining to fuck you, rocking himself slowly in and out of you at an agonising pace. 

“You, sir!”

“Are you my little whore?” He asked again, building up speed a little, catching you in all the right places and turning your head to mush.

“Yes sir,” you cried out, feeling yourself coming closer and closer to the edge.

“Good fuckin’ girl, princess.”

You screamed as he upped his pace out of no where and fucked you like it was his job. Your eyes lost focus and your teeth gnashed together and suddenly it was a fight to stay upright as he pounded in and out of you and held your neck tightly in his firm grasp. It wasn’t like anyone you’d been with before, this was a new level of fucking you’d never experienced.

“Fuck!” you cried out again. “Gonna- gonna cum.”

“Yeah? Good, cum for me. Clench on my cock, little slut.”

You moaned out and gripped the sheets underneath you tighter, feeling your whole body shaking as his cock forced you off balnce. Just a few more thrusts and-

It felt like bliss, it felt like a high from a drug you’d just taken for the first time. You came with a muffled scream as Ghost clamped his hand over your mouth and gasped wordlessly as he continued to fuck you. In and out, in and out, it was about all your mind could process as your body zipped and sparked like it had been hit by a thunderstorm.

He kept going like that, absolutely relentless, skewering you and turning you to mush below him, making you feel like dirt at his knees. You were nothing, you weren't any kind of princess, you were just his toy. And you fucking loved it. You loved that he could make you feel like that, but still make you feel so fucking precious as he continued to caress your skin and growl affirmations every now and then.

So fucking pretty.

Mine, princess, you’re mine. 

Feel so fucking good, you’re so fucking good.

You cried out as he put his hand around your throat again and put on some pressure, making you struggle a little to pull in air, but not by much. It felt exquisite. The tremors of your last orgasm were still bolting through you and now another one was building. You felt so good, felt so impossibly warm as you struggled beneath him. Fuck, you never wanted this to end. But you knew you could hardly take much more.

“You gonna cum for me again? Gonna give me another one before I finish? C’mon, I know you have another one in you, princess.”

You whined and felt your thighs shaking like they were going to collapse and suddenly his fingers closed tighter round the sides of your throat. You gasped loudly a couple times, trying to pant out that you were close, but the sound couldn’t quite form in your mouth. Then, in no time at all it was hitting you again, that high, that euphoria. Another orgasm. 

“Fuck!” Ghost growled out. 

You clenching around him had sent him over the edge and all too soon, you were both collapsing into the sheets like falling scaffolding. You clattered down against him and he pulled you close. He bucked his hips a couple times as he finished inside you, grunting a little with the increased sensitivity he felt as you shifted against him. It was divine.

You were both wrecked.

Neither of you said a word as you laid there, both keeping your eyes closed and your mouths open as you panted into the arid empty air. There was nothing to say. You just had to soak in the moment and retreat into each other's bodies, accepting the burning, unbearable heat you were both giving off and enveloping each other in it.

Fuck.

“Is that a better way of saying thank you, sir?” you finally moaned, grinning to yourself as you proved yourself right.

That was one way to teach you some respect alright.

[purplecoffee13]

The Fake Girlfriend - pt. 1

Summary: “Y/N hates Harry, but fake dating him for a while seems to benefit them both, and she wouldn’t pass an opportunity to torture him, of course. But the lines drawn are blurry, and the tension is high…”

Wc: 3.4k

Tropes: semi-enemies to lovers (she doesn’t like him)

Warnings: jealousy, (slight and mentions of) violence, sexual tension

"Okay, just let me see if I got this right. You want me to be your girlfriend during the wedding of your cousin to get your parents off your back about another girl?"

"Fake girlfriend." Harry corrects me. "But yeah, that's basically the gist of it."

I stare blankly at him before letting out a scoff. This must be one of the most ridiculous things I've ever heard, and I've had a guy call me 'daddy' before.

"Why don't you just reject the poor girl? I'm sure that message will get to your parents."

"Do you seriously think I haven't tried that?" He sighs, pinching the bridge of his nose.

"I was just saying.." I raise my brows. I don't get why he's acting so frustrated, he's the one asking me for help. Which reminds me...

"Also, why me? You don't even like me."

When Harry and I first met, he was dating my old best friend, Marie. One night, he tried to kiss me while we were all out on the town, and I flipped out at him for betraying my best friend like that, and thinking I would ever go along with it.

The next day I told Marie about it, but she accused me of seducing him and we stopped being friends. Ever since then, I've hated Harry Styles. I hate him for creating that mess, for thinking I'd do something like that to my friend and I blame him for losing my best friend.

We never really spoke much to each other after that whole situation —besides the occasional forced conversation or collaboration during a project — so naturally I was surprised when I heard someone knock on my door and it turned out to be him.

"Because I don't want to go through the hazard of leading someone on, and all my other girl friends are taken and Leila's gay." He explains with a shrug.

"You won't lead someone on who's gay." I reason.

