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targaryenrealnessdarling · 11 months ago

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A Little Bit More

25/12: Promise & Phone Sex - Billy Washington Word Count: 1.6k~ | Warnings: phone sex, dirty talk, masturbation (f and m) A/N: this exists in the Every Little Bit universe!

12 Days of Smuff Masterlist

He always knew it was coming around, and yet he always hated it.

Her dad’s birthday was in between Christmas and New Year, that weird time where you don’t know what day it is, never seem to have enough food in and where you’re so disorientated in the post-Christmas haze that it’s like coming down from a sugar high.

It was the few times of year where she went away by herself, wanting to spare Billy from the absolute torture of being around her parents for a few days as she made excuse after excuse as to why they weren’t married yet.

Not that he minded, there was only so much of her mum Billy could take.

He’d seen her off at the train station, her duffel bag looking very much as big as her in the cutest way possible as she skipped off to the platform in her winter overcoat and scarf, the chill nipping at her cheeks.

It was only a few days. It was only a few days. He had to keep reminding himself.

Billy sighed, tapping the remote control against his knee, only half-watching whatever terrible Friday night tele graced his flat. The pizza box was closed shut on the coffee table, having tried to cheer himself up with a takeaway.

His phone buzzed, and he couldn't help the smile that rose to his face, seeing her name in bright white letters on the face of it.

She'd promised to ring 9 o’clock on the dot, after all.

“Hiya, ya alright?” he answered, his voice sounding perkier already, his muscles relaxing once he heard her voice.

“Hey, you sound happy”, she replied low down the phone, and he could tell she was smiling by the way she said it.

“I am now,” he grinned, “just finished a 12 inch on my own.”

She groaned over the line, “Billy.”

“I'm joking, it's because I've heard your voice again.”

“Better,” she laughed breathily, “what you up to? Other than missing me, of course.”

He sighs, “Being a sad cunt, staying in with a beer watching whatever shite is on Channel 4.”

“Ooh dear,” she says unenthusiastically, “sounds dull, babe.”

Billy hummed in agreement, “What about you? What you up to?”

It was her turn to sigh, “fuck all, really. Mum and Dad went to go and see Mum's mate Jill, you know Jill don't you?”

“Yes, babe.”

“Yeah, well they left at five and are yet to be back. Convinced she's got them tied up in the basement.”

Billy laughed through his nose, “That actually sounds better than what she might actually be doing, chatting their bloody ears off.”

“Poor buggers, eh,” she laughed, “so I'm sat here on my tod.”

“What a shame you've got me to talk to then.”

He could hear her smile, “could be worse. You missing me?”

The alcohol had offered him a kind of confidence, and he sucked his teeth, holding back a grin, “You could say that. Missing something anyway.”

He heard her mischievous tone even over the crackle of the phone.

“Are you now?”

The line went quiet for a while, before a notification buzzed and Billy turned her on loudspeaker for a moment as he pulled his phone from his ear to check.

…has sent an image.

With one flick of his thumb, his jaw dropped, the depths of his gut becoming tight and hot by the picture she'd sent him. It was her figure reflected in a mirror, wearing clearly nothing but a large t-shirt (his, he noted) and pulling the spare fabric to one side to show her curves as well as her pebbled nipples beneath it.

“Jesus..”

She giggled over the phone, “is that a good ‘jesus’?”

“I-fuck, yes…”

Another one arrived, with her pulling up the hem of her shirt over her hips and expanse of her stomach, just beneath the shadow of her breasts.

“Christ, babe, what are you doing to me?”

She hummed, “sorry, you said you were missing me.”

Billy sighed looking at the photos, every now and then closing his eyes to will the feeling of her skin onto his fingertips, the warmth of her, the sounds she'd make for him.

His breathing grew shallow as he reached into his jeans, wrapping one hand around his length, to softly pump himself, already half-hard since the moment the first picture arrived.

“Are you enjoying them?” she asked, a teasing lilt to her voice.

“Mmhm..” he murmured.

Another few arrived, in various stages. One where the shirt was fully over her breasts, one where she was wearing nothing at all leaning back to show her full naked torso, and one sat on the bed, the lines appearing where her hips met her thighs.

“Oh fuck…”

Over the phone, she could hear the clinking of his belt as he pleasured himself, “are you touching yourself, baby?”

He could only make a sound in confirmation, his throat closing as he fisted himself to the photos of her.

She sighed, as if her touching herself was expelling a deeply rooted desire, her hands sliding between her legs, the other holding the phone to her ear, “Mm…wish you were here…”

“-ffuck-me too, baby-”

His strained voice was enough to coax some slick between her fingers, using it to pleasure herself, laid back on the bed.

“are you on the sofa?...”

He swallowed, breathlessly replying, “yeah..”

“Do you remember before I left…” she started, and the memory nearly made Billy dizzy.

He was sat right where he is right now, legs apart to accommodate her kneeling there. She'd been annoyed that he was playing Xbox, and so, in an effort to make him lose his game, had knelt in front of him, pulled his sweatpants over his hips and eagerly took his length between her lips.

She'd gotten what she wanted. Before long, his controller was long forgotten and instead, his fingers were threaded through her hair, guiding her pace on him.

He can feel his stomach tightening at the memory of the sensation.

“Do you remember, baby?”

“Yes…”

“Hm..” she hummed, over the phone, while in her own bed began to hasten the pace of her self-pleasure.

"If I were there...do you know what I'd do?"

"What..." he breathed, his hold on his phone so tight without realising.

"I'd get up...off my knees...on top of you..." she muses, sighing at the feeling herself beginning to crest, "...maybe tease you a bit..."

"Fuck-no, baby, don't tease me-"

She let out a breathy laugh, "but why not? It's so much fun."

Her hips canted towards her own touch, her eyes fluttering shut as she held the phone loosely as the pressure tightened in her gut.

"What would you do, baby? If I was right there on top of you..."

His voice came strained, every stroke of his length in his fist drawing him close to fulfilment.

"I would - I'd fuckin' pull you down..."

She could tell he was close by the tone of his voice, and she bit back a smile, knowing he was much too far gone to even form a coherent thought.

"I'd let you fuck me...right there...be your little fuck toy..." She mused in a sort of whisper, "...you could cum inside me...as many times as you want, baby..."

Billy's lips parted, not even realising how his movements had become rapid, needy and quick.

"Oh fuck-"

On the other side she was close herself, and then she heard the prompt and pulled the phone away from her ear to see a request to switch to video call. She accepted without thinking and felt her gut twist at what she saw.

His jeans were pushed around his zipper barely, only enough to free his cock as he pumped it quickly. She was entranced as Billy pleasured himself in real time, her face growing warm at the effect she'd clearly had on him.

And then she heard it, a long shuddered whimper of her name, followed by, "Oh baby-"

She felt her thighs tremble as she came, warmth rushing beneath her hips and a tingling sensation rushing from her toes all the way up her spine, as Billy groaned deeply and spilled all over his fingers for her to see.

Her hand has slowed, overstimulation gnawing as she touched herself with Billy's languid thrusts into his hand continuing to pull a deep arousal from her.

Over the video she heard his laboured breaths, gulping for air.

When the video turned off she smiled tiredly and pulled her phone back to her ear, hearing his tired, exhausted voice.

"Jesus fucking Christ," he breathed. She could imagine him, all spent and limp on the sofa, and the thought made her smirk and press her thighs together with want.

"Mm, you're telling me. Do you feel better now?" She asked demurely.

"Fuck you," he teased, "fuck, I can't wait for you to get back..."

She gave a short laugh, "Oh yeah? What you gonna do when I am?"

He was quiet for so long she wondered if he'd heard her, her brows furrowed in confusion, lips parted to ask him if he was still there.

But realistically, on the other end, a wide smile graced his face, his blue eyes all aglimmer with mischief.

And what he said had the power to shut her right up. Excitement made her stomach flip, wondering what version of Billy she seems to have unleashed. Gone was the shy, unconfident Billy she'd found. Her efforts in getting him to...unwind somewhat shocking even her.

"How did you put it, hm?" he laughed, with a smile so bright like he'd just opened a present, "My little fuck toy?"

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soap-ify · 8 months ago

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(SORRY BUT THIS ASK HAS MENTIONS OF SH)

HEY RURU!! I rlly adore reading your makes, it truly helps me identify what kind of a slut and whore that I am, but. Can I request some fluff? Like my best friend, (13 years of friendship since middle school) got with my boyfriend and I'm so like confused and mad, and like sad. I just don't know what to do at this point, I literally almost committed last night with ov3rd0$e. Unfortunately, I was unsuccessful, but if I could read one last thing before I don't want to live, it would be your writings :))

-❄️🍷

hi anon! i know it's been like two weeks and i hope you have been doing well. i am terribly sorry that happened to you, i understand how horrific that must have felt. moments like these makes one believe that the whole world is against you but please, do know that i'm always here for you if you need someone to vent. you deserve to be happy, and i'm here to listen. i genuinely hope you are doing alright now.

some morning simon fluff just for you. (no cws except reference to ghost's past)

there is nothing simon adores more than waking up next to you, your legs tangled with his, your head cozily buried into his chest — it most certainly looked like a mess from a distance. a mess he’d do anything to live over and over again.

it was a sweet reminder of your existence, and somewhat, his too. a reminder that he had survived it all somehow, all those gruesome missions and fights, all the torture he had too endure once, he had survived it. his life had just begun when had crawled out of that damn grave, his destination being you even if unbeknownst to him at that time.

“mmh, si…” your soft drowsy mumble snapped him out of his thoughts, causing him to look down at your stirring form, your head pulling away from the comfort of his chest to look over at him. oh, how he loved this sight of yours — forehead damp from the heat radiating off him, your eyes slightly puffy and hair a mess. it was as if you had made it your personal mission to attack his heart in the best way possible.

“g’mornin’, love.” his voice was hoarse from slumber, one hand reaching out to gently caress the back of your head, adoring the way you nuzzled into him. your calm breathing was his favourite sort of melody — the tranquility he had fought so hard to achieve, now finally nuzzled within his arms. his treasure.

“slept well, hm?” he pressed a chaste kiss on your forehead, ignoring your muffled protests of your forehead being ‘sweaty’ and all the shite he couldn’t care any less about.

“i did…” you huffed reluctantly, feeling the familiar fuzzy feeling storming within your stomach at the sight of him, his cheeks visibly flushed from sleep, hair disheveled. you wondered how he’d respond from being called adorable, maybe you’ll have to try some other day.

“you were snoring all night.” your words caused him to lazily grin and lean in as close as your bodies allowed, burying his face into your neck, your warmth wrapping around him like a blanket. a home that he finally had.

“can’t help it. you make me sleep like a baby, love.”

#ghost x reader #simon riley x reader #simon ghost riley x reader #rurufic #ruru mail #❄️🍷.✿

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akingdomscrypt · 1 year ago

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Make a Mercy Out of Me

Part Three

Pairing; König x m!reader

Word Count; ~7.66k

Warnings; kinda sorta graphic depiction of stitching up wounds near the end. So if you don't like needles.. be careful.

A/n; König is a sergeant bc I said so and it fits my narrative. There's also plans in work for why he's a part of 141 & background knowledge on him. Lore. Eventually.

(we need more clips of this man istg-)

--- "babysitting duty" ---

You were a frustrating man to work with. You had hardly said much of anything during that sad excuse of an interrogation, at least nothing of much use. All they knew now was that there was someone out there who held your leash. Or, well, used to. You were a wildcard now, without someone to keep you on lock and key, and there was no way in the deepest pits of hell they could set you loose on the world with what they knew–which wasn't much. Not unless you were hanging off their every word or buried six feet under an unmarked grave.

"You talk about him like he's some sort of lab experiment."

"Mm." Well… "maybe he is. Who knows."

"He isn't some feral dog, König."

He didn't like it. As much as your words had ignited a–often ignored–spark in him, there was something itching at the back of his mind telling him you weren't trustworthy. That you'd stab him and the rest of the task force in the back the moment you were left to your own devices.

"We should keep him."

"He's a person."

"Not a good one."

"Neither are we."

They had to keep you, if at least for society's sake, on that straining lead. As any slack would surely be the catalyst of his very own demise.

I could make the world bleed.

The words were stuck on replay in König's mind, as well as the man who had spoken them. It was a horrible thought to have–but he couldn't help but find it.. intriguing. The idea made his heart skip a beat and the corner of his scarred mouth curl.

"He said he'd make the world bleed, König. That's fuckin' creepy as shite!" Ghost spat, arms crossed over his chest, as the two made the journey back to the rest of the team.

"You have said much stranger things, Ghost."

"You can't really be considerin' this." A few beats of silence from the larger man was all the confirmation Ghost needed. "Price would never agree to it."

"He said he could help."

"Help." Ghost huffed. "Right. Help with what exactly? He has no idea what we've been working on."

"Ja, he doesn't know. But what about that bomber? Could it be relevant?" Besides Mouse, the team had been tracking a much more persistent threat. Something that left behind more than just breadcrumbs in the form of mutilated bodies.

"...are you sayin' he could be involved in this?"

"He has been showing up right after every hit."

