#iz buzz | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

iznsfw · 2 years ago

Note

Eunbi and Taeyeon threesome where Taeyeon unnie teaches Eunbi how to properly please her man 👀

In Absentia Lucis, Tenebrae Vincunt

Part two of Dulce Periculum | Previous Part | Next Chapter

Girls Generation's Kim Taeyeon x IZ*ONE's Eunbi x Male Reader Smut

10,144 words

Categories | sex-ed_professor!Taeyeon x valedictorian!Eunbi x student!Reader, mommy kink, lesbian sex, squirting, breeding

Content warning | teacher/student relationship, age gap (all legal, needless to say), slapping, degradation

mobile masterlist | masterlist

This piece is edited by and dedicated to @midnightdancingsol and @capslocked, two of my favorite writers. Thank you so much, I appreciate it! Originally had a different plot, but ideas hit, and I've been working on this ever since. There wasn't supposed to be mommy kink here, but then I realized that no one has written Eunbi calling someone mommy here before, so I wanted to try that but with my top two, Taengoo ;) IZ's best girls coming your way... now!

--------------

The clock says 10 AM sharp, and the skies are a warm sight of lively blue. Morning has long been here, yet for Kwon Eunbi, it’s an hour she can view as nighttime. With the school uniform keeping her warm from the wind of the powerful air-conditioner, she feels right at home. For once, she cares not for paying attention to lectures or reprimanding her classmates’ buzzing conversations. For once, she puts herself first—not her schoolwork, not her classmates, but her.

It’s not like she can continue her usual routine of studying even if she wanted to. Her body’s worn from endless days of studying and playing. Her forearms, formerly milky white, are now peppered with purple bruises. With the number of textbooks she’s flipped through under a flickering lamplight, it’s likely that she'll need to replace the lens of her round prescription glasses.

Still, she’s Sleeping Beauty herself. Chocolate hair falls messily but prettily over the pillow she rests on (AKA your arm) as she finds solace in slumber. The softest of snores barely make it past her full lips pressed together.

You gently rock her side to side, admiring how pretty she is even when she’s resting.

Too bad she's sleeping due to stress.

During class.

For a girl like her, classes are a lifeline. School in general is. She would never dare fall asleep in class. However, here’s the deal: she’s been put through stress harsher than the healthy amount (stress can be healthy, you’d argue, because if someone has nothing to stress about, then surely they aren’t alive?), and she’s starting to give out. Her grades start to stagger as time goes by. She almost passed out during volleyball training and could barely button her uniform right for school because of how tired she is. Eunbi’s leading the volleyball team for your senior year after all; it should be expected, but it just isn’t fair for her, and especially not for you, the one you’d argue cares for her the most.

Seeing her tired and battered makes you refuse to rouse her. She deserves the rest, more than anyone.

Jo Yuri, the annoying kid in class sitting at the desk beside you, thinks otherwise. She raises her hand high in the air mid-discussion of the importance of condoms, attracting the attention of your teacher.

“Professor Kim!” says Yuri; she stands up proudly. Roll your eyes at her, warning her to stay in her lane, but when has Jo Yuri ever done that? She quirks her brows back at you mockingly.

Kim Taeyeon glances at the girl's direction. Shit. Wait, she might have missed her—she’s looking back at Yuri with an inquisitive look. “Yes, miss Jo?” she asks.

“Eunbi is sleeping.”

“I see that,” says Taeyeon simply. She looks at Yuri from behind her gray-framed glasses with a slightly squinted look. “Anything else less of the obvious I should be informed of?”

A few small chuckles pass around the room. Although people won’t say it directly to Yuri, they all revel in her humiliation. Yuri’s the definition of a brat, and not the good kind. Her parents have funded the school's activities for decades, and because of that, she thinks she’s got a one-way ticket out of anything.

Unfortunately, you aren’t the train conductor. You can’t usher her away for every passenger’s convenience.

“W-well,” Yuri answers, a little unsurely now, “isn’t it basic class etiquette to be alert for discussions? You can’t make an exception for her.”

Taeyeon’s lips create a small, sarcastic smile.

“Kwon Eunbi works hard, Miss Jo,” Taeyeon says. “If anyone deserves a cut of slack, I’d say that it's her, someone who’s been truly conscientious, and not one who doesn’t put in effort even from a place where most of it has been done for her.”

Yuri’s cheeks transform into two red roses. “B-but, but you scolded me when I fell asleep during class.”

“That’s because you’re not an honor student, Miss Jo.”

The quietness is almost death-like. If it went on any longer, the classroom could become a graveyard. Everyone’s thinking the same thing. You can see it from the looks in their undead eyes.

“Now, Yuri,” continues Taeyeon, smiling, “would you like to say anything else?”

“No, Professor.”

“I thought so. Please take your seat.”

Taeyeon lifts her gaze from Yuri. She then addresses all of you, the calm yet piercing look in her eyes never fading.

“It would do us well if the only interruptions my class will have from now on are insightful questions and answers.

“Shall we continue?”

The class murmurs in response, their words echoing in the room. Yuri glowers in her seat, suddenly taking particular interest in her manicured nails. Even from afar, you can see her red ears.

The combined choir of young voices responding to Taeyeon rouses Eunbi from her sleep. Her eyelids flutter, and she gazes at you with sleepy eyes. She still hasn’t registered everything.

“Good morning, sunshine,” you say with a grin.

Eunbi looks at her surroundings, then at Taeyeon, who’s continuing to teach.

“Oh God, oh fucking fuck.”

Suddenly, her notebook and pen are all on her table, clicked and open. She glances at you with panic in her beautiful face. “What did I miss?” she asks frantically.

You don’t know how to tell her that you’ve witnessed a once-in-a-lifetime sighting: the annoying kid getting a taste of their own medicine.

But you smile instead.

“Nothing, babe.” You kiss her forehead. “A whole lot of nothing.”

“Class dismissed,” Taeyeon announces. “Have fun at the intramurals, everyone!”

The class files out rather slowly. Some are caught up in conversation about her earlier scolding of Yuri, and others are still arranging their books into their backpacks. Whoever’s already taking their exits are yelling their goodbyes, waving at her cheerfully; she waves at them, too, with a kind smile of her own. Despite her strict upholding of rules in class and her no-bullshit approach to discipline, she wants to show her students that she’s still a good teacher. She remains the same: someone who wishes to make a healthy connection with her students.

The last to leave are the boy and his little valedictorian of a girlfriend. It’s been a year since they two had gotten closer. Although they never officially announced it, Taeyeon can see the status of their relationship in the little things: their joined hands that draw envious looks, Eunbi's head on his arm, and the playful touches. It’s sweet seeing connections grow between her pupils, but she can’t help feeling a little...

Jealous?

Is that what it is? Taeyeon contemplates as she sits back down.

Yes, she is jealous, but not because she misses the proud, youthful feeling of being an adult nearly out of high school. She misses those days, that’s for sure, but it isn’t the root of her feelings. (She’s certain—not entirely yet—that it’s because of their relationship.

She’s only been teaching for a year, so she makes it a habit to catch a pretty face among the masses. For example, Kim Minju is pretty, but the honor student has a different kind of prettiness in her possession. It... attracts her.

And so does the boy.)

Said boy looks at Eunbi expectantly whilst he waits at the doorway. He’s the delinquent, isn’t he? His wrinkled uniform is enough indication—the punks always dress like that no matter the dress code or situation. They could be at their grandfather’s funeral and they’d still dress like a missing kid who’s learned to adapt to the streets.

“You coming, Eunbi-ya?” he asks her.

Does he ask her that privately? When he’s fucking her? When he’s pinning her down to the bed while her parents are out of town, as he gives her a hard and well-deserved pounding? He’d look so good doing that; he's far more attractive than he likes to make it to be. He’s nineteen, after all��boys are still like that at that age, even though they’re barely teenagers anymore.

Taeyeon can’t take her eyes off him. She doesn’t know how to; it’s like they're permanently glued to his movements, like she's only capable of looking at him and nothing and no one else.

What do her moans sound like when he’s fucking her?

Turns out she can, but only for the girl. She’s saying something to her boyfriend, but with how much she’s absorbing her—her body, her face, her cute little smile—she doesn’t quite hear everything.

Her moans would sound so pretty; she speaks so prettily that she’d sound good even when she’s below him. She’s a screamer, I bet, she looks like the type of girl who’d cry when—

“Professor? Excuse me, professor?”

Speak of the fucking devil (... angel?).

It was unusual of her to be caught by her students without her guard up. She has to remain focused. When those large, bouncy things are directly under her nose only restrained by a school blouse a tad too small, it’s difficult to.

“Yes, Miss Kwon?” asks Taeyeon, brought back to Earth.

“Um.”

Eunbi has her hands behind her back. Her eyelashes flutter beautifully as she guiltily fails to meet her eyes, leaving much to Taeyeon’s imagination about a fictive good little Eunbi, who’d sit on her teacher’s plaid-skirted lap and say soft, innocent things like that and—and—

“I’m sorry for falling asleep in class,” Eunbi says in a small voice. “I didn’t mean to. I was just so tired, I… I couldn’t help it. And I know that’s not a good excuse—”

I swear, if you put your tits in my face one more fucking time, rambles the voice in Taeyeon’s head—(it’s been there for a while now, and comes to life whenever she sees the wind blow Eunbi’s skirt up just right, or when the school collar fails to hide the forbidden view when she bends down to pick up a fallen pencil); it’s not my fault anymore if I do anything.

It’s such a raw, wrong thought, because it isn’t Eunbi’s fault either that she’s so tempting. It’s not her fault that those lips of hers curl downwards in the cutest, most pitiable angle or that her body is naturally carved to fit more than a handful. However, when one knows what they feel is morally repulsive, they tend to put the blame on anyone else but themselves.

“Water under the bridge, miss Kwon. We all have our moments.”

Eunbi looks surprised. “Really?”

“Really,” Taeyeon repeats.

Eunbi smiles widely. Even the way she grins is pretty. “Thank you, professor,” she says gratefully, bowing ninety degrees.

Taeyeon chuckles amusedly. “No need to bow like I’m an emperor, of course. Just do your best in the intramurals. I believe in you.”

“Yes—”

“(,) but I don’t think I can do this. Please, oppa.”

“Eunbi, that’s nonsense. You’re a great player, you’re gonna be fine.”

Star player and top student Kwon Eunbi squirms fearfully. That many achievements to her name and she still has doubts about her own abilities.

“I'm... I'm really not,” she says in a small voice.

She looks around the covered court with fear dancing in her large brown eyes. All these students—her classmates, anyway—are rooting for her. Thirty-six and more have all laid their eyes and expectations on her. She figures that’s probably what scares her more rather than the game itself.

“I don't want to do this,” she whines.

“But you can’t do anything about it now, can you, baby?” you ask her. Your hands frame her nervous face, rubbing your thumbs over her cheeks.

“I can, actually,” she says. “I can just go up there, say ‘oh, fuck this, fuck you all; I’m not doing it,’ watch them go bananas over it.”

Her lips have a sarcastic side to the smile it holds, but you know her. You know that she’s actually considering it. For the first time in her school life, she’s contemplating ditching it all for something, anything that isn’t this game.

She’s looking down at her rubber shoes again, but you raise her face to look you in the eyes. “You signed up to play. You’re a varsity player now. So you have to go do it whether you like it or not.”

Eunbi presses her forehead to yours and closes her eyes with a sigh. “I know,” she whispers. “I know.”

Considering your first intimate encounter was rough lustful sex, the two of you actually really care about each other. It made you realize that your crush on her isn’t purely from lust. You care about her, and you’re not happy about the amount of stress she's been under. To be fair, the whole school is suffering, including you, but you’re a known failure. You couldn’t give less of a fuck if your future transformed into a person, went on its knees, and begged you to take it seriously. Exam season is another Tuesday to you: nothing to care about, nothing new.

But for Eunbi? Exams and games mean everything. She has her reputation of being an honor student and overachiever to maintain. She has her parents, who are constantly pressuring her to join every extracurricular activity under the sun, to please. Additionally, due to a particular school board teacher’s brilliant idea to schedule the intramurals a week before the exam season, she has to juggle hours of eternal volleyball practice and studying and tutoring students to make it through the year. She barely has time in her packed schedule to breathe.

While the students on the bleachers are roaring and cheering excitedly in their color-coded shirts, she's in a tight sleeveless white shirt stressed to death.

There’s only a few minutes until the most important volleyball match of her life. What could go wrong?

(Everything.)

“Baby,” you say softly. “Baby, listen to me.”

Near tears, Eunbi looks up at you. “Yeah?” she asks.

You kiss her sore fingers, the insides of her thin wrists, and the bruises from the volleyball that mark her forearms. Kiss her where it validates her pain. Kiss her where it hurts. Kiss her where it means something.

“Whatever happens in the game,” you tell her truthfully, “I’ll still love you. I’ll still be proud of you. So just do your best for me, okay? I’ll be there all the way.”

“You promise?” Eunbi raises two fingers wrapped in medical tape.

“I promise.” Make your promise by gently grasping the digits she holds up. ��Hell, I bet Professor Kim would be holding up a ‘Kwon Eunbi 4 The National Team’ tarpaulin.”

Eunbi giggles. You both know who you’re referring to: your sex ed professor, Kim Taeyeon. She started teaching at your high school just this senior year, and looks young for her age. Many students adore her, but she only really has one favorite, Eunbi. Always particularly sweet with her, just like earlier, and always attentive to her intelligent questions. If it weren’t for Eunbi being eighteen going on nineteen and in high school and Taeyeon a teacher, anyone would have thought the latter had a crush on her.

Her defense of Eunbi earlier just adds to your suspicions.

If Eunbi reciprocates those alleged feelings, you’d see why. Taeyeon is a charmer. She’s watching the basketball game with crossed arms and a stern look behind her round spectacles. Without saying anything, she attracts people. Anyone can see how beautiful Taeyeon is. She gave a short welcoming speech earlier and you could hear the oohs and ahhs of both parents and students alike.

“Oh, hush,” Eunbi says, waving it off, but she’s visibly more cheered up. “She likes me, but not that much.”

“If she liked you less, she wouldn’t have let you off the hook for napping.”

“It’s called empathy, dear oppa,” says Eunbi, flicking your forehead. “Don’t s’pose you know what that means.”

“Someone’s got a crush on their sex ed teacher.”

“And if I do, so what? She’s really beautiful.”

Take your biased eyes off Eunbi and you’d see that she’s beyond the statement of just “really beautiful.” Taeyeon has the look and aura of an older friend who’s blunt but loving, and would help you out of sticky situations, but not without tough-love advice. Her hair and minimal makeup always look perfect and natural, besides the fact that she looks quite young for her age.

But you won’t see that until later.

“See? If you need anyone to do your best besides me, do it for professor,” you add to make her laugh. “Okay?”

Eunbi wipes the last of her tears. She’s chuckling as she shakes her head at her current emotions. She’s Kwon Eunbi, for fuck’s sake, why is she like this? “Okay,” she says. She sounds a little more assured now. “I will. Thank you, oppa. I love you.”

“Same here.” You kiss her cheek. Comb your fingers through tangled strands of her side fringes left unrestrained by her high ponytail and pat her shoulder. “Ready?”

“Yep. Never been more ready.”

Eunbi’s team lost the game.

It wasn’t her fault. A lot of her volleyball teammates kept missing whenever the white ball was plunged back over the net. And by “a lot,” you mean fucking every one of them. She basically hardcarried the team. More bruises started to appear on her beautiful arms, and she looked more and more discouraged as the game time quickly passed.

The first thing she did was rush in your arms after the game.

“Oppa,” she muttered softly. She’s all sweaty and wet, but you didn’t mind. She needed you, and even if she needed you while covered head to toe with acid, you’d still hug her.

“I’m here.”

The second thing she did was weep.

“I fucked up,” Eunbi moaned, burying her head further in your shoulder. Now tears replaced the sweat that coated your skin. “I… I couldn’t catch the ball, and—”

“That’s not your fault, Eunbi. Your teammates were shit.”

Even as she continued to cry, she went to their defense. “Don’t talk about them like that. They did their best.”

If the situation wasn’t pulling her self-esteem down this much, you’d laugh in her face. “You call that best?” you asked.

Her incompetent teammates made you infuriated. They caused your girlfriend’s wane of confidence and more tears right after. It only made your anger grow from a flame to a fucking house fire.

“I… I just need a break,” she murmured. “But I never get it. It’s all just stupid fucking games, stupid fucking quiz bees. I’m just some toy to be passed around whenever there’s a competition that needs winning.” She chuckled sarcastically. “Nothing more.”

“Eunbi—”

“I’m gonna take a shower,” she said firmly, putting a full stop to the conversation. She was done here. She didn’t want to go back.

Eunbi took to the school showers after that like she said, and dressed back into her little school uniform for the resumption of classes later. What you didn’t know is, after everything that happened, she still intended to get dirty.

The program is still going on. Lee Chaeyeon and the rest of the dance club are performing a dance number as an intermission. As the trendy pop beat resounded through the school grounds, Eunbi dragged you back to an empty classroom and sat you down.

“Eunbi!”

Her knees land on the tiled, classroom floor. “Mmm, just... oppa, let me do this.” Eunbi frustratedly pulls down your jeans. She wipes the back of her hand on her lips. “I saw oppa staring at my chest earlier. He was more focused on them than the game.”

She’s wrong for that. Well, partly wrong but—

“Eunbi, aren’t there—” Tap her gently on the cheek when she keeps pulling your pants down. “Eunbi, oppa’s talking.”

Eunbi looks up. “Yes, oppa?” she asks.

“Aren’t there other ways to de-stress? I—I can buy you some ice cream. Baskin Robbins, just how you like it. We can even cuddle later if you want to. It doesn’t have to always be like this.”

She’s licking your cock sloppily now, as if she needed to do it or she’d have to repeat a whole game again. Your cock is her source of serotonin and dopamine—even chemistry can’t teach her that. (Sorry, professor Myoui, you’d say; but it’s the truth.)

Eunbi, with her pouty lips and ponytail coincidentally perfect for what’s about to happen, shakes her head. “No,” she says firmly. “I want oppa’s cock right now. I don’t want anything else.”

She sucks on your cockhead severely, treating it like her own candy. The pleasure hits, even though it only affects the tip of your length. You moan softly. She moans, too, and it goes on even without touching herself. She loves being a good girl for your cock. That alone gets her off.

If the school knew of the little tutoring incident that sparked your relationship, they’d be scandalized. That part is something you know secretly makes her wetter than you can imagine. The cliché, teen love story-ness of it all—you, a guy who wouldn't give two fucks about school even if you were paid to do it, and her, someone who’d die rather than put off a day of studying but would get on her plaid skirt coated knees for you—is something she’d like to roll her eyes at, but it's kind of destiny, isn’t it? Just like the stories.

What if they know? The teachers could suspend you. Better yet, expel you and put it on your permanent record.

Oh, but they don’t need to know about how fucking pretty Eunbi can look like when she’s being good for you. You can submit the squirms of her thick yet toned thighs, the passiveness evident in her eyes, and the eagerness her voluptuous body holds to pleasure you and herself as evidence. Nothing more is needed to prove it.

They don’t need to know.

Eunbi pauses her effortless bobs of her head to moan. “I love your cock, oppa,” she confesses, though it isn't really a confession when one thinks about how evident it is. Her tender licks already hold adoration in them.

Chuckle. You can get used to this. “More than me?” you ask.

“Nooo... oppa, I love you, too. You know that. But, hmm,” she licks your cock worshipfully, “this is number two. Mwah.”

“Good girl. You can touch yourself, you know.”

Eunbi gives you a clever grin. “I don’t have to. I have you.”

Touché.

She resumes sucking you off, letting out soft “Mmph”s of pleasure and satisfaction as she goes. Over time, she’s gotten better at giving you head. Her sloppiness begins to feel fulfilling, and she learns to make good use of her sweet, full lips as she wraps them on the sides of your cock and around it. Occasionally, she pushes up her glasses so that they don't slide off her nose while she goes about her pleasurable blowjob, which adds a more wholesome and cuter side to the daring fiasco the two of you are engaging in.

“Mmm, love this cock.” Eunbi gives loving kisses to your length. Her tongue erotically stimulates it with languid licks and sets fire to your emotions. “I can’t live without it. Hmph. All I'm ever good for.”

“Eunbi,” you say, concerned, “don't—”

“Please, oppa,” she says. Her eyes make contact with your own, and she pouts prettily. “Let me do this. I need you.”

Your cock rubs the inside of her cheek. It makes a visible imprint, making her look like she’s munching on ice. She ensures to devote soft laps of her tongue on the sides of your length. When she takes it all in, you gasp. You’re too wrapped up at her tongue also licking your heavy balls to be distracted by her whimpering. The deeper your cock goes inside her pretty mouth, the tighter her throat becomes. Her hands squeeze your thighs powerfully.

“Fuck.”

