#its managed to stay so fresh despite not even needing to

[figs-oliomedley]

Shoutouts to all the writers, literally h o w

[deebris]

Weight of Care

Simon Riley x little sister Reader (platonic!)

Synopsis: Simon, your older brother, has been your guardian since you were a baby. Amid the collapse of your family, he made the courageous choice to take you out of the house, raising you as if you were his own. However, despite being happy, your relationship is complicated. While you see Simon as a paternal figure, he struggles with the pain of being mistaken for one. His heart tightens every time you call him "daddy," and he thought you had managed to move past that—until you do it again one night.

Warnings: Just a little angst with a happy ending; reader is 6 years old.

Word count: 1.2k

“Did you brush your teeth?” Simon asked upon hearing your muffled laughter. He opened the bedroom door, its walls now marked by your numerous drawings. Toys scattered across the floor shifted as he entered, and with the first step he took inside, something cracked underfoot, breaking.

“How many times have I told you that you need to put your toys away after playing?” he said firmly, shooting you a stern look. Simon hated messiness, but with you around, it seemed impossible to keep everything in order.

“I was going to put them away,” you murmured, embarrassed by the scolding. But your guilty expression quickly turned into a tearful grimace as your eyes fell your sheep, now shattered on the floor. “You broke it!” Your childish scream echoed through the room, and you hurried to gather the pieces with trembling hands.

“If you had put it away, this wouldn’t have happened,” he accused you, hoping it would serve as a lesson. Maybe then you would finally start to be more responsible with your things. And even knowing he was right, you couldn’t help but feel a pang of sadness at seeing your broken sheep.

Watching you wipe your tears with the sleeve of the pajamas and hearing sniffles made his heart soften. It was frustrating how he simply couldn’t stay mad at you. The last thing Simon wanted was for you to become a spoiled child, but in that moment, it was hard to maintain his sternness.

He already felt guilty for not being able to take care of you completely due to work, and knowing that Mrs. Trelawney, your babysitter, was much more lenient than he was only made everything harder. Every time Simon came home, you seemed more stubborn and whiny.  

“Come on, it’s time to sleep.” He lifted you by your armpits and placed you in bed, pulling up the yellow blanket that you loved so much. You had already taken a bath and were wearing clean lilac pajamas covered with stars. “I’ll buy you another one, you don’t need to cry.”  

“But it’s not the same,” you murmured as he collected the toy pieces from your hand, placing them on the dresser to throw away tomorrow. Some parts were sharp, so he checked your delicate hands, worried about possible cuts.  

“It’s the same,” he insisted, sighing tiredly as he tucked your feet under the blanket. Surprisingly, you didn’t argue, remaining strangely silent. “What’s wrong?”  

“Sorry,” you whispered, feeling bad for upsetting him. “I promise I’ll put it away.”

Your promise made him cast a quick glance at the bedroom floor, where pink, blue, and all other colored toys were scattered. Even your dolls were out of place, thrown in various corners. He still felt frustrated because you always said you would tidy up and never did, but this time it seemed different, so he decided to put a bit of faith in your word.  

“Tomorrow. Now you need to sleep.” He stood up to leave, but suddenly remembered something:  

“Teeth.” Simon said, and you blew near his face, letting him feel the freshness of mint on your breath. “Show me your tongue.” He spoke in a suspicious tone, knowing that you sometimes didn’t clean your mouth well. “Good.” He praised, satisfied to see you sticking your tongue out, then making a face, which made him laugh inside.  

He turned off the bedside lamp, watching you settle into the pillow, and began to move toward the door. But hearing your naive voice, he stopped in his tracks, his heart tightening:  

“Daddy, can I go to the museum with my class tomorrow?”  

“What?” Simon asked, stunned, still turned away from you, his hand frozen on the doorknob. Surprise echoed in his voice, mixed with a thread of worry. He slowly turned around, trying to decipher the expectation in your gaze.  

It had been so long since you last called him that. Simon thought he had finally managed to correct you after so many attempts, but he realized that wasn’t working. He had lost count of how many times he repeated that he was just your older brother, but deep down, he knew he was guilty. In trying to erase any trace of your father in your life, he had created a space where that confusion was natural. It was understandable that you saw him this way.  

“Miss Sarah is taking us to the museum tomorrow. Can I go?” You repeated the question, oblivious to the tension in his shoulders.  

“Why didn’t you ask earlier?” Simon swallowed hard, trying to regain his composure.  

“I forgot,” you explained, sitting up in bed to grab a piece of paper from your backpack. It was a permission slip for guardians to sign, allowing the trip. “Please?” You pouted, holding the paper in one hand and one of your decorated pencils in the other, as if that could increase your chances.  

“To the museum?” He asked, his voice tinged with melancholy. Simon sat on the edge of the bed, already starting to sign his name on the line, but his mind wandered to a distant place, filled with his conflicting memories and feelings.  

The situation between you two was complicated. You were the only family Simon had left, a little girl. He still remembers when he found out that his mother was pregnant and, even more, the first time he saw you. He had been away from home for several years, and coming back always felt torturous. But the idea of having something so small and innocent waiting for him was what truly saved him. 

Simon took you from home long before your parents died, unable to bear the thought of you growing up in that environment. After his brother died, he projected all the fears and regrets an older brother could carry onto you. It was as if you were his only way to redeem himself for Tommy. You were so young that you barely remembered the rest of the family; for you, the world revolved around Simon.  

He didn’t even realize he was wandering until he felt you gently pull the paper from his hands. Your big eyes locked onto his for a moment, filled with concern, until you broke eye contact, standing to put the paper away and lie back down, pulling the blanket over yourself.  

“Are you okay?” You asked, noticing he was still standing there, lost in thought. The nervousness in your voice snapped Simon back to reality, bringing him to the stillness of the room, where silence hung between you.  

Simon thought of several things to say, like, “You know I’m your brother, right?” or “We’ve talked about this,” but it felt like a never-ending cycle. It was as if nothing could stop you from continuing to call him that. He didn’t understand why it bothered him so much. He knew that, in practice, he played the role of a father in your life, something he chose for himself. Even so, every time he heard, a strange sensation coursed through his body.  

“Good night.” He simply said in his deep, familiar voice, but now, something different was in the air. For the first time, he didn’t try to correct or resist, finally allowing himself to accept the way you called him ‘daddy.’  

You hesitated for a moment, sensing something strange about him before responding softly: “Good night, Si.” And a faint smile formed on his lips, something rare, as if, at last, something had clicked into place.

Taglist: @aenishas

[rafeandonlyrafe]

tatted

words: 1k

warnings: established relationship, husband!rafe, tattoos

“mmm, good morning wifey.” rafe pulls you in closer to him, legs tangled together under the blanket.

“i’ll never get sick of hearing you call me that.” you smile, pressing a kiss to rafes chest as you snuggle into him, the morning light illuminating the room.

you’re both still on vacation mode, having just gotten back from your honeymoon two days ago. “i wish i didn’t have to get up, but i’ve got an appointment, baby.” “wait, what?” you whine, picking your head up. “you didn’t say anything about a doctors appointment.” your bottom lip pouts out, making rafe lean forward to kiss the frown off your face. 

“don’t worry, we will spend all day together as soon as i get back.” rafe slides himself out from underneath you, quickly heading to the closet to get dressed. he waited as long as possible to get out of bed, not wanting to part from you, but now having to rush out the door.

“mmm, i’ll probably stay in bed all day.” your body was still on maldives times, not even bothering to readjust to being back in the outer banks.

“perfect.” rafe leans over the bed, giving a kiss goodbye. “no need for my wife to even lift a finger.”

you smile at rafe, cupping his jaw to give him a firm kiss. “come home soon, i miss you already hubby.” 

--

“that was a long doctors appointment.” you frown as rafe reenters the house. you eventually dragged yourself out of bed, taking a shower and eating what you considered breakfast despite it being past noon.

“you know, darling” rafe says as he toes his shoes off, leaving them in the foyer. “i just said appointment, nothing about doctors.”

“what other type of appointments are there?” your brow furrows together as rafe joins you on the couch.

“tattoo.” rafe says with a shrug, making your eyes widen.

“you-you got a tattoo?” 

rafe raises his left hand. you finally realize he has a clear wrap covering his fingers. you take his hand gently in yours, looking through the film at the first letter of your name, complimented by a small heart on his ring finger.

“i’ll put the ring back on once it’s healed, but just in case i ever have to take it off, i need everyone to know that i’m still yours.” rafe says, waiting for your reaction.

“i love you.” you finally manage to get out, melting into rafe, making sure not to press against his hand as the red skin heals.

--

“i’ve got something for you baby!” rafe calls out, smiling as you skip into the kitchen.

“what is it?” you question, tilting your head to the side, expecting rafe to be holding something in his arms, but instead he lifts his loose sleeve, revealing fresh ink on his inner bicep. 

“whats it say?” you quickly move closer to read the script, eyes filling with tears when you realize that rafes newest tattoo is your wedding vows.

“oh.” you cover your mouth. “rafey, this is so sweet. i love it.” you press your lips against his. rafe clearly saw your reaction to the first tattoo, the way your eyes tracked over it whenever he moved his hands, the way you were practically begging to be fingered with just his tattooed finger, watching it disappear inside of you, the cold press of his ring against your cunt.

“love having reminders of the best day of my life on my body.” rafe never viewed himself as a tattoo guy, seeing himself as too indecisive, but his mind quickly changed when he realized they could all be dedicated to you, the one constant, the one steady thing in his life.

--

“i’m thinking about getting another tattoo.” rafe hums. its been a couple months and the script on his forearm is now fully healed. 

“really?” you hum. “what are you thinking, my name on your dick?” you joke, but rafe still cringes thinking about the needle dragging over his sensitive skin.

“definitely not. i was thinking your eyes on the back of my neck.” rafe turns, rubbing his hand over the area he was thinking.

“wouldn’t that hurt a lot?” you ask with a pout, but rafe just shrugs.

he makes an appointment the very same day, looking through all the pictures he has saved of you until he finds the perfect one. you’re smiling at him on the other side of the table on your two year anniversary of dating. 

he shows it off to you a week later, and you’re surprised how much you like it, kissing down his spine when you help him take his shirt off before looking at yourself in the eyes, but in tattoo form.

--

rafe won’t admit it to you, but he’s addicted to getting tattoos, wanting to cover his body in everything and anything relating to you. he does end up getting a few others, mostly to fill up what he feels are blankspots, a smattering of patchwork tattoos covering his body, along with a few more dedicated to you.

“rafey?” you call to him as he comes home, his hand now wrapped in clear plastic. 

“hey baby.” he smiles, pressing a kiss to your forehead. you eye the wrap until rafe turns his hand to reveal that he has the word married across the side, yet another reminder of your union.

“i was actually thinking…” you mumble before trailing off, not restarting your sentence until rafe nods at you to continue, looking at you expectantly. “i was actually thinking of getting a tattoo myself. just the letter r on my ring finger. to match yours.” 

you twist your ring on your hand shyly, not sure if rafe would like the idea of you getting tattoos. you’ve never shown any interest in getting them yourself, but you’ve had to take your ring off enough times to swim or wash dishes and don’t want to be without that reminder of rafe even for a short amount of time.

rafes smile stretches across his cheeks. “i thought you’d never ask, wifey.”

rafe sets an appointment for you with his favorite tattooer before you can second guess yourself.

taglist: @winterrrnight @bejeweledreverie @drewstarkeyslut @forstarkey @f4ll-for-you @dilvcv @drudyslut @jjmaybankswifes-blog @rafescokenostril @jjsmarijuana @seeingstarks @angelofcigs @cece45450 @babygorewhore @vanessa-rafesgirl @michelleisheres-blog @outerbankspov @drewstarkeyswifehoe @cutielando @kamninaries @buckyswhxre @rafeinterlude @bellbottombaby @deeaardiary @rubixgsworld @wearemadeofstardust0 @leighbronk @starkeysheart @pradabambie

[randombush3]

love's gonna get you killed

alexia putellas x reader

summary: alexia is older, wiser, and trying to make you the best. in doing so, she loses sight of more important things.

words: 5.4k

warnings: it’s a little bit toxic and there’s an age gap

notes: the request for this can be found here. genuinely never flinched more when writing something and this is only the beginning... NEW TRILOGY TIMEEEE

p.s. it's set in two timelines and i hope you clock otherwise this will not make sense

then again, this could've been a fever dream over the past few days soooo

Morning. 

Like dawn; like the freshness of dew on the grass and a light breeze. A thousand suns and the bluest of skies. 

How do you even begin to describe it? 

A spark? 

Yes. It starts with a spark. 

Barcelona play Levante. An away match for the former, but hardly a challenge. Tough games are increasingly difficult to come by with the depth of their squad (and the failings of their league), but Alexia doesn’t mind too much. The break is welcomed with open arms, and she loves nothing more than to crush her opponent. 

She is merciless, but she is never unkind. 

The goals come flowing like an unstoppable river; white-water rapids tearing up the shitty pitch and obliterating the Levante players. Alexia runs to stay afloat, to further prove the excellence of the club she adores, and her buoyancy is mimicked by those of equal skill. 

Weirdly, an intruder survives the flood. 

What was struck off as a clean sheet is flipped on its head; tainted, stained. 

One goal. 

One magic boot, one hero. 

One player saves Levante from losing four to nil. 

The small-ish crowd wildly shouts your name, well-acquainted with screaming those syllables after seeing the swoosh of the white net and the step towards victory. 

Alexia’s eyebrows furrow, although she knows they are not going to lose. It’s frustrating for her, having failed to apprehend a pass somewhere down the line that had connected and connected until it found your feet and soared home. In her head, clouded with pride, it makes no sense. 

Who the fuck thinks they can score against the greatest club in the world? 

(Maybe, thinking about it now, Alexia is a little unkind.) 

The rallying war-cry that she roars catches your smug attention. You’re glad she thinks you’re a threat, even if your team is technically being thrashed.

Somehow, Alexia assigns herself to mark you. The fluidity of Barcelona’s formation allows for the defence to press higher than their manager’s instructions, and, as you are clearly the best Levante has, you are all over the ball; drawn deeper into the action. You almost forget the definition of ‘striker’, too engaged in the midfield. 

You’ll be bollocked for it later, you think when there’s a brief reprieve, the ball rolling out of play for a Barcelona throw-in. You look at the gap you have left in the front line and the chaos you have caused in the midfield, and you try to convince yourself to return to the game-plan. But then there’s Alexia Putellas, her hand pressed against your back, fingers gripping your shirt to stop you from intercepting the bouncing ball as it hurtles towards one of her own. 

Alexia Putellas has a decisive grip on you. She pulls you back, and she makes it seem easy. 

You take one look at her expression, jaw clenched as she concentrates on ripping your team to shreds, and feel the need to roll your eyes.

Her determination to embarrass you is admirable enough. It’s clear that Alexia can’t handle losing in any capacity. It’s clear that she cares. 

She is worried, and that is obvious too. 

She doesn’t let you get very far from her, despite the shouts for extra coverage down the middle. Alexia is clever when it comes to football, and she can smell talent like a blood-thirsty shark. Preoccupying herself with defending meaningless passes that only wind the clock down would be useless; it will always be useless when you are on the pitch. 

