#i've been particularly struggling with echoes...

[teethcore]

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[winxanity-ii]

⌜Godly Things | Chapter 03 Chapter 03 | peace⌟

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The halls of the palace were empty this early in the morning, silent except for the faint echoes of your footsteps.

The stone floors were cool beneath your sandals as you moved gracefully, carrying a tray carefully balanced with food and drink for the queen.

The scents of breakfast wafted upwards—a fresh loaf of bread, drizzled with honey and sprinkled with sesame seeds, alongside a bowl of ripe figs and a small serving of olives. A jug of goat's milk rested next to the plate, the cool liquid sloshing slightly as you walked.

You had walked these halls so many times that you barely needed to think about where you were going, your feet knowing the way on their own, your movements steady and confident.

Yet, you couldn't help but reflect on how different this all felt from when you first arrived

Back then, you had been a frightened, scrawny child, uncertain if you would even find a place here.

Now, after years of training and being in Penelope's service, you had grown into someone with purpose, someone the queen trusted and relied upon

You passed by tapestries depicting scenes of Ithaca's heroes, the vibrant colors muted in the early morning light.

You often found yourself drawn to these tapestries, seeing in them reflections of the great stories Penelope would tell you.

They reminded you of the legacy you were now a part of, a history that you had once thought too grand for someone like you

As you reached a large set of double doors, you paused for a moment before gently knocking. The sound echoed softly down the empty hallway, and you waited until you heard the gentle voice from within:

"Come in."

You pushed the heavy door open, entering the room with a bowed head.

Penelope sat at the windowsill, dressed in her mourning clothes—a deep, rich purple robe, embroidered delicately along the edges. Her dark hair was partially covered by a veil, the fabric thin enough to let light pass through, giving her a ghostly, almost ethereal appearance.

She looked out across the sea, her gaze distant, the waves shimmering under the morning sun. When she heard you enter, she turned, her lips curling into a soft, tired smile.

Even as she smiled, the weight of her sorrow remained, etched into her features—a weariness that never seemed to leave her.

"Ah, ____," she said, her voice gentle, yet carrying the weight of her lingering sorrow.

You curtsied, lowering your head respectfully. "Good morning, Queen Penelope. I've come to help you break your fast."

She nodded, her smile not fading, though the sadness lingered in her eyes, a weight that never seemed to truly lift. You walked forward, approaching her carefully, the tray balanced delicately in your hands.

As you set the tray down on the small table beside her, you couldn't help but take in her tired features—the lines that worry and waiting had carved into her face, the weariness that seemed to cling to her even now.

Your time in Ithaca had been a story of struggle and small victories.

After arriving by boat those years ago, you had found yourself amidst many others—orphans and the poor—standing outside the towering halls of Ithaca, each of you hoping for work.

You remembered how you were overlooked at first, Ithaca's head servant dismissing you and a few others with barely a glance; he had been the one in charge of hiring new servants, particularly while Odysseus was gone and Penelope was wrapped so deeply in mourning that she rarely involved herself in the day-to-day matters.

His face was stern, his patience thin, as he waved you off, deeming you too young and weak to be of any use.

You had felt a deep pang of disappointment, a sense that perhaps you truly were not enough. It was a familiar feeling, one that had often accompanied you since you lost your family.

But fate had other plans.

Just as you were about to turn away, Penelope herself had appeared, her figure somber and regal as she passed by. Her eyes caught yours, and something in your pitiful state must have struck her heart.

She paused, her dark eyes lingering on you before she stepped closer, her hand reaching out to gently caress your face. Her touch was soft, her expression filled with a mix of melancholy and tenderness.

In that moment, it felt as though a small ember of hope had sparked within you—a feeling that perhaps you were worth more than the hardships you had faced.

"You look as sweet as a dove," she had murmured, her voice laced with a deep sadness. "Such bright eyes for someone so young."

It was in that moment that she made her decision. She called you forward, and despite the objections of the head servant, she decided to take you under her care.

You were to be trained under other servants until you were old enough, learning the ways of the palace, how to serve properly, how to carry yourself with grace and dignity.

Over time, you became one of her personal maidens, trusted with tasks that others were not, your bond with her deepening as the years passed.

You came to understand her sorrow and her strength, admiring the quiet resilience she carried each day.

Penelope had given you a chance when no one else would, and you felt a deep loyalty towards her—a loyalty born from both gratitude and genuine admiration for the woman she was

Now, as you stood beside her, offering her breakfast, you could see the years that had passed reflected in both of you—her, still mourning but holding on, and you, no longer that lost child from the docks but someone with a purpose, with a role in the grand halls of Ithaca.

There was a sense of pride in how far you had come, a feeling that perhaps you were slowly repaying the faith Penelope had placed in you all those years ago.

The weight of that trust and your determination to be worthy of it were always present, driving you to do your best every day.

Penelope glanced at the tray before her, her tired smile softening further. "Thank you, ____," she said, her voice quiet. "You have always been a light in these halls."

You bowed your head again, a warmth spreading through your chest at her words. "It is an honor, my queen," you replied, your voice steady, though you could not help the small smile that tugged at your lips.

As Penelope began to nibble on the bread and sip the goat's milk, she looked at you thoughtfully. "____," she said, her tone gentle but weary, "what news do we have of the suitors?"

Your face faltered for a brief moment, the exhaustion of dealing with the suitors creeping into your expression, but you quickly smoothed it out, replacing it with a cheerful smile. "Prince Telemachus is handling them well, my queen," you said brightly, though in your heart, you felt the cracks beginning to show. The suitors were restless, and each passing day seemed to test the young prince's patience more and more; you could sense that the tension was growing, and it was only a matter of time before something would need to give. "He's been taking them on hunts and finding ways to keep them occupied. He does his best to ensure they remain... entertained."

Penelope sighed, her eyes lowering to her lap. Her fingers traced the edge of the table idly, the tiredness once again visible in her features. "How long can I keep them at bay?" she whispered, almost to herself. "It's been twenty years now... how much longer must I hold them off?"

The sorrow in her voice was palpable, and for a moment, the silence in the room seemed to deepen, broken only by the distant sounds of the waves outside.

Knowing your place, you tried to offer her comfort, your voice gentle but resolute. "My queen, remember what your husband promised you?" you began softly, stepping closer. "You told me once, in confidence, that he swore he'd sooner fall into the River Styx than betray his vow to you. King Odysseus will find his way back to you, no matter the trials he faces."

Penelope looked up at you, her eyes glistening with unshed tears. She gave you a watery smile, her shoulders lifting slightly as she sighed once more, her posture relaxing just a bit. "Thank you, ____," she whispered. "Sometimes... I need reminding."

As she finished her meal, Penelope glanced at you again, her expression softer. ____, would you perhaps sing for us tonight at dinner? The halls could use some joy, and your voice has always been a comfort to us all."

You smiled warmly, bowing your head. "Anything for you, my queen," you replied, your voice filled with warmth and sincerity.

☆

☆

The palace kitchens were bustling with commotion. The air was filled with the smells of herbs, freshly baked bread, and simmering stews as people moved back and forth, their arms full with ingredients, plates, and cooking tools.

Voices overlapped, cooks shouting out commands, and scullery maids scrambling to keep up with the rapid pace. The clinking of pots and pans rang out like a steady rhythm, the heartbeat of the palace.

You moved gracefully through the chaos, the tray held carefully in your hands until you found an empty space on the counter to place it down. You glanced up just in time to hear a voice raised in frustration.

"Gods above! Another request for roast peacock and olives, as if we're swimming in olive oil and gold!" The man in question was the head cook, a greying, scowling figure by the name of Argon, his face twisted in annoyance as he ranted to a younger kitchen boy. His voice was deep, roughened from years of shouting over the din of the kitchen. His hands were covered in flour, his apron stained with the work of the day.

The moment his eyes landed on you, however, his fierce expression softened considerably, and the scowl fell from his lips. "Ah, ____," he called, cutting himself off mid-rant, his eyes crinkling kindly. "How are you, girl? Did the queen enjoy her breakfast?"

You gave him a polite bow, smiling as you replied, "She did, Master Argon, thank you. Though she did ask if it would be possible to have a lighter broth for her dinner later on. She's not feeling up to anything too rich today."

Argon's face softened further, a gentle smile replacing the frustration. "Of course, of course. Anything for the queen," he murmured. But his face soon fell back into a scowl, and he shook his head, muttering under his breath. "If only those no-good suitors were anything like the queen. They want to eat like kings every single night! Extravagance, waste... they're draining the storage dry with their demands." He let out a gruff sigh, slamming a rolling pin onto a pile of dough with a bit more force than necessary.

You hummed in understanding, your brow furrowing slightly. "Perhaps I can speak with Prince Telemachus," you offered, your voice gentle. "Maybe he can convince them to bring in more from their hunts. They should replace what they take if they want to keep demanding so much."

Argon looked at you, his eyes warming as he paused his work. "You're too kind, ____. Always thinking of everyone else. A real beauty, inside and out." He reached out and patted your arm gently before turning back to his dough, the scowl still lingering but tempered by your promise. "Go on now, and watch out for yourself. Those halls are filled with troublemakers."

You nodded, offering him one last smile before turning to leave the busy kitchen.

As you walked down the quieter hall, the hustle and bustle fading behind you, you were suddenly yanked around a corner, your heart leaping in surprise.

You found yourself face-to-face with a familiar grin.

"Cleo!" you gasped, a laugh escaping you as you steadied yourself. Cleo was a striking girl—pale skin, long blonde hair that fell in waves around her shoulders, and bright green eyes that always seemed to be filled with mischief. She was beautiful, with delicate features and a playful smile that could charm just about anyone.

Cleo giggled, her eyes sparkling. "Sorry, sorry! I just had to catch you before you disappeared again," she said, her voice light and teasing. "Are you free later? A few of us girls are planning to head over to where the young suitors will be gathering after dinner. We thought we'd do a little... mingling." She waggled her eyebrows at you suggestively, her grin widening.

You furrowed your brows, shaking your head. "I can't. Queen Penelope has asked me to sing tonight at dinner."

Cleo groaned dramatically, then giggled once more. "No worries, we'll just have to use your beautiful voice to get serenaded by those dashing suitors," she teased, nudging you lightly.

You scoffed, a smile tugging at your lips, though you couldn't help but feel a pang of concern. "You know better than to be fooling around with those suitors, Cleo," you said, your tone more serious. "They aren't interested in anything more than fleeting entertainment. You could get hurt."

Cleo just rolled her eyes, her expression shifting to one of nonchalance. "Oh, ____, you worry too much. They're rich, and we're just servants. I'm just having fun while it lasts. It's harmless." She waved her hand dismissively, her green eyes twinkling with defiance. "Not all of us have a handsome prince practically hanging on our arm."

You blinked, feeling your cheeks grow warm at her words. "Cleo, it's not like that," you stammered, waving her off, but she just laughed, giving you a knowing look before skipping away down the hall, her laughter echoing behind her.

You watched her go, your face still flushed, before you shook your head, letting out a sigh. You had to get back to your duties, and today that meant ensuring you completed Penelope's request.

As a personal handmaiden, your duties varied greatly, often requiring you to attend to the queen's comfort, whether it was keeping her space tidy, arranging her garments, or fetching whatever she needed; but today, all the queen asked of you was to bring music back to the halls.

You headed towards a small shed built on the edge of the palace grounds, a place dedicated solely for your instruments.

Not too long after you had settled into the palace, Penelope had discovered your talent for singing. She had been utterly moved, telling you that your voice was the first thing that had stirred her heart since her husband left for war.

Wanting to nurture your gift, she had this little structure built to hold the growing pile of instruments she would acquire for you.

Whenever Penelope came across a unique or exotic instrument—whether it be at a market, a gift from a visiting dignitary, or a trinket discovered in the palace storerooms—she would have it sent to you.

You always seemed to master whatever instrument she placed in your hands, your fingers learning the strings, keys, or beats with an ease that brought joy to her otherwise weary heart.

The inside of the shed was filled with an assortment of Greek instruments—lyres of varying sizes, an aulos, a kithara, and a pandura.

But there were also instruments that were much more exotic: a Chinese guzheng with its shimmering strings, a small djembe drum with intricate carvings, brought by a trader from distant African lands, and even an erhu with its hauntingly beautiful tone.

Penelope loved seeing you interact with these exotic gifts, marveling at how easily you brought each one to life with music.

You stepped into the shed, the familiar smell of polished wood and aged parchment wrapping around you like a comforting embrace.

You selected your favorite lyre, the one Penelope had given you first, and turned back towards the private courtyard—a space often used for rehearsing or practicing away from the prying eyes of the palace.

The courtyard was quiet, filled with blooming flowers and shaded by tall olive trees, providing you with the tranquility you needed.

You began practicing the song the queen had requested, your voice rising softly amidst the rustling leaves and the gentle breeze."I weep for you, my lost love, across the endless sea, and still my heart will find you, where the wild winds are free..."

The song was one of love and loss, a haunting melody of tragedy and reunion. It was a ballad you created for her; a tale of lovers separated by fate, only to find each other again through trials and tears.

As you sang, you did not notice how the sun seemed to shine down on you a little brighter, as if the heavens themselves were listening.

The small flowers around you swayed gently, their blossoms leaning towards you as though you were their light.

The air seemed to hum in harmony, a warmth spreading through the courtyard, and the leaves of the olive trees rustled softly, almost in applause.

There was a beauty in the moment that felt almost divine, as if the earth and sky were united by the sound of your voice, each note resonating with the hope and pain carried in the song.

And as the last note rung out and you struck the final chord on the lyre, you felt a warmth roll over you, like the embrace of sunlight on a cold day.

A low voice sighed from nearby, whispering, "Gods, I don't think I could ever tire of hearing you sing..."

Startled, you opened your eyes, your gaze shifting towards the voice.

Leaning casually against the trunk of a tall cypress tree stood a young man, his presence subtly commanding the tranquil courtyard. His hair, dark and curly, fell in messy waves around his face, some strands clinging stubbornly to his forehead and cheekbones.

He was dressed in the fine garments of royalty—a rich, deep blue himation draped over a white tunic, the fabric of which was adorned with golden embroidery along its edges.

His skin held a warm, sun-kissed hue, with faint traces of stubble gracing his jawline and upper lip, giving him a rugged, almost wild look. His build was lean but solid, showing a life that spoke of training and discipline.

Though youthful, there was a quiet intensity in his sharp features, a hint of something deeper beneath his calm, collected exterior. He seemed almost a part of the earth itself, grounded, unwavering, and watching.

You breathed out softly, "Prince Telemachus."

The young man's smile widened at the sound of your voice, his eyes lighting up with a mix of admiration and warmth as he began making his way over to you, his footsteps quiet against the stone pathway.

Telemachus reached you and, without a hint of hesitation, plopped himself down on the grass beside you.

Internally, you wanted to fret about him getting his fine clothes dirty, but you knew better by now—Telemachus had always been one to ignore such trivial concerns, brushing them off with that same carefree grin.

He looked at you, his eyes twinkling with a boyish delight. "I swear, I could listen to you sing that a hundred times over. Especially the part where you..." He cleared his throat, attempting to mimic a line, though his voice wobbled in a way that was both charming and utterly off-key. "...Wᵉeᵖ fᵒr ʸoᵘ, mʸ lᵒsᵗ lᵒvᵉ..."

You couldn't help but laugh, the sound spilling out as you shook your head, nudging his leg gently. "Not quite, my prince. Perhaps leave the singing to those of us who aren't heirs to Ithaca," you teased, setting the lyre aside. He chuckled, raising his hands in mock surrender.

Before he leaned back, though, he hesitated. "Wait a second..." he murmured, and his fingers reached out, brushing away a stray lock of hair that had fallen over your cheek.

Your breath caught as he leaned in closer, his hand lingering for a heartbeat longer than necessary.

His eyes met yours, the warmth in them somehow soft yet piercing. His lips curled into a smile, his gaze holding yours as he hummed in approval. "...There."

The space between you seemed to vanish, and your pulse quickened, your heart racing over this simple, fleeting touch.

You swallowed, feeling the heat rise in your cheeks as you looked back at him, your thoughts whirling. Surely he could hear the drumming of your heart?

But then he pulled away, completely relaxed, as though he hadn't just sent you into a whirlwind of overthinking.

Telemachus stretched back, lying flat on the grass with a contented sigh, his arms tucked behind his head as a makeshift pillow. His eyes drifted closed, his face bathed in the golden light of the sun.

His expression was carefree, as though he hadn't a worry in the world, and you watched the way the sunlight traced the lines of his jaw, highlighting the boyish softness that lingered in his face.

His curls shone like burnished bronze, his skin glowing with the warmth of someone untouched by the weight he carried.

You couldn't help but think how effortlessly at ease he seemed, oblivious to the way he'd set your heart into overdrive.

Suddenly, he popped open an eye, startling you out of your thoughts. You quickly looked down, fiddling with the strings of your lyre, pretending to adjust them.

Telemachus sat up, his gaze fixed on you, a faint smile playing on his lips. "Mother told me you'll be singing tonight," he said, his voice soft.

You nodded, your eyes still cast downward. "Yes, my prince, that is correct."

Telemachus hummed, absently toying with a blade of grass between his fingers. "Will you be playing her favorite song?" he asked, his tone curious.

You looked up, meeting his gaze. "Of course, my prince," you replied. His mother's favorite song was one you knew by heart, each note infused with the hope she carried through the years of waiting.

Telemachus' eyes softened, his smile turning sad. He looked up at you, his gaze earnest. "I'm glad," he said, his voice barely above a whisper. "I fear it's the only thing that's been keeping her 'here'."

You both knew what he meant. The weight of the years was heavy on her, and there were moments it seemed her spirit had almost drifted away.

There was a silence between you, the kind that held shared understanding, until suddenly, Telemachus' lips curled into a smirk. His features glowed with a mischievous charm, his gaze twinkling as he leaned closer.

You couldn't help but notice the light scatter of freckles across the bridge of his nose, almost hidden beneath the shade of his dark curls.

"Tell me, ____," he said, his voice teasing as he looked up at you from under his long lashes, "will you ever write a song for me?"

Your lips pressed into a thin line as your heart raced, warmth rushing to your cheeks.

Little did the prince know, you had written hundreds of songs about him—about the love you harbored for him but were too afraid to speak of. You turned away slightly, trying to calm yourself before stuttering out, "O-of course, my prince. All you need to do is ask."

Telemachus chuckled, the sound soft and almost affectionate. "It's okay," he said, shaking his head, still toying with the blade of grass. "I'd rather you write one for me without asking, for me to be your muse. Otherwise, it wouldn't be any better than me paying for a song, would it?"

Before either of you could say anything more, loud voices cut through the tranquility of the courtyard.

You looked up, startled, to see a group of suitors ambling down the courtyard, their voices echoing off the palace walls. They were dressed in hunting gear—thick tunics, leather belts, and their bows slung across their backs.

The men spoke loudly, laughing amongst themselves, seemingly oblivious to their surroundings.

Telemachus let out a groan, throwing his head back, cursing softly under his breath as he stood up, brushing the grass off his garments.

The group of suitors moved closer, one of them impatiently calling out, "Little Wolf! We're waiting for you; hurry up! We want to hunt a bit before we head back for dinner."

Another laughed, elbowing his friend as he added, "Maybe we can charm some 'desserts' out of a servant or two while we're at it." The rest of them laughed in agreement.

Telemachus cast a glance down at you, his eyes softening for a moment as if checking to see if you were alright. But after noticing that you seemed unbothered by their crassness, he frowned, turning back to the suitors. "It's uncouth for you all to lust after another household's servants," he said, his voice stern.

One of the suitors laughed him off, shaking his head. "A servant is a servant, no matter the location, Telemachus," he replied dismissively.

It was then that one of the suitors, a tall, broad-shouldered man with a scruffy beard, took notice of you sitting on the ground behind Telemachus. His eyes narrowed, and a sleazy smile spread across his face. "Well, hello there," he said, his voice dripping with arrogance as he began to move toward you.

Before he could take another step, Telemachus moved swiftly, positioning himself between the suitor and you.

The easygoing smile that had once graced his lips was replaced by a cold, serious expression. His eyes darkened as he stared down the suitor, who paused before letting out a derisive laugh. "Ah, I see. This one's taken by the prince, is she?" he sneered.

Telemachus didn't rise to the bait, his voice steady and uninterested. "We're wasting daylight. If you want to hunt, let's get going," he said, sidestepping the taunts.

With a few more muttered comments, the group of suitors eventually turned away, moving on with their plans.

As they walked off, Telemachus stood still, waiting until they were at a good distance before turning back to you. He offered his hand to help you up, and with one graceful motion, he pulled you to your feet with ease, his strength evident as he lifted you almost effortlessly.

You steadied yourself, murmuring a soft thank you. But just as Telemachus was about to walk away, you found yourself reaching out, your fingers wrapping around his wrist. "Prince Telemachus," you called softly.

He turned, his face softening as he looked down at you, his full attention on you now.

You had to tilt your head back slightly to meet his gaze, your fingers slipping from his wrist only for his hand to turn, grasping yours gently in return. The warmth of his palm against yours steadied you.

You swallowed nervously, pushing through your frazzled thoughts. "Would it be possible... to get the suitors to cut back on their extravagance? Or perhaps encourage them to bring in more from their hunts? The kitchen storage is running low. The demands are getting quite... difficult to manage," you said, your voice almost a whisper.

Telemachus met your gaze, the intensity in his eyes fading into something gentler as he offered you a small smile, his thumb brushing gently against the back of your hand. "Of course, ____," he said, his voice filled with genuine warmth. "I'll take care of it." 

[anneapocalypse]

Not gonna lie, analysis of Minfilia that rests on a reading of her as some kind of hiring manager at a company really doesn't sit right with me, not just because it lends itself to some particularly uncharitable readings of Minfilia, but because it seems to me like a pretty inaccurate reading of what the Scions actually are in ARR.

The Scions of the Seventh Dawn are the union of the Circle of Knowing, a group of activist academics who accurately predicted the apocalypse but failed to prevent it and lost their beloved mentor in the process, and the Path of the Twelve, a group for Echo-bearers to help them better understand and make use of their gift--all doing their best to pick up the pieces and protect the realm in the wake of said apocalypse. Minfilia, formerly the leader of the Path of the Twelve, has now been thrust into the position of leadership over both at the late Louisoix's behest. The Scions in ARR aren't a company, they're an activist group, and in ARR still a very small one without the massive web of political connections they fall into later. They don't have a lot of financial resources. They're largely working quietly and behind the scenes. They have a secret code phrase to identify friends of the organization. Being recruited into this group in ARR is closer to being recruited into a resistance cell than being interviewed for a formal job.