“There’s more where that came from,” she says cheekily.

“Oh yeah?”

She nods.

“Show me, then.”

Her lips part, as if going for an open-mouthed kiss, but it simply takes a couple inches of your length, caressing them with the softness of her balmed tiers and wetness of her mouth. She withdraws, then repeats, but now with more of your cock in her mouth. She looks up at you expectantly for approving reactions, but you give them, and would have given them without her expecting you to.

“Yes, fuck, yes, Eunbi.” Her hair tangles in your hand. She whines a little when your tip reaches further places down her throat. The jeers and yells of school spirit outside you’d love to join in, but you'd choose Eunbi's cute moans any day of the week, weekdays through weekends. “Take my cock. That’s a good girl. My good girl.”

Although she finds it difficult to deepthroat you, you can see her shiver at being called that. She likes it, oh, yes she does: being told she’s under your ownership, and being treated as such. With your cock fucking her tight throat and your hand pulling on her hair like you hate her rather than love her, it's all true. True and clear.

“Love you, oppa,” she says in between suckles of worship on your dick. Her eyes are watery, but now from the pleasure of having her mouth used. Oh well, it’s better than negative.

“Love you, too, sweet girl.” That’s another thing you like to call her: good girl, good sweet little thing, which sounds so corny but fits so well with her. And she likes it—and you can’t deny a good girl of being exactly that. Besides, she looks so sweet with her lips parted to fit your cock like that, and her eyes full of tears. She’d—

The door creaks open. Oh, curse interruption. Goddamned interruption.

Wait—

You look up. Oh, fuck—

“Professor!” you and Eunbi yell out in surprise.

A stuttering Eunbi withdraws her mouth from your cock, looking at her teacher with bewildered, brown eyes. You aren’t sure what exactly she’s thinking, but you can place fear in that face of hers. You’re pretty sure you look red as hell, too.

Kim Taeyeon is standing at the door. She’s watching the two of you closely. How long has she been watching? Or... or perhaps she just caught the two of you in the act? Her face holds an expression of nonchalance, like she’s been expecting this to happen.

All the earlier thoughts come back. You were so turned on by the thought of getting caught, but now that it’s happened, you realize you just put Eunbi’s future at stake. You might not care about your own, but you care about Eunbi. She has a whole, long and successful life in front of her, and you might have just ruined it.

“P-professor,” Eunbi stutters. She wipes her mouth with the back of her hand. Her eyes grow wider as Taeyeon approaches her. With each step Taeyeon takes, she grows more scared. “It’s, it’s not what it looks like! I was just—”

“Shhh.”

Taeyeon pushes the side of her finger to Eunbi’s lips. There’s little distance between them. Eunbi’s knees would have knocked severely into Taeyeon's if not for the shushing index.

Eunbi’s flustered by their closeness. Her voice, normally so confident when stating answers in class, is broken in pathetic stutters. “P-professor,” she tries to say, weakly, her hands waving about, “it’s really not what it looks like. I was just—we were j-just…”

“Resting!” you pipe up, getting to your feet. It’s stupid, but it’s the only thing you can think of as an excuse.

Eunbi nods. “Yes! Resting! I was lying on his lap!” she adds helpfully.

Taeyeon stares at you two coldly for a few, long seconds, then chuckles softly. “Resting?” she repeats, and tilts her head to the side.

“Y-yes. And, and I was drooling, and it was—”

“Miss Kwon.”

“—really hot so I kind of, kind of fell to the—”

“Miss Kwon.” Taeyeon's eyes flare dangerously. “I told you to keep that mouth shut, didn’t I? Or do you just not listen to your teachers anymore?”

Eunbi’s eyes water. That’s the biggest insult anyone could ever tell her. School life means everything. If she couldn’t listen to her teachers, what good can she be?

You place a reassuring hand on her shoulder and step forward. “It was my fault, professor,” you say. How to get balls big enough to admit to that? Just ask Kwon Eunbi for a fucking blowjob, that's how. “I wanted a quick, uh, blow,” you wince, “so I asked her to do it for me. It wasn't her fault.”

“I knew what the two of you were doing, sweetheart. I wasn’t born yesterday. My only problem is that Eunbi doesn’t know what she’s doing, nor is she doing it properly.”

“Professor—” Eunbi tries to defend herself.

“Sit down, boy,” says Taeyeon to you. You do, hesitantly. You have no idea what’s about to happen. She gestures to Eunbi. “Miss Kwon, come here.”

Eunbi follows blindly, getting on her knees again. She’s still looking at her teacher with disoriented eyes.

“Look here, sweetheart,” Taeyeon says. She grabs Eunbi’s chin to direct her gaze to your cock. Then, she wraps her hand around your member and jerks upward. ‘Have you blown your boyfriend much?”

“S-sometimes,” says Eunbi, looking up at you unsurely. But you’re too busy gasping at your teacher's strong, firm hand to return her gaze.

“Don’t you know that the first thing you have to do is to give him a few pumps? It’s not necessary, but it’s good to get him going. Just like this.” Taeyeon slowly jerks your cock up and down, keeping a grip that’s tight but not too much that it’s uncomfortable. Her thumb rests on your cockhead to rub its sensitive surface, making you tense up.

Eunbi watches with hesitant yet curious eyes.

“Don’t go too fast now,” advises Taeyeon. “The whole point is your mouth. That’s where you want to hold nothing back. Do you understand me?”

Even as she teaches Eunbi how to pleasure you, something that's a little dangerous even for a sex ed subject, her voice remains the same as her teaching one: calm, no-nonsense, and nurturing. You’re a little turned on by it, you’re not gonna lie. Additionally, there’s Eunbi sitting there with her hands on her lap, looking like an obedient puppy as she listens to Taeyeon, ever the valedictorian.

“Yes, professor,” says Eunbi. She looks at you closely. “Oppa, are you okay?”

“Never been better,” you rasp out.

Taeyeon sifts through Eunbi's hair with her gentle fingers. “See?” she assures her. “He’s alright. He’ll feel even better when you learn how to put that pretty mouth to good use.”

Scarlet creeps onto Eunbi’s ears and face. Her thighs squirm again. “But it’s wrong,” she whispers. Uncertainty is written all over her face. “We could get in trouble for this, professor. I’m, oh, I’m so wet, b-but my grades—”

Taeyeon has had enough of her talking. She leans forward and shuts her up with a firm kiss.

Your mouth falls open.

Eunbi's pupils grow large like a cat’s in the dark. Her hands are suspended mid-air, seemingly unaware of what they should do. Meanwhile, Taeyeon has already grabbed Eunbi's tiny waist, insistent on keeping her close to her.

But then, like ice, Eunbi melts. She melts into the sin, she melts into Taeyeon. Her lips find themselves locked tighter with the older woman’s. She becomes the one who pushes forward, looking for more of that sweet taste.

Should you feel hurt? Scandalized, perhaps? Angry? You attempt to find the morally correct emotion to have in this situation, and you come to realize that you feel none of them. Instead, as you watch your teacher dominate your girlfriend in a French kiss, you’re painfully turned on.

Taeyeon lets her go after a few seconds. She cups a hand around Eunbi's full breast. Gently, she parts the buttoned lapels of the uniform and helps the girl undo her bra. Eunbi's expression remains one of disbelief and arousal. It switches to pure horniness when Taeyeon starts to suck and bite at her big, beautiful breasts. She begins to squirm, but Taeyeon holds her in place.

“Professor…” Eunbi whimpers. “Please, they’re so sensitive.”

“Shhh, let mommy do the work.” The professor squeezes the two round breasts at the same time, licking one’s nipple lovingly. “You like your teacher sucking your tits like these, Eunbi-ya?”

“Hnnn, yes,” squeaks out Eunbi, closing her eyes. “Professor, I—”

“It’s mommy,” corrects Taeyeon, kissing her student on the lips. “I thought you’d pick up on that, darling. You’re my top student, right?”

“I’m sorry, mommy. P-please suck my tits again. I’ll be a good girl.”

Never did you think that hearing your girlfriend call an older woman mommy would make you so hard. “Fuck,” you curse. You rise from the chair to join them. You’ve never heard of morality; its meaning evaporated the moment their lips joined.

“No, boy, stay there,” Taeyeon orders. “I’m going to show your girlfriend how to really ride dick.”

All of a sudden, not one article of clothing lies on Taeyeon’s body. The sweatshirt and jeans no longer hide her beautiful figure. Now, you can behold the glory of her body completely. Her form is toned and small. Her pilates, which she talks about when asked during classes, really helped carve her perfect belly. Her pink nipples, hard from the air-conditioner wind, sit on top of her handful-sized breasts, begging to be touched.

Eunbi looks like she’s just seen a goddess. Her worshipful gaze runs up and down the professor’s buttocks and breasts. Most importantly, there’s Taeyeon’s small, shaved pussy to marvel at. “Mommy,” your girlfriend says, “mommy, you’re so beautiful.”

“Thank you, baby,” says Taeyeon, bearing a confident smile. “Watch and learn, okay? And you,” she looks over at you, and leans down so only you can hear as she whispers: “Try not to cum so fast.”

You’d defend yourself if she didn’t slam her beautiful ass so quickly on your lap. That’s when your cock slips inside her, causing the both of you to moan and, additionally, for you to figure out exactly why she told you that. Your teacher is so fucking tight. Your cock immediately is covered by her juices, from base to tip.

“Oh, fuck!” Taeyeon cries out. Both her eyes and mouth become round at the pleasure she takes in. She looks at Eunbi in disbelief. “You really take this dick everyday?”

Eunbi doesn’t know how to respond. All that comes out of her mouth are moans. You suppose she’s a bit lost about what to feel right now as well. Perhaps she’s rejecting what she feels, which is turned on. But that can’t be it: her fingers are already under her skirt, trying to replicate the pleasure Taeyeon must feel about your dick.

“D-does it feel good, mommy?” she can’t help but ask. A small part of her young heart is mortified at the scene of her boyfriend fucking another woman, but another part is curious. She’s never seen her teacher in this state, and probably never will again. Eunbi’s mind is voracious on any hints of pleasure Taeyeon feels.

“Y-yes, oh my god,” says Taeyeon. She tries to maintain a neutral expression, but fails. “See what I’m doing? Circle, fuck, your hips a bit, just like this, s-so it feels good for you, too.”

Taeyeon lifts her hips a little, letting the rest of your length breathe for a little while. “Then take a few of it inside to get ready. You just have to get used to the size. After you’re used to it, you can start riding him.”

You’re left breathless in the wooden school chair as your sex ed teacher does exactly that. After riding only the first couple inches of your dick, she starts violently slamming herself up and down. You have to hold on to her muscular thighs to subconsciously direct her to slow down. And she does, but still not at a pace you can take. Her breasts keep bouncing in front of your face, as if they were asking you to devour them or choose death. And, with Taeyeon’s slick, tight cunt around you, you really don’t want to die yet.

Capture her breast in your mouth. Her sharp fingernails press down on your scalp. Her pitched moans beat on your eardrums. You can barely even hear Eunbi’s soft cries of pleasure anymore, nor can you place the sound of skin slapping and touching. Even the outside sounds of students cheering and referees narrating sound inaudible when Taeyeon’s obscene moans fill too much of the atmosphere.

“Good boy, bounce me on that big fucking cock,” growls Taeyeon. Her pussy grows impossibly tight, and you’re forced to perform your own upward thrusts to continue penetrating your painfully hot teacher. “Give our girl a show, you know you want to.”

You’re not a submissive guy, but you can live with Taeyeon praising you and calling you a good boy. You can live with her sweet, delectable vagina fucking itself on your cock. Fine, you admit you can live with Taeyeon basically confirming her ownership over your girlfriend Eunbi. But more than anything, you want to please her, to please your mommy. So it’s inevitable that you fuck her faster and rougher, summoning all the might you have in your body to make her scream.

Eunbi’s definitely been given a show, one that’s good enough for her to get off to. “Fuck, oppa,” whines Eunbi, ecstatic. The gleam in her eyes exhibits slight jealousy and more bliss. “It looks like it feels so good. I…” Her eyes shut, and her lips purse. “I’m so close.” Her fingers pump faster. Her hole struggles to catch up with the almost brutal pace of her digits.

“I’m close, too, fuck!” Taeyeon says. It’s almost like she’s angry when she throws her hips up and down, back and forth. She has more strength than your phys-ed teacher, that’s for sure. It’s like the gyrating of her body holds no self-control, and her mind is just on you and your cock, and nothing else. “Yes, yes, make me cum! Make mommy a slut for your cock!”

And you’d say you succeeded—Taeyeon’s voice reaches volumes a human being should be incapable of making. Her legs curl around your waist and behind the school chair to keep you as deep as possible as she cums on you. By then, you’ve sucked her breasts to redness and soreness. By then, Eunbi had reached her climax. You’ve managed to stave off your own. Some other time, you’d look back and wonder how you did it.

“Good boy,” Taeyeon gasps. She lifts your face up and kisses you on the mouth. “Such a good boy.”

“I want a turn, too, mommy,” says Eunbi. She’s pouting; there’s a whine tied around her tone. “Please? Please?”

Your professor removes herself from your lap. Her body has lost some of its former strength, but her actions still possess womanly confidence. She takes a slow walk over to Eunbi, kneels to her level, and lifts her chin upwards.

“Only if you promise to show what mommy taught you and clean off your oppa’s cock.”

“I will.” Eunbi nods furiously and repeatedly. She’s more than happy to do that just to have a turn of your cock. “I will, please, please let me!”

She crawls over between your legs. She forgoes the jerking part of Taeyeon’s hands-on lesson and goes for your cock with her lips immediately. Eunbi’s pink tongue glides on the coat of slick Taeyeon left on your length, delicately cleaning it up. The juices are replaced with her saliva. Carefully, inch by inch, she bobs her head on your dick, collecting the delicious taste of her teacher and the musky scent of your cock.

Her throat still isn’t used to your size. So, when she tries to take you in like she did earlier, she gags. You’re careful not to thrust in her mouth too much. You don’t want to hurt her, or block her from creating those adorable sounds of determination and arousal.

“Good girl,” coos Taeyeon, softly encouraging the girl to go on. “Just breathe through your nose, sweetheart. Take deep breaths. That’s my girl.”

When Eunbi comes back up for air, she’s breathless. Her shoulders ascend and fall with difficult pants. “Did I do good?” she asks expectantly.

“You did better than earlier,” Taeyeon says. “Did he taste good?”

“Yes, he did. But you were delicious, too, mommy.”

“You’ve always been a sweet girl, Eunbi,” Taeyeon remarks. She plants a kiss on Eunbi’s neck. “Just for that, you can have your oppa’s dick and taste mommy at the same time.”

Eunbi draws in a little excited breath. She practically drags you to the teacher’s desk that Taeyeon directs the two of you at, and lies down almost immediately when asked. Taeyeon pulls down your girlfriend’s schoolgirl skirt and volleyball shorts, which boasts a prominent cameltoe. But you and Taeyeon are able to see the real thing after just a few tugs of her clothes downwards.

There’s a genuine smile on Taeyeon’s face. “What a pretty little pussy.” She turns to you. “Tell me, is she tight?”

“See for yourself, professor,” you say without realizing it.

Even Eunbi is surprised. She lifts her back off the table. “Oppa— ah!”

Taeyeon’s finger finds shelter in Eunbi’s grippy pussy. Eunbi struggles and moans. You can see her little hole clasp onto the singular finger that intrudes its space, and how her enclosed walls part.

“Oh, ,” says Taeyeon with an evil grin on her goddess-like face. “She is.”

She moves her finger in and out, watching Eunbi’s blissful reactions to it.

“How can she take your cock if she’s this tight?”

“I’ll—ah!” Eunbi winces. Her legs close together, but that doesn’t stop the greedy Taeyeon. “I’ll do my best, mommy, I promise! I just want oppa’s cock!”

“Very well. Open your mouth and legs, Miss Kwon. Take those glasses off, too, and get ready. We’re not going to be gentle with you.”

Eunbi does as told. The honor student in her is still there behind the sex toy she’s become for you and Taeyeon. Her immediate obedience says it all. While Taeyeon throws one leg over the side of the table and her face, you part her legs. Eunbi’s legs never failed to amaze you. Her thighs, though muscular from running around the covered court all day, are full and jiggly enough to hold and use. Maybe one day you’ll give in and fuck her thighs. Cream them with semen milkier than her skin itself.

But her pussy will do just fine today, you think, if not better.

You and Taeyeon go to town in your respective parts at the same time. You fill Eunbi up with one, hard thrust, causing her to moan into Taeyeon’s pussy. Taeyeon sighs happily, too; Eunbi’s warm, wet tongue feels insanely good inside her pussy. Although inexpert and untried, just the steady thrusts of her tongue inside her can do.

“G-good girl, Eunbi,” she sighs. “Good girl.”

Eunbi’s whine of happiness turns into a groan after you form a steady rhythm. The teacher’s desk creaks back and forth along with your hips. You and Taeyeon squeeze and play with Eunbi’s huge tits, sometimes slapping them to draw a muffled, helpless reaction from her. But one look into each other’s eyes confirms this: you need to have each other, too.

Blinded by pleasure to be afraid, you lean forward and kiss Taeyeon. She’s hardly surprised, as if she expected that to happen. She earnestly kisses back. She’s sighing against your mouth. She tastes sweet; you understand now why Eunbi kissed her back like a greedy animal earlier. Your tongue navigates every sweet spot in her mouth, curling ‘round Taeyeon’s own tongue, as she fucks Eunbi’s mouth and you fuck her cunt.

Taeyeon bites your lower lip, licks it, then smirks. “Good boy,” she whispers sultrily. She kisses you again, ignoring the look of utter passiveness in your face caused by her tone and words. Gripping onto Eunbi’s bouncing boob in one hand and the other grasping the back of your head, she pulls you in for a deeper kiss. It’s something you’re glad to reciprocate; you don’t want to hear how pathetic you sound moaning because of Eunbi’s little pussy.

Eunbi has never eaten pussy before, but she knows what feels good. She tests it out by keeping a firm, hard pressure on Taeyeon’s clit. It elicits a positive response: a slightly louder moan from the other woman, and the rougher gyrate of her hips. She can’t see anything besides Taeyeon’s back and round ass. Her legs are numb from the consistent pounding, and she truly can’t feel anything besides breathlessness and pleasure. Her mind goes back to what Taeyeon taught, and finds that what makes her hornier is that Taeyeon is forgoing all that she taught—going against her own teachings, being a hypocrite—and fucking her mouth like she’s just a toy. It makes her so incredibly turned on.

“Fuck! Keep fucking me like that, Eunbi! Fuck yes, fill her up, fill our good girl up like that!”

Your thrusts get rougher, and Taeyeon feels Eunbi’s mouth give their all in eating her. The short, blunt flicks to her clitoris become full-on sucklings alternated with tongue-fucking. Unable to handle it, she lets out a guttural cry, slapping one of Eunbi’s breasts roughly, then wrapping her hands around her pretty neck.

“Come on, toy.” She slams her ass down on Eunbi’s face angrily. Her hands squeeze tighter around the girl’s throat. “Do what you’re good at. Eat my fucking cunt, make me cum.”

Eunbi begins to cry. Her squeal vibrates on Taeyeon’s pussy as her tongue plays with and fucks Taeyeon’s pussy. It’s so messed up, but Eunbi being used impulsively makes you fuck her harder. Her pussy traps your coming-and-leaving shaft as a steady spray of clear squirt goes your way. Eunbi’s screaming, trying to vent her pleasure by eating Taeyeon out more, which causes another orgasm from the teacher. The two pairs of bouncing mounds tempt you, and you have to pull out to blow a heavy load on Eunbi’s breasts.

All three of you are moaning and sighing together, creating an unholy choir of sin that the school choir would find repugnant. Eunbi shivers as Taeyeon lifts herself off her used mouth. Your legs feel like sticks against a heavy wind. You have to grab on the desk for support.

“Did she just squirt?”

Look down at your wet polo shirt and shrug, finding humor at the obvious question and its obvious answer. “I guess so,” you reply.

Taeyeon’s eyes glint with menace. “Make her do it again,” she says.

“What?” you ask, just to make sure you’re hearing her correctly. Now all the humor is gone. She can’t be serious. You don’t know how you’ll make it work. You’re barely coming down from your high, and Eunbi is at the brink of passing out. You can’t give her another orgasm; the two of you are way too spent.

Taeyeon, however, can go for days.

“I said,” Taeyeon grabs Eunbi by the hair and pulls her up, “make her squirt again.”

Eunbi’s tired frame relies on Taeyeon’s to maintain her position of sitting, but she doesn’t need a hand in her hair again to shake her head. She whines in protest when Taeyeon’s fingers play with her pussy again.

“Mommy, no! I’m too sensitive! You can’t!”

“Fuck her pretty cunt, toy,” Taeyeon whispers in your ear. Her finger, which slides back and forth on Eunbi’s clit, grows stronger and faster. “Teach her to take a good cock. Don’t mind her whimpering. She wants it.”