Because you’re good. Really good. Young, fresh, talented, and just what the Barcelona squad might need. 

The ball comes to your feet and she is ready to quell the threat. She faces you, her closed defending designed to make you feel caged. However, when the ball slips between her open legs, she is left to catch smoke in the wind, and, though it’s at her own expense, she is impressed. 

Just like that, something ignites. 

...

Alexia wakes up with a low, determined groan. Her alarm is loud and you begin to move in your sleep, distressed by its intense, relentless mission to rouse the entire world. Alexia doesn’t care if you want to sleep in. She thinks you should be foaming at the mouth to train with her today. 

It’s the day after the latest league match. 

Together, Alexia and you scored three shared goals. The connection on the pitch is undeniable, and has been since Barcelona leapt at the chance to sign you at the start of last season. 

She’s an impactful player and is lethal when her passes are fired towards you. 

Days like these are tests. You hear the alarm and know you are waking up beside your captain, not your girlfriend. 

The alarm might as well signify the start of another trial; another exam. Do you want to be good, or the best? Do you know that talent is not everything? 

Whenever the questions appear, more in her eyes than on her sharp tongue, you hold back your remark. It’s the same every time. 

Maybe I don’t want to be the best, Alexia.

Maybe I have more talent than you, Alexia.

Captain Alexia Putellas is easier to shout at than the woman you love. 

...

Levante loses but you do not seem disheartened; you’re only twenty, and there will be many more matches to win in the future. 

You wipe the sweat from your brow, laughing at how some of the Barcelona players grimace as you hold out the same hand for them to shake. They are mostly the younger ones; those you know from the national team. 

They ask you whether you’re going to celebrate your goal later. There’s no real reputation of partying attached to your name, but there is a certain standard that comes with being a young and bright star. Kick-off was early, and it would be a good day to explore Valencia’s nightlife. 

“I’m going home tonight,” you explain pointedly, just to stop them from further taking the piss. 

“No way.” 

“Yeah, we’re having dinner.” 

“You and your family are–?” 

“I’m trying to move past it,” you reply. It’s curt and a clear end to the conversation. The crowd of players disperses soon after and you are following the victors back to Barcelona before you know it. 

A sleek, black car picks you up from the station with more than the necessary fanfare. The driver’s window rolls down, revealing an unfamiliar face; dark sunglasses, starch-ironed shirt. 

“You’re new,” you mutter to the driver as you slide into the backseat. He remains silent. “Where did the last one go? It hasn’t been that long.” He couldn’t have died or anything, you’re sure of it. 

It has only been, what, four years since you were last here? 

Your parents divorced when you were seven. Like most cases, you were caught in the crossfire, but that was hardly traumatic enough. 

They were liberal and believed in your emotional capacity with slightly more vigour than it deserved. They told you all the gory details: who slept with whom; who should go to Hell. 

The most gruesome part was the debate about who should keep you. It was a bloody battle, but not a choice a seven-year-old was able to make. And your father, the pathetic man he had become, bowed out after a month, fucking right off to Munich with a new job and bitterness in his heart that led him to vow to never, ever be in contact with you again. He lost and he chose to keep on losing. 

Fatherless, it was easy to attach yourself to the man your mother began to rebuild her life with. He was caring and he made your spiralling mother happier, funding lavish shopping trips and holidays. 

You moved into his house in the most affluent part of Barcelona – that was home, even if it didn’t quite feel like it. 

But you grew older, and so did the wonderfully in-love couple. Your father’s nose moulded itself onto your face, and his eyes grew more prominent whenever your mother tried to converse with you. It haunted her, your likeness, and it was unsettling to the man who wanted a family of his own. 

There was an easy route to rid themselves of you: boarding school in the US. You cried, riddled with homesickness, every night for months, while they procreated as though they had no pre-existing child. Soon came twins; a mix of their own, a family of their own. 

So they became four, and, at sixteen, you became one; emancipated and ready to train in the Wolfsburg academy, having progressed quite well through the years at school (earning your call-up to Spain’s youth teams, winning a few medals, showing off what you considered the talent that made your existence worthwhile – the usual). 

“Hi,” you say as the door to the mansion swings open. The marble floors are vaguely familiar, but the two boys peering at you behind the housekeeper are not. “Is, um, dinner ready yet?” 

...

With the alarm still blaring, Alexia runs a warm hand down your bare back, calloused fingers pressing into the divot of your spine. It is always like this with her: one thing said by her actions, another by her mouth. The nature of the message flips and switches as she pleases, but she never seems to be entirely able to make up her mind. 

You sigh into the pillow, burnt by the flames left in the wake of her touch. “I’m tired.” The sound is muffled but clear enough to slowly tick down the seconds until the bomb explodes. “I’m tired from last night, Ale. From the match and, you know…” 

She shuts the alarm off. It’s an hour earlier than what it needs to be, but once upon a time, there was a reason for that. 

You catch a glimpse of the past behind your closed eyes as you feel her weight shift on the bed, legs straddling your hips as the sheets are pulled down to expose more of your bare skin. Her hands traverse your body, pressing into the muscles of your back with too much pressure and none at all. She is a lead weight and she is a ghost. 

She is full of contradictions. 

“You need to come with me today.” She grazes over a purpling bruise, inflicted by her own ravenous mouth. You hiss in pain, but it is forgotten the minute her lips kiss the crime scene with something almost apologetic. 

“Baby, I’m too tired to train.” 

“Your passes were sloppy.” Kisses trail across the backs of your shoulders, the base of your neck, the middle of a canvas she wants nothing more than to wreck over and over again. “And you were lucky to scrape your goal.” Her teeth sink into your flesh experimentally; the sharp pain gone before you begin to process it. “It was a beautiful goal, though. You looked beautiful scoring it.” 

You groan, your body arching involuntarily into her touch, pulled in by something stronger than your will. Alexia is intoxicating; Alexia clouds your mind. “I missed that shot,” she continues, dangerously close to anger. “Your fault.” 

“How was it–” You whimper as she targets the knots in your back. “How was it my… my fault?” 

Her fingers dig into the tightness of your muscles, unaffected by how you tense beneath her. They are sore, but it is more than that. 

Alexia has trapped you, and you are at her mercy. 

It sends shivers down your spine. 

“Because,” she whispers, her breath hot against your ear, “I was too busy watching you. You’re such a fucking distraction, you know.” 

“Ale…” 

Her laughter is musical but plays a haunting melody that prickles the hairs at the back of your neck. “Don’t be so desperate,” she purrs, her hands roaming lower with a searing heat behind them. “I missed a hattrick because of you, and it was pathetic.” 

You whine. 

“Tell me what you need, and maybe I’ll give it to you.” 

Your breath hitches, the words caught in your throat. She knows exactly what she’s doing, how to unravel you piece by piece until you’re begging for her. 

She loves it when you beg. 

“I…” You’re not a stranger to demanding things. You’re not pathetic, you’re not. “You. I need you.” 

“Good girl,” she murmurs, rewarding you with a kiss that sears your skin. Her hand slips lower, teasing the sensitive flesh of your inner thighs, making you gasp. “But you have to earn it. You can’t afford to make the mistakes you made yesterday again.” 

You’re no longer listening. It’s not what you want to hear.

...

Unwelcome is the word that first springs to mind.

There is a long, mahogany trench table set, looking unnatural with the five places that throw the balance off. As though to emphasise your differences, you are ushered to the head of the table by the housekeeper, your half-brothers hesitating at the open doorway of the dining room, almost afraid to be alone with you. 

You remember being told your mother had given birth by the housemistress at school. She’d offered to see if you could get on a flight home, but no request for your presence had come; the hint had been received loud and clear. 

If they didn’t want you, you didn’t want them. 

But you don’t miss the shirt one of the boys is wearing. 

“Where’d you get that?” you ask curiously, encouraging them to approach with a tight-lipped smile. The one dressed in a Levante shirt looks at the other. 

“It’s his,” they say at the same time. It’s a little creepy. 

“Papa wouldn’t let us get your name, but that’s what we wanted.” 

“You guys like football?” you ask, forcing a casual tone. 

They nod enthusiastically, thumbs poking into their chests as they state their positions and opinionated ranking on the local team. “We get our teammates to watch your highlights. We’re gonna see you at Barça next season!” 

“How do you know I’m going to Barça next season?” you tease. “Because I didn’t even know that.” 

“Papi’s friends with Sr. Laporta, tonta.” Frowning, you grow less amused of the tidbit. Maybe your stepfather feels guilty. Maybe he wants to give your career an unnecessary helping hand. But you’d rather be sent into the Queen’s League than sign because of your connections.

Despite the tension hanging in the air, you lean back in the chair, trying to ease the stiffness in your shoulders. The eyes of your half-brothers flicker between you and the table. You’re a stranger to them, and their apprehension is understandable. It stings, but it isn’t your fault. 

The housekeeper returns, clearing her throat to interrupt the stilted silence. “Dinner will be served shortly,” she announces, her eyes avoiding yours. You scrutinise her, trying to remember whether she was there when you were first sent away. Is she new? “Boys, why don’t you fetch your father from his study?” 

Emboldened by the prospect of their escape, the one in a Levante shirt steps forward. “Can we play after dinner?” 

Before you can answer, a familiar voice interrupts. "Boys, give your sister some space." They are scurrying away in an instant. 

You look up to see your mother standing in the doorway, her expression stern. There's an awkward pause as she takes a seat at the other end of the table, her eyes never meeting yours.

"Good to see you," she says, her tone clipped. You nod, acknowledging her presence without offering a response. “I was surprised to hear you were coming. Have you run out of money?” 

“I have money.” 

"Then why now?" she presses, her eyes still avoiding yours. The question hangs in the air as you take your time to answer it. Past arguments seep into the room, and, despite the large windows and high ceilings, you feel trapped. 

You take a deep breath, trying to maintain your composure. "I wanted to see my family," you say, the words feeling foreign on your tongue. 

Your mother's lips press into a thin line, and for a moment, you think she might actually say something kind. But instead, she shifts her gaze to the polished surface of the table. "Well, here we are," she says, her tone flat.

...

There is something about the soft way Alexia cares for you that keeps you by her side. She’s not a bad person, and she is sorry when she is mean. You can be worse, so, really whose fault is it? Sometimes you provoke her. 

None of that matters now, though. Not in the airy space after sex and before the world begins to turn again. The sun is beginning to rise now, bathing the room in fresh light that must unsettle your girlfriend. She is trying to calm herself down, lying beside you to regain her strength before she will haul you both up. 

If you hadn’t wanted to train, you should never have spoken this morning. 

Your fingers draw lazy patterns on her stomach, nails grazing up and down tanned skin as you trace out words you cannot bring yourself to say. In this moment, everything feels perfect. You’re not sure whether your mind is still clouded with desire, but you have to close your eyes to stop tears from falling. 

“I love you,” you whisper, voice barely audible. 

“I love you too,” she replies.

It’s easy to say it because it’s true. 

It’s true because Alexia has been there for you like no one else. 

Your whole life has felt like a terminal at an airport. Everyone around you has their own emotions about their own adventures, and the crowd rushes to various gates – various destinations – with urgency you have never sought, nor found. You often stand in the middle of the bustling, bumbling mass of people, head in your hands, wondering why they seem to know where life is taking them. 

When you signed for Barcelona, it was a surprise. You hadn’t believed your little brothers when they had let it slip, and you were certain your worth was going to be exploited in another league – maybe you’d go back to Wolfsburg, maybe you’d explore abroad. Maybe your mother sending you away was a good thing, because it proved that Spain wasn’t your home. 

Sure, you held the passport and spoke the languages, but… but maybe you didn’t belong. 

Then came Alexia, who told you the opposite of what you were starting to live by. 

Alexia – older, wiser, with a clear head on her shoulders and a drive like no other – wanted you to stay, wished you’d see yourself for what was so clearly in front of her eyes. You knew you were talented, but she knew you could be the best. 

Just like she was. 

Because Alexia was aware of the intricacies of ageing, of how experience was not going to be her saviour in the very end. She was focused on a legacy: her brilliance would live on in you. 

She loved you for it. 

She loves you still. 

You can feel her heartbeat, steady and reassuring. Dawn casts shadows across Alexia’s features, hiding the dark circles under her eyes in a bath of dim grey. She smiles, and the tenderness in her gaze is reserved for you, reserved for moments like these. She reaches out, fingers brushing your cheek gently. 

“We should get up,” she murmurs. 

You nod, knowing she’s right. Alexia is always right; you’ve learnt that over the years you have been together. “Just a few more minutes,” you mumble back anyway. 

Hands slide over your waist, pulling you into her body. Her laugh is quiet and giggly, full of love and fondness for a sentence she had predicted you’d say. “Okay,” she agrees. “So we’ll do three hours today, not two. Yeah?” 

...

The dinner doesn’t last very long for you, although that may be because you make it painfully clear you want to leave after the first course. Your stepfather catches on – you question if he had been hoping for this – and jumps at the chance to drive you to a high-end restaurant in central Barcelona that he is sure you will enjoy. 

He knows the chef, he says. He’ll wave money in your face and pretend that it makes these things forgivable. 

You’re hardly arguing though, so there’s not much room for complaint. 

The restaurant welcomes you into the cocktail bar, having awaited your arrival after being enticed by the name of the credit card attached to the tab. Your stepfather is well-known around these parts, and although the notion of a fifth member of his perfect family has been obscured for a long time, there is a shared surname between you and your little brothers that offers you half a place in this small shroud of gente rica. 

Sitting alone at the bar, you order a martini. The glass is cold against your fingertips, and a shiver runs down your spine despite the warmth of the busy restaurant. It’s loud here, with every table full of happy, wealthy patrons who do both business and pleasure all at once, but you feel distant, disconnected. 

You don’t belong here. 

It’s a struggle of yours. 

You never seem to belong anywhere; always an afterthought, always an add-on. 

There is no space that is moulded to fit your body, no path that has been carved out solely for you. (Or, if there is, it is really fucking hard to find.) 

Football is sort of your thing, but the whole nature of professional sport is to fight hard so you don’t get replaced – therefore implying that no one is inherently one-of-a-kind. 

Sometimes, you convince yourself that that isn’t what you want, but that is a lie. Everyone wants to be unique. Everyone wants to be loved for who they are. 

A tap on your shoulder pulls you out of your self-damning thoughts. 

“Are you alone?” 

You turn to find Alexia Putellas standing beside you, her eyes filled with a mix of curiosity and something else you can’t quite place. It seems she is more surprised to see you here than you are to see her, but she swallows her comment to look you up and down. 

Her scrutiny is intimidating. Maybe that is how you are supposed to feel, maybe that is what she wants. After all, the intensity of the match still lingers in your aching muscles, and seeing her now, out of the context of football kits and harsh tackles, is almost surreal. 

“Alexia, hi,” you say, forcing a smile. 

She repeats her question firmly, concern knitting her brows together. She’s wearing makeup, but you decide she doesn’t need it. 

Alexia is really pretty. You get lost on your way to answer her. 

