#its not punching down its a refusal to talk down

[bronzefuryfic]

the joy of writing the fic you want to read is reading the chapters you’ve finished. The curse of writing the fic you want to read is YOU have to write the next one.

[crystalkitty1220]

Man I wonder where the leader of the fear realm could've gone, it's alMOST LIKE NEVIN HAS AN

[luveline]

Something for hotch? Maybe where reader gets hurt/a concussion on a case and goes to the hospital but refuses to tell him she went until someone else mentions it?? <3 you dont have to do it if you have something similar but i love your writing!

ty for requesting!! <3 —Hotch will look after you, even when you don’t tell him you need him. fem, 1.7k

cw reader has a concussion

Hotch rubs his face when he knows nobody’s watching. Hand over his eyes, thumb and forefinger working against a brewing migraine. It eases a little of the tension there, but he can’t do it like you can. There’s something in your hands that makes him want to call them lovely hands, such a quaint word. You rub the space between his brows with your thumb until his aching is gone or replaced. Fondness with its own heartbeat wakes whenever you’re near. 

You’re not near. His head hurts. He wants a cup of coffee and a shower and to call Jack. The cases are never over when they’re over, is the thing, and he can’t keep track of everything. He has to answer questions and patch holes now, before the work follows him home to take up space on his desk. 

He talks to police officers, chiefs, victims families and firemen and Penelope, too, anybody who needs to ask him a question. He tells Emily to go back to the hotel because she’s exhausted, and warns Spencer that staying too long will give him another headache. He’s surprised half an hour later when Morgan grabs him by the arm. Hotch assumed he went with Spencer. 

“Hotch, what are you still doing here?” 

Hotch gives him a strange look. It’s not as though Morgan hasn’t seen Hotch clean up a mess before. “Sorry?” 

“I thought you’d be with Y/N.” 

He tries very hard to look casual. The team are often better at pretending they haven’t noticed you and Hotch slowly moving together. “She went home.” 

“No she didn’t, they took her in an ambulance. She’s at the hospital, nobody told you that?” 

Hotch knows Morgan can finish up for him. He doesn’t even say where he’s going or what there is left to do, Morgan is more than capable of handling the unit, and he’s a phone call away. Hotch rushes for an agent with a car and tells them where he needs to go as he punches your speed dial into his phone. Number three, after Penelope and Jess. 

You don’t answer, it makes him feel sick. He calls again and JJ picks up. Blessed, amazing JJ. 

“Hi Hotch.” 

“Is she there? Can I speak to her?” 

“She went in for an MRI a half hour ago.”

“JJ, what happened? Why didn’t anyone tell me?” 

“She said she told you.” A dry laugh from down the phone. “You’d think I’d learn not to trust her. I love her, but she’s a liar.” 

Hotch could say the same thing. “JJ, what happened? What’s wrong with her?” 

“I think she’s embarrassed. When everybody was coming back out, someone stepped on the back of her leg and she slipped down the stairs.” 

“Who stepped on her?” Hotch asks. 

JJ laughs. Hotch wonders if they’re too far into working together to scold her for unprofessionalism, but then he remembers the Unit would fall apart without her and holds his tongue. He’d fall apart without you, maybe, and he could stand to be a little more defensive. 

He’s out of the car and into the hospital in record time. He follows the signs to the Emergency Room, gives your name at the desk, and doesn’t have to flash his badge to get told what room they’ve put you in. He would’ve, and he would’ve threatened legal action. He’s no saint. He’ll abuse the system (in innocuous ways only, of course) if it means he gets to see you. 

You’re in a bed but sitting on the side of it rather than laying down. JJ sits in the chair beside you, two contrasting expressions on your faces. You’re smiling. JJ bites her lip. 

She turns to Hotch with relief. “Hey, look,” she says gently. 

“You took a long time to get here. Was it the moon?” 

Hotch understands quite quickly. “Sorry. Nobody told me you got hurt. What happened to the moon, honey?” 

You give him a vacant look. Turning back to JJ, your hands vying for her arm, you hold her to your stomach gently and squeeze your eyes closed. “The light.” 

Hotch turns to the wall, looking for the light switch. It’s hidden behind other concerning tech, so he’s careful about what he presses. You sigh and draw his attention, wiggling back on the bed to almost fall off the other side. 

“Maybe she thought she told me,” he suggests, not scolding JJ, but unhappy nonetheless. You clearly aren’t in a state to make decisions for yourself. 

JJ rubs your arm. “She got worse after we got here. That’s why they sent for her MRI so quickly. She’s on and off with it, incoherent and normal again.”   

Hotch knows she’s concerned for you, but he can read her restless leg; she hasn’t talked to Will or heard about Henry in hours. “Go back to the hotel, JJ. I have her.” 

JJ gives you a hug, to your confusion, and bypasses him fast. He can hear her phone ringing before the doors shut from her departure. 

He admires her loyalty, he just wishes she’d called him two hours ago. 

You rub your eyes, the loose sleeves of your hospital gown shifting against the loose knot behind your neck, and he genuinely despises the idea that you’d been here, hurt, without him. “Can I tie your gown again?” he asks. 

You nod into your rubbing. 

“I turned the lights off. It shouldn’t be so bright in here anymore.” He rounds the bed to your back, where a great deal of skin is showing. He smiles though he shouldn’t. You poor girl. “You’re a little… stark.” 

“I’m trying to think of some fruit and milk,” you tell him. 

“Do you need help?” 

“Not for the fruit.” 

“But for the milk,” he surmises, bringing the ties of your gown as close as he can without strangling you and tying them in a neat bow. 

“I don’t think that’s what I meant to say.” 

He puts his hand on your shoulder, his thumb to bare skin. “That’s okay, honey, you’re having a little trouble now, but it’ll go away soon. If there were something wrong, the doctor would be here.” 

“You could be a doctor.” 

“I couldn’t. I don’t know anything about medicine.” 

“A very nice doctor. Big hands.” You breathe out loudly, more animated than he’s ever heard you. “Whoo, I’m cold. I think they made me naked.” 

“How about I tuck you in, would you like that?” he asks, leaning over you in hopes of you turning your head. 

You stare up at him. “You want to?” 

“I’d love to. I want you to be comfortable.” 

“My boyfriend might not like it.” 

Hotch tries not to sulk at another horrible symptom. You aren’t only incoherent, but amnesiac. And you’ve forgotten who he is, in a way. At least you’ve remembered you have a boyfriend. He hopes it’s him. 

“No? Why wouldn’t he like it, honey? I’m just trying to take care of you.” 

You visibly fluster. “You’re calling me honey like he does, and he won’t like it ‘cos he takes care of me. He loves to go to places but he doesn’t know where he’s going.” 

That second half is gibberish, he’s sure. Hotch puts his hands carefully under your armpits and manoeuvres you back toward the top of the elevated hospital bed.

You put your hand to your tummy as you lean back, and hiss as your head touches the pillows. “Ow.” 

“Sorry,” he murmurs. 

“Don’t tell Aaron I got hurt.” 

“Why not?” 

“I fell down the stairs. He’s never fallen down the stairs.” 

“I have, actually. Twice. And it doesn’t matter how you get hurt, I want to know you’re alright, so I need you to tell me.” 

He pulls the sheets up to your legs and over your lap. Tucks them tightly behind your back, hands lingering on your hips. He watches you look at him, your cloudy gaze tracking over his eyes, his nose, and his lips. “Aaron?” you ask eventually, lifting your chin. 

“Yes?” 

You breathe out an unmissable sigh of relief. “You didn’t come with me.” 

“I didn’t know you were hurt.” He squeezes your hip softly. “You didn’t tell me. But it’s not your fault, is it? You got hurt.” His voice falls into silk. “Is that warm enough?” 

“I’m glad you’re here. I need you to get my shoes.” 

“No shoes. Can I have a hug?” 

“Why?” 

“Just to hug you,” he says softly. “It might make you feel better.” 

You raise your hands clumsily like your fingers are full of sand, forcing him to see his arms under them and behind your back. Your cheeks align, his rough with stubble, yours warm with the heat of a flush, perhaps from the injury. Your hands flop down onto his back as he rubs two separate, loving paths on the gown and your skin. 

Thank god she’s okay, he thinks. 

“Am I stuck like this?” you ask. 

“Are you worried?” He taps your back. “I doubt it. We might have to stay here for a while, but it’s okay. Feeling better is the priority.” 

“I’d like to go back.” 

“Home?” 

“For breakfast.” 

“Are you hungry? I can find you something to eat.” 

“What?” you ask. 

You sound so genuinely confused that Hotch laughs into your shoulder, before giving the fabric a soft kiss. “It doesn’t matter. I’m gonna bring that chair over and sit with you, okay? We’ll wait for the doctor together.” 

He sits with you for hours, talks to doctors and nurses alike as they come to check your vitals and explain your scans. Your confusion doesn’t lessen until the night time, and even then you act oddly, bringing his hand to your mouth to kiss strange parts of his fingers. The skin shy of his nail. The underside of a knuckle, the curve under the meat of his thumb. 

[pucksandpower]

You Owe Me

Day 9 → Overstimulation 💋 Charles Leclerc

Warnings: 18+ content

Kinktober Masterlist

The door to the hotel suite slams shut with a sharp click, echoing through the quiet space. You freeze just inside the entryway, one heel still half-off, your body already half-turned toward Charles. You can feel the tension before you even look at him — an unmistakable tightness in the air, like the room itself is holding its breath.

“Baby?” You ask softly, already sensing this isn’t going to be a conversation that ends with laughter or a kiss. He’s standing by the window, arms crossed, the lights of the city casting a harsh glow over his face. His jaw clenches, and there’s something stormy in his eyes, something that makes your stomach tighten.

He doesn’t turn. “You had fun tonight?”

It’s a simple enough question, but his tone carries weight — far too much for something that should be innocent. You take a breath, trying to ease the knot building in your chest. “It was fine,” you reply, stepping out of your other shoe. “The sponsors were … you know how it is. They want to feel important.”

He laughs, but it’s sharp, humorless. “Oh, I saw. You made them feel very important.”

You blink, thrown by the bitterness in his voice. “What’s that supposed to mean?”

Finally, he turns, his eyes locking on yours. There’s fire there, a barely controlled flame flickering in the depths. He takes a step closer, then another, his movements deliberate, calculated.

“You spent the entire night,” he says, his voice low, “flirting with everyone in sight.”

Your mouth falls open, words caught in your throat. For a moment, you just stare at him, trying to process what he’s just said. “Flirting?” You repeat, the word feeling foreign on your tongue. “Charles, I wasn’t-”

He cuts you off with a wave of his hand, pacing now, back and forth across the plush carpet. “I’m not blind. I saw how you were with them. Smiling, laughing at their jokes, touching their arms. Acting like they’re the most interesting people in the world.”

You stand rooted to the spot, the accusation swirling around in your mind like a bad dream. “I wasn’t flirting,” you say again, more firmly this time. “I was being polite, trying to sweeten them up for you. For the team. That’s why we were there.”

Charles shakes his head, running a hand through his hair. “That’s bullshit, and you know it.”

“Bullshit?” You echo, incredulous. “You think I was flirting with them? For what? To get a free drink? To make you jealous?”

“Maybe you wanted to make me jealous,” he spits out, stopping dead in front of you. His presence is overwhelming, a towering force of frustration and anger, and you feel it pressing down on you, threatening to suffocate. “Maybe you like the attention. You like how they look at you, like they’re ready to do anything for you.”

You take a step back, the weight of his words hitting you like a punch. “You really think that low of me?”

For a moment, the anger in his eyes wavers, something else flickering behind the fury. But it’s gone just as quickly, replaced by the hard, cold expression you’ve never seen from him before. “I think you knew exactly what you were doing tonight.”

Your chest tightens, and for the first time, you feel the burn of tears threatening to rise, but you refuse to let them fall. “I wasn’t doing anything wrong. I was there for you, Charles. I was trying to help.”

He snorts, turning his back on you again. “You call that helping?”

You shake your head, stepping forward. “What do you want from me? Do you want me to stop talking to anyone else? Should I just sit in a corner and be invisible?”

His silence stretches out, and you wish, for a moment, he would just say something, anything, that isn’t loaded with accusation.

“You don’t get it,” he finally mutters. “You never get it.”

“What don’t I get?” Your voice is rising now, frustration bubbling to the surface. “Tell me what I’m supposed to understand here, Charles, because right now all I see is you punishing me for something I didn’t do.”

He turns sharply, eyes locking on yours. “You don’t understand what it’s like, watching them look at you like that, knowing that at any moment, they could sweep in and-” He cuts himself off, pressing his lips together as if he’s said too much.

You stare at him, stunned. “Is that what this is about? You’re worried someone’s going to steal me away?”

Charles’ eyes flash with something dangerous. “I’m not worried,” he snaps. “I know how this works. You think they’re just being polite, just being nice, but I see it. I see how they look at you, like you’re a prize they can win. And you, you play right into it.”

Your heart pounds in your chest, and you can’t help the bitter laugh that escapes your lips. “You think I’m some object? Some … trophy for them to fight over? That’s insane, Charles. You know me better than that.”

“Do I?” His voice is sharp, and there’s something raw, almost vulnerable, in the way he says it. “Because tonight, it sure as hell didn’t feel like it.”

You open your mouth, then close it, searching for the right words. “I was doing my job as your date, Charles. I was talking to sponsors, making connections — for you.”

He shakes his head again, the muscles in his jaw working. “That’s not what it looked like.”

You take a deep breath, trying to calm yourself. “Then what did it look like to you? Because from where I’m standing, all I did was try to help, and now I’m being accused of God knows what.”

His eyes darken, the fire in them burning hotter now. “It looked like you were enjoying it. Every second of it.”

Your breath hitches, and for a moment, you’re too stunned to respond. When you finally do, your voice is quiet, a sharp contrast to the storm raging between you. “You’re being ridiculous.”

“Am I?” He steps closer again, his presence overpowering, like gravity pulling you in whether you want it or not. “You think I didn’t notice the way your hand lingered on his arm, the way you leaned in when you laughed? You think I didn’t see him watching you?”

You shake your head, exasperated. “I was making conversation.”

“With his arm?”

“Charles-”

“I’m not an idiot, Y/N.”

Your chest tightens at the way he says your name, so cold, so distant. The Charles you know isn’t like this. He’s fierce, yes, but not like this. Not with you.

“I wasn’t flirting,” you repeat, your voice low but firm. “I wouldn’t do that to you.”

He studies you for a moment, his eyes scanning your face like he’s searching for a lie, for something that isn’t there. When he speaks again, his voice is quiet, measured, but it carries a weight that makes your stomach churn.

“You flirted with eight men? You owe me eight.”

The words hang in the air, heavy and unfamiliar, their meaning unclear at first. You blink, your confusion only deepening as you replay the sentence in your mind.

“Eight?” You ask, your voice barely more than a whisper. “What does that mean?”

He doesn’t explain, doesn’t elaborate. His eyes stay locked on yours, cold and unyielding, and you know there’s no point in asking again. He’s already decided — whatever it is he thinks you’ve done, however he’s convinced himself of it, he’s not backing down.

Silence stretches between you, thick and suffocating.

For a moment, you want to fight. You want to argue, to demand he explain himself, to push back against this irrational anger that’s tearing him apart. But you’re exhausted — emotionally, mentally, drained from the evening and the unexpected accusation.

You let out a slow breath, your shoulders sagging under the weight of the moment. “I don’t know what you think I owe you, but this … this isn't fair.”

Charles’ eyes don’t leave you as the silence stretches unbearably thin between you. His breath is steady, controlled, but there’s an unmistakable tension in the way he stands — coiled, waiting. His gaze sharpens, and you feel it like a current, an invisible pull dragging you back toward him.

“Come here,” he says, his voice low and commanding.

Your heart pounds in your chest, the weight of his words sinking in slowly. You take a step toward him, hesitating for a fraction of a second. His eyes darken, daring you to defy him, but you can’t. You don’t. There’s something about the way he’s looking at you that holds you in place, that demands your obedience without ever saying the words.

His hand reaches out, curling around your wrist, firm but not harsh, and he pulls you closer. The air between you feels thick, heavy with unresolved tension and desire. You know what he wants. There’s no mistaking it now.

“You owe me eight,” he repeats, and this time, the meaning behind his words is crystal clear.

Your breath catches in your throat, and you feel the heat rise in your body, your skin prickling under his gaze. There’s no room for argument, no space to deny him. He’s made up his mind, and you … you’re at his mercy.

He doesn’t waste time.

His hands are quick, efficient as he pulls at your dress, the fabric sliding down your body with an ease that makes your pulse race. Every brush of his fingertips ignites something in you, something you can’t control. His touch is rough, but not cruel — dominant, but laced with something deeper, something that sends a thrill down your spine.

You open your mouth to speak, to say something — anything — but the words are gone before they form, lost in the haze of his touch.

“Don’t,” he murmurs, his lips brushing against your ear, sending a shiver down your neck. “Not a word. Not until I say.”

And you nod, because what else is there to do? You’re already under his spell, every part of you tuned to him, to the way his hands move, the way his eyes never leave your face. You’re his. For this moment, for as long as he decides, you’re his.

He starts slowly, his fingers tracing patterns along your skin, teasing, coaxing your body into submission. Your breath hitches, and you feel the heat rising in you, the anticipation building with every calculated touch. He’s methodical, deliberate, focusing entirely on you, on what you’re feeling, how you’re reacting. He knows exactly what he’s doing, and you can’t stop the way your body responds to him.

“Charles,” you whisper, a breathless plea escaping before you can stop it.

He pulls back just slightly, eyes narrowing. “What did I say?”

You bite your lip, nodding quickly, trying to regain control of yourself, but it’s slipping fast. His touch is too much — precise, intentional — and you can already feel your body unraveling beneath his hands.

Then he starts in earnest.

His fingers move with purpose, finding that spot that makes your breath hitch, your body jerk involuntarily. It’s a slow build at first, the pleasure winding tighter and tighter until it’s all you can focus on. Your mind goes blank, every thought consumed by the sensation coursing through you.

The first one comes hard, fast, and you gasp, your body arching into him. He doesn’t let up, his fingers relentless, pushing you higher, faster. You barely have time to recover before the second one crashes over you, leaving you breathless, trembling.

“That’s two,” he whispers, his voice low and rough, a dark satisfaction in his tone.

You’re barely coherent now, your body no longer your own as he drives you toward the third. He’s focused, unrelenting, and you can’t stop the sounds escaping your lips, broken, breathless moans that fill the room as he pulls you closer to the edge again.

The third comes slower, more drawn out, and by the time it crests, you’re shaking, your body trembling under his touch.

“Three,” he murmurs, and there’s something almost possessive in the way he says it, like he’s claiming each one as his own.

He doesn’t stop. His hand moves faster now, more insistent, and you can feel yourself slipping, your mind clouding with the overwhelming pleasure building inside you. The fourth one crashes into you harder than the last, and you cry out, your body jerking as it hits.

He pulls you closer, his breath hot against your skin as he whispers, “Four.”

You’ve lost count, your mind too hazy to keep track anymore, but Charles hasn’t. He knows exactly where you are, and he’s not done. He won’t be done until you’ve given him everything he’s asked for. Everything he’s demanded.

By the time the fifth one hits, your legs are weak, your body trembling uncontrollably. You can’t think, can’t speak, can’t do anything but feel. The pleasure is overwhelming now, consuming, and you’re teetering on the edge of losing yourself completely.

He slows down just for a moment, letting you catch your breath, but the reprieve is brief. His hand moves again, more purposeful now, driving you toward the sixth with an intensity that leaves you breathless.

It hits harder than you expect, your body spasming as it crashes over you. You can’t control the sounds escaping your lips, the soft whimpers and moans that fill the space between you.

Charles is relentless, his fingers never pausing, never giving you a moment to recover. You’re incoherent now, your mind a blur of sensation, your body completely at his mercy.

The seventh one comes before you’ve even had time to process the last, your body convulsing under his touch. You’re barely holding on, your mind fogged, every nerve ending on fire.

And then, the eighth.

It’s slower, drawn out, the pleasure building and building until you’re sure you can’t take any more. When it finally hits, it’s like an explosion, tearing through you, leaving you trembling, incoherent, completely undone.

Your body goes limp, every muscle weak, every thought gone. You can’t move, can’t speak, can’t even breathe properly.

Charles finally stops, his hand withdrawing as he leans back slightly, his eyes dark and intense as he watches you, taking in the sight of your trembling body, your flushed skin.

“You owe me nothing now,” he whispers, and there’s a possessive satisfaction in his voice that makes your heart pound, even through the haze.

***

You wake slowly, consciousness seeping in like warmth spreading across your skin. For a moment, everything is soft, gentle — the sheets tangled around your legs, the early morning light filtering through the curtains, and the quiet, rhythmic sound of breathing beside you.

And then you feel it — Charles’ fingers.

Your heart skips a beat as you become fully aware of the slow, deliberate movements beneath the sheets. He’s there, under the covers, his body pressed against yours, and his touch … God, his touch is focused, intentional, right where he knows you’re most sensitive.

You stir, a soft moan escaping your lips before you even realize it. Your eyes flutter open, but everything is still blurry, your mind foggy with sleep and the sudden, electric sensation coursing through you.

“Charles …” your voice is quiet, husky with sleep, but there’s a hint of surprise mixed with something else — something warmer, something stirring deep within you.

He doesn’t respond with words. Instead, his fingers move with more purpose, flicking lightly at the bundle of nerves that’s now fully awake. Your breath hitches, your body responding immediately, instinctively, arching slightly into his touch.