You’re automatically inclined to follow your teacher’s instructions. So, when you slide into Eunbi’s snug pussy again, she screams in pleasure. She grabs for anything—your hand, a chair—but Taeyeon pins her hands behind her back. They’re messily making out again. Eunbi lets out her moans in the form of greedy, wanton liplocks. Meanwhile, you cry out feral groans watching the two beautiful women kissing.

Eunbi’s wrists have fought themselves out from Taeyeon’s hand and have led themselves towards the valleys of her teacher’s tits. You're pretty sure she’s done so to finger her, which is proven when Taeyeon gasps and pins her down even more roughly to the table. They touch each other just the way they like it: roughly and unforgivingly.

Whenever Taeyeon twists Eunbi's nipples, your girlfriend’s cunt clamps protectively around your cock. It’s delicious—it’s difficult to drag it out when all the pleasure from your hands and Taeyeon’s makes her so tight and wet. Taeyeon’s harsh flicks send wet sloppy fluid leaking on the desk. Eunbi’s inexperienced yet somehow skilled fingers drive Taeyeon to hiss and bite down on Eunbi's full lower lip.

“Oppa, mommy’s too good,” Eunbi mumbles weakly. Her legs shake. “And mommy, oppa’s cock is so big. It fills me so well.”

“I know, baby. You’re taking him like a good girl.”

Giving Eunbi one last kiss, Taeyeon scoots over to you. She’s unimpressed; her arms cross, one over the other, below her killer breasts. “How are you going to make her squirt if you can’t fuck her fast?” she asks.

“I’m sorry, professor.”

“And from the boyfriend of a top student, too. You’d think she at least taught you something. Pull out. Now. Somebody needs to teach your girl a lesson.”

You’re actually glad to be able to stop. Eunbi moans at your hard cock leaving her hole, but she screams again—this time because of Taeyeon spanking her cunt.

“Mommy! Mommy, no—mommy!”

“Dumb little girl,” snarls Taeyeon. Her hand makes several rough landings on Eunbi's cunt over and over with little time to recover. You're horrified. “Aren’t you a valedictorian, Kwon Eunbi? You should know better and teach this no-good delinquent to fuck you properly. Do you even remember your classes?”

“Mommy!” Eunbi sobs. Her hips flinch and retract from Taeyeon's hand. “Hurts!”

The girl yelps and whines, but you can see her biting her lip as she watches the teacher punish her. It took your teacher risking her job and literally slapping your girlfriend's vagina for you to realize this: your girlfriend is a freak.

“You like how it makes you cry, don’t you?” asks Taeyeon. She slaps the wet folds until the skin around it is red. “Fucking pain slut.”

“Hurts, hurts, hurts! G-gonna cum again, mommy, please stop, you’re going to make me cum, haaah!”

Eunbi squirms and wails, jutting her legs out while she cums again. In the end, Taeyeon gets what she wanted: a spray of fluids from Eunbi’s pussy. She rubs her nub to prompt more of her squirting. The younger girl’s lower body jerks and moves away, but Taeyeon’s hand always finds her clit again.

“It took spanking to get you to squirt?” the teacher asks, slightly amused.

Eunbi can do nothing but sob and nod. What else is she supposed to do? She looks more tired now than she was post-game. Her naked, beautiful body’s wet and used beyond limit. “Mommy… I’m tired,” she says. “Please.”

“Take your time, angel.” Taeyeon slides Eunbi’s glasses back on her face. Behind the lens, her eyelids barely make it past her brown irises. “You were such a good girl for mommy today.”

Eunbi nods appreciatively. She nuzzles into Taeyeon’s hand. Her whole body feels like it’s going to break anytime soon.

Taeyeon turns to you with a dangerous look in her eyes. That’s how you know she’s not done, at least with you. She still hasn’t had her load, and she’s not leaving without it.

“Now let’s see,” she says, slowly, walking over to you with her shapely hips swaying, “if your little boyfriend can be a good boy.”

You gulp. You’re in for a long ride.

“You sure you can handle me, professor?” you ask. You’re being a hotshot again, you know that, but it’s the only way you know how to deal with nervousness.

You’re gliding her hand across her thighs, taking pleasure in this stalling that benefits you in more ways than one. In doing this, you get to touch Taeyeon’s slim, sensitive thighs, and toy with her prepared pussy.

Taeyeon’s shivering breath is the only indication of her pleasure. Her face remains stoic, almost offending, as she sits on the desk. Her clothes are anywhere but on her body. It’s not like you mind.

“I’d ask you that same question,” she says. She knows how to keep her guard up enough to make you red with humiliation. “But it seems like I know the answer already.”

Pinch her pink nipples. You’re copying Taeyeon’s way of letting her feelings manifest in her little actions and ways, hence the harsh squeeze of your fingers on the nubs. Eunbi watches on with anticipation, searching for the right scene to repeat in her mind to reach her climax. She’s whimpering quietly.

Taeyeon’s slandering you, you know it. It just so happens she does so incredibly sexily. Finding her deserving of a good fucking, line up your cock with her entrance and rub yourself on her lips. Your tip rubs her clit repeatedly.

“Which is?” you ask innocently.

Taeyeon’s breaths are short. “You’re too scared to fuck me,” she says, with no less confidence. In a way, she’s correct, but not for long. “Mmm, you’re scared of what would happen if you get to it and breed me. Your life would be over, you know that, and you’d ruin your girlfriend’s potential to excel.”

Sarcastically: “Am I?”

“Ohh, oh, yes, you are.” It’s a nice save from her. “And that’s not all there is to it, isn’t it? You’re scared of me. What’s promising I won’t tell anyone of what we did? That’s right: nothing, and that’s what scares you. It scares your delinquent ass more than you’d like.”

The table creaks backwards. Taeyeon moans.

You steadily thrust in her, reminding yourself not to be gentle as you would to Eunbi in lighter situations. No, your slut of a teacher deserves to be pounded. If she had to resort to her students to get a good fuck, she might as well get it.

“Am I still scared, professor?” you ask.

Taeyeon’s pussy is as good as the first time you entered her. But now it’s obvious she’s so much more turned on; her pussy grips your cock in any way but gently. Her tits start to bounce again.

“M-maybe,” she weakly gasps out. “With how small your dick is, I’d see why you are.”

Although her lie is clear, it sends a blow to your ego. You force her folds to welcome and swallow more frequent thrusts. Taeyeon is whining; or is that Eunbi you’re hearing?

Take a look at Eunbi and see that her legs, just like her teacher’s, are wide open. She’s rubbing herself while squeezing one boob in her hand. Her moans mix in with Taeyeon’s as she watches the two of you go at it. Needless to day, she’s enjoying the view.

Minutes later, you’ve got Taeyeon sprawled out even more on the table (if that were possible), with a tired Eunbi still kneeling at her side, as you fuck your teacher’s cunt to the point of oblivion. Your cock still drips with semen and precum from the previous sessions, but your desire to keep fucking Taeyeon’s tight, perfect pussy keeps you going. It’s the defiance, the sheer fucking will to go on that prevents you from passing out.

“I think it’s your thing, professor," you whisper in her ear, shedding the honorifics for just this time. “Fucking a pretty little high school student because you know she's curious, and being railed to shit by some delinquent. This cock—”

—Taeyeon gasps when you sharply thrust inside her—

“—and this pretty face—”

—Grasp Eunbi’s face in between careless, rough fingers; she whines pitifully—

“That’s what gets you off, right?” you ask. “Because you know it’s messed up: how good it feels being ruined by some boy who should be a nightmare but is instead the guy who can give you a good dicking-down. It just isn’t right, is it, Kim Taeyeon?”

“Oh, oh my god,” Taeyeon rasps. Her eyes are wide. You've just stripped her feelings out for her, one by one, while you rail away at her mercilessly. Her face is red; she's humiliated, nonetheless, but she's turned on. So fucking turned on.

“So cum for me, mommy.” Speed up your thrusts, grab her bouncing tits before dragging your hand up to her throat. There, you squeeze. “Cum like you want me.”

And cum she does. Taeyeon lets out a feral scream, squirming and struggling on the table. Eunbi, who was touching herself to you and Taeyeon fucking, crawls over and seals her lips around Taeyeon's clit, catching the squirt she expels. Taeyeon propels herself forward, causing your cock to bury itself deeper inside her and Eunbi's mouth to take more and more of her pussy.

“Yes, yes, yes, good boy! Fuck me, fuck me like I’m a whore!” Taeyeon cries. Her beautiful face is stretched and scrunched into an expression of pleasure. Her hips never stop going crazy at the doubled pleasure. “Keep sucking my clit like that, Eunbi-ya; yes, that’s a good girl, yes yes yes please—!”

Eunbi squeezes Taeyeon’s breasts and thighs while you release inside her. It goes against what she taught in multiple classes: safe sex, use of condoms, all that, but you want to continue feeling the beautiful wet walls close in on your cock, like it doesn’t want you to leave her hole.

And if you could, you won’t. But the human body has limits, and it can’t take non-stop sex unless your stamina’s like one of the school athletes. So, you can do nothing but welcome the darkness that covers your line of vision.

In the absence of light, darkness prevails.

The classroom is a mess. White fluid that’s definitely not Elmer’s glue coats the wooden teacher’s desk. You think you’ve broken one of the table’s legs. The floor needs to be mopped with how much of Eunbi’s squirt has sprayed on its tiles.

But you don’t worry about that. Not now, when Taeyeon lovingly takes care of your tired post-sex bodies. She’s dressed now, and although her messy hair and pants indicate a recent frisky session, you don’t suppose anyone would think that.

Through it all, you’re still students Taeyeon cares for.

“My good girl, and my good boy,” she says softly. She might be harsh, but her love is real. She buttons Eunbi’s uniform, kisses her, then kisses your forehead. She’s still trying to find her lost breath, but she’s smiling. She’s smiling despite the messed up morality of the situation as a whole, despite your body looking ragged after multiple climaxes and Eunbi’s body and breasts being marked with her own slaps. If she were asked, she’d do it all again.

“You’ll still be around to please mommy later, won’t you?”

Just like that, she’s put a mark on the two of you. You’re hers and no one else’s from this day forward, and you can’t decide what to feel about it. You had no idea how to react during this whole sex frenzy, but you think that vulnerable, helpless feeling is exactly what makes you smile. The feeling of having someone dominate you, claim you, own you, especially from someone who shouldn’t be.

God, you’re a mess. You’re fucked up. Taeyeon is fucked up. And, in her own little way, Eunbi herself is fucked up, too, but that’s exactly why you have each other.

Someday you’ll look back at all this. You’ll go over everything—meeting Eunbi, being her boyfriend, the whole fiasco with Taeyeon, all of it—and perhaps you'll laugh a little too. All of it is absurd, and is that of a plot straight out of a pornography video. To think it might happen to you, a guy who’s barely above average, would be the main cause of your reminiscent laughter.

They say high school days are wild. You find that to be true; you just bred your sex ed professor, called her mommy and made out with her while she rode your girlfriend’s face. To add to that, your first intimate encounter with Eunbi was raunchy, wild sex. And you sit in the classroom, with her leaning against your shoulder, attending another class as if nothing happened. Halfway through a biology quiz, Taeyeon enters. You don’t know if your eyes were just teasing you, but she winks at you as she leaves. It’s a wink that says don’t get too carried away, toy; we’re not done yet.

#kpop smut #girls generation smut #snsd smut #kim taeyeon smut #taeyeon smut #izone smut #kwon eunbi smut #eunbi smut #x reader #male reader #reader insert #pov smut #request

1K notes · View notes

eclipian · 1 month ago

Text

Star Child Alter

pt: star child alter

reminder beings will almost definitely not turn out exactly as described, and these can be edited and changed as needed.

divider credit

Name: Star Child , Star , Kid , Kidd , Starry , Nova , Comet , Milkyway , Spark , Nava , Shooting Star , ⭐️ , 🌟 , ✨ , 💫 , ☄️

Age: 11 Cosmochronal

Pronouns: She/Her , Shy/Hyr , Shu/Hur , Shx/Hxr , It/Its , Ix/Ixs , Iz/Izs , They/Them , Thy/Thym , Thuy/Thum , Thxy/Thxm , Xe/Xem , Ze/Zem , Cae/Caer , Dae/Daer , Thon/Thons , Star/Stars , Con/llation , Nova/Novas , Comet/Comets , Child/Childs , ⭐️/⭐️s , 🌟/🌟s , ✨/✨s , 💫/💫s , ☄️/☄️s

Gender: Demifem , Lumessia , Pluto , Stargender , Constellgender , Starlikic , Starriserene , Nightmidskyic , Starstruckcute , Starbodiment , Auguastrum , Starryknowic , Starfrilled , Whimsic , Starrygownic , Stargirl , Comukidnostic , Tornfemmic , Propheciastria , Innocencegender , Littlesisteren , Playgender , Starrygender , Spaceaesic , Spacelikic

Attraction: Aroace , Playful Attraction

Other IDs: Starvior , Starsensus , Starperspesque , Dissopermchild , Dissotimechild , Dissostarpupil , Dissopermbirthday , Dissonullbirthday , Dissochibibody , Dissonosleep , Dissonobreath , Dissoxenobody , Dissotiny , Dissovirgo , Space Locational Shift , Space Eiment , Natilien

Species: Stelocus

Origins/Modifiers: Spaceipsese , Stargenic , Natalgenic

Role: Spawner , Admirer , Artisan

Aesthetics: Spacecore , Space Academic , Virgo’s Tears , Auroracore , Synthwave

✦ Interests: Space , Zodiac Signs , Crafts , Pokémon

✦ Dislikes: Bright Lights , Loud Noises , Scratching Noises , Buzzing

✦ Kins: Cosmog , Jirachi , Espeon , Deoxys , Elgyem , Poipole

✦ Details: this star is Demi Verbal and has a semi Innate Typing Quirk (replacing o with a ⭐️)

pt: name , age , pronouns , gender , attraction , other ids , species , origins/modifiers , role , aesthetics , interests , dislikes , kins , details

Tag: @bahtive & @galaxy-starshine

Disclaimer: Middle image is made with the use of AI. This blog does not condone or promote putting AI over real artist. This post is using it as a way to middle finger those who try to claim AI creations as actual pieces of art. I mod music am not making prompts for the images.

#build a headmate #build an alter #alter creation #headmate creation #build a system #willogenic #BAH #BAHtive #✦ member #🎼 mod 🎹#ANTI RQ #ANTI RQ headmate pack

23 notes · View notes

gumnut-logic · 2 months ago

Text

The Awards (Part 1)

This is @womble1 's fault :D Writing all that Sweetapple while I floundered around without a muse.

It's a new one. Not intended to be hugely long or anything, maybe two or three parts (since when have I had control of these things?) But it is Sweetapple and a scene requested by some of you who read the first Sweetapple Talk. So here you have it :D I hope it lives up to expectations.

This is m/m fic. If this isn't your thing, this isn't your fic. Alexander Sweetapple is an original character that was prompted by @flyboytracy , created by me, and then let loose in Thunderfam to evolve into who he is today through several different writers. I don't think Virgil minds, the two of them are a pair of lovey dovey goofballs and the majority of this series is them just being fluffy and goopy sweet :D Many thanks to all who have written, contributed and egged this series on, it wouldn't exist without you.

Many thanks to @onereyofstarlight for the read through this morning.

Anyway, bit of fic, first in ages.

I hope you enjoy.

-o-o-o-

“I still wish we could have flown in with the Tracys.”

His mother’s voice was wistful. It could have been interpreted as callous self-interest, but Alex knew better.

“Mum, Virgil apologised at least six times.”

She held up a hand. “I know, I know, and it’s not their fault.” She smiled softly. “I just know how much you were looking forward to this.”

He rolled his eyes as the city of Gisborne flashed past the car’s windows. The Tracys had sent them a chauffeured limousine, along with a security guard, currently staring at them cooly in the seat across from them.

She was an interesting choice. She appeared to have only half her hair and what was left was an assortment of colours enough to excite Erica. The tattoos and piercings…yeah, Iz and Erica would get on fine.

Yet again, he wished Erica was with him. But the venue was only so big and Alex’s mother was…his mother.

Erica and his sisters were watching the live stream apparently.

That didn’t make him nervous. No, not in the slightest.

There were going to be screenshots and clips galore in his future.

A touch to his cheek. “He’s going to be okay.”

Mum was looking up at him with a tenderness in her eyes.

“I know.”

Stupid volcano had to erupt today, didn’t it.

A sigh. The logic centre of his brain acknowledged that this was all part and parcel of dating a Thunderbird and that he would have to get used to it. It wasn’t Virgil’s fault that Sumatra needed him more than Alex did.

Way to compete with the rest of the world for your boyfriend’s attention.

Boyfriend.

Despite everything, the whole concept, as always, brought a smile to his face.

Virgil would be here as soon as he could.

And Alex would love whatever parts of Virgil the world could share with him.

“I’m okay.” He shared his smile with his mum.

“You sure?”

“I’m sure.”

The car drew to a stop in a line of vehicles in front of the War Memorial Theatre. The structure, like everything in Gisborne, was showing the remains of repairs. Most of the glass had been replaced, but there was a section still boarded up on one side. But unlike the rest of the city, this piece had been turned into an artwork. It showed an artistic rendering of Gisborne’s skyline, and amongst the buildings flew Thunderbirds.

There were no words on the piece, but it screamed pride and gratitude.

God, he wished Virgil was here.

The car moved forward into a crowd of people. Reporters babbled and holocams hovered as if it was the Academy Awards or something. Police stood solidly, manning the barricade keeping the press back.

Alex swallowed. They weren’t here for him. The Prime Minister was attending. And so was International Rescue.

He was only Virgil’s boyfriend.

He swallowed again.

Social media was still buzzing about the kiss. It had died down, a lot, but chances were that these people knew who he was.

Kayo had warned him of this possibility. This was why Iz was with them in the car. She was part of Kayo’s team and Alex had no doubt she knew how to do her job.

She was almost as scary as Kayo herself.

When the car finally stopped, Iz held up her hand. “I will exit first. You are to follow when I say so.”

Alex’s eyes were a little wide, but he nodded. Yes, ma’am.

His mum squeezed his arm.

The door opened and noise rushed in along with flashing cameras and the buzz of holocams. Iz climbed out of the car fluidly, six inch heels and clinging black dress, no hindrance.

A moment later, her hand signalled that they follow.

Alex ushered his mother out of the car. She may have stepped out less smoothly than the security guard, but no less elegantly. She looked amazing in her deep burgundy evening dress. His mum had gone all out for tonight, hair curled, dress purchased, she even dragged out the necklace his dad had bought her for their last wedding anniversary.

Dad would have loved to see her like this.

As if thought could make reality, a large hand appeared just outside the door, offering to help his mother from car.

Alex blinked.

Frowned.

And, as he followed his mother out, realised that the hand belonged to none other than the tall and domineering figure of Mr Jeff Tracy. Dressed in an elegant silver suit, he was smiling down at Alex’s mother, grey eyes twinkling.

Alex’s eyes widened as the cameras and reporters went absolutely nuts.

“Mr Tracy! Are you dating again?”

“How long have you been together?!”

“Ma’am, how long have you known Jeff?”

Alex straightened his tuxedo, still standing on the gutter.

Mr Tracy was addressing the crowd, a suave smile on his face and Alex’s mother’s hand on his arm.

Okay.

Kayo appeared beside them in a short, satin green evening dress, her eyes all business and, no doubt, her six inch heels just as deadly. She stood next to Mr Jeff Tracy. A glance in Alex’s direction came with a small smile before she turned back to the paparazzi.

Iz touched his arm. “C’mon, let’s go inside.”

“But mum-“

“The Chief’s got this.” She looped her arm in his. “C’mon.”

He was walked up the red carpet before he could protest further.

It was quieter inside the foyer, but that was a relative statement. The hall was large, but very full of people, all dressed to the nines.

Iz’s eyes were everywhere and she did not leave his side, navigating him through the crowd.

Alex glanced back towards the entrance, still worried about him mum.

Consequently, when the roar outside swelled beyond human capability and into rocket territory, he was able to catch sight of the silver body of Thunderbird One, lit up by holocam lights, as she touched down on the street outside.

The crowd swarmed back towards the entrance, taking Alex and Iz with it.

But the Thunderbird was only on the street for bare moments before launching up into the sky and disappearing, leaving chaos in its wake.

Beside him, Iz swore under her breath. “The Chief’s going to kill them for that.”

The spark of hope that went beyond the innate thrill of seeing the primary Thunderbird swelled in Alex’s chest…and burst into flame as Virgil Tracy, dressed head to toe in an immaculate black-tie tuxedo, hurried into the building.

His suit cut a beautiful line on his fit frame and Alex couldn’t help but stare, open mouthed, as his boyfriend caught sight of him and strode over. “Alex! I am so sorry.”

