#it was in squeak squad at least | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

hellfire--cult · 1 year

Note

Harrington!reader who struck up a friendship with Billy after finding him crying. It wasn’t long until she developed a crush on the older boy. But she knew she was the least attractive girl in school, and on the cheerleading squad. Every girl was all over him, she never thought he’d see her that way.

Movie Night

I'm so sorry, I got carried away, and I made it super long, SO I HOPE YOU ENJOY AND I HOPE EVERYONE ELSE DOES this has: fluff, angst, mean brother persona on Steve's behalf, OOC Billy Hargrove, soft side.

wc: 8k (i got a lil inspired, no one requests Billy and I love to write him 😭)

Stupid Steve. Stupid school. Stupid fucking stereotypes.

You understand, you get it, the fucking sister of Steve Harrington should be the perfect girl, perfect as her idiotic brother. If only they knew that being in every single sport isn’t what Steve wants, it isn’t what he desires, it isn’t what he always dreamed about.

But it’s not that perfection they want from you, oh no. It’s not your fault you have bad eye sight so you have to wear glasses, and for some reason that made you fucking undesirable. Just because you are wearing glasses, and you’ve been wearing them ever since middle school, where there were minimum problems with it, and now in high school when you just want to be able to date someone, or even kiss, it’s almost impossible because of them.

So yes, you knew people didn’t want to be with you, and you knew that it was all because of the idealization of the Harrington girl not meeting their expectations. Jokes on them, every single fucking guy in school looks like stepped on shit.

When you finally got into freshmen year, you already knew Steve was the most popular guy in school, always boosting about it at the dinner table, father always saying how proud he is for Steve being the captain of almost every fucking imaginable sport. You looked up to Steve, you really did look up to your brother… Until you crossed those forsaken high school doors, and the only face your brother sent you was that of disgust and turned his back on you.

And that sets your fate.

Now as a Junior, your brother finally graduates this year. Ever since he started dating Nancy who is in the same year as you, he has relatively changed. At home, he now tries to invite you to hang with him at the mall, or tell you to have dinner together when your parents aren’t home… You declined his invitation every time. You prefer to eat dinner in your bed, alone, while he drives away to be with Nancy. Just you, your books, and some good music. You are fine.

It doesn’t help the fact that you have just one friend at school, and she’s not even always with you because she is Nancy’s Best Friend. Barb was always nice to you, and it’s the only one you talked to in class, because then in cheerleading practice, which you had to enter because you needed extracurricular credit because your parents said so, you were given the cold shoulder by every teammate there. You didn’t participate in the cheers really, you just wear the uniform every now and then and pass them bottles of water.

You just have to survive one year, just one more year and you can go to college, probably start anew, meet people, meet someone. You fixed your glasses on the bridge of your nose as you took notes while sitting at the bleachers, hearing the squeak of the tennis shoes of all the boys in the basketball team just going around. You hear a thump, making your eyes look up to see your brother laying on the floor, making you frown.

Then it made sense, as Billy Hargrove smirked, helping your brother stand up again.

You knew that he wanted to take Steve’s position as the most popular guy at school, getting prom king and all that shit. You have heard your brother complaining about him on the phone sometimes, maybe to Nancy or to one of his friends. From what you’ve seen, Billy looked like a tough and irritating guy, and there is no need for you to get close to him at all, and you really could care less about what he does to your brother.

And that is basically your everyday life. Invisible, and you’re fine with that.

You’re fine.

“Hey, can you believe that guy?” Your head snapped up to see your brother at your door, leaning against the frame with his arms crossed over his chest. You raised your eyebrow at him, looking back down at your book. “If he takes away my captainship in the team, I will– Dad will fucking cut my head off.”

“That’s what you get for following his dreams from day one.” You mumble in a low tone, but he caught onto it, frowning at you.

“I have my own dreams. I don’t follow his.” You nodded at that while still not looking at him. You really could care two shits about all of this.

“Maybe Nancy can help you with this kinda stuff. I'm busy.” You heard shuffling at the door and then a sigh. You heard steps and you raised your head to hear him slam his door shut, and you knew he was probably getting ready to go to a party or something because of the music he started playing on his radio. Not once you were invited to one of those, not even by your own brother. He had hosted parties before, and you were commanded to stay in your room all night. The only time you came out of your room was to the bathroom to pee, and even then you had to wait because people were always making out inside.

You got up from bed, closed the biology book to then set it on your desk, looking over to your library of VHS’s tilting your head to check what to watch tonight. You picked Terms of Endearment and Sixteen Candles. Your collection was full of romance and dramatic movies because it’s just your favorite genre to watch. Same with your books, your favorite being Sense & Sensibility.

Steve left after a few minutes, and you made your way down to start your Friday movie night, and tomorrow will be the same, next weekend too. You should get more movies, you are on a roll of rewatching stuff by now. But it was at this moment, when you put the cassette into your player, and you finally sat down and started watching Sixteen Candles that it all simply fell apart.

Your rough facade crumbles down as you see the romance of the characters on screen, the friendship that is displayed in these movies, late calls with friends, kicking your feet because the guy you liked kissed you, or even called you to spend time with you. You stare absentmindedly at the screen as you see the kissing scene finally happening and your fingertips brush over your lips, just softly, tracing the shape of them.

After a few hours Steve finally returns home, completely sober and cursing under his breath. He sees the light of the living room turned on and some blue light shining on. He walked inside to find you asleep on the couch with the TV still on. He sighed, walking over to turn it off but then his eyes looked at your form, making his face completely fall down.

He bent over your figure to see the dried tears on your cheeks, falling down onto the couch. He looked over to the coffee table to look at what you were watching, getting hold of the case. You watch the same movie every Friday night… And every Saturday night. He rubbed his mouth with a frown to his face as he looked back at your frame. And he always repeats the same action every Friday night and every Saturday night.

He stands up to grab the blanket that’s over the couch to put it over your body, and with tears in his eyes he bends over to press a soft kiss at the top of your head with a quiet whisper that he always repeats and that you never hear, not that you would believe him anyway.

“I’m sorry.”

Monday came way faster than you expected, and the morning was even quicker. Your parents were still away on their business trip, but Steve and you knew they were just out on vacation by themselves. Why have children when you just push them aside?

You take out the lunch bag with your sandwiches in it, and you walk out of the school doors and into the football field which was deserted because it was lunch time, so it always gave you the best opportunity to head behind the bleachers to have some peaceful time for yourself, and that was until you almost dropped your bag as you screamed and flinched when you saw someone already there who snapped his head back at you.

Billy Hargrove.

Your breathing was heavy and your eyes were still trying to focus from the scare but as soon as they did you realized that Billy’s eyes were filled with tears, one or two might have escaped because you could see the glistening trail that they left behind on his cheeks. You were trying to talk to him, but then his eyebrows furrowed together, a tight angry look on his face.

“The fuck you looking at Harrington?” You flinched back at that, annoyance switching inside of you instead of fear. This guy was crying and has the audacity to sound threatening?

“Oh, right, sorry, it’s just seeing Billy Hargrove actually having feelings is a sight.” His eyes snapped wide at your response, surprise crossing his features while he stared at you this time. “Who’s staring now?”

“Oh, right, sorry, it’s just that hearing you fucking talk for once is a sight.” You were taken aback by his response, mimicking yours. You sucked on your right cheek in annoyance as he wiped his cheeks away.

“Well, off you go.” He snaps his head at you, a frown on his features to then letting a smirk spread on his lips.

“I came here first. You go.” You scoff at that, shaking your head at him.

“No, I always come here at lunchtime, it’s my place.”

“Well, that’s lonely as fuck.” You know that. You fucking know that, he doesn’t need to say it to your face, not the heartthrob of the school. Before your heart could turn in pain you nod at him.

“Fine, take it for today.” You turn to finally walk away. Maybe you can eat at the picnic table in the forest? But sometimes the stoner would go there to deal, and you weren’t judging Munson really, you gotta do what you gotta do to survive.

“Wait.” You stopped on your tracks and slowly turned around to see Billy slumping down on the ground, his back resting against a column of the bleachers while he rested his forearms on his bent knees. “You can stay here if you don’t tell anyone you saw me like this.”

Who would you even tell this to? He might be scared that you would tell Steve about it, but Billy seems to not know you don’t actually have a good relationship with your brother, and you have just one casual friend in this school. You look in between the bleachers and towards the woods and then you look back at Billy, giving a sigh and finally sitting down with your legs crossed.

It was silent between you two, almost uncomfortable but not quite. You were eating your sandwich and you took out a bottle of water out of your bag too. You glanced once at him, and he was looking at the distance, just breathing slowly. You wanted to know what happened to him, because he didn’t seem like the guy that would cry easily. He looked at you, raising an eyebrow up at you.

“Why do you eat here?” He asks and you clear your throat, taking a sip of your water.

“Why were you crying?”

“Touché.” You gave a nod in understanding. You weren’t going to talk to him if he wasn’t going to talk to you. You looked inside your bag to grab onto the other sandwich, and you handed it to him. He looked at it with a frown and then back at you.

“If you’re here it means you didn’t eat. Basketball players need food.” You calmly say to him and he looks down at the sandwich, taking it from your hands, and then taking a bite out of it, grimacing in disgust.

“What the fuck is in this?” He looks down into it and you smirk at him, finishing off your own.

“Mustard and pickle sandwich.”

He ate the sandwich anyway. It was nice to eat lunch with someone for once, even if that person was Billy Hargrove and it would be a one time thing in your life… Though, it wasn’t. Billy was back behind the bleachers almost everyday after that. He wasn’t at all that persona that he was with everyone else with you. The cocky insufferable bastard you knew was all a mask, and you could see it when he told you about how Tammy Thompson tried to hide a fart with her cough in class.

“You’re fucking kidding…” You were giggling, covering your mouth as you both sat in front of one another, and the closeness slowly shrinking as two weeks went by of eating lunch with him.

“I am not, she actually thought it was discreet, but I heard it. Not that I said anything about it, but it was a total boner killer.” You raised an eyebrow at that, swallowing your apple that you were having as dessert.

“What, girls can’t fart Hargrove?” He rolls his eyes at you and then raises his hand to flick your forehead, making you wince and rub the skin he left in a red state.

“I didn’t say that. When you trust someone enough to do it in their face, sure. Not in the middle of class, and much less when you are a chair in front of mine.” At that you let out a laugh, throwing your head back. He chuckled and took a swig of his cigarette, blowing the smoke to the side so it wouldn’t hit your face.

“God, I really don’t pay attention to shit like that.” You took another bite of your apple and Billy was still looking at you, clearing his throat, making you look up at him.

“What do you do on Friday nights? I mean, your brother is at every single party but you are nowhere to be found.” He asks you and you feel your cheeks flush slightly at that. You look down at your apple and swallow your bite.

“I often watch movies. Have my own movie nights, sometimes with popcorn, and if I am feeling fancy, S’mores.” You gave him a small smile as you took another sip of water but Billy was still looking at you with a frown to his eyebrows.

“By yourself?” And you suddenly felt embarrassment washing over you. How pathetic were you? He is a guy that has every student in this school eating at the palm of his hand, plans of going out somewhere almost everyday, a date every single night, and you just watched movies and read books for company.

“I– I have to go.” You suddenly blurt out, standing up abruptly to then wipe your jeans from the dirt of the floor. Billy was following suit, doing the same thing, and about to stop you, but you were already walking away. You didn’t need the reminder of how stupid all of your life sounded. You didn’t need it from him. You were always reminded of it by your father, saying that you should be more like his son. Your mother says that at her age she already dated someone and had tons of friends. Steve showing off his new relationship and friends to you, keeping you in the shadows from everyone.

You didn’t need more reminders.

So when you got home, and realized Steve was already out of sight, probably at Heather’s party, you took your time to shower, put on some comfy sweatpants, a white t-shirt and a gray hoodie, and you grabbed your movies and went downstairs. Maybe they will cheer you up from all the stuff that has happened with Billy today. It’s stupid, you both don’t talk to each other all day, yet at lunch you just talk non-stop.

Sweet popcorn was today’s choice and you were already salivating at the smell of it all. Once it was done you put it in a bowl and headed over to the living room, turning the TV on, and putting Pretty in Pink in your VHS. Steve must be getting drunk with his friends by now, dancing to Roxette or something like that. You popped a single popcorn in your mouth and you were about to press play but you were interrupted when glass knocking was heard from the sliding door to the garden.

You jumped up in fear, eyes widened as you quickly turned your head and saw Billy fucking Hargrove outside the doors. You blinked once, twice, three times. Wasn’t he at Heather’s party too? You stood up from your seat, blushing at your attire but he already saw you in it, no time to actually go change. You fixed your glasses at the bridge of your nose as you walked towards the doors to finally unlock them and open a side for him.

“What the fuck are you doing here Billy!” You almost screamed at him, but he raised his hands up in a surrender mode and chuckled at you.

“By that yelling I am assuming your parents are still gone. Let me in, I’m fucking freezing.” He walks past you and you scoff at the nerve of this man. You close the door and you see him looking around with his hands inside his black leather jacket. Your eyes trailed downwards for a second, taking in how tight his pants were, but you snapped out of it, walking around him so that you were facing him.

“What are you doing here?” You ask again and he simply shrugs, still looking all around your house.

“Party was lame as shit, and you said there was a movie night here tonight. That seemed far more interesting than Tommy trying to do a keg stand and falling onto it, breaking his nose.” He walks to the couch, sitting down on it and he immediately grabs the bowl of popcorn from the coffee table. Your mouth hangs open again at this, going to the couch and sitting down next to him.

��You– I don’t need your pity.” You say to him, looking down at your hands as you played with the hem of the sleeves of your hoodie. He chuckles at that and shakes his head.

“Sweetheart, I don’t pity anyone. The party was really fucking boring.” He takes a popcorn in his mouth and he hums at the sweetness. You raise an eyebrow to look at him. You never thought Billy Hargrove would be on the sweet side of stuff. “So, what are we watching?”

A smirk formed on your lips. He was gonna fucking hate it, that’s what he gets for barging in your house.

Yet–

“I fucking hated Duckie.” You were wide eyed at him. He had paid complete attention to the movie, even giving small commentary that he really liked the fact that the girl stood up for herself. He turns to look at you, a frown coming to his eyebrows. “What?”

“I just… I didn’t think you like this genre of movies.” You reply to him, a little bit nervous for some reason and he smiles at you and then looks back at the screen.

“I never watched one of these. They have a lot of plot, and they’re interesting.” Your eyes sparkled in excitement and you grabbed his shoulder, which made him look at you alarmingly.

“You’re in for a ride.”

Billy came back again the next day, taking the chance that Steve was out at Nancy’s for the night. He then sneaked into your room while Steve slept and you played Grease on your small TV and VHS that were on top of your dresser. He actually enjoyed it, but despised it because it was a musical. The next time, he actually came through the front door, and you both finally watched Sixteen Candles together. Now, Saturday Night, Steve was at Nancy’s for a family dinner and Billy was taking out two beers from the six pack he came with.

“I don’t drink…” You say to him and he raises an eyebrow up at you.

“Daily or weekly, but you have tried alcohol. One beer is not going to kill you Sweetheart.” You nodded at that and you grabbed onto the can, sitting back down on the couch. You opened it as Billy walked towards you and plopped down with a huff, already taking a swig out of his can. You grimaced at yours and you took a tentative sip, lowering the can to look at him, completely disgusted by the taste and he simply threw his head back in laughter.

“Disgusting.” You say to him and he shrugs at you, sending a smile your way.

“It’s an acquired taste baby, you just keep drinking it, if you feel fuzzy you can leave it.” You felt your heart accelerate at him, feeling the butterflies exploding in your stomach. You didn’t know when your relationship with Billy took a turn for the better, but he actually sends a smile your way this time when walking down the halls, he sometimes greets you when you pass by him in the hallways, like he is not making it seem like he doesn’t know you.

So it was hard not to fall for him. It was undeniable at this point, and even if he was strong and mean, and an ultimate bully to everyone else, he comes here to your house, watches romantic comedies with you, eats popcorn with you, and you two talk about nonsense all evening. Nobody knows about this, and you’re happy to have this secret between the two of you. You can live in the fantasy a little bit longer.

“What did you bring?” You look at the cassette he got and you look at the front of it. You grimaced again and showed it to him. “The terminator?”

“Classic sweetheart, it’s an action movie, you gotta expand your movie knowledge a bit.” You didn’t want to complain, it was the first time Billy suggested to watch something he likes, and in reality you were interested in knowing it, and hopefully like it the way he does.

News flash, you didn’t like it.

“Why are there so many guns?! It's unnecessary!” You complain, your beer gone and you do feel a little fuzzy but not too much. You just felt giddy. He laughed at your side and shook his head as he drank his second can.

“That’s what action movies are, baby, they are irrational, little to nothing of plot, and shooting everywhere.” He says and you sigh at that, shaking your head. The room filled with silence as Billy looked forward, his smile slowly disappearing. “You know why I come here often?”

You straightened at that, blinked with confusion as you turned to look at him. You frowned when you saw how serious he got, just out of nowhere, and your belly turned for him, not in a romantic way, but more of a worry kind of nervousness.

“Because parties now bore you?” You ask him and he gives you one chuckle and then shakes his head, resting it on the backrest of the couch, looking at the ceiling.

“You help me distract myself.” He took a deep breath in as you kept looking at him and you knew it was something he was having a hard time talking about. “The day you saw me crying… I was actually afraid.”

“What?”

“My father… Let’s just say he has– a rough hand. Any slip up I make, I just get a punch out of it… I’m just so angry all the time, so unlike my fucking self and who I actually am when I am at school. I just let out my anger towards people, because I cannot take it out on my own father.” You could see his Adam's apple bobbing up and down, and you knew he was trying to choke back tears as he talked. Your heart just knotted at seeing him like this, feeling helpless, not knowing what to actually tell him.

“Billy–”

“And you… I tried to be mean to you… And you actually had the guts that no one had at this school yet. Talk back to me.” His head turned to finally look at you again and your eyes burned at his confession. “I couldn’t be mean to you… With you I can— I can be calm, watch a movie, talk about how creepy that Creel house is and how we should sabotage it– I mean, the only thing I talk with the people from school? Chicks, sex, cars, alcohol.”

You couldn’t help the small smile that appeared on your lips, turning your whole body to face him, your legs coming to rest on top of the couch too, bending them and resting your side on the backrest.

“Well, I am glad I could help in some way… My house is always open for you Billy.” His eyes were just staring into yours now, the only thing being heard in the room were your breaths, until he finally talked.

“Can I kiss you?”

What?

There is no possible way you heard that from him. This is a dream, it has to be a dream. There is no way Billy Hargrove, your now friend, your crush, the guy you like has asked to actually kiss you. This only happens in movies, in books, and it never happens in real life, at least, not to you.

“W-Why would you want to kiss me?” And Billy’s features turned into saddened ones at your words. Don’t you realize how beautiful you are? He straightened up on the couch, his body turning to face you as well as both of your hearts jumped out of your chest.

“Why wouldn’t I want to kiss you?” was his short answer. Your belly turned in pure nervousness now as your body grew a cold sweat. You never kissed anyone, and Billy seemed to know how to do it, and you were just too inexperienced. A flush came over all of your body as you fixed the glasses on the bridge of your nose and you looked down to avoid his gaze.

“I– I never–” You gulped, not being able to finish the phrase from how stupid it sounded. A warm hand was pressed on your cheek, making you lift your head up to look at him again, and you didn’t realize how close he got to you, his blue eyes staring into yours.

“I ask you again… Can I kiss you?” And you finally give him a nod. You weren’t going to miss this chance, not for one second. He still wants to kiss you despite you not knowing what you were getting yourself into. He smiled at you and grabbed onto your glasses, pulling them off your face and setting them on the coffee table. “They were just going to get in the way.”

You took a shaky breath in, his hand still on your cheek as he slowly leaned down towards you. You closed your eyes and his remained open to remember your features as he finally does what he has been wanting to do for the past weeks. At first it was a simple attraction of course, but he knew it was more than that, and he was scared as shit about it… But he never wanted someone as much as he’s been wanting you.

His lips connected with yours in a soft peck, brief, and you let a breath go out of your lips, only for another peck to land. Then another, then another that lingered there a bit more, and then the next one he just stayed there, and suddenly started moving his lips, guiding you as your heartbeat made you deaf in your ears. How do people do this and not faint at the spot?

The lip smacking was heard in the room as your hands finally were brave enough to travel, one scanning his bicep, the other one moving towards the back of his neck, feeling his skin under your fingertips. His free hand landed on your waist, not pressing too hard so that you know that he is being mindful of you. At this point, Billy would already be inside someone, satisfying his needs, but with you… He wasn’t going to do that, at least not now, not yet, and that is if you let him.

He wants to take care of you.

He pulled away for a second, his lips touching yours still as your breathing mixed with one another’s in soft pants. You were feeling as if you were burning all over, not knowing what was happening with you. You never felt like this before, and maybe it has to do with the fact that not only was Billy good looking, but you also feel more than just friendship for him.

“You okay?” You nod frantically at him, wanting more, giving him a peck on the lips making him chuckle in a low tone. “Sorry baby, but I need more.”

He suddenly pushed you back on the couch, crawling over you and you didn’t even think, you just wrapped your arms around his shoulders, and he kept his bottom half away from yours, even if it pained him on his thighs from the strength he was doing to keep himself up. His lips connected with yours again, rougher this time, more desperate, the kiss suddenly turning into a very heated one as he suddenly licks your bottom lip a few times.

The butterflies in your belly explode as you open your mouth and his tongue finally slides in. You gasp at the feeling, your hands finding his biceps through his blouse, and you felt his chain hitting your neck at every movement. One hand was still gripping on your waist, while the other remained at your nape, pulling you deeper into the kiss.

You really can’t believe this is happening, not to you, not with Billy, it doesn’t make sense that he looked your way, it doesn’t make sense that he actually wants to kiss you, not when he has Heather on his tail all the time, or Carol even if she is dating Tommy. Or Janet. You always hear them talking about him in the bathroom, always planning their move on him, and this feels you with a sense of power, with a sense of accomplishment and pride in yourself.

Your hands ran through his hair and he groaned into the kiss, and that ignited so many things inside of you that you never felt in your life, and you wanted to hear more of it. Billy was trying his best to keep himself in a hovering position with you, but he was finding it harder and harder to do so. He can’t go on, at least not today when it was your first kiss. He didn’t want to scare you, even if your urges were the same as his, because he could feel your need to pull him even closer.

The door suddenly clicked and both of your eyes snapped wide open, pulling away, looking at one another, panting heavily. Best scenario, it's your parents, and they would be thrilled that you actually, and finally, have someone over at your house… Now, worst case scenario–

“What the ACTUAL FUCK?!” You both sat up on the couch to look over at Steve, who was standing there in the living room, wide eyed, and his face reddened bit by bit. Shit.

“Steve–” You started talking but he raised his hand at you, to then point a finger at Billy.

“Get the fuck off my sister.” You wanted to roll your eyes at this, because why is he acting all protective now? You finally got some action in your fucking life and he wants to take it away from you.

“I don’t think she wants me to leave.” Billy dares to say, glaring at your brother who took a look at the coffee table, seeing the cans of beer. His mind started racing, and Billy followed his gaze, his mouth opening to talk but Steve was running up the stairs already. Your eyes widened and you pushed Billy off, standing up quickly and urging him to do the same.

“You have to leave!” You were trying to push Billy towards the front door but his feet were still planted against the floor with a frown to his face, and your head snapped to the stairs to see Steve running back down with his baseball bat in his hands. Billy’s eyes widen when Steve starts to approach him with a swinging motion.

“Taking fucking advantage of my sister is something I won’t take from you Hargrove, so get the fuck out of my house before I crush your skull in!”

“Shit, Harrington– Fucking listen for a second–” Steve’s baseball bat hits the backrest of the couch, and you could see the dent of the wooden under it that he created. Billy ripped himself off you and gave you a look as if asking if you were okay.

“I’ll talk to him, you go.” You tell him and he gulps, looking back at Steve with a threatening look on his face which Steve only scoffed at.

“I’ll talk to you later.” Billy says with a small squeeze to your hand as he walks out of the house, passing by Steve. Your brother follows him to the front door and he doesn’t walk back inside until Billy drives away with his Camaro. After the roaring engine can be heard in the distance, Steve slams the door shut, throwing the bat at the floor and stomping back into the living room where you were standing there with a glare on your eyes as if you were about to kill him.

“When I saw his fucking car out in front of the house I thought it was a stupid coincidence, and I come in here to see you about to have sex with the sluttiest man in the goddamn school! What are you thinking!?” You frown in anger at that, stepping towards him.

“I am his friend! I wasn’t going to have sex with him, and he wasn’t taking fucking advantage of me! I drank ONE beer, ONE!” You yell back at him and he fake laughs as he runs his hand over his face.