"Right." Ghost pauses in his tracks, turning his head slightly to look up at the other man. "So you think he's with them? Or.. maybe one of their targets?"

König comes to a stop too and takes a moment to mull it over. Could you have been a part of the group they'd been hunting these past few months? It was a little.. suspicious that you'd show up and take out another high-profile figure right after every strike made. Were you cleaning up their mess? Or your own?

"That's all the more reason to keep him, no? To find out? We know he has someone he reports to." There was also the fact that the explosion had gone off practically right under your own two feet. That had to mean something.

Just following orders?

"It's a little concerning when I of all people have to remind you that he is a very real, living, breathing, capable-of complex-thought person." König brushes off Ghost's concerns with a noncommittal shrug.

If they took the route of you having been just another victim of the explosion, that left many unexplained variables. Such as why you were a target–wouldn't one terrorist organization blend well with another? Why would they be at odds? It also leaves the question that, if you had really been abandoned by your crew, why had "she"–the woman who you'd mentioned–left you for dead? Was it legitimate? Or a ploy of some kind?

Then there was the more believable scenario that would tell it as; you hadn't really been betrayed by your group, or whoever held your metaphorical leash. And the explosion was some kind of distraction, a way to get their attention. Maybe–if one applies the theory that you were in cahoots with the people they'd been hunting–you had wanted to get caught. Or, maybe not you specifically, but whoever "she" was. Maybe you were sent as bait and they'd fallen right into that mouse trap–heh.

Maybe you didn't even know this was all a farce. That would make it all the more believable, no?

Either way, they need you here. For information. And if they played their cards right, if they burrowed their way under your skin and into your heart–like a damn parasite–you would give them exactly what they wanted. Lead them right to both the core of your organization and the group behind the bombing. And if the people or persons behind the bombing were by some miracle connected to who they had been tracking…

"He can help." His words help a certain air of finality to them, a small grin making an appearance under his hood.

Another sigh, but not a no.

Price wasn't as thrilled by König's proposal as Ghost begrudgingly was.

"You want to what." König wasn't a fearful man–unless he was ordering from a drive-thru, that shit was terrifying–but when the Captain looked at him like that. Let's just say he was forever grateful for the cloth that obscured almost the entirety of his face.

"Keep him." And if his voice comes out a little smaller than normal… no one mentions it.

To his right, König hears Ghost let out another heavy sigh. For a man who used to take a blowtorch to a hostage's skin and quite literally wears a skull stitched onto his face every day- if you'd asked König, he'd tell you the Lieutenant had grown soft. Or, well, soft-ish. He would still slit a man's throat without question.

"Why'd you wanna do that?" Gaz pipes up, giving König a blank, indecipherable expression. Coupled with his tone, König couldn't tell which side of the fence he was leaning towards. He knew Gaz, out of all of them, was the one with a more strict moral compass–something König both admired and thought of as foolish–but he also already didn't like their current hostage. So, discerning whether the other man would be for or against his proposition was a complex feat. König would have to walk that fine line, choose his words carefully, to sway Gaz's opinion in his favor.

"We could use his help." Is what König finally lands on. Not leaning too far into what Ghost had described as treating you like a tool, but not dipping into friendly territory either. An even middle ground.

"From what Ghost and I managed to gather," well, König had gathered. Ghost more or less just stood in the background as a silent spectator. "He claims he's been abandoned by someone he'd only refer to as "she". That this woman brought him here from wherever he came from to follow some lead- but that lead seems to have been a dead end."

"A dead end?" If Gaz's thing was compassion and strict morals, Soap's was intrigue. Puzzles and demolitions, that's all it took to draw in their resident impulse-driven pyromaniac.

"A dead end," König repeats, now switching his attention to the Scotsman. "Turns out there was no target, not really. Or, at least, that is what it appears like at first glance."

Soap's eyes light up when König moves to reach into his pocket, fishing for the blank note. Bingo.

"At first, when we pulled this off him, we had assumed it to be blank," he unfolds the crinkled-up paper, mud, water stains and all. König reaches his hand out to pass the note to Price, keeping the others on the edge of their seats. "But if you take another look.."

Price inspects it with a deep frown, then passes it to Gaz, who looks at it with a skeptical raise of his brow, next is Soap then Ghost, and finally back around to König. Upon closer inspection, past all the grime and stains, there was a faint red scribble.

"It is like there was something here," he mutters, smoothing a gloved thumb over the worn parchment as if that will somehow make the faded words clearer.

"But someone must've purposefully scrubbed it away." Ghost adds, seeming much more interested than he had earlier.

Any other person would probably have brushed the now-pinkish, washed-out markings as blood. And König almost had; after all, you were practically swimming in your own blood right now. Clothes stained with it far past recognition.

Even so, he knew that wasn't it.

The paper had a slew of things it was coated in–some recognizable, some not–, but blood was, surprisingly, not one of them.

"Dae ya think 'e knows?" Two.

"Maybe he was the one who erased it?" Three.

"We won't know unless we ask him. But,"

They all look over to Price, waiting for the man's next words with bated breaths.

"We can't jus' do it outright." Price's steely gaze lands on König and he subconsciously stands a little taller.

"König's got the right idea. We can't jus' kill 'im. Not yet." Four. "Not until we know everything he does."

"Aye, Captain." Soap grins, pushing up from where he'd been resting against a wall. He tilts his head in the direction Ghost and König had come from. "Let's go wear 'im down then, yeah?"

"Preferably before he bleeds out." Ghost reluctantly grumbles. "Bastard already looks to be halfway through death's door."

Price looks to König, cocking his head slightly to the right.

"You said he believes he was abandoned, right?"

"That is correct, sir." The corner of Price's mouth ticks up.

"So no one's coming for 'im then?"

A sick twist of anticipation began to swell in König's chest, and suddenly he was a lot more confident than he was a few seconds ago.

"Precisely."

The last thing you were expecting after those two giants left was for them to return with the whole damn crew. You'd be lying if you said the leader didn't make every inch of your being tense up. There was just something in his eyes; that cool blue, warmer than König's but still so cold, gave off a deceiving "I'm not a threat" while simultaneously saying "flinch and I'll kill you".

The dark-skinned man and the baby-faced one stood a little ways behind you, and closer to the door. The leader took a seat in the chair König had been sitting in–assuming the same position the Austrian had. Skull-face stood in the same place and König took his place on your right-hand side. Standing just far enough behind you to barely graze your peripheral but close enough where you could feel his presence looming near you. Invading your personal little space bubble with his, so close if he leaned any closer he'd be brushing up right against you.

The leader tried his hand at interrogating you again. It went a little something like this;

"Do you know why she left you?'

"Probably had something to do with my bad attitude."

He gives you an unimpressed look. You simply raise your eyebrows in question. You had broken your vow of silence, but that didn't mean you were going to make it easy on them.

"König said you could help us. Mind tellin' me what exactly you could do to help?"

"I have connections. People who owe me a favor or two." Or five. Hey, in your defense, you had been in the game for a while.

"Are these connections… legal?"

"I highly doubt you care about legalities if you are conversing with me still," Then, just to be a little shit, you add a snide, "sir."

You swear you hear a small huff behind you and you brush it off as a figment of your imagination. After all, you had lost a ton of blood.. It was a miracle you hadn't passed out again from blood loss. At this rate, you should probably be dead. Or, at the very least, comatose or something. Not back-talking the man who was very literally your golden ticket to freedom.

You blamed it on the blood loss. Made you say stupid shit.

"What else can you offer us?" In other words; why should we keep you?

"One less Brit in your ranks?"

"..what?"

"You all could really use some diversity."

There's a pregnant pause before,

"Is making jokes all you're good for?" Skull-face speaks up from behind the leader.

"What can I say? It is part of my charm."

The bearded man in front of you lets out a heavy sigh. Something about that sigh told you this type of thing wasn't new to him. A small part of you perked up with curiosity. You then proceed to beat that part of you back down into a bloody pulp.

"Are you goin' to take this seriously or not, Mouse?" The leader captures your attention again and you shrug. You really should take this more seriously… but the lack of vital, life-supporting fluid in your system was making you loopy.

And stupid.

"König?"

Very stupid.

A small grunt from behind you.

"Hast du darüber nachgedacht, was ich gesagt habe?" (Have you thought about what I said?)

The man in front of you frowns, looking from you to König, to you again. But he doesn't stop you. Someone probably should.

There's a terse silence before König replies.

"Deshalb sind sie hier." (That's why they're here.)

Despite your slightly dazed state, you smile a little to yourself.

"Did you tell him?" Now the leader looks even more confused, if not a little more frustrated. Good.

"Tell me what?" His glare is now trained on König, and you know you've gotten the giant into deep shit now. Even better.

"Nein."

And just like that you, very foolishly, let out a small puff of what was obviously an attempt at laughter. Though a poor one.

At this is rate, you'd sooner get yourself killed than cut loose, but your mouth seemed to have a mind of its own. It also seemed to be keen on digging you into deeper shit.

"It is a good deal.." you trail off, narrowing your eyes a little at the leader. It would be great if you knew their names. But no one seemed interested in filling you in on that, so you continue, "you all could really use the help. After all, the only reason you lot even caught me was 'cause I was having a bit of a bad day."

"A bit of a bad day?" Leader asks.

"Aye," you drawl. Your heart thudded a few times in your chest, slowed, then picked back up again. Really, you should be dead, slumped over in your chair, by now. "Got blown up. Stabbed a few times.. broke a few bones.."

You give a sloppy grin beneath your mask. Yeah, definitely shouldn't be awake right now. "Bit of a bad day."

"He's useless like this, Cap'." One of the men from somewhere by the roll-up door pipes up.

"Agreed." Skull-face huffs. "Poor guy's all hopped up on adrenaline. He's not much use to us now."

The leader–Captain?–scrutinizes you for a few more moments before exhaling heavily.

"Alright." He grumbles, standing up from the chair.

"König," the Brit calls on the man beside you but keeps his stare trained on you, as if daring you to utter another smart-assed quip. "You were so damn adamant about keeping 'im, yeah?"

It's obviously a rhetorical question and the atmosphere shifts, the tension in the air palpable.

The leader, or, you guess, Captain–these men and their pretentious titles..–adjusts the beige-colored, boonie hat on top of his head and signals something to the two men by the door. You hear the telltale clanking of the metal being rolled up.

"You're on babysitting duty, Sergeant," he says in that displeased rumble–one you had become very familiar with during the first attempt at interrogation–as he makes his way for the door. "So get his arse back in the van, we're moving to someplace more permanent."

The other three men proceed to file out after their Captain, leaving you alone with the, now fuming, Austrian.

Annnnnnd…

"Maus." He grits out from behind you. You proceed to, very smartly, not respond.

Shit.

Instead, you stay stock still even as König leans over you and unsheathes a knife from someplace on his person. One heavy hand gripping your, thankfully, non-injured shoulder and the other reaching around to rest the blade beneath your chin. He urges your head up with the tip of it until your eyes–oh, yeah, he was definitely pissed–lock with his. In the short time you'd known him you had almost forgotten how downright intimidating only being able to see those pale, glowing blues staring through your very soul was.

"Sie werden es bereuen." (literal; you will regret it. Contextual; you're going to regret this.)

He, while maintaining eye contact, removes the knife and brings it down to hover just above your waist. Your own gaze can't help but flick between his and his weapon-welding hand. Self-preservation, you call it. König, after all, has that sharp metal alarmingly close to your dick.

You choose to ignore the thrill that causes your breath to hitch, an unfamiliar feeling stirring somewhere in the deepest pits of your hindbrain.

You watch as he–in a strange show of caution–places the gloved hand that had been on your shoulder beneath the coarse rope, thumb and fourth finger keeping the binding in place, and swiftly slices through the thickly twined fibers. He then makes quick work of doing the same to the rope wrapped around your thighs and ankles. The barest hints of warmth emitting from him easily seep through the thin, ruined cloth of your pants. But before you can think too much about how long it's been since you last felt the touch of another not-currently-dying human being, König pulls back.

When you look back up to search out his gaze you find he is no longer staring you down, his own focus entirely on freeing you from the bindings. The lack of pressure on your worn body is a relief and the next breath that leaves you is shakier than the last–you choose to believe it's just your body coming down from its adrenaline high.

The last of the rope that had been keeping your lower half bound to the chair falls away to the floor with a soft thump and König retreats completely to move onto your hands. Thank fuck for your own fabric-clad hands, you aren't sure how much more of this non-threatening touch you could take before you fucking imploded or something. All you can feel is the slight graze of his deft fingers against your concealed wrists, and even that is muted. Courtesy of the current lack of decent blood circulation to your bound extremities.

After that final piece of rope is removed, you're being yanked to your feet. Off-balanced and stumbling as blood rushes back to every limb, you nearly come crashing straight back down. König's firm hold on your forearm is the only thing that keeps you from taking an embarrassing nosedive into hard concrete.

Panting heavily behind the fabric of your mask, you groan as the world swims around you. König only spares you a few seconds to steady yourself and then he's making a sudden appearance in front of you and trading out his grip on your forearm to engulf your wrist–and subsequently almost your entire hand–in one large hand. He wastes no time in tugging you forward to follow in his footsteps.