"My parents know Leila, so that wouldn't work." He counters, leaning forward and resting his elbows on his knees. "So, do you want to do this or do have any other burning questions?"

As a matter of a fact I do, ass.

"What makes you think I would help you?"

Harry clears his throat, shifting on my bed until he's seated with his body towards me. I get a bit nervous with how serious his face expression is.

"I've heard the stories about Malcolm, how he's trying to get you back." My face falters once the sentences leave his mouth. I didn't know it was that obvious. I know that Harry senses my uneasiness, but he goes on anyway. "After what he did, I understand that you don't feel the same as him, and this way we can get him off your back."

I frown, because he's right. It would benefit me too, and I hadn't even realized it until he pointed it out.

I caught Malcolm cheating on our six month anniversary, which was about about two months ago. I immediately broke up with him, and blocked him on everything. Unfortunately, Malcolm had somehow divulged himself into the delusion that he could convince me to get back together and he has been annoying me ever since. And while fake dating Harry seemed like absolute hell, it would be the perfect opportunity to send Malcolm the message that I’d moved on.

Malcolm disliked Harry too. I’ve never known why and I don’t think I ever will, but I didn’t question it at the time because I didn’t think very highly of Harry anyway, and assumed he’d pissed Malcolm off during a project or something.

I let some dramatic silence flow over us that consists of me frowning very deeply as if I'm working everything out in my brain, but I quickly open my mouth to avoid drawing it out too long. I have to say that it sounds like it could be fun, and an opportunity to embarrass Harry in many ways, in front of his parents.

Now that's tempting.

"Fine, I'll do it." I give in, secretly getting more excited as I make up ways to torture him in my head. "Anything I need to be aware of?"

"Wedding's in Italy, so you'll have to fake a stomach flu." He casually remarks, as if it isn't something he should have clearly mentioned before asking this loaded favor.

"What?! I was going to spend spring break at my moms!" — not that I was looking forward to that — "And how in the world am I going to pay a ticket to Italy? You know what, maybe this isn't such a good idea—"

"The ticket has already been paid, you don't have to worry about that. But if you'd prefer to be with your mom instead of a hotel in Italy, that's your call."

Harry's face stays neutral, but I can see in his eyes that he's hoping for me to say yes. I'd be lying if I said I was excited to spend a week at with my mom and her new husband; Italy sounded way more appealing. So, that—along with the whole Malcolm situation—was the only reason I said

"Okay, I'll go."

*****

"Oh my goodness, how romantic! When do I get to meet him?" My mom chirps over the phone. Her voice has raised two octaves since I told her that I'd started dating someone in secret about a month ago, and that it was getting pretty serious and he was now taking me to Italy for his cousin's wedding.

It was a bit weird to lie to my mom, but most of what I was telling was actually the truth, so that made the lie a bit easier to keep up.

"Oh I'm sure you'll meet him soon. Sorry I won't make it during spring break, though." I feel the need to apologize anyway, we hadn't seen each other in quite some time and she'd really forced me to take time off from my life here and work on our relationship.

"Yes, well it would have been good to see you, but you're young and these are the adventures you need to go on!" She encourages me as kindly as she can, and I fake a smile, even though she isn't there to see it.”

"Thanks for understanding mom."

"Of course sweetheart. As long as you take lots of pictures, we're good." She jokes. After that, we just say our goodbyes and I hang up.

I'd been running around so much to try and find outfits for Italy that I'd forgotten Harry and I were launching our fake relationship at a party tonight. We didn't really set that many boundaries yet, but I was quite okay with anything. It had to be believable, and my hatred didn't make me blind. Harry was hot and I knew it, everyone knew it.

He was at my door at nine on the dot, which I hadn't expected. We drove to the party because Harry wasn't in the mood to drink, giving me a free pass to get wasted. However, I made a promise to myself not to get too drunk tonight and accidentally slip out the truth.

By the time we arrive it's around nine thirty and the house is already filled with people. Since I broke up with Malcolm, I haven't really been to a frat party anymore, I've grown to dislike them actually. However, this is the perfect place to be seen, and our friends were going to be here so our 'relationship' would be picked up on soon.

Harry and I agreed on the friends with benefits to lovers story, and that's what I start telling my friends while they look at me as if I have grown a second head.

"But you hate the guy, you just complained about him last week." Zoey, one of my friends, remarks, making my stomach drop.

Fuck, I did talk shit about him last Wednesday.

"Uhm– yeah, that was just to keep up appearances." I quickly manage to make up. They all hum in understanding, which is quite surprising to me. From the looks of it, I know that they're not fully convinced, but I hope they'll just see it as my crazy rebound phase and leave me alone.

"Well, as long as he makes our little Y/N happy, right?" Natalia throws her arm around me, raising her brows at the rest of the girls, and they all agree with her.

"Okay... but if he hurts you I will cut off his testicles, fry them until they're crispy and force them down his throat." Zoey grunts, squinting her eyes at Harry who is standing a few feet behind us. He has his back turned to us because he is talking to his friends, but it's funny nonetheless.