You can’t see him clearly, but you know the look on his face — the intense focus, the way his eyes darken with desire, the way his lips curl into that knowing, smug smile when he knows he’s affecting you.

A soft chuckle escapes from under the sheets. “You’re awake,” he murmurs, his voice low, the words vibrating against your skin. He doesn’t slow down, doesn’t give you time to adjust to the sudden onslaught of sensation. His fingers continue their work, teasing, circling, flicking, until your body is already trembling beneath him.

You bite your lip, trying to stifle the moan threatening to spill out. Your legs twitch involuntarily, and you’re about to speak again, to say something — anything — but he presses down a little harder, his thumb joining his fingers in perfect rhythm.

“Charles-” you gasp, but it’s barely a word, more of a plea, your breath hitching as the pleasure builds too quickly, too intensely. “What … what are you doing?”

He hums, his lips brushing the inside of your thigh as he speaks. “Making sure you start the day properly,” he says, the words laced with that unmistakable arrogance that only he can pull off without sounding insufferable.

You can feel the heat rising in your body, spreading from where his fingers work their magic. You’re already sensitive — too sensitive — and he knows it. He knows exactly how to push you to the edge, exactly where to touch, how to touch, and you can’t stop the way your body responds to him.

Your hips shift, bucking slightly as his fingers quicken, and you let out a soft whimper, your hand gripping the sheets beneath you. You can feel the tension coiling in your stomach, winding tighter and tighter with every precise flick of his fingers, every teasing circle.

“Charles, please …” you whisper, but you don’t know if you’re begging him to stop or to keep going. The pleasure is already overwhelming, your body still exhausted from last night, but the heat building inside you is impossible to ignore.

“Please, what?” He asks, his voice teasing, almost playful, but there’s a darker edge to it, something commanding. His fingers slow for a brief moment, and you take a shuddering breath, trying to steady yourself, but he doesn’t give you time to recover.

“Do you want me to stop?” He asks, his fingers pausing just at the edge of where you need him most, his breath warm against your skin.

You shake your head, biting your lip to keep from crying out. “No,” you manage to whisper, your voice shaky.

He chuckles softly, the sound sending a shiver down your spine. “That’s what I thought.”

And then his fingers are back, moving with even more purpose than before, faster, more insistent. Your hips lift off the bed, your body moving of its own accord, chasing the sensation, chasing the release you know is coming, but Charles is in control — he’s always in control.

“Relax,” he murmurs, his voice low and soothing, but there’s a command hidden in the softness. “Let me take care of you.”

You try to comply, but your body isn’t listening. Your legs twitch, your breath coming in ragged gasps as his fingers work you closer and closer to the edge. It’s too much, too soon, and you can feel yourself unraveling, the tension in your core coiling so tightly it’s almost painful.

“Charles, I can’t-” you gasp, your voice breaking as your body tenses, every muscle tightening in anticipation.

“Yes, you can,” he whispers, his voice a mix of gentleness and command. “Just let go. Let me.”

And you do. You don’t have a choice — your body gives in, the tension snapping all at once, and the release crashes over you like a wave, leaving you breathless, trembling, your vision going white for a moment as the pleasure ripples through you.

Your fingers grip the sheets, your back arching as your body rides the waves of your orgasm, and Charles doesn’t stop. His fingers slow, but they don’t stop, drawing out every last bit of pleasure, pushing you through it until you’re a quivering mess beneath him.

You’re gasping for breath, your mind fuzzy, your body limp and uncooperative as the aftershocks roll through you. You can’t even form words, your lips parting uselessly as you try to catch your breath.

Charles emerges from under the sheets, his eyes dark and satisfied, a smug smile playing on his lips. He hovers above you, his fingers brushing your cheek as he leans down to kiss you, soft and slow, letting you taste the satisfaction on his lips.

“You’re incredible,” he murmurs against your mouth, his voice soft now, the roughness replaced by something gentler, more tender.

You try to respond, but your body is still too weak, too overwhelmed by the sensations still lingering in your skin. Instead, you just nod, your hand weakly reaching up to brush through his hair.

He chuckles softly, pressing another kiss to your forehead before pulling back slightly, his eyes roaming over your flushed face, your trembling body. There’s something possessive in his gaze, something that sends a shiver through you despite the heat still coursing through your veins.

“You can take another,” he says, and it’s not a question.

Your eyes widen, your breath catching in your throat. “Charles, I don’t think-”

“You can,” he insists, his hand slipping between your thighs again, fingers finding that sensitive spot immediately, and you whimper, your body twitching involuntarily.

“I’m … I’m too sensitive,” you gasp, your hips shifting away instinctively, but he follows you, relentless.

“I know,” he murmurs, his fingers moving in slow, teasing circles. “But I want to see you fall apart again. You can give me one more, can’t you?”

There’s no real room for refusal in his voice, and despite the sensitivity, despite the overwhelming pleasure still buzzing in your veins, you find yourself nodding, your body already responding to his touch.

“Good girl,” he whispers, his fingers pressing down harder, and you moan, your body already trembling again, the sensitivity only heightening the pleasure now.

It doesn’t take long — your body is still on edge, still too raw from the first orgasm, and Charles knows exactly how to push you back to the brink. His fingers are relentless, flicking and circling in a rhythm that makes your legs shake, your breath coming in shallow gasps as the pleasure builds too quickly, too intensely.

You try to hold on, try to control it, but it’s impossible. Charles is too skilled, too focused, and your body is too weak, too sensitive. The second orgasm crashes into you faster than the first, more intense, more overwhelming, and you cry out, your body convulsing as the pleasure tears through you.

You’re shaking uncontrollably now, your body completely uncooperative, every muscle trembling as the orgasm rips you apart. You can’t think, can’t speak, can’t do anything but feel as wave after wave of pleasure rolls through you, leaving you breathless and incoherent.

Charles slows his movements, drawing out every last bit of pleasure until you’re nothing but a quivering, trembling mess beneath him.

When he finally pulls his hand away, you’re gasping for breath, your body limp and useless, your mind a hazy blur of satisfaction and exhaustion. You can’t even open your eyes, can’t form a coherent thought, let alone a sentence.

Charles leans over you, his lips brushing your ear as he whispers, “That’s my girl.” His breath is warm on your skin, sending shivers down your spine even though your body is already wrecked, trembling, barely holding on to the remnants of what he's given you.

But it doesn’t stop there. You can feel him shifting beside you, his body pressing closer, his chest brushing against your back as he moves. The anticipation builds again, that familiar, heady pull tightening in your core even though you’re exhausted, overstimulated, every nerve in your body screaming that you’ve had enough.

And then you feel it — him. Sliding between your legs, the head of him nudging against you. Your breath catches in your throat, the sensation sharp, almost too sharp, like your body can’t take any more, like you’re already too far gone.

“Charles, I-” you start to protest, but the words come out broken, barely a whisper, swallowed by the overwhelming feeling of him pushing into you, slow, deliberate, but still relentless.

“Shh,” he murmurs, his voice soft but commanding, his lips brushing the back of your neck. “I know it’s too much. I know.”

But he doesn’t stop. He slides in deeper, stretching you, filling you completely, and the sensation is so intense it feels like fire — burning, bright, consuming. Your body tenses, your fingers gripping the sheets as the overstimulation turns into something almost painful. The pleasure from before mixes with the sharp edge of it, and you gasp, your eyes squeezing shut as he presses further in.

“Charles, I can’t-” you try again, but the words are lost, drowned out by the sound of your own breath hitching, your body tightening around him involuntarily, every muscle clenching as you try to cope with the overwhelming sensation.

“You can,” he says again, his voice low and firm, like he’s coaxing you, pulling you through the pain, the pleasure, everything at once. “You can take it. Just breathe.”

You try to listen, try to breathe, but it’s so much — too much. Your legs twitch, your hips buck involuntarily as he moves deeper still, every inch of him sending shockwaves through you. Your vision blurs, your head swimming as the pressure inside you builds again, twisting tighter and tighter until it’s unbearable.

The overstimulation is like electricity, buzzing under your skin, every nerve on fire. You can feel everything — every inch of him, every stroke, every push — and it’s overwhelming. Your body is trembling uncontrollably now, your breath coming in short, ragged gasps as you teeter on the edge of something you can’t control, something that feels too intense, too much to handle.

Charles’ hands are on you, firm, steady, holding you in place as he thrusts deeper, his movements slow but unyielding, drawing out every ounce of pleasure and pain until you can’t tell the difference anymore. Your mind goes blank, your senses consumed by him, by the way he’s filling you, stretching you, pushing you past every limit you thought you had.

“I know it’s too much,” he whispers again, his lips against your ear, his voice a soft command. “But you can take it. You’re mine, and I want all of you.”

Your vision goes white, then black, the edges of your consciousness fading as the overstimulation hits its peak. The pleasure is so sharp it hurts, a throbbing, pulsing ache that sends your mind spiraling. You can’t see, can’t think, can’t breathe properly. The world tilts, and for a moment, everything disappears — the room, the bed, Charles, all of it swallowed by the overwhelming sensation crashing through you.

It’s like drowning in fire and light, your body suspended in a haze of overstimulation that blurs the line between pleasure and pain. You’re lost in it, your body convulsing as he pushes you further, deeper, until you break.

And then, nothing.

The world goes black.

***

You come back slowly, your body heavy and limp, the overwhelming sensation fading into a dull hum. Your eyelids flutter open, the room coming back into focus, the soft light filtering through the curtains casting shadows across the sheets. Everything feels distant, like you’re floating just outside of yourself, disconnected but still aware.

Charles’ arms are wrapped around you, his chest pressed against your back, his breath steady and warm against your neck. He’s holding you close, his fingers brushing lightly over your arm, grounding you, pulling you back from wherever you had gone. His touch is soft now, gentle, as if he knows you’ve already given him everything, as if he’s calming the storm he unleashed.

“Hey,” his voice is soft, barely above a whisper, but it’s the sound that pulls you fully back, anchoring you in the present. “You with me?”

You nod weakly, though your body still feels like it’s not entirely your own, like you’ve been hollowed out and filled with something entirely different. You’re trembling slightly, your breath coming in shallow, shaky inhales, but you’re here. You’re with him.

Charles shifts slightly, pulling you even closer, his arms tightening around you in a protective embrace. His lips brush the side of your neck, and you feel the warmth of his breath, the tenderness in the way he’s holding you now. It’s such a stark contrast to the intensity from before, and you cling to it, to him, as you try to gather yourself.

“You did so well,” he murmurs, his voice soothing, filled with a deep, quiet pride that makes your heart flutter weakly in your chest. “You’re perfect.”

You can’t speak yet, can’t form the words, so you just nod again, your eyes slipping shut as you let yourself sink into the comfort of his arms. The aftershocks are still rippling through you, small tremors that make you shiver, but it’s nothing compared to the storm that had torn through you moments ago.

He’s stroking your hair now, his fingers gentle as they thread through the strands, his movements slow, comforting. “I’ve got you,” he says, as if sensing the lingering haze in your mind. “Just breathe, okay? I’m here.”

You take a deep breath, the air filling your lungs slowly, and you feel your body start to relax, the tension ebbing away little by little. Charles’ presence is grounding, his steady touch bringing you back to yourself, and you’re grateful for it. For him. For the way he knows exactly how to take care of you, even when you’re completely undone.

“You scared me for a second,” he admits quietly, his voice soft, almost vulnerable, as if he’s sharing something he rarely lets anyone see. “You went somewhere else. I didn’t mean to push you that far.”

You swallow, your throat dry, but you manage to whisper, “I’m okay.”

He pulls back slightly, just enough so he can look at you, his eyes searching your face. “You sure?”

You meet his gaze, your body still weak, but your mind clearer now, and you nod. “Yeah … I’m sure.”

The concern in his eyes fades, replaced by that familiar intensity, the quiet possessiveness that’s always been there, lurking beneath the surface. But now it’s softer, tempered by the care he’s showing you in this moment, by the way he’s holding you like you’re the most precious thing in the world.

“You’re incredible,” he whispers, his hand coming up to cup your face, his thumb brushing lightly over your cheek. “You know that, right?”

You smile faintly, your heart swelling at the way he’s looking at you, like you’re everything. “You don’t make it easy,” you murmur, your voice still shaky, but there’s a hint of teasing in it.

Charles chuckles softly, the sound warm and low, and he presses a kiss to your forehead. “Wouldn’t be any fun if it was easy, mon amour.”

You let out a breathy laugh, the sound weak but real, and you close your eyes, leaning into him, letting the comfort of his presence wash over you. Your body is still recovering, still trembling slightly, but you’re safe here, in his arms. You’re okay.

Charles shifts again, settling back into the pillows with you still wrapped in his arms, his hand never leaving your skin, always touching, always grounding you. He holds you like that for a long time, the silence between you filled only with the sound of your breathing, the quiet intimacy of two people who understand each other on a level that words can’t reach.

And as you lie there, cocooned in his warmth, his arms around you like a shield, you hope he finally realizes that there’s nowhere else you’d rather be.

[gloomwitchwrites]

Dog with No Teeth // Chapter Five

Simon "Ghost" Riley x Female Reader

Chapter Specific Warnings (MDNI): swearing, suggestive themes, jealousy, manipulation, brief mentions of sex

Word Count: 4k

At breakfast, an unfamiliar soldier comes to apologize. Ghost’s jealousy rears its head.

Chapter Four // Chapter Six

ao3 // main masterlist // dog with no teeth masterlist

It’s the noise that hits you first. A visceral gut punch of sound that sends you reeling toward homesickness. The dining hall is packed with people. They sit at long tables and round ones, talking and eating and talking. Living their lives. Simply existing.

But the realization of where you are is far stronger than any yearning for home and community. There are no children chasing each other, their joyful cries echoing off the walls. There is no lazy strumming of a guitar from the corner. No cheerful faces eager to greet you, to invite you to the table, to break bread and ask about your day.

The room is full of soldiers. Blood-drenched creatures. Unknown faces. Male gazes.

A sweaty staleness hangs in the air, mixing with the salty bite of bacon on the griddle. This space is a gnarling twist of enemy territory and diner. A submergence in a warped reality of the past. There is something hauntingly nostalgic about the wood walls and metal ceiling, as if you’re child again at summer camp.

When it rains, do the droplets ring against the metal? Do they sing soft pings to the soldiers as they eat?

“Two legs,” growls Ghost from behind you, the fabric of the balaclava a teasing scratch against the curve of your ear. “And yet you refuse to walk.”

Asshole. Fucking asshole.

And you allowed this man to tongue your pussy? To slide his cum-coated thumb into your mouth? It doesn’t matter how good he made you feel, or how, for a fraction of a moment, the reality of your situation melted away, leaving you only with lust. Survival cradled you, and delivered you into Ghost’s arms because it’s all you know.

Foolish.

Reeling Lieutenant Riley in didn’t have to involve you spreading your legs for him. A kiss or two would have suffice. But loneliness is a fickle disconnect of melancholy, leading you quickly toward a mistake that could have upended everything. You don’t know Soap, but you silently thank him for knocking on the door and dissolving whatever haze invaded your senses when Ghost had you under him.

The easy thing would be to snap at Lieutenant Riley. It’s what you want to do. But this is not the place to tell him off or cause a scene even if he deserves a bit of lip. You are surrounded—caged in by people who’d have his back before yours. There are no friends here. Not even Ghost.

You glance over your shoulder, that whiskey gaze of his biting back with a hint of a spark.

Ghost. Lieutenant Riley.

Your sentinel. Guardian. Protector. Captor.

Best to be the quiet doe here and bow before the stag.

“I don’t know this place,” you reply softly, lowering your gaze in submission.

Ghost’s head tilts slightly, assessing. “No,” he agrees. “You don’t.”

Timidness is the key to his gentleness as much as your dagger tongue. It’s a bit debilitating—nearly a whiplash. Navigating Lieutenant Riley is a windstorm. But like any storm, it will pass. You need only weather him.

Ghost’s gaze turns outward into the dining hall, eyes narrowing. “Stay close to me,” he murmurs, and the tenderness in his voice makes you pause.

Like the gunshots that seemed never-ending, Ghost spoke to you in the same tone, covering your ears, coaxing you to look only at him. These fleeting moments of kindness and affection make no sense. It’s like he wants to possess you and yet smack you down with equal measure.

You sense a phantom hand on your lower back, simply hovering, a breath away from touching. Ghost doesn’t need to touch you to herd you where he wants. A few steps, unbidden, and you move forward into the communal dining hall. No longer hiding just inside the door, you’re out in the open now, on display.

Soldiers at tables nearest you glance in your direction. Their voices become murmured whispers or fizzle out entirely. Here, you are an oddity. Perhaps an apparition. This is not a place for civilians, and the way some of the men leer is a clear indication that if Ghost weren’t standing next to you, they’d approach. The very threat of it forces you to take a step closer to him.

Whether Ghost notices your nervousness or not is an entirely different matter. Lieutenant Riley walks with heavy confidence, his head held high as if he’s proud that you’re at his side, and the men staring at you means nothing. For you, it takes more effort to act like him, to pretend that this isn’t a curling nightmare.

You want to go home. You want your bed and your books and your archive.

Ghost’s footsteps are easy to follow. One. Two. One. Two. With his phantom hand at the small of your back, Lieutenant Riley keeps you at his side and just to the front of him, urging you closer to the front of the communal dining hall where a massive buffet lines the wall. Soldiers move along the queue at different intervals, filling their plates with the morning fare. Unlike Lieutenant Riley and the rest of his team, not everyone is in all black. There are plenty in green fatigues, even dark blue that remind you of sailors. A few are clad in tactical gear like they’re trying to shovel some food down before taking off. There are others that are completely dressed down, more casual but still in uniform.

A whiff of cooking food drifts toward you, stirring your stomach to rumbling.

Ghost’s hand finally connects, purposefully steering you to an open spot in line. A small spike of anxiety flares. It’s just a goddamn food line but you don’t know the order of things, and you’re surrounded by strangers.

But the worry is silly, because you don’t even lift a finger.

Ghost brings you to an open spot and promptly grabs a black tray, placing it in front of you. A plate appears, followed by a few napkins and silverware. You stare; a bit surprised by how he handled it so calmly. You didn’t have to think about anything. Not a single neuron fired.

Ghost nods toward the immense line of food. “Eat whatever you want.”

Whatever you want? Truly?

Briefly glancing over the long buffet line, you turn back to Lieutenant Riley, a hint of disbelief in your tone. “I can do that? Put whatever I want onto my plate?”

Ghost inclines his head. “You’re under my protection.”

As if that answers your fucking question. Sometimes he’s so damn cryptic.

“And what about you?” you ask. “Are you eating?”

Eating in this room with all these eyes on you is daunting. Eating alone sounds worse.

“Already ate,” replies Ghost with a husky drawl.

Images of Lieutenant Riley’s naked body invade, reminding you of your lusty mistake, and how nice he looked when his lips and chin were glossy with your arousal.

“You hardly finished,” you mumble, quickly glancing away in embarrassment.

Ghost makes a humph sound, and though you can only see his eyes, the curling pinch of lines in the corners tells you enough. This man is fucking smirking.

He starts to lean in, and your heartrate quickens. The intimacy is akin to a shared secret.

“Lieutenant Riley!”

Both of you turn abruptly. Ghost pushes off from the metal rail, his shoulders straightening, demeanor changing completely due to whoever’s just addressed him. You scan the unfamiliar faces, only for an older man to appear through the crowd. It’s clear from his uniform that he’s above Ghost in rank, but you wouldn’t be able to say how. Military ranks and the hierarchy of authority isn’t clear to you. And this isn’t the “Price” you met last night. It’s someone else. Someone you don’t know.

“Grab what you want, love. Find an empty seat. I’ll come to you,” says Ghost, not even looking at you as he says it.

Then he’s gone. Poof. Like cigarette smoke drifting into the air.

The large communal dining hall suddenly shrinks, becoming insufferable and stuffy.

Run. Run.

Run. But where to? Where the fuck can you go on a goddamn military base? If you bolt out of here, Ghost would chase you, knock you down and shove his boot into your back. Or maybe he’d take you back to the private barracks, toss you onto the bed, and deal out a bit of punishment. Either would be fucking embarrassing, and no matter how much the animal in you wants to flee, you remain firmly in line, staring at the food as you breathe in through your nostrils and out through your mouth.

Calm. Calm calm calm. Zen. Deep breaths.

You’re fine. Everything is fine. You’re safe.

Saliva pools in your mouth, and the fresh aroma of baked bread creeps up your nostrils. Food. You can focus on that. You can feed yourself and then take the next step after, whatever the fuck that might be. Before you are a plethora of options. Back home, breakfast, lunch, and dinner are all set affairs. Everyone eats the same unless someone has a dietary restriction for medical reasons. There is no display. No bounty. No cornucopia of a feast.

After the world fractured, this amount of food was unimaginable.

Fluffy pancakes. Greasy bacon. Scrambled eggs. Potato hash loaded with vegetables. There are bowls full of color fruit. Oatmeal with different toppings. Grits. These are American classics, but they aren’t the only options. There are fried eggs over rice and even a stuffed flatbread that smells faintly of cumin. It’s made to accommodate many tastes. Options for everyone. Beyond that, you glimpse baskets piled high with fresh bread, and next to that, condiments. You even spy a bottle of hot sauce and a container holding kimchi.

For a moment, it feels like before, as if you were waking up in a hotel and down in the lobby standing before a continental breakfast.

Is this normal? Do the people who live in the safe zones always feast like this? Or is this simply reserved for those willing to pick up a gun for the sake of humanity? Are they fed well to keep them happy?