Minfilia's role prior to the Calamity was as the leader of a support group for people experiencing a frightening, isolating, and as-yet poorly-understood phenomenon, a group where they could find others like them, understand what's happening to them, and learn how to use their gift for good. And to some extent, this is still a part of her role. The Warrior of Light is brought in because they were witnessed experiencing the Echo, and Minfilia is reaching out to them as a fellow Echo-bearer. I think it's a mistake to interpret her words and actions without that context, particularly her expressed hope that this most recent Echo-bearer she's invited into her group will find something like family there. I mean, listen to the joy with which she says, "I too possess the Echo." She's telling the WoL that they're not alone, that there is a name and an explanation for what they've been experiencing, that they can find others like themselves here. Yes, she's also asking for their help. But this is a pretty far cry from a job interview. However flawed the Scions may be as an organization, I can only see Minfilia's overtures here as offered in the spirit of friendship and camaraderie. And framing that as her trying to build loyalty she can exploit in a corporate manner feels extremely ungenerous given what we know of her character.

I don't want to sound like I'm here to defend the Scions in ARR against any and all criticism--I've discussed my own in the past, from their concerning tendency toward self-sacrifice to the attitude they develop toward the WoL (which is kind of up for interpretation based on your character's relationship to them but which can come across as a cavalier attitude toward the WoL's safety, taking advantage of their unique abilities, etc). In particular, the Scions' experience as a small activist organization, and Minfilia's particular experience as Echo support group leader, has ill-prepared any of them to be thrust into an international spotlight following the defeat of the Ultima Weapon. The attack on the Waking Sands has already revealed the weaknesses in their opsec, and certain scenes in the ARR patch quests reveal something of a power struggle between Minfilia and Alphinaud--one which Alphinaud ultimately wins, because Minfilia lacks the kind of confidence in her position to stand against the force of his personality, and she, like most of the other Scions, starts to fall into the trap of seeing Alphinaud as the second coming of Louisoix and lets him push her around accordingly. Minfilia is simply not equipped or prepared to lead the kind of organization the Scions are turning into. (Urianger, incidentally is one of the few who seems to notice this and remark on it, but also seems to feel that he can't directly object.) The cracks begin to show, and then it all falls apart, and when the Scions finally begin to put themselves back together post-Heavensward, I think they all understand that they can't go back, that what they rebuild will be something new. Over the next few expacs I think we see them developing a new group identity, recognizing that that old model no longer serves them and doing their best to adapt to constantly changing circumstances.

The Scions in ARR have plenty of problems, but they're not a for-profit company and they're also not the same organization as the Scions of later expacs. I think that context needs to be taken into account when interpreting their actions, especially those of their leader.

[ama3003]

Bubblegum Bitch

Character: Aaron Hotchner

Requested: No

Type: Song Fic, Angst/Fluff

Summary: Hotch never thought he'd fall in love again—until he met Y/N.

Author's Note: Based on Bubblegum Bitch by MARINA

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

Meeting the Unit Chief should have been terrifying, but for you, it was exhilarating. Strauss had recently transferred you to the BAU from the Counter-Terrorism Division.

You suspected she added you to the team to ruffle the Unit Chief's feathers. It might have bothered you if it hadn’t come with a nice bump in your paycheck.

The moment Hotch saw you, he knew you were trouble. He just didn't realize how much trouble until your very first case.

Got a figure like a pin-up, got a figure like a doll Don't care if you think I'm dumb, I don't care at all

You stood before the mirror in a dingy motel bathroom, applying the finishing touches to your makeup. The skin-tight leather mini dress hugged every curve, transforming you into the perfect bait for the unsub who had been terrorizing local nightclubs.

Hotch's reflection appeared behind you, his face etched with worry. "Y/L/N, I really don't think you're ready for this."

You turned, cocking an eyebrow as you placed your hands on your hips. "And why is that, sir?"

Hotch's response was immediate and brutally honest. "You're still new, never been face-to-face with an unsub, let alone undercover. You're reckless, difficult to control, and frankly, a loose cannon. Need I go on?"

I'll chew you up and I'll spit you out

A smirk played at your lips as you sauntered towards him, invading his personal space. The scent of your perfume mingled with the tension in the air. "Look, Hotchie," you purred, noting how he stiffened at the nickname, "I was transferred here for a reason. I know what this job entails. So be my boss and let me do it."

You could see the internal struggle playing out behind Hotch's eyes. His professional concern warred with something else – an attraction he was clearly trying to suppress. You were a walking danger sign, and part of him was drawn to that fire.

"First," he said, his voice low and controlled, "don't call me that. Second, I'm not trying to offend you. I simply think Emily might be better suited for this operation. You can take points next time."

You scoffed, taking a step back. "Next time? With all due respect, sir, I fit the victimology perfectly, and you know it. I've spent the last hour transforming myself into exactly what this creep is looking for. If I don't do this, he'll likely claim another victim before we can catch him. So again, Hotchie," you emphasized the nickname, watching him bristle, "let me do my job. Don't make me have to disobey orders."

Without waiting for a response, you slipped on your stilettos and brushed past him, the warmth of your body tantalizingly close for a moment before you were gone.

Hotch watched you go, a mix of admiration and trepidation swirling in his gut. You were brilliant, fearless, and undeniably effective. But you were also unpredictable, pushing boundaries at every turn. As he followed you out, preparing to oversee the operation, one thought echoed in his mind:

Definitely trouble.

Candy bear, sweetie pie, wanna be adored I'm the girl you'd die for

Over the past few months, you had become the team's radiant beacon of positivity, your presence a cure for the often-dark nature of their work. Even the usually stoic Hotch, though he'd never admit it aloud, had fallen under your spell.

It was impossible not to be drawn to your infectious energy. Each morning, you breezed into the bullpen, a whirlwind of warmth and enthusiasm. Your greetings were accompanied by compliments, tailored to brighten each team member's day. After particularly grueling cases, the aroma of your famous blueberry muffins would fill the office, a comforting reminder that there was still sweetness in the world. You even patiently endured Spencer's lengthy tangents, sparing the others from information overload.

As the team prepared to head out for a new case, you sprinted across the parking lot, your laughter echoing off the concrete walls. "Shotgun!" you called out triumphantly, playfully shoving past Spencer to claim the coveted front seat next to Hotch.

Your friendship with the young doctor had blossomed quickly, bonded by your shared status as the "kids" of the team. While the others sometimes found his endless stream of facts overwhelming, you delighted in his knowledge, often engaging him in spirited debates that left the rest of the team both amused and bewildered.

The unit chief's lips twitched, fighting back a smile as he watched your antics. Spencer, mock indignation coloring his voice, appealed to their leader. "Hotch, come on! She rode shotgun last time. It's my turn, isn't it?"

Hotch cleared his throat, his tone stern but his eyes betraying a hint of amusement. "Y/N, you know the rules. It is indeed Reid's turn to sit up front."

You turned to face Hotch, unleashing the full power of your most irresistible puppy dog eyes. Your lower lip jutted out ever so slightly as you pleaded silently. Behind you, Spencer let out a resigned sigh, already knowing he'd lost this battle. Your ability to wrap Hotch around your finger was legendary among the team, even if the man himself was loath to acknowledge it.

Hotch held your gaze for a moment, visibly wavering. With a barely perceptible shake of his head, he started the engine, tacitly allowing you to keep your place.

Victorious, you twisted in your seat to face Spencer, sticking out your tongue in a childish display of triumph.

"Y/N!" Hotch's voice held a note of warning, though it lacked any real heat.

You straightened immediately, your voice dripping with faux innocence. "Sorry, sir!"

The apology was hollow, and you both knew it. As Hotch pulled out of the parking lot, you caught the barest hint of a smile tugging at the corner of his mouth. Your sunny persona had once again melted the ice around the unit chief's heart.

Oh, dear diary, I met a boy He made my doll heart light up with joy

The realization hit you like a thunderbolt – you were hopelessly, irrevocably in love with Aaron Hotchner. For the first time in your life, you felt a fear that chilled you to your core.

How could someone like him ever reciprocate such feelings? The cons seemed endless: a decade age gap, your extroverted nature clashing with his stoicism, your wild spirit at odds with his controlled demeanor. Not to mention the professional boundary – you were his employee, AND  he was still navigating the aftermath of his recent divorce.

Your newfound awareness of your feelings for Hotch led to a desperate attempt at avoidance. It was hard, given how intertwined your lives had become over the months. For a week, you'd been dodging his texts, offering only cursory greetings, and maintaining a physical distance that felt painfully unnatural.

Hotch noticed the change immediately, and it gnawed at him. Your vibrant presence had become a constant in his life, a source of warmth he hadn't realized he'd come to depend on until it was suddenly gone.

He found himself missing the little rituals that had naturally developed between you. The morning car rides, once a practical solution to your car troubles, had evolved into a cherished start to each day. Your habit of bringing him a piece of candy during lunch breaks, with the excuse of "sweetening up his day," never failed to bring a smile to his face. Most of all, he missed the casual physical contact – the way you'd unconsciously place your hand on his arm when standing close, a gesture that grounded him more than he cared to admit.

As the week progressed, Hotch's concern deepened. Had he unknowingly offended you? He wracked his brain, trying to pinpoint any misstep. Perhaps the latest case had affected you more than usual, or maybe you were simply exhausted. Whatever the reason, he was determined to lift your spirits.

During his lunch break, Hotch made his way to your favorite café. The aroma of freshly baked goods enveloped him as he ordered your usual – a ham and cheese croissant and your preferred coffee blend. Back at the office, he noticed your empty desk and quickly left the bag before retreating to his office.

When you returned from the restroom, steeling yourself for an afternoon of paperwork, the sight of the familiar bag on your desk stopped you in your tracks. With trembling hands, you opened it to find the still-warm croissant and perfectly prepared coffee. Atop the container, a piece of candy was taped to a note that read: "To sweeten your day up! – Hotch"

Your heart swelled, a mix of joy and ache flooding your chest. Looking up, you caught Hotch watching you from his office window. Despite your best efforts to maintain distance, you couldn't help but offer him the radiant smile he'd come to cherish.

In that moment, the truth was undeniable. You were completely, utterly, and hopelessly in love with Aaron Hotchner. As your eyes locked with his, a flicker of something – hope, perhaps? – passed between you, hinting that maybe, just maybe, these obstacles weren't quite so impossible after all.

Oh, dear diary, we fell apart Welcome to the life of Electra Heart

Aaron Hotchner never imagined falling in love after Haley left. His life revolved around his job and Jack. He didn't need anyone else. That is, until you entered his life.

You were the first to sense something was wrong when he didn't answer his phone. Racing to his apartment, you found it covered in blood. With Penelope's help, you tracked him to a hospital, learning he'd been stabbed nine times.

When he opened his eyes and saw you, Hotch thought he'd died and gone to heaven. You looked angelic - an angel he couldn't bear to see harmed.

So when George Foyet shot him in his own home, Hotch realized he needed to end whatever was blossoming between you before you got hurt.

But you made it difficult.

The moment he was released, you were there every day, before and after work. Groceries, cleaning, anything to ease his burden. You knew how hard it was for him to send Haley and Jack away, how alone he must feel. You were determined to show him the team - and you - were there for him. For anything.

Driving him home after the Darrin Call case, where he'd recklessly entered a house without backup, your anger finally boiled over.

"What the hell were you thinking, Aaron?" you demanded, following him into his apartment. "No gun, no vest, no backup. Are you trying to get yourself killed?"

Hotch turned, his face a mask of stone. "I knew the profile. I had it under control."

"Under control?" you scoffed. "If it were anyone else, you'd have suspended them! This isn't you, Aaron. What's going on?"

His eyes flashed. "What's going on is I'm the Unit Chief, and I don't answer to you. I think before I act, unlike some people."

The barb stung. "What's that supposed to mean?"

"Nothing," he said coldly. "Just find it ironic you're lecturing me on recklessness."

"I've never walked into a hostage situation alone and unarmed!" you countered.

"I don't have to explain myself," Hotch snapped. "Especially not to you. Get out."

Your eyes widened. "No. We're talking about this. You're spiraling, Aaron. This obsession with Foyet-"

"Stop. You have no idea what you're talking about."

"I know you're not alone in this!" you pleaded. "The team needs you. I need you."

Hotch laughed bitterly. "If you haven't noticed, I am alone. My son is gone. I have no one. And I won't rest until Foyet is dead."

Tears welled in your eyes. "You have us. You have me. We can figure this out together."

"There is no 'we,'" Hotch said, his voice cold and final. "There never was."

The words hit like a physical blow. "Don't say that. You know that's not true."

For a moment, his mask slipped, revealing the pain beneath. But then it was back, harder than ever. "I'm sorry if I gave you the wrong impression."

You stared at him, hurt turning to anger. "Go to hell, Hotchner," you spat, before storming out, leaving him alone with the wreckage of what might have been.

I'm Miss Sugar Pink, liquor, liquor lips Hit me with your sweet love, steal me with a kiss

Your relationship with Aaron had crumbled to dust. Since that night you stormed out of his apartment, you'd made it your mission to avoid him at all costs. Difficult, considering he was your boss.

You understood he was facing unimaginable challenges - the loss of his ex-wife, becoming a single parent. Part of you ached to support him, but you both needed space.

That space stretched into a year.

You'd left transfer papers on his desk days ago. Despite your love for the team, staying had become impossible. It wasn't fair to you or Hotch. Counter Terrorism Division beckoned - a fresh start.

You hadn't told the team yet, dreading their reactions. You'd become their wild, sassy, overdramatic little sister. But tonight wasn't about goodbyes. It was Spencer's birthday, and Derek had chosen a club to celebrate. You wouldn't miss it for the world.

Arriving in a hot pink mini dress and matching heels, you spotted the team immediately.

"Happy birthday, Boy Genius!" you exclaimed, hugging Spencer tight.

"Please," he whispered, "get me out of here. Derek's trying to set me up with his friend."

You laughed, ruffling his hair. "No can do, Spence. It's your night. Go crazy. I promise not to film anything too embarrassing."

Turning to greet the others, you froze. Hotch was there. You hugged everyone but him, pointedly avoiding his gaze.

"Damn, girl! You're on fire!" Penelope gushed, clearly tipsy.

Emily nodded appreciatively. "I'm borrowing those heels."

"You know how to make a girl feel special," you winked. "First round's on me!"

An hour later, you were dancing with Penelope and Spencer, the alcohol buzzing through your veins. Suddenly, Spencer spun you – right into Hotch's arms. You glared at Spencer, who mouthed 'Karma' with a smirk.

The tension was strong as you and Hotch swayed silently. You wanted to escape, yet craved his touch.

"You requested a transfer," he stated, his voice low.

You quirked an eyebrow. "Did you sign it?"

"No."

You pulled back, stunned. "What do you mean, no?"

"We need to talk first."

Anger flared. "You're unbelievable," you spat, pushing past him and out of the club. He followed close behind.

"Y/N, please-"

You whirled to face him. "There's nothing to say. It's been a year, Hotch. Whatever we had is dead."

"You don't mean that," he insisted, his eyes burning into yours.

The alcohol amplified your emotions. "I do. I'm over it. Over you. There's nothing left to talk about."

"Then I'll talk, and you listen," he said firmly, gripping your shoulders. "There was a 'we'. Everything I said that night – it was a lie. To keep you safe from Foyet. He was targeting everyone I loved. I couldn't risk losing you."

Your heart stuttered. "You... loved me?"

"I still do," he breathed, cupping your face. "This past year has been hell. Not having you by my side – our carpool chats, sneaking candy, just... you. It was torture. I'll do anything to earn your forgiveness."

You wanted to resist, to make him suffer longer. But the alcohol, the longing, the raw emotion in his voice – it was too much. You threw your arms around him, burying your face in his neck.

You both exhaled, tension melting away. It felt right. It felt like coming home.

"I love you too," you murmured, then pulled back with a stern look. "But you've got a lot of making up to do."

He pressed his forehead to yours. "I'll spend the rest of my life making it up to you if I have to. You deserve the world, Y/N, and I intend to give it to you."

Your lips met in a soft, tentative kiss, full of promise and the weight of a year apart.

As you parted, you whispered, "This doesn't mean I'm not still furious with you."

A ghost of a smile touched his lips. "I wouldn't expect anything less."

I'm Miss Sugar Pink, liquor, liquor lips I'm gonna be your bubblegum bitch

Again, you were trouble. Even after two years together, you definitely kept him on his toes. Not transferring and working alongside your boyfriend made for an interesting way to live.

“What you did was stupid and reckless, Y/N.” Aaron's voice was stern as the team boarded the jet to head back home. The case had been a success, but it came at the cost of you getting into the unsub’s car without any weapons. Fortunately, you had your team.

You couldn't help but roll your eyes at him. “Don’t you roll your eyes at me, Y/N. I’m serious.”

“Ooooo, Mom and Dad are fighting,” Spencer teased from across the jet.

“Shut up, Spencer,” you snapped, making him raise his hands in mock surrender. Then, you turned to Hotch. “You know damn well I needed to get into his car. If I didn’t and you caught him, he would’ve acted like he was just trying to get with me.”

Aaron rubbed the side of his head. Migraines. You gave him migraines. “The plan was for you to walk down the street, and the moment you were alone with him, we would get him. You went rogue.”

You rolled your eyes again. “Well, technically we were alone, and you did get him.”

He was about to argue again, but you wrapped your arms around his neck, giving him your infamous puppy dog face. “Aaron, I’m okay. You know I did what I had to do to catch him. I’m sorry I worried you, but I’m not sorry for helping bring him in.”

He sighed, knowing you were right, and he could never stay mad at you. “I hated every second of it. My heart stopped the moment you got into that damn car.”

You smiled and pecked him on the lips. “Hey, you always said I was going to give you a heart attack.”

It was his turn to roll his eyes before he kissed you. “You have, and you most definitely will again.”

“Hey, that’s what you love about me.”

“That is true.”

[glasvera]

Blackened Gold

Adam Warlock x GN!Reader x Venom

Description: When a new vanguard is assigned to assist yourself and Adam Warlock, you didn't expect it to be a symbiote. And you certainly didn't expect tensions between all of you to come to a head one night on a scouting mission. Sexual tensions, that is.

Warnings/Disclaimers: 18+, Minors DNI! 19 inches of Venom, spitroasting, oral sex (male receiving), tentacle/tendril play, nipple play, asphyxiation, biting, rough (and I mean brutal) sex, inappropriate usage of healing magic. Established situationship between Adam and Reader.

A/N: This is the first gender neutral reader smut I've written, so I hope I did well. I tried to focus on the parts that "count" and make it as inclusive as possible. Everyone has a hole and a mouth, after all ;) Also this is barely proofread. I think I was possessed when I wrote this.

Word Count: 3.8k

On these strange, haphazard missions you find yourself on with unlikely allies, you weren’t expecting to fall into any sort of rhythm.

Well, perhaps one of them was to be expected. Adam Warlock worked well with you, keeping you alive during the dangerous segments with his perfectly timed healing. And you kept him alive any time someone dared to attack him directly. You had been on several missions together by now that it was easy to fall into step alongside each other. Not to mention your… out of work activities.

Needless to say, your closeness had not gone unnoticed.

But recently, the two of you had found yourselves a new protector.

A lethal one.

It started on a particularly risky mission. You were up against incredibly competent and incredibly dangerous enemies. Even Adam, try as he might, was struggling to keep up healing you. Things looked grim, and for a moment, you thought all was lost. Your mouth was filled with the metallic tang of blood, and it was getting harder to stand… regardless, you moved in front of Adam. If anyone needed to stay in the fight, it’s him. The team could do without you.

Then a flash of black streaked across your vision. That flash turned into a… splash? Tentacles sprayed forth from the pavement that cracked from the force of the impact, but soon they came together to form a vaguely humanoid being. It was huge, with broad shoulders and defined muscles that seemed to absorb any attacks coming its way. When its head turned to face the two of you, you felt a shiver run down your spine at the impossibly wide grin of razor sharp teeth.

“Good,” a gravelly, alien voice rumbled forth. “It seems we arrived just in time.”

Tentacles spewed forth and speared your enemies as the alien savior chortled at their feeble attempts to hurt it. It was terrifying to watch, and you almost felt bad for those on the receiving end of those piercing appendages… and yet at the same time, there was something irrefutably attractive about how effortless it was. Adam was quick to take advantage of the opportunity to finally heal you properly, but you simply watched in awe.

You had learned after the battle that the identity of your savior was Venom, or rather, a symbiote named Venom that had bonded with the human named Eddie Brock. It towered over both of you even as it crouched down, giving you both that unsettling grin while its white eye markings took in every detail. Adam was stitching the last of your injuries together with his powers, but he kept a wary eye on the new third member to your little party.

“This one…” its grumbling growl echoes as its finger pokes into your chest, “pleases us.”

You could see Adam stiffen a bit. To say that he’d become protective of you over the last few months was an understatement. White gold eyes narrow at the shiny black digit that lingers against your body, and his lip curls in visible disgust as he watches the way those tendrils seem to writhe and pulse constantly beneath Venom’s skin. But before he could jump to your defense and play the chivalrous knight he so loved to be, you made sure to speak first.

“Is that why you saved us? Because I please you?” you accuse with a pointed stare.

It’s impossible to read the expression on Venom’s face, but it does cock its head to the side.

“It is our duty. We protect our team.”

Your brow furrows, but it states it so matter-of-factly that you can’t argue it. Though you can’t help but notice the way tiny tendrils seem to peek out curiously from its finger, spreading a few inches across your chest as they feel their way about. You’re about to swat its hand away, but it seems to notice your discomfort and pulls away, resting the offending appendage on its thigh.

Adam sighs as he withdraws his healing energies, a reaffirming hand on the small of your back as he helps you stand up properly. “So you are the new vanguard assigned to us. Tell me then why I sense the stain of Knull’s essence in your being?” His voice isn’t as hostile as you might have expected. There’s a cautiousness in his tone and in his movements, to be sure, but it’s clear that his curiosity has been piqued.

“Knull is just as much our enemy as he is yours, golden one,” it growls, squinting those wide, white alien eyes at your comrade. “We do not recognize his authority even if he is our creator.”

Adam’s lips press into a thin line. “While I find it difficult to trust you easily, there is wisdom in your words. Wisdom I can personally relate to.” He nods, and the possessive grip he has on your back relaxes slightly. “Welcome to the team, Venom.”

The three (four?) of you fell into quite the, ahem, symbiotic relationship over the next few weeks. You worked quite well together: without the focus of the enemy’s fire, you were able to dish out a lot more damage, and Adam found it much easier to heal a target that mitigates much of the damage it takes in the first place. It also helps that the two had found common ground in something, even if it occasionally put them at odds.

They were both obsessed with you.

Protecting you, healing you, taking care of you, killing for you. You’d begun to notice the energy shift and just how acutely aware they both were of your well-being at all times. There were also the extra glancing touches, lingering glances. You were used to those from Adam before, but those had been ignited into a fury once Venom had begun them as well. At first it was unsettling, but you’d grown accustomed to the way its tendrils caressed and wrapped around you in passing. If it carried you to Adam for healing, you could feel the way stray tentacles explored, dipping and slithering about. Never where they shouldn’t, but the intention was still quite clear. And that healing energy, the kind that makes your knees buckle? Yeah, Adam had returned to applying that in full force.