“The first time you have a guy in this house, and it is Billy FUCKING Hargrove. The one guy that I am fighting with for Captain at our basketball team, the one guy that gives me the hardest fucking time of my life at the moment, and you want me to just accept that he wants to be with you because he WANTS TO?” Your chest hurt at those words, your own coming out in soft stutters at Steve’s blind rage.

“He even asked me if I wanted to, and I said yes–”

“God, you cannot be this fucking stupid! He hates me, makes my life a living hell, and you seriously think that he is a nice guy!? You really think there is no ulterior motive!?” He yelled at you and his words were stabbing you in every part of your body, your head already spinning from how harsh he was being with you.

“Why? Is it impossible that he actually wants to be with me?” You try to say loudly at him, even if your fingers start to feel numb. He scoffed at that, looking at you.

“Yes, and I don’t think you are dumb enough to not see that.” He was referring to so many other things, and it was regarding Billy’s persona, in Billy’s actions, in his rivalry with him… And when he saw your tear rolling down your face, his anger evaporated as if water was being thrown at him.

“Okay…” Was your defeated response. You turned around to retrieve your glasses from your coffee table and Steve winced, clenching his eyes tightly together as pain rushed through his body.

“That wasn’t what I meant– Hey, listen to me, I really didn’t mean it to sound like that–” But you weren’t listening, putting the cassettes back into their cases and turning off the TV. You grabbed them and walked past him, going up into your room. Steve stood there, knowing he hurt you once again, not knowing what to do but run a hand through his hair, cursing under his breath as he started pacing back and forth.

He didn’t mean it to sound like no guy would want you, he didn’t mean it at all like that, yet the words coming out of his mouth betrayed him, completely. He doesn’t know how to make it up to you, because if he had given you the chance to go to the parties with him when you asked in your freshman year, many times, and told you yes instead of no, you would have more experiences, you might even have friends. If only he had let you come out of your room at his own parties when you asked him, almost begged him to let you participate, but he declined each time. Then in your sophomore year, you didn’t ask anymore, just accepted that he wasn’t going to tell you anymore about them, and you automatically locked the door whenever he hosted a party.

This year, he tried to invite you, many times. You always declined. You didn’t even want to eat dinner with him, and he knows you want to leave the house as soon as possible thanks to him. Even with your parents. For the past two years he had been so blind because of his father’s approval and the one of all the students in Hawkins High that he didn’t notice how your parents didn’t ask you stuff at dinner. All questions were always directed to him. He noticed this year, and he tried to tell them you had nailed your exams, and the only thing you got from your father was ‘As she should.’

He was the cause of who you were now. Not at all the bubbly and animated girl that asked him to raise her up like an airplane in their backyard, not at all the small girl that put makeup on him pretending she was a stylist, not at all the middle school girl that got excited to see him whenever she got home from school to tell him about what she learned that day.

He walked up the stairs and raised his hand to knock on your door, only to hear soft sobs on the other side, muffled. He wonders if you had also cried when he denied you all those times. He doesn’t know how to even make it up to you. He doesn’t know if he even can.

So the next day, when you didn’t come out of your room, he let you have your alone time. Now on Monday he tried knocking on your door, only to receive the notice that you felt sick. He tried walking in but your door was completely locked. His eyebrows twitched and his mind had come up with a plan. A plan he will terribly hate. A plan that might end up badly for him. But it’s what he deserves for what he did to you.

Billy looked everywhere for you, and even asked Barbara Holland where you could be. She told him that she hadn’t seen her at Science that day either, so his best guess was that you had skipped school. His jaw clenched when he asked other people about you and some of them didn’t even know what you looked like. He waited for the bell to ring, and he was going to tumble Steve down if he had to in order to see you. He didn’t care.

But when he walked out of the school doors to rush to his Camaro, he was surprised to see Steve Harrington sitting on his trunk with his arms crossed. Billy’s eyes hardened at the sight, walking towards him, tilting his head in question at the brown haired boy who was looking at Billy with a mix of emotions behind his eyes.

“Harrington. Get off my fucking car.” He says and Steve gulps as he looks to the side.

“I fucked up.” At that Billy’s eyebrows turned into a frown, but his fists started clenching as Steve kept talking, telling him everything, everything he did to you, and what he had said to you that night when Billy left.

While this was happening, you were combing your hair after the shower you took while sitting on your bed. You had taken a shower because you were greasy from yesterday already, and you really didn't want to get up, but you didn’t have a choice. Ever since Steve said that, you didn’t have the guts to actually call Billy because at some far away place in your mind, it made sense.

You were invisible, and suddenly you were noticed? It doesn’t sound real.

So maybe it wasn’t. Maybe it really was to get into your pants to mess with your brother, and that was honestly the most reasonable explanation for it. You frowned when you heard the door open downstairs, your door was left open so you could hear some drawers being open, to then hear steps coming up the stairs. Your eyes widened when you saw Steve slamming himself against the door frame of your room.

His eye was completely inflamed from a punch received to the face, his nose was bleeding and he was holding some ice covered in a rug to soak the blood in it. From what you could see, his lip was busted as well and his breathing was coming out of his mouth, almost in a pant.

“Steve, what happened?” Even in your hatred for him, seeing him this way made your heart fill with worry, pushing all of the other feelings aside. You were about to rise from the bed until Steve raised his hand up at you.

“I deserved it.” He looked towards the hallway and your eyes widened when you saw Billy coming into view, a pack of frozen peas on his right hand, his eyes glaring at Steve as he passed by him and into your room. His eyes turned to yours and you couldn’t help but look up at him, completely stunned. Steve groans and closes the door for you two as he heads downstairs.

“What… Did you…?” You stutter as you sit back on your bed, seeing Billy’s injured hand as he sat on your bed too, nodding as he looked at you.

“I sure as hell did. Fucker deserved it. He told me everything, from the very beginning, and also what he said to you on Saturday night right after I left.” You feel your face flush with embarrassment and you look down at your hands again. You are not understanding what is going on, nor why Steve would go and tell your life story to Billy. “Though I have to say… Your brother does care for you.” You scoff at that.

“Right. Like he cared for me the past two years.” You reply with venom in your voice and you feel Billy scoot closer to you.

“He knows. He knows what he did to you. Your freshman year was the punch on the eye, your sophomore year was on his lip… And what he said on Saturday was the one on the nose.” He lets out a chuckle and you feel mixed emotions to that. You were happy that he defended your honor, but Steve was still your brother and you didn’t want physical harm to come to him.

“Don’t punch him again… Please.” You slowly looked up at Billy and his blue eyes were already looking at you. Your heart rate picked up the longer he stared at you.

“Do you really believe what he said to you that night?” He asks you, a small worried tone behind his voice. You feel yourself gulp and you look away in embarrassment or nervousness, you no longer know.

“I– After years of feeling this way, it was a very possible scenario.” You say to him in a low voice, your fingers playing with each other. You see him put the bag of peas away, and his hands look for yours. You look down to see his right hand completely bruised up, some skin completely chipped off on his knuckles. You gasp at that and his hold gets stronger on you, making you look up at him. He was closer now, making your breathing get stuck in your throat.

“How can I prove to you that I want you? How can I prove to you that I like you, that I like you very much that I drive myself insane with this fucking feeling, because god knows I am not good with relationships…” For the first time you see a blush come to his cheeks, and his gaze looks down at your connected hands, like how you do when you get nervous. “But I wanna try that with you.”

Your heart leapt out of your mouth almost, not truly believing what was happening, but the bruised knuckles made it more real, the blush on his cheeks made you realize it was no dream at all. This man in front of you wants you, despite it all, and you both have so many broken pieces to pick up inside one another, but you figure that you can help each other. You can mend his heart back, as he can mend yours.

“I think… The first step would be a date…” You say to him almost in a whisper and he chuckles as he looks up at you. He squints slightly at that as if in thought as your smile grows on your face while looking at him.

“I have an idea for it. I think they are showcasing the new Rambo movie.” He says to you with a smirk to his face and your mouth fell open at that, shaking your head.

“I am not watching an action movie on our first date!” He chuckles at that, his face coming closer to yours slowly, and you feel magnetized to him as you both leaned into one another.

“Oh, I bet you prefer the one where the bad boy goes for the intelligent and perfect girl, that genre, right?” You squint at him, pretending to be offended by his words.

“Don’t act like you don’t like those movies Hargrove.” At that he chuckles, his left hand snaking to the back of your neck to pull you closer to him, a soft breath hitting your lips as he talks.

“I might have a thing for romance.” His lips touched yours again, and you smiled through the kiss, your own hands resting on the back of his head to pull him deeper into the kiss, to taste him even better. Your lips moved along with his, taking in eachother’s breaths, bodies coming closer at each second.

“Don’t fuck my sister, I draw the line there. Not today, not with me here.” You both heard Steve’s voice behind the door, making Billy groan in annoyance and pull away from you to glare at the door as the steps could be heard and another door closes down the hallway.

“I am punching him again.” Billy says and you were glaring at the door too.

“My turn.”

A/N: Well shit, I hope you enjoyed. IT TURNED OUT TO BE A ONE SHOT.

8K notes · View notes

charliemwrites · 2 months

Text

Squeeze Me, I Squeak!

While your interactions with Lieutenant Riley started out cold and tense, he's been warming up to your secondary specialty. Apparently, you make for a great stress-toy. (In which Ghost is a brat with authority, but you don't mind. You're a bit of a brat too.)

Original AO3 Link (I posted this a million years ago to AO3 and it was my first ever COD fic, inspired by a Discord chat and Badjhur audios. I figured it's about time I added it to the Tumblr masterlist for ease.)

Content: Dom/Sub Dynamics, Fraternization (therefore power imbalance), Medical Care (non-descriptive), Body Piercings, Safe/Sane/Consensual Intimacy

It starts with one simple catalyst: your cheeks.

You’ve been with the 141 for over half a dozen missions now. Three bullet grazes, two concussions, four sprains, and one nasty cold into your assignment under Captain Price, and quite pleased to be there. He’s a good leader, trustworthy and steadfast, a bastion of experience and skill shielding your unconventional squad from red tape and repercussion.

Time is a little more fluid for you as the combat medic. You’re awake about twice as long as you’re ever asleep. Anxiety tugs you from fitful rest to check on your patients – your boys – if any of them are laid up with more than a dislocation. It makes the days long, nights longer, and you’ve lost track of how many calendar months since you’ve officially been with the task force.

Long enough, though, that you feel like you’ve got a handle on your squad and their personalities.

Captain Price is a grump about medical care. He understands the necessity, but resents the paperwork, time, materials, energy that goes into it. He’s gracious to let you fuss (within reason) and you’re gracious to ignore his old man grumbling. And the cigars.

Gaz is an absolute peach. Sits still, asks for painkillers when he needs them, follows care instructions. The worst he does is whine, but that’s only for the silly little injuries and the occasional flu shot. He’s respectful, sometimes a little bashful, and friendly. He makes you feel welcome, bought you your first drink with the squad after a mission, and generally is a sweetheart.

Soap is fun. A bit rambunctious and fidgety on your table, but he tries, at least. Not as careful as you’d like him to be. He’ll give you a sheepish smile whenever you fuss that he’s pulling his stitches or straining a healing joint. He whines like a banshee over everything except the serious wounds, but paradoxically has to be strong-armed into painkillers for anything. He reminds you a bit of a husky.

His brand of friendliness comes with jokes and teasing, flirtations that he’s careful to never take too far. You’ll indulge him in return sometimes, especially if he’s having a rough go of it, but it’s all in good fun. A lot of your downtime is spent in his and Gaz’s company, chatting about anything and everything, playing video games, or trying (the operative word here) to read. He’s also, unfortunately, the one who came up with your nickname.

Then there’s the lieutenant. You call him “the lieutenant” because you get the impression that he’d toss you out a window if you dared even utter his call sign.

The 141 isn’t your first assignment; you’ve been a combat medic for long enough that you’ve seen the full range of patients in the military. You’re no stranger to the puffed-up hyper-masculine men that practically resent your specialization.

“Like they think I’ll take their Man Card just for getting a plaster,” you’d once commiserated with a fellow medic.

The lieutenant goes a step beyond that. The best you can get out of him on a good day are one-word answers. A good day is if he’s hauling someone else to you. When it’s him that needs the care, well… you two often don’t meet eye to eye. And not just because he’s roughly the size (and build) of a tank.

On your third mission with him, he suffered a knife wound to the hip. You hadn’t been able to judge how deep it was between his gear and his evasiveness and you’d lost your temper.

“Lieutenant Riley, stand fucking still,” you snapped.

“The fuck did you just say to me?” he snarled.

And oh, you regretted every word you’d ever spoken in that moment. Had felt, with some certainty, that enemy combatants were not going to be what did you in. Cursed Price a little too, blaming him for this somehow.

But you were tired and a little pissed and had about a million other things to do that weren’t chase after your lieutenant.

“I said standing fucking still,” you dared repeat, raising your voice.

“I’ll have you booked with insubordination so fast, your fucking head will spin,” he growled.

“Medical treatment outranks everyone, sir,” you snapped back, just as fast. You were already snapping gloves on; he was finally still, after all, even if it was to yell at you. “So if anyone can be written up, it’s you.”

“Lass—” Soap tried, but you were already ducking down, eyes narrowed and gauze in hand.

You were relieved to see that it wasn’t too bad. Slathered it with antibiotic and pinched it closed with butterflies, then straightened. It was done in under a minute and you were even more annoyed than before.

“All that for fucking what,” you grumbled to yourself. Not quietly enough, apparently.

“That’ll do,” the lieutenant barked.

The unholy burning in his eyes informed you that you’d pushed your luck far, far enough.

You shut up and skittered off, had not been written up for insubordination, but received a well-meant ‘cool it’ from Price afterwards.

And Lieutenant Riley was… well, he was himself.

He doesn’t make you bitch at him anymore, though – and you would be lying if you weren’t a bit proud of that. By no means is he jumping to get treated, but he comes to you for the serious injuries and obliges if you manage to catch the non-fatal stuff.

It’s not that you hold it against him. Medics are a sore spot for a lot of people, and Lieutenant Riley is more private than the average soldier. He’s never actively rude, at least, apart from that one spat. Gruff and short maybe, but not mean. And you’re quite happy to have that, at least.

Besides, he watches out for you in the field, where it matters. Has literally hauled you to safety by your straps more than once. Ensures you get into exfil before him. You’ve even caught him giving you a quick, assessing check that all your gear was secure and ready.

You and he bicker at each other still, and you don’t always come out victorious. There have been plenty of instances that he’s just marched away from you, long legs carrying him to some dark corner when he won’t entertain your nagging. Still, there’s growing respect between you two, you sense. He’s a solid CO, if much different from Price, confident and competent without being arrogant. And, well, he can be a bit rude (“abrupt” you demur to Soap, who cackles) but not disrespectful.

On his end, you think things change when he gets injured. Again. You don’t know exactly what’s happened, only that he was a little too close to an explosion. The edges of his balaclava are burnt, one damning edge melted to the skin of his neck. The real issue is the deep laceration that’s sliced through the fabric. From what you can see, it starts behind his ear and slashes around his temple to take a sizable chip from the edge of his hard mask.

His bell has been rung enough that he’s silent when Soap drops him on your cot.

You do a concussion test – thank whatever higher powers there might be that he passes – and reassess the situation. He’s bleeding, he’s burnt, his mask is a hindrance. Most other medics would pry the thing off and treat him regardless of his feelings on the matter.

But you’re not any other medic, you’re the 141’s medic. You have candy for Gaz and fidget toys for Soap and carry nicotine patches or gum for Price. Lieutenant Riley hardly even pulls his mask up to drink in front of you still. He doesn’t trust easily (maybe not at all) but you’ve managed not to fuck up this far and you won’t start now.

“Need to take the skull off,” you inform him, “the balaclava can stay.”

His shoulders drop just the smallest micro-fraction. You’ve made the right choice.

He lets you pull the hard mask away, eyes flickering to yours when you set it within his reach. You blink at him, just once, trying to convey that for all your differences and squabbles before, you’re his squad-mate, his medic, and you’re on his side.

Then you turn to the bleeding.

“Going to cut a bigger hole,” you warn.

You don’t know if he’s listening, if he cares, if he’d prefer you to be quiet. You do this for Gaz and Soap, and you’ll do it for him until he tells you otherwise.

The surgical scissors make a perfect, neat line through the fabric. Blood stains dirty blond hair beneath your gloves, flattening the curls. It’s a nasty wound, deep enough that it’ll need stitches. You tell him as much as you clean it, efficient without being rough. You don’t coddle your boys; they don’t need it. The kindest thing you can do is always to just get it over with.

As you numb his skin and prep the sutures, you begin explaining the care instructions. It’ll cut down the amount of time he’ll have to hang around after you’ve finished treatment.

You fall quiet as you start stitching him up, bottom lip between your teeth to focus on speed and accuracy. On your little rolling stool, you’re trying not to loom over his prone form. Plenty of soldiers have bad reactions to being leaned over like this, and you’d expect it from any of the 141.

Your hand is starting to cramp by the time you get to the sharp cheekbone where the injury ends, but it’s done – possibly in record time. As you sit back to check your work, you catch his eye. His gaze is so heavy that you’re shocked you didn’t feel its weight this whole time. There’s an odd glint to it, the calmest you’ve ever seen from him. Especially on your medical cot.

“All good, sir?” you ask.

“Affirmative.”

“The burn now.”

You don’t touch him, just direct his head at a good angle to treat his neck. You have to numb that too, see more of the tension drain from him when it takes effect. Christ, you hadn’t even noticed. He’s like a statue sometimes, bearing wounds that would have most other people in shambles.

“Burns are the worst,” you agree. “I hate getting them, hate treating them.”

“There anything you like treating?” he grumbles.

You hum. “Common cold. All you big boys get sleepy and nasally and pathetic.”

There’s a little puff of air that you recognize from comm banter with Soap – he’s amused. You’ve managed to get something like a laugh out of him. Buoyed by this, you proceed with the delicate process of treating melted fabric.

“Pathetic, eh? Tell Johnny you said that.”

“I already told him when he got sick,” you gloat. “He pouted. Might have a picture of it somewhere.”

When you chance to look away from your work, you catch his eye again, peering at you from his peripheral. You flash a grin – a little goofy from the high of a positive reaction – and then turn back.

“That legal?” he asks. “Pictures of patients.”

You arch an eyebrow, knowing he’ll see it. “Are you going to lecture me about GDPR, Lieutenant Riley?”

“Not if it doesn’t become my problem.”

You chuckle a little – heartened by your progress and by his unusual talkativeness. “Hasn’t yet,” you point out.

More likely to be Price’s problem, anyway. Probably.

He lets you fall silent again to concentrate. Despite the severity, the affected area is smaller than you initially thought. It’ll be painful and scar like hell, but no skin grafts are necessary. You report this with obvious relief – good news all around as far as you’re concerned.

When you’re finally done, you scoot your chair back and turn to his (heavily redacted) chart, scribbling out the diagnosis and treatment. As you’re signing your initials, he calls for you by last name, tugging your gaze up.

“Was there something else, Lieutenant?” you ask, already scanning him for other injuries.

“Need one more thing from you.”

You hum in question, folding his chart over. His hand comes up, still gloved.

And then he takes your cheek between thumb and forefinger. And pinches.

Your brain spits static, eyes going wide in shock and confusion. It takes you a beat to respond, and then only because his fingers tighten to the point it starts to ache.

“Ow, Lieutenant—” you complain, still too surprised to really snap, one eye closing to express discomfort.

He releases you, staring at the spot he just grabbed. It’s probably already turning red.

“Anyone ever tell you,” he drawls, slow and measuring, “how round your cheeks are?”

Now you’re red for a different reason. You rub at the skin and scrunch your nose, unsuccessfully telling yourself that you’re not pouting like you joked Soap did.

“No,” you huff, “because most people aren’t dumb enough to say that to their medic.”

Your brain still isn’t working right because there’s no way you’d be implying that Lieutenant Riley is dumb if it was. The most personable you two have gotten before now was him buying you a drink after a mission, but he’d been buying everyone else a drink at the time.

“Not afraid of you, Squeaks.”

“I’m aware, Lieutenant.”

You’re hoping he’ll drop it, a little confused but also a little… flattered? It’s difficult to parse what you’re feeling when he’s still staring at you with those dark, glittering eyes. Not that you’re looking. No, definitely not. In fact, you are doing your damnedest not to look at his eyes. Or his face.

Which is why you notice him tugging his glove off. And then reaching for you – for your face – again.

“Hey—” you start, but he’s already squeezing, just before the point you’d fussed last time.

“Want me to stop?” he asks.

… No.

“Want to know what you’re doin’,” you deflect, brows furrowing.

Why are you letting him do this? You shouldn’t let him do this. It’s not that it hurts. It’s just… principle. Military isn’t an especially touchy-feely cuddly career field. Soap and Gaz are fairly tactile, true, but not… like this. But, well, maybe you’ve missed it. This. Touches like this. Haven’t seen friends you’re close to in a long time, don’t have this kind of relationship with your family. Haven’t had a partner in… a depressingly long time, and even then, it always took a while to get to this level of casual intimacy – if you got there at all.

“Thought that was obvious,” the lieutenant replies.

The other hand, still gloved, finds your opposite cheek and pinches that one too. Your eyes are forced narrow as the skin is manipulated, bunched up. You make a noise in the back of your throat, tilting your head to accommodate.

“’S not,” you mumble. “Who are you, my auntie?”

“’M scarier than your auntie.”

You snort, edges of your mouth tugging up despite how he’s pulling your cheeks.

“Never met my auntie, then,” you giggle.

Noticing your grin, he lets one go, only to gently crush both in his ungloved hand. And god, it’s so big that he could span your jaw from middle finger to thumb. Instead, he smooshes your face until your mouth puckers. You must look like a fish – a dumbstruck, awkward fish.

“Sir,” you slur out. He squeezes a little tighter, cutting off your ability to speak. Good thing, probably; you’re not sure what you would have said next.

“Like a little stress ball you are,” he muses, almost to himself.

That does prompt a laugh from you, the absurdity of the entire situation making you a little light- headed. Here is your huge, terrifying lieutenant, practically more legend than man, squishing your cheeks like a particularly long-suffering but beloved pet. You, the team medic, the person who pokes and prods at them more often than not. The one person in the 141 that you always thought he barely tolerated.

“Next time I’m on the edge of tearin’ my hair out, I’ll just come to you for a squeeze.”

He emphasizes this with one last, extra scrunch that makes you humph in mild discomfort. But when he finally lets you go, you grin and shake your head, somehow more amused than annoyed or offended. It seems like you finally might be growing on your lieutenant. That’s nothing to sneeze at.

“Try it and you’ll lose a finger, sir,” you tease.

“Like to see you try it, Squeaks.”

Your mistake was thinking that Simon “Ghost” Riley makes idle threats. (Not that you think that he was threatening you; if he was you know you’d know it.)

He’s been out training recruits by himself – Gaz and Price on a mission, Soap laid up with a twisted knee – a task that already tends to irritate him. Add to that, the weather is fucking miserable. Hot as hell but also a little rainy, meaning that it’s humid as a swamp. Probably has been making his stitches and burn itch beneath the mask.

When he storms into the common room at the end of the day, you and Soap exchange looks. A lot of assassin-soldier to be barreling into a small room – and making a beeline straight for you.

“Uh, sir?” you yelp. Consider a tactical retreat, but even that brief deliberation is too long. He crowds you against the counter you were making tea at and grabs your face.

He still has his gloves on, rough and uncomfortable on your skin. You wrinkle your nose, try to pull back, but his grip is too tight, so you just submit yourself to whatever is happening.

Apparently, “de-stress” is happening.

His smooshes your face just like he had in the infirmary, and some of the tension in his shoulders drops. You blink as his grip relaxes, then tenses. And then again. And again. Again, again, again. It dawns on you that he’s literally treating your cheeks like his own personal stress ball.

You should be insulted. Outraged. You’re not a toy.

“All good, LT?” Soap ventures. Sounds like he’s defusing a bomb.

“Fine, Johnny,” Ghost replies, almost absently. “Long day.”

“Recruits bein’ idjets, then?”

“Fuckin’ muppets,” he agrees, less heated than he’d normally be.

Huh, you think. Is this… actually working?

You make eye contact with Johnny. He looks more blindsided than you, a bit like he’s witnessing your murder instead of being accosted by your strained lieutenant.

“Couldn’t find their way out of a paper bag with a map.”

He squeezes a little tighter as he says it, prompting a noise of protest from you. It doesn’t hurt yet, but your teeth are rubbing against soft tissue. He eases up again and meets your eyes, half-lidded and a touch warmer than you’re used to. The skin around his eyes eases bit by bit, and the line of his jaw beneath the balaclava looks relaxed.