There’s no use in worrying over what you don’t know. Eventually you’ll find out. Lieutenant Riley intends to take you to the safe zone after all, and once there, you’ll get your answers.

Grabbing the scoop for the scrambled eggs, you dig in, lifting up a heaping amount to place onto your plate.

“I’d avoid that.”

The masculine voice nearly makes you jump right out of your skin. You drop the scoop, the egg returning to the chaffer with a splat. Little specks of egg go flying, landing on the surrounding metal.

“You’ll be in the latrine the rest of the day.”

Jesus.

“Thank you,” you murmur, unsure of the sudden newcomer.

He’s a bit shorter than Lieutenant Riley, perhaps by a few inches, and he wears a similar uniform of all black fatigues. On his upper bicep is the flag of the United Nations and the United States.

He shrugs. Inclines his head. “Or you’ll be fine. Bit of a hit or miss. Depending on the day.”

There’s a slightly southern lilt in his voice. Not Deep South like Mississippi or Louisiana. It’s too neutral. Perhaps northern Arkansas. Maybe even southern Missouri.

But it’s not like you’d ask. In fact, you’re fucking annoyed. There’s already one annoying man in your life. You don’t need two.

“Which is it?” you ask, feigning a smile.

The stranger gazes over the glass, gaze narrowing slightly. Finding whatever he’s looking for, he nods in affirmation. “It’s a good batch.”

How long do you have to amuse him before he’ll move on?

“How can you tell?” you ask, adding some of the eggs to your plate.

He runs his fingers through his dusty brown hair. “It’s who’s at the griddle.” You open your mouth, a reply on your tongue, but this stranger trudges on. Continues talking. “If Four Fingers is on the griddle, you’re good. Always cleans between whatever he’s cooking.”

No. No. This is fucking weird.

“I’m sorry,” you say, holding up your hand. “I didn’t catch your name.”

Please get the fuck away from me.

And where the fuck is Ghost?

“Sergeant Noah Fields.” He extends his hand in a warm greeting. Reluctantly, you take it. The shake is firm but not overly domineering. “I was with Lieutenant Riley’s group,” he says when you drop your hand.

Not really helpful, and you don’t hesitate to say so. “You were all wearing balaclavas,” you reply, taking a step forward to indicate that you’re leaving the conversation. “Can’t say I recognize you.”

Sergeant Fields doesn’t take the hint.

“No, ma’am,” he laughs, some of that southern drawl making a quick appearance. “Suppose you wouldn’t.” he shrugs, walking beside you. “Maybe that’s a good thing.”

Everything compounds, pushing you back into a place you don’t want to return to. Running for your life. The whizz of bullets flying through the air. A gun at your temple. It wasn’t only Lieutenant Riley that you met. There were others. Three for sure that touched you. Many more looking on.

And which one is he?

You take another step, skipping what looks to be eggs baked into a tomato sauce. A whiff of spice drifts up, and your nose twitches.

“Listen,” continues Sergeant Fields, tone sheepish. “I ow you an apology.” You pause at the hash, briefly glancing at him but saying nothing as you scoop some onto your plate next to the eggs. “A big one.”

“Do you?” you muse, returning the scoop to its cradle.

Where is Ghost? He’d put an end to this conversation. For that, you’d be grateful.

“It’s why I’m interrupting your breakfast.”

That’s obvious.

“And what are you apologizing for?” you prod, entertaining him for the sake of it.

While part of you would enjoy blatantly ignoring him, you also know that you’re not in any position of leverage. Ghost has stepped away. There is no brooding buffer to chase off Sergeant Fields.

He grimaces, rubbing the back of his neck in apparent agitation. A little red flag waves in your head. It’s clear that he’s working up to something, but you don’t know him. They all wore balaclavas. This man is a complete stranger.

“Look,” you say, starting to lift your tray. “Whatever it is—”

“No,” he interrupts. “No. You deserve an apology.”

You go to step around him, but Sergeant Fields backs up, forcing you back to the buffet rail. “Stop. Just—stop. Did Lieutenant Riley put you up to this?”

“Did—” He blinks. Startled. “No.” He rubs at his chest. “I’ve been wanting to apologize since we’ve arrived at base. Heard from the others that you’d been cleared. That you’re being taken back to the safe zone.”

“Per the mandate,” you say slowly.

Sergeant Fields disregards this, moving on. “I treated you poorly. Called you…”

A coldness creeps in, turning your bones and blood to ice. Only three people talked to your directly. And only one called you a name that made you snarl.

These fuckers don’t let their breeders out of their sight.

“Breeder,” you finish for him. “You called me a breeder.”

This motherfucker. Ghost might be a bastard, but this asshole is a fucking villain. He didn’t just call you a “breeder.” He did much worse—insinuated worse.

Sergeant Fields flushes slightly. “I did,” he affirms like a kicked dog.

Time to dig in. To show a bit of fang while you have the upper hand. “And you stuck your fingers in my mouth to look at my teeth.” The venom in your voice is lethal.

The sadness on his face deepens. “I did,” he confirms, denying nothing. “And I’ve come to apologize. To ask forgiveness.” Sergeant Fields sighs. Licks his lips. “I thought you were with—fuck.” He pauses. Starts over. “I judged you. Treated you poorly. That was wrong. Even if you were with them, I know how they treat their women. I should have been kinder with you. And I wasn’t.”

You don’t know this man, but you may not see him again after this. Perhaps you’re about to stroke his ego, but there is nothing on the surface that indicates nefarious intent. Sergeant Fields doesn’t leer, and he doesn’t glance away to stare at your body. He looked you in the face as he gave you his apology.

“I accept, Sergeant,” you sigh.

His solemn demeanor changes, a grin spreading across his face. “Noah. Please.”

“Noah,” you repeat.

“Well, ma’am.” He points to the chaffer next to you. “I’d recommend the pancakes. The grits aren’t too bad. Just add some honey and butter. Or if you’re of the savory kind, a fried egg with a dash of hot sauce.”

“Noted,” you smile, because this is much better conversation, even if you’re ready for Ghost to come rescue you. “Is this standard? The variety?”

Noah takes a step back, allowing you plenty of space to slide your tray down the line. “A few things rotate. Depending on availability. All the safe zones trade with each other.”

So, there are more? But how many?

“Sometimes, the safe zones south of us send citrus. It’s always a rush to the line when lemons and oranges make it here. Bananas, too. But we see those maybe once a year.” Noah snags a bowl of colorful fruit, placing it on your tray. “You can imagine the mayhem when they send us avocados.”

As you open your mouth to answer, a large shadow falls across the two of you. Noah’s charming smile melts like a vaporized ice cream cone. Straightening, Noah becomes stiff and stoic, staring just off to the right of your shoulder.

You turn slowly and find your masked kidnapper hovering there, arms crossed over his chest, the middle of his brow a sharpened v.

“Sergeant Fields,” growls Ghost.

Oh. This is interesting. There’s something here. Something you might be able to manipulate.

“Lieutenant,” you greet with a sunny smile. “You’re back.”

You’re far too cheery, and Ghost knows it. When his gaze slowly slides in your direction, his irritation with Noah turns into a silent “really?”

“Noah was helping me.” You turn toward Sergeant Fields. “Isn’t that right?”

He visibly swallows. “That’s right, Lieutenant.”

Ghost is unwavering. That whiskey-brown gaze of his locks onto Noah like bloodied daggers. “I can take it from here, Sergeant.”

“Course, sir,” nods Noah. He briefly turns toward you. “Glad we can start over.”

As he walks away from you and Ghost, you start sliding your tray down the line. Ghost grabs the edge, halting all forward movement. You don’t even entertain him with an answer. Instead, you attempt to shove your tray into his hand.

“What did he say to you?”

You narrow your gaze. “Why the fuck do you care?”

“What,” says Ghost slowly. “Did he say?”

Fucking hell, this man is insufferable sometimes.

“Nothing,” you mutter. “We made small talk.” You jerk the tray again, but Ghost keeps his hand firmly in place. “Is there an issue, Lieutenant?”

“First names. Fresh starts,” he lists. “A flirt.”

“Let go of my tray.”

“What did he say to you?” repeats Ghost.

“You know, Lieutenant,” you sigh heavily. “I think you’re jealous.”

It’s a flicker. An ember that flares then cools. Ghost’s pupils dilate slightly then retract. It’s unnerving the way he’s staring at you.

“Stay away from him,” he breathes, the command smoke-laced.

In this, he wants you to obey—to submit to his authority. The commonality here is that Ghost can take orders as well as give them. But unlike Sergeant Fields, you won’t allow Ghost to push you around. Not all the time.

“Look at you, Lieutenant. Didn’t even deny it.”

The tease is a poke. Like a needle under the nail.

“Like I said. Stay away from him.”

“Why?”

“He’s untrustworthy.”

“Wow,” you exclaim. “That is super helpful. Thank you so much for explaining. I totally understand now.”

“Don’t be cheeky,” replies Ghost, releasing the tray.

The release in pressure nearly sends you stumbling. With a huff, you brush by Ghost, purposefully catching his arm with your shoulder. Keeping your focus on the trays of food, you add more to your plate. Some of the options are foods you haven’t seen in over six years. It’s all sitting there in front of you, begging you to take it.

“Do you know him?”

Ghost’s question startles you.

“Do I know him?” you ask, a bit baffled.

“Glad we can start over?” he prompts, repeating what Noah said just minutes ago.

You roll your eyes. “Fucking ridiculous,” you mutter. Lifting your tray off the rail, you walk around Ghost, heading for the baked bread.

“Why won’t you tell me?”

You grab the tongs and pick out a few pieces still steaming from the oven. “Am I allowed to eat my breakfast in peace?”

“No.”

“Wonderful,” you muse flatly, moving over to the beverages. “Aren’t you going to eat?” you ask, changing the subject.

“Told you,” replies Ghost. “I already did.”

“I don’t count.”

Ghost leans against the counter, his back to the carafes of coffee, his front facing the dining hall. There’s movement in your peripheral. Someone approaching. You don’t even have the chance to see who because Ghost growls at them like a dog giving a warning.

“Really?” you side-eye, grabbing a glass of water.

“He was staring at your arse.”

Placing the glass on your tray, you turn toward Simon, one hand resting against the counter. “Who the fuck are you talking about?”

“Sergeant Fields.”

“Oh, please,” you guffaw.

“Noah. Since the two of you are on first names.”

“Jesus Christ.”

Ghost grabs your water glass and moves it. “Balance is off. Tray will tip when you lift it.”

“Can we just have a normal morning?” you ask. It’s a simple request. “Without—” You gesture between the two of you. “Whatever the fuck this is.”

Ghost’s upper body shifts in your direction, but you suddenly realize that you’re not finished. That you’re not actually wanting an answer.

“Also. How the fuck would you even know that? He was standing directly in front of me. When did he even have the time?”

Ghost inclines his head, speaks casually. “I caught him staring before he came up to you.”

“You’re making shit up.”

“I don’t lie.”

You lift your tray off the counter, deciding it’s best to go find a seat and leave Ghost behind. This conversation is exhausting. And your eggs are going cold. But before you even take a step, Ghost is right there, grabbing the tray out of your hands and putting it back on the counter.

“You have to be fucking kidding me.”

Ghost moves in. Dangerously so. “I. Don’t. Lie.”

“Do keep stroking your own ego.”

His voice lowers, becomes that soft croon when he spoke sweetly to you. Promised you things. Promised you protection. “Please,” and you realize he’s begging. “Stay away from him.”

This is beyond ridiculous. It borders on possession. Ghost may have ripped you from your life only to thrust you into a new one, but he’s not anything to you. He’s simply an instrument. Something you can wield so that you make it out the other side alive.

You take a step forward, leaning into him in the same way you offered yourself. “I was willing this morning,” you whisper. “I…wanted you.” Your confession is sin-drenched, and it pulls the reaction you want. The middle of Ghost’s brow softens, and then there is nothing but pure longing. “In a way,” you continue. “I think I still do.”

It’s not untrue. It felt good to be beneath him, for his hands to roam and touch, to taste and consume.

But this confessional is not to please him.

You withdraw the allure. Find the devil in you.

“And now you’re fucking hurt because another man spoke to me.”

Even the balaclava cannot hide his sharp inhale. “Sergeant Fields is a fucking snake.”

You say it slowly, each word like the prick of a dagger tip. “Choke on my dick, Lieutenant.”

It starts a soft, musing chuckle. Then a laugh. All that fire within you extinguishes, put out by the flood that is Ghost.

“Oh, dove,” he purrs. “You’ll look bloody gorgeous choking on mine.”

[girlfromflor]

previous | part 2 | pack!141 x omega!reader, who has a backstory with simon. | taglist(?): @camcvpidd

ghost refused to meet you. as you were introduced to captain price and his two sergeants – gaz and soap – you were told that ghost, the lieutenant, wasn't going to make it to the meeting. you didn’t question, of course. maybe it was for the best. you'll use their hospitality and kindness and when you're ready you'll start a life of your own. ghost was a reminder of the things you wanted but couldn't have. you knew he was there – his scent lingers around on the walls, an aroma that oddly makes you want to cry – and you know that you, most likely, won't ever talk to him. much like being back to england and not knowing how to restart – or where to start, for that matter.

the first week you spent with them is a complete blur in your mind. you barely even register going to sleep at all and maybe that's the justification of your lack of memory – sleep deprivation at its finest. there wasn't really a room for you in the barracks, so you'd switch between sharing a bed with gaz or sharing a bed with price, which made you want to punch a wall in the first day and two, because why wouldn’t they share a bed and leave you to sleep alone once in a while? you soon grew used to it, however. and when the first week was complete and you had to catch a very draining flight to england, you thought you would enjoy resting in your own room, but that didn't happen. you could only sleep when you had both gaz and price snuggling you – with your back pressed to gaz's chest while price spooned him as well, so close that the captain's hand rested on your stomach under your shirt, softly caressing the flesh until he knew you were asleep.

ghost was never in the barracks, coming late at night after you've fallen asleep and leaving early in the morning before you woke up. and when you moved to their shared flat, it was not different at all. soap seemed way too on edge every time you had to share spaces – his conflicted heart couldn't choose between getting closer to the enchanting omega or staying as far away as possible respecting ghost, who seemed determined to never cross paths with you. his confusion was the worst, it'd stink up the room with the smell of his anxiety and sadness. it was bad to everyone – even to you, although you hadn't scent any of them yet.

you were always kind of tired, of course. having to always mask your omega scent so you wouldn't disturb their spaces – in your head that was the right thing to do. you had no idea how bad they craved to scent you, to comfort you somehow. one time you were startled by price who was sneaking up on you in the kitchen, your scent wavered in the air not in fear but in anger – like a threat. it was all it took for the alpha to fold, and all he wanted to do was to bask in the smell he didn't even had enough time to properly distinguish – he just wanted to press his face to you neck and brush his nose to your scent glands until you were both drowned in each other scents. instead he just brushed it off after you said ‘sorry, price, you scared me’ in a rushed tone, replying ‘call me john, sweetheart’. it was a way to try and grow closer to you.

gaz was no different. you'd settle in spending time with the beta, who you shortly after got to call kyle. john's heart would melt a little every time he heard you say ‘kyle’ in between giggles, trying to sound stern even though you were probably too flustered to speak anything else. kyle was way too sweet with you, he'd take you out twice a week for you to grow used to the city. he'd buy you things bit by bit until you had a fair share of personal belongings, and you couldn’t believe he was even a real person — to you, he was an angel. it was kyle who first learned about your nightmares.

he'd be wake late one day when he smelled a mixture he wasn't familiar. he got wary for a moment, walking down the hallway only to realize it was you. he got a bit shaken at the possibilities of getting a sniff of your scent but it was the pure desperation in it that made his heart clench. it wasn’t long before he heard you gasp, your half-closed door letting on just enough space so he could make out your legs moving in the sheets. he didn’t think twice when he heard an anguished sound from you, stepping in even though he was yet to be invited in your space. you were sitting up now, still in a sleep induced haze, on the verge of tears – until you saw him. you let out a breath, hand to your chest as your shoulders relaxed and then his scent hit you – comforting and gentle, just like always.

“can i…?” he trailed off, and you nodded. as you made space for him in the bed, he climbed in. your head laid in his chest and your breath calmed into a steady rhythm, but his mind was racing. still stuck on the way your voice sounded so vulnerable when you let out that despairing sound, a name – simon. he was sure ghost had never said his name, and neither did the others because he asked them not to. so, who the hell were you calling for?

it ate him up from the inside for days until he asked you about it one morning. he had you sitting on the cold marble of the counter as he made tea for you both.

“love…?” he called, side eyeing you to get your reaction. you immediately knew something was up, of course. your skillful nose would always snitch on them for you.

“yes? what's wrong, kyle?” your tone was soft, you allowed him to smell how you felt, knowing you both were alone made you feel more protected and safe to do it. he was grateful for it.

“who's… simon?” he asks finally after a pause. his hands kept him busy as he poured the water on your mugs, but he was still sneaking glances in your direction.

you sighed, knowing the moment would come eventually. “he was my best friend.” you confide, your eyes on him rather than flickering to your fingers for once. he only gave you a confused look, questioning. you kept talking, “we got close here in london when i was still at the orphanage, he was there as well, but for different reasons.”

he nodded then, letting out a hum in understanding. he handed you your mug, taking a sip of his own before speaking, “what happened? to him?”

you warmed your hands around the cup, blowing the smoke as you shrugged. “i don't really know. the last time i saw him was when he was running away from the place.” you say, nodding to yourself like you always did – a way to reassure yourself that it was okay, even when it wasn't.

kyle gave you a small smile, his hand caressing your thighs before changing the subject, not wanting to upset you by pressing it further. he was the only one who know about simon and your nightmares, just like soap was the only one that knew about you and ghost's nightmares. and it stayed like that for a while, but as soap grew impatient it all started to fall apart – or rather, fit together.

soap felt neglected. he could only have kyle when he wasn't with you, but if kyle wasn't with you that meant you were alone and no one allowed that. so soap never really had time to spend with his fellow beta, he could try and seek ghost but he was never at home anymore, and price was always at work too – it felt so unfair, that one day he argued with simon and decided that he was going to get closer to you whether he liked it or not.

it started slow, agonizingly so to soap, but he knew that it was better that way. he started tagging along when you and kyle would go out, making small comments about the things you'd buy or the food you'd order to make himself present. then he started to take you out himself. it was nice, different from when you went out with kyle. you and soap would go to the movies and to an arcade nearby, buy a sweet treat like ice cream or milkshake for you to share. it was fun in a way that made you want to go out more and they were always there when you decided to go out again.

the first time johnny got a glimpse of your scent he crumbled completely. after kyle had brought you home from a date on a friday night, you were jokingly mumbling in a sad tone that you really wanted to win the plushie displayed on the machine, but it was just so hard. both of them teased you about it and you went to sleep. on the next morning, soap woke you up to take you out for brunch and after a really nice morning filled with your laughter, he took you to a store where there were several types of plushies on display.

“c’mon, lass. pick one, will ye?” he urged, his scottish accent still something you're not used to. your eyes snapped to his, a different type of fondness swimming in them as your scent faltered slightly, soap's pupils growing wider immediately – but it's short lived, because not long you were pulling it back to a neutral one.

“can i really?” you inquire, almost suspiciously. he only laughs, pushing the small of your back so you'd walk further into the store.

“‘course, bonnie. can do anything ye want.” he stated, as if it was nothing. that day you came home with your second favorite thing – the first was a pretty sweater kyle bought for you, he had a matching one. you settled the cute plushie in your mattress, before hugging soap by his waist – it lasted just a few seconds, but it was enough for his heart to race, his hands getting sweaty. as you pushed away from the hug you allowed your natural scent to hang in the air, muttering a small ‘thank you’ before stepping back inside your room. soap hadn't shut up about it for a week.

it wasn't long before you started to feel less tired, not having to worry about your scent whenever you were with kyle and johnny – who insisted for you to start calling him that after the moment you shared in front of your room. it was getting easier to be around them, life was lighter like a weight had been lifted off your shoulders. even john, who you spend less time with, was a regular and comforting person in your routine. 

it didn't matter if you were asleep, every night without fail he would step in your nest to leave a kiss on your forehead. you'd watch matches of his favorite sport with him on sundays, and he'd let you shave his beard from time to time – bonding experiences, it was pure quality time. you didn’t talk much but it was never necessary, somehow you managed to know just what the other needed. he was the one who wanted to take you in at the very beginning, after all. he remembered how hard it was to get simon to open up, how emotionally wounded he was, and he couldn't help but want to be that person for you – he as an alpha for simon he could be an alpha for you too. that's why he offered them to be the pack that would stay with you, and he was so very glad that you accepted it. their routine with you around had become such a pleasant one, in a way none of them had anticipated. well, expect for ghost.

you've been living with them for a while, maybe two to three months since you had traveled to england, and not once have you seen him. you'd catch faint tones of his scent around, especially whenever you walked in front of the closed door of his room, but nothing other than that. the boys would show pictures of them together, but ghost always had a mask on, covering all his face – all of it but his eyes. sometimes you wonder why is it that you get so melancholic when you see those pictures or catch a sniff of his fading scent around the house. it never felt like it was enough. it was already hard not to go over the full experience of living in a pack, but to know that it was because he was denying it? you wanted to scent – properly scent – your boys. you wanted to make a big nest so you could sleep with all of them together, you wanted them to seek you. your warmth, your scent, your comfort.

you began to catch up on your own feelings very slowly, your intuition screaming more loudly in your head with each passing day. it starts one night when you can't sleep for nothing, but you also feel bad about waking one of the boys up. you decide to mask your scent well so they won't accidentally catch you wandering around the house, and sneak out of your room to the kitchen. there you start to make a cup of tea, trying as hard as you could to not make much noise. you smell him first. it comes suddenly and overbearing like when you're hit by an unexpected wave in the sea. it drowns you and your senses for a few seconds too long before you can recompose. you blink slowly once and then twice before you look up at him. he's wearing that off-putting mask like in all pictures you've seen before, his demeanor is almost rude itself and his eyes are digging daggers on yours. his eyes, the most dark shade of brown you've ever seen since simon's. simon, you think – immediately – before brushing it right out of your mind. great, you thought, that's all i needed right now, a reason to dream of simon once again.

ghost's whole body falters its movements when he sees you. he feels on edge immediately, how come he hasn't scent you in the kitchen at all? he doesn’t even have time to process what you look like because the second he steps in the kitchen he can see your eyes flickering towards him. how the hell did you smell him from so far away? his eyes are glued and stuck on yours, they seemed so familiar that he questioned if this was a deja vu. he takes a deep breath to try and get a sniff of what you smell like, but he's greeted with nothing. he huffs in annoyance, still looking at you. you exchange another glance, filled with a tension you can't quite understand before he steps backwards, all the way until he meets johnny’s door. he knew he wouldn't be able to stop thinking about you.

after that night you grew more curious, having caught a good amount of his scent to know what he smells like. it made you feel comforted in a way you didn't understand, and that prompted you to want more. you felt like you were nearly finding out what it was, at the same time it hardly felt like something at all.

kyle notices you getting lost in your thoughts more frequently than not, at the same time that johnny notices simon's urgency in staying occupied. 