It all came to a head when you were all turning in for the night during a scouting mission. You had some down time while waiting for the target to make a move, so you made camp in an abandoned convenience store in one of the more wrecked parts of the city. Lighting a fire could potentially draw too much attention, and seeing as you were really the only one to suffer from any sort of cold, it fell to Adam and Venom to keep you warm. As you all lie down on a makeshift bed of blankets with bags of stale cereal for pillows, Venom is the first to make its move.

They bickered a little less nowadays, at least, so all Adam gives Venom is a slightly disappointed glance when those symbiotic tendrils curl around your body. Despite its intentions, they’re cold and slimy, and you shiver at the initial feeling. It responds by liquefying itself even further, enveloping your limbs and waist in a cold black that slowly responds to and encases your body heat. Adam rolls onto his side, propping his head up on his hand as he watches the two of you.

“Is that… comfortable?” he asks with genuine curiosity as he watches the slick ooze form to your body’s shape. It stirs something in him, but he’s not ready to admit that yet.

The shuddering subsides as your body acclimates to its symbiotic cocoon. “It’s warm, at least. It’s not uncomfortable,” you respond. But, as a living entity, it seems the symbiote can’t quite stay still, pulsing and writhing against you. It seeps under your clothes, seeking out your body heat to better maintain it, and you squirm slightly. Body heat doesn’t seem to be something you’ll be struggling with for long, as your face begins to flush with the way those tendrils caress you almost lovingly.

Adam could have sworn he saw Venom smiling knowingly, but it could be so difficult to read its expression. Once he hears your staggered breaths, however, his eyes narrow even if he doesn’t make an immediate move. “What are you doing to Y/N?”

“Keeping this one warm,” it responds with a guttural groan. You feel something stir against your backside, and it causes you to gasp. “We know of a good way to do this.”

The golden man’s throat goes dry as he watches. Your body squirms, yes, but it doesn’t look as though you’re trying to break free. And he of all people recognizes the flush on your face and that needy warmth that radiates from your soul. 

You were enjoying this, even if you yourself hadn’t recognized it yet.

And then that long, pink tongue is snaking around your neck and teasing at your parted lips.

“This one feels good on us. We would please you further, if you allow us…” it whispers, that normally grating voice taking on a low and almost seductive quality. “We have thought of this a long time.”

Those tendrils are dipping into your hero suit, teasing along your hip bone or touching just out of reach of your hardening nipples. It’s hard to breathe, not from the tongue that curls about your neck, but from the arousal that builds in your core. You ache with a primal need, you ache for more, so much so that you almost forget that Venom is waiting patiently for your permission. How quaint for a being that’s clearly fine with fondling you already.

“A…And Adam?” you finally eke out, and you see his cheeks turn a deep copper at your offer of inclusion.

“The… blindingly golden one may join. We do not care. We only wish to feel you and keep you warm. Hot.” A tendril finally snakes around your nipple, flicking it beneath your clothes. “Quivering.”

For now, it’s all Adam can do to watch as Venom toys with your body, snaking between your legs and lifting one up as it begins exploring your thighs. Venom parts its symbiotic casing of you, leaving your desire on evident display even beneath your clothing. Even that is done away with quickly as its appendages work in tandem to strip that away, leaving you bare and naked before them both. The chill of night is all but forgotten as you moan at Venom’s ministrations, and Adam is finally spurred to action as he swallows those sounds with his lips on yours. This feels wrong, like he’s aiding in your defilement by allowing this symbiote to have its way with you, but then he feels your hand shoving its way down his pants as you palm at his hardening length.

“Y/N,” he gasps out, breaking the kiss as you stroke him back and forth, flicking your thumb over that sensitive golden tip. Your movements are much less sure than they usually are, distracted by the way Venom’s tendrils travel lower, lower…

They tease at your entrance, slathering your skin in black slick as they poke and prod. It draws a staggered cry from your lips. Adam watches you in awe, twitches in your hand even as it falters, cupping your face in his hands before kissing you hungrily. Desire wins out over duty in his mind as he bucks into your touch.

“This one is responsive. We knew this would be enjoyable,” Venom growls before that tongue begins gently squeezing, restricting the air from your lungs ever so slightly. You see stars in your vision as the asphyxiation only turns you on further.

Venom’s tentacles spread your legs further as smaller ones thread their way into you, fucking in and out while your mind goes blank. Adam’s lips continue to devour yours, and it isn’t long before his tongue spears into your mouth, demanding even more. You’re desperately tugging at Adam’s pants with the hand that isn’t wrapped around his cock, and more symbiotic tendrils aid in your efforts to divest your mutual partner of the offending fabric. Adam kicks it off readily as Venom tosses it to the side. When that golden length springs free, you stroke at it with a renewed vigor and, much to your surprise, your hand is joined by a slimy black tentacle wrapping around the base.

“A-ah, that is-” Adam stammers, but his words are cut off by a broken moan as you and Venom work in tandem. That slick quickens and smooths your movements, acting like lubrication that leaves your golden god gasping for breath even as he kisses you again.

All the while, Venom continues adding more and more to your spreading hole, thicker tendrils fucking into you relentlessly. You can feel its cock resting against your ass and silently thank whatever powers are listening that this symbiote was kind enough to prepare you before spearing you with that.

As if it’s reading your mind somehow, you feel more than hear Venom’s growling chortle behind you. “This one still isn’t ready for all of us.”

You’re perfectly aware of that, and even still you feel a growing fire building in the pit of your belly. Tentacles squeeze and tug at your nipples while others dance and grope at the apex of your thighs. A few even whip experimentally at your ass, and you choke out a moan despite the tongue that keeps a tight hold around your throat.

“Golden one. What is it that you normally do to this one to make them cry so deliciously?” Venom asks Adam, snapping the man out of his own building orgasm as he focuses his attention back on you.

“I-I,” he stutters, deciding actions would speak louder than words when said words fail him. The hands that cradle your head begin to travel, but one of them stays and presses two fingers against your parted lips. You stare at Adam with pleading eyes and pupils blackened with lust, eagerly opening your mouth further to allow him access. He slowly fucks your mouth with those digits as your tongue laves them with attention.

And then the energy flows forth.

You practically go cross-eyed as those streams of golden energy spread through your body, caressing your tongue and filling your mind with pleasure. At that very moment, Venom’s tongue withdraws from your neck, allowing you to scream out as all of the sensations overwhelm you at once. Those tendrils filling you so deliciously almost seem thicker now, and you can feel the way they stretch your walls. Adam’s healing quite literally mind-fucks you, and the vein on his cock pulses as you continue stroking it. Your exposed neck doesn’t need to wait for long as sharp teeth sink into it. It’s a white-hot, searing pain, but paired with the constant flow of Adam’s power, it’s replaced with pleasure as quickly as it hurts.

You’re so close. You can feel it pooling low in your stomach and they can sense it. Adam’s mouth waters as he continues thrusting his fingers into yours, mimicking the pace at which Venom spears you. Your fingers and Venom’s tendril wrap around him so perfectly. But it’s not enough.

“Need… Need your mouth,” Adam finally speaks, and how can you deny such a request when those hooded milky eyes stare at you with such unrestrained desire?

Venom withdraws its tentacles from you just as Adam removes his fingers, and you whine at the sudden loss of stimulation. You were so close, and they were so mean for that.

Those are your thoughts, at least, until you feel Venom manhandling you onto your knees. Its tendrils still slither and slide around your body, but you notice now that none of them seek to enter you. No. There was something altogether larger prodding at you now.

Sweat drips down your back as you begin to tense up. Venom’s tongue laps at the salty sweet of you as it positions itself, and your breath hitches in your throat when you feel the head of its cock slip inside with an audible pop.

And gods, that was just the head.

Breathing just got a lot harder. You're practically gasping, and Adam kneels in front of you before sliding his own length into your open mouth. Inch by inch, Venom fills you from behind, stretching you for what feels like an eternity. Adam at least has the restraint to keep himself to shallow thrusts, cupping your chin as he stares down at your absolutely fucked-out face. Your lips close around the tip and you try desperately to focus on the salty taste of his precum as you swipe your tongue up his slit. It’s hard to focus on anything else though when Venom is set upon rearranging your insides.

Finally, after a few minutes of that, Venom bottoms out in you. If you thought you couldn’t breathe before, you certainly weren’t prepared for this. You’ve never felt so full in your life, and with your mouth occupied, you feel like you might pass out.

That is, until you remember you have a nose to breathe through. Though, who could blame you for forgetting when your mind is going blank with pleasure? You inhale deeply, furrowing your brows as you take a moment to concentrate on getting air back into your lungs. Sensing your discomfort, Adam runs a soothing hand through your hair.

“You are doing so well, Y/N. I know you can continue,” Adam praises, and Venom groans at the way you clench around it in response. He trickles healing energy into your head, leaving your mind buzzing and numb in the best way.

Venom is the first to move in earnest, pulling its cock out before slamming it back into you. Your eyes widen and you feel your stomach distend from the force of it, but once again Adam’s healing prevents any long lasting damage. No, instead, every ounce of pain is immediately converted into pleasure as your body stitches itself back together.

“It is good you are here, golden one. We would likely destroy this one’s organs if you were not here to heal Y/N,” Venom’s gurgled speech states through grunting thrusts.

You’re going to be completely ruined after this.

Adam can only laugh breathlessly. “I had never considered such a thing. I have only endeavored to be gentle with Y/N. Perhaps this warrants further experimentation,” he replies. Oh… you’re not sure if you hate or love the sound of that.

Once Venom has settled into a steady rhythm, Adam begins to increase his pace until he’s fucking your mouth. Tears prick at the corners of your eyes, but the hand at your chin continues pouring forth that golden energy. Your throat doesn’t even get a chance to ache from the intrusion before it subsides completely. That process continues, repeating endlessly, as you find yourself utterly spitroasted between them.

Loathe as he might normally be to admit it, the choked gurgling and slobbered moans that sound from your throat only bring Adam closer all the quicker. His eyebrows knit together as he gasps and groans, holding your head in place as he loses himself in the wet cavern of your mouth. You obediently suck and lave on his cock even as spittle dribbles down your chin. Venom takes its pleasure readily, growling possessively as it hunches over you. You’ve braced yourself on your hands for long enough, but your muscles begin to fail you as your arms shake and slip. Venom wraps its tentacles around you and holds you up, using its large hand to capture your wrists behind your back. Now you really have no choice but to take everything they give you, spearing you from both sides as you’re overwhelmed by their cocks and the golden morphine that pulses through you.

“This one will cum soon.” It’s a proclamation, not a prediction. Tendrils swirl and tug on your nipples, tentacles work you from the front, and soon its tongue is wrapped around your neck again. Venom growls in satisfaction as it feels the bulge of Adam in your throat, and Adam’s breathing stutters at the sudden tightness.

Your eyes are rolling back into your head. You might die, you think. Forget the “little death,” this felt like an imminent explosion. Your face is a mess of tears and drool.

Adam is the first. His thrusts grow erratic at this newfound constriction. Your name spills forth from his lips, over and over, a desperate prayer before he spills stream after stream of his cum down your throat. You swallow it eagerly, even if it leaves you coughing a bit when he finally withdraws from your mouth.

Once Adam pulls away, you feel everything. No more healing to mask what Venom was doing to you. But you were too far gone at this point. Even without that golden energy, pain was becoming nothing but pleasure to you. And with your mouth unoccupied, your screams go unimpeded save for the tongue around your neck. It builds, pulse after pulse, thrust after thrust, until that spark ignites fully into an inferno.

You cum with a strangled cry, convulsing around Venom’s cock as you make an absolute mess of yourself. Your voice gurgles and you see stars before your body goes limp. Venom has no issue keeping you aloft as it finishes, thrusting into you erratically with a final roar before pulling out of you to spurt ribbon after ribbon of spend onto your heaving back. The tentacles withdraw suddenly and you collapse onto the ground, unable to move a muscle.

As you all take a moment to collect yourselves and catch your breath, you hear vehicles in the distance and the shouts of several henchmen. Thankfully, they seem to be heading away from you this time. You’re not sure you could take on any bad guys right now.

Oh. Of course they were running away.

Your head falls to the ground with a light thud, and you groan now that you’ve come down from your orgasmic bliss.

“So much for not giving away our location…” you mumble ashamedly.

A hum akin to a laugh rumbles in Venom’s chest. “It is no surprise with the sounds being made. This one is quite vocal.”

You groan again, hiding your face behind your hands. Adam finds himself chuckling too, even if this little debacle has put a handicap on your mission. “I am sure we will pick up on their trail come morning. But perhaps, for now, we all should get some rest?” he offers as he gathers his and your clothes and folds them into a neat pile.

Venom murmurs its agreement before it begins to envelop both of you in that symbiotic cocoon, surprising Adam as he finds himself pressed so intimately against you and Venom. But after that session, it’s hard to protest anything, and it isn’t long before you both fall soundly asleep in the embrace of your diligent vanguard.

[lymericslimerick]

I've been devoting myself to You, Monday to Monday and Friday to Friday | 𝖶𝗋𝗂𝗈𝗍𝗁𝖾𝗌𝗅𝖾𝗒 𝗑 𝗋𝖾𝖺𝖽𝖾𝗋

"Have you heard? The Duke has been way more vicious lately."

warnings .ᐟ suggestive themes but no sex, grinding, humping, biting, blood, fighting, wrio is described as wolfish a lot, continuation of this fic, vaguely vampiric reader, mild torture, begging to be 'eaten', yandere

2.7k words | she/her pronouns

The smell of blood was thick in the air.

Shouting, cheering, bet wagering filled the air as the inhabitants of the Fortress of Meropide surround the makeshift boxing ring laid in the center of a room hidden by a maze of pipes. The warm lighting of the arena was undercut by the endless sea that shone through the gaps in cold metal, shining onto the opponents in the arena like a frigid spotlight. Criminals, horrible and benign alike surrounded the two stars of the show, hungry eyes glued to the cowering figure of their fellow inmate stuck to the corner of the ring. His shaking form is contrasted by the hulking figure of Their Grace stalking towards him, bringing with him the promise of something sinister.

The inmate was bloodied and beat up, face slowly turning red as blood gushes out of his mouth and nose. His swollen eyes unable to see the panicked looks on the guards, who glance between themselves and whisper, “Isn’t this too much?”. He struggles to sit up on his arms, but cold metal meets his hair and slams him onto the floor. He hears the whirring and hissing of the components holding the Duke’s Cryo energy at bay, cold to the touch. He had only heard this noise once before, reverberating through the walls of the fortress as he ran away from The Duke’s office that fateful night.

He supposes this was a long time coming, he thinks as his head is slammed back onto the floor. The inmate always felt The Duke’s eyes on him, stalking him. He was high priority prey for a rabid wolf intent on protecting what's his.

Another slam to the floor. He thinks his nose is broken. The inmate’s mind wanders back to what got him in this mess in the first place, that figure he saw in The Duke’s office looking down at him. He had been summoned in there by The Duke himself, who told him with an easygoing smile that he “had a job for him.” That job turned out to be disposing of a garbage bag full of things he recognises as Fontainian research tools, all coated in something he hopes isn’t blood. As he lugs it over his shoulder, grumbling about how unfair all of this is, he hears a noise. The inmate looks up and he sees a shadow retreat from its place above the stairs, deep into the office. He gulps. He’s heard stories of the Meropide being haunted by vengeful ghosts eager to take revenge on the upper management whispered by some particularly looney prisoners, but he had paid them no mind. Ghosts? Oceanids were more likely.

Though, he knows ghosts don’t have footsteps and Oceanids don’t even have feet. So, if one plus one was two, this was…

“Hello?” The inmate’s voice reverbs through the walls of the room, echoing. He hears something bristle, like whoever was up there paused what they were doing to listen to him. He takes this as a sign. “Are you a guest of the Duke’s?”

Silence. Not even any rustling.

He doesn’t know why, but he drops the bag on the ground and walks towards the stairs. The inmate feels like he’s being lured, snared like a fish on a hook being reeled to its doom. His footsteps are slow and careful, like he was scared to even move. He approaches the steps and starts climbing up them, heart beating fast with such pressure his ribcage felt like an actual cage. Anticipation grows, his heart beats faster.

The inmate opens his mouth. “Don’t be sca-“

The door opens, and the atmosphere becomes frigid cold instantly. The inmate can feel the temperature drop to freezing as The Duke’s gaze threatens to sear the skin off his neck. A beat. Silence. Maybe he isn’t dead mea-

Whirring, hissing, and a sharp clang of The Duke’s gauntlets clamping onto his bare hands, Cryo storming around his clenched fist with as much intensity as a snowstorm on Dragonspine. He feels his heart drop into his stomach completely as The Duke utters with barely concealed white hot rage, “Start running. Now. I catch you, you’re fucking dead.”

He had never ran harder in his life.

The inmate is brought out of his daydream by the impact of The Duke’s gauntlet-clad right hand slamming onto his stomach. He faintly registers blinding pain coming from the side of his stomach. Hah, he punctured him like a balloon. Behind him, he could hear the very real screams and gasps from the usually performative audience. They were used to being entertained by the fights that happened, watching it like they would court hearings up in the overworld. Safe, but real displays of human drama and savagery.

But this? This was a real bonafide hunt. This was a certain and slow death being played out right in front of them.

He hears the Duke whisper something into his ear, but all he sees is a wolf snapping at him and snarling a promise of death. The Duke’s eyes look terrifying, cold and animalistic as he smiles a toothy grin, fangs shining like steel. He’s eyeing his neck like a hawk, The inmate saying a prayer as he realises.

The Duke opens his mouth and bites.

The screams turn to shrieks, and the guards swarm up behind the Duke pleading and screaming at him to stop. The inmate’s body falls with a thud as he closes his eyes, feeling the blood from the open wound on his neck trickle down his skin like hot lava as he feels himself drift into unconsciousness, the sound of panic increasing in his wake.

__

This haunt feels more like an assault on the senses than the Palais Mermonia, what with the merging of the warm, almost old lights of the lamps patterning around the table, and the cold, with the unforgiving cold of light streaming down onto the center of the office like it was waiting to reclaim the office into the abyss of the ocean.

It certainly felt like the ocean wanted to reclaim this place, the dripping of water from the window above a constant rhythm in your ear. It was a cloying presence, much like a low tide trying to consume the beach it rose up upon. Meek, scared it was going to cause the beach to up and leave, but unabashedly desperate to get to her by any means necessary.

You look up at the window in contemplation, that sounds familiar.

A water droplet almost falls on you but you avoid it, turning to look at the papers on the desk. All reports of inmates benign and monstrous alike, but none of the inmate you’re most curious about. You sift through the reports, eyes darting about for a title familiar to anyone and everyone who dares call themself a warrior. A presence that makes itself known wherever and whenever any huge fight happens, eager to throw his hat in the ring at a moments notice.

Childe, Tartaglia. Whatever he calls himself, the 11th harbinger.

The mess he had made in Fontaine, from his brief stint in the Meropide to the fall of his monstrous form at the hands of the great whale (described in The Steambird with great enthusiasm by miss Charlotte), made national news. You, ever eager to find any and all people who had some sort of connection with the primordial, naturally decided to seek him out after getting what you wanted from the Chief Iudex. Maybe taking what you wanted from him would burden your heart less than it would you taking from the draconic man, the storm that followed your leaving weighing heavy on your mind.

Getting to him was easy enough. You just had to make your way to his case files and use them to track where he is now, since the fortress had a mandatory 4 week surveillance on all prisoners in which they had to report their status and current place of residence at the end of every week. Mighty convenient. The only caveat was that you had to get close enough to the top to even begin to see his files for yourself, and well..

The sound of the heavy metal door scraping against the floor making a hideous noise that scrunches your noise in irritation. He’s back.

You prepare yourself for his return from another hunt, positioning yourself on his table like you had just sat down and pushing the case files back into his drawer. Well, not like he wouldn’t let you read them but appearances are everything. His shadow starts huge at the end of the stairs and dims with every step he takes, finally emerging at the top of the stairs with bloodied gauntlets and an even bloodier mouth, red staining his lips down to his roughish jaw. The perfect image of a wolf on the hunt skulking back to its den with signs of victory, eager to display it to the rest of his pack.

In this case, You raise your hands and clap in mock praise. It lands all the same with Wriothesley who practically buckles under the weight of your perceived approval. His mouth pulls into a gleeful, toothy grin and his teeth are bloody too, but you guess he’s grown to want it this way. His gauntlets come off in a hiss, deconstructing and falling at his sides to reveal black bandage wrapped hands and rough fingers shaking in anticipation. He had gotten better at controlling himself over the week, trying to stop himself from acting like an overexcited puppy in your presence, but something must have gotten him really excited today.

You say as much, and his smile turns sweet and almost bashful. He walks towards you, still not saying a word until he stops in front of you with his chest rising and falling with a vigour. He looks down on you with blown out eyes, smile still on his face but shaky and barely contained. You blink at him, “You have anything to say to me?”

Immediately, “I got him.”

You raise an eyebrow as he drops to his knees in front of you, grabbing onto the sides of your thighs like a vice as he nuzzles his head into your thigh. This was an impressive amount of restraint for The Duke. “What do you mean?”

“Him,” He says into you. “The it you’ve had on your mind lately,” He pushes his face harder into your thigh and you feel his teeth talk against your skin. “The thing that’s keeping you away from me.”

You say nothing. What imaginary beast has this man conjured up yet again? He senses your thoughts and looks up at you, looking more pitiful wolf cub than the terrifying Duke of Meropide he was supposed to be. “Him! Th- The man.. That man who you… That pest who..” He was tripping over his words, slurring them together as if the thought of even uttering them terrified him to his core. Like if he spoke it to you, this man would once again claim his place in your head. You take his head in your hands and he keens, cheek nuzzling against them. Your eyes give him an order, and he takes a deep shuddering breath before finally saying. “That inmate who intruded you, Us, a few days back. I handled him, My Love.”

You sigh. This again. Since that poor soul had made the mistake of being curious, Wriothesley had been acting more wolfish than usual. Skulking around the main level of the Fortress, eyes blown in anger as he tried to sniff him out and ordering all high level guards (At least, those who were unfailingly loyal to him) to organise some sort of grand fight with the inmates, with him and the fool who had tried to steal you away at the center of it all.

Of course, you wouldn’t know head nor tail of this plan had he not confessed all of it to you like a prayer after a particularly steamy embrace. You still remember the weight of him on top of you, muscly chest pressing into yours in desperation as he whispered it in your ear. His hands were clamped on your waist, somehow still cold against the warmth of your revitalised skin.

“Darling, Baby, I promise you a hunt like no other.” He whispered as you felt him push against you, his still clothed bottom half rubbing against yours, which was barely clothed. Not quite enough to make you excited but more than enough for him, his hips stuttering in anticipation for something that isn’t going to come anytime soon. “I’ll bring you proof, a sign of my devotion, very soon. You’ll never have to doubt me ever again.”