Alex was still staring.

“Alex?”

Now Virgil was closer, and fiddling with his suit as if it wasn’t sitting correctly, Alex could see that it had been put on in a hurry. Virgil’s hair lacked its usual perfection, attended to, yes, but obviously rushed, and there was a smear of dirt on his ear.

Alex reached up and gently smudged it off with his thumb.

Virgil was staring up at him and frowning, his eyes darted to Iz. “Everything okay?”

A small smile forced its way onto Alex’s lips. “Yeah.” And as he was want to do after every rescue, he drew Virgil in for a hug. A whisper into his ear. “Thank you for coming.”

“Sorry I was late.” Virgil pulled away, still frowning. “Did I miss anything?”

Like a switch was flipped, Alex relaxed. “Oh, only our parents escorting each other on the red carpet.”

“What?”

Of course, that statement demanded the culprits make an immediate appearance. Alex’s mum and Mr Jeff Tracy appeared out of the crowd. Her arm was still linked in his and Alex eyed it suspiciously.

He wasn’t the only one. Mr Scott Tracy, equally dressed in a suit, hair perfect as always, and standing beside his father, was eyeing him with a raised eyebrow.

Jeff played it innocent. “What?”

His mother giggled.

She giggled.

Like a teenage girl on a bus.

Oh, god.

Fortunately or not, that was the moment the crowd began moving into the theatre. Virgil had a suspicious smile on his face, but that smile soon turned towards Alex as he offered him his arm.

Alex took it and all the advantage of pulling his boyfriend in close as they filed into the theatre.

-o-o-o-

TBC

#thunderbirds are go #thunderbirds #thunderbirds fanfiction #virgil tracy #alexander sweetapple #jeff tracy #scott tracy #nuttyfic #virgil tracy/alexander sweetapple #romance

29 notes · View notes

collinrobinsonsglasses · 1 year ago

Text

Too Soft to be a Pirate

Izzy Hands x Reader (GN)

Chapter 5 of a series.

Summary: Following the events of season 1 episode 5 of Our Flag Means Death. The reader gets injured during the raid and Izzy tends to their wounds.

Warnings: Lots of cursing, general pirate raid injuries, and descriptions of a fractured wrist. (I don't think it's too bad, but just in case)

{Masterlist}

{Previous Chapter}

{Next Chapter}

Chapter 5: The Best Revenge is Dressing Well

Izzy found himself grappling with a crew of seemingly inept fucks aboard the Revenge. Day after day, they lazed about the ship, showing a remarkable aversion to anything resembling work. The situation proved infuriating for Izzy, but he could tolerate Bonnet’s crew if it meant he would one day captain the Queen Anne’s Revenge.

Blackbeard spent most of his time with the self-proclaimed “Gentleman Pirate”, a mere ponce in Izzy’s eyes. Blackbeard was imparting the ways of the pirate life to the aspiring captain. Izzy couldn’t help but anticipate the day when Blackbeard would burn that little twat’s face off.

Izzy paced the main deck, his steps measured and purposeful as he observed the assorted members of Bonnet’s crew. Blackbeard planned for a raid on a merchant vessel later in the afternoon and the buzz of anticipation filled the air. The atmosphere onboard hinted at a sense of calm before the storm, as most of the crew indulged in a leisurely morning, preparing for the impending fight.

Guided by the melody of a lute and an enchanting voice, Izzy traced the source of the sound. Each step up the wooden stairs toward the quarter deck carried him closer to the origin of the music that had captured his senses. He spotted you seated cross-legged on the poop deck, your gaze fixed upward at Frenchie as he skillfully strummed the lute. Your voice blended effortlessly with his playing, and you seemed at peace and completely absorbed in the music.

A surge of jealousy gripped Izzy as he witnessed the unfolding scene before him. Swiftly suppressing the emotion, he turned away, retreating back to the main deck, no longer willing to witness the connection between you and Frenchie. Since the night you two shared a kiss, you had deliberately kept your distance from Izzy. He sensed your embarrassment about the shared moment, and a part of him felt a sense of relief that you were steering clear of him. Izzy understood the importance of staying focused on the plan and, more specifically, on Edward.

Your request for sword lessons from Izzy had stopped, a fact that he couldn’t help but notice. Ivan had seamlessly stepped into the role of your instructor. Izzy observed you honing your knife skills under Jim’s guidance. Credit where it was due, Izzy couldn’t deny that Jim was the only competent pirate aboard this ship.

Your magnetic presence naturally drew Bonnet’s crew toward you, seeking your company, and, much to Izzy’s annoyance, receiving your warm smiles. You spent the last few days hiding away in the kitchen helping Roach with meals. Your whispered conversations with Lucius didn’t escape Izzy’s keen eyes. It grated on him to witness these interactions. You, above all, shouldn’t be forming attachments to these idiots, as you were well aware that this arrangement was temporary.

Izzy observed Blackbeard and Stede Bonnet emerging from the captain’s quarters, exchanging grins. A grimace crept across Izzy’s face as he witnessed the scene. Though he understood it was a strategic move, he couldn’t fathom why Blackbeard would willingly spend any time with that man.

“What’s it looking like, Iz?” Blackbeard asked, disrupting Izzy’s train of thought.

“We’re approaching a medium-sized merchant vessel, cap’n, and it appears to have a distinct lack of cannons” Izzy replied with stoic composure.

“Agh, that’s great news, Izzy!” Blackbeard exclaimed, his eyes alight with excitement as he grasped Stede’s shoulder. “Your first real raid, mate,” Blackbeard added, directing his words to Stede with a twinkle in his eyes.

“Ah, indeed,” Stede replied with a goofy grin, attempting to conceal the fear behind his eyes. “I’m quite looking forward to it.”

Izzy rolled his eyes at the exchange and proceeded to rally the crew for the impending raid.

⚓⚓⚓⚓⚓⚓⚓

The sound of gunfire echoed through the air as chaos unfurled around you. Blackbeard’s crew, a group of seasoned pirates, fought fiercely, and you navigated well enough to keep yourself alive. While you had made improvements through the lessons imparted by Izzy and Ivan, the truth remained that you were still a far cry from being an expert with a blade.

If you were being honest with yourself, you currently lacked the energy for a fight. The idea of being curled up in your hammock with one of Stede Bonnet’s books held far more appeal. The recent emotional turmoil with Izzy had taken a toll on your mind, leaving you feeling drained. Engaging in mundane tasks, like helping Roach in the kitchen or handling menial ship duties, felt far more manageable. The realization of your exhaustion only truly set in when you found yourself in the middle of the raid.

Your attention snapped back into focus as Fang ruthlessly smashed a man’s head against some wooden crates. The brutality of the scene shook you, briefly waking you from your mental fatigue. Your focus was swiftly redirected to a man engulfed in flames, leaping off the boat - a spectacle orchestrated by Ivan.

Suddenly, the wind was knocked from your stomach as a body collided with you, forcing you to crumple onto the ground. The impact sent your sword flying from your right hand, and instinctively, you reached out with the other, desperately attempting to break your fall. A sharp pain emanated from your left wrist upon hitting the ground. Standing above you, a man brandished his sword, the blade menacingly aimed toward your chest.

You closed your eyes, bracing for the inevitable strike, but instead the air filled with commotion around you. Opening your eyes, you witnessed Izzy delivering a resounding punch to the man’s face. The first mate called out to Fang, and in the blink of an eye, the assailant who had knocked you down was being hurtled across the deck, soaring over the heads of Lucius and Stede. Swiftly sitting up, you maneuvered against the ship’s wall, finding refuge, while Izzy positioned himself in front of you, brandishing his sword in a protective stance.

As the fight gradually ended, the rest of the crew corralled the survivors of the raid. You rose to your feet, cautiously retrieving your sword while hiding your injured wrist behind your back. When Izzy turned to face you, the simmering anger in his eyes was unmistakable.

“That was fucking sloppy,” Izzy hissed at you. “I shouldn't have to worry about you getting gutted during a simple raid. Next time, you’ll be watching with the rest of the twattys who aren’t fit to be pirates.”

You fixed your gaze on Izzy, choosing not to offer a response.

“Fuck off. Go help with the looting”, he grumbled, acknowledging your silence.

Swiftly, you made your way to join Frenchie, eager to escape further scolding from Izzy. Deep down, you recognized the truth in his words; your focus should have been sharper during the fight. The persistent dull pain radiating from your wrist served as a reminder of that. You opted to keep the injury to yourself. You would rather endure the pain in silence, hoping it would subside with time, than face any additional reasons for reprimand.

You and Frenchie sifted through the boxes in search of anything valuable. Mindful of your injured left hand, you relied solely on your right, keeping the hurt arm cradled close to your stomach. Having collected everything you deemed valuable, you and Frenchie made your way back to the Revenge.

As the day progressed, you found yourself seated below deck with Lucius and Pete, chatting about mundane topics. Suddenly, Frenchie made his entrance, adorned in a fine black suit and cradling his lute.

“Frenchie!” you exclaimed, “You clean up well!”

“Why, thank you,” Frenchie responded with a theatrical bow. “I’m planning to wear it to a fancy party the captains want to attend.”

“What kind of party?” Black Pete inquired, his curiosity tinged with a hint of fear of missing out on something fun.

“Eh, just one with a bunch of hoity-toity people,” Frenchie responded, his tone less than impressed.

“Yeah, I’ll pass on that,” Black Pete replied.

“I wonder if there’s going to be dancing,” Lucius mused playfully, lifting his eyebrows. “Ugh, I miss dancing.”

Frenchie sat down next to you on a crate and began playing a slow, melodic tune on his lute, a common occurrence aboard the ship. The music prompted Lucius to rise from his seat, extending his hand toward you with raised eyebrows.

“My wrist is still hurting from the raid this morning,” you responded, politely declining Lucius’ request. Suddenly, a mischievous thought crossed your mind, and you gave Lucius a sly smile.

During your time on The Revenge, Lucius had become quite talkative with you. You suspected it was because, among the crew, you were one of the less intimidating pirates. In the last few days, he had been openly expressing his crush on Black Pete to you. Now, you made a decision that you were going to help him out.

“I bet Black Pete would make a pretty good dance partner,” you said, casting a glance toward him. “Even if he hasn’t danced before, he picks things up way faster than anyone I’ve ever met.”

“I haven’t danced before,” Black Pete responded hesitantly, before regaining his normal confidence. “But you’re right. I am an exceptionally fast learner.”

“Well, lucky for you, I’m also an exceptional teacher,” Lucius responded flirtatiously, placing his hands on Black Pete’s shoulders.

As you watched Lucius and Black Pete dance you couldn’t help but notice a subtle spark igniting between the two. After a while, you and Frenchie made your way back to the deck, as he prepared to depart from the party, leaving Lucius and Black Pete alone to their own devices.

As you ascended to the deck, you noticed Blackbeard and Izzy engaged in conversation on the Quarterdeck. Their discussion seemed intense, with the low rumble of their voices carrying over the sounds of the ship. Abruptly, Izzy stomped off, his expression etched with the familiar anger that seemed to cling to him like a shadow.

Soon after Izzy’s departure, you found yourself in the vacant spot next t0 Blackbeard on the Quarterdeck. Edward was in a beautiful purple suit, adorned with two bows neatly tied into his beard. His typically wild and flowing hair was not fashioned into a tidy bun at the back of his head.

“Izzy said I look like a ponce,” Blackbeard huffed, a touch of vulnerability in his tone. “Do I look ponce?” he asked, turning to you with genuine concern in his eyes.

“You look handsome,” you replied with a warm smile, reaching up to gently straighten one of the bows in his beard. It struck you that this was the first time you had ever seen your captain look nervous. It made sense; this was uncharted territory for him. “Stede will look out for you,” you assured Blackbeard, offering a reassuring nod.

Blackbeard acknowledged your words with a coy smile.

The party set off to the celebration, and life on the ship resumed its normal course.

⚓⚓⚓⚓⚓⚓⚓

Izzy Hands seethed with fury as he found himself left alone with Bonnet’s useless crew while Blackbeard attended some pointless party. At least there was a small victory in the fact that he was having Lucius scrape all the barnacles off the ship. Izzy’s satisfaction deepened at the thought that Lucius was finally facing the consequences for lying around doing fuck-all day after day. The punishment was fitting, and long overdue.

“How’s our barnacle project coming?” Izzy sneered, his gaze scanning over the edge of the ship, expecting to find Lucius.

A wave of surprise and frustration washed over Izzy as he spotted you sitting on the bench, scraping barnacles instead of Lucius. He noticed your face tightening in response to the sound of his voice, but you continued your work, seeming determined to stay focused despite his interruption.

“I’m gonna kill that twat,” Izzy snapped, frustration boiling over. “What the fuck are you doing?” he demanded, his tone sharp and accusing.

“Scraping barnacles, sir,” you responded in a flat tone, maintaining a stoic demeanor despite the tension in the air.

Izzy rolled his eyes before continuing, “Where are Fang and Lucius?” he inquired, a hint of impatience coloring his tone.

“They mentioned having something important to do, so I offered to finish scraping the barnacles,” you said with nonchalant shrug.

“Why the fuck would you do that?” Izzy demanded.

Izzy noticed you pause your barnacle-scraping, it seemed like you were taking a moment to genuinely consider his question. “It’s probably because I’m a chronic people-pleaser. I know you wanted this done, and I’m just trying to keep the peace,” you replied, your words carrying a touch of honesty.

Izzy started pulling the bench back up towards the deck until you were face to face with him. “You’d just blindly do something, because someone asked you to?” Izzy asked condescendingly.

“Most likely,” you responded with a shrug.

“What if I asked you to jump off the crow’s nest? Would you do that?” Izzy inquired his tone carrying a note of exhaustion.

“I would probably do anything you asked me to, Izzy, because I don’t like when you’re pissed at me,” you responded, avoiding direct eye contact as you looked off to the side.

“You would die,” Izzy responded flatly.

“Well if that turned out to be the case, at least you wouldn’t be able to yell at me,” you

replied, pursing your lips together, a hint of bitterness lacing your words.

Izzy observed you carefully standing up off the stool and onto the deck, his gaze unwavering.

“Well, that twat owes you an apology for making you do his work,” Izzy stated with a gruff tone, trying to return to the situation at hand.

“That’s not really necessary because I’m not upset. I offered to do it,” you replied quietly.

Izzy rolled his eyes once more, expressing his exhaustion with the situation. Frustrated that Lucius had taken advantage of your kindness, he moved to grab your wrist to lead you in search of Fang and Lucius. However, a sharp hiss escaping your mouth caught his attention. Concern furrowed his brow, and he immediately released your arm, his eyes scanning your face as you attempted to hide a wince.

“Let me see your wrist,” Izzy demanded in a gentle tone, a surge of concern coursing through him.

You lifted up your arm, and Izzy carefully examined your wrist. As he moved your sleeve back, the sight that met his eyes confirmed his suspicions. The area around the wrist showed signs of distress – visible swelling, a blooming bruise coloring the skin, and a subtle misalignment that hinted at a potential fracture. Tender to the touch, your wince as he inspected it spoke volumes about the pain you were experiencing.

Izzy looked up towards your eyes, and the fear he saw there softened his expression. “This was from the raid this morning?” Izzy asked, although he already knew the answer.

You nodded slowly in confirmation.

“Why didn’t you tell anyone?” he pressed.

“I didn’t want to bother anyone. I just hoped it would get better,” you responded, a tinge of embarrassment coloring your words.

“Go wait for me in my cabin. We’re going to get that sorted. I just need to find those two lazy idiots first,” Izzy said softly, a mixture of concern and determination in his voice.

As he watched you walk away, gently cradling your left wrist against your chest, a wave of guilt washed over Izzy. He should have made sure that you weren’t injured after the raid. When he saw that man rushing into you, a surge of rage had flung him into protection mode. After the fight, he directed that rage toward you, but now, seeing you hurt, he realized he was really just angry at himself for allowing you to be in that position in the first place. The weight of responsibility settled heavily on Izzy’s shoulders as he set off to find Fang and Lucius, a resolve burning in his eyes to make things right with you.

⚓⚓⚓⚓⚓⚓⚓

Entering Izzy’s room, you cast a curious glance around, hoping to glean any more insight into the man who had been occupying your thoughts for the last year. As expected, Izzy’s room was simple and functional- a reflection of his practical nature. A bed, a desk, a chair, and a chest constituted the entirety of his furnishings.

Standing awkwardly for a while, you felt a sense of unwelcome intrusion in his personal space before finally opting to sit on his chair. Time seemed to stretch on as you waited for Izzy, and your anxiety began to grow. This was the first time you would be alone with Izzy since the kiss, and a sense of uncertainty lingered in your mind. You weren’t sure how to act around him anymore.

Eventually, Izzy stomped into his room, his frustration clear as he ranted to himself about Lucius. Once Izzy’s eyes met yours, his demeanor softened, and concern once again painted itself across his face. Setting down a bowl filled with a liquid that carried the distinct scent of vinegar, he retrieved bandages from the chest in his room.

“Sit on my bed. I’m going to use the chair,” he commanded softly, the concern in his voice blending with a touch of authority.

You followed his command, swiftly taking a seat on the edge of the bed. You could feel your heart racing in your chest, mirroring the night you two shared a kiss. The rapid beat provided a welcome distraction from the pain throbbing in your wrist.

Izzy gently reached for your non-injured hand, his fingers delicately tracing along the bones of your wrist. A flush crept onto your face at his touch, though you hoped he wouldn’t notice the subtle reaction. His weathered and calloused fingers possessed a surprising gentleness as they moved across your arm.

Izzy paused, his gaze lifting to meet yours. “I need to feel your injured wrist now to compare the positioning of the bones. It’ll help me see what the damage is,” he explained, his voice carrying a gentle but resolute undertone. “It’s going to fucking hurt.” he warned you.

You nodded in understanding as Izzy carefully lifted your injured wrist. The pain that surged through your arm was excruciating, evident in the wince that danced across your features. You could see a mirror expression of discomfort on Izzy’s face, the idea that his touch was causing you pain weighing heavily on him. His fingers continued their methodical exploration, seeking to understand the extent of your injury.

A wave of dizziness washed over you, and the thud of your heart echoed loudly in your ears. The room blurred momentarily as if reality itself was swaying, and you gripped the edge of the bed, attempting to anchor yourself amidst the disorienting feeling. Suddenly, a gentle hand on your face snapped you back to reality.

“Little mouse,” Izzy whispered, lifting your chin so that your eyes met his. “You need to breathe.”

Following Izzy’s instruction, you took slow, deliberate breaths, the world gradually coming back into plain view. The concern in Izzy’s eyes remained, a silent reassurance that you were not alone in this moment of vulnerability.

“You have a simple fracture. I need to set it and bandage it. Then you should be okay, as long as you refrain from being knocked over,” Izzy explained. Izzy grabbed your uninjured hand, gently placing it on his knee with a stern expression. “I don’t need you passing out on me, so when it hurts, you can squeeze my knee. And don’t stop breathing again,” he instructed.

Izzy efficiently set your wrist back into place, and you seized the opportunity to squeeze his knee tightly as the pain reached its boiling point. The intensity gradually subsided as Izzy skillfully maneuvered your bone into the correct position. Izzy proceeded to dip the bandages into the liquid he had brought with him, tightly starting to wrap them around your injured wrist.

A silence settled in as Izzy worked diligently on wrapping your wrist. Feeling a tinge of discomfort, you decided to look away, diverting your gaze to anything else in the room, attempting to avoid the intimacy of the situation. Suddenly, a sensation of being watched prompted you to turn, and you found Izzy peering up at you.

“I shouldn’t have yelled at you this morning,” Izzy stated matter-of-factly. “You still fight better than most of the twats on this ship.” The admission held a rare sincerity.

“You were right though. I was distracted,” you responded gently, a slight frown gracing your features. You noticed Izzy staring at you a little longer, but you looked back down feeling too vulnerable.

Izzy placed his hand on your shoulder, beginning to speak again. “Okay. New rules. Number one: you are no longer going to offer to do anyone’s chores for them, especially with a fractured wrist.” The firmness in his voice conveyed a sense of protective authority.

“Number two,” he continued, “If you ever get hurt again, you will come to me immediately. Even if you get a single splinter, I expect to fucking hear about it.”

You nodded in agreement. “Thank you, Izzy,” you said, giving his knee one last squeeze and offering a soft smile.

“Now, fuck off,” Izzy said, his tone a stark contrast to the morning’s sternness. There was a hint of endearment in his tone.

You took Izzy’s command seriously and did indeed fuck off, finding Lucius engaged in conversation with Black Pete and Fang on the deck.

“Lucius, what have you been doing today?” you asked curiously, joining them. “I don’t think I’ve ever seen Izzy that angry.”

“I drew Fang naked,” Lucius said, raising his eyebrows with a smirk. “Listen, that angry little sexually repressed man just needs to get laid. Otherwise, I feel like he’s going to pop.”