You realize quickly that the time between the rest of the group leaving and König's undoing of your bindings hadn't really been more than a few moments–half a minute at most–, as the other members of König's team were just now turning a corner and leaving your field of vision.

How embarrassing, you think, it felt like a fucking eternity.

König easily uses his tight grasp on your wrist to lift you up just enough so you don't have to make the small hop off of the elevated ledge and out of the storage unit–thank fuck it wasn't your injured arm. You aren't sure whether to be annoyed at his blatant show of strength–seriously, the movement seemed entirely effortless on his part–or grateful you didn't have to make the jump. Your depth perception wasn't exactly the best right now and you probably would've just fallen right over. You doubted you would have even had the energy to catch yourself.

The walk out of this seemingly abandoned facility and back out into the scalding heat–huh, they must not have taken you very far–was surprisingly quick. Your barely lucid brain blocked out the majority of the dizzying twists and turns it took to find the exit. And soon enough you find yourself back in the loading space of that damn van.

This time you are mostly conscious, so you're granted the wonderful opportunity of bearing witness to the burning glares of the three other men seated on the opposite bench. König takes his place beside you and actively decides to not even glance in your direction. Instead silently communicates something to the other passive-aggressive passengers. Well, skull-face was definitely more on the aggressive side of the spectrum, but you were mostly certain he couldn't do anything. Or so you hoped.

The baby-faced one was looking at you with more curiosity than anything, a minor hint of defense hidden somewhere in those–why the hell does everyone here have the same eyes??–vivid blues. That barely concealed interest was more terrifying than skull-face's obvious death stare.

The Captain turned his attention to the Austrian beside you, nonverbally communicating his displeasure with a hard glare and deep frown. Ah, the dark-skinned man must've been the one driving the damn thing.

After a few more painstaking minutes of having a half-assed staring contest with the two men across from you, you give up and let your eyelids fall half-shut. Still nauseous with blood loss and possible infection, you pant lightly within the confines of your mask. Heat continues to build in the suffocating cloth and you let out another soft groan, unable to help yourself when you slump backward against the metal wall of the vehicle.

The ground moving beneath you does nothing to aid your current lightheadedness and you find yourself focusing most of your limited attention span on not vomiting in your mask. That would be a hellscape on its own to clean, and the humiliation would probably kill you off before the budding infection had the chance.

It doesn't take much time before you can no longer fight off the exhaustion weighing down the big ball of throbbing pain that is your entire body and your eyelids finally slip shut. Before you have the chance to force your eyes open again–this is definitely not an ideal place to fall asleep–a sudden heavy thwack against your mutilated shoulder does the job for you.

Your eyes snap back open, fully alert as you search out the culprit. You find König giving you a blank, deadpan stare and the venomous words sprouting on the tip of your tongue quickly fizzle out when you notice the van has stopped moving. In fact, you two are the only ones remaining inside. The other four are piling up just out of earshot, the backdoors wide open and showing off- well, nothing. It's dark and all you can make out are vague shapes in the background.

You huff and go to stand but König beats you to it. Still holding onto your wrist, he gives a sharp tug and you stagger out of your seat. You send him a seething glare but find that his attention is no longer on you.

König pulls you out the same way he had the storage unit; efficiently lifting you by your arm and out of the vehicle. You barely manage to keep your balance when your boots touch solid ground again and just that little bit of exertion has you sucking in ragged gulps of air.

When the Captain glances over to you two, König makes a show of lifting your arm into the air as if to say got it and the Captain gives a small nod in acknowledgment. You don't have the wherewithal to give a shit about being treated more like an object than a person, brushing it off and trading it out to take in your surroundings instead. Besides, it wasn't something you were exactly.. unfamiliar with.

Surrounding you is another compound. More well-kept than the storage facility you had previously been in, but still obviously worn. The stark white walls were practically glowing in contrast to the pitch-black, starless night sky. Besides some crumbling and scuff marks here and there–most likely from environmental weathering over time–the cinder block walls were almost pristine.

Your fuzzy, mush of a brain briefly considers asking König where the hell they had brought you, but your tongue is like lead in your mouth. Not that it really mattered, you highly doubt he would've told you anyway. You were a prisoner, after all. A prisoner who they were only keeping alive on the off-chance you could help.

Help with what exactly? You had not a clue. Hopefully, they'd soon get their shit together and tell you sooner rather than later. Then again.. what would they do with you once your use to them came to an end? Would they just end up killing you anyway?

Floodlights abruptly make an unwelcome appearance, bathing the courtyard in a blindingly white light and knocking that train of thought right out of your head. You cringe away from the sudden brightness, squeezing your eyes shut momentarily before blinking a few times in rapid succession to adjust.

You only have the time to register the sheer size of the compound before you are being tugged forward again and into the said building. As usual, you silently curse König's unfairly long legs and subsequent far longer strides as you try your damnedest to keep up. The nausea, burning full body ache, and pounding against your skull have yet to lessen. If anything it's become more of an issue now that you're not running on pure adrenaline.

You find yourself fumbling over your own miscalculated steps more often than you make a successful one, König having to more or less drag the majority of your dead weight along with him. The behemoth of a man doesn't even have the decency to make it look like doing so is any struggle. Bastard.

The interior lighting of the compound is somehow far much worse than the blaring exterior. You squint against the harsh brightness and it takes a few seconds for your pulpy mess of a brain to make out the shapes and colors in front of you. Or, well, the astonishing lack of colors. Dull shades of grey coupled with a blinding light. Perfect.

Someone's talking. Multiple someone's, really. But your ears are too stuffed full of cotton to make any sense of what's being said. The most you can do is try to read their lips–which proves to be futile–and try to gauge the emotional state of the men in the room.

The plainly, uniform-dressed men standing guard seem to not at all have a problem with the crew that had brought you in. Though obviously holding a subordinate position in comparison to the team, they shared easy smiles and small laughs with the group. The Captain appears to be keeping up a polite kind of façade–was this not his base?–as he converses with the two newbies. Skull-face, mohawk guy, and the Captain's obvious favorite all stand behind the Captain in an organized order. With skull-face standing the closest–was he some kind of right-hand man?–babyface and the third man stood at a respectful distance. Not too close, but just near enough to assist if needed.

König kept you a little more ways away from the others, a firmer grip on your wrist than before. It would probably hurt if the remainder of your body wasn't currently one giant sore spot. You realize why when one of the guards spares a glance at you and, spotting your eyes on him, immediately shrinks back and averts his gaze.

Ah, this definitely wasn't their base. Made sense. They all were clearly European and unfamiliar with the normalities of wherever the fuck you all were right now. Faintly, you remember the dark-skinned man complaining about how weird it was driving on the right-hand side of the road.

You're snapped out of your own musings by a harsh pull on your arm. A small noise of surprise escapes you and, before you know it, the guards are moving out of the way and you are being escorted further into the building.

Going off the darkness you had awakened to, it is obviously late at night, maybe even well into the morning by now, and the only people you all pass are all exhausted-looking security personnel.

König follows behind the other four down corridor after corridor, dragging you along behind him. Eventually, you all make it out into what appears like a sort of gathering place or common room. For a split second you think they're going to stop there, but, no, they keep going. Down more confusing hallways and through nonsense doors.

Then finally, finally, it all comes to a stop at an unremarkable metal door. Nothing on it, not even a little window, with the exception of the room number plastered next to it.

You squint at the numbers, trying to make sense of the blurry shapes. There's a small tugging in the back of your mind and, if you were any more aware, you'd almost say it was familiar. Huh.

The Captain unlocks and pushes open the door, then, before you even have the opportunity to protest, König yanks you close and shoves you forward. You stumble–again, seriously, did they think you were made of fucking steel??–through the doorway and only barely manage to break your fall on the closet wall. You stand there for a moment, panting and bracing against hard concrete, while the others file in.

If it wasn't for the unnecessarily heavy thunk you probably wouldn't have realized that the door had been shut. Your vision blurs then blacks out for a split second while you catch your breath, and the only thing on your mind is; how the hell am I not dead yet?

You're only given a few more moments of rest then you're being pulled by the wrist again. Unable to even really feel your legs anymore, the sudden brushing of something solid against the backs of your knees is all you have to tell you you've even moved. You don't have to be told twice to sit, hell, you probably wouldn't have been able to hear them if they had given the order.

You drop your weight instantly, unable to hold yourself up any longer. You can't feel much through the fabric separating your fingertips from what's below, but from the slight give when you press down, if you had to guess, you'd say you were seated on a cot of some kind. It's not the most comfortable, but it's the best thing you've had in a long, long while.

Lifting your gaze at the sound of someone's voice, you blink rapidly in a vain attempt at refocusing your vision.

"Hm?"

All four men standing in the room give you vaguely concerned grimaces. Well, you assume König and skull-face do, judging by the crinkling of their limited expression.

"I said-" the Captain begins. Not that you hear any of what comes after that. Head full of cotton and feeling simultaneously like you're both floating and being weighed down by a ship's anchor, you're left futilely trying to read his lips. But that only makes the pounding in your head worsen and you screw your eyes shut again.

Cradling your head in your hands you lean down, elbows propped up on your knees. You suck in shallow, shaky breaths, fruitlessly trying to get the proper amount of oxygen to the lump of mass that is your brain.

When your eyes flutter open again the lights have been dimmed just enough to take the edge off, reducing the strain on your eyes, and you immediately slump in relief. You think you mutter your gratitude under your breath, but, really, you're far too out of it to be certain.

A few more muffled words and the soft thumping of footsteps later and the door opens then shuts one last time. You look up expecting to see nothing but an empty room, a little caught off guard when that behemoth of a man is still looming near the door.

"We should really get you checked out," König says, giving a brief once-over at your disheveled appearance. Giving a noncommittal hum, you take a look down at yourself.

You had not bothered to take full stock of your person since the initial confrontation–and even that was a laughable inspection at best.

Every inch of your exposed skin–which, truthfully, wasn't much–was coated in a layer of mud and your own blood. Your thin civilian outfit was in a similar state of disrepair; caked in blood, more mud, and bits of stuck-on foliage as well. Accompanied with the occasional tear and hole here and there, of course.

"I'll get a medi-" Before he even gets the word out you're launching yourself up and off the bed. Charging at him despite how unsafe that currently is and reaching up to slam your grimy, gloved hand over where you assume his mouth is.

König quickly and easily peels your hand away by the wrist, staring down at you with less anger and more of a really, what are you doing? kind of look.

"Nie." (No.) You breathe as your only explanation. You had had enough of fucking medical staff in your time before your years-long solo operation began. Unknown injections, emotionless stares, and needles. Needles, needles, needles. So many fucking needles. You didn't visit those sterile, frigid laboratories often these days–though you were still required to come in every now and again for a routine 'checkup'.

"No?" König finally breaks through your suddenly hazy headspace–this time said fuzziness wasn't the result of excessive blood loss. You'd rather it were.

"Nie." You repeat again, and there must be something in your voice–something unlike yourself, something a bit too human–because König relents without further question and drops your arm.

"I can't really let you die on us, Maus." He points out with a deadpan stare. Then, probably realizing that phrasing sounded a bit too worried, he adds, "What use would you be to us then?"

"Let me do it."

"You can barely stand up straight and you expect me to hand you a needle?"

"I would rather me than you or some pea-brained white-coat." You huff, narrowing your still very unfocused gaze up at him. You hope it lands, you can't really see clearly right now.

König holds your stare for a few seconds longer before letting out a resigned sigh and looking away. "Fine."

He gives your uninjured shoulder a nudge with a gloved finger and rumbles a low, "Sit down."

You're about to bite back with some witty retort but the words get stuck in your throat when you realize just how close you two are. In your rush to cut off the words spewing from his mouth, you had somehow ended up crowding into his space in a very.. unprofessional way. Chest puffed up in a show of defiance and, subsequently, pressed right up against the other man.

That same, unfamiliar twinge in the furthest recesses of your mind from back in that god-awful storage unit begins to stir and you jolt away sharply. Jumping back and scurrying over to the cot at a faster rate than really necessary, as if that simple touch had burnt you. And, to be frank, it had. Indirectly.

König cocks his head, analyzing you for a brief moment, then shakes it off. Thank fuck. Having quickly averted your gaze, all you hear is some faint rustling and then his legs appear in your line of sight. A small first-aid box materializes from his hand and you lift your own trembling one to take it.

"Thanks." You mumble. You were a monster, not impolite.

König makes a light huff and retreats. Grateful for the, mostly likely unintended, room to breathe, you fumble with the kit before finally managing to wrench the damn thing open. Placing the box beside you on the bed you ungracefully free your first victim from its confines; your thigh.

Stab wound number one, thankfully, has stopped bleeding. On the other, far less favorable, hand, the injury is already a burning, angry red. A light poke at the inflamed skin with your finger has you hissing against the sharp sting.

Deciding keeping up appearances was much less important than your health, you make efficient work of removing both gloves. Also soaked with mud and blood, they would do no more than worsen what was already the beginnings of a very, very serious infection.

There's a bottle of saline solution in the kit and you uncap that first. Folding the bled-through, makeshift bandage in half, you use it to catch the liquid rather than letting the filthy solution drip onto the floor. After flushing out the wound as much as you can–without running the bottle dry, you've still got another to clean–the next step is the worst of them all. Stitches.