She places a hand on the same shoulder she tapped, unaware of how your skin sizzles because of her touch, fearing you will run away from her. You have a skittish look about you, she’s noticed, and, for some reason, she wants you to stay put. 

“Come, sit.” Her hand waves in the direction of her table, filled with women around her age who must be her friends. A part of you finds it unfair that Alexia appears to have friends because someone once said sacrifices are the bricks that pave the way to success, but you put it out of mind to deal with politely declining her invitation.

Your hesitation only seems to spur her on, however. 

“You remind me of me, you know.” Your martini glass is empty, and her nose wrinkles with disapproval. 

“I do?” you ask, interested in what similarity she is going to draw between you. 

She holds up two fingers to the bartender, mouthing her order with a small smirk, before looking down at you from where she stands and you sit, inspecting your face. Her fingers gently wrap around your chin, and she tilts your head upwards. “You have that look in your eyes.” 

Laughter rings out from her table, followed quickly by calls for her to return to her meal. She ignores the noise, focused entirely on you. 

Alexia tries to suppress her thoughts of how beautiful you look – how ruggedly captivating, how… enticing – and she is sure she is successful. 

Until you lick your lips and ask her to elaborate. 

She is silent for a moment. 

It’s the first time someone has made you feel like nothing and everything all at once; like the brightest star in the galaxy, like an unused lump of clay. Like you are both wondrous and plain. Exceptional and just like everyone else. 

Alexia’s and… not. 

You are completely at her mercy. 

You agree to join her and her friends for dinner. 

As you approach the table, the group welcomes you with warm smiles and a polite interest in who you are. Alexia’s introduction makes you blush as she details your goal and the success attributed to you at such a young age (she emphasises that part for her own conscience), and it is only a moment before you settle into an empty seat beside her, somehow put at ease. 

The conversation resumes its flow, light and lively, but Alexia is distracted from the discussion of their next holiday. She has questions, many of them, and she figures you are detached from the Catalan they speak in and are silently begging for a language you do understand. 

“I didn’t expect to see you here,” Alexia murmurs in Spanish, leaning in a bit closer. “Figured you’d, you know, be licking your wounds in Valencia.” 

Two drinks are delivered to your table; one for you, one for Alexia. She watches your lips as they part to take a sip, pinching her own thigh when she catches herself. 

“I used to play for Levante,” she continues as you stoically nurse your drink. “When I was younger, Barça sent me off to get some experience. They called me back soon enough.” 

“I never played for Barça.” She raises her eyebrows in surprise, more so for your assumption of her assumption than anything else. You notice her expression. You laugh and Alexia finds she’s quite a fan of that sound. “I’m from Barcelona, Alexia. I speak Catalan and everything.” 

“You don’t sound–” 

“My stepfather has a house in Sarrià and told me to fuck off to boarding school when I was younger. So I went to America and I had to do Spanish classes, and ‘cause I’d renounced my family, it was like learning Castellano all over again.” 

“Like a madrileña,” Alexia finishes off, amused. “Boarding school, eh?” 

“Lost my parents, lost my accent. Childhood of dreams,” you respond sarcastically. “I’ve just come from a family dinner, actually. I left after the starter because… well, it fucking sucked seeing my mother pretend–” You hold your tongue, embarrassed. “Sorry, I don’t mean to dump it all on you. The martini’s loosened my lips.” 

Your laugh this time is self-deprecating and a little painful to hear. Alexia shakes her head and is about to encourage you to carry on, when she catches the heat rising to your cheeks and wonders whether that would be for the best. Instead, she thinks you might prefer to hear something else. “How about another drink after you’re done with that?” 

The rest of the night is a blur. 

Alexia is torn between wanting to impress you and wanting to protect you. She doesn’t know which to follow: the reasonable responsibility drilled into her head, captain of Barcelona, captain of Spain… or the pulse between her legs that grows stronger every time her gaze falls to the low-cut top you’re wearing. It’s this desire that must destroy her judgement, and, after you have insisted on paying for the meal with your stepfather’s credit card, Alexia finds herself having to text the younger girls at Barça to see if any of them can come get you. 

Pina’s busy, Cata’s out with her friends, and Jana claims she’s emetophobic. 

Briefly, Alexia wonders if she imagined you being friends with any of them, but, at the end of the day (or beginning – as it is rapidly approaching tomorrow), she really does have to take you somewhere. She won’t let your half-catatonic body lie on the streets of Barcelona, and so she hauls you into a taxi and waves goodbye to her friends. 

“Interesting recruitment method for the B team,” jokes one of them as they disperse. “Wait, sorry. You waxed lyrical about her tonight enough for me to know that she’d be on the first team with you.” 

“Her contract must be in the works,” Alexia agrees, choosing to ignore the saccharine tone such a compliment was voiced with. “I swear, she’s going to be the best.” 

You’re not paying attention to any of this, of course, too busy pressing your hand against the glass of the taxi’s window, giggling every time you imprint the shape of your palm. “Alexia!” you call out, wanting her to share your enjoyment. “Alexia, look!” 

She turns to look at you, her stern expression softening when she sees how your eyes have lit up. She can’t help but smile at the innocence of your little game, and if the taxi driver raises his eyebrows in the rearview mirror, Alexia chooses not to notice. 

“Very impressive,” she says, cringing at how she sounds like she is soothing a child. You seem even younger now, especially when your ears perk up as she speaks in Catalan, a picture of something you confessed to have lost years ago. 

It’s a horrible conflict to have brewing inside of her, and she shakes her head, trying to clear it. Her composure becomes harder to maintain with you being pressed up against her in the backseat, but all thoughts she has are thrown into a deep, dark ditch that she decides to deal with at a later date. 

“Where are we going?” you ask, your voice slurred and eyes wide with curiosity.

“My place,” comes the simple reply. It’s the only option left. She knows she can make sure you’re safe, and, besides, the idea of you at her place feels comforting, as though it were not supposed to be any other way.

When the taxi finally pulls up outside her apartment building, Alexia pays the driver and helps you out of the car. You falter like a newborn foal learning to walk, and she encourages you to lean heavily on her so that the journey inside will be quicker. The walk to her door feels longer, and each step is tentative as she continues to debate her decision. 

But she’s going to care for you. That’s all. 

You marvel at her apartment, which shocks her after she has learnt about your childhood, but she takes the compliment and guides you to her bedroom under the guise of giving you a ‘tour’. The spare bedroom is unusable, seeing as the bed has become the latest storage cupboard for her boxes of awards and PR packages, so, again, this is the only option. 

You collapse unceremoniously onto her mattress with a loud sigh. 

Alexia stands there for a moment, watching as you settle into her bed. As much as responsibility and protectiveness hangs over her head, she also feels something much deeper inside of her beginning to swirl into a storm. She’s not ready to acknowledge it yet. 

Taking a deep breath, she glances at you once more. “You need to rest.” Her voice carries the authority of the woman she is; a woman who is much older and wiser and who has more power than ethical to be feeling any kind of attraction towards you. Her hand hovers over you, brushing a stray hair from your forehead. The warmth of your skin under her fingertips sends a jolt through her, but she quickly pulls her hand back, focusing on her current task.

“Thanks, Alexia,” you mumble, already half-asleep. 

After that close-call, she rights herself, looking around her room for a moment before heading to the kitchen to fetch you a glass of water. She places it on the bedside table, knowing you'll need it in the morning, not wanting to wake you up to drink it now. She then finds a spare blanket and a pillow, setting up a makeshift bed for herself on the sofa in the living room.

Exhausted from the day, she expects to fall asleep quickly, but she is tortured by the same question, over and over again. 

How the fuck did she get here? 

[honeykaes]

the mashup

punkrocker!wriothesley x reader II 2.7k

warning: smut, 18+ content, minors do not interact, afab!reader with no set pronouns, music! au, modern au, punkrocker!wriothesley, r&b!singer!reader, semi-public sex, consensual filming, creamipes, fingering, riding, piercings, unedited

synopsis: your record label insists that the next phase of your career needs to require you to branch out to other genres and collaborate with an artist. After a long time of searching, to your surprise a punk rocker seems interested not only in the music, but yourself too.

Music is an avenue of expression, at least that’s what you always told yourself. You always felt yourself escaping into the vibrations and notes, amplifying your emotions and imagination as easily as putting two earbuds in.

There were many genres to which people escaped, and yours was the slow, sultry tones of R&B. With its elements of pop, gospel, blues, and jazz with a strong backbeat, you found yourself as one of the top performers in the genre. Your name was associated with the top streamers of Spotify and Apple Music. You even had trending songs on TikTok, people would dance or lip-sync too.

As a child, you never imagined the pitchy singing of your idols would bring you here among the hottest stars.

Despite the success, your record label was craving something different from you—eager to break into the “next phase of your career”, or so they say. They insisted you branch out into new genres and collaborate with some trending artists to give you a push towards winning a Grammy.

You were naturally hesitant, wanting to stay true to your craft and tune but their silvery words and promises of popularity caused your position to falter. Still, you wouldn’t just be collaborating with anyone your managers would send your way, you’d make sure of that.

The first one your label brought to your attention was Childe, a popular alternative singer from Russia. He was making waves in the Western market. His music was…alright and his personality was okay. Something about him irked you though, so you ended up passing on that opportunity to your label's dismay.

The second person they introduced you to was a pop singer by the name of Focalars. Furina was her real name though and she was as eccentric as ever. She was a bit vain and her slight condescension tried your patience a little too much, so you ended up passing on that opportunity as well.

Finally to your shock, a punk rocker reached out about a collaboration. No one would imagine R&B and Punk Rock could mess well, yet his label insisted otherwise. You recognized the name before, Wriothesley. He had been away from the spotlight for a while, only having small shows in London after an incident.

You heard he had punched out some hotshot producer for creeping on his subordinates at a party one night. Wriothesley ended up getting blacklisted for a while as a result. You weren’t sure why he was blacklisted, the creep Wriothesley punched out had it coming, but you knew the music industry was the music industry. Perhaps people were fearful that other cockroaches like that producer would get squashed by Wriothelesy as well.

Nevertheless, his label team things with your image and reputation could help mitigate his own in the community. 

When you first met Wriothelsey was interesting as well. Your labels had just finished the contracts, agreeing to a collaboration between your team and his. He would be singing a cover of one of your popular songs; ”everyone loves a rock cover”, your manager said. 

In addition, the two of you will be working on a new song for an upcoming film, your labels salivating at the thought of getting a Grammy and Oscar nomination.

Needing a break from the paperwork and discussing business, you headed out to the balcony to get some fresh air only to see him smoking there instead. His ears were decorated in silver piercings and a hoop loomed on his bottom lip. He took a drag out of his cigarette, letting the smoke blow out and dissipate in the cool air.

His eyes seemed tired, but his icy irises locked onto your own as he began to cough in surprise. He balled his fist up hitting his chest, to try to help him breathe as he tried to sputter apologies.

“Sorry there, I didn’t see you. I try to make it a habit for people not to catch me indulging in my vices,” he chuckled, still coughing from his surprise. You softly chuckled as well, walking up to him to admire the skyline. London was as gloomy as ever, and it seemed you would be remaining here for the time being.

“I didn’t think you were much of a smoker,” you hummed. The man playfully rolled his eyes, taking the cigarette out of his mouth and looking at it. His gaze seemed nostalgic admiring the soft ambers of one end of the rolled nicotine.

” It was a bit of a bad habit when I was younger. I usually just drink a cuppa’ whenever I get a craving but didn’t have an opportunity to so I caved,” he admitted. He threw the cigarette on the ground, stomping it out with his large black combat boots tied up in yellow and purple laces. You chuckled and nodded.

“I get it. No judgment here. Had to stop drinking coffee for a while. One day I drank about 4 drinks and could see my hand shaking when I was trying to write lyrics. Told myself to never get that far again,” you recalled. Wriothesley let out a hearty laugh at your story.

“See, we all got our vices,” he replied.

There was a soft pause between you two as you two looked at the towering buildings below you. The smell of rain on asphalt was prevalent. It must’ve been raining earlier when you were in your meeting, finalizing the collaboration. 

“I’m curious, why did you specifically ask to collaborate with me? Your managers at the meeting informed me that it wasn’t just their idea but yours,” you asked. Wriothesley simply shrugged before lifting his arms nonchalantly as he placed his hands on his jet-black hair with gray streaks. 

”I like your music, what can I say,” Wriothesley replied. You quirk your eyebrow in confusion. Why on earth would someone like him enjoy music from you? Wriothesley must’ve sensed your confusion before a lazy smirk made its way onto his pale face.

“What? Do you think I only listen to one specific genre? Should never judge a book by its cover” he murmured, tutting. You bit your lip, gaze darting from him in slight embarrassment. It was true. You didn’t only listen to R&B after all, you enjoyed a plethora of genres regardless of if it was the genre of music you made yourself.

”Besides, I see all the time people taking different genres and finding a way to mesh them together,” he added. Wriothesley moved so his back rested on the balcony as he crossed his arms and a more genuine smile fell.

“It would be an honor to do that with someone’s music I admire,” he finished.

Recording soon began after that. It was always interesting to see his fingers glide along his electric guitar, strumming and musing as if he were on another plane of existence. He would often flash you winks at these sessions. Banter turned to flirting to the point rumors began circulating in the office, but the two of you didn’t care. It was fun having him in your life and hard to fight off the smile whenever his callous hands would brush against yours when he got the chance.

A few months passed and it was finally time for the last recording session. As everyone left the studio for the night, you decided to stay back to fine-tune things on your end until you felt satisfied yourself. When you walked out, you noticed Wriothesley sitting on the couch. He was scrolling on his phone and looked up, hearing the heavy door of the recording studio open and close.

“Seems you finally got out. Took you long enough, love. I did want to celebrate with you,” he mused as he rose from the couch. You couldn’t fight the smile creeping on your lips seeing his presence right in front of you.

“Celebrate what exactly? Done being in this stuffy room together for now,” you retorted. Wriothesley simply smirked and shrugged.

“Perhaps I could take you to a pub and celebrate that way. Get a few drinks, I can show you the sights of London before you jet back to LA tomorrow,” he suggested. You took a sigh. You truly weren’t in the mood to socialize in a dark tavern tonight. 

“I don’t know about that….Why? Are you trying to take me out on a date?” you chimed back. Wriothesley chuckled and walked closer to you. 

”Maybe. Think I can be lucky enough?” he asks, hands reaching up for their chin. Your eyes widened slightly, shocked at his nonchalant confession before your expression softened. Your hands reach up, placing themselves on his firm chest. 

“We can always celebrate here…too…y’know…” you suggested. Wriothesley expressions darkened, a grin forming on his face. His hand left your chin, making its way towards your waist to bring you in closer to him.

”Didn’t think someone with a reputation like yours would be so naughty,” he hummed, deep in your ear.

”Don’t judge a book by its cover, I think you were the one who said that, no?” you retorted. 

Wriothesley leaned down, capturing your lips. His lips were sweet, tasting faintly of chapstick he must’ve applied earlier. His hands wandered up and down the curves of your body as the two of you made wait onto the couch.

As your form plopped down on the expensive leather couch, Wriothesley crawled on top of you. His hand cupped your clothed cunt, watching you grind onto his hand desperate to get any bit of friction you could. He sucked his caine as he smiled at the scene before letting his hand dip between the waistband on your pants and cup your now bare cunt.