You settle then, resting your weight back against the counter. Nothing untoward is happening, just Ghost being… honestly, a little weird. It’s a nice thought actually, that your big scary LT is a weirdo. The kind of weirdo that would rather squish his medic than a stress ball.

Makes sense in a way, with how he’s always covered up and keeping a safe distance (physically and emotionally) between himself and others. Probably touch starved. Not sure why he’s picked you, but you’re happy that he did.

After a few minutes you pat his wrist, a gentle double tap. Like sparring. He lets you go.

“I’m making tea if you’d like a cup?” you offer.

“Yeah, Sergeant. Earl Grey, left side of the cabinet.”

“Yessir.”

You can feel Soap squinting.

“Since when are you two so chummy, eh?” he asks.

“Since always,” Ghost replies as if Soap is an idiot.

With your back turned, he can’t see the grin that would surely give you away. “Yeah, Soap, where’ve you been?”

“Och, now you’re taking the piss.”

You hand Ghost his tea and sit down to let Soap rant.

It has become a habit. Ghost gets annoyed at recruits, paperwork, bad intel – your cheeks get squished like it’s a family reunion. He starts removing his gloves at least. Warm, calloused hands are much more comfortable than textured gloves. You’re starting to look forward to it, even.

It’s not a long process. He’ll come find you, smoosh up your face until you wrinkle your nose, and then continues with his day, shoulders looser than when he appeared. You usually complain, whine that you’re in the middle of something, that he didn’t even warn you, that his grip is too tight. But you never push him away or pull back. And he always honors your little tap-taps if you need to be freed before he’s ready to let go.

By this point, everyone on the team has seen it. Soap no longer brings it up, but sometimes informs you when Ghost appears with that Look about him. Gaz floundered the first time he saw it, stuttering and stumbling until Ghost told him to spit it out or shut up. Once after that, he asked if he could squeeze you for stress relief. You had to make Ghost let go from how tight his hand went. Gaz didn’t ask again.

Price, shockingly enough, takes in the situation, then settles you with a nonjudgmental look.

“Solid, Sergeant?”

“Yessir,” you manage around your pressed cheeks, adding a thumbs up.

“As you were, then.”

And that was that.

Of course, with jobs like yours, some days are more stressful than others. Some days are hell on Earth. This mission wasn’t quite that, but it did go to shit in a handbasket, and you’re ragged by the end of it. Gaz dislocated a shoulder, Soap is concussed. Price has a nasty road rash across one arm that he was a bit of an ass about tending – not that you’d say as much.

Even you are scuffed up. A hostile split your lip with a nasty jab that caught you off guard. (Ghost, right behind you at the time, stabbed the guy with vicious prejudice. You’re trying not to be flattered and trying not to think about what it means that you’re failing.) Besides that, you’re exhausted, dehydrated, and you’re pretty sure you hurt your back trying to stabilize Soap at some point.

Ghost is the only one that made it out unscathed as far as you can tell. You also know that that’s more likely to put him in a mood than if he’d suffered alongside you all. Cold and detached as he might seem, he doesn’t like seeing anyone in the 141 hurt on his watch.

You’re beside Soap, making sure he doesn’t fall asleep on the transport back to base, but you can feel Ghost’s eyes on you. You make eye contact across the aisle. His shoulders are tight, arms crossed, hands clenching and unclenching. He’s too disciplined to tap his foot or bounce his leg, but you know he would be if he was anyone else.

When you land, you send Soap to the infirmary for observation. Price decides on debrief after breakfast the next morning and slinks off to his office. Gaz follows after Soap to get painkillers and a sling. You shoot Ghost a long, tired look.

“Can’t be a stress ball today,” you tell him, “my mouth hurts.”

“I know.”

But still, he’s standing too close to you at the armory where you’ve returned your weapons. His shoulders are bent slightly towards you, hands twitching at his sides. In all honesty, you wish that you could do your usual destress routine – because as much as he seems to enjoy having something/someone to squeeze, you enjoy having to sit still for a few moments of physical contact just as much.

And after thinking Soap cracked his skull, Gaz lost his arm, your captain got skinned, you need to decompress. And you need to do it with Ghost, who saved each and every one of you today.

“C’mon,” you say and, taking a chance, grab his hand.

He hums in question, but allows you to lead, careful not to grip too tight. The bones there are too delicate, and you need them in working order as their medic. He can’t be so rough with them.

You practically drag him to the common room and put on the kettle. Understanding, Ghost preps the mugs and sachets of preferred tea. When the water is hot enough, you each make your tea, then tug him to the couch. You direct him into the corner – and it’s only then that you hesitate.

Instinct is to climb into his lap. He’s a big man and you want to be cradled, but you also suspect the weight and warmth of another body would be soothing to him too. Instead, you clamber up as close to him as you can get, wedging your shoulder against his rubs and encouraging his arm around you.

It seems like he hesitates for a moment too. This is the most contact you two have ever had, regardless of how close he usually stands when he’s squeezing your face. Right now, you’re pressed together all down one side, your thigh overlapping his a little. After a moment, though, he releases a long breath and curls his arm around you. His hand settles naturally on your hip.

It’s not long after that that the squeezing starts.

He's still got his gloves on and the skin on your hip is sensitive, usually hidden under layers of clothes, but you’re too snuggled in to disturb the arrangement now. Between the heat he radiates like a furnace, and your steaming tea, you’re quickly cozy and spaced out. The rhythm of his hand kneading plush flesh is soothing, something to drift back to while your mind goes blissfully blank of anything but safe, warm, comfy, quiet.

At some point, your mostly empty cup is plucked from your hand. You mumble a thank you and curl in closer, both legs over his lap now. His other hand rests on your lower thigh, just above your knee, and begins squeezing there too. Almost a massage, if not for the near-rough way he grips you.

“Like a cat,” you mumble, head lolling onto his shoulder.

“Hm?”

“Cat making biscuits.”

There’s a huff of air. You smile faintly and tilt your head away from the suddenly too-bright lights of the common room. Don’t even realize you’ve tucked into his neck until he rubs his jaw over the top of your head.

“’S nice,” you whisper.

He hums. You think it might be agreement. Must be, Ghost wouldn’t be entertaining this if he didn’t. It’s a reassuring thought to drift off with, knowing that no matter what you want, he’ll never do something just to be nice.

You wake the next morning horizontal, something too firm to be a pillow under your head. When you sit up a little, Ghost’s dark eyes are peering at you, heavy as usual, but not as sharp. His chest rumbles beneath your chin in greeting.

“Mine or yours?” you mumble.

“Mine.”

You hum, too sleepy to let the implications of such a big gesture make you anxious right now.

“You’re a bad pillow,” you say instead.

It’s a lie. He’s a wonderful pillow. Jacked as he is, all that muscle is so plush and cushiony when it’s relaxed like this. Helps, also, that he’s still so warm.

“Slept on me just fine,” he grunts. “Drooled a little, too.”

“Did not.”

“Explain the wet spot on my tits then.”

You say the first thing that comes to mind. “Lactating.”

“You’re a freak.”

“Stones in glass houses, sir.”

You close your eyes again for a moment, enjoying the dark room and heat beneath you. The best night of sleep you’ve gotten in a long while, honestly. Especially with so much of the team injured.

There’s a tug at your hair, gentler than you usually get from Ghost.

“Get the fuck up, Squeaks,” he gruffs without any heat. In fact, he sounds like he’d rather you didn’t. “Need to piss and eat.”

“At the same time?” you tease. You’d sound more scandalized if you weren’t still half asleep.

“You’re fucking disgusting.”

He rolls you onto the mattress and pushes himself up.

“Meet back here in fifteen. Fresh clothes, fresh face.”

“Gonna squish it?” you ask.

“Maybe later, see how the day goes.” He pinches one of your cheeks anyway. Still rougher than most people would be, but for him it’s downright tender. You try not to lean into it, not sure if you succeed. Don’t think either of you cares, really.

You lay there for another moment, listening to him bustle around his quarters, getting new clothes it sounds like.

“How copy, sergeant?”

“Solid, sir.”

“Fifteen.”

“Yessir.”

You haul yourself up and trudge out of his room for a shower. Gonna need all fifteen of those minutes.

Breakfast is a quiet but pleasant affair. Gaz is using his sling and sore as all hell, but in high spirits. Soap is exhausted from two-hour wakeups and the sensitivity the concussion has left him with. The painkillers are helping, and despite all that, he’s in a decent (if slightly subdued) mood.

You snatch up a couple of dry muffins and an orange juice for Price before heading to debrief, plopping it all on his desk when you enter his office. Your efforts are rewarded with a fond smile.

Gaz and Soap take the two single chairs, probably afraid of falling asleep on the couch. That’s where you and Ghost end up, you pressed up against the arm and him… right next to you.

Not that you’re complaining. His thigh pressed against yours is a nice comfort. Reminiscent of how he made you feel the night before. A reminder that he’s here, that he’s solid and safe while you all recount the mission from the day before. If Price is shocked by you two practically nested up together, he doesn’t show it.

Somewhere along the way, your hand reaches for something to fiddle with. You’re not as restless as Soap, but you like something to keep busy while you’re thinking or anxious. Usually you tear up the inside of your mouth biting your lips, but you don’t want to aggravate the healing split. Your fingers land on the pocket of Ghost’s cargos. The material is thick, the stitching an interesting texture, and the pockets have snaps that are quiet enough to play with during debrief.

Ghost lets you fidget in peace, only giving you a slight nod when you glance at him to check. His arm is resting along the couch behind you, and you can feel his fingers twisting into your loose hair. Fair exchange, you figure, and settle in.

There’s a brief call with Laswell to discuss next steps. You listen, but not closely. You’re just a medical sergeant after all. Your opinion is considered when offered, but you’re not much of a strategist or tactician. Mostly, you go where you're directed, do as you're told, and keep everyone in one piece as best you can.

When it’s over, Soap helps haul you off the couch while Ghost stands, clipping his thigh pocket closed again.

“Good to see you two getting along,” Price calls as you’re leaving.

You glance over your shoulder, catch the smirk on his face, and stick out your tongue. And then promptly bolt, lest you be reprimanded for insubordination. It’s a common threat in the 141; you’re not sure if anyone has actually been written up for it outside of a mission. You don’t want to be the one to find out, though.

Soap cackles at you, Gaz calls you chicken shit. Ghost ruffles your hair and steers you towards his office.

“Oi, where are you two off to?” Gaz asks.

“Paperwork,” Ghost replies shortly.

News to you, but sure. Some company would be nice while you fill out forms. That becomes mildly more difficult when he plops you into his lap, but you make do. Ghost keeps his office cold – all those layers, you figure – and the chair across from his desk is purposefully uncomfortable to discourage lingering. His broad thighs make a much better, warmer seat. The fact that he circles an arm around your waist, hugging you like a kid with a teddy bear is just a bonus. For all that, you’d figure out how to do reports on water.

You two should probably talk about this, or something. There are regulations or codes of conduct prohibiting this sort of behavior. Never mind that the interpersonal lines (the ones you actually care about) are starting to blur. But well, you don’t have a problem with all this, and you wouldn’t be breathing if he did. So, well, there’s not much to talk about, is there?

“Hey, LT?”

“Mm.”

You watch him sign the bottom of a report, his signature an efficient and jagged thing, somehow still elegant. Like watching him practice with his knives. He flexes his hand when it’s done. You two have been at it for a while now. He hasn’t said a word, but you know Ghost despises paperwork. You could both use a break.

“You ever seen Halloween?”

“The horror movie?” He pauses, thinks about it. “Yeah.”

“The next one is going to take place in the summer. Guess he’ll be Michael Perspires.”

He goes still behind you. “What.”

“He’s gotten a job as an electrician. Michael Wires.”

You keep your face forward and down, pretending to work, trying to swallow back hysterical giggles.

“Squeaks…”

“He’s into arson now as well. Michael Fires.”

His arm tightens around your waist. You wish you could see his face, but you know you’ll break if you look. “Shut the fuck up.”

“He didn’t tell the truth on his resume. Michael Liars.”

“If you make another shitty Michael Myers pun, I swear to god—”

“You don’t like them?” you ask, grin so wide it hurts. “I’m going to Michael Cry-ers.”

“God fucking dammit, Squeaks.”

You burst into laughter that is quickly cut short by his arm constricting like a snake. Even with your air supply diminished, wheezing a bit, you kick your feet in delight.

“G-Guess… guess you’re…” you struggle to get it out between the lack of oxygen and your giggles. “Guess you’re M-Michael Tires of this joke.”

“I’m going to make you regret breathing at our next sparring session.”

And oh, you believe him. Your LT doesn’t make idle threats. But you’re telling yourself that it’s so worth it this time. Soap is going to give you a fucking medal for this. You know, assuming Ghost doesn’t snipe you when you try to tell the story.

You’re still cackling, but it turns to squeals when you feel sharp pressure on your shoulder.

He’s biting you.

“L-LT!” you gasp, scrabbling to push at his forehead without dislodging his mask. “Fine, fine, I’ll stop!”

He growls, the sound burning through you, straight to the pit of your stomach. You choose to ignore that in exchange for the oddly ticklish sensation of him gnawing through your shirt.

Knowing by now that you won’t be free until he’s ready, you just try to sit still and not spur him on further. After a moment, he unlocks his jaw and speaks in your ear, voice low but unmistakably amused.

“Medic, stress ball, comedian, chew toy – anything you can’t do, Sergeant?” he snarks.

You scrunch your nose at this new designation. “I am not a chew toy.”

“Seem pretty chewy to me,” he muses, sinking his teeth in again. You bark out reactive laughter and squirm, but his hold hasn’t loosened a bit and you’re trapped against him.

“LT,” you complain like usual. “You’re going to leave a mark.”

He doesn’t respond verbally, but you feel his teeth dig in a little harder. Well, that’s new. You still don’t push him away, a not-so-small or secret part of you pleased by the idea of him leaving a bruise. It wouldn’t even be visible. Just something to remind you of the trust your lieutenant has in you, in the bond you two have formed, unorthodox as it is.

You hand him a bottle of water when he finally releases you, to sooth his undoubtedly dry mouth. There’s a wet patch on your shirt (and probably your underwear) but you ignore it to return to your reports. He seems a little less reluctant to join you now, pleasingly.

You’re not so sure about the “chew toy” thing, but you definitely seem to be an effective stress relief.

You’re having a great day. No one is injured, you’re caught up on paperwork. You pinned both Soap and Gaz during sparring earlier, earning a proud nod from Ghost and Price. There were pudding cups at lunch, and you’ve made plans with the rest of the team to watch a movie in the common room tonight. Even your antisocial LT agreed to come.

In fact, he’s the first one there when you arrive in the early evening. You chirp a hello, heading for the pantry for popcorn. Soap and Gaz can’t be trusted to make it without setting off the fire alarms.

Ghost hums in return, but he seems content to scroll on his phone, saving his energy for socializing. You don’t mind his silence, never do. Not like he can chat when he’s biting you like a teething puppy. And he has been. A lot. His new favorite form of stress relief, apparently, apart from squishing your cheeks like usual.

If there’s privacy for it, his teeth have been imprinting your arms, shoulders, even your hands in perfect pinpricked circles. He’s not any gentler about it than he is smooshing up your face, and a couple times now you’ve discovered bruises later on. You suspect that’s his aim, especially when he’s more aggravated than stressed. A way to release aggression without wasting bullets at the range or beating the stuffing out of someone in the ring.

You don’t mind, no matter how you complain aloud. It was a sudden step up in intimacy, but you like the feeling of his teeth on you. A way to get that soothing moment of forced stillness without losing the ability to speak, eat, or look around. And you’d be lying if you said you didn’t like the mark either. Feels like a claim, one you’re not sure is actually being made – but you’re allowed to dream.

That said, Ghost is a bastard about it. If you thought he was pushy before, pinching your cheeks at inopportune times, the biting could almost be classified as a nuisance. Several times now, someone has walked into the common room to your forearm between Ghost’s jaws. You’ve lost count of how many conversations with Soap or Gaz have been interrupted by your lieutenant’s canines sinking into your shoulder or the meat of your thumb, tongue swiping excess saliva from bare skin.

You’re ruminating on this as your fellow sergeants filter in, joking and laughing about something stupid the recruits did earlier.

Ghost has hardly looked up from his phone, only jerks his head in acknowledgement when they greet him. His shoulders are loose; he’s relaxed. You know better than to mistake it for being unaware of the environment, but… well, if there were ever a time for payback…

You leave the popcorn to finish in the microwave and stroll over to the couch. To your delight, Ghost shuffles a little to make room for you, an obvious invitation to cuddle up. It’s almost enough to distract you from your mission. Almost.

You perch on the edge of the cushion, hook a thumb under the edge of his shirt. The break in routine draws his attention but doesn’t seem to raise any alarms. He flicks his gaze up from the screen to catch your eyes. You lock gazes, tug the fabric up just the tiniest sliver. Then dart down and blow a deafening raspberry into the toned skin of his stomach.

There’s a moment of dead silence. Then you scramble up and bolt, yelping when you hear the heavy thump of boots behind you.

“Squeaks, you little shit!” he snarls, Manchester accent thicker than usual. And he gives Soap shit.

“I’m sorry, I’m sorry!” you lie, revealed by your breathless giggles.

“I’ll make you sorry!”

You believe him.

You skitter around Price, calling a frantic “hi, sir” as you stumble to keep your footing. Ghost doesn’t even bother with pleasantries, solely focused on getting ahold of you. Your only saving grace is being able to take corners faster than him, but his long legs eat distance like nothing and it’s only two hallways later that you’re snatched right off your feet.

You squeal, not sure if it’s in terror or delight, as he hauls you up and over one broad shoulder.

“Ghost, wait no, I didn’t mean it!”

“Sure fucking seemed to,” he growls, manhandling a better grip on you.

You put up a bit of a struggle, but there's no question who would win even if you really did fight him. Instead, you press against his chest and arms, laughing as his fingertips dig roughly into your hips and thighs and waist.

“Earning your nickname today,” he mocks as he lugs you back to the common room.

When you arrive, Soap groans in dismay at your failure, Gaz taunts you for thinking you could get away with your stunt. Price just shakes his head, playing at exasperated but unable to hide his fondness. Ghost all but tosses you onto the couch and before you can scramble up, flops on top of you. All the breath is forced from your lungs with a little oof, feeling a bit like those animals that can flatten themselves to squeeze into small crevices.

“LT, I can’t breathe,” you whine. “You’re heavy.”

The cushions on the couch aren’t luxurious by any means, but they’re forgiving enough that you can, in fact, breathe. It’s just a little more difficult than usual. Not difficult enough to tap out, though. You like the weight of him on you.

“Should have thought about that before being a little shit.”

You grumble; don’t really have an argument for that but unwilling to cede the point.

“Oi, you two done?” Gaz calls. “I wanna watch the movie.”

Price snorts. Soap, angel that he is, offers you the bowl of popcorn.

“No one told you to wait, sergeant,” Ghost replies, bland.

“Yeah,” you second, muffled and admittedly pathetic sounding. “Takes you five minutes to figure out the sound anyway.”

“We all know you’re going to put the subtitles on, don’t know why the volume matters,” Soap chimes in.

“It’s only for the Captain’s sake,” Gaz defends.

“Now what are you implying, Garrick?” Price asks, silky and dangerous.

You snuggle in happily, enjoying the moment of peace and companionship. No shooting, no bleeding, no nightmares. Just the five of you, alive and healthy, enjoying this little family they’ve built and brought you into.

You don’t even realize you’ve fallen asleep until the pressure is gone, Ghost wedging his arms between your lax body and the couch. It’s cold without him as a personal blanket, and you curl into his arms with a discontent noise.

“Atta girl, Squeaks. I got you,” he rumbles.

You crack an eye open to check on everyone else by instinct. Gaz and Soap are leaning on each other, lightly snoring. It looks like Price is about to rouse them as well, but he shoots you and Ghost an especially soft look.

“Taking this one to bed, sir.”

“Be good to our girl, Lieutenant,” Price nods.

“As good as she is to us,” Ghost agrees.

You’re half-sure that you’re dreaming, but you smile at them both before tucking in and falling asleep again.

The next morning starts in Ghost’s bed, a place you find yourself often enough now that you recognize it as quickly as your own. You’re all tangled up in each other, more than usual. There are fingers in your hair, scraping across your scalp. You could purr it feels so good, pressing your face into Ghost’s chest to let him get a new spot.

“Didn’t even make it halfway through the movie,” he teases.

“Seen it before.”

“Gaz is going to be cross.”

“He’ll understand – getting chased takes a lot of you.”

“Don’t make me chase you down, then.”

You snort. If you have any say in it, you’ll be instigating games like that much more. Something about the big scary Ghost dashing after you over a stupid little prank – and knowing that the worst you’ll get out of it is a forceful cuddle – is not the deterrent it should be.

Still, there’s a pattern to this little game of yours. You can’t admit that you enjoy the play.

“Not my fault you can’t take what you dish,” you reply, twisting to nip his chest through his shirt, as if to prove your point.

It’s sharper than you would be with anyone else. Ghost, though, hums low and rough in his throat.

“I’ve never done that bullshit you pulled last night,” he grumbles.

“Lack of imagination on your part.”

He huffs, pinches your cheek and chuckles when you whine in complaint, muttering that it’s too early for his shit.

“C’mon, Squeaks, up and at ‘em. Before Soap takes all the blueberry.”

“Yessir…” you groan.

Ghost has been away. Price sent him and Gaz off on a stealth assignment, something that Soap is less suited to. Not that he couldn’t do it if needed, but it’s more Gaz’s specialty, so Price sent him. Soap isn’t too bummed about it, though. He’s been wreaking havoc around base with you casually egging him on from the sidelines, feeding into his chaos without being directly involved.

Not that Price would see it that way if he caught wind. But he hasn’t, so you’re not in trouble yet.

You might be after this though.

One drink too many, Soap complaining that you always play it safe. And, to his credit, you do. He and Gaz are the troublemakers, you just like to watch and occasionally add your two cents to the explosive mix. Price has joked before that you’re the best behaved amongst the group, even over Ghost.

Not only are you the least experienced with combat, but you’re also the team medic. It often leaves you feeling like you have to maintain a certain level of decorum and responsibility alongside your officers. It’s no wonder that you try to stay on the straight and narrow – the occasional snippy comment aside.

But this is beyond anything you’ve dared.

Soap has had enough to point out the parlor down the street and dare you. You’ve had enough to be goaded into spitefully proving a point. If Gaz were here, he might be clever enough to dare Soap into something else to get him to back down. If Ghost were here, he’d scruff you both like unruly kittens and haul you back to base. If Price were here, you’d be running laps until you puke.

Instead, it’s just you and Soap. Ghost and Gaz aren’t due back for a week and half, Price is probably buried waist deep in paperwork as usual. And there’s no one to tell you not to.

And so Soap gets his nipples pierced and you get your tongue re-pierced, and you both wake up the next day a little hungover and a lot sore.

You consider taking it out but… well.

You kinda missed having it.

And you want to see how long it’ll take Ghost to notice if you use your discreet jewelry.

You give Soap painkillers for his nipples and promise to hook him up with a good jewelry store recommendation. Then you spend the rest of the day trying not to talk. The rest of the week, really. If anyone notices, they don’t mention it. Soap is always happy to talk for the both of you.

By the time Gaz and Ghost return, it hardly hurts anymore. Still healing, yes, but it only aches in the mornings now. You fit the flat-topped, clear ring into the piercing and go to meet the boys on the tarmac.

They exit the aircraft together, Gaz chatting about something and Ghost humoring him in characteristic silence. When the latter sees you, though, he makes a beeline. You let out a surprised but pleased noise as you’re scooped up, mask wedging into the space beneath your jaw to press against your neck.

“Welcome back, sir,” you manage, squeezing his shoulders.

He grunts in reply. You shoot Gaz a questioning look.

“It was slow going,” he explains, “And the guys on the transport back were, uh, chatty.”

Ah. Set on your feet again, his gloved hands rise to squish your face like usual.

“Do the thing,” he gruffs.

You wrinkle your nose. Partially out of embarrassment, and partially because he’ll see the piercing if you’re not careful.

“That captain is—”

“That’s an order, sergeant.”

You sigh. Then poke your tongue out as he smooshes your face further. He exhales like the first hit of nicotine for the day. You keep the jewelry hidden behind your teeth and are released a few seconds later.

“That’s the stuff,” he says.

“Christ, LT, don’t say it like that,” you complain.

Unsurprisingly, he ignores you, turning to Price.

“Debrief now?”

“If you and Gaz don’t need medical.”

They both shake their heads, and you make no secret that you’re pleased by this news.

As you head into the building, you find Ghost’s finger hooked into your belt loop, tugging you along to Price’s office. You don’t mention it, only arch an eyebrow when you catch his eye.

At the door, Price pauses, giving Ghost a long, exasperated look.

“You know she’s not actually a service animal, son?”