I notice that Zoey's glare quickly disappears and blood starts to rush to her cheeks. Just when I'm about to ask what has gotten into her, I feel someone throwing their arms around me from behind.

By the tattoos on his arm I'm immediately able to tell that it's Harry, and my heart starts racing at the realization that this little act needs to be kept up for a month or two, and it needs to be realistic.

"Hi sugar." Harry greets me sweetly before kissing me on my head. I fight hard to keep myself from vomiting at that hideous nickname, and play along.

"Hey hot stuff." I turn around, and I catch the twitch in his eyelids as the equally, if not more disgusting name leaves my mouth.

"You want to go get a drink?" He asks after letting out a small sigh. I nod, and he intertwines his hand with mine before leading us to the kitchen.

I can see the people staring at us with wide eyes, and I don't blame them. It is a rather weird look, me and Harry. However, I ignore it and focus on the main goal, I can't back out anymore so I might as well make it as fun as possible.

When we get to the kitchen, Harry immediately nominates himself as my bartender.

"What d'ya wanna drink, babe?" He asks, observing the countless bottles on the counter.

"Something strong please." I lean my elbows on the counter, watching in silence as I see him scanning the table before grabbing a rum bottle. He fills almost half of the cup with rum and the rest with coke.

He pushes it into my hands when he's done, a bit of the drink spilling on my fingers as I take the cup from him.

"Hey! Be gentle, boyfriend." I grumble, sucking on each of my fingers to clean the rum and coke off them. Harry's gaze lingers on my mouth and fingers a little bit too long, but he is fast to regain himself. Scoffing, he leans forward until he's inches away from my face.

"I don't do gentle, girlfriend." He mocks me before backing away from me again. "Taste it."

I give him a firm glare, but take a sip of my drink anyway. My eyebrows instantly knit together at the strong taste of the drink.

"You know I asked for a drink, not a horse tranquilizer."

"You said you wanted something strong. 'S not my fault you can't handle a bit of liquor." He says as he pours himself some soda. I roll my eyes at his little jab and continue drinking the strong drink anyway.

There is a bit of silence between us, and when I feel it get awkward, I decide to speak up.

"D'you want to go back to our friends?" I propose, tilting my head a bit as I wait for an answer. Harry's eyes avert from whatever's in front of him and throws me a small smile before nodding his head. I'm about to start walking when Harry suddenly  grabs my waist, turns me around and pulls me into him. My drink nearly spills again.

"Just don't call me 'hot stuff' in front of my friends, it's an awful nickname." He pleads with a small smirk, occasionally breaking eye contact to observe the party.

"Says the one who called me sugar." The corners of my mouth start to lift too, liking this playful part of him. Because I spend most my time that I've known him hating him, I never really got to experience this side.

"At least mine is accurate." He reasons, grabbing my hips and guiding me until I have my back against the kitchen island. My heart beat picks up a bit; I'm not used to him being this close to me and I didn't expect him to be either. I remind myself that it's an act, even though we're not in front of our friends so technically there's no reason for him to get this close to me. But, I allow him, mainly because he smells so good.

"And why is that?" I ask, my eyes landing on the cross necklace dangling as he leans into me a bit. When I meet his eyes again, Harry has a smug look covering his face.

"Because I bet you taste real sweet."

His hoarse voice manages to awaken a tense feeling in my stomach. He closes the distance between us until our noses are touching, and a hitched breath leaves my mouth. He smells very intoxicating and I feel very floaty even though I've only had a couple of sips from my drink.

"You wouldn't mind if I see for myself, would you?" He pushes some strands of hair behind me ear before cupping my jaw with his right hand. I ignore the way my body is reacting. I haven't slept with anyone since Malcolm so this is the first time I've been so close to someone in a few months.

"Knock yourself out, hot stuff." I tease him. My laugh quickly fades away though, when he actually leans forward and kisses me. I didn't think he'd actually do it, I just thought he was purposefully riling me up.

I can't help myself to do anything other than go along as he deepened the kiss with the subtle entrance of his tongue into my mouth, entangling us even more than we already were.

A part of me was surprised to find out how good it felt, but something inside of me already knew. There was just something about Harry that always made me wonder. I mostly think it was because he managed to hit a nerve that nobody else could with his annoying antics and inappropriate actions, and I guess I always wondered if he would be the only one to be able to soothe it too.

This kiss makes me lean towards the idea that he indeed would be the only one to know exactly how to relieve me, just like he knows how to irritate me.

I have to say I'm a bit disappointed by how quickly he pulls away, but the smirk on his face gives me just about the same feeling as that kiss did.

"Let's go back, hmm?" He suggests, peaking his head to the side before planting a kiss on my forehead and putting his arm around me. I nod with a faint smile, my lips still tingling from that kiss and let his tight grip pull me further into him.