Your silence must have been enough for him, as he buried his head into your neck and continued warming your bed.

In the now, you remember what to say. “This was the hunt you told me about?” His nod elicits a contemplative hum from you as you make a decision on where to bring this next. His heart was in your hands and you had the choice between crushing it under your grasp or making it beat faster in your palm, both options gladly welcomed by this beast in your lap. You look at him for a split second, taking in his especially tousled hair that took the form of two wolfish ears on his head, and you’re reminded that the version of him you know has turned more beast than man. And what more do beasts need than simple pleasure?

You bring your hand to tousle his hair and pat his head as he eggs you on with a deep groan, hands gripping the sides of your thigh even harder. “Impressive, Wriothesley.” He nods eagerly into your lap, goading you to continue. “The true extent of your strength always amazes me, leaves me positively speechless.” He whines this time, and you feel a familiar rubbing against your leg. You close your eyes to stifle your laughter at how typical he is. “I might even say that you’re the best I’ve ever seen.”

His movements grow more intense as he looks up at you, face flushed red and eyes wild as he desperately stares into your (e/c) eyes. His voice is a whisper, “Am I?”

You smile, and he reaches his own conclusion. His yell isn’t the most elegant, a guttural, feral thing that gives way to his climax at your feet. His hands slide of your waist ever so slightly and come to grip your hips, no doubt pantomiming what would’ve happened had you not been the person you were. His head comes to rest between your two legs which formed a cage around his face, guarding him from a treasure he’s had his eyes on for a while. He keens and you ‘tsk’, shaking your head like he was a misbehaving dog. He should know better by now.

He does, instead asking you, “Why won’t you feast on me?”

You still, and he hurriedly says his next words. He knows he’s gone behind your back, looked behind the curtain, but he can’t help it. He wants to know you, know all of you. How better would he know to rip and tear all that’s in your way if he doesn’t even know what you’re looking for? “I.. I know of your ailment, Love. I want yo- No, I need you, to relieve yourself with me. Please, let me be of service to you, drain me dry.”

You heave a sigh. Oh, this poor little wolf. He doesn’t know the extent of your ailment, the truth of your depraved actions that leave you regretful and secretive. If he knew only divine, no, ancient blood was the only way to soothe the burn in your veins, he’d be as devastated as you. A mere human couldn’t even dream of quelling the ache in your veins, but maybe, just maybe-

Your gaze drifts to the side, eyeing the case files on the wardrobe. It’s like one of them shines in your line of sight, a gleam of letters that finally surprise you.

Ajax. 11th Fatui Harbinger.

Beneath you, Wriothesley whimpers at your silence with a cowered head. You shake your head as if you were in thought and you gently brush your fingers against the skin of his cheek, some blood making way on your skin.

“Oh Wriothesley, you shouldn’t ask that of yourself. That’s a hunt you can’t hope of winning.”

[devilfruitwriter]

falls in love easily {Taz Skylar}

Summary: Life comes at you fast, and often in uncertain ways, at least that's what you find yourself thinking when it's almost five in the morning and you're waiting for the cast of the upcoming Live Action One Piece Netflix show in their makeup trailer, and you realise you might have finally found your people. (And the way you try not to think about how you might genuinely be falling for the actor who you've been joking about being in love with since day one.)

Need to Know: They/Them Reader. Makeup Artist!Reader. Fluff through vignettes. No use of Y/N.

A/N: 3424 words. Unedited and probably a mess but I love him your honor. Now idk if it's good, but I hope you enjoy it. There's mentions of drinking. Let me know what you think, or if you have any prompts for Taz or any of the rest of the cast! <3

Taglist is always open, please comment or message me to be added! xx

Taz has started bringing you coffee, and damn if you don't love him for it.

"Don't let it go to your head; they love everyone," Emily rolls her eyes but her expression is fond. You stick your tongue out at her, still cradling your steaming take away cup with both your hands, looking between them in the makeup trailer they share with you and Emily's makeup artist.

"Yeah but me the most," Taz sits a little higher in his chair, his smug little smile is levelled at his co-star, though you see his gaze flick to you and the grin you're trying to hide behind the rim of your cup, "that's the point of the coffee, isn't it?"

"You have a few other redeeming qualities," you chime in, struggling not to laugh at the whole situation, especially as Taz makes a show of practically preening at your decidedly backhanded praise.

"Told ya," he's outright beaming now, "loves me the most, as they should."

"As I should?" You hear the disbelief in your own voice rise as you lower your cup, crossing your free hand over your chest.

"Obviously," Taz, however, does not seem phased by your indignance, looking at you with wide, bright eyes, like it's the most simple thing in the world, "you're my makeup artist, if you loved one of them more I'd consider that a great betrayal of our bond."

Emily can no longer contain her laughter.

You take a moment to ponder and sip the coffee he'd brought you, mulling over his words.

"I've known Emily longer," you pointed out, though Taz shook his head, managing to keep his composure and keep up with the bit.

"And I've worked with other makeup artists in the past; what matters is the here and now," he says with an almost believable sincerity, "and here and now, I love you the most, and I buy you coffee, and I'm gonna be real sad if you don't say it back." Endeared by his antics, the words tumble from you -

"Of course I love you the mostest -"

"- the mostest! -" he echoes under his breath with a pleased kind of triumph.

"- the mostest? -" Emily, however, has her whole face scrunched up, muttering amid her laughter like she can't quite believe she'd heard you say that.

"Of course I love Taz the mostest -" you doubled down, now outright grinning, "not that it should have to be stated; this is a well established love affair we've got going on here, was that not clear?" Gesturing between yourself and Taz, who's once again looking particularly pleased with the bit, the two of you share an amused look before both turning to Emily in the makeup chair beside you both. She gives you both a thin, amused smile, her laughter having died down.

"Oh it's clear," she smirks at him, "considering that even Kiki won't swap trailers with me -" though there's no real malice behind it.

"You have not asked Kiki to swap with you," Taz rolled his eyes good-naturedly, "you love us."

"And we love you," you assured her, playing up the saccharine quality of your voice once more.

"But not as much as you love each other," she pointed out.

"Obviously," Taz nodded, right as you agreed;

"That goes without saying."

(Later, when you ask him how he takes his coffee, he cracks an eye open where he's relaxing as you're laying his wig for the day, slight smile on his lips, telling you that's not how this works.

Music fills the little trailer in the in-between moments, loud enough that Emily and her own makeup artist can't hear the specifics of your conversation. You give pause, waiting for the spirit gum to dry, echoing his words back to him as a question, amused at his apparent courteousness. He nods, now watching you, as if confused by your question.

"How am I meant to let you know I love you otherwise?" You snickered, playing off the earlier joke. It did the trick, however, as he huffed a quiet laugh of his own. Still, he tells you how he takes his coffee, and you, triumphant, turn to the counter for your next product.

"Or you could just say," he adds after a moment, and you can't help but freeze. You don't even need to be looking at him to hear him grinning - this moment is doing strange things to the affectionate feeling in your chest, but you do your best to ignore it. Turning back, his eyes are closed again, settled back in his seat, waiting as patient as ever.

"That's too easy," you hope he can tell you're smiling too.)

----

"I'm so sorry, love," Taz is leaning against the side of your trailer, cigarette in one hand, and blue, plastic lighter in the other, "my lighter's dead, you don't happen to have one?"

After being called in even earlier than usual to assist with Jeff's Buggy makeup for the shoot today, it takes you a moment to catch up. It takes you a moment, and a yawn, but you reach into one of the side pockets of your backpack.

"Yeah, gimme a sec," you mumble through your yawn.

"Fuckin' love you," Taz mutters gratefully, shoving his own, empty lighter into his back pocket, "I know it's a filthy habit but -"

"I don't judge," you shrug, finally handing over the lighter that had been buried in the bottom of the pocket. Instead of heading in, however, you joined him, leaning against the trailer, tipping your head back to look at the lilac sky as it began to turn gold.

The quiet spark, pop, sizzle of the cigarette isn't an unfamiliar sound given the industry you work in. Taz thanks you quietly as he hands back the lighter, and you give a tired smile in return; you had an energy drink and probably a coffee waiting in your trailer but you would rather take these few moments of peace where you could get them.

"I thought you vaped," you mused after a moment. Taz makes a noncommittal noise as he breathes out a lungful of smoke.

"Left it in the accommodation," he admitted. He offers the cigarette, but you shake your head, "probably smart, like its a bad habit, yeah, but also I don't exactly know where this came from, I found it in the bottom of my bag, it's..." he gives a thin, self deprecating smile, "questionable."

"Sounds like a you-problem, my guy," you tell him, shifting over to lean against his shoulder, closing your eyes for the moment. You hear him laugh and agree, and a comfortable silence stretches out between you.

"It definitely is," he agrees after a moment, "can I ask why you carry a lighter with you if you don't smoke? Not that I'm not grateful -"

"That's why."

"What?"

"In case someone needs a lighter."

"That's sweet, that's very lovely."

"I do try," you hum with a slight smile. After a moment, he wraps an arm around your shoulders, continuing to blow smoke into the wind, away from you.

"You doing alright, love?"

"Always," you sigh, leaning into him in the moment, "I'll be alright, I just need to get some caffeine into me."

"Coffee's waiting for you inside," he told you warmly, giving your shoulder a squeeze.

"Yeah," you mumbled, before admitting, "I like hanging out with you though."

You can't bring yourself to open your eyes and gauge his reaction, but he doesn't let you go.

(He keeps borrowing your lighter. Sometimes it's those early mornings, sometimes it's on set, during the few scenes where Sanji's smoking; before anyone else he'll come to you. You start carrying your lighter in your pocket just in case.

"So you've just given up on having a lighter of your own?" You teased, lighting the herbal cigarette they were using for filming.

"Why would I need one? I've got you," he smirks back, and damn he's just as charming in character as he is out of it. "Thanks, love," he wraps you up in a one-armed hug, pressing a quick kiss to your temple before the cast and crew is called to stand by for the shot.

Taz is the kind of affectionate you could really see yourself getting used to, and he's definitely taken notice.)

----

Between the wig, the makeup, and covering up his tattoos, Taz's spends just over an hour in your makeup chair, depending on how much of Sanji will be seen on any given day.

"Scenes like today might be my favourite," You're working diligently away, already a half hour into your routine and mind on autopilot as you take Taz's hand to keep it still while you added product to your brush. You hadn't even realised you'd said that out loud until he responded.

"Scenes like today?" His voice is gentle but amused; you can hear him smiling but can't bring yourself to meet his gaze, suddenly feeling flustered that you'd voiced that thought at all. "Come on, love, you can't just say that, what d' you mean by that?" And it takes you a moment of deliberation to decide if you want to answer honestly, applying concealer to his tattoos as you feel yourself grow flustered.

"I like all your scenes," you mutter dismissively, "I feel lucky that I get to see so much of the show being filmed." Which isn't a lie, you're on standby on set to touch up makeup throughout the days, and you love the production and what you've seen of the show thus far... but it's also not the whole truth, and you know Taz can tell.

He makes a noise in the back of his throat, and when you look up finally, you can see the way he's smiling, but he's thankfully not looking at you. For a moment, you're glad Emily's not filming until later in the day, her call time not for several hours, so it's just you and Taz, and his playlist to fill the silence. But you make the call to swallow your embarrassment and voice the compliment that had been idling in your mind.

"I like watching you cook on set the most," you say without a hint of hesitation, and he looks to you quickly, almost like he's surprised by your honesty, but you weren't finished, "I know you've really immersed yourself in the role and put in a lot of effort and training; it really shows, especially when you fight and when you cook." There's something in the way he's looking at you that starts to overwhelm you, and you have to break the moment, break eye contact, go back to covering his tattoos or your not sure what you might do. Even your tone shifts, a little flustered, a little awkward, a little jarring after how sure you'd just been, "I, you know, I appreciate you and stuff, but you knew that."

There was a warmth to the silence that followed. When you finally sat back to grab the colour correction pallet, you could see Taz still watching you with genuine affection in his gaze.

"You're very kind," he says softly.

"Nah, it's just true," you huffed an awkward laugh.

"Don't hit me with that 'nah, it's just true' shit," he snorted, shaking his head, "you're being very kind and I appreciate that," he told you with firm honesty, matching the tone you'd addressed him with just moments ago, "lemme cook you dinner some time, 'cos I have been practicing," he agrees with pride, "and I'd take any excuse to show off, 'specially to you."

"Thought we established that I already love you, you don't have to prove anything to me," you ducked your head as you loaded your brush with product, unable to keep the grin from your face.

"Yeah, but this love-bit is a two way street."

"Okay," you said after a pause, finally meeting his gaze once more, and your smile grows wider.

"Okay?" Matching your excited energy, Taz grins widely at you, and you nod.

"Yeah, dinner, eventually," you laughed, "whenever we both are up for it. I'd really like that."

Something is... different now. Something has changed. Taz can't help but mention, as you're securing his wig, that it's going to be hard for him to think of anything but your kind words during filming today. Sheepishly you apologise, but he waves you off quickly - nothing to apologise for, he assured you.

But something is different.

(The silly, little fantasies you've been having on occasion, or more accurately, have been trying to ignore on occasion, have only gotten worse.

And more domestic.

They leave you feeling that kind of giddy-sick and unprofessional, the kind of daydreams that remind you at two in the morning that you should be sleeping and really shouldn't have a crush on your coworker.

Except you can't stop picturing small moments, like a sunlit, mid-morning, music playing on your laptop, the two of you moving around each other to make breakfast together on your day off. Or sharing quiet conversations and laughter while making dinner and -

When you both finally have a night off, he mentions how he's invited some of the other cast members to join you both. You've never been so relieved and disappointed all at once.)

----

Lines and jokes get messy and blurry; late nights on set, Taz almost falling asleep in your makeup chair as you're removing his wig for the day, nights out that both he and Emily invite you to, and a burgeoning friendship with the rest of the cast, and quiet moments spent in the back of Ubers lamenting how early you all have to get up the next day.

Usually you're the first one to bail, considering you're usually getting calling in even earlier than the cast, but some of the more responsible ones, or the other members of crew who have been roped into these various shenanigans, will split the Uber bill with you. The others all seem to understand why you have to leave early, but still, they're sad to see you leave.

What you tell absolutely none of them is that your self restraint is wearing incredibly thin when it comes to Taz already, and you know you're so close to doing something you can't take back.

Because he gets somehow more tactile when you're all out together; his arm around you, kisses your temple, your cheek, elated to see you whenever you meet up again after any amount of time. The way he laughs, the way he just talks to you, making you feel like you're the most important person in the world in the moment he gives you his focus and attention, and your brain gets all giddy and foggy when he calls you 'my love'.

So you need to leave, before you do too much, or say too much... well, too much more.

("My love -" and there it is again, his voice above the music, cutting through the crowd where he's spotted you.

"Yes, my darling Taz," you greet him with a sunny smile and open arms as an invitation to join you. Beside you in the booth, Emily and Inaki are playing slaps, and somehow neither are doing well, but thankfully they're both enjoying themselves.

Taz slides seamlessly into the booth beside you, pressed up to your side. Immediately his focus is stolen by his castmates' various yells and shrieks and slaps, and he half drapes himself across you and the table in front of you to get closer to their game. You don't even really mind, simply enjoying the moment, his proximity, and trying to figure out how long before you should head home. These three have the day off tomorrow, but you've been called in to assist with the hair and makeup for Mihawk.

"You're thinking very hard," Taz muses, as if remembering on whom he was leaning. Giving him a nudge, you grin.

"Just got work tomorrow unfortunately -"

Emily pats you sympathetically on the shoulder, Inaki immediately shouts that she's cheating, his eyes bright and wide. You push Taz back so he's no longer half-leaning over you to instead offer your shoulder to Inaki; he gives a decisive pat and declares he and Emily even, while you lament that you should probably hit the hay.

Emily and Inaki put their game on hold to say goodbye, Emily hugging you tightly and telling you to message when you got back to your accommodation, before they returned their focus to each other, and trying to pick a new game. Taz slides from the booth, giving you room to get out, and walks with you to the door.

"Surely you're not leaving," you grinned, but he's already shaking his head, throwing an arm around your shoulders as you get out onto the street.

"Making sure you make it to your taxi, or Uber, or whatever, okay."

"My hero," you teased, but still pulled out your phone to order your ride back to the hotel. Taz is humming something to himself that you can't quite pick all the while, "should be here in three minutes," you say softly, turning your attention back to him for the moment. The sight of his affectionate, smiling face has something softening in your heart - "you don't need to stay out here, I'll be fine, the bouncer's -"

"I work hard to my top ranking with you," Taz tried to muster up as much seriousness as he could, but it only served to endear you further, "no way I'm letting something happen in these three minutes and you end up liking some fuckin' bouncer more than me."

What you want to say is 'that will never happen'.

What you actually do is kiss him.)

----

It's not nothing.

This thing between you both is something, but you're not quite sure what. Because at first neither of you talk about what happens on those nights out, or how it keeps happening, but it never feels strange when you see each other at work. Still you tease each other endlessly, and there's something about the way he tries not to laugh when you're doing some kind of nonsense bit while doing his makeup, and how you'd fallen asleep against each other when Inaki invited people over to hang out and watch movies together.

Somehow after the wrap party, you, the main cast, and a few other members of the crew all ended up back at your accommodation. Most had left in the wee hours of the morning, but Inaki's passed out on your sofa, and a few of the other makeup artists had decided to squeeze into your bed like sardines, while you and Taz haven't moved from the wicker armchair on your balcony for hours.

The sunrise paints him golden in this moment you never want to end.

He's halfway through telling a story that has you practically wheezing, and you want to tell him that you'll miss him, miss these moments, miss whatever it is the two of you are, that you might actually love him, but instead what comes out is -

"You bastard, you know you've ruined me for other actors," you're beaming from ear to ear, watching the sun rise, and you hear him practically giggling as he leans against you.

"My grand plan has succeeded then."

"Grand plan?"

"Grand plan," he confirmed with a slight nod, "since I met you and you pointed at me," he points out to the horizon for emphasis, "and you said I was going to do great things with this role, even though you'd barely even met me; I've been gone for you ever since," he admitted with a snort of laughter, as if embarrassed by the recollection.

"You what?" You shifted back, eyes wide with surprise, only to be met with Taz's confused smile, like obviously.

"You've been nothing but a support this entire time, how is this a surprise?" He chuckled; seeing how obviously flustered you were becoming, his smile softened to something endeared, "you make yourself very easy to love, you know that, right?"

So much is running through your head at once, a million things you'd like to say, questions you have, what-ifs you could dwell on, but you don't.

"Oh thank god," you breathe, wrapping your arms around him, "I love you too," you're beaming until you're kissing him, this moment golden and absolutely perfect.

----

Taglist: @annssell @deadsnothere @hobbitsnapes @notdaninotfound @uncertainturquoise

[novamariestark]

Stress Relief...

Summary: Over the last 9 months, your life has changed a lot, it was hard not to feel stressed, but after meeting quite possibly the sexiest guy you'd ever met at Molly's, stress was the last thing on your mind

Warnings: age gap, smut, unprotected sex (wrap b4 you tap), drunk-ish sex

Word count: 3354

Fandom: Chicago P.D

Pairing: Hank Voight x halstead!reader

[A/N] I've been wanting to write for Hank a long time, but every time i watched Chicago P.D to get ideas and inspiration, I got distracted 🤣, It's very hard not to

You were a creature of habit. Always have been. So it didn’t take long for everyone to learn them. One particular habit was your nightly trip to Molly’s. The firefighter bar. You met Herrmann in the ER one day and you became friends. He was quite possibly the sweetest person you’d ever met. He was also the only one who knew your full past.

You weren’t always here in Chicago nor were you aware of your brothers, Will and Jay. Up until 9 months ago you didn’t know that they existed. You were an orphan, or at least that’s what you were always told and you had no reason to think otherwise. But sure enough, after a trip to Chicago and one freak accident that took you to the ER, you found them. Well one. Your older brother Will. How he found out, you still didn’t know but he did. Shortly after, you met Jay, who apparently is your twin brother.

You spent as much time with them as possible before leaving for your college graduation, promising to visit. Little did you know that they were coming back with you. You didn’t find out until they “dropped you off” at the airport the next day but with bags.

“You think we’d miss our little sister’s graduation?” Will asked smiling warmly.

"Seriously?" you asked, your face lighting up like a child's on Christmas morning.

Will chuckled, ruffling your hair, "Of course. We wouldn't miss it for the world."

As soon as your flight number was called, you all boarded the plane, excitement bubbling under the surface. You couldn't believe it. Just a week ago, you thought you'd be walking across the stage to receive your degree with no one in the crowd cheering for you. But now, you were going to have two people there, and not just anyone—your brothers.

As you settled into your seat, you glanced over at Will and Jay, who were chatting animatedly about the plans for the weekend. The reality of the situation finally hit you, and felt a smile creeping up your face. You'd spent so much of your life moving from place to place, rarely feeling like you truly belonged anywhere. But now, it felt like you finally did belong.

When the plane landed, you turned to your brothers with a smile. "I'll head home and change, and then I'll meet you both at the hotel with my husband," you said, still riding the high of excitement from the journey.

They nodded, and after a quick hug and a promise to catch up soon, you headed off towards your apartment. You didn’t live so far away, so you decided to walk. As you walked up the driveway, you noticed your husband's car was there. A small, happy smile crossed your face.

You unlocked the front door and stepped inside, calling out a cheerful greeting. "I'm home!"

But there was no response. The house was eerily quiet, and an uneasy feeling began to settle in your stomach. You walked through the hallway, your footsteps echoing in the silence. As you approached the bedroom door, you noticed it was slightly ajar. Pushing it open, your eyes widened in shock.

There, on the bed, was your husband—tangled up with another woman. It was almost too surreal to process at first; your mind struggled to comprehend what you were seeing. They both looked up, startled by your sudden entrance. Your husband quickly pulled away from the woman, but he didn't seem particularly shocked or apologetic. Instead, he simply stared at you. In fact, a look of mild annoyance was plastered on his face.

For a moment, you just stood there, frozen, as a tidal wave of emotions crashed over you—betrayal, anger, sadness. You felt like you had been punched in the gut. You'd been so excited to share your news with him, and now this?

You swallowed hard, forcing yourself to speak. "I'll be back for my things," you said, your voice surprisingly steady despite earthquake of emotions rattling inside you. You didn't wait for a response. You turned on your heel and walked out, grabbing your car keys on the way out.

As you got into your car, your hands were trembling. You took a deep breath, trying to calm yourself. Tears welled up in your eyes, but you wiped them away and started the engine. You drove to the hotel in a daze, trying to shake the image of your husband and the other woman from your mind. How you didn’t have an accident was beyond you.