“our ‘mega is acting weird,” kyle voiced out his thoughts to johnny one morning, while they were at training.

“i caught that. even asked her one day but she brushed me off. oddly, the same happened with si.” johnny answered, head tilting to the side as his thoughts came together. 

they take a moment to rest, sitting down across from each other. kyle’s eyes flickered to johnny, his eyebrows furrowing as the question grew more than obvious in his face. “do you think…?” he starts, but doesn’t finish. johnny is already shaking his head to deny it, but kyle continues to speak his mind. “she started having nightmares more frequently… says she misses her friend.”

johnny’s ears perk up at that, the words coming out of his mouth in a rush. “what friend?” he never heard about you having a friend back in the place you grew up in. he watches kyle shrug, as if it’s not important.

“they were teens when she saw him last. i think she helped him out of the orphanage, she never said much…” kyle shares honestly, not knowing how you’d feel about johnny knowing about it. “must be hard for her, since the place was in town.”

“really? where was it?” johnny couldn't help but blurt the questions out. he never asked these things to you because it felt weird to bring back such disturbing memories, but he was curious.

“dunno, never made her say it.” kyle shrugs again and they both fall in a comfortable silence, each one thinking about the things the other didn’t know about. after a pause, kyle’s eyes are fixed on a random spot as he says his final thoughts. “the only thing she said was that her friend was called simon.”

then his eyes find johnny's, and something clicks. johnny nods in agreement as they get up to their feet and make their way to their alpha’s office. there was only one way to test the theory, and that required for you and simon to grow closer to each other. it was going to be challenging, of course, but they’d get john to help and they wouldn’t get caught – at least that was what they hoped. you were more open about it then simon was, maybe they’d get you to melt his heart like you did to everyone else.

a/n: this was 4k+ words and unfinished but i decided to split it in two, which means that the third and final part is already on the way. let me know if you want to be tagged for the next part! <3 | taglist: @camcvpidd | part 3

[inkedinshadows]

Until the Last Breath

Pairing: Azriel x reader

Summary: Azriel is injured in battle. Badly. You try everything you can to save your mate, but sometimes, it might still not be enough.

Warnings: heavy angst, blood and injuries, death

Word count: 4.3k

A/N: I finally finished it! My gosh, this was... a journey. And a real challenge. But I'm very satisfied with how it turned out. Huge thanks to Rae @illyrianbitch for giving me a first opinion on this, you're an angel and I love you 🫶🏻

Azriel had shut down his side of the bond. He always did when he went into battle so that you wouldn't feel his fatigue and his anger. His pain.

You hadn't sensed it. He had shut it down so well that when you heard Rhysand's voice in your head, you lost a few years off your life.

Azriel was hurt. They're taking him back to camp. Rhys paused, and you braced yourself. Y/N, it's… it's bad.

You raced past tents and injured soldiers, pushing people out of the way, not caring about the mud clinging to your shoes and shins. You were already calling out for a healer, and when you noticed one stopping in her tracks to look at you, you grabbed her hand and pulled her into a run.

But when you reached your tent, despite your slight panting, your breath caught in your throat.

Three soldiers had helped carry Azriel back, and as they walked past you to leave, they cast you sorrowful glances. But your eyes were fixed on your mate.

Azriel lay on his stomach on the table, his labored breathing echoing through the small space. He was covered in dirt and blood that wasn’t his own. But his wings…

The healer quickly walked up to him to assess the damage. Azriel didn't even open his eyes.

You were frozen in place. You couldn't move. What had once been majestic, powerful wings that Azriel had taken great pride in were now shredded to ribbons. You had seen him hurt before—he had taken arrows, ash-made and poisoned—but this… this was worse. So much worse than any other injury he had ever sustained.

Bile rose in your throat, but you pushed it down. You refused to let tears prick your eyes. You glanced at the healer as her hands hovered over the remnants of your mate's wings, then you finally took a step forward.

“Azriel?” you called, his name little more than a whisper. “Az?”

His eyes fluttered open and immediately settled on you. But they were glazed over with pain.

He tried to move, to lift a hand and reach out to you, opening his mouth to say something. A rasping breath was all that came out.

You were by his side in an instant. Ignoring the constant dripping of his blood on the ground, you crouched down in front of him and cupped his dirty face.

“Don't talk,” you murmured. “It's alright. We're going to save you. You understand? You won't get away from me that easily.”

The lie rolled off your tongue effortlessly, but Azriel knew better. Every breath was a struggle, each heartbeat a reminder of the agony that coursed through his veins. He couldn't feel his wings anymore. His whole back, actually. There was only pain—a blinding pain that threatened to overwhelm him and pull him under.

Your eyes found the healer's, and Azriel didn't need to see her to know she was shaking her head. He'd walked beside Death most of his life, had heard its call more times than he could count, and he knew he couldn't ignore that call any longer. The periodic dripping of his blood on the floor seemed to remind him of it, ticking away the few minutes he had left.

But a new determination settled onto your features. He was your mate. He was yours—yours to love, yours to have, and yours to save. And you would save him. There was no other option.

Standing back up, you grabbed the healer and dragged her to the other side of the tent. You avoided her gaze and that look of sorrow and resignation that only made you want to punch something.

“There must be something you can do,” you gritted out through clenched teeth. She wasn’t at fault for this, you knew, but she was a healer. It was her damn job to save lives. She had to save the most important one. “Anything.”

“He’s lost too much blood,” she replied calmly. “I can't save his wings.”

How could she remain so composed and professional when your whole world was shattering?

You glanced back at Azriel. Even though he couldn't hear what you and the healer were saying, he could tell you were trying to find a way to do the impossible.

He wanted to call you back to him. He needed you by his side in these last few moments. He clung to that thought, to the feel of your hands on his face just seconds ago, fighting against the darkness blurring the edges of his vision.

“Can you save him, though?” you asked, turning back toward the healer. Seeing Azriel like this, struggling just to keep his eyes open, was breaking your heart.

The healer looked confused, and you clenched your jaw. “Can you save him?” you repeated slowly, punctuating each word as if she couldn't understand you. “You said you can't save his wings. But can you save him?”

She finally caught on, and her gaze shifted back to your mate. Azriel didn't even strain to try and listen in on your conversation. He only wanted to ask you to hold him again, but his tongue was sandpaper in his mouth. He couldn't get the words out.

“Maybe,” the healer finally said. “But he's weak. It might not make a difference. He might not survive it.”

Maybe. You could work with a maybe. It was better than nothing.

“Alright, then.” You were already turning to walk back to Azriel. “Let's get to work.”

But the healer placed a gentle hand on your arm, stopping you. You gave her a questioning look.

“I…” She hesitated, glancing at Azriel. “I’ll have to cut them. But the chances of him surviving are still very low.”

You didn't let your heart drop. You didn't let yourself consider what that might mean. If Azriel survived, he might very well hate you for the rest of his life for forcing him to live without his wings. It was a selfish choice, but if the alternative was letting your mate die when there was still some sliver of hope… It wasn't really a choice. You would gladly endure his hatred if it meant he was still alive.

“Do it.”

The healer gave you a sharp nod. “I'll go get what I need.”

Azriel watched her leave, fighting to keep his heavy lids from closing. It would be so easy to just let go, to let the darkness claim him. It was where he had always belonged, and his shadows had gone already. No tendrils swirled around him, curling near his ear to whisper secrets and truths.

But you were still standing too far away from him. Still staring at the tent entrance where the healer had disappeared.

He tried to say your name, but a ragged cough racked his body, sending a new wave of pain through what was left of his wings. Everything hurt. Blood bubbled up from his lungs, its coppery taste filling his mouth as it trickled down his chin.

At last, you turned and raced to his side, grabbing a wet cloth to wipe it away. “I'm sorry,” you whispered. He didn't know what you were apologizing for. He was the sorry one—for failing you, for causing you this pain when he had promised he would never hurt you.

“The healer is coming back,” you continued. Your voice cracked despite your efforts to sound calm and steady. “She'll fix you. You'll be alright.”

You had always been a terrible liar. Azriel knew it, and you knew it too. Neither of you believed your words, but you both clung to them because you had nothing else to hold on to.

“Let me in,” you murmured. Your hands were on his face again, your thumbs gently brushing his cheeks without a care for the dirt smudged on them. “Open the bond, my love.”

Azriel shook his head as best he could, trying to speak again. He wasn't going to let you feel his agony, even if it was watered down through the bond. You were suffering too much already, and though he wanted to let that invisible thread stretch between you, he wouldn't put you through that ordeal.

“Azriel,” you pleaded, your voice trembling. Your eyes locked onto his, and you let him see the raw need to feel him in their depths. “Azriel, please…”

He looked at you for a long moment, but in the end, he let the wall come down. He needed to feel you too—his mate, his love, and right now, his only anchor to this world.

Relief flooded you as he finally opened his side of the bond and the love you shared flowed freely between you, weaving through your very souls. But with it came his pain.

It hit you like a punch to the gut, leaving you breathless. Azriel saw your eyes widen, heard the little gasp that escaped you, and was ready to shut you out once more. But as if sensing his intention, your trembling hands steadied on his cheeks.

“Don't,” you said firmly. “Let me share your burden.”

Sparing you from it was what he should have done. He shouldn't have let you feel it in the first place. Yet the selfish part of him wanted to keep the bond open, to feel your love and affection pouring into his straining heart—sweetness in the pain, warmth in the cold.

Even as you tried to hide it, panic rose inside you, twisting your gut and threatening to overwhelm you. Where was the healer? Your gaze darted to the entrance again and again, expecting her to walk in at any moment.

Azriel coughed once more, another trickle of blood spilling from his lips. You wiped it away quickly, but you knew more would come. You knew he needed help before it was too late.

“Hold on, my love,” you whispered as you leaned closer. “Just a little longer and then you'll be fine.”

“Li–” His voice was so feeble, interrupted by another fit of cough before he could even finish the word. “Liar…”

Before desperation could root itself in you, the healer finally came back. She placed an array of tools on a smaller table next to the one where Azriel lay, and you looked up at her, hope battling against dread.

Surely, she would get to work. Surely, she would cut off what was left of his wings and save him, and then he would hate you, but he would be alive and that was all that truly mattered.

An older healer walked in. Azriel caught only a glimpse of her from the corner of his eye, but the table with the tools was close enough for him to see what had been placed on top. He had seen enough clippings during his years at Windhaven to know what was about to happen.

Despair twisted his gut, adding to his pain and his fear. If losing his wings meant he had a chance of survival, would he take it? Would a life without his wings really be life?

Suddenly, he was back in his father's dungeon, a helpless child who couldn't fly even though his very blood longed for the skies. Then your face emerged from his memory. Your smile, your bright eyes, all the moments together, the life you had built over the centuries.

Could he do it? Could he give up his wings for his mate? Give up one love for another?

He didn't know what he would choose. But he never got to choose.

“You didn't tell me he was in such bad condition,” the older healer said, giving the younger one a sharp look. “There's nothing we can do here.”

The world seemed to tilt on its axis. You weren't sure you were still breathing as you stared at them, disbelief and anger building inside you.

“What do you mean there's nothing you can do?”

The older healer turned her gaze to you. Her stern features softened for only a second before she sighed. “He lost too much blood.”

Her hands glowed a faint yellow light as they hovered over the torn membranes of Azriel’s wings. She placed one on his back, and though her touch was warm and gentle, Azriel had to bite back a scream. The pain was blinding, sharp enough to steal what little breath he had left. And whatever she was trying to do… it wasn't working.

“His heart is beating too slowly already,” she stated, pulling her hand back. Azriel let his head fall against the table once more, his breaths shallow and ragged. “My apprentice shouldn't have given you false hope.”

Rising back to your feet, you turned to the younger healer. She'd said there were low chances, but chances nonetheless.

False hope.

The words echoed in your mind, cold and final like a death sentence. Azriel’s death sentence.

Your hands balled into fists at your sides. The apprentice backed away a step, well aware of the raging fury that you didn't bother to conceal as it kept building inside you. But before you could do anything, Azriel groaned, and your attention snapped back to him. He reached out with a shaking hand, the movement slow and agonizing, yet he wrapped his fingers around your wrist.

“It’s alright…” he rasped, his voice barely a whisper.

It wasn’t alright. But to him, this was just confirmation. He had known it would be his end the moment those soldiers had picked him up, broken and bleeding, from the battlefield. He was holding on, barely, just for you. To see your face, to hear your voice, to feel your love one last time. But he was so tired, and the darkness was pressing in, and now the healers had spoken aloud what he had already understood.

“No,” you snapped. “No, it’s not alright, Azriel.”

You regretted yanking your hand free the instant you saw the flicker of pain on his face. Guilt surged through you, and you dropped to your knees before him again, taking his scarred hand in yours. Gently, you brought it to your lips and pressed a kiss to his knuckles. “I’m sorry,” you murmured. “I’m so sorry, my love. I just…”

Your voice broke, the words dying on your tongue. You couldn’t stop the tears then, and they rolled down your cheeks in waves. A terror unlike anything you had ever felt clutched your stomach, and you clung to the mating bond as though you were the one who needed a lifeline.

Neither of you noticed the two healers leave, probably to give you some privacy. Your sobs drowned out the clashing of the battle just a mile away from camp, each of them hitting Azriel like a stab in the heart. He couldn’t even begin to imagine what you were going through. For him, it would be over soon. But for you, it would last much longer. He didn’t want to contemplate the possibility of living in a world where you had died, and yet you had to suffer through the same thing because he hadn’t been fast enough to avoid an attack from behind.

He wished it didn’t have to be this way. He wished he could go back in time and turn around one second earlier, or stay with you, in this world, forever. But no matter how much he tried to hold onto life and will his heart to keep beating, he was growing tired. The little strength he had left faltered and diminished with each passing second, and you were still crying and sobbing, still grasping his hand as though it could save him.

“My love…” he croaked before being interrupted by yet another cough. You blinked, lips wobbling as you tried to stop your crying long enough to hear his weak voice. But even without the usual light in his hazel eyes, you still understood what he was about to say.

“No,” you said before he could even start. “Don’t say goodbye, Az.”

You shook your head, and your hands moved to cup his face once more. He closed his eyes, as if feeling your touch was all he wanted.

“Don’t leave me,” you pleaded. You kept pulling on the bond between your souls as though it would keep him here, silently praying and begging the Mother not to take him from you. “You can’t leave me… please, my love, I still need you.”

Azriel felt your desperate tugs on the bond, but all he could do was send his love down the bridge to you. He couldn’t feel his body anymore. There were only your delicate hands on his cheeks, and though he was so damn tired, he opened his eyes to look at you one last time.

“I’ll always be with you,” he whispered hoarsely. He couldn’t even lift his arm to point to your chest, to the heart he had cherished and cradled for centuries, the heart he knew was now breaking, just like his own. “I’ll always be in your heart.”

“Please,” you repeated. It was the only thing you could do—hold on to the childish hope that pleading would mean something. “I can't lose you, I… I can't…”

Right then, a gentle hand pressed against the walls of your mental shield. You let it come down, expecting to hear Rhysand’s voice, but it was Feyre who spoke into your mind.

How is he?

You almost let out a hysterical laugh at the absurdity of the question, but when you answered, your voice sounded as broken as you felt. Forget the battle and get over here. All of you. He’s not… he’s…

You couldn’t bring yourself to say it, even now. But Feyre understood, and you could hear the pained note in her voice as she said, We’re coming.

“You have to be strong,” Azriel murmured. It was just a whisper, barely audible, and it drained him to speak, but he needed to reassure you, to make sure you were as alright as you could be. He’d seen your eyes glaze over for a few seconds and knew you’d talked to either Rhys or Feyre. They’d probably be here soon, and they’d take care of you in a way he couldn’t anymore.

A sob shook your whole body. “No,” you replied. “No, just… no.”

You weren’t sure what you were trying to refuse—his plea to be strong, the inevitability of what was about to happen, the unfairness of it all? Did it even matter anymore?

Azriel grasped at the little life left inside of him. His body was already floating on a cloud, and the beautiful features of your face—the lines he knew like the back of his hand—were nothing more than a confused blur. He couldn’t hold on anymore, and he knew it.

“I love you…” he managed to rasp out. He wanted those to be his last words to you. The only words that had ever mattered.

You could see the way his eyes grew distant, the light slowly abandoning them. “I love you too.” Your voice broke as you said them, desperation clawing at your insides like a living beast, sharp nails digging deep into you until nothing else was left. “I love you, but please… please, stay with me.”

You tried to meet his gaze, but he wouldn’t look at you. He didn’t have enough strength.

“Stay with me…”

His eyes fluttered close.

“Please, my love… stay with me.”

His heart stopped beating.

“Please…”

And you felt the mating bond shatter.

Six people rushed into the tent just as you cried out in pain, despair, and heart-wrenching loss. Your screams and wails carried through the whole camp, maybe even the battlefield and the world at large.

Your family knew then. They had come too late.

A clattering sound echoed as Cassian dropped his helmet and then fell to his knees, his wings slumped on the ground and heartbreak written on his dirty face. Mor began sobbing, wrapped in Rhysand’s arms as tears streamed down their faces. Amren brought a hand to her mouth, her eyes shining. Nesta looked like she was about to throw up, but she silently knelt next to her mate and drew him close to her side. Only then did they both start crying.

You didn’t notice any of it. You didn’t notice Feyre approaching you slowly, weeping like all the others and yet trying what she could to be there for you.

“Y/N…” she called gently, reaching out to you.

You shook off the hand she laid on your shoulder as if the touch had singed you. “No,” you growled, the sound more animalistic than anything. Your hands were still on Azriel’s cheeks, and you had no intention of letting go. “Don’t.”

He would open his eyes soon. Your mate wouldn’t abandon you. Not like this. Not when there was still so much more you had to experience together. The centuries you had had with him weren’t enough. You wanted—needed, craved—more, and Azriel would open his eyes, and he would tell you that it was alright, that he would heal and you would keep trying to have the family you both dreamed of.

The minutes passed. Your cries got louder and more desperate, drowning out any sound that came from the rest of your family. You were barely aware of their presence. You were waiting for Azriel to open his eyes.

But he didn’t. You reached for the bond in your soul only to find broken shards of what once was a golden connection built on love and understanding and mutual respect.

He was really gone.

Your Azriel.

Your mate.

Dead.

Dead.

You must have said the word aloud because Feyre reached for you again. Your head snapped up, ready to lash out at her again, to yell at her and everyone else to leave you alone because how could they ever understand what you were going through? How could they ever understand what it meant to lose the love of your life?

But it wasn’t Feyre that was now standing next to you. She had retreated back to where the others stood, her hand clasped with Nesta’s as the two sisters held each other close and wept together.

“Y/N.” Cassian’s voice cracked, but his hand on your shoulder was steady as he crouched down in front of you. “Come here.”

He pried you away from Azriel and pulled you into a hug, even as you fought him. You didn’t want his touch, didn’t want anything that wasn’t hearing Azriel’s breathing and feeling the mating bond come back to life.

You screeched and struggled against his embrace, hands fisting to push him away, to hit him for a reason not even you understood, hoping it would bring you some wicked kind of comfort. But Cassian didn’t let go. He kept his strong arms around you, and the little fight you had left soon disappeared.

You collapsed against him, slumping against his chest as if life had been drained from you too. Maybe it had. Maybe you wouldn’t mind if it did. Your tears soaked into Cassian’s bloodied leathers, your sobs muffled by his embrace.

“I know,” was all he murmured. You could feel his own tears fall on your hair as he tucked you close and rested his cheek on your head. “I know…”

Somehow, the simple acknowledgement of what you were going through soothed you. Just a tiny bit. Enough for you to choke out, “I can’t do this without him, Cass.”

His hand rubbed slow circles over your back. If he was trying to get you to stop shaking, he was failing miserably.