My smile immediately fades, though, when I see Malcolm staring daggers at Harry and me from across the room. My heart drops. I had no idea he was going to be at the party. The reason I actually agreed is because when my friends asked me to come initially, they assured me he wouldn't be there. I figured that his friends, who were here, would see us and that he’d find out that way.

There is no choice but to walk past him, and my hope for ignoring him crumbles when Harry decides this is the time to chat with him.

"Oh hey buddy, didn't see you there." He fakes some civility, and the puzzle pieces click together. Of course he wasn't kissing me because he wanted to; He saw Malcolm and wanted to piss him off to satisfy his own personal vendetta against him. I know it's what I agreed to, but it feels kind of weird anyway.

I don't want to be in the middle of whatever feud those boys have, and I definitely don't want to be confronted with Malcolm right now, so I wiggle my way out of Harry's arm and try to walk past the two. But when I do so, Malcolm grabs me by my arm and stops me in my tracks.

"Seriously? Him? Is this to get back at me?" He asks, the seriousness in his tone matching the crease between his eyebrows.

"Don't worry Mal, I'm sure there's a girl out there who'd like to settle for your small dick." Harry remarks, clearly pleased with himself.

"I don't have to explain myself to you." I growl at my ex, clenching my jaw. My second attempt to walk away fails when he tightens his grip even more as he pulls me back, which causes me to stumble backwards.

Before I get the chance to yell at him to let me go, as the painful feeling in my arm had turned into a lingering sting, his hand has disappears. When I look up from checking the fresh scratches on my arm, I see Malcolm pushed against the wall with Harry's hand around his neck.

Louis and Zayn, two of Harry's friends, are suddenly standing behind him ready to fight if necessary. I'm so stressed about how quickly this situation escalated that I don't give myself time to wonder how those two popped up out of fucking nowhere.

"Touch her again and I swear to God you'll never see the light of day." Harry threatens, and I actually find myself being kind of scared by his voice and his demeanor. He backs up, turning around with a frown that fades when he spots my widened eyes.

He pushes Zayn and Louis out of the way, his eyes and hands immediately focusing on my arm that still has a red handprint on it, along with a few scratches from Malcolm's nails.

"Are you okay? Does it hurt?" He tilts his head to see all the way around my arm, his fingers softly hovering over my elbow.

"'M fine." I huff, puzzled by how many sides of Harry I've seen today. "I'm gonna go home."

"I'll take you." He immediately offers, following me as I walk towards the door.

"I'll get a cab." I quickly make up, not wanting to be around him anymore. I walk out the front door at a fast pace, hoping he won't be able to keep up.

"Y/N! Stop!" Harry yells out, running until he's in front of me. "You're not going to take a cab, I'm going to take you home. C'mon, my car's across the street."

"What the hell do you care? You're not my actual boyfriend!" I say the last part a bit more hushed.

"I care because I'm a decent human being." He argues, setting me off more. I thrown my arms over each other.

"No you're not! A decent human being wouldn't use someone for the sake of their own personal vendetta!" I yell at him. Harry stifles out a laugh, shaking his head in disbelief.

"Isn't that exactly what you're doing?!"

"I'm doing this because this is the only way Malcolm will leave me alone. You kissed me because you wanted to set him off, to make him mad. What if he decides to get back at me when I'm alone one day?"

"He won't. He's too much of a pussy for that." Harry growls, but I can see that he's starting to see the logic in my argument.

"That's not the point, Harry!" I groan, throwing my head back and taking a deep breath. "Look, if we're gonna do this, we've got to set the record straight. I don't mind you kissing me, but it'll only be in public places to keep up the act, not for personal, selfish reasons. Understood?"

After some silence, Harry finally answers me.

"Yeah, okay. 'M sorry." His keys dangle between his fingers that he plays with as a nervous habit. "Can I take you home?"

I nod, throwing my arms over each other to warm myself up from the breeze that just passed over, and we start walking to his car.

Part 2 here

[guumiester]

Hermit a Day May Numbers 7, 8, and 9! Okay I want to make it so clear that these are not AT ALL done 😭

But come on I was already missing two days I had to get SOMETHING posted! I’ll probably post them completely finished tomorrow, but for now take this.

Also just wanted to say, this is the first time I’ve ever drawn xB…why have I never drawn him before? It’s so much fun like what the heck

[cupcakeslushie]

LITA MAY LITA MAY LITA MAY

Ok ok so I have like a bunch of questions feel free to ignore BUT

I) she has a tail. Is that a Kraang feature or do all the turtles in your universe have tails and hers is just extended?

II) Uh pink? Pink like Kraang? Did she choose her life colors, or???

III) Is. Is she. Is she autistic too

IV) Draxum-Hamato sooooo what does she call them? Did they argue about nicknames? Also was it Donnie’s choice to include Draxum’s name as well

V) Lita in the comics???

VI) Is there a reason her shell isn’t smooth like Donnie’s?

VII) What does she call Renet?

VIII) Ninpo question mark?