Needless to say, they were furious when you showed up at their hotel room in tears. You had tried so hard to hold it together, but as soon as the elevator doors closed behind you, the dam broke. The tears came fast and hard, and you struggled to keep your sobs quiet as you rode up to their floor.

When you reached their room and knocked, Will opened the door, his smile fading instantly when he saw your tear-streaked face. Without a word, he pulled you into a tight hug, wrapping his arms around you protectively. The warmth of his embrace made you feel better, even if just for a moment.

Jay quickly crossed the space between you, "What happened?" he asked, his voice tense.

You tried to speak, but your voice caught in your throat. The pain was too raw, the words too painful. Instead, you just shook your head, fresh tears spilling down your cheeks. Will held you tighter, his hand gently rubbing your back in a soothing motion.

"He... he was with someone else," you finally managed to choke out between sobs, your voice barely above a whisper.

Jay's face turned red with anger, his fists clenching at his sides. "What?" he nearly shouted; his voice filled with fury. He took a step towards the door, clearly ready to confront your husband. "I'm gonna kill him," he muttered under his breath.

Will, still holding you close, turned to block Jay's path. "No, Jay," he said firmly, "This isn't the time. She needs us."

"I don't know what I'm going to do," you said, more tears streaming down your face as the realization hit you—you were now possibly homeless. You felt the weight of everything, slowly crushing you. But you needn’t worry about anything.

Jay offered you a place to stay and went back with you to collect the rest of your belongings. He was also there when you filed for divorce. Despite his assurances that he didn't mind you staying with him, you started looking for a place of your own. When you thought you had found one, Jay insisted it "wasn't safe enough" for you. So, almost nine months later, you’re still living with him. It had been a long time since you had a brother around, and you'd forgotten how much of a nuisance they could be—but you loved it.

You're now a nurse at Gaffney, the same hospital where Will works. While you love being near your brothers, the ER can be incredibly stressful, and when it gets overwhelming, you find yourself at Molly's, sitting on your usual barstool. Herrmann could tell just by the look on your face which usual you needed. You had two orders: one for a good day and one for a bad one. Clearly, today was the latter.

You smiled as the drink appeared in front of you. "Thanks, Hermie," you said, picking up the shot glass and downing it in one go, welcoming the familiar burn.

"No problem, kid," he said, a gentle smile playing on his lips. "Wanna talk about it?" You shook your head, offering a grateful smile. He casually draped the towel over his shoulder and placed another drink in front of you, a glass of coke with double vodka, "You know where to find me if you change your mind."

You nodded once more as he moved to serve other patrons. You let your eyes leave their place on the glass and wander around the bar. Many people were regulars, in fact all of them were except for one.

He caught your eye immediately. He was quite possibly the hottest person you’d ever laid your eyes on. He was definitely older than you, by about 20 years but damn you didn’t care. His short, neatly trimmed hair was greying slightly but it only made him sexier. As you continue to admire him you could feel yourself being pulled from reality as your eyes trace his strong jawline. They then made their way further south to where the luckiest pieces of clothing hugs him. Especially the leather jacket. You love leather jackets. You’re not sure why but when they are wrapped around men like that, do you need a reason?

He must have felt your eyes on him because his flicked over to them. You quickly avert your eyes back to your glass, feeling a blush creep up your cheeks and you hope that it’s dark enough so no one can see.

You want to talk to him, but you feel you need some more liquid courage. You continued to drink your double vodka and coke and when you finished you signalled for a refill but just coke this time. You picked up the drink and made your way over to the man and sat beside him.

“Hey, I haven’t seen you here before,” you said, trying to make yourself sound like you weren’t completely freaking out on the inside.

“It’s not my usual place,” he replied with the deepest gravelly voice you had ever heard. You had to squeeze your thighs shut because of the effect it had on you.

Nevertheless, you try and ignore the feeling and held your hand out to him, “I’m (y/n)” you said with a small smile.

“Henry” he replied, placing his hand in yours. The rough skin on his fingertips felt good against your soft skin. You couldn’t help but think where else they’d feel good.

You both talked for a while as more people started to filter in. It started to get really loud and you wouldn’t mind going somewhere private with Henry. So you asked, “Hey, wanna go somewhere quieter,” you bite your lip hoping he says yes... And he does.

The drive to his was quiet, I left you to your thoughts. This wasn’t what you intended when you left the apartment tonight but hey apparently sex is a great stress reliever and you have a feeling you are about to be well taken care of.

You shoot Jay a quick text to let him know you are okay and as you press send you stopped. He’s a gentleman and opens the door for you and holds his hand out for you to take.

You take it and you get out of the car, following him into the house, his hand on the small of your back guiding you towards it.

The next few moments are a blur. As soon as the door shut, his mouth was on yours. The kiss started off tender but slowly got more passionate. You certainly weren’t complaining. He slowly guided you towards the bedroom, his lips never leaving yours. You had no idea where in the house you were until the back of your legs hit the cool sheets. His hands moved from your face to the zipper on your dress pulling it down swiftly. He slid the small straps down your arms as you fiddled with the buttons on his shirt. The dress dropped from your frame and pooled at your feet, leaving you in just your underwear. When you undid the last button, you slowly removed both the shirt and the leather jacket. You let your hands follow the garments until they landed on his belt. Your mouths were still attached. You could taste the whiskey on his tongue and he could taste the vodka on yours. You continue fumbling with his jeans until thy joined your dress. His hands glide down your body until they reach your ass, you moan as he gives them a firm squeeze before lifting you up.

He turned and sat on the bed, so you were straddling him. You could feel him beneath you and you couldn’t help but grind against him. When he groaned you felt your pussy yip as if it had just been shocked. Was anything this man did not sexy?

Your tongues continue to battle each other as your wet core rides his clothed hardness. Until you couldn’t take it anymore. You stood only to remove your panties. He removed his boxers quickly before you climbed back on top of him, wasting no time sinking down on him.

“fuck* you breathed, the word falling from your lips as your head falls back.

His hands hold your shoulders, slamming you down harder on him. You were already seeing stars and you had barely started.

His lips attached themselves to your neck, licking and nibbling at the soft flesh. They then trailed lower towards your still covered breasts. He kissed the valley between but made no movement to take off the piece of fabric in his way. So you reached behind you and unclasped it, discarding it with the rest of your clothes.

He smirked against your skin taking one in his mouth, sucking hard on the sensitive nub, his hand played with the other, rolling it between his thumb and index finger. Then he switched, giving them equal attention.

Without warning, he stood up and chucked you onto the bed, leaving you feeling cold and empty. Your hand went to your clit to give you something as he climbed towards you. Eyes locked on you as if you were his prey.

His hand slowly runs up your thigh until it reaches your hand. He looks at you and you move your hand and rest it on your stomach. His hand replaces yours. Teasing you. One finger gliding through the lips, dipping it ever so slightly into your wet hole.

“Please” you whimpered as his fingers continue to tease you.

With a smirk, he enters you fully, making you arch off the bed. He starts to move in and out, your body begging for more. You can’t help but let out a low moan that echoes through the room.

“Oh, baby, you like that?” he whispers in your ear, his voice sending shivers down your spine.

You nod your head, unable to form words as pleasure overtakes you.

He slammed into you, hard and fast, the sound of skin slapping against skin filling the darkness. You dig your nails into the bed, trying to hold on as he fucks you into oblivion.

You’re not sure how long it goes on, but you feel yourself getting closer and closer to the edge.

And just as you’re about to go over, he pulls out and flips you onto your stomach, pushing your legs apart. You know what’s coming next, and the few second wait is almost too much to handle. He slams into you from behind, his hands gripping your hips tightly as he drives into you, over and over again.

You bite the pillow to muffle your screams as he takes you roughly, your body trembling with every thrust. You can feel yourself about to cum, and you know it’s going to be the best fucking orgasm of your life.

Finally, with one last, hard thrust, you do. Your orgasm rips through you like a tornado in a trailer park, leaving you a trembling mess on the bed. Henry follows shortly after, his own groan of pleasure muffled against your neck.

The two of you collapse onto the bed, both panting and sweaty. You lay there for a moment, trying to catch your breath, before you feel him roll over and wrap an arm around you.

The next morning you open your eyes, and you don’t recognise your surroundings. Your eyes squeeze shut as the bright light burns them and you become aware of the arm draped across your bare waist. Its then you remember the events from last night and it wasn’t just an amazing dream.

As your mind replays the sex a tone begins to sound. You knew it wasn’t your phone. The arm removed itself from your body and the sound stopped shortly after.

You turned to look at him, “hi,” your voice is small and unsure. You hadn’t done anything like this before so you didn’t know the protocol.

“Hey... I uh... Got to get to work,” he said removing the covers and going to get changed, “I’ll take you to get your car,”

“Thank you,” you smiled as you grab your outfit off the floor and quickly threw it on. You got your phone out your bag and checked the time, “shit,”

“What’s wrong?” Henry asked turning around as he continued buttoning up his shirt.

“Nothing, just my brother might have left for work already and he hasn’t given me a spare key,” you groaned inwardly. You couldn’t show up at the hospital looking like this.

As soon as you both were ready, as promised, Henry took you back to Molly’s to get your car. Much to your disappointment, plans were not made to see each other again.

You got in your car and drove as fast as you could without breaking the law but when you got there it was indeed too late. Jay had already gone to work. You got back in your car and headed to his workplace. What a first impression you were going to make. You haven’t met any of Jay’s colleagues and dressed in last night’s outfit and possibly smelling like sex.

You took a deep breath as you walked through the doors and up the steps to find a huge desk in front of you. You watched as the woman gave a sarcastic reply to a couple of patrol officers and you tried to stifle a laugh but failed. Her eyes flashed over to you, “Can I help you?” she asked in a tone that would probably send the uniforms running but you just give her your sweetest smile.

“I’m looking for my brother, Jay Halstead,”

“Oh, so you’re the mini-Halstead,” she said with the same tone, “Lets hope you aren’t like the other two,”

“Well, I’m a female,” you shrugged “Thats a difference,”

She pointed to another set of stairs leading up to a gate, “He’s up there,” she said resting her hand on the button waiting to buzz you in.

As soon as you hear it buzz, you open the gate and head up the rest of the steps. Jay spotted you before you got to the top.

“Look who decided to show up,” he called out. Everyone in the room turned to look at you and you kinda felt a little exposed. They probably thought you were a prostitute or something.

“Jay, I don’t have time for this,” you said walking over to his desk, your palm held out ready to receive the keys, “I’ve got to go to work,”

He fished the keys from his pocket and tossed them up in the air, a smug grin on his face, “Come home at a reasonable time then,”

“Or you could have gotten me a key cut, asshole,” you said rolling your eyes as you put the keys in your bag. When you looked back at your brother, he was looking at you funny, “What?”

“Where did you get that jacket?” he asked pointing to the leather jacket Henry gave you. You had forgotten you were wearing it.

You shrugged, “Just a friend,” you replied nonchalantly. Jay went to say something else when a voice spoke from behind you. A familiar one. You turned and sure enough, there he was, “Henry?”

It didn’t take a detective to connect the dots. You had slept with your brother’s boss. You hadn’t meant to. You had no idea who he was. But the thing is... You want to do it again. You want to fuck him again.

[A/N 2.0] Part 2?

[kittyminion]

practice makes perfect figure skater!theo nott x figure skater!girlfriend

-based on request from @insideoutjulie -explicit 18+, smut, bestfriend!pansy, fluff, gryffindor reader, comfort, not proof read -after a particularly straining practice, theodore cheers you up with a few kisses -word count: 1.2k

It was cold out on the ice, puffs of your breath wafting out in front of your face as Theodore tossed you up, his hands locked onto your waist tightly, the music the two of you skated to loud in the ice rink.

"Here it comes!" You shouted over the music, landing back on the ice and drifting away from Theodore, sweating dripping from you like you'd just stepped out a pool. Every inch of your skin was either sweaty or red, but you and Theodore had been at this for multiple hours and it still wasn't perfect.

It was your fault though. You couldn't manage to turn currently or maintain your balance or complete your sequence. After each time you had in the spotlight, you'd fuck it up.

Theodore tried to keep your hopes up, telling you, "you almost got it," or "you're doing great," but his words meant nothing to you, which had never been the case. It seemed like you were in a rut or harsh burnout, something you experienced more often than usual.

"Fuck!" You spat, twisting to harshly and landing straight on your ass, your pelvis immediately throbbing with pain as the music cut off abruptly. Theodore rushed over to you immediately, his hands grasping onto yours as he tugged you up, "that was a bad landing, you alright?" You nodded stiffly, putting majority of your weight against Theodore as he carried you off the ice and sat you down on a nearby branch.

"What the hell was that?" Pansy said, jogging towards the two of you, rubbing her hands together to generate heat and you shook your head with a heavy sigh, "I have no idea, Pans, but I think I'm done for today."

She kneeled down in front of you, one of her hands perched down on your leg as she frowned, pushing her ink black hair behind her ear, and you felt your lip quiver as you covered your face with your hands, "we compete in two weeks! What if I don't get this? Theo will have to get a new partner!"

Theodore, who was sitting next to you, shook his head, running a steady hand over your back as he moved closer, lips gentle against your ear, "love, you're the best figure skater I've ever seen, if anyone will get this, it's you, and if we need, we can remove some of the sequences."

"Absolutely not. You've been working way too hard, and I don't want to ruin it for you." You reached up to smooth down his hair, then you put the guards on your skates, "I just need a break. I've been working far to hard recently."

Neither of them said anything as a waterfall of tears streaked down your face and you excused yourself to the locker room.

Figure skating was the only thing you were remotely good at. You barely got into Hogwarts as a Muggleborn, so you had to work your ass off ten times harder than your peers.

It was even worse that Draco hated your kind, so that prompted you to prove yourself, despite Theodore constantly telling you that Draco's opinion didn't matter.

When figure skating didn't work out for you, it seemed like the whole world was against you.

After turning on the shower, you stepped under the scorching water and cried your eyes out, your chest huffing with sobs and the like, your skin so raw and sensitive from the water, but you didn't turn to temperature down.

"You sure you're okay?" Pansy said suddenly, her voice echoing out in the women's locker room and you sniffed up your tears and cleared your throat, preparing to lie, but Pansy interrupted you, "don't lie this time. It's okay that you're struggling, we all do."

After bathing, you wrapped your towel around your body and stepped out of the shower, where Pansy was sitting, your bag on her lap. Once she handed you your clothes, you quickly dressed and left the locker room with her.

Theodore was waiting at the entrance of the rink, his hair damp while he wore a pair of sweatpants and a hoodie. WHen he saw you, he was immediately by your side, arm thrown over your shoulder, "ready to walk back?"

You nodded, wholeheartedly missing your dorm at Hogwarts.

The walk wasn't long, and once the three of you made it back, Pansy split up to go find Draco, while you and Theodore went to your dorm room.

Thankfully, when you arrived, it was empty, which meant the other girls were either at the Great Hall or simply busy with their own responsibilities.

Theodore immediate put your training bag into your wardrobe then helped you into your bed, pulling the covers up to your chin. He was quiet for a moment, just sitting next to you and picking at his fingers, "can I stay?"

You felt a smile overcome you face as you nodded, moving over in your bed to welcome him next to you and Theodore chuckled at your giddy mood, his legs tangling with yours.

"What time do you think they'll be back?" He wondered, referring to your dormmates and you hummed, "probably around nine, Hermione's with Ron and Harry, no clue where Lavender or Pervati are."

"Hm." You raised your eyebrow at his response, "what?"

"I can take you out tomorrow?"

"We should practice-" Theodore interrupted you with a shake of his head, "no more practicing this week. You said it yourself, you're burnt out, and the only way to cure that is rest."

You groaned, "fine." Theodore smiled, "in the meantime," his words trailed off and you raised your eyebrow with suspicion watching him tugging the covers off of your body.

"In the meantime what?" You jumped when his freezing hands landed on your thighs, his fingers delicate as he trailed them down your body. "I'm gonna make you feel good, better than earlier at least."

Theodore slid down your body, pressing a kiss against your clothed cunt, and you moaned, your legs propping up as you gripped your beds headboard.

"You've got to be quick, Theodore! They could be back in anytime!" He chuckled against your cunt, tugging your pants and underwear down to lick a wet strip up your cunt, his tongue flicking at your clit.

A shiver ran down your body and bit your lip to suppress your moans, but that did nothing, because the pleasure increased as Theodore stuck a finger inside of you, pumping it in and out slowly, all the while he devoured you with his tongue.

"Does that feel good, love?" You nodded, "Merlin, Nott, keep going," he did just that, his other hand reaching up to grope at your breads and twiddle your nipple.

Your body seemed to tighten up as he continued his ministrations on your body, his touch so graceful that you begged for more.

And Theodore obeyed, quickening his pace as he fucked you with his fingers, his lower face covered in your pleasure. "Almost there?" he questioned, unlatching from your cunt to watch your expression as your orgasm approached.

"Fuck, yes!" Theodore smirked, adding another finger and pulling himself up your body to kiss you, his tongue tangling with your while your hand threaded into his hair.

Just as your muscles constricted, Theodore curled his fingers inside of you, pressing his other hand against your belly and you let out a sweet moan, your orgasm racking through your body like a wave.

Theodore pulled out of you "better now?"

You rolled your eyes, "perfect."

[wintrsfell]

You've still got it, I'm just keeping an eye

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Synopsis: After five years away from Winterfell, the reader returns to serve on Cregan's council. Old rivalries and new feelings arise.

Pairings: Cregan Stark & AFAB!Hornwood!Reader

Word count: 2713

Warnings: mentions of the death of a parent, reader is described as 'a woman' and 'a girl' (gender roles are a part of the story), like truly childish at times inner monologue from the reader (we support women's rights and wrongs on this blog)

Notes: getting into it a bit more with a few flashback- type scenes and some of the background as to why Cregan and the reader do not get along. While not written in first person, the fic is mainly for the reader's perspective, and her insecurities make her a bit of an unreliable narrator when it comes to Cregan (she is full on annoying in this, idk what to tell you). I kind of hate the pov but i'm committed now. Let me know if you want to be added to the taglist! Thank you so much for reading the first part, reblogging and commenting<3 (ily). This isn't edited, I've been hungover for like three days and I'm starting to think it's just the flu

The low winter sun starts creeping over the mountains in the East, coming through the window of her chambers and slowly coaxing her from slumber. The light is blinding, making her eyes burn as she blearily blinks them open. Sleep clouds her mind, and for a moment, she does not know where she is. Then, it all comes creeping in. The soft furs against her skin, the familiar crackling of the fire just feet away, the distinct smell of pine and woodsmoke. Her chambers at Winterfell. The very ones she had occupied from ages eight through her late teens. She has not slept so well in years.

The morning routine she follows is familiar. The never-ending struggle with her corset, the braiding of her hair, and the stillness of Winterfell’s thick stone walls all lend themselves to the sense of peace that settles over her. The Lord of the Castle may be an ever-present irritation, but the keep itself feels like a warm hug—like coming home after a long journey.

The castle is quiet as she makes her way down to the smaller hall beside the great hall, where meals are most often taken. The sound of her boots hitting the floor echoes between the stone walls, too loud in the silence. It grates on her ears. Perhaps time is playing a trick on her mind, but she never remembered Winterfell as being this quiet. In her childhood, idealized as it may have become by the years that have passed, the keep was always bustling with life. She remembers running through the halls with Cley and Cregan; days spent exploring the Wolfswood during that one particularly long summer they had gotten when they were ten, remembers Lord Rickon always allowing them to stay at the feasts for just a bit longer than children were usually allowed to. Everything had seemed so alive then, so bright and full of life.

Now, the stillness was almost eerie. 

Stepping into the hall, her gaze flits across the room. One long trestle table sits in the center, and servants are already moving about quietly to set up the morning meal. A fire crackles steadily in the heart on the far wall, casting a warm glow in the otherwise cold hall. For a moment, she stands completely still, resisting the urge to squeeze her eyes shut against the onslaught of memories.

A shuddering breath is taken as she steels herself, small steps carrying her toward a chair near the end of the table. After pouring a cup of tea, she cradles the hot ceramic in her hands, letting it warm her frozen fingers. No one else seems to be awake at this hour, and the moment of peace is somewhere between welcome and unsettling.

Heavy steps against the flagstones draw her gaze to the tall wooden doors leading into the hall. Cregan walks with measured movements, everything about him practiced and precise. His eyes flit across the room, much like hers had done earlier, and narrow slightly as they land on her seated form. There is something intense in his gaze, something almost assessing.

She breaks eye contact first, and somehow, it feels like a loss. We are not playing a game, she reminds herself sternly, there are no winners or losers. Taking another bite of her porridge, she straightens up in her seat. He will not see her be thrown off balance by his presence.

Cregan averts his eyes, and the absence of that intimidating stare makes her let out a quiet breath of relief. It is far too early to bicker with him. Taking a seat on the other end of the table, he starts filling his plate with food, still not looking at her. She eats hers quicker, but cannot help herself from studying him discretely out of the corner of her eye.

His face is a mask of stone, stern and impassive. He looks every inch the formidable northern lord, the sharp angles of his face highlighted clearly in the early morning light. 

She remembers when he had started looking different, when the rounder face of his youth had started turning into the serious face of a man. How she had mentally kicked herself every time her eyes had lingered a little too long on his newly broadened shoulders. It had only been driven by proximity, by the changes of growing from a girl into a woman, but it had been persistent nonetheless.

At times, he had caught her staring. The first time, his brows had drawn together as if confused, a barely perceptible reaction on his otherwise unreadable expression. Then, the ghost of a smirk had tugged at the corner of his lips, eyebrow raising ever so slightly. She had looked away quickly, mentally preparing herself for some annoying remark from him, but it never came. Instead, he had lingered in the library for a moment too long, before making sure his shoulder brushed against hers as he walked past her and out of the room. Only to unsettle her, she was sure. She had avoided him for a week after that, hoping time would make him forget about the encounter, make him forget to tease her about it.

The older Cregan seemed more subdued, less likely to throw out remarks made only to irritate her. Yet there was something in the way he looked at her sometimes, something that made her feel like he remembered their childhood quarrels just as well as she did. 

She pushes her plate away, smoothing out the skirts of her dress on habit as she rises from the table. The steps carrying her towards the door are a tad too quick, and she cringes when she feels Cregan’s intense stare burning into the back of her head. Just as she is about to step through the doors, there is a deep call of her name. Her name, not her title.

She turns, schooling her expression into something neutral as she meets Cregan’s grey eyes. Stormy, as usual. “Aye?”

His eyes move across her features for just a moment before saying, “The council meeting is at noon.”

She blinks at him, her mind struggling to process the fact that he is telling her something actually helpful. Of course, she already knew when the council meeting was. She had asked Cley about it yesterday and written it down. Twice.

Realizing that she is staring at him, quite foolishly, she quickly straightens up, trying to school her features into something resembling a politely neutral expression. She fears it is more of a grimace. “Right. Thank you.” She hesitates for another moment, before adding. “Cregan.”