“It’s alright,” he replied quietly. “You don’t have to figure it out now.”

It was reassuring knowing you didn’t have to. Cassian was giving you a chance to grieve, to let it all out, to scream and cry and sob because he knew you needed it. 

So you did.

Emptiness grew inside you until it threatened to swallow you whole, and you let it. You didn’t have to figure it out now. You didn’t want to. You could just let yourself feel, even if it killed you. A part of you had already died, and, just like Azriel, you would never get it back. You would never be whole again.

“We had so many plans,” you whispered. Someone was sniffling, but you couldn’t tell if it was Cassian, someone else, or maybe even you. “I thought… I thought we’d have many more centuries together.”

Cassian’s arms tightened around your trembling form, but before he could reply, another pair of arms slid around you both. You didn’t bother lifting your head to see who it was.

“We all did,” Mor said, her voice weak and broken. “But we’ll be alright, Y/N.”

Shuffling steps drew closer, and then you couldn’t tell who was where, but you still sensed all your friends gathering together to hold you and each other close.

We’ll be alright. You weren’t sure you would ever be alright, not without half of your heart and soul, but… we. Mor had said “we”, not “you”.

You had lost your mate, but they had loved Azriel too. They had lost a brother, a friend, and they were suffering just like you. With you.

“We’ll be alright.” Rhys. Somewhere to your left.

You finally opened your eyes and found him staring at Azriel, still on the table. You couldn’t bring yourself to look at your mate.

“In time,” Rhys murmured. His teary eyes found yours, a quiet understanding in them. “But not now.”

For you, it was most likely never. Without Azriel, the future was black and empty. There was nothing to look forward to. You couldn’t face it without him, and you didn’t want to. But you didn’t have to figure it out now.

For now, you let yourself grieve.

2nd a/n: how do writers kill off their characters? Writing this destroyed me. Now I know why SJM always finds way to bring them back to life... my soft little heart longs for a HEA whenever I write, so I'm never doing this again (maybe idk)

General taglist: @mrsjna @navyblue-eternity @paintedbyshadows @highladyandromeda @starswholistenanddreamsanswered @azrielsmate3 @mollygetssherlockcoffee @mirandasidefics @tinystarfishgalaxy @cynthiesjmxazrielslover @anarchiii @readinggeeklmao @anneas11 @azrielslittleslut @lilah-asteria @aaahhh0127 @lorosette @azrielsrealmate @pey2618 @mellowmusings @k8r123-blog @daughterofthemoons-stuff @minnieoo @saltedcoffeescotch @georgiadixon

@booksbypisces i know you asked me to tag you in this months ago. Hope you're still interested! I didn't think it'd take this long 🫣

[volklana]

Been Far Away For Far Too Long

Thunderbolts*/New Avengers Bucky x Reader:

Title Comes From This Song:

Summary: After losing Steve, Bucky walked away from the person he loved the most, terrified he would lose them too. So he left first, breaking both their hearts in the process. So when he gets catapulted into the world of the New Avengers and she is the only person he thinks can help Bob, he is forced to swallow his shame and ask for her help.

Warnings: Grief

The talk with Sam had not gone well, that was all Bucky was willing to share with them and Yelena bit worriedly at her cheek.

Ava was staring out across the New York skyline and even Walker was remarkably quiet for once.

The New Avengers, that’s what people were calling them and Bucky hated it. 

Hated that he should have any association with a name that had meant so much to Steve, but he was not here to see it.

Sam was Captain now, Walker was a dollar store, shitty version of him and none of the former team were here to help.

“You should call her,” Sam had berated Bucky in a disappointed tone and Bucky couldn’t face it at the time, couldn’t face the reminder that you were out there in the world somewhere and he didn’t know you anymore.

“She wouldn’t answer,” he offered meekly and Sam shook his head in agreement.

“Probably not, but you should try.”

He slank back onto the settee and Yelena looked at his tired form and bumped him with her shoulder.

“We’re going to figure it out,” she tried to reassure but Bucky suddenly felt very much his age of over 100 years.

The sky was dull and grey, it had been threatening to rain all day but still no downpour came, just an unrelenting dreariness that very much matched the mood Bucky had been carrying with him the last few days.

His footsteps were slow, deliberate and pronounced. He wanted you to hear him coming.

He didn’t want to startle you, he knew you well enough to know better than to do that.

You didn’t turn around immediately but he knew from the way you stiffened, from the way you readied yourself for a fight that he was behind you.

“Did you track me here?” you spat, still refusing to turn around.

“Yes,” he admitted weakly.

You turned with a snarl and Bucky actually took a step back.

“You followed me here? Where he lies? How dare you! How dare you ambush me here of all places.” 

Just behind your shoulder Bucky saw the inscription Steve Rogers and immediately tore his eyes away, unable to look upon the stone for too long.

You were seething, chest rising and falling rapidly with an anger you were trying your very best to keep in check.

“I’m surprised you even remember where he is buried,” you spat and his face fell.

“That’s not fair,” he pleaded but you waved a hand to dismiss him and his protests died on his lips.

You turned away from him again, running your hands through your hair and sniffing loudly, visibly trying to calm yourself down.

“Y/n,” he tried desperately and you cut him off -

-”I should punch you in your throat. I want to, so bad. But not here.”

“Please, I just want to talk,” Bucky pleaded and this time when you turned to face him the anger was gone, in its place was an expression of hurt and betrayal that absolutely broke his heart in two, and you nodded as tears gathered in your eyes.

“You want to talk?” you laughed bitterly, “You had years to talk Buck, and not so much as a goddamn text did I get from you. When I really needed you, and you were nowhere to be found. But now you want to talk?” 

“I really need your help.” he cried and the vulnerability in his voice almost made you falter. Almost.

“Of course you do. So that’s the truth of it, you’re here because you need me. Not because you missed me, or you’re sorry. Because you need me,” you paused for a beat and a single tear slid down your cheek and you wiped it away harshly, “Well you didn’t need me when Steve was dying. When you and Sam went on your little flagsmashers campaign, and you certainly didn’t need me on your run for parliament, Congressman Barnes. So what is so important now that you suddenly need my help?” 

“I couldn’t-” Bucky swallowed hard, shaking his head ferociously, “I couldn’t face it. Losing him. And you just reminded me of everything that could have been, so I just stayed away, I thought if I did that- it would hurt less. And then I lost you, you were so angry with me and I didn’t know how to fix it.”

“And I lost Nat. And Tony. And Steve and when I needed you the most, I lost you! I forgave you when you left me for Wakanda, even though I became a criminal to rescue you in the first damn place. I grieved you every single day you were gone during the blip. I went through hell and back to bring you back to us. I fought against Thanos and I watched my friends die and when I needed you the most you were nowhere to be found. All I ever did was love you and put my life on the line to look after you, but when I needed you the most you did your biggest disappearing act of all.”

Bucky didn’t respond. There was nothing he could say to make any of his actions forgivable. 

You looked at him then, really looked at him, and Bucky felt like you were looking right through him. He was trying to read the expression on your face, it wasn’t hurt anymore, or anger, it was something worse- much worse than that, it was a mixture of understanding and pity.

“You’re stuck in a cycle of shame, and for years I thought I could set you free from it, but I can see so clearly now, you only let me in when your need outweighs your shame.”

Bucky stiffened as white hot shame coursed through his body, because you were right. Always had been right, and you remained the only person who could look right through him and read him like a book, and there had been a time when you loved him for it anyway, back before he destroyed it all.

You were calm, eerily calm when you spoke again.

“If you say you need me, really need me. I will help. But I want to make something very clear. I don’t love you anymore. I will never love you again. Anything I do for you now is out of respect for the man lying behind me, because I made him a promise that I would always look out for when he was gone.”

Bucky sniffed, tears racing to his own eyes but he nodded in understanding.

“I need to hear you say that you understand that,” you demanded and he cleared his throat and even though his voice was raspy and small he answered.

“I understand.” 

As the elevator dinged you stepped inside and immediately felt like the wave of nostalgia that hit you was going to drown you.

Visions of eating breakfast with Steve and Nat at the breakfast bar.

Tony tinkering with some update to his suit, or sipping a martini because “It’s happy hour somewhere right?” 

The parties, the training sessions, the everyday mundane activities like watching movies, or listening to music with Steve.

And then the destruction Loki had caused during the Chitauri invasion of New York, before you had all moved out to the Avengers compound.

Now you looked at the new faces gathered around you and scoffed.

“The New Avengers,” you sneered and bit out a laugh.

“We didn’t choose the name,” Walker spat defensively and you rounded on him, looking him up and down in disdain, “You dollar store, wannabe Steve Rogers, you could never-”

“Woah! Woah!” Bucky was interjecting and your staredown only ended when you tore your eyes away in disgust.

“I see you all the time,” Yelena spoke softly and your eyes softened on her and you nodded, “At her grave, I see you there.”

“I’m so sorry,” your face crumpled and you reached a hand out to her, which she squeezed “She was like a sister to me, I can’t even imagine how you feel.”

She surged forward and embraced you and for a moment you allowed yourself to be engulfed in her warmth before you pulled away.

“Okay, where is he?” you asked and Bucky nodded his head to where Bob was hanging back in front of the huge window, the New York skyline laid out behind him.

“You’re here to help me?” he asked bashfully.

“I’m here to try,” you couldn’t promise him anything but he was the reason Bucky had been willing to swallow his pride and seek you out so you had to try.

“I’m assuming the lab is still where it used to be?” you asked and then laughed in understanding at the fact none of them had been here back in the heyday.

“Right, I will suss it out. Bob, you are coming with me!” you ordered and he sprung into action following you like a scolded puppy.

“Yelena?” he asked, voice unsure and when you consented with a nod, she smiled softly, “I will follow you down.”

“Well. She’s kind of a dick,” Walker stated once the elevator doors had closed.

“Watch your mouth,” Bucky warned.

“I mean he’s not wrong Barnes,” Ava joined in, “We didn’t exactly choose the name, and it’s not our fault we weren’t part of the original lineup.”

Bucky’s heart ached for the girl you used to be. You used to light up every single room you walked into. You ran headfirst into danger to protect anyone who needed it. You followed Steve halfway across the world to save Bucky. You had rotted in the raft with Sam, until Steve had managed to break you out. You had loved him when he was nothing but a shell of a man, waking up at night screaming into the dark, you had kissed away every nightmare, every worry. He could still remember the tears in your eyes as you watched him go back into cryo in Wakanda, your hand clasped tightly in Steve’s. 

Your horrified face as he transformed into dust still haunted Bucky’s dreams and yet your face when you saw him on the battlefield when all the people who Thanos had erased returned during the Blip, as you ran across the field to grasp him and kiss him wherever your lips could land, you had fought side by side the rest of the battle and that night you had made love until he physically could not move anymore.

“She’s been through a lot,” Yelena broke the silence “Give her a break.” 

It had been days of working with Bob, but you mainly kept yourself to yourself.

Yelena was the only person you really warmed to and even Bucky was keeping his distance.

He was out on the roof, looking out towards the skyline of New York and Yelena saddled out beside him.

“You should talk to her,” she tried softly and Bucky shook his head.

“Too much has happened. I can’t make it right.”

“Bucky, you have not tried,” she cried and he bit his lip.

“She made it clear that she was here to do this job, and she wants me to stay away so that’s what I’m doing.”

Yelena cursed under her breath in Russian.

“Idiot. You have never pushed someone away when all you wanted was for them to pull you close and tell you they love you?”

Bucky looked like he wanted to argue but she cut him off.

“She’s fighting with you all the time because she wants you to fight for her!” 

It suddenly hit Bucky like a freight train, he had never truly fought for you, not really.

From the very first day you had given yourself to him, he was so afraid of losing you, he realised he had never truly fought to keep you. He had always been so convinced you would leave him that he left first, he left first so it would hurt less, but all it had done was cause you both a world of pain.

His thoughts were disrupted by Bob erupting out onto the roof, “You have to come it’s y/n, I think she’s having a panic attack.”

Bucky found you under the table in the lab, hands clasped over your ears, rocking in place, tears streaming down your face.

“Shh, doll. I’m here. I’ve got you. I’ve got you!” he pulled you to him and he had been expecting you to push him away, but instead you curled into him and clung to him like a child.

He held you for what felt like hours, even when the tears had subsided, you allowed him to hold you as he gently swayed you in comfort, pressing kisses to your head and whispering reassurances into the air.

I’m sorry I didn’t fight for you. For us,” he finally whispered, “I’m so sorry I couldn’t be what you needed.”

It came out so small and broken that Bucky nearly missed it, “I didn’t need you to be anything. I just needed you, and you left me on my own.”

Bucky knew this was his last chance to be honest with you, to tell you the truth of the pain behind the reason he thought he was doing the right thing in letting you go.

“When I knew I was losing Steve, I was so angry at the world. What else did the universe want from me, what else could it possibly take away from me? You were the only thing I had left, and I just knew- I knew with my whole entire being that I was going to lose you too. I kept imagining it over and over again- you leaving me and seeing me for what I really am. And I guess I thought if I was the one to leave. If it was my decision to leave, it wouldn’t hurt as much.”

You didn’t say anything, just clung to him like you were afraid if you let go he would vanish.

“But losing you that way- and knowing that I tore us apart with my own bare hands, it was despicable, especially when you were grieving so much loss already and all I did was add to it. It was unforgivable and I knew I couldn’t come back from that. I was so ashamed, I didn’t even try.”

“Bob pulled me into the void- it was my fault, I pushed him too hard. Every room. Every single room was losing you. Not Nat, or Steve or Tony, not even my past, but you. You should have trusted me to stay. You should have tried again. Even when you fucked everything up- I still loved you.”

“Am I too late?” he asked gently, squeezing you in his arms.

You suddenly erupted into tears and nodded in his arms “I think so. I don’t think there’s anything left to fix, I’m not the girl you loved anymore, I’m mean. I’m cynical and I’ve been alone for so long I don’t know how to love again, or if I even can.” 

“I won’t ask you to love me again- I don’t deserve that. But would you let me be there for you again? Put down all that loneliness you’ve been carrying around with you and let me carry it some?” 

You nodded in his arms and curled back into his chest.

“I’m tired,” you admitted and he wordlessly gathered you up into his arms and carried you out of the lab, up into the comfort of his bed and lay you down gently before climbing onto the bed too.

Neither of you spoke, just lay staring up at the ceiling, hands clasped in each other's, until your breathing evened out and your gentle snores filled the room, and the tears fell from Bucky’s eyes, soaking his pillow and threatening to drown him.

You sat up in the bed suddenly and reached for him “Hey!” you whispered, but he was refusing to look at you and you were by his side in an instant, you flicked on his bedside lamp and the soft warm light flooded the room.

You cupped his face in your hands and forced him to look at you.

“I missed you so much,” he confessed through the tears and your face twisted in utter confliction.

Just today you thought you hated him, now all you wanted was to comfort him and tell him that everything was going to be okay but you couldn’t make promises you weren’t sure you could keep.

You hated the way your body yearned for him, ached for him to take you in his arms like he used to and kiss you until you couldn’t think straight.

“Bucky,” you whimpered and he was surging forward grasping you and kissing you like his life depended on it.

You couldn’t think straight, didn’t want to fight against it anymore and so you gave in to the longing you had been suppressing for years- gave into your need for him.

It was a tango of bruising kisses and desperate grasping.

It wasn’t gentle or slow, it  was a frantic fray of ripped clothes, popped buttons and at times you struggled for air. It was like your bodies were fighting to reclaim something they had been trying in vain to forget for years.

Your fingers dug into his skin, like you were afraid if you let go he would disappear in your hands, his teeth dug into the soft skin of your shoulder, his fingers twisted up into your hair, exposing more of your delicate neck to him and he attached his lips to the skin there.

The air was thick with the smell of sweat and sex and when you finally couldn’t hold back anymore you came around him and he gasped, you name spilling from his lips like a sacred prayer as he finally released inside you.

Neither of you moved, limbs still tangled together as he softened inside you, hand still fisted into your hair.

You looked like you were about to cry for a moment before you finally found the strength to climb off him and collapsed on the bed beside him.

The air was thick now with the unspoken.

You were afraid if you said anything, he would cut and run, he was afraid if he said the wrong thing you would hate him again.

“I hate this,” you finally spoke breaking the tension, “I hate that I still want you after everything you did.”

Bucky braced himself like he had been punched in the gut.

“What does this mean?” he asked, voice unsure, “Surely this changes things. Surely this means we still need each other.” 

“I don’t know Buck,” you cried. “I thought I had buried this. Buried us. And I don’t know if those feelings can just change overnight.”

“What if I told you my feelings for you had never changed,” he whispered to the ceiling.

“Don’t-” you cut him off “Just...Don’t do this tonight.”

He conceded and pulled you to him, switching his lamp off, feeling more tired than he had in years.

“Can we please talk about this tomorrow?” he pleaded “Really talk about it?”

You nodded against his chest and he had to accept that was the best he deserved at the moment.

The next morning you were gone and Bucky felt a crushing emptiness in his core, he snuck out of the tower, got onto his bike and roared off into the morning.

He read the name on the stone Steve Rogers and allowed  the tears to fall as he hunkered down and grasped the stone with his flesh hand.

“What the hell do I do punk? You risked everything for love and I couldn’t even show up for her when she needed me the most. But I love her, I really fucking love her and this whole time I thought I was doing the right thing but all it did was hurt us both.” 

He tried to imagine what Steve would say, tried to conjure up his voice in his mind but all he heard was the wind rustling through the trees and he sighed.

“She lied,” a voice behind him startled him nearly to death and he stood to his full height and whirled around only to come face to face with you.

“When she told you she didn’t love you anymore, that she could never love you again. She lied.”

Bucky’s face crumpled, sadness etched across his features and you nodded.

“She lied because she was scared. But she’s tired of lying and tired of being alone. So if she trusts you, and she so desperately wants to, don’t you dare leave her again.”

Bucky rushed forward and scooped you into his arms, lifting you clean off the ground with the strength he held you with.

“I don’t want empty promises,” you cried and he shook his head quickly.

“You won’t get them, I won’t promise anything I don’t mean.”

“Don’t leave me on my own again!” you cried and he nestled his head into the crook of your neck.

“Never again I promise.” 

“It’s going to take some time, Bucky. I’ve got to learn to open up my heart again and I am still terrified you are going to cut and run.”

“I can wait as long as it takes,” he promised, placing the gentlest kiss to your lips and rejoiced internally when you kissed him back.

“I loved you all along,” he finally admitted, pulling away to look into your eyes, “No matter the distance, no matter how far away I was. I never stopped loving you. None of this was because I didn’t love you, it was because I was terrified you would stop loving me.”

“I went to hell and back for you Buck, nothing could have ever stopped me loving you. Even when I hated you...I loved you.”

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[karikarasuno]

part ten | part eleven | part twelve

the library is hosting career week this week, so cora invited law to speak with some of the kids. law agreed even though he's not really good with kids. they kinda scare him. they're unfiltered and often times loud and law has a difficult time understanding them when they talk too quickly.

law has never even held a baby besides his little sister. and that was a very long time ago. but he agrees to it anyway. especially because cora is sneaky, conniving, and manipulative. he purposely asked when you were around. that cunning son of a bitch.

"so, law, i have a favor to ask," cora says as the three of you lounge in law's patio late one evening. you're playing some game on your phone beside him while cora stretches out in a lounge chair.

"no," law says without hesitation.

"that's not very nice. you don't even know what it is," cora pouts, but not really. he's a faker. and definitely up to something when his eyes quickly flick over to you.

"babe, just hear the poor man out," you say, eyes still locked on your phone screen. you always pity cora for some reason. you have a soft spot for him that law doesn't really understand. he should appreciate that you two get along so well. except for when it doesn't work in his favor. which is often, much to law's frustration.

"yeah, listen to her, she knows what she's talking about," cora nods slyly. law could strangle him.

"fine," he begrudgingly agrees. "what do you want?"

cora smiles, close-lipped and smug. like law has already agreed to whatever favor this is.

"so i was wondering," cora starts slowly, carefully picking out his words, "if you could stop by the library for career week and speak to the kids about what its like being a doctor."

law groans. cora is aware of law's discomfort around children. cora thinks it's funny. law doesn't understand the joke.

"no," he reiterates with a tone of finality. but his no doesn't last long. not when you gasp beside him and set down your phone to look over at him.

"why not?" you complain. "that would be so cute!"

"i don't think i'd ever describe it as 'cute'," law huffs in his seat, refusing to look at you because he already knows the face you're making. one that he has a really hard time saying no to.

"aw, come on!" you place both of your hands on his forearm and lightly shake him. he glares at cora. "just think about it. all those little kids sitting around listening to you talk about how cool it is to be a doctor. it'll be fun."

"again," he reinforces, "not exactly a word i'd use to describe this particular situation."

he feels you scoot closer to him and you prop your chin on his shoulder. his resolve is in shambles right now. he cannot stand his brother. "if it makes you feel any better i'll go with you."

"why would that make me feel better?" he grumbles, glancing down at you from the corner of his eye.

"because i'll be there for moral support. just say yes, i promise it won't be that bad."

"i don't know." this is a yes disguised as a no with an air of indecisiveness. law is losing. and he's annoyed by it.

"don't be such a grouch." you lightly slap his chest before turning your focus to cora. "we're going."

the look on cora's face is triumphant. he didn't even have to work for it. law makes a silent vow that next time they're alone, he's going to punch his brother.

and that's how he ends up at the library at 10am on a saturday. the last day of career week and therefore the fucking busiest as families crowd every corner. it's also hot outside. law's sweating and he wants to blame the sun, but he knows what it really is. anxiety.