IX) Pupils! I love the way you draw her pupils. Is there a reason or is it just fun

X) Does she have a certain resistance to Kraang mind digging? Like that thing they did to interrogate Raph in the movie? To read his memories?

XI) So the cloak/scarf thing is Leo, the purple accents and stripes are Donnie, and the kneepads are Mikey. Any Raph references in her clothes?

Apologies if you’ve answered these before and I just didn’t see them! Have a good day and give Lita one too for goodness sakes girl’s had it rough already

1. It’s more of a Krang feature. I do love when the turtles are drawn with tails, but I didn’t do it from the beginning, and so for consistency sake in the EW universe I’ve held off. Maybe one day I’ll just say “fuck it” and give into the urge to give them all cute little tails. But even if I did, Lita’s would be much longer than any of the family’s (except Raph’s hypothetical tail lol).

2. Lita being albino and pink in the IDW comics pretty much made that Krang connection for me lol. I didn’t have to reach too hard with her design. She leans into it.

3. I have her personality very close to Leo’s canon personality, so she’s more on the ADHD side. She does have some sensory issues with sound, which a lot of ppl with adhd have (👋🏻). But being raised around the quiet and solemn Time Masters Sanctum it’s like really noticeable. When she visits the family, it can be very overwhelming, but rather than shutting down, she gets insanely riled up and can’t contain herself. It works though—everyone is more than happy to let her ramble on.

4. She never met either of them but Splinter of course would’ve been Jiji and Draxum would’ve been just Grandfather. Nothing too out of this world lol. And yes, Donnie chooses to embrace Draxum’s name.

5. Sorry idk what exactly this is asking. Like yes? Lita May is based off IDW Lita, from the comics 😅 sorry if I’m missing the question.

6. She is a spiny soft shell like Donnie, but yes, her spines are significantly more pronounced, thanks to, you guessed it!

7. Master Renet, or Aunty Ren in a more causal setting.

8. 🤫 we’ll see (I’m still trying to think of something cool and not too OP lol)

9. Her eyes are just for design fun, and to link her to Donnie some more!

10. That’s gonna be another big 🤫, but less because I haven’t decided and more just for the big spoilers! 😜

11. She’s kinda got two outfits atm and I think I might end up merging the two. Her simpler outfit of just her wraps and mask are very Raph coded, so I wanna figure out some sort of middle ground with the two.

[definitelynotafurinasimp]

Kafka with a tsundere reader (I love Kafka SO MUCH…)

Kafka with a tsundere reader

characters: Kafka x gn!reader

warnings: none

a/n: GET YOUR WISHES READY. IT'S HAPPENING. Less than 24 hours until Kafka releases. So I decided now would be a great opportunity to write something for her, as something of an offering to the Gacha gods...

I'm so down bad for this woman. I swear...

I wish everyone pulling for her the best of luck and I’ll see you on the other side!

Anyway, hope you enjoy!

Kafka

While the Stellaron Hunters were composed of all different kinds of personalities, the ones Kafka kept around herself the most weren’t the most jovial of creatures. Silverwolf ironically preferred to ignore the tendencies of the animal in her name and rather work alone, while Bladie never was all too talkative in the first place.

And then there was you, someone trying so hard to match the stone-faced attitudes of your co-workers, that it was almost a crime not to try and get you to show your real feelings. A crime Kafka for once in her life didn’t intend to commit.

Kafka’s teasing was a misfortune every Stellaron Hunter working with her at least once had to endure. One you begrudgingly had to admit was fun to watch whenever you weren’t her target, the urge to join in whenever the purple-haired woman broke through Silverwolfs stoic facade forcing you to bundle up all of your self-control on more than one occasion.

Today however, was not your lucky day, as it quickly became clear who today’s victim would be.

“Come on, finish what you just wanted to say”, Kafka urged you to continue with a smile so devilish even Nanook would have felt creeped out. It had been foolish enough of you to let your compliment slip out in the first place, especially when Blade and Silverwolf were in the room, but all hopes of not drawing a giant Target on yourself were lost when you cut yourself off in the middle of your sentence, making the fact that it was a slip up as clear as day.

“There is nothing to finish, I was just talking to myself”, you lied as naturally as you breathed, hoping it would be enough to get Kafka to stop. Only for your hopes to be crushed in front of your very eyes as you saw her face light up in a familiar way, one signaling that giving up was the last thing on her mind right now.

“You’re lying.” While being called out on your obvious lie already was enough to make you lose your composure, her teasing tone sent blood flooding directly into your cheeks, causing them to turn red in almost an instant

With one swift turn of your head towards Blade you silently begged him for help, only for your fellow Stellaron Hunter to face away, putting all of his attention onto his weapon. And while you ought to have felt betrayed by his action, knowing how you did the same whenever it was someone else’s turn made you unable to hold a grudge against him.

Silverwolf however was a different story. As when you glanced towards her, you weren’t just brushed off, but instead were greeted by an amused smile, one radiating enough Schadenfreude to feed an entire planet of sadists. Before you knew it however, your attention was once again drawn to Kafka as you tried your best to find the right words to say.