She ignores how odd his name sounds on her lips after all these years as she turns to walk out of the hall. She forces herself to take slower steps this time.

Cregan Stark has gotten more handsome in the intervening years, she notes with ire, as he lists off the topics of the day’s council meeting. He sits at the head of the table, back straight yet still looking perfectly at ease. She had always envied him that, the ease with which he seemed to move through life. More annoying still, is that he is not even cocky about it. In their youth he could be incessant in his need to prove himself, certainly- but something changes the year after Lord Rickon died. 

He had grown more somber, every word and decision weighed carefully. Where she and Clay could still dissolve into fits of laughter, the most he gave was the ghost of a smile upon the stern set of his mouth. The only times he seemed truly entertained were in the few instances when he still took the time to bother her.

The year they turned six-and-ten, he started outright teasing her. Not in the friendly, casual way that Cley did, but in a nearly condescending tone of voice. She had hated how it always made her face heat. Up until then, he had rarely managed to throw her off balance, but it was as if a switch had been flicked. As if he’d suddenly solved the puzzle of robbing her of any clever remarks.

They had been in the library tower that first time, and upon later reflection, she decided that perhaps that particular part of the keep was cursed. Most of her embarrassing moments with the young Lord of Winterfell had happened there.

She and Cley had been arguing about something or other that she cannot recall now. The year in which some king had died, likely, and Cregan had corrected her in a lazy drawl that made anger bubble up within her chest. She had huffed, glaring daggers at him, and nearly exploded when he only looked up at her, slightly bemused.

She had stood from the table abruptly, moving to put her book back on its shelf, only to realize that the shelf was too high up. She could not reach it. The stupid, bloody keep was built for giants. It was the final straw, and she turned to glare at him again, biting out, “Gods, Cregan, must you always be so insufferable?”

Cley had laughed, but Cregan had only stood, coming to stand behind her in two long strides. He took the book from her hands, nearly making her jump as his fingers brushed hers, and put it back in its place. How did he even remember which shelf it was supposed to be on? Once again, he had to be annoyingly good at everything. Or had he been watching her? The motion made his chest brush against her back, and at the same time he nearly coos, “Aww, that’s not nice, my lady.”

His proximity, mixed with the uncharacteristically soft tone of his deep, accented voice, had made her face feel like it was on fire. Her mouth opened and shut at the same time as he stepped back, looking insufferably pleased with himself. 

She had scrambled out of the library so quickly that she left her cloak behind.

Looking at him now, she couldn’t imagine him doing such a thing. He seemed so serious, so grown, in comparison to her. Most days, she still felt like she was barely keeping her head above water. The incessant need to prove herself that both she and Cregan had felt in their youths, that had made them clash so frequently- now seems to have left him entirely.

She still feels its itch clawing beneath her skin, as she sits at a table surrounded by men. Cregan and Cley were her age, but she feels little kinship with the man Cregan has turned into. His quiet capability, the infuriatingly subtle self-assuredness, the way he spoke so little yet with so much weight, all stood in stark contrast to the way she wanted to speak up just to prove that she belonged there. To prove that while she was not a man, she was just as clever. Perhaps just to prove that she has something to say.

It had plagued her in their youths, and perhaps it is also why Cregan’s need to be right had been so frustrating to her. Cley never seemed to mind, only rolling his eyes in a good-natured manner whenever Cregan was too obvious about it. But to her, it had been like a confirmation that she would never measure up, this need to correct her. These two boys, who were growing up alongside her, got the same education as she did- would get to use it for something. They would be lords, ruling over castles, making decisions, making a difference. She would only be somebody’s wife. The thought of them not thinking of her as clever had made her feel physically ill at times.

Still, she bites her tongue as Winterfell’s steward gives them an update about the state of the harvest. She was trying to learn the art of not speaking unless she had something important to say, of resisting the urge to point out the obvious. It was a childish thing, one that had no place in councils such as this.

The meeting goes on, and for a long time, it is mostly just Cregan and the steward updating them about the state of affairs in the North. Part of her wonders if it is for her benefit, for she can feel Cregan watching her intently from across the table. As if he needs to make sure she is grasping the facts that are being laid out. It makes her sit up straighter, and her mouth pressing into a thin line. Does he truly believe that she cannot comprehend even simple council matters?

The overview is helpful, even if she loathes to admit it. She could have figured it out on her own, she insists quietly to no one but herself. She could have asked Maester Kennet. In fact, she had been planning to. 

Still, perhaps it is nice that she won’t have to.

She can feel Cregan’s eyes boring into her as her quill scratches quick words across the parchment. Maester Kennet is the only other person in the council meeting who is taking notes, and the elderly man has barely written down ten. She has written down hundreds, her wrist aching from writing so furiously, straining to get every word down on paper. She liked taking notes, liked feeling prepared, but it also proved to be an excellent excuse to avoid Cregan’s penetrating gaze. 

The meeting came to an end. She did not know if she was proud of herself for managing to keep her mouth shut, or regretful that she had not contributed anything useful. No one else had spoken either, but this was her first time in the council. She felt she had something to prove, the itch of it clawing at her like something stuck under her skin, trying to get out.

She feels ill at ease as she gathers up her notes into a neat stack, ignoring Cley’s amused expression at her childhood habit still lingering. The other lords file out of the room slowly, leaving behind only her and Cregan. Clutching the stack of notes to her chest, she moves to step out of the room, only to once again have to turn back around at a call of her name.

She turns to face the Lord of Winterfell, wondering if his gaze has left her at all for the past two hours. His features seem to be stuck in a perpetual frown, dark eyebrows drawn together slightly as his eyes meet hers. She resists the urge to look away from his penetrating stare.

“You take a lot of notes,” His deep voice rumbles, eyes flitting down to the parchments clutched at her chest before moving back up to lock onto hers.

Her brows draw together slightly as she hesitates on how to respond. It was a statement, not a question. “I- aye. I do.”

“Why?” Cregan’s tone is surprisingly light, or as light as such a deep voice can be. He sounds almost- genuinely curious. Surely he remembers her doing it since their childhoods. He was always watching, even then.

Because I don’t fancy spending a three-hour long council meeting having a staring competition with you. She manages to bite back that reply, just barely. Instead, she shrugs, her tone matching his. “Makes it easier to remember things.”

To her surprise, he huffs out something that sounds suspiciously like a laugh. His head tilts slightly to the side, and he breaks eye contact for the first time since their conversation began, only briefly, before meeting her eyes again. “You never had an issue remembering things, my lady.” His tone is dry, which she expected. But there is something else there, something nearly warm. Nostalgia, perhaps. Respect, if she is being optimistic.

“Because of the notes,” She insists wryly, brows drawing together briefly at his amusement. At his almost-compliment.

“Right,” Cregan nods, still sounding amused. He does not seem bothered by the slightly awkward, stilted nature of their conversation. If anything, he seems perfectly at ease.

“Right,” She echoes, holding his gaze for a long moment before stepping back with a nod. She turns to leave the room and swears that she sees the ghost of a smile lingering upon his features.

[doumadono]

ainful sunday!!

thinking about izuku coming back from a long, agitating mission and just fucking his girlfriend for hours on end due to the fact he couldnt fuck her for two months..

Warnings: aged-up Izuku

SINFUL SUNDAY

The door swung open, revealing a dimly lit bedroom bathed in a soft glow emanating from a little lamp placed on a nightstand. The atmosphere was both calming and intimate, a thoughtful touch from someone who knew him all too well.

Izuku's eyes widened as he spotted your silhouette by the window, your gaze fixed on the city skyline. The scent of a familiar perfume hung in the air, triggering a wave of nostalgia and warmth. He cleared his throat, not wanting to startle you.

You turned, your eyes widening in surprise before giving way to a radiant smile. "Izuku," you breathed, crossing the room in swift strides. Your embrace was a testament to the longing that had built up over the weeks of separation, the relief of being back in each other's arms.

"I missed you so much," you murmured against his chest, fingers tracing the lines of his hero costume.

The sensation of your touch grounded him, a stark contrast to the chaos he had faced on his long mission.

As you pulled away, Izuku's eyes met yours, gratitude and love reflected in the depths of his green orbs. "I missed you too, Y/N," he confessed, his voice a mixture of exhaustion and genuine affection. "It felt like an eternity out there."

You led him to the bed, urging him to rest while you fetched a glass of water.

Sitting there, he found solace in your presence, the weight of the world momentarily lifted from his shoulders.

You spoke of the challenges faced, the victories achieved, and the moments of doubt that had haunted his journey.

"Coming back to you makes everything worth it," Deku admitted, his gaze unwavering.

You nodded, understanding the gravity of his words. "You're my hero, Izuku, in more ways than one."

Izuku enfolded you in a snug embrace, his lips leisurely planting tender kisses across your face. After delicately removing his gloves, his calloused fingers traced a gentle path along the nape of your neck. Amidst the soft caresses, he murmured affectionate words against your lips, "My babygirl, my little love."

Soon, he found himself pinning you down onto the mattress, his adept hands delicately removing your nightgown. His slightly chapped lips planted kisses along your exposed shoulders, traced the neckline, and lingered in the valley between your breasts.

Effortlessly, Izuku shed his hero uniform, the sound of zippers echoing in the room. Your laughter bubbled as you witnessed his struggle, prompting you to assist. A small smile graced your lips as your fingertips traced the contours of his toned body, a tangible reunion after the prolonged absence.

Foreplay was unnecessary - you were already drenched, just for Izuku.

Deku encountered no obstacles entering your pussy - your slick wetness facilitated an easy slide of his aching manhood right into your snug core.

He started with deliberate slowness, his thrusts mirroring the measured precision of his heroics.

Your quiet moans intertwined with his labored breaths, marking the end of a prolonged hiatus from your sex sessions. Despite your initial tightness, the reunion felt blissful for both, a testament to the longing that had built up during your time apart.

"Oh, Izuku, I've been dreaming about this moment for so long," you whispered, arms enveloping his neck.

He grunted, gazing down at you, hands cradling your face. "Me too, babygirl. Missed your warmth."

As pure passion took hold, Izuku found himself completely consumed by desire, his thrusts quickening in response to the escalating intensity of arousal.

In no time, you succumbed to pleasure beneath him, becoming a moaning mess. Every thrust seemed to expertly target those incredibly sensitive spots, sending waves of pleasure through you as the tip of his dick brushed against your spongy walls.

After a particularly forceful thrust, you screamed his name as your head tilted back onto the pillows. Overwhelmed by the intense sensation, you instinctively wrapped your leg around his hips, drawing him closer and subtly altering the angle for heightened pleasure, allowing Deku to penetrate your pussy even deeper than before.

Following his climax, you soon experienced your own, your body spasming from overstimulation.

Deku, catching his breath, tenderly kissed your forehead before withdrawing his cock out of your snug cunt. He then requested you to turn to your side. As you complied, he positioned himself behind you and reentered your pussy; his cock got hard again in no time.

Breathless, you gasped and bit your lower lip, feeling the intensity of his thrusts and a bulge his cock formed within your lower tummy whenever he pushed in, the tender kisses of his mouth placed to your cheek, and the warm breath fanning the back of your neck and ear as he grunted, quickening his pace.

In this specific position, Izuku could easily cup your breasts while reaching maximum depth with his dick buried in you, the tip of his cock kissing your cervix with each of his thrusts.

Time blurred, but when Izuku cum yet again, emptying his balls in your pussy, he settled beside you on the bed, and slid his hands under his head with a smirk. "It was amazing, babygirl," Deku whispered, gratitude evident. "Thank you for the warm welcome."

You nestled against his robust chest, cheeks flushed as you felt your mixed cums trickling down your thighs. "Thank you for taking me to heaven, Izuku," you whispered, kissing his chest lightly.

[grudgecollector]

Afterglow | Nam-gyu / American!Reader

You're reading part five

Story Summary: Nam-gyu gets a new job and finds himself falling for the girl behind the deli counter.

Words: 2.3k

Tags/Warnings: Nam-gyu and Thanos have PTSD, canon divergence, Thanos lives, Nam-gyu doesn't know how to process negative emotions, angst, self harm, fluff, smut, dry humping, p n v, unprotected, creampie

A/N: Haiii what a whiplash of tags

It's been absolutely forever since I've written smut so I apologize if this isn't good LMAO

I just felt I might as well give you guys a little gift after last chapter

Anyway I'm not sure if this is going to be the last chapter. But I feel like it's a fitting end for these two. I might do some little tid bits in the future, I've got some ideas already, but you'll just have to bare with me.

I'm a little iffy about this chapter. I have no idea if it makes sense or if it's actually good, but I think that's only because I kind of struggled to write it and have been staring at it WAY TOO LONG.

MASTERLIST

Lightning strikes rippled through the dark rainy skies above Nam-gyu’s apartment. Streaks of yellow light blooming before each thunderous boom echoed above. The awning above shielded Nam-gyu from the downpour that fell in thick drops, smacking against the ground in quick succession. 

Nam-gyu’s chest felt hollow, emotions numb, but his head still had a storm raging inside. He felt terrible. You had been so excited to show him and Su-bong all that Halloween had to offer in America.

He would be lying if he said he didn't share your enthusiasm, but the events of this morning had ruined everything.

A particularly bad nightmare had woken Nam-gyu up. Sweat was covering his chest and the back of his neck. He blinked several times trying to register where he was, your horrified screams still echoing through his head. 

He had wanted to call you, to receive the comfort your voice always brought him, but he didn’t want to worry you so early in the morning.

Throughout the day his thoughts ran wild, the nightmare playing over and over in more and more gruesome scenarios. Nam-gyu felt like he was being sucked back into that nightmarish place with each minute that passed. 

Nam-gyu flicked the flimsy ashes of his cigarette onto the pavement below. He picked at the skin around his fingernails carelessly. His eyelids sagged a little, his lips downturned in a cold expression, irritation jabbing itself into his side. 

He honestly felt embarrassed, a brief insecure thought of “Am I overreacting?” passing through his head. Nam-gyu was used to acting like this around Su-bong, having witnessed each other at their very worst many times. But to have you see this part of him? It made him want to crawl out of his skin.

You shouldn’t have to be with someone so broken. 

Nam-gyu didn’t want to admit it to himself, but his friend was right. 

He couldn’t keep tearing himself apart like this. And he knew once he fell down that slippery slope, he would drag you down right alongside him.

He would become the worst version of himself all over again. The self centered, arrogant, careless asshole he always became when he was high. 

The cherry of his cigarette was so bright against the blackened night sky, the white paper burning back, peeling into a burnt black before turning grey as he took another slow drag. 

Just one more score… One more hit… Just one more bump… One last time…

The cigarette sizzled against Nam-gyu’s wrist, he sucked in a loud hiss through his teeth. The burning pain bloomed through his skin as he let the remains of the orange filter fall to the ground pathetically, an angry red burn staring back at him. 

~~~

The next few days dragged on at an agonizing pace. You hadn’t seen Nam-gyu or Su-bong since that night, and it left a pit of hopelessness in your stomach. You constantly had to remind yourself to put your phone away, rereading the text Su-bong had sent you over and over again. 

“Just give us a few days and I promise you’ll get some answers.”

Each passing second you waited for that chime to come. Glancing back to the black screen of your phone more often than you would like to admit. That nausea stirred by anxiety bit at the back of your throat for hours on end during the second day, tears threatening to fall from your eyes. 

In a way you were terrified that this would somehow result in the end of your relationship, overthinking every possible outcome that could happen once Su-bong finally does text you. 

You knew deep down that you were being ridiculous. But in the past your relationships have ended over much more trivial things. Stupid things that could have been talked about, solved with a simple conversation. 

No, this couldn’t be what ended things with Nam-gyu. You couldn’t let someone like him slip through your fingers like that. No matter how broken or bruised he thought he was. 

But as you sat on his couch listening to Su-bong recount the events they experienced while in South Korea, you finally started to understand. 

The blood and carnage they witnessed, it would have been unbelievable if Su-bong didn’t show you the articles to back up everything he said. 

“BREAKING: Underground deathmatch operation in South Korea finally comes to a halt, forty two people rescued, number of arrests unknown at this time.” 

You looked over at Nam-gyu who was at the other end of the couch, legs tucked into his chest as he smoked a blunt lazily, looking everywhere but at you. He hasn’t said a word since you sat down, his fingers dragging across his bottom lip softly as he listened to his friend talk. 

A tense silence hung in the air after Su-bong finished. His eyes lingered on Nam-gyu before looking at you. 

How does someone even respond to something like this? Where do you even begin? You have never watched someone die, let alone be murdered. In all honesty you thought that Nam-gyu might have just relapsed, and that he was too scared to tell you. 

You could have never guessed it was something as horrifying as this. 

Nam-gyu cleared his throat, “Please don’t feel like you need to pity me. The stuff we went through was… It was bad but-" He was quiet for a second, stuck on his own words, "Fuck I don’t even know how to talk about this shit, nevermind.” He laughed bitterly, going back to smoking. 

Being stuck in an environment like that can fundamentally change a person for life. Preyed upon at their lowest points, broken down into the worst versions of yourself. Hundreds of people ripping each other apart lest they fall first, having to fight your way out with no guarantee that you would live to see the sunlight again.

You couldn’t even begin to imagine what it must have been like for them. 

“All we’re asking is for you to be a little patient with us.” Su-bong said finally, picking awkwardly at the strings on his pants. 

You realize that they both must have felt extremely vulnerable right now. One of their darkest secrets finally out in the open, revealing the throbbing gash that was their minds. 

“Of course.” 

~~~

Nam-gyu’s room was freezing. A fan humming loudly in the corner of his room, the notch turned to the highest setting. The curtain over his window fluttered, the streetlights from outside briefly lighting his sparsely decorated walls, illuminating your soft gaze. Nam-gyu could almost trick himself into thinking stars were in your eyes, sparkling as they stared into his soul. 

Your fingertips kissed the skin of his cheek, your lips a sweet caress against his as you whispered softly to him. Words that soaked into his skin like sunlight on a summer’s day, he could almost hear birds chirp in the back of his mind as his eyes slipped closed.

That storm raging inside of him slowly turned into a soft drizzle, and for a brief moment Nam-gyu almost felt like a rainbow could bloom from behind the grey clouds of his mind. 

You made everything feel right. 

Every thorny fear stabbed into Nam-gyu’s quickly beating heart kissed away by each touch. 

“I love you, Nam-gyu… More than I have ever loved anyone.” You whispered against his cheek. 

His blunt fingernails scratched oh so softly at the skin under your shirt, drawing meaningless patterns as you continued showering him in your adoration.

Nam-gyu swore that his heart was going to beat out of his chest, the only thing that plagued his mind now was you. 

“I’m really sorry…” Nam-gyu finally spoke up, his voice weaker than he had expected it to be. 

You looked at him curiously, fingers combing through his hair gently. Goosebumps rose up on Nam-gyu’s arms as he tried to think about what he wanted to say next. 

“I know that you were really scared a few days ago… And I just feel bad, I should have told you about all of this sooner, but…” He took a deep, shaky breath, “I was terrified that you would see me differently. Like I'm some broken… thing that needed fixing.” 

A kiss was pressed softly to Nam-gyu’s forehead, then to his cheek, there was a long beat of silence. Nam-gyu could tell you were carefully figuring out how to word your response. 

“Don’t apologize for not telling me. I’m just thankful that you felt safe enough to let me in like this.” 

~~~

Over the next month things started to settle back down. Nam-gyu still struggled, as any normal person would in his circumstance. But eventually your usual routines were slowly restored, and things felt like they were back to normal again.

Nam-gyu was smiling a lot more, his usual playful attitude finally shining back through. It seemed as though a weight was finally being lifted from his tense shoulders, allowing him to relax back into his life. 

And as a way to provide a helpful distraction from their troubles, you got them into one of your favorite shows that you watched as a teenager. 

It was an American show that neither man had heard of before, they were interested enough to start watching it, and now they were hooked. You wished so desperately you could watch for the first time all over again. Wishing you could share their shocked reactions when their wide eyes would meet yours. 

“Oh my god- get this bitch out of my face.” Nam-gyu groaned, a particularly annoying character walking on screen. 

“He’s really not that bad.” Su-bong commented, crunching loudly on a piece of popcorn, “At least he killed that one guy.” 

Nam-gyu glances up at you from where his head was laying on your thigh, as if to say “Can you believe this guy?” before rolling his eyes and saying,

“Yeah that was the most useful thing he’s done this entire season.”

A small laugh leaves you, your fingers softly playing with his hair. Your fingertips softly brushed against the shell of his ear, making him shiver a little. There was a certain heat to your touch, grabbing his attention as you trailed closer to the base of his neck and around to trace the side of his adams apple. 

You watched him carefully. Watched as his hand slowly came up to your thigh, gripping just above your knee, his body was more tense than before. But his eyes didn’t leave the screen for a second, not even as your fingertips dipped below the collar of his shirt and your fingernails scratched against the skin just below his collarbone. 

~~~

His lips whispered across your skin, fingers gripping harshly on your hips as he brought you closer. You could feel how hard he was against your clothed center. You could feel the heat of his cock pressing into you as you grind down against him, small moans slipping from his mouth between breathless kisses. 

Your neck was wet with his spit, bite marks already blooming into delicious bruises. One of your hands weaved through his hair, deepening your desperation as his tongue made its way past your parted lips. 

He guides your hips with precision, the press of him making your desire heighten with each salacious movement. You felt like a woman starved, every fibre of your being craving him. With every sound that left his lips, every time your name dripped from his tongue. 

“Fuck, honey.” He whispered against your lips, he braced a hand on your back as he flipped the both of you over, his hips working against yours harder than before, “Fuck…”

Nam-gyu separated himself from you for just a second, pushing his boxers down just enough. You were quick to remove your own underwear, throwing it to the floor. Your legs quickly found their way back to his waist, your hands pulling him back down for another kiss. 

You couldn’t keep your hands off of him. Your lips pressed soft kisses to his jaw when he leaned his forehead against your shoulder, pushing himself inside of you so slowly. The stretch of his cock made your lips part with a gasp, your nails bit into his shoulder as he started grinding into you, the tip kissing your cervix. 

“Shit, baby, always so fucking tight.” His words sent jolts through your whole body, “So good...” He whispered into your ear. 

His first thrust almost pushed the air from your lungs, a steady pace being set as his hands explored your chest. He squeezed your breast before he brought his hand to brush his thumb against your throat. 

Sweet moans poured from his mouth as he pressed messy kisses to the side of your throat. His hips slapped yours loudly, his cock ramming so deep inside you that it leaves you breathless. You felt like you were vibrating with pleasure. 

“‘S fucking good- shit.” His hand trailed down between your sweaty bodies, his middle finger finding your clit. Sparks traveled through your body to the tips of your toes, his fingers massaged against your bundle of nerves softly.

“Please…” You whine out pathetically. 

“You gonna cum baby?” You could see the smirk playing at the corner of his lips. 