"thanks for coming!" cora's voice rings out in the busy entrance. his arms open wide as he greets you two. he's wearing the glasses chain you bought him for his birthday, and law doesn't miss the flash of excitement on your face.

"well thank you for the invite," you say, offering cora a quick hug before reaching back to grab law's hand. you don't recoil when you feel how sweaty it is which he appreciates. you just drag a soothing thumb over the back of his hand and pretend as if you cannot feel the wave of nerves that's surely emitting from law. he feels radioactive. especially after he takes one singular step further into the library and a child that barely reaches his knees runs straight into him.

"ope, careful there," you say with a light laugh, reaching down to help the young boy from the floor. he giggles and you smile and then his mom comes to collect him. but law doesn't miss the look on your face. it could be longing or appreciation or something else entirely. something he's never felt before.

"we're in a place where you have to look down," you whisper to him. "tiny people walk amongst us."

you wink. he rolls his eyes, but smiles nonetheless. however small it may be.

it doesn't go as horribly as law thinks it will. the children are actually well-behaved as they sit criss cross applesauce in front of him. he's managed to squeeze himself into a chair that's far too small for him. he doesn't know how cora lives like this. and when he's done talking about his job the children ask questions.

"is it icky cutting people open?" the boy is no more than 6 and he's missing his two front teeth.

"sometimes, yeah, but you get used to it."

"is there a lot of blood?" a young girl with a head of chunky curls asks.

"well, yes," law answers, confused because it's an obvious one.

"blegh." she sticks her tongue out with disgust. "what happens if you're a vampire? can you still be a doctor?"

law looks around for you. you're sitting in the back beside a mother and her baby. positively amused. he doesn't know if he should burst the young girl's bubble and tell her that vampires aren't real. but what if that's like telling her santa isn't real? the last thing he needs is a crying child. but he can't fight the urge to be honest. so he goes with "in books and movies, sure they can. in real life i think that would be a health violation."

you snicker behind your hand when he glances at you. and his chest fills with fondness. so maybe he answered the question correctly. the young girl seems satisfied enough.

and when it's over he almost misses all the innocent curiosity. but he can't ignore the relief he feels when he sees all the kids file out of the room and onto the next fun activity cora has planned for them. you're speaking with the mom who was sitting behind you when it ends. and instead of disrupting your conversation he decides to go to the bathroom while he has a free chance.

but law doesn't expect to see you, alone in the center of the entryway holding a baby and a diaper bag, when he exits the bathroom. you're cooing at her. fussing over the bow in her hair. bouncing her slightly in your arms until she giggles.

law also doesn't expect something akin to yearning that fills his chest. that makes his heart race. that unlocks something strange and unfamiliar in his mind. he can't approach you just yet. instead he stands out of your view and watches you. the baby plays with the pendant on your necklace. and you whisper something to her that law knows she doesn't understand. but you say it anyway. and you smile all the same.

well, law can't stand the sight. and he realizes that it's because it's a temporary one.

“where’d you get that?” he asks when he finally approaches you. the baby decides she's tired and rests her head on your shoulder. it's cute. and also weird how natural it looks. law's uncomfortable.

“are you referring to the baby?” you laugh incredulously. it shakes the baby but she doesn't seem to mind.

"yes," he says slowly accompanied with a single nod.

"her mom had to go sign some paperwork for her son. she's somewhere around here with cora and i offered to watch her until she was done," you answer easily. like it's a normal occurrence for you to be holding stranger's babies.

"and she trusted you?"

"i'm not gonna kidnap her!" you say with another laugh. "even though, she is cute enough to steal."

the baby reaches for law. her hands are tiny and chubby and she's trying to grasp his necklace. she seems to be fascinated by them.

"aw, she likes you," you gush but feeling his tension you angle her away from him. he's grateful for it. but he doesn't stop staring at you. he can't. since when are you so good with babies? this one hasn't even cried and she just met you.

"ah, thank you so much!" her mom returns, scooping her child from your arms and offering you a relieved smile.

"it was no problem. she was an angel," you grin, leaning over to tickle the baby until she giggles. "we're kinda besties now."

and the whole way home, law thinks about you. the baby. you and the baby.

you with his baby.

that's his last thought before he pulls into the driveway.

"i was thinking pasta for dinner," you say flippantly as you get out of the car. he can't answer because he's distracted.

"maybe pesto?" you ask as you unlock the front door to your house. you two spend most of your time here because of chopper. but he doesn't mind because he likes the smell. and being surrounded by you.

what would you look like pregnant?

he stops abruptly behind you and you don't even notice. you just flit around your home like everything is normal. and for you it is. but law is somehow dying inside? or maybe this is the most alive he's ever felt...

"you alright, weirdo?" you finally notice how he's just standing there as you set your purse down on the dining room table. and he looks at you, glances down at your belly, eyes your hips, and suddenly his thoughts are vulgar and wholly unnecessary.

"do you want kids?" he blurts out, hands balling into fists before his fingers flex.

"what?" you say stunned, pausing your approach towards him. you blink up at him as if you're stuck in a glitch. and your lips are stuck somewhere between a smile and grimace.

"today," he starts, taking a measured step towards you, "when you were holding that baby you looked happy."

"i like babies," you titter.

"do you want one?" he asks again, but closer to you this time.

"i'd prefer a ring first," you reply shrewdly. "but i'm not opposed to practice."

"i wasn't coming onto you," he shakes his head amused, backing you up against the table.

"just in," you whisper, delighted with yourself. "at least you were thinking about it."

"and what gave me away?" his hips press into you, his hands finding your waist and bunching up the fabric of your shirt.

"well for one," you glance down, "you're hard."

"and two?" he slips his hands under your shirt, splaying his fingers across your stomach.

"you're asking me about babies." you hop onto the table, lifting your skirt to rest above your knees and spreading your legs. "and we've never talked about babies before."

"maybe not," he says, leaning over to bury his face in your neck. "i've never really thought about them. about having kids."

your hand cards through his hair as he breathes in the scent that's sunken into your skin. and for as turned on as he his, he can't stop his muscles from relaxing into you. he bears most of his weight down onto you. and he knows he's heavy. but you seem to hold him up regardless.

"and what's different now?" you're breathless. he hasn't even begun touching you the way he wants.

"you, obviously," he taunts, kissing your collarbone and you tug his hair at his tone. he nips at your neck in retaliation.

"no, i wanna know what you're thinking." you pull his face out from where he was so comfy against your shoulder.

"tell me." your hand covers his where it rests on your stomach. your lips ghosts his when you whisper, "please."

he kisses you, but not because he has a choice. but because your pull is too strong. he'd do anything you asked. it would be an issue if this was one sided, but law knows how infrequently you say no to him.

"i want to have kids, but only with you," he says between kisses. "want to get you pregnant. want to see you holding our baby."

you gasp and your head falls back. "do you want that too?"

"jeez, law," you whine, "you can't just spring this on me. not like this."

he's referring to the hand that's traveling up your thigh. to the hand that's gripping your skirt and shoving it over your hips.

"i think this is the perfect time to discuss children," he smiles against your lips, wiggling your underwear down your thighs until it drops to your ankles.

"fine," you admit, "your babies. i'll have yours, but i expect a good push present."

he chortles despite himself. laughs as he unbuttons his jeans. "whatever you want. its yours."

he kisses you harder as he frees himself and lines up with your entrance.

"wait, you're not gonna-" you break the kiss to stare down between your legs. there's not much to see since your skirt is covering up the real view.

"no, we're practicing." he pushes you onto your back, bringing your hips to the edge of the table. and without a second thought. without an ounce of regret. he sinks into you for the first time without anything separating you.

god, he's not gonna last. you pulse around him and you're so wet. so warm. he nearly chokes. a dam has been broken. thoughts flood his mind. he needs to fill you. he needs to cum inside you. to see you round with his baby. to see you coo and giggle and fuss over his baby.

perfect. you're perfect. he can't imagine life without you. and as his thrusts quicken-- as his strokes deepen-- a future he's never considered but now consumes him flashes through his mind. you. a wedding. a pregnancy test. building a crib. watching as you babble over tiny clothes.

you. here. with him. moaning as you fist his shirt and grind down on him. begging for more. locking your ankles around the small of his back.

"wanna feel you." you smear the words slurred and moist across his cheek. "want you to cum inside me."

his grip tightens on your hips. you don't wince, even though he knows it's gonna bruise in the morning.

"yeah?" he replies, not thinking properly. just needing to give you exactly what you want.

"yes, yes, please," you nod. you're whinier than you've ever been. desperate. clawing at his clothes.

"oh-k," he stutters when you clench around him. "i can do that for you."

the air gets knocked out of him. or maybe it gets stuck in his chest. maybe he's suffocating on it. as he comes inside of you hard and hurried and hopelessly.

he doesn't know how long it takes for him to calm down. to feel his toes again. to get rid of the tingles that ripple down his body and then back up again.

all he knows is that you're fluttering around him and squirming beneath him. releasing short, yet satisfied noises directly into his ear.

"every time i think i know you," you simper, still catching your breath, "you go and surprise me."

he's confused. law didn't really think of himself as unpredictable. "how?"

"i mean, underneath all that seriousness and bravado, who would've thought you'd be into this?" you slip your hand down between your thighs. you lift your skirt. showing him the mess he's making. he's leaking out of you. and he's still inside of you. he's almost impressed.

"i should start tracking my cycle, though." you gather some of his cum on your fingers. "wouldn't want any accidents."

and then you lick them clean. law has no idea what he's gonna do with you.

part thirteen

[rosenclaws]

How does he handle (you're totally oblivious and innocent when this other man comes on to you, Logan's your one and only) other men flirting with you and his jealousy?

Hehe more jealousy stuff I love it

Origins Logan -

He hates ittt. He’s already this close to punching one of the assholes he works with because they keep making comments about you when you drop him off from work. In fact thats where i see this happening. Logan forgets his lunch and being the sweet partner u are u come and bring it to him. He’s out when you show up and some dick head new hire doesn't know that you're Logan's so he tries to flirt with you and you're completely oblivious and just think he's being nice. Oh man when Logan comes back he is pissed off. He literally grabs this boy by the back of his shirt and yanks him away from you and taking his place. He doesn't care if the other guy falls or what because you're here and he was talking to you. You scold him a little bit but he just smiles and wraps his arm around you, taking you back to the truck so you can eat lunch together. You tell him all about your day and he just listens. Next time you come around, Logan has made sure that every man knows not to even look at you unless they wanna go through him first.

Trilogy Logan -

Oh he is such a jerk and not to you but to whoever tried to flirt with you. It's a little embarrassing but it's also kinda cute seeing him get all protective. He stands a little taller and makes snippy comments and jokes towards them. Okay so like. There's a new mutant and he's around your age and much too flirty for Logan's liking. Logan def stands really close to you at all times and really likes it when you got his scent on you from sleeping in his bed or using his shampoo. But this asshole isn't taking the hint and keeps trying to flirt with you. I could imagine Logan testing him a little harder in the danger room and when you scold him about it he denies all accusations. He's not trying to get him hurt he's trying to see how he would handle dangerous situations. Doesn't matter that Logan turned the intensity up a few notches and it was only that guy in the room. Logan even offers to spar with him but he declines. After that Logan notices that he's left you alone and he's more smug than usual.

DOFP Logan -

Okay this one I think is the funniest of them all. So there's this new student teacher and he's been assigned to your class and Logan hates it because this little prick is taking up all your time. He brings you coffee in the mornings when Logan should be doing that. He doesn't even make it right but you're too nice to correct him. Look Logan doesn't blame the guy for being attracted to you because you're the hottest person in this mansion but you're his and no one else. I think he gets all grumpy about it. He's meaner in class and harsher when he grades and all his students know he's jealous but he refuses to admit it. So they come to you and beg for your help because you're the only one he listens to. You tease him a lot for being jealous because its so cute seeing him pretend not to be annoyed at your new coworker. Of course you reassure him that he's the only one you love and maybe spend a very long night showing him just that oop. The next morning when that other guy tries to bring you coffee Logan is already sitting on your desk sipping his own while you're drinking the one he made for you. A smirk on his face as he sees that boy clock the hickeys on your neck that you tried to cover up.

Old Man Logan -

He's the most sulky out of all of them tbh. He knows he's old and mean and way past his prime so when he sees someone flirting with you as you serve them coffee he just kinda gets all sad. Like he's weighing you down and you could be doing so much more with you life than be with him. He doesn't get upset he just gets jealous and already convinces himself that its better if you go off with this other guy. Of course you have to slap some damn sense into him and how he's being ridiculous. He's got a lot of demons inside of him and it's not easy for you to chase them away but you try your best and all you ask of him is to not give up on you and your relationship so easily.

Worst Logan -

He's like. Half sulking and half raging jealous. He's insecure about his past and how you view him as a person so when he sees someone making you laugh and being flirty at one of Wade's parties it can be a blow to his self esteem. He doesn't want it to affect him as much as it does so he tries to pretend it doesn't bother him but it does and you know it. I think he'd be standing across the room giving this guy a death stare when Wade comes up and makes a couple jokes just to rile him up a little. His poking works because Logan def comes over and steals you away just because he can't take watching you laugh at a joke that isn't his. You find it adorable and tease him about it but also tell him that no one else has your heart but him.

[lanaroff]

House of Broken Hearts- Chapter 1

Paring: Wanda Maximoff and Reader

Prologue.

Warning: Angst

The world felt different. The air had a strange heaviness to it, thick with time and the weight of years lost. The city had changed, not just in its physical structure but in the way its people moved—like everyone was trying to adjust to something they didn’t fully understand. It had been five years. Five years since the mission. Five years since the last kiss, the last touch, the last promise whispered between you and Wanda Maximoff.

You had never imagined that you wouldn’t return to her. The mission had been long, but the time away was always supposed to be temporary. You told yourself you’d be back. You had to be back. And now you were.

Stepping into the Avengers compound for the first time in half a decade, the familiar walls seemed foreign. The faces around you were different, older, their eyes holding more secrets than when you’d left. You nodded to a few familiar faces, but nothing felt the same. Not the same as it had been when you left, when everything was easier, when you were just… together.

It was supposed to be temporary. But nothing ever is.

You had been briefed, but the words they’d said to you didn’t truly hit you until now. “She’s about to marry Vision,” Fury had said as you arrived, like it was something casual, just a fact of life. But those words were like a punch to the gut.

Wanda. About to marry Vision.

The thought clung to you, echoing in your head, refusing to leave. Your heart pounded in your chest, a rhythmic reminder that the life you thought you were coming back to didn’t exist anymore.

It was like the floor had dropped out from under you.

Your breath hitched, your hands shaking as you tried to make sense of it. Five years. Five long years of separation, and she had moved on. That reality hadn’t hit you yet—not until this moment.

You wandered the halls of the compound like a ghost trying to find the briefing room, each step carrying you deeper into a nightmare you didn’t know you were walking toward. The old familiar places—the sparring rooms, the kitchen, the common areas—felt empty like they had all been forgotten. Even the air was different, colder, somehow.

And then you saw them.

Wanda was standing in the hallway, her hair flowing like fire in the low light, her posture elegant and composed. She was talking to Vision, her fingers gently touching his arm as she spoke. The sight should have been comforting, a sign of the life she had made for herself, but it wasn’t. The way Vision stood close to her, so casual in his affection, stung in a way you didn’t expect.

You should have been prepared for this moment. After all, the mission had been long. You knew the world didn’t stop spinning while you were gone. People changed. They moved on.

But seeing them together—seeing Wanda like that, about to marry him—it shattered you in a way you hadn’t been ready for.

But they didn't saw you, and you kept it that way.

Moments later, you entered the meeting room where Fury was briefing the remaining Avengers. The room went silent the moment you entered. Eyes locked onto you, faces frozen in disbelief. Five years of absence. Five years of presumed death. You could feel the weight of their stares—their shock, their confusion. Everyone was silent.

Except for Natasha.

"Where the hell have you been?" Natasha’s voice rang out, cutting through the silence with razor-sharp accusation. "Everyone thought you were dead. Do you have any idea what we’ve been through? What she has been through?" She was seething, every word laced with hurt and frustration.

You flinched but didn’t respond. Natasha was always the first to speak her mind, but there was no mistaking the anger in her eyes. She was angry at you for abandoning them. For abandoning Wanda. And maybe she had every right to be.

“Calm down, Natasha,” Tony’s voice was much quieter but still firm, as if sensing the tension in the room. He looked at you, his face softening. “It’s good to see you back. We didn’t know what happened to you. You’ve got a lot of explaining to do.”

"Please," Steve added with a steady voice, though there was a lingering look of concern in his eyes. “We’re just glad you’re alive.”

But the truth was, none of them knew the real reason you were back. They had no idea what you’d been through in the past five years. None of them knew the story behind your disappearance—the Hydra supersoldiers you’d discovered, the brutal battles you fought. They didn’t know what you had sacrificed just to be standing here.

None of them knew about Wanda. About the promises you’d made.

As Fury began his briefing, you barely registered the words he said. Hydra was still a major threat, you had discovered three super-soldiers they’d brainwashed, and there was more work to be done. But none of it mattered. Not when your mind kept circling back to that image of Wanda, standing next to Vision.

What did she think of you now? What had happened to the woman you loved?

Then, without warning, Wanda walked into the room "Sorry we are late." She said as she entered the room with an apologetic look on her face. But soon that face turned into a completely different thing. She was seeing a ghost, and she was not sure if everyone was seeing the same thing. You were there. The person she loved. The person she thought she had lost forever. The person she had mourned night after night for 3 whole years.

"Wanda…" you breathed, a whisper escaping your lips before you could stop yourself. Your voice cracked, betraying the grief you hadn’t allowed yourself to feel until now.

She was frozen, her eyes locking onto yours. For a split second, there was a flicker of recognition, of something unspoken. But then it faded, replaced by something else—something more distant. The familiar warmth that used to light her eyes whenever she saw you was gone.

Her lips parted, and for a moment, she said nothing. Then, her gaze shifted slightly, and she gave a small, almost apologetic smile. "You’re back," she said, her voice thick with something you couldn’t quite place. Relief? Guilt? Regret? She didn’t sound surprised, which only added to the pit in your stomach.

"Yeah," you replied hoarsely, trying to keep your voice steady. "I am."

There was a long silence between the two of you, an uncomfortable pause where neither of you knew how to bridge the gap that had formed. Vision stood next to her, stoic as ever, but you could see the tension in his posture. He knew. He had to know.

“Vision,” you said, turning to him with a forced smile. "It’s good to see you."

"Likewise," Vision replied with a polite nod, but you saw the way his eyes flickered toward Wanda. He didn’t say anything more, but the air between the three of you was thick with unspoken words.

Wanda’s gaze flickered back to you, and for a moment, you swore you saw something—something deep and familiar. But it was gone before you could register it fully. She smiled again, but this time it didn’t reach her eyes. It was the kind of smile you give someone when you don’t want to hurt them but know that you already have.

"How’ve you been?" Wanda asked, her voice soft, though there was an edge to it. "We weren’t sure… I didn’t know when you’d be back."

"I’m still adjusting," you said, struggling to keep your emotions in check. "It’s been a long time. Five years is a long time."

Her expression faltered for a second, and you saw a flash of something—maybe guilt, maybe regret—pass through her eyes. But it was quickly masked. "I can’t imagine," she murmured. "But we all had to… adapt, didn’t we?"

You could hear the weight of those words, the implication hanging heavily in the air. We all had to adapt.

You wanted to ask her—did she miss you? Did she ever think about the life you had built together, or had she simply let go, buried you in the past like some forgotten dream? You wanted to scream at her, to demand answers. How could she just move on like this? How could she marry someone else when she had promised—

No. Don’t go there.

You shook your head slightly, the self-control slipping away.

Vision stepped forward then, his voice breaking through the tension. "Wanda, perhaps we should give her some space."

Wanda nodded softly, her eyes never leaving yours.

"Yeah, I think that’s a good idea," you said quietly. And with that, both Vision and Wanda left the room, leaving you standing there, trying to piece together the fragments of a life you had thought you could come back to. But that state of trance was broken by a harsh voice.

"What did you expect?" Natasha asked, her voice full of anger and sadness. She was happy to see you again, but a part of her felt betrayed that you were alive and you never told her. She needed to understand why you were gone for so long. Why you couldn't come back? Why this mission was so important that you kept yourself away from your family for 5 whole years? "She thought you were dead. We all did. And you just come back as if nothing had happened?"

"You have no idea what happened Nat." You said with a scared look on your face. A part of you was mad that things had not stayed as you left them. But was there really someone to blame other than you?

"Don't give me that bullshit Y/N!" She said as she grabbed her things with such fury that you swear that she could break them. "You should've stayed dead."

And with that, she left the room.

You didn’t know what you had expected to find when you returned, but it sure as hell wasn’t this. You couldn’t stomach the thought of facing Wanda, of seeing the woman who once meant everything to you standing by another man’s side. Or facing Natasha, who could even see you in the eye. From all the Avengers, you thought that maybe she could comprehend what you had done. The mission comes first, you were both taught. But, they were all hurt, and you were to blame.

"Ugh! That was hard to watch." Tony said, trying you lighten the mood. "Just give them time kid, I'm glad you are back."

Everyone left the room and you were left standing in the aftermath, wondering if there was any chance of finding your way back to your old life.

