#im going insane. im going insane. i feel insane.

[kwoniele]

his (favorite) cheerleader

synopsis: cheerleading practice seems to affect seungcheol a lot more than you expected.

genre: smut

pairing: seungcheol x cheerleader!reader

wc: 737

warnings: rough sex! clearly i have a kink.. creampie, unprotected sex (please do NOT do this! use protection always) overprotective cheol, praise, scratching 😝, BABE THIS ISNT PROOFREAD ☺️ none of my works are tbh. i think thats all? please lmk if there are more!

authors note: hiii im baackkk!! this was supposed to be a celebratory fic for from behind but unfortunately i got quite occupied with my assignments (ack?) and didn��t get to ginish but u can read this as a standalone haha also my requests are open! please request SOMETHING im in need of ideas.. ok bye enjoy

nervous.

thats how you made seungcheol feel.

honestly, he would have never felt this way if he had stopped you from wearing the skimpy skirt for cheerleading practice. you asked him permission before choosing to wear it for the day because one: you would hate to make him feel like you’re dressing like a slut for everyone to see and two: the girls in your crew are bringing their boyfriends.

you would never admit it, but the girls in your squad have terrible taste for men. all of them are either desperate for a quick fuck with anyone but their girlfriends, or theyre in denial and swear to like women but seem to enjoy having drinks with your boyfriend instead.

but seungcheol didn’t hold you back. he swore it was okay and that you looked amazing in the skirt. he explained that he was going to be right beside you the entire time and that things were going to be alright. because he was there.

he was concerned that the boys would be very much eyeing you for a minute too long, or your name would be the name they’d be chanting for the entire game rather than their girlfriend’s.

he was wrong.

he was the person he was worried about.

the way the skirt almost barely covered your ass, the way your hair stuck to your forehead sticky with sweat, how your chest heaved whenever you finished a routine; he felt like he was going absolutely insane.

regardless of the fact he promised you he’d behave, he wasn’t doing a good job of fulfilling it. he could feel his cock slowly growing in his pants and he was not trying to hide it.

“seungcheol-ah, if you’re in need of relief, we’d really appreciate it if you could do it somewhere else and not on the freshly cleaned bleachers.” irene’s boyfriend lightly elbowed seungcheol,

cheol shot him a glare before his eyes slowly rested on you again. you were hot. if male ovulation was a thing, cheol was the epitome of it. all he heard was ringing and inaudible chatter as his attention was focused on you. his eyes were in the shape of hearts as he watched you perform.

he couldn't wait to go home. he just knew what he’d do to you as soon as you step foot into your house.

—

“haa~ cheol!” if he had asked you to count how many times you’ve come tonight, you wouldn’t be able to answer him. your cum had made a creamy white ring around his cock, slowly growing thicker and thicker as his thrusts began to pick up rhythm faster than the one before.

your voice began to strain, sweat started to trickle down the back of your neck, your hips were burning red as seungcheol showed no mercy at all. it was as if his dick had a mind of its own. his tip kisses your g-spot, making you arch from the bed as cheol’s hand pushed you down.

“you were so fucking pretty out there. did you know that? i was worried the boys would be a fucking idiot around you— fuck.” he threw his head back in a moan. “but it turns out, i was the one going insane.”

his lips traveled to your neck, leaving open-mouthed kisses beside the bruises he had made earlier. his thumb rubbed your clit, causing you to whine controllably as your gripped onto his shoulders. “pleaaase, let me cum!”

“yeah? my baby wants to cum?” seungcheol rapidly thrusted into you—if that was even possible—even more, making you slip out incoherent words as your eyebrows furrowed in frustration.

“yes! yes! yes! please let me cum please!” your nails clawed his back, leaving dark red marks as he winces in pain.

“fuck, cum with me okay?” you nodded in agreement, not caring about the neighbours who were probably wide awake, or the open windows that seungcheol didn’t bother to shut, or your cheerleading outfit that you definitely needed the following day.

“you can cum, beautiful.” he painted your walls with white ribbons as you breathed heavily—cumming right after him. you came so hard that you saw stars. as soon as you finally caught your breath, seungcheol was already rubbing you with a warm cloth, cleaning up his mess.

“you’re so responsible, you know?”

“mhm, i am. just not when you’re at cheerleading practice.” you giggle.

“you should come more often.”

[knightjpg]

ruined me beyond salvation!!!! kicking and screaming!!!!!!!

ceil you are so good at setting up tension and building up to a climax it's not even funny anymore. it never even feels like filler, every moment is important and tells us something about ghost. i loved reader so much... once again.... you hit me with an anxious girl just doing her best and having a realistic response to all this nonsense bequeathed upon her.......

soooo fun to see them being so annoyed with each other and then. the kiss. im insane. i read this in the morning and i've been thinking about it all day. i can feel how much you love ghost--while i was reading i felt like you couldn't help but make him just a little sweet. and him buying the house--shut uppp. suddenly he has a future to go back to???? stop.

BIRD DOG | Simon 'Ghost' Riley x Reader

MOODBOARD · AO3

A few times a year, Simon goes home to an empty apartment in a shithole city and counts down the days until he can leave. This time, there's someone waiting for him when he comes home.

Convenient. He was already planning on ordering takeaway.

Or: the live-in masseuse au

tags: Size Difference, Size Kink, Explicit Sexual Content, AFAB reader - Freeform, Masseuse Reader, Forced Cohabitation, Strangers to Roommates to Lovers, Porn with Feelings

The mangled hand of fate lets him go but seldomly. 

He does, though, get a few weeks off a year. Bids farewell to his captain (the barest hint of a nod after leaving each other on the runway, chopper blades spinning faster and faster, the other man headed back out, his duties never finished; the world can never let them both rest at the same time) and then he’s gone, bags long packed and truck loaded the night before last. He drives a long, circuitous route after leaving the military base, the mask only shed when the paranoid prickle in his head finally abates. 

It never quite goes away though.

And then comes the drive back, the road long and the drudgery endless. One hand on the wheel, the other hanging out of the side of the truck, a cigarette pinched between two knuckles. Occasionally, he takes a drag. 

This is the part he always hates. The drive back. Roads winding through quiet towns and over hills, blue disappearing into black, streetlights piercing the darkness and demarcating the beginning and end of civilization. Manchester is a long drive north. He stops once for a piss by the side of the road and then carries on. 

It’s a wonder they let him go at all. He is violence forthright; setting him free does no one any good. It’s hardly even a reward for him, more of just a pretense of normalcy. A week to stretch his legs, so to speak. If he were anything other than human, maybe they’d force him to stay on base indefinitely, secured and contained behind barbed wire fences and reinforced concrete walls.

But a few times a year, they play this game and send him off into the world.

There’s an apartment in Manchester that he’s rented for as long as he can remember. A shithole flat in a shithole borough, and though Simon’s squirreled away enough money to buy a place of his own, the thought of owning anything makes his skin crawl. It’s not in his blood, he thinks. He’d sooner live in a shack in the woods, no fixed address or way to find him. Even his flat in Manchester is rented under a different name, and he pays his landlord in cash for the year. 

It’s dark when he reaches the city, the sky soot black and patchy with clouds. Moon nowhere in sight. Nothing beautiful ever visits Manchester. 

But there’s a light on in the window when he pulls up in front of his place.

Odd.

Would’ve remembered if he left the light on the last time he was in town months ago; filament would’ve blown out in at least that time as well. Still, there’s a light on in the living room window and a new curtain pulled across to keep anyone from looking in.

Simon stares at the light while he leans outside against the truck and finishes his cigarette. Stubs it out under his boot when it’s down to the filter and locks the car door behind him. Violence already itches under his skin, knuckles tingling like they know what’s coming if he opens that door and finds some junkie living in his flat. It’ll be worse if he finds out that his scumbag landlord moved someone else in after picking up on him being gone nearly half the year.

His key still works though. Fancy that. 

He finds you like that, sitting up from a nap on his couch, sweater slouched down a shoulder and groggily blinking open big doe eyes that widen when you notice him in the doorway, fear making you freeze up. 

You’re a pretty little thing; a pleasant surprise to find something like you sitting on his couch. It quells the violence simmering in his belly because it awakens another appetite instead. Like a meal delivered right to his door. He was already planning on ordering takeaway. 

He drops the duffel bag by his feet, propping the door open with it. “You lost, bird?”

Terror leaves you mute. He can only imagine; he must seem like something straight from a horror movie—defenceless girl waking up to the dead-eyed stare of a giant dressed in all black watching her sleep and blocking her only way out. That’s not completely true; there’s a backdoor through the kitchen that leads into a laneway behind the house, but the door sticks in the winter, not easy to open in a hurry. 

He has as much right to ask as you do to run at the sight of him though, considering it is his fuckin’ flat. 

You can’t seem to choke out a single word. Scared stiff, likely, heart slamming against your chest while the worst scenarios possible play out in your mind. Simon nearly rolls his eyes. 

“Fuckin’ ‘ell,” he grumbles, finally kicking his bag out of the way so the door can shut behind him. “Cat got your tongue or somethin’?”

The sound of the door slamming shut must finally snap you out of it because you scramble off the couch, nearly tripping over the arm when you run for the back. Screaming too, just to piss him off extra. His back already aches something fierce from the long drive���he wasn’t expecting a headache on top of everything else. 

“Heeeeeeeeelp! Heeeeelp!” 

Your screams are borderline deafening, almost more aggravating than finding someone living in his flat in the first place. 

You scramble down the hall, so terrified that you go for the first open door, slamming it shut behind you. His eyes follow the shape of your bare legs and the way the muscles in your ass move as you run. 

“I’m c-calling the police!” you yell from behind the bathroom door. 

When Simon looks back down the hall, he notices your phone on the floor, bright side up. Must have dropped out of your pocket when you bolted like a scared cat.

“No, you’re not,” he says blandly, staring at the door. There’s a pause on the other side like you just noticed your missing phone, then a bleat of panic. “Don’t try going out the window either—thing’s been sealed shut since the nineties.”

On the other side of the door, the window rattles in its frame for a good few seconds before you give up on trying to escape that way. There’s a pause while you consider your options. Simon waits patiently on the other side of the door, his temper slowly but surely getting the better of him the longer he goes without a shower and a beer, locked out of his own bathroom. 

What a bloody headache. 

He pounds a fist against the door, bracing his feet in case you try to open it and scurry out around him before he’s had a chance to have a chat. “Gonna come out now?”

“Get out of my house!” you shriek instead of being polite. 

Figures. He should’ve known his landlord would pull some shit like this. “How long’ve you been living here, bird?” 

“I have a knife!”

Pretty thing that likes to lie. There’s not a shot you have anything better than a hair dryer or nail clippers in there. 

“Better get away from the door ‘cause I’m kickin’ it in,” he announces, taking a step back to give himself some distance and waiting a few seconds for you to realize that he’s dead serious before you start screaming at the top of your lungs again. 

Got quite a set on you. That doesn’t matter much to him though. The door caves in after only a few good kicks, the frame splitting right up through the lock when it finally gives, and the two halves—the door itself nearly snapped in half—banging against the wall when it ricochets open. 

You’re trembling between the toilet and the wall when Simon walks in, knees practically knocking together. The crotch of your shorts are wet and there’s a small puddle under you; must’ve pissed yourself in fear, and he’d almost pity you if you weren’t squatting in his flat. 

The closer he gets to you, the harder you wail. Full on bawling now, snot and drool dribbling down your face, and Christ, he sure picked a bad time to grow a heart. He’s not immune to a pretty girl in distress, much as he wishes he could be. 

He kneels in front of you, purposefully blocking your only way out, before knocking his knuckles under your chin, huffing out a breath when you flinch. “Ain’t gonna hurt you, bird. You’re just in my flat, is all.”

“Your flat?” you repeat in disbelief. “This is my flat. I pay rent!”