Lucius looked at you before continuing, a mischievous glint in his eyes. "Unlucky for him, only someone crazy would be attracted to that."

You looked over to Fang and noticed his guilty expression. "Fang, you didn't," you whined.

"Oh yes. Fang spilled your dirty little secret," Lucius giggled. "I do think you're crazy for liking that man, but we all have a type, I guess." Lucius finished, winking at Black Pete.

You weren't really upset with Fang. You knew most people would notice eventually with how obvious your feelings showed. You looked down at your wrapped wrist, pondering Lucius's statement. You didn't think you were crazy at all. As a matter of fact, you thought it was crazy that the rest of the crew didn't see Izzy the way you did. He was rough on the outside, but deep down, he was one of the kindest people you had ever met.

Taglist: @5tud10-54r4h @locamoka-blog @promptly-mercy

{Next Chapter}

#izzy hands x reader #ofmd #ofmd x reader #ofmd fanfic #izzy hands #our flag means death #too soft to be a pirate

126 notes · View notes

ask-steven-stevenson · 2 months ago

Note

Woe. Caleb be upon ye. He looks.. less energetic? For some reason?

“Zteven, go deal with William. He’z being a killjoy and I can’t ZTAND it. It’z no fun when the guy I want to torment iz already tormenting himzelf!”

//@the-flys-buzz (ill make. a separate blog for caleb soon.....)

“..w. What..?? Okay, well let’s start off with the basics! Where is he.”

#anon ask #ask steven #steven ask blog #if Caleb doesn’t tell Sly where his son is he will SNAP #:( he wants to make sure William is okay..

13 notes · View notes

valentine-writes · 1 year ago

Note

Could you write something about hanahaki disease with Johnathon ohnn? (Could end in angst or fluff either is good :3) no rush ofc, i love your work!!!

choking on flowers.

「 tws + notes: open ended ending, implications/mentions of death (but no Actual Death), unedited, OOC, interpretation of hanahaki may be slightly diff (i haven't heard of this trope thing in a hot min ngl so im not the Greatest With This), pre-collider even though his holes generating flowers is a silly thought which i giggled abt while writing this, present/past tenses are fucked up cuz i changed formatting halfway, angst?? 」

「 gn!reader, (unrequited) romantic relationship </3 」

↳ ft. johnathan/johnathon ohnn

author's note: THANK U SMMM!! (∩^o^)⊃━☆ lowkey 4got thiz thing existed lolz,, and while hanahaki aus are no longer My Thing, i wud b lying if i told u i didn't eat hanahaki ficz up in middle school ＞︿＜!! sooo,, here we go!!! hopefully this is ok,, many apologies for how short it iz aauwgwhwh

this is the third time you've called him today, trying to reach out. the first two times, he had thought he was strong enough to ignore you.

he was wrong. the minute his phone rang out that third time, he practically scrambled over to it just to answer. pathetic.

"you haven't been at work for what,,, almost two weeks now?"

the concern in your voice makes johnathan want to keel over dead instantly– not like he's far from it anyways. he pulls his phone away as he lets out a weak cough. you barely hear it from your end of the call.

"...sick." is all he manages to rasp out, his sore throat preventing him from speaking further. even if he could manage to talk more, he wouldn't know what else to say. how would he tell you? the call ends prematurely. you know you're not going to get more out of him, and he knows that it's better to keep you in the dark about his situation.

to tell you about how his unrequited feelings have manifested into something much more than both of you can handle was completely and absolutely out of the question. how was he supposed to explain he had been coughing up your favourite flowers? johnathan would rather let it kill him.

not only was he humiliated by the sheer intensity of his yearning– he knew you'd end up feeling guilty about it. yet, a part of his heart ached, wishing that he was selfish enough to tell you. maybe seeing you cry over him would give him some semblance of love.

that was an awful thought. he promptly pushed it aside. he'd never want to make you cry.

he could only laugh at how frustrating his situation is. it was inescapable, his fate inevitable and ever nearing– and no one to tell.

he had never felt so alone.

at least i'll have flowers for my funeral, he thought in the deafening silence of his home, finding the energy to let out a weak chuckle over the thought.

–

a few days after the call, his phone buzzed, receiving a text from you:

i'm coming over'

straightforward, at least.

'what if you get sick?' he messages back, trying to generate excuses to keep you away.

you reply swiftly, before he can come up with anything else, unswayed by the idea of potentially catching his illness which, unbeknownst to you, wasn't really transferable anyways. 'we'll wear masks then. omw.'

lovely. you were stubborn as ever. at least you gave him a heads up.

he noticed you made no attempt to keep your distance from him as you dropped off his little care package.

all neatly put into a little basket was some fresh fruit you had insisted he needed, as you rambled over the importance of vitamin c and immune health, a sweet little card filled with "get better soon"s filled by his coworkers at alchemax most of which he knew probably didn't really care all that much, a few packages of cough drops you had been a sweetheart to actually choose ones which had bearable flavours, a blanket, a few snacks, and... flowers.

if you had known exactly what illness, he doubted this choice would have been made. he stared at them silently, finding some sort of humor in the mortifying irony.

you said an awkward goodbye at his door, about to turn around and head off– before hesitating for a second.

"johnathan?" the way you looked at him, eyes filled with tenderness and worry– maybe it wasn't so bad after all, for you to be the death of him.

"...yeah?"

you didn't say anything further, instead, choosing to communicate through impulsively squeezing him into a tight hug.

you pull away just as quick as it had happened, yet the warmth of your embrace lingered a little longer, even as you headed out the door. something about you caring so much made it hurt more.

johnathan wondered why you even cared, why you were so persistent about looking out for him– knowing that he'd end up watching you slip away from him again, leaving an ache in his heart nothing could remedy.

he couldn't blame you. not sweet, kind, thoughtful you. he was the idiot, the careless fool who yearned for something he couldn't have.

maybe in another life, he thought to himself.

#atsv #across the spiderverse #atsv x reader #the spot #johnathon ohnn #johnathan ohnn #johnathan ohnn headcanons #johnathan ohnn x reader #johnathon ohnn headcanons #johnathon ohnn x reader #the spot x reader #the spot headcanons

62 notes · View notes

silantryoo · 1 year ago

Text

EUPHORIA — nekkoya

AHN YUJIN (jinyuandfriends, ilovegirls11), 2003, izone's other baby, goes to eunbi for advice at every inconvenience, gives chaewon the worst advice, likes to make fun of wonyoung in the gc because no one can stop her here

JANG WONYOUNG (iwonyoung), 2004, literally a big baby, matured but to what degree, asks her unnies for help about everything, knows her maknae privileges and it gets her anything she wants

CHOI YENA (mynameisyena), 1999, dumbass without a single thought in her brain, teases yujin but she's no better, says she can climb trees but she can't, tells yujin to do the dumbest stuff AND SHE LISTENS???

LEE CHAEYEON (i.chaechae), 2000, laughs at anything and at anyone, super sweet and understanding, always giving advice out, probably the most well-slept out of all of them

JO YURI (youryuri), 2001, supportive only when she's happy, kinda a ticking time bomb, is a big fan of l/n y/n, loves to watch the others suffer except her maknaes

HONDA HITOMI (imthealpha), 2001, small but terrifying, once threatened to choke yena with a sock for stealing her food, never gets involved with anything even if they're her problems

YABUKI NAKO (nakonakonii), 2001, shortest mf in the world and yujin consistently makes sure she knows that, secretly wishing for yujin to magically shrink one day, lowkey judges everything and everyone

KANG HAEWON (kwangbae), 1999, she doesn't really exist, only shows up when she gets to insult someone or if yuri is in trouble, kinda texts like an ai most times, she has a pet alien(?)

KIM MINJU (loveminju), 2001, the biggest hater in iz*one lowkey, lost half of the time, reads books upside down, she somehow has a great memory, yujin's go-to person when she needs to vent

MIYAWAKI SAKURA (justkkuraisfine), 1998, has to deal basically the same group twice each day, defends wonyoung and yujin with every muscle she's got, loves all her members even if they piss her off

KIM CHAEWON (zuhasrealgf), 2000, hater until the end of time, doesn't care about problems except her own, annoys eunbi and yena about everything, surprisingly good at giving advice

KWON EUNBI (helpmepls1), 1996, can't escape no matter how hard she tries, her phone is always buzzing and her fridge is always empty because of the others, needs a 2 week, fully paid vacation to hawaii

masterlist

taglist (CLOSED)!

@rosiehrs @perfectsunlight @sserabey @wallfl9wer @uzumakioden @cwpiqwon @zhivaxo @blue4hour @jisooftme @alexxis10 @everydayiloveyves @haerinkisser @winieter @feisrants @haerinsloverr @skisk1 @huhyunjinwifey

#ahn yujin x reader #an yujin x reader #ive x reader #izone x reader #iz*one x reader #kpop x reader #idol x reader #silantryo

63 notes · View notes

theirishwolfhound · 7 months ago

Text

AHoGiSoG- Chapter 2: Bruises and Bitemarks

Summary: With the day continuing on, Crow catches up on his schedule and finally opens up to his friends mostly. Long post ahead so settle in and enjoy!

Content Warnings (MDNI): pining masked as envy, homoerotic sparring but they're almost fully clothed, brief mention of needles Word Count: 16,758

Their mission was simple, a normal recon: get in, understand the landscape, and find their target before making a plan of attack. It was simple enough. They would be departing more than likely the next day. Price needed to remain at base just to make sure everything there ran smoothly. Gaz and Wolfhound would work together to scout the landscape, the latter would devise the best plan while the later found the vital points of land to work with. Soap and Ghost would be there as the countermeasures, just in case things were to go haywire or if someone got injured. They would be outfitted with two, small two-person tents and anything else they would need to manage until they got what they needed out of the mission.

They would be dropped off near Mount Konzhakovskiy Kamen in the more southern part of the Northern Ural. Then, they would have to make their way to Mount Telpos-Iz, closer towards the Nether-Polar Ural. Their lead had only spoken of the Eastern side of the Northern range so they would have to search the span of the area until they found what they were looking for. While it would help keep them from being detected and give them the best knowledge of the land, their mission could take at least fifteen days with their current conditions. Given their estimated timeframe, they were hoping that they would not have to hike the whole path.

To say that Crow was happy to go camping on a recon was an understatement—he loved the idea of the plan—though seemed to be the only one enthused about camping. That was just the ranger in him after all, he’d never be able to get rid of that part of him, but this is what made him a vital part of the mission. He knew much more about wilderness survival than the other operatives in that room, that was his specialty: surviving. His change of demeanor did not go unnoticed either, as the other men could practically see him buzz with faint excitement at the prospect of this mission. They knew that he would do the mission alone if he could, but even for him it was a bit taxing to do it alone. While it wasn’t his first mission with the Task Force, it was at least up his alley.

Johnny was a bit relieved that his friend seemed to be doing a bit better and seemed genuinely enthused about this mission. It would have been a first for him after all, while Crow never complained but his eyes never lit up in the same way they did now. He glanced towards Ghost, Kyle, and Price- all three of them seemingly relieved as well- then spoke happily.

“It’ll be a skoosh, we’ve got Irish here ta’ guide us.” He smiled at Crow and gave the man a nod before laughing.

“Grand,” Crow chuckled softly and shook his head playfully. “Means it’ll b’ on meh if it winds up a haymes.”

“Nae danger, ya’ cannae make a mess unless ya’ try too hard.” Johnny reassured him.

The Irishman huffed out a soft laugh. “Is been donkey’s years since I was a guide.”

“I’m sure you’ll do just fine.” Gaz chuckled then shrugged, just barely understanding what the two men had said. “And if not… Well, then that’s just how it works innit? Nothing goes to plan here, everything is bonkers.”

Crow crossed his arms over his chest and laughed softly before finally nodding in agreement so that the meeting could finish up. He sat back in his seat then focused on the screen that Price stood in front of, a faint smile remaining on his lips throughout the rest of the briefing. He kept his hands on his lap, holding them similarly to how he held Simon’s—to how he held Malakai’s—the simple thought of that caused his mind to drift faintly. It was nice, sure, but it was definitely something he wanted to keep between the both of them. Crow’s gaze remained unfocused, distant, until he felt a faint tap on his boot from under the table, which made him glance over to the man across from him.

Johnny had paid close attention to the Irishman during the meeting, he was worried for him after the interaction that morning so when he noticed his eyes grow a bit glassy he intervened. He watched Crow for a moment, his gaze kind and smile sweet, only to nod with relief when the other man nudged his foot back. The Scotsman’s smile never faltered as he turned back towards the projection of the map on the screen.

17:36

The meeting would go for about two hours, the team discussing their plan of action until they finally felt comfortable with it. A little too comfortable as Crow nearly fell asleep with his head on the back of his chair and arms over his chest, but he knew what his job was so no one woke him from his brief rest. Once they were finished, they left, continuing on with their afternoon. They had thirty minutes before the rest of the soldiers and the recruits would be finished with their scheduled activities.

The Irishman knew he needed to go get something to eat, so he suggested an early tea break for the five of them just so that he wouldn’t have to eat alone, to which they agreed. Price and Gaz led the way, happily chatting with one another while Ghost and Soap walked behind them, the latter chiming in to the conversation in front of him. Crow walked a few paces behind the four, observing just how close they were with one another. He used to watch them with envy when he first joined, missing the closeness he shared with Malakai and their old team, but now he watched them with fondness. They were the closest people he had to family now, and he was grateful for them, though he still had moments where he felt like he didn’t belong. It was nothing they did, in fact they had always made sure he was involved even if he had originally been less than approachable, it was just his own thoughts.

However, as he watched them, he noticed that Soap and Ghost turned their heads slightly to look back to him. He made brief eye contact with both of them before the Scottish man beckoned him to join them. For a second Crow did not know what to do, but he couldn’t help but smile and quicken his pace to walk between the two, lightly nudging the both of them.

“Shouldnae fall too far behind, freckles, dinnae want ‘hose eyes ta’ look lost wee cuilean’s,” Soap teased, clapping Wolfhound on the back gently once he had caught up.

“Oh eff off,” The redhead laughed softly and lightly slugged the man in the arm, who took notice of the faint red coloring now adorning the Irishman’s ears. “I’m nae a coileán, ya’ fool.”

“Bounded ova’ like one,” The Scotsman rebutted.

“Oi, be nice,” Price scolded sarcastically from the front as they walked, chuckling slightly as he listened to their bantering. While he could not understand the two at times, he could only tell that they were playfully antagonizing one another. “Both of you.”

“Aye, Scot, stop actin’ the maggot,” Crow quipped and gave the younger sergeant a taunting smile.

The two Celts playfully narrowed their eyes at one another before laughing with one another, as if they were two merry schoolyard children. Soap knew how to brighten Crow’s mood just by initiating a conversation that only he could really understand. He loved watching the way the Irishman’s eyes squinted when he laughed, and the way that his dimples formed on both cheeks. Johnny then glanced over to Simon, who had faint amusement in his eyes as the two of them laughed and bickered. He could tell the lieutenant had a faint smile on his face from the way his mask shifted.

They were cohesive, a bonded unit in the Scotsman’s eyes, and forming an unshakable bond with Crow, while being a tedious task, was slowly becoming a reality.

The five of them soon arrived at the mess hall, Ghost heading over to claim their table while the rest of them went to gather whatever they wished to have for evening tea. Price would return with a coffee and biscuits, Gaz with an orange and water, and Soap with a quick snack and water as well. It would take a few minutes for Crow to return, carrying a sandwich on a plate and a cup in his other hand, which he set in front of Simon before he had the chance to get up. The man had made him some tea as it had been a part of their compromise, though it did catch him off guard for a few seconds. As Crow sat down to start eating, Ghost let out an amused huff and pulled his balaclava up slightly like he had done at breakfast. He brought the cup up to his nose and took a few inhales before sighing and blowing on the tea so that he could take a sip.

Slowly, Ghost nodded and took a moment to relax, listening into the light chatter of Soap’s voice blending with Gaz’s as they joked to one another playfully. “Thank you.” There was a pause, then, while continuing to not look at Crow, he spoke again. “You’re feelin’ a wee bit better?”

“Aye… a wee bit, t’anks to ya…” The freckled man said sheepishly.

“No need for thanks, red,” Ghost said before sipping from his cup once again, closing his eyes thoughtfully before speaking soft enough for only Crow to hear, though the others did not seem to pay much mind to their conversation. “If you ever need to talk about anything, you know you can come to us.”

“Ah.. Aye, I know… speakin’ ‘bout what ails me is… difficult… is why I acted out earlier,” The Irishman replied before eating a little bit more. He hummed a little then spoke up once again. “...but I've been ‘ere fer ‘alf a year now… I trust the lot of ya’... so.. Maybe I will some time soon.”

“That’s good to hear, Wolfhound,” Ghost chuckled, now turning to listen in on the conversation that was being held between the other men.

Crow too would tune into their conversation, only to realize that they were sharing laughs about previous missions they all had been on or encounters they had had. John shared a memory from when he was still a Lieutenant back around 2009 where he had to deal with rowdy recruits, while Kyle joked about a relationship he had back in secondary school that wound up being more trouble than it was worth. On Johnny’s turn, he continued the trend of lightheartedness and began to boast happily about a memory from a football game back in secondary school.

“Right! So, it was a pretty shitty sunny day, we were tied and it had beena hell of a game already, got really dicey in some parts,” He mused using his hands to gesture a bit as he spoke happily, his voice beaming with pride. “Now I dinnea ken wha’ ye’ know about football, but this game was a bloody chess match. We played a buncha fancy school boys, wee bastards they were, gave us a tough time…”

The Irishman chuckled softly, watching the Scotsman speak and tell his tale, though he stopped listening fully. Rather, he focused on the way his voice sounded, enjoying the joy in his friend’s voice. It was warm and smooth, like scotch and nothing like the British men’s. Ghost’s stood out from Gaz’s and Price’s deep smooth ones, if he had to describe it he would be compared to a cinnamon whiskey. Yet all of them had pleasant voices, he could listen to both Johnny and Simon talk all day if they wanted to… which he knew Johnny would do given the chance. Mans just loved to talk, and the little lad just loved to listen.

Before he knew it Soap’s story was over, but he continued to stare unfocused with a faint reddish hue rising to his freckled face as he hummed softly. It took Kyle snapping his fingers in front of Crow’s face to finally drag him back down to Earth. “Cad?”

“Zonin’ out there, lad? Or are you just takin’ the piss, eh?” The older sergeant teased.

“Jus’ thinkin’,” Crow replied. “Hearin’ Johnny talk ‘bout football reminded me o’ a time when I was a scout back home.” He hummed softly.

“Well now ye’ got ta’ talk about it,” Soap chuckled.

The Irishman shrugs, only to nod and laugh quietly. “I used ta’ teach kids how ta’ play kickball at te’ summer camp I worked at as a scout, b’fore I was a ranger… one spring when te’ pond still had ice, some lass kicked te’ ball onta the ice an’ I had ta’ fetch it.”

“I can only imagine that didn’t go well,” Price chuckled softly.

“It did not,” He snickered, lightly rubbing the bridge of his nose. “I crawled ta’ te’ middle of t’pond and get te’ ball… at te’ time I had ta’ weigh fifty-four kilos, so obviously te’ ice cracks under me. I wasn’ scared of fallin’ in, I was afraid of t’ese kiddos laughin’ at me,” Crow laughed. “Then… I had te’ brigh’ idea ta’ stand up fully… in te’ middle of te’ pond… so, eh, I fell in te’ ice cold water.”

“Did ye’ have to swim back to the bank?” Soap asked as he laughed, picturing a much younger Wolfhound’s predicament of retrieving the kickball. The other three chuckled, enthused by the show of humility, watching Crow’s face go from a more neutral expression to a more embarrassed one, his cheeks gaining more color to them.

“Nah, I climbed back onta the ice, I couldn’ swim in neck deep water,” He mused before shaking his head shamefully. “Crawled back on my belly ta’ shore.”

“And how did those kids react?” Ghost asked, a smirk showing on his exposed lips as he brought his cup up to his mouth.

“Some were worried, te’ others laughed t’eir arses off. My scout master t’ought I was a, uh, dosser… but te’ kids had my back for t’at at least. Told te’ ‘hole truth tey did… at my expense… but I was awake fer te’ rest of te’ day.”

The other men chuckled, though Soap’s was more like a laugh that drew a bit of attention from the soldiers that walked into the mess hall. It was lively, enjoyable even, enjoyable enough for Crow to finish eating so that they could continue talking. He wondered what it would have been like if he was in a much better mental space than he currently was. Would they have all been closer? He definitely knew that he would have been happier to be well knitted amongst the group rather than being the only one stitched in with elastic strings, seeing that he had the higher chance of stretching away from the rest of the group given one string breaking. But that was a thought for later, something he would add to the list of things he wanted to tell them, and something he’d bring up in his next therapy session. For now they would share more stories, except Ghost who only chimed in to back a few of the stories Soap told about the missions they’ve been on, but that didn’t disrupt the flow.