“...I said the new coat suits you”, you murmured out just loud enough for her to hear you, nevertheless she gave you one more teasing smile, one wider than all of the previous.

“That’s interesting, I could have sworn I’ve heard a ‘B’ somewhere. Something along the lines of ‘You look beau-’”, she continued, dragging the last word out in anticipation of what you would say while forcing you to look her in the eyes.

“You look beautiful today”, you finally whispered in defeat, her ears immediately picking up on your words. For a moment you expected her to pretend she didn’t hear you, forcing you to say it once again, just louder. However, it seemed as if getting you to spit it out was enough for her as she showed you a satisfied grin before letting you finally go. Sparring you the embarrassment of having your fellow crewmates hear what exactly you had said that caused you to get this stand-offish.

Or at least that’s what she let you think for a few seconds.

“Oh you think I look beautiful today? Thank you, you’ve got quite the looks yourself.” The big smile on Kafka’s face was hard to miss, although you were far too embarrassed to look back up at her, your red face glued to your shoes for at least the next hour.

No matter how hard you tried to match your colleagues' blank expressions, there was always one person for whom you were as easy to read as an open book.

[lewkwoodnco]

Hello! I would like to request Lockwood x Fem!Reader best friends to lovers based on gold rush <3

Gold Rush - Lockwood x Reader

A/N: I’ve always looked at gold rush as an enemies to lovers song so this was rlly interesting!!! Will update wc once I wake up 😴😴 (2.8k!)

It was the morning after one of the most tiring cases Lockwood & Co. had had in a while. Beyond the sheer size of the mansion, there seemed to be a new kind of Type Two waiting for them in every room. It was the type of case that left you too tired to complain at the end, but for whom the frustration carried over to the next morning.

“I’m charging them double at least. It’s one thing to bend the truth - they used it as a skipping rope!”

The four of them were in the kitchen, having breakfast. When she had come down, there was only George sipping his tea in the one lit corner of the kitchen. Lockwood was usually the first one up, so his absence was testament to his exhaustion. She had sighed, not realising that she had buttered some toast for him until she was done. George looked suspiciously invested in the newspaper. “And- oh, you’re too sweet, Y/N.”

Lockwood had found the plate of toast, which she had hoped would disappear. He shifted behind her, making some tea, absent-mindedly grazing her head with his fingers as he walked past. Her grip on the cereal box tightened, and she raised it, reading the ingredients with newfound interest. She swallowed, feeling her cheeks burn behind the cereal box, hoping no one would notice. Lockwood certainly didn’t, because he had moved on to that night’s Fittes gala, but Lucy’s gaze lingered on her a bit too long for her to be fully in the clear.

When she felt that she had calmed down enough, she lowered the cereal box, her eye instantly drawn to Lockwood’s limp yet perfectly neat hair, each strand naturally settled in place. Even when most relaxed, there was something artificially manufactured in every wave in his hair, every crease of his face, but in a way that didn’t aggravate but enticed: ambrosia incarnate.

George made some intimation about heading tor the Archives to finish up the research on their next job, and purpose rushed back into Lockwood, broken out of his early-morning sluggishness. Lucy left for more rapier practice as well, but George hung back before leaving. He stared at her, which was normal George behaviour, yet a part of her felt compelled to justify her earlier preoccupation with the cereal box. It was so redundant - it wasn’t like he could read her thoughts (though sometimes she would suddenly remember how smart he truly was and how piercing his gaze could be, at which she would decide to try to not take any chances; it was only a matter of time), and even if he could, there was nothing noteworthy. Just…perfectly normal thoughts about her perfectly normal boss.

“Did you know…that Froot Loops don’t actually have different flavours?”

“Do you know that you’re eating pure sugar?”

“…you’re no fun.”

————————————————————————

Every year, they were always invited to the same gala hosted by the same Fittes agency, yet the preceding afternoon was almost always as stressful as any ghost-hunting job. Scarves hung on every surface by Lucy, who never wore any of them, shirts thrown down the stairwell as Lockwood dramatically proclaimed that none of his shirts would do, and George yelling at everyone to quit making so much noise until Lucy grew sentient enough to wrestle him into something semi-formal.

This year was no different. The four of them flitted from room to room like moths, contributing to more than one clumsy collision. Now, she wandered out of the attic into the hallway forlornly, clutching two different shoes. She liked fancy galas as much as the next person, but sometimes it felt overwhelming to get ready for them. “I’m not sure if I should come.”

“No!” That was Lockwood, rifling through a box of multi coloured cloths, somehow still pristine even when half-dressed. “You have to come. Lucy and George are too morally upright to gossip. I’ll be bored to tears without you.” Her heart stupidly fluttered, the corners of her mouth twitching despite herself as she watched him drape a bow tie around his neck. But of course, Lockwood wasn’t Lockwood if he didn’t have his signature ability to put his foot in his mouth.