“Got a lease then?” he asks, and though your eyes are still bloodshot and your nose is still leaking, you nod. 

“Yes.”

“Show me then,” he orders. 

And you do when he steps back to give you some space, scampering shamefully to your—his—bedroom to rifle through the dresser until you pull out a handful of papers that look suspiciously like a lease. He skims it with a growing tick in his eye. It looks like one because it is one.

“See?” you mumble. He ignores the attitude in favour of reading until the end, where he finds his landlord’s name, the blotchy signature underneath it unmistakable. 

“Bullshit,” he grunts through his teeth.

“It’s not. You can call him and ask! Where’s yours?” 

His copy of the lease is tucked away in a drawer in the kitchen, buried under loose rubber bands, old batteries, and takeout menus from restaurants that went under years ago. When he returns with it and holds it up to your nose, you frown.

“Oh. I guess that explains some things.”

“Explains some things, huh? The clothes didn’t tip you off?” Simon asks, referring to the sweatpants and shirts still lining the dresser shelves. Your lips tighten. 

“I thought the previous tenant skipped town and left his clothes. I was gonna throw them out eventually.”

“Good thing you didn’t.” His voice is thick with sardonicism. 

It’s an interesting standoff to say the least. You, standing there in your soiled sleep shorts with tear-streaked cheeks, and him still decked out in his military gear and boots tracking dirt across the flat. You sway on your feet, the adrenaline crash likely intense. He catches you when you sway too close to him and you flinch when his hand clamps down over your shoulder, a new wave of adrenaline coursing through you. 

“I’m fine,” you snap, taking a step away.

For fuck’s sake. His mood darkens at the continued hostility. It’s not like you’re the one who came home to a strange man squatting in your flat—if anyone has a right to be hostile, it’s him. 

Skittering back into the bedroom, you shut the door behind you, likely to change into another pair of shorts. Simon’s mood festers the longer he waits for you to come out. The last string of his patience nearly snaps when you finally creep back out into the living room, the sour expression on your face pissing him off even more.

“I’m gonna call Tom,” you mutter, picking your phone off the coffee table.

“Go ahead.” He doesn’t bring up that it won’t change a thing. Not his problem if you’re so green behind the ears that you think your landlord will drop everything to answer a call, especially after dinner. 

No one answers when you ring, just as he thought. He plops down on the couch and rests a foot on the coffee table, ignoring the way you pace back and forth waiting for your landlord to pick up.

“No answer?” Simon asks rhetorically. 

“Aren’t you gonna try?” you ask.

“Yeah. Tomorrow. When ‘e’ll actually pick up.”

“Well, what are we supposed to do then? I’m not getting a hotel room for the night.”

“Me neither, birdie.”

He meets your stare with one of his own. It doesn’t take long for you to give in. 

There’s a pullout bed in the couch that you offer to take and he lets you because he is, at the end of the day, a selfish prick who won’t give up a week of decent sleep for anybody. Not when his back and neck have been acting up for the past month and keeping him from getting more than three hours at a time. 

The ache behind his eyebrow throbs as Simon sits on the edge of the bed. A slow exhale. 

Tomorrow can’t come quick enough.

In the morning, Simon rings his landlord and listens silently as the fuckhead blubbers on the other end of the phone about late payments and eviction notices.

“This ain’t a charity, y’know,” the other man sniffs. “I gotta pay my bills too.”

He lets the man make excuse after excuse and accuse him of this and that until he finally goes silent when he notices Simon hasn’t said a word in minutes. At which point, Simon icily reminds him of what he does for a living and the fact that he paid him for the year in full just a few months back. 

Not much to be done after that. There’s silence on the other end before his landlord tries to hem and haw his way out of it. He offers Simon one of his other properties currently sitting vacant on the other side of town, but that’s not the answer that Simon is looking for. 

“If anyone’s moving out, it ain’t me,” Simon growls into the phone. 

The wounded look that you shoot at him rubs him the wrong way.

His landlord’s still rambling on about moving costs and lawyer fees when Simon hangs up, no longer in the mood to try and talk things out. 

He doesn’t really understand the legalities here, but he knows he can’t just toss you out on your ass when you’ve also got a lease, same as him.  

“I have every right to be here,” you start up the second he hangs up the phone, not letting him get a word in edgewise, shoulders rolled back like you’re trying to be assertive. “I’ll take it to court if I have to.”

“Jesus fuckin’ Christ.” Simon scrubs a hand down his face. 

“I’m serious. Rent is expensive and this is the only place close enough to where I work that doesn’t cost an arm and a leg—and I don’t have the money to hire a lawyer to get my money back—”

“I’m not gonna kick you out,” he finally snaps, fed up with your caterwauling. 

You pause, hope warring with disbelief. “You’re not?”

He gives a curt shake of his head. “Too much of a headache. I’m only…in town for a week anyway.”

“Oh. ‘Til when?”

“‘Til whenever I’m back.” Purposefully cryptic. He gives you a flat look when you open your mouth to pry some more. 

You reconsider, chewing your bottom lip until a better question occurs to you. “Are you in town a lot? Because I’m not sure how else we could make this work. I could sleep at my cousin’s until you leave?”

“Your cousin live around here?”

You hesitate. “No.”

“Then that ain’t gonna work, is it?”

“At least I’m trying,” you hiss, and Simon has to tamp down the amusement that swirls in his chest at the sight of your shoulders puffing up. “I’m not ripping up my lease and if you’re not either, then we have to figure out something unless you feel like taking this to court.”

While Simon wouldn’t usually take kindly to being threatened, his annoyance never quite develops into anything more substantial. 

“Just keep outta my way and I’ll keep outta yours,” he says. 

“Fine.”

The agreement you come to is that when he’s in town—seldom and erratic—he’ll take the bedroom and you’ll sleep on the couch, a fair compromise since you have the flat to yourself the rest of the year. 

He doesn’t explain himself, of course. Doesn’t explain why he’s allowing this instead of dragging you to court kicking and screaming. It’s no one’s business but his why he chooses not to go down that road.

He tells himself that it’s easier this way; that it’s easier just to run your lease out and spare himself the legal mess. It’s not like he’ll even be around most of the time anyway. 

What he carefully side steps, even in his own mind, is the sharp displeasure that accompanies the thought of forcing you out of his flat and onto the streets.   

Cohabitation is—

Easy wouldn’t be the right word. He certainly doesn’t make it easy on you, leaving his dirty dishes in the sink and his half-empty beer cans in the shower caddy, his cum drying on the wall over the tub spout. You try to do the same by leaving your dirty laundry on the communal furniture, but it doesn’t have the same effect. 

It’s interesting, at least. It’s not as though he’s never lived with anyone before—his memories of his early years in the service are littered with bunkmates packed into every corner of the room, and learning to sleep everywhere from moving caravans to while standing in formation, always surrounded by other people—but he’s paid his dues. Barring deployment, he thought he’d earned the luxury of his privacy. 

But it’s not all bad; it’s been years since he had fun like this. 

You try your best to annoy him in return, but you don’t realize that you’re playing chicken with a man who’s been buried alive. There isn’t much someone like you could do to break him. 

Living with another person doesn’t soften him up one bit. There’s a time for change and it’s not off the back of a four-month covert operation, his nerves still razor sharp and ability to sleep practically nonexistent. He gets precious few weeks to himself and he isn’t going to waste them trying to get in the habit of smoking on the porch instead of in his own living room. 

“I’m a masseuse.”

“Oh yeah?” Simon grunts, barely listening. There’s a match on the telly and a beer in his other hand—a perfect afternoon, if only you’d just stop yapping in his ear for five fuckin’ minutes. 

“Yes, and I can’t show up to work reeking like a chimney,” you explain, scooching closer to him on the couch while being careful to leave some distance between the two of you. For all your posturing, you’re still timid around him, like a kitten hissing and spitting around a much bigger cat. 

“What’s that got to do with me?” he asks rhetorically, not in the slightest interested in how it pertains to him. He takes another drag from the cigarette dangling between his index and middle finger, ashing it over the side of the couch. 

“It means I’d prefer if you didn’t smoke in the flat,” you say, hissing the last few words. 

He takes another drag, turning to look at you before exhaling right in your face. “That’s a shame.”

You cough and squawk, and he fights down a grin. 

For the most part, he leaves you to your own devices, intent only on enjoying his time off. He fixes the bathroom door at least, which you begrudgingly thank him for. 

A week and a bit, Simon reminds himself when you come in through the front door chirping into your phone, your voice effectively drowning out the TV on in the background. When you spot him staring at you from the couch, you go quiet as a mouse and slink off to the bathroom, locking the (newly installed) door behind you. He supposes it’s the only place where you feel any semblance of privacy since his bedroom is off limits until he leaves. It does leave him without a bathroom though. 

Pissing in the alleyway behind the flat half an hour later, he scowls into the darkness and reminds himself that he has no one to blame but himself for this mess.  

When his leave comes to an end, Simon doesn’t bother to give you a heads up. You’ll realize it in a couple of days when you notice his absence around the flat, the siege finally lifted. He supposes you’ll be grateful for his departure and grateful not to make you feign politeness.  

Duffel bag packed away in the car, he leaves with the bed still unmade. Knows that’ll ruffle your feathers later on when you come home, but it’s his parting gift. His reminder to you to enjoy the couple months reprieve his job allows you. 

And then the road slips away under him and he’s gone. 

The months away are just complex rearrangements of the same thing. Each time it drives his soul deeper into the gully, buffeted by katabatic winds. 

His daily life on base is split into brackets of time. Wake up, go to the gym, work, clock out, see the captain for a drink. Wash, rinse, repeat. Each day blending into the next. Back where he belongs, under the thumb of a system that he’s long sold his body and freedom to, and sent out God knows where to do God knows what. 

Then, again the rooster crows at first light and he lifts himself out of bed.

When he’s deployed, everything changes while everything stays the same. He doesn’t have the same freedom of movement as he does on base, but in truth very little changes from one deployment to the next if you zoom out enough. Limited time to sleep on the chopper before it touches down, body tensed for what’s to come, and then he’s off, his objectives clear. 

Driving a knife into a neck to the hilt and pulling it out one inch at a time. It’s the one he knows how to do, and he does it well. He doesn’t have to like what he does; he doesn’t even have to think about it so long as it gets done. 

Ghost exhales and slips the mask back on.

In [redacted city] in [redacted country], he sets his scope up in the window of a building across from one where his target is slated to be in twelve hours and then he waits. Flexes his fingers when they go numb and ignores the thirst clawing up his throat. Four hours later, his elbows ache something fierce from digging into the ground for hours on end, a sharp pain shooting up his arms, but Ghost pays it no mind. Mind over matter. 

Amidst the hours of laying there and waiting for his target to come into frame, his mind doesn’t wander. That’s a luxury for a different time—when the job is done and his target is executed. 

At the very edges of his consciousness though, something flickers. The skin around his eyes pinches as he pushes the half-formed thought away. 

Then his target walks into the room and everything else disappears.

You’re still there when he returns months later on another government ordered leave. Same petulant frown and wobbly lower lip when he walks in through the front door, dripping wet from the rain outside. When he tosses his duffel bag onto the couch, you scowl, nudging the bag onto the floor with your foot. 

“You could’ve rang,” you mumble, pulling the throw from the back of the couch over your lap to hide your bare legs. Pity to be deprived of a nice view, but Simon doesn’t take it to heart. 

“Didn’t think you’d still be ‘ere,” he grunts instead, shrugging out of his jacket and shaking it dry, suppressing a smirk when you start squawking about getting water all over the floor. 

That’s partly a lie, though not one he’ll ever admit to. Simon figured there might be a chance you’d be gone, but in the time since he last saw you, he’s done enough digging around online to know that you weren’t kidding about the lack of affordable flats in the area. There’s hardly a unit nearby that isn’t going for double what he pays, some even more. 