“Already drooling for me…” he murmured, fondling your soft cunt. You rolled your hips, whining as his fingers brushed against your clit. Growing impatient, Wriothelesy, took his hand out before tugging on the waistband of your pants, bringing them and your panties down with it. Your bottoms were thrown aside on the rug, shielding itself from falling on the cool tile ground.

His icy eyes finally gazed at your cunt bare to him. He pressed his finger against one of your puffy folds, pushing it to the side to spread you out further and watching your hole convulse at the mere thought of having him inside of you. 

Clicking his tongue is satisfaction, he slowly sinks his finger inside of you. You whined, feeling the cool touch of his silver rings decorating his fingers as he slowly pumped them. His other hand goes beneath your shirt, moving towards the valley of your breasts.

He grabbed a mound—rolling your pebbling nipple with the side of his thumb while his lips pressed against your neck—nipping and sucking the sensitive skin. His fingers curled as he continued to thrust while the calloused pad of his thumb massaged your clit.

You writhe under his touch, soft moans falling from your lips. He shifted, his hips slightly bucking as his own erection pressed in his tight pants satisfied by the music falling from your mouth. His fingers drilled inside of you faster as the sloshes and lewd noises of your cunt echoed in the room. 

“That’s it…that’s it…you’re almost there, love. C’mon and give me a show,” Wriothesley grunted. A loud moan is ripped from you as you throw your head back. Your body twitched trying to come down from your high as Wriothesley whistled in amused, satisfied by the way your cunt squeezed and pulsated on his fingers. He dug his free hand into his jeans pockets, revealing his phone.

“Mind if I memorialize this,” he asked, flashing his phone to your tired gaze. You furrowed your eyebrows but whined feeling him pump his fingers slowly in your overly sensitive hole. 

“...If you show anyone and I mean anyone, Wriothesley—” you threatened albeit agreed. Wriothesley chuckled, moving to click on the camera app.

“And risk losing a person like you? Never. Besides, I don’t like the idea of anyone else seeing you like this…whining and crying just on my fingers. Y’know if you made a face like that then I wonder how you’ll look with my cock inside of you, hm?”

Wriothesley began recording as he continued to slowly pump his fingers inside of you before slowly dipping them off. He chuckled, admiring his digits coated in your slick before smacking down your clit as you jolted. You scoffed and grabbed his phone, filming the camera in his direction. 

”Well then why don’t you also give me a show,” you suggested, quirking an eyebrow up with an amused expression. Wriothesley chuckled and nodded. He slowly took his shirt off revealing his fit form, tattoos adorned his arms. His nipples were flushed and pierced as well.

”My eyes are up here, love,” he joked. You fought the urge to roll your eyes before you shifted the camera towards his crotch. He played with the waistband of his pants before slowly letting them fall, his cock immediately smacking to his lower stomach, pulsating eagerly.

He pumped his cock a few times, you could see precum budding at the tip along with his Prince Albert piercing. His moans are light and airy, clearly teasing you as you rub your thighs together.

He leaned over and claimed your lips as he grabbed the phone from you. His tongue dragged against your bottom lip as you moaned in the kiss. He shifted you on top of him so that he was lounging in the chair instead. You could feel how hard and thick he was as his cock pressed against your leg

”Well then, I can’t do all the work…Why don’t you go ahead and take a seat” he suggested, patting his upper thigh. You took their shirt off, hovering above their cock. You grabbed onto his member as Wriothesley sucked a breath in before you slowly sank down it.

As you slowly moved down on it, you could feel how much he was stretching you out. The dull burn as you inched closer was getting to you. Wriothesley offered a sympathetic smile reaching out with one hand to rub your clit to encourage you to sink down further. Although it was a tight fit, you eventually bottomed out. Your body shuttered feeling the foreign coolness of his piercing pressed against your gummy walls. 

His hand eventually leaves your clit before trailing towards your thighs and resting on your ass, where he gives it a tender squeeze.

”Don’t keep me waiting, lovely,” he cooed. With a grunt, you slid up before sliding back down continuously, pressing your hands against his chest as you bounced on his cock. Wriothesley bit his lip, zooming in as he reached out to fondle your tits before drifting the camera back down to where his cock was disappearing inside of you.

He could feel how tight you were, etching him to reach deeper inside. He starts to thrust up causing you to moan. You weave your own hand down to play with your sensitive clit to get more friction.

Wriothesley clicked his tongue noticing, before throwing his phone on the ground without a care. His large palms grabbed onto the globes of your ass before his pace grew faster. You could barely think as he pistoned himself inside of you, legs quivering as you didn’t bounce on him anymore.

His cock continuously hit that sweet spot inside of you as you shifted and gyrated your hips— drool dripping from your lips. You rub tight circles on your clit faster.

“There! There! There!!” you yelped out. Your back arched, as your eyes rolled to the back of your head finally reaching your high. Wriothesley grunted nails harpooned in the plush of your ass as his lower half bucks up, spilling cum inside of you. 

He continued to thrust inside of you, pushing it deeper while he groaned. Your voice quivered, feeling his warmth completely coat you as thick globs of cum smeared on your folds and thighs. You let your upper half lean down to rest as Wriothesley patted your ass gently, red from how tight he was clinging onto it.

His lips pressed against your shoulders for a tender kiss, heavy pants echoing in the recording studio.

“This’ll be a night to remember…” Wriothsley chuckled before kissing your sweaty forehead. His gaze softened at your tired panting one.

“I say it’s a good thing we will be working quite closely together for the upcoming year, wouldn’t you say, love?”

[sojuyae]

i need you to PLEASE expand more on the bsd zombie apocalypse au

more so if its yan 👀

bsd apocalypse au

bsd ada various / reader

notes: mild yandere themes, zombie apocalypse thingies, NOT PROOFREAD sad face and teary-eyed emoji

-> your 'first' encounter with dazai is nothing short of terrible. your dull knife was pressed on his bandage-clad neck when he managed to sneak up on you. it's so easy to mistake dazai as a zombie when he looks so dead. dirty bandages adorning his arms and neck, dried blood sticking to his skin and clothes (not like you were better yourself) — had it not been the absence of rotting flesh and flesh (or the loud whine he had let out when your knife barely pressed on his throat,) you could've killed him.

the man took your hand in his with fervor, his eyes twinkling with cheer that does not suit a man like him. meeting him was terrifying enough, but him to ask you to join his group? utterly horrifying.

he didn't even give you a choice to decline.

if he had to be subjected in multiple earsplitting berations by a certain ideal donning co-detective for you to be accepted, there's no need for you to know. actually, he would let you know. he'd use it against you everytime you don't do something for him — you're complaining about having to go on a supply run in his stead because he's lazy? next thing you know he's letting out a scoff and telling you about the 'traumatic' scoldings of kunikida he had to endure just for you to be welcomed in the team.

-> dazai's words of 'persuasion' — if you could even call it that, rarely works. and you learned it the hard way. you watched timidly on the sidelines as dazai dismisses kunikida's reprimands and barrage of insults with a playful laugh, shrugging off any comments of how bringing any more people in the agency will only mean more mouth to feed and how 'kenji's appetite' is already worth 3 mouths.

despite kunikida's prior disapproval of you being an addition to the group, kunikida instantly — a little too instantly, warms up to you. in fact, when you were begrudgingly let into the team, he was the first to hand you a new and fresh set of clothing.

kunikida’s kindness and compassion warms your heart and it is often that you find yourself in his presence when something is troubling you. always able to lend his ear and provide some insight while he assigns the agenda.

kunikida proves himself as a reliable friend, so much so that you don’t know question how almost every supply run and night watch is spent alongside him.

-> if there was someone you were in favor of in the entirety of the agency aside from kunikida’s amazing diligence, you would’ve been sure yosano takes the crown.

she’s a formidable woman — always so quick to treat any wounded teammates. its almost a miracle how every single one that comes out of the infirmary looks better than ever, not a single sight of bandages and scars that would’ve littered their skin.

she is as quick to hound you in her empty infirmary whenever she manages to strike a deal with kunikida something about not being too ruthless when treating him? you don't know. she bemoans off your ears about how you’re always assigned to do some menial tasks with the others when you could be staying with her instead.

whenever you’re alone with her, you feel more of those large bear plushies you'd see displayed in malls more than anything — you're meant to stay still as she treats your lap as some kind of chair, your shoulder as a bed, and your stomach as some kind of pillow. her butterfly hairpin digging in your skin painfully while she rests her head on your shoulder.

-> when you met ranpo who was sat upon his desk, you thought he was very familiar — not because he was the self proclaimed greatest detective of all time that you kept hearing about before, but because you had a feud with him about this one last sweet remaining in of the aisle during the apocalypse. you won with a cheap trick that he surprisingly fell for; pointing at the air with a, 'look, there's more sweets!' and making a break for it.

by the looks of it, he didn't seem to forget about the incident, and it doesn't seem that he'll be forgiving you anytime soon too, with how sharp his glare is from across the room.

dealing with ranpo is tough. sending you in supply runs like the recent run wasn't just a day ago because he apparently ran out of sweets (then what are those in his desks????) always ordering you to bring him this and that as if he couldn't reach it with a stretch of an arm, even going as far as making you feed him because his hands were busy (they're literally just behind his head.) and skillfully ignoring the looks everyone in the agency gives him.

really, you should've let him have that sweet.

-> whenever you enter a room, your gaze automatically meets atsushi's. he would almost immediately stiffen under your stare and as if he was caught, would continue on his task without much of a word. the same routine would repeat over and over, you step inside a room, both of your eyes lock together, he resumes in what he's doing, looks back to see if you're staring, then he's back on wiping the same spot on window again and again.

your brain came up with the explanation that maybe, atsushi doesn't like your new addition to the agency, that he hates you. rations are limited and you're enough of a burden.

so when you're paired up with him to look for supplies (kunikida was bedridden, and you swear you can hear him weakly croaking about how dazai should go in your stead.) you're eager to prove to atsushi that you're not a burden, that you can help the agency.

it doesn't end well. if anything, you became only more of a burden — you didn't think that there would be a zombie creeping up from behind you. atsushi manages to stop it from going near you with his trusty ability, his claws ripping the undead to shreds; he didn't even stop until you forcibly pulled him from the mush of undead flesh.

an apology was ready on your tongue until he tackles you in a tight hug, his face buried on your neck, muttering words of how you're safe now; you would've been glad that your misunderstanding of him hating you is cleared up — you would've been glad. had it not been the claws that are still drawn and wrapped around your back, the mauled and unrecognizable zombie who's still spasming on the dirty floors, the smell of rotten flesh hanging in the air, and the violence he displayed in front of you.

[h5eavenly]

Carousel┃H.HJ SMAU

・❥・Things you might have missed:

the sun and moon analogy:

part one "the sun":

"A strange feeling in your chest. You blamed it on the boy’s smile, it was as bright as the sun." (ch 35).

Y/N sees herself as this dark being that’s unworthy of being loved by Hyunjin because she sees him as the complete opposite of her. When they first meet in high school these thoughts aren’t as strong. She still sees him as someone filled with light and resembles the sun but it’s only when things grow darker in her life she sees herself unworthy of him.

"How could the sun possibly be attached to a dying speck of light?" (ch 35).

Even when Hyunjin looks at her with love she finds it unbelievable and thinks it must mean that he doesn't actually her darkness. which is why for a long time especially when they were younger she feels like she needs to hide this part of her from him. she can't show him how dark she actually is.

"like he doesn’t know the darkness that surrounded you. Was he blind or was he just not scared of you anymore?" (ch 24) .

part two "the moon":

"So, he learns to love you in silence, from a distance. Hyunjin learns to love the moon just for you while you convulsion in loneliness and yearn for him. Constantly missing the sunlight." (ch 50).

Hyunjin sees her as the moon, strong, beautiful and so distant. like something he could only admire from afar never allowed to touch and that's why he always ends up following silently. Just like how the moon is always there and it feels like you're chasing it without meaning to.

"He realizes he never really knew you, a part of you had always managed to stay hidden. Just like the moon. There was no moment in time when he had all of you and so he resents you." (ch 50)

Again resembles how she always hid part of her that she thought was too dark to show him and it resembles how she sees herself, something that doesn't have light in their being it doesn't emit from her.

"How kind of the sun to lend its light to the moon, tinged with warmth. Apprehensively there is room for you to shine. It is thanks to him, you exist." (ch 59)

At the end she realizes she doesn't need to be someone who has light emitting from her and instead there's nothing wrong with having him lending her some of his light. at the end of the day her darkness doesn't scare him away and instead he is there to help her shine through everything.

summer and winter:

"summer remains in Hyunjin, in his smile and the dip in his cheeks, in the crinkling sides of his eyes when he’s happy and the scent of his bodywash." (ch 50).

summer is Y/N's favorite season and summer is her happiest season. she meets hyunjin during the summer and starts tying it with him. and even with his scent, since summer is the peak peach picking season. she even imagines her wedding to be during summer.

yet everything bad that happens to her is during winter like her dad cheating for the first time and everything that went down with seungmin and her worse stages of yearning for hyunjin are during winter as well.

"Despite the bitter winter you feel the warmth of sun seeps into your being when you take his hand in yours. It’s as sweet as peaches and embraces you in overwhelming comfort. a peaceful buzz that settles through the center of your heart, a fresh new color, so bright and foreign but more than anything welcomed." (ch 53.)

hyunjin forgiving her and deciding to give her a second chance is the first happy moment that she gets to experience during winter. therefore breaking the cycle of miserable winters.

smaller things:

Hyunjin smoking: after Y/N and hyunjin break up the first time he changes a lot almost becoming a whole different person and quits smoking. He only starts again after Y/N is back in his life and without meaning to he starts falling back into his older habits as his emotions are climbing back to the surface. Like falling into the cycle of denying his feelings and refusing to talk about them like when he was a teenager.

Dying his hair: he dyes his hair in pathetic attempts to regain self control. like trying to prove to himself that he still has power and Y/N doesn't have the same power she used to have on him (she does)

why is it called carousel:

they keep going around and around each other like a carousel constantly chasing each other and never meeting in the middle and also because their love felt like being stuck on a carousel ride that never ends it starts out fun but becomes dreadful the longer it takes bc it's filled with miserable events as well.

༶•┈┈୨♡୧┈┈•༶༶•┈┈୨♡୧┈┈•༶༶•┈┈୨♡୧┈┈•༶

Masterlist

˚₊· ͟͟͞͞➳❥ Taglist: @annybah @christopherisfoive @kkamismom12 @nujeskz @realrintaro

@wolfietara @luvvvash @pnkcasket @shyshyshytwice @samhomo

@babrieeee @nhyunn @lilliansreality @enzstr @feelikecinderella

@linocvp1d @itgirlalisaa @arikazu @hyundumpling @cupkiki

@avokralaim @super-btstrash-posts @mellhwang @kaiyaba

@finnbbl @rockyhedgehog @heyhaez @amarecerasus @anjian03

@jihanniee @skvrze @enzos-shit @certified-lana-del-rey-lover @chartrucewhore

@skz1lov @dreamerwasfound @lixie-phoria @sillygoosegoose

@20crowsinahoodie @siriusly1 @iheartchaes @hyunjinhwang-23

[silvercap]

24. Bedridden or 66. Bedside Manner, with comfort/caretaking from the team? Leon's gonna need it... (can be a continuation of something else, or a standalone, up to you)

He definitely does 😭 (For this prompt list)

Bedridden/Bedside Manner

"Fuck," Leon hisses weakly, arching backwards into Piers' arms as Jill tears yet another of the barbed spikes free of his thigh, the sound coming out closer to a sob. His breaths come harsh in his chest, one hand squeezing Chris's meaty palm in a death grip where he's decided to lean into Leon's space from the edge of the dusty bed, the other clawing into Piers' arm where it's been wrapped securely over Leon's chest. He shudders, sweat dripping down a temple.