“Besides, all of Fittes will be there, all of Rotwell will be there. We all need to go.”

“Of course.” Her harsh tone made Lockwood pause his flurry of activity, looking as though he wanted to fix what he had said. But he hesitated too long and now Lucy was barreling down the corridor, trying to find her boots, and the two of them awkwardly shifted away. She hadn’t meant to sound so bitter. What did she even have to be bitter about?

Before either of them could give it any more thought, they heard a dramatic gasp from George’s room, where they found Lucy blackmailing him into coming by holding one of his dusty old books hostage. George looked like he was about to burst a blood vessel. But the blackmail worked, not that George let Lucy off the hook for the rest of the night, grumbling and bemoaning the (temporary) loss of his beloved friend. Other than that, they reached without much fuss, and Lockwood was quick to get to business.

“How about we do some networking?”

“What, with other agencies?”

“Connections couldn’t hurt.”

George shared a knowing glance with Lucy, but it was so brief that it was quickly forgotten, especially in light of his comment. “That’s just as well. I spy a couple Fittes agents who wouldn’t seem to mind, er, connecting with Lockwood.”

Lockwood frowned, but she didn’t pay attention long enough to see his full reaction. George had nodded towards this cluster (really, only three of them) of Fittes agents who seemed to have a particularly high propensity for giggling. They huddled even closer together when the four of them looked over, and they began furiously whispering into each other ears, eyes still intent on Lockwood. She hadn’t been much different when she had first joined the agency, and it certainly was amusing how oblivious he was to how ridiculously attractive he was, only showing a hint of awareness whenever he turned on the charm for particularly difficult clients. So polished, so shiny, so cool above the hot struggles of the ordinary folk he surrounded himself with, breezing through life. She would have resented him if he weren’t so darling.

Every time he wandered a bit too close to her, she braced herself for his touch. Because that was definitely what she was doing: bracing herself. Not like she wanted him to touch her or anything. And she definitely wasn’t repeatedly dying a slow and painful death as she replayed his brush at breakfast. And of course, Lockwood was too engrossed in his conversation with some stuffy bigwig to notice anything. He was gesturing around them with the air of someone far richer than he already was.

“We operate differently at Lockwood and Co. Glamour and glitz has its place, but personally we might have gone for something more…elegant. More…tasteful, perhaps.”

She snorted into her champagne a little more aggressively that she had intended. For someone so beautiful, Lockwood could be so full of shit sometimes. She smiled apologetically, and Lockwood helped fix things with that smooth laugh of his, but the disconcerted look in his eye told her he wasn’t going to forget about that anytime soon. Eventually, the bigwig needed to talk to another bigwig, so they excused themselves and turned to hunt for their next prey.

“What was that?”

“Oh, please, like I’m just supposed to stand and watch you and lie that blatantly. You’d sell your soul to have a gala as big as this tied to your name. You were so convincing, it’s almost impressive.”

“Thank you.”

“I said ‘almost.’”

He swooped down to the shell of her ear. “Good enough for me.” She frantically stamped out the butterflies in her stomach. Stupid Lockwood and his stupid warm breath tickling her ear and his stupid devastatingly appealing indifference towards morality. She pulled away from his magnetic field, thoughts tangled in her irritation.

“Y/N,” she stopped fuming long enough to realise Lockwood had dragged her to a quieter part of the party, but his words still bounced off her numb mind inconsequentially. “Are you alright? Was it-“ he grimaced uncomfortably. “Was it what I said back home? Because I didn’t-“

She was vaguely aware of her reaching out and holding his hand, trying to find the right words. The warmth of his hand anchored her even as she was drowning in it. It was dangerous, having him so close with a mind so willing to delve into nonsense. She could see herself tiptoeing out of his room, on wooden floors she only knew of through creaks far too late at night, her sweater dangling on the doorknob-

All of a sudden, he was gold under her touch. Gleaming and perfect, perfectly solid and assured as the riches that entrenched on him now consumed him: the perfect sculpture. And yet his eyes still hummed with the unmistakeable fervour of life, of spirit, of the adventure he so recklessly indulged himself in. She was slowing her breath, he was pulling her under, and she was dizzy with it, dizzy with him. It wasn’t normal, but they were never normal. Lockwood would beckon, and she would succumb, and each time common sense caught up to her just a little bit later than the last time, leaving her dangerously close to diving into the whirlpool that was Lockwood, inhibitions forgotten.

But then the music swelled, and laughter grated on her ears, and she remembered where she was. She let go of his hand almost spitefully, and walked away, ignoring his attempts to get her to stop. It was all so unnecessary and so saddening.

They left soon after, the can uncharacteristically quiet as two out of the four members tried to beat their hearts into submission. As they hung up their coats near the front door, Lockwood paused, and she was sure he was going to say something, but then the moment passed again and she was left climbing the stairs frustrated and wholly dissatisfied.