“Well, guess I’m sleeping out here tonight,” you grumble. You’re on your tiptoes in the doorway to the living room now, the throw wrapped around you like a security blanket. 

He doesn’t answer that. No point getting your hopes up when he has no intention of giving up the bed. 

In another life, he might be enough of a gentleman to let you sleep in the bedroom while he takes the couch, but in this one, his back is ravaged by sciatica and his dominant hand and wrist twinge with the beginning of carpal tunnel syndrome. Most nights, it’s a miracle if he can get five uninterrupted hours. 

So no, he won’t be giving up the bed.

But Simon toys with the thought of dragging you in with him. It’s been awhile since he had a woman, so long that the memory is fuzzy when he dredges it up, and though his hand does the job when the itch grows severe, he’s no monk. He could pull you in with little effort, sweet talk you until your knickers are around your ankles and your legs are in the air, hot cunt steaming when your legs part and he sinks his cock in deep. Wouldn’t take more than a half dozen thrusts before he busted, pretty pussy painted with his cum.

In the doorway, you eye him dubiously, scrunched nose expressing your discontent. 

It’s an idea, at least.

He still leaves his dishes in the sink and wakes to you pounding on the bedroom door, whining about having to scrub his plates with a pot scraper, but time and distance have mellowed any hostility in you. You treat him less like a stranger intruding on your space and more like a roommate you’ve grown to tolerate despite his many faults. 

The oddest thing is opening the fridge up to more than just a six-pack, a stick of butter, and three half-empty bottles of mustard. Fresh produce and meat spill from the shelves now, leftovers packed in tupperware and neatly labelled. He eats like a king now, takeout relegated to the days when you don’t feel like cooking. On those days, Simon heads down to the chippie a few streets away and gets enough for the both of you before heading back to eat on the couch with you. 

He still gets a kick out of leaving his cigarette butts in cups strewn around the flat for you to find. 

“So what do you do anyway?” you ask out of the blue.

“What’s it matter?” Simon grunts from beside you. He has to slow his usual gait to keep pace with you—which is irritating as all fuck—but you didn’t leave him much choice when you insisted on going to the store well after dark.

“I’m just making conversation. You always get so squirrely when I ask—what are you, some kind of secret agent?” 

He’d roll his eyes if he had any less self-control.

“No way. No way. You are?” you gasp, suddenly glued to his side, hands scrambling for purchase on his bicep and shoulder. 

Simon stares down at your hands clutching his arm, unconsciously tucking his bicep between your tits. “Best to not ask questions, bird.”

You pout. He ignores the impulse to lean down and sink his canines into that plump bottom lip.

His nose itches because the world is changing. 

He used to catalogue his time off base in much the same way. Wake up, workout, tinker with the junk pilfered from estate sales and scrap yards he’s frequented over the years, then head to the pub for a drink. Wash, rinse, repeat. 

That’s changed since you came into his life. Aside from when you’re out working, you unbalance his schedule. Upset his routines. The structure propping up his entire existence gets taken down in an instant when you open your mouth and ask him to the market with you, giving him no choice but to slam the door shut behind him and drive you there.

Each day comes with its new flavour, a new bite to it. 

“You’re not eating takeout again?” you ask him, aghast when you come home from work to find takeout containers all over the coffee table

“Always a fuckin’ lecture with you, huh?” Simon grumbles into his curry. Shovels another forkful into his mouth. 

Just as he expected though, you don’t let it go. He was a fool to think you would. It’s not so bad at first when all you do is cook for him—with the life he’s lived, he’s never been one to turn down a home cooked meal, so he accepts the proffered food happily—but it’s another thing entirely when you rope him into it.

He’s already pissed off when you wrangle him into the kitchen under the guise of needing his help—absurd after your subterfuge from the day before, his expectation being that you were happy to do all the cooking yourself, not force him to debase himself by chopping up all the vegetables and meat while being ordered around like a line cook. 

What really ticks him off though is that—

he grumbles to himself as he chops the mushrooms into thin slices

—you keep getting away with it.

The worst is when you catch the tremor in his hand at the breakfast table, quick eyes picking up on the subtle quiver instantly.

“Something wrong with your wrist?” you ask. Always prying into his business. 

Simon closes his hand into a fist. “It’s nothing.”

You frown. “Doesn’t look like ‘nothing’.”

“Well, it is.”

“Can you relax your grip? I just want to see that again.”

How he lets you talk him into massaging his wrist is beyond him. Then you press your thumbs into the meat of his palm and rub in smooth, circular motions, and his brain goes offline for half a second. The relief hits him like a cudgel to the head; knocks him upside. 

“Jesus fuck, bird,” Simon groans. His knee bangs against the leg of the table. 

“Feels a bit better, huh?” you ask, the corner of your mouth quirking up in a crooked, teasing smile.

And fuck if it doesn’t feel a thousand times better by the time you’re done. He snaps when your thumbs dig in too deep at his wrist and pain radiates up his arm, but all you do is laugh it off, smiling to yourself when you press down on a tender point on his wrist and his jaw goes slack.

Sometimes, he wishes he could study you like a bug. Pin your arms and legs down to get a closer look. Kneel over you and pin your shins down with his to keep you from squirming away, then tuck his fingers into the inside of your cheeks to pull them open. 

But he keeps his hands to himself. Just barely. 

He doesn’t stay long this time, called back from his katabasis before the week’s even up, Price’s voice urgent over the phone. His duffel bag is packed before the call is even over, boots laced up and mask folded neatly in his pocket for when he leaves the city limits. 

“You’re leaving?” you ask when you notice, and if Simon were less of a realist, he might think you sounded upset. 

“Need me to take out the trash?” he asks, his answer implicit. Yes, he’s leaving. Even if it weren’t for his job, he’s not the staying type; those kinds of decisions are out of his hands anyway, and even if it were up to him, he’d be long gone by now. Adrift; across the pond or somewhere down in the Balkans, far enough away that you couldn’t find him even if you wanted to. 

That’s what he tells himself. Whether he believes it anymore is another question.

You’re quiet for a second. “Sure. Thank you.”

Simon nods. Nothing more to say. The ache in his gut could be anything else. 

He lifts a hand on his way out, ruffles your hair once before he’s gone.

Rain soaks him down to his britches but still he stands in it without complaint, watching some of the privates unload a delivery truck parked outside of the commissary. Even the mundane parts of his job are his to attend to and he does so with little complaint.

When they finish around eighteen-hundred hours, he signs out for the day and heads to Price’s office for a drink. It’s so routine it’s practically part of his DNA. 

Price already has both glasses poured when Ghost arrives, two fingers each, and it goes down smooth when he rolls the mask up over his nose to take a sip. 

“Got out the pricey stuff just for me?” Ghost asks. He can tell by the taste and from the bottle sitting on the shelf behind Price, label facing outward. 

“What else am I saving it for?” Price asks rhetorically. “I’m not letting the good stuff go to waste.”

Ghost hums. It’s still raining buckets outside. He watches as it hits the windowpane behind Price’s desk, almost transfixed.

“Got time for a drink before you’re out on Friday?” 

He shakes his head. “No time. Gotta be out by six.”

“Six?” Price repeats, a mite surprised. “Why? Something waiting for you back home?”

Ghost doesn’t answer. 

Price lifts an eyebrow. “Well, spit it out.”

He shrugs. “Nothing to tell.”

“So there’s no one back in Manchester?”

“Didn’t say that.”

Price’s lips twitch into a grin under his mustache, eyes faintly amused. “Heard.”

Truth be told, he has started to think of you as someone waiting back home. Maybe not for him, but waiting all the same. Why else would you be back in his flat in Manchester in his bed if not to wait for him to come back?

It almost makes him itchy to leave. He can tamp down the urge when the situation calls for it, but it sits right under his skin most days. If he thinks about it for too long, his focus goes razor sharp and the edges of his vision go blurry. 

In the present moment, he brings the glass to his lips and tips his head back, letting it pour down his throat. 

He has some nascent idea of where this is going.

As always, you’re curled up on the couch watching TV when he walks through the front door, on the verge of sleep. When your eyes land on him, you blink away the sleep and smile so brightly that his chest aches. “Simon!”

In nearly forty years, no one has ever said his name like that. Brimming with brightness and warmth. Like for once someone has longed for him in his absence. 

All he can do is stare at you for a time. It should make his skin crawl, and it does, to an extent. He should be out the door already—lease broken, all his shit in the back of his truck, ties cut, and so many kilometers between you and him that he has no choice but to forget your face. 

Instead, he kicks the door shut behind him and ruffles your hair when he passes on his way to the bathroom to piss and scrub a towel over his face. 

It must be a form of self-punishment. That’s the only explanation for why he comes back every single time when he has more than enough money to fuck off down south for a week instead—he could be spending his leave in Costa Brava or sipping rakija in Kotor, but he chooses to come back to this hovel with its bleak weather and seedy underbelly every single time. What other urge would drive him to abuse himself like this other than masochism? 

Any attempt to answer that is swiftly dismissed. 

One day. One day is all he manages after promising to keep himself in check this time around. He manages to get through that first day largely because of the physical distance he puts between the two of you, playing chess with a couple old men in the park, rock doves pecking at the birdseed scattered under the wrought iron tables and benches. 

His restraint breaks when he catches you dozing off in front of the television, socked feet tucked under your thighs and head balanced precariously on your fist, elbow resting on the arm of the couch. 

He sits down beside you and his lip twitches when your head bobs, slumber briefly breached when the cushion under you dips with his weight. 

“C’mere, girl,” Simon grunts, pulling you onto his lap. 

You go somewhat willingly, only putting up a little bit of a fuss. Grumbling to keep up appearances. But that melts away the second he tucks your head into the crook of his neck, body going lax and fingers burrowing into the fabric of his shirt at his belly, gathering it together in your fist. 

Christ, Simon thinks, dropping his head back on the couch. What am I doing?

Even he doesn’t know these days, but his chest aches in a way it never has before. He makes a mental note to see a doctor when he’s back on base. 

His back aches too, but you pick up on that rather quickly, hounding him when you recognize the stiffness in his back for what it is. It takes you days to wear him down enough to agree to a massage, but eventually you do. He regrets it the second the words leave his mouth, leery at the thought of putting himself in such a vulnerable position.  

You lock him out of the bedroom while you set up your table and do all the little things that you need to do in order to set the mood. His nose wrinkles when the smell of incense hits him. 

“You can strip down to your comfort level,” you explain after letting him back into the room, patting the bed as if he doesn’t know where to lie down. “Then get under the blanket and let me know when you’re ready.”

He cocks a brow. “You trying to get me naked, bird?”

“Simon,” you sigh, a touch exasperated, hands on your hips to emphasize your weariness. 

His belt clinks as he unlatches it. “Don’t worry, birdie, just gimme a second to get these off.”

A frustrated growl and then the door slams shut behind you when you bolt out of the room. 

He spares you the indignity of having to repeat yourself, sliding under the towel and barking at you to come back in when he’s stripped bare and covered. You slip back in quietly and flit over to the dresser to press play on your music.

The first touch of your hands against his bare back almost makes him flinch. All his regret comes rushing back and he very nearly calls it off, and then you press the heels of your palms into the meat of his shoulders and the bottom falls out from under him. Then you drag them down the length of his back and he very nearly bites his tongue clean off. 

Simon doesn’t bother muffling his noises when you dig your hands into his back to work out the plethora of knots, huffing and groaning like he’s balls deep. When you get to his shoulders though, he has to fight to stay put, 

“Oh, your back is really messed up,” you note, a bit breathlessly. 

He doesn’t acknowledge your words, too intent on not vocalizing his pain. Not even a grunt passes his lips. 

You work years of hard labour and soreness out of his muscles, leaving behind a new man. The oil coating your palms makes your hands glide across his back. 