"One more," Jill says grimly, to which Piers subtly tightens his hold. She doesn't give Leon a chance to prepare himself, cutting deep into his leg and yanking the final spike out in a gout of fresh blood. Leon can only gasp, spasming.

"Got--got anything for the poison, yet?" he slurs, feeling the burn of it through his veins now that the overwhelming source of pain has dulled. He thinks someone responds, but then Jill clamps down hard on his leg to provide pressure and Leon can't stop himself from passing out entirely.

He comes to with a cough, blinking blearily at the sensation of a cool cloth against his forehead, a callused thumb so large it can only belong to Chris sliding gently beneath his eye to collect the tears that have fallen there. He's still slumped against Piers' solid body, shivering weakly despite the warmth his fiancé provides. Leon moans.

"Shh," Chris soothes from Leon's left, Piers' hand smoothing over his hair as he shudders involuntarily. "We've got you."

Another, smaller hand is propped under his knee to hold it up, white gauze and bloodstained bandages visible in his blurry vision when he glances down. He winces as Jill pulls the top layer tight, bare thigh pale where it sticks out from beneath the thin blanket thrown haphazardly over his legs. He's still wearing his jacket, the distant growl of BOWs audible outside of the shack they've crawled into for shelter.

"Piers," Leon croaks as Jill finishes what she'd been doing and gently tucks his injured leg under the blanket, pulling it up until the top edge is aligned with the neckline of his t-shirt. "P-Piers--"

"It's okay. I'm here," Piers murmurs in a low voice, holding Leon tightly when his body spasms for what feels like the hundredth time.

"Piers..."

He can't remember what he'd been about to say. Chris's hand slides back into his, squeezing as Leon's eyelids flutter. He stays like that for a moment, trembling--until Piers is helping him slightly more upright, the metal edge of a canteen meeting his lips. The water is cool and soothing enough that Leon can reopen his eyes, Jill's solemn face meeting his where she holds the canteen on its side. Chris is beside her, looking worried, but Leon doesn't have the strength to comfort either of them. He's starting to feel a little sick, if he's honest, the full weight of whatever had been in those spikes wreaking havoc on his system.

"Thanks, nurse Valentine," he rasps when Jill pulls away, mainly in an attempt to lighten the mood. If anything, it makes the lines on Chris's forehead even more pronounced, voice lacking in enough conviction to play off his condition. He sighs. "We should--keep moving."

"Absolutely not." Piers is firm, then softens. "There's no way you can stand without help, and we have no idea what the toxin might do to you. Just rest."

"He's right," Chris says softly, voice too gentle. His brown eyes are wide and watery when Leon manages to look, a forced smile on his face like he's trying to convince himself that it's real. Jill pats Leon's uninjured shin.

"Sleep it off, Kennedy," she says roughly but not unkindly as she sits down in a chair near his feet, in typical Jill fashion. As if following the order, Leon's muscles suddenly relax, the cottony haze in his mind becoming more pronounced as he sags into Piers' arms. He whimpers. Spasms.

"It's okay," Piers whispers, voice cracking. Leon doesn't have the energy to ask why. He reaches up blindly, hand getting caught in the blanket until he can free it to brush his fingers against Piers' jaw.

Unconsciousness takes him.

[biscuitbox23]

Dead weight.

summary: you run into the woods to get away from the group, you were reaching the end of your life as you suffer from aplastic anemia, only to get stopped by Rick.

A/n: I’m not a medical expert, i have no familiarity with the field of medicine I am just an idiot who is a sucker for terribly made sad stories. This may be a very long opening to the actual climax so im sorry for that :( please do DM me for advice on how i can make my fanfictions better!

Warnings: inaccurate depictions of the illness, non-established relationship (rick and reader), mentions of death, angst, cursing. (Not much due to me being a minor.) somewhat bad grammar since English isn’t my second language.

words: 1.3K

It has been a while, well, a while since you had a good stock of medicine. You had been in an abandoned cabin a few months after the outbreak. During it, you got stuck in a pharmacy in Atlanta. The law was gone now, so you hoarded a ton of antibiotics, capsules, injections, and anything you could get your grubby hands on.

When Rick and Daryl saved you from a trio of men who were trying to take advantage of you, you joined them and did not stay inside forever, especially when blood stained the floors of your shelter. It was a mistake.

You wanted to stay with yourself, isolated from the horrors and sacrifices that the world has offered now. It was harder to find medication now that most stores were stripped clean. It was easier for you to catch minor fevers, and you tended to have more rest than the others in the group. The only reason you were there is because you knew how to survive.

In the woods, in the apocalypse, no problem. Whatever your dad knew your dad would teach you, he was an outdoor person and loved to forage different shrooms and plants. God knows what happened to him.

You grew closer to the group, helping them find food and clean water, scavenging what you can find in abandoned retail stores (even if it does not have much importance.)

Now you find yourself walking out of Alexandria by attempting to climb the steel borders to the outside of the wall, your head spinning as drowsiness has consumed you to your very core, yet you still have the urge to continue. Or else you are just dead weight. You had a few foot slips —you swear, Enid makes it look easy— but managed to get out. You can sense your muscles aching as if you did not even have the strength to pull yourself up despite climbing trees more than a million times when you were a teen. You needed to disappear 

from the people, the group. Rick.

Rick was a leader, for sure. He had all the correct morals and cunningness and looked up to him for it. You were no longer the person of any use to him and his group. You could not even defend yourself without stumbling down to the ground.

You were around when T-dog and Lori passed away. You 

remembered falling for Rick when you first saw him, only to discover he had a pregnant wife and a kid. It started like a rocky road. You were so used to the isolation that it took a lot of convincing to get you to come with them to the prison.

You took a liking to his daughter Judith. You loved babies. It was a surprise. You thought that you would never find a baby in this world again. Carl was the closest to you. You tell him stories about your life and would do the same, reminiscing about the world that used to be. He praised his father a lot and got a good idea of what Rick was like as a father. Hershel would check up on your health while Rick would stand beside the old sport as Hershel examines you.

Making your way into the woods, you stopped by a tree to take a breather. Your hands were on your knees as you stared down to the ground, crinkles of the leaves crushing on the bottom of your shoes. The night was cold and airy. The chill on the tip of your nose was evident as you took one more glance at the haven that shielded the real outside world from its inhabitants. The sour stench of rotting meat was not detectable and gave some fresh air — It is not like you cannot get fresh air in Alexandria. You want to be alone most of the time.

“thought I'd find you here." A voice called out, the voice echoing in your ears sounding familiar as the crunching of leaves has gotten closer and closer.

“fuck” you curse under your breath, “how did you find me?”

“Carl saw you tryin’ to climb the walls.”

“huh,” you playfully scoffed but was met with a chill and a cough, “thought I was being sneaky…”

“what're you doin’ out here?” Rick asks out of the blue, staring you up and down as you lean back into the tree.

“Rick," you sighed heavily, “go back.”

“I'm not goin’ back till you tell me what happened, y‘know that, don’t you?” Rick asked with a twinge of concern mixed with his southern drawl.

You paused.

“I'm leaving, Alexandria,” You rubbed your forehead as your stomach grumbled. Sliding down to sit as your back leaned onto the tree further.

“If this is about your illness we can make—“Before Rick could finish his sentence you interrupted.

“Make it work? Yeah, I don’t think so…” You retorted, “You don’t understand, Rick. I have a condition where my bone marrow doesn't produce enough blood cells, and I have no meds to help me, what are the chances of finding a pharmacy? A pharmacy where it has all the things I need to survive?” You spat, frustration filling your mind like hot liquid.

“Denise can help you, Y/n, you have seen her efforts in helping you,” You can sense Rick’s desperation to get you back to Alexandria’s infirmary. His voice remained gentle but firm.

“Why, Rick?” Your eyes stared into Rick's ocean blue orbs, frustration, and confusion, “I’m not strong, anymore. I can’t go on runs, anymore. I can’t protect anyone.”

“Because we still need you—“

“Maybe it’s you who still needs me, Rick…” You spat, leaning your head on the wood as you got the strength to finally stand up, with the support of the tree, of course.

“Y/n we can discuss this once we get back,” Rick sighed, coming closer to you as he held both your arms gently.

A rush of adrenaline painfully scours into your veins as you push him away with all the remaining strength you have.

“GODDAMNIT RICK, WHY CANT YOU JUST LET ME DIE OUT THERE!” You yelled at him. “YOU KNEW I WAS GOING TO BE A BURDEN AND YOU SAW HOW MANY PILLS I HAD ON THE TABLE!”

Rick scoffed, “You're giving up now? After all that has happened? The prison, terminus… and you decide to end it all here? Where we’re finally safe?” His tone wasn’t as gentle but it was now harsher, deeper.

“if you think more treatments, will change anything, it won’t. I'm done and I won't let you guilt me into continuing this charade.”

“then what’re you gon’ tell Carl, hm? That you’re sick of bein’ alive so now you’re gonna leave?”

“This isn’t about Carl, Rick it’s about you keeping me to fill in the gap of what Lori gave you,” you glare with poison in your very eyes. “Leaving you to care for a child that was never yours.”

Rick went quiet, as you realized what you had said, “i-I’m sorry… Rick…” you pleaded, holding his hands.

Rick sighed, “Maybe you're right."

You nodded, your breath becoming shorter as your legs finally give in. You feel your body starting to shut down. Rick helped you sit down comfortably on the ground. You were paler and had many bruises on your arms and legs. You were heating up again.

“I'm sorry, Rick,” you breathed heavily, clutching the hand he gave you.

“It’s okay, Y/n,” Rick comforted you, kissing her knuckles as her legs trembled. Rick’s voice was shaky, almost labored.

“I don’t wanna turn, you can ask Daryl to keep my gun, you’ll need it,” You softly chuckled. Rick looked at you, taking his revolver from his holster.

“Get back to Alexandria, to Judith…” you smiled as you felt bile in your throat, blocking your airway and your heartbeat becoming more abnormal.

Rick gives you a final kiss on the head as an act of kindness and comfort on the edge of a quick and painless death.

—————————————————————

a/n: Hello everyone! This is my very first Fanfic and I thought about it on the spot 😭 Reading it for me makes me kinda cringe but don’t we all? Anyways hope you guys enjoyed it (cuz I didn’t but I’m a sucker for tragic love)

[a-library-of-old]

I know fnaf isn't popular anymore or whatever but it doesn't get talked about enough how badly Glamrock Chica was set up for failure. Don't get me wrong I know the other where to if not more so then her but the fact she doesn't get to have any fun places in the pizzaplex, the fact her only attractions are a cupcake place and mazercise....how she'd probably loved to bake but yet could never make a finished product because of the deep seeded need to eat she has...how she's programmed to want to stay thin and healthy despite this need to eat. Constantly running on treadmills and leading pilates or however its spelt in mazercise with food in her mouth. Hearing how own voice preach the importance of a healthy balance and yet she can never have that. How she lost her beak and yet could still shove food past the maw that's left behind unable to speak anymore. How her voice sounds so robotic and fake in the main game compared to the others, no personality past food. But this is how it is when you have a eating disorder to, you loose a life outside of food. Even in ruin we don't see her decayed no we see her rotting from all the food she's gummed up her electrical insides with, no one around to clean and repair her anymore, no way to even be 'full' for a moment now with her stomach left exposed. Anything she manages to get in herself immediately falling out as she hunts for even more food, body left mostly motionless as she can't move. The closest she gets to being full again is a trash bag full of garbage getting stuck in her while she's like this so instead the food can pile atop, this obsession representing how she fills herself with unhealthy foods, from the fresh carbs and trash left behind of old to the current day of mold covered mush that used to be food. The way she'll die cold and alone in a bathroom surrounded by a crumbled building reflecting how her life's crumbled apart. This isn't even mentioning the trash compactor incident or pizza making mini game of the main story either....a chubby chicken or not she deserves so much more then she was given

[nrdmssgs]

Hi! I love your writing! Could you please write some more angst? I love fics where the reader is in danger/peril. Platonic or romantic is fine!

Before he snaps

Masterlist Angst with an open ending

Pairing: Soap x reader

Summary: Soap finds a new face on the base, that wakes his utmost interest. Your face. There is only one problem: you have a rule to never date military men.

TW: heavy swearing, implied abuse (physical and psychological)

AN: sorry for taking forever, I needed to gather a bit strength to formulate and share this one.

Johnny smiles widely in surprise, when he discovers a new face in the office. He stops on his tracks, turns around and heads straight to you. "Never seen ya here before, lass. I'm Soap, nice to meet you!” You are taking aback by his assertiveness, since you didn't await for anyone to come to your office on your first day here. Nevertheless, you answer. “Soap? Is it because you always smell nice?” “Check it yourself if you want.” He moves closer and hovers over your table so that you really can feel the deep fresh aroma with slight notes of spice emanating from his skin. You frown and laugh in surprise. And just like that, Johnny, who had a million things to do today, suddenly finds a whole hour to distract you from onboarding.

***

You know the golden rule: “don't date military men”. Even if mankind extincts and there is only you and that handsome sergeant with his endearing accent and eyes, you could easily drown in, are left alive - don't date military men. But it will do no harm to have a little chat with him time to time, right? And It's certainly not your fault, he has so much paperwork, he needs your help with. You always have time for Soap.

***

“Gaz, no time for explaining, I need your forms 17-A-41 and 17-A.1-41!” Johnny rushes into Kyles room with a speed of a freshly unleashed greyhound. Gaz doesn't even manage to reply, while Soap roams through the papers on his table. “Soap, don't tell me you drank coffee from the captain's mug before bed again…” But Johnny completely ignores his friends words and grabs papers. “Here they are! I'll fill these in for you, dinnae worry, pal!” Kyle still processes, what has just happened, when Johnny disappears behind his door, barely closing it. It's only a week later, when he notices, who exactly in the office verifies these forms. By that time, Soap manages to steal and fill these papers for the whole TF. 

You are warned very soon that Captain John Price's crew need not be disturbed, even if they owe you some documents. Their work is different from the tasks of the rest of the soldiers on the base, and their incredible workload must be treated with understanding. But Johnny keeps visiting your office every other evening, when they are not deployed. He may be tired, may struggle to stay awake, but stopping by your desk is a ritual, and it's not to be broken. When he brings you form 17-A-41 from Price himself, you take the same one out of your table and show him. “Johnny, you are overworking. You've already brought me Prices version last week. Now, I do not accuse you of forging documents, I know that you fill out everything conscientiously. But don't you think it's time to take a break? Because at this point, your work starts losing its point.”