“The intel isn’t confidential.”

Price sighs, drags a hand down his face. “Suppose not. Get the fuck in, then, Squeaks.”

You get the fuck in.

As usual, Ghost stands, and you’re obliged to stand with him. In front of him, actually, his chin settling on top of your head while his hands settle on your shoulders, squeezing and kneading at the muscle. You tune out most of the conversation, only here for Ghost’s sake, apparently.

Not that you mind. There’s a large, loud part of you that is glowing with the knowledge that he missed you so much.

When it’s over, he doesn’t even bother to stop at the mess hall. He picks you straight up and strides off to his quarters. You complain that he needs to eat, or at least drink water, but he doesn’t even deign your fussing with a response.

He closes and locks the door when you’re both inside, then tosses you on the bed. It smells overwhelmingly of him: metal, gunpowder, standard issue detergent, and something spicy. It’s a scent you’ve become intimately familiar with – could get addicted to, if you let yourself.

You settle in amongst the crisp sheets and thin pillows, Ghost sheds his tac gear like a second skin. When he’s down to his undershirt and boxers, barefoot on the cold ground, you open your arms.

He climbs over you as you giggle, then unapologetically drops all his weight. You make your usual little oof sound, suspecting that he likes it, and tilt your head so he can press his face (without the skull mask) into your shoulder.

“So how was it actually?” you ask.

“Gaz was antsy the whole time. Said he sensed you and Soap up to something without him.”

You snort, relieved that he can’t see the damning expression on your face right now.

“There isn’t anything to get up to when he’s not here causing it,” you lie.

“Don’t put anything past Soap, the crafty cunt.”

You grin, patting your hands lightly over his shoulder blades. “Nice alliteration.”

He hums, slowly going boneless beneath your rhythmless tapping.

“Mask,” he mutters.

It takes you a second to realize what he wants.

“You’re asking me to pull it up so you can bite me?” you scoff.

“Telling, not asking,” he grumbles.

“Oh for the love of…”

You do it anyway. It’s not long before you feel his teeth, always sharper than you expect, latch onto the base of your neck. You tilt your chin back to give him comfortable access, staring up at the ceiling. How often does he sit here after nightmares, staring at it? Does he do it even when you sleepover, clinging onto him like a koala?

You lay like that for a while, fingers finding the fine blond hair peeking out from his rolled balaclava and scritching. One of his hands wedges beneath himself to find your hip, squeezing you tight enough that his nails scrape across your pants.

“So what did you two get up to?” he asks, detaching eventually.

Your neck is aching pleasantly, mind drifting in peace, and you don’t realize what he’s asking at first.

“What?” you ask.

You try to suppress a shiver as his tongue drags over the saliva he left on your neck. This is a normal part of the process, but that doesn’t mean you’re immune to the pleasure it sends down your spine.

“You and Soap,” he clarifies. “What did you do?”

“It was mostly Soap,” you deflect, forgoing any attempt at innocence.

He snorts. “My problem?”

You consider, humming. “Probably not.”

“Probably?”

You shrug. “Don’t leave me unattended if you don’t want paperwork.”

He nips sharply at the hinge of your jaw. “Didn’t want to. Price said you don’t have enough experience if things went to shit.”

You don’t know how to feel that Ghost would have preferred you on a mission with him. Even over Soap? You know he’s fond of you, but you didn’t realize it was enough to have you partnered with him on missions. It makes your chest warm and fluttery. The bastard.

“He’s right,” you say instead of something unforgivably sentimental.

“Imagine he’ll overlook that when he finds out about your body candy.”

You squeak, eyes closing in regret. Well, it was a nice life while it lasted.

“That fast?” you ask.

“Saw it as soon as you opened that pretty mouth,” he answers.

“It’s clear!”

“Thought I wouldn’t see a piece of plastic in your mouth, sergeant?”

You sigh, barely even noticing the bite he leaves on your collarbone. When he pushes his chest up to look at you, he’s half-lidded, almost lazy looking. But the corner of his mouth quirks up, just that slightest bit you’ve become hypervigilant of. Your hands slide from his shoulders and curl into the front of his shirt.

“How much trouble am I in?” you venture.

“A world of it,” he replies, voice pitching low and rough in a way that’s just not fair.

“Soap did worse,” you complain, not above throwing him under the bus. This is his fault anyway.

“Don’t care what Soap did. Care that you tried to hide it from me.”

He catches your chin between thumb and forefinger, gives it a little shake like a reprimand.

“Wasn’t hiding it,” you argue. “At least not from you. Would have told you by the end of the week if you hadn’t noticed.”

And you really would have. If Price hadn’t been present on the tarmac, you had half a mind to show it off immediately, excited to be breaking the rules.

Ghost hums, eyes roving your face – apparently to determine the truth of your confession.

“Doesn’t mean you’re off the hook,” he warns.

But you know that tone of voice by now. You’re not off the hook yet.

“…Want me to take it out?” you try.

His eyes go from dark to pitch black. “No.”

Oh?

Oh.

“Want… to see it?”

He hums. Not quite confirmation, but close enough. You don’t even think before dropping your jaw, tongue rolling out over your bottom lip. He let out a short, hard breath. You see his jaw twitch.

Then he shifts.

His thumb lands on your tongue, much farther back than you expect but you don’t flinch. He draws a line down the center to the flat top of your piercing and then presses down. You make a protesting noise, a warning because it’s still new and still sore. He doesn’t let up but doesn’t push any harder.

“Squeaks.”

You flutter your eyes open (when did they close?) and meet his eyes. They nearly absorb all the light in the room, twin blackholes drawing you in, inescapable and immutable. There’s a hunger lurking within, one you realize with a jolt you’ve been seeing for a long time now.

Whatever he sees on your face, it makes him run his tongue along his own teeth – pearly white and perfectly straight. Then he ducks down and licks over your piercing, first in neat sweeps, and then in tight little circles around its circumference.

Trapped beneath him and mouth open, you can’t swallow back the whine that peels from your throat. You’d be embarrassed about it; except the noise you make when he stops is so much worse.

“Taste good,” he rumbles.

“This another stress thing?” you ask, dizzy and flushed.

He smirks, chuckles deep in his chest. “If it is, will you let me do it whenever I want?”

You nod, thoughts blurring at the edges. His smirk widens, but he obliges when you tug at his shirt, wanting him close, wanting him to do it again.

It takes a long time for it to evolve into an actual kiss. He spends what feels like a small eternity flicking his tongue over your piercing, around it. It’s an unusual sensation, not quite ticklish, but decadent and erotic. At some point, quiet little noises start spilling from your throat and don’t stop. He doesn’t seem to mind, pressing down when the pitch goes higher – or maybe you pitch higher because he’s closer?

Eventually your jaw tires from hanging open, tongue aching at the stretch. You retract back into your own mouth, but Ghost chases after. It’s like he forgot about actual kissing until that moment. And then he has something new to amuse himself with. His tongue explores your lips, the roof of your mouth, the back of your throat. He drags his sharp teeth over your bottom lip, growls when you return the favor in retaliation for the sting.

“That’s my girl,” he rasps, “my medic.”

You hum, reciprocate the thorough exploration he just gave you. He tastes a little metallic, but mostly he tastes like Ghost, like Simon, and it’s addicting.

“Think it’s a stress thing for me too,” you murmur when you pull away for air.

“Yeah?” He trails his mouth down your jaw, teeth scraping. “Anxious while I was gone?”

You nod. You always worry about the boys when they’re away, when you’re not there for a worst-case scenario. But you thought about your lieutenant especially, wondering at his mood, at his feelings, without your usual daily interactions. His absence left you feeling twitchy, a little unmoored. You wonder – hope – if he felt the same.

“Take what you need, then,” he whispers. “Don’t mind returning the favor.”

You sink your nails into his shoulders, rake them down his back and sides, treating him like a scratching post. He shivers, puffs out a hot breath by your ear. Your mouth finds that strong, sharp jaw and latches on, sucking and biting, worrying the skin until you pull away to a dark bruise.

“Go on,” he urges.

You do, making a trail down his neck, then across. Tug at his shirt when it gets in the way. He leans back to pull it over his head. You nearly tackle him, mapping out the swell of hard muscles, licking over the angry lines you clawed into him.

“Easy now, precious,” he purrs. “No rush.”

You make a disagreeing noise, lips never leaving his skin. One hand tangles in your hair, petting and holding, not guiding. His other drifts down to your ass and grips like a vice. It hurts a little; it feels so fucking good. There will be bruises for days.

When your nails scratch across his hip, he bucks, fingers spasming against your scalp.

“Careful,” he growls. “Asking for something you might not be ready for.”

You hum. “Maybe,” you agree honestly. “I’ve never…”

He goes rigid. Worried, you glance up. His bare chest (marked up by your hands and mouth) is heaving. His jaw is slack, lips wet. You can’t distinguish between pupil and iris anymore.

“You swear?” he asks, rough. “You’ve never fucked anyone before?”

“No,” you say, not embarrassed, not with him. “Got close, but never managed it. Things always got in the way. Used to be a joke with my friends, that I was cursed.”

A fire alarm, an oblivious roommate, police knocking on the door, the roof falling in, once.

“You have experience,” he asserts.

“Definitely.” You quirk a wicked smile his way. “Plenty of practice with my mouth…”

He shudders, tilting your head to a vulnerable angle, neck exposed.

“And my hands,” you add, gasping.

“You keep pushing, pet…” he rumbles.

You whine. “Want to, with you. Want it to be you, Simon.”

His lips crash into yours, messy and filthy, licking all the needy sounds from your mouth.

“Strip, sergeant. Now.”

You scramble to obey, wiggling out of your clothes as quickly as you can while still half under him.

“Always so good for me,” he hums. “Always follow my orders, my good little sergeant.”

“Yours,” you breathe against his mouth.

The last scrap of clothing is barely off when he pounces, hand flattening on your stomach and pressing you down into the mattress. It nearly knocks the wind out of you, the force of it, pinning you. His eyes hungrily lock on your chest, on the smooth and unmarked skin of your breasts.

If you wanted to protest, you don’t get the chance to. He descends on you like a starving man, all teeth and tongue, practically mauling you. You squirm, not sure where you want to go, just that it’s a lot of sensation all at once. He captures a perked nipple between his lips and sucks until you keen, knee bumping his flank like you want to kick him off.

He slots his hips between yours, presses up tight to trap you further. His free hand grasps at your other breast. Kneading roughly, then twisting and plucking at the rosy nipple until you’re crying out, nearly thrashing. When he’s satisfied, he switches his hand and mouth, spinning you up and up until your breasts are aching and the best kind of sore. He finally pulls off with a lewd pop, mouth slick, rosettes left all over you in his wake.

“Trying to kill me,” you pant.

He smirks, drops one last soothing kiss on your sternum. Then extricates himself to remove the last of his own clothing. His dick springs free from his waistband, slapping obscenely against his stomach. You freeze when the dim light glints off bits of metal.

“Is that…?”

“Come find out.”

You scoot to the edge of the bed and brush your fingertips over the hypnotizing ladder of studs along the shaft. Which, now that you’re closer and your hand is there for scale, is huge. Like, almost pornographic. You didn’t know that existed outside of raunchy media. That’s been under you, snuggled up to you, beneath your ass – for months now.

“Oh my god, Simon,” you gulp. “Is that going to…?”

“It will if you can be patient for me.”

“Okay,” you say, eyes never leaving the glittering silver row. You trust him. As rough as he can be, he’s never hurt you. Not in any way you didn’t crave.

His hand catches your chin again, tips your gaze back to his. “Another time, lovely. Give your tongue a break.”

You whine but sit back on your haunches, hands planted between your knees. “Then hurry up.”

His thumb caresses your jaw, presses in warning. “Patient, I said.”

“I’ve been patient,” you argue. “Gimme.”

That coaxes a chuckle out of him. He plants a hand on your shoulder and shoves. You land on your back again, stretch your legs to hang over the side of the bed. He lowers to his knees between them, thick thighs flexing. His hands slide under your hips and drag until your thighs are over his shoulders.

“Fuck,” you breathe, “Simon.”

“That’s it, lovely,” he coos, teeth grazing your hip. “Just lay there saying my name. Let me play with my toy.”

You’re so wet that you can feel it all over your inner thighs, would be embarrassed if not for the absolutely feral noise he makes at the sight.

“Made a mess.” He draws his tongue up your thigh, sucks at the junction where it meets your hip, loud in the quiet room. “You always like this for me?”

“Mhmm,” you whimper out, squeezing your eyes shut. It’s true. You can’t count the number of times you’ve gone back to your room just to change panties.

“That’s my girl.”

He spends an agonizing amount of time licking, biting, and sucking your thighs. Your pleading and whining is met with indifference or absent chuckles. The need has long since tipped over into desperation, muscles twitching with little sparks of pleasure at every graze of teeth and sharp suck.

You’re already both understimulated and overstimulated when he clamps down especially hard, think he’s broken skin for a moment. Frustrated tears have been dancing at the edges of your vision for a while now and they spill over at the blissful burn that shoots through your leg.

“Simon, Simon, please,” you sob, “please, want it. Please, just—”

He shushes you, soothing the hurt with his tongue until your babbling trails off into little sniffles.

“How copy?” he hushes.

“S-Solid,” you answer. “Just a lot.”

“Tactical retreat?”

“No.” You take a shuddering breath. “No, please. Want to keep going, sir.”

His breath is also unsteady as it brushes over your sensitive skin. “Alright, precious. Tap out if you need.”

You snake a hand down the bed and find his wrist, digging your nails in as you squeeze. A promise to honor his command.

He groans low in his throat, eyes smoldering as he looks up your heaving body.

“Pretty when you cry,” he rasps. “Will you do it more if I play with your needy clit?”

“N-no,” you lie.

He calls your bluff, pressing his mouth to your pussy and making a long, slow pass up your slit. You shake and whimper high-pitched, almost hurt sounding. He swirls the tip over your throbbing clit, sucks gently every few passes. You press your eyes shut, too gone to try to stop the reactionary tears any other way.

It’s a quirk of sex you’ve always had. Not prone to crying emotionally or from pain, but when the arousal or pleasure gets too intense, your eyes water like rivers. Some partners have found it off-putting, but the louder you wail and hiccup and cry, the more eager Simon gets. Like he’s got a direct line to heaven’s choir with his tongue.

You’re gripping his wrist so tight that you must be close to drawing blood, but he doesn’t do more than flex his fingers on your ass. Keeps you right there against his mouth, so that all you can do is take exactly what he gives you.

He seals his lips over your clit again, rubbing his tongue against the swollen bundle of nerves as he sucks. It gets you to the edge so fast that you’re seeing stars, nearly kicking him.

“Close,” you pant.

He eases up just that little bit to keep you from tipping into orgasm. You’re devastated. Afresh wave of tears drip down your temples to the sound of pathetic, helpless moans. Blessedly, he doesn’t stop. Just keeps you right there as he slides a hand from your ass to your cunt.

Just one of his fingers is thicker than any of yours; sliding two into your dripping hole almost hurdles you into ecstasy. He pulls his mouth away as you clench around them, trickling down his wrist.

“So tight. Didn’t you ever get off to the thought of me?”

“All the f-fucking time,” you admit.

“Yeah?”

You nod, tongue laving over your bottom lip. “My hands just… yours are bigger.”

He chuckles. “No cute little toys to help you out?”

“Like to imagine it’s you,” you ramble, shame long gone. “Easier without a vibe.”

“Fuck.”

He dives down to your clit again, tongue almost cruel as it tortures you with quick, rough strokes. You might scream; you don’t care if you do. His fingers curl to pet your walls, find that spot as if he had his sniper scope on it. You thrash as he strokes you, steady and unrelenting. He sucks one last time and you’re gone, coming so hard that your fingertips go numb.

You’re definitely screaming now; his name, specifically. He growls against your pussy, the vibration only prolonging that pleasure, writhing on his hand. You swallow air like you’re suffocating, Simon filling every part of you, drenching your senses. He’s all you know right now, your heart beating to his name.

And he doesn’t stop.

“S-Simon, what are – t-too much. It’s too much, it’s too—” His pins your hips down as he fits a third finger inside you, finger-fucking you so hard that the slick sounds almost drown out your sobs. You’re overstimulated, riding the edge of pain in your pleasure, lower back tight and hot.

But you don’t tap out, just fist the sheets hard enough to pop the seams.

Simon is single-minded, insistent, demanding. It’s a quality you’ve always admired in the field, and right now it’s pulling you apart piece by shivering piece.

“Simon, I-I’m gonna – I can’t…” You shake your head, crying freely and loudly, whimpering as much as you’re moaning.

He presses one of your thighs towards your chest, fingertips digging harsh into muscle. The shift gives him better access to that thrumming knot of nerves inside you. He presses against it hard and incessant as his tongue flicks repeatedly over your abused clit. Your second orgasm drowns you in waves, hips rolling, not sure if you want to get away or get more.

Simon strokes you through it until you subside into pathetic, shuddering noises, pushing weakly at him, pleading for mercy. When he pulls away, slick is dripping down his chin to his neck. The bottom edge of his balaclava is dark where it’s bunched over his nose. He surges up to kiss you, letting you taste yourself on his tongue.

You stay that way for a while, letting him coax your breathing into something like normal again. A task made more difficult whenever his fingers tease your tender nipples, preoccupied with how your lungs hitch and your body jolts.

Eventually, your mouth strays to clean him up, licking yourself from his jaw and chin, messy but earnest. He captures your mouth again when you’re done, sucking your tongue like he wants to get every last drop. You shake at the thought, almost horrified to realize you’re still ridiculously horny.

He must see something in your face because he smirks a little. “Playtime’s not over, don’t worry.”

His fingertips trace over your pussy, not dipping in far, but the threat of it triggers a new batch of whimpers and tears. He cocks his head at the sight, almost curious, then leans down and follows their paths with his tongue.

A hum, low and pleased, thunders in the heady sliver of air between you. Against your hip, you feel his cock twitch, hot enough to brand.

“Taste good everywhere,” he muses, tongue still lapping at your tears.

“God, Simon,” you keen, squeezing your glassy eyes shut.

“Want you to do it again,” he murmurs. “Cry for me so I can taste how good I make you feel.”

You moan, pussy clenching, feeling horribly empty. The teeth in your neck are an almost welcome reprieve from the overwhelming pleasure, grounding as they bruise delicate skin.

“Want to see you crying on my cock, lovely. Will you do that for me?”

You nod, reaching for him. Curl your arms around his shoulders, wrap your legs around his waist. He shushes you again, cooing when you hide your wet face against his neck. He supports your unsteady body with unfaltering strength; lets you cling as he rearranges you in his lap.

You can feel his cock beneath you, rock hard, the Jacob’s ladder teasing against your pussy. It distracts you a bit, foggy mind obsessing over how it’ll feel inside you, especially now that you’ve come twice.

His hand pats your ass. “Eyes up, doll.”

You emerge from your hiding spot only to stare, wide-eyed and awed, at his bare face. There are scars everywhere, just like the rest of his body, of varying color and size and healing histories. One on his temple, just clipping his cheek, catches your attention. It’s one of the better-healed scars.

You press a gentle kiss, flick your tongue along it. His hands spasm on your hips, but don’t tug you away.

“Handsome,” you sigh, then nip the same spot you just kissed.

You can feel his smile, a small but precious thing, against your cheek. “Can’t even fucking see straight right now.”

“Not that far gone,” you scoff, scritching your nails along his stubbled jaw. You could purr at the way he leans into it.

“Have to fix that, then.”

You prop yourself up with your other hand on his chest. His heart is beating beneath your palm, a little fast, but steady and strong. You adore it instantly.

You make eye contact, the hand on his face drifting to his cheek. Then you stretch to get the other… and squish. Just like he’s done to you countless times.

“Yes,” you agree.

That finally coaxes a proper chuckle out of him, bass deep and a little rough with disuse, but music to your ears. You let his cheeks go, nipping the little red marks your grip leaves behind.

“C’mon, Si,” you whisper. “Want your dick in me.”

And finally, it seems he’s run out of interest in teasing.

You lean your shoulders against him, letting him take most of your weight between his chest and the arm angling your hips. His other hand steadies his cock, drags the flushed, leaking head against your sopping entrance.

He lowers you slowly, encouraging you to dig your nails into his shoulders, draw them down his arms. Even stretched and two orgasms in, he’s big. It’s testing your limits, not quite pain, stinging in a way that makes your mouth water.

And your eyes.

The tears are back and streaming down your hot cheeks. When Simon notices, you feel his cock throb. You choke on a noise, mouth falling slack as he licks at them like a thirsting man in the desert.

“Didn’t take long,” he teases, a little mean. You love it.

“S-sensitive,” you whine, pressing your forehead to his.

“I know, pet,” he croons. “The head’s almost in.”

Just the head. Christ.

The pleasure keeps racking you and so do quiet little cries, your walls clutching every raw centimeter of his cock like he was built just for you. (Or the other way around, a depraved part of you whispers.)

He’s steady and patient as he fills you, keeping your mouth busy with claiming kisses when he’s not drinking up your tears. At the first rung of the Jacob’s ladder, you squeak and have to be held down, gone on how it stretches your poor entrance and grinds against your abused walls.

Each one after that garners a similar reaction, driving you insane as they press against you.

“Can feel your fucking heartbeat,” he groans at one point.

You moan, raking your fingers through his sweat-damp hair. The blond strands are dark and messy, getting messier as you play with them. He grunts and his eyelids flutter every time you tug.

By the time he’s fully inside you, your ass resting on his tense thighs, you’re panting and trembling. He sweeps a hand up your arched spine and curls his fingers around the back of your neck. You lean into his hold, go lax as he guides you through a decadent, devouring kiss.

“There we are, lovely,” he soothes while you whimper. “Hurt?”

“A little…” you gasp, clenching helplessly around the base of him.

“Good,” he growls, teeth on your shoulder.

You moan, falling limp in his arms. He rumbles a pleased hum, squeezing at your hips and ass and thighs in that way you recognize.

“Stressed?” you ask, confused.

He snorts. “I don’t need a reason to play with what’s mine.”

You suck in a breath, the casual (and true) claim making your head spin.

“Relax, pet,” he murmurs. “Just get used to me inside you.”

You mewl, high and soft in your throat. He tilts his head to speak in your ear.

“Your pussy is going to remember the shape of me by the end of this.”

And your lieutenant doesn’t make idle threats.

He guides your head down to his shoulder, his other arm wrapping around your waist. The lewdest hug you’ve ever received. If not for the fat cock stretching you, it would be calming.

“Good girl, that’s it,” he hums, drawing idle patterns along your spine. “Just drift. It’ll be a bit before you can handle a proper fucking.”

He’s so deep and big inside you that you believe it, but a nagging part reminds you of the uneven score.

“What about you?”

He presses an unusually gentle kiss to your temple, though it’s balanced by the tight squeeze to the back of your neck.

“Don’t you worry about me, precious,” he chuckles. “You’ll keep me nice and warm until you’re ready.”

You swallow thickly, can’t help how you flutter around him. It’s a delicious thought, just sitting here with him filling you up for an indefinite period of time, until he decides you can handle how he’s going to fuck you.

“Like that do you?” he muses, too dark to be truly amused. “Like being my personal cocksleeve?”

“’M not,” you mumble, feeling a new sting of tears.

He tuts. “You’re my toy every other way. No point pretending now.”

You whimper into his neck, bite in retaliation but don’t deny it. Well past the point of anything like plausible deniability.

“No more fussing, pet. Be good for me now.”

And you are, settling in with your mouth brushing absent kisses to his marked collarbones. His hands never stop stroking your skin, lulling you into empty-headed bliss. The full feeling of his cock never dissipates, but you become less aware of it, internal muscles accommodating the stretch. You don’t even realize you’ve slipped into a doze, breaths going deep and even, safely cradled in your lieutenant’s arms.

When you wake, watery early-morning light is leaking past the blackout curtains. One of your hips is stiff from sleeping bunched up, but that’s not what calls your immediate attention. No, it’s the absolute puddle that Simon is coaxing from your stuffed hole with his thumb on your clit. He’s hard inside of you again – or maybe he never got soft in the first place.

“Mornin’,” he rasps when he sees you peeking your head up. Calm as you please. Like his cockhead isn’t kissing your cervix right now.

“You bastard,” you wheeze, sinking a mean bite into his shoulder.

“Grumpy thing,” he teases. “Forgot how sulky you are before coffee.”

You grumble incomprehensibly for a moment. Can’t believe he put you to sleep on his cock. More than a little miffed that you didn’t receive the proper fucking you earned yesterday. That you’ve woken up raring to go already, want his cum in your stomach more than breakfast.

“You actually plan on doing anything?” you demand. “Or we going to the mess like this? Risky to have hot tea that close to your balls.”

His laugh is like honey, rich and syrupy. Liquid sunshine when you kiss it from his mouth.