19:04

The rest of their break was spent together until Price and Gaz had to dismiss themselves to handle paperwork, leaving the other three men to find something to do until dinner. Normally Crow would have just gone back to his room and painted, but he knew he needed to make up the hours he spent napping. He took his dishes to the drop off then went to sit back down with Simon and Johnny, though now he was across from the both of them. He listened as they spoke—well, he listened to Soap talk anyways—and tried to figure out what he could do until dinner time. He could go train—hell, even go for a walk—but he wasn’t sure if the other two had plans. The Irishman watched them, only to lightly tap on the table in front of the other two.

“If ya’ two fellas aren’t busy… would ya’ want ta’ join me at ta’ gym?” He asked while cocking his head curiously.

“Sure! I dinnae s’why not,” Soap mused while standing up to take his snack plate and Ghost’s teacup to the dish drop off.

Once The Scotsman came back, the other two would stand up and the three of them would head out of the mess to go walk towards the gym. Soap made sure to keep Crow between himself and Ghost as they walked, happily chatting away as the other two listened to him speak. It was blissful in its own way, like it was the right thing to have happen. Though as Wolfhound walked with them, he began to finally notice what he had been walking behind for the past six or so months. Soap spoke with more passion and affection when it came to stories about himself and Ghost. Crow noticed it when Soap was simply talking around Ghost, as well as the subtle way the two drifted closer when walking next to one another. He saw the way that Johnny looked at Simon: the way his eyes lit up and maintained contact no matter where they were.

He blinked a little then furrowed his brows in slight thought. Was it love, admiration, or both? It was hard to tell, but he wouldn’t be surprised if it was some sort of affection. From the stories he’d heard, the two were practically a package deal when it came to missions so they had plenty of time to form that kind of bond— hell even Price and Gaz were a duo. The way Johnny looked at Simon reminded him of how Malakai looked at him: a gentle fondness, or at least something close to it. He had overheard that the British man was more mellow than he was before the Scotsman joined 141, and Crow figured—now that he watched them closer than he had before—that it was Soap's doing. That’s when it dawned on him, or at least caused him to think a bit harder about what was going on between the two duos.

‘It would explain their late night meetings… if they were even work related in the first place,’ The Irishman thought to himself with a chuckle and a suspicious look crossing into his curious expression before he lightly nudged the Scottish man.

“...am bheil thu maille ri Simon?” He asked once he had his attention. What little Scottish Gaelic he knew was due to him having nothing better to do in a Ranger’s tower, and it always seemed to take Johnny off guard so that was a plus.

“Dè? Carson a tha thu a’ faighneachd??” The Scotsman asked in reply. Hell, his voice even went up in pitch, his eyes widening slightly as a faint flush of color rose to his cheeks.

“O’Neil, MacTavish…English for fucks sake.” Ghost said with a faintly amused, but mostly annoyed, huff.

“Sickner fer you,” The Irishman replied, he didn’t need a proper answer from either of them, the look and way Soap’s voice sounded gave it so cleanly away. He had sounded the same when his old captain had clocked him for dating Malakai, but he never thought he’d get the chance to pull it on another man. Crow took a few long strides to walk in front of the two, turning quickly on his heel to lock eyes with Soap while moving backwards. He raised his brows teasingly then smiled a bit, nodding with faint approval. They were both good men and deserved someone just as good for one another, but now he also had something to tease the Scot with. He was glad to finally have something over both of the men now: even if they weren’t dating they were most definitely fucking. “Deagh roghainn.”

With that he flashed a cocky smile and turned away once again to head into the gym, leaving Johnny flabbergasted and Simon confused as to what was said. Though one look over to the Scottish sergeant and he could tell that he was embarrassed by the Irishman’s words. It was quite entertaining, and he knew Johnny would tell him what was said later. After a few moments the two would enter the gym as well, and make their way to join their red-haired friend who sat on the ground to begin stretching.

Soap said nothing, only giving Wolfhound a playful yet pointed glare. He was really only upset about being taken off guard like that. He could tell that the older was entertained by it, and he knew he couldn’t let the Irishman have the upper hand over him. It was a fun little challenge to the Scot—a playful rivalry of wit—but for now they had to warm up for training. Ghost would focus solely on stretching, not paying any mind to his companions, while Soap’s gray-blue eyes occasionally drifted over to the Irishman. Watching him bend and stretch with ease, it was a bit odd how nimble he was but he had to make up for his smaller stature somehow. He then realized that he was staring, and Simon had noticed, but how could he speak when Crow— while a bit easier to read than Simon— never let much of his personal life slip out, save for a few stories here and there, so he had no clue where to start.

“So… Wolfhound, what’s yer plan here? Need a spotter or so?”

“Bold of ye’ ta’ assume I lift t'at much,” Crow replied playfully, his attention briefly shifting over to Johnny. “I run, an’ do more yoga t'an anythin’.”

“Is that so, lad? No sparrin’ either?” Soap asked.

“Not as often, no. Te’ other boys like harder sparrin’... I prefer light… don’t like t’many bruises on me t’be honest… an’ I try not ta’ get put inna position where I could get hit in te’ face..”

He had to admit, while he never saw Crow as too much of a roughhousing type of man, it was still interesting to hear that he went for a lighter practice for that reason. His thoughts briefly went to when Crow had first joined: when the task force had tested him in a fight, he nearly kicked their asses up until Simon struck him in the face. Then again, it was a real fight, not practice, there was a difference— but by God did the lad know how to use a knife. Johnny hummed in thought, only to turn and lightly pop Simon on the shoulder to actively drag him into the conversation, even though it nearly earned him a swat upside the head from the Englishman. “What if we go first, yeah? Then wind down with a sesh with ya?”

“Kssh,” Crow's exaggerated inhale was quick to be followed by a playful eye roll. “Fine… but I’m gonna do other t’ings before sparrin’ ya’.”

He didn’t need much convincing. Though he already knew that he might lose any match with them. He was quick sure, but he hated hand-to-hand combat due to himself being thrown and bruised many times before. It was basically exposure therapy—something he and his therapist joked about—and was easy to handle when you trusted the people you were working on it with. That and he really needed to find more people to work out with, rather than doing so alone, at night, when he couldn't sleep.

Though despite trusting Simon and Johnny, Crow still hated being overpowered most times. It was a fact that lingered in his mind for years and years, even when he play fought with Malakai. Cisgendered men had a slight advantage over him, and he hated that he ended up liking it. He and his passed lover had managed to find a way around the discomfort by adding a sort of reward system to their sessions: turning them into more intimate moments with Crow’s lead. While his therapist would be proud of him for going out of his comfort zone, he did not want to risk the chance of acting out on instincts that he and Malakai instilled. He couldn’t back out of this, not without giving a reason, but he couldn’t admit that he had basically pavolved himself into getting turned on by sparring to avoid having panic attacks. However, he pushed those thoughts away into the deeper parts of his brain, and then moved to sit on the bench as he watched the other two stretch out and get ready for their sparring match.

Crow’s eyes danced over the way that their muscles flexed and moved with them, though he stopped himself and merely rubbed the bridge of his nose. Gender envy—at least that's what he thought it was—was a bitch-and-a-half to deal with considering most of the men around him had a body he wanted. By the time he looked back up at them, Simon had removed his jacket and remained in a shirt and pants while Johnny remained in his joggers. He wasn’t surprised by Ghost’s tattoo sleeve or any of the scars that littered either of their bodies, just as he wasn’t surprised that either of them held attraction to one another. Both of them were attractive men—to be fair the other operators were also just as attractive—it only made sense… at least in his mind it made sense. He would have made a move if he were either one of them, who wouldn’t.

When the two men got up to head towards the mats, the smaller man moved to head over to one of the treadmills within viewing distance. He would start his own exercise as the other two exchanged quips and jokes while beginning to circle one another. All was mostly quiet in the gym despite the comments that the older two exchanged and soon Crow would turn his attention to his own work out. Lightly jogging to the sounds of Soap’s taunts towards Ghost and his own thoughts about this predicament he’s agreed to put himself in. Pining for men who were out of his league, like an ant that wanted to be with a group of stars to form a constellation, while still mourning his passed lover, as if unrequited passion would help his emotional state.

Occasionally, the Irishman would glance over towards the two, watching Simon grapple Johnny and pin him to the mat. With the slight confirmation of their relationship, or situationship, Crow now noticed the sensual nature of how their hands ran over one another. He could almost remember the feeling of similar loving hands on his own person, holding him firmly but lovingly… He had to shake the thought out of his head before his mind wandered more, a faint flush of color rising to his cheeks as he began to run a bit faster on the treads to distract himself before ideas ran rampant in his mind. He wasn’t sure what he was supposed to think or do. He had spoken to Malakai before about death, since they were soldiers bound to die old or at war, and what to do if one of them had passed before the other. Both agreed that they would have wanted the other to move on, but the thought of that was hard enough to process when he was alive. How could he do it now?

He felt guilty for lusting after other men, but he couldn’t really help it. Whether it be the fact that he had to give himself his testosterone shot later that night and his body knew that, or that he hadn’t had any form of intimacy in over a year by that point. It wouldn’t have been that long had he and Malakai gone on their last mission together alone, but with a full team of people who were trained to listen to every little sound in their environment, it made it hard to share time in a tent. Maybe it was the grief toying with his emotions, making him want—making him lust—for that touch again.

He stumbled slightly as he lost focus, sucking in a breath as he reacted quickly. His hands quickly gripped the bars on the side of the equipment, as he hopped up and placed his feet on the sides of the belt. He managed to not get thrown off the treadmill and quickly looked around to see if anyone else had noticed. Luckily for his ego no one had. Crow’s ears burned with embarrassment as he turned the speed back down to a fast walk. He did not want to risk slipping and being launched off the treadmill. It happened once; it was not fun, especially since he nearly took out his bad knee. He took his hands off the railing once he was back on the moving belt and then rubbed his neck slightly as he sighed. He wondered if his friends were happy together like he had been a year ago. He glanced back at the two, listening to Johnny’s laugh as he tried to wrestle Simon to the ground but fail as he got flipped and thrown into the mat. They definitely seemed happy and he was happy for them. It was nice to see and he was almost jealous of them—almost angry—but he knew that it was mostly the desire to have what he used to have.

Crow’s lips twitched into a faint grimace as he saw the way their eyes met and held a passionate emotion. He knew it was love and he couldn’t help but think selfishly to himself. Why couldn’t he have that still? Why couldn’t he still be happy?

It was an odd thought, he did not blame Simon or Johnny whatsoever, but it did make him question his beliefs. He knew the Lord worked in mysterious ways, but why did he have to suffer from the actions of other men? These thoughts were normal, at least that's what his therapist said. Selfish, you’re being selfish, you dumb hormonal bastard. Crow told himself as he redirected his gaze away from his friends, not wanting to show his distraught as it was no one else’s fault but his own. His emotions were conflicting and it confused him greatly, unsure if he should feel jealous over the two of them or excited that he was finally going to have hands on him once again. He needed to talk to his therapist about his flowering emotions since they had been budding for a while and he had only just acknowledged them, and about potentially getting a medication prescribed for his sleeping problems now that Simon was involved. However, it would have to wait until after the mission. For now he put a pin in it, shook his head as if to shake the stress away, then picked up his walk to start jogging, then light running, once again. The red-haired sergeant managed to finally zone out, his thoughts going quiet to his relief, enough to not realize that he let the men spar for longer than they all had expected. Though by now they both sported new bruises and faint aches from their training.

Simon had pinned Johnny to the mat, the blade of his arm just barely pressed into his throat as his other hand kept the Scot’s wrists above his head. Both of his legs kept the younger man’s lower half to the mat, practically straddling him. They stared at one another briefly, both a bit breathless from their session— though that didn’t stop Soap from smirking up to Ghost, who in turn narrowed his eyes in a playful manner. He pushed himself off of the sergeant then stood up to walk off the mat, watching Wolfhound run on the treadmill. Eyeing the shorter man’s legs then trailed up to his back, only to turn and look at Johnny with raised brows as if teasing him for staring earlier. The Englishman would then walk off the mat towards where their stuff had been set down.

“Oi, freckles, you’re up!” Ghost called as he plopped down onto their bench, finally breaking the redhead’s trance so that he could turn off the machine and hop off. It took a few seconds for him to come to a halt as he slowed the pace down until he came to a stop and all the while the lieutenant did not take his eyes off of him. He watched as the Irishman stalked silently over towards the water fountain to take deep sips, then back towards the mat where he left Soap laid out to catch his breath.

Johnny panted happily as he looked up to the smaller man when he slipped his shoes off to walk over to him—only to take Crow’s hand when he offered to help him onto his feet. He sprung onto his feet with the help and dusted himself off playfully, smiling widely to the younger man. “Light sparrin’, aye?”

“Aye, full speed but less power… no face hits, m’mouth guard is in my office.” Crow confirmed. He, unlike the other two, remained in his long sleeve shirt and camo pants since he felt more comfortable in them— and because he was worried how he’d react if either of them touched his bare skin.

“Right, if I hit ya too hard, hit back,” Soap warned playfully, flashing his signature smile to the other man—though seemed a bit taken aback when he only got a smirk from Crow, who’s pupils shifted to make it seem like he was either a dog on guard or a fox sizing up a larger animal. Frankly, both ways sent a faint shiver up the Scot’s spine and he couldn’t explain why but he merely laughed with excitement. “Ghost, ref us, yeah?”

“Scared, Johnny? Lad’s pint-sized,” Simon teased while sitting back a bit on the bench to watch the two a bit more closely at Soap’s request.

“Of Crow? No.” The Scotsman laughed, causing the other sergeant’s brow to raise slightly— sure Johnny wasn’t afraid, this was a game to him, but he wanted the other to watch.

All of the negative thoughts that he had earlier slowly pushing their way back into the forefront of his mind; the fear, the jealousy, the anger, the desire. His lips curved a little more before he forced a frown and he furrowed his brows, scanning over Johnny as the taller man smiled back to him. His eyes trailed over the Scot’s bare chest and stomach, watching as a few beads of sweat ran down his skin. God he’s such a bear, what I wouldn't give to— He quickly shook his head and returned his gaze to the other’s face, a faint rush of blood scorching through his body and to his pale face. He pulled his hands up and took a few steps back to let the other know that he was ready to begin whenever. While Soap noticed the change of demeanor, he did not want a repeat of that morning to happen, so he decided to not press the matter and mimicked Wolfhound’s pose— shifting his weight from leg to leg.

They watched one another for a brief moment, then shared a nod to initiate their match. Crow would begin to circle Johnny, his gaze locked onto the Scottish man with a rather wild look in his eyes. It was a bit unnerving, but it made the fight almost better. Almost immediately, the Scotsman would move in close to throw a quick jab with his fists, his arms and hands moving to try and fake the Irishman out. Though Crow was quick to duck under the man’s arms and gently jabbed him in the side, his strikes were quick and precise before he quickly backed away to put a bit of space between himself and Johnny—who took his place right back in Crow’s space. He is a nuisance on the field and in training, the older thought with a chuckle. Simon has a lot to deal with outside of work.

When he managed to finally step away from the other man for a little bit of space, Crow felt John’s hands grab his wrists, pulling him down slightly and back in with a short huff of a laugh. The Irishman was quick to wrap his hand around the other man’s head after breaking his grip, lightly grabbing a fist-full of his mohawk to pull his head down enough to hook his arm under his jaw with a fluid motion— while the Scotsman’s arms wrapped around the smaller man, one under his arm and the other over his other shoulder. Soap spun slightly, pulling Wolfhound along with him, to unravel the grapple that he had been placed in and to pull the other man to his side while sliding one arm around his waist. Crow felt his feet leave the ground as Johnny lifted him onto his side and spun him forward, their chests flush with one another as he quickly moved his hand to try and wrap back around the older’s neck— shivering as he felt John’s other hand slide around his upper back. It was hard for Crow to try and find a grip around his friend, his legs flailing slightly as he tried to contort himself enough to wrap it around Johnny’s neck, all the while Johnny practically held Crow in a sideways hug, listening to the Irishman grunting and cursing under his breath.

Johnny could only laugh and soon took a knee so that he could press the middle of Crow’s back into his other leg and pushed down slightly, immediately earning a sharp grunt as the smaller man’s body stretched to alleviate the faint discomfort. He took advantage of Crow’s arched back to hook his arms under him in a better grip only to lose it as the other pushed up with one foot to roll his chest back into his. Crow slinked one of his arms over John’s shoulder and held himself up with his free hand and foot, his eyes closing briefly when he felt a hand on the back of his neck and waist. With a low groan, both due to the touch and the fact that the other sergeant’s thigh was now pressing into his ribs, Crow pulled Johnny down then rolled more, his chest now on the man’s thigh so that he could plant both feet back on the ground and push upwards with his back to make the other stand back up. Despite John’s hand on the back of his neck— which the same arm was also holding Crow’s shoulder in a lock— and his other arm keeping him in a close hold, Crow squatted down to grab the man’s ankle.

Though this motion gave the taller man the opportunity to finally slide both arms under the smaller’s arms and interlock his hands behind his neck, forcing him to let go of his leg to balance on his hands and knees while his head was pressed inward towards his own chest. He grunted at the feeling of Soap’s chest pressing to his upper back, a faint flush of warmth rising to his face, before he pushed his body up with his arms. As Wolfhound moved Soap loosened his head lock and laughed as he felt him wrap one of his legs around his own, only for the other one to join. The moment he had been lifted off the ground, Crow knew he was going to lose the match, since he knew that John would never let him get off the ground once he was back down— but to feel an arm wrap around his neck to prevent him from continuing his attempt at a grapple really solidified his loss.

He groaned a little louder and tried to pry the arm from around his neck only to pause for a moment, breathing heavily as the other remained bent at the waist to keep him in a headlock. They stayed like that for a few seconds before Crow finally submitted and tapped John’s leg, unraveling his legs from the other and taking a deep breath as his neck was released. The redheaded man turned to look up at the other, giving him a faint glare that was only met with a smirk.

“Bha thu airidh air sin.” The Scotsman teased, causing Crow’s ears and face to burn with faint embarrassment. Crow liked that a little too much to admit, but he was quick to hop back onto his feet, fixing his hair before turning back to John— who was still smirking.

“Again.”

The longer they sparred, the more they learned a little something about one another: Crow learned that Johnny annoyingly wanted to throw him off guard, and Johnny learned that Crow was very foxy. It was almost like a dance between the two of them, the pair always close together due to the younger’s persistence—which got rather overwhelming in a good way to the red-haired man after the first match. He felt his breathing hitch slightly and he knew he was going to need an out soon before he did something stupid, but he wasn’t going to let the other win easily. With a quick thought, Crow closed the distance fully between them, their bodies flush with one another, and wrapped one of his legs around the back of Johnny’s to try and yank it out from under him despite a familiar little rush of heat beginning to seep into his blood.

It was a good attempt, considering the Scot wavered on his feet, but it wasn’t enough and opened himself up for a shot at a takedown. Johnny was quick to seize the opportunity, quickly reaching down to grab the leg that supported most of Crow’s weight and yanked it out from under him. The quick counter took the Irishman by surprise and he let out a yelp as he was tossed backwards onto the mat, though before he could recover he felt the other man’s foot press lightly into his stomach. His gaze was quick to shift up to meet the other’s and he grimaced at Johnny’s smug smile— as erotic this position would have been, he was going to wipe that damned smile off his face. He slid his hands around the other’s leg, hooking one around the back of his ankle while the blade of his other arm drove into the man’s shin just below the knee. With a calming breath, he flexed his core and rotated his hold, pushing the blade of his arm through Johnny’s leg as if it wasn’t there. For an added kick, Crow kicked one of his legs up to wrap around the thigh of the leg that was pinning him, hooking his heel into the other’s hip. In one fluid motion, the Irishman sent Johnny into the ground, using his own momentum to spring up to his feet, ready for any retaliation that followed. He stared down at Soap, who now lay flat on his back breathing heavily as he tried to regain the air that had been knocked out of his lungs—a look of surprise on his face.

Johnny was never going to hear the end of this from either Simon or Crow, but he should have kept his guard up and he knew that because Crow was a slippery little bastard. He lifted his head up to look at the red-haired man, eyes drifting over Wolfhound’s face then and to his scarred lips that tugged into a faint smile, then grunted as he laid back fully once again. The Scotsman glanced over to Ghost’s position, he could tell by the way his eyes gleamed that the Lieutenant was amused at his take down— but in all honesty it was worth it, as Crow’s determined gaze and pleased smile made a faint warmth spread through his chest. He wasn’t afraid to admit when he found people attractive and Crow was one of them, but it was mostly due to his attitude rather than his looks— he was cute, and Johnny liked his men quiet as they had the most interesting personalities when alone, but he wasn’t sure if the older wanted to hear that. Crow never took compliments well, seeing that he normally told whoever gave him one to: “Feck off, stop being sappy.”