He must fall asleep at some point because he wakes to the sound of television in the other room. Groggy at first, cotton mouthed and sleep drunk, and when Simon stumbles into the living room, you’re sitting on the couch with your knees drawn into your chest. 

“Oh hi,” you say when you notice him standing there. “Sleep well?” 

Speech still beyond him, all he can do is nod and plant himself on the couch beside you. Shirtless still. Simon only notices it himself when he tips his head to look over at you and finds that you won’t meet his eyes, gaze steadfast on the TV. 

“Shoulda ‘ad you do that when you moved in,” he says. 

“I could give you another one before you leave,” you reply, still not looking over at him. He bets that if he brushed his knuckles over your cheeks, they’d be hot to the touch. “Just tell me when.”

Maybe he will. What use is there in depriving himself of life’s little pleasures when his soul bears all of life’s bruises? 

He reaches over to pinch your cheek, grinning when you yowl. Just as warm as he thought.

One thing Simon doesn’t take for granted anymore are his scarce moments of privacy. No stranger to a little exhibitionism (barracks walls and tent flaps hardly muffle sound, and he’s learned over the years that men will tolerate anything if it means they can rub one out in peace), he still appreciates the time he gets to himself to take care of things. 

He’s only just finished tugging one out, his jeans buttoned back up and his hand still wet with his spend, when you walk in the front door.

You start up the second the door slams shut behind you, steam practically billowing out of your ears. “Well, thanks a lot—one of my regulars just gave me shit because she said I smelt like an ashtray and she couldn’t ‘properly relax’ for the whole hour—” 

Afterglow proper scotched, Simon sits there and lets you cuss him out until the pounding behind his eyebrow becomes unbearable. 

You go quiet when he rises to his feet, unused to him actually reacting to your whinging. Sometimes you don’t realize how accustomed to him you’ve become—how ingrained he’s become in your everyday life. What continues to elude you for no good reason is that you live with a stranger, and a strange man at that. It would piss him off if it were anyone other than him. 

Practically chest to chest now, you nearly go cross eyed staring up at him. Jaw unhinged and mouth dangling loose, just the slightest gap between your lips like you forgot to close them. He lets you size him up for a second before lifting his hand to your mouth and slowly but firmly shoving his cum-covered fingers into your mouth.

Dumbstruck, all you can do is stare up at him with his cum-slicked fingers in your mouth, holding them there for a few more seconds and whimpering when he drags them out and then feeds them slowly back in. You even go a little glassy-eyed.

When he finally pulls his fingers out and lets his arm drop to his side, you sway on your feet a little, at a loss for words. There’s a creamy sheen on your bottom lip that disappears when you suck it into your mouth on instinct, eyes going wide when you recognize the taste on your tongue. 

“Thanks for cleaning that up, birdie.” And then he reaches down to zip his fly up, smug when your eyes flit down to his crotch. 

The stakes are different now than what they were all those months ago. It can’t be a carefree cohabitation when he’s playing for keeps. Whatever that means. 

But his time is cut short again, the world catching up to him and yanking him back. And when Simon goes this time, he can’t help but drag his feet on his way out.

You’re looking good. A comment made in passing, Price’s face barely twitching through it, but Ghost catches it and he lets it sit for a moment before responding.

“Yeah?” he grunts, looking away. The recruits round the part of the track closest to where they stand, panting through their seventh lap. 

“Put on a bit of weight since you left,” Price notes. 

“Calling me fat, sir?”

He rolls his eyes, huffing out an exasperated breath. “Give it a rest, you fuckin’ muppet. I said you look good.”

Price isn’t wrong though. He both looks and feels different. With increasing regularity, he watches the clock and counts the days down until he’s released from his duties again. His want has him circling like a bird of prey. 

All his life, he’s had to live in the moment, concerned only with the immediate, tangible present because that’s all that life let him have. And though it’s been decades since he’s needed to be in survival mode, those instincts have never quite left him. 

The shock to his system has left him forward-thinking for once. A girl in his house and food in his fridge; his body feeling better than it has in years—he’s still lucky if he gets more than five uninterrupted hours of sleep, but his expectations are different when he’s not at home. Even the concept of home is foreign, like a language he’s just starting to learn. 

The future isn’t some nebulous concept out of his reach but a real place that he gets to walk into. 

Desire tips him like a scale. There may not be any coming back from this.

Love shows him no mercy, so he doesn’t show you any either. 

Months pass before Simon’s leave comes around again, and when it finally does, he’s already packed and signed out before his last day on base is even up. He says his goodbyes to Price on his way out and the other man visibly suppresses a smile, eyeing the bag clutched tight in his hand. 

“Give her my best,” is all he says before getting back to the paperwork in front of him. Simon leaves without another word. 

Then the long drive back. A skein of birds in flight follow him for part of the journey. A train running parallel to the throughway follows him for the rest. Tree boughs bend under the weight of the last snowfall.

Then he blinks and when his eyes open, he’s home.

You’re still sitting on that blasted couch when Simon opens the front door, pretty as a peach in August, and his name rings like a bell off your tongue when you say it, summoning him to you. It’s not his fault that his urges prevail, that he has no choice but to throw his bag down onto the carpeted floor and stomp over to you, lifting you up by the collar of your housecoat and dragging you into a scorching hot kiss. 

“Mmf,” you squeak against his lips, eyes flying open. 

It’s messy and frenzied, spit dripping down your chin and his tongue halfway down your throat. No finesse or skill to speak of, only an incessant buzzing at the back of his head that only quiets when you give a helpless little moan, an instant balm to his suffering. 

Simon pulls back for a moment to let you breathe. “That’s my welcome ‘ome?” he murmurs. His lips brush against yours when he speaks. 

“W-welcome home?” you repeat, flustered, your lip catching against his. He sucks it between his when it does, cock throbbing in his pants when you gasp, hot breath billowing into his mouth and making his head spin. 

This is nothing like being high on pain meds or three sheets to the win. It pulses through him and makes his cock chub up, forcing him to shove a hand down between his legs to readjust himself. That gets you good when you notice. 

He kisses hungry and mean, ever greedy for your mouth, fitting his hand over the back of your head and angling you how he likes. Holding the delicate cradle of your skull in his palm and knowing that he could crack it if he squeezed his fingers hard enough. The thought sends a rush right through him, his violent underbelly scratched in just the right way. 

“W-where’s this coming from?” you gasp when Simon pulls back. You look thoroughly flustered, but he ignores you to hook a finger in your mouth and wrench it open. 

“Open,” he grunts, giving your inner cheek a sharp tug. 

You go cross-eyed when he spits in your mouth, the glob of spit landing right on your tongue, and your affronted little gasp hits him like an arrow shot straight through his heart. He’s considerate enough to seal it in with a kiss, making sure not to let you waste a drop. Tongue pushing in right after to lick it up, growling at you to suck it when you only nervously kiss back.

His patience isn’t infinite though and kissing barely wets his appetite. It’s not enough to plumb the depths of his hunger when there’s something uglier down there waiting with its jaws wide open.

He twists you around and bends you over the back of the couch, rucking your housecoat up to your waist. Your knickers get ripped clean off, tearing at the seams, and your ensuing shriek nourishes the hunger simmering low in his belly. Appetite never satiated, belly never full. 

He likes that you didn’t expect him back so soon. Fuzzy, unshaved legs and holey socks; pimple patches on your face and nothing under your robe. The lazy domesticity appeals to him in a way he never would’ve expected. 

Then his fingers split the seam of your pussy and the runoff of his appreciation cascades down the slopes of his shoulders and his back. Slick drips from your winking hole, gathering together into a tight bulb before a single drop drips onto the couch beneath you. 

“Fuck—now there’s somethin’ to come ‘ome to,” Simon grunts, and then drags his tongue between your dew-slicked lips.

His enjoyment was a foregone conclusion when he imagined this back in his quarters in the barracks, cock in hand, but the reality of having his mouth on your pussy exceeds his expectations a thousandfold. It’s all soft, pillowy skin and sweet nectar. He gorges himself on it, an almost pathological need to be tongue-deep in your cunt.  

“Wet little gash just sucks ‘em right in…” he murmurs, plunging two fingers into your hole slowly. The soft flesh of your hole bulges around his fingers when they sink in all the way to the knuckle. 

“Fuck—don’t call it that,” you bleat, so pathetic that he’s smitten. 

“Shouldn’ta wagged it at me if ya didn’t want me to touch it,” Simon teases, then crooks his fingers just so and your leg spasms. 

He keeps you stuffed full until your legs shake, on the verge of coming, and then he rips them out. 

You practically scream in frustration, twisting to look at him from over your shoulder. “What’s wrong with you?” 

“Somethin’ wrong, birdie?” He smirks when you arch your back, pushing your ass back in his face. 

“I want to come, Simon,” you whine, wagging your ass in his face again. Just his luck that a little slut like you dropped into his life.

“Alright,” he sighs, mock aggrieved. “Lemme see if I can ‘elp with that.”

Ungrateful little thing, he thinks when he turns you over onto your back and heaves you up into the air. 

“Simon—”  you keen his name when he has you pinned up against the wall, his arms scooped under your thighs to hold you in place. 

He plunges into that warm little honeypot between your legs in slow, measured strokes at first, savouring each punctured whimper and hiccup that drops from your lips. Each flex of his hips brings him that much closer to heaven and that much closer to hell.

“Didn’t think you could just barge in without consequences, did ya?” Simon asks rhetorically, voice gone brassy and tiger-stripped, thick in his chest. “Been sleeping in my bed for nearly a year, ‘aven’t ya? Ain’t I owed this?”

He means it too. 

“You’re—so full of it,” you retort, hiccuping through your words.  

Your arms hang limp around his neck, fingers twined at his nape and nails scratching at his hairline. The low ache in his back is barely a deterrent—he’d hold you up all night if it took that long to make you come. A distant voice at the back of his head reminds him that he’ll suffer for it in the morning, but he shakes that thought away. 

He chases the beads of sweat snaking down your chest and tits with his tongue, straightening back up only when that nearly makes you lose your grip around his neck and topple out of his arms. 

“Hey,” you pout when Simon chuckles, digging your nails into his back in retribution for laughing at you. It has the opposite effect though, the pain stoking his pleasure and sending a shiver down his back, his next thrust so rough that you bounce in his arms.

Your skin smells like sweat and musk this close, so heady that his head spins. It registers dimly at the back of his mind that he’s still dressed while you’re fully nude, housecoat and knickers in a pile on the floor in front of the couch, but he can’t pull away now, not with the need to come pressing into him on all sides, dick hard enough to split diamonds. 

He stares down between your legs where his cock splits you again and again, a ring of white cream at the base. He could paint that little snatch white with his cum or stuff it deep inside, both options appealing to his baser instincts. It’ll be a coin flip in the end.

When the ache in his back grows too significant to ignore, he lifts you up off the wall and drops you down on his cock, burying himself to the hilt before carrying you to the open door to the bedroom. 

“Sorry, pet,” Simon murmurs when he feels you clench around the thickest part of his cock, whispering a little oh fuck to yourself under your breath. He kicks the door shut behind him with his heel. “Back’s shit. Mind taking over for me?” 

The mattress squeaks under his weight when he sits down on the end. You blink up at him. “You want me on top?” 

He nods and hums his assent, digging his fingers into the muscle and flesh of your ass and kneading. “Yeah, bird. Still wanna see all the pretty bits though.”

The pretty bits being the globes of your ass facing him while you ride his dick, his hands pulling apart your cheeks to watch you take it inch by inch, thighs quivering with the strain.  

Your thighs are stretched out on either side of him, pretty calves resting perpendicular to his chest and toes curled into the mattress. He eyes those with some interest before your pussy distracts him again. There’s no angle that isn’t nice to look at, but this has got to be his favourite so far, tight bud between your cheeks clenching every time you drop down onto his dick. It’s easy to ignore the ache in his shoulder with a view this nice. 