She kept the door to the attic a crack open, watching as much as she could of Lockwood drifting to the library, not looking away until she heard the soft click of the door. She closed her eyes, burning every memory and image of him into her retinas. Flashes of Lockwood danced like bright spots as she undressed: the bow tie left desolate around his neck, the champagne that blended in with his skin under the golden lights, the unscrupulous charisma that radiated off his too-bright smile…it was unhealthy how drugged she felt on the high that was Lockwood. But tonight had been too real, too visceral: she couldn’t bear dreaming about him for another second.

It was only twenty-four hours ago that she had been wandering near the coast with him while looking for the Source. The air was dizzy with salt and Lockwood’s eyes danced a bit too merrily for either of them to feel too burdened by the hunt for the Source. It was just as well that Lucy and George had found it, because she and Lockwood were utterly useless, getting drunk of each other’s laughter, stumbling in the shifting sand and gravel. She wondered if he thought about that night the way she did, if his breath caught too as he was swept up in the memory of the innocence they shared, blazing as they brazenly ambled foolishly for no one’s eyes but the moon’s and the seas’ who witnessed a love as pure as theirs for the first and last time.

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She woke up feeling painfully brittle from the previous night. She slept restlessly, too preoccupied to wade through her thoughts with much precision, until she finally heard enough movement downstairs. Lockwood was surprisingly already fully dressed, staring a hole into the wall with the case file of their next job in front of him. But his ironed clothes were jarring rather than refreshing, especially when contrasted against the bruises under his eyes and his translucent skin. Good. He was too disarming when he was well-rested anyway. All her resentment towards him dissolved at the sight of a stack of meticulously buttered toast and cup of tea: an Anthony Lockwood peace offering if she ever saw one. It made her want to cry, but it wasn’t the time for it, so she settled for a gnawing in her stomach.

From the boys’ stilted conversation, she gathered that Lockwood had already been to the site that morning and there was clearly something about it that their clients weren’t telling them. From the look she shared with George as they started discussing their clients’ possible secrets, it was clear that he too was slightly troubled. It wasn’t like Lockwood to go out for walks alone, especially before dawn. She nearly upset the milk jug when her heart swooped as she thought about Lockwood staying up alone, slowly bleeding into the shadows of the house that threatened to inhale him. It made her feel funny.

“Hm?” Lockwood turned, tuning back in only at the tail end of the conversation. She hated how adorable his half-confused expression was and how it made her forget how to breathe. She scoffed, leaving her toast but begrudgingly taking her tea with her, mumbling something about Anna Karenina. She was properly put off her breakfast. As if lingering in the edges of her mind wasn’t enough, he just had to disrupt her appetite too.

“Hey.” He had found her hiding away on the floor of the library between some bookshelves. Not that she was actively avoiding him.

“Hey.” Sleep deprivation wasn’t a good look on anyone, but Lockwood still managed to pull it off. Still, he looked miles more unkempt like this than in a regular, cotton shirt.

He uselessly gestured towards the plate, looking less than the perfect cool he typically maintained. “I brought your toast.”

“I’m fine with my tea, thanks.” She fixed her eyes back onto her book, painfully aware of him watching her. He sighed and sat down in front of her.

“I know you felt it too, last night. I don’t know why you’re mad at me when you’re the one going around lying through your teeth.” She snapped her book close. Enough was enough.

“Because we’ll never be anything more. You’re this…this craze, this bug that’s infected everyone that’s slowly sucking the life out of me, you…you hedonistic disease. You’ll hold my hand and brush your fingers against my head but you’ll never kiss me. And why would you?” She nudged her tea further behind; she couldn’t tolerate even glancing at it. It reminded her of the waves that teased their soles, brimming with awe, a memory that was steadily sinking into the grey of her unpleasantly cold tea. “You have so much more, so much better to choose from. Everybody wants you.”

“Who cares about everyone else?”

“I care! Normal people care! How can you expect me to just stand here, knowing that I will never be good enough for someone like you?”

He looked so genuinely lost that she almost felt sorry for him. Almost.

“What’s that supposed to mean?”

“You know what it means. Someone as iridescent, and perfect as you.” She spat out that word with disgust. If she weren’t so upset, he would have made some stupid quip about her finding him perfect, but that was a bone to pick for another time. He reached out, holding her hand to his chest.

“Y/N…no one could be more perfect than you.”

She snatched her hand back. Now he was just mocking her. “Don’t! Don’t say that when it isn’t true.”

“But it is!”

“Anthony Lockwood, you are made of fibs, half-truths and tall tales. You bend the truth! You bend, and you bend and you bend until you snap me right in half.”

She was crying by this point. God, could she be more embarrassing? Lockwood shuffled towards her, wrapping an arm around her and speaking into her hair. The exact same spot his fingers had brushed and ignited this chain sequence of events.

“You’re right. I’m a vagabond. A no-good…charlatan. But,” he adjusted his head to look into her eyes, and now all she saw were faint tendrils of gold dust sprinkling in his irises. “I’m your charlatan. Don’t you think?”

And with eyes like those, how could she say no?