The Irishman gave Johnny a few more moments before finally offering him a hand up off the ground, helping the Scottish man off the ground once their hands locked with one another's. Once Johnny was off the ground, Crow lightly patted his shoulder and gave him a faint smile. "Sorry, mohawk... didn't want ta' lose twice t'day." He chuckled softly.

"Dinnae apologize, red, it was fun." He laughed and lightly patted the other's shoulder. "I think I need ta' rest before going at it again wit' ya'... my leg still feels a bit weird."

"Winded, MacTavish?" Simon asked, his rough voice holding a teasing nature— only for him to grunt as he stood up so he could approach the younger men. "Good form, O'Neil, the only problem is that you got yourself in that position in the first place." He scolded lightly, which caused the Irishman to groan and wave him off slightly.

"Aye, ya' try ta' take out a brick wall ov'a Scottish bastard when yer m'size." Crow sassed slightly, his hand patting Johnny's upper back when the Scot headed towards the bench. "B'sides I was too close ta' him fer it ta' work."

"Too close or too unsure?" The lieutenant asked, quirking a brow as he stepped fully onto the mat and over to the sergeant— closing the distance to be as close as the sergeants had been. "With more confidence you'd be able to do it." He said before quickly using his foot to sweep one of Crow's ankles out from under him, then moved in to fully send him to the ground with a hard shove.

The Irishman was taken aback, a short grunt of surprise slipping past his lips as his balance was almost immediately yanked from him— though now he felt how Johnny, who now laughed, felt as he himself was winded the moment his back hit the mat. He blinked then quickly sprung to his feet, narrowing his eyes at Ghost in bewilderment, a twinge of red coloring his cheeks. "Oi! I wasn' ready!"

"Hostiles won't wait for you to be ready, freckles." The older man countered.

Crow stared at Simon, his expression going from shock to faint annoyance before he rolled his eyes and brought his hands up. He couldn't risk getting caught off guard again, even though part of him knew it wouldn't really matter. Ghost has more combat experience, and he's more of a nuisance than Soap, Crow grumbled softly to himself and crouched slightly as the lieutenant began to stalk around him. It was rather clear to the Irishman that he was not sparring a friend, like he was with the Scotsman, rather he was training with his lieutenant, Ghost not Simon. This was not a light sparring match, judging by how hard he had been sent into the ground, it was more like a test and he could only assume he was actually going to get hit.

Was it more nerve-wracking to spar Ghost than Soap? Absolutely, one had easily readable facial ques while one fucking stared into your soul— which was rather disconcerting and made it hard for Crow to focus for more reasons than one. He shuffled on his feet and kept his attention on the larger man's movements trying to not to look him in the eyes. Unlike the previous match, where it was more close and involved, this one was cautious and calculated.

While he never sought a match out willingly, he only sparred when he had to or when it was for a demonstration, he could see why he should start doing so more often— specifically with the masked man since he was far less predictable for him than the Scot. The two continued to move slowly, until finally Ghost quickly stepped in and took a swing at Wolfhound. He brought his arm up to block the hit, which stung a bit, and reared back to strike the man in the ribs.

The lieutenant would take a quick step to the side and quickly grab the sergeant's arm with both hands to twist it into an awkward position behind his back, which made the smaller man groan slightly as his body turned to avoid any harm done to his shoulder. He then spun Crow more to work on driving him into the mat below, forcing his knees to buckle and his body to drop. He let out an audible growl of annoyance as he was pressed down into the mat with Ghost's weight on him. While it wasn't the worst position he's been in, it was the more humbling one, and he did not want to be in it any longer than he needed to. The Irishman’s upper torso and head were forced down into the mat— which his head was less so since the older man did not wish to apply too much pressure on his upper jaw— as Ghost pressed against his back, leaning over him just enough to keep him from squirming too much.

"Come on, red, how would you get out of this on the field?" Ghost asked him with a faint mocking tone, and pressed his arm further into his back— earning a low groan from the smaller man as he bent in a little more to relieve the pressure on his back.

“Is fuath liom tú. Is fuath liom é sin. Is dick tú.” He hissed back and used the one hand that he had free to pat the mat. "I wouldn't even be in t'is position on ta' field."

Watching him surrender, Ghost let go and pulled off of him— letting him lay on the mat for a few seconds before grabbing the back of his shirt to pull him off the ground. "You don't know that for sure, Crow." He warned lightly, watching the other squirm a bit before he set him down on his feet.

"I will make sure," The Irishman huffed while pulling his shirt down to tuck it back into the waistband of his pants, only to turn and lightly smack the taller man in the shoulder. “Bawlbag.”

The lieutenant narrowed his gaze slightly at the taunt then took a few steps towards the sergeant, who would step away to keep a bit of distance between them— the man’s hazel eyes following the other as he worked on staying away from Simon. Crow glanced over to the other man, his gaze holding a more taunting expression as he did his best to avoid being put into another grapple. He crouched slightly and watched Ghost intently, waiting for his next move before letting out a low huff. The moment the taller man moved in to strike he would duck under his arm and then pulled his fist back to strike him in the sternum, earning a low grunt from Ghost. He slid past him to get behind the older man and turned to face him once again— only he turned his body in time to feel the other’s hand on the back of his head.

He reached up to push the other’s hand off while his head was forced downwards, though was soon surprised by Ghost dropping his level to spring forward and wrap his arms around his waist. The lieutenant slid his arms down slightly, now holding closer to Crow’s thighs, while remaining on his knees not even seeming to mind that the Irishman wrapped one of his arms around his neck while his other one went between their bodies to try and dislodge the hold. With a fluid motion, Ghost lifted them both up and hooked his right leg around the back of Crow’s left and pulled back while his front pushed forward— sending the both of them to the ground, with the smaller man’s back being pressed onto the mat. He kept the sergeant pinned to the mat with his weight and hold while the other briefly struggled and used his two most free limbs, his right arm and leg, to try and free himself.

Crow paused for a moment, eyes widened as he finally felt a faint fuzziness he hadn’t in a while, which for a moment he enjoyed. The rush of adrenaline and endorphins took him a bit by surprise, though he was quick to spring back in action and pressed himself up against Simon to fight back. It was a sudden burst of strength that nearly took the British lieutenant by surprise, and had he not originally stabilized himself after pinning the sergeant he would have been thrown off balance. Low grunts and almost guttural growls sounded from the redheaded man, earning a confused glance from Johnny as he stood up and walked onto the mat to see what was happening. The Irishman’s struggle continued until he finally cocked his head slightly and sank his teeth into the Englishman’s right upper shoulder blade— the stimuli from the previous matches finally catching up to him. It was a hard and firm bite, one that was used to pinch the taller’s skin and shirt that was worn and hold him still. His action earned a faint grunt of pained confusion before Ghost shifted his weight off Wolfhound enough to grab near his lower jaw and roughly press his head into the mat. They both stared at one another, Crow’s eyes filled with what he could only describe as a glare while Simon’s held some sort of bewilderment— though he soon narrowed his gaze and raised his brows, giving the younger’s jaw a firm squeeze.

No one said anything, not even Soap who watched Ghost hold Wolfhound down as if he was correcting a dog for biting. Hell he even curled his lips like one, which stunned the two men. They were both still until the sergeant’s foot caught the lieutenant’s waist to try and kick him off— which was an awkward and straining angle for him to put his leg in. His teeth remained bared in a snarl despite the hand that pressed into the soft space between his jaws, a low growl like sound reverberating from his chest as he worked on kicking the larger man off. While it was often that he held up to his codename when it came to the rest of the 141, but mostly when it involved him being calm and gentle— he never really acted like this before, not even on the field, and it made the two wonder just where this part of him had been hiding.

Ghost grunted as Wolfhound’s heel dug into his waist more but did not relent, he was going to wait until the other got him off or gave in again. He felt the man strain more under him, though he wasn’t expecting to see that Crow’s glare had grown glassy. As if he were not fully there. It threw him off for a moment, relaxing his hold a bit— though the lax grip on his jaw allowed for Crow to quickly bite down on his hand and press his heel further up, now into Simon’s abdomen.

“Oi!” The lieutenant hissed, yanking his hand back before sitting up slightly to grab the sergeant's ankle to pull his heel away from his stomach. He yanked his leg up and forced his body back down so that he could stop the younger’s struggling. “I don’t know how you were trained before you came here— but we don’t fuckin' bite during training, you’re not in any danger enough to take off my damn skin.”

Crow stared at Ghost for a few moments, his breathing harsh from his struggle before he tried to pull on his legs, one of which was still pinned under the larger man and the other held off the ground. The way he was scolded seemed to bring him back to reality for a few moments, his snarl turning into a faint smirk while heat rushed to his face. He let out a nervous laugh, and then cleared his throat a bit. “Ah… If I had brains I’d be dangerous, tas on me— sorry leifteanant.” He said a bit breathlessly. “I… uh, spaced out, tas all… forgot where I was.”

Simon reached down and flicked Crow in the forehead, earning a sharp whine, before tossing his leg to the side and standing up. They both watched as the Irishman rolled to the side and pushed himself up from the ground to stand up and look at them sheepishly.

“Jaysus, Wolfhound— dinnae take ya’ fer a biter.” Soap mused. While his comment earned a side eye from Ghost, it did seem to make the Irishman's ears burn with faint color.

“Definitely left a bruise for sure.” The Englishman huffed and rotated his right shoulder to try and ease the dull ache in his arm.

“I'm sorry.” Crow reiterated, he was — mostly—sincere and briefly looked up to give Simon an apologetic glance. The way his eyes softened mixed with the way that his brows raised with worry made his pout look like a guilty puppy. Whether he did this out of genuine regret or to get off with just a faint scolding neither of the other two knew.

“Right… well.” The older sighed and moved to pinch his brow a bit, turning his head away from Crow briefly— he couldn’t even look at Soap when he gave him the puppy eyes, Crow’s were somehow more effective. “...don't do it again.” He huffed— going with the idea that the Irishman did only act out of stupidity. While Ghost did not understand the reason for being bitten, he could only assume he’d find out eventually. “Else you'll lose some of your damn teeth, hound.”

“Aye. Aye, I understand.” Crow replied with a huffy chuckle and rubbed his arms lightly. “...sorry, sir.”

“Dinnae worry about Ghost, freckles.” Soap reassured, walking over to the two so that he could wrap an arm around Crow’s shoulder. “He's been through worse than a bite.”

The cheeky smile that Johnny gave earned a groan from Simon, though the two shared a chuckle— all the while, Crow looked between them, knowing exactly what he meant. His embarrassment slowly melted away as the two reassured him, somewhat at least as they were now laughing about it, but he still seemed flustered. He definitely owed Simon an answer, but that was a conversation for later— he did not have the mental spoons to give those answers yet. He flinched slightly when the Englishman raised his hand, though grunted as he only gave his forehead a light smack with his palm. ‘Probably payback, or a warning,’ Crow thought. Subconsciously he leaned into the Scotsman and sighed a little, finding a faint comfort in the company of them both. He barely pulled away when he felt Soap's hand tighten on his shoulder, snuggly holding him to his side.

“I t'ink I need a smoke.” Crow sighed softly and laughed a little bit. “...we still ‘ave almost a whole hour b'fore dinner an’ I don't wanna go back without one...”

“We can join if ya’ want, freckles.” Soap offered with a smile, only for Crow to nod a little bit.

“...aye, it would be nice… we can swing by my office fer my smokes.” He then lightly pulled himself out of Johnny’s arm, giving him a brief pat on the shoulder before heading to the edge of the mat to slip his shoes on. The Scotsman would walk over to the Englishman, lifting the sleeve of his shirt to inspect the bite mark on his shoulder, wincing slightly at the bright red mark. He looked to Simon, raising his brows before whistling and walking away to pull his shirt on— tossing the taller man his jacket in the process. He knew that there was going to be a nasty bruise there just because of how red the original mark was, but now he knew what he could tease Crow with if he taunted him after this. The two of them made their way off the mat and slipped into their trainers, sharing a brief look between one another.

Soap turned his gaze to Wolfhound, who waited patiently for the two of them only to turn and lead the way out of the gym towards his office. It was an awkwardly quiet walk, as the Irishman kept his distance until the other two caught up when they made the brief stop at his office. They watched him walk in to grab a lighter and a pack of his cigarettes before exiting the room and locking it once again so that they could head out towards the nearest smoking area.

20:02

This time their walk wasn’t as awkward, seeing as the three walked together and actually made some small conversation. It wouldn’t take long before they reached one of the few areas away from the base’s entrance, the three of them sitting on one of the benches. By then the sun had already sank into the horizon and the air was a bit crisp, but it was still a pleasant evening. Johnny sat in the middle of the other two, watching as Crow opened his pack of smokes to offer him and Simon one.

“Didn’t think you smoked Sovereigns, Crow.” Simon mused as he took one from the pack. “Thought you for a vape guy.”

“I like m’air tarred or clean, not fruity— t’ank you.” The Irishman replied holding his lighter to the paper so that he could light it, then passed the lighter to Soap and Ghost.

With that they shared a brief laugh and went silent, enjoying the night air while they smoked. It was genuinely enjoyable, the occasional scuffle of Crow’s shoes or a faint mumble from Johnny would break up the silence just enough to keep it from turning sour, and just what they needed. None of them would speak until their cigarettes were almost fully smoked.

“So… Irish.” Soap started turning his head to look at the smaller man with a playful smile.

“Oh no.” Crow sighed with a soft chuckle.

“If ya’ had to pick a sport… what would it be?”

The Irishman hummed a little then tapped the filter of his cigarette to his lips, having to think relatively hard about what he would pick over the other. “...uh… televised sport wise… rugby...” He replied.

“Rugby, eh? Why that one an’ not football?” Johnny asked.

“...’ave ya’ seen te’ boys t’at play rugby?” Crow replied— he remembered Malakai's only reason to watch the sport was to watch the men as well, he himself also did not understand what the game was about. “Mmm… fine.”

The two laughed, while the Irishman’s ears and cheeks reddened slightly. He felt a little more comfortable making jokes like that now that he knew the other two were at least bisexual, or some other form of queer. It was nice to know he wasn't the only, mostly, gay man in the 141, though he knew there was a chance that some of the other soldiers were as well. Crow took a drag out of his cigarette before puffing the smoke out of his nose, thinking before laughing softly.

“I ‘aven't watched a game inna while t'ough.” He shrugged, leaning back to press his shoulders into the backrest of the bench. “So maybe t'ey aren't as fine as t'ey used ta’ be… straight men blessed wit fat fuckin’ asses… unfair to all te’ gay lads, but at least te lassies get ta’ ‘ave em.”

His bluntness managed to get an audible laugh from Ghost, well more like an amused snort, while sending Soap into a howling laugh.

“Where did that come from, O'Neil?” The Englishman asked as he shook his head slightly, chuckling softly as the Scotsman's laugh died down to a snicker.

“What else are ya’ holding back from us, freckles?” Soap asked.

“Ah, te’ closet, obviously.” Wolfhound answered first then rolled his eyes a bit, earning another brief chuckle. “A lot, uhm, actually… but… I'll tell ya’ a bit. Like how I used ta’ be a real rager at te’ pubs back when I was on t’Watchdogs.”

“Yer old squad, yeah?” The Scotsman asked and to which Crow nodded, taking a much longer drag of his cigarette to finish it off. He held the smoke in his lungs as he leaned forward to snuff out the cherry and think for a moment.

As he finally exhaled through his nose he coughed a little laugh and turned to the other two giving them a look of amusement then shook his head as he stood up. “Teres a lot… tat I want ta’ tell you boys… I’m.. just worried is all.” He admitted with a small smile.

“Worried? Of what?”

“Reactions.”

The answer was a little confusing, too vague to make any real guesses as to what he was talking about, but they did not press, at least not now. To them Crow was just a more personal kind of man, someone who liked to be alone or quiet since today was the most he had spoken— at least about non-work related topics— in the past week. But Crow knew it was a good sign of healing and trust that he could finally show.

Simon and John would take a few more moments to finish their own cigarettes before finally deciding to press the matter.

“Are… ya’ worried about a negative reaction to the things you want to tell us?” The Englishman would ask, sitting back on the bench with his arms crossed over his chest.

“Only on some.” The Irishman replied and moved to stand up from the bench to stretch his legs.

“Go on, tell us one thing, red.” John mused, looking at Crow with a smile. “Dinnae have ta’ be a big thing… just a thing, y’know?”

Crow looked at John, his eyes moving from the other’s smile to his eyes then over to Simon before he sighed a little. He gave a small nod then ran his tongue along his teeth while he thought. It was a hard decision, his mind having gone blank the moment he agreed to give out one detail about himself. He really didn't have much to choose from… either a few things that he isn't bothered by or a lot of things he hated telling people.

With a shrug he laughed a little then turned to face them with a small smile. “Here, t'is one is'a good one.” He mused. “...I'm covered in tattoos.”

“Well ya’ cannae just keep ‘em hidden after sayin’ that.” Soap said teasingly while Ghost raised a brow, then with a motion of his hand ushered Wolfhound to continue. “Else I’ll say yer bluffin’.”

Crow scoffed, rolled his eyes, then pulled his shirt out of his pants before pulling it over his head— opening his arms as if to say ‘see’ then laughed a little as he noticed Soap’s shocked expression. “I like gettin’ ink. Feels amazin’.” The smaller man said as he walked forward to them, letting the two look over his nearly fully covered torso and arms, only to turn and show them the expansive back piece he had. The flora and fauna seemed relatively specific to the man. Deer, butterflies, centipedes, wolves, and birds… carnations, marigolds, ivy, and trees… they just somehow suited him. John eagerly reached forward, grabbing one of Crow’s wrists to look at one of the symmetrical, forest half sleeves— turning his arm to examine it before looking back to the other tattoos.

“Jaysus… I’m jealous.” He laughed and lightly poked the smaller man in the gut. “I needta get more ink..”

“I recommend my artist… lass tells me ta’ draw an idea then runs wit it.” Crow chuckled then gestured to his chest piece. “This one hurt te’ most… tattooed ova’ my nips and some scars… don’t recommend that.” He laughed, though his words caused the Scottish to look back to his chest curiously, he was so focused on the other Celt’s reaction he didn’t notice the way the Brit’s eyes examined his left arm. On each upper arm, just below his shoulders, were more contained tattoos— on his right arm was a wolf and two crows, or ravens, in a mountain covered crescent moon, while his left had a masked feminine head with snakes for hair in a crescent moon of pomegranates.

He wasn’t stupid when it came to tattoos, Simon had his own tattoos with meanings special to him, and for Crow to have so many without any of them having meaning— it was highly unlikely they had no meaning, but he’d heard stories that it was for empowerment and survival. The Scot raised his eyes to the Irish sergeant’s then over to his chest piece as he spoke about it, sure enough he could see what he meant. The symmetrical centipede tattoos followed the curve of his pectorals, large enough for the legs and body to span close to his sternum and down his ribs. Just under the tattoos were faint, but thick, scarring and it confused them. It was not often people just had incisions like that and were still able to join the military, since transplants could impact their ability to perform.

But then it sort of clicked, causing the sergeant to look back up to Crow’s face with a little bit of questioning, while the lieutenant seemed to not be surprised. Simon had seen Crow’s medical and personal file, he just knew better than to out someone. It would have been like someone yanking off his mask without his consent— he might not have cared but it definitely wasn’t kosher. But Crow was unbothered, he did not mind his body and was rather proud of it, he was just more comfortable in less revealing clothes. They just would have never seen the scars had he not mentioned them.

“So you’re—” Soap started.

“Oh yeh, told ya’ I had a lotta secrets.” Crow chuckled, moving to pull his shirt back on then shook his hair out a little.

“...neva would’ve known.” John mused while the Irishman laughed.

“Aye, well ya’ just don’t go tellin’ people ye’ weren’t, uh, born in te’ body you want… I needed ta’ make sure te’ rest ov’ya weren’t gonna freak out.” He said then waved his hands a bit dismissively. “But… in te’ time I’ve been ‘ere… you lads an’ te’ rest ov’ 141 proved trustworthy.”

It was a fair reasoning, and they couldn’t argue with that. He had the right to be cautious, times were not so kind even in the year 2022, but they couldn’t deny that it looked like the admission lifted a faint weight from his shoulders— and to hear that he had trust in them and the team made the wait feel a bit worth it. John looked over to Simon for a few moments then nodded, glancing back to Crow with a smile. “Thanks fer tellin’ us, freckles.”

“It was gonna be found out one day.” Crow shrugged and tucked his shirt back into his pants. “Rather it b’on my own terms t’an any ot’er option..”

The Scot nodded then smiled teasingly, his eyes flicking down to the faint outline of the man’s packer, opening his mouth to ask a question before the Irishman held up a finger and pointed at him in warning.