“Fuck, birdie,” Simon murmurs, dragging his hand over your ass and then swatting it, grunting when that makes you clench up around him, inner walls squeezing his length and nearly milking him dry. “Coulda been doing this the whole time.”

You laugh a bit breathlessly. “No—you were way too annoying.”

Smack. You yelp when he backhands your ass and your shoulders go stiff, spine a taut line with your impending orgasm. Simon can feel it like a knot in his throat, pussy so hot that it nearly burns him alive. 

“Shit,” you gasp, hands on his legs the only thing keeping you upright. You nearly rip out the hair on his thighs when you curl them into fists.

His hands glide up and down your sides, touching wherever he wants. It’s his God given right after housing you for so long, and though Simon clings belligerently to that belief, like the foundation of his existence is built on quid pro quo, on doing nothing for others unless there’s something in it for him, there’s something else that burrows underneath that maxim. Something far truer and more terrifying, and if he were to look it dead on, it would bring him to his knees. 

Simon grunts, lungs pummelled when you squeeze around his length, tight as a vice.

Good thing you’ve got him on his back instead.

In the end, it’s not up to him whether he comes in you or not. When his cockhead bumps against your cervix and he feels teardrops land on his thighs, your shoulders shaking with the force of your sobs, the spigot loosens and his stomach aches with how hard he comes. His heels dig into the mattress, hips lifting up, trying to cram more and more of his cock into your cunt, tendons straining against his neck. 

“Take it, bird,” Simon snarls, teeth grinding together, his voice sounding wrecked even to him. “Take it nice ‘n deep, fuck—wanna see it leak from your hole when I pull ya off—”

Your nails sink into his thighs, cutting him off. 

He does too, when you flop down beside him onto the bed and he tucks you under his arm, spreading your legs so he can push his cum back into your cunt, fingers pearly white with your mixed juices. 

“Oh God,” you whisper, squeezing your thighs together around his hand until he’s forced to wrench them open again, hovering over you this time, the cudgel dangling between his legs already thickening up again. 

And that’s how he spends his week, in a suspended state of euphoria, no sense of time passing. It doesn’t matter where it goes as long as you crawl into bed with him at the end of the day, eyes sparkling with delight. 

The leaving is tougher than it’s ever been, claws scoring right through his chest when Simon tips your chin up and leans down to slot his lips over yours. He’s not made for this sentimental bullshit, but it finds him either way. 

His chest burns on the drive back to base, acid reflux a bitch as always. 

The next time his landlord calls, he comes bearing good news.

“I’ll cut you a deal on the first month to make up for the…mix up,” he starts begrudgingly. “But don’t worry—the girl’ll be out of your hair by the end of the month. Gonna tell her today that I can’t renew her lease.”

Simon hangs up without saying a word, swathed in anger. Nearly crushes the phone in his grip when his landlord calls back a second later. He ignores that call too.

If he were a different man, if this was a different world—

No one ever knows when their world is about to change until it does. 

But even if his walls have grown barbed wires in the years that he’s been alone, there’s always a way to dig out from under. 

The return home is different this time around, the wind under his sails all but lifting him into the air. 

A year to the date almost. Another month and time will wrap back around on itself, the seasons changing the same way they have for all thirty-seven years of his life. When fate lets him go this time, Simon heads over to Price’s office before taking off for the week, carving out time for one last drink before he hits the road. Over a whiskey and kretek, he tells Price his plan and only just keeps from rolling his eyes when Price barks a laugh, clapping his hands together.

“Never thought I’d see the day,” he chuckles, shaking his head. 

“Shut up.”

“It’s a big step, Simon. I’m proud of you.”

Simon rolls his eyes, pleased despite himself. “Stuff it, old man.”

And then he’s gone again, following the same winding road back, with one stop along the way this time. He stays overnight at a local inn after signing the paperwork, too exhausted to keep driving. Too much on his mind anyway. 

It means nothing to him that people do this sort of thing all the time. He has survived the locust years of his life and come out the other side. That should be enough to give himself some grace when he tosses and turns all night, back pain flaring up and immobilizing him for an hour. Only when the first rays of dawn pierce through the threadbare curtains does it finally abate, and he heads out after his morning piss, ignoring the cramp in his belly on the drive over.

You greet him at the door when you hear his car pull up, standing under the door frame while he gets out and rounds the car, bare toes curling at the cold air. And any effort to tamp it down now is in vain, his chest filling with something unspeakable and unsaid. 

“Put your shoes on,” Simon instructs, coming over just to pull you in for a kiss before nudging you back into the flat, shutting the door behind him. 

“Why?” you ask, lifting a brow. “Wanna go for coffee or something like that?”

“Something like that. Why aren’t you putting your shoes on?” 

Herded into the truck after getting dressed, you badger him with question after question the whole drive over while Simon keeps his mouth shut, focusing on the road in front of him. It’s not a long drive at least, but your incessant questions make it last an eternity. 

Until he pulls up in front of a house with a short gravel walkway and a garden in desperate need of attention, milkvetch growing near the front step. The outdoor sconces are new though, and though Simon already has a few things in mind to fix up around the house, it’s got good bones. Leagues nicer than the place you just left.

“Are we picking someone up?” you ask when he puts the car in park, confused. You stare at the door as if waiting for it to open. 

Simon doesn’t respond.

You look over at him and he takes one of your hands, holding it palm-side up and covering it with his own ugly mitt. You feel something cold drop from his hand into yours and he curls your fingers into a fist to hold it.

“No.” 

When his hand moves away, you uncurl your fingers to find a key. It means so little and so much all at once. If he could say it with words, it wouldn’t be the same so there’s no point in trying. 

“It’s ours?” you ask.

“Yeah.”

There’s a watery sheen over your eyes when you look up, and your lip wobbles. And in a way different than ever before, his chest grows tight, the ache in his heart a fresh and welcome pain.

[burreauxsss]

shiestys comet

background: y/n a wag for the chiefs who is dating travis kelce of 3 years finds out he cheated on her. she assures herself that she'd never watch the nfl nor date another nfl player, until a convincing quarterback hits her dms.

joe flies y/n out to cincy which turns heads, and hearts.

(all pics from pinterest/ all tweets are fake this is a 2 part series fyi)

notes: bengals are 2-1 in this scenario. oh yeah ive been up when i cant sleep to add more to this, so i hope i satisfied everyone. i also added a song playlist to this series under here. (i used spotify because not everyone has apple music.

joe burrow x reader x ex!kelce smau

y/n_handle posted a story 📍kansas city int. airport

caption: catch flights, not feelings.

joeyb_9

❤️ 500,987 💬 44,490

Liked by: y/n_handle lahjay_10 lsufootball and others

joeyb_9: keep going, tough.

username_1: thats my qb!!

username_2: hes so fine i swear

username_3: villain arc story for 9.

username_4: he had me holding my breath during this play and screaming at my tv to get up..

username_5: joe being happier than ever during that presser... either bro got laid the night before somehow or hes just happy that travis kelce isnt talking about him.

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y/n_handle 📍cincinnati ohio

❤️ 78,276 💬 14,000

Liked by: joeyb_9 yourbsf and others y/n_handle: i had someone tell me i fell off, i needed that.

username_6: joe i actually never were familiar with your game.

username_7: noww why is she in cincy y/n_handle: dont worry about it.

username_8: pretty girl!!

username_9: i wish i was her y/n_handle: i wish i was you, you're so beautiful too ml.

username_10: workout routine? y/n_handle: dropping soon my loves.

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bengals

❤️ 1.2m 💬 315,800

Liked by: joeyb_9, lahjay_10 y/n_handle and others bengals: "blinders on, goal oriented."- joeyb_9

username_11: y/n in these likes...

username_12: okay we might win and keep our playoff spot.

username_13: joe stop hiding y/n!

username_14: the panthers are in the actual queen city.

username_15: y/n downgrading as usual.

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y/n_handle posted a story

caption: 🫶🏾

joeyb_9

❤️ 783,198 💬 91,000

Liked by: y/n_handle bengals and others joeyb_9: king of the queen city.

username_16: whos the queen then?

username_17: its y/n, we're not dumb.

username_18: hes gotten so much better since the chiefs game when he got his helmet mauled off of him.

username_19: this pic has to be insane!!

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duexmoi

❤️ 209,807 💬 31,480

Liked by: tmz and others duexmoi: another blind alert! according to a insta anon, ex chiefs wag y/n y/ln is hooking up with cincinnati bengals quarterback joe burrow! who has been well known to slide into multiple girls dms and encourage them to catch a flight to cincy according to another anon.

username_20: joe... out of all men in her dms?

username_21: no girl not burrow..

username_22: as long as shes happy.

username_23: some of yall are actually obsessed.

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traviskelce posted a story

caption: she couldve done better 🙌🏻

joeyb_9 posted a story

caption: she loves it over here 😶‍🌫️

y/n_handle

❤️ 296,000 💬 44,487

Liked by: joeyb_9 lahjay_10 yourbsf and others y/n_handle: yeah i love it over here! joeyb_9

lahjay_10: shiesty get tf in here 🤨

joeyb_9: wdym?

lahjay_10: you're one evil man for going for travis's ex

yourbsf: joe you had one job and you suceeded.

username_24: joe this isnt you.

username_25: so this is why he didnt answer my dms... shes mediocre y/n_handle: yeah because he was too busy putting me through the mattress after beating your favorite team, try harder.

username_26: im just gonna pretend i NEVER saw her reply to that other comment.

username_27: as a chiefs fan you're a horrible person.. y/n_handle: this is coming from the same team that uses black magic to win games.

username_28: just wait for travis's little podcast traviskelce: nothings little over here. y/n_handle: traviskelce firstly idek why you're in my comments, secondly something is tiny and its not your podcast.

username_29: in shock right now

username_30: ms shiesty did not-

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yourbsf posted a story

caption: alright lovebird to my right, wrap it up y/n_handle

y/n_handle 📍cincinnati oh

❤️ 241,000 💬

Liked by: joeyb_9 e! lahjay_10 and others y/n_handle: life update.

*comments off*

tmz

❤️ 3.5m 💬 173,808

Liked by: e! people duexmoi and others tmz: on the new heights podcast earlier today, travis kelce shares his own opinion on the public launch of his ex y/n y/ln with cincinnati bengals quarterback joe burrow.

travis says "she knows whos better, i could care less that she downgraded. the world fortunately doesnt revolve around y/n. yes i was wrong for cheating but her getting with burrow is just childish"

y/n y/ln and travis were together for 3 years, with the engagement rumors when she fount out the cheating happened over the course of two months. y/ln made her relationship with burrow public recently after pinning her posts in cincy.

duexmoi: 🍵

username_31: isnt he coming to cincy for a show too?

username_32: i fear his ex ate though.

username_33: joe shiesty steals girls is what im hearing.

username_34: heres a idea travis, maybe she was tired of you??

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note: part 3 (the finale) boutta be petty 😶‍🌫️ anyways stay tuned.

[literallyfemcel]

I never thought of it that way...

[midnight-mistt]

With the wings of starlight book releasing this month, I thought it would be appropriate for me to come out as a milarion fan 🥴🥹👍❄️✨

[g1rlsp1ckins]

this is insanely stunning!!! the writing, the visuals😫 I fear we would be best friends!

　　　　　　　　　　𝓐RCANE DR 𝓘NTRO.