If you had it your way, you wouldn't use them at all. You had a tendency to forgo using a needle and thread whenever you could–only stooping to that level when it was absolutely vital. Like right now.

Even then, you only knew one form of sewing; intermittent sutures.

Tearing open a sterile needle packet you, surprisingly enough, make easy work of threading the surgical cotton through the eye of it. Pinching the slice shut with your non-dominant hand, you position the end of the curved metal about a centimeter from where the damn thing starts.

The first pierce of the needle into your tender flesh forces a strained whine from your throat, eyes beginning to water. You blink away the budding tears, exhale a shaky breath, and tie the thread off.

One suture down, an ungodly amount remaining.

Your hand only gets more unsteady as time goes on. Making each stitch more lopsided than the last.

Your vision swims for a brief moment and you swallow back the growing lump in your throat. Come on now, you can do this. You've done this so, so many times before. What was so different this time around?

Just a few more to go. That's all. Then you will be done.. well, then onto the puncture in your shoulder. The shoulder that also happened to be connected to your dominant hand. Great.

"Maus."

You can do this- just stab, push through- wait no, not like that. Pull it out again. Now, do it properly this time-

"Maus." Black gloves invade your sight and you grunt, trying to look around them.

The next time the needle pierces your skin it goes in just short of perfectly–success!–but it's good enough. Will keep your blood in, at least. Then comes tying it off and- come on, don't be difficult now.

Just toss over- like tha- wait, no. Just lift and- fuck.

A low rumble is all you hear and then those gloved fingers are wrapping around your wrist once more and effectively halting your progress. You huff, looking up to glare at him only to find his own hardened gaze staring down at you.

"-keep trying, you are only going to hurt yourself." Wait, had he been talking this whole time? "Then what use would you be then, hm? You would be of no help if you died because of your own damn stubbornness."

You feebly try to tug your hand back, but he doesn't budge, simply using his other hand to pluck the needle from your hand. Narrowing your eyes, you do the only thing you can do; throwing hundreds of imaginary knives at that stupid smug look in his eyes and internally cursing him out.

After your two's little staring contest goes on long enough for your captured hand to start going numb, you relent. Letting out a heavy sigh and dropping your gaze.

König makes a small noise of approval and releases your wrist. You don't watch as he finishes up the mess of stitches sewn into your thigh, nausea returning with a vengeance and forcing you to shut your eyes again.

He finishes up relatively quickly, faster than you probably could have in this state, and rinses the wound again before pasting a bandage over it.

"I need you to look up."

"Hm?" Light pressure under your chin causes your eyelids to flutter back open and you frown.

"Wha-?"

"Up." He reasserts, using his guiding touch to urge your head up and out of the way. Forcing you to straighten out your shrimp-like posture and provide König with access to your injured shoulder.

Said shoulder that was more bruises and blood than it was untouched flesh; able to get a decent look at it now that König had removed the sloppy work that was your mess of torn fabric and duct tape.

He repeats the same steps you had to clean the wound and this time you watch. Less so keeping an eye on the weeping wound and more so on the hand sticking the–new, he had discarded the one used on your thigh–thin metal through your skin. He's surprisingly delicate with it, despite his size he is far more precise with his sutures than you had been. Carefully inserting the needle and tying off every knot with practiced ease. Unlike you, he hadn't foregone his gloves, and that's why you notice it when you do. Having been so attuned to his busy hands.

His gloves are still stained with your blood.

Coated in a thick, dried layer of it. Dark against the already black fabric, flakes of crimson chipping off and drawing your eye.

It was the only part of him that showed any hint of wear from the morning's efforts. Every other inch of his uniform was speck-free, not a single item out of place, scuff mark, or splatter of blood.

It didn't make much sense for you to be fixated on such a minor facet after the laborious events of today. There were so many other things to draw your attention. Like the repeated motions of the curved metal puncturing your skin over and over again, for example. Or maybe his close proximity–accompanied by that weird feeling again.

But, no. Every last bit of your remaining attention span was focused solely on your own blood marking his hands. You sounded insane, even to yourself and that was an entire feat of its own.

You release a small breath of relief when he pulls away, slapping on another thick bandage over your second, freshly stitched injury. Then comes a sudden sting right above your eyebrow and you jolt away with a hiss.

Refocusing back into reality, König is still standing above you. Only this time he's welding an antiseptic-soaked cotton ball, also tarnished with your blood.

"Cut is deep." Is the vague explanation you get, coupled with a small gesture to your face. "No stitches will be needed. But,"

He reaches down to rifle through the first aid kit and makes a soft sound of victory when he finds whatever he's looking for. Holding your face still in one hand, he dabs at the cut a few more times before switching sides and drying it off. König throws the dirtied cotton along with wherever he'd discarded the scraps of your clothes and other miscellaneous trash.

Next comes another burning sting as he presses something over the wound. A few 'something's.

"A few pieces of tape should do the trick." He muses as he smoothes the sterile strips against your skin, the faint metallic scent of your own blood flooding your senses. Gross.

You really needed some sleep, or maybe it was finally time to check yourself into some kind of mental reform. Seriously, this was getting out of hand.

"Now," König pulls away for the final time, doing a brief scan of your exhausted form and nodding to himself. "Sleep."

You half expected König to leave it at that, to exit the room like the other four had. And probably lock the door behind him. Your hopes are crushed when he takes a seat a few feet away from your cot, settling into an uncomfortable-looking chair you hadn't noticed beforehand.

Oh, right. The Captain had assigned him as your personal babysitter. How fucking lovely.

Scooting back to slump against the wall furthest away from the other man, you send him a weak glare. Wanting nothing more than to argue that you can't sleep like this–not with him watching over you like some damn stalker–you find that when you try, you can't.

For what feels like the millionth time today, your eyelids droop until you cannot resist any longer. Falling completely shut and likely not going to open for a while, you give in. Unable to find it in yourself to give a damn right now.

Besides, you could.. moderately trust König wouldn't murder you in your slumber. He hasn't yet. And that seems to be enough for your sleep-deprived brain, as sweet unconsciousness soon drags you under.

___

One | Two | Masterpost | Next

___

(finally figured out how to tag y'all properly! Sorry bout that. Thought I was doing it right this whole time 😞)

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#call of duty #cod x male reader #male reader #call of duty x male reader #call of duty x reader #könig cod #könig x male reader #reader insert #gay #mlm

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bagofshinyrocks · 11 months ago

Text

Rooftop Rendezvous

Prompt: Feeling kinda down, you stop by your boyfriend's place.

Featuring: Miles Morales (Earth-1610) x GN!Reader

Word Count: 1.2k

Warnings: reader is struggling with school/family stressors; shite white kid spanish (i took it in high school, so if there is a blaring inaccuracy or idiocy, please comment/message me, i beg you)

Are you busy rn?

Nah, what’s up

Not feeling great. Can I come over? Don’t wanna be alone rn

Yeah of course. Couch or roof

Roof. Heading over now

Be safe. See you soon

Miles frowned at his phone and started getting ready for your visit. Some snacks, some drinks, and some beach towels to sit on. There should still be some lawn cushions up there, too, as the other folks in their building treated the roof as a communal area with communal items.

You visiting him was no rarity. You two hanging out on the roof wasn’t either. But it had been a hot minute since you had come over for a reason other than “i just missed you :(”

Instead of paper towels, he grabbed the box of tissues that sat on the coffee table.

A prickle at the back of his neck. The familiar sound of your footsteps on the stairwell.

“Hey, baby,” he called from the little sitting area he had prepared for you two.

You looked tired, but the tension seems to lift from your shoulders upon seeing him. You quickly make your way to him and fall into the cushions and beach towels with a big sigh.

“Hi, Miles. Missed you.”

He pulled you in and hugged you tightly. Your fingers dug into the clothes on his back and you both squeezed. Squeezing like if you squeezed hard enough you would become one person.

Despite your best efforts, he heard you sniffling.

Your boyfriend pulled back and looked at your face. The tell-tale wobble of your lip. The welling in your eyes. The tension in your body. One tear betrayed you, then a whole flood of them as you crumpled up. Face shoved into your knees and hands clutching your head.

“Oh, babe,” he sighed, pulling you back into his arms.

“I’m sorry, Miles. I didn’t mean to-”

He shushed you and ran his hand up and down your back, slowly coaxing you into sitting upright and holding him back. Your head rested on his shoulder, tears wetting his jacket. Your fingers rested on his hips, fiddling with the hem of his shirt and gently touching the warm skin beneath. Reminding you that he was real. And right here with you.

“I’m sorry that you’re sad, cariño. Anything I can do to help?”

You hummed and shook your head. “No… just sitting here helps.” A beat of comfortable silence. “Thank you.”

“Por supuesto, bebé. Uh- Si hay alguna cosa que quieres, dime.”

Your eyes flicked up to him, and your tear-stained face crinkled up in a smile.

“Your mamá see your examen?”

He huffed quietly. “Sh- cállate. I just need to get back in the groove.”

“¿Necesitas practicar más?”

He shut you up with a gentle kiss to the corner of your mouth. Then to your cheek. Then a gentle thumb rubbed where he had kissed, either making sure it absorbed into your skin or trying to wipe off the tears.

“I love you,” you whispered, almost to yourself.

He smiled, that sweet expression that always made you smile back.

“A lot, mi venadito, my little deer. You’re a really good boyfriend.”

Miles puffed out his chest and made a bunch of self-congratulating sounds that faded into gibberish. He was really bad at taking compliments.

“Seriously.”

Your hand squeezed his face, forcing his lips to pucker and him to stop talking for a minute. He leaned in and gave your cheek a kinda gross kiss, which made you wrinkle your nose. You let go of his face and he gave you a better one on the other cheek.

“I love you, too, baby. And I’m trying to be a good boyfriend for you.”

His arms wrapped around you, and pulled you further into him. One hand rubbed up and down your back, the other sat assuredly on your flank. Nothing handsy, just keeping you close.

"You are a good boyfriend, Miles."

Things were nice and quiet. Gentle wind through the laundry lines. The humming of cars and air conditioning units. Music from a party below. Miles began to hum along, rocking you two back and forth. Whispering one third of the words, and mumbling nonsense for the others.

Breath was steady. Heart beats were calm and synced. Eyes comfortably shut.

“You wanna talk about it, cariño?”

“Mm.” You raised your head up and took a deep breath. “I’ve just got a lot on my plate right now. School, work, family, friends. Just… so much.”

Miles nodded.

“I just feel that – you know how I feel. Trying to do both things, you feel like you can’t do them both right. You half-ass both of them.”

“I know the feeling, baby.”

He knew it so well. Usually, you were the one comforting him over this distress. Juggling them all, you’re told to let one or two of them drop. Drop the ones that aren’t as important, the rubber balls, so you can keep the prioritized ones, the glass balls, up in the air. But you can't drop anything when it seems that everything you juggle is a fabergé egg. It's not easy when you need to pick between being a good son to parents who love you and saving Brooklyn from the villain of the week.

“And I feel that by failing at any of these, I fail the others. How can I be a good kid if I’m not getting good grades? How can I be a good friend if I’m stressed and venting to everyone and bringing down the mood? Ya know?” Your voice cracked and Miles squeezed you tight as the tears started again.

“I know, baby.”

“And there isn’t a lotta stuff I can do to fix it. I can’t take any of these off my plate. So like, there isn’t a way to fix this except to keep my head above water and keep treading. And just-”

“Wait for things to get better.”

You nodded, then burst into another set of tears. “But I can’t just sit around and wait. I need to actively work towards my future. I need to actively work towards bettering things.”

He gently shushed you, squeezing and rocking to calm you down.

“Breathe, breathe first, baby.”

You caught your breath and gulped down the water he offered you. Gentle hands blotted your face with tissues.

“Baby, you keep working yourself up.”

“I know, I know.”

“I know how you feel. Of all people, I know how you feel.” He kissed your temple. “And you are doing amazing.”

“I love you, Miles.”

“I love you, too, baby. Let’s just sit here for a while.”

“Mkay.”

You settled your head on his shoulder, the two of you looking out over the city. One of his arms were slung around you, holding you close and occasionally poking you in a ticklish spot, giving you a kiss as an apology. And the other hand held yours. Settled over his chest. Squeezing occasionally. And you two took turns kissing the others hand.

Burdens weren’t so oppressive, or all-consuming, when you’re with someone you love.

Enjoy reading this? Here's a link to my other works! Thanks for reading :-)

Posted: 2023 Dec 13

#miles morales x reader #miles morales fluff #spiderman x reader #spiderman fluff #itsv x reader #itsv fluff #atsv x reader #atsv fluff

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my-rose-tinted-glasses · 11 months ago

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Rose Recaps 2023 - Japan

So, because I have a hard time making big lists and choosing favourites, this my version of a superlative post, by country.