“Don’t ask, I know ta’t look.” He replied and rolled his eyes, only to laugh and shake his head. “It isn’ real, don’t ask t’at to any trans person yeh? It’s not nice.”

“Yes, sergeant.” John replied playfully while Simon merely shook his head and chuckled.

“Glad you got that off your chest, yeah.” Ghost said then shrugged a little. “Along with other things.”

Wolfhound slowly turned his head to look at the man in slight disbelief then swiped his tongue over his teeth as he tried to keep himself from even looking amused by the joke, compared to Soap who laughed. “Yep.” He said as dryly as he could, but couldn’t help but laugh slightly while he smiled. How could he not be amused by that— why didn’t he think of that.

“Shut up. God. Stupid joke.” The smaller man said, finally beginning to chuckle softly, rolling his eyes. The Englishman could only chuckle softly and watch as the Irishman fought his amusement. He took a few more moments, trying to compose himself before gesturing to the building. “Let’s go eat, I’m sick of yer shite.”

20:56

That went a lot better than Crow ever thought it would, he honestly thought it would have been more awkward than that— but here he was walking alongside his friends towards the mess hall, nothing had changed like he thought it would. To say he was relieved was an understatement, it felt like the majority of the weight he had been carrying had finally been lifted. His steps felt lighter and he didn’t feel like his mind was clouded in a fog as much anymore. To know that almost every person he confided in about himself found nothing wrong with him was relieving— though he felt a bit childish keeping things locked down for as long as he did. He put trust in these men nearly half a year ago, and he just now trusted them enough to start coming out of his shell. But he was fairly certain that they did not blame him, and he knew that if he told his whole truth there would be even more understanding as to why he never opened up. Additionally, there hadn’t really been a good time to speak about himself, since he was mostly silent when he first joined their ranks due to his personal problems and the missions going on. There was so much happening between all of the commotion with other minor missions and threats that he decided to wait until some time had passed.

In reality, he just made no effort to be openly friendly up until early April, around his third month in the group, but shit happens almost every day for this group so it was just a longer process than he originally thought. Seeing how Laswell had requested Ghost’s time around two weeks ago to assist in the assassination of the Quds Force General, Ghorbrani. Shit just happens. Yet, here they were, acting like they had been friends before and he wouldn’t want it any other way.

The walk to the cafeteria was relatively quick, the three of them arriving alongside some of the other soldiers, only to head to their normal table and sit down. Crow relaxed back in his seat for a few minutes, watching as Johnny and Simon went to go grab their dinner, making a plan on how to explain about what happened earlier— wanting to apologize for his outburst, since he shouldn’t have snapped on his team the way he did. He continued to stare off in thought until he felt a hand brush his shoulder, a comforting pat drawing his attention to the person behind him. Though when he turned no one was there, until he heard a snort from his other side.

Kyle snickered softly as Crow finally turned to look at him, watching as the younger man glared playfully at him. “Gotta keep those eyes open, O’Neil, don’t want you gettin’ hurt on our mission.” The man teased while the younger scoffed.

“Garrick, don’t be rude.” Crow laughed, slugging the other in the shoulder playfully before rolling his eyes and laughing softly with the other sergeant. Though slowly, his laugh died down to a quiet chuckle. It… finally felt right, something felt right and Crow just couldn’t really place a finger on it. It felt similar to a warm welcome, the one he had originally pushed away when he had first joined. It was vastly different from how he felt when he was comfortable with his therapist, it was more… genuine. Acceptance, maybe. All he knew was that he had a revelation— that these men, the ones he could trust his life with, could also be trusted with himself. Sure it took half a year, and a few extra online therapy sessions, but maybe he could just start trying to let the others finally, especially now that he’s having the odd thought about them every once in a while.

“You okay, Crowley?” Kyle asked gently, a small smile on his face.

He hadn’t noticed that he had zoned out, until Gaz got his attention.

“T’at’s a new name, hmhm..” He teased while shaking his head slightly before lightly slugging the other in the arm. “Yeh, I’m fine… jus’ tryin’ to t’ink about what I need ta tell you lads.”

To say that dinner was a rather new experience for all of them was an understatement, Wolfhound was quite the character under the front he presented normally. He had brought up what happened that morning, apologizing to his friends for taking out his emotions on them before telling them a little bit on what had happened before he had transferred to the Task Force. The news was received about as well as Simon had taken it— though Johnny and Kyle seemed a little concerned with the news about Crow’s deceased lover, mostly for their friend’s mental state. Price on the other hand was mostly thankful that Crow promised to get better at taking care of himself for any future mission’s sake, and for his own sake. Yet telling Kyle that he was transgender went swimmingly, with the older man going ‘Oh, I could’ve guessed.’ which earned a blank stare from the youngest. Though now, Crow felt… better.

Better was the only way he could describe it, as it wasn’t much different than how things had been before, but at least it wasn’t worse. Originally he had been scared of some sort of backlash, though when he had told Price, before joining up with the Task Force, about his identity he was told that there would be no problems with who he was. His therapist was right, the man was normally right, and months of online counseling had helped him get to this point. He really owed that man some sort of gift for putting up with him. Though it could have been so much worse, and he knew that, though here he was… enjoying his time with his team— his friends— as they ate dinner and spoke on other things. It was like there was a brief lapse in his grief, allowing him to smile a bit more than he would normally. He felt warm and giddy but it could only last so long as he began to reminisce. He hadn’t noticed just how much he needed this, how he needed friends to be himself around.

He grew quiet, his eyes flicking down to the table as he let the voices around him become nothing but white noise while his thoughts began to play memories of his previous team. It was this sort of down time that he missed with the Watchdogs. Where he and Malakai would always enjoy the time they spent with their team, cuddling up to one another as the other three bickered and joked during dinner. Like when Collie, their medic, threatened Rottweiler, their fresh sergeant, to not pull any shrapnel from whatever wounds he was bound to get because he had glued googly eyes to the things in her room when she was out. Or when Malinois, their corporal, forgot he had unscrewed the lid to the salt shaker and completely ruined his food that night— though he still ate it with the most disgusted face Wolfhound had ever seen on a man.

A hand on his shoulder brought him back to the present and he looked to his friends who had quieted down when he began to stare off. He gently placed one of his hands over the one on his shoulder, looking to his right only to meet Johnny’s somewhat worried gaze. Crow gave the man’s hand a squeeze then smiled a little, his hand lingering on the top of Soap’s to finally return the affection that had always been given to him.

“I’m okay.” He breathed out and sighed softly. “I’m jus’... rememberin’ my old team… old times. You lads remind me of ‘em…” Crow smiled then lightly looked between his comrades and friends before nodding slowly. “..Malakai would’ve loved you all… ‘bout as much as I do.” His voice was soft and he hadn’t even noticed that he was close to tears at the moment, though the smile on his face was the most genuine one the group had ever seen. Most of his smiles had been little, and brief, but this one was one that allowed the small gap between his front teeth to show— one that tugged on his face enough for the slight indents of his dimples to be seen, one that slightly hurt and caused a dull ache in his plated jaw. He sighed happily then let go of Soap’s hand, shaking his head slightly before lightly laughing, rubbing his eyes slightly.

“That’s pretty gay, red.” Gaz’s teasing reply only caused Wolfhound to laugh a little more, thankful for the lift in the conversation.

“So am I.” He mused, earning a laugh from his friends, sitting back in his chair with a happy sigh. “When we get, eh, te time… we should go to a pub… I owe ye lads a pint or two alongside some stories. Jus’ fer putin’ up wit me.”

21:45

By the end of the meal, the men were winding down with cups of tea— or in Crow’s sake a cup of bitter juice— and casually conversing with one another. They were winding down for the night, some of the other soldiers having already gotten up to go to their bunks or to the common room while the operators remained at their table. Their conversation was light and enjoyable, a perfect way to end the day especially after all of the revelations and mixed emotions from earlier. Though now Crow was intently watching the way the other men interacted with one another, trying to see if his earlier suspicions were correct. Low and behold he picked out the subtle hints of how the two duos interacted with one another— then saw how they mingled with the other duo. The way they looked at one another, the way they smiled… it would have been obvious beforehand had he actually spent the time to put thought into it rather than thinking they were all just friends.

Late night meetings my ass, they’re so fucking. The ginger thought to himself and let out a chuckle when the others laughed at something Johnny said. No doubt about it, given all the flirting and teasing over the coms… He let his eyes linger on the four of them then shifted in his chair a bit so that he could lean on the table lightly. A slowly pooling warmth made his legs close and adjust the way he sat so that he could try and focus on the conversation, though the longer he took in their features the more he realized that he was acting like a bitch in heat. He bit his inner cheek and bounced his leg slightly as he closed his eyes. A Scottish bear, a pretty otter, a daddy of a captain and a mysterious hot mess. Lovely crowd, truly. Crow shifted in his chair, only making his situation a bit worse with the rubbing of his boxers, before slowly standing up shaking his head before downing the rest of his cranberry juice.

The sudden movement drew the four men’s eyes, only for them to meet his when he looked between the four. “Gotta go shower, an giv’ m’self a needle ta’ te’ thigh.” He said while patting his hands to the very top of his thighs, giving them a small smile. “I’ll see ya’ lads fer breakfast, yeh?”

“Aye, get some rest, bud.” Gaz said, smiling back to Wolfhound.

“Goodnight lad,” Price added while Ghost merely nodded.

“Cadal gu math, chuilean.” Soap’s teasing comment got a playful glare from Wolfhound, the man merely making an exaggerated face of disapproval. With a huff he slid his empty cup to the Scot before turning to walk out of the mess hall towards his room. He did not know how long he had until Ghost came to his room that night, but he figured he had enough time to shower and give himself the rest of his upkeep… maybe a bit more if he was so inclined. His normally calm pace turned brisk as he made his way to his room, pulling out his keys to unlock the door and shut it behind him once he was inside. He didn’t bother locking it since he was expecting someone and simply decided to shower with his bathroom locked instead.

He stripped himself of his clothes after that door was secured and set his packer off to the side, he wouldn’t be wearing it for the mission just for the fact of practicality. He didn’t want to have it fall from its spot in his underwear— it was quite the hassle on the field when it happened, and if this mission was going to take more than a week it just wasn’t worth it. The ginger man turned on his shower and let the water warm up, as he went to the mirror to inspect himself. He felt cheesy, checking himself out as he showed off to no one but himself, but it made him wonder if one day he’d be able to do so for someone else again. Once he was done he reached over to his cabinet to pull out a sterile needle and his bottle of testosterone, setting it on the counter for him to use after he’s cleaned up.

Crow hummed a little to himself then pressed his hips into the ledge of the counter, lightly biting the bottom of his lip as he let his thoughts run wild. He had felt so many conflicting emotions that day, too many emotions, but that didn’t stop his own body from acting out. He sighed softly to himself and opened one of his bathroom drawers to pull out his stroker, finally heading to hop in the shower for a needed release alongside a well deserved cleaning.

All in all his shower did not last terribly long, no longer than ten minutes since he still needed to administer his medication as well as do his nightly prayer. He would clean his toy out then let it air dry as he toweled himself off, smiling faintly to himself as he enjoyed the foggy headspace he was in. He picked up his comb to run it through his hair and brushed his teeth before finally removing the needle from the packaging to load it up with the correct amount of testosterone needed. He used to be terrified of this process, though now he was able to do it with ease, as if he were just putting a straw into a juice box. It was over and done within seconds, and once he placed a bandaid over his application spot he tossed the used needle into a sharps bin for later disposal at the medics.

He looked himself over in the mirror once again, sighing softly as he wrapped his arms around his torso in a hug, closing his eyes to imagine it were someone else holding him— the warmth from his shower only helped by keeping his skin warm. With a sigh he slowly let his arms fall to his side and he gazed at himself once again.

“C’mon lad, he wouldna’ wan ta’ see us like t’is, y’know… stop bein’ a fanny…” He said plainly to himself, watching his own lips move before he huffed and pointed at his reflection. “Docter Hall would tell us we need ta’ lis’en. Kai wants us ta’ be happy— so why can nay be happy? Man up. We cried in fronta Ghost fer fecks sake, yelled at our lads. We cannot be doin’ all t’at.”

He sighed, staring at himself for a few more seconds before dropping his hands to the counter and leaning on it, staring down into the sink. “We’re too hard on ourself… It ain’t fair… ta’ us… ta’ anyone..” He breathed out while pushing himself away from the counter to exit the bathroom, once he unlocked the door, and pulled some clean boxers on. “Damn… post wank emotions, feck off.”

Once he was at least in his underwear did he finally search for his rosary, lovingly touching the beads as he held them in his hands. Kneeling at his bedside as he did every night and morning, he began his prayer. Speaking the mantra he had been conditioned to say since he was little, though now at his own choice to do so.

22:37

His nightly routine nearly took a whole hour, but he was so focused that he didn’t even notice how long it had been. The only thing that finally got his attention from his prayer was a sharp knock at his door, which earned a faint curse as he glanced at the door. “It’s open, Ghost.” He didn’t need to ask who was outside his door, there was really only one person he had been expecting and only one person who had a reason to be knocking that late at night.

Almost immediately the door opened rather quietly— Crow never got used to how such a big man could move so silently— and the behemoth of a man entered. He’s yet to have anyone step foot in his room before, normally making whoever was coming to get him stay outside the door until he came out, but now he had someone standing in his only personal safe space. Crow stood up from his kneeling position to sit on the edge of his bed and looked to Simon, crossing his legs over one another.

“Y’only wear that to sleep?” The man at the door asked, cocking a brow and crossing his arms over his chest as he looked at the mostly unclothed man.

Wolfhound looked down at himself then back to Ghost. “Aye? Only in m’room t’ough… Do y’wear all’o yer clothes ta’ bed? Freaky if y’do.” He replied with a chuckle, gesturing to the chair at the small desk on the other side of his room. “Chair is ove’tere… yer welcome to it.”

“Call me a freak then,” Simon replied as he went over to the desk. “But commando is worse.”

As the Englishman spun the chair around to face the bed he turned the lamp on, glancing over to the Irishman who chuckled softly. “I’m na’gonna sleep like t’at eva’.” He said as he pushed himself further back on his bed, not bothering to turn off the overhead light since Simon had begun to walk towards the lightswitch. Though the lieutenant would take the time to observe the young man’s room. It was neat and clean: boots near the door, dirty clothes in a small basket, while books and papers were stacked properly on the desk. Small canvases of painted landscapes and many maps lined the walls to keep them from being too barren.

“I’ve books fer ye’ if ye’ want ta’, uh, read…”

“I’ll be okay, Crow… just lay down an’ get some rest.” Simon said in reply with a faint chuckle as he flicked the lights off and returned to the chair to sit down, sitting silently as Crow crawled under his covers to get comfortable. The calming golden glow of his lamp filled what would have been darkness, making the room feel warm and slightly more comforting.

“...thank you, Simon.”

“... just close your eyes, O’Neil.”

The Irishman would lay back on his bed with a soft chuckle, the way Simon had spoken was soft and genuine, making his heart flutter in a way he hadn’t expected it to. He was glad that the both of them were not directly next to one another, he felt stupid for smiling shyly like a damn schoolboy. Crow pulled his covers a little closer to himself, staring up at the gentle, warm light that illuminated the other half of his room— and casted Simon's shadow onto the wall next to him. He sighed softly and then laid his arms over the top of his blankets, hugging his chest briefly. It was quiet for a little bit, as Crow was actively trying to sleep and actively failing at doing so. Soon the silence became too much, and he sighed softly then opened his mouth to speak.

"...Simon... What if t’is doesn't work? What if I'm doomed ta’ jus’... lay awake forever?... jus’ wasting yer time..?"

“You aren’t… I promise” Simon spoke quietly, his voice soft and gentle as he kept his eyes fixed forward at nothing in particular. “...and if it doesn’t work, then we’ll try something else.” He added after a moment of silence. “We’re a team after all, remember?”

"...aye.. I remember.." Crow said while finally glancing over to the man who had seen him crying earlier that day, one he had sparred with and made tea for. It felt odd, having another person in his room again especially after he lost his fiancé in a previous mission.

But oddly enough... It felt right too.

The room would be silent for a few minutes, only the sound of soft breathing being heard as well as the occasional shuffling of either of them moving slightly. Then Crow's voice would cut in gently once again.

"...before... I lost my lover... he and I used to lie awake at night... and talk about what we wanted with our future..." He said with a sad chuckle. "... we bought a house in Middlesbrough... little family home closer to the countryside.."

Crow sighed softly bringing his hands to his head, laughing softly as he did so. "I wanted horses... and him? ...chickens... he wanted chickens."

"...it’s okay to miss him, Crow." He spoke softly as Crow began to reminisce to him about their dreams with their late fiancé, about what their life could have been had the mission not gone wrong. Simon turned his head to Crow when he felt the younger man’s eyes on him, his gaze holding no judgment towards the operator. His words, while reassuring, sparked a faint pang in the sergeant’s chest.

"...I can’t even begin to imagine the amount of pain that you still feel." Simon continued to speak, his tone shifting into one that was more soothing and comforting. He understood what it was like to lose loved ones, but really only a familial sense— but he had an idea on how much it hurt due to the slight edge in Crow’s voice.

"...I saw it happen, y’know?" Crow said softly, blinking slowly as he took in a breath. "...I know as a soldier... we're supposed to expect te’ death of our friends and comrades.. but.. I...I wasn't prepared t’hold him in my arms... not prepared ta’ have his blood on my legs..." He mumbled, letting his arms go lax above his head, only to slowly turn onto his side— facing away from Simon to stare at the wall when their eyes briefly met.

"...he got shot in te’ head... on a recon that wasn't ‘sposed to have hostile insurgents in te’ area... our intel lied or... missed somet’ing and it cost me m’lover... my whole life… and I can't help but wish that it was me, sometimes. I wish I was te’ one who got shot so t’at I didn't have ta’ live with te’ grief and guilt t’at I feel everyday... and m’therapist says it's common... says survivor's guilt is something t’at most soldiers experience at least once..." Crow said while lightly moving to pull his pillow to his chest for faint comfort.

Simon shifted in his chair and looked at the back of Crow’s head with a gentle expression, one that was meant to convey that he understood and sympathized, even if the Irishman couldn’t see it. "It's normal to feel this way." The lieutenant spoke with a nod, and it was very true— grief and guilt were normal feelings to have after experiencing something traumatic or tragic. It was common amongst the ranks especially when one forms bonds with fellow soldiers, only to lose that soldier. Sometimes he felt it too, it just came with the territory— just as the fear of losing people came with it— but he tried to not show it.

"But you need to be kind to yourself… you’ve gotta take care of yourself." He continued, voice soft yet a bit firmer. "He wouldn't want you to be so hard on yourself."

"...you can't blame yourself, either." Simon spoke slowly, turning his own gaze towards the walls once again. "For something that wasn't your fault."

Crow squeezed his pillow softly and he closed his eyes for a moment, taking in a deep breath to keep his emotions in check— he could not cry in front of this man again, he had to do it in front of someone else before Simon ever saw tears in his eyes again. He then rolled over to face Simon, sighing softly. "I know... I'm workin' on it... swear it.." He paused for a few seconds then flicked his eyes to the lamp on his desk. "...can I hold yer hand again?"

The question got his attention, Simon’s eyes drifting over to Crow then would let out a faint chuckle and tilt his head slightly. He slowly rolled the chair towards the bed and leaned forward slightly to make it easier for Crow to take his hand again, much to the Irishman’s surprise.

"...yes." The man spoke while the other thought he could hear a smile.

Crow remained on his side, curling up slightly as he gently took Simon’s hand in his own— their calloused palms brushing against one another as their fingers interlocked in a somewhat firm hold. One determined to make sure the other got comfort, and the other desperate to feel the touch of another. The Irishman stared at their hands, while the Englishman passively watched his face.

After a good while, Simon noticed the way that Crow’s eyes fluttered shut and lazily opened, as well as the slight changes in the man’s breathing. It seemed that he was finally getting closer to sleeping. His hand tightened around Crow’s, the man squeezing gently and offering him a safe comfort that he hadn’t had all that much of recently. And in reply, Crow gently pulled their hands closer to his chest, as his head lulled further into the dip of his pillow. The room was silent for a few beats, and Simon would notice a difference, an improvement as Crow’s grip slowly released his now numbing hand.

“…that’s it, pup…” The lieutenant spoke quietly, watching as Crow slowly began to drift off into sleep. Simon squeezed his hand one last time before releasing his grip once Crow’s body finally went limp in relaxation, slowly adjusting his chair back again to relax. Once he was certain that the younger man was asleep, he stood up and silently moved the chair back to the desk so that he could turn off the light and head to the door.

“...Goodnight, Crow…” Simon whispered, his voice just loud enough that it would only be heard by Crow had he been awake. It was quiet— a perfect quiet for this night, as the only sounds now were the faint and steady sounds of Crow’s deep breathing and the ticking of the nearby clock hanging beside the door.

23:51

20 notes · View notes