[microsofttothemax]

the resentment leo would have with splinter post-krang. i genuinely think they would take a bit for them to recover and be comfortable around each other

why do i think that? here’s some reasons. this is gonna be a HELLA long analysis so be prepared. sit down, grab some popcorn, and let’s dive in

in the movie, after raph was taken, leo goes on a whole rant about how he got the key, he gets the answers, and he will get raph back. yes this is irrational and brash, but not in leo’s eyes. in his eyes, this is a foolproof plan that will work

splinter attempts to intervene, and tell him like it is. “it’s not your plan, you need to work with your team.” however, it comes out as a sharp sting to leo’s previous attitude

“My son, listen to your team. This is not about you.”

it’s meant to be sensible and wise, but to leo, it’s a jab at him. it’s a stab at his cockiness and self-centered attitude, and it reminds leo of why they’re even in this position in the first place. which he hates

most of all, it’s splinter saying it. it’s his father telling him that it’s not about him. because to leo, he’s always been last place to splinter’s affection, and it’s like splinter’s confirming it here

don’t believe me? here:

splinter talks to leo, and it seems that for a minute, he listens to his father’s words. that maybe he should really stop and listen. maybe he should stop and think of a plan, listen to his brothers’ input.

but the second splinter says it’s not about him? leo shuts down. he pulls away from splinter, and refuses to listen to him. and while splinter may be right, it was something leo never wanted to hear

it’s obvious that he has a somewhat testy relationship with his father, and splinter is trying to make up for it by giving leadership advice. but to leo? this is the guy who made him leader to seemingly mess with him, never bothered to give him attention or praise on his accomplishments, and never truly knew leo beyond his “acting as the best to save face” charade

which brings me to another reason. no, i do not think splinter was ever abusive or purposely neglectful to leo, or any of the boys for that matter. but its clear theres a bit of a rift between him and leo. i think that he kind of resents leo a bit (without meaning to) because he sees himself in him. he sees the irrational movie star who never thought ahead, and made too many mistakes to count

an example would be when leo got punched by lou jitsu two times. none of his brothers got punched, why just him? and sure it could be a running gag, but i find it also to be intentional

maybe deep down, splinter still resents leo for being so much like his irrational, unreasonable younger self. that every time he sees leo, he sees his stupid past self, and without meaning to, he at times hates leo because of it. and if he doesn’t hate him, he seems to resent him to some extent

splinter also has plainly stated that donnie was the funniest one to him, (s1ep 1, mystic mayhem) and outright laughed when leo asked if he was the favorite son (rottmnt wake-up alarms on youtube, timestamp 1:59) leo also staight-up said that he was splinter’s least favorite (s1ep 4b, down with the sickness)

so yeah, i can see the resentment leo may have for his father deep down. it could be pretty apparent post-krang, hidden behind his jokes and teases

now don’t get me wrong, they have their moments of bonding, and i do love to read little drabbles and fics where they hug and heal. however… realistically speaking, it would take a while for them to get to that stage of father-son bonding post-krang. with splinter naming him leader out of the blue, to the missing lou jitsu posters on the walls of leo’s room in the movie — and we’re definitely talking about that in a later post, trust — i would bet their relationship as father-son pre and post-movie would be extremely rocky.

another reasoning for this could be that splinter often underestimates and undermines leo’s abilities and accomplishments. far as i’ve seen, the most reaction splinter’s given to leo’s accomplishments is an eyebrow raise

for example, when outsmarting big mama, leo was genuinely proud of spending time w his dad and showing him his abilities. he genuinely thought they were working together. however, splinter didn’t say he was proud or anything, just complained he wished he’d brought donnie (s2ep 2, many unhappy returns)

“I knew I should have brought Purple.”

ouch. that mustve hurt a bit

and yes, i will admit, leo was being a bit of a little shit in this scene, and yes, he could’ve told splinter of the plan before starting to yap and blab to big mama about the plan he cooked up. however, the response splinter gives is not much better. essentially, he’s saying, “i don’t like this kid or his plan, so therefore i think i should’ve brought one of my favored children to solve the problem better.”

and before you go and tell me donnie could’ve outsmarted big mama the way leo did, think for a moment. leo fully admitted to manipulating and lying in an episode before

“I don’t lie, I just… change the truth.”

whereas donnie cannot tell a lie to save his life. i love him, but the guy is a shit liar. he has failed multiple times at it

“We are just typical normal humans.. who got lost in the middle of our normal… everyday human lives— nailed it.”

“Uh… nothing. Just having a typical, normal, mystic-free day.” “What? I said mystic-free.”

“Why aren’t you guys more upset?”

“Oh. This… hurts me. Uh… I’m very sad…?”

raph & mikey aren’t much better. mikey straight-up started sweating when he had to lie to splinter about piebald, and raph has so many different stinks/scents to him that it’d be easy for others to tell he was lying

also, mikey has doctor delicate touch. who does not know what lying or “don’t be blunt” means

and donnie’s really only being extremely straightforward with what he thinks or about what’s going on around him. so it makes no sense as to why splinter would want to bring donnie along to outsmart big mama, unless he genuinely doesn’t enjoy leo’s presence, which seems to be the case

now all of this is evidence to point towards a very unsteady father-son relationship with these two. yes, splinter seems to be a very lenient father, and i genuinely think he wants to be a good dad. however, oftentimes that leads to miscommunication and misread moments, empty promises, and overall neglecting behavior on his part, all without meaning to

so while he does try harder to be there for his sons later in the show, it’s pretty obvious that one brother — who thrived off any attention possible — probably stopped caring about that validation after all that he went through. splinter gives, but leo doesn’t take. he doesn’t bother to, because he thinks it’s either a prank of some kind, or because he just genuinely doesn’t care for his father’s input anymore.

(this was based on that one post about splinter & leo by @midwesternvibes, i just figure i revisit that bc i’m thinkin about it again)

[malevoreenthusiast]

Freddie's Feat pt. 1

Hey, this is my second story I'm posting! As always, anyone is welcome to make requests or send a dm. Let me know how you'd like this story to end in subsequent parts!

A heavy, resounding gulp finished the dinner off as it slid down to join the numerous other vestiges of food inside Fred’s bloated belly. Fred smiled warmly and patted his belly, “Ahh, that hit the spot,” he said. “It’s always a pleasure hanging out with you guys; food just tastes better when you’re with friends.”

“You glutton!” Will laughed. “If we hadn’t cut you off, you would’ve eaten at least ten more plates!” Will reached beside him and pulled up Fred’s shirt to show the other two guys how much Fred packed away behind his bloated 6-pack. Their friends Brayden and Alex laughed along whilst shaking their heads, forever impressed that though Freddie was that shortest among all of them, he somehow had more appetite than the other three combined.

“Yeah, yeah,” Fred quipped, still rubbing the bulge of his stomach, “you’re just jealous you can’t eat this much and still look jacked.” The college kid smirked and flexed his biceps, showing off his dedication to the gym. Freddie wasn’t massive by any means, but he was certainly shredded. Even through his bubble-gut, the outlines of his abs shone through clearly, and his muscles rippled underneath his skin with every movement.

“Whatever bro, let’s just pay the check and leave,” Brayden rolled his eyes and snickered lightly.

“We going to my place then?” Alex asked, refusing to facilitate more petty squabbling between his friends.

The three boys nodded enthusiastically and split the check between the four of them. Notably, Freddie’s check was four times more expensive than the second highest bill, but that was just the way things were for Fred’s hunger. He had learned to go with the whims of his belly rather than against it, but still, if Alex didn’t think he would raid his pantry, he was sorely mistaken. His friends had cut him off when he wasn’t nearly done, and despite its size and swell, his belly was still asking for more. In the uber home, the four boys had all crammed themselves into the back seat, with Freddie in the middle. His stomach groaned for more food in it, and all of the guys couldn’t help but notice how loud it was.

“Jesus,” Brayden remarked, “that thing is expressive. I don’t know how you survive with all that noise going on.”

Freddie chuckled and patted his gut again, belching obnoxiously loudly in the back of the uber. After fistbumping Alex, Fred responded with a quick, “You learn to love it.”

For the rest of the car ride home, the guys messed around, talked seriously about the new Fortnite season, languidly discussed their new spring-semester schedules for college, and here and there, one of the guys would bring the topic back around to Freddie’s appetite and bulging belly. They all, including Freddie himself, were perversely interested in his stomach. They constantly looked down at it and the noise it made. Of course, they tried to be casual about it, but they were all genuinely interested in how their little friend could pack so much away. They were interested in a way one would be interested in a foreign species of animal—plagued with curiosity and intrigue. Eventually, they all slid out of the uber, thanking their driver and waltzed up to Alex’s apartment on the third floor of his complex.

“Make yourselves comfortable,” Alex said, as if they didn’t crash here practically every weekend.

“You’re always so polite, dude. You can ease up around us, you know,” Will smiled encouragingly, punching his friend on the shoulder. The four guys had been friends since their highschool days, and they were still going strong in their sophomore year of college. At this point, nothing could break their bond of friendship. Will was always the delegated leader, making plans and scheduling hangouts in the midst of the other lazy guys’ reluctance to structure their time. On the other hand, Alex was the wallflower of the group, chirping in here or there but usually remaining quiet and laughing along with the others; however, in highschool, the guys would always hang out at his house, which evolved to them hanging out in his apartment now that they were in college. Brayden steered the group on the right path, getting them all to start going to the gym and being the funniest in the room at any given moment. Freddie was the oddball; he was a healthy mix of each of the other guys, which balanced out the group evenly and wonderfully. Their dynamic was always vibrant and full of laughter and joy. If a stranger saw them walking down the street and laughing, they would smile to themselves and be reminded that true happiness does exist—that happiness comes from one’s friends.

Breaking out of the sappy moment, Freddie called out from the couch in the living room: “Yo, Alex, do you mind if Brayden and I raid your pantry?”

Alex smiled knowingly and rolled his eyes, “Yeah, go ahead guys!” He turned to Will, already giving him a knowing look. “Seriously,” Alex remarked, “I get Freddie, but Brayden too? The both of them together are gonna run up my grocery bill even more than Fred already was,” the young man lamented.

“Don’t worry,” Will responded, “we’ll get them to pay you back. Seriously though, how is that guy always so damn hungry?”

“God knows,” Alex whispered. At that, the two of them went to the living room to unwind and collapse after a long day of classes and homework.

Meanwhile, in the kitchen, Brayden and Fred were raiding the pantry and kitchen cabinets like they were hoarding food for a nuclear apocalypse. Amidst all of their rifling, little whispers of “Ooh, get that!” and “Who knew Alex was holding out on us?” made their way out into the apartment. The two guys, after essentially gutting Alex’s whole pantry, started snacking lightly and began talking. Freddie’s stomach still pushed out his shirt slightly, which was very noticeable by Brayden. Freddie seemed to have moved on from talking about his noisy belly, but Brayden was interested in pushing the subject a bit further.

“So like, dude,” Brayden chuckled, steering the conversation in a completely new direction, “how much of this food do you think you could fit in there,” he said, pointing at Fred’s stomach.

Fred pondered for a moment, not even phased by the sudden shift in topic to his belly. After a brief deliberation, he said, “Probably…all of it? If I was hungry enough. I don’t know, bro. This belly can hold a lot when I want it to.”

Brayden’s eyes bugged out. He reached for the closest comparison he could think of, which ignited a terrible thought in both boys’ minds: “Dude, what?! That’s crazy! All of this food is like…bigger than me-sized. Are you saying you could fit me into your stomach?”

Freddie still smiled, despite the weird implication from his friend. He chortled, “Haha, dude… what?”

“You know,” Brayden had already taken the leap, so he decided to press further, “do you think you could fit me in your stomach…?” He dropped his jovial tone, genuinely asking his friend about his stomach capacity and his ability to fit him in there.

Fred paused for a moment, taken somewhat aback by Brayden’s sudden departure into this perverse topic. He wasn’t feeling negative towards this, but he was quite surprised that Brayden was this fixated on Freddie and his digestive capabilities. “I mean,” Fred looked his muscular friend up and down, appraising him as food for his stomach, “I think I could fit you in my gut, if I could open up wide enough, but more importantly, if you tasted yummy.”

Brayden stood still for a moment, proud of himself for having gotten this far                   with his twisted fascination with his friend. Freddie didn’t seem to seriously consider it yet like Brayden was, but he pushed just a little further. Brayden offered up his arm, holding it out to Fred without words. Freddie looked at his taller friend and shook his head whilst chuckling. Brayden didn’t want to back down though. He had to know what Freddie’s stomach was capable of. “Taste me,” he said in a commanding yet eager tone. From the living room, Alex and Will could be heard laughing and shouting at the television as they played some game that they were fully absorbed in. Even though they were jocular and acting like the friends they had always been, that good vibe didn’t extend to the extremely tense and strange tension that had built up in the kitchen.

“You’re so fucking weird, bro,” Freddie gave in, trying to return to the light and airy mood from before. But, to oblige his perverted friend, Freddie grabbed Brayden’s arm and licked him, forearm to bicep. When Freddie got to the crest of Brayden’s ample bicep, the two boys heard the deafening sound of Freddie’s stomach growling for food. Clearly, Fred thought Brayden tasted amazing. In fact, Freddie had instantly deduced that Bradyen was the best thing he had ever tasted the moment his tongue made contact with his friend’s tanned skin.

“I guess that means I taste good…?” Brayden really didn’t think he’d make it this far.

Freddie put both hands on his belly and looked down at it then back to Brayden. It growled once more. “Yeah,” Freddie quietly responded, “you taste really good.”

“Everything okay in there?” Will called from the living room, checking up on his friends.

“Yeah, everything’s fine, don’t worry about us!” Brayden called back, acting like nothing was going on. He looked at Fred intensely, brown eyes wide with something that looked like a warning, concern, and maybe excitement? Freddie couldn’t tell, but he was ready to reunite with Will and Alex. Thinking about tasting Brayden and how he could fit into his belly was already a little too much for the smaller college kid. He didn’t like how serious Brayden was talking about his stomach. I mean, Freddie loved the feeling of a full gut more than anyone, but the thought of…putting Brayden in there was weird, right? Freddie did genuinely think that, but his stomach growled again. Brayden looked down and rubbed Fred’s saliva off of his arm somewhat reluctantly. “Sorry bro,” he said, “looks like I sent your belly into a frenzy. But hey, at least we know what it wants…” Brayden trailed off, seeming questionably okay with the situation he had manufactured with his friend.

“What do you mean by that?” Freddie desperately wanted to go back to the living room and spend time with his friends, but Brayden’s insistence to continue this conversation had started muddying his thoughts with…unique ideas that worried him.

Brayden knew Freddie—he knew his friend. What’s more, he believed in Freddie. Fred’s gut was a thing he had been fantasizing about for years, and he began to view it as an object of worship, almost. Every time they went out to dinner, he would watch from the corner of his eye as Fred’s stomach grew more and more, and he would dream of one day helping Freddie do that. His primary desire wasn’t to be swallowed up by Freddie per se, but Brayden was certainly devoted to helping his friend’s belly grow larger. With the thought that Freddie found him delicious and he could definitely fit him in his stomach, Brayden was completely convinced. He knew what he had to do. Even if Freddie didn’t realize it, this was the best for both guys in this situation. At least, that’s what Brayden thought. Before he could lose his nerves, Brayden strode up towards his best friend and smiled warmly at him.

“I hope you enjoy it, bro.”

Brayden, stronger and taller than Freddie, pushed his smaller friend up against the fridge, romance-style. The tanned, hunky college kid knelt down and lifted Freddie’s shirt. Leaning in, Brayden kissed Fred’s stomach deeply and passionately, thanking his idol and warning it for the meal it was about to receive. He gave Fred’s bulging stomach a few doting rubs along the swell of it before standing back up to look at his friend in the face.

“Brayden, what the fuck are you—mmph!” Freddie stared at his friend with a deer-in-headlights expression; however, he was cut off when Brayden stuck his entire hand into Freddie’s mouth.

The wave of flavor was so pleasurable to Freddie that he instinctively swallowed almost instantly, lurching Brayden forward and pulling him up to his forearm. Freddie’s stomach growled sharply like ringing church bells for the celebration of a new, delicious meal. Brayden looked pleased with himself, and he used his free hand to rub Freddie’s belly, worshiping his god before being assimilated into it. Freddie fought for a moment, but looking into Brayden’s soft, handsome brown eyes, he hesitated for just one second, which was enough for his body’s peristalsis to involuntarily swallow up more of Brayden. Now, Freddie’s tongue licked and slurped all over Brayden’s bicep. His jaw stretched open wide, yet Freddie felt no pain at all. As much as he hated to admit it, this was probably the most pleasurable experience he’s ever felt. Brayden was thrilled as Freddie gulped him down further, feeling Fred’s tight throat expand to pull him deeper down was an orgasmic feeling, as it was the culmination and result of years worth of pining and yearning.With his wildest fantasy finally realized, Bradyen spurred his best friend on further: 

“Good job bro. I taste good, don’t I? Come on, man, you can do it. Just keep swallowing, just put me in here,” he rubbed Freddie’s gut again; however, he found his hand on top of Freddies’. It seemed like his smaller friend was already feeling his stomach, waiting for it to be larger as Brayden filled him up. This ignited an even more intense sense of passion in Brayden, and he pushed himself as well as he could deeper into Freddie’s mouth. Brayden pushed his free hand right next to his other arm, pushing as hard as he could to fit both of his arms into Fred’s mouth.

Freddie didn’t really want this, but Brayden was stronger than him, so he couldn’t really refuse. Plus, he tasted so amazing, and it was slowly becoming harder and harder to refuse. With a grunt, Freddie took in Brayden’s other arm, swallowing again, which brought his childhood-friend up to his shoulders. Freddie’s eyes were still wide with concern, so Brayden encouraged his friend just a little bit further before his head would get swallowed down alongside his arms.

“That’s it, bro. You’re doing great…give in and let me fill your belly.”

Freddie responded with a concerned yet still pleasure-soaked moan. Half of it was telling Brayden how good he tasted, but the other half of it was telling his meathead friend to snap out of it and stop treating himself like steak and Freddie like the predator he was. Regardless of intention, Freddie gulped again, loud and clear, engulfing Brayden’s face into his maw, now drooling with anticipation. Freddie was shocked that he fit in there, and even more shocking: Brayden’s head and shoulders were the widest part of his body. Now that he has engulfed this part of his friend, the rest of him should slide down easily…

The college kid shuddered, realizing the gravity of having Brayden halfway down his throat. Even though his body was begging for more—to stuff his friend into his belly and feel him wriggle and squirm in there—his mind knew that he didn’t truly want this. Brayden was insane, and he was pushing that onto Freddie. Still, though, the knee-jerk reaction to swallow again and again plagued Fred as Brayden assumed something of a diver’s position down his throat. He continued trying to kick off with his feet to propel himself further and further into Freddie’s gut, and Freddie was still too hazed to resist in any meaningful way. Brayden’s tank top was already soaked in a layer of saliva as his bouncy pecs landed in Fred’s mouth. The blossoming predator licked over them with perverted lust, enjoying the flavor too much to remember that this was his friend Brayden that he was swallowing whole. He felt his throat bulge out as Brayden’s head made its descent, and he finally felt his stomach start expanding as Bray’s hands and arms began spilling into his stomach chamber.

This was the final tipping point. The rapid swell of his abdomen convinced Freddie of two things: first, Brayden—crazy as he was—was one of his best friends, and Freddie would do anything for his friends. And second, because Freddie and Brayden were such good friends, Fred wanted to honor his friend’s wishes, which meant swallowing him down and enjoying it too. Freddie moaned and placed his hands on his gut whilst swallowing again, sucking down Bray’s abs into his mouth. He licked over the bumps and ridges of his friend’s toned muscle, nibbling slightly with little pressure from his sharp teeth. He could feel Brayden squirm and laugh from within him, which meant he was doing something right, he thought. A now eager hand peeled off Brayden’s shorts and underwear, ready to devour those fat cheeks with glee, until Alex called in to check on the two guys from the living room.

“You two good in there? You’ve been in my kitchen for a while, and there’s not much interesting stuff over there. Come watch the game!” Freddie froze, but Braden did not. As he squirmed himself deeper into Freddie’s stomach chamber, Freddie tried to respond.

“MM-Mm-mmhhhmmm!” Freddie tried to sound as inconspicuous as possible, which was difficult given the circumstances; however, the answer seemed satisfying enough for now.

“Whatever man, just join us when you’re done!” Will wrapped up the moment of intensity of Freddie potentially getting caught.

Freddie’s throat squeezed over Brayden tightly before letting him through the dark, wet passage. After a short while, he felt a tight, slimy ring allow him entrance into Fred’s stomach chamber—his holy temple of worship. The smell could’ve been better, but really he was impressed to see just how tight it was. His arms were already pushing it out, and his head would soon follow the trend. Brayden began rubbing the inside of Freddie’s stomach, hoping to ease him of any tummy trouble later on, judging by his moan of pleasure, it seemed to work. Another hearty swallow sent Brayden’s bubble-butt into Fred’s mouth, as well as his extremely erect cock. The guys were very comfortable with each other, all having seen the other naked frequently, but this was a different kind of scenario, and he wouldn’t know how Freddie would react to his big leaking cock getting slurped down his throat. Whilst Brayden was concerned with his dick, Freddie wanted to explore the globes of flavor that was his ass.

Freddie’s tongue slid up between Bray’s mountainous cheeks, lapping at the meaty flavor with enthusiasm. Brayden arched his back in pure lust. Despite being so genetically blessed with his dick, if anyone knew anything about his sex life, he was a total power bottom at heart. As Freddie licked and lapped at his tight hole, literally eating him and eating him out, Brayden let out some high-pitched moans, already overstimulated in pleasure. Fred had barely begun when Brayden already came heavily all down his throat, coating Freddie’s esophagus with his thick seed. Freddie patted his belly, acknowledging his friend’s climax with love. Brayden put both of his hands against the stomach walls that contained him and blushed, thankful that his friend was so greedy and perfect.