“Remember who’s in charge here, pet,” he warns.

You tilt your head in question, arching an eyebrow.

“You,” he continues, surprising you. Then he keeps talking. “So if you keep acting like a brat, I’ll have to treat you like one.”

You shiver. It should be illegal to be so salacious this early in the morning. To your delight, he allows you to wiggle a little, testing the feeling of his cock inside you. It’s absolutely divine.

“Or, counterpoint,” you say, daring to be cheeky when he’s looking at you like that. Like he’d burn the world just to keep you warm for a night. “I was very good yesterday and deserve a reward.”

“That so, sergeant?” he asks.

“Mhmm,” you chirp. Duck down to bribe him with kisses and nips along his jaw and neck, stubble prickling your bruised tongue. “I’ll even ask nicely.”

He groans, low and rough in his chest. “Yeah?”

You yelp as he tangles his fingers in the hair at the base of your neck, dragging your head back. His teeth scrape over the stuttering pulse in your throat, where there’s a sensitive spot that makes you squirm. His other hand sneaks to your breasts, tweaking a nipple still sore from his treatment the night before.

“Show me how nice you can ask then.”

And, well, not backing down from a challenge is what got you here in the first place.

You straighten up as best you can – have to take a moment when his cock grinds just right inside you – and arch your back. Your nails score lines down his chest, just this side of rough, knowing it’ll work better than any soft petting. Paired with nibbling kisses to the spot beneath his ear, you can already feel the rumble building in his chest.

“Simon, please,” you breathe, “I need you. Need it to be you.”

“Need what, lovely?” he husks.

“Need it to be you that fucks me.” You dare to rock your hips, pleased and distracted that he lets you. His fingers spread your ass wider over his lap. “Need you to break me in. Please?”

Sniper he may be, but his patience must already be gossamer thin from holding back last night and crammed inside your pussy until morning. He snaps at your crooning pleas, rolling you onto your back and grinding into you as deep as he can get.

There have been times in the field that you’ve stared as Simon operates his rifle. It’s his piece, modified and maintained in pristine condition. You’ve watched his clever fingers put it together, dismantle it, clean it, handle it with a deadly competence and precision that you envied. Not him, but the rifle. Probably something wrong with you, that you want to be an instrument, a tool, in your lieutenant’s capable hands, built up and broken apart at his whim.

Now, though… now you know. You’ve got confirmation that it’s everything you imagined and better, his scarred hands on you like he owns you, like you’re his to figure out. You want to be, you are, and you babble as much when he draws his hips back and snaps them forward.

There’s nothing testing or careful about it. Simon knows you’re not fragile, spent all night making sure you could take him exactly the way he wants you. You’ve never wanted him to hold back, don’t want him to now. Crave the way his control seems to slip when it’s you, your body, your voice egging him on.

He rolls his hips every time he bottoms out; his piercings grind deliciously against your twitching entrance with every thrust. You bury your fingers in his hair, tug when he pulls out as if he’s going to leave you empty and wanting. He grunts against your neck, teeth ravenous over skin that already bears their imprint.

It feels like freefall with no parachute, like getting caught in a perfect white-hot explosion. The force of him makes the bed creak, would shove you up the mattress if not for the tight grip on your thighs. His arm loops under the small of your back and angles your hips up.

“Mine,” he growls into your shoulder. “All fucking mine. My sergeant. My medic. My pretty toy.”

You can’t string together more than broken syllables, little noises forced out every time he drives home. He’s not looking for a verbal response though; your body is already singing its agreement, clamping down on his cock like you can’t stand any millimeter not inside you. You’re rocking with him as best you can, knee hitched up by his ribs, pulling him closer, closer, closer.

“I’m right here, doll. Not going anywhere,” he murmurs. Then, almost to himself. “No, not letting you out of my sight ever fucking again. Going to keep you right by my side, within reach.”

You cry out, ridiculously turned on by promises he can’t possibly keep. It’s not the nature of the job, but the fact that that’s what he wants…

“Go fucking crazy when I can’t see you,” he pants, “touch you. Was goin’ fuckin’ batshit all week. Gaz wouldn’t shut the fuck up. Just wanted to get my hands on you. My teeth in you.”

There’s an earnest, desperate edge to his words. Sounds like a sinner praying for salvation, like he’s begging some cruel god for relief. Or, more likely for your lieutenant, threatening to take that god’s place.

You’d worship Simon if he did. Practically do already. Would spread yourself out on his altar and let him devour you mind, body, and soul just to appease his appetite.

“Simon, please,” you cry, head tilting back, bearing your throat. “I’m yours. Your medic, your sergeant, your toy.”

“Fuck,” he hisses. “That’s right, love. All mine.”

He pushes himself up, pressing his hand to the wall over your head. It’s gorgeous, the play of muscle and sinew in his arm. A fucking masterpiece of a man, beautiful and dangerous and right now, all fucking yours too.

The new leverage lets him slam into you faster and harder, frantic now. You have to brace your arms above your head to keep from knocking into the wall, pushing back to meet him thrust for brutal thrust. Could swear you feel him in your guts.

“C’mon, love, let me see those pretty tears.”

His hand slides over your thigh to your clit, thumb rubbing vicious little circles over the nerves. It gives him what he wants instantly, you’re near screaming as you cry. It’s rough and ruthless and has you so close to the edge that you’re almost jolting away.

“Lemme cum,” you beg, “Please, please, Simon, want to cum on your cock. So close…”

His grin is more just a bearing of teeth, eyes glittering in the shadows above you. “Cum for me, precious.”

It doesn’t take much more than that, always eager to please your lieutenant. His hips and finger sync up at just the right moment, just the right way, and you’re gushing over his cock, voice breaking. Your nails scrape the wall as you curl our hands into fists, bucking as he fucks you through it.

You’re not surprised when he doesn’t even slow down, though you reach to push his hand off your screaming clit. His hand darts from the wall to capture your wrists, pinning them over your head. The punishing rhythm of his hips doesn’t even falter, bullying that spot inside you relentlessly.

“I didn’t say you could fucking stop,” he snarls.

You whine and struggle, but that just makes you tighter, makes him rougher, makes it better. You’re not even sure if the cresting sensation is pleasure anymore, if it’s another orgasm or your body reaching max capacity. It’s just whiteout intense and you can do nothing but lay there writhing.

“Gonna cum in you,” he moans, head dropping. “Gonna leave my mark inside you too.”

You contract around him helplessly, his thrusts getting messier, plunging into you at a dizzying speed. Not even sure if you’re making noise anymore, or just sucking in air when you can get it. His fingers flex around your wrists, tight and unforgiving.

And then there's a burst of heat as he moans, sounding gutting. He fucks you through his own orgasm before finally slowing, and then stopping buried deep inside you. His thumb eases off your abused clit, hand landing on the bed beside your hip. Your leg flops down to the mattress, stretched out and still twitchy.

“How copy, sergeant?” he rasps.

“Solid, LT,” you wheeze. “You?”

“Fucking fantastic.”

That startles a little giggle out of you, grinning up at him fucked-out and high on afterglow. His returning smile, small and disused as it is, is better than all the orgasms you’ve had in the last twelve hours.

“Gonna pull out now,” he warns. “Brace.”

Even prepared, you still yelp, beyond sensitive and cored without him inside you. The feeling is only exacerbated by the warm cum you can feel dripping down your ass from your used hole.

“Look at that…” he drawls appreciatively, tilting his head for a good look. “There any part of you that ain’t pretty?”

You groan and cover your overheated face, knock your shin into his hip. But you leave your legs open.

“Shut up, Simon.”

“Insubordinate.”

“Fraternizer.”

“Mm. Gonna report me to Price?”

“Only if you report me.”

“Mutually assured destruction then.”

Your mouth is still hidden under your hands, but you know he can see your body shaking with suppressed laughter.

“Or you could help me clean up, take a nap, and we’ll negotiate terms for a ceasefire.”

He chuckles. “Should have you on a diplomatic envoy, Squeaks. Have the rest of us out of a job. No wars, no soldiers.”

You shake your head, dropping your arms to card through his hair. He lowers himself onto you – not his usual full-force flop, but still by no means delicate about it. You like the weight of him on your tingling body. Feels like he’s keeping you from floating away.

“Only way they’re getting me on protection detail for politicians is if you’re there with me.”

He grimaces. It’s stupidly charming how it makes a scar on his nose scrunch up. “The point is to stop incidents, not start them.”

“Shame, then,” you hum. “Guess we’re stuck here then.”

“Guess so.”

He pats your thigh, then pushes himself up. You protest immediately, but he shushes you with a wry smirk.

“Part of the terms, wasn’t it? To clean you up?”

You grumble but subside, thankful that officer quarters come with an ensuite. It doesn’t take him long to return with a damp cloth and a cup of water. He sets the latter on the side table and kneels between your thighs, wiping you down as gently as he’s ever been.

When he’s done, you make grabby hands until he scoffs and climbs in with you again.

“Nap?” you ask hopefully.

“Yeah. Got you up early. Still an hour ‘til breakfast.”

Not for the first (or likely last) time, you are grateful for Simon’s brilliant tactics.

“You’re my hero.”

He snorts, but when you peek up at him, there’s a fetching pink tint to his cheeks. “Go the fuck to sleep, Squeaks.”

“Yessir.”

#cod #my writing #fanfiction #reader fic #cross posted on ao3 #old fic #sergeant squeaks #simon ghost x reader #simon ghost riley

2K notes · View notes

thatswhyilovetheghost · 1 year

Text

Easy, girl.

Whumptober Day 1 : 'Swooning'. (No, I'm not posting day 1 on the 13th)

Captain John Price x f!Medic Reader

Summary: The Captain isn't impressed by his medic's tendency to overwork herself.

A.N. : Only mild whumpage in this one, fainting w/ hurt/comfort <3

The interrogative call of your name nearly makes you jump out of your skin, head crashing into the surface of the desk you were rifling through folders under. You hiss a curse between your teeth.

Turning around, you're met with the displeased face of the Captain of your assigned squad, firm hands resting on his hips as he glares down at you, brows furrowed.

"Correct me if I'm wrong," he starts, "but didn't your shift end about four hours ago now?"

Eyes widening, you raise your wrist to check the time, only to be met with a glaring 01:00.

"I- sorry, Captain, I was just sorting out some paperwork which-"

"Which can be done tomorrow," he interrupts, sending you a reproachful look that raises your hackles.

"It's fine," you snap, rising to your feet, arms now full of folders. "I've got it all under control, Captain."

The rapid movement makes your head swim. You stumble slightly and blink away the blur.

"Mm, looks like it," he snarks, concern underlying his tone.

His sarcasm only serves to make you prickle further. You huff, steadying yourself on your feet before making your way to a filing cabinet.

Or, attempting to at least. The increased motion sends your vision to a white flash that quickly fades to black nothingness. The last thing you feel before you pass out is a set of strong hands grasping at you, pulling you close.

When you wake it's with a gasp, as though you'd been drowning but pulled to safety. There's someone holding you, tight and close. You squirm at the restriction.

"Shh, easy - easy, girl. I've got you. You're alright."

The voice that hushes you is deep and rich, a slight familiar gruffness to it. Forcing your eyes open you find yourself looking straight into the piercing blues of Captain Price.

Captain Price, your Captain, whose lap you're currently settled on.

Price, who is sitting on the floor, legs crossed and back flat to the wall, must have scooped you up before you hit the ground and curled you into him while you were out.

Fuck, how long had he been holding you like this?

He lifts one hand from stabilising you at your hips to your jaw. Holding your chin up to get a good look, Price scans your face, scrutinising every blink and wince you make.

"Sir-" you rasp drily, feeling your face warm both in embarassment at fainting in front of your superior and at the situation it had left you in.

"There she is," he cooes, rubbing his thumb in soothing circles on your skin. "You feel alright?"

You nod, hyperaware of his proximity.

"Y-yes sir, thank you," you manage.

"Good girl," he nearly sighs in return, eyes flicking over your face once more as though for his own reassurance. "Think you're ready to listen to me about gettin' some sleep now?"

Price chuckles under his breath as you turn away in embarassment, rubbing a broad palm up and down your thigh in teasing comfort.

Without another word, Price lifts you up like you weigh no more than a feather and shifts you into a bridal position in his arms as he rises to his feet.

You squeak lightly in surprise, and if Price notices you hiding your face in his tac-vest he doesn't mention it.

Slowly so as not to make you dizzy, your Captain carries you over to an empty cubicle in the medbay.

"Shh, there we are," he soothes, bending at the waist to lower you into the bed. There's a comfortable silence as Price pulls the blanket over your form, ensuring all of your limbs are tucked into its warmth. "How's our lovely medic s'posed to take care of us if there's no one looking after her, eh?"

You feel your heart pounding at your ribs at his words, wide eyes looking up at your Captain.

"Thank you, sir," you speak softly, suddenly finding yourself imagining what his lips might feel like against yours.

"Always, love," he whispers, dropping to press a kiss to your cheek before walking away. Price pulls the curtains to your bay closed, turning to take one last look at you before retreating to his own quarters.

When you wake up that next morning you aren't sure if you dreamed the softness from your Captain, but the look he gives you later when he comes in to check on you reassures your mind.

Your Captain had his eyes on you now, and the man was not known for giving up. If he had to take you to bed himself every night from then on, then so be it. He was sure you'd let him tire you out.

#whumptober 2023 #john price x reader #captain price x reader #captain john price x reader

750 notes · View notes

munsonluhvr · 10 months

Text

CRUSH

pairing: eddie munson x fem!reader word count: 3.7k warnings: fluff, nervous Eddie, bullying, mentions of a fight, light cussing, alluding to eating disorder, probs misspellings lol

next chapter: part 2

You take a deep breath as you open the door to exit your classroom; feeling relief that you were finished with your least favorite class – chemistry.

Sneakers squeak all around you, your fellow schoolmates excited to be out of class and going to lunch, as you made your way down the hallway. You get to your locker, twisting the lock that held the door closed until it popped open. To your surprise, Chrissy Cunningham, your closest friend, slides up next to you, leaning against the set of lockers that neighbor yours.

“Look who survived chemistry another day,” she exclaims, nudging your shoulder. Chrissy knew how much you hated chemistry.

“Somehow; I zone out by the first twenty minutes,” You say, shaking your head. “I’m not looking forward to the final.”

Chrissy giggles, crossing her arms in front of her chest. “That’s me with Mr. Khan’s class. He makes history so boring.”

Before you could respond, Jason Carver, Chrissy’s boyfriend, sneaks up to hugs Chrissy from behind. She squeals with surprise, and you roll your eyes, annoyed by how in love your friends were. They had been dating for some time now, always having their hands on each other. Since then, you’ve been a third wheel, nonetheless, still very included. You put your books away, re-locking the door.

“You survived chemistry again, y/n!” Jason says, catching your eye.

Chrissy giggles, “That’s exactly what I said.”

You laugh, leaning back on your locker, joining Chrissy and Jason who watch fellow school-mates walk by. Several guys from the basketball team came up to Jason, patting him on the back and saying hello. Their girlfriends, who were friends of yours and Chrissy from the cheerleading squad, came up to you and Chrissy. Your group is bigger, having accumulated boys and girls from the basketball team and cheerleading squad. You chat together, laughing as your friends make jokes. Your eyes are pulled away from your friends when Eddie Munson, leader of the 'Hellfire' club walks by with his friends.

Your breath hitches as you watch Eddie walk by who is in deep in conversation with Dustin Henderson, laughing about something someone in their group said. Just as he passes by, Eddie looks up, making eye contact with you. Your stomach twists, already blushing under his gaze. His eyes go wide, noticing your gaze on him, and he pauses in his steps.

You take in his appearance, as you usually do every day, and your fingers dig into the fabric on your skirt. Today, he wears Hellfire's club t-shirt, a jean jacket, black jeans (hugging him in all the right places), and his typical dirty white sneakers. His face was beautiful, as always, freshly shaved and a smile planted on his mouth.

You're pulled out of your gaze when Jason claps his hands, also pulling Eddie out of his trance. “Keep moving, freak.”

Eddie's eyes automatically drop to the floor and he picks his pace to catch up with his group of friends that moved forward with out him. You blink, turning back to Chrissy who shoved Jason lightly. "That's not nice, Jason." Chrissy muttered, shaking her head. "Don't say that."

You feel guilty, associating with people that make fun of others, calling them names to make them feel inferior. You turn your head slightly to watch Eddie walk away, heading into the cafeteria. Jason and his friends laugh, amusing themselves.

You look back at Chrissy, "Should we head into lunch? I'm starving."

She shrugs, and then nods. "Sure."

You and Chrissy make your way into the cafeteria, weaving through the large crowd that is doing the same thing; Jason and his friends trail behind. The table you and your friends sit at every day waits for you completely empty, the perks of being on the cheerleader team. You hate to admit it, but you enjoy being popular. Being elevated in the high school social system adds an extra layer of ease and carefree-ness. Or does it?

Your eyes flick to find where Eddie and the Hellfire club sit, always on the right side of the cafeteria. You spot them sitting down with trays already in hand.

"I'll get your food for you, y/n" Alex, a friend of Jason, says as he pulls out one of the chairs for you to sit down. You smile, putting on your pleased face. Alex is sweet to you, but that's about it. Of course, Jason would disagree. Alex plays rough on the court, usually targeting the skinniest kids on the opposing team to knock over. He laughs when they fall, high-fiving other players. It makes your stomach twist to watch from the sidelines.

You sit with the some of the girls who wait for their boyfriends to bring them their food that the cafeteria is serving today. After only a minute, Alex places your tray of food down in front of you and you thank him. He smiles at you, pleased with himself, and you try your hardest not to roll your eyes. Jason had told Chrissy, who told you, that Alex had a major crush on you, spilling his intentions to ask you to prom. You had pretended to be excited, but in reality you would rather skip prom than go with him.

Jason sits next to Chrissy, who sat with no tray in front of her. You frown, "Chrissy, aren't you going to eat?"

Chrissy shakes her head, looking down at her lap. "Not hungry," she says simply.

Jason leans forward to look over at you, snickering "I think she's on a diet or something."

You turn back to your tray, picking up your fork. You bite your lip, thinking about all the times you've noticed Chrissy skip a meal lately. You didn't know if you should say something but you decided it was best to not bring up questions in front of everyone.

Conversation flowed across the table, the loud hum of everyone else chattering in the cafeteria. Chrissy whispers to you about how Alex was staring at you from the other end of the table but you couldn't get yourself to look over. Conversation came to a halt when a performance from another table occurrs.

"As long as you're into band, or science, or parties.." A voice, who you identified as Eddie, says as he stood up on one of the cafeteria tables. Everyone's attention turns to where he stands, elevated over the rest of the cafeteria. Jason and his friends snicker, watching him.

"-Or a game where you toss balls into laundry baskets," Eddie says, aiming his gaze to the table where you and your friends sit.

Jason stood up quickly, his chair knocking over behind him. "You want something, freak?" Jason yells back to Eddie. Chrissy covers her face with her hand, embarrassed by her partners outburst. You shrink in your chair, arms crossing in front of your chest, although you can't help but continue to watch Eddie and Jason's interaction.

In response, Eddie makes horns with his fingers, sticking his tongue out accordingly. For a brief second, Eddie and Jason have a moment of exchanging intense gazes and your breath hitches in fear of what will happen next. Surely, Jason could easily beat Eddie to a pulp in a fight.

"Prick," you hear Jason mutter, turning to pick his chair up and sit back down.

You breathe out, feeling relief that the intense moment between the two boys is over. Jason, however, is still annoyed.

"What is Munson's problem? It's like he wants to get his ass beaten." Jason says, shaking his head.

You zone out, letting the other boys conspire together. Chrissy leans over, nudging your shoulder. "Boys are so stupid, right?" She says, smiling big enough to show her two front teeth that overlapped. You smiled, agreeing, "So stupid."

The bell rang loudly across the cafeteria sending everyone to disperse from where they sat. Jason leans to kiss Chrissy on the cheek and followed his friends out of the room. Your eyes catch Eddie walking out, and again, he looks over and catches your eye. You smile, and his face expresses surprise that a girl in a cheerleader outfit would lend him such a gesture. You feel embarrassed for a moment until Eddie lifts his hand slightly, offering you a small, almost unnoticeable wave. You return the wave, and he smiles too, continuing to walk out the cafeteria doors.

Your stomach flips at the littlest interaction with Eddie, although this was the most you and Eddie had ever interacted before. You had noticed him look at you sometimes, and vice versa. Eddie had caught you looking at him too. But of course, your friend groups and social status kept you apart although you knew you wouldn't care what either would have to say about being seen with Eddie.

The rest of the school day went by quickly, you only had two classes left. The first one, English, went by fast without much excitement. History was your last class of the day and what occurs upends the rest of your day.

The previous week, Mr. Kepner had assigned a paper on a historical moment that was similar to the historical events the class had covered already. You had chosen to write about Egyptian civilization and you hoped you had done a decent job as you underestimated the complexity and denseness of the topic.

At the beginning of class, Mr. Kepner places graded papers on everyones desk. You take a deep breath before flipping the paper over to see a '100%' placed at the corner of your paper. Written next to the grade was 'see me after class.' You frown wondering how you could be in trouble by getting a perfect grade.

Your stomach was in knots for the rest of the class, afraid to hear what Mr. Kepner had to say to you. When class concluded, you walked up to your teachers desk.

"Y/n, I must say well done on your paper." Mr. Kepner says, taking his glasses off.

"Thank you, Mr. Kepner."

"I was thinking that you should submit the paper for the school's annual scholarship contest." Mr. Kepner says, crossing his arms in front of his chest. "I dare say you'd have a good chance at winning."

You're flattered, feeling stupid for worrying so much about the paper and not having confidence in your work. "I'd love to; do I have to fill out a form?"

Mr. Kepner begins to explain how to submit the paper and your mind went to the fact that you were cutting it close to missing your bus. Normally you peel out of class to miss the first bus instead of waiting twenty more minutes for the next one.

"-and that should be enough. I'll sign off on your submission of course." Mr. Kepner says, handing you the form to fill out.

You nod, taking the paper and side stepping away from his desk to head towards the door.

"Miss y/n, I still have more to discuss with you." Mr. Kepner says, watching you head towards the door. "I think you should take AP History next year. Your work is far more advanced than your classmates and I think you'd be better suited there."

You nod, still inching towards the door. "That would be great, Mr. Kepner. That would help with college admissions too. I'm really sorry but I have to catch my bus."

Mr. Kepner nods, standing up. "So sorry to keep you, y/n. I hope I didn't make you miss the bus. See you tomorrow."

You peel out of the room, listening to the door slam behind you. You jog to the end of the door at the hallway, ignoring the stares from the people you run pass. Once you reach the end of the hallway to the parking lot, you push open the door. Your eyes scan the parking lot to see the back end of your bus driving away from you.

"Fuck," you whisper to yourself.

"Let me guess, that was your bus." A voice says beside to you. You turn your head to see Eddie standing next to you.

You turn quickly back to look ahead of you, "That was my bus. Freakin' Mr. Kepner made me miss it. "

Eddie hums, "Ohh yeah. Mr. Kepner is a chatterbox. You're y/n, right?" Eddie leans against the brick wall of the school, his leg propping him up.

You nod, "That's me."

"I'm Eddie Munson." Eddie says, pushing himself off the wall to stand next to you. He has a curious smile on his face, as he puts his hand out for you to shake.

You match his smile, amused by his hand placed in front of you. You take his hand, shaking it. "I know who you are."

Eddie stares at you for a minute, analyzing your face. His eyes move from yours to your lips. You feel nervous under his gaze and you cough to break the moment. "So, what are you still doing at school? I'd assume you be out the minute the bell rings to go play that game you and your friends play."

Eddie places a hand on his chest. "It's Dungeons and Dragons; it's not just a game, it's a lifestyle. I'm waiting to make some extra cash." Eddie says, pulling a small bag with green lumps in it. You had previously heard some of the basketball players talk about Eddie's quality of products. You raise your eyebrows and nod, "I see."

Eddie tucks the bag away and clasps his hands in front of him. "When does the next bus come?"

You sigh, "Twenty minutes or something like that."

Eddie coos, "That won't do. I can take you home after my client comes."

You laugh, "Your client? Pretty fancy for a drug dealer."

"I'm not a drug dealer, it's just a side hustle."

"Sure," You say, a teasing tone lacing your words. You don't want to come off excited to spend time alone with Eddie. "If it's not any trouble, I would appreciate a ride home."

Eddie nods and before he could speak, Alex turns around the corner. "Y/n?" Alex says, looking between you and Eddie. "Is this freak bothering you?"

You shake your head, "No, Alex. I just missed by bus and I'm waiting."

"Are we going to do this or not? Twenty bucks, brother." Eddie says, displaying the bag of weed to Alex. Alex scoffs, "I'm not your brother and here." Alex places a paper bill in Eddie's hand.