The one that had me at the first frame

If It’s With You | Kimi to Nara Koi wo Shite Mite mo

As soon as Amane appeared on screen I was gone. This damaged but confident boy had my heart from the beginning. But it was Ryuji that ended up with a bigger piece by the end. The way he saw Amane’s mask from the beginning and just went – “you don’t need to do that with me”. And the way he considered Amane’s feelings even when he wasn’t sure what to do or how to respond, or how he was feeling about all of it, was just beautiful to witness and at certain points kinda reminded of Ida.

Favourite Moment: Amane confessing and running away. Because visually it's so striking. The way he's running from the light that is Ryuji.

The one that was perfect and I never saw coming.

I Cannot Reach You | Kimi ni wa Todokanai

I think that by now at least some people know how I feel about Japanese BL. I love it so much. And for me it’s always about the characters. Whether they are the embodiment of chaos, like Aoki or they are just incredible complex and empathic humans like Ida. - Yes, I’m using Kieta Hatsukoi every chance I get- I just love the way all these characters are written and portrait.

I loved these 2 boys in equal measure all throughout the show. I might have a soft spot for Yamato, but that’s only because pining boys are my weakness.

Yamato’s back and forth in his own head about what to do would be annoying to me in any other show, but it was so well done, and we were privy to his thought process throughout that it just made me feel for him deeply. And Kakeru learning about Yamato’s feelings right away in the first episode was a great choice, because he gave the show time to make the reciprocity more believable.

Favourite Moment - The exchange of gifts at the door. I love the nervousness that the two of them are feeling in this moment.

The one where I gave in.

My Beautiful Man S2 & Eternal

Confession time. This was not love at first season for me. I don’t argue quality overall and much less the acting of the show, but it just didn’t click for me.

There were some truly great moments in the first season but there was a disconnect between my heart and my brain. This happens to me sometimes. Like I watch something that is objectively good but it doesn’t reach me.

That all changed with the second season and the film. I finally connect with Hira. Don't ask me why, I don't fully understand myself, but it happened right at the beginning of the season. I think perhaps it was because I started seeing more from Kiyoi pov, because before I was absolutely clueless about what he saw in Hira in the first place. Sorry if that sounds harsh.

I don't blame the show for this, as I said, I think all the elements are there, it just didn't connect for me.

Also, the film was gorgeous to watch. Several moments (specially the sequence where the gif is from) were so well shot and edited that I'm happy I went in already with a positive mindset.

Favourite Moment: The one from the gif. I'm a sucker for a drastic visual change when the moment calls for it.

The one that had me question if watching it was good for my mental health.

Tokyo in April is | Shigatsu no Tokyo wa

Ok. I love this show. I love Ren. But this was a hard watch for me. Every week I had a struggle between two sides of me.

- Don’t watch it. It will be sad and you will be sad because of it. - But the last one was sad so I need to watch it to see if there’s happy. - Why not just wait? - Because I started already, so now I can’t wait. - But in this case binging is best. Cause for sure the ending is happy so you won’t be sad for long. - Yeah, but I need to see more now. And there’s a new episode waiting for me. - Fine. Just press play. After the episode. - I really shouldn’t watch this one live. (all this repeats the following week)

It was beautifully acted, there were some outstanding moments, the past was as tastefully done as it could be given the subject matter, and in the end my heart of full, but slightly damaged with the process.

Favourite Moment: Ren finding out Kazuma had been looking for him.

The one with all the magic.

What Did You Eat Yesterday? | Kinou Nani Tabeta? S2

I already wrote how this show made me feel in another post. So I’ll just say this.

EVERYONE NEEDS TO WATCH THIS SHOW. NOW. If you haven’t, stop reading this and go. GO. NOW. Start.

There is magic here and you don’t even know.

Favourite Moment: ALL OF THEM. But really this one.

Shiro. Just Shiro.

Well, I'll try to write the next one in these next couple of days. Wish me luck.

Thanks for reading💜

#Rose Recaps 2023 #kimi ni wa todokanai #kimi to nara koi wo shite mite mo #i cannot reach you #if it's with you #kinou nani tabeta #tokyo in april is...#shigatsu no tokyo wa #utsukushii kare #my beautiful man eternal #rose rambles

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javierpinme · 2 years ago

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Lush

Pairing: Neighbor!Frankie Morales x f!reader

Word count: 4.5k

Rating: Explicit (18+ ONLY, minors this is not the fic for you)

Warnings: accidentally sending a friend request to your hot neighbor but oh no it’s from your sex toy app, taking some liberties with the sex toy OKAY, you don’t have to tell me how bluetooth works I’m ignoring it for the purpose of the fic, squirting, voyeurism, unprotected sex (this is fictional wrap it up irl), pussy drunk Morales, oral (f receiving), fingering, infidelity (but not our babies they could never)

Summary: You buy a sex toy and accidentally send a request to your hot neighbor to join in.

A/N: Don’t blame me. Blame @daddydindjarin. Just kidding. Don’t blame her. Give her kisses because I was inspired for the first time in a while. Also kisses to @lowlights for being my beta on this because I was so scared of this being shite. And if it is—you shut your whore mouth. Respectfully. Kidding, we’re all whores here. Also, this is loosely based on the Lush 3 toy by Lovense!

Masterlist:

The pads of your fingers slide roughly on the cardboard of your thankfully discreet package. What should have brought a shiver down your spine and warmth in your core brings you conflicting feelings instead.

It was meant to spice up your relationship when your partner got the call of their dream promotion. You supported the move completely and tried to make it work to the best of your ability.However, your partner had other plans and jumped on the first opportunity to cheat on you.

So here you are, single and with a sex toy that serves as a reminder of your failed relationship.

You sigh with a resignation that you’re going to be alone forever while opening your apartment door, until you’re brought back to the present with a little girl’s giggle.

Not just any giggle—his daughter’s giggle.

With his juxtaposition of hard and soft edges and even softer—though a little sad sometimes- chocolate brown eyes.

You hear your name echo down the hall and the pitter patter of shoes hitting the ancient carpet. You hold the package a little closer to your chest and smile at the little girl running towards you. Your knees pop when you bend down to her level.

“Well, hello to you honey bee.”

She beams with her matching dimple to her father’s at the nickname you gave her a while ago. In the way honeybees bring life to the flowers, she brings the same to everyone around her.

“We’re baking cookies.” She explains with a jump in her step.

“Oh yeah?” You smile and your heart jumps when you look up to Frankie walking from further down the hall towards you.

“Yeah, but we have to do it before your mom gets here so we have to get started.”

He opens his door and she takes no time bursting through, elated to eat sugary treats.

You’re frozen at your doorway taking in the sheen of sweat that pools from his neck down into his t-shirt. No doubt from running circles around his daughter at the park.

He lingers now that you’re both alone and waves at you with a lopsided smile, but you’re too focused on the fact that he is sucking on a hard candy, your eyes too honed in on the way his tongue pokes into his cheeks when he switches sides.

Before you get the chance to ask him out or humiliatingly go onto your knees and show him just how good you can suc-

His apartment door is already closing, with him on the other side.

You’re in trouble.

One batch of chocolate chip cookies later and way too many wet wipes on his daughter’s—well everywhere, Frankie considers turning in for the night. He plops on his couch until the game setup he bought for the guy’s night tomorrow stares at him.

They take turns hosting, sticking together after coming back from Columbia and providing support when needed. It was better than dabbling into anything illegal, especially with his drug history.

He rubs his thighs and gets up with a groan. Every bone in his body cracks, reminding him he’s not as young anymore. Sounding and looking more like his father everyday.

The mirror staring back at him with all his greys that are more pronounced since coming back. He wonders if you’d like that.

One hour later, in part because of his refusal to look at directions, he has the PlayStation and surround sound system set up. He grabs the wireless headphones and his phone to check if they’re paired when he sees a notification pop up on his phone.

LazyDaisy32 has sent you a request to connect.

He has no idea what that is so he Googles it. A quick scan of the search results makes the blood rush from his head and straight to his cock.

You stare at the package that is currently sitting on your kitchen counter and finally decide to open it.

At least there’s a solo setting and you can fantasize about your cute neighbor.

You play around with the app and adjust any levels to your preference, arousal pooling in your underwear in anticipation of later. You tap on the long distance tab, but don’t focus too long until you toss it on the couch. Dinner first, then exploring your new toy.

Completely oblivious to a certain username that you sent a request to join when tossing it.

Waiting for Frankie to accept your request.

He knows exactly what this is, pulling it from the deepest part of his memory when his ex-wife and he were still together. They thought something like this would help rekindle their romance, but no amount of toys could fix their broken marriage.

He stares wide-eyed at the request, unable to bring himself to do anything.

It couldn’t be?

Right?

He knows it isn’t 86 year old Mrs. Munchez next door because he just helped her son move her stuff into his house.

Which leaves only one person. His cock twitches to life with the barrage of images that flash through his mind. You spread out on your bed, his photographic memory aiding him when he helped set up that very bed when you first moved in.

The daisy sheets.

The toy circling around your clit in slow motions to allow the slick to flow from your entrance, your bottom lip pinched between your teeth to keep yourself quiet.

He wouldn’t let you.

His cock is already fully hard by the time he starts imagining all your moans and pleas to touch you already.

He throws his phone on his bed and resigns himself to a cold shower that doesn’t work, ultimately taking himself in hand and stroking himself to relieve the tension that’s built up.

He breathes heavily, finally giving into his fantasies about his cute neighbor, and the back of his head hits the tile when ropes of come disappear into the bottom of the tub.

He quickly cleans himself up and gets ready for bed, leaving the request in the inbox when he falls asleep.

He does a really good job of ignoring the pending alerts the first few times, but time and time again it shows up and it’s killing him at this point.

It’s made even harder when he sees you. Whether he’s helping you carry your groceries to your place or waving at him from your balcony. He over analyzes every interaction now because of that damn app, studying every downturn of your lips or the wrinkle between your brows when you come home from work at the same time.

Did you really mean to send it to him? Or did you realize your mistake and choose not to face the elephant in the room? The idea that you're ignoring it to save face makes him feel worse than you acknowledging it ever could.

Asking you out would be thrown out the window at this point and dodging every future interaction makes his stomach twist in knots just thinking about it.

He almost loses resolve one morning when you close your eyes to let the sun’s rays warm your face, his cock springing to life again of the vision of you on your back, eyes closed and enjoying how he’s making you feel.

He’d make you feel good, he thinks.

Never one to take pleasure without giving. At least one thing his ex-wife couldn’t complain about. He wants to make you feel as good as you deserve. He aches with the need.

It’s then that his fantasies break him down and he accepts the request. He throws his phone on his counter thinking that somehow he could forget what he just did.

On the contrary, it made it so much worse.

He couldn’t resist the temptation any longer one night when he saw the reminder pop up again.

He sits on the couch, thighs spread wide staring at the blue light, and watching the toy work its magic. He could see every wave of pleasure that went through you, what level you were on at that exact moment even through the thin walls.

Just one touch and he could make you feel so good.

You huff at your inability to get off and toss your phone on the bed. You were overthinking it, but you desperately wanted to feel that release.

You want to forget about the day and only focus on your pleasure, but what usually makes you come isn’t working. And you’re about to call it a night until there’s a steady pulse thrumming through you, slowly working its way up in intensity.

You grasp the sheets in your hands and your thighs start to open wide of their own accord, chasing the pleasure that is starting to shoot through you with every needy thrust. Your arousal begins to pool onto the sheets below you, your cunt clenching around the toy and you finally feel the rumble of an orgasm starting to build.

You should stop this. You don’t know who this anonymous person is, but your thighs start to burn at the possibility of it being Frankie.

You’re hurtling towards the edge of what might be the best orgasm you’ve had in years when the toy goes down in intensity, a steady thrumming replacing it.

“Fuck-wait.” You whine to no one.

You slam your fists on your sheets, your tits bouncing from the heaving of your chest as your clit throbs from the denial of your orgasm.

The toy vibrates against your bud but low enough that you’re kept on the precipice without any reprieve.

Frankie, whoever it is, is a tease.

You’re brought to the edge only for it to dip down a gentle hum again and again, your sheets surely ruined from how wet you are, skin glistening with sweat and god—you should have laid down a towel.

It’s embarrassing how quick he—they bring you back to that point where your toes start to curl, your cunt fluttering with every vibration and pressure on your g-spot to bring you to bliss.

“Please, please please.” You keen.

Your orgasm slams into you like a freight train, the force of it almost making the toy slip out of you as white hot pleasure forms behind your eyes, crying through the waves of pleasure coursing through your veins until your voice gives out.

It starts to hinge right on overstimulation and you breathe a sigh of relief when it slows down from a purr to nothing.

You’re reminded of your lack of towel when you move to get off the bed, the cool moisture making you cringe. You’re definitely going to have to wash your sheets.

Your thighs shake as you gather up your sheets to put in the wash, daydreaming about that neighbor of yours as you pour the laundry detergent into the machine.

The sun billows through his curtains and he turns onto his other side to fall back asleep, too tired from staying up late to hopefully have accomplished in making you come and then taking himself in hand when he denied himself as much as he could. Guilt pouring in tenfold at overstepping boundaries afterwards.

He finally relents and leaves the warmth of his bed in lieu of making a hot cup of coffee to combat the cool air.