On the outside, Freddie matched the bulge of Brayden’s hands with his own, taking a big swallow, sending Brayden’s torso down there with the rest of him. His bulbous belly ballooned out much more now, surpassing that of a pregnant woman. The weight in his gut felt so right, like he had been meant to do this for a long time now. Brayden’s muscular legs waved around in the air like thick noodles, ready to be slurped down. The hungry man tilted his head back and closed his eyes, listening to the slimy, wet sound of Brayden’s legs slowly descending and joining the rest of him inside of his hungry stomach. Freddie moaned and rubbed his hands over his growing belly, enamoured with the feeling. His friend was much larger than him, in terms of muscle and height, yet Fred had managed to pack him away. Most of him, anyway. Brayden’s ankles and feet still lay exposed to open air. Eyes fluttering back open, Fred, completely entranced with his meal, gulped slowly, the sound deep and gentle like a flowing river. His friend’s feet disappeared behind his lips, and Freddie closed his mouth, sealing Brayden inside of his stomach. The predator’s hand traced the mass of Brayden’s feet down his throat and into his stomach, feeling his midsection round out and grow for the last time. For the both of them, this was pure bliss.

At last, the entirety of Brayden was inside of Freddie’s hungry belly. What’s odd, Freddie still felt like he could fit more in there. However, that didn’t change the amazing and sumptuous feeling of satisfaction and accomplishment Freddie felt for fitting Brayden behind his abs. The college kid hefted the mass of his stomach up then dropped it back down, listening to Brayden slosh inside of there like it was some funnel water slide. He felt amazing in his stomach, and rubbed along the curve of his gut to let him know. Leaning against the fridge, Freddie whispered, “You feel great in there, Bray. Thank you man.”

Brayden pushed a hand out on Fred’s gut, showing his friend that he heard. Inside the sweltering, noisy belly, Brayden responded with, “Took you long enough, dude. Enjoy.”

Feeling the movement within, it caused a lot of gas to stir up inside Fred’s belly. He was suddenly very worried that the other two friends might find out about this, and this upcoming burp wasn’t going to help. Fred touched his belly softly, trying to signal to Brayden to calm down in there. Brayden interpreted this in the opposite way, and he started to squirm as much as he could, making Fred’s stomach expand further with all of the gas that needed release.

If Fred knew anything about belching (and, he most definitely did), it was that the more you try to hold them back, the bigger they get. Still, out of sheer panic and guilt, he swallowed down more air to hold this back. If his friends heard a burp this loud, they would definitely come to the kitchen to see the damages of the food he ate. When they would be met with his enormous, wobbling, noisy belly, not a single piece of real food touched, and a mysteriously invisible Brayden, they would probably put it together, which Freddie didn’t want. Now he secretly cursed Brayden for being so insistent about his gut, forcing himself down there when their best friends were literally in the adjacent room. Faced with an increasing discomfort, a squirming meal, and no other option, Freddie let it out, hoping to gain control of the situation immediately afterwards.

BBBBBBBBBBBBBBBBBBWWWWWWWWWWWWWWWWWWAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUURRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRPPPPPPPPPPPPPPPPPPPPPPPPPPPPPPPPP

Okay, so, his hope that maybe this belch wouldn’t be that noticeable since he let it out early was dashed. The apartment complex’s very foundations shook as he unleashed the monstrous belch, and with it, a wet, spit-soaked tank top that belonged to Brayden. Shit. Now, he had Brayden’s discarded clothes, a noticeably moving belly with his best friend inside, and two friends who just got up to start walking towards the kitchen. He let out another smaller, yet still impressive burp out of sheer anxiety.

BBBBUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUURRRRRRRRRRPPPPPPPPPPPPPPPPPPPPPPPPPPP

“Dude what the hell was that—” Will walked into the kitchen to see his friend’s massive belly and wet clothes he held in his hand. Alex shortly followed in behind him and froze alongside Will.

“Okay, guys,” Freddie started, slowly rubbing his belly in an attempt to seem a little more charming, “I need you to hear me out when I say this…”

[hapuchika]

Feline Irritation

Summary: A simple date with their girlfriends ends disastrously... Well, at least for Y/n.

Warnings: None. Fluff. Just a shit ton of Fluff. Maybe swearing? but if swearing is a problem then honestly why are you reading any of my work..

A/N: This is a part of the Machiavellian Universe and has a few original characters.

Main Masterlist:

Series Masterlist

Enjoy!

X--X--X--X--X

Natasha considered herself to be a patient woman. She had dealt with all sorts of people; humans and non-humans.

But you.. you were getting on her fucking nerves.

The seventh sigh had her snapping. She whirled around to where you were walking behind her. Your grumpy face was a stark contrast to the afternoon at the park, where the three of you were.

“One more sigh, and so help me god. You’re going into the pond.” Nat warned.

You rolled your eyes, “It’s not my fault. I’m burning this fucking sweater when we get home.” You grumbled.

Wanda frowned, “Hey.. I made that sweater with love.” She said with a pout.

The witch had to admit that seeing you wear a bright yellow knit sweater and denim shorts was not something she ever thought she’d see.

You glared at the witch, “You poofed this sweater with magic in a second, Wands.”

“Love magic”, Wanda said with a sweet smile.

“Alright, enough, you two.” Natasha snapped.

This was supposed to be a relaxing date in the park. Granted, it had only been fifteen minutes, but she was ready to punch your annoyingly gorgeous face.

“Y/n,” Natasha said, grabbing Wanda’s hand. “You stay here. Wanda and I will get some coffee. Use that time to calm the fuck down.”

You looked at her, pouting and flopped down on the park bench nearby, staring at the ducks in the pond.

Taking that as compliance, the witch and the spy headed towards the nearest cafe.

You stared at the ducks, snickering when one said something ostentatious. Your amusement was interrupted when there was a loud meow, and a cat jumped onto the bench beside you.

You refused to look at it.

“I’m on a date.” You said dismissively. “Go away.”

Mrrrrow

You scoffed, “If you’re hungry, go hunt.”

Meowww

You turned to the cat with a raised eyebrow. 

“And just why are you eavesdropping on my date? I’m not asking Natasha to bring food for you. You’re a born hunter… so hunt.”

The cat walked closer, lying down and exposing its belly, looking at you with pleading eyes.

“Nice try, cat.” You said dryly. “That doesn’t work on me.”

The cat gently rested its paw on your thigh, making you clench your jaw.

“If you’re injured, go to a vet. The one you irritate when you’ve just fought Balthazaar.” You say impassively, gently lifting the paw and brushing it off your thigh.

Mrrraowww

You let out a scoff, “You take that back. I am not a good person. I don’t care if you’re injured or not. Just because you have a brain doesn't mean you get to give opinions on my life.”

The cat sat there staring at you, letting out a slight exhale through its nose.

You roll your eyes, finally turning to the cat. “Oh wow, look at that. I wasn’t aware you had a psych degree, cat.”

“There’s an old man handing out cat food on the other side of the pond. Go get it from him. I’m sure he will ignore your judgy attitude. After all, a name like dragos for a cat is-“

“Are you talking to that cat?” Came a voice behind you, making you jump.

You look at Natasha’s amused but confused expression as she held two cups of iced coffee.

You let out a tired sigh, “More like trying to get it to stop judging and begging me.”

Wanda looked at you in amazement, “You speak cat?”

You gave the witch a smug smile. “I speak everything… detka.”

Wanda gulped at your flawless accent.

Natasha smirked, “You know it turns her on when you speak Russian.”

You turn to her with a smug smile, “Ya znayu, chto kogda ya govoryu po-russki, eto tozhe vozbuzhdaet tebya, moya lyubov’.” (I know it turns you on as well, my love.)

You watched Natasha’s eyes widen before darkening significantly. Before anybody could comment further, you were interrupted by a loud sound.

Mrrroow

You snapped your eyes to the golden-eyed black cat with an annoyed expression.

“Will you stop complaining. The croissant isn’t for you. You know chocolate can kill you, right?”

Meww

“Oh, shut up. Yes, it can. You know what. Go ahead.” You say, reaching for the bag of food in Natasha’s hand.

The spy immediately yanked it out of reach.

“You are not giving the cat chocolate, Y/n”, Natasha admonished.

You roll your eyes, turning to the cat. “She said no.”

Wanda bends to the cat, eyes already full of love.

“Would you like some food, little one?” She asked gently.

Mew

The cat looked at her with large eyes, licking its paw.

Wanda smiled and poofed a bowl of cat food. The feline simply began inhaling the food.

“Aww, look at him, he’s adorable.” Wanda cooed.

In record time, the cat finished his food and jumped back onto the bench and your lap, settling down and purring.

You stiffened, “Get. Off. Me. Cat.” you growled, gritting your teeth.

Much to your girlfriend’s amusement, the purring intensified.

“Oh, we’re definitely taking him home,” Natasha said, giving the cat head scritches.

“No.” You said firmly, “No cats in my house.”

-

“Here’s your new home, you bastard.” You grumbled, dropping the cat onto the floor of your hall.

X—X—X—X—X

You were in the middle of talking to Ae when a screech made you jump. You sigh, massaging your temples.

“Bellona seems to have found your new pet,” Ae says, amused, her purple eyes twinkling.

“He’s not my pet. He’s Natasha and Wanda’s pet.” You grumbled.

The two of you walk to the commotion. Bellona is running after the cat. You let out a chuckle when Bellona copies the cat’s vault off the wall and follows him.

There’s a loud thud, a meow, a hiss. The Bellona comes grinning, holding the cat and covered in scratches.

“He’s adorable.” Bellona screeches, wiggling the cat in her hands.

The cat in question simply seemed stunned at the sheer athleticism of Bellona.

Mrrrrow

Bellona looked at you, “What did Liho say?”

You frowned, “His name isn’t L-“

Meowwww

Another sigh, “He said he’ll agree to the name Liho if you let him go right now.”

Bellona let go of Liho as though he were scalding hot. He glared at her and ran to you, jumping and climbing onto your shoulder, where he remained perched.

“Get. Off.” You growled.

Liho purred and curled his tail around your neck with a soft ‘Meww’

It was at that moment that Alaric entered the living room with Natasha on his shoulders.

“Good job.” Natasha said impassively, “Now put me down.”

Alaric grumbled wordlessly but put the spy down on the ground.

Bellona grinned at him, “Lost another bet?”

The boy scowled, “I’m telling you, she cheats.”

“How exactly does one cheat in Uno?” You asked with a raised eyebrow.

His brow furrows as he looks at you, “More importantly.. is that a cat on your shoulder?”

Natasha walks to you, leaning in for a kiss. You eagerly reciprocate only for Natasha to move at the last moment and plant the kiss on Liho’s forehead.

You looked at her, flabbergasted.

“How- How dare y-“

“Mom, have you met Liho?” Bellona interrupted.

“Liho, huh?” Nat mused, scratching the cat’s head and smiling at the resulting purr. “I like it. Suits him.”

“Alright. That’s it.” You snap, slapping Natasha’s hand away.

“You.” You tell Liho, “Get off my shoulder or you’re going back on the street.”

Mrrow, Liho says innocently.

You frown, “I don’t give a rats ass if it gets cold. You’re crumpling my shirt, and you smell. Get off my shoulder.”

Liho gives your cheek a small lick and jumps off.

“Aww.” Bellona coos.

“Don’t aww him.” You warned, “He’s a manipulative asshole who’s weirdly addicted to catterpillars.”

“I’m sorry,” Alaric says out loud. “Are we just glossing over the fact that Y/n can speak ‘cat’?”

You raise an eyebrow at your son. “I can speak everything, Alaric. ‘Cat’ is simply the assholey French of animal syntax.”

“It’s still really cool, Y/n”, Wanda says from the couch behind you. 

Only Bellona jumps at the sudden voice.

“Jesus fuck,” Bellona said, clutching her chest. “Did you just.. appear?”

Wanda giggles, wiggling her fingers at her daughter.

While everyone finds a spot on the gigantic sofa, Natasha (sitting between the side of you and Wanda) flits through different movies you could watch.

“Oh, oh, Inside Out!” Alaric says, wiggling between Wanda and Bellona.

You chuckle, “I can’t wait to see Nat cry when Binbong dies.”

The collective groan from your family makes you look at them in confusion.

“You do this every time,” Alaric complains, using his magic to throw a pillow at you.

“Seriously, detka.” Wanda admonishes. “You can’t spoil movies just because you know how every movie ends.”

“Hey, at least I don’t gasp like you do, Alaric.” You defended.

“That’s true. Alaric gasps 62% more than anyone else. 23% more than the rest combined.” Ae notes, using her vibranium-adamantium body to push everybody and sit beside you at the end of the sofa.

Bellona snatches the remote from Natasha’s hand and skims through the choices until she selects ‘That time I got reincarnated as a slime’.

“Nice choice, B.” You said appreciatively.

The remote glows red before it flies into Wanda’s hand.

“We are not watching anime again.” The witch declares.

It takes her but a moment to choose. Nobody complains when The Dick Van Dyke show begins playing.

Popcorn, M&Ms, slushies and a disgustingly green smoothie are poofed into existence wordlessly.

Ae dims the lights and everyone watches, munching and sharing snacks.

There’s a slight meow heard, and Liho jumps onto your lap. Alaric snickers at the disgusted look you give the cat.

Despite the fact that you whispered, everyone heard.

“This is the first and last time I’m allowing this, cat.”

Nobody believed you.

X—X—X—X—X

If you enjoyed, please do comment and let me know! Also i'd love some suggestions on what else to write!

[kissesfordaryl]

daryl dixon & his guard dog.

daryls guard dog who'd punch first ask questions later whenever he hears someone shit talking about daryl. rick understands but cant help but shake his head every time; he urges daryl to get his, "security," under control- but daryl doesnt change a thing about it, not that he could.

daryls guard dog whos never seen without daryl by his side or in front of him, walking silently like he knew of the taller man following behind him.

daryls guard dog whos the first one to fuss over daryl when he gets hurt. hes tending to his cut, large hands running down his body to check for any other injuries.

daryls guard dog who stays up the whole night watching over daryl in case he wakes in a sweat, a nightmare chasing him. hes ready to wipe at his tears, holding him until hes fast asleep.

daryls guard dog who takes daryl by surprise every time he gets aggressive at the thought of someone hurting him- automatically pacing and trying to track this person down.

daryls guard dog who watches over him in the infirmary, stopping people who try to get in. he already feels guilty enough he couldnt protect daryl.

daryls guard dog who refuses to ever let daryl ask someone else for a lighter if he wants a smoke, so he manages to always have one on him. daryl thinks it's unnecessary but finds it cute.

daryls guard dog who makes sure daryl eats- especially once they get to alexandria. he gets a sense of pride knowing his boyfriend is properly fed.

i wrote this in third person idk how to feel🤔 anyways what is this called id just love protecting the man who always feels its his job to protect others. he wouldnt know how to react to someone paying attention to him that much. think that makes it all the more sweeter.

[k0nanharv3y]

Robin Hood AU - Part 7 (the part 2 of the part 7 lol)

Part 1 - Part 2 - Part 3 - Part 4 - Part 5 - Part 6 - Part 7.5

"I have a table for 1 free in the corner over there, near the speakers" he explained and pretended not to pay attention to Steph's expression

"In fact, a table for 7...? I brought my family" she stepped aside to reveal the entire herd of black-haired people

And Tim finally acted surprised

"Oh... Oh! Damn, yeah, sure, I'm sorry" he smiled at the family "Welcome to the Nest, what can I get for y'all"

Bruce was the first, with his friendly and playful attitude

"My daughter hasn't stopped talking about this place, its desserts and you. Timothy Drake, right? You were our next door neighbor" Bruce's hand extended over the bar

And Tim learned a few things in his time in the League, and before that, following Batman and that whole episode in his life that (if he's honest with himself, isn't over yet). One of them is, don't let your enemies have your DNA

But this was Bruce Wayne and... and... and it would be rude not to shake the hand of the richest man in Gotham

And apparently he's been looking at Bruce's hand for a long time as if it were an insect

"I don't like physical touch" It was the first thing that escaped from his mouth

And Bruce's face seemed to fall in sorrow, pulling his hand away from Tim, and that brought some peace to the boy

"But, yeah, it's nice to see you again Mr. Wayne" he smiled as best he could "Just Tim, please" if he heard another old green-ass man call him Timothy, he would vomit

Bruce laughed "Just Bruce, then, Tim" the man turned to look at his children "You may know my children"

"How couldn't I?" He replied simply, perfectly hiding his panic because. Had he just successfully lied to Batman? "What can I get started for y'all?" He repeated. Ready to start punching out the orders

The first to order was Steph, attempting to correct Tim into calling her Steph instead of Ms. Brown or Stephanie and giving up when Tim called her Stephanie for the fourth time. An RMT, a Jelly Dent and a Harvey's Half, stopping to make fun of the names or make a comment

Next up was the youngest of the Waynes, Damian, and Tim couldn't look into the kid's green eyes and avoid his devil-may-care stare (Because hell, those are Ra's's eyes). Other than that, the kid kept looking at him with a frown and sorting things by their ingredients, refusing to say the name of the dish. A ChocoBane Shake, a ScatteredCrow, and an Anti-Meat

Next up was a girl, about the same height and haircut as Tim, who had been staring at him the whole time, as if she knew something Tim didn't and it made him nervous. The girl started waving her hands and Steph offered to act as interpreter. Tim shook his head and started signing in sign language. The girl smiled sweetly and ordered. A Gotham Fog, a Black Cookie, and laughed as she signed "Shiva's Hair" (Tim remembered that he had to change that name as soon as possible)

Duke, the new Wayne, smiled kindly and stayed a second looking at the menu, asking about some and just playing it safe. A ChocoFreeze, a Bat-nana Split and a Gotham's Club Sandwich

And then came the hard part

Dick walked over with a huge grin, laughing at something Steph had said, and looked at Tim a second longer than necessary, something in his gaze. Tim couldn't help but clench his jaw and add a Chai-dentity Crisis. Dick joked about the Sin-amon Roll and Last Bite of Krypton, and tried to get Tim to call him Dick, but Tim smiled and shook his head, writing Richard down on the list

Bruce came back over, leaning on the bar like Steph had before, only keeping a distance from Tim. He ordered the simplest dishes on the menu or those that were already made at the counter. A Villain Vanilla Shake, a Crime Brûlée, and some Eggs-tra Vigilante, commenting on the creative names they had

And then Tim inhaled deeply as the last guy approached the bar. His hands hesitated in place, almost wanting to touch his face

Jason Todd

Robin

His Robin

The one who marked a before and after in Tim's life. The one who died and returned from the dead

His heart began to pound in his ears. This was Jason Todd, and he was everything Tim would never be again

"Ahh, I want both, Bane's Protein Shake and Bane's Big Bite" he ordered, looking at the menu with interest, before smirking and glancing sideways at his family. "Add Joker's Cake to that too" He turned to look at Tim

They both looked at each other for a moment, just for an instant. Tim's hands shook in place, this had to be a joke, a raw laugh came from his throat, almost silent. He shook his head and returned to the world, to the one that continued to spin and had Jason Todd in it

"Sure, it's just that it will take a little longer, I hope it's not a bother" he explained, typing the last few cymbals and avoiding the Waynes' gaze

"Nah, take your time, Timmers" waved his hand in the air

"Sure... And, it'll be... $100.65" He looked at the family and looked at the money on the counter. Woah, they were serious about physical contact

"Keep the change" Dick smiled and made a gesture of disinterest

"Ah, sure, you can take a seat, next to the window, is a table for 5, but you can ask the next table if you can borrow the two chairs they ain't using" He turned around after putting the money away and put on some black latex gloves

And he began to prepare the drinks when they left. In fact, the familiarity of the matter made him forget that he was doing this for the most important family in Gotham

He took the drinks to the open bar, where the orders were taken, and started with the breakfasts, taking some from the counter and cooking others

He dissociated at some point in the preparation because this was relaxing, and muscle memory made him glide through the place gracefully, like when he practiced the tastings Shiva once taught him

The first one came out

"Stephanie! Order ready!" he exclaimed, and without waiting long he continued with the other one "Damian, order ready! Cassandra, order ready!" he turned around to get something else, to avoid Damian's gaze, to not face what they meant and he kept moving "Thomas, order ready!" And he finished with all the dishes. There were no more customers to serve as a front, there was nothing to clean or prepare, and his voice got caught in his throat

He inhale a few times, before swallowing the lump in his throat.

"Richard, order ready!" He tried to pretend he was finishing up something at Joker Cake and nodded at the boy's thanks. "Bruce, order ready!" His voice cracked on the last part, and Tim cursed under his breath, attributing it to a scratchy, loose throat

And his hands hovered over the cake, almost, almost as if he didn't know what to do now, he pressed them to his eyes and inhaled. Turning around and taking out a handful of cookies in plastic packages, placing them on a smaller tray

"Jason, order ready!" He placed the tray next to the larger tray with all the food

The older, bigger, more alive boy came over laughing at something and took the tray and looked at the other one with confusion

"They are free, the house pays" he avoided the blue-green gaze, and fiddled with the pocket of his apron

"Thanks"

Tim just nodded

"Sure" his voice broke again

Just a little more

///

Part 8 is too short tho, but better than nothing