Eddie takes the bill, tucking it into his pocket. "Thanks for doing business."

Alex ignores Eddie, turning towards you. "Y/n, I'll drive you home so you don't have to wait."

You grimace, but catch yourself and put a fake smile on. "It's okay, Alex. Eddie already offered."

Alex turns to Eddie who offers him a simple smile. Alex shakes his head, "I'm sure Eddie has a club of freaks to attend to. Just get in my car."

You turn away from both boys, stuffing your hands into the pockets of your puffer jacket. You want to signal to Alex to get the hint and leave you alone. You wanted to spend time with Eddie, certainly not Alex. "You have practice anyway, Alex. You couldn't drop me off and get back in time."

"Run along," Eddie says, snickering. "You heard the lady."

Alex glares at Eddie and mutters an expletive at him. Alex saunters away, taking one last chance to look between you and Eddie. Once Alex is gone, Eddie turns to you. "Shall we?"

You nod, following Eddie across the parking lot. The brisk Indiana wind cut through your jacket, sending shivers to your skin. Eddie guided you to his car which wasn't far from where you started near the school. His car was a large, maroon colored van, most certainly bought used, with a white stripe in the middle. Eddie walks over to the passenger side, opening the door quickly. He leans in, swiping objects of the seat.

Eddie backs up, helping you into the van. "Sorry for the mess, I didn't expect a co-pilot today." You smile, glancing at him. You could tell he was nervous by the way his eyes shifted.

You sit down in the passenger seat, taking a look around. In the middle of the two front seats there's a pile of cassette tapes. You lean over, picking two up; Iron Maiden and Metallica. Sometimes, late at night, you wondered what music Eddie might be listening to in his room at the same moment. Now you knew.

Eddie climbs into the van, sticking the key into the ignition.

"Nice music," You say, hoping he didn't ask what songs you liked. You had never listened to Iron Maiden or Metallica but you wanted to come off as cool to Eddie.

Eddie takes the cassettes from you, looking at which ones you picked up. "You like Iron Maiden? And Metallica?"

You nod, folding your hands in your lap. "Yeah."

Eddie raises his eyebrows, glancing at you. "I didn't expect that." Eddie puts the car in reverse, barely looking to make sure there was nobody walking or driving behind him.

"What do you mean?" You ask, cocking your head at him.

Eddie shrugs, "You're just a cheerleader, you know. I definitely didn't expect for you to be in my car ever."

You laugh, "Why not? I'm still a person even though I'm a cheerleader."

Eddie pulls out of the school's parking lot, starting to drive towards the street. "You hang out with Jason and all his friends. They don't like me at all."

You bite your lip. "Jason doesn't speak for all of us."

Eddie coughs, nervous at the sound of you alluding to the fact that you don't find him weird. "Where do you live again?" Eddie asks, before he pulls on to the street. You tell him your address, and he brings the car to a start again.

You sit in silence as Eddie drives. Your body flushes, the reality that you're alone with Eddie starting to settle in. You notice Eddie taking glances at you and clearing his throat. "Which songs from Iron Maiden do you like the most?"

You stomach clenches at the question. "Oh you know. They're all so good, how can you pick just one?" You roll your eyes at your response, and you look out the window.

Eddie laughs, "You're never listened to Iron Maiden before, right?"

You sigh, glancing at Eddie. "No, I just said that to sound cool to you."

Eddie raises his eyebrows again, turning his eyes back to the road. "Why would you need to act cool? You're already the cool one; in fact, you being in my car would get you kicked out of being popular."

You turn towards Eddie now. "Why do you think I care so much about being popular?"

"Don't you?"

You sit back in your seat. "No. It's lonely; you seem to have more genuine friendships with the Hellfire club."

"So you're watching me and my friends?" Eddie says, a smirk playing on his lips.

You are embarrassed at your choice of words and you quickly search your mind for a comeback. "It's kind of hard not to when you stand on a cafeteria table and publicly launch insults at the people I'm sitting at the table with."

Eddie laughs, shaking his head. "That was pretty good, wasn't it? God, I didn't think you'd be like this at all."

"You keep saying that, what do you mean?"

"I just- I don't know. I just always imagined you'd be-" Eddie stumbles over his words, causing you to look over at him. "The truth is I've had like a major crush on you since sophomore year and I always assumed you'd be a certain type of way because you're a cheerleader but you're..."

Your heart thumped at Eddie's confession but you tried to play it off. "But I'm kinda nice, right? You out of all people shouldn't judge how another may be."

Eddie glances at you, "Fair enough."

"So you've had a crush on me?"

Eddie nervously laughs, "I was hoping you wouldn't come back to that."

You cross one leg under your other, turning towards Eddie. "How could I? That's quite the confession."

"I shouldn't have said anything."

You shake your head, glad to finally get this secret off your chest. "I'm glad you did because the crush is reciprocal."

Eddie jams on the breaks, sending you forward until the seatbelt caught you. He turns towards you, cars honking behind him. "Really?"

You look in the side mirrors, watching cars dodge around you. You flinch watching a car almost slam into the back of Eddie's van. "Eddie you should probably drive," you say, afraid of what will happen if his car continues to sit in the middle of the road.

Eddie listens to you, pressing the gas. He turns the car onto your street, leaning forward to look for your house number on the mailbox. "It's the white one," You say.

Eddie parks the car in front of your house. "You really like me too?"

You smile at him, sad that your social status makes it seem impossible for you to be with Eddie. "Yes," you say simply.

Eddie's nervousness appears again, his words beginning to jumble and his voice high-pitched. "I-I, wow that's cool, I mean."

You laugh, opening the car door. You lean over, deciding to be bold, and you place a kiss on his cheek. You inhale, embracing the strong cologne he has on. You pull away, moving to grab your backpack and hop out of the car. "Thanks for the ride, Eddie."

You look back at him from outside the car. He offers you a small wave, startled by your move. You turn around but then turn back again. "Would you ever want to go out sometime?"

Eddie's jaw slacks, "Y-Yeah, I'd love to."

You smile, glad that he agreed to go out with you. You drop your backpack on the ground, pulling a sheet of of notebook paper out and finding a pen at the bottom of your bag. You write your home's phone number on the paper and hand it to Eddie. "Call me sometime." Eddie folds the piece of paper, putting it into his jacket.

You turn around, leaving Eddie behind you. You feel his eyes trailing you and you smile to yourself, proud of your boldness.

#eddie munson #stranger things x you #stranger things fanfiction #stranger things x reader #eddie munson fan fiction #eddie munson x reader #eddie munson imagine #Eddie munson x reader #eddie munson stranger things #Eddie Munson

353 notes · View notes

potatowes · 1 month

Text

Daroach Kirby

Lil' birthday present for my sis. He's ~90% ear. Daroach is my sister's fave in Kirby Star Allies. She has not played Squeak Squad, but that mouse is dapper as hell, so I totally get it! 🎩

One last fancy hat meeting before he gets a new home. Although she has a cat, my ancient Fobby (Earthbound) and Heartless plushies are still holding up, so he'll probably be okay.

(WIP pic) I made his face too small the first time and had to do a chunk of it over... At least I got to try out some new embroidery settings (And somehow crash Inkscape by making basic oval shapes lol).

#daroach #kirby #plush #fan art #plushie #squeak squad #dream buffet #🐁🐁🐁

70 notes · View notes

ringleader-inky · 27 days

Text

Lily Orchard is stupid but what else is new?

So recently Lily has made a challenge that is as follows:

(Keep these rules in mind)

And AntGr and CrimsonEnder made a list of 50 of those charcters. Which Lily responded to and hoo boy is it bad.

Now I'm only going to be doing several characters from this list because 1. I don't know some of these characters and 2. I can only handle so much of Lily's stupidity. So with that out of the way let's get this show on the road.

Of course you'd put N here because you didn't understand his story to begin with. N definitely does fall under number 2 because he was raised by Ghetsis. You know... THE LEADER OF TEAM PLASMA! I've said this before, but I'll say it again N essentially grew up in a cult. That's not even mentioning that in black and white 2 they show that some of Team Plasma really did think they were freeing pokemon. You see part of Team Plasma split because some followed N's ideologies and others followed Ghetsis. They have a whole safehouse in Driftveil City where they protect pokemon separated from their trainers. But yeah N's ideology was totally swept under the rug guys.

First of all, Donkey Kong was actually a villain. It was in his very first game where he kidnapped Pauleen. You know.... this one. You were probably around when it came out Lily.:

So technically Donkey Kong is qualified for this list believe it or not.

As for Dedede and Meta Knight their case is quite simple.

In Dedede's case in the game Kirby's Nightmare In Dreamland. Dedede literally breaks the Star Rod that powers the Fountain of Dreams. Which allows the people of dreamland to have dreams, but since the Star Rod no longer powers it there's no dreams. However Dedede did this because he was trying to keep Nightmare from absorbing the Fountain Of Dream's power and taking over the world. Nightmare is cosmic deity that's evil will destroy Dreamland if he got out. So in that instance Dedede does have a point. After all if the Star Rod isn't in the fountain then Nightmare won't come out and kill everyone.

As for Meta Knight's case. Well... just look at fucking Meta Knightmare. The reason why Meta Knight wants to conquer Dreamland is because Dreamland is lazy. While that might not seem like a good point, consider that Dedede is stealing food from the people and how there's some sort of cosmic threat every year or so. You kinda start to see his point a little bit. But if that doesn't work then how about in Squeak Squad where he steals the chest from Kirby and Daroach. The chest had Dark Nebula inside of it and was sealed away. Therefore having someone try and open it would be a big fucking problem.

Last but not least... Edgeworth:

Before we get into why this point is bullshit I'd like to bring up this ask:

I bring this up because it proves that Lily doesn't know what the fuck she's talking about. You see Edgeworth isn't just a state prosecutor. HE'S A CHIEF PROSECUTOR! He's not just some joe shmo. Also really, prosecutor can't be evil? May I call Manfred Von Karma to the stand:

In case you don't know. This man is a prosecutor that had a perfect record. All of his defendants were served the guilty sentence. However the only reason why they were found guilty was because he forged evidence. Meaning Manfred is responsible for putting people innocent in prison. He even went so far as to murder Edgeworth's father. And guess who was his protege?

That's right none other than Miles Edgeworth himself!

Meaning that up till Phoenix had arrived Edgeworth was doing the exact same thing Von Karma did. Granted not forging evidence, but still putting innocent people in jail because of he wanted to keep his reputation and he didn't care for justice. Therefore in the first game Edgeworth was the villain. Whether you like it or not. And because Lily never specified that the villain had to be redeemed or not Edgeworth is viable enough to be on this list. So check fucking mate Lily.

#lily orchard #anti lily orchard #lily peet #lilyorchard #fuck lily orchard #I was rping a bit there #i apologize #i was playing ace attorney music #lily is a moron #lily orchard is garbage and here's why

58 notes · View notes

vctrvn-ls · 1 year

Note

hiii!! could you please write something about kenny playing guess the gold digger and the reader is the one that came for love and he manages to get it right in the end x thank you⭐️.

Gold Digger | Kenny |

ﾟ☁︎｡ ⋆｡ﾟ☾ ﾟ｡ ⋆｡ﾟ ☁︎｡⋆｡ﾟ ☾ ﾟ｡ ⋆｡ﾟ☁︎｡ ⋆｡ﾟ☾｡

warnings: language

wordcount: 2.6k

ﾟ☁︎｡ ⋆｡ﾟ☾ ﾟ｡ ⋆｡ﾟ ☁︎｡⋆｡ﾟ ☾ ﾟ｡ ⋆｡ﾟ☁︎｡ ⋆｡ﾟ☾｡

"Oh wow. Yeah I can't lie, producers," you watched the man in front of you clap and smile as his eyes scanned the line of girls you were in.

Well to be fair he wasn't just a man. He was Kenny.

Yes the Kenny from youtube's Beta Squad, and today, your mission was to get this guy to at least acknowledge your existence.

You had come on a show called "Gold Digger" in which your job was to convince the famous YouTuber that you were here for love.

Well love was an over statement...more like massive crush.

You had found out about him through your friend's boyfriend, who actually worked as the Beta Squad editor, and after watching some of their YouTube videos, with some of them being rather questionable, you had grown quite fond of him, or rather his looks...he seemed sweet too, but you never know what to expect in real life.

But nothing could've prepared you for a call from your, earlier mentioned, friend, where she told you all about the mini-show and that her boyfriend would certainly be able to set you up as one of the participants.

Long story short, you ended up saying yes.

No big deal you thought, I mean nothing would probably come out of this, but never hurts to try.

And with that exact mindset you were where you were.

For the whole introduction you could feel your heart beating through your eardrums, you were constantly sweating and when it was your turn to speak, you felt your throat go completely dry.

Thankfully though, you managed to squeeze through the painful beginning and as you thought that further on was going to be easier, your hopes were crushed by Kenny's words.

"You know what, let me get up and feel your guys' energy." Kenny swiftly got up from his bench and strode over to the first girl.

You watched as all the liars (wow ok calm down it's just a show) giggled and laughed as he came over, explaining why they were here for love and not for the money.

You were last in line which made things a ton more scary. Waiting and waiting until he finally approached you.

"Hello." He grinned with his white teeth as he literally stared into your soul with his deep dark brown eyes.

"Hi." You almost squeaked, feeling heat creep onto your face as Kenny continued gazing at you, he really was a sight to see up close.

"So why are you interested in me?" He asked through his blinding smile.

You blinked before blurting out "Cause you're cute." And after those words, you heard a series of muffled shouts echo somewhere behind the walls. You shrugged, genuinely not knowing what else to add.

"Fair enough." Kenny chuckled and nodded as he sat back down on the bench.

Oh my god what am I doing?

Fast forward past the next two excruciatingly painful and embarrassing rounds, which you somehow managed to stay in, it was time for the "dating round".

One by one you and the other two girls that were left, were supposed to go on a date with Kenny, which in the end would help him decided who was "the one".

You were last...again, and those twenty minutes of waiting were the most uncomfortable you had ever been.

The other two girls went as far as giving Kenny a massage and talking about their sex life. Two things you weren't really in the mood to do, especially on camera.

"Hey." A whisper broke you out of your troubled thoughts "You're up next." A lady dressed in a black suit and a bun called you over.

After clearing your throat and brushing your fingers through your hair, you followed her to the room.

"Hi." You slowly made it towards the table, waving at Kenny who was already grinning from ear to ear.

Waving? Seriously?

"Hiii," he replied, getting up and pulling you into a hug.

"Oh wow." You couldn't help but comment aloud. He smelt so nice, so warm and soft.

As you pulled away you couldn't help but giggle to yourself (you idiot).

"What?" Kenny sat down in front of you, yet again staring into your soul. You shrug, not evaluating any further.

"You smell good." You end up saying bluntly, making him break into a series of small chuckles "I-I mean not in a weird way you know?" (you should really zip it)

"Oh thank you." He said genuinely "I gotta say you look even more beautiful up close." As cheesy as it sounded, for Kenny it was a genuine statement, but either way you couldn't help but let out a dry laugh.

"Anyway, so how'd you find out about me again?" He leaned forward, sincerely engaged in the current interaction.

"YouTube." You nod "Well a little more complicated, but you could say that."

Those words intrigued him, but he didn't want to waste too much time on them.

"Alright, alright soo-" he paused mid sentence.

"What?" You raise your eyebrows.

He pointed to his ear that had a black earphone in.

"Oh." You whispered.

You waited a few more seconds before watching him pick up his glasses from the table and put them on.

"Do you like them?" He asked.

You stifled a smile and nodded "Very much."

"Really?" He seemed genuinely surprised, making it even more adorable.

"Yeah."

"This is so awkward." Kenny turned to the camera.

"Oh my god." You covered your face with your palms and closed your eyes.

What on earth were you doing? All of a sudden everything seemed so so stupid. This reminded you of one of those dumb dating shows which you usually watched only for laughs.

"Hey, hey, hey, I'm sorry, I'm sorry." Kenny was quick to react "Nah it's just that we're both awkward and it's making things even more awkward." He tried to save the situation.

Before you could pull away yourself, you felt his palms on the back of your wrists and his fingers slowly curling around, as he brought your hands down to the table, giving them a light squeeze.

For a split second you stopped breathing, feeling your face heating up from how anxious you were.

"What was it you said you do?" He gave you a friendly smile and slightly tilted his head.

"I'm a student. Still. Uni." Your words alone gave away how nervous you were, and you were turning even more nervous because of the fact that your palms began sweating like crazy.

"Ah right, right." He nodded, remembering your answer from before.

"Sorry." You squinted, pulling away from his grasp and wiping your palms against your jeans.

"Nah it's ok don't worry. I also get sweaty hands when I'm nervous."

"Are you nervous now?" You asked, innocence in your tone. Innocence that managed to grab Kenny's attention.

He didn't know what it was exactly, but the way that that sounded so casual, unlike the others, made the conversation all the more enjoyable for him.

"Yeah a little." He took his glasses off and put them down "I mean who wouldn't be, sitting next to you."

You couldn't help but let your mouth fall open.

"I'm sorry, I'm sorry." It was his turn to cover his face now "Oh my god. That was so cringey."

You heard his muffled voice from behind his palms.

You were surprised that he actually cared, because with the other girls he said things three times as embarrassing as that and didn't even blink an eye, had to mean something right?

"So," you gathered all your inner strength to actually speak properly, wanting to forget his last words as quickly as possible, "What would be your ideal date?"

His surprise wasn't visible, but he was definitely surprised by the fact that someone had asked him a question first for the first time on this entire show.

"Uuuh," he was caught a little off guard "I feel like my ideal date would be the beach. Or something like that." He nodded, not entirely confident with his answer.

"Beach?" You laugh, genuinely.

"Yeah, why are you laughing?" He raised a brow.

"You can't swim." You tried your best to calm down, and covered your mouth with your hand.

"Oh she knooowwss." Kenny gasps and turns to the camera "Oh my god." He was definitely impressed by your knowledge, even though you were worried that that might've been a little creepy.

"Nah see this is where things start to get interesting." He turns back to you, locking eyes "What else do you know about me that not everyone might know?"

You furrowed your eyebrows "I'm not a stalker." You chuckle dryly "I dunno like," you shrugged not knowing what else to say "Dunno."

There was a small pause "Oh wait!" You exclaim, throwing your arms up (Kenny thought it was very cute) "I know, I know!"

"Go on then." Kenny tried not to laugh at your excited expression.

"I'm not 100% sure with this one, but according to an article that I read, your Tyler's cousin...Tyler, the Creator." You specified.

"Oh shit." Kenny covered his gasp, turning to the camera "Oh my god." He looked back at your proud face which had a small smile tugging at the corners of your lips.

"I know, I know." You nod "But!" You held your finger up "I'm not a stalker."

"Yeah, yeah of course not." He said sarcastically.

"Heyy!" You furrowed your eyebrows.

"Ok, ok." He chuckled "No-I'm actually impressed if anything." There was a slight pause before a finale "Wow." That Kenny whispered.

"Alright, alright." He straightened his back, returning from his cloud of awe "You know that I can't swim, but I wanna know, do you have any fears?"

You thought about it for a second. Were you actually scared of anything?

"Well, not anything specifically. You know like probably a bit of everything? I don't know, no one's asked me that before."

"What do you mean by a bit of everything?"

"Well like, you know spiders aren't my main fear but if I saw a big one I'd probably freak the fuck out- oh shit can I swear on here?" You jolted "Oh fuck-Oh no! Sorry." You hid behind the sleeves of your sweater while Kenny cackled like crazy on the other side of the table.

"Not gonna lie," he turned to the camera while catching his breathe "That was actually really cute." (aaaww, the boys upstairs were definitely cheering)

"And yes you can swear." He looked back at you, who was horrified and slightly embarrassed.

From that point on, your conversation flourished. In a short amount of time you had managed to talk about music, sports and future plans. For a moment Kenny even ignored the fact that you were both on a YouTube show, he was wholeheartedly listening to everything you were saying, whilst grasping at the little details that he could possibly bring up on a future meet up that he had already secretly planned (cheeky little boy).

"Times up!" You turned to the side, seeing the lady in the suit from before holding up her palm.

"Gosh." Kenny stood up and you followed "Thank you, for the date."

"If you could even call it that." You mumbled, remembering how romantic the other two were compared to yours, feeling a little insecure at the comparison. You basically just fanned over him for five minutes before talking about the most random things that he probably didn't even find interesting, embarrassing...or so you thought.

Kenny leaned in for a hug "See you."

"Bye." You gave him a tight smile, before waddling away as he watched you with slight dreaminess in his eyes.

He'd have to be an idiot not to guess that

Soon you were back in the main room in the line you had started in.

You weren't really nervous at this point, either he knew and you'd end up possibly getting his number and probably never seeing him again, since this was YouTube like come on, or he'd not get it and be crowned the blindest and stupidest man on planet earth. (in your mind)

"Obviously," Kenny began "This wasn't an easy decision...at first-"

You stifled a small laugh.

"But after the three dates I had, I felt a little something." He shrugged and got up.

"The winner of this video, the person who I think is genuinely interested in me," you watched as Kenny headed to the beginning of the line, away from you.

What the hell?

"Is..." he faced contestant number one "You." Suddenly, his head turned to your direction, those familiar brown eyes locked in with yours once again, making your heart flutter in your chest.

"Now wait, before you say anything," Kenny slowly walked over to you "y/n, are you here for money...or for love? If you're here for money take the cash."

You bit your lip, trying your best not to let that big stupid smile appear on your face.

You purposefully wanted to raise tension, especially after that little stunt he pulled off just now.

You glanced down at the cash in his hands and then back up at him, and after finally letting that big smile slip out you said "I'm here for you-I mean love." You stuttered.

"YES!" Was the last thing you heard before you were enveloped in a bone crushing hug. You had mixed feelings about Kenny's joy, you didn't know if he was celebrating because he was happy that it was you, or because he had managed to dodge all the gold diggers.

"Wow." He breathed after letting you go and sitting back down "I think I can officially say that I am the best at this game." He said to the lens.

You were flustered, a hot nervous mess that didn't know where to look.

"But before we finish," Kenny continued "I want you to say something." He turned to you and so did all the crew.

You blinked "What?"

"Play the trailer," Kenny whispered in efforts to help you, smile not leaving his face.

"Oh!" You exclaimed and turned to one of the cameras "Play the trailer!"

"End sceeeneeee!" The lady in the suit clapped her hands "Alright, thank you everyone! You did amazing."

You let out a sigh of relief.

Finally.

All the girls headed back to the dressing room to get their stuff, and without thinking too much, you just followed them.

"Hey, wait!"

You stopped and turned around, not entirely sure that you were the one being called. But to your surprise, Kenny jogged over to you.

"Hi. Again." You smiled.

"Hi, do you-can I have your-uh number?" He smiled from ear to ear, trying his best to not let the nervousness get to him.

"Oh, yeah." You nodded, taken aback.

"Why do you sound so surprised?" He asked while rummaging through his pockets to find his phone “You won. Well I did, but you know.”

"I mean…well," you began your rambling "You know like, this is a YouTube video and you know," you shrugged while your hands did questionable movements.

"Yeah, yeah I know how this looks, but you- I actually want to get to know you...If you obviously want to." He held out his phone.

"Pfft yeah, duh I want to," you sarcastically roll your eyes and laugh. Words couldn't explain how overjoyed Kenny was, he totally got your position of the whole "this is YouTube and there's no such thing as love on YouTube" but being the positive guy he was, he thought that it wouldn't hurt to at least try.

"There." You handed him the phone back.

"I'd love to go on a normal date with you. One that's not in front of everyone."

You nodded with a grin on your face "Me too."

And without anymore words, the two of you hugged one last time, before you went back to the dressing room and Kenny went to tell the guys all about you, which was the start of a new journey that the two of you would share.

ﾟ☁︎｡ ⋆｡ﾟ☾ ﾟ｡ ⋆｡ﾟ ☁︎｡⋆｡ﾟ ☾ ﾟ｡ ⋆｡ﾟ☁︎｡ ⋆｡ﾟ☾｡

#beta squad #youtube #king kenny #betasquadedit #niko omilana #chunkz #aj shabeel #sharky #ndl

264 notes · View notes

glittercakes · 15 days

Text

What’s this?! A headcanon post that has nothing to do with Mario?! That’s right! Instead, this is all about one of my other favorite Nintendo franchises, Kirby!

In my headcanon, Kirby is a creature called a Mahoshi (from the Japanese words for “magic” and “star”), essentially an astral being with great power. Aside from Kirby, there are four other true Mahoshi. Those are Meta Knight, Galacta Knight, Morpho Knight, and Void Termina. Void Termina is the progenitor of the other four and the creator of the universe.

There are also other similar species known as Batamon, which resemble Mahoshi but lack their immense power. There’s also the Itoshi (yarn stars) of Patchland, as well as a few alternate universe versions of the main four, such as Shadow Kirby and Dark Meta Knight of the Mirror World and Team Kirby of the Dream Kingdom.