His hips were slamming into you harder now, fucking into you like it would be the last time. He was savoring every single drag of his cock inside your velvet walls, squeezing against him so tightly, pulling him back in. 

“Nam-gyu, oh fuck!” Your thighs shook against him as your orgasm crashed into you, your fingers clawing against his shoulders. 

“Shit.” He gasped, his hips grinding into yours and you could feel him twitch as he finally came, hot spurts coating your insides. 

Nam-gyu’s eyes met yours. They were soft, swimming with unspoken emotions, a small smile tugged at his lips. His fingers brushed away the sweaty strands of hair from your cheek, fingertips grazing your jaw as he brought you into a crushing kiss. A kiss that said, 

I love you… I love you… I love you…

[maraschinomerry]

Darling

Pairings: George Karim x gn!reader

Summary: You use pet names for all your friends, and you're determined to figure out which ones George will tolerate

Content: fluff, flirty banter, unwanted advances, spontaneous fake dating, small injury and blood mention

A/N: I can't believe I've made it to the 2 year anniversary of my first Lockwood & Co fic!! I'm so incredibly grateful for all the support and encouragement, it means the world. Here's to even more fics in the coming year!

Word count: 3.7k

Taglist: @neewtmas @marinalor @ettadear @honey-with-tea @mischiefmanaged71 (let me know if you want to be added or removed!)

“Thanks lovely,” you smiled at Lucy as she passed you a plate of toast, ignoring the way George rolled his eyes.

You'd always been quite open with your affection, and at last you'd found a place where it was appreciated. It had been nerve-wracking at first, settling in to Lockwood & Co, but eventually you felt more comfortable being yourself around your new colleagues and housemates. Things started out small, just the odd compliment here and there, but they were always well received, which gave you enough confidence to step up a notch. “You're a star,” you’d say when someone brought you something you needed while you were working or training, “you're the best, thank you” was often your response to a home-cooked meal, or “oh you legend” when your favourite fancy biscuits made an appearance on the daily snack plate. Finally, you'd progressed to pet names: love, angel, darling, whatever felt right in the moment. Lockwood and Lucy always seemed to perk up a little when you used them, which was half the reason for doing so in the first place. George hadn't been so receptive - the way he rolled his eyes every time was a dead giveaway - so you hadn't got that far with him yet. He didn't have a problem with you otherwise, in fact he practically glowed whenever you called him a genius for helping with research, but clearly this he just couldn't get behind for some reason.

Lucy beamed at your response as she set the toast down before sliding into the seat next to Lockwood. “So what's the plan for today?”

Lockwood shifted his teacup to one side to double check the list he'd scribbled on the Thinking Cloth. “The man who called yesterday, Mr Campbell, wants to discuss hiring us but he's unable to come here so Lucy and I will go and see him. George, can you keep researching the Rowland case, and y/n would you mind doing a quick stock check and heading to Satchells if we need anything? I'd like to get the Rowlands out of the way tonight if we can.” You both nodded, and you quickly washed your plate before heading into the basement. Cold seeped through your socks from the stone floor, and you stuffed your hands in your pockets. The quiet of the space was a welcome relief from the hustle and bustle of your busy life within the agency, which you could hear carrying on above you as the other three prepared to head out for the day, making the floorboards creak and echo down the spiral staircase. You surveyed the shelves. It was a good job Lockwood had called for a stock take: they were looking particularly sparse after a busy few weeks of cases. There you had it, then. You'd be best just buying a set of everything.

Why you thought buying a set of everything was a good idea, you'd never know. The bags that were hanging from your elbows weighed a ton, and you struggled to negotiate the box of flares you were holding into one hand while you unlocked the door of 35 Portland Row, keeping it ajar with one foot while you rearranged your load to fit through. Without warning, the door was pulled open from the inside. Lucy and Lockwood must be back from their meeting already.

“Thanks darling, you're a lifesaver,” you groaned as you heaved the bags up the final step and into the hallway. A huff came from behind the door, and you peered over the box to see curly hair and furrowed brows beneath the top of a pair of glasses. “Oh, didn't realise it was you, George.”

“It's fine,” he brushed it off. “Here, let me.” His hand slipped under the box, brushing against yours and sending sparks through your arm as he lifted it away in one smooth move and took one of the bags with his other hand.

You smiled in relief. “Well, thanks darling, for sure this time.”

He rolled his eyes. “Do you have to call me that?”

Something clicked in your mind, and you chewed your lip with a mischievous grin as you followed him through to the kitchen. Okay, he wasn't keen on being called darling, but you had plenty of other options…

The Rowland house, as it turned out, was a bit of a maze. You'd split up, with Lockwood and Lucy on the ground floor while you and George ventured upstairs. From the glimpse you'd seen on your way in, the other two would be going in circles as the dining room, lounge, kitchen and entry hall were all inter-connected in some way. Up here was even more of a rabbit warren. It seemed like there were more storage cupboards than rooms, so you and George had taken a bedroom each to try and figure out which doors actually led somewhere useful. Yours had four: the entrance from the landing, two built-in wardrobes, and one leading to an en-suite. The en-suite itself had two more. The first was yet another cupboard, and the second you prodded open with your torch. A figure appeared in the light, and you gasped before you could stop yourself. At the sound, the figure spun, lightning fast. The tip of a rapier came dangerously close to your chest.

“Jesus, y/n!” George exclaimed as he dropped the blade in shock. “I could have hurt you!”

You lowered your torch from his face, steadying yourself against him as the surge of adrenaline passed through you (though whether that was from the close call or getting to see George's assured combative side for once, you couldn't say). “Sorry love, I thought this was another stupid cupboard.”

In the heat of the moment he almost didn't notice, but then you watched him replay the sentence in his head and throw you a disapproving look. You mentally filed love alongside darling in the ‘not a fan’ section of this little experiment. However, despite his apparent annoyance he still helped make sure you were unhurt before you moved together to check the next room.

—

Only a few days after the case, you got hit with an unexpected illness which left you feeling thoroughly rotten and unfit for that evening's job. Lockwood had poked his head into your room to reassure you that it was okay for you to rest up, despite how guilty you were feeling (it wasn't your fault, of course, but that didn’t stop you). As the sun began to set, filling your room with golden hues, there was another gentle knock at your door. You mumbled a response from within your duvet, poking your head out at the creak of the hinges to see who it was this time. A bashful George crept in, holding a small tray of tomato soup, buttered toast and a glass of water with some painkillers. He squinted a little against the rays as they illuminated his face in a warm glow.

“Sorry, did I wake you?” he whispered. You shook your head and his shoulders unclenched with relief. “Good. I thought I'd bring you something to eat before we go, but you don't have to eat it if you're not feeling up to it, or I can get you something else or-”

You cut him off before he spiralled, your voice hoarse but soft. “No, this is great, you're an angel. Thank you.”

A smile tugged at the corners of his mouth in spite of himself. Maybe he was just playing nice because you were in no state to fight back, but you added angel to your ‘maybe’ list just in case. “You're welcome. If your light is still on when we get back I'll check in again, or if not then sleep well.”

From that point on, there was a shift in the way you both handled your use of pet names. For you, it was a matter of when you used them - the more serious ones when George did something endearing, which was surprisingly regular for someone so blunt, and silly ones when he was winding you up and you wanted to get your own back. His responses changed too, of course he would still roll his eyes or bite back at the ridiculous ones, but you couldn't help but notice that when you genuinely called him something sweet he'd seem almost happy before remembering he wasn't supposed to enjoy them and close himself off again. It was a shame because those were your favourite moments, seeing him light up at your words, being able to be so affectionate with him without question or consequence. You weren't ready to admit yet that you were starting to fall for him and all the little things he did for you, so this was the best way you had to show him how much you appreciated it. How much you appreciated him.

—

George stood at the bottom of the stairs, dressed in his orange trousers and a loose orange and black plaid shirt with rolled sleeves, tapping his foot impatiently. “Come on, the Archives will be closed by the time we get there at this rate!”

You yelled back over the rush of running water as you finished getting ready in the bathroom on the landing. “Give me one minute!”

“You've had fifteen minutes of one minutes!”

“Well excuse me for making sure I'm presentable,” you scoffed as you bounded down the stairs, face fresh and dewy. “You wouldn't want me to get you banned for impropriety, now would you honeybun?”

George pulled a face not unlike someone biting into a lemon. “That's the worst one yet.”

“Worse than snookums?”

The imaginary lemon got even more sour. “Oh please, for the love of god don't bring that one back.”

“Whatever you say, pookie.” You couldn't help but let out a giggle as you walked past and opened the front door, feeling the daggers being glared into your back.

The British Archives were quiet, most people taking the good weather as an excuse to forgo research for the day. Together you and George found a corner table tucked amongst the stacks, right between all the information you needed. You wandered over to the newspaper section and gathered a few. When you returned, George staggered over with a stack of books. Once settled, you drifted into a comfortable silence, punctuated only by the rustling of pages and the scratch of pens in your notebooks. After a while, you became aware of George shuffling through the newspapers with a frown.

“Did you manage to find the 1897 article?” He asked.

Oops. “Sorry,” you pulled a face, “I think it's in the other section so I forgot. I'll find it, one sec.” With that, you stood and ventured deeper into the section.

This part of the Archives was laid out quite unusually. Some sections were wide and easy to navigate, but it was just your luck that the article you needed was stashed down a narrow corridor of drawers which culminated in a dead end at a concrete wall. The lighting wasn't particularly good either; one of the fluorescent tubes had blown, leaving you to squint as you flicked through the drawer marked ‘1896-1900’. In fact, you were so focused that you almost didn't hear the approaching footsteps.

“Hi there,” a deep voice came from the end of the corridor. You glanced up to see a tall, broad-shouldered boy in a Rotwell uniform leering at you from the end of the corridor. “Need a hand?”

“No thank you,” you replied as politely as you could, turning back to the drawer. Out of the corner of your eye, you watched him approach. You tensed.

“Are you here alone?” His eyes lit up in anticipation of your answer.

Even if you had been, there's no way you would have told him so. “Actually, I'm with someone.” Not technically a lie. Just worded in a way that you hoped would make him leave you to it.

“Well then, he's a fool,” he moved even closer, leaning on the edge of the drawer, his voice as slimy as his expression. You felt for the handle of your rapier, the rapier which you had left at the table. Your blood turned to ice. “Leaving you to do all the hard work by yourself? That's not very chivalrous. Why don't you let me-”

“Oh there you are, muffin,” George said loudly and stiffly as he stepped round the corner of the shelves in a rehearsed sort of way, like he was pretending to stroll in but had in fact been standing there just long enough to hear what was going on. You fought back a snort, hiding the noise with your hand as you stared wide-eyed at your friend. He returned the look, cheeks flushing and seeming very much like he wanted the ground to swallow him whole, but he gave a strained smile and a subtle nod over the taller boy's shoulder. You'd both done that same nod often: follow my lead.

You took a shaky step past the other agent, a step closer to safety. “Sorry, pumpkin, just got a bit… sidetracked,” you replied pointedly. As you got to his side his arm came up and around your waist, fingers hovering just above the fabric of your top, but it was enough to make the Rotwell agent balk.

“Sorry man, I didn't know,” he muttered.

“Well, now you do,” George said with his usual dryness. “Come on, sweetheart, let's go.” You leaned into his touch, allowing him to put himself between you and the other boy as he guided you away.

“Thank you, George,” you whispered into the space between you as you turned the corner, and you could have sworn he held you a little bit tighter.

The moment you were out of view and earshot he let you go, still keeping close until you were calmer and back at your table.

“Well, that was interesting, muffin.” Despite how grateful you were, you couldn't help but tease him; his cheeks were still tinted with rose, and the colour flared again as you emphasised his spontaneous choice of name.

He grimaced as he gathered up the last of your belongings from the table. “Breathe a word of this to anyone and I'll push you into the Thames.”

“You hated every second of that, didn't you?”

“Mostly because of him, but yes. Pumpkin, really?”

“Hey,” you held your hands up in mock surrender, “you're the one who left the house entirely in orange this morning, that's on you.”

“Remind me to burn this outfit when we get back,” he groaned, but there was a small smirk with it.

You were outside now, squinting into the bright light of the day. Not a cloud was in the sky, people were sitting in the nearby open spaces with books and picnic lunches, and as you watched a woman passed by on a vintage bicycle with a basket full of fresh flowers. You turned to the boy beside you. “Do you want to get ice cream on the way home? I know a great place.”

“Sure,” he smiled. “My treat.”

“Aww, thanks sweetheart.” He inhaled deeply, already regretting opening that can of worms, and you ran away laughing as he chased you from the courtyard.

You strolled back to Portland Row with your ice creams, hastily eating before they could be melted by the blazing sun overhead. On the way, you chatted about your research, and while you had plenty to say you noticed that George only chipped in occasionally with his own findings. He was tense; you wondered if he was still thinking about what had just happened. Your suspicions were seemingly confirmed when, upon returning to an empty house (Lockwood and Lucy must be taking advantage of the weather too), he announced that he was going to let off steam in the training area downstairs. You gave an understanding nod, and sat down at the kitchen table to collate your notes. The rhythmic whooshes and thuds from downstairs were surprisingly hypnotic, and you noticed immediately when they stopped for a moment. Your attention wavered. Well, that was as good a time as any to take a break and put the kettle on. You hummed to yourself as the water began to boil, stopping when you heard footsteps.

“Perfect timing, I'm just making tea if you want a cup.”

It sounded like the person behind you was rushing out of the kitchen, his “I'm fine thanks” a hurried mumble. You turned.

“George, you're bleeding!”

“It's nothing,” he brushed you off despite the prominent red streak just below the rim of his glasses.

He was already gone and halfway up the stairs by the time you processed what was going on, but you quickly grabbed the first aid kit from the cupboard and followed. If he really didn't want you to get involved, he'd have closed his bedroom door behind him, but it stood ajar. Still, you lingered on the threshold. His room was poorly lit; his curtains were still closed from the early start, and he'd only turned on a small lamp on his bedside table which was fighting to pierce through the stack of comics and books that surrounded it. Amongst it all, George was sitting on the edge of the bed, cheek turned away from you and staring at his hands.

“May I?” you asked, and he shuffled across the edge of his bed to make space in response. You settled down next to him, laying the kit on top of his sheets. “What happened?”

“Rapier caught on the stupid dummy and I slipped and nicked myself.”

“Oh honey, that's more than a nick,” you sighed, unsure whether the grimace that followed was from pain or the name. “Can I take your glasses off?” He gave a resigned nod, and you did so. The cut was a couple of centimetres long, running along his cheekbone, and tiny red dots were pooling along its length. You hesitated for a brief second, not used to having to patch anyone up but yourself, then clicked the latch on the first aid kit and took out an antiseptic wipe.

“Can I ask you something?” you said quietly, dabbing the wipe against his cheek. The cut was in a very awkward position, every time he moved his face it shifted. The dark red line looked almost black in the dim light of his room, and you were perched close on the edge of his bed to get a better look.

He winced. “You can always ask, it's whether or not I’ll answer that's the issue.”

“What do you have against me calling you pet names?”

He paused, and you thought maybe he really wasn't going to answer. He did, though. “It's complicated.”

“Well yeah, I figured,” you sighed. “Half the time it seems like you're okay with it, and then suddenly you'll look sort of irritated and I can't tell whether you want me to stop, which of course I will.”

“Don't.” The word came from him very suddenly, and you blinked. You pulled your hand away a little. He seemed to realise what he'd said. “I mean, you can do what you want, I'm not going to stop you.”

“But if it's annoying I can-”

“I'm not annoyed.”

“Then why do you always look like you are?”

“I'm… it's not… it's just frustrating, okay?”

You froze. That wasn't what you were expecting at all. You dropped your gaze, focusing intently on the first aid kit and willing yourself to look normal enough to put a plaster on without him seeing the tears in your eyes.

“I'm sorry,” he said softly, unintentionally twisting the imaginary blade you felt in your chest. “I don't mean it like that, it's not you that's frustrating.” You sniffed and risked a glance up. It was a shock to see him so vulnerable, looking almost as much like he was about to cry as you. “I like hearing you use those names, I do, but I always thought I'd get called them by a partner and it's just a reminder that you're… not.”

That was a perfectly reasonable boundary, you supposed, so why hadn't he said so from the beginning? And why did he seem almost disappointed? You almost dropped the plaster you were holding. Was he saying what you thought he was? Slowly, you peeled apart the wrapping, trying to keep your voice neutral. “So, if we were dating then it'd be okay?”

He hesitated as though he hadn't considered it as an option, and for a moment you were terrified that you'd misunderstood. “I suppose so.”

“In that case,” you bit your lip nervously, “would you like to go out? With me?”

His dark eyes scanned yours, searching for any hint of mocking or sarcasm. When he found none, he smiled softly, the cut shifting again but thankfully not springing open. “How about dinner, darling?”

Your jaw dropped. “Did you just-”

“Could I have my glasses please?” he asked suddenly. You realised you'd put them behind you.

“I'm not done,” you protested, gesturing to his cheek.

“I know, it's just I'd quite like to kiss you if that's okay, and I'd prefer to be able to see what I'm doing.”

You picked up his glasses, plaster immediately forgotten, and placed them on his face with a bashful smile. The moment he was able to see you, he leant in. Your hand was still raised so you tangled it into his hair as he placed his lips gently to yours, and his arm wrapped around your waist to hold you close.

When you parted, he refused to let go, smiling down at you. Miraculously, his cheek had stayed in one piece. “So, dinner?”

“Thought you'd never ask, darling,” you grinned.

“Lead the way, love.”

It seemed he was a fan of those pet names after all.

[takamimami]

Heya!! First of all, congratulations on 100 followers!! 🎉🎉🎉 Been reading your stories since day one!! Id love to request some fluff for Kid, “Sweet of you to think of me.” “I always think of you.” with f reader please

Hiya, anon!! Ty for the kind words, for the continued support, and tysm for submitting a prompt <3! I hope you enjoy this Kidd fluff I've prepared for you :3

Kidd x F!Reader - SFW - “Sweet of you to think of me.” “I always think of you.” - STORY UNDER THE CUT CW: FLUFF; reader is pms-ing, period woes, kidd is a sweetie pie and gladly acts as your punching bag for your mood swings, gentle kidd will be the death of me ---word count 1.3k

You were sitting at the bow of the Victoria Punk, leaning against the railing underneath the open mouth of the ship’s figurehead as you flipped through the pages of the book you’d been meaning to finish for far too long. The crew had docked late last night, and almost everyone had headed into the port village when they woke this morning. You, however, offered to stay and watch the ship - not wanting to trek through unfamiliar territory with period cramps. 

You groaned and rubbed at your stomach, the stabbing pains only intensifying as the day went on. At one point you hobbled your way to the kitchen to make yourself some tea, and you were surprised to see your captain, and lover, rummaging through the cabinets in search of something to snack on.

He greets you with a grunt, barely sparing you a glance as you walk past him and turn on the stove to heat up some water. The two of you stand in comfortable silence until a particularly aggressive cramp has you gripping the edge of the counter and groaning slightly. 

Kidd flicks an eyebrow up at you, noting the movement and sound, but not saying anything. You thought maybe he didn’t notice you, so you grab the tea from the cupboard and turn to walk away, holding your arm over your abdomen as you go to walk past him and back out the door. 

Kidd’s arm extends in front of you, stopping you and nearly spilling the hot water in your tea cup, to which you glare up at him.

“What’s wrong?” he asks, face stoic as he takes in your clammy skin and wrinkled forehead. 

“You mean besides the fact that you just almost made me burn myself?” you sneer at him, pushing past his arm and continuing back out onto the deck. You thought for a second he might follow you and demand you answer him, but he remains in the kitchen - and you’re not sure if you’re relieved or irritated by his lack of pursuit. 

You return to your previous spot and curl back up under the figurehead, flipping back into the pages of your books and trying to push Kidd from your mind. The sun peaks and begins to set in the distance by the time you stand again, the rest of your crew starting to filter back onto the ship just as darkness settles in. 

Their rowdiness usually doesn’t bother you, but with your heightened irritability, you rise from your spot and slip below deck before anyone can notice your absence. You saunter down the hall and enter your and Kidd’s shared quarters, setting the book down on the end table before curling up under the thick blanket and tucking your knees to your chest, groaning as you struggle to fall asleep.

The next morning you awake to an empty bed, irritation immediately settling in as you realize that there was no sign of Kidd even coming to bed last night.

Had he been upset at you for snapping at him? You knew your tongue could be extra sharp during your period, so maybe you had upset him more than you realized. Your previous irritation from the day before had dissolved, replaced by a feeling of vulnerability as you tugged the blanket tighter to you, missing the warmth of your lover as you lay in the bed and tried not to get emotional. 

You finally forced yourself out of bed when your stomach growled loud enough to echo through the room, realizing you hadn’t eaten much the prior day and it was already mid-day as you stepped out onto the bright deck. A few of your crewmates offered you sympathetic smiles and you ran your fingers through your hair, realizing you probably looked worse for wear as you pushed open the kitchen doors.

The smell of the food Killer was cooking wafted towards you, filling your nostrils and making your stomach grumble in response. Killer hears the sound and turns to glance at you, giving you a look over before chuckling lightly to himself.

“You look like shit,” he teases, to which you flip him your middle finger and pull up a stool to the counter space near him, leaning your elbow on the counter as you watch him sprinkle some cheese over the pasta he had prepared.

“Have you seen our captain?” You inquire, your mouth nearly salivating as Killer plates a bit of the food for you and slides the plate in your direction. He plates two more dishes and turns to you, and you swear you can see him crack a knowing smile behind his mask.

“Last I heard from him he had been in his workshop all night,” he says, keeping his response short as he gathers the plate and heads towards the door. “He asked me to make you and him some food, and said he’d be done with whatever he was working on by the time you woke up.”

“He asked you to make me food?” you counter, confusion laced in your tone. Killer just nods and walks back out onto the deck, and you turn back to the plate of food as you grab for the fork next to it and take a bite. You finish the food embarrassingly fast, your confusion still gnawing at your mind as you wash the dishes and head toward Kidd’s workshop.

As you reach for the handle of the door it swings open, Kidd’s wrist held in the air as he sits on his workbench, eyeing you from across the room with a smirk on his face.

“Good morning, grumpy,” he croons as you enter the room, flicking his wrist again to shut the door behind you. You stick your tongue out at him and cross the room, eyeing him wearily as you inspect him and the room around him.

“You’re chipper,” you muse, his arm reaching out to pull you into his lap as he nuzzles his face into your neck, peppering it a few with light kisses before pulling away and looking at you.

“Did you eat?” he questions, his finger tracing gentle circles in your back as you nod. He gives you an approving hum before pressing a gentle kiss to your lips, and your brows must have still been furrowed from the surprise at his pleasant mood because he lets out a laugh as his eyes meet yours again.

“Just because you were pissy yesterday doesn’t mean I have to be,” he says teasingly, reaching around to grab the thick belt that lay on the workbench behind him. “I made you something that might help with that, though.”