The spring air delicately kisses his face when he pulls his slide door open with his cup of joe when he sees you already out on yours, your attention being directed towards him when you hear the pull of the door. He freezes for a second, but your smile instantly relaxes him.

“Good morning!” You grin.

There’s a glow to you this morning, any tension you were carrying the day before is gone and his chest puffs in pride at the realization that he may have had a role in that.

Fuck, he’s hooked.

“Mornin’. You look like you slept well.” He tests the waters.

You beam at him like you’re both in on some secret and he gets flustered that you might have discovered that it was him, but relief washes over him when you don’t look angry.

“Slept like a baby.”

"Oh yeah?" He darkly chuckles, his arousal pulling him to the railing of his balcony to be closer and preens when you mirror his steps.

"Yeah, woke up pleasantly sore actually." You breathily answer.

"Workout or something like that?"

"Something like that." He gapes at the wink thrown at him before you walk inside your apartment, but there's no way he's imagining the extra sway in your hips.

Guilt gets the best of him and he ignores it for a little bit much to your dismay, not that he would know.

You couldn’t stop thinking about it. How good you felt and how good you slept after cleaning yourself in the shower. It was the best sleep you’ve had in a long time actually, but the only thing that was missing was Frankie.

You shake your head to clear that train of thought, but he was the one you thought of late at night. Not even for a sexual reason—okay yes that too. But just being surrounded by him, his soft belly shaping against your body like it was made for you.

You didn’t mind your secret toy admirer and after a process of elimination you’re almost sure it’s Frankie. The longest control range is 30 feet and you live in a quiet elderly building. You're confident they don't have the app or even know how to use bluetooth.

Just not sure enough to put it out in the universe and be wrong.

A week later you both walk towards your respective apartments and you look exhausted. A bottle of wine in hand and some Thai takeout miraculously balanced in your other hand, he decides right there and then if that toy comes up he’s going to make you boneless.

One glass of wine later—or two. You’re feeling more relaxed, the tension from work rinsing off with your shower.

You throw a t-shirt on to get ready for bed and glance at your nightstand drawer.

It couldn’t hurt right?

Your cunt clenches around nothing.

You shiver and pull the toy out, excitement and arousal shooting up your spine in anticipation.

You hop on your bed and throw your t-shirt off, rolling your nipples between your index fingers and thumbs until they peak at attention. You shimmy a pillow under your hips and insert the toy, working yourself up slowly.

It doesn’t take long for the toy to change up its rhythm and your soft moan billows through the otherwise silent room.

Relief floods through you at not having to think after such a long day of making decisions and you get to just enjoy the moment. Your body sinks into your plush sheets, a purr crawling its way up your throat and the pads of your fingers slide up your bare thighs, tracing the steps of how Frankie would touch you.

You’re deep into your fantasy of him and reality starts to blur, moans spilling out where you would normally try to stay quiet. You gasp when the toy hits just right and your inner walls flutter around it.

“Oh go-Frankie.”

He tosses his phone on his coffee table like a kid caught red-handed in the cookie jar and throws his hands up until he realizes you’re not in his living room. He hears his name again through the thin walls and he jumps to action, almost forgetting to grab his phone from the table in the scuffle.

Either something is really wrong or you found out it was him and he’s really in for it now, but when you call his name again outside of your apartment door—he has to be sure.

You forgot to lock your front door, but with how your day went it wasn’t on your list of priorities. Before you get the chance to take in that your door opened it slams just as quickly.

The layout of both your apartments are the same so he gets a front and center view of you all spread out and your core glistening in the golden hour light that he just freezes. You look surprised but the prettiest moan comes out making him realize he hadn’t turned off the toy from the app during the rush to your apartment.

He reaches into his back pocket to pull up the app, turning it off right when you were on the crescendo of a bone-tingling orgasm only for it to be ripped from you.

You whine and grasp the sheets between your fingers while your clit throbs from its robbed attention. You squeeze your thighs on instinct and Frankie interprets that as his cue to leave in his embarrassment, but you say his name with such reverence that he stays planted in front of your bedroom waiting with bated breath what your next move is.

He’s surprised when you smile with all softness behind it and he can’t help but match it, no matter how flustered he feels.

“So it was you.”

Heat floods from his cheeks to the tips of his ears and he’s about to go on his knees to apologize until he notices the tinge of playfulness in your voice and the way you arch your brow at him.

You don’t let him hang onto his humiliation for too long, giving him some reprieve by curling your finger and motioning him to your room when he embarrassingly nods.

“Well that’s a relief. I’m supposed to help Rodger down the hall with his computer and 70 is just a little too old for me.” You chuckle.

“Rodger wishes.” He huffs and you snort at his retort as every pusle thrumming through your cunt collides with every step Frankie takes on the hardwood.

“No, really. Have you seen you?” He exasperates.

“Why don’t you tell me?” You grab his hand to pull him on top of you and he sits on the bed watching you with awe.

“How ‘bout I show you? If you’ll let me? Then we can talk about all of this because I’ve been trying to find the guts to ask you out since you moved in.” He strokes your thighs in mindless circles and a shiver goes through you.

It was on the tip of your tongue that he basically skipped all of that when he helped get you off, but you nod.

“I love the enthusiasm, but I’m gonna need to hear you say it.” He teases with a kiss on your calf, looking at you with all the mirth behind it.

“Yes plea-fuck me Frankie.” Your cunt clamps around the toy as he walks towards you, his once beautiful brown eyes now blown out with lust as he hovers at the foot of your bed.

He shushes your pleas and towers over you, taking his time to admire your features now that he has permission to. He doesn’t crash his lips against yours like you expected he would much to your chagrin.

His nose bumps yours and you chase his lips when he pulls away from you with a smirk. He darkly chuckles as he peppers your face with kisses everywhere except where you crave him.

“I’ve been imagining every pretty noise you’d make for me so forgive me for wanting to take my time with you.” He explains with a lower octave than you’ve heard come out of those plush lips.

You lock your leg around his lower waist and pull him down to you, all restraint thrown out the window and kiss him. Holding onto him like the ground below you was going to implode if you let go. He groans when your bare core rubs against his bulge, your wetness already seeping through the fabric.

You involuntarily gasp when he bumps the head of his cock against your clit and he takes the opportunity to lick into your mouth, deepening the kiss until you’re dizzy and leaking down your inner thighs.

He pulls away from your swollen lips and smirks before he trails open mouthed kisses down your neck to your collarbone, licking the salt of your sweat on the way to your core.

The hairs of his moustache tickle against your breast when he laps at your nipple, suckling around the peak until it stands at attention, releasing it with a pop when it is thoroughly wet from his saliva. He gives equal attention to your other breast with his mouth, groaning when his calloused thumb and forefinger roll your spit-saturated nipple between his fingers.

Once you’re all perked and glistening for him, he makes his way down to where you’re aching for him, peppering kisses and licking the beads of sweat that form.

He bruisingly grips your thighs and tugs you lower on the bed so he can kneel comfortably on the carpet. You breathily whimper when he nips your inner thigh, lapping the sting away with his tongue. He presses his face against your mound and inhales deeply like a worshiper to an altar.

He opens your legs wider and the heel of your feet dig into his back to encourage him to make a move and he could never deny you.

He kitten licks your clit until more arousal pools from your entrance, swirling his tongue around your bud when your thighs twitch around his face.

“N-n-not gonna last long, Frankie.” You moan.

His eyes meet yours from above your mound and you don’t have to see his mouth to know he has a shit-eating grin when he wraps his mouth around your throbbing clit and sucks hard.

Your inner walls clamp around nothing until he fills it with one, then two fingers, curling them in a come hither motion until you embarrassingly fall apart quickly underneath him and his lips part as your face pinches in pleasure because of him.

Your chest heaves as your orgasm fades to a rhythmic pulsing and when Frankie kisses up to your eye-level you’re about to apologize because oh my god, it’s all over his chin-

“That was so much better than what I imagined, baby. Good girl. Fuck, you soaked me.”

He slams a bruising kiss against your lips and you open wide for him to push your come into your mouth so you can taste yourself. You toy with the hem of his shirt and he takes the hint, pulling it off and throwing it somewhere in your room.

He hastily unbuckles his belt and you swat at his hands to take off his pants and boxers, the whisper of his zipper unfastening and your collective heavy pants filling the room.

Holy shit.

How are you going to fit that inside you?

His cocks spring out of his boxers, the head beading with pre-come and twitching the longer you gape at it.

“If you’re not ready-”

“Don’t you dare finish that sentence.” You grab his shoulders and pull him on top of you, locking your legs around his waist. He takes his damn time thrusting his cock between your folds until it’s soaked in your arousal and come.

“Ready?” He presses a chaste kiss on your lips when you nod and bites your shoulder as he breaches your entrance inch by inch.

You both groan at how tight you feel around him and he thrusts in short bursts until he’s buried to the hilt to not hurt you. Gone is the rush of the moment, soft touches and praises of how long the two of you have waited for this filling it.

“Frankie?” You eventually tap your foot on his ass when he doesn’t move, a muffled grunt releases from on your neck as he breathes you in.

“Move, baby.”

He lifts his head up to look into your eyes and devastatingly smirks. “Yes, ma’am.”

His first thrust devastates you, a sob ripping out of your throat when he continues to hone in on that spot that makes your walls clamp around him.

You whimper and bury your fingers into his unruly curls, the tinge of pain from you gripping on his strands prompting him to thrust at a bruising pace. He kisses your lips and sucks your bottom lip between his teeth before he brings his hand between your bodies to circle around your clit.

“Please come, ‘m not gonna last.”

The slow circles on your bud has your cunt seizing around him with stars forming behind your eyes as your thighs tremble with the intensity of his hips. It edges on overstimulation, but you want him to feel as good as he made you feel.

“Inside, Frankie. Makin’ me feel so good baby.” You coo and slide the pads of your fingers up and down his back.

He whimpers into your ear as you pinch his earlobe between your teeth, releasing a breathy moan as his balls pull up and ropes of his cum spill inside of you, leaking onto the mattress below you.

You gently thrust up into him to prolong his climax until he begins to soften inside of you, the two of you whispering praises to each other.

You wince from the emptiness as he pulls out of you, a kiss being delivered to your forehead in apology, and you admire his barely there ass as he walks to your bathroom. You hear water running as you stretch your muscles, feeling sated and pleasantly sore.

Frankie emerges from the bathroom with a damp washcloth that he uses to clean up the mess, kissing your ankle when you hiss from the overstimulation as he gently rubs through your folds.

He tosses the washcloth on your nightstand and laughter fills the silent room when he plops next to you, pulling you in closer and tangling your legs together. He strokes the back of his fingers on your cheekbone and nudges his nose against yours, pressing light kisses on your cheeks.

“I’d really like to do this again sometime. Maybe some dinner first.”

“What makes you think I’m going to let you leave this bed now that I know how good I have it?” You smirk and coax him back in by wrapping your fingers around the back of his neck.

Like hell you are going to leave this spot.

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esterzach · 1 year ago

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Second lesson

I have no shame. Feel free to ignore it. I know my English is not even close to enough to do this properly. Also ... Do I have the right to do this since I haven't read the books? I'd say after every screaming voice, that somehow all of a sudden became an expert in writing, a critic that felt obliged to shit over my favourite characters - this is incredibly satisfying. Again. I have no shame. For this at least.

Second lesson

Rand eyed her across the room, finally alone. The only other person in the spacious room was Moiraine. She was quiet, more than before, staring into the space, sipping from a small cup of tea. The young man swallowed. After everything that happened that day, Moiraine had said too little and he wasn’t exactly focused on her until now. His attention went to the storm of events, and to his friends, now gathered together in the same place. It was a long night, conversations, heated debates, accusations, revelations…

Not a few of the accusatory glances were aimed toward the Aes Sedai. For some of the little group, she was still an enigma and now they actually had something solid to blame her for. She had hidden the truth about Rand. No matter how much he had explained that it was his choice to leave them, that he was the one to ask Moiraine to make them believe he was dead, he doubted that they would soon believe him and stop being angry at her. But aside from the dirty looks thrown at Moiraine, most of them didn't dare to confront her.

Nynaeve… was a different story. Her anger was heard throughout the inn where they were all gathered. Even Lan couldn’t make her stop, although after a while he took her arm and dragged her outside in the corridor.

Moiraine remained silent. Perrin and Mat stared into each other, silently. The confusion and the distrust toward the Aes Sedai were palpable.

And Moiraine was just sitting there.

She looked pale and tired. On the light of the candles and fire from the hearth, her age seems even more elusive. A beautiful woman, but her delicate features were veiled with profound tiredness and sadness. Rand knew why. What he had seen and heard the previous day and last night was enough to have a much better understanding of what this woman was carrying. And yet, it was hard to imagine. Somewhere in his mind, the idea of Moiraine Sedai was changing. Reshaping. The fearsome image of the manipulative secretive woman shited toward something more familiar. More human. The icy facade had fallen.

For the first time since he met her over a year ago, behind the idea of an Aes Sedai, a woman has formed. A woman of flesh and blood, with heart and feelings. A human being, who was capable of hurting, of fear, of love.