Other guys on his place would be embarrassed, but not him. You never see him down, in fact, even when he comes to you obviously straight out of the med bay.  “I can find more soldiers, who still are not done with these forms, you are waiting to validate. Or we can skip all paper work and go on a date already.” He is pretty straight forward, but one can afford such boldness, having an absolute disarming smile. A smile so beautiful, it's a pity, you have to brush it off from his face. “Sorry, Soap. It's better if we stick to the paper work.” Despite your fears, his smile doesn't disappear, as if his face could never be sad or angry. “As you wish, lassie.”

***

You two keep it friendly yet professional. Even when you start attending little gatherings, the 141 has every now and then at a small pub in the nearest town to the base. Although every time you come there, whoever was seating next to Johnny, finds something very urgent to tend to on an opposite side of the table. 

“It is still not a date,” you note every time, and Johnny makes a funny face, bringing his brows together. “Of course, bonnie. Not dating military guys, I remember. It's a complete ordinary work meeting. Now you get those documents ready and I'll bring you a pint.” His smile still shines ever so bright, it feels, as if someone brought an extra lamp to your table. 

***

“Still not a date?” His mischievous eyes narrow, when you freeze a few inches away from his face. This year you've gradually become so used to such evenings, you didn't even notice, how others left you two alone. Didn't even notice, how you two spent a whole hour talking, how you laughed at his jokes, head thrown back, how you gradually leaned closer, until his hand rested on your shoulder. 

“Yeah, you're right, sorry.” You instantly remember the №1 rule and all the reasoning behind it. A wave of fear washes down your body, you move away from Johnny and clasp your fingers around your arms.

***

At first, Johnny thought, it's a matter of principle for you to not start any romantic intercourse inside the military. It was not the first time, he came across someone with such a rule, so he isn't surprised. But slowly a different thought develops at the back of his mind: something led you to this principle. Something unsettling, something, he doesn't like at all. But you never told him anything, never let him question you on that topic. So Johnny waits and tries to be somewhere near you, just in case you'll need his help.

You try to not let it slip, but there are tiny cracks in your demeanor here and there. Stories cut off in mid-sentence, your restless glances around when the two of you go out of any building. Johnny never shows it, but he remembers every time, something like that happens. And despite his ever-blooming smile, it accumulates anger and concerns deep inside him. 

***

Soap regrets, you two are not dating when you disappear from the office for a week and return with a medical mask on your face. “Caught bad cold, I'm afraid I'm still contagious.” Your explanation reeks of lies a mile away. But Johnny accepts it without questions. After all, he only wants for you to feel safe around him. Of course, it pains Soap a bit, that you obviously keep secrets from him, but who was he to ask you to always be honest to him? So he keeps smiling like an idiot and only lets himself touch your hand and remind, that you can always reach out to him, no matter what.

And you actually contact him in some time. It is late, the whole base was sleeping. “Johnny, you there?” A short message, to which he immediately responds, wondering, why aren't you asleep at this late hour. “Can you walk me from the office?”

Walk you from the office? Now? Something doesn't add up. It's too late even for after hours at work. What made you stay that long at the office? Or maybe… (And this is when Johnny remembers your frightened eyes, when you two exited any building.) Or maybe, who kept you from going out of the office? Soap throws on his jacket and almost runs towards the offices. He is met by a dark building with one alive window - yours. Johnny almost flies up the stairs and knocks on your door. 

You open the door and thank all the gods, it's Johnny with his warm, caring smile. “I'm sorry, I promise, I'll explain everything, just please let's go out of here! I want home, I'm so tired.” Soap doesn't protest and lets you take him down a dark hallway, then up empty flights of stairs, and finally out into the street. "It's probably all right! I just thought, I've seen something... We'll just get to my apartment and everything will be all right." You mutter incessantly when Johnny stops abruptly and takes your hand.

“Wait-wait. Look at me, please.” Johnny still smiles, but his voice is now low, rumbling, menacing. “Whatever is happening here with you - this is not ok. And I want to help. But you'll need to tell me, what exactly is going on.”

You stand before him, gathering all your strength to speak up. But when you finally open your mouth, Johnny's gaze darts somewhere behind you, and he automatically steps forward, shielding you from something, you have not yet seen. But you recognize, what, or rather who, is coming at you. He is your pain, your fear, everything, you thought, you've left behind, your #1 rule. For a short moment, you press your whole body against Johnny and plead him. “Please ignore him, let's just walk away, please.”

“Leave her be, mate. You can find yourself something much more fancy.” The painfully familiar voice makes you freeze. You clench to Soaps jacket and mumble ‘please-please-please ignore him’. 

“This whore is my cross to bear, you don't need her. You can do much better than a stupid twat, that apparently ‘needs more attention when her man is not deployed’, but still won't abandon her useless work to spend more time with me.” Soap doesn't answer, doesn't even flinch, only covers one of your hands with his. “You don't need a useless slut, that accepts your attention only to abandon you, because you apparently didn't match some image of a prince Charming, that she bears in her fucking head!” You could not make yourself lift your gaze to the man speaking to Soap. You only beg Johnny to leave. And when it feels like he is almost convinced to not start a fight, the man adds: “You, boy, can do so much better than a fruitless tree, that throws a tantrum when its “bark” is slightly scratched.” Johnny looks down at you. Forgotten, that you still have your medical mask on, you cover your mouth with your hand, as if trying to hide something from him. Soap doesn't ask you to remove the mask - there is no need. He turns back to the man, takes a deep breath. 

And then Johnny snaps.

[bandgie]

Predator & Prey

Chapter 1 | Chapter 2 | Chapter 3 | Chapter 4 | Chapter 5 | Chapter 6

a/n: this is the second chapter!

2.7k words

The beast flew in the sky happily, easily maneuvering around the tall trees. You stayed on the ground, walking as you tried to maintain some of your body heat. You would occasionally look up at the flying creature, noticing how ecstatic he was to be free. He must've been in there for a long time, you thought. Though you had endured horrible circumstances here, leaving a dead pile of bodies behind you, at least you managed to make one person happy.

The creature slowed down its flight, aiming down for a soft landing besides you. You still hadn't gotten used to its nakedness, you did not acknowledge its presence near you besides a small nod of your head.

"The village won't be too far from here," he tells you, eyes looking at the side of your head. You nod, "Good. I don't think I can handle being in the snow much longer." The creature hums, clawed hand rubbing its chin.

"I still never understood how man can be on top of the food chain despite being so weak," it speaks, "As far as I'm aware, it's slower that and weaker than the bigger animals here. It can barely manage to catch a bunny, and it cannot maintain its own heat for long. Man is hardly capable of living it seems."

You can tell he's trying to irk you, despite saving you less than 30 minutes ago. Instead you shoot back, "Well, man managed to catch you. Guess you're no better than a bunny."

You look at its dark eyes with a playful smile on your face. It sneers at your response and takes flight, snow hitting you on the way up.

For the remainder of the time, it ignores you until you see a faint light of fire. Getting closer, you can see the outlines of houses and hear the soft chatter of cattle.

You stop in your tracks, looking up in the sky for the monster to see what you needed from. You spot him on a nearby tree, eyeing the village with caution.

"Listen, prey, you are to find something suitable for the winter. Find decent food to keep yourself full, our journey is not over," he doesn't look at you as he speaks. You're too cold to shoot back, so you listen to his instructions and take your first few steps into the village.

It's smaller than you had originally though, and emptier. Save for the cattle, there was practically no soul here. You could tell there were people though, the lanterns were lit and there were stands with fresh meat and wool. How you were going to obtain all the things you need without anything to give was the million dollar question, but you knew what would be easiest.

Steal.

You yanked the cloth of the stands, running into the butcher shop to steal some meat. No one was keeping much of an eye on their stands, so it took a good few couple of seconds before you could hear them yelling. You bursts into the meat store, grabbing what your hands could manage trying to ignore the store owner's screaming.

You quickly exited the store, your ruckus was starting to wake up the village. People peeked their head out of their window and others even walked out of their house to see what was going on. It was embarrassing, especially when you had two big men and women that were most likely their wives chasing after you.

Adrenaline rushed in your veins as you continued your crime, grabbing a pair of wool trousers on your way out of the village. You ran into the forrest, the two couples not that far off your tail. Fuck, you think, I can't run with all this shit.

Just as you debate on dropping some of the items, a gust of wind blows past you. A whirl of leaves and snow create a wall between you and your chasers. You turn around to look at the conjured all, mouth agape.

"You fool, keep running!"

So you do, listening to the voice you know belong to the beast. It wasn't long until you could hear the couples screaming, but you still don't turn around.

"It's a demon!" "Devil's spawn! Go back from where you dwell incubus!" "Beast!" "Monster!"

You ignore all of what they say about your companion, running until your chest burns and feet give out. You fall into a soft pile of snow, chest heaving as you find comfort on plush coldness. The snow burns to the touch, but you're so tired that you're tempted to close your eyes and sleep.

The loud sound of flapping prevents that though, you sit up to find the creature not too far from you. You reach and grab the coat you stole, putting it on. You rub your upper arms with your hands, trying to get some blood circulation going. You eyes spot the trousers you stole. You reach for them and chuck it at the beast.

"Head up," you saw, and he catches it with ease. He grimaces at the clothing, as if it's the worse thing he's ever seen. "I will not wear your human clothes," its voice stern.

"Dude, I really don't wanna see your ding-a-ling swinging around," you tell him. "I dunno what type of...animal you are, but being a incubus doesn't give an excuse to-"

"Do not call me that, insolent human," it growls. It stalks closer to you, eyes narrowing on your form. "I saved you from those men, the cold, and from those villagers, You repay me by cursing my being and making me use my precious energy?"

You cower in fear, you stand no chance against a super being like him.

"I am called Nyryx, do not make the mistake of calling me anything else."

You nod, bottom lip quivering from fear and the cold. He looks at you a beat longer before rolling his eyes. Nyryx huffs exaggeratedly as he puts the trousers on, scrunching his nose as the wool touches his skin. He manages to get his bird feet though the holes, adjusting the top part at his waist. It fits.

He looks back at you, arms crossed. "Start a fire, you cannot eat raw meat. Not that I have to tell you that."

You gather some nearby sticks, ignoring how intense Nyryx's gaze is. He's judging you, silently. Are you grabbing enough sticks? Can these even be burned? How the hell can you start a fire in winter? You have a decent size pile before you look over at him, "I don't know how to start a fire."

He groans, "You are like a child. Not much better than a suckling on its mother's breast."

You cross your arms and shake your head, it's better to ignore his words. He crouches and arranges the sticks so it's in a teepee form. You watch and he bends down, mouth open as he breathes fire from his mouth. You gasp, taking a step away from the small flame the begins to come to life.

He stands back up, eyeing you. He's waiting for your reaction. What will you call him? Will you run? Curse him? Damn him to hell? Nyryx has been shunned for what he is all his life, his own parents cursing him. He balls his hands into a fist and unclenches his hand. He should not expect you to be any different. All humans are the same.

"Holy shit. So you're like a dragon?" you ask, eyes sparkling with curiosity.

He raises an eyebrow, "I don't think I've ever been called that. But no, dragons don't have magic like I."

"Magic," you repeat. Nyryx can't help but notice that way you say it, like it's unbelievable and impossible. What type of world have you come from?

He nods, "Yes. I'm aware that you're in need of a portal. I can conjure such thing, but I'm not at my strongest."

Your eyes gleam with hope, you could feel them start to water. Home, it sounds so close yet so far. Your emotion get the best of you, small tears fall down your cold cheeks. You can go home.

Before you have the chance to wipe them, Nyryx stands in front of you. His hands clasp the side of your face before he leans down, tongue poking out to taste your tears. You squeal at his hot tongue, smacking his chest. Memories come back of him licking your face when you had killed the Lord. You originally thought it's how he showed his thanks for opening the cage, but now you think it was a snack for him.

He pulls away, long tongue licking his lips. Nyryx suddenly lets your face go, leaving your body cold from his lack of touch.

"Fluids from creatures is not just a source of food, but power. The stronger the emotion, the more power I obtain. If I am to open the portal, you need to find me this food," he tells you.

You wipe your face from his salvia, nodding. "Any creature? Like animals?" He nods. It was a lot to take in, you assume fear would be the most influential emotion. You take a deep breath, you can do this. "I can't hunt," you confess, "I don't think I can do much to help."

He laughs bitterly, "I did not expect that you could. Humans have intense emotion, that will get me the power I need the fastest. You have to lure them to me so-"

"Absolutely not!" You yell without meaning to. "I'm not gonna do that. I'm not your pimp."

He furrow his eyebrows, "I understand that your human morals are at stake, but if being this...pimp...is what you need to do to get back home, that's what needs to be done."

You shake your head, "You said any creature. Do animals and cattle. I'll take cattle from villages and give them to you, plus it gives me meat to eat. Two birds with one stone."

Nyryx grows irritatedly, pinching the bridge of his nose. "It's detrimental that I have enough life force before the full moon. It is when my magic will be at its peak. We have a fortnight, do you really think there's enough cows and pigs for me?"

You don't know, it's a scary risk you're taking. But this beast, no, Nyryx is willing to help you. You don't know why, but he is. "Yeah, I can do it."

He sighs, showing his doubt in you, but he nods nonetheless. "Okay human, we will do things your way."

You smile softly, but then frown again, "Human is not my name."

"Human, cow, pig, bunny, it matters not. You are all prey to me."

-

Days carry on with you and Nyryx traveling from village to village. It was getting easier to walk in the snow, your body was slowly starting to adjust to the cold. Luring out animals was harder than you thought, they would sometimes run in the complete opposite direction from where you needed them to go. As if they knew what lurked for them in the snowy woods.

However, Nyryx was nonetheless pleased with your attempts. His behavior was getting better, his snarky comments weren't as frequent. He even started calling you by your name...sometimes. Perhaps he was just hungry all this time, you're not you when you're hungry after all.

However, you were getting uncomfortable sleeping in the snow. Though Nyryx provided fire and the occasionally body heat, you needed a bed. You two were huddled together, you shivering body pressed against his wing. He tucked you in close, but you can tell he was avoiding his arms from touching you.

"Please!" you beg. "Just for a few nights. I won't cause a ruckus and I'll get even more animals. I just need a bed." You were asking to sleep in a village for a night or two. It was a back and forth conversation, he would tell you it was too risky, but you were stubborn on this.

He sighs, you really weren't going to let this go. "Fine, but you owe me your tears."

The village you decide to stay the next few nights at is much more lively than the previous ones. It has people walking from store to store, stand to stand. You told Nyryx that you will find a nice family to stay with, they would pity you hopefully. You were going to purchase some gloves when you felt warm air. You turned your head to find a building, warmth emitting from it. The sound of laughter and talking was loud, you stepped inside.

It was a bar full of burly men and women carrying drinks and trays. It was so warm inside, you rubbed your hands together and took an empty seat on the bar. You had been to a few bars back at home, but this one felt like a family. It was clear this establishment was welcoming, the playful fighting across tables was proof enough of that.