　　　　　　　　 𝓐NGELIA STACIE 𝓛A`FLEUR ꪆৎ

　 angelia was born on october 9th◞ in the underground city of zaun. the place known for it’s harsh environment compared to piltover’s shining buildings and lovely environment. her father, viktor, a successful inventor from zaun who creates hextech, and her mother, caramia, an enforcer from the topside itself. oh, let’s not forget her sister, alvida la`fleur. the girl who took care of angelia ever since viktor had moved to the topside. as they refused to be part of a society that has always brutally shown its hatred and disdain for people like them. though they weren’t technically alone, vander, had taken them in along as a few other kids. where both angelia and alvida met people that shortly became their friends. the moment angelia and powder met, they became inseparable. glued to eachothers hip everywhere they went. until that one day, everything went wrong. powder was gone. vi was gone. everyone she knew, were gone. the only person she had left was her sister, alvida.

　 shortly after, angelia’s powers became evident—unnatural powers linked to the very forces of the arcane. the connection of the magic she felt was truly a blessing she thought. until the moment it came clear of the prejudice against mages, they viewed them as dangerous and threatening. alvida’s clear unknowable knowledge about mages comforted angelia. the two, bound by love and loyalty; promised to always protect and be there for eachother no matter the pains it caused. after they both became older, they seeked out their father, viktor. who created them both gifts to help them succeed in life, like alvida’s satchel and angelia’s spear.

　 the only reason they both came to piltover was to number one; break vi out of stillwater. then two; get her to help them find powder. which was, half as hard as they least expected. the guard kept going on and on about how we shouldn’t see vi, which led angelia to grow frustrated. after halfly convincing and a little to no subtle threat thrown in there, they were on their way down to get vi.

　 angelia was never the one for violence, none to less, zaun was full of it. she was always the sweetheart others had seen. she has the smarts and is quick to get a situation over with. she believes that zaun should get the same treatment as piltover does but, that never occurs. zaun was seen that people from there were dangerous, cruel. but in reality, they were the dangerous and cruel ones. her mother, caramia, wanted angelia to become an enforcer with her. saying ‘you’re like me, my dear, you’d be an excellent enforcer.’ but in reality, she wanted nothing to do with them. enforcers are people who hurt others, not saving others from danger, they cause it.

　 　　　“every bond you break, every step you take, i’ll be watching you.”

　 　　　powder or, jinx was always fond of angelia. how the two were quite compatible. it has always been known since they were kids jinx had a thing for her. always clinging onto her, randomly biting onto her shoulder, and so much more. it was a mix of affection and crave of attention. while jinx was more on the chaotic and wild side, angelia was more reserved and cautious. jinx’s attachment never faded for angelia, it always remained. their relationship was, well, lets say chaotic! the two are so similar, they never get tired of eachother. jinx is the type of partner to make everything about angelia, while angelia is the same but with more restraint. jinx depends on angelia’s feedback mostly all the time, if she doesn’t like it, it’s going bye bye!!

overview ! i took a nap when i was first getting this started sooo. um here it is! yippe! i love my arcane dr sm i hope you guys enjoy this plz.... i mainly wanted an arcane dr because of jinx and only for jinx yes yes!! im her wife of 3 years dont play :/ anyways stan starbomb ♡

note 1 ! this is for aeri so sdt to my pookie!!! she’s the one that wanted me to make an intro because this is our groupshift >_< i also dont like the way i did this layout but its 2am so its gonna have to do sigh.

note 2 ! yellow swirl divider ; hexcore divder ୭

[baileysturnz]

𝒪𝓃ℯ ℴ𝒻 𝓉𝒽ℯ 𝒢𝒾𝓇𝓁𝓈

𝑏𝑓!𝑚𝑎𝑡𝑡 𝑥 𝑠𝑖𝑛𝑔𝑒𝑟!𝑟𝑒𝑎𝑑𝑒𝑟

๛𝗂𝗇 𝗐𝗁𝗂𝖼𝗁

y/n discusses with matt about what interaction they could do at her concert, and one thing leads to another..

❀𝑤𝑎𝑟𝑛𝑖𝑛𝑔𝑠: 𝖲𝖬𝖴𝖳, 𝗉 𝗂𝗇 𝗏, 𝖿𝗂𝗇𝗀𝖾𝗋𝗂𝗇𝗀, 𝖻𝖺𝖼𝗄𝗌𝗁𝗈𝗍𝗌, 𝗉𝖾𝗍 𝗇𝖺𝗆𝖾𝗌 (𝐛𝐚𝐛𝐲, 𝐬𝐰𝐞𝐞𝐭𝐡𝐞𝐚𝐫𝐭..), 𝖿𝗅𝗎𝖿𝖿 𝗂𝗀?, 𝓃ℴ𝓉 𝓅𝓇ℴℴ𝒻𝓇ℯ𝒶𝒹, 𝖾𝗇𝗀𝗅𝗂𝗌𝗁 𝗂𝗌 𝖭𝖮𝖳 𝗆𝗒 𝖿𝗂𝗋𝗌𝗍 𝗅𝖺𝗇𝗀𝗎𝖺𝗀𝖾

𝖼𝗁𝖾𝖼𝗄 𝗈𝗎𝗍 𝗆𝗒 𝙢𝙖𝙨𝙩𝙚𝙧𝙡𝙞𝙨𝙩 𝖺𝗇𝖽 𝚛𝚎𝚌𝚎𝚗𝚝 𝚏𝚒𝚌𝚜 ❦

𝘵𝘪𝘯𝘺 𝘵𝘢𝘨𝘭𝘪𝘴𝘵: @kier-with-a-k @idrk2292 @mommymomm 𝘢𝘥𝘥𝘦𝘥 𝘺𝘢𝘭𝘭 𝘣𝘤 𝘺𝘰𝘶 𝘤𝘰𝘮𝘮𝘦𝘯𝘵𝘦𝘥 𝘵𝘺! ❥

𝚍𝚒𝚟𝚒𝚍𝚎𝚛𝚜 𝚋𝚢 @bernardsbendystraws 𝚝𝚢𝚜𝚖!

Matt and y/n were doing their normal routine; rotting in Matt's bed. They were doing this often because y/n was going to go on tour for her new album spicy. She and Matt were extremely excited for this tour even though she would be gone for a long time, but.. it wasnt until y/n could think of something to see Matt more often on tour...

Y/n stood up from her place in Matt's chest with a smile plastered across her face.

"oh no." Matt said, worrying about what y/n was up to.

"I know that face. What happened?" He asked her.

"I have an idea!" She exclaimed happily before standing up.

Matt sat up and rested his back on the headboard while y/n was standing up at the foot of the bed.

"I was thinking that for tour we could do something." y/n said. Matt looked at her with confusion. She knew Matt could play guitar, he had it displayed in his room. The famous black electric guitar. He'd played many songs with her, around her but never with many more people. y/n continued

"Let me explain! I was thinking we could do a bit."

"A bit?" Matt asked, he wasnt sure what y/n was referring to. Maybe some kind of theatre play or something, he hadn't think of the possibility of him playing guitar with her was even possible.

"You know my song? The one i made with The Weekend?"

"Yes, the hot one we had sex to?" He vividly remembered that night, after she had released it as a single. The song said force me and choke me till I pass out, so he did, technically.

"Matt!" She threw a pillow at him

"But yes, that one. I added it to the setlist so what I wanted to do is you could maybe have a guitar solo toward the end or maybe sing with me?" Y/n knew Matt could sing, especially songs like this, the night when they had sex to this song, he started singing it to her ear which made y/n come faster.

Matt really thought about it. Would the fans go crazy? Abso-fucking-lutely but.. was this a chance to see his girl all dressed up singing on stage with him and playing his guitar.

"Before you say something, when you do the guitar solo I will drop to my knees and kind of dance? i dont fucking know how I will look sexy while doing that shit but yeah, oh and im going to be twerking literally on top of you, so consider it."

“You always look sexy, sweetheart”

Holy fuck. The idea of y/n dancing infront of him and the crowd made him hard. He would probably say yes but he wanted to make her beg.

"i don't know baby, what else would we do?" He asked with a huge smirk growing on his face.

"Please Matt, I know the fans will go fucking insane and it will be so fun, pleasee"

Jesus. The desperate look on y/n's face wasn't helping on hiding the huge bulge in his pants, but he wanted more. He made a frown.

"Pleaseee Matt, I don't care what else we'll do, God, ill let you fuck me the second we get backstage"

Theres that reaction he wanted to hear.

Matt got up from his place in bed and grabbed y/n's waist and pulled her in, giving her a hungry, deep, messy kiss. He grabbed the back of her thighs and put her feet around his waist. She could feel his hard cock against her core. He placed her gently on the bed.

"On your knees" He ordered. Matt grabbed the remote while she positioned herself and started playing One Of The Girls.

Matt started taking y/n's shirt, and pants. He ran a few fingers over her clothed clit. y/n whimpered. "Please matt". He started undoing his pants, took his boxers off revealing his hard length.

"Please what sweetheart?" He asked while grabbing a condom and putting it on.

"Please fuck me" She managed to breathe out.

Matt used two fingers to rip apart her underwear and inserted those fingers inside her.

"Fuck matt" She moaned. She was driving him crazy.

He quickly replaced them with his cock. "Fuck baby you feel so good around me" He moaned.

The room was filled with heavy breathing, the sounds of his skin hitting her ass and y/n's voice singing force me and choke me till i past out.

Matt put his hand on her throat, not applying much force he pulled her neck up to kiss her as he kept thrusting in. Matt started kissing her neck and grabbing her tits.

"Matt im close." She breathed out.

"Faster" She begged for more

"Please." With that, Matt picked up the pace and they both quickly came all over eachother.

Matt pulled out and laid back down on the bed.

"Holy shit." y/n said, still sensitive from her intense orgasm.

Safe to say Matt liked her idea

𝓁ℴ𝓋ℯ 𝓎ℴ𝓊 𝓆𝓊ℯℯ𝓃𝓈

𝖻𝖺𝗂𝗅𝖾𝗒❥✪

a/n: YALL the fucking app i use for my fonts just updated and took away the fonts i always use 💀🔫 like WTF but anyway, long time no see sorry for my chris girls bc i havent fed yall in a long tine but i think something chris related coming soon! ty soo so much for reading i love you all

[a3rosp4ce]

k dont jump me but can i just say that izuku doesn't deserve ochako and i feel like ochako is better off not being romantically involved w him? not (only) in a yass she dont need no man way but in a she literally should not settle for izuku way. bc can u fucking imagine ur just trying to hang out w ur boyfriend but he keeps mentioning his boy best friend every two seconds like id actually go insane. IM NOT EVEN TRYING TO BE FUNNY IZUKU GENUINELY DOES THIS MULTIPLE TIMES THROUGHOUT THE SHOW and i fear its not stopping any time soon. izuku can suppress it all he wants but you just know when he sees something katsuki likes he'll go "omg kacchan would like this" "i should send a picture to kacchan" "ill invite kacchan here tomorrow"

genuinely, GENUINELY, and i mean this in the nicest way possible: i think ochako is way too good for him. she'd make the best girlfriend ever esp with how extremely selfless and empathetic she is. she would be a good match for izuku.. if he wasn't annoying and put his boy best friend above everyone else including himself

i love love love izuku with all my heart and i also ship izuocha to an extent (multishipper) but on all might izuku should save every one of his love interests the heartache and get with katsuki already

[girlsounnerving]

Shauna and Melissa on my mind here’s my quick take (or theory i suppose) now that we’re about to see lots more of Melissa

As much as im delighted and surprised by the end of S3E2, I do not think there is going to be much romance between the two considering how mentally unstable and vicious Shauna is, and how I think the power dynamic is going to play out between Shauna and Melissa. They both have something to gain from being ‘together’, and while i think Melissa probably does actually like Shauna (just look at her she’s a dyke), it’s still very transactional because they are insane teenage girls in the wilderness.

What does Melissa have to gain? Melissa was previously unnoticed. Not present in s1 and barely heard from in s2, Melissa was a JV player and not at all close with the Varsity soccer team, which consists of the ‘main girls’ so to speak.