Your brow remains furrowed as you stare at the contraption in his hands, raising your arms as he leans you back so he can wrap it around your waist. He fastens it and adjusts it so it's sitting across the very bottom of your abdomen, the protrusions pressing into your skin as he tightens the band. Then with a press of a button, the protrusions begin to rotate, massaging the skin under them gently as the band begins to heat up, and you let out a satisfied hum at the relieving feeling it begins to offer.

“How does that feel?” he says softly, eyes softening as he sees the relief washing over your features.

“So nice,” you purr, and he smiles triumphantly as he tightens his arm back around your waist. Your heart swells at the way he gazes back at you, that familiar glint in his amber orbs peaking out at you as your smile widens.

“I know sometimes your back hurts too, so you can wear it the other way and it will massage your back too. The temperature is adjustable,” he murmurs, taking your hand and placing it over the buttons on the sides to show you how to operate it. 

“Thank you, Kidd,” you croon, pulling his goggles off his head and running your fingers through his tousled hair. “It was very sweet of you to think of me, ya big softy.” 

He chuckles as he nuzzles his face back into your neck, holding you tightly as your fingers continue to play with his hair.  “I’m always thinking of you, angel.”

100 Follower Event Masterlist ✨come say hai :3✨

[justsimplytalented]

Heyo, I saw your requests were open! Would you mind doing ice skating hcs for lookism characters? I don't think I've seen anybody do those yet!

Of course, always a fun challenge with these requests!

Ice skating hcs for lookism characters

— Daniel Park

Daniel would spend hours watching online tutorials, pausing and rewinding, meticulously trying to replicate the footwork. He'd set up his phone on the rink's barrier, filming himself, then replaying it in slow motion, cringing at his awkward posture and wobbly ankles. He'd even draw diagrams in a notebook, mapping out the trajectories of different spins and jumps.

During a particularly clumsy attempt at a crossover, he'd accidentally bump into a small child who was about to fall. He'd instinctively grab them, steadying them, and then, flustered, offer to help them learn the basics. This would lead to a surprisingly heartwarming session, where he'd forget his own insecurities and focus on encouraging the child.

Driven by his determination, Daniel would often go into the rink late at night, after everyone else had left. (With permission of course) He'd skate under the dim lights, the silence amplifying the sound of his skates on the ice. He'd practice his routines until his legs ached, his breath forming small clouds in the cold air.

One day, while practicing a simple spin, he'd be startled by a soft clap. It would be Jay Hong, who'd been observing him from the sidelines. Jay would offer a quiet, almost imperceptible nod of approval, a gesture that would fill Daniel with an unexpected surge of confidence.

— Vasco

Vasco's custom-made skating outfit would be a sight to behold. It would feature reinforced padding, metal studs, and the Burn Knuckles logo emblazoned across his chest. He'd even have specially designed skate guards shaped like miniature boxing gloves. (Jace would've gotten that last idea from Zack and made one in tune for Vasco.)

If anyone fell or was being bullied on the ice, Vasco would immediately intervene, his booming voice echoing through the rink. He'd gently help the fallen skater to their feet, offering words of encouragement, and then give the bully a stern, but ultimately well-meaning, lecture about sportsmanship.

After a long skating session, Vasco would treat everyone to hot chocolate and snacks from the rink's concession stand. He'd insist on paying for everyone if he could, his generosity as boundless as his enthusiasm. He would also insist on making sure everyone was warm enough.

When he finally landed a difficult jump, even if it was a little rough, Vasco would let out a triumphant roar, his voice echoing through the rink. He would celebrate with everyone around him, and have the best time.

— Zack Lee

Every mistake Zack made would be met with a silent and simmering rage. He'd grit his teeth, his eyes narrowed, and then repeat the move, pushing himself harder each time. He would not stop until he mastered the move.

Zack would sometimes treat his skating practice like a sparring session, visualizing opponents and dodging imaginary blows. He'd weave and turn with a fierce intensity, his movements a reflection of his martial arts training.

He'd secretly enjoy skating when Mira was present. Her presence would both motivate and fluster him. He would try to show off, but if he fell he would get extremely embarrassed.

After a particularly grueling practice, he'd notice a young child struggling to tie their skates. He'd reluctantly offer to help, his gruff exterior softening slightly as he patiently tied the laces.

— Johan Seong

Johan would prefer to skate in the shadows, avoiding the brightly lit areas of the rink. He'd move like a phantom, his movements fluid and unpredictable, his eyes constantly scanning his surroundings.

He would watch professional figure skating videos, and then replicate the moves flawlessly, often on his first try. He would push himself to learn the hardest moves, and would not rest until he had mastered them.

Johan would often skate late at night, when the rink was empty. He would use the darkness to his advantage, his movements becoming even more fluid and unpredictable. He would treat the ice like a personal stage.

Occasionally, a stray figure skater would catch a glimpse of Johan's breathtaking skill, only to find him vanished moments later, leaving them wondering if they had imagined it.

— Jay Hong

Jay's skating would be like a silent symphony, his movements flowing together in perfect harmony. He would perform intricate footwork, his skates creating delicate patterns on the ice.

Jay's skates would be custom-made, crafted from the finest materials. They would be perfectly fitted to his feet, allowing for maximum control and precision.

He would occasionally perform small, private routines for those he cares about, a silent expression of his affection. These routines would be carefully choreographed, each movement conveying a specific emotion. (Mainly for Daniel or Joy)

If he saw someone struggling, he would silently glide over and offer a gentle hand, guiding them through the basic movements. His presence would be calming and reassuring.

— Eli Jang

Eli's skates might be a little worn, maybe even a mismatched pair he'd found or repaired. He'd adapt to their quirks, using his street smarts to compensate for any imperfections. He'd be surprisingly good at using the edges of his skates for sharp turns and unexpected maneuvers, almost like he's using the rink as an extension of his urban environment.

Eli would often skate early in the morning, when the rink was quiet and the sun was just starting to rise. He'd enjoy watching the birds outside the rink's windows, their flight patterns inspiring his own movements on the ice. He would feel a connection to the animals.

He'd observe the patterns of other skaters, quietly analyzing their movements. He'd then incorporate elements he liked into his own style, creating a unique blend of techniques. He would also choreograph routines in his head.

If anyone, especially children, were being pushed around or intimidated on the ice, Eli would subtly position himself between them and the aggressor. He'd offer a quiet, reassuring presence, his eyes conveying a silent warning.

— Jake Kim

Jake would treat the ice rink like a stage, his skating style a blend of showmanship and bravado. He'd often attempt flashy moves, even if he wasn't entirely proficient, relying on his charisma to carry him through. He would try to get everyone to watch him.

He'd occasionally organize impromptu skating sessions for his gang, Big Deal. He'd turn the rink into a party, blasting music and encouraging everyone to let loose. He'd create a fun and energetic atmosphere.

Despite his tough exterior, Jake has a soft spot for those who are struggling. He'd offer genuine encouragement to beginners, praising their efforts and offering tips. He would be very patient.

Sometimes, Jake would visit the rink late at night, when he was alone. He'd skate in silence, reflecting on his past and his goals. The quiet solitude of the rink would allow him to be vulnerable, if only for a moment.

— Warren Chae

Warren's skating would be characterized by its efficiency and precision. He'd focus on mastering the fundamentals, executing clean turns and stable glides. He would be very focused on technique.

He'd always wear proper safety gear, including a helmet and knee pads, even during casual skating sessions. He'd also be the first to offer assistance to anyone who fell, ensuring they were okay.

He would often practice with Eli, helping him refine his technique and providing constructive feedback. Their skating sessions would be a testament to their strong bond.

Warren would observe everyone on the ice, analyzing their movements and identifying potential hazards. He'd be a silent guardian, ensuring the safety of those around him.

Thank you for deciding to read this! If you like it, don't be afraid to give me a suggestion on what I should write next!

[la-petite-lapin]

Double the Love | Part Two

Double the Love masterlist

Simon "Ghost" Riley x Johnny "Soap" MacTavish x female civilian!OC Word Count: 2.9k Series warnings (may change between chapters): 18+, Minors DNI, angst, mentions of death, mentions of violence, mentions of poor mental health, injury description, eventual explicit sexual content, polyamory, M/M/F, FMC is bad at feelings

They finally meet

One year later...

The message comes out of the blue. The first time I've heard from John Price in a whole month, and it's a fucking text message.

I'm watching TV, curled up in a ball on the sofa next to my best friend and flatmate Winslow "Winnie" Sloane, when my phone pings. I think about ignoring it until I catch a glimpse of his name. It's an unspoken rule between the two of us - we never knowingly ignore one another. Obviously, he can't reply to my messages when he's on ops, but that's different - that's not wilful.

I pick it up without hesitation and take a look.

JOHN PRICE: Tali, I need a favour. It's urgent.

My heart drops.

TALIA KELLER: What's happened? JOHN PRICE: Call me. I'll explain.

So, I do. I tap Winnie on the shoulder and rise up to my feet, shuffling off to my bedroom so I don't disturb her episode of Slow Horses. When I'm safely shut behind my bedroom door, I tap on the call button, dreading what's awaiting me on the other end of the line.

"John?" my voice is full of nerves as the call connects, echoing slightly around the room.

"God am I glad to hear your voice, Tali." He sounds haggard, his own voice tired and hollow. It's not hard to tell that he's fresh off an op. I can already imagine how drained he looks; can picture the dark circles shading his eyes and his scruffy too-long beard.

Sometimes, when I'm feeling particularly brave, I try to talk him into leaving the service. I think about Alex and his death, and I hate that John still knowingly puts himself in harm's way day and night. He's the only serving soldier I know now - I never met any of the other members of their unit - and I desperately wish that he'll retire soon.

"How are you?" he follows up, voice puncturing through my thoughts.

"I'm okay. At home with Winnie. How's Marcella?"

A soft sigh leaves him at the mention of his long-suffering wife. I wonder if he's even had a chance to see her yet. "Last we spoke, she was perfectly fine. Misses you though. You need to come over for dinner soon."

An easy laugh leaves me. Winnie and John aren't the only ones who've been supporting me since Alex died. John's wife Marcie has been there every step of the way too, helping me through rough patches whenever John is away on deployments. And Winnie's never been anything but kind and understanding - it's not in her nature to be anything but.

"Soon," I mumble in agreement. There's a sound on the other end of the line in the background, a murmured snippet of conversation and a drawn-out groan followed by a soft shut up. "Not alone?"

"Got some company," John admits. "Speaking of... does Winslow still have that big trip coming up?"

My palms slick with sweat. Yes. Yes, she does.

Ever since her big promotion six months ago, Winnie's job now involves a lot more travelling than it used to. And - because of that - in three days' time, she'll be in France, starting a month-long assignment helping a struggling marketing firm in Paris.

And I'll be alone.

It doesn't bother me as much as it used to, but I've always had this thing about being alone. It's part of the reason why I live with Winnie; why I've been seeing a therapist since I was sixteen; why I struggle to have normalcy. My current therapist thinks that it's a form of abandonment issues from being orphaned at a young age, which has led to my inability to maintain stable relationships. The therapist before that thought it was something completely different; that I seek to form attachments but wilfully don't, self-sabotaging and creating my own permanent sense of loneliness. But, my point is, I don't react anywhere near as badly to it as I did when I was a kid.

I still remember when I was fifteen and Alex left for his first deployment. I was still living with our maternal grandmother at the time, and I completely shut down. I holed up in my room for almost a whole month, refusing to speak and barely eating or sleeping. I could hardly function for worrying about him...

"Tali?"

I snap out of it. "Sorry. Yes."

"Could you... could I possibly bring some of my guys to your apartment? Just while Winslow is away. Our safehouse in the area has been taken out of action and we need somewhere to lay low for a little while."

My guys. The unit.

"What about your place?" My brow furrows. Surely Marcella wouldn't mind a few guests. She's calm and motherly and takes great pride in hosting. I'm sure she'd be in the element with them.

John clears his throat awkwardly. "Not an option. They don't know."

Ah. The brave, almighty Captain John Price still hasn't told his team that he's married. Typical.

I roll my eyes. "Okay. I hope you know that we're coming back to that later." A beat of silence passes. "How many people are we talking, John? Because it's a two-bedroom flat in London. It's spacious but it's hardly the Tardis."

He snorts out a dry laugh. "Only two. One of the lads is local so he's got family around here he can stay with. And there's some stuff I've got to get done, so I'll be hopping from base to base."

"Where are they going to sleep? Are they going to mind sharing a bed? Because the sofa is comfortable, but I know how you army guys are built..."

There's an awkward silence on Price's end as I hear him shifting around. It takes me a second to realise that he's covering his mouth against his phone's microphone. "Yeah... that's, um- that won't be an issue for them."

Oh.

Oh.

"Okay. Cool. I'll take them."

I wince. Why the fuck did I say cool? Of all the ways that I could respond and I choose that. Way to go, Tali.

"Are you sure that you're okay with this, Tali?" Price asks, his voice soft and encouraging. "If you aren’t, we can find something else-"

"Price, I'll take them in. Winnie leaves on Tuesday morning, so just have them swing by around then, okay?"

Favour asked and questions answered, we say our goodbyes and hang up. It takes me a second to gather my thoughts before padding back into the living room. The moment I step through the hallway, Winslow pauses the TV, angling her head up to look at me. A cloud of black curly hair frames her beautiful face, dark eyes wide and expectant. "Is John back home?"

I wince, getting ready to launch into an explanation. "Not quite."

Tuesday morning rolls around all too soon. By 9 a.m. I'm sitting cross-legged on the foot of Winnie's bed as she packs up her stuff. I can't help but feel a pang of anxiety strike deep in my chest.

"Are you sure that you're gonna be okay?" Winnie asks, almost like she can read my mind.

I meet her dark, knowing gaze and offer her a smile. "Winnie, I'll be fine. You don't need to worry about me. If I need anything, I can call Marcella."

She smiles, running a hand through her freshly braided hair. The pearls attached to some strands clink together softly. "Okay. Good. But you've got to call me once a week at least, okay?" Before I can reassure her that I will, she adds, "And you've got to text me every day."

"Winslow, I will. Stop stressing, please."

A moment of easy silence passes before the laughter starts. Both of us crack up, her eyes finding mine and holding my gaze.

Once we've both calmed down, I take a closer look at her cases. She's packing almost everything she owns. It's a sight that worries me, so I look away, deciding to look out of the window instead.

A loud, firm knock on the front door saves me just as Winnie is packing up her last suitcase. We exchange a look before I'm up on my feet, scrambling to answer it. I can't lie, I'm curious to meet John's friends. But I'm also sad. Because there's a strong possibility that they knew Alex too. That they were with him when he died.

When I open the door, there's two men standing in the hallway, just like John said there would be. The first has short brown hair styled into a mohawk, the sides cropped close to his scalp but the top and back left longer. He's broad-chested, muscular too; built like a grizzly bear. And, even though his complexion has a slightly pallid hue under the overhead lights, it's not hard to imagine that he's usually quite tan.

And then there's his friend. Standing next to the grizzly bear and at least half-a-foot taller than him, he has the expression of a man who wants to break me apart with his bare hands just to see what's inside. I fight to meet his intense gaze, taking catalogue of the features visible under the dark hood of his black sweatshirt. His eyes are hazel - I think - skin tanned from what I'd assume are long hours spent out in the sun, and I can't quite make out his hair colour. He's equally if not more muscular than his friendlier-looking counterpart. My eyes trail down to his mouth, drawn to the scar bisecting his bottom lip. It doesn't draw away from his attractiveness though; just adds to the sense of rugged charm that I'm getting from him.

Not that it should matter. It doesn't. They're here because they need help; not because they want to be ogled by a complete stranger.

"Are you John's friends?" I ask stupidly, as if they could be anyone else.

The grizzly bear nods. "Aye. And you are?"

Scottish. Nice. I've always loved the accent, but his is even better. There's a humour there; something uniquely his. It makes me want to keep him talking just so I can hear it more.

"Tali." I step back so that they can come inside. They hesitate for a second before following me into the living room, the tall, silent one closing the door behind him with a soft click. "Also John's friend."

The grizzly bear plops straight down onto the couch, stretching out with no hesitation and making himself at home. His arms drape over the backrest, a lazy grin forming on his lips as he watches me take a seat on my armchair. The tall one gives him a reprimanding look, hovering beside the window behind him. His light eyes are always alert; darting around the room like something's going to jump out at any second.

"You army?" he asks, expression wary. His voice is all gravel with a Manchester accent.

I offer him a small smile. "Nope." I don't think anyone could mistake me for a soldier. I'm small - short and slender - and skittish at the best of times. "So... what should I call you?"

Hazel eyes narrow at me. "Ghost."

The grizzly bear rolls his eyes dramatically, offering me a wide, disarming grin. It's blatantly obvious that he's overcompensating for him. "Callsign is Soap, but a pretty lass like you can call me Johnny."

My heart flutters.

It takes a second to remember what John had said on the phone. Sharing a bed won't be an issue for them. The awkward, implying tone he'd said it in. In other words, neither of them are meant for me.

Ghost eases away from the window to stand just behind the sofa, drawing closer to Johnny. Johnny, on the other hand, moves so that he's leaning forward, elbows braced on his knees as he cocks his head at me. "A friend of Captain Price, are ye?"

I nod softly. "Yes."

"Funny that," Ghost barks, tilting his head to one side. "He's never mentioned you." Thinly veiled suspicion drifts off of him in waves, and it makes me feel endlessly uncomfortable. His harsh gaze melts through my skin and bones, boring deep into my soul.

I shift in my seat. "He never mentioned either of you to me, so I don't think that counts for much."

Johnny lets out a loud laugh. "I think I'm gonna like ye, Tali. Not many people talk back to 'im."

It's in that moment - as I'm silently praying for the floor to open up and swallow me whole - that Winnie steps out of her room, suitcases in tow. She walks into the living room, depositing them by the front door before coming over to introduce herself, a sceptical look on her face.

She levels Ghost with an icy glare, not looking away from him as she asks me, "Everything all okay here, Tali?"

"Yeah, it's alright Winnie." I gesture to each of John's friends in turn. "Winnie, this is Johnny." He raises his hand and waves, still grinning like the Cheshire Cat. "And that is Ghost." I point to looming, ominous figure behind him.

"Ghost?" she repeats slowly. I nod. "Okay, well I'm leaving now. Tali, I love you and I'll miss you. Remember to call me." She bends at the waist to hug me, wrapping me up in her warm, vanilla-scented embrace. As she straightens, she glares at each of the men in turn. "And you two - don't give her any shit. If I find out you've made her feel uncomfortable even once, not even John will be able to save you. Got it?"

Johnny stares up at my friend, mystified. His blue eyes are bright as he nods. "Don't worry. We won't be any trouble."

Winnie turns back to face me. "Right, I've got to go or I'll miss my ride to the airport. I'll be back before you even know I'm gone, okay?"

"I know," I say, my voice soft. "I love you. Be safe and text me when you land."

With a nod, Winnie presses a gentle kiss to the top of my head then gets her last few bits together. And then she leaves. Leaving me alone with two complete strangers. Yay.

"So," I grumble, struggling against the urge to shy away from their intense gazes in the safety of my room, "do you want to see where you'll be staying?"

Later that night, the three of us gather in the living room to watch TV.

The guys didn't have much to unpack. They travelled light so I'm going to have to go shopping sometime soon to buy them some essentials; more clothes and toiletries. Definitely food too. If dinner tonight was any indication, they eat a lot.

I'm curled up in my armchair again, watching something that Johnny chose on Netflix. Every once and a while, I glance across at them. Ghost is sitting upright, legs stretched out in front of him. His legs are so long that his feet are tucked under the coffee table. And then there's Johnny. He's laying on his side on the sofa, his head resting on Ghost's muscular thighs. Every now and then, Ghost's hand runs down the length of Johnny's side, stroking him in soothing, rhythmic motions.

Looking at them, I can't help but feel a sense of longing. Jealousy that they're together and obviously quite happy. That they're comfortable enough around one another for these subconscious displays of affection.

I'll never have that. It's something that I've come to accept. I'm twenty-five now and I've never had a serious relationship. I don't even think I want one. For a period of time in my late teens, I thought that I might be aro-ace, but over time I've gathered that I do feel romantic and sexual attraction. It's just different.

The sad truth is that I don't trust anyone enough to believe that they'd stay with me. Love me. Make me feel safe enough for displays of casual affection. There would always be that looming sense of dread that they'd leave me sooner or later.

In my head, I've justified it. If I don't get into relationships, no one can leave me. Alex's death all but solidified that for me.

The rom-com Johnny picked out gets to a comedic scene - a naked beach fight - and he starts to chuckle. I join him and I swear even Ghost lets out a little snort. We're all laughing until...

"Fuck. Johnny, you're bleeding."

My heart crawls up into my throat. My eyes snap across to them, blatantly looking now. The white t-shirt Johnny is wearing is plastered to his side, a red patch seeping through the fabric, spreading across his ribs.

He sits upright, holding it with one large hand. "Ah fuck. Didn't get any on the sofa, did ah'?"

"Fuck the sofa," I splutter out in a panic. "Are you okay? Why are you bleeding? Should I call an ambulance?"

Johnny looks back at me with a quizzical expression while Ghost just sighs, standing up. He walks towards the bedrooms at an unhurried pace, stopping along the way to press a chaste kiss to Johnny's forehead, placing a loving hand on his shoulder. "Don't worry, darling, I'll get the bag." Hazel eyes swing towards me, where I'm still panicking in my armchair. "His dressing just needs changing, and I'll check his stitches. He's fine, love."

I ease back into my seat, heat rushing to my cheeks. "Oh."

Ghost leaves the room, heading into my bedroom to get the aforementioned bag. I've decided to give them my room for the duration of their stay because it has an en-suite. It eliminates the risk of me accidentally stumbling in on them in the shared bathroom that doesn't have a working lock. Overall, it's safer for everyone that I'm staying in Winnie's room.

Feeling more than a little foolish for my outburst, I offer Johnny a weak smile. "I'm going to go to bed now. Goodnight, Johnny."

"Ye sure?" he asks, blue eyes tinted with a hint of... something. Maybe disappointment? I don't know. "The movie isn't over yet. You seemed like ye were enjoying it." His brow furrows. "We could watch something else."

"I'm sure. It's fine; I'm just tired. We can watch another movie tomorrow night if you want."

His eyes light up at that. "Yeah, sounds perfect."

I'm back in Winnie's room by the time Ghost leaves mine. I can hear his footsteps padding down the hallway. Hear their muffled conversation and muted laughter.

As I fall asleep, I can't help but feel a different kind of loneliness. And, as I drift off, my heart aches for what Ghost and Johnny have.

a/n: guess who's back! so Tali has finally met the boys :) sorry if this part is a little short, just wanted to get something out in time for christmas for you guys - merry christmas and take care of yourselves, lapetitelapin