Odd, he thought. He had seen her suffer before, he had seen her on the brink of death. He had watched this man hoover over her, her bodyguard, who warned him with a simple look, that whatever she thought he and his friends were, he won't hesitate to swing with a sword and slit their throats, if they dared even look at her the wrong way. He wondered back then what sort of debt or reason he had to walk after her like a loyal dog. What kind of a leash did she have on him so she held him so tight? Was he a servant, attached to her by orders from The White Tower? A lover maybe, who she had wrapped up in her nets years ago by an evil spell, that he fell victim somehow to her magic, and still hadn't realized that he sacrificed everything for someone who hardly ever even spoke to him. He had carried her unconscious body in his arms, tended her wound, and gave her water like a husband to a sick wife. And Rand still didn't quite understand.

He had seen her help and heal his father, then Mat. Maybe she really was on his side, he thought back then. And although some form of respect had formed in him, she was still an Aes Sedai. Never mind they all called her Moiraine, not even Moiraine Sedai. She had never insisted on that, never reminded them of her status. But he was way too wrapped up in himself and his own fears to notice. For him, she looked like some creature out of fairytales, or legends, not exactly real, dangerous, dark, and not at all trustworthy. Her powers intimidated him, and her plans and secrets made him suspicious. But last night he had stood in front of her to protect her from Lanfear's wrath. And there, for the first time, he saw her. Whatever happened between her and the Amyrlin seat, Rand was too busy to notice in the Palace. Their quarrel and the chilling prospect of their words were more than enough. His life and freedom were on the line. The fear that he had lost to the mighty Aes Sedai order had paralyzed him just as effectively as the shield Suan Sanche had put over him. Dark thoughts into a fog that blurred his senses kept him immobile, while he struggled to understand what was going on.

Then somehow he was free. Sheer luck, stars aligned, the whim of the Wheel, or it was a master plan from the woman in a blue dress, who was currently sitting there just a couple steps from him, but may as well be on the other side of the world.

Perin and Mat went to their rooms. They threw one last look at Moiraine, and still undecided how to treat her - if she was a threat or a friend, they left. Egwene needed healing, Elayne too. Moiraine took care of both of them. And they were resting now.

Yet the woman, who had spent at least the last several days with little to no sleep at all, trying to get him to Falme and had paid what seemed like quite the costs for her efforts, was still awake. Rand had learned what she had done for him. She was probably exhausted beyond words. He knew by now she wouldn't say anything. But she usually retrieved to her chambers. Now she was just standing there, in her chair, frozen, like a statue.

“Moiraine, I…” he felt he had to say something. But he wasn’t exactly sure what.

Even if he had heard him, she didn’t show it.

“I wanted to… say that… I am sorry.” He struggled with his words. Ancient prophecies or not, Dragon or not, he felt like a child, who had stepped into the middle of a fight between adults. And now was scared that it might have been his fault. She didn’t look at him. “For what?” came a question. Her hoarse voice was quiet and distant. “For… what happened last night.” He wasn’t sure if he had the right to speak of… it. There, at the Waygate, he had finally seen the woman behind the Aes Sedai. Not Moiraine Sedai, Lady Damodred, not a random blue witch or a sister from the bloody White Tower of Tar Valon. Moiraine.

Just Moiraine.

He had helped her last night. Her “thank you” filled with so much emotion, that humbled him. He didn’t have the time to think there since The Amyrlin had appeared. But now… Now, after the chaos had settled for the day, he had some time and quiet to think. And she was right there in front of him. Moiraine had been shielded. Not only that. Moiraine had been shielded for six months. He was shielded for a couple of hours and it felt like hell.

She had been carrying a shield for months.

What she had said to him in the Palace - it feels like you've lost everything that you ever were and everything you could possibly be. And with this nonchalant almost dismissive tone at that. As if it wasn't a big deal. Is that what it had been for her during all that time? She was running around, trying to get him away from Lanfear with just a knife, all alone. He briefly noticed that Lan wasn't with her. Since when she was alone? He had attacked her, thinking she had killed Selene! The stupidity... She has stood up to a Forsaken. Twice. For him.

No. Not for him. She believed it was for the whole world. She had dragged him around, and when he was about to drop from exhaustion and all he wanted was to sleep, she had said that this was not an option for her. How long has it been since that day? And all that time she had been powerless. Just a simple fragile woman. And Lanfear just threw them somewhere in the middle of nothing. The woman he trusted. He had trusted a Forsaken. Instead of the Aes Sedai who had saved the life of his friends.

Rand took a breath. Then he heard her:

“You removed the shield. For that I am thankful.”

He was about to protest, but she spoke again.

“Thank you for standing for me in front of Lanfear.”

He swallowed. That was sort of his fault too. Moiraine has agreed to his plan. But Lanfear… was slightly unpredictable. She had promised that the next time she saw him with Moiraine, she would kill her. It would have taken a flick of her wrist and… But that wasn’t what he meant either.

“I meant…” - his throat went dry. The fire cracked in the fireplace, and sparks flew around in the air. Muffled conversations from somewhere outside barely reached them. Otherwise, it was quiet. "The Amyrlin... She..."

“Don’t.”

The ice in her tone made him flinch. She had turned to him, he noticed it when he lifted his head to look at her direction. Then she added in an even more quiet voice, a whisper. "Please." She slowly shook her head and froze in place again. A distant memory from many months ago resurfaced - he had seen this face before. Back in the Blight, he had asked her if it was hard to leave Lan behind. She hadn’t spoken a word back then - her expression was oddly blank. She seemed far away, staring at the distance. Now she had the same look on her face. As if a wall was raised around her. Detaching her from the world. A safe place where she could hide her pain. But now he saw it. He had heard their conversation and the anguish in their voices. He had no idea that the terrifying Amyrlin seat meant something completely different for Moiraine. At first, he had thought they were close friends who grew up together like he had with Mat and Perin, had similar skills and experiences, shared the same view of the world, and were connected through The Tower. But... “If you ever loved me, don’t do this!”

It took him some time to understand the meaning behind the words.

“If you ever loved me”

Slowly her plea sunk in his brain. Words repeated in his head, voice cracking. The way she had said the name of the Amyrlin. The other woman did it anyway. The coldness in her voice like nothing he ever heard before snapped like a whip on a bare skin. Something big had happened there, he was able to understand this much. Something, that has shaken Moiraine to the core. The Amyrlin made her close the Waygate. She has accused Moiraine of lying and had spoken of an Oath... And somehow it was connected to him. The woman in front of him took a shaky breath. That was the only indication something was happening inside her. “Moiraine!” Lan's worried voice appeared from nowhere and stormed through the door. Nynaeve was right behind him. His whole attention focused on her. Nothing indicated trouble though. The pale woman just stood there, her back straight on her chair, and kept staring in front of her. Her eyes seemed fixed now in a certain spot but there was nothing in particular there.

Lan turned toward Rand and snarled.

"What did you do?"

"Nothing!", came the weak response.

Rand searched Nynaeve for help but she didn't look at him at all. Her attention was elsewhere. What he saw in her very much resembled guilt.

"What is wrong with her?"

"Stop talking, sheepherder!"

Rand was on his feet worried and guilty.

"Moiraine" , Lan's voice has changed. A sudden gentle tone appeared as if out of nowhere.

He took a step towards her. When he got close, he touched her shoulder carefully.

Moiraine exhaled. As if she had forgotten to breathe for a while there. She looked as if she was drowning just a second ago, and struggled to take a breath now. Her shoulders shook for a second.

"Moiraine! Look at me." It took her almost a minute, but she turned toward Lan. The glassy eyes barely registered that he was there. He was observing her, bowed before her as if trying to assess if she was somehow hurt. But her face showed nothing.

Lan leaned forward, he kneeled before her and their foreheads met. He closed his eyes, leading her to do the same. For a long moment, they stood like that. Not moving, not speaking. Only the muscles on Lan's face gave away a struggle, an effort, some underlying torture, that was left unseen by anyone else. Moiraine's face remained calm, almost serene. Then they both opened their eyes and looked at each other.

Her mouth twisted slightly. Brows knitted, and her chin quivered.

His hand went over her heart and remained there as if attempting to soothe an invisible wound.

"Oh, Moiraine!"

A strangled sound came from her.

Fear crept through Rand again. He didn't really understand what was happening before his eyes. What he saw was that the woman slowly was beginning to breathe more deeply and normally again. Her face though still taut, relaxed a bit, as she leaned into the man.

"Come on. Let's go get some rest."

She nodded.

He helped her stand up. But when she tried to take a step, her legs buckled, she swayed and stumbled. Lan grabbed her arm to steady her. One look at her and he nodded. With a swift move, as if he had done that many times before, he took her in his arms and lifted her. Her head fell on his shoulder immediately, she had closed her eyes and relaxed against him. The man carried her out with seemingly no effort at all. *** He stood behind the door for what seemed like ages, debating, arguing with himself. One part of him definitely screamed he had no right to go there, but the other was worried. Somehow he ended up worrying about an Aes Sedai. No. He corrected himself. Not an Aes Sedai. About Moiraine. Now his mind could see the difference. He knew that both were inseparable. But somehow they meant two very different things for him. There was no sound. Nobody has left the room for the night. It was almost dawn, but outside was still dark. Aside from the creaks here and there of wooden floors and beds, the whole building was quiet. Soft steps of the women who woke up early and started to roam around doing their daily chores could be heard. One of them approached, threw him a curious look, opened the door quietly, and entered the room. Rand hesitated for a couple moments but decided to use the opportunity. The woman left a tray with tea cups, water, and some food and left without a word.

Rand looked around in the semi-dark room. A few candles spread soft golden light but not enough to actually light up the room properly. His eyes finally landed on what he was looking for. There, on the thick mattress on the very floor, curled up under a blanket, the Aes Sedai was finally, finally asleep. Her face was now calm, she looked younger, even more beautiful than he remembered her. Behind her was her Warder, fully awake, his eyes fixed on the young man who just entered the room. His back against the wall, not moving a muscle, he was on his usual post - guarding his Aes Sedai dreams.

Rand finally understood him. The sudden urge to bow to this man startled him. A new respect for the Malkieri built within him. There was something else. Some other nagging feeling, unpleasant, underneath of it all. Shame. He was ashamed of his previous thoughts about this man.

"I just... wanted to see if everything is... I didn't want to..." Why all of a sudden his mouth refused to work.

"Learn to keep your mouth shut, sheepherder! That is your second lesson." Lan answered with a low voice. His face didn't change. There was no malice, nor anger. It was a simple statement.

"Is she… Is she going to be alright?"

"She needs sleep." He whispered. Rand nodded again. He turned around to leave the room. He heard Lan's quiet voice again behind him. "Sometimes it feels like she is carrying the world on her shoulders. Sometimes… this is actually true."

#Feel free to ignore #It's stupid and cheesy #I know #That is the naive side of me #esterzach's lack of better judgement #lan x moiraine #moiraine damodred #moiraine and lan #lan madragoran #The woman needs sleep #esterzach's writings

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jinx-on-mars-19xx · 7 months ago

Text

Mixing Bad Decisions

🩸Previous Parts Here🩸

Dom x Colson (Yungblud x Machine Gun Kelly)

Warnings: ABO dynamics (knots, slick, heats, mpreg), alpha serial killer/hitman Dom, omega mob boss Kells, blood, cursing, insults, threats, guns, gun violence, mob bossery, panic, mf being her frustrating self, Collette being a badass, Tom being amazing, alpha posturing, past abuse/trauma, terrible puns, naughty reminiscing, improper wound cleaning, bickering, Dom fighting his urges, Dom failing, hints of murder, enemies to lovers 💣 Rating: mature (edge of explicit)

All ideas helped by @iamnotanearthlingmotherfucker 🖤

Dom's chest felt tight the moment they walked into the building. He didn't like being underground on the best day and while his morning might have started lovely, it went downhill fast. He kept trying to be understanding but it was difficult not to feel emotional whiplash. The second they stepped through the door his mate's shoulders squared, he stood up straighter, fixed his sunglasses close over his eyes, and squeezed his hand before letting go. The faux-Alpha walked ahead of him and his stomach felt ill. It seemed like a precursor to worse. He trailed behind like the lost puppy he was and was thankful when Collette stepped closer. She curled her arm in his again and gave him a sad smile.

“It'll take him time to realize the family he and my mate created would love him anyway. I'll never understand how he can know we save omegas but think his boys will look down on him for being one. Like I can't kick all their asses at once.” What started sad ended with Dom laughing at her words but he tried to take it in and understand his lover. Colson was under a lot of stress and he could be a good partner in crime. He just couldn't help but worry seeing the man he loved acting like all the shite he hated would mess something up. He was trying, but he was still only human. Supposedly.

“At least you get a good view?” Tom offered from deep in his borrowed hoodie on his other side. The omega was obviously nervous but still trying to help Dom settle and he'd never understand what he did to deserve his brother. The Alpha had to agree though, with Kells walking ahead of him he certainly enjoyed the sight.

Once inside the office the killer felt even worse, the table- while a welcome reminder of the day they made their baby- was also surrounded by other people he didn't really know. He knew of them all, he'd been following his omega for over a month and researching with Tom in his free time, but he didn't know them and they obviously had no clue who he or his best friend was.