“The group dynamic changes, because girls who were formerly keeping to themselves are making their presence more known” — Jasmin Savoy Brown (‘Inside Yellowjackets Season 3’)

In the new dynamic established in spring where we see more of the JV girls being treated as teammates rather than side characters, there comes an opportunity for a new power struggle. In this, Shauna is not trifled with despite her lack of respect for Nat’s authority which everyone else seems to follow, making Shauna valuable to stand alongside for Melissa, who may not align herself to Nat or Lottie’s beliefs, as Melissa was one of the last to start following Lottie’s influence (around s2 ep 6 or 7 I think, in the wake of Shauna’s stillborn baby- I could be wrong though).

When Melissa says “Do you feel that right now? That’s fucking power” in ‘Inside Yellowjackets Season 3’, I believe that’s Melissa egging on Shauna’s influence and behaviour. Melissa will be an enabler, someone in Shauna’s corner who campaigns for her and also uses it as an excuse to rise with her into the ranks of leadership that Nat, Tai (and Van), and Lottie (though Lottie doesnt seem to be actively pursing it, she did pawn off her control to Nat) seem to have broken or are in the process of getting into.

What’s in it for Shauna? Not only is Shauna extremely emotionally unstable after the death of her best friend and baby, Sophie Nélisse also said about Shauna in a Deadline interview,

“[…] I think Shauna is so in shame of what she’s done. I think she has no love for herself and no empathy for herself. And so, you can’t love other people until you love yourself, and so I don’t think she’ll be able to give Melissa what she wants in return. And I think, on the contrary, she’ll just see her as another pawn on her chessboard to play with.”

Going off the fact that presumably Shauna is going to try to break into a role of more power and influence, either because Melissa is advocating for her or because she finally feels she has the means to do so, this ‘relationship’ will probably have little to do with romance for Shauna, and more about manipulating people and gaining numbers. What might be a ruthless rise to power and disposal of those who love her comes from the fact that Shauna has nothing to lose, and hates herself too much to let anyone actually love her in any way that matters, much less love someone in return, as Sophie Nélisse highlighted in the interview.

Also, somehow, this will be tied to Jackie. I have literally no proof but just look at Shauna. She’s sucking the soul out of another blonde. Anyway that’s all from me this is like half a thought that I managed to get down but its heavy on my mind this show is so good ugh

[captainlexaprosaveme]

Not Like This

2.3k words Warnings: side characters named Renee and Bailey sorry if your name is that, use of y/n, bad writing, no thoughts, no beta we die like men, making out, embarrassment? Drinking, and sad thoughts? Maybe a little angst idk man im really bad at this Pairing: Quinn Hughes x reader Summary: Nick and Jess’s first kiss in new girl but if it was you and Quinn and there was no homewrecking involved! This is my first time writing a fic ever so im sorry it will probably not happen ever again! also i am so confused by the formatting idk how to fix it im so sorry

It had started off innocent. Jack and Luke were in town, and Bailey, your best friend since college, was visiting, obviously you had to celebrate. Quinn decided to host since your apartment had been deemed too small, “Not everyone is a pro NHL player, Quinny” you had teased, not putting up a fight because let’s be honest. His place is much better than yours, you already spend most of your time there.

You were all having a great time, everyone several drinks in, when Bailey brought up the game you two had made up in college. The rules were insane and never made sense, you gave up trying to explain them halfway through, deciding to just throw the boys into the game and hope they figured it out. It was going great; everyone had stripped a layer or two off during the game and you were feeling a warm buzz from the alcohol. Bailey was down to just a tank top and her tights, Luke had lost his shorts and now was just in his boxers, Quinn was shirtless and only had one sock on. Jack somehow was winning and had just declared you had violated the Truce Act, meaning you had to remove your top, leaving you in just your bra and skirt, your cheeks burned as you tried to ignore Quinn’s lingering gaze and took a large gulp of your mystery drink to distract yourself.

❦❦❦

Bailey and Jack were in some kind of an argument, one claiming that the other had violated some rule and had to take a penalty but no one had witnessed this rule violation. Your eyes lit up as you saw an opportunity to bring your two friends together.

“There’s only one way to solve this!” You announced with a glint in your eye. “Two of us have to go behind the iron curtain- which is the guest bedroom by the way- and kiss. There has to be a clear and present threat of tongue- those are the rules!” Bailey groaned, knowing this rule was only ever used as a ruse before sighing and agreeing.

“How would that solve this? These rules don’t even make sense” Quinn argued as you calmed the group. “Last minute amendment to the rule- brothers cannot go behind the iron curtain together that is actually not allowed” You quickly amended as you realized over half this group was in fact related, your tipsy mind somehow able to connect those dots but not seeing the very real possibility that you would end up behind the iron curtain with someone.

“Let’s do the count, one, two, three or four? Everyone- ok… on three” Bailey started the count down and you tried your hardest to psychically make Jack and Bailey pull the same numbers. “One, Two, Three- Numbers on heads!” You threw three fingers up on your forehead and glanced around. Luke had one finger on his forehead, Bailey had four, and Jack had two… leaving only Quinn, sitting next to you with three fingers on his forehead.

Luke gasped and made a faux shocked face as he glanced between you and Quinn, Jack muffling his laughter with his hand as Bailey stood up and dragged you up with her, kicking Jack on the way up and gesturing towards Quinn. With a lot of arguing and pushing, they finally managed to shove you and Quinn into the guest room, barricading the door and chanting “Kiss! Kiss! Kiss!” You avoided looking at Quinn’s face, eyes instead landing on his toned chest before quickly flicking away as blush painted your cheeks.

Quinn opened his mouth to say something but was cut off by your finger on his lips, shushing him. You waited several seconds before calling out to the others “Okay, we did it! We kissed, let us out now!” which was met with laughter as Bailey called out “Picture proof Y/N! You know the rules!”

You sighed as you let your back hit the wall and slid down to sit on the floor, Quinn watching you carefully before sitting next to you, thighs touching. A minute or two went by as your friends continued chanting from the other side of the door, you and Quinn staying in silence before he finally broke it “We don’t have to do this, you know. I think we can just wait them out.” You huffed out a laugh as you rolled your eyes at him, “Do you really believe that? They will be out there for hours.” You grabbed your phone and opened the camera app before swiftly turning to face him, quickly kissing him on the cheek before he could say anything else as you snapped a picture and sent it off to the group chat. “There we did it, now let us out!” You shouted out as Quinn cleared his throat, a light dusting of pink covering his cheeks.

“That ain’t no kiss man!” Bailey yelled, Jack and Luke agreeing with her. “Just give Y/N a tender, sensual kiss and we will let you out!” Jack’s loud voice shouted through the door. Quinn rolled his eyes and scoffed at his brother’s words “Shut the fuck up, Jack!”

❦❦❦

Several minutes later, Quinn was working on trying to open the door that had been barricaded shut as you laid on the guest bed. You sighed as he struggled in vain, starting to feel embarrassed by how Quinn obviously did not want to kiss you. He was literally about to dislocate something trying to escape the room just to avoid kissing you, and honestly you were starting to feel a little bitter as you realized your little crush was very much not reciprocated. “What’s the big deal? Let’s just suck it up and French a little.” You tried to joke with him, willing to do whatever it takes to get out of this room with him so you could sulk alone and drink a whole lot more.

He choked out a laugh as he looked at you incredulously, unsure whether you were joking. “Ok fine but don’t say ‘let’s suck it up and French a little’” He shuffled over to the bed you were laying on and sat next to you as you sat up “Okay, fine. Let’s do this.”

“Okay, Y/N, this is not a big deal. Let’s just do this” His lips quirked up into a subtle smirk and he rested his hands on your arms.

“Yeah, let’s just do this- why are you licking your lips”

“Should I not? Do you want dry lips?”

“Well, no…”

“Then I’m just licking them so they’re… not dry?”

“Okay, fine whatever just do it.”

“I’m gonna do it”

“Okay, we’re doing this”

“Yup we’re definitely doing this. Are you ready?” His hands grasped your face as he looked into your eyes, you nodded as your heart threatened to beat out of your chest.

“Okay, three, two- actually I’m not gonna do a count. That’s weird.” He stopped moving closer to you as you huffed out a laugh at his awkwardness.

“Let’s just do this, Quinn” You leaned into him, looking into his eyes as he got closer, breathe ghosting over your lips, but just as he closed his eyes you panicked and shoved him away. “I’m sorry- You can’t do that!”

“Do what?”

“Your face!”

“My face?”

“Yeah, you can’t do that with your face”

“Okay fine- I’ll do something different with my face.” He was trying to hold back his laughter at your demands, then his hands were on your face again and he was leaning in, this time with a wide, and creepy, smile. You shoved him again, trying not to laugh “What is that? Are you trying to kiss with your teeth?”

He sighed as he stood up, moving back to the door to try and open it “Okay, I can’t do this”

“Well, you can’t try to kiss me like the Joker and expect me to just go along with it!”

❦❦❦

Several more minutes passed, the sounds on the other side of the door dwindling as Jack and Bailey made their way back to the living room, leaving just Luke to guard the door.

“Lukey! C’mon man just let us out.” Quinn tried to reason with his younger brother, but he was just met with his laughter. You saw light from someone’s headlights shining from the driveway as he failed to convince Luke, gasping as you stood and looked out the window.

“Back up has arrived!”

“Who’s that?” Quinn questioned as he joined you at the window.

“I texted Renee to come help, she just got off work.” You quickly explained to him as you watched her walk through the front door and heard the chaos of the rest of your group greeting her. You and Quinn stumbled back to the door, shouting frantically for her as she walked further into the house, questioning what was going on.

❦❦❦

“Kiss! Kiss! Kiss! Kiss!” Renee had decided to join the fun in tormenting you after being told the game, she had had enough of you and Quinn being oblivious to your shared feelings and was hoping this would be the beginning of something.

You sighed as you once again faced Quinn, “Just kiss me.”

“I’m not going to kiss you!”

“God! Just kiss me already!”

“No, Y/N. I’m not going to kiss you!”

“Just kiss me already, Hughes!”

“No, not like this!” His eyes widened as he realized what he said, your eyebrows shooting up into your hairline.

“What… what do you mean”

“No, I didn’t- I didn’t mean- not like that, I just meant- well we can’t” He struggled to find some way to explain what he said, as your friends continued chanting on the other side of the door and you continued to look at him with confusion in your eyes.

He sighed as he gently moved you out of his way and walked towards the window. “Now if you’ll just excuse me, I have to go… do something.” He opened the window as you stared at him in shock, unable to move until he started shoving the screen out of the window. “Quinn! Stop, what are you doing?” But it was too late, he was already halfway out the window, one foot in the guest bedroom, the other on the roof. You turned around and started frantically banging on the door, yelling at your friends as he made his way further down the roof, getting close to his own bedroom window. “Bailey! Jack! He’s on the roof! He climbed out the window, help!”

Everyone went silent for a second before they heard Quinn banging on the window to his own room, Jack and Luke running over to let him back in before he slips and falls off the roof as Bailey and Renee moved the barricade and let you out of the guest room finally.

❦❦❦

Quinn was back inside and after a brief lecture from Jack and Luke, mainly Luke, everyone was sitting in the living room again. Bailey found the whole situation hilarious and would not let it go. “I mean, Y/N. The guy would rather risk falling off his roof and dying than kiss you!” You simply rolled your eyes and laughed with her, you knew she was drunk and not trying to be mean, but it stung all the same.

The night carried on and eventually everyone had left. Jack and Luke had just left in their uber, Renee drove Bailey back to her hotel, and after several hours of ignoring Quinn as best as you could, you were now alone with him. Before everything happened, you had planned on staying the night to help clean in the morning and after everything there was nothing you wanted to do less. You didn’t want to uber back to your apartment and have to deal with getting your car in the morning, so you just decided to say a quick goodnight to Quinn before shutting yourself in the guest room.