However going back to the main four (as well as Void Termina), each of them are a manifestation of each of the four different matters that make up the world of the games: Heart, Dark, Dream, and Soul.

Kirby: Heart Matter. A friendly child who is full of love and fights for the forces of good, even using the literal power of friendship in Star Allies.

Meta Knight: Dark Matter. Harnessed by Nightmare to be a force of evil before he defected and fought for Dreamland (based on the theory from the anime as well as Dark Meta Knight being the right hand man to Dark Mind in Amazing Mirror)

Galacta Knight: Dream Matter. Does not care about “good” or “evil”, only about being strong. Dream Matter is the most physical of the four, so it makes sense for its Mahoshi to be a powerful fighter.

Morpho Knight: Soul Matter. Like Galacta Knight, not strictly on the side of good or evil. Instead, she harnesses the power of the fallen to fight against worthy opponents, in addition to serving as a sort of shepard for the dead.

Void Termina: All Matters. The Jamba Heart that summons it contains both Heart and Dark Matters. It has a physical shell as well as a spiritual core.

In addition, each of the Mahoshi is an equivalent to one of the Four Horseman of the Apocalypse: Famine, Pestilence, War, and Death.

Kirby: Famine. He’s a hungry child who devours food constantly, gaining power from what he eats, and will do almost anything for food (see Squeak Squad), leaving almost nothing for anyone else.

Meta Knight: Pestilence. This is the least solid connection of the four, but possession by Dark Matter can be like a disease infecting others, poisoning their minds and (in King Dedede’s case) causing physical changes. Related to this, Meta Knight has been mind-controlled three times (Epic Yarn, Planet Robobot, and Star Allies) and almost controlled once (Forgotten Land), having his mind poisoned against Kirby.

Galacta Knight: War. As mentioned above, he’s a fighter who cuts down those who stand in his way and is one of the most powerful warriors in the universe, to the point where he’s destroyed at least two planets and had to be sealed away.

Morpho Knight: Death. She takes the form of a butterfly (a symbol of life and death in some cultures) to absorb the souls of those on the brink of death (such as Galacta Knight and Fecto Forgo) and fight Kirby in their place.

Void Termina: The Apocalypse. It was summoned by the Jamba Cult to destroy the world. It absorbs beings into its core, poisons their minds, destroys worlds, and kills those who stand in its way.

And that’s my take on the matter! (no pun intended) Feel free to share your own ideas in the notes!

#this was brought on by me watching man on the internet’s kirby bytes #kirby #meta knight #galacta knight #morpho knight #void termina #kirby species #hailey’s headcanon corner #kirby spoilers #kirby planet robobot spoilers #kirby star allies spoilers #kirby and the forgotten land spoilers

20 notes · View notes

oneshotnewbie · 2 years

Note

Can I request Spencer Hastings x Reader where A actually made Spencer hurt someone while being at the dollhouse where she is covered in blood and it's Reader? At the hospital Aria sees that Reader gets stitched up because she is having a deep cut from a knife and tells the other when she goes to Spencer's room? Spencer is all worried because you changed since then and are all quite and not that bubbly she used to know you and she also knows that A took all the anger out of Reader and she had to take the most shit because A thinks that Reader is the weakest member of the girls squad? At home Reader doesn't want to talk to Spencer or the girls at all until Spencer is all messed up on her door and crying her eyes out because she remembers what happens? Angst and fluff please???!

⚠️Trigger warning! ⚠️ This one-shot includes the topic of kidnapping, blood, stabbing/cutting wounds. These plots are presented. If this triggers you too easily or you just can´t handle the subject, I urge you NOT to read this work. I am NOT embellishing this topic under any circumstance. Read at your own risk.

---

Two months. Your friends and you had struggled to survive for two whole months.

A had played games with you, tortured, despised and treated you as puppets. Asking so much mentally that you all didn't even know what you should feel after your, almost failed, escape. At least not you.

You didn't know how you could ever be around your best friends again after A urged you to shock them, choose who was next to play his sick game and who wasn't allowed to get water for the next few days. But apparently they had taken out their desperation on you too; you didn't get anything to drink or eat for days. A even managed to bring Spencer to hurt you.

And now you were out of the underground hell and had no idea what to do next and how you should behave towards Spencer. She apparently had no idea about the night when you woke up on her bedroom floor, your best friend attacking you like a fury and hurting you; A had probably put her on some kind of drug.

But you escaped the chaos thanks to Alison and were now in the hospital for observation according to the circumstances and the lack of nutrients. Mentally you had suffered a lot and it was not easy for all of you to return to a regular life but you knew that somehow, the girls would get through it.

While the others had probably gathered to talk about what had happened, you were bound to your bed and frankly you were glad for it. Standing across from Spencer would be too uncomfortable for you at the moment.

You looked at the ceiling with your lackluster eyes while you gave the doctor the time to sew up the last few inches of your abdominal wound, not really listening to him or the words that came out of his mouth- Your thoughts completely wandering off.

They were repeatedly disturbed by a gentle drop of the liquid flowing to your vein and it was unbearable for you to hear this noise, it brought you back to the place where you didn't hear anything else except the ticking clock in your supposedly own room.

With a violent pull, the door to your room opened with a loud squeak and you jumped up before you let yourself fall back onto the couch with a wrinkled nose, a pained face and tightly closed eyes.

"I´m sorry. I did not know-eh." the short brunette stuttered as she stood in the doorway and looked at you in shock. Staring eyes and an open mouth embraced the long cut on your stomach, which stretched sideways to your navel.

A little embarrassed, you pulled the piece of cloth you were wearing over the doctor´s hands to uselessly hide the cut - she´d already seen it anyway. The old man in front of you stopped in his movements and put the instruments he had a hold of in his hands aside before turning to Aria. "I am asking you to leave. We´re in the middle of a treatment."

She nodded quickly apologized before she took a few steps back, still confused without further speaking, and the door clicked shut with a soft click.

You actually intended to keep it a secret from your friends, but you knew that as soon as Aria entered the other girls room, she would tell them what she had seen and you had no chance to talk your way out of it.

And then the whole truth would come out.

---

Confused by the imagine she had of her best friend and the huge gap on her abdomen a few seconds ago, the little brunette walked quickly down the hospital corridor to get to Spencer´s room where they all wanted to meet up.

She had not learned anything from just now and threw herself against the heavy door to open it, also without knocking first, and now stood in the entrance of the bare room. Three tired and lost pairs of eyes settled on her and surveyed the enraged statue, which stood in front of them with a wide open mouth.

Completely isolated in her thoughts, Aria sat down on one of the chairs that Emily had already placed in front of Spencer´s bed and fumbled around with her fingers. She bit her lip bloody from sheer worry and not knowing when the deep and long cut on your stomach was made and who was responsible for it, but one thing was clear; if she found out who A was, she would kill him for the pain that person had caused you and the others.

"Earth to Aria.. are you okay?" Hanna tore her out of her thoughts and gently nudged the smallest of the pack. Now Spencer and Emily, who were talking wildly earlier, had stopped and looked eagerly at the brunette. "Yes.. no. I´m okay but Y/n is not."

"What about her? Have you seen her?" Spencer abruptly intervened in the conversation, sitting up from her laying position. Her voice had lost it´s tone, was hoarse and low, even though she had just sounded perfectly normal not too long ago. "What happened?"

"I went to check on her because I was worried and then I saw how she was being treated." Aria quietly informed her friends as she cleared her throat and started playing with her fingernails. "She has a huge cut on her stomach. Something happened to her down there and she has not told us anything."

Shocked looks turned to the youngest of the group and she pushed back in the chair. Crossing her legs and arms, Aria looked back and forth between the girls and caught on to Spencer. She could clearly see the brunettes pulse in the main artery of her neck, the trembling of her dilated pupils surrounded by nervousness.

---

The situation between Spencer and you lay like a stone on the brunettes heart. Through therapy sessions with Sullivan, she had managed to partially bring her memories back to the fore.

The person she did this to was still fuzzy but it must have been you; the wound Aria had told her about matching where the blade in her hand pierced through the body beneath her. She had felt it was you. Of that she was sure.

But you remained silent about this situation as if this event had not happened in your reality. A week had passed in which you were discharged from the hospital with a whole medicine cabinet. Since then, you had been holed up in your room at your family home with no communication to Spencer.

Calls and messages flooded your phone, even literally exploding it with requests about getting in touch with her; at least let her know how you are doing. But she never got a single answer and your chat remained empty from your side.

The paths to your front door were softly lit as she walked through them. Flares were placed to the right and left of the pacing stone and illuminated the entire flower-planet front yard. The sprinkler system whirred next to her as she took one step after the other.

On the way here, she had given herself a motivational speech, but it disappeared with ever step she took.

Reaching the mahogany-like doors, she stood motionless and still on the patio. Her heart raced as she exhaled shakily and began pounding on them. It was a cooler evening, one of the firsts when she thought about it, and it had been too cold to wear a loose shirt. Spencer would have preferred a sweater, but that was of secondary importance.

As she waited, her mind filled with a bitter emptiness. She was terrified of a confrontation with you, but it would help her understand how you were feeling and how she could make amends. If anything. The brunette wanted to be pragmatic- the most efficient way to get a satisfactory answer.

Slow footsteps sounded on the other side of the door and she thumped heavily when she heard your faint voice in the distance. She huffed and ran a hand over her long brown hair before the door opened abruptly, revealing your pale and tired features under the hood of your white hoodie.

"Y/n.." she spoke cautiously and did not dare to look at you any further. She could see the pain you were in and Spencer felt even more guilty than before. She cleared her throat, nervously pulling her hands to strap of her bag that slung over her shoulder. "Before you slam the door in my face, listen to me. Please,"

You remained silent, disbelieving who you had in front of you.

Spencer could judge by your body language that you were more than just uncomfortable. All muscles tensed in your thighs through the dark blue ripped jeans you were wearing, your hands were tucked deep in the kangaroo pocket of your hoodie and yet she could tell you were fiddling with your fingernails nervously.

Without saying a word, you moved to the side and let her into the house. As she passed thankfully with pleading eyes, she breathed in deeply the floral perfume you were wearing. Spencer missed your closeness and your warmth towards her so much that she clung to every breadcrumb that was given to her in that moment.

"Are you home alone?" she asked in irritation as she was enveloped in the silence of the walls and saw only the flickering TV in the living room. You nodded firmly, your hands mostly tucked into your sleeves and positioned in front of your body. "My parents flew to Paris"

"And left you alone after you went through hell?!"

"What do you want, Spencer?" you shouted angrily and turned your head to her with a rigid expression. Your sudden explosion let her loosen from her rigidity before she stared at you with wide eyes and you thought you saw fear flicker in her eyes for a brief moment. "I do not think you came here to judge my parents."

The mood was strange. Cold, distant and restless. The unspoken swelled between the two of you. Sadness and fear burned in your chest while your best friend had a tiny spark of hope that she was trying to weave into normal conversation.

Motionless, the addressed person sat in front of you, looked deep into your pain-piercing eyes while tears stung hers. Spencer's heart was pounding deep in her chest and it had probably reached it´s highest point now. It pounded in her head, throat, abdomen and paralyzed her. It was indescribable.

The brunette swallowed hard and took a deep breath. She rested her elbows on the marble area and buried her head in her hands before rubbing across her nose. Very sheepishly with a shaky voice, she continued. "I know what I did. I remember."

Beside her you gasped and bit your lip, she could not quite identify the emotion she saw in your eyes. Where before there had been a coldness and severity, she now found something else. "W-what?" you said cautiously in a cracked voice.

Spencer kept shifting nervously on the bar stool, her hands alternately clawing at her pants, the counter in front of her or the disappeared back to the shoulder bag. "Just go now, Spencer. Please-I," you spoke suddenly, breaking her train of thought.

You ran a hand through your tousled hair nervously. "Y/n," she cut you off sharpy and your chest tightened. You found it difficult to breathe.

Spencer took another breath, ready to either explain or,what you thought was, more likely an apology. But she did not get around to it; you continued in a loud raging voice. "Do you actually know what I had to go through when you fucking came at me like a madman?"

You practically yelled at her, your voice already hoarse. You saw in your veil of tears how the older one flinched and her shoulders wandered to her ears. Nevertheless, she did not break her deep gaze, but got caught in your teary eyes. They had darkened. "Or how it felt to look into my best friend´s eyes, begging her not to do it while the knife was already penetrating my skin?"

The brunette felt like she was a little kid again. When she smashed the window with the hockey ball and was getting the lecture of the century from her parents. However, she would not end up in your comforting arms after she shed the first tears. You would not reassuringly run your fingers through her hair or insist that it was just glass and could easily be replaced.

No, this situation went much deeper.

Spencer opened her mouth that suddenly dried out. Tears streamed down her face in unison with yours and she let her eyes roam over you again. "I am so sorry.." she could not pronounce it, her throat tightening with every word. "I could never hurt you. A did something to me and that monster was not me. It is not me. I love you."

The leadership she took at the moment, trying to explain her actions, distracted from your troubled insides. You could not completely turn off your heart and the thoughts of the past hours and days.

Still, you knew her words were serious and she was genuinely sorry. It broke your heart to see her so upset. She too was under the influence of drugs that A had given her to commit the crime. You exhaled loudly and just looked at her, could not keep your mind from racing.

Slowly, you circled the counter and stepped carefully to her side. Your fingertips gently touched her cold, trembling and bare forearm. Spencer reacted to the touch she thought was impossible immediately and looked at you. A positive feeling flowed through her and she laid her head at the level of your belly button. You flinched at the pain, but swallowed it to keep her close.

You cupped her sticky, sweaty fingers and intertwined them with yours. Indescribable affection went through the brunette and she drew herself closer to the person who understood her so well. Who went through this hard time with her and who would master recovery together.

Relief flowed through the eldest, you could see it in her face which showed the corners of her mouth far raised. She knew that she still had a rough road with you ahead and that she had to help you to trust her completely again. Above all, you needed someone to overcome the nightmare and the anxiety.

But most of the ballast had fallen off her. A decisive step in the right direction.

307 notes · View notes

starryficsfinishwen · 1 year

Text

✧。◟[NSFW] ᴀ ʟɪᴛᴛʟᴇ ꜱᴇᴄʀᴇᴛ – lee x reader [PGR]

there's an indentation in the shape of you

a.n. - dress by taylor swift got me writing this fic first before I should even start writing the first ones I planned LOL + Lee's Eng VA got me feeling things. also not edited yet, I will edit it when I get back 🙏

pairing - lee x f!commandant (allusions that he's using the hyperreal frame, but you're free to imagine which lee this is)

words - 7,055 words (this idea was supposed to be a drabble. pls don't ask kek)

TRIGGER WARNING - MINORS DO NOT INTERACT. MAJOR SMUT AHEAD: mentioned fingering, cunnilingus (m to f), penetration, dry humping, tit play?? other stuff I can't seem to put my finger on. allusions to virginity loss. dom!lee hyperreal. a bit of a bratty sub!reader. includes jealous lee. degradation (but only in the seggs part) (mentions of slut, whore). a little bit chrome x commandant/reader. slight tipsy characters because wine and alcohol is involved. we get a soft!lee because he is™️. lee and reader gets to have the bed break because he is also a beast rawr ଲ(ⓛ ω ⓛ)ଲ

Everyone thinks the relationship between a construct and their commandant is purely professional; the latter exuding orders to be executed by the former, the war they face, the blood they had and have to shed — all for the sake of survival and success of the mission. In the end, glory and honor await those who return to Babylonia.

However, beyond the exemplary titles and glimmering medals of valor, no one knows what happens behind those walls.

For example — they never saw the way Lee's fingers curled on your thigh.

Babylonia shone its bright lights onto the heroes that successfully reclaimed another place on Earth. To celebrate their arrival, the leaders took initiative to throw a grand party. Not only to celebrate their win, but to also reignite the nearly-doused flames of hope to the remaining humanity, to show that there is still a chance to take back the Earth from the reigns of death.

Cheers still rang throughout the halls of Babylonia, its joy incomparable to the wails down below. Surely, those who are still alive at a time like this couldn't help but join in their charade, at least, before they wake up once more to the sorrowful reality.

The Gray Ravens are no exception. Being one of the elite squad to spearhead the operations with the banner of Babylonia, they were the subject of the grand feast. And that meant the glimmers of tonight awaited their victorious presence.

“I don't- ah!” A small squeak escaped your lips, as Lucia finally finished pulling on the flimsy thread on your back.

Gasping, Liv covered her mouth in awe, rose-colored irises twinkling as she looked at you, “Commandant, you look so pretty.”

Laughing awkwardly, you slightly nodded to your construct, “really? It feels...awkward though.”

“Liv's not lying,” a soft assurance came from your team leader, Lucia, a grin reflecting on her face, “you look really pretty today, commandant.”

Gently tugging your figure to the nearest mirror, Lucia and Liv revealed your outfit tonight. Mirrors were supposed to reflect what one should see, yet, your own eyes wouldn't believe what was in front of you:

A cream-colored silk dress with a sweetheart neckline, the end of the gown reaching the floor, that hugged your curves all too well. Your usual tied hair was freely cascading your bare back, strands tickling wherever they could reach. You noticed your skin was sparkling even; you were well-aware of the vigorous training and all the other unfortunate scenarios that you and your team went through, yet, your body seemed like it knew no fatigue or stress at all.

“Ayla volunteered to help you look perfect tonight,” Liv pipped, “I think you noticed it when she was scrubbing your body earlier.”

“That was her?” It explained the intense scratching on your skin while you were in the bath, one that your constructs insisted on doing.

The three of you laughed. You couldn't help but marvel at your own constructs as well — Lucia wearing a dazzling carmine gown that reflected her Plume frame, and Liv with her luminous bubblegum cocktail dress mirroring her Eclipse one. A small sense of pride that intertwined with your joy bubbled in your chest, you were glad they were around as your friends instead of just ordinary constructs that only know of staying in the battlefield.

A knock on the door interrupted your moment with your teammates. Liv quickly ran to the door. “It must be Lee!”

A mention of his name made your heart skip a beat. It wasn't supposed to be like that — the relationship between a construct and a commandant is strictly professional. Deep down, you knew your feelings for him are far from that; you saw Lee more than just a teammate or a best friend. But to you, you don't even know the depth of his own attraction to you, unless you remember that one time—

Pretending to look away and deciding to create a small talk with Lucia, your eyes betrayed you as it caught a glimpse of Lee's figure emerging from the front door.

“Are you excited for tonight, Commandant?” Lucia asked.

“A bit. I feel like it's different facing a crowd for a party than facing the corrupted.”

“I agree with you,” she hummed, “but I think it'll be alright, we are all here together rather than fighting at different places all at once, right?”

Once more, your heart skipped. You looked over the mirror, to see cerulean eyes staring at you: an unreadable emotion written on his face.

“Ah, other than that, we have respective partners for tonight anyways. Are you excited to have Lee accompany you, Commandant?”

Another mention of his name. Paired with Lee's lingering gaze on you made you feel like you've shrunken like a mouse. It made your heart beat even faster, that you stumbled on your words.

“I think Chrome will be an excellent pair.”

A pin-drop silence entered the room. Your attention flickered to the reflection of the mirror, where a downcast expression was rewritten on Lee's face.

“You mean Chrome is your partner for tonight?”

Curse your carelessness. You hadn't even asked Chrome in reality; you were just running away from Lee and that unfortunate time—

—Liv hurriedly came back into the lounge. Noticing the air of gloominess, Liv opened her mouth, before hiccuping into a squeal.

“A-ah, guys! I think we should be going now...the party will be starting soon!”

You took that as a cue to turn and face your team members. Taking Lucia's hand, you trudged up to Lee and Liv. You made a mistake in looking at the construct you've been ignoring ever since you came back to Babylonia: the navy blue suit that was carefully ironed, and the smell of musk that flooded your senses. And you wished you hadn't looked up instead when you met his gaze.

Cerulean eyes stared down at you, and the initial fear of shrinking into a mouse returned to you. Looking away, you noticed a small bouquet of roses behind Lee's back, making your heart ache for no reason.

“Commandant.”

Lee's voice matured through the months you've been together. This time, his usual calculative tone melted, and instead, a softer yet rough baritone tone escaped his lips.

He held out his free hand. White gloves instead of the rough ones you've always seen were in his hands instead. “Commandant, good evening.”

“Good-” your voice cracked, making you cringe, “-good evening, Lee.”

You instinctively took the hand that was for you, but Lee was faster, the bouquet of fresh roses and baby's breath already in front of you.

“This is for you.”

No words came out of your blanked out mind. Lee finished the sentence for you, opting to give the bouquet to you without even touching his hand.

“I initially thought I'd be the one to accompany you tonight, but I suppose Captain Chrome already took that place. I'm sure his bouquet is much better than mine, then I suppose I should leave this here?”

Bastard.

A new sense of embarrassment erupted in your face that covered the butterflies that charred in your stomach.

He certainly was about to make that night memorable, wasn't he?

Golden lights poured all over the grandiose auditorium. People and constructs wearing ballgowns, dresses, and suits flocked underneath the glinting chandelier, its rainbow lights reflecting on the tiled floors. The faint smell of food and the clanking of glass filled the entire room, creating an ambiance that was sure to be remembered.

At that moment, confused gray eyes stared at your awkward figure.

“You want...me to be your partner?”

As soon as you entered the room, you had successfully evaded Lee and quickly found Chrome. You tried to keep things short and concise, just to let the captain of Strike Hawk agree to your proposal.

“Just for tonight.” You hushed your tone, frantically looking around to see if someone was eavesdropping on your conversation, “please, Chrome. I'll give you the cleaning robots you want for the whole month.”

“There's no need for that, Commandant. You already know that I'd do whatever you'd ask me to do, but I just don't get why? Isn't Lee around?”

A helpless sigh escaped your lips, to which the captain saw. Before you could speak, the expression on his face changed when he looked up, then looked back at you.

“Is this about Le-”

“-I know, I know, I'm a coward.” You deeply sighed once more, face covered by your hands, “I'm an idiot.”

Fortunately for you, Chrome knows about your dilemma – your infatuation for the man in your team. Giving you an assuring pat on your shoulder, Chrome lightly laughed.

“I see, I understand. I will be your partner for tonight then, Commandant. However, you should already know that you really need to talk to him about what happened before more misunderstandings would happen.”

You breathed out in pure relief. “I will, maybe not now. I still need time...”

Chrome held out your hand and whisked you away into the crowd. “I hope you do it sooner,” Chrome's voice cracked, “Lee looks like he's ready to assault me when I'm asleep.”

By the time Chrome led you to the dancefloor, you realized something: enjoying the party was a complete understatement. The laughter rang in your ears as the food you ate filled your stomach. Fruity gossip — especially those about Hassen and Nikola — reached your ears, paired with the ever-growing amounts of wine you've consumed over the last hour. Or was it last few hours ago?

“Commandant,” in your drunken state, you still managed to hear the worry in Chrome's voice, “I think you should put the glass down...you drank too much.”

You shook your head, refusing to give your glass into the gentle pull of his hand, “I'm fine, I'm not drunk. Let me have one more...”

While earlier, you were worried about Lee and *that* particular disturbance in your mind, you were already dancing with the lights in your vision to care about those trivial matters; after all, the wine was too sweet to whisk you away from everything.

“Ah, Commandant, please.” Chrome's voice shook with uncertainty, “Lee is-”

“-Lee this, Lee that!” You exasperatedly groaned, pouting as you downed on the nth glass for the night, “To hell with him! You're my partner; just come on and dance with me!”

The captain couldn't stop you, as you excitingly dragged him by his necktie to the dancefloor, the crowd around you cheering. Yet the loudness couldn't even drown out your laughter, as you drunkenly danced around your 'partner'. The alcohol had long fogged your head, but you weren't blind to the way Chrome's intense gaze was on you the whole time. You felt his hands around you, from your shoulders to your waist.

As the music played a sensual bass, your eyes opened to look around. Dim lights, a shadow overhead of the chandelier's outline, the sea of people on the dancefloor. Songs of praises about how tomorrow was another day for heroes to save the future, words of congratulations that only passed through your ears. Amongst the beat of the music playing in the background, your heart was playing a different song — there, you saw the person you'd been ignoring, yet looking for all this time: Lee was laughing and smiling at the ladies that surrounded him.

For a moment, you seemed to have gone sober. Perhaps, this was your punishment; and you deserve that heartbreak. So, you closed your eyes and danced to the unfathomable soundtrack of the night, forever drifting in your drunken stupor.

“How alluring,” you were suddenly aware of how Chrome was already too close from comfort, breathe tickling your ears, “I should have known that you were a mastermind to such things like this.”