“Hey! Dead man walking. Figured you were six feet under somewhere after that entrance!” One of them- Mod, was the first to shake himself free of the obvious confusion. He seemed nice enough, and a beta which was always a point in the boy's book.

Collette gave his arm a pat as she pulled away and took a seat on Col’s right, but thankfully since her son wasn't making a move to explain, she did. “Boys, and Megan-” Her voice went hard over the name and Dom fought himself not to glare. She promised she had a plan and he wouldn't interfere. Yet. “This is Dom and Tom, they're working with us now. Tom dear, Mod is our tech man here so get acquainted. Dom, you know where you go.”

He really really didn't but from behind the purple shades his mate thankfully flicked his gaze to the chair on his left. He desperately just wanted to get comfortable and move on, he hated being perceived and feeling like a kid on their first day of school was his own personal hell. As he moved to step around the table the other natural Alpha in the room finished making her espresso and slithered into the chair he was heading for. His fists clenched at his sides as she looked up at him with fake innocence, she couldn't even hold it long before she smirked. “I always sit here. You can sit next to… Tim was it?” When Dom’s hand shifted to his hip where he kept his bag Colson cleared his throat.

Their eyes met and the boy forced himself to swallow his pride. He thought for a moment about making a point and sitting directly in the wanker boss’s lap but he didn't want to fight so soon. After a long moment of Collette glaring at her son and the Alpha bitch she finally vacated hers for the next seat down and patted it in an offer. He wanted to run but instead he followed her direction and hoped he could be the right hand his lover needed. He could be out taking care of his urges instead of feeling shat on but no, this would be his life. He wanted to be good for his family. He'd failed so miserably at it before but with Cols it was different. He was a father now. He couldn't be as bad an example as his own.

As the leader stood up and leaned over the table Dom had to push down his memory but when his sight caught on the gun under his man's arm he felt his eye actually twitch. He didn't just hate the things, he hated that the barrel was so close to his whelp. Fuck.

Colson noticed the deep breath his Alpha took but he ignored it and tried to keep his mask of arrogance and machismo in place. It was harder having the psycho in the room where they first fucked but he had to do it. Too much depended on him… didn't it? “Like mom said and as you fucks can obviously see, we have some new people in the house. I'm not gonna call anyone by name- Megan- but I'm starting to think I can't trust any of you. I thought we might need a little new and maybe even… young blood in the family.” He couldn't help the toothy smirk of pride at his joke as he sat back down and even though Dom simply arched a brow, the other omega snorted. He counted it as a win, he needed Tom to like him.

“You've got to be kidding Daddy, we don't even know them! For all you know they could be… I don't know, baby eaters or psycho killers or something!” When Megan had to add her two cents it set off alarm bells in Dom's hindbrain. Did she know? Had she been the one who hired him? Maybe she thought she could take his lover's place. He didn't say anything but he watched her with almost dead eyes and filed it away to examine later.

“Cause we're fucking saints?” Mod asked. The beta was already leaning close to Tom and they were looking at something on the omega's computer. Colson couldn't help but notice but he wouldn't say anything unless the photographer seemed upset.

“We're definitely better than this. We don't hire out Daddy, we never have. Why would you start now? Especially with-”

“What? With what? You don't know shit about them!” Kells had to cut her off because he wasn't sure what she knew or what she might try to say to weave discontent among his men. He had always trusted her and he was trying to stop his worry but hell, she'd seen Dom enter his home. She might know something he didn't want outed. Damnit, he had to either forgive her or cut her out. There was no real in between.

“Neither do you, which is my point. You're too soft. You see one sad omega and you have to save them. Are you fucking this one or just giving him a pretend job?” She asked, gesturing in Tom's direction.

“You'd know pretend wouldn't you love?” Everyone was a bit surprised when Tom spoke up but he didn't seem like he was going to say more. It was enough to make Mod chuckle though and they went back to whatever they were doing.

“Are you going to let him talk to me like that? He's at most a fucking contract worker and that's disrespectful-”

Again Colson cut her off, he was truly getting tired of her shit. “No.” He growled and her smile grew as if she thought she'd won before he continued. “He's not contract, he's not a sad random I picked up off the street. They're both family now Megs and if you can't get that then you can get the fuck out!”

Everyone was silent but she finally settled down. Kells knew he had to draw a hard line in the sand but he didn't think she'd start that soon. It took him a minute to quell his rage but when no one spoke up against his statement he nodded once and sighed. Fuck he had a headache already and it wasn't even noon. “Tom is here to help us figure out what happened with our last shipment. There's supposed to be another in a couple weeks and I won't fucking stand for it getting stolen again. It makes me sick knowing we failed them all and it should make you sick too. I'm starting to worry you all forgot what we're doing here.” That was the thing, all his men found their way to him because they had been in some kind of trouble or had omega family or friends saved by what Travis had begun. He felt like he was failing the only father he'd ever known and it stuck in his heart like a thorn.

“I'm sure I'm close. Since you gave me full access to all your files I was able to follow the bank trail back to the fake company who- well… I'd rather not bore you all with the technical shite.” Tom obviously felt awkward being the center of attention for the moment but Colson noticed his friend staring at him in awe. He wasn't sure yet if it was a nerdy bro crush or what but he was happy to see at least one person trying to get along. “I'm going over your books too. I thought there might be a clue somewhere, a connection, but it may take me a little longer. There's heavy firewall.”

“I can help? I mean you're way smarter than me but two heads are better than one.” Mod shrugged.

“Your boss would know.” The omega muttered under his breath and Kells was surprised at himself when he choked on a laugh. The balls on that one. Yeah, he could see them becoming friends. “But yes, long as you don't fuck me up or slow me down.”

The boss was happy to see that problem getting solved but there was still another glaring one. “Just putting it out there guys, he's not kidding about having full access. If any of you have screwed me over it's time to say. I might be a little more lenient if you tell me and I don't have to find out the hard way.” He huffed, his gaze lingering on each person in turn. The few that were with them didn't seem too scared but when he looked finally to Megan something felt off. Everything felt off with her.

“What? You realize none of this shit went wrong until he came around. Maybe don't glare at the people you know best when you've got a pet snake in the house.” She tried to deflect and he was honestly so over it.

Colson rolled his eyes but was starting to itch for a fight. “If you don't like it, you can go.” He said calmly.

Dom was almost trembling with his need to see her insides on the outside. He was trying so hard to let his lover lead but he felt pushed to the edge of control. Every little thing that annoyed him felt overstimulating to the nth degree, the gun on his mate's ribs, the subtle noises of others breathing, the tap tap tap on a keyboard, and this bitch trying to ruin his life. When she finally stood up he did so too, the two of them facing off over the table. He watched as she headed for the door, her heels on the floor driving him mad.

“You should tell your bitch boy to heel. I can't believe you're acting like this over an Alpha Daddy, Travis must be rolling over in his grave. It's like you just can't help yourself, almost like you're a bitch in heat or something. I'll be waiting for your apology when you remember who your real family is.” She quite literally flipped her hair over her shoulder but her words were just a step too far.

“Dom. Stop.” The Machine Gun’s voice was barely above a growl as the Alpha started to stalk after her. He was close enough to see Megan smirk as she stopped at the door. The killer heard a click and he turned his head to see a barrel pointed… at him? He was so lost in a haze of red it took him a moment to realize he was standing between his lover and the man's possible target. “You don't fight my god damned battles. Sit the hell down.”

Another click and Dom knew there was another weapon pointing over his shoulder to his omega. That was not allowed. He took one step to the side to block her aim but Colson just glared at him harder.

“Move. Now. Megan, put it away or my warning shot is gonna find out if an implant can stop a fucking bullet.” What Knells knew his Alpha didn't understand was that this wasn't new. He and Megan had been fighting like this since they were kids. It just seemed to be getting worse with age.

“Looks like your guard puppy doesn't even see you as boss. Why should we?” She hissed and that did something to Colson.

The sting was immediate and the sound was deafening in the marble walled room. Dom's sensitive hearing was overwhelmed by the shot but all his senses zeroed down to the pain in his arm. A growl rumbled in his chest as he cupped his free hand over the wound and it took his brain a second to process and realize who's bullet just sliced through his arm.

“Oh you asshole! That was my favorite jacket!” The woman behind him went off and stormed out of the room and that's when it hit the boy.

“Did you jus’ bloody shoot me?” He demanded of his lover who shrugged and set the weapon on the table in the spot Dom had tossed it the day they first had sex. If that memory jog was supposed to be an apology it failed its intent. The killer was frankly quite pissed.

“You wouldn't move. I told you to move. I handled the problem. You were about to make a mess.” Col knew he should feel badly but he had to prove a point. He couldn't look weak to anyone in the room.

Collette scoffed at her son before following Megan out, she had a plan to set in action and she hoped her idiot boy hadn't just ruined it. Besides, she needed to be away from his stupidity long enough to get control of herself or she might just bend him over her knee.

“But you shot me! Ya answer to me not listening were GUNS?” Dom tried to lower his voice but he was near the edge and- “I fucking ‘ate guns!”

“I know. Don't be a pussy, I barely grazed you.” Kells shrugged. He didn't want to fight. They'd had such a good night but public was different and he had to get it through the psycho's thick skull.

“I'm bleeding you twat! I can't feel me fingers and tha’ weren't a fucking apology!”

“Yeah, bleeding like a pussy. It's not even that deep.”

“IT'S A GUNSHOT WOUND!”

“And you sliced my arm when we first met. Fairs fair.”

Tom calmly stepped closer to the Alpha with a first aid kit he was given by Mod. He'd patched his friend up plenty of times but was surprised when Dom hissed at him this time. The photographer rolled his eyes and took the box to the boss, giving Col a gentle nudge towards Dominic. “Why should I do it? He's being a baby. I've been shot in way worse places.” The man grumbled before turning to his men. “Let's call it. Go do your own shit for a while alright? I need to clean up this mess.”

Everyone but Mod and Tom left and it helped Colson relax a little. His friend didn't exactly know about him but he never felt he had to be as hard around the beta. When they were left just the four of them he stood up and stepped closer to his lover, opening the kit and rolling up Dom’s sleeve. “You fucking shot me. You didn't even wound ‘er so wha’ was the bloody point?”

“She thinks we're just being our normal asshole selves to each other and that maybe I don't trust and-or care about you all that much.” The omega explained as he leaned down and flicked his tongue over the boy's skin. The next noise out of Dom was more of a whimper than a complaint. “I'm not that fucking blonde asshole. And besides, you deserved it.”

“To borrow ya words ya twat- like fuck I did. I were protecting yas.”

“Exactly. Don't fucking do that. I didn't ask you and there's no reason.” When Dom’s gaze dropped to the omega's stomach he glared and grazed his wound with his teeth.

“Oi! Fucking ‘ell. You a right bitch.” They were angry whispering between them but the other two men were fully wrapped up in their own world. “So… so wha’? Tha’ were all a ruse?”

Kells felt his brows furrow as he looked up at his mate's grumpy confused face. He sat back after cleaning the cut and he set to work taping a bandage over it. It was still bleeding pretty heavily but it would heal up quick he was sure. Just like his lover he knew all the important points on a body, Dom would be just fine. “Yeah, a ruse. Now we just have to meet Colonel Mustard in the library with a lead pipe.” He teased, patting over the gauze a bit too hard.

Dominic scoffed as he yanked his sleeve back down and thought about just leaving the place. Would Colson even care? “Hey boss? If you're done playing nurse I think we found something.” Mod called from the other side of the table. Both men were a little glad for the interruption as they went to see what was caught.

🖤🩸🖤

A few hours later they were getting ready to leave for home. A plan was in place to meet back at the boy's flat to start moving them into their new home and go over all they'd discovered. Collette would join them eventually, she was still off putting her plans in place and the rest of the family had dispersed. Mod and Tom had gone ahead and the building felt somehow more suffocating without distraction. Dom didn't feel any better than he had, he was on edge and burning with needs his mate couldn't quench. His arm was throbbing and his head ached from keeping himself in check. On their way out two of the new guard staff stopped them to ask about the noise in the room before wandering off. Most of it the Alpha ignored until they reached the door and he heard one say something to the other about ‘what a hot piece of ass that omega was’. He didn't care if they meant his mate or his brother, he was too far gone to guess. With whatever control he had left he turned to the mob boss and asked- “I fink I left me phone on the table. Would you please check?”

Colson arched a brow but after shooting the boy he figured he could at least help him out. He nodded once and turned to head back to their conference room. His hand was on the doorknob when a sound hit his ears, a strangled choke, a thud, and a zipper being opened? He turned back just in time to see his mate pulling a blade and sinking it deep inside his guard’s throat. He knew he should move but his feet were frozen in place. Dom didn't want him to see this but he couldn't look away. The monster was out to play and Kells was far from scared of the dark.

Author's Note/Tags: @iamnotanearthlingmotherfucker @hollywoodxwhore @jaxbreaker @fenoy7 @cole-way-iero28 if anyone wants tagged let me know 🖤

So this was fun to write, I'm enjoying them trying to navigate Col's job. I can't wait to see what happens when Kells watches Dom in action, what about you? I hope you enjoyed it! 🔪🩸🖤

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