Your eyes wandered before a pretty, older woman came up to you, hair in two braids with a warm uniform on.

"I suppose you're a traveler yes?" Her voice is pleasant, a pleasant smile on her lips. You nod. "Are you waiting for your husband? Where is your companion?"

You shake your head immediately, "Oh no, I travel alone." Her eyes widen and she softly gasps.

"Miss," her voice is hushed as she leans down to talk to you. "A lady should not be traveling alone. If someone asks, you must tell them you have a companion even if it's a lie."

You notice her sudden behavior change, she was protective, motherly. "Yeah, that's good advice. Thank you."

You end up telling her that you had gotten lost. That you came on ship across the sea, and somehow got separated from your family. You just needed an inn to stay at for a few nights and you would be on your way. Only some parts were a lie.

"Oh dear, I'm so sorry," her lips pout. "Should you need, my family is welcome to travelers, we house them upstairs."

You widen your eyes, sitting up straighter. This was easier than you thought. "Are you sure? I don't know much it costs but-"

She waves a dismissive hand, "No need. We need pretty workers like yourself to hustle these tables. Would would be alright?"

"Yes," you say immediately, "I can do that."

She smiles and claps her hands, "Thank heavens! I should introduce you to my family, they are upstairs."

You stand and follow her to the second story, your stomach flips in excitement. A bed! God how you missed such a luxurious thing. The lady open the door at the top of the stairs and holds it open for you.

You walk inside slowly, eyes scanning the area. The living room and kitchen are combined and you notice two little boys hitting each with kitchen utensils.

"Boys!" Their mother yells, walking past you. "I told you to play outside if you're going to fight! We have a guest."

You bite back a smile, heart swelling at the reminder of your mother.

"These are my sons. Aaron and Erik. They are quite the troublemakers. Should they bother you, please let me know," their mother says. "My daughter-oh! Pardon me, I am Meredith! How rude of me to invite you to my home without telling you my name. Please forgive me."

You let a small laugh escape, "Please don't worry, I'm-"

"You talk funny," one of her sons, Aaron you think, says. Meredith promptly smacks him on the back of the head making him cry out. "You wait until your father comes home," she threatens.

"My daughter," Meredith resumes, "is in her room. She prefers to...read the books she collects." The woman walks over to you and gives you a wary look. "Abigail, my daughter, she enjoys...reading books that young ladies should not read. I will not fib, I brought you here with hopes to get her head out of such treacherous writings."

You give her a questioning look, biting your lower lip in thought. Treacherous writing? Like pornography?

"You guys seems to be the same age, I just assumed you could influence her to help with the bar downstairs," Meredith finishes. Before you can answer, someone comes through the front door. You turn to see a giant of a man, snow on his facial hair.

"Oh dear," the mom says, "I offered this young lady a living space as payment for helping downstairs. Her name is..." Meredith turns back to you. "I'm sorry, I don't think I caught your name."

end of chapter 2

[selfindulgentpixies]

♡ kissing them softly when they’re hurt

Slight spoilers for the manga ahead. GN!reader

For @nanamikentoseyebags with Nanami

The world comes into focus slowly for Nanami, a steady beep grating against his ears, the cloying scent of antiseptic, the scratch of bedsheets that most certainly aren’t the ones you’d insisted he get that were perhaps over priced but worth every penny to help improve the precious little rest he does get.

“Kento..?” You. Your voice so gentle, as if speaking may make him shatter. You must’ve noticed him beginning to shift in the hospital bed, his brow furrowing as consciousness and the pains that come with it bleed into his senses. He cracks his eyes open, no, his eye, just the one that remains. He turns his head toward you on the pillow so he’s better able to see you.

Even in the harsh hospital lighting you’re the most beautiful thing he’s ever seen, even with your reddened eyes and mussed up hair. Love and guilt twist in his chest in equal measure. Love because you’re here by his side despite whatever the hell is going on elsewhere, and guilt for the pain you’ve been caused by seeing him this way.

He goes to speak, his voice croaking out in what you think sounds like the beginnings of an apology. Your brow and nose scrunch up. “Don’t you dare apologize to me, Nanami Kento,” your voice as firm as you can manage after crying yourself raw while he was unconscious.

You reach out a hand, brushing your fingers along the sharp cheek bone on the unbandaged part of his face. “You did all you could, you came back to me just like you said you would,” fresh tears start to bubble up and spill over your waterline “even if you were late,” a half hearted attempt at humor that would under normal circumstances draw a snort or dry laugh from the man on the bed before you.

Kento’s hand catches yours and brings it to his lips, kissing your palm gently. “Sorry i’m late,” his voice rasps as his lips tickle the palm of your hand.

You give a watery huff “i said…” letting the words die on the air. There was no point giving him a hard time not while he’s here now. Not when you came so so close to not even having this moment with him. So much happened in Shibuya, so fucking much that the world has basically been turned on its head, despite all that though you still have him.

“I should go let shoko know you’re awake. She’ll want to check you over now that you can give her feedback.”

“Stay a bit longer before you do?” He hasnt let go of your hand though now he lowers it to his chest where you can feel his heartbeat. You don’t think you’ve ever heard his voice sound so raw.

You hesitate just a moment, “okay.. just a bit,” and as you say this you lean forward and press a kiss to his lips, murmuring your love to him, only for him to have, none of it for the bleak world the two of you now occupy. You have him though, you have each other, and that gives you the strength you’ll need to keep moving forward.

[itsohh]

Death Goes to Disco Part 4

A/N: Female reader, righhhttt so NEXT chapter should be the last chapter. For real this time you guys.

Summary: In the middle of winter, the three of you debark into the never-ending darkness of Greenland's winter. Not used to the cold, you struggle to adapt to the cold but Ghost and Soap are there to help.

Word count:  3038

Warnings: not smut but not exactly sfw either

AO3 Masterlist Part 1 Part 3

Cold. So. Freezing. Cold.

In the seemingly permanent darkness, you trekked through the snow. The jacket that covered every inch of your skin really did try. It kept you going, get you mobile, kept you combat-ready. Yet, you knew later at night when you had to stop moving its wetness would become a detriment.

In-between the two men you followed Ghost while Soap walked behind you. All three of you had night vision goggles on to cope. "You alright there Disco?" You heard Soap ask when you clutched your jacket a bit tighter.

"It's fucking cold!" Your voice managed to get out despite the fluffy jacket hood that covered most of your face.

"Not used to the cold eh?"

"Not used to extreme weather."

"Prefer being in the desert?"

"Fuck no, at I can warm up. Only so many clothes you can take off."

"In extreme heat, it's wiser to wear many layers. Polyester is not recommended." Ghost spoke in front of you.

"Fuck are you serious?" You hissed and Ghost looked back at you for a moment with his brow raised. "My uniform back when I was in Afghanistan was made of teredo. In the middle of the goddamn summer."

"What's teredo?" Soap asked.

"Polyester cotton hybrid." You answered with a huff and Soap let out a laugh before your head snapped back at him.

"Ah, I'm sorry. I- that's horrible really. They didn't have anything else?"

"Not really, my uniform fit shit anyway." You looked forward and soon caught up to Ghost who looked down his scope. Johnny joined the pair of you and you copied Ghost's action.

At the end of your scope, you could see what he was looking at. A small cabin, more of a shack than anything. Hidden away in the side of a mountain. If you didn't know to look there, it was extremely easy to miss.

"See that?" Ghost asked.

"Sure do."

"Affirmative."

"That's our destination. Our base of operations."

"Think they have a fireplace in there?" Soap asked.

"No fire."

"Negative."

Both you and Ghost spoke at the same time much to each other's surprise.

"Even if it has a fireplace we should avoid using it. The smoke would give away our location." You swallowed and explained. Ghost gave you a nod at your explanation and you couldn't help but feel pride sweet inside your chest. Like you were a fresh rookie again.

"How long are we staying here LT?" Soap asked.

"Estimated two weeks." Ghost looked towards him.

"Two weeks?" Soap was surprised and he glanced at you for a moment.

"Will we have the supplies for that? I'm not a fan of reindeer." You muttered the last part under your breath.

"Should be, let's get out there and find out."

Despite the close proximity of the building, it took the three of you about half an hour to finally reach it. Ghost took point and was the first to enter, Soap right on his tail. Soon came the call for all clear. Safe as safe could be.

"Hey, Ghost?" You asked as you shrugged off your back onto the sofa. His head turned to face you as he removed his own bag. "You said in the briefing we were here on the odd case that Willem took this path through Greenland. What if he doesn't?"

"Then that's up to the Denmark government."

"No I mean, what do we do?"

"Wait until the call."

"Huh really shelled us out for something so boring?" Soap popped up next to you.

"They need Willem caught, numbers on this path aren't an option. They needed to make sure that if he came this way it was someone that could deal with it."

"Why two weeks?"

"His mobility is slow. Careful but slow."

"You would think that they would work fast with the darkness and all that." Soap took his backpack off and played it on the table to unpack.

"Willem and his men aren't familiar with the land. It was a risk to flee here. We are here to make sure it doesn't pay off."

"Sure thing. Supply check?" Your eyes went past him to the cupboards in the kitchen.

"Inventory, count it." He nodded and you got to work.

In about half an hour the three of you grouped up again. With a list in one hand, you sat down on the couch and Soap joined you. Ghost eventually turned up with a stack of blankets in his hands.

"Ooo that's what I like to see." Your hand went to snatch the top one and you heard Soap laugh next to you under his breath. The room was cold, not as cold as it was outside but still really cold. With your jacket now off to dry, you would take anything you could get.  This meant while you weren't in active danger, you were keeping that blanket like it was a lifeline.

"Report?" At Ghost's voice had you looked up at him and nodded.

"Not including our own supplies we brought, this place could realistically easily supply us for about a year in canned foods. Whoever normally looks after this place does it well. Water is something we will need to get ourselves but with the snow and ice outside I think we should be fine. There's a gas oven in the kitchen hooked up to some propane bottles under the cabinet. Counted four of them."

"Right. I counted our supplies. Among us, we have about 800 rounds, 12 'nades, 3 flashes and 6 smoke."

"Add another 40 rounds. There's an unmodified Marksman which was on the wall of the master. There are four bedrooms with outside windows. Jumping from them is not advisable. There is an attic with an escape hatch. Found out there's also another ladder under that rug over there which leads downward. It's a one-way trip. So only use it in the case of emergency. About our warmth situation, the fireplace is buggered. Couldn't use it if we wanted to."

"Any other type of heating aside from these?" You asked Ghost and he slightly shook his head.

"The building is well initialized, in the bedrooms I've reinforced the windows with blankets and tape. The longer we stay here the warmer it should get."

"Great." You mumbled and pulled the blanket closer around you. Perhaps they would warm up quickly, you certainly weren't.

"We got power here?"

"Negative on that Soap. This place seems to be designed for the summer. While it has the capability to get power from the solar panels we don't have the sun on our side. Everything's dead."

"Our batteries on all our equipment should easily last two weeks right?" You asked and Ghost gave you a single nod.

"Inventory done, now, after we eat we will be doing shifts. Four-hour blocks. Two sleep, one awake."

"I call the first shift." You said.

"Soap you take second, I'll take last."

"Rodger that. So." Soap turned to face you. "Whats allocated for tonight's dinner?"

You pushed off the couch and headed to the kitchen and pulled out some cans and placed them on the island. "Beef." You smiled at him and gestured to the next can. "Beans."

"Have we got seasoning here?" Soap gave you a slightly hopeful smile that was in vain. It was lucky the group of you had food at all and didn't have to rely on MRIs or the local fauna.

"No." You gave him your own bitter smile.

"Just like when it's Ghost's turn to cook then." John made sure to look directly at you and avoid Ghost whose head slowly turned to look at the man. A death glare in his eyes.

"Do you have a problem with my cooking Sergeant?"

"Maybe use a little bit of oregano in the future? Just a thought. Perhaps a bit of chives on spuds. Now that I think of it, maybe some paprika on the chicken. At least it's not dry." Soap kept his eyes on you and you couldn't help but chuckle slightly with your brows raised as he dug himself into a hole.

"I will take your advice into consideration." Ghost's shoulders dropped and he turned back to face you.

"Since Johnny has demonstrated his culinary expertise. He can cook for us today." Soap opened his mouth and shut it. You pushed the cans towards him and grabbed a couple more.

"Thanks Soap."

-

First shift wasn't easy. With the eternal darkness of the night, it made it impossible to know what time it was without looking at your watch. Ghost had instructed you that you didn't need to specifically look out a scope just keep an eye out for anything.

Which led to boredom.

It was three and a half hours in that you felt another presence. Your eyes flicked up from the game of solitaire that you had set out in front of you to see Ghost there. His eyes went to yours. Even though you could barely see him with the small lantern next to you, you were able to see that his greasepaint was removed from around his eyes and he was left just in his mask.

His eyes were on your hand that rest on the pistol next to you. "Can't sleep?" Your voice was soft slowly he came up to you.

"Checking on you."

"Me? Worried I'm going to murder you in your sleep or something?" You laughed and he sat down on the ground in front of you.

"No. If you were going to kill me it would have been back in Las Almas." Your laugh died down and your eyes fell a bit at his mention of the past.

"Well, I'm still kicking if that's what your wondering. A bit cold but I'll deal. You should go back to sleep. I have to wake Soap in a bit anyway. Unless you swapped shifts with him?"

"No." His eyes looked down at your game of cards which was set up.

"I keep losing, I suck at solitaire."

"Surprising, heard from Soap you would have fleeced him dry if you were playing with real money."

"Oh, I'm great at poker and other games you play with other people. Solo games, ugh." You looked down to see you had fucked it up and let out a huff. “Half of the game isn’t about the cards but the way you portray yourself.” You shuffled the cards and paused. “Want some water? Still have some melted from dinner.”

“I’m good.”

“Suit yourself, Lieutenant. Did you wish to play a game then? Since you don’t seem like your heading back to bed yet.”

“You play a lot of cards, why?”

“Something to pass the time.” You glanced down and swallowed. “I used to be really bad at it. When I joined NZSAS I became rather close with a Sergent. Hina was her name. I always ended up assigned under her even when she became a Lieutenant. She always used to stress the importance of staying sane in the military. Downtime was the big part. She always believed that we needed to keep our minds as clear as possible. Preventing paranoia was a big one. So she would always have a pack of cards on her.”

Ghost seemed content to listen so you started to start another game in front of you. “Of course, I was terrible so she made it her personal mission to coach me on the matter. Wasn’t the only thing she coached me on.”

“Hand-to-hand?”

“She taught me how to be a marksman. No, that came from our Captain. Captain Hommeys. Hommeys was an interesting woman,  sort of a good cop bad cop thing with Hina. Our Captain was a scary ass woman. Far scarier than you.” You glanced up and gave him a wink. “Which could be a problem with recruits and rookies. People would be too afraid to bring up matters so, we would get people to go to Hina. They were a great team.”

“Were?”

“Hina died a few years back and Hommeys lost a leg. Still tough as nails.”

“Sorry to hear that.”