His hands bordered around the area of your hips. It tickled you, but you couldn't help but remember Lee's own hands gripping your hips like what happened—

“Commandant,” his voice dropped an octave lower, making your spine shiver, as he brought you even closer to his chest, “why must you be like this?”

Reality and imagination overlapped your consciousness; while someone else held your body, all you could see in that proximity was Lee in his place. Your heart was throbbing now, as your drunken thoughts only made you remember that certain day with Lee.

His breath fluttered in your ear. Wandering hands. A tight space.

All you could do was inhale in that moment, before the breath of fresh air slipped through your lungs.

A momentary shake clouded your already-drunk thoughts. The bright lights in the dim room flickered in your vision before you felt a broad surface collide with your body.

“...enough.” Frankly, you must've been stuck too long in a daydream that you imagined Lee's voice. But then again, it must not be because—

“....Commandant....too much....drink.”

You shook yourself awake. When you returned to your senses, Chrome was in front of you, looking disappointed above you, but not at you. All because Lee was the one behind you, hands gripping your shoulders.

“I've already told her that.” the captain scoffed, “we're only dancing. I'm taking her home already.”

“Right, says the man who was close enough to kiss her.” Lee's cold tone made you shiver your spine. You've never seen him this angry before.

“At least I have the guts to do so, unlike someone who's been a coward.”

Coward. That seemed to sum up yourself. Or the man holding you.

Wait.

“Lee,” you cried out a slur, alcohol coming back to consume you, “enough, Chrome didn't do anything wrong.”

The light of the chandelier blinded his features, making you unsure whether or not you'd seen Lee's face in the darkness. Pulling you away from the light and the crowd, you heard a shift in Lee's whisper, a softer tone, “I'll take you home, Commandant.”

“...wait,” a small whine escaped your lips, before your surroundings blurred into pure darkness, “Lee, hang on...”

Your eyes closed, your sense of hearing faded like your vision, yet you felt a pair of strong arms wrapped around you.

“Lee...my mac and cheese...”

You remember that day.

A mission on Earth. The Gray Ravens were dispatched to help reclaim the piece of land vital to the operation's success. Alongside Strike Hawk, the two squads were sent without a hassle. Things were going very well until you and Lee somehow found yourselves cornered in one of the abandoned buildings.

You never expected yourself to be in that tight situation: a small dresser, with you and Lee stuck inside. You tried to awkwardly make the space comfortable enough still, but all the shifting and turning only made the situation worse.

“Commandant,” Lee breathed out after you tried to move your body, “I think you should stop...”

Sighing, you couldn't help but grow frustrated. “I could, but I think you're the one having trouble here. I don't want you to get back aches when we return to our base.”

“True, but...” he suddenly went silent, causing you to look at him, “this position is rather...”

“We don't have much of a choice then, I'm sorry, Lee. Don't worry; when we get back, I'll-”

Without missing a beat, Lee leaned forward, covering your mouth. Your eyes widened at the intrusion, eyebrows raised.

'There's someone out there'. He mouthed at you, still keeping his hand there.

As you listened to the creeping footsteps — one you identified as a corrupted — a small vibration, akin to a fluttering heartbeat, was heard thrumming alongside yours. You redirected your gaze from the small opening of the dresser, to Lee's focused stare to where you first looked.

A sharp jaw, clear and calculative cerulean irises that were curtained by his bangs, dimpled cheeks, soft-looking lips. You've known all this time that Lee was a handsome man, but have you ever looked at him like this? Have you ever stared at someone in a different light, that you want to kiss them?

“What?”

A startled question brought you back to reality. You caught him staring back at you with a wild, confused, yet curious expression written across his dainty features. You reeled yourself back — did you just say your thoughts out loud?!

“Um-” squeaking, you frantically shook your head, “n-no, I was just-”

Without hesitation, Lee leaned forward, one hand over the aide of your head, the other grasping your chin. In the middle of your hazy thoughts, you read an unfamiliar expression on Lee's face, this time, you could hear both of your hearts beating in sync.

“Pull away when you don't want to, Commandant.”

Sensing no imminent signs of restraint, you could only breathe in the moment Lee closed the gap between the both you.

And God, who would have known, his lips were soft.

Enough to drive you mad, enough to drive you insane. Greed corrupted your rational thoughts, blindingly wrapping your arms around Lee's neck and grasped his hair, as if afraid he'd be dragged away. But he wasn't; instead, he pulled you closer, holding you by your waist.

The only antagonist that appeared in your play was oxygen. Pulling away, a small whine escaped your lips. But it did grant you a sight: Lee's disheveled hair and swollen lips. The fire in your stomach did not disappear; instead, it ignited even more.

“...more.” you muttered through shallow, shaky breaths, “I want...more.”

The taste of him felt trivial, yet it made your appetite appear itself. You wished to be devoured, to succumb to his strength alone — but it didn't seem enough.

Yet, you were afraid to be rejected. However, much to your dilemma, a faint smile appeared amongst the unfamiliar expression on Lee's face.

“As you wish, then.”

Lee hoisted you up to his lap, before closing the gap. Your hunger clashed with his as you kissed him with more fervor, breathing in his mouth, touching wherever your hands could reach.

As you moved in his lap, you suddenly felt something rub down there. Peeking as you gasped for air, you noticed a bulge sitting eagerly on Lee's middle. Experimentally moving upwards, you heard Lee's breathy groan in your ear.

“Commandant...” his tone was a warning, but your hunger was insatiable, opting to thrust yourself in a languid motion.

“Do you,” you held out a shaky inhale, pleasure clouding your senses, “do you like that?”

He grasped your hips, eliciting a small whine from you. “do it properly, Commandant.”

“No.” You grunted, slowly rubbing yourself on him, “you should call me properly when you want me to.”

A low growl came from his lips to your ear, a shiver that went directly down to your aching core. You tried to hold back a low moan, when the grip on your hips tightened even more, before he flawlessly guided you on him.

“Alright then, [Y/N].” He groaned in your ear, making you gasp as he directed you instead, “two can play at this game.”

—

Before you could finish what you've dreamt of, you jolted whenever you were laying on, breathing heavily from the dream's impact.

Coming back to reality, you felt your head throb mercilessly, groaning from the pain. When you opened your eyes, a dark room welcomed you back, with the faint light of day haloing the windows. You also noticed yourself on a bed you've known all this time, the sheets smelling like musk. Confirming that you were still wearing the dress you wore the last time, you were safe to say that nothing bad happened. At least, the decency of the blanket that covered you.

...wait, that wasn't your blanket. Nor was this room.

Panic filled you as you scrambled to get out of the bed with a raging headache, but a familiar voice somehow calmed your nerves.

“Relax, you're in my room.”

Breathing a sigh of relief, you turned to your side to see Lee, still wearing the suit from last night, sitting on a chair beside the bed, a small screwdriver and a little toy in hand. You recognized it as the little robot he had built for you, a stray thought that made you believe he must have finished tinkering with it.

“Lee...”

“There's a hangover drink on the table beside you, along with the mac and cheese you requested.”

The drink was expected. But mac and cheese?

“Um...”

“Before you passed out, you called out to me for your forgotten mac and cheese. And threw a fit when I said no.”

You cringed. Pretending to look away from Lee, you silently took the drink and ate the freshly prepared food with a muttered "thank you". No thoughts — other than the raging headache — could come to mind, except for the tasty food that somehow satiated your hunger. But you were thankful, even though the creeping sense of dread and embarrassment filled your tired body. After finishing the food, you slowly got ready to get out of the bed.

“Well, um, thank you for the meal, I will probably just go back to the party now.”

“The party ended hours ago. You were asleep for eight hours.”

You looked at the bedside table to see the illuminated clock, signaling it was 10:42. You awkwardly chuckled, still avoiding Lee's intense gaze.

“O-oh...well, that's a shame. I guess I'll go back to my office, then. I will be finishing the do-”

“-I finished them for you while you were busy drooling on my bed.”

You contorted your face in disdain. This bastard...

“I guess I also still need to go, I need to talk to Lu-”

“-if you are talking about the favor Lucia asked you, I already did it for you.”

Your mind started to race once more, deciding that the only thing Lee should face was your bare back and not your disappointed face as you finally ran out of excuses. Opting out the last option, you stood from the bed, and sprinted to the door.

“...bye Lee!”

Freedom awaited you. Or you thought so. Because you only came in contact with Lee's chest instead. Looking up, annoyance written across your features, as Lee stared down at you, expresionless.

“I need to go, Lee. Please let me pass.”

“What is the rush, Commandant? I already did all the things I knew you'd use as an excuse.”

“I'm not making excuses!” Liar. Embarrassment and anger flushed your puffed cheeks, “I really need to go!”

“I'll let you go,” enlightenment filled your poor soul, “only when you tell me one thing.”

“Say it.”

“Why are you ignoring me.”

Why are you ignoring Lee? Simple. You didn't want to finish while you're drowning in the fear.

“I refuse to answer.”

“Then I'm not letting you go out.”

“Why do you want to know?” You exasperatedly sigh, glaring at Lee, “I thought you'd stop this charade.”

“Are you telling that to me, or are you telling that to yourself?”

Both of you glared at each other. He may be taller in height, but your pride refused to back down. “To you. I'm already honest.”

“I know you're not. You don't think I don't notice what you've been doing?”

In a sudden motion, Lee grasped your shoulder ever so gently, cerulean irises looking at you softly. “Why are you ignoring me, Commandant?”

“I'm not...”

“or should I call you [Y/N]?”

The way he spoke of your name made you weak in the knees. Flustered, you turned your back on him, approaching the bed.

“I'm not going to talk to you, Lee.”

“Alright, should I enumerate the things you've been doing then?”

You refused to answer.

“You never even look at me ever since we came back from the retrieval operation. Whenever I'm in the room, you always try to leave.”

The moments when you've done what Lee mentioned came to mind. You internally cringed.

“You told Chrome to be your partner, even though we already established that I'll be the one to accompany you, and Chrome didn't even know.”

Memories of last night resurfaced. The amount of wine you've drank, the music, the way Lee held you — no, that wasn't Lee. That wasn't supposed to be...

“Are you ignoring me because you are running away after what happened to us down on Earth?”

“N-no, I-”

“-then why are you running away from me?”

You turned to see Lee already behind you, eyes looking like they were close to tearing up. You couldn't help but feel your heart break into a million pieces, as the cracks of Lee's emotionless façade started to appear across his features.

“Won't you tell me?”

Your heart betrayed you.

“This is purely professional.” You breathed out, “constructs and commandants should not have a romantic relationship with each other. We already listed our names in Death's checklist, and anytime, death would reclaim us in this neverending fight; whether I succumb to the natural death or you succumb to the punishing virus.”

“Your point?”

“I-” you choked on your suddenly overwhelming tears, “I cannot accept what happened to us down there. I can't risk putting our feelings first when our duty calls.”

You looked at him, breathing in your tears, “what if I lose you?”

The dam of unspoken feelings finally broke down. You've put a lot of thought into it; the fear of losing Lee as a lover, as your construct, as your teammate, as your friend. What goes beyond the weapons and glory, you feared what happens when one of you either dies or succumbs to the virus?

With a gentle coo of your name, Lee leaned closer to cup your cheeks, his thumb caressing away the tears that were falling from your eyes.

“We cannot stop that. I know. I have already seen the futures; but should that really be the reason for us to be apart? To simply be my commandant, and I, as your construct?”

You thought it to be the answer. But Lee proved you wrong.

“I can't do that. I don't want us to be just like that. [Y/N], I feel the same; I can't imagine myself without you in this life.”

No words spoken to you other than what Lee told you made you breakdown like this: crumbling into the bed, the overwhelming feelings of the future consuming your thoughts. But Lee, he cradled you into his arms, soft sweet nothing muttered as he kissed the crown of your head.

“I like you. I like you so much that I am afraid to lose you in this life, that I want to be close to you all the time, I don't want you to pick anyone else; I need you. I'll love you all the time, I will keep you safe from everything.”

Kneeling to your crouching frame, he cupped your cheeks with a small smile on his face, “that's why I'll stay alive for you, I love you, [Y/N].”

Your feelings are incomparable to the confession you've heard from Lee. You felt the same; you'd devote yourself to him, you—

“I love you too, Lee.” You confessed, taking the hand on your cheek to your lips for a kiss, a choked sob signifying your truth, “I'll stay alive with you, for as long as we can.”

Without hesitation, Lee leaned forward, a hair's breadth away from your lips.

“I want to kiss you.” Lee muttered, “Pull away when you don't want to, [Y/N].”

This time, you were the one to pull him into the kiss. Fervor and hunger awakened deep inside you once more, devouring whatever Lee could give as he kissed you back deeply, pushing you onto the bed. You taste the wine you drank last night, you inhaled the musk Lee was wearing; everything drowns you in its mere presence.

You could stay like that with Lee forever: tangled in each other's arms, breathing into each other's mouths. But the way his leg slotted in the middle of your hips made you feral; greedily grinding like how you've done to him down on Earth. He fueled your hunger more, bouncing his leg to your rhythm, making you moan onto his lips.

Was it the alcohol making you like this? Or were you getting drunk just from Lee's ministrations?

“You are eager,” Lee chuckled, pulling away, making you whine. He watched you with interested eyes as you tried to get off with only his leg. “I should have known you're like a slut.”

The degradation only made you even more turned on. Pouting, you whined as you tried to pull on his suit. “Take that off and touch me more, please...”

“You think you deserve it, after acting like a brat?”

Without a warning, his fingers found your drenched core, making you whine from sensitivity. He laughed, “already wet, even though you were just grinding on my leg.”

“Lee, please,” you grinded on his hand, back arched, “more...please.”

He leaned in to kiss you, fingers still rubbing your wet panties. Pulling away, he fumbled with the ties on your dress, “I wanted to tear this off of you, but I think I'll spare the fuss of destroying such a pretty dress on you.”

He expertly took off the top part of the dress, exposing your bare breasts. You forgot you didn't even wear a bra, so you tried to hide yourself from Lee's hungry gaze.

“Don't,” you whined as he slapped your pussy, “don't shy away from me now.”

From your lips, he was now devouring the left part of your breast. Temporarily abandoning your soaked core, he played with your other breast. Oh, the way he was playing with you was driving you insane — you were sure you were wetting the bed all from his ministrations.

One hand covering your mouth to suppress your embarrassing noises and the other tugging on Lee's locks, you were desperate for something to fill your neglected hole down there already.

“Stop covering your mouth,” Lee scolded as he rose, a shiver running down your spine, “let me hear you calling for me, [Y/N].”

Effortlessly, he manhandled you to the center of the bed, teasingly looking at you as he slowly unbuttons his suit. Annoyed, you fumbled with unbuttoning his trousers.

“Stop teasing,” you whined, “hurry up, Lee, please.”

Begging was never an option, but desperation clawed at your throat, the knot in your stomach begging to be fulfilled. Lee only chuckled at your situation.

“You're so cute, Commandant, if only they know how much of a needy little whore you are behind these walls.”

Fuck. This bastard knew what he was doing. Kneeling in front of your now-closed legs, he effortlessly pried them open. Taking his precious little time taking your soaking panties off, threads of your essence sticking, you could hear a soft groan from the man.

“God, how are you so wet already, [Y/N]?”

A finger teasingly traced your slit, making your back arch. “L-Lee...”

You made a mistake in looking up; he was already close to your aching pussy, blowing a small breath on it. Your eyes met as he proceeded to kiss your wet core — eliciting a moan from you.

“Fuck.”

One last curse from Lee made your hole flutter around nothing. He smirked in response, “such a pretty little pussy for me to see, hm?”

And with that, he opened his mouth to your pussy. And fuck, indeed. It felt so overwhelmingly good — his mouth sucking on your hole, thumb twiddling with your shaking nub. You couldn't keep your eyes off from Lee's focused expression; you couldn't lie, it felt too fucking good. The way his mouth now moved to suck on your clit, fingers prodding to enter your fluttering core.

“God, fuck, [Y/N], stop squirming. If I can't prep you now, how are you going to take something bigger?”

Your hazy mind blanked out. Bigger? A broken moan came out of your mouth then, when you felt two of his fingers enter your leaking hole. Back arching when he rhythmically fucked you with only his fingers. How was it even possible — to already feel so goddamn full with just two fingers?

“Pretty,” he cooed, looking at your writhing figure, “who would have thought I'd be the only one to see you like this? To see you moaning like a needy slut?”

The knot in your stomach was close to snapping now, Lee could tell in the way you're pathetically moaning his name and how you pulled his hair. In kind, he maintained his pace, coaxing out the orgasm out of you.

“L-Lee, I-”

“Do it, [Y/N].” Lee muttered between your folds, “cum for me.”

With one more broken moan, you came over Lee's mouth, clamping your legs around his head. Lee didn't even flinch — he fucked you through your orgasm.

When you came back from cloud nine, you could make out Lee's figure, haloed by the light from the windows. You felt his hand cupping your cheeks, before leaning down to kiss you. You could taste yourself on his lips; salty, sticky, but it never fazed you.

You opened your eyes to find his own, looking at you with such reverence, that if you hadn't paid attention to your surroundings, that you wouldn't have noticed something hard rubbing on your slit down below. You peered down as Lee fondled your chest, and your eyes widened —

“Lee,” you whimpered, “you're so big...how are you going to fit that in me...?”

A small laugh passed through his lips. Down there, you underestimated the size you initially thought, but never took into consideration what it would have looked like when clothes are off. In response, the tip of his cock, smeared with what seemed to be pre-cum, making you jolt from the pulsating contact.

“You can take it,” he hummed as he leaned to your ear, licking the space underneath it, his breath tickling every part of your ear before lightly biting your earlobe, “if not, then we'll make it fit. You're a good girl, aren't you? You'll take it well, won't you?”

The cockhead was then playing with your swollen clit, and all you could do was to moan in response, hands gripping the sheets tightly, “I-I...I will try.”

“I'll be careful,” Lee kissed your ear, before pecking your lips, “your safe word is zero.”

Gently, he tried to guide his hardened member to your hungry hole. You mewled in pain, as the cockhead came through your folds. God, it stung: how it was already stretching you more than his fingers, but Lee wasn't even halfway through.

“Relax,” he grunted, whispering in your ear, “you should- ah, relax. You're too tense.”

Even so, Lee tried to comfort you, as he tried to push his dick further in, with your moans getting louder. In an attempt to ground you, he gripped you by the hips — before breathing in, and pushed further.

Your pussy spasmed at the intrusion. And all Lee could do was groan in your ear. “[Y/N], you're so warm...so tight. Breathe with me, relax.”

A strangled moan escaped your lips, but Lee closed the gap, just to calm you down. He let you adjust to his length that was now sheathed inside you, but God, it was too warm, too wet, too good inside. If you were going insane with him inside of you, then he's close to losing his mind to ramming you to oblivion.

But like the good man he was, Lee bit back those urges, even as your legs trembled and hooked by his hips.

“I'm going to move now,” he muttered, “I'm- ah, tell me...if you're uncomfortable, use the safeword.”

You might have been drunk over the alcohol, but no wine could compare to the pleasure that was drowning you profusely. Too fucked out to care, Lee began to shallowly thrust into you. There was slight pain as he started to move, but it eventually subsided, paired with his subtle touches on your body here and there. Finally, he bottomed out inside of you.

“Lee,” you babbled, “Lee.”

“I'm here,” he kissed your lips, one hand gripping your thigh, the other on your hips, “are you okay?”

“You feel so good,” you mewled when he thrusted deeply, back arching, “wan' more...I wan' more please.”

Who was he to deny you? Maintaining the pace, he held you by the back of your thighs, raising them to his shoulders. You were completely helpless now — the way he was pressing you onto the mattress, the world spinning around you as he was drilling so goddamn deep onto you. It didn't take long for Lee to find that one spongy spot that made you see beyond the stars in Babylonia.

“Lee-” you cried out his name, breasts bouncing from how he bullied that spot in you, “Morian-”

That made him stop. Looking down to see your fucked out state, he gripped your hips to shake you awake. “what did you call me?”

You froze. A shiver ran down your spine, only making you open your mouth. “Morian...?”

The gears in Lee's mind started to work. So that's what it was like: to be called by someone you love, your real name on their lips. For the very first time after being a construct, Lee felt human. Very human, that the proof was right there in front of him, being one with him. It drove him wild — his dick fervently pulsating inside of you.

“Say. It. Again,” he punctuated every word with every thrust, “say my real name again, [Y/N].”

You mewled out in pleasure. “M-Morian!”

That newfound energy throbbed inside of Lee, causing him to ram you deeper and harder onto the mattress. There, you babbled “Morian, Morian” like a prayer, and Lee could only growl in your ear as a response.

And such, you felt another knot in your stomach close to coming undone. Through tears in your eyes, you called out, “M-Morian, I'm c-close...”

“So am I.” He smiled at you, gentle hands clasping with your clammy ones, “we'll come together then.”

Reaching out to rub your neglected nub, your orgasm is closer than you thought. With one last look at Lee's glinting cerulean irises, his mouth moved faster.

“Cum.”

Mind-blowing pleasure corrupted your mind, as you came over Lee's cock. A frothy white ring creamed on Lee's pulsating dick as he fucked you through your orgasms.

Lee thought you looked like the prettiest person alive as you came. Easing you through, he kissed and caressed every part of your body — cheeks, clavicle, chest, stomach. Soon enough, as you both came down from your highs, heavy breathing filled the room. You were about to wiggle out of Lee's grasp, when he held your hips. Looking tiredly at Lee's smiling face, a dreaded realization came over you.

“We're not yet done, [Y/N].” He whispered, his dick that was still inside you throbbing, “I still need to show you how much I love you.”

Before that, a creaking sound happened before you felt the mattress dip into the floor.

You're fucked indeed.

The afternoon was a pretty time to see nice sights around Babylonia. Still drunk over last night's festivities, the constructs you've known decided to take a stroll around the place.

Bianca and Karenina were sitting on one side of the table, munching on the food they brought. Wanshi, Kamui, Camu, and Chrome were at the center, minding their own business.

“Commandant went home early, didn't she?” Bianca asked the surrounding constructs.

“That was past 11 pm though,” Karenina sighed, polishing the inver-device she had been carrying around, “I heard she was pretty drunk already.”

“Wasn't she with you the whole night, Chrome?” Said Bianca, “did you take her home?”

Chrome, with a disappointed expression on his face, shook his head. Opting to drink the glass he held, he muttered, “I was, but Lee took her...”

From a distance, Kamui waved to the appearing new constructs. “Lucia! Liv! Perfect timing!”

Even before the two Gray Ravens could sit down, an annoyed and confused expression is written across the team leader's face. “I already received a report that a bed in our dorm needs to be fixed...”

“Huh,” Wanshi perked up, yawning, “why'd the bed break? Did something happen?”

“No idea.” Liv sighed, “No one else was at our dorm...”

Kamui looked around, “where's Lee and the Commandant?”

“I haven't seen Lee since last night.” Lucia spoke, to which Liv also shook her head.

“Were you talking about us?”

A voice spoke from behind. The group turned to see Lee, and you beside him. Awkwardly smiling and waving, you sheepishly greeted, “Hello, sorry guys. I had a major hangover.”

“The commandant couldn't get out of bed. I had to look over her.”

Everyone around them was cheering, except for Chrome, who secretly ticked his jaw.

“Good to know you're alright, Commandant! Come and join us!”

You walked to where Liv and Lucia were, but you were flinching, as if in pain. In a heartbeat, your members went beside you, but Lee already had his arm around your waist.

“Commandant? Are you alright? What happened to you?”

“I'm fine!” you smiled and waved at Lucia, “just a little sore from...the heels I wore last night. I tripped while I was wearing them back home.”

“I got her, don't worry.” Lee cooly said.

Soon enough, you and Lee were settled nicely in the group. All of you talked about duties, the celebrations and other things under Babylonia's guiding light.

Everyone thinks the relationship between a construct and their commandant is purely professional; the latter exuding orders to be executed by the former, the war they face, the blood the had and have to shed — all for the sake of survival and success of the mission. In the end, glory and honor awaits those who return to Babylonia.

However, beyond the exemplary titles and glimmering medals of valor, no one knows what happens behind those walls.

For example — they never saw the way Lee's fingers curled on your thigh.

Or the way he looked at you as the group spoke.

“[Y/N],” he whispered. You gazed at him, before taking and squeezing his hand.

Lee leaned on you, his breath tickling your ear, sending butterflies to your core. “Don't forget about tonight.”

don't forget to like, share, reblog!! comments and reblogs are greatly appreciated! please dont copy or plagiarize my work!!

#pgr #punishing gray raven #punishing gray raven imagines #pgr commandant #pgr lee #pgr lee x reader #pgr hyperreal #pgr entropy #pgr palefire lee #pgr global #pgr cn #I'm a simp for lee #break my bed too lee #maybe my back too lee #pgr lee hyperreal #pgr lee x commandant #lee cutie pls come to me soon #pgr smut

163 notes · View notes