As you got ready for bed you tried your hardest to ignore the ache in your chest, you went to grab your pajamas from your bag and huffed as you remembered you were going to borrow something from Quinn as you forgot to bring them. As you debated whether you should just sleep in your clothes from the party or suck it up and talk to him, a faint knocking sounded from the door. You opened it to find Quinn standing there with a soft smile and sweats in his hands for you.

“Hey, I remembered you mentioned you needed something to sleep in so…”

You thanked him as you took the sweats from him and tossed them onto the bed, reaching to close the door but being stopped by his hand on the door.

“Wait I- I wanted to talk to you.” He let out and awkward chuckle as you nodded for him to continue. He struggled to find the words to say before sighing and grabbing your face between his hands, pressing his lips to yours.

He began kissing you slowly, his plush lips soft and warm against yours. Your hands were frozen against his chest as your brain struggled to catch up, and when it did your hands flattened against his chest as you kissed him back just as tenderly. He tilted your head up, giving himself easier access to you as he traced his tongue on your bottom lip, begging for access. Your lips part for him as you sighed into his mouth, his tongue caressing yours as his hands migrated, one to the back of your head and the other landing on your waist. Your hand made its way up to his hair, tangling your fingers in his soft strands which only encouraged him as he started assaulting your mouth with his tongue.

His hand gripped your waist as you finally pulled away to catch you breath, resting your forehead against his. “That is how it was supposed to happen.” He says with a lazy smirk as you let out a breathy laugh, thinking maybe you could get used to this.

[basterdk]

had a crash out reading this. definitely recommend, is unbelievable lovely in its wretchedness. it will also tear your heart apart, but it'd be so gentle and sweet you may die smiling.

https://archiveofourown.org/works/63074524

Machiavelli's Room [Conclave, (2024)]

He startles out of his thoughts when Tedesco coughs. He is grinning, now, like he knows something Aldo doesn't. “No?” He takes a pointed drag. He must think blowing out plumes of flavoured smoke makes him look attractive. “I always thought he had very beautiful blue eyes, our Tommaso. A fine face—one might think he is a continental man. Do you think he's kept to his vows of celibacy?”

“I'm sure he has,” Aldo says neutrally. Thomas is not an easy man to tempt.

---

Cardinals Bellini and Tedesco consider Thomas Lawrence, the Virgin Mary, and each other. [11.8k, rated E]

[femdahmer]

guys i feel like im going insane i swear ive deleted travis alexander’s corpse from my camera roll 10489184 times but HES STILLTHERE WTF

[jinwoosbabyboo]

EEEEE I LOVE YOUR WEITING AND THOUGHTS AND SELF SO MUCH!!!! <3333 so, I'm curious....about what you think about the fact that mc had to be killed multiple times in this time line...when she was a child...that's darker than a usual ask sorry but I can't stop thinking it. Do you think the lads know about it? Cause I suspect that Caleb definitely does, and some how I also think Raphel does too 😬

And if they didnt...how would they react?? Cause I forget if mc knows or not but she's much too chill for her situation like......ma'am......

You're gonna make me blush ☺️🩵 I had a day from hell yesterday and it rolled over into today a little which is why I wanted to just talk to you guys and this made my day better thank you nonnie

Now what do I think.....

I think MC being killed over and over in this timeline is insane bro especially as a child when they were experimenting on her and realized she could die and come back with no memory. I've always thought child experimentation is insane because why are you doing that to a child? My mother actually allowed doctors to study me consistently from the age of 6-17 (they paid her for it) so I've been poked and prodded for a good chunk of my life and it's not fun. I've had so many mri scans, X-rays, needles, treatments, and tests run on me I actually hate hospitals now. I wasn't even sick and I still to this day don't know what they were studying. The only reason they stopped is because I turned 18 and could make my own medical decisions. I could go on and on telling yall what they did to me, but lets not go down that rabbit hole.

Do I think the lads men know?

Caleb - ABSOLUTELY

Caleb definitely remembers everything and im a firm believer this is why he's messed up in the head. He probably watched her forget him time and time again meanwhile he's also being experimented on and those scientists probably pushed him to the brink of death to see if he was like MC. Im sure he's pissed about it which is why he is hell bent on keeping her safe and I commend him for that his love is from a pure place even if he has trouble expressing it

Xavier - ABSOLUTELY

Thats his whole premise of trying to save MC because he's had to watch her be sacrificed to Philos which is why he doesn't have a good relationship with his dad and also why he doesn't want to be king. He literally will let his planet die to save his baby.

Rafayel - YUMP 100%

He's made comments to MC about her bad memory and how she's forgetting something, but he keeps coming back to make her fall in love with him over and over because he physically, emotionally and mentally can't go against her. He's a lemurian they live and die for love I understand why he cries when he's alone my shayla ☹️

Sylus - DEFINITELY

Sylus has his soul is tied to hers I feel like he might've felt her die over and over throughout the years and he was definitely hurt bad when the shopkeeper told him she was disgusted/afraid of him when they finally met again

Zayne - Im not sure actually

I feel like Zayne knows something, but just isn't saying anything because in the 'gift' option for him when he gives mc the jasmine made of ice it feels like he's trying to ask her "are you having dreams of another life like me?"

If they didn't know....

The crash outs - Xavier & Caleb The silent assassin's - Sylus & Rafayel The one that tries to find a way to cope - Zayne

Side note: MC is chill about her situation because she don't know shit literally sis has no memory of shit

[vershautece]

(it’s meee cuddling anon hey girl)

i can’t stop imagining being with lu in a dorm bed. like that twin xl, shitty mattress, but you got an insane mattress topper so it’s actually the coziest bed you’ve ever known. and you and lu barely fit in it together, but that just means you have to cling to each other even tighter. be even more intertwined. you get out of bed to go to the bathroom or get some water and when you come back you snuggle back into the same little spot you left.

lu would be on the inside, shoulder pressed up against the wall. you’d be snuggled up into his neck. his arm wrapped around your waist keeping you pulled in tight. breathing him in deeply all night long. he’d press soft kisses to your head. you’d run your hands all over his body. up his chest, around his neck, down his arms. just feeling him.

you might pause to spell out “I L O V E Y O U” on his chest with your finger. holding glittering eye contact the entire time, and pressing a firm but sweet kiss to his lips once you’re done. he’d lean back in for another kiss, moving his hand up to cradle your face. he’d gently press a kiss to each cheek, your eyes fluttering shut, then a kiss to each eyelid. his silent “i love you too”.

omg yes :((( just being so close to each other that u don’t even mind the bed being so small bc it’s an excuse for u both to pretty much have to cling to each other all night

imagine how intimate and cute making out/sex with him would be :( you’d both be giggling between kisses bc u keep accidentally pushing him against the wall and he sometimes nearly pushes u out of the bed bc ur so obsessed with each other u keep forgetting where u are😭🩵 so ofc to straddle him is the best position, but what im specifically thinking about is when ur tired and just wanna lazily make out in his arms and it leads to the closest and most intimate spooning sex or face to face, where u both are soo close together holding eye contact and despite the intimacy of the moment ur both still letting out cute giggles throughout bc of how funny it is that u insist on making love in this tiny bed

thinking about this with college lu is affecting me :( <3 ily cuddling anon u always inspire my thoughts never stop 💘

[deepsea-cowboy]

Count Orlok is not a person or representative of a person. He is a representation and physical manifestation of many different ideas. He is both an abuser and Ellen’s manifestations of her guilt and sin (her queerness with Anna[When O is biting Anna], her desire to dominate her husband[when O is biting Thomas], her hitting puberty) and a validation for everything people think she’s crazy for (her nightmares instead being a real threat instead of just nightmares[there’s other examples I just can’t think of at the time of writing]) and the consequences of her hiding her desires for so long AND a sexy vampire. Like, he can be both the abuser/groomer/whatever and her sexual liberation. He’s both real and not and that’s the point. Human emotion and memory and experience is so complicated and strange where you don’t know what is what and if you really love the people who hurt you or if the people you love hate you or literally Anything else. This isn’t something that’s just one metaphor for one thing.

Also, this is gothic horror/romance. It’s going to be morally questionable and strange and erotic. Like you can’t have a holier than thou mindset with this because the point is to explore deplorableness. Yea you can draw the line wherever you want and it’s fine if this is to much for you but you can’t just say everyone who finds this erotic is just some crazy yandre whatever. Like I don’t understand how you are coming into the den of weird freaks and then complaining about how people are being freaky.

If gothic horror/romance isn’t for you that’s not a bad thing but don’t try to tell anyone that they are stupid or blind for enjoying it.

Edit: also the actions and morals of the characters aren’t flaws and just because they do bad shit doesn’t mean they’re horrible. These people live in the 1830s, of course they are going to be awful to Romani people. Thats not excuse but it’s an explanation and reasonable to believe they would do because they aren’t perfect characters. Ellen isn’t a strong independent woman who is witty and helps take down Orlok because she’s a mentally unstable woman dealing with a lot and the whole movie is an exploration on her feelings specifically. She’s not going to get her happy ending where she lives and that’s okay. Von Franz does tell a suicidal woman to kill herself for the greater good and that’s awful but also what Ellen wants because like with Orlok, he truly understands her and also almost worships her. She’s a maiden sacrifice stereotype because and Von Franz encourages it 1.) cause he’s an occult, insane man who follows ancient rituals and texts and moral or not people used to sacrifice people (especially woman) and damnit that’s what he’ll do, and 2.) because it lets the plot keep moving in the way to where Ellen will be her perverted and raw self, which also bows to no morals or intelligence because emotions aren’t intelligent by nature.

( im very sorry for unloading this onto you. By the end I realize I’ve strayed away from your original post and am mainly just venting my frustrations about all the takes I’ve seen on this app. But I’m not sorry enough to not make this post :3)

guys

I know this is the monsterfucker website

but please

I need you to look me in the eyes and tell me that Nosferatu wasn't a tale of sexual liberation

I need you to tell me that we watched the same movie about sexual abuse, victim blaming, grooming and self-blame

please

[amethystfairy1]

Hi!

Hello!

I have been lurking around your work for the past like.. half a year or so, but I'we inly just now goten my tumblr acount sorted, and I don't have an ao3 account, so I can't coment directly on your works, and It's curently 4 in the morning where I am, and I haven't slept yet, so this is probably going to be a lot of incoherent rambeling with a embarasing amount of spelling mistakes.

But to get to the point:

I absolutly adore your writing! You put so much detail into everything! Your characters are so lively and believable, I can tell who is talking just by the way they speak, witch is absolutly insane! Your stories had me screaming into my pillow at ungodly times of the night more times than I can count, and I'm sure there's gonna be manny more to come.

Like how do you do it?!?!?!

Just how?!?!?!??!?!?!?!

Just kwvxbakqkvdqjqlxzqvkqgxv!!!!!!!!!!!

Every time you start one of your multichapter fics i find myself refreshing your ao3 page over, and over, and over again because your writing is just. So. Darn. Good.

Like how?????

Also please take care of yourself. Make sure to eat and drink enough and get enough sleap (i'm curently not being the greatest exhample. Ups) I know you said multiple times, that you write to relax, but still, don't feel presired to post more than you are abile to. The amount of stuff you write is extreamly impresive already. Like- we got the last chapter to 'Feathers and Flares' like 3 days ago, and you are already feding us with another of your beautiful stories again?!??! Who does that?????? (Well. You I gues, but It's still absolutely INSANE!!!)

Anywasy. Im going to go now. Sorry for the long ask, I just couldnt help myself😅.

Take care and have a good whhatever-time-of-day-you-hapen-to-have.

-R.M.A.

Awwhhhh heck thank you so much!!! You're so sweet! Please never apologize for long asks I absolute love them! This is so cool to see!!! I'm so happy you enjoy my work so much thank you thank you! 💖