“Part of this life isn’t it? Makes every day that much more important ‘cause you never know when it's gonna be your last. One second’s all it takes. One day all you’re going to be left with are memories of your loved ones so it's best to make those memories good right?” You gave him a gentle smile. You looked down at the cards.” From what I heard Hommeys still works on base. Works as an adviser but I didn’t see her when I was there.” You paused when your watch let out a small beep.

“Mmm four hours already? I still feel so awake, maybe I should let John rest more.”

“No. It’s important you get rest.” Ghost narrowed his eyes at you and you put the cards back together.

“Should take your own advice. You need sleep too Ghost.”

“I will.” Ghost followed your lead when you got up and stretched. With Ghost behind you, you found your way to the master bedroom where John was fast asleep. He had stretched across the large bed. His hand lay on the missing area where Ghost had been. You wondered if they would still share a bed when others were around or if it was because it was only the three of you.

Gently you shook John's shoulder and he blinked his eyes open with a groan. “Disco? Mmm, swap time already?” You nodded at his question. “Fuck, your fingers are cold. Like ice.” He shivered away from you and started to get up. Your eyes fell on Ghost who seemed rather interested in what Soap had said.

“You're still cold.”

“It’s like -6, yeah I’m cold.” You smiled at him and started to walk away from the bed. When you passed Ghost he caught your wrist and you practically jumped at the action. His hand was warm, really warm. How he managed to stay this warm surprised you and subtly you leaned into his touch.

“Get in.”

“Pardon?” Your eyes went wide and darted from his to Johnnys.

“You need to stay warm. Our bed's still warm and you will heat up far faster with the pair of us here. Get in.” He explained and you could see John’s lips curl up and snicker. You passed John the lantern and cautiously got onto the bed.

“Have fun you two.” You could feel your cheeks heat up at John's comment. Ghost was right though, the spot was really warm from John. The light disappeared from view and the door clicked closed behind him. You pulled the blanket close and let out a breath. Then you felt him. Ghost move closer towards you and wrapped an arm around your midsection while his now face pressed against your neck. “Ohh.” You let out a sigh of relief and pressed back against him. “Your so warm.” You hummed.

“Should have said something.”

“I did say I was a little cold.” You muttered and he pulled you closer.

“This is not a little cold. This is concerningly cold. I’ll have to remember you downplay things. It's my job to look after you.”

“You sound like my old doctor.” You whined and he made a sound of disproval.

“Not something I want to hear Disco.”

“No scolding me right now Ghost. Not when I’m about to sleep.” Ghost made a sound against you, a sound that rumbled against his chest and through you. He didn't continue on the matter and soon you closed your eyes.

-

The sleep you got that night was probably one of the best sleeps you had in a very long time. When you awoke you weren’t surprised by the weight that pressed against you. What you were surprised by was who it was. John had swapped with Ghost during the night and now had an arm locked around you. You start to move a little only for his grip to tighten and pull you flush against him.

A firm ‘object’ pressed into your ass.

…

…

His cock. John's cock pressed firmly against your ass and he let out a little unintelligible mumble. You moved a little and he let out a deep hiss against your shoulder. “If you keep moving your only gonna make it harder.” He groaned- more like moaned- in your ear. “Unless that's what you want?” He practically purred.

“John- you're in a relationship. That was a one-time thing.” You swallowed and stayed perfectly still.

“You didn’t have fun?” He pushed his chest further against your back.

“I did, I just- there's a difference between a one-night stand and- ” You let out a sigh of frustration. “I’m not going to be the third wheel to your relationship, some toy.” Your voice went quiet at the end of your sentence. Almost impossible to hear. If he hadn’t been right next to you, there would have been a very high chance that he didn’t hear it all. A pregnant pause surrounded the pair of you for what seemed like a lifetime. In reality, it was maybe a minute or less.

“Then don’t be. You can make this whatever you want it to be.” You felt his thumb gently rub the front of your waist.

“What?”

“If you want us, you can have us. Anyway you want. Ghost and I talked about it last night. If you don’t want anything that's fine too. Won’t change anything professionally between the three of us. Can pretend it never happened if you want.” Soap breathed under your ear and you felt his nose brush against your neck. “Won’t lie though, I’d like it if you joined us. Ghost feels the same.”

“What, like a throuple?”

“That's what they call it eh? Despise that word, but yeah.”

“And your not just saying this because your dicks pressed into my ass?” You felt Soap laugh against you.

“Trust me if that was my motivation I’d go find Ghost like I do most mornings.” Soap let out a breath and continued. “If you want to think about it we can give you time or-”

“Yes.”

“Yes?”

“I’ll date you and Ghost.”

[scratchandplaster]

FEBUWHUMP DAY 7 - Suffering in silence

CW: emotional manipulation, parental Whumper, hypnosis, conditioning, mind control, interrogation, forced betrayal

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Shepard cradled his son protectively, hoping to increase this state of suggestibility to a usable scale, despite or especially because the walls Reuben had built up were nothing more than gravel on the road.

"Listen carefully now. I'm not trying to fool you again, I'm just worried about my children. That's why I need to know if Lukas is alright, you understand this better than anyone. You remember what always happens when the stress gets to him: he doesn't eat, just lays in bed until sunset and doesn't go outside for fresh air. We don't want that, do we?"

His youngest nodded his assent. Luke, in one of his moods, couldn't cope on his own and he was all alone now too, but Ben was here and ready to support him from afar.

"You always help me out, that's your special talent. And I wouldn't dare to ask you bluntly, I bet Lukas told you that awful things would happen if you reveal details about his new...current home to me."

Ben agreed again, he was thoroughly briefed to hold his peace. Luke's horror stories about how they both would be dragged back and forcefully introduced again made goosebumps blossom at the back of his neck, which Shepard carefully stroked away: "But I'm not asking directly, so it's okay, we can play by Lukas' silly little rules and help him at the same time. Isn't that great?"

Shepard watched a lightened smile spread across his son's face, always eager to assist his dad.

"So, to achieve this, I need you to stay down, stay calm, stay open to my words. When you're ready to talk to me, I will listen."

After swallowing a few times, his jaw loosened with a click. Ben was thoroughly poised. Perfect.

"You lived together with Luke?" Shepard tried to suppress any judging tone that possibly snuck its way into his questions.

"Yes," Ben whispered, his voice sounding like it detached to flow freely throughout the tent.

Just as suspected: same city, same vicinity. Shepard would siphon Luke out of the masses until he was sure he was close enough.

"And others too?"

"Yeah." 

Shared flat. Close to campus, more than likely. Luke had surrounded himself with many people, many friends, which certainly acted as an extra barrier. Nothing his dad couldn't get out of the way.

"That's so nice, it's important to stay close to the people you love."

Ben nuzzled into the crook of his neck, a compliment Shepard gladly accepted.

"Imagine something for me. Imagine you're back in the house you lived in. You wake up like every morning, the warm sunbeams on your skin welcome the new day, and get dressed in your favorite outfit. You already prepared it the evening before, that's how exited you are to take a stroll through the city."

Ben could see Lukas' room so clearly: the spare sleeping mat he and his roommates had dug up and cramped under the desk. Everything had been cramped ever since he followed his brother out into the real, wild world, but that never stopped them from finding a way for themselves.

"Ready for the day, you step outside. What is the first building you can see?"

The question took a while to settle in, the cogs in Ben's mind worked at a snail's pace: "A restaurant."

"Is it a nice one, an expensive one?"

"Yeah." Luke had invited him there once or twice, only when his paychecks arrived.

"Can you see the name?"

Despite their makeshift living conditions, Shepard wondered if his boys, lacking papers and any kind of formal education, managed to settle in a high-end neighborhood. Meanwhile, Ben smiled weakly, remembering the intense aroma of cinnamon and sprinkles on his tongue.

"What does it say?"

"IHOP."

"Thank you, sweetheart," Shepard coughed and bit his lip hard to hold in his laughter. This narrowed the area down. His Reuben was incredibly helpful indeed, even if he was unable to grasp why.

"Taking in the morning air, you stride along the sidewalk to the nearest street sign. They are fixed on a post, a little plate with letters on it."

"I know, Dad!" he could practically hear Ben roll his eyes if he were in a different state of mind, "I'm not as stupid as you think."

But sweet Ben never paid attention to bland signs that couldn't spark his curiosity, and currently his brain wasn't active enough to produce a dream image.

"What street are you on?"

Ben shrugged innocently: "I dunno."

Prodding further would just risk him getting defensive, a possibility not worth sacrificing his results for. Lukas was practically gifted to Shepard on a silver platter, rushing it was not the way.

"That's alright, Ben. You're doing great, just go back to the house for me and tell me what color it is."

"Bricks," he muttered.

Pinching the bridge of his nose, the tired man tried another strategy: "You walk up to the front door now, please. Slowly, dear, we aren't in a hurry."

A foul lie to calm his all too eager son down; complex assignments usually made Ben confuse himself into a stupor.

"Arriving at the entrance, you look at the facade and somewhere above the doorbells you will see a number. If you tell me which one it is, I'll stop bothering you."

Bother wasn't a word Ben would ever use to describe the breathwork they did together, he may not understand every word that was said or left his own mouth, but nevertheless appreciated this embrace for his soul.

Before his inner eye, the path he walked up countless times before showed itself in great detail: the clear view made of old beer cans and crumbling plaster he never quite got used to. It had to be there somewhere, a few stairs further inside a big circle. Slow, calculating head pats were exchanged for treacherous information.

"The number, sweet thing." If listened closely, maybe one could hear a trace of impatience.

"Four-two-seven," Ben murmured under great exertion.

"There you are. Thank you very much, Ben." A gentle kiss on the crown of his head sealed the deal.

Dad was so proud of him, he did a good job! All was forgiven.

The hard part was over, now Shepard had to ensure that his nestling didn't fledge again. He was truly fortunate that he had such a big heart and dutiful mind.

"How about one more favor for your old man?"

"Okay," Ben's warm breath against his father's chest let them tighten the hug.

"Are you sure? You already did so much for us."

In response, Reuben nodded avidly. He could always assist Dad, he could always prove his worth.

"Well, then. I want you to forget this conversation, Ben. Let it drift out of your head into the world, mix with the wind and get carried far, far away. It would hurt me too much to have you burdened with my worries."

Followed by a deep exhale and final sign of agreement, Ben was placed back on the sea of cushions and blankets beneath him and kindly tucked in. All that was prepared beforehand had found its use, as father and son laid beside each other, hand in hand.

"I'm going to talk to your subconscious now, but you can just simply float along. You don't have to listen to my drivel anymore, starshine, a deeper part will do all the work required. Let go and follow me."

At this final command, the last string that tethered Ben to the waking world slipped from his grasp.

・・・・・・・・・・・・・・・・・・・・

Thanks for reading 🤍 [Febuwhump 2024 Masterlist]

@febuwhump

[riddles-n-games]

I think it's time for some more animal headcanons, but Evajacks edition-pets aka Evangeline is the one who suggests pets but Jacks is annoyed because all of them have weird attachment to him or bother him just because (he's sure all of them are VERY aware of his annoyance with them and do it on purpose). Basically, in summary Evangeline is a Disney Princess that attracts all animals but Jacks is also the rare Disney Prince with such capabilities, albeit in a strange way of his own without even knowing why.

Anyways, given that they live at the Hollow, all sorts of creatures live in the surrounding woods so they're attracted in some way or another to this place, mostly due to its magic. The little dragons that already inhabit the area around the Hollow don't really count as pets, according to Jacks, because Evangeline keeps letting them in even though they SHOULDN'T be there in the first place but Eva is very fond of them. Sometimes, they can be found curled up next to her when she's taking a nap or reading a book and Jacks gets annoyed because he wants her to himself (he’s secretly very cuddly and a touch-starved baby from all those years of yearning; he loves all the kisses and hugs he can get from his Little Fox 🥰). But he tolerates them and he’s fond of a particular blue one (his name is Azul but Evangeline likes calling him Little Blue) who is often Eva’s little helper and sometimes when Jacks makes hot chocolate or apple cider for Evangeline, the little dragon will heat up the mug for him.

They'd have a fox (yes, because anything is legal in the Magnificent North at this point and not like this is actually bad just bad owners-we do not condone those here), this beautiful rare pink female that Evangeline names Rosey. She’s the one who has a weird attachment to Jacks and loves following him around. Now, she became a pet once Evangeline found her in the woods one day injured with a leg stuck in a hunter's trap (not one of Jacks'). She managed to free the vixen and brought her back to the inn to treat her; the Hollow magically set up a place for treatment which made things so much easier. When Jacks found out, since it was one of the times he wasn’t trailing her as she had gone to the apple orchard, he pretended to be annoyed and exasperated as to why she bothered bringing her to heal when she was likely going to free herself or die. Of course, the love of his life was very much unamused by that statement and she continued on with her task. However, later that first night with them, Evangeline woke up to go get water and check on the fox but to her surprise, she found Jacks tending to her instead. He rewrapped the wound in fresh bandages, held up her water bowl so she could drink and gave her some raw meat from his latest hunt, and most shocking of all, he let her rest her head on his thigh as he stroked her fur and even sang quietly to her. Evangeline went back to bed but she never told Jacks that she knew what he did although he likely sensed her presence anyways. Ever since then, Jacks has been figuratively attached to the hip with Rosey despite him hating this, especially since she often loves pawing at his leg to get a treat for him (but he does often have a little bag tied around his waist for that specific purpose; again, BIG softie). He has lost his finesse for sneaking around due to her constantly trailing him, giving him away. Rosey does have free reign to roam but she prefers staying at the Hollow with her favorite human (Jacks, of course; he needs someone to keep him company and share treats with, duh-though, she adores Evangeline, just bothers her less although Eva is very amused by Rosey's antics with Jacks). Eventually, they also have another addition join them, an old friend that somehow made her way over to them, Princess of the Fluffykins! Eva was very delighted to see her again and the two vixens actually get along quite well. One of the cutest things they do together is curl up by the fireplace on cold winter nights in a basket with plushy heart pillows and a blanket to keep them warm.

If they owned a cat, I could see them having the equivalent of a Norwegian Forest Cat (it could be called the Great Northern or the Northern Longhair) or a Persian (Elantine's Cat, the Elantine, the Valendan Royal, Meridian Fancy, or Empress's Longhair). But I could really see it being a Persian type cat and it would be a male called Mr. Fluff that adores Evangeline but absolutely HATES Jacks (the feeling is mutual). This feline can hold a grudge like nobody's business, rivalling Jacks's own reputation on that front (and this man has been alive for at least a century, longer than that furball as Jacks likes to call him) and they can last for long periods like the one between him and the Fate. No one is safe and the tension could be sliced with a sword. Though they avoid each other like the plague, many times has Jacks found the furball sitting in his go-to spots, especially if Evangeline is there and Mr. Fluff has the audacity to look smug, too smug despite swishing his tail unhappily at his other owner. Jacks often tries resorting to mind controlling the furball until Evangeline catches on and berates him for it but the cat will try scratching him otherwise until Jacks eventually either gets a chair for himself or manages to get the grumpy feline to bug off but not before he gives a swat and a warning hiss. The only one to keep the peace is Evangeline and despite the household always being a whisker away from collapsing in on itself, Eva is really